Theo made a sound, an angry and feral sound, and flipped them over. Not letting him talk. He sat back and pulled at Jack’s hips—Jack felt his softened skin rasp against the cotton sheets, his ass nearly in Theo’s lap. Theo growled again, rushed out of bed—

“What—”

And pulled a bottle out of their overnight bag.

He poured lube on his fingers, a whole mess of it, and wrapped both hands around Jack’s nearly painfully hard cock. Three quick pulls, and then he stopped, running his left hand down, one finger resting against him.

“Do you trust me?”

Jack lifted his own hand, twined it with Theo’s right, slick with lube and precome, and he was deadly serious. “Theo, I do.”

“Thank fuck,” and Theo slid a finger in.

It was new, and it was strange, and it was perfect. Theo was gentle with him—not tentative, no, but almost reverent. Shocked into a kind of revelation that he was doing this, that Jack was letting him. That he wanted him to. Jack felt him slip in another finger, and the stretch was so good, because it was Theo stretching him, Theo’s long fingers, his smell everywhere, his face so serene and predatory and that twitch in his eye that showed he was nervous. He looked dangerous, like something untamed, and he held Jack in his hand like a bird he could crush, and when he found Jack’s prostate it was like coming home.

“Please, Theo—”

“What do you want?”

“Please, I—”

“Tell me, come on.”

“Theo,” he nearly cried out, but maybe it was more like a whimper. “Please, fuck me.”

He pulled Jack’s hips up farther, leaned forward, pressed in, slow and careful. Wonder on his face. And it hurt, God how it hurt, but it wasn’t merely a physical pain; it seemed like the real hurt was somewhere else, because after about five seconds he felt full and fantastic and fucking cared for and cradled and—and—

“God, you look—”

“Kiss me.”

Theo leaned forward, Jack curled around him, holding on too tightly, both leaving bruises. Jack’s prick was swollen, rubbing against Theo’s stomach, and Theo was just thrusting home, over and over, not too rough but just hard enough, and he kissed Jack like it was air and they were drowning, and—

“Fuck, I love you—”

And it was Jack who said it, who finally broke, God, after all of that denying and hiding and lying he’d been doing for years, and Theo growled again like a bear in a trap, bit that place on Jack’s neck which never had time, now, to heal, and Jack pulsed and poured out what felt like his entire life, everything, all of the truths in him, holding on to Theo like a vise.

“You bastard, you fucking—” Theo’s movements stuttered, shuddering, and he came with this sound like—like—