It was normal routine for them: Propped against the headboard, Matt’s eyes scanning the endless pictures on his camera, Jackson waiting till his strength surfaced before he'd either get the hell out or kick Daehler out. Whichever he was in the mood for. Only, Matt suddenly said: “Do you ever let anyone in?”
Jackson stilled. “I’m the one that does the fucking.”
“I didn’t mean –”
He sat up, feeling the chill of the room. “And put that away.”
Matt obsessed over his stupid camera. Jackson didn’t understand it. He barely spared a moment away from it, slinging it around his neck wherever he went. Couldn’t he obsess over lacrosse? The dude seriously needed it.
Jackson wondered what would happen if he smashed it. The thought became increasingly welcome when Matt blinded him with the flash – again. “No.”
Matt had a smile on his face and Jackson shifted, gaze falling to his many trophies. Not nearly enough, they never failed to put Jackson’s priorities straight. “I have to go.”
“Where are we going?”
“There’s no we; I am going to Danny’s. I don’t care where you go.” Slipping off the bed, Jackson made his way to the bathroom.
He took a quick shower, not wasting time. Towel wrapped around his waist when he was done, he made his way back. When he saw Matt still sprawled on his bed, his jaw tightened. “I thought I told you to go,” he snapped.
“Why are you being such an ass?”
Tugging on a T-shirt, Jackson furrowed his brows. “If you care so much-”
“I don’t.” But Jackson wasn’t dumb. He could see the way Matt clung to him like he did his camera, like Jackson promised he’d never do to anyone – it’s weakness, he reminded himself. Why even try when in the end the person only left you?
He and Matt were only fuck buddies, plain and simple. Matt needed reminded of that.
Jackson let out a disbelieving laugh. He studied Matt derisively. “Look, me and you – we’re nothing.” Making his way to the side of the bed, Jackson leaned in. “I don’t even like you.”
Matt grabbed Jackson’s hand, fingers tight. Jackson held still, waiting. Instead of a fist or shove like he expected – anyone would have – he twined their fingers together. “You’ll let me in one day,” he promised.
Jackson scoffed, tugging free. He finished dressing, ignoring the eyes on him before grabbing his keys from his dresser.
“We’re done here, Daehler,” he said gruffly.
But Matt ignored him. He was standing right next to him, wearing his boxers though Jackson hadn’t noticed he put them on, his forehead crinkled in agitation. Despite being pissed off, he grabbed Jackson’s jaw gently, pulling him close so their lips touched. Matt’s eyes closed, mouth opening wider to deepen the kiss, slower than their frenzied ones from earlier.
Heat filled Jackson’s body and he pressed closer, chest to chest. The keys became slick in his grasp as the kiss roughened, tongues meshing. Jackson’s eyes squeezed tight, heart pounding in his chest.
Arms wrapped around him, hands rubbing his shoulders, his back, brushing his nape. Jackson forced himself away, letting out a deep, stuttered breath. “I have to go,” he repeated, shoving past Matt and out the door.
He needed Danny and lacrosse and hell, lots of alcohol. He didn’t want to think.