Page 16 of Jack Frosting

Through the darkness, I heard my name.

“Clayton? It’s time for bed.”

Mmm…I like that. A man inviting me to bed.

“I’m the big spoon,” I mumbled.

I heard a laugh, then, “If that’s what you want, but I think I’d crush you in this position.”

I went to roll over, but I couldn’t. Opening my eyes showed me that I was still on the couch and Jack was standing in front of me, arms crossed over his broad chest.

“Did you know you talk in your sleep? I’m gonna start calling you big spoon.”

I stood up, slowly. “I wasn’t sure I said that out loud, but thanks for confirming. Who won the game?” The television was off.

“Vikings,” he said with a smile. “I’m still expected to win.”

“Good.” I gave his shoulder a squeeze as I passed him and Jack unexpectedly grabbed my hand.

“Thanks for taking care of me today.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay. You take it easy at the gym tomorrow.”

“Will do, big spoon. G’night.”

I made for the hallway as quickly as I could, hopeful he didn’t see my blush. I couldn’t believe I had said that in my sleep. He was on Grindr; he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Not that I was either, but if I was being honest, I didn’t really know what I was looking for.

Up the stairs, Henry’s door was shut and I couldn’t see any lights on, so I headed to the master suite and got ready for bed. My thoughts eventually drifted back to Jack lying on the floor, shorts halfway down his thighs, and my hand drifted down my stomach and slipped under the waistband of my boxers. I was half-hard already, so after a few strokes, I was ready to go for it.

I grabbed my shirt from the floor and laid it on my pillow, then crawled onto the bed. On my knees, facing the pillow, I started pumping, eyes closed. I imagined Jack’s shorts completely off and the beautiful muscles underneath. As my hand moved faster, an image of a tight hairless hole came to me and I lost it. I watched each spurt paint the shirt, quivering as the last drops dribbled out.

With my breath heavy and my mind mush, I wiped the head of my dick, folded the shirt, and dropped it on the floor. I slipped off the bed and over to the mini fridge to grab a bottle of water. Sleep was going to come without a problem tonight.

My routine the next morning was what it had been the first few weeks of school: wake up before Henry, make an elaborate breakfast while telling him to get up at least three times, watch him grab a Pop-Tart on the way out the door, and eat breakfast alone.

It wasn’t until I heard the creak of the basement door that I realized Jack was still home and still wearing sweatpants. But no shirt.

“Is this what I’ve been missing?” he asked as he poured himself a coffee. “Do you make this every morning?”

I shrugged and tried not to stare at his hairless pecs, randomly pushing the already perfectly-cooked scrambled eggs around the skillet. “I always go big on Fridays. The rest of the week it’s usually eggs and toast.”

“Suddenly I feel like changing my work hours.”

I knew he was kidding. A lot of his clients worked out before heading into work themselves.

“I’m glad you took the morning off.”

“Just enjoying more time with the big spoon of the house.”

A chuckle escaped my throat. “I guess I’m not living that one down, am I?”

“Not as long as I live here.” His attention diverted to the platter beside me. “Oh wow, I haven’t had a pancake in so long.”

“I don’t even want to know how long,” I said. “I’m sure it’s too depressing. Please tell me that means you’ll have one.”

“I was gonna have two.”

I jumped for the second time in as many days – Jack was so close behind me – which elicited another apology from him. He also squeezed my shoulders.