Page 17 of Flight of the Omega

VIII

JP woke witha throbbing headache and cursed himself for being so brainless. His mouth was drier than a desert; his vision danced double as his head pounded. He felt sick.

He needed something to eat or drink. Maybe both. Instead, he shuddered and wrapped his arms tighter around himself, curling into the fetal position.

His back hurt.Everythinghurt—his lungs ached, cramps crawling up his spine, and he wasn’t sure if the headache was vibrating down or the pressure of heat was scaling his nerve endings, climbing right into his brain.

He was pretty sure it didn’t matter.

He tried to unfurl, stretching into the yawning ache. Beside him, something stirred, and he froze, panic lodging at the back of his throat when a hand landed on his shoulder.

Stubble against his neck, warm breath on his skin, and his heart was going to hammer right out of his ribcage. His brain was short-circuiting on the wordno; it was the only thing he knew—a protest, an instruction.

“You okay there, Cerulean?”

Jack’s voice was whisper-soft; his hand traced a hypnotic circle on JP’s shoulder. JP stared at the wall for a moment more, then blinked hard, forcing himself back to the here and now.

He was at Midlothian. In his room, with Jack, of his own accord. There were no doctors, no lab; his father was nowhere to be found. Just them and the quiet sunshine of the winter morning.

He shuddered, but the tension lessened a little; his heart started to slow, and the vise grip on his chest loosened a little more, letting him inhale deeply.

He turned to face Jack, whose gaze was steady, calm. Patient. There was something in his eyes that said he’d wait forever, and JP flipped himself over and pressed his face against the ranch hand’s shoulder, letting Jack envelope him with strong arms.

Safe. He was safe. Safesafesafe—

“Bad dream?” Jack asked, raking a hand through JP’s copper locks. The touch was gentle, but JP lifted his head like he was compelled.

“Yeah,” he agreed breathlessly, then squeezed himself in tighter. He liked the way Jack held him—tight, like if he let go, JP was going to fall apart.

It took him a minute longer to work out they were naked. Or, well, he was naked. Jack was mostly undressed, except the soft cotton of his boxer-briefs, which whispered against JP’s skin where they were pressed together.

He glanced down, suddenly embarrassed.

“Hey,” Jack said, hooking two fingers under JP’s chin. “What’s that about? We didn’t do anything. I’m not gonna touch you without you asking for it, hm?”

JP met the ranch hand’s steady gaze. That was more consideration than he’d been given before. Jack blinked, then averted his own gaze, maybe in surprise or embarrassment. “’Sides,” he mumbled, “I think you need to have something to drink before we think about anything else.”

His hand grazed absently over JP’s hip, down his thigh, and JP could have crowed with victory. Despite his misgivings, his resistance, Jack was interested. Even if it was just for sex.

JP leaned up, seeking Jack’s lips, disappointed when Jack pulled back. It took almost everything he had to keep it together.

He’d never been kissed. He’d never thought much about it before—didn’t have much interest in it, really, because it wasn’t really an Alerian thing—but none of his previous … partners … had the courtesy to pretend like they were interested inhimat all. They’d just shoved him face down and had their way with him. Just another body, another accommodating hole.

He wanted Jack to kiss him, wanted it more than anything else Jack could offer him, like it was some kind of symbol, a promise—a sign that Jack cared about him, even a little bit, just the tiniest fraction, to give him the courtesy of …

“Water,” Jack grumbled, rolling himself out of bed, “and you gotta brush your teeth or rinse with some mouthwash or something.” He tossed JP a backward glance.

JP flushed. “Oh.”

Jack sighed, then wrestled himself into his jeans. “Bet I’m not much better,” he muttered. “Wait here.” He glanced around the room, maybe looking for a clock. “I’ll see if I can rustle us up something to eat.”

JP didn’t have much of an appetite, but he said, “Okay.”

Waiting for Jack to come back was agony. He tried to distract himself, but it was impossible. The minutes ticked by, each one growing interminably longer, stretching into an eternity, and Jack was never coming back. He’d wanted to stop JP’s panic attack and that was it, that was all. JP was a dumbass for believing him, thinking he could want anything from him, he—

The door clicked open. “Well,” Jack said, “it ain’t much, but—”

He paused, and they stared at each other for a second. “The hell are you doing?” Jack asked finally.