Jack’s self-control was fairly limited at the best of times. When Gabe’s voice dropped, intentions heavy with every word, it took every ounce of willpower Jack possessed not to launch himself back at Gabe’s face. Through the haze of his lizard brain, he had to admit that the hot pilot made some points. Inside, definitely better than outside. More comfortable, for one. And Bourbon Street after dark Jack’s neighborhood was not.
Even so, it was incredibly tempting to continue making out with Gabe out here in the open, where the streetlight cast a warm glow on exactly half of Gabe’s face, leaving the other half tantalizingly in shadow, a wisp of a breeze tousling his hair and — oh shit, am I staring?
“… Inside. Oh, inside!” Jack repeated idiotically before he remembered himself, his face slipping into a look that somehow married the childishly gleeful with the incurably horny. He nodded in the direction of the window, miraculously without wagging an eyebrow. “Right this way.”
Jack led the way and ducked into his bedroom first. Not very gentlemanly, sure, but the rules of chivalry got a little wonky between guys, and some rapid damage control was necessary. A few swift kicks swept the most obvious messes under whatever furniture was nearest, clearing a path straight to the bed. The way things were going, Jack kind of doubted Gabe would notice the rest of the chaos. There was always a chance that when they finally saw each other again, the heat would be gone, but since the second Jack kissed him, Jack knew. He knew that the fire burned hot, and Gabe’s tunnel vision was just as heightened as his own. The tidiness of the setting hardly mattered when, after basically a million years, all they saw was each other.
And just like that, his head was turning to find Gabe again. His body followed, walking confidently backwards across the room and raising his arms to make a grand presentation. As if this bedroom were the height of class and not one mysterious mushrooming pile away from a weird smell. Details, details.
Lips still buzzing from the sense memory of Gabe’s kiss, Jack’s traitorous mouth opened to say the worst possible thing. “So this is where the ma — grmpf!”
Lucky saved him from himself, as usual. With a friendly bark, the one-eyed mutt bounded through the door and leaped on Jack, knocking him to the bed and immediately slobbering on every inch of Jack’s exposed skin. A little playful wrestling before Jack passed out watching reality shows on his iPad was a ritual for the two of them, so even with his one-track mind Jack couldn’t blame Lucky for thinking it was that time again. Was it a little worrisome that the stalwart pizza dog took about five seconds too long to realize there was a whole extra person in the room? Maybe! But Jack loved him anyway. Lucky was the perfect dog for him and Clint both. Right on their level, and better than them in all the ways that mattered.
Jack’s mildly grossed out laughter faded to a content smile as Lucky hopped down to the floor. He leaned back on his elbows, watching Lucky bark once (just once — good boy) and plant himself at Gabe’s feet to, presumably, get the squitches he believed he was owed from their guest.
“He remembers you.” Likes you too, Jack almost said, biting the inside of his lip at the last second. Nine times out of ten, Lucky barely gave his visitors so much as a side-eye. Smart dog, knowing it wasn’t worth the effort to ingratiate himself with someone who wouldn’t be coming back. Dogs always knew. So this — Lucky recognizing Gabe, expecting affection from him — this was a good sign, right? If a momentarily inconvenient one.
Still. Jack didn’t mind the delay, not when it meant watching Gabe with his dog. Weird to think of it as a turn-on, because that was weird and it obviously wasn’t. Unless it was turning on his… heart? You know, instead of his…?
Christ on a cracker, Clint’s voice interrupted. And I thought I was the dumb one.