10Jag
“I’ve got to go.” Jag patted Michael’s chest and started to stand, but the older man caught hold of his wrist, gently stilling him.
“Stay.”
It had been almost two weeks since they’d started fooling around, and it was the first time that Michael had tried to stop him from leaving.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
Jag pressed his lips together. He had an answer to the question, but not one he could use to make Michael understand his situation without giving too much about himself away. Somehow, they’d managed to meet and have sex on several occasions without ever really talking to one another before, during, or after. He must have fucked Michael in pretty much every part of the club, backstage, and in the front of house, including over a bar stool, which had been…interesting. Afterwards, they cuddled and kissed, but they didn’t speak as they recuperated. Then he would leave, happily telling himself all they were having was fun, and that he’d set firm boundaries that they were both observing.
“Let’s not ruin what we have by talking,” he said.
Michael’s mouth quivered as though he couldn’t decide if he should frown or burst out laughing. “But I want to know more about you.” He reached up to stroke Jag’s face.
Jag flinched away. He shook his wrist free of Michael’s loose grip and stood. Damn that his clothes weren’t close by. They’d ended up in a tangled heap on the stage, lying in some dust sheets that Michael used to cover the furniture during the day, when the fitness classes were being run. Their clothes were in the shower room, where they’d met that evening.
“This is supposed to be fun,” he snapped, grabbing one of the dust sheets so he could cover himself up. He felt emotionally vulnerable, which for some reason left him feeling physically exposed, too. “No strings.”
Michael’s brow furrowed. “And talking will change that?”
Jag nodded. He realised he had to be coming across at least a little crazy.
Michael sat up. “I’m curious about what makes you tick. That’s not the same thing as becoming a couple. I enjoy what we have.” He brushed his fingertips over Jag’s ankle. “I don’t want anything more.”
Jag narrowed his eyes a fraction, wondering if that was really true.
“Is it wrong to want to know more about the man who’s fucking me?” Michael asked impishly.
Jag’s shoulders slumped. No, it wasn’t. And if his life was halfway normal, he would probably be happy to tell Michael all about himself. But it wasn’t normal. Answering one question would lead to another and another and another, and before he knew it, he would have broken rule number two and his miserable past would be laid bare. Michael would know who he was—who hereallywas—and then he’d have power over him. He’d hold Jag’s freedom in his hands, and he simply couldn’t give that much control to anyone.
“I just don’t like talking about myself,” he said at last.
“Sit down,” Michael suggested.
Jag steadfastly stayed where he was. There was nothing stopping him from walking away, except the sad, puppy dog look in Michael’s eyes. A part of him didn’t want to be the cause of that expression.
“Is there anything you want to know about me?” Michael asked.
“No.” That was a lie. He was curious about Michael. There were dozens of questions he could ask him, but it would make him a hypocrite. Better that neither of them learned the answers to the questions on the tips of both of their tongues.
He realised he was being paranoid. He wasalwaysat least a little paranoid, but right now he was being ridiculously so. There were plenty of things he could tell Michael; insignificant little details that wouldn’t be enough to give anything tangible about himself away.
“We can trade,” he said cautiously, sinking to his knees.
“Trade?”
“I’ll ask you a question, and we’ll both answer it.”
As long as he stayed in control of what questions were being asked, he could appease Michael without betraying himself. He’d be skating around the edge of breaking rule number four, but he wouldn’t actually fall through the ice.
“All right,” Michael said. “What do you want to know?”
Even though it had been his idea, Jag found his mind crippled as he tried to think of a question that wouldn’t result in him having to divulge something he wasn’t comfortable with. Desperate for something trivial and innocent, he said the first, most ridiculous thing that popped into his head.
“Batman or Superman?”
