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Jasper wakes up to cheap laminate flooring under his cheek and a distinct lack of iron shackles around his wrists. The world is a dampened fuzz, warped and distorted, a product of his gnawing hunger, his depleted veins, all his gifts revoked.
But there’s no mistaking the presence. If he were remotely poetic, he’d suggest that he’d know it from across oceans, except that’s not the case and there is no poetry in his heart.
Jasper wrangles himself into a seated position, crosslegged, and looks up to find Guy peering down at him from his seat on the side of the bed. Peripheral vision tells Jasper they’re in a hotel, a cheap one, all corners and cold drafts, curtains to the windows tightly drawn, and it doesn’t matter where really because he’s no longer in a sterile white room, no longer surrounded by antiseptic tiles, no longer–
Guy sits on the side of the bed, having watched him for however long until Jasper roused, and now Guy watches him with a distinct quiet, in expression and in presence. Not just reined and caged but boxed, neatly tucked away, the boy clearly having put in a substantial amount of work, a loud speaker and a solar flare no more. Except it’s more than that.
The boy is still a boy and yet a boy no longer. A hard edge to those pretty baby blues, a set to that lush mouth. Something's happened, something that has cauterized a tender chunk of his heart.
He is glad to see it; he is pained to see it.
It hurts his pride to do it, but Jasper wrangles himself, limbs heavy and reluctantly responsive, until he kneels before Guy, haunch on his heels, the hard floor unforgiving to kneecaps, and Jasper can feel the ache of his bones as though he were human once more.
The position doesn’t assuage Guy, but it does get something out of him, a slight part of his lips, a brief knit in his brows, a blink of those blue eyes, and even if Jasper can’t hear a thing, he’s lived long enough to read the reaction, to know what it looks like when a man is given something he thought he wanted but finds it both appealing and appalling at the same time.
After all, Jasper isn’t remiss to the fact that Guy has rescued him somehow but left him to wake on the floor like a bad dog.
Jasper sways slightly, uncertain how long he can stay like this, then his focus sharpens, a snap of the whip, every instinct screeching, a primal roar surfacing. Blood. Blood. Jasper stares in disbelief at the sight of Guy, knife in hand, drawing the blade’s edge across his wrist. The sweet scent is overpowering, yet his fangs won’t drop, and Jasper watches helplessly as Guy drips his open wound into his palm, dropdropdrop, a gathered little pool in his cupped hand. It doesn’t take much before the blood near overflows the minimal capacity, and Guy sticks his hand forward to Jasper.
Jasper looks at the fresh red blood, thirst seizing his hindbrain and threatening to hijack all reasonable function, then he looks up at Guy, who remains pristinely shut away but still too young to entirely school his expressive face, those eyes that get progressively more red-rimmed, flashes of conflict and anger, longing and bitterness.
How much does Guy know what’s happened to him? Does it really matter?
Without taking his eyes off Guy, Jasper leans down and laps from Guy’s hand, little licks of his tongue, kitten at the water bowl. The taste blooms in his mouth, sweet sofuckingsweet due to his starved state but sweet, too, for the source. He’s never tasted Guy but imagined it, a storm of successive fantasies while he was in captivity: torn throat and ripped flesh for the betrayal, blissfully violent, until he’s bathed in red, just as much as a tender pierce to a willing throat as they entangle, a whole different kind of bliss. Those fantasies course through Jasper once again as he licks Guy’s hand clean, deliberate with every drop, unwilling to waste even one molecule.
It’s such a small amount, not nearly enough to sate his roaring hunger, but it isn't about sustenance, Jasper knows, not about forgiveness or water under the bridge. It’s supplication, and Jasper would’ve balked once, irked at the humiliation, but the lingering sensation of binding pressure around his wrists, his still clipped nails like a declawed cat, the phantom ache of his retracted fangs like a goddamn cavity, they’re all pretty fucking good motivation to take what Guy gives him and to give what Guy wants.
Enough penance shown, Guy offers his cut wrist and Jasper latches on with both hands gripping Guy’s forearm. He drinks freely though not deeply, the cut not deep enough for that and he still can’t seem to bite but nevertheless it’s blood, it’s Guy’s blood, the course of it a rushing pleasure, mouthfuls of headiness. He can practically feel it surging through his veins, not that he knows – or gives a shit – how the biology actually works, just knows that every limb wakes, every cell hums, the fog partially lifted from his mind. It’s not enough, it’s not nearly enough, his whistle barely wetted before Guy pulls away, and Jasper struggles to let go, need screeching just as much as want, yearning a beacon flare, but he does let go.
Let me. Jasper finally manages a directed thought as he watches Guy wrap gauze around his wound, and receives no response, the words not unheard but ignored, a deliberate choice not to allow Jasper to heal the cut.
Guy is steadfast but his breathing changes, a subtle hitch, and it has nothing to do with his tightening the knot of gauze a little too fiercely with his teeth. Jasper catches Guy's hand, the one he lapped from, and softly, he kisses the back of his fingers, lips grazed over knuckles. There are minor abrasions, like Guy's been caught in a scuffle, and he attends to each, one by one. He's touched Guy's hair more than a few times, the curls irresistible, but this time, it’s Guy who threads his fingers through his unruly hair. It is inevitability fulfilling itself when Guy slips down from the bed, down onto the floor to join Jasper on his knees, and brings their mouths together.
There's been attraction, not an unknown to Jasper though perhaps to Guy, smothered by fear and need for survival. Guy isn’t distracted now, kissing with intent, kissing with fervor, one arm wrapped around the back of Jasper’s neck to draw him in close, close, other hand grabbing onto Jasper’s right and fiercely pressing it to the front of his jeans, letting Jasper feel the effect his feeding has had on Guy.
This is what you've wanted, isn't it?
Guy’s voice, distinct, focused, resounds in Jasper’s head. His boy has learned. Honed. And Guy wields it like he wielded the knife. The thought is trenchant, contains the bite that Jasper hasn’t, caustic and angry even as Guy guides Jasper to undo his belt, to unzip his fly, his kiss unrelenting all the while.
What about what I want? Guy demands.
What do you want, sweetheart?
The endearment only infuriates Guy, his nails digging into the back of Jasper’s hand.
I can't want things the way you want things, remember?
A snarl, vituperative, vicious and furious, even as Guy folds Jasper’s fingers around his hard cock and squeezes. Jasper feels Guy’s groan, the sound of it like a bullet, and he’s been shot a few times, knows how it feels. This is far more piercing, made ever more so by Guy now nuzzling the side of his face, not quite affectionate, a mimicry – a mockery. Jasper is weakened but he isn’t weak, could easily pry himself from this, this mess of a deed, Guy’s arm around the back of his neck barely a hold, Guy’s grip around his hand tight but not a lock. But he has his hand wrapped around Guy’s cock, Guy’s breath along his ear, this warm body pressed to him, and he can’t bring himself to tear away even as fury pours from Guy in wave after sweeping wave. This is, he knows, not what either of them wants, not really, but it’s about as close to it as they’ll get.
Jasper remains quiet, in voice and in mind, lets Guy take control, keep control, his hand guided by Guy to stroke, to touch, to squeeze, to pleasure, and it should perturb him to be used like this, after– after however long it’s been, in that basement, in that sterile room, room after room, but reparation carries a cost, must, even if Jasper’s never believed in atonement, wouldn’t be a vengeful man if he did. For Guy, he’d pay the price, Guy with his fawn eyes and bravado, mussed curls and empathy, sob story and sincerity. So much ability, so much potential, and so much stupidity and so much recklessness. Jasper remembers the agony of burned flesh, blistered skin, and yet cannot conjure the rage that’s been his constant companion, not for Guy, not now, when all he can taste is Guy’s own enmity, rancor to hide, hidehidehide, hide who Guy really is underneath it all, a wounded animal cradling its injury, far beyond the events of London. Grace is what he should’ve given this boy.
Jasper lets him hide now, hide behind moans, behind nuzzles, behind the hand wrapped around his own. Breathy moans brush Jasper’s ear, hitched little sounds – yes, like that, just like that – and Jasper would be aroused if he weren’t still so fucking depleted. He pushes what he can, the better fantasies, he and Guy, the what-ifs, the could’ve-beens, two against the world, on the run, blackout curtains and shitty hotel rooms like this one, but they’re entwined, himself buried in the heat of Guy’s body, making them one, his hand over Guy’s racing heart. They’ll have revenge; they’ll have what they’ve been looking for; they’ll have what they want.
I want what you want.
And Jasper isn’t sure if it’s Guy’s thought or his own.
With a soft cry, Guy comes, spilling over both their hands. Guy loosens his grip but doesn’t let go entirely, instead bringing both up to his mouth, licks Jasper’s fingers clean then his own, an unintentional – or maybe very much intended – mirror of earlier. Blood and come, can’t get more primal than that. But it’s barely another heartbeat, barely another breath, before Guy’s pulling away, withdrawing, body and mind, and putting himself back together. Jasper reaches, hand and thought, and receives nothing in kind.
Guy rises to his feet, peers down at Jasper, and Jasper sees regret, pain, something chipped away, his boy who’s not his boy, never was, the endless realm of might-have. Then it’s resolve, the same look Guy had when he declared they think I’m their boy but I’m not their fucking boy but this one's all for him – not yours either.
A smile that’s not a smile tugs at the corner of Guy’s mouth.
You said you wouldn’t let me down.
That he did, then he did, and Guy offers no room for an apology that Jasper won’t utter, not even now. The hard edge in Guy’s eyes tells Jasper that Guy’s learned a few things about absolutions.
And yet, here he is, clearly rescued – somehow – by Guy.
The smile grows fractionally, bright pride in blue eyes. “That’s right, I did.” Not because so Jasper would owe him, not because he wants his own revenge, and not because he wants to stick it to the Talamasca, but because, in the grand scheme of things, it is the right thing to do, to free an imprisoned man who’s being forced to commit unthinkable deeds.
Jasper considers that of all the things he’s felt for Guy, respect hasn’t particularly been one of them. He feels it now.
The smile blazes now, and fuck, Jasper doesn’t ever need to see a sunrise. It’s right here in front of him.
Amused, Guy lays his palm to Jasper’s forehead. Sleep.
The command has an inordinate force; where the fuck did–
Jasper wakes on the bed this time, face buried into the pillow.
What the fuck.
Guy is gone, of fucking course, leaving behind only a smear of a blood stain on the sheets. Jasper is only just the slightest bit tempted to lick the spot like a sad fuck.
Nightstand stationery tells Jasper that he’s in Luxembourg of all places. Fine by him, really, farther the better from Amsterdam.
A burner sits on the desk. There are three texts waiting for him when he looks through the messages.
There's a cargo plane leaving for the States at 11:35pm
You should get on it but I have a feeling you won’t
don’t look for me
Yeah, Jasper’s not real renowned for following orders, especially not after all that. The phone buzzes with a new text.
fine. come find me then
What the fuck, Jasper thinks again. A lot has fucking happened, clearly. Guy is still Guy, but – fuck – this is a whole new ballgame. Another buzz, another message. Slowly, Jasper smiles as he reads the text.
don’t let me down