Archive of Our Own

So it's the day Dr. Brennan's new grad student assistant is due to arrive, and Jack's waiting on a delivery of a batch of dicopomorphae echmepteryges found in an abandoned package in a post room in West Virginia, so he hasn't got much to do, and this kid walks in with a satchel on his back, puppy-dog eyes and a mouth made for sucking popsicles. Jack's thinking, yet again, about writing a congratulatory letter to the courier company on their hiring scheme when the kid walks up to him, sticks his hand out like it's going to get burned, and says, "Dr. Hodgins. You've grown your facial hair since your picture on the Jeffersonian website. I'm doc- uh." He bites his lip. Jack eyes his hand, because, whoa, back up, no way is this Mr Almost Two Doctorates, Princeton-at-fourteen, way-higher-IQ-than-you, Zacharias -

"Zack Addy. I'm not actually a doctor yet, I was just practising saying that in front of the mirror this morning and it must have stuck, is that weird? I mean, that I was saying it, not that it stuck. I'm really nervous, since this is my first day, so I will probably talk a little more than I normally do, I'm actually not very loquacious most of the time, but we're going to work together so I guess you'll probably figure that out yourself - are you actually Dr. Hodgins?"

"Jeez, take a breath, kid. Yeah, that's me," Jack says, entertained beyond reason – this is why he always waits for packages - and not-quite-Dr. Addy takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes, then snatches his hand back and grips the strap of his bag very tightly, not seeming to notice that Jack actually hasn't shaken it yet.

"Okay," Zack says, maybe to himself, eyes still shut, and takes another deep breath and lets it out. "Okay."

Jack ushers him up the stairs to Dr. Brennan, and okay, Mr Zack Addy doesn't have much of an ass to speak of, but that's what Angela's there for, and Jack's already thinking that Zack's going to make up for that in entertainment value. As if he didn't already have the best job in the world.

Jack's slightly less entertained by the end of the day, when somehow - he's not sure if he volunteered to impress Angela or to stop her offering first, she had that gleam in her eye and Zack has a mean Bambi impression going on – Zack's living in his garage. And getting a ride with him to work every day. The bastard's tricksy.

*

He's also pretty fucking annoying sometimes, as it turns out, and the extra eye candy is hardly compensation for the sudden extra workload and surplus of the recently-and-pretty-grossly-dead, and the Booth fan club which his nice, quiet, peaceful lab has suddenly become. Brennan drops everything at a moment's notice for him, even though she pretends to kick up a fuss, Angela goes all gooey whenever he's around and whispers, "He's so dreamy," out of the corner of her mouth at him, and Zack's all Agent Booth said and Agent Booth could even though the guy completely ignores him. Jack admits he can see the appeal, but Booth is both manifestly straight and kind of scary, not to mention he's, hello, killed people for the government, and how do they know he isn't still doing that, like, on the side or something? Covert contract work. It happens. He tries to explain this to Zack over coffee, and Zack listens very seriously, then says, "I don't think the American people would stand for that if it were true, Dr. Hodgins." Jack doesn't know why he works with these people.

Then the whole Naomi-from-palaeontology thing happens, and boy, is that excruciating. Jack gets treated to the whole sordid affair from first meeting in the cafeteria ("Do you think she's looking at me? She's staring at me. Jack! Is she staring at me? Do you think she's attracted to me? Should I turn round?") to first date ("Do you think she'd like a tour of the Washington PD morgue? Because my cousin works there and he said anytime I wanted to visit, that would be okay,") so Jack's kind of relieved when that turns out to be the last date too, except that Zack still won't shut up about it, although it is almost worth it to see Booth's face when Zack asks him about sexual positions.

It kind of starts half as a joke, Jack offering to give Zack a few tips, but Zack's so grateful, and Jack is successful with women, technique honed and refined over years of hard work and practice, and he figures he can afford to dispense a few gems of wisdom on the mysteries of womankind, so when he finds sitting on the couch in the room above the garage with Zack sitting cross-legged, chewing on the lid of his pen and balancing a notepad on his knees, he's really only got himself to blame.

"Okay," Jack says, and clears his throat. He hasn't had such an attentive audience since he delivered a paper at MIT on taxonomy on partially decayed Paleoptera. Actually, maybe not even then. "The first step is to make her feel attractive."

Zack takes the pen out of his mouth, frowning.

"But surely I wouldn't be interested if she weren't attractive."

"She doesn't know you're interested yet."

"But if I ask her out, surely that's an indication that I'm interested, Q.E.D., she is attractive. It's simple deductive process. Why the redundancy?"

"You – that's - there's no Q.E.D.! Okay, from now on there is a no interrupting rule, okay? You listen, I talk."

Zack sits up to attention and holds the pen poised over the notepad. "Okay. Sorry."

Jack breathes deeply, and tries to regain his equilibrium. This is why he didn't go in for teaching. God. He tries to spell it out slowly and clearly.

"Okay, look. No woman ever thinks she is attractive. In fact, the more attractive she is, the less attractive she thinks she is, you get me?"

Zack's writing busily, a little crease in the middle of his forehead. Jack leans over. He's written,

Jack stabs his finger on the page, and Zack jumps.

"Okay, that is your problem right there, my friend. You cannot quantify people with equations. You have to be spontaneous, man. Think with your heart, not your head. You wouldn't try to calculate angles of momentum in the sack, right?"

Jack stops sniggering when Zack gets a look like he's been caught in headlights, then bites his lip. Then he starts laughing again. He can't help it, really. "Oh, man, seriously. Tell me you didn't."

Zack just looks at him. After a minute or two, it's really not that funny any more. Jack pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Oh, boy. Okay. Give me a minute. You don't need tips, you need another fucking doctorate."

"Do they actually give those?" Zack says, completely earnestly, "Or did you mean 'fucking' as an expletive?"

"Okay," Jack says, changing tack on an impulse, "I'm a chick. React."

He reaches out and grabs Zack's face to mash their mouths together, but before he gets close enough Zack jerks back and shoves Jack clumsily, jabbing him in the windpipe, then scrambles away so fast he falls off the couch. He blinks up at Jack from halfway across the floor like a goddamned frightened rabbit, and Jack rubs his neck angrily.

"Ow, Jesus, what the hell –"

Zack's breathing hard, and he's staring. This is awkward.

"Sorry," he says, and gulps. "I don't – I don't react very well to unexpected physical contact."

"No kidding," Jack snaps, but his anger melts away to something cooler and more guilty. Kid looks like he thinks Jack's going to rape him or something. "Hey, get back here. I won't bite, I swear. Sorry, I threw you in at the deep end, I should have warned you, okay? Come back over here, stop freaking out."

Zack edges over and sits back down on the couch, watching Jack the whole time. Jack rubs his hand up through his own hair. He has no idea how he signed up for this.

"What were you doing?" Zack says, sounding confused and sceptical and this is so fucking embarrassing.

"Just – trying to get you to stop thinking. I thought if I – god, this isn't something you can just learn, Zack! We have to get physical!"

As soon as that's out of his mouth he regrets it, oh man, workplace harassment suit right there, but Zack seems to take it at face value. He bites his lip again, looking worried.

"I don't really do that."

"Yeah, I got that. Okay, look," Jack says, rubbing his hand over his eyes. "Maybe it's better if we just forget about this, okay? You're a bright kid, you can work things out on your own."

"When Nicole put her hand on my ass in the bar, I spilled beer all down my pants," Zack says mournfully, looking at his hands.

Jack sighs, and makes a snap decision. He tends to do that. He's mostly learned to keep it out of his work, but everything else - not so much. He talks fast, before he can think better of it, even though the little voice at the back of his head says this is a bad idea. He's just too fucking generous, that's his problem.

"Okay. We do not talk about this outside of this room, we clear? This is me helping a buddy out. One guy to another. Just – helping you along with the learning process."

"Learning process," echoes Zack, eyes wide.

"And if you want to stop at any time, don't poke me in the throat, okay? Say, uh, Lepidoptera."

"I don't think I can pronounce that."

"Fine. Fine. You suggest something."

"Dr. Brennan."

Jack flinches. "No! No! What is wrong with you?"

"I'm just thinking about what would both get your attention and be antithetical to the spirit of s-sex."

"Oh, Jesus, that's just – wait, you don't think she's hot?"

"Dr. Brennan?" Zack looks scandalized. "She's my boss!"

"That's – never mind, okay? Just pick another word."

"Jeffersonian."

Jack counts to ten in Arabic in his head and decides that sometimes discretion is the better part of valour.

"Sure. Whatever. So, we've got to work on this unexpected physical contact thing. Because if a woman likes you, she's going to want to flirt with you, which means touching, and if you give her a black eye, she's not going to try for a repeat performance."

Zack's looking longingly at his notepad again, so Jack thinks fast.

"Go stand in the middle of the room, and keep your eyes shut."

"What are you going to do?" Zack says, not standing up. Jack tries to project an it's-okay, I-touch-my-work-colleagues-inappropriately-every-day cool.

"Nothing serious, I'm just going to touch you unexpectedly, put my hand on your shoulder, that kind of thing. Like – like blind man's buff. You ever play that? Of course you didn't. Hey," he says, because Zack's still hovering. "You trust me, right?"

Zack seems to think about this.

"Yes," he says, stands up and shuts his eyes. "But now you've warned me, doesn't that defeat the point of the exercise?"

"You nearly broke my neck back there," Jack says, "I'd prefer to err on the side of caution right now, if you don't mind."

Zack nods. "Duly noted."

He stands there, hands loose down by his sides, eyes shut, and Jack waits for the room to go quiet. Then waits some more. Zack starts breathing a little faster, and he clenches his fists at his side.

"Jack," he says, his voice cracking a little. Jesus, this is really working him. "Are you still there?"

Jack circles him soundlessly, socks padding on the carpet, then gently puts his hand on Zack's arm, curling his fingers around his bicep. Zack jumps. Jack lets go, gives it another forty five seconds, counting in his head, then strokes one finger down the back of his neck. Zack jumps again. This is fun. He randomizes the intervals, from ten seconds to two minutes, and tries different things: a light shove to Zack's elbow, a tap on his forehead, a poke in his ribs. Zack is totally tense for the first ten minutes or so, twitching every time Jack touches him and turning slightly from side to side like he's trying to see where Jack's going to come from next, but after a while he starts to relax a little.

"This is just like the occupational therapy I had when I was a kid," he murmurs after a while, and rocks easily on the balls of his feet when Jack presses his hand to his sternum and pushes. He sneezes when Jack ruffles his hair. It's surreal, like one of the weird tribal rituals Brennan gets so excited over, but actually sort of soothing, and after a while Jack is really into it, totally zen. He's been working on pushing back the boundaries of Zack's comfort zone without really thinking about it, trailing two fingers down his throat, palming his hip, scratching his thumb against the grain of the stubble on Zack's jaw, until suddenly he snaps out of it and realizes Zack's got this rapt, blissed-out look on his face, a blush staining his cheeks, and he looks like the angels on the walls of a cathedral Jack saw once when he was in St. Petersburg for a conference. It was freezing, and he'd just gone there to get away from the goddamned Russian academics plying him with vodka all the time, he didn't even like churches, but Sophia had just broken things off and he was really fucking depressed, and he'd wandered inside this crazy, multi-domed monstrosity and had his mind blown. There were mosaics so detailed he thought they were paintings at first, saints and angels dressed in blue and gold on every available surface, all looking right out at him with soft, gentle brown eyes, like they saw everything and still knew it would be okay. He'd gone back there every evening, until the conference finished and he could go home.

Transfixed, Jack reaches out and strokes his thumb over Zack's bottom lip. Zack's lips part slightly against it, breathing hot against Jack's skin, and it hits him in a shiver that goes all the way through him. Before he can think better of it, he replaces his thumb with his own lips. Zack's eyes snap open so fast Jack feels dizzy, maybe because he's kissing his straight, almost-jailbait co-worker, so he goes for damage control and keeps it quick and close-mouthed, gentle, like a woman would be, and Zack keeps absolutely still, cross-eyed from the proximity. His mouth is really, really soft. Oh, man, dumb.

Jack pulls back and clears his throat. Zack takes a deep breath.

"Okay!" Jack says brightly, before Zack can say anything and make this even weirder than it already is. "That was pretty good, for the first lesson! I'm uninjured, you're, uh, and, let's call it a day there. Usual time tomorrow morning? So, I'll see you then."

They stare at each other. Zack licks his lips. The room's hot and stuffy, suddenly, and, Jesus, Jack feels like he's humming, he's so turned on. His brain's gone sluggish, but after a few seconds he realizes why Zack's not going anywhere.

"Oh, right, you live here." He backs off towards the door. "I'll be, uh, at home."

He's out of there faster than a speeding bullet, manages to get back home without any of the gardeners seeing him with a boner, and is into a cold shower before you could say Lepidoptera. Or Jeffersonian. After the initial panic's over, he examines the situation in the cold, hard light of logic, and decides that it's fine, Zack's Mr Oblivious, he probably wouldn't know a hard-on if it hit him in the – oh, and there's a phrase he will never, ever be using again. He makes up his mind that if there are consequence-free perks to helping Zack get the girl, he deserves them. By the evening, he even manages to take it in his stride when Zack makes a surprise guest appearance in the elaborate fantasy Jack's got going involving Liv Tyler, bath foam and a long, wet blowjob. He comes thinking about Zack's mouth, Zack saying, 'fucking', Zack swearing, weird and unexpectedly hot, and when he's breathing hard and wiping off his hand, riding the buzz, he's not freaked out at all. Maybe a little irritated – the guy can't leave him alone even in his own head, now? – but, whatever. He can deal.

*

The next day, he decides he's got to head any potential awkwardness or misunderstandings off at the pass, so he pokes Zack in the ribs as they're getting into the Mini to go to work. Zack flinches, jumps back, then glares at him balefully.

"I haven't had coffee yet."

"Hey, tell that to the marines, man," Jack says cheerily, starting the engine. "Constant vigilance!"

"What marines?" Zack mutters, but he gets in the car. He perks up when they get to the lab, where there's a lovely case of skulls from Papua New Guinea waiting for them. Jack makes sure to slap him on the shoulder a few times throughout the day, never while he's handling anything delicate, but enough that Zack's shooting him nervous looks and flinching a little when he walks past. By the end of the day, they're both getting odd looks from Angela, but it's funny again, and that night Jack and Liv spend some quality time together without any unwanted intrusions from Jack's co-workers. Except maybe Angela.

*

Jack gives it a week, and he gets so used to cuffing Zack on the shoulder, giving him a sly dig in the ribs or a tug on the ear, that he almost forgets that it's actually pretty inappropriate for the workplace, and he gets a reality check when he overhears Zack saying to Angela, "Oh, Dr. Hodgins has kindly offered to help me with a little problem I have with unexpected contact. It's a sort of informal occupational therapy."

He breathes a sigh of relief when she seems to buy it. She even gets into it herself, poking Zack in the spine whenever she walks past him, but after a couple of days of being assailed on two fronts and spending a long, long five hours boiling the flesh off the bones of a raped eighteen-year-old, Zack backs up against a counter and comes the closest to yelling Jack's ever heard him, "Enough, already! I appreciate that you have good intentions, but could you please stop touching me?"

Luckily, nobody else hears him, but it's definitely game over, and Jack's a lot more careful after that. Jack counts it a success, though, when he drapes an arm over Zack's shoulders after a few beers at Sid's and the kid doesn't bat an eyelid.

"On to stage two," Jack announces. "Compliments, Mr Addy. Think some up, and deliver with discretion."

Zack purses his lips. "Do they have to be regarding physical appearance?"

"Appearance, personality, clothing, work ethic – aren't you in Mensa? Be creative."

Jack ruffles Zack's hair and sways back to their table. Then he has a horrible vision of Zack complimenting Dr. Goodman on his muscle definition, and returns to the bar.

"On second thoughts, no senior staff. And remember – you're trying to make them feel attractive. Get it?"

Zack nods seriously, and stares into his won ton soup like he can see the answers there, if he looks hard enough. "I get it. Thank you."

*

The next few days are pretty entertaining. Luckily the FBI has a rash of murders for them to solve, so Jack's around in the lab to catch Zack telling Booth that his tie is extremely compelling. On the Thursday, Zack looks up at him over the microscope, leans forward, quiet and serious, and says, "It's remarkable, how blue your eyes are."

Angela makes a strangled noise and nearly spits out her mouthful of coffee back into her cup before she turns away, covering her mouth, and Dr. Brennan looks up, frowning. Jack blinks, and finds, to his horror, that his mouth has gone dry. Zack gives him a sunny smile.

"How was that?"

"Yeah," Jack croaks. "That works."

Angela's managed to swallow her mouthful and is now hiccupping with laughter. Zack goes back to scrutinizing the tooth, oblivious. Jack's hand slips, and he nearly drops a slide on the floor. His stomach's gone fluttery. Damn, Zack's getting good at this. He doesn't know why that makes him feel uneasy instead of proud. It's maybe something to do with the fact that Zack's cameo in Jack's fantasy life has turned into a recurring role, which usually involves Jack bending him over a couch (not a lab table – that way lies boners at work, and bad, bad, bad). But Liv Tyler's usually there too. Usually. Jack's had weird fantasies about co-workers before, though – there was that time when he saw Booth putting on surgical gloves, and could barely stand for the rest of the day. It's not a big deal.

"Was that a reference to Frank Sinatra?" Brennan says in the background, "Because I know who he is."

"Sweetie," Angela says, wiping her eyes, "I don't know what that was."

*

Then, of course, the roof of the garage needs re-tarring, and Jack's down there pretty much every evening, helping out. He doesn't need to, obviously, but he likes to keep his hand in. He doesn't want to be one of those rich guys who can't survive in the event of nuclear war. That usually ends in him scrubbing up in the kitchen above the garage while Zack hangs around and talks a mile a minute about some article he's been reading – he seems to spend all his time online, Jack has no idea how he gets anything done on his thesis – about micronations or New Zealand sheep inoculations or something. Jack mostly ignores him, but it's becoming one of his favourite hobbies to act all interested and knowledgeable and then make up increasingly ridiculous facts about the topic, Zack's eyes getting wider and wider, until he finally explodes, "You're lying!" and runs off to look it up. One night they finish later than usual, as they were nearly done and it was warm and light out, and Jack's pissy and low on blood sugar, so he cuts into Zack mid-babble and says, "Hey, look, if you're going to lecture me on Native American cleaning products, can you at least give me something to eat? I'm starving, here."

"Sure, what would you like?" Zack says. He opens one of the kitchen cupboards, and Jack's jaw drops. It's full of Mr Noodles and Hershey bars. Like, full. And that's all. He strides over and opens the refrigerator, and there's a quart carton of milk that looks like it's been there a while, a jar of peanut butter, and a half-eaten slice of pizza.

"You have got to be kidding me."

Zack gets that little crease in the middle of his forehead that means he's trying to figure you out. "I think I have some canned soup, if you prefer that."

"Is this all you eat? What the hell is wrong with you? Are you actually trying to get malnourished? Seriously, you have medical training, you know what this shit does to people!" Jack yells, and he's angry, seriously pissed, he wants to shake Zack, punch that hurt, I'm-really-trying-to-understand look off his face. Man, he seriously needs to eat something. He takes a couple of deep breaths, gets himself under control, then grabs Zack by the elbow and marches him out of the kitchen. "You are coming with me right now."

He drags Zack all the way up to the house, and leaves him flicking through his DVD collection while he dials for Thai and eats an apple. Then he takes another one to Zack and waves it under his nose. Zack looks up from Chungking Express.

"Vitamin C," Jack says. "Vitamin A. Antioxidants. Fibre."

"I take vitamins," Zack says, his attention sliding off Jack inexorably to the TV, which he looks at like it's made of gold. Which it might as well be, the amount it cost, but Jack believes in investment when it comes to home entertainment. Apocalypse Now shouldn't be watched on anything less than a 44 inch. "What's the resolution on that?"

"High definition 1920x1080, and it's got 1080p input resolution through a HDMI connection," Jack says, trying to keep it airy. Zack trails his fingers down the edge of the screen, staring at it hungrily, and guilt turns over in Jack's stomach. Goddamnit, this is why he's never brought Zack up here. "Vitamin pills are no substitute for the real thing," he says, trying to drum it in. "Zack! Stop drooling on my speakers! You've got to eat fruit, okay? Vegetables, and – and bread, and pasta, not that MSG-ridden crap, there's only so much of that you can stand before you'll need a new set of intestines. Do you need a ride to the store? I get delivery, if you tell me what you need I can add your stuff to it. Or is it – look, is it money? Because, you know, I can help you out. If you need it."

Zack gives the TV one last, X-rated look and turns to Jack. "I'm already trespassing on your generosity," he says gravely, and he suddenly doesn't look like a kid anymore. "I know you're charging me much lower rent than the average for this area, but I'm accepting that, because you're very wealthy. But please do not offer me money again."

"Okay," Jack says, feeling about two inches high. "Okay. Just – have a salad at work, for god's sake."

"They put carrot in it," Zack says, going back to flicking through the DVDs. "I don't like orange food."

Thankfully, at that moment the food arrives, so Jack's saved from having to deal with that one. Jesus.

*

Of course, Jack can't resist showing off the resolution to Zack, especially when he realizes he's never seen The Matrix, so they sit on the couch and eat Thai food (all organic, no MSG – there's a special place nearby Jack has on speed-dial) and watch Neo discover the real world, and Zack getting rice on his couch is totally worth it for the way his face lights up at the bullet-time. When Rage is playing through the credits, Jack downs the volume, has an impulse, and goes with it.

"I'm a woman," he begins.

"You have a beard," Zack points out, "And no breasts."

The man's got a point. But – so not the point.

"Hear me out! I'm a girl. We've just had a nice evening date eating take-out and watching a movie. What do you do now?"

Zack looks blank. "I'd say, ask her whether she wants to watch the special features, but I'm guessing that's not the answer you're looking for."

"Genius not dulled by the late hour, I see."

Zack thinks for a moment, then goes into a totally exaggerated yawn-and-arm-over-shoulder move. Jack can't help sniggering, but when Zack starts to pull back, looking indignant, Jack grabs his arm.

"No, no, that works. A little hokey, but some chicks dig that. Okay, what next?"

"Uh -"

Zack hesitates, and Jack wonders if he's gone too far, but he's got three beers in him which seem to have hit him all at once, and he's suddenly buzzing and feeling crazy-reckless. When he was a teenager that used to mean stealing one of his dad's cars and doing a hundred down the freeway with the chaffeur's daughter doing highballs in the passenger seat, and he's over that, but not so much that seeing how far he can push this doesn't feel like a really great idea.

"At the risk of being redundant," Zack says, "You have a beard."

"Hey, if you're not willing to adapt," says Jack, going for disapproving, and after giving Zack a second to think that over he starts to pull back, slowly enough that Zack has plenty of time to stop him, which he does, score one for Jack.

"No, you're right, this is good experience," Zack says, and shuffles closer to Jack on the sofa, until Jack can feel the heat coming off him and Zack's arm is a warm weight against the back of his neck.

Then Zack says, "Can I kiss you?" in a husky, honest-to-god bedroom voice which sends tingles down Jack's spine, or maybe it's the brush of Zack's breath against his cheek, and okay, this is probably a really bad idea but there is no fucking way he is turning that down. He remembers he's supposed to be letting Zack lead, so he settles for just nudging him a little to get the angle right, then Zack's mouth is pressed against his, so soft, fuck, he'd forgotten that, but it's only there a second before it's gone, and he's way too disappointed.

Zack's not going anywhere, though, he's pressing his finger to his lips and frowning.

"Hm. That's different."

Jack keeps his mouth shut and waits, and sure enough, Zack's leaning in again. Score two. This time Zack cups a hand around his jaw first, then leans in determinedly and opens his mouth against Jack's, hot, wet, and Jack lets him in, strokes his tongue against Zack's when Zack doesn't go for it right away. He tastes spicy, like lemongrass and peanuts, and it's really – well, messy, and Jack's getting a crick in his neck. Zack's too goddamned tall. He pulls back, and Zack immediately backs off.

"Was that okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," Jack says, brain ticking away. "Wait, here." He shuffles around so he's facing Zack, then grabs Zack's right thigh and tugs him. After a second Zack gets it and moves, then they're facing each other, and Zack leans back in and it's better, open-mouthed and still hesitant, and Jack usually likes it fast and dirty, but this is – sort of sweet. They do that for a while until Jack's neck is hurting again, then he decides to show the kid something, and gently tugs his hair to turn his head to the side. Zack bends like putty, and Jack rubs his beard against Zack's jaw, kisses up to his ear and blows. Zack shudders and gasps, and Jack shivers in response.

"Oh," Zack says distantly, "That feels really good." So Jack does it again. No harm in expanding horizons. Zack arches to give Jack more room – Jesus, he's flexible – and Jack works down his neck, tugs a finger under his collar to lick the hollow of his shoulder. Zack blows out an amazed breath, then turns obediently when Jack mutters, "Now you do me."

He presses soft, careful kisses down Jack's throat, and Jack tips his head back instinctively, because it seems like he's got a good thing going, here, then nearly gets whiplash from jerking back when Zack suddenly bites him hard.

"Ow! Fuck!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Zack says, "I heard people liked that!"

He looks so distraught that Jack can't be pissed. Besides, never let it be said that he stifles creativity.

"Some people do – including me, as it happens – but not that hard, okay? I'd like to keep my skin."

"Mmkay," Zack mumbles against his neck, kissing the mark until it eases to a dull throb which actually isn't entirely unpleasant, then nipping carefully at the skin slightly lower down. Jack hums approval, so he does it again, then licks a stripe up to Jack's ear and does something which feels a hell of a lot like nuzzling.

"Mm," Zack says, "You have really nice hair."

It's at that point that the phone rings, and Zack, obviously having used up his co-ordination quota for the day, jumps and knocks an (empty, thank god) glass off the table with his foot. That smashes, then Zack's trying to clear it up with his hands while Jack's struggling to find the phone and the dustpan so Zack won't slash his hands open, and it's his Jack's mom, calling from Seattle because she's forgotten the time difference again, and by the time Jack's assured her that yes, he's still having fun with the bugs, and no, he's still not coming to Madison's wedding, and Zack's cleared up all the glass, the mood's totally gone. Which, Jack reminds himself, is probably a good thing. He draws the line at walking Zack back to the garage. At the door, Zack shifts awkwardly, and Jack cringes inside, because he fucking hated being twenty four, and all the ages between that and about nine, and he sure doesn't want to relive it now. Zack finally gets his nerve up and says, stringing his words together with his eyes fixed at a point above Jack's head, "DoyouthinkIcouldcomewatchthesequelsonyourhomecinema?" and Jack's so relieved he almost laughs. Sure! Yes! Great! But then Zack's saying, "Tomorrow?" eyes shining and hopeful, and Jack flashes back on all those goddamned Hersheys in his cupboard, the way Zack was looking at his TV, and the miserable rage that hit him in the garage twists in his gut again. So, tomorrow.

After Zack's gone, Jack throws himself down in the couch and watches three more movies back-to-back, until he falls asleep at five a.m.. He's late going to get Zack, and chews him out for sitting on the hood of the Mini. He half wants Zack to call him out on being a hypocrite, accuse him of sexual harassment, something, but Zack just hunches down in his seat and takes it, sleeves pulled down over his hands and tucked into his chest. He's left his coat at the lab again. Jack turns on the news, so he can yell about the government instead of Zack. Then he turns on the heater.

*

His resolution to just pretend the whole thing never happened lasts about as long as it takes for Zack to mute the credits of The Matrix: Reloaded, pull his yawn-and-armsling move, a little more subtly this time, and turn to Jack and say, "You know, I really appreciate this, it's very helpful to me," before leaning in to kiss him again. And Jack thinks, fuck it, it's been a shitty day and he picked butterfly eggs out of a dead man's eye, he deserves this, and what's a little educational nookie between co-workers, anyway?

They make out until Zack has a beard rash flushing all down his neck and his mouth is red and swollen, Jack's got his hand up the back of Zack's t-shirt, stroking up and down warm, warm skin, Zack's making happy noises into his mouth, and Jack's got a crick in his back but he doesn't care. It's weirdly chaste (he's not even hard, although he's pretty sure Zack is), but it's – well, it's nice. It's really nice. Zack's careful and gentle, and handles Jack like he's made of glass, which makes him antsy and frustrated at first, but when he gets used to it it's kind of soothing, like the occupational therapy thing, and he's so relaxed he feels like he could fall asleep right here. He doesn't remember anything being like this when he was actually in the making-out stage, with girls or guys. He wonders if it was supposed to be.

"Can I," Zack husks, jolting Jack out of his zen place, "Can I lie on top of you?"

Jack cringes internally, but Zack's totally unselfconscious, and somehow that makes it sound less embarrassingly dumb and more like a good idea, especially when Jack's spine cries out relief as he lies back. He's soon regretting it, though.

"Hey, hey, watch the knee! Seriously, if you damage the Hodgins family jewels, my dad is going to be pissed, and he's got the government in his pocket, I am not kidding."

"I think I'd prefer it," Zack says, pursing his lips like a disapproving nun, "If you didn't mention your parents right now."

He wriggles a little, and suddenly he's a warm, pliable weight pressed against Jack all over, one leg slipped between Jack's, and things change gear very quickly. Zack makes a breathy noise, drops his head against Jack's shoulder and grinds, artless, unsubtle and fantastic, and Jack bites back a groan while tugging Zack's t-shirt up higher and trying to ignore the way his ribs stand out, because he wants naked skin, more, more, now, and hey, it turns out he's hard after all.

"How am I doing? Is this okay?" Zack breathes, and Jack tries to remember what he's supposed to be doing, here.

"This is fine," he manages, trying to get his teacher voice back, "Although, uh. You'd probably want to let her go on top the first time."

"Oh," Zack says, "Do you want to go on top?"

He sits up abruptly, straddling Jack's hips, then suddenly seems to catch up with why Jack's been tugging at his t-shirt for the past half hour, and shrugs it up over his head. That's the moment Jack's been waiting for, he's got a killer move here – he sits up, waits till Zack's head has emerged, hair everywhere, then pins his arms above his head in the tangled t-shirt and goes to lick the hollow of his throat. Zack strains against him a little, just enough to flex his shoulder and chest muscles – not that he has much, and Jack makes a mental note to get him to start working out and get some goddamned sun – and breathes a little quicker, but he's not freaking out, so Jack kisses down his chest, licks his nipple, and from the noise Zack makes he's willing to bet no woman's done that for him before. Then Jack pushes Zack down off his lap and licks a path through the trail of hair down Zack's stomach to the top of his pants, and Zack's bucking and obviously trying to keep the noise down, so it's crazy hot when his voice cracks on a groan when Jack dips his tongue under the waist of his boxers. Jack looks up, and Zack's breathing hard, hair mussed and mouth swollen, and he looks debauched, Jesus Christ, and Jack is so far out of his depth here that he's drowning, and he didn't even realize. He's got a death grip on Zack's thighs, he's practically hyperventilating, and this is no way a game anymore.

"Do you want to stop?" he forces himself to say, please say no, please say no, and Zack shakes his head, wide-eyed, then says, "Take your shirt off."

God. Jack's hands are shaking so hard Zack has to help him with the top button, and then he just pulls it over his head and tosses it, fuck the creases.

"Ah," Zack breathes, "Come up here," and he runs his hands so gently down Jack's back and ribs that it tickles. Jack shudders, something like hysterical laughter threatening to break out of him, what the fuck is he doing, and it resolves into irritation. He's not made of fucking porcelain, he's not a woman. He shoves Zack back and slides down onto his knees on the carpet, then cups Zack through his jeans. Zack's eyes flutter closed, and he bites his lip. He's already leaking when Jack unzips him and eases him out of his boxers, which are bright red and obviously years old, they're so soft, and Jack rubs the fabric between his fingers and against Zack's cock as he takes the head in his mouth, watching Zack the whole time, loving the way his face screws up and his mouth falls open, the noises he makes.

"Oh," Zack's saying, "Oh, oh, wow, wow," eyes shut, fingers clenched in fists against the sofa, and it doesn't look like he's ever had this done to him either, which makes Jack wonder who the fuck he's been sleeping with, because they must have been idiots to pass this up. On the other hand, it doesn't look like it's going to be a problem that Jack's out of practice with this particular skill, which is good. He sucks Zack in, getting used to the taste again, and Zack jerks up with a moan, forcing his cock to the back of Jack's throat and making him gag. Jack pulls off, eyes watering.

"Hey," he snaps, edgy with lust and the knowledge that this is a terrible idea, "First rule of blowjobs, you keep still."

Zack groans, and Jack decides, fuck technique, Zack's not going to last long and he needs to get this over with before one of them starts freaking out, so he just goes for it, gets Zack hot and heavy on his tongue and sucks hard, making a ring with his thumb and index finger where he can't reach with his mouth at this angle, and presses down on Zack's thigh with his other hand. He can feel the jerky flex and release as Zack rocks up against him, trying not to thrust.

"Oh, f-fuck," Zack moans, eyes rolling back in his head, and that's all the warning Jack gets before Zack's coming in his mouth, salt and wet, and he swallows on reflex, the heavy taste making his eyes water again. He's so hard it's hurting, now, and when Zack goes limp Jack's unbuttoning his own pants even before he lets Zack's cock slide out of his mouth.

"Oh my god," Zack says dazedly somewhere above him – about a hundred miles, it sounds like - and, fuck, he can't wait, he's so close already, so he just braces against Zack's hip and jacks himself off. He's a few strokes from coming when Zack slides his hand into Jack's hair and scrapes his thumbnail around the curve of Jack's ear, and that wrenches it out of him too fast, too hard, taking him by surprise. He stripes Zack's leg and the couch, and when he slumps down onto his side his knees are sore, his jaw's hurting, his mouth tastes of come and he feels like he's been hit over the back of the head. He stretches out with a groan, flops down on his back, and thinks about doing up his pants. He probably looks ridiculous.

"Second rule of blowjobs," he says to the ceiling, "Give the other gu- girl a warning before you come in their mouth."

"Okay," Zack's voice floats back. He sounds as wrecked as Jack feels, which makes him feel a little better. "What kind of warning?"

"Semaphore," Jack snaps, but he's too tired and wrung out to put any feeling into it. After a moment, Zack says, "I assume you're not serious," and Jack swats at his shin, as that's all he can reach, but he can hear the smile in Zack's voice, and it is pretty funny.

Then Zack groans, "Oh, man, it's two am, I should go to bed," and Jack hurriedly does up his pants as Zack begins the process of peeling himself off the couch and finding his t-shirt. When he's found it, he stands over Jack and looks at him upside-down.

"You shouldn't lie like that," he says, "It contorts the spine."

Jack closes his eyes while he thinks of something sarcastic to say. When he opens them again, Zack's gone, it's 5am, he's freezing and his back hurts like a bitch. He staggers to bed, with the horrible feeling, for the first time in his life, that he's just too old for this.

*

It's totally worth it the next night, although it takes some persuading for Zack to go down on his knees, but Jack's nothing if not perseverant. They go with the usual dinner-and-movie, but Jack has a weird amount of trouble paying attention, probably because of the lack of sleep, and Zack gets twitchier and twitchier as the movie edges toward its end, and about ten seconds after Verbal Kint's got into the car, Zack bites his lip and, not taking his eyes off the screen, puts his hand on Jack's thigh – shit, he's been practising - and suddenly Jack's got a lapful of horny Zack and no trouble focusing at all. This time his shirt comes off first, and Zack's running his hands over Jack's chest and looking half-fascinated, half-envious (as he should be – Jack's always thought modesty is underrated), driving Jack crazy, when finally Jack gives up on subtly nudging Zack downwards and says, "You wanna blow me?"

Zack looks thoughtful.

"It's not exactly the same as going down on a girl, but the principles are pretty much the same," Jack says hastily. Zack's face clears, and he nods as he slides down off the couch. Jack grins, and settles back into a more comfortable position. It's like taking candy from a baby.

"What are they?" Zack says. He and rubs his thumb over the bulge in Jack's jeans before unzipping him, and Jack loses his train of thought.

"Oh – what?"

"The principles."

Zack's got that little frown in the middle of his forehead again, and, oh, that's just great, now Jack's never going to be able to look at him do that in the lab again without thinking of blowjobs. He tries to concentrate, but it's pretty difficult while Zack's fumbling with the buttons of his fly.

"Uh, hold your breath, follow their responses to figure out what they like, and, um," he lifts his hips to help Zack slide his pants and boxers down, and he already can't stop looking at Zack's soft, pretty mouth, about how good it's going to feel, "no teeth."

"Well," Zack says, looking at Jack's cock in a way that makes Jack feel naked – okay, he is naked, and he's got nothing to be ashamed of, but Zack's eyeballing him like he's a specimen, which is just weird. "That sounds easy. I didn't realize your hair was so... red."

"Collar and cuffs, baby," Jack says, stretching his arms behind his head to resist the urge to cover himself up or something, irritated, "you got a problem with that?"

"No, of course not," Zack says, and keeps looking at him, cocking his head to get a different view point, and Jack's losing his boner along with his cool, here, wondering if he's pushed Zack too far, if Zack's just going to get up and leave, or something, decide he's too weirded out, or -

"Hey! You going to actually do something, or are you just going to look all night? Because, you know, I could be working."

"Just gathering data," Zack says coolly, then he bends over and licks the head of Jack's cock. Then he sits back on his heels and scrunches up his nose, and Jack rolls his eyes up at the ceiling in despair. Which he's regretting about point five of a second later, because he misses Zack bending over and sucking him down without any hesitation at all. He's fully hard again instantaneously. Zack's mouth is wet and hot like a furnace, and he's concentrating hard, experimenting with suction and motion, and suddenly Jack doesn't mind being the object of scientific inquiry any more, because when Zack's learning how to do something, he's focused. It's sort of fascinating, actually, the way he runs through some sort of weird mental list of things to try, his eyes flicking up at Jack's face to check his reaction as he tongues the sensitive skin at the underside of Jack's cock, slides his full, soft lips up the shaft – fucking made for it, Jesus, Jack knew it – then does something else with his tongue that has Jack dropping his head back onto the couch back and groaning out loud. Zack hums around his cock, and he feels the vibrations down to his toes. Then Zack just keeps doing it, all the things that drive Jack crazy, one after the other. If Jack weren't the one benefiting from it, he could almost hate Zack for being so brilliant.

"Jesus," Jack gasps, "Yeah, Zack – oh, god," then Zack stops, slides his mouth off him and says scratchily, "How am I doing? Do you like this?"

Jack snaps, "Don't stop!" and his voice is embarrassingly high, but he really doesn't care right now.

Zack raises his eyebrows and gets back to work, and Jack puts his hand on the back of Zack's head to keep him there, winds his fingers into his hair. Zack makes a pleased little noise and slides his hands up over Jack's thighs to his hips, then it gets even better, less – rigorous, like Zack was waiting for feedback to relax and get into it, so Jack croaks, "Yeah, you're good, you're really good, Zack, you're fucking awesome, don't – don't stop, yeah, like that," and Zack looks up at him through his eyelashes, smouldering hot and smiling around Jack's cock, like the best porn in the world, and that's it, that's all she wrote. Jack totally fails to warn Zack before he's coming harder than he has in years, blind heat pulsing through him again and again. When his hand goes slack in Zack's hair, Zack pulls off immediately, and ignores his noise of protest when the cold air hits him. When Jack opens his eyes, warm, muzzy and feeling like he'll never be able to move again, Zack's spitting into a Kleenex and looking at him resentfully.

"You said you'd warn me," he says, then, without waiting for a response, takes a deep breath and says in a rush, "Can I f-fuck you?"

In Jack's orgasm-drenched brain, that seems like a fair trade, because it was pretty rude to just come in his mouth like that, and looking at Zack, mouth red and messy and hair sticking up in all directions, breathing hard and with a damp spot on the front of his jeans, Jack's suddenly desperate for it, even though he's just come.

He's got some slick in the table beside the couch – hey, it's his fucking house, he can keep lube wherever he wants – and he gets himself ready while Zack's fumbling with a condom, because he looks pretty freaked out already.

Zack pushes into him jerkily, too fast, but Jack rides out the burn and spreads his legs a little wider against the side of the couch, still relaxed and warm all through, and he starts to slip into that clear, quiet place he goes when he's being fucked. God, he's missed this. Zack freezes when he's all the way inside him, though, and grips Jack's hip hard enough to bruise.

"Oh," he says, "Oh my god," and hisses through his teeth, then presses his forehead against Jack's back and starts muttering something, breathing hot and damp against Jack's spine.

"What – is that pi?!" Jack says after a few seconds, and closes his eyes as he realizes Zack's trying not to come, because, Jesus. So fucking hot.

"Nine seven nine three – yes," Zack mutters, "- two three eight – oh, god. Okay. Okay."

Then Zack fucks him, jerky, erratic thrusts that don't do much for Jack, but he's already come anyway and is feeling generous, so he just lets Zack do what he wants. The friction sparks off the buzz that's still flowing happily through his veins, settling into a warm, steady burn all through him, stoked by the desperate noises Zack's making behind him.

"God," Zack suddenly chokes out, "Jack," then he's shoving into him and coming, and Jack wants to see, fuck, but he just has to stay there, half-hard and bent over, feeling the shudders ripple through Zack, listening to the soft noise he makes in the back of his throat, the way his breath hitches.

"Oh," Zack sighs when he's done, and wraps a warm arm around Jack's middle, presses his cheek between Jack's shoulder blades. "Thank you."

Jack feels weird when Zack's gotten dressed and left, not horny enough to jerk off, too sore to run and too edgy to go to sleep, something cold in his gut which he can't identify, so he stays up until three a.m. working through his backlog of journal articles. The next day he can barely concentrate, he has three cups of coffee and still can't stop yawning, and he's still too sore to sit down, while Zack seems to be purposely getting on his nerves, cocky, gleefully pedantic and broadcasting I got laid last night from every pore. Finally Dr. Brennan snaps, "For god's sake, Jack, go home and don't come back until you've had some sleep," and Jack slinks home, tail between his legs, swims laps until his whole body feels like jelly, then sleeps for twelve hours. It's not until he wakes up at six a.m. that he wonders how Zack got home.

*

Driving home that afternoon, he'd told himself they'd stop, but three days later Jack's pulling cushions off the couch with shaking hands and laying them down on the floor for Zack, and Zack's lying back, letting Jack pull his knees up and nodding when Jack says, "You'll like this, I swear – you trust me, right?"

Zack's eyes go gratifyingly wide when Jack brushes the right spot, and he makes a silent O with his mouth as Jack leans down on one elbow so he can suck him and fingerfuck him at the same time. He's writhing under Jack like he can't decide whether to thrust up or push back, making these crazy, amazing noises and stroking the skin behind Jack's ear, and Jack fucking loves it, loves doing this, it's such a kick to take that ticking brain of Zack's apart until he can't even speak, then suddenly Zack moans, "S-stop," and writhes the wrong way, backwards, "Jeffersonian! Jeffersonian!"

Jack freezes and lets him slide out of his mouth. "What? Did I hurt you?"

Zack gasps for breath, face screwed up and flushed, "Yes – no – I don't – just give – give me a second -"

His spine's arched back and his cock's standing straight up, pooling precome onto his stomach, he's got to be seconds from coming but his breathing's too shallow and his eyes are black and panicked, and in a flash of inspiration Jack thinks, whoa, sensory overload. He's about to pull out, then decides that would be worse, so he keeps very, very still, even though his wrist is cramping, and says softly, "Breathe, buddy. Take all the time you need. Come on, breathe in, breathe out. In, out."

After a couple of seconds, Zack gulps hard and sucks in a breath, then another, and when it doesn't seem like he's going to pass out Jack starts to move again carefully, fingerfucking him by increments, in and out in time with his breathing, and, god, he's having to work not to hump against the carpet, despite the burn, he wants it so bad. Zack shuts his eyes tight and makes soft, whimpering noises, gripping the cushions white-knuckled to either side and writhing up against his hand, and Jack is utterly, utterly mesmerized. When Jack corkscrews his fingers inside that tight heat, Zack wails and just comes all over himself without Jack even touching him, and it's the hottest fucking thing Jack's ever seen in his life.

When Zack's done, he flops back down like all his muscles have turned to jello at once, and Jack pulls out of him easily, which is good, because he cannot wait another second or he's going to go blind. He's got enough working brain cells left, though, to know that fucking Zack is not going to happen tonight, no way, and Zack's still on edge enough that if he surprises him one of them's going to get a broken nose. That stops him doing anything stupid, but he's so hard he's seeing spots, he can't think, and for a second he feels like the frustration's going to kill him, before he has an idea. He nudges Zack's knees down, then gets on all fours and crawls forward so he's crouched over him, shaking so badly he nearly loses his balance a couple of times. Then, god, fuck, Zack's radiating heat and looks so good and he can't do this, he needs it so fucking much, he realizes he's saying Zack's name over and over, he's dying, then, thank god, Zack's eyes flutter open. He smiles, lazy and sweet, and Jack's heart stops.

"You can come on my stomach," Zack husks, reaching up and wrapping his hand around Jack's dick, and Jack does.

A couple of seconds later, his elbows give way, but Zack catches him and helps him collapse onto the carpet beside him, which is pretty nice. Jack feels like a melted snowcone. Zack draws swirls in the mess on his own chest and stomach, then looks at his fingers.

"Ew," he says happily.

Jack snorts into his shoulder, too relaxed to talk.

"Will I be sore tomorrow?"

"Mm."

Jack's getting cold, so he curls closer into Zack's warmth. Burying his face in the sweat-slick hollow between Zack's shoulder and the couch cushion seems like a good idea, and Zack squirms, making a surprised noise.

"That tickles!"

"Mm."

"Are you going to be able to talk again soon?"

"Nnn mm."

"Most of your conspiracy theories are ridiculous."

"Hey!"

Zack laughs out loud, and there it is, bam, tidal wave Katrina-style, knocking Jack breathless, the realization that particles have collided, cells have split and protein chains have combined to bring about this precise point in time where Jack makes Zack laugh like that. This, right now, this is it, the reason for everything, the loveliest thing in the universe, forever.

Then Zack says, "Do you want me to call for a pizza?" and Jack, dazed, thinks, no, this.

*

The next day, it all goes to hell. Jack's waiting for the coffee machine to ping when Angela wanders into the break room, looking slightly stunned.

"What?" Jack says, full of bonhomie, "Somebody tell you Liberace was gay?"

"No, Zack," Angela says, then slaps her hand over her mouth. Jack nearly drops his coffee cup.

"What?"

"Shit," Angela says. "I didn't tell you that. Just – if he tells you, pretend you didn't know, okay?"

"He told you he was gay?"

"Shhh!" she says, flapping her hands. "Yes, okay! He just came up to me out of nowhere and said, 'Angela, I think I might be gay.'"

"Well, what the fuck did you say?"

"What do you think I said? I was supportive!"

"Why on earth would you do that?" Jack hisses. "He's young and confused! He's not gay!"

"Whoa, okay, back up," Angela says, staring at him like she's never seen him before, then gets really mad, really quickly. "I know you've got this whole macho-short-man thing going on, but Zack is very vulnerable right now, and if you dump your petty prejudices on him I swear I will get workplace harassment on your ass so quickly -"

"What?" Jack sputters, "I'm not – you – macho-short-man?"

Then Zack walks in. He looks between them – Angela with her arms crossed, breathing hard, and Jack speechless with rage – then calmly walks over to the coffee machine, takes the coffee Jack was making for himself, and wanders off again.

"Not a word," Angela hisses, looking death at him, and strides out on Zack's heels. Jack obeys her for all of ten minutes until he can find Zack, grab him and drag him into an empty lab, but then he's so full of words that he can't get any of them out.

"Is something wrong?" Zack says finally, and Jack loses it.

"You're not gay!"

Zack's mouth goes thin and hard.

"She told you."

Jack's not feeling very fucking generous after the 'short man' crack, so he doesn't correct him. Anyway, he's got more important things on his plate right now. He paces up and down, he can't stand still, he can't even think, he's so freaked out.

"Look, you're confused, okay? Don't do this. I screwed up, I didn't mean to let it get this far, don't just – you're young, you've got your whole life ahead of you! You like women! You liked Naomi, right? Look, I can take you out, take you to bars -"

"I don't want to go to bars," Zack says, voice hard as stone. "Do you think I haven't thought about this?"

"No, I don't," Jack yells, too loud and not caring. "When did you make this – this life decision?"

"I've been thinking about it for a while."

"Oh, yeah? How long?"

Jack glares at him, willing it out. Zack flushes.

"Recently."

"You - you're such a freak!" splutters Jack. "Just because it's - good with us, doesn't mean you can just change your, your whole sexual identity overnight! It doesn't work like that!"

"Really," Zack says, twin points of red on his cheeks, beginning to breathe hard, and it makes Jack's stomach ache. "And how does it work, Dr. Hodgins?"

"Like –" Jack trips over his words, trying to think of a way to hammer it into his stupid, genius skull, "Had it ever occurred to you it might just be me?"

"It had occurred to me, yes," says Zack, voice clipped and eyes dead, and it's like a punch in the solar plexus.

"Well, then -" Jack says, "Well -" then stops and just gapes at him. "You -"

"I think I don't want to talk to you right now," Zack says, and leaves.

A little while later, Jack walks back into the security area. Dr. Brennan's slamming things around on her trays and Angela's entering data onto the computer, back rigid. They both turn to stare at him as he walks in, and for a second Jack's really, really glad Booth won't give Dr. Brennan a gun.

"I screwed up," he says.

"Yes, sweetie," Angela says icily, "You did."

Zack doesn't come back and neither of them will talk to him for the rest of the day, so he has a lot of time to think.

*

Jack takes a deep breath and wipes his palms on his pants, then knocks on the door. Zack opens it almost immediately, then narrows his eyes and does that thing where he draws back into himself, puts up walls. God, Jack's screwed up so bad.

"Yes?"

Jack takes a deep breath.

"You want to hang out?"

Zack doesn't give an inch.

"Is that the kind of hanging out where we have gay sex?"

"Yes," Jack says, dizzy with relief. "Yeah. Yes. If you want that."

"In a bed?" Zack says sceptically.

"Anywhere. Look, I was an idiot, okay?"

"Yes. Are you sorry?"

Jack swallows. Suck it up, Hodgins, he thinks. He deserves this. He tries to remember the speech he was practising in the car.

"I had no right to say that stuff to you. You're – you're an adult, and if you say you're gay, then that's – I'm okay with that. Not that it matters, whether I'm okay with it or not, because it's your business. I'm sorry. I really am. I freaked out."

"There's nothing wrong with me," Zack says softly, and Jack feels like the biggest shit in the whole universe.

"Jesus. No, Zack. There's nothing wrong with you. You're – you're great, okay?" he finishes lamely, "You're really – I really -"

He begs Zack silently to help him out, here, but he should know by now Zack doesn't do telepathy, so he forces himself to say, "I really like you, okay? And I'm not going to say that again, because I'm a guy, and if you're going to fuck guys, you should know that that's how it works."

"No plural," Zack says softly. "Just you."

Jack opens and closes his mouth a few times, then realizes he's okay with that. He's more than okay with that. In fact, the idea of Zack fucking guys, plural, makes him feel sick to the stomach and so furious he wants to hit something, and – oh. Hah. That's possibly the heart of the issue, right there. And here he thought he was freaking out out of concern for Zack and his identity crisis. He's such an asshole.

He's still reeling from that when Zack opens the door to let him in and mutters, "Apology accepted."

Jack recovers himself enough to remember his manners. "Thanks."

He's not taking anything for granted. Not for a week or so, anyway. He looks around at the bare walls, the piles of books on the floor, and suddenly thinks of something.

"You know, you can stick up posters. Or – I could put up some shelves for you. If you like."

Zack brightens. "That would be cool."

And suddenly, everything is. It's such a weight off him that Jack thinks, for a second, that he's going to fall down.

"You want to play Unreal Tournament?" Zack says, and Jack grins.

They shoot the crap out of each other for a couple of hours on Zack's X-Box, then they order Thai, then they watch one of the few movies Zack owns – Star Wars, obviously – and it's easy and surreal and as Zack settles back into the couch, pressed warm all the way down Jack's side, and takes a swig from his beer, Jack thinks, amazed, this could actually work. Zack's smart (except when he's being a genius), he's hot, he's funny, and he gets what Jack does for a living, which is a bonus. Explaining about the dead bodies is always a problem. Jack doesn't even feel like a cradle snatcher, much, and luckily he doesn't have a policy of only dating PhDs. Experimentally, he slides a hand over Zack's thigh, and Zack sighs and wriggles.

"About that whole gay sex thing," Jack says, and Zack takes another swig of his beer, lips shiny around the neck of the bottle, Adam's apple bobbing, and Jack's mouth goes dry. If he didn't know better, he'd think Zack was doing it on purpose. Zack licks his lips.

"After your behaviour today, I think it can be your turn."

Jack sighs. The man has a point.

"Fine. But then can we just – start with a clean slate? Just us, now, okay? Fresh start." Jack sticks out his hand, trying to make a joke of it. "Hi," he says. "Dr. Jack Hodgins."

Zack looks at him like he's insane, but he puts his beer down and tentatively shakes Jack's hand.

"Zack Addy," he says. "I'm not a doctor yet."

Jack swallows, and he feels like an idiot now, but Zack clearly doesn't get it, so he forces himself to say, "You want to go out with me?"

It feels like the bravest thing he's ever done in his life. But Zack gets it then, and his smile is like the sun coming out from behind clouds, so bright that suddenly Jack can hardly look at him, and something tight and joyful squeezes his chest so it's difficult to breathe.

"Okay," Zack says, and they sit there grinning at each other like idiots, until Jack gets it together and remembers that he's a guy, so he clears his throat and looks away.

"So, we're cool now?"

"Pinky swear," Zack says seriously, and holds out his hand, little finger sticking out.

Jack snorts, "What are you, ten?" but he reaches out and curls his finger around Zack's and shakes.

"You should hope that I'm not, for your sake," Zack says, prim tone totally at odds with the slutty way he's spreading his legs for Jack to slide down onto his knees between them, then he says brightly, "I ate an apple on Monday," and Jack laughs so much he has to rest his forehead against Zack's thigh. If he maybe keeps his hold on Zack's pinkie, and eventually interlaces their fingers and holds on and on, Zack's nice enough not to say anything about it.
End