"No..not like this."
“Why not?” East whined, his weight still pinning Jackson to the bed, legs straddled across his waist. Jackson’s arms snaked around his bare chest to drag East down on top of him, wine sweet on his breath.
“Because we are both so drunk.”
East scoffed, but tucked his head into the crook of Jackson’s shoulder, drinking in the gentleness of his fingers where they wandered up and down his scarred back. So what if they were drunk? He felt good. Jackson felt good. He liked Jackson. Jackson liked him.
(He couldn’t remember the last time he did this and liked it, wanted it. But he was pretty sure he liked Jackson being this close to him, and he wanted to be closer still.)
“It’s not like I’ll remember it anyway.” He muttered, trailing kisses along Jackson’s neck to his collarbone. The roaming hands on his back stopped, holding him more firmly as Jackson leaned away to meet East’s eyes.
“That’s why. That’s why we shouldn’t do this…like this.”
“‘Cause you want me to remember?”
“Because I want you to care. To care about what you want.” Jackson inched away, and East openly pouted at the loss of contact. (Even if their legs were still tangled, their faces only inches apart, air shared and sweet with drink.) “Do you want this because I want it or because you do?”
“Does it matter?” East flopped his head on the pillow with a sigh, the act of keeping his eyes open more challenging than it should have been. (Maybe he was too drunk for this.)
“Of course it matters. I want you to want this - ”
“I do.”
“For yourself. For your pleasure.” Jackson’s silvery eyes were highlighted by the golden glow of the lamplight behind his head. Haloed like and angel. He was too good for a devil like the Wolf.
“Shouldn’t I…I want you to be happy. You want this. This will make you happy, right?” East felt a thread of panic under the fuzzy warmth of drunkenness. “I make you happy, right?” He barely noticed how Jackson stilled and quieted, a thin veil of grief and pity shadowing his eyes.
“It doesn’t make me happy to see you treating yourself like this. Like - like a means to an end.”
“You make me happy. I love you.” East hummed, pressing his forehead to Jackson’s shoulder. He didn’t really process what his partner had said. (He wouldn’t remember this conversation come morning.) “You’re right. I’m tired. Can we sleep?” Jackson instantly melted, tension easing from his shoulders as a smile pulled at his face.
“God, yes. We’re both going to be so miserable tomorrow.”
The lamp switch off, electricity humming to quiet as the seconds passed. East held Jackson as close as he could, stealing every scrap of warmth and gentle touch and wine sweet breath he could get. He felt good right now; he felt safe and happy right now. He wished it could last forever, and in his haze, he didn’t remember it wouldn’t.
(The hangover the next day was legendary, and the pair spent most of it with the blinds drawn, sipping water to stave off the headaches.)
"...you weren't supposed to get hurt."
East squinted at Jackson from his hospital bed.
“As opposed to the version of the plan where I miraculously beat off 12 assailants unscathed?” For as much as his body hurt, it warmed his heart to hear Jackson laugh until he wheezed.
“Your word choice - it could use some work.”
“You know what I meant; fucking Brit expecting the Queen’s English in my mouth.” East teased in Arabic, the language soft on his lips. He closed his eyes and focusing on Jackson’s gentle fingers carding through his hair. How much he hurt didn’t matter - not if he could keep getting away with this facade, with tricking Jackson into kindness.
“Why the hell did you do that?”
“Do what?”
“Pick a fight. Nearly blow the op.”
“Hm. Word choice.”
“Oh hush - I’m serious.” Jackson’s hand stilled, and East glanced to his (partner? coworker? friend?)’s worried eyes. “I fucked up. I lucked out and got caught. Protocol says you should have commed Beth, gotten backup, and rescued me with a plan.” East scoffed. Jackson barely followed protocol - why should he?
“I had a plan.”
“Bullets and brass knuckles are not a plan, love.” Jackson sighed, gently scratching East’s scalp. “That was dangerous, and stupid.” (Stupid. Weak. Coward. They weren’t Jackson’s words but how easily East could put them in his mouth.) “I know you’re smarter than that. Why put yourself in danger? You know you aren’t supposed to get hurt on missions, right?”
He did. He really did understand but something buried deep in his brain, planted by bloodied hands, didn’t. Leaving a job uninjured was wrong. Something was supposed to hurt. He was supposed to hurt. He was practically made for it.
“I know, Jack.” East hummed, breathing a sigh and looking to the window. It was raining. Always seemed to be - England was living up to its reputation. “Just…easier. Sometimes.”
“Easier? Easier than what?”
East knew what happened when someone was lost on a mission. He knew what happened when rescue didn’t come in time. He couldn’t stomach Jackson becoming what he had been, what he still was. He would rather be dead than let that happen on his watch. He sure as hell couldn’t live and let that happen on his watch.
“Easier than waiting for command to get their shit together. Besides, I hate paperwork. Imagine the mission reports if you had gotten captured and we needed to stage a whole rescue op after the original mission.”
“God, I forget that you’re an impatient bastard.” Jackson playfully flicked the air above East’s face (knowing him well enough to not actually touch his face). East missed the hand in his hair, but the warm fingers interlocking with his own were a good consolation prize. “And you know, now that you’re injured, I have to do all the paperwork for your hospital stay?”
“I don’t have to do paperwork, I get to have you around all day, sounds like a win-win to me.”
“If you weren’t concussed I would make you help me.”
“I know. But I am, so the best I can do is be moral support.” East almost chuckled to himself, stopping with a wince of pain as broken ribs creaked. Jackson’s eyes watched him, soft with sympathy.
“Next time you have a plan where you get hurt, do us both a favor and get a different plan.”
East wouldn’t make any promises, but for Jackson, he might consider it.