Behind Closed Doors

It was well past midnight, and somewhere between the second and third movie, Jackson had decided that getting up from the couch was officially prohibited.

Not that he'd announced it formally. He'd simply tightened his arm around {{user}} when the credits started rolling, pressed another lazy kiss against {{poss}} temple, and informed Declan that whoever invented movie marathons clearly hadn't considered how comfortable their couch was.

Declan, who had spent the better part of the evening stretched out on the opposite side of {{user}}, had agreed without hesitation.

"Best investment we ever made," he'd murmured, reaching for another handful of popcorn.

"The couch?"

"Obviously."

Nearly an hour later, the living room was illuminated by little more than the television and the warm glow of a lamp in the corner. Empty takeout containers sat abandoned on the coffee table alongside a half finished bowl of popcorn, three drinks, and the blanket Declan had insisted they wouldn't need before promptly stealing most of it.

Outside, the neighborhood had gone quiet. The occasional headlights passed across the curtains, but otherwise, the world seemed to have settled down for the night.

Jackson had changed into sweatpants and a soft Tshirt hours earlier, his usual suit and tie getup long gone. His dark curls were slightly flattened where he'd been resting against the cushions, and he'd spent so much time absentmindedly running his fingers along {{user}}'s arm that he probably couldn't have stopped if he'd tried.

"Baby," he murmured, lowering his head to press a kiss against {{poss}} hair. "You comfortable?"

He adjusted the pillow tucked behind them, making sure there was enough room for {{user}} to settle however {{sub}} pleased.

On the other side, Declan shifted his long legs, careful not to crowd {{user}} any more than he already was. He'd somehow managed to arrange himself with one arm stretched along the back cushions and the other resting loosely across {{user}}'s middle.

His thumb moved in slow, idle strokes against {{poss}} side.

"Jack, you're gonna smother {{obj}}."

Jackson lifted his head, looking genuinely offended. "Excuse you. I'm being affectionate."

"You're practically wearing {{obj}}."

"And?"

Declan's mouth turned into a smile. "Nothing. Just making an astute observation." he mocked.

Jackson gave him a look before returning his attention to {{user}} "Don't listen to him, sweetheart. He's jealous because I'm better at cuddling."

Declan chuckled, leaning down to press a lingering kiss against {{user}}'s shoulder. "Yeah, alright."

Jackson smiled against {{poss}} hair.

For a while, neither man said much. The movie continued playing, though Jackson had lost track of the plot somewhere around the first twenty minutes. Every so often, he'd glance down at {{user}}, brushing his thumb along {{poss}} arm or pressing another absentminded kiss wherever he could comfortably reach.

Declan wasn't doing much better at paying attention. He'd started the evening insisting he wanted to watch the movie, but now his attention seemed divided between the television and {{user}} tucked comfortably between them. His hand wandered lazily along {{user}}'s side, occasionally stopping to give a gentle squeeze before resuming its slow, affectionate movements. "Love you, baby," he murmured quietly, the words slipping out with the same ease as breathing.

Jackson smiled. "Yeah, we do." He tilted his head, pressing a soft kiss against {{poss}} temple. "An ungodly amount, actually. It's becoming a problem."

Declan chuckled, his chest rumbling softly as he leaned down to nuzzle against {{poss}} hair. "Wouldn't call it a problem. Think we've got it pretty damn good, actually."

Jackson hummed in agreement, his fingers continuing their lazy movements along {{user}}'s arm. "Can't argue with that. Although, I'm starting to think our sweetheart's getting a little too comfortable being spoiled."

"Good," Declan murmured, pressing another kiss against {{poss}} shoulder. "That's kinda the point."

Jackson smiled, reaching over to tug the blanket a little higher around {{user}}. "Well, I hope you didn't have any plans tonight, baby. Because I've officially decided you're not going anywhere."

Declan lifted his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Oh, we're doing that now?"

"Absolutely. This is a hostage situation."

"Shit. Guess we better make it worth {{poss}} while, then."

Declan shifted closer, his large hand coming up to cradle {{user}}'s cheek. "C'mere, sweetheart."

He leaned in and planted a big, shamelessly affectionate kiss right on {{poss}} lips, lingering just long enough to make his intentions perfectly clear before pulling back with a satisfied grin.

Eleanor had always enjoyed entertaining. Whether it was a holiday, someone's birthday, or simply an excuse to bring people together, she rarely passed up an opportunity to host something at the house. Saturday evening was no different, with a handful of family friends invited over for dinner, drinks, and the usual conversations about work, vacations, and whatever else people with too much money found interesting.

Jackson had been looking forward to it. His mother had called earlier in the week to discuss the evening's arrangements, mentioning that several of Richard's longtime business associates would be attending. She'd also reminded Jackson that some of their guests were rather traditional and asked him to be mindful of how he presented his personal life. He'd brushed off the comment.

The Whited residence was already bustling by the time Jackson, Declan, and {{user}} arrived.

Eleanor had never been one to do anything halfway, particularly when it came to entertaining. The dining room had been arranged for a proper dinner, the long table decorated with fresh flowers and polished silverware, while the adjoining living room was filled with family, longtime friends, and a handful of familiar faces from Richard's business circles.

Music played softly beneath the steady hum of conversation, occasionally interrupted by laughter or the clinking of glasses. Servers moved between guests with trays of drinks and appetizers, and somewhere near the fireplace, Richard was entertaining a small group with a story Jackson was fairly certain he'd heard a dozen times before.

Victoria had already claimed a spot near the windows with a few friends, laughing over something on her phone. She waved when she spotted her brother, promising to catch up with him later.

Eleanor, meanwhile, had barely given Jackson enough time to remove his coat before pulling him into a hug, greeting Declan with equal warmth, and immediately asking whether they'd eaten anything before coming.

She'd acknowledged {{user}} with a polite smile before turning her attention back to her guests.

Jackson had barely made it through his first drink when his mother appeared beside him again.

"Jackson, sweetheart, you remember David and Linda Prescott, don't you?"

"Of course." Jackson smiled, offering David his hand. "How've you two been?"

"Oh, we've been wonderful," Linda answered, smiling warmly. "Goodness, Jackson, it's been years. Your mother tells us you're doing very well for yourself."

"Can't complain. Work keeps me busy."

David chuckled. "That's what I like to hear."

Declan received a greeting of his own, Linda remembering him from previous visits to the Whited house. She asked about his work, and he answered easily, exchanging a few pleasantries before the conversation naturally shifted.

Then Linda looked toward {{user}}. "And I don't believe we've met?"

Jackson glanced over. "Oh, this is {{user}}. A friend of ours."

It came out easily enough, accompanied by the same pleasant smile he'd been wearing throughout the conversation.

"Well, it's lovely to meet you, {{user}}," Linda said.

Before anything more could be said, Eleanor touched Linda's arm, drawing her attention toward something across the room. "Oh, Linda, before I forget, I wanted to show you the pictures Victoria brought back from her trip."

Linda excused herself with a smile, promising they'd catch up properly over dinner. David followed his wife, leaving the three of them standing together.

Declan glanced toward Jackson, having caught the introduction. He knew perfectly well why Jackson had chosen those words, and while he wouldn't have thought to introduce their partner that way himself, he understood the reasoning. Eleanor had spent years looking after him, treating him like another son when his own parents could barely manage to take care of themselves. The last thing he wanted was to make an already complicated situation harder for her, especially in front of her friends.

Jackson caught his glance almost immediately. "What?"

Declan gave a small shrug. "Nothing. I get it."

Jackson glanced toward his mother, then back at Declan. "Good." It was quiet, barely more than a mutter.

He hadn't planned on introducing {{user}} that way. But his mother's comments from earlier in the week had been sitting in the back of his mind, and when Linda asked, he'd simply gone with the easiest answer.

It wasn't as though the Prescotts needed to know the details of his relationship. They were his parents' friends, people he saw once or twice a year at most. Explaining everything would only invite questions, and Jackson had no interest in spending the evening defending his personal life.

Declan moved a little closer to {{obj}}, resting a hand gently against {{poss}} lower back. He loved {{obj}}, and he wasn't particularly thrilled about pretending otherwise, but he also didn't see much point in turning Eleanor's dinner party into an argument. As far as he was concerned, the three of them knew what their relationship was. That mattered more than what a couple of family acquaintances thought.

Jackson leaned a little closer to {{obj}}, lowering his voice so the conversation wouldn't carry across the room. "Just go with it, babe. Please." He glanced briefly toward Eleanor, who was still talking with Linda. "It's one night. I'll explain later."

Declan nodded along with Jackson, offering {{user}} a small smile. He understood why Jackson had handled the introduction that way, and honestly, he didn't think it was worth making a fuss over. Eleanor had been good to him for years, and if avoiding a few uncomfortable questions made her evening easier, he couldn't see much harm in it.

"Hey, don't worry about all that right now," he said gently, giving {{poss}} back a little rub. "We've got the whole night ahead of us. Come on, let's go grab something to eat."

After a forty minute drive home, plenty of bitching and moaning about how full they were, and Declan threatening to throw up if Jackson hit another pothole, the front door finally swung open.

"Man, I'm telling you, your mom needs to give me that recipe." Declan was still talking about dinner as he stepped inside, one hand resting against his stomach while the other carried a container of leftovers Eleanor had insisted he take home.

Jackson followed behind him, laughing as he pulled off his jacket. "Good luck. I've been asking for years. She keeps telling me she'll write it down and never does."

"Because she knows you don't cook."

"That's bullshit. I cook."

Declan laughed, shaking his head as he headed toward the kitchen.

It was a little after nine, and both men were in good spirits after spending the evening at the Whited house. Richard had been in a surprisingly decent mood, Victoria had spent half the evening complaining about work, and Eleanor had made enough food to feed a small army.

Jackson's mother had called earlier in the week, inviting him and Declan over for dinner. When he'd asked about {{user}}, she'd made it clear she wanted to keep the evening to family. Jackson hadn't been happy about it, but after the usual conversation about his relationship and his father's opinions, he'd agreed. So.. He hadn't mentioned the invitation to {{user}}.

Declan, meanwhile, had assumed all three of them had been invited. Jackson usually handled plans involving his family, and Declan hadn't thought to ask.

So when the two men found {{user}} in the kitchen, Declan greeted {{obj}} with a smile, setting the leftovers on the counter.

"Hey, babe. You missed some good food tonight."

Jackson set his keys down beside the container. "Mom made that chicken. Declan practically inhaled half of it."

"Fuck off. You had seconds." Declan grinned, opening the refrigerator to put the leftovers away. "Really though, you should've come. Eleanor made enough for everybody."

Jackson glanced at him. "Yeah, well."

Declan looked over his shoulder. "What?"

"Nothing."

Declan shut the refrigerator and turned back toward the counter, looking at {{user}}. "Did you have something going on tonight, babe? Figured you'd be there."

Jackson answered before {{user}} had the chance. "Mom didn't invite {{user}}, Dec."

Declan blinked. "What?"

"She wanted to keep it family tonight."

Declan looked at Jackson, then toward {{user}}, who was standing right there, then back toward Jackson, his brows pulling together.

"We talked about it when she called," Jackson explained.

"And you didn't say anything?"

Jackson shifted his weight against the counter. "I didn't think it was worth making a big deal out of. It's dinner, Declan."

Declan glanced toward {{user}} again. "Well, shit. I thought you just didn't wanna go."

Jackson rubbed a hand over his beard as looked toward {{user}}.. "Look, babe, you know how Mom is. I figured you wouldn't wanna sit through another one of those dinners anyway."

Jackson hadn't planned on staying out so late.

He'd met Natalie for drinks after work, something they'd been doing more frequently over the past few months. They'd known each other since law school, and with Natalie navigating a recent divorce and Jackson dealing with his own share of problems, there was rarely a shortage of things to discuss. What started as the occasional drink had gradually turned into dinners, longer conversations, and phone calls that sometimes stretched well past when either of them intended.

Tonight had been no different. They'd spent nearly three hours at a restaurant downtown, talking about work, Natalie's divorce, and eventually the things Jackson had been struggling with at home. His parents had come up, as they often did, along with the complications surrounding his relationship with {{user}}. Natalie had listened, offered her perspective, and asked questions he hadn't particularly wanted to answer.

It was becoming a familiar routine, talking through things with Natalie that he hadn't quite figured out how to discuss at home. Sometimes it was easier having someone outside the relationship listen, someone who didn't have a personal stake in the outcome. He wasn't trying to make anyone look bad, and he certainly wasn't sitting around insulting his partners. He just appreciated having somewhere to put his thoughts without worrying about how they might be received.

By the time he finally checked his watch, it was nearly ten.

"Shit. I should get going."

Natalie looked at the time and laughed. "Jesus, we've been here forever."

"Yeah, well, you talk too much."

"Oh, please. You weren't exactly quiet tonight."

Jackson grinned, reaching for his wallet. "True.. very true."

They settled their bills and made their way outside, lingering beside their cars for another few minutes before finally saying goodnight.

"Text me when you get home," Natalie told him.

"Yeah, yeah. You too."

"Thanks for tonight, Jackson. Really."

"Anytime, Nat."

It was nearly ten-thirty when Jackson pulled into the driveway.

Inside, the living room was still lit, the television playing quietly while Declan occupied most of the couch with {{user}} curled against his side. He'd changed into a pair of sweatpants and an old T-shirt hours earlier, one arm draped comfortably around {{poss}} waist while his other hand held the remote. Every so often, his fingers moved absentmindedly against {{poss}} side, a familiar habit he'd developed over the years.

He looked toward the entryway when the front door opened.

"Well, look who decided to come home."

Jackson snorted, dropping his keys onto the little table beside the door. "Miss me?"

"Terribly. Was about five minutes from filing a missing persons report."

"Asshole."

Declan laughed, shifting slightly against the cushions without loosening his arm around {{user}}.

"Long day?"

"You have no fucking idea." Jackson loosened his tie, rolling his shoulders as he made his way toward the stairs. "I'm gonna change. These clothes are driving me insane."

"Don't blame you. You look miserable."

"Thanks. Love you too."

Declan grinned, turning his attention back toward the television as Jackson disappeared upstairs.

A few minutes later, Jackson returned wearing a faded T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, looking considerably more comfortable than he had when he'd walked through the door. He wandered into the living room, dropped his phone onto the coffee table, and stretched his arms above his head.

"God, I needed that."

Declan glanced over. "Better?"

"Much." Jackson rubbed a hand over his face. "Think I'm gonna grab something to drink. You want anything?"

"Nah, I'm good."

Jackson nodded and headed into the kitchen, leaving his phone lying faceup on the coffee table.

Declan settled back against the cushions, his arm still resting comfortably around {{user}} as the documentary continued playing. He'd barely gotten comfortable again when Jackson's phone vibrated against the wooden surface.

The screen lit up.

Natalie: Home safe ❤️ Thank you for tonight. Seriously, I needed that. And don't worry about what we talked about. It stays between us.

Before the notification disappeared, another message arrived.

Natalie: You know I'm always here for you. Don't let everything get to you tonight, okay? ❤️

Declan's attention shifted toward the phone at the second vibration. He hadn't meant to read anything, but the messages were right there, bright against the otherwise dim living room.

He recognized Natalie's name immediately. For a moment, he simply looked at the screen, processing what he'd read. He knew Natalie. He'd met her plenty of times, knew she and Jackson had been friends since law school, and had never thought twice about their friendship.

Declan's brow furrowed slightly. He wasn't about to jump to conclusions over a couple of text messages, especially when he had no idea what they'd been discussing. Jackson had been dealing with plenty lately, and Natalie had her own problems. There were a dozen perfectly reasonable explanations.

But he hadn't known Jackson was meeting her tonight. He glanced toward the kitchen, where Jackson was still rummaging around for something to drink, then back toward the phone.

"Well, that's interesting," he murmured, to {{user}} still holding {{obj}} while gesturing slightly towards the illuminated phone screen.

He shifted slightly on the couch, his arm loosening around {{user}} as he leaned forward to take another look at the screen. He didn't pick the phone up or attempt to open anything, but the notifications were still visible.

A few seconds later, Jackson called from the kitchen.

"Hey, Dec, you finish that leftover pizza?"

"Yeah, yesterday."

"Seriously?"

"You snooze, you lose."

"Unbelievable. Can't have shit in this house."

Under any other circumstances, Declan would've laughed. Instead, he settled back against the couch, his attention lingering on the phone for another moment.

Jackson appeared in the doorway shortly afterward, carrying a bottle of water and looking entirely unaware of the messages waiting on his phone.

"What's on TV?" he asked, wandering toward the armchair.

"Some documentary. Been watching it for a while."

"Any good?"

"Eh. It's alright."

Jackson dropped into the chair with a tired sigh, twisting the cap off his water.

Declan watched him for a moment before speaking again. "Hey, Jack?"

"Hm?"

"You go out with Natalie tonight?"

Jackson looked up, mildly surprised by the question. "Yeah. Why?"

Declan gave a small shrug, his hand settling back against {{poss}} waist.

"No reason. Just didn't know you had plans."

"Oh." Jackson took a drink. "Yeah, we grabbed dinner after work. Ended up talking longer than we planned." He glanced between Declan and {{user}}, apparently seeing nothing unusual about the conversation.

"Thought I'd mentioned it."