bad expectations | jfg

70

I leave in four hours.

I bite my thumbnail as I stare at Jack sleeping; like the creep I am.

Mr. Johnson is on stage II of his lung cancer. I don't know much about what he has been going through, but he is getting better; which everyone is happy about.

Hopefully it will all cease while Johnson and I are back in New York, away from Jack.

I look down at my bare legs as the thought passes my mind again. I want to do something productive with him today considering it's been two days since our actual date. But, we only have four hours and I really need to get back to Johnson's house so I can pack my little things back up and get dressed and out of here.

As I'm about to open my mouth to say his name, a thought passes my mind. 

Only four hours.

Waking Jack up from a deep slumber is tough, and frustrating. He gets immediately cranky, and that's a known fact. I miss having to nudge his shoulder and mumble his name, nothing about the two of us getting up in the morning has ever been cute; but I want to try something.

Butterflies hit the walls of my stomach at the thought but I have been acting different this past week. Well, with this stuff anyways.

When I lightly grab the comforter that lay right across Jack's insanely gorgeous hips, he shifts slightly, but not much. He's a very heavy sleeper, but I'm sure that this will wake him up.

My cheeks are already red and he isn't even up yet, his plaid boxers are loose across his skinny legs as I get off the bed momentarily.

Jesus Christ.

I take a breath for myself as I move the big blanket all the way to my side of the bed, not touching Jack at all. He looks so young and peaceful when he sleeps; he always has a natural frown covering his lips.

Anyways.

I put one of my knees in between his legs that are marginally speed apart, bending down towards the thin material. This should be interesting.

I scrunch my nose up in concentration and nervousness, a slight laugh slipping from my mouth as I slide his blue flanneled boxers down his legs.

His thighs seem to tense when the chill of his air conditioning hits him, and I bite my lip to keep yet another laugh in. Why am I laughing? It's not that funny. Right?

I put both of my knees on the bed, bending over his legs as I take him in my hand.

His eyes stay closed, but his eyebrows pull together. His hips shift around slightly, goosebumps rising all along his stomach.

Woah.

With an amused grin on my face, my eyes watch his mouth fall open as I slide my hand up, and down. A breath releases from his nose and I begin to wonder what his dream has changed to, I hope I'm in it.

When I wipe my thumb over the small drip he has already let out, his tan stomach sucks all the way in, showing the bumps of his ribs. 

I continue my assault with a shy smile on my face, beginning to grow more curious as to what his reaction will be when he wakes up. 

He looks helpless and timid as I stroke him up and down since he's not even awake, it's really different and really hot. He's just squirming under my hand, his shoulders lifting up and down.

When I reach down to lick him, a small, little whimper escapes from his now open lips.

I wait a few moments before wrapping my entire mouth around him. We haven't don't this in months, and before that we hadn't done it in a year. I missed it, I bet he has too.