AN: This is the prequel-sequel to 'In Vitro Existentia', and while it's not hugely important if you read that first, I put them in this order for a reason... Google Translate says this title means "kill leader", but it's what it gave me when I asked it to switch "to kill a prince" from English to Latin, so there.
Gah! Making sense of all Jack Benjamin's twisted feelings around Joseph was not easy, and this ended up being so much longer than the other piece... But I'm largely pleased with how it's turned out. I'll probably pick at it and edit it over time, but I'm tired of it sitting on my laptop when I have other things to concentrate on. So here ya go. Hope it fuels whatever Jack/Joseph feels you have.
(Virtual cookie if you spot which word I didn't use throughout the entire piece!)
Occidere Princeps
They had all entered the club together – that he is sure of. So where are they? He'd only been talking to that guy for… Shit, he doesn't know how long, but not long enough for everyone to disappear on him, surely? Stumbling into a girl lips first, he thinks that maybe they moved on ahead of him. Bastards. Well, there's nothing for it – he'll have to follow them. He doesn't recognise the girl he's just (accidentally) made out with, so he tells her she was great and ditches her. On his way out he helps himself to one more shot of... something, then in the cool night air he turns and heads...
Contrary to popular belief, there are very few instances where the Crown Prince has found himself in an unknown place of residence at sunrise. The reason for this can be explained in two words: free press. Silas frequently warned him about it when he started to make regular appearances at bars and clubs, how people would react to the young Prince seen leaving a random house in the morning (let alone a boy's house). So for ease Jack had an apartment within reach of all his favourite haunts, and that is where the lucky ones are taken. Not last night, it seems.
Jack wakes up on a couch (another rare occurrence – usually this happens because he's spent too long drowning his sorrows and the Queen has told Thomasina to leave him be), with an ache in his nose and head, in a fairly spacious, modern-looking living area. Craning his neck he can see a few doorways: one that looks like it might lead to a bedroom, one for a kitchen, and another to a bathroom. Floor to ceiling windows can be seen through the kitchen archway, a high-rise view that catches the prettier part of Shiloh, minus the palace. There's no indication of anyone else being present.
Another thing Jack notices is that he's only partially dressed. His jacket and shirt are folded up by the leg of the coffee table, as are his trousers, leaving him in just his boxers and a t-shirt that doesn't belong to him. When he picks his own clothes up, he finds they've been washed. Bemused, he finally inspects the note left near his head.
I'm really sorry but I had to go out this morning, and you were still asleep when I left. You're welcome to make yourself breakfast or lunch, and there's aspirin and painkillers on the table. Need anything, call the number. Said number is printed neatly at the bottom. There are no crosses representing kisses, no names, nothing to tell him what happened last night.
He takes the pills and water left for him then explores the kitchen, settling for toast and jam. Once fed, Jack dresses, drops the t-shirt on the couch with the blanket, and let's himself out. At the bottom of the block he calls his chauffeur, finding out that he's in Gabriel Close (so his mysterious carer has money), and he's rescued twenty minutes later, no questions asked.
As he expects, though, the questions do come – from his parents. Where had he been, who was he with, why didn't he stick with his guard detail, blah blah blah. Jack just answers casually, telling them that he'd taken a girl home and she'd made it impossible for him to leave until this morning. No, he didn't want a restraining order on her, she'd been very accommodating. His mother shakes her head, but she's bought the lie; his father stares at him a little longer, and Jack meets it levelly. It's Thomasina who breaks them up with a soft-spoken word to the King that one of his ministers wants a private talk.
Throughout the rest of the day the Prince goes about his 'chores' – talk to this person, be present for that meeting, accompany the Queen there, etc., etc.; but for some reason he can't get this morning's surprise out of his mind, and one thought in particular nags at him with increasing intensity: shouldn't he have put the number in his phone, called it to see who answered?
He tries dismissing the situation for a few days; visits clubs in the evenings, parades with girls for the public's amusement, plays with boys for his private delights, and wakes up in his own apartment the following mornings. He once attempts to re-trace his steps, but his memory of that night is so broken that he only makes it as far as the end of Angel Road. It isn't long before Jack is so irritated by his 'obsession' with the mystery person that he gives in, goes back to the apartment in Gabriel Close, and actually rings the doorbell.
Obviously, there is no way of knowing who will open the door, and a part of Jack's mind draws up some unappealing possibilities. Thankfully, the apartment's owner looks normal. Kind of cute, actually – boyish face, soft eyes, light coloured hair… And the way he flushes when he realises who's stood in front of him is amusing, as is the small "Oh," that escapes his lips.
Jack smirks. "I really hope you're the guy who owns the place I woke up in a week ago."
"Uh, y-yes, that was me."
"Do you mind if I come in?" The young man steps aside, and Jack is once more in the living area of the apartment. It's messier than he remembers; a few old newspapers clutter the small coffee table, mugs and a dirty plate on top of them. The TV is on, playing some cheesy daytime show, and a laptop has been abandoned on the couch.
"Sorry about the mess," his host says. "I don't normally have –"
"It's fine. I don't actually see mess that often, so it makes a change."
"Right. Well, um, would you like something to drink... er, Your Highness?"
He can't stop the eye roll. "Please, Jack'll do. And no thanks, I'm not planning on staying long. By the way, what do I call you?"
He expects to see a flicker of disappointment, but instead the man smiles. "Joseph."
"Joseph. Well, Joseph, there's something I was wondering, and I think you might be the one to help."
"You want to know what happened last week."
He scratches his neck, slightly embarrassed that it's so obvious. Joseph invites him to sit down, then runs through events as he saw them.
"I was walking home from a party I'd been to for a work colleague on the edge of town. It hadn't been anything big, so I was fairly sober. I got to the end of my road when I saw someone get up off the pavement and start attacking some drunk guy who's passing by, and without thinking really I ran up to separate them. The one who'd started it – a homeless man who wanted some money, perhaps – he ran away as soon as I got there, but the one he'd attacked wasn't in the position to run away. As soon as I reached him it was obvious he was way out of it: he couldn't keep still, wavering on his feet, eyes unfocused, mumbling stuff to himself. I don't think he even registered that he was bleeding, quite profusely, from his nose. It wasn't until I actually got close that I realised who it was.
"You kept asking me where someone named Ronny was, even though I told you each time I had no idea who you were talking about. You couldn't walk, so I made the decision to help you as best I could and then send you on your way somehow, maybe get you a taxi or something. I had to more or less drag you up to my place, get you to sit down, then try to patch up your nose. You made it near impossible – kept trying to get up, nearly fell over my table, wouldn't let me wipe the blood off your face then insisted on flirting with me every time I managed to get your attention. The flirting didn't help either, of course.
"And then you kissed me. Which wasn't unwelcome, and it was kind of awesome, but you wanted to 'follow it up'. I was worried it would get you in trouble, so I kept pushing you back. That's when you started threatening me. I don't exactly know what with, because you kept slurring everything together, but eventually you just passed out. I didn't know who to call, and you didn't respond when I tried to wake you, so I took your dirty clothes, gave you one of my t-shirts and let you sleep it off where you were. My boss called me in earlier than expected, so I left you the note and spent all day praying you hadn't died on me or something. I got back, you were gone, and I figured that would be the end of it."
Jack lets this all sink in, waiting for the memories to come rushing back to him. He's only mildly disappointed that they don't. "Right," he says with a nod. "There's no-one else who saw all this?" Joseph shakes his head. "Then it looks like I'll have to take your word for it."
"Did you find him? This Ronny guy, I mean."
Shrug. "I'm sure he ended up under a roof somewhere. He knows how to look after himself."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
Nobody's ever asked him that about anyone. Not even Ronny. Jack leans forward. "How many times have you seen me, in the papers, looking interested in men?" Joseph doesn't answer. "There's a reason for that. I don't have girlfriends, but I certainly don't keep boyfriends, and if you breathe a word of this to anyone then there will be trouble. Do you understand?"
To his horror, the boy smirks. "So that's what you were saying that night."
"You think this is funny?"
"It's a little surreal having the Crown Prince threaten you in your own home. Twice. Any minute now I'm expecting us to suddenly appear naked and resume what never happened last week. Either that or I'll just wake up."
"This isn't some wet dream. I'm being serious."
"I know, and you don't have to worry. I haven't, and don't plan on, telling anybody about this. No-one'll ever know, I swear."
He seems sincere. Life has taught Jack never to truly believe people when they promise something until it happens, and in this particular area he's often been subject to blackmail and rumour-spreading. Believe it or not, he doesn't actually like having to make people he's slept with disappear. "What's wrong with you? Don't you know what could happen if this gets out?"
"It won't," Joseph says again, but scratches his head and answers the questions. "I'm aware of how powerful your family is. You could get anyone to do whatever they wanted with me, and it'd probably be like I'd never existed. But I'm used to handling threats. They've been thrown at me pretty much my whole life."
Jack understands. Sort of. The threats he's received over the course of his life haven't always been serious, and there have been other people to deal with them for him. Even so, he's not used to having his own warnings so easily swallowed. Maybe it's time to leave; this Joseph guy is… unusual, and in his experience, unusual isn't always good.
A few days later sees Jack partying again with his usual roster of companions, for (in his mind) good reason: his wonderful father had, hours before, argued with him about taking a position in the Ministry of Defence rather than serving in the Army, and the Prince was having none of it. Dinner had been soured when his mother tried to get involved, and so now he was trying to remedy that mood with copious amounts of alcohol and a side-helping of Happy Pills, courtesy of Ronny. Whatever they are, they certainly live up to their name. Soon the troubles of the palace are pushed to his mind's abyss, replaced by flashing lights, pounding music, and the press of other bodies against his.
He's taken the liberty of calling up Claudia, a friend he can count on to help keep the press happy, and introduces his friends to hers. Incredibly they all seemed fairly well-matched, though they're one short on her side (Ronny graciously relinquishes his dame so that the relatively innocent Kevin can be given some experience, which is a shame – Kevin is cute. And impressionable). As they move from venue to venue though, it's obvious that Claudia and Ronny are continually eye-flirting when they think he isn't looking; at first, Jack is perturbed, but something happens that makes him turn their actions to his advantage. "Stay with Ronny for a bit," he tells Claudia, "I'm going to get myself a drink."
"Can I have one too?"
"Honey, what I'm getting is not something for the ladies."
She grins. "Now I want one even more."
Huffing, he smiles back. "So you're not taking 'no' for an answer?"
"Nuh-uh," Claudia whispers into his ear, teeth grazing the shell. He nips hers in return then pushes her in Ronny's direction, intending to stay at the bar long enough for them to finally address their interest in one another. Truth be told, he has no idea what he's going to order; he's only going that way because he's seen a familiar face sat there attempting to deflect a girl's attention (stupid bitch – couldn't she see she'd get nowhere?).
"I've never seen you here before," he says as he leans back against the counter.
The light-haired man smirks. "I'm not stalking you, if that's what you're thinking. You've just never noticed me before. Never had reason to until recently, right?"
Jack snorts. "I'm sure I'd have seen you sooner or later Jacob."
"It's Joseph."
"Right. You here with people?"
An eyebrow rises. "What if I am?"
"Will anyone notice if you're gone?"
He shakes his head. "But you?"
"Not a chance." Just as he planned, Claudia has closed the distance between her and Ronny, and the two are very obviously trading filthy ideas, and anyone else he recognises is too busy with drink, girl, drugs, or all three to care about him. He slips Joseph a sidelong glance. "I know somewhere more private."
The boy hesitates. "Don't you need to tell your… guards, or something?"
The Prince and his protection detail have a longstanding agreement running between them: if they see him with a girl, they run all the necessary checks with her, but see him with a guy and they turn a blind eye, lest he reveal to his father that they lied on their CVs about having never been to prison. Instead of telling Joseph this, Jack just rolls his eyes and walks off, giving his elbow a quick tug as a hint. Without looking back he pushes his way through the mess of bodies, ducking under a dingy doorway and muttering a pass to the bouncer for Joseph. Up one flight of stairs (and the sound of footsteps behind him are confirmation that his offer was followed up on), and he arrives on a darkly lit landing, where more than a few couples are already blindly making out, save for the guy at the far end who's girl has pulled his trousers down – his eyes are closed in bliss.
There are doors between the bodies that lead to private little rooms, and this is where he pulls Joseph. Before the door is even closed they're kissing hungrily, as if their first meeting two weeks ago had left them starving and wanting more. Well, Jack had at the time, apparently. They're quickly shucking off jackets and shoes and whatever else is getting in their way until finally it's just skin under their hands, and Jack doesn't even stop to admire the body in front of him. Without warning though the kiss is broken, and he finds himself being pushed backwards onto the room's large couch; he can't fully register what's just happened before Joseph is on top of him, kissing him in a way that feels tremendously good, maybe because of the pills, or the booze, or the fact that Jack is finally getting some after quite a while (and he can't help but send a 'screw you' to his father from the back of his mind) – either way, he doesn't make any attempts to stop it. Just to get back in control.
However, once the rush is over, and they're both lying there too pleasure-numb to move, they've each spent at least fifty per-cent of that encounter either as top or bottom (Jack will later muse that he's normally always on top, and that they should've fucked sideways if that wasn't going to be the case), and he doesn't particularly care because Joseph was good. In fact, that had been… No, he can't say it.
"That was fun."
So Joseph goes and says it instead. Wonderful. Jack drags himself off the couch and sets about ridding himself of evidence. "What time is it?" he mutters. Late, as it turns out, and time he rounded up the kids. Yet before they part, he can't help but steal one last kiss. "No telling, 'kay?"
"What, no threats?"
"I figured you got the message the first time."
As everyone staggers and swaggers out of the club a few minutes later, Jack accepts Claudia back under his arm and thinks that whoever Joseph ends up with would be mad to pass him up (and when Claudia asks him why he keeps licking his lips, he claims he was kissed by a girl with flavoured lipstick. Strawberry-flavoured, not Joseph-flavoured, obviously).
The last thing Jack expects is to keep spotting Joseph on his extravagant evenings out and find it thrilling each time. Sometimes Joseph sees him too, and they'll share a smile from across the club; other times Jack sees him alone at the bar, and considers going over to make both their nights more pleasurable, until Ronny or Claudia or whoever the hell he's with serve to remind him that he does not, in the eyes of the public, seek out boys to entertain him when in the company of such beautiful women. And they are gorgeous, Jack won't deny that – but they do nothing for him. They're clingy and dim, all pouts and perfume, showing off their 'assets' in fairly ostentatious (cringe-worthy) ways, and some of them can't even kiss very well.
On nights where he's particularly frustrated with the pettiness of women (one girl tries to excite him in the back of a bar, and when he blames his poor performance on whiskey dick, she leaves him in a sulk) he goes looking for Joseph. Initially, he tells himself it's because the guy knows how to help him release tension, but after a couple of visits he has to admit that he enjoys sneaking off to the secret places they find, whether that's a back room in a club or Joseph's own apartment. Even later he realises that he enjoys spending time with Joseph.
Pillow talk is something Jack rarely engages in, but when Joseph is the other head on the pillow it sort of becomes habitual. He listens as Jack complains about the bitch who nearly bit his ear off, or the slut whose nails were far too long, and in return he tells him of all the bad encounters of his past: a guy with an armpit fetish, some boy who barely lasted five minutes before passing out with pleasure, and the man who turned out to not quite be a man 'yet' (Jack laughs so hard he falls out of bed). Oddly, he finds out more about Joseph through these moments – he has a literature degree, works for an advertising company, is on rocky terms with his parents (who don't know about his 'preferences'), is an only child, and has a soft spot for cats.
"Cats?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"I think they pretend to be all tough and independent, but really they love it when you give them all your attention. Being ignored doesn't sit well with them."
"Joseph, they're cats!" Secretly, Jack thinks the idea of Joseph curled up with a cat is sort of… cute.
Despite the domestic talk he never stays long after a night together. Joseph looks all torn-up every time, his eyes losing their spark, mouth turning down at the corners. In the beginning he asks, "Will you be back?" to which Jack replies with a shrug, but when their meetings become more frequent, the question stops being asked. He understands the need for secrecy, knows how their nights come around, but Jack thinks Joseph is becoming too 'hung up' over him. He doesn't like that.
"You should get out more," he says one night. "Go to a different bar, try talking to some guys, maybe even try some new positions –"
"What are you talking about?"
"Positions. As in during se-"
"That's not what I meant."
"Well, I'm talking about you finding another person rather than hanging around me all the time."
The bed shifts as Joseph sits up, and in the corner of his vision Jack sees the confusion on his face. "Why would I want to do that?"
"Why wouldn't you?"
"Because I'm happy the way we are."
He snorts. "Bullshit." A 'look' is thrown his way. "Oh come on, you can't expect me to believe that when I've seen you sat at bars just waiting to see if I'll come over – hell, if anyone will come over!"
"That's not true."
"What, so you just sit there 'cause you have nowhere else to go?"
"No."
"Then what is it? Because I know that there's always at least one guy who wouldn't object to you taking them in the back room. Literally and figuratively."
"Jack, I've already told you, I'm not looking at other guys right now."
Laughing, he gets up for a drink. "You think we're exclusive."
There's a stunned pause. "We're not?" A beat later and Jack hears him get off the bed. "So does this mean that… you've slept with others between seeing me?"
There's little he could say about them; a blonde guy, one with different coloured eyes, an older man who had to run back to his wife, the foreigner, and almost a boy who wanted his first time to be with the Prince. But for some reason, he doesn't want to admit to all that – so he responds to the question with a default shrug.
"I see," Joseph says. "You're trying to ease your guilt by getting me to sleep with others too."
He can't help but laugh at that as well. "Really? That's what I'm doing?"
"Is it true?"
"Don't be stupid."
"Just 'yes' or 'no' Jack – is it true –"
"No! What the fuck –"
"Then why are you so keen for me to go and sleep with someone else?"
"Why the hell does this bother you so much?"
"Because I don't want to!"
"Well maybe I do!"
The words are out before he knows it, and the silence comes crashing down. Joseph flinches, speechless, and the look on his face makes Jack feel more uncomfortable than ever before. For something to do, he starts to dress himself.
"If you didn't want me anymore, you could have just said."
Before Jack can deny the accusation, he reasons with himself that this might be best. After all, he was just encouraging Joseph to explore a little more, wasn't he? If this was the only way he'd do it, then fine. They were both getting too attached. With nothing more to be said, he leaves.
Jack is drunk, and it's wonderful. He's drunk because it was another arduous day of royal arguments, false smiles, paper pushing, official bullshit, and his mother's 'I don't get involved with politics' speech, and so he needs to have some form of fun in his life. Perhaps it should concern him that his idea of fun rarely involves more than alcohol and pills and only happens in clubs and the occasional bedroom, but the fact is it doesn't; if he started caring about that, he wouldn't have any fun at all, and that – staying in the palace twenty-four seven, nowhere to go, only the same faces to see – might just be the end of him.
Ronny brought a different crowd along tonight. There are some familiar faces, so he doesn't have to learn new names or make more people feel special, but he still has to go through the routine of showing interest, sending eye messages, getting in a kiss or two before the pills have a knock-out effect on her – and then he's free. Jack turns his attention to the bar and the magic behind it. He orders for everyone (because his father's feeling generous), hands out the shots with a grin, organises a little game of Drink Roulette (somehow), ignores the girls who show more than a passing interest in him, pays for round two, round three, possibly even a round four, or maybe that was just him – and then an eye catches his. An eye he knows, and just as he begins to feel that little bit happier the eye disappears.
"Wait!" Jack barrels through people until he's close enough to trip and grab Joseph's sleeve, holding on to stay on his feet.
Joseph doesn't look impressed. "Sure you should be doing that here? A little public for you, Jack." The spite rings louder than the pumping music, but everyone knows alcohol helps to numb pain.
He pulls on Joseph's sleeve anyway, dragging him to a dark, closed-off stairway and unhooking the rope. He thinks he hears some protesting but focuses instead on walking upstairs without falling backwards, and when they emerge out onto a disused dance floor, the noise of the live one far, far away, he turns back to his companion, smiling as he moves in to kiss –
Joseph pushes him back, not roughly, but not gently either. Firmly, that's the word. "If you think you're going to get away with fucking me and then leaving again, you're going to be disappointed."
It takes a few blinks, but Jack works out what that means – what Joseph's expression means. And suddenly all he wants to say is that he's sorry, that he's missed him, regretted those words that he said; of course he didn't think they were exclusive, but he never wanted to hurt him, and he recognises now that he has. He reacted wrongly, but only because he thought he was getting too attached, and that scares him because Jack doesn't get attached to anything or anyone. To do so, to acknowledge whatever feelings he gets when he makes Joseph smile or laugh or look at him in that way, is to hand both their asses to Misery and Woe, and Jack won't do that to Joseph because if there's one person who doesn't deserve anything but happiness, it would be him, and – and Joseph's expression has changed. There's a ringing in the empty club space that can only be the echo of a voice that was probably louder than necessary, and he's breathing kind of hard for someone who's only thinking all of that…
He dares to move in again slowly, as if approaching a flighty animal, and this time there's no resistance. It's a gentle meeting of lips, almost chaste, one that Jack hopes proves that what he just thought (said) wasn't a by-product of his inebriation. He's elated when Joseph moves in for a follow-up, a little more persistent, and it takes a fair amount of effort not to push it up to a much higher level – there are better places for that. Luckily, Joseph agrees, and they re-enter the active dance floor briefly before leaving through the back.
"No." Stopping in his tracks, Joseph turns round in confusion, and Jack jerks his head in the opposite direction. "My place is this way."
Annoyingly, Joseph's eyebrows rise, and he just stands there. "Jack, are you sure?"
"Course I'm sure, I fucking live there. Sometimes." The response this time is a beautiful smile that he hasn't seen in a long, long time, and Jack can't even remember why he wanted to go out so badly in the first place. Except he soon does, and bemoans his troubles to a considerably more sober Joseph the whole way home. Because they're walking he puts his hood up, so he can't see his friend's face unless he turns bodily, and doing that forfeits his ability to walk in a straight line; he's pretty sure there's nothing but a smile there, but it would be nice to see it.
As soon as they're inside the door there's sex – Jack doesn't believe in all that bullshit about how make-up sex is better than regular sex, but he can't deny that it's the best he's had since their last encounter. He curses his intoxicated tongue after they're done, because Joseph's expression has changed again, meaning he spoke out loud again, and now he has to explain whilst he's drunk and he knows (not so much from personal experience as watching Ronny try and fail with whichever ex-girlfriend angrily accosts him from time to time) that that's not the best state to be in when explaining something.
"I thought we'd… stopped," he comes out with. "There weren't many. Only three. Or was it… Maybe two –"
"Shut up."
"No, I'm explai-"
"And you don't need to." Joseph sighs, rubs a hand down his face, makes himself look older, wearier. "I get it. I get that… that's who you are. And as long as what we have doesn't stop, I think I can deal with it."
Jack stares at him before snorting. "You should be the fucking prince."
"Why, when I'm fucking the prince?" There's a wicked smirk on his face; Jack pulls him down to kiss it off, flopping back when he's satisfied, closing his eyes and letting his head loll on the pillow.
"Stay a bit tomorrow."
"Don't you have palace stuff to attend to?"
"I'll call in sick."
Joseph chuckles. "Can a prince do that?"
"I can fucking well try."
More soft laughter. "You'll probably sound convincing!"
"Bastard." It's one of those rare moments where he says that word without malice. In the silence that follows, he can feel fingers trailing up and down the inside of his arm, and finds it pleasant rather than irritating. "If it's any consolation, you're my favourite."
"Your favourite?"
"Sex," he sighs, adding in a mumble: "No-one compares." It's then that he loses his train of thought, vaguely aware of a comfortable warmth along his side and the press of something against his temple.
He is, as Joseph predicted, very convincing at sounding unwell the next morning. After a longer phone conversation than he likes with his mother, Jack realises Joseph has taken the liberty of cooking a hangover cure. They talk (very quietly) as they eat, mostly about the problem with Gath, and although Jack is the more military minded between them it's quite a deep discussion. It leaves him with a headache though, and he isn't in the mood for much beyond lying in bed and watching crap television. Joseph seems to understand the boundaries – he doesn't cuddle, doesn't snuggle up into Jack's side, just sits within reaching distance and waits for the Prince to 'de-zombify', as Michelle once put it.
When circumstance forces them to separate, the prospect of facing the rest of the day without him puts Jack into a fouler mood, and the only semi-consolation is that the front page news is a picture of him with his impromptu drinking buddies underneath a headline of 'The Party Never Ends'. He huffs humourlessly. If only they knew.
There's a subtle change in his behaviour in the weeks that follow: he doesn't end up in such a horrific morning-after state again; he often finds himself waiting for Joseph to show up, occasionally seeks him out; he pays attention to adverts, wondering who is behind them; he tries to take a more active part in discussions around peace with Gath – but he still refuses to be a minister. He wants to be a soldier. He'd make a good soldier. At the front, he could forget about being royal, forget about skirt-chasing, become a leader, take one more step to becoming king. His father is yet to name an heir, but if Jack can prove himself capable, why would he want to choose Michelle, whose latest obsession over the health policies of Shiloh is clearly annoying him?
That is what Jack thinks is the reason for this behavioural adjustment: he wants to have both fun and power. He's managing it so far, so why should he have to give either of them up?
Thomasina hands him a small envelope at breakfast when the mail is given out. His heart skips a little when he recognises the handwriting, and he wonders how Joseph found his address.
"What's that, Jack?" his mother asks as he opens it.
Call me as soon as you can. Please. J x "Just a number from a girl I met last night."
"Why's she only giving it to you now?" Michelle wants to know. He pockets the note with an easy shrug. "So are you going to call her?"
"Maybe." Definitely – but only because Joseph's never asked him to call before. There was a good reason for Jack not giving him his number. So later, when he's alone in the drawing room, he hits the special number, heart picking up in pace as the dialling tone sounds.
"Jack?"
His lips twitch into a brief smile. "Yeah it's me. What did you want?"
"Uh… I just thought I should tell you I've got a new address." He sounds casual. Too casual.
"What for?"
"Well in case you accidentally go to –"
"No, what have you got a new address for?"
"Oh." Pause. "I couldn't afford the apartment anymore."
"Okay, so now where are you?"
"Herod's Place."
"Herod's – What the hell are you doing there? Those are one room flats!"
His answer sounds shaky. "I know… But it was all I could get."
Jack's not stupid, and he hates it when people treat him as such. But because it's Joseph, and something doesn't feel quite right, he checks his temper. "Joseph, what happened?"
He has to wait five seconds for the reply. "I came out to my parents… They cut me off."
Whatever answer he'd been expecting, it wasn't that one. "That's why you wanted me to call?"
"Yes. I would've rung you myself, but I still don't have your number…" The humour and hint fall flat. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have bothered you."
"Why me?"
"Why you?" Joseph sounds surprised by the question. "Because there's no-one else I can tell, nobody who'll understand. I was upset, and you were the first person I… Look, I shouldn't have asked you to call, I get it –"
"No, no, just…" A quick glance over his shoulder confirms that he's still alone, but he keeps his tone soft. "What – what can I do?"
He tells his mother that he's going out to help Ronny choose a suit, then gives his driver a different address. Twenty minutes later he's standing outside Joseph's new flat, vaguely wondering what the hell he's doing here, and knocking lightly. Joseph answers, invites him in without a smile, and shuts the world out.
Immediately Jack doesn't know if he's standing in the bedroom or the study. Although the room is pleasantly decorated, the double bed on his left is by far the biggest piece of furniture he can see. At the opposite wall is a desk with a laptop on, and to his right is a small kitchen area with a table for four and two chairs. That side of the room contains the only window, and it looks out over the river. It's not as bad as he first imagined when Joseph said Herod's Place, but it's a noticeable step down from the spacious apartment he'd previously owned.
"Thanks for coming," Joseph says, making him turn back around. He looks like he's about to say something else, but he blinks rapidly and casts his eyes down instead.
What happens next has never happened before, and Jack will try and analyse his actions later. He steps forward, puts one arm around Joseph's neck, one across his back, and pulls him close, holding him gently as he proceeds to cry against his shoulder. There's an odd feeling in his chest (he attributes it to the fact that the other man is also holding on to him rather tightly), and in his mind he's already resolved to stay as long as he can. He can't explain it, but decides he doesn't need to; for once it's not about him, and this person he'd gladly offer whatever assistance he can.
This turns out to be just lying on the bed in each other's arms and listening as Joseph runs through what happened. He says his parents called a few days ago, wanting to come over for dinner, but Joseph wanted to go out (like Jack had asked) so claimed he had company. When they said they didn't mind, he threw out the girlfriend story – and they wanted to meet 'her'. He tried dissuading them for as long as he could, but when he ran out of reasons why they wouldn't like Jacqueline ("Really? You couldn't think of anything else?") the truth had come out. The line had been disconnected shortly after.
"I went round to their place. My mother thought I was lying, my father was furious. We argued, they kicked me out, then I found out he cut me off the next day. They don't know it's you."
Jack is speechless. He can't think of anything to make the situation better. Eventually, he sighs and says: "At least you're not a prince." He doesn't often play the prince card (not around Joseph) but here it might make Joseph's problems seem a little smaller.
"You still haven't told your family?"
He smirks. "How did you work that one out?"
"Why? What would happen if you did?"
It's something he's given a fair amount of thought to. "It would go down as well as lead balloon. I'd lose the throne on the basis that I wouldn't produce an heir. The free press would have a feast over the scandal, and it would all end up with my father's disappointment, if nothing else. They might even disown me, too."
Resting against Jack's side, Joseph frowns. "It shouldn't matter," he whispers. "It doesn't change who we are fundamentally."
"You don't need them." Perhaps he's being slightly hypocritical, but he's sure Joseph will understand.
He feels him nod against his shoulder. "It's just hard knowing that they won't accept it."
"At least there was a chance they would've." He could predict his parents' reactions as soon as he'd known himself.
"I can't claim to know them beyond the television screen," Joseph begins, "but maybe if you talked to –"
"Not going to happen." Joseph raises his head to look at him questioningly. "I don't sneak around like this for fun. I have to make a show of flirting with girls and skirt-chasing. If it wasn't necessary I'd…"
"You'd what?" he prompts softly, but Jack just tries to pull him closer. "Jack –"
"No point entertaining an idea that'll never happen." He kisses Joseph to stop any heartfelt, well-meaning response that might follow, and he makes it seductive enough that he feels the other man melt beneath him; then he's on top, and his mind clears because this is familiar territory – any funny chest feelings can be traced back to actions or sensations, and those can be attributed to instinct or blind lust too. After all, this (heavy make-out sessions followed by steamy sex with the cutest/hottest guy in close range) is what Jack normally bases 'relationships' on. That this one with Joseph seems to be slightly different is something he'll worry about another day.
Despite Joseph's new situation, they still continue to meet on an irregular basis, often on the Prince's whim and normally as long as it takes to have fun, clean up, then drag out the goodbye. And Jack doesn't want to admit it, but each time they're together those goodbyes start lasting a little longer, and every time the door closes he finds it harder to rid himself of the mental image of Joseph's face. He doesn't like it, but remembering what happened the last time he tried to stop something like this is enough to make him push the fear to the back of his mind.
But one thing remains the same: the caution, the tip-toeing, the looking-over-his-shoulder. Jack's finally sure he's getting somewhere with his father, and knows that if he's not careful all that hard work will be dashed and he'll never get to the front. He stops trying to get drunk after suffering through days that test his patience, tries to do right in Silas' eyes, and even starts playing up to his mother's desires (after hearing her bemoan Michelle for yet another failed relationship, it might be in his best interests to start picking out a suitable partner).
On top of all that, he's noticed something – Joseph is happier when Jack's not drunk. It makes sense, but the Prince can't fathom why that means so much to him now, when there are all these other important things he needs to focus on. After all, it's not like they frequently meet up with one of them drunk beyond cohesion (and, okay, perhaps it says something that he's never even seen Joseph drunk. He needs to change that), so why should his sobriety and Joseph's happiness come to mind at all? More to the point, why and since when does Jack care about Joseph Lasile being happy?
There's a reason he keeps Ronny around. Aside from being good at partying and fixing things for him, Ronny and Jack… have a history. It didn't last – they were both experimenting, and a brief thirty minute encounter decided things for both of them. Even so, they remained friends, and Ronny's helped him on more occasions than Jack can keep count of; so when Ronny pulls up another picture of him and Joseph trying to kiss discretely in the corner of a bar, he grudgingly answers the subsequent line of questioning.
"That's the fifth picture I've swiped of you and this guy."
He groans silently. "Is it?"
"What's the deal?"
Jack rubs his eyes. "There isn't."
"So why keep going back? You never hook up with a guy more than once."
He shrugs. "He's good."
Ronny snorts. "You said that about that foreign kid last week. Haven't seen him since."
"Joseph's different."
This elicits a burst of laughter from his friend. "Well that says it all, doesn't it?" When Jack sends him a look requesting clarification, Ronny chuckles. "The use of the word 'different'? The fact that you remember his name? Jack, this is more than a one-night stand. How long have you been seeing him?"
"Drop it Ronny."
He whistles. "Has the L-word –"
"I said, drop it." The 'L-word', as Ronny so eloquently put it, isn't on the cards. It simply can't be. Thankfully, the glare he throws in Ronny's direction brings the interrogation to a close, and the photograph is shredded (but not before he fleetingly imagines what it would look like on Joseph's desk).
He'd be the last person to admit it, but Jack knows that he and Michelle can read each other fairly well. Obviously, he reads her better than she does him, but it's still annoying when she surprises him with insight he thought she didn't have.
"You've changed," she tells him over breakfast.
Gracing her with a cursory glance, Jack flexes the newspaper. "Have I now?"
Her scrutiny is irritating, and he does his best to ignore it. "You don't argue as much anymore. And most nights you're sober, even before you go out. The press still shows you with a new woman every night but I think that's just a cover-up."
He stiffens, recovers, and throws her a doubtful look. "Really?"
"Yep." She points her fork at him. "You're in a relationship, aren't you?"
"Right, because if I was, I'd totally crush my sweetheart's emotions by keeping her hidden from the world." The word 'hypocrite' tries to bite him, but he swats it away.
Michelle shrugs. "Sounds like you." Glaring at her doesn't affect her curiosity. "So, what, you don't think we'd approve?"
"Don't say 'we' like you always side with our parents."
"Don't change the subject."
"There is no girlfriend Michelle." Truth.
"But there is a specific someone?"
"There's a different 'someone' each time." Half-truth.
"Nobody's on your mind at all?"
"Nope." Lie.
"What about that girl who sent you her number?"
"The hell do you care?" She finally finds the end of his tether. "We're talking about my sex life here – this doesn't even concern you!"
His sister sighs, slumping back into her chair. "I just want to talk, Jack. We don't do that anymore; and if you're really set on going to war –"
"Then I won't have to put up with anymore bloody interrogations into my private affairs! It's bad enough when our mother does it. You, of all people, should know how that feels."
As he leaves the kitchen, his mind is racing. Michelle clearly didn't know all the pieces, but she could sense the majority of them, and if she can then God knows how much his parents have picked up on. Jack needs to act, and soon – perhaps if he picks someone to please them, hold her by his side for a month or two then drop her on the claim they'd grown apart, which he wouldn't need to fake too badly. Either that, or he could use the war as a reason for not having someone in his life. Yes, that would work; why start a relationship when they wouldn't be together for that long anyway? Besides, it's not like they're expecting him to marry any time soon.
So that's Jack's plan: find a girl he can put up with for a few months, appease his parents, get his sister off his back, then drop her when he's sent to the front. It sounds easy, doable, and he might even find ways of sneaking off to Joseph when she's not around. Jack almost laughs at the brilliance of the idea. They want him to have a girlfriend? Then the Prince shall have one.
His father's words still ring strong in his ears. A wife. That's the last thing Jack wants. He can worry about wives when he's King; he hasn't heard (precious little) Michelle being lectured on husbands, and in their parents' eyes she's just as eligible for the throne as he is. Oh, sure, tradition upholds that he's the next in line, but they could easily deem him unfit to rule and stick his sister in his place. She'd probably kick up a fuss, but her words on the matter are as powerful as his – that is, they're worth fuck-all.
Jack needs a distraction, and he immediately thinks of one place. He's tightly wound up as he waits for the door to be opened, and once it is he doesn't hang around. His greeting kiss says it all, and clothes are being discarded before Joseph can even draw a breath, but that's irrelevant to the Prince – if he doesn't hear another word for the rest of the day, it would be something of a blessing; so when his distraction tries to ask questions, he goes about shutting him up in the most effective ways he can.
"Jack," Joseph gasps a little while later, when they're both in a heap on top of the bed sheets, breaths still coming quicker than average. "Is… something the matter?"
Jack rolls off him, dragging his hands down his face. "No." He stares at the ceiling, arms by his side, palms upward, the most relaxed he's felt all day. A hand closes around his wrist.
"You can talk to me."
He can. "It's nothing." He gets up, pulling free from the grip forcefully. As he collects his clothes, Joseph sits up.
"Are you sure? Only, you don't often come by unannounced when you're sober." He has his trousers on. "And we certainly don't do all of that without some sort of… 'build-up' –"
"What, you'd rather I go somewhere else to have sober sex?" His shirt goes over his head.
Joseph falters. "No, I didn't mean that." Socks – because bare feet are a giveaway. "Are you leaving?"
Fuck – where are the shoes? "What does it look like?"
"It looks like something's on your mind." As he continues to hunt for his shoes, Joseph gets up and approaches him. "Jack, what is it?"
Found one. "I told you, nothing." Keep looking.
He follows him around the room. "Whatever it is, you can tell me." Finally, the other one is on, then there's a hand on his shoulder. "Is it your family?"
"I have to go."
"No, you don't – Jack, wait!"
Closing the door behind him, Jack wastes no time in hurrying down the stairs, praying that Joseph won't follow. The car is waiting for him, and he gets inside with a single command: "Home."
Joseph had seen right through him. How? How had he been able to do that? And why would he? All Jack had wanted was something unrelated to family and royalty and propriety and people's expectations, but Joseph had near insisted on bringing all that shit to the surface. Why would he ruin that moment? And why was there a tight, uncomfortable feeling in his chest again?
His eyes sting all the way back to the palace. Nobody approaches him as he stalks up to his room. Only a few glasses of strong whiskey enable him to release the tension in his muscles an hour later.
Time is supposed to heal all wounds. Jack thinks whoever said that was wrong. One week, two weeks, even three weeks after 'that' night, and Joseph still looks crushed whenever Jack sees him. He doesn't understand, though, and telling him won't help – the Prince has to do what's best for the crown, and that apparently means being sensible and searching for someone he can realistically spend the rest of his life with. So when he's not finding easy one-nighters and eyeing up his new driver in the rear-view mirror, that's what Jack tries to do. He tells himself that he only goes on nights out because Ronny and Claudia make it impossible to say no, not because there's a chance he'll get a glimpse of light-coloured hair waiting at the bar for someo- for him.
The whole way there Jack plans what he's going to say, how he's going to break the news. If he truly is his father's son (a questionable fact, he sometimes thinks) then he should have a knack for speech-making and the like. They arrive before he's prepared though, and despite the fact that he takes his time traversing the stairs he finds himself outside the simple door far too quickly. He knocks, partially hoping there won't be an answer so he can have more time to put his words together. However, God isn't on his side, as usual, and Joseph appears, a look of puzzled joy lighting up his face. "Hi."
"Hi."
"Come in."
Timing is everything. Jack steps inside, Joseph closes the door. Jack turns, opens his mouth to speak, and Joseph beats him to it.
"This is a nice surprise. I wasn't expecting you." He's beaming.
"I'm leaving." Jack unintentionally takes a leaf from his father's book about subtlety (the wrong book, dammit) and Joseph's expression promptly falls.
"What?"
"Tomorrow. For the front. The Army." His words won't come out right at first, but once the hard part is more or less out of the way, he's confident the rest will come easier. "It's short notice, I know, and I'm sor-"
This – kissing – wasn't part of the plan. It's a pretty damn good kiss though, and as they shuffle backwards to the bed Jack forgets why he originally came. All there is now is Joseph, Joseph's skin, Joseph's hands, Joseph's lips and breath and tongue – and shouldn't he be saying something right now? Maybe, but his body's having other ideas.
They quickly progress from kissing, finding the bed while their clothes find the floor, and Jack encounters another twist in the program when Joseph takes control. Normally he would describe their sex as one part desperate, one part needy, two parts fun; this afternoon, it's none of those things. Joseph slows him down, takes his time in whatever he's doing, moves carefully and precisely as if he's planned it all beforehand – and yet somehow they're both breathless by the end of it.
Lying face to face, half-under the sheets, warm skin on warm skin, arms and legs entwined, Jack almost forgets he's a soldier after this evening.
They both know this moment can't last. That doesn't stop Joseph holding on to Jack's arm as he sits up to leave. "Stay," he begs in a murmur. The Prince leans over, presses his lips against his temple, then slips out from beneath the covers. "Why did you come earlier if you aren't going to stay any longer than usual?"
Half-dressed already, Jack has anticipated the question. "I have to keep up appearances tonight. It's my last evening in Shiloh – it would be odd for the Playboy Prince to spend it at home instead of out on the town." Hearing an unhappy sigh he turns back around. "Hey, listen." He crawls back onto the bed and smiles down at his sad companion. "Come to mine later. One last time."
Propping himself up, Joseph raises his eyebrows. "Seriously? But, won't you have to bring back a girl?"
"I'll walk one home for show then give you a call when I'm free." He resumes getting dressed off the bed. "I have to be away early, but my driver can take you back. He won't breathe a word to anyone."
Arrangements made, Jack departs. The partying commences a couple of hours later, and he puts on quite the performance. Plenty of women for the many soldiers he's leaving with in the morning, and plenty of drinks too – but not so many for him, because "my father will kill me himself if I turn up to the front hung-over!" (he doesn't want to be drunk tonight).
He finds a pretty girl to tuck under his arm, makes sure to mutter nonsense in her ear, keeps their bodies close and their lips closer. Tears his eyes away from one or two nice-looking guys and thinks of Joseph. For the first time in his partying life Jack wishes the night would draw to a close sooner rather than later, and when it finally does he deposits the barely-conscious girl inside her front door, retrieves his shirt front from her nails and his face from her mouth, the sends the message that's been waiting on his phone.
A minor eternity passes, but eventually they're together again. The outside world is quickly locked out and hidden away, and for the remainder of the night they just sleep, merged together like normal couples, not some playboy and his favourite toy. It's peaceful, warm and comfortable. When the morning comes they try not to move for as long as possible, kissing lazily until the clock warns them of the approaching real world.
"When will you be back?"
"Not for a while."
"You will come back, won't you?"
"Of course."
Pause. "What if you don't? How will I… know?"
Call it arrogance, ignorance or naïveté, but he hadn't considered the possibility of not returning. His family will be told automatically, but Joseph? He'll find out through the papers, through the press coverage that will undoubtedly report the shocking news, same as every other citizen. There would be no private message, no allowance for personal grieving, just the words: 'The Prince has died'. Swallowing back the truth, Jack rests a hand against Joseph's cheek. "You'll know."
In the car, the last kiss goodbye is as close to perfect as either of them will ever experience; it's also the last they share for a very long time.
War is everything Jack had pictured, until it isn't. He earns both his rank and the loyalty of the men in his command, and watching them fall around him in that fucked-up ambush is both maddening and devastating. He almost wishes the bullet that skims his forehead found its target. Being taken hostage is humiliating at best, though the treatment for his head wound is a grudgingly pleasant surprise, but just when he's drifted past caring (if martyrdom is God's plan for him, what else can he do?) someone is cutting his bindings, hauling him to his feet, and dragging him out of one hell, into another.
He doesn't think about Joseph – he doesn't have time to think about much beyond his present circumstances, but the one time he does it's the thought that Joseph wouldn't last one minute in this shithole. There's also a brief moment next morning, when he's lying on a truck, David Shepherd nearby, when he thinks Joseph has come to see him – someone's holding his hand, and another is stroking the side of his face… When the fog clears he can see his father, and he fleetingly thinks perhaps Joseph isn't the only one who worries for him. That, of course, quickly changes with his return home: David Shepherd is named a hero, Silas pouring his love onto the boy as if he does it to every man who shows his family kindness, and Jack?
"What you do at night, with your boys, after your show of skirt-chasing, is a disgrace."
He knows. His father knows. How much? Does he know about Joseph? Jack's rooted to the spot, trying to regain his composure, mind left numb at how badly that conversation turned against him.
"Wrestle it to the ground, numb it with ice, but you cannot be what God made you – not if you mean to take my place."
The ultimatum, delivered on the rain-soaked steps to the palace, is what he's been dreading for years. He's surprised it's come so late, particularly when his father implies he knew for a while, but that isn't important anymore. After everything that's happened at the front and with David he wants the throne more than ever, and if that means driving a wedge between his head and his heart, then so be it. In fact, seeing as there's no time like the present…
Can't meet up for a while, too much media attention. Don't contact me – I'll call you when I can. And don't keep sitting at bars pining either. Doesn't suit you. J.
God, Jack thinks, is fucking with him. He thought he'd escaped a torturous night at his mother's precious ballet by agreeing to corrupt Shepherd and his friends, but at least being bored out of his mind wouldn't have left him feeling… like this. It's not the pain that bothers him – in fact, it's keeping him grounded – it's Joseph; Jack had tried pushing him away, and like a stupid puppy that doesn't understand the word no Joseph had followed them. Then he'd said – what he'd said, and then that look on his face…
That feeling in Jacks gut curls tighter in his abdomen, and he closes his eyes, trying to ignore it. The sun has almost fully risen now. He doesn't know how long has passed since he sent Claudia and what's-her-face away, since Ronny came by with the photos, but he hasn't moved from the balcony. He's not sure he can. Moving would mean having to go back to the palace. Going back to the palace would mean answering questions. He can't deal with that yet. Maybe Michelle will work out how those pictures came into existence, and try and push him into a confession. Jack hates lying to her – it's so much effort, and she never believes him anyway these days. His mother would just fuss, and his father? Well, one thing's for sure: he's not going to kiss his bruises better and make him feel better by, oh, naming him heir now, is he?
No, Joseph is dangerous, Jack sees that now – but as angry as he is with the other man that single thought sends a spike of pain through his chest. Silas, damn him, was right. He can't have Joseph and the throne, and to chase one is to abandon the other. Maybe that's what God was trying to tell him last night. Either that, or He was punishing him for trying to slander David Golden-Boy Shepherd. But if Jack is being denied Joseph, why isn't Joseph being denied him? Is it because Joseph Lasile is pure, a faithful believer who doesn't get a kick out of ruining others? Who apparently – cares a lot about Jack, enough that he doesn't protest when he's literally thrown out of the same building just for talking to him?
Jack imagines what their souls would look like. If Joseph's is whole, warm and glowing, then his is barely held together, cold and hard, but burning nonetheless.
How would one describe Lucinda Wolfsen? Well, she's pretty in that unassuming way: not dazzling, but she still manages to make the cameras drool. She's not overly clever, but if you hit a topic that interests her, she can be quite engaging. Unlike other girls, she won't spend hours poring over dresses or make-up selections, and doesn't feel the need to buy a new handbag every other week. She's an average kisser when encouraged, but has strong boundaries. Beyond that, she's a little shy (easily intimidated, perhaps), and doesn't seem to give a second thought to following what others tell her to do. It makes her a bit clingy, but what's one minor flaw among all those idealistic traits?
Jack thinks the Queen will greatly approve of her. He thinks the King couldn't care less, so long as she doesn't have a cock. He knows Joseph will be upset, but he can't do anything about that; they both knew this would be a possibility, and until a time when Jack's position is secure, Joseph will just have to be another boy he used to get through his charade. He'll ignore the fact that this boy knows him better than anybody, and he'll smile and act like Lucinda is the girl of his dreams, because he has to be the Prince now.
"Be anyone you want."
There's one person he wants to be. Himself.
Before Lucinda can find him Jack disappears into the dark. He knows roughly where he's going, and feels his thudding heart with each step. His head tells him this is wrong, that it's too risky even with the cover he has now, that it makes his recent efforts at burial totally null and void – and then his heart hits his ribcage a little harder, and wins his control of his feet so that soon he stops thinking altogether. He just walks, and eventually, there he is.
Until Joseph reciprocates the kiss, Jack partially worries he'll be rebuked, pushed away in the same manner that he's been acting of late. His fears are completely quelled when he takes hold of Joseph's hand and feels a returning squeeze. They become two citizens of Shiloh taking advantage of the blackout, same as everyone else (no doubt Michelle and David are doing the same). The Prince can be Jack, and Jack can be with Joseph. And as wonderful as it is, it's also frighteningly surreal; perhaps there isn't really a blackout, and he's just had too much to drink at his father's birthday celebrations and has fallen asleep… Or maybe Thomasina will wake him up in a few minutes, remind him that said celebrations are due to begin in one hour and he has to –
Shut up, brain.
They walk but don't talk. At least, Joseph doesn't talk, not of his own accord. If Jack didn't think he owed him he'd ask about that, but talking isn't necessary at the moment anyway. Their destination is silently agreed upon, and when they arrive they pick up the pace. Once Joseph closes the door Jack's kissing him again, a tender and brief one followed by whispered apologies that have come far too late – but Joseph smiles, keeps their foreheads together, and whispers back: "Doesn't matter. You're here now."
What follows next is sex that is one part desperate, one part needy, and two parts fun, but it is more memorable than stolen nights of old, despite the familiarity. It's the aftermath that is far from familiar. The lights are still off, yet all they do is position themselves around each other and pull up the covers. An arm rests across Jack's midsection, and hot breath blows rhythmically onto his chest. He cradles Joseph's head, runs his fingertips through the soft-coloured hair, and tries not to think. This domesticity (he almost laughs – him, domestic?) should be relaxing, but the Prince is far from content. If he could close his eyes and sleep, God knows he would, but Jack and God aren't on the best of terms, and sleep never comes. Light does though, and that's the moment when he feels his heart start to break.
He steels it by doing what Playboy Jack does best: leaves without a word. He untangles himself from Joseph, finds his clothes, puts the Crown Prince back together, all under a watchful gaze he can't shake. Not everything goes to plan, though; his voice feels rough when he explains why he's leaving, and Jesus, yes, what they had was real (and he sends a silent prayer that Joseph – insightful, understanding Joseph – believes him. He doesn't pray often, so maybe this one he'll be granted).
There's a word he can't say, because doing so would hurt, and he leaves before he hears it said to him for the same reason. The usual look of disappointment isn't there on Joseph's face anymore, just a blank acceptance. He neither acknowledges nor ignores the feeling that that may have been the last time, that even if Joseph begs him they won't be able to do this again. The steel is already cracked, but it holds.
Playing it cool as the DVD is shown to him and his mother isn't easy, but it's doable. Keeping that façade up when she flippantly tells him he died takes all conscious effort (and how did she know? If they've only just received it this morning, how could she know he was dead? That he committed suicide?).
He smothers his grief with alcohol. Warns Michelle against burial because he knows she can't do it. Goes to a different kind of burial because… He can't explain why. It's not as if he was comfortable saying goodbye before Joseph died (somehow, thinking those words is easier). And when Thomasina turns up, with an umbrella for the rain he barely notices, he can't find it in himself to care.
After his confrontation with his mother, Jack's only regret is that she was the one to hear Those Three Words, the honest to God truth, and in the past tense.