A cloud passes in front of the moon. Jack sits up from the headboard, mere breaths away from the monster who has a knee between his legs. He trembles. Pitch's thumbs smooth away any lingering tears. Jack's eyes stray to his lips. He extends his hand, timidly searching for Pitch's chest. His fingertips find it. He hesitates. Pitch brings one hand up, covering Jack's hand, firmly sandwiching it against his bare skin. Jack can feel his heartbeat.
Pitch's gaze tracks over his face before they finally meet eyes. Jack finds serenity in his golden hues, not unlike watching a sunset. They stare. Their foreheads touch. Their noses brush together. Jack trembles. Pitch dusts his lips over Jack's in such a way that leaves Jack wanting more. The action is gentle. And dark. And full of promise.
Pitch appears human enough now – just as he did the first time he met him – but Jack knows that is less than the case.
Frost swiftly kisses him, shutting his eyes tightly. The action is met receptively, but there is no hurry behind it. Pitch reminds Jack with firm pushes of his lips that they have all the time in the world. Pitch's lips, in spite of their unnatural chill, burn. Jack starts to relax.
Jack feels Pitch shift, slipping a knee under his thigh and bringing the other over to do the same. He lays his hand on the small of his back, pulling him close. Jack reaches around him, pulling, prying, and dragging the robe off his shoulders. Things are flowering into something hot and heavy. Pitch sits back and pulls Jack up onto his hips. The unforgiving grip on the small of his back allows for nothing but contact between their torsos.
Jack surrenders to the tongue between his lips. He loops his arms around the man's neck, fingertips digging into the flesh of his back.
Jack's hips move on their own, commencing a fluid rolling motion against the Shadowmancer, grinding their loins together. Pitch could purr from the satisfaction something as simple as that brings. Their lips come apart, but their eyes are fused together – stares locked and intense. Pitch's hand travels up Jack's back. The other is dragged down his hip and thigh. Jack gently threads strands of the Nightmare King's silky sable locks through his fingers.
He regards Jack in silence that smacks of desire. Jack is almost fawn-like in the way he moves. It is graceful, but cautious, as though he could dart away at any moment. Pitch knows he holds perfection in his arms. He is determined not to spoil it. He has no qualms about thoroughly enjoying Jack's body though. Apparently, Jack has the same idea.
Jack's hand moves between them, floating down to the waistband of the pants that still cover his legs. Jack's cheeks flush a delightful shade of cherry, filling Pitch with a terrible need to thoroughly fuck every ounce of innocence out of him. Giving Jack time for second thoughts is a bad idea. Should he change his mind now, Pitch is not certain he could restrain himself. Pitch takes Jack's hand and guides it down, pushing his palm against the bulge under the black.
Jack's eyes widen, practically blanching. Pitch just grins – a depraved, savage, broad smile – against the ash blonde's quivering lips. "Surely you didn't think I was compensating for something," he hisses, "holed up here in my own little pocket of the planet in a soaring tower of terror with naught but a dastardly reputation and a flashy car… did you?"
Jack stammers and gulps behind the tight line of his lips.
"Ah. You did." Pitch responds with a throaty chuckle. He takes Jack by the chin and teethes over his lower lip. "I have a mind to make you eat those assumptions." And Pitch can see the wheels turning behind Jack's eyes, chewing on the comment. Pitch sees the moment that the boy understands. Jack tries to suppress the smile that follows, flushing.
But the fairy is not yet comfortable enough with Pitch to banter back...
And that is precisely why none of this is actually happening.
Jack, who has taken to sleeping in the nude, is in his own room. A moan rips through his throat. He knots his hands in his sheets and pillowcase. His gapping lips form a crooked grin, his breaths coming in airy, audible gasps. He bends his knee. He tightens his abdominals. He turns his head. He writhes beneath a phantom body, his legs open and his cheeks flushed while Pitch (based elsewhere in the fortress) plays puppet master with his erotic dreams.
Jack bites his lip to suppress the vulgar symphony brewing in his chest. His back bridges. His mouth falls open. Pitch couldn't be more pleased when the blond starts verbally worshiping, encouraging, and pleading with him in yeses and ohs and lilting moans. When the crescendo comes, Jack's ragged voice manages a shade of masculinity. He says his name – loudly.
Jack sits up, his hand clamping over his mouth with a smarting slap. His own voice woke him. His eyes dart about the night-bathed room. He is… alone. Of course he is…
Jack does not bother to hide his crestfallen expression.
"Just a dream," he whispers. But that didn't stop him from dampening the sheets with sweat and cum. He huffs. Jack's body is alive – his nerves wired and buzzing. Battling an immense amount of frustration, Jack shrubs his face with his hands. There is no thought of Pierre. No thought of Adam. There is only Jack's carnal body and its enormous desire for savage pleasure from a savage part of himself. It is powerful enough to change him. It is wild enough to make him start acting irrationally. It is worse than that first night: the night he tried to bed Adam to slake his own lust. His skin is hot to the touch and his breath is no cooler.
Hell, it's bad enough to… to…
"Fuck this," he practically growls, yanking the sheet off and striding out of the room.
Pitch, lounging abed, glances up from a rolled parchment when Jack bursts in, throwing the door open hard enough for the knob to dent the wall. He watches, expressionlessly, as the boy crosses the room, frames his jaw with his hands, and kisses him full on the mouth.
It could be dejavu, but inverted, altered, and sweetened.
This is the Jack Pitch wants.
The parchment is discarded and Jack is yanked into bed for what will be a sound fucking.
Jack's hands comb and lodge into his hair. Pitch rolls over him, planting his palm on the mattress – a flesh and bone bar in the cage of linens. Pitch grasps the flesh of Jack's ass, causing him to break from the kiss to moan aloud. His hands wonder.
"Stop," Jack declares suddenly. They kiss again. When Pitch does not, "Stop." Pitch meets his eyes. Their chests heave. "Not like this."
Pitch's brows knit together, battling offence. Had he misread the signals? Was Jack's damned stamina seriously outmatching his own?!
"Your real face," Jack clarifies, dusting his thumb over Pitch's cheekbone as his cheeks pink. At first, Pitch does not know what to make of this. It blindsides him. It stuns him. It immensely pleases him. The devilish lust in Jack's eyes does not lie.
"You are a randy little minx aren't you?" he mutters. Pitch drops the human disguise, his skin gradually losing its color. His eyes glow. Claws bite into Jack's ass where fingers used to be.
Jack smirks. "That's more like it," he agrees through a wily grin just before their lips clash again.
There is ghoulish light shining in through the slender space between the thick curtains when Jack opens his eyes. His dazed attention tracks to the dead hearth and the bare bureau, discombobulated and groggy. But when he sees the mirror, he is instantly seized by a graphic image of Pitch drilling into him from behind, holding his legs at an obscene angle. More explicit scenes are resurfacing.
Jack, somewhat reluctantly, turns his head enough to see if the shadow lord is laying beside him. The bed is empty. Jack sits up, ignoring the protests of his back. His turns and plants his feet find the floor. He stands.
Pain /roars/ through him - so intense that his knees buckle.
A pair of hands catch him on the way down, jutting out from a shadow that coalesces from the wall. Jack's muscles quiver as he grits his teeth, burrowing into the familiar scent of Pitch's nightshirt and relying entirely on his support.
"Not yet," Pitch advises velvetly. Jack's eyes snap open when he feels liquid heat leak out of him and snake down his leg. He flushes hotly, recalling losing count of the number of times Pitch seeded him, both between his thighs and his lips. Jack fists the fabric of Pitch's clothing, mortified by his own shame. His behavior was... well... He acted like a bonafied slut. What must his god think of him now?
Black helps him back into bed. Jack is having a devil of a time shepherding together the strength to meet his eyes, even when Pitch takes his chin. Pitch releases him and turns to leave. Jack seizes his sleeve. He holds on as hard as he can.
Pitch eases into bed beside him, their bodies facing one another. Their fingers thread together. Pitch kisses Jack's knuckles. Jack struggles to ask the question that haunts him. It sounds crude, and he knows he should have more confidence than to inquire. Pitch can sense the doubts and dread weighing on him. Normally, those would be delicious.
But not on his Jack.
Pitch shifts closer, bringing the teen's hands to his chest. Against Jack's lips, "It lasted well into the morning. Even after all those glorious hours, I could never have my fill of you. But I have never been more satisfied either. The warmth of your body beckons to me even now."
Jack swallows, adjusting one leg slowly. He lacks the energy to curse, even under his breath. "Is it supposed to hurt this much?"
Black adopts a foul, sadistic smile. "Only if one does it right." And he punctuates the reply with a venomous snap of the tongue.
Jack chuckles indulgently. Pitch caresses his cheek, thumbing his way down to his lips, tracing them like flower petals.
"Why me?" he whispers, finally meeting eyes with the dark marvel.
Pitch smirks – the expression seething with lazy arrogance. He rests his hand on Jack's cheek and lets his thumb stray across his sex-swollen lips. "Isn't it obvious, Jack? Without your love, my life is nothing... but a carnival of rust."
AN: No. The fic is not finished. I have grand master plans for this most twisted tale, plans you all will greatly despise me for. Bwahaha! And I'll be sure to let Jack have lots of little flashbacks to give you tantalizing morsels of their... coupling. I decided to update with a shorter doc just to prove I'm still alive. tada! An update for both this and Breath of Life is coming. BELIEVE IT.