CHAPTER TWO

Jackson was cursing as he stomped in through the front door. His eyes spoke of long nights spent in the H Division basement and his hands quickly reached for Hobbs, bringing the two of them close together.

"Sir? You're..."

Hobbs' words were swallowed by the Captain, who acted as though he was desperately seeking something which he usually sought in a brewer's yard. Hobbs whimpered, his arms winding automatically around Captain Jackson's waist as the Captain's tongue quested hungrily beyond Hobbs' lips, until suddenly Hobbs could breathe again. Jackson's arm was still close around his shoulder and Lottie laughed from nearby, her red dress gleaming in the dim light.

"You'll get twice a rate if you perform in such a way out here," she leered.

"But twice the pleasure if we occupy ourselves privately," Jackson shot back, leading Hobbs up the stairs.

He was greedy that day, pushing Hobbs down onto their bed, pulling shirts and trousers away until only skin remained between them. Hobbs felt dizzy from it, the sudden movement and demands, but there was an answering greed growing within him and he could do nothing but respond. He moved up onto all fours as Jackson sucked marks down his back – Hobbs remembered a night when Jackson had seen fit to name all the bones his mouth brushed against. It had been a very memorable night. It looked like today was fixing to become similar.

Captain Jackson was unforgiving as he thrust inside of Hobbs, the movement practised and almost brutal. Hobbs moaned at the burn and pleasure, the combination setting alight every one of his nerves. He knew that the Captain had days which made him seek solace in the kind of dens that H Division sometimes strove to wipe out, he was glad when Jackson came to him instead. Hobbs wanted to be the kind of solace that the Captain most often sought out.

The pace that Captain Jackson set was bracing and Hobbs could feel the Captain's grip bruising his waist. It seemed of little import in that moment, heat and pleasure racing to erupt within Hobbs and soon enough, his groans heightened and he half-collapsed forward, trying to keep himself braced for the Captain's sake, despite feeling woozy with satiation. It mattered little, with a couple more sharp snaps of his hips, the Captain finished with a tortured moan. He patted Hobbs' shoulder, trying to catch his breath, then lightly squeezed the nape of Hobbs' neck, kissing there before withdrawing and seeking his tobacco tin.

Hobbs lay down for a moment, enjoying the strain and burn of his muscles. He had found that he liked to linger on such feelings, they seemed like reminders of where he was, tethers to this place. Then he reached for a bowl of water and cut of cloth, he'd discovered that lying too long with sweat drying on his skin made him itch.

He was running a dampened cloth over his body when he saw that Captain Jackson, still unclothed, was watching him thoughtfully, lit cheroot in hand. There was a pensive air to him, something that Hobbs had noticed too often burdened the Captain lately. He tried for a smile.

"Something ails you, sir?"

"You're not here to peer inside my head, Hobbs."

"No, sir." Hobbs paused, soaking the cloth once more. "I'm here because I want to be."

Jackson's expression sharpened and he nodded slowly before gathering words again. "You'd stay here, London? No plans for beyond the smog?"

Hobbs frowned a little, his confusion plain. "London's where my family dwells, sir, and where I hope to make some difference as Inspector Reid does. Beyond the smog, as you put it, I fear I'd lose my way."

Jackson blew out smoke slowly, as though soaking in Hobbs' words and Hobbs wondered suddenly, did Jackson ask because he himself was considering the world beyond London? It was where he came from after all, him and Miss Hart. Did he one day dream of striking out again? Only the colonies wouldn't bring him much but pain, would they? Perhaps the idea of roots unnerved Captain Jackson. Did they bring to mind Matthew Judge and the misadventures which had cost him and Miss Hart dear?

A shiver ploughed down Hobbs' spine, for he and Captain Jackson had made no promises to each other. Would Jackson think twice about leaving? Hobbs looked downwards. He had thought, hoped, that since Captain Jackson had asked him to share his room and bed that perhaps it spoke well of the future, or at least of what lay nearby. Had he deceived himself?

Jackson's hand came to rest upon Hobbs', stilling its work and took the cloth himself to run long languid lines down Hobbs' body, his eyes very much enjoying the view. Hobbs could barely think to breathe, unable to look away from Jackson's intent ministrations.

"My feet itch, Hobbs," Jackson spoke at last. "I'm not the type to sink in for a long stay. I seek more than being chained to Reid as he crusades so far into this place that it consumes him."

Hobbs nodded jerkily, something trembling hard deep in his chest, and attempted not to seem wounded. "I won't stop you, sir, if that's...if leaving's what you want best."

Jackson's ministrations slowed and he dropped the cloth into the nearby bowl. He balanced his cheroot within reach and thumbed gently at Hobbs' cheek. There was something almost gentle about the movement, it made Hobbs' insides tremble harder and his wounds seem so much deeper. Would Miss Hart allow him to stay without Jackson here also? And how would she deal with her monetary problems without Jackson's wage? Did Jackson not know what distress he could be causing with his absence?

"What I want..." Jackson trailed off, seeming lost elsewhere for a moment before he leaned closer, his kiss uncharacteristically soft. "Well, that hardly matters, does it?"

Hobbs began to protest but Jackson kissed him again, licking his mouth open with thoroughness as he proceeded to take Hobbs apart once more. There was a yearning between them this time though that Hobbs clung to, his eyes staying locked on Jackson's throughout, so much passing between them without sound.

They slept curled up together, silence and cheroot thick in the air.