Jack turned toward the brush of Lane's breath against his face, without opening his eyes. There was something almost innocent and trusting in the gesture, or at least instinctive. Either way, he nuzzled into Lane, found his mouth and kissed him, hot and slick but shallow and brief. "Five's my lucky number," he murmured, and somehow, for all the apparent arousal - tight stomach muscles, stretched and sprawled and spread wide open, hard cock- his voice was soft - low and quiet and the edges were rough, but most of what he sounded was content.