When the film ends, the snow is still falling. Mostly it's a slushy mess, but in the park beside the cinema its piling up, virgin white. Jack pushes aside an urge to run through it, to make his mark, to be seen.
A childish thought and he shoves it away. He's embarrassed himself enough already.
"You got any smokes?" He asks, and Pitch pulls a pack from the depths of his greatcoat, along with a heavy silver lighter. Jack lights up and Pitch takes one for himself. The burning embers make strange shadows dance over his face. Jack just stares at him for a long moment, unable to look away. What is it about pitch that affects him like this? He's never met anyone that makes him feel this way, thank god.
"Do you smoke often?" Pitch asks, and the smoke curls in the cold air as he breathes out.
"Not really," Jack says. "But there's something comforting about it."
"You need comforting right now? Was the thrilling conclusion of the movie a bit much for you?"
"Actually, I was going to ask if you'd take me home with you," Jack says.
Pitch stops. When Jack glances back, he is completely still, his expression almost blank save for how tense his jaw is. That makes Jack nervous, makes him wonder what he's done wrong, the way he always manages to do something wrong.
"I just want you," Jack says, almost angry. "And I want to make it up to you, after last time-"
"And that's why I want to take this slowly, Jack. There's nothing to make up for. You didn't do anything wrong. I need you to understand that before we take this further."
"But-"
"If you feel so strongly, you can wait a little longer. Would you rather have a one night stand or a relationship?"
"I want - I just want, Pitch." Jack hangs his head and clenches his jaw, trying to find the words but it's like casting a net into an empty sea.
"I know. And that's why I want to wait. You're so - raw. When I look at you I can see how much you want me. How much you need – something. I want to know if that something is me." Pitch takes Jack's jaw in his hand and tilts his head up. "I could take you. I could make you mine, and mine alone." There's rough edges around his voice and his hand tightens on Jack's jaw, only breaths away from pain. He drops his hand and closes his eyes. "I want to do it, Jack. But I won't. In the end it would be terrible for both of us."
"Why?"
Pitch opens his eyes and they're like liquid gold. "Because it would make me a monster."
Jack shakes his head, not understanding. "What next, then?"
"We get to know each other. And when we do start getting intimate we do it slowly. Carefully."
Jack wants to tell Pitch no, now, but if he does then he might drive Pitch away. Or he might not, and Jack's not sure which is scarier.
"Alright," Jack mutters and puts his hands on his hips. "So what now?"
Pitch darts forward and kisses Jack on the lips. It's like he means for it to be a quick thing but then his hands go to Jack's waist, he presses close and the kiss deepens slowly, deliciously, leaving Jack gasping and hard.
"Now," Pitch says, breathless. "You go home. I go home. We meet again on Thursday for lunch."
Jack nods wordlessly, not trusting himself to speak. Just when he'd resigned himself to having to do the whole dating thing to please Pitch he does that and Jack's never wanted to be on his knees sucking cock so much.
"Sweet Revenge in the Village. Google it and meet me there."
Jack nods, and then after one more swift kiss Pitch is gone.
Pitch doesn't take him home on Thursday, nor the Tuesday after. The whole dating thing is fun, and he gets to know Pitch better, which is the point - unless the point is to force Jack to wait, which it might be, since Pitch showed himself to be an epic pricktease on their very first date.
But it makes him sure that he likes Pitch. He's smart, he's sharp and his humour is bone dry.
Jack likes his crooked smile, his confidence, and he's getting a little obsessed with those Doc Marten's. Their date tonight is an Italian place not so very far from the Dakota, and Jack hopes that's a good sign. But as the meal wraps up and the bill arrives, Pitch makes no sign of suggesting Jack go home with him, and there goes the last of Jack's patience.
"We can either go back to your place or I can give you a back alley blow job but something needs to happen."
Pitch pauses as if thoughtful, but he doesn't try very hard to hide his smile, nor the heat behind it. "Very well, Jack. But first, we need to talk."
They go dutch on the bill and head out into the cold. The snow on the ground is turning to slush, but Jack thinks it will snow again. The night has a hushed feel to it, and the promise of snow is a whisper in the air.
When they head over towards Pitch's place, Jack has to fight not to grin like an idiot. Pitch said talk, he reminds himself, over and over. If something else happens, great – better than great, awesome – but he really shouldn't get his hopes up.
He can tell himself that all he wants. It doesn't work. His hopes are sky high, about level with the Chrysler building.
By the time they're in the elevator in the Dakota, Jack's practically bouncing off the walls, both hands curled into fists and fingernails digging into his palms in an attempt to focus himself, to reel in all his whirling thoughts and hopes.
Pitch goes into the apartment first. It's dark. The only illumination is the streetlights streaming in through the open curtains. Pitch doesn't turn on the main light; instead he moves smoothly across the space, and Jack stands in the doorway, blinking as he tries to get used to the dimness. Pitch switches on a lamp; mood lighting, Jack thinks, and grins.
"Come in, Jack."
Jack pauses for another moment. He trusts Pitch. He does. But there's something – symbolic – about stepping into this apartment. Crossing a threshold. He feels the weight of it, although he's not entirely sure what it is. Making a decision, maybe. Choosing to pursue this thing with Pitch. Getting more serious about kink and the way it makes him feel; the way it could make him feel.
He steps forward.
Pitch is sitting in an armchair in front of the lamp. It casts him in shadow and makes him little more than a silhouette. Jack can tell that his hands are resting on the arms of the chair, that he's sitting up straight. He can't see much of Pitch's face, but he can see the flash of his eyes as he watches Jack approach.
Jack perches on the edge of the sofa, not sure what's expected of him. When Pitch doesn't say anything, Jack slides back, puts his arms on the back of the sofa, feigning comfort. He grins at Pitch.
"So, we going to have some fun?"
"We're going to talk. As I said. And first of all, you're going to tell me about your experience."
"Uh." Jack crosses his legs, and wishes he had a beer. "The kinky stuff?"
"All of it. I want to know what you've done; what you've liked, what you didn't like. I want to know what you want me to do to you."
"O-okay."
"And then I'm going to tell you what I want."
A/N: As ever, thank you so so much for the reviews, favs and follows. I hope you're still enjoying the story, because I'm sure enjoying writing it :D