Work Text:
Brock came awake slowly, to warm early morning sunshine streaming through the window. Consciousness returned delightfully, the small segments of recent memory clicking into place and making him smile before he was fully out from the edge of sleep. There was a heavy arm wrapped over his chest and one big hand resting on his belly.
He was relaxed and felt contented in a way he had not been for a long time. He was waking up in a hotel bed in Arezzo with Jack. Pieces of yesterday flooded back and slotted together, Raffaelo, a confrontation, a confession and an afternoon of make-up sex with Jack.
“Did that gigolo do this? Did he do this to you?” Jack had kept asking, nuzzling, stroking, sucking him off agonizingly slowly, with mind blowing results. Squelching out half a tube of the store-bought lube he had brought with him over his fingers to open him up slowly. Brock suspected it was something vaguely medicinal because it was freezing cold and stung slightly - but not as much as that ‘Silkolene Chain Lube’ stuff Jack had used when he was trying to be all romantic on Brock’s birthday one time. Jack had gone to a lot of effort to make this vacation special and Brock was touched.
The fucking was just right, with the cold edge of the product and Jack’s weight on his body. They were face to face and belly to belly for the first time Brock could remember in a long time.
It was kind of cute that Jack wanted to replicate whatever Raffaelo had done so badly and so precisely. Brock had an urge to be considerate, afterwards, though he was achingly hard again.
“You want to get something to eat and go to that museum?” he offered, lying on his back with Jack heavy-breathing into the side of his neck.
“Fuck that museum. Room service… fuck you instead,” muttered Jack.
This morning, Brock extricated himself carefully from the sleep-heavy arm. He needed the bathroom and he wanted coffee. These things needed to be done and the return to this bed would be something special. He pulled on an old Navy SEAL T-shirt of Jack’s which was crumpled at the end of the bed and padded out of the room.
In the kitchen area of the hotel suite, he brewed coffee in the morning sunshine. He thought of his grandmother, who had been part of the reason for coming here. A lot of things in his life had been influenced by her, he realized. A lot of things he had misunderstood - it hit him with sudden clarity that she would have been happy for him, today. He wished he could speak to her and found himself tearing up for the first time since she died.
He ran his hands over his eyes, automatically suppressing that reaction. He would never get out of the habit of suppressing a lot of things. Breathing in the smell of the fresh coffee, he thought of another time he had awoken in bed with a man and everything changed.
*******
Brock came awake slowly, taking a moment to process that he was in an unfamiliar bed, with the upper half of his face pressed into the hollow of a man’s shoulder. It was uncomfortable, slightly smothering, but that was quickly surpassed by the awareness that he was in actual pain.
He ached all over, which was not a wholly unfamiliar sensation, but he also burned and stung in new, unpleasant ways. He moved his head to investigate. He was naked, and he could see what looked like bites - bruises with tiny hematoma teeth marks - on his chest and abdomen. His cock was half-erect, not unusually when just waking up, but his balls ached and there was something wrong with his ass. Most of the stinging and burning came from there. He twisted slightly to see and there was a trail of dried blood across his left ass cheek, along with what was clearly a light crusting of dried cum.
At that point he remembered that he was in a motel room with Matt, his new boyfriend. They had come here on a date, there had been euphoria and whiskey. Then - then his mind seemed to struggle through images, it was like wading through treacle initially, before the recollections broke through.
There had been a date and then there was a fog. Gaps in the fog revealed the large man, with big, careless fingers, Matt, his beautiful face swimming through tearful vision, hands on Brock’s hips to position and guide him.
“There you go,” Was that to present him for the large man or to soothe Brock? He wanted to think the latter.
“Don’t cry, stupid,” Matt’s face was beautiful, in front of him over the arm of the old couch. It was a beacon guiding him through a fog of pain and shame.
There was just him and Matt, later, on this bed he now found himself in. Matt was gentle and warm, but there was so much pain anyway. Matt had made it seem hot, somehow.
Brock sat upright, now, in the morning and began to ease his legs off the bed. Then there was Matt again, awake as well, reaching out and wrapping those still warm and slightly sweat damp arms around him.
“Morning, baby, where’re you going?”
Brock closed his eyes and focussed on being embraced for a moment. It only took that moment for all the life he remembered to flash by - everything since the day his Nona took him to live with her, which was all he ever wanted to remember clearly. Everything since those times when his dad was long gone and his mom was destroying herself. When his Nona often looked sad (his mom was her daughter) but having Brock around to care for gave her renewed life. Brock had lived with his Nona all the time after that - his mom hadn’t even tried to clean up her act and get him back before she overdosed just after his eighth birthday. Brock had gone on to stress his Nona in his teens with his juvenile delinquent crap, but she was thrilled when he went in the Army. The one thing he felt sure she would not have been thrilled about was the way he had always had more adolescent fantasies about guys than girls. Brock was sure of it, it was still his one big secret.
Matt had been the same way, he thought, Matt had been gay, too. It had not seemed there was anything wrong with them, it was beautiful and Brock had a boyfriend.
But now he realized he had spent his first date with Matt in a motel room being - being gang raped by a bunch of his friends – guys from their unit. He had been raped. They had called him a faggot and a painslut, but they had not been wrong on either count.
He had not expected that to happen, he had not been that drunk at all - Matt must have done something to his drink because everything came through a blurred filter, hazy, detached images, like being drunk or high.
Matt had finally ‘made love’ to him afterwards, when they had gone. Matt had told him how special and amazing he was. The blurred haze of shock, pain, and whatever Matt had slipped him had made that seem like he was floating on a tranquil ocean of right and calm after the storm of WRONG.
Now, sitting up and edging his feet onto the floor while Matt hugged him tighter - restraining him benignly - everything told Brock to pull away and get out, to report a crime. But only for a moment. Matt sitting up and slipping his arms around him still felt GOOD.
“Where you going?” repeated Matt, a slightly sterner tone edging through the same slightly sing-song voice he had used last night.
“Bathroom,” said Brock, softly, leaning into Matt’s teeth grazing his stubble.
“Okay, we’ll talk after,” said Matt, sliding his arms away. Brock shuffled off the bed, trying to suppress a wince of pain. Like he was ashamed or embarrassed about something which was not his fault or failing. More like he was trying to block out the state he was in because the thought that Matt was the instigator and overall cause of his discomfort was unbearable. He wanted it to be normal, nice, get to the bathroom and return to talk to Matt.
Brock stared at himself in the bathroom mirror some minutes later. There were angry, bruise-like hickeys all the way from his throat to his lower abdomen; there was one on his dick. There was one just under his jaw, which had bled slightly. He pushed and pulled experimentally between his ass cheeks with his fingers.
Sore. Puffy. Stinging, burning. He pulled off some toilet paper, dampened it under the sink faucet and wiped oh so gently. It came away streaky raspberry-pink.
He jumped a little when there was a knock on the bathroom door and Matt was calling him, needing the bathroom too. Brock did not even remember locking it or why he should do so. Matt was his boyfriend, for fuck’s sake…
He let Matt in and struggled with a mixture of needing to shudder and wanting to hold on for comfort as Matt’s body brushed past him in the doorway. Wanting to hold on was the stronger impulse; the other was too much to deal with.
“I’ll - I’ll wait in the bedroom,” muttered Brock, nonetheless. He felt slightly fuzzy and hungover, perhaps that was why his stomach lurched when Matt let his hand slide over Brock’s ass as he passed and gave it a little squeeze. It had to be, anything else was impossible to contemplate.
Brock waited in the tiny motel bedroom. The motel room was a small suite, with a lounge area, a small bathroom/shower and the little bedroom. The wallpaper was old and Brock noticed how the sun had faded an old floral pattern to pastel on the side of the room he faced, curled up on his side to wait for Matt. The other side had a dingy beige background to weirdly brown roses. Judging by that and a lingering cigarette smell, this place had seen decades since it was last redecorated. It was superficially clean enough but old, faded and whatever chintz cheer it had offered a weary traveller had been dulled by time and use.
This motel had been the most romantic thing Brock had experienced when he walked in last night. It was not romantic, it was sordid and Brock was as stained as that couch last night - there would be fresh stains this morning, adding to a pear shaped blot on the couch arm which came into Brock’s mind along with pain and shame.
Brock closed his eyes as he heard Matt coming into the room. Unconsciously he curled up tighter, wishing for a treacherous second that he could remain like this a while longer, just thinking, just trying to piece things together and piece himself back together. He felt fragile and strangely shattered, though he did not want to.
He let himself feel centered and soothed as Matt lay down and spooned him, nuzzling the back of his neck and making a pleased, satisfied sound.
“Haven’t said good morning,” murmured Matt. “Hmm? Good morning, baby,”
“Mornin’,” muttered Brock.
“What’s up? Feeling fragile? We went through a lot of beer last night,”
Because it wasn't just the two of them… Because one of those guys opened a can and sprayed Brock’s ass with it, drinking it from his crack, pouring out more and fucking him.
“Matt…?” Brock steeled himself and turned over. Oh god Matt was still so beautiful, bigger and broader than the stocky Brock. Blue eyes like the ocean. He swallowed. “Matt, what happened?” Brock wriggled onto his belly and propped himself up on his elbows.
Matt watched him with a calm smile, giving no sign of threat, no sign of anything he might need to explain himself about. Brock let himself find that reassuring.
“We had a party, last night. Me and you, and those guys from our unit,” explained Matt, gently. He was propped level with Brock on one elbow, now, his long body stretched casually on the bed. He traced a hooked finger along Brock’s cheekbone. “You know them. They like you,”
Brock searched Matt’s face for something, anything to avoid searching his own uneasy thoughts.
He had to ask Matt directly.
“Look at me,” Brock said. “Why - why did they do that? Why did you let them do that?” he pulled his head back from Matt’s finger, his voice rising in distress.
Matt grabbed his face in one big hand. There was a definite, warning squeeze before the thumb on one side resumed the cheekbone stroking, soothing, hypnotic.
“Because you liked it.” Matt stated, confirming the worst thing about it. “I always knew you’d like it. Why, we all get along just fine.”
“You said you loved me. You said you wanted to date me,” Brock hated the whine in his own voice, but he had to say it. He had to know what was going on and he wanted Matt to explain, it was the easiest course.
“I do love you, baby,” said Matt. “You are so beautiful. You are the prettiest little fag I ever met.” Brock flinched at that word and Matt kissed his nose gently. “I knew that the moment I laid eyes on you.” He put his cheek against Brock’s, speaking into his ear; even though they were alone he was making this their little secret. “Looking at me like a little puppy with those cute brown eyes. SO thirsty for my dick, huh? I knew you were a thirsty little faggot and you’d want it rough. I knew you were just right for me.”
Brock didn’t want to argue, but blurted out “But I thought you wanted to be my boyfriend,”
Matt chuckled, seemingly affectionately. “I do. But those guy, they’re our brothers. I find a perfect little fag like you, I can't just keep him to myself, I have to share. You have to be good to them if you want to be with me,” Matt swallowed and there was trepidation in his voice. “You DO want to be with me… don’t you?”
Brock didn’t want to make Matt sound nervous like that. “Of course I do,”
Matt pulled him close around the shoulders, bringing them together from the waist up. They both naturally sank into a lying position face to each other. “You know you can’t be gay in the Army, right?” Matt spoke conspiratorially. “Not openly. Don’t ask, don’t tell - but the minute you do and you’ll be out. No college, no money - where would you be then, Brock? No future, back to petty thieving. I’ve found you and I love you and I’ll never tell your secrets, you know, about being gay, being a little painslut. You can be yourself with me - as long as you’re a good boy for our friends now and then, you get me. You want me, don't you, Brock?”
“I want you,”
“You’ve got me,” Matt ran his hand down Brock’s bite mark sprinkled belly and began rubbing, twisting, jerking him off slowly. Brock felt raw and aroused from the attention last night. He couldn’t remember if he had come or not when it had been just him and Matt afterward. Possibly not - but Matt was making up for it now.
Matt was right. What else was he going to do? There were no secrets between them now and the best a little painslut faggot was going to get was this. Being Matt’s boyfriend, Matt’s good boy. He was a walking dirty little secret who could be real with his beautiful Matt.
It was going to be all right. It was going to be okay… It was.
******
Brock rubbed his face, leaning over the counter in the Arezzo apartment kitchen. What a dick he had been back then. Messed up little fucker, listening to that bastard. All those times he had hooked up in recent years with strangers for a quick, violent fuck or to blow them on his knees - it wasn’t just anonymity; it was choice, freedom from Matt. If he wanted to indulge his inner painslut he did it on his terms. He was choosing to behave in what was a reckless way, only being a trained SHIELD/Hydra agent made it possible that he hadn't taken his life in his hands behaving that way.
He had been doing it on his terms, seeking out rough strangers because he wanted to, not because someone wanted him to degrade himself for their warped pleasure. It was stupid and all the time he had had Jack, who was happy to treat him roughly and genuinely attached to him enough to want to be all romantic and sappy now and then. It was Matt’s fault he had pissed Jack off with the hook ups because Matt made him wary of acting like he had a ‘boyfriend’, or a permanent sexual partner closer than a fuckbuddy.
Though what was wrong with a fuckbuddy? A buddy was a friend and if you fucked - it didn’t matter what he called it. He was happier with Jack around than not, working or in their free time. There was no need to call it anything, gay, faggots whatever. It was just him and Jack and he didn't need anything or anyone else.
The coffee was ready. It was time to wake Jack up and show him some appreciation.
Jack awoke slowly to the smell of freshly brewed coffee and sunshine, pink through his eyelids and bathing him in warmth. He stretched luxuriously and became aware before even opening his eyes that he was alone in the hotel bed. He had drifted off to sleep with a warm, still pleasantly squirming Brock, who had been putty under his hands for hours.
There came a padding of bare feet to his left and he opened his eyes at last, blinking and cocking his head to squint through the bright sunshine at the delightful vision of Brock entering the bedroom. He was carrying two mugs and wearing Jack’s old shirt like the shortest mini-dress. It was a look Jack thought he wore well.
“Morning, coffee,” said Brock, pleasantly, placing the two mugs on Jack’s bedside locker.
“Hi,” Jack pulled himself a little higher up in the bed while Brock leaned forward and climbed over him to the other side of the bed, where he had slept. Jack folded one hand behind his head, smiling appreciatively at the brief flash of ass Brock's movements revealed.
“You okay?” asked Brock, leaning over Jack again to reach his mug and start sipping.
Jack chuckled and reached for his own coffee. Brock often did things like that, leaning over and flashing to instigate a fucking. They rarely discussed that kind of thing, just did it. Brock just assumed if it was advertized in those ways it would happen. It always did. It was Jack who was more likely to talk about it, what he was going to do, what he wanted to do to Brock.
“Oh, I’m just fine,” replied Jack, reaching for his coffee and downing half of it in two gulps. Brock watched Jack’s throat, momentarily fascinated and licked the corner of his mouth. Jack put his half-empty mug down and eased back against the headboard, stretching out those long legs, allowing the sheet to slide and rest smoothly on a visible hard on. He rolled his hips to casually shuffle into an even more upright position.
Brock studied him thoughtfully, kneeling up sipping his coffee. “What do you wanna do today?” he asked.
“I don’t know, breakfast first, hmm?” said Jack, grinning and giving another subtle hip thrust to emphasize his morning erection.
Brock smirked over the rim of his mug and leaned forward yet again, putting the mug on the locker beside Jack’s. Jack gave a contented little sigh, anticipating this action was going to result in Brock moving down his body and going down on him. He was slightly surprised when instead he found Brock leaning right across him and and opening one of the drawers.
“What are you doing?” asked Jack, intrigued and a little amused, as he often was with some of Brock’s behaviors.
“Just looking…” murmured Brock, his hand closing on what he had been feeling for. He knew Jack had brought several tubes of lube with him other than the one still on the couch. One in Jack’s carry-on, one in the bathroom and one in this locker.
Jack lazily stroked a hand over the exposed olive skin of Brock’s perfectly upturned ass.
“Lube…” whispered Brock, his breath hitching and the hand that was about to close around the tube of lubricant faltered in its grasping.
“Good call,” replied Jack, evenly, his fingers ghosting up and down Brock’s asscrack twice before settling on the base of his spine, circling gently, swirling his fingertips in the little whorl of soft, light brown hair which returned stubbornly between his waxings.
Brock collapsed a little. A rock hard erection pressed into Jack’s sternum, he must be feeling that. It was oh so tempting to stay like this, just half a minute more, to make Jack slightly impatient. Which might result in a half-playful slap or two on his ass. But there was plenty of time for that and Brock had something special planned. He grasped the lube decisively and straightened up, wriggling back to a sitting position, reluctantly, but he knew it was going to be worth it.
“I’ve got a surprise for you,” said Brock, breathless and his eyes shining with excitement. “Lie back and close your eyes.”
Jack chuckled and reached casually with one hand for the lube Brock was holding. Jack’s other hand reached around to caress Brock’s nearest hip, under the T-shirt.
“What kind of surprise?” asked Jack.
“Close your eyes, lie back, relax,” repeated Brock, softly, concentrating on unscrewing the lid on the tube he had not relinquished.
He wore a distant, dreamy look of concentration. Jack, watching his face, slid down the bed again to a more horizontal position. He moved both hands down under Brock’s shirt now, his reach just enough to allow him to caress his bare ass and ghost his fingertips up and down his crack. Jack thought of Brock’s hole, usually a dark olive, neat pucker. Slightly puffy and redder than normal last night, after the action it saw four times since they returned from Raffaelo’s apartment yesterday plus the action there.
Jack’s next thought was that it seemed a good idea that Brock was squeezing lube onto his fingers.
“Gonna get yourself all ready for me?”
Jack assumed that was the surprise, he liked watching Brock open himself up, watching his face and his fingers and the little noises he made. The show Brock made of it sometimes was hot and endearing and it seemed sensible as he might be sore today.
Brock really did have a surprise, however. “Gonna get you ready,” he declared.
“Me ready…?”
Brock grinned and put his un-lubed hand on Jack’s chest, gently pushing him back as his head and shoulders raised, automatically starting to sit up in genuine surprise.
“Close your eyes,” he said again. Cold, lubed fingers trailed down Jack’s belly and skirted his cock and balls, making Jack gasp a little and give a tiny jerk of his hips.
“Sssh, Jackie,” soothed Brock. “Gonna make you feel good. I’m gonna top you, okay?”
Jack’s head and shoulders raised again, despite Brock’s lightly restraining hand. He looked at Brock with a mixture of surprise and amusement, which made Brock frown a little.
“Is that not okay…?” asked Brock, his fingers coming to a stop either side of Jack’s ball-sac. Brock’s eyes had been shining with excitement, Jack had noticed, but now he looked a little uncertain.
Brock had always been a fascinating addition to Jack's life, since their Hydra training days, when he had been this stunning-looking, compact little bundle of aggressive fragile masculinity and Jack had been drawn to him like no other human being. He was tremendously fond of this little fucker, with his pointed face and sculpted cheekbones, he had felt for him so much hearing about Matt last night, he had wanted to bring him here on vacation to cement a bond.
So it wasn’t about coming out as a couple or insisting on Brock using words like ‘gay’, ‘boyfriend’ openly about them, it was about commitment and exclusivity and Jack needed to make commitment too. He needed to accommodate Brock and show him how much he appreciated him as much as he had wanted Brock to do the same.
Brock wanted to top? Well, why not?
“That’s okay,” said Jack. He leaned back again, showing Brock he was relaxed and compliant, giving full permission.
Brock put his un-lubed hand on Jack’s chest and pushed very lightly, once again. Then he eased himself down between Jack’s thighs, one forearm draped over Jack’s belly. His face was more or less in default blowjob position inches above Jack’s crotch. He was very tempted to take him in his mouth. His lubed hand resumed a slow side down to where Jack’s asscheeks were squashed together beneath him.
“Open up a little,” urged Brock and Jack shifted one leg aside. Brock eased his fingers into the cleft in Jack’s ass.
They were cold and sticky with lube and made Jack twitch slightly. The sensation of Brock’s fore-fingertip questing gently at his hole, circling, gave Jack little flashes of warm, tactile pleasure. He relaxed into it, putting his forearm across his eyes. He was psyched up lie back and relax - letting someone else take control, particularly Brock, was unusual for him, but he was determined to give Brock this moment of proactive control he clearly wanted.
Brock’s finger eased into Jack’s ass. Jack gave an involuntary squirm, it did not exactly hurt, but it was strange.
“Okay? S’at okay?” asked Brock, softly.
Jack grunted.
Brock pushed and curled his finger, mainly working off what he expected himself from this. He found a small, more textured area and he guessed correctly, this was the sweet spot.
Jack gave another surprised little grunt and squirmed again, before arching into the small but rewarding pressure from Brock’s finger. Brock grinned in delight, carefully adding a second finger while Jack’s pleasure would outweigh any more strangeness. This was exactly what he wished that bastard Matt and his friends had done for him all those years ago, during his first time. This was the kind of thing Captain Wood had taught him and done for him. This was what Jack did for him when he took his time.
Jack was always a master of self-control. He kept as still as he could - like that time he caught shrapnel and - Jeff? Jim? Jeff - had removed some of it while they waited for extraction. He had kept still because of the proximity to his femoral artery and because Brock was there, too. Anxiety all over his pointy little face and Jack hadn't wanted to worry him…
Fuck, this was nothing like that, it was repeated jolts of ecstasy from Brock moving fingers, brushing that spot as he opened him up and Jack had had years of expert blowjobs from Brock, the intense pleasure of fucking him hard, the sweetness of taking it slow while he bitched and whined for more, harder, faster. But this was just a different brand of good, something new after all this time.
Jack grasped the sheets and arched his back. Brock muttered soothingly and pushed down harder with his forearm over Jack’s belly. Jack’s rising, rock hard dick was practically slapping Brock on the cheek now and he moved his head aside. It was again almost instinct to want to get his mouth around it, but that was not what this morning was about.
Brock inserted a third finger and rose up on his knees, edging close, hard himself and ready to ‘take’ Jack, rather than ‘take’ his dick.
“You’re all ready for me…” he cooed. “Aren’t you, huh?” he removed his finger and heard a clearly bereft groan from Jack. That was easily remedied. He inched up over Jack and pressed his cockhead against Jack’s relaxed, lubed hole.
“Ready…?”
Brock began to ease in. It was warm and wet and the slow thrust was sharp and sweet. Just like Brock remembered from going with girls, years ago. When the girls were just there and drawn in by his looks, and he still hoped just sometimes the look in the eyes of the guys in his unit didn’t remind him he was no more convinced he wasn’t kidding himself than not fooling them.
When they knew (several of them from experience) and he knew he would rather be taking a dick up his ass or in his mouth then use those girls while he closed his eyes and imagined getting pounded by Matt. But this was not a girl, it was Jack and Jack didn’t care whether anyone thought him gay, or queer or whatever. This was Jack, tight and warm inside that big hard body now squirming beneath him. Fucking Jack was a revelation.
Jack was moving under him like an undulating hill of muscle, making desperate little whining sounds. Brock glanced down and was entranced by the rapt expression on Jack’s face.
Pride burst in Brock’s chest, to think he was making that happen. Almost simultaneously came the impending urgency of bursting over the edge, Brock’s self-control was pretty much as impressive as Jack’s when the need arose, he paused, breaking the rhythm. He could not allow himself to come first, before he had taken Jack to orgasm this way.
Jack’s eyes refocused with a look of desperation in them. “The….fuck….” he growled and clamped his big hands down around Brock’s hips with enough force to leave finger marks, pulling him forward, making him thrust again.
Brock was briefly aware that Jack had taken control, as fucking usual, which was not how this was supposed to go.
“I’m topping!” he rasped, rather indignantly.
Then he was lost in the resumed momentum, Jack now snarling with pleasure again, before twisting and grimacing in his usual silent orgasm and Brock’s climax crashed over him too. It drowned everything else out, sound distorted and perception dulled like being plunged into that pool yesterday with Jack.
They lay panting, Brock flopping and sagging down onto Jack’s body, his messy bed-hair - still trying to obey yesterday’s hairgel - right under Jack’s nose and tickling him. Jack was vaguely astonished he noticed, with the waves of pleasure still tingling through him like aftershocks. Those slowly subsiding feelings intensified everything else, it seemed.
“Everywhere…” commented Jack, breathlessly. “Feel that, everywhere…”
“Yes, yes you do,” sighed Brock. Fucking someone was sweet and sharp and an intense pleasure, focussed on his dick and belly. Getting fucked was different, Brock preferred the overall goosebumps thrills, but he was pleased and proud he had just given that experience to Jack.
“You okay?” he asked, squirming to get comfortable.
“Fine. More than fine,” Jack wiggled to accommodate Brock and sighed contentedly. “That was great,”
“I didn’t hurt you?”
“No,” Jack rubbed his nose on the top of Brock's head to relieve the hair-tickle.
“I topped,” Brock raised his head and grinned at Jack.
It was clearly important to him. Jack chuckled. “You did,” he said, in conciliation.
He wrapped both arms over Brock’s shoulders possessively. This was all he wanted, he realized. No names, no labels, just Brock, being his, his best friend and only fuckbuddy, Here just like this when they were alone. To fuck him and let him do the topping if he wanted.
This was all Jack had brought Brock here for - and if it had happened to take a dentist called Raffaelo to remind Brock that Jack was all he wanted too then fine.
Overall, Jack was pleased they had come to Arezzo. It was indeed, the best vacation he had ever had.