“Yes, really.” Jackson twirled a strand of hair that had escaped its bobble. “I wouldn't have anyway, but especially not there. Switzerland is… It’s our place. Neutral ground, right?”
Elliot nodded. “Maybe, this can be Switzerland too.”
“The track?”
“Everywhere,” Elliot ventured. His voice was low and hesitant.
“I’d like that.”
The tension finally fell away. Elliot smiled and leaned in, kissing him deeply. Jackson’s hand wandered under the hem of his shirt, tracing the lines of his oblique muscles, and Elliot shivered.
“You cold?”
“Tickles,” Elliot replied.
“Oh, this?” he asked innocently, doubling down on the soft, featherlight touches he was running up and down Elliot’s sides.
“Omigod, I can’t.” Elliot squirmed as Jackson tickled him mercilessly. “You’re such a dick,” he gasped.
Jackson laughed, then he captured Elliot’s mouth in a kiss as he stilled them both. “You love it,” he said as he pulled back.
Something flared in Elliot’s chest. “Yeah, I do.”
Electricity crackled between them, and Elliot was certain he felt a change in the air. It was too much too soon. He rested his chin on Jackson’s shoulder, fingers winding into his wet hair.
“Should have known. Stefan isn’t your type at all.” He’d been aiming for casual, but he knew the hitch in his breathing stopped it from being quite as laissez-faire as intended.
“Oh no?” Jackson said, amused. “What’s my type, then?”
Elliot pretended to think. “Stubborn, great hair, faster than you in a marathon.”
Jackson smirked. “Faster, my arse.” He bumped Elliot’s shoulder. “But you’re right, I do have a very specific type. Very rare. Gotta make sure I keep hold of him.”
Elliot’s ears got hot, but he didn’t look away.
Jackson grinned, and Elliot was falling. He needed Jackson in the worst way.
“Can we please get out of here?” Jackson asked, nibbling on the shell of Elliot’s ear, echoing his sentiments exactly. "I think my fingers have gone numb."
“Yeah,” Elliot breathed. “How far is your place?”
“Like, forty-five minutes.”
Elliot groaned. “Fucking London.”
Jackson glanced around. The track was empty now. He tugged Elliot’s shirt, looking in the direction of the changing rooms.
It was risky, too risky.
“No, Jennings,” Elliot said.
“Why not?” Jackson whined. “It’s right there, and there’s nobody around.”
“Anders could be back any minute. He practically lives on this track.”
Jackson seemed determined now, though. Heat flared in Elliot’s belly as he saw Jackson adjust himself subtly in his shorts. “What, you worried he’ll get jealous?”
“Oh, fuck you, Jennings. Not wanting to get caught has nothing to do with Anders, and you know it.”
