ZOMBIES SUCK XOXO

possession is hardly so simple a concept as fiction would make it seem. there's a particular sort of delicacy to it, requiring the deftness of a careful hand, and a real blank slate. he's lucky to still have a few of those running around this hellscape, somehow not riddled with bullet holes or missing a part or two from a particularly ravenous psycho. but their options had still been pretty limited : he's a picky guy, what can he say? if he's going to be brought back to the world of the living, they've got to do it right. he's not taking some second-rate, scrawny loser that forgot how to keep up the part after their contractor's corpse was presumably left out to be picked off by a pack of skags. the mask they could fix, if need be—a body is trickier. dying a few years out from revival would just make all of this whole journey they've all been dragged out on such a fucking waste of time ; not to mention, he's not exactly certain if he could replicate the code that made him to begin with to try again. they've really only got one shot at this, when he's out of rhys' head.

this is as close a match as he'll come : save the odd mole or new scar across the body, the face is nearly perfect ... only slightly askew when the mask snaps off. this one has dimples—that's cute. then follows the process, the really difficult part ; wiping the slate clean. in truth, there's only so much they can do in this state ... they don't have the tools to induce anything like a temporary amnesia, but they have enough binds and enough weight to hold him steady while they work. at least while he's in control, he can stomach the gore. it doesn't startle him, the idea of cutting into his own head. these are necessary measures, it's only aggravating so long as he has to use the weight of rhys' prosthetic palm to hold his double's head down hard enough that he didn't accidentally make him carve into some vital vessel mid-squirm.

the last thing he remembers seeing, his end result : was a sleek, metal port set neatly against his hairline. he remembers murmuring some sort of vague assurance as he wiped the excess blood away in some small act of mercy, and only then after he slowly lifted ' his ' body upright, did the world fall dark.

he doesn't know how long he was out ; when feeling stirs again. there's no bright, brilliant light he's met with so much as a lingering ache that creeps over every inch of his body. his head is pounding with a particular agony, a pulse throbbing hard at the base of ... his skull? that snaps him to right quick! staring up at first at the drab sight of the disarray of the hole they'd hidden themselves away in, blinking slowly to clear the instinctual mistiness he feels settling 'gainst his waterline as he tries in earnest to ignore the assortment of pain wreaking havoc 'pon this body, then a hand. not quite the perfect image : the hand he raises is cybernetic—but he remembers this, vaguely. the hyperion logo glaring back at him in brilliant yellow, it'd been a useful tool once upon a time, though now it's mostly aesthetic. he turns his wrist slowly, curling and uncurling his fingers as his gaze stays fixed on the gesture, and then repeats this with the other, now flesh and blood. this is shockingly new—and somehow feels more awkward, at least at first. so long left to the confines of metal and code, a guy can forget even at the height of his agony just how good something softer can feel.

or how warm another body can be, in close proximity. checking in on him : as he well should, considering the trauma this body's been through—but if he says anything, jack can't hear it. not out of any lack of ability to, oh, no, not at all—but because the moment he catches glimpse of rhys crouched worried next to his side, jack is qucik to react. though maybe not in the manner he expects his paramour might expect. there's a palpable heat between they two, however slight, and it's that jack acts upon ; spry as he'd ever been, his left hand swings around to snatch rhys by the collar, and they quickly go tumbling from there.

it's not a romantic affair by any traditional measure. no slow build-up, nor even a moment to savor the tension and it's recognition. but it is an act of pure adoration, and as far as he's concerned, years worth of yearning built-up from a body that was incapable of ever acting upon it. a hologram wasn't meant for love, or loving someone : but he's never fallen so hard—at least, not in a long, long time ... it'd been refreshing, at first, to realize he still could catch the familiar pangs of adoration however they manifested in his chest, then torturous, realizing his limits. this is relief.

yanking him forward 'til their lips collide, and pushing further still. this body kept in shape. or at least enough that he can't tell any immediate ill-effects in it's reflexes. bulkier, but just so—enough that it feels like minimal effort to topple them both when their chests meet the same with a harsh thud, and easier even still to swing a leg over his lap ; just shy of straddling him. he'd almost forgotten what this could feel like too. a body beneath him, trapped both by his weight and by how tightly he could wind his shirt in his fist pressed harshly up 'gainst his collar. all he caught before his eyes naturally fell shut was the brief glimpse of surprise that washed over him, but now all he can feel his his overwhelming warmth.

he's enough strength in his core to steady himself, the further he bows over him, or so enough to feel comfortable lifting his hand opposed to cradle him more ... sweetly. as much as one might, for a kiss or ten so abruptly stolen. it is a softer gesture, dragging the cool metal of the prosthetic 'long the line of his jaw to rest just at the end of his chin, thumb pressing up against it to hold him more firmly the deeper he presses the kiss. neither their lips part, quite ... only enough to tempt his lower lip 'tween his teeth to tug the few occasions jack takes to break, and even then, never for long before he presses back even harder, hum muffled 'gainst the pressure of their lips. he'd stay like this forever if he could ; kiss him over and over again 'til the pain blasting the back of his skull dulled in its entirety, until both their lips were pleasantly bruised. honestly, he doesn't even think the soreness would stop him from kissing him again anyway.

melting into him is easy, when he's wanted this so long. it's pulling away that's harder—voice left ever so slightly hoarse when he isn't otherwise left panting quietly with this body's protest. right, breathing.

" god, you have— no idea how much i've wanted to do that. " he probably does. how much he'd bitched and moaned about it, whenever his face literally merged with his own in his pitiful attempts to try before. such is it then that his breathless chuckle comes as a mixture of amusement as much as it does relief, where he can feel the pleasant, lingering warmth of rhys' own breath tickling his lips as he grins, tugging his chin up a bit further, " c'mere, baby, just a little more ... let me kiss you again. " what a gentleman he makes, as if he doesn't dip right back down to press their lips together once more, the curl to his lips suggesting plenty for just how much he's smiling into it.

there's a particular sense of surreal unease that comes with not being in control of one's own body, and it's something he'd become intimately familiar with over the past few years, both for better and mostly for worse. he'd felt sorry for handsome jack a long, long time ago, when the idea of being stuck a more spiritual being rather than of flesh and blood had been something that particularly horrified him to think about, but somewhere along the way, they were one too many betrayals deep for him to really give a shit about the ai's feelings after a while. instances of brevity wherein he'd allow the use of an arm or a spark at the implant in his head had become fewer and farther between, 'til they'd ceased at all save for special cases. this had been one of those, and a frightening one to give himself over to in its entirety. it's the only time since they'd first become unlikely hitchhikers in his own body that rhys had allowed jack any sort of total control over him ; when it comes to the more gruesome task of carving out a hypothetical husk to slot him into, though? guess pandora still hadn't broken him in, so to speak. he just couldn't handle it, when the subtle feeling of squeamish nausea had settled in the pit of his stomach.

his anxiety had settled 'gainst his chest like a weight, though, even when jack had guided his hand to do all the dirty work. it isn't just the blood, viscera, and tears of stomaching what would essentially be his victim ... it's the doubt, the paranoia as uncertainty clawed its way into the recesses of his mind. he'd already endeavored that it would be whatever it'd be, and there's not much he can do about that — if jack's the only one that walked out of here in the end, fiona would make sure to put a bullet fresh between just another doppelganger's eyes, he trusts that. but trust is a tricky thing. he only has so much of it to spare, after all this time, including what he'd spent together with jack, or at least the echo of who he'd been. it'd be one hell of a long game ... but he doesn't necessarily think jack above it, if it were. he hadn't always had this much trouble trusting someone ... one would think the feelings that had spurred him into this position would give him more confidence.

as it stands, when he blearily comes back to the forefront of his physical surroundings, no longer an observer of his own body ... he sees himself standing over an unconscious body laid neat 'pon the ground below. it's a far cry better than the squirming and whimpering that'd filled the make - shift lab the entirety of that night. still enough to make his stomach flip uneasily ... but more than anything, it's coming back and standing there in such an overwhelming silence that he finds himself startled by. his hand took to his own implant first, prosthetic fingertips brushing lightly 'cross its surface at his temple. fine, functional, nothing out of the ordinary. it's just ... the lack of any projection that's missing. no loud - mouthed asshole sneaking into his field of vision, or laughing in his ear. it's as peaceful as it is strangely lonely. he thought he'd been prepared for that part — he hadn't. there was no way to be, his year - long break from handsome jack's shadow so long gone at this point.

it's an incredible amount of trust he holds in his other hand, then ; the last part of the implant for their unfortunate puppet. maybe that makes it ironic how unsure he feels, when he quite literally has been given what was left of jack's life in his possession — there's no way the holo hadn't calculated the risks himself, of what it would mean had he simply decided to destroy this, or tuck it away in some corner, forgotten. in the time it takes for rhys to lift the impact and look at the slow, blue blinking lights 'round the curvature of it, and ultimately kneel down at the doppelganger's side ... jack's dead. thrice now, in a way. might be the most times a man on pandora's ever been resurrected, and whoever brings him back? that's the real villain. it's selfish, ultimately. to ask his friends to accompany him in this, to make them accept this decision — to inflict pandora's greatest mistake back upon it. home's not a place, though. it's people. suppose he'll figure out if finding that in someone he can't even trust is a gift or a burden, in the end ... the fact of the matter is that he's become a pretty selfish person.

the time it takes to finish the job is minimal compared to what all had come before it. he's handy with electronics, even if going out of his way to wipe the blood clean and make sure the body was physically as okay as it could be beforehand makes him feel nauseous still. he really doesn't need to, but he does — it's not like jack can tell how much time passes where he is right now, and for all he complains, bitches, moans ... rhys cares more than he lets on, how all of this goes. it's sheer kindness that leads him to attempt making the shift from ethereal to corporeal as painless as possible. guess it hadn't all been beaten out of him. it's probably anxiety of a different breed, too, the softer kind ; he's worried it won't work, and buried 'neath the cold indifference of his surface, his chest aches the longer the silence stretches. the fear he'd just put jack into an electronic grave is haunting, at odds with the paranoia he nurses. he's scared to bring him back, but he's scared of never hearing his voice again more.

in the end, all the build up is anti - climatic, after he's cleaned the body off, fixed up his clothes, pulled his hair back from his face. the final plug of the implant slides right into the back of his neck, the lights get a little brighter, the hair falls down to hide it ... and then nothing. it's only a few seconds, all of which he'd anticipated for the time it'd take for everything to settle into place. they're overwriting someone's entire being, basically deleting them and downloading someone entirely new into their brain, their nervous system ... whatever had been in this guy? it would be gone. like he never even existed — and in his place ...

handsome jack.

rhys jumps when his eyes open, lips parting in silent exclamation ... but he mutes himself, rather than speaking out at first. he might be more surprised than the body itself, whoever is in there, to see his eyes open to the world around them. the beats of silence that stay in between are short, and yet painfully long for the time it takes him to, finally, crawl a little closer to his side. " — jack?" his own voice sounds too meek, more like he had been when he'd first left hyperion. he's unsure, watching with vague fascination at the hand that raises in front of them. not for long, though. his attention is trained almost entirely on the man's face. the anxiety settles a little deeper, claws its way from his stomach to burn his throat, and a little bit further to sting his eyes. it's ... overwhelming, the fear and elation alike that mix together. he's never felt like this before ; he's never going to feel like this again. "jack?"

he starts to reach out for him ... jack beats him to it. the movement is so sudden that he doesn't even have time to flinch or fear for the intentions of it. the moment he sees the other move, the tight hold curling the collar of his shirt has him pushed to the ground, with him so caught off guard, all he can do is fumble with him. his hands fly up to grab his wrist first, eyes wide from the heavy weight that settles over him. there's a part of him, however small, however guilty, that anticipates palms that wrap around his neck next. he isn't prepared at all, then, for the warmth that overwhelms him instead.

rhys barely has a second to compose himself, were he even capable of it, but if he'd planned on saying anything ... the chance is stolen from him, silenced by the rough edge of jack's lips. his own are still parted in what had been the start of speaking up ; frozen, incapable of either complying or rejecting the initial rush of panic that flies through him. his heart's hammering 'gainst his chest, his hands shaking where they'd grabbed his wrist ... but the harder jack pushes into him, completely engulfs the space stop him — it's a gradual, subtle reaction ... his tension starts to drain. slowly, at first, and then all at once. his eyes fall half - lidded, his hands easing their grip. he doesn't kiss him back at first ... but he doesn't stop him, either, letting himself fall willing victim to the deeper kiss pressed upon him. how painfully he wilts beneath, it can't be read anything beyond surrender. and it is, exactly that.

it's somewhere 'tween the mess of heat that he does eventually find himself, eyes falling shut as he leans up what little he can into each kiss. now he returns the gesture, breaths quick between each press of his lips back against jack's ; for him, it's not quite as difficult, with air stolen in the brief moments they'd shift or turn 'til stealing another kiss harder than the last. he doesn't even think to let go of his hands just yet, enamored with the physicality of it — something that had felt frustratingly unobtainable for years, when the two of them would chase intimacy with one - another even at impossible limits. for a moment, rhys doesn't even care how desperate he comes off, not for the ebb and flow of chasing after one - another's lips, nor the sighs - turned - groan in between. this isn't how he'd anticipated this going, not immediately. he'd be hard pressed trying to lie and say he didn't prefer this to his own paranoid fears, though.

it's when jack shifts to hold his chin that he finally allows his hands to fall lower, palms curling instead around his arms. it's not like he could do anything to hold him any closer save dragging him down on top of him, but he doesn't really need to. jack manages just fine for the space stolen, and rhys is more than willing to keep him there. it's far more chaste, too, than he'd have imagined from someone like jack — the heat between them is a longing, and each time jack's teeth pull at his lip, rhys licks over the spot to soothe it. there's a slight tang of iron that comes back, his lips likely bruised from the worrying of them between his own teeth prior ... but he doesn't mind it, when his head is flooded with his mind elsewhere. it's almost painful when they finally part ; it's a little funny, too, how little he needs catch his breath by comparison to the one who had initiated in the first place. he'd tease him later, he thinks. seems jack had forgotten how to breathe.

"no, no, i do. you reminded me. constantly," his own voice is hoarse, as if he'd been the one that'd just been uploaded into a whole new fucking existence. rhys stares at him, expression both stern and soft. he feels like he should scold him, considering he definitely isn't recovered enough to be moving this suddenly. more than that ... this is a lot to take in! hell, didn't he need a minute to situate?! "holy shit. it worked. it's you." in spite of his protests mentally ... he doesn't voice them. shifting one of his arms to prop himself up just enough that he isn't pinned to the fucking ground once jack's back to tugging him closer again. whatever stoic confidence, real or not, he'd built up over a period of years at this point clearly falters. "i ... am so glad you made it through." there's such raw emotion in the way he looks up at him. guess that ... answers a lot of his questions, doesn't it? jack doesn't even finish speaking before rhys meets him halfway, free hand raising to grab his face and desperately drag him down into the very kiss he initiates. this time, it's a little more desperate, pulling him closer and deeper into it ; enough 'til he can move his arm further back around his shoulders. he's careful not to reach too high, makes the sacrifice for how badly he wishes he could tangle his fingers into his hair ... he knows the wound is still too fresh. but he eventually gives in to the want for him, lets jack push him back down.

" LET IT BE ME! if you're lonely or feeling blue, let me be your one & only.

[ @fckurselfie ] their bond means the absolute world to me i fear ... would they / won't they punk / rockstars who are painfully obviously smitten with each other but just never cross that final step much to everyone's confusion

art credit.

hardly would it be the case that someone considers maintaining jack's favor ... well, favorable. it's certainly leagues above being out of it, but there's only so much improvement that can exist when the alternative is being dead—even so, some have it better than most. contrary to what he presumes to be popular belief, he's not impossible to work with ; hell, not even impossible to talk to, if someone tried hard enough. with a flash temper like his, it's no surprise why people never try ; but timothy makes for an interesting case. they have history. the real thing, not some glorified tale whipped up just for grandeur or to otherwise seem a little more grounded than the pedestal he purposefully places himself 'pon—talking with him now comes as naturally as it did twenty-some years past, if not a little easier. he just likes him ; doesn't know why, doesn't really need to think about the semantics of it, he just does. if anything, he's even softer on him these days than he's ever been—he's not the worst body double he's had of the few he's ever personally met, but it's obvious who's the favorite.

it helps, in some odd way, to know that timothy too is capable of keeping up with his eccentricities. he lets him prattle on without interruption, and the only thing that feels strange—if he had to put a finger on it—is just how easily he can. he's not worried about him doing something like selling company secrets, or finding any way to make his life any harder than it already is. timothy just ... listens, and banters in return. and god, he hadn't thought about how much he misses the idea of just an idle conversation about somehow both everything and nothing at all—his usual company really is so little, and there's only so much he can do to entertain himself when his work is said and done. not that he's been able to call anything 'complete' for a long, long time ... such is the paradox of progress.

" —tannis? " that inflection never means anything good ; like enlightenment, almost literally, how his eyes suddenly snap up to look at him, bright and shining, lips pursed in a much quieter contemplation for all but the whole of a few seconds before something seems to click and he shoots upright, wide grin 'crossing his features as his hands clap together at his front. uh oh. " ... oh my god, that's brilliant! haha - hooooo my god, how did i not think of that? one sec, i gotta mark that down— " and just as quickly, he scrambles for a pen and pad, propping himself back up against the desk with one leg lifted to prop the pad against just to make a secondary stable place to write. he's hunched over himself, tongue poking out from the corners of his lips the few occasions he isn't otherwise muttering to himself amid his furious scribbling. " have a ... talk with ... tannis ... about dahl ceo— " his mood certainly seems to have lifted by time he's tossed everything in his hands aside for later to bring himself back to his feet, offering his mirror—at first—little beyond a wink and a grin, making vague gesture of the fingergun pointed his way, " thanks for that, babydoll. i'm really gonna owe ya one. "

all these hints of whimsy only last so long, in the face of what the other man offers. this, too, is a scene that feels so unique to him : the gradual breakdown of his composure, for once, meek in comparison to his doppelganger's. he thinks he could count on both hands the times he's seen a real smile sneak its way onto his features, and there's a soft pang center of his chest that he almost feels guilty for not being able to enjoy it much as he thinks he should—there's no ' real ' reason to worry, not with him, and he knows this. for all the shit he's gone through, however much of it was at cause of his own hand, there's a reason he keeps him around ... and a reason why he stays ; timothy's never once given him any rational reason to doubt, but then, jack isn't a very reasonable man.

knowing this ... however half-hearted his own smile he meets him with, it grows softer in his silent regard, fixing him with a gaze a little too tender 'round the edges watching him fumble over himself. maybe this is more of the behavior he's supposed to have : nearly-stoic, some serious guy—but it's difficult to hold back the soft snort of laughter that presses a deeper crease into his cheek when he bites down 'pon his tongue to muffle it the more timothy rattles on. he's always thought there was some kind of awkward charm to his habits way back, when he was caught trying to learn in his shadow—he was always a bit too awkward, a little clumsy, very ... sweet. it was charming then, it's even more-so now, however much he's battling his own weakness in fighting 'gainst the mental walls that beg collapse alongside his usual demeanor.

he watches him like a hawk, nonetheless—eyes a little too sharp around their edges, bloodshot and weary no matter how soft the feeling beneath ; how his hands move, and where they go—his tension only lessens somewhat when he sees soft velvet, only then can he discern with a little more certainty that the likelihood of anything lethal is absurdly low. the weight is slight, and though the familiar hammerlock logo is enough to make his brow quirk, he keeps his scrutiny mostly quiet save for a soft hum of recognition. that would explain the need for an envoy ... and he'll admit no small amount of amusement that comes with the fact that whether lady or sir that having a claptrap knocking at their door with its especially grating voice just for the sole purpose of collecting a gift for their own adversary must have been torture. he's just as sure some details were scrubbed from the request. still, the thought is pleasant.

" that's a nice way of looking at it, though i dunno how much she'd agree. not that i can blame her. " his nose scrunches as he watches him rustle through the bag, consciously forcing himself to relax his posturing to the best he's able—even if it's only so much. a head cocked aside to nearly rest 'gainst his shoulder, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the next as his voice drifts, " she likes you well enough, that's gotta count for something, right? i never understood it, but she's got a soft spot for vault hunters—you'd think it'd be the opposite. " much to his chagrin : ex-and-current. for all he knows, maybe she's read up on the files of those past tied to the company ; it sure would explain a lot towards her recent rebellious outbursts, however little it actually explains her fixation elsewise. bandits are a bad influence—something she's not bound to listen to, and a topic he really doesn't feel like touching.

how lucky is he, then, to be provided ample distraction with the gift provided. " ... oh— " he hears the soft clinks first as the two lockets knock gently 'gainst each other as they're lifted, and with eyes wide, he slowly shifts one hand out from his pocket to cup underneath them 'til he can tug them gently into his palm. they're cold against the warmth of his hand, but his gaze drops to them instantly, turning them over as his thumb gently grazes over both their surfaces. he clasps one carefully, his hand opposed pulling free to nudge open the small clasp at the side of the silver heart, eyes widening ever so slightly further as he examines it. " this is ... i mean— damn, this is pretty. is this real metal? " almost definitely, if it's from the hammerlocks. they could buy out anything if they really want to : and for all their differences, he knows neither party is like to skimp out on quality. both hands cup them now, for a moment uncertain if he should set them aside or pocket them 'til he's a moment to get away find a spare photo or two to slip inside the empty frames.

he settles with the former : but not until clutching them gently 'gainst his chest, smile slight and lopsided—it's the closest he thinks he's felt to sheepish in years, the heat that ever so subtly burns his ears as he steps aside just long enough to place both next to the framed photo on his desk. it's as good reminder as any, for what all he's sure he'll end up sidetracked before he's able to decorate them proper. " yeah ... i can think of another person who deserves a thanks or two. " he's not good at things like this anymore, he thinks. sentimentality was better suited for a man at least ten years younger than himself, less angry, less bitter ; but there's still something gentle buried deep in the recesses of his heart that timothy seems skilled at prodding at. he can't shake the tension entirely, but it's all that follows that speaks volumes where his words would otherwise fail.

turning back around to face him, he quickly steps back forward to close the space between them, arms winding tight 'round his doppel's back as he draws him close. " they're beautiful, sweetheart. thank you. " he lets his voice stay low ; not quite a murmur, but certainly not his usual volume ... there's no hint of a playful inflection, 'stead, something sweeter. it almost cracks, slipping a hand up to tangle in his hair to help squeeze him even tighter. " you really didn't have to go out of your way, though, y'know? i'm really just happy to ... have you here. "

over his time shadowing, working with, and working for handsome jack, timothy's become privy to more about him than most would think — and more than jack would like, if he really knew how much attention he'd paid. he suspects as much, anyways. there are three different kinds of ' doing good ' when it comes to this man ; the first is being an asset serving its purpose until he disposes of them, and that is the largest category of people who are within his orbit ... a damn difficult place to make it to, to begin with, and a place most people want to avoid being.

the second is being genuinely useful in a way that keeps someone close to jack, incapable of being killed for cause of losing that value ... but most often, tortured. everyone else on jack's good side lies there, whether for their connections, skills, or how amusing he finds them. that's the worst place to be. he would know, after the years upon years he'd spent nestled near almost the top of jack's priority to torment, or so sometimes it certainly seemed. he suspects that's where he'd still be now, wherein he bites his tongue on feeling sorry for bringing up tannis or her particular brand of usefulness at all, if there weren't ... odder circumstances between the two of them. he's spent two decades in handsome jack's good graces. he wishes he knew when he'd climbed free from this tier — when amusement had shifted into deeper bond. part of him wishes he were sensible enough to still flinch away when they got too close to each other. he's not.

this last group, that's where he thinks he actually is these days, sometimes, when his confidence gets a little too risky for him to act on. there are people, far and few, nearly nonexistent, between ... who he knows hyperion's eclectic ceo to cherish. love, even, if he wants to be dramatic about it. one of them is his daughter, whose metaphorical heart lies 'pon the chain dangling from his fingertip as he watches jack look to him with no small amount of, he thinks, genuine tenderness. the other, just maybe, when the delusion hits just right ... might be him. he's not sure what he'd expected, really. he wouldn't have done this had he thought it would be poorly received, but there's a particular light in his eyes where somberness fades back to some softer excitement. these are the times timothy's posture straightens out, chin held up instead of his gaze falling to stare down at the ground.

"i remember a certain vivacious young man having a bit of a rebellious streak in his twenties, too. you adored all those stories about heroic vault hunters so much you brought all of us together back then. isn't it a good thing she still thinks that way? just because you and i had to suffer being reminded how cruel the world really is doesn't mean angel should. let her dream, jack." it's impressive that pandora hasn't beaten that whimsy out of him ... or that the man in front of him hadn't finished the job. while his countenance is still awkward, there's a wilted sort of wrinkle 'tween his brow that makes his smile look a bit wry. "life is complicated for people like us. angel being ... " he doesn't say it aloud, instead trailing off before continuing, " — makes things a million times harder for her. don't force her to accept the gift. just leave it with her. she'll take it when she's ready, if she ever is."

patience is a virtue very few have, but timothy's supply seems near endless at times. he lets the lockets carefully shift into jack's possession instead, his arms returning to familiar wrap themselves 'round his midsection. this is where his posture returns to normal, gaze breaking away to look down at the ground, where he kicks his heel listlessly 'gainst the floor to distract himself. it's ironic, in a way, that he speaks his mind so often for someone clearly lacking any desire to ever hear his own voice.

he only spares brief glances in the other's direction as he looks the locket over, shrugging casually in response to the commentary given, "probably. i — i mean, considering where it came from ... i don't doubt its authenticity. to be honest, i called in a favor from aurelia ... uhm, strictly business. didn't even mention names." that part is ... a lie. a little white lie made in good faith. he only feels a tad guilty for it, small as it is. "finding ' pretty ' things on pandora isn't exactly easy, but if anyone's going to manage, it's the hammerlock family. i ... think the claptrap envoy might've been insulting, though. what can ya do?"

his laugh's nervous, the slow feeling of heat creeping up his neck undeniable. it's from nothing else other than the positive reaction jack gives in general — timothy can't even bring himself to look up at him anymore, suddenly glancing over the miscellany of things on his desk whilst the lockets join them as if it'd become the most fascinating thing in the world. he's not actually look at anything in particular though, and it's evident his attention is actually far away from paying mind to the contents. he's just trying to distract himself ; both from the ache settled at the center of his chest and the anxiety that spreads below it. he isn't afraid of the attention, as much as he should be. that's not it.

"it's really not that big a deal. you don't need to—" he murmurs, shifting his attention back to jack just in time to be cut off by the man's approach. the space between them is stolen so quickly, he can't even react before he feels jack's arms slip around his back, instinctively parting his arms from how he'd been holding himself up 'til that moment. they raise to rest in the air at their sides 'pon being pulled into jack's embrace. the gesture stun-locks him, his gaze trained on nothing at all from where he can see over his shoulder. they're nearly the exact same height, himself only maybe half an inch shorter than the real thing ... it's still enough for his chin to naturally rest 'pon his shoulder, right in the dip by his neck. " — i ... "

oh. his own silence isn't indicative of rejection, not when there's a shocking lack of tension in his body. if anything, it's the pounding of his heartbeat 'gainst his head that feels overpowering more than anything else. for a long moment, he doesn't even know what to say ... but he does eventually take the quiet calm between them as an opportunity to slowly wrap his arms 'round jack's waist. the pressure of his fingers digging into the fabric of the other's shirt is light, just enough to feel the warmth in the small of his back beneath the clothing. eventually, he finds something that almost sounds like his voice, if a little hoarse, "well ... i just wanted to. that's all." that much ... is true. there's no reason to do this, no illusion he'd had that this would somehow make him more important in jack's eyes, no underhanded expectation of being owed something in return, or really any expectations at all ... he'd just felt like it.

finally, his chin relaxes against jack's shoulder, eyes falling half - lidded, almost exhausted. this is ... not what he'd expected. the exhaustion that falls over him is an emotional one, as if all the tension from even before he'd walked into this room drains out of him. he can't remember the last time someone even touched him without pulling away with his blood on their hands. "you're welcome."

SETTINGS.

[01.] finding privacy in a cramped dressing room.

[02.] cramming into the backseat of a car together.

[03.] slipping into the lonesome alleyway behind the bar for "time alone".

[04.] pulling them away from a party after hours of relentless teasing.

[05.] getting handsy under the table at a fancy dining establishment.

[06.] taking the long way home and pulling over on a dark stretch of road.

[07.] staying behind at the venue after everyone else has left.

[08.] the hotel room door barely clicks shut before hands are on them.

[09.] a tent in the middle of nowhere where no one can hear anything.

NEW TERRITORY.

[10.] finding yourself staring at their mouth and getting caught.

[11.] pulling back from a kiss to look at them, then immediately going back in.

[12.] memorizing the shape of them for the first time with your palms.

[13.] that exploratory first kiss, reserved and shy.

[14.] a gentle first kiss that morphs into intense want.

[15.] feeling the shape of their body through their clothes.

[16.] asking for permission to remove one of their garments.

[17.] finally succumbing to the thick tension & colliding feverishly.

[18.] fumbling with buttons or zippers because your hands won't stop shaking.

[19.] admitting out loud that you've been thinking about this for a while.

HEATING UP.

[20.] pulling them into your lap in the midst of a heated kiss.

[21.] discovering that they're wearing [ GEAR / LINGERIE ] under their clothes.

[22.] kissing away from their lips, down the length of their neck.

[23.] desperately grinding on them through layers of clothing.

[24.] dirty talking directly into their ear to turn them on even further.

[25.] pushing them onto a piece of furniture before straddling them.

[26.] lifting them onto the countertop while making out.

[27.] tugging their hair to expose more of their throat to your mouth.

[28.] the wrecked way they say your name for the first time.

[29.] fabric tearing because neither of you has the patience for buttons.

[30.] removing an obstacle of clothing with your teeth.

UNRAVELING.

[31.] biting down on their shoulder to muffle how good it feels.

[32.] the sound they make when you find the spot that undoes them.

[33.] begging without any trace of pride left and meaning every word.

[34.] their composure cracking for the first time, they finally stop holding back.

[35.] repeating "don't stop" like it's the only language left in their mouth.

[36.] leaving possessive marks in places only they'll see.

[37.] whispering "look at me" right before you take them apart.

[38.] trying to be quiet and failing, so they clamp a hand over your mouth.

[39.] flipping positions so fast neither of you remembers who initiated it.

[40.] their nails dragging down your back hard enough to sting later.

[41.] being told to open your mouth and doing it before the sentence is finished.

[42.] having your hands pinned above your head.

[43.] the desperate scramble to get closer when there is no closer to get.

COMING DOWN.

[44.] fingers lazily tracing the marks they just left on your skin.

[45.] pulling the blanket over both of you without being asked.

[46.] that silent, dazed smile when they catch your eye across the pillow.

[47.] the shaky laugh when neither of you can remember where your shirt is.

[48.] going to get water and bringing a glass back for them without asking.

[49.] lying chest to chest, feeling their heartbeat slow back down against yours.

[50.] the quiet "hey" that means something completely different now.

[51.] "come here" said softly — not urgently. just wanting them close again.