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It started like any other night. Well, maybe not any other night, considering Wylan has found himself sitting in a rather uncomfortable bar chair in the type of establishment his father always warned him about.
He’s not entirely sure how he ended up here. All he knows is that one moment he was attempting to persuade Dev (his coworker) to retire for the evening, which somehow landed them at the bar just down the way from the tannery, where most workers go when they’re tempted to let off some steam.
When Wylan started at the tannery, he’d been coerced into wandering here with the few new acquaintances. However, he was quickly put off by the experience when the pitiful pay he’d gained from his first two weeks of work was expertly lifted from his pocket during that first evening. If Wylan hadn’t been so distressed at his loss of funds, he might have actually been impressed. Since then, he’s been careful enough to hang tightly to any kruge he’s managed to scrounge up. It was an unfortunate lesson to learn the hard way, but since then, he has managed to keep a close eye on his earnings. Most of which involves not spending it all at a single establishment in a matter of hours.
Wylan scans the crowded room for the very man that dragged him here in the first place, and sometime during his attempt to spot the vaguely familiar head of blonde curls, a stranger decides to take up the spot next to him. Unfortunately, the newcomer proves to be rather chatty. At the very least, however, he’s not terrible to look at.
He has broad shoulders and a classic smile that’s probably gotten him out of a few tough places. He carries a confidence about him that reminds Wylan of the type of young man Jan Van Eck had hoped Wylan would grow to be. The thought sends an uncomfortable pain through Wylan’s stomach that he tries to shake away.
The stranger had introduced himself as Bryden and had ordered Wylan a drink that he now cradles uncomfortably in his hand, not entirely sure what to do with it. Normally, he would have declined the offer, but Bryden hadn’t given him a chance. At the very least, he could have asked Wylan what kind of drink he wanted, but no, Bryden was confident he knew what was best for him. So now, Wylan’s stuck with a thick, swamp-like liquid that burns questionably through his nostrils when Wylan leans toward the mug to sniff it.
Yeah, definitely not drinking that.
Eventually, somewhere between Bryden explaining his latest voyage at sea and being tangled up in some fantastical adventure that Wylan doubts carries any real truth, Bryden shifts the conversation to Wylan.
For a quick moment, he considers downing this drink if only to keep himself from saying anything that might bring on more questions.
“So…” Bryden leans his elbow on the bar, words slurring slightly. “What’s a pretty face like you do for a day job?”
Wylan’s cheeks burn. His eyes shift toward the floor, unsure what to say or how to act. It’s not like he’s never been hit on before. A few boys in his old life took an interest in Wylan that he wasn’t opposed to in the slightest, but Bryden fails to carry that same appeal.
A thick musk of months at sea mixed with the questionable choice of liquor wafts from the man in front of him, and a wave of nausea rolls through Wylan’s stomach, urging him to deter the man’s advances. As lovely as it might be to let go for one evening, Wylan hasn’t reached that level of desperation just yet.
Still, Wylan provides a response, if only because he’s terrible at removing the well-behaved mask he’s worn for the better part of his life. Besides, if he doesn’t keep the conversation following, it might give Bryden time to conjure up ideas for the two that go beyond tolerable flirtation.
“I, uh, do odd jobs here and there.” Wylan clears his throat, trying to sound convincing. He doesn’t exactly want to give away his place of work, but he’s never been a particularly fantastic liar.
“Odd jobs?” Bryden’s brow lifts in a suggestive direction.
“No! Sorry, uh… no. Not – not like that.”
Wylan resists the urge to curl into a ball and dissolve into the world around him.
“Well… I’m sure I could come up with a few jobs for you.”
Wylan stiffens. He places his drink on the bartop and carefully stands from his chair if only to prepare for escape. Unfortunately, Bryden seems to take it as a growing interest. He twists in his chair and rests his hand on Wylan’s hip. He spreads his knees like he’s daring Wylan to step forward and close the distance between them. Bryden stares expectantly down at him, practically hovering while still seated. Wylan finds himself frozen, helpless in resisting the pull of Bryden’s grip as he guides Wylan’s body closer, clearly mistaking his silence as interest.
Why didn’t Wylan just let Dev wander off alone? Why didn’t he keep better track of the man before he wandered off and left him to sit at the bar alone? Why did Wylan foolishly think someone he barely knows would carry the same kindness for others that only seems to get Wylan in trouble in these parts of town?
Bryden pauses, inches away from his face, not like he’s studying Wylan’s response, but rather like he’s determining how to catch his prey with the swift swipe of his claw.
“—Excuse me. Pardon Me.”
Wylan startles back when he’s met by a figure who steps between Wylan and Bryden, forcing the two apart.
A swell of relief rushes through his chest for the briefest moments. That is until the stranger leans forward to wave down the bartender, and Wylan spots the furious glare Bryden points at the finely dressed man that interrupted them.
“We were having a conversation,” Bryden warns the man, who turns to casually look Brydan up and down as if assessing him through an amused smirk.
“Were you? Didn’t seem like it to me.”
The stranger’s voice sounds sweet and sugary in Wylan’s ears, and for an odd moment, the charming hum of his words soothes Wylan’s anxieties and nearly lulls him into a state of comfort. However, when Bryden stands from his chair, gaining a near foot on the newcomer, the pause of relief quickly snaps away.
Then, despite Bryden’s clear attempts at intimidation, the stranger keeps at it. “Actually, I think you were leaving.”
Wylan’s eyes dart across the room to see if anyone else is witness to the clear beginnings of what’s sure to spiral into a brawl, but it seems Wylan is the only one paying close enough attention. Maybe he’s imagining it. Perhaps this is all just a strange dream. He can only hope.
“What did you say to me?” Bryden’s chest puffs. “Come on Wyatt, let’s get out of here.”
“It’s Wylan, actually,” Wylan corrects and immediately regrets it. Yet, a strange part of his mind tells him to keep going because he apparently has a death wish. “And – and I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“You heard the man,” the golden voice encourages. “He’s not going anywhere with you.”
“Why don’t you mind your business.”
“Oh, I am.”
The man flicks his long leather coat from his hips, revealing a set of pearl-handled revolvers. Wylan startles back as he watches Bryden’s gaze shift to the weapons and then back to the stranger’s eyes. Kind eyes. One’s that glow with a mix of charcoal and coffee, forming deep brown swirls that steal Wylan’s breath.
The man is absolutely gorgeous.
His dark skin matches the smooth grace of his voice. His lips are perfectly round. His jaw curves in a delicious way that Wylan finds himself wanting to smooth his thumb over. The room practically lights up against the man’s charming smile that screams for trouble in the best way.
“I think it’s best you get a move on,” brown eyes warns with a tap of his fingers over the guns hoisted at his hips.
“You wouldn’t,” Bryden growls.
“Are you willing to test that theory?”
Bryden pauses, eyes bouncing toward Wylan like he expects him to put an end to the stranger’s threats. As if somehow they’ve actually formed a connection during the short time they were sitting together.
When Wylan doesn’t say anything, Bryden glares at them both. He shoves past the stranger’s shoulder before mumbling, “Useless Barrel trash. Waste of my time.”
Wylan shudders. The chill of his father’s voice echoes through the words despite coming from a complete stranger.
“Are you all right?”
Wylan nods before glancing up to be rendered speechless. It’s entirely unreasonable for one person to be this beautiful. It’s impossible, really. And yet here this stranger stands.
It’s then that Wylan realizes he hasn’t actually caught his name.
“Wylan,” he says dumbly. “I’m Wylan.”
“Yeah, I got that.” The man chuckles, causing a flurry of butterflies to circle in Wylan’s chest, determined to remain in constant flight. “I’m Jesper.”
Wylan pauses, momentarily caught in how familiar the name sounds. Jesper… he’s heard the name murmured multiple times throughout the Barrel. Usually accompanied by tales of pleasurable nights spent in dimly lit corners or nameless rooms, and in some instances, horrifying stories of the deadliest gunslinger walking the Barrel…
Wylan’s eyes widen. He glances down to find the pearl-handled revolvers he’s heard so much about, but they’re hidden by Jesper’s long coat. His eyes shoot back up, swallowing when he meets the man’s amused smile.
Wylan had always thought the rumors of charming man versus deadly rogue were contradictory. But if Wylan’s right in his assumption, he can certainly understand how they both apply to the man before him.
“You’re sure you’re alright?”
Wylan blinks, shaking away his sudden unease and instead tries to sound as casual as possible.
“Thanks for that, by the way.” Wylan half smiles, trying his best to express genuine gratitude in the little time he’s able to keep his eyes locked with Jesper’s.
“Not a problem. You didn’t seem particularly interested, so I thought you might want a hand.” Jesper explains.
A woman’s bright laugh interrupts the room, and Wylan jumps, but it only catches Jesper’s attention. Wylan follows the man’s gaze to find a beautiful young woman who throws her head back with another giggle and an equally vibrant smile. Her long curls bounce over her shoulder, and her earring glistens against the room’s hazy light.
It’s then that something comparable to hope or, at the very least, intrigue falters in Wylan’s chest. He swallows, suddenly feeling small and insignificant. Foolish for thinking he might be able to tread the same desirable waters as someone as significant as Jesper Fahey. The man’s reputation says it all. A smooth talker who finds no shame indulging in life’s simple pleasures.
“Anyway, you must be busy,” Wylan says, giving Jesper a reason to leave that won’t wholly leave Wylan feeling discarded to the side. If he’s the one to step away, there’s no chance for anyone to reject him. It’s a foolproof plan. Effective, really.
“Ah yes, girls to woo and money to lose,” Jesper replies in a way that doesn’t seem particularly interested in following through with any of those things.
Wylan licks his lips, seeking the courage often trapped in his gut. What’s one shot in the dark? A simple question that, really, isn’t that out of the ordinary.
“Just girls?”
Jesper smirks, eyes moving back to Wylan. “No, not just girls.”
A pleasant rush tangles furiously in Wylan’s stomach, prompting a wave of butterflies to flutter in every direction while tempting Wylan’s eyes to flicker toward Jesper’s lips.
“Maybe I could get you something to say thank you,” Wylan offers, patting the bits of kruge currently burning an anxious hole in his pocket. “How do you feel about stroopwafels?”
An amused smile illuminates Jesper’s features, and Wylan swears he’s gone from a nightmare to a dreamland in a matter of seconds.
“That sounds perfect.”
Wylan glances toward the bar, hiding his smile from Jesper’s view before supplying their order to the bartender.
“So, tell me, what exactly are these odd jobs you speak of?” Jesper asks with seemingly genuine curiosity rather than the suggestive tone that Bryden had implied.
“You heard that?”
Jesper nods with a pained wince. “Unfortunately, I heard all of it. I thought I never stopped talking, but that guy had me beat. It was like any moment he didn’t spend basking in the sound of his voice would send him spiralling in seconds. And what did he say about comparing mermaids and goats? Are mermaids even animals?”
A short laugh bubbles past Wylan’s lips. “I honestly have no idea.”
“Well, I’m sure it’s offensive to someone. Be it the goats or the mermaids, you pick.”
“That’s assuming mermaids are real.”
“Oh, they’re real.” Jesper nods confidently, leaning his elbow on the bar like Bryden did. Only Jesper seems naturally capable of capturing the smooth allure Bryden had been aiming for. “Anyway, you never answered my question. What are these odd jobs?”
Wylan pauses, trying to determine if he should tell the truth. He is standing in front of one of the most dangerous men in Ketterdam after all. But the longer he weighs his options, glancing at Jesper in short intervals to examine his character, Wylan finds himself at a loss for any reason why he shouldn’t tell the man. For some reason, he wants Jesper to know at least something about him, and maybe, Jesper will provide a piece of himself in return. It’s a dangerous train of thought, but Wylan follows the tracks toward his new acquaintance anyway.
“I work at the tannery just down the way.”
“Well, that’s much less dark and mysterious than I imagined.”
Wylan laughs. A real laugh. The type he hasn’t heard from himself in months. “Do I seem like the dark and mysterious type to you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. You might have a dangerous side that I’ve yet to discover.”
The cheeky smile and the subtle wink Jesper sends Wylan’s way crawls deliciously over his skin, causing his cheeks to burn while bringing a warm shiver to his spine that’s thick with temptation. If Wylan’s not mistaken, Jesper Fahey is flirting with him. And with that, the potential for Wylan’s impromptu night out begins to carry dangerous temptation.
“Your stroopwafels,” the bartender interrupts, deterring Wylan from saying anything clever due to the sweet syrupy scent that wafts from the plate and into the air. His stomach grumbles, but thankfully, the place is loud enough to mask his hunger.
Jesper stares at the short tower, then glances back at Wylan with a comical wince. “Confession. I’ve never actually had stroopwafels.”
“You’ve never had stroopwafels?!” Wylan looks at Jesper with exaggerated surprise. “Well, thankfully, we can fix that. It will be the most magical thing you’ve tasted in your life.”
Despite his hunger, Wylan pushes the plate toward Jesper. There’s enough for them both to easily share, though Wylan’s sure he could devour the meal in seconds if he were alone.
“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Jesper straightens up as if preparing for a life-changing event, which it very may well be. He grabs the waffle at the top of the stack, covered in a thin layer of syrup. Wylan’s mouth begins to water. Though, he’s unsure if it’s because of the food or the soft curve of Jesper’s lips as he bites into the savoury snack.
Wylan nibbles at his own bit of waffle as Jesper prepares to supply his verdict. But he seems annoyingly determined to keep his expression neutral until he finishes the whole waffle with a dramatic pause.
Jesper presses his lips together, making a clear show of his thought processes as if he’s judging a series of artwork rather than a simple treat. And for a moment, Wylan’s almost sure Jesper’s about to tell him he hates it. In which case, Wylan would have to cut their conversation short in solidarity with the stroopwafels, but thankfully, a grin begins to creep over Jesper’s lips.
“Yeah, alright, that’s pretty delicious.”
“I told you it was.” Wylan smiles to himself. He reaches for a second helping before pushing the plate closer to Jesper. “Have some more.”
“Well.” Jesper sighs theatrically. “If you insist.”
They carry easy conversation as they eat. Jesper does most of the talking, but Wylan finds himself genuinely interested in the stories Jesper has to share, unlike with Bryden. Of course, Jesper’s tales hold an air of danger and adventure, which isn’t all that surprising considering the things Wylan’s heard about Kaz Brekker and his crows. Not to mention Jesper seems unreasonably comfortable with two revolvers strapped to his hips.
Wylan barely notices how long they talk. It’s not until their plate is cleared and the crowd has turned sparse that the quiet of their surroundings pulls Wylan away from their conversation. The late hour has started to send people scurrying back to their homes or the streets for those unlucky enough to be without a bed for the night. Wylan had been one of those people less than three weeks ago. Having the tannery to retreat to is probably the only reason he’s still here. It’s not much, but it saved him from freezing to death on the damp, cobbled streets of the Barrel.
It’s then that Wylan realizes he’s faced with a choice. Based on Jesper’s flirtatious nature, he could suggest the two find somewhere more private to continue, or Wylan could protect himself from the chance of rejection with an excuse to return back to the tannery. The latter option doesn’t sound particularly appealing, but Wylan’s not entirely sure he can guarantee he’s been reading Jesper right. How could he be sure when Jesper seems so… well, like the Jesper he’s heard about. The suave man that a few girls at the tannery fawned over after finding themselves lucky enough to share a bed with Jesper Fahey. Wylan is just Wylan, and the idea that Jesper could be interested when he could have literally anyone else just feels like some sick joke.
“So, what are your plans for the rest of the night?” Jesper asks, interrupting the tangle of self-doubt that scrambles Wylan’s mind.
“Hm?”
Jesper half laughs, tilting his head slightly when Wylan shifts his gaze across the room, cheeks burning.
“I said, what are your plans for the rest of the evening? Because if you’re not busy, I was thinking we could get a room…. if that’s something you’d be interested in?”
Wylan flusters, finding it impossible to meet the man’s gaze because, saints, he must be dreaming.
Through his peripheral vision, he can see Jesper pressing his lips together in a thin line with a slight grimace, perhaps interpreting Wylan’s shy demeanour as disinterested. Something Wylan certainly can’t have because, for the first time in ages, there’s a spark in his chest that doesn’t seem as grim as the world around him. And maybe it’s because he’s spent a little over a month completely alone, scrounging for scraps and whatever kruge he can conjure from the tannery — Wylan finds himself leaning into the temptations that Jesper is clearly offering. So, if only for one night, maybe Wylan could let himself enjoy the company of a stranger who comes with the promise of no strings.
Wylan straightens up and forces himself to look at Jesper. “Yeah – Yes. A room sounds perfect.”
Jesper grins, and the butterflies in Wylan’s stomach swoop wonderfully toward his chest. Drawing an ache of desire through him that nearly convinces him to grab Jesper’s hand and storm up the stairs. The only thing stopping him, really, is that they don’t exactly have a room yet. Thankfully Jesper takes care of it, catching the barkeep’s attention by asking for a bottle of wine with two glasses and a key to their finest suite. Jesper hands over a stack of kruge in return for his requests. Wylan can’t help watching the transaction with disbelief. It’s been a long time since he’s seen that much money in one place.
“It was a lucky night at the tables,” Jespre confesses when he sees the telling look on Wylan’s face as he hands Wylan the cups. “Should we…” Jesper shifts his gaze over Wylan’s shoulder toward a narrow set of stairs that lead to the second floor.
“Yes, we should.”
Jesper’s smile grows from innocent to dangerously flirtatious, and Wylan can’t help but love it.
“In that case, shall we?” Jesper extends his hand, and Wylan doesn’t give a second thought to grabbing it. He probably should, considering who Jesper is. Saints, they haven’t even kissed yet. Maybe he’s not as good as people say. Perhaps the stories of Jesper Fahey could be just that, stories. And yet, despite how little he knows about the man, something about him makes Wylan want to follow him anyway.
They climb the stairs almost two at a time, both clearly eager for what’s to come. They reach the door, and Jesper unlocks it, looking as in control as ever, while Wylan practically vibrates beside him. Though, he can’t beat himself up about it too much. Jesper most definitely has more practice when it comes to stuff like this.
It’s not like Wylan hasn’t done this before, but it’s certainly been long enough that he might be a tad rusty. Not to mention most of his endeavours were messy and fast, and Wylan has a feeling Jesper plans to take his time. Saints, he got them a room, he clearly has plans.
Most of Wylan’s experiences took place in hidden corners of his life. All his previous partners wanted was something quick and meaningless with ripples of pleasure they knew Wylan could provide. And on most occasions, that’s precisely what he did. He rarely focused on himself, and his partners hardly cared enough to ensure he did. It was a miracle he could catch their attention to begin with. Asking them to return the favour almost seemed unreasonable.
Wylan’s pulled from his thoughts by the creek of the door as Jesper closes it behind them with a click.
“You alright?”
Wylan spins around, wide-eyed as his gaze finds Jesper looking at him with a faint and curious smile, and any hesitation Wylan might have had falls from his body and disappears into the dimly lit room.
Wylan keeps a curious eye on Jesper as he inches toward the dresser tucked in the corner of the room. He removes his hat and then his jacket, revealing broad shoulders covered in a curiously textured shirt that Wylan wants to reach out and touch. He then rests his belongings beside his hat, and a flash of the man in the leather jacket, and only the jacket, pollutes Wylan’s mind with ribbons of lust that tangle his heart into something more meaningful than it probably should.
Jesper gives a crooked smile as he steps closer to Wylan. From this close, he can make out the pattern of Jesper’s shirt. It’s the colour of red wine textured with thin rows of small black crows.
“We can just talk, you know?” Jesper says, quiet and kind.
An inkling of worry runs through Wylan. He very much wants to do more than just talk. “No, I want – I want more. If you do?”
Jesper leans down, and his lips ghost past Wylan’s cheek, sending goosebumps down the length of his spine. “I do,” he whispers, then pulls back so quickly that Wylan nearly stumbles forward in an attempt to follow him. “Would you like a drink?”
“S - sorry?” Wylan clears his throat, trying to keep the burn in his cheeks at bay.
“Wine. Would you like some?”
“Yes. Please.”
He retrieves the two cups still held tight in Wylan’s grip, grabs the bottle he’s left near his jacket, then shifts to the table near the window. Jesper pours each of them a glass and hands one to Wylan with a wink, which Wylan gladly accepts.
He takes a large gulp, nearly choking when he swallows a bubble of air alongside the smooth liquid.
“Careful.” Jesper laughs, not like he’s making fun of Wylan’s unfortunate blunder, but instead, like he finds it adorable, maybe even charming. Of course, Wylan’s probably just imagining it, but he can dream. It’s much better than facing the reality of absolutely awkward Jesper must find him.
Echoes of Jan Van Eck’s voice weave through Wylan’s thoughts, taunting him, scrutinizing him for not acting more like the confident leader he should have grown into. The person he very much isn’t.
Wylan gently shakes in an attempt to cast any thought or reminder of his father outside the four walls around him.
“Have you done this before?” Jesper asks.
“Had wine?”
“I mean,” he gestures between them. “This.”
If possible, Wylan’s reasonably sure the pink in his cheeks has travelled the length of his neck and chest, spreading unattractive red splotches across his body. Of course, Jesper thinks he’s never been with anyone before. He’s acting as if it’s the case.
Wylan takes a breath, thankful for the single lantern on the bedside table that keeps the room just dark enough that Jesper might not notice how flustered he is. “I have... done this, I mean. It’s just– uh, well, it’s been a while.” Wylan swallows, quickly averting his eyes.
“Okay, how about we just take it slow.”
Without thinking, due to the lack of Wylan’s verbal filter that seems fond of disappearing at the worst times, Wylan says, “Fast is good, too.”
Jesper’s brows shoot up, and a bubble of surprised laughter falls from his lips.
Wylan winces. “Sorry. That was… I don’t know what that was, but can we pretend it never happened?” he asks despite his own flustered laughter.
“No, no. Don’t apologize. I like a man who knows what he likes.”
Jesper’s eyes trace the length of Wylan’s body, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. So, Wylan takes another swig of his wine, finishing the glass before putting it back on the table.
“We should kiss,” Jesper says, sending Wylan into another coughing fit that, thankfully, takes him less time to recover from.
“What?”
“Yeah, we should definitely kiss.” Jesper nods as if finding confirmation in his own words.
“Oh – okay.” Wylan swallows.
Jesper places his cup on the table, quickly returning his attention to Wylan. “Now, if you don’t want– mmph.”
Wylan barrels forward, palms landing on Jesper’s cheeks, drawing him in for a kiss that Wylan’s wanted to steal since he laid eyes on the man. His palms prickle at the contact and thankfully, wonderfully, it’s better than Wylan had imagined.
Jesper tastes of syrup and wine. An odd combination that somehow tastes delicious on Wylan’s tongue as it teases along the thin seam of Jesper’s lips, asking permission. He grants Wylan access, allowing him to deepen the kiss with a soft, needy whimper. He should probably be embarrassed at his own desperation, but when Jesper’s hands circle the small of his back to draw Wylan’s body against his, any chance of self-doubt washes clean from his system.
It’s been a long time since anyone has touched Wylan like this. Sure, there were others, but very few carried the same gentle touch that Jesper seems so capable of despite his larger frame that requires Wylan to balance on his toes. Not that he’s complaining. Wylan adores the five inches Jesper has on him. It makes the way he cradles Wylan in his arms that much more appealing.
Still, Wylan doesn’t want to get carried away and risk stealing Jesper’s chance to voice his own desires. So he pulls back, finding it oddly easy to look the man in the eye despite the flustered heat creeping through his body.
“So, um…we kissed.” Wylan swallows, taking the fact that he’s still in Jesper’s arms as a good sign.
Jesper clears his throat, releasing a slight huff of air that carries hints of pleasant surprise. “Yes. We certainly did.”
“And?”
“And… we should probably do it again.”
Wylan nods, probably a little too enthusiastically. “We probably should, yeah.”
This time Jesper leans down, finding Wylan’s lips and expertly leading the kiss into restless territory that sparks a delicious buzz under Wylan’s skin. He practically melts into the kiss, allowing Jesper to guide him wherever he pleases. He could probably walk Wylan off a bridge at this point, and he’d be too gone to notice. It seems, however, Jesper’s plans are directed toward the bed.
The back of Wylan’s knees hit the mattress, and they tumble down together, quickly adjusting themselves so Wylan’s head rests over the pillows, allowing Jesper to hover on top of him. Their legs slot together, and for a brief moment, when Wylan bends his knee and his thigh comes in contact with Jesper’s groin, he swears he hears the man gasp. It’s possibly the most satisfying thing Wylan’s had the privilege to witness, and he makes it his mission to hear it again.
Then, Jesper pulls back, looking at Wylan with a strange gleam in his eyes. “You’re annoyingly gorgeous, you know that?”
Heat floods Wylan’s cheeks. If his skin wasn’t already flush, he’s certain the compliment would turn him as red as their wine in seconds.
Wylan’s lips press into a shy smile, and he’s suddenly overcome with the urge to hide in Jesper’s shoulder, but before he can, the man pivots with the clear intention of studying Wylan more thoroughly.
“Yup, definitely annoyingly gorgeous. It’s unfair, really.” Jesper shakes his head with a playful smirk. “You should have to share with the rest of us.”
Wylan rolls his eyes. “As if you need help in being attractive.” He doesn’t give Jesper a chance to respond and instead presses their mouths back together.
Their hands wander, slowly exploring while treading dangerously close to the places they both desire. But it isn’t until Jesper starts talking that frustration truly begins to build as Wylan attempts to keep kissing the man between each word.
“What-” Kiss.” Do you-” Kiss. “Want?”
At first, Wylan doesn’t register the question. He’s too lost in the velvety drawl of Jesper’s words. The tingle of his lips. The soft ache that rests deep in Wylan’s belly, making it impossible for him to register anything other than the perfect weight of Jesper’s body on top of his.
“Wylan?” Jesper leans away, and all Wylans wants is to pull him back, but instead, he opts for kissing a trail along Jesper’s jaw and down his neck. “Saints,” Jesper gasps as Wylan gently sinks his teeth into the tender bend of his shoulder.
Wylan hums, pleased by the response.
“Wylan, what do you want tonight?”
Wylan pauses, confused by the question. Isn’t it obvious? He’s reasonably sure that specific parts of his body are making Wylan’s intentions very clear. But when Jesper doesn’t fall back into their kiss, it becomes apparent that further explanation is necessary.
Wylans head flops back on the pillows to look up at the man before him. He studies Jesper’s face, hoping to find clarity there, but unfortunately, he doesn’t.
“I want you.” Wylan settles on.
“I know that,” Jesper shifts his hips, making his interest equally noticeable, all while drawing a gasp from the back of Wylan’s throat. “But what are you looking for tonight? How do you want to do this?”
Wylan blinks, still lost for longer than he probably should be. Then, he finally catches up to Jesper’s meaning. He’s asking Wylan what he likes in bed. He’s asking him what he wants. Wylan knows the question shouldn’t throw him. It’s a perfectly reasonable thing to ask. It’s just… different than anything he’s experienced before.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I just… don’t think anyone’s asked me that before.” Wylan admits, frowning at how strange the fact sounds when said aloud.
Jesper, however, only seems concerned. “You’re joking?”
Wylan shrugs, beginning to feel embarrassed by the confession. However, Jesper seems to detect the shift in Wylan’s confidence and quickly recovers while gently brushing a stray hair from Wylan’s forehead.
“Okay. Let’s make it a first, then.” Jesper shifts his weight to one arm, using his elbow to support himself as he moves to half lay on the mattress while the other half of him rests over Wylan’s body. “How about you just take what you need?”
“What I need?”
“Yeah, whatever you want. I’m good with most things. Just ask first, and I’ll let you know.”
Wylan swallows, overwhelmed by Jesper’s forwardness while somehow finding comfort in it at the same time. “Do you… would you– uh, sorry.” He can do this. “Are you more of a giver or…” Wylan blushes furiously, more than he has all evening, and all Jesper does is smile in a way that seems dangerously pleased by the question.
“I’m good either way.” Jesper winks, sending a ripple of intrigue through Wylan’s body. “So, what’ll it be?”
“I want…”
What does he want? In most cases, he just allowed himself whatever his partner was interested in. To Wylan, it never really mattered. He was just pleased someone wanted him in their arms to begin with. Besides, it was always rushed enough that he didn’t really have time to fully embrace the sensations anyway.
“You don’t have to decide right now,” Jesper whispers as he leans closer, ghosting a kiss over Wylan’s lips before shifting toward his jaw, peppering gentle kisses wherever he goes. It’s lovely and soft and so so careful that a swell of warmth trails the length of Wylan’s body, making him desperate for more.
And just like that, something in Wylan breaks free, and he does precisely what Jesper told him to do.
He takes what he needs.
“I want to ride you,” Wylan confesses with more confidence than he expected from himself.
Jesper pauses, taking a second to digest the information. “Yep. Yes. Yeah. We can – we can definitely make that happen.” He nods with a hint of shock dancing across his features.
Clearly, he hadn’t expected Wylan’s answer. Good. He wants to keep Jesper on his toes.
Wylan moves to turn them over and straddles Jesper’s hips in the process. He quickly dips forward, cupping Jesper’s face with his hands, and presses their mouths together. It’s desperate and messy, but Wylan can’t find it in himself to care when with a simple swipe of his tongue, Jesper’s lips part with a gasp. Wylan deepens the kiss, all while sliding his hands to the buttons of Jesper’s shirt. He fumbles with the first couple, which draws a small chuckle from them both, but they keep kissing through their smiles.
Eventually, Wylan manages to completely unbutton the shirt, and despite how much it pains him to part their lips, the desire to look is impossible for Wylan to resist. He pulls back, resting his hands over Jesper’s chest to admire the sight of his pale fingers against dark, caramel-smooth skin. A shiver rolls through every nerve along Wylan’s spine, adding to the growing tension between them.
Wylan licks his lips, reminding himself of his courage before smoothing his hands over Jesper’s chest, searching and exploring, gaining barely audible gasps from the man below that are left for no one but Wylan to hear. And with each sound, every ounce of restraint he might have had escapes him, and he’s diving to connect their lips in a messy kiss that tastes delicious on his tongue.
Wylan shifts his hips to relieve the pressure at the front of his pants and hisses when the clear press of Jesper’s hardened length meets his. They move against each other, and a combined moan breaks between them as if they’d been waiting years for this moment. And still, Wylan wants more.
He shifts back and hooks his fingers at the top of Jesper’s pants. “Can I?”
“Please.”
They both quickly undress each other until they’re completely naked. Normally, Wylan might feel self-conscious, but there’s something in the way Jesper’s eyes catch on the bits of Wylan’s body that have grown thin and bruised over the last month that encourages Wylan to let himself be seen. To simply be. And for the first time in longer than Wylan can remember, to enjoy.
Jesper leans for his nightstand, opening the drawer to retrieve a thin vial of oil sealed by a quarked top. “Will you do the honours, or shall I?”
Wylan blushes. “I can do it, but first…” He trails his hand up the inside of Jesper’s thigh, using the distraction to take the vial from Jesper’s grip. The man grins in response before settling back against the pillows. Wylan climbs between Jesper’s legs and rests the vial beside them for now.
He takes a moment to appreciate the sharp curve of Jesper’s hips and how smooth his dark skin feels under his palms despite the rough life of the Barrel. It’s incredible, really. After a week on his own, Wylan had been covered in cuts and bruises. He still is, but Jesper... he’s flawless, and Wylan wants to get more than just his hands on him.
“Can I?” Wylan asks, licking his lips and leaning forward to clarify his intentions.
“You don’t have to,” Jesper tells him, and instantly something nervous begins to wander through Wylan’s stomach, but he pushes it away.
“I want too… I - I like doing it.”
Jesper’s head tilts to the side, giving way to a short, breathless laugh. “Saints, where have you been hiding all my life?”
The Van Eck house and a broken childhood creep into Wylan’s head with a gruesome twist knotting in his gut. But he pushes it away and tries to focus on the man in front of him, who seems too good to be true. It’ll be painful when this eventually comes to an end. Wylan can already tell.
“I’ve been around,” Wylan replies after a beat of silence.
“Right.”
“Anyway, shall I? Or did you want to chat some more?”
“He has jokes?”
“He has a lot of things that might surprise you.”
“Then, by all means.”
Wylan keeps his eyes trained on Jesper as he circles his mouth over the man’s tip until he decides to slowly take him further. He bobs his head, listening carefully to Jesper’s reaction, making note of each gasp and whimper. Of the way Jesper’s fingers tense over the sheets when Wylan’s tongue pays careful attention to the underside of his shaft, making up what he can’t take with his hand, slick with his own spit as he works Jesper into a fit of moans.
Wylan’s always been good at this. He’s experienced at this. He knows how to make Jesper feel good, and he finds a certain, wonderful strength in that knowledge. Not simply because he has the Barrel’s most deadly gunslinger already falling apart before him but because Jesper seems to be really enjoying himself.
“Saints, Wylan.” Jesper moans.
He pulls off to take a breath, kissing Jesper’s hip. “Good?” He asks.
“You know it is,” Jesper accuses through a small, breathy laugh.
Wylan chuckles before bobbing his head back down until Jesper warns him off. “If you don’t stop–ah. I’m gonna – gonna come.”
Wylan pulls back, immediately missing the heavy weight of Jesper on his tongue but equally as thrilled by the thought of what comes next.
He moves to straddle Jesper’s thighs, and while the man works to catch his breath, Wylan reaches for the vial of oil. He pops the quark and pours a generous amount over his fingers.
Wylan lifts up on his knees and reaches around himself to press a slick finger to the cleft of his ass, gasping when his finger circles his rim. Jesper watches as Wylan inserts the finger.
Wylan hissies slightly before gently working the digit in and then out. Stretching himself with ease until he’s ready for a second. It’s been a while since he’s done this, but it’s as though his body remembers the motions. How to relax, just feel, and lean into the stretch rather than resist it. By the time he can insert a third finger, Wylan’s almost a mess. Aching to feel more inside him. To fall into the warmth of someone else and forget every terrible thing that’s happened to him in the last few months.
He gasps when he curls his fingers, pressing back into the motion just as Jesper’s hand closes around his cock, spit slick and dangerously skilled.
“J-Jesper.” Wylan shifts his hips forward, chasing the pleasure the man provides, only to find himself pushing back against his own hand, eager to be full. “I’m ready,” Wylan decides, unable to contain the urgency coursing through his body that tells him he needs this.
His desire fuels his movements as he removes his fingers with a low whimper and bats Jesper’s hand away. He shuffles up so he’s straddling Jesper’s waist properly, and reaches around himself, only this time he guides Jesper’s tip to his entrance, whimpering when he begins to sink down.
Their eyes remain locked the entire time. It’s not until Jesper mumbles something to do with Wylan’s eyelashes that Wylan has to resist the urge to avert his gaze. To distract himself, he blindly looks for Jesper’s hands to entwine their fingers. And when he does, it’s like something changes in the air. Like he can breathe for the first time. Like every atom in Wylan’s body has melted away into a puddle of pleasure.
Jesper remains still, waiting for Wylan but clearly holding back temptation with how fervently his eyes search Wylan’s features. It’s then that Wylan shifts his hips. Gasping as he tests the thick drag of Jesper’s cock aching inside him. He begins to circle his hips in an attempt to adjust around the man, and when the initial discomfort subsides, Wylan’s body begins to wholly welcome him. He’s aching for movement, for anything that might relieve the anticipation building around them as they breathe through the haze of light around them.
Slowly Wylan lifts his hips. He lets go of Jesper’s hands and instead lands his palm flat over the man’s chest. Jesper places his hands just above Wylan’s thighs, and Wylan uses the sweet press of his fingers to ground himself. He hovers briefly, lips parted as he watches Jesper below, who looks as hungry for more as Wylan feels. And with that, Wylan sinks back down in one swift motion, drawing an unexpected gasp from Jesper that carries through the man’s entire body, practically vibrating when Wylan does it again. He repeats the movement until he’s bouncing on Jesper’s cock to a delicious rhythm that curls up his spine and down to his toes.
Wylan leans forward, resting his palms on either side of Jesper’s head. The new angle allows him leverage to meet Wylan’s pace with brutal thrusts that cause Wylan’s jaw to drop with little grunts that force through his body. He meets Jesper each time, the sound of sex litters the room in a vapour of heat and sweat and Wylan wants more. He needs more.
Without warning, he rolls them over, pulling Jesper on top of him and linking his feet around the man’s hips while keeping their connection intact.
Jesper pauses like he’s not entirely sure what to do.
“Hard,” Wylan pants, wetting his lips before continuing, “I want it hard.”
Jesper nods, charcoal eyes twisting into a sinful black as he snaps his hips, jolting Wylan so his hand shoots up, bracing himself on a thin metal bar that helps make up the headboard. Jesper’s hips snap again and again and again. It’s rough and perfect, yet still not enough.
“Harder,” Wylan orders, still bracing himself against each thrust with one hand while the other weaves to cradle the base of Jesper’s skull.
“Oh-oh, yes. R-right there,” Wylan whines as Jesper finds a depth to him that he didn’t even know existed. His vision begins to blur, overwhelmed where their bodies connect.
“Open your eyes.” Jesper’s voice whispers deliciously through Wylan’s sensing, bringing him to a place of warmth and calm, all while tearing him apart.
He hadn’t even realized he’d closed his eyes. That he’d squeezed them shut and turned his face to the side, burying it in the scrunched-up pillow.
“Please, Wylan. Open your eyes. It’s the one thing I want.”
Who is Wylan to argue with that? Jesper has spent the evening catering to Wylan’s desires. The least he can do is open his eyes.
As Wylan blinks them open, he sucks in a sharp breath. His vision is slow to adjust, but when the fog clears, he’s met with Jesper above him. He peers down at Wylan with those outrageously soulful eyes that melt Wylan’s heart in ways they probably shouldn’t. The butterflies in Wylan’s stomach flurry back to the surface with a grounded weightlessness that lifts to Wylan’s heart and pours like honey through his limbs.
Wylan studies Jesper’s features, leaning into his touch as the man’s pace begins to slow, and it’s the most beautiful thing Wylan has ever experienced.
“It feels r-really good,” Wylan whispers through a breathy gasp.
“It does,” Jesper agrees, biting his lip when Wylan arches his back, shifting his tailbone to better the angle.
“Saints.”
Wylan nods, eyes rolling when Jesper presses into him with no remorse, using the weight of his body to draw them closer. “R-right there—oh! Yes, Jesper. Please. Yes-yes-yes!”
Wylan’s not entirely sure what he’s saying anymore. All he knows is that his hands have found Jesper’s cheeks, one slipping lower to trace a line along Jesper’s bottom lip until Wylan’s thumb slips inside. He moans, eyes threatening to roll once more when Jesper begins swirling his tongue around the digit, matching the pace of his hips. Somehow fast and slow all at once, too much and too little, too deep and not deep enough. It’s impossible for Wylan to know because his skin is on fire. Burning hot wherever their bodies meet and achingly cold wherever they don’t. It’s overwhelming, perfect, and so much more than Wylan knew this could be.
“C-close,” Wylan warns, and instantly Jesper’s hand slips between them to work Wylan’s length.
Stars begin to cloud his vision, and all he can focus on is the white-hot pleasure pumping through his veins, targeting somewhere low in his belly that aches for release until finally…
Wylan’s body tenses, and he thinks he grips closer Jesper’s body like if he doesn’t, he’ll somehow lose himself to the feeling. He also thinks he screams a desperate, pleasure-filled scream that vibrates through the room and perhaps past the walls.
Then, Wylan’s blinking. His eyes eventually focus on Jesper, who’s carrying a lazy, self-assured smile.
“Good?”
Wylan nods with a disbelieving huff of air, absolutely exhausted yet vibrating with energy.
“Good.”
Jesper begins to pull back, but Wylan keeps his legs locked so their bodies remain pressed together.
“You can keep going,” Wylan tells him, moving to cup his cheeks with his hands.
Jesper licks his lips. A bead of sweat tracks from his hairline toward his jaw as he studies Wylan. “You sure?”
Wylan nods, eager.
He takes Jesper by surprise, ignoring the mess his own orgasm made of their stomachs and rolls them over so he’s back on top.
“Just warn me before you… so that I can move.”
“Of course,” Jesper continues, “won’t take long, though.”
Wylan smiles and gets to work. He rocks his hips, following the same pace Jesper had set earlier, then testing others to see what can draw the best response. And surprisingly, it’s the exact opposite of what Wylan expects.
From the little he knows about Jesper, he seems more in tune with the quick and dangerous side of life, so naturally, that’s what Wylan expected him to be in bed. However, when Wylan slows, barely moving outside and using his own weight to bury Jesper deeper, he’s shocked to gain a low and satisfied moan from the man. It’s louder than any other sound he’s made, and it’s music to Wylan’s ears.
Wylan keeps their eyes locked and weaves their fingers together when Jesper attempts to trace his hands over Wylan’s thighs. He grunts slightly when Wylan leans forward, pinning Jesper’s wrists to the bed, determined to make this about him now, not Wylan.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Wylan tells him, not wanting to make Jesper uncomfortable.
“S’perfect.”
“Good.”
A rush of excitement courses through Wylan. He moves slowly, watching each shift in Jesper’s expression, relishing in his every attempt to pull free from Wylan’s grip. And despite already having come, the sensation still fills Wylan with desire, not necessarily for his own pleasure, but for Jesper’s. For him to feel everything Wylan can give him. This will likely be their only night together, a thought that pains Wylan to admit – he wants to make sure Jesper never forgets it.
Wylan starts moving his hips at a particularly cruel pace, and it does exactly what he’d hoped.
Jesper whimpers. “Saints, you’re —Wylan, I’m gonna-”
He barely lifts up in time before Jesper’s moaning with soft grunts that follow each flex of the man’s abdomen. From where he hovers above, Wylan feels Jesper’s come paint over the back of his thighs and ass, and it’s beautiful.
He keeps his eyes locked with Jesper’s the entire time. Watching his hungry expression turn to pleasure, then to bliss in a matter of seconds. If Wylan wasn’t still recovering from his own orgasm, he swears the sight alone would be enough to get him there again.
“That was…” Jesper breathes, unable to finish his sentence.
Good. Wylan did his job.
He shifts off Jesper and considers laying on his stomach, but the bits of already drying come on his chest warn him not to. But then he’s met with the predicament of laying on his back, which isn’t an option, considering the mess Jesper made of his rear.
“Just – just give me a second,” Jepser breathes with a slight grin.
Wylan remains silent, awkwardly lingering on his knees as Jesper falls back to the earth and slowly catches his breath before rolling off the bed.
Wylan can’t help but look. He hadn’t really had the chance to before, so he does so now, appreciating the round curve of Jesper’s ass as he makes his way to the small basin near the door that must be filled with water. Jesper dips something into it, and when he turns around, Wylan realizes it is a scrap of cloth.
His cheeks heat as Jesper makes his way back to the bed, completely naked without a lick of shame, nor should he have any when he looks like that. Toned muscles and long legs that make Wylan’s heart swoop. He expects Jesper to hand him the cloth, but when he doesn’t, confusion rolls up Wylan’s spine, making it hard to look Jesper in the eye.
“May I?”
May he what?
He seems to sense Wylan’s confusion. “May I clean you up? It’s the least I could do.”
Oh.
Wylan’s lips part, and his jaw drops slightly. He’s never had anyone offer to help clean up before. Usually, they’re scurrying away as fast as Wylan was, fearing the wrath of Jan Van Eck if he ever found his son wasting precious time that he could be using to better his… shortcomings. Yet now, the idea of Jesper carefully wiping away the remains of their evening sends a jolt of excitement through Wylan that he’s not sure he’ll have the chance to feel again. So, he nods.
“Y-yes, please.”
A shy smile glances over Jesper’s lips as he reaches forward, careful and slow when he drags the cloth over Wylan’s body, gently removing the evidence of their evening from Wylan’s flesh. And despite how good it feels, part of him is reminded of how temporary this is, and a pang rings in Wylan’s chest.
Can I see you again? He wants to ask, but a simple whispered thank you is all that comes out.
“Trust me, it was my pleasure.” Jesper winks before turning away and wetting the cloth again to clean himself up this time.
Wylan waits for what comes next. Presumably, Jesper will ask him to leave, so clothes would be the best next step. He reaches for his shirt that had been cast toward the end of the bed. He puts it on, but before he can button it up, Jesper surprises him once more.
“You can stay. If you like?” For the first time all evening, there’s an undeniable waver in Jesper’s voice.
“Oh.” Wylan blinks.
“It’s not much.” Jesper shrugs at the room around them. “But it’s a warm bed for the night.”
Wylan’s lips twitch with a thankful smile that he directs toward the floor. “I’ll stay.”
Jesper crawls back into bed, pulling back the blankets and opening his arms for Wylan to curl up beside him.
Wylan tries not to look shocked, but he does a terrible job of it.
“I’m a cuddler.” Jesper shrugs.
“Me too,” Wylan says, though he’s not entirely sure it’s true. He’s never stayed with anyone long enough to find out. But when he cozies into Jesper’s side, he finds his answer immediately. Wylan is definitely a cuddler. He leans closer to Jesper, basking in the prolonged skin-on-skin contact, making him almost wish he’d taken the time to remove his shirt again. But the thought of moving now seems absolutely criminal.
Faster than Wylan expects, his limbs start to feel heavy, and his eyelids begin to flutter shut. He tries to stay awake if only to stretch the feeling of being held, but sleep consumes him, and he’s falling into the most restful slumber he’s had in weeks
— ❂ —
A splash of warmth washes across Wylan’s features, accompanied by a bright light that feels foreign, having spent most mornings hidden in the depths of the tannery. So why is it so bright?
Wylan blinks his eyes open, and as his eyes adjust to the light, he starts cataloguing the things around him. A dresser, a water basin, a side table, the bed and… Jesper.
The man glows against the rays of sunlight that cast through the stained window. A halo of light bounces off his skin, and the sight steals Wylan’s breath away. How blessed he is to see Jesper like this?
Despite the ache in his chest that tells him not to, he wonders how often Jesper lets his evenings companions stay the night beside him. He knows it’s foolish, but for a short moment, Wylan pretends it’s just him. That he’s special. That if Jesper were to wake up, he’d pull Wylan closer and ravish him as thoroughly as he had the night before. Perhaps it would be slow and lazy, like sleepy mornings that are made for relaxing and enjoying one’s company.
But, of course, that dream is the farthest thing from reality. For all Wylan knows, Jesper could be awake right now, waiting for Wylan to creep out of the room before opening his eyes.
A defeated sigh rolls through Wylan’s lungs and he forces himself to look away from the dark-skinned boy with beautiful eyes that he’ll likely never see again.
Wylan sits up, buttons his shirt, then searches for his pants, locating them on the floor toward the end of the bed. He stands, wincing at the harsh creek of the mattress springs, and carefully lifts his weight while avoiding looking back at the bed.
As he dresses, early memories of the previous night play through his mind. Ending his shift at the tannery, trying to get Dev to say in rather than– Wylan’s eyes widen, and his heart stops.
Saints, what happened to Dev last night? All Wylan remembers is him sitting at the bar and disappearing without warning, leaving Wylan to fend for himself against Bryden. Wylan shivers. Just thinking the name leaves a sour taste in his mouth. The only decent thing about the man was that he led Jesper to interrupt, which resulted in where Wylan is now. Standing in the middle of a foreign room of a bar he scarcely visits with a stranger who doesn’t feel like a stranger.
Last night, Wylan had known this was a one-night thing. He knew he wouldn’t experience it again. Hell, Jesper’s reputation was enough to tell him that. The famous gunslinger with a sharp tongue and even sharper wit. It should be easy for Wylan to walk away. It’s what he had expected, after all. And yet, when he risks a glance to the bed where Jesper still lays, looking years younger, exiting the room feels like a cruel lick of torture.
This should be easy, but it’s not because Wylan wasn’t prepared for the one thing everyone forgets to mention when recalling their experiences with the man. Jesper’s tender and caring nature that seems to come so naturally to him.
Wylan forces himself to remember he’s not special. That there’s a strong chance that what they shared is what it’s like for everyone who Jesper Fahey falls into bed with. Maybe, Wylan’s just too soft for one night alone with a man. Perhaps he’s just not the type for casual hookups.
Of course, this is far from the truth. It’s how most of Wylan’s sexual encounters have ended. Only all those times before, Wylan never really cared about what happened after, or if there even was an after. But this… it’s different. And maybe that’s what makes the chance of rejection that much more painful for him.
It’s best he cut his losses while he still can.
Wylan takes a deep breath and stands tall before starting toward the door.