Newsies fanfic
Title: Open Window
Rating: PG-13/Teen
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone mentioned or referenced or anything in this fic.
Pairing: Jack/David
Summary: In which Jack is dead, but not really, and David is torn between terror and... more terror.
David is in his bed by eleven, or a little after, and out of his mind by one, on the dot exactly. Jack is nothing if not prompt. David lies motionless under his blanket, his back to the window, and barely remembers how to breathe. It isn't Jack, he thinks furiously as his eyes prick with panicked tears, it is not Jack. It's not it's not it's not it's not it's not.
"Davey," comes the winter soft whimper through the open summer window. One day, David will remember to close it. "C'mon, Davey, let me in." The familiar accent makes him cringe and tighten his fists. "Please?" Then there's the painful punctuation of ink smudged fingers scritch-scratch picking at the wire screen. David wants to cover his ears and block out the crooning pleas, but he's too terrified to move. Jack shifts and the fire escape creaks under him. Unconcerned, he presses his hand against the screen. "C'mon, Davey. Be a doll and letcha ol' friend Jacky in."
"You're not my friend and you sure as hell aren't Jack. Just go away. Go away and leave me alone." He tries to sound commanding, in control, unafraid, as if he has the strength to enforce his demands. Instead, his words come out harsh, desperate and weak. His breath is heavy and wet as he pants and, with a dry rustle of cloth, Jack Kelly is gone.
…
Selling papes has become a miserable business. The headlines are downright macabre, counting the number of bodies found dumped in the alleys and floating off the docks. Even the kids, themselves, aren't safe; a fella who was carryin' the banner not two blocks away from ya yesterday could be found lyin' in the gutter with his neck snapped today. It's got even the greatest of the greats, like Spot Conlon of Brooklyn, lookin' uneasy. He does his best to call his boys back before dusk and he always makes sure that Racetrack is safe in their bed every night.
Blink gives David a good nudge with his elbow as they're linin' up with the other newsies. "Ya seen him again, haven't youse?" He says, peering at David's face with his good eye. "You got that look that says youse seen 'im." He tries to keep his voice low, as to not spook the others, but Mush, who is unfortunate enough to be standing right in the thick of their conversation, catches on quickly.
"Seen who? Ya mean-"
"Yeah," Blink interrupts, "he looks like he ain't been sleepin' no more, don't he? Youse knows what that means, don'tcha?"
"Yup. It means he seen him again." Mush puts his hand on David's shoulder, close and comforting. "Have ya, Dave?"
"No." David lies and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I have not."
"Suit ya'self," Blink mutters and turns away while Mush just fixes him with a bone-deep, piercing look. David sighs and tips his head back to stare up at the clouds and wonders what he has to gain by protecting the late, great Jack Kelly. Or what's left of him, at least.
…
He comes earlier that night. David doesn't notice him sitting on the fire escape until he's half out of his shirt. He freezes, the unbuttoned garment hanging loosely off his pale shoulders, and stares into the surprisingly expressive brown eyes of his former best friend. Jack gives him an obvious once over; his eyes linger on David's exposed chest before following the trail of dark hair leading from his navel to disappear into his trousers.
David flushes from an ill combination of embarrassment and indignation and savagely begins to rebutton his shirt. His fingers tremble and he curses as he tries to put every button its proper, matching slit. "What do you want?" He grinds out, neglecting to glance up from his task.
"To see ya," the answer comes simply, if not with a hesitant edge.
"You've seen me," David points out, still refusing to look Jack in the face. "Now leave."
"Not alluv ya," Jack retorts with an audacious grin and rises from his crouching slouch. David's blush flares up again in an angry stain across his cheeks and nose as Jack continues talking. His speech is slow, thoughtful, as if he is murmuring to only himself.
"Some nights, when Ise don't feel like talkin', I just sit here and watch youse. Listen to you breathin', real slow and soft and sweet and watch ya sleep. You sleep like some kinda angel, Davey. All curled up on ya'self. So damn peaceful. Makes me wanna... Ise just wanna climb in ta' bed with youse. Put my arms 'round ya and just hold on real tight. But youse won't let me." Jack's voice turns to all kinds of sadness as he puts both hands against the window screen. "Why won't you let me come in, Davey?"
"Don't," David's voice is brittle and strained as he stares down at the floor. "Don't come here talking to me like that." His fists are as tight as his words as he raises his tear-blotched face, "don't come here lying to me, like that!"
"I ain't lyin'," he whispers morosely but David refuses to hear it as he shakes his head. "Davey," Jack continues to plead, "I'm not. I wouldn't lie to ya."
"Just go," David tells him with a tone akin to shattered. He's shaking all over and he can't pinpoint the trigger emotion. "Just... go." And Jack Kelly nods with an expression akin to suffocating and disappears into the shadows.
…
The next morning, etched in the thin layer of grime coating the glass window pane, is a message. David notices it while he's eating breakfast with his family.
I'M SORRIE - J.
At least his spelling hasn't changed, David comments to himself before vomiting into his bowl of oatmeal.
…
Somehow, he isn't sure how but somehow, David manages to convince his mother that he's well enough to sell papes. He walks with his hands in his pockets and keeps his eyes focused on the pavement. So intent on ignoring the world, he doesn't see the peddler until he's almost on top of her. She's holding a box of what appear to be leather chords strung with the Christian cross. "Spare a penny for the Lord's graces?" Her voice is just a step above silent.
"Sorry, I'm Jew-" and he stops himself as he thinks of Jack's obsessive vigils, "actually. I'll have one, thanks." He gives her the coin and grabs one randomly from her box as she stumbles and babbles over her gratitude. "Thank you," he tells her again as he ties the chord around his neck. The cross sits heavily on his chest under his shirt, next to the Star of David pendant he wears on a thin gold chain.
"Ain't you a Jew, Davey?" Racetrack comments, not unkindly, around his cigar as he sidles up to him and they begin walking. At a loss for words, David can only shrug wordlessly as he plays with the necklace. "S'all right, man. I understand," he chews thoughtfully on his cigar and David wonders if he, like Blink and Mush, is going to ask about Jack. Instead, all Racetrack says, quite sagely, is, "you can never be too careful these days."
"Ain't it the truth," David agrees wisely, and Race nods his head. "Are you coming back from Conlon's?" He asks, desperate for a change of subject, and hopes that he isn't crossing a line. Some guys don't like their relationships treated like common conversation. Racetrack, thankfully, is not one of those guys.
"Yup. He's sore at me right now, though." At David's questioning glance, Racetrack smirks and pulls his own cross necklace out of his shirt. It's on a thin silver chain, obviously good quality. "He don't believe, y'know, in religion or nothin', but I made 'im start wearin' his cross again. I don't think he gets it, but I yelled enough at 'im to make 'im listen. 'Cause, I may be a bettin' man, Davey, but I ain't willin' to bet Spot Conlon. 'Sides, s'better t'be safe than sorry."
He takes the cigar out of his mouth and kisses his cross before tucking it back under his shirt. "Better than sorry," he repeats and David nods. "B'sides," his face brightens with a cheeky grin and he winks, "I'll make up for it tonight."
…
"I am sorry," Jack murmurs at half past one as he picks at the window screen. "I never mean to hurt ya." There's a pause and he sighs, which David finds a little ridiculous, as he doesn't need to breathe. It's a completely superfluous exhalation. "I don't like seeing youse hurt, Davey. How... How can I make it stop? I wanna make it stop."
"Then go away," he's muffled by the blanket he's drawn over his head, but he knows Jack can hear him. If he can hear his breathing all the way out on the fire escape, he can hear this. "You're hurting me by being here."
"But why?" Jack's confusion is palpable and David can't help but roll over, looking at him for the first time without any anger or hatred in his eyes. "I don't understand," Jack admits and sits down with his legs crossed; he settles his elbows on the window sill and leans forward eagerly. David continues to stare at him.
"I don't... like what you've become," he admits at length and plays with a loose thread on his blanket. "You're a murderer, Jack."
"I ain't no murderer," but he interrupts his own denial with a gasp as he scoots back. "Where did youse get dat, Davey?" Jack points with a shaking finger at the cross that has fallen out of David's night shirt. "Where'd ya get that and ...why's ya wearin' it?"
David closes his fist around the cross, "you don't like it?" He asks innocently. "Everyone's wearing one these days. For protection against murderers like you."
"Damn it," Jack slams his hand against the window screen, "I ain't no murderer, Davey. Ya gotta believe me. I never killed nobody. Who's sayin' I been killin' people?" His voice turns desperate as he hooks his fingers in the mesh wire. "Ya gotta believe me, Davey."
"Why should I?" David spits back, sitting up in bed and crawling across his mattress to lean dangerously close to the window. "Why should I believe you now? You lied to me when you were alive. Why wouldn't you lie to me now that you're..."
"You can't say it, can ya? 'S okay. I know I'm dead." He shrugs his shoulders, like they're discussing something utterly menial and inoffensive. "But I ain't like the others. I swear it. I don't... I can't hurt humans, Davey. Just thinkin' 'bout it... It don't feel right." He rubs his palms together, nervously, as he tries to explain what's rest of his life.
"I only eat birds, and sometimes..." He lets out a rueful laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, "sometimes squirrels, if I'm real hungry. Mostly, I go to the butcher's. Grab what animal blood's left over. Sometimes steal a raw steak or two. There ain't much life for a dead man," he whispers and places his hand, palm flat with the fingers out-stretched, against the wire.
David puts his hand against Jack's; he can feel the cold even in the dank heat of the summer night. "You can come in now," his voice is quiet, but steady, like a sigh against Jack's cheek.
"Thanks, Davey."
…
They sit on his bed, facing each other, but not touching. David still has the cross on; the dark wood stands out against the white of his shirt. Jack's head is bent, so that the fringe of his bangs is slanted over his bottomless eyes.
"You loved him, didn't ya?" He breaks the silence and David almost jumps from the suddenness of it. "The old me, I mean. You was in love with him, wasn't ya?" He raises his head, and blinks wetly against the shadows; his eyes look almost black in the oppressive dark.
"Yes, I..." David trails off and he fumbles with his fingers. "I think I was. I never had a chance to tell him, but it wouldn't have mattered. He didn't love me back."
"Yeah he did," Jack is quick to counter and he rises to his knees. David shrinks back but says nothing. "At least, I'm pretty sure he did. There's feelings here," Jack puts his hand on his chest, where his unbeating heart lies uselessly, "that I don't really understand. But I think, I think it's love."
Words fail them both and they resume sitting in silence. Even the city is robbed of sound; neither call girl nor drunkard is out tonight. How greatly they have changed - Jack, David, Spot, Racetrack, Blink, Mush... all of them - in just a few months. David closes his eyes just as Jack shifts forward; he snaps them open to see him frozen inches from his face. He tries to move backwards, escape, but Jack stops him with a hand on his cheek.
"Davey, 'm not gonna hurt ya. I promise." The oath is barely heard between them as Jack closes the distance and presses his mouth against David's. He plants his other hand on the mattress, near David's hip, to balance his weight as he leans forward. "Won't hurt ya," he murmurs again and sucks on David's bottom lip. "I just gotta try somethin'."
"Wait, wait," David brings his hands up and pushes against Jack's chest, "hold on. What about your..." His breath is shaky as he touches his mouth hesitantly to indicate his teeth. Jack smiles an almost wolfish grin and reveals his own pearly whites. David watches, transfixed and horrified, as his canines grow about half a centimeter in less than a second. Just a quickly, they shrink back to normal size.
"I can control it," Jack admits humbly and sits back on his heels, with his legs folded under him, and rubs his palms on the thighs of his pants. "Wasn't easy at first, but I got used to it." He looks up suddenly, "you ain't scared, are ya?"
"Not of you," David admits and runs his fingers over the heavy lines of the cross around his neck. "Not of you, no," he repeats and falls silent for a moment. A part of Jack recognizes his expression as thoughtful, and so he waits. Finally, after eons of just staring at him, memorizing the soft curve of his nose, the gentle slope of cheek into jaw into neck into... Jack realizes that David's staring back at him. It happens very suddenly, but David closes his fist across the wooden cross and pulls until the knot gives, and he's tossing it to the side and then he's on Jack.
He's sitting on his knees, one leg wedged between Jack's, and he's kissing him like it's something he never thought he'd be able to do. His hands are strong, gentle and everywhere at once - combing through Jack's hair, rubbing up his arms, fisting in the material of his shirt - and he's making happy, desperate, wanting noises against Jack's parted lips.
It doesn't take long for Jack to notice he's crying.
Slowly, cautiously, Jack wraps his arms around David's back and holds him in such a way so that their chests are flush together; he can feel his heartbeat as if it is his own. He slides one hand up to cradle the back of David's head and he breaks the fevered kiss. "It's okay, Davey," he whispers, "it's gonna be okay."
He makes calming, hushing noises, as David clings to him with shaking shoulders. Finally quiet, he slumps forward, resting his forehead against Jack's collarbone. Jack runs his hand through his hair, playing with the curls and just generally petting him. "You all right now?" He whispers and feels, rather than sees, David nod in response. "Okay," he murmurs and continues to hold him close.
After a few seconds, David pulls back and sniffs; his eyes are still wet and rimmed with red, but he's stopped shivering. Jack takes that to be a good sign and wipes away what tears are left on his face. David leans into the cold touch and covers Jack's hand with his own, keeping it cupped to his cheek. "Can we try that again?" He asks; the question is a ghosting puff of hot breath on Jack's palm and he swallows thickly.
"How about... we just rest for a little while, okay?" David nods and allows himself to be pushed back on the bed by his shoulders. He watches through half-open eyes as Jack pulls the blankets up over them and, once he is settled among the pillows and covers, he curls into David's warmth. He laces their fingers together and presses a winter soft kiss to the back of his summer sweet hand.
David smiles quietly and rolls over, taking Jack's hand with him, so that his back is pressed against Jack's chest with Jack's hand covering his heart. For the first time in months, he finds himself falling asleep without the sickness of fear. And it's all thanks to Jack Kelly.
Rating: PG-13/Teen
Disclaimer: I don't own anyone mentioned or referenced or anything in this fic.
Pairing: Jack/David
Summary: In which Jack is dead, but not really, and David is torn between terror and... more terror.
David is in his bed by eleven, or a little after, and out of his mind by one, on the dot exactly. Jack is nothing if not prompt. David lies motionless under his blanket, his back to the window, and barely remembers how to breathe. It isn't Jack, he thinks furiously as his eyes prick with panicked tears, it is not Jack. It's not it's not it's not it's not it's not.
"Davey," comes the winter soft whimper through the open summer window. One day, David will remember to close it. "C'mon, Davey, let me in." The familiar accent makes him cringe and tighten his fists. "Please?" Then there's the painful punctuation of ink smudged fingers scritch-scratch picking at the wire screen. David wants to cover his ears and block out the crooning pleas, but he's too terrified to move. Jack shifts and the fire escape creaks under him. Unconcerned, he presses his hand against the screen. "C'mon, Davey. Be a doll and letcha ol' friend Jacky in."
"You're not my friend and you sure as hell aren't Jack. Just go away. Go away and leave me alone." He tries to sound commanding, in control, unafraid, as if he has the strength to enforce his demands. Instead, his words come out harsh, desperate and weak. His breath is heavy and wet as he pants and, with a dry rustle of cloth, Jack Kelly is gone.
…
Selling papes has become a miserable business. The headlines are downright macabre, counting the number of bodies found dumped in the alleys and floating off the docks. Even the kids, themselves, aren't safe; a fella who was carryin' the banner not two blocks away from ya yesterday could be found lyin' in the gutter with his neck snapped today. It's got even the greatest of the greats, like Spot Conlon of Brooklyn, lookin' uneasy. He does his best to call his boys back before dusk and he always makes sure that Racetrack is safe in their bed every night.
Blink gives David a good nudge with his elbow as they're linin' up with the other newsies. "Ya seen him again, haven't youse?" He says, peering at David's face with his good eye. "You got that look that says youse seen 'im." He tries to keep his voice low, as to not spook the others, but Mush, who is unfortunate enough to be standing right in the thick of their conversation, catches on quickly.
"Seen who? Ya mean-"
"Yeah," Blink interrupts, "he looks like he ain't been sleepin' no more, don't he? Youse knows what that means, don'tcha?"
"Yup. It means he seen him again." Mush puts his hand on David's shoulder, close and comforting. "Have ya, Dave?"
"No." David lies and stuffs his hands in his pockets. "I have not."
"Suit ya'self," Blink mutters and turns away while Mush just fixes him with a bone-deep, piercing look. David sighs and tips his head back to stare up at the clouds and wonders what he has to gain by protecting the late, great Jack Kelly. Or what's left of him, at least.
…
He comes earlier that night. David doesn't notice him sitting on the fire escape until he's half out of his shirt. He freezes, the unbuttoned garment hanging loosely off his pale shoulders, and stares into the surprisingly expressive brown eyes of his former best friend. Jack gives him an obvious once over; his eyes linger on David's exposed chest before following the trail of dark hair leading from his navel to disappear into his trousers.
David flushes from an ill combination of embarrassment and indignation and savagely begins to rebutton his shirt. His fingers tremble and he curses as he tries to put every button its proper, matching slit. "What do you want?" He grinds out, neglecting to glance up from his task.
"To see ya," the answer comes simply, if not with a hesitant edge.
"You've seen me," David points out, still refusing to look Jack in the face. "Now leave."
"Not alluv ya," Jack retorts with an audacious grin and rises from his crouching slouch. David's blush flares up again in an angry stain across his cheeks and nose as Jack continues talking. His speech is slow, thoughtful, as if he is murmuring to only himself.
"Some nights, when Ise don't feel like talkin', I just sit here and watch youse. Listen to you breathin', real slow and soft and sweet and watch ya sleep. You sleep like some kinda angel, Davey. All curled up on ya'self. So damn peaceful. Makes me wanna... Ise just wanna climb in ta' bed with youse. Put my arms 'round ya and just hold on real tight. But youse won't let me." Jack's voice turns to all kinds of sadness as he puts both hands against the window screen. "Why won't you let me come in, Davey?"
"Don't," David's voice is brittle and strained as he stares down at the floor. "Don't come here talking to me like that." His fists are as tight as his words as he raises his tear-blotched face, "don't come here lying to me, like that!"
"I ain't lyin'," he whispers morosely but David refuses to hear it as he shakes his head. "Davey," Jack continues to plead, "I'm not. I wouldn't lie to ya."
"Just go," David tells him with a tone akin to shattered. He's shaking all over and he can't pinpoint the trigger emotion. "Just... go." And Jack Kelly nods with an expression akin to suffocating and disappears into the shadows.
…
The next morning, etched in the thin layer of grime coating the glass window pane, is a message. David notices it while he's eating breakfast with his family.
I'M SORRIE - J.
At least his spelling hasn't changed, David comments to himself before vomiting into his bowl of oatmeal.
…
Somehow, he isn't sure how but somehow, David manages to convince his mother that he's well enough to sell papes. He walks with his hands in his pockets and keeps his eyes focused on the pavement. So intent on ignoring the world, he doesn't see the peddler until he's almost on top of her. She's holding a box of what appear to be leather chords strung with the Christian cross. "Spare a penny for the Lord's graces?" Her voice is just a step above silent.
"Sorry, I'm Jew-" and he stops himself as he thinks of Jack's obsessive vigils, "actually. I'll have one, thanks." He gives her the coin and grabs one randomly from her box as she stumbles and babbles over her gratitude. "Thank you," he tells her again as he ties the chord around his neck. The cross sits heavily on his chest under his shirt, next to the Star of David pendant he wears on a thin gold chain.
"Ain't you a Jew, Davey?" Racetrack comments, not unkindly, around his cigar as he sidles up to him and they begin walking. At a loss for words, David can only shrug wordlessly as he plays with the necklace. "S'all right, man. I understand," he chews thoughtfully on his cigar and David wonders if he, like Blink and Mush, is going to ask about Jack. Instead, all Racetrack says, quite sagely, is, "you can never be too careful these days."
"Ain't it the truth," David agrees wisely, and Race nods his head. "Are you coming back from Conlon's?" He asks, desperate for a change of subject, and hopes that he isn't crossing a line. Some guys don't like their relationships treated like common conversation. Racetrack, thankfully, is not one of those guys.
"Yup. He's sore at me right now, though." At David's questioning glance, Racetrack smirks and pulls his own cross necklace out of his shirt. It's on a thin silver chain, obviously good quality. "He don't believe, y'know, in religion or nothin', but I made 'im start wearin' his cross again. I don't think he gets it, but I yelled enough at 'im to make 'im listen. 'Cause, I may be a bettin' man, Davey, but I ain't willin' to bet Spot Conlon. 'Sides, s'better t'be safe than sorry."
He takes the cigar out of his mouth and kisses his cross before tucking it back under his shirt. "Better than sorry," he repeats and David nods. "B'sides," his face brightens with a cheeky grin and he winks, "I'll make up for it tonight."
…
"I am sorry," Jack murmurs at half past one as he picks at the window screen. "I never mean to hurt ya." There's a pause and he sighs, which David finds a little ridiculous, as he doesn't need to breathe. It's a completely superfluous exhalation. "I don't like seeing youse hurt, Davey. How... How can I make it stop? I wanna make it stop."
"Then go away," he's muffled by the blanket he's drawn over his head, but he knows Jack can hear him. If he can hear his breathing all the way out on the fire escape, he can hear this. "You're hurting me by being here."
"But why?" Jack's confusion is palpable and David can't help but roll over, looking at him for the first time without any anger or hatred in his eyes. "I don't understand," Jack admits and sits down with his legs crossed; he settles his elbows on the window sill and leans forward eagerly. David continues to stare at him.
"I don't... like what you've become," he admits at length and plays with a loose thread on his blanket. "You're a murderer, Jack."
"I ain't no murderer," but he interrupts his own denial with a gasp as he scoots back. "Where did youse get dat, Davey?" Jack points with a shaking finger at the cross that has fallen out of David's night shirt. "Where'd ya get that and ...why's ya wearin' it?"
David closes his fist around the cross, "you don't like it?" He asks innocently. "Everyone's wearing one these days. For protection against murderers like you."
"Damn it," Jack slams his hand against the window screen, "I ain't no murderer, Davey. Ya gotta believe me. I never killed nobody. Who's sayin' I been killin' people?" His voice turns desperate as he hooks his fingers in the mesh wire. "Ya gotta believe me, Davey."
"Why should I?" David spits back, sitting up in bed and crawling across his mattress to lean dangerously close to the window. "Why should I believe you now? You lied to me when you were alive. Why wouldn't you lie to me now that you're..."
"You can't say it, can ya? 'S okay. I know I'm dead." He shrugs his shoulders, like they're discussing something utterly menial and inoffensive. "But I ain't like the others. I swear it. I don't... I can't hurt humans, Davey. Just thinkin' 'bout it... It don't feel right." He rubs his palms together, nervously, as he tries to explain what's rest of his life.
"I only eat birds, and sometimes..." He lets out a rueful laugh as he runs a hand through his hair, "sometimes squirrels, if I'm real hungry. Mostly, I go to the butcher's. Grab what animal blood's left over. Sometimes steal a raw steak or two. There ain't much life for a dead man," he whispers and places his hand, palm flat with the fingers out-stretched, against the wire.
David puts his hand against Jack's; he can feel the cold even in the dank heat of the summer night. "You can come in now," his voice is quiet, but steady, like a sigh against Jack's cheek.
"Thanks, Davey."
…
They sit on his bed, facing each other, but not touching. David still has the cross on; the dark wood stands out against the white of his shirt. Jack's head is bent, so that the fringe of his bangs is slanted over his bottomless eyes.
"You loved him, didn't ya?" He breaks the silence and David almost jumps from the suddenness of it. "The old me, I mean. You was in love with him, wasn't ya?" He raises his head, and blinks wetly against the shadows; his eyes look almost black in the oppressive dark.
"Yes, I..." David trails off and he fumbles with his fingers. "I think I was. I never had a chance to tell him, but it wouldn't have mattered. He didn't love me back."
"Yeah he did," Jack is quick to counter and he rises to his knees. David shrinks back but says nothing. "At least, I'm pretty sure he did. There's feelings here," Jack puts his hand on his chest, where his unbeating heart lies uselessly, "that I don't really understand. But I think, I think it's love."
Words fail them both and they resume sitting in silence. Even the city is robbed of sound; neither call girl nor drunkard is out tonight. How greatly they have changed - Jack, David, Spot, Racetrack, Blink, Mush... all of them - in just a few months. David closes his eyes just as Jack shifts forward; he snaps them open to see him frozen inches from his face. He tries to move backwards, escape, but Jack stops him with a hand on his cheek.
"Davey, 'm not gonna hurt ya. I promise." The oath is barely heard between them as Jack closes the distance and presses his mouth against David's. He plants his other hand on the mattress, near David's hip, to balance his weight as he leans forward. "Won't hurt ya," he murmurs again and sucks on David's bottom lip. "I just gotta try somethin'."
"Wait, wait," David brings his hands up and pushes against Jack's chest, "hold on. What about your..." His breath is shaky as he touches his mouth hesitantly to indicate his teeth. Jack smiles an almost wolfish grin and reveals his own pearly whites. David watches, transfixed and horrified, as his canines grow about half a centimeter in less than a second. Just a quickly, they shrink back to normal size.
"I can control it," Jack admits humbly and sits back on his heels, with his legs folded under him, and rubs his palms on the thighs of his pants. "Wasn't easy at first, but I got used to it." He looks up suddenly, "you ain't scared, are ya?"
"Not of you," David admits and runs his fingers over the heavy lines of the cross around his neck. "Not of you, no," he repeats and falls silent for a moment. A part of Jack recognizes his expression as thoughtful, and so he waits. Finally, after eons of just staring at him, memorizing the soft curve of his nose, the gentle slope of cheek into jaw into neck into... Jack realizes that David's staring back at him. It happens very suddenly, but David closes his fist across the wooden cross and pulls until the knot gives, and he's tossing it to the side and then he's on Jack.
He's sitting on his knees, one leg wedged between Jack's, and he's kissing him like it's something he never thought he'd be able to do. His hands are strong, gentle and everywhere at once - combing through Jack's hair, rubbing up his arms, fisting in the material of his shirt - and he's making happy, desperate, wanting noises against Jack's parted lips.
It doesn't take long for Jack to notice he's crying.
Slowly, cautiously, Jack wraps his arms around David's back and holds him in such a way so that their chests are flush together; he can feel his heartbeat as if it is his own. He slides one hand up to cradle the back of David's head and he breaks the fevered kiss. "It's okay, Davey," he whispers, "it's gonna be okay."
He makes calming, hushing noises, as David clings to him with shaking shoulders. Finally quiet, he slumps forward, resting his forehead against Jack's collarbone. Jack runs his hand through his hair, playing with the curls and just generally petting him. "You all right now?" He whispers and feels, rather than sees, David nod in response. "Okay," he murmurs and continues to hold him close.
After a few seconds, David pulls back and sniffs; his eyes are still wet and rimmed with red, but he's stopped shivering. Jack takes that to be a good sign and wipes away what tears are left on his face. David leans into the cold touch and covers Jack's hand with his own, keeping it cupped to his cheek. "Can we try that again?" He asks; the question is a ghosting puff of hot breath on Jack's palm and he swallows thickly.
"How about... we just rest for a little while, okay?" David nods and allows himself to be pushed back on the bed by his shoulders. He watches through half-open eyes as Jack pulls the blankets up over them and, once he is settled among the pillows and covers, he curls into David's warmth. He laces their fingers together and presses a winter soft kiss to the back of his summer sweet hand.
David smiles quietly and rolls over, taking Jack's hand with him, so that his back is pressed against Jack's chest with Jack's hand covering his heart. For the first time in months, he finds himself falling asleep without the sickness of fear. And it's all thanks to Jack Kelly.