The next day Jack stays at Pitch's place while he goes do something involving taxes and accountants. It sounds terribly dull. So Jack's lying on Pitch's sofa messing about on his iPad and waiting for Pitch to get home. He's looking forward to it, especially since Pitch said he'd bring Jack a present. He said it with this –look– in his eyes that suggested that this is going to be a very interesting present, and that it's going to be a very interesting day.
He thinks about the night before, about how easy, how naturally he slipped into being so – submissive. He shivers. Because the other end of that equation is Pitch, dominant. Dominating him.
"Fuck," Jack whispers, closing his eyes against the sudden surge of desire that pulls him under with tidal forces. Not for the first time today, Jack fervently wishes that Pitch hadn't had to leave the apartment. Just think of how much fun they could've had if he'd stayed.
Still, though. He'll be back soon.
Jack opens the tumblr app and loses himself in his dash for a few hours, until he hears the key in the door. He's only a little embarrassed as to how quickly he sits up, quickly tugging down his t-shirt and straightening his hair, and then realising that a stripe of visible belly and bedhead might have been the way to go. There's not much time to regret it, though, for Pitch comes striding into the living room.
Head to foot in black as usual, there's still a few flakes of unmelted snow on his scarf. He stops, looks down at Jack with an almost haughty look that summons Jack's brattiness.
"You left me alone for way too long, " Jack says, standing up and putting his hands on his hips, cocking his head. "I could've skipped out, found something fun to do."
"I'm sure you could," Pitch says. "But you waited. Perhaps I should reward your patience."
"You totally should."
Pitch smirks and tosses a black plastic bag on the coffee table before slowly - too damn slowly - stripping off his outer layers. Scarf, coat, gloves; he kicks off his creepers and then turns to Jack again, folding his arms.
"Now, then. How to reward you."
"I'm sure you can think of something," Jack says, and goes up to Pitch, putting his hands on his hips and pulling him close before he can pull away or god forbid, start teasing. "You seem like the kind of guy that's always got a plan."
"I do, but they're not always good ones."
Pitch leans down to kiss him, hand going to the back of Jack's head and pulling at his hair to position him exactly where he wants him. Jack opens his mouth to him, and when Pitch responds immediately by sliding his tongue against Jack's, it makes his legs feel a little weak. More than a little - he feels like his knees might give way. Or maybe it's that he wants to get on his knees. The thoughts careen around his brain, bouncing off the inside of his skull, and he pulls back, licking at his lips and feeling jittery.
Pitch watches him for a moment, and the hand tugging on his hair softens to stroke, instead. "Are you alright?"
"I'm - yeah. I just. It's the way I react to you, y' know? I don't even know what I want."
"Tell me. What are you feeling?"
Jack shrugs. His instant reaction is to slam up walls, to make a joke of it. Instead, he summons a little courage and forces himself to speak. "I feel like - I want to get on my knees. Not to suck you off - well, maybe. But - because I just. I just want to. And I don't know why."
Pitch continues to stroke his hair. "I think you do, Jack. You've been reading, haven't you?"
"I have. But - it's one thing to read something and another to want to spontaneously get on your knees in front of someone. In front of your - dom, or whatever."
Pitch tries very hard to control his expression then, Jack can tell. He doesn't do a very good job of it. He looks like a starving man who's just been handed a glass of water. "Your dom," he says softly, his voice diving deep and velvet, chasing another shiver down Jack's spine. "Is that what you want, Jack?"
"I don't know," Jack says, and gives a broken little laugh. "But - I think so. I mean. Yeah. I think so."
After a moment's thought, Pitch nods. "We'll go slowly until you're ready," he says. "I trust you to tell me if you want to stop."
"If I want to stop what?"
"Well, that's up to you. But I did say I was going to get you a present." He gestures at the glossy black bag on the coffee table. Jack glances down at it. No label, no logo.
"It's for me?"
"It is. Take a look."
Picking up the bag, Jack sits down with it. Pitch sits next to him, close enough that their knees touch, and the contact sends sparks dancing through Jack. He opens the bag and reaches in cautiously. His fingers brush against - something. Long and coiled. Soft but with some friction. He knows what it is before he pulls it out, and his breathing is shallow before he even sees it. Rope. A rich dark blue. He puts it against his skin to see how it looks, and Pitch makes a low, guttural noise. When Jack looks up at him, his eyes are bright, like molten gold, and his lips are parted slightly. He looks like Jack feels.
"Now, this doesn't have to be for right now. But I know you said that you liked being tied up, and I thought that if you wanted to, some time-"
"I want to. Now." There's no hesitancy in Jack's voice, and there's no hesitancy in his heart. The other times he's been tied up it felt good. For a few reasons, but partly because it felt like the rope was pulling together all the thoughts that always go whizzing off in every direction. It held him together so that he didn't have to try. He just needed to be and everything would settle. And that was just with people who didn't really mean much to him. With Pitch, he's sure the effect will be stronger, just like everything else is.
"Alright, Jack," Pitch says, taking Jack's hand and leading him into the bedroom.