So, so sorry for taking this damn long to get a new chapter out. I've had RL stuff like crazy the last little bit. Hopefully that's about to change. Hope this chapter makes up for it!
Aster stomped into the kitchen, heavy footfalls broadcasting his distemper to anyone caring to listen. Ostensibly he was there to cook breakfast for one ungrateful, bratty interloper, but in reality it was more that fact that the kitchen was full of marvelous little cupboard doors that could be easily slammed until he felt better. At least, it would help soothe his current ire. As for the sudden explosion of lust, well, that could only be helped by storming into the bathroom and slamming Jack. Repeatedly, and with great gusto; like a screen door at a summer camp. Huffing out a great sigh, Aster attempted to calm himself, both emotionally and, um, physically. So he'd walked in on the kid after a wet dream, that wasn't anything too strange. In fact it was probably to be expected, the kid was an immortal teenager, after all; he was doomed to spend the rest of eternity stuck in the throes of adolescent hormonal hell. Before the issue hadn't really come up, no pun intended, because Jack was still so ill that his body was more focussed on healing then on the more recreational pursuits. But now that the balance was starting to shift, it honestly shouldn't have been a surprise that Jack' body would start settling into more natural rhythms, and by natural, he meant, horny as fuck.
Except it had been. Aster had known objectively why Jack had slunk ashamed to the bathroom the last couple mornings, only to return and throw his nightclothes onto the drying line. Aster had survived his own libidinous youth after all, and while that had been more eons ago then he rightly cared to remember, it was difficult to forget the sheer desperation of teenage lust. Yet, somehow, even knowing and understanding this, he'd found himself almost against his own will deliberately timing his entrance just a few minutes earlier than usual, and was rewarded for his efforts by nearly catching Jack at the moment of orgasm. It was a beyond inappropriate thing to do, and Aster had no excuse except for his own insatiable curiosity, and decades of his own lust left untended. The smell alone had hit him like a fist to the face upon entering the room, but it was the slight hints of frost that had bloomed on Jack's cheeks, his version of an embarrassed blush, that had really tested the limits of Aster's control. The boy had been too tempting; lips bitten and ripe, frosty blush that appeared to journey all the way down beneath the overlarge collar of his robe onto his smooth, thin chest, and the scent of sweet male pleasure in the air. It had taken Bunny all his not-inconsiderable self control to hold back from crawling into his nest, onto the boy and licking him from head to toe. And then once that was done, continuing on to doing other filthy, fantastic things to the kid besides the licking. And then... well, it was probably better off that Aster didn't get lost in his casual sexual fantasies while attempting to cook. Fire and distraction were never a good combination; he had the burn scars beneath his fur to prove it.
Aster stirred the eggs a bit, sprinkling a bit of cheese in with each pass of the spatula to ensure optimal dairy product distribution. Aster loved gardening, loved tending the Warren an all the other myriad of tasks that were required to prepare for his holiday, but he hated most other domestics, cooking excepted. Cooking was soothing, and came with the bonus of tasty food when you finished. Cleaning however was a very different story. Cleaning happened only when he was so frustrated that an outlet was required, and as for the laundry, well he didn't wear clothes for a reason. Having said that, his den was cleaner then he'd seen it in centuries, the stress of dealing with Jack twenty-four seven for the last couple weeks manifesting as the sudden urge to scrub, tidy, organize, dust and polish. He could practically see is face in the surface of his table it had been polished to such a high shine, and kitchen gleamed, and bathroom had stopped smelling slightly of mildew from him leaving little puddles of standing water everywhere and the bed linens on his nest were fresher then they'd ever been. Y'know, when his obnoxious houseguest wasn't too busy cumming all over then.
Aster groaned and leaned forward to smack his head against the cabinets above him. He'd almost gotten the annoying little shit out of his brain, too! Now, the fantasy was back again; Jack stretched out in his nest, naked and needy, pale skin glowing in the light from the lanterns. Aster could almost feel the bite of frost curling over his skin and fur wherever Jack saw fit to touch him, the coolness contrasting playfully with the heat of their joining, and serving to inflame his passions instead of smother them. Aster could smell the innocence on the boy, too. Innocence and loneliness and a hint of the same desperation, and this morning, standing over Jack's prone figure, Aster had wanted nothing more than to climb on and show the boy how similar they could be. Jack wouldn't know the ways of his body, the best places to touch, and the sweetest way to draw out pleasure. Aster would show him all that, and more; he'd walk Jack through mating, teach him best how to please his partner, all the ways that two bodies could fit together in harmony. And then, when it was all done, they'd do it again, and again, until they both were too tired but not bored, never bored. Aster could want Jack for a long, long time, if he let himself.
Which was part of the problem, really.
Pooka's didn't do casual well. They were all about the long-term commitments; mates and families and till death do you part sort of stuff. Aster had, being stuck here on earth, been forced to adapt. Most earth spirits either didn't have the same sense of romantic longevity, or, more likely, they didn't want it from him. Aster wasn't stupid, he knew that the handful of lover's he'd managed here mostly saw him as more an exotic novelty than a true romantic partner. At the time he hadn't particularly cared, the feeling of being able to drown himself in physical pleasure, to lose himself in the body of another, to fuck and tumble and strive for release was enough. A bit of rough on the side was enough for him to dull the sharp edges of his painful past, and offered a good enough distraction from his ongoing loneliness that he'd allowed himself to get used to the whole pattern of 'get on, get off, get out' that his previous liaisons had become. Part of that may have been his fault, too. Aster didn't like to think about it much, but it was easier to accept the bare minimum of affection and keep the rest at a distance, than to put himself out there and inevitably be disappointed. Had he missed a chance or two at an honest romance? Yeah, he probably had. He couldn't bring himself to regret it though, not when he knew without a shadow of a doubt that they'd all been likely to fail, sooner rather than later. He'd never seemed to have quite the right kind of connection with any of them, which wouldn't have allowed for the sustained relationship his Pooka nature craved. No, he'd made the right choices, and done the best he could with what he'd had to work with.
Nobody had ever made him feel like Jack did, however. Of course, most of his past dalliances were polite, respectful, and sometimes even slightly awestruck by Aster's position and reputation. Jack was none of these things; in fact he was the complete opposite. He lashed out, hollered abuse, and dealt sarcasm like it was going out of style, and those were the good days of his and Aster's interactions. MIM help him, Aster found himself sinking to the same level in retaliation. For millennia Aster had always been a water-off-the-duck's-back kind of person; rolling with the punches and letting the chips fall where they may. He'd never risen to the bait from other, more petty-minded creatures, and if he did have to act to defend his honour, he'd done so in a gentlemanly fashion. From the moment he'd first met Jack though, the kid had set him on fire, which was all kinds of fun irony when you thought about it. The boy had wound him up, tried his patience, fucked with his holiday even, and Aster had tripped right into every loud, vicious, possibly overdone confrontation the kid had offered him. Aster would never admit it out loud, especially not where Jack had even the slightest chance of overhearing, but the boy had given Aster back something he'd thought he'd lost a long time ago: passion. Aster had fallen into a routine; settling into a rut and had spent centuries wearing it deeper, nose to the grindstone and eyes fixed ahead, with blinders the size of elephant ears keeping him focussed. It wasn't until the kid showed up, shaking him out of his tired out pattern that Aster began to realize how much joy had leached from his life, replaced by an unwavering sense of duty. Oh sure, he was good at what he did, and he was content, but he wasn't really happy, and he was so out of touch with the children he was meant to be watching over it wasn't even funny. Aster had been ashamed of himself, a couple months back, when it had come down to the wire with a child in his Warren and he barely even remembered how to speak to one, much less how to care for the little Sheila. He had Jack to thank for that, as grudging as that thanks might be.
Aster had resolved that moment, holding the sleeping little girl, that things would be different. They'd beat Pitch, send him screaming back into the shadows where he belonged, and Aster would learn to get back out there, back into the world again. Make new friends maybe, connect with the kids, and spend more time with his fellow Guardians. It would be a fresh start, a new beginning, the turning of a page onto a new chapter. He'd even allowed himself to think of how things might be, if Jack took the position as Guardian and joined their little ragtag family. He didn't know much about the boy as it stood, but he was sure given a little time, that could change. Aster had even allowed himself to feel hopeful, to look forward to the blossoming of a brand new friendship.
Then, Easter had been ruined, and Jack wasn't there. Aster still felt angry, still felt hurt, but he also felt guilt too, for blaming Jack. It was easy to fall back into the well-known habit of blaming Jack, of directing his rage and pain at the most convenient target. They'd been doing this dance a long time, the two of them, although Easter of '68 had been the worst so far; an incident so huge that they'd both gone out of their ways to avoid each other for the next fifty years. Until Manny had intervened, of course, and set them both down this path. Now, Aster was struggling to find a middle ground with a kid he alternately still resented, and desired. It felt like an unhappy cha-cha; one step forward, two steps back. If they could just bury the various hatchets they both carried for the other, preferably somewhere other than in each-others backs, they could probably learn to get along. They might even have a shot at being lovers, proper lovers; the kind Aster had been waiting for, that would stick around in the light of day and not disappear once the sex was done. Sighing, Aster felt his shoulders slump. Now, he was imagining things. Jack was combative, surly, and Aster was honestly no better himself. They were both to blame for their arguments and tantrums. After all this time mostly alone, neither of them had any clue how to handle somebody else, especially not each other and their laundry lists of hang-ups and insecurities. Not that Aster wasn't starting to get a feel for Jack's issues anyway; they were in such close quarters these days it was impossible not to. Every time he thought he'd figured out one section of the emotional minefield though, Jack seemed to realize that he'd been made and the playing field changed again. At first Aster had thought it was out of spite, but now he realized that Jack was lost and hurting, and was protecting himself the only way he knew how. Damn if that wasn't also typical Aster-behavior to a 'T'. It seemed, the more time Aster spent with the other Guardian, the more he discovered that while they were wildly different people, that was really what made them exactly the same.
"Well?" Aster jerked in surprise, so lost in his internal monologue he'd missed the gentle sound of soft footsteps approaching. He whirled around from where he'd been dishing up the scrambled eggs and toast to see Jack dressed in the new outfit. Aster was forced to tighten his grip on the two plates to stop himself from dropping both of them at the sight. The rich royal blue of the new hoodie made Jack's eyes just that much more luminous, and cast his skin in what should have been an unhealthy pallor, but the faint blue tint looked natural on the frost child. The dark jeans clung perfectly to Jack's skinny legs, although they were a little long, the cuffs bunching at Jack ankles and dragging in the dirt by his heels. On anyone else, Aster would have found it ridiculous, perhaps even slovenly, but on Jack it was endearing, and oddly erotic; the sneak-peek of pale flesh beneath the dark denim. Aster swallowed heavily, plonking both plates down on the table and fetching the two cups of water he'd already filled.
"We're eating here?" Jack asked dubiously, eyeing the table like it might bite him. Aster wanted to be offended on behalf of the table, which he'd hand-carved himself, but then he'd figure out that Jack was probably more skeptical of their ability to go an entire meal together without descending into a fistfight, and he suddenly couldn't blame the kid. He had his doubts too, after all, but never let it be said that Aster was a quitter. He might never had Jack in his bed, or in his bed sexually, at least, but he' learn to get along with his newest coworker if it killed him. Or killed Jack, he supposed. Either way, the problem would be solved.
"Yeah frosty, we eat here. You're well enough now that you can be up and about a bit. No flying though, or frosting, or mucking about or you'll set yourself back again, y'hear?" The 'and you'll be stuck here and I'll be forced to keep taking care of your lazy arse' went unsaid, of course, but they both knew the score. Jack grunted in what might have been a vague, sullen agreement, before taking his seat and digging into his eggs like he hadn't been fed in decades. Ah, table manners, one of many things about old Pookan culture that Aster missed. As it was, if Jack's face got any closer to the plate, he'd be resting his chin on the table, and his hand was shoveling food so fast it nearly blurred. Aster couldn't help his indelicate snort, or the eyebrow he raised when Jack lifted defiant eyes to meet his own. The boy retaliated by stuffing a forkful of eggs so large into his mouth in protest that his cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. Suddenly, Aster got a flash of what else that mouth cold stretch around, lips swollen and cheeks hollowed as he...
Aster stood abruptly, shoving the chair back with so much force that only a hasty grab stopped it from tumbling to the ground. He yanked the chair back in, pushed his plate over to Jack and made to leave.
"Bunny, what the hell!?" Jack's voice was startled, and maybe even a little hurt, but turning around meant Jack would catch an eyeful of Aster's persistent and not-so-little 'problem.'
"Finish that, I've lost my appetite." Aster felt bad about subtly implying that Jack's eating habits had anything to do with it, but it was better than the alternative of letting the kid know the truth; that if he stayed, Aster would probably be dragging the boy over the table to satisfy a different kind of hunger entirely. Jack made another sharp sound of protest, but Aster was already out the door and halfway down the hall.
"Off to have a bathe. Do me a solid and clean up that mess, it's about time you earned your supper 'round here!" Aster shouted over his shoulder, not bothering to listen for Jack's reply. The kid would either do what he was told, or he wouldn't; Aster would deal with the fallout after he'd wanked himself into oblivion. Slamming though the door into the bathroom, Aster made sure it was securely locked behind him. He set the water to fill, on the hottest temperature he could stand. He'd probably be soaking for a while, if his aching dick had anything to say about it.
"Y'know, I'm the boss here, you're not supposed to get a say in this." Aster commented aloud, scowling down at the traitorous appendage as he tugged off his bracers and bandolier. For its part, the limb in question merely twitched cheerfully, knowing that its satisfaction was as good as guaranteed. Still grumbling to himself about body parts that betrayed their owners, Aster climbed into the bath. He lasted about four seconds before he caved, drawing his hot length into hand and setting a ruthless, punishing pace. He wished he could say, in the end, that he'd once again managed to exert his dominance over his wayward flesh, but he knew that this was one battle he'd long since lost.