Jack looks hard at his other self. “Well, technically you don’t have to— I-I mean—” Shit, He is in trouble. Of all the things to— He sighs hard, making a loud frustrated noise as he puts his hands over his face. “Okay, okay!!” The last dare he tried to skip out on almost got him in some very hot water involving a lemon shoved into inappropriate places. He doesn’t want to even begin to imagine what kind of penalty game his future counterpart would come up with.
He sinks to sit on his heels and looks up at the other man with a scowl that’s way too much of a pout for his own liking. He clenches his teeth and scoots his knees across the floor until he’s more or less crawling towards the other. (It’s more of a sad slinking, really, also no he’s not blushing, shutthehellup). “There, you happy now? Also I swear to god if you try and ‘pet’ me I’m going to bite your damn fingers off.”
“Mmmm, yeah. I kinda’ do,” he retorts. (Worth it? Definitely worth it.) The punishment for failure to comply was definitely WAY worse than the act itself; in that regard, he was proud his young, impressionable self was just biting the bullet and handling the matter with some measure of dignity. However dignified one could be, crawling across the floor like that. Alternatively, some part of him was a little disappointed — and here he was with a clever penalty to exact upon young Jack, had he stubbornly refused to go along. Way to stifle his creativity, brat.
“Pet you !! Now, why d’you say that?” He wonders, light of tone and bright of eye — — the look he gets, right before he does something TRULY conniving. “Everyone knows, you can’t go an’ pet a wild animal before its been PROPERLY BROKEN.”
Jack clenches his teeth hard and absolutely glowers at the other man. Oh, now that was funny. Hi-fucking-larious. If he thought he could talk down at him just because he was ‘older and wiser’— boy did he have another thing comin’. Things that involved teeth– and lots of bleeding. He eyes the ring on the other man’s hand and works his jaw, debating whether or not it’d actually be worth it in the long run to take a finger (or two). Probably not. It’d still be funny though.
“Oh, yeah?” He sits back on his heels, momentarily forgetting that the dare was more or less over and he could stand up now. “And how ‘dyou plan on doing that, hm?” G-o-d, was he going to regret this later.
( Wrinkles. His nose. Because this one also isn’t… much of a dare either. Who wrote these? )
“Going right for the throat, eh?” Jack arches his brow, and stuffs his well-abused list of dares into his back pocket once more. He barely needs to look at it now, he’s memorized all the dares and their corresponding numbers. Young Hotness got the massage dare, which, really. It’s not much of a dare at this point. It’s more like a fucking excuse for him to get his hands all over himself. (Like he even needs the incentive !! )
“Still dogging at me, huh.” Jack sneers, heartily amused and more than a little endeared. He’s never going to let Young Hotness live that down now. He paces briefly, snagging one of the more comfortable looking lounge chairs with his toes, dragging it away from the end table it’s positioned by. Then, he’s got a hold on Young Jack’s upper arms, and physically encourages him to park his ass in said chair. Prop his feet up. Get cozy. If this is the dare, he’s going to indulge in it a little bit.
“Someone’s gotta keep you on your toes, old man.” Jack’s grin is all teeth as he snarks at his future counterpart.
It pulls into a tight lipped scowl at the others jeer; he’s still pretty sore about the whole dog thing. He watches, interested and arms crossed, as his other pulls up a chair and makes an indignant noise when he’s pushed bodily into it. Having future Jack where he can’t see him always makes the hairs on his neck stand on end. He wonders just what the hell he’s gotten himself into this time.
The ghost of fingers on his skin makes him shiver, gives him goosebumps, and now he’s really concerned. He wants to ask what– to protest– but the arms draped over his shoulders cut him off. He’s suddenly very acutely aware of how close those fingers are to his throat and just how much damage they could do, depending on his other’s mood. He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t one hell of a turn on, though.
“You relax–” He mumbles under his breath, sinking lower into the cushion of the chair. The hands in his hair make him pause, and suddenly it’s like other Jack is physically pulling all thoughts from his mind, each stroke leaving him blissfully blank. He makes a throaty noise and feels himself relaxing quickly to the touch, like those large hands have put him under some sort of spell and he wants to ask just when they got so good at this, but all that comes out is another low moan. Usually his hair would be off limits (excluding Nish’ and well, himself, he guesses) but the gentle push and tug was enough to make him swallow any protests lingering in his throat about messing up his image.
Pressing, searching fingers, knowing just where to squeeze, and he’s going slack-jawed, eyes closed. He lets Old Busted Hotness manhandle him where he pleased, despite whatever instinct yelling at him otherwise. “Yeah, I’ll, uh… mmf–” grunts as the tougher knots in his shoulders are worked out, too distracted to even speak properly “-dooo that…” He was going to give whoever came up with this dare a friggin’ raise.
Jack laughs and runs his teeth over his bottom lip, exhaling loudly and looking up at the ceiling. “Mmm– how does one describe Handsome Jack?“
He swirls his drink, ice clinking on the glass. He’d gone ahead and poured himself another. Not because Old Busted told him to– if that’s what you’re thinking you can go ahead and park your ass in the Time-Out corner, (the Time-Out corner being a moonshot shell; he would shoot you out of the cannon if he caught you saying anything like that).
“Besides being the most Handsome, Gorgeous, Talented– and not to mention sexy– man in the entire galaxy? Other than myself, of course– but then again– uh, you are me,“ He still wasn’t exactly sure how that was working, but the space time continuum hadn’t imploded yet (and they’d done plenty of touching, believe him) so who was he to complain?
“He’s– he’s uh, something to look forward to. A good reminder that what I’m doing– that all my– all my sacrifices aren’t in vain– and I‘m already, exactly what Pandora needs.“ He tips his glass back and downs his drink in one long swallow before slamming it back down. His next words are said with more conviction than any others that have come out of his mouth in his entire life.
> nah i claim timeline divergence > you can cook me bacon in cute aprons though
~HJack69~: old busted hotness wishes he could cook as good as me ~HJack69~: and hey this show ain’t free, baby, even for someone as prestigious as myself ~HJack69~: can’t say i’m not tempted tho
“You say that as though I don’t have enough on my plate already,” he retorts mildly. ( Wow, he was a cocky little bastard when he was younger. He’s so proud, look at him GRIN. )
Jack feels as though he’s got the better end of the deal, with the dare he’s been given. Though admittedly, watching his younger self have to get down on all fours and act like a dog before his own eyes was a goddamn PRIVILEGE. Don’t sulk about it, Young Jack; not only did he honestly enjoy the sight, the sulking makes him want to bite that pout right off your handsome face.
The gentle touches, hands roaming over him, the rough touches– Jack can’t hold back the sounds that slip from his throat, deep moans and content sighs. Nobody knows how to spoil him quite like himself, it seems. He’s basically putty in other Jack’s hands, ready to be molded into all kinds of new shapes.
Jack swallows hard as his neck is exposed, fingers digging into the arms of the chair as the other man drags his fingers down the column of his throat. A shiver runs down his spine at the quieting hushing, skin prickling and suddenly it’s way too hot in his own clothes. He tenses hard as he’s kept in place; a high moan escapes and he’s too far gone for words after being subjected to other Jack’s talented fingers. He inhales sharply at the kiss to his neck, and he’s fucking sold, no question about it.
He whines softy when other Jack pulls away from his him, lips tingling and trailing after him, body singing and wanting more, but lets himself fall lazily back into other Jack’s hands. He pouts and tries not to let just how much it’s all effecting him show. He crosses an ankle over his knee and drums his fingers on the arm of the chair, a picture of feigned nonchalance. He blows a stray bang out of his face. “Certainly can’t complain.” It’s no use– the fire had already been lit and now he’s burning up from the inside. He can barely think through the need for that Handsome body on his own.
"I’m all for spicing thing’s up, but isn’t this a bit much?”
“Hey–! if I wanted your opinion in the kitchen, I’d friggin ask for it, capiche?” Jack waves his spatula at the other in an annoyed fashion, hand on cocked hips. He smooths out his ‘Fuck The Cook’ apron and sits heavily in the chair opposite other Jack, kicking up his feet to rest in the other’s lap. God he fucking hated cooking. Hell if he wasn’t good at it though, and he wasn’t about to let even himself say otherwise. He mentally ticks another thing of his ‘shit future Jack somehow convinces him to do‘ list– it was getting embarrassingly long. (His face heats up just thinking about it–) “If you don’t like my cooking, then stop killing all my goddamn cooks !!”
