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There’s a sliver of light. There always is.
At the end of the tunnel, as they say, and Jane believed it. All his life he has been chasing that glimmer of light, that sparkle of hope. Running so fast he sometimes wonders how he has managed to not pass out. There is always a sliver lightning, always peace after the storm. Jane thought that loving P’Jane would be standing under the clouds forever, to let the thunder growl around him and lightning strike him where he stood. To be enclosed in darkness, shrouded in mystery until it asphyxiated him like a noose. Secrecy shutting every last chance of finding that light.
It is in the middle of the night, after finding himself next to a hospital bed again, that Jane stands alone, on the other side of the house and realizes at the sight of that very same glimmer: maybe P’Jane was waiting on the other side. Maybe that’s why Jane kept chasing it.
No.
No, he is certain.
Jane had been so wrong. About so many things. But this, this he knows.
P’Jane is the light. The sun shining through the leaves, casting down on Jane’s life like the foretold prophecies of old about salvation and paradise. P’Jane was calling out from the other side of the tunnel, he was standing right there with an umbrella. P’Jane was too trapped in the storm, he too was encased in a world of shadows.
They had been each other’s light.
And yet Jane had doomed them both to darkness.
At the end of the hallway, there is a light that beacons behind a door. It’s a siren call and Jane hears it. Leans into it, and takes a step towards it.
Somewhere, a grandfather’s clock announces midnight and the house is dead still. Everybody must be asleep. Or so he hopes.
Jane has begun to hope again, these days. After being let into P’Jane’s world, Jane has been audaciously hoping for more. Because that’s the nature of hope and the hopeful: they grow every day in their belief. Each passing day, Jane dares to get a tad closer, to prod around P’Jane’s life to see where he can fit in it again.
Apologies don’t cut it. Not that Jane could expect any different. How do you forgive someone who has robbed them both of light? Of each other? Would Jane forgive himself if he were in P’Jane’s shoes? There’s a prickle behind his eyes when he thinks about it carefully. But he won’t shed tears over this again. Although a man desperate enough is willing to do anything, it is not desperation that is leading Jane towards the forbidden room.
It’s his damn morbid curiosity.
If he hadn’t been half as curious, he would have been oblivious to P’Jane’s secrets. He could have been happy in his ignorance. Accept that P’Jane just gets badly hurt sometimes, and move on. Jane would have made such a happy fool.
But, alas.
Jane is curious. Jane eavesdrops. Jane sneaks around, chases, researches, asks questions. For lack of better words, Jane fucks around and by God, does he find out.
That’s his terrible flaw. His capital sin.
Curiosity was the reason he and P’Jane ended. How beautiful it’d be if that’s the reason they find each other again.
The light looks too much of an invitation for it not to be one. P’Jane has to be in that room. Even if he isn’t, even if this room holds all the depravity a life like P’Jane leads begets; Jane needs to know. He needs to see with his very own eyes what pivotal secret P’Jane is still keeping from him. What did P’Jane’s deals bring him that he had to hold them under lock and key.
With a soft creek, the door opens as Jane pushes it softly, revealing the source of light to be a modest floor lamp on the corner. Not that it has much importance as what it shines onto. Wall to wall, there are canvases either hung or resting on the floor; dried paint on brushes scattered on the floor, and on dirty rags hazard thrown next to the easels which too hold canvases. They are rough sketches, yet all seem to be trying to portray the same face.
The very same face that hangs on the walls. The same face on the pictures framed on cupboards and tables. Some even hanging from a contraption of thread that drops like vines from the ceiling, and holds the polaroid pictures.
All of Jane.
Some with Jane and P’Jane together. Or their intertwined hands.
There’s the one he took from when they went on a picnic, or to the beach. The other by candle light on their second date. One was of Jane looking up at the stars.
The pictures are from Put’s exhibition, Jane recognizes them first with indignity, but then he softens. P’Jane had bought them all, because he knew Jane would have such display being public. Jane was an artist as well, his place was behind the word, not front and centre of it. Even when he painted self-portraits. But still, he could have handled it if Put had just told him.
He could have dealt with the rumour mill and the gossip. Shit, he had dealt with it just fine while dating P’Jane.
It had felt just…violating.
And P’Jane somehow had known. Without even looking at Jane, or even hearing him complain about it to Put. Which had led P’Jane to go on problem-solving-mode. The most efficient way to get rid of the pictures was to buy them, thus forcing the exhibition to disappear from public eye. And with it, Jane’s embarrassment and violation.
From time to time, Jane wondered where the pictures might have gone to. Or whether P’Jane had burnt them alongside with all memories with Jane.
Instead, P’Jane made a museum out of it all. Out of Jane. Out of his love for Jane.
Pictures, and those little dolls, and even the lilacs that decorate the desk are an ode to their love, even if Jane mentioned once that they were his favourite. For crying out loud, P’Jane was learning to paint. Selfishly, Jane thinks it is for him too, and it makes hi heart fill with so much joy, he doesn’t know what to do with it or where to put it. It’s been so long since he has felt so happy.
Jane lightly caresses their petals and brings his fingers up to his nose, smelling their fainting scent as he walks to the smack middle of the room, where something appears to be covered. The safest bet is that this is where P’Jane leaves all his tools and materials. Perhaps in an attempt to shield them from drying. But the cloth, that appears to be mostly white, would have also pain spots here and there. Instead, there’re some grey-ish almost dust-like stains over it.
Pulling the cloth, Jane gasps.
It’s a statue.
Rough and clearly made by an amateur, but it’s impressive in how alive it looks. There’s movement in almost every single inch of it. Not tension, no action, but a languid dynamism. From the face: peaceful, almost innocently so; the arms as if they were stretching, as if the figure has just woken up. To the legs, clearly still in progress, yet showing the slurry moving of someone stirring in their sleep as they abandon slumber.
Jane has one instant of disconcertment as to why this piece is in this room, their room, until he blinks the tears setting in his eyelids away and steps closer.
The figure has something around his neck.
A pendant.
The pendant.
The key pendant P’Jane gifted to him and Jane tossed aside like it meant nothing. As if it wasn’t the only key that could open P’Jane’s world. P’Jane’s heart. As if holding that key wasn’t a privilege that Jane rejected because the fear, doubts and speculation others put in his heart. Jane has regretted that so much. Probably right after outright insulting the love of his life, throwing the pendant had been the biggest offence Jane could have procured to P’Jane.
His P’Jane.
His love.
Jane reaches for the pendant.
“I told you not to go in this room.”
Jane gasps and turns where P’Jane stands on the door, clad in his maroon pajama and arms crossed. He looks tired, but there’s the very same restlessness that has drawn Jane out of his room across P’Jane’s face. With his hair down P’Jane doesn’t look so imposing, which is why he is trying to compensate with his arms to his chest and his quick strides.
“I’m sorry, P’Jane.” Jane sputters out, trying to will his tears away for good. “I saw it was open so I thought-“he stops his sentence and scoffs. He wants to laugh at this situation. He doesn’t really know what to say. “I don’t know what I thought, honestly.”
“You thought I was hiding bodies in here.” It’s not a question, not even a quip. P’Jane isn’t in the mood for jokes, and Jane doesn’t feel like joking either.
“No, I-“Jane doesn’t even try to defend himself either. “I knew you’d be here, and I just wanted to be with you.” Jane shrugs. “That’s all.”
Nodding, P’Jane drops his arms and steps closer to Jane. It looks like he wants to say something, yet he remains silent. Jane wants to scream. God, he hates when P’Jane does that. When he steps into a room and tiptoes around the tension of it, plucking on the silence by just looking at Jane, knowing Jane expects him to talk and yet saying nothing. Just staring at him until Jane breaks. Because it works. It always fucking works. P’Jane has him all figured it out and Jane, both loves it and hates it.
“I didn’t know you built this room so you could be with me instead.” Jane continues, unable to stop the tears, he feels his words getting pastier in his mouth as well. “You kept it all?”
Another step closer, P’Jane is at arm’s length when he answers. “I didn’t build it; I took it over.” P’Jane clarifies, closer now, Jane can see P’Jane’s stubble. “And of course, I kept them. Everything. Every single last thing that you gave me… I couldn’t let go.”
Jane nods, feeling the tears rolling down to his chin. “Then why did you act so distant? Why didn’t you tell me?” It hits Jane there and then. There’s only one reason why P’Jane could be this cruel to him. “Do you hate me that much?” Jane whispers.
Maybe if he says it quietly enough, the universe won’t make it true.
“I don’t hate you, Jane.” It is so tender. Jane’s name out of P’Jane’s mouth. So soft, like a freshly bloomed magnolia. Every second Jane isn’t touching P’Jane hurts.
“Then why?”
“I just couldn’t.” P’Jane replies, he too has lowered his voice. “I had to keep our relationship professional, subordinate-boss, keep my feelings at bay.” P’Jane explains. “Because I don’t think I could bear losing you again.”
The last sentence is so final. So resolute. Like saying the sky is blue and grass is green. Like a universally known and agreed upon fact. It makes Jane’s hear wretch in pain, like the very thought of leaving P’Jane physically hurting him. Immediately he is shaking his head, both to swat away the notion of walking away, and because no.
Jane smiles, thinking himself a maniac for it.
“No, no I’m not leaving you again.”
Next thing he knows, Jane is hugging P’Jane like his life depends on it.
Maybe it does.
But P’Jane is still holding back. Hesitantly, he places a hand on his back. Jane doesn’t let go. Then his arm sneak around Jane’s waist. Adamantly, Jane stays pressed against P’Jane, his nose buried in P’Jane’s shoulder for good measure. He knows he is staining P’Jane’s silk pyjama but, he doesn’t find a single fibre of his body that cares about that. God, he has missed this so much. P’Jane’s smell, his touch, his embrace. His breath against Jane’s neck as he exhales in relief and Jane can feel when all tension disappears from P’Jane’s body.
They are holding each other like a vice. Jane’s hands clutch onto the fabric of P’Jane’s pyjama now, even if he tears it, Jane is adamant that he won’t let go. Even if P’Jane smothers him in their embrace, Jane won’t let go. As if this is a new universal truth that has been written in the cosmos. Jane won’t let go. Come storm and ruin.
He has walked away before and look how it paned out. Miserably. He abandoned so many things with P’Jane, he has realised. Painting to name one. Thinking there was no point, no benefit monetary or otherwise in wasting time painting. Psychology, what did Jane even know of the human mind when he didn’t even know himself? Losing P’Jane was like losing a muse, a motivator, a reason. And perhaps that was the wrong way of looking at it, but, if he can get P’Jane back, maybe he can get his love for life back.
Little by little. He is willing. He wants to. It’s been so long since Jane has wanted something this badly.
P’Jane is the one to break the embrace, but barely so. His arms are still around Jane’s waist, and Jane holds P’Jane’s face fondly, admiring it up close again. Because he can. Because he is allowed. What a handsome face. Straight nose, dark eyes, high cheekbones, beautiful lips. Jane should sculpt P’Jane instead.
But Jane is a perfectionist, and he can already picture his first and biggest problem: how does one go about capturing P’Jane’s vitality. His essence. No what P’Jane does but rather who he is. In the same way P’Jane has been able to portray an instant of Jane’s mundanity, Jane would want to show P’Jane’s ambition, his passion, his tenderness, thoughtfulness, his loyalty, and yes, his secrets too. Jane would want to stuff all of that into the hard marble that is notably too cold, too expression-less. How could a rock understand that P’Jane’s eyes bloom into crescents when he smiles? Really smiles. That he coughs in threes when something is too spicy? That he snores when he sleeps on his left side but not on his right? Or that he can’t wink to save his life?
It’s a fool’s errand.
Isn’t Jane a fool anyway? Decieved by appearences, by those who held close and their opinions? By his own insecurities?
Jane will sculpt P’Jane out of the softest clay and kiss every inch of his work as he does. Unlike Pygmalion, however, he won’t be cursed to love a statue. He has been blessed with the honor of loving the real thing. The real P’Jane.
“What are you thinking about?” P’Jane whispers, a smile tugging at his lips.
The words ground him back to reality.
Jane smiles.
“Thank you, for not forgetting about me.” He answers simply. “And that I’ve loved you since the moment I’ve seen you, and I want us to try again.”
P’Jane’s eyes grow darker, just for a fraction of a second, then a guilty expression settles on his eyes. “You know I can’t change the ugly parts.”
Jane shakes his head. “I want the ugly.” He continues. “I want the darkness, and the storm and thunder.” His hand curling behind P’Jane’s neck and using that to pull him closer. “Just keep being my light.”
Silence falls between them again. This time it’s not expectant. P’Jane isn’t waiting for Jane to break it. It’s peaceful. It’s a rest to reformulate all the emotions flying in the air between them. Everything that Jane needed to get out, has been said. The universe has the words in its palm and it is up to Jane’s universe to decide what he does with them.
“Jane.” P’Jane breaks the silence, and it sounds like a plea.
It’s an easy ask.
They meet halfway.
Jane’s arms warp around P’Jane’s neck while he holds Jane by the waist. It’s sweet, slow, like they have the whole time in the world. And maybe they do. There’s no storm, there are no wolves outside the den. It’s safe here. After so many years, it is safe here again, in P’Jane’s arms. While P’Jane showers him in kisses, bottom lip gets a little special treatment before Jane opens his lips. Inviting. Just like P’Jane invited him back into his life. When P’Jane sucks on his tongue, Jane moans and tangles his fingers in P’Jane’s hair. He has never been this daring, and maybe it is the age that has changed him, or that he needs P’Jane to be this all-consuming force that takes him right now; whatever it is, it makes Jane tug at P’Jane’s hair.
Hard.
P’Jane comes back with a vengeance and kisses him fiercely. All sweetness is gone. Jane’s eyes roll back as he tries to keep up. Almost all tongue, he feels his lips going raw. Jesus, it’s like P’Jane wants to reach the back of his throat with his tongue. Jane wants him to. Jane would let P’Jane rip his chest open and eat his insides like a KFC commercial, if he only asked. That’s probably not a sane thought to have, but this is a mad man we are dealing with. Jane is a mad. The reality of having P’Jane back in this manner is completely rewiring his brain. An insane boy who wants to be kissed like this until he stops thinking all together.
As if to give Jane some breathing time, P’Jane, who apparently doesn’t need to breathe, sinks down and latches onto Jane’s neck. Jane tries to count how many bites and hickeys Jane leaves on his skin, but loses count after the fifth. He is too busy trying to keep himself both quiet and upright. Therefore, he decides to fail at both. Mewling at P’Jane’s ministrations and using his hold still on P’Jane’s raven locks for support.
Just as P’Jane ventures southward, pulling on Jane’s shirt to reveal the skin on his collarbone, he also pushes Jane against the table where the sculpture rests on, the impact making it tremble slightly. Not like Jane can worry much about it, when P’Jane’s hands are roaming up his chest from under his shirt, P’Jane coming back up to maul at his lips again. Now that he feels more stable, Jane can wrap a leg around P’Jane’s thigh to push him closer, which is by all physical means impossible.
Nevertheless, P’Jane can turn the impossible into reality, so Jane presses and P’Jane puts his thigh between Jane’s legs and it feels like heaven.
Tomorrow he might blush at his own reaction at this given release, as he starts to thrust into the solid plane of P’Jane’s thigh. Yeah, Jane might remember this tomorrow morning and want the ground to open up and swallow him, but there’s no denying Jane is enjoying himself. And who wouldn’t be? P’Jane is giving him no peace, no truce. P’Jane’s hands are pulling Jane’s shirt up and up and up and Jane might have actually ripped P’Jane’s expensive silk pyjama, both hands on P’Jane’s back.
When P’Jane’s mouth finally reaches Jane’s nipples, white spots appear behind Jane’s eyes, his orgasm building fast in his groin. He wills to calm himself down, slowing his thrusts and pulling away from P’Jane’s touch.
“We should…” He sounds ragged, out of breath, already spent. And P’Jane has barely touched him.
P’Jane’s thumbs caress Jane’s nipples and Jane’s entire body shudders, head tilts back as his throat lets out an absurdly loud moan.
“What is it, my pretty Jane?” P’Jane sounds calm until he calls Jane’s name. Delectable in his tongue, like the forbidden fruit in his lips. P’Jane wants to devour Jane whole, and he couldn’t have picked a more willing victim.
“Bed-“It’s more a gasp than a word, as P’Jane dips his head and captures one nipple in his mouth.
For a moment Jane decides he’d be fine if P’Jane decided to take him on the floor, right here and now. He can already feel the carpet burns on his lower back, and has already concluded that he doesn’t care. The things he wants this man to do to him. Jane can’t start listing them all in his head or else he is going to come right on the spot. And again, P’Jane hasn’t even touched him yet.
Despite Jane’s request, P’Jane is not letting up on his expedition to treat Jane’s chest the same way he did Jane’s collarbones and neck. So Jane insists.
“P’Jane I-“
“You want me on your bed, sweetness?” P’Jane asks looking up from Jane’s chest.
Although he should be concered about how quickly P’Jane has understood the unfinished ramble, Jane can only nod rapidly. Because let’s not kid ourselves: carpet burns are a bitch, and there’s no dick big enough to counter that fact. Also bed in the spare room is so comfortable and big and if they fall asleep there, there’s a high chance they might have sex again on that very bed the next morning. Yes, Jane likes that plan way better. Jane keeps nodding while P’Jane emerges back up and stares at him, stars in his eyes.
Panting more than breathing, P’Jane caresses Jane’s face, thumb playing with his lower lip.
“I wish I could give you the entire world.” He says and comes down to peck Jane’s cheek. “And the moon.” He kisses the other cheek. “And the stars.” He kisses Jane’s nose. “And the sun.” He leaves one last peck on Jane’s lips.
With his own hand, Jane keeps P’Jane’s hand put where it rests back on Jane’s cheek. “I really just need you to fuck me until morning.”
The bluntness seems to take P’Jane aback. Hell, it almost makes Jane stumble backwards himself. Where the fuck did that come from? Jane has been notorious for not being able to express himself, defend himself, declare his needs. Maybe he just needs like twenty minutes of hardcore making out with the love of his life to pry the words out of his mouth.
But he can’t deny how satisfying it is, to see P’Jane smile so wide Jane can see new gorgeous wrinkles around P’Janes eyes. To see him nod to himself and proceed to pick Jane up, and to hoist him on his shoulder.
With one small yelp and some muffled laughter, Jane is thusly taken to his room. P’Jane deposits him on the bed softly, still chuckling while he kisses Jane for good measure.
“I have to go get the stuff from my room. Is that okay?” P’Jane asks, with a twinge of doubt in his eyes.
“Will you be mad if when you come back, I don’t want it anymore?” Jane asks, not fearful, he is firm in his conviction that he won’t let this night slip away without P’Jane deep in his guts. But he is careful, these are new waters they are threading.
P’Jane shakes his head, then smiles, scrunches his nose and keeps shaking his head until he is all the way down nuzzling Jane’s shoulder. The hair nickels Jane’s neck, and the whole situation is so silly he keeps laughing. And it feels so good. Damn, did it ever feel this good? Why did Jane ever give it up?
They look at each other for a few moments as the laughter dies down.
Jane is still smiling up at P’Jane, who is looking down again with those big eyes of his. Jane wants to dive into them. Drown in them.
“I won’t be mad.” P’Jane answers simply. “But, would you still let me cuddle you?”
Jane nods once, before playfully pushing P’Jane away. “Go, I’ll be right here.”
When P’Jane comes back with a box and a small bottle and the hunger of thirty starved lionesses because he jumps on the bed. Which in on itself is a sight to see. P’Jane is being playful, when he had always been so serious. So ready to go on his knees and ask for forgiveness. Jane had him walking on eggshells because the fear of losing Jane was that magnanimous to P’Jane. Jane had never treated P’Jane’s apologies like such because he too was waiting for him to fuck up again. And P’Jane was so careful not to fuck up. Not to be caught fucking up. And Jane was so ready to condemn him for it.
How could that have ever lasted?
But now, everything is in the open. Jane knows P’Jane inside out. And he embraces it. Embraces him as he falls upon Jane and kisses him again, and again, and again. His hands resume their position under Jane’s shirt and up they go and this time they don’t stop until Jane is shirtless. Once P’Jane’s chest is exposed, Jane doesn’t waste a time to lick between his breasts. Yes, breasts, because P’Jane’s pecks deserve no other word. Jane can’t barely fit one of them in his mouth. P’Jane grunts his hand cradling Jane’s jaw as he keeps sinking lower. A man on a mission.
Fond of licking his way down P’Jane’s body, Jane focuses on that well-trimmed happy trail until he meets fabric. Annoying, useless fabric. He looks up, eyebrows furrowed.
“If you want them off,” P’Jane says pointing at his pyjama pants “you know what to do.”
A dare. Jane takes it. Of course, he knows exactly what to do. What P’Jane has taught him: solve the problem. And what is the fastest way to solve this problem, according to P’Jane: Get rid of it. So, Jane bites down on the hem of P’Jane’s pants and pulls down until the entirety of P’Jane’s dick springs out. Which is no small feat.
How could Jane give that up?
Licking his lips, Jane looks up. P’Jane is kneeling on the bed, Jane is almost on all fours.
“Give me.” He demands. “Mine.”
That’s all Jane says as warning before he is pushing P’Jane on the bed. Once more, his own greed takes him by surprise, but there are two people on that bed an none of them are complaining about it. Actually, P’Jane seems delighted at the situation, as he makes himself comfortable on the comforter and lifts his hips, so he can help Jane get fully rid of his pants before he discards his own. Without a second to spare, Jane crawls between P’Jane’s legs.
“Don’t strain yourself, I’m not done with you yet.” P’Jane advises, a tinge of mischief laced in those half-lidded eyes.
Smirking at that promise, Jane nods and starts kissing P’Jane’s hipbone, biting when the muscle turns a bit suppler by the thigh, then the inner thigh until P’Jane hisses. Jane licks the skin for good measure and returns to the other hipbone. His own need is getting in the way of his worshiping, as he finds himself salivating with anticipation. P’Jane is also getting impatient, his fingers on Jane’s hair curling with each moment Jane is neglecting his dick.
Taking a second to catch his breath, and mentally preparing himself to take P’Jane’s dick in his mouth, because admittedly, that is a daring goal and he never fully achieved before; Jane finally takes the head in his mouth. And P’Jane arches off the bed.
Okay.
That’s also new.
But, in a good way. In the best way, actually. Even after so many years have passed, being able to elicit such response on the only man Jane has ever wanted, loved, desired, craved with such intensity and consuming passion; it’s nothing short of an incentive to do anything in order to bring out even more. Jane wants to think this reaction is the fruit of all the nights spent alone, thinking of this moment. Just like Jane has endured himself. What a pair of sadomasochists, indulging in the pain of their separation.
Better make it worth the wait. Jane takes courage and dives in.
Taking P’Jane in with each inhale, minding is teeth, hollowing his cheeks and remembering to breathe all at the same time Jane starts to get into a rhythm should grant him the city keys. P’Jane is big. And that’s an objective truth. That man is a beast. Which completely contrasts with how P’Jane is being so gentle with Jane. He keeps himself as still as possible, stuttering on his thrusts, which Jane notices because of how much he is squirming under his palm. Until, midway through, Jane’s throat closes in on him. That’s the end of the line. Unable to take the defeat, Jane hand comes to wrap around what he can fit in his mouth.
The rhythm turns a little sloppy then, but Jane is still relentless in his pursuit, he keeps bobbing his head under the perfect guidance of P’Jane’s hand. Not forceful. Not demanding. Instead, Jane finds it grounding, encouraging.
Suddenly, however, P’Jane grips his hair and rasps out a “enough.” Before pulling Jane’s head off of him with a lewd pop. “Enough.” Repeats panting, but doesn’t say much more while he catches his breath. “Too much…” P’Jane licks his lips and clears his throat. “Too soon.”
Slowly, Jane moves up to straddle P’Jane who is still trying to calm himself down. Both P’Jane’s hands come to hold Jane’s waist, as Jane starts a tantalizingly slow movement with his hips against P’Jane’s twitching dick. Then they travel down, down. Moving his upper body closer to P’Jane’s, Jane’s hands travel up P’Jane’s chest, up and up. Until they curl around P’Jane’s neck when he kisses him. Long and beautiful. The kiss leaves Jane trembling.
That and because P’Jane starts to tease his entrance.
It’s definitely been so long.
Sure, Jane has his toys, and his own fingers, however, none of them stand a chance compared to P’Jane’s fingers. Or dick. So, his nerves are justified as they spike red. Not that there’s any rush in P’Jane’s movements. No, just like Jane minutes before, it is P’Jane’s turn to enjoy himself. So, Jane sighs against the kiss and goes absolutely pliant. Remembering how nice this feels. Feels right. Even when P’Jane breaks the kiss and turns to lather his fingers with more lube, Jane doesn’t move an inch, his entire body draped over P’Jane’s like the white cloth over the sculpture.
The first intrusion is cold, a little foreign, but not for that less calculated. P’Jane wants to enjoy himself, but not on the expanse of Jane’s own enjoyment. He’s always been so considerate; Jane thinks in his blissed-out state. P’Jane is such a giver. He gives and gives and gives. How is he not expected to asked for something in return? Well, he never did from Jane. Except for that one time, sure, Jane walked himself right into that. But, the point stands. P’Jane has never asked for his love to be returned, only accepted. And yet, Jane does.
Despite it all.
How could he not, when P’Jane is fingering him so well, so thoroughly, while kissing his nose, his forehead. Telling Jane how good he is doing, to just relax. Never when he adds a second and third finger, and shushes Jane’s discomfort. Kisses it away. Nuzzling Jane’s cheek and jaw. Calling Jane. “My sweet Jane.” Or “My lovely angel.” Or “My beautiful, perfect Jane.”
Or simply calling Jane “mine” back.
P’Jane finds Jane’s prostate and immediately Jane is rutting against P’Jane’s completely hard dick, neglected and twitching against Jane’s stomach. Wet with their mixed pre-cum, the slide isn’t that bad and Jane lets go a filthy moan against Jane’s chest, his eyes rolling back. He fucks himself back on P’Jane’s fingers, the friction making him dizzy. He needs P’Jane inside of him right now, he thinks, or he might actually not make it ‘till morning.
“Phi.” Jane softly begs right next to P’Jane’s ear. “Please.”
It takes two more thrusts before Jane feels the emptiness and starts clenching on it. Which makes his chest hurt a little, he hates this. Feeling so void, alone. Although P’Jane, his P’Jane is right here. It’s irrational. He is still very much going mad.
P’Jane turns again, Jane can guess he is getting the condom, but he is too worried fitting himself better as he lays still on top of P’Jane. He doesn’t want to move. He wants to be pressed like this against P’Jane’s form all night long, and as if he could read his mind, P’Jane turns back and gently cups Jane’s face.
“My love, lets lay you down, okay?” He asks, raising his eyebrows.
Jane holds onto P’Jane like a koala while he manoeuvres them, which apparently is hilarious, because P’Jane laughs against the top of Jane’s head and peppers his face with kisses again.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“That’s my line.” Jane protests, his arms still firmly wrapped around P’Jane’s shoulders and his legs around P’Jane’s waist.
The lock pendant dangles over Jane’s face once before it rests on his chin as P’Jane gets closer. “It doesn’t matter what this wretched life of mine takes me. I promise it won’t be away from you.”
It’s the sudden sincerity, Jane thinks, that does it. Half a decade ago, Jane would have killed to hear P’Jane say those words. To quite literally, lay Jane down and make a bow to never leave him. Because promises are like the very air P’Jane breathes. They are unaffable, untouchable. P’Jane never breaks a promise.
So, when P’Jane says he won’t leave Jane.
Jane believes him.
When P’Jane asks if Jane has been with anybody else and Jane answers no, P’Jane responds me either.
And Jane believes him.
Ultimately, they decide to ditch the condom.
And Jane won’t regret it in any of his next lives.
It’s a bit uncomfortable at first. Not painful, not really. P’Jane did a great job and he is also jerking Jane off as he enters him. Jane is in sensory overload in the best way possible, because P’Jane manages to kiss him through the first thrusts as well. Jane uses his leverage on P’Jane’s waist to push him further inside until he bottoms out.
Jane can’t remember moaning this loud in his entire life.
Eyes rolling back, Jane doesn’t realise he has closed them until P’Jane kisses them open.
“Look, my angel.” He calls him. “Look how well you are taking me.”
And Jane does. Looks down where their bodies meet, and it shouldn’t really turn him on that much. There’s some narcissistic disorder at play here, Jane tries to recall from his psychology classes, no that he really can form any coherent thought, because the head of P’Jane’s dick is poking at his abdomen from inside him, and Jane quite literally loses his mind. With the remaining twinges of his dignity still swimming through his pleasure, Jane turns to bite on the pillow, however, just like Jane’s train of thought; P’Jane stops that too.
He nuzzles Jane’s head back to looking up at him and kisses Jane as a reward.
Jane moans through all of it and then, P’Jane finds his prostate again.
“P’Jane!” He can’t even recognise his own voice. “Right there.”
P’Jane smirks and zeroes on that spot until Jane can’t physically stop his eyes from rolling back and his hips from meeting P’Jane’s thrusts. His fingers are digging onto P’Jane’s back, which might leave really angry marks, but he can’t care about that right now because P’Jane hasn’t stop jerking him off and he is about to come.
“Phi, I-“
“Yes, beautiful?” It’s endearing how much P’Jane wants to sound calm, but instead it comes out breathy, a grunt right after the question as Jane clenches down on his dick.
“I’m so clo-“Again, the relentless assault on his prostate is taking a toll on Jane’s sanity, his voice only useful to moan and mewl like an animal.
“You are going to come, love?” P’Jane asks sweetly through his own groaning. “Are you going to come for me?”
Jane nods, his movements becoming erratic as his vision whitens.
“P’Jane! Oh- Oh my God.”
In a flash, his body is tense like a violin string and then, just as easily, it snaps. Jane curls onto P’Jane above him, his mind completely gone as he chases after his orgasm. His hips thrust both into P’Jane’s fist and against P’Jane’s dick and Jane is just fully surrounded by P’Jane, as he kisses him through it that Jane believes in full confidence, he is no longer alive. He can’t be. A human body can’t experience this amount of pleasure in this astral plane.
Yet there he is, feeling as P’Jane thrusts one last time with a loud moan and fills him up. Now, officially, he is completely engulfed in P’Jane. No other place Jane would rather be, his spent mind conjures the thought and Jane sighs, a lazy smile on his lips. P’Jane collapses onto Jane almost like a dead weight. Jane catches him, both arms wrapped around P’Jane’s back almost protectively. Nobody is taking P’Jane away from Jane. P’Jane promised. But Jane will also fight for this. For P’Jane. For him to take his rightful place between Jane’s arms.
Jane twitches through his aftershocks, milking P’Jane until he too starts shaking with oversensitivity and pulls out. However, Jane’s grip on P’Jane’s back is either too strong or P’Jane is too exhausted to fight it. So, he doesn’t. P’Jane stays put, in the reverse position they started when P’Jane fingered Jane. P’Jane completely covering Jane’s body with his but also managing not to smother Jane.
Again, not that Jane would mind dying that way. He would die in peace.
Only not really, now that he has his P’Jane back, he wants to live a long very healthy life.
Jane comes to with P’Jane kissing his neck. Softly this time. Just little presses of his lips and nose against Jane’s abused skin. It feels a bit raw, but it’s not uncomfortable. Jane sighs again as P’Jane reaches his lips. Noticing how his arms have gone sore from how tightly he has been hugging P’Jane, Jane releases his hold as they kiss, allowing P’Jane to roll them over so they are laying on their sides.
When they break the kiss, Jane rubs his nose against P’Jane’s and immediately yawns. Which, should completely break the mood, but instead P’Jane smiles so fondly the ever-so-beloved crescents are blooming back in his eyes.
“We should go to sleep.” P’Jane whispers against Jane’s lips.
Jane nods and gives up in trying to keep his eyes open. “You’ll be here when I wake up.”
Not a question.
P’Jane answers anyway. “Always.”