Will You Be My Escort

by Meg Harding

  He waits till he’s sitting in traffic to call Jackson. “Hey,” he says, “couple of questions.”

  “Shoot,” says Jackson. “You’ve got all of two minutes before my free time expires.”

  Aaron makes it quick. “Are you free tonight, and what’s your preferred alcoholic beverage? Like your ‘I’m going to chill’ drink of choice.”

  “Um. Yes to the first—after eight, though, we’re running a little late on set, and I don’t know? I like specialty beer sometimes.”

  Aaron can work with that. “Sweet. Come to mine after work, then?”

  “Sure. Can I bring Maxwell?”

  He has to fight not to roll his eyes at the name Jackson’s chosen for his rescue dog. He could just call him Max. “Yeah, of course. Bring your makeup stuff too. I’ll see you then.” He hangs up before Jackson can ask any questions. And when his phone buzzes with an incoming text, he doesn’t read it. He wants this to be a surprise. He’s got a clearer picture of what he wants to do now and more than enough time (provided the cars in front of him ever move) to do so.

  He returns home four hours later, his tiny car laden down with more than he thought could possibly fit in it. It’s possible he got more than he needed, but this means they’ll just have extras for another time. It takes him multiple trips to get it all inside, and then once it’s there, he has to set everything up.

  His dogs come to investigate, nosing around and pushing at the items with their big paws. His new baby, a lab mix of some kind that he’s dubbed Benji, tries to run away with one of Aaron’s purchases clamped in his jaws. A vase gets broken in the resulting scuffle, but it’s fine. He never really liked that vase anyway.

  He finishes getting everything ready right before eight, and Jackson arrives soon after. He’s not going to lie; he’s a little nervous when he opens the door. He’d like to kiss Jackson, just a quick hi, hello thing, but Maxwell slams into him, barking in excitement.

  Jackson shouts to be heard over the resulting racket of all the dogs barking. “I’m going to take him to one of those training things. I can’t seem to tell him no. Every time I do he makes this face at me. I feel awful.” Jackson pulls an exaggerated and utterly ridiculous (charming) sad face.

  Aaron finally gets everyone calm and quiet. He leans over to finally get his kiss. “You’re a sucker,” he says, laughing. “Mr. Maxwell is playing you.”

  “I know,” says Jackson mournfully. He waits a second. “Are you going to let me in?”

  “Would you close your eyes if I asked you to?”

  The blue eyes in question narrow. “Nobody’s going to jump out at me?”

  “What? No,” laughs Aaron. “Just wait here, and I’ll take that—” He reaches for the handle of the makeup trunk propped by Jackson’s leg. “—and I’ll take Maxwell.” He comes back once Maxwell is happily occupied in the backyard and the makeup trunk is propped open where it needs to be. “All right, eyes closed, and I’ll tell you when you can open them.”

  Jackson obligingly closes his eyes, but the second they start walking, he asks questions. “So not a surprise party. Did you get me a gift? I don’t think we’re at a gift stage yet. I didn’t get you anything. Are you going to take your clothes off? Is it that kind of surprise? Did you redecorate and you want to know what I think? Though I don’t know what we need my makeup for.”

  “You are awful with surprises,” says Aaron, trying not to laugh. “If you just wait one second then all your questions will be answered.” He steers him into the living room where he has everything set up. “Open them.”

  Jackson’s eyes open, and the look of delight on his face is breathtaking. His smile literally makes Aaron’s knees a little weak. “You did all this?” asks Jackson. All this includes a row of mannequin heads, a pile of wigs, The Avengers on the TV in the background, face paint and makeup, specialty beers, and bowls filled with a selection of chips and dip as well as candy. In the center of the food is a platter of Marvel-themed cupcakes.

  Aaron may have gone all out, but Jackson is the kind of guy who deserves nothing less.

  He stumbles back a step when Jackson hugs him, arms wrapping around his waist. “This is the coolest,” says Jackson, showering his face with kisses. “You’re going to do it too?”

  “Yep,” mumbles Aaron, chasing Jackson’s mouth to get a deeper lip-lock. “We’re both going to do the mannequins’ makeup. You can teach me all your trade secrets.”

  Jackson grabs his hand and drags him to sit in front of the heads. Aaron starts the film while Jackson riffles through the wigs. “Who do you want to do first? The blond wig is for Thor right? We can start with him?” asks Jackson.

  “Thor’s good with me.”

  He gets handed one of the blond wigs while Jackson places the other on the mannequin. Aaron takes a peek in the makeup trunk. There’s so much stuff in all of the compartments. There’s like fifty brushes. “You’re going to tell me what to use, right?” He has a feeling these aren’t the brushes he sees when walking through Walmart’s makeup section.

  “You’re about to get a crash course in makeup from an expert,” says Jackson, reaching for a pink teardrop-shaped thing and holding it up. “This is going to be your best friend. It’s a beauty blender. It’s magic.”

  Jackson walks him through the basics of the makeup, demonstrating on his own dummy. Despite these efforts, Aaron’s Thor doesn’t actually resemble Thor when it’s all said and done. It took him an absurdly long time to do the eyes, and they still don’t look right. Jackson’s Thor, though… it looks like Chris Hemsworth’s real head is sitting on his coffee table. It’s honestly a little freaky, but in a neat way. He wonders if Jackson will let him keep some of these to decorate with.

  When Jackson looks at his attempt, Aaron’s half expecting him to tell Aaron he’s done a good job and so on. But he doesn’t. He points the brush in his hand at different parts of the face and tells Aaron exactly what he did wrong and how he can fix it. He’s not mean or condescending about it at all. It’s nice. He’s genuinely teaching Aaron how to do something he loves.

  With each attempt, Aaron gets better. He makes a passable Hulk, a decent Iron Man mask, and a fantastic Deadpool if he does say so himself. He asks for advice whenever he’s unsure about what he’s doing, and Jackson always pauses to help him. Neither of them pay a whole lot of attention to the film, but when it ends, Aaron gets up and pops Age of Ultron in.

  It’s after midnight when the second film ends and they look at the giant mess they’ve created. And the masterpieces. Jackson has done all the unmasked versions of the superheroes, while Aaron veered toward the masked versions. Both sets make for an impressive collection.

  Jackson taps the chin of Aaron’s Deadpool lightly. “Can I keep this one?” he asks, glancing at Aaron from beneath his lashes.

  Aaron’s mouth dries out at that look. He nods his head, swallowing heavily. Jackson crawls forward on his hands and knees, rubbing their noses together before taking his lips in a passionate kiss.

  “Bedroom?” he asks huskily when he finally pulls away for air.

  Jackson nods. “Would be nice.”

  They start out walking to the bedroom like normal people—side by side. But then Aaron looks at Jackson, only to see Jackson looking at him… and then Jackson’s against the living room wall with his legs around Aaron’s waist and Aaron’s lips on his. It’s a really great position. He can feel Jackson’s cock against his stomach, straining against the designer skinny jeans Jackson’s wearing. With Jackson like this, there’s a lot of contact.

  Unfortunately their clothes are in the way. Otherwise this would be the perfect situation and Aaron would say fuck the bed.

  But really he should set Jackson down so they can go fuck on the bed.

  JACKSON FEELS like he’s twenty years old again, and if Aaron doesn’t put him down, he’s going to go off like a rocket and embarrass himself. He just can’t seem to find the words to express himself. There’s a chance that might be because he
can’t will himself to detach his mouth from Aaron’s. It’s essential that they never stop kissing. Ever. Each time Aaron nips at his lips, his tongue, he whines, hips rolling eagerly, the heat in his stomach bubbling all the more. He’s got his hands fisted in Aaron’s extraordinarily soft black hair, fingers clenching convulsively every few seconds. He makes a low noise of complaint when Aaron pulls away and tries to yank him back.

  “Ouch,” says Aaron, grimacing at him. “Not how you sexily pull hair, Jackson.”

  Oops. He didn’t mean to do that. With great effort and a sheepish smile, Jackson removes his hands from Aaron’s hair. “Sorry,” he says. He takes a deep, shuddering breath. He needs to calm down. He rests his hands on Aaron’s shoulders. There, he won’t hurt anything like that. “Why’d you stop?”

  “I thought you wanted the bed?”

  Jackson would like to do this on a bed. Maybe after the bed they can do it against the wall. But the wall is right here… and the bed seems so far away. Maybe they should switch the order?

  Aaron puts his hands on Jackson’s ass and bounces him, making them both groan loudly as their cocks rub roughly against each other. “Bedroom and clothes off,” says Aaron. His tone is firm.

  Jackson nuzzles their faces together, likes the scratch of Aaron’s barely there stubble against his own. “Are you going to carry me?”

  “Nope,” says Aaron. “We’re just going to end up against a different wall if I do.”

  Reluctantly Jackson drops his legs, and Aaron sets him on the floor. Aaron takes a large step backward, and Jackson can’t help but smirk. He stops smirking when Aaron pulls his shirt over his head and drops it to the floor. He takes another step away. His fingers go to the button of his jeans. “Are you coming?”

  If he doesn’t get control of himself, he might be coming in more ways than one.

  He follows a steadily stripping Aaron through his house and into his bedroom. If asked, he wouldn’t be able to give the color of the walls, but he can say that the bed is a California king with an abundance of pillows piled on the softest-looking gold comforter he’s ever seen. He’s got about half a second to register the bed before Aaron’s turning his back to him and bending in half to remove his black Calvin Klein briefs. Jackson is still fully clothed.

  His brain stops functioning entirely as he watches the muscles in Aaron’s back and thighs ripple, the way his glutes tense when the underwear slips over them. His breath catches. He’s still not breathing when Aaron turns around and oh.

  “Wow,” he says, and there’s air finally. He coughs.

  Aaron’s eyebrows shoot up, and he glances down at himself. “Thanks? You’ve seen it all before.”

  He has, but it’s been a while. “I’ve been going off my imagination of late,” admits Jackson aloud, cheeks heating. “Seeing the real deal is way better.”

  Aaron laughs and holds a hand out, beckoning Jackson forward. “Come here.”

  “You don’t want me to…?” He waves his hand at himself.

  “Do you want to?”

  Not particularly. Jackson prefers his partners to take his clothes off for him. Or at least let him undress without them watching. He has a tendency to fumble when left to his own devices in these circumstances. He gets nervous. Once he tripped over his pants leg and fell. He’d rather not repeat that.

  He shakes his head. “Not really.”

  “Then come here.” Aaron retreats till his legs are bumping the bed. He sits down, spreads them wide.

  Jackson’s back to that whole not being able to breathe thing. But his legs are moving and he’s getting closer, so at least his body hasn’t completely given up on him. He stops between Aaron’s open legs, muscled thighs brushing him on either side.

  He swallows heavily when Aaron starts unbuttoning his flannel. It’s oddly sexy the way he does it. The slow determination, the way his eyes follow each inch of skin that’s revealed, the way he licks his lips periodically.

  “You’re killing me,” he says without thinking.

  Aaron smiles sharply up at him, flicks the last button free, and reaches to push the shirt from Jackson’s shoulders. He licks a stripe from Jackson’s belly button to his clavicle, kisses him.

  “Am I?”

  “Mhmm…. Ahhhhh.”

  Aaron’s undone his pants and reached inside. His fingers are tight around Jackson, squeezing on the right side of too much. He has to grab Aaron’s shoulders to keep his knees from buckling.

  “One more minute,” laughs Aaron. “Just let me get these off.” He shoves Jackson’s jeans and briefs down, nudges Jackson to remind him he needs to step out of them. “Socks off.”

  Jackson raises an eyebrow. “What if I wanted to keep them on?”

  “Do you want to?” asks Aaron skeptically.

  “No,” he laughs. Feeling bolder, he turns around and hopes like hell he doesn’t fall over doing this. Wiggling his ass in front of Aaron’s face, he tugs his socks off one at a time. He gasps, startled, when Aaron bites him. Right on his left buttcheek.

  “You did not just do that,” he says, whirling around.

  Aaron’s smirking. “Whatcha gonna do about it?”

  He climbs onto Aaron’s lap, pushing him back against the bed and trying not to giggle. He bites his collarbone, the middle of his chest, his right nipple. He sucks a mark onto his skin in each place he bites, making dark skin turn darker yet. The mouth-shaped marks make him feel possessive, and he grinds his hips down, dripping precome over the thigh Aaron wedges between his own.

  “If you flip over,” says Jackson, trailing his lips to the left nipple, “I can bite your ass too.”

  “Is that all you want to do to it?”

  That makes Jackson raise his head in surprise. “You want me to…?” He definitely thought Aaron would want to top.

  “Mhm,” says Aaron, rolling his hips against Jackson, cock nudging his stomach. “That okay with you?”

  He’d like to think his nod doesn’t look eager, but it probably does. He certainly feels eager. “Yeah. Yeah.” He surges up to kiss Aaron. “Hell yeah.”

  Aaron runs his big hands over Jackson’s back, his sides. “Calm down, cowboy. It’s not a one-time ride.”

  Jackson buries his face against Aaron’s neck, and giggles. “Please stop talking,” he says.

  “You don’t like it, cowboy?” teases Aaron.

  Jackson affects a horrible Southern accent. “This man ain’t no cowboy.”

  Aaron bursts out laughing, his entire body shaking beneath Jackson. “You’re right,” he says. “We’ve got to stop talking. Totally ruined that moment.”

  Not wanting to waste any time, Jackson doesn’t reply verbally.

  He’s feeling a little more oral.

  He shimmies down, taking Aaron into his mouth, sucking the head thoroughly and making sure to look at Aaron as he does so. He grumbles when Aaron starts to wiggle, and not in the trying-to-get-closer way. He’s about to pull off and ask what’s up when the bottle of lube lands by him.

  Ah.

  He slicks his fingers, keeps his mouth over Aaron. Aaron’s heavy on Jackson’s tongue, large in his throat, and the last thing he wants to do is pull away. Jackson fingers him open while he continues to suck him, starting with one testing finger and quickly building to three. He avoids Aaron’s prostate, not wanting things to end before he gets to be inside Aaron.

  Aaron’s making the most delightful noises above him, deep groans and hitched gasping breaths. His knees, tight on either side of Jackson, will most likely leave bruises. Whenever his back leaves the bed, he grunts, and every time it happens, Jackson’s hips twitch in reaction.

  He pops off Aaron’s cock with an indecent squelching noise that makes his own prick throb, and reaches for the condom by Aaron’s side. Aaron bats his hand away and sits up to roll it on Jackson.

  “Like this?” he asks, reclining when he’s done.

  Jackson nods, shuffling into place on his knees. He hikes Aaron’s ass up, shivers as Aaron wr
aps his long legs around him, heels digging into his lower back. He works himself in slowly, trying to block out the steady whines tearing themselves from Aaron’s throat. He’s so fucking tight and perfect, and Jackson is not going to last at all if Aaron keeps being so responsive.

  “Fuck, fuck,” he chants between gritted teeth. He drops his head to Aaron’s chest and tries to breathe through the pleasure.

  Aaron’s hole ripples around his cock.

  “Fuck, stop squeezing,” he gasps. “Stay still a second.”

  Aaron goes still. Jackson counts to ten. He’s got this. He slowly starts to move, steadily picking up pace. His arms shake as he holds himself up, breath coming in ragged gasps. He wants to kiss Aaron but if he kisses Aaron he won’t be able to hear the way he’s moaning or look at his flushed and sweaty face. He won’t be able to see his shadowed eyes or the way his lips are parted, red from their previous kisses and from Jackson biting them.

  Aaron’s heel thumps his back, his hips jolting upward, and they’re rolling. Aaron sits on him, hips swiveling in a way that has Jackson’s eyes going to the back of his head. He holds on tight to Aaron’s hips, fingers digging in as he helps him rock. Jackson’s head tilts back into the pillow, hips shoved up as Aaron sits all his weight down hard.

  Jackson comes, arching up, keeping just enough presence of mind to reach for Aaron and stroke him through it. His hips jackrabbit up in little bursts, trying to milk out every bit of friction possible. Aaron hunches over him, hand joining his, and then he’s coming too, painting Jackson’s stomach and chest, gasping wetly against his neck as he shudders through his orgasm.

  He starts to pull out once Aaron stops shaking and Jackson can think for more than a second, but Aaron’s hips twitch and push back. “No,” he says. “Not yet.”

  They trade openmouthed, lazy kisses as Jackson softens, and the noise Aaron makes when his cock finally slides free causes a hopeful twitch. It wishes. Jackson wishes, but he’s in his later twenties, almost thirty. He needs like forty minutes.

  “That’s optimistic,” says Aaron, rolling to the side and nuzzling his neck. “I was thinking sleep and then morning sex. Maybe in the hot tub outside….”