and i can barely breathe / when you're here loving me / fire meet gasoline / burn with me tonight
In hindsight, Gabriel should have expected it. He didn’t close the door behind him.
And in his own defence, Gabriel had been distracted by McCree bleeding on him, the fool veering on the dangerously hysterical side. Literally. Gabriel was by no means weak but McCree was a fully grown man (though debatable) swinging in his grasp, blood leaving an uneven trail as they staggered off their jet.
McCree had placed his cowboy hat on Gabriel’s beanie-clad head, telling him solemnly to take care of it because it was his most prized possession. Gabriel refused to feel even slightly touched by the gesture. Despite his age, Jesse McCree was one of the most capable members of Blackwatch but because of it, he was a Goddamn pain in Gabriel’s ass even when McCree was the one with a fresh bullet hole in his side.
“Even so much as imply you’re gonna die again, bobo,” Gabriel gritted out, “and I’ll shoot you myself.”
McCree gave him a grin, lopsided with pain. “You can use my gun.”
“What an honour,” Gabriel said, deadpan.
McCree still had it in him to laugh. He would be fine. Gabriel swore with relief when he spotted Mercy’s now familiar halo of blonde hair as they descended into base. A first. The doctor had been a part of Overwatch for years now and yet Gabriel hadn’t been able to shake how off she felt. Her parents had been casualties in the war she had joined Overwatch to fight (protect, she corrected, and bring peace) so it made sense for her to be beyond her years in age but when she smiled, deadly calm at the sight of the most grotesque of injuries, there was a shine in her eyes that reminded Gabriel of some of the dolls one of his sisters had. Not quite there.
All that mattered was that she was good (though whether that was part of the problem or not was worth thinking about) but sometimes, childishly, Gabriel expected her to lift the mask of her pretty youthful face to reveal decaying skin. He didn’t think she would appreciate this particular thought so he never said it out loud. She was proving useful for Overwatch, after all. Gabriel was just glad for whatever ran through his veins that made medbay trips less frequent.
On either side of her stood two soldiers that he didn’t have nor seek the pleasure of knowing. They were new and Gabriel knew this little fact because they looked at him with the kind of mistrust they were in no position to voice. For a moment, Gabriel gripped McCree just a little tighter (not that the cowboy would notice though he had quietened down, wincing with every step) but then Mercy clicked her tongue disapprovingly at the state of McCree. In return, he smiled between half-lidded eyes, raised his arm on his good side to salute her lazily and said, albeit weakly, “Hey there, Doc.” She looked exasperated. She looked amused. She looked neither. It was hard to tell with that mask, Gabriel thought.
She took a moment to scan McCree over with her handheld and any worry creasing her forehead eased. Without looking up from the screen, she gestured the men beside her forward and Gabriel let them take McCree from him, stepping back as the cowboy grumbled at them to slow down, fellas, injured war hero over here.
Feeling a little ridiculous for not doing it sooner, Gabriel removed McCree’s hat from his head hastily. He waited until the doctor was done scrolling through McCree’s vitals to hand it to her. She took it gingerly, as if she expected it to sprout arms and offer her a cigar. But like Gabriel, she complied. People like Jesse McCree never left one with much choice.
Gabriel didn’t say anything, much less ask but she told him, “Not to worry,” anyway. Her voice was a few ages above her heart shaped face and blonde, blonde hair. It was plain weird to receive comfort from her. “He will be okay. He’s just…”
“A fucking moron?” Gabriel offered, tone wryly helpful.
She finished her own sentence firmly. “A drama queen. He has a surprising amount of luck for a man who wears a cowboy hat like a beacon.”
“Bastard,” Gabriel snorted. His mouth twitched in a mix of frustration, relief and a little bit of admiration for the cowboy. McCree did always manage to make it in and out of the most absurd situations. Like bringing a knife to a gun fight, he had once said with pride. Everyone had looked at him weirdly.
Mercy didn’t disagree. She gave him an appraising look and he raised his palms to show he was clean. She smiled as she turned away. “You’re long overdue for a check-up, Mr Reyes.”
“You can get first dibs on my dead body,” he grumbled. She probably heard but chose to focus on the unreasonably sinister trail of blood McCree had left in his wake. He could only see the back of her now, her ponytail swishing as she walked, but she was probably still smiling. Disturbing.
Gabriel watched her leave then really wished he hadn’t. One masked blonde replaced another. Gabriel was acting childishly again, he knew, but he walked away. He was a super soldier but he was still human, somewhere under layers of steel skin and tight nerves. There was a dull ache in his bones, tension that he would readily blame on the appearance of the commander he’d much rather avoid and not the sleep he wasn’t getting, the meals he was forgetting to eat.
You really should remember to eat, mijo. A laugh echoed in his head but it was faraway, off tune like a radio frequency in the middle of nowhere. That’s what Gabriel’s mind was. You know how you get.
He was forgetting the sound of her laugh. He was in no mood to talk.
But of course Jack would follow him through the base’s corridors of clear and mirrored glass that Gabriel stained with the dirt on the bottom of his shoes. Of course Jack would follow him into his office and even close the Goddamn door behind him because that was so like him. Jack Morrison loved that, cleaning up Gabriel’s mess. He was good at it.
Gabriel had to give him credit where it was due, all that time that Jack was in Gabriel’s shadow (just like old times, huh) and Jack hadn’t said a word, not even his name. What did Jack Morrison call him these days anyway? Reyes, Gabriel-
Jack broke the silence. That was predictable too. He was the kind of kid that could never keep his mouth shut but always in the best way. He stood up to high school bullies. He wanted to give people a chance. He believed in good in its simplest form even when he’d seen the world go to hell, pure metal corrupted by whatever made the Omnics go nuts. Gabriel didn’t care beyond understanding enough to shut them down. As far as he was concerned, you couldn’t kill God if you didn’t kill man first or whatever. But Jack- God, Jack Morrison was a fool if Gabriel had ever known one. He didn’t even want to kill man.
Sometimes Gabriel wanted to kill him.
He braced himself against his desk, his back to the door, to Jack. His palms were flat on the surface, paper crumpled under them, unfinished. It had been a few days since Gabriel had been in the office, the mission occupying him off base. He had told himself he’d get to finishing the paperwork surely he could hire someone else to do. Yet he never asked for an assistant or whatever. Blackwatch was his gig. The least he could do was keep it under control, his control.
There was a potted plant on the cabinet that he couldn’t recall ever purchasing. This bothered him, along with how it was dying and Jack was breathing his name like it was something familiar.
“What happened out there?”
And Gabriel could have laughed because of fucking course Jack Morrison would ask for a mission report before anything else. Screw the dead potted plant and Morrison.
Gabriel lifted a hand to remove his hat and throw it aside carelessly, the other massaging his temples with his thumb and middle finger. He closed his eyes because it helped his headache and not because he didn’t want to deal with Jack and his too blue eyes that would cost him one day, Gabriel was sure of it. Pull it together, Reyes.
“What does it look like? McCree got a bit bloody.” His voice was harsh. “Part of the job description, in case your camera ready face forgot what we signed up for.”
He didn’t look back. What difference would it make if Jack looked indifferent, unprovoked, as good as the statues they’d build one day of that face that Gabriel could trace even with his eyes closed? Gabriel couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to Jack and not wanted to hurt him, cut him with words because he couldn’t risk touching him. He told himself it was because mussing up Overwatch’s commander, the world’s Golden Boy, could cost him and not because of the same familiarity that Jack said his name. And hell, what difference would it make if Jack’s blue eyes quivered like waves washing upon a shore, the hurt as deep as the ocean and just as terrifying? Jack Morrison was a Goddamn poem and Gabriel fucking hated it.
But if he was being truly honest, Gabriel had become good at lying to himself. He could remember the last time (every time) and he hated that because of it, because he had memorised every plane of Jack’s face, thumb pressing commas across those cheekbones (sang verses into his shoulders), Gabriel had to forfeit memories that sounded like wind chimes, doors opening and laughter. He asked to forget but got no choice on what. Just his luck.
“Gabe,” Jack said again, oh so familiar. “Don’t do this.”
No, that childish part of Gabriel wanted to say. You don’t.
“Do what?” Gabriel snapped back, as if that was any better. He stood up and turned to look at Jack.
The office was not big enough for the two of them. They were the same height but Gabriel remembered when he had a little on Jack, the first time he had seen him and felt a punch in the gut because God fucking damn it, this program was recruiting kid soldiers. Jack had been twenty years old with only two years of basic military training in him. Gabriel should have left there and then. Would have saved him a lot of trouble.
But he waited. He had a little sister Jack’s age. He used to think of himself as protective. When he had called Jack kid, Jack had said his own name with clarity and Gabriel had thought okay – glad you’re standing up for something, Jack. He had ruffled his hair a little and called him gringo instead. Jack didn’t understand a word of Spanish.
And then they had chemicals pumped into their bodies and one day Gabriel woke to Jack stood in front of the mirror like he did sometimes but this times was different. It wasn’t just in his body but his eyes. It was the first time he hadn’t just endured but looked happy, like this was some kind of summer camp and what they felt was the burn and ache of a good workout. Maybe that’s when things had changed between them, not when Jack was put on a pedestal after they overcame the Omnics side by side but when Jack forgot what they did to them.
The years as Strike Commander had not been unkind exactly but they were wearing on him, like a postcard with the edges a little blunt. Jack had always been handsome but the kind that felt young, not yet entirely hardened from the armed forces. He had been a pretty farm boy with a lick in his hair and a smile that could make a better man out of you. Now, Gabriel didn’t feel like a good man. Jack was clean shaven, a sign that he’d been talking to someone in a suit or maybe the press. Frankly, Gabriel didn’t care but whoever it was had Jack in less layers than normal. Dark combat pants and a white T-shirt that hugged his body so snuggly that the dog-tags around his neck were harshly visible despite them being tucked under the fabric. He looked comfortable, a man who could look after himself. Gabriel didn’t need to be protective anymore. He heard Jack’s voice, twenty years old, say I’m not a kid.
Now, Gabriel would have to be blind not to see that Jack was still (or even more so) handsome but it had been years since they’d even had a conversation beyond Gabriel spitting out mission results and telling Jack where to stick his report. Jack had given up. Not wanting to fight, always wanting to be the better person. But Gabriel saw him often enough. They worked in the same (albeit large) building and he still had to attend meetings that Jack held. Another podium in front of hundreds but here new recruits would sit at the front with their backs straight whilst McCree fell asleep near enough every damn time. A leather chair at the head of a long glass table, investors in black suits on either side. Jack was not one for business but he followed orders from powers beyond them. They were the dogs of the United Nations but Jack wouldn’t admit that even when the rich laid arms before them to use free of charge. Instead, he let Gabriel shake hands and say, “Overwatch will handle it,” in hope they could handle Overwatch in return. Or rather Blackwatch. It had been years but Jack was still not one to get his hands dirty.
More for me then.
Gabriel had watched him lead men with decades on him, saw him become the kind of leader that looked it, handsome but mature, experience in the expanse of his shoulders and the perfect cut of his jaw. Gabriel hands shook a little, caught between two passions. Jack Morrison made Gabriel feel like a terrible man indeed.
Jack was shaking his head at Gabriel’s question. He sighed and tried a different approach. “Are you hurt?”
Gabriel shrugged. “What? You planning to play nurse now?”
That got a glare out of him. “Christ, Gabe, are you planning to be this difficult for the rest of your life?”
“Hoping that if I do it enough, someone will be a pal and put me out of my misery a few years early,” Gabriel said, smiling grimly. He leant back on the desk and watched Jack turn and frown at the window instead, half closed blinds blocking any view outside but illuminating his face perfectly. Thanks for nothing. “I’m fine. McCree had to forfeit his armour before these bastards would even talk.”
Jack raised his eyebrows, both of them because he couldn’t raise one. Gabriel used to laugh at him for that. “Just the two of you?”
“Hey, I didn’t ask for your judgement, Boy Scout. This ain’t your scene.” Gabriel waved a dismissive hand. “They had fast working back-up, is all.”
“Jesse was hurt.”
“Jesse,” Gabriel mimicked mockingly, not one for first names himself, “is an idiot that thinks every guy on the other side can stand his shitty Southern drawl. We handled it. Mission objective completed. I can sign the paperwork and you can be on your way, eh?”
Jack still wasn’t satisfied. “You made a scene.”
Gabe stared at him for a moment and then crossed his arms over his chest, all traces of teasing gone to leave a bitter taste in his mouth. He watched Jack’s eyes follow the movement then stare at Gabriel’s mouth when it turned upwards in a scoffing laugh. “Oh. So that’s what this is about? Scared to get in trouble?”
“I have to think of things this way, Gabe. It’s my job.”
“You have a job? And here I thought you were just here to get screwed by the whole of the United Nations.”
That did it. A muscle in Jack’s jaw twitched. Gabriel really had to stop thinking about Jack’s eyes like they were the ocean but right now the sea had darkened, the warning wind the threat of anger. “You think I-”
“Figuratively,” Gabriel interrupted. “Literally, you did worse.”
They’d had this conversation so many times, going around in circles. The frustration in Jack’s tone had changed from offended to disbelieving to exhausted. “The hell is that supposed to mean, Gabe?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“Is this about leadership? Are you still mad that you don’t get to hear me call you sir anymore?”
Two can play at this game. “You sure as hell didn’t used to mind.”
Gabriel smiled sharply. It felt like cutting himself. “You didn’t mind that either.”
Anger didn’t come naturally to Jack. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He wasn’t like Gabriel. “Do you want them to find out about Blackwatch? Is that what this is? Is compromising lives worth staining my record?”
Gabriel laughed humourlessly. “You’re not the one that’s gonna take the fall if Blackwatch goes south. Don’t fucking kid yourself, Morrison.”
There was a pause. Jack’s hands lowered. His voice too. “‘Morrison,’ huh? Run out of Spanish insults to call me?”
Nostalgic. Gabriel spoke without thinking. “They weren’t insults and you know it.”
He could have kicked himself. The storm in Jack’s eyes didn’t clear. It rose into blue skies like a tsunami taking flight. Gabriel looked away pointedly.
“Gabe.” Jack’s voice was quiet but different.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“No.” On the edge of Gabriel’s vision, Jack was moving to the centre of it. The room truly was not big enough for the both of them and for a split second, Gabriel felt it again, just as he had when he handed McCree over to Dr Ziegler. Irrational fear. The kind of that didn’t know who the enemy was. Jack was the only one here and he was talking levelly, moving towards Gabriel. “You’re not going to ask for help so I’m giving it.”
Gabriel gave him a withering glance. “I don’t need you playin’ a damn psychiatrist.”
“I think you need more than a psychiatrist, Gabe.”
“Okay, now fuck you.” Real mature, Reyes.
Jack’s gaze was serious and unwavering. “If that’s what you want.”
Gabriel’s pulse jumped. He unfolded his arms to lift a hand to his neck to calm it, like swatting a pesky fly. “What I want,” he said slowly, deliberately, “is for you to stop fucking with me and go help an old lady cross the road or whatever.”
“I’m not fucking around.” Jack was close enough that Gabriel had to tilt his head back, just a little. His expression was unyielding. “That’s what you want, right? To take it out on me?”
Gabriel wanted a lot of things. His memories back, his years back, his leadership back. I want I want I want.
“Morrison,” he said, in warning.
“To bend me over your desk like nobody’s business?” Jack was closer still. Every sleepless night, every missed meal was catching up with Gabriel now. Weak, both his hands gripped the desk. “Think I can’t handle being roughed up a bit since I’m sleeping with politicians now?”
Jack’s anger had always been quiet, awkward. When he was angry, he was proud. It was the kind of angry that made him open, exposed, vulnerable. It was the kind of angry that was only reserved for Gabriel. “Is that what you think about when you touch yourself? My mouth around an expensive cock?”
This was what they had been reduced to, cock-teasing and hurting. Gabriel spoke between clenched teeth. “Morrison, I swear to fucking God-”
Jack was stood between his thighs and Gabriel’s position gave Jack height. Gabriel was in his shadow now (order restored.) Jack’s voice dipped, almost gentle. “But no, you were always too possessive for that. You’re a territorial man, Gabe. You can’t handle anyone having me and me having your position. What makes you better than the men you imagine me with, huh?”
And Jack’s calmness had always, always pissed Gabriel off. That light tone made Gabriel consider putting his hands around Jack’s neck but he knew it would amount to nothing but a few bruises (though they would at the very least look meanly pretty.) Jack would trust him because that’s just who he was. Trusting, naïve, pathetically good.
Gabriel pushed himself off the desk to stand at full height and they were boot to boot, chests brushing every time they exhaled. They were breathing harder than normal. A single finger tucked under the chain of Jack’s dog-tags, hot against the coolness of Jack’s skin. They complemented each other in that way. Gabriel smiled like a knife, this time to cut Jack. “And what does it say about you if you take it from every single one of us, Boy Scout?”
Jack’s mouth always did bleed easy. “Fuck me, Gabe.”
Gabriel tugged the chain and Jack obeyed like a trained dog. The thought pissed Gabriel off. Jack Morrison had done nothing but prove him right and when Gabriel cupped the back of Jack’s neck and brought their lips together, Gabriel was proving Jack right too. You’re a territorial man, Gabe. Gabriel bit Jack’s mouth before he kissed it.
And yet the kiss was as angry as they were. Jack’s mouth was hard, stubborn as if he didn’t want to be kissed at all and Gabriel made a frustrated noise, wild and low in his throat, letting go of the dog-tags, ready to kick the man out of his office and break the potted plant for good measure. Then Jack caught his hand and before Gabriel could break it because fuck his sentimentality, he pressed it to his neck. Hands wrapped around it like a necklace, a choker. A gift, an offering. Jack’s lips parted.
Jack’s mouth was hot and gloriously, terribly pliant. Gabriel growled against it again, his thumb pressed hard against Jack’s pulse because this was no better. He wasn’t a politician or a journalist. He wasn’t a stranger in a tie, chewing on the end of a pen and batting eyelashes like a love-struck teen. And yet his question was just the same. So, Jack… what really makes you tick?
Experimentally, Gabriel tightened the hands around Jack’s neck. It wouldn’t hurt, it wouldn’t even leave a bruise yet, but it was purposeful.
Gabriel’s hands were brown and scarred, like the rest of him. He remembered a night where Jack had pressed against his back, kissing his bare shoulder, still high and sweet from being with Gabriel as if it was just that simple. A finger traced a scar, a lightning bolt in the dark expanse of sky of Gabriel’s back. Gabriel’s eyes had been closed but he had rolled them all the same, knowing what was coming. Jack had always been cliché as shit. Before you ask, I’m not tellin’ you when, where and how I got every one of my damn scars. I wanna actually sleep tonight and- fucking hell, cabron. Get your mouth off of ‘em. Cheeks still flushed, Jack had grinned when Gabriel turned to glare at him, a mix of embarrassed and affectionate and a little hot, Gabriel would admit that much even when Jack sounded ridiculous saying, I bet I could convince you otherwise. He had sighed, rolled over onto Jack and kissed him. Jack kissed back, confused, unsure if he had won or was being distracted but soon he wouldn’t care. A bit of both then. Gabriel hadn’t been interested in opening up old wounds. He didn’t like popping stitches. And yet he had fucked Jack into the mattress that he had come to refer as ours in the slow, hard way that Jack would call making love, nails dragging across Gabriel’s back so hard they drew blood. New scars, Gabriel had said after, once he was settled at Jack’s side again. His mouth had tilted up in a small satisfied, spent smirk. You don’t have to ask about those. Jack, eyes closed, had called him an asshole and they had fallen asleep with Gabriel under Jack’s fingernails. Bloody. What kind of love was that?
Jack had the kind of pale skin where veins were prominent if you looked close enough, less lightening and more rivers. Fire burned at contact. Gabriel rolled his hips against Jack’s and Jack gasped for breath, drowning. And yet he wasn’t even trying to swim.
What makes you better than the men you imagine me with, huh? He didn’t want Overwatch’s strike commander to give easy. He wanted more than Jack to just take it.
Pushing a thigh between Jack’s legs, Gabriel tilted his head back, feeling Jack swallow under his fingers, watching his eyelashes flutter shut as if finding peace, until he squeezed tighter. Jack made a choking sound, waves crashing to shore, music to Gabriel’s ears, and his hands pushed Gabriel’s shirt up to grab at his waist. Gabriel pressed tiny kisses to the edge of Jack’s open mouth, taunting. C’mon, Jack like he had done the night Jack left marks on his back.
Gabriel only let him go when he felt fingernails.
Just enough to hurt, just enough to mark. Gabriel didn’t say a word, just steered Jack closer to the desk, let him lean against it, catching his breath. Gabriel stood in front of him, inspecting damage. There was so much bullshit poetry Gabriel could make up about simple science, blood vessels close to the surface of the skin. Pink mouth, pink cheeks, pink neck. During the SEP, Gabriel and Jack had held each other together on the bad nights, pinkies tied, legs tangled, questions and answers weaving into a careful mutual understanding between their terrible changing bodies. Jack was coming down from a particularly nasty dose, slipping under, and Gabriel’s voice was an anchor. Gabriel had confessed he really loved the colour pink, don’t you dare fuckin’ laugh, pendejo, I have three sisters but Jack laughed anyway. Without malice, weak and soft. Gabriel had never heard a more wonderful sound. He had felt relief and something else, blooming like cherry blossoms in April but at the pit of his stomach, spreading like the sweet, delicate colour across Jack’s cheeks. Gabriel would have done anything to make Jack feel something wholly.
Looking at the shape of his fingers imprinted onto Jack’s neck, Gabriel found he still would. Anything at all.
They were still close, still breathing hard, but their positions were reversed as if they couldn’t help themselves. Their bodies moved around each other, not mirroring but contrasting. Like a fight or a dance. One had to lead, one had to win.
Gabriel ran a hand through his hair, short but he needed a haircut. Jack, whose hair took nothing short of styling in front of a tiny wall mirror on a morning, had always liked the way Gabriel’s hair curled once it found the leverage of length. Gabriel hated anything Jack liked, on principle (though his buzzcut was practical too.)
Jack was looking back at him now, breathing shallower. His eyelashes were a touch darker, sheltering unshed tears. Gabriel forced himself not to lower his gaze to Jack’s mouth, open until Jack realised it was wet, slick with saliva. Licking his lips wouldn’t help. Gabriel couldn’t understand why Jack would do that.
“What?” Gabriel said eventually because it was unlike Jack not to break the silence. “Want me to offer you a glass of water too?”
Jack leaned in to kiss Gabriel. That’s why. It was the worst kind of kiss. Gentle, brimming with sentimentality. It said they knew each other, knew each other’s mouths intimately, know how to catch the other’s lips and hook, line and sinker. It was as natural as breathing except Jack knew that this kiss would make Gabriel lose his breath, his head more than anything else. Gabriel slotted their hips together again, trying to keep some resemblance of control. You can kiss me but I’ll fuck you, every grind said. A contrast. Soft and hard. Slow and fast. Somewhere along the line, they had begun to fight different fights, dance different dances.
But Gabriel kissed back. Some things never changed.
It deepened too fast. Of course it did. They were always out of their depth, pushing each other under. Anchors weren’t meant for humans. Papers fell from the desk but Jack was unconcerned and that made Gabriel feel good about himself. He ran his hands from Jack’s knees to his waist upwards, shoving Jack’s shirt up to run his hands over the muscles on his torso, up up up with the intention of taking it off until Jack made a sound around Gabriel’s tongue that didn’t sound encouraging. Gabriel pulled back. It should have felt like coming up for air.
Jack lifted a hand to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand, smarter this time but he shook a little. When Gabriel raised an eyebrow in question and Jack stammered over words like a recruit. “Sorry, that wasn’t-”
“If you’re getting blue balls right now, Morrison, I swear I’ll shoot your dick off,” Gabriel said flatly.
“No, that’s not it.” Jack frowned, not as severely as he usually did but his forehead furrowed. Gabriel told himself it wasn’t his job to smooth those wrinkles. Ana had told him plenty of times that he himself was looking like a date (the fruit, she would clarify, and even then, that would be better company over candlelight than you, Reyes. Ha! Would taste sweeter too) and Gabriel would tell her to give it a few years. White people didn’t age as gracefully. And a few years they had given. Ana still smiled at the joke now but it was faraway, her deadly eyes tired, her crow’s feet drooping. There had been a time when it was the three of them, saving the world. They’d hear Jack’s voice in their head, saying something embarrassing like Gabe tastes just fine. Where there had been once fond groans and laughter, there was now silence. Ana was too proud to say she missed them.
Jack smiled suddenly, hiding it behind his hand sheepishly and that was so much worse. Gabriel hated the sight, Jack sat on his desk, ass on papers stamped with the United Nations emblem, shirt pushed up his midriff and acting coy, pink cheeks and all. He was going to say something stupid. He said, “I just- I wanted to suck you off first.”
There it was. “I hope you choke.”
Jack blinked innocently. “From your hands or on your cock?”
Gabriel had been Jack’s first. Two years in the military and Jack had realised he was attracted to men in communal showers like something out of a coming of age story. Yet he’d never done anything about it. Lead men? Sure. Fuck them? Jack Morrison had been hopeless. Though self-control was a training itself. He lost it with Gabriel who forgot that just like a coming of age story, he’d corrupted the blond-haired, blue-eyed innocent. Ha. Gabriel had taught Jack how to go down on his fellow soldier, hand mussing up his perfectly styled fair hair and voice low with encouragements in English and endearments in Spanish so no one realised that it was Gabriel who had gone under first even when Jack was the one choking.
This was what Gabriel wanted, right? Jack Morrison, breathing and talking back?
He didn’t answer but Jack knew Gabriel and his wide variety of multi-purpose sighs. This one was complying, a little shaky with desire, a little exasperated with fondness because Jack still grinned at the sound. He could win a war stone faced but there was no victory quite like sucking dick. Gabriel turned away.
“Shit, Gabe.” Jack chuckled quietly, sounding embarrassed. “Too far?”
Again, Gabriel didn’t answer, just moved towards the back of his desk. He heard Jack lumber to his feet awkwardly, felt his eyes on him, heard the soft intake of breath when Gabriel pulled off his jacket and tossed it over the back of his seat. Then he sat down, facing Jack. Permission was in his stance, sat back, legs spread, elbows on the arm rests and a scarred cheek against a scarred fist. Impatience was in his expression.
Jack didn’t need to be told twice. Like a dog, an overexcited puppy even, he followed Gabriel, ducking behind the desk. Gabriel watched him drop to his knees and it was the wrong time to think about God and the church back home. It was not the time to remember a choir singing about a saviour, not when Jack was pushing up his shirt and unzipping his pants. Still, Gabriel wondered if the humble building had survived the crisis that had hit Los Angeles and killed his family. He wondered what they would think of him now, sitting in an office built upon the bones of the people he broke, a blond-haired, blue-eyed man between his legs and not a single prayer on his lips, not until his pants were around his knees and Jack had his mouth stretched around the head of his erection.
“Dios mio,” Gabriel murmured, disbelieving. Jack looked up at him through his eyelashes. Goddamn his blue eyes. Goddamn his pretty mouth. That was Gabriel’s relationship with God, cursing and damning and in vain. But you couldn’t kill God if you didn’t kill man first.
And here man was. There was a sick satisfaction in watching Jack struggle to accommodate the size of him, a moment where twisted affection seized Gabriel entirely and he reached out to cup Jack’s jaw. He said it out loud this time. “C’mon, Jack.”
Jack stilled at his name, at the turned-on, teasing lilt of it. Gabriel imagined, if he were to press the tip of his boot to Jack’s crotch, he would have felt Jack’s cock twitch under it. Then Jack’s eyelashes fluttered and Gabriel felt him hallow his cheeks under his palm, remembering. Gabriel knew Jack’s mouth, pink lips stretched generously around Gabriel’s thickness, jaw slacking so he could take Gabriel in further than anyone else ever could just as Jack knew this. Gabriel’s hand moved from Jack’s cheek to his hair, knotting in it, holding Jack where he was for a moment, Gabriel’s dick as deep as it could go down his throat and unconscious tears welling in the corner of half-lidded eyes. Gabriel bit his lip, if only not to tell Jack how beautiful he looked like this, starry-eyed and mouth-sored. Old habits died harder.
Then Jack, being Jack, took the moment to nuzzle his face against the dark patch of curls before skin met muscle, the corner of his eyes suggesting a smile and Gabriel laughed and swore in the same breath. He let Jack go, chest tight.
Jack Morrison would be the death of him.
Gabriel had taught Jack how to suck cock, how to take it without choking, how to blow a man’s mind in every aspect of the word but skill only took a man so far. From the first time Jack had dropped to his knees for Gabriel (too easy, at least buy me dinner first, jeez), Jack had been a natural. He loved it. Gabriel had never met anyone who gave blowjobs with as much enthusiasm as they received them and that much hadn’t changed.
Jack’s eyes closed as he focused, holding himself up on Gabriel’s thighs as he dragged his mouth off Gabriel’s dick. Slow, achingly so. Gabriel regretted letting go off Jack’s hair. He stopped at the tip to suck loudly and Gabriel almost broke an armrest. He was breathing heavier, jaw clenched, body locking, holding back any sound between tight teeth but then Jack pressed his tongue to the slit and moaned softly, mouth still full of Gabriel, and Gabriel cursed, “God fucking damn.”
Jack put his heart into sucking cock. He took Gabriel wholly again, barely faster but wetter and a whole lot louder. His hands, before politely resting on Gabriel’s legs, moved, following his mouth, up then down then up then down. There were scars on Gabriel’s thighs too. No longer static, not just an electric spark. Gabriel felt hell, hot across his cheeks, at the back of his neck and the bottom of the pit at the base of his stomach.
Gabriel couldn’t stand it, the sound of Jack sucking him off, wet and sloppy with fervour, loud in the tiny, dark office. Gabriel’s deep, low groans joined Jack’s soft, muffled whines, if only to cover the way the sound, the feeling of Jack’s moans around Gabriel’s dick made his back arch of the chair, further into Jack’s mouth, pathetically desperate. Jack’s hands pressed against his hips but not fast enough. The super soldier choked and Gabriel laughed breathlessly, trailing off when Jack looked up at him, meeting Gabriel’s narrowed gaze with a dangerous spark in his eyes, like the sun catching on the sea. Then he lowered his eyes, head once more and- oh. “God. Jack.” Here’s your choir, here’s your God. Gabriel sang his prayers.
In hindsight, Gabriel should have expected it. This was Overwatch. Closing the door didn’t help.
He was lucky that Jack had paused, looking at Gabriel with a question in his eyes. Now? Gabriel was lucky because he was about to do something dumb like cup Jack’s cheek and pull him off his cock to say no, inside you. Jack would have kissed him and Gabriel would indulge in kissing him back for a measured moment before pushing him off, complaining about the taste of himself on Jack’s tongue. But they both heard footsteps, both the product of enhancement. Gabriel recognised them, out of tune and lumbering but no doubt, it was hard to miss the clank of spurs. He pushed Jack off him and swore colourfully in two tongues.
McCree had a death wish. He didn’t even knock. Gabriel had just about managed to tuck himself into his pants, unzipped, and his legs under the desk, concealing what his clothes couldn’t of his hard-on though it meant his knee pressed into Jack who was currently hiding there. What a shame.
McCree opened the doorway, stumbling a little before stilling, blinking as if he wasn’t sure how he ended up here. Gabriel’s eyes narrowed on his wavering form and the bulk on his side under his still bloody shirt. Mercy had bandaged him up, alright. She probably gave him double the dosage of painkillers in hope to knock him out but Jesse McCree was one stubborn motherfucker. She would be lucky if it had kept him even remotely quiet during the stitching up process.
Gabriel spoke before McCree could gather his bearings. “The fuck do you want?”
McCree stared at him for a moment and Gabriel felt sweat gather at the back of his neck and Jack’s face against his inner thigh, his hand on the other leg, rubbing up and down in a motion that Gabriel wasn’t sure was meant to be comforting or provoking. He felt pathetically flushed and he called McCree an idiot but he wasn’t on Blackwatch for nothing. He was far smarter than any of them gave him credit for. You had to be perceptive to have that kind of aim.
But then he said, “You have my hat” solemnly and Gabriel thought: God bless this fool and God bless Mercy for what she knocked him up with. McCree’s stupid cowboy hat was on his head.
Gabriel’s victory was short lived. Underneath the desk, Jack had managed to get his hand between Gabriel’s legs and around his cock. Gabriel could have closed his legs, severely tempted to crush Jack’s skull between his thighs, but then Jack pressed a kiss to his dick and Gabriel couldn’t think. He answered between clenched teeth. “No, bobo. It’s on your goddamn head.”
Whilst McCree patted his head and came to the shocking realisation that his hat was indeed on it, Jack was hiding under Gabriel’s desk, between Gabriel’s legs, kissing Gabriel’s dick like this was the time or the place. Gabriel gripped the desk edge and remembered every prayer he had forgotten.
“Oh. Thank the good lord.” McCree took it off his head to clutch it to his chest. There were tears in the cowboy’s eyes and Gabriel rolled his own before he had to close them briefly because Jack had moved on to licking. McCree’s accent was more pronounced when he wasn’t entirely sober, even if it was just a painkiller high, and it was more annoying than ever. “I jus’ wanna thank ya, boss. Ya know, for savin’ my hide back there an’ for lookin’ after-”
“Get the hell out of my office, kid.”
Jack pressed the flat of his tongue at the tip before his mouth took Gabriel in again and Gabriel felt wood splinter under his fingertips. McCree straightened up and put his hat back on his head, huffing. “Okay, okay, I’m goin’- and jeez, enough with the kid thing. What next? Y’gonna tell me to beat it?”
Jack was sucking. He could do it silently if he wanted to. Gabriel gave McCree the glare that had taught new recruits the status quo and caused a few to piss their pants. “I’ll beat you.”
“Alright, boss.” Sober enough to have at least a little sense, high enough to not care all that much. McCree saluted lazily but thankfully, backed out of the office, closing the door behind him because his ol’ ma taught him some manners before she kicked the bucket probably. Gabriel heard him retreat down the hallway and a gruff and terrible imitation of Gabriel’s voice as he said, “Get off my lawn.”
Then he was gone and Jack came off his dick with an obnoxiously loud pop that echoed in the office which was quiet once again otherwise, with the exception of Gabriel’s laboured breathing. Now, Jack tilted his head and rested a hot cheek against Gabriel’s thigh. Like a dog. Gabriel’s clothes were untucked again, his erection still going strong, despite being faced with McCree’s drawl (though Jack, at least, deserved credit for helping.) He stared down at Jack, disbelieving. His blond hair was dishevelled and his lips red, slick with saliva. He looked way too pleased with himself. Gabriel had to resist the urge to pull him up and kiss him for no reason.
Instead, he said, “Did that kill your mood?”
Jack didn’t bite. “You should lock the door.”
“Scared of gettin’ caught, Boy Scout?”
“I think you’ve traumatised the kid enough.” When Gabriel didn’t move, Jack rolled his eyes and pushed Gabriel’s chair back a little. “I’ll do it then.”
Gabriel let him, Jack’s words stinging like a slap, his own sticking in his throat. I did the best I could, like a struggling single parent. That was what it felt like, going to a prison as if he was picking up his son from a pathetic night of underage drinking and not a member of a punkass gang specialised in weapons dealing in the wild, wild west. They put him in the room and Gabriel wasn’t gentle. It took the kid less than a minute to piss him off. He’d never liked people that talked too much.
When McCree was flat on the ground, Gabriel lowered himself beside his head, tilting his own, unsmiling. We’re born losers, you and I, chiquillo.
McCree’s lip was bust and when he smiled, a line of blood trickled down his chin. No can do, amigo. Ma never got round to teaching me proper Spanish. Scared I’d get shot.
Gabriel had stilled at that then got up smoothly to cover it up. He put the tip of his boot under McCree’s chin but didn’t kick, not intending to hurt, just inspect. The kid would have a nasty black eye. It was probably not enough. He wondered, briefly, where McCree’s mother was.
Not a word, huh? was all Gabriel said in response, not that it mattered. As long as his skin glowed under the sun, they’d make a bad man out of him but Gabriel didn’t tell him that. He was too young to believe it, still having misplaced faith in his boys, the bastards that sold him out. A good kid but a dumb man. One look at his pathetic cowboy hat and his confiscated guns and his skin (dead, that’s where his mother was) and Gabriel was suddenly listening to Jack Morrison. We need this kid, Reyes. Gabriel knew how to make sure Jesse McCree joined Blackwatch and it included instilling the fear of God on the kid. Tough love. A black eye was definitely not enough.
Gabriel hadn’t been the first to join the military in his family but he had been the first to not let the world stop him from climbing, even when steps crumbled and the sky fell. Becoming senior officer had been the proudest day of his life. He went home in his uniform and his sisters teased him and his mother had held his face, tears welling at the corner of her big, beautiful brown eyes. I’m so proud of you, mijo. He’d always thought brown eyes were his favourite. You look like a hero.
Except he didn’t wear the uniform anymore and he couldn’t tell the sky from the land (the sea) and the only second chance either of them was given was second-rate. It was the best people like them got. He told himself that this would be his first and last good deed, a favour to a distant man he kept at arms-length if only to be ready to punch him at any given time. He wasn’t playing babysitter in Blackwatch.
And yet Gabriel was in charge of some of the youngest and deadliest criminals, the dirty little secrets of people with too much power, ashamed of the children of war they had bred. And yet something about the way McCree had said friend in his mother tongue made Gabriel think, no, this kid needs us.
The first word Gabriel taught McCree was easy. Idiota. Idiot.
The sound of the lock twisting brought Gabriel back to the present. Jack turned, pleased like he always was about the little things. Jack Morrison was good at cleaning up Gabriel’s mess. He would never understand that people like Gabriel couldn’t ever be clean, no matter how hard they tried. Look where it got him, a dark office with dying plants.
Jack noticed the air between them change and stared back at Gabriel, searching his face for rejection, dismissal, maliciousness. Gabriel waited too but all he felt was the throbbing of his still hard erection and tiredness, the weight of days of negligence to self. For a little while, Gabriel wished he could turn off his mind, forget the politics of kissing Jack Morrison. Be selfish. He sat back on his office chair with his shirt pushed up and pants unzipped, eyes on Jack like a boss calling in an employee, like he was seeing a guest for an informal interview. Casual. Had they ever been?
Jack appeared to have the same thought, eyes drifting lower. He was still wearing all his clothes, overdressed. Gabriel could see his erect nipples through his shirt, as he had seen the dog-tags before Gabriel tugged them out, now dangling free around his neck. Jack was visibly hard even through his thick combat pants. Gabriel gained some satisfaction from how his underwear was probably giving him hell but mostly, the sight of Jack confused and turned on all at once, flushed and aching, made Gabriel’s own cock throb.
Even in a constant state of being pissed off at Jack Morrison, Gabriel still wanted to fuck him.
“What’re you waiting for?” Gabriel had meant to sound irritated but it came out gruff with desire. “Get the hell over here, Morrison.”
Gabriel wished Jack didn’t look so damn happy.
Jack hurried back to him and Gabriel was just as impatient, pushing up when Jack leant down. When Jack opened his mouth, Gabriel made a low sound, uncaring of the taste of himself because they had passed that point. Jack was kissing like he gave blowjobs, sloppy but adoring. Wet. It shouldn’t have made Gabriel burn as much as he did. It was a relief when Jack pulled back to breathe, tugging Gabriel’s shirt over his head. It dropped to the floor and cool hands ran over scars, dips, curves. Jack was grinding into his lap as he kissed his jaw, neck, lower- Gabriel hissed and caught the back of Jack’s head, threading into his fine, fair hair. Jack was an embarrassing lover and Gabriel forgot quite how much until he had his mouth around Gabriel’s nipple.
Gabriel pushed him off and back. Jack let him, lifting his arms obediently when Gabriel ran his hands down Jack’s sides, catching the hem of his shirt. As he pulled it off, it got tangled with the dog-tags around Jack’s neck. Gabriel swore, snapping the chain with a simple hook of his finger and tearing Jack’s shirt off his head and across the office. The clumsy desire made Jack laugh. Gabriel told him to shut up against his mouth, rising from his seat and pulling Jack along with him by the belt straps, fumbling with the button of his pants in the same breath.
Gabriel had a theory that the enhancement program hadn’t stopped at their military assets. He still believed that, seeing Jack naked. Gabriel pushed his pants off carelessly and it probably pained Jack not to fold them neatly. Gabriel had been ready to insult him for it but then his underwear come off and desire made Gabriel’s mouth dry, skin hot, blood pumping around his body like a forest fire. Jack moved them aside with his foot and then raised his head to look at Gabriel, completely buck ass nude and smiling a little bashfully like they were high school sweethearts after prom. Bullshit. Yet Gabriel couldn’t look away. Eyes to drown in but they wouldn’t put out the flames licking every part of Gabriel. He was burning whole. Jack was naked, his pale skin kinder to scars though Gabriel knew him well enough to be able to run his finger over them like terrible secrets, as though he was the one who inflicted them. Jack was pretty everywhere, infuriatingly well-proportioned like he had rolled out of an old teenage wet dream, a calendar back to back with swimmer bodies. There was no way it could all be natural. Wide set of his shoulders, every delicious curve of his muscular arms and legs, his defined torso, even the fine sprinkling of blond hair at his chest and then lower, a trail that led to his cock which was no exception to the pageant show. No dick had any right to look that pretty. Gabriel imagined his ancestors turning in their graves at how desire pooled at the bottom of his stomach at the sight of a white boy without some pants on. He couldn’t blame them. He hated himself plenty for it.
Jack reached out to help rid Gabriel off his pants, properly this time. Gabriel kicked his off without ceremony. Suddenly, he was done wasting time. They had wasted plenty. When Jack stilled at the sight of him, eyes drinking in his unashamed nakedness with particular attention on his lower half, Gabriel simply used that hesitation to kiss Jack again. It was the kind of kiss that only belonged in moments like this, naked and suggestive, Gabriel’s tongue fucking Jack’s mouth thoroughly. Every contact between their bodies burned like hell.
Jack pulled back abruptly when his ass met the desk again, hands at Gabriel’s chest to still him, voice breathless. “Wait, what are you-”
“What the hell does it look like, Boy Scout?” Gabriel interrupted impatiently. He sighed when Jack still looked confused. Here he was, Strike Commander Jack Morrison, unable to process the obvious plan of action. Roughly, Gabriel grabbed Jack’s hips and rolled his own against them. Jack’s head lolled back when he moaned. Gabriel, unable to help himself, smirked. “You asked me to fuck you, remember?”
“Oh.” Jack was reacting like a twenty year old. Surprise bubbling up like pink lemonade and flushing all over. Jack’s hands had moved to brace themselves against the desk behind him. A stray strand of hair fell over his forehead. He looked like something out of a vintage porn magazine. When he spoke, Gabriel couldn’t take his eyes off how his mouth formed the words. “I didn’t mean- I was going to-” he cut himself off. Jack even talked like he was sucking dick. Messy, earnest. Front page spread. It was worse when Gabriel couldn’t look away from those blue, blue eyes. “I wanted to make you come.”
Gabriel felt heat rise in his cheeks at Jack’s honest words and pushed him back a little. “Yeah, well, you will. Quit babblin’ and move your ass, Morrison. I need to get the lube for it.”
“You keep lube in your desk drawer?” Jack peered at him suspiciously but moved aside obediently so Gabriel could reach around him and open his desk drawer. “How many people have you fucked in here?”
Gabriel didn’t answer, fishing under even more paperwork, some winter gloves and a few packs of protein bars that he had forgotten about. It wasn’t that he actively kept lube in his storage but he was fairly certain he had thrown an unopened box in there after digging it up from a travel bag he had forgotten about- and there it was. He had probably been too ambitious. Condoms were in the first drawer which was easier access. He set both things on the desk and faced Jack again, keeping his face expressionless, and slapped Jack’s side in encouragement. “Turn around.”
Jack waited a second for an answer but then complied, bending over the desk. As soon as he did, Gabriel pressed over him, erection against his ass, and spoke, quiet, into Jack’s ear. “And no one – yet.” Jack made a satisfying sound, a gasp meeting a moan, and Gabriel moved back smoothly, as if he had never been there.
And stilled. He had Strike Commander Jack Morrison bent over his desk, anyone would look twice at that. And Gabriel did look. Back muscles, shoulders, the curve of Jack’s ass in the air so naturally. There was no argument, no resistance. It was everything Gabriel didn’t want and everything he did all at once.
Jack looked back over his shoulder, glaring prematurely until he saw Gabriel’s expression (and God knows what that was) and Gabriel stumbled over his own thoughts to recover, glare back. Too late. Jack’s face softened and it did wonders for his body. Squirming to get comfortable, leaning on an elbow, jaw in hand like a Venus painting.
“Gabe,” he said, in a different tone. He was saying Gabriel’s name too much.
Gabriel answered by popping open the lid of the lube and stubbornly pressing his lips together, as if he needed to focus, as if he couldn’t prep Jack with his eyes closed if he wanted to. When Jack opened his mouth, Gabriel pressed the tip of a slick finger into his opening, rewarding Gabriel with a sharp inhale.
“Easy now,” Gabriel said, other hand holding his hip as he eased his finger in further. “How long has it been?”
“None of your business,” Jack ground out. Gabriel laughed a single note, letting Jack get used to the stretch. Both of them were impatient now but Gabriel wasn’t the one with a finger up his ass. Or two. Jack was breathing loud and shaky. He shifted and papers rustled, harsh sounds. Jack tensed. “Wait- Gabe, are those-”
Gabriel curled his fingers and Jack broke off into a whine.
“What was that, Jack?” he asked innocently.
“Maybe next time.”
Jack didn’t respond and Gabriel tried not to think about it too much, focusing on opening Jack up. He could have done this with his eyes closed, yes, but Gabriel wanted to appreciate the sight, scissoring his fingers and watching Jack shudder. He couldn’t see Jack’s face but he must have been biting his lip to keep from crying out. He had always been embarrassingly loud. Gabriel used to love that. Even now, every breath meant something. Slower, faster, gentler, harder, more more more. Three fingers and Jack made one of those lovely choking sounds. It was a language you couldn’t forget no matter the length of silence. Gabriel didn’t think any amount of time could make him unlearn how Jack asked to be fucked when words escaped him.
Gabriel pulled his fingers out and Jack whined again. He was leaning his head on his folded arms, panting. Gabriel retrieved and put on a condom.
Jack had gone still, shoulders wide, the sight more than familiar. Wind chimes, the sea. He held Jack by the waist, pressing the tip of his dick between Jack’s ass cheeks, and asked, “Hey, Boy Scout. You ready?”
In answer, Jack grinded back against him. Accepting that as a yes, Gabriel grunted, gripped Jack at the hips tight enough to bruise and without fanfare, pushed into him. Simple desire. They both forgot how to breathe. Then they were gasping. That’s how the chemicals in their veins had felt when they stopped torturing their blood. Too much all at once. Gabriel could feel each bead of sweat sliding down his body, every muscle around his cock. Hot and tight. Slow, deep, until his front was against Jack’s back. Jack was making soft broken noises. Gabriel was breathing smoke into Jack’s neck.
Gabriel recovered first, the hands at Jack’s waist loosening and rubbing upwards, condescendingly gentle as if they hadn’t left bruises in the shape of a possessive grip. He lifted his head to kiss Jack’s shoulder. Jack let him, only exhaling sharply when he felt movement in him. Gabriel could have fucked him like this, sweet and plaint. But he didn’t want to.
Gabriel smiled. “Is that all you’ve got, Jack?”
He didn’t think Jack was physically able to answer even if he wanted to. Slowly, oh so slowly, Gabriel moved his hips back until only the tip of his dick was inside Jack. Gabriel waited, watching Jack’s shoulders lift and lower with every breath. He felt like his mind would explode with all he felt and all he wanted.
“C’mon, querido,” he said mockingly. Jack went completely still. It had been a long time since he’d called Jack anything endearing, much less in his mother tongue. Gabriel lifted a hand to stroke his hair, tugging a golden blond strand. Taunting. “You can do better than that.”
The endearment did it. Jack didn’t speak a word of Spanish but he knew. It was in Gabriel’s tone. Hot and teasing but familiar and heavy. Sounds were louder when they were like this, words echoed.
“Fuck.” Jack’s voice trembled. He lifted his head and tilted it back into Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel indulged him, amused, until Jack lifted his hips and pushed back onto Gabriel’s cock in one smooth motion. The hand stroking Jack’s hair, just short of aren’t you a good boy?, tightened, answering its own question. Jack’s shoulders shook lightly with laughter.
Gabriel wanted to fuck the living daylights of him.
He slapped Jack’s ass, not too gently, before thrusting back, just as unkindly. “Keep moving that ass of yours, Morrison.”
“Yes, sir,” Jack slurred, sounding only half sarcastic. Gabriel answered by meeting their hips again, too hard, too soon. Jack’s moans said he didn’t mind that much.
The rhythm was chaotic yet they found it together, meeting in the middle like they hadn’t for a long time. Gabriel’s thrusts were hard and fast and yet Jack could still take him deeply, knowing when to lift his ass, when to push back, when to tilt his head so Gabriel could kiss his neck, trembling when he felt teeth. Jack was dancing whilst Gabriel fucked him like a fight.
It wouldn’t last forever. History repeated itself. Jack was weakening. There was fire in Gabriel’s lungs but there was water in Jack’s bones. Gabriel pressed into fresh bruises, clinging to the perfect moment with unbearable selfishness. He didn’t want them to fall apart yet, not so fast. His voice was low as he said, “Don’t give up on me now, querido.”
“Gabe.” A moan that was somehow his name. Jack had never sounded so desperate. “Gabe, I can’t- I need you- I need-”
And if that didn’t make Gabriel feel something. I need you.
Jack hadn’t been wrong. Gabriel was a possessive man but Jack had always wanted to be taken completely. He did now. And Gabriel would do anything to make Jack feel something, wholly. Gabriel wanted to make Jack feel everything.
“Okay,” he said, slowing only to run his hand over the hair at the back of Jack’s head again, voice soft but he could blame that on his breathlessness. “Okay, mi corazon. I got you.”
Jack relaxed and it was like ever nerve on his body unravelled under Gabriel’s touch. Stress relief. Gabriel had to fuck it out, Jack had to have it fucked out. Why did they ever pretend otherwise? Spinning in the middle of a boxing ring, breaking barres with bare hands. Contrast. A perfect match, somehow.
Without warning, Gabriel pulled out, flipping Jack onto his back. More papers fell from the desk, large cherry blossoms bleached of their colour. Jack only had the time to say Gabriel’s name in question before Gabriel had his hand around Jack’s neck once more, pushing him back. Gabriel willed himself not to lose his focus, even at the sight of a flushed, fucked Jack Morrison under him, mouth a sweet circle of surprise and eyes glossy. A lot of people would kill for this. Fucking the Golden Boy that saved the world, holding him down and seeing his perfect face while doing so. When they had slept together for the first time, Jack had been sentimental about wanting to see Gabriel’s face and Gabriel had called him an idiot in two languages. Did he want to limp around training the next day? Then Gabriel had sighed and softer, said there would be plenty of time for that later.
There had been a time where the last thing Gabriel Reyes wanted was to hurt Jack Morrison.
Gabriel spat in his other hand then wrapped it around Jack’s cock. Jack arched into his touch, Gabriel’s name a chorus on his tongue until Gabriel was inside him again and only music spilled from his mouth. The only choir for soldiers. Rhythm didn’t matter when Gabriel was leading. He wasn’t interested in dancing around this.
“Look at me,” Gabriel commanded, pressing his fingers against Jack’s pulse when his eyes fluttered. Jack obeyed, looking back at him, his song wavering, choking around Gabriel’s name like a self-fulfilling prophecy. Gabriel’s lips tilted up, working Jack’s cock with an experienced hand. “Yeah? This good?”
He didn’t expect an answer. They were both so close; Gabriel wasn’t sure if he was shaking or if it was Jack. Jack stared back at Gabriel with wide eyes and a heaving chest. Even balls deep in him, Gabriel couldn’t resist provoking Jack. Is this what you really want?
Jack came, pretty as a picture, all over himself. Gabriel could have finished himself off to the sight. Back arched, mouth open, eyes closed, cum across the muscles at his stomach, a little splattered across his chest. Gabriel could have pulled out and used his hand and came over Jack and Jack would have let him, laid back on the paperwork scattering Gabriel’s desk, spent.
But then Jack pushed against Gabriel’s grip, breaking free because it was unsaid that they were both capable of that, and shoved himself up. He was bright eyed and wild and he was kissing Gabriel, hard and wet and messy, and the hand that was once at Jack’s throat was at the back of his head as Gabriel kissed him back.
Maybe people were too complicated. Maybe Jack would always be a mix of wanting and taking. Maybe he would never know what he wanted. Maybe this was it. Feeling something, wholly.
Gabriel was moving again, Jack’s fingernails digging into his shoulders and his words, his terrible, embarrassing, loving words gasped against Gabriel’s mouth. For once, Gabriel answered him, groaning sweet, senseless things (mi amor mi amor mi amor) as he fucked relentlessly into Jack. Jack’s hands were cradling his cheek, the back of his head, and now he was the one making Gabriel look at him, making him stumble over his words, his thoughts as the heat rose, all-consuming. But Gabriel wasn’t seeing red. The fire was blue. Nothing burned hotter. Gabriel came inside Jack.
This was the quietest they had ever been. Breathless, barely holding each other up. It had been a while, for both of them. Maybe they were getting old but if Gabriel was being honest with himself and scout’s honour, he was trying to be, he knew it was the satisfaction, the rightness that had them holding their breath now. They were enhanced soldiers and had taught their bodies to only be sated in the arms of the other. Bittersweet soulmates. The cum on Jack’s chest was smearing against Gabriel’s.
Jack winced when Gabriel pulled out. “Ah, hell.”
Gabriel preoccupied himself with disposing of the condom but even when he was picking up his jeans, Jack was unmoving, leaning against the desk, looking like sex and lost in thought. Gabriel threw Jack’s underwear at him. “Come on, cabron. I ain’t wiping your dried spunk off my desk tomorrow morning.”
Jack caught them, snapping out of his daze. He got up gingerly and put them on then searched for the rest of his clothes. Gabriel dressed with his back to Jack, tense. It wasn’t like Jack not to talk.
Gabriel was picking his shirt off the floor when Jack finally spoke out. “Hey, Gabe.”
“I know what that last one meant.”
Gabriel pulled his shirt over his head and snorted. “Cabron? Nice work, dumbass.”
“No.” Jack was quiet for a heartbeat. “Before that.”
Gabriel stopped, thought, realised. Shit.
Of course Jack would know my love.
He didn’t face him. No one had ever commended Gabriel for his maturity after all. “You should go.”
Jack’s tone was alarmed. “Gabe-”
“Don’t Gabe me, Morrison,” Gabriel interrupted, turning to glare at him. “You come into my office lookin’ for a fuck and expect us to what, cuddle after it? Lemme just clear the desk off the paperwork you wiped your dick with.”
Jack looked hopeless, hair a mess, mouth and neck bruised, shirt half untucked. Completely fucked. He opened his mouth but only said, pathetically, “I want us to talk.”
Gabriel rolled his eyes. His voice was dry with sarcasm. “Well, pull up a chair, buddy. That’s what an office is for, right?”
Jack bristled at the mimic and stood up straighter. Already, he was looking more like himself. This was probably a record. “Seriously? Is that how we’re doing this?”
“Doing what? You planning to make this a regular thing?” Gabriel turned away again to pick up fallen papers. He scrunched each into a tiny ball in his fist and then tossed them into the trash, landing on the used condom. He wanted Jack to stop talking. They were better when they didn’t talk about things. But Jack didn’t listen when it mattered.
“So we’re going to go back to fighting?” Frustrated, Jack was using his hands, trying to get Gabriel’s attention. He didn’t know what to do with them when he wasn’t holding a gun or a cock but who was Gabriel to judge? Neither did he. “Some vent sex and we’re set for the next couple of months?”
“Yup.” Gabriel popped the ‘p’ pleasantly but when he stared back at Jack, his gaze was hard. “Along with how you asked me to fuck you with that very intention.”
Jack’s eyes widened. Hitting the nail on the head. Suddenly, Gabriel’s hurt. Jack was stammering. “That’s not- why would you-”
Gabriel just watched him coolly. The fire was gone. He had felt too much all at once and now he felt detached. Like putting a gun to someone’s head. Eventually, you stopped feeling much at all. “You just didn’t expect to feel anything, did you?”
Jack’s mouth was open, as it had been so many times, but it was gaping in the worst way. Surprise. Jack was so good at it. Gabriel had turned him over, had become the sentimental one, and had seen the change in those baby blue eyes as it happened. The realisation.
Gabriel laughed humourlessly, a scoff really. “Forgot how weak you are for my cock, huh?”
As if he couldn’t help it, Jack flushed. Was he this terrible a liar to the public, to the men that had told him to discipline Gabriel in the only way a pretty face like him knew?
The office felt cold. Gabriel simply said, “Get out of my office, Morrison.”
Jack looked pained. Like kicking a damn puppy. Gabriel hated that. The perfect little Boy Scout. The world would make him feel bad for breaking his pretty little heart. Gabriel wanted to say that just like he was the first to fall in love, Jack Morrison had broken his heart first.
High flags and trumpets blaring. Overwatch were to be publicly recognised after they won the war, knighted with medals and more missions. Gabriel should have expected it. John Morrison, they called up. It took a moment for Gabriel to realise that it wasn’t him. It took a moment longer to realise that it was his Jack.
The first official Strike Commander. Gabriel looked at him and Jack’s eyes weren’t shocked. He was looking back at Gabriel, exposed. They hadn’t told Jack that they would announce it the world before they gave him a chance to say it in bed.
Guilt. That was how Jack looked at him then. That was how Jack looked at him now.
What makes you better than the men you imagine me with, huh? Jack would bend for Gabriel but Gabriel would break for Jack. Gabriel Reyes had broken himself for Jack Morrison.
Childishly, Gabriel wanted Jack to say something, deny it, get on his knees for a wholly different reason. The silence between them was like when Jack had gone up to the podium and the crowd had quietened to listen and Gabriel had prayed in the moment that Jack had took the time to inhale, prayed for his own name on Jack’s lips more than ever.
He wondered what else they said about Gabriel Reyes in the meetings he was no longer invited to. But no, they would be cleverer than that. They had pleased Jack’s hero pride once but now they indulged it. New tactics. Subtle touches, light jokes whispered into inclined ears. Seemingly harmless like Jack stood in front of the mirror those many years ago, eyes wide and smiling because it’s happening, Gabe. We’re changing. He wasn’t wrong. They had made sure Jack would never be wrong, never feel bad for standing at a podium and giving Gabriel a dark office.
Gabriel had told himself no more prayers yet here he was, wanting the same thing, for Jack to prove him wrong.
When Jack didn’t move, a deer caught in the headlights, Gabriel raised his voice, just a little. “Get the fuck out of my sight.”
Jack listened. Of course he did. Obedient to a fault. Gabriel wanted to laugh as the door closed behind him. Instead, he collapsed back on his chair. He couldn’t work out if the sex had helped him even physically. Gabriel was exhausted. Maybe he was getting old.
When he lifted his head from his hands, what little light streaming into the room reflected off his desk. The dog-tags with the broken chain, half hidden by some papers. Jack had forgotten about them.
They caught his eye. What now?
Gabriel still had reports to fill and he wondered if he could be bothered to find copies for the ones that were wrecked, one way or another. But hell, Gabriel was not above mailing back the United Nations paperwork with Strike Commander John “Jack” Morrison’s cum on it.
He stood up, pocketed the tags and retrieved an empty bottle from where he had tossed it, not quite reaching the bin. He didn’t make a habit of missing his shot. Maybe it was God. Maybe He knew that Gabriel would want to fill it using the water dispenser that was running lukewarm to water the potted plant. It looked familiar. Peace lily. What a name. Gabriel remembered his mother’s plants, a house full of them. Even if his mind was the middle of nowhere it grew with them, with the memory, piecing together notes of voices and wind chimes to create the laughter he needed to hear. He remembered Ecclesiastes 1:7 in his mother’s voice. He hadn’t forgotten it yet. All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full.
Gabriel didn’t think about eyes like the ocean. Plants died without water but for now, the sun peeking through the blinds of his office would be enough. It had to be.
And fire was certainly unwelcome here.