[ He doesn't think anything of seeing Daphne on Charles' list. She's on his, she sat pretty at this very counter while he ate her out. Fair enough. What surprises him is pulling up hers, to find that Charles is the only one who's earned himself a star besides her devoted Submissive. He glares down at the device for a minute before clicking it off, taking another bite of the sandwich in his hand and glaring across the room at the man in question instead.
Jack knows what this feeling is. He knows it well. Thought that Duplicity had freed him of it. It's both hot and nauseating, curling in knots in his gut and spreading up into his throat like thorny vines. It's painful when it's got no fucking right to be, because Charles isn't his to keep. So, it's not his business being jealous.
And yet, here he is, shaking his head at himself for letting this escalate so quickly, to the point where there is nothing he can say in his own head to delude himself into thinking this is anything but what it is. Charles has about shattered whatever guard Jack had up already, so maybe he'll clock him and make a fool out of him if he says anything, but he just can't help himself. There's a smarter angle to take, a concern more pressing than his own personal feelings about it. ]
Chaz. She isn't going to become another Eleanor for you, is she? Because I must tell you upfront, that I simply do not have the time to clean up after you if you want to play that game again.
[ Does he know about the leak, even? Quite possible he's been smoking and staring at the sea through the window the entire time Jack's been looking at this shit. ]
[ Listen, smoking and gazing at the sea is a perfectly reasonable thing for a sailor to be doing, and in fact he is and has been. Not in the brooding, sulking way it has been; he's just letting his mind wander toward the warmer months, when they might just be ready to sail again.
So he's definitely not expecting Jack to bring Eleanor Guthrie up out of fucking nowhere. ]
What are you talking about?
[ He doesn't stub the cigarette out but Jack has his attention now; Charles looks over at him with a furrowed brow. It's not like he's been keeping Daphne a secret, but he definitely hasn't discussed her with Jack before now. ]
[ He picks up his phone and wiggles it in front of his face. ]
Our captors are keeping track of our sexual partners, someone's leaked it all onto the network. To cause chaos, presumably, cackle as jealousies and secrets are revealed for all to see, etcetera.
[ About par for the course. Jack can't say he's surprised or scandalized by the publication himself, but he and Anne being listed as repeat offenders could be trouble. Shit. He sets the phone back down on the counter, tapping his foot on the floor with clear irritation. ]
She's just your type. Is it going to become a problem?
[ Well, that's fucked up. His eyes narrow at the phone, as if it contains the source of their misery or could somehow transmit his Extreme Displeasure, but it's just a screen with shit on it he doesn't actually care about.
But apparently Jack does. And Charles was not prepared to have his history with Eleanor leveraged against him out of nowhere, so he promptly decides that whatever he gets up to with Daphne is none of Jack's fucking business. ]
[ So, defensive is how they're playing it. He figured as much, even if a part of him had hoped otherwise. ]
It means only that the parallel has not eluded me.
[ Jack waves the half of a ham sandwich in his hand as he explains himself, his gesticulating not quite calculated but not exactly not. If it makes him look less bothered about it than he really is, all the better. ]
A beautiful, intelligent woman, exudes authority, only becomes more desirable to you for the fact that you can never truly have her, and cannot be simply cut off and avoided because she is too closely tied to our business...you'll stop me, if you've heard this story before, won't you? The next bit, where she sucks you dry and it's up to me to peel you off the ground gets rather repetitive.
[ It's not leveraging. Not on purpose, anyway, there's just as much concern there as there is indignation, even if he's being a prick about it. ]
[ If Jack had brought up Daphne in just about any other circumstances, Charles would have been happy to exchange thoughts at length with Jack, who would almost certainly have some fascinating and valuable insights, just as he did with Eleanor. Not for the same reason, but because that's the kind of thing Jack does, and Charles enjoys hearing it. He likes getting Jack's level-headed perspective on things.
But this feels like a personal attack, using weapons that only Jack is uniquely equipped to wield, so even the cuts that should be superficial are deep. It certainly doesn't sound to him like concern. ]
I don't know what the hell your problem is... [ He gets up slowly, approaching the counter with narrowed eyes. ] ...but Daphne and Eleanor are not the same. And if looking after me is such a fucking chore, then don't do me any favors.
[ He has to cloak it in something hard. This feeling inside him is sharpening, and he can gut himself with it, show his vulnerability and set himself up for the ache of another rejection, or fling it outward.
So he flings it, steeling himself for the response. Jack refuses to be intimidated, but he sits up straight in his seat, eyes locked onto him in a matching slant. ]
Do you know that, for sure? You've known her for all of three weeks, four?
[ Compared to a decade, with Jack. It goes unsaid, but the weight of it squeezes at his throat like a fucking snake. ]
Eleanor was in a position to ruin me because of the history we had, not in spite of it.
[ He hates the taste of those words, the way they sound being said out loud. Seeing clearly now what a force of destruction it had been doesn't mean that the wounds where his love for Eleanor used to be are any less raw. And this time it isn't even a matter of Jack not knowing what it all came to, in the end - it's that Jack was the only person who ever attended those wounds in the first place.
Speaking of which. ]
Don't fucking burden yourself on my account. Stick to your networking. It must be a lot easier for you, not having to worry whether any of them will suck you dry.
[ Every tragedy has to start somewhere, doesn't it? That timeline could accelerate quicker than Charles expects. Just like this. There's something about this place that heightens every feeling to an unbearable extreme. It's not just the drugs and the coercion, it's being forced to adapt to the unthinkable, to not simply survive here but build yourself up again from literally nothing, in a world that would have been impossible to even dream of the last time he felt sane.
Charles can't possibly understand the energy it takes to maintain all of this. He can't see anything until it's already in the palm of his hand, and it never will be, because it's not his weight to bear. Jack's done what needs to be done, for all their sakes, for years, with hardly a complaint that went deeper than banter or friendly concern. If he feels the need the bite back harder now, then Charles should damn well understand why, as deeply as he's lodged himself in his brain in just a few short weeks. He wants to pretend he doesn't know that, all of a sudden, after that shit he pulled feet from where he now stands, just a couple days ago? ]
Save the self-pity, Charles, I chose it. That makes it an obligation, not a burden, one I will not discard so easily because you take offense to my caution. I am telling you to be careful because it pains me to see you like that, not because I lack compassion for you.
[ He says he doesn't have time for it, but he'll make the time, if it comes to that. He knows it. Charles must, if he's telling him not to, if he's been paying attention at all through the years they've gone in circles like this. ]
That isn't true, either, if that means anything to you. I worry about it constantly.
[ It's no one thing, no one person bleeding him out, but a slow an constant chipping away, and the mightiest axe of all of them is standing in front of him and telling him it's not happening. ]
[ For as quick to ignite as his temper is, particularly where Eleanor is concerned, there have been very few tantrums, if any, across the duration of their friendship, that Jack couldn't diffuse by speaking plainly and invoking that bond by name. It blows the flame out like a candle, every time, leaving him calmer and a little colder.
The sting of what felt like salt in fairly fresh wounds is still fading, but Charles visibly pulls himself under control, leaning forward against the counter and drawing a deep breath in and out. Eleanor isn't here. Eleanor doesn't even fucking matter now. Jack is, and does. ]
Daphne doesn't need a damn thing from me. [ He looks over at Jack then, brow furrowed. ] I'm not completely hopeless, Jack. If I thought Daphne would do to me what Eleanor did, I'd stay the fuck away from her.
[ And it does mean something to him, to know that Jack worries. It means he's allowed to worry, too. As well as to be extremely diligent in his defense. ]
[ There was a time when he didn't think Eleanor would betray him, either, but Jack has no need to belabor the point. It's been made already. The easy part, at least. It won't stop him from keeping an eye on her, though, make sure it's just a pirate fetish and nothing more sinister. ]
As long as you're sure, I won't fight you on it. I don't care where you put your cock, as long as they don't get in our way. You could certainly do worse.
[ He picks up his sandwich again, finishing it off and brushing the crumbs from his fingers. See? It's all casual here. ]
It's not as if you've never had to mop up after me.
[ He could leave it at that, and enjoy a comfortable silence broken only by smoky exhales and potato chips, but. He's curious, and prickly about being upstaged. ]
[ It doesn't seem like that's the end of it, but maybe he's just still disconcerted from losing momentum so fast. But he relaxes against the counter anyway, his posture going loose, since it seems like they're both taking a big step backward from the subject.
Until Jack pulls another name out of nowhere, making Charles recall the sheer absurdity of what started this argument in the first place: That Fucking List. ]
What the fuck. [ He rubs his forehead, straightening up with an aggravated sound. ] Someone sent me a dirty picture of her. She said it wasn't really her, but was still gracious enough to recreate it for me.
[ He's only really interacted with her the one time. All things considered, Jack and Daphne combined have been pretty distracting. ]
[ Jack's not worried about one-offs, just curious. The way this place can be, locking people into rooms, pumping them full of drugs, he'd be more surprised if there weren't any random women he didn't know on it. He shrugs, mostly nonchalant about it, elbow on the counter and propping his head up with his hand. ]
No reason, really. As long as I won't need to plan around her.
[ He clicks his tongue, drums his fingers against his leg. He hesitates, partly out of shame he keeps off of his face, and partly curiosity, whether Charles might have that same twisting, uncomfortable pressure in him. ]
Anne and yourself, of course. Hickey, Ducky, Daphne, Grace from across the hall, and a fellow called Laszlo Cravenworth, who insisted on sucking my cock in a tavern restroom.
[ That's a surprisingly long list, Charles thinks - or maybe it isn't? Duplicity certainly encourages what Jack is getting up to, on almost every level. Charles and Anne are the ones resisting, both of them far less inclined to play well with others.
He's not jealous of a list of names, by itself. What bothers him about the list is that Jack is juggling them all on his own, after just now expressing that he has to be on his guard with each of them. Jack's determination to do what needs to be done in order to thrive is something Charles has always appreciated about him, particularly when surrounded by so many others who'd fold at the first sign of a challenge. Does that mean Jack sometimes has a tendency to get in over his head? Yes, absolutely. But that's what Charles is for. ]
You've been busy. [ He raises an eyebrow. ] And you've fucked Daphne yourself, but you're still worried about me doing it?
[ Some names are more important than others. They run the gamut from thoughtless one-offs to live-in commitments, public dates that anyone could see to dirty little secrets, but the fact that anyone on it beyond Anne has any importance to him at all weighs on him. He can make an exception for a Submissive to keep the city off his back. He can make an exception for Charles because he knows him. For Ducky because...just because. A reason for this, a justification for that, and suddenly there’s too many balls in the air, and running away from one unwelcome emotion means smacking face-first into another.
Jack can’t admit when he’s in over his head, so it’s a blessing that Charles can see it for him. He can feel all of the worry and the guilt without seeing the tipping point, even as it stands right in front of him, calling him out. ]
It was just once. She has no power over me.
[ And that’s true, as far as he knows, but it’s implying, perhaps, that some of the others might. ]
[ It certainly makes him wonder what Jack considers to be the criteria for someone having power over him, because it can't just be having sex with them more than once. But then, considering that Jack and Anne had only just begun to open up their relationship before they got here, maybe that tracks.
Either way it certainly doesn't reassure Charles at all. ]
Who does, then? [ He's down to the last embers of the cigarette, so he takes one more deep drag and then pinches it out between his fingers. Now Jack has his undivided attention. ] Who the fuck is getting under your skin so fast?
[ It takes a little more than that, give him some credit. There’s not a single one of them he would hesitate to demolish if Charles or Anne needed it done for any reason stronger than jealousy, but he’s still going to try his damnedest to avoid that kind of outcome. These are the allies he’s chosen, most of them for better reasons than simply a good time, but that doesn’t mean they’ve gotten under his skin. Not the way Charles has.
That’s a high bar. He realizes there’s a number of lies he could tell, if he had the resolve to say them to his face. Just Charles isn’t quite right. ‘None of them’ isn’t right at all. Singling someone out to bear the brunt of his jealousy would be both factually incorrect and potentially dangerous. And it is jealousy, isn’t it? Jack can hear it in his voice, the hardness to it that’s not threatening, but defensive. He knows it too well to mistake it for anything else.
It sounds good on him, and Jack’s pulse quickens with the realization. His eyes roam from his scarf still tied around Charles’ wrist, to his face, his own expression cooling into a challenging stare, despite the heat rising up in him. ]
That depends on how deep.
[ Jack bumps his eyebrows at him, a question, clear as day. Are you sure you want to know? ]
[ How deep? He has no idea how deep, what a terrifying question. No, never mind. Charles knows exactly what he wants to say.
As deep as I am. Or deeper.
He really doesn't care who Jack fucks or how often. Sex is sex. But the idea that he could have come to actively treasure a bond of literal years in the making, only to have some stranger from Fuck City outrank him in the hierarchy of Jack's loyalty, might really drive him insane.
Unfortunately, he can't figure out how to ask that question without sounding like a fucking idiot. Or worse, putting himself in a position to admit how deep Jack runs in him. ]
...Deep enough to hurt you.
[ Since that's the trouble with Daphne, right? The idea that she could do some real damage. ]
[ Christ. Jack presses his lips together, with a rough exhale out of his nose, fiddling with the string coming out of his hood. Nobody he's starting seeing since he's gotten here has dug in as deep as Charles has. He's had a decade head start, he knows it, and so to ask him that way would have been cruel, to rub Jack's lack of control in his face, force an admission out of him.
He'd be glad he didn't, if he could hear what was going on in the other's head. If it must be said, and it's become clear that sooner or later, it must be said, he'd rather do so with a clear head, prompted by his own pounding heart, something that this city can't influence or coerce. ]
Only you, Charles.
[ He wets his lips and stares, hard, willing the weight of those words to sink into him, that they might be fully realized without an explanation. ]
[ There it is again: that blown candle, except there was no flame this time, he wasn't angry. Jealous, certainly - and perhaps in a way that speaks to genuine fear, not that it's anyone's business - but not angry, so there was nothing for Jack to extinguish with those three savagely effective words. Instead, the spell works backward this time, and sends heat flooding through every vein in his body, fast and fierce enough to take the breath out of him.
Jack wouldn't lie to him. He wouldn't lie about this. This would damage them irreversibly, if it was only a mockery of his frustration. Or if only one of them felt it. But if Charles thought he was hiding it before, he knows it's too late now, when he's this silent and still, and he can't stop staring at Jack, too stunned by it to disguise its effect on him.
If he looks like he's trying to decide what to do with those words, that's because it's exactly what he's doing. But any options he might have refuse to flesh themselves out in his mind, except for the one that stands out sharp and clear and undeniable. There's only one thing he wants.
Charles shoves the rest of Jack's lunch out of the way so that there's nothing to accidentally knock to the floor when he reaches out and grabs Jack by the shirt, closing the distance that will let him pull Jack into a hard, heavy kiss. It's claiming, all of it, from the strength in it to the hand that curls around the back of the other's neck, holding him there, as Charles coaxes his lips apart to press that claim in deeper. ]
[ He can't even breathe, waiting out this silence, waiting for the wheels to turn in Charles' head, lest he miss the moment where it all clicks into place and he either spooks, or...
Lunges at him. Jack's ready for it (been ready), meeting his lips with a weighty grunt of his own. He puts his hands on either side of the other's face, gripping his hair and his jaw, adjusting the angle of the kiss before he opens his mouth to it and --fuck, it's hot. Not just Charles or the beastlike heat pumping through and out of him, but even the idea that he would want him in this way. A month ago it seemed unfathomable, that this would go any deeper than a drugged out fuck.
Now, here he is breathing hot and hard, pushing his tongue into Charles' mouth, one of the only parts of him he doesn't already know front to back. It's a thrill like no other, knowing that he's about to have that privilege, and that it tastes so damn good, like warm skin, tobacco and urgency, like this is longer overdue than either of them realize.
He could so easily just melt into it, concede to Charles' rough hands and possessive tongue, but Jack meets him at his level, holding his head just as tightly, staking a claim of his own. He has to know that Jack wants this just as much, or it'll be over before it begins. ]
[ The harder Jack grips him, the more he wants of it, this proof that Jack wants him just as badly, that it isn't a good fuck that makes him tangle his fingers in Charles' hair but a genuine want, bone-deep, the kind that fucks with a man's head until he does all kinds of stupid shit.
Obviously he knows the feeling.
So Charles gives as good as he gets, every greedy kiss making him want to pull Jack closer and bite into him and coax him to bite back, because they're equals in this. Exactly as they should be. His fingers pull through Jack's hair and scrape the back of his head, grabbing a fistful in case Jack even thinks about moving away, and all at once he hauls Jack up out of his seat so they can be that much closer, neither one of them backing down from it now. ]
[ Oh, the stupid shit he's done for Charles. Not unlike any other man who's ever been on a crew of his, but so often and for so long that it's a wonder he remained oblivious to this need until so recently. Now he's admitted it, opened a door that can't be closed again, let the water in and invited it to drown him.
He thought he'd be more afraid. He was yesterday, hell, he was fifteen minutes ago, but he feels good, in Charles' hands, solid and warm and fucking sure as they are. This may rank among the stupidest shit they've ever done, but he doesn't question it for another second. When Jack pulls away, it's only just, panting into the other's face as he stumbles forward out of his chair. ]
Bedroom.
[ It's a firm demand, but not the way it was last time, the desperate grappling for control over this, as if it were something he had a choice in. Instead it's a naked admission, leaning into how little control he has now, how little he even wants it. He lost it the day Charles showed up here, and Jack let him catch him off-guard the way he did. It feels good to admit it, that this too might be something beyond choice, that the way he's feeling is something that just is, and Duplicity only escalated the inevitable.
If Charles can bear to let go of him long enough to make it to the bedroom, Jack will kick the door shut behind them and be back on him in an instant with renewed aggression, pushing him towards the bed and climbing over him, to kiss him again with his knees on either side of his hips. ]
[ Funny the way that thoughts can mirror each other without discussion, because Charles is thinking at perhaps the same moment that he thought it would be harder than this. Exactly like drowning. He once thought, very concretely, that he could never go quietly into the sea, his second home, if he was drowning he would swim until his own body forced him to breathe water, and it would be burning pain and fear and fighting an enemy with no shape or form. Admitting the depth of his want felt the same to him, and so he fought it, resisted it, burned from it.
Then he opened his mouth and found he could breathe it like air.
Letting go of Jack is wretched, but it's worth it to feel the back of his legs hit the bed and - holy fuck, he would never have expected how hot it would be to feel Jack pushing him around like this. It was hot when Eleanor did it, but that was Eleanor, and Jack is Jack, and things have never been like that between them. Fuck, maybe they should be. Jack's already making him so fucking hard and the only thing they've fucking done is kiss each other and if he knew drowning was like this he'd have done it sooner.
Charles edges them back toward the pillows, but he keeps one hand buried in Jack's hair from the moment his head's back in reach and every kiss is followed by another, shamelessly greedy. As much as he'd love to drive Jack into the bed right now, he doesn't try to switch their positions yet - he just sits up against the kisses and immediately pulls Jack down into his lap. He could be working very quickly to get their clothes off, but he refuses to split his focus from these incendiary kisses enough to do it; the most he manages is getting his hands up inside this absurd yellow pillow Jack has the audacity to call 'modern loungewear', climbing their way relentlessly up his back and hooking him in closer as Charles makes an animal sound into his mouth. ]
[ Nobody else but Anne has been in here (Hickey's secret snooping notwithstanding). Charles might not care much about the symbolism in things, but he does, which means that in a place like Duplicity, where all around them is engineered to disrupt and disturb and expose their weaknesses, this room is a place to just be, without having to worry about defending himself. There's exposure here, fragilities on display that don't make sense anywhere else. It's another door opened for the first time now, more water rushing in.
Deep enough to hurt him, and being led even deeper by the hand.
Jack straddles Charles' hips of his own volition, but he likes being pulled even closer, feeling like he needs him just as much. The hands dipping underneath his clothes are searing hot, making him grunt in an eager response. God, he could beg, it'd be so easy right now to make him ask the other to touch him in all the places he likes, reveal his weak spots to him out of desperation, but Jack trusts him to find them all on his own. His own hand runs up the front of Charles' shirt, over solid, tight muscle and all the scars he knows the names of, before he pulls slowly off of the kiss, teasingly drawing out his lips between his teeth.
He pulls his sweater off, ruffling his hair in the process and revealing Charles' necklace underneath. ]
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Jack knows what this feeling is. He knows it well. Thought that Duplicity had freed him of it. It's both hot and nauseating, curling in knots in his gut and spreading up into his throat like thorny vines. It's painful when it's got no fucking right to be, because Charles isn't his to keep. So, it's not his business being jealous.
And yet, here he is, shaking his head at himself for letting this escalate so quickly, to the point where there is nothing he can say in his own head to delude himself into thinking this is anything but what it is. Charles has about shattered whatever guard Jack had up already, so maybe he'll clock him and make a fool out of him if he says anything, but he just can't help himself. There's a smarter angle to take, a concern more pressing than his own personal feelings about it. ]
Chaz. She isn't going to become another Eleanor for you, is she? Because I must tell you upfront, that I simply do not have the time to clean up after you if you want to play that game again.
[ Does he know about the leak, even? Quite possible he's been smoking and staring at the sea through the window the entire time Jack's been looking at this shit. ]
Daphne.
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So he's definitely not expecting Jack to bring Eleanor Guthrie up out of fucking nowhere. ]
What are you talking about?
[ He doesn't stub the cigarette out but Jack has his attention now; Charles looks over at him with a furrowed brow. It's not like he's been keeping Daphne a secret, but he definitely hasn't discussed her with Jack before now. ]
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Our captors are keeping track of our sexual partners, someone's leaked it all onto the network. To cause chaos, presumably, cackle as jealousies and secrets are revealed for all to see, etcetera.
[ About par for the course. Jack can't say he's surprised or scandalized by the publication himself, but he and Anne being listed as repeat offenders could be trouble. Shit. He sets the phone back down on the counter, tapping his foot on the floor with clear irritation. ]
She's just your type. Is it going to become a problem?
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But apparently Jack does. And Charles was not prepared to have his history with Eleanor leveraged against him out of nowhere, so he promptly decides that whatever he gets up to with Daphne is none of Jack's fucking business. ]
What the fuck is that supposed to mean?
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It means only that the parallel has not eluded me.
[ Jack waves the half of a ham sandwich in his hand as he explains himself, his gesticulating not quite calculated but not exactly not. If it makes him look less bothered about it than he really is, all the better. ]
A beautiful, intelligent woman, exudes authority, only becomes more desirable to you for the fact that you can never truly have her, and cannot be simply cut off and avoided because she is too closely tied to our business...you'll stop me, if you've heard this story before, won't you? The next bit, where she sucks you dry and it's up to me to peel you off the ground gets rather repetitive.
[ It's not leveraging. Not on purpose, anyway, there's just as much concern there as there is indignation, even if he's being a prick about it. ]
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But this feels like a personal attack, using weapons that only Jack is uniquely equipped to wield, so even the cuts that should be superficial are deep. It certainly doesn't sound to him like concern. ]
I don't know what the hell your problem is... [ He gets up slowly, approaching the counter with narrowed eyes. ] ...but Daphne and Eleanor are not the same. And if looking after me is such a fucking chore, then don't do me any favors.
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So he flings it, steeling himself for the response. Jack refuses to be intimidated, but he sits up straight in his seat, eyes locked onto him in a matching slant. ]
Do you know that, for sure? You've known her for all of three weeks, four?
[ Compared to a decade, with Jack. It goes unsaid, but the weight of it squeezes at his throat like a fucking snake. ]
You know I'll do it if it needs doing.
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[ He hates the taste of those words, the way they sound being said out loud. Seeing clearly now what a force of destruction it had been doesn't mean that the wounds where his love for Eleanor used to be are any less raw. And this time it isn't even a matter of Jack not knowing what it all came to, in the end - it's that Jack was the only person who ever attended those wounds in the first place.
Speaking of which. ]
Don't fucking burden yourself on my account. Stick to your networking. It must be a lot easier for you, not having to worry whether any of them will suck you dry.
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Charles can't possibly understand the energy it takes to maintain all of this. He can't see anything until it's already in the palm of his hand, and it never will be, because it's not his weight to bear. Jack's done what needs to be done, for all their sakes, for years, with hardly a complaint that went deeper than banter or friendly concern. If he feels the need the bite back harder now, then Charles should damn well understand why, as deeply as he's lodged himself in his brain in just a few short weeks. He wants to pretend he doesn't know that, all of a sudden, after that shit he pulled feet from where he now stands, just a couple days ago? ]
Save the self-pity, Charles, I chose it. That makes it an obligation, not a burden, one I will not discard so easily because you take offense to my caution. I am telling you to be careful because it pains me to see you like that, not because I lack compassion for you.
[ He says he doesn't have time for it, but he'll make the time, if it comes to that. He knows it. Charles must, if he's telling him not to, if he's been paying attention at all through the years they've gone in circles like this. ]
That isn't true, either, if that means anything to you. I worry about it constantly.
[ It's no one thing, no one person bleeding him out, but a slow an constant chipping away, and the mightiest axe of all of them is standing in front of him and telling him it's not happening. ]
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The sting of what felt like salt in fairly fresh wounds is still fading, but Charles visibly pulls himself under control, leaning forward against the counter and drawing a deep breath in and out. Eleanor isn't here. Eleanor doesn't even fucking matter now. Jack is, and does. ]
Daphne doesn't need a damn thing from me. [ He looks over at Jack then, brow furrowed. ] I'm not completely hopeless, Jack. If I thought Daphne would do to me what Eleanor did, I'd stay the fuck away from her.
[ And it does mean something to him, to know that Jack worries. It means he's allowed to worry, too. As well as to be extremely diligent in his defense. ]
I've had enough of making you clean up my messes.
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As long as you're sure, I won't fight you on it. I don't care where you put your cock, as long as they don't get in our way. You could certainly do worse.
[ He picks up his sandwich again, finishing it off and brushing the crumbs from his fingers. See? It's all casual here. ]
It's not as if you've never had to mop up after me.
[ He could leave it at that, and enjoy a comfortable silence broken only by smoky exhales and potato chips, but. He's curious, and prickly about being upstaged. ]
Who's Sarah Lance?
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Until Jack pulls another name out of nowhere, making Charles recall the sheer absurdity of what started this argument in the first place: That Fucking List. ]
What the fuck. [ He rubs his forehead, straightening up with an aggravated sound. ] Someone sent me a dirty picture of her. She said it wasn't really her, but was still gracious enough to recreate it for me.
[ He's only really interacted with her the one time. All things considered, Jack and Daphne combined have been pretty distracting. ]
Why are you so curious? Who's on your list?
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No reason, really. As long as I won't need to plan around her.
[ He clicks his tongue, drums his fingers against his leg. He hesitates, partly out of shame he keeps off of his face, and partly curiosity, whether Charles might have that same twisting, uncomfortable pressure in him. ]
Anne and yourself, of course. Hickey, Ducky, Daphne, Grace from across the hall, and a fellow called Laszlo Cravenworth, who insisted on sucking my cock in a tavern restroom.
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He's not jealous of a list of names, by itself. What bothers him about the list is that Jack is juggling them all on his own, after just now expressing that he has to be on his guard with each of them. Jack's determination to do what needs to be done in order to thrive is something Charles has always appreciated about him, particularly when surrounded by so many others who'd fold at the first sign of a challenge. Does that mean Jack sometimes has a tendency to get in over his head? Yes, absolutely. But that's what Charles is for. ]
You've been busy. [ He raises an eyebrow. ] And you've fucked Daphne yourself, but you're still worried about me doing it?
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Jack can’t admit when he’s in over his head, so it’s a blessing that Charles can see it for him. He can feel all of the worry and the guilt without seeing the tipping point, even as it stands right in front of him, calling him out. ]
It was just once. She has no power over me.
[ And that’s true, as far as he knows, but it’s implying, perhaps, that some of the others might. ]
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Either way it certainly doesn't reassure Charles at all. ]
Who does, then? [ He's down to the last embers of the cigarette, so he takes one more deep drag and then pinches it out between his fingers. Now Jack has his undivided attention. ] Who the fuck is getting under your skin so fast?
[ There's the jealousy. ]
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That’s a high bar. He realizes there’s a number of lies he could tell, if he had the resolve to say them to his face. Just Charles isn’t quite right. ‘None of them’ isn’t right at all. Singling someone out to bear the brunt of his jealousy would be both factually incorrect and potentially dangerous. And it is jealousy, isn’t it? Jack can hear it in his voice, the hardness to it that’s not threatening, but defensive. He knows it too well to mistake it for anything else.
It sounds good on him, and Jack’s pulse quickens with the realization. His eyes roam from his scarf still tied around Charles’ wrist, to his face, his own expression cooling into a challenging stare, despite the heat rising up in him. ]
That depends on how deep.
[ Jack bumps his eyebrows at him, a question, clear as day. Are you sure you want to know? ]
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As deep as I am. Or deeper.
He really doesn't care who Jack fucks or how often. Sex is sex. But the idea that he could have come to actively treasure a bond of literal years in the making, only to have some stranger from Fuck City outrank him in the hierarchy of Jack's loyalty, might really drive him insane.
Unfortunately, he can't figure out how to ask that question without sounding like a fucking idiot. Or worse, putting himself in a position to admit how deep Jack runs in him. ]
...Deep enough to hurt you.
[ Since that's the trouble with Daphne, right? The idea that she could do some real damage. ]
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He'd be glad he didn't, if he could hear what was going on in the other's head. If it must be said, and it's become clear that sooner or later, it must be said, he'd rather do so with a clear head, prompted by his own pounding heart, something that this city can't influence or coerce. ]
Only you, Charles.
[ He wets his lips and stares, hard, willing the weight of those words to sink into him, that they might be fully realized without an explanation. ]
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Jack wouldn't lie to him. He wouldn't lie about this. This would damage them irreversibly, if it was only a mockery of his frustration. Or if only one of them felt it. But if Charles thought he was hiding it before, he knows it's too late now, when he's this silent and still, and he can't stop staring at Jack, too stunned by it to disguise its effect on him.
If he looks like he's trying to decide what to do with those words, that's because it's exactly what he's doing. But any options he might have refuse to flesh themselves out in his mind, except for the one that stands out sharp and clear and undeniable. There's only one thing he wants.
Charles shoves the rest of Jack's lunch out of the way so that there's nothing to accidentally knock to the floor when he reaches out and grabs Jack by the shirt, closing the distance that will let him pull Jack into a hard, heavy kiss. It's claiming, all of it, from the strength in it to the hand that curls around the back of the other's neck, holding him there, as Charles coaxes his lips apart to press that claim in deeper. ]
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Lunges at him. Jack's ready for it (been ready), meeting his lips with a weighty grunt of his own. He puts his hands on either side of the other's face, gripping his hair and his jaw, adjusting the angle of the kiss before he opens his mouth to it and --fuck, it's hot. Not just Charles or the beastlike heat pumping through and out of him, but even the idea that he would want him in this way. A month ago it seemed unfathomable, that this would go any deeper than a drugged out fuck.
Now, here he is breathing hot and hard, pushing his tongue into Charles' mouth, one of the only parts of him he doesn't already know front to back. It's a thrill like no other, knowing that he's about to have that privilege, and that it tastes so damn good, like warm skin, tobacco and urgency, like this is longer overdue than either of them realize.
He could so easily just melt into it, concede to Charles' rough hands and possessive tongue, but Jack meets him at his level, holding his head just as tightly, staking a claim of his own. He has to know that Jack wants this just as much, or it'll be over before it begins. ]
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Obviously he knows the feeling.
So Charles gives as good as he gets, every greedy kiss making him want to pull Jack closer and bite into him and coax him to bite back, because they're equals in this. Exactly as they should be. His fingers pull through Jack's hair and scrape the back of his head, grabbing a fistful in case Jack even thinks about moving away, and all at once he hauls Jack up out of his seat so they can be that much closer, neither one of them backing down from it now. ]
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He thought he'd be more afraid. He was yesterday, hell, he was fifteen minutes ago, but he feels good, in Charles' hands, solid and warm and fucking sure as they are. This may rank among the stupidest shit they've ever done, but he doesn't question it for another second. When Jack pulls away, it's only just, panting into the other's face as he stumbles forward out of his chair. ]
Bedroom.
[ It's a firm demand, but not the way it was last time, the desperate grappling for control over this, as if it were something he had a choice in. Instead it's a naked admission, leaning into how little control he has now, how little he even wants it. He lost it the day Charles showed up here, and Jack let him catch him off-guard the way he did. It feels good to admit it, that this too might be something beyond choice, that the way he's feeling is something that just is, and Duplicity only escalated the inevitable.
If Charles can bear to let go of him long enough to make it to the bedroom, Jack will kick the door shut behind them and be back on him in an instant with renewed aggression, pushing him towards the bed and climbing over him, to kiss him again with his knees on either side of his hips. ]
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Then he opened his mouth and found he could breathe it like air.
Letting go of Jack is wretched, but it's worth it to feel the back of his legs hit the bed and - holy fuck, he would never have expected how hot it would be to feel Jack pushing him around like this. It was hot when Eleanor did it, but that was Eleanor, and Jack is Jack, and things have never been like that between them. Fuck, maybe they should be. Jack's already making him so fucking hard and the only thing they've fucking done is kiss each other and if he knew drowning was like this he'd have done it sooner.
Charles edges them back toward the pillows, but he keeps one hand buried in Jack's hair from the moment his head's back in reach and every kiss is followed by another, shamelessly greedy. As much as he'd love to drive Jack into the bed right now, he doesn't try to switch their positions yet - he just sits up against the kisses and immediately pulls Jack down into his lap. He could be working very quickly to get their clothes off, but he refuses to split his focus from these incendiary kisses enough to do it; the most he manages is getting his hands up inside this absurd yellow pillow Jack has the audacity to call 'modern loungewear', climbing their way relentlessly up his back and hooking him in closer as Charles makes an animal sound into his mouth. ]
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Deep enough to hurt him, and being led even deeper by the hand.
Jack straddles Charles' hips of his own volition, but he likes being pulled even closer, feeling like he needs him just as much. The hands dipping underneath his clothes are searing hot, making him grunt in an eager response. God, he could beg, it'd be so easy right now to make him ask the other to touch him in all the places he likes, reveal his weak spots to him out of desperation, but Jack trusts him to find them all on his own. His own hand runs up the front of Charles' shirt, over solid, tight muscle and all the scars he knows the names of, before he pulls slowly off of the kiss, teasingly drawing out his lips between his teeth.
He pulls his sweater off, ruffling his hair in the process and revealing Charles' necklace underneath. ]
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