Pitch Frost may be the walking winter, but Jack is a force of nature.
Jack is unpredictable, unreadable, bound by nothing but a Guardian's oath and his own whims. He's something primal and deep, something that should have been kept locked up within the earth but somehow crawled out in the form of a barely grown boy with gleaming eyes and a wide smile.
And that smile can mean an endless myriad of things. It can be the soft, private curve that Pitch only gets to see occasionally. The one that makes Jack look less like a King of Fear and more like an 18 year old boy. It can be a jagged gash across his face, full of razors and cheerful malice.
Sometimes it’s just a smile, a blinding grin that either means that Jack is actually in a good mood, or that someone is going to have a very bad night.
The two are not mutually exclusive.
Pitch isn't really sure how he managed to capture and keep the attention of something like Jack. He went through three centuries of not being worth any notice, and he doesn't know why the Nightmare King, of all beings, decided to keep him out of the blue.
Usually it's flattering in a way, having a cheerful eldritch horror paying full attention to him. Jack is a mystery, but he’s Pitch’s mystery.
Though there are times when he wishes that the psychotic little demon hadn't taken a liking to him.
Like when that million watt grin is blasting at him upside down.
It's upside down because PITCH is upside down. Held aloft by shadows coiled over his body and pinning his arms to his sides.
“Yanno what your problem is?” Jack asks casually, circling around the spot where Frost is dangling with a murderous scowl.
“Besides the one in front of me?” Pitch spits, ice popping over shadow when Jack lightly bops him on the head with his staff.
“Hush babe, I’m talking.” Jack scolds, pressing a light kiss to Pitch’s nose. Pitch flushes and makes a move that looks like an attempt to headbutt Jack in the face, but he has trouble coordinating himself in his current position.
“As I was saying;” Jack continues, “Your problem, deary, is that you’re too uptight. You need to just let go sometimes, y’know? Live a little!”
“I’m dead.” Pitch deadpans.
Jack grins at him with thankfully normal teeth. “I know! That was the joke.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Sshhhh. Shh.” Jack soothes, putting a finger over Pitch’s mouth and ignoring the sputtering. “Never forget sweetcakes, I’m hysterical.”
“Hysteria is a common term for insanity, so no argument there.” Pitch points out snidely. His bravado goes flying out the window when the shadows drop him, sending him screaming face first to the ground before catching him again an inch before his nose crashes to stone.
“Whoops! Sorry dumplin’! Must have slipped! These clumsy butterfingers of mine, you know how they get.”
Ice cracks over the stone.
Jack watches with an understated interest as the frost encrusts his shadows and shatters out, sending black shards in every direction. Pitch manages to catch himself as he’s dropped and leaps up with a snarl, sending a blast of crackling blue frost right at Jack.
Who blocks with a lazy twist of his staff and tilts his head as the shadows grab onto Pitch’s arms and legs again. Pitch could nearly scream again from the sheer frustration of it all.
“Let me go! What the hell does this have to do with me ‘loosening up’ anyway!?”
“Hm? What? Oh this? Nothing actually. This is because you froze one of my nightmares and pissed me off. Don’t think you got away with that, I noticed.”
“She was watching me sleep!” Pitch sputters, shuddering at the memory of waking up to find one of the horrid beasts watching him with a hungry interest.
“Hey, don’t blame me, blossom.” Jack shrugs. “Not my fault you have some particularly tasty fears.” He adds with a predatory grin.
Pitch turns an interesting shade of blue and scowls intensely. “Are you actually going to get to the point of your little lecture?”
“Hmm? Oh I’d forgotten what my point was there.” Jack laughs, stepping in closer with a bright smile. “Honestly I’m just enjoying the view now.”
“The- what?” Pitch blinks, watching Jack suspiciously as he tries to keep up with this new change of gears. Jack tends to switch tracks so many times in one conversation that it gets dizzying.
“The view.” Jack repeats, stepping into Pitch’s space and grinning as Pitch’s eyes go wide and dark. “You know, I like contrasts and all that.” The shadows move, yanking Pitch’s arms behind him, pinning them together at the forearms. “And it looks nice, the dark shadows on you. It’s a good look for you.”
Pitch goes very still, not even trying to pull on the shadows holding him. “Jack...”
“That,” Jack goes on with a widening smile, teeth starting to look a little sharper than is usually safe, “and you just keep insisting on going everywhere without a shirt on.”
Pitch hisses as Jack trails a finger down his chest, leaving a line of fire lingering behind him. Jack’s grin grows and sharpens while his eyes flash gold.
“I wear a robe.” Pitch points out, managing to keep his dignity and avoid stuttering while Jack turns the single finger into a scorching palm pressed to his sternum.
“It doesn’t count if you’re not wearing anything under it, sugar.” The hand slides up over Pitch’s neck to hook under the cut of his jaw, pulling him down to a kiss that burns through like Pitch like wildfire. Jack tastes like copper, smoke, gunpowder, and something distantly sweet like burned caramel. Kissing him is hardly ever a gentle experience and each encounter leaves Pitch feeling like he’s half melted.
Jack drags both his hands out to Pitch’s shoulders, pushing the robe open and back. Pitch is about to ask how the boy expects to take it off when Pitch’s arms are tied up, but the feeling of something warm and heavy pulling the material down his arms stops him. It takes a few moments for him to realize it’s the shadows undressing him, and the idea sends a chill shivering up his spine.
The shadows wind further up his arms, strangely soft, though Pitch could have sworn that he couldn't feel them earlier.
"Now, about that issue of yours." Jack says as he pulls away, as if he hadn't just left Pitch's lips tingling with pins and needles.
"What?" Pitch asks intelligently, jumping when a shadow rolls over his shoulder to rest along his collarbone.
"Your whole issue with the icicle up your ass." Jack explains, like it's obvious.
"I thought your decision to immobilize me had nothing to do with that." The....shadow, it's a shadow that Pitch refuses to call a 'tentacle', begins lightly tracing meandering patterns over the ridges of his collarbones. Pitch swallows and glances down at it, then looks up at Jack with a dawning and horrified understanding.
"Jack. What are you doing?" He congratulates himself on how steady his voice is, especially when the shadow is joined by a second one winding lovingly around his throat. Hopefully Jack hasn't noticed the growing nervous energy Pitch is feeling.
Jack's grin turns feral. Damnit. He noticed. "I changed my mind."
Another shadow drifts up his side, tracing over his ribs before wrapping around his middle. "Jack what the hell-!"
"See," Jack interrupts, stepping closer into Pitch's space again and flopping his hands loosely over his shoulders, "this is what I'm talking about. You're all sputtering and indignant and acting so affronted." He moves his hands dragging them down Pitch's front, through the shadow around his middle, and over his stomach.
Pitch sucks in a breath as Jack's hands reach his hips, resting over the jutting bones and tracing at the skin right above his trousers. "You're acting like this is such a dreadful ordeal," Jack goes on, smiling as his slides his hands to the front, plucking at the buttons. "When I have clear evidence," the buttons come apart while Pitch shudders, then groans when a burning hand pushes down to wrap around him, "that says otherwise."
His jaw aches from how hard he’s gritting his teeth. He has to shut his eyes to the open, pleased little smile Jack wears while he strokes over Pitch’s cock with maddeningly light fingers. It doesn’t help, now he can just feel every finger resting over him and hear the hiss of ice freezing over Jack’s skin only to melt on contact.
“I don’t know why you need to be so uptight all the time, my little cranky popsicle.” Pitch’s eyes snap open at that, giving Jack a murderous look. He gave up on the pet names ending long ago but he has LIMITS.
“Did you really,” Pitch seethes, “just call me that while your hand is on my cock?”
“Oh hooooo I got you talking dirty!” Jack purrs, twisting his wrist in a way that wipes the glare off Pitch’s face and makes his arms shake from the strain of pulling against the shadows. “But there you are, just smothering everything under a good layering of grump again.”
Pitch wants to point out that he was feeling just fine until Jack decided to call him a cranky popsicle. He’s about to do so when the shadow resting on his collarbone moves, meandering over his chest and twisting over a nipple. Pitch jerks against the shadows, shudders while he nearly bites through his lip and the shadowy tendril lazily flicks back and forth.
“Oh almost had it there.” Jack sighs, yanking Pitch’s pants down to his knees, effectively hobbling him.
“You know,” Pitch gasps, fighting to keep a stammer out of his voice. “You talk on about me being uptight, but you’re the one fully dressed.”
Jack bursts out laughing, leaning his forehead into Pitch’s shoulder while he giggles. “Much better! You’re making progress already!” The boy waves a hand, not even lifting his head, and his clothes melt away into the shadows.
Leaving a very warm, naked Jack pressed against Pitch’s front. The shadows binding him had been a nuisance before, but now they’ve become torture. He wants to break from them and gets his hands over everything. Wants to feel the way Jack can be so impossibly small and almost delicate while taking up all the space and air in a room. Pitch is usually allowed to spend as much time as he pleases running his hands over the dips and flat planes of Jack, feeling the surprising velvet of his skin and the softness of him hiding beneath the shadows and blades.
His shoulders ache, muscles jumping as he tries to pull his hands free and get them everywhere. Jack’s erection is branding a white hot line against Pitch’s thigh and he can’t even move into it because of the shadows holding his legs down. Small tremors begin working their way up his body, jumping through his muscles and sending little waves of frost over the shadows.
Jack wraps an arm loosely around Pitch’s neck, drags a finger down to slide up along the underside of Pitch’s cock while he rests his head tenderly on Pitch’s shoulder. “Something the matter, snowflake?”
Pitch wheezes, dignity becomes a thing long forgotten and unimportant. He can’t even bring himself to feel mildly annoyed at the idiotic pet names.
“Jack...” He breathes, moving his head (which is the only thing he CAN move at this point) to bury his face into the thick black hair. Jack steps back with a laugh and Pitch bites down an embarrassing noise of protest.
“That’s what I was hoping for! Good for you!” Jack praises. His eyes flash for a second and the shadows on Pitch’s legs yank down, sending him crashing to his knees with a surprised yelp.
“I’m starting to think,” Pitch says through a wince, trying not to think too much about how Jack towers over him in this new position, “that this is less about my personal growth and more about your depraved fantasies.”
Jack smiles down at him, eyes a full, glowing gold as he runs his hands through Pitch’s hair. “Oh you know me so well sweetie. I don’t see why it can’t be both!”
He wants to come up with some clever retort, but he can feel the heat from Jack’s cock so close to his face. Pitch would only have to lean forward just so to press his mouth to it, to feel that heat eating him away and swallowing it down into him. It’s fully erect, jutting proud and flushed so that it’s almost black. The air leaves him in a puff of frost, and his mouth waters a bit when he can actually see Jack’s cock twitch when the ice hits it.
“And I have the feeling,” Jack adds, voice quieter, huskier, “that this isn’t just my depraved fantasy.”
Pitch glances up, raising an eyebrow and glaring at Jack, though he can feel his lips twitching up at the corners. “Don’t project onto me.” He sniffs, even as he leans in every so slightly.
The hand in his hair clenches for a second, then tugs. “You need to shush.” Jack says with a grin as he pulls Pitch those last few inches towards him.
‘About damn time.’ Pitch thinks, parting his lips and sighing when Jack’s cock pushes in over his tongue. This is something he can handle. Jack is a hot, solid weight in his mouth and the angle may be odd with his arms behind his back and his knees held down firmly to the ground, but judging by Jack’s moans he seems to be managing quite well.
He sucks Jack down as far as he can, bobbing his head slowly and dragging his tongue to feel every ridge when he pulls up. The heat borders on painful, just enough to make Pitch feel it more as he swallows Jack down over and over.
Even bound as he is, this is something he can control. Each moan and gasp pulled from Jack’s lips is his doing, every twitch of fingers in his hair is something he made.
Pitch is so caught up in everything that it takes him a few moments to register the warm pressure sliding up his thigh. He jumps when he recognizes the feeling of one of the shadows pushing between his legs. It feels more solid now, more like something alive than the soft airy brushes of before.
It coils around his leg, runs down along where his thigh meets hip and dips down. Pitch freezes as it glides under and up, pressing hot and firm against his entrance as it slides thick between his ass cheeks.
The shadow (definitely not a tentacle, absolutely not) rocks back and forth, sending electric shocks up Pitch’s body as it presses up against him. He yanks back only to have the hand in his hair hold him in place, Jack pushing forward until his cock hits the back of Pitch’s throat.
“Oh don’t mind me,” Jack purrs, grinning when Pitch groans around him, “you were doing such a good job.”
Pitch looks up at Jack, trying to properly convey the confused mix of arousal and incredulous shock. Really, how is he supposed to concentrate on anything when-
A shadow resting over his chest slides down, wrapping around his cock and applying just enough pressure to be maddening. Pitch shudders and tries to breathe evenly around the thick erection pressing against his throat. It’s taking all his focus just to keep from accidentally biting down.
“Need me to help out?” Jack asks sweetly. It takes Pitch a few moments to decide how to answer that; what does that even mean?
The shadow pushes, slides into him, just thick enough that Pitch can feel the wet pressure of it stretching him. His voice catches on a whine, muffled by the cock in his mouth.
He looks up, then nods minutely, not even sure what he’s agreeing to.
Jack’s grin spreads across his face and his eyes blaze in the dim light. “Good.”
The shadow moves, slowly sliding in and out and Jack rocks his hips to match the rhythm of it. Everything else dims, muffles out. The shadow thrusts into him while Jack all but suffocates him, the second shadow on his own cock a constant, teasing pressure.
He’s surrounded, water sliding down his skin as he’s heated from every angle and filled with Jack. He breathes and tastes and feels Jack and hears Jack’s moans echoing his own.
Pitch grinds back into the shadows mindlessly, groaning even when he gags on Jack.
“Do you have any idea what you look like right now?” Jack asks, voice breathless and hitching as he fucks into Pitch’s mouth. The thrusts grow more erratic, pushing roughly past his lips and Pitch can only whine and try to keep breathing. He presses his tongue up and Jack’s voice breaks on a sound that is close to Pitch’s name. His scalp burns when Jack clenches his fists in his hair and his throat burns as Jack comes, shuddering and molten on Pitch’s tongue.
The shadow in him doesn’t stop, it only grows in him and thrusts harder, twisting and filling him with every shove. Pitch has to pull back to gasp and suck down air, he can still taste Jack and there are still hands in his hair and encouragements whispered to him.
He can still hardly breathe, sure he’s falling apart and coming loose at the joints from all the heat in and surrounding him. Pitch leans into Jack again, presses his face into the dip of Jack’s hip and buries himself ih the feel and smell of Jack while he gasps and pants.
The shadow fucks harder, relentlessly shoves him further into Jack and sends Pitch’s soft pants breaking into snatches of inarticulate words. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to say when all he can think of is Jack’s name and all he can hear is Jack’s voice.
“Come on Pitch, almost. You’re almost there. Just let go.”
The shadow on his cock finally grips him, twists and pulls while the other shadow slams into him and coils inside him, rolling against his prostate until he’s screaming into the meat of Jack’s thigh. He bites down until blood burns his tongue while he comes and keeps coming. He can hear something cracking and snapping while his body convulses.
Jack runs a hand along his cheek, cupping his jaw as he sucks down air and shivers, feeling overheated while his body continues to cool. The shadows slowly ease from him as Jack lowers himself down and lets Pitch flop bonelessly against his shoulder.
“My floor is completely covered in ice.” Jack says conversationally.
“Good.” Pitch croaks, nuzzling his face into the curve of Jack’s neck, “I hope you slip and break your neck, you psychopath.”
Jack laughs and presses a chaste kiss to Pitch’s soaked temple, “Only in your nightmares, creamsicle.”
