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Jack’s love language, surprisingly, was physical touch… and noticing. Crazy to think that a filthy corpse like him could feel love. To think that his weak little synapses in his rotten brain fired and fired to release that sweet sweet dopamine, with her partner cortisol. And to think he had fireworks in his mind for such a man like him.
He didn’t understand it at first. He thought his mental wiring was fried after his death— even superseded his death. He’s been in his fair share of relationships of course, but it’s hard to spend time with a partner when you gotta make money to get by and take care of your little sister.
Ironic because he left her at that damn restaurant anyways.
Idiot.
At the club, he was blinded by the smoke and the lights— it was all too much. He felt some residual grind from this couple dancing next to him and it made him want to curl up into a ball and like. He was far too sober and not a club-person. That was all Dave. Although…
Dave knew how to get this wild side of Old Sport out. That look that when Dave first saw it, made him feel a little flutter where his heart should’ve been. They were both intertwined mentally like that, as they were physically.
Jack tried so so fucking hard to not fall in love with him, as he’s tried with so many people. Funny thing— it’s the hardest thing to do. He’s fixed crazy wiring on a pizza sauce and cum stained mangle, that was hard. He’d crawled, bloody and weak out of that bear’s maw back when he first died— that was hard. It pisses him off that trying not to love a murderer was so hard. It pisses him off that he can’t control his brain.
I thought I wasn’t supposed to have a soul?
Here they stood on the wet club floor with glass shattered from bottles that were carelessly knocked over, next to the never ceasing smoke from the hookah pipes, and the bass from the speakers that tickled their throats and rumbled their hearts. Pink and blue lights overlayed their faces in flashes as they looked into each other’s eyes, dancing. Well.,..,…
Jack was doing what was an awkward...shuffle?, bending his knees and moving side to side, eyes shifting around— feeling uncomfortable.
Uh you could hear Dave’s large dress shoes hit the ground the way he danced. His tie swung around, and his suit jacket was hastily swung over his shoulder, while his orange dress shirt was loosely buttoned— another reason why Jack couldn’t get his eyeballs to sit still.
Dave said something that Jack surprisingly couldn’t hear, but he could see Dave furrow his eyebrows while smiling that bright wide smile, looking down at his Old Sport. Jack cocked his head, and Dave leaned into his ear, looking at Jack’s cheek as he spoke. Loudly. Right into his ear-ithurtlikeabitch.
“Y’KNOW, SPORTSY, YOU LOOK LIKE A TOTAL VIRGIN LOSER NOT DANCING LIKE THAT.”
Dave pulled back, and saw Jack’s frown.
He went back to his beloved’s ear.
“OK OK, DONT WORRY, NOBODY’S LOOKIN’-“
He paused to lean back and look into his eyes, holding his shoulders before going back.
“NOBODY CARES IF YOURE DANCING LIKE A CRACKHEAD, SPORT.”
Jack considered this, looking around at the other club-goers. He wished that came easy to him.
“SUUAAAAAAVEEEEEEEE——“ The speakers suddenly blared. Holy shit, he knew this song. He paused and pointed to the speakers and did a soyjack face, to which Dave quirked a nonexistent eyebrow at. This was it, his moment— his moment to-provetodavethathewasntabore-dance!
And so he immediately did just so, swinging his hips, SCREAMING the lyrics to his partner, who held his hands, feeling the jostle from arms that were once still and stiff. There was a pause, maybe not in motion, but in mind, where they both understood that this was a memory that was going to spring every so often in the future when they weren’t together. A way to remember the other. Something to get nauseous at.
(Sorry guys Famous Prophets (Stars) started playing and it’s making me super sad haha lol) (relationships amiright) (NOW THEYRE GONE… DADAADADAAAAA DA DA DAAA DAAAAA)
Someone to get stupidly sick over
with
sticky sticky salvia
and wet cheeks
and a
throat that ached.
They both thought it, and wondered if the other did too.
Jack sat at the bar, alone, as Dave had found some hooker to bother. He didn’t care. Not at all.
“You got Spirytus?”
“No. Everclear work?”
“Hell, sure.”
He fiddled with his cuff, the cuff to the suit that Dave and he were matching in. He left pathetic in it. He didn’t dare look back. If he didn’t feel it in the current moment, it wouldn’t be real right? He loved to hammer those feelings down, and wash them down with a sting. Call it pain-star.
( Christ man)
Isn’t it crazy how his whole (second)-life purpose was to save the children and he’s hanging out with the person who goes directly against those conditions?
So descend into cliche…
This is honestly just embarrassing. He grabbed the shot, downing it. He was shit at this, he tasted it all the way down. Gagging, he looked back— it was just my instinct, even though he told himself not to look back. Some girl was giving Dave goo-goo eyes, and he was reeled in. Jack quickly turned back and downed a second shot, tasting it purposefully this time.
You know what pissed him off too? Dave always did gay shit with him, then feigned the nulling “no-homo” card. It was funny at first, watching this man grapple with his sexuality, but now it’s just so damn sad. Jack has gone past the feelings of pity for him into straight anger.
And ho, lord he hauls his ass back here with a pep in his step.
“You’re lookin’ at two of the luckiest guys on the planet, Sportsy! Wanna know why?”
He didn’t bother to dignify him with a response. He grunted.
“Ok. Going to ignore the fact that you’re being a bit of an asshole-“
That pissed Jack off SOOOOOO BAD HHAHAHAHGAHA
Jack looked at his face as he said that too— Dave’s smile was still there of course, but he held a squint above his superficial emotion. A squint of uncertainty and slight peeved-ness.
Haha penis
“I landed us a two-man, Sportsy!”
Jack wasn’t even looking at him.
“I got us a hooker to split, Old Sport.” He repeated, louder and his voice ever so slightly deeper.
…
Jack stared straight ahead. Selective Mutism be damned! This boy can sure give the silent treatment!
Dave held Jack’s shoulder. Jack finally looked at him, and shrugged his hand off.
“The fuck?” Jack was all too familiar with his anger. He hesitantly looked to Dave, rethinking his cold shoulder and wondering if he should’ve just faked a response or something.
Dave was looking down at Jack. The hand on his shoulder less of a recognition, and more of a threat.
“Are you fuckin’ with me?”
“Sorry, I’m just…” he grappled with words in his mind, coming up with a lie. His eyebrows were furrowed as he closed his eyes. Upon opening them, he looked at Dave, whose expression had completely shifted into one of concern.
“Too much?” The older man quipped, looking around, then back at Old Sport. This sends Jack over the edge. This is the understanding that comes between lovers, he thought. Dave understood, in the few months of knowing him (and Jack is a VERY closed off man) that large groups made him iffy. Dave fucking understood that. He understood him.
Head spinning now, and his legs weak Jack tried to get up. He didn’t know why, he just needed to move. To go somewhere at least. He looked queasy, as he walked to the club doors, like a zombie, Dave walking right behind him.
The cold breeze and the rush of city air hit him and held him like a lover. He mentally breathed a sigh of relief, as his feet had went on autopilot— walking to a curb on which he sat down, holding the concrete to brace himself. The cold felt nice. He liked cold. He was stable again.
Dave however, lingered behind, holding his hands in an awkward and familiar position— one he hasn’t held in a while.. not after Hen—
He stood a step behind Jack, looking down at him, worried. They lingered in the silence for a few minutes.
Dave spoke up. He always did. Jack doesn’t understand where he learned to soft and kind from.
“Y’wanna grab a bite? There’s a pizza chain here that serves a whole pie fer 7 dollars. S’like New York. Pretty authentic if y’ask me.”
He heard Jack laugh. And his posture regained its vibrancy again. He loved hearing his Old Sport laugh because he laughed for no one else.
“I’ll be the judge of that.” He started to stand up, before Dave rushed to be his crutch. His brain fired like a network.
Back at the shitty motel, the smell of actually good pizza filled the air, especially as its molecules shifted excitedly when Dave THREW THE BOX ONTO THE BED. Jack wasn’t happy with that, but quickly lost those feelings when he realized the pizza was safe…. And his stomach growled. They turned to look at each other before letting out a hearty laugh.
Dave grabbed a slice— loaded with anchovies and garlic sauwce. Jack grabbed his own extra cheesy slice… far far away from the anchovies. And before you think it’s a half n half— fuck no. They got two boxes. They both were men that LOVED to eat. Funny— sharing food was one of Jack’s love languages. You can imagine his hurt when Dave told him his likkle secret of not sharing kebabs.
“Y’wanna try mine?”
“Yeeerrr. S’mine?” He was stuffing his face.
“Nah, s’okay.” Faaahk no.
Another thing that happens with Dave is that Jack loses his usual corporate wage slave demeanor. And by proxy, his way of speaking. Dave makes him code switch, feeling much more comfortable around him. He liked that.
Dave finished his two slices and dusted off his hands with a loud clap as he grabbed two slices from Jack’s box. Jack quipped an eyebrow at this. With anyone else, he’d be pissed.
“Ya feed me, I feed ya?” He extended the slice to Jack’s mouth.
Jack grabbed the slice from Dave’s hand in a silent exchange. Jack heard Dave brush the crumbs off his calloused hands, then felt the weight of Dave lean on the bed with said hand. Heard and felt because he wasn’t looking— too busy making eye contact with Dave. His mouth parted slightly. Dave gingerly moved the pizza into his mouth, as Jack’s intertwined arm slid one to Dave’s mouth. Jack had this mental fuck up where he decided to act whorish, as he does (with single dads mostly), and gave puppy eyes while the pizza entered his mouth, looking into Dave’s eyes. Jack mentally went smug as Dave took an awkwardly small bite. Gotcha. Dave’s eyes darted around. Jack took a bigger bite. Dave took one. They finished— actually taking the time to feed one another. They felt the pizza in their hands move, feeling intently as they did so, feeling their partner move by proxy. It was all so convoluted.
They leaned back at Jack played music from his phone. The speakers were slightly jacked, but still okay. His phone was face down so Dave couldn’t see that it was a playlist Jack made about him.
The lights were dim, and you could hear the click of a lighter. Dave lit a cigarette, wrapping his lips around it, and his lips over his teeth, holding onto it, while putting away the lighter with both hands into his slacks. He took a puff, then removed the cancer stick from his mouth, extending it to Jack. He considered it, but ultimately refused. Dave quipped an eyebrow, then smiled unnaturally wide. Jack knew he was going to do something stupid. He flinched back, but not fast enough as Dave blew a hot stream of
.
Smoke right into his face.
:)
Jack coughed, and smacked Dave’s forearm… but he really found it hot. Jack loved how much more experienced Dave was— how he goes through life like it’s a party. All for him. The catalyst to his own outburst of bright-carefree nature.
Jack laid down with a huff, as Dave followed suit. The younger man closed his eyes, as they were growing heavy, hearing the crackle of the embers being ignited next to him.