RL with notjackkerouac

[fortiter_in_re]

Jack Sparrow, James decides at some point over the next month, is clearly trying to drive him mad.  Completely bloody insane.  After their date that month ago- because yes, it was a date, no point denying that- James had expected, maybe hoped for a call in a week or so, after Jack had served his three days in prison.  But nothing.  And then nothing

Comments

[notjackkerouac]

The loss of a leg to rub against, even one that did little else than tease with the promise of friction, is hard to bare. Jack flounders for a moment, balance lost without James there to pin him against the wall. He fists again at the fabric of James' shirt, tugging him near as Jack sways forward, keeping the contact between their bodies as much as he can.

Jack's desperate enough to give up the games, but now that James is playing with him -- because that's what this must be; you don't kiss like that without having some sort of interest in the stakes on the table -- Jack is willing to talk himself down a bit in order to keep playing.

At James' words, twisted a little just like his expression, Jack bites his lip, narrowing his eyes. He hums a little chuckle and smoothes his palms down the front of James' shirt with the proposed intention of straightening it (and possibly sneaking a feel of the planes of muscle and skin beneath the fabric). Then takes a shaky step backwards, pressing himself flat against the wall. His fingers wander with a mind of their own to pull and trace over the pattern on Jack's t-shirt. He watches James from beneath his lashes.

"If that's you repaying my hard-won dedication, I'd say that only covers about a week."

Possibly ten days, maximum. But if James has set on resisting Jack, Jack's going to make himself damn near irresitable.

[fortiter_in_re]

Jack's fingers linger just a little too long for the touch to be a mere smoothing down of James's shirt, but really, it's not as if he's going to object. He does exhale a little laugh, though, keeping himself rooted and still when Jack stumbles backwards, pressing himself up against the wall. He almost wants to laugh again, at the way Jack looks up at him through his lashes, coquettish, fingers skittering over his own chest in a way that's far too casual to actually be casual.

If the effect Jack's going for is to make himself look somewhere near edible, he's doing very well, James has to admit.

'Oh, dedication, is it?' He echoes Jack's word with incredulous amusement. 'I hardly think that I'm in any sort of position so as to make repayment necessary,' he says mildly. 'After all, there was a very simple way you could have forgone all that time of... hard won dedication.'

He knows now what Jack was playing at; or at least, has a better idea of what he was playing at, but it doesn't mean he can't use that against him. Jack's shown James that he knows how to play; all James is doing here is matching him at his own game.

[notjackkerouac]

"Was there now?"

It's mostly a rhetorical question. Jack will wager that he knows James' answer, that the simple way would have been for Jack to ring him, to ask him out, go another round of drinks and possibly dinner and fall into easy habit of seeing James every weekend until -- well, something. Jack's not entirely sure what he wants from this, and that's too far ahead to bother thinking about at this point.

What's more, it's boring. It's commonplace and been done before and this way is far more fascinating. Even if James wanted to reject Jack from his orbit, he can't, not until Jack gives his say-so.

Jack strokes the underside of his jaw, drawing attention to the skin there while pretending to consider. "More fun this way. Didn't strike me as the type to push yourself on blokes in pub alleys without a little encouragement."

[fortiter_in_re]

Thumbs find beltloops, and James cocks his head back faintly, watching Jack from down the line of his nose. He has to admit, Jack wouldn't have stuck in his head nearly as much as he has had he approached this in a rather more conventional manner. As it is, he's firmly planted himself in James's head and his life, and isn't looking likely to disappear anytime soon. Well, he supposes, if one's going to do something, may as well do it all out.

Jack's words bring one eyebrow up into James's fringe, though, his face etched with sceptism. 'Hardly seemed to me I was doing much in the way of "pushing myself" on anybody. Unless you've merely been doing a truly impressive show of disguising quite how much I repulse you.'

His eyes flit briefly over the lines of Jack's neck and jaw, as the hand there invites him to, and James purses his lips, before bringing his gaze definitely up to meet Jack's eyes. It's true, though, what he says; this is nowhere even remotely near James's usual style. Well. First time for everything, and all that.

[notjackkerouac]

The wall is cold and even in the warmth of the late summer night, without James' body heat to make up the difference, a chill creeps down Jack's spine. Jack shivers slightly, the reverberation echoing around his mouth, smile twitching as James purses his lips into an attractive little moue, and rolls up off the wall starting with a forward jerk of his hips.

"I'm a terrific actor," Jack says with a little half-bow and a wave of his arm, like it's some impressive secret he's deigned to share with James.

He edges around him, taking a few steps closer to the door to the pub, but not far enough that James couldn't bring Jack around if he wanted. A threat to leave but with a verity that could still be questioned -- or completely spun on its head if Jack felt so inclined. He fumbles in his pockets for his cigarettes, needing something to do with his hands and mouth if James isn't going to take it upon himself to fill the role at the moment.

"Though seems to me," he adds conversationally, fitting a filter between his lips, "I wasn't the one pinning people against walls a moment ago. Or going green at the gills over a dance."

[fortiter_in_re]

'I'm hardly denying that I... find you attractive.' It takes a moment for James to settle on the right word, and when he does, he clears his throat slightly awkwardly. 'There would seem to be little enough point in that now.'

There's a line somewhere in between sincerity and the strange, mocking little game they seem to be playing. James just has to find it. When he says that, though, it's perfectly truthful; Jack is a very attractive man, and in more ways than the mere physical. He intrigues James. Infuriates James at times, but somehow, weirdly, that's part of the appeal.

James makes no move to stop Jack as he makes his way closer to the pub door, instead, propping one shoulder up against the wall, thumbs still his his beltloops and one ankle crossed over the other. He watches Jack neutrally.

'And I thought we'd established that that was about Elizabeth, and the fact that you're twice her ages.'

Nothing to do with the fact that James would rather have been there in her place. Or at least, not much.

[notjackkerouac]

The way James minces his words, threads that searching pause in before his admittance, is laughable. Jack laughs at him, turning away to dip his head to the flame from his lighter. "Charmer, you are. An absolute."

And it's ridiculous, that something that simple and straight-forward makes Jack grin, brings a little colour to his cheeks. For all that there is teasing in his voice, it is charming. It shouldn't be. It goes against every way Jack has ever learned to play this game, strips all the mystery away. Yet at the same time it doesn't. James is still as unreadable as before, leaving Jack still as (un)certain as before. He never doubted James disliked him, because that's just not logical, but something in that little unsurprising confession -- feels good.

Jack holds his tongue between his teeth to hide the grin, and fails, and takes another meadering step away from James. He'll make James chase him if he can.

He gives an exaggerated roll of his eyes when Elizabeth's name comes up again. "Not exactly the person I've been wanting to discuss right now. Much more interesting subject at hand. Or not at hand." Jack gives a short shake of his wrist to help illustrate that point. "Fine girl, though she is. Knows how to play the game."

Which is something James doesn't seem to be quite as apt at yet, but he's learning. And that's promising.

[fortiter_in_re]

'One does one's best,' James returns crisply, and insists to himself that there's not a faint heat in his cheeks. And even if there is, it's dark besides; it's of no matter. It might as well be said; after all, it's clear they're not both playing this game because they can't stand the sight of each other. There's nothing wrong with a little straightforwardness every now and again.

It's obvious what Jack's doing, sauntering away like that, his wrist flopping out in an incongruously queeny manner. But despite James's confession- not even a confession, really, just... statement- he doesn't follow. Just because he happens to recognise that Jack is an attractive man doesn't mean he's going to go chasing after him, after all.

Instead, he stays propped up against the wall, merely lifting an eyebrow at Jack's words regarding Elizabeth. Those are true as well, even though they might make the elder brother part of James wince. He knows firsthand, in fact, how true they are, and that thought really makes him wince, so he shoves it away hastily. Nothing of his thoughts shows on his face, of course, and he lets his head fall to the side, against the wall.

'For which I don't doubt you've done anything but encourage her.' And though his voice is mild, almost amused, it makes quite clear what exactly he thinks of Jack's doing that. Not that Elizabeth really needs much encouragement.

[notjackkerouac]

James still isn't coming after him and Jack wavers in place, constructing the proper amount of balance required to move while staying in one spot. There's a trick to this somewhere, he knows. Somehow he will get James to follow him. Then Jack can pretend to be sore while really being smug when he gets caught.

His face is still hidden in the shadows, but Jack's positioned himself in the glare of the outdoor lamp, spotlight centre stage to show the elongated shrug he gives at the subtle warning.

"Can't give courage to the already bold. Most you can do is give them a little direction."

They are still somehow talking about Elizabeth, which is unfortunate given all the things they could be discussing -- should be discussing. Like why James is still way over there where Jack isn't. Jack takes another drag and then stretches out his arm to offer the cigarette to James. He'll need to come a bit closer to take it. Those few steps aren't much but at least they're something. Some small improvement.

[fortiter_in_re]

'Quite.'

He drawls the word, stretching out the i to stop hard on the t, cool night hair hissing between his teeth. Jack's words are true enough, and whilst James is perhaps not entirely sure he approves of any direction Jack might give to her, he also knows Elizabeth. She's already got ideas of her own. And Jack's right, too, when he says there are better things to discuss. He couldn't say what exactly those things are, but his own tendency to worry overmuch is certainly not one of them.

It's clear what Jack's doing when he offers the fag over to James, but he takes the invitation anyway, sliding over and feeling the rough brick catch slightly on the weave of his cardigan. He takes the cigarette without so much as touching Jack's fingers, hollowing his lips around the filter. The smoke, as he exhales it, blows into his eyes, and he grimaces against the slight, damp breeze, turning away, more towards Jack, and handing the cigarette back.

[notjackkerouac]

The exchange is an intricate one, Jack curling his fingers to bring James into contact with his skin and James deftly avoiding any purposeful graze of knuckle, any arch of Jack's thumb. So much so that the process becomes slow, drawn out, a meditative dance of fingers and bones and skin circling around each other.

James finally wins out in the end, taking the cigarette without Jack brushing against him. Jack watches him inhale and exhale, and leans a little bit closer, curving into that body heat with his shoulder and hip as James passes the cigarette back.

It's strange, this silence, with only the sounds of the pub rattling far away through the brick. Jack doesn't fine he minds it, though. Something about the steady thrum of a bass beat and the echoing glimpses of conversation reminds him of laying out under the stars with James so many nights ago, Kensington High Street rumbling in the background, and James' body, the way he smells, making up in way of too much pressing quiet.

Jack accepts the cigarette by running his fingernails across the back of James' palm. It'd be stupid not to take advantage of the closeness, so Jack does, rolling to the balls of his feet to press a soft, lingering kiss against the corner of James' mouth. He pulls back slowly, takes a final drag, and then folds the cigarette back into James' fingers.

"Ta."

Because this seems like the worst posible time to want to quit the evening, and therefore the best for Jack. He turns to walk back inside the pub.

[fortiter_in_re]

Against Jack's gently lingering kiss, James's eyes slip shut for a moment. He doesn't reciprocate, just smiles against the other man's lips, an acknowledgment of the gesture. Something of an understanding seems to have been reached. At least, now James has some idea of what the hell he was doing over the two months between Kensington Park and this moment, and he has no particular doubts now as to the fact that he's going to see Jack Sparrow again. He has every confidence that he will.

He doesn't particularly want the cigarette back, but he accepts it anyway, lifting it to Jack in a wry salute as he slips away.

'You're very welcome,' he murmurs into the night, relaxing back against the brick wall and lifting the fag to his lips for an absent drag. The smoke burns in his throat, and he chuckles a little, quietly, to himself. Knows how to play the game, Jack had said of Elizabeth; James rather expects he's been shoved into the middle of that very same game himself. And weirdly, he thinks he might be looking forward to the next move.