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“Are you scared?”
Gabriel snaps his head up at the voice, startled by the sight of Jack leaning against the door to their room; he hadn't heard the other man's entrance, but he realizes ruefully that that was probably due to the storm raging outside. Hard to hear footsteps on tile when there's rain hailing against the window like driving bullets, thunder rolling so loud it makes the whole base shake.
He hates storms.
“Of course not,” Gabe scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest.
He hates looking weak even more.
Jack raises a brow at him, clearly skeptical of the answer, but all it takes is one more deafening crack of thunder—Gabe flinches with a loud yelp, the lights cut off abruptly, and they are both left in the dark with quiet Spanish curses serving as proof of Gabe's lie.
Jack makes a noise caught between exasperation and amusement, and Gabe glares at the doorway.
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, puta.” Unable to keep the venom out of his voice, Gabe rolls his eyes—he can already imagine the sneers and jeers from their team, their mirthful crowing about this newfound weakness, and the indignity of it is almost enough to melt away his lingering trepidation.
Almost.
“I'm not laughing,” Jack says mildly, coming closer; Gabe can barely make out the bulk of his figure in the shadows of the dark room, the occasional snap of lightning illuminating over Jack's muscles when he moves. The bed dips suddenly as Jack sits next to him, and Gabe leans a little closer as if on instinct, trying to focus on Jack's scent and the warmth of his skin instead of the thunder rolling overhead.
Jack glances down at him, feeling the brush of Gabe's curls against his arm as the other man shifts closer—he's trying not to appear needy, Jack knows, and he sighs with a fond sort of exasperation as he wraps an arm around Gabe's waist and jerks him over, settling the other man between his spread legs and ignoring his embarrassed pseudo-snarls.
“Let me go—“
“Gabe, stop it.“
“I said let me go, Jack, you fucking—“
“Gabriel.”
Gabe winces at the stern voice, cautiously peeking over his shoulder to meet Jack's gaze; it's hardened now, blue eyes like steel illuminated by lightning, and it takes everything Gabe has not to squirm and whimper because this is Jack's commander face, his dominating face. Be it Pavlovian response, a sudden rush of heady memories, or just good training, it doesn't matter—because Gabe can already feel a knot starting to tangle warmly in his gut, melt away his stubborn bravado.
Every damn time.
“Are you going to relax now?” Jack asks him mildly, one broad arm locked snugly around Gabe's stomach to keep him in place; Jack's free hand wanders, and in the dark Gabe can't see where it goes but he can feel: fingertips brushing across his nipples like plucking a guitar string, a palm cupping and kneading the muscle of his chest, fingernails digging into the sharp jut of his hipbone hard enough to make him hiss. His shirt gets pulled over his head and thrown to the floor, baring him to the chilly air.
“Fuck—Jack...” Gabe whines and it sounds like a prayer, thighs falling open easily as Jack's fingers nudge them apart, crawling down and sliding into the waistband of his sweatpants.
“Yeah, that's right,” Jack murmurs into Gabe's ear, lips moving against thick curls as his roaming hand finds the warm swell of Gabe's balls, cups and tugs them gently, possessively, just to hear Gabe's gasping moan. “Daddy's got you, sweetheart...”
Gabe makes a soft choking noise, a shudder rattling through his body, and Jack knows he's in. He hides his smirk of victory against Gabe's temple as the other man's frame steadily goes lax, and watches with pride as the tension starts to drain out of him.
“Good boy.” He cups a hand around Gabe's cock, pleased to find it half-hard and interested, flushed hot at the tip; he pulls it free of the clothes and lets it settle out in the open, the waistband of the sweatpants tucked under Gabe's balls, and even through his heady submission Gabe squirms in protest.
“Jack,” he starts, voice soft, apprehensive; his legs try to shyly close. “The door's still open...”
“And?” Jack grabs the inside of one muscular thigh and hauls it back, baring Gabe to the darkness again. “You've got until the lights come back on to cum. Can you do that for me?”
Gabe whimpers faintly, squirming against Jack's lap. “I don't know how long—“
“Then I'd suggest you quit talking.”
Gabe's breath is stolen by Jack's sudden squeeze around the tip of his cock, and he arches back into the other man, his hands grabbing at Jack's knees. His breath comes out shaky and strained as Jack starts up a slow, easy glide along his cock, fingers dragging up the shaft just lightly enough to keep Gabe's attention, but too light to give any kind of real satisfaction.
“That'll keep you quiet, won't it?” Jack asks softly, his breath warm as it washes over Gabe's ear. “That's right. You just let Daddy take care of you, little boy.”
It's a testament to how far gone Gabe is that he answers the words with a soft moan, instead of spitting venom; he tips his head back against Jack's shoulder, hips bucking up in short, tired little thrusts, aching for more feeling. Jack watches him for a moment, then moves the arm from around Gabe's middle to reach for his tits, calloused fingers finding a dusky nipple and starting to gently play with the barbell pierced through it.
Gabe has a second awakening at the touch to his sensitive chest, arching into Jack's fingers with a soft, low moan; Jack delights in it, and tugs at the nipple again, just to hear Gabe whimper for him.
“You like that, don't you? Sensitive little nipple whore...”
He starts to alternate his tugging—first Gabe's flushed, leaking cock, then his dark nipples, milking more breathy noises from him. It isn't long before he can feel the twitch in Gabe's cock, threatening to blow; he pulls his hands away entirely, grins at Gabe's long, drawn-out whine of frustration. “Jack—“
“You know better.” Jack takes hold of Gabe's nipple again, gives it a twist just to hear the other man hiss. “If you want something, ask nicely.”
He can all but see the war that takes place in Gabe's head, the way his gears turn—and just when Jack is fearing Gabe might not be as far in subspace as he first thought, the man caves and looks down, his voice coming out hushed as he says, “...please.”
Jack smirks in triumph, his blood roaring in his ears; he returns one hand to Gabe's cock as reward, holding a loose grip around the warm flesh to incite him. “Please what, Gabe?”
“Please...” Gabe squirms fitfully, bucking his hips and biting his lip as Jack's hold loosens even more, giving him nothing to grind against. “Fuck—Papi, please, let me cum!”
Jack's grip tightens again immediately, and he resumes the quick slide of his hand across Gabe's shaft, fingers going back up to tug and twist at both of his nipples. He works Gabe over in the best way he knows how, listening to his breathy moans and climbing, desperate noises, and all it takes is his growl of “Cum for me, sweetheart,” in Gabe's ear to have the man crying out his release, spilling thick and wet across Jack's fingers.
Jack continues to pump him gently through the orgasm, and grabs Gabe's shirt off the floor; he uses it to wipe down his fingers and Gabe's sticky cock, then coaxes him to lie down, feeling satisfied as Gabe nuzzles into a pillow and curls up drowsily.
Sure, he may have an uncomfortably hard cock and fingers that smell of cum, but at least Gabe's forgotten about the storm.