Killian Jones | Captain Hook (onehandedpirate) wrote in blackpoint, @ 2014-01-12 13:07:00 |
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It was the middle of a Sunday afternoon and Jefferson was officially feeling like a bit of a stalker. A lot like a stalker, actually. Grace had kicked him out of the house, so that had left him with a couple of hours to kill. By himself. Not his favorite companion by any means. He succeeded in knocking off the first hour with errands, but he’d started the second sitting on a bus bench with no idea what to do and entirely too many glances at his watch. He really did need to make a friend or two. But he was having trouble thinking about anything but one he already had. Now he found himself nearly pacing on a dock, Killian’s ship just down the way. It had been a week since they’d seen each other and, frankly, he was amazed he’d held out this long - embarrassed that a week felt like ages and worried he would be unwelcome, but still. He’d take his victories where he could get them. Finally exhaling loudly, Jefferson tucked the bottle of Old Monk rum he’d stashed in the trunk just in case he caved under one arm and took the final steps to board Killian’s ship. Not immediately spotting the pirate in question, he knocked on the nearest wooden railing. “Hello? Anybody home? Uninvited visitor requesting permission to board.” He didn’t shout the ridiculous greeting, but he said it loud enough that he immediately grimaced and rolled his eyes. Killian’s day, like every day that passed since he moved onto the boat, had been spent making himself as busy as possible. He practically had a list the length of his arm written up for all the things he wanted to get done to keep his mind off of things. Things he had no business thinking about, but found himself staring off at the water anyway. He’d just received a shipment of supplies that morning, and was busy organizing and cleaning when the knock on the side of the boat drew his attention. The voice that followed made him close his eyes, and he didn’t bother hiding the small smile that rose to his lips. He was dressed casually, having always found it easier to work in his flowy shirts, keeping the leather discarded below decks. Coming out from behind the main mast, Killian carted a heavy crate in one hand with the hook looped into a slat of wood. “Hatter,” Killian said in a way of greeting, walking past the area where Jefferson stood and headed for the open door that led below decks. If he kept working, then he wasn’t thinking, and if he wasn’t thinking, he was less likely to do or say something stupid as far as his friend was concerned. As he was headed for the stairs, he called out over his shoulder with a wry grin. “Permission granted, but pick up a bloody crate and make yourself useful.” Jefferson aimed for normal. Relaxed. He might have leaned a hip against the railing if Killian hadn’t wandered on right past, leaving him staring dumbly after. But his slow, off-kilter smile was fairly telling in the grand scheme of things. Maybe things were still an unpredictable mess, but Killian hadn’t looked unhappy to see him and the demand was comfortingly characteristic. He’d happily take that over his other options. “Oh, I see how it is,” he grumbled good-naturedly. Unsure what to do with the bottle in his hands, he carried it awkwardly with him and balanced it on top of a crate as he carted it towards the stairs. “Uh...might have a case of poor planning on my hands,” he mumbled over the crate as he reached the top of the stairs and realized going down would probably involve a painful tumble. “This is why you hire deck hands, by the way. Instead of forcing manual labor on the unprepared…” Turning at an angle, Jefferson slid down a step. But, before he could mentally applaud this small success, his eyes widened as the bottle of rum rolled right for the edge of the precariously balanced box and he was forced to awkwardly wedge himself between the narrow walls to stop its doomed decent. “Well. Shit.” It felt a little mean to laugh, but Killian couldn’t help it. He’d spent the better portion of over three hundred years on the sea, and most days he was far more comfortable on a ship than he was on land. It was always at least a little amusing to watch someone that wasn’t used to traveling by ship make their way around. Taking pity on Jefferson (and the bottle of rum he spotted rolling around), he set his own crate off to the side and climbed back up the steep and narrow stairwell, just high enough so that he could snag the bottle of alcohol. “Could’ve just put this down on the deck before you followed, mate.” If they hadn’t had the crate in the way, Killian would have ended up pressed in against Jefferson, and that thought was enough to have him jump down quickly and make way for his friend to follow. Glancing around, he immediately regretted the decision to keep working, as they were going to end up in closer quarters than he’d intended. Perhaps, once Jefferson had dropped the crate off, Killian would just escape back up the stairs and onto the open deck. Where it was safe. In the meantime, he would just stay as close to the bulkhead as he possibly could. He glanced down at the bottle in his hand, rolling it a little and pausing at the name. “Old Monk. My favourite.” His lips pursed into a half-smile, glancing up at Jefferson. “What’s the occasion? I didn’t forget my own birthday again, did I?” Killian’s laughter-infused “rescue” earned him a hooded look that was really only about thirty percent annoyance and furrowed eyebrows. The rest was a pleased glint in his eyes and a crooked smile caused by the heavy warmth in his chest at the sound of Killian’s laugh. Deciding it was probably better to ignore that, Jefferson slid clumsily down the rest of the steps and deposited his crate on top of the other one. Unfortunately for Killian though, he had no interest in heading back topside. Wandering further into the space, he brushed his hands off on his jeans and adjusted his vest, all the while scanning his surroundings with a thoughtful gaze. There was an unfinished feel to it all, but the unmistakable touch of Killian was already everywhere. Belatedly realizing he’d been asked a question and silently memorizing Killian’s living space did not make him feel like less of a stalker, Jefferson shifted a raised eyebrow glance back to his friend. “Uhhh….oh, no. Turns out my new boss has a thing for wagers and, well, old habits die hard. Figured I could fleece him out of a bottle of inexpensive liquor without feeling too bad about it,” Jefferson shrugged, tucking his thumbs into his pockets as his eyes started to wander again. “Once I had it, I realized you’d appreciate it more than I would.” And I miss you was the unbidden thought that followed, but he pressed his lips together into a tight smile instead of voicing it. Killian’s gaze followed Jefferson as his friend surveyed the cabin, his mouth slightly open with the intention of answering him before his attention snagged on just appreciating the view. He closed his mouth after a moment and cleared his throat a little, flipping the bottle over in his hand a few more times awkwardly. Knowing full well that offering to share the bottle with Jefferson was likely a bad idea, the urge was still strong. If he couldn’t move forward, he would have happily set back a month, to before any of this had happened. Would have warned himself, made different decisions, kept things friendly. Normal. This awkward stage of wanting to both shake and kiss Jefferson was overwhelming and far from pleasant when the latter wasn’t returned. Had it been a lass he didn’t have years of history with, he could have continued to turn on the humor and charm, not had a thought for breaking a precarious relationship. “Well done, mate.” Every word out of his bloody mouth sounded awkward and lame as soon as it hit his ears, and he closed his eyes briefly and set the bottle of rum down on a nearby empty table. “Appreciate the thought. I’d offer to share it with you if it wasn’t the middle of the day.” And if the possibility of drunkenly throwing himself at Jefferson wasn’t phenomenally high. “Because that’s always stopped us before.” The sass was out of Jefferson’s mouth before he could wonder if it might sound bitter. Instead of apologizing, he eased his thumbs out of his pockets and walked deeper into the space, unconsciously trailing his hands along things as he went. “It’s all right, though. I wouldn’t have refused a glass, but I’m determined to not drink for a while.” His wandering unfortunately lead him to Killian’s bed, where he promptly u-turned, shooting a guarded look across the room. It seemed silly to walk back to right where he started so he swallowed his nervousness and stopped next to Killian. Habit had him leaning a hip against the nearest surface as he scratched at the days old scruff on his jaw. “I probably should have called first,” he murmured with a grimace of a smile. “I just...wanted to see how the boat was coming along. Ship? Seems a little small to call a ship.” Okay, now he was definitely teasing, but it was better than awkwardness. “Probably for the best, until your foot heals and you build up a better shoe collection.” Unknowingly, Killian’s tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as soon as Jefferson ended up near his bed, and his friend’s dark look was met with one of his own, gaze lowering as soon as Jefferson started walking again. Apparently being a grown man didn’t mean he was any more capable of keeping his urges in check. Hell, at this point, it was probably worse than the days when Killian was younger and fresh faced. But he’d had years of experiencing what it was like to share his life with someone, to be in love and feel on top of the world - now with the opportunity to have it again skirting just outside of his reach, Killian was having a difficult time keeping his emotions in check. But he was determined to match Jefferson’s teasing tone and keep things light. “Definitely a ship, mate. I’ve made men walk the plank for lesser offenses than that statement right there.” An outrageous lie, given that Killian never actually made anyone walk the plank before. Was just a common threat he always enjoyed giving out. His head lowered and eyes narrowed in on Jefferson, looking through long eyelashes with a steady gaze. He could only do awkward small-talk for so long before trying to figure things out, and Killian had never been subtle. He did away with the nicknames and reminders, “Why are you really here, Jefferson?” Jefferson made a ‘ooo burn’ face, though no sound actually came out, and then rolled his eyes slightly at Killian’s joke and the threat that followed it. He could have kept the joke going, could have said a lot of things to hold onto that moment of seemingly relaxed teasing, but he only slouched further against the pillar holding his weight. Maybe he subconsciously sensed he was running out of time. The only definite was that his face fell at Killian’s bullseye of a question and he closed his eyes as he threaded his fingers roughly through his hair. He was silent for a moment, chewing on his lip as he mulled over his options. But eventually, he made eye contact and blurted out a quiet response. “....You leave a mark.” Knowing that cryptic statement was a non-answer even though it was probably the truest answer Killian was ever going to get, Jefferson straightened a bit and dropped his eyes to the ground. “There’s this...empty space and I can’t seem to fill it. I spend time with Grace, I’m working, I even thought about signing up for a boxing class. Still might…” Great, he was babbling. Breathing out the remnants of a self-deprecating laugh, he shrugged and lifted his eyes back to Killian’s. “I miss you, okay? I know it’s only been a week, I just--” Jefferson cut off that thought and sighed. “I promise I’ll...try to find other ways to stay out of your hair.” Killian broke his promise. He wasn’t going to, it was going to just sigh and give a half-arsed explanation about why he needed to stay away, but the moment Jefferson started talking, his head came up and he knew he was going to break his promise. There was no way he was going to be able to keep his distance and stay away, not when things like that were being said. He took a half-step forward, but stopped when he realized they were already close enough that he needed to make it Jefferson’s move. “It isn’t going to work,” Killian’s voice finally emerged, after a long minute of weighing his options and staring Jefferson down. “Trust me, Hatter. I know that empty feeling, and it isn’t going to work. It’s going to keep gnawing at you like a hole in the head or heart or bloody fuck all until you’ve finally admitted to yourself that it’s not just my friendship you miss.” There was still a high chance that Jefferson would break whatever this was and escape, but Killian was willing to take those odds at this point, so he pushed a little harder and used Jefferson’s own words against him. “You admitted an attraction.” He finished that half-step, putting himself a little closer to the scarved man. “You don’t always have to control what you do about it. I’m right bloody here, Jefferson. All you have to do is admit that you want this. Me. Stability. That I make you a better man, same as you do to me when we’re together.” It was an odd moment for Jefferson to realize they were the same height. But with Killian’s earnest eye contact and Jefferson’s focus gripped tight by the words coming out of his mouth, maybe it wasn’t all that ill-timed. It was just one more thing that lined up, really. One more thing that fit. Only it was a lot less scary than all the rest. He didn’t move away. He couldn’t find the will to put some distance between them. Not when his pulse picked up and his skin buzzed like a live wire just from being this close. What he did do was cock his head to the side and pull his bottom lip between his teeth. When he finally spoke, it was with an unconscious lean in and a rough whisper. “Don’t you get it? We can’t all have a pirate’s courage, Hook.” Jefferson almost never called him Hook, but he supposed his brain chose that title on purpose. “Most nights, I can’t sleep. Because I’m convinced tomorrow will be the day I wake up to an empty house all over again. Only this time it’ll be a thousand times worse because I won’t even have the backhanded comfort of questioning my sanity. I don’t know if I can bear to add you to that if you and I are--if I--” Jefferson could hear his tone slipping towards manic - hardly the first time that had happened - and he attempted to rein himself in by closing his eyes. His hands had a mind of their own however, and it would take a minute to realize he was curling his fingers into the loose fabric of Killian’s shirt. “The point is, I’m already too fucking attached. And, frankly...you could do better than a coward who spends half his time fighting between the urges to kiss you or run.” “It’s not going to be any easier on you, mate.” He couldn’t stop the customary nickname, even if it seemed well out of place in this conversation. Habit. Killian huffed out a breath, resisting the urge to pull Jefferson even closer, but not pulling away from Jefferson’s own touch. “I had a bloody year when you were stuck in Neverland. Without your rambling, without your rants on Regina or your scarves and hats. I broke into your house and lived there for most of it, which makes me sound like a bloody creeper-” Now who was rambling? “Point is,” Killian sighed and let his eyes drift closed. “We’re both in too deep.” Killian knew he was, and after Jefferson’s long, rambling explanation, he suspected it was the same. They both just came at situations with two different perspectives, Killian being the kind of person that gave too much to a person and Jefferson being the kind of person that was more likely to keep distance to avoid hurting someone. They were bound to crash together either in the best of ways or the worst. He tentatively reached out to clap his hand on Jefferson’s shoulder, staring him down. “Don’t live a life where you regret what you didn’t do, rather than what you did.” At ‘I had a bloody year when you were stuck in Neverland’, Jefferson’s eyes jerked open and he listened like a man starving for words. Maybe he was. He’d had years of so few, after all. Those he had gotten had mostly come from the man in front of him. And Neverland had been a special kind of torture; where spending so much uninterrupted time with Emma had made him feel the loss of his daughter and Killian all the more keenly. Swan had been a steadying presence, no question, but he’d still felt quietly adrift. He doubted he would have admitted that out loud, but then that was often where they were the most different. Killian rarely wasted time saying how he felt while Jefferson walled himself in tight and tossed crumbs over when he felt like there was no other choice. For the first time, he had to question which was more painful in the long run. Looking at Killian now, he didn’t really need to think about it too hard. Every fear he had, from the shallow to the valid, paled in comparison to thought that Killian could be lost to him and yet still here. That he’d wake up one morning and realize he’d stupidly made a second choice he’d regret for the rest of his life. Their friendship might limp on and recovery eventually, but Killian would let go. Move on. Replace him and probably be all the better off for it. “Christ,” he growled, unintentionally flinching at that thought and splaying his fingers across Killian’s stomach in reflex. It was a selfish thought, but an eyeopening one. “Okay. Let’s...let’s say I admit it,” Jefferson murmured after a long pause, cautiously erasing what little distance remained between them and fighting to keep his eyes locked on Killian’s, as opposed to his mouth. “That I want this. You. Then what? You realize I don’t share well and I’m a territorial asshole, I hope. That I’m likely to be just as irritating as ever? I’m just...saying.” Killian’s mouth slowly turned upward, the smile growing until his teeth were showing and his hand was threading through the short hair at the nape of Jefferson’s neck. Jefferson might have been trying to keep things hypothetical, but Killian saw when the switch was flipped into getting it territory. He’d gotten an admission of guilt, that was good enough. Good enough to press in slightly, invading Jefferson’s personal space at the same time as the other man moved in. While he’d been wanting this for … longer than he ever cared to admit, he didn’t think there was a time where it would actually come. There was some part of him that was still at a loss for words, but the look on his face really said it all. And the fact that he kept glancing down at Jefferson’s mouth. “Hatter, if you think I don’t already know these things about you…” A low chuckle left his throat. “I’m bound to be as irritating as you are, if not more. I enjoy sex, rum and chocolate. I’ll insist on dates, dragging your daughter onto the ship and teaching her how to man the helm, and some small adventures from time to time. And sleeping in your bed.” Jefferson’s eyebrows lifted slowly to impressive heights, a strangled laugh twisting his mouth. “Wow, that was--actually, I can’t even say that was more direct than I expected because we’re talking about you here.” What did surprise him was the relief. Was he still terrified? Absolutely. Was he going to screw this up? Probably. But there was something to be said for letting go. Or better yet, for maneuvering Killian up against the nearest bulkhead without warning and stealing a forceful kiss. He may even have sighed that relief into Killian’s mouth, when he finally started to come up for air, but he would deny it. “I guess I just have one request then. A little patience will go a long way? I...only have a general idea of what I’m doing, obviously,” Jefferson murmured with wince of a smile. “Actually…” he added, with a tilt of his head and a smirk, “...make that two requests. Don’t be a cover hog. It’s rude.” When Killian leaned away from the kiss, his eyes still kept their attention focused on Jefferson’s lips, flicking up only briefly to grin at him. It would figure that Jefferson would be the one over thinking things, through the admission that he only knew little of the topic at hand was unsurprising. It didn’t stop him from tugging Jefferson back in and starting to undo the buttons on his vest with his hand. “I can be moderately patient, aye.” He agreed with an easy grin, leaning in to run his tongue along the skin above Jefferson’s scarf. “But I’m not particularly shy nor am I planning on being unhelpful. In fact, I’d say I’ll make a fine teacher.” His mouth made it’s way up to capture Jefferson’s for a quick, hard kiss. “I promise I’ll likely end up close enough that the covers will remain shared, but now my request.” His blue eyes leveled with Jefferson’s, close enough to lean in for another kiss without moving. “No running away. If you’ve an issue with something, take it up with me. Fight with me. Yell at me. Pull out that lovely Jefferson sarcasm. But don’t bloody run away without talking it out first. I’m a damned idiot that’s going to say or do something wrong, but I won’t know it until you tell me.” I’d say I’ll make a fine teacher. That sentence rolled through Jefferson’s mind like a swig of expensive liquor. But concentration on what Killian was actually saying after that was going out the window fast, so Jefferson propped a hand on the wall beside the pirate’s head to keep enough space between their bodies to allow for a bit of focus. Of course, he was digging his opposite fingers into Killian’s hip and returning each kiss without any hesitation, so it was sort of a wash. “I...right. No running away,” he eventually frowned. It was a heavy promise in his book, but he was tired of running anyway. A quick glance was spared for the rest of the room before he turned a quirked eyebrow back at Killian. “The same goes for you, you know. You’re the one with the escape vehicle, after all.” Killian knew that promise came as a more difficult one for Jefferson to agree to, but he couldn’t temper the cocky grin that came in response. Sliding Jefferson’s vest open, his hand slipped in against his stomach and around his waist to keep him firmly against Killian. With Jefferson’s glance around the room, Killian was reminded that they were in his own quarters. Unfinished quarters, but the cabin was still furnished and the bed was not more than a few steps away. “You have my word,” he leaned in for another brief kiss. “Unless you find it annoying to be dragged into empty rooms on occasion, or to be kissed senseless, or to have me describe the number of ways I’m going to make you weak at the knees… I’m not going anywhere.” Every pause he made was added with a little nudge toward the bed, if there was any mistake into what his intentions were. “Just tell me Grace doesn’t expect you back in the next few hours, Hatter.” Each statement combined with a step backwards made Jefferson’s mouth go a little dry and his pulse kick up a notch. He hadn’t come there with this in mind. Well, he’d come there with this in mind, just not in the reality sense. But the truly disorienting part was that the urge to flee had apparently been abandoned somewhere on the other side of the room. All that was left was nerves and need. And maybe a little bit of panic. Determined to use that last bit as kindling and nothing else, Jefferson slid one hand underneath Killian’s shirt and the other around the back of the man’s neck. “Grace kicked me out. I’m not allowed home for a few hours,” he answered with deceptive stoicism. Slowly urging Killian’s mouth to his, he paused just shy of actual contact and let a wicked smirk curl the edge of his mouth. “Now...about those ways you’re going to make me weak at the knees…” |