Jake and Jean-Paul

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Jake turns to Jean-Paul to distract him from the pain in his arm.



There had barely been time for Jean-Paul to close the door behind him before Jake was upon him, pushing back against it, an arm around his neck to pull him down into a firm kiss, and one thigh pressing between his legs with
wordless urgency.

It was not a subtle invitation.

For all that urgency, however, little of it seemed to translate into real desire as they stumble-waltzed to the bedroom, landing against walls and doorframes on their journey. Jake murmured the words to urge Jean-Paul on, but remained tense bbeneath his hands and mouth.

Jake had been learning things all day--new limitations, mostly, things his fingers didn't want to cooperate on. Like buttons. He gave up trying to get Jean-Paul's shirt open after he'd fumbled badly with the first two, and settled for simply pulling the shirt over the other man's head. He caught the questioning look on Jean-Paul's face and covered the speedster's mouth with his own, forestalling questions. He didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to think about it, didn't want to feel the pain that was still radiating up his arm, the odd detached sensation that gave him vertigo if he focused on it too closely.

He brought his left hand up to Jean-Paul's face, trying to distract himself with sensation, but that didn't work either--Jean-Paul's stubble was too scratchy, his hair too soft, the lips and tongue that caught his wandering fingers too warm. He didn't bother to stop the frustrated noise that rose from his throat as he jerked his hand away from the other man's mouth and cradled it against his chest protectively.

A punch would not have broken the already uncertain mood more effectively.

Jean-Paul sagged back against the headboard for a moment in surprise as his lover retreated, then sat up and reached out for Jake's right shoulder.

"The arm again?" The question was gentle. "What is wrong? Tell me."

"They cut off my fingers." Jake's voice was somehow both frustrated and incredulous, as if there might be a joke to be made in there somewhere, if only he could find it. He drew in a shaky breath. "And they're doing...things. It's just--" No. He was not going to let his voice break. "It's too much," he said quietly once he was sure he had his voice under control.

"Jake..." Jean-Paul sighed quietly and let his arm slide lower, wrapping loosely around Jake's waist. The news might have shocked him more if he hadn't already known about Jake's awareness of his severed arm. It was still hard to hear. "Cabochon," he murmured softly, giving him a light squeeze. "You can tell me what you need. You have had your fingers cut off, do you think I am going to tell you to stop bothering me? If you need a distraction, I can do that. I can even take direction."

"I don't know what I need," he replied, the barest hint of a waver in his voice. He dropped his chin to his chest. "It just feels--wrong." He kneaded at the fingers of his left hand, trying to rub the strangeness away.

That slight quaver went right to the speedster's heart and he pulled Jake into a firm embrace, careful of his arm. "Come here." He combed his fingers through Jake's hair, trying to think of something, trying to keep the frustration at bay. "Do you think it would help to not wear the arm for a bit?"

Jake tensed as Jean-Paul's arms wrapped around him, but he forced himself to relax, tucking his head into the crook of Jean-Paul's neck. The sensation of fingers running through his hair was soothing, and he allowed himself a moment to enjoy it before he thought about what the other man had asked. "It might," he admitted finally. He flexed the fingers of his left hand, testing them. "Just--give me a minute," he said, starting to get up. Jean-Paul put a hand on his thigh to stop him.

"I will go. I have an idea anyway." Jean-Paul attempted a smile he didn't really feel and headed back out into the hall toward the bathroom. That hated feeling of helplessness was gnawing at the back of his mind, that feeling that he really wasn't all that much good to anyone. He hadn't been able to help his sister in her pain either...

'Stop it.' He put the idea out of his head for the moment and began looking over Jake's toiletries.

Jake waited until Jean-Paul disappeared into the bathroom before letting go of his arm. It was like taking off his tie and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt--suddenly he felt like he could relax in a way that he hadn't been able to earlier. He hadn't realized how much of a headache he'd been giving himself trying to hold the arm, now that the fingers were missing--it was like the absent fingers reminded his brain that there wasn't supposed to be an arm there. He sighed, sinking back against the pillows as his arm disappeared.

Jean-Paul poked his head in a few moments later, his smile coming back faint, but genuine at the lessening of tension lines on Jake's face. "That looks a little better," he said, heading for the bed again. He had a bottle of unscented lotion in one hand. "Think you can stand a rub-down by way of distraction?"

Jake stretched as everything settled, then nodded. "Just--watch out for the shoulder, okay?" It didn't need saying, at least not for Jean-Paul's sake. He knew this. But he couldn't help but say it anyway. He rolled over onto his stomach, arm over his head as the speedster settled next to him.

He flinched slightly as Jean-Paul's hands came to rest lightly on his back, but as they started to move he found himself relaxing. What was it Amanda had said? "Sometimes it's better not to be alone," he mumbled into the blankets.

"Every now and again," Jean-Paul agreed. He wanted to ask more questions, but not now. Despite his resolve not to compare Jake's situation to Jeanne-Marie's, the similarities kept surfacing as he kneaded up and down Jake's body, chiefly the uncertainty of whether or not the situation could ever get better. Jean-Paul paused a moment to caress the line of Jake's jaw. "See the advantages of hanging out with athletic types? We know a little something about working the tension out of you."

Jake smiled gently at that, turning towards the touch. "That, and you athletic types tend to have great asses." The flirting came more easily this time, in marked contrast to the frantic desperation of earlier. "Hey," he said after a minute. "What happened back at the chocolate place--the lady who recognized you? What was that?" His tone was one of lazy curiosity.

"Ugh." Jean-Paul grimaced and scruffed Jake gently in mock-retribution for his question. "That was me being jolted back into my infamous past. I used to be something of a sports celebrity back home. Skiing events. Took gold in the '88 Olympics. And then I got roped into a government-sponsored superhero program and wound up outing myself as a mutant before they could. After that, I was famous for various scandals and controversies." Jean-Paul kept his tone light. "I started developing a distaste for gawkers after that."

Jake rolled over onto his back. "So I shouldn't tell you about the pictures I've been selling to the tabloids?" he asked, a casual grin sneaking across his features.

"Now that you have tipped me off, monsieur, I am certain that I should make you tell me everything." Jean-Paul's fingertips settled lightly alongside Jake's ribs, threatening a ticklish retribution.

Jake captured one of the dangerously poised hands with his, drawing it up to his face. "You can take my life, but you can never take my freedom?"

"And if I am only interested in your dignity?" It really was hard to be properly threatening when your partner had a grin that turned you to putty in his hands, Jean-Paul reflected, running his thumb along Jake's cheek. He would have to work on this. Later. When Jake didn't need distracting.

Jake grinned. "Joke's on you. I haven't had any of that in years." He reached up to caress Jean-Paul's face, running a finger down the outside of one pointed ear. His smile softened as he looked up at the speedster. "I was freaking out a little bit, wasn't I?"

"A bit." Jean-Paul stretched out on Jake's right side. "But understandably so. Listen...if you need my help at all in this, just ask, hm? If nothing else, I can be decent muscle. Or company."

The look Jake gave him in return had the sort of brittle brightness one saw from someone who was trying to pretend things were better than they actually were. "It's been pointed out to me recently that I've been on my own for too long," he said. "That I don't know how to react when other people are around and caring. Which is probably true." He laughed quietly. "I'm pretty sure I've beaten the pool on how quickly I'd run away, too. I should've placed a bet. Probably still could." He let his fingers trail lightly down Jean-Paul's side. "You know, it was a lot of work getting that shirt off of you. I wouldn't want all that effort to go to waste."

Part of that explanation was far too familiar and Jean-Paul found himself grateful for the change of topic. Words were too uncertain at the moment, but a smile, a kiss, and an answering touch...those were safe, and he could provide them easily.

Their touches were long and languid, this time, lips and tongues and fingers moving slowly over skin, exploring more thoroughly than they had before. There was time and trust enough to find the most pleasurable means of overriding the pain, instead of grasping blindly.

After, they ended up in what was becoming a familiar position--fingers intertwined, Jean-Paul's nose to the back of Jake's neck, the speedster's hand gently caressing the shapeshifter's hip. Jake stirred slightly. "Don' wann' be 'lone righ' now," he mumbled into the crook of Jean-Paul's elbow.

"I will stay." The voice at Jake's ear was calm, but not drowsy. Jean-Paul's heartbeat had slowed to a steady, rhythmic reassurance against his back. He kissed the join of Jake's neck and shoulder, where there should have been a vivid bite mark. "I was going to ask if I could spend the night anyway. I am getting used to company."

Jake nodded, fingers tightening around Jean-Paul's in reply. That hadn't been exactly what he meant, although it was a part of it, but he didn't want to think about what he was really saying. Instead, he wanted to doze off with Jean-Paul wrapped around him, pretending that his arm didn't hurt and that he wasn't terrified of what might happen next.