“You’re ridiculous. How is this the only time you’re on time for anything?” he muttered, stepping aside to let Jackson in.
Jackson grinned. “Punctuality is a virtue, Owens.”
“Not one of yours,” Elliot said, but he didn’t sound all that annoyed. He hobbled back to sit on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face. “Fine. Do your worst.”
Jackson followed, shutting the door behind him. “Alright, ankle up.”
Elliot sighed but lifted his leg. Jackson crouched between his knees, the movement bringing them close. He pressed the ice pack against Elliot’s ankle and immediately got a hissed curse for his trouble.
“Fuck me, that’s cold!”
Jackson smirked. “You want me to warm it up first?” he asked, ghosting a finger over Elliot’s calf.
“Don’t—” Elliot began, but the rest came out as a laugh when Jackson’s soft touch turned into a very deliberate attempt to tickle the man. Anything to break the strange tension hanging over them.
Jackson watched him, pride swelling at the smile he managed to pull out of him. “There it is. I was starting to think you didn’t know how.”
Elliot’s eyes met his. “You’re dangerously smug this early in the day.”
“Well, I like having you at my mercy.”
Silence fell between them, and Jackson could feel Elliot's eyes still on him as he held the ice pack against his skin.
When the ice had done its job, Jackson tossed it aside and rested his palms around the joint, drawing light circles with his thumbs. He kept his touch careful, slowly massaging Elliot’s ankle to the absolute best of his ability.
Elliot exhaled, a shaky, desperate sound. “You know what you’re doing?”
“I googled it.”
Elliot snorted, but his eyelids fluttered half-closed. Jackson’s fingers moved higher, massaging up the curve of his calf. The silence stretched, filled with the soft sound of their breathing. When Jackson stopped and reached for the tape, Elliot caught his wrist. “You’re good at this,” he said quietly. “Too good. Starting to think you’ve got an ulterior motive.”
Jackson didn’t answer right away. He felt uncertain in a way he wasn’t used to. Like he didn’t know what was allowed or how much affection would be welcome. “You caught me. Got to keep you around—I need real competition out there.”
Their eyes met again. Elliot leaned in first, slowly, until his lips lightly brushed Jackson’s. It seemed like it was meant to be teasing, but Jackson didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. The kiss deepened, and everything stilled as they breathed each other in. Elliot’s hand slid up his neck, goose pimples erupting on Jackson's skin where his fingers traced. They hadn’t done anything like this; nothing in their rooms. It felt more personal somehow, and Jackson’s heart thudded in his chest.
Jackson came up for air. “Elliot.”
“Yeah?”
“This is a bad idea.” He couldn’t believe he was being the voice of reason this morning, but this was too soft, too intimate. Jackson knew he’d be putting his heart at risk if he let it carry on.
Elliot’s fingers tightened, just slightly. “Feels like a good one.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said, voice rough, “that’s the problem.” He let out a short laugh, trying to shake it off. “We have training in half an hour. And I’ve got to wrap your ankle, not—”
Elliot’s smirk returned, faint but real. “Not what?”
Jackson swallowed. He wanted to say ‘fuck it’ to training, bury himself in Elliot and let himself fall. That thought in itself, and the realisation that he’d consider blowing off a session in an Olympic year, was enough to pull him back to reality. He cleared his throat, reached for the tape, and cut the long strips with total focus. It was a hookup. Nothing worth risking his training or his heart for.
The tension didn’t ease as he applied the tape. It was constant, simmering just under the surface in the brush of his fingers, in the way Elliot’s breath hitched every time their skin touched, and Jackson was hyperaware of every sound.
When he was done, Jackson examined his work and gave it a light tap. “There. Perfect.”
Elliot flexed his foot experimentally. “You always this thorough?”
“Only when I care about the outcome.” Jackson stood, gathering the leftover tape. “Take it easy today, or I’ll carry you to physio myself.”
Elliot looked up at him, eyes dark and unreadable. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
