Opening Up Read online

  Chapter Two

  Jack gave it a week. They really couldn’t have asked more of him than that.

  A week in the condo with Channon should have been a blessing, an opportunity to pour himself into his boy until he overflowed. Instead, Jack spent seventy percent of it asleep or dozing, and thirty percent bored out of his mind.

  ‘No screens’ turned out to be everything Jack ever did. Work, research, entertainment. He couldn’t work out—not that he had the energy—and he wasn’t supposed to exert himself, so play was out. What else was there to do?

  There were only so many podcasts he could listen to, only so many games of Dominion he could stand—it was too mentally taxing to play well, and playing poorly meant losing to Channon, who seemed unhappy when he won, as if it were further evidence that Jack was still unwell. And it was, but Jack refused to accept that he had been ‘brung low’ by a concussion. He should by rights be fine. Well enough to do a little of the work piling up for him in the office.

  But when he called Cynthia for an update, she shut him down at once. “Nate left standing instructions that you were not to be disturbed.”

  “You’re not disturbing me,” Jack told her—with, in his opinion, admirable patience. “I’m disturbing you. So. What’s on the to do list for today?”

  “Nothing,” she said, prim as a schoolmistress. “Can you hold for a moment?”

  Before he could tell her ‘no’, she’d already done it, and he had to wait ten seconds before— “What the fuck are you doing?” Nate snapped over the line, sounding tired and done.

  “My job, or I’m trying to. Did you tell my PA not to talk to me?”

  “For the next week at least,” Nate said. “You’re in work jail.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “Like Facebook jail.” Nate sounded pleased with himself. “You know, when you post too much and you get locked out.”

  “That’s never happened to me.”

  “Then you’re using Facebook wrong.” There was a flurry of typing on Nate’s end, and then he made a satisfied noise. “Okay, I’ve locked you out of all systems. You can’t log on from home, so don’t even think about it.”

  What. The fuck. “I wasn’t going to try,” Jack said tightly, “but I resent you preventing me like I’m a liability.”

  “You’re a liability to yourself, at least. Come on, Jack. You can have admin privileges back when Channon tells me you can, and not a second sooner.”

  “When Channon says so?”

  “Yep.” Nate popped the ‘p’ like a teenager, and it made Jack want to grab him and shake him. “I trust Channon not to tell me you’re okay to go back to work until you’ve cleared it with your doctor.”

  “I could just order Channon to tell you that,” Jack said, flopping down on the sofa and covering his eyes with one hand. It was dim in the living room, but this conversation was making his head ache. “He’d do it, no question.”

  “But if I asked him if you’d ordered him, he’d tell me. He’s no liar.”

  “I could order him not to.”

  “Would you really put your precious baby angel in that position? Making him lie for you? Jack, I’m shocked.”

  He didn’t sound shocked. Maybe because he knew Jack didn’t mean it.

  Jack blew out a breath, exasperated beyond belief. “So, you’re going to run interference with my staff and my boyfriend to keep me safe from imagined harm, is that it? What happened to my agency?”

  “You lost it when you went and got yourself clocked in the head,” Nate said, sounding far too cheerful about it for Jack’s liking. “I’m only looking out for the shareholders by keeping our intrepid CEO out of peril.”

  “What about just a little bit of peril?” Jack asked, smiling despite himself. Fucking hell, Nate.

  “No, it’s unhealthy.”

  “Fine.” Jack heaved a sigh, sinking into the sofa cushions. Tired again. Maybe Nate had a point. “I’ll call back in a week with an update.”

  “That sounds great! Want some company? Ewan can take Channon out for walkies, and we can drink horrible herbal tea and reminisce about how great it used to be to get drunk.”

  “Actually, that sounds pretty good right about now,” Jack admitted. “Definitely come over. Bring crullers.”

  “Fuck, you really are unwell. Yeah, I’ll do that. See you Saturday?”

  “I can’t wait.”

  He hung up. Goddammit. Saturday was three days away. What the fuck was he supposed to do until then?

  Nap, he supposed, pulling a cushion over his eyes. Nap and be useless.

  “Okay, Google,” he sighed, tilting his head so his phone could hear him. “Open podcast manager and play Wolf 359.”

  He’d been enjoying it so far. Space antics and surrealism, and a mad scientist who was almost certainly evil. The mad scientist was his favorite character so far, which probably said a lot about him.

  He drifted, listening with his eyes closed. He must have slept a little because he was suddenly aware that he was awake, and Channon was sitting on the floor next to him, tapping away at his laptop.

  “Sweetheart,” Jack breathed.

  Channon stopped tapping immediately. The soft click of the laptop lid was followed by a dull thunk as Channon put it on the coffee table. “Hey. You okay?”

  “Just peachy,” Jack said, blinking his eyes open. Channon had been sitting in near darkness, the lights down low for Jack and his lingering sensitivity, and it made Jack feel both cosseted and frustrated. He wasn’t supposed to be this fragile. Channon was supposed to be able to rely on him, to let Jack be strong for him.

  He wasn’t supposed to sound worried when he asked Jack how he was, nor was he supposed to look quite so anxious as he examined Jack’s face in the dim light.

  “How are you doing?” Jack asked. “Coping okay?”

  Channon nodded, and Jack caught his hand, squeezing his fingers before lifting them to his mouth to kiss the tips of them.

  “You can tell me if anything’s worrying you. I don’t want you to worry.”

  “I’m not worried…I mean, it’s not the kind of worry that’s, you know. Justified.” But Channon looked pinched and Jack didn’t like being the cause of that in this way. “I just want you to get better, Sir. I’ll do anything I can to help.”

  “I’m getting better, it’s just slower than I’d like.” Jack tried to contain his exasperation, but his patience was thin after days of empty idleness. “I’m bored, Channon. Dad always said, ‘Only boring people get bored,’ so I guess I’m boring now.”

  “You’re not boring,” Channon said loyally. “Do you want to play Dominion?”

  “No,” Jack groaned, and the disappointed look on Channon’s face made him regret it. “Sweetheart, it’s not that I don’t want to play with you. I really, really want to play with you,” and he ran a finger under Channon’s chin to make his point. “You must be going a little stir crazy too, huh?”

  Channon shrugged, lowering his gaze. “I don’t mind. I get to be near you, Sir.”

  It was sweet, even if Jack didn’t entirely believe him. Poor Channon was putting a good face on it, but Jack knew he was suffering. No play. No orgasms either—Jack realized with a shock that he’d never lifted that particular restriction. God, Channon must have been losing his mind.

  “Hey, how about we take a bath?” Jack suggested.

  Channon wrinkled his nose. “A naked bath?”

  “You’d rather keep your pants on?”

  “No, just…the doctor said ‘no sex’, Sir,” and Channon looked so utterly miserable about it that Jack couldn’t help his chuckle.

  “I’m not planning anything strenuous, don’t worry. Just you, me, and some bubbles. Okay?”

  Channon nodded. “Okay, Sir. Want me to run the water?”

  “Yeah, go do that for me.” Jack pushed himself upright as Channon thundered off up the stairs, testing out his equilibrium. He felt good. A lot better. Maybe good enough to see
the doctor tomorrow and demand a medical certificate or something. Not working was driving him insane. Another week of it and he might do himself an injury.

  (And if he wasn’t better? If he didn’t get better? What then?)

  When Channon called him upstairs, Jack found the air thick with steam, the tub piled with bubbles. There were candles burning along the edge of the sink. The soft notes of one of the gentler pieces from the Skyrim soundtrack spilled from a speaker Channon had set high up on a shelf out of harm’s way.

  Jack felt the same old rush of affection for him. “Sweetheart, this is perfect.” He pulled Channon in to kiss the back of his neck. “Come on, get your clothes off.”

  The water was just hot enough to make him glad it wasn’t any hotter. Jack sunk down into the great damp clouds of bubbles with a groan, leaning back and breathing long and slow as the heat soaked into him. Then he helped Channon in, settling his boy’s back against his chest, arms wrapping around him. Channon sighed and leaned into him, tucking his brow against Jack’s jaw.

  “Better, sweetheart?” Jack murmured, stroking along Channon’s belly.

  “Uh-huh. Am I crushing you?”

  Jack scored his nails against Channon’s skin. “I’m not made of glass, Channon.”

  “I know, I just—”

  “You don’t have to worry about me.”

  Channon was quiet for a moment. Jack told himself it was just because he was enjoying the water, but then, so soft Jack only just caught it— “I did, though. Worry about you. If anything happened to you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

  Two thoughts fired in Jack’s brain almost simultaneously: one, that if their positions had been reversed, Jack would almost certainly have gone out of his mind sitting next to that hospital bed. But that was because Channon was vulnerable, soft and breakable, and Jack did not see himself that way. Not quite invulnerable, not really, but the idea that anything permanent could happen to him…no. That just wasn’t possible.

  But the second thought was that, if the worst had truly happened, then Channon really would have been left with nothing.

  I need to change my will.

  The thought of it tightened something in his chest. He pressed his mouth to Channon’s temple, tasting his wet skin and the salt of it. If anything happened to him, he needed to know that Channon would be taken care of, and that no one could take from him what he deserved, what he had earned with his devotion, pure and simple.

  “I’m sorry,” Jack said, centering himself in the moment. He held Channon close, kissing his face. “Let me make it up to you.”

  He found Channon half hard under the water and smiled because Channon was predictable—or his body was, anyway. Channon had gone without and now his cock rose easily to the occasion, thickening in Jack’s palm with the barest slide of skin.

  “Sir,” Channon hiccupped, sounding almost scandalized. Jack shushed him, kissing his cheek, but Channon tried to wriggle away from him. “Sir, you’re not supposed to.”

  “I’m just going to play with you a little bit.”

  “Sir,” Channon whined, and Jack slipped a hand around his throat, holding him still.

  “I know what I’m doing, Channon,” he said, firm this time. “I’m going to play with your cock, and if you’re a very good boy I’ll let you come, but if you whine at me about it then I’ll just torture you until the water goes cold and leave you wanting for another week and a half.” He latched his fingers around Channon’s balls, squeezing them in a threat. “Can you manage that? Three whole weeks’ worth of come building up in you. I think you’ll overflow in the middle of the night, mess the sheets like a teenager.”

  Channon’s breath was rough in his throat. Jack saw his tongue flicker across his lip. “I am a teenager, Sir.”

  “That’s right. Do you want to do that? See how long you can go before you disgrace yourself?”

  “No, Sir.”

  “Then are you going to hold still for me?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  Jack grinned. “Good boy.” He kissed Channon’s cheek, loosening his grip to let his hands roam over Channon’s torso. “I think I know my limits, Channon. I’m not going to cross them.”

  He traced a finger over Channon’s cock, just to see it jump in the water. “Ah! Yes, Sir.”

  “And I think you know better than to argue with me.”

  Channon nodded, sinking against him, letting himself go loose, taffy-like and pliant. “Yes, Sir.”

  Jack teased him for a while, reveling in the feel of his boy in his arms. Channon took it as well as could be expected—he moaned, twisting himself up into Jack’s palm by infinitesimal fractions, forgetting himself long enough to grind down in Jack’s lap. Jack realized Channon was trying to get the head of Jack’s dick up in his cleft and he chuckled, slipping a hand down between Channon’s thighs.

  “You need a little help, sweetheart?” he murmured, tickling the shell of Channon’s ear with his lips as he brushed a fingertip over Channon’s hole.

  “Please,” Channon begged, his cock straining in Jack’s hand. “Sir, please, please can I?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, show me, sweetheart.” Jack didn’t speed his strokes, kept them the same agonizingly slow pull, but he pressed up into Channon, feeling him give way under the intrusion, his body hungry for something to fill it, and Channon arched up, slopping water out of the bath as he came. There was so much of it, so much pressure that Jack felt it land on his lip, a streak of it across his mouth, and it made him laugh because—fuck. It was Channon. It was hot. Jack wanted to fuck him so badly that he almost said, Fuck it, but no, no, he couldn’t do that.

  He wanted to. Channon was wet and slippery and gasping in his arms as he shuddered through his aftershocks. How could Jack resist such a beautiful, wonderful thing?

  But he did. He watched Channon come down, stroking him through it, and then he washed the evidence of Channon’s climax from their skin with gentle sweeps of his hands.

  Channon’s kisses were so sweet after, and so was the way he clung to Jack’s side once the bath was over, nuzzling into him as Jack rubbed him down with a towel. They ate dinner on the sofa, and then Channon put on a comedy special with the picture turned off, and Jack tried not to resent being trapped here, cut off from the rest of the world.

  He had Channon. Channon was enough, surely? But Channon was going back to work tomorrow, and Jack would be alone again.

  It would be fine. Jack sighed and tried to ignore the nagging itch behind his eyeball. He was going to be all right. It would just take time.

  Chapter Three

  In the night, Channon woke alone. It was the kind of waking where it felt almost like a hand rocking him awake—he was suddenly alert, his heart thundering, but there was no one there.

  No one on Jack’s side of the bed, either. Channon put a hand out to feel the covers. Cold, where they’d been thrown back. How long had Jack been gone?

  He pushed himself up and slid to the floor. He was wearing boxer shorts, an old pair he’d brought with him from Kingston, loose blue cotton things. Normally he slept naked, but since Jack had come home from the hospital it had felt weird, when they weren’t supposed to be doing anything ‘energetic’.

  The ambient temperature was warm enough he didn’t bother getting dressed—he’d never felt game enough to argue with Jack about saving electricity by turning off the heating at night. It was dark in the bedroom and on the landing, and the living room was painted with the dim, silver-blue light of the city through the clear glass of the windows. It rendered the familiar furniture alien, the sofa a lurking mass with the coffee table squatting alongside, the dining table and chairs a stark skeleton bathed in shadow.

  He’d expected to find Jack on the sofa drinking tea or listening to something, but he wasn’t there. Channon couldn’t see him on the deck, either, but it was dark. Jack could have been hidden in the shadows.

  Something twanged in Channon’s chest. What if he’d had a dizzy spell and fallen som
ewhere? What if he’d fallen in the pool, and—

  He had the door open in a flash, and the cold hit him like a fist. The late fall wind was knife-like, raking him with icy talons. He shuddered, bringing his arms up to his chest, but he had to look. He had to be sure.

  The pool was full, the water whipped into waves that glistened under the city lights. There were no dark shadows in it, no floating mass, none of the horrible things Channon’s mind had made up for him from snippets of late-night crime shows. He shivered, his skin all over goosebumps, and he made himself walk out across the deck, made himself check the outdoor setting before going back inside.

  Out of the cold, he didn’t feel any better. Where was Jack? The downstairs bathroom was unoccupied. He wasn’t in the weights room. The playroom was empty and the upstairs bathroom too. Channon checked them all, his chest growing tighter and tighter. Jack was gone. Gone where? Had he taken his phone?

  He turned—and whacked his knee into the doorframe hard enough it dizzied him. “Fuck!”

  “Channon?”

  Channon clutched at his kneecap and hobbled into the room that had used to be his bedroom. “Sir?”

  Jack was lying on the spare bed in the dark. He leaned up on one elbow as Channon came in. “Don’t turn on the light.”

  So he was still sensitive. Channon dropped to the rug, relief flooding over him. “Are you okay?”

  “Yes,” Jack said curtly, but he lay back down at once. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking for you,” Channon said. “What are you doing?”

  Jack sighed, as if this was all very tedious. “Just a headache. I needed some space. I didn’t think you’d wake up.”

  Space. From Channon. In their bed. The thought of it made Channon uneasy, but he nodded. “If you want, I can sleep in here. If you need space while you’re recovering.”

  “I don’t,” Jack protested, and he sounded so frustrated. “You don’t have to do everything for me. I can take care of myself.”