Work Text:
Jeremy sat on the kitchen counter, watching Jean chop vegetables. He sat clear of the cutting board by several inches, but Jean was still exactingly careful with him sitting there.
The kitchen was silent except for the slow, deliberate chop of the knife. Until a second ago, Cat had been here, too. Her phone had gone off in the middle of browning a pan of beef, and the call had turned out to be one of those forty minutes on the porch with a glass of iced tea ordeals. Cody, by the sound of it.
Jean finished chopping the bell pepper and added it to a heaping tower of sliced onions. Cat had said something about salsa roja, but Jean stared down the remaining vegetables on the counter, unsure where to start. He picked up a tomato and put it down again. Instead, he took the cutting board and knife to the sink and washed them. He cleaned a few stray pieces of onion from the counter, then washed his hands.
Finally out of things to do, he looked at Jeremy.
“Don’t look at me. My understanding is that salsa roja is the red one,” Jeremy said.
Jean didn’t reply. He had a little crinkle in his brow. Then he turned away, looked for something to do in the kitchen, came up empty, and looked at Jeremy again. The quiet was unnerving. In this house, it was rarely just the two of them for more than a minute or two at a time.
“What?” Jeremy asked.
Jean’s gaze lingered longer this time. Jeremy was used to Jean looking at him, but he was also used to Jean catching himself and looking away. The guy was completely obvious, bless him, but he clearly tried to hide it for Jeremy’s peace of mind. It was sweet.
“What do I do now?” Jean asked.
Jeremy’s heart beat a little faster. Jean was still staring, absolutely eating Jeremy alive with his eyes. He was standing by the sink, the full width of the kitchen between them, but it kind of felt like Jean was right on top of him. For the first time, Jeremy wondered if Jean might actually make a move.
“I think Cat is going to be a while,” Jeremy said. He kicked the back of his heel against the cabinet below, unable to help fidgeting. “What do you want to do?”
“I have homework,” Jean said.
“Me too,” Jeremy replied with a sigh. “I don’t really feel like doing it.”
Jeremy realized what he was doing as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Flirting. Daring Jean to do it. He pressed his lips closed and resolved not to say a single word more.
Jeremy had posed, but not answered, a question to himself when he had first figured out that Jean was bi. He did not intend to answer it. Even as time went by and more and more weight was added to one side of the scale, Jeremy was Jean’s captain and partner. He had a responsibility to Jean that was more important than how he might feel about him.
Jeremy slid off the counter. His face was too warm. His mind had jumped–because sure, why not–to a recent memory of Jean in ceramics class with clay slip on his arms up to the elbow.
Jean had dug his thumbs roughly into the hollow of the pot he was making, glaring down at his project when it buckled into a misshapen mess. He made a grunt of annoyance and kneaded the attempt back into a ball of clay. Jeremy’s own project sat completely forgotten; the slip plastering Jean’s dark arm hair against his arms was more interesting. And continued to be more interesting than Jeremy’s next three lectures that day.
Just as Jeremy slid off the counter, Jean took one step away from the sink. Jeremy jumped back, banging his hip loudly against the counter, but he didn’t even wince. Jean looked very surprised. He did not take another step forward.
“I actually–have to go,” Jeremy said. “I just remembered something.”
“Remembered what?”
“My, uh, library books.” At the incredulous look on Jean’s face, Jeremy suppressed a wince. “Have to pick them up. My holds are about to expire.”
He left Jean in the kitchen and put on his shoes with shaking hands. This was insane; Jeremy was acting like a complete fool. He needed to get laid. Right now. Reset his brain. Buy himself a week or two of peace. He grabbed his keys and gave Jean the most awkward wave and smile as he escaped onto the porch, where Cat was still mid-call.
“-Hold on. Where are you going?” Cat called after him. “I’m still going to make dinner. Just give me ten.”
Jeremy didn’t stop, just waved.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” he called back, manically clicking his key fob to unlock his car again and again.
“What the fuck,” Cat said under her breath, still loud enough that Jeremy could hear. “Yeah, I’m still here, Cody.”
Jeremy had dialed a casual hook-up of his before he’d got the car to the end of the driveway. He was on the football team, closeted, and liked to play rough. Jeremy could use someone like that to shake the sense back into him.
“Hi, busy?” Jeremy said as the line connected.
Jean didn’t look at his teammates while they were changing, a courtesy that was not afforded universally. He stared into his locker as he pulled his shirt over his head, already dreading practice. He’d messed up with that check against Velázquez-Smith in their last game. Coach Rhemann would want to talk about it, but they’d been talking about Jean’s dirty play style since June, and at this point it was looking like Jean was too stupid to learn. He wished Rhemann would just hit him already. It worked, so why waste everyone’s time reinventing the wheel?
“Damn, okay, Jeremy,” one of their teammates said appreciatively. “Not to be outdone by the rest of the floozies.”
Another teammate chimed in with a put-on sportscaster voice: “Jeremy Knox was trailing behind this season, but in a stunning upset, he has managed to unseat reigning hickey champion–”
“Stop it,” Jeremy groaned, cutting him off. Jean turned around just as Jeremy wiggled into his shirt. Jean saw a flash of purple on his neck. “You guys are…”
“We’re just glad to have you back,” said Patrick. He came up and ran a rough hand through Jeremy’s hair, mussing it up. Jean’s grip tightened on his locker door. “I thought we’d lost you to the straight and narrow.”
“Once a floozy, always a floozy,” said Min sagely.
Jean slammed his locker shut.
“Call him a whore again,” he snapped. He glared at each member of the small crowd around Jeremy in turn, staring down each stunned face until they were forced to look away. Jeremy’s face was beet red, and he wouldn’t look anywhere near Jean.
“Jean, it’s not like that. It’s just teasing,” Cat said. She came around the corner of the adjacent row of lockers, already geared up. “Floozy is like a pet name to us. It’s...” Then her eyes widened, as if she’d realized something, though Jean didn’t know what that might be. Cat whipped around to look at Jeremy, but he wouldn’t look at her either. The locker room was silent, but meaningful looks bounced between Jean’s teammates.
Xavier was the first to speak.
“Gear up now, gossip later,” he said, clapping his hands together. The spell was broken, and everyone scrambled into their uniforms.
Jean watched Jeremy until he also resumed getting dressed, then turned back to his own locker.
Jean had a terrible practice. He tripped everyone he partnered with in scrimmage. He forgot everything he’d worked so hard to learn, old Raven muscle memory erasing half a semester of progress.
“Ow,” Ananya said as Jean twisted her racket too hard. He broke the lock he’d put them in and took himself off the court.
“Coach,” he said, as Rhemann met him at the door. He stopped short and waited.
Rhemann looked at him for a long time.
“I don’t remember calling you over,” he said.
“I’m going to hurt someone.”
“That’s why you’re practicing. So you relearn how to play clean. So you don’t foul other teams’ players when it’s game time.” Jean stared down at his shoes. “Your teammates are willing to collect a few bruises if it means they can help you to be a better player. I’d like you to match their effort.”
“Yes, Coach.”
“You’ve made progress,” Rhemann added as Jean turned back for the court. “Don’t discount that.”
Jean grimaced. He jogged back out to the first-fourth line to find that his new partner was Jeremy. Jean gritted his teeth and played horribly. Jeremy scored on him twice in ten minutes. But he played perfectly clean.
Jeremy was beginning to get frustrated with him for being such a worthless backliner, huffing in annoyance every time he easily made it around Jean to pass to Derek or Nabil.
“Check me,” he complained, twisting away and scoring on Jean a third time.
Jean didn’t have the chance to respond; Rhemann called the end of the scrimmage, and practice moved on.
At the end of practice, Jeremy pulled Jean aside as the rest of the team filed into the locker room.
“What was that about?”
“What was what about?”
“All of it,” Jeremy said–he didn’t snap, but it was close. “You wouldn’t play with me. You were checking everyone else like you were trying to break bones, but you treated me like–like a kid in Little League. And in the locker room, you–” Jeremy released wordless frustration with a big, complicated gesture.
“I’m sorry,” Jean said stiffly. “I’ll do better.”
“You need to give the game your all, no matter what you might think of me. I’m your captain. On the court, you have to treat me like your captain and play.”
Jean looked up. Jeremy looked uncomfortable.
“What I think of you,” Jean repeated. Not understanding.
“Yeah. I’ve had to have this talk before. I’ve had to do it on behalf of my female teammates before, too, and I really don’t like doing it.” He paused and took a breath. “And I didn’t think I’d have to do this with you, but fine. Here goes. We’re equals on the Exy court. I am not weaker than you.” Jeremy was not just uncomfortable, Jean realized. He was upset. He’d lost some control of his tone to emotion. “It's not your job to protect me–in the locker room or on the court. Do not do that to me.”
“Okay,” Jean said.
“It’s insulting,” Jeremy said. “And it undermines me as captain.”
“I understand,” Jean said, trying to contain the edge in his tone.
“Great. Let’s never talk about this again,” Jeremy said. He started toward the locker room.
“Wait,” said Jean. Jeremy turned on him, eyebrows raised. Waiting, but not patiently. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, Jean, I’m fine. Thank you.” Jeremy said, voice tired. He turned away again. “Let’s not make Coach wait.”
Jean followed him into the locker room. He showered, dressed, and tried to pay attention as Coach Rhemann reviewed information for their next game.
Jean went to Cat instead. He’d had a similar conversation with her before, about someone else. This was not undermining his captain, he didn’t think.
Jean was mincing garlic, which he didn’t like doing. It stuck to his fingers unpleasantly. He minced more forcefully as a result, turning the garlic into paste.
“Cat,” he said.
“Yes, mon petit Cuisinart?”
Jean stopped mincing. He scraped the garlic from his fingers, then washed his hands. He joined Cat at the stove.
“I would like to speak to you privately.”
Cat turned on her boom box, even though it was only Laila in the house and she was upstairs. She turned off the stove and gave Jean her full attention.
“Practice the other day,” Jean said. “In the locker room.”
“O-kay, here we go,” Cat said. “You want something to drink?”
“No.” Jean frowned as Cat got herself a bottled tea from the fridge. Full of corn syrup. He waited until she had uncapped the bottle and returned her attention to him. “The conversation was inappropriate.”
“Maybe a little. But like I said, ‘floozy’ doesn’t really mean…”
Jean had thought it was different here. Now he was uncertain. He’d misunderstood something critical about the Trojans, perhaps, and was finally going to see the other shoe drop. But he had to see it through now that he’d started this conversation.
“Why would they assume a bruise is something to joke about?” Jean asked.
Cat released a surprised laugh. “A dozen, hickey-sized bruises, Jean?”
Jean let out a huff, disbelieving.
“They don’t know what happened.”
“Do you know something about it?” Cat asked.
“No,” Jean said. “I’m asking you.”
Cat seemed confused by that. Jean realized that it still didn’t occur to her that sometimes players had to change out with bite marks and bruises that they’d never asked for. And there was no way to tell the difference. Finally, understanding dawned on her face.
“What? No,” she said. “It was a hook-up. Do you have a reason to think something bad happened?”
What a pointless question. Jean only felt more frustrated, but he shook his head.
“Jeremy doesn’t want me to show any concern,” Jean said. He grit his teeth. “I undermined my captain. He was right to correct me. But the team should not have commented like they did.”
“I understand, but he’s fine, Jean. Really.”
“You don’t know–and you will never know–if that is not the case,” Jean said. He left the kitchen. He paced the living room a few times, then put on his shoes. He would go to the fitness center for a while.
“Hey, whoa.” Cat came over to stand with him as he tied his sneakers. “You are going to have to figure out a way to make peace with this. Your friends and teammates are going to have sex. You cannot freak out and demand an explanation every time.”
“They descended on him like Ravens,” Jean snapped. “Goodbye.”
He let the door slam behind him. Jeremy was coming up the porch steps with his backpack over one shoulder. Jean grimaced and slipped past him, well aware of Jeremy’s curious stare trailing after him.
Jeremy had asked for this, and therefore could not complain. His wrists and ankles, however, had a lot to say about it.
“Away,” he said tiredly.
Jean had not made that particular mistake in weeks. He swore in French ever since Rhemann had forbidden him from swearing in English. Pretty soon he was going to have to reveal his third language if he wanted to keep getting away with it.
“I’m sorry,” Jean said.
He did better for a while, but he was playing to win, and his best game sent vibrations up Jeremy’s arm in a brutal, but technically legal check.
After practice, Jean surprised Jeremy by choosing the shower next to his. He showered just as quickly as usual, then stepped out of the spray, putting his back against the tile. He demanded eye contact from Jeremy, standing there dripping wet.
Jeremy rinsed the suds from his hands and stared questioningly back.
“What?” Jeremy said.
“Are you all right?” Jean asked.
There it was again. Jean had asked him that three weeks ago, after the humiliating hickey conversation and fallout. Jean’s freak out in the locker room had put a hard stop to any more comments about his sex life, but apparently Jean was still too hung up on it to treat Jeremy like any other teammate. He wasn’t seeing Jeremy, captain of a Class I Exy team, but Jeremy, object of desire. And apparently the object of Jean’s desire was made of glass.
“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
Jean paused, gray eyes carefully focused on Jeremy’s face. Then he nodded. He turned off his shower and grabbed his towel.
The following week, he did it again. Again in the shower, where the running water would muffle their conversation.
“Jean, please assume that I’m fine unless I tell you otherwise.”
Jean turned off his shower, grabbed his towel, and left.
Jeremy scrubbed his skin extra hard to work off the residual annoyance, and surprised himself when it hurt. He’d forgotten the fresh hickey on his collar. He rubbed the spot more gently. This one was very clearly a love-bite, a red bruise in the shape of some guy’s teeth.
“Oh, fuck,” Jeremy swore.
“You good?” Xavier called.
“Great,” Jeremy said. He resumed washing all the suds off, impatient to get clean and dry. “Super.”
When Jean had done this last week, it had been after Monday practice, a mere two days after Jeremy’s Saturday night hook up. Those bruises were gone now, but they had sure been fresh when Jean had cornered him in the shower to ask if he was okay.
Jeremy sort of wanted to slap himself in the face, but there was probably a better time and place for that than the locker room showers.
He dressed quickly. Jean was talking with Cat and Laila, and Jeremy found it a little hard to look at him as he approached the group. Jean barely acknowledged him as he came up, continuing on the thread of whatever the three of them were talking about.
“What do you think, Jeremy?” Cat asked. “Ropa Vieja or Chicken Adobo?”
“What, tonight? Sure.”
“O-kay,” she said. “Jeremy is hungry. Jean, you have to be the tie-breaker, you can’t abstain.”
Jean’s eyes glanced over Jeremy, quietly amused but unwilling to tease him. It felt like a little zap of electricity.
“Ropa Vieja,” he said.
Jean spent pottery class in a state of single-minded focus. He worked like nothing else mattered except his little ceramic vase.
Jean dug his wet fingers carefully into the hollow, pulling gently at the clay as it grew thinner in his hands. Frankly, it was hard to watch. There was nothing hotter than a big, beautiful man making a vase. Everyone here knew it. No fewer than three other students in this class had developed crushes on Jean over the course of the semester. The fact that Jean did not so much as smile at any of them had not affected this at all. Every class, Jean’s new fan club found a reason to talk to him, either about Exy, his other classes, or even what he thought of the weather.
“The sun is nice,” he said, because what else did they expect him to say, asking him how he liked L.A. weather?
“You look like you burn easily,” one of them–a girl–said. She reached out for his pale arm, but Jean dodged her.
“Don’t touch me,” Jean said.
“Oh, okay, sure,” she said. She looked a little offended. She bit her lip, staring as Jean put more slip on his hands. Offended, but not deterred.
Jeremy returned his focus to his own project. He slid his finger around the rim of the vessel while he considered what he wanted to do with it. Throw it across the room and make out with Jean on the floor of the pottery studio. He grimaced.
He didn’t want to deal with his attraction to Jean, but it was taking over his life. He wanted to ignore his feelings and get fucked silly every weekend, but he couldn’t even do that now. His sex friends all liked to bite, and he really didn’t want Jean to wonder about it, even if he could manage to keep his questions to himself.
Which he probably couldn’t. Jean cared too much to let it be ambiguous. If there was any question at all, Jean had to make sure Jeremy was all right. Of course he did. Jean had never been cared for in his life, but he knew what being cared for would have looked like.
Jeremy squashed his vase-pot-thing down to the base and gave it a destructive squeeze. Jean looked over.
“That one was good,” Jean said.
“Not good enough,” Jeremy said, and put on a manic smile as he started over.
Jean was chopping bell pepper. Laila had dragged a chair up to the island so she could do something on her laptop without missing out on the conversation. Cat was singing along to Fast Car because she didn’t care about causing collateral damage to the people around her. Sometimes, she said, a girl has to sing along to Fast Car. Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts.
Jean wore a slightly more defined grimace than usual.
Jeremy sat on the counter next to him, watching him chop bell pepper with exacting care. It was a little mean, sitting up on the counter in shorts with a 5-inch inseam. But Jean wore that blue shirt all the time, and that shirt was half the reason Jeremy was in this situation. Jeremy shifted on the counter, and his shorts hiked up another inch.
Jean’s knife slowed to a complete halt against the cutting board before he resumed chopping again. Laila asked Jean a direct question, which he failed to acknowledge or answer. He continued to chop bell pepper like his scholarship was riding on it.
“Jean? I asked if you wanted to go out this weekend.”
“No thanks,” he said.
“What if we took you to a gay bar? Have you ever been to one?”
“He’s nineteen,” Jeremy reminded them.
“Yes, but it’s not too late,” Cat said. “Many young men have their debut at nineteen, twenty, even twenty-one.”
Jeremy rolled his eyes. Jean looked at Laila like if he stared hard enough, he might be able to figure out her ulterior motive.
“Why?” Jean finally asked.
“So you can hook up with a cute boy.” She sensed Jeremy’s protest before he even made it. “-Or dance and have fun. Or even stand against the wall and glare at people, if you want.”
“He’s too recognizable, Laila,” Jeremy said. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“I know for a fact that half of your dance card is boys who recognized you, so let’s not pretend that it hurts to be a Class I Exy player.”
Jeremy pressed his lips in a thin line. Beside him, Jean set the kitchen knife down.
“I’m going to get some homework done,” he said.
“Smart man. Get ahead on your classes so you can party all weekend,” Cat said. Jeremy shot her a look that meant what the heck are you two playing at, then followed Jean upstairs.
Jean was sitting at his desk already when Jeremy made it to the top of the stairs. He had his notes out, but he was staring across the room, out the window, drumming his fingers over the pages.
“Hey,” Jeremy said.
Jean grunted.
“You don’t have to go along with them. I get it, it’s complicated.”
“Mm,” Jean said.
Jeremy was beginning to think that he should leave Jean alone, when Jean spoke again.
“It’s hard,” Jean said in a neutral tone of voice that could mean anything. He was still staring out the window. “Relearning something you learned wrong.”
“Uh,” Jeremy said. “Yeah.”
Jean turned around in his seat to look at Jeremy. He looked thoughtful, not particularly like he was about to jump Jeremy’s bones, but with just as much intensity behind his eyes as the last time he’d let himself look at Jeremy for longer than a second.
“Sex is exhausting to think about,” Jean said finally. “I can’t even play a sport without breaking the rules, and those couldn’t be any more clear.”
“Mm,” Jeremy said, beginning to understand. “At least with Exy, you have scrimmages. Teammates who know you’re learning and are okay with a few bruises.”
Jean laughed–a genuine, rare laugh.
“You’re right,” he said. “I need someone standing by with a whistle.”
Jeremy snorted despite himself. He covered his mouth with his hand to try to force himself not to laugh at a joke with so much darkness at its core. But Jean was still smiling, laughing at Jeremy’s effort not to laugh, which only made it harder for Jeremy to resist.
By the time the momentary hysteria had passed, Jeremy’s chest hurt from fighting laughter, and there were tears in the corners of his eyes. There was so much more to Jean than he let anyone know, that he might not even know about himself. That whole ‘I am Jean Moreau, that’s all there is’ thing of his made more sense once Jeremy considered how little room Evermore had allowed for him to be a human being.
“You’re funny,” Jeremy said fondly.
It wasn’t surprising when Jean gave him an odd look. Probably nobody had ever told him that before. And maybe he had never been funny before. There wasn’t enough time in a sixteen hour day.
“Sorry, you came up here to work,” Jeremy said. “I’ll leave you alone. I’ll try to talk Cat and Laila out of the gay bar idea.”
“I’ll go,” Jean said.
“Oh. Okay.” Jeremy said. “Then I’ll try to talk them out of taking you shopping for slutty outfits.”
Jean smiled as he turned back to look at his notes, but Jeremy still caught a brief glimpse. He went back downstairs with his own smile to match. He’d make a Trojan out of Jean yet. Pretty soon Jean would be pulling out “Have a winning day” with a grin.
When the weekend rolled around, Jean was surprised to learn that Jeremy was not invited.
“Training wheels off. You have to dance with a boy you don’t know.”
“What training wheels,” Jean grumbled. “When were there any training wheels?”
“Ooh, he’s funny,” Cat said, ruffling Jean’s hair. “And cute. All the boys are gonna wanna dance with you.”
Jean pulled a face at her. He was pretty sure he was not ‘cute’ since he was very clearly Jean Moreau, formerly of the Evermore Ravens. He was wearing black, and while the girls had not taken him shopping, they had dressed him in an undershirt that showed his arms and shoulders. Jeremy had seen him come downstairs, given an odd, anxious laugh, and launched into a well-reasoned argument for why he should be allowed to come along as well.
Jean wasn’t entirely sure why he’d decided to go along with this. Maybe because Cat and Laila were having fun putting sparkly makeup swipes across his cheeks like Eyeblack, and Jean was halfway in love with them.
“Boop,” Cat said, and put a silver star sticker right over Jean’s ‘3’ tattoo.
He raised his hand to peel it off, hesitated, then peeled the sticker off. He put it on Cat’s cheek instead.
Jeremy waited in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, as he waited for everyone to finish getting ready.
“Like an anxious parent before the prom,” Laila said.
Jeremy threw his arms out in a difficult to read gesture. The force of the air he displaced knocked over BarkBark, which he carefully righted.
“Alright, don’t burn the house down,” Laila said, grabbing her keys. Cat and Jean hovered behind her as she unlocked the door. Jean made eye contact with Jeremy, who was very clearly faking his enthusiasm for them to ‘have a nice night.’
“Bye,” Jean said.
“Bye. I hope you have fun.”
That he meant.
Jean was very loud coming back to the bedroom.
Jeremy had tried to stay up, he’d even left the light on, but he’d ended up dozing off anyway. Until he was woken up by the sound of Jean tripping over his own feet as he tried to take his shoes off.
“Nn. Hi,” Jeremy said, dragging himself up to a sitting position. He was suddenly much more awake as Jean stripped his sweaty undershirt over his head, showing off an equally sweaty, very strong torso, scars and all. He still had one shoe on, but didn’t seem to see anything wrong with that.
“You actually drank?” Jeremy asked.
“It’s so bad for you,” Jean sighed.
“Yeah, it is.” Jeremy watched as Jean continued to figure out how to strip out of his clothes. “Did you dance with anyone?”
“Yes,” Jean said.
“Oh?” Jeremy tapped his fingers against the edge of his bed. “And?”
“I think I…kissed Laila.” his brow crumpled up cutely. He unzipped his pants, and suddenly he was very naked. Except for the glitter on his face. If that counted.
“That was the best you could do? You could have kissed Laila at home. Who else did you dance with?”
“Cat,” Jean said. “They had fun.”
“Did you…” Jeremy cut himself short of asking if Jean had also had fun. Jean was just standing there. Naked. “Did you want to get dressed? Or shower?”
“No.”
Jeremy hauled himself off his bed. “Come on. Shower.”
“No,” Jean said again. He squared his shoulders and crossed his arms over his chest. He glared icily at Jeremy–naked, sweaty, and glittery. Jeremy had reached his breaking point. He physically held a hand in his line of sight so that all he could see of Jean was his hair and a little sliver of his forehead.
“Okay,” Jeremy said, clearing his throat. “Fine. Get dressed.”
Jeremy waited, frozen in place. Eventually, Jean went looking for something to wear. Jean took a long time figuring out how his dresser worked, and an even longer time putting on a clean undershirt and pair of boxers.
“Great job. Go to bed.” Jeremy heard a crash downstairs, followed by giggles. So he’d be babysitting Cat and Laila as well–no wonder they hadn’t invited him to come with them. They so owed him. “Come on, bed.”
Slowly, Jean sat on the edge of his bed.
Finally, Jeremy remembered to ask: “Did you have fun too?”
“Mm. I’ve never been happy before,” he said. “Wait.” Jeremy waited, until Jean sighed out a stream of French, then said, “I can’t remember, but I probably was. I forget.”
He looked genuinely bothered by this. Hell, so was Jeremy.
“Oh,” Jeremy said softly. “You forget?”
“I don’t remember my sister at all.” Jean said. “I don’t think I would remember French anymore, except he asked me to teach him. J'ai presque entièrement disparu.”
Jean made a gesture that clearly meant ‘all gone.’ Jeremy’s heart was in his throat all of a sudden. Then there was another crash downstairs.
“I have to go check on the girls. Go to sleep.”
Jean didn’t lie down until Jeremy turned the lights out on him.
What Jean Moreau needed was a little happiness, Jeremy decided. Ideally in the form of an art student who couldn’t tell Exy from Lacrosse, someone who wouldn’t recognize Jean even with the ‘3’ tattooed on his face.
Jeremy had woken up the next morning still thinking about the frankly haunting conversation he’d had with Jean last night. Jean had told him he couldn’t remember being happy, ever, full stop–not until a night out at Leo’s with Cat and Laila. Leo’s, of all gay bars–loud and sticky and totally not Jean’s scene. Jeremy needed to know what had happened last night, immediately.
He pried more information out of Cat and Laila as soon as they rolled out of bed. Their attempts to be coy were not amusing; he held the coffee hostage and demanded a full report.
Laila dished immediately. Jeremy handed over the percolator as she talked.
“He was very stiff for the first hour or so, until he decided to drink with us,” she said. “He stayed by the wall, watching everyone else dance. Then at some point he changed his mind.”
“He didn’t drink too much, we were paying attention,” Cat said. “Sort of.”
Jeremy motioned for them to keep going.
“He did a round of shots with us,” said Laila. “Then he joined on the dance floor. He was pretty popular, but he only danced with us. I mean, as much as you can in a crowd like that.”
“Well, there was…” Cat began. “But I don’t think that counts.”
“Spill,” Jeremy demanded. He took the coffee pot back just as Cat was about to reach for a refill.
“No-o, okay, I yield,” Cat said. “Jean was looking at the guys, you know, checking them out, and he did the eye contact summoning ritual on this one guy, only to chicken out.”
“What did he look like?” Jeremy asked.
Laila gave him a look that meant he wasn’t slick. Cat answered: “Short, slender, a bit on the fem side. He came over to dance, but then Jean got squirrely and went to buy more drinks. We all got slightly more wasted, and then I lose some of the details. Did you two make out?”
The question was directed to Laila. Laila gave an imprecise hand gesture.
Jeremy returned the coffee pot to the girls. He had a lot to think about, so he went to the gym to burn through some energy. By the end of his longer than usual workout, he had an answer.
Jean had told Jeremy that he felt like he needed to learn the ropes from the beginning when it came to sex. Well, Jeremy knew the ropes, and now he knew Jean’s type, too. He could set Jean up with a nice, safe boy to fool around with.
That had been the plan, anyway.
It should have been easy. CalArts was literally right there. Yet somehow, every twink in L.A. was talking about nothing but Jean Moreau. Every other Grindr profile read ‘jean moreau if you’re out there PLEASE swipe right.’ Jeremy had shrieked and chucked his phone when he saw a ‘will 69 for #29.’ There were too many of them. He didn’t understand where they were all coming from; they couldn’t all be in Jean’s ceramics class.
Jeremy figured out what was going on before long. It was because a clip of Jean flipping Andy Weekes during last Friday’s game had gone viral. Jean had caught Weekes at the last second, fucking up the play but saving the striker from serious injury. There were fan edits. And now there was not a single homosexual left in L.A. who wouldn’t hook up with Jean Moreau and immediately dish about it to social media.
That only left a very small number of possible candidates who knew about Jean’s whole deal and could be cool about it. Unfortunately, Jeremy had reasons to disqualify all of them. The Trojans were out for obvious reasons, Jean’s ceramics classmates were definitely out, and the Foxes were on the other side of the country. Jeremy was completely out of ideas.
Well, he had one idea. It just wasn’t a good idea.
Because Jeremy was going to be the next one to flip someone during a game if he didn’t find an outlet soon, Jeremy was seriously considering himself as a candidate. Thanks to his new resolution to live hickey-free, Jeremy hadn’t so much as gone on a date in a month. Plus Jeremy had been there on the court when Jean flipped Weekes. What was he supposed to do, rise above?
He hadn’t told Cat and Laila what he was thinking. He knew they would tell him he absolutely could not under any circumstances hook up with Jean Moreau. He knew he couldn’t. And yet he was sort of planning on shooting his shot after they played Tucson on Friday, and it was sort of the only thing he could think about this week.
A Facebook message buzzed in Jeremy’s pocket. He got out his phone. It was from Weekes:
So is Jean single or what?
Jeremy was going to scream. He messaged back: you live in seattle.
He couldn’t even be outright bitchy, collared by his own golden standards. And considering how few gay players there were in Class I Exy, it wasn’t smart to burn bridges over a boy.
“You good, babe?” Laila asked him. Jeremy slammed his locker closed on his phone.
“Peachy,” he said with a sunny smile. “Let’s play Exy.”
Jean was very well behaved for their game against Tucson. Jeremy knew that meant he was furious. He was holding himself back, letting shots get by him that he should have been able to block. Rhemann benched him for the second half, and Jean spent the whole time pacing on the sidelines like a tiger in a cage.
Jeremy was called off, breathless, switched out for Derek with seven minutes on the clock. He gulped down water, eventually coming to stand by Jean.
“Good work,” Jean growled. He was glaring at the scoreboard, knowing that there was no way the game would have been this close if he had been in top Raven form.
“You too,” Jeremy said. “You’re getting faster.”
Jean sighed through his nose, still glaring at the score. But his expression softened a little.
The USC bus pulled up to their hotel, jostling the team awake. Jeremy’s shoulders knocked against Laila’s. Cat shared a seat with Jean, Cat fast asleep against the window.
Lisinski gave them their room assignments. Jeremy had already stolen a look after practice the other day, which was how he and Xavier had already come to a gentleman's agreement to switch rooms. Jeremy probably could have gone to Lisinski directly and asked to room with Jean, but since Jeremy’s motives were nefarious, it didn’t seem honorable to drag Coach into it.
“I’m supposed to be with Xavier,” Jean said when he realized Jeremy was the one walking beside him.
“Yeah,” Jeremy said. “I switched with him.”
Jean stopped in front of the hotel room door and swiped his key card.
“Why?”
Jeremy followed him into the room. It smelled like stale smoke. There were two twin beds, a T.V., and a mini fridge.
“Well,” Jeremy said. “I was kind of wondering if you wanted to hook up with me.”
Jean dropped his duffel bag more heavily than he had probably meant to. Jeremy waited by the T.V., giving him some room.
The more time passed without Jean saying anything, the more embarrassed Jeremy felt. He hadn't completely misread Jean, had he? Jean looked at Jeremy all the time. So Jeremy wasn’t a tiny fem who Jean could pick up one-handed. Jean was attracted to him, Jeremy was sure he was.
And yet Jean looked very unhappy to have been asked.
“I thought you might want to blow off some steam,” Jeremy said with an anxious laugh.
Jean’s expression went from stunned to dark. He picked up his duffel bag again.
“I did not intend to give you that impression,” he said stiffly.
Jean left.
All the air in the room left with him. Jeremy sat down hard on the end of one of the beds. He stared at the dark T.V. screen, listening to the pound of his heart.
Fifteen minutes must have gone by before the sound of a key card against the door made him jump. Jeremy wiped at his face, but not quickly enough to get away with it.
“Oh,” said Xavier, closing the door behind him. “So that went bad bad.”
A fresh wave of tears welled up, and Jeremy made a humiliating cry-laugh sound that had him wrapped up in Xavier’s arms.
“I'm just embarrassed,” Jeremy protested. “And confused.”
And worried. He knew he’d fucked up, just not how badly.
Jean was not allowed to look.
If Jean did not look, then everyone would be safe.
When the Ravens got new freshmen–babies in the eyes of their teammates, but still older than Jean–Jean did not look at them. He did not even dare to look for bites or bruises, just in case his glance was enough to curse them.
So why he had thought the rules had changed just because he was at USC instead of Evermore, Jean didn't know.
Jean would not look at Jeremy again.
Jeremy’s offer had been a reality check. The conversation in the hotel room nestled deep in Jean’s gut, making him feel sick. Did he want to blow off steam? Did he want to slut his way around his new team? Did he want to fuck and use his captain?
It was a reminder of the correction Jeremy had given Jean weeks ago. Jean must not presume the right to think about Jeremy in any capacity other than as his captain. Jean must not undermine his captain. Jean must not look.
Jeremy’s warnings were too gentle, that was the problem. Jean was a brute who couldn’t do anything except play Exy; cruelty was the only way to correct him. If Riko had caught Jean looking at him that way, he would have sneered as he asked Jean if he wanted to fuck him, and then he would have broken one of Jean’s fingers for presuming he was worthy of touching the King. Jean leaned against the edge of the hotel balcony and considered breaking one of his fingers.
Jean coolly reviewed what he had at his disposal. Practically nothing. Derek was in the shower still, so Jean came back inside the room and looked through his open duffel bag. He found his toothbrush and tested the plastic handle between his fingers. He took it over to the desk.
Jean narrowed himself down to a pin-point, surprised by how much there was to pack down into nothing. When he hadn’t been paying attention, he’d become more than just Jean Moreau who belonged to the Moriyamas. He’d started wanting things.
He was funny.
At that thought, Jean whipped the handle of the toothbrush down against his pinky so hard that it snapped. His nostrils flared as pain radiated out from the smashed flesh. He relaxed.
Jean chopped vegetables like normal. He smiled at Laila and Cat’s antics, sat in the same room with them when they watched movies, and helped clean up after dinner. He commented on the interpersonal quandaries that Laila and Cat posed to him–mostly with absolutely unhinged advice. He even laughed at their jokes. He let himself be hugged and play-wrestled.
The only person with whom Jean was not normal was Jeremy. He wouldn’t look at Jeremy; he kept him safely in his peripheral vision. He did not talk to Jeremy except to answer direct questions. He kept the relaxed expression he wore around the girls, but whenever Jeremy tried to have a conversation, the light vanished from his eyes.
It had been two weeks of this, ever since the game against Tucson and Jeremy's completely flubbed attempt to hook up. Jeremy had already tried apologizing-twice-but it just didn't work. Every time Jeremy tried to talk about it, Jean shut him out. He said it didn't bother him, that their friendship was fine, then went right back to pretending Jeremy wasn't in the room.
“Jeremy,” said one of the freshmen. Jeremy was lost in thought, preoccupied and exhausted post-practice. “Jeremy? Um, I need to talk to you?”
Jeremy allowed himself to be hauled into Lisinski’s empty office.
Preston bounced awkwardly on his heels.
“Um, so, I kind of noticed during practice, when I was paired up with Jean for drills, that he wasn’t raising his stick high enough, and he was kind of holding it funny. And I know he has a lot of like, old stuff, but I thought I saw something in the shower? I don’t know what to do. I didn’t get a good look.”
Jeremy clenched his jaw.
“I’ll handle it,” he said, forcing his tone to something resembling calm. “Thanks for saying something.”
Preston hurried out of Coach’s office. Jeremy gave himself a minute to stare at the wall, but nope, he was too angry to think logically through what to say to Jean. He found Cat, Laila, and Jean lingering in the locker room, waiting for him.
“We have to talk,” Jeremy said. “I think you know what about. Who do you want with you?”
Jean’s gray eyes clouded over.
“Whoever my captain wants there,” he said.
“If that’s really true–” Jeremy said, turning to Cat and Laila, “You guys can go ahead without us. Please?”
Once he had Jean alone, Jeremy motioned him to follow. He was not looking forward to fielding Cat and Laila’s curiosity later. Jeremy opened the door to the nurse’s office and turned on the light.
“Take your shirt off,” he said. He clenched his hands into fists, but he couldn’t stop shaking with anger. He hoped Preston had been mistaken, but he didn’t think so.
Jean still–still–wouldn’t look at Jeremy as he took off his shirt. Then he knelt in front of Jeremy, driving every other thought out of Jeremy’s head. Their positions were too suggestive; Jeremy quickly knelt down with him.
Jean made a frustrated sound.
“Show me your injury,” Jeremy said.
Glowering at the floor, Jean raised his arms for Jeremy to see his torso underneath. He was wrapped with bruises, old and new. Jeremy couldn’t breathe.
“I don’t understand,” Jeremy said. “Who’s doing this?”
Jeremy touched a particularly awful bruise on Jean’s side, and Jean seemed to relax under the touch. Jeremy pulled his hand away.
“Why assume that a bruise is a bad thing?” Jean said quietly. Jeremy’s hair stood up on his arms. He was out of his depth. He’d been scared ever since he’d agreed to find a place for Jean on his team, that he wouldn’t be able to handle him, and he couldn’t.
“Who’s doing this?” Jeremy repeated.
“I’m doing better. I don’t lash out at my teammates. I can play without tripping the strikers.” Jean spoke with a forced neutral tone that made Jeremy want to shake him. “I’m getting along better this way.”
It was true Jean was doing better in scrimmages. He’d improved a lot in the last two weeks since the Tucson game.
“You’re doing it to yourself? Because the coaches won’t beat you?”
Jean stared a little to the right of Jeremy. Empty. “It helps me remember.”
“No,” Jeremy said–said it like a command to a misbehaving dog. Kevin’s words came back to him, words that had filled him with dread, which he’d tried to put out of his mind: If you tell him to submit, he will. Jeremy had been more scared of those words than anything else Jean had thrown his way since the beginning of the summer. “No. You will not do this again. Do you understand?”
“It is a guarantee that I will follow the rules. I need it. I can’t afford to–”
“I said no,” Jeremy growled. And before he could think better of it, he used it: “Jean, submit.”
Jean went silent. Jeremy felt a buzz of electricity with the power of that word. The tone of the room had changed.
“Yes, Jeremy,” Jean said.
“You can put your shirt back on,” Jeremy said. Jean did so. Jeremy swallowed. Jean was finally looking at him again, even if he was just waiting for an order. His expression was still emotionless, but he was focused instead of listless. Jeremy cleared his throat. “Um. You can stop that now.”
“You’re my captain,” Jean said. “This is how it should be. It feels–”
“No,” Jeremy said, his voice taking some strain. “We’re not doing this. You don’t need someone to treat you like a dog.”
Jean winced, but he didn’t permit himself to argue.
Jeremy watched him for a long moment. He had never seen Jean like this. He was oddly docile, eyes tracking Jeremy with laser-focused interest. Jeremy had done this with one word.
“You actually want this?” Jeremy asked, incredulous. “From me?” he added.
Jean nodded, visibly relaxing at the suggestion of Jeremy bossing him around.
“Yes,” Jean said.
Jeremy’s heart beat a little faster. This was a terrible idea. He warred with himself for a long, quiet minute, watching Jean watch him.
“Just–until we leave this room,” Jeremy said. “We can pretend for a second that we’re doing this. Okay?”
Jean nodded again. They were both kneeling on the floor, but despite the fact that Jean was taller than Jeremy, he made sure to hold himself slightly lower to the ground.
Jeremy swallowed. The power they’d just negotiated was a palpable thing, as heavy as a knife. He felt terrified to use it, and chose every word carefully.
“Okay,” Jeremy said. “Okay. Jean. Tell me honestly why you started hurting yourself.”
Jean gave Jeremy a pleading look, but he had asked to be controlled. Jeremy raised his eyebrows, and Jean caved.
“I was honest,” Jean said quietly. “My performance was suffering. It has improved.”
Jeremy grimaced.
“I disagree,” he said. “You stopped talking to me. You won’t even look at me.” Jean stared at him, unwavering. Jeremy quickly added, “And Preston says your form today was sloppy. You didn’t get your stick high enough.”
“I’m sorry,” Jean said immediately. “Tell me what to do.”
The feeling of power ran through Jeremy’s veins again, awful and electric.
“The next time you feel like you should hurt yourself, come to me directly.”
“Yes, Jeremy.”
Jeremy paused. He looked into Jean’s eyes. Jean wasn’t interested in anything but him. Jeremy could see how someone could get addicted to that feeling.
“Thank you, Jean.” Jeremy’s whole body felt flushed. God, this was embarrassing. “Is there anything else we need to talk about while we’re here? Before we stop pretending, I mean?”
Jean shook his head. He looked a little dazed by the ‘thank you.’
“Okay. Let’s go.” Jeremy got to his feet. Jean followed suit. He really did look much more at ease now than when they’d started. It was strange.
“Wait,” Jean said.
“Yes?” Jeremy waited in the doorway. Jean had a tear caught in his eyelashes. “Ah? Jean?”
“Please. I need it.”
“Oh no,” Jeremy said. Jean's tears kept falling. “Wait, stop.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t stop.”
“Okay, um–” Jeremy reached for him, but hesitated without touching him. “What’s going on? What do you need?”
“Take control. Please.”
Jeremy sucked in a breath.
“I can’t. Whatever this is, I’m scared of it,” Jeremy said. “I don’t want to treat you like…like you’re...” He looked at Jean, watching a tear drop from his eyelashes to the floor. “Can I think about it?”
Jean nodded. “Yes,” he said.
They stood there together until Jean had calmed down. Then they left the nurse’s office; a feeling of overwhelming tiredness washed over Jeremy.
“Are we good?” he asked. They left the stadium and started the walk back to Cat and Laila’s house.
Jean nodded. “Yes,” he said. “Are you coming over for dinner?”
“Can’t. I have to take care of something.”
Jeremy paid close attention to Jean’s mood; Jean was quiet, but drained of the tension that had been weighing him down around Jeremy lately. Jeremy walked him to the edge of campus, then turned back for the library.
Jeremy was so in over his head it wasn’t funny. He had gone straight to the library and ordered a handful of books that he thought would help. But when they came in, he was too intimidated to open them.
So he distracted himself with French. He had not been planning on learning French this year, but after Jean came home wasted from his night out with Cat and Laila, Jeremy had regretted he couldn’t speak with Jean in his mother tongue.
The plan was to get enough of a baseline on his own that he could test into French 2 next semester, which meant hitting the books and hiring a tutor. Suddenly Jeremy was spending a lot more time studying and a lot less time doing anything else.
Things with Jean should have been awkward after what had happened in the nurse’s office, but Jean was, if not cheerful, at least back to his usual self. He seemed confident. And it seemed like the agreement they’d come to was working. Jean hadn’t accumulated any more injuries.
Several weeks flew by. They practiced, they traveled for games, they played. Jeremy crammed French in between cramming for midterms. Jean seemed curious about the French textbook, but hadn’t asked him about it.
A whistle interrupted Jeremy’s thoughts. Jeremy was surprised to see Jean limping across the court to him in the middle of drills. Jeremy met him halfway and redirected him toward the court door. Rhemann had already unlocked it and was waiting for him.
Jeremy was surprised when Jean leaned on him, and quickly adjusted so that he had an arm slung under Jean’s. He half-carried Jean off the court. Ananya ran up behind them just as Jeremy was passing Jean through the court door to Nurse Davis.
“Is he okay?” she yelled, out of breath. “I’m so sorry, Jean.”
“What happened?” Jeremy asked her.
“I hit him with my racket. I didn’t expect him to be there.” Ananya seemed as puzzled as she was apologetic.
Meanwhile, Jean resisted going with Davis. He ducked any attempt Davis made to put an arm around him, instead making eye contact with Jeremy. Like he was waiting for something.
“Go,” Jeremy said, stomach twisting. “Get treated.”
Jean yielded at once. Jeremy stalked after them, fuming, as Davis helped Jean into the nurse’s office. Jeremy sat outside the door, never mind that he should have gone back to practice.
Jeremy waited until Nurse Davis had finished with Jean. Davis startled when he saw Jeremy sitting outside his door. He paused, like he wanted to say something, then went back out to the court, leaving Jean to Jeremy.
Jeremy went into the nurse’s office. He didn’t think to knock. Jean was testing his weight on his leg, wincing a little. He looked up guiltily when Jeremy came in.
“What happened?” Jeremy asked, barely containing his anger.
Jean visibly relaxed, which only pissed Jeremy off more. Jean felt nice and homey when people were yelling at him and beating him, and he fully intended to drag Jeremy down there with him. And not just Jeremy, if Jeremy was right about what he thought had happened out on the court.
“I’m sorry,” Jean said.
“Tell me what the fuck happened,” Jeremy said.
“I performed poorly. I was unable to defend the goal to an acceptable standard.”
“And?”
“And you declined to correct me.”
Jeremy tried to figure out what he was talking about. They had been doing drills, not even a real scrimmage.
“Are you talking about the game last Friday?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes, Jeremy.”
“Stop it! Stop–stop submitting. I didn’t tell you to do that.” Jeremy kneaded his temple. He was so far out of his depth that he didn’t even know how far out of his depth he was. If Jeremy understood Jean correctly, he was talking about a goal Vegas had scored on them almost a week ago.
It was one goal among many, but they had ended up losing the game by a single point. At the time, Jean had come to Jeremy looking for punishment, and Jeremy had done the Trojan thing and run his mouth about how Exy is a team sport and all that matters is they did their best. He had honestly thought that was all the cheering up Jean had needed. In retrospect, he was an idiot.
“I put myself in the path of Ananya’s racket instead. There was no earlier opportunity.”
“She could have crippled you,” Jeremy exploded. “You cannot use your teammates to hurt yourself. Imagine how she’s feeling right now.”
Jean looked down at the floor. “I know I was wrong. Please correct me.”
Jeremy couldn’t think of what to say.
“I’m so upset,” he said eventually. “I can’t…I can’t even think straight.”
Jean quietly waited for Jeremy to beat him. That was the responsibility Jeremy had shouldered; he’d told Jean to come to him instead of hurting himself. But Jeremy hadn’t done anything to follow through. He’d let weeks go by without talking about it. He’d told Jean to submit to him, then left Jean to figure things out on his own.
“I’m sorry,” Jeremy said finally. “This is my fault.”
Jean looked horrified. Jeremy resolved he was going to read every single book he’d checked out tonight, even if he had to pull an all-nighter, no matter how uncomfortable it made him to face this head on.
“I said I would think about it, but I didn’t. I just wanted you to stop needing me.” Jeremy struggled to make eye contact. “If, um, if this is what you really want, then, as long as we’re here in the nurse’s office, we can pretend that…” he gestured, hoping Jean would get it. “We can pretend that I’m in control.”
Jean nodded eagerly. “Now?”
“Yes, now.”
All the extra tension Jean was carrying unwound itself. He got on his knees and waited.
“And now I have to correct you,” Jeremy said, mostly to himself.
He sat down in Nurse Nguyen’s desk chair and crossed one leg over the other. He studied Jean. Jean looked back at him, slightly flushed.
“You have to stay off the court until you’re healed.” Jean’s nostrils flared with a frustrated breath. Jeremy hadn’t thought that would be good enough. “And you have to apologize to Ananya. Tell her you got under her racket on purpose.”
Jean grimaced.
“You’re uncomfortable with that?”
“Yes, Jeremy.”
“Good. Maybe next time you’ll think twice before using your teammate as a tool to hurt yourself.”
Jean breathed a little more heavily and bowed his head.
“Yes, Jeremy.”
“Come here,” Jeremy said. Jean obeyed. He knelt right at Jeremy’s knee and looked up at Jeremy for his next order.
“We can come here as often as…as is helpful. We’ll talk about it. But outside of this room, I’m not in charge. Do you understand? There has to be a line.”
Jean dipped his head in understanding.
“Jeremy,” he said, asking for permission to speak. Jeremy nodded. “I’m worried. You are reluctant to strike me.”
Jeremy tried not to show his feelings on his face.
“No, I don’t think you’ll like my methods,” he said carefully. “But think of it as part of the submission.”
As embarrassing as it was to say, Jean seemed to take those words seriously.
Jeremy sat on the counter while Jean chopped vegetables. The shorts were back. Jean carefully avoided looking at Jeremy’s thighs. He was so focused on ignoring Jeremy’s thighs that he ignored everything else around him as well, including Cat’s advice that perhaps the broccoli didn’t need to be minced.
“What am I gonna do with you, mon petit Cuisinart?” she sighed fondly.
“Sorry,” Jean said.
Cat kissed the side of Jean’s head, up on her toes. It would have been fine to jostle Jean a bit, but Jeremy had reached over the cutting board to steal a carrot round that had fallen off the plate. Jean felt the sudden resistance against the knife before he saw it. He heard Jeremy hiss.
Jean’s stomach dropped out at the sight of the shallow cut on the back of Jeremy’s arm. Blood beaded up to the surface. Slowly, Jean put down the knife. Cat was moving through the kitchen, a series of sounds trailing after her. Drawer opening, cabinet opening, kitchen sink, the crinkle of paper. Jeremy hopped down from the counter, and without the cut in Jean’s line of sight anymore, he didn’t see anything at all.
At some point, Cat took the knife away to wash. At some point, there was a warm hand on Jean’s forearm, squeezing. Jean blinked. Jeremy was touching him. He remembered he had promised to come to Jeremy directly for contrition instead of trying to do it himself. Jeremy was talking to him, but the words just slid away. He should be punished for not listening. He could feel Jeremy’s hand running up and down his arm, trying to bring Jean back as if he were a hypothermia victim.
“Please correct me,” Jean said. Or I’ll be stuck forever. Help me.
“There’s no need for that,” said Jeremy–Jean was relieved he could finally understand him, but what he was saying was wrong. “I’m completely fine. Let’s take a break for a while. Do you want to watch T.V.? Go for a run?”
“You said to come to you directly,” Jean said. “I’m coming to you.” Jeremy was taking it back, he realized. He wasn’t going to help Jean after all–he was too gentle. Jean’s hand itched to have the knife back.
“Yes, but…this was an accident,” Jeremy said. His cheeks were flushed.
Jean couldn’t wait anymore. He felt a burning under his skin that he needed to cut out before he went crazy. He put his hand down behind him on the cutting board, grasping, but someone had moved the knife.
“I said no,” Jeremy said, and his tone was murder. Jean yanked his hand back from the cutting board like it had burned him. “Cat, can we have the room?” He gave her a minute to leave. She clearly didn’t want to, lingering at the bottom of the stairs.
Cat finally left, casting Jean a concerned glance over her shoulder as she climbed the stairs. Jeremy waited another few seconds.
“How do we get rid of the urge?” Jeremy asked.
“Cut me,” Jean said, eyes cast down. He started to lift his shirt.
“We’re not doing that.” Jeremy squeezed Jean’s arm again, encouraging him to drop his shirt. Jean stared at the bandage on Jeremy’s forearm. He felt dirty, waiting so long for Jeremy to wipe the slate clean.
“Please,” Jean said.
Jeremy squeezed his arm again, then went to one of the kitchen drawers. Jean started to relax, until Jeremy came back with a Sharpie marker. He frowned at it.
“Give me your arm,” Jeremy said.
Jean held out his arm and let Jeremy twist it how he wanted. Jeremy tapped the cap of the marker against Jean’s skin a few times. “A correction is a reminder not to make the same mistake again, right?” Jeremy said.
“Yes,” said Jean.
Jeremy uncapped the marker and slowly wrote on Jean’s skin. The felt-tip of the marker was a wet tickle–a blade without pain. Jean closed his eyes and breathed, trying to pretend that it hurt.
Jeremy pulled the marker away. His other hand still gently cupped the back of Jean’s arm. Jean opened his eyes. Jeremy had written “NO HORSEPLAY AROUND KNIVES :)”
Jean stared down at it.
“This is bullshit,” Jean said.
“Well, you agreed to this, so you’re stuck with bullshit,” Jeremy said. “Now do me.” He handed Jean the marker and presented his arm. Jean looked at him–at the smile that couldn’t possibly be genuine.
“I shouldn’t have reached across the cutting board while you were holding a knife,” Jeremy explained. “That wasn’t safe."
Jean uncapped the marker. He picked up Jeremy’s arm, warmer than his, and hesitated. He met Jeremy’s eyes, then quickly dropped his gaze. He very carefully lowered the marker for the first stroke of the letter N. Jeremy clenched his fist as if it actually hurt. Halfway through the word ‘horseplay,’ Jeremy tossed his head. He was breathing through his teeth.
“It really tickles,” Jeremy said. “No, don’t stop, get it over with.”
Jean couldn’t help it. He looked. At every lock of hair, at the tanlines from his Exy gear, at his lips, throat, thighs. Jeremy’s eyes were closed, and Jean looked until he opened them.
“Jean, you can’t leave me with ‘No horse’ on my arm.” Jeremy smiled at him, a little crookedly.
Jean swallowed. He resumed writing, even though Jeremy huffed and whined through the ticklishness. Jean drank all of him in, knowing he was wrong, but unable to stop himself now that the floodgates were open. He thought about putting his hands up the hem of Jeremy’s shorts, kissing him, doing whatever it took to get Jeremy to say don’t stop again.
Something gave him away, as he finished the last letter and pulled the marker from Jeremy’s skin. It was his breathing, or his grip on Jeremy’s wrist. Whatever it was, Jeremy was looking at him very intently.
“Jean–”
“I’m sorry,” Jean said, and looking away had never been so hard. It was humiliating to ask for correction for this, but he had to, he’d promised not to do it himself anymore. “Correct me.”
“Correct you? We’re done. We’ve all learned our lesson about kitchen safety.”
“No.” Jean’s face absolutely burned. “Not that.”
Jeremy reached for his arm again, and Jean stepped back into the counter, banging his hip. He focused all his attention on the kitchen clock instead of Jeremy’s lips pulling into a confused pout.
“I am not allowed to look,” Jean said.
“Oh,” Jeremy said. “That? You do need correction.” He took the marker from Jean’s hand and set it on the counter. “You are allowed to look at me as much as you want.”
Jean pulled a face. “No–” he started, but Jeremy put his hands on his shoulders, and Jean forgot what he was going to say.
“Yes,” said Jeremy. “Otherwise there’s really no point in me wearing these shorts.”
Jean took a deep breath. This was all wrong. Confusing. For the last five years, it had been look away.
“You want me to look?” Jean asked.
“I want you to look wherever you want to look,” Jeremy countered. “And sometimes I try to tip the scales by wearing shorts. What about you? Does it bother you when I look at you?”
Jean grimaced. He liked catching Jeremy staring in ceramics class. He liked knowing Jeremy found him attractive. Jean shook his head, unable to meet Jeremy’s eyes. The kitchen clock ticked over to the next minute.
“Okay,” Jeremy said. “So, everything’s okay.”
Jean did not feel like everything was okay. He felt like Jeremy was ripping the rug out from under his feet, smiling the whole time.
“We agree that we can both look at each other as much as we want, right?” Jeremy prompted.
Jean’s expression conveyed utter despair as Jeremy dragged him kicking and screaming out of his comfort zone.
“I was undermining my captain,” he said, trying one last time to get himself out of this.
“Only if you’re a weirdo about it on the court or in the locker room,” said Jeremy. He frowned. “But I think I owe you an apology. About that.”
It was getting worse. Jeremy was going to take even more from him instead of giving his old rules back. Jean raised a hand to his mouth and bit one of his fingers. Jeremy pulled on his hand until Jean was forced to lower it again.
“I was embarrassed. But I should have asked you what you were thinking instead of making assumptions.” Jeremy said. He was still holding Jean’s hand. “If I’d just asked, I could have saved you from worrying.”
Jean shrugged. Nothing Jeremy could have said would have stopped Jean from worrying about the bruises on his neck that faded or multiplied weekend to weekend. The hickeys stopped appearing at some point and never came back, but Jean still looked for them.
“Jean. You’ve never done anything close to undermining me on the court.”
Jean stared down at Jeremy’s hand holding his.
“Please stop,” he said. “I’m not allowed.”
“You are allowed. You can look at me.”
“Please,” said Jean. “Please, Jeremy. I can’t. You have to correct me or else–”
“You’ll do it yourself? You agreed not to.”
“Please,” Jean said again.
“What are you afraid of?” Jeremy pushed. “What will happen?”
Jean went away. It was only for a few minutes, by the kitchen clock. He was sitting with his back against the cabinets, knees up under his chin, and someone was touching his hair, gently combing back through with long nails. Cat and Jeremy were talking, but Jean couldn’t hear them over his own hyperventilation.
Eventually the talking stopped. A warm body sat on the floor next to Jean, pressing their shoulders together. There was a soft rustle of paper. Jean was breathing. The kitchen clock said ten more minutes had passed.
“Sweater pattern, six letters,” said Jeremy’s voice.
Another minute later: “Flowering plants of the Mediterranean, five letters.”
Another minute: “Landmass with two coasts, seven letters.”
Jean listened to the soft scratch of Jeremy’s pen.
“Argyle,” Jean said, not sure how many minutes had elapsed between Jeremy’s prompt and his answer. “…Isthmus.”
“Thank you,” said Jeremy. “The second one was ‘Arums,’ whatever those are.” Jeremy reached up to put the newspaper on the counter above them. “So, I was thinking.” He paused for a long time. “If we go back to the nurse’s office to figure this out, will it be easier for you? Or will that make it worse?”
Jean shifted so he could see Jeremy’s face. The nurse’s office. Jean didn’t understand at first, but then he realized what Jeremy was offering. It was incredibly tempting to say yes just to get back there, to be mastered again for a while.
“I cannot believe the rules can change this easily,” said Jean. “I will not be safe. You won’t be safe, either.”
“From Riko? He didn’t want you looking at other men?”
Riko then; Ichirou now. If you had a weakness, it would be exploited and used to control you. Even wanting something badly enough was enough to endanger it.
“No.”
“What if the rule already isn’t safe?” Jeremy asked. Jean leaned forward so his forehead rested on his knees. Jeremy kept talking. “Not just because you were…you felt you had to hurt yourself. I mean, even if you could follow the rule perfectly–which nobody can do–but even if you could, you’d be cutting out a big part of yourself. I don’t want there to be less Jean Moreau.”
Jean tilted his head in his arms. He met Jeremy’s determined brown eyes.
“I will try,” he said.
Jeremy had thought that Jean looked at him a lot before. Now, Jean almost never let his attention stray anywhere else. All that time, Jean must have been trying very hard not to stare at Jeremy, because the difference was extreme.
“What magic spell did you put on that boy?” Xavier said as he helped Jeremy collect balls after practice.
“It’s not what you think,” Jeremy said. Except it kind of was like magic.
Before Jeremy had left Cat and Laila’s place the night of the kitchen knife incident, Jean had asked him to go back to the nurse’s office together in order to change the rule.
They’d stayed late after practice the next morning and then stepped into their roles. Jeremy had finally read his library books, but they had not done enough to prepare him. Dominance and submission was one thing. Platonic D/s was another. D/s as a therapeutic tool between a couple of friends who incidentally wanted each other carnally–for that, there was no help.
Jeremy had sat in Nurse Nguyen’s chair and Jean had knelt on the floor at his feet. They talked about how Jean felt. Jean answered as if from a state of hypnosis, so relaxed he was practically asleep.
Jean still pushed back when Jeremy brought up the reason they were there. But every probing question Jeremy put to him, Jean answered immediately. Nothing was off limits as long as it was Jeremy asking, even if Jean clearly felt vulnerable.
After several questions, Jeremy asked him how he wanted to be rewarded for telling Jeremy how he felt.
Jean blinked up at him. As if he’d never considered that there were two sides to this thing they were doing. After a long pause, Jean asked him to touch his hair. It felt good to have Jean’s head resting on his knee, Jeremy combing through his hair one slow stroke at a time. Finally, they talked about looking.
“How can I make the new rule feel more safe?” Jeremy asked, still petting Jean’s hair.
Jean breathed deeply against his skin.
“I don’t know.”
Jeremy kept petting Jean, thinking. Fair enough; he couldn’t make Jean do all the work. He also had the feeling that there was something else that needed to be said.
“Is part of it…are you worried that I might force you to have sex with me?” Jeremy asked.
Jean looked up at him, eyes puppy-like.
“It seems like… after Tucson, you felt like you couldn’t look at me at all.” Jeremy bit his lip. It also wasn’t until after Tucson that Jean had started beating himself with his racket over every little mistake. Jeremy wasn’t aware of any other trigger Jean might have experienced around that time. He stroked behind Jean’s ear, soothing himself with the repetitive motion. He couldn’t break down. Jean was relying on him right now. He swallowed. “Did it scare you that I changed our rooms without asking you?”
“No,” Jean sighed. “I thought you wanted to humiliate me after my poor performance. I’m sorry. I don’t think that now.” He looked up again. “I don’t think you’ll force me. I trust you.”
Jeremy nodded. He looked away, but there was no way Jean couldn’t sense the tension spiraling out of him. Humiliate him? That was what he’d thought of Jeremy’s awkward attempt to hook up?
“What if we made a rule that we won’t have sex with each other? Then would you feel safer looking at me?”
“I don’t want that,” Jean said into Jeremy’s knees.
“Okay,” Jeremy breathed. “Well, um, regardless, I need a rule that we won’t do anything sexual while we’re here, um, pretending. In the nurse’s office.”
Jean nodded. “Yes, Jeremy.”
“What else…” Jeremy drummed his fingers lightly over the back of Jean’s neck.
“Jeremy,” Jean said.
Jeremy stopped drumming his fingers. He removed his hands from Jean. “Yes?”
“I know now. How to make the rule safe.”
“Okay, thank God. Go ahead.”
“Promise to protect yourself first. Even if it would mean letting me die.”
Jeremy made a choked sound. “What?”
Jean looked up at him. Jeremy couldn’t begin to guess what one thing had to do with the other. They were negotiating terms in order to allow Jean to have gay thoughts, and Jean seemed to seriously think this was life or death. Not for the first time, Jeremy wondered what the hell Riko had done to him.
“Yes,” Jeremy said after a long pause. “But not if you–”
“I can’t kill myself. I made a promise to someone else.”
“Oh. Great.”
“If I told you to get in your car and drive to save your life, you would do it?” Jean pressed eagerly. “You would leave me behind?”
“What does this have to do with…” Jeremy said.
“Does it matter?” Jean asked. “It’s what I want in exchange.”
“Okay,” Jeremy said. “You’re scaring me. But if that’s what it takes to change the rule, okay.”
Jeremy again had the pleasure of feeling Jean relax. Jeremy’s whole being felt raw, but Jean’s cheek pressed into his knee, his shoulders leeching away all their tension, was what pushed him over the edge. Tears welled up, blurring Jeremy’s vision, and he struggled to blink them down.
“You’re so good,” Jeremy said, trying to remember a single thing from any of the books he’d checked out. “Thank you for submitting. I know it was uncomfortable. Um, you’re so brave.”
Jean looked up at him again, drinking in the affirmation, as disjointed as it was.
From then on, Jean looked at Jeremy all the time. With his hair still wet from the shower after practice. In Cat and Laila’s kitchen. In ceramics class. Even in the business class Jeremy was auditing, which was way too early in the morning for looking at boys. Only on the Exy court did Jean’s gaze cool off, but still everyone was starting to notice. There were a few feet between the locker room and the court that were fair game, after all.
The floozies held a vote: Jeremy had to ask Jean to hook up (again) or he was out.
From Min: a floozy would never fumble jean moreau.
Jeremy sat on the kitchen counter, listening to Cat sing along to Closer To Fine. Jean had been set to work breaking down mirepoix to the atomic level. Apparently Cat was making a blended soup, so Jean could ‘go nuts.’
The Sharpie on his and Jeremy’s arms had faded to an illegible shadow.
“Do you want to go to the Winter Lights Festival?” Jeremy asked him. “Over the break.”
“Ooh, yes,” said Cat. “Laila and I were thinking about going.”
“What is it?” Jean asked.
“A few blocks downtown are blocked off and strung up with string lights,” Cat said. “There are Christmas trees and vendors. It’s pretty. It’s a cute spot for a date–” Cat gasped, cutting herself off. She dramatically dropped her wooden spoon into the pan of greens she was wilting. “Actually, I just remembered Laila and I are busy.”
“Did you,” Jeremy deadpanned.
“We are incredibly busy for all of December.” She clicked her tongue. “Well, no reason you and Jean can’t go. Buy me a creepy Christmas ornament.”
Jean looked between the two of them. His expression was impassive.
“You already have a lot of creepy Christmas ornaments,” Jeremy said. “It’s uncomfortable.”
“I think I’m satisfied with my blond Jesus collection, but I can always use a crying baby angel. Or an evil elf.”
“What makes an elf evil?” Jeremy asked.
This launched a back-and-forth on both the nature of elf ornaments and the nature of evil.
“It’s not necessarily what the elf looks like,” Cat insisted. “Some elves are just unfortunate looking. You have to sense malice.”
Jean laughed. It surprised Jeremy–and Cat, too, who raised her eyebrows.
“What do you think?” Jeremy asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jean said. “Nothing you’re saying makes sense.”
“It makes perfect sense,” Cat insisted. “Give me the onion Jean, I think the oil is hot enough.”
He carefully dumped the minced onion into the pot.
“I will go,” he said to Jeremy over his shoulder. “To buy Cat an evil elf.”
Jeremy grinned. He pretended he didn’t notice Cat throwing suggestive looks in his direction.
Cleaning up after ceramics class, Jeremy couldn’t wait any longer.
“Jean,” he said, watching Jean scrub the clay slip from between his fingers in the utility sink. There were only a few other students left in the classroom, and they were far enough away that Jeremy could get away with talking about this–at least while the sink was running.
“Mm?” Jean said. His eyes lingered heavily on Jeremy while he dried his hands and Jeremy took his turn at the sink.
“I was wondering,” Jeremy said. “If you had time today–” This was getting away from him. He scrubbed his hands more forcefully. “--to take me somewhere and kiss me.”
He turned off the tap with more emphasis than necessary, then looked up at Jean. Jean’s lips had fallen slightly open with surprise.
“Now,” Jean said.
Jeremy felt a rush of giddy relief. Their relationship was uncharted, but apparently it could include kissing.
“We both have class now,” Jeremy said, though he fought down a smile.
Jean gestured to the almost empty classroom. The last two students lingered, still chatting as they inched toward the exit with a reluctance to go their separate ways once they were in the hall. Jean’s hand on Jeremy’s arm brought him back to attention.
“Okay, um–”
Jean kissed him. Their noses collided uncomfortably. Jean was not a practiced kisser, but Jeremy’s heart still did somersaults as Jean’s lips closed over his again and again, waking up nerves that had been sleeping since midterms.
“Mm, stop,” Jeremy said into his mouth. Jean pulled away. “Class,” Jeremy said.
Jean had managed to back Jeremy up against the sink. One of his legs was in between Jeremy’s. When had that happened? Jean was staring down at Jeremy like he was going to eat him.
“Okay,” Jean said.
He let Jeremy up. They turned off the lights to the classroom on their way out.
There was nowhere on campus to make out. Jeremy wished, not for the first time, that he had his own dorm room. The rest of the day went by without so much as fifteen minutes by themselves. Jeremy would take a utility closet at this point.
The floozies group chat was completely unhelpful; Jeremy’s phone notifications were a constant stream of the confetti emoji.
Jean came looking for Jeremy after his last class of the day. He was already waiting in the hall when the professor dismissed them.
“Come back to the house,” Jean said. “Cat and Laila are going out.”
The girls were still getting ready to leave when Jean and Jeremy arrived. Cat held onto Laila’s shoulder while she wiggled into her shoes.
“-just don’t make the chicken, I’m saving that for this weekend. We’ll be back around, oh, nine?”
“Nine sounds right,” said Laila. “Maybe ten. Maybe eleven.”
The door clicked behind them. Jeremy paced a lap around the kitchen, suddenly nervous.
“What do you want to do for dinner?” he asked. “Quesadillas are easy, or–”
Jean gently caught Jeremy by the wrist and pulled him in.
“I want to kiss you,” Jean said.
“Right.” Jeremy swallowed. “Please do.”
Jean walked him back into the kitchen counter and kissed him. It was sweet, and slow, but deep. Jeremy noticed, this time, the moment when Jean slotted a leg in between his. It coincided with Jean sucking his lower lip into his mouth.
Jeremy wrapped his arms around Jean’s neck and let him lead. Jean moaned softly into the kiss, which Jeremy felt in his whole body. Jeremy put his tongue in Jean’s mouth; Jean pushed his leg insistently against Jeremy’s crotch in response.
Puppy, Jeremy thought exasperatedly. Distantly, he considered that grinding on each other could present a problem a few minutes down the road.
Jean kissed him needily, asking for more with each pass of his lips, until Jeremy was on the edge of panting for it. He felt drunk. He was definitely hard, with Jean crushing him up against the kitchen counter.
All the breath left his body as he was suddenly flipped. He gasped at the feeling of Jean's arms snaking around him from behind. Jean was tall enough that he still tipped Jeremy’s head back and kissed him–sloppily, as his attention had shifted to unzipping Jeremy’s pants.
Jeremy groaned as his dick fell into Jean’s hand; he kissed Jean with more urgency, as Jean gave Jeremy a few gentle strokes.
Jeremy’s handle on the situation slipped out of his control like sand through his fingers. Jean bent him double over the counter, pressing against him. Even between their clothes Jeremy could feel him, hard and eager.
Jeremy panted and keened as Jean’s hand jerked him off–it was so fast, the wet sound of Jean’s hand slipping up and down filling Jeremy’s ears. He wriggled back against Jean, and Jean replied by pressing him harder into the counter.
Jeremy babbled as Jean fucked him–he never would have called a handjob being fucked until now.
“You’re so good, don’t stop, Jean, oh my God,” he said, watching Jean’s hand take him. Precome coated his hand like clay slip. Jeremy whined, practically drooling at the sight. Why was Jean going so fast?
Jean dragged an orgasm out of him by brute force–maybe the fastest Jeremy had come in his life. He panted out a series of “Oh my Gods,” still leaning against the counter for support.
Jean’s clean hand moved up under Jeremy’s shirt.
“Wait, stop,” Jeremy said.
Jean removed his hand. The pleasant pressure against Jeremy’s back went away as Jean stepped back, giving Jeremy the chance to turn around. Jeremy caught his breath. He put his dick away.
Oh my God, he’d come on the kitchen cabinets. He made a horrified sound.
“What’s wrong?” Jean asked.
“We just–in the kitchen,” Jeremy said. “Oh my God.” He laughed hysterically as he went to get the cleaning supplies. “Help me,” he said. “Clean everything.”
Jean trailed behind him, stoic as he took direction. Everything felt dirty, so they cleaned everything.
“Our friends’ kitchen. Such a violation.” Jeremy got on hands and knees and scrubbed the tile. “We can never tell them. Should I tell them? No. I don’t know.”
Jean got down on the floor with him, even though he was supposed to be scrubbing out the sink.
“Jeremy,” he said.
Jeremy looked up. A sweaty lock of hair fell in his face, and he couldn’t move it with bleach on his hands, so he left it there.
“What?”
“I don’t understand,” Jean said.
Jeremy sat back. Jean’s gaze was searching. Confused, a little hurt. Jeremy had just about finished carefully locking his own feelings away to unpack later–the smell of bleach really helped ground a fellow in the moment. He realized, horribly, that he was going to have to unpack it all now with Jean. Jean would not accept a hand-wave and an “I’m fine, just tired” like Jeremy’s other hook ups.
“That was fast. Really fast,” Jeremy said, unable to help the laughter that bubbled up. “I didn’t think we were even going to have sex today. That’s all.” He watched Jean’s expression cloud over. “Hey,” he said. “I was right there with you. I clearly remember asking for it.”
Jean sat and watched him for a moment longer. He moved the lock of hair out of Jeremy’s face.
“Thanks,” said Jeremy.
“Do you think the kitchen is clean enough?” he asked–a little pointedly.
“Let me…let me finish the floor. Are you still hard? We can go upstairs, I’ll give you head. I’m almost done.”
“Jeremy.”
Jeremy had resumed cleaning the tile. He looked up at Jean again. “Yes?”
“I’ll clean the floor. Will you pick out a movie?”
Jeremy breathed a little harder around the lump in his throat. “Fuck. I swear I’m usually a much better lay than this.”
Jean took the cleaning supplies away from him rather than respond. Jeremy was forced to pick out a movie.
“Feelings about Star Wars?” he called from the living room.
“Put on what you like.”
“It’s long. We don’t have to finish it.”
Jean finished cleaning the kitchen while Jeremy set it up. They both smelled like bleach as they settled on the couch. Jean sat so he wasn’t touching Jeremy, and Jeremy let that stand for about as long as the opening shot of Tatooine.
“Let me sit with you.”
Jean let Jeremy move so their legs were pressed together.
“It was good for me. I would have asked you to stop if it wasn’t. I’m not shy about that.”
Jean nodded.
“I want to try again soon.”
Jean nodded again. R2-D2 and C3-PO wandered across the sand dunes.
“Jean?”
Jean made a soft “Mm?” sound. Jeremy had wormed his way under one of Jean’s arms.
“How do you feel about it?”
Jean breathed; Jeremy felt the rise and fall of his chest.
“Alright.” Jean shifted a little. “Worried.”
“About?”
Jean gritted his teeth. “I didn’t realize it was fast. I don’t know how else to do it.”
Jeremy tapped Jean’s shoulder until he turned his head toward him. His eyebrows were raised, a crooked smile on his face.
“Hey. We’re going to practice. A lot.”
They fell into a new pattern. Once a week they stayed late after practice and Jeremy took Jean into the nurse’s office. Jean knelt in front of Nurse Nguyen’s office chair and relaxed. It was good to have a master, even if it was only for an hour every week. When Jean tried to give Jeremy control of him outside the nurse’s office, Jeremy got upset, so Jean forced himself to be content with what he had.
In the nurse’s office, Jeremy ordered him to lay out his frustrations. About his performance on the court, about class, about what the news had to say about the Ravens’ season. Jeremy pet his hair. He liked to reward Jean for every little thing.
Jeremy had brought his library books with him one week, and he’d told Jean to choose one to read so they could talk about it. Jean had read all of them before their next session, and Jeremy had heaped praise on him.
They talked about it for longer than their usual hour in the nurse’s office. They changed their language about what they were doing, to start. Jeremy asked Jean if there was anything he’d read about in the books that he thought would be helpful. Jean turned to the glossary and pointed to ‘24/7.’
Jeremy turned bright red. “Nope, absolutely not,” he said. “Try again.”
Slowly, Jeremy got more comfortable using power. One time, he ordered Jean to cut his Tuesday afternoon business class and meet him off campus for ice cream. And once, after a particularly grueling practice that had Jean limping off the court, he had given Jean a new rule: no playing with injuries until he’d seen a Coach and been cleared to play.
“How do you feel about that rule?” Jeremy had asked.
“Annoyed,” Jean sighed. But he’d checked in with Lisinski and Nurse Davis before practice the next morning. And it had felt good to spend practice stretching on the sidelines while his teammates got to play, because he was following the rules.
Jean pulled Jeremy aside after practice one day. Jeremy was bright and happy, exhilarated from the court. He was almost hard to look at. Jean loved him. Jean wanted to belong to him. Nothing felt like enough when it came to Jeremy.
“Can I talk to you?”
Jeremy followed him outside into the parking lot.
“What’s up?”
“I want to try again. I want to have sex.”
They’d spent the last three weeks kissing. The semester was hanging on by a thread with Winter Break starting next week, and all of their spare time was going to Exy and studying for exams.
“Me too,” Jeremy said, happiness radiating off of him. Jean drank it in. A warning in his head told him he was looking, but Jean put the thought to rest. He was allowed. “When?”
Jean shoved his hands in his pockets. “Now?”
Jeremy pinched him. Jean laughed.
“Funny.” Jeremy said. “I was thinking we could go see the Winter Lights Festival this weekend, so before that? How’s your Wednesday?”
“Exam,” Jean said. “Thursday?”
“Exam,” Jeremy replied. He laughed. “Friday morning? I know for a fact Cat and Laila both have exams at nine.”
“Alright. Nine.” Jean nodded.
“I’m not going to think about anything else all week,” Jeremy sighed. “Pray I pass my classes.”
Nine-thirty in the morning was not Jeremy’s favorite moment to be half-naked, tumbled in Jean’s bed, arguing about rules.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Jean said. “It’s better if you are in control. Just–order me.”
“You agreed that we wouldn’t mix D/s and sex.”
“Your books–” Jean huffed. “It is all sex.”
“-Doesn’t matter. I don’t want to.” Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest. “Why are you so uncomfortable negotiating with me in the moment?”
“I’ve never done it before,” Jean snapped. “I learned–last time–that I do not know how.”
Jeremy sighed a breath of relief.
“You want me to teach you, okay. That doesn’t mean I’m controlling you. God’s sake, Jean.” He pulled Jean back down on top of him and kissed him. Jean followed his lead, kissing Jeremy down into the mattress.
“That feels good,” Jeremy encouraged. “God, I love kissing you.”
Jean slotted the two of them together, and Jeremy’s legs fell naturally wider around his hips. Jean kissed him deeply and ground down against him. He touched Jeremy’s hair, stroking it away from his face as he moved, both of them gradually getting hard.
Jeremy moaned and sighed dramatically into Jean’s mouth, performing just a touch above what he felt. Jean seemed to like it–he broke the kiss just long enough to fight Jeremy’s pants down his legs.
“Fast,” Jeremy scolded, but he lifted his hips up to help.
Jean shoved a hand up Jeremy’s chest, tugging his shirt up to his chin so Jeremy was entirely exposed underneath him, Jean still fully clothed.
“I don’t understand,” Jean said–the same snappish voice he sometimes used when he got frustrated on the court. He moved both hands up Jeremy’s chest. He let his thumb stray appreciatively over the little chest hair Jeremy had. “How am I fast?”
Jeremy chewed his lip and tried not to arch his body into Jean’s touch. If last time was any indication, if he let Jean loose on him, he would come in about five minutes.
“I don’t want to come until 10:30,” Jeremy said. Jean made a face that meant stop talking crazy. It was just after 9:45. “I’m not kidding, so I suggest you slow it down.”
“And do what?” Jean asked. He kissed Jeremy again, pressing down on him more carefully with Jeremy exposed. Jeremy stared down at the point of contact, his bare dick hard against Jean’s tented sweatpants. God, it was hot. Jean grazed the backs of his knuckles up Jeremy’s side, and Jeremy blinked up at him. Again: “And do what?”
“Good question. Where do you want to go?”
“As far as you’ll let me,” Jean said.
Jeremy leaned up to kiss him. “We don’t have to get too complicated. I’ll blow you, you get me off, we discuss from there?
“I don’t want you to do that,” Jean said.
“Really? I’m very good at it.” Jeremy said. “Okay, in that case, what do you…”
“I want to fuck you.”
“Right. So…oh. Oh. Now?”
Jean made that cute face he sometimes made, with the little crinkle in his brow.
“That’s how this works,” he said. “Am I missing something?”
“It’s just a lot of work, and it’s our first time.” Jeremy leaned up and kissed him. “I think I’m okay with…trying.” He kissed Jean again. He squirmed under him, trying to rub his thigh up against Jean’s cock.
Suddenly, Jeremy was being flipped. He gasped as his knees hit the mattress.
“Fast,” he huffed, and scrambled back around to a sitting position. Jean had his hands up in surrender. “Let me participate, too.”
Jeremy gave the drawstring of Jean’s sweats a couple of warning tugs, then pulled them down Jean’s thighs. Jean watched every movement sharply, like a dog impatiently waiting to earn a treat.
Jean’s cock was gorgeous. His thighs even more so–there was so much tense muscle. Jeremy chewed his lip, imagining those powerful thighs absolutely ramming into him. He had the sneaking feeling that Jean was going to hurt him by accident if they made it that far today.
Jeremy pushed a hand up Jean’s shirt, sliding his palm up and down scars and muscle.
“You sure you don’t want my mouth?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes.”
Jeremy took him in hand. He kept his grip loose, softly sliding his fingers up and down. Jean breathed a little harder, his cock growing stiffer.
“You’re big,” Jeremy said, lowering his voice. “You might break me. I’m going to have a hard time explaining to Coach why I can’t play our last…”
“Don’t say that,” Jean said. “I am not going to hurt you.”
Jeremy winced, letting Jean slip from his fingertips. “You’re so right. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you concerned? That I’m going to hurt you?”
“No,” Jeremy said. “It’s not that. Take your clothes off and come down here with me. Let’s talk for a second.”
Jeremy took off his own shirt and tossed it aside. He waited for Jean to undress, then made room for them both to lie down. Jeremy half-straddled his thigh, tangling their legs up together.
“I’m sorry, Jean. That’s the kind of dirty talk I’m used to. Nobody actually gets hurt.”
“Mm.” Jean stroked his hand up Jeremy’s back, then down again. He looked at Jeremy with a simmering intensity.
“That said, I…I am worried. I said we would try, but I think…” Jeremy paused when Jean’s hand stopped moving on his back. “...I’m realizing it would bother you a lot if you hurt me. Even if you didn’t mean to, even if we stopped to adjust–or gave up halfway.”
“Yes, that would bother me,” Jean said, offended. “Of course that would bother me.”
“Well, that’s kind of–inevitable. You’re new to this, and I haven’t done it in so long that I’m really not, realistically, going to be able to…” Jeremy coughed. “...take that.”
Jean’s hand moved up to Jeremy’s hair. He combed his fingers through.
“Okay, puppy?”
Jean’s fingers stopped. “Excuse me?” he asked, incredulous.
Jeremy smiled, turning his face into Jean’s chest. He teased a single finger up Jean’s dick, waking it back up.
“I said… will you please take pity on my tight asshole and find another way to fuck me–” Jeremy wriggled up against him, fully straddling one of Jean’s legs. “-puppy.”
Jean surged up and kissed him. Jeremy wanted to call ‘Fast’ on him again when he started to jerk Jeremy off into his hand, but it was already a quarter after ten.
Jeremy moaned a little complaint when Jean let go of him. He ground down on Jean’s thigh, chasing his lips as Jean took those away as well.
“Hey,” Jeremy whined.
“I’m going to finger you.”
“Oh. Never mind.” Jeremy let Jean haul him up against him so he could reach around. “Do you have–” The sound of a cap opening on a bottle answered that question. “-cold, cold.”
Jean’s finger pushed inside him, and Jeremy forced himself to relax, face buried in Jean’s shoulder.
“Slow, puppy,” he breathed.
Jean slowed down. “Feel good?”
“It will in a minute. It doesn’t hurt.”
Jean was able to intuit when it started to feel good. Jeremy squirmed against the hold Jean had him in, trying to fuck himself deeper–then panted, crumpled against Jean’s chest, as he begged for two fingers, then three. Jean took him agonizingly slowly, to the point that Jeremy thought he might cry if the man didn’t let him come soon.
Jeremy’s dick was weeping precome against Jean’s stomach.
“Please, Jean, please, please,” he groaned. He was taking three fingers easily. He could take Jean’s dick, if Jean was willing to try. “I changed my mind. Fuck me. Take me. I can take it.”
“Not this time,” Jean said quietly. He fucked his fingers into Jeremy harder, making Jeremy swear. “Can you come like this?”
Jeremy squirmed, but he could only get enough stimulation to torture himself. He shook his head.
“Kay,” Jean muttered. He broke rhythm, triggering a stream of filthy curses from Jeremy. “You should talk like that on the court,” he said. “Lose your spirit award.” He reached away with his free hand, straining for the top drawer of his dresser.
“Jean, for Christ’s sake,” Jeremy said. “Stop it and finish me.”
Jean released a small breath. He’d found what he was looking for in the dresser. He put it in Jeremy’s hand. Jeremy blinked at him, over-kissed lips falling slightly open. Jean put his hand over Jeremy’s and pressed the power button. The bullet started to vibrate.
“I’ll die,” said Jeremy. “I’ll–” His protests died as Jean moved his fingers inside him, fucking insistently against his prostate. Jeremy was back to the edge in seconds, unable to fall over. He let Jean keep him there for a little while longer, panting and whining, until he really couldn’t take it anymore.
Jeremy put the bullet against his dick for a count of three before he came harder than he’d maybe come in his life. He cursed into Jean’s shoulder. His legs were shaking. That didn’t happen. He was a Class I striker; sex had never put more strain on his thighs than a game of Exy.
Jean took the bullet from him and slid it up his own dick. He looked painfully hard; he sighed as an orgasm started to build up. Jeremy watched him, still perched in his lap, sticky with come, sweat, and lube.
“Come for me, puppy,” Jeremy said. “You did so, so good.”
A tendon in Jean’s neck tensed; Jeremy kissed it for him. He felt him come a few seconds later with a strained sound.
“So good,” Jeremy said, and then he was wrapped up in Jean’s arms, and they were kissing.
“It’s after 10:30,” Jean said, clearly very proud of himself.
“It is. You’re incredible. It’s–it’s almost eleven.” Jeremy laughed in surprise. Jean cut him off with another kiss. They couldn’t stop, even as the stickiness became uncomfortable. “I’m so happy. I think you’re magic. Was it ceramics class? Did it make you magic?”
“What are you talking about?” Jean said, and also laughed.
Oh, that smile. Jeremy realized he loved him. He really, really loved him. He buried his face in his neck.
The Winter Lights Festival was crowded. Jean kept Jeremy in his sight as Jeremy flitted from stall to stall. He didn’t spare much attention for what was for sale. It was a mix of garbage to entertain children–glow sticks, noisemakers, and balloons–and garbage to entertain adults–keychains, bottle openers, and Wells Fargo branded ball caps.
Jeremy came back to Jean’s side with a little bag of candy-coated popcorn.
“No,” Jean said in horror.
“Eat one.” Jeremy said. He raised his eyebrows, and Jean felt the pull of obedience. He rejected the urge, glad for once that outside the nurse’s office, Jeremy couldn’t order him to eat that abomination.
They walked around for another hour; Jeremy never flagged, but Jean was beginning to feel the toll of the crowd and the children chasing each other through the throng. Jean dodged a stroller and lost sight of Jeremy for a moment.
He stopped walking, forcing the crowd behind him to part on either side. He stared into the moving bodies, listening to the sound of his heartbeat in his ears. A kid with a plastic whistle ran by, breathing through the whistle instead of blowing it, creating a shrill, continuous wheeze. A man in a suit passed close in front of Jean; he was trying to have a conversation into a Bluetooth earpiece, seemingly unaffected by the racket.
Jeremy’s hand slipped into Jean’s.
“I lost you,” Jeremy said. “Want to duck into a store for a second?”
Jean let Jeremy pull him out of the crowd. The store Jeremy chose was stuffed to the ceiling with Christmas greenery and ornaments. Hundreds of foot-tall Santas stared blankly from behind long doll eyelashes.
“Help me find an evil elf,” Jeremy said. He squeezed Jean’s wrist, then let go in order to explore the rest of the store. Jean trailed behind. The storefront was narrow, but extended back a ways farther than Jean would have expected. Well-placed Christmas trees turned the store into a labyrinth.
Jean paused to touch one of the ornaments as he passed. It was a heavy mirror etched with a Bible verse: For you were bought at a price; therefore glorify God in your body and in your spirit, which are God’s.
Jean pulled a face. He was setting the mirror back down when he caught a glimpse of something on its surface. He held it still. Entering the shop behind him was the same man in the suit he had seen outside, still talking into his Bluetooth. The man picked up and replaced several Santa dolls in clear disinterest. Jean’s grip tightened on the mirror.
Jean walked deeper into the store, slowly, pretending to examine the mirror ornament as he walked, but really checking behind him to see if the man in the suit would follow. Jean’s heart turned over as the man came around the next Christmas tree. He wasn’t looking at anything around him, just walking forward.
That was enough for Jean. He regained his lead on the man and hurried to the front of the store, where he found Jeremy digging through a discount bin.
“There you are,” Jeremy said. “Look at this one–uh?”
Jean had yanked him by the arm to the farthest point in the store, almost behind the checkout counter. Jeremy stumbled as he backed into a still-sealed box of stock.
“Jean,” he said.
“It is probably nothing,” Jean said. “But you promised me. That if I told you to go, you’d go. No matter what.”
Jeremy stared at him. “Yes, but, what–”
There had been hardly any time, Jean thought. Only a handful of weeks.
“Emergency exit is right behind you. Don’t run. Call someone while you walk. Don’t go to your car. Take public transit for a while.” Jean held up the mirror. He didn’t see the man yet, but it was a matter of seconds. “It’s probably nothing. I’ll see you at home.”
I love you. If he said that, Jeremy wouldn’t go, promise or not.
“It’s probably nothing,” Jean said again, turning away to walk back into the store. The emergency exit alarm went off a few seconds later. Thank God.
Jean held onto that gratitude as the man with the Bluetooth rounded a Christmas tree at a run, then came to an almost comedic halt when he saw Jean standing there waiting for him.
Jean smiled at him. Neil would have smiled at him, and Neil always seemed to get out of these things alive.
Jeremy called Cat. He hung up on her before she could pick up. He called Kevin. It rang. And rang.
“It’s the weekend before Christmas,” Jeremy said as the phone continued to ring out. “Where the fuck do you have to be? ‘Night practice’? ‘Night practice’ isn’t real and I need you, fuck!” Jeremy swore at his phone, walking quickly, but not running, down the quiet street behind the Winter Lights Festival.
The call connected.
“Kevin,” Jeremy said.
“What?” Kevin groaned. Jeremy remembered it was three hours later on the east coast. It was almost midnight at Palmetto State. “Is this Jeremy? What’s wrong?”
“I should have asked you right away, I’m so fucking stupid,” Jeremy growled. “Why did Jean make me promise I would leave him to die if he ever asked me to?” He kept going. “Why did he tell me not to run, to call somebody, to–oh my God, what else did he say? He told me not to go back to my car. Kevin. Kevin–”
“Hold on. Neil,” Kevin hollered. The sound of Kevin banging on a door came muffled across the line. “Phone.”
“In a fucking Santa store,” Jeremy said. “He said it was probably fine. He said he would see me at home.” He could see a major intersection ahead. Jeremy was really leaving Jean behind. He was almost there. If this was Billings, there was a bus stop only two blocks north. In a few minutes, it would be too late to change his mind. Jeremy’s vision blurred with tears.
“Then he’ll probably see you at home,” said a different voice over the phone.
“What?” said Jeremy.
“Jean said it was probably fine and he’d see you at home. He’ll probably see you at home.”
Neil, Jeremy realized. This was Neil. Why was it Neil?
“How do you know that?” he asked.
“The more connections you have, the harder it is to disappear,” Neil said. “How close are you to the bus stop?”
“Two blocks,” Jeremy said.
“Keep going. You’re doing great.” A beat. “It doesn’t sound like there are a lot of people around.”
“No–I’m behind the festival.”
“Get back to the main street,” said Neil. “Do you see a way?”
“There are alleys.”
“Take the next one, but only if you can see that it goes all the way through.”
Jeremy took the next alley.
“That sounds more like it,” said Neil. “Where’s the bus stop? Will you have to leave the crowded area?”
“No, there’s…festival traffic,” Jeremy said. The lights and people hadn’t been this overwhelming earlier. Every voice was impossibly loud.
“Are you walking to the bus stop?”
Jeremy’s feet had stopped moving. He started walking again.
“You know,” he said. He was almost there.
“What do I know?”
“You know why Jean told me to do this. There’s something going on. There’s really something–”
“When does the next bus come?” Neil interrupted.
“What? I don’t know. I’ll have to look at the time table.”
Neil didn’t reply right away. Jeremy realized that Neil was still talking, but he was engaged in an aside with Kevin, and with the competing noise from the festival, Jeremy could barely hear him.
“Wait for the bus, but stay on the phone.”
Jeremy made it there. There were families. Teenagers. Enough people that they weren’t all going to fit on one bus.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m here.” The hand holding his phone was shaking. He went to switch hands, but there was a little bug-eyed alien figurine dressed like a Santa elf clenched in his other fist. Huh. He twisted it around in his hand.
“So, festival, huh?” Kevin said, sounding incredibly awkward. “What kind of festival?”
“Christmas. Lights. I stole a Christmas ornament.”
“Wow, that’s terrible. You shouldn’t do that. Hold on a sec, Jeremy.”
Kevin must have muted the phone; Jeremy thought for a moment the call had dropped. Minutes passed without a word.
“What bus stop is it?” asked Kevin.
“Billings Avenue. Northbound. Why?”
“In case Neil gets ahold of Jean.”
“I could have called him. Is Neil calling him?”
“Don’t tell him that.” That was Neil’s voice from across the room.
“Don’t tell me what?” Jeremy said, holding himself just barely back from shouting.
“Neil doesn’t want you to try to call Jean unless you already have a code. And it sounds like you don’t. Don’t call Jean. Forget I said anything. Neil–”
Someone muted the phone again.
“It’s me,” came Jean’s voice from behind him. Jeremy whirled around as Jean grabbed him into a hug. “You’re perfect. That was perfect.”
“What the fuck was that?” Jeremy said. He hit Jean’s chest with the hand still clutching his phone. “Jean–”
Kevin–no, Neil–was back on the line, speaking in French. Jean answered. They went back and forth for another minute before Jean said merci in a tone that sounded like he meant it. He ended the call for Jeremy.
“What are you, an international spy?” Jeremy said angrily. “You need to–”
Jean slipped a plastic coil bracelet over his wrist. A cheap plastic whistle dangled from it. It was USC red. Jeremy stared at it.
“What is this.”
“Whistle.”
Jeremy handed him the alien elf.
“Alien elf,” Jeremy said, matching Jean’s tone. Then, under his breath, “Fucking asshole.”
“I’m sorry you were worried about me. You did everything right.”
Jeremy broke the hug. He turned his back on Jean, but made sure he stood with their shoulders touching.
“I will tell you…something,” Jean added.
Jeremy craned his neck to raise his eyebrows at him.
“The truth,” Jean amended. “I will tell you the truth.”
The whistle, when Jeremy had a moment to process it, had a touch more significance to it than an alien elf ornament, as far as presents went. He clipped it on his keys. Jeremy even started to like it, although in a half-suspicious way. You call a boy ‘puppy’ in bed once, and he started getting ideas.
Jeremy noticed that the alien elf had similarly found a place on Jean’s keys.
“That’s embarrassing,” he said. “You’re going out in public with that?”
Jean wandered into Jeremy’s space, then kissed under his ear. Right in front of the girls. Cat wolf-whistled.
“Why wouldn’t I?” Jean said. “You stole it for me.”
Jeremy hated that he was funny.
Jeremy’s hair was long enough that he could put it up in a little ponytail at the base of his neck. Jean liked it.
Winter break meant that campus was deserted. It was only the four of them in Cat and Laila’s house. Cat and Laila had just left for the grocery store.
“My kitchen better not be any cleaner than I left it,” Cat threatened. Ever since Jeremy had come clean about the timeline of his and Jean’s relationship, she’d put a few things together. “Undomesticated. That’s what you are.”
“Have fun, be safe,” Laila said. She pointed at Jean and raised her eyebrows. “Make good choices.”
“You can leave us alone for an hour,” Jeremy protested. “I am going to do the crossword. When you get back, I will still be right here, doing the crossword.”
He sat down on the couch and picked up the paper.
“Good choices, Jean,” Laila repeated. Jeremy hid his face behind the newspaper until they left.
Jean came to sit next to him. After a minute, Jeremy pulled him down so Jean’s head rested in his lap. They sat that way for a while; Jean started to doze off.
“Goddess whose symbol is a peacock,” Jeremy said.
“How many letters?” Jean said, eyes closed.
“Four.”
“Mm.”
After another minute: “Five letter word for crowded?”
Jean shook his head. A few minutes later, Jean cracked his eyes open. “Hera. Dense.”
“Thank you.”
Jean listened to Jeremy’s pen scratch against the newspaper. He’d never known being alive could feel like this.
“Patron saint of sailors?”
“Elmo,” Jean answered. He reached up and gave the end of Jeremy's ponytail a playful flick. “Jeremy.”
Jeremy looked down from his puzzle, chewing on the end of his pen. “Mm?”
Jean had put off this conversation for as long as he could. Neil had said it was more dangerous that Jeremy didn’t know. Jean had to take his word for it; there was nobody else to ask.
“Will you go on a walk with me?”
Jeremy set his newspaper on the back of the couch.
“Sure,” he said.
They walked all the way to campus, talking about little things. Plans for the break. They passed the fitness center. Jean cleared his throat.
“The truth,” he said.
Jeremy’s gaze turned sharp. He’d been trying to get this out of Jean all week.
“I belong to the Moriyamas,” Jean said. But that clearly wasn’t the place to start. Jeremy went off.
“You don’t belong to anybody,” he insisted. “You’re not a Raven. You don’t even have to be a Trojan if you don’t want to. Become an archeologist. Or a–a car salesman. Drop out of school. Join a deep sea fishing crew.” Jeremy took a breath. There was more. Jean wanted to know his other suggestions for Jean’s life without Exy, was curious what was left after deep sea fishing, but he should stop Jeremy now.
“I am telling you the truth,” Jean said. “You might need to know this someday.”
Jeremy cut himself off. He looked to Jean, horror beginning to creep into his expression.
“I belong to the Moriyamas,” Jean said again. “When I was fourteen, I was given to the master. I was a gift to the second branch of the family, to use as they saw fit.” Jean spared Jeremy a glance, then quickly looked away. “When I was taken from Evermore this spring, it was not only my contract and scholarship that required a change of hands. It was negotiated that ownership would transfer to the main branch of the family, in light of Riko’s…” Jean swallowed the word he wanted to say and instead chose “...irresponsibility.”
“Jean,” Jeremy said. His tone was pleading. He wanted Jean to be joking.
“I am a minor asset. I will play professional Exy once I graduate, and my paychecks will go to the Moriyama family. As long as I can play, I can expect to be left alone.” Jean grimaced at the look on Jeremy’s face. “It is a life. It's a better one than I ever thought I would get. But there is always the chance that the deal will change.
“The Moriyamas may choose not to honor the terms they’ve given me. Or I may be injured and unable to play. They may decide that they do not want a Moreau anymore, now that the rest have been burned. I may become another Raven suicide. Do you see?”
The meeting in the Christmas store had not been as dramatic as that. The man in the suit worked for Stuart Hatford. He had a message to pass on–a letter that Jean had read in front of him and a hundred Santa dolls. After he’d read it, he burned it in the alley behind the store. That was all.
“And you thought that might be happening. That night at the festival. Jean.”
“Didn’t I say it was probably nothing?” Jean asked. Judging by Jeremy’s face, he did not accept that excuse.
“How could you make me promise you something like that, knowing it might really–” Jeremy pressed his hands over his face. “I feel sick.”
“I’m sorry.” Jean reached over. He pulled Jeremy’s hands down from his face.
“I won’t do it again,” Jeremy said. “No.”
Jean nodded. He gave the coil bracelet around Jeremy’s wrist a gentle snap. The red whistle jangled against Jeremy’s keys.
“Then I will not look at you,” Jean said softly.
“This is a nasty ultimatum,” Jeremy said.
“It is not meant maliciously,” Jean said. “I can’t risk exposing you to dangerous people if you won’t keep yourself safe.” Jean’s expression had gone ghastly. “Having my attention is a curse.”
Jeremy made a pained sound.
“Cat. Laila,” Jeremy said. “Our team. You’re not having this conversation with them, too?”
“If someone wanted to control me, they would use you.” Jean put his hands in his pockets. “Maybe a rival conglomerate has good enough intelligence to find me, but not good enough to know that I would be useless to them. Money flows to the Moriyamas, but information does not flow back. I am disconnected. But they don’t know this.
“They do know I have no reason to change my allegiance. It would be better to die than to betray the Moriyamas–better to die fast. So, they force compliance. They tell me they have you.” Jean slowed down his pace. “It’s not very likely. More likely, the Moriyamas decide to kill me and you are in the way. You witness something you shouldn’t, maybe, and need to be cleaned up.”
Jeremy had stopped walking. Jean turned back, closing the small gap.
“Maybe nothing ever happens. What I asked from you–it is just like a fire alarm. It goes off. Everyone evacuates. It turns out someone was smoking in the bathroom.”
“Is that what it was? Last weekend? A false alarm?”
“That was a messenger from another family, which has a business relationship with–” Before Jean had finished speaking, Jeremy had grabbed the front of Jean’s shirt; Jean let him ball up the fabric in his fists. “No harm done. It was just a message.”
“Jean,” Jeremy protested, pulling on the fabric.
“Do you feel unsafe?” Jean asked.
“Of course I feel unsafe.”
“So if I ask you to go, you go.”
“Jean, this is crazy,” Jeremy said.
“If you are not underfoot, you are irrelevant,” Jean said. “If you run, you give me time. I will comply, and they–Moriyamas, whoever they are–will not go seeking an incentive that they do not need. If you go when I tell you, you are not a witness to clean up later.”
“Jean,” Jeremy said, eyes sparkling with rage.
“If the situation ever arises that I am dead and you are threatened, you should call Neil Josten. He would protect you if you needed it. We have discussed it.”
Jeremy shoved against Jean’s chest. Jean fell two steps back. He looked down. Jeremy breathed heavily, unable to summon words to express his anger. He stepped forward and shoved Jean again. Jean fell another step back.
Jean had his answer.
“If you need to confide in someone, call Kevin. Or Neil. This is not a secret that can get out. It is extremely dangerous just to know.”
Jean turned back for the house.
Andrew Minyard was shorter outside of the goal. Jeremy looked at him in momentary surprise, the open door to the dorm room between them.
Jeremy owed Laila hundreds of dollars he had no idea how he was going to pay back. He’d stepped off a plane with nothing but his backpack, and now he was here.
“Runaway,” Andrew said. He did not invite him in.
“I’m–is Neil here?” Jeremy asked.
“Yes?” came a call from inside the dorm room. Neil Josten appeared at Andrew’s shoulder, wet from a shower. Jeremy realized that ‘Runaway’ had not been directed at him. It was a summons. A pet name. Neil Josten’s ice blue eyes met his.
“In,” Neil said.
Andrew stepped out of Jeremy’s way, and Jeremy went inside.
Jeremy sat on Neil Josten’s couch with a hot cup of tea searing his palms. Kevin sat next to him. Neil stood across from him. Andrew had gone elsewhere while Jeremy told his story.
“Is that all?” Kevin asked.
Jeremy turned to level a glare on him, and Kevin had the decency to look embarrassed. Jeremy turned his attention back to Neil, waiting for his response.
“What, exactly, is your point?” Neil asked.
Jeremy blinked.
“I want to know what’s going on,” Jeremy said. “I want to know if Jean is safe. I want to know what to do.”
Neil’s expression was unreadable.
“You know Jean’s part in it, and I’m not interested in spreading around anything more than that,” Neil said. “What he told you was accurate. You should take him at his word. Was that all?”
Jeremy laughed, disbelieving. “This is normal for you people,” he said.
“Jeremy…” Kevin began.
“Yes, it is,” Neil said. “It’s not a bad life.”
“Always looking over your shoulder?” Jeremy said. Andrew had reappeared in the kitchen. He watched the proceedings indifferently, unwrapping a piece of candy. Jeremy put something together. The last time he’d seen Andrew, it was on T.V. He’d broken Riko’s hand with his racket. “You would never ask him to promise something like that,” Jeremy said. “Andrew, if Neil asked you to leave him to die, would you?”
Andrew’s lip twitched. Jeremy caught a look between him and Neil.
“Depends,” Andrew said. “Neil, what did you do?”
Neil shrugged. “Dunno. Moriyamas decided they don’t want me around anymore,” he said.
“Sure. It had nothing to do with your mouth.” Andrew popped a piece of candy in his mouth. He started to wander back toward the bedrooms.
“Come on,” Jeremy said.
“Why don’t you camp out on the couch for the night?” Kevin said. “It’s late. We can talk more tomorrow.”
Jeremy put his tea down on the coffee table. He buried his head in his hands.
Jean was vacuuming. He liked cleaning up, he’d discovered. Every domestic ritual had been done for them in the Nest. He felt more like a human being and less like a thing that played Exy, after he had cleaned something.
Jeremy hadn’t come back to the house in a few days. Laila and Cat sensed discord. They babied Jean, which he found annoying. They tried to talk to him about his feelings. They tried to get him to go out dancing.
Jeremy’s half-finished crossword was still on the back of the couch. Every time Jean tidied up the living room, he picked it up, couldn’t figure out what to do with it, and set it back down. The girls thought this was a cry for help.
Jean unplugged the vacuum and began to coil up the cord, finished with the first floor. Laila was standing off to the side, watching him. He wondered how long she’d been waiting there.
“We’re going out tonight,” Laila announced. “We’re dancing and drinking. No excuses.”
Jean let her and Cat push him through the motions of getting ready. There was glitter. They were almost ready to leave. Cat went back upstairs for a different pair of shoes, Jean and Laila waiting by the door. A key turned in the other side of the lock, making them both jump.
Jeremy came in with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He stared between Laila and Jean. He looked tired. His hair was mussed, and his clothes were rumpled. He didn’t smell right.
“Were you on a plane?” Jean asked. Both Laila and Jeremy looked taken aback.
“Are you a dog or something?” Laila asked. “Why do you know that?”
“Yes, I was on a plane,” Jeremy said. “Do you have a minute?”
Cat came down the stairs in black platforms, loudly clomping her way.
“Oh, hey babe,” Cat said. “We were just about to take Jean out to forget about you.”
Both Jean and Jeremy shot her a look. It was the same look; Jean had picked it up from him.
“I have a minute,” Jean said. Jeremy led the way up to their bedroom. Jean followed. Downstairs, the boom box turned on.
Jeremy sat down on his own bed. He put the backpack on the floor. Jean stood across from him.
“I’m sorry I pushed you,” Jeremy said. He bounced his foot, nervous about something. “That wasn’t okay.”
Jean had thought he was ready for this conversation, but he was immediately put on the back foot. A shove was nothing. Jean shoved him on the Exy court all the time, but Jeremy looked like he was going to be physically sick. Jean didn’t get it.
“Forget it,” Jean said. “It didn’t hurt.”
“It doesn’t matter if it didn’t hurt,” Jeremy insisted. “It’s not acceptable.”
Jean studied him for a moment. A shove was a drop in the bucket. It would be difficult to find it unacceptable. If a shove was unacceptable, Jean could not accept very much of the last five years.
“Alright,” he said. He would try. “I accept your apology.”
“Thank you,” Jeremy said. “Okay.”
Jeremy didn’t look relieved, even though Jean had given him what he’d been looking for. He continued to bounce his foot. There was more.
“I thought about it,” Jeremy said. “What we talked about. And I realized. Rules are bullshit.”
Jean raised his eyebrows.
“I’m glad I kept your trust and left when you told me to.” Jeremy paused. “We had a promise. I kept it.
“But being collared by a rule isn’t really trust. I want you to give me the freedom to make up my mind for myself.” Jeremy met Jean’s eyes, challenging. “If you tell me to run and hide again, I want it to be up to me.”
Jean stared at him.
“Neil and his friends have a code,” Jeremy continued. “For, you know, normal situations, like if one of them has been kidnapped. Or if they can’t communicate freely. They have a dozen of them, probably, for all kinds of things. I don’t remember them all.”
Jeremy chewed his lip, waiting for Jean to reply.
“You want to do that,” Jean said. His tone took an edge. “You want me to drag you down with me.”
“Yep,” Jeremy said. “If the Moriyamas decide to make you the latest Raven suicide, I want to know about it. I want to hear it in your voice. Even if I can’t save you, or do anything, I want you to let me do as much as I can.”
“It’s not smart,” Jean said. “I explained why. No.”
“You also explained why Ananya needs to switch to a heavy, but interestingly enough, Ananya is a great player with the racket she has, with the stats to show it.”
Jean would have liked to shake him. He took Jeremy in, incredulous.
“It’s not safe,” he tried.
“It’s safe enough. I know what I’m in for now, and I get to take my own risks,” Jeremy said.
“Just–let me protect you,” Jean said, trying and failing to keep his tone in check.
“Not if you won’t let me protect you,” Jeremy said, his tone rising to match. “I’m not asking to come on your secret missions with you, Jean, I’m just asking you to let me love you.”
Jean’s argument caught in his throat. Jeremy slid off the bed. He knelt in front of Jean, who had no choice but to come down with him. He couldn’t stand Jeremy being lower than him.
“What are you doing?” Jean asked.
“I want to be with you. I want to take care of you, and when there’s nothing I can do, I want you to know I was somewhere trying.” A fat tear rolled down Jeremy’s cheek, then another. “I don’t want you to be alone. Please let me take my promise back.”
Jean touched him–his mussed hair, the back of his neck. He could not say yes to something like that. It was irresponsible. But he could no longer say no, either.
All he could do was submit.
“You may take it back,” Jean said. Jeremy wrapped his arms around him, and Jean squeezed him. Jeremy breathed heavily through his nose, and Jean felt the warm, wet drip of tears against his neck. He added, more quietly: “I love you, too.”
As the days ticked down toward the beginning of spring semester, Jean asked Jeremy for sessions more frequently. With the stadium closed over the break, they’d had to make some changes. The two of them were pretty well practiced with the boundaries of play by now, and agreed they could use their bedroom.
It was the third time this week Jean had initiated D/s play. He knelt on the floor with his head on Jeremy’s knees, breathing deeply as Jeremy slid a finger behind his ear.
“You’re so anxious lately,” Jeremy marveled. “What is that about?”
“Do I have to tell you?” Jean asked.
“Yes.”
Jean sighed.
“I have to be more vigilant,” he said. “At the festival, it was only chance that I noticed we were being shadowed. Next time I may not see it coming.”
“Mm,” said Jeremy. He changed how he stroked Jean’s hair. “Didn’t you tell me it was unlikely anything would happen?”
“Yes,” Jean said.
“So vigilance might not be the best use of your energy. Do you think you can dial it back?”
“People will return to campus soon. It will be crowded.” Jeremy felt the tension begin to creep back into Jean’s neck and shoulders.
“And you feel…?”
“Vulnerable,” Jean sighed.
“Thank you, Jean. That was good. You’re always so good for me.”
Jean started to relax again, but not like Jeremy was used to. He was used to turning Jean into putty in a few words. Jeremy frowned down at him, still stroking his hair.
“Would you feel better if you and I practiced using our code?”
“Yes,” Jean said.
“Okay. Let’s practice together once a week.” Jeremy waited for Jean’s tension to dissipate, but it didn’t. He kept playing with Jean’s hair, thinking. “Jean,” he said at last.
“Yes, Jeremy.”
“Would you like a check-in schedule? You can call me and I will pick up the phone at a set time.”
“Yes,” Jean said, looking up eagerly. He liked when rules they set during play reached out into the rest of daily life. This would be a bigger step than they’d taken before.
“Three calls per day for the first week of the semester,” Jeremy said. “And then we can talk about it.”
Jean relaxed back against Jeremy’s knees.
“In exchange for check-in calls, you have to give me something,” Jeremy said. Jean hummed in satisfaction against Jeremy’s knees. “How about this; awareness of your surroundings is okay, searching and scanning for problems is not. You have to moderate for yourself whether you’re breaking the rule.”
“What if I break the rule?” Jean prompted, very serious.
“Just try to catch yourself and stop. If you can’t stop…” Jeremy hesitated. “Go somewhere quiet for a little while. Stay until you feel less anxious, then try again. What do you think about that?”
Jean picked up his head.
“Jeremy,” he said.
“Yes?”
“This sound like 24/7.”
“You’re right,” Jeremy sighed. “Let’s start over. You feel anxious, you feel vigilant. Alright. We can…”
“I want it,” Jean said. “I want to work towards 24/7.”
Jeremy felt an uncomfortable tightness and heat in his chest–he felt it sometimes during a session. It was pleasure. It wasn’t as scary to him as when they’d first started doing this together, but it was a little scary now.
“I’m worried about blurring too many lines,” Jeremy said. It wasn’t the No, absolutely not, he’d given Jean before, and they both noticed. “I’m worried about consent, and I’m worried about… setting you back.”
“Setting me back,” Jean said. His brow furrowed. “Can we end the session to talk?”
“Yes. The session is over.”
Jean joined him on the bed.
“Tell me what you mean, ‘setting me back.’”
The change was noticeable, between submissive Jean and the Jean sitting with him now. Outside of play, Jean was comfortable talking back, criticizing, even joking at Jeremy’s expense. He became more Jean with every passing day.
“It’s…comfortable for you. Being controlled.” Jeremy fidgeted. “And I’m worried you’ll prioritize being comfortable over being safe. I think it could get really extreme really fast, and you might lose track of what you want. And who you are.”
Jean’s hands found Jeremy’s body–the back of his head, his neck, his arms. Jeremy hadn’t realized he’d needed to be comforted until he was relaxing into Jean’s touch.
“Jean?” he prompted. “What do you think of that? What I said?”
“I was thinking,” Jean said. His hands had settled on the backs of Jeremy’s wrists–it felt good. “I belong to the Moriyamas. I can’t change that.”
Jeremy nodded.
“I want–to know what it feels like,” Jean said. “To belong to someone who loves me.” Jeremy’s face burned. Jean was looking down at their hands. His trust was almost a tangible thing. “I really want it.”
“I’ll think about it,” Jeremy said. He cleared his throat. “Let’s try what we talked about today? See how it goes?”
“Yes.” Jean squeezed his wrists. Then more of Jeremy–legs, hips. He climbed into his lap, forcing Jeremy onto his back with a startled “Oof.” Jean kissed him, tongue slipping in his mouth.
Jeremy broke the kiss. With a jangle of keys, he raised the little red whistle to his lips and gave a soft blow. “Fast,” he said.
Jean stared down at him, lips parted in shock. Jeremy had never seen him turn pink like this before–and they were having a lot of sex.
“Was that too much?” Jeremy asked, laughing a little.
Jean shook his head firmly. Jeremy shifted into a more comfortable position, and felt resistance where he wasn’t expecting it. He slowly rolled his hips up, making eye contact with Jean as he ground against his very hard dick through his jeans.
“So you really like that, huh,” Jeremy teased.
Jean made a cute sound. Jeremy moved against him again and caught him in a kiss. He encouraged Jean to kiss him back down, and distantly realized that now he was the one moving fast, grinding himself up feverishly against Jean.
Jean met him, grinding hard against Jeremy, making him whine and buck. The pressure felt so good. A little breathless, Jean stopped kissing him in order to get both of them undressed. Jeremy watched, chewing his lip, as Jean stripped down.
“Get on your hands and knees,” Jean said. “And put the whistle in your mouth.”
Jeremy felt static in his limbs. He smiled crookedly. “Good boy, not flipping me for once.” He watched Jean’s cock twitch at the praise. Then he reluctantly turned his back as he got on his hands and knees.
Jean played with his ass, squeezing his cheeks apart. His finger grazed Jeremy’s asshole a few times, making his toes curl. Jeremy bit his teeth into the whistle, carefully breathing through his nose.
Something warm and wet teased him. Not Jean’s finger. Jeremy’s mouth fell open, whistle drooping from his bottom lip. It entered him, and Jeremy realized what it was. He groaned because God it felt good, and reluctantly blew the whistle.
Jean’s tongue drew out of him.
“Yes, Jeremy?”
“You don’t suck cock, but this you do?” Jeremy said, voice strained.
“Do you like it?"
“You have to ask before you just start rimming people,” he said. “But yes, it feels incredible, you’re literally a gift from God. Can I interest you in a barrier?”
“I guess.” Jean took a condom from his stash and very slowly opened it. He was doing this on purpose. Jeremy buried his head in the pillow and waited, listening as Jean dug around for scissors to cut it into a dental dam.
Jeremy sighed in relief when Jean touched him again. He dribbled cold lube over him, then worked it in with his tongue, condom in between. The whistle, back in Jeremy’s mouth, fell right out again as Jean fucked him with his tongue. It wasn’t long before Jeremy was wailing for mercy into the pillow.
Jean pulled him off while he ate him out, his hand moving quickly and firmly up and down Jeremy’s dick in contast to the gentle, steady pressure of his tongue. Jeremy didn’t last long at all.
“Fast,” Jeremy panted, turning his face against the pillow so he could breathe. “Good.”
“You like fast now?” Jean teased. He wore a self-satisfied smile. Jeremy could look at that smile all day. Maybe Jean didn’t need to get complicated with the anxiety coping mechanisms. They could just have sex every other day. Every day?
The thought got away from him as Jean pushed two fingers inside him. He slid them all the way in and started to fuck Jeremy with them in a steady rhythm.
Jeremy whined his name. He was so sensitive, he thought he was going to go crazy. Jean’s fingers curled up on his prostate, and suicidally, Jeremy started to babble.
“Please, puppy,” he groaned. “You’re so good, it feels so good. Fuck me, Jean, puppy, baby, don’t stop.”
He keened when Jean’s two fingers became three. Jeremy was hard again, despite the fact that his own come still hadn’t dried on his stomach. Pre was dripping from the tip onto the mattress.
“You’re good,” Jean muttered. He wasn’t usually one to talk, single-minded when it came to sex. “I want you to squeeze around my cock just like this. Will you do that for me?”
Jeremy nodded against the pillow, grinning like a loon where Jean couldn’t see him. “Yes,” he said, dirty-talking right back. “Yes, Jean, I’ll do it. Give me your cock, I’ll take it so good. I want to feel you inside.”
Jean curled his fingers, testing how stretched Jeremy was.
“I’m ready, I can take it,” Jeremy said. Jean’s fingers stilled, and Jeremy whined, rocking back on them. He was being a brat, pretending he didn’t know Jean was going for a condom. “Please, Jean, I’ll die. I need it.”
Jean snorted.
“Too much,” Jeremy sighed. “Did you find the lube? I think it fell down…”
Jean pushed the head of his dick inside him, and Jeremy shorted out. It wasn’t their first time going this far, but it was new enough that Jean still had to pay close attention so that he didn’t miss any signals. He waited for Jeremy to relax, hand on his back between his shoulder blades.
Jean made a sweet, small sound as Jeremy squeezed around him.
“More,” Jeremy said. Jean slid inside him to the base. “Fuck, I feel so full. Your cock is so good.”
Jean made another fluttery sort of sound, a breathy whine. He reached up, and urged Jeremy to turn his head to the side. Jeremy felt the whistle against his lips.
“I was thinking,” Jean said.
“Uh-huh,” Jeremy said, already close to fucked-out to his limit.
“I could take you a little harder,” Jean said. “Since you have your whistle.”
Jeremy groaned.
“That sound okay?” Jean prompted.
“That sounds great, puppy,” Jeremy breathed.
Jean took him hard, dragging his cock in and out of Jeremy. Jeremy moaned and swore around the whistle. He couldn’t come just from penetration, which Jean knew, and after a certain point he was so hard it hurt.
He blew the whistle once when Jean’s pace verged on painful, and Jean kissed his hair, slowing down.
“Let me come, Jean,” Jeremy begged. “Let me finish.”
He felt Jean approaching his own orgasm, little changes in pace cluing him in. Jean’s cockhead was torturing his prostate as his rhythm started to break. He reached around for Jeremy, his hand pulling him at the same quick pace as the thrust of his hips.
Jeremy cried out at every thrust in–half a dozen, and he was finished. He came hard, whiting out with the feeling of Jean still fucking him, so close. A few seconds later, Jeremy was aware of a condom being tied off, of being flipped over, of Jean’s beautiful flushed face over him.
Jeremy reached his hands up around Jean’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss.
“I died,” Jeremy said, sighing. “Your dick sent me to heaven. I want white roses at the memorial service.”
Jean pinched his side, making him squeak.
Jean was cutting carrots and celery into spears while Jeremy monitored the group text, calling out updates to Cat, who could somehow still hear him from upstairs–with the bathroom fan running–as she did her hair.
Jean and Jeremy were never left alone in the kitchen as long as Cat or Laila was in the house. Laila currently sat at the island, playing a game of solitaire on her computer, on Cat’s strict orders not to let Jean and Jeremy out of her sight.
“Laila, would you please, without taking your eyes off Jeremy, check to see if the thermometer popped?”
“You really think I would fuck my boyfriend in the kitchen one hour before a dinner party?” Jeremy called back. “Right on top of the chips and salsa?”
“I made that salsa from scratch, so you had better not,” Cat answered.
“Literally what do you think of me that makes you believe I would do that?”
“It really wasn’t Jeremy’s fault,” said Jean. He started to arrange carrot sticks on a plate. “I was the one who…”
“Do not give them anything,” Jeremy said, looking up mid-text.
“Shh, sweetheart,” said Laila. She patted Jean’s shoulder. “We know it wasn’t your idea. You were seduced by that evil man.” She made I’m-watching-you eyes at Jeremy, then went over to the foot of the stairs. “Thermometer popped, babe. It’s all you.”
Cat came back downstairs to handle the chicken. Jeremy made a face at her, and she made a face back.
“Oh, Xavier said he and Min are going to be late,” Jeremy said. “And Cody’s sick, so they’re staying home.”
“Wow, how dare they,” Cat said. “I’m literally making a chicken, and people are sick and late? Tell Cody I’m bringing them soup tomorrow.”
Jean arranged a handful of celery on the plate with the carrots. Jeremy came closer to help him, standing hip to hip.
The doorbell rang as the first round of their teammates arrived.
“Will you get the hummus out of the fridge?” Jean asked as Jeremy snuck a kiss under his ear. Jean twisted away, hiding a smile. “Stop it. This is why our friends think everything is your fault.”
“Gay,” Patty said, taking off his sunglasses and tucking them into the front of his shirt as he entered the kitchen. “Excuse me, Jean, apologies. Bi as well. Where do you want this giant salad?”
Jean directed him to an available spot on the table. Jeremy got the hummus.
Jean considered that life had never been this good. There was an alien elf in his pocket. His friends were laughing and talking over each other. The captain of the Sunshine Court was suggestively sucking hummus off his index finger.
If Jean could still see flames curling over the page of a handwritten letter, well, the time for that would come.