Page 36 of Baby, It's Cod Outside
“Good. You’re doing so good, Ben,” Jackson breathes, his thumb brushing carefully over the velvety spot behind Ben’s ear. “Three things you can feel.”
“Your hands on me,” Ben’s voice is soft, wrecked. His fingers tighten on Jackson’s sleeve. “Your breath against my ear. My—my heartbeat.”
Jackson’s own heart kicks hard. “Two things you can smell.”
“Your cologne.” Ben’s eyes flutter closed for half a second, like he’s dizzy with it. “Shea butter.” His face is right there, inches away, breath warm against Jackson’s lips.
Jackson’s forehead dips forward, almost touching. He keeps stroking gentle circles at the nape of Ben’s neck. His chest aches with how badly he wants to hold Ben steady, to hold him always.
“One thing you can taste,” he whispers, the words catching in his throat.
Ben’s eyes lift, wide, shining. “You.”
He surges forward, sudden and shaky, lips crashing into Jackson’s in a kiss that’s all adrenaline and relief, salt wind and hunger, every tender, pent-up thing pouring out in one breathless, desperate touch. Jackson draws in a sharp, startled gasp, stunned by the sudden crush of heat, and then his mouth is moving, answering, his hands tangling in Ben’s collar, sweeping up to cradle his jaw, trying to tell him without words:I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
Ben makes a fractured sound, frustrated and needy, and Jackson chases it, pulling them closer, chest to chest. His fingers thread into Ben’s hair, angling the kiss into something deeper, slower. Ben leans, shudders, falls, pressing all that shaky, breakable trust right into Jackson’s body like he’s sure Jackson will catch it. He will every time he can.
For one suspended moment, the world seems to vanish, folded into unbearable sweetness. There’s no shoreline, no barrels, no truck engine groaning back to life somewhere beyond the rocks.
There’s just Ben.
Jackson noses gently at the corner of Ben’s mouth between kisses, softening the edges. Ben’s shaking, not from cold now but from release, his body finally, finally letting go of the weight it’s been holding.
He presses the promise into Ben’s lips again and again.You’re not alone. You don’t have to carry it alone.
When Jackson finally pulls back, just an aching half-inch, the MarineSelect truck is already gone. All that’s left is the hush of the cove, the snow whispering around them, the dark slick sheen still riding the water. Jackson’s phone lies half buried in the snow.
He looks at Ben, lips parted, pink and kiss-swollen, and he knows exactly why he made the choice he did.
Ben opens his eyes slowly, dark, pupils blown, dazed. Like he’s still trying to make sense of this, of them, of whether this is even something he’s allowed to want. His voice comes thin, “I—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean?—”
Jackson cuts him off, rough, sure, “Don’t.” His thumb brushes over Ben’s jaw, over the rasp of his stubble. He can’t quite stop touching him, can’t quite let go. “You did. You absolutely did.”
Ben lets out a shaky breath, a laugh that catches somewhere in his throat. “God,” he mutters, tipping his head back slightly, like the weight of everything just hit him all at once: the kiss, the dump site, the whole impossible mess of it.
He looks out past Jackson’s shoulder, freezes when he realizes. “The truck,” he says. “It’s gone. I ruined your chance.”
“Hey. Hey, no. Look at me.”
Ben does, wide-eyed and unsteady, like his heart’s still running at twice the speed.
“We’ll figure it out,” Jackson says. “We’ll figure all of it out. I promise you.”
Ben blinks hard, his breath catching, and for a second it feels like maybe he’s about to crumble completely, but Jackson pulls him in, arms wrapping around his shoulders. Ben melts against him with a shuddering exhale, burying his face in Jackson’s neck.
The wind gusts through the black skeletons of the trees, bringing with it the salt-sharp bite of the ocean and the chemical tang of what was just dumped. It should ruin the moment, but it doesn’t. Not with the way Ben presses into Jackson like he’s been doing it his whole life.
They stay like that, snow cold under their knees, heat pooling between them from adrenaline and something sweeter. The words balance on the tip of his tongue but it’s too much, too soon. He swallows them down, letting them burn softly in his chest a while longer. He’s not gonna spill them here, not in a fucking cove full of toxins. But later. He’s got them ready for whenever Ben’s ready to hear them.
Finally, he pulls back with a reluctant exhale, brushing his thumb one last time across Ben’s cheek. “Come on,” he says, gentle. “Let’s go dig through an asshole’s filing cabinet.”
Ben laughs softly, shaky but real. “Romantic.”
Jackson grins, takes his hand, and pulls him to his feet. “You have no idea, Fish Prince.”
They walk back toward the Jeep, not quite touching, but close. Closer than they were before. Behind them, the water laps quiet and cold against the rocks, like nothing ever happened.
But everything has.
