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He dressed in track pants and a T-shirt and hung his towel up. He spent way too long making sure it was even then, when he could no longer think of any reason to hide in the bathroom anymore, he slunk downstairs anxiously.
Jack was in the kitchen, cooking something on the stovetop that smelled amazing. Lots of ginger and garlic and chilli. He flashed Harry a smile when he sensed him lurking in the doorway, and said, “Ginger chilli chicken stir-fry okay?”
He ran through the entire list of ingredients, and Harry felt the same rush of warmth he always did whenever Jack checked he wasn’t going to murder him with food.
“That sounds great,” he said. “It’s really only strawberries that are the problem, you know?”
Jack hummed. “Yeah, but maybe I’m a dumbass and there’s this obviously strawberry-mimicking thing that I’ve forgotten about.”
Harry snorted. “Strawberry-mimicking? Like what?”
Jack shrugged. “Dunno. That’s why I like to check.”
Harry shuffled further into the kitchen, because he often stood beside Jack and watched him cook. It was stupid to be nervous about Jack being his boyfriend. “Is Tris out?”
“Yeah.” Jack added some sort of paste to the stir-fry. “He said he’s got some study group thing at a mate’s. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him study before.”
“It’s getting close to exams,” Harry said. He snatched a snow pea from the pan and popped it in his mouth. Still crunchy. “He goes into a mild panic right before exams because he hasn’t done any studying all year, then he aces everything anyway because he’s an arsehole.”
Jack didn’t say anything about the snow pea theft, just smiled a little. “Hey, do you want to put some water on for the rice?”
Harry dug around for the saucepan.
“And can you wash the rice?”
“What?”
“We’re having coconut rice,” Jack said. “You have to wash the rice first or it goes all gluggy. Trust me.”
“Wash it how?”
“Just with water. I’ll show you.” Except instead of taking the saucepan off him, Jack moved around behind him and encircled him in his arms, then talked him through it. There were steps involved, but Harry was pretty sure his brain shorted out right after “Okay, so take the rice” and he didn’t remember a thing about the process—only that his temperature had suddenly gone up at least ten degrees, and there was a lot of stuff happening in the vicinity of his dick and balls. A lot of tingly stuff.
Jack smelled like spices, and when he leaned over Harry’s shoulder to tip the rice into the saucepan, his cheek rasped a little against Harry’s. Harry went weak at the knees, and his breath shuddered out of him like he was coming. He thought for a horrible second that maybe he had, the sensation was so intense, but no, he was still okay—if achingly hard could be called okay. Harry wasn’t sure—this was all new to him.
“The trick is not to let it boil over,” Jack said, and for a moment Harry thought Jack was talking about his dick, but he was still poking at the rice with a wooden spoon. But then he put the spoon down, lowered the heat slightly and turned Harry so they were facing, hands settling on his hips. “We have twelve minutes,” he said, leaning their foreheads together. “What shall we do?”
Harry didn’t think too hard about it, just leaned in and captured Jack’s lips in a single kiss. Jack pulled Harry in closer, then draped his arms around his neck and kissed him back. Harry’s stomach swooped, but in a good way. Jack tasted of ginger, and there were traces of chilli lingering on his lips, making Harry’s mouth tingle with heat. Or maybe that had nothing to do with the chilli, and everything to do with Jack.
Regardless, Harry liked it. He liked it so much that he lifted his hands to Jack’s face and cupped it as he kissed him, then, feeling bold, backed Jack up against the fridge door and kissed him some more. He wasn’t certain he was doing this right, but Jack seemed to be on board, if the way his hands roamed down Harry’s back and the moans he made were any indication. It was only the hiss of water droplets hitting the stove top and the angry clatter of the pot lid that had them pulling apart. Harry blinked stupidly—the rice couldn’t be done yet, surely?
“That wasn’t twelve minutes,” he mumbled against Jack’s lips.
Jack laughed. “Not even close. But we should probably, um. Wait? Eat first?”
Jack rolled his hips forward, and Harry felt the press of his erection. The thrill that ran through him at the brief contact wasn’t all fear of the unknown, but it wasn’t all anticipation either. It was a crazy mix of both of them, like being right at the top of a roller coaster, strapped in and ready to go, but only realising it was called The Loop for a reason upon spotting the giant, swooping tracks, and suddenly being unsure if this was really a good idea.
Harry wondered if Jack actually wanted to eat, or if nudging his hard dick against Harry’s had been like the way he listed ingredients when he cooked. Just letting him know what was on the menu, so he could refuse if he wanted. Harry wasn’t good at this, so he took the easy option and just asked. “Do you want to eat? Or do you want to kiss some more?” He swiped his tongue against his lower lip, noting the way it drew Jack’s gaze. “Because I like kissing you.”
Jack reeled away so quickly that for a moment Harry thought he’d messed up and said something wrong. He laughed when he saw Jack turning the dials on the stovetop off. “Fuck it. We’ve got a microwave.”
Harry’s laughter grew as Jack grabbed him by the hand and tugged him out of the kitchen, then caught in his throat as he saw the stairs. For a moment he was terrified by the thought of heading up to his bedroom, but Jack drew him into the living room instead, which didn’t seem as scary.
“I don’t want to do anything you don’t want to do,” Jack said. He carded his fingers through Harry’s hair, and Harry fought the urge to purr like a cat. “I don’t want to pressure you. I know that all of this is new to you, so?—”
Harry shoved him onto the couch and climbed onto his lap. “I like kissing.”
Jack laughed. “Noted.” He leaned back, drawing Harry with him and kissed him.
