In My Skin: What is This?

Part Two! Thank you all for your feedback on the Part One! You are all great and I appreciate your diligence through the slow start. So, as promised, the next instalment is here!

Please enjoy! Xx

*****

Movie Night

Jacks: 2005

I let Raymond ahead of me to pick our seats. He heads straight for the back of the theater, which I appreciate. Just when I think that he's going for the very last row, he quickly moves to the two seats by themselves on the left side of the isle. My buddies and I call these the "lovers chairs." I feel the nerves hit my stomach again, the butterflies threatening to escape. There has to be a furious blush across my face. I'm suddenly very thankful for the dim lighting in the theater.

We settle into our seats and he immediately breaks into his candy, and I start in on the popcorn. It's quiet, but far from awkward. It's comfortable. I take notice to the fact that we've both put our drinks away from each other, leaving the middle armrest empty.

Why am I so nervous? This isn't a date.

Even as I continue to repeat this in my head, I can't help but feeling that I'm wrong. But it's presumptuous of me. Just because I'm feeling this attracted to this boy doesn't mean that he feels anything near the same for me. What am I feeling?

Stop overthinking!

The lights go down rather quickly. I'm thankful for the complete darkness. I steal a glance at him, even his profile is beautiful.

As the previews begin to play, something unexpected also begins- his commentary. For every trailer that plays, the jokes role, very quietly and only for me to hear. I try as hard as I can to stifle my laughter. I grip the armrest between us to keep my composure. My laughter gets caught in my throat as I feel his hand remove my fingers from the armrest and tangle them with his. My heart threatens to break through my rib cage.

I wasn't wrong! I'm not alone in this!

Then the pull begins. Suddenly I just want to be closer to him. I shift in my seat so that I'm as close as the armrest will allow. I look up just in time to see the look of relief on his face before he looks over to me and gives me a beaming grin. My face matches his as I turn back to the screen. His commentary picks up right where is left off, and I'm in stitches. But, this time his warm breath on my ears feels much different than it had. It sends a shiver up my spine and goosebumps down my arm; it fuels the pull.

We're mid-way through the movie, and I'm quite comfortable- even though we've both made ourselves as close to each other as we can manage with the damn armrest pushing into my ribs. His movement pulls my attention to him. He uses his other hand to pull the armrest back, taking the separation from between our seats.

He leans even closer to whisper that, "the damn thing hurt."

Now our bodies are touching and I have to actively fight the pull that I still feel. I go back to pretending to watch the movie in an attempt to distract myself from how good the heat of his body feels next to me. I try to concentrate for about twenty minutes before I sneak another glance in his direction.

I turn and find that I'm staring into his beautiful brown eyes. They shine from the reflection of the screen, looking as if they're on fire. I see the need that has to be a direct reflection of my own. As soon as he sees it, he moves so quickly that it takes my mind a few moments before I can process what's happening. His hand tangles into my hair, he's only centimeters from my face. His eyes are pleading. I don't let myself think, I give in to the pull.

I close my eyes and I feel him inhale sharply as his lips meet mine.

Reunion

Jacks: 2017

He clears his throat, bringing me back to the current setting. I quickly release his hand and immediately miss his touch. I gesture toward the chairs in front of my desk, "make yourself comfortable."

He follows my orders rather mechanically. I can't blame him for being a bit uncomfortable. It's been so long. A million and one questions cloud my mind as I take my place behind my desk.

Where did you go? Why did you leave? Did I do something? If I did, what was it? Can I make it right? Did you ever need me the way that I so desperately needed you? Was there- is there somebody else?

The last question makes me flinch a little, and I hope that he hasn't noticed.

"So," I begin as impartially and formal as I can with the man that has haunted my dreams for years, "How are you, Mr. Santiago?"

He coughs a laugh at the sound of his last name, "I'm well. I was nervous. Now I see that there isn't a need for that," the right side of his mouth comes up in a wry grin.

"Oh isn't there?" I'm glad that we're attempting lightheartedness.

His smile immediately falls, and the previous pain retakes it's place on his beautiful face.

Shit. What did I do?

I quickly change the subject, "Hey, there's a time and a place. It isn't here or now," I start, "but there is going to be one," I clarify. I will get the answers that I need. But not now, "So, you got Harvard."

It's not a question, but he answers anyways, "Yes. Harvard. I graduated at the top of my class."

My memory hasn't done his beautiful face any justice. I have to look down at his resume that I've kept in front of me. This way I'm not gawking, "yes I see that. I'm surprised that it's taken you this long to find us," I raise my brow at him, challenging.

"I didn't exactly have to find you. I've had my eye on M&A since I applied at Harvard," He chuckles- it's an addictive sound-" But my resume had some beefing up to do."

When I look up, his eyes are narrowed at me. Almost accusatory. But he quickly looks at a spot over my shoulder so that I can't make eye contact. I don't need to see his eyes to know what he's thinking. 'Yeah, I had to beef up my resume with some wins, yet here you sit. A year younger than me, and somehow you're the head of the firm. How does that work?' It's exactly what everybody thinks. It was blind faith on Monroe's part- and the one good thing that my father ever did for me. But that doesn't mean that it's been all smooth sailing. From the second that I stepped into this office I've had to prove myself. I've had to prove that I deserve what I've got. And I've done a damn good job. Not a single loss to my name, and I keep to myself.

I've been quiet too long, "You've done a good job of it. Not a single loss. You're good," I slip in the complement in, and before I can stop myself I add, "I knew that you would be."

When I meet his eyes again, they're blazing.

Movie Night

Remmy: 2007

He's laughing. So I don't stop. My friends hate my sarcastic side comments through the trailers, but my beautiful boy enjoys it. I could not be more pleased. It gives me confidence that I'm not reading the situation wrong. He's attracted to me. I wonder if he feels it, too- the magnetic pull. In a moment of pure bravery, I reach over to where his hand in gripping the armrest and tangle our fingers together. His laughter stops, but he doesn't pull away. In fact, he gently squeezes my fingers in confirmation. He immediately shifts in his seat so that our arms are pressed more firmly together. I look up to meet his eyes, and I can't fight my smile.

He returns my smile for a moment before he turns his eyes back to the screen. I lean in- a bit closer this time- and continue my tacky retorts to the clichés filling each trailer. But they're not nearly as good as before. He doesn't seem to notice that I'm distracted. All of my senses are consumed by him: his delicious smell, his hushed laughter, the heat radiating off of his body. I can't focus. Even as the movie begins and we are silent. I can't seem to pay any mind to the plot at all. All that I can think of is how badly I want to be closer to him.

He seems to feel the same. The closer I adjust myself to him, the closer he gets to me. The damn armrest digs into my ribcage. I have to get it out of my way. I whisper that it's hurting me by way of explanation to why I'm moving it, but that's not even half of it. Now there's nothing keeping me from him. We're as pressed together as public decency will allow. But the pull doesn't stop. It isn't satisfied. It wants more. I want more.

I can't take my eyes off of him long enough to even pretend to watch the movie. The light coming off of the screen lights his face, making him look dark and mysterious. I try to commit his profile to memory: straight nose, shinning blue eyes, strong jaw, and those damn delicious looking full lips.

It takes me a moment to realize that his full lips are facing me. I meet his eyes for only a second before I can't fight it anymore. I tangle my hands into his hair and pause not a hair's breath from his lips, begging for his permission. He closes his eyes in surrender, and I can't stand it any longer. My mouth is on his.

Finally.

I try to control myself, to be gentle and slow. But it seems that Jacks wants none of that. His kiss is hard and desperate. I don't mind one bit. I open my mouth to him, and his tongue is immediately tangling with mine. My body feels as if it's on fire as I pull his body to mine. But it still isn't enough. I need to be closer to him. But not here. Not in public. It will only be a matter of time before somebody sees our indecency. We need to get out of here. But his mouth just feels so damn good on mine. I can't stop the sensual movement of our lips.

Somebody somewhere behind us clears their throat, and I'm snapped out of the trance that my beautiful boy's kisses have put me under. I pull far enough away from him to meet my eyes. His are wild with need. I register the hurt in them from my pulling away. Our breathing is ragged as I grab our jackets and his hand. He gives me a questioning look, but doesn't hesitate to follow me down the stairs as quickly as my shaking legs will carry me. Once in the lobby, I slow my pace so we don't attract any unneeded attention. I try to let go of his hand, but he only squeezes mine tighter. I look up at his flushed face, and he's giving me a face-splitting grin with very kiss swollen lips.

I pick the pace right back up.

Once outside he asks, "where are we going."

It almost stops me in my tracks. I hadn't really thought it through. I just know that I have to be alone with him, "I'm not completely sure. I hadn't gotten that far," I admit.

We both start laughing, and I pull him to my truck. He doesn't hesitate to get into the passenger side. I'm peeling out of the lot before he can finish buckling in. He doesn't say anything in the short drive to a lot behind an abandoned strip a few blocks away. The silence doesn't have time to get awkward. The anticipation is like electricity sparking in the air. I put my truck in park and before I even have a chance to toss my keys to the side, he's made his way across the bench. He unbuckles my seatbelt for me and quickly pulls my body flush to his.

His mouth is on mine just as fierce as before. Within seconds my pants are uncomfortable, my erection straining against my zipper. His tongue tastes of movie theater butter, and I find myself immediately addicted to the taste that I've never before been fond of. But it's mixed with a flavor that can't be anything but 100% Jacks. He's delicious. I release his hair and move them to his hips, guiding him to lay back. The movement gives me euphoric joy as it presses our crotches together. I'm pleased to learn that he's just as turned on as I am.

I start to grind my pelvis into his- which sends the most delicious shock through my system- and he pulls back just long enough to moan, "Remmy."

Remmy?

I'm not one for nicknames, but his lust filled rendition of my name is my new favorite.

I take a second to really look at him in this state: eyes wild, lips swollen, cheeks flushed, beneath me.

I press my lips against his again. This time slow, passionate in a different way than a few seconds ago. His lips move expertly against mine, "you're good," I can't help but tell him, but then again, "I knew you would be."

Reunion

Remmy: 2017

I can't control my expression as he says to me my lustful confession from that night. It seems like a lifetime ago. Hell, it was a lifetime ago. And all that time has done nothing but make him more beautiful. My heart aches harder the longer that I look at him- but I can't seem to stop. He's trying his hardest to keep it professional, for which I am grateful. I struggle to follow suit. There is just so much that I want to say. But as he so well put it, there is a time and a place. The promise that he made after so justly pointing that out has my stomach in even tighter knots.

Speak you idiot, "thank you," I quickly brush off his compliment and move on, "after graduation I started to train my eye."

He cocks his head to the side, and I don't think the gesture is suppose to be as alluring as I find it, "training your eye for what?"

Good. He's sticking to the interview, "cases that will win, and the ones that...won't. I need only a quick overview of a client before I decide if it's a valuable use of my time or not."

"You seem pretty proud of your methods. To what do you owe all of your success?" They way that he cocks his brow, I know that he is challenging me.

Bring it on Mr. Andrews. I clear my throat and sit back in my chair, a movement that may have come across too cocky to anybody else, but not Jack. I steeple my fingers together and rest my elbows on the arms of the chair, "I pride myself on being good at people.That being said, I know a winner when I see one," I give him a very pointed look."

"Do you, now?" He raises both eyebrows, and we're back to lightheartedness. He returns my pointed look and replies, "I'd like to believe that I, too, have this talent. That being said," he stands behind his desk and extends his hand toward me, "Welcome aboard Mr. Santiago."

Holy shit.

What???