Set before "The Lark and the Nightingale", three months and a week after Pitch's defeat, and a week after Jack's proposal. Happening the same time as "Heartless", but from Pitch's perspective
A man can do what he wants, but not want what he wants.
- Arthur Schopenhauer
The sun was bright, but it didn't hurt his skin. It just annoyed his eyes and Pitch growled a bit at the fact that he couldn't properly see.
Pitch hid amongst the thicker trees, appreciating the shade. A shadow come to dance along his fingers and he felt it stronger than before. Yes, his shadows were getting stronger, thanks to Jack Frost's requests. Why the other wanted him to help, would even /think/ he would help, was beyond him. He did know that Jack understood the place that fear held in the world, how it helped to maintain the order that kept it from collapsing in on itself.
Terror was a different matter altogether.
He never wanted to feel it again. Pitch forced himself to think of other things, like how the shadows of the leaves and branches allowed only small circles of light to appear on the grass.
"Hi." Pitch heard the wind and knew from the air and voice that Jack Frost was just touching the surface of the grass, settling himself down. As the sprite stepped towards him, Pitch could hear the grass shift beneath him. "Can I sit with you?"
Pitch looked up at him and caught his blue eyes. They were somewhat eager, still hesitant. He sighed.
"I think that you would even if I said no."
The smile should not have made him feel as content as it did. Jack sat down next to him on the log that served as his perch.
"You've been helping," Jack supplied for conversation. Perhaps it was praise, though Pitch would not accept it as such.
"I live to bring Fear in children. Your offer to keep doing it was tempting, so I fulfilled it." He raised his hand and he whispered to the shadows, calling them to whisper about his hand in their earnest delight. "They're stronger... Aren't you off-put by this?" He certainly was. He did not want to lose himself again.
Jack shrugged. "The kids are safe. They're... not jumping from trees or playing chicken on the roads. As long as they're safe, but not afraid to live life, I guess." He wrapped his arms around himself. The warmth was the antithesis to his cold - perhaps he kept the warmth out like that. He saw some frost spread out from Jack's body and Pitch felt the cool relief of frost gather on his hand. He expected it to turn black as the shadows...
Yet they did not.
He vaguely heard Jack apologise for the frost, saying that the weather was too warm for him, but it was overshadowed by the fact that the frost was still as pure as when it formed. The shadows did not even rise to consume it.
He could hear his daughter in his memories, the memories he had begun to regain during the time after his defeat. His daughter marvelled at the snow and frost that clung to the windowpane and he made her giggle with delight as he traced butterflies into the frost, her favourite creatures.
The frost glistened like her smile did.
He missed her.
"Pitch?"
The Bogeyman stood and walked away, his hand dropping and letting him feel the melted frost drip off of his hand.
"You should leave, Jack."
He never deserved to see her again.
He didn't want to see Jack again after that, but the frost spirit came time and time again, and Pitch couldn't bring up the gall to send him away. No other Guardian came, and Pitch asked about it on the third visit.
"I haven't told them that I was the one who asked you to help." The boy smiled at him with a gentle form of mischief. "I'll watch when you trip over yourself in telling them."
"Why would I tell them?"
Jack laughed a bit and let his frost decorate their log.
"You are helping us, so let them thank you."
Pitch looked at him incredulously.
"Strengthening my ego, Jack?"
"I just want to watch Bunny stumble over himself when he has to thank you. I bet he'd say something mean and just leave some chocolate eggs for you."
The Bogeyman smiled softly. The Pooka would do something like that, hesitant but willing to give a bit of kindness for one act of kindness.
In ideal conditions, anyway.
"I hardly think so."
Jack shrugged in response.
The fourth time Jack visited Pitch, the two spirits spoke of various things that they had seen in the world during their lifetimes. Jack was going on about how he had seen cathedrals in France.
"They're so tall! The steeples and spires reach to the sky like they're going to scratch at it. The Basilica in Vatican City is pretty cool, too. Italian churches are nice."
"You are just full of energy at every second of the day, aren't you?" Pitch stated, amused somewhat. The spirit was indeed a child, barely an infant in their world, yet so mature, despite these moments of youth.
"Fun has its requirements. Churches - I've seen lots of weddings in the last three hundred years. They're so grand! When I was alive, you didn't see that kind of thing often."
Pitch started a bit at that. "You died?"
Jack didn't look at Pitch. "Drowned. Saving my sister. That was over three hundred years ago... And all I can remember in those last moments before I fell completely into the water, is how terrified she was. The terror on her face, I saw a bit on Jamie's face when he was jumping off of his roof and I had grabbed his hand.
"The weird part is that Jamie and my sister, they look so much alike. I didn't want Jamie to get hurt," he exclaimed softly. He turned to Pitch. "Thanks, Pitch."
Pitch ignored the small spark of terror that had arisen in Jack. He could see a young girl looking up at her brother with love and trust in her eyes. Jack, brown-haired and liquor-eyed, cooed to her, coaxed her into calmness, but Jack was frightened - terrified, petrified.
"You're welcome."
Jack's smile should not have made him feel like the only one in the world.
The fifth time they met, Pitch felt himself counting the seconds it took Jack to sit down next to him. Jack's blue sweater stood out against the autumn leaves and made the boy appear more otherworldly. When Jack sat down on the log and the frost spread out, Pitch watched it start in small spirals, little parts emerging from the sides like flower petals. He reached out to them and caressed their petals, watching them stay solid under his touch. When Jack's hand came to hover over his, he almost sighed as frost energy came from the pale hand and gave him his own pattern. The pattern came up his arm and he relaxed further, soothed by the cold.
"Pitch?" Jack asked. The older spirit didn't answer, choosing instead to try something else. He turned his palm upward and pressed his hand to Jack's, their palms against each other. It was a sudden feeling, the cold, but Pitch welcomed it in earnest, revelling in its uniqueness. He'd never felt anything like it, nothing that had ever made the pain in his chest feel lighter.
He was startled by Jack gripping onto his wrist, the smaller fingers effectively holding his hand. He felt a fear trickle in from Jack. It was a new feeling for Jack as well, and Pitch grabbed at the other's wrist, tightening around the slowly moving pulse. Jack tightened his fingers and there was no more space between their hands.
Pitch knew that this was not right. Jack was a Guardian, one who protected the children of this planet, and he, the Nightmare King, had frightened, damaged, even killed children. He had no right to desire Jack, and the boy was lonely. Did he even understand that Pitch was cradling his cheek out of a desire that mature beings held? As Jack closed his eyes, Pitch leant forward and pressed his lips against the frost spirit's, mirroring how the other's mouth opened against the soft touch.
Even as Pitch pushed Jack down, he was haunted by the guilt of his wanting. His lips danced along the other's flesh and he only knew that he wanted.
"Pitch." Jack's voice was breathless, and lust was dripping off of his tongue. Then the Bogeyman let himself, for just this time between them, want. He took his hand that was still with Jack's, down to grab at the bottom of the sweater. With the nod of the other's head, Pitch lifted the fabric and spotted several lines that were even paler than Jack's snow white skin. He kissed each scar, not gathering or feeling any fear well up from them, and he was content that Jack had most likely not been hurt and in a frightful tizzy of pain.
"Tease."
Pitch chuckled. "I thought you liked fun, Jack." He watched the other begin to give way to all of his motions, bringing his hand away from Pitch's to bury it in his hair. Pitch slunk down further and relished in the tremor that racked Jack's body.
"Fun?" the frost spirit gasped out. "This is heartless teasing."
Pitch, grabbing the other's free hand, stiffened for a moment, and he tightened his grip. "Heartless?" Jack did not sound cruel, didn't mean to strike a chord in the Bogeyman's heart.
Huh.
His heart..? Perhaps it finally been unearthed.
All Pitch knew that he didn't want Jack to see him as a heartless man.
"Not like that... I-" Pitch felt fear again and he, in distaste for Jack's fear, delivered a sweet kiss to Jack's lips.
"Hush. I know." He did know what Jack meant, and he pressed his hand to Jack's trouser-clad erection, appreciating the sigh of pleasure that tumbled from vaguely wine-coloured lips.
Jack mentioned Bunnymund and Pitch quickly changed the topic. Noticing the change in mood, Jack spoke again, kissing Pitch's knuckles on the hand still trapped in his.
"I don't care. I really don't. Just... Anyone could call you that, but I know from how you looked at my frost for the first time, on your hand, that you do have a heart, that you're lonely, and you're the only one who's made me feel, like I'm not alone."
Pitch's mind fell blank. "I," Pitch began. "I cannot show it to others, as I've to you."
You're the only one who's ever seen me, he wanted to say.
"Then show it just to me," Jack said. It was an order that came from Jack's heart, and Pitch felt all the fear that came in hand with love well up inside of Jack, like a tear hanging at the corner of an eye, precarious. "Let me see your heart, Pitch."
Pitch leant down to whisper in his ear. His hand was getting Jack ready, pulling down the trousers. He thought, now, that perhaps it was all right to want. After all, this little Guardian was choosing him as well.
"I'd be ashamed to even think of showing it to another."
Devany: Hi, guys. I just wanted to thank those who are reading the series "Lark and Nightingale" and I would just like to ask for reviews. I really would appreciate any feedback and criticism (positive and negative). It would really help me grow as a writer and it could help with the 7th part of the series onward.
Thank you again!