the anatomy of love [BxB] COMPLETED

36

The doorbell to the apartment rings. Jackson doesn't remember ordering anything, or the others mentioning a package delivery.

And speaking of the others....Caleb and Lauren shouldn't be back soon. They just left for a special candle lit dinner for his birthday half an hour ago. Jackson opens the door.

He stops, hand on the wall for support.

"Wes?" Jackson asks, and it sounds like a whisper.

"Obviously." Yep, that's him. His boss, Weston Sawyer, stands on the dirty welcome mat in front of his apartment, a single red rose in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. The shock is so overwhelming that Jackson can't even feel the anger he's harbored these past few days.

"What are you doing here?" Jackson asks, perplexed. "Is that a rose? And wine?"

"Stunning observations." Wes stands absolutely rigid, and Jackson realizes he probably wants to come in. Wordlessly he steps to the side, motioning for Wes to come inside. After a cursory glance down the hallways, Wes walks into his apartment.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Which one?"

"Stop. You didn't talk to me for days and then you drop by my apartment out of the blue. I get to know why you're here," Jackson says, his anger kindling again like feeling coming back to numb limbs.

"I wanted to see you," Wes says, factually. He holds out the rose and the wine and Jackson takes them reluctantly. "Call it seduction and be done with it."

This boils his anger even more. "Oh is that what this is? Seduction?"

"Yes," Wes says with perfect calmness. "What else could it be?"

And there lies the trap, and Jackson almost fell face first into it, like a complete fool. He grits his teeth and walks to the kitchen, not looking to see if Wes follows him.

Just like that, all the questions Jackson had slip away like sand in the wind.

"I couldn't contact you," Wes says, and his voice is softer.

Jackson looks up from the pale grey counter, where the rose and bottle of wine lay, and in this dim lighting paint a seductive crime scene.

"Sofia was keeping tabs on me once she found out," Wes continues. "I had to get her off my back."

"Is she your girlfriend?" Jackson asks.

"Yes," Wes deadpans. "I fuck her right after I fuck you. Happy?"

Jackson tries not to flinch, but he's not sure he's successful. "Then what is she? Because she sure seems to think she holds a lot of power over what you do in your free time."

"She's..." Wes sighs, as if he's giving something away that he didn't want to part with. "Like a sister. She's like a sister to me."

"You have a sister?" Jackson asks, incredulous. Wes has always been an only child to him.

"Like a sister. I grew up with her." Wes looks pained. "With her family. They took me in when I was young."

"When you came out?" Jackson asks, and it's starting to make sense.

"Yes," Wes says reluctantly. "My dad kicked me out."

Jackson stares, stunned. He's heard of countless stories where kids come out and their parents kick them out. But since it didn't happen to him, he just assumed a lot of kids got accepted like him.

Yet here was someone whose parents kicked their child out on the streets to fend for themselves. He sees the wall of ice flaring in Wes's eyes, the tightened grimace, sharp jaw clenched, eternally bracing for a blow. Jackson feels the leather straps on his wrists, the utter control and dominance Wes exerts like no other. And then he thinks of Charlie, the football player, Robin, Hunter, and all the boys in between that twisted in his embrace and who he let slip away, effortlessly, a kiss blown into the air with no hope it will be received.

Jackson uncorks the wine and grabs two glasses. "My room," he says.

"I don't want pity," Wes says, the words choppy and forced. He didn't want to say it, but he needed to, all the same. Jackson understands.

"Trust me," Jackson replies quietly, glancing at the rose on the counter, the red slowly bleeding to a bruised purple without water. "It's not pity."

☆★☆

"Do you always top?" Jackson asks, the wine singing sweet tunes in his veins.

Wes rests back against a pillow, completely naked. He brings his glass of wine to his lips, almost empty, and drains it in a long tilt of his head.

"No."

"A man of few words, aren't you," Jackson says with a teasing smile.

"Quite," Wes says. He pauses to trace his finger along Jackson's arm, down to his wrist, which he circles tightly in his hand. "No, I do not always top." His eyes flick up to Jackson's, a white glint in the blue like sunlight glancing off a sharp sword.

"Can I?" Jackson asks, his breath already shortening in anticipation.

"Can you what?"

Jackson rolls his eyes. "Can I fuck you?"

Wes holds his gaze, squeezing his wrist even tighter until Jackson feels his pulse pounding against Wes's fingers. He brings Jackson's wrist up to his lips, only to bite the tender underside.

"Yes."

He places Jackson's hand on his belly, right above the thin line of dark hair that dusts his navel. Their eyes stay locked.

It's not the first time Jackson has topped. In fact, he's usually on top with everyone he hooks up with. But with Wes...

Jackson wraps his arms around Wes's abdomen and pulls him close, feeling his way to an unfamiliar destination. They kiss tenderly, but Jackson moves roughly, picking up a rhythm like waves crashing against cliffs. He's eager, so eager to know...

It's the same sex, like drinking wine will always heat your skin and warm your chest, but then it's also different, like he's having sex for the first time, getting drunk for the first time. Somehow, while he's moving inside of Wes, his mouth biting a red, wet mess down his neck just to hear Wes groan his name in warning, he feels like every kiss, every thrust of his hips, every moaned Wes from his own lips, takes a part of Jackson and gives it away, and he feels the sounds and touches sink into Wes's skin like melted butter.

"Please," Jackson whispers, because he's got it all wrong, all this time, and somehow Jackson is on top but Wes has his heart pinned down right next to his wrists.

"Look at me, love," Wes says, holding Jackson's gaze with a firm hand under his chin. "Look at me while you fuck me."

Jackson looks and looks into those eyes that hold an entire ocean and when Wes sighs as he comes Jackson cannot hold back a cry as he collapses into those strong arms that hold him close.

He doesn't open his eyes until the sensation of falling, falling, falling goes away.