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"You're keeping secrets."
Darby looks up from his skateboard to find Jungle Boy standing about two feet away, peering at him with that brutally open expression of his. He's all intensely furrowed brow and eyes narrowed to glittering slits, lips pursed slightly crooked in the epitome of suspicion.
"You're snoopy." Darby shoots back with a smile, going back to tightening the new wheels he's putting on. He's trying to play it casual because he doesn't know if Jack will remember this the way the other two do, and if Jungle Boy peeked under the tarps in the garage to find the anvil, combo sander, and drills he bought for a future workshop…
There's a long moment of quiet before Jungle Boy's bare feet appear on the ground in front of his in his line of sight.
…okay, how is he going to do this without ruining everything?
Sighing, he sets down his screwdriver and board, then looks up at Jungle Boy.
"Have you been snooping?"
He shakes his head back and forth.
"How do you know I'm keeping secrets then?"
Jungle Boy sits sideways in Darby's lap without hesitation and leans in to kiss him. It's soft, coaxing, but Darby only gets a moment of Jungle Boy taking the invitation of his parted lips before he draws back again.
"You taste like secrets." He replies, dark eyes moving over Darby's face with the softness of a caress. His hand drifts up at the same time to skim his index finger over Darby's lower lip, and Darby can't resist the urge to let his lips part to give him more room to explore.
"Yeah? That a Good Neighbor thing?" He asks, brushing a kiss against the pad of his finger as his mouth forms the words.
Jungle Boy beams down at him, still seemingly dazzled by the effort Darby's put forth to learn more about the fair folk. Huh…maybe there's something more to Jack's self esteem issues than Scapegoat's damage.
"Little bit." He admits, finger gently tugging at Darby's lower lip to pull it down a little.
"Okay…then yeah. I'm keeping a—secret." He replies, snapping his teeth together lightly to try and startle Jungle Boy. He doesn't, but he does make him laugh.
"Is it a good secret?"
"Yup."
"…is it gonna be a secret forever?"
"Nope."
Darby finally gives in to the temptation and catches Jungle Boy's index finger with a lash of his tongue. That makes him gasp and go still, and Darby takes the opening to wrap his lips around his finger to draw it into the wet heat of his mouth. He holds that wide, coal bright gaze as he sucks and swirls his tongue around the tip before curling it around the digit until Jungle Boy's mouth is hanging just slightly ajar, expression entranced.
Darby pulls off his finger with a deliberately wet pop that makes Jungle Boy's breath catch, and Darby's gut knot with hunger.
"That an okay secret to keep?" He asks hoarsely.
Jungle Boy licks his lips, and Darby's gaze follows that flash of pink tongue, throat burning with thirst to feel that dandelion and fresh blood heat pouring into him.
"S'not a secret." Jungle Boy murmurs, shifting to straddle Darby's lap instead. "That's a surprise."
"Guess I taste like surprises, then."
Jungle Boy darts in to kiss him then, just like he was when they woke up that morning: clumsy in his eagerness to urge Darby's mouth open, greedy when Darby yields without resistance to taste and take and claim until Darby is breathless and shaking with how fucking badly he wants to drag him to the nearest decent flat surface and just absolutely destroy him.
Darby has an actual, real life, gorgeous wild angel in his arms and all he wants in the world is to corrupt the shit out of him.
When Jungle Boy breaks the kiss, he looks—oh goddamnit, he looks absolutely debauched. Flushed and ravaged, mouth kissed slick and cherry red, big brown eyes blown black as Darby's when he's hungry, only Jungle Boy isn't hungry for nourishment.
"We think you taste good."
Darby can't breathe around that. It sounds so simplistic, even childlike, but the quiet way he says it, eyes wide and weighty…he knows it means more than that.
"I'm not." He replies hoarsely. "Not like that."
For a second Darby actually feels guilty for a second at how sad Jungle Boy looks at that moment…until he smiles.
And as he bites his lower lip and slowly slides off Darby's lap, Darby feels far less guilty. He's starting to feel more like he's about to be the reason this sexy little shit is guilty—of making him crazy.
Before he slides fully off Darby's lap, Jungle Boy nudges a leg against his knees. With a ragged breath, Darby lets his legs fall open so Jungle Boy can stand between them…then sink to his knees.
Oh sweet leaping Christ.
Jungle Boy very pointedly slides a hand over the bulge rapidly hardening under Darby's joggers, but throws him a little bit of a curveball by offering his wrist to him at the same time he touches him. It's a little hard to parse with how badly he wants to shove into his touch, how goosebumps are rippling across his skin with the thrill of desire shooting through him like lightning…
"Babe, uh…ohhhhh, God, not what I pictured when I imagined this." He rasps as Jungle Boy chooses now to go mute again, all wide eyes and patience despite the telling pink in his cheeks that's spreading down his neck and bare chest.
He just lifts his hand higher…and caresses Darby's cheek, just sort of petting him like that.
At the same time he starts stroking him through his joggers.
It's an intense, dizzying cocktail of need and hunger as Darby loses the fight and starts rocking into Jungle Boy's touch while his head sags into his palm. The temptation of the feed just hovers there, where Darby can feel his fucking pulse beating inside his own head—only it's not the sound he's feeling but the ebb and flow of life that moves in time with it his beating heart.
He twists to press a messy kiss to Jungle Boy's palm, groaning as his other hand gives him a squeeze that makes his gut clench and his vision blur at the edges.
"…Jack…"
"Please…"
Fuck.
Darby grabs his forearm and wraps his mouth around that patch of delicate skin—
—and it's a good fucking thing he's sitting down because the taste of Jungle Boy's pleasure spilling fire down his throat turns his legs to jelly.
He's more dandelions than blood like this, more heat than metal with sweet flowers everywhere. Like the dandelion tea he found at a health food store on the road and bought to try, to see if he could share it with Jack and give him a glimpse of why Darby is so fucking hooked on him.
The tea's nice, Jack's gonna like it—but it's not this. It can never be this.
It can't be blossoms this fresh and sweet. Turning smoky and pepper sharp with that hint of greens the more excited he gets, and as Darby feels Jungle Boy's fingers finally freeing him from his pants before the wet heat of that perfect mouth engulfs him, those sharp and smoky notes get stronger. God, he's never tasted Jack like this, getting that flower sweet pleasure out of touching him and feeding him. He's damn sure never tasted Jack's arousal while getting Darby off before. There had been a hint, a ghost of it in LA, in his kitchen…
There's a delicious flutter of pressure around Darby's cock that makes him snarl and nearly give in to the urge to buck forward. He's aware of how Jungle Boy gags a little, almost breaks away to make him stop—but he stops on his own.
And his desire is bright spring green, peppery and vivid, boiling in the heat of fresh blood. His pleasure, fuck he's getting off on sucking Darby's cock, is sweet floral tea steeped in hot iron, and there's a flash of bright delight he can't resist sucking down as well—
Joy. Honest, genuine happiness. He's happy, kneeling there, feeding Darby, lips stretched wide sliding over him, pulling back to suck hard on the head and make Darby dizzy with the twin intoxication of physical and emotional overwhelm.
In that instant, Darby knows he's going to come embarrassingly fast, and he wants Jungle Boy to come, too. Wants to taste it, wants to watch him just like this and see his body stiffen as his release tears through him.
So he taps Jungle Boy's elbow, a warning, before he lets those building coils of fire in his belly rise unchecked. Before he sucks down that pleasure, sweet as sugar, pulls hard like he did in LA. Touches teeth to skin and wonders if this is what it feels like to do shots, that glorious burn of slugging it down fast and greedy—
Jungle Boy doesn't move. Darby can taste his orgasm again, syrup and a trace of salt-iron, and as he moans around Darby's dick it triggers his own release, his orgasm hitting him between the eyes like that stiff fucking knee shot Jack picked up in Japan. It hits him hard and leaves his world in a tailspin that doesn't settle until he realizes the taste of dandelions and blood are laced with the vaguely bitter remnants of his own spend.
Jungle Boy crawled back onto his lap at some point while Darby was coming to his senses, and is now lazily kissing his mouth open. He can still taste himself on the smug little shit, and Darby thinks he might have fallen a little harder for Jack Perry in that moment.
He doesn't know how long they stay curled there together, loose and warm and sipping kisses off each other's lips in the afternoon sun. He knows they should move, Jungle Boy probably needs a shower and a chance of pants to be sure…
"Darby?"
"Mmm?"
"You know what you taste like?"
That bright, pepper-green bite of pure joy sits in his chest, and his memory, like a ten ton burning coal that burns away all ability to resist.
"Yeah," Darby breathes against Jungle Boy's beard with a smile, "I think I taste good."