For a cocky little smart-ass, I've got to give him credit. Punk's got game, Jake Stone thought to himself as he arranged a few long-stemmed foxtail lilies in the small glass vase on his desk, which now had its own little place of honor beside his laptop.
It still made him feel a little giddy when he thought about it. Ezekiel Jones, Mr. I Don't Do Anything Not In My Best Interest, had actually gone to the effort of learning the language of flowers just to get Jake's attention. And not only that, he'd done so for nearly three months whilst Jake was busily being an absolute idiot. He still got flowers, too. Not always ones that were geared towards flirtation, but always ones that were somehow flattering.
Cassandra got them, too, and sometimes Eve, though with entirely different messages. They still didn't know the flowers came from Ezekiel. Cassandra thought they were finally agreeing to her claim that the Annex could use a bit more colour (no offense, Ray). Eve thought they were left by Flynn, little reminders to let her know he hadn't forgotten about her. Some of them probably were, too.
They weren't telling anyone yet, even though Jake had a creeping suspicion that Jenkins already knew because really, what did the old man not know? And a not-so-small, selfish part of him liked it that way. Liked having Ezekiel all to himself, hoarding away secret kisses and caresses in dark corners of the Library when the others were busy.
However, that aside, Jake was trying to figure out how to reciprocate. He knew he wasn't the most open of guys on his good days, and even though he got almost embarrassingly flustered when Ezekiel left flowers of a more...ardent...meaning on his desk, he didn't really know how to respond. He doubted that poetry would impress the thief very much, and the whole flower thing was now very much Ezekiel's thing, so that was out, too.
As he contemplated it, he remembered that the year before, Cassandra had given Ezekiel a gift for Christmas, part of the Secret Santa exchange she insisted they do. He hadn't minded a bit—he got Eve a new scarf and matching gloves to replace the ones eaten by a very irate Yeti. But Ezekiel had looked so surprised, taken off-guard by the fact that someone had actually thought to get him a gift, and it occurred to Jake that Ezekiel had likely been given very few things in his life. He'd always had to get them for himself, usually by theft. It hadn't been anything extravagant either, just a paperweight shaped like a blue police box with a hidden compartment in the bottom, but Ezekiel acted like someone had just given him the Crown Jewels, and the novelty item had never left his desk since.
A victorious smile crossed his face, and Jake hid it by burying his nose in the book he was pretending to read so Cassandra didn't notice him grinning. In nearly every variation of courtship, there were three accepted forms: flowers, poetry or music, and gifts. Since the first two were out, he'd go with door number three. The real difficulty would be in finding things that Ezekiel would actually like, but Jake found that he didn't really mind the challenge. If the punk could wait three months for Jake to pull his head out of the sand, then he could do the same thing.
And he had an idea where to start, too.
Three days after his little epiphany, Jake left a vinyl record tucked in amidst the stacks of files that Ezekiel hoarded around his desk, near the top of a pile that was steadily being worked through, knowing he'd find it in a day or two. He left a note taped to the cover, pulling out the neat, formal calligraphy that he saved for signing under a false identity's name, not the chicken-scratched shorthand he usually wrote in: Music made before the turn of the century will not cause brain damage when listened to.
During one of their becoming-traditional movie nights, Ezekiel had said he liked older films, especially the original Bond films, no surprise, but his scope of music was almost painfully limited, which was why Jake had chosen Frank Sinatra instead of something classical or strictly instrumental, like the pieces he liked to listen to when working. Sinatra was a good starting point, he figured. It was smooth and jazzy and with a little swing definitely made for dancing to.
He'd save the country genre for a later date, once he'd softened the punk up a bit, because in his book, it was a crime to not have heard the Charlie Daniels Band at least once. Seriously, even Cassandra had heard their music before.
A few days later, when they were gathering information on a case for Flynn, he heard Ezekiel humming "Pennies From Heaven" under his breath and knew he'd taken a step in the right direction.
Okay, so he was a bit of a sap. Even if he hadn't been raised with to treat his significant other with a certain degree of respect, man or not, Jake was a romantic at heart and knew it, too. Sue him. Romance was something nobody seemed to appreciate anymore.
His next gift took a bit of searching through the newspaper archives in the Library. They were still microfiche, for God's sake. He'd have thought a magical self-aware entity could've upgraded a little. But, headache aside, he found what he was looking for: a front-page story from an Australian newspaper eight years ago about a jewelry heist that'd completely wiped out a jeweler. And, incidentally, revealed the man's illegal smuggling operations, too. The case was still open, and there had never been a 'viable suspect' found.
He printed it out and had it framed. Waiting until Ezekiel was out handling a case from his pocket Clipping Book, he hung it up in the punk's office. Hey, if doctors hung their diplomas to prove they knew what they were doing, thieves could hang newspaper articles, too. He stuck a Post-It note on the frame so it didn't smudge the glass: An Ezekiel Jones original for the original Ezekiel Jones.
It was still there when Ezekiel dragged him into his office and promptly locked the door behind him.
The third gift, he hadn't really planned out. He actually found it whilst they were working a case.
Some rich old man that owned a dozen different patents used his money to collect all sorts of artwork from all around the world, including a few magical artifacts that should never be brought in close contact with each other, especially over intersecting ley lines, like the ones his house was built over. To get him out of the house, Cassandra and Eve put on their best evening gowns and heels and played the fawning adorers, stroking the old man's ego at a charity auction whilst Ezekiel and Jake broke into house and recovered the more volatile collection pieces before the whole place got turned into a magically-induced crater.
Ezekiel was searching the upper floors to make sure they'd gotten everything, and which meant Jake was looking through the basement with something that Ezekiel had made himself, some kind of mix between a EMF meter and a Geiger counter, except tuned into magic. And made from an old Walkman, it looked like. It worked, though, so he wasn't complaining. Insofar, he hadn't found anything except for a whole lot of beautiful pieces that should never be locked in a damn basement. If it weren't for the fact he knew Eve would kick his ass, he'd smuggle all of it back to the Annex and have it donated to a museum where it should've been. Old fart obviously had no appreciation for art beyond the fact that it made him look sophisticated.
Looking into a musty cardboard box in the last corner of the basement, Jake bit back a whimper. The chess set was exquisite, a Staunton set of hand-carved pieces in Noir Belge and Carrara marble, mostly likely one of the 18th century originals, and the old fucker had them in his goddamn basement, in a cardboard box. There was nothing particularly magical about them at all, but that didn't stop him from taking off his scarf, carefully wrapping the pieces up in it so they didn't scrape together, and tucking them into his pocket. He rescued the board from the bottom of the box (inlaid squares of cherry and white oak on a Noir Belge base with chased silver hinges, that dirty, rotten son of a bitch) and hid that in the knapsack he'd brought with to carry the more dangerous artifacts in.
After he'd carefully cleaned all the pieces and the board, too, he set it all up neatly on the table in the reading nook Ezekiel always slipped away to when he thought nobody was paying attention. Jake always was. The punk liked chess, surprisingly enough, and he'd caught the young man playing online games on his phone and his laptop from time to time. Even if Ezekiel couldn't appreciate the artistic value of the set, he could certainly appreciate the monetary value. And the fact that Jake had actually stolen it.
He left the note on a small rectangle of stock paper he'd folded in two so it'd stand up on its own. No, it is not magical, and no, it was not purchased or borrowed from the Library's shelves. You're a corruptive influence, Mr. Jones.
The next day, he found Ezekiel and Cassandra engaged in silent warfare at the kitchenette table, and whilst the redhead stared at the board with fixed concentration, Ezekiel caught Jake's eye over the top of her head and arched an eyebrow at him.
Jake winked at him and had the pleasure of seeing the thief's ears turn a little pink.
It took a bit of thinking to decide on the next gift to leave, but he finally came to a decision. He went to one of his favourite bookstores and found what he was looking for in the children's section. Ezekiel had told him once that he'd never been read bedtime stories when he was a kid, so he left a copy of Charlotte's Web in the pocket of Ezekiel's jacket, tucking another note in the front cover: Good a place to start as any.
After he'd left the book, Jake had a private moment of panic, worried that maybe he'd overstepped. From the bits and pieces Ezekiel had told him about his childhood, it was no brighter a picture than his own, and Jake always got his back up when someone tried poking at his past, even talking about it. What if Ezekiel was the same way, and what if he'd crossed the line with the book? Jake had an uncanny ability to put his foot in his own mouth, especially when he started getting on a good track.
However, the next time Ezekiel invited him over to his flat for 'dinner,' he noticed the book was on the bedside table with a scrap of paper stuck into the pages as a bookmark, and the thief never said anything about it, except for smiling and curling closer into Jake's chest when he caught Jake staring.
He hadn't really planned this one, either.
After a case going horribly wrong ended up with Ezekiel having a minor concussion and two cracked ribs, Jake was full of an uncomfortable, buzzing, tingling anxiety that made him feel like his skin was full of crawling insects. It reminded him unsettlingly of the day he found out that he had an allergy to dogfennel, when he went out with a few cousins one summer to clear the weeds out of pastures and yards, and he ended up with a rash up to his elbows, itching all over the place, dizzy and sweaty and nauseated. Now, it seemed, he had an allergy to dogfennel and to Ezekiel being hurt.
The first one he could avoid, the second one was kind of inevitable. Great.
So, while Cassandra was picking a movie to watch—no sleeping with a concussion—Jake went back to his flat. He dug into his closet for his motorcycle jacket. It was a big, heavy thing with bony plates sewn into the lining of it and patches all over the front and sleeves. His brother had given it to him when he enlisted, and Jake had always thought it was the coolest thing ever. Still did, too, even if he got around in a truck instead of on a bike nowadays. He still didn't know what it was made of—some kind of mix of nylon-like synthetic, canvas, leather, and Teflon, presumably, but his brother had said he could hit a telephone pole doing thirty on his bike and still get up if he was wearing it.
He left it hanging in Ezekiel's locker underneath his hoodie, a note pinned on the lapel: Dragonhide armor: +5 armor, +3 HP, -2 damage vs undead.
Ezekiel gave him a kiss the next day, along with a mumbled, "Geek," in his ear.
He started wearing the jacket whenever they were out on a case, though.
Ezekiel was scribbling in a file at his desk when Jake came into the Annex. He slid around the desk and placed his hand over Ezekiel's eyes, putting his lips close to his ear. "Mr. Jones, I have a proposition for you," he murmured lowly, feeling Ezekiel shiver all over against him; he had that reaction anytime Jake got all 'low and Southern' on him. He was experimenting with how much that voice could get him, and insofar, he'd gotten very excellent results ending in no clothing.
Ezekiel immediately relaxed back into him with a low hum. "What is that, Mr. Stone?" he replied.
"Dinner. Private. Go put your suit on," he replied.
"Yes, sir."
They went to a place in Venice that Cassandra had found on a little outing with Estrella. It was hardly more than a little hole in the wall, but the service was good and the food was delicious. When Jake mentioned Estrella's name, the hostess smiled broadly and led them to a small booth in the corner conveniently screened from view by the majority of the restaurant by artfully arranged potted plants.
The moment the waitress had slipped away to get them wine, Ezekiel practically slid onto his lap and kissed him hard, twisting his fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. "You spoil me, cowboy," Ezekiel purred.
"You deserve it, Zeke," Jake murmured back. "I got another one for you, too. I didn't want to leave this one in the Annex, though."
Ezekiel's eyes brightened as he sat up a little straighter. "Really? What is it?"
"Not yet. After we eat. You'll understand why."
Ezekiel pouted some but slid back over a little when the waitress returned. Jake fought not to smile at Ezekiel's obvious impatience, wriggling a little in his seat the entire time they were eating. It was very good, and he made a note to write down the address for this place when they left.
When their waitress came back again to clear their plates, Ezekiel immediately slid over so his shoulder pressed to Jake's, hand coming to rest on his thigh. "Well, cowboy? It's after dinner," he said eagerly.
"Eyes closed," Jake said, laying his hand over Ezekiel's on his leg.
"Ooh, you wanker. Fine." The thief closed his eyes and then put a hand over them for good measure.
Smirking, Jake fished the box out of his pocket and set it on the empty placemat in front of Ezekiel. "Open," he murmured.
Lowering his hand, the thief arched an eyebrow at the sight and looked at the note that Jake had tucked underneath the string around the box. "'To keep your hands from wandering,'" he read aloud, then untied the string and lifted the lid.
Jake bit his lip on a snort of laughter at the myriad of expressions crossing Ezekiel's face—surprised, intrigued, pleased, aroused. Closing the lid of the box, Ezekiel turned to look at him with a sly smirk on his lips, a little flushed and bright-eyed. "Well, well, Mr. Stone. I can see why you didn't want to leave this in the Annex," he said quietly, tapping his fingertip against the box. Inside lay several lengths of white silken cord, neatly folded over each other in a passive coil, yet with so much potential. He'd laid a second note inside the box atop the cords: Kinbaku-bi. "The beauty of tight binding."
"Mm-hm. So...did you want dessert?" Jake asked, nodding towards the waitress, who was coming back towards their table. "They got a great cannoli."
"Get it to go," Ezekiel replied, squeezing his thigh.
"You got it."