"Mm. Mm-mm." I start struggling desperately to push him off. I have to shove him before he gets the point and sits back.

"You can't tell me you didn't like that." His expression is a cross between being unimpressed and terribly amused.

"I need to breathe, Pitch. Unlike you apparently."

"I didn't want your first kiss to be cheap." He smirks.

I glare. "How do you know that was my first?"

He snickers. "Trust me, it was."

I rub at my lips with a finger. He had an odd taste about him that I know but can't remember. Cinnamon or something. "Why would you ever feel inclined to do that to me?"

"Because it scared you."

"Nice motivation."

"You got a good experience out of it, didn't you?" He smirks again, tilting his head back just slightly, as if to say 'I told you so'. I roll my eyes and look away, hoping to hide the blush but he laughs anyways so it probably didn't even matter.

He puts a hand to the side of my face and turns my head to make me look at him. "I'm not doing this to hurt you, Jack."

"For some reason I'm inclined not to believe you."

He shakes his head; I can tell he's sick of me making excuses. He leans into my face again and I lean back. "If you didn't want this you would have done much more than simply begging 'Pitch~'."

I scowl and smack his hand off my cheek. "I did not say it like that!"

"That's not really the point." He leans in further and I find myself pushing at his chest to keep him at bay.

"I don't want more!"

"We both know that's a lie."

"I need space to think about this." Why is it so easy to let things slip around him? I keep telling him things I don't want to; he keeps telling me things before I'm aware of them. I feel like a pawn.

"Don't you think you've done more than enough brooding over the past 300 years?"

"Who said anything about brooding?"

The corner of his mouth hints at a smile. "We both know that's one of the few things you're good at."

"Just get the fuck out of here already."

He leans in so quickly I have no time to defend myself. He yanks at the bottom of my hair and pulls my head back hard enough that I cry out. "One day, Jack Frost, I will not be so accommodating." He vanishes into the shadows. I rub at the back of my neck and tilt my head forward until the knot in the back of my neck goes away. Why does he have to be so damn aggressive?

I've been mulling the experience over in my thoughts for hours and still haven't come to any solid conclusion about it. It terrified me but it didn't exactly surprise me. I wanted to and tried to hate it with all of my being, but all that did was get me thinking about it more, made me wonder what it was I had tasted on his lips.

I have to put it out of my head in order to keep in control of myself but that defeats the purpose of needing the time to think. It's too hard to separate my logical mind from my emotional one; I've never had to before. It'd be so much easier to just not think, to just act instead. But my mind demands a reason for why I'm letting this happen—why I'm letting Pitch Black get the better of me.

I honestly don't know. There is no logical reason for it, only ones against it. Have I fallen so low I've become willing to accept that I'm only worthy of him? Is it that we both know what it's like to be alone? Is it pity for trapping him in his realm—even though he said he had more than enough of it?

"You think way too much, Jack." I jolt on the bed and look up to find Pitch standing right beside it. "Have I ever told you how much I hate the amount you think? You need a reason for everything and sometimes there just isn't one."

"There has to be. What we're doing is insane!"

"You may be a Guardian but you're still weighed down by human emotions and desires. You want someone to love, someone to bond with… I can only imagine what that would feel like, being alone for 300 years…"

"You're making fun of me."

"I'm giving you a reason. If you just let go of the need for one, you'd find yourself in a much better mental state, you know."

"Fit to be manipulated by you."

"Does that really matter to you?"

"Of course it does! If I even dare to go through with this I want something honest, not a one-sided control issue."

"You don't care about that. You just don't want to feel stupid. Being able to be manipulated always suggests you aren't as smart as the manipulator… heaven forbid you aren't as smart as someone else."

The irritation that has been building inside me spills over into anger. I can't control my reaction whatsoever; I lunge at him in hopes of scaring him off, to shut him up and make him see I won't let him control me anymore. But instead of vanishing he stays; I knock him to the floor but my confidence is lost when he grabs my wrists.

He's on his back, underneath me, yet he's still in control. I don't know how he does it. I try to pull my wrists free, to get my hands off the floor, but he just digs his nails in. One of them draws blood. I hiss inwardly and stop pulling. "Let go, you're hurting me."

"You can take more than this."

"I don't want to! I shouldn't have to just because you say so!"

"Then you're very weak."

"I am not!" I frantically try to pull away again. "I managed to kick your ass just fine!"

He laughs, nails digging in further. "With the help of three other Guardians. And really it was Sandman who finished the job, not you."

I straighten up to pull harder but all it does it get his jagged nails deeper into my skin and draw more blood. "Stop it! It hurts!"

"You're the one pulling, Jack. You're doing this to yourself."

It takes a minute for me to register what he said. I go still when it sinks in because he's right. I look at the floor by Pitch's shoulders; small red drops spot the wood. The sight of them makes me a little sick and I have to close my eyes. Pitch overpowered me with his nightmare dust and sent me plummeting to the ground, which I hit after I crashed onto a roof and then a Dumpster. And yet not a bruise was seen, not a single scrape. How am I bleeding now?

I taste something spicy or metallic and for a moment I think Pitch has stolen another kiss. But when I open my eyes he has a finger against my lips as if to shush me. A bit of my blood stains his fingertip. It wasn't cinnamon that I had tasted on his lips, it was blood. Iron. This realization brings me back into my body enough to make me notice I'm quivering slightly and even whimpering quietly. I think I might hear Pitch 'ssh'ing in comfort but there's too much noise in my head to be sure.

The pressure on my still held wrist eases and I feel his hand go under my hoodie. "Pitch don't—"

He shushes against my ear and rubs my back. He's so warm compared to me I'm almost jealous. "Calm down, Jack."

I open my eyes—when did I close them?—to see that he's sat up and his face is barely an inch from the side of mine. His fingers press against my spine but instead of pain I feel honest relief. Tension fading. I've quieted and stopped shaking. "You're scaring me." I whisper, closing my eyes again as I wipe at my lips and get another taste of that iron.

"I already told you I'm not doing this to hurt you."

"But you're hurting me."

"I'm trying to get you to see that you want this."

"I don't."

He tilts my head back and I dare to open my eyes. In this light his eyes are silver and send chills down my spine, shivers that he must feel against his hand because he smirks.

He removes his hand from against my skin and picks me up bridal style. I give a small cry but resist gripping onto him like a pathetic damsel. He sets me down on the bed then clasps his hands behind his back, assuming his normal posture. "We'll see if that's true. Goodbye, Jack." He steps back from the bed.

Goodbye? He's never said that before, what does he mean? "Pitch, wait—" But he's already disappeared.