A/N: Un-beta'd...sorry. Let me know if you see grammar mistakes/typos, please.
I will not be continuing this, so I hope you can make do with this part.
Thank you for showing me so much love on the previous part. :)
Warning: movie spoilers, slight angst.
*This is a sequel to Feelings Shouldn't Fit in Transactions
Here I am.
No, not quite there.
Here perhaps.
Try a little harder, Jack.
Over here.
You do want to find me, don't you?
Jack has spent the last week following whispers and murmurs; incessant, unattainable calls from Pitch Black – the last person he should be associating himself with.
The other Guardians still don't know. Well, he hasn't told them, actually, but he suspects Sandy might know already; he always knows everything. Luckily, Sandy is also the nicest of them; the one the most willing to risk his skin to protect another Guardian. And this is no exception.
Jack's heart is ready to…It would burst into flames if he were human, or still alive, but since he isn't, it's on the verge of crystallizing. He can feel the icy tips of the cold he wields slowly covering every border, circling around it, squeezing, pressing along the edges, blanketing it in.
And Jack loves every second of it.
It's almost like being alive and back with his sister again, heart pounding as he tries to get her safely across the fragile ice without showing his own fear. It's exhilarating, exciting, dangerous and terrifying.
Funny, that sounds a lot like he's describing Pitch.
xxx
Then nothing.
xxx
The icy tingle Jack first felt when he knew he was hot on Pitch's trail is tapering off, simmering down to a cool breeze that keeps his skin barely colder than that of a human's. The excitement is starting to fade, and Jack doesn't want it to. He doesn't.
He wants to find Pitch, figure out why he needs to be around him so desperately, and find some type of compromise that won't leave him feeling like a failure among his fellow Guardians.
Oh, Jaaaack.
He follows mindlessly, blinded by the renewed trail that will most certainly lead him to Pitch finally.
When Jack spins around, he finds himself suddenly in the middle of the woods. Woods. The smell of trees burning; the slow descent of the sun, and rise of the moon; the sound of laughter, happiness; the feel of chilling wind, pine trees barely leaving marks on his skin as he brushes past them. It's his home.
Well, it's where his home used to be.
Jack closes his eyes for a moment, half a second at most, and feels the familiar long digits wrap around his bicep. "I thought our second encounter should be a bit less wild and forbidden, and a bit more romantic. No, not romantic – nostalgic. What do you think, Jack? Have I chosen correctly?"
The tightness in Jack's chest is back, and his head is spinning. He can't even remember how to formulate words, let alone respond to that soothing voice. How does Pitch do this to him?
"Yes," he croaks out after a moment. He's almost panting already, Jesus.
"I'm glad you agree," Pitch murmurs, pressing his shadows, and his surprisingly familiar body, closer to Jack's. "I've been thinking about what I'd like you to do for me, Jack."
Jack turns in Pitch's embrace, the shadows reeling him in like a fishing line. Pitch himself - those dark eyes, that ravishing mouth - is the bait. He edges closer, feeling the darkness devouring him, but not scaring him. Not like it would a child or another of the Guardians; it leaves Jack feeling breathless. He can feel Pitch's desire well enough without touching.
"W-what do you want me to do?" Jack stutters, keeping his eyes fixed on Pitch's, slowly drowning in those dark pools, not as soulless as others would think. Jack can almost see a story if he tries.
"I thought you'd never ask," replies Pitch, teasingly. He flicks Jack's nose with his index, leaning in a bit more. "I want you to worship me, to surrender your senses to me. Do you understand?"
Jack's brows knit, and he tries to ease back, but the shadows won't let him go very far. He's almost going cross-eyed trying to look directly at Pitch's face. Pitch seems to notice this problem and leans away, just enough for Jack to see his expression properly.
"You're serious?" He grips his staff tightly, hearing the wood creak beneath his fingers. "You want me to bow down and pray to you or something? I didn't think that's where this was leading."
"I-" Pitch laughs, smoothing his dark locks back. He wraps an arm around Jack's shoulders, whispering into the shell of his ear. "I meant for you to worship my body. With your tongue, preferably. What would be the fun in having you bow down when I can have you on your knees with your mouth full of something better than just words?" He smirks, tracing Jack's bottom lip with his thumb.
Jack's mouth hangs open, no words coming to mind. He lets out a shaky breath, nearly dropping his staff when Pitch presses a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.
"Will you repay me for the other day?" Placing a kiss just below Jack's jaw line, Pitch nips at the sensitive skin of his neck, chuckling when Jack wheezes out 'yes'.
The shadows move around them, tangling in Jack's clothes, tearing and tugging, doing the same to Pitch's. Jack is on his knees in front of Pitch, and Pitch's hand is in his hair, stroking too fondly for the way his chest heaves every time Jack glances at his length. Pitch is naked, Jack is nearly naked, and Jack is…hesitating.
Jack wants this, yes, of course, but also wants the guilt to go away. He wants this, definitely, undoubtedly, but he also wants to be able to look at the Guardians when he's done. He wants this, desperately, painfully so, but he also wants to know this is going to last.
There's never been anything constant in Jack's life until the Guardians. What if he wants this to continue as well?
Pitch sighs, kneeling down to Jack's level. "What is it? Existential crisis? Have you remembered that you shouldn't be impressed or intrigued by me? Has one of them warned you never to speak to me for fear of death? I swear they-"
"I just…" Jack sucks in a deep breath, reaching out to cup Pitch's face. Pitch goes very still, his brows furrowing. "I really like how I feel around you. Now more than before. But before, too. You make me feel like I belong; that I don't need to change. I can be a brat, a smart-ass, a jerk, around you, and I know you won't mind." He drops his hands when Pitch doesn't reply. "I guess not-"
"I didn't think you would be interested in…me," Pitch admits, eyes dropping to his hands, clenching and unclenching them against the fabric on the ground. "I thought I could tempt you with physical things, things you hadn't done yet, and when there was nothing left to learn, you'd leave."
Jack trails his hands up Pitch's bare arms, over his shoulder blades, resting on his back. "I thought you just wanted to get me in trouble," Jack breathes out, smiling. "Guess we're both wrong." He steals a kiss – a gentle peck, nothing more – and presses his chest to Pitch's, their knees bumping awkwardly.
"I think I really need you to take care of my situation now, Jack," whispers Pitch, grinning and sliding in closer.
There's no hesitation when Jack gingerly traces the head of Pitch's cock with a few fingers. Neither is there any worry when Jack swallows up the sweet whimpers and moans breaking through their sealed lips. There's a purpose now: payback. Jack is very good at winning challenges.
Those sensual digits slip into his hair again, curling and caressing along his scalp. He moans into the kiss, squeezing tighter around Pitch's length, dragging his fingers through the pre-come that's collecting along the hard flesh.
No one knows quite how curious Jack can be. And it seems Pitch doesn't expect it as well.
Pushing Pitch to stand up, Jack settles between long legs, tongue darting out instantly to collect the fluid covering his fingertips. Pitch gasps, nails digging into Jack's head, but it doesn't discourage Jack; it encourages him.
Lips already damp from kissing, he wraps his mouth over the head of Pitch's cock, sliding down as far as his muscles will allow. They're flexing, fluttering against the intrusion, but Jack is hungry for more of this taste.
Sweet, alluring smells accompany the taste of sticky, clear pre-come that coats Jack's tongue. He's certain he's heard teenagers talking about blowjobs and semen before, and none of them mentioned it tasting like honey. Maybe it's a taste that's particular to Pitch only.
Pitch groans when Jack swirls his tongue, sucking down more of the flavour. He's drooling over the taste, humming around the throbbing flesh, hands tracing delicate patterns absentmindedly against Pitch's thighs. This is devastatingly good; he's going to get addicted to this. Not to mention the pleading, moaning and panting Pitch is doing in response.
But there's more.
Jack knows there's more. He wants there to be more.
Loosening his jaw, he forces Pitch all the way down his throat, looking up with a playful smirk. How do you like me now?
Pitch can't hear the taunt, but the sight must be enough because the splash of something warm, thick and tangy hits Jack's taste buds. His orgasm seems to go on forever, and every time Jack thinks it's done, another drop falls onto his tongue. Eventually, Jack slides all the way off, smacking his lips to catch the rest of the taste and savour it.
Jack takes his time climbing up Pitch's body, and, as he hoped, the shadows edge him up higher so he can kiss Pitch without either of them getting a crick in their neck.
It must last pretty long because Jack is out of breath, and the taste he had been hoarding is all but gone by the end of the kiss. He misses it already. "Now what?" he asks, sounding childish even to his own ears.
Pitch kisses Jack's neck, letting Jack rut his hips against him. "Now, you go be a good little Guardian, and try not to look too smug."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jack jokes, darting his tongue out to lick Pitch's lips when they press against his. "Can't you just join the good guys so we can do this all the time?"
"Can't you just share your powers with me so we can rule over the Guardians?" Pitch asks, raising an eyebrow.
"I see what you mean." Jack traces Pitch's ear with his fingertips. "When can I see you again?"
"When you can find me." Pitch kisses Jack deeply, his entire body wrapped around him as though he never wants to let go. "I'll be waiting."
xxx
Jack is alone, but he doesn't feel lonely. His clothes are back on – thank god – and his staff is safely within reach, leaning against a tree. The shadows have all but faded, but the taste of Pitch, the feel of his heated skin, leaves Jack feeling sated.
There's contentment, and then there's this feeling. This is joy.
There's something wrong with Jack if he needs Pitch to feel complete, but, really, who cares?
The Guardians might one day revoke his title, banish him or even force him to a faraway land where he can't have any contact with children. However, for what he's doing now with Pitch – meeting, being intimate with him, enjoying his company – what can they do? He's not helping Pitch get his powers back; he's just…taking advantage of the time he can spend with him, well aware that he's not in any danger just yet.
He's trying to understand Pitch. What's the harm in that?