Jackson lay on the floor, in pain, exhausted, and humiliated. He’d lost his balance and fallen in his search for the door, or the toilet, or the sink, or anything in the vast whiteness of the room. He’d vomited on the floor a few more times and seriously considered never drinking again. He hadn’t had the energy to find his cane. The room was so bright and his head was spinning and pounding as if its own wild party was going on inside his skull. He knew he should move, do something, but he was so sick and tired he couldn’t force himself to do more than lay there with his eyes shut against the assault of the room.
“Jackson.” Rushed heavy footsteps. “Jackson. Shit.” Dan. Dan’s voice. A small piece of Jackson’s soul lifted at the sound, while another reminded him of his predicament and curled in on itself in shame. Dan would never love Jackson now. He was just a drunk and a poor, helpless blind guy, after all.
Jackson groaned but didn’t move.
A double thud as Dan sank to the ground. Dan’s hands were on Jackson’s face, then his body as if checking for injuries. “Are you hurt?”
Jackson was sore from the fall and violently heaving out his guts, but otherwise it was just his pride. He managed to shake his head.
Dan let out a huge sigh. “Thank God. Can you stand? Let me get you home.”
“My cane. I couldn’t find my cane. Or the toilet. I fell. My tux. Lyn’s wedding. She’ll hate me. I ruined it!”
Another sigh, and Dan’s hand momentarily laid on Jackson’s shoulder in a soothing gesture before he seemed to catch himself and pull away. “This isn’t a bathroom. It’s a laundry room.”
Now that Jackson tried to go beyond the scent of semen and puke, he could smell it: bleach and fabric softener. So much for being so fucking independent, huh? Maybe Lyn was right and he couldn’t ever make it on his own without a sighted person in his life. All of the limited energy Jackson had seemed to seep out of him into the floor. All he needed now to make his humiliation and emasculation complete would be for Harold to barge in with his groupies and laugh that obnoxious booming laugh of his and make some snide remark about how the Santoros shouldn’t even be a part of Cadmus anymore.
“Hey. Jackson. Hey.” Dan’s voice was worried. He lifted Jackson’s chin in a gentle, tender way. Although Jackson was probably letting hope take flight. Dan was just concerned he'd lose out on a place to live if something happened to Jackson. “Hey, open your eyes.”
Jackson kept them shut, squinting. The room was brighter than before somehow, even through his lids.
A sound Jackson couldn't distinguish. Some footsteps moving away from him. His heart sank, realizing Dan was leaving. Jackson should have opened his eyes when Dan asked. Then the sound of a light switch flicking, and the room got darker.
Jackson risked opening his eyes. Dan had dimmed the lights somehow, the bright white a more subdued light gray. Jackson blinked a few times. His eyes were so dry it felt like sandpaper sliding over them with each blink.
Dan approached and crouched near Jackson again. At least that was how Jackson interpreted the creak of the other man’s shoes. And there was no thud. The red of his pocket square was still visible in the low light, moving as Dan did. A soft gasp, as if Dan had been startled by something. Then he swallowed audibly and asked, “ Can you see this?” Dan fluttered the pocket square around, because it was the only way to explain how the blur of red moved so quickly and yet the hulk of Dan gave no auditory cues to indicate his entire body was moving with it.
“I'd have to be blind not to.” Jackson giggled like he was six and that was the funniest joke ever.
But Dan didn't laugh. “Here. You can put them on. I wanted to check if you'd hit your head.”
Put what on? Jackson wondered. Then Dan took his hand and laid something in it, folding Jackson’s fingers over it delicately to secure it. Out of reflex Jackson dropped that hand so he could use the one from the side he was lying on to explore the object and figure out what it was. It was light. Plastic. Jackson held long thin pieces that connected to the top with a hinge. More plastic, but this was smooth, larger, rounder, thinner. Flat, rimmed with the thicker plastic. His glasses! Shit! Dan had seen Jackson’s eyes. He immediately shut them and hurriedly put his sunglasses on. Not the easiest feat in his position and considering he was still drunk. Moving so much made him nauseous again and he rolled onto his back, wishing this night would just end. Having Harold walk in with his posse wouldn't be the most humiliating thing. Revealing his eyes to Dan without any warning for either of them?
“Hey,” Dan said in a whisper, the way one might talk to a lover. Not because he was afraid of being overheard but because they were so close. It reminded Jackson of the few times Benji had stayed the night. It had always started off as a long work session, pouring over documents together, then turned to kissing, then fucking off and on all night until they both fell asleep. Those early mornings before Benji “had to leave for work” were some of the best moments in Jackson’s life. The first and only time a man had held him. Maybe the last, Jackson realized, melancholy and loneliness creeping over him suddenly.
“Hey. Your tux isn't ruined. We’ll take it to the cleaners tomorrow, first thing, OK? Let's get you up. Warn me if you're going to puke.” Dan pulled Jackson up into a sitting position largely on his own, strong and yet tender in a way that woke Jackson’s dick and broke his heart at the same time. “You’ll be OK,” Dan said, supporting Jackson so he wouldn't collapse down again.
“You should go back to the party. Have fun.”
“I'm not leaving you. Besides, your sister would murder me if I did.”
Jackson’s heart sank further. Even if Dan liked men--and maybe he did--he would never see Jackson as more than the guy who needed help standing up and couldn't tell the difference between a bathroom and a utility room.
“OK. On three I'm gonna pull you up. I won't let you fall. OK?” Dan slid his arms under Jackson’s, counted, took a breath, and almost without effort stood up, bringing Jackson with him in a tight hug. The man didn't even grunt. It was so sexy the thought of taking this further pushed through the cloud of drunken depression that was swirling around in Jackson’s head. “You OK?” Dan asked, still holding Jackson close to keep him from tumbling back down to the floor.
Jackson tilted his head to look up at Dan, although the other man’s features were indistinct even this close. His nose bumped Dan’s chin and Jackson could feel Dan’s breath on him. Jackson pushed on Dan’s shoulder to urge him down, his lips searching for Dan’s. they brushed and Dan sighed softly and met Jackson. Dan’s embrace tightened and Jackson shivered, opening to let Dan deepen the kiss.
Dan pulled away immediately, though he gripped Jackson’s arm to help keep him upright. “He’s OK. I'm taking him home.”
The rapid “click clack” of heels as Lyn rushed up to them. Of all the times for her to cock block him! Jackson hadn't imagined Dan responding to the kiss. Had he? “What happened?!”
“Nothing,” Jackson lied. “I got drunk. I got confused. I threw up. Dan’s taking me home.” Jackson found his speech slipping; it became more halting when he was drunk or tired. He had to fight for each syllable to leave his stubborn tongue.
Lyn made a sound like she didn’t believe him.
Dan let out a surprised, “Hey!”
Then Jackson noticed a blur of red dancing on one side of his vision, then disappearing to his blind spot, making him turn his head reflexively until the moving red blur reappeared. Lyn waving the pocket square, maybe? “Did you see that?”
“Yes.” Jackson was less drunk now and more exhausted. He wished he had a wall or something to lean on.
Lyn let out a sigh of relief. “We should take you to the hospital anyway. Have you checked out. Just to be safe.”
“No. No, Dan is taking me home.” Jackson wanted to say more but it felt like too much effort.
Lyn started to protest, insist that she come with, but Dan said, “Stay. Enjoy the party. He just needs to sleep it off. I’ll call you as soon as we get to the house so you know he got home safe.” Jackson wanted to hug Dan. Kiss him. The moment was lost, though, and Jackson would likely never have that opportunity again. It hadn’t escaped Jackson’s notice how fast Dan had pulled away once Lyn had showed up. The kiss, as chaste as it was, was a mistake. Dan probably hadn’t even kissed back. Jackson had just wished it badly enough that it seemed real.
Jackson did get another kiss, but this one from his sister, on the cheek. “Promise you’ll see Dr. Navarro on Monday.” Jackson’s opthamologist.
“Love you,” Lyn said, smoothing his shoulder. Jackson felt like he was a kid and Lyn was his mother, reluctant to leave him with the babysitter.
“You too. Go have fun.” Jackson lifted a hand to wave, hoping that would give Lyn the hint to leave, finally.
“OK. Bye,” Lyn said, and at last her click-clack retreated until it was out of earshot.
“Sorry,” Jackson said. “Did you find my cane?”
“Uh, yep. Yeah, it’s right here.” Dan placed the cane in one of Jackson’s hands, although he was still supporting him as if he were afraid Jackson would fall if he let go. Honestly, Dan was right to be cautious. Once Jackson had his cane, Dan released his hold and Jackson wobbled, throwing out his hands in reflex to try to steady himself. He honestly wasn’t that drunk anymore, but his balance clearly had decided to shut down for the night. He took a hesitant step, hoping if he adjusted his stance he’d stabilize, but he felt himself starting to fall, his heart lurching.
But Dan swooped in and caught him, holding him in a tight embrace again. Neither of them moved for a long moment, Jackson letting himself sink into Dan’s hold. He didn’t miss Dan’s “camera lens” jutting into his belly.
“I wish . . . I were . . . enough . . . for you . . .” Jackson whispered, fighting his words even more now that all blood flow had rushed south.
The final words were barely out of Jackson’s mouth when Dan crushed his lips against Jackson’s, tightening the embrace. It was Jackson’s turn to moan and he opened, finally getting to taste Dan, the hint of whisky still on his tongue. Dan kissed violently, shoving a knee between Jackson’s and carrying him until his back slammed hard against a wall. Dan’s hands moved to cup Jackson’s ass.
Jackson wanted to pull away, to lean his head back to free up his neck, but he didn’t want to break the kiss. Dan was fucking his mouth, sucking and tickling his tongue as if it were a promise for what he could do to Jackson’s dick when given the opportunity. Jackson never thought a kiss could make him come, especially not when he’d blown his load earlier, but Dan was taking him damn close. Rocking a knee against Jackson’s balls while he devoured Jackson’s mouth.
Jackson realized he was probably still passed out and fantasizing all of this, but fuck. It was one hell of a fantasy.
When Dan finally came up for air, he said, “You’re more than enough: you’re plenty.”
I'll admit I'm a little stuck as to what happens next, though. I wouldn't mind your suggestions!!
I'll admit I'm a little stuck as to what happens next, though. I wouldn't mind your suggestions!!