Beckett’s nostrils flared with something like pride as his gaze latched onto Arden.
Poor Arden, Jack thought with a smile. Arden flinched even as he tipped his hips up, demanding more. He was a gentle man, and sheltered. More than likely he’d never had anyone look at him the way Beckett did. Jack loved Beckett’s fierce intensity, that naked arrogance that said,I want. I will have. He hoped that Arden would one day feel the same.
Beckett curled a hard hand around the back of Jack’s neck and pulled him close even as he leaned in. They kissed again, as they always did. It was a harsh, overwhelming battle. Beckett shoved his tongue into Jack’s mouth. Jack shoved it out and pushed his own into Beckett’s. Beckett twisted into it as he bit at Jack’s lips.
He’d broken the skin once and been horrified, but he couldn’t stop himself from doing it. He was a biter.
Jack, now, he preferred to suck.
He caught Beckett’s bottom lip between his, and drew on it almost hard enough to bruise.
Beckett gasped and pulled back, his head whipping down to stare at Arden even as his hips stuttered. If Jack had to guess, Arden had clenched around him in response.
Arden, Jack noticed with satisfaction, who was more than a little interested in the proceedings. His flushed cheeks were poppy bright, making his eyes stand out in contrast. His chest heaved with quick, light pants, and he licked his lips.
Beckett leaned down and kissed him.
It was nothing like the way he kissed Jack, and Jack couldn’t hold back the noise that came out of him at the sight of it—of his big, strong Beckett gentling himself for Arden. Arousal he shouldn’t be able to feel while on suppressants scorched through him.
Arden wouldn’t register it as gentle, of course. Beckett gripped his jaw to hold him for it, and he drove his tongue pastArden’s damp, parted lips without warning, tilting his head to go as deep as possible.
Jack ran a hand down Beckett’s back, humming with appreciation as the thick muscles twitched and flexed. Beckett had settled flat on Arden and his hips pumped steadily as he continued to kiss him. Although Arden seemed to be enjoying it, he didn’t kiss Beckett back.
But then, he wouldn’t know how.
Jack’s savouring touch skimmed the length of Beckett’s spine to curl around a heavy buttock. The skin was hot and silky under his palm, and Jack felt a twinge of…something.
It wasn’t envy—he didn’t begrudge Arden this.
It was curiosity.
He knew what it felt like to have Beckett’s weight pinning him to the mattress, to have Beckett’s delightful damp muscles rubbing over Jack’s own. He’d even let Beckett take control once or twice, and lain there beneath him as Arden was doing. Jack had dug his fingers into the pumping buttocks and sucked on Beckett’s neck as the lad worked over him. He’d goaded Beckett on as their shafts slid together between their bellies, and the world had contracted down to heat, movement, and a rush to the end.
Jack blew out a harsh breath.
But he’d never know what it felt like to have Beckett moving inside him as he was moving in Arden. He didn’t want it, any more than Beckett wanted Jack inside him. He could, however, admit that he was curious.
He enjoyed holding Beckett for another moment, before he let go.
Beckett’s thrusts intensified. Jack smiled. Perched on the edge of the mattress as he was, with the way Beckett was going, he’d be bounced clean off.
Jack had sworn when he’d taken Arden away from the only home he’d ever known that he’d do everything he could to provide Arden with love, safety, and above all, with the ability to choose. This unexpected heat had complicated matters. Arden couldn’t choose not to have it, not now, but Jack could help him choose how the rest of it went.
“Beckett,” Jack said. “I need to talk to Arden.” He had to repeat himself twice before Beckett tore his mouth from Arden’s and twisted his head to stare at Jack. His body didn’t stop moving. He couldn’t stop at this point, and Jack felt honoured that Beckett would even listen to him when he was in this state. “Thank you, my love,” he said.
Beckett huffed, then snatched Arden’s wrists and shoved his hands down to the mattress, holding them there. His jaw flickered with tension and his face was a mask of concentration as he waited for Jack to continue.
“Arden,” Jack said.
“J-Jack,” Arden managed to reply. His voice was dry and cracked, and Beckett and Jack both reached for the water carafe by the bed at the same time. Jack got there first, and poured the water. He handed the glass to Beckett, who dipped his chin in acknowledgment and gave it to Arden.
Gods, Beckett was being sweet. Jack had suspected he would be.
He’d seen Beckett outside in the kitchen garden on more than one occasion, chatting to the bold little robin who always came around in the hopes that Beckett would share his pie.
He always did.
Now, he slipped a hand under Arden’s head and lifted it, tilting the glass to Arden’s lips.
