#jackmund

At this point in time, the word “asexual” had not been used to describe a lack of sexual desire (and certainly demisexual had not).

However, in the 1860s, the term “monosexual” was used to describe people who only masturbate and do not wish to engage in sexual relations with others.

In 1884, a paper was published talking about two male subjects who did not experience sexual desire and who appeared to be perfectly healthy. In 1887 the same person (William Alexander Hammond) published a paper about two women who were the same.

Then in 1896 Magnus Hirchfield published a paper that mentioned people without sexual desire and used the term “anesthesia sexual”.

In 1897 a paper by Emma Trosse was published where the author used the term “asensuality” to describe people who experience no sexual desire and even admitted to counting herself in this category.

i. a glimpse

Jackson was all self-assuredness and cocky bravado, sure, but something in him flickered at the sight of the man in front of him, the man he’d been prepared to fight before he saw him almost keel over, leaning against the barstool while his friend stepped in.

He tried to push away the flutter of sympathy in the pit of his stomach, the feeling in him that screamed familiarity and kinship, screamed that this was a man like him, just as broken, just as scared, but not wearing it half as well as Jackson himself. He tried so hard to push it away, knowing the other man was police, knowing he should steer clear for his own safety if nothing else.

But long after Inspector Reid had left his presence, when he was once again tucked up in his bed at Tenter Street after another bout with Rose that failed to distract him from the gaping chasm inside his own chest, it wasn’t Susan he thought of, but the Sergeant. He thought of the Sergeant curled up beside him, snoring softly, his own arm draped across that solid, warm body.

It would have been so much easier if he’d simply dreamed of fucking the man, if his stupid, traitorous heart hadn’t latched onto something instead.

But then, he supposed, life was never easy, and it wasn’t as though he’d be seeing the man again any time soon.

ii. lust

Jackson hadn’t had to work hard to forget any thoughts of Edmund Reid soft and cosy beside him. The reality of the man doused that flame all too quickly, with his demands and his temper and his ability to use the people around him and make them think they wanted to be used. It infuriated him, the way he acted like he had a right to other people, like he had a right to Jackson, had a right to make demands of him when they were acquaintances at best.

But the man had a way about him, a way of inspiring loyalty, a way of drawing people toward him, and Jackson, try as he might, couldn’t resist that pull. The excitement, the adventure of it all, was far too enticing, and the perks of being friends not foe with law enforcement was definitely enticing.

He felt himself softening again, unable to stop it, unable to halt the unravelling of his heart. He told himself it was just friendship, that he not only saw a kinship with this man, a man whom he could share his knowledge and passions with and receive more than blank stares and feigned enthusiasm, but also a man who needed him, needed a friend who would push him, draw him from his comfort zone, force him to confront the dark depths of his soul when others would shy away from that for fear of something Jackson hadn’t quite worked out.

And then he went too far, and Reid had him pinned to the wall, chest heaving against his own, full of a breathless fury that made Jackson’s heart pound against his ribs, made his throat go dry and his brow bead with sweat, made his trousers seem unbearably tight.

It wasn’t until Reid let him go that the reality of the moment crashed down on him hard and fast, making his legs feel weak and his breath shake. The pure want coursing through him was damn near unbearable, and Reid seemed somehow unaffected, somehow so put together it made Jackson’s chest ache.

He thought about that moment for months after, in the depths of the night when he couldn’t sleep, in the early mornings after yet another argument with Susan, in his lonely moments when he couldn’t bring himself to pay for company, and he let it consume him each and every time until he’d wrung himself dry, a panting, sweaty mess filled with far too much longing for something he could never have.

iii. love

Jackson shouldn’t have been surprised to hear Reid declare his love, not really. He was more surprised that Reid said it first, that he’d let himself be vulnerable like that in a way he couldn’t come back from. He’d shown Reid he loved him so many times and in so many ways, but the fact that Reid had said it, had got there first, damn near took his breath away.

“I love you too,” he managed through a wet laugh, body pressed close to Reid’s.

“You needn’t feel obligated to say so,” Reid said quietly, pulling back just a little, and the uncertainty in his voice threatened to shatter Jackson’s heart.

“No,” he said quickly, taking Reid’s face in his hands, forcing eye contact. “I said it ‘cause I mean it. I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you since I first set eyes on you, Reid.”

Jackson smiled as Reid’s cheeks tinged pink, a pleased little smile tugging at his lips. “As I recall, the first time we met was with you behind bars.”

“Nah,” Jackson said with a small laugh. “It was before then.” Reid leaned back a little, brow furrowing in confusion, and Jackson sighed gently. “You were drunk. Very drunk. Drake had to all but carry you out of that pub. I was trying to be pissed at you for knocking my drink from my hands on your way past but it’s as though my heart knew, even then.”

Reid’s frown deepened for a moment before his expression softened in realisation. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“Are you kidding?” Jackson said with a laugh, brushing his thumb across Reid’s cheek tenderly. “You’ve seen me in far worse states and with far more frequency.”

“It’s not the first impression I would wish for.”

“Well it worked on me,” Jackson said with a wink, which startled a laugh from Reid, loud and genuine.

“I’m not sure that’s the compliment you think it is.” An affronted retort was on the tip of Jackson’s tongue when Reid added, “Besides, this is not the first time I’ve told you I loved you.”

Jackson gaped at Reid, racking his brain for the missing memory and coming up completely empty. He was sure he would remember those words from Reid’s lips, already knew he’d cherish each and every time he heard them for as long as he was allowed.

“You were very drunk and quite possibly asleep,” Reid admitted quietly, ducking his head. “I wasn’t quite so brave, then. I wasn’t quite so sure of your heart.”

“Can’t be in doubt any longer,” Jackson said before pressing a kiss to Reid’s lips, hot and heady. “I love you and I ain’t ever gonna stop.

iv. moving in

“Move in with me,” Reid said quickly, the pink tinge to his cheeks the only thing betraying his nerves.

Jackson half groaned, half laughed. “Not that I don’t love the thought of waking up beside you every damn morning, but I don’t wanna be that far from my surgery.”

Reid’s expression softened and he took Jackson’s hand in his. “Run your surgery from my–from our–home.”

Jackson snorted, then did a double take when he saw the earnestness in Reid’s expression, the serious gleam in his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Yes. Whatever you want, whatever is in my power to give, you can have, Homer.”

Jackson studied him for a moment, heart pounding against his ribs, unable to fully believe that Reid was offering this so easily, so readily, was offering up everything Jackson wanted and had been too scared to ask for, to even dare dream of.

“You don’t have to decide–”

“Yes,” Jackson cut him off quickly before leaning in for a kiss. “God, yes, of course I’ll move in with you, Reid.”

v. moving on

Jackson was sure he felt his heart break in two as he boarded the ship to America without Reid by his side. It took everything he had to hold himself together for Connor, to not let his breath stutter and shake, not let himself cry.

Every day for months he woke expecting to see Reid beside him or feel the fresh warmth left behind across the bed from him, and the absence tore through his chest anew every single time.

He thought about writing to Reid so many times, thought of all the ways he could convince him to uproot his life so they could be together again, of all the ways he could talk of his heart, his pain, his grief, his longing. He thought, too, of all the little things he could share, about how well Connor was doing, how they went fishing together every weekend, about the people he’d met and the friendships it felt like he was tentatively forming.

But he could never quite bring himself to put pen to paper, could never quite bring himself to put his heart on the line like that when Reid had made his choice already, had allowed both their hearts to break in the process. The worst part was, he’d known Reid would stay before he’d even asked the question, had known he was just setting himself up for failure. Reid would never leave Whitechapel, not truly. That godawful place was a part of him, and he a part of it, and no matter how badly he wanted it, he’d always known Reid would never–could never–leave.

He wasn’t sure he could ever move on, not really. He’d given away so many pieces of his heart over the years and Reid had taken more than most. Jackson knew he needed what was left to look after Connor, to be a father to his child despite how much it still terrified him every single day. He knew he needed to let Reid go, make his peace with his past, so he could be the father Connor deserved.

It wasn’t easy, but he thought he’d managed. Eventually.

vi. new beginnings

Jackson was sure he was dreaming when he looked across the field and saw Reid standing there, light haloing around his head, lighting him up like he was some divine gift from God Himself. He shielded his eyes against the glare, trying to get a better look at the man as his traitorous heart hammered painfully, hopefully against his ribs.

Reid raised a hand, a hesitant wave, so Reid-like that Jackson’s breath caught in his throat and he dropped the shovel he was holding and took a faltering step forward, then another, then another, until Reid was matching him stride for stride, closing the distance between them.

Reid reached for him, eyes alight and face pale and drawn but oh so hopeful, and before Jackson could think, before he could question his movements, his fist landed squarely in Reid’s jaw.

“Shit,” Jackson hissed, shaking his hand out, knuckles smarting from the impact.”

“Christ,” Reid winced at the exact same time, nearly losing his footing as he recoiled from the impact, hand instinctively coming up to cradle his jaw. Then, “I rather imagine I deserved that.”

“You’re damn right you did,” Jackson bit out, flexing his fingers. His heart was still beating painfully against his ribs, stomach doing somersaults in a near-nauseating fashion.

“I’m sorry,” Reid whispered, daring to take another step towards Jackson. “I am truly sorry, Homer.”

“You’re really here?” Jackson whispered, tears blurring his vision before he could stop them.

“I’m really here,” Reid said softly, reaching out tentatively, cupping Jackson’s face when he didn’t move to pull away.

Jackson leaned into the touch, a shaky sigh leaving his lips as he let his eyes fall closed, savouring the feel of Reid’s touch after so long. He covered Reid’s hand with his own, breathing him in, terrified that if he opened his eyes, Reid would be gone, just an overly vivid dream and nothing more.

“I’m really here,” Reid said again, louder this time as he moved minutely closer, placing his other hand over Jackson’s chest, and Jackson crumbled at that, fell into Reid as a shaky half-sob left his lips.

Reid’s arms came around him, sure and strong and so achingly familiar that Jackson very nearly let out another sob, very nearly let go of the pain he’d been holding onto for the past two years, very nearly let himself unravel right here in Reid’s arms. But instead he took a deep breath and pulled himself upright, not quite out of Reid’s touch, but enough to feel as though he were standing on his own two feet, as though the world hadn’t come undone beneath him.

“Two years,” he whispered, cupping Reid’s cheek, catching a stray, unexpected tear with his thumb. “Two damn years, Reid, and not a word.”

“What was I to say?” Reid asked through a wet laugh. “That I missed you? That my heart ached for you? That I was an absolute fool who’d chosen wrong and yet couldn’t muster the courage to rectify it in case I was too late?”

“But you did,” Jackson said with a shaky smile, sliding his hand into the back of Reid’s hair, pressing their foreheads together.

“And I am not too late?”

Jackson was in half a mind to tell him he was, that he’d missed his chance, but the hope in Reid’s voice mirrored the hope in Jackson’s heart far too closely to even consider putting up walls between them. So instead, he kissed Reid, hungry and desperate, like a man starved, because that’s how he felt; starved for contact, for affection, for passion, for Reid.