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There’s a thing that always happens whenever missions go ass up, it comes with the territory, of course it does. But Jack still feels his heart constrict in a painful, substantial way. By now he’s usually used to it, processes it in a way that he easily compartmentalizes the circumstances before moving on. There’s always a way out of it, always. No matter what anyone says, and he just has to enact it.
It’s different though this time around. It’s so far out of his control and it leaves him unsettled and his nerves are spread much too thin.
It’s the first time in a long time something’s gone wrong at this magnitude, a mission’s gone wrong, since they’ve figured their shit out. They’re at a point between them where Brock’s finally come clean to him fully and completely, said what he really means to him and quits beating around the bush about their on and off shit to make it officially on.
On a professional scale of how badly they can fuck things up, it wasn’t even anything too bad, but it still happened. If things didn’t unfold the way it did, if Jack had missed by a few millimetres..he would have lost Brock. As he examined him afterward, only a couple of bruises on his arm and scratches against his forehead, he still couldn’t see past all the factors that had played against his favor and the threat that one day he may not be so lucky.
M’fine, Jackie. It’s all he gets, that and a horrible replay of Brock dying, over and over again and the helplessness he’d feel if it were to ever happen out on a mission.
With all that, his heart still feels like it’s lodged in his throat, hours later back in his apartment.
It feels like he’s high off the adrenaline refusing to leave his veins and all his senses are heightened and all too sharp. He’s sure somewhere in there he needs to sleep, that he’s been teetering on being stuck in some level of exhaustion even he doesn’t realize, but the clue in still had yet to come.
The only reason must be because of Brock, spread out underneath him, skin glistening with a sheen of sweat and every inch of his body a perfect golden tan against the contrast of dark sheets. He doesn’t look at him right then, head thrown back and neck exposing a few too many bruises that Brock will give him shit for them later, but right now he doesn’t care and it’s all that matters for the moment.
He leaned in, pressing a trail of kisses down his throat like a million silent promises and Brock only tilts his head further back, Jack takes it as permission to suck another mark to his skin, his teeth aggravating it to a darker flush.
He can’t shake the images flashing across his mind, of what could have happened if Jack hadn’t been there to watch Brock’s back. Over and over again he sees him with a bullethole through his skull and his eyes staring lifelessly up at him, his chest always tightens from it. Even with how brave, or how reckless Brock tended to be, Jack wasn’t ready for the harsh reality of possibly losing.
He’s not at all prepared to see Brock die; not today, certainly not tomorrow, he can’t ever let it happen and there’s no way he’d be able to deal with it if it ever came to happen. He has no control over outcomes, and neither of them are immortal. One day they’ll die, either him before Brock or Brock before him, it’s just an inevitable fact.
The thought makes him thrust a little harder in, causes Jack’s head to duck away and go in deeper. He knows in his swirl of thoughts he’s not the only one that’s felt like they’ve been dunked into frigid waters, and in an oddly weird way, there's solace to that.
Brock’s still shaking, it’s not visually obvious but he can feel it now, all the way through him and in how he clings onto Jack’s back and at his shoulders hard enough that it hurts. The clench of his body goes all the way down around Jack’s cock as he fucks into him, and absent words in Italian fall past reddened lips as he seems to want to forget what all that unfolded.
“Please.”
Jack’s unsure of exactly what it’s for, but his lost slur of words barely has English in it and he can’t help be entranced by it.
Another thrust and Brock makes a noise, like a pathetic whine, and Jack ignored an urge to press a hand over his mouth. He doesn’t want to hear that right now, have it distract him from his feelings and how concerned he was for him. When Brock sounds like that, it’s like he’s broken and given up and so very vulnerable. It’s so much that it makes Jack feel lost, like he’d been dropped into the middle of the pacific and left to deal with it on his own.
“I’ve got you, you know I always do.” He murmurs low, lips pressing a kiss to Brock’s temple, and he knows it’s what Brock wants to hear because he watches him close his eyes and tighten around him in every way possible. Knees squeeze harder at Jack’s ribs, heels digging along the bed and eagerly attempting to match his every thrust.
“I promise, Brock. I promise. Gonna always keep you safe, keep my eye on you.”
There’s words, all in Italian, he’s somewhere Jack can’t go and then he hears it, almost doesn’t in the ongoing slew of moans and heavy breathing.
“Love you.”
Jack’s rhythm goes erratic and he sharply jerks forward so hard Brock stiffens and makes a wounded noise.
And maybe he’s not as surprised as he feels he is right then, but he is, especially with Brock when he’s never really wanted to talk about their relationship on that level. It’s something they should be looking seriously at because Jack knows, he can’t avoid it anymore, just how deeply in love he is with his Commander despite telling himself that maybe it was a big mistake in their line of work. .
“Tell me again, Brock. Now.” He demands instead, arms tightening around Brock as hips arch up to the order, his mind plays back the way he sounds like it’s some level of a threat, that he’ll pay if he doesn’t despite not understanding how it could be relayed as one; Brock tightens around his cock either way and the squeeze makes Jack’s vision blur.
Brock’s eyelids flutter and he looks dazed, he’s slightly aware of what he just said if the look of vague embarrassment is anything to go by but doesn’t stop what they’re doing.
“Jack, c’mon. Please.” He begs, so open and vulnerable like this, and Jack will never tire of hearing Brock whine for it. “God, I need ya to fuckin’ love me, I can’t- I jus can’t..”
Jack groans, rearing back on his knees. Brock follows it with a whine of protest and makes his little noises, trying to hold Jack close. But he needs the distance right now, so that he can grab Brock’s hips properly, so he can fuck him properly, give him what he’s asking for and promise him the world.
“Easy, easy. I’ve got you, baby.” He promises and suddenly Brock’s eyes widen, mouth falling slack when he slides right back into him and those needy sounds are being fucked out of his throat as Jack drives him higher up the bed. “Never letting you out of my sight ever again.”
He stares at the angry red flush of Brock’s cock when he’s wrapping fingers around it, he hopes Brock’s mimicking the tightness that Jack feels around his own and savors the heat of, but his orgasm still takes him by surprise, it’s triggered when Brock makes that first sound of relief to finally touch himself. It’s like it’s pulled out of him, violent and rough, leaves him unsteady and gasping, and Brock surges up to kiss him desperately, swallows down every noise between them like he needs them all to breathe.
Jack’s quick to press him down again as soon as his senses come back and he doesn’t feel like he’s sinking in a pool of quicksand. His vision is still shaky and so is his body, shuddering hard when his dick slides free of Brock’s ass.
Brock’s staring up at him, hand still wrapped around himself, but not moving. No part of him is, like he’s holding his breath. Like he’s waiting for Jack to get mad at him, or reveal that it’s the end of their night together as punishment for acting too reckless. Brock still refuses to tell him the whole story, doesn’t want to get into it but knows there’s layers of fucked up in there that Jack refuses to consider too deeply while they’re together like this.
Eventually theywill talk about it, but not tonight. Even after cumming, Jack’s not in the right state of mind to discuss serious things important to their relationship anyway, not when there’s still a prickling heat crawling along spine, he’s content not to think, to let the resonating sound of Brock’s voice push him to keep going.
He smacks Brock’s hand away from his cock, smooths them along tanned skin like he still can’t believe he’s there with him.
“Tell me again.” He urges, almost begs. He feels a little like he’s losing his mind, something within his mind scrabbling to keep hold to logic. The words though, they have so much power, to the point that even his dick is led by them, twitching weakly just at the mere thought of hearing them once again.
Brock’s breathing again, panting for him, pupils so dilated there’s barely any of that tint of gold and brown at all. He’s licking his lips, arms reaching up over his head to grip the headboard like the obedient lover he can be, though only when he wants something, and as far as Jack knows- only since it’s been them together. Brock spreads his legs a little wider, lets one knee bend and shows Jack everything he wants to see. It’s a little obscene when he sees the way his cum is sliding down the crease of Brock’s ass and staining the sheets beneath him.
“Love ya, Jackie. M’all yers.” Brock whispers, looking a little awed like even he’s surprised with himself. He probably is.
Jack groans as he crawls in to make up the space before he ducks his head and swallows down his aching cock. He doesn’t miss the way Brock sobs to it, so vulnerable and needy and in such a way that causes Jack to fall deeper in love with him.
While he already wants to fuck him a second time before Brock’s even had the chance to cum the first time, his refractory period isn’t what it used to be and he knows it’ll be a small bit of time before he’s ready to go again. So he doesn’t try to even make an attempt. His fingers manage to be a tolerable replacement for the moment and they fuck into Brock senseless.
He loves the feel of Brock struggling under him, scratching at his shoulders and bucking into his mouth as he assaults his prostate without an ounce of sympathy and it doesn’t take Brock much to cum that way, looking defenseless and fucked out afterwards trying to catch his breath, hair a mess with bite marks prominently on display for Jack to admire proudly. They’re all completely worth it no matter what’s said later.
He coaxes Brock to roll over, hands kneading at the meat of his ass before he spreads him wide.
Brock is completely pliant and loose, just how Jack prefers him after being so stern and disciplined (mostly) out with the team and on the field. His skin’s shiny from Jack’s cum and the remnants of their lube. Jack spreads him even wider, enough that he knows it’s got to be aching a little, but Brock just moans for it and pushes back in silent request, arms shaking as he struggles not to collapse forward against the mattress.
Jack’s thumb slides through the mess between Brock’s cheeks, pulls down a bit at the edge of his rim as his heart threatens to burst and Brock whines and trembles. A thick dollop of cum dribbles out of him, rolling down the crease of his ass so achingly slow, Jack can’t help but watch, completely fascinated by it.
He’s not thinking when he leans in towards it, licking up the line to Brock’s hole and pressing his mouth over it, sucking the mess he’s left behind and wanting more of that taste. Brock only whines, sensitive but wanting more as he repeats his name over and over in senseless babble against the sheets. He’s sure if he goes at it long enough, there’ll be tears in Brock's eyes and clinging to his beautiful lashes like a fine piece of art needing to be hung against his wall.
His tongue probes into him deeper and he gets a choked moan out of it, Jack wants to give him all of this, push him into a state where he’s gone mindless and drooling against the mattress. Wants him in a place where he has nothing to think about but sleep and to recover from their clash with reality, while Jack can keep him grounded and hold him close, safe from all the madness they’re surrounded with.
He grips at handfuls of Brock’s ass to the point it possibly hurts while fucking him with his tongue, hums as Brock makes pitiful sounds to the overstimulation.
It’s something that they need, a way to drag out the release of energy and emotions so tomorrow they both wake up rested and ready for whatever's in store for next time. They’ll manage together, as they usually do and it’s how they work. Jack can’t think of anything better than that.
It’s always when they’re like this; or how they’ll be in the morning when there’s a beam of sunlight draping along Brock’s skin in just the right way, when Jack will pull him in for a kiss after he lets his fingers trace over muscle and bone. Whichever moment strikes his mood whenever he gets like this, both ways tell him he’s home and from the way Brock clings to him at every chance they get after a mission, he seems to know this as well.