Page 129 of Fish in a Barrel

Ellery took it and slicked him up, thrusting his fingers inside Jackson’s asshole while licking his cock from base to tip, sucking at the end for the saltiness, letting every whimper of need stir his own cock to stiffness.

“Ellery,” Jackson moaned. “Please. I need you!”

“Of course you do,” Ellery panted, almost bitterly. He added more slick to his own cock and pushed up, positioning himself so he could thrust in. Jackson tilted is head back and moaned, shaking around Ellery’s erection as Ellery closed his eyes and embraced being surrounded by home.

And then home began to thrash underneath him, and Ellery had a job to do.

He began to rock back and forth, his strokes long and hard. Jackson didn’t like to admit to needing anything, anybody, and now that he had, Ellery had to deliver. He began to power-fuck, devouring Jackson’s grunts of pleasure like sustenance, allowing them to fuel him, goad him into more.

Jackson’s breaths quickened, and his legs encircled Ellery’s hips.

“You like that?” Ellery taunted. “You want more?”

“Yes,” Jackson pleaded. “Yes. Please. Please, Ellery. Please.”

“Yes!” Ellery cried, because what he wanted to say, things like “Then ask me, you stupid asshole!”or “Why won’t you trust me to talk about it, dumbass!”weren’t going to come out now when Ellery’s body shook with desire, with heat, with the need to come.

Jackson came first, hands locked around Ellery’s biceps, legs locked around Ellery’s hips, his body language, his sounds, all surrounding Ellery with the need he hadn’t wanted to voice.

The shaking of Jackson’s body spurred Ellery on to finish, and he cried out, a raw, loud scream of frustration and sex and power and need. He poured his come into Jackson’s ass in sex like he poured his soul into Jackson’s in their lives together, and as his body shook in aftermath, he felt the gratification of pleasuring them both seep through the frustration in his bones.

He sank into Jackson’s arms, hearing Jackson whisper, “It’s okay, I’ve got you. Don’t worry, I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

A part of him wanted to cry, because hadn’t that been the purpose of this exercise? To catch Jackson when he was flailing, falling through the looking glass of his own tortured psyche?

But then, didn’t he do what he did because Jackson was trying to catch the world?

“I got you,” Jackson whispered into his ear. “It’s okay. I got you.”

And sometimes the world included Ellery.

“I know,” Ellery mumbled. “I’ve got you too.”

“I know,” Jackson told him, wrapping all his limbs tightly around Ellery, drawing him in, protecting him, even as he protected Jackson’s heart. “I know you do. Thank you. Thank you for catching me. Thank you.”

Ellery pressed a kiss against Jackson’s neck. “You could have asked me for help,” he said miserably.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Ellery let out a sigh. “Only when you hurt yourself.” He shivered, and Jackson pulled the afghan over his back, letting it cover both of them. Ellery looked Jackson in those bottle-green eyes and stroked his tender jaw. “Are you ever going to tell me what happened here?”

Jackson grunted. “Only because Henry will make it sound super dramatic.”

Ellery had the feeling Henry’s version would be closer to the truth. “Then by all means, tell me,” he said, collapsed on top of Jackson’s damp chest. “Better from you than Henry.”

“Sure.” Jackson kissed him and held his cheeks, making sure they were eye to eye. “But first, I love you, Counselor.”

“I love you too, Detective.” Ellery sighed. “Even when you’re pissing me off.”

Jackson gave a slight smile. “So every day, then?”

“Yeah. I love you more every day.”

Jackson looked away, shy, and Ellery wanted to crow.

“So, the story behind the jaw—” Jackson began.

“And the knuckles.” Ellery hadn’t missed the tape across them. “And the bruises on your knees.” He’d seen them as he’d undressed Jackson. “And your day.”

“Fine.” Jackson smiled crookedly. “Wasn’t sleeping anyway.”

And then he launched into what seemed to be a highly edited version of the story.

Sometime in the middle, as he was talking, they both managed to get off the couch, gather their clothes, and move to the bedroom, where it was a little warmer. Ellery would hit the couch with fabric cleaner the next day, but in the meantime, when Jackson was done with the story, they were lying in their own bed, safe and warm in the cocoon of each other’s arms.

Ellery had to agree with Jackson after days like they’d had. The world was fucked-up; there was no denying it.

But together, for brief moments, they could forge a world of safety that would sustain them to fight another day.