Chapter Text
Jacaerys's steps ahead of him didn’t falter, the cape of his suit billowing in the wind; he was faster than expected, possibly driven by the adrenaline of the moment.
“Jace!” he called, trying to catch up with the boy along the rocky streets on the outskirts of the festival. The late night air was cold, and mist rose from their hurried breaths. The younger one kept going, determined to put distance between himself and the scene they’d just left.
If he hadn’t agreed to go to that festival, wearing that ridiculous outfit, none of this would’ve happened. He’d be at home, warm and calm, without the metallic taste on his lips, without the ache in his face, without his emotions in chaos. He never should have said yes.
Cregan quickened his pace, driven by impulse more than reason. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was chasing after the boy, but when he’d seen him break free from his friend’s grasp and take off running, he couldn’t just let it go.
“Jacaerys, stop!” he shouted as he managed to grab the curly-haired boy’s arm. He pulled him back and pressed him against the wall of the narrow street, preventing him from escaping again.
“Let me go! Leave me alone! Get off!” Jace’s voice was sharp, broken but forceful. He squirmed against the northerner’s hold, struggling to free himself, but the difference in strength was undeniable, and Cregan used it to his advantage.
“Hey, calm down. Listen to me,” Stark said, his tone as steady as he could manage. He knew that asserting too much dominance would only make things worse—Jace’s temperament demanded a gentler approach. He tried to avoid the blows directed at him and, with some effort, brought his right hand to the other’s face, holding it still.
The two bruises on Jacaerys’s face were impossible to ignore. One spread across his left eye and cheekbone, the other, smaller but just as vivid, sat on the bridge of his nose. The most striking detail, however, was the fresh blood smeared across his parted lips and lightly staining his chin.
“Easy, Jace,” he urged, forcing the boy to look at him. “Breathe. You’re far enough now.”
The boy obeyed, his breathing gradually evening out, though his damaged face still bore an angry expression. His muscles remained tense, the knot in his stomach refusing to unravel. Unable to vent the rage he hadn’t been able to unleash on his aggressor minutes ago, he tried once more to push forward, but Cregan held him in place, eliciting a growl of frustration. No words were needed; the message was clear—he had to stay put, at least until he calmed down.
For a moment, silence settled between them. Neither moved. They held each other’s gaze, the cold seeping deeper into their exposed skin. The pain from Jacaerys’s injuries began to intensify as the adrenaline faded. He winced slightly, closing his eyes momentarily against a sharp throb in his injured body part.
Cregan’s gray eyes carefully examined the damage. They lingered on the temple, where the dark bruise faded into his tanned skin—this would take time to heal. His gaze shifted to the bridge of the nose, which, thankfully, showed little swelling and where the blood had stopped flowing. At least it wasn’t broken.
Jace remained still.
Cregan’s eyes moved lower, tracing the curve of his nose, the dip of the philtrum, the bow of his upper lip, and finally settling on his mouth. His lips. He paused, feeling a new, long-denied need stirring within him. What now? It was inevitable. What else could he do but step away now that the struggle had subsided?
The hand slid softly down Jacaerys’s cheek, brushing against the corners of his bloodied lips. He pressed gently, testing—testing the southerner, testing himself.
Jace remained still.
So, he continued.
He first traced the outline of Jace’s upper lip gently, carefully delineating its reddened shape. Every motion was slow, conscious, infused with a calmness that had been absent minutes earlier. With his thumb resting in the center, he moved downward, gradually pressing against the lower lip, just enough to part it slightly.
His fingers followed the curve of the vermilion border with delicate precision, a slow, unhurried rhythm, like someone caressing something fragile. He paused at the point where the lips met, letting the silence speak louder than any action. The fresh blood tinged the soft, pinkish skin, adding to the intensity of the moment.
He lingered at the center where both lips joined and pressed once more, the touch gentle yet deliberate.
It was there that an unexpected response occurred: a kiss on his thumb, as slow as the attention it conveyed, accompanied by a faint, wet sound. Jace remained in place, but now joined in the curiosity of what might happen if... He separated his lips, unhurried, his tongue peeking out with the intent of resting on the finger. A timid lick followed, heightening the metallic taste picked up by his taste buds. And Cregan pressed against the muscle, moistening his thumb with saliva and diluted blood, feeling the tip of the organ under his finger pad. He increased the pressure as he slid along the median groove, pushing it back into the cavity. The cold didn’t feel as icy anymore.
In front of his gray eyes, he saw the curly-haired boy—the same boy who lived with him, the same boy who had been striking someone with hatred just minutes ago—taking his digit with satisfaction, making no other movement. An attentive expression watched him from the wall, fully aware of what was happening.
It slid further inside, saliva serving as the natural lubricant it was. He could slightly feel the interior of the mouth tighten; teeth pressed lightly against his flesh—not a direct bite, just a fleeting pressure against the phalanx.
There were no other thoughts but the sensation of physical connection they were both experiencing.
Jace sucked. Cregan perceived how that simple action stirred too much inside him, in his abdomen, in his—
“Fuck.”
What was he doing? At what point had he entered into this situation? He had initiated it himself, at first he had only gone after Jacaerys to calm him down because he looked too out of it but without wanting to... Now he was witnessing a scene so erotic-morbid that it threw every mental scheme out of order. He was watching Jace, with the fresh bruises and blood over his lips, sucking his finger without any resistance; accepting it, with that jet-black look, befitting his solid character. Deep.
Then, the icy air filled his lungs, pulling him back together like a slap he desperately needed to ground himself. “What I'm...?” A shiver ran down his spine. He shouldn’t go any further—it wasn’t fair. So, carefully, he withdrew his hand, trying to make the motion gentle enough not to leave the curly-haired one in awkward confusion. Jace seemed to have read the atmosphere—or had also come to his senses—as he parted his lips to make it easier and, seconds later, averted his gaze to a spot on the ground.
Tension enveloped them both, though it was not the kind that precedes a fight or argument. A moment of reflection. Before the silence grew unbearable, the northerner spoke.
“Let’s find some ice for your face before it swells any more.”
Jacaerys, who had lifted his gaze again, nodded. “Mhm.”
Cregan stepped away, leaving enough space between them, and began walking. Not rushing, but not lingering either, because while what had happened was unexpected, he didn’t want to create discomfort. There had been no mistake in his actions, and it seemed the same was true for the southerner.
As they left the cobblestone street, heading home—since the curly-haired one didn’t seem inclined to return to the party, and neither did he—Stark found himself caught in a moment of introspection. He, who had always avoided intimacy with others, close physical contact, situations that required interpreting someone else’s needs... had sought all of that in his roommate. The least suitable person.
And that unsettled him. He didn’t understand—couldn’t find a reason beyond, "I couldn’t help it," "I wanted to, I could, so I did." He was being as human as anyone else, yet he felt that this behavior wasn’t his. There was something profoundly disturbing about realizing that his own walls, boundaries, had crumbled in an instant.
He had been the one to initiate contact, the one to take a step toward something he had always deemed unnecessary, even dangerous. Intimacy. Connection. Words that, over time, he had turned into distant concepts. And now, here he was, walking alongside Jacaerys with the glaring evidence that something inside him had changed. Or perhaps it had always been there, buried beneath layers of self-protection.
Why? That was the question he couldn’t stop asking himself. Why had he sought that closeness? Why, after so long, after avoiding it so deliberately, had he let someone cross that line? He wanted to, he could, so he did. It was the only real answer he could give himself, but it wasn’t enough to quiet his mind.
It wasn’t weakness—he knew that. He hadn’t felt as though he was giving something he didn’t want to give. But it also hadn’t been a fully conscious choice. It had been instinct, a need. Something his body and mind had decided for him before he could think of the consequences.
Was that what unsettled him so much? The idea that not everything in his life was under his absolute control?
He glanced sideways at Jace, who walked silently beside him, as if he knew Cregan needed time to process. There was no rush, no pressure, just the constant presence of someone who didn’t seem to demand anything from him.
And that disarmed him even more.
For years, he had grown used to the idea that any kind of closeness—beyond fleeting, physical interactions—came with conditions, with expectations he didn’t see himself meeting. That’s why he kept his guard up, ready to reject any repayment for his behavior. But Jace didn’t seem to expect anything; he was simply there. Cregan didn’t know how to handle that, how to accept something so simple yet so complex.
His mind kept turning, searching for answers to questions that perhaps didn’t need to be answered right now. But amidst all that chaos, one thing was clear: he didn’t feel less because of what he had done. He didn’t feel broken, or weak, or vulnerable. He felt human. And that was what confused him the most.
Because, for the first time in a long time, Cregan Stark hadn’t hidden himself. And that changed everything.
“You... okay?” Jacaerys’s voice slithered into his thoughts.
Their gazes met.
“I’m not the one with a bruised face.”
Jace smiled faintly. “Fair enough.”
“Does it hurt much?” Cregan asked.
“Enough to know nothing’s broken,” Jace replied, relieved.
Cregan nodded and cast one last glance at the boy. The damp sensation still lingered on his hand.
—
Cregan took a drag from his cigarette while his eyes stayed fixed on the grayish ceiling of the terrace. His body rested carelessly on the plastic chair, legs stretched out. Beside him, Jacaerys seemed distracted with his phone, a bag of snacks on his lap, the occasional crunch of chips being the only constant sound between them. They had agreed to study together some afternoons, to motivate each other during exam season and university assignments.
The place wasn’t very spacious. The pair of seats—slightly askew—barely had any room between them, accompanied only by a small matching table. But it was enough.
It was still daytime, not too cold, and they needed a break. The curly-haired one was hungry, and Cregan needed a smoke. The fresh air offered a pause.
“Hey,” Jace suddenly broke the silence, his tone casual and unbothered. “Are you a virgin?”
“What?”
Cregan glanced at him, his face turning red, with a slight frown. He wasn’t upset. The question had completely caught him off guard. He turned his head a little more to look at him directly, but the other boy remained focused on the screen as if he had just asked about the weather.
“Are you?” Jace insisted, sliding his thumb to scroll through what seemed like videos. “Just curious.”
With a raised eyebrow, still puzzled, Cregan responded, “Pretty weird curiosity, don’t you think?”
Finally, Jace lifted his gaze, but before he could reply, the northerner cut him off: “No, I’m not.”
The curly-haired one looked at him with a mix of doubt and mischief. “Are you sure?”
Cregan let out a dry, unbothered laugh. "I think I know when I've put my dick inside someone's hole. Or when I have sex in general.”
There was a brief silence. The situation was… funny. Jace seemed to ponder for a moment before nodding slowly. “That’s what I thought…” he murmured, almost to himself.
“Huh?” Cregan was still just as confused, so much so that he didn’t realize how sharp he sounded. “Since when is other people’s virginity so interesting to you?”
“Oh… It wasn’t— I wasn’t doubting you to offend…” Jace stammered in a lower tone.
The northerner let out a small laugh. Offended? Not at all. “I don’t take offense to what someone thinks or doesn’t think about whether I’m a virgin or not. I just want to know why you care.”
He wasn’t lying. If he made a list of his concerns, there were plenty of things he’d prioritize over his sex life being questioned. Still, this was the first time something like this had come up because it wasn’t an assumption people typically made about him. Tall, muscular, strong, serious, imposing, handsome. He should have had tons of girls and guys lining up for him. He couldn’t possibly be a virgin.
Sometimes, he wished that “unthinkable” option were true.
“Because it’s weird, and you sounded way too intense about it,” he added.
It wasn’t panic that Cregan saw in Jace’s face as he spoke, but there was that hint of nervousness you get when you’re trying to explain the inexplicable, even if it puts you slightly out of line.
“No, no— Honestly, it’s simpler than it seems. It’s nothing related to… Well.” The phone and snack bag were now on the table. “Here’s the thing.”
Cregan sat up to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray. He wanted to hear the guy out.
“We’ve been living together for a couple of months, and it’s been fine. You’re a good roommate; I’m glad I ended up with you. But… I’ve noticed something.” Their eyes locked. “I mean, I’ve noticed something about you.”
Cregan’s brow furrowed slightly. He said nothing, letting Jace continue.
“You avoid physical contact,” Jace finally said. “At first, I thought it was a coincidence, but then… I don’t know, it seems intentional. Like it bothers you.”
Another pause.
“And if you’re wondering what that has to do with anything… The truth is, maybe this is a bit invasive, but I brought it up with a friend who studies psychology.”
“Good to know I’m a subject for testing the reliable expertise of your friend, who studies psychology” Cregan replied skeptically, arms crossed over his chest.
“That’s not it!” Jace raised his hands defensively, his tone a little nervous. “I needed to understand… One conclusion we came to was that you were avoiding direct contact with me because you’d never experienced something that intimate before and didn’t know how to handle it, and that made you uncomfortable. But there wasn’t even sexual tension or anything to trigger it.”
Was this a joke? Cregan didn’t know whether to laugh or sit there processing what he’d just heard.
“But I ruled that out pretty quickly because I’ve watched you—”
“You seem to watch me a lot, apparently,” Cregan interrupted bluntly, making Jace lower his gaze.
“I… Uh. I had my reasons.”
“To observe me like a lab rat because I haven’t touched you directly?”
The curly-haired boy’s voice rose. “That’s the point! You did, the other night. And it wasn’t exactly unintentional, maybe, but…”
Ha. Cregan smiled in disbelief. “Do you realize how stupid it sounds to say that to me? It all seems so… nonsensical. You thought someone was a virgin because they’re not inclined to physical contact, and then one day they touch you. Wow.”
He watched as Jacaerys frowned. “He touched me, and since that day, he’s been more uncomfortable than ever. Wow.” Jace countered with equal sarcasm. “I’d like to talk about that, most of all.”
“Wouldn’t it have been easier just to ask me directly?”
They tossed the ball back and forth between them.
“I did—or at least tried to. But you dodge conversations as well as you dodge touches.”
A direct hit to his pride. “Fine.” Cregan leaned forward. “What are you trying to say, Jace?”
The dark-haired boy’s gaze fixed on him for a few seconds. He was determined. Maybe Cregan avoided things when he could, but Jace was tenacious.
“Why did you stop?”
“Stop what?”
“That night. You looked so intent when you put your finger in my mouth, but then you decided to stop all of a sudden. Why didn’t you kiss me after that? You wanted to, just as much as I did. You were an open book.”
“I didn’t—”
“Yes, you did.” Jace allowed himself to take control of the situation. “Why didn’t you kiss me? Is it because I’m a man?”
Cregan stared at him, his expression hardening. This wasn’t a conversation he wanted to have—not with him, not now. Maybe not ever. “This is stupid.” He stood up slowly, picking up the water bottle by his feet before heading toward the living room. “I’m going to keep studying.”
“Cregan…” Jace’s voice was softer this time, almost guilty. But Cregan didn’t stop.
"You wanted to." Of course, he wanted to. Damn it, he wanted it more than he cared to admit. That night, he had been one step away from letting himself go, from kissing those damned lips that tempted him so much. He would’ve kissed him in so many ways. But he couldn’t. Was it because Jace was a man? If only it were that simple—that would be easier to admit.
Kissing Jace meant opening a door—a very deliberate door—that he wasn’t sure he could close again. It meant crossing a very explicit boundary, one that terrified him. Because Cregan knew himself, he knew what could happen, and he wasn’t willing—not again.
His breathing hitched for a moment. How pathetic. The courage he’d had that night now felt like… nothing.
“Focus. Just forget about it and focus.” He closed his laptop and decided to go back to his room, to be alone. That was enough for today.
“Cregan.”
His name again, but this time closer.
Beside the laptop, he quickly grabbed the notebook filled with scribbles—numbers, data, equations—and his pen. He didn’t need a pointless conversation. What was he going to say? “No, Jace, I want to kiss you, but I’m terrified of feeling any kind of intimate connection with someone.” His jaw tightened as he shook his head, as if he could shake the words out of his mind.
“Cregan.”
This time, Jacaerys was standing in front of him, blocking his path gently, his hands firmly gripping the arms of the northerner’s chair. The touch was unexpected, a jolt that shot up the back of his neck like an electric current. "Please".
“I need to finish my work.” The words came out fast, almost clumsy. An excuse. The only one he could cling to in order to escape.
“Just a couple of minutes,” Jace replied, his tone soft, patient, almost like a caress. The pressure on his arms began to ease.
Cregan knew. It wouldn’t be “just a couple of minutes.” His gaze betrayed his intention to move, to step back, to take those steps that would lead him to the safety of his room. But then Jace stood in his way again, this time without touching him.
“Please. I’m sorry.” The apology sounded sincere, real. Easy to accept.
Cregan’s eyes lingered on Jace’s face, on the yellowish and greenish bruises peeking through his skin. Traces of injuries. Something inside him twisted, a thorn driving deeper. Brown eyes locked onto gray.
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Otherwise, what am I supposed to be?"
A light touch on the back of his hand. Gentle, almost imperceptible. Jace moved with a patience that disarmed him. It was as if that small gesture was silently asking a question, one Cregan didn’t know how to answer.
“I need to finish… the work…” The sentence died on his lips, choked by the tangle of thoughts lodged in his throat.
“I know, I know.” Jace’s words were gentle as his fingers slowly brushed over Cregan’s skin, moving toward the objects he was holding. “I’m not going to pressure you. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”
Jacaerys knew exactly what he was doing. He knew perfectly well. Every movement, every word was calculated to avoid breaking something he sensed was fragile. How? Cregan didn’t know, and maybe he never would. But in that moment, he didn’t have the strength to resist. He let himself go, allowing the boy’s proximity to envelop him, letting him gently remove the weight from his hands with almost reverential care.
“Let me go. Please.” He thought it, but he wasn’t sure if it was directed at Jace or himself.
Every new touch, no matter how small, exposed another part of him, one he thought he’d kept well hidden. It was pathetic, almost humiliating, this vulnerability that made him tremble. But what could he do? He was trapped, lost in an endless garden of marigolds that suffocated him as much as they captivated him.
And then, as quickly as Jace had brushed his fingers against his hand, Cregan hesitated. Just like that night.
The apartment was silent, broken only by the soft rustling of clothes.
Cregan leaned his head forward, his breathing heavy, as Jace’s brown curls brushed against the dark strands falling over his own forehead. But he stopped, rigid, as if an invisible wall had risen between them. A barrier he had built himself. A barrier made of fear.
He turned his head, closing his eyes tightly, his lips pressed together as if that could keep him safe.
“It’s okay. You can take it, Cregan. Nothing bad will happen to you. I won’t let it,” Jace whispered, his voice a balm meant only for him.
He felt ridiculous. Like a little boy in his first school play, needing those words of encouragement to keep from running offstage. And there he was, a grown man trapped in that absurd role.
“This is stupid. It’s pointless. It’ll only cause problems, more problems. I don’t want this. I don’t want to go through it again.”
He shook his head, as if doing so could dispel the weight of his thoughts. But he couldn’t.
“I can’t.” His voice came out broken, a whisper that faded into the small space between their faces.
“Yes, you can, Cregan. You want this. Take it. Just a little.”
Is this how Eve felt before the apple? Jace’s words were worse than any forbidden fruit, a temptation that completely enveloped him. Like a siren’s song, they invited him to dive into an ocean he wasn’t sure he could escape.
Jace no longer touched him, but he still overwhelmed him—his voice, his gaze, that unwavering closeness. Patient, constant. The moment seemed suspended in the air.
Their faces were so close. Just a little more. Just one slight move. And he could.
If anyone was going to take that step, it had to be him.
Because Jacaerys allowed him to set his own pace. To take his moment.
He kept telling himself he couldn’t, that he could.
Those curls against his cheeks. “It’s going to ruin everything. You’re going to ruin it—”
He forced himself to stop thinking, to take that leap, to seize the opportunity being offered to him.
He had that right, didn’t he?
It started as a subtle, not shy but tentative, brush against his lips; warm and hesitant. He needed to know that what he was doing wasn’t a mistake. He sought Jacaerys’ gaze.
“Help me.”
At that point, he wasn’t sure if he was still thinking or if the words had actually left his mouth. Possibly the latter, as the young man tilted his head seconds later.
One mouth over another, waiting. It was painfully slow—he was aware of that. Their breaths mingled, yet it wasn’t enough to make him feel deserving of it.
“Cregan.” The voice pulled him out of his inner battle. “It’s okay. I can pull away if you want.”
It was a white flag.
Because even though there was no physical harm, no visible wound on Stark’s body, Jacaerys was so close—and he wasn’t blind. He could see, he could tell how the man was struggling to stay in place while something seemed to tear him apart. It was a pain worse than the discomfort of those bruises on his face, and he wasn’t going to force his way through it. Not now. Not at this moment.
“I’ll go, okay?” Jace murmured slowly, opening up space between them again.
No, no, no. He couldn’t let him go. Not when he was so close.
Sometimes, people act purely on impulse, disregarding thought or reason. Sometimes, they make mistakes. Other times, those impulses are necessary. If it weren’t for that impulsiveness, Cregan wouldn’t have closed the gap between them. He wouldn’t have tasted what it’s like to ignore his own repression. He wouldn’t have finally discovered that Jace’s lips were even warmer and softer than he had imagined.
The kiss wasn’t rushed or restrained. It was slow, filled with exploration, as if he were learning to breathe again. Jace understood—he didn’t know how, but he understood. He didn’t rush him; he simply accompanied him, sharing the moment. Enjoying it. Both of them. Together.
There was no greater intensity. In one of those small sounds between kisses, as their lips parted, Jace spoke.
“Is this okay for you?” Of course, he had to make sure.
Cregan felt each word against his lips and nodded.
It was okay. It was more than okay.
Jacaerys smiled at him. Warm, tender. “Do you want to get back to study now?”
“No.”