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Description
Winter Waltz

Pitch was slowly adjusting to the idea of another person residing in his lair. Technically Jack didn't actually live there, but more and more often he would return to the little room that Pitch had set aside for him. It was still hard for Pitch to believe that he was no longer alone. Jack wanted him. Jack was his. Along with Emily Jane, and the assortment of creatures that now resided in the dark realm below the canals of Venice, it almost seemed as if he had a real family again.

The Nightmare King was happier than he'd ever been, but there was still a little knot of darkness in his heart. Thousands of years' worth of loneliness, fear, and a daily struggle to simply exist had left Pitch instinctively distrustful of others. Though he and Jack had finally admitted their feelings for one another, there was a tiny part of him that insisted he still keep his distance even after all they'd been through. It demanded that he not let his guard down too much, at least not yet.

Pitch wanted to ignore it, to bury it away for good but it was too deeply ingrained. He was certain that Jack noticed the way he would sometimes flinch away from physical contact, or the way he could never quite bring himself to fully relax. The Winter sprite had given Pitch his complete trust, and the Nightmare King longed to return the favor. He cursed his instincts, and the vile creatures that had honed them over the centuries. The Fearlings were gone, but their echoes remained. Some Guardian of Courage he was, more frightened by the idea of love than anything else.

Bit by bit, though, Jack was wearing away at him. The Winter sprite could get away with things that Pitch would murder a lesser spirit over. Jack was different, unlike anyone the Nightmare King had ever known. Pitch enjoyed the little attempted ambushes, the nose nips, the wiry arms wrapping around his waist from behind. Maybe he even liked the snowballs a bit. Maybe.

Lately Jack had taken to bringing him things, especially candy now that he knew Pitch had a sweet tooth. It was a bit like having a cat, except that instead of dead mice the Nightmare King would find peppermints or candy corn left in his usual haunts. Though spirits like Jack and Pitch had no real need to eat, Jack had always shown even less interest in food or drink than most, and it was something that Pitch had picked up on almost immediately.

He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but it did. While Pitch refused to drink alcohol, he appreciated good food. He'd dragged Jack to one of the little cafes above in Venice (the owners were actually satyrs but the humans didn't know that) on something that may or may not have been a date, but ever since then the little Guardian had taken a bit more interest in food. Perhaps he just needed someone to share it with.

It was that outing that appeared to have led to Jack's sudden desire to share snacks with his new boyfriend, as if he'd just discovered how enjoyable it was. Or maybe he realized he could bribe the Nightmare King with candy corn. Whatever the reason, Pitch found it highly amusing.

Today Jack blew in from the upper realm with a large jug of amber liquid in his arms. Pitch had returned a few hours prior from a rather fruitless evening of directing Nightmares. With Christmas approaching even more rapidly, this time of year wasn't exactly the best for his work. Children were too occupied with visions of presents and colored lights, and their dreams were filled with sweeter thoughts that kept the Nightmares at bay. It was infuriating, especially since this was the season where nights were longer and Pitch should have reign over them. Instead, it was North's time to shine. At least the Winter Solstice was also ahead. Christmas or not, the year's longest night always gave him a little boost of power.

It still wasn't close enough yet for Pitch's taste, and he was in an irritable mood. He brightened a little at the appearance of his frost sprite, however. Jack alighted next to him, soft as falling snow and appearing quite pleased with himself. “Got something good for us today! Spiced cider from Burgess.”

“I'm impressed North hasn't burned your name onto his Naughty list for eternity,” Pitch purred, gliding up behind the smaller spirit and resting his head in that soft spiky hair. He loved how cool the other always was. “What with all the things you've been stealing lately. Such a bad boy.”

Jack elbowed him. “I paid for it. I'm not a bad boy all the time you know. I've got some cash squirreled away.” He extracted himself from Pitch's embrace. “Anyway, I thought you'd like this. Burgess has some of the best cider around, especially this time of the year.” Jack turned toward one of the passages leading out of the main cavern, the one that opened out into the kitchen space, and Pitch trailed after. The Winter spirit had been amazed upon learning that Pitch even had a kitchen. (“I know North would, of course, but you?” “I happen to enjoy cooking. I've been around longer than you can imagine, brat. I've had to find creative ways to fill my time.”)

It was a smaller, intimate space, since Pitch only ever had to be concerned with himself before his world had changed utterly. There was a stove, mainly used for heating water for tea or making soup, and a black granite counter. A few chairs of dark, knotted wood were scattered around it. Ebony cabinets held a small assortment of monochrome coffee mugs and teacups.

Jack grabbed two large mugs and poured some of the deep honey liquid into them. “Here.” He slid one to Pitch across the dark stone surface.

“You've got more.” Pitch glared, silver eyes sparkling in the gloom.

“You don't even know if you like it yet.” Jack stared back.

“That's not an excuse. I'm your boyfriend, you should be nicer.”

In response, Jack only stuck out a cool pink tongue and poured even more into his own mug. The insolent smirk never left his face. Oh, that's it. Pitch shot around the table. Jack was fast, but in the confined space he couldn't get out of the way swiftly enough. Pitch caught him, looping one arm around his waist and grabbing the mug with the other hand.

“Hey, not fair!” Jack sputtered a protest as Pitch raised the vessel to his own lips and downed the contents. Just because he didn't drink didn't mean he wasn't capable of chugging something if he wanted to. He regretted the action immediately. The amber liquid wasn't sweet or spiced, it was strong and almost bitter. He shook his head, feeling suddenly very fuzzy.

“Jack. What. Was. That.” Standing upright suddenly seemed extremely difficult.

Jack wriggled out of his slackened grasp to reach for the remaining cup, and Pitch nearly fell over without his support. The frost sprite sniffed at the liquid, then took a sip. “Uh...oops. This...this isn't spiced cider. It's hard cider.” He gazed up at Pitch, azure eyes apologetic. “I grabbed the wrong thing.”

“Hard cider.” Pitch struggled to focus on that wide-eyed face. He was going to strangle the scrawny neck that it was attached to. Scrawny was a funny word. He giggled. Why the hell couldn't he stand straight anymore? He couldn't strangle anything if his hands weren't connected to his body anymore. It didn't feel like they were. Or maybe it was his head that was floating.

“I can't feel my lips.”

“They're still there. I can prove it.” An icy mouth pressed against Pitch's, and he certainly felt that sensation. He made an inarticulate noise.

“I know they're sstill there, Icicle Breath. Not so ssure about my hands though.” He scrutinized them. They appeared to still be attached.

“Oh wow, you are so plastered.” Jack actually sounded awed.

“'M not. It'll wear off in a ssec.”

“You're swaying like a reed.”

“Thiss is all your fault,” Pitch slurred. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. It felt better in Jack's. Why wasn't Jack's here?

“No, you chugged my drink. It's all on you. Geez, I even gave you the smaller one.”

Pitch grabbed onto the table's edge to steady himself, jabbing a finger at his idiot boyfriend. “Your fault. You were taunting me.” He glared.

“You were being theatrical again.”

Pitch straightened, flailing his long limbs in irritation. “I am not theatrical-” His enthusiasm nearly caused him to topple backwards, and had to whip his body forward again to grab the table's edge. Everything felt numb. And hot. Numb was also a funny word. Nothing should be funny right now. He was angry. Everything seemed hilarious. He giggled again.

“Uh-huh.” Jack sipped at his drink. “Whoa, this is potent. I can't believe you just downed an entire mug. I'm impressed.”

“That wasn't impressive. That was sstupid.” Why was he laughing? He shouldn't be laughing, this was bad. Bad, bad, bad. “Empty night, what have I done.” Pitch's dark nails dug into the cool stone surface. He felt hot, too hot. He was an idiot. A drought of several thousand years ended on one stupid impulsive action. What if he lost control? What if he hurt Jack? His head drooped, feeling too heavy for his long neck. He should just go lay down, sleep it off.

A shock of white appeared in his view as Jack wriggled his way between Pitch and the table. Blessedly cool skin pressed against his. Jack's icy frame felt so good, so refreshing. Pitch shook himself, trying to back up and nearly overbalancing again. Chilled hands caught his arms, steadying him.

“Jack, gerrof me.” Pitch tried to extract himself from those pale fingers, but Jack suddenly seemed much stronger than him. “I don't want to hurt you. I don't...know...what I'm capable of like this.”

“You won't.” Jack's wintry forehead pressed against his chest. “You'll be just fine. The shadows are gone now. It's just you and me.” Cool arms wrapped around his torso. Pitch stood there, swaying slightly. His head was swirling, the room was spinning, but the frosted body clinging to his was a fixed point he could focus on. For a few moments, the two simply stood there.

Jack raised his head, indigo eyes meeting argent. “Dance with me.”

“Wha?” Pitch was having a hard enough time just standing.

“Come on, dance with me.” Dusky rose lips curled into a smile. “You know I'm not good at your slow, fancy stuff. Right now you're not either. We can be clumsy together.” He pulled gently at the taller sprite. “Piiiitch.”

“Fine.” Pitch stumbled a little, but Jack kept him balanced. “Fine. Don't blame me if I step on you, Tundra Toes.”

“You're still more graceful drunk than some people are sober.”

“Damn right I am.” Pitch wasn't certain exactly what kind of dance they were performing. It might have been an attempt at a waltz, and of course there was no music, but it didn't really matter. They were together, gliding around the small space to nothing but the beat of their hearts.

“You're getting better.” Pitch murmured.

“No, actually you're just doing horribly.” Jack smiled into Pitch's chest.

“Liaaar.” Pitch tried to look down his aquiline nose at the smaller spirit. They'd dance properly when his head wasn't full of fuzz. “Next time North throws one of those dreadful Holiday Balls,” he spat out the other Guardian's name. “Next time, we'll dance, you and I. Like this.” He paused. “No, not like this. Like good.”

Jack snickered. “Like good?”

“Shut it.” Pitch swatted lightly at the moonlight silver of Jack's hair. “We'll be the life of the party. The Nightmare King, and you'll be the Winter Prince. And all those other boring sspirits will just sstare.”

“Prince?” Jack raised his head.

“Yes.” Pitch decided he liked the sound of the title he'd just bestowed. Jack was his Winter Prince.

“What if I want to be a King too?”

“You're too short.”

“That's not fair.” Jack's lips pursed in a little pout. He looked so perfect when he did that.

“Too bad. I'm the King, I make the rules.”

“You're drunk off your ass and making stuff up as we dance in a kitchen.”

“But you love me.”

“I love you.”

They fell silent, waltzing to nothing. It was the most intimate that they'd been, just the two of them in a confined space, and Pitch was thoroughly enjoying it. The combination of Jack's lithe, cool body swaying with his, along with the buzz of alcohol, left him feeling fuzzily content. A bit more confident, he tried a few more showy moves, which seemed to amuse Jack.

“You're still tipsy as hell. Are you sure you want to be doing that?” Jack grinned up at him.

“Ssure. I'm as graceful as a cat.” Pitch did a little spin, tripped over the edge of his own robe, and folded forward to the floor. At least the ground was cool. Maybe he could just lay here for a century or two.

“That was actually the most elegant fall I've ever seen.” Jack stood over him, the note of awe in his voice indicating he wasn't being sarcastic. He knelt down, balancing on his toes. “Do you need help? Want an ice pack?” There was that damned smirk again.

“Yes, in fact.” Pitch grabbed the strings of the frost sprite's hoodie and rolled over, pulling the smaller sprite down across him. “There. Now I have one.”

“Jerk.”

“Jackass.” Pitch winced. Pain was starting to cut through the fluff in his brain. His head flopped back limply. He was going to have one hell of a hangover. Jack rolled off of him so that he could sit behind Pitch instead. He lifted Pitch's head gently, cradling it in his lap. Cool fingers brushed over his forehead and temples. Having a boyfriend who doubled as an ice pack wasn't really a bad thing.

Pitch closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the chill pressure points. Jack's hands felt so good, their cold numbing the growing pain in his skull. He should retreat to his quarters now, though. He was too vulnerable like this. Never show weakness, centuries of instinct screamed. Their voices were dulled though, dulled by the alcohol, and by the wintry fingers that massaged his aching temples.

It was okay, just this once. He was with Jack, his Jack. His little Winter Prince. It was safe to close his eyes, to relax...Just this once...

Description
Winter Waltz

Pitch was slowly adjusting to the idea of another person residing in his lair. Technically Jack didn't actually live there, but more and more often he would return to the little room that Pitch had set aside for him. It was still hard for Pitch to believe that he was no longer alone. Jack wanted him. Jack was his. Along with Emily Jane, and the assortment of creatures that now resided in the dark realm below the canals of Venice, it almost seemed as if he had a real family again.

The Nightmare King was happier than he'd ever been, but there was still a little knot of darkness in his heart. Thousands of years' worth of loneliness, fear, and a daily struggle to simply exist had left Pitch instinctively distrustful of others. Though he and Jack had finally admitted their feelings for one another, there was a tiny part of him that insisted he still keep his distance even after all they'd been through. It demanded that he not let his guard down too much, at least not yet.

Pitch wanted to ignore it, to bury it away for good but it was too deeply ingrained. He was certain that Jack noticed the way he would sometimes flinch away from physical contact, or the way he could never quite bring himself to fully relax. The Winter sprite had given Pitch his complete trust, and the Nightmare King longed to return the favor. He cursed his instincts, and the vile creatures that had honed them over the centuries. The Fearlings were gone, but their echoes remained. Some Guardian of Courage he was, more frightened by the idea of love than anything else.

Bit by bit, though, Jack was wearing away at him. The Winter sprite could get away with things that Pitch would murder a lesser spirit over. Jack was different, unlike anyone the Nightmare King had ever known. Pitch enjoyed the little attempted ambushes, the nose nips, the wiry arms wrapping around his waist from behind. Maybe he even liked the snowballs a bit. Maybe.

Lately Jack had taken to bringing him things, especially candy now that he knew Pitch had a sweet tooth. It was a bit like having a cat, except that instead of dead mice the Nightmare King would find peppermints or candy corn left in his usual haunts. Though spirits like Jack and Pitch had no real need to eat, Jack had always shown even less interest in food or drink than most, and it was something that Pitch had picked up on almost immediately.

He didn't know why it bothered him so much, but it did. While Pitch refused to drink alcohol, he appreciated good food. He'd dragged Jack to one of the little cafes above in Venice (the owners were actually satyrs but the humans didn't know that) on something that may or may not have been a date, but ever since then the little Guardian had taken a bit more interest in food. Perhaps he just needed someone to share it with.

It was that outing that appeared to have led to Jack's sudden desire to share snacks with his new boyfriend, as if he'd just discovered how enjoyable it was. Or maybe he realized he could bribe the Nightmare King with candy corn. Whatever the reason, Pitch found it highly amusing.

Today Jack blew in from the upper realm with a large jug of amber liquid in his arms. Pitch had returned a few hours prior from a rather fruitless evening of directing Nightmares. With Christmas approaching even more rapidly, this time of year wasn't exactly the best for his work. Children were too occupied with visions of presents and colored lights, and their dreams were filled with sweeter thoughts that kept the Nightmares at bay. It was infuriating, especially since this was the season where nights were longer and Pitch should have reign over them. Instead, it was North's time to shine. At least the Winter Solstice was also ahead. Christmas or not, the year's longest night always gave him a little boost of power.

It still wasn't close enough yet for Pitch's taste, and he was in an irritable mood. He brightened a little at the appearance of his frost sprite, however. Jack alighted next to him, soft as falling snow and appearing quite pleased with himself. “Got something good for us today! Spiced cider from Burgess.”

“I'm impressed North hasn't burned your name onto his Naughty list for eternity,” Pitch purred, gliding up behind the smaller spirit and resting his head in that soft spiky hair. He loved how cool the other always was. “What with all the things you've been stealing lately. Such a bad boy.”

Jack elbowed him. “I paid for it. I'm not a bad boy all the time you know. I've got some cash squirreled away.” He extracted himself from Pitch's embrace. “Anyway, I thought you'd like this. Burgess has some of the best cider around, especially this time of the year.” Jack turned toward one of the passages leading out of the main cavern, the one that opened out into the kitchen space, and Pitch trailed after. The Winter spirit had been amazed upon learning that Pitch even had a kitchen. (“I know North would, of course, but you?” “I happen to enjoy cooking. I've been around longer than you can imagine, brat. I've had to find creative ways to fill my time.”)

It was a smaller, intimate space, since Pitch only ever had to be concerned with himself before his world had changed utterly. There was a stove, mainly used for heating water for tea or making soup, and a black granite counter. A few chairs of dark, knotted wood were scattered around it. Ebony cabinets held a small assortment of monochrome coffee mugs and teacups.

Jack grabbed two large mugs and poured some of the deep honey liquid into them. “Here.” He slid one to Pitch across the dark stone surface.

“You've got more.” Pitch glared, silver eyes sparkling in the gloom.

“You don't even know if you like it yet.” Jack stared back.

“That's not an excuse. I'm your boyfriend, you should be nicer.”

In response, Jack only stuck out a cool pink tongue and poured even more into his own mug. The insolent smirk never left his face. Oh, that's it. Pitch shot around the table. Jack was fast, but in the confined space he couldn't get out of the way swiftly enough. Pitch caught him, looping one arm around his waist and grabbing the mug with the other hand.

“Hey, not fair!” Jack sputtered a protest as Pitch raised the vessel to his own lips and downed the contents. Just because he didn't drink didn't mean he wasn't capable of chugging something if he wanted to. He regretted the action immediately. The amber liquid wasn't sweet or spiced, it was strong and almost bitter. He shook his head, feeling suddenly very fuzzy.

“Jack. What. Was. That.” Standing upright suddenly seemed extremely difficult.

Jack wriggled out of his slackened grasp to reach for the remaining cup, and Pitch nearly fell over without his support. The frost sprite sniffed at the liquid, then took a sip. “Uh...oops. This...this isn't spiced cider. It's hard cider.” He gazed up at Pitch, azure eyes apologetic. “I grabbed the wrong thing.”

“Hard cider.” Pitch struggled to focus on that wide-eyed face. He was going to strangle the scrawny neck that it was attached to. Scrawny was a funny word. He giggled. Why the hell couldn't he stand straight anymore? He couldn't strangle anything if his hands weren't connected to his body anymore. It didn't feel like they were. Or maybe it was his head that was floating.

“I can't feel my lips.”

“They're still there. I can prove it.” An icy mouth pressed against Pitch's, and he certainly felt that sensation. He made an inarticulate noise.

“I know they're sstill there, Icicle Breath. Not so ssure about my hands though.” He scrutinized them. They appeared to still be attached.

“Oh wow, you are so plastered.” Jack actually sounded awed.

“'M not. It'll wear off in a ssec.”

“You're swaying like a reed.”

“Thiss is all your fault,” Pitch slurred. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. It felt better in Jack's. Why wasn't Jack's here?

“No, you chugged my drink. It's all on you. Geez, I even gave you the smaller one.”

Pitch grabbed onto the table's edge to steady himself, jabbing a finger at his idiot boyfriend. “Your fault. You were taunting me.” He glared.

“You were being theatrical again.”

Pitch straightened, flailing his long limbs in irritation. “I am not theatrical-” His enthusiasm nearly caused him to topple backwards, and had to whip his body forward again to grab the table's edge. Everything felt numb. And hot. Numb was also a funny word. Nothing should be funny right now. He was angry. Everything seemed hilarious. He giggled again.

“Uh-huh.” Jack sipped at his drink. “Whoa, this is potent. I can't believe you just downed an entire mug. I'm impressed.”

“That wasn't impressive. That was sstupid.” Why was he laughing? He shouldn't be laughing, this was bad. Bad, bad, bad. “Empty night, what have I done.” Pitch's dark nails dug into the cool stone surface. He felt hot, too hot. He was an idiot. A drought of several thousand years ended on one stupid impulsive action. What if he lost control? What if he hurt Jack? His head drooped, feeling too heavy for his long neck. He should just go lay down, sleep it off.

A shock of white appeared in his view as Jack wriggled his way between Pitch and the table. Blessedly cool skin pressed against his. Jack's icy frame felt so good, so refreshing. Pitch shook himself, trying to back up and nearly overbalancing again. Chilled hands caught his arms, steadying him.

“Jack, gerrof me.” Pitch tried to extract himself from those pale fingers, but Jack suddenly seemed much stronger than him. “I don't want to hurt you. I don't...know...what I'm capable of like this.”

“You won't.” Jack's wintry forehead pressed against his chest. “You'll be just fine. The shadows are gone now. It's just you and me.” Cool arms wrapped around his torso. Pitch stood there, swaying slightly. His head was swirling, the room was spinning, but the frosted body clinging to his was a fixed point he could focus on. For a few moments, the two simply stood there.

Jack raised his head, indigo eyes meeting argent. “Dance with me.”

“Wha?” Pitch was having a hard enough time just standing.

“Come on, dance with me.” Dusky rose lips curled into a smile. “You know I'm not good at your slow, fancy stuff. Right now you're not either. We can be clumsy together.” He pulled gently at the taller sprite. “Piiiitch.”

“Fine.” Pitch stumbled a little, but Jack kept him balanced. “Fine. Don't blame me if I step on you, Tundra Toes.”

“You're still more graceful drunk than some people are sober.”

“Damn right I am.” Pitch wasn't certain exactly what kind of dance they were performing. It might have been an attempt at a waltz, and of course there was no music, but it didn't really matter. They were together, gliding around the small space to nothing but the beat of their hearts.

“You're getting better.” Pitch murmured.

“No, actually you're just doing horribly.” Jack smiled into Pitch's chest.

“Liaaar.” Pitch tried to look down his aquiline nose at the smaller spirit. They'd dance properly when his head wasn't full of fuzz. “Next time North throws one of those dreadful Holiday Balls,” he spat out the other Guardian's name. “Next time, we'll dance, you and I. Like this.” He paused. “No, not like this. Like good.”

Jack snickered. “Like good?”

“Shut it.” Pitch swatted lightly at the moonlight silver of Jack's hair. “We'll be the life of the party. The Nightmare King, and you'll be the Winter Prince. And all those other boring sspirits will just sstare.”

“Prince?” Jack raised his head.

“Yes.” Pitch decided he liked the sound of the title he'd just bestowed. Jack was his Winter Prince.

“What if I want to be a King too?”

“You're too short.”

“That's not fair.” Jack's lips pursed in a little pout. He looked so perfect when he did that.

“Too bad. I'm the King, I make the rules.”

“You're drunk off your ass and making stuff up as we dance in a kitchen.”

“But you love me.”

“I love you.”

They fell silent, waltzing to nothing. It was the most intimate that they'd been, just the two of them in a confined space, and Pitch was thoroughly enjoying it. The combination of Jack's lithe, cool body swaying with his, along with the buzz of alcohol, left him feeling fuzzily content. A bit more confident, he tried a few more showy moves, which seemed to amuse Jack.

“You're still tipsy as hell. Are you sure you want to be doing that?” Jack grinned up at him.

“Ssure. I'm as graceful as a cat.” Pitch did a little spin, tripped over the edge of his own robe, and folded forward to the floor. At least the ground was cool. Maybe he could just lay here for a century or two.

“That was actually the most elegant fall I've ever seen.” Jack stood over him, the note of awe in his voice indicating he wasn't being sarcastic. He knelt down, balancing on his toes. “Do you need help? Want an ice pack?” There was that damned smirk again.

“Yes, in fact.” Pitch grabbed the strings of the frost sprite's hoodie and rolled over, pulling the smaller sprite down across him. “There. Now I have one.”

“Jerk.”

“Jackass.” Pitch winced. Pain was starting to cut through the fluff in his brain. His head flopped back limply. He was going to have one hell of a hangover. Jack rolled off of him so that he could sit behind Pitch instead. He lifted Pitch's head gently, cradling it in his lap. Cool fingers brushed over his forehead and temples. Having a boyfriend who doubled as an ice pack wasn't really a bad thing.

Pitch closed his eyes, focusing his mind on the chill pressure points. Jack's hands felt so good, their cold numbing the growing pain in his skull. He should retreat to his quarters now, though. He was too vulnerable like this. Never show weakness, centuries of instinct screamed. Their voices were dulled though, dulled by the alcohol, and by the wintry fingers that massaged his aching temples.

It was okay, just this once. He was with Jack, his Jack. His little Winter Prince. It was safe to close his eyes, to relax...Just this once...