Jefferson (missinggrace) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-03-04 22:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | captain hook, mad hatter |
Who: Jefferson & Killian Jones
When: Tuesday afternoon, March 4, 2014
Where: The B&B in the making
What: Killian brings up a “dream” he had while the boys try to get some work done. Jefferson mostly evades because that’s what he’s good at.
Rating: PG-13?
It was Jefferson’s fault that Killian was dressed down, though it was customary these days and even more now that a good amount of his time was spent in renovating a house. Worn jeans hung off his hips, and the faded, blue tshirt rode up on his waist with every single swipe of the paint roller. His side of the room was still only half-done, because it was impossible for him to not crack jokes or distract the process in some way. Which included a large amount of ogling at Jefferson’s expense or painting lewd pictures with the brush before getting to that section. Killian was blessed he had the knowledge of basic carpentry and painting, from working on the wharf in Storybrooke. Even if those were memories he despised on principle, he could begrudgingly agree it was useful now. To a point. Today, his mind kept drifting - more than it usually did and less on the spectrum of dirty thoughts - and work was getting done at a snail’s pace. His glances toward Jefferson weren’t subtle by any means, but he still didn’t speak up about anything important. Most of what was on his mind, he was fairly certain his own imagination had dreamt up, which made it all the more ridiculous to bring it up to Jefferson. But there was still no containing the heated glances and dark looks he was sending to his other half. Jefferson, on the other hand, was determined to stay focused. They had weeks of work still do and most of it considerably more daunting than painting, so he made a conscious effort to be efficient. That isn’t to say he succeeded, by any means, but he certainly tried. The only thing he’d ever painted in his life were tea cups and the occasional piece of rickety furniture back in the Enchanted Forest, so that didn’t help. It showed in the paint stains on his uncharacteristically bare forearms and the half a handprint he’d accidentally smeared across the front of his white undershirt. There was a similar mark on the back of his neck, but he was blissfully unaware of that one. Dragging the paint roller down the last few inches next to a large window, Jefferson paused to step back and survey his work. Which really just amounted to a satisfied shrug and a lazy glance towards Killian, just in time to catch the latest of heated stares. He lifted a dark eyebrow and pointed his roller at the man. “Focus, pirate,” he smirked. “We’ve got three more rooms to finish today.” Having created an attachment for his hand that the paint roller was able to snap into, he didn’t have to worry about having an open hand available for reaching over and pulling Jefferson in by the waist. Returning Jefferson’s smirk, he leaned in for a kiss that was bound to keep them both distracted from the task at hand if he hadn’t pulled away and put a little distance between them just a moment later. But that stupid, smug, shit-eating grin was still plastered on his face, even as he stepped back to his wall and gave Jefferson a long once-over. “We’ll finish them on your schedule, hatter. Never fear.” Gazing at his companion like that had Killian’s thoughts drifting again, though this time he turned back with his grin having died down to a small, contented smile. Lifting the roller back up to the wall, Killian made a show of looking like he was doing work, even while his head was tilted slightly back toward Jefferson. “Had a ridiculous dream the other night that keeps popping in my head. Don’t suppose you’ve done any talking in your sleep?” Despite the exaggerated attempt to narrow his eyes as he was pulled in for a kiss, Jefferson failed to put on a good show of reluctance. His side of the room was done, after all. Which was also his excuse for the childishly disappointed look he gave Killian as the man turned back to “work”. With a hypocritical sigh, Jefferson moved to put more paint on his roller and help finish the other side of the room. He was crouched next to the paint tray when Killian’s question froze him in place. The use of the word ‘ridiculous’ made him unreasonably tense - he’d used the same word in his own head more than once, so it was only fair - and he shifted a hooded look upwards to try and read Killian’s expression. Unfortunately, it didn’t really help. Unsure, but unwilling to lie, Jefferson cleared his throat and stood, carefully holding the wet paint roller while he moved over to an unfinished section of wall. “I don’t suppose I would know if I said anything ridiculous in my sleep, Killian.” Technically, it wasn’t a lie. But it was carefully worded and tense, even if he tried to tack on a lazy half-smile. The tense move had Killian raising an eyebrow in Jefferson’s direction, watching him move. Not a hardship by any means, he often liked just staring at Jefferson, though the turn the conversation had made was enough of a reason in this case. The nagging feeling he’d had that it wasn’t something he dreamt up was still there, but there were fights Killian knew better than to press, and causing the man near him to rabbit away was on the very bottom of his list. “Suppose you’re right,” It was easier to agree, than to mention Jefferson’s frozen form, or the way his shoulders tightened. “Can’t say I’ve heard you mumbling in your sleep before, but I had the oddest feeling that you were pouring your heart out to me in dream-form.” As nonchalant as possible, Killian dipped his roller in the paint and spread it along the wall, eyes staring straight ahead at the color he applied. “Might’ve been my subconscious telling me I didn’t need more dreams of you naked and sweaty and supplying something nearly as pleasant in it’s place, though.” Jefferson mirrored Killian’s perfunctory painting, despite the fact that he couldn’t keep his gaze on the wall in front of him. He did eventually look back at what he was doing, while a small, nervous smile tugged at one side of his mouth, but the task still received only a fraction of his attention. “Nearly as pleasant,” he teased, shooting Killian an amused, raised eyebrow glance. It was a reflex. Make a joke, smirk, do anything but admit he was a giant sap who had spent a good ten minutes rambling at his sleeping boyfriend. That word, even. Boyfriend. He had yet to use it out loud and it still made him feel awkward and self-conscious, but that was a problem for another day. “Well. I suppose if I had poured my heart out while you were sleeping, it would be comforting to know it almost ranked as high as a good sex dream. I imagine that’s quite the compliment, coming from you.” Again, he was choosing his words carefully, but now it was more about keeping in line with Killian’s own facetious tone, since he knew he had a habit of making damn near everything more serious than it necessarily needed to be. “Aye, that it is.” At this point, the painting was being rushed just so he could get his hand back on Jefferson without earning any ire for leaving a wall partially forgotten. Killian’s mind was already elsewhere, and Jefferson wasn’t wrong about needing to finish more rooms before the day was out. Why they hadn’t just decided that the walls were fine they way they are, he couldn’t say at this point. Likely both of them not wanting to deal with eyesores later, but lacking the mentality to tackle a restoration of this level. And this level wasn’t even all that large. But it was still daunting to two people who’d never done much in the way of making a place into a business and a home. Killian’s expression turned particularly lewd the next time he glanced over at Jefferson, eyebrows flip-flopping as they did when he was looking for trouble. “The last one, in particular, was quite amazing. You dropping to your knees out on the open sea and-” He cut off with a grin, shrugging slightly. “Story for another time. More importantly, you aren’t flinching or running away at the thought of this secondary dream I might’ve had. That seems noteworthy.” With his eyebrows notched at an entertained angle, Jefferson pursed his mouth and cocked his head to the side. It was a look that fell somewhere between ‘you’re ridiculous’ and ‘please continue, in detail’, but he kept his mouth shut until the conversation had moved away from racy. If he didn’t, he was just going to end up ruining a freshly painted wall by pushing Killian up against it. Unfortunately, the other path of this conversation was a lot less fun, since he was an idiot who avoided expressing himself more often than not and getting put on the spot made him feel uncomfortably hot in his own skin. It was tempting to shrug it off as ‘just a dream’, but that was cowardly and dishonest. Still, he mulled over his options as he dipped his roller in the paint tray again. “I guess it is,” Jefferson finally murmured with a long, unguarded glance towards Killian. When he broke that look, it was with a mock-frown. “No promises if we keep talking about it, though. We’re never going to finish at this rate.” Abruptly reaching over with the roller, he painted a sloppy stripe down the side of Killian’s thigh. “That’s as close as I’ve got to a whip. Back to work.” Killian was prepared to laugh it off and continue painting his side of the room, but Jefferson inadvertently starting a paint war completely threw him off. With a playful growl, he pulled away from the wall, paint roller hook brandished in front of him as if it were a sword. Knowing it probably looked as ridiculous as it felt, Killian was still feigning annoyance over his now-painted jeans and much too preoccupied to care. “Bloody hell, if I didn’t know better, I’d say you wanted me out of these things.” Glancing down, he frowned petulantly at the paint streak. “You’re the one that gets to do the next bout of laundry, just for that.” Lunging forward quickly, he darted out to smoosh the paint roller into Jefferson’s middle like he was fencing, but all all he managed was to paint a small stripe of paint along the white tank’s midsection. A cocky laugh emerged from his lips as he kept the roller hook level with Jefferson. “I suppose now we’re even, then.” The toothy grin-turned-laugh that shook Jefferson’s shoulders was one that only one other person had ever received in its genuine condition, smiling eyes and all. That said more than any other melodramatic speeches he had swimming in his head, but then so did most of the ways he behaved around Killian. Tracking his eyes from the pirate’s distracting mouth and his absurd stance, Jefferson glanced down at the new paint stain on his already hopeless shirt and sighed. “This is the opposite of working, Killian,” he smirked, rolling his eyes. Nonchalantly, he set the paint roller down in the paint tray and reached over his back to tug off the tank top. The edge of the shirt was quickly tucked into the pocket of his dark jeans and left to hang there as he regained his weapon. “But I suppose if I’m stuck with laundry...what is that stupid saying? Go big or go home.” And with that, he dodged forward, aiming to swipe the roller from Killian’s neck all the way down to his crotch. If Jefferson expected him to work before, chances were much lower that he’d work now. His eyes set firmly on the man while he stripped off his shirt, standing immobile while he waited for the process to finish. And almost hoped it never would. He was taken by surprise, eyes busy roaming over Jefferson’s bare chest when the paint landed on his body and swept downward. The look on his face quickly turned from lust to open-mouthed annoyance. “That was uncalled for, mate.” His blue eyes darkened while he started toward Jefferson, and in an attempt to even things out, he reached over his head with his hand and tugged his shirt off. Sadly, not having the foresight to remember he had a paint roller attached to his stump, and ended up briefly turning his gaze down to the roller in annoyance. “Bloody-” Grumbling under his breath it was another second before he unsnagged himself and dropped the now-even-more-painted shirt on the ground. When he reached his destination, Killian leaned in and spoke quietly, and with a slightly more gravelly tone to his voice. “You’re going to pay for that. Might even start using those love-words you shift uncomfortably over.” To say Jefferson looked smug would have been a vast understatement. Killian’s annoyance didn’t help matters. In fact, the pirate’s cranky expression only stoked the smirk on his face until watching Killian fight with his clothes left Jefferson closing his eyes and pressing his lips together to fight the urge to laugh. When he opened his eyes, it was with every intention to tease about the consequences of silly attachments, but Killian’s words, and the way he said them, erased any need to hassle him. Maybe he was terrible with words when they weren’t about misery or loneliness. He was used to those emotions and they didn’t make him feel exposed. So maybe he avoided putting words to the rest. But maybe that was what made the thought of hearing them from Killian all the more powerful. “I hate to be the one to tell you this, Captain, but you…” Jefferson dropped his paint roller and tucked his paint-stained fingertips inside the edge of Killian’s jeans, tugging him forward the last step. “...need to work on your threats,” he finished with a cheekily apologetic face that only stuck around long enough for him to catch Killian’s mouth with his own. As always, Killian was easily distracted for the time being, thoughts quickly drifting away from the pseudo-dream and into more friendly and safe waters. Like getting Jefferson out of his pants. He leaned into the kiss, hand coming up to gently cup the side of Jefferson’s mouth, protest having died well before the kiss even started. He had his priorities, and that number one priority stood now inbetween his legs. It wasn’t to say that Killian was thinking only of sex - though that was a high motivator for majority of the things he did - but he was at the stage of being all encompassing. When he fell, he fell hard, and even now he was sure that this was far more intense than anything he’d felt even with Milah. Which didn’t help his thought process or the looks he was prone to giving Jefferson, but he was beyond the point of caring about how much of a fool he looked. When he dragged his mouth off of Jefferson’s, reluctantly, the pair was already pushed against the unfinished wall behind him, and Killian once again found himself grumbling at the paint roller. Reaching inbetween the two of them, he twisted and pulled it out, and let it fall to the drop cloth before. “My threats are just fine, Hatter. I promise you that.” Leaning in, Killian licked a strip down Jefferson’s neck before nipping lightly. Echoing the thoughts swimming through his head since he woke on Sunday morning, his lips barely moved against the soft flesh as he whispered words. “Everything feels terrifyingly right, when I’m around you.” |