PPC Badfic Game 2014 2015 & 2017

Title:                "The Cabin"

Author:        Lemony Eggnog

Rating:        M

Genre:        Friendship/Romance

Summary: The most uptight agent of them all finally learns to relax with a little help from a friend. Supernumerary/J. Robinson, genderbending, M/M, minor D/s, casual drug use.

The Cabin

Author's Note: Just in case you didn't catch the warnings in the summary, this fic contains genderbent, male-on-male, Dom/sub agent slash with Supernumerary and male!Jennifer Robinson. It is explicit. If you never want to picture these agents that way, the exit is to your rear. (Read: hit the Back button now, s'il vous plaît.)

Disclaimer: I don't own the PPC or any of its agents. The PPC was invented by Jay and Acacia, whose boots I am not fit to lick. Nume and Jenni belong to Neshomeh, who is absolutely mad for not pairing these two herself. Still, I'm just playing with them, and I promise to put them back when I'm done—or rather, when they are. ; )

--Lemony

There came a knock at the door. This was it.

The agent would never have admitted to feeling nervous, but he was. This thing he was about to do was unlike him, one might almost say out of character. The thought of it had crept up on him, growing steadily in his mind. After "Blood Raining Night," he could no longer ignore it. It was the clear solution to several problems in his life. One night, and he could get back to the business of disentangling relieved, he hoped, of the burden he was carrying. But that didn't make it any easier to answer that knock.

It came a second time, and he wouldn't humiliate himself waiting for a third. He got up from his couch and opened the door.

Cool, sweet autumn air rushed in, and there on the step, with his white coat thrown rakishly over one shoulder, leaning forward with a hand on the door frame, was Jay. After a brief discussion, that was the name they had agreed to use. True, it had a mildly distracting association with the famous Agent Thorntree, but on the other hand, it was a natural choice, easy to pronounce, and it did not remind the disentangler of Nurse Robinson.

Still, the resemblance was there. Jay might have been Jenni's fraternal twin: they had the same brown hair, tonight pulled back in a simple ponytail with a black ribbon; the same penetrating green eyes; and the same crooked smile. The differences were subtle. Jay's face was longer, more rectangular, and somehow older. His shoulders were slightly broader and heavier, and his chest . . . well, some of the differences were not subtle.

"You made it," said Sy—and that was how he was thinking of himself tonight. He had changed his name to reflect the change in himself when he joined the PPC, and now another change seemed necessary. Supernumerary would die of embarrassment if he ever did the things he was about to do, but Sy could be different. Sy represented simplification, leaving behind everything but the bare essentials of beginning and ending. Sy recalled a younger time of his life, when he had been more willing to risk himself.

He ran a hand self-consciously over his hair. At Jay's request, he'd left it ungelled, and he felt like a black-haired Koosh toy. It stuck up in front particularly, despite his repetitious attempts to smooth it down.

"I made it," Jay echoed with a grin. "I was afraid you'd changed your mind when you didn't answer at first, though. Uh, you haven't, have you? Now would be a good time to say so."

"No," Sy answered quickly, surprising himself. He meant it, though. Despite what he assumed people thought of him, he wasn't a coward, and he never started anything he didn't intend to finish. "Well, come in." He stepped aside and gestured to the interior. "Don't forget to take your shoes off."

The cabin was a place he had visited enough as a boy to know when it would be completely deserted. It was rustic, rough-cut logs on the outside, but the people who built it had liked their comforts. Inside, it was fully wired, plumbed, and insulated, and the walls were finished with varnished pine wood. A fire on the large river-rock hearth, the making of which had been Sy's first priority on arrival, kept the main room pleasantly warm, and some clever piping carried heat to the other rooms, as well.

Jay left his sneakers next to Sy's black leather Doc Martens and tossed his FicPsych coat onto a deer-antler rack. He looked around with obvious pleasure at the furnishings. "Nice place. I swear, though, every cabin I've ever been in has a blanket with snowy pine trees and a wolf on it." There was one hung like a tapestry on the wall opposite the fireplace.

"There's a 'genuine Navajo blanket', too," Sy said, nodding at the back of the couch. "I'm pretty sure it came from a sweatshop in Peru. It's alpaca or something."

Jay trailed his hand along the soft folds of oranges and reds. The hand was a man's hand, broad and full of strength, but the gesture was nonetheless graceful, giving. "Feels like it." He stopped and turned around to grin at Sy, who remained by the door, staring. "Hey, are you coming in?"

He stirred and looked up. "Right. I suppose we could sit down."

They took places at either end of the brown faux-suede couch. For a moment, no one said anything. Jay gave Sy an odd, stern look, then scooted pointedly to the middle cushion, and Sy realized he'd pressed himself up against the right arm without meaning to.

With an effort, he edged away. "Uh, sorry," he mumbled. "I'm not . . . I didn't mean . . . ."

"It's all right," Jay said. He took a breath and abruptly got serious, locking his intense eyes on Sy's. "I have an important question: did you remember to bring Su's anniversary present?"

This was not at all what Sy had expected. "Did I—?" He recovered quickly and scowled over the top of his glasses at Jay's smug, smirking face. This was his way of breaking the tension, apparently. "Of course I did. Don't ask stupid questions." He turned to his right and pulled a small, cloth-wrapped bundle from a drawer in the end-table.

The bundle contained what Agent Suicide had presented jokingly as an ethnic spice, prized in the Scythian culture for ceremonial purposes. Sy called it weed and prized it for its ability to interfere with his overactive memory. Of all the coping methods he'd developed in his youth for quieting his brain when a million things were pressing for his attention at once, this was the only one he occasionally missed. Now it was going to come in quite handy indeed. He could almost forgive Suicide for being such an asshole during the mission to "Ring Child."

He'd had to find rolling paper and a lighter himself, which wasn't hard. The rolling itself was never his talent—his joints tended to come out lumpy and burn unevenly—so he'd taken care of that ahead of time.

"You're sure you don't mind?" he asked Jay with a sidelong look. "What with you ostensibly being some sort of medical professional?"

Jay tossed his head back with a laugh. "Please! I've prescribed it as some sort of medical professional. Go right ahead."

Sy nodded, picked up a joint, and lit up. It had been years, so the first toke set him coughing, but he got himself under control and settled into the familiar pattern: inhale, hold, exhale; breathe; repeat. Gradually, it went down easier. A lot easier. Christ, this was good stuff. He'd have to ask Suicide where he got it.

Presently, Jay said, "I'm glad you decided to do this. With me, I mean. I know I told you once that people who spill their secrets too easily are boring, but that's not you—you're not boring. You could never be boring."

Sy let out a thin stream of smoke. "You still don't know all my secrets," he pointed out. Just the biggest. "But that's not what stopped me for so long, anyway. I was sure you would laugh at me, being so afraid to tell you something you must regard as trivial. Fear's a hard habit to break. It's not a problem you've ever had, but growing up the way I did, it was necessary."

"I know. I'm truly sorry for giving you that impression." Jay shifted, and Sy got the sense that he wanted to reach out, but wasn't quite sure whether he should. When did Jay ever not want to give a comforting touch in a difficult moment?

And Sy was not in the habit of letting himself be touched. He couldn't afford to have feelings he could only repress in self-defense, not when those moments could rear up in his mind with perfect clarity at any time, so physical isolation was as necessary as emotional isolation. Consequently, he'd grown twitchier over the years. He had realized he was getting almost as bad as his old friend Ginger, who was likely to pull a knife on you if you got within five feet of her without warning. That was one of the problems he was here to remedy.

He was left-handed, and held his joint pinched between the fingers of his left hand. That was a barrier. It had to come down. He took a draw to steady himself and, in a move that felt choreographed and blindingly unsubtle, transferred the joint to his right hand and laid the other down on the couch beside his thigh. There it was, available, if Jay took the hint. Horrifyingly, his palms began to sweat, and he almost reversed the action. He took a deep breath of air and clamped down on his resolve, and didn't move a muscle. He might have been glowing, he felt so obvious.

Attentive soul that Jay was, he couldn't help but pick up on Sy's suddenly increased tension, but he missed the cause. "Are you all right?" he asked. "I'm sorry—I didn't mean to upset you. That's the last thing I want right now!"

"No, it's not you," Sy growled, furious with himself for being such a pathetic fool. He ought to tell Jay to go ahead and read his mind, but that was a bridge too far. "Rather," he said, turning to look Jay in the face, "it is you, but it's not what you think. This is difficult."

"I know," Jay said again, and this time he did reach out, easily and automatically, to take Sy's hand and clasp it. He had to uncurl it from a fist first (when had it clenched itself?), and he gently smoothed out Sy's long fingers with a warm palm, seeming not to mind the clamminess at all.

Sy shut his eyes and forced himself not to withdraw. After a moment, he remembered to breathe and loosen his arms and shoulders.

"It's all right to be nervous," Jay assured him. "You've never been with another man, right? Let alone . . . ?" They both knew what. "It's a big step, even though I have no doubt it's right for you."

Sy nodded. "And what about you?" he said a little shrilly. He needed to turn the focus away from himself. "This isn't your habit, either." He gestured at Jay's masculine form, leaving a trail of blue smoke in the air.

"Well." Jay smiled. "No. But pleasing my friends is always right for me. You are my friend. I love you, and I want you to be happy. I'm honored to be here for you in this way." He raised Sy's hand to his lips and laid a soft kiss across his knuckles.

His heart pounded, and he wasn't sure whether it was due more to the kiss or that frightening word love. He knew Jay meant something more akin to philia or agape than eros, but he didn't know what to do with any of them. Pot—he knew what to do with that, and he did it, hoping Jay would manage to miss the slight quaking of his hand. Jay was more likely to back out for his sake than he was, and he did not want that, whatever his deeply ingrained neuroses dictated.

"Shit," he mumbled under his breath. Then, louder, "Can we not . . . ? Can we leave . . . all the emotions out of it? I can't . . . I just can't, is all."

"Such a guy," Jay remarked, deliberately ironic.

"You know perfectly well that that has nothing to do with it."

"No, it doesn't." He sighed and got serious again. "I promise you, I'm not trying to stake some kind of claim on you, and I'm not asking for anything you can't give. You're a free man. All right?" He gave Sy's hand a squeeze.

Sy, much to his surprise, squeezed back. It was really a spasmodic clutching for support, but he didn't want to get away anymore. Fugitively, he looked down at their clasped hands, his pale one enfolded securely in Jay's strong, burnished olive ones. Sy had always been clumsy with his hands, whereas Jay was an absolute master with his. Sy knew this only by reputation. Now he would finally find out for himself. For the first time, he felt excited.

Jay seemed to follow his thinking, for he smiled and said, "Before the weed makes you too loopy, I want to go over the rules again. I know I don't have to remind you," he hastened to add, "but since it's your first time at this, it's important, at least for me."

"I understand. And I don't get loopy—or at least, I didn't used to. Just . . . more easygoing." Which was entirely the point.

"Good. We want you relaxed, not stupid." Jay shifted, leaning in a bit more and hitching one arm over the back of the couch. He could have reached out with his fingertips and brushed Sy's neck if he wanted to. "So. Rule number one: No means no. Stop means stop. I'm not gonna try anything we didn't agree on, but if you get uncomfortable for any reason, you say so, and I'll back off without hesitation."

"Got it." The hairs along his spine were standing on end. Any second now, he anticipated a touch.

"Rule number two: I'm driving. It's my job to take care of you, and your job to do what I say. Don't think. Don't overanalyze. I got this."

It was almost ironic. Sy had always thought he was annoyed by Jay's breezy assumption of control over every situation he was in, but really Sy had been annoyed at himself for responding to it in a way he couldn't acknowledge—and, in fact, it wouldn't have made sense to him until recently even if he had been able to contemplate it. It had taken a long, trying mission's worth of watching Jay as a man to crystallize Sy's feelings into something recognizable as attraction—not specifically to Jay, not really, but to any man with that kind of deep, unforced inner conviction. (To Sy's utter horror, Suicide was such a man. He had known it subconsciously even during "Ring Child." It explained a lot.) After one too many agonizingly vivid, burning dreams robbed him of a restful night's sleep, he had been at wits' end, and finally he had to do something about it. The only person he could trust even remotely enough, and that with an effort, was Jay, and here they were.

"Mm-hm," he said.

"Rule number three: If you want to do something, you have to ask. No telling, no demanding. I'll listen, but it's my decision. You agreed to trust my expertise."

Sy could only nod and take another drag. The decision they'd reached together after a lot of talk was that Sy badly needed someone to give him permission to feel the things he felt and do what he wanted to do, and he couldn't give it for himself—not yet. Jay was happy to give it for him.

"Rule number four: What happens in the cabin stays in the cabin. That's a promise."

"Thank you." The words came out in a rasp, and it wasn't due to the weed. He was still very much aware of the proximity of Jay's hand to his neck. Was Jay ever going to . . . ? He risked a look at the other's face.

Jay's smile was warm and full with no hint of the suppressed laughter or teasing Sy had come to expect. This was a smile that bespoke total faith in him and invited him to have faith, too. Such a smile was very hard to resist, and Sy found himself beginning to smile back. The THC must be kicking in.

And that was when Jay finally made his move. Just an inch was all it took, and his knuckles came to rest gently just behind the angle of Sy's jaw.

His hair stood on end all over again, the tingling sensation racing down his back and over his scalp. His breath hitched, and he shivered.

"Are you ready?" Jay's voice had deepened.

Sy polished off his joint with a last long drag and blunted the butt in an ashtray on the end table. "I think so." At Jay's raised eyebrows, he realized a definite answer was required, and he had to check himself. Was he ready? To surrender all control to this strange, loving friend? To finally, fully admit the long-suppressed reality of what he was and what he wanted? To feel more of what he had just felt, and not feel any shame or guilt?

It didn't take long to reach his conclusion. He met Jay's eyes and gave a jerky nod. "Yes."

"All right, then."

Jay brushed his fingers back and up into Sy's short, dark hair, and Sy understood why he'd been told not to wear gel. This wouldn't have felt half as nice. Another electric tingle raced through him, spreading warmth throughout his core.

Jay's soft, low voice in his ear cut across his consciousness. "Tell me if you like that."

He nodded, carefully, so as not to make Jay move. "I . . . . " It was hard to say. He swallowed, moistened his mouth, and tried again. It came out in a whisper: "I like that."

"Good," Jay murmured. His face was very close to Sy's now, almost touching. He combed his fingers back through Sy's hair from his forehead, and as he did so, he closed the remaining distance and kissed that spot just below the angle of the jaw.

"Oh," said Sy. More accurately, he moaned it—it wasn't a voluntary sound. He was shot through with a pulsing current of heat which extended into his nethers. It was pathetic, he thought abstractly, how little it had taken to start his erection. He wondered if Jay would be disappointed if he didn't last long.

But Jay knew what he was doing, and he was in no hurry. He got up from the couch and took Sy's hand again. "Come on—down here." He drew Sy down to the floor in front of the fireplace, where there was a plush, honey-tip sheepskin rug, large enough to spread out on.

Sy had always liked sinking his fingers and toes into that rug, especially when it was warmed by the fire, as it was now. The owners would be appalled by the use to which it was about to be put, but he disliked the sanctimonious bastards intensely, so the thought brought the ghost of a smile to his lips. He settled down cross-legged and watched as Jay grabbed the throw pillows off the couch and dropped them where they would be within easy reach, just in case. Jay moved so fluidly. The lines of his back and arms were highlighted by the fire, and Sy wondered what he would look like without his dark green shirt.

Jay knelt before him and regarded him languidly, deciding what to do next. His gaze came to rest at Sy's throat. "Your tie. That has to go." He leaned forward and loosened the knot, then speculatively ran the length of the dark blue silk through his hands. A hint of things to come? But he lifted the tie over Sy's head without comment, careful not to jar his glasses. Then he started in on the buttons of Sy's pinstripe shirt.

After the first two, Sy got worried. He wore an undershirt, but even so, he wasn't ready to be so exposed yet. He was sunless, thin without being particularly fit, and not at all what he thought anyone would consider attractive. He grasped Jay's wrists. "Wait—please?" he added. He wasn't to make demands.

"All right." Jay gave him a long look, studying his eyes, and then brought both hands to his face and kissed his forehead. His hands drifted to Sy's shoulders, and he kissed each narrow cheek. One hand brushed up the back of his head again, and just as Sy computed what must be the next step, it was happening, and Jay laid the softest, least insistent kiss imaginable on Sy's lips.

This wasn't at all like when he'd let the girls try kissing him in college. They'd been too sloppy, too eager, too full of expectations he couldn't match. This . . . Jay's lips were moist, not slimy-wet, and the way they covered his . . . tender was the word for it. That Jay should handle him so carefully made Sy angry at himself, but very grateful to Jay. It was confusing, distressing. He pulled back.

Jay's voice intruded most welcomely on his thoughts. "Stop thinking. Kiss me. Like this." He raised one of Sy's hands to his face and pressed it against his cheek. He had a little stubble, just enough to feel rough without being uncomfortably abrasive. Jay laid his other hand against Sy's cheek, which was smooth—he never could grow a real beard—and brought them close.

But the final move was to be Sy's. He had to do as he was told. He felt his breath flutter between them, and he hoped it wasn't offensive.

"Come on," Jay urged him, eyes closed in anticipation. "It's all right. I'm telling you to."

"All right," Sy whispered. He made himself lean forward just a little, and that was all it took.

This time Sy was aware of how Jay's breath swelled in response to him, even though he hadn't done anything all that special. He thought there must be more to kissing than just touching lips, so he tried, clumsily, trying not to think how strange the very concept was, to move his mouth in a way he hoped was right.

However inept Sy felt, Jay didn't seem to mind. He kissed back expertly, meanwhile stroking Sy's face and hair. He grew gradually more determined, pressing forward until Sy had to lean back on one elbow while holding onto the back of Jay's neck, with Jay propping himself up over him on one hand. His other hand came to rest at Sy's waist.

This was almost too much. Sy had to stop, panting for breath.

Jay didn't give him long to recover. "Your shirt. Now."

So help him, Sy tried to comply, but his trembling fingers couldn't manage the tight little buttons. "I can't," he said, as much frustrated as he was hopeful that he was off the hook again.

Jay kissed him again, first on the mouth, then trailing along his jaw and down his neck.

"Oh, god." Sy's head rolled back, and entirely of its own accord, his body lifted toward Jay's. He could feel himself throb with each kiss, both alarming and exhilarating him.

At the hollow of Sy's throat, Jay lingered. His free hand came up to pluck at Sy's third shirt button. The message was clear: I'd keep going if not for all this fabric in the way. "If you want me to take care of it," he said, "just ask." He had to make it difficult.

Just do it, Sy wanted to say, but he couldn't. "Would you, please?" he managed.

Jay smiled. Clearly he was in full control of himself and could have made short work of the buttons, but he took his time, spreading the shirt open a little more with each one.

Sy was transfixed. It was almost as though this were happening to someone else, except that he could feel the heat from Jay's palms radiating through his undershirt with each swipe. How would it be on his bare skin?

Finally, Jay undid the bottom button and tugged the shirttails free. He undid the cuffs, too, and swept the shirt off Sy's shoulders. Without giving Sy a moment to reflect on his bare arms, Jay put his hot hands beneath Sy's undershirt and slowly slid them up over his stomach, ribs, and chest.

"Oh, god," Sy moaned again, breathing harder with every inch. Despite the warmth spreading over him, he broke out in gooseflesh. He had to sit up and shake his arms free from his sleeves to allow Jay to pull the undershirt over his head. His glasses were dislodged and he almost removed them, but then he wouldn't be able to see Jay's face.

Jay looked at him in a way he couldn't pin a single word to. Rather than feeling vulnerable under his friend's gaze, Sy felt wanted, from his narrow shoulders and slightly hollow chest down to his soft, unmuscular belly—and beyond, but he didn't dare contemplate that yet, and again, Jay didn't give him too much time.

"I like this," Jay said, putting his hand to Sy's chest and running his fingers over the sparse, curly black hair there. "I like you." He leaned in and resumed his kissing where he'd left off, this time with one arm supporting Sy's back as he moved down. Sy had to lean further back until he was fully prone. With his right arm trapped, Jay shifted himself onto his side so his left hand was free to continue slowly sweeping up and down over every inch of Sy's bare skin.

Sy felt giddy with the extra oxygen flooding his brain. Amidst that and the haze of mingled pleasure and trepidation pulsing through him, he began to feel a need to do something, to move, and save himself from sinking too far down into whatever sea this was. He pushed himself up on his left elbow and reached out to Jay.

But Jay intercepted him, catching his hand before he could make contact. "Ah-ah," he scolded, though he didn't seem displeased. "What do you want, Sy?"

He grimaced and looked away. He'd acted out of turn, and the price was being forced to speak of what he hardly dared think. If he said nothing, it could all be over . . . and that would be terrible. "I thought—I mean, shouldn't I be doing something? Isn't that how it works?"

Smiling, Jay shook his head, not good enough. "It works how I say it works." He drew Sy's hand to him and kissed his way up Sy's arm. He paid special attention to the palm, the inner wrist, and the crease of the elbow—in short, the most sensitive parts. Each kiss lingered on Sy's skin, leaving him tingling all over, breathing excitedly, and again feeling that impulse to act.

"Jay?"

"Mm?" Jay looked up at him with that expression—adoring, that was it. Loving every second of what he was doing, and every bit of whom he was doing it to.

Sy swallowed hard and looked away. He was completely disarmed, and he lost the nerve to speak.

Jay waited a moment, then returned to stroking Sy's side. "Do you like this, me touching you? Kissing you?"

"Yes," Sy whispered.

"Do you want to touch me back?"

"Yes." He glanced up gratefully, but couldn't hold Jay's eyes for long.

"All right. But not yet. I wanna hear you say it first." Jay took Sy's hand again, then fluidly shifted so he was straddling Sy's hips, and pinned both his hands to the floor over his head.

Too stunned to resist, Sy went along. He found himself prone again, looking up at Jay. "What are you—?"

"Sh," Jay said softly. Their faces were close together. "I wanna hear you sing out, 'I want'," he murmured. "I want you to need to. So don't move. Not until you sing for me." He ran his hands up Sy's arms, to his cheeks, and kissed him deeply.

Sy threw himself into it this time. Being told to stay still made him want to act even more, which he supposed was the point. His hands felt weighted down, shackled by Jay's word, so he fought back with his lips.

"Oh, that's good, Sy, I like that," Jay mumbled against him. "You're getting the hang of this." He went back for more, then abruptly broke off.

Sy protested, but the sound strangled itself when Jay nuzzled under his jaw and kissed his throat. He ran his fingers through Sy's hair with one hand; with the other, he pressed against Sy's ribs. His strong fingers found neglected muscles to knead, adding a deeper layer of sensation. He worked his way down, kissing Sy's chest and working into his sides with both hands now. His mouth came dangerously close to one nipple, just teasing the edge of the areola.

Sy didn't know what he would do if Jay actually kissed him there. Already his breath came hard and heavy. It wasn't fair—it wasn't fair that Jay could do this to him while he could do nothing. Finally, he raised his head. "Jay!"

Jay looked up and locked eyes with him. "The next words out of your mouth had better be 'I want'."

Sy's eyes squeezed shut. "I want . . . ." The words formed themselves without sound. He tried again. "I want to . . . may I . . . feel you?"

Jay answered by smiling and drawing Sy upright again, then guiding both Sy's hands to his waist. "Take my shirt off." He raised his arms over his head, holding his wrists loosely crossed in a pose that was unmistakably provocative.

Sy was frozen, caught between his instinct to take his hands away and his mounting desire to see and feel what Jay's body was like. "You want me to—?"

Jay nodded. "Mm-hm. Now."

He just needed the extra push. The dark green fabric was soft and a little stretchy. He pulled it easily over Jay's head and off.

Sy was only really acquainted with one standard of male beauty: the square-jawed, barrel-chested scrapper type who could punch a guy out with one arm while dangling some simpering blonde from the other without breaking a sweat. He had never understood the appeal, so he was relieved to see that Jay was something else. Jay was about a head shorter than him, but proportioned long. Restraining crazed agents and canon characters on a regular basis gave him a full chest and shoulders, but his lines, thrown into glowing bronze relief by the firelight, were soft, not hard. His chest was smooth, but glancing down, Sy could see a line of dark brown hair starting just below his navel and vanishing into his low-cut jeans.

He quickly raised his eyes to Jay's.

"It's all right," Jay said. "Here." He rose on his knees, and again he took Sy's hands. This time he pressed them flat against his chest and guided them over his pecs and down his abdomen, back up, and down again. He let them rest a moment just above his waistband.

Sy was struck once more by how warm Jay felt. His fingers curled almost of their own accord, feeling the pliable skin over the taut muscle beneath. Each breath Jay took pushed against him, and he could swear he also felt his friend's pulse. For all his outward poise, his heart must be pounding as hard as Sy's.

On the heels of that thought, another occurred, and his eyes strayed downward again. Jay must have noticed, because he smiled and lowered their hands to his fly. "You can explore. Don't be afraid."

Sy was frozen in place. This was the most taboo of taboos. His veins ran with the fire Jay had started in him, but now they felt shot full of ice, too.

"Sy?"

His head snapped up at the sound of Jay's voice. "I don't know what to do," he admitted. "Tell me what to do."

An expression that might have been pity flashed across Jay's face, but he buried it with a grin so quickly that Sy wasn't sure he'd really seen it. Jay raised a hand to Sy's head and gave his hair a reassuring stroke. "Start with the button," he said. "Don't worry, this one's easy." He rested both hands on Sy's shoulders, out of the way.

"Right," Sy croaked; his mouth was like Arrakis. He still couldn't move.

"Now, Sy. Don't make me keep telling you, or I'll have to get creative," Jay purred.

He wasn't sure what Jay planned to do with him if he continued to hesitate, but even if it was an empty threat, he didn't want to find out. Though he couldn't stop his fingers from trembling, he found Jay's buttonhole as forgiving as promised and managed to undo his fly. Even handling the zipper as delicately as possible, he couldn't miss feeling the firm prominence that was Jay's manhood. It moved under his hands. Jay sucked in a breath and squeezed Sy's shoulders.

Sy froze. "Uh—I didn't mean to—"

"It's okay," Jay said. "Don't stop. I want you to see me—all of me." He kissed the top of Sy's head and rocked his hips forward.

Rather than stammer something inane, Sy nodded. Slowly, he worked his fingers under the elastic band of Jay's black underwear. He did want to see what was underneath. He hadn't ever really looked at another man. It would have been wrong. But this was different. This was Jay. The concept of shame was banished here.

Sy steeled his determination and pulled down, carefully keeping his knuckles against Jay's thighs as a guideline. Jay had to help get the band over the hurdle of his cock, and then there he was, jeans and boxer-briefs around his knees.

Sy couldn't help but sit back and stare. Jay was half-erect. His light brown shaft, freed from its former confines, stood out from a nest of thick, curly hair around the base. He was uncircumcised, and the head, a dusky pink, only just showed itself. His testicles hung heavily beneath.

"There. Not so scary, right?" Jay raised a hand to stroke Sy's cheek.

"Just weird," Sy blurted, then flinched at his faux pas and looked up to see if Jay was upset.

But Jay laughed. "A little. Life is weird. But fun." He teased at the corner of Sy's mouth with his thumb, looking for a smile.

Sy let himself be reassured and gave Jay what he wanted. "If you say so."

"Oh, I do." He rewarded the smile with a kiss. Then he reared up again and put a hand on Sy's chest, holding him in place. "I want you to watch me now. Don't move, just watch."

Jay took his sack in one hand and began stroking himself with the other. Slowly and steadily, he brought himself fully erect. His smooth, shiny glans stood forth from the shaft, and a small drop of fluid accumulated at the tip. "This is what I'm going to do for you," he said, his voice husky. "What do you think about that? Tell me."

Sy thought he had never been so uncomfortable in his own pants. He thought Jay was a complete bastard for making something so vulgar look like an art form with his beautiful hands. He was horrified, but entranced, and he thought if Jay didn't start touching him again immediately, he might weep.

He said, "I think you're driving me insane, as usual. Please . . . don't leave me hanging."

Jay beamed. "When you ask so nicely, how can I refuse?"

He kicked off his bottoms and wrapped himself around Sy in an enveloping embrace. One arm went around his side, pulling him close; the other hand held the back of his head while Jay kissed him hard.

Sy's arms flew around Jay in return, but he froze, unsure of whether he was supposed to do this.

"It's okay, it's okay," Jay murmured against Sy's lips and cheek. "As much as you want now."

Sy did want. Jay kissed and lightly sucked his neck, and Sy shivered and dug his fingers into Jay's back. His skin was so smooth against Sy's, only slightly damp with perspiration, and Sy knew he himself was sweating with nerves and, god help him, desire. So much uninsulated contact was electrifying, intoxicating. A part of his brain that had been shuttered and silenced for a very long time was panting for Jay to get on with it.

And Jay did: he ran his left hand down Sy's side and squeezed his thigh, which had the side effect of pulling his slacks tighter against his already restrained penis. Sy panicked all over again; a little whimper escaped his throat.

"Jay—"

"Do you want to stop?" Jay asked gently.

Sy knew he would, too. Just like that. Jay would let him call the whole thing off with one word, let him creep off to calm down somewhere and let him live with the memory of his cowardice for the rest of his life. It pissed him off. "No, damn it!"

"What, then?" Jay cupped his chin, fingers soft along his jaw. "I gotta hear the words from your mouth."

Sy's chest heaved with the effort of working up enough courage to say what needed to be said. He gripped Jay's free hand for support, and Jay held firm. "My belt," he croaked at last. "I'll never . . . Would you?"

"You want me to take it off?"

"Yes."

Jay nodded and kissed him. "Lie back." So saying, he snagged one of the couch cushions and pulled it under Sy's head. He also placed Sy's hands above his head again. "You might get these back again later. We'll see. For now, hold still."

Sy nodded. He understood: Jay didn't want him interfering with some misguided reflex of self-defense at this crucial point. Sy wanted to move forward, to get free and let Jay put those hands of his on him—just imagining it made him throb almost painfully and put a little moan in his throat—but he still fought the impulse to curl up and defend his vulnerability, too.

With his head propped up, he could at least see what was going on without having to strain, and that helped.

Kneeling on Sy's left side, Jay efficiently undid the belt buckle and tugged the whole length of black leather out from under his hips. Sy was obliged to raise himself up a little to allow it, and oh god, but his body needed no urging to run with that one. The arc continued all the way up and down his spine. His toes curled and his head rolled back against the pillow.

"Oh, god, Jay, I don't think I can take much of this."

Jay put a hand on his belly, and the firm pressure and radiating warmth calmed him. "Deep breath, Sy. I'm nowhere near done with you yet. You keep it together now." He pursed his lips, moistening them. "I gotta tell you, I am excited to see you naked. Let's get these pants off."

"Yes please," Sy said, though he wasn't sure it was audible. That was good. He could hardly stand to hear himself sounding so desperate and needy, let alone have anyone else hear it.

Whatever the case, Jay didn't respond, but went right ahead with his operation. He folded the fingers of one hand under Sy's waistband and pulled the front up, giving himself a little slack to work with, and flicked the button open with a finger and thumb. Nobody should be so good at that. Sy wasn't at all surprised that Jay was. The zipper went next. Sy breathed a sigh of relief as some of the pressure on his cock was eased.

That wasn't the worst of it, though. No doubt the majority of Headquarters would be unsurprised to learn that he wore briefs. They were white, and at the moment they were very goddamn tight.

"Ah," Jay said, eyes aglow as though he'd just discovered buried treasure. "No wonder you're struggling. I bet you want these off, too, don't you?"

"Yes." Not that he wasn't still afraid to be exposed, and it must have told in his voice.

Jay looked at him thoughtfully and caressed his chest and stomach. "Tell you what . . . since you're doing so well, I'll give you a choice: do you wanna do it, or do you want me to?"

The answer was a no-brainer. "You." He feared exposure, but he wanted release more. He just didn't trust himself to go through with it. "I want . . . no, I need you to do it. Please."

"I like that just fine." Jay's glowing expression said it was more than fine, it was a dream scenario. Maybe that would've been true either way. "Okay. Work with me now. Up again."

Sy raised his hips. Swiftly, Jay tugged his slacks down, then hooked the fingers of both hands under the elastic of his briefs—Sy's breath caught in his throat—and worked them down, freeing Sy's firm and tender erection.

It was like the rest of him, long and lean. The shaft curved slightly to the right and was flushed a dark peach; the circumcised head was darker again. Around the base was more sparse, curly black hair, longer than on his chest.

Every detail was despicable to Sy. From his adolescence onward, he'd avoided looking at or handling himself more than was absolutely necessary in the hope that ignoring the traitor organ would make it stop acting up on him at the worst possible moments. Even when he'd experimented with the girls in college, the question was never whether they would like the way he looked; he was certain the answer would be no, and he'd told himself it didn't matter. A woman never really had to look at a man's penis in order to make use of it, not if she didn't want to.

But Jay feasted his eyes with that adoring look on his face, and said: "Do you know that you're one of the great mysteries of the universe? Yet here I am, beholding you with my own eyes, and everything is perfect."

Jay clearly believed what he was saying, and believed it so strongly that Sy wanted to believe, too. Yet doubt got a word in. "I'm not—"

Exactly two words. Jay stretched out and put his fingers on Sy's lips. "Shh. Don't you dare argue with me about this."

Sy flinched at the rebuke, but it didn't last long.

Jay flipped himself over so he covered Sy's body with his own, not quite touching anywhere but coming so close Sy could almost feel it anyway. Jay's eyes bored into his, full of devotion. "I'm telling you, Sy, your body is a perfect instrument, and I am going to play such a tune on it. You'll see. You'll know."

He sealed the promise with a kiss. Sy kissed back, but then Jay moved on, working his way downward again. This time he did put his mouth on one of Sy's nipples and teased it with his tongue. Sy gasped and twisted under him, and that brought their bodies together. Jay's cock was hot and hard against his leg, and his own pressed on Jay's stomach. Molten waves rocked Sy to his core, and he felt adrift.

"Jay—Jesus Christ—I need my hands, please! I need to hold on!"

Jay looked up at him and smirked. "No. Not this time. Stay as you are."

He gave his attention to the other nipple and this time pressed himself down on Sy, so when Sy moved against him the sensation was more intense than before. Sy tried to hold it in, but he cried out wordlessly.

"Now that's music to my ears," Jay sighed, and pushed himself up on his knees again.

Sy made a garbled noise of protest—the air seemed cooler now, despite the fire at his right side—but Jay hadn't gone far.

"Just one moment." Jay turned and fumbled through his jeans, searching the pockets. "Ah, there." He produced a small bottle and squeezed some of the contents into his right palm. Flexing his hand, he spread it over his fingers and warmed it up. "How're you doing, Sy?"

Sy didn't trust himself to say anything intelligible. His heart hammered away, his breath came hard and heavy. He just nodded, go ahead. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

"Okay." Jay moved to Sy's right now. He gazed into Sy's eyes and smiled. With his left hand, he petted Sy's hair, and with his right . . .

The sensation was wet and a little cool. Nothing very much at first. Jay just gripped and held his shaft a moment. It wasn't world-shattering. Sy worried; was something wrong? After everything he'd just been through, was he about to fail as a man?

But then Jay carefully drew his hand up the shaft and over the head, slick and warm all over, and it was like the Earth's gravity shifted.

"Oh," Sy groaned, both realization and exultation. His eyelids squeezed shut of their own accord. This was a finer feeling by far than anything before it. Electric current radiated from his groin through his stomach and down his legs to every nerve ending he had and then raced back, making his cock swell in Jay's hand. He hadn't realized he could get any more engorged than he already was.

Jay stroked him slowly, giving each wave time to rise and fall before starting the next one so as not to bring him off too soon. It was sweet, and it was torture. Sy wanted to sit up and do something, either kiss Jay or curse him, and either was completely out of the question. His head swam. His body ached. He panted for breath, and moaned for completion.

"Are you ready to come for me?" Jay's voice was low and hoarse, as though he were almost as worked up as Sy.

"Yes," Sy panted.

"Yeah. After all, haven't you waited all this time?" This punctuated by a firm downstroke.

"Oh, Christ—yes!"

"And you deserve it. It's your body and you deserve to enjoy it however you like. Don't you?" He squeezed Sy's cock at the base and held steady.

That was a dirty trick. Sy was on the brink, he could feel it, but no matter how he squirmed, he couldn't quite go over. "Damn you, Jay. Gimme a break." It was nearly a sob.

"I will. But first you'll answer me." Some feat of poise and coordination allowed Jay to kiss Sy's face and pet him while gripping his penis, holding his fate in the balance. "'Yes, Jay, I deserve an orgasm. Please give it to me.' You're allowed this, and I wanna know you know it." He leaned over Sy's chest and sucked on his right nipple.

"All right!" Sy cried, writhing under him. "I deserve it, all right?" He was afraid that wouldn't be enough, but it was the best he could do.

Jay knew. "That you do. Come to me."

With a touch, Jay drew Sy upright and gave him the use of his arms back. Sy threw them around Jay and kissed him fiercely. Jay made up for lost time by rubbing the head of Sy's cock exclusively. Each short stroke built on the last. Sy cried out each time, unable to hold back anymore. The crescendo reached its climax, and Sy finally heard the music. The foreplay had been winds and strings: soft, fluttering tremolos and taut, anxious vibrations. Orgasm was a trumpet call: everything let loose in a bold rush, the tension released, and all chords resolved.

Sy buried his face against Jay's shoulder to muffle his sobs of relief. Jay held him until his spasms subsided.

When his breathing became more regular, Jay kissed his head and leaned back to ask, "How do you feel?"

Sy was just coming back to a proper awareness of himself and his surroundings. Everything seemed new: the fire in the river rock hearth warming his right side, the soft sheepskin rug under his bare ass, his clothes and Jay's scattered around them; Jay, naked, kneeling beside him, one hand on his shoulder and the other still cupping his softening penis. Jay had controlled his ejaculation, he realized, catching most of it on his own side and thigh. A little had hit Sy, too, at the end. But the rug was spared. That was good.

As for how he felt? Nothing hurt. He hadn't been struck blind. No angry nuns or overbearing relatives had suddenly appeared to tell him he was a sinful pervert doomed to burn in Hell. "I'm okay," he realized. "No, upgrade that." As tense as he had been, he was relaxed now, more than he could remember feeling in a very long time. It was like a weight had lifted from his body. "I feel . . . good."

"Yeah?" Jay squeezed his shoulder, smiling encouragingly.

"Yeah." Sy gave him a little smile back to show he meant it. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, he realized he was still a tad stoned, which helped with the whole relaxation thing, but definitely wasn't all of it, or even most of it. He could almost understand the temptation to curl up where he was and go to sleep in the afterglow, but that would be weird. And sticky. "Um, there's Kleenex on the end table. Would you mind . . . ?"

Jay nodded and got up. "Sure thing. You nailed me pretty good!" He handed a couple of tissues to Sy and took a couple more to mop himself off.

Sy rolled his eyes and stared down at his lap to hide his blush. "Should I be sorry?"

"Nah, it's a compliment." Jay tilted his head quizzically. "Maybe not the sort you want, though? Sorry. The rules are off; feel free to tell me to shut the hell up."

Tempting though it was, Sy just shrugged. He supposed he was a little pleased with himself. Which was in itself a lot bizarre. About as bizarre as sitting on the floor of his parents' friends' cabin, nude, having just committed a mildly deviant sex act with another man who was usually a woman, and really liking it. Good god.

Sy turned and looked up at his friend. "Listen, why don't you go scope out the kitchen? There's tea in there. It's old and it's crap, but it's tea."

Jay's face lit up. "Why, Sy, if I didn't know better, I might think you were trying to romance me after all."

"… Shut the hell up, Jay." In spite of himself, he smiled. Snarking like usual felt restorative.

Jay laughed. "You had me at 'tea'. Would you point the way to the toilet first, though? And gimme those, I'll take 'em."

Sy handed over his used tissues. Jay snatched up his pants and headed off down the hall to take care of business.

It occurred to Sy that "business" probably meant jerking off. Their arrangement had been one-sided by design, but he knew Jay was far from unaffected, and that was what normal people did in such situations.

Not that anything about this was normal.

But it had worked, hadn't it? He'd confronted his sexuality and found out it was nothing to be scared of, at least not under carefully controlled circumstances. He felt very well physically, and though he was a little overwhelmed mentally, anxiety was no longer a part of it. He'd experienced gay sex, of a sort, and nothing bad had happened.

Looking down at himself, returned to flaccidity, he felt curiosity and amazement that this soft, troublesome little organ could be the seat of such a powerful pleasure. He didn't think he would ever have the kind of easy relationship with his penis that most men seemed to, but perhaps he could begin to appreciate the good side of having one. The door was open now, and he didn't need anyone else to explore further.

For now, he put his pants back on, returned the couch cushions to their proper places, and folded the rest of their clothes into a neat pile for later.

After a few minutes, Jay came back, humming happily to himself, and made tea. It tasted like wet cardboard, but it was hot and fragrant. They sat on the couch together in their trousers, sipping it, chatting about matters serious and trivial, and enjoying the last embers of the fire. Secure in the knowledge that he could later put it all down to being high, Sy even indulged Jay (and his own curiosity) so far as to let him rub his shoulders, which was damn near magical. He didn't have to wonder why he'd resisted this sort of thing so firmly in the past—he remembered why—but he did wonder whether he'd be able to maintain his resolve in the future. Or if he wanted to.

But no. This was a one-time deal, just to stop him feverishly imagining what being with a guy was like. Now he knew, and if he wanted to revisit the experience, he could do so at his leisure just by thinking back. If he changed outwardly, people would talk, his reputation as a jerk with a stick up his ass would be ruined, and people would think they could get away with anything. And some people already felt entitled to take liberties with his personal space.

"This isn't going to be a thing," he told Jay a little later.

Jay had washed out the empty mugs, and Sy had made the fireplace safe, and they'd put on their shirts and shoes and gotten ready to go home.

And Sy wanted to make sure Jay knew that, while he'd gone through a transformative experience here, he had not changed that much.

"What?" Jay said. It had come a bit out of nowhere.

"This." Sy gestured around the cabin. "You. Me. Here. It was . . . nice. But this is it. We go back to our lives like it never happened, and it never happens again. That was the deal."

Jay smiled bemusedly. "Yes, I know. I promised." His expression asked, So why bring it up again now?

"Because what happens in the cabin stays in the cabin, right?"

"Right. Rule four. I won't so much as wink at you in the hall."

"Good. Just so we're clear."

"Crystal." Jay cocked his head, looking deeply into Sy's eyes. "But if you change your mind, you know where to find me."

Typical.

Sy jerked the door open. "Goodnight, Jay."

Jay waved cheekily as he went out. "Goodnight, Sy."

Later, after a final round of tidying up, making sure everything was left exactly as he'd found it, Sy closed the door on the cabin.

But he might have neglected to lock it for good.