[ You what?, he wonders, writhing through the post-orgasmic haze. The thought is derailed sooner rather than later by the slick heat of Irving's own release, which he just uses as more lube to coax out every last bit of it, hands still on him until Jack's own breathing slows and his arousal dulls into a warm, comfortable sense of relaxation.

Irving pulls off of him, and Jack stretches out, reaching for a hand towel on the table that held the lube and God knows what else. He watches the other man, almost pitying him for the swiftness with which panic starts to consume him, as he wipes himself off. It's going to give him a headache, he's sure of it. ]

For Christ's sake, Irving, calm yourself. [ Can't he just enjoy the peace of it for a minute or two before he's back on that bullshit? ] I am not a man who needs to boast about my exploits.

[ True, but not a promise. In all likelihood, Anne will know in a matter of hours, but anyone else? It's a secret as long as keeping it is beneficial. He holds the towel out for Irving when he's done with it, his gaze roaming over him attentively enough to see that he needs it. ]

If I run all over this city telling everyone, you won't have the standing to preach about filthy sodomites and the gloriously sinful feeling of letting them finish balls-deep. Wouldn't dream of taking that away from you.