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“There aren’t strawberries on that, are there?” Jack knew it was irrational, because Harry would have been in the hospital if there had been, but he had to ask.
Harry’s grin widened, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. “Actually, that’s what tipped the dad over the edge. I was telling them about my allergy, and how a date nearly killed me once by putting jam on his dick because he thought it’d be sexy, and his dad said I was talking bullshit. So he got on my case about hassling the server for strawberry-free pavlova, and when it arrived, he yelled, ‘Here’s your strawberry-free pavlova, you little prick!’ and shoved it in my face.”
Jack laughed and extended a hand. “Get over here, you.” He lowered his voice, aiming for sultry. “Maybe I could lick that cream off you?”
Just because he wasn’t jealous of Harry’s dates, that didn’t mean he couldn’t try to make Harry feel special when he got home from one, as a way to counteract whatever arsehole thing his dates’ parents had said to him. He’d read once that it took five compliments to wipe out the effects of an insult. He didn’t know if it was true or not, but regardless, Jack liked treating Harry like he was something special. Because he really was.
Harry sucked a breath in through his teeth. “I get that you’re trying to be sexy and stuff, but I just spent thirty minutes on the bus with this cream slowly turning grosser and grosser. Even the homeless guy next to me thought I smelled disgusting. So please don’t put your mouth near it. I don’t want you to die of food poisoning.”
Jack remembered the last time he’d eaten a bad prawn, recalling with vivid clarity the way he’d lain curled up on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor and wished for death. He scrunched up his nose. “Good call. I don’t want me to die of food poisoning, either.”
“I’ll go get changed and have a shower,” Harry said, taking one step towards the stairs before pausing. “Did you want to…come with me?”
“In the shower, you mean?” Jack asked, just to be sure.
Harry ducked his head and ran a hand down the back of his neck, dislodging a blob of cream. It hit the floor with a sad little splat. “Yeah.”
Jack’s breath caught in his throat. This was new territory for them. Sure, they shared a bed a lot of nights, and they’d gotten as far as handjobs, but those tended to be under the blankets, which was fine—great, even. Still. Jack hadn’t actually seen Harry naked, and he hadn’t pushed. But if Harry was offering?
“I could wash the cream off you instead of licking it.” The words were out before Jack knew it, his mouth bypassing his brain.
“Okay.” Harry’s cheeks pinked up. “That sounds much more sanitary. And sexy.”
They clattered up the stairs and into the small bathroom. It was cramped and awkward and Jack didn’t care, because Harry was choosing to share this—share himself—with him. He turned so he was facing Harry, bodies inches apart, and he reached up and shoved lightly at the godawful shawl so it slid from Harry’s shoulders and landed on the floor in a puddle of fabric. Then he leaned in and pressed a reassuring kiss to Harry’s lips before starting to work his shirt buttons undone. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” he said softly as the last button came undone and Harry’s shirt fell open.
Jack drank in the sight of Harry—long and lean, his stomach flat and his dusky nipples stark against his pale skin, along with a smattering of chest hair and a dark treasure trail that disappeared into his skin-tight jeans. Jack wanted to kiss him all over and pull the kinds of noises out of him that Harry normally only made under the blankets at night with a hand on his cock.
Harry blinked as Jack carefully took his glasses off and sat them on the counter beside the sink. His mouth twisted into something that was trying hard to be a smile, and he couldn’t quite look Jack in the eye. “You’re gorgeous too.”
“Oh, but you waited until I took your glasses off before you said it,” Jack said. “I see how it is.”
Harry laughed loudly, his shoulders sagging as the tension lifted off them, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “Yeah, that’s how I like all my boys. Slightly blurry.”
“And I like mine laughing and pretty, so we’re both winning,” Jack said, pressing their foreheads together for a second before reaching around him and turning the taps on so their dodgy hot water would have a chance to kick in before they got in the shower. He didn’t know about Harry, but he was pretty sure the first time he showed someone his dick, he wouldn’t want it to be when it had been hit with a blast of cold water.
He wrinkled his nose at the smell of curdled cream and pulled Harry’s shirt off then dropped it on top of the shawl. Harry reached out and tugged at the waist of Jack’s tee. “Come on. Your turn.”
Jack shucked out of his shirt easily. They both stared at each other for a moment before Harry took a deep breath, said, “Here goes nothing,” then undid his jeans and tried to shove them down—only for them to get caught around his hips. He rocked back and forth like one of those bobbing bird desk ornaments that was meant to be drinking water as he did his best to manoeuvre out of the clingy stretch denim.
Jack suppressed a laugh and reached out, placing a steadying hand on Harry’s hip. “Need a hand?” He didn’t wait for an answer but grasped the fabric and yanked, and he was able to work the jeans steadily downward until they were wadded around Harry’s ankles, and his boxer-clad dick was right in Jack’s eyeline. It was a nice view, what there was of it, and Jack couldn’t wait to see more.
He straightened up and hastily kicked his own jeans off while Harry stepped out of the rolled-up mess of his trousers, leaving him wearing nothing but a pair of boxers with Spongebob all over them.
“Were these part of your Bad Boyfriend wardrobe?” he asked.
“No.” Harry blinked down at them. “These are mine.” He grinned. “There’s no level of the Bad Boyfriend experience where I get my pants off.”
“Right,” Jack agreed with a smile. “That’s only the Good Boyfriend experience.”
“It’s super exclusive. Audience of one.” Harry paused for a second, then hooked his thumbs into the elastic of his boxers. “Ready?”
“No pressure,” Jack reminded him, even though he was desperate to see what, exactly, Patrick Starfish was hiding.
“No pressure,” Harry agreed, and slid his Spongebob boxers down.
Jack did his best not to stare and failed utterly. Harry had a nice dick, a decent size even at half-mast, nestled in a thatch of dark curls that matched the hair on his head. It was thick but not obscenely so, and Jack couldn’t resist reaching out and cupping it in one hand, feeling it move and grow under his touch.
Harry’s breath hitched. “So?” His uncertainty was evident.
