Chapter Text
"Daniel," he gasped, the name rolling off his tongue in a way it only did when he was just like this, legs in the air and hands clutching the sheets. "Daniel, please." At work, when he was sober and in control of himself, Jack never let himself call the other agent by his first name, but when he was in his bedroom, like this...
The other man rolled his hips, pressing deeper into Jack and making him moan again. He pushed just a little closer just as he finished off, his peak bringing Jack over the edge as well with Daniel's name perched on the edge of his tongue, ready to fly away.
Samuel rolled over, grabbing a handful of tissues from the nightstand. "You've got issues to work through, buddy."
"Yeah, well I'm not paying you to be my shrink," Jack bit back. He tried to think of something meaner to say, something about having sex with a man whose last name you don't even know, but it would just sound pitiful, and his brain was still sluggish, the need for a drink setting in. Jack could never be anywhere near sober when he could still feel the remnants of another man dripping out of him. He reached across Samuel's supine body for the bottle of whiskey sitting next to the tissue box and lube. Everything he needed for an evening of fun and misery all together, nice and tidy.
He took a drink straight from the half-empty bottle. Shit. He'd just bought it yesterday.
"You're not paying me very much at all," Samuel was saying. "Barely covering my cab back home, if we're being honest."
"Then pretend I'm paying you in not telling your wife what you're up to all these evenings, how about that?" Jack shot back. The fuzziness was finally starting to inch back from his brain, and he took another gulp.
"My wife don't give a damn, remember?"
"Nope," Jack cut in, but Samuel hadn't waited for him to answer, just kept talking.
"She does whatever she wants to stay happy on her end, I take care of my business on my end. We share a house, raise a kid, and that's it. Don't need questions anymore."
"Well, don't worry. I didn't ask you any. You can stop answering whene'er you want." Jack rolled into an upright position, resting his elbows on his knees and slouching forward, his back to the other man, still lying comfortably on his mattress like he belonged there.
Maybe he did. Maybe Jack shouldn't kick him out just yet. Maybe there should be at least one person able to appreciate what a damn good bed this was, able to just lie down on it and get some undisturbed sleep, unhaunted by the demons that followed him from across the water and kept spawning.
Samuel was talking again. He talked so damn much. Jack ignored him, instead grabbing a handful of tissues and trying to minimize the mess as he headed to the bathroom to clean up. Samuel had already come by earlier in the week, and Jack didn't have another clean bedsheet to switch this one out. In case he didn't feel dirty enough about the whole thing.
Jack wasn't much the religious type for a whole bunch of reasons. And yet he'd ended up with a rosary tucked behind some pill bottles in his medicine cabinet, and he'd fallen into the habit of pulling it out every time he came in here to clean someone else off him. He'd cross himself and mutter a prayer. It was as much a part of his post-coital ritual as brushing his teeth or rinsing with a washcloth.
The words of the prayer, too, were as familiar as the muttered stream of curses as he rinsed his stinging, sensitive flesh. God, Jesus, whoever you are, he begged, half-mouthing the words, half-whispering them, Please make it stop, make that be the last of it. Please let it be over now. He kissed the rosary. Please just let me be whole.
Jack brushed his teeth, washed his face, gargled water. He met his haggard gaze in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, ringed with dark circles like bruises. Two day old stubble stood up angrily. He looked like he'd been through hell and back.
The mirror was flecked with several days worth of tooth paste and was begging to be washed. Jack considered it, but he could barely muster up the energy to rinse his toothbrush off, then.
The rosary was tucked in the back of the medicine cabinet. The toothbrush was returned to it's little cup beside the sink. The now-sticky washcloth was tossed in a bin with several others. Jack hand-washed those when he had the time, too ashamed to let them see outside of those four tiled walls.
When he dragged his feet back to his bedroom, Samuel was gone, thank God, the five dollar bill Jack had left with the lube and whiskey gone with him. Jack pushed open a window, hoping the sweaty stench of sex would be replaced by something better, but it was October in New York City and the wind just howled at him, blowing in cold air and the smell of already-rotting leaves.
Jack came pretty damn close to finishing the bottle before he passed out on his bed, one sock still on.