Original Stories Fan Fiction ❯ Game of Revenge ❯ Chapter 9

A/N::: this is the chapter with the naughty bits in it. Be forewarned. If you don't like that kind of stuff, skip this one.

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Jack returned to his apartment late that night, his head swirling with the face of Kyle Tompson whose eyes seemed to laugh at him from the dark outreaches of his vision, following him everywhere, mocking him. Jack growled in hatred at the man who had taken away from him the only thing he had ever cared about. He shut himself in his bedroom, and threw his weary body on the bed. He reached over the side and groped about until his fingers brushed the soft, worn cotton they had been looking for. Jack drew the shirt close to him and held it against his face. Its owner was gone, but the scent remained, and Jack lay there breathing it in, still and silent and pensive.

When it had started Jack had never been exactly certain. Sure, he had felt something the moment that Edward Bosley walked into his office to respond to the advertisement he had put in the daily paper looking for an assistant, but he had always attributed that to his sense that this man was the one qualified for the job. And of course, Edward's résumé had been flawless, and Jack had hired him without hesitation. They had gotten along from the very beginning, instant friends, always hanging around after work together. Edward was constantly carefree, laughing at everything, and Jack so appreciated this break in atmosphere from his usual mundane world of busywork, so that when Jack first felt the tiny stirrings of emotion he excused them as the attachment one feels to a close friend or a brother and pushed them away. However, the thoughts refused to be buried, ignored, and continued to invade his conscious and unconscious mind until Jack finally caved. After that, it had been the glances, short at first, and then longer, admiring Edward's soft golden-blonde hair, his clear brown eyes, the lean muscles beneath his skin, until at times Jack caught himself staring fixedly at his friend.

He felt guilty for how he felt. Edward of course did not share his views, and to let him know the truth would be disastrous not only to their friendship but to their careers. No, Jack could not do that to Edward, he would not ruin his life on account of some silly emotions, and so he kept them to himself. It was better that way, he told himself, better for both of them.

In the end, it was Edward himself who sealed their fate. Jack had invited him over to hear the baseball game over the radio and have a few beers, and it was in the beginning of the fourth inning when Edward brought it up.

“I've seen you looking at me.” He said it as a statement, not accusatory, just fact.

A mental jolt pulsed through Jack like gunfire. “I don't know what you're talking about.” He answered quickly. Edward chuckled softly.

“Don't worry, Jack. I understand.” And with that he lapsed into silence. The baseball announcer continued his detail in the background. But Jack couldn't just leave it at that, he needed to know.

“What do you mean, `you understand'? Eddie, what on Earth are you talk…” but his complaint was broken off as Edward kissed him. Softly, tentatively, but it was enough to break down the harsh bonds Jack had placed upon his feelings for his comrade, and they rushed forward as Jack returned the gentle pressure on his lips. When they broke apart, their breathing ragged, Eddie smiled.

“I've been watching you too, Jack.”

“Eddie….” Jack whispered, and then pulled Edward closer, capturing his lips with his, tongue probing, tasting, as Edward's fingers dug into the flesh on his back. Clothes were pulled off, and Jack murmured in pleasure as bare skin brushed against bare skin. They kissed and held each other close, the heat of their bodies, the urgent cries filling their senses. Jack wondered why he had held this back, it felt so good, everything. But it wasn't enough, just to hold each other, tasting, touching. Jack leaned closer and pushed Edward back onto the couch and lay on top of his naked body as Edward moaned in ecstasy at the new contact created by the weight of Jack's body on his. Then Jack began to move his hips slowly, and Edward released a guttural purr that sent shivers up Jack's spine as he thrust harder against the quivering body beneath him, their erections creating a wonderful friction between them. Edward's back arched, his hips bucked, his voice, hoarse with longing, urging Jack on, to go faster, harder, chanting his friend's name in a way that made Jack shudder with lust. God, it was so good! Why had he denied himself this? He could feel the edge coming, closer and closer with each movement, their bodies hard and hot, until he cried out and climaxed. He soon after felt the wet heat against his belly as Edward came, and Jack let himself go limp in his lover's arms as the last sparks of sexual rapture flowed through his being, leaving him exhausted and spent. He continued to stroke Edward's body, loving the feel of the smooth, wet skin beneath his hands. Jack smiled softly and kissed Edward's sweaty forehead.

“I love you Eddie. I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Jack.”

Edward got up from the couch then, and just as Jack was wondering where he had gone, he returned with a warm, wet cloth and wiped the semen from Jack's belly and penis. The gesture was comforting, and when Edward had finished Jack pulled his lover on top of him, and held his body close. They fell asleep in each other's arms; bodies curled together, legs intertwined, as the baseball game continued on in the background, oblivious.

Jack remembered that day, the first day, the beginning of his life's meaning, in every detail -the heat, the desperate touches, caresses fueled by ages of suppression, of doubt, the whisperings of each other's names- and as he lay there all alone on his bed, Edward's shirt clenched to his chest, he let the memory play through his head again and again, wishing he could hold Edward to him one last time, could tell him again how much he loved him.

But there was no changing what had happened. His lover was gone. Jack stumbled, blinded in misery, to the kitchen and got out his whiskey bottle. This time he didn't even bother with a glass, he tipped the amber spirit into his mouth and reveled as it burned down his throat, searing away his pain, letting him forget.