Title: The One With Davey's Eyes
Davey's eyes are utterly, impossibly blue. It drives Jack all kinds of crazy.
They're easily Davey's most striking feature: big and expressive and capable of crumbling Jack's willpower into dust with a single pleading look. It's unfair, really, that Davey has such ridiculously pretty eyes. He's already so good with words that he could talk a lemon into tasting sweet, he really doesn't need another weapon at his disposal.
He's not sure what it is about Davey's eyes in particular—Jack's dated plenty of people with blue eyes before and they never drove him half-mad with want—but Jack's spent hours staring at them, thinking about them, painting them. And, hell, he knows he's a sap, knows that Davey would probably find his constant staring really creepy if he ever stopped being so oblivious, but Jack just can't help himself. He's pathetically gone over on the guy.
"Jack, are you listening to me?" Davey asks, distracting Jack from his contemplations.
Jack blinks, then shakes his head, trying to focus back in on the math homework he's supposed to be working on. "Sorry, Dave, I drifted. What did ya say?"
Davey sighs, pushing his own schoolwork away and sitting up slightly. He's sitting on the floor of Jack's room while Jack himself lays stomach-down on his bed, Davey preferring to work on a hard rather than Jack's sinking mattress. "I asked you whether or not you wanted to take a break and get something to eat."
"Sure, I could eat," Jack says. "What were ya thinkin of havin?"
"We could walk over to the sub shop on the corner, or we could order a pizza and split the cost."
Jack thinks about it, then shrugs. "Let's get pizza, if ya don't mind."
Davey nods, then leans over to grab his cell phone. The new position causes the sunlight streaming through the windows to catch his eyes just so and-
Fuck. Fuck. God he's beautiful.
Jack tries to swallow. His collar feels uncomfortably tight against his throat. He barely registers that Davey's trying to ask him something, probably about the pizza. He nods without hearing the question, then stares back down at his textbook before he can do something he'll regret, like lean over and kiss Davey right on his pretty mouth.
He's so busy trying not to look at Davey that he doesn't notice when he ends the call. "Jack, are you okay?" Davey asks, his brow furrowed with concern. "You seem distracted."
Jack tries for a casual shrug. "Naw, Dave, I'm fine. Just a little tired."
Davey scoffs, then moves closer. Jack has to work to keep his breaths even.
"Are you sure?" Davey asks, clearly skeptical. "You're acting weird."
Jack shrugs again. Davey moves even closer, leaning up and in, a hand outstretched to touch, biting his lip slightly as he thinks, his eyes gleaming with intensity behind his dark fringe and bright, piercing blue-
Jack pulls away before Davey can touch him, jerking back so suddenly that Davey is left grasping at empty air. There's a sudden, awkward silence as they both stare at each other.
"I told you, I'm fine Davey," Jack says finally, with a strained laugh. "Don't worry about it."
He forces himself not to look at Davey again for the rest of the evening.
00000
Davey's down on the floor, kneeling shirtless between Jack's splayed legs. His hands roam across Jack's body: up his shirt, nails scratching lightly at his stomach, teasing down his inner thighs, then traveling back up his outer thighs to his hips. He presses his face into Jack's crotch, nuzzles at the hard bulge in Jack's pants, then leans up and unbuttons Jack's fly with his teeth.
Jack lets out a low swear. "Christ, Davey," he mutters disbelievingly as Davey works his cock out of his pants. "Are you sure you wanna- "
"Jack," Davey says, rolling his eyes. "Shut up." Then he bends forward and takes Jack's length into his mouth.
"Fuck," Jack hisses, arching automatically into the tight, wet heat of Davey's throat. Davey's head bobs up and down, humming as he takes Jack deeper and deeper. He presses closer, taking Jack almost all the way down, then pulls back agonizingly slowly, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks.
Desperate for something to hold onto, Jack's hands make their way to Davey's hair, tugging at the dark strands as his hip buck forward, chasing Davey's mouth. Davey swallows hard around him, his eyelashes fluttering as he moans, then pulls off with a wet pop.
He licks a long stripe up the underside of Jack's cock, then swirls his tongue languidly around the tip, catching the wetness that's gathered there. Davey presses forward again, sucking hard as he deepthroats him and Jack muffles his groan of pleasure with his fist, his hand tightening in Davey's hair.
"Davey," Jack mutters desperately, thrusting shallowly into Davey's mouth. "Davey, Davey, Davey."
Davey looks up at him through his eyelashes, his lips red and stretched obscenely around the base of Jack's dick. His eyes are somehow light and dark at the same time, full of desire and confidence and love and so, so blue-
Jack wakes with a start, still half hard and his stomach sticky with come. He runs a hand across his face, then slumps back across his bed with a soft thump. This obsession with Davey's eyes is starting to become a problem.
00000
Jack only gets through the rest of the week without incident by avoiding Davey as much as possible. And, yeah, Jack knows he's being ridiculous, but since he can't seem to get through a conversation with Davey without blushing madly or worse, popping a boner, he's honestly not sure what else to do.
Hence his current situation.
Jack's hiding in the library, having claimed a table in one dimly lit back corner for himself, and doodling idly in his sketchpad instead of going to lunch. He figures this is the last place Davey would ever look for him—he only ever comes here when Davey talks him into studying with him, or sometimes when he has to drag Davey away from his books for some fresh air.
He pauses briefly to stretch, then picks up his pen and adds a few more details to his sketch. Then he realizes what he's doing—who he's drawing—and has to bite back the violent string of curse words that threaten to tear out of his throat.
It's not even an entire face: just a pair of eyes and a matching set of brows, with the barest suggestion of a nose in between them. Hell, it's not even in color, but they're so obviously Davey's eyes that Jack could almost tear his hair out in frustration.
Of course, this is the moment when Davey finds him.
"Hey, Jack," he says, hovering next to Jack's table.
Jack tenses, then forces his shoulders to relax, quickly turning to a new page in his sketchbook.
"What's up, Dave?" he asks, keeping his eyes trained on his paper. In his peripheral, Jack notices Davey's frown. He waits for Davey to confront him, his mind already racing for something to say in his defense.
"Can you come over this afternoon?" Davey asks. "Les has been practicing his spiral all week and's been dying to show you."
That's… not what he expected him to say. Jack blinks, trying to think of an excuse. Before he can come up with anything, Davey reaches over and places a hand on Jack's shoulder. The moves startles Jack badly enough that he glances up reflexively and-
Oh.
Jack's breath hitches. He's not sure when it happened, but Davey's moved closer, shifting to sit on the edge of the table nearest to Jack. Their faces are only a few inches apart. Shit.
"Look, I know you're busy," Davey continues quietly, when he's sure he's got Jack attention, "but I don't know anything about football or throwing techniques. If you could swing by, just for a little bit and give him a few tips, we would both really appreciate it."
Jack's having a hard time thinking straight. 'No,' a tiny, stubborn part of his mind whispers, 'just say no.' The larger, louder part is having a hard time focusing on anything other than the thick, dark eyelashes that frame Davey's eyes. He stares at them for a long moment, wondering if they'd flutter closed if Jack cupped Davey's face and eased him down into his lap, bridging the gap between them until their lips brushed...
Yeah, sure Dave." Jack says abruptly, looking away as a blush creeps up the back of his neck. "I'll come over right after school."
Then he gathers his things and flees, because he's absolutely pathetic.
00000
As soon as he gets there, Jack knows coming over was a horrible idea. Davey's already there when he arrives because Jack was too chicken to walk with him. He lets Jack inside without a word, then sits at the kitchen table. He's already started working on his homework, probably because Jack was supposed to show up almost thirty minutes ago.
Jack mutters an apology for being late, but declines the offered chair, too wired up to sit down. He can feel the weight of Davey's gaze on his back as he shuffles around the Jacobs' kitchen, opening cabinets and searching through the fridge to avoid making eye contact. He pours himself a glass of water and sips it quietly, leaning against one of the counter tops.
"So, uh, where's Les," Jack says eventually, after the silence stretches for several minutes.
"He's sleeping over at a friend's house tonight," Davey says.
Jack frowns. "But I thought ya said- "
"I lied," Davey says simply.
Jack goes very still. Fucking fuck.
"What's this about, Davey?" he asks slowly, setting down his glass.
"Why don't you tell me, Jack," Davey says, and while he sounds pretty calm, there's something about the tone of his voice that sets Jack on edge. "You're the one that's been acting strangely."
"What're ya talkin' about, Dave?" Jack says, feeling nervous. "I'm fine."
More silence follows his statement. Jack risks a look at Davey. He's still staring at him, but his gaze has softened slightly: less piercing and more lost.
"Why are you lying to me?" he asks wearily. Jack can't help but wince. For the first time he notices how tired Davey seems, takes in the distressed slump of his shoulders, the worried crease between his brows.
"I'm not lying," Jack lies, hoping Davey will believe him. "Really, I'm fine."
Davey laughs. It's not a happy sound. "I think we both know you're not fine."
"I really don't know where you're going with this," Jack insists.
"You've been avoiding me," Davey says, and he sounds genuinely upset. "You've been hiding in the library to avoid me at lunch and making up reasons not to hang out after school."
"So, what, ya think there's somethin' wrong with me, so ya trick me into some kinda intervention talk?" Jack says, trying for skeptical but failing miserably.
"No," Davey starts heatedly, finally standing. "I know there's something wrong with you, and since you run away every time I try to ask you about it, I figured this was the only way to get you to talk about it. Especially since whatever's bothering you clearly has something to do with me."
"I told ya I was busy," Jack says, trying to convince him. "I told ya I was tired."
"Except, you only seem to be too busy for me," Davey accuses.
This conversation is going downhill fast. Jack feels trapped and nervous and panicked, and the wounded expression on Davey's face is only making it worse. Jack tries to escape, saying dismissively, "whatever, Dave. I can't keep talking in circles with you about this. It's not my fault if you don't believe me."
"Why won't you just talk to me!" Davey shouts, his hands balling into fists at his sides, the beginnings of frustrated tears starting to well up in his eyes, and fuck, doesn't that make Jack feel like the worst kind of scum. "God, Jack, if something's wrong, tell me! All week you've been acting weird! It's like you can barely stand to be around me—you won't even look at me!"
Jack tries to walk away, tries not to respond. Davey yells, "don't you dare!" and catches his arm, pulling him back, and there's something about the look on Davey face, pleading and frustrated and vulnerable and-
Jack grabs Davey around the waist and kisses him.
It's not a careful kiss. It's rough and uncoordinated, nothing but the hot, desperate slant of Jack's mouth across Davey's. Davey lets out a soft, startled noise and Jack presses his advantage, tilting his head slightly to deepen the kiss. His lips part against Davey's, tongue lapping at the sweetness there, savoring the taste of him for one second, two.
Jack pulls away. Davey stares at him, his mouth slack with surprise.
"I'm stupidly gone over on you," Jack admits finally, and the confession seems to echo through the quiet of the kitchen. He takes a breath and the words start spilling out of him, like a dam bursting. "It feels like all do is stare at you: watching the way you walk, the way you talk, the way your eyes light up when you have another brilliant idea, and, god, Davey, your eyes. They drive me absolutely crazy. I've spent hours painting them, trying to capture how they sparkle when the light catches them, wondering what they might look like if I ever told you how much I want you."
Jack takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly, then carefully removes his hands from where they're still resting against Davey's sides. He waits for Davey to do something, to say something, but he's silent as stone. Jack's heart freezes and cracks, slipping out of his chest and straight through the floor.
He takes a couple of steps back, running a hand through his hair. Davey keeps staring.
"Right," Jack says when it becomes obvious that Davey isn't going to respond anytime soon. Well, at least Jack will have a few days to brace himself for the verbal rejection. "Right. I'll, uh, just see myself out."
He musters up a smile, then goes to grab his bag. He gets maybe a foot away when Davey rushes forward, grabs Jack by his collar, and crushes their lips back together.
And god it's good: the warmth, the urgency, the soft slide of their tongues dancing together, the feel of Davey's body pressed against him.
"You're an idiot," Davey says when they break apart the second time, flushed and panting. "An absolute idiot."
"I'm an idiot," Jack agrees. He feels almost dazed with happiness: light and relieved and wondrous. He draws Davey into another messy, heated kiss.
"You've barely looked at me in over a week because you like me?" Davey says between kisses, sounding like he can't decide whether to be angry or exasperated. "That was your brilliant method of dealing with your crush? What the hell, Jack! I thought something was seriously wrong!"
"Well, we both know you're the brains of the operation," Jack says.
Davey makes an indignant noise that quickly turns into a moan as Jack nips at his neck. "That's… not an excuse," he breathes.
"I'll make it up to ya," he promises.
"You're impossible," Davey says, and Jack can practically hear him rolling his eyes.
"You love it," Jack says into the curve of Davey's neck.
"I really do," Davey replies.
Something about the way he says it makes Jack's breath catch in his throat. "Yeah?" he asks tentatively, earnestly, pressing their foreheads together.
Davey's eyes sparkle. "Yeah."