Chapter Text
Rhys steels himself as the Hyperion shuttle touches down in front of the central Atlas facility. He had put this meeting off for as long as he could, but protocol being what it is, a face-to-face meeting was inevitable, especially with negotiations stalled. He’s spoken with Handsome Jack over the ECHO-net a few times, in conference calls and the rare video session, but this will be the first time he’s meeting the man in person.
It’s petty, but if this is going to happen he wants it to happen on his turf.
The shuttle engines cut and Rhys can see the pilot flipping off switches as the hatch pops open with a hiss of equalizing pressure. Handsome Jack is the first one out, bounding down the ramp with the air of a man who has utter confidence in either a personal shield or his draw time. Rhys has heard rumors of the second, and no rumors about the first, so he assumes both are true.
Can't spread rumors if you’re dead, after all, and Handsome Jack has a reputation both for being...messy, and for coming out on top.
“Atlas.” Handsome Jack comes to a stop a few feet away, folding his hands behind himself and rocking back on his heels. “Thanks for the invite. You sure we couldn’t have done this on Helios?”
“Hyperion.” Jack always starts with Rhys’ title; Rhys can’t help but respond in kind, even as it puts him on guard. Rhys nods his head and Jack falls into step as Rhys turns away from the landing pad and heads for the facility. “The negotiation teams didn’t seem to be doing us any favors. And no, I’m not stepping foot on your station until you clear my security team.” He waves a hand at the guards stationed inside the door, and they step aside, eyeing Handsome Jack unhappily.
Jack snorts. “Your quote-unquote security team has both a bomb specialist and an ex-Dahl commando on it. No way am I clearing them.”
Rhys shrugs as they move through the facility, nodding to employees as they pass. “Your loss, then.”
“Damn right. How much are you paying them, anyway? They were impossible to bribe.” Jack eyes the interior with interest. Rhys wonders what he makes of it. There are no floor-to-ceiling portraits, as are rumored to grace the halls of Helios; except for the occasional Atlas brand, it could be any industrial facility.
“More than you’re offering, apparently.” That’s true in both senses; but that’s not something Rhys wishes to discuss. He pushes the door to the administrative suite open, trading utilitarian hallways for the soft glow of polished wood. His aide stands at her desk, clearly forewarned, and Rhys waves her down as he leads Jack towards his office. “Can I get you anything to drink before we get started?”
An hour and half a pitcher of triple-purified water later and they’ve got the major details of a joint mining venture worked out; Jack is surprisingly easy to work with, once Rhys moves past the abrasive exterior and the inflated self-worth.
Up to a point, anyway. Jack’s lowballing him on the fine print and Rhys has had about enough of it.
“Five percent of the yield from the Eridium mines located in Atlas territory.” Jack leans back and kicks his shoes up on Rhys’ desk, foot passing through the Atlas hologram in a way that is almost certainly deliberate. “It’s a great offer; we do all the work, you sit back and look pretty.”
Rhys sighs. “It’s a terrible offer and you know it. Thirty percent of the yield, and a license to develop e-tech in perpetuity.”
Jack bares his teeth, absently twirling the stylus he’d lifted from Rhys’ desk between his fingers. “Ten percent, and I won’t moonshot your shitty facility from orbit.”
“As if it would make it through our defenses. Twenty percent, the e-tech license, and we’ll sell you radiation treatment at cost. None of the markup, and you’ll lose fewer workers.”
Jack waves a hand. “More where they came from.” Rhys raises a brow at that, reminded not for the first time that Atlas and Hyperion have significantly divergent recruitment and retention policies. But now is not the time or place to discuss company resource policies; the Atlas Board of Directors had approved a fifteen percent yield for this deal, with permission to go as low as ten during negotiations.
Rhys knows he can do better.
“Twenty percent,” he repeats, folding his arms on the table and leaning forward. “What does it take to get me to twenty?”
Jack leans back in the guest chair before the desk, folding his arms behind his head. His eyes flick down, and Rhys is suddenly acutely away of the way the neck of his shirt gapes, showing a hint of blue peeking up over the collarbone. His hands itch to fix it, to draw it closed, but drawing attention to it now would look like weakness and Rhys can’t afford that.
“Twenty percent, and you show me how far down that tattoo goes.” Jack leers, and Rhys rolls his eyes.
Jack shrugs. “Worth a shot.” He drops his feet off the desk and leans forward, the lines of his face dropping into something more serious. “Fifteen percent and you let me take you to dinner.” He sounds completely earnest and Rhys raises his eyebrows in spite of himself.
Jack’s...flirting (if Rhys stretches the definition) has been a hallmark of their...relationship (again, if Rhys uses the definition loosely) from the very beginning. Jack hits on people like he breathes; automatically, and without thought. Rhys had never taken it seriously, although it had been easy to dismiss over holomessage and ECHO-cast.
But Jack sounds serious now, and it’s somewhat less easy to dismiss from three feet away.
“Why?” Rhys asks before he can stop himself.
Jack shrugs again. “You’re hot, especially in person; you don’t give an inch, and that’s hot - do I need a better reason?”
He doesn’t. Rhys wishes he hadn’t said anything. He traces the rim of his water glass with a finger; a nervous habit, but hard to break. Jack watches him smugly, uncharacteristically silent. Rhys thinks about the deal on the table, about what the tabloids will say if they’re seen together outside of business hours, outside of business.
“Eighteen percent,” Rhys says finally. “Eighteen, the e-tech license, and I say yes to dinner.”
Jack laughs. “Dinner doesn’t get you that much - seventeen, and a limited license with the option to renegotiate after three years.”
Rhys smiles - three years is more than enough time to establish a foothold in the market, and seventeen percent of the yield will push development that much faster.
“Deal,” he says, extending his arm over the table, and Jacks grins and meets him halfway.
“So,” Jack says indistinctly. He swallows and tries again, which is...less than charming. “What are your words?”
“I’m sorry?” Rhys eyes the wine left in his glass and wonders if he can get away with ordering them another bottle. Then what Jack had said catches up to him.
Dinner is...not not going well. Jack had finally cleared Rhys’ security team on two conditions, the first of which was that they have dinner on Helios. Rhys had, reluctantly and against his better judgement, agreed. So now here they are, in what is no doubt the most expensive restaurant on the station, with a private table - but not too private; Jack clearly is a believer in being seen -- and a panoramic view of the stars spread out before them.
The food is fantastic. The stars are beautiful, sparkling. The conversation is not, because Jack’s other condition had been that they not talk business, and that has left them with...very little else.
Until Jack had said that .
“Your words .” Jack says impatiently. “You know, the ones that everyone has? The ones that are linked to your -” he lifts his hands in exaggerated air quotes “- soulmate ?”
Rhys lifts the wine bottle and looks pointedly at the waiter, who nods and hurries off. He’s going to need more wine for this.
“Don’t tell me you believe in all that,” Rhys says, stalling for time.
“Of course not,” Jack snorts. The waiter returns with a bottle and two fresh glasses. “What are the freaking odds? 400 quadzillion or however many people in the universe,” he says as the waiter uncorks and pours a sample. “And I’m supposed to believe that one of them is going to cross my path at exactly the right time? Maybe - maybe - that worked centuries ago when we were all on one planet, when your odds were only one to eight million. But now?” Jack shakes his head. “An evolutionary fluke that’s outlived its usefulness.”
“Mmm. Does sound ridiculous, when you put it like that.” Rhys sips and nods approvingly, and the waiter pours two glasses before setting the bottle down and disappearing discreetly. Rhys picks up his glass and takes a healthy slug, setting the glass back down as the warmth of alcohol slips through his veins. “So why did you ask?”
Jack spears another piece of fish. “Just making conversation. What are they, though?”
“I thought you said you didn’t believe,” Rhys says, sliding a finger around the rim of his glass and watching Jack track it.
“I don’t.” Jack looks back up at him. “Maybe I just want to know how to positively ID your body.”
Rhys’ finger stops and Jack bursts out laughing.
“Oh man, you should see your face.” He wipes away an imaginary tear and Rhys rolls his eyes. “If I was going to kill you, Atlas, this -” he gestures at the the setting, the restaurant full of people, the attentive waiters “- is not the venue I would choose.”
“Reassuring,” Rhys says dryly, but his shoulders relax.
The conversation is easier from there, somehow; whether it’s the second bottle of wine opening things up or just the ice broken, it’s somehow...easier, to just sit back and enjoy what is admittedly a very fine meal. Rhys makes a mental note to try to hire the chef away, both for the addition to his staff and the jab at Jack’s ego. He even lingers over coffee, when he had intended to not stay past dessert, letting Jack regale him with wild tales of the Invasion of Helios that are almost certainly at least sixty percent fabricated. Inter-corporate warfare might not be the most proper of dinner conversations, but Jack tells a story well, even if he seems to star in an unlikely amount of heroics; his hands sketch out scenes in the air and his eyes light up as he describes one particularly memorable explosion. Rhys leans on his elbows and sips his coffee, enjoying the warmth and the enthusiasm on display.
“Then the whole thing went up in freaking flames ; nothing like a good old-fashioned gasoline fire, am I right?” Jack pauses. “I must be right, you’re smiling.”
“I’m not smiling,” Rhys says, although he is. He makes an effort to pull his mouth down, but the struggle just makes him laugh. “I’m not - I’m laughing at you, not with you, don’t get your hopes up,” he says, as Jack’s grin goes wider.
“I don’t know,” Jack says, folding his arms and leaning forward. “I’m doing pretty good so far. Got you up here, didn’t I?”
“You did.” Rhys sets his cup down. “And I should really be going.”
“You don’t have to,” Jack says quietly, and his low voice curls something traitorous in the pit of Rhys’ stomach.
It’s a terrible idea. This is Handsome Jack , vicious and trigger-happy, the would-be conqueror of Pandora. Rhys has spent the last three years at Atlas steadily pushing back against Jack’s spreading empire; the absolute worst thing Rhys could do would be to fall into bed with him.
But for a long, dangerous moment, Rhys is tempted. The Handsome moniker is not undeserved, and despite his casual disregard for human life there’s a pull to Jack, a charisma that’s hard to deny. Rhys can see why people follow him; Rhys can feel it himself.
It’s that pull that ultimately decides him, that has him pushing back his chair and standing. “I should go. Thank you for dinner,” he says as Jack scrambles to his feet.
“Of course. Always next time, right?” he says, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
“There won’t be a next time,” Rhys says, but he’s smiling while he says it.
Jack winks. “That’s what you say now.”
The headlines aren’t as bad as he’d feared. ROMANTIC RENDEZVOUS AT HYPERION HEADQUARTERS???? is about as bad as it gets, and that’s - manageable. There are a few photos of the two of them at the restaurant, but they were taken at a discreet distance and they don’t capture much past the way Jack sits forward, hands frozen as he sketches something out, and Rhys toying with his wine glass. Rhys lingers over one of them with their heads bent together. He hadn’t realized he’d been leaning that close.
Jack sends him six separate dinner invitations over the next four weeks, each one more suggestive than the last. Rhys politely declines each one. The seventh merely asks if Rhys would like to join Jack to “get your meat dipped,” and Rhys deletes it without answering. The next day an obscenely large delivery of Eden valeblossoms arrives in the middle of the afternoon with a note that reads: “ I meant fondue. Invitation’s open. ;) - HJ” Rhys sighs and dumps the flowers in the recycler. He’s about the toss the note after it when he stops, fingers tracing over the gaudy black and yellow card. Eventually he puts in in the top drawer of his desk, closing the drawer on it gently.
He doesn’t get much work done for the rest of the day.
By the time Legal has hammered out the final details and the official signing ceremony for the mining deal rolls around Rhys has an assortment of black and yellow cards in his desk and a growing reputation as a flower-hater. Rhys doesn’t bother to correct it. It’s not the flowers, it’s the sender; but hate is...not exactly what he feels for Jack. It’s complicated.
It’s annoying; but Rhys is determined to see this deal go through and so when Jack offers Helios as a venue for the celebration Rhys vetoes it immediately but offers Opportunity as a compromise. It’s still Hyperion territory, but at least it’s not hanging in space; barring building a new venue, it’s as close to neutral as they’re going to get. Jack agrees, readily enough that Rhys almost feels guilty for the satellite recon he’s been gathering on the settlement. Almost; but not guilty enough to tell Security to stop running extraction drills.
Jack arranges for the signing ceremony to be held at a nightclub, because of course he does. He preens for the cameras - “be sure to get my good side; just kidding, every side’s my good side” - and signs his name with a flourish when Rhys hands him the stylus. He tucks it inside his jacket absently as the contract is notarized and recorded, and Rhys resigns himself to the loss of another one as they’re whisked apart for handshakes and photo opportunities and other necessary corporate gladhanding.
Later, after the champagne has been flowing freely and the afternoon has turned well into evening, Rhys finds himself leaning against the railing on an upper level overlooking the party below. He spares a wistful thought for the days he would have been down among them, but he has his position to consider now; and really, he thinks as he tosses back the last of his drink, the view’s much better from up here.
At least it is until he turns to his right and finds Jack leaning next to him, watching Rhys with a speculative expression. Rhys hadn’t heard him come up, although looking around it seems the entire balcony has cleared out. His security detail is standing a couple steps down; Jenner shrugs apologetically, half-turning away and Rhys sighs.
“Cheers,” Jack says, handing him a new drink and Rhys trades his empty glass for the full one. “To being good partners.” Jack winks and clinks their glasses together, taking a healthy swig before turning and leaning back, propping his elbows against the railing. It puts the breadth of his shoulders on display, and Rhys takes a drink himself, hoping it’ll cover the way his eyes sweep Jack from head to toe.
“Did you like the flowers? There’s plenty more where those came from.” Jack appears completely relaxed, drink hanging precariously from loose fingers, but his eyes are sharp and keen.
“They went straight into the recycler,” Rhys says blandly, and Jack huffs.
“Shame. I made the florist on B-level filthy rich with those. Not as rich as me, of course,” he adds, straightening. “But still.”
“That doesn’t answer my question, though,” Jack says, stepping forward. Rhys refuses to back up - giving ground is showing weakness, and anyway Jack will just follow - and Jack steps right into his space, close enough that the scent of his aftershave curls in Rhys’ lungs. Jack grins like he knows the effect he has, and takes another drink before setting his glass aside.
“I didn’t ask what you did with them,” Jack says, low and intimate. “I asked if you liked them.”
Rhys narrows his eyes. “No.”
“Liar,” Jack says knowingly, and Rhys should - he should put his drink down and go. He should not do this.
“I see the way you look at me, Atlas,” Jack murmurs. “And believe me, I’m looking back, so what are we waiting for?”
“I’m not leaving with you,” Rhys says, and Jack smiles wide and victorious, bright in the dim light.
“You don’t have to, baby,” Jack says, reaching inside his jacket. Over his shoulder Rhys sees Jenner tense, coming up a step, but Rhys gives the ok signal and she halts with one foot on the top stair.
“This’ll get you in to the executive suite upstairs,” Jack says, tucking a keycard in Rhys’ vest pocket, unaware or uncaring of how unhappy he’s making Rhys’ security. “I’ll see you later,” he says, stepping back and retrieving his glass.
“You won’t,” Rhys says, and Jack cocks an eyebrow.
“Wanna bet?” He raises his glass in a mock salute and turns on his heel, brushing past Jenner on his way down the stairs. Rhys watches him go, pulling the keycard from his pocket.
It’s still warm from Jack’s body. Rhys looks at it, held carefully between his fingers.
This is a bad idea. He shouldn’t do it. He won’t.
There’s a click and a beep as the lock disengages, and as the door slides open on quiet tracks Rhys tells himself this is - furthering corporate relations. It wouldn’t hurt anything to be on Handsome Jack’s good side. He’ll have to watch Atlas’ stock, make sure it doesn’t take a hit if Jack can’t keep his mouth shut - but who knows, maybe it’ll get a bump from investors hoping for a buyout.
As if Rhys would ever give up Atlas. There are things Rhys might be willing to negotiate on, but that’s not one.
He has to give one to Jack for dramatic effect, though, as he steps inside and the door hisses shut behind him; the light have been turned down low, but the room glows with the light of Helios itself, hanging large and omnipresent over the lit-up city. Jack stands against the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a drink and staring up at the station itself. His back is turned, so Rhys can’t see his expression, but that’s just as well. It gives Rhys a chance to school his own.
“Atlas.” Rhys can hear the grin in Jack’s voice as he crosses the room, and sure enough when Jack turns his teeth shine in the blue-white glow.
“Shut up,” Rhys says, taking Jack’s drink from unresisting fingers. He downs the rest of it in one go, shuddering as the burn of something warm and spiced floods his veins. Jack watches him carefully but doesn’t protest, grin settling into something sharper as Rhys sets the glass aside. “And call me Rhys.”
Jack’s eyes sparkle. “Shut up or call you Rhys, which is it, kitten, you’re gonna have to be more mmmph -“ Jack cuts off as Rhys grabs his collar and jerks him in, sealing their mouths together. Jack’s lips are firm and warm, and he catches on quickly, mouth moving against Rhys’ in a dirty slide that has Rhys pressing closer. Jack tries to take control almost immediately, hands sliding to Rhys’ hips and turning him so his back is pressed up against the cool glass of the window. Rhys retaliates by breaking the kiss and getting his hands underneath Jack’s jacket, shoving it down his arms until Jack has to let go. Jack growls and steps back just far enough to shake the jacket off, then presses back in, mouthing along Rhys’ neck and sliding a knee between Rhys’ legs.
“These windows had better be blacked out,” Rhys gasps as Jack bites underneath his ear.
Jack chuckles, and Rhys can feel it against his chest. “Why? You don’t want the good people of Opportunity to watch me fuck you right up against them? Best view in the city, right here,” he says, slapping Rhys’ ass. Rhys scowls and pushes him back, and Jack laughs. “I kid, I kid. They’re fully opaque from the outside,” he says, grinning, but his smile has an edge that Rhys just doesn’t trust.
“Bedroom,” Rhys says firmly, holding Jack at arm’s length when he tries to press back in.
“Pffft. Fine .” Jack rolls his eyes but his voice is laced with hunger and his grip is tight when his hand settles around Rhys’ wrist. Rhys flexes his hand in Jack’s grip just to feel it tighten, and Rhys grins as he’s pulled along in Jack’s wake.
The bedroom features the same floor-to-ceiling windows as the living area, but the bed is set far enough back that it’s probably safe. In any case, Rhys is tired of worrying, tired of everything except Jack’s hands pulling him around and backing him up those few steps back to the bed, and Jack’s mouth on his, hot and demanding. Jack kisses like he talks, all greed and bold self-assurance, and the backs of Rhys’ thighs hit the mattress just as his knees go weak.
Jack’s more than happy to help his strip off his clothing, vest, shirt, and all the rest tossed carelessly to the side. His eyes gleam appreciatively, eyes skating over Rhys’ bared chest, and as Jack runs curious fingers down Rhys’ right arm Rhys shivers, fingers flexing. His hands go to the buttons of Jack’s vest to return the favor, and soon Jack is shaking off the last of his clothing, stepping back in with a grin. He wraps large hands around Rhys’ waist, and Rhys finds himself tossed unceremoniously further up the bed.
He barely has time to right himself before Jack is on him again, lips hot on Rhy’s and body pressing him into the mattress. Jack’s skin is warm, almost hot to the touch, and Rhys soaks it up greedily, wrapping his arms around Jack’s shoulders as he tilts his head and nips at Jack’s mouth. The mask is strangely smooth against his skin, but it appears to translate sensation just fine because Jack’s hips jerk, and the first brush of Jack’s cock against his has Rhys moaning into Jack’s mouth.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Jack breathes, pulling back and brushing a thumb over Rhys’ mouth. Rhys catches it with his teeth and bites down, and Jack sucks in a breath. “This is going to be good .”
Rhys hums in agreement, and when Jack slides two fingers into his mouth Rhys sucks at them greedily, hollowing out his cheeks and shivering at the calluses against his tongue. Jack swears softly, staring transfixed as he gently fucks Rhys’ mouth with his fingers. Rhys rocks his hips up, sliding a hand down to grab at Jack’s ass so he can press their hips together. Rhys’ eyelids flutter as Jack’s cock presses hot and thick against the crease of his thigh, and he moans around Jack’s fingers.
Jack swears again, pulling his fingers out shifting so he can slide them down between Rhys’ cheeks, glancing up like he expects an argument. Under other circumstances Rhys would be happy to give him one; under these, Rhys bites his tongue on another moan and spreads his legs wider.
“You’d better - hng,” Rhys says as Jack’s fingers graze his hole. “You’d better have lube in here,” he gasps as Jack presses gently.
Jack grins, shifting up to bite at Rhys’ jaw. “What do you think I am, some kind of heathen? Don’t answer that,” he adds, leaning over to the nightstand and rummaging through it. He returns triumphant with a discreet little bottle, and when one slicked up finger presses against him Rhys doesn’t try to hold back the moan. Jack seems set on wringing every noise he possibly can out of Rhys with his fingers; he stretches Rhys carefully with one finger, then with two, and by the time he adds a third Rhys is writhing underneath him, ready to bite him or beg if that’s what it takes.
“C’mon,” he gasps out impatiently, tossing his head back. “Come on, come on , Jack, just -” His breath catches as Jack twists his fingers, hands clenching in the bedding.
“Just what?” Jack sounds unhurried, like he could do this all night, and Rhys glares. Jack grins. “Just what, sweetheart?”
“Just.” Rhys grits his teeth until Jack twists his fingers again. “Just fuck me already, or I swear to god I’ll get up and leave right now.”
“You wouldn’t.” But Jack pulls his fingers out, reaching over for a condom, and Rhys rolls over, peering over his shoulder as Jack rolls it on. He positions the head of his dick, and Rhys turns away and buries his face in his arm as Jack pushes in.
Rhys’ mouth falls open at the stretch, but his own moan is lost under Jack’s groan. Rhys’s breath comes in short little pants as Jack presses in and pulls back and presses in again, working Rhys open inch by inch until his hips are flush against Rhys’ ass. Then, just as Rhys is adjusting to he stops , fingers tight on Rhys’ hips, and Rhys peers impatiently over his shoulder.
“Relax,” Jack says breathlessly. He rolls his hips and Rhys gasps at the insistent press of his cock, brushing against Rhys’ prostate and sending sparks up his spine. “I’ve waited a long time for this. I want to enjoy it.”
Whatever protest Rhys might have had is lost against the fresh wave of heat up his spine as Jack thrusts again, the pooling warmth in his belly that curls his toes as Jack picks up the pace. Each thrust seems to drive Jack in deeper, until the slap of skin on skin fills the room; Rhys turns his face into the pillow and lets it muffle the noises Jack is tearing from his lungs.
Rhys’ cock twitches against his belly, trapped against the bed, and Rhys shifts to try to get a hand underneath himself, but Jack grabs his hips and hauls him up on his knees. The improved angle rubs Jack’s cock over Rhys’ prostate with every thrust, and when Jack gets a hand on Rhys’ cock Rhys whimpers into the pillow.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Jack pants behind him. He rubs his thumb over the head of Rhys’ cock and Rhys’ entire body trembles. “Come on, baby, just for me.”
Jack leans forward and presses his lips to Rhys’ shoulder, a hot brand against Rhys’ already overheated skin. Then he digs his teeth in, and the sharp shock of pain lances through Rhys’ body, pulling it taut with pleasure as he comes apart under Jack’s hands and cock and mouth.
Jack groans as Rhys shakes in his arms, pushing him flat again and fucking him roughly through his orgasm. Rhys’ toes curl as Jack’s hips stutter and grow still, Jack’s hips grinding against Rhys’ ass. Rhys blinks hazily as the world slowly comes back into focus and his breathing slows, peripherally aware of Jack unpeeling his fingers from Rhys’ hips and collapsing to the side.
Rhys is lying boneless, drifting in and out of a doze and enjoying the feeling of sweat drying on his cooling skin, when Jack has to go and absolutely ruin it.
“I don’t see your words,” he says, skimming his fingers down Rhys’ spine. Rhys arches into it even as he frowns.
“Why do you keep asking about that?” He grumbles, but it comes out more lazy and contented than annoyed.
“You keep not answering, and it’s got me curious. Is it embarrassing? I bet it’s embarrassing and that’s why you won’t tell me.” Jack grins. “It is “Hey dickhead,” because gotta tell ya, I’ve been tempted myself a few times -”
“Oh my god, fine .” Rhys huffs and levers himself up on his elbows. “It was ‘Hi,’ just like millions of other people across the universe.”
Jack snaps his fingers and points. “See? That’s another problem - how are you supposed to know if it’s the right ‘hi’ when - if you bump into them?”
Rhys rolls his eyes. “I’m really not worried about it.”
“Smart. I like that about you.” Jack leans in and presses his lips to Rhys’, and Rhys hums and leans into it. Then Jack pulls back, frowning. “Wait - you said was . I thought it wasn’t possible to get them removed.”
“Not like a tattoo, no.” Rhys raises his right hand and wiggles his fingers. “But when the whole arm needs to come off…”
Jack raises his eyebrows. “Ballsy. That’s real important to some people, you know.”
Rhys rubs a hand over his eyes, peeking out from beneath his fingers. “You’re very hung up on this for someone who claims not to care about this kind of thing.”
“What, the pillow-talk not doing it for you?” Jack slides his hand down Rhys’ back and cups his ass, tracing a finger around Rhys’ rim. Rhys sucks in a breath as Jack slips a finger in, sliding in with no resistance. Jack leans over to bite at Rhys’ ear, gently at first, then with a sharp nip that tears an involuntary little sound from Rhys’ chest.
“I’m open to suggestion,” Jack says, low and inviting, and in answer Rhys turns for a biting kiss. Jack appears to be willing to be distracted - in this, at least, if nowhere else.