Jock Next Bed (BL)
Chapter 224: Scars

Chapter 224: Scars

Chris leaned down slowly, gently wrapping the shirt around Sky’s head, tying it behind with care, adjusting it until it covered his eyes completely.

Sky lay beneath him, breathing shallow. Blind. Waiting.

Chris touched his cheek, just a brush.

Was this how Sky felt when he was looking down at him earlier?

"You look... ridiculously hot like this," Chris whispered.

Sky swallowed. "Don’t get cocky."

Chris smiled. "Too late."

Chris didn’t try to pull off Sky’s shirt right away.

Maybe it was the anticipation.

Maybe it was that maddening, desperate joy that he was finally allowed to look—really look—at what he’d been dying to see.

Instead, he reached down and gently took Sky’s hand.

Sky flinched, just slightly, surprised. But Chris didn’t let go.

He guided Sky’s hand slowly to his chest, warm skin meeting curious fingers. Chris pressed Sky’s palm flat against him, right over his heart.

Then, with his own hand resting over Sky’s, he dragged it downward. Across his chest. Down his torso. To the dip just above his waistband.

Sky’s breath caught.

His fingers twitched.

But he didn’t stop it.

"Well, damn," Sky muttered, voice low and uneven. "Do you work out secretly?"

Chris chuckled, the sound soft and a little breathless. "Flattery won’t save you."

"Wasn’t trying to be flattering," Sky said, thumb brushing the edge of Chris’s abs like he was trying to prove a point. "Just calling it like I feel it."

Chris exhaled sharply, his pulse racing under Sky’s palm. But then, slowly, he reached down for the hem of Sky’s shirt.

And he started talking. Softly. Intimately. Distractingly.

"After that second night at the pub," Chris murmured, "when you noticed I was acting weird around you..."

Sky’s eyebrows twitched beneath the blindfold.

"It was because I got jealous," Chris said, fingers brushing the skin just above Sky’s waistband now. "You were so friendly with Gary. And everyone, really. I thought I was special."

Sky’s hand paused for a beat on Chris’s stomach.

Chris didn’t let him stop. He gently guided it again, making sure Sky didn’t retreat into himself. Not now.

"I wanted to hate you for messing with my head," Chris admitted, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But the truth is, you weren’t doing anything. I was just... getting possessive."

His fingers slipped beneath Sky’s shirt, sliding upward now.

Only to pause.

"What the hell?" Chris muttered and let go of Sky’s hand on his abs. His hand fell back on the bed.

Sky stirred, confused. "What?"

Chris blinked, face crumpling. "Are you—are you wearing a tank top under this?"

Silence.

Then Sky let out the smuggest sound of the night.

"Maybe."

Chris groaned, flopping dramatically forward and smacking his forehead against Sky’s shoulder. "You absolute criminal. I was prepared for smooth skin and sinful abs, not—layers!"

"It’s more comfortable," Sky said defensively, though the smirk in his voice was undeniable.

Chris lifted his head with a flat stare Sky couldn’t even see. "You’re such a menace."

"I’m blindfolded, vulnerable, and being groped. Who’s the real menace here?"

Chris rolled his eyes. "You. Always you."

"Next time," Chris muttered, "I’m putting you in a crop top."

Sky snorted. "You’d combust."

"Exactly."

Then, more seriously, Chris leaned closer and did the same thing Sky did previously. He brushed the tip of their noses together.

Sky’s breath was still shaky when he broke the silence. "Why Gary?"

Chris blinked, lifting his head a little. "What?"

"Why were you jealous of Gary?" Sky asked, trying to sound casual—but his voice was tight, raw. "I never gave him any time of my day. I was just... nice."

Chris scoffed, "Well, yeah. That’s the problem."

Sky frowned, even with the blindfold still on. "Being nice?"

"You were nice to everyone," Chris said, letting his hand dip lower again, gathering both the shirt and the damn tank top in his fingers. "You smiled at everyone. Laughed with them. Let them get close, joke with you. Let them flirt with you."

He began to lift the fabrics, both layers at once, inch by inch. Because God help him, he was committed.

"And you didn’t do anything wrong," Chris said, softer now. "But I couldn’t stand it. Watching you be that warm with everyone. I wanted to be the only one who got that side of you."

Sky inhaled sharply the moment Chris’s hand met bare skin, and Chris’s palm was spread wide, fingers splayed reverently on Sky’s stomach.

His skin was warm.

Hard.

And then—Chris stilled.

There were scars.

One, faint but long, just along Sky’s side. It stretched diagonally—maybe four inches—just under the ribcage. And another, smaller, rounder one, lower down near his hip. Almost surgical. Clean. He traced it gently.

Sky had gone still beneath him.

"Everyone thought this was impossible," Chris whispered, lowering himself to breathe the words just above Sky’s lips. "You. Me. This."

His hand stayed flat, steady over that lean stomach. Over the proof of a life that had almost slipped away from him. Over survival.

"But I’m a persistent son of a bitch."

Sky let out a breath that sounded like a laugh strangled in his throat. "I don’t think your mother would like being called that." His voice was quiet.

Chris let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating between their bodies. "She wouldn’t. But she’d understand."

He didn’t give Sky the chance to say more—he leaned down and captured his lips in a slow, molten kiss.

Not rushed.

Not greedy.

But full of that ache. That pull. The one that had been dragging them toward this for weeks—months—without mercy.

As they kissed, Chris’s hands moved higher, slowly, reverently. Like every inch of skin was a discovery. Like every line and dip told a story he’d always wanted to read.

His fingers skimmed the ridge of another scar and he felt Sky tense just slightly beneath him.

"You’re warm," he whispered, smiling faintly. "I used to think you were cold."

"I’m not cold," Sky said, voice hushed.

"I know," Chris said. "Now I do."