Gravity of Devils [three]
Jack leaves Pitch for many months after that night, living alone in the cold Arctic where the snow falls endlessly and the glaciers reflects what little sunlight there is like mirrors planted deep within the crust of the Earth. He doesn’t mind not seeing children on a daily basis—in fact, right now he prefers it that way—but when he’s back in his element, he feels a little more at home. At least it’s not the desert, Jack thinks spiritedly.
It was on this day that Jack let his thoughts wonder to perhaps the darkest parts of his mind—back to the night he left the Boogeyman on a cold, stormy mountain. The gravity of Pitch was intoxicating, and Jack couldn’t get enough of the elder spirit even if he tried. Jack didn’t know if it was love or lust that had kept Pitch tied to the his side for so long, but he hoped that it was the former—or at least, he knew it was the latter, he just hoped it was also love, yet he feared it wasn’t enough.
But Jack could live with it not being love. Jack could live with only satisfying Pitch in a physical manner—but then Jack thinks; no, I couldn’t, because I need to be loved by Pitch.
So Jack came to the conclusion that he would have to live without the Boogeyman. He could go on with his eternal life, perhaps visiting his friends more and helping them out with their duties. It had, of course, been close to ten years now since they’d all been together. Maybe Jack would set something up, like a small party at North’s workshop or a game night—something fun.
Nevertheless, darkness crept like a wave of moving sand, snaking around a glacier behind Jack’s back and building itself up till it begins to form the figure of a tall, slender being. Jack could smell the villain’s scent of malice and rust even without turning around to know he was there. Jack held his breath, trying to keep himself from falling apart.
“Brooding, are we?” The liquid voice of Pitch snuck into Jack’s ear.
He shivered, but not from the cold. Jack released his breath and asked, callously; “why are you here, Pitch?” He’s been sitting on the edge of a glacier, overlooking the frozen sea for what felt like an eternity of peace. A black and white orca breeched the placid waters, followed by a few more in her pod before they dive down, down, down and were gone form their sight.
“I’m here for you. Only you, Jack.” Pitch sounds a bit fatigued, as if searching for Jack is exhausting.
And in fact, it aches—being away from Jack hurts. Pitch knows hurt, he knows fear—he’s seen the fear of losing someone important destroy people. He only wanted to see the boy, to tell him—well, Pitch breathes—tell him he’s missed, or wanted, or whatever it is that Pitch is feeling. He’s not so sure anymore, and he just wants the Winter to come back with him, be by his side—he just doesn’t know what to say anymore.
“Go home.” Jack’s voice is harsh and brutal as he gets up and brushes passed the King of Darkness. Pitch grabs Jack’s shoulder and spins him around. His eyes are pleading, and Jack melts a little on the inside.
“Tell me Jack, why can’t you bare with me?” Pitch begs for an explanation, and Jack only has one.
“Because you don’t love me.”
The sky is dark that night, dark enough to make the world blind and terrified—and Pitch feels powerful. Snow whirls around like a burning whip, crying out with a wind that is too forceful; too angry—and Jack feels desperate.
Pitch and Jack scream and yell; fighting and biting and crying out in ecstasy with every howl of wind that pounces too hard against a child’s window. Bare skin is slick despite the cold, sighs and moans are swallowed up by defiant grey lips, and breath is shallow and wasted on hiccups and groans of eager pleasure.
“Jack,” Pitch moans out atop the eternal teenager, thrusting till he’s all the way inside and he’s trembling and sweating and so close. Jack can feel his eyes burning and he wants to scream at the man, but his moan is caught in his throat as his nails rack down the elder spirit’s back and he feels too full, too pressured, and he explodes once, twice, three times.
Pitch sighs in relief, opening his eyes to stare down at the Winter. He feels a sinking feeling in his stomach as an angry tear slips from beneath Jack’s cerulean eyes. “I hate you.” Jack hisses, then kisses him far too urgently, and Pitch can taste blood from his split lip.
Jack is visited by Pitch many nights after that, biding his time with idle promises of desperation. “Jack, come back with me.” The Boogeyman begs, his eyes pleading, and Jack knows he’s trying.
He’d been trying for days to convince the Winter that he’d try—try to learn to love, try to fall in love, try to be in love with Jack.
But that’s not what Jack wants to hear.
Regardless, Jack goes back to the frozen lake and the hole beneath the broken bedframe with the Nightmare King.
Years pass by quicker than expected.
Atop a clock tower, perhaps somewhere in England, sat a shadow and a snowflake. It was somewhere between sunset or sunrise, where the sun cast a beautiful array of colors; purples, reds, oranges and yellows lain across the city like a fire, burning down the town from the farthest point in the horizon—yet no one tried to stamp it out.
Jack Frost’s staff was leaning casually up against the clock tower. He sat atop the edge of the building on his tiptoes, balancing with a finely toned core that was surely developed over time to be very cat-like. Meanwhile the Shadow King stood beside him in total silence, his legs crossed at the ankles as he watched his beloved Nightmares creeping very snake-like through alleyways and around corners, invading windows and open chimney’s and crawling out from beneath beds and out from closest.
“So what do you want now, Pitch?” Jack asked airily. He didn’t so much mind the man constantly finding him wherever he seemed to vanish to, but he was continually trying to force their relationship’s issues on the back burner, trying to drown it out with his Guardian duties—and Pitch was making that severely difficult.
“I’ve grown quite fond of you, Jack Frost. Your company is most—“ Pitch sought the word out—intriguing, fulfilling, needed, desired? But Pitch managed not to find the right one as he shrugged it off and let the sentence die young. Maybe he’ll try something else.
Jack scoffed, paying little attention to the Boogeyman as he watched a Nightmare move steadily into a child’s window—and he didn’t like that, not one bit.
“I love you, Jack.” Pitch blurted out, and his voice was low and soft.
Jack turned his head towards Pitch so quickly he feared he’d snapped his neck. His expression showed vague recognition of the word, of the situation, but it was gone in a flash. Jack then realized what Pitch had said, but tried to ignore the pointed stare he was receiving from the elder spirit.
“What, say something—“
“I’ve gotta go.” Jack spoke quickly, taking his staff in his hands and running for the edge of the clock tower, catching the wind heading west. Jack almost believed him.
They met again, soon after that, somewhere south of Mexico, and Jack feels shame building in his gut, and he cringes for days as he waits for the Boogeyman to mention their previous conversation—yet, he never says a word.
The two spirits spend more and more time together, growing even fonder of each other all over again. Pitch doesn’t push Jack to join his side, and Jack doesn’t push Pitch to love him, but things begin to move forward in a positive direction—even if it isn’t physical anymore, their relationship brings them closer in a better way the second go ‘round.
Pitch didn’t feel so alone with Jack, and Jack—he missed his other friends, and Pitch was slightly jealous of that—but Jack didn’t mind the eloquent company of the Boogeyman either.
But duty calls, and Jack leaves to take care of his Guardian responsibilities, and Pitch skitters off into the shadows to frighten children.
It must have been Finland Jack reaches this time, due to the massive amounts of snow during their winter months. And Pitch meets him there, creeping out of a shadow in an alleyway, approaching the boy as he leans up against the wall of a small, squatty building; watching children throw snowballs at each other. The sky is overcast, and it was sure to bring a heavy snowstorm, but for now, Jack was content just watching the kids play.
Pitch places a hand on the Guardians shoulder—but the boy gave no start or shudder, simply glanced at the man sideways and smiled. “Hey Pitch.” He said merrily. “What brings you here?” His voice is playful this time and he smiles. Jack knows why the man is beside him, but he likes the sound of Pitch’s voice anyways.
“Fear, as always.” Pitch’s answer is full of melancholy, but there is a secret tugging at the corner of his lips. He smirks down at the boy who rolls his eyes back up at him.
The Winter steps up on his tiptoes and places a soft kiss on the King’s temple, whispering; “go get ‘em, tiger.”
Jack feels his heart leap and his breath catch when the man’s hand falls away from his shoulder and he glides effortlessly out of the alleyway and into the street, where a small boy stands frightened and stiffens. “Y-you’re—“
“Yes,” Pitch answers slowly, darkly, running a long, slender grey finger across the boys jaw. A darkness creeps out of his fingertips, leaving a shadow of a mark on the boys’ skin that fades quickly. They boy is shaken and runs away, leaving a pile of untouched snowballs in a heap for the other children to claim.
Pitch turns back towards Jack and joins his side once more. Jack doesn’t say a word, merely watches the Nightmare King carefully. He exhales.
“Pitch, I need to talk to you.” Jack speaks far too fast, his words falling out messily.
“Oh, do you now?” Pitch jests, his brow cocked.
And Jack is on him in seconds, kissing his lips and neck eagerly. When he pulls away, Pitch is biting his lip and clutching at Jack’s sweatshirt. His expression shows restraint, but Jack refuses to let the moment pass. “I—“ but his voice falls short. “I—uh,“ he tries again. He realizes how close he wants to be to Pitch, and his heart aches as he sees the way the man’s elegant chest heaves, raising and falling with each breath, and he can see the powerful heart beat beneath his breast. “I, just, uh.” Jack sighs, “never mind.”
Jack’s heart breaks within his ribcage. He turns away and catches the wind that drifts up the alleyway, floating away once more. Pitch feels his stomach fall to his toes as the boy runs from him, yet again. “Jack,” he whispers the boy’s name longingly, but it’s too late.
Things slowly work their way around once more and now, they’re dancing this time around when they meet again. Jack is teaching the taller man to dance and he’s laughing loudly because he’s doesn’t know the exact steps, but he’s having fun regardless.
Pitch remembers something from a life once lived by a man he doesn’t recognize and he stops for a moment to collect his breath as a little girls laugh echoes in his mind. There are ballrooms and gold chandeliers and masks and gaudy dresses, and he remembers the steps to the Polonaise, and teaches them to Jack mindlessly.
“Where did this come from?” Jack asks surprised, and Pitch shrugs. His heart leaps as he gently takes the boys hand in his and leads him. He swings Jack out into a gentle circle then turns away as Jack steps back into him.
“There needs to be more people for this dance to have the full affect, but yes, I remember this dance from before.” Jack spins away from him again, rounding his side.
Pitch takes the boy by the waist and holds him close. He then shows Jack how to Waltz, starting off in a small four-step box formation. Jack doesn’t hesitate to lean his head against the tall man’s chest.
Jack hums with the closeness, and the heat that rises from Pitch. “I miss this.” Jack says softly, feeling the heat creep onto his face from Pitch’s breast. Pitch merely chuckles, and Jack can feel the vibrations from his bones. The grey skinned man pulls away from the boy and stops swaying to the music in his head as he take’s in the peace on Jack’s face.
But Jack is pulling him down by the collar of his robe and mashing their lips together. He’s eager and Pitch complies willingly, his hands snaking to cradle the back of Jack’s head as their lips tie themselves in passionate knots. “I love you.” Jack sighed into Pitch’s mouth, wedged in between teeth and tongues—but his lips hardly moved, as if it were just an exhalation of ecstasy.
Pitch doesn’t fight it. He pulls the boy into him, and moves his lips against his partners till their bruised and raw. Jack moans, and he misses the physical aspects of the twisted relationship that he and Pitch once had, and he misses Pitch being his.
“Stay.” Jack begs, and his eyes feel tingly as Pitch stares down at him. “I’m always scared I’ll never see you again.”
But Pitch pulls the boy in for another kiss, and he stays.
Jack is fast asleep by this time, and the Boogeyman simply stares up at the moon, hoping, for once, the Man in the Moon will talk back—he doesn’t, of course, so Pitch settles for Jack’s sleeping form.
He’s takes hold of the boy’s hand, drawing petty shapes out of the inky sand in his fingertips and placing them in the palm of the pale skinned boys hand. “I don’t know…” Pitch’s voice falls short as he begins to feel uncertain about himself. He counts the spaces between Jack’s breaths carefully, making sure the boy is really asleep before he continues.
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Jack.” Pitch sighs softly into the wind. He eyes the boy with a sideways glance, then interlaces the boy’s lovely hand with his and inspects the closed spaces between their fingers. Though Jack’s fingers are shorter than his, he sees that their hands fit together perfectly—and he thinks, how wonderful a shade his skin is against Jack’s alabaster flesh.
“It’s not that I feel I need you beside me,” Pitch tried to defend quickly, but realizes Jack is still asleep—and therefore, there is nothing to defend really, yet he continues; “it’s just that I—“ he stops himself as Jack shifts in his sleep and his head falls lightly against Pitch’s shoulder.
The Boogeyman stays very still and studies the boy once more—the silvery white of his hair, the soft curve of his nose and pale lips, even his strong jaw and chin, and the light freckles that dot the boys cheeks and the bridge of his nose. Beautiful, Pitch thinks, letting the boy rest against him. He hesitantly pushes the boys hair aside from his forehead and leans down to nuzzle the scent of the spirit into his nostrils. He can’t help himself then but plant a soft, ever so soft, kiss on Jack’s forehead.
“I love you.” And the words are foreign on his lips, but he whispers them into the boys’ hair anyways—because they feel right and they feel like they could speak volumes over his actions. He’d been afraid for so long that Jack wouldn’t come back to him—but tonight feels right, and tonight, Jack is finally his again.
Jack shifts again, this time in askance, and Pitch panics and pretends to close his eyes and sleep beside the Guardian. But Jack doesn’t wake, simply snuggles closer to the Nightmare King, clenching his fingers around a grey hand that had been forgotten.
And finally, twenty years pass, and Jack is starring at the Boogeyman in front of him again as the memories fade into the back of his mind once more. The King smiles down at him in a devious manner and Jack can’t help but feel weak in the knees. “A kiss, that’s all you came for?” He asks spiritedly. His hand rests on his hips and he sighs hurriedly.
Pitch draws an imaginary line up Jack’s jaw and grips the boy’s face in his hand. “I’ve been chasing you for twenty years, Jack. I only have eyes for you and your pretty little lips.” His eyes travel to the boy’s mouth and Jack can’t help but blush.
Jack merely laughed lightly and kisses the elder spirit softly, as if he’d never kissed the man before. Pitch is eager and vibrates with Jack so close to him. The shadows writhed against the snow, moving viciously against the ice as they claw for Jack.
“Why don’t you come with me tonight?” Pitch asks, hinting at something entirely different—entirely physical and passionate and possibly persuasive.
Jack shakes his head with a laugh that brings an even darker smile to the lips of the King. “I have my own plans tonight, Pitch, but how about later we meet up, maybe in France?”
Pitch bows his head respectfully, but proceeds to court the boy once more. Jack responds playfully, bantering with the Boogeyman until the King finally gives up and heads back to his Kingdom.
The Winter watched as the darkness followed its master back down to the hole in the Earth where the broken bed-frame guarded shamelessly—proudly, vainly. "Sleep tight, Boogeyman." Jack called from the middle of his frozen lake.
It takes a moment for Pitch register what Jack had said and he pauses for a moment, glancing over his shoulder. His face is blank, almost taken aback or shocked, but slowly his lips curled back into a coy, sneaky smirk. "May devils guide you home, Jack Frost."
Jack shakes his head with a light laugh, but as he watches the King begin to walk away again, there is another sinking feeling in his stomach. Jack grips his staff and growls, knowing the man did things like this on purpose. He runs over to the Boogeyman’s side, taking the man’s hand in his and trying to avoid eye contact with the King—who is cockily flaunting his success.
“You know, your nightmare sand must be getting weaker.” Jack jests, intertying their fingers together, “I didn’t even dream about the worst parts of our relationship this time.”
But the gravity of devils can be so persuasive, and Pitch chuckles lowly, “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Jack.”
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t.” Jack kisses the knuckles of the King and laughs loudly because perhaps, everything works out in the end.