Disclaimer: See initial chapter.
A/N: Someone suggested that I write Jesse's point-of-view. Here it is. This is not meant to be a traditional interpretation of the show, or the relationship of the characters. This is just what happened when I sat down at the computer to write.
Jesse lives for midnights. Lives for the moments when his door opens a crack and the shadow of Joey creeps across his floor, silhouetted in the dim light that spills into his room from the hallway.
"Jess?" Joey's voice, hesitant, even after all this time, is like a balm for Jesse's nerves, stretched taut, and near breaking.
"Get in here," Jesse hisses, gesturing urgently for the blonde to enter before he's caught, by Danny, or one of the girls, and has to come up with some excuse for why he's visiting Jesse's room at midnight.
Jesse isn't worried that Joey won't be able to come up with a reasonable excuse, because the man's quick-witted, and, though Jesse gives him a hard time, Joey knows how to think on his feet. He's more worried that Joey will be caught, and after making excuses, he'll have to return to his own room, leaving Jesse with a cold, half-empty bed.
Joey's head bobs, apologetically, and he slips in through the crack, quietly closing the door behind him. He tiptoes across the floor, and Jesse grows impatient, rolls his eyes at Joey's antics.
Every night, without fail, they start out with a kiss. Sometimes it's slow and meandering – fingers, tongue and lips exploring each other's bodies at a leisurely pace. It makes him hard, makes him want things that he can't have at any other time of day than this, when the lights are out, and the girls and Danny are sound asleep, oblivious to what's going on just a few doors down from them.
Other times, though, it's heated and messy – teeth gnashing, rutting against each other, cock pressed to cock – and Jesse has to bite his own fist to not wake the house as the fire that's been building up inside of him throughout the day is finally released.
They don't always fuck, but, when they do, Jesse likes to have Joey buried balls deep inside him – tip of the blonde comedian's cock brushing against his prostate, making him see stars and Elvis, and the entire fucking universe.
"You sure, Jess?" Joey's reluctance, the way that he blushes, and his eyelashes flutter in his humility are almost enough to make Jesse come, but he needs more, he needs the pressure, the feel of Joey moving inside of him. Without it, without that connection, he feels empty and dead. Joey makes him feel whole, alive, loved.
"Fuck me, Joey Gladstone," Jesse never hesitates to say those words, to spur the blonde man into action, and he guides his lover – Joey willing and pliable – through every aspect of their lovemaking, feeling powerful, unstoppable, and as though he could take on the whole damn world.
Jesse likes it this way – Joey fucking him – because, this way he knows. He knows that it's him, and not someone else, that's making Joey come undone. This way Jesse knows that he's the one rocking the blonde man's world. That it's his ass, the jerk of his hips, the moaning of Joey's name over and over again, coming from his lips as he reaches climax, coming before Joey, the walls of his ass tightening around Joey's cock, and then the both of them riding their orgasms out together.
And Joey does it, does everything that Jesse asks him to, with only a moment's pause to ensure that it's okay, that he's doing it right.
It's a heady thing, this control that he has over Joey, and Jesse revels in it – revels in Joey. Revels in the fact that he can have Joey in any way that he wants to. The only drawback is that he can only have Joey, like this, in the middle of the night, and at rushed, stolen moments throughout the day.
But, Jesse doesn't mind the wait. Doesn't mind that he has to see Joey during the day – watch his lover joke around and help out with the girls – and not touch. Because, when midnight rolls around, Joey's there, poking his head through the small opening in the doorway, and wanting what only Jesse can give him – the loss of control, of responsibility, of having to make all of the decisions.
Jesse lives for midnights. For the times when Joey is fucking and marking him – filling in the missing blanks of his life:
Jesse lives for midnights, when he can give Joey what the man needs most - him.
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