"I can't do this anymore Pitch! I just…can't," Jack gripped his staff in one hand, frost spreading over it. His sweater pocket is tore off, hanging by a couple of small threads. His lip is broke open and bleeding, a small trail of blood trickling down his chin. Pitch wasn't in much better condition: a black eye was rapidly forming and one wrist had a bit of frostbite on it. It seemed trying to play had earned Pitch his own reward. Well, if you could call it a reward. He should have known that Jack would not have taken well to being surprised; no matter how much he expected it. It was a new game to them, but it had its promise.
Fighting was the best foreplay they had found. The Guardians often found a bone to pick with the weakened shadow. At first it was fun; beating the absolute hell out of each other. Afterwords using whatever energy they had left to fuck each other to pieces. Dominance went to whichever could pin the other long enough to tear away clothing. It was animalistic, raw and dirty and was solely to blow off steam and unfulfilled desire.
Pitch stood from the crouch he had fallen in, "What do you mean?" He looked at the torn neck of his shirt with a slight smirk. He'd almost had him, so why had he stopped?
"I mean this…us. I can't. They're going to find out and I can't handle that." Jack twirled his staff and avoided eye contact with Pitch at every cost. He itched to put his free hand in his hoodie pocket but nothing remained of it. Pitch smirk at the obvious shame running through Jack's voice, "You think I care if they catch us? Oh Jack what it is to be young," He swept forward, shadows moving around him. A chilled gray hand placed itself upon Jack's cheek and tilting it upwards to face him. Jack, being the stubborn being that he was, resisted until Pitch had griped his chin harshly.
"Jack you still have much to learn about this immortality. One thing about it is knowing when to give in." Pitch's smooth voice never failed to make Jack either anxious or turned on. This time was no exception, despite his abhorrent distaste for what it did to him. Of course, it didn't help at all that the hypnotic golden gaze is resting on his own sharp blue.
"You've yet to learn," Jack stuttered out, grabbing the hand that held his chin. It added to the previous frostbite that was there, but Pitch didn't seem to mind. He let a slow smile spread across his face and released Jack's chin to caress his cheek. Jack found himself horrified that he leaned into the touch.
"Now that simply isn't true. I know when I am beat, and when I can gain an upper hand,"
"Am I the upper hand then?" Jack's tone was biting, even though he tried for carefree. Pitch never once dropped his smile but his eyes betrayed the difference he heard in Jack's voice. Pitch's hand wove behind Jack's neck and into the little hairs there. Jacks dropped his hand from Pitch's wrist in exchange for grabbing his shirt.
"More like I am yours; do you know how great you'd be in their eyes if you had me of all things under your belt?" His eyes never wavered from Jack's own.
"Is that a confession?" Jack dared him.
"No of course not. I never said I'd make it easy on you," Pitch slipped from Jack's hold. He disappeared into shadow, his low laughter echoing through the cold room they were in. Jack collapsed at the sudden absence of his support. He slammed his staff in the ground to pull himself back up, "It's already not easy! Come back here!" He knew that Pitch was still around, he had to be. He would never miss a chance to see Jack snap.
"Now where would be the 'fun' in that, dear one?" Jack growled at the obvious teasing in Pitch's voice. He spun around looking for the source of the voice, but it seemed to come from every direction at once.
"Don't play with me Pitch! The game is over," Jack glared into the darkness around him. Pitch appeared behind him silently, holding Jack's arms down harshly. Bending, the shade whispered in his ear, "How about you do not play, hm? We both know that you do not want to end this."
Jack struggled in his grasp. No, he couldn't let this happen, not again and definitely not now. Pitch seemed undeterred, his hold on Jack never faltering, "Now, let us play a little game. We will both tell the other what exactly we want from whatever this is." Pitch breathed in, catching the almost overpowering smell of Jack's fear. "You're afraid, why?" His tone had changed, the teasing gone, replaced with genuine care.
"You're asking me why I'm afraid when the King of Fear himself pressed behind me." Jack asked, breathless. It was a true question, but the sarcastic bite to it didn't demand an answer. Pitch gave one anyways, "Yes. For you know you have nothing to fear; not from me, not after all we've done."
"I should have more to fear for that sole reason,"
"But?"
"But I don't. Is that what you want?" Jack's head dipped and his whole body leaned into Pitch's behind him. Pitch's hands traveled up and wrapped around Jack's shoulders. "So what are you afraid of?"
Jack shivered. He knew the answer, of course he did. But it was hard to reveal the thing he was so afraid of. It wasn't that he didn't want him to know, it was the simple fact that he would have to tell him. Couldn't he just know already? That wouldn't work, he realized.
"Telling you," his voice was almost silent. The two stood still, not even a breeze to ruffle their hair. Ice and shadow alike stood in the center of the room. Their thoughts ran haphazardly through their minds. Pitch could still feel the fear Jack gave off. It was strong, and every bit of him had to resist creating a nightmare from it. He wouldn't do that to the boy.
"Should I begin then?" Pitch whispered to him, hands running over Jack's collarbone as he pulled away. Jack turned as Pitch moved away, only to see the shadow's back. He wanted so much to pull him back that he surprised himself. He shouldn't want that, not at all. This game had been playing with his head, and he knew it. It didn't stop the feelings of lust and care that he had for Pitch. He hated that someone like him could make him so weak.
Pitch stayed with his back to Jack, head down. Could he tell the boy what he should? Honest, he should tell the boy that this was just a game of risk that they played for a bit of fun. At one time, that was true. Between the fighting and hard sex that followed, damn Pitch, he'd fallen for Jack. He couldn't bring himself to tell the boy what he should. End whatever was growing before it took root, because it would hurt him. He didn't want to hurt him, not like that.
Jack waited impatient for the shade to finish. Holding his staff with both hands, he leaned on it. He did this often enough, and it was a simple comfort for him.
"I want…everything. The hate, the fear, and the passion you bring here. I want to keep the mischievous look in your eyes until I take it away in a perfect moment. I want the attention you give me, I hoard it. Of everything I've seen in my life, you are what I want most of all! I do not understand why, of all things it had to be you, but it is and I am in so deep, I can never escape!" Pitch's voice gradually grew louder and harsher with each sentence. His hands had wound themselves in his hair, pulling on the strands as if hoping the tearing pain would end him. Jack's jaw dropped open as he stared at the wreck that was Pitch Black. Of everything he imagined, he never thought he would ever hear such a thing come from the other's mouth.
Two quick strides and Jack was pulling on Pitch's shoulder to face him again. Pitch's eyes flashed with something neither of them recognized. Before he processed what he was doing, Jack was leaning forward. He sealed his frozen lips over Pitch's. They had kissed before, all teeth and tongue, but this was different from before. It was a gentle pressure; Jack didn't even try to turn it deeper. Pitch overcoming his initial shock returned the favor; looping an arm around Jack pulling him impossibly closer.
When Jack finally pulled away to breath, he bore his gaze into Pitch's own, "I want you too."