the anatomy of love [BxB] COMPLETED

25

He allows himself a few more moments of silence and darkness to recover before facing Mr. Sawyer again. The intensity just minutes ago fades quickly, all too quickly, and the coldness that follows as the sweat cools on his skin brings a faint edge of annoyance, almost resentment.

    With a grunt, Jackson forces himself off the bed, finding his pants and buckling himself up as fast as his hands allow, ignoring the slight tremble in his fingers as they have trouble buttoning the fly. His shirt is nowhere to be found, but then he remembers he left it in the foyer, when Mr. Sawyer told him to take it off.

    Mr. Sawyer... the foyer...this hotel. Jackson cringes, dreading the awkward dismissal he is bound to receive when he walks to wherever Mr. Sawyer has gone hiding. Maybe to some other room. Maybe this isn't even his bedroom, just one of many guest bedrooms for all the other boys he coldly brings over and demands in bed with leather straps.

    Finally Jackson walks out of the room, just wanting to get it over with. He almost expects Mr. Sawyer to be in his study, working again already, and Jackson will just call an Uber. But when Jackson walks back down the hallway, he sees Mr. Sawyer in the kitchen, pouring hot water from a kettle into two cups.

    Mr. Sawyer looks up when he hears Jackson. "Tea?"

    "Sure." Jackson did not expect this, and it's more unsettling than comforting. He's so used to Mr. Sawyer's cold ambivalence and steady disinterest that basic politeness feels foreign.

    They lapse into a deep silence as Mr. Sawyer steeps the tea cups. Jackson makes his way over to the counter. After a solid minute of staring at the cups, Mr. Sawyer slides one over.

    "Should be ready."

    "Do you always make tea after?" Jackson asks, the question falling from his lips effortlessly. He didn't realize how long the question has been on his mind until now.

    Mr. Sawyer raises an eyebrow. "After what? Sex?"

    Jackson bristles. Mr. Sawyer talks about sex like he talks about filing papers. "Yes. Sex. Do you always give them tea?"

    "Them?"

    "Yes." Jackson wants to scream, but that would be letting Mr. Sawyer win. "The boys you bring here. Is tea, like, your move?"

    "My move," Mr. Sawyer echoes. He pauses. "No. I just felt like having tea tonight. The days are getting colder, and this place hasn't been heated recently."

    Jackson doesn't answer. That's more of an answer than he was hoping to get. In a way, the detailed response doesn't quite satisfy the burning questions in him. He wants to know about the others, what they were like, what they did, where they did it, and whether Mr. Sawyer called them beautiful or not.

    Mr. Sawyer doesn't seem bothered by the silence, or the questions. Like he's done this before. Like Jackson is one of many, and making them tea after strapping them to the bed with leather is just a typical work night.

    "If I didn't know you, I'd be surprised that you're still single." The words leave Jackson's mouth without thinking, but he doesn't regret it. Mr. Sawyer almost smiles, or maybe frowns, it's hard to tell.

    "How old do you think I am?" Mr. Sawyer asks, and Jackson was not expecting that at all.

    "Late twenties, right?"

    Mr. Sawyer smiles, but it's an empty, cold one. "Twenty eight."

    Seven years older than me, Jackson thinks, but doesn't say, because they both know it. Jackson feels so young, suddenly, the not-quite-decade between them like a vast ocean with unexplorable depths.