It's cold outside, but Jack's stomach is burning, and he sits at the end of the bed without even bothering to remove his clothes. It's cold, it's too cold to be naked, but his cock is hot in his hand and his cheeks are burning when he begins to stroke.
He stops, removes the scarf, and fumbles for the magazine in their drawer. Men wink out at him, show themselves to him, and two or three to some pages are too engrossed in themselves to even appear set up. Jack pinches the head of his cock between thumb and fingers, putting pressure on it lightly where he's the most sensitive, but after a moment his eyes glaze over and he puts the magazine back.
There's a photograph underneath it, Jake lifting Avery up into the air at the park like he weighs nothing and Avery holding onto Jake's arms and staring steadily, trustingly, down. After Jack had taken it, they'd both fallen to the ground and rolled for a long time in the leaves. But in the photograph it was just trust, and love, and AveryandJake and they are all that Jack really needs to look at to feel his stomach and his balls tighten. Avery was so beautiful, solemn, and Jake's arms flexed the way that they did when he held Jack, against a wall or the bed and--yes fuck yes, Jack is coming over his clothes, his jacket soiled and shirt ruined. He nearly wipes up with the photograph, but puts it down at the last moment and tears a page from the magazine in the drawer to clean the best he can. Nevermind that the evidence makes it appear that Jack likes to look at sex. He does.
He just likes his boys more.
Jack puts his scarf back on and goes downstairs. Maybe the others want to go to the park.