[ 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 thereās too many balls in the air, and running away from one unwelcome emotion means smacking face-first into another.
Jack canāt admit when heās in over his head, so itās 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 thatās true, as far as he knows, but itās 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. Thereās 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 heās still going to try his damnedest to avoid that kind of outcome. These are the allies heās chosen, most of them for better reasons than simply a good time, but that doesnāt mean theyāve gottenĀ under his skin.Ā Not the way Charles has.
Thatās a high bar. He realizes thereās a number of lies he could tell, if he had the resolve to say them to his face. Just Charles isnāt quite right. āNone of themā isnāt 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, isnāt it? Jack can hear it in his voice, the hardness to it thatās not threatening, but defensive. He knows it too well to mistake it for anything else.
It sounds good on him, and Jackās pulse quickens with the realization. His eyes roam fromĀ hisĀ scarf still tied around Charlesā 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. ]
[ He can't stop touching Jack, or kissing him, and he likes the way that Jack doesn't hold back from it either or balk at the ferocity with which Charles demands more. This has been such a long time coming. And everything that isn't the man he's gripping so tightly has been completely pushed from his mind - the hardships of it, the loss, the tragic timing. He doesn't give a fuck. They're here now, and he wants this, has wanted this, will always want this, this man--
He does make a frustrated sound when he has to pull away, even just for long enough to get the sweater over Jack's head, and rather than taking the opportunity to start getting himself undressed as well he just draws back enough to let it happen so he can claim Jack's mouth again...
...but then he sees the necklace. Charles stops, staring at it, and he touches it, twisting the black leather like he's not sure it's really his necklace or just one that happens to look and feel exactly like it. The highest band, with its embedded metal like sharks' teeth, rests at the base of Jack's throat like a loose collar. Charles hooks a finger in it, twists it tighter, and lifts his gaze to meet Jack's with eyes narrowing. ]
[ To deny Charles his domineering streak would be to reject what drew Jack to him in the first place, the things he'd heard that brought him to Nassau. "Even savages need partners", that's what he told Anne, before they fucked off from London and never looked back.
The stories were often exaggerated, and lacking in nuance. He could tell from the moment he set eyes on him that there was more to him than violence, and that only gets more true, the deeper he digs. The deeper he's allowed to dig. ]
You have. It's mine, now.
[ You're mine, now. He pulls away just far enough to give Charles the space to examine it, twist the cool nubs of metal around his finger and see how Jack's expression turns smug, so satisfied with himself despite the shameless heat in his eyes. They say that whatever leg up the thrill of his theft might have given him, he's still at his mercy. ]
He's quite fond of that necklace, in fact, but all it takes is the confidence with which Jack claims it - while Charles himself is still wearing the scarf around one wrist - for him to immediately develop a deeper attachment to seeing it around the other man's neck. Yes, absolutely fucking yes. The idea that someone might see it there and notice it for what it is makes his dick throb so hard it makes him lightheaded.
His chosen method of expressing any of this is to tighten his arms around Jack's body and twist them both, throwing him down to the bed. Then a second later his mouth is on him again, kissing him with pure passion, as Charles runs a hand up Jack's chest under those leather bands and strokes the base of his throat, thumb tracing the line of his collarbone.
When he absolutely needs to breathe, he pulls back with a sound that's half groan and half growl, sitting up so he can finally pull his shirt off over his head. ]
[ Jack makes a soft moan of protest at being tossed off, but it's dashed by the sensation of Charles crawling over him, his body strong and solid and pressing him into the bed. It's something he usually hates, feeling weaker than another man, but he's never felt inadequate next to Charles. Jack's craved his attention, approval, respect, and now even his goddamn affection in in reach, but he's never felt as if they were in competition. They've fulfilled a need in the other than they lack that makes them work well together.
So being tossed down like a ragdoll only makes him stiff in the pants. Not another word or move or even gasp against it. He can only twist his hand in Charles' hair again, invite him him, drink in the invasive pressure of his tongue and pray that he can still give as good as he gets, pinned down like this. ]
You would say so.
[ Jack thought for a moment that he might wrestle it back from him, but with each passing second it sinks in further, things are changing. They are changing. This is something new entirely. ]
Like feeling like you've marked your territory, do you?
[ It isn't so much a demand for control that makes him pin Jack into the bed with obscene kisses and the weight of his body; it's the desire that's so intense he can feel it vibrating in his bones, compelling him to take as much as Jack will give him. But the only thing he feels like he has to prove now is that he wants this to happen, whatever it is, whatever comes next.
He looks down at Jack without an ounce of shame, a trace of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, as he opens up the front of his pants. ]
Not as much as I like feeling like you've marked yours.
[ Charles leans sideways, to the bedside table that thankfully has lube within reach, because that was one of the easiest lessons to learn in this city. He tosses it rather unceremoniously on Jack's stomach just so he has both hands to get Jack's trousers off next, or at least low enough on his hips for Charles to fuck him. ]
[ The want in that man's eyes. He can see that it's got roots, it's no new or passing thing since the day, just a few weeks ago, that Charles showed up here. How did he not notice? How did he go so long thinking those secret stares carried an impossible fantasy?
He loves this feeling, like there's nothing the other man wants more in the world than Jack. What could possibly be more thrilling, than capturing his attention this way? If there's anything, he's too overwhelmed with raw need to come up with it, to say anything in response but smirk back at him and raise his hips off the bed for Charles to pull his pants off. Please, might as well take them off all the way, if they're gonna get all emotional about it. ]
[ He doesn't need to be told twice - in practically one motion, Charles gets Jack's pants down his hips and then drags them all the way off, immediately diving in for another greedy kiss before Jack can fix the deliciously erotic splay of his legs. The next part is rather graceless as he twists until he can kick his own pants off the bed, but that's only because he can't stop tasting Jack to do it, those increasingly biting kisses working down his neck to his chest. ]
Spread your legs.
[ Charles sweeps his stolen necklaces aside for the bites that cross the other's chest and find a nipple, working it with his tongue before another, quick little bite follows. He grabs the bottle of lube, and starts to twist it open, but manages to get himself fully distracted by how much he wants to kiss Jack again. So he does, fitting his hips between the other man's thighs and grinding down, their cocks trapped against each other.
This must be the fastest he's ever managed to develop an addiction. He's addicted to being allowed to do this. Charles grinds harder against Jack, one hand sliding up to his throat as he coaxes his tongue into his mouth, and he gets that hand all the way into Jack's hair before summoning the strength to rip his mouth away with an actual snarl. ]
[ Charles Vane's appeal has never been his grace, after all. The fact that he's managed to kiss him so long without it moving elsewhere is a minor miracle enough, and Jack's so beyond ready for more that it's good he's laying down, how fast his head is spinning. He spreads to make room for the other immediately, clutching at him and rolling his hips up to grind against him, desperate for a little relief, a little more contact.
Pressing his kiss-swollen lips together, he tries to swallow a moan as Charles' mouth trails lower, and the hand at his throat makes him shiver, but that only makes it sound fucking needier, more guttural in a way that vibrates through him deeper than anything, more consuming than the shallow panting up until now. This man, his friend, his captain, his confidant, is striking hot at the core of him, and he's asking what Jack has done to him? ]
I thought it was just me, losing --mmgh-- losing my fucking head.
[ Jack reaches for his face, caressing his cheek while he takes the time to catch his breath. It's not so overwhelming, anymore, looking into Charles' eyes while they're entangled like this. It feels warm, instead of dangerous. Almost natural. ]
[ That touch sends a shiver down his back, and it's almost more than he can stand. Charles turns his face to chase that hand with a kiss, nipping the inside of Jack's wrist with a hungry sound.
Exactly. Losing his fucking head. Not just because he wants Jack so much, but because Jack wanting him feels so fucking good.
Finally he manages to pull enough focus together to get the lube open, and he slicks up his fingers before shoving it aside. Charles sinks lower down Jack's body, dragging the hard, hot line of Jack's cock against the muscles of his stomach, pressing his own dick into the bed with a groan. It's a little messy, hooking his arm around the other's thigh to get beneath him, but Charles hikes Jack's hips up from the bed for the room to press a finger inside him. Each knuckle comes with a biting kiss to the chest, one tasting the little fox tattoo.
But now, he thinks, with the finger all the way in, already working against tight muscle, curving inside for the sweet spot, he wants to see exactly how good Jack looks. So he pushes himself up just enough, lifting those hips up higher too, to make it absolutely fucking clear that he doesn't want to miss this now. ]
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no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no 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. ]
Why are you so curious? Who's on your list?
no subject
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.
no subject
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?
no subject
Jack canāt admit when heās in over his head, so itās 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 thatās true, as far as he knows, but itās implying, perhaps, that some of the others might. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
Thatās a high bar. He realizes thereās a number of lies he could tell, if he had the resolve to say them to his face. Just Charles isnāt quite right. āNone of themā isnāt 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, isnāt it? Jack can hear it in his voice, the hardness to it thatās not threatening, but defensive. He knows it too well to mistake it for anything else.
It sounds good on him, and Jackās pulse quickens with the realization. His eyes roam fromĀ hisĀ scarf still tied around Charlesā 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? ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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He does make a frustrated sound when he has to pull away, even just for long enough to get the sweater over Jack's head, and rather than taking the opportunity to start getting himself undressed as well he just draws back enough to let it happen so he can claim Jack's mouth again...
...but then he sees the necklace. Charles stops, staring at it, and he touches it, twisting the black leather like he's not sure it's really his necklace or just one that happens to look and feel exactly like it. The highest band, with its embedded metal like sharks' teeth, rests at the base of Jack's throat like a loose collar. Charles hooks a finger in it, twists it tighter, and lifts his gaze to meet Jack's with eyes narrowing. ]
Was starting to think I'd lost this.
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The stories were often exaggerated, and lacking in nuance. He could tell from the moment he set eyes on him that there was more to him than violence, and that only gets more true, the deeper he digs. The deeper he's allowed to dig. ]
You have. It's mine, now.
[ You're mine, now. He pulls away just far enough to give Charles the space to examine it, twist the cool nubs of metal around his finger and see how Jack's expression turns smug, so satisfied with himself despite the shameless heat in his eyes. They say that whatever leg up the thrill of his theft might have given him, he's still at his mercy. ]
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He's quite fond of that necklace, in fact, but all it takes is the confidence with which Jack claims it - while Charles himself is still wearing the scarf around one wrist - for him to immediately develop a deeper attachment to seeing it around the other man's neck. Yes, absolutely fucking yes. The idea that someone might see it there and notice it for what it is makes his dick throb so hard it makes him lightheaded.
His chosen method of expressing any of this is to tighten his arms around Jack's body and twist them both, throwing him down to the bed. Then a second later his mouth is on him again, kissing him with pure passion, as Charles runs a hand up Jack's chest under those leather bands and strokes the base of his throat, thumb tracing the line of his collarbone.
When he absolutely needs to breathe, he pulls back with a sound that's half groan and half growl, sitting up so he can finally pull his shirt off over his head. ]
It looks good on you, Jack.
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So being tossed down like a ragdoll only makes him stiff in the pants. Not another word or move or even gasp against it. He can only twist his hand in Charles' hair again, invite him him, drink in the invasive pressure of his tongue and pray that he can still give as good as he gets, pinned down like this. ]
You would say so.
[ Jack thought for a moment that he might wrestle it back from him, but with each passing second it sinks in further, things are changing. They are changing. This is something new entirely. ]
Like feeling like you've marked your territory, do you?
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He looks down at Jack without an ounce of shame, a trace of a smirk at the corner of his mouth, as he opens up the front of his pants. ]
Not as much as I like feeling like you've marked yours.
[ Charles leans sideways, to the bedside table that thankfully has lube within reach, because that was one of the easiest lessons to learn in this city. He tosses it rather unceremoniously on Jack's stomach just so he has both hands to get Jack's trousers off next, or at least low enough on his hips for Charles to fuck him. ]
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He loves this feeling, like there's nothing the other man wants more in the world than Jack. What could possibly be more thrilling, than capturing his attention this way? If there's anything, he's too overwhelmed with raw need to come up with it, to say anything in response but smirk back at him and raise his hips off the bed for Charles to pull his pants off. Please, might as well take them off all the way, if they're gonna get all emotional about it. ]
Take them off. All the way, I want to see you.
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Spread your legs.
[ Charles sweeps his stolen necklaces aside for the bites that cross the other's chest and find a nipple, working it with his tongue before another, quick little bite follows. He grabs the bottle of lube, and starts to twist it open, but manages to get himself fully distracted by how much he wants to kiss Jack again. So he does, fitting his hips between the other man's thighs and grinding down, their cocks trapped against each other.
This must be the fastest he's ever managed to develop an addiction. He's addicted to being allowed to do this. Charles grinds harder against Jack, one hand sliding up to his throat as he coaxes his tongue into his mouth, and he gets that hand all the way into Jack's hair before summoning the strength to rip his mouth away with an actual snarl. ]
Rrgh, what are you doing to me?
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Pressing his kiss-swollen lips together, he tries to swallow a moan as Charles' mouth trails lower, and the hand at his throat makes him shiver, but that only makes it sound fucking needier, more guttural in a way that vibrates through him deeper than anything, more consuming than the shallow panting up until now. This man, his friend, his captain, his confidant, is striking hot at the core of him, and he's asking what Jack has done to him? ]
I thought it was just me, losing --mmgh-- losing my fucking head.
[ Jack reaches for his face, caressing his cheek while he takes the time to catch his breath. It's not so overwhelming, anymore, looking into Charles' eyes while they're entangled like this. It feels warm, instead of dangerous. Almost natural. ]
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Exactly. Losing his fucking head. Not just because he wants Jack so much, but because Jack wanting him feels so fucking good.
Finally he manages to pull enough focus together to get the lube open, and he slicks up his fingers before shoving it aside. Charles sinks lower down Jack's body, dragging the hard, hot line of Jack's cock against the muscles of his stomach, pressing his own dick into the bed with a groan. It's a little messy, hooking his arm around the other's thigh to get beneath him, but Charles hikes Jack's hips up from the bed for the room to press a finger inside him. Each knuckle comes with a biting kiss to the chest, one tasting the little fox tattoo.
But now, he thinks, with the finger all the way in, already working against tight muscle, curving inside for the sweet spot, he wants to see exactly how good Jack looks. So he pushes himself up just enough, lifting those hips up higher too, to make it absolutely fucking clear that he doesn't want to miss this now. ]
You look so good like this, Jack.
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