If only because there was a possibility that if he lingered long enough, Gideon would come in for him.
He swallowed, trying to wet his dry, slightly bruised throat, and carefully rolled onto his back. He didn’t mind waking up sore. He especially didn’t mind waking up sore in Gideon’s bed. Images from the night before bombarded him, but the only thing that seemed real was the emotions that very nearly carried him away. The blow jobs, the fucking, the biting, the almost endless come, all of that was already fading. But the insane impulse to tell Gideon over and over and over how much he loved him was still very vivid.
But he couldn’t imagine that Gideon would want to hear those words. Jesse was not intimately familiar with Gideon’s history—how could he be? Gideon had a lot of it, and if there was one thing Gideon was not into, it was sharing. But he knew enough from his own research, and from the clues Gideon had dropped, to piece together the story.