[ Heās half expecting to wake up and find that it was all a dream. Charlesā return, his fraught and emotional conversation with Irving in which no amount of reassurance could ever be enough, given the newness and the shock, the heady cocktail of excitement and dread and desire and grief that heād gulped down on an empty stomach, leaving him frazzled and out of control in a way he often is, but rarely shows.
The headache Jack wakes up with proves him wrong. Irvingās desperate need to put as many marks on him that morning as possible, scratches down his back and bruises sucked into his collar, while incredibly hot and far too easy to encourage, only confirms it.
So what does Jack do, when the time finally comes to get out of bed? He goes to the Neptune, as heās done almost every morning for the past few weeks, leading up to their big opening. Decisions to make, training to do. Heās usually the kind of person to face his problems head on, to make a plan and execute as soon as he can so that he can find a position that suits him better, but this isnāt a problem. Charles Vane, despite what Jack might have said about him in his deepest pits with Eleanor or his surly opium binges, isnāt a problem. He's a relief, a glass of water for a man trying desperately to deny his thirst. No, never a problem, but certainly a situation, and a delicate one at that, so Jack takes his time to make sure his head is on straight before he does anything. As straight as it can be.
Life was so much easier when Anneās were the only feelings that mattered to him.
Itās not until late in the evening, more than twenty-four hours since Jack saw him last, until he feels like he wonāt shatter like glass dropped to the floor if he calls him. He just hopes Charles has the damn thing on him, wherever he is, and remembers what to do with it. ]
Meet me in the morning. Iāve got that spare apartment, Iāll send you the address.
[in the fucking morning. so either pre-dawn or quarter to noon, depending. either way it's hours ahead of him to pace or fuck or drink or get himself all riled up without the outlet he really wants, at which point he'll deliver himself to jack like a powder keg with a lit torch resting on top of it.
fortunately, daphne is more than suitable as a distraction. vane even manages to sleep, a little, though he wakes up in darkness, and lies there with all his physical senses wide open, ready to catch the wind that will begin closing the distance ahead of him. seven months is a long time to fall behind.
the thought drifts across his mind, once, that he could still fuck this up, badly, perhaps worse than eleanor, perhaps terrible enough that he loses something truly irreplaceable. that much can't even be said of his own life, in this place. but he snuffs out the same thought like a dwindling match, effortless, barely perceiving it. never in his life or death has he ever felt so fucking certain, so clear in his intention toward a singular solid goal. that kind of certainty is a light on the shore, a beacon out to a dark and angry sea saying this is where home is.
not a house, or a ship. not even nassau, anymore. it's just jack. that friendship, hard-won and enduring. that true depth of trust. the only comfort worth his submission.
just before dawn, he rolls away from the warm body beside him and dresses silently, snatching up a cigarette to take with him. he doesn't light it until he's left the high breeze of the beach behind, but by the time he makes it into the city proper he's already smoked it to the last embers. he's too early but he can't sit still, so for a while he just... wanders. familiarizing himself with the city again. gradually the light rises, the colors sharpen, and the streets of the Up grow busier, exactly as he remembers it, as if no time has passed at all.
he's surprised to realize he recognizes the location jack provided, when he finds himself outside of it, simply as a place he's passed before. the idea that he's grown used to this city unsettles him. but vane finds the right apartment, and this time he lets himself in.]
[ The apartment is smaller, and not quite as luxurious as the provided housing for Dominants, but it's no less modern. Jack took it out because it was inexpensive and pre-furnished, somewhere he could put up Hickey in a dignified manner after the decision (Jack's own, despite what his former Submissive still thinks) to remove him from his home was made. He's fucked off now, and taken all his things, leaving Jack with an empty apartment that, days ago, he was ready to give up. He's lucky now that he hasn't yet, because this gives them some privacy that he can't have at home, without the option of Irving or even Anne showing up with an interruption. Jack makes his way there when he says he's going to, if on the later end. He isn't putting it off, so much as he wants to be sure he knows what he's doing.
Even with the angst of the Tempest's wreck lingering over him like the smell of smoke absorbed into a coat, it's been peaceful since he signed his contract with Irving and moved him in. It was, Jack thought, the culmination of a long list of dramas and obstacles they've had to push through to get somewhere stable, a reward for them both in the form of something gentle that neither thought they wanted, or even that they could have, something tender and domestic and far too soft to have ever fit into his old life.
That's just the tragedy of Jack Rackham, that he can never just be content with what he's got. There's always got to be something more, something bigger, something shinier. Always something that pulls him in, some kind of chaos that he can't stop himself from pawing at. He's a dog chasing a ball that says Blow Your Life Up, over and over again, never believing that it'll actually break inside his mouth and do exactly as it's promised. For as much as he considers his wits to be what's gotten him so far, as much as he talks them up and almost always sees himself as the smartest man in the room, he's ruled by his emotions more than anything. His petty grudges, his desires, his loves. Plural, now, when they never used to be.
So no, he can't stop himself from arranging a meeting with Charles, knowing where it will likely lead. He can't stop himself from wanting him, even with a woman and a man and every reason to be content. Even if he's still grieving him, even if enough time has passed that he could excuse himself, even knowing how hard this is going to be.
None of that really matters, in the end. Jack's used them all as excuses to buy him some time, but they're meaningless in the face of the bone-crushing weight of his want, which all came crashing back the moment Charles turned up on his doorstep. Hearing the sound of his voice was enough. He's right back where he was when they'd argued about the fucklist leak - eager and anxious both, head swimming with feelings that he can't quite put into words.
Maybe he won't need to. Maybe Charles will just understand it, like he did the last time. ]
Charles.
[ Jack arrives after him, but not by long. Not caught by surprise this time, he's put in more effort to look presentable, desirable even, hair deliberately mussed just so, the smell of whiskey and pipe tobacco clinging close to him, with an underlying sweetness suggesting he's intentionally fragranced (not just for whores, in the future). If he's going to pursue this, he can't be stumbling blindly into it, following Charles' lead. He'll take control. He's got to. ]
Thank you for coming. I am sorry, to have delayed it, I just needed...I had to think.
[there's nothing at all familiar about this new apartment, beyond its similarity to the rest of the city; nothing of the pirates here, and certainly not of jack. then again, even his own banner holding pride of place on jack's wall wasn't enough to disguise the signs of domestic bliss in that place either. only daphne's home has been fundamentally familiar, so close to the sea and open to the air, surrounded by blue and green, smelling like wild things.
it's fortunate that jack doesn't give him too much time to dwell on it.
funny how an actual person can look so comfortingly familiar and yet so different at the same time, because that's jack now in a way that vane could not have prepared himself for. it was one thing to return from charleston and find his former quartermaster set up like a king in nassau, thanks to the profoundly opportunistic raid on the urca gold (for which he himself had been, admittedly, quite impressed); here in duplicity, seven months removed from their last night together, jack is in many ways a different man. it might have been enough to repel him, if vane himself wasn't a different man as well, of a sort... not the kind to given in to circumstances, necessarily, but one willing to keep taking for himself even as the bars close in. he'd made one last effort to take nassau from england before they'd hanged him. doing anything less to preserve what he almost had with jack would be unthinkable.
and different or not, charles vane knows damn well what it looks like when jack rackham is dressed to impress, and there's still enough pirate in him to come through in these modern clothes; the heat it sends through him is almost debilitating. he has to curl one hand into a fist to stay focused on whatever the fuck jack feels the need to air out between them now.]
I'd say you've had plenty of time for that.
[there shouldn't be anything to think about, he so furiously wants to insist, but jack has made his perspective on the matter unmistakably clear. if only he had a weapon, he'd have a hand on it for reassurance. instead all of his attention is fixed on jack, sharp and alert, beckoned by the sight and scent of him but unwilling to be shut down twice in such quick succession.]
Itās so frustratingly little to work with, putting the onus entirely on Jack to decide what this is, or what he wants it to be. He deserves it, prefers it even, having some kind of acknowledgement that heās in control when, for so little of their years-long relationship, thatās actually been the case. At least not explicitly, heās always been able to twist and finesse Charles into just about anything, but the trick was to make him think it was his own idea, not to tell him the way things are going to be like a military puppet.
But now, he defers to Jack, without convincing, without him having to plead his case. It would have been a fantasy, back home, an exciting new chapter in the story of the pirate Jack Rackham, to have his much more renowned former captain standing before him, waiting for an order. Knowing what he knows now, maybe itās inevitable, something that would lead to his quick ascent and his place in the history books, and Charlesā tragic fall into anonymity. If anything is truly fated, this must be, but it doesnāt feel any less wrong for it. Jack nearly a year into this, a whole life built around the presumption that heāll stay, acclimated and damn near domesticated, thriving despite his various setbacks, and Charles, the man heād tried so hard to mold himself after, with that line down his neck, asking him instead of telling him. ]
So. [ jack echoes, kicking off his boots and closing the distance between them, putting Charles within armās reach. Seeing that heās still got the scarf around his wrist, and hasnāt torn it off in frustration, makes his lips quirk at the corners. ] I owe you an apology. I was colder the other day than Iād have liked to be. The shock, the new circumstances, could excuse it all day, if I wanted, but itās beside the point. The truth is, Iād almost forgotten what it felt like, before you left, and then I touched you again, and it all came back at once.
[ Overwhelmed him. Scared him. Made him question himself and his loyalties in a way he rarely has, but when he does, he can be sure that Charles is involved. The Hammund affair. His initial acceptance of his feelings for Charles at all, and what it meant for his devotion to Anne. And now this. Like before, heāll find a way to salvage at all. Jack meets his eyes, all piercing blue while his own squint, trying to make sure heās putting the words together right. ]
It was powerful. Enough to knock me off my feet, as it were, because I do still want you. So goddamned much that I had to catch my breath before I could do anything about it.
[ So. Here he is now, doing something about it, stepping closer yet again, and pressing their foreheads together. Charles hasnāt shaken off the smell of Nassau yet (or maybe itās his clothes) and Jack likes that. The only reminder of home heās had since the other arrived the first time that isnāt bad news. He brings a hand to the side of his head, probably getting his rings knotted up in Charlesā hair, but itās a pleasant pull, towards familiarity and new ground at the same time. For a moment, he just breathes, confirming for himself one last time that itās real. No ghosts. ]
[he's braced for the worst, not because he expects it from jack but because he expects it from everyone, everything, at any time, from his earliest memories straight through to his afterlife in this place that gives and takes in not-quite-equal measure. it made him guarded the first time around, easily provoked and violent in response, giving jack an immense headache on top of the hideously mixed signals being thrown back and forth between them.
nothing mixed now. whatever this is, or will be, it shouldn't be confusing.
so vane intends only to hold himself still for whatever comes, not needing further apology from jack but wondering nevertheless if this is meant to precede something worse after all. his fingers flex as jack comes closer, that heat inside him churning up again, and even as jack talks about needing to catch his breath, vane feels himself holding his own.
the instant their foreheads touch, it sends a shock through him like an electric current, freeing him from his self-imposed immobility. for all his good intentions to offer something to jack that no one else can have, there is only so much softness within him, only so many tender moments he can accept before he's completely at a loss.
but there are things he knows better.]
Have you caught it now?
[because with one hand catching the back of jack's neck, he's going to snatch the air out of both of them with a ferocious kiss, tangling one fist in the silky front of the other man's very fancy jacket, so don't even think about pulling away. the hand on jack's neck slides up into his hair and tightens, and even without recollection of the months that have passed between their last kiss and this one, vane presses deeper into jack's mouth with every intention of making up for all of them.]
[ Barely, he would have said, if there were any time between the question and the bruising crush of Charlesā lips against his, but that would be a lie. Finally taking one desperate gulp isnāt the same as catching your breath, and thatās all he gets before itās ripped away from him, lost to the space between them, a single, scorching lungful that theyāve got to share.
Itās too easy for Jack to give into it, opening his mouth for Charles to lay his claim on, and tightening his fist among the loosening braids in his hair. Even though he knew he would do it, even though itās exactly what he came here for. The tug against his scalp sends a shiver down his spine that shakes loose whatever ideas he had about staying in control of this. One kiss, one touch from his strong, rough hands, and heās right back in his bedroom all those months ago, desperate and hungry like an animal. Heās not even thinking of pulling away, but the demanding way Charles grabs at his head and his clothes to keep him there, like heās his and always has been, turns the heat up under his skin and deep in his belly. ]
Back.
[ Jack growls the command with the other manās lower lip between his teeth. Not back, away from him, but back with him, the few steps towards the couch where he can climb over him and straddle his hips. He didnāt have this long enough to feel wholly justified missing it in the first place, but God, he did, and heās not wasting any more time, pressing himself against Charlesā chest to kiss him again with a muffled groan, nearly clawing at the back of his neck with the urgency with which he holds him in his grip. ]
[so much for any lingering doubts. vane makes a rough sound into the kiss when jack gives him the order, nearly tripping both of them in his complete unwillingness to let the hungry kisses break for longer than they might need to breathe.
if he hasn't truly felt the months of his own absence yet, it's all here now in the way they grip and tear at each other, the way jack practically shoves him down and takes up space in his lap as though there's never been a doubt in his mind that he has a right to do it. vane is reasserting his claim but jack is taking something for himself, and it's so unbelievably fucking hot that vane can't imagine how he's expected to sit still for it. both hands slide eagerly down jack's back and grab him by the ass, pulling him in closer, nearly surging up to flip them both but settling at the last moment - it's too good now to give up so fast.
soon his hands are climbing jack's body again, pulling at his jacket, practically biting one kiss into another as he drags the layer off, one arm at a time. the shirt's next, at least enough to get it open or out of his trousers so rough hands can touch skin, forcing the kiss to break (if jack doesn't help, he's liable to lose some buttons) and then vane's mouth is at his jaw, behind his ear, on his throat above the new silk scarf.]
Next time-- [very briefly, his fingers tangle in jack's hair and catch his head to stop them both, panting, hearts pounding--] --I'm gonna strip you at the door. [then he seals their mouths together again in another searing kiss.
[ He knows that Charles will at least consider flipping them over, and if he really wanted to Jack couldn't stop him, but he fights to hold his position anyway, flexing and squeezing his thighs together on either side of his hips, pushing his hands firm against his shoulders, into the cushion as much as he'll go. The last time, Jack's confidence was all for show, a desperate bid for respect from the man he's aching for, but it's real now.
Experience changes things, it's not his first time with Charles, or his first time really yearning for a man, making him feel wanted. If he's sounded unsure before, and he's sure he has, it wasn't from a lack of desire, but to protect someone else. From the way Jack groans and grinds his hips down on him when he grabs his ass, it would appear that doubt is gone.
Jack will help Charles undress him, because he knows this shirt will be ruined if he doesn't. Both layers fall to the floor behind him, revealing the same old Jack as before, curiously missing a massive scar on his belly where a hole should be, and already sporting all manner of angry red love bites on his neck, chest, below the stick figure fox tattoo on his side. He doesn't seem to mind being exposed eith them, he's too busy trying to expose Charles, forcing his way underneath his shirt to get his hands on all that hard muscle and nudging upwards to urge it off.
Charles earns a growl as he pulls Jack's face away from his, and a sharp nip against his lip. ]
Good.
[ Before, he'd have asked what makes him so sure there would be a next time, but it seems like a stupid question, now. ]
[the sound he makes is unmistakably pleased and quickly swallowed up by the next ravenous kiss, one of his hands sliding back into jack's hair so that it doesn't break too soon.
it's hard to stop. jack's confidence is new and exciting, provoking every instinct to rise up and push back, but tempering that instinct just enough to meet him where he is feels intoxicating in a way he's never experienced quite like this. certainly not with jack, until now. he can barely order his wants - every part of his body simply wants to pull jack closer, grip him tighter, and that's before he's even taken much notice of the marks the other man has picked up between their last encounter and this one.
but they're hard to ignore for long. like coming home and finding someone else has moved in, changed things, made the place his own. and if it wasn't for the genuine intensity in the way that jack pushes him down into the couch, demanding and assured of what's happening between them, vane would find it impossible to let that insult slide without response.
a few sharp motions divest jack of the scarf around his neck. then vane's grip goes tight in jack's hair again again as he attaches his mouth to the base of the other man's neck and sucks, sinking his teeth in, snarling as he leaves a mark that's going to look vicious later. there will be others, but this one is going to last; he wants it to throb when jack forgets about it, and ache when he touches it - and even if jack disguises it with more scarves or high collars or jewelry, sooner or later his new lover is going to see it, as clear as a banner saying charles vane was here.
with his free hand, he works jack's trousers open. every movement brushes the bulge in his own pants, making him tense, growling against the other pirate's skin, but it doesn't distract him from the objective of getting jack's dick out and wrapping his fingers around it. it's only once he's done so that he lets go of jack's hair, reaching for his ass again, with enough space this time inside the loosened waistband to keep his touch on skin.]
[ The man who's moved in and made himself at home with Jack, generally, is a private sort. He doesn't like to flaunt his private affairs, or discuss them at all when they're not directly relevant, and has never displayed much, if any, possessiveness or jealousy. So he knew exactly what he was doing, leaving so many easily visible marks on him, and Jack knew he was doing it on purpose and why.
It turned him on, both the idea that Irving would feel the need to mark his territory, plant his flag, and that Charles would do exactly as he's doing in response - seeing it as a challenge to be met, a battle to play out on Jack's skin before the two of them have so much as shared the same room together. It turns him on still, now that it's happening, making him hiss as Charles goes harder just to prove he can, it seems, biting down on him like he's prey that could get his neck snapped with one wrong move. ]
Fuck, Chaz--
[ He growls back, but it's good. It's fucked up, probably, to like that it's fueled in no small part by jealousy, but he does. It's been too damn long, and for Charles to want him just as much as he did back then, maybe even more, it feels good. It goes to his head like a shot on an empty stomach, making it swim with warmth and a desperate need for more.
Nails rake roughly against the other's shoulders while he squirms, doing his best to give Charles all the space he needs and gasping when he finally gets his hands under his clothes, but it's not enough. How could it be? ]
[though the sound he immediately makes is eagerly impatient, vane still isn't in a hurry to let go of jack even if it means getting the rest of his clothes off. in fact, for a prolonged moment he considers not listening at all - he could keep jack right here in his lap, jerk him off until he comes with charles vane leaving bite marks like constellations across his body, navigating the path taken across jealously guarded territory.
but he really wants to fuck him.
so he eventually lets go. at that point, jack has as long as it takes vane to kick off his boots and practically yank his own trousers open, shoving them down his legs, the whole time hungrily watching jack like a predator about to spring. the second his clothes are gone and his hands are free, he's dragging jack back to him again, hands on his ass, mouth on the lean muscle of his belly and the slope from hip to thigh. he leaves biting kisses all around jack's cock, but doesn't touch it again, preferring his hands right where they are for the moment.
the first rough finger presses inside jack half a second before a sharp, claiming bite right on top of the little fox, leaving marks that will be fresh and red on top of the ones that are less than a day old. every sound out of jack's mouth sears its way through the white noise of pure arousal in his ears, and the way his grip flexes and wraps tighter around the other man by degrees as one finger fucks him open speaks to how close he still is to simply throwing jack underneath him.]
[ Thereās something about the way Charles looks at him thatās unique to just him, that heās never felt with anyone before or since, not even on the Tempest when they were all inflicted with that madness. Like heās a starving man looking at his last chance for a meal, thereās something feral and desperate and primal about it, as if the next time he sinks his teeth in, he might just take a piece of Jack with him. It makes it blood run so hot that he just might let him.Ā
He's barely got enough time to wiggle his pants off before he's dragged back, back to urging hands and sharp teeth and the hot breath that's quickly fogging his thought process to anything but Charles and his own blood simmering just beneath the skin. He must be scorching to the touch, he assumes, panting, nearly whining into every bite. Jack's hands tug through the other's hair, not to pull him off but to encourage the near-violent way he's going at him. If he's purple all over after this, it's a problem for tomorrow-Jack, simply not one he's got the mind for considering right now. ]
Fuck.
[ He curses again when Charles forces a finger in, dry. How much of a whore does he think Jack is? ]
Lube in the fucking-- [ Jack grunts, trying to get himself relaxed and adjusted. ] There. Side table drawer.
[it is no reflection on jack and a very stark one on vane that he's off to a running start, and even if he had absolutely intended to grab the lube before getting much further he still has the audacity to make a sound of frustration when he has to spare a hand to do so.
but there's a better concession in the way the next kiss has no teeth behind it, his mouth slipping across jack's stomach, fumbling the little bottle open one-and-a-half-handed because he refuses to take the finger out. just moments later there's a slick mess dribbling down over it, smearing, pressing inside jack when vane drives that finger deeper.]
Been a while, Jack?
[jack should not be fooled by the purr of it - he is blindingly turned on by the very idea of having to ask. he tosses the lube aside on the couch and runs an open palm up jack's lean frame, curling around the back of his neck, dragging him down for a hungrier kiss.]
[ He still gets pegged by Anne somewhat regularly (and occasionally Daphne), but it's not the same. Their fingers aren't as big or forceful, their cocks not as hot or satisfyingly hard when they're not real. Irving's had him a couple of times, always an overwhelmingly tender affair, and the only other (besides the boat orgy...he chooses not to count the boat orgy.) bore a passing resemblance to Charles shortly after he lost him. A stupid mistake. Jack knew he wouldn't measure up before he'd even agreed to it.
It's better, slicked up, instead of hissing when his finger's back in he groans, needy and eager. Jack raises his hips to give him better access, and leans into him, like he could melt against his warm chest, and stick to him so closely he can't be scrubbed off. He reaches for the lube and squirts some into his hand, before he starts stroking Charles' cock with it. ]
No one else can touch me like you.
[ Because he won't let them, or they're not capable, he doesn't specify. Later that night, when he's lying awake in bed, he'll cringe about how nakedly sentimental it sounds, but right now, it's just the truth. His brain doesn't have the function to try to obscure that, only to want, and fuck himself back on the other's fingers. ]
[jack could have a list a mile long and that answer would still be a really fucking good one - and if vane has anything to say about it, neither one of them will be lying awake thinking about anything, at least tonight.
his response is a tighter grip, a rougher, biting kiss, and a second finger pressing in with the first, his approach certainly not what one could call tender but indicating enough concern for jack's well being that sheer arousal doesn't win out yet, no matter how badly vane wants to fuck him now. (extremely. just the touch of jack's hand on his cock makes his hips jerk underneath him, biting back a sharp groan that vibrates from one throat to the other.)
but with everything - despite everything - it's the weight and warmth of jack's body sinking into his own that does the most.
one more ravishing kiss, and then vane's hand catches the back of jack's neck again, tangling in his hair and pulling his head back. both fingers slide out of him, so vane can take hold of his cock and guide it to jack's hole instead - and he keeps jack's head right there, right where he can see his face, wanting to watch the shape his mouth makes on the first flex that opens him up. and the next one, when vane thrusts deeper into him, dragging his hips down onto his cock. and the next.]
[ Jackās not looking for tenderness from Charles. In his time here, heās learned to like that kind of softness that would have gotten him killed back home, but he doesnāt expect it from him, and he doesnāt want it, the feral pawing at each other is exactly what he came for. Maybe someday, heāll want more than that, but even Jack Rackham is not so greedy as to look over the very thing heās been missing for all these months. He likes the way it feels to be wanted like this, like it isnāt a choice at all, but pure instinct.
How the hell did they manage to deny themselves for so long?
His reaction to Jack's pleases him more than he could say even if his mind were not reduced to mush by lust, which has him smirking into that rough, devouring kiss until the moment his head's pulled back. He growls with the compound disappointment of the heat from Charles' tongue and the stretch of his fingers both disappearing on him, but he gives the other man what he wants, a heated stare, glassy from the same arousal that's smearing pre against his lover's abs as he shifts into position to take him.
The first thing Jack's mouth does after he presses into him is clench shut, his lower lip catches between his teeth in a desperate attempt not to go immediately slack-jawed and moaning from mindless pleasure, but that fight's over before it's begun. It feels too fucking good to bother, all of it, the thick cock stretching him out and dragging along his insides just where he wants it, the strong hands on his hips manhandling him into place, and maybe most overwhelming of all, the way Charles looks at him, like he's never wanted anything more than this.
[searing is the perfect word for it. he feels burned - jack's body is so unbelievably fucking hot around his cock, and at the same time he can feel his own want boiling in his chest, desire running molten through his veins. jack looks so fucking good, it's hard to look away, but vane is compelled to kiss him again even as he starts to fuck up into him, faster, an arm around jack's waist pulling him down into it.
somewhere on the edge of his thoughts is a lingering ribbon of fear. more than once now, he's had the prospect of building something with jack - whatever thing it might have been - ripped away from him, and the opportunities to make up for it keep slipping away with little regard for his own intentions. it was easier to bear in nassau, with survival at stake and the bigger picture to worry about. it's so much worse in duplicity. they got so much further here, only to lose nearly all of it in an instant.
whatever happens next, it won't be the same, and vane doesn't know what it will ask from him to adapt. the determination to do so will have to see him through.
either way, that's a concern for the charles vane of tomorrow, the one who likely won't have jack rackham bouncing on his dick and driving every other thought out of his head. wanting the leverage to fuck him deeper, vane wraps his arms around jack and rolls them sideways, driving him down onto the couch, the twist of his hips as he settles pressing jack's legs insistently apart. and almost without thinking about it, vane finds his hands and draws them up over his head, pinning them there with his own weight as he ducks his head for another kiss, this one slower and deeper.
he starts to thrust again, just as slow, building it back up, angling in to work his cock over the sensitive spot that will make jack's body vibrate underneath his.]
[ It wonāt be the same. It canāt be the same. Jack has never had the luxury of wallowing in the past ā it informs him, it motivates him, it provides the context for what heās doing today, but heās always got his eyes on tomorrow. What this will be tomorrow, exactly, isnāt clear right now, but itāll be better than it was this morning. Better than it was yesterday, when Jack was caught up so deeply in the panic of how to make it work at all.Ā
It's hard to be anything but optimistic right now, while he's gasping with pleasure around his cock. He doesn't even resist being flipped onto his back, besides the weakest, obligatory struggle at his wrists when he's pinned, but he doesn't have it in him to put much effort into it. This new angle is too good for him to do anything that might fuck it up, so he takes it, groaning desperately into the other man's mouth. ]
Charles.
[ He doesn't know what he means to say, other than his name, but the slow drag of his cock makes him shiver, mouth open and eyes glassy, before just squeezing shut. It keeps Jack connected to him, even after only depriving himself of the sight of him for a few seconds. Like he can absorb him that way, prove again that he's really here and alive to the part of his brain that's still stuck in mourning, unable to believe it.
Jack brings his legs up around Charles' hips, urging him closer despite the tremble that's starting to set into them. He's not sure if the slower pace is less overwhelming or even moreso, having the time to luxuriate in every thrust, but it's different for them. The variety is nice.
[the sound that he makes is definitely a purr, pressing it into the kiss with a deep thrust to punctuate it, his grip flexing on jack before the kiss finally breaks, and when it does there's a trace of a smile on his face, wicked and pleased, his gaze molten hot.
he nuzzles into the other man's cheek, down his jaw, lips parted.]
Oh, I love it when you say my name like that.
[vane lets go of jack's wrists so he can slide both arms around him, burying one hand back into those dark curls, except this time he doesn't try to keep him still or control his movement. it's just to touch, dragging his fingers through for a handful that relaxes, while he presses his mouth to jack's neck to leave a hungry trail of red blooms.
it lets him keep his thrusts slow, heavy, focusing on the pleasure of it and how badly he wants to brand them both with each other. they would have fucked like this before he disappeared, just because it feels good. the relief of it now is just a sharper edge on everything.]
[ He grins, hard for Charles to see with his face pressed into his jaw, and hard for Jack to resist with the kind of affirmation that had gone largely unspoken, before. Once it had been revealed in this place that Charles wanted him, it suddenly clicked into place, became obvious. He could read it, he could see it in his eyes and feel it in the way he touched him, he didn't need to be told.
But he likes it, feeling desirable. It feels like the highest compliment in the world, coming from him, knowing that just the sound of his voice turns him on. Some part of him, too, likes knowing that he's got something on him, since he feels so utterly defenseless against him when they're like this. Charles could pin him down or choke him, fuck him slow and sweet or quick and dirty, and he'd accept any of it, love all of it. As long as he doesn't stop. ]
Charles.
[ Again, just to be cheeky, but it's breathier now, as he gets lost deeper and deeper in the blissful stretch, the hot mouth working at his neck. With his hands free, Jack wraps his arms around Charles in turn, grabbing desperately at his shoulders, leaving little half-moon prints with his nails, not enough to break skin, but enough to make himself clear. Stay. ]
I want to feel you-- [ A strangled groan, as his legs lose their ability to keep Charles close, and heat coils deeper and more intensely in his gut. ] The whole way home.
[that teasing repeat of the sound he loves works like a charm. vane doesn't even bother to hide the effect it has on him, which would be difficult anyway since he's already inside jack when his dick throbs like that, but so much the better.
yeah. this should be something they're both feeling later.
he arches his back into the bite of fingernails, wanting to feel those later too - the marks that sting in water are the best kinds. and without pulling back he starts to thrust faster, harder, moaning into the crook of jack's shoulder before another bite that holds on longer. let him feel that when he gets home, and every other mark, and how full he is right now, so that his whole body is ringing with it long after this morning.
it's when he twists one hand between them to wrap around jack's cock that vane decides he wants to see his face again, and he pushes himself up, braced against the arm of the couch. he looks at jack like he's already deciding what to do with him next, fucking him into the grip on his cock, into his prostate.]
[ Jack doesn't come on command. He's not a submissive person, by designation or by nature, and he's especially touchy about seeming so with Charles, given his long history of jockeying for his esteem, and his current state of having his cock inside him. So, he could finish with just those words growled into the space between them, but he doesn't.
He holds out another thirty seconds or so, moaning and cursing at the same time as he spills into the other's hand, looking up into his eyes with his own consumed with something fiery and molten. Something more consuming than just lust, clenching around Charles as if he can pull him into himself, so he can't disappear on him again. Jack moves with him, his fingers carding through his lover's long hair, refusing to go limp until he's followed him over the edge. ]
[he doesn't have to wait long. vane has nothing to prove - if he isn't making it doubly fucking clear how turned on he is by jack like this, then neither one of them is having as good a time as they could be.
jack could have made him wait as long as he could physically manage, and in the end he still gets exactly what he wanted.
it rips a moan out of him when he feels jack come, gripping his cock so fucking tight that he has to be careful not to do the same to jack's. but he keeps fucking him, and he milks the spasming cock in his hand with firm strokes through it, until his fingers and jack's stomach are a mess; then vane presses the same come-streaked hand against jack's chest, weighing his body down, right where he can be the sole object of the same fierce, blown-out desire in vane's eyes before the next deep thrust spills over inside him. and the ones after it, as vane groans in pleasure, as his own heart threatens to pound his ribs into dust.]
[ Jack loves the mess. There's something dirty and primal about it that he always likes, and that with the weight of him pressing into his chest and fucking him through it has him riding the wave of that orgasm longer than he has any right to. His mind and body are nothing but burning-hot pleasure, even after he hears the groan that tells him Charles has taken his, feels him pulse inside him and leave even more mess.
He pulls him down to kiss him again, chest still heaving too much for it to be particularly skillful, but it seems important, in his sex-addled brain, to show the same affection in the denouement as he had before. A softer, slower kiss, the hunger having been sated, but no less passionate, or less needy - after all, he's got his legs hooked behind him again, not ready for him to pull out. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the next night...
The headache Jack wakes up with proves him wrong. Irvingās desperate need to put as many marks on him that morning as possible, scratches down his back and bruises sucked into his collar, while incredibly hot and far too easy to encourage, only confirms it.
So what does Jack do, when the time finally comes to get out of bed? He goes to the Neptune, as heās done almost every morning for the past few weeks, leading up to their big opening. Decisions to make, training to do. Heās usually the kind of person to face his problems head on, to make a plan and execute as soon as he can so that he can find a position that suits him better, but this isnāt a problem. Charles Vane, despite what Jack might have said about him in his deepest pits with Eleanor or his surly opium binges, isnāt a problem. He's a relief, a glass of water for a man trying desperately to deny his thirst. No, never a problem, but certainly a situation, and a delicate one at that, so Jack takes his time to make sure his head is on straight before he does anything. As straight as it can be.
Life was so much easier when Anneās were the only feelings that mattered to him.
Itās not until late in the evening, more than twenty-four hours since Jack saw him last, until he feels like he wonāt shatter like glass dropped to the floor if he calls him. He just hopes Charles has the damn thing on him, wherever he is, and remembers what to do with it. ]
Meet me in the morning. Iāve got that spare apartment, Iāll send you the address.
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fortunately, daphne is more than suitable as a distraction. vane even manages to sleep, a little, though he wakes up in darkness, and lies there with all his physical senses wide open, ready to catch the wind that will begin closing the distance ahead of him. seven months is a long time to fall behind.
the thought drifts across his mind, once, that he could still fuck this up, badly, perhaps worse than eleanor, perhaps terrible enough that he loses something truly irreplaceable. that much can't even be said of his own life, in this place. but he snuffs out the same thought like a dwindling match, effortless, barely perceiving it. never in his life or death has he ever felt so fucking certain, so clear in his intention toward a singular solid goal. that kind of certainty is a light on the shore, a beacon out to a dark and angry sea saying this is where home is.
not a house, or a ship. not even nassau, anymore. it's just jack. that friendship, hard-won and enduring. that true depth of trust. the only comfort worth his submission.
just before dawn, he rolls away from the warm body beside him and dresses silently, snatching up a cigarette to take with him. he doesn't light it until he's left the high breeze of the beach behind, but by the time he makes it into the city proper he's already smoked it to the last embers. he's too early but he can't sit still, so for a while he just... wanders. familiarizing himself with the city again. gradually the light rises, the colors sharpen, and the streets of the Up grow busier, exactly as he remembers it, as if no time has passed at all.
he's surprised to realize he recognizes the location jack provided, when he finds himself outside of it, simply as a place he's passed before. the idea that he's grown used to this city unsettles him. but vane finds the right apartment, and this time he lets himself in.]
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Even with the angst of the Tempest's wreck lingering over him like the smell of smoke absorbed into a coat, it's been peaceful since he signed his contract with Irving and moved him in. It was, Jack thought, the culmination of a long list of dramas and obstacles they've had to push through to get somewhere stable, a reward for them both in the form of something gentle that neither thought they wanted, or even that they could have, something tender and domestic and far too soft to have ever fit into his old life.
That's just the tragedy of Jack Rackham, that he can never just be content with what he's got. There's always got to be something more, something bigger, something shinier. Always something that pulls him in, some kind of chaos that he can't stop himself from pawing at. He's a dog chasing a ball that says Blow Your Life Up, over and over again, never believing that it'll actually break inside his mouth and do exactly as it's promised. For as much as he considers his wits to be what's gotten him so far, as much as he talks them up and almost always sees himself as the smartest man in the room, he's ruled by his emotions more than anything. His petty grudges, his desires, his loves. Plural, now, when they never used to be.
So no, he can't stop himself from arranging a meeting with Charles, knowing where it will likely lead. He can't stop himself from wanting him, even with a woman and a man and every reason to be content. Even if he's still grieving him, even if enough time has passed that he could excuse himself, even knowing how hard this is going to be.
None of that really matters, in the end. Jack's used them all as excuses to buy him some time, but they're meaningless in the face of the bone-crushing weight of his want, which all came crashing back the moment Charles turned up on his doorstep. Hearing the sound of his voice was enough. He's right back where he was when they'd argued about the fucklist leak - eager and anxious both, head swimming with feelings that he can't quite put into words.
Maybe he won't need to. Maybe Charles will just understand it, like he did the last time. ]
Charles.
[ Jack arrives after him, but not by long. Not caught by surprise this time, he's put in more effort to look presentable, desirable even, hair deliberately mussed just so, the smell of whiskey and pipe tobacco clinging close to him, with an underlying sweetness suggesting he's intentionally fragranced (not just for whores, in the future). If he's going to pursue this, he can't be stumbling blindly into it, following Charles' lead. He'll take control. He's got to. ]
Thank you for coming. I am sorry, to have delayed it, I just needed...I had to think.
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it's fortunate that jack doesn't give him too much time to dwell on it.
funny how an actual person can look so comfortingly familiar and yet so different at the same time, because that's jack now in a way that vane could not have prepared himself for. it was one thing to return from charleston and find his former quartermaster set up like a king in nassau, thanks to the profoundly opportunistic raid on the urca gold (for which he himself had been, admittedly, quite impressed); here in duplicity, seven months removed from their last night together, jack is in many ways a different man. it might have been enough to repel him, if vane himself wasn't a different man as well, of a sort... not the kind to given in to circumstances, necessarily, but one willing to keep taking for himself even as the bars close in. he'd made one last effort to take nassau from england before they'd hanged him. doing anything less to preserve what he almost had with jack would be unthinkable.
and different or not, charles vane knows damn well what it looks like when jack rackham is dressed to impress, and there's still enough pirate in him to come through in these modern clothes; the heat it sends through him is almost debilitating. he has to curl one hand into a fist to stay focused on whatever the fuck jack feels the need to air out between them now.]
I'd say you've had plenty of time for that.
[there shouldn't be anything to think about, he so furiously wants to insist, but jack has made his perspective on the matter unmistakably clear. if only he had a weapon, he'd have a hand on it for reassurance. instead all of his attention is fixed on jack, sharp and alert, beckoned by the sight and scent of him but unwilling to be shut down twice in such quick succession.]
So?
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Itās so frustratingly little to work with, putting the onus entirely on Jack to decide what this is, or what he wants it to be. He deserves it, prefers it even, having some kind of acknowledgement that heās in control when, for so little of their years-long relationship, thatās actually been the case. At least not explicitly, heās always been able to twist and finesse Charles into just about anything, but the trick was to make him think it was his own idea, not to tell him the way things are going to be like a military puppet.
But now, he defers to Jack, without convincing, without him having to plead his case. It would have been a fantasy, back home, an exciting new chapter in the story of the pirate Jack Rackham, to have his much more renowned former captain standing before him, waiting for an order. Knowing what he knows now, maybe itās inevitable, something that would lead to his quick ascent and his place in the history books, and Charlesā tragic fall into anonymity. If anything is truly fated, this must be, but it doesnāt feel any less wrong for it. Jack nearly a year into this, a whole life built around the presumption that heāll stay, acclimated and damn near domesticated, thriving despite his various setbacks, and Charles, the man heād tried so hard to mold himself after, with that line down his neck, asking him instead of telling him. ]
So. [ jack echoes, kicking off his boots and closing the distance between them, putting Charles within armās reach. Seeing that heās still got the scarf around his wrist, and hasnāt torn it off in frustration, makes his lips quirk at the corners. ] I owe you an apology. I was colder the other day than Iād have liked to be. The shock, the new circumstances, could excuse it all day, if I wanted, but itās beside the point. The truth is, Iād almost forgotten what it felt like, before you left, and then I touched you again, and it all came back at once.
[ Overwhelmed him. Scared him. Made him question himself and his loyalties in a way he rarely has, but when he does, he can be sure that Charles is involved. The Hammund affair. His initial acceptance of his feelings for Charles at all, and what it meant for his devotion to Anne. And now this. Like before, heāll find a way to salvage at all. Jack meets his eyes, all piercing blue while his own squint, trying to make sure heās putting the words together right. ]
It was powerful. Enough to knock me off my feet, as it were, because I do still want you. So goddamned much that I had to catch my breath before I could do anything about it.
[ So. Here he is now, doing something about it, stepping closer yet again, and pressing their foreheads together. Charles hasnāt shaken off the smell of Nassau yet (or maybe itās his clothes) and Jack likes that. The only reminder of home heās had since the other arrived the first time that isnāt bad news. He brings a hand to the side of his head, probably getting his rings knotted up in Charlesā hair, but itās a pleasant pull, towards familiarity and new ground at the same time. For a moment, he just breathes, confirming for himself one last time that itās real. No ghosts. ]
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nothing mixed now. whatever this is, or will be, it shouldn't be confusing.
so vane intends only to hold himself still for whatever comes, not needing further apology from jack but wondering nevertheless if this is meant to precede something worse after all. his fingers flex as jack comes closer, that heat inside him churning up again, and even as jack talks about needing to catch his breath, vane feels himself holding his own.
the instant their foreheads touch, it sends a shock through him like an electric current, freeing him from his self-imposed immobility. for all his good intentions to offer something to jack that no one else can have, there is only so much softness within him, only so many tender moments he can accept before he's completely at a loss.
but there are things he knows better.]
Have you caught it now?
[because with one hand catching the back of jack's neck, he's going to snatch the air out of both of them with a ferocious kiss, tangling one fist in the silky front of the other man's very fancy jacket, so don't even think about pulling away. the hand on jack's neck slides up into his hair and tightens, and even without recollection of the months that have passed between their last kiss and this one, vane presses deeper into jack's mouth with every intention of making up for all of them.]
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Itās too easy for Jack to give into it, opening his mouth for Charles to lay his claim on, and tightening his fist among the loosening braids in his hair. Even though he knew he would do it, even though itās exactly what he came here for. The tug against his scalp sends a shiver down his spine that shakes loose whatever ideas he had about staying in control of this. One kiss, one touch from his strong, rough hands, and heās right back in his bedroom all those months ago, desperate and hungry like an animal. Heās not even thinking of pulling away, but the demanding way Charles grabs at his head and his clothes to keep him there, like heās his and always has been, turns the heat up under his skin and deep in his belly. ]
Back.
[ Jack growls the command with the other manās lower lip between his teeth. Not back, away from him, but back with him, the few steps towards the couch where he can climb over him and straddle his hips. He didnāt have this long enough to feel wholly justified missing it in the first place, but God, he did, and heās not wasting any more time, pressing himself against Charlesā chest to kiss him again with a muffled groan, nearly clawing at the back of his neck with the urgency with which he holds him in his grip. ]
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if he hasn't truly felt the months of his own absence yet, it's all here now in the way they grip and tear at each other, the way jack practically shoves him down and takes up space in his lap as though there's never been a doubt in his mind that he has a right to do it. vane is reasserting his claim but jack is taking something for himself, and it's so unbelievably fucking hot that vane can't imagine how he's expected to sit still for it. both hands slide eagerly down jack's back and grab him by the ass, pulling him in closer, nearly surging up to flip them both but settling at the last moment - it's too good now to give up so fast.
soon his hands are climbing jack's body again, pulling at his jacket, practically biting one kiss into another as he drags the layer off, one arm at a time. the shirt's next, at least enough to get it open or out of his trousers so rough hands can touch skin, forcing the kiss to break (if jack doesn't help, he's liable to lose some buttons) and then vane's mouth is at his jaw, behind his ear, on his throat above the new silk scarf.]
Next time-- [very briefly, his fingers tangle in jack's hair and catch his head to stop them both, panting, hearts pounding--] --I'm gonna strip you at the door. [then he seals their mouths together again in another searing kiss.
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Experience changes things, it's not his first time with Charles, or his first time really yearning for a man, making him feel wanted. If he's sounded unsure before, and he's sure he has, it wasn't from a lack of desire, but to protect someone else. From the way Jack groans and grinds his hips down on him when he grabs his ass, it would appear that doubt is gone.
Jack will help Charles undress him, because he knows this shirt will be ruined if he doesn't. Both layers fall to the floor behind him, revealing the same old Jack as before, curiously missing a massive scar on his belly where a hole should be, and already sporting all manner of angry red love bites on his neck, chest, below the stick figure fox tattoo on his side. He doesn't seem to mind being exposed eith them, he's too busy trying to expose Charles, forcing his way underneath his shirt to get his hands on all that hard muscle and nudging upwards to urge it off.
Charles earns a growl as he pulls Jack's face away from his, and a sharp nip against his lip. ]
Good.
[ Before, he'd have asked what makes him so sure there would be a next time, but it seems like a stupid question, now. ]
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it's hard to stop. jack's confidence is new and exciting, provoking every instinct to rise up and push back, but tempering that instinct just enough to meet him where he is feels intoxicating in a way he's never experienced quite like this. certainly not with jack, until now. he can barely order his wants - every part of his body simply wants to pull jack closer, grip him tighter, and that's before he's even taken much notice of the marks the other man has picked up between their last encounter and this one.
but they're hard to ignore for long. like coming home and finding someone else has moved in, changed things, made the place his own. and if it wasn't for the genuine intensity in the way that jack pushes him down into the couch, demanding and assured of what's happening between them, vane would find it impossible to let that insult slide without response.
a few sharp motions divest jack of the scarf around his neck. then vane's grip goes tight in jack's hair again again as he attaches his mouth to the base of the other man's neck and sucks, sinking his teeth in, snarling as he leaves a mark that's going to look vicious later. there will be others, but this one is going to last; he wants it to throb when jack forgets about it, and ache when he touches it - and even if jack disguises it with more scarves or high collars or jewelry, sooner or later his new lover is going to see it, as clear as a banner saying charles vane was here.
with his free hand, he works jack's trousers open. every movement brushes the bulge in his own pants, making him tense, growling against the other pirate's skin, but it doesn't distract him from the objective of getting jack's dick out and wrapping his fingers around it. it's only once he's done so that he lets go of jack's hair, reaching for his ass again, with enough space this time inside the loosened waistband to keep his touch on skin.]
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It turned him on, both the idea that Irving would feel the need to mark his territory, plant his flag, and that Charles would do exactly as he's doing in response - seeing it as a challenge to be met, a battle to play out on Jack's skin before the two of them have so much as shared the same room together. It turns him on still, now that it's happening, making him hiss as Charles goes harder just to prove he can, it seems, biting down on him like he's prey that could get his neck snapped with one wrong move. ]
Fuck, Chaz--
[ He growls back, but it's good. It's fucked up, probably, to like that it's fueled in no small part by jealousy, but he does. It's been too damn long, and for Charles to want him just as much as he did back then, maybe even more, it feels good. It goes to his head like a shot on an empty stomach, making it swim with warmth and a desperate need for more.
Nails rake roughly against the other's shoulders while he squirms, doing his best to give Charles all the space he needs and gasping when he finally gets his hands under his clothes, but it's not enough. How could it be? ]
Let me get these off.
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but he really wants to fuck him.
so he eventually lets go. at that point, jack has as long as it takes vane to kick off his boots and practically yank his own trousers open, shoving them down his legs, the whole time hungrily watching jack like a predator about to spring. the second his clothes are gone and his hands are free, he's dragging jack back to him again, hands on his ass, mouth on the lean muscle of his belly and the slope from hip to thigh. he leaves biting kisses all around jack's cock, but doesn't touch it again, preferring his hands right where they are for the moment.
the first rough finger presses inside jack half a second before a sharp, claiming bite right on top of the little fox, leaving marks that will be fresh and red on top of the ones that are less than a day old. every sound out of jack's mouth sears its way through the white noise of pure arousal in his ears, and the way his grip flexes and wraps tighter around the other man by degrees as one finger fucks him open speaks to how close he still is to simply throwing jack underneath him.]
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He's barely got enough time to wiggle his pants off before he's dragged back, back to urging hands and sharp teeth and the hot breath that's quickly fogging his thought process to anything but Charles and his own blood simmering just beneath the skin. He must be scorching to the touch, he assumes, panting, nearly whining into every bite. Jack's hands tug through the other's hair, not to pull him off but to encourage the near-violent way he's going at him. If he's purple all over after this, it's a problem for tomorrow-Jack, simply not one he's got the mind for considering right now. ]
Fuck.
[ He curses again when Charles forces a finger in, dry. How much of a whore does he think Jack is? ]
Lube in the fucking-- [ Jack grunts, trying to get himself relaxed and adjusted. ] There. Side table drawer.
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but there's a better concession in the way the next kiss has no teeth behind it, his mouth slipping across jack's stomach, fumbling the little bottle open one-and-a-half-handed because he refuses to take the finger out. just moments later there's a slick mess dribbling down over it, smearing, pressing inside jack when vane drives that finger deeper.]
Been a while, Jack?
[jack should not be fooled by the purr of it - he is blindingly turned on by the very idea of having to ask. he tosses the lube aside on the couch and runs an open palm up jack's lean frame, curling around the back of his neck, dragging him down for a hungrier kiss.]
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It's better, slicked up, instead of hissing when his finger's back in he groans, needy and eager. Jack raises his hips to give him better access, and leans into him, like he could melt against his warm chest, and stick to him so closely he can't be scrubbed off. He reaches for the lube and squirts some into his hand, before he starts stroking Charles' cock with it. ]
No one else can touch me like you.
[ Because he won't let them, or they're not capable, he doesn't specify. Later that night, when he's lying awake in bed, he'll cringe about how nakedly sentimental it sounds, but right now, it's just the truth. His brain doesn't have the function to try to obscure that, only to want, and fuck himself back on the other's fingers. ]
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his response is a tighter grip, a rougher, biting kiss, and a second finger pressing in with the first, his approach certainly not what one could call tender but indicating enough concern for jack's well being that sheer arousal doesn't win out yet, no matter how badly vane wants to fuck him now. (extremely. just the touch of jack's hand on his cock makes his hips jerk underneath him, biting back a sharp groan that vibrates from one throat to the other.)
but with everything - despite everything - it's the weight and warmth of jack's body sinking into his own that does the most.
one more ravishing kiss, and then vane's hand catches the back of jack's neck again, tangling in his hair and pulling his head back. both fingers slide out of him, so vane can take hold of his cock and guide it to jack's hole instead - and he keeps jack's head right there, right where he can see his face, wanting to watch the shape his mouth makes on the first flex that opens him up. and the next one, when vane thrusts deeper into him, dragging his hips down onto his cock. and the next.]
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How the hell did they manage to deny themselves for so long?
His reaction to Jack's pleases him more than he could say even if his mind were not reduced to mush by lust, which has him smirking into that rough, devouring kiss until the moment his head's pulled back. He growls with the compound disappointment of the heat from Charles' tongue and the stretch of his fingers both disappearing on him, but he gives the other man what he wants, a heated stare, glassy from the same arousal that's smearing pre against his lover's abs as he shifts into position to take him.
The first thing Jack's mouth does after he presses into him is clench shut, his lower lip catches between his teeth in a desperate attempt not to go immediately slack-jawed and moaning from mindless pleasure, but that fight's over before it's begun. It feels too fucking good to bother, all of it, the thick cock stretching him out and dragging along his insides just where he wants it, the strong hands on his hips manhandling him into place, and maybe most overwhelming of all, the way Charles looks at him, like he's never wanted anything more than this.
It's searing, but he can't look away. ]
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somewhere on the edge of his thoughts is a lingering ribbon of fear. more than once now, he's had the prospect of building something with jack - whatever thing it might have been - ripped away from him, and the opportunities to make up for it keep slipping away with little regard for his own intentions. it was easier to bear in nassau, with survival at stake and the bigger picture to worry about. it's so much worse in duplicity. they got so much further here, only to lose nearly all of it in an instant.
whatever happens next, it won't be the same, and vane doesn't know what it will ask from him to adapt. the determination to do so will have to see him through.
either way, that's a concern for the charles vane of tomorrow, the one who likely won't have jack rackham bouncing on his dick and driving every other thought out of his head. wanting the leverage to fuck him deeper, vane wraps his arms around jack and rolls them sideways, driving him down onto the couch, the twist of his hips as he settles pressing jack's legs insistently apart. and almost without thinking about it, vane finds his hands and draws them up over his head, pinning them there with his own weight as he ducks his head for another kiss, this one slower and deeper.
he starts to thrust again, just as slow, building it back up, angling in to work his cock over the sensitive spot that will make jack's body vibrate underneath his.]
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It's hard to be anything but optimistic right now, while he's gasping with pleasure around his cock. He doesn't even resist being flipped onto his back, besides the weakest, obligatory struggle at his wrists when he's pinned, but he doesn't have it in him to put much effort into it. This new angle is too good for him to do anything that might fuck it up, so he takes it, groaning desperately into the other man's mouth. ]
Charles.
[ He doesn't know what he means to say, other than his name, but the slow drag of his cock makes him shiver, mouth open and eyes glassy, before just squeezing shut. It keeps Jack connected to him, even after only depriving himself of the sight of him for a few seconds. Like he can absorb him that way, prove again that he's really here and alive to the part of his brain that's still stuck in mourning, unable to believe it.
Jack brings his legs up around Charles' hips, urging him closer despite the tremble that's starting to set into them. He's not sure if the slower pace is less overwhelming or even moreso, having the time to luxuriate in every thrust, but it's different for them. The variety is nice.
And it keeps him from coming too quickly. ]
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he nuzzles into the other man's cheek, down his jaw, lips parted.]
Oh, I love it when you say my name like that.
[vane lets go of jack's wrists so he can slide both arms around him, burying one hand back into those dark curls, except this time he doesn't try to keep him still or control his movement. it's just to touch, dragging his fingers through for a handful that relaxes, while he presses his mouth to jack's neck to leave a hungry trail of red blooms.
it lets him keep his thrusts slow, heavy, focusing on the pleasure of it and how badly he wants to brand them both with each other. they would have fucked like this before he disappeared, just because it feels good. the relief of it now is just a sharper edge on everything.]
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But he likes it, feeling desirable. It feels like the highest compliment in the world, coming from him, knowing that just the sound of his voice turns him on. Some part of him, too, likes knowing that he's got something on him, since he feels so utterly defenseless against him when they're like this. Charles could pin him down or choke him, fuck him slow and sweet or quick and dirty, and he'd accept any of it, love all of it. As long as he doesn't stop. ]
Charles.
[ Again, just to be cheeky, but it's breathier now, as he gets lost deeper and deeper in the blissful stretch, the hot mouth working at his neck. With his hands free, Jack wraps his arms around Charles in turn, grabbing desperately at his shoulders, leaving little half-moon prints with his nails, not enough to break skin, but enough to make himself clear. Stay. ]
I want to feel you-- [ A strangled groan, as his legs lose their ability to keep Charles close, and heat coils deeper and more intensely in his gut. ] The whole way home.
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yeah. this should be something they're both feeling later.
he arches his back into the bite of fingernails, wanting to feel those later too - the marks that sting in water are the best kinds. and without pulling back he starts to thrust faster, harder, moaning into the crook of jack's shoulder before another bite that holds on longer. let him feel that when he gets home, and every other mark, and how full he is right now, so that his whole body is ringing with it long after this morning.
it's when he twists one hand between them to wrap around jack's cock that vane decides he wants to see his face again, and he pushes himself up, braced against the arm of the couch. he looks at jack like he's already deciding what to do with him next, fucking him into the grip on his cock, into his prostate.]
I want you to come with my cock inside you.
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He holds out another thirty seconds or so, moaning and cursing at the same time as he spills into the other's hand, looking up into his eyes with his own consumed with something fiery and molten. Something more consuming than just lust, clenching around Charles as if he can pull him into himself, so he can't disappear on him again. Jack moves with him, his fingers carding through his lover's long hair, refusing to go limp until he's followed him over the edge. ]
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jack could have made him wait as long as he could physically manage, and in the end he still gets exactly what he wanted.
it rips a moan out of him when he feels jack come, gripping his cock so fucking tight that he has to be careful not to do the same to jack's. but he keeps fucking him, and he milks the spasming cock in his hand with firm strokes through it, until his fingers and jack's stomach are a mess; then vane presses the same come-streaked hand against jack's chest, weighing his body down, right where he can be the sole object of the same fierce, blown-out desire in vane's eyes before the next deep thrust spills over inside him. and the ones after it, as vane groans in pleasure, as his own heart threatens to pound his ribs into dust.]
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He pulls him down to kiss him again, chest still heaving too much for it to be particularly skillful, but it seems important, in his sex-addled brain, to show the same affection in the denouement as he had before. A softer, slower kiss, the hunger having been sated, but no less passionate, or less needy - after all, he's got his legs hooked behind him again, not ready for him to pull out. ]
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