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“You don’t have to do this.”
Jack closes his eyes. He keeps himself still, keeps himself from reacting any further than the stiffening of his spine. No matter how long it’s been, he can never get used to just how quiet Steve is on his feet when he wants to be.
“Yes,” Jack replies, softly. Finishes off the Scotch in his glass. “I do.”
Beyond them, the glistening lights of the Manhattan skyline shines bright and promising. Behind them, the Avenger Tower is still and quiet. It’s a crisp, cold night -- the long fingers of winter stretching over the city in breezy winds and the occasional soft flakes of snow. They fall gently right now. A calm, peaceful surrender to tonight’s confession.
“Jack--”
“Steve.” Jack turns to face him. Unlike him, dressed in layers and layers of clothes -- Steve isn’t wearing much. Just a pair of sweats and a t-shirt that looks too small. Makes Jack’s throat dry. “They know I’m here. You’re harboring an international prisoner. If your government doesn’t come for me...” Jack sighs. “David will.”
Steve comes closer now, but still stops just shy of too close. Still respects invisible and unspoken boundaries. Jack won’t let himself open up to Steve. He can’t. He knows the results of letting himself love someone.
“I can protect you, Jack.” He waves back towards the dark tower, where shadows play and whispers and watch. “We can protect you.”
There was a time, not all that long ago, when Jack would have jumped at that offer. Would have welcomed it with opened arms as a right -- a privilege earned by birth. Things are... different now. Complicated. And he turns back around with a sigh.
These months here in New York -- away from Gilboa and Silas and a kingdom that never wanted him -- with Steve Rogers have done something to Jack. He can’t put his finger on what. He’s not even sure how it happened. From a palace to a small, one bedroom apartment in Brooklyn. From fine cuisine to pizza and beer. From limos to the subway. From the crystal tableware to paper plates. From His Royal Highness, Jack Benjamin, Crowned Prince of Gilboa to… well, that’s what Jack’s still trying to figure out.
He’s trying to figure himself out. He’s trying to figure Steve out. Steve Rogers. Who brought him here. Rescued him from his luxurious prison when he owed him nothing at all. Steve is a simple man, from simple means. And yet he’s Captain America. A symbol of hope and protection. The whole world watches him and pretends to know him. But they don’t.
They don’t know that he’s loved and lost. They don’t know that he hurts. They don’t know that he laughs so hard his cheeks turn red and that when he smiles when he means it his eyes sparkle and when has a nightmare he curls his toes in his carpet. They don’t know that he brings Peggy Carter one red tulip every week and they don’t know that he was in love with his best friend James “Bucky” Barnes. And Steve bares it all with a grin. The weight on his shoulders heavy and hard, and still, Steve carries on.
A chill slithers up Jack’s arm. He pulls his sleeve down a little more. Pulls it so he can hold the end of it in his hand. He’s wearing a sweatshirt. One of Steve’s. It’s much too big on him, but it smells nice and it makes him feel safe. Not that he’s ever admitted that. Not out loud anyway. He can’t. He won’t.
“Jack. Your Highness.” It’s been months since he’s called him that. Used the title that was stripped away from him by his father. Steve comes to stand next to him now. Still leaves that space between them. “Stay.”
What he wants to say is, I can’t, Steve. What he wants to say is, I want to, I would, but I can’t. What he wants to say is, I don’t deserve to.
What he says is, “No. I have no reason to stay anyway.”
Those words burn coming out of his mouth. Burn the same way they did when telling Joseph he didn’t want him. They’re vicious and cruel and each one of them a lie sliding swiftly off a gilded tongue. Steve’s hand, resting gently on the ledge beside Jack’s curls in. It’s for the best -- Jack knows this.
Steve is… Steve is good. Not perfect. Perfection is a thing that, Jack has learned, does not exist. But Steve is good. He has a good heart. Tries so hard always to do the right thing, even when the whole world would tell him he’s wrong. Jack has watched him stand up for the message and ideals this country is meant to represent. Jack has had Steve stand by his side when Gilboa demanded he be sent back to face trial and judgement for the crimes he’s damn well guilty of committing. And that’s why.
Steve is good.
And Jack is… not.
Jack is poison. Turns dreams into nightmares. Jack destroys all that is good. Everything he’s ever loved. Joseph. Michelle. David. Not this time. He won’t do that to Steve. He won’t destroy him.He’ll save Steve from the darkness that’s inside of him. He can do this. For once in his life, Jack is not going to be selfish. He won’t give into sinful temptation. No matter how difficult this is, he is going to walk away from Steve Rogers. From the one place, since Joseph, he’s ever truly felt real -- felt safe.
“Your smile,” Steve murmurs just above the strong gust of wind that rudely pushes snow towards them.
“What?” Jack snaps in response. His anger is not Steve’s fault, but if Jack pushes away it’ll make this easier. For Steve, anyway.
“A reason to stay,” he clarifies. Steve picks up the bottle of Scotch to refill Jack’s cup. “Your smile.”
Picking up the glass, Jack swishes the liquor around a bit. He watches the rich, gold liquid swirl around, it’s strong aroma teasing his nose. Steve doesn’t own such good Scotch. The only reason Jack has this to drink is because they’re at the Tower tonight. Meetings with the UN and such today. That’s what happens when one harbors and international criminal. But staying here comes with some of the riches and luxuries Jack’s used to. Courtesy of Tony Stark.
“My smile?” he asks after a sip. Voice sharp enough to cut glass. “What ridiculousness are you talking about?”
Steve doesn’t appear put off by his brashness. Even if he hasn’t spoken to Steve this way in quite some time.
“You smile now, Your Highness,” he says. “When you think nobody's watching. It’s beautiful.”
Glass to his mouth, Jack does, in fact, smile. People find him beautiful. It’s usually the first thing they say to him. But Steve thinks his smile is beautiful. And now Jack is smiling.
“You laugh, too,” Steve goes on. “Softly and you try to hide it, but you do. I’ve heard it.”
Jack lowers the glass and turns enough so that Steve can no longer see his face. Eyes closing, he shakes his head. Why is Steve making this so much more difficult than it needs to be? The ledge along the balcony is cold under his hand. Harsh. It likes Steve more than Jack. Jack pulls that sleeve over his hand again. He can’t let Steve know how he feels.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Captain Rogers.”
“I do, Jack.” Steve steps up closer. The only warning Jack gets is the soft crunch of snow beneath his feet. “You smile. You laugh. You sleep through most nights and you’re… you’re kind, Jack. You don’t think I’ve seen you interacting with the children at the hospital?” When Steve drags him to do volunteer work with him. So maybe Jack’s read a story or two to the kids. “You think Sam hasn’t told me that you’ve visited the VA with him?” Well, Jack was a prisoner of war. That’s just common sense. “And the Barton’s new dog?”
“The thing was half starved and full of mange.” Jack sighs and looks back at Steve. “I couldn’t just leave it out in the rain.”
Jack didn’t realize just how close Steve had gotten. Now that he’s face to face with him again, they’re close enough that he can feel the heat that spills between them. He shivers. Not from the cold.
“Steve--”
“You’ve changed, Jack.” Steve gently swipes some snow away from Jack’s shoulder. Makes a white, hot flame ignite in Jack’s chest. “You’re kind and gentle and loving. Actually…” Steve blinks and smiles softly. “I think you’ve allowed yourself to be more of who you really are.”
No. No this is not… he’s wrong. Steve is wrong. Jack knows who he is and who he isn’t. And he’s not what Steve’s described. No matter how much he wishes he was. No matter how much he’s tried to be. He’s not. And he never will be.
Dizzy and lightheaded, Jack pulls away and braces himself over the ledge again. The railing still favors Steve.
“You really don’t know what you’re talking about, Steve,” he mumbles. “You don’t know me at all.”
“Yes, I do,” Steve whispers. “You helped teach me to dance.”
Jack shakes his head. “You had a benefit to go to at the White House. I’d seen the videos of you there in the past. I couldn’t let you make a fool out of yourself.”
That makes Steve chuckle.
“Last person to try to teach me how to dance was Bucky.” Steve’s voice always softens when he says that name. Always. “He used to put me on his feet. So did my Mama. That was before the serum.”
“Obviously.”
Steve smirks. “I danced with Peggy. Because of you.”
“Me?”
“Yes.” Steve’s gaze sweeps down and then back up. “I never trusted myself enough until you showed me how. I got to dance with my best girl because of you, Jack.”
“Stop it.”
Jack can’t do this. He’s not going to. He won’t.
“Stop what?”
“I’m cold.” That’s not a lie, at least. “Take me inside.”
Steve holds back a grin and nods. Picks up the glass that been resting on the railing and gestures for Jack to go first. They walk together, Steve a pace or two behind Jack even if he could easily pass him in one or two strides, but when they reach the glass doors, Jack steps aside to let Steve open them for him.
“There’s this, too,” Steve says as he closes the doors behind him.
“What?”
“You like to order me around.”
“I do not.” He does, but that’s only because Steve listens. “It’s hardly my fault you listen to me.”
“I don’t always,” Steve counters.
The lights automatically come on as they make their way into the living room. Everything is so different here. Sleek and modern. Bright. Not like at home. Not that Jack has a home. He helps himself to the couch.
“True,” he agrees. Jack flicks his fingers for his glass and Steve hands it over. “You do choose to not listen at the most inconvenient of times.”
“You’re a grown up,” he says, arms folded across his chest. His lips twitch in that amused little smirk of his. “You can clear your own plate.”
Jack rolls his eyes and sips some more of his drink. Silence slips over them like a satin sheet. Sweet and comfortable, and Jack hates it. Hates this comfort that only makes this worse. He’s leaving. No matter what Steve says or does or thinks.
“Sit down,” Jack barks when Steve goes on lingering by the bookcase. “You’re driving me crazy just standing there like that.”
Scoffing, Steve shakes his head, but does, like Jack pointed out earlier, listen to him. He comes over and sits on the other end of the couch. A part of Jack wishes he wouldn’t sit so far away. That’s the part of him he’s been denying these past weeks. The part that first noticed the warmth that comes from Steve any time he’s close. That picked up on how his scent makes Jack’s heart race. That saw how opened and unguarded Steve becomes when he’s immersed in a sketch.
Jack ignores that part. Smothers it down the way he’s been struggling to do for so long no matter how it aches inside to do so.
Once his drink is finished, Jack just holds the glass between his hands. Turns it over a few times but doesn’t want to put it down. The thought, as childish as it might be, frightens him. If he puts it down, it’s as though he’s bringing the night to an end. If he holds onto it… maybe he can just stay here on this couch with Steve forever. The couch won’t mind. And Jack is selfish enough to keep Steve all to himself, even if it’s just at the opposite end of a couch.
“I’m not gonna get you to change your mind,” Steve whispers, “am I?”
“I can’t imagine why you would want me to,” Jack answers. My smile and laugh and barking orders cannot possibly be reason enough, he thinks. “I don’t treat you well.”
“You have your moments.”
There’s a sparkle in Steve’s eyes. He’s teasing him. Playing. Jack says, “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“You can really find out if you want,” he shoots back and then bursts out laughing when Jack’s jaw drops.
That wouldn’t be the first time Jack’s heard him make a dirty joke, but it is the first time he’s been on the receiving end of one.
“Your manners are repulsive,” Jack mutters, and refuses to laugh even if he wants to.
“What’dya want from me?” Steve shrugs. “I’m from Brooklyn.”
“Is a filthy mind a requirement to reside in Brooklyn then?”
Not that Jack can talk. He’s been living with Steve Rogers months now and his mind has come up with more than one fantasy that has crossed the line from dirty to filthy.
“Don’t go back to Gilboa, Jack,” Steve requests. All traces of teasing vanished. “Stay here. With me.”
“No.” Jack tightens his grip around the glass. “I’m going back and turning myself in.”
“Jack--”
“No!” he exclaims. Leaps off the couch. “I’m not staying here! I’m not staying with you! I can’t! I won’t!”
Steve is on his feet now, too, but he stays by the couch, jaw clenched and eyes hard. He’s frustrated and scared and Jack isn’t helping, but Steve has to see. Has to understand.
“You’ve already paid, Jack!” he yells and when Jack shakes his head and tries to walk away, Steve, for the very first time, doesn’t let him. “No!” He takes hold of both shoulders, somehow firm and gentle at the same time. “Jack--”
“Let go, Steve.”
“Please, Jack.” Steve let’s go, but he doesn’t move out of the way. “You don’t need to keep punishing yourself.”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, Captain.” He turns a cruel, vicious sneer on Steve. Sniggers once. “You…” Jack’s voice rings in his ears. “You don’t know the things I’ve done. I’ve spilled innocent blood. Hurt people. Destroyed them.”
“I know what you’ve done,” Steve replies as though Jack’s words mean nothing to him.
Yes. Yes, he knows about the crimes the country wants him to pay for. The crimes they hate him for. It’s all written in black and white in the documents that have been sent back and forth between King David and UN Officials for the past few weeks. Steve’s read them all. About the coup that Jack helped his uncle plan. About the people he killed. About the treason he committed. Even about the fake trial for David he’d been part of. Although, fairly enough, the story is whole and complete with Jack’s intervention and admission to the entire facade.
Steve says, “But those things, Jack… they weren’t you.”
Jack barks one dark and very unamused laugh. “Oh, they were very much me, Captain Rogers. Very much.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t deserve the chance to redeem yourself.”
“What makes you think I’d care about such a thing?” Jack mumbles, weakly. “Redemption is for children.”
“Redemption is for any man who seeks it.”
Jack scoffs and stares at the glass in his hands. It’s actually quite lovely, now that he gets a good look at it. A tumbler. Sleek and easy to grip. The glass a unique, iridescent material. Glossy as it catches the light in just the right ways. Jack’s never seen anything like it before. Beautiful.
“I don’t seek it. And you’re beginning to frustrate me.”
“Beginning to?” Steve shakes his head. “And yes, you do. You want it. And you deserve it.”
No. Steve is wrong. There’re crimes that, yes, he needs to pay for, and maybe he can find redemption from but he’s done so much worse. Something unforgivable. And there’s no redemption in that.
“You don’t understand, Steve,” he mutters. “I can’t stay with you.”
Jack tries to leave again only to have Steve continue to block his way.
“Why? Tell me why, Jack.”
Fists tight and trembling, Jack just shakes his head. His body is shaking. His jaw clenched. His nostrils flared.
“It won’t matter.”
Jack doesn’t know what’s happening to him. He can’t think straight. He’s better than this. He can lie and deceive and manipulate. His silver tongue can weave roses out of weeds and yet here, with Steve, all he can seem to do is tell the truth.
“Tell me, Jack. Please, tell me.”
“Because!” Jack bursts and flings the glass towards Steve. He misses, of course, and instead of hitting anything, Steve snatches it right out of the air. Saves it from crashing. “Because I destroy everything I love!” He turns away and glares at the wall. “Joseph was the one real thing I ever had.” Tears burn his eyes. They hurt. So much. “And I destroyed him. I won’t do that to you, Steve. I won’t.”
It’s hot. The room. The air. The world that seems to have gone from teetering on the tip of a needlepoint to exploding all around him. Jack thought he had a grasp on the situation. Now he’s not sure he hasn’t been flailing this whole time.
“Jack,” Steve whispers. Steps up close and before Jack can even think to stop him, has his hand at the side of his face. His hand is so soft. So warm. And all the tension in Jack’s body seems to just melt away with that one sweet and gentle touch. “I love you, too.”
Eyes falling closed, Jack’s chest fills with unrecognizable emotions. So many of them. All gathering and coiling together to form one intangible thought.
“No,” he sighs. He hasn’t truly said it. There’s still time to save Steve from him and his sins. “You can’t. You don’t want to love me, Steve.”
“It’s too late.” Steve’s other hand cups the other side of his face. “I love you.”
Jack’s body buzzes hot and electric. Steve has never been this close to him and now it’s as though he’s stripped Jack down to expose him down to nothing but his beating heart. He sings with tension. Every inch of him wanting Steve so badly it hurts. And Jack can deny himself no longer.
“Steve…”
The name is barely off his lips before Jack has their mouths pressed together and he’s kissing Steve. Steve’s big, strong hand cups behind Jack’s head and pulls him in closer. He moves so gracefully, so fluidly, Jack barely has time to tell himself he’s being moved until his back is up against the wall with Steve pressed against him. Jack moans against Steve’s mouth.
It’s never… Jack’s never felt like this before. Steve’s fingers curling into his hair. His body against his. His tongue shoved deep in his mouth. It’s intoxicating. Exhilarating. Addictive. Jack can’t get enough.
And yet, Steve kisses him like he’s thrusting himself upon the blade of a sword. It hurts him. Pains him. Because he knows, like Jack knows, that he’s still leaving. This doesn’t change anything. It hurts to kiss him, knowing this will be it. And, still, Jack doesn’t care. Still, Jack kisses back, knowing the pain it causes Steve, because he needs it. Needs it so badly he doesn’t know if he can survive another moment without it.
They kiss like that -- Jack pressed against the wall with Steve’s fingers curled in his hair, hand cupped at his waist and Steve’s shirt bunched in Jack’s hands so he can keep him as close as possible -- for an immeasurable amount of time. Quick and hasty. Even rough. Almost sloppy. Teeth clacking and tongues rolling. Until Steve’s kisses change. Become… softer. Deeper. A little… lazy.
“Steve…” Jack tugs on his shirt. “Kiss me, damn it.”
Mouth right by Jack’s ear, Steve chuckles. “Does it get you off too, Your Highness?”
A chill slithers down Jack’s spine. Steve’s voice is so dark and heated. He’s never heard him like this before.
“Does…?
“Ordering me around?”
“I… n-no… I…” Can’t think. At all. This is all so… so… new. Different. A night of fucking, he’s used to. A chance to sleep with royalty and brag about it the next day, he knows. This he doesn’t. Jack doesn’t know what this is. “Just fucking shut up and kiss me.”
Steve damn near growls, “Yes, Your Highness,” and effortlessly hoists Jack up.
Jack gasps in surprise, his legs immediately latching around Steve’s waist for support though he hardly needs to. Steve just smiles up at him as he holds him, and Jack, in spite of himself, smiles back before leaning in to get his kiss. Steve, never even having to move to accommodate for Jack’s weight, just holds him like that as they go on kissing. And Jack can… Jack can stay like this. Always. Here, safe and protected and… and… loved in Steve’s arms.
The only reason Jack even knows they’re moving at all is because the wall is no longer behind him. The air moves around him, quick and hurried as Steve carries him somewhere else. He kicks a door open. The bedroom, then. Steve places him down on the corner of the bed. Brushes the edge of his mouth with his thumb before putting much too much space between them. Too much space happens to only be a step back, but it’s still too much.
There’s a slight pause, a brief moment that Jack thinks Steve might take to reconsider this. Might pull himself off the blade he’s plunged himself on and save himself from a whole world of heartache. Jack can’t blame him if he does. Even if the thought leaves a strange, hollow feeling in his shriveled heart.
Instead, Steve begins to peels off the shirts that Jack’s wearing. All of them. One by one. He’s been so cold lately. Freezing. He isn’t right now. Right now, he’s warm. Even as Steve takes off all his layers.
“Are you okay, Jack?” Steve asks once the last t-shirt slips from his fingers.
Jack looks up at him. “What?”
“Are you okay?” Steve repeats. “With this, I mean.”
“I’m not a child, Steve,” Jack says, even if he’s a little -- or a lot -- touched, yet again, by Steve’s kindness. He’d stop. Right now. In the face of fucking the former Prince of Gilboa, if Jack asked him to. The thought makes Jack’s heart flutter pleasantly. “I would have told you to stop.”
“Yeah, but… after…” Steve snaps his mouth closed and shakes his head. “I just wanna make sure you’re okay.”
Jack rolls his eyes and, instead of answer with words, yanks down Steve’s sweatpants. The action is the first thing that seems to truly surprise him tonight, and when his cock springs out -- full and thick and just as gorgeous as the rest of him -- Jack is pulling it into his mouth.
“Oh! Oh, shit!” Steve yelps.
Fingers dig into Jack’s scalp as he sucks Steve down. He’s… he’s huge, Jack can admit. Bigger than he’s ever had and the thought of getting fucked by him is positively thrilling if also a bit scary. It’s been a long time.
“Jack…” Steve pants. “Oh fuck… Jack…”
Jack doesn’t let up either. The sounds Steve’s making -- so easily pulled into pleasure and forgetting to hold back in anyway -- are like music to his ears. Whines and whimpers and breathy, choked on noises.
“Oh my god… Jack… Jack…” Steve keeps saying his name. Over and over. It’s… nice. “Jack… oh… I’m… m’gonna… I can’t…”
Smiling around Steve’s cock, Jack flicks his gaze up at him and keeps at it. Keeps going even when Steve’s knees begin to tremble and he stiffens and comes with another shout of Jack’s name. The grip in his hair tightens and Jack swallows him down. Gives Steve’s cockhead little kitten licks as he settles down, and he just can’t help it. Jack smirks.
“Oh,” Steve teases when he catches him. “You’re gonna get it.”
And then he’s crawling on top of him. Quick and sudden, and all Jack can do is let it happen and giggle. Good god, Steve has him giggling as he pulls them both further onto the bed, kissing up and down Jack’s neck as he does.
“Steve…” Jack finds himself murmuring. “Steve, I… I want you.”
“Yeah?” Steve says as he rolls Jack onto his back. “You got me, Your Highness.”
It’s a bit of a blur from there. Steve takes his time with him. Jack’s always envisioned a slow, passionate love making. He never expected this.
Steve is so… so attentive. Kisses every inch of him. Learns, even in this one brief moment together, how to touch him. Which spots make him tremble -- the crook of hic neck. Which spots make him sigh -- his collarbone. Which spots make him shout -- a soft suckle of his nipples.
Steve whispers to him. Sweet words of love and praise and affection that float along the edge of Jack’s soul, and even though Jack doesn’t answer, his heart sings with joy. If he can’t have forever, at least he can have this.
Steve is gentle with him. Jack hasn’t bottomed for very many people and it’s been ages since he has at all, but no one has ever been so gentle. The opposite in fact. Jumping at the chance to shove into and fuck the crowned prince senseless. Not Steve.
Steve is sweetly gentle. Easing his fingers in and out of Jack’s body as he slowly gets him ready. It’s almost maddening how he can be so gentle and still have Jack sweating and panting and trembling -- his body tight and hot and ready to burst just from a few fingers alone.
Steve tests. Explores. Teases. Crooks his fingers and sends stars shooting up Jack’s spine to flash brightly before his eyes.
“Steve!” Jack shouts. Loud and unrestrained because he can’t hold back no matter how hard he tries. “Oh… Steve…”
He shudders and thrusts his hips up only to have Steve snatch his waist and push him back down.
“You stay right there,” Steve orders. “Right where I want you.”
Those words sink right into the very marrow of Jack’s bones, compelling him to listen and, oh… oh, that’s new. This is nothing like before. Nothing like the room he was kept in.
No. He doesn’t need to think about that. No matter what the future brings he’ll never go through that again. Because Steve Rogers got him out of there. Steve Rogers rescued him. And now has him pinned down to his mattress as he slowly takes him apart.
“O-okay,” Jack whispers. Glands tight and cock tighter. “I won’t… move.”
Eyes growing large, Steve grins and breathes out Jack’s name before slipping his hand out and pressing a soft kiss to his forehead.
“Imagine that,” he murmurs. “My sweet prince taking orders from Captain America.”
Jack scoffs. “Don’t be an asshole, Rogers. Just--”
He’s cut off with a moan when Steve trails his fingers along the sides of his cock. It’s barely even a touch. Just a light, gentle brush, but it’s the most attention Jack’s gotten there and his jaw drops.
“More…” Jack breathes. “Steve.. More…”
“What’d’ya say, Your Highness?” Steve taunts in this wonderfully mean way. “Ask nicely.”
Jack tosses his head back in wild frustration, though he now finds himself not above begging. Not for show. Not for an act. Not for the desperate means of a desperate man. Just for Steve. Because he wants to for Steve. Because it feels good. Right.
“Please…” he says. “Please, Steve… more… more… please more…” Jack forces his hips to stay still. “I want you inside of me. Hurry up.” And he’s quick to add, before he’s chastised again, “Please…”
They don’t need to use anything for protection. Thanks to the serum, Steve can’t contract or spread anything. Despite everything Silas would have him believe, Jack isn’t filthy either. But Steve is still Steve, and he still checks.
“Do you want me to use--”
“No,” Jack mumbles. If this is the one time he gets to have Steve, he wants nothing between them. “I want to feel all of you.”
He starts to roll over, just ready to have Steve finally get inside of him. Only Steve stops him from going anywhere. He shoves him back into the mattress again.
“Didn’t I tell you not to move?” he asks. Then leans in and whispers right in Jack’s ear, “I wanna look at my sweet prince.”
Jack holds in a whimper. Bites back another one by curling his fingers through thick locks of Steve’s blonde hair and pulling him in for a kiss. Their mouths are still together when Steve lines up. Jack tenses at first. Tenses and then relaxes when Steve rolls his thumb over the tip of Jack’s cock.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” Steve says.
“Just do it,” Jack grunts. “Just do it, Steve.”
He does then. Steve pushes in and all Jack can do is feel. Feel the stretch and the burn and the pleasure that trumps it all. Their hips roll together and Jack just can’t keep his hands away from Steve’s body. He needs to be touching him. His arms, his chest, his back, his hair.
“Steve,” Jack pants helplessly. “Steve… Steve… Steve…”
“Jack.” Steve trembles. “You feel so… so…”
He doesn’t finish that. Instead, Steve snakes his arm under Jack’s back and hoists him up onto his lap. Jack sinks that much further unto Steve’s cock and the world fades away. Becomes just this moment. A moment that shines above all others.
“Steve!” Jack shouts. “I can’t… I’m gonna…”
Every inch of Jack pulls in so tight it’s almost painful until it releases in explosion of joyous rapture so sudden, so strong, that Jack flies high among stars and moons. He’s only mildly aware that the world exists outside of wherever he’s ended up. In this place of shimmering lights and glossy rainbows.
When Jack resurfaces, he’s under the blankets. He’s cleaned off and warm and Steve has him wrapped in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings and praises, and for a few moments, while Jack doesn’t feel very much like talking, he just listens. Pretends they can be true.
“You did so well, Jack.” A hand pets over him. Jack thinks he might want to be offended, but it feels nice so he doesn’t mind right now. “You’re so good, my prince.” Not a prince. But Jack wouldn’t mind being treated like royalty by Steve. “I love you so much, Jack.” He pauses. “I want you to stay with me. I see the greatness in you Jack Benjamin. I wish you would let it out.”
I can’t, Steve, Jack wants to say. I am tainted. Forever.
Jack might actually fall asleep in Steve’s arms. When he wakes again, he stirs a bit and Steve hugs him.
“Hey,” Steve whispers. “You awake?”
“No,” Jack mumbles. “You can release me from your Herculean grip now.”
Not that Jack wants to be out of Steve’s arms. Quite the opposite actually. But this is it. His moment in the sun is over.
Steve does. Of course he does, and Jack sits up. Leans over the side of the bed to fish around for one of his shirts. Behind him, the bed shifts. He glances over his shoulder to see Steve propped up by his elbow, watching with an amused smirk on his face.
“What?” Jack asks with a sigh. He knows already. Knows that Steve had him begging and pleading and squirming. Knows that, on top of that… they just made love. “What is that look for?”
Steve shrugs. “Nothing. You’re just very beautiful.”
Jack turns back around to continue looking for his shirt.
“I know.” He smiles. And blushes. Steve thinks he’s beautiful. Most people think he’s beautiful, but… Steve thinks so. “I hope you don’t expect me to reciprocate. I’ve never exactly held the best post-coatial manners.”
Steve snorts and Jack gets a pillow in the back. “You never have good manners unless you’re trying to impress someone. Or it slips and you’re not actively tryin’a be an asshole.”
Still facing away, Jack chuckles quietly and finds the t-shirt he wants to put back on. It’s one of the baggier ones. Comfortable to sleep in. He tosses it on.
“Are you thirsty?” Steve asks.
He is, so as Jack moves to the pillows, Steve pours him a glass of water from the mini-bar the room here is stocked with. He’s on his way back to the bed with it when the words just come out of Jack.
“This doesn’t change anything.”
Steve halts right where he is. The water swishes around in the glass, confused and shaky.
“I…” Steve looks down. Sad, Jack thinks. “I know.”
“I’m sorry, Steve.” He’s made Steve sad. He’s ruined this. Maybe he can still fix it. “I… I’m not punishing myself.”
“What?”
“You said before that I didn’t need to--” Jack stops. “I won’t let them hurt you, Steve.”
“Jack, I don’t--”
“They hate me. In Gilboa. I am the traitorous son of Silas Benjamin. They’ll hurt you to get to me. I won’t let them, Steve.” Those tears show up again. They hurt, but Jack can’t keep them back. “That’s why I have to do this, Steve. I couldn’t protect Joseph. I’m going to protect you.”
For a moment, Steve just stands there and Jack wonders if maybe he hasn’t said anything at all. He has changed, after all. In these months away from the royal court and political games. A web of lies and deceits that he had become so captured in he failed to even noticed he’d become his own prey. Perhaps he no longer even knows how to play the game. Perhaps he can barely string together a few coherent sentences.
But then Steve rushes over. Still holding that glass of water which, instead of handing it to Jack, hastily drops it on the nightstand where it almost topples off.
“Jack,” he breathes. Slips his hand to Jack’s cheek. “If you want to turn yourself in, I can’t stop you, but please… not for me, Jack. You’ve paid. I know what he did to you.”
The room -- that room -- flashes through Jack’s mind. Lavishing and exquisite and beautiful. Silk and satin sheets. Expensive rugs over dark, hardwood floors. Antique furniture. And the worst prison of Jack’s life. A bed where he’d been strapped down for months and months. Mind drugged into oblivion. Body… used. And used… and used…
Jack had spent months waiting for death. He wouldn’t do what his father asked of him. Wouldn’t try to father a child just to have them be another tool for his father to use in an attempt to overshadow all of Jack’s disappointment. So his father found… other means of trying to produce an heir from him. Jack was meant for torment and death the very second he tried to crown himself king.
“Steve…” Jack whispers. A breath of a word. He can’t breathe. Can’t think. “Don’t…”
“You were barely conscious when we found you, baby. The doctors said you were so underweight and malnourished they… I knew I had to get you out of there. I couldn’t leave you there.”
Steve’s voice is an echo through his mind. Steve’s hands are on him. Gentle. Warm. Safe. Keeping Jack here in New York with him.
“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers. His voice splinters and cracks. “You’ve been doing so much better, Jack. I can’t bare the thought of you back there.”
A tremble runs through Jack’s body as those tears finally spill over. He wipes them away, but seeing Steve cry for him makes it harder for him to stop.
When Steve first brought him to New York, he was barely alive. Jack couldn’t eat solid food for the first four days. He didn’t speak for almost two weeks. He needed two months of physical therapy to work his muscles into working condition again.
Jack has spent so many sleepless nights afraid he’d open his eyes and find himself back there again. Even now, still, those fears creep in.
“I’m tired of being afraid, Steve,” he admits. “I was afraid of my father. I was afraid of God. I don’t want to be afraid anymore.”
Jack’s voice breaks, and he’s suddenly sobbing so hard it hurts. He doesn’t ever remember crying this hard, but he is now and when Steve tries to put his arms around him, Jack pushes away. He regrets it the second he does, so Jack tugs him back over and practically throws himself in Steve’s arms instead.
He blubbers things as he sobs. What, not even he’s sure, so Steve is probably at a loss as well. Words just come out as he gulps in oxygen and hiccups and tries to maintain some semblance of dignity and fails miserably. All the while, Steve just… holds him.
Steve never tells him to calm down or that everything is going to be okay or other ridiculous nonsensical words of comfort. He just lets Jack go on with his inane bawling until the tears dry up and he weeps without them for a little bit.
By the time he’s through, his throat is raw and his eyes are swollen. His nose is unattractively runny and he has a slight headache growing in the back of his head. Good thing that water is still on the nightstand. It’s actually the first thing Steve goes for.
“Thank you,” Jack says after he takes a few sips.
“See?” Steve murmurs. He runs his hand softly up and down Jack’s back. It feels nice. “Good manners when you’re not trying.”
Somehow, amazingly, that strikes Jack as so absurdly preposterous that he just bubbles up laughing. So hard his sides begin to ache. He even falls back into Steve’s embrace. Gives up for now. He might as well just let himself be held.
“Oh,” he moans softly when he starts to settle again. “You are beautiful. I did mean to tell you that before.”
Steve smiles. “Thank you.”
Taking hold of Steve’s hand, Jack laces their fingers and brings his hand up to his mouth so he can kiss it. Firm and hard.
“I have to do this, Steve.” He’s thick with tears again, but he’s not crying. Not this time. “I have to stop running.”
Steve pulls him in closer and kisses the top of his head. Like Jack, his voice is heavy with tears.
“I know,” he whispers. “Will you at least let me go with you?”
He almost says no. Jack doesn’t want Steve to see him like that. Handcuffed and lead away by police. Sitting in a prison cell and then facing the sentencing of a king. But… he doesn’t want to be alone.
“Okay.”
“Are you afraid of David, Jack?”
“Yes,” Jack admits. “He has every reason to hate me. But…” He snuggles against Steve. Snuggles. Jack is snuggling. “He is a good man. He’ll be fair. Prison, most likely.” Any prison cell will be better than what Silas had done to him. “You make me want to be a better. I’m going to be a good man, Steve.”
“You are a good man, Jack,” Steve murmurs. “You just haven’t had a chance to be one.”
Maybe. Maybe, when this is over, Jack will get that chance.
***
The cuffs are too tight. They hurt. Jack’s not all the surprised, really. Coming to turn himself in it’s not like he was expecting to be ushered into Shiloh with a parade of welcome and a sea of shiny, happy faces. That was never his fate.
The flight over was mostly silent, and Jack was just fine with that. Clint Barton was kind enough to fly them -- even though UN consultants insisted that a Gilboa diplomat should be the one to do it. Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson came along as well. Protection, they said. For anyone stupid enough to piss Steve off, Natasha whispered.
Jack spent most of the flight resting against Steve’s shoulder. Letting Steve touch him in sweet, friendly ways. A hand on his knee. A kiss on the cheek. Fingers laced. Last chances to soak it all in. Steve’s said he’ll stay in Gilboa if Jack is imprisoned there. Come see him everyday. Jack couldn’t lie -- he used to be able lie, a lot and very well, but not anymore, at least, not to Steve -- he liked the idea. Rejected it though. The world needs Steve Rogers more than he does. And, damn him to the deepest fires of Hell, Steve Rogers really does make him want to be a better man.
When he was younger, Jack dreamed of a coronation. Of people as far as the eye can see happy to see their prince grown and ready to ascend the throne. Cheers and cries of awe. That’s not what Jack got. Not when he declared himself king and received silence and then fear. Not today. When he received jeers and cries of outrage.
Despite Steve’s friends’ best efforts and connections, the news of Jack Benjamin’s return, even within hours, was all over the place. Trending. The hottest topic. People came flocking to the street to catch a glimpse of their disgraced former prince. Even in the back of the armored truck, Jack could hear their shouts. The cruel, vicious names they shouted. Telling him he’d burn in hell. Steve hadn’t been allowed to sit in the back with him, but Jack could only imagine the choice words he’d wanted to shout back. A few things hit the truck as well. Jack can take a few guesses -- he caught a glimpse being unloaded and wasn’t surprised to see eggs and dried tomatoes.
Now he’s being brought to the throne room. Steve’s been allowed to walk with him albeit on the outside of the armed guards the surround Jack. Jack attempts not to pay attention to his surroundings. To the halls he played in as a child. To his home. To the things that have changed. The portraits are down. The furniture is the same. The smell is the same. And yet everything is different.
A sinking feeling descending upon him as the reach the doors. Silas is dead. But… this unimaginable dreadful feeling that those doors will open and he’ll be standing there make Jack slow his pace. The blood drains from his face. His stomach turns and he might even be ill, but one of the guards shoves him forward.
“Hey!” Steve shouts. “Don’t touch him!”
There’s more shouting as the extra guards point their guns at Steve and Steve yells and those yells echo and someone says his invitation is a courtesy and they can’t make Steve go, they can’t.
“Stop! Please!” Jack yells. “I’m going! I…” He takes a voluntary step forward. “I’m going.”
He’s supposed to look nowhere but straight ahead, but Jack can’t help stealing a glimpse at Steve. Just to try to tell him that he’s okay. Steve is already watching him. Concern swelling the vast blue oceans of his eyes. Jack looks away again. He can’t risk getting caught looking at him. He thought he could do this without Steve, but now he knows he can’t. He’s never actually said the words out loud. I love you, Steve.
Steve did. Over and over. Last night. All day today. Every chance he got. Even when it was completely out of context. But Jack hasn’t. He couldn’t. He just can’t bring himself to say the words out loud, too afraid they’ll poison Steve even more.
The doors open now and one last moment of panic strangles Jack in its unrelenting grip. Silas is not there. David is. David. Wearing the crown that Jack was promised. The crown that was never really mean to be Jack’s. King David and his wife, Queen Michelle, wait for him.
Jack is brought down to stand in the very spot that David stood falsely accused of crimes that Silas had brought against him. Crimes that Jack, himself, attempted to find him guilty of.
There is no one else there with them though. No council. No advisors. Just the king and queen. The guards assemble throughout the room. Probably because of Steve who’s taken to sit somewhere Jack cannot see while Jack faces his destiny.
He trains his gaze on the king, but it’s useless. Jack’s eyes slide to Michelle, his twin sister, who still looks back at him with that same sweet love in her eyes she always had for him. Even when he stole her toys or called her names or picked on her in childish attempts to make himself seem more powerful, Michelle always looked at him like that. Jack’s stomach hurts.
“Jack,” David greets.
Jack nods. Quick and curt. Just to get it over with.
“Your Majesty,” he forces out between clenched teeth. “You keep a small council.”
David rests a hand upon Michelle’s. “I keep who I can trust.”
“No wonder the room is so thin.”
David ignores that. Says, “They told me you’ve waived your right to a trial.”
“Straight to business, then?” Jack mocks. He’ll give David one thing, at least. If he’s able deflect so well already, his political skills have improved greatly. Like Jack, he’s changed. “No warm reception for your old friend?”
“Jack,” Michelle warns in that careworn voice of hers. “Stop it.”
He concedes to her warning with a nod. Jack’s not even sure why he’s pushing. Maybe just for a sense of normality. Maybe it’s just because he’s back here and it just feels right to behave in such a manner within these walls. Like a snake slithering and coiling as it readies to strike.
“I just want to get this over with,” Jack admits. “I want to be held accountable for my actions.”
David doesn’t drag anything out. Not the way Silas would have. If this was Silas, there would be a circus and a show. An act with flamed hoops for Jack to jump through. Humiliations galore. Not with David.
When David speaks, telling Jack the crimes he’s hear to face judgement for, he speaks with compassion. All the warmth and mercy and tenderness that a good leader should have. Things that had been absent in Silas. Things that Jack’s kept buried deep inside of him lest his father thing him weak and unworthy of his birthright.
“Jack,” David says when he finishes, and everything kingly washes away. “You once said I could count you as a friend. Is that still true?”
David, sentenced to death, had been standing in front of a firing squad. Jack’s men interfered just in time. That’s when Jack said it. Embraced David truly for the first time and called him friend. He meant it. He means it still.
“Yes,” Jack replies, softly. “If you can believe me.”
The king shares a look with his queen. Whatever’s happened between them in Jack’s absence has strengthened their relationship so greatly, they can speak without words. They look happy together. Even in this place, sentencing brother and fried for unspeakable crimes, they look happy. Good. That’s good. Jack’s glad his sister has found happiness. She deserves it. Always has.
“Michelle?” She looks at him, surprised, most likely, by the odd tenderness he’s said her name. “I… don’t know if this is a liberty I’m allowed but… will you tell me about the child? If… I have a niece or nephew?”
She opens her mouth to answer, but goes no further than that. Michelle turns to David. Not seeking permission from king. Simply out of respect for the father of her child. Maybe David doesn’t want him to know. But he grins softly and nods to her.
Michelle smiles sweetly at Jack and says, “Both, actually. You have both.”
“Jack,” David says before Jack has the chance to revel in the innocent joy of knowing he has a niece and a nephew -- that Michelle has a son and a daughter. All wisps and traces of David’s role of king have attached again. “You stand before me today accused and guilty. Do you deny this?”
“I do not.”
David lifts his hand in some prearranged fashion and Jack is brought before him. Shoved down to his knees to kneel before the king. It occurs to him, belatedly, that this should sicken him. Being forced to kneel in front of David Shepherd. The farmboy from nothing when Jack was the crowned prince of Gilboa. But it just doesn’t. Not anymore. Jack is through wasting his time with foolish, sinful pride.
This is it then. The end of such formal pleasantries.
“Your father is dead,” David says. “Your mother remains here under house arrest. Your uncle is in prison. Where, perhaps, you should be, too.” Jack watches him, carefully, as David seems to think further on the matter. David leans back and sighs. “I know your situation was… not as black and white as the country seems to believe. I know your uncle used you. I know your father…” His voice softens again, “made you feel ashamed of who you are. You’ve suffered--”
“I don’t need your pity, David,” Jack spits out. Maybe there’s still room for a little more pride. “Just get on with it.”
David looks at something beyond Jack. Someone, perhaps, and a chill crawls up Jack’s spine. Steve is here. Somewhere. Watching all of this unfold. What is he thinking? What is he feeling? Does he still think him worthy of his love? Even after watching this quick back and forth of silver-tongued wit and cruelty?
“Alright, Jack,” David says. “You don’t have my pity. You clearly don’t need it or my mercy. You have been found guilty, Jack. And are henceforth and forever sentenced to exile.”
Jack’s shoulders fall. His face falls. His heart falls. He can’t see straight as the thought cripples him. Exile? Exile can send him to the most remote, isolated slums of any country of David’s choosing. Stripped away from the company of… everyone. Be merciful, please, David, please. No. Don’t take Steve from me.
“Stripped of all noble status you might have retained as the queen’s brother,” David goes on, seemingly unaware of the affects his words are having on him. The world is shrinking. Collapsing in on Jack. Making it harder and harder to breathe. “When you leave here today, you are never to return to Gilboa.”
“And where…” Jack finds himself unable to speak right. His voice is weak and hoarse and he’s crying. When did he start crying? “Where am I to go?”
“That…” David shrugs. “I don’t really care. Go wherever you see fit.”
Jack lifts his head, his heart daring to beat with hope. That means… David isn’t taking him away from Steve. David is showing the mercy that Jack swore he didn’t need while being the king he needs to be. The king Jack could never be.
“You’ve been found guilty, Jack,” David says as he gestures to the guards to come release him from the cuffs. “And you are free to go.”
And then it’s over. Just like that. The king and queen rise to leave while Jack remains on his knees, too stunned to even feel the relief that should be filling him right now.
“David,” he manages to get out past the hard lump in his throat just before he and Michelle leave. They pause. Look back at him. “Thank you.”
David smiles. “You’ve changed, Jack.”
Jack wipes some moisture away from his eyes and chuckles darkly. “So I’ve been told.”
***
Steve’s allowed to walk next to him as they’re escorted out of the palace. Only two guards accompany them this time as they silently go back through the halls that now house the ghostly memories of Jack’s past. An empty shell of who he once was and who he never plans on being again. As they walk, Jack cautiously lets his hand slip down Steve’s arm. Steve looks at him and smiles, opening his hand and taking Jack’s in his.
They don’t say anything during the walk. They don’t say anything on the drive. They don’t say anything on the flight.
The silence stretches on for hours and hours as Jack tries to process all that’s just happened. David is sure to receive criticism for his decision, but he’ll handle it, Jack’s sure. Regardless, David’s sent Jack into exile, and let Jack decide where.
It’s not until they’re back in Brooklyn that it finally sinks in. It’s all over. No one is going to come for him. He can stay. Here. With Steve. He’s… safe.
“Steve?”
They’re in Steve’s living room. The television’s on, but Jack doubts Steve is watching. He certainly isn’t. Steve’s been staying close by. An arm’s reach, but never imposing on any personal space.
“Yeah?” He moves then. A little closer. “Jack?”
“I can stay here? With you?”
“Yes.” Steve’s mouth pulls up in a smile with that answer. “If you want. I mean…” He blushes slightly. “I want you to. You can… do whatever you want to do now.”
That’s just it. Jack was meant to be king. He was groomed his entire life for that. Raised a spoiled, rotten child in a life of royalty.
“I… don’t know what to do.” Jack shakes his head. “I don’t know who I am.”
Steve grins and gently takes hold of his wrist. He tugs lightly. Just a request, and Jack obliges. Finds himself being pulled onto Steve’s lap. Jack almost moves away. He’s not used to be coddled. Not used to such affections. Tomorrow, he might not be okay with it, but right now, strangely enough, he is. He folds into Steve’s embrace and sighs.
“You can be anyone you want to be.”
He doesn’t answer that right away. Jack just lets the tension begin to melt away. It’s still there, of course -- in the tightness of his shoulders and the stiffness of his back -- it’s going to take a long time to get rid of it, if he ever really can, but he’s going to try. He going to smile and he going to laugh. He’s going to order Steve around because Steve lets him.
“I want to work in a coffee shop.”
Steve’s been running his fingers across his arm. They still and he chuckles. “You what?”
“I dunno.” Jack shrugs. “I like the way they smell. I wanna work in one.”
“Okay. You’ll hate it.”
He’s right. Jack’ll last all of a few hours being bossed around and taking orders and such but he still wants to do it.
“I know.” He smiles and looks at Steve. “I want to eat at every pizza place in New York. And I want to get drunk on cheap beer.”
“I can arrange that.”
“I wanna have sex you with again.”
Steve kisses him. Long and passionate and already Jack’s cock is beginning to stir. There’s a silly, giddy feeling pumping through him and Jack feels like giggling.
“That definitely won’t be a problem,” Steve murmurs.
“I want to build things,” Jack tells him. “I’ve spent my whole life destroying things. I want to change that. I want to help people, Steve. I want to make a difference. And I… I want to be yours.”
“One at a time, Your Highness,” Steve says. Presses a kiss to Jack’s hair. Sweet and gentle. “You got that already. As long as you want it.”
“I’m not a prince.”
“You’re my prince.”
Jack smiles and laughs and scoots up. He hovers over Steve, straddling his hips. “Will you treat me like royalty, Captain?”
Smiling, Steve holds his waist with one hand and folds the other over the side of Jack’s face.
“Always,” he whispers. “Even when I make you clear your own plate.”
Still smiling -- because he can smile now, it’s safe to smile, he can smile-- Jack leans in and kisses him. Feels the bulge rising in Steve’s pants.
“I love you, Steve,” he whispers.
Out loud.
For the whole world to hear.