[FIC] - Colors All Look Brighter When You're Near (ATLITW 2/?)
part 1
part 2 on AO3
Jack is pretty certain the South Wind hates him. That's the only explanation he has for why the current disappears from beneath him so suddenly as he leaves Bunny's place. And then he's flailing in Pitch's grasp. He hadn't heard the other spirit's approach, the winds had been so blustery. They must be conspiring against him, though how can that be? Nobody likes Pitch. Everyone hates the Nightmare King.
Except for Jack.
Pitch's long fingers tighten around Jack's neck from behind, and Jack's breath filters painfully out of his throat. He hangs there suspended, slowly deprived of oxygen. His ears begin to ring and more than just stars flicker in the dark velvety sky above - tonight the Moon is hiding. Jack angles his head away to alleviate the pressure until he hears only the sound of the shifting black sand that holds Pitch aloft.
"You're making this too easy, Jack. Giving up already?" Pitch croons in his ear.
The South Wind may tend to favor Bunny but currents of air manifest naturally, and Jack doesn't require assistance from the Four Winds to fly.
Jack lashes out, snatching a handful of sable hair and yanking at the same time as he whips his staff around to wallop Pitch upside the knees. Pitch releases him, and Jack is agile enough to swing himself around then catapult himself away with a fierce kick to Pitch's stomach.
He fumbles momentarily, swinging his arms out as he tries to find his footing within the eddies of air, but at least he knocked Pitch off balance. He takes aim and hurls ice at the cloud beneath Pitch. It explodes on impact, sending the other spirit skidding backwards and sand arcing in a wide radius before cascading thousands of feet to the ground below.
Smirking, Jack targets Pitch next. "Nope, because I'm better than you."
Pitch's eyes glitter gold with fury, and with a wave of his hand he shapes the shadows into an intimidating scythe.
"How do you even wield that thing? It's what... two, three times your height!" Jack jeers as the blade slashes toward him. He sails away, dancing from breeze to breeze, laughing all the while. Then, he darts in close, skirting around behind Pitch, teasing fingers up Pitch's back and ruffling his hair.
But Pitch disappears, cloaking himself in the dark of night, and a second later, Jack hears more than feels the sharp edge cleave into his lower back with a wet, sucking noise. Time seems to slow for him, adrenaline suddenly flooding through him. He jerks with the momentum of the blow, then falls still. Fire rolls up his back, his gasps turning ragged as his vision dims in time with the rolling waves of pain. Impulses trickle down his nerves like shards of glass before fading into nothing, his legs finally going completely numb.
The shadows open and swallow him up, then he drops directly into Pitch's waiting arms, blithely saying, "Forgot you can do that...."
"You do have a habit of underestimating me," Pitch replies with a chuckle. His arms fold around Jack, holding him close.
"Yeah," Jack snorts. "Only because you're a sneaky-"
Pitch whips their hands out at arm's length and laces their fingers together, his other hand supporting the bulk of Jack's weight, and they go wheeling around the cloud in a distorted and garish approximation of a waltz. "I could have danced all night! I could have danced all night!"
"Really? My Fair Lady? That's an excessive torture even for you," Jack snorts. The length of his back prickles uncomfortably as Pitch changes direction with every gleeful phrase he sings.
"Why all at once my heart took flight-" Pitch sings, but he glides to a stop and twines Jack's arm around his neck. Jack grunts at the effort required to hold himself upright. Pitch helps, sliding his hands in just beneath Jack's shoulder blades, but he mutters, "Heathen. You're taking this all in stride."
Tightening his grip, Jack leans against Pitch as much as he can. He buries his face into the other spirit's neck and mumbles back, "I am kind of at your mercy here. What, do you want me to fight back, like this?"
"Yes."
"Yeah, well I'm in no hurry to fall from this distance-"
"Does it hurt?" The hands move lower, beneath the frost spirit's jacket to bracket the wound.
Jack twitches at the contact and sighs. "It did, doesn't any more. Just feels... broken. You know I'll heal if you just give me a few-"
Pitch pushes in, his fingers grating across exposed nerve and hacked bone, blood and spinal fluid slicking the way. Agony radiates from the touch, and Jack's shout catches in his throat, coming out as little more than a cracked whine as his chest seizes up from the sudden shock.
Shushing Jack as though he's merely a frightened child, Pitch rocks back and forth, holding his finger in place until Jack adjusts. The pain fades into occasional pinpoints of light that dance across his field of view.
"P-p-" Jack tries, and Pitch, frowning against Jack's ear, begins to pull away. Jack frantically shakes his head and holds on to Pitch. "...please."
The dark spirit's fingers withdraw, his hand landing on the skin just above the wound. Pure sensation arcs up Jack's spine like lightning, caught somewhere between pleasure and pain, somewhere well beyond - he's not really able to process the information, the signals are so mixed. Fingers dance across his back, pressing into bundles of nerves he'd never paid much attention to before. Jack can feel every nuanced shift in pressure against his skin, as though his body is trying to make up for the lack of feeling elsewhere.
"Does it now?"
It's all too much for him, and he's barely coherent enough to figure out what Pitch is asking. He shakes his head no, then nods yes.
"You're making about as much sense as the Sandman," Pitch snorts.
Just as Jack tries to give a response, Pitch mouths up his jaw then scrapes teeth down the column of his neck just hard enough to shut him up. Jack tilts his head back, not caring at all about the whimpering noises that spill freely from his mouth.
The constellations seem closer, as though the they are leaning in for a better look. Jack swears he can see across the vast distances, through time and space, in perfect detail the clusters and nebulae that make them up, in colors that can't possibly exist on any spectrum.
Which would've been a ridiculous thought under normal circumstances; it's possible that Pitch's theatrics are rubbing off on-
"That would be the shock setting in," Pitch replies.
Jack realizes he's muttering his thoughts out loud, and later he'll most likely be embarrassed. At the moment, he doesn't care and he settles on digging his fingers into Pitch's shoulders just to keep from writhing.
Pitch seems intent on pulling the little helpless sounds out of Jack, on making him move. A shudder runs through him as a finger traces along lacerated skin. Then Pitch slams it in with enough strength to shatter any remaining barriers until the heel of his hand thumps against Jack's back.
Jack screams, and warm lips close over his as an aching ecstasy spears through him, splitting apart and spiraling back together again, crashing into his mind. The stars overhead seem to explode, and then he's falling.
------
Awareness comes to him slowly. Jack can't move, his eyes fixed to some point to his right when the warmth enveloping his hand disappears. He wants it back. The need to complain about the loss is barely more than some base urge in the back of his mind - his foot twitches instead.
Golden eyes suddenly appear and stare apprehensively into Jack's, and those warm fingers return to frame his face. The world tilts and his eyes work hard to focus. Though Pitch brushes the hair away from Jack's damp forehead, the expression he wears is distant. "You're back."
Jack tries to answer, but he accomplishes little more than a slow blink. His toes begin to tingle, making it hard for him to concentrate on much else as whatever energy that animates him moves through him, repairing any remaining damage. There isn't much else for him to do but wait it out.
When Pitch lifts him up, shuffles around until he's once again holding Jack to his chest with knees bracketed around the younger man's, Jack shudders at the heat that bleeds into him. When he finally manages to pull in a ragged breath of the cool night air, it's too much and he arches against solid body behind him.
Pitch all but growls, hooking his chin over Jack's shoulder and holding on tight as the frost spirit struggles. Jack clutches at the arms wrapped around his chest until the incandescent sensations normalize and his breathing evens out. He sits there, unmoving for several minutes, feeling the steady beat of Pitch's heart against his back as frost begins to once again curl over every place they touch.
"Were you holding my hand when I-" Jack starts, frowning at his inability to phrase his thoughts quite right. "Came to?"
Pitch snorts.
"You were worried! I saw... I think." Jack tilts his head, turning until his cheek slides along Pitch's. "No, I did. I know I did."
"Perhaps your memories are faulty." Pitch pulls away, his hands sliding around to shove at Jack's shoulders when Jack tries to follow. "You were... broken. For some time, Jack."
"Yes, well, you did sever my spine and toss me into the sky," he points out as he glances up. He grins suddenly, unable to keep his curiosity in check. "How many bones did I break?"
"A few." Pitch flinches. "Quite a few. I didn't think to count."
"See, you were worr-" Jack falls silent as a palm curls around his nape.
Pitch's other hand hovers between Jack's shoulder blade before sliding down his back. "What was it like?"
"Wh-what?" Jack jerks away, doubt knotting up his belly, but the fingers at his neck tighten and hold him in place. The hand between them slips under his jacket, brushing against the base of his spine. Sense memory floods into him, and Jack shudders again. "Flying! Like flying too close to the sun!"
"Interesting," Pitch replies, distracted. His hand slides around to Jack's stomach, fingertips edging just inside the waistband of his pants.
Heat flares across Jack's cheeks, and he slips away from the touch by rolling onto his knees. He feels raw, like he's missed something vitally important.
He looks back at Pitch to find the other spirit watching him cautiously - though that emotion is well hidden beneath layers of something else that Jack can't decipher. He used to be so good at reading people before he died; at least, according to what his memories tell him. He's become too detached from his life though, and three hundred years of solitude stripped away his ability to relate to others in any meaningful way. The guardian of fun he may be, but there has to be more to him than that.
When he opens his mouth to speak out, to ask, but Pitch makes a noise of annoyance, his eyes darting away. Jack glances in the same direction just in time to see the sun erupt over the horizon.
Then, Pitch is gone with the rest of the shadows of night.