Jack threw back the bedclothes and stood, stretching his hands above his head. His back popped, and he grinned. Suddenly, arms twined around his waist, pulling him close against a thickly muscled chest.
"Getting old," Sam murmured in his ear, nibbling at his neck. Jack laughed and turned, pulling him into a hug.
"Good morning to you too. I happen to have more than ten years on you, Sammy boy. I'm allowed to have my joints pop." He leaned up to kiss him gently, then grinned.
Sam chuckled. "I doubt that, old man. You can't be more than fifty, even if you go at it like you're fifteen." Jack grinned and moved away, bending to give Sam a view of his arse while he collected his clothes from where they'd fallen last night.
When he was done, he sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing his neck to work out some of the kinks. "What if I say I just have very youthful looking skin?" he offered with a sly grin. Sam had gone into the bathroom, and come out with a razor in hand and shaving cream all over his cheeks.
"No one who looks like you could be more than six years older than me," he declared. He stepped back into the bathroom, and Jack flopped back on the bed, pouting. Then he sighed and shook his head. It didn't matter. Gathering his clothes, he dressed. "Coffee?" he called, opening the door.
...
Sam woke alone. He was pleasantly sore- he must have been completely off his head when he brought whoever home last night. It wasn't the first time he'd forgotten a partner's name or face after a night of fucking, but they didn't usually leave this hollow ache beneath his breastbone. Whoever it was, he decided after a moment, they weren't that important, or he wouldn't have forgotten them, right?