The Magpie's Death

Dada Jack (1)

Jack was pinned to the bed under a heavy frame, caged between large knees and muscular thighs. Lips and tongue cut off any attempt at speech. Taking in his scent, letting it rise into his head and cloud his mind, Sam's hand crept under Jack's shirt and his fingers crawled their way toward the collar.

He had honestly come to finish their conversation, but his body became hot and tense as soon as he shut the bedroom door behind him. Now his shirt lay crumpled on the floor only two steps from the doorway and he desperately wanted Jack's to join it.

Finally, he knew what this was and had made the decision to give in to it. Without that forced control, the wave of emotions he'd been suppressing broke free and flooded his senses. Among them was an uncontrollable heat and the desire – no, the need – to be close to Jack. To taste him and feel him and breathe him in. It wasn't their first time doing this, but tonight was something he'd never felt before. He couldn't describe it. It was more like an instinct than an emotion and every part of him wanted every part of Jack.

Pulling away, Jack took a breath and pushed against his shoulders. "Wait..."

Sam obeyed, even though his heart was racing and he could feel the heat spreading through his body, urging him on.

"I thought we were gonna talk first."

"Does the order matter?" he asked, kissing Jack's cheek, then his ear. He wasn't in the mood to talk. He wasn't even sure he was capable right now.

Jack shook his head, but continued to stop his advances. "It doesn't, but... I'm worried..."

Hesitating at those words, Sam's eyes softened. "Why? Is something wrong?" Whatever his body was telling him, Jack was the last person he wanted to hurt. "Did I do something wrong last time?"

"No, that's not what I mean." There was a long pause, Jack searching for a way to explain. "I mean... You really don't like that woman?"

Sam let out a small huff. "Does it help to know that sometimes, when she was rambling on, I would eye her neck and think of how easily it would snap in my hands?"

"WHAT?" Jack's eyes widened for a second, then he sighed in frustration. "Don't say something like that to anyone else."

Sam only nodded, still waiting for Jack to tell him why he was worried. He might not be afraid of him or his past, but that didn't mean he didn't have fears. They hid behind forced smiles and kind eyes, but they were still there. And they had nothing to do with Michelle.

"You aren't gay, are you?" Jack finally asked, shying away at his own question.

It wasn't something Sam had even considered. He'd never been particularly attracted to men, but he'd never been particular attracted to anyone.

"I don't think so," he answered. He was thirty years old. If he were gay, he probably would have found at least one other man attractive by now.

"Then why..." Again, Jack paused. The anxiety covered his freckles in a warm pink and wrinkled his brow. "We... We were really drunk last time, and you said it was a mistake. If you don't like men... What if you don't like it this time?"

Sam squinted at him, not sure why he would say something like that. "That's not why it was a mistake. Why wouldn't I like it?"

"Because... you don't like men."

"What? I didn't say that."

He still didn't understand. Jack had lived a different life, one that created insecurities he couldn't comprehend. He would probably never know what that was like. Among his many possible worries, this was one of the few things he was completely sure of.

"Maybe you're confused. I don't care that you're a man. If you were a woman, if you were neither, I would still want you." He leaned down and gave Jack a long kiss. "If it makes you more comfortable to think I'm gay, you can do that."

"But liking someone as a person and being sexually attracted to them, to their body..." Jack swallowed and his gaze drifted to the side. "It's different."

"It isn't for me." It wasn't something he knew how to explain. He just felt it and he only felt it with Jack. "I guess I'll have to prove it to you."

Sliding down on the mattress, Sam lifted Jack's shirt, his mouth moving from chest to waist. Then he reached for his belt. Chaos started to overwhelm the calm again and his fingers picked at his button and pulled at his zipper. He could only think of one way to show he was being sincere.

"What are you doing?" Jack cried, his pitch sharp and his voice cracking.

Sam paused for only a moment to look up. "You wanted to know how I feel about your body, so I'm showing you."

That was the last speaking either of them did. Jack was too busy trying to keep the sounds low so his sister didn't hear. Any reservations he'd had were gone, thrown to the wind, along with his clothes and any remaining rational thought.