[PERCHANCE TO DREAM] Inbox

[theydrewfirstblood]

[IC messages, videos, voicemails, smoke signals, morse code, etc. for John Rambo in Perchance To Dream]

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[action spam, three days after all the Gender and Dynamics funtime/talk]

[capthardness]

[the first day after that absolutely incredible fuck and ridiculously wonderful pillow talk, Jack felt fantastic. He spent most of it, aside from an hour spent repairing the dress John had so lovingly torn off him, jotting down things they should probably talk over. Having so few personal limits was great when it came to people wanting things from him, but it was always a tricky thing on the rare occasions he was the one asking, especially when the other party wasn't nearly so experienced. That was fun, running through memories of all his lovers and picking out some of his all-time favorite activities to run past John.

The second day…wasn't great, but by his standards it definitely wasn't terrible. He just felt vaguely melancholy for no real reason, which he was prone to at the best at times anyway, and it was easy to pin it on just a delayed crash from that spectacular high. He just tried to get out of his head by spending most of it walking around the Twisted City, since it didn't bear even a passing resemblance to….any number of places he didn't want to be.

But today….today sucked even before he opened his eyes from the vague, half-meditative state he'd forced himself into--since he'd desperately wanted to avoid closing his eyes anymore than necessary. Because of the horrifyingly bright, vivid scene he kept getting flashes of, a scene he'd forced himself to forget years ago.

He tried to shake it off by doing meaningless things like clearing away his makeup and straightening out clothes hangers, but it didn't work, not even a bit. If anything, it seemed to make things worse somehow.

Part of him wanted to message Gray, but also knew that would be a terrible thing for both of them. He couldn't inflict that on his brother, not after everything, especially when he knew that Gray would still try to make him feel better.

After fuck knew how long spent staring at his pendant Jack finally stood from his desk, shrugged on his coat, grabbed two shirts and a pair of trousers off their hangers without even looking at them and set out for the ranch, grateful his feet knew how to get there without any in put from his brain, since his brain was occupied with…with…]

[theydrewfirstblood]

[In the days following, John experienced…quite the opposite.

The first day was a rough one, second guessing every moment of what happened—not all of it, just the parts Jack had asked for, begged for. He had to keep reminding himself of that, focus on those radiant smiles and hesitant admissions of what he needed and why.

The second day was better. He worked in the dugout cellar, which could hardly be called a dugout anymore. He’d expanded it, reinforced the sides—he was even going further out, planning a chamber at the end that could function as some kind of workshop. Mindless manual labor was a pleasant distraction, leaving him exhausted and pleasantly sore.

When he went to bed that night, he felt significantly better. He fell asleep with a smile on his face, and plans to message Jack in the morning—he wanted to talk about things, ask some questions…maybe plan something. Maybe a repeat performance with some planning, or just a date night. Dinner in the Twisted City, maybe a walk through the gardens where they first met…

By the third day, John was in great spirits—and if he hadn’t taken his morning cup of coffee out on the porch to find Delmar, his favorite stallion, munching on a potted plant by the front steps, he’d have messaged Jack almost immediately. As it was, he had to spend a good long while fixing Delmar’s stall (turned out he’d figured out the latch on the door, bless his fat head) so he couldn’t get out again.

He was just finishing up when he heard the sound of gravel crunching under someone’s feet. He made a habit of trying to read the stride of people he knew to identify them when they came to visit, but this was…odd.

Wiping his hands on the bandana from his back pocket, he exited the stable and spotted Jack up ahead—and Jack’s stride was one he knew. Brisk, military, measured.

Jogging towards him, he flagged Jack down.]

Jack?…

cw: brief dissociation

[capthardness]

[after spending the whole walk over fighting a losing battle to keep his mind in the Dreamscape, Jack was almost stunned to hear John's voice break through the dissonant combination of the ocean's roar and the terrifying, inhuman howls in the sky.

He blinked a few times, looking momentarily confused--lost--before shaking himself and taking a deep breath ('big breath, please'. He still couldn't remember that woman's name, didn't think he'd known it in the first place, but he could remember her voice and that hair and those shoes and…and her hand around his, helping him calm down enough to--) to pull himself back off the edge so he could step back into the present, towards John]

Hey. [he started once he was close enough for his voice--which he knew before even testing it would be small and tight] Can…[he let out a shuddery breath, looking up just for a moment to try to clear his vision of the past, before turning his gaze back to John with the faintest ghost of a smile] Can we pretend for a couple minutes that you're just getting me inside because I'm here to put a few things in that drawer?

CW: references to PTSD flashbacks

[theydrewfirstblood]

[John looked into his face closely, soft but searching. That shaky breath, the way he nearly flinched when John called out…

Like he was somewhere else. Somewhere bad.

John wasn’t sure about what he was thinking. Jack seemed to respond well when John directed him like this last time, asking and getting answers—sometimes more than he asked for. He said sometimes he needed someone to take control when he felt safe…

John took a deep breath and tested the waters. Reaching for Jack’s hand, he kissed the inside of his wrist and held his gaze, voice gentle but firm.]

Only if that’s what you want. So…don’t ask. Tell me what you want—and ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I don’t want to’ are both acceptable answers, understand?

[Maybe with a small application of pressure in the right place, he could get Jack safely back into his own head a little faster…then take care of whatever it was that had him looking the way John felt in that little Washington police station.]

CW: mild dissociation

[capthardness]

[the familiar warmth of John's mouth on his wrist drew him one step closer to the present. And sure, he was still a long ways out, but it was better than the alternative.

That softly commanding tone helped too-- Don't listen to the raider. Listen to my voice. Trust it.. That must have helped, even if Jack couldn't remember why she'd been helping him in the first place. But he must have listened; and John's voice was so much more familiar, beloved, that he couldn't help but listen to it, too

He swallowed, fighting the urge to pull his gaze away from John's just as he fought to find the words, give John an answer]

I…want to go and put these things away before we talk about why I'm really here.

[theydrewfirstblood]

[Okay, so his instincts were right. With a small smile, he pressed Jack’s hand to his cheek for a moment.]

Good job, thank you. C’mon, come with me.

[Threading their fingers together as he drew Jack’s hand away from his face, he led him towards the house and up to the bedroom. He helped Jack only slightly, tugging the correct drawer ajar, then the closet door when he was done.

When Jack’s clothes were where they belonged, John caught his hand again and pulled him in for a quick kiss, then wrapped him in a fierce embrace.]

You’re doin’ great, Jack. You’re being so good for me, thank you.

[He drew back, looking into his face.]

Tell me how you’re feeling right now. Same deal, you can tell me you don’t know or you don’t wanna answer. Totally fine. Just tell me something, okay?

[capthardness]

[Putting away his clothes helped more than Jack had thought it would when he was leaving, when they were just an excuse. He'd only worn these shirts in the life he had now, there was no way they could exist in another time, let alone another planet. And something about that praise both confused him--it felt wrong for anyone to tell him he was doing anything right, let alone thanking him for succeeding in something so small, so simple he shouldn't have been able to fail--and helped steady him a bit more. Especially when John held him like that, like he actually could put all the shattered pieces of memory back together so they'd make sense and their jagged edges would stop hurting so fucking much.

Still, he struggled to keep his eyes level with John's. He'd worked so hard to keep anyone from seeing his fear, after he'd realized that at best there wouldn't be anyone who would or could afford to care and at worst they'd use it against him. He managed, barely--but at least when he managed to find words that came…close enough to explaining, as close as he could without thinking about why he felt that way in the first place, his voice sounded like his again, even if it was still too quiet]

Scared. Alone. Less, now. [normally he would have been smiling when he said that last part. But right now, the best he could manage was just curling his fingers in John's shirt]

[theydrewfirstblood]

Good. I’m glad.

[He could see Jack struggling to meet his eyes, but at least he sounded steadier. Didn’t necessarily mean anything but it was a start.

Curling a hand around the back of his neck, Jack drew him in to kiss his forehead, then brushed a feather soft kiss over each of his eyes.]

I want you to listen to what I’m about to say—listen and remember. You don’t have to do anything else, you don’t even have to believe me. Just listen and remember…when you walk through the doors of this house, and you feel this way? All you have to do is tell me, like you did today, and you’ll be completely safe. You can’t say or do anything wrong, you don't have to worry about anything—you don’t have to be anyone. I will take care of everything, I will take care of you, until you tell me to stop. Do you want that now? Same deal, it’s okay to say no or tell me if you’re not sure, those will always be valid answers. Just as long as you’re telling me something.

cw: start of panic attack/brief dissociation

[capthardness]

[for a second, Jack didn't--couldn't--believe what John was saying, and actually felt a white-hot flash of anger at him for it that made his heart and breath race in an unpleasant way. He was furious with John for promising safety so easily, like it was something anyone could ever guarantee. Especially to him. And for a few seconds the world was too bright again, too empty--

Before he could do more than tighten his suddenly-shaking fingers' grip on John's shirt, though, his agitated nerves sparked at the faintest sensation of…of metal brushing against the back of his neck, moved just slightly by the weight of John's hand. And that small thing made his body, if not his mind, aware that the terror and rage burning in his chest weren't his, didn't belong to his present. Which was why he'd come here in the first place--hoping John could help him find the way out of his past, or at the very least drown it out. Because while the roaring was still there, it had gotten quieter since they'd walked into the house, further away. Still threatening, but not looming right overhead.

Jack had no idea how long he stayed like that--fingers locked tight and still tempted to turn into fists, pulse hammering, body frozen still under a sun he hadn't seen in over a hundred years--before he was able to blink and find himself back in John's house, in his arms. And the same tiny part of him that remembered why the chain against his skin meant something also remembered he had a question to answer. He let out a shuddering breath against the knot in his throat that threatened to break into screams or sobs at any moment]

Yes. [he swallowed, forcing himself to try again, make his voice just a little more his] Yes, please.

[theydrewfirstblood]

[It took every shred of self control John had not to speak right then. To remind Jack he was safe, to call him back from whatever hell had that fury flashing in his eyes…but this was still new to John, this kind of control. So far trusting his gut had worked, was what Jack needed, and right now instinct told him he had to keep his promise to the letter.

Reassurance might feel like pressure to believe. Even using his name might make him try to put on one of the masks he used to protect himself, and John had promised him, he promised that he didn’t have to believe, to be anyone.

Then he breathed, the white knuckle grip on his shirt…didn’t ease exactly, but felt a little less like he was about to be throttled. When Jack answered, John drew him in for another embrace, and this time he didn’t let go.]

That was good…you’re so good for me. That was hard, but you did it and I’m proud of you—thank you.

[He turned his head to kiss Jack’s temple, and felt something hot and violent claw its way through him. Holding Jack like this, holding him up like this, even emotionally…

No war he could ever fight would mean as much as this one did.]

You rest now, okay? Just…stand here for a minute. You don’t have to do anything—not think, not feel, nothing but let me hold you. You can tell me to stop any time, but otherwise just let me hold you. Lemme take care of you. I got you.

[capthardness]

[as impossible as it sounded, the urge to stop feeling--feeling the terror and guilt and emptiness that seemed so much bigger than him, than the entire universe--was too tempting to even question. He'd been trying to stop on his own, knowing he'd managed it in the past but for some reason couldn't do it now. Not without breaking promises that were more important than holding himself together.

With only a moment's hesitation, Jack let his head drop forward slightly to rest against John.

It really shouldn't have been possible for one person who didn't know to even register when set against the memory of something so dark and terrifying, let alone do anything to make it less. But somehow, in slow and small increments, the howling grew quieter--not drowned out by the sound of John's breath and heartbeat, but fading back, letting Jack think around it. A little. Enough to let him consciously relax his fingers, releasing his grip on John's shirt even as he stayed there, breath evening out and heart slowing its panicked hammering in his chest as the world started to come back into focus]

[Handwritten notes 1/?, found in one of John's shirt pockets anytime after day at the stables]

[capthardness]

But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face,
It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of
his hips and wrists,
It is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist
and knees, dress does not hide him,
The strong sweet quality he has strikes through the cotton and broadcloth,
To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more,
You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side.

-Walt Whitman 'I Sing The Body Electric'

[Handwritten notes 2/? left folded on top of John's dresser]

[capthardness]

Not for me the cold, calm kiss
Of a virgin’s bloodless love;
Not for me the saint’s white bliss,
Nor the heart of a spotless dove.
But give me the love that so freely gives
And laughs at the whole world’s blame,
With your body so young and warm in my arms,
It sets my poor heart aflame.

-Ella Wheeler Wilcox 'I Love You'

[Handwritten notes 3/?, left by John's pillow two days after his nonverbal episode]

[capthardness]

They came to tell your faults to me,
They named them over one by one;
I laughed aloud when they were done,
I knew them all so well before, —
Oh, they were blind, too blind to see
Your faults had made me love you more.

-Sara Teasdale, 'Faults'

[action spam, about a week post-shibari scene]

[capthardness]

[Once the majority of his brain cells had recovered from John's very thorough job of annihilating them, Jack started thinking on the best method of returning fire. He knew quite a few ways to at least give John more than a couple seconds' pause but that really wasn't saying that much, considering.

The answer came to him while he was getting dressed two days ago and happened to glance at the delicate chain resting alongside the pair of cufflinks he honestly wasn't sure why he bothered with keeping around these days. He'd been wearing the pendant John gave him on the leather cord it was originally hung from, touched by the gesture and the haiku that had accompanied it but unsure until then about how to properly acknowledge it.

After that, he'd needed to do a little preparation--pick up some things and hide them to make sure John didn't get a single hint of what he was planning until it was ready, make sure everything was arranged so he could get it done quickly and properly. Finally, today after breakfast and a quick stop into the stables with John (mostly to keep Estelle from being even more of a diva if she thought she was being spurned), he'd given an excuse about one of his pointless little projects in trying to organize details of his past and disappeared into the house--

Just to spend hours getting properly dolled up. Slipping into a slinky red dress just made to be dropped to the floor as quickly as possible with perfectly coordinated strappy heels and lipstick that would look great all over John's body. Covering his eyelids in deep blue shadow, just a bit lighter than the liner. He even put a bit more effort into the undergarments this time, going for black lace with a brassiere that gave off a passable illusion of cleavage without needing any stuffing.

And now, right around the time he expected John would be walking in, he was standing in front of the mirror in their room making sure everything was perfectly in place as he fastened the necklace's chain, humming bits of one of too many showtunes that he was pretty sure wouldn't be out for a couple years from when John had been last. Yet another thing he really needed to expose John to. On another night--he had enough exposure planned for this evening already]

[theydrewfirstblood]

[By the end of the day, John is feeling pretty damn good.

Even if Delmar seems to be developing Estelle’s sense of humor. Cocky bastard…

To be fair, it could have been worse. One, Delmar was enormous but a pussycat who didn’t know his own strength. Second? He’d finished mucking out his stall an hour earlier. When Delmar thought it was funny to nudge him over while John was bent over, he could have taken a header into a pile of manure. As it was, all John earned himself was wounded pride, a mark on his bicep that would bruise by morning—and another overturned water bucket.

He was definitely changing their watering setup.

Fortunately it was also late in the day when Delmar got him, so by the time John gets back to the house he’s mostly dry, but streaked in dirt he picked up from the stall floor.

So he doesn’t call out to Jack right away, ditching his boots by the door and heading to the kitchen to wash up a little first. When he finishes up and he’s drying off his face and arms with a kitchen towel, he listens for Jack, wondering if he missed him heading into the Twisted City. He was fond of his fountain pen, maybe needed more ink?…

…nope. Footsteps, puttering around upstairs. Maybe the bedroom or the spare room—they were turning it into an office for Jack, since he was writing more often.

Tilting his head to one side, John tries, but can’t be sure which room he’s in. Something off in the sound of his footfall…]

Jack?!…

[capthardness]

'...anytime my dear, cost a litle extra if you want to take all year--' [Jack murmurs, distractedly, as he glances at his profile in the mirror. Still nowhere near his best work, but then again most of that had been proper disguises meant to ensure he wouldn't be recognized when he was back in trousers. Which wasn't to say no one had ever gotten a glimpse at what had been under those lovely skirts, but there had usually been a lot more planning involved and the end goal had been to not look like himself. Whereas now....

Jack still isn't concerned about what name or pronouns or damn label John might apply to him right now, but based on that very touching haiku, he's fairly sure that wearing the pendant with the chain will at least be a signal that he's....something different tonight. Still himself, but more.

Speaking of John...

The corner of Jack's mouth twitches, and he turns to look himself over fully one last time with a sigh. It's not like most of this will be staying in place for long, anyway]

Bedroom! [he calls back, privately amused at pitching his voice to carry downstairs at the same time as he's perching cross-legged on the bed, making sure to bare as much leg as possible]

[theydrewfirstblood]

[…well, then.

Smirking to himself a little—because his shirt is still filthy even if he’s otherwise reasonably devoid of anything but sweat, and he’s well aware at this point that Jack kind of has a thing for him when he’s kind of a mess—John wordlessly starts towards the stairs with a little spring in his step.

He’s fully expecting to either fend off an amorous immortal so he can shower, or be convinced to make it a communal affair. Either way, he’s not complaining.]

I’m officially moving Delmar to another stall! He’s been getting too friendly with Esteeeeehhh…

[He calls out ahead of walking into the bedroom, and the air leaves his lungs the moment his eyes fall on Jack.

Jack, a vision of raw sin in red silk, with crimson lips just begging to be kissed, flashing plenty of leg and wearing his white jade Buddha—with the light glinting off that delicate gold chain.

John is so moved by being right about the pendant—and so painfully turned on that he can hardly breathe, mouth hanging slightly ajar as eyes gone jet black with desire openly ogle him from head to foot and back up again.

…yeah, Jack is gonna fucking kill him when he destroys that dress, but John can’t think clearly enough to care.]

[capthardness]

[Despite the fact he's made John stop dead in his tracks plenty of times now, Jack still has to bite back a laugh at the fact the man's actually stopped mid-word this time. Yep, definitely worth the inevitable destruction that's bound to happen much sooner rather than later.

Even if he's managing to keep from actually snickering at John's beautiful slack-jawed expression, Jack can't quite resist the urge to rest his chin in his hand and properly flutter his lashes. And, okay, maybe he's got a slightly smug grin. Just a little.]

Hmm? Sorry, what dirty trick did he pick up from my girlfriend this time?

[theydrewfirstblood]

[Somewhere, in the deep recesses of John’s mind where there’s still a scrap of rational thought, he’s proud of himself for exercising a modicum of self control. It’s not easy, but he manages it.

Jack is actually able to finish speaking before John descends on him like a starving man.

In an instant he’s on his knees in front of Jack, that beautifully made up face clutched between his hands and his mouth on Jack’s, hard and greedy and claiming. Fuck, he doesn’t know what it is about seeing Jack’s feminine side, that strong handsome body made delicate yet powerful by silk and lace, that gorgeous mouth stained a red begging to be smeared by the crush of John’s lips…

It’s like he sees him, and there isn’t enough air in the room unless he’s drawing it straight from Jack’s lungs.

He can only break the kiss to press his mouth to Jack’s cheek, his jaw, his throat, one hand cradling his head as he breathes Jack in, consumes him with lips and teeth and tongue—

And fights really, really hard not to rip that lovely dress in fucking two so he can have him sooner.]

[capthardness]

[As incredible as John's mouth feels, Jack almost gets more of a thrill just from the fact that he's able to get so much of John's restraint to go out the window just by looking admittedly-really hot. The knowledge that if John hadn't been very good at being patient he wouldn't be here now makes it very satisfying to be the reason so much of that self control evaporates in an instant.

Which is why Jack can't quite hold back a small, breathy laugh when John releases his mouth.] Guess this one's a winner too, huh? [he murmurs, sinking his fingers into John's hair and almost-casually stretching out his leg to just brush against John's torso. Sure, he knew quite well that he'd drive John wild in this but it's still really fun to see just how quickly he gets undone.]

[theydrewfirstblood]

[John laughs at that against Jack's throat, breathless and giddy with arousal as he pauses to rake his teeth over Jack's collarbone, soothing the sting with a flick of his tongue and growling helplessly at the familiar, transcendent pleasure of Jack's fingers burying themselves in his hair.]

Now I know you're trying to ruin that goddamn dress--

[Then Jack's leg is sliding against his ribcage and all the air is punched out of John's lungs again.

He's on Jack in an instant, pushing him back against the mattress and surging up to stretch out over him, kissing him again, touching--hands sliding over silk pulled taut across familiar, glorious muscle, bare shoulders and arms, and...and...

John breaks the kiss, forehead resting against Jack's, eyes shut as he tries to remember how to breathe. He's suffocating, drowning, dying with how much he suddenly wants.

Jack, crying out and screaming for him. Jack, writhing under him, his legs wrapped around John's waist and his nails scoring John's back...to have all of Jack like this, this strange and beautiful and breathtaking everything that Jack is.]

...want you.

[He growls the words against Jack's chest, breathed against the skin just below where the jade pendant rests, just above the deep vee neckline of the dress.]

All of you...wanna be inside you, Jack...let me make love to you...

[capthardness]

[Jack scarcely has a moment to register John's first comment before he's pinned to the bed and then any words he might have used to form a witty reply are completely erased from his mind; shoved aside by the wonderfully overwhelming force of John's body stretched over his, that wonderful mouth stealing is breath and strong hands trailing over his body. For what he knows won't be the last time, Jack files sex in general and sex with John specifically as one of the reasons what Rose did to him is a gift.

...and then John starts speaking again, and he's pretty sure this night in particular will be one he'll keep hold of when he's being dragged down by the weight of all the time and pain and loss. It wasn't like Jack hadn't been hoping for John to ask for that sooner rather than later, but he is a little surprised--pleasantly so--that it's been brought up in the heat of the moment. Which makes it even hotter, a thing which really shouldn't be possible.

Arching his back slightly, he tangles his fingertips just a bit deeper into John's hair and almost-casually brushes the heel of his foot along the back of John's calf]

Mmm [he almost purrs] Good thing I was hoping one of these drop-dead getups would get you to really ravish me eventually. Yes, fuck yes.

[theydrewfirstblood]

[John groans, hips jerking at the feel of Jack's foot sliding over his calf, teasing him with that promise of Jack locked around him in the heat of passion, tousled hair and smeared fire engine red lipstick and coming to pieces under him...

There's a tug of fabric biting into Jack's skin, the soft muted sound of tearing. John had slipped a hand beneath him, looking for a zipper...distracted and spurred on by that visual...

The smile he gives Jack is absolutely feral as he finally starts to drag the now-slack straps of his dress off his shoulders, leaving bites and kisses trailing behind the brush of silk sliding off his body.]

[capthardness]

[Jack rolls his eyes and lets out a mostly-joking huff of annoyance at the sound of tearing fabric. It wasn't like he hadn't expected that to happen, especially given what's happened to a fair number of his shirts, but it's still just a little ridiculous.

As John often is when they're together, and considering all the terrible things he'd been through before they met, Jack thinks that's well worth the price of a couple hours of sewing.

Not that he's thinking much about that at the moment, as John tugs his dress down to reveal the black lace underneath--and, far more importantly, baring even more skin to his touch. Jack lets out a long, blissful sigh as John's mouth moves down his chest, drawing one of his hands out of John's hair to grip his t-shirt.]

You're lucky I actually enjoy sewing. [his voice is soft and dazed but still a bit teasing, as his fingers move down a bit more so he can slide John's shirt up just enough to expose the skin just above his waistband to Jack's touch]