For as long as he'd known him, Jet had guessed that Lee was probably a fake name, because he was a refugee and Jet didn't know many other refugees that used their real names, and he hadn't questioned it because it had seemed normal. It was stuipd to use a real name, in this place, in this city. So the fact in and of itself didn't put him off, not really—it was how he'd said it, how he'd snarled it, like he was angry, and then kissed him like he was trying to suck the words back into his lungs, like he regretted it.
That felt a little weird to him.
At that exact moment, Jet felt something he hadn't felt in a very long time—he felt something prickle along his skin, something in his system trying to alert him, be careful, be careful the voice in his head was suddenly whispering to him, something about this isn't right. Jet made no indication of this on his face, but stayed very still, his nose nudged into Lee's cheek, his breath hot and ghosting into Lee's mouth.
"Hm, I figured," he said quietly, barely moving his lips to speak. "It's not like Jet's my real name either, you know." He choked a moan back as Lee continued to fuck him, feeling extremely aware of everything he was doing—and whether his senses were heightened because of the confession or the repeated pounding of Lee's dick into his ass, he wasn't sure.
It seemed like a bad time to worry about it, or anything else, so even though Jet was suddenly swallowing down a bad feeling (and that wasn't good, because Jet's bad feelings were never, ever wrong), he crooned sweetly against Lee's lips, the strained noises leaving him barely louder than whimpers.
"Is there anything else," he panted, as casually as he could, "you'd like me to call you instead?"
annaxmalina
dailybridgerton
turnnoffyourmind
gummygunk
theartofmadeline
kaledo-art
germansingergirl
