Jag’s back and shoulders were stiff when he woke up, tangled in Michael’s arms. He wasn’t sure what the time was, because the front of house was a windowless cocoon. Michael was still asleep, his breathing deep and soft. The stage lights were still on, the disco ball rotating slowly above his head, sending fragments of white light scattering about the room. He couldn’t help but remember their constellation spotting conversation or his minor freak-out. Michael’s joke had sent his mind spiralling into dark memories of being given nausea-inducing drugs and being made to watch porn. He felt a surge of queasiness, as he had done the previous night, and clapped his hand over his mouth and nose, breathing slowly and deeply until the sensation subsided. The desire to wake Michael and explain was briefly overwhelming as he fought through his too visceral reaction. It was a moment of weakness that he wouldn’t act on.
Once the sickness had passed, he let his hand flop to his side and stared up at the ceiling. How many other innocent comments would trigger an uncontrollable reaction in him? He half smiled. Michael’s comment hadn’t been innocent. Not ill-intentioned but definitely not innocent. Jag should have been able to find it funny; it had been funny. He’d simply been too broken to laugh.
He’d often wondered if his parents had actually cared about the damage that was being done to him during those months of ‘therapy’ sessions, though he doubted they’d even see it that way. They’d been trying to ‘fix’ him. Instead, they’d taken a happy, smiling boy and turned him into a wreck of a man.
Michael stirred, and Jag tried to banish the thoughts from his mind.
“Hey,” Michael said sleepily before yawning widely.
Jag turned onto his side so he could stroke Michael’s face with his thumb. He stared into the older man’s eyes, smiling gently. “Morning.”
Despite his smile, his face must have been expressing something negative because Michael’s brow crumpled, and his blue eyes clouded over. “I wish you’d talk to me,” he whispered. He squeezed his eyes shut, swore under his breath, and then sighed. “Forget I said that.”
“It’s okay.” It really was. He liked that Michael was concerned, and part of him did want to open up and tell him everything. But he wasn’t ready to break yet another rule for this man. He snuggled closer, briefly pressing his lips to Michael’s. “Just hold me?”
Michael tightened his grip, pulling Jag to his chest. The strong, steady rhythm of Michael’s heart helped to soothe the last traces of tension and fear from Jag’s body, allowing him to relax fully. He began to explore Michael’s face, brushing his lips over his forehead, cheeks, chin, jaw, and nose before pressing them to Michael’s mouth for a long, lingering kiss. Michael rolled onto his back, tugging Jag with him so he was lying on top of him. They continued kissing lazily, Jag’s elbows resting lightly on Michael’s chest. When they finally needed to break to breathe, Michael ran his fingertips over Jag’s face.
“The cleaners will be arriving soon.”
Jag folded his hands on Michael’s chest and rested his chin on them. “Does that mean we have to move?”
“I’m afraid so. But you don’t have to go.” Michael’s gaze tracked towards the ceiling. “You could come upstairs with me.”
Jag swallowed. He’d only just got his head around allowing himself to get to know Michael on an emotional level. Moving things out of the club and into one of their private spaces felt like too big a jump. It was ridiculous, considering the number of times he’d fucked Michael, but that had just been sex. Mostly.
Michael used both hands to brush Jag’s hair away from his face. “It was just a thought.” He raised himself up enough to kiss the tip of Jag’s nose. “Maybe next time.”
Jag licked his lips, gathering his nerve. “What would we do upstairs?”
Michael thought for a moment. “Have breakfast.”
“Breakfast?”
Michael murmured an affirmation. “Maybe take a nap.”
Jag raised his eyebrows. “A nap?”
Michael looked around. “Is there an echo in here? I hear an echo.” He tickled Jag’s ribs through his clothes, making him crack up laughing.
“You’re a loon,” Jag said between gasps.
They ended up rolling again so he was on his back and Michael was leaning over him, kissing him and, tickling him mercilessly until he could barely breathe. He tapped Michael’s side, prompting him to stop. Slowly, he recovered from his laughing fit as he gazed into Michael’s eyes.
“You’re a loon,” he repeated.
“There’s definitely an echo.” Michael lightly tickled him again.
“Hey!” Jag complained. “What’s the plan here? Tickle me until I give in and agree to go upstairs with you?”
Michael pursed his lips. “Would that work?” He waggled his fingers, a mischievous glint flashing through his eyes. “Because if it would, I’ll gladly keep tickling you until you relent.”
Jag crossed his arms and clamped his hands over his sides. “Don’t you dare!”
Not that he put up much of a fight as Michael tried to tickle him again other than keeping his hands where they were to make the man’s task harder. He writhed and laughed, tipping his head back. It felt so good to laugh that hard, for that long, even if it was difficult to breathe again. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so light.
“Okay! Okay!” he said once he didn’t think he could take much more.
Michael paused. “Okay?”
