[ ficlet ] Funhouse [Jack/Oz, Pandora Hearts]
Title: Funhouse
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jack/Oz (Pandora Hearts)
Warnings: Spoilers up to chapter 40. Sort of incest. Or self-cest. It really depends on a lot of things. (if you know what I’m talking about, you know it’s confusing.)
Summary: They’re like funhouse mirrors of each other, different and yet so similar.
Author Notes: I’ve got nothing. Except this is probably one of the weirder things that have actually made it out into the public. And that one day soon I should write Glen/Oz.
They're like mirror images in a fun house. Even Gilbert did a double take in awe and astonishment on their first meeting, confusing Jack for an impossibly older Oz.
Except Jack's smile holds a sadness and sharpness to it that Oz's doesn't. Yet. Maybe he's the only one that recognizes it; the way that the delicate skin at the corner of Jack's eyes crinkle when smiling is the same as when someone is crying.
Perhaps he can only tell because he can feel Jack's pain sometimes, beating hotly and sluggishly inside his chest. They share it and Jack tilts his head with that tragic smile, apologetic and wordless.
If he were someone like -- like Eliot -- he'd demand that Jack tell him everything, if he really was that sorry.
But Oz is not Eliot, and can't get the words out. So he returns Jack's smile. Like a good reflection should.
"So why am I here this time?" He asks, tiredness revealing itself through his tone. Here is... his mind. As far as he can tell. He thinks that he's dreaming, because the last thing he remembers is going to bed. The winding cement path they stand on is unfamiliar to him.
Jack chuckles. The day is warm around them, buttery sunlight giving everything a hazy glow, bright green trees full of leaves casting cool shadows over the garden. "You came of your own volition."
"Did I?" Oz glances around, searching for something he can't pinpoint. There's a sense of harmony to this place, an unbroken surface of a still lake. He's surprised that sort of thing exists inside his head.
He blinks when he feels knuckles brush against his cheek. He lifts his gaze to meet Jack's eyes, curious and halfway unsurprised to find the man so close to him now.
Unbidden his mind flashes to Glen Baskerville. The man had touched him with the same intensity, knuckles running across his cheek and then carding up with a smooth gesture into his hair. Jack mimics the same path but instead of fear, Oz feels breathless as the gloved hand slides down, strokes with a thumb the shell of his ear and settles on the nape of his neck.
Amazingly there's no shock when he finds Jack leaning down to kiss him, a merest brush of a butterfly's wing against his lips. He doesn't resist even though it's his first kiss.
Jack presses their foreheads together. "I should apologize." He speaks, the words brushing against the lips he has robbed.
"You really should." Oz agrees, and discovers that at some point he's begun gripping Jack's jacket with both hands like he doesn't want to let go.
He really doesn't want to, actually. Doesn't want to leave that warmly lit garden with a gentle breeze blowing through it, whispering through the crisp leaves.
Oz stands on his tiptoes and seals their mouths together. Rougher, awkward, wanting. He doesn't have the greatest of balance at the moment. So when Jack's free arm coils around his waist and pulls Oz against his body, he can hardly resist.
"No teeth," Jack laughs into the kiss and pries open Oz's mouth deftly with his tongue, teaching the teenager how to be passionate without being rough.
Oz learns quickly. He was always a better student when shown. Pale blond hair tickles their cheeks and Oz's hands scramble to grip his ancestor's shoulders for leverage. It’s wet, intrusive and makes him want to shiver as Jack demonstrates patiently the definition of a French kiss.
Oz, being Oz, puts into play immediately what he’s taught. Until Jack is laughing into his mouth and pulling away, kissing his forehead in a seemingly familial way except they’re both panting and Oz can feel something hard pressing into his stomach. He licks his lips, green eyes turning paler jade instead of darkening.
“This is my dream?” He questions, and the older Versarius nods.
“Yes.” A knowing look passes through his face. “You can control this world, if you choose to do so.”
Oz swallows, tasting Jack still even though the kiss has ended. “Is this wrong?”
Jack sobers up. Says nothing for an infinity. The weight of a thousand perceived sins and regrets hang heavy in the way his mouth twists. “Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.” The hands on Jack’s shoulders climb, slender fingers tracing the line of the man’s jaw as Oz cogitates over the situation. “I feel…”
He struggles for the correct word even as the sunlight garden around them begins to shimmer and turn misty at the edges, eroding. “I don’t feel lost.”
The other says nothing that could prove less than impartial, waiting. He leans ever-so-slightly into Oz’s hands as they explore the components of his face, the cheekbones and the slope of the nose, fingertips brushing in a comforting caress over the eyebrows and then cupping his cheeks, a face full of features so similar to his own that they could be brothers.
The ground underneath them begins to crack.
“I feel safe.” Oz muses wryly. “Isn’t that stupid?”
“Immensely.” The other manages to reply (they’re all hiding secrets from Oz, secrets that can kill, have killed) before Oz kisses him again.
The world splinters and Oz wakes up to hear Gil and Alice arguing about breakfast through the apartment walls.
He touches his lips, the dream already hazy and blurry. He tries to catch hold of it but the harder he tries the softer and more delicate the strands are, crumbling into dust. By the time Alice slams his bedroom door open and demands that he feed her, Oz has forgotten the dream entirely.
But he still pauses for the rest of the day whenever he sees his reflection in a mirror.
Author: frostberryjam
Rating: PG
Pairing: Jack/Oz (Pandora Hearts)
Warnings: Spoilers up to chapter 40. Sort of incest. Or self-cest. It really depends on a lot of things. (if you know what I’m talking about, you know it’s confusing.)
Summary: They’re like funhouse mirrors of each other, different and yet so similar.
Author Notes: I’ve got nothing. Except this is probably one of the weirder things that have actually made it out into the public. And that one day soon I should write Glen/Oz.
They're like mirror images in a fun house. Even Gilbert did a double take in awe and astonishment on their first meeting, confusing Jack for an impossibly older Oz.
Except Jack's smile holds a sadness and sharpness to it that Oz's doesn't. Yet. Maybe he's the only one that recognizes it; the way that the delicate skin at the corner of Jack's eyes crinkle when smiling is the same as when someone is crying.
Perhaps he can only tell because he can feel Jack's pain sometimes, beating hotly and sluggishly inside his chest. They share it and Jack tilts his head with that tragic smile, apologetic and wordless.
If he were someone like -- like Eliot -- he'd demand that Jack tell him everything, if he really was that sorry.
But Oz is not Eliot, and can't get the words out. So he returns Jack's smile. Like a good reflection should.
"So why am I here this time?" He asks, tiredness revealing itself through his tone. Here is... his mind. As far as he can tell. He thinks that he's dreaming, because the last thing he remembers is going to bed. The winding cement path they stand on is unfamiliar to him.
Jack chuckles. The day is warm around them, buttery sunlight giving everything a hazy glow, bright green trees full of leaves casting cool shadows over the garden. "You came of your own volition."
"Did I?" Oz glances around, searching for something he can't pinpoint. There's a sense of harmony to this place, an unbroken surface of a still lake. He's surprised that sort of thing exists inside his head.
He blinks when he feels knuckles brush against his cheek. He lifts his gaze to meet Jack's eyes, curious and halfway unsurprised to find the man so close to him now.
Unbidden his mind flashes to Glen Baskerville. The man had touched him with the same intensity, knuckles running across his cheek and then carding up with a smooth gesture into his hair. Jack mimics the same path but instead of fear, Oz feels breathless as the gloved hand slides down, strokes with a thumb the shell of his ear and settles on the nape of his neck.
Amazingly there's no shock when he finds Jack leaning down to kiss him, a merest brush of a butterfly's wing against his lips. He doesn't resist even though it's his first kiss.
Jack presses their foreheads together. "I should apologize." He speaks, the words brushing against the lips he has robbed.
"You really should." Oz agrees, and discovers that at some point he's begun gripping Jack's jacket with both hands like he doesn't want to let go.
He really doesn't want to, actually. Doesn't want to leave that warmly lit garden with a gentle breeze blowing through it, whispering through the crisp leaves.
Oz stands on his tiptoes and seals their mouths together. Rougher, awkward, wanting. He doesn't have the greatest of balance at the moment. So when Jack's free arm coils around his waist and pulls Oz against his body, he can hardly resist.
"No teeth," Jack laughs into the kiss and pries open Oz's mouth deftly with his tongue, teaching the teenager how to be passionate without being rough.
Oz learns quickly. He was always a better student when shown. Pale blond hair tickles their cheeks and Oz's hands scramble to grip his ancestor's shoulders for leverage. It’s wet, intrusive and makes him want to shiver as Jack demonstrates patiently the definition of a French kiss.
Oz, being Oz, puts into play immediately what he’s taught. Until Jack is laughing into his mouth and pulling away, kissing his forehead in a seemingly familial way except they’re both panting and Oz can feel something hard pressing into his stomach. He licks his lips, green eyes turning paler jade instead of darkening.
“This is my dream?” He questions, and the older Versarius nods.
“Yes.” A knowing look passes through his face. “You can control this world, if you choose to do so.”
Oz swallows, tasting Jack still even though the kiss has ended. “Is this wrong?”
Jack sobers up. Says nothing for an infinity. The weight of a thousand perceived sins and regrets hang heavy in the way his mouth twists. “Yes.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.” The hands on Jack’s shoulders climb, slender fingers tracing the line of the man’s jaw as Oz cogitates over the situation. “I feel…”
He struggles for the correct word even as the sunlight garden around them begins to shimmer and turn misty at the edges, eroding. “I don’t feel lost.”
The other says nothing that could prove less than impartial, waiting. He leans ever-so-slightly into Oz’s hands as they explore the components of his face, the cheekbones and the slope of the nose, fingertips brushing in a comforting caress over the eyebrows and then cupping his cheeks, a face full of features so similar to his own that they could be brothers.
The ground underneath them begins to crack.
“I feel safe.” Oz muses wryly. “Isn’t that stupid?”
“Immensely.” The other manages to reply (they’re all hiding secrets from Oz, secrets that can kill, have killed) before Oz kisses him again.
The world splinters and Oz wakes up to hear Gil and Alice arguing about breakfast through the apartment walls.
He touches his lips, the dream already hazy and blurry. He tries to catch hold of it but the harder he tries the softer and more delicate the strands are, crumbling into dust. By the time Alice slams his bedroom door open and demands that he feed her, Oz has forgotten the dream entirely.
But he still pauses for the rest of the day whenever he sees his reflection in a mirror.