Arden wove his fingers through Jack’s hair and kissed him back. After a moment, Jack pulled away to stare down into his face before glancing over at Beckett with a raised brow.
“Is it all right?” Arden asked breathlessly. “Am I better at it? We practiced. Am I better?”
“Arden—” Beckett started.
Arden waved at him. “I know, I know. It’s not about that. But…am I?”
“I’m not sure,” Jack said. “Would you like to try again?”
“Yes.” Arden grabbed Jack’s face and drew him down to hold Jack’s mouth against his.
That single dimple showed in Jack’s cheek as it went on and on.
“Open up, pet,” Beckett stage-whispered.
Arden’s nose wrinkled. He was always reluctant to do this. Preferred it when Beckett did it for him. Or Jack.
He popped his mouth open and Jack, startled at the suddenness of it, heaved with a short laugh.
“Oh.” Arden pushed at his shoulders and shot a scowl Beckett’s way. “It doesn’t feel natural, I don’t know how—mmm. Mmmmm.”
Jack had caught his chin, angled it, and licked slowly, lingeringly over Arden’s scolding mouth. Arden curled up around him, his arms and legs locking around Jack’s solid body. Jack slid his tongue into Arden’s mouth, drew it out slowly, did it again and did—yeah.
He did that thing where he twisted it. Beckett could tell by the way Arden trembled.
“Been taking lessons have you?” Jack said, smiling down at his flushed and quivering husband.
“I will get so much better,” Arden assured him.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart,” Jack said. “You’re perfect.”
Arden stroked his shoulders and glanced shyly between him and Beckett. “I like it whenyoukissmelike that. Both of you. It’s wonderful when I can, um. Take it. But when I’m supposed to do it, I…”
“Kiss him how you like it,” Beckett said.
Arden looked uncertain.
“Come on, now. Be a good boy.”
Arden glared. It did nothing at all to hide the fact he loved being called a good boy.
Beckett couldn’t help himself. He reached out and swept a stray lock of hair from Arden’s hot face. “Our Jack’s a romantic, don’t forget. He’ll like it soft and pretty. If he wants someone to force him to take a good tonguing, he can ask me for it. Come on.”
Arden did as he was told. He pressed a gentle kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth. His lips were closed and, Beckett knew, soft as a petal. He kissed the other corner, then settled fully against Jack’s smile with a quiet sigh.
Jack’s body was strung tight as he fought to hold himself still. His breathing was slow and controlled, but it roughened. Beckett saw his control unravelling, thread by thread.
He lost it entirely when Arden brushed his lips over Jack’s in dainty pecks, varying the pressure.
Arden was such a strange little thing. He loved to be pinned down, to have someone direct him, to manage his sensations and his pleasure. He seemed incapable of seeking it for himself.
It didn’t sit quite right with Beckett. Suggested things he didn’t care for, like Arden had spent a lifetime training himself not to want, to demand, to take. Even the love that was his right.
Jack collared Arden’s slender neck with a large hand and held him still while he slowly took over and kissed Arden the way Jack liked—deep, wet, with the single-minded purpose of overwhelming his partner.
And it was overwhelming. Arden was holding Jack close, but Beckett saw the faint glimmer of a tear at the outer corner of his eye.
“Jack,” Beckett murmured. “Easy.”
