Jack had just taken off his tee when he heard footsteps down the hallway and into Kurt's room. Just out of a whim, because he felt fine after paying off his debts, texting with Daryl and having dinner with Logan, he grabbed his phone again.

"How come your number's already on my contact list?" he typed.

The answer buzzed in right away. "Because it's the only number you need."

"Arrogant sucker," Jack typed, chuckling. He was about to send it when he recalled something else. "How can I see my last shoot again?"

"On my phone."

"No, thanks. Are they anywhere online?"

"Nope. But I could give them to you."

Jack narrowed his eyes, recalling what Kurt had said at the gym, about being a trader and keeping scores.

"What do you want in exchange?"

He knew what he should expect the price to be. He just hoped to be wrong. Or that Kurt would take no for an answer.

"I still can't trust your mouth, so a handjob would be nice."

Jack stared down at the phone. Not as bad as he expected. But he'd never touched another man's— The ferry. The Harvey's cock on the ferry. Bad thing he didn't think Kurt would use a rubber, let alone a sock. However, if he had to be completely honest, it was only delaying the inevitable. Soon he'd have his hands full of cocks, and sure as hell Kurt's would be the first on that long list.

"OK."

Jack swallowed a silly giggle when he heard Kurt's door open and close a heartbeat later, the hurried footsteps across the hall and the soft knock. Jeez, so anxious? Should he feel flattered?

"It's open," he said, dropping the phone on the desk.

Kurt walked in, closed the door behind him and stayed right there, phone in hand and a suspicious frown on his face. He wore only brown pajamas bottoms, that matched his tanned skin like a two-piece suit.

"What?" asked Jack, amused, standing in the middle of the room.

"You sure, champ?"

Only then Jack wondered if Kurt's reply had been but a joke, assuming he'd refuse. He shrugged. He could be honest with Kurt.

"Of course not. But I have it coming, right? So."

Kurt nodded with a tight smile. "Right. So let's take it as a late night lesson."

"Fine."

"Bring body oil and tissues from the bathroom cabinet."

Jack followed his instructions as usual. However, he noticed the way Kurt stepped back when he passed by his side. Weird. The almighty alpha avoiding touch? He grabbed the box of tissues and a sober black flask, realizing he was far from being on edge. All the way around: he felt calm, and fully aware of what he'd accepted to do.

Kurt waited for him by the bed-end bench and motioned for Jack to sit there.

"Put those things down," he said in his gentle teaching way. "We won't be needing them yet."

Jack looked up when Kurt came to stand before him, so close he had to spread his legs apart to make room for him. His confidence threatened to falter when a glance showed him Kurt's crotch inches away from his nose. He swallowed and looked up at the man again, finding his mild smile.

"Easy, champ. You should get used to the view, but I already told you I can't trust your mouth yet."

To Jack's surprise, Kurt showed the black mask in his hand and put it over Jack's lower face in such a way that it felt like a caress.

"To avoid temptations," he said softly, winking at Jack, and went back to his pedagogical tone. "Okay, there are two ways around this. You can shake it up like it's your own cock when you were sixteen. That's what most clients will ask before a blowjob and fucking you. They'll tell you to get them ready. But some others will require only the handjob, so you cannot jerk it to be done as fast as you can. In those cases, you can do it like it's still your cock, but acting as if you were someone else."

"Like the station."

"Pretty much, yeah, but in no hurry. Since I ain't gonna fuck you and this is all I'm getting, that's what I want."

Jack nodded, breathing deep.

"Give me your hand." Kurt took Jack's hand to rest it open on his crotch. "Now show me what you can do."

Jack fought his need to pull away, clinging to Kurt's words. "It's your own cock." His thumb moved down to feel Kurt's crotch, fighting to turn his mind into the blank that would allow him to go all the way. There it was. No underwear. Only the silky satin fabric of the pants between his hand and the man's cock.

His eyes came down as his hand started to move slowly, his thumb bringing Kurt's cock against his palm.

"Good. Keep it like this," Kurt whispered as his cock stirred.

After getting so hard in the afternoon, Jack expected to feel it push his hand after only a few strokes. His thumb brushed the back of the shaft, outlining it against the inner thigh.

Kurt rested a hand on the back of his head. The way those fingers ran through his hair spoke volumes about what Kurt would've really wanted. That was why he'd made Jack wear the mask.

It was unnerving. A part of him hated what he was doing, while another part of him found it enticing, seeing and feeling the effect of his simple touch on this man.

Jack stroked Kurt's cock in the same slow, firm way in which the man had got him started so easily earlier. The muffled sigh above his head told him he was on the right track. It didn't take long to have his hand moving toward Kurt's hip, as the man's cock kept hardening, pointing always higher.

"Time to get real, champ," Kurt whispered.

Jack chewed his rejection and stood up, the oil flask in his spare hand. He met Kurt's dark eyes for a heartbeat, enough to feel the heat lashing his face, and stole away from that knowing look with the excuse of pouring oil on his hand.

He hated seeing Kurt's thumb hooked in the waist of his pants, and he needed to muster all his determination to slip his oiled hand inside the satin bottoms. His teeth clenched when he touched the tip's tense skin.

"Don't think, feel it," whispered Kurt. "Feel what you can do to me."

Jack breathed deep again and closed his fingers around that hard cock, forcing his hand down to spread the oil all over the shaft.

"Good," Kurt murmured, closing his eyes.

Jack moved to the side, facing Kurt's profile, and fought back the jerk when the man's hand found the way to his butt to grab it loosely. He could tell it was only to add to the stimulus, because all of Kurt's attention was on his own cock as Jack kept stroking it slowly, the oil making him tighten his grasp so it wouldn't slip away.

And once more, it was so frigging upsetting, that doing something that caused him an instinctive rejection would keep such a man still, lost to his touch.

Kurt seemed to remember to breathe and reached out for the bedpost, not a step away from them.

Jack was surprised again when Kurt let go of his butt to grab his wrist and keep his hand in place inside the pants, as he turned to the bedpost. That left Jack behind Kurt, his chest against the man's back as he leaned in to keep his fingers around the man's hard, throbbing cock.

"Don't stop," Kurt purred, trading hands on the bedpost to reach behind him. He pulled from Jack's sweat pants to bring him even closer, and then he guided Jack's spare hand to his mouth.

Jack tried his best to keep his hand moving, a chill making him shiver from head to toes when Kurt parked his firm ass against Jack's crotch, as his tongue twirled around the fingers in his mouth, before guiding them to his chest and press the wet fingertips on his nipple.

"Oh, fuck," growled Jack, feeling control waver as Kurt's hips started rocking between his hand and his crotch, where his cock needed about three seconds to nod hi.

As Jack closed his eyes, cursing Kurt in his mind, the man rested his two hands on the bedpost, his muscled arms stretched, his head down between his broad tattooed shoulders, rocking his hips to literally fuck Jack's hand and then brush his butt against Jack's crotch.

Jack didn't remember ever hating anybody like he hated Kurt when the man pushed his satin pants down to his thighs, his cock thrusting into Jack's fist. Or maybe Jack hated himself when his hips decided to rock too, in such a way that his own hardening cock brushed between those tight cheeks every time the man recoiled from his fist.

A minute later, he wasn't in shape to hate anybody anymore. He could only be aware of the hardening nipple between his fingers, the firm tattooed chest pumping for air, the hard ram throbbing in his hand, those cheeks stroking his cock through the sweat pant.

The whole infernal cocktail was so hideously exciting. Especially feeling Kurt gasp and quiver and stiffen in his hands, against his cock, as Kurt paced up with his rocking.

Jack's hips decided to stick to Kurt's butt, matching the man's rocking. Kurt let out a hoarse moan that made Jack's cock wag in sympathy, and his head fell back on Jack's shoulder.

Jack was some miles past thinking. He held Kurt up, his cock and his hips pushing the man into his fist, that stroked faster and harder. And Kurt let him do, giving up the control that had just driven Jack crazy, as hoarse grunts and moans escaped his parted lips.

Resenting the mask wet in his breath, Jack found Kurt's ear an inch away from his mouth.

"Come," he whispered, stroking even faster.

Kurt didn't seem to listen, but Jack recognized the signs right away. His hand closed around the tip just in time. Maybe later he would hate recalling the feeling of another man's semen all over his fingers. At that moment, all he registered was Kurt's shaky growl and the way he shivered in his arms as Jack pushed his cock against the tightening butt.

They stood still a moment longer, both of them trying to catch their breath. Until Kurt was able to lean a little forward to reach for the tissues.

"Go wash," he murmured.

Jack wasn't about to make him ask twice. Relieved because Kurt still had his back turned to him, he hurried into the bathroom and closed the door between them. He didn't want the man to see how hard he was. Well, like he hadn't felt it. Whatever. Jack didn't want those dark eyes on his boner, those lips pursing in a mocking smile.

He washed and scrubbed his hands, hoping his boner would give away, but his cock refused to get the memo. Of course. The spoiled thing knew Kurt was right out the door, with those hands and mouth that only a few hours earlier had proved so wickedly efficient. He washed his burning face with cold water. He even slid his wet hand into his pants to grab his cock, hoping the cold touch would bring the stupid junk to attention.

It didn't work, and he couldn't spend the rest of the night locked in the bathroom. Especially because he suspected Kurt would still be there in the morning, waiting for him to show up.

Like he'd already done countless times since he'd met the man only two days earlier, Jack breathed deep and set his jaw to walk out of the bathroom.

And found Kurt gone.

He frowned. What?

His laptop was open in the middle of the bed, and Jack sank a knee in the mattress to lean forward and pull it closer. On screen, he saw an open folder full of thumbnails of his pictures. And on top of it, the picture of a sticky note.

"Good job, champ. Literally. Sleep tight."