ferryboatpeak

Jack stretches up the bed and leans over the edge to snag the supplies on the floor. When he surfaces with lube and a condom in hand, Harry’s rolled onto his side, looking at him. “Do we have to?” Harry asks.

“No, sorry, no, no of course not.” Jack starts to sit up, wondering how he could have completely misread this.

“You idiot, not that.” Harry grabs his shoulder and tugs him back down, laughing. “I just meant…” Harry voice trails off and he touches a finger to the condom wrapper in Jack's hand.

Oh. “Well, yeah,” Jack says, defensively, slumping back onto his side to face Harry. This is the right thing to do. He’s going to get it right this time.

Harry arches his back and pushes the side of his head into the pillow, looking up at Jack with one half-lidded eye.. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“I dunno,” Jack says, “I just thought… are you sure?”

Harry taps his fingers on the side of his belly, right where the laurel leaves start to distort. “It’s not like I’m gonna get pregnant.”

“If you want to…” Jack leaves the question in his tone. He reaches out to cover Harry’s hand with his own. Maybe this is a different kind of second chance. Not another shot at getting it right, just the possibility of getting back what he missed.

Harry smirks at him and laces their fingers together. “You didn’t mind last time.”

“I don’t even remember last time.” It eats at him, how he doesn’t know what happened on what was maybe the most important night of his life. Doesn’t remember making the biggest decision he ever made.

“I’m offended.” Harry kicks at Jack’s ankles.

“Was it good?” Jack scoots closer, up against Harry’s belly, and drops Harry’s hand so he can trace his own down Harry’s back.

“Yeah.” Harry closes his eyes, the corners of his lips curving up in a smile. “Yeah, it was good.”

It only seems fair, that Harry gets to know. He’s the one who’s carrying the physical manifestation of that night, so maybe it’s fitting that he gets to carry the memory too. Jack’s only ever going to get the story on Harry’s terms, only have what Harry’s willing to share. “Tell me,” he says, as he flips open the cap to the lube and nudges his knee between Harry’s. “Tell me about it.”

Harry slings an arm over him and and pushes his face into Jack’s neck, humming contentedly when Jack slides his first finger inside him. He whispers it low and filthy against the skin just below Jack’s ear, broken by gasps and whines when Jack adds another finger or curls them just right, telling Jack how their first time was so good, so hard, so deep, and by the time he trails off with a breathy moan at “...so close to you,” Harry’s slick and open and Jack’s so hard he could cry.

He pushes at Harry’s hip, trying to roll him back onto his knees, and Harry looks at him with dark eyes as he maneuvers awkwardly up and over. “Do you remember what you said, after?”

“No, tell me.” It’s uncanny, from this angle, how Harry doesn’t look pregnant. Jack drags a hand down the long bare line of his back, feeling each knob of Harry’s spine under his thumb.

“Not now,” Harry says. Jack can hear the soft scratchy sounds of his fingernails digging into the sheets as Jack slides between the tops of his thighs. Harry”s breath catches. “C’mon and fuck me.”

The words twist somewhere between Jack’s hipbones, He’s going to remember it all this time, every single sublime and agonizing second of the tight hot push inside Harry, every noise that Harry makes, every pull of his hand along Harry’s cock in the close space under his swollen belly. He’s focusing so hard on holding every bit of it secure that it’s not until after that he remembers, not until he’s stretched out on his back with the last traces of his orgasm burning and fading in his joints and Harry’s head on his chest. Harry’s breath is evening out, and Jack’s just on the edge of sleep when he pulls himself back. “Hey,” he murmurs to the top of Harry’s head, “hey, what did I say last time?”