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They've been sharing the master bedroom for several months now, each keeping mostly to his own side of the bed, and it hasn't been a problem. Jacob wakes early, and is usually showered and working on breakfast before Paul even thinks about opening his eyes. Even on weekends, there's rarely any awkwardness. Except when there is, and they wake up, legs tangled together, or faces pressed too close, and one feigns sleep while the other hastily turns away. Paul's gotten used to it, decided steadfastly not to deal with it, because his options are precisely none. He could kick Jacob out, but that would mean acknowledging the problem in the first place, and any further discussion of the subject would only risk revealing that it wasn't a problem, not exactly, not for Paul. The only trouble came in removing himself from Jacob's proximity, from his radiant warmth beside him in the bed.
It had been growing steadily more difficult to draw the boundary between within and without; knowing when it was required to rest his hand in the small of Jacob's back, when to press a chaste, close-lipped kiss and when to keep his distance. Which name to use, which story to remember and which to bury out in the garden, beneath the azaleas. No matter what changed between them when the eyes of the world fell away, one simple thing kept Paul afloat, and not adrift; the feeling of waking up and knowing he wasn't entirely alone.
Jacob occasionally talks in his sleep, but it's incoherent chatter, the words not slotting together properly, or not possessed of enough gravity to form words at all. It's one more thing Paul gets accustomed to in their time together, waking up to the soft murmur of nonsense incantations in the dark. One night he wakes up to a shout, Jacob clutching at his pillow in the moonlit room, eyes shut and slinging side to side with panicked, inescapable dreams.
Paul sits up and wraps his arms around him, drawing him in close with gentle whispers. 'Jacob,' he pleads from this side of consciousness. 'You're dreaming, wake up. Wake up.' He slides his hands up and down Jacob's arms, soothing the gooseflesh risen by uncontrolled fear. Jacob presses his head to Paul's chest, and he feels the stinging slide of tears dissolving against his t-shirt. 'It's all right,' he whispers, one hand threading through Jacob's hair. 'It's ok.'
Jacob heaves out a shuddering breath but doesn't move away. 'Would it help to talk about it?' Paul asks hesitantly, not sure if he wants to know the details. Knowing only that it matters if Jacob is willing and able; that he'll listen, regardless. Jacob shakes his head, shifting back until his forehead rests comfortably against Paul's shoulder. Paul doesn't let go, and Jacob doesn't move, just shivers silently in the dark. They breathe together, Paul's arm tight around Jacob's shoulders, and he loses track of the time passing between them. Jacob's heartbeat eventually slows, his breath against Paul's neck descending to a steady, even tempo.
Paul lowers Jacob back down against his pillow, lost once more to the depths of sleep. Paul can only hope he'll find a strange, surreal kindness there to replace whatever horror stalked his mind. Paul pulls the sheets up close around them and settles in so they're pressed back to back, the strangely intimate sensation crackling along his spine. He hopes it's allowed, hopes Jacob won't hate him for it in the morning, but Paul can't give up the contact, not just yet. When the sun rises, they can pretend it never happened, write it off as a passing dream gone unspoken. They're nothing if not actors, and they've learned their parts well.
Paul is dreaming. Knows that he must be, because Jacob is spread out before him on his knees, his chest pressed against the bedspread, his head lifted up just enough to glance over his shoulder. His eyes are dark, his thighs are open, he is asking, What are you waiting for?
Paul doesn't know how long they've been here like this, doesn't remember where their clothes went,only knows that Jacob wants him and that's so much more than enough. He steps forward, takes the lube that Jacob presses gently into his hand, and slicks two fingers, down to the third knuckle. He kneels down before this perfect body, a perfect study in sculpture and form and gently licks at Jacob's entrance, coaxing the muscle open gently with his tongue, tracing the circle around and around to hums of contented pleasure from farther up the bed. He pushes a bit deeper, slipping inside for the briefest of moments before pulling away, replacing his tongue with those slick, rough fingers, and Jacob moans.
Then it's a swifter motion, forward and ever so slightly up, sliding his fingers side to side against the tight, clenching muscles within. Jacob is warm around him, welcoming, and he opens to Paul, pressing back against him with a hesitant rhythm. Paul pushes in a third finger, and then a fourth, twisting his hand to accommodate the width while Jacob's hips rock back and forth with a sweet, wild need. He's hard, been hard since entering the bedroom, since seeing Jacob waiting for him like this, and Paul coats his shaft with one hand, sliding his fingers out from inside Jacob's heat. He rises to his feet, one slick hand sliding across Jacob's hips, the other guiding his cock to exactly the right spot before pressing back inside.
Jacob moans his name, pushing back against him, wanting him, needing all of him, but Paul waits. He moves slowly, each forward swing of his hips burying him deeper inside, while Jacob's hands clutch at the sheets, rocking back as if to say, more, more, more. Despite his efforts at opening him wide, Jacob is tight around his cock, squeezing down hard around him, trying to keep him when Paul seeks to back away, if only for an instant. He thrusts harder, responding to Jacob's demands, deeper and faster, clutching the skin across Jacob's hips so hard he knows the imprints of his hands will remain in the morning. It doesn't matter; no one sees Jacob like this except him. No one owns him like this, and never will again.
The pressure builds in the small of his back, Jacob's toes curling up as a red hot fire stirs below his belly, and he knows he's going to come, can't hold back any longer, but he wants Jacob to get off first. It's so much better that way, always better when he can see Jacob's face flushed with pleasure and release. He reaches one hand past Jacob's hips, grasps his cock where it slides across the soft, fresh sheets, leaving a slick trail in its wake. He presses Jacob hard against the mattress, keeping his hips still as he slowly runs his hand up and down and Jacob arches back off the bed, pushing down with his hands as his spine curls up like an acrobat. He can feel Jacob's desire, hear the slick stroking of flesh as Jacob snaps his hips up into Paul's fist, breaths coming short and heavy from his open mouth. He's almost there, Paul can tell he only needs a little more, and he tightens his grip, pulling his hips back and slowly sliding back inside that warm, tight space. Jacob howls his name and the spasm wracks his entire frame, soaking Paul's hand and the sheets and his own skin. The muscles around Paul viciously contract and he's close, so close, when the sky opens up above their heads and a shaft of daylight pierces through the dream.
He's lying on his back, Jacob curled up close beside him, his head resting on Paul's chest. His arm drapes across Jacob's back, keeping him warm and pressed tight beneath the sheets. A harsh breath stutters out from his lungs, and Paul tries to slow his pounding heart before the sound wakes Jacob from sleep. The sweatpants he wore to bed are wet along the front, he can feel the material clinging to his painfully erect cock, and he struggles to move, to wriggle out from under Jacob, but his limbs won't cooperate. The sun's barely up, a few rays slipping through the blinds to paint their bodies with a distant winter light.
'Paul,' Jacob whispers against his chest, his breath hot against nipples already sensitive, and moves his hips against Paul's thigh. He's hard, the name eager and needy as it leaves his tongue, and Paul's more convinced than ever that he's still asleep. He rolls them over, pinning Jacob down against the mattress and kisses him lightly on the forehead. Their bodies sort themselves out, hips settling in against thighs before reuniting with hips again. The movement is slow and sinuous, Paul's mouth moving to cover Jacob's lips as he drags his hard, wet need across the perfect hollow space that was always meant for him. Jacob's hips buck up against his thigh, once, twice, before Paul feels his eyes flutter open against his cheek.
'Paul,' he gasps hoarsely, his mouth open and warm against Paul's lips and he stops the motion of his body with obvious effort. 'Am I dreaming?' The question swims around in Paul's brain like a slow, circling predator, and he realizes the answer only after it leaves his mouth.
'No,' he whispers, his arms starting to shake, and he pulls back, trying to pry their bodies apart. 'I'm sorry, I - I thought – I'm so sorry -' Jacob's hand at the back of his neck cuts off the stammered rush of unnecessary words, bringing his lips back down where they belong. 'Stay,' Jacob whispers against his mouth, and Paul couldn't argue if he tried. Their second kiss is slow and tentative, but easy, Paul's mouth knowing exactly where and how to pry Jacob's lips loose and let him in. Jacob sighs, letting Paul taste and explore, his arms sliding below Paul's to wrap around his back and slide slowly down. Jacob moves against him, and he's lost, thrusting back, his mouth making its way down Jacob's neck. His hands settle around Paul's waist, dragging him forward, his lips against Paul's ear whispering over and over again, 'It's all right, it's ok,' and his hips move fast and rough against Jacob's body until they have to stop, the motion stuttering, and Paul's orgasm throws him off a cliff into the dark.
Jacob moans when he feels the release, warm and wet against his skin and presses up, skimming his hips along Paul's thigh. Paul finds his way back to consciousness and the sunlit world, pressing back down to give Jacob more to work with. Every inch of his skin is on fire as his brain tries to process what's just happened, what's still happening, and caves in beneath the weight of pure sensation. Jacob's mouth falls open around desperate words, his head sliding back against the pillow as he lets the motion take him. Paul slips a hand between them and Jacob slides along his palm with a deep, low moan, his hips rolling up and back. Paul's fingers want to touch and explore, but Jacob's too far gone, the slightest curve of Paul's hand against his cock stops his hips, stops time, and then Jacob is shaking in Paul's arms, falling to pieces waiting to be picked up and set to rights. Paul wraps his arms around him, settling into the crook of his neck, and pressing Jacob's name into his skin over and over with his tongue.
It feels like they stay there forever, safe and separate from the world outside their bedroom door. Nothing matters except the magnetic draw of skin against skin, the way their limbs twine and tangle together against the chill in the air. Jacob tries to speak, but Paul presses two fingers against his lips, afraid words will only break the silence like glass. Jacob wraps one hand around Paul's wrist, holding his fingers lightly in place and presses a sweet, simple kiss against them.
They'll have to talk about it later, Paul knows that, feels the twist of fear in his gut as from outside his own body. Here, in Jacob's arms, the moment feels removed from all consequence, as if they've carved out their own space and invented new rules of physics to suit the change. Paul's not sure if he'll ever sort himself out again, which is Billy and which is Paul, or if the divisions have lost all meaning. No matter what Jacob calls out in the night, he knows he'll always answer.