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lady-bess · 6 months ago

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Fallout - Chapter 8 "Back to Basics"

Jack Daniels x F!Reader Explicit/18+ (Minors DNI please) Chapter Word Count: 6.4k Chapter Tags: Trauma response, description of training, description of weaponry, use of a gun, PTSD/Trauma flashbacks, traumatic reaction, grounding, slight intimacy, description of wounds/scars, beginning of a friendship, drinking, eluding to being drunk at times (sensibly).

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<- Previous Chapter (Ch. 7 - "An Encounter")

Training Jack proved to be somewhat difficult - especially when he finally had a weapon placed back in his hands.

A/N: Thinking of changing the artwork for this series...thoughts? Also I'm officially scrapping an upload schedule. I started this as an every Wednesday idea, but I've found it too restrictive. I'm now just going to upload whenever I had a chapter ready! It'll still be regularly that this series gets updated, but that just gives me a bit more freedom!

Your time spent in the bar after work was somewhat different to how you first imagined it to be. Rather than the tipsy affair you had in your head, instead you opted for nursing a whiskey while plotting what training you could offer Jack. You swilled the contents of the glass around briefly as you contemplated what you had planned, your eyes scanning over scrawled notes littering the book you’d been using, before you were joined by a familiar southern drawl.

“How’s it coming along?” Tequila had asked as he slid into the booth with you, a cold beer in hand. He took a swig of the drink as he got himself settled in next to you as you both awaited the rest of your party to join.

“I think I’ve got it nailed down. Here,” you pushed your notepad over towards Tequila, “have a look and see what you think?”.

Tequila took another swig from his bottle before setting it down on a coaster and turning his attention to the book you’d been jotting down notes in all evening. Although your meeting with Jack was brief, combined with what Tequila had already told you about his rehabilitation after Jack had left had given you a good framework to start plotting with. You knew before Tex had given you more information that this would have to be a very different training plan, but you hadn’t anticipated just how different.

Time. That was going to be the main difference - even in spite of the fact Jack had been a very well respected, and highly trained, agent for so many years, there was not an element of this that you could rush. Normally your goal was to get recruits to a high standard as fast as possible, and as you only ever dealt with the weapons training it was simple for you to streamline the process. All your training could be simplified as the more you practise, the better you get.

But Jack would have to be different. The kind of trauma he had faced over his life, totally unchecked too, made you take a different approach. You wouldn’t even dare put a weapon in his hands for a few weeks at least, and only would on the advice of Loretta.

Tequila nodded slowly as he read over your notes, following the words with his finger - an endearing trait about Tex you’d picked up on when he told you about his dyslexia, and the struggles he sometimes had when it came to the admin side of his job. He’d found ways to make it work for him, and never didn’t turn in his reports, but there were still times you’d see him struggle. Your handwriting probably didn’t help, either…

“Looks good, London,” he said, smiling as he handed you the book back, “are you gonna start training him right away?” he asked. You nodded, placing your ribbon page marker into the book before closing the cover and tucking the book back in your bag.

“No point delaying things. I imagine Jack’ll want to get going soon anyway. Sounds like he’s been itching to get back out there,” you said, returning to nursing your drink. Tequila chuckled as he took a sip of his drink.

“You’re not wrong there. For months he was fine, and didn’t want to really think about it. But these last few weeks he’s turned a corner and there’s been a huge shift in him - and for the better, too. He’ll be pleased to know you’ll want to start immediately.”

You smiled at Tex, finishing the last of your drink.

“It’s good to have you back. I missed you; we all did,” you said. He pulled you in for a side hug, squeezing you tight into his solid frame. He planted a soft kiss in your hair, then released you.

“I missed you too, kid.”

You’d spent the rest of that evening catching up with Tequila, finding out about his life in the UK with Astrid, who when she joined the table the two of you both almost broke down in tears after finally being reunited. She coddled you in her arms and it was like no time had passed at all - suddenly it was over two years ago, the night before you found out where you were being stationed, and the two of you were drunkenly hugging like your lives depended on it.

Tequila and Astrid would be staying States-side for a while, but that didn’t stop the two of you treating that night like you’d never see each other again. By the time the morning rolled around, and you peeled yourself off your bed, you cursed the fact you’d let Astrid talk you into three rounds of shots to finish the night off. Getting up to brew a pot of coffee, you thanked your lucky stars you’d told Jack to not meet you until the afternoon, and opted to type up his training plan from your work laptop at home so you could at the very least nurse your hangover in the comfort of your sweatpants and no bra.

Jack’s training plan was a solid one, and this was probably the most thought you’d ever put into a recruit’s programme. Which sounded bad, given that for over a year it had been your job to train the next generation of recruits - but Jack was complicated, he wasn’t a fresh slate like so many who walked in through the doors of your office. There were so many adjustments you needed to make before you could confidently loosen the reins with him like your other students, even if he did technically have more experience than you in this line of work.

The major adjustment you’d had to make with him was significantly dialling back on the combat and weapons side of things. Having spoken to both Tex and Loretta to get an idea of the kind of rehab programme he’d been undertaking, it was clear that the very last thing you should consider was putting a weapon in his hand. Which was something you knew anyway, but after re-reading his therapy notes once the caffeine hit your system that morning, you thought twice about also getting him involved in physical combat.

That afternoon, once you’d made yourself look somewhat presentable, you’d started at ground level with Jack, and so began the next two months of you being his 1-on-1 trainer. Meeting at your office, he’d then been given a tour to the site as if he were a fresh-faced twenty-something who had been poached by Statesman, with no prior secret service training under his belt. He’d met all his new colleagues, some of whom he already knew , and learnt about all the recent developments that had happened since he’d been taken off active duty.

Then, the admin work. How you didn’t pull your hair out with him you’d never quite understand - for a man who had been in a job literally engulfed with technology for the best part of two decades, it was like watching a fawn how to walk on ice when it came to him getting to grips with the new system and the way in which things were filed. Long gone were the days of brown envelopes containing classified information, a system he was so comfortable with, and in with digital.

After the twelfth consecutive training day of getting him used to the system, you almost lost your rag at him. You were behind on your own paperwork now, with Jack’s training slowly becoming to the detriment of your own cases. At just turned four o’clock one afternoon, with your head in your hands, you grumbled at him.

“How did you manage before?” you’d asked, genuinely curious how he’d gotten by if he was this shit with technology. He’d just shrugged, wiping his hands across his face in equal frustration at the fact he couldn’t grasp it.

“I’d had assistants for years! I never needed to worry about any of this shit,” he’d said, which suddenly answered a lot of your questions.

Jack was the biggest pain in your ass you’d ever known. You thought that for someone who had been given a second chance at life that he might be a little more grateful to the training you were giving him – and in the discreet manner in which you were giving it. Jack didn’t make it easy for you; for as much as you were happy with the cover story that he was brand new to Statesman, the former senior agent spent a fair bit of his time out chatting to other colleagues in a way where it was very obvious he clearly had a past with the company.

But still, you persevered. Sticking to your word, you didn’t tell anyone who he really was, even when you were asked about it. Schmidt had enquired about him on a few occasions.

“Tex says he’s new, but I’m not convinced y’know. Is there more to it?” he’d asked one afternoon you’d gone to get coffees. You’d just shrugged it off, answering with a non-committal, “Not that I’ve been told”.

But in spite of how much you wanted to ring his fucking neck some days, Jack gradually got the hand of it. He saw how much effort you’d put in, and when he’d noticed you not leaving your office one night just to catch up on your own work, he’d seen the sacrifice you were making to your own caseload just to make sure that he was getting the training he’d needed.

Filled with guilt, he’d brought you a latte that next morning ( with an extra shot of espresso) , and had started pulling extra hours himself to make sure he had it nailed. He would repeat anything he didn’t understand time and time again until he cracked it. You found him one night cooped up in the library by himself in the corner, desperately typing away on a laptop. The smallest quip of a grin could be seen on his face, and you slinked away that evening with a sense of pride that he’d finally started getting it.

After that night, spending time with Jack slowly got more tolerable. You’d be lying if you said that the two of you hadn’t got off to a rocky start - he was someone who had been so used to getting any privileges handed to him on a silver platter, and now for the first time in years he was actually having to work for it. It had obviously ground his gears, and he’d resented you somewhat while he was getting to grips with everything anew. As his training officer, you became the face of all his misfortune, in his mind you were the reason that he wasn’t progressing faster.

But once he got over himself and let his ego calm down, he started to see that none of this was your fault, and instead you were doing everything in your power to help speed this along. In a way he started to admire you - how you held yourself, how kind you were, and how far you had come with Statesman in such a short amount of time. The two of you might have still butted heads from time to time, but on the whole it was getting to be a much more amicable relationship the two of you had.

Finally, Jack started making progress in leaps and bounds. Not only was he finally getting the hand of filing the paperwork, and making record time for some of it now after hours of practice, but Loretta had finally cleared him for using firearms.

“There ain’t a guarantee he’s totally ready. There never will be, child. But his sessions have been the most positive since I met the guy. I’d say it’s worth a try ,” she’d said.

You were nervous about the prospect of Jack handling a weapon - you’d read his file and knew what a marksman he used to be, and how he could handle himself in seemingly any situation. Of all the agents who were serving with the organisation at the time of his accident, Jack had suffered the fewest injuries across the entire team, even in spite of how long he had worked here. There was a part of you who worried that he’d try and relive his glory days, and go too far too soon, and you wouldn’t be able to stop him.

But you trusted Loretta, and if she said his sessions were becoming more positive, and that this was worth trialling, you had no reason to not believe her. She was an honest woman, worth her weight in salt, and would never suggest Jack do something if she didn’t think he was ready to take on the challenge from a mental standpoint.

So, just over two months after your formal introduction, you were finally in the weapons department. Jack marvelled at how the room had changed since his time in here last - even though this is where the two of you had met, he hadn’t really paid much attention to what this room was like. His focus had more so been pinned on the woman in a waistcoat who was to be his training officer for the foreseeable future…

There were so many safety features installed here in comparison to when he was last in here for official training duties. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the dozens of additional locks and biometric keypads that now covered the cases of weapons and internal doors to the weapons room, a clear indicator of what went wrong with him.

You let him have a session just getting used to the feel of the weapons room now - even if Loretta had said he could try the weapons, you were in no hurry to put a gun in his hand on the first day. You’d been strict about it, locking away all bullets and magazines behind a biometric lock tailored to you before his session had even begun, just to make sure that he couldn’t suddenly flip a switch and go all trigger-happy.

But to your great relief, he didn’t. He happily took in his new surroundings, made notes as to the newer weapons that had come in since his time, as well as just get a feel for what a gun felt like again.

Jack smiled taut down at the small silver revolver, engraved with Statesman’s ‘S’ on the leather handle. It was not all too dissimilar to the kind of pistols he once carried. It was almost bittersweet to handle them once again, and you stood back and watched how he reacted to having them in his grasp once more.

“You alright?” you’d asked him. Jack had simply nodded, caressing the metal with his thumb gently, before putting them back in their allocated holder.

“Yes, ma’am. With your permission, I think I’d be ready for us to start using them in training, if you saw fit,” he’d said.

Truthfully, you no longer had a reason to say no. Loretta had cleared him, and after a couple of sessions where any and all ammunition had been under lock and key, you were satisfied that he was as ready as he could be to start that part of the training now.

So, you agreed.

But when it came to those sessions, you were instantly regretting your decisions. For the first time in weeks you were seeing the cockier side of Jack again, the side you’d come to learn would come out in a situation when he thought he was the only person who could know the answer. It wasn’t very often he would drag up his prior stint with the agency in a session with you, mainly due to the risk of someone overhearing who was not meant to know anything about his former moniker. But also because he’d agreed, along with yourself, Champ, and Loretta, that he’d likely fare better if he didn’t focus on what once was, and instead only looked forward to what would be.

You weren’t sure what exactly got into him this morning to make him such a colossal ass , but you had no fucking patience for it anymore. You were almost ready to call the session to an early close, but after making him wait for so long to give this a go, you figured you owed it to your student to at least let him have a go.

That didn’t mean he remotely appreciated your generosity.

“I know how to hold a fuckin’ gun, Mimosa,” Jack said, anger evident in his tone and an annoyance seeping in. You rolled your eyes ( for the fifteenth time this session, you might add ) and sighed as Jack gripped the handle on the pistol.

“You used to know, Seltzer,” you said, earning you a disapproving grunt from the former senior agent. You knew it pissed him off no end to be called by anything other than Jack, or Whiskey, but that was a title his own stupidity has forfeited. You’d happily remind him of that whenever he so needed it - it helped to bring him down a little bit, you found. Normally you’d call him Jack, but today you couldn’t be fucking bothered with his childish attitude.

“Stop callin’ me that,” Jack murmured under his breath as he started loading the pistol for the first round of shots. He had hoped you wouldn’t notice, but unfortunately for him your hearing was significantly sharper than what he gave you credit for.

“Seltzer, I’ll have less of that,” you said. Jack’s eyes darted up to meet yours, a flush creeping up his neck and onto his cheeks as he realised he’d been made. You couldn’t help but chuckle under your breath as you caught the agent, virtually red handed, embarrassed that he’d been found out.

Or slightly angry. You weren’t sure.

“Sorry,” he said coyly, breaking eye contact. He rolled his shoulders back, warming up his muscles to get into position and start firing the pistol at the target.

You furrowed your brow as you watched how he held himself, lining his body up for the shot. The muscles in his shoulders tensed all wrong, his arms weren’t bent properly, and his feet were far too close together. You leant back against the bench at the back of the room, lined with weapons and ammunition, and crossed your arms across your chest. Jack wouldn’t hurt himself if he took a shot like this, so you didn’t need to intervene from a health and safety point of view. But you wondered if he took a shot like this, which would inevitably be off-target, it might make him realise he needed more help than he imagined.

Jack got into position, albeit the wrong one, and inhaled sharply. He knew something wasn’t right, he could feel it. The gun felt too heavy, his arms were locked up, and his body felt like it was twisting in a manner that was now foreign to him. This was something he’d done day in, day out, for over two decades. He plainly refused to accept that he’d forgotten this ability, and instead of doing the sensible thing and asking for a correction, he carried on.

Like an angry bull going after a bull rider.

He inhaled sharply and squeezed the trigger, releasing a bullet from the barrel, his breath never exhaling as he took the shot. The sensation of the bullet flying out the barrel careered up Jack’s arms and left a shaking feeling coursing round his body, his muscles still locked up and not releasing even once the bullet was out from the barrel. Time seemed to slow down as he watched the bullet fly out across the room, and avoid the target completely.

Jack sighed at the miss, but what frightened him more than the disappointment that he’d failed was the feeling he was left with after. Not anger, not frustration - but anxiety. Even long after the sound from the shot firing had ceased ricocheting around the bunker the two of you were in, the noise continued to ring in his ear.

The pitch of the bullet ringing around in his head got louder and more high pitched with every passing moment, and he screwed up his eyes to try and make it go away. It felt like the beginning of a sharp migraine piercing through his skull, and he’d not felt pain like this in a long time. It all concentrated near his temple, where the scar from his accident stood prevalent.

A few seconds after the failed shot, you looked to Jack and saw that he wasn’t making any effort to move. Not just to get into a better position, but to do anything. He wasn’t reloading the gun, he looked as though he was barely breathing; the only thing that was moving was his face, which was painted with a pained expression.

“Seltzer?” you said, pushing off the bench to step closer to him. He still held his position, but you could see that something else was taking over control over his body.

He didn’t respond to your voice. Truthfully, he didn’t hear it. The ringing of the gunshot ran around his head, bouncing off the sides of his mind and sending a piercing shriek through him. Jack grunted, faltering on his stance, and fumbled with his weapon slightly as he tried not to drop it from the pain the noise brought him. He panted, quickly flicking the gun to have its safety mechanism on, before dropping it to the ground in a panic.

“ Jack ?!” you said, now actually worried. At the use of his real name he seemed to snap out of whatever haze he was in, and his eyes darted around to meet yours. Your heart shattered as you looked in them, and all you could see reflected back was fear.

“I- that’s never- I don’t know-,” he stammered, his mouth dry and making it almost impossible for him to form a coherent sentence. You unfurled your arms from across your chest and went up to him, reaching out and gently placing your hands around his trigger hand to comfort him.

Jack shook throughout his body, and beneath your palms you felt every nervous quake which ran down through to his fingers. You gently applied some pressure, trying your best to ground him, employing techniques you’d picked up at MI5 for trauma responses within your colleagues. You’d all seen some shit in your time, and it had become rather useful you’d found.

Jack closed his eyes, his ears still ringing and the world around him spinning while he stood in place. His heart thudded in his chest and he could hear every beat as blood rushed through his ears. He found himself clinging to you like a lifeline, finding that your touch was the only thing keeping him from completely spiralling.

With your other hand, you softly interlocked your fingers with his which rested by his side. His hand gripped yours tighter and you watched as he screwed up his eyes to try and calm himself, his breaths deep and steady. With a gentle voice, and getting closer so that you could speak in just a whisper, you spoke.

“You’re alright, Jack. I’ve got you,” you said. He had no reason to trust you yet on a deeper level, aside from the fact you’d kept the secret about his identity for over two years. But in this one act alone he learned more about you than he perhaps knew about some of his colleagues whom he’d been working with for several years. He’d spiralled a few times over these last two years, and had to learn on his own how best to bring himself back to square one - but perhaps with you by his side, that might be easier. He never imagined that somebody else might be able to quell his troubled mind in any way, let alone how he so desperately needed.

Slowly, the grip Jack had on you began to loosen, and his eyes opened. You smiled softly up at him, never once letting go of him as he regulated his breathing and began to calm down. He shot you a watery smile once he was calm anew, and you felt him trying to retract from your grip. You let him, pulling your hands away.

“You alright?” you asked, letting his hands slide out from yours. Jack nodded.

“Yeah, I- I think so. I’m sorry, ‘bout that…,” he said, looking almost perplexed as to what had just happened. You smiled softly and tipped your head towards a bench at the side of the training room, notioning for him to join you. He followed you to the bench and watched you remove your Stetson, setting it down on the seat to your left, before beckoning for him to take the one on your left.

“When did you last fire a gun, Jack?” you asked. He shrugged, then sighed. He took his own hat off now, revealing the head of thick brown hair beneath it - albeit slightly more grey at the roots than what you recall from seeing in that photograph of him just over a decade ago.

“On the day I got injured. One of the last things I heard was gunfire, before I-,” he sighed, again, “-yeah…”.

“I’m sorry, Jack. Tequila eventually gave me the details of what happened that day,” you said, looking up at him. It was then, without his hat on and so close to you, that you saw the scar on his temple. You gently raised your hand and brushed your fingertips over the scar, and Jack grimaced as you did. Deep down he didn’t hate how the feeling of your soft touch was on his skin, but he couldn’t show such weakness. Not when he was trying all he could to appear tough.

He sighed solemnly, letting his tough facade slowly fade from view. Of all people, there was no point hiding this side of himself from you - you needed to know as much about how he was doing in order to help him, and he’d be damned if he was about to face setbacks all because he didn’t want his pride to get damaged.

You retracted your hand from his scar, not wanting to draw too much attention to the area, and instead reached over to take Jack’s hand in yours. Your fingers softly slid between his, but it was Jack who responded with a tightening grip.

He smiled faintly down at your intertwined hands, the feeling now so foreign to him. It had been a long time since anyone had shown Jack physical affection, and even longer since that affection felt like it came from a place of love and care. After his wife passed he’d not wanted anything with women beyond meaningless hookups, and the second things began to feel more intimate, he’d shut things down. On a couple of occasions he’d entertained the idea, but those relationships never lasted longer than a few months, and as soon as he felt as though she cared more for him than he felt he deserved , he ended things.

So something as simple as having his hand held, while completely clothed, was almost bizarre. But he noted, as he watched your fingers softly curl around his, and your thumb caress the back of his, that he didn’t hate the way this felt.

“Thank you, Mimosa,” he said softly, “You’re a credit to this organisation, you know?”.

“Yeah?” you asked, turning to now look at Jack. He turned his head and smiled at you, a pair of deep brown eyes boring into you and making you feel warm and comforted from the inside. Even though it was you who was helping him right now, you yourself took comfort in the gentleness that was reflected back at you.

“Yes. Tequila really undersold you,” he chuckled. You rolled your eyes, not remotely surprised.

“Oh jeez, do I want to know what he said about me though?” you giggled, and Jack laughed with you now.

“Only good things, Mimosa. I promise!” he explained.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” you snorted.

“Oh, stop,” Jack chuckled, his hand gripping yours tighter, “I very much got the impression that the two of you enjoy winding each other up. So for him to still be able to sing your praises? Yeah, I trusted that he meant every word. And he wasn’t wrong; not about a single thing.”

“Thank you, Jack. That means a lot to hear,” you smiled.

Jack nodded, then cleared his throat and loosened his grip on your hand. He’d calmed down enough now that he felt as though he could clear up in here for the day, and didn’t want to burden you any longer with his feeling of not being alright. He’d make a point to go and see Loretta after your session, he thought, and as you let him retract his hand from yours, both of you grabbed your stetsons and stood up.

“You feelin’ better?” you asked, and Jack nodded, putting his hat back on his head.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m gonna head and see Loretta before our next session, just to go over today. But I think for now I’m gonna have to throw the towel in,” he smiled. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologise,” you said, shaking your head. “This was always going to be a strange adjustment, and a big step to take. See Loretta, and perhaps next session we’ll do more work in weapons that don’t involve guns.”

“Sounds like a plan. Got anything in mind?” he asked. You grinned, looking over to one of the wall panels which was filled with ropes and lassos.

“I might have some ideas cooking up, yeah,” you chuckled.

Jack followed your gaze to the cabinet, and he would be lying if he said he didn’t get a twinge of excitement at the thought of gripping a lasso again. It was one of the parts of his job that he missed the most, the power that came from being so nimble with a whip or lasso.

He noticed, as he turned back to look at you, the way your fingers danced over the handle of your own whip. He’d seen it before, but he grinned as he watched you fiddle with it, he noticed it was a very similar model to the one he once owned. The way the small switch stood out on the end, signifying yours would turn electric at a moment’s notice, had a buzz go through Jack at the thought of you using it.

He’d been wanting to ask for a few weeks why you chose that weapon - it wasn’t exactly conventional when he made the choice, and with the amount of technological advancements that had come along since his time he very much doubted that it was any more preferable now. You turned back to look at him and were greeted with a cheeky grin, a far cry to the face of the man who you had just seen almost broken not ten minutes before you. You furrowed your eyebrows in curiosity, and folded your arms across your chest in defence.

“What made you decide to have a whip as your signature weapon, by the way?” he asked, that playful smirk never diminishing.

Ah, fuck. Busted.

You cleared your throat, a warmth dancing across your cheeks at the reality you were now faced with. You knew that your decision to carry this weapon out of slight admiration was bound to come up one day, but you had hoped it would be much further down the line than this. You began trying to pace away from Jack, your feet moving towards the door.

But something stopped you.

Jack reached out and placed his hand on your arm, effectively stopping you in your tracks. Now you were really done for. You dared to make eye contact with the cowboy again, and butterflies swirled in your stomach as you did.

“Well? Come on, don’t keep me waitin’. I don’t know many that would choose such a weapon. Colour me intrigued!” he said.

You rolled your eyes, but chuckled to yourself. You figured there was no better time than the present to rip this bandaid off, anyway…

“Fine, fine! Twist my arm, why don’t you,” you began, clearing your throat and inhaling sharply before continuing.

“I read your file before I knew about you from Tequila, and your stats impressed me immensely. Your success rate, how little you got injured, and the kind of missions you were involved with. From a professional standpoint, I admired the work you did,” you said. “And then I finally got the chance to speak to Tex about you. He told me so much about you, but one detail that always stood out was your choice of weapon. I’ll admit, I was intrigued.”

“Really?!” Jack said, dropping his hand from your arm and replacing playful smirk for a smile of genuine joy. You chuckled as you watched him, slightly giddy, at the prospect that you might have for a second been inspired by him.

“Yes, really . I couldn’t get my head around the benefit of a weapon like this,” you gestured to the whip by tapping the handle that was hooked to your hip, “But I was interested in finding out. So, on the downlow, I had my training officer show me the way with one”.

“Who was your T.O?” Jack asked, the two of you now heading towards the exit.

“Eve. She’s just got back from a prolonged, and well deserved, break. Have you ever worked with her?” you asked. Jack smiled and nodded.

“Yes, I’ve had the pleasure. Does explain a whole lot about you and your training style though, given she shaped you into an agent.”

“She’s the best. I’ve missed her these last couple of months, but it’s been nice to not be worried about her getting injured recently,” you said. Jack shrugged before opening the door for you, allowing you to step out of the weapons room, then followed by him.

“I wouldn’t be so sure. From what I recall Eve seemed to have a knack for getting herself into a pickle even when she wasn’t working!”.

You laughed to yourself as you locked the weapons room door behind the two of you, turning the key in the lock and then entering the code 719002 into the door. He wasn’t wrong about Eve - even if he hadn’t worked with her for a couple of years, his assessment was alarmingly accurate. She was the best agent you’d ever worked with, but her ability to get caught up in minor self-inflicted accidents was almost comical.

“You’re not wrong, I’ve seen her trip over thin air before,” you said, still giggling. Jack laughed with you, and then softened as you turned to look at him.

“Thank you, for today. And for your patience in general. I know I haven’t been the easiest agent to train,” Jack said. You chuckled.

“You can say that again,” you told him, winking playfully as you tucked the key to the weapons room in the inner pocket of your jacket.

“Sorry,” he winced.

“It’s nothing, Jack. You’re a pain in my ass, but… I’m coming to like having to deal with your… quirks ,” you chuckled.

“ Quirks ?!” he said, not able to hold back a laugh.

“Yes, quirks! You’re bloody impossible sometimes!”.

Jack laughed with you, then shook his head in amusement. He knew you weren’t wrong, and that he had been reluctant to some of the changes which had been made recently, but every day he was grateful for the attention and devotion you showed him.

“Okay, okay, fine . I’ll admit it!” he said, raising his hands as though he was in surrender. You giggled, playfully patting the side of his right rib cage gently as a physical way of telling him to knock it off.

Jack smiled down at you, feeling totally relaxed in your presence. There hadn’t been many instances in the last two years where he’d felt like he was genuinely calm, or at peace. But something about this friendship that was blossoming between the two of you made him feel like nothing had ever gone awry, and that life wasn’t perfect.

He had to drop his arms down to his sides fairly quickly, as he found the longer he stayed fooling around with you like this, the more he had the urge to pull you in for a huge hug. Something told him that you might not be totally against that, given the fact you’d already not shied away from using physical touch with him where needed, but that was a line he knew he shouldn’t cross.

“Go see Loretta, Jack. And have tomorrow off, or use it for database study. I don’t want to overwhelm you given today,” you said. Jack nodded.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll let you know when I’ve had my session,” he said.

“Thank you. I’ll liaise with Champ and Tequila, and let them know about this too. You just get yourself some rest,” you insisted.

“Thank you, Mimosa. I’ll see you soon,” he smiled, and then the two of you parted ways, heading off into respective parts of the building for the rest of the afternoon.

Even in spite of the drawback Jack had faced today, he was able to walk away optimistic, and with a spring in his step. He knew he still had a long way to go, and the hours he’d need to put into it would be nothing short of monumental. But with you as his T.O, he could actually begin to imagine his life after this was over.

A second chance. Not one he ever thought he’d deserved, but one he was slowly beginning to earn.

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ghostofaboy · 2 years ago

Text

Double Whiskey On The Rocks

Pairing: Jack Daniels/Original Male Character Rating: Explicit. Over 18s only! Word count: 5880

Summary: Jack had a very unique Statesman recruitment. Shameless smut.

Warnings: Oral Sex (male giving and receiving), Face Fucking, Cum Eating, Anal Fingering (male receiving), Anal Sex (male receiving), Dirty Talk, Swearing

Note: No beta reader, so I'm sorry for any mistakes.

Jack slumped against the cold stone wall of the alley and sighed. This wasn’t how he’d wanted his life to go. Only twelve months prior, he’d had everything he’d ever wanted. A wife, a baby on the way, and a glittering career ahead of him in the airforce. That was all gone now. Taken from him in one brutal afternoon. Now he was here, outside yet another run-down bar smelling of piss, sweat, and booze and wishing he had the fucking guts to end it all.

A sharp pain in his side reminded him of the punch to the ribs he’d taken only moments ago. The local patrons clearly unhappy with his choice of songs on the jukebox. So fucking what if he wanted to play Whitney Houston six times in a row. I Will Always Love You was Lela’s favorite song. It had been. Past tense. He was still catching himself on that one.

“Not bad, kid.” A deep voice came from the entrance to the alley, and Jack snapped his head up to look in that direction. Stepping forward at a leisurely pace was an older man, perhaps in his mid to late fifties, wearing crisp blue jeans, a black wool blazer, and a goddamn cowboy hat. “Six drunk hicks an’ ya came out without a damn scratch.”

“Can I help you sir?” Jack eyed the man carefully. His ribs were aching now, probably not broken but definitely bruised, and the cuts on his knuckles from the previous fight were starting to make themselves known to him. The last thing he needed right now was another guy coming at him.

“Funny thing that.” The man drawled his accent not too dissimilar to Jack's. “I was gonna ask ya the same thing. Ya got a plan, son?”

“A plan?” Jack cocked his head. “Whaddya mean?”

“Well, ya come in here, playin’ the same damn song over an’ over till someone picks a fight with ya.” The man continued to step closer, and Jack could make out more details. Whoever this guy was, he was a handsome son of a bitch with a sharp clean-shaven jawline and vibrant blue eyes watching Jack with amusement and curiosity. “I gotta wonder what ya deal is. Ya ain’t from around here I know that much. But ya know how to fight. I’ll give ya that.”

“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble.” Jack growled as the man stopped a couple of feet from him. “The guys in there, they started shit, an’ I dealt with it. I just-”

“Yeah, ya did.” The man eyed Jack up and down, and Jack instinctively shifted. The man's gaze made him feel like he was being appraised. It reminded him of his old CO. “Look, ya clearly a little on edge right now, so why don’t I give ya my card.” The man pulled a business card from his pocket, handing it to Jack. “If ya get bored pickin’ fights with dumbass drunks, gimme a call.”

Jack opened his mouth to answer, but the man was already turning and walking away, leaving Jack still leaning against the cold wall, wondering what the hell that had been about.

/////

It was three days later that Jack saw the man again. This time he had sat drinking in the bar of a small casino when one of the other patrons had muttered something about Jack. It was something about his state or smell, accompanied by a disgusted look and a smirk to his friends. Jack was on him in one fluid motion, and after dealing with the men, he had been hauled outside by casino security.

Wiping blood from his nose, Jack glanced up to see a familiar face standing and watching him from across the street. The man, still in his smart jacket and Stetson, was leaning casually against a streetlamp, watching Jack. As their eyes met, the man simply tipped his hat to Jack but didn’t move.

What the fuck was this guy's problem? Jack scowled as he hauled himself to his feet and eyed the stranger. If the man was intimidated as Jack stalked toward him, he didn’t show it. He merely nodded again as Jack approached, stopping just in front of the stranger.

“You again.”

“Me again.” The man smirked. “Another fight? How’s that workin’ out for ya?”

“Workin’ out fine an’ dandy.” Jack spread his arms out to show the man that, yet again, there wasn’t a scratch on him. In fact, aside from one lucky hit to his face, the other guys hadn’t been able to land a punch.

“Uh-huh.” The man’s eyes drifted up and down Jack’s body, his smirk fixed. “Five guys this time, from what I counted. One with a knife too. Watched ya disarm him. Very nice.”

“Look, I don’t know why you keep followin’ me.” Jack pointed a finger at the still-smirking man. “But-”

“But what?” The man cut in. “But ya got this? But ya have a plan? Cos ya don’t, Jack. Ya don’t got shit but a goddamn attitude problem and no fuckin’ money to ya name.”

Jack’s blood ran cold as the stranger said his name. “How do you know my name?” He all but whispered.

The man huffed out a laugh. “Looked ya up, o’course. Jackson Matthew Daniels. Husband of Lela, son of Henry and Mary. Honorably discharged from the US Airforce, although, let's be honest there, son. Given what you did to those men, it should have been a dishonorable discharge. Only reason it wasn’t was on account of the death of ya wife an’-”

“Stop!” Jack cried out. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Someone who can give ya an option better than gettin’ y’self killed.” The man tucked his thumbs into his belt and frowned at Jack. “For the last twelve months, y’ve been runnin’. Just drank an’ gambled. Gettin’ inta fights. Soon ya luck’ll run out, son. What then?”

Jack didn’t have an answer. He didn’t have a plan. None of this was meant to happen. He was supposed to be at home with his girl right now. Probably a little sleep deprived from having a new baby. He was supposed to be a dad, not a fucking drunk with dwindling savings.

“Fuck you.” Jack spat as he stormed off, leaving the man alone under the streetlamp.

/////

It was around five weeks later that Jack saw the man again. Making his way back to his motel room from the grimy bar Jack was weaving his way drunkenly along the sidewalk when he spotted him. The man, still dressed impeccably with a light brown Stetson this time, stood outside another bar on Jack’s route home.

Home. That wasn’t where he was going. He was heading back to the dingy motel, which was all he could afford after his latest losses at the casinos.

The man glanced to his right as Jack approached, taking a long drag on his cigarette. He eyed Jack with an amused look as the younger man came to an unsteady stop next to him.

“Good night?”

“Yeah.” Jack slurred out, grinning. “Great night.”

“Uh-huh.” The man chuckled. He was kind of handsome for an older guy, and Jack couldn’t stop himself from staring as the stranger licked his lips. “Headin’ back to ya motel?”

Of course, that fucker knew where he was staying. Jack rolled his eyes. This guy thought he knew all about him. Well, it was time to turn the tables. Jack smiled and leaned closer.

“I was, but seein’ you here, I reckon it might be fate.” Edging a little closer, Jack got as close as he dared to the man's ear. “See, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you ever since I saw you last. I didn’t leave things right an’ I was hopin’ I’d get to see you again so I could make it up to you.”

“Are ya flirtin’ with me?” The man whispered back incredulously. “Brave thing to be doin’ so openly in Alabama, son.”

“You seen me fight, right?” Jack’s heart started thumping in his chest, hoping the guy would take the bait. “Then you know I’m a brave guy.”

“I know ya don’t know when ta back down.” The man chuckled, turning to face Jack. Jack could feel the other man’s breath on his lips. “But ya got balls gotta give ya that. So how exactly were ya hopin’ to make it up to me huh?”

All or nothing time.

“I could blow you. Or, if you prefer, let you fuck me.” Jack whispered against the man’s lips watching with some satisfaction as his eyebrows shot up. “Though this bein’ Alabama, we should probably get somewhere a little more private. You stayin’ close by?”

“That I am.” The man took a final drag of his cigarette before throwing it to the floor and crushing it with his foot. “Follow me.”

/////

The man wasn’t staying that far away from Jack, which unnerved Jack a little. Clearly, the man was watching him, following him but why? He wasn’t muscle to one of the many people Jack now owed money to, or Jack would have been dealt with already.

After the second time they met, Jack had dug out the card the man had given him, but it yielded no clues. The card had no name or organization, just a phone number that Jack had not called. If Jack was going to figure out who this guy was, he’d need to look through his things, so part one of the plan was to get the guy asleep. A good fucking should do the job. Jack was probably twenty years younger than him, so tiring the man out shouldn’t be too difficult. A good fucking should do the job.

Following the man up to his hotel room Jack stepped into the elevator, watching as the man pressed the button for the fifth floor before turning and closing in on Jack.

“We doin’ this?” His voice rumbled from deep in his chest, his eyes hungrily looking at Jack’s lips. Jack had barely nodded when the guy was on him.

Lips clashed messily against lips as the old man pinned him against the elevator wall. Hands were everywhere, with Jack sending his to pull the man’s shirt out from its place tucked in his jeans. Pushing his hands up the still buttoned shirt, Jack could feel the man’s nipples pebble at his touch.

The man’s hands divided their attention between Jack’s ass, with the man’s left hand roughly squeezing his cheek and his hair locking him in place as the man continued to plunder Jack’s mouth. Jack could taste the cigarette from earlier as the man pushed his tongue deep into Jack’s mouth.

With a ding, the elevator door opened, making Jack jump, but the man calmly untangled himself and headed out. Jack followed, adjusting his jeans to accommodate his now hard cock. Down the corridor and a left turn later, he found himself standing outside the man’s hotel room. No turning back now.

This was no 5-star hotel, but the room was decent enough and a big step up from his own motel room. The room itself was modestly furnished. Off to the right of the door was a small bathroom with a toilet, sink, and bathtub, while in the center of the main room was a neat-looking double bed. The rest of the room was pretty plain, with a simple chair, nightstand, and drawers in the same dark wood.

The man closed the door behind Jack and immediately started removing his jacket. Jack shrugged his own denim jacket off, throwing it over the back of the chair before turning back to the man.

“So, you got a name?”

“Most folks do.” The man eyed Jack greedily, reaching forward and pulling his t-shirt out from his waistband. In one swift motion, he pulled it up over Jack's head and tossed it over to the chair to join Jack’s jacket.

“I mean,” Jack paused to gasp as the man gave one of his nipples a quick tweak before pulling Jack’s jeans open. “What do I call you?”

Pushing Jack’s jeans down slightly to his thighs, the man paused, looking at Jack with an amused expression as he considered the question. “Ya can call me Whiskey.”

“Whiskey?” Jack frowned, pulling off his boots while the man, Whiskey, unbuttoned his shirt. “That like a nickname?”

“Somethin’ like that.” Whiskey’s lip curled into a smile as Jack pushed his jeans down and off, leaving him standing there in nothing but his tented boxers. “Well, look at ya. Pretty little thing, ain’t ya? Gonna look prettier on ya knees with a cock down ya throat.”

Whiskey kept his eyes on Jack as he opened and shrugged off his shirt. Stepping forward, Jack reached for Whiskey’s chest, running his fingers over the pert nipples before leaning in to take one in his mouth. Whiskey hummed approvingly as Jack licked and sucked in each nipple while his hands went for Whiskey’s jeans, popping the buttons open before kneeling before the older man.

Feeling Whiskey’s eyes on him, Jack slowly and deliberately pulled the jeans open to reveal a thick bush of pubic hair. It seemed Whiskey preferred to go commando. Pulling the jeans down, Jack took a deep breath, breathing in the other man’s musk as Whiskey’s thick uncut erection sprang free.

With one final glance up at Whiskey, who simply smiled down at him, Jack reached out and gently rolled back Whiskey’s foreskin to reveal a dark, fat red cockhead, then opened his mouth and gave it a small lick. This was by no means the first cock Jack had ever sucked, but it had been a while, and for a few moments, he was a little concerned he was out of practice.

However, after a few long slow licks, Jack parted his lips and began to swirl his tongue around the head. Looking up to make eye contact with Whiskey, Jack could see the older man holding back moans as he watched glassy-eyed. Feeling emboldened, Jack reached forward, cupping Whiskey's balls with one hand and the base of his cock with the other before beginning to work Whiskey's length into his mouth.

Inch by inch, Jack took the cock, until his nose began to graze Whiskey's thick unruly bush. Listening to the breathy moans coming from above him, Jack held himself there for a few seconds before his gag reflex forced him to pull off, leaving behind a trail of saliva connecting the leaking head to Jack’s lips. Tears stung his eyes as he began to bob up and down Whiskey's shaft, letting the tip of the cock hit the back of his throat each time, hollowing his cheeks as he once again locked eyes with the mysterious man.

"Y've done this before." Whiskey panted, playfully stroking Jack's hair. Jack responded by gently rolling his balls in his hand and returning to the thick cockhead, sucking on it and pulling a shaky breath from Whiskey. Teasing the slit with his tongue, Jack was rewarded for his efforts with the bitter tang of precum spilling onto the tip of his tongue and his lips.

After a few minutes of sucking, Jack flattened his tongue before again working Whiskey's dick back into his mouth. As soon as Jack felt it hit the back of his throat, he hummed, swallowing around the length of the shaft, making Whiskey let out a giddy laugh.

"Fuck son, until ya want a throat full o'cum ya need to ease off. I'm gettin' close." When Jack didn’t move and continued to glide up and down his cock Whiskey tightened his grip on Jack's hair. "All right, Jack, f-fuck, fair warnin'. Let's see what that pretty mouth can take."

Jack felt the hands of the older man gripping the back of his head as he began setting the pace, and Jack's eyes watered as Whiskey started fucking his face roughly. With each thrust, Whiskey's cock hit the back of his throat, making him gag and choke. It was all Jack could do to breathe through his nose as strangled wet sounds came from his throat as the older man's hips bucked.

"Tha's right, Jack baby." He could hear Whiskey growling. "Take it. Take it all. Ya enjoyin’ bein’ my dirty little slut ain’t ya?"

His own cock twitched at the words as Whiskey continued to mutter as his climax neared. After a few more thrusts, Whiskey pulled back just enough to let Jack breathe, as he let out a strangled noise spilling his seed into Jack's mouth and throat. As rope after rope of thick white seed flooded his mouth, all Jack could do was swallow every last drop as Whiskey felt his head firmly in place.

Finally, Whiskey loosened the grip on Jack's hair, letting his hand fall away, and Jack let the softening cock out of his mouth with a wet pop. Wiping drool and cum away from his lips with the back of his hand Jack looked up at Whiskey. The older man looked down at him, reaching out and softly, almost tenderly stroking Jack’s face.

“Not bad.” He panted, pulling Jack up off his knees. “Not bad at all. But we can do better. Let's get those off ya.”

Looking down at his damp boxers, Jack nodded, pulling them off and kicking them away as Whiskey began stripping himself of his jeans and boots. Once they were both naked, Whiskey ran a hand over Jack's chest, tracing his fingers down his stomach to his hips before reaching down and gripping Jack’s aching cock firmly.

“Very nice.” Whiskey murmured, gently pumping Jack a couple of times. Jack hissed, jerking his hips forwards and earning a low chuckle from the older man. “I wanna see ya cum. Ya wanna do that for me, Jack? Huh? Ya wanna cum while I watch?”

“Fuck yeah.” Jack moaned, still lazily thrusting into Whiskey’s grip. “You gonna fuck me?”

“Not just yet.” Whiskey laughed, motioning down to his now flaccid cock. “Let’s see how ya feel after I’m done with ya.”

“Done with me?” Jack raised his eyebrows but allowed himself to be maneuvered onto the bed, letting Whiskey lay him down on his back.

“Yeah.” Whiskey cooed at Jack as he retrieved a bottle of lube from the nightstand. “Let’s have some fun. There’s more to sex than just fuckin’ and suckin’.”

From the bed, Jack watched as Whiskey squeezed out a healthy dollop of lube onto the middle finger of his right hand before rubbing down the digit, warming the lube, and thoroughly coating the finger. With the other hand, Whiskey pushed Jack down until he was lying flat on the bed.

“Hold ya knees up.” It was a command, not a request, and Jack found himself obeying. Putting his hands behind each of his knees, Jack lifted his legs until his knees almost touched his shoulders, folding himself in two and baring his hole for Whiskey.

Wasting no time, Whiskey circled Jack’s entrance with his prepared finger, causing Jack to bite his lip to stifle a moan. Then, slowly and ever so gently, Whiskey pushed in, pausing momentarily to let Jack adjust before beginning to pump the finger in and out.

Jack shivered and panted as Whiskey soon began to increase the pace. At first, starting slowly, almost lazily, before pushing deeper and faster. A second finger soon joined the first, causing Jack to see stars as his thighs trembled and his cock throbbed in time with Whiskey's unrelenting pace.

"What a perfect fuckin' pussy." Whiskey mused, caressing Jack's balls as he scissored his fingers inside Jack's tight ass. Jack could feel his heart pounding and the blood buzzing in his ears.

"F-fuck, 'm gonna, shit, g-gonna, ‘m close..."

"Easy, son." Whiskey stilled his fingers, letting Jack catch his breath and allowing the waves of Jack's approaching climax to fade. "I wanna watch this show a little longer. Not just yet. Ya can cum when I say so."

"Fuck, please." Jack whined, digging his fingers into his own legs. He could feel the trickle of precum making its way down his side from his cock. With every other thrust of Whiskey's fingers, his swollen dick was sending out small spurts, landing on his stomach before traveling down his ribs onto the sheets below him.

"But ya doin' so well, Jack." Whiskey teased, his eyes raking over Jack's glistening naked body wantonly. "Don't ya wanna last a little longer?

Jack simply whimpered, shaking his head. He really wasn’t sure he could. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like this, and his head was swimming in arousal while his cock pulsed on his stomach.

"All right, baby. One more finger, then ya can cum." Whiskey playfully tugged on Jack's balls, sending spikes of pleasure shooting through him. “Ya can do that, right?”

"One... more..." Jack panted out, craning his head up to look at Whiskey. The older man nodded and smiled, seemingly satisfied, before returning to his previous lazy pace.

“Perfect.” Whiskey purred, adding more lube and pushing the final finger deep into Jack, filling and stretching his ass before pausing and locking eyes with Jack. “Ya ready for the big finish?”

“Y-yes.” Jack stammered out.

“Good.” Whiskey shifted on the bed, pressing all three fingers deeper into Jack. Letting go of Jack’s balls, the older man placed his other hand on Jack’s right leg, pushing it further back and steadying himself on it. “I’m not gonna go easy, but I know you can take it an’ I guarantee ya gonna enjoy it.”

Jack didn’t have a chance to respond before Whiskey began plumping his fingers into Jack at a brutal pace. Jack could feel his cock smacking against his stomach as it bounced with every thrust. The room was filled with the lewd wet noises of Jack’s ass, the soft slapping noise of flesh on flesh, and Jack’s increasingly loud moans.

Already close to the edge, it didn't take long for Jack to reach his finish. Arching his back, he let out a choked "Fuck" as he shot ropes of thick release over himself, his vision going white as the ripples of pleasure undid him. As his orgasm ebbed away, he could feel Whiskey slow and then eventually halt his fingers.

“Let’s see just how much ya can take, huh?”

“W-what?” Jack could barely see, let alone speak, as he looked up at the other man, peering over his knee, past his softening cock.

Whiskey smiled, his fingers still buried in Jack’s hole. Then, to Jack’s astonishment, he began to move them again. Gently pumping into Jack’s tender ass. Jack couldn’t stop himself from squirming. With his arousal gone, the sensation wasn’t exactly pleasant anymore. His ass felt stretched and sore, and the fingers, even covered in lube, stung.

“Ya want me to stop?” Whiskey leaned up and over Jack, keeping up his slowly rhythmic pace.

“Hurts.” Jack frowned, shaking his head.

“All right.” Whiskey looked downright disappointed but slowly withdrew his fingers and helped Jack to lower his shaking legs. “Shame, though. Reckon ya could take a whole hand.”

“‘M not sure. I-” Jack was still struggling to find words, his eyes following Whiskey as the older man stood up and headed for the bathroom.

“Sure ya can. But I won’t force ya.” Whiskey returned with a towel, wiping his fingers before throwing it onto the bed. Jack reached for the fluffy white fabric, but Whiskey caught his hands. “I’ll clean ya, honey. Let me have a little taste.”

Locking eyes with Jack Whiskey began to slowly and methodically lick the cum from his body. At first, starting with his stomach with gentle kitten licks, lapping up the sticky pearlescent seed, humming as he savored each drop. Then Whiskey kissed his way up to Jack’s chest, tracing circles around his hardened nipples until Jack was somewhat clean. Straightening up, Whiskey beamed at Jack before tenderly wiping him down with the towel.

“Well, I don’t know about y’self, but I’m near about ready to pass out.” Whiskey motioned for Jack to move so he could pull the bed sheet down. “Come on, gorgeous. Why don’t we get some shut-eye an’ continue this in th’ mornin’?”

“Won’t get no argument from me.” Jack’s limbs felt heavy as he climbed into bed next to the older man.

Settling down, Jack was surprised when Whiskey pulled him into an almost affectionate embrace. Tucked against Whiskey’s frame, Jack could feel the other man’s breathing start to slow as he quickly drifted off. Good, he could get started with his plan now. Once he was sure Whiskey was fast asleep, he could search the room for clues to see who the hell Whiskey really was. All he had to do was stay awake…

/////

Jack came to consciousness with a start. His eyes flying open, and quickly darting around the unfamiliar room until memories of last night started to filter in. He’d see that man again and come to his hotel room and… fuck.

Glancing to his right, Jack could see the man, Whiskey, still sleeping, his mouth slightly open. A peek under the covers confirmed what his memories were telling him. They were both still nude, the small patches of dried cum in his chest hair all the evidence from their relations the night before. Whiskey was lying on his back, his chest rising and falling with each gentle breath as his morning wood stood proudly beneath the sheets.

Jack’s cock twitched with interest as he took in the details of the other man’s erection. The veins, the way the head peeked out of the foreskin, how low his ball sat, making them look full and heavy. Jack allowed himself a couple of quick tugs of his own hardening length before gingerly climbing out of bed. He’d come up here for a reason, and he wasn’t going to get a second chance.

Briefly looking back at Whiskey’s sleeping form Jack started to slowly and methodically search the room. He started with the nightstand, carefully opening each drawer, but there was nothing. Just the standard Bible, a pamphlet about tourist attractions, and a comb.

Frowning, Jack headed over to the set of drawers, but there were only clothes. They were nice, well-made clothes, and in some cases, Jack was sure hand tailored. No clues about who Whiskey worked for, but it did tell Jack the guy had money. That was something, at least.

Surveying the rest of the hotel room, Jack was at a loss. There were no more places for things to be hiding. No room safe and no bathroom cabinet. A quick glance behind the two ugly ass paintings on the wall yielded more nothing.

Returning to the bed, Jack knew there was only one more place to check; under the bed itself. He had yet to find Whiskey’s suitcase, and there was nowhere else in the room it could possibly be.

Jack was just about to couch down, his hard cock throbbing, demanding his attention, when Whiskey let out a small sigh. Jack froze. After a few seconds, there was another sigh, then a groan before, to Jack’s dismay, Whiskey cracked one eye open.

“Mornin’ handsome.” The older man croaked out, smiling. “Ya goin’ somewhere?”

“Was just on my way back to wake you.” Jack lied, crawling onto the bed and pulling back the sheet to reveal Whiskey’s nude body. “Looks like we both woke up with more fun in mind.”

Reaching over to playfully stroke Jack’s cock, Whiskey caressed the shaft before giving Jack a cheeky wink. “Oh, I have all kinds of fun in mind for ya, son. But let's start with somethin’ simple like ya ridin’ this. Ya know how to ride, don’t ya?”

“What kind of good Texas boy would I be if I didn’t?” Jack chuckled, grabbing the lube from the nightstand and moving to straddle Whiskey.

A couple of drops on Whiskey’s dick was all it took before Jack positioned himself, holding the older man’s thick cock at his entrance. Whiskey’s eyes met his, and Jack slowly sank down onto the cock, holding back moans as Whiskey filled him.

“Ya feel so fuckin’ good. That perfect pussy feels so fuckin’ good squeezin’ my cock.” Whiskey praised as Jack began to move.

Jack started slowly, gently bouncing on Whiskey’s cock, his own bobbing softly between them. Whiskey’s hands held Jack’s hips, his fingers caressing his skin while Whiskey’s eyes drifted down to watch his cock disappear into Jack’s warm body.

As his own heady arousal grew, Jack began to pick up the pace, rolling his hips as he worked his thigh muscles riding Whiskey. The feeling of Whiskey’s thick cock filling him, stretching him, made Jack feel drunk all over again. As the sounds of morning drifted through the closed window, cars in the street, and people chatting, the room around them filled with the obscene sounds of flesh smacking and loud unabashed moans.

Once more, Jack quicked his pace, desperately bouncing, letting Whiskey’s length hit that sweet spot with each plunge back down onto his cock. Whiskey growled, digging his fingers into Jack’s hips and pulling them down harder onto him.

“Gonna fill ya up.” He grunted, reaching up to his own nipple to tweak it as his eyes shifted to Jack’s weeping red cock. “Gonna take all my cum, boy.”

“Fuckin’ breed me.” Jack found himself pleading as he reached forward to take hold of Whiskey’s nipples, pulling them taut as the older man bucked up into him.

Both men were now chasing their climax, the rhythm of their thrust becoming more frantic and erratic. The coiling heat in Jack’s stomach grew with every push of Whiskey’s cock against his prostate. Finally, with a cry and one last thrust, Whiskey came, his back arching and his fingers gripping Jack, pulling him down into his cock. Jack could feel the other man’s cum flooding him, painting his insides, and he clenched down, determined to milk every drop Whiskey had to give.

“My turn.” Jack panted out, grinning, but in a flash, Whiskey held him still with one hand, his firm grip on Jack’s hips pinning him on his length. With the other hand, Whiskey reached down and gripped the base of Jack’s pulsing cock, stemming his orgasm at the source.

“Fuck!” Jack trembled as his body desperately sought its release. “Why?”

“I wanna see what ya can really take.” Whiskey’s voice rumbled in a low growl. “Whaddya say, Jack? Ready for that fist?”

“What? Fuck.” Jack could feel the tightly coiled spring inside him slacken, his climax lost. “Fuck it, ok. Let’s try.”

Whiskey flashed a grin at Jack and climbed out of the bed, heading straight for the bathroom. As Jack positioned himself on the bed on all fours, we could hear the tap running with Whiskey, no doubt washing his hands in preparation. A few minutes later, he returned with a fresh bath towel which he placed between Jack's spread thighs.

"We don't really have the right lube to do this too deep." Jack heard Whiskey muse behind him. "But I just wanna see if I can get all four fingers an' my thumb in. Not really fistin' per se, just stretch ya a little."

"Uh, ok." Jack tried to relax, leaning his head down on the bed. "Will it, you know, hurt?"

"Shouldn't do." Whiskey slid three fingers into Jack's already gaping hole. "If it does ya need to tell me. Means 'm doin' somethin' wrong. Try to stay as still as possible for me."

"Ok." Jack let out a long breath as Whiskey applied liberal amounts of lube before easing in the fourth finger. Jack bit back a moan bordering on a wail as his hole stretched around Whiskey's fingers.

"Good boy." Whiskey purred, giving Jack's needy cock a few pumps to keep him hard. "Ya lookin' so good stretched out like this. We could make this a regular thing between us. Put in the time needed to properly fist ya."

Jack couldn't answer. His cheeks were burning red, and sweat was already beginning to drip from his forehead as he felt himself pushing back against Whiskey's hand. Rocking his hips, Jack pushed Whiskey’s fingers deep, making the older man chuckle.

“Ya like it then?”

“Fuck yeah.” Jack gasped out. Just the thought of doing this again was almost enough to make him cum. The image of Whiskey fucking him until his ass was sloppy with cum, then fisting him elbow-deep was all it took for Jack to let out another low groan, pushing his ass back toward Whiskey.

“All right, son.” Whiskey coached. “Time for the thumb. Just gonna tuck it in to stretch that pretty pussy then I’ll jack ya off.”

Jack heard the familiar sound of lube squelching out the tube as the fingers inside him were rotated to coat his hole in the sticky liquid. He could only imagine what he looked like right now, doggy style on a bed, his ass stretched and stuffed with fingers and cum.

As he felt the thumb get tucked inside, Jack let out a whine as Whiskey’s fingers, in a pincer position, eased into him up to the broadest part of the older man’s hand. Jack felt helpless, but in a good way, he couldn't explain, as his body shuddered and spasmed.

Jack's head buzzed with static as Whiskey took hold of his cock and began stroking him, almost milking him. The rhymic pumps of his cock adding to the waves coming from his ass as Whiskey's fingers massaged him closer to his release. Pleasure rippled through Jack as the two forms of stimulus began to collide.

Then like a dam bursting, Jack's vision went white as powerful shockwaves punched through his body. Everything part of him was dancing in ecstasy as his climax flowed over him. Time seemed to slow as Whiskey continued to pump the remainder of his seed onto the towel beneath him before releasing his tender cock and gently removing his fingers.

"Easy, Jack." Whiskey helped him roll onto his back, Jack's limbs trembling as he collapsed onto his back.

Picking up the towel, Whiskey cleaned his hand and delicately wiped Jack’s exposed, open hole. Heading to the bathroom again, Jack could hear Whiskey again cleaning up as his vision slowly started to return to him, and the aftershocks lessened. After a few minutes, Whiskey returned, sitting on the bed next to Jack, carefully wiping him down with a washcloth.

“I gotta say, Jack, this ain’t how I saw ya assessment goin’” Whiskey let out a deep chuckle. “But I’m impressed. Ya took everythin’ I threw at ya. An’ ya were committed to ya mission.”

“My mission?” Jack blinked up at him, still struggling to catch his breath.

“Ya came up here to seduce me so ya could figure out who I was.” Whiskey eyed Jack with a knowing look. “Ya bided ya time until I was sleepin’, then searched my room. Good job.”

“I-”

“Relax, son.” Whiskey gently stroked one of Jack’s still-shaking legs. “Like I said, I’m impressed. But now it’s time to get down to business. Tell me, Jack, whaddya know about Statesman?”

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