A/N: This came to me yesterday after I'd posted the first part. It sounded like too much fun in my head to pass up.
Pitch didn't feel a cold spot against his back when he woke up the next morning. The abnormality of it left him confused at first, but then he remembered exactly what had happened the night before and he smiled, very pleased with himself.
He looked over his shoulder and there was Jack, still suspended a foot in the air and looking at Pitch like he wanted to kill him. He had tried to freeze Pitch solid a few times overnight, but he'd never been very good at working his magic without his staff.
"Good morning, Jack" Pitch said brightly. He sat up and stretched, locking his fingers together and curving forward until his joints and several of his disks cracked satisfyingly. "I don't know about you, but I slept like a rock."
As he spoke, Jack's sand bonds lowered him onto the mattress and retreated. He spat a last few grains out of his mouth, still glaring claymores at Pitch. "You're a dick" he reminded him.
"And you're very lucky to still have yours attached" Pitch returned. Jack scowled and went to climb out of bed, but Pitch grabbed his face too hard in one hand and yanked his head around to face him. The rough treatment made his placid smile all the more worrisome.
"I assure you, I will never be so generous again."
He let the threat sink in for a few seconds, then patted Jack's speechless cheek and bounced out of bed. He stretched his arms over his head and stood on his tiptoes while the darkness under the bed oozed up over his back into his coat.
"So," he looked back at Jack when his clothes were in place, "Can I make you breakfast?"