the anatomy of love [BxB] COMPLETED

40

Jackson giggles and he blushes at how ridiculous he sounds, even to his very not sober ears. "We won play offs today."

"Ah."

"I love margaritas."

"Oh do you?"

"And I love―"

Wes places a gentle hand over Jackson's mouth. "Better keep quiet, love."

That's all it takes for Jackson to melt into his touch, snuggling his face in the crook of Wes's neck, inhaling the subtle cologne he can identify a mile away. He can't even hold back a hum of contentment when a hand settles familiarly on his lower back.

"I think we should go home," Wes says softly. He leads Jackson to his car parked a little down the road, an arm wrapped firmly around his waist. Jackson wonders how he didn't notice the car before, or even hear Wes walk up to him.

Jackson stays silent as they drive, preferring to watch the lights of oncoming cars shine briefly on Wes's face, sharpening the angle of his cheek, highlighting the flickering muscle in his jaw, glittering the depths of his blue eyes like sunshine bouncing off the waves of the sea.

The car pulls into a driveway slowly, the engine purring smoothly to a stop. Jackson always loved this car, the plush leather seats, the darkness inside like another time and space separate from the outside. The bold lines and soft edges always reminded him of Wes and the brief moments they spent here together.

"Can you walk?" Wes asks. Jackson nods. The quiet, almost contemplative drive under the night sky had sobered his mind somewhat.

They walk together up a flight of stairs and Jackson realizes they went back to Wes's apartment. But of course they did. I think we should go home. His pulse flutters like a bird ruffling its wings, the echoing of multiple memories cascading in his blood along with something new, something hesitant and shy and warm, newborn and not ready to fly, but eager to learn.

"You should eat," Wes says, closing the apartment door behind him and walking to the kitchen. Jackson smiles, remembering how small the place felt the first time he was here. Which was also the last time he was here. The smile falters. "Toast with butter?"

"Yes." Jackson's voice is small. He feels like a child. "You don't have to take care of me."

Wes pauses, then resumes dropping a slice of bread into the toaster. He grabs a small glass from the cupboard above him, pours in water from the fridge, and hands it to Jackson. "Drink."

There's no point arguing. Jackson takes a sip of the water, watching Wes carefully place his elbows on the counter, looking at Jackson intently.

"My mother's best friend growing up was Sofia's mother," Wes says, and he's looking at Jackson but not really looking at him, and Jackson understands he wants both of them to venture into the past. "I never really knew the family. Might have met them once or twice, but when I was younger. Even though we both lived in San Francisco, where Sofia and I grew up, we never crossed paths until high school."

"You grew up in NorCal?" Jackson asks, bewildered. How had he not known this?

Wes gives him a withering look. "Yes. The Bay Area, solidly middle class. I wasn't supposed to be anything other than what my parents were, but I had plans. In high school, I was smart and spoke my mind. I had a couple friends. A boyfriend, even."

"Really?" Jackson asks before he can stop himself.

"In secret." Wes sighs. "In my second year of high school I ran for class president, to practice my leadership skills. My opponent was the star quarterback, and running purely on popularity. Somehow I managed to gain supporters. I think a rumor circulating around at the time that he had cheated on his girl friend worked in my favor. But the quarterback, he couldn't lose to someone like me, not popular, trying to be a real leader. He didn't want someone else to steal the show. So he tried to dig up something about me that he could turn into a nasty rumor. I don't think he was really trying to find something, or didn't expect to. But he didn't have to look hard."