[ 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. ]
[ Jack greets his finger with a gasp, having to shut his eyes for just a moment to remind himself to relax. That too, is easier this time, with the things being left unsaid that made things so tense and unsettling, now being...well, not really said, because they couldn't keep their hands off each other long enough, but Charles speaks through action, and he can hear him loud and clear.
He hooks his ankles around Charles, making sure he can keep himself elevated where he needs to be, but even more desperate for another point of contact. He pulls him in as close as he can, grabbing at his shoulders as his mouth works lower and his stubble scrapes at his sides, greedily taking everything the other can give until he raises himself up and away to look down at him. ]
That so? [ He opens his mouth to continue, but he's cut off by a jolt of pleasure, as Charles finds what he's looking for inside him, a sweet spot that pulls a feral noise out of him, half gasp and half growl. Jack looks up at him, his eyes pure, molten desire, mouth hanging slightly open as he asks for more. ] Like what?
[ Good. That's the spot he wants, because he wants Jack more than ready for him. Charles isn't going to wait a second longer than he has to, but he wants Jack to be as wound up for it as he is. ]
Naked. Messy. [ His voice isn't quite a whisper, but the growl is low, as though it's just between the two of them. He tilts his head this way, admiring Jack beneath him, and the other. ] Flushed all over.
[ A second finger presses into Jack's tight hole, both of them working over that spot, dedicated and relentless. Charles stares down at him, and then ducks in again for another hungry kiss, because that's what an addiction fucking means. Too long without a taste and he just can't help himself. ]
You look like you need to be fucked properly. I'm ready to oblige. [ His teeth catch on the edge of the other's jaw, but the kiss that Charles places there is uncharacteristically gentle. Almost pleading. ] Say it.
[ It does something to him he can't explain, Charles looking at him like that. There's an attraction that goes deeper than just blowing off steam, that Jack is just realizing now, among the breathless kisses and sentimental confessions. It's a lot to take in, and he's not trying to question it, but he wants to hear it, swim in his rough, gravelly voice and let it shoot straight to his cock.
It helps, having that filth growled into his ear, while he's taking the second finger. It gives him something to focus on besides the ache of getting stretched out like that. Even that ache is fading quickly, as Charles works him over so ruthlessly that he can't keep his head on straight enough to kiss him back properly. Jack groans into his mouth and slings his arms around his shoulders, nails digging crescents into him as his cock twitches with the demand.
He doesn't hesitate for a second to give in. ]
I do. I've been fucking craving it, please, Charles, fuck me, now.
[ Definitely pleading, breathlessly, and shamelessly. That Jack can trust him enough to expose himself like this says more than comparing him to anyone on that list ever could. ]
[ The sound that Charles makes upon hearing that is purely feral. But Jack's willing vulnerability is rewarded, with prompt and earnest obedience.
With his mouth at Jack's throat, Charles pulls his fingers out, nudging the other's hips just enough to let him his cock and guide it, because the first thrust is hard and deep, opening Jack up and filling him in one shot. Another guttural growl, and Charles draws back to thrust in again, just as hard. Then again, and then he's fucking Jack for real, gasping as sheer want sends a thrill up and down his back.
Now he can bury a hand in Jack's hair, and pull his head back for the space to work hungry kisses over his throat, because Charles can't get enough of the taste of him but he can't catch his breath for another kiss. Never in his life has he taken a prize that felt so well-earned as this and he's drunk on it, on his own claim to a want so deeply rooted in him that it grew even when he refused to tend it.
He knows exactly what this is, because he's drowned like this before, but only Jack has made him feel like he wasn't drowning in it alone. ]
[ Every rough touch, every brush of lips, every little nip against Jack's throat makes his spine tingle from head to tail. Such a delicate, vulnerable spot, but he tips his head back and makes it even easier, for Charles to overwhelm all of him, any piece he wants. He could tear him apart, if he had a mind to, and right now Jack would be helpless against it. He'd invite it, if it meant one more moment of Charles looking at him like that, seeing someone worth that kind of reckless passion.
From the first thrust, Charles fucks a sound out of him that comes from the chest, and bubbles up through his throat, a moan that wrecks through him like a sob. It feels so fucking good, and Jack thought he'd known bliss after the first couple times, but this is something else completely, not just the satisfying sensation of being filled up and fucked. It's a breakthrough on other levels, an overdue acknowledgement of something he's long denied (they've long denied) that twists him up in a different way from before.
Now he's twisted around Charles, emotionally and physically, rocking his hips with him and doing something which is so rare for him, not putting a single thought into what comes next, and simply enjoying what's right now. It feels so greedy, enjoying the feeling of being taken like this, but getting to hold him so close and watch while he does it is a pleasure Jack's not properly had, and he's going to indulge. ]
[ There isn't a single damn thought in his head anymore that isn't pleasure and want. Nothing about what it took to get them here, or what comes next, all the unnecessary (and necessary) pain and suffering, the wrong paths followed too far, the two of them parting ways for pride and false protection only to be inevitably pulled back together, because he's held onto so few things in his life that were really worth the future and Jack is one of them. He thought it was Eleanor, he thought it was the gold, the Man o' War, but in the end they were nothing more than prizes to be admired for a time and then lost again.
He couldn't give up his home, and he couldn't give up Jack. There was meaning in those things that he didn't believe really existed until he was threatened with truly losing them, and found his own life didn't nearly measure up in exchange. And every time he hears Jack's name mentioned with recognition by people born hundreds of years after the death of everyone he's ever known, it tells him that no matter how ugly it had to be - still will be - in that crucial moment, he made the right choice.
Thoughts for later, surely. Possibly. Jack has his full attention now, everything in the world narrowed down to him, as Charles fucks him with deep thrusts and a relentless pace, gasping against his throat. Fingers scrape the back of Jack's head before tightening again into a fistful of his hair, and Charles lifts his head, just a little, enough for his guttural moans to tingle over the other's cheek, for their heads to touch. He can barely breathe, but he can't stop fucking him, every roll of his hips bringing them closer. ]
[ It's a raspy whisper, his voice going hoarse from all the mouth-open, heavy breathing the other man is forcing out of him. The pace is too ruthless for him to catch his breath, and yet it still feels more intimate than it ever has before, like they're sharing a single breath, gasping it up and huffing back into the other's skin to absorb because they can't break this closeness long enough for anything else.
Jack leans his cheek against Charles' head and tangles his own hand in his hair in turn, the motion of their bodies making it as if he's nuzzling him like a dog. He likes this kind of closeness more than he'd let on until he actually has it, so now that his arms are around him, pulling him into his body, it's easy to become enamored with it. The rub of his dick against Charles' abs, the tingling breath on his face, the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the delicious drag of the other's cock against the spot inside him that makes his breath catch and his toes curl.
It's too good. Too fucking perfect, a phrase he'd clearly been too liberal with in the past, since it's only gotten better. ]
[ Hearing his name on Jack's lips with that rough quiver of pleasure in it goes straight to his cock like a lightning bolt. Air or no air, Charles surges up to kiss him so he can taste the way his voice sounds right now, the next deep thrust jerking them both a little higher up the bed.
He drops one arm to hook under Jack's thigh and tilt him back, changing the angle just enough to fuck deeper into him, faster, filling him up so that every thrust of Charles' cock works over the sweet spot inside him. Charles moans into the kiss, shameless and breathless, doing his level fucking best to kiss Jack and fuck him at the same time, even as the pleasure starts to overwhelm his capacity for both.
God, he could come soon, but he doesn't want to. It feels too fucking good, the way Jack takes everything he gives and still pulls him closer, like it's not enough. They haven't even put words to any of this yet. It just... is.
Fingers scrape the back of Jack's head, until finally he has to push himself up, keeping Jack's thigh hooked over his arm, fucking him like he wants to break the bed in half right under them. But Charles doesn't tear his eyes away, even half-feral with naked want and something a lot deeper: whatever happens next, he doesn't want either of them to think he didn't know exactly what he was doing. ]
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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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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. ]
no subject
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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He hooks his ankles around Charles, making sure he can keep himself elevated where he needs to be, but even more desperate for another point of contact. He pulls him in as close as he can, grabbing at his shoulders as his mouth works lower and his stubble scrapes at his sides, greedily taking everything the other can give until he raises himself up and away to look down at him. ]
That so? [ He opens his mouth to continue, but he's cut off by a jolt of pleasure, as Charles finds what he's looking for inside him, a sweet spot that pulls a feral noise out of him, half gasp and half growl. Jack looks up at him, his eyes pure, molten desire, mouth hanging slightly open as he asks for more. ] Like what?
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Naked. Messy. [ His voice isn't quite a whisper, but the growl is low, as though it's just between the two of them. He tilts his head this way, admiring Jack beneath him, and the other. ] Flushed all over.
[ A second finger presses into Jack's tight hole, both of them working over that spot, dedicated and relentless. Charles stares down at him, and then ducks in again for another hungry kiss, because that's what an addiction fucking means. Too long without a taste and he just can't help himself. ]
You look like you need to be fucked properly. I'm ready to oblige. [ His teeth catch on the edge of the other's jaw, but the kiss that Charles places there is uncharacteristically gentle. Almost pleading. ] Say it.
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It helps, having that filth growled into his ear, while he's taking the second finger. It gives him something to focus on besides the ache of getting stretched out like that. Even that ache is fading quickly, as Charles works him over so ruthlessly that he can't keep his head on straight enough to kiss him back properly. Jack groans into his mouth and slings his arms around his shoulders, nails digging crescents into him as his cock twitches with the demand.
He doesn't hesitate for a second to give in. ]
I do. I've been fucking craving it, please, Charles, fuck me, now.
[ Definitely pleading, breathlessly, and shamelessly. That Jack can trust him enough to expose himself like this says more than comparing him to anyone on that list ever could. ]
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With his mouth at Jack's throat, Charles pulls his fingers out, nudging the other's hips just enough to let him his cock and guide it, because the first thrust is hard and deep, opening Jack up and filling him in one shot. Another guttural growl, and Charles draws back to thrust in again, just as hard. Then again, and then he's fucking Jack for real, gasping as sheer want sends a thrill up and down his back.
Now he can bury a hand in Jack's hair, and pull his head back for the space to work hungry kisses over his throat, because Charles can't get enough of the taste of him but he can't catch his breath for another kiss. Never in his life has he taken a prize that felt so well-earned as this and he's drunk on it, on his own claim to a want so deeply rooted in him that it grew even when he refused to tend it.
He knows exactly what this is, because he's drowned like this before, but only Jack has made him feel like he wasn't drowning in it alone. ]
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From the first thrust, Charles fucks a sound out of him that comes from the chest, and bubbles up through his throat, a moan that wrecks through him like a sob. It feels so fucking good, and Jack thought he'd known bliss after the first couple times, but this is something else completely, not just the satisfying sensation of being filled up and fucked. It's a breakthrough on other levels, an overdue acknowledgement of something he's long denied (they've long denied) that twists him up in a different way from before.
Now he's twisted around Charles, emotionally and physically, rocking his hips with him and doing something which is so rare for him, not putting a single thought into what comes next, and simply enjoying what's right now. It feels so greedy, enjoying the feeling of being taken like this, but getting to hold him so close and watch while he does it is a pleasure Jack's not properly had, and he's going to indulge. ]
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He couldn't give up his home, and he couldn't give up Jack. There was meaning in those things that he didn't believe really existed until he was threatened with truly losing them, and found his own life didn't nearly measure up in exchange. And every time he hears Jack's name mentioned with recognition by people born hundreds of years after the death of everyone he's ever known, it tells him that no matter how ugly it had to be - still will be - in that crucial moment, he made the right choice.
Thoughts for later, surely. Possibly. Jack has his full attention now, everything in the world narrowed down to him, as Charles fucks him with deep thrusts and a relentless pace, gasping against his throat. Fingers scrape the back of Jack's head before tightening again into a fistful of his hair, and Charles lifts his head, just a little, enough for his guttural moans to tingle over the other's cheek, for their heads to touch. He can barely breathe, but he can't stop fucking him, every roll of his hips bringing them closer. ]
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[ It's a raspy whisper, his voice going hoarse from all the mouth-open, heavy breathing the other man is forcing out of him. The pace is too ruthless for him to catch his breath, and yet it still feels more intimate than it ever has before, like they're sharing a single breath, gasping it up and huffing back into the other's skin to absorb because they can't break this closeness long enough for anything else.
Jack leans his cheek against Charles' head and tangles his own hand in his hair in turn, the motion of their bodies making it as if he's nuzzling him like a dog. He likes this kind of closeness more than he'd let on until he actually has it, so now that his arms are around him, pulling him into his body, it's easy to become enamored with it. The rub of his dick against Charles' abs, the tingling breath on his face, the sweat sticking his hair to his forehead, the delicious drag of the other's cock against the spot inside him that makes his breath catch and his toes curl.
It's too good. Too fucking perfect, a phrase he'd clearly been too liberal with in the past, since it's only gotten better. ]
More.
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He drops one arm to hook under Jack's thigh and tilt him back, changing the angle just enough to fuck deeper into him, faster, filling him up so that every thrust of Charles' cock works over the sweet spot inside him. Charles moans into the kiss, shameless and breathless, doing his level fucking best to kiss Jack and fuck him at the same time, even as the pleasure starts to overwhelm his capacity for both.
God, he could come soon, but he doesn't want to. It feels too fucking good, the way Jack takes everything he gives and still pulls him closer, like it's not enough. They haven't even put words to any of this yet. It just... is.
Fingers scrape the back of Jack's head, until finally he has to push himself up, keeping Jack's thigh hooked over his arm, fucking him like he wants to break the bed in half right under them. But Charles doesn't tear his eyes away, even half-feral with naked want and something a lot deeper: whatever happens next, he doesn't want either of them to think he didn't know exactly what he was doing. ]
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