Caught Running (25 page)

Jake responded by rocking his hips and groaning as he slid his hand under Brandon's shoulders to pull their bodies closer together. Brandon wrapped around Jake like a limpet ... he thought distantly that this was getting totally out of hand, echoing Jake's most recent question. But he couldn't bring himself to focus on it, not when he wanted this so much. “Now, Jake, now,” he breathed.

Jake pulled back and slammed into him, rocking deep inside before repeating the motion and falling into a punishing rhythm, whimpering and moaning Brandon's name as he tried to keep the pace. Brandon's abandoned cries of pleasure only served to encourage Jake further, and he gave up on any pretense of gentility. Brandon bit his lip against even more inappropriate words as the thrusts jarred him, almost as if each snap of his body was emphasizing what he felt.

Jake gasped now with each thrust into Brandon's body, groaning as if the effort of not coming was too much for him to take without a struggle. He pulled almost entirely out of Brandon after every thrust, wanting to make damn certain Brandon enjoyed it. The pleasure and effort began to make him lightheaded, and with that came a complete loss of his considerable control. He cried out suddenly, pushing up to his knees and dragging Brandon's hips up into his lap as he tried desperately to fight back his orgasm and fuck Brandon at the same time.

The lost sound wrenched from Jake made Brandon arch up against him. He gave a rough yell of strained pleasure as his entire body stiffened, and Brandon threw back his head and cried out his lover's name as he slammed into orgasm, the proof of it marking them both with hot slickness. Jake's body curled over his, hips losing their rhythm as his fingers dug into Brandon's skin, and he came with a tortured shout.

His muscles twitched and clenched through the orgasm and Brandon was afraid he'd break out crying at the gorgeous pleasure of it, God help him. He squeezed his eyes shut and rode it out, wrapped around Jake as his shout echoed in his ears.

It felt like hours before Jake stopped shivering. He pushed up and looked down at Brandon finally, panting slightly, eyes screwed shut, skin glistening with sweat. Without a word he carefully pulled out, gasping at the over-stimulation of the friction, and lowered himself to his side next to Brandon.

Brandon didn't even wait. He rolled over to wrap his arms back around Jake's neck, curling as close as he could get while still trying to catch his breath.

Jake held him close, shutting his eyes as he tried to remember why in the
hell
he'd told Brandon what he had. And what was more, it was true. And Brandon had reciprocated, something Jake had never expected. “We're in quite a mess now,” he murmured affectionately.

Tightening his arms, Brandon nodded against Jake's chest. He didn't trust himself to speak just yet. He was quite afraid of what might come out.

Not getting any response, Jake frowned, worried, and lowered his head to press his lips against Brandon's forehead. “Did I hurt you?” he asked softly.

"No,” Brandon murmured, shaking his head to reinforce his response. After a few moments, he had to say something. “A mess, huh?"

"I'm a mess,” Jake responded with a nod.

Brandon smiled a little and chuckled, keeping his head tucked against Jake's neck. “No, you specifically said
we're
in quite a mess."

"Well, now, we are,” Jake argued sensibly. “Doesn't mean the inner Jake isn't doing a Snoopy dance, but it's still a mess."

Pulling back to look at Jake incredulously, Brandon just
barely
held back a guffaw. “A ‘
Snoopy'
dance?"

"You can't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about,” Jake insisted haughtily, raising his chin to hide the smile that played at his lips.

"Ah, okay,” Brandon said. He was more interested in the rest of what Jake said anyway. “I'm glad I could make you dance inside,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Jake's mouth. Jake responded in kind, pulling Brandon closer and turning his head into the kiss.

Brandon sighed, but didn't want to let the question slip away. It would bother him all night. “Jake. Mess. Talk,” he murmured against swollen lips.

Jake groaned plaintively and sighed as he rested his head back on the pillow. “If we're ever found out,” he murmured in answer, “it could ruin us. And now we've got the added bonus of getting our hearts broken if something goes wrong."

Brandon drew in a slow breath. He really hadn't expected Jake to put it so plainly. But there it was, clear as day. “So now what?” he murmured, huddling in closer with his forehead against Jake's shoulder, afraid to look at the other man's face. “Do we just stop?” His voice broke at the end, reflecting how very much he did
not
want that. Jesus. They'd been ‘together’ for three days.
Only three days
.

"Pfft. I'm cynical, not masochistic,” Jake answered with a small laugh, squeezing Brandon tight.

The breath audibly stuttered out of Brandon as he tightened his arms around Jake. “I'm glad,” he murmured against warm skin.

Jake ducked his head to nuzzle against Brandon's temple and sighed. “I need to go get my pills,” he whispered regretfully. He didn't want to get up, but he knew if he left it much longer he wouldn't sleep at all.

Brandon sighed too and started to move. “Stay here. I'll get them,” he murmured, rolling out of the bed and padding out toward the kitchen.

"Don't forget the alcohol!” Jake called out as he lay in bed shivering at the sudden loss of warmth.

"Don't get your hopes up!” Brandon yelled back from the stairs. Wincing a little at the cold tile in the kitchen, he opened the cabinet he'd seen Jake get into, frowned at all the little bottles, and started reading labels.

Thinking about the cabinet, Jake huffed and rolled out of bed, wincing as he stood. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing. After the fact was when it hurt to move. He padded through the hallway, down the stairs, and into the kitchen to slide up behind Brandon. Reaching into the cabinet for the large prescription bottle on the bottom shelf, he kissed the back of Brandon's shoulder, then turned to the refrigerator.

"Jake, most of these are expired; why do you keep them? These types of drugs don't keep their efficacy, you might as well be taking sugar pills,” Brandon said with a frown, poking around through the bottles. “And some could be dangerous if mixed."

"The labels don't mean shit,” Jake answered as he reached in for a beer and straightened back up to lean against the island.

Brandon threw an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Please tell me you don't mix and match these. Really,” he asked.

Jake shrugged noncommittally and popped the two pills into his mouth before twisting open the beer cap.

Brandon looked nervous and on the edge of scared. He glanced back to the cabinet, then back to Jake. “If I quit giving you the eye about the muscle relaxers and the beer, will you let me throw the rest of this shit out?” he asked seriously.

"Maybe."

"Jake,” Brandon protested, voice pained. “I really, really would like to know you're going to wake up every morning."

Jake sighed and his shoulders slumped. “It's not that big a deal."

Brandon literally flinched, and he turned his chin sharply away, unable to verbalize anything after what felt like it might as well have been a punch in the gut. He twisted his body away from Jake's, gripping the edge of the bar to keep from reaching for him.

Jake watched Brandon's reaction and his stomach turned as he stood there. He sighed softly and looked away, shaking his head as he tapped his finger on his beer bottle. “Brandon,” he finally said.

Forcing himself to take a breath and blink burning eyes, Brandon turned his chin just enough to acknowledge him. Jake took a step forward and slid up behind him, wrapping his arms around him and setting the bottle on the counter. He rested his chin on Brandon's shoulder and looked up into the still open cabinet. “What do you want me to do?” he asked quietly.

He suspected Jake meant the pills, and Brandon did make his eyes focus on the several rows of bottles, but what he had inside had to come out. “I want you to wake up each morning,” he said in a fragile voice. “With me."

Jake turned his head just enough to press his nose against the side of Brandon's neck. There were a lot of different meanings he could take from that, he knew. Was Brandon still talking about the pills and the possible danger of taking them, or was he talking about something more personal? Either way, it was a tricky subject, wasn't it?

"Then stay here with me,” Jake responded finally, not giving himself a chance to think it through.

Brandon relaxed back against Jake, sliding his hands over strong forearms to settle over Jake's fingers. How they'd gotten onto such shaky ground, he didn't know. Brandon cursed himself for getting too serious too fast, although Jake seemed to be right there with him. “I want to,” he whispered. Then his voice strengthened. “And I want to flush most of this shit down the toilet,” he added.

"That would make me mighty cranky,” Jake muttered with a sigh. “You do realize most of those aren't even prescription pills, right? I've put over the counter stuff in the smaller bottles because the shelves are so small. And the prescription stuff I do take is the only thing keeping me moving at all,” he argued, trying not to get defensive.

Brandon's eyes softened, and he turned his chin to rub his forehead against Jake's chin. “I want you to take care of yourself,” he said helplessly, still frowning at the bottles. “I hate that you hurt."

"So do I,” Jake laughed wryly, reaching out to pluck a bottle at random off the shelf. He opened and dumped several of the pills out onto the counter. “Tylenol Arthritis,” he said as he turned one of the huge white pills so that the name could be read. He reached for another and repeated the action, revealing a mound of little bitty pink Benadryl pills. Another container held blue and white Tylenol PM tablets. And another Jake pulled out revealed several Tylox. He pointed at them and said, “I'm allergic to those, but they're stronger. If I'm hurting real bad I take one of those and two Benadryl with it."

Surprised, Brandon watched in silence as Jake went through several of the bottles with him. It was more than he could have hoped for, considering. Matching up the number of surgeries with the pain and looking over the medicines spread across the bar, Brandon's gut cramped uncomfortably. “I think I understand the beer a little more now,” he murmured. He didn't like it. But he understood it. He was also more upset, because this revealed just how much pain Jake must be living with daily. Just living with. His hand curled into a fist.

Jake smiled a little, his chin still on Brandon's shoulder. “And,” he held his breath for a moment, sighing heavily and pushing at the bottle of Vicodin. “If you really want me to give those up, we're talking a few weeks of withdrawal. I'd rather wait ‘til summer if it's all the same to you."

The anger drained away as Brandon comprehended what Jake was offering. His fist relaxed, and he reached up behind him to curl his arm about Jake's neck. It was a hell of a peace offering. “How about we talk about it when school's out?” he posed, knowing he was making several large assumptions based on Jake's words.

"And until then you stop worrying?” Jake countered.

Brandon licked his bottom lip, looking across the counter and the host of pills. “I'll try,” he promised in a hoarse voice.

Jake sighed again and nodded as he lifted his head off Brandon's shoulder and kissed the warm skin gently. “I've been doing this for over ten years,” he murmured, “I'm okay. I'll be okay.” His voice, although the tone was reassuring, sounded slightly bitter and tinged with sadness. It was obvious that Jake had long ago resigned himself to pain every day. He was willing to give up the prescription pills because the reality was that they
didn't
help all that much.

Sighing and trying to push away his worry and uncertainty, Brandon looked over at the clock. “We didn't have dinner and it's still early. Want something to eat?” he asked.

"Yeah,” Jake answered, kissing Brandon's neck one last time for good measure before he stepped back to let him move. He looked Brandon up and down appraisingly and smirked. “Want some clothes?"

Glancing down at himself, Brandon rolled his eyes. “What's the matter?” he asked, his voice slowly going back to normal. “Don't like the free show?"

"Mystery can be alluring,” Jake countered with a wag of his finger. “And cooking while naked is not recommended,” he added with a serious nod.

Brandon laughed at him. “You need to get yourself some clothes then, Thundercat. Because whatever I attempted to fix would not be edible. I wasn't kidding when I said I couldn't cook."

Jake muttered and then took a long gulp of his beer. “Pasta?” he suggested after swallowing.

Nodding, Brandon leaned over to kiss him sweetly. “I'm getting in the shower. Want some clothes?” he asked, eyes brightening at his joke.

"Hmph,” Jake answered as he wrapped one arm around Brandon and squeezed his ass in a blatant move.

A little over an hour later, they were back on the couch, Brandon with papers and pen, wearing more of Jake's clothes, Jake with the television remote and baseball. The science teacher glanced over his glasses in amusement each time Jake crowed or cussed, but held his tongue as he graded. It was comfortable. It was comforting.