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He knows that it’s bad as soon as he drops down through the hole. The lair is silent, full of nothing but ominously dark shadows and empty cages. Jack can see traces of movement in the darker corners, where the Nightmares and fearlings cower and shrink away.

Ohhh definitely not good. How long had he been gone? It had gotten hard to tell when he realized that the sun up in the North Pole had no intentions of rising for a while. You couldn’t blame him for losing track of time when there was no sun!

Jack lands on one of the bigger bridges and tentatively starts to look around. There’s absolutely no sign of Pitch, which means squat down here, especially with it so obvious that the King of Nightmares is pissed.

So instead of Pitch being gone, it’s far more likely that he’s already stalking around in the shadows, ready to pop out and make his dramatic entrance.

Alright, so, guessing that there’s going to be a great big looming Drama King behind me in three…two…one…

“Jack…” And just as expected, Pitch’s voice comes from right behind Jack. Soft and steady and way, wayyy too calm to be comforting. “Where have you been?”

Even though he was anticipating it Jack still jumps when a large hand grabs the back of his neck. He yelps as he gets yanked back, Pitch’s long fingers almost wrap entirely around and he swallows, feeling fingertips at his throat and a hot palm on his nape. It’s ridiculous really, even after all this time he’s thrown off whenever he’s reminded how huge Pitch is.

He manages to crane his head around enough to look at Pitch out of the corner of his eye and gives his biggest grin. It doesn’t even falter when he catches sight of the way Pitch’s eyes are trying to burn a hole through his skull. Really, Jack deserves bonus points for being able to keep his smile up in the face of that.

“Heey Pitch! Have I been gone long? I hadn’t noticed!” Not a lie, technically!

Pitch bares his teeth (all sharp points, oh he’s in trouble) and tightens the hand on Jack’s neck, giving him a small shake. “Don’t try to act innocent! You’ve been gone for a month! A month, Jack! Where were you?!”

“Hey, I really hadn’t noticed! The sun wasn’t coming up in the North Pole and-”

“The Pole!?” Oops. Jack winces when he feels claws start to prick at the skin of his throat. “What were you doing at the Pole!?”

He swallows again, and can feel the way his throat moves against the claws digging into him (had never really given much thought to how thin the skin on his throat is but it feels terrifyingly like paper now.)

“Look it wasn’t a big deal! North was still all annoyed that I was able to break in that one time so he wanted me to test out his new security measures!” He can feel the hand tensing on his neck, can FEEL the growing heat behind him and he should probably shut up now. Well, he already started, might as well finish. “So I kept getting past them and he had to keep changing them and it just ended up lasting longer than I thought! Like I said I hadn’t noticed that the sun just…wasn’t coming up at all and-”

That’s when Jack notices it, the slow, steadily building hissing in the air. Not good, that is so not good, that is a new level of not good.

“Uh…so I’m sorry that I didn’t notice that the sun wasn’t coming up for a month…?”

“And since when,” Pitch starts, his voice is calm, so calm and soft and steady and Jack can hear the simmering danger, “are you and The Cossack such good pals.” He hisses the last word like it’s something filthy.

Jack frowns, “The Cos-….Oh! North!” The hiss grows and the hand around his neck clenches. “North! Right! I wouldn’t say pals but he’s not bad ok!” He frowns more at that, now HE’S getting annoyed.

“Actually I kind of like him! North may not like you but he hasn’t tried to tell me you leave you like Cottontail and Bird did! He lets me mess with his ice sculptures and you know what?” He needs to stop, the fingers are tensing more on his neck and the claws are growing and he should probably stop he reallllyy needs to stop talking. “I’m probably going to visit him again sometime!”

There’s an animal snarl behind him and before Jack can even think the hand on his neck shoves at him, wrenches and slams him down onto his knees. He manages to bite back the pained cry as his knees crash into stone hard enough to send the shock jarring through his body. He sucks in a tense breath and he doesn’t know what’s going on but everything goes muffled. It’s like his head is stuffed with cotton and there’s nothing but the rock digging in to his knees, the scalding hand gripping his neck and the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.

He can feel more than he can see the way Pitch towers and curls over him. “You’re mine Jack! Mine! And I’m not going to give them a chance to even try to take you away from me! They may ACT friendly to you but all they’re concerned with is finding another way to cast me down! That’s all they’ve ever done!”

Pitch’s grip on his neck is like iron and he yanks back, makes Jack’s head tilt back and pulls until his back is arched and strained. His entire balance is thrown and he knows that Pitch’s grasp is the only thing keeping him from toppling backwards. He can’t get enough air into his lungs, he can’t think and barely even registers what Pitch is saying.

“And you think it’s alright, that it’s perfectly fine to go throwing yourself at them as soon as they show you a little toy!? To go running to them because they’re nice to you?! You’re not going to go back there! I forbid it” He should be protesting, Pitch has no right to tell him who he can and can’t talk to but he’ll have to bring this up later because right now he’s having a hard enough time getting his thoughts together, much less forming them into words.

Later he’ll have words again. He’ll remember that Pitch is being an ass and he’ll say so and there will be a lot of yelling and some things may be thrown. But now he can only mentally flail because he knows that this is something to argue with but he can’t pull his mind from the burning iron grip on his neck or the way Pitch is the only thing holding him up and keeping him from toppling over.

“Pitch-”

“Shut up!” The world lurches as Pitch throws him forward and he barely manages to fling his hands up in time to stop his face from crashing into the rough stone floor. “You belong to me Jack! You’re mine!”

Pitch sounds frantic, his voice is a rushed growl and his claws dig in until Jack can feel cold and thick liquid sliding down from the sharp points at his throat.

He’s terrified, completely terrified.

But he’s nearly shaking with anticipation and there’s a thrill running up his spine with the terror. It’s like his body is a taut wire that doesn’t even know which way to vibrate. He sucks in air, feels it stutter in his clenching lungs and hears a sharp intake of breath behind him.

Jack keeps his eyes on the hard stone beneath his hands, makes himself focus on the roughness, on the color of it because otherwise he might drown and he doesn’t even know why.

“Pitch what-” He breaks off in a strangled yelp when Pitch snarls and suddenly there are claws raking down Jacks back, ripping into his shirt and yanking his pants down to his thighs.

Jack jumps at the rush of warm air on his skin and OH this just went an unexpected direction. He gulps down air, can’t get enough air and his hands curl into fists on the rough stone.

Jack can barely move. The hand on his neck is holding him down and his pants are stretched around his thighs, effectively binding his legs. The air feels like it’s crackling and thick, pushing against his exposed skin and he can hear the rustling of fabric (can see bits of shadow shifting away which means Pitch is undressing) behind him. It sounds impossibly loud, everything around him is muffled under the sound of his heart pounding in his ears and his own gasping but he can hear that all too well.

“Um…” Should he say something?

He feels like he should say something by this point, at least to try to remind Pitch that there is a bottle of oil tucked away somewhere and that may come in handy. And would be appreciated.

But he only gets as far as parting his lips to talk before he’s nearly gagging on two long, hot fingers (thankfully without claws, he thinks a little hysterically.)

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you what to do.” Pitch’s voice is still that low, dangerous, and even growl that slides down Jack’s spine like a knife. Jack feels his insides clench and everything goes all cold and warm at once because this is going to hurt. There’s nothing but his saliva and he’s not sure that will work.

And that thought shouldn’t make his breath catch on a whine or make it feel like his skin is suddenly too tight for his body. He tries to breath through his nose (tries to breath in general and that keeps getting more and more difficult) and sucks, pushes his tongue against those fingers and laps at every bit of them. They’re so long that he feels like Pitch is reaching down his throat and he nearly gags, nearly chokes and that just makes him whimper and suck harder.

He can hear Pitch’s breathing hitch and the hand on his neck finally lets go, only to drag down his back and finish clawing through his shirt. He catches movement out of the corner of his eye as the shreds fall to either side of him, leaving the tatters clinging to his arms and he has just enough brain power to wildly think “That was my only damn shirt” before everything goes white. Pitch’s teeth (still sharp as knives) sink into the muscle above his shoulder blade and Jack nearly bites down on the fingers in his mouth. He yells around them instead, clenches his fists against the pain while Pitch laps at the blood running down his back.

And that shouldn’t make his cock twitch, shouldn’t make him groan and twist his tongue around the fingers gagging him but Jack seems to be learning more and more new things about himself tonight.

Pitch finally pulls his fingers away and Jack gasps and coughs as they’re ripped from his mouth. He gulps down air, tries to pull himself together and brace himself while that hand glides down his back.

He can feel Pitch’s mouth wandering over him, leaving a burning trail as it moves over his skin and murmurs wordlessly against him. Jack keeps trying to breathe evenly, trying to regain something that resembles control. He loses any ground he gained as soon as Pitch bites down into the small of his back and unceremoniously shoves one finger fully inside of him.

All the air rushes out of Jack’s lungs and he only manages a strained, choked noise because god that hurts, that hurts and it’s too much at once Pitch’s fingers had never felt so HUGE before. It feels like a hot brand inside of him and Pitch doesn’t even give him a second to adjust before it’s twisting and moving inside of him. It hurts it hurts the friction is burning but he’s pushing back into it. He can hardly breathe and Pitch is dragging sharp teeth over his back and everything is on fire but he arches into it and grinds back against the pain.

Pitch’s breath is a harsh rattle and his free hand is raking sharp claws over Jack’s skin (and oh thank god Pitch is aware of himself enough to only keep the claws on one hand, though it feels like that hand is making up for both of them). Jack grits his teeth on another whine and everything hurts every nerve is lighting up and there’s blood running over his back but he’s still straining into it and moving his hips against Pitch’s hand.

He manages one thrust back before the other hand shoves hard between his shoulder blades and sends him crashing down onto his forearms. Pitch holds him there, sinking claws into his skin and keeping him firmly down (and since when was his hand so huge, was it always that big? It’s almost covering all of Jacks upper back he can feel the press of it all over him.)

“Hold still!” Pitch snaps. Jack only whimpers and presses his forehead against the stone, he can hear a faint popping as he pants a thin layer of frost over the black rock and he focuses on that to keep himself from just mindlessly grinding back.

Pitch tenses his hand, digs his claws further in and pulls his finger out only to shove another one in with it. Jack chokes on the air, bites back a scream and digs his fingers into the stone while Pitch twists and curls both fingers inside of him (hot hot they’re too hot too much it’s all too much he wants more of it). Jack’s saliva is barely enough but Pitch starts thrusting his fingers in and out of him anyway. He’s scissoring his fingers with every sharp push in and it’s only a matter of time before he finds that perfect spot that does make Jack scream.

Pitch is merciless as soon as he finds that spot, he presses in, swipes both fingertips in a circle and scissors around it. Even with the hand on his back Jack rolls his hips and tries to get the long fingers inside him even deeper, tries to press back harder. Jack gasps for air and can’t stop gasping can’t stop every breath from catching on a high wail while he writhes against the weight holding him down.

He manages to thrust back, throws his weight back and Pitch presses against him with a snarl. The weight on his back lifts and long fingers weave through his hair instead, yanking his head sharply back and to the side and he manages a surprised inhale before those wicked teeth go deep into the curve where his neck meets his shoulder.

“Pitch!” Jack barely recognizes his own voice, barely registers that the strained, broken and choked noises are from him. He can feel Pitch’s answering growl sink into his muscle through the teeth buried in him. He can feel Pitch everywhere, twisting inside him and plastered to his back and stabbing into his skin as Pitch bites down harder.

Jack whines (he feels like that’s all he CAN do now) and pushes back, bites his lip when he feels the naked and searing heat of Pitch’s erection press against his hip. He can feel it twitch against him and burn into his skin and it’s never felt so huge before.

Jack needs that in him. Now.

“Pitch, Pitch please please-” Words are difficult right now. He can’t stop panting the word “please” like a prayer and it gets even more difficult when he feels Pitch groan into his neck.

It hurts more when Pitch yanks his teeth out then when he sank them in and Jack cries out from the sharp pain of it while Pitch nuzzles against his jaw.

“Please what, Jack?” Pitch’s voice is a rough, harsh growl. “What do you want?”

Even through the fog that’s taking up his brain right now, Jack gets the sudden urge to just punch him. Instead he groans and grasps at words, he gets as far as another strained “please” before Pitch pulls his fingers away and the breath stops in Jack’s throat.

He’s still burning (only he’s empty now and feels completely hollowed out) and Pitch grasps at his hip, digging his fingers in hard enough to bruise as he pushes hot and insistent against Jack’s opening, growling against his neck.

“Tell me, Jack! Tell me what you want, what you need.”

“Oh god Pitch, please PLEASE,” His voice is barely above a whisper, a high breathy and thin plea. “Please I need you in me Pitch, please Pitch I want you inside me please please please!”

Pitch pants against Jack’s skin, grabbing at his hips with both hands and grinds against him. Jack drops his head back down, keening soft and desperate while he arches his back. Pitch’s erection is a red hot line against his entrance and he’s barely stretched and it feels absolutely massive. He can feel the head of it catching against his entrance but Pitch won’t push in won’t give in just yet. The stone in front of him is completely coated with ice and his fingers dig ice into every crack and crevice of it. He anchors himself in it to keep from flying apart from the anticipation.

Jack can hear the sound of Pitch spitting and bites his lip, it’s such a base crude thing and he can barely comprehend Pitch doing it but he feels the hand brush against him as it slicks that burning erection. Jack can barely breathe, can’t get enough air into his lungs and he starts to feel dizzy from it as he heaves and gasps blindly.

Pitch’s lips press against the shell of his ear and Jack can feel his hands shaking where they grip his hips. “Shhhh Jack, who do you belong to, tell me who owns you…”

“God Pitch, you! I’m yours, I’m yours you know I’m yours!”

Just like that Pitch slides into him. Jack barely had any warning, just the sharp inhale and hiss before the sudden stretch and demanding push. It’s too fast it’s too big and it burns and Jack screams into the stone floor. He can barely suck in enough air to keep screaming, he feels like he’s being ripped apart.

Pitch’s hips finally press up against him and Jack is sure his voice is almost gone from screaming. He can only shake and pull air into his lungs through his cracked throat and whimper from the thick heavy heat pulling him apart and burning him from the inside out.

He’s barely aware of Pitch muttering into his hair, it’s a stream of barely understandable babble and Jack can only catch instances of his name scattered here and there. There are huge hands sliding over his body, up his sides and over his trembling thighs. He’s sure it would be soothing if it weren’t for the claws leaving lines of white fire behind them.

He’s on fire everywhere and there’s blood dripping bright red and cold onto the stone and his knees are scraped and aching and everything hurts. And he’s so hard that even that hurts. He glances down and whines softly when he sees his own erection, almost purple and steadily leaking clear, thick fluid into a puddle on the floor.

Right when he’s wondering if he’ll actually survive this there are hands at his hips again, digging new sharp points into him and Pitch is moving. There’s no build up, no steady rocking like usual. Pitch simply pulls out and snaps back into him, rough and insistent and Jack thought he was done screaming but can’t stop again.

His voice breaks into a constant, high wail, hitching with every thrust as the air is punched out of his lungs again and again and again. There are teeth dragging along his neck and Pitch presses his mouth against the still bleeding bite from earlier. Stays there and presses his tongue to the cuts while he gasps hot and wet against Jack’s freezing skin. Usually he’d be talking, Jack is used to Pitch letting out a constant barrage of words but now he only gasps and moans while he licks along the trails of blood.

Jack tilts his head, gives him more access and shudders when Pitch sucks a bruise over the already angry mark. His erection is throbbing and it hurts it’s almost too much now.

“Pitch Pitch please, touch me I need you to touch me.”

“No.” There’s a growl against his neck, low and rumbling and he feels it where Pitch’s chest is pressed against his back. Jack keens, desperate and high and Pitch isn’t letting up at all, he’s actually driving into him harder and faster as he snarls. “No you’re going to come from this or you won’t come at all!” He snaps his hips hard then, holds them there and grinds deep into Jack. And suddenly Jack thinks that won’t be a problem.

There’s a hand on the back of his neck again, pushing down hard until Jack’s chest is pressed to rough stone. He turns his face so he can breathe and Pitch just grinds into him with a relentless barrage of quick and shallow thrusts. Jack’s voice finally cracks into nothing but strangled, broken sounds because Pitch is pressing right THERE and just rocking shallowly in him, keeping constant pressure back and forth back and forth and it isn’t letting up it just keeps going and going and Jack is going to fall apart.

Jack can feel the shaking start from somewhere low in his belly, his entire body is quivering and he can’t think of anything but Pitch’s name repeating like a chant in his head as every muscle coils up. He’s going to implode or explode or something. He opens his mouth and his throat closes up and when he finally comes he can’t even make a sound.

It’s like every nerve is being ripped apart and he can’t stop his muscles from spasming while he thrashes against Pitch’s hand and silently screams. He’s dying, he’s sure of it, Pitch never even touched him and he’s never come harder in his life. Pitch starts thrusting again, wild and erratic as he pounds Jack through his orgasm.

Jack is aware of Pitch talking now, but it’s a muffled, distant noise over the ringing in his ears and when he feels Pitch slam into him one last time, when he feels him twitch and feels molten wetness inside him he actually blacks out.

He’s sure he’s out for only a second, but between one blink and the next he’s off the floor and cradled against Pitch’s chest. There are lips against his temple and there’s a hand moving gently over his side. For a few wonderful seconds he feels like he’s riding a cloud, like he’s separated from everything. The world is fuzzy and glowing and Pitch is wonderfully warm.

Then, one by one various aches and pains start letting themselves be known and it gets hard to breathe again. He doesn’t even know why but he starts shaking and curling in as he tries to gulp down air. He was high and flying before and now it’s like he’s crashing down. Jack can’t tell if he’s falling apart or just waking up and his back is a torn mess, his knees are raw and he can’t even move his head without his neck flaring with pain and he can’t. breathe.

“Shhhh, you’re alright Jack, that’s it…” He curls into Pitch, closes his eyes and concentrates on the hands petting over him and the soft words against his temple. He tucks into that warmth and finally surfaces, sucking down air and feeling his body start to relax again.

The world lurches slightly as Pitch stands up, still holding Jack carefully against him as he steps into the shadows. Usually Jack hates it, hates being carried around like a doll and ESPECIALLY hates when Pitch goes into the shadows with him.

But right now he’s too boneless and brainless to care. Pitch finds one of the many beds scattered through the lair and pauses for a moment in front of it, like he’s considering something.

“Don’t you even think about it.” Jack mumbles. “You put me on top of that thing. I’m not going under there when I’m feeling like this.”

Pitch snorts in amusement and obligingly places Jack carefully on top of the bed. Jack winces when the blankets catch on the scratches on his back (and he’s pretty sure his back looks like a war zone right now, not to mention his neck) and there are hands nervously running over him and checking him again.

Pitch doesn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He would usually be finding new ways to wrap himself around Jack but he just keeps hovering over him almost guiltily. There’s a shifting noise and then a cold, wet cloth gently dabbing at his back. Jack sucks in a breath between his teeth and he can feel Pitch stiffen beside him.

Jack shifts enough so his back is easier to reach to show that Pitch should continue (it may sting but the cloth feels like heaven right now against the burning cuts). There’s only a heartbeat of hesitation before the cleaning continues and Pitch’s free hand begins running shakily through Jack’s hair.

“Are you….alright?” Pitch’s voice is rough, and sounds oddly lost. Jack wants to laugh because what kind of question is that?

“I’ll let you know when I figure out if I’m alive or not.” He croaks. His throat is raw and he feels like he won’t be able to move for a week at least. He manages to crack a grin. “I can’t believe I actually passed out.”

He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know that Pitch is looking far too pleased with himself. The bastard is going to be smug for months once he stops feeling guilty.

But that’s fine.

Jack’s already planning his next visit to the North Pole.