Chapter Text
In the lifetime that Izzy has known Ed, the only thing he can’t say to him is no.
It’s gotten worse since Ed went and found himself a husband who already had a couple of kids. It’s just that Edward isn’t exactly the most focused man in the world, nor is he exactly dad material. He wants to be friends with the kids, for fuck’s sake, instead of being the supportive yet firm parental figures kids Alma and Louis’ age need. Of course they have their step father, and Bonnet (for all the good that will do them), but if they are going to have other adults in their lives, those adults need to be… adulty.
Ed is not the adultiest adult to ever exist. Thank fuck for Mary and Doug, at least those two know how to parent. Ed and Stede are abysmal.
So double thank fuck the kids have Izzy when it’s their father’s weekends.
Which is why, three weeks before Christmas, Izzy is at the mall with a surly preteen and her wide-eyed younger brother. He might have been able to say no to this excursion because he hates all the fucking twinkly lights and tinsel of commercial Christmas celebrations. Ed knows this and had said “You can say no, Iz” when he asked. But then Alma had texted him with a strong argument about why Ed and Stede couldn’t take them. “We want to get all the parents' gifts in one trip. So if Mary and Doug take us it will ruin the surprise for them, and if it’s Stede and Ed it will ruin the surprise for them. Please, Uncle Izzy, you’re our only hope.”
He shouldn’t have shown her Star Wars. She steals all the best lines and makes good arguments for a child of eleven.
He said yes.
So now he’s holding Louis’ hand in a tight grip, hand getting sweaty, afraid he’s going to lose the youngest Bonnet in the crowd and then have to face Mary and Doug. Alma is close on his other side, hand on his sleeve. She informed him she was too old to have her hand held in public like a baby, but she clutches at him when the crowd presses too close anyway.
He’s sad he missed out on the phase when you could put a leash on kids. He stares longingly at a toddler wearing a teddy bear backpack. The backpack has a leash, looped firmly around the adult’s wrist as they check their phone. Why didn’t they make those for bigger kids too? Seems logical. Safe.
“How many more presents do you need to get?” Izzy asks Alma. She shrugs.
“Got Mary’s. She’s the easiest.” They’d made one stop in an art store, where Alma had spent nearly half an hour deliberating over brushes. “Doug and Stede and Ed are a little harder, y’know? Doug will say he likes anything from us, but it should have meaning, you know? And Stede is…” She sighs. “Eddie’ll say he likes anything too, but Stede has expectations.”
Izzy has long since stopped trying to get her to call her parents Mom and Dad. She had said that there were too many dads in her life. And besides, mom and dad were pastry archal constructs.
He doesn’t correct her to patriarchal.
“Stede’s not that difficult,” Izzy counters. “He’ll like whatever you get him, poppet.” She throws him a look he knows means she thinks he’s an idiot but is being too polite to say so, and sighs.
“But I want it to be something he likes,” she insists. His brow creases in a frown. There’s something in the words, or her sigh, that gives him pause. It seems like it’s about more than a Christmas present. He’s going to ask when Louis stops on his other side, tugging at his hand.
“Santa!” he yells. Izzy turns to him, seeing where the boy is pointing. There’s a long line of little kids and their parents leading to a Santa Village. From here, Izzy can’t see Santa, but the line looks ridiculously long. “Please, Uncle Izzy? Picture with Santa?”
Alma gets a look on her face that is condescending but indulgent. Pure older sister energy. “Louis, you know that Santa isn’t-”
He gives her a warning look. “I think your mom and dad are going to take you to get Christmas portraits-”
“Yeah, but that’s boring!” Louis insists. “We gotta dress up and sit still and look nice! This is just… Santa.” And he gives such a yearning look at the artificial snow that Izzy’s heart squeezes.
“It’s a long line,” Izzy hedges.
“Not that long,” Alma says. “And we can brainstorm while we wait.”
Well. How is he supposed to say no to that? “Only if you both get a picture,” he says, voice gone gruff. “We’re not standing in line just for Louis.”
“Then you have to, too,” Alma insists. “It’s not fair if you don’t.”
Israel Hands heaves a sigh. “Fine.”
Which is how he finds himself in line. The line is a little long, and Louis constantly pulls at his hand and talks a mile a minute. Alma shifts from foot to foot, answering Louis’ comments with her own. Near the front of the line, a very small child bursts into tears as their parents try to force them to sit in Santa’s lap. Izzy grits his teeth and averts his gaze so as not to glare at the parents coaxing the child into a stranger’s lap. He hates the kid's parents with all the passion in his soul in that moment. You don’t force a kid to sit in someone’s lap. You don’t make them hug someone. You don’t violate a kid’s personal boundaries, at any time for any reason.
“What’d you mean, something he likes?” He asks Alma to distract himself. The line halts as the kid wails. Izzy keeps his eyes on his kids so he doesn’t start throwing punches.
His? Ed’s kids. Ed’s Stede’s kids. Fuck.
“Hm?” Alma asks. She’s got her phone out, eyes glued to the screen.
“Hey. No screen time if Uncle Iz takes you somewhere,” he reminds her. It’s a rule Bonnet made up, so that the time Izzy spends with the kids is all quality time. In truth he doesn’t care if the kids want to look at their phones or play games or whatever. He doesn’t need all quality time with the kids, he just needs to not be shitty grown up to them. He’s usually successful, he thinks.
Alma glances up, head cocked to one side. “What?”
“Alma. You fuc- you said you wanted to get him something he likes,” he repeats. Her phone disappears into her pocket and her shoulders deflate a little. She glances away, cheeks suddenly glowing pink with embarrassment.
“Oh, yeah,” she says, voice very small. His eyes narrow. “He just… always makes a big deal about whatever we get him. But he… doesn’t actually like any of it. He keeps it but he never thinks about it.” She avoids looking at him, fidgeting around him. Her hands land on Louis, and she ruffles his hair, fingers moving with nervous energy.
Oh. He’s going to fucking fight Stede Bonnet today, okay. When he gets back with the kids, Ed can watch them and Stede can have a discussion with Izzy’s fists in the parking lot.
“You-” he starts, but she speaks quickly over him.
“I just want it to matter. That’s all.” Now she sounds like she might start crying. So he’s going to kill Bonnet and bury the body. Ed’ll just have to get over it.
“Alma,” he says, putting an arm around her shoulders. He gives her room to move away, to shake him off. But she sags against him, turning to put her head on his shoulder. “You know that you’re important to him, right?”
She shrugs. Louis tugs on his hand.
“This is boriiiiing,” he insists. Izzy’s ready to step out of the line and forget the pictures.
“No it’s not,” Alma says to her brother. “Look at the elves. There’s two of them.” Louis’ attention focuses on the helpers, but Izzy’s remains on Alma.
“You know your dad-” he tries.
“Yeah,” she sighs.
Fuck Stede Bonnet.
“We’ll find something,” he promises. “Something he likes. From you.” She nods and sniffles, and he pulls her closer. Leans his head on hers. Her hair smells like tropical berries. “Alright, Alma?”
She nods, but doesn’t move away from him. The line moves forward.
“The lady elves work really fast,” Louis observes. “Santa’s lucky he has good helpers.”
“I like their dresses,” Alma says absently. “They’re silly, but I don’t know. Cool, I guess.” She finally moves away from Izzy, and he lets her go. He tugs Louis back to his other side and asks him about a video game. Louis goes off, explaining the technicalities of a specific part of the game. Izzy doesn’t give a fuck, but he makes the right sounds of interest and asks the right prompting questions as the line starts to move at a quicker pace. He keeps an eye on Alma as Louis begins to act out a boss fight right there in line.
He knows she’s entering a difficult time of life, a time when she feels alienated from her parents. He remembers it well, though it was fully forty years ago. Stede isn’t the most observant of fathers, and is sometimes careless with his words. He’s probably said something to make her feel like she has to get him a present he’ll like. Or as though… he doesn’t like her? The thought makes him freeze. If that’s the case, he’s going to obliterate Stede. His daughter is a gift and he better fucking appreciate her. Or else.
“We’re next!” Louis yells triumphantly. Izzy breathes a sigh of relief.
Then the kid in front of them starts crying, struggling to get away from Santa. Kicking out and screaming bloody murder as his parents try to force him into Santa’s lap. Good for you, kid, he thinks, glaring at the young parent trying to subdue the kid. Izzy rolls his eyes, teeth clenched again. He’s about to say something snide to them, something like shove off or leave the fucking kid alone, he doesn’t wanna sit on Santa’s lap, when Santa gets off his chair and gets on the floor with the screaming child. He hears a rumble of a laugh, and then a low voice he’d recognize anywhere.
Jack Rackham. Fuck.
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Jack could feel the headache coming on. It was a few hours until the end of his shift, and he was starving. He enjoyed this gig for the most part. But the pushy parents were grating on his nerves. He’d managed to force a smile on his face for the last kid who had calmed with the promise of ice cream afterwards, but this one? Christ. How could these people not see how terrified their kid was? You hammer Don’t Talk to Strangers into a kid’s head and then tell them to go sit on someone’s lap. ‘Cause that makes sense…
He’d finally had enough as he saw this kid was about to scream themselves hoarse, struggling to get away from their father. He was gonna hear about it later from corporate about getting the costume dirty, but he couldn’t give two shits. Shooting a look at Mary behind the camera to give him a minute, Jack slides forward off of the obnoxious bullshit of a chair and sits on the floor in front of the screaming child.
“Easy, kiddo,” Jack says, trying not to laugh as he sees the kid’s eyes widen in surprise at Santa being on the floor next to him. “M’not so bad, I promise…” He holds out one gloved hand to the child, watching as they quiet, give a little sniffle and then tentatively reach out to touch Jack’s hand. “There we are. S’lot, I know… Really long line, huh?” The kid gives a slow nod. “Now, you wanna tell Santa what you want for Christmas and take a picture? We can just sit right here. You don’t even haveta tell me if you don’t wanna.” Jack winks at the child. “I already know, don’tcha worry.”
The little one finally lets out a soft giggle and wraps their hand around a couple of Jack’s fingers. They don’t speak, and Mary has to take the picture of the two of them while they’re still on the floor, but by the time the family leaves, everyone is all smiles. Heaving a sigh of relief, Jack watches them head toward Anne at the checkout as he hauls himself back onto his feet, brushing off his suit and adjusting his hat. Jack resists every urge to look behind him to see if he’d sat in something, instead heading back towards the ornate chair and sitting in it with a groan. His knees were going to ache later, but at least he had one less crying child today on the tally that Annie kept as a joke. Christ. Merry fucking Christmas.
Fixing that winning smile back on his face, Jack looks up to greet the next family in line, the younger of the two kids already making a beeline for him. The older one is standing by her father, looking torn between joining her brother and acting too mature for pictures with Santa. Jack chuckles, wrapping the boy in a hug as he jumps into Santa’s lap. He’s about to open his mouth for his usual greeting of “Ho Ho Ho”, when all the air is sucked from his lungs. The girl has her arm around her father’s waist. Her father, who Jack hasn’t seen in… Fuck.
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Izzy can feel his cheeks burning as he watches Jack with the kid. He’s always been good with kids, of course. Izzy’s shit at kids and Ed’s worse, but Jack always had the knack for it. Knows how to talk to them, knows how to make them feel heard and seen. The tantruming child calms under Jack’s kindness, and Izzy can feel the heat in his cheeks burn hotter.
When Jack turns to them, smile ready, Izzy could have fallen over at the slightest touch. It’s been, what, twelve years? Fifteen? And still, the force of that smile, the depth and warmth of Jack’s eyes, knocks him senseless. He tries to take a breath and wheezes instead. He feels Alma look at him, but he can’t take his eyes from the man wearing the ridiculous costume and beard.
“Our turn, Uncle Izzy, our turn our turn our tuuuuuuuurn!” Louis insists, tugging him forward. Izzy moves, still unable to take his eyes from Santa Jack.
“Israel Hands!” The elf chirps cheerfully. He looks at her, eyes wide, and can’t help the grin that spreads across his face as he recognizes Mary Read. She comes to him and squishes his face between her hands, just because she can. Under all other circumstances, he’d shake her off and probably break her wrist (at least bruise it, maybe a little sprain), but not here. And she fucking knows it. Which is why she does it. He has to laugh, shaking his head at her.
“And who are theeeeese?” She asks, maniacally cheerful, gesturing at the kids. Louis rushes to Jack, looking up at him with eyes full of wonder.
“Hi, Santa, I’m Louis. Louis Bonnet,” he says. “I’ve been, uh, not naughty all year.” Alma follows her brother, smiling at Jack.
“Bonnet?” Mary repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Iz. Eddie’s-?”
“Eddie’s step-kids, yeah,” he breathes, glancing at Jack. “We… I'm Uncle Iz.” He can’t help the touch of pride in his voice. He does love the Bonnet children, even if their father is a nuisance. She smiles and turns towards Jack.
“Uncle, eh?” She repeats, giving Jack a look. “Well, I think everyone gets their own picture with Santa.” Izzy huffs.
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Jack somehow manages not to make a complete fool of himself and slides right back into work-mode. “You sure about that little man?” he asks, raising an eyebrow at the young boy. He chuckles as he sees Louis’ cheeks pink slightly. Glancing up at the kid’s sister who has made her way over to the chair as well, he grins at her. “And if I ask your sister, would she say the same?” He has to hold back a loud snort as the girl’s eyes light up, a smirk crossing her face.
“He’s been… okay,” she replies with a shrug.
“Almaaaaa!” Louis whines, reaching out like he was planning on giving his sister a shove. The boy’s hands stop short, realizing what he was about to do while sitting on Santa’s lap. His head whips ‘round to stare up at Jack, eyes wide in horror.
Trying to keep his face as neutral as possible, Jack tilts his head, gazing at Louis over the tiny costume spectacles perched on his nose. He can’t help the smile that spreads over his face a moment later as he bursts out laughing. It’s a deep belly laugh that had gotten Jack the job in the first place. His cheeks rosy, grin wide, Jack looks between the two children. They’re both ridiculously charming, and he already feels fond of them. Especially with who they arrived with…
Chancing a glance towards Mary, Jack sees Izzy talking to her. He desperately wishes he could hear what’s going on. Fourteen years hasn’t erased the love Jack holds for the other man, only held it tight and kept it safe. Now seeing Izzy only a few feet away from him, Jack’s heart aches. A million questions swirl in his head, but he keeps them all to himself, turning away to bring his focus back to the two kids in front of him.
“Now. What would you both like for Christmas, then?”
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“What’s he like?” Mary asks, looking at him from the corner of her eyes as she steps behind the camera.
“Who?” Izzy asks as though he doesn’t know who she means. His eyes are on the kids. Louis finishes telling Jack what he wants for Christmas.
“That rich guy Eddie threw you over for,” she says. His eyes dart to her, dark and sharp but still amused.
“Don’t let the kids hear you,” he warns. She lifts her head from the camera, fixing him with one of her hard, scrutinizing expressions. In spite of himself, a warmth bubbles up in his chest at the look, and he grins again. “Fuck you, Mary.” There’s no animosity in it. There might be a touch of his old affection for her in it.
“Don’t let the kids hear you,” she retorts. He chuckles as she takes a photo of Louis. The younger Bonnet jumps up and runs to Izzy, taking his hand again as he gravely watches his sister. Alma’s drawn in by Jack’s easy warmth. After Louis’s picture is taken, she steps close to Jack but refuses to sit in his lap. Attagirl, he thinks. Jack lets her stand as he talks to her. Izzy’s grin softens into a glowing smile as he watches Jack with his girl.
Ed’s. Stede’s. Their girl.
Alma turns to the camera. She still doesn’t sit in his lap, but she puts an arm on one of his broad shoulders and leans towards him. Jack glances up and asks a question. She nods. He puts his arm around her, and she looks at Izzy and grins. Mary snaps the picture.
“Your turn, big guy!” she chirps.
“Oh, fuck y-” he starts, but is stopped by Louis squeezing his hand hard.
“You can’t tell an elf to fuck off!” Louis protests. “You gotta apologize!” Izzy glares at Mary, who is grinning at him again. She’s having entirely too much fun. “Uncle!”
“Uncle Iz doesn’t have to apologize, young Bonnet. He always gets one. Gets to swear in front of an elf once a year.” She has the absolute gall to wink at him as Alma rejoins them.
“Your turn, Uncle Izzy,” she says. “Santa’s waiting.” Izzy freezes again, eyes going to Jack. Everything slows as blue eyes meet his own. He can feel the quickened rhythm of his heart as they look at each other. Jack’s gotten older, and it shows in his face. Not that he looks old, but. The last time he’d seen Jack, he’d still looked, to Izzy, like the Jacky-kid he’d met the summer before high school. Maybe, twelve or fourteen years back, however long ago, (fourteen, fourteen, he fucking knows it’s fourteen), Jack had started to age a little. At least settle into himself. But Iz hadn’t noticed, the way he hadn’t noticed how the gray had crept into his own hair and beard, or how the lines had deepened around his eyes and mouth. He’d noticed out of nowhere a couple years ago and it’d shocked him.
He feels a little shocked to see Jack older. But more than that, heat settles low in his gut as he takes Jack in. He knows Jacky’s looking at him too, can feel it like weight. He takes a breath.
“Yeah, Uncle Iz, your turn,” Mary echoes. He takes a step forward, not breaking eye contact with Jack.
“Alright, alright. Keep your fu- keep your pants on, Read,” he grouses.
“M’name’s Jingle MerryFingers, Hands,” she retorts. He doesn’t care. He’s crossed the stupid bright green carpet and is standing in front of Santa Jack. He takes a breath, and Jack shifts slightly on his throne. Izzy drops himself into Jack’s lap, the gesture as familiar as breathing. A blush is burning high up on his cheeks, but he still doesn’t look away.
“Hi, Jacky,” he murmurs.
Jack can’t help the smirk that spreads across his face. He only hopes the false beard hides how easily it turns into a hungry leer. “Never heard that name b’fore,” he drawls, raising one makeup-whitened eyebrow at the man in his lap. “Been called Kris Kringle, Sinterklaas, Father Christmas…” He drops his voice lower. “Daddy…”
He might pay for it later, but Jack holds tight to Izzy’s waist, wanting the contact to last as long as possible. Turning towards Mary and the camera, Jack takes the opportunity to lean in a little closer to Izzy and growl in his ear. “And have you been a good boy this year?”
Izzy’s body flushes hot. He’s always loved Jack’s voice, especially when he’s talking filth. The big man’s proximity, the hand at his waist, elicits a response which is completely inappropriate. A throb of want goes through him, and he sucks in a breath, trying to keep his composure.
“M’always good,” he answers. He means to be gruff, but he’s too breathless to manage to be as caustic as intended. “As you know.” He looks to Mary and the camera. The flash goes off, and he blinks, turning back to Jack. He shifts a little on top of Jack, unable to resist. He leans close. “Is that a candy cane in your pocket or are ya just happy t’see me, Santa?” If they weren’t in front of a bunch of kids, if the Bonnet children weren’t staring at him like they’d never seen him before, he’d make his point with a hand on Jack’s thigh. That he doesn’t is a testament to his respect for Alma and Louis.
“I’ve got a goddamn Yule Log… As you know,” Jack purrs, giving a small thrust of his hips to help Izzy off of his lap. His hands might stay on the other man’s waist a little longer than necessary, but Jack hopes that he can play it off as letting Izzy get steady on his feet. “Be good now.”
Izzy’s color deepens. “And if I’m not?” He challenges, looking up at Jack from under his eyelashes. It’s like muscle memory, flirting with Jack. He smiles and leans closer to the big man again. “What’re you gonna do about it? Put coal in my stocking?”
“Or something better,” Jack answers with a grin before turning to welcome the next family in for photos.
It’s hard to step away from Jack, hard to smile at his (not his) kids. Alma is giving him an inquisitive look, which he knows he’ll have to answer later. He steps to the other lady elf. She gives him a piercing look, a murderous glare, before he recognizes her. Anne Bonny. Of course; as if Jack and Mary would be anywhere without her.
“Be a minute for your pictures,” she tells him, tone sharp. He can’t tell if she’s being hostile at him, or just her usual standoffish self. He shrugs. “Santa says you get the family discount.”
“Family?” Alma asks immediately. He sighs.
“You don’t have to-” he tries. Anne fixes him with another look.
“Santa said.” She insists. He knows of old that it is useless to argue with her.
“Family, Uncle Iz?” Alma repeats. He doesn’t know what to say and looks at Anne for help. She shrugs at the girl.
“Uncle Iz helped out at the North Pole way, way back in the day. We’re old friends,” she says, doing something at the printer. He rolls his eyes. Louis scrutinizes him.
“You know elves?” He asks, suspicious.
“These two, at least,” Izzy answers. He hopes it’s good enough. It seems to be. Louis turns his attention to Anne as she slips each of their photos into individual envelopes. She scribbles something on the back of Izzy’s photo before she puts it in the envelope and shoves it at him. He takes it, holding it between careful fingers as he looks for his credit card to pay.
“Izzy. Don’t insult us with your money,” Anne says, all gruffness. “C’mon. You know Ja- Santa will have a fit.” He glances up at her, cheeks burning again.
“Nice seeing you, Annie. We should get together some time,” he tells her. She smiles, all dangerous edges.
“Yeah,” she answers. “Sure, Hands.” She passes each of the kids their envelopes and then glances back at him. Her smile fades, and there’s a hint of affection around her eyes. “Now fuck off. M’working.” Louis gapes at her, and she drops a wink.
“Elves can swear?” He asks, shocked. Anne laughs.
“Only the ones who know your Uncle,” she says. He can’t help but laugh. He reaches out, putting an arm around her waist for a brief moment. She gives him another one of those almost-affectionate looks, and then turns back to the printer.
He takes the kids to get smoothies. They’re going to need the calories, and he needs a minute. They chatter away with each other, and he takes the photo out of the envelope. He smiles at it; they both look ridiculous. His cheeks are a bright red in the photo, and he can see Jack’s hand around his waist. Jack’s eyes are burning bright even through the fake facial hair. He’s glancing at Izzy with a sly look on his face, while Izzy is staring directly into the camera. Same old Jack.
He turns it over to see what Anne wrote. Call him, you twat, she had scrawled. And a phone number. Under the phone number, or else and a smiley face. He shakes his head. His phone is in his hand before he thinks better of it, punching in the number. A text appears of its own accord, and send is pressed before he’s aware of it.
[to Jack]: Nice seeing you
He could leave it at that. Should, actually. It hadn’t ended well between them. Well, it hadn't ended well between Jack and Ed. And Ed had said– which is why it's been fourteen years. He should leave well enough alone. But it’s Jack. Of course he doesn’t just leave it at that.
[to Jack]: When are you off? Wanna grab a drink?
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Jack knows he’s grinning like an idiot. He’s read the two texts from Izzy over and over. Anne and Mary teasing him mercilessly the entire rest of their shift, both girls attempting to steal his phone multiple times to text Izzy back. Jack still hadn’t figured out what to type, even as he pushes open the mall’s staff door and heads out into the parking lot.
He barely even looks where he’s going, completely on autopilot as he walks towards his Silverado parked next to the girls’ Subaru. The only thing that makes him pause before he heads to the employee lot is the sound of a very familiar voice in a very familiar tone.
“- is inconsistent, Bonnet. Kids need consistency, you can't just change plans at will,” Izzy barks as he helps Louis into the car. He glares at Stede. “I could've dropped them off.”
Stede smiles, vapid. “I appreciate that, Izzy. But they are my children and it is my weekend. And now you're free of them! You can do as you like with the rest of your evening.”
Izzy turns to Alma, gritting his teeth at Bonnet's voice. As soon as he meets her eyes, though, his face softens from the scowl he'd been aiming at Stede. He chucks her under the chin, smiling.
“You text me when you want to finish shopping, poppet. I'll make time,” he tells her. She gives him a brilliant smile. They hadn't found a present for Stede yet, all his suggestions rejected by the poor kid. He reminds himself to let Mary know; it's the kind of thing Bonnet won't notice.
“Thanks, Uncle,” she says, throwing her arms around him. He manages to catch her and lets himself be hugged.
That's when he notices the big man stopped by his truck. Jack. He grins over Alma's shoulder at him, but doesn't let her go until she moves. He turns to help her into Stede's car, and closes the door behind her. He grunts a farewell to Stede and steps away, the engine starting behind him. He looks at Jack, shoving his hands in his pockets. The car speeds away– Bonnet drives too fast, even with the kids in the car, the reckless ponce– and he drinks in the sight of Jack.
“Who pissed on his shoes?” Jack asks, resisting every urge to automatically flip off the car as it peels out of the parking lot. It probably would make Izzy laugh before he punched Jack for making a rude gesture at the car holding his niece and nephew.
“You didn't text me back, you fuck,” Izzy says finally, huffing a laugh at the comment.
Jack flushes. “Cells aren’t allowed at the North Pole,” he tries, one hand going behind his head to scratch awkwardly at his neck. His other hand grips his phone tight in his pocket, trying to figure out what the heck to do with his body. “Also I didn’t know what to say,” he finishes lamely. “Anne ‘n Mary say I suck at texting…”
He stares at Izzy, finding himself at a loss for words. Being near the other man after fourteen years, five months and three weeks makes Jack’s chest tighten. Half of him wants to yell at Izzy, tell him all the things he’s stored inside of his brain for all those years. The other half wants to yank him into the Silverado’s flatbed and do things that Jack had secretly dreamed of when he bought the truck. Instead he settles on a safer option.
“So… How about those drinks?”
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There’s a pleasant heat in the pit of Izzy’s stomach, and not just from the truly ridiculous amount of alcohol in his fucking Porch Rocker. Of course Jack had picked Texas Roadhouse. It’s a Jack kind of place, he thinks affectionately. A little over the top, a little too committed to the bit. But good, underneath all the aggressive branding.
He’s had a silly grin on his face since they walked past Jack’s truck towards the restaurant at the other end of the mall. It feels like the last time they saw each other was yesterday because it’s so easy to talk to Jack, to make him laugh. To laugh at his stupid jokes. Easy, in a way it isn’t any more with Ed. Hasn’t been, for years and years. His heart tries to give a guilty twinge at that thought, but he won’t let himself feel anything but the happiness, almost giddiness, of being with Jack.
“We getting food with these drinks?” He asks, glancing at the menu the bartender had left with them. “You should definitely eat. Probably didn’t, through your whole shift, huh. ‘Less Anne’s gotten better at making you take care of yourself.”
Jack waves his hand in a very noncommittal way while looking over the appetizers. “Love the Tater Skins,” he says, watching a table near the bar get a plate of them. “But they can be a bitch on the stomach sometimes. All the bacon an’ grease…” he turns to Izzy, giving him a wide grin. “Annie’s been on me ‘bout not keelin’ over while I’m playing The Big Guy. Might scare the kiddos….” Taking a long pull of his Jamaican Cowboy, Jack winces. “Brain freeze,” he groans. “Shoulda gotten it on the rocks…”
Izzy takes a pointed sip of his drink, setting the glass down on the coaster. “Probably should stay away from anything greasy, then. Tater Skins, Onion Petals, and Fried Pickles aren’t allowed at the North Pole.” He loves fried pickles. And the Onion Petals aren’t half bad either. But Anne’s got a point, so his eyes slip down to the entrees. “Should probably eat a proper meal. Tiring work, being The Big Guy. Need to keep your strength up.”
He grins at Jack. He can't believe Jack has a Santa gig. He can't imagine the series of events that led to this. Not that Jack's not right for it; actually, Jack's perfect for Santa, so warm and patient with children. If Izzy is surprised Jack hasn't thrown punches at asshole parents, though, he doesn't let himself admit it.
Nodding as if Izzy has said the wisest thing he’s ever heard, Jack continues. “Better be a salad or I’ll hear about it from Mary… How ‘bout you, luv?”
Jack’s brain grinds to a halt. Fuck. His cheeks flush and he hurriedly takes another sip, wincing as the frozen drink hits the roof of his mouth. He can’t bring himself to look at Izzy. Jack’s not sure if he wants to see if the other man caught his slip of the tongue.
Luv settles in the hollow under Izzy’s heart and he stares at Jack for a moment, his dumb grin getting wider. Easy as breathing, he thinks. Jack refuses to look up, though, so Izzy forces his eyes down to the menu, warmth spreading in his chest.
“Woman can do anything, f’she’s got you eating salads,” he says. There’s a little hitch in his voice he hopes Jack doesn't notice. Luv. Fuck. “M’glad they’re taking care of you, Jacky. I worry about you.”
Jack huffs a laugh. “M’doin’ alright,” he says, finally looking over at Izzy with a soft smile. “Better now…”
Izzy glances up and sees the expression on Jack’s face. The air gets stopped up in his lungs and ‘cause as time turns the page, my love won’t age at all rings in his ears from the overhead speaker. Suddenly they’re not sitting in a Texas Roadhouse. They’re young again, just kids, and Jack is looking at him like that and the world melts away. It was always like that with Jack, that melting away, that slowed-down unbearably true warmth that makes everything make sense. Ed had been a whirlwind of excitement, of confusion, but Jacky had always been this. The quiet center of everything.
He takes a breath and starts to reach out.
“Jacky, I-”
“Y’all ready to order?” The waiter asks, appearing from nowhere. The world seeps back in and Izzy exhales, bracing on the table.
Jack manages to snap out of the trance first, turning to the waiter and giving the young man a grin. “‘Course,” he says, folding up the menu. “I’ll get the Steakhouse Filet Salad, rare. An’ throw some of those grilled onions and mushrooms on there, too. Can’t be too healthy.” He pats his stomach, winking at Izzy. “Gotta keep my figure for work.” Noticing the other man staring, Jack nudges Izzy with his elbow. “Get whatever ya want, darlin’. My treat for not textin’ ya back.”
Izzy shakes himself, cheeks flaming. “Uh, the… Bone-In Ribeye. Medium, please. Vegetables and baked potato, no sour cream.” The waiter nods, serious, as he finishes noting down their orders and takes the menu.
“Get that for ya in a jiff,” he says brightly. Izzy refrains from rolling his eyes as the young man scurries away. He glances at Jack and picks up his drink to cover his embarrassment. He takes a long gulp, ignoring the stupid paper straw.
“So. Did the girls talk you into being The Big Guy, or didja talk them into being elves?” The words are awkward, they feel awkward, the melting warmth of moments ago gone. He’s starting to panic. What’s he doing here? Did he really expect that they could just… pick up, after fourteen years? That Jack would just let bygones be bygones? He takes another gulp of his drink, emptying the glass.
“Bit o’both,” Jack says with a shrug. “I’d been crashing on their couch while m’landlord was doing a month-long bathroom reno at my place. We all got tired of starin’ at one another on the weekends, an’ Annie found the job postings on Indeed.” He noisily sucks down the last of his drink and flags down the waiter for another round. “On the rocks this time, if ya please. Definitely no kicker, thanks.”
Izzy inclines his head towards his empty glass, and the waiter nods. A slight frown creases his brow. “Crashing on their couch? You’re not, you and the girls…?” It surprises him, the thought of Jack, Anne, and Mary not being together anymore. Izzy and Mary follow each other on social media, which is how she knew about Stede. But he can’t for the life of him remember the last time he’d seen her mention Jack anywhere. His frown deepens. “Shit, Jack. When’d that happen?”
“Me n’ the- Oh!” The big man barks out a laugh. “Naaah, not for a while now.” A fond smile crosses his face as he thinks about the girls. “They wanted to settle, y’know? And you know me. Can’t sit still f’my life depended on it. Plus, my stuff wouldn’t fit in their UHaul.” He laughs, shaking his head. “Now it’s a bit like bein’ the stray dog they occasionally let in the house…”
Shrugging, Jack turns to take the new drinks from the waiter and passes Izzy his glass. “Still love ‘em, ‘course. Never won’t. But I knew I was holdin’ ‘em back.” Taking a sip of his second Jamaican Cowboy, thankfully not frozen, Jack grins, giving Izzy a wink. “M’alright though… Happy to wait as long as it takes for my Mrs. Claus.”
He’s about to say Jack’s not a stray dog, for fuck’s sake, the girls would never treat him like that, but the big man goes on. And then Izzy’s choking on his drink. Choking because he’s laughing. He sputters and wipes his mouth, eyes flashing at the other.
“No one has standards that low,” he teases. “Any respectable woman wouldn’t.”
Jack leers at Izzy over his oversized margarita glass. “The hell would I want a respectable woman for? Sounds borin’ as fuck.” He takes a long, slow lick of the salted rim, dark blue eyes never once leaving Izzy’s hazel ones.
Fucking Jacky. A flood of bare-faced want goes through Izzy as he watches the other man lick the rim of his glass. Memories of Jack's tongue on his skin assail him, and he has to swallow hard, trying to hold his composure. “You were never a boring fuck,” Izzy answers.
“Likewise,” Jack growls, not even trying to hide the way he looks at Izzy. Eyes hungry as Jack looks the other man up and down, all sorts of lurid memories coming to the forefront of his mind. He licks his lips, a small part of his brain managing to keep himself from diving under the table and reminding Izzy just how interesting of a fuck he still was. He’s about to say something to that effect when their waiter arrives with dinner.
The plates are set in front of them, but Izzy can't take his eyes from Jack. That look in his eyes, the way he dragged his tongue against his own lips as though he could taste Izzy already. As though the only meal he wants is Israel Hands.
Nobody had a mouth like Jack. Nobody had ever reduced Izzy to a needy pile of want like Jack. Nobody had ever touched him like Jack did, like Izzy was the most precious thing in the world. Nobody looked at him like Jack was looking right now, absolutely famished for a taste of Izzy.
“Y'all be needing anything else?” The server asks in his bright, cheerful voice. Izzy bites his tongue so he doesn't answer get fucked.
“We’re good, thanks kid,” Jack replies smoothly, not bothering to look at the waiter. His attention is still focused on Izzy. Glancing down at their dinner, Jack raises an eyebrow as he sees what Izzy ordered. “Makin’ me jealous, Iz. Though I ‘spose I shouldn’t be surprised. A bone-in ribeye? You always were fond of large pieces of meat, weren’t ya…”
The casual, joking possessiveness of makin’ me jealous, Iz and the honeyed timbre of Jack's voice sends a shiver of pleasure up Izzy's spine. He lets Jack see it, shifting in his seat a little. He picks up his steak knife, flashing a feral grin at the other.
“You've always been fond of tossing salads,” he counters, tilting his head at the pile of greens in front of Jack. “Same old Jacky.”
Jack smirks, getting a bit of everything from his salad on his fork. “‘Member you bein’ rather fond of me doin’ it too,” he purrs. “I still have that Bon Jovi shirt of yours that you… ruined.” Shoving the large bite in his mouth, Jack chews with relish, a low groan escaping him. “Fuck, this is good…”
Izzy's grip tightens on his knife. The groan evokes a memory of having Jack beneath him, a sloppy mess, begging for Izzy to fuck him. He grins, picks up his fork, and cuts his steak.
“Kept it as a souvenir, did you?” He teases. “You slut.”
Shrugging, Jack takes another bite, making sure to get a large piece of steak. “Smelt like you for a long time. Came in handy occasionally.” The picture of Izzy wearing that particular shirt was one of Jack’s favorites in his arsenal of mental images he had to work with. Jack had bought Izzy the ‘Slippery When Wet’ shirt as a joke. Then proceeded to prove how easily he could reduce Izzy to a whimpering mess with just his tongue. Shifting in his chair to adjust himself, Jack takes another drink, humming as the noises Izzy made replay in his head for the millionth time.
The words fall out of his mouth before he can stop himself. “F’I remember correctly, you were always fond of coming in Hands.” He hears himself, tries to get embarrassed about it, and decides not to. It’s Jack. It was always like this with them. Both of them crackled with so much sexual energy and desire for each other that they were always less than two minutes from ripping each other’s clothes off at any given time.
The meal passes like that, teasing flirtation, memories, and a pleasant buzzing warmth just under his skin. Izzy watches Jack, all the smiles and glowing eyes. And his body, God. Fuck. Jack had always been big, much bigger than himself, but somehow he’d forgotten the sheer bulk of the man. He admires the broad shoulders, the wide chest, the thick waist. Tries not to imagine Jack’s thighs under him as they finish eating. He lets Jack pay, and they exit into the empty mall. Izzy can’t help smiling up at the other man, heart glowing.
“What now, Jacky? Should I call a cab?” he asks. He wants Jack to say no. To ask him for a little while longer. For forever, maybe.
Jack ponders for a moment, then grins. “Could do that. Or…” He holds out a hand to Izzy. “Wanna see the North Pole?”
🎄🎄🎄
It’s stupid. It’s just an empty mall, after hours, with all the gaudy decorations and cheap commercialism that a mall in America is capable of. But somehow, with his hand in Jack’s, it feels magical. Maybe it’s just being with Jack again, or maybe there’s some lingering religious belief in his heart about Christmas miracles or whatever the fuck. It does feel miraculous, having run into Jack like this. To be here with him, warmth bubbling high in his chest and desire curling low in his belly.
It’s not bad, with the crowds gone and the aggressively cheerful Christmas music turned off. It’s quiet, and the low lights give the Santa village a warm quality. Izzy looks at Jack, unaware that his eyes are glowing and his cheeks are pink.
“Kinda… kinda nice, Jacky,” he murmurs.
“So much better without the screaming kids,” Jack chuckles. “Just don’t look too close at the fake reindeer. Their eyes are a little… off. Gives me the willies.” He continues to lead Izzy around the display, pointing out a few silly details in the decor; ‘candy canes’ made of PVC pipe, ‘gumdrops’ made of sculpted styrofoam.
“Best part of the whole thing is this,” he finishes with a grin, gesturing at the tiny house behind the plush velvet chair that Jack sat on for the pictures. “Not just for show. Y’can go in it. I take breaks in there sometimes so the kiddos don’t see Santa walking around the mall. Don’t wanna ruin the magic an’ all that.”
Pulling Izzy with him, Jack heads for the door, opening it up and gesturing at Izzy to go through. “S’bigger on the inside, promise. After you…”
Izzy steps inside the little shack. It’s no bigger than a tool shed, really, though it’s decorated to look like a gingerbread house on the outside. There’s a large beanbag chair on the inside, and a rack holding the Santa costume. It’s nothing, really, but it feels intimate. And not just because the space is so small. It’s because it’s got Jack Rackham all over it, somehow. He can’t explain it but the little gingerbread house feels like Jack, and it makes Izzy’s grin widen.
He flops into the beanbag chair. “This your idea? Seems like a you type of idea,” he laughs. “Keepin’ the magic alive for the kids and all.”
“A bit,” Jack says, turning to grab the costume off the rack. He pulls on the coat and turns back around, holding the garment open so Izzy can see the inner lining. “I got Annie to help put all these secret pockets in to hide candy for the kiddos and…”
He trails off, one eyebrow rising as Jack drinks in the sight of Izzy sprawled out on the beanbag. A smirk curls the corners of his mouth as he looks Izzy up and down before speaking, his voice a low purr. “Think you’re in my seat, darlin’…” Taking a few steps closer, Jack drops to his knees, pinning Izzy against the plush fabric. “Seem to remember your favorite spot to sit bein’ somewheres else…”
As Jack’s eyebrow goes up, all the air in Izzy’s lungs rushes out. A hot flush spreads over him, from his hairline to his toes. He shifts ever so slightly as Jack moves to him, letting his knees fall open. There’s too much saliva in his mouth and he swallows hard, back arching a little when Jack’s hands land on him. He’s panting as he melts back into the bean bag, but he doesn’t squirm under Jack. Just lets his knees fall open wider still, eyes on the other, bright with need.
“Please,” he manages, voice low and husky with want. “Please.”
“Fuck,” Jack moans before he leans in and finally, finally, kisses Izzy. Bracing himself on one arm, Jack wraps the other around Izzy’s waist, pulling him closer. He’s missed this, missed everything about how they just fit together perfectly. Izzy’s arms wind ‘round Jack’s neck and it makes him let out a groan. How the hell did he survive this long without this?
It's familiar and foreign, like coming home and finding yourself somewhere unknown. There's the taste of Jack, salt-sweet, better than Izzy remembers. The solid feel of Jack's arm around his waist, strong and possessive as it ever was. The groan that vibrates against his lips in just the way he remembers.
His Jack, his Jacky.
But then there's the slight change to Jack's scent, something more settled. Or maybe Izzy hasn't remembered it right, the memory getting hazy over fourteen years. And Jack’s shoulders feel somehow broader, the warm bulk of him more than Izzy remembers.
He growls back, pressing closer to Jack. Desire rushes hot through him, the feel of Jack too much and not enough. Not nearly fucking enough. He breaks the kiss, gasping against Jack's mouth, teetering on the edge.
“Be good, Jacky,” he commands.
Jack shudders, hips instinctively rolling against Izzy’s, pressing him further into the beanbag. “Christ, luv,” he moans, mouth already watering in anticipation. “Yes fucking please.”
Pushing himself up, Jack shrugs off the coat, chucking it in the direction of the rack, then wraps both arms around Izzy’s waist. Pulling them close again, Jack lifts and twists them around so that the smaller man is sitting in his lap. Moving a bit to get into a more comfortable position, Jack reclines back into the beanbag, a feral smirk on his face. “C’mon up, sweet thing,” he purrs, patting his chest. “Lemme get a taste of you…”
Jack's smirk sends a hot surge through him, and Izzy almost comes at the sound of sweet thing. A moan rises out of him, and he closes his eyes, taking a breath. When he has a semblance of control, he undoes his pants with shaking hands. He pushes them off and then moves, already trembling with anticipation.
“Fuck, Jacky,” he breathes as he feels the big man's breath against his skin. “Oh, fuck.”
Jack is achingly hard as Izzy undresses. His mouth is watering and he’s panting like a dog as he watches every inch of skin being revealed to him like it’s the first time. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” he murmurs, hands shaking as he helps Izzy clamber back on top of him. Jack places gentle kisses from the smaller man’s knee up towards his inner thigh, barely able to believe this is happening. But the sight, the scent, the taste of Izzy tells him that this is real… and perfect. “Have a seat, baby. Show Santa what a good boy you’ve been this year. Need to taste that pretty little pussy of yours.”
God, the filthy way Jack talks during sex has always been good. Now, the sound of his voice, the condescension and affection, the eagerness, makes the hot coil of orgasm wind tighter in Izzy’s belly. He positions himself over Jack's mouth, a whining moan in his throat. “Been so good,” he tells Jack. “You can taste how good.”
Reaching up, Jack winds his arms around Izzy’s legs and pulls him down. A long groan is muffled as he buries his face between Izzy’s thighs. Jack is in heaven. He places light, teasing kisses at the edges of Izzy’s cunt, nuzzling at soft skin and letting his mustache brush against Izzy’s cock. The smaller man is already trembling, but Jack is determined to draw this out for as long as possible.
Finally, Jack lets himself taste. He runs his tongue the outer folds of Izzy’s pussy, moaning as hears a gasp from above him. Izzy is almost dripping into Jack’s mouth and the big man can feel his cock throb from the thought that he was the one who did this. He could still make Izzy like this, moaning and needy. Jack plunges his tongue deep into the cunt above him, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
Despite having just had dinner, Jack is suddenly starving. He wants to devour Izzy, make up for all the time apart by reducing the man above him to a sobbing, whimpering mess. His arms pull Izzy’s thighs tighter to him, a possessive snarl escaping him. Who cares if he can’t breathe, Jack wants to die as Izzy comes hard on his face.
Jack’s mouth on him is beautiful. It’s the only thing Izzy ever wants to feel. He whimpers as Jack teases him, and then lets out a low whine as he feels Jack tongue in him. Big, golden arms tighten around his thighs, pulling him closer, and it’s too much, too fucking good. He rocks against Jack’s mouth twice, and then he’s on the edge of orgasm, sudden and complete.
“Jacky, oh fuck,” he moans. He comes hard, making a mess of Jack’s face. All the nerves in his body buzz with pleasure, and he takes panting breaths as his ears ring. “Holy fucking shit, Jack.”
Pulling back with a gasp, Jack gives Izzy a smug grin. He licks his lips, his voice a rough growl as he speaks. “C’mon baby, know you can do better than that. Ride my face ‘til you fuckin’ scream.”
Izzy gives Jack a feral grin, sinking slender fingers into golden hair. “Didn’t say you could talk,” he growls. “Got other ideas for your mouth.”
He pulls Jack's hair to direct him where he wants him, and grinds against Jack's mouth to make his point. “Always were better at this than anything else,” he pants. “So fucking good, Jacky.”
The tone of Izzy’s voice goes straight to Jack’s dick. Sex between the two of them had always been a game of who can get the other worked up more. The filthier Jack’s mouth was, the more turned on Izzy would get. But every once in a while the other man would surprise Jack with his sharp tongue, and it nearly made the big man come from the sound alone.
Jack lets out a low moan, his hips instinctually thrusting upwards, rutting against the inside of his jeans to get the smallest amount of friction. The way Izzy’s hand tightens in his hair is perfect. He feels deliciously used. With anyone else Jack might be embarrassed by the whine that escapes him, but he couldn’t care less now. He just wants to feel Izzy come, hear him scream Jack’s name.
Izzy licks his lips, glancing down at Jack. He loves how Jack lets him have his own way, gives in. It’s glorious, the way Jack lets him use his mouth. The way he can feel Jack writhe under him, the whine rising from his throat. Izzy rocks his hips, the wet slide of Jack’s tongue into him fucking beautiful. Low sounds of pleasure fall from his lips as he moves, desire coiling hot in his belly.
“Love this, don’t you? Love me using you like this,” he says, voice a smokey rasp. “S’where you belong, huh, Jacky. Under me, used by me. Making me fucking come with your filthy fucking mouth.”
Jack’s prick throbs, a shiver running through him at Izzy’s words. He can’t reply other than to let out another low growl as he sucks Izzy’s cock with a hum. His mouth works faster, pushing as deep as he can into Izzy’s cunt, trying to match the other man’s pace. The taste of Izzy on his tongue and the fingers tight in his hair starts to make Jack’s mind go hazy, the very essence of the other man flooding all of his senses.
Another long, desperate whine escapes Jack as his whole body starts to tremble. His arms tighten around Izzy's legs as Jack starts silently begging, looking up at the other man as his tongue works furiously. Please Iz, lemme see you, hear you, feel you… Let go, darlin’, I gotchu…
Izzy sees it, the way Jack's eyes go glassy with his silent plea. Golden arms clutch him tighter and there's nowhere else in the world he ever wants to be. This is perfect, Jack is perfect, and an old familiar warmth blooms in his chest at the same time orgasm rolls over him.
“Jack, Jacky, fuuuck,” he moans, eyes falling shut as he grinds against that eager mouth. For a moment the world is silent and still; all that exists is Jack's hot mouth on him, the feel of the big man under him, and his nerves singing in anticipation. He tries to take another breath but he's shaking apart, shouting Jack's name as he comes hard all over Jack's face. His back arches and his fingers turn cruel in Jack's hair as he tries to hold on through the avalanche of pleasure.
“Good boy, Jacky,” he pants, voice huskier than usual. “Fucking good boy.”
Jack’s long moan is muffled as turns his head to press his teeth against Izzy’s inner thigh. The warm wetness on his face, the tight pull of his hair, hearing the other man cry out his name as he comes; it’s all too much. His climax hits him like a cannonball to the chest, making him gasp out Izzy’s name as cum paints the inside of his jeans.
After a moment, Jack finally manages to relax the muscles in his arms, releasing his tight grip on Izzy’s legs. The big man’s chest is still heaving as he tries to steady his breath. He feels Izzy’s fingers loosen in his hair and Jack’s head drops back onto the beanbag. He blinks up at the other man, eyes still out of focus as he wills his heart to slow down.
Izzy chuckles, low and intimate. He pets through Jack's hair, trying to force his thighs to stop trembling so he can get up. The warm feeling in his chest spreads out, settling in his limbs. He knows if he wanted, he could curl up next to Jack. Jack would allow it, even though the ridiculous beanbag chair isn't quite big enough for that.
His fingers trace over Jack's cheekbone, all affection. “Missed you, Jacky.” His grin turns wicked, a flash of the spitfire boy he'd been when he'd met Jack. “Think the security guard heard me?”
“Gimme a minute to breathe an’ we can see if I make you even louder,” Jack replies with a smirk. “Just in case he didn’t.” He reaches up to grasp Izzy’s wrist and tugs him down into a messy kiss. The angle is weird, and the beanbag cover is probably ruined like that old shirt he still has, but Jack wouldn’t change a thing. Maybe there was such a thing as Christmas magic...