#this is my thanksgiving day post to you | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

livesincerely · 6 months

Text

hungry like the wolf

Also on Ao3. Rated E

00000

“So,” Jack starts, once they’ve both gotten their drinks, drumming his fingers against the bar top.

The absolutely gorgeous man sitting on the stool next to him swirls his vodka cranberry around in its glass, then takes a sip, vividly blue eyes peering at him from over the rim.

“So,” he agrees. “I guess there’s no point in beating around the bush. Are you…” he searches for the right word, something sheepish—chagrined, almost—tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Interested? No hard feelings if you aren’t, I know this wasn’t your idea—“

He shakes his head, then runs a weary hand over his forehead, further ruffling an already tousled head of curls.

“Just tell Sarah it didn’t work out. Feel free to blame me if you need to, she already thinks I’m hopeless so she’ll believe it if you say I ran you off. I’ll pay for your beer, give you some cash for a cab home—“

“Hang on a sec,” Jack interrupts before he can be politely hustled out the door. “What makes you think ‘m not interested?”

That seems to draw him up short. “Are you?”

“I could be,” Jack says, and he’s proud of himself for how nonchalant he manages to sound. “I’m mostly just kinda confused, Sarah didn’t exactly go int’a much detail. Maybe you can fill me in on the rest and we can go from there? You’re a succubus?”

“Sarah’s a succubus,” he corrects, relaxing back into his seat. “I’m an incubus—well, half, anyway—but it’s basically the same thing. And it’s honestly not that big a deal, Sarah just thinks that now that she and Katherine are engaged she needs to meddle in my love life too. My name’s David, by the way,” he tacks on as an afterthought, “in case she forgot to mention.”

“It did come up, funnily enough,” Jack replies with a grin. “It’s good ta meet ya, Dave. I’m Jack Kelly.”

“Jack Kelly,” Davey repeats slowly, as if testing the shape of the name in his mouth. “And what, exactly, did my sister have to bribe you with to convince you to come here tonight, Jack Kelly?”

“Well, don’t say it like that,” Jack laughs, leaning closer. “It ain’t like she had’ta twist my arm. All she told me was that she had a brother that was coming off a break up and hadn’t eaten in a while, and maybe would I be willing ta meet up with him, see if we’d hit it off.”

“It wasn’t a breakup,” Davey huffs, exasperated. “I told Sarah that Tony and I weren’t— I had an arrangement with a good friend of mine, we’ve known each other for years and we had a system in place. But then he went and fell in love with a Selkie,” —Davey rolls his eyes but his mouth curls into a smile, soft and small and fond— “and left me high and dry. And I guess getting back into the dating pool just seemed like a lot more trouble than it’s worth.”

Jack pauses.

“…Are you interested in any of this?” he asks carefully. “‘Cause I get it, going along with something ‘cause your sibling strong-armed you into it, so feel free ta tell me ta fuck off, I won’t be offended—“

“No,” Davey blurts, reaching out to grab Jack’s forearm to stop him from rising. “No, that’s not— I’m not— I’m not, not interested, it’s just —“

His gaze drops for a moment, shoulders slumping as he lets out a sigh.

“Dating’s hard,” he quietly admits. “Especially for me, I tend to have the absolute worst luck with partners. If they’re not weird about the incubus thing then they turn out to be complete assholes. So, I usually don’t even bother.”

“But,” Jack starts, confused for multiple reasons, not the least of which is the fact that someone who looks—and Christ, smells—like David Jacobs does should easily have his pick of partners. “Don’t’cha need’ta eat? I mean, how does that work if you don’t—“

“I can eat regular food,” Davey clarifies. “I’m not, like, starving or anything, I get by just fine.” He tilts his head, considering. “I guess the best way to describe it is that it isn’t as filling, isn’t as satisfying, as actual sex.”

Jack’s glad that Davey’s the one to say it first—sex. Something about putting it to words, admitting plainly, what they’re both here for, feels like a point of no return.

He takes another drink of his beer to ease a suddenly parched throat, a hot prickle of desire racing down his spine. He wonders if Davey can feel it too: the hum of connection that starts to spark in air, the vast chasm of possibility that seems to have opened up beneath them. As if hearing Jack’s thoughts, Davey pauses—there’s the slightest hesitation, those blue eyes flashing, as if he can sense sexual attraction like a bloodhound scenting the air—but he continues without comment.

“It’s not even about having sex, not really,” Davey explains. “It’s about the energy of it, being a conduit of that energy, whatever form that might take. Just being around sex, facilitating it, manipulating it, is enough for some. Lots of incubi work as sort-of professional wingmen, or as consultants on porn sets or sex shops—they can be close enough to eat without having to actually engage in any… activities themselves, if they don’t want to.”

Davey taps his fingers against the side of his glass, rolls his shoulders back, then says, “So, don’t feel obligated, is what I’m trying to say. I only want to do this if we’re both interested, and for the right reasons.”

“I promise ya, the last thing I’m feelin’ is obligated,” Jack drawls. “Jus’ as long as we’re both on the same page.”

But Davey still looks uncertain.

“And you’re okay with the whole…” He makes a vague hand-wavy motion over himself. “I’m told my aura can be a touch… overwhelming, once it starts to take effect.”

“‘M not too worried,” Jack says with a shrug. “Werewolves are immune to almost everything—lycanthropy doesn’t exactly play well with other types of magic. Mother Moon tends to be pretty possessive of her children, I guess.”

“Sounds handy,” Davey says.

“‘S got its uses,” Jack agrees. “So you don’t gotta worry ‘bout enchantin’ me or nothin’.” He offers up his most charming smile. “At least, not any more than you already have.

A laugh bubbles off of Davey’s lips. His entire demeanor seems to brighten several clicks, like drawing back a curtain to let in the sun.

“That was smooth!” he accuses, sounding utterly delighted about it.

“I try,” Jack says, just as captivated, grinning right back. “Hopefully, I’m doin’ somethin’ right. You strike me as the kinda guy that’s pretty damn hard’ta impress.”

“Oh, believe me, you’re already head and shoulders above most of my past failures,” Davey says.

“You’re joking,” Jack says, disbelieving. “Been seein’ some real gems, have ya, cariño?”

“If only,” Davey scoffs. “You should’ve seen the last guy, he couldn’t even—“

Davey stops. Then Davey blushes, a flush of pink warming his face.

“Oh, there’s definitely a story there,” Jack says, drinking him in. He feels a little intoxicated, and not from the alcohol. “Spill, Jacobs.”

“There’s not much to say,” Davey lies—so terribly that it’s obvious even without the tell-tale skip in his heartbeat. “The fact that you’re not groping me under the table or visibly drooling is already an excellent sign. If we actually make it to a bed without incident I’ll be thrilled. And even then, most of them usually can’t manage to… aren’t able to…”

He trails off, awkward, and all at once the heart of the problem becomes obvious.

“Oh,” Jack realizes. “They can’t keep up with you.”

Davey’s blush deepens, which is only spurs Jack on.

“Of course they can’t,” Jack continues, shaking his head. “Eres guapísimo—it’s a miracle their damn brains didn’t melt out their ears.”

“It’s not funny, Davey protests, but it’s a halfhearted effort at best. “The last guy I tried to hookup with came in his pants in the back of an Uber—we didn’t even make it four blocks! I wasn’t even touching him. Then he didn’t understand why I was absolutely uninterested in doing anything except going home, alone. And then,” Davey leans closer, starting to gesture with his hands as talks, “he tracked me down on venmo a few days later and tried to stick me with his dry cleaning bill!”

Jack can’t help it: he barks out a laugh. “He didn’t!”

“Yes he fucking did!” Davey insists. “And, honestly, I’m not sure if that even cracks the top ten of ‘David Jacobs’ Tragic Attempts at Romance’—“

“There’s worse?” Jack asks. “Christ, sweetheart, I’m startin’ ta feel like I should be properly wining and dining ya, help make up for some of the assholes.”

“You won’t be making up for anything if you don’t stop laughing at me,” Davey grumbles, but he’s not truly annoyed—there’s a playful spark behind his eyes, anticipation written into every line of his body. “Besides, who’s to say you won’t be more of the same?”

“Ain’t gonna happen,” Jack says, confident.

“Sounds like someone’s sure of themselves,” Davey muses, arching a brow.

“Sounds ta me like the bar ain’t that high,” Jack counters with a cheeky grin. “Don’t be an inconsiderate dickhead and don’t tap out pathetically early—shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“And you think you can handle it?”

“If there’s one thing a werewolf’s got in spades,” Jack purrs. “It’s stamina.”

Davey’s eyes go deliciously dark.

“You’re not cute,” he informs Jack pertly, and the challenge in his voice probably isn’t meant to be as enticing as it is. Probably.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Jack says, and he lets his fangs drop as he leans forward, running his tongue over the razor sharp canines that peek out from underneath his smirk. “I’m fucking adorable.”

He doesn’t miss the way Davey’s eyes drop to his mouth, the way his throat bobs around a swallow. Jack just barely resists the urge to preen under his attention.

Without lifting his gaze, Davey says, in a voice that’s gone whiskey-smooth, “Shall we head out then?”

“Don’t’cha wanna finish your drink first?” Jack teases. “An’ I still got half a beer left.”

In answer, Davey tips his head back and downs the rest of his drink in one go, then he reaches over and plucks Jack’s beer out of his now slack grip and tosses that back too.

The empty glass lands against the bar top with a solid thunk but it’s barely a blip on Jack’s radar. Because Davey cups a hand around Jack’s jaw and draws him into a long, searing kiss. He tastes of hops and wolfsbane, cranberry and vodka, and something that must be uniquely Davey—warm and smokey and with a hint of bite.

Davey pulls away just enough for Jack to see the deep blue of his eyes, the thick canopy of his lashes. “And now?”

It takes Jack a second to find his voice, the keys in the ignition but the engine refusing to turn over. He rasps, “After you.”

00000

Davey’s apartment ends up being about ten minutes away, but god it feels like an eternity. They walk through the bustling sidewalks, street lamps and stars lighting their way, their hands not-quite brushing, their eyes not-quite meeting.

When they reach their destination, Davey works the deadbolt open, ushering him inside with a knowing smirk. Jack lets him hang up his jacket and keys, watches him nudge the door shut with his hip, then pins him up against it and slots their mouths together for another heated kiss.

Davey pulls him in immediately, his hands grabbing at Jack’s collar, tugging him closer, the press of his mouth sweet and soft. Jack sighs into him, lifting his chin for a better angle, hands fumbling for the hem of Davey’s sweater, running calloused fingertips over the small of his back, the curve of his waist.

“Wait, wait,” Davey pants against his mouth. He twists out of Jack’s embrace, then darts around the corner into what must be the kitchen. Befuddled and horny, Jack lumbers after him.

He finds him rummaging around in his fridge.

“Do you have a preference for Gatorade?” Davey asks. “I’ve got red and purple.”

“What?” Jack says, stupidly. “Uh, red, I guess.”

Davey hums in response. Under his breath he mutters to himself, “I’ll grab two, just to be safe.”

He nudges the refrigerator door closed with his hip, then turns and opens a cabinet. He pulls out a box of granola bars and grabs a handful.

“Dave, what are you doing?” Jack finally asks.

“Getting supplies,” Davey says, as though this should be obvious. “Can’t have you passing out on me.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Jack says, bemused, stepping closer. “‘M made of pretty stern stuff.”

“Oh, so lycanthropy protects you from low blood sugar, now, does it?” Davey asks, pinning him with a spectacularly bitchy look. God, Jack’s already so fucking stupid for this man, it’s embarrassing. “Keeps your electrolytes properly balanced? Wow, that must be one hell of a party trick—“

“Alright, alright, point taken,” Jack says, curling himself around Davey’s back, letting his hands settle low over his hips. “You’re the expert, I’ll let you handle it.”

“Did you already have dinner?” Davey wonders. “I should’ve asked earlier, while we were still at the bar… Do you want something to eat? I can get you something—“

“What I really want is to get back’ta kissing you,” Jack murmurs, pressing his lips to the hollow behind Davey’s ear; Davey goes gratifyingly still in his arms, his pulse fluttering delicately beneath his skin. “So, if I promise to let you know the moment I get thirsty and have a big breakfast in the mornin’, can we please move you and your Gatorade somewhere more comfortable?”

“…and the granola bars,” Davey bargains.

“And the granola bars,” Jack easily concedes. “I’ll even eat one right now if it’ll make you feel better.”

Davey chews at his lip, hesitating. “Would you?” he implores softly.

Jack’s never choked down a granola bar so fast in his life.

Reluctantly reassured, Davey allows himself to be drawn into another kiss—gentle, at first, but it quickly becomes filthy—all tongues and teeth, gasps and sighs, moans and groans. They’re tangled together: Jack’s hands threaded in Davey’s hair, Davey’s thigh pressed hot and hard between his legs, the smoking embers of desire sparking into flame.

“Bedroom?” Jack manages to tear himself away long enough to ask.

“Bedroom,” Davey agrees, and long, elegant fingers curl around Jack’s wrist, dragging him down the hallway.

Jack barely gets a chance to take in the bed before Davey’s pushing him down onto it, lifting himself up and straddling him in a single fluid move. Jack’s hands land on his waist, then slip down to cup his ass, and there’s something heady in the air, linen and woodsmoke twinning together, like lazy winter nights spent in front of the fireplace, wrapped snugly in a blanket, toasty and warm and wonderous.

“Christ,” Jack growls, almost helplessly, against the hollow of his throat, not really meaning to be heard. “How do you smell so fucking good?”

“Sex demon, remember?” Davey says, laughing, rocking their hips together in a rough, dirty grind. “Guess it just comes with the territory.”

“I’ll show you territory,” he mutters, leaning in with intent. He tracks a path along Davey’s neck with his lips, then follows it back with his teeth, working a bruise into the column of his throat. Davey squirms under his attention, tipping his head back to give him better access, and that tiniest hint of surrender drives some bestial part of Jack’s subconscious absolutely wild, pressing in again and again and again.

He pulls away to admire his handiwork.

“Possessive,” Davey notes, his eyes dark with a special sort of relish.

“Oh, you’d know all about possession, wouldn’t you sweetheart,” Jack banters back, brushing one final kiss to the delicate skin.

Davey goes very still, and for one horrible moment Jack worries he’s overstepped. But then he smiles, his scent spiking—sweet and smoky and downright delectable—like the most mouthwatering caramel and somehow just as thick.

“Oh, darling,” Davey says, and Jack can feel his hand draped over the nape of his neck, fingertips just barely brushing against the skin, sending electric tingles down his spine. “I might just have to keep you.”

“You’re killin’ me, Jacobs,” Jack’s groans, his heart pounding double-time in his chest. “Clothes. Off. Fuck.”

They separate just enough to strip: Jack pulls his shirt over his head, and when Davey doesn’t manage to tear out of his sweater—and the button up he’s wearing underneath, fucking hell—within the point five seconds Jack can stand to keep his hands to himself, he starts helping with those too, eager to uncover every square inch of skin.

“How do you want to do this?” Davey asks as he kicks out his pants. Jack barely hears him, he’s too busy staring: his ass and thighs could’ve been carved from marble, works of the finest art. “Top or bottom?”

“I’m good either way,” Jack answers, fighting with his own belt. “This is your party, Dave. Dealer's choice.”

“I think I want you inside me,” Davey decides, giving him a long once over. “At least for this round.”

“Fine by me,” Jack rasps. “Here, I think I gotta condom in my wallet—“

Davey stops him with a hand on his arm. “I… would you be totally against going without?” he asks. “I’m clean and I can’t catch anything, regardless… I assume you can’t either?”

“Advanced healing,” Jack confirms thickly, the words feeling clumsy in his mouth. “I’m game if you are. But, fair warning, without a condom it’s gonna be… messy.”

“Messy sounds perfect,” Davey says lowly, and there’s a flash of pink as he runs his tongue over teeth.

Jack’s dick throbs, pre-cum beading at the tip.

“Fuckin’—“ Jack bites off the rest, grabbing Davey by the hips and wrestling him down onto the bed. He can barely think through wanting him, settling in the vee of those perfect thighs, the press of bare skin against bare skin utterly exhilarating. “Drivin’ me crazy—“

“God, your hands,” Davey groans, his eyes half-lidded and heavy. “Please, please touch me.”

Jack winds a hand down between them. He’s just barely cupped his fingers under Davey’s balls—gentle, tentative—when Davey gives a full-body jolt, rearing up so suddenly that they almost headbutt each other.

“Whoa,” Jack yelps. “You okay?“

Davey’s mouth works soundlessly for a few moments. He’s flushed so deeply that it bleeds down his throat and chest, painting him in a wash of rosy pink.

“Scratch that,” he finally gasps out. “Get inside me.”

“Now?”

“Now,” Davey insists, expression wild and a touch desperate. “Just come here— oh, oh fuck—“

Jack scrambles to line himself up at Davey entrance. Confused, maybe a little panicked, he says, “But I didn’t prep ya—“

“I’m fine, it’s fine, just, please—“

And there’s no resistance as Jack slides home, Davey’s body accepting him easily, eagerly, hot and tight and gloriously good.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” Jack murmurs, watching Davey’s wide-eyed expression, a little overwhelmed at the sight he makes splayed out against the sheets, writhing in what can only be described as ecstasy as Jack bottoms out. “I knew ya needed it but I didn’t realize how badly.”

“Sorry,” Davey says. His lips are red and kiss-swollen, his hands fisted into the bedding on either side of him, but he still manages to say, his chest heaving, “I didn’t mean to lose it like that. I guess it really has been a while…” He blinks hard. “Did I freak you out too badly or are you okay to keep going?”

“Ain’t like I'm gonna take off, is it?” Jack muses. He pulls out just a bit, then carefully thrusts back in, sinking even further into that exquisite heat. “I’m literally balls deep inside you.”

“Consent is a continuous contract,” Davey lectures, because it tracks that Davey’s the type that can host a whole goddamn seminar while Jack is trying to fuck him stupid. But not even he can hide how his words are a breathless rasp, that his voice threaded with aching, blatant desire. “It can be retracted or reassessed at any time—“

He breaks off with another gasp as Jack rolls his hips forward, nice and slow, then does it again, starting up a steady rhythm.

“Quierdo, unless you say otherwise, they’d have to drag me off of you by my hair,” Jack vows, not entirely sure if he’s exaggerating or not. There’s just something about Davey—the snark and sweetness and sin of him—that draws him in, beckons him closer, makes something deep inside of him pant and tremble and howl. “Is this good for you? Less or more or…?”

“More,” is Davey’s immediate response. “More, oh god, please more—“

Jack leans in and kisses him then, unable to resist, and Davey arches into him like he’s starving for it—Christ, he probably is.

He lingers there for a long moment, their mouths moving together, fierce and frenzied. Then he ducks his head and presses his nose into the space just under Davey’s jaw because he has to, has to lick and nibble and mark all that delicious, delectable skin, and Davey makes a noise that’s pure want. He tilts his head, baring his already bruised throat for another round of marks, and Jack can’t help the rumbling growl that carves its way out of his chest, deep and possessive.

“Oh, fuck,” Davey moans, his heels digging sharper into the small of Jack’s back.

He feels untethered, unmoored, waves of pleasure battering at the hull of the ship, threatening to upend him at any moment. His hips snap forward, almost of their own accord, and he finds a solid, steady pace that’s just this side of brutal. There’s the slap of skin against skin, gasps and groans, the smell of burnt-sugar-sweetness growing heavy in the air, so strong that Jack can almost taste it.

Davey gives as good as he gets: rocking into each of Jack’s thrusts, tugging at Jack’s hair until he moans, his gaze growing darker and darker until his eyes are almost black, and god he’s so fucking gorgeous. The molten vice of him is like nothing else: searing, sizzling heat, hot enough to smolder and scorch, and impossibly, exquisitely tight. Fuck. Fuck.

Davey lets out a lovely little whimper, grabbing for Jack’s shoulders, and Jack realizes a moment too late that his thrusts are starting to catch against Davey’s hole, the base of his cock beginning to swell.

“Ah, shit,” Jack groans, recognizing that familiar tightening deep in his gut. “Dave, I think I’m gonna— My knot, it’s— Should I—?”

“Your… knot?”

“Werewolf thing,” Jack grunts. “Want me to pull out?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Davey orders, locking his ankles over the small of Jack’s back. “Give it to me.”

Jack couldn’t resist, even if he wanted to. His hips stutter, pistoning strokes turning to rough, dirty grinds. He presses in one last time, nice and deep, then his vision goes white as his orgasm rushes over him.

“Oh,” Davey mewls as Jack’s knot locks inside of him, his mouth slack with bliss. “Oh, that’s— Oh, oh, oh, oh—!”

He comes with a silent scream, the hot clench of his body squeezing around him as he trembles and pants, and Jack can only hold him—hold onto him—nuzzling at his sweaty temple as he rides it out.

“Okay?” Is the first thing Davey mumbles when he finds his voice again.

“Pretty sure I should be askin’ you that,” Jack murmurs fondly. “But ‘m fine.”

“Good.”

Davey shifts slightly, testing the pull of their bodies; Jack hisses, grabbing for his thigh to keep him close as another burst of pleasure spills out of him.

“Sensitive,” Jack rasps, and the sudden worry in Davey’s expression clears, replaced by understanding.

“Oh,” Davey says, biting his lip. His thigh flexes in Jack’s grip. “Do you think we can flip over or is that asking too much?”

With a bit of maneuvering, Jack manages, cradling him close to his chest as they bask in the afterglow.

“How long until it goes down?” Davey asks after a few long moments of breathing and cuddling and laying together, tracing patterns over Jack’s bicep with his fingertips.

“Uh, fifteen minutes on the short side,” Jack says. “Maybe half an hour on the long.”

“Hmm,” Davey acknowledges. He brushes his hair out of his face and shifts back on his haunches, settling down so that he’s properly straddling Jack’s lap. Jack cracks an eye open, confused, but before he can ask, Davey says, “Tell me if this is too much,” and clenches his ass around Jack’s knot.

Jack’s eyes fly open, a harsh, strangled sound clawing its way out of his throat.

Davey’s watching him intently—smug and expectant and far too pleased with himself—a king perched on his throne.

“Oh, darling,” Davey purrs, working his hips in a tight, devastating circle. “Surely you didn’t think I was anywhere close to finished with you?”

Jack’s hands shoot to Davey’s hips: not to keep him still so much as to give himself something to hold on to, his grip bruisingly tight.

But Davey only seems to delight in this reaction. He hums, low in the back of his throat, his scent smoldering with fresh arousal, his eyes shining with self-satisfaction.

“Too much?” Davey asks again, and Jack can’t find the words to answer with. His entire body is alight, his nerves strung out and sparking, dancing right on edge between terrible pleasure and delicious pain. Then Davey rocks up, squeezing and tugging at Jack’s swollen knot.

“Dave,” he gasps, ragged, the word torn from him.

He can barely keep his eyes open, can barely breathe through how thoroughly Davey’s destroying him, but it’s worth it just to take it all in. Because Davey is an absolute vision above him, all lean, sensual strength, his neck and chest flushed with effort, taking his pleasure and dragging Jack right along with him.

“Jack,” Davey says, more firmly this time, and Jack realizes that his lashes have fluttered shut, his eyes rolling back in his head. “I need an answer.”

“I— It’s—“ That’s as far as Jack gets. Everything seems hazy, unfocused, his vision flickering at the edges, pulse after pulse of heat shuddering through him. He manages a nod.

“Breathe,” Davey soothes, and his hands settle over where Jack’s still holding onto his hips for dear life, thumbs stroking gently over his knuckles. “I’ve got you.”

“Jesus Christ,” Jack groans.

He tangles their fingers together for a moment, squeezing, and the contact is grounding and reassuring all at once. He rubs his hands down Davey’s thighs, then somehow finds the coordination to get a hand around Davey dick. He rubs his thumb over the red, leaking tip and Davey’s rhythm stutters, his head falling back as he arcs into the sensation.

“Ah,” he moans, hips twitching as Jack pumps his hand down the shaft, jerking his cock hard and fast in his fist, because he needs to make him fall off that edge, needs it like he needs the air in his lungs, the blood in his veins.

“Jack,” he chants. “Jack, Jack, Jackie, oh god, just like that, don’t stop, don’t—“

His voice breaks, the clench of his ass becomes fucking blistering, just hot and tight and perfect and—

Static. Jack’s not sure if he’s coming again or if he never stopped in the first place, pain and pleasure twisting together in terrible, glorious harmony. When it finally ends, when he finally floats down from that impossible high, he comes back to himself in pieces, wrung out and winded, utterly exhausted.

“…I see what’cha meant about the Gatorade,” he eventually mutters, feeling like he’s run a marathon.

Davey huffs out a laugh. He looks about as wrecked as Jack feels, but there’s something different about him now—a fresh glow to his skin, stress and tension smoothed away—as if someone’s distilled good health down to the essentials and injected it right into his veins.

“You look good,” Jack says, brushing a stray curl out of Davey’s eyes. “Feelin’ better?”

”Much better,” Davey assures him.

“Sweet,” Jack mumbles, nuzzling into the curve of his neck. “Go team.”

Another laugh from Davey, but gentler somehow. He presses a kiss to the top of Jack’s head and murmurs, “I really am going to have to keep you.”

“Not if I keep you first,” Jack replies, lacing their hands together. It feels like the best kind of promise.

#newsies #jack kelly #davey jacobs #javid #*editor's note #*the writing desk #*final cut #hungry like the wolf #it’s here!!!!!!#am I posting my Halloween fic two days after Thanksgiving?#perhaps #don’t judge me #hope you enjoy it!

24 notes · View notes