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Angus MacGyver could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he’d been on a mission that went perfectly. This… was not one of those missions. It had started out simple and wound up with him and Jack getting pinned down by a bunch of angry guys with M16s. That in itself wasn’t unusual, but the fact that this time it happened in an outdoor mall full of civilians in downtown Toronto made for a sticky situation.
He and Jack were holed up behind a row of concrete barricades with Jack returning fire where he could, but one handgun versus eight semi-automatic rifles wasn’t a winning match-up. Out of the corner of his eye, Mac saw movement, and it didn’t belong to one of the guys shooting at them—it was a little girl who’d stumbled into the midst of the fight. Civilians were running and screaming all over the place and the majority had lizard-brain instincts that told them to avoid the gunfire… but this was a kid.
Mac leapt over the barricades without conscious thought, ignoring how Jack swore at him and took a halfhearted swipe at his belt. He was close to the girl when he felt a bullet punch into his left shoulder, making him stumble and almost fall. He cursed under his breath, but adrenaline made it easier to ignore the pain that flooded his system and he grabbed the girl and dove behind the nearest pillar. He waited for Jack to give him cover before he moved again, all but throwing the girl into her mother’s arms before he vaulted back over the barricades.
He peeled his jacket away from the wound to take a closer look. “Shit,” he muttered, then louder so Jack could hear him over the gunfire: “I know what you’re gonna say, but I couldn’t let her die. Let me see if I can find some gasoline and I’ll make some molotovs to get rid of these assholes.”
Jack stared at him for a moment before another volley of bullets drew his attention away. “Hell no, you’re not going anywhere,” he said, firing at the bad guys again. “How bad is it?”
“It’s just a shoulder hit,” Mac replied, and he could hear something off in Jack’s voice but couldn’t put his finger on what. He prodded at the wound and winced. “The bullet’s still in there, but since I can still move my arm I think I’ll live.” He looked at the number of goons and did his usual mental tally of how many shots Jack had fired versus what he had left. The math wasn’t good. “Jack, I’ve gotta do something or we’re gonna get killed here.”
“Then you get outta here and I’ll hold them off,” was Jack’s clipped response.
Mac felt those words like a lightning bolt down his back, and he stared at Jack like he’d grown a second head. “Are you out of your mind? I’m not leaving you.” Thankfully there happened to be a balloon stand nearby, equipped with plenty of helium tanks. Ducking low to avoid getting shot again, Mac grabbed one of the tanks and dragged it over—it felt like it was half-full, which would work fine. “When I roll this at them, shoot it!”
He heaved the tank up over the barricades to get it going, and when Jack’s final bullet struck it, it exploded in a huge pressurized ball of flames that Mac tackled Jack to the pavement to avoid. The shooting stopped after the blast, which meant the bad guys were dead or at least knocked out.
Jack’s arm went around Mac and he rolled them over, so Mac was on the ground instead. “Are you okay?” he asked, frantically checking Mac for more injuries.
Mac had dreams where he was pinned underneath Jack sometimes, but they usually weren’t also filled with fire and death (usually). He cleared his throat and grabbed the front of Jack’s jacket with his good hand, wincing when the movement pulled his shoulder. “Think I could stand to lose this bullet, though.”
“Yeah, yeah, of course,” Jack said quietly, and he moved to help Mac stand.
Something was off. Jack freaking out over Mac getting shot was nothing new, but normally he’d be worried and try to lighten the mood with a joke, or maybe threaten to kill, bring back to life, and kill again the person who shot Mac, but this time… nothing. He was so serious and stoic that it made Mac worried too, just for a very different reason.
Jack dragged him outside to where the tac team and an ambulance were already waiting, but Mac grabbed Jack’s arm to stop him. “Jack, hey—you good?”
“Thanks to you and that big brain of yours I am,” Jack said, and he did all the right things, smiling and patting Mac’s good shoulder reassuringly. “Let’s get that shoulder taken care of, huh?”
They went to the nearest hospital, where Mac got the bullet pried out of his shoulder. He kept it, of course—he had a little collection at home, much to Jack’s chagrin—and was gifted with sutures and a sling to stabilize his arm. Between the hospital treatment room and the plane ride home, Mac noticed Jack was still acting strange—nothing big, just a tiny gesture here, a glance there, but Mac knew Jack better than anyone and he could tell something was wrong. He didn’t call him out on it, hoping Jack would maybe tell him what was bothering him… but that didn’t happen. He dropped Mac off at his house and didn’t even stay for a beer, the GTO roaring off into the night without so much as a goodbye.
~***~
The next morning, Mac drove himself to the Phoenix and went down to the lab to take a look at the bullet. It was his little ritual, he did it every time he got shot and managed to hang on to the projectile.
Bozer was working on something, and when he saw Mac he groaned theatrically. “Dude, Matty gave you a whole week off to recover and this is the first place you come?”
“You know me,” Mac said with a grin, “can’t stay away. I need to check one thing, then I’m gone.” He took the bullet out of the evidence bag he brought with him and threw it under the microscope, studying it from every angle… but no, that couldn’t be right. “Boze, can you come look at this?” he asked, because he was seeing things that weren’t there, he had to be. He tapped at the attached computer and pulled up Jack’s handgun from the Phoenix’s firearms database. “Look at those two images—is it me, or do those bullets look exactly the same?”
Bozer stared at the images for a moment, squinting his eyes a little before he nodded. “Yep, they’re the same. Why?”
Mac shut down the computer and put the bullet back in the bag. “No reason, just wanted a second opinion.”
He smiled at Bozer and made a hasty exit to the parking garage, the gears in his head turning. He didn’t have eidetic memory, not exactly, but he replayed the moment he got shot as best he could—including his positioning, the trajectory, and where the wound was on his body. He cursed himself for not figuring it out sooner, because now Jack’s odd behavior over the past twenty-four hours made so much more sense.
Mac wasn’t supposed to drive with his arm in a sling, so he took it off as soon as he got in his truck and headed for Jack’s place. He didn’t take a pain pill that morning because he knew he was going to be operating a vehicle and probably having a talk with Jack, so he gritted his teeth while he put the sling back on and went into Jack’s building. About five minutes after that, he was knocking on Jack’s door—he knew from checking the logs at work that Jack took vacation time, and that should’ve been another red flag. Nothing happened the first time, so Mac banged on Jack’s door again, louder than before. He had a key, obviously, but he also had the feeling barging in unannounced probably wouldn’t be the best idea.
Footsteps from the other side of the door and it swung open… revealing Jack, who stared at Mac with a slightly unfocused gaze, swaying a little. His eyes narrowed when he saw Mac. “Mac? What’re you doin’ here?” he asked, the words slurring together.
“Are you drunk?” Mac asked, even though it was a redundant question. He used his good arm and pushed by Jack, which was a lot easier to do than it should’ve been, and frowned when he saw the state of the apartment. Empty beer bottles and pizza boxes were everywhere, and some kind of war movie was on TV—Jack hated war movies since he’d basically lived in one, so Mac picked up the remote and shut it off before he turned to face him. “What the hell, man?”
Jack frowned back, titling his head to the side. “What?” He kicked the door closed and walked by Mac to grab an unfinished bottle of beer off the coffee table and take a swig. “Just… enjoyin’ my time off.”
“Oh yeah, you look like you’re having a great time,” Mac said, and sarcasm wasn’t his thing but Jack doing dumb shit tended to bring it out. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the bullet, hanging the bag at Jack’s eye level. “Does your time off have anything to do with this?”
Jack stared at the item in Mac’s hand and it was clear when he realized what it was because he was too drunk to control his reaction. His eyes widened and he winced, turning his gaze away, but apparently he planned on playing dumb: “That’s a bullet. What about it?”
“It’s the bullet that was in my shoulder,” Mac said, pinching it between his index finger and thumb. “And I know where it came from.” It was a statement of fact, not an accusation, and Mac dropped the bullet on the coffee table. He crossed his arms as best he could with the sling but couldn’t help a wince at the motion. “It was an accident, Jack.”
The look on Jack’s face shifted into a tormented expression that Mac had never seen before. “I shot you, Mac,” he said, voice quiet and self-loathing. “I fucking shot… you.” His voice cracked on the last word, his eyes full of pain.
Mac felt his heart crack too. “Yeah, but you didn’t mean to,” he said, stepping closer to Jack—only for Jack to step away, and Mac couldn’t stop his face from contorting. “Jack, hey, it’s okay.” He reached out with his good hand and grabbed Jack’s shoulder. “It’ll heal up and I’ll be fine.”
Jack yanked his shoulder out of Mac’s grip, taking another step away. “It’s not okay, Mac,” he insisted, sounding angry and looking it too. “I’m supposed to… protect you.” He pointed a finger at Mac. “And I hurt you instead.” Another swig from the bottle. “It was only a matter of time.”
Mac stepped in fast, closing the distance between them and knocking the beer bottle out of Jack’s hand. It thumped to the floor and rolled away, beer spilling out on the hardwood. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Mac demanded, his voice trembling a little bit, equal parts frustration and heartache. “You just figured someday you’d hurt me because that’s what you do?”
“Now you’re catching on,” Jack muttered, his eyes following the bottle. “That’s exactly what I do.” His gaze shifted back to Mac. “It’s what I’m best at, isn’t it? Jack Dalton, the killing machine.” He spread his arms and snorted out a laugh that didn’t sound like a laugh at all. “It’s truly a miracle your good ol’ pal Jack hasn’t accidentally snapped your neck or somethin’.” He sneered and swayed a little. “After all, hurting people is my jam, both with… my gun and my words.”
To say Mac was horrified by what Jack said would’ve been an understatement. He practically ripped his sling off and grabbed the front of Jack’s shirt in both hands. “Listen to me,” he said, blinking away the tears that formed in his eyes at the idea that Jack—who Mac had been in love with for way too long—thought of himself like that. “I am not afraid of you, and you would never hurt me. What happened yesterday was an accident, Jack, and I’m not going anywhere until you get that through your head.” His brain processed the rest of what Jack had said. “And what do you mean you hurt people with your words?”
“You should be afraid—any sane person would tell you to run if they knew what I was. And words… sometimes cut deeper than weapons. They’re great for keeping people away… or driving them away… or hurting them on purpose. You should know that first-hand.” Jack pointed his finger at Mac again, a piss-poor excuse for a grin on his face. “You think I didn’t see you flinch whenever I used your first name or any kind of nickname back in the Sandbox? I knew it bothered you.” He shrugged, a cruel smirk appearing on his face. “Kept doing it anyway, Angus.”
Mac ignored the little twinge in his belly when he heard Jack use his first name, because in this context it shouldn’t have made him feel the way it did. “That’s not going to work, Jack, because that’s not who you are. I might’ve thought you were an ass when we first met, but I know you. And I—” His voice broke, and he couldn’t believe he was doing this, but maybe he could shock some sense into Jack. “I love you, Jack. There’s nothing you can say that’s going to change that.”
“Right, best friends forever.” Jack snorted, grabbing Mac’s wrists and peeling his hands off his shirt. “Trust me, I could say plenty of things that would make you head for the hills.” He walked to a small cooler serving as a side table next to the couch and took out another beer. “Which is somethin’ you should be doin’ anyway. I put a bullet in you, why aren’t you begging Matty to get rid of me?”
Mac took a deep breath and shut his eyes, willing himself to keep his cool. Anger wouldn’t help the situation, but dammit if Jack wasn’t pushing him in that direction. “Because you didn’t want to put a bullet in me, Jack,” he replied slowly, and plucked the new bottle out of Jack’s hand. He debated it for a second before taking a swig for himself—no pain medication, after all. “I’m pretty sure if you had wanted to shoot me, I’d be dead. And you’re gonna have to try a lot harder to get rid of me.”
“I can do that,” Jack said quietly, reaching for the bottle, but Mac kept it out of his grasp and Jack was too uncoordinated to take it from him. “How about I tell you that you’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen? That your smile is like a ray of sunshine on a rainy day? That I fucking dream about kissing you?” The look on Jack’s face was raw and vulnerable. “Speaking of fucking, I dream about that too. About touching you… and doing so many things to you. With you.” When Mac stared at him with wide eyes, Jack let out a humorless chuckle. “See, I told you words were great to drive people away. Door’s that way.”
He turned on his heel and started to walk unsteadily toward his bedroom. Mac set down the bottle of beer on the coffee table, knocking the bullet to the floor. He reached out with his good hand and grabbed Jack’s elbow, spinning him back around. And before he could second guess himself or any of what Jack had said, Mac reeled Jack in for a kiss. He tasted mostly like beer and kissed back immediately, shoving his tongue between Mac’s lips and gripping his hips tightly.
But then, suddenly, Jack was (gently) pushing Mac away. “What… what the fuck are you doing?”
Mac’s hands were on Jack’s shoulders, and coincidentally, having something to rest his bad arm on made it hurt less. “Kissing you?” he guessed, licking his lips involuntarily. “Jack, what I said earlier—when I said I… I loved you, I didn’t mean it the way you thought I did.”
“You… you can’t be serious,” Jack breathed out. “You can’t possibly want… that, not with me.” He took his hands away but didn’t step back. “I’m… dangerous. A weapon. Nothing more.”
Mac hesitated for a split second before he moved one of his hands to frame Jack’s jaw. “Of course you’re dangerous,” he said softly, “but not to me. And you’re so much more than what you can do with a gun or a knife, just like I’m more than what I can do with… well, pretty much anything. You were the one who taught me that about myself, that I could be more than just my skill. I guess I never figured I’d have to teach you the same thing.”
To Mac’s relief, Jack didn’t pull away from his touch, but his eyes were shining with tears. “You’ve got zero self-preservation instincts, you should… be afraid. Shouldn’t let me do this.” Slowly, Jack rested his hands back on Mac’s hips. “You know, I can protect you from pretty much anything, but… I can’t protect you from this. Not unless you let me go. I’m not strong enough to do it myself.”
“I don’t want to let you go,” Mac said, and he stepped further into Jack’s space, so they were pressed together. “I’m never going to be afraid of you.” He leaned in close again, their lips almost touching as he held their eye contact. “And as for what I’ll let you do to me… there’s not a lot I’d say no to.”
Jack let out a whimper before he surged forward, crashing their lips together. The kiss was… messy and sloppy, Jack’s arms moving to wrap around Mac’s waist, one of his hands almost immediately sliding down to his ass, pressing them even closer together. Jack’s teeth nipped Mac’s lower lip and then his tongue was in Mac’s mouth again, exploring his palate as he hand squeezed Mac’s ass. His other hand was on Mac’s back, fingers digging into his skin through the material of his shirt.
Mac broke the kiss reluctantly, his heart twisting when Jack whimpered again and tried to chase his lips. “Hey, hey, easy,” he said, trying for soothing. It seemed to work, and the only other move he made was to hold Jack’s face in his hands. “I’m not going anywhere, and I love this, I really do—” the hand on his ass and the memory of Jack calling him by his first name sent a shiver down his spine “—but you’re pretty wasted, Jack. I don’t want to… I don’t want you to do anything you’ll regret in the morning.”
Jack frowned, his hand sliding into the back pocket of Mac’s jeans. “But… it’s you. Why would I regret you?”
He looked truly confused, and Mac swallowed harshly. The part of him that couldn’t believe this was happening was also afraid that once Jack was sober, he would want exactly none of this, but he’d never stoop as low as taking advantage of Jack’s drunken state. And he was still very drunk, that much was obvious from his clouded eyes and the slurring of his voice.
Mac forced himself to take a deep breath. “You might not, but I’m not going to sleep with you while you’re drunk, Jack—that’s a bad idea for a while bunch of reasons.” Reasons Mac was having a hard time remembering when Jack’s eyes watched his mouth while he talked. It was still pretty early in the evening, so he suggested an alternative: “We can order something that’s not pizza and watch Die Hard?”
And I can raid your bathroom and see if you have any leftover painkillers, Mac added mentally.
After staring for a moment, Jack took his hands off Mac’s body. “Fine.”
Not trusting Jack to walk on his own, Mac led him to the couch. Once sat down Mac bent down to pick up the sling he threw away when he needed both hands to try and smack some sense into Jack. He would find out if he succeeded in the morning once Jack was sober, but for now he seemed okay—at least he wasn’t spitting out self-loathing bullshit anymore. He put the sling back on and ran his good hand through his hair before he got on the phone and ordered some Chinese food. Then he found water instead of beer for Jack and made a detour to the bathroom, palming half a Vicodin and dry swallowing it before loping back to the couch.
He took off his boots and dropped on the couch beside Jack, picking up Jack’s arm and draping it around his own shoulders so Mac could snuggle into his side like he’d always wanted. Jack seemed surprised but didn’t protest, and Mac figured he might as well cuddle with Jack while it lasted, in case Jack told him to fuck off in the morning. With every minute, Mac being Mac, he convinced himself that while Jack might have some kind of feelings for him, it probably wasn’t as serious for him as it was for Mac—he never said he loved him back, after all.
Jack took a nap two scenes into Die Hard, which wasn’t a shock given how much he’d had to drink. The knock at the door from the delivery guy didn’t wake him, but Mac moving did, and that made something in him happy for a moment because that meant Jack still trusted him to have his back, like always. He paid for the food and brought it back to the couch, clearing away the empty bottles and pizza boxes in favor of white cartons with metal handles. Jack seemed a little more alert at the prospect of food, and Mac could feel the slight fuzziness of the Vicodin kicking in, his shoulder not aching nearly as much as it had before.
Jack didn’t say much while they ate, which was kind of unsettling because Jack usually never shut up. But then again, Mac couldn’t remember the last time Jack was that drunk, so he couldn’t exactly compare his behavior to anything else. Even though they were both quiet the silence wasn’t uncomfortable. There was one moment when Jack reached for the half-full bottle of beer standing on the table, but it seemed like a reflex, not a desire to get drunker; Mac was faster, grabbing the bottle and chuckling quietly when Jack pouted at him.
Once they finished eating, Mac settled against Jack’s side again, and before long, Jack was asleep again. Instead of trying to get him in bed, Mac industriously rearranged them so Jack was lying down on the couch with his head propped on the armrest, and Mac just sort of… laid down on top of him, head on his shoulder, their legs tangled together. Jack’s arm wrapped around him like a vise, but Mac didn’t mind—it gave his shoulder some support, since he had to toss the sling on the floor to lie down. He figured they’d stay like that until Jack woke up and wanted to rest in an actual bed… but Mac drifted off not long after cuddling up against Jack’s warmth.
~***~
The first thing Jack registered when he woke up was that breathing was not as easy as it was supposed to be. The second thing was that he had a massive headache, and the third thing was something tickling his cheek. Blinking his eyes open, he winced a little, but thankfully the blinds were pulled so the light wasn’t too bright… wait a second, why was he in his living room? The world was blurry, so he blinked again and confirmed that yes, he was lying on his couch instead of his bed… and he wasn’t fucking alone.
At first his brain was so sluggish it couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing. Shaggy blond hair was what was tickling his cheek, and Jack’s arm was draped over this person’s torso, their fingers linked together against his stomach. He knew those fingers and that golden hair probably better than his own—it was Mac lying on him, curled against his chest and still sound asleep.
Jack had no idea what to do with that information. They’d fallen asleep on the couch before, but never like that, and the way they were positioned couldn’t be accidental. He spotted the sling lying next to the couch, and suddenly it all came back to him: Mac got shot, Jack was the one who shot him… and Jack locked himself up in his apartment, drinking beer after beer and then there was a knock on his door… oh no.
Mac chose that moment to shift on top of him, pulling in a breath and stretching a little before he opened his eyes. Unlike Jack, Mac didn’t seem startled at all by their positioning, and he blinked up at Jack before smiling at him. “Morning,” he said, but when he took in the expression on Jack’s face that smile dimmed at the edges. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m sorry,” Jack whispered, horrified as he remembered everything he said the night before. Not only did he shoot Mac, he also told him some of his darkest secrets about who—about what Jack was. He felt like crying when he remembered telling Mac about the name-calling thing in the Sandbox, and then he actually called Mac by his first name, didn’t he? He really fucked up this time. “God, Mac, I’m so sorry.”
Mac’s eyebrows furrowed. He moved again, letting go of Jack’s hand in favor of flipping on his front, so it was easier to reach out and touch Jack’s face. “Hey, it’s okay,” he said. “There’s nothing for you to apologize for, Jack. We worked it out, remember?”
Jack shook his head, guilt and shame burning inside him like hellfire. “Not only did I fucking shoot you, I also said so many horrible—” He cut off, going wide-eyed when he remembered telling Mac about the dreams he’d had involving him. “Oh God, I’m so sorry—” He stopped talking again, because the next thing that happened… was that Mac had kissed him?
“It’s okay,” Mac said quietly when Jack’s expression froze with shock. “I get it, you had a lot to drink, and you—”
It took Jack a second to catch up, his mind stuck on the fact that Mac kissed him, not the other way around. It didn’t excuse any of the other shitty stuff he did, but it was enough to make him pause. “Wait, what?” he interjected, responding to his own derailed train of thought and Mac’s words… and how dejected he sounded. “I know I was pretty hammered, but… did you kiss me?”
“I did. After what you said, I just… I thought…” Mac wasn’t looking at him as he struggled to get out the words. “I’m sorry. I had a feeling it was just the alcohol talking, because why would you ever—”
Mac got cut off again, but this time it was by Jack grabbing his jaw to tilt his head up and kiss him. It was a chaste, closed-mouthed thing but it managed to covey a lot, because even though Jack felt like the biggest asshole after last night—like he didn’t deserve to touch Mac, let alone kiss him—there was no world in which Jack would stand by and let Mac think he only wanted to kiss him because he was wasted. When Jack pulled away, Mac was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression on his face, eyes flicking between Jack’s eyes and his lips. He looked so surprised and Jack cursed himself for making Mac doubt him.
“I don’t know if you can forgive all the shit I pulled last night,” Jack began, his voice shaking, “but there is no way in hell I’d ever kiss you just because I was drunk. I want to kiss you all the damn time, but I never…” He trailed off, thumb stroking gently at the smooth skin of Mac’s cheek. “That’s not something you should want, Mac.”
“Jack, what the hell are you talking about?” Mac asked, frowning. “There’s nothing to forgive. And… we’ve been through this already, you’re—why shouldn’t I want that?”
Jack was ready to air the same grievances he had yesterday, but when he opened his mouth to speak that wasn’t what came out. “I hurt you,” he said instead, the words small. “You were the one person, the one fucking person I swore I’d never hurt, that I’d get myself killed a thousand times over before I’d so much as give you a scratch… and it happened anyway.”
“It was an accident,” Mac said, fingers brushing Jack’s jaw as he stared into his eyes. “It’s not like you wanted to shoot me, right? You would never hurt me on purpose. If anything, this was my fault—I was the one that jumped in your line of fire, it was out of your control.”
Jack could see the logic of Mac’s argument better now that he was sober, but that didn’t mean he liked it. His hand moved on its own to card through Mac’s hair, and he found himself suppressing a sob when Mac leaned into his touch like it was the easiest thing in the world. “I don’t deserve you. Is this… is this something you really want? With me?”
Mac moved closer, so their faces were just an inch apart. “Jack, I love you. I’ve loved you and I’ve wanted you for… years now. No one else.” His blue eyes were shining with an intensity that took Jack’s breath away. “You deserve the world. And if you deserve the world, then you definitely deserve me.”
“I love you too,” Jack said, and soon as the words left his mouth Mac’s lips were on his.
His whole body leaned into the kiss like he wanted to devour Jack completely, and when he pulled back he didn’t go far, but what he said surprised the hell out of Jack: “You can call me Angus. If you want to.”
Jack stared at Mac, convinced he must’ve misheard him. “What?” His mind took him back to all the times he made fun of Mac’s name, and to last night, when he tried to push him away by using it. “But you… you hate it when people use your name.”
“No, I hate it when people who don’t know me use it, or when they use it to make fun of me,” Mac corrected. He still had a hand on Jack’s face, and he rolled his injured shoulder to work out some of the stiffness. “But you don’t do that—and no, I’m not counting last night. You were angry with yourself and you thought using it like that would make me leave. Well, it didn’t, and I… don’t mind it, coming from you.”
“I’m really, really sorry about yesterday,” Jack said quietly, wrapping his arms tightly around Mac’s waist. The affection in Mac’s gaze was almost too much. “I don’t feel like I deserve to use your name.”
“And I’m telling you, you do,” Mac replied, leaning in to press a kiss to Jack’s cheek. “If I’m okay with it, and it’s my name, then shouldn’t you be okay with it too?” And there was Mac’s goddamn logical mind rearing its head again.
He folded his arms on Jack’s chest and rested his chin on top of them, and he somehow managed to look so young and yet so worldly at the same time. Once again, Jack moved one of his hands to run it through Mac’s hair, tugging a lose strand behind his ear. Mac smiled at him, that wide smile that Jack realized he’d only ever seen directed at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back—he was so hopelessly in love it was ridiculous. Jack was a highly skilled operative, quite lethal, and yet he was reduced to a puddle because of this beautiful blond genius.
A beautiful blond genius that’s how many years younger than you again? A snide voice in Jack’s head reminded, and the smile on his face dimmed a little.
Mac was endlessly patient, studying Jack’s expression like he was trying to solve an equation or disarm a bomb. “What is it?” He brought up a hand to smooth away the lines creasing Jack’s forehead. “We’ve covered the fact that you shooting me was an accident, and that you can use my name… is it the age difference? Because I don’t care about that.”
Not for the first time that morning, Jack found himself staring at Mac, surprise all over his face. He couldn’t help but wonder if Mac could read his mind, because Mac might be a genius but that kind of precision was still freaky. “I’m… how did you even…”
“Because I know you, and I know how you think,” Mac said, answering the question Jack couldn’t articulate. “And no, I can’t read your mind—although denying it probably isn’t helping my case.” He sighed and blinked those pretty blue eyes at Jack. “But I’m serious. I don’t care about our age difference—I never have. I love you, Jack, and if that hasn’t changed in eight years, it isn’t gonna change in the next eight.”
And Jack… didn’t have it in him to fight it any longer. Using the hand he had in Mac’s hair, he pulled him into a kiss, shifting so he was lying flat on his back instead of leaning against the armrest. He pulled Mac down with him, their lips not parting, and Jack tightened his arm around Mac’s waist. Mac made an approving noise in the back of his throat, tongue darting out almost immediately to ghost over Jack’s lips. It was a no-brainer for Jack to let him in, their tongues sliding together, the taste of sleep and old Chinese food surprisingly easy to ignore. One of Mac’s hands was on Jack’s face, thumb skimming over his stubble, while the other wandered down Jack’s side. Long fingers slid down his side before hooking under the hem of Jack’s t-shirt so Mac could stroke the skin near his hip.
Jack couldn’t stop the shudder that went through his body at that touch and let out a quiet groan when Mac nipped at his bottom lip; in retaliation, Jack slid his hand down from Mac’s back, going lower until he was massaging Mac’s ass through his jeans. It was Mac’s turn to groan into the kiss, licking his way back into Jack’s mouth again before breaking away to kiss his cheek, his chin, and down his jaw to the side of his neck. He pressed a kiss to a patch of skin before dragging his teeth over it, smirking when he heard the sound Jack made in response.
Mac nipped at his pulse point and Jack squeezed his ass, taking his other hand out of Mac’s hair to tug Mac’s shirt out of his waistband. Then his fingers met Mac’s undershirt so Jack impatiently pulled at it until he could finally slip his hand under the material and run it against Mac’s smooth skin. It was similar to the way he held Mac the night before, and he recalled that Mac seemed to enjoy it… so he pressed his hand harder against Mac’s ass while digging his fingers into his lower back.
When Jack changed his grip so it was just as dominate and dirty as it was last night, Mac just… melted against him, any pretense of running the show gone, his lips kissing a fiery trail back up to Jack’s mouth. Once Mac’s lips were on his again Jack let out a small growl, biting down on Mac’s bottom lip before he rolled them so they were lying on their sides. He pressed his back against the couch and his hands on Mac’s ass and back were the only things keeping him from falling on the floor, but Jack’s grip was firm as he held Mac against him, devouring his mouth like there was no tomorrow.
The change in position allowed Mac’s hands to wander, and luckily his bad shoulder wasn’t the one pressed into the couch cushion. He draped that arm over Jack’s waist, his hand grazing the skin of his lower back before moving under the waistband of his jeans to grab his ass. The bad arm got folded up between them, but Mac got his hand under Jack’s shirt to feel up his abs. That drew a groan from Jack, especially when Mac dug his fingers into Jack’s ass cheek. It made something twist in Jack’s chest, that Mac trusted him completely not to let him fall.
Jack could feel that Mac was hard, and everything in general screamed that Mac was very on board with what they were doing… but he needed to make sure, because Mac had pushed him away the night before. Logically Jack knew that was because he was drunk off his ass, but still, he needed to know. Pulling away just a little bit, just enough to talk, Jack panted against Mac’s lips: “You’re sure about this?”
“Absolutely,” Mac said, breathless and elated, his pupils blown so wide that when he looked at Jack only a thin ring of blue was visible in his eyes. He grinned and pressed another kiss to Jack’s lips. “Maybe a bed would be good, though?”
“You know I never argue with your ideas.” Without loosening his grip on Mac, Jack sat up, tugging him on to his lap before standing up and taking Mac with him.
Mac gasped but his legs wrapped around Jack’s waist, and Jack couldn’t help smirking a little when Mac yanked him into another kiss. Careful not to trip, he headed for his bedroom, and luckily he knew his own apartment well enough that he didn’t walk them into anything but the bed. He sat down on the mattress with Mac in his lap, and it only took another moment of kissing before Mac’s hands were crawling underneath Jack’s shirt, his intent clear. So Jack leaned back enough to pull off his own shirt, and once that was done he started pressing kisses under Mac’s jaw while he worked on the buttons on Mac’s shirt. Mac tilted his head to give Jack more space, his hands moving to grip Jack’s shoulders, and after Jack got the buttons open he eased Mac’s shirt down his arms, chuckling when one of Mac’s wrists got tangled in a sleeve.
Jack pulled Mac’s undershirt over his head for him, and Mac was maybe a little too enthusiastic to get rid of it. He moved his bad shoulder quickly and hissed in pain, which brought Jack back to reality for a moment. “Shit, are you okay?”
Mac swore under his breath and felt at the dressing over his wound to see if there was blood underneath it. “I think so,” he said, smiling sheepishly. “I got excited.”
He put his hands on Jack’s face and pulled him in for another kiss, and it was even better since they were both shirtless. Jack ran his hands up and down Mac’s back, feeling smooth skin under his fingers and not missing the shiver that ran through Mac’s body. Mac kept one of his hands on Jack’s face while the other slowly slid down his chest, pausing at one of the many scars Jack had. That particular one was on his left side above his ribs, and Jack couldn’t help but moan softly when Mac’s thumb pressed down against it.
That moan made Mac suck Jack’s lower lip into his mouth and nibble on it before he used the hand he had on Jack’s body to push him flat on his back. He laid down on top of him, the hand on Jack’s face joining the other one so he could get Jack’s pants open, his whole body shuddering when Jack’s hands moved from his back down lower, Jack’s rough fingers sliding under his waistband to get to his ass for real. His hips thrusted down when Jack’s hands squeezed his ass, and he finally got Jack’s jeans open before starting on his own.
Finally, they were naked, and once Mac got Jack’s pants and underwear off he nudged Jack’s legs apart so he could fit between them. And once Jack realized what that meant—what Mac intended to do as his mouth latched on to that scar near Jack’s ribs and sucked hard—he was helpless to do anything but throw his head back and moan. Those lips kissed across Jack’s abs and moved lower, leaving bruises on both his hipbones before heading for the main event.
Mac gave Jack’s cock a lick from base to tip before wrapping his hand around his length so he could suck on the head. Then he took Jack in his mouth and winked at him before removing his hand and sinking lower in one swift motion, the head of Jack’s cock hitting the back of his throat. And Jack couldn’t look away from the absolutely sinful picture Mac made, pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock, sliding up and down once before he settled at the base and just… swallowed, the muscles in his throat clenching and fluttering and making Jack’s brain to turn mush.
It felt so good, too good… and one of his hands wandered into Mac’s hair, pushing it out of his face, and Mac made an obscene sound, the vibration shooting straight down Jack’s dick. Encouraged by that beautiful sound, Jack tangled his fingers in Mac’s hair and tugged lightly… and there was that sound again, Mac’s fingers digging into Jack’s hip where one of his hands was resting. Swallowing around Jack’s cock again, Mac started bobbing his head up and down, and Jack’s grip in his hair tightened before he moved his hand to the back of Mac’s neck to stop him.
“Baby, if… if you wanna make this last longer, you should probably get back up here,” Jack panted, whimpering when Mac looked up at him, blinking those gorgeous blue eyes.
Mac pulled off Jack’s cock with a wet sound, and just when Jack thought he’d seen everything that could possibly give him a heart attack, Mac crawled up his body to give him a kiss. “So what else did you have in mind?”
Jack had a problem forming words, and thinking in general. It was hard not to when Mac was lying on top of him, naked and absolutely sinful, his tongue lazily exploring Jack’s mouth. He wasn’t lying the night before when he’d said he dreamt about this, about being with Mac, and now that he had the chance to make his dreams come true his brain was overwhelmed in the best way. Slowly, he slid his hands down to Mac’s ass, squeezing it before letting his fingers slip into Mac’s ass crack.
“If you’d let me…” Jack muttered into Mac’s mouth, pressing two dry fingers against Mac’s entrance. “I want… I’d love to fuck you, baby.”
Mac’s whole body shuddered under Jack’s hands, and he nipped at Jack’s lower lip before pulling back to look at him with lust-drunk eyes. “I think that can be arranged,” he said, a debauched grin spreading on his face.
That expression alone would’ve been enough to send Jack into a tailspin if he wasn’t already there. The hand that wasn’t exploring around Mac’s entrance went to his bedside table and yanked open the drawer, fingers closing around lube and condoms that he hoped like hell weren’t expired. Forcing himself to concentrate, Jack removed his hand from Mac’s ass for a moment to pour some lube on his fingers. Setting the bottle aside, he moved his hand back to Mac’s ass, teasingly rubbing his hole before pushing one finger inside, his other arm circling Mac’s waist.
Mac let out a gasp against Jack’s cheek, tensing briefly before he melted against Jack and moaned when Jack started moving his finger in and out of his body. Mac’s fingers dug into Jack’s shoulders, his mouth open and panting against the side of Jack’s face, a broken little whine leaving his throat when Jack added a second finger, spreading them apart. Jack made the mistake of raising his head to look when Mac pushed up against the intrusion and almost came on the spot at the sight of his fingers slipping in and out of Mac’s ass to make room for something bigger.
“Please, Jack,” Mac whimpered. “Please.”
Hearing Mac begging like that made something twist inside Jack and he immediately added a third finger, Mac’s hips jerking as he desperately tried to fuck himself on Jack’s fingers. Everything was so intense: the way Mac felt around his fingers, the slide of Mac’s cock against Jack’s with every little jerk of his hips, the way Mac’s good hand was scrabbling at Jack’s neck, thumb pushing on his jaw to turn his head until their lips met. The kiss was messy and uncoordinated and Jack loved every second of it, loved that it was him making Mac fall apart like this.
“Jack, I’m ready,” Mac said somewhere in the vicinity of Jack’s chin, and made a high-pitched sound when Jack ran his thumb over his rim to be sure. “Please, just—here.” He tugged at Jack’s hip until Jack got the idea and sat up against the headboard, pulling Mac with him and almost died when Mac sat across his thighs with his back to him. “Do you… want a condom? I’m clean.”
“Fuck,” Jack groaned, taking a few deep breaths. “No, baby, I’m clean too. Good without it if you are.”
He saw Mac nod, so once he felt like he wasn’t going to come on the spot Jack wrapped an arm around Mac’s middle, and when Mac raised his hips Jack lined up his cock until the head was brushing against Mac’s hole. Without warning, Mac started sinking down, and Jack was mesmerized, watching his cock disappear inside Mac while also trying not to die. Once Mac took him in completely, he leaned back until he was resting against Jack’s chest, with his head on Jack’s shoulder. He trembled lightly all over, almost like he was cold, except they were both sweaty and warm with exertion.
The position was… intense, Jack realized belatedly, but it was Mac he was dealing with—intense was practically his middle name. Mac started taking in these little breaths through his nose and stared at the ceiling, blinking hard, his fingers clenching and unclenching against his thighs. Jack’s cock was more or less jammed up against his prostate, filling him up, and Jack buried his face in Mac’s neck, pressing gentle kisses against his skin. Jack wrapped both arms around Mac, slowing running one hand up and down Mac’s chest while the other slid down to his thigh, covering one of those restless hands with his own.
Mac turned his hand over to link their fingers together against his leg, and tentatively gave a little rock of his hips. That movement alone was enough to make Jack see stars, and the noise Mac made, squeezing Jack’s hand as his muscles clenched around his cock… Jack had to kiss him, awkward angle be damned. Mac rolled his hips down again and started riding him at a steady pace; kissing got uncomfortable after a moment so Jack broke away to attach his lips to Mac’s neck instead, making love with his mouth to every spot he could reach. The hand on Mac’s chest kept moving, thumb rubbing against one of Mac’s nipples before pressing against his gunshot scar.
That touch made Mac moan loudly and he brought his hips down harder, which in turn made Jack bite his shoulder. Remembering something from earlier, Jack slid his hand up Mac’s chest, over his neck and into his hair to tangle his fingers in it and tug, tiling Mac’s head backward and making him scream. So naturally Jack tugged a little harder to see what would happen—and what happened was Mac made a broken noise and twisted in his lap, cock sliding free as he grabbed Jack’s shoulders. He rolled them so Mac was flat on his back on the mattress and Jack loomed over him.
“Fuck me, Jack,” Mac pleaded, the intensity in his eyes almost unbearable to look at as he threw a leg around Jack’s waist.
Jack didn’t need to be told twice. He pushed back inside Mac, groaning when Mac’s other leg came up to join the first. He pulled his hips back almost entirely before slamming back in, setting up a brutal pace and making Mac moan underneath him. Those clever hands started twisting in Jack’s bedsheets, at least until Jack grabbed his wrists and pinned them above Mac’s head. His hips didn’t slow down as he kept pounding into Mac’s body relentlessly, and every time he hit Mac’s prostate something between a sob and a yelp got punched from Mac’s throat.
Holding him down and holding their eye contact, Jack’s hips moved like a well-oiled machine until he couldn’t resist any longer and crashed their lips together, swallowing Mac’s sounds of pleasure. All it took was a few more of those thrusts before Mac was coming untouched with a scream of Jack’s name. His muscles clenched around Jack so tight it was almost painful as he spurted up his abs, actually bucking against Jack’s hold. It was almost enough to send Jack over the edge but not quite, and he let go of Mac’s wrists in favor of leaning his weight against his forearms for better leverage.
Mac wrapped his arms and legs around him in a tight hug, encouraging breathlessly, “C’mon, Jack, come for me.”
“Oh God, Angus,” Jack whimpered against Mac’s cheek. He kept pounding into Mac’s body, not holding back… and Mac let him. His fingers dug into Jack’s back and he just took it, breathless sounds escaping his body with every slam of Jack’s hips. “Angus.” With one last particularly deep thrust he finally came, filling Mac up inside, his hips moving erratically before gradually slowing and stilling. Mac’s chest heaved underneath Jack’s body, his legs falling from Jack’s waist, and one of his hands slid up from his back to cup the back of Jack’s neck, the other one rubbing mindless circles against his spine as they both came down from their highs.
Mac pressed his lips to Jack’s temple, then his cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Jack choked out, moving his arms under Mac’s back to hold him as close as possible, trying not only to get his breathing under control but his emotions, because he was mess. He knew he lost control, and the fact that Mac just… let Jack take him like that without hesitation, trusting him completely—Jack couldn’t wrap his mind around it. He slipped a hand out from under Mac and lifted his head, brushing the hair out of Mac’s eyes. “Angus, baby, are you okay?”
Mac smiled at him, that smile that was full of sunshine and adoration that was meant just for Jack. “Are you kidding? I’m great.” Gentle fingers stroked over the tension building in Jack’s shoulders. He really did seem to like it when Jack used his first name, leaning into the touch to his hair like a cat. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good—God, of course I am.” Jack leaned in to nuzzle Mac’s cheek before pressing a kiss to his skin. “You sure you’re alright, though? I know I kind of… lost it by the end.” Mac’s hands were still on Jack’s shoulders and suddenly Jack noticed that Mac’s wrists were bruising, and his heart dropped. “Shit, darlin’—”
“Jack, it’s okay,” Mac said, those hands rising to frame Jack’s face. “Trust me, you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to.” He glanced at the bruises before he pulled Jack in to kiss him on the mouth, slow and sweet. “I don’t mind rough, as long as it’s with you.”
The knot in Jack’s stomach slowly untied, because he knew Mac wouldn’t lie to him, and he looked… so happy. “Okay.” He couldn’t seem to get enough of touching Mac’s hair, still gently running his fingers through it. And Mac was looking at him with those damn blue eyes, usually so sharp, but now they were soft with affection. “You’re so beautiful.”
A look of disbelief crossed Mac’s face, his eyebrows furrowing adorably. But his cheeks and nose flushed a pretty pink, bringing out the freckles on his face. “And you’re a sap,” he said, thumb stroking over Jack’s stubble. “But I love that about you.”
“Just don’t tell anybody,” Jack teased. “I have a reputation to protect. Can’t let people know I have a soft side.”
“We wouldn’t want that,” Mac agreed, unable to keep a silly grin off his face. “So have I convinced you that I still trust you? Because if sex didn’t do it I don’t know what would.”
“Yeah… you did,” Jack admitted after a beat of silence. “And I’m not gonna lie and say it doesn’t blow my mind, but… I believe you. And I’m probably going to fuck up along the way, but I promise you that I will do everything in my power not to let you down like that again.”
Mac slid his arms around Jack and hugged him tight. “You never let me down, Jack. Yourself, maybe, but not me.” He gave him a kiss. “And you never will.”