Operation Fake Relationship

He half opened his eyes, watching as Jackson undressed with his back to him. Muscles moved beneath Jackson’s skin as he slid his shirt off his powerful shoulders. Then he pulled on a grey T-shirt before dropping his trousers to reveal his muscular thighs. As he turned back to the bed, Nick closed his eyes quickly even though the sight of Jackson had woken him up a little.

“You still awake?” Jackson asked as he climbed in, bringing a blast of cold air with him.

“Yeah,” Nick said, tugging the duvet up around his ears.

The bed creaked as Jackson shifted around, getting comfortable. “Damn this bed’s loud.”

“It is isn’t it?” Nick sat up and bounced experimentally. “I reckon something needs tightening.” He bounced harder. “The headboard’s bumping against the wall too.” He carried on, creating a rhythmic squeak-bump-squeak-bump and chuckling. “That really will sound dodgy from the room below.”

“Who’s room is that?”

“My parents.”

“Nick, stop it!”

“Why? They know we’re a couple. We’re both consenting adults.”

“We’re not a couple, and I’m not consenting. Stop it!” Jackson grabbed him and pulled him down to the mattress, throwing his arm across his chest to keep him there.

“What’s your problem?” Nick snapped in a flash of anger.

“I have to face your parents in the morning, that’s what.”

“So? There’s nothing wrong with us having sex—I mean, if we were having sex, which obviously we’re not.” Nick was suddenly very aware of the fact that Jackson was half on top of him, his weight pressing Nick into the bed. Heat washed over him, flushing his cheeks. He tried to twist away but Jackson was too strong for him. “Maria and Adrian have Seth as evidence that they fuck, how is that any different?”

“It is different, and you know it.” Jackson’s jaw was set in determination. “And it will be really fucking uncomfortable tomorrow if you carry on doing that.”

“I don’t care. I want them to feel uncomfortable. It’s about bloody time my father was the one to feel like that. I spent enough of my life feeling small, and shitty, and disapproved of thanks to him.” A surge of hurt and rage rose, filling his eyes with furious tears. “I don’t owe him anything.” His voice cracked.

Jackson’s face softened. “I know, Nick. I’m not saying you do. But… just. Please stop. I don’t want to have to make polite conversation with your father tomorrow over breakfast while he has an image in his head of us having sex. Even if we were together I wouldn’t want everyone in the house knowing we’d been fucking the night before. That would be private, something between us, and it would be nobody else’s business.” His intense expression and the quiet, intimate tone of voice sent all the fight and anger out of Nick like the whoosh of a balloon deflating, leaving behind a small, secret thrill of possibility that prickled under his skin like electricity.

“Oh.”

Jackson’s arm was still over him, but instead of restraining him it was more of an embrace now, his body warm and heavy. “If I let you go, are you going to behave?”

Nick was tempted to say no if that meant Jackson would keep him like this for longer. “I suppose,” he hedged.

“Nick?”

“Okay, yes. Yes. I’ll behave.” He gave a mock pout.

“Brat.” Jackson chuckled as he rolled away.

“You can’t call me a brat. I’m older than you!” Outraged, Nick propped himself up on one elbow as Jackson lay on his back, expression serene.

Eyes closed, Jackson replied. “Only by six months. And being a brat has nothing to do with your age and everything to do with your attitude.” He paused and then opened his eyes to glance at Nick. “Can we go to sleep now?”

“Yeah.” Nick turned off the bedside lamp and settled down on his side, facing Jackson in the darkness. “Jackson?”

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry… about before. I might want to make my father squirm, but I didn’t want to make you feel embarrassed too.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Relieved, Nick shut his eyes against the darkness and tried to recapture his sleepiness of before. Although he was tired, his head was full of thoughts about the evening. As Jackson’s breathing slowed, Nick’s brain was still buzzing. “Jackson,” he whispered again after a few minutes.

Jackson sighed. “What now?”

“I’m sorry for the thing at dinner too.”

“What thing?”

“The gym rat and muscles thing.”

“Treating me like a prize bull, you mean?”

It was Nick’s turn to squirm. “Yes. That.”

“It’s okay. You’re forgiven.”

“Thanks.” A little more tension seeped out of Nick’s body. “You’re the best. I’ll try not to rock the boat so much tomorrow.” He gave a huff of amusement as he realised what he’d said. “Or the bed.”

“That would be good. Night, Nick.”

“Night.”

Six

Jackson drifted into consciousness at some point in the night. Barely awake and confused in the almost impenetrable darkness, it took him a moment to work out where he was. The bed felt strange and smelt of different laundry detergent to the one he used. Then a snuffling noise next to his shoulder reminded him he wasn’t alone.