Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Aster groans as quietly as possible, leaning his head back into the stiff airplane seat. The seatbelt symbol glows hauntingly from above as the plane rocks back and forth. Behind the shut window blinds, the stifled rumbles of the storm cocoon him. Splatters of rain hit the window, occasionally reminding him that he is around 30,000 feet in the air— stuck within a cyclone of dark, thundering clouds.

Aster feels the burn of his dry eyes as he squeezes them shut.

The machine’s air conditioning doesn’t help. The constant humming drones in his ears as the recycled air filters in. It tushes against his ankles with cold cleanliness. Maybe early on, when he boarded the first flight from Melbourne to California, it was a pleasant, almost welcomed sensation in comparison to the rising temperatures of the Oz’s winter. But now it was just another nag, reminding him that winter in Philly wasn’t exactly a vacation. 

The low rumble tilting the plane's axis back and forth certainly seemed to agree. 

He lets his head rest back on the seat, aiming to glare at the cylindrical ceiling above him. The low, led lights had dimmed into a quiet amber as a large portion of the plane had fallen silent; no doubt asleep, despite the less-than-pleasant conditions. 

Aster finds himself envious of everyone smart enough to bring a pleasant cushion and earphones on the trip. He’d been more worried about packing the essentials, making sure his own bag was as light as possible (to make up for his daughter’s family-sized suitcase of luggage), for their last minute flight. Rushing around as said daughter wove in between his feet, squealing in glee. 

“Bunny!” Sophie cries for him without a care in the world. She stretches her arms up, the seatbelt barely containing her, and shoves the stuffed rabbit into his face. 

“Sh, Sophie.” He whispers hoarsely, and places a hand on her head, pushing the bunny away and lowering her back into the seat. 

He half-wishes she would be as inclined to sleep as the other passengers. For even the baby that had been wailing earlier had been somehow subdued into slumber by some miraculous lullaby. 

Sophie, hardly disappointed, hauls up the second toy; a white plushie of a dog… or cat… (he wasn’t really sure even when he bought the thing) and kicks her legs, giggling quietly as she waves them about. Aster watches over her as she babbles, colliding the teddies against one another as if they were in battle. He briefly considers the fact that there was likely more than one person cursing out his daughter at the moment in their mind, but the thought doesn’t do much but make him laugh internally. 

Truly, he’s surprised the guy sitting in the end seat hasn’t voiced his complaints yet. He glances over him, readjusting in his seat. The young man, with stark white hair and lowered, blue eyes, sits beside Sophie with his arms crossed. Aster notes the faint dark circles under his eyes and the wire earphones plugged into the little steel plate in his pocket. He isn’t asleep either; he simply sits, staring tiredly down at the little folded-up plate on the back of the airplane seats as his leg jumps up and down to his music. 

In his idle staring, he doesn’t notice Sophie’s sudden quietness as she turns around. Without a second thought, she dumps the little white dog in the stranger’s lap. 

The young man unfolds his arms and widens his eyes at the toy. Sophie quickly follows up before Aster can even move and waves the dog about on the stranger’s lap; laughing joyously at the surprise. 

“Sophie!” He whispers tensely, his hands immediately drag her back into her seat. 

The young man looks up, meeting his eyes for the first time. He feels the strange mix of apprehension and curiosity that comes with crossing paths with someone you’ll likely never see again. The fresh face of this stranger imprints on his mind. Pale, slightly-freckled, boyish but not very masculine. The mix of fair features and strange contrasts make him interesting to look at and make Aster wonder what kind of life he leads, looking so regularly winterish. 

The guy looks like the closest an ordinary human could get to being an elf without really being one. His natural curiosity desires assumptions based on his appearance, but Aster can’t make any besides the fact he might be some sort of insomniac, or got some bad sleep last night. 

Aster grins apologetically, “Sorry about that. ‘Think she’s a bit restless from all the flying.” 

The young man smiles as well. He unhooks one side of his earphones before he speaks. 

“It’s fine. I get bored on flights too.” His voice is deceptively rich. The smooth timbre seems to soothe Sophie somewhat though, as she wriggles out Aster’s grasp to look up at the young man. The stranger looks down at Sophie amusedly, who is gazing up at him with a far-more unmasked curiosity. “Hello, there.” 

She shuffles back against Aster. “Hi.” 

He then reaches down to the white dog, which is still lying half-way across his lap. “I think this is yours.” 

The young man hands it over to Sophie, who shyly tugs it away, holding it flush against her chest. 

“So now you’re playing shy.” Aster muses, watching his daughter’s ears turn pink, hugging the teddy as she watches the young man. 

The stranger laughs quietly at his comment. It’s a light and gentle noise that shifts gears in Aster’s head. He’s probably not a creep, a threat or a weirdo; or was that just the halo effect talking?

“C’mon then, where’s your manners?” Aster nudges his daughter playfully, who turns around to face him and quickly back at the stranger. 

“Thank you.” She says behind her toy. 

The stranger smiles, revealing a set of pearl-white teeth that puts Tooth’s clients to shame. ”You’re very welcome.” He speaks courteously, bowing his head in mock-respect. 

Sophie returns to her seat quietly this time. Playing with the two teddies in a hushed whisper to distract herself from the man beside her. He huffs, seeing her finally settle down, and decides he needs to thank his saviour; looking back up at the young man. And who knows, ‘might make the time fly faster talking to someone, albeit they’d have to half-whisper to not disturb the rest of the plane.

“Aster.” He introduces himself, stretching out a hand over Sophie’s head.

 The other glances at it before, surprised, meeting him with a brief handshake. The young man’s hand is cold and thin, yet unexpectedly strong in reciprocation to Aster’s grip. In this moment, he can clearly see how pale he really is against his own brown skin.

“Jack. Nice to meet you.” 

Jack smiles warmly and unhooks the other earphone, wrapping the wires into his pocket. 

It seems he notices Aster looking, because the next minute, Jack is holding up the little steel ipod, pressing the pause button in the centre of it. 

“I always keep a playlist for flights.” He explains, “I don’t get how people can sleep on planes.” 

“Neither, mate.” He shakes his head, “Can hardly understand why people get on em’.”

“Not a big flyer then?” 

The plane rocks, making Aster close his eyes and shiver.

“Go figure?” He tries smiling, earning a little grin from Jack. “‘Would never get on one of these blasted things ever again if I had the choice.”

“Ah,” Jack ponders, “You’re in Philly for work?”

He nods, absently patting Sophie’s head when she starts moving about again, “Damn place can never run itself; had to pack up late last night just to crawl over there. Isn’t that right Soph?”

She looks up at him adoringly, waving the stuffed toys in the air. 

“Oh.” Jack seems a little confused. “So you live in Cali’ then?” 

”Oh no.” He laughs awkwardly, “Aussie through n’ through. Accent an’ all.”

Puzzle solved, Jack tilts his head back; a look of wonder crosses his face, “Ohhhh! Wow. So you flew here all the way from Australia?” His voice is slightly hushed, but it doesn’t smother the surprise in his tone.

”Yep.” 

And really that was the sort of reaction he usually gets talking to most Americans he’d met for the first time. Living outside the country, to some, seemed outlandish. As if anything beyond the coast of North America was just an exotic, fairytale holiday resort. Australia was, for the most part, one big beach to a lot of the people he had met. They all immediately halted, looked him up and down and made the conclusion “So that’s why you're so tanned!” and then again with the “So do you surf a lot?” to the white hairs growing on his head; and he couldn’t bear to divulge that it was just the stress of running a patisserie company coming for him prematurely rather than the sun-bleach of a carefree lifestyle. He didn’t even live that close to the coast either. But explaining it all was a hassle; he’d rather just rub his neck and awkwardly nod along. 

‘Wowww…” He repeats. There’s a doting amazement in Jack's eyes. Then, with abrupt confusion, he looks down at Sophie, “Well now I’m really wondering how she’s not conked out.”

He followed Jack’s line of sight seeing, who was gradually slipping down her seatbelt as she sank into the seats. Her babbling has droned into one long note of complete boredom. 

“She won’t sleep for days if it was up to her. It’s my fault really. I give her too many sweets.” He explains, watching his daughter carefully, “I’m a pâttissier.”

”A patiss-er…what?”

“I make desserts for a living. Do a pretty good job too, I’d say. And this here is my number one customer.” 

He prods Sophie’s cheek who in refute makes a sudden loud noise and sits up straight in her seat. He covers her mouth when an old man in front of them grumbles loudly. Jack glances up at him through his bangs grinning. 

He sits back, still smiling at Aster, “Wish I had a dessert chef for a dad when I was a kid. I’d be addicted.” 

He looks back down at Sophie and smiles, “You are one very lucky young lady.” 

Sophie stops shouting and focuses back on Jack. She looks at him curiously and then gives him a great, toothy smile. Childishly, she grabs her father’s wrist and holds the teddy. 

‘Bunny!” She barks out. 

Jack is immediately taken back, looking at him for some sort of interpretation. 

“It’s… like a nickname.” He tries to explain as Sophie tugs him closer by the cuff, pulling his hand next to the stuffed rabbit, “I’m Bunny, and he’s Bunny.” He points at the toy.

”Bunny?” The amusement is unfiltered on Jack’s face as he creases, “You share a name with the stuffy?”

”Well technically the stuffy shares a name with me.” 

Which is true, considering she only got it from the fact his last name was Bunnymund, in contrast to her own surname— Bennett. As soon as she began understanding the few words tumbling out her mouth all the Mr. Bunnymund’s she’d been overhearing as he paced around the house on speakerphone had taken on a new form. And instead of daddy or papa, “Bunny” it was. It only got worse when he had gifted her the stuffed toy one Easter, waving the bunny rabbit in her face. And now, when she yelled Bunny from the other room he was never sure whether it was for him or the blasted thing. Many a virtual-meeting had been interrupted over the dilemma, but all attempts to rid the toy of the household had inevitably failed. 

It was her favourite for reasons she clarified by pointing at him and the toy and simply saying “Bunny!” Which, for all non-Sophie speakers, only translated to “You’re my favourite, Bunny, so naturally my stuffed rabbit named ‘Bunny’ would be my favourite teddy of all.” So ‘Bunny’ the stuffed toy had stayed.

Jack’s lingering confusion does not entirely dissipate, but it is at least slightly satisfied with the answer.  

“Hm,” he considers mirthfully, “Then, I guess we should re-introduce ourselves… Hello, Bunny. My name is Jack.”

He offers out his hand again, which Aster takes and shakes playfully. 

Then next, he looks down at Sophie and the stuffed toy with mock-surprise, “And why hello there, Bunny! And the famed Sophie too. It is very nice to meet you.” He offers out a hand, and Sophie grabs his pinkie-finger, shaking it with glee. 

Really, if it wasn’t for Sophie’s clearly amused giggles and the kind, softness woven in each of Jack’s features, he’d probably be considering if this guy had a couple screws loose. But it seems he’s just really good with kids. Sophie’s constant, agitated noise dampens down to a joyous mumble as she talks to Jack. The young man sits back in his seat, asking nonsensical questions only a child could answer with whole-hearted confidence: such as whether or not ‘Bunny’ the stuffed toy also dislikes flying, or whether he likes tea, biscuits, or airplane food. 

Eventually, she grows exhausted, sitting back in her seat. 

Aster doesn’t even notice the seatbelt button has finally switched off. People being able to move about again, a few people waking up and talking to one another. Others shuffling down the aisles to the toilets while the attendant began to make rounds. 

He blinks sleepily as Sophie relaxes. She’s wriggled out her seatbelt anyhow- and after torturing Jack and Aster with her. 

“Jack, you’ve got to be a miracle worker or something.” He speaks quietly, so as not to wake her up, and rests on his fist looking over at him. 

“Yeah well, I work at my uncle’s place on weekends. He’s a toy maker, so we’re pretty much always swarmed with kids.”

”Oh, really?” 

“Yeah. And before that, I babysat for him throughout high school. So I’m pretty much a pro.” He flashes a grin at Aster. 

“Wow.” He smiles back, “Guess, I should be taking notes.” 

Jack looks at him and laughs. His cheeks brighten a little.

—

The wind whips through the airport in intervals as the exit doors slide open and close. 

Jack is trailing alongside him, dragging his neat, blue suitcase behind him as they approach the exits. Sophie, who is miraculously still asleep, rests on his shoulder as he carries her through the airport gates. 

From the landing of the plane to the final pass of the gate, Jack had somewhat coincidentally remained by his side, which he was happy for. The travelling had been tiring and the lag was beginning to get to him, but what is currently staving all this off was the cheery face happily making small talk to him as they card through the seemingly endless maze of red lines. 

He learnt a lot about Jack as they stepped one at a time towards the gate checks. Like a little shuffle, making slides across the floor every other minute in their caterpillar queue. Such as the fact he was in college, going to someplace local to home. He loved music, but wasn’t majoring in it. Had never considered truly moving out of Philly, though he likes to travel: but only to cold places. Like the Alaskan mountain ranges, or up the Rockies during wintertime. He only really goes to California to visit family during the holidays.

Jack gave a little smile to the border officer who was diligently flicking between him and his passport picture. And it was infectious. The officer smiled back at him, handing back the slip. Aster wondered if Jack was aware of the effect he had on people. The natural warmth he brings, despite his cold outer shell. There’s an unspoken alliance between them, as he lingers by the gates while Aster helps Sophie through the process, swinging on his feet as his gaze drifts down the long-clinic white halls. Aster grins as he walks by him, rejoining his side, and Jack’s removed glances snap back into a warm smile.

He’d stood by him, watching over Sophie as Aster did the heavy lifting, picking out both their suitcases from the luggage. Simply because he insisted. Jack was all but willing to do it himself of course, but he wasn’t just going to sit by and let a debt go unpaid. Plus, he’d be lying if it didn’t make his ego flare. 

He really needed to screw his head back into place.

Jack thanked him abashedly as Aster patted his shoulder.

”No biggie.”

And gradually came the time to part.

The night air sings with the horns of cars pushing their way through the intersections. He looks at Jack who’s fallen fairly quiet and content as they stray towards the taxi junction. His suitcase rolls across the concrete slabs, occasionally jumping and skipping the tiles. He turns as the yellow sign above them reading the different way out paths finally passes by and faces him. Aster feels the ready-to-go, corporate-processed “Nice to meet you. Safe Travels. Goodbye!” Just resting on his tongue. 

He’s pleasantly surprised at the nervousness apparent on Jack’s face. His eyes stick hesitantly to the ground beside them as he awkwardly finds his way round the words. 

He’s a little amused watching Jack rock on his feet again. 

“So…” Jack starts, there is a strange curve to his mouth as he smiles.

”So?” He finds himself smiling too, but he’s not really sure why. 

“This is where we split, huh? Uhm…“ Jack rubs his neck and finally looks up at him. “Aha— I was wondering…”

”Mhm…?” He edges him along, even as Jack grows more flustered.

“You wouldn't have a way of contacting you right? I mean, just cus’ I’m pretty curious about your ‘patisseries’.” He smiles, drawing out the final word, “I think I might check ‘em out.”

Aster raises a brow. If it hadn’t been a while since someone asked for his number… 

He rolls his eyes playfully, shifting the weight of his slumped out daughter onto one arm. 

“You got a phone?” 

“Oh— Yeah, ‘course.”

He stammered over himself, fishing the phone out his pocket and handing it over to Aster. He dials his number in, calling it. 

“There ya’ go. Usually I’d give you my work number, but this one’s my home.  Ring me if ya’d like to drop by. Don’t abuse it alright?” He winks and it takes its effect.

Jack blushes bright, grinning from ear to ear. He quickly fixes himself, taking a coy approach, “Alright. Then I guess I’ll see you around, Bunny.”

He pushes a hand through his hair watching Jack stride off down the sidewalk. In all honesty, he’s still not entirely sure of what just happened. The only thing that grounds him back to earth is the disturbed little snores Sophie makes in his ears. The fur of her small pink coat tinkles his nose as she re-adjusts her. Right. Find a taxi and get home. Find a taxi and get home. 

He takes off down the alley towards the row of cars waiting beneath the yellow-street lights, dragging along his luggage behind him, and only looks back over his shoulder once; but Jack’s already gone.

—

Airports, in Aster’s opinion, are the few places on earth that could be comparably as close to being in limbo as possible. Everything contained within the sleek, white halls of the stalking long buildings is built to function only temporarily. Seats incline in stocky rows, built at awkward positions, crossed with rests to prevent anyone from truly laying down. God forbid you have to stay more than four hours seated upon one: for, despite the frequent delays, there was no suitable area to hold the mass of people awaiting their next flight. 

The food is refrigerator cold— from the Pret-A-Manger sandwiches to the off-brand croissants. Bites small enough to satiate one person for perhaps thirty minutes. Expensive enough, however, to cover around one regular sized meal. 

Stores, glamorous and decadent, seem hollow and husk. The workers stand idle at the doors, guarding products that only the children, bored from their wait, seem to browse. 

All-in-all, Aster had an iffy relationship with airports. He tolerated them, which suited their part-time purpose. But that wasn’t to say he wasn’t aggravated by their impossibly time-consuming proceedings or intrigued at each individual crossing his eye, diverging paths as the gates split. Since, as soon as you leave the airport, the liminality which often allows one to freely fluctuate and change, accept others more openly and regard each person with keen interest, wears off quickly in the smart, busy world. 

Aster’s mind briefly passes over Jack as he settles back into Pennsylvania. Often at quiet times. Such as in the car early on in the morning, as he taps the wheel and awaits the change in a traffic light. Or as he struggles his key into the lock of his front door, returning late into the noon, wondering quietly to himself what the colour of Jack’s door may be, or if the lock is as finicky to twist.  

But in general, the memories pass, like the planes, quickly and briefly and in lands another. 

As soon as the door is slammed shut, he tosses the keys into the draw and throws off his coat. Meticulously unwinding his scarf, Aster finally gets to uncuff the shirt that has been wringing his neck all day. He really needs to get a size up, he must have gained some since his last visit back. 

A speedy set of footsteps splatter down the hall leading from the living room. The pitter-patter quickly rounds the corner and flies straight towards Aster at a fierce rate.

He opens his arms wide, scooping his daughter off the floor. Sophie, who readily grasps about his shoulders and pulls on the tufts of his hair, squeals in glee as they spin. 

“Argh— Come here, you!” Aster smiles as he presses kisses to his daughter's cheek. She giggles as his jaw scratches her soft skin; her small hand pressing against his chin as he does so.

He sets her down on the wooden floor as he finishes kicking off his shoes, just in time for her baby-sitter to come round the corner. 

Ana greets him with a lenient smile and a small wave, treading down the hall noiselessly towards him. 

“She’s been wonderful today, Bunny.” Ana praises liberally as she dotes over Sophie, “You should have seen her at dinner time. There were almost no spills and she ate all her greens!” Ana places her hands on her hips, beaming down at Sophie.

“I wish I could have,” He smiles back, a little sad, “Thanks again, Tooth.” 

And, ever-understanding, Ana tips her head slightly, beckoning him closer with her arms. They exchange a quick hug and a pat on the back before Ana pulls away. A worrying line is fixed between her brows.

“No. It’s my pleasure as always, Aster.” Her lips quirk briskly before she sweeps away to his side. 

Ana bends down, slipping on her ballet slippers and heaving up her satchel bag. They’re patchwork, patterned with bright interweaving colours, as most of Ana’s possessions are. But he’s noticed children (or Sophie at least) seem to love it.

“Have you found someone for next week? Remember…! I’ll be gone Thursday to Monday.” Her voice rings like a notification. 

“I’ll get someone.” He replies, more pre-occupied with fishing the cash out of his wallet.

He hands her a slip of bills, watching her flick through them at a much quicker pace. Satisfied, she tucks them against the palm of her hand and leans in to peck Aster’s cheek.

“Till next time, Aster. It’s lovely seeing you!” She says and then ducks down a little, smiling with her full teeth, “And bye-bye, Sophie!”

“Bye, bye…!” Sophie spits out endearingly in reply, waving at her feverously. 

Tooth’s smile warms as she steps out the door, letting it slip close behind her. 

He sighs then, only now truly relaxing his shoulders as the work unwinds from him. Sophie cries for him from below, jumping up his leg with unfiltered excitement he cannot for the life of him find a source from. With one arm, he sweeps her back up, smiling tiredly at the “Weeee!” she cries as she rises into the air. 

By the time Aster gets home, he rarely has time to play with Sophie. The hours turn late far too fast within the confines of his office and even when he surveys the small cafes he holds, it seems to drag on no faster there either.

His chest weighs heavy as he feels his daughter sigh against him, relaxing her cheek on his shoulder as they pad through the silent house. She grows tired and quiet. The exhaustion of a full day soon catches up on her; no matter how much she’d like to stay up and play with her father. It saddens him that he’s already worn down to his last whittle when he steps through the door. 

He can manage no more than to lovingly stroke her back as he treks up the stairs slowly, one foot at a time. 

Aster tries to stir some conversation, “So Soph, you were good today with Tooth, yeah?” 

She nods into his shoulder, refusing to uncling her arms from where she’s wrapped them around his neck like a monkey. 

“No funny business with ya’ veggies?” 

She shakes her head quicker than the last. Aster laughs. The door to her room is slightly acrux. He uses one knee to nudge it open, stepping quietly into the shadow-cast, sun-yellow bedroom.

“You ate all ya broccoli this time like a big girl?” 

He leans over the bed, peeling Sophie away a limb at a time. She almost appears completely knocked out if it wasn’t for the sleepy, pleased smile on her face as she nods at her father. It’s comical.

He tucks her into the sun-flower sheets, taking a seat on the small, ill-fitting stool beside her bed. The light on the hallway is the only illumination in the room, allowing a crack of light to fall across the bed and patter over Sophie. Glowing her blonde hair gold in the warm light. 

“Don’t you grow up fast…” He whispers, mostly to himself.

Aster smiles, placing a hand on her head and dusting a few loose hairs out the way. It sprawls wildly across the pillows regardless, in a way that he bets will only create tangles when he tries to tame it tomorrow. He hums, pondering his last thought as his daughter slips seamlessly into slumber with a hand petting her hair.

Abruptly, a pin-dropping ring begins to chime from his pocket, startling him away from his careful guarding. 

The electric-blue light flashes through his trousers. He scrambles up-right and away from the bedside, noticing Sophie’s small, troubled stirs and quickly whisks out the room. 

As soon as the door is gently shut tight behind him, Aster pries open the phone and rapidly hits the dial without a second glance. He presses it up close to his ear, holding it firm in place. 

“Hello?” Aster says urgently. He barely manages to conceal the swimming malice he holds for whoever thought of calling him this late in his off-hours. 

“Uh— Hello. Is this Aster?” A tentative voice rings through. 

Even over the static, he finds its cadence uncannily familiar. 

Aster unpeels himself from the phone, taking a glance back at the contact name above the number. 

“Jack…?” He breathes out, mildly surprised.

There’s a sigh of relief on the other side of the line, “Yep, it’s me…! Hey.” He can hear the smile in his voice.

“Hey. Nice hearing from ya’…” 

“…‘Bit late for a call.” He says, scratching his head. 

Sophie’s still quiet on the other end of the door, so he takes the opportunity to slip into his own room. He walks quietly across the floorboards, careful not to creak as he listens to the other side of the line.

”Sorry, was I interrupting?” Jack asks cautiously. 

“Oh.” He considers it for a moment, dwelling at his door, “…Nah. Just wrapping up for the night. You alright?”

”Yeah, yeah…” Jack meanders, “Yes. Actually. How… have you been?”

“Ah y’know, doing fine myself. Business’ doing well. Settled in alright.” He lists tiredly. 

“And Sophie?”

“Little anklebiter never changes, always causing trouble.” 

“Glad to hear it.” 

Aster huffs. He can feel a small smile coming on his face. 

“So d’ya have a reason for callin’ or did you just feel like it?”

Jack laughs a little. Mirth twinges his voice, ‘Yeah, I’m bored. Care to help out?” 

“Uh huh.”

The change in tone is nice to hear. It feels like a break in his stagnant, grey roads and shallow, dark homes. Perhaps Jack’s unknown oddities are just something to discover in his life. Something he doesn’t already know. 

He balances the phone against his shoulder, keeping it in place as he shifts open a draw. Aster reaches down and unbuckles his belt, hearing the metal click and rattle.

“Woah!”

”Huh?” Aster draws back, holding the phone again.

”I didn’t— I mean, not that I wouldn’t—“

”What? Oh no, no-no-no-no. That wasn’t…” Aster rushes the words out quickly upon his realisation, “I’m just gettin’ ready for bed. Not…”

“Oh. Sorry.” Jack laughs abashedly, and slowly Aster joins in too. A pleasant silence resumes the call. It’s only then that he speaks, a quiet huff leaving his nose.

”So is there an actual reason for you calling?”

”Yeah. You gave me your phone number but not your business card. I’ve got no clue where to go, Bunny.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t usually carry them on me you see.”

“Wow. Some patissierer you are.” He says with sarcasm lining his words.

“I know.“ Aster rolls his eyes. He wanders to his bed, sitting down on the side. “It’s Bunnymund and Co. There should be a few locations around Philly. If you have the chance you might be able to hunt one down.”

“And I don’t suppose you’d be behind the counter in a funny chef hat would you?”

“Not likely, unless you get incredibly lucky. Food’s best when I’m on the job.”

“I’ll try my luck then.” Jack says softly in a strange tone, “Off to bed?” 

That one is easy to answer. Aster’s brain flickers back to his work, distracting him from the blot Jack’s forming on his mind as of the moment. “Yep. Long day; work never stops.” 

“At half-past eight though?” There’s something incredulous in Jack’s voice. He takes up his classic, nagging tone.

“Don’t doubt a good-night’s sleep, Jack-o. I need as much as I can get.”

“God, you’re so old.”

“Oi!” He says in mock-offence and only slightly feels something turn like a clock in his chest. His eyes drift, trying consciously to ignore it.  “Goodnight, Jack.”

“Yeah.” The strange tone returns, “Thanks for picking up, Bunny. Sweet dreams.” 

With a click, the line goes dead, leaving Bunny staring at the blue screen through the darkness. He looks about his dark-grey bed and watches the streetlamps lights leak through his window and scatter a pearly, silver light on the looms of his sheets. Kicking off his pants and throwing the shirt onto the other corner of the bed, he clambers in carelessly and hits the pillow like a man fallen ill. His head sinks as he closes his eyes and all that to hear is the ringing ghost of Jack’s voice. 

—

Aster doesn’t actually have to do much himself at the cafes he owns. But he goes in because after a good while of doing so, he’s learnt it's much better to simply do the work himself rather than hanging over everyone’s head, making small, tedious comments. It was easier to just come in, set an example of standard for a couple of hours; help out a few newbies entering the culinary world, and then leave. He couldn’t do it everywhere, at every location. But for the few he could, he would. It helped him stay in touch with whatever he actually produced, rather than feeling detached up in some high-rise building. 

Aster stood behind the counter, having clocked in early on the manager’s shift to run. Most of the business was exposed from the counter. Just to prove the fresh quality of all his work. Kids loved the brass and steam as well. Sophie once shouted “Willy Wonka” the first time he’d taken her into one. So he was doing something right. 

It was near the last hour of the day. He got off at six and would be last to close up before making his way back home with a near half-hour long drive on the clogged highway. There was a chocolate special this month as the winter season closed. Baked goods with cream and melted chocolate laced the lines with soft dust sparkling the pastries. Little hollow rabbits dotted a few lodges upon fillings and sold at different sizes. Aster stood, his back to the counter, fixing a small rabbit atop a cup of chocolate mousse, aligned it against a wafer. 

Typically, the cafes were most busy at three, for that was when the school-children and parents, or couples alike would often wander in. Take seats with silky hot cocoa and chatter over small bites of desserts. It wasn’t as if Aster disliked the rush of this period. Though he didn’t want to have to raise his voice over the noise of his customers trying to get things done. But it was undoubtedly the most taxing part of the day. The only time where he would permit maybe a few mistakes. An askew misplacement of decorations here and there.

Now, at later times, he could relax and carefully approach the work, for only a few late-comers or stragglers off work wandered through. Clicking their wet umbrellas on the floor as they browsed the pastries; dotting the cafe seats against the window; listening to the rain fall upon the quickly shadowing streets.  

The gentle bell of the door rang behind him. Aster glanced over his shoulder, watching it swing closed before finishing off. He turned, a corporate greeting fixed on his tongue. But the words came loose, as his eyes scattered up the most recent customer.

A warm, familiar smile greeted him from the young man rocking on his feet.

“Jack?” 

“Guess I got lucky after all.” Jack walks up to the counter, meeting Aster who slowly wanders close to look. “Ha, Aster, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He gazes over Jack, whose hoodie is a little damp from the rain, and is standing before him in the cafe looking as pale as death— lily-white— and glances back at him. The only indication of life present in the young-man is the redness of his cheeks and the peak of his freckled nose.

The astonished look doesn’t fade as he speaks, approaching the other, “Jack, you look like a ghost at the mo’.”

An amused smile crosses Jack’s face as he raises a brow, “Wow. Is that any way to treat a customer?”

“M’, just saying. Ya don’t own a coat?” Aster strips off his gloves, throwing them in a wastebin nearby. 

“The weather's not that bad. Plus, I live close by.” Jack comments absently, finally taking notice of the glowing array of desserts before him. 

“If you say so.” Aster huffs. Old pride begins to colour over him as he puts his hands on his hips. “Well, Jack. What can I do for ya‘?”

“Uh… Wow. There’s a lot to choose from.” His blue eyes widen as they scan over the counter. He strays away from Aster and ambles over to the range of dishes on display.

“What’s this?” He points at a stuffed patisserie, sitting in a ring of icing sugar.

“Cream, brushed meringue, chocolate and berries between a croissant loaf.”

“And this?” He shifts to the side, pointing at a tall wedge on a plate, layered in icing.

“Almond cake, nutty-filling with chocolate-buttercream and biscuit dust.”

“And this…?” 

“Those are cookies.” He lists mechanically, mostly amused at Jack’s drooling face. He crosses his arms, waiting patiently by the counter, “Made a decision yet?” 

“Uh…Um.” Jack hovers back and forth between a few dishes, before finally looking up at him. “How about you pick for me?” He cheeses. 

Aster rolls his eyes, before carefully scanning over the desserts; trying to guess Jack’s type. 

He picks up a dish; it’s a simple thing, stuffed to the brim with filling and dusted with flakes of sugar that fell like snowflakes upon the pastry. He holds it up for Jack to see; watching his eyes light up as they fall upon it. 

“How about this?” 

“What is it?”

“I won’t tell you much. But it’s got coconut filling. I think you’ll like it.”

“Alright. I’ll take it.”

He rings it up, quickly processing the payment as Jack’s fingers itch for the plate. The guy couldn’t stand still. As soon as it is carefully handed over to him, Jack grin splits wide. He picks it up before Aster and takes a bite; melting with surprise. The cream spurts out a little, causing Jack to wipe the corner of his lip clean. He quickly licks away the excess on his thumb. Aster looks away for a second.

“Wow. You weren’t kidding. That is good.”

“Yeah? Didn’t realise you had doubts.” 

“Mhm. Well usually I’m not a dessert kinda guy, but… hey, can I get another?” 

Jack doesn’t even bother to take a seat, finishing off the dessert quickly as Aster walks off to serve another dish up for him. By the time he’s returned back with the plate, Jack has left his clean of crumbs. Aster raises his brows, taking a glance at Jack who simply shrugs abashedly. 

“Should I be concerned, Jack? You eatin’ alright at home?”

“Hey! It's not my fault those are really, really good.”

Aster huffs and slides the plate across to Jack.

“Alright, take your time with this one at least.” He watches Jack fumble for his hoodie pocket again before shaking his head, “It’s fine. On the house.” 

“What, really?”

He nods in reply. Jack’s smile only grows brighter.

“Thanks, Bunny.” He grabs the plate, sliding it off the counter. 

Before he turns to find a seat, Jack spins back round. 

“One more thing. When do you get off work?”

He checks his wrist, “About twenty minutes from now. Why?”

“Just curious.” 

The doorbell rings again beside them. Jack slinks back to find a seat as another customer wanders towards the counter, nodding at Aster cordially. 

Eventually, as his workers begin to filter out; thanking Aster one by one as they step out into the pouring dark. The splatters of rain reminded Aster of the flight he had taken only a week ago. His eyes flicker to the last, remaining customer seated in the corner of the shop against a fogged window. Jack gazes out at the street, his foot kicking to the low cafe music beneath the table as he watches the lights of cars chase after one another, filtered through the raindrops falling down the glass. 

Aster wipes his hands clean with a cloth before stepping round the counter. He decides to approach Jack, grabbing his coat and umbrella as he goes. Jack raises his head as Aster’s shadow clouds over him. He looks up dazedly as if he didn’t expect 

“Time to close up.” He says to Jack softly and nods towards the door. 

Jack scrambles up with a hesitant smile, trailing behind Aster like a lost dog. He stands just beside the door out on the street as Aster twists the lock tight. Barely covered by the rolled up canopy as he shies away from the rain, pressed up against the wall. Aster eyes him before putting up his umbrella, offering it over for Jack to share. He sees his eyes light up as he steps out of the shadow, beside Aster with thanks. 

Their steps are wet, clicking against the sidewalk as they begin to walk to the lot of cars down the street. He could swear Jack was purposefully walking a little slower than normal, if it weren’t for the fact he was too. Aster shifts the umbrella to cover Jack better, despite the dampness he can feel soaking into his shoulder. 

They make small conversation: the type you reserve for walks as short as these. It’s all things Aster seems to have heard before, but they feel as clean as another snowfall in December. 

“Still out of college at the min’?” 

“Yep. I’m basically free all the way up to Christmas.” Jack swings his arms forward, clearly proud of his idleness. 

“Ah…” Aster ponders, a distant idea forming in the back of his mind, “You don’t have a job?”

Jack looks at him a bit scornfully. 

“No.” He turns his head away, “I’m taking a rest, ok?”

”A mental health break.” Jack grins impishly, looking back at him.

”Alright,” Aster grins back, “I was just asking since Sophie’s babysitter is out nearly the whole of next week, and I need a replacement.” 

A new expression paints Jack's face as his eyes widen, a small smile breaking his cheeks. 

“You want me to babysit for you?”

“I mean, you seemed pretty qualified from what I gathered last time. And I’m about eighty percent sure you’re not some crazed, psychotic weirdo—“

”Hey! No, I’m totally up for the job. If you need any references you can just call my cousin.” 

Jack slips his phone out his back pocket, clicking its side to show the home screen. Alongside the picture of a slightly younger woman, there’s a young boy wrapping himself about Jack’s side— the widest grin he has ever seen creasing his eyes into crescents. Jack’s white hair and blue eyes stick out like a thorn amongst the family of brunettes. The phone slides back out of sight, leaving just an expectant face awaiting Aster’s response. 

“I can assure you, I’m five-star approved.” He grins coyly, leaning towards him. 

“Well, I can’t doubt the obviously credible evidence.”

”Awesome, because I’m actually really broke right now as well.” Jack keeps smiling, “I’m actually pretty lucky that last dish was free. I think I’m on my last dollar.”

”So you’re telling me you’re only in it for the money?” He laughs in reply.

“What else would I be doing it for?” Jack glances up at him, grinning slyly. Something dangerous flirts in his eyes. 

Aster raises his brows. The show of boldness that sometimes passes through Jack amazed him enough to baffle. Truly, he wasn’t even sure that the younger man knew the effect of his eyes and words as he spoke. 

The slow steps stopped as they arrived at the line of cars. Aster pressed the key in his pocket, unlocking his own. Jack stopped, his shoulders jumping a little at the sound as he drew his eyes on the black Mercedes. He can hear an appreciative “wow” leave Jack’s lips and it goes right to Aster’s head. He puffs out his chest, making the gentleman’s move.

“Let me drive you home.”

”Oh,” Jack looks surprised and takes a step back, nearly outside the wingspan of the umbrella, “It’s ok. I only live a couple streets away.” He shrugs non-committedly. 

“But it’s raining.” Aster frowns, raising a brow. 

“I can run.” He closes his eyes as he waves him off, only opening one to wink at Aster, “Plus… How do I know you’re not a crazed, psychotic weirdo…?”

Aster rolls his eyes, opening the passenger door. 

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” He grins playfully, tilting his head. 

Jack looks him up and down skeptically once, then twice, and finally lets the smug smile break loose. He ducks his head shyly as he steps into the car, allowing Aster to close it behind him. 

Jack fidgets with his fingers nervously as Aster starts the car. He glances over at him, catching him staring at his hands around the wheel. Jack’s eyes flicker to his, before back at his lap again, looking a little exasperated at being caught looking. Aster smiles, if only to calm the boy’s nerves a bit as he begins backing out the car lot.

He puts a hand behind Jack’s seat as he looks back to reverse. He watches out the corner of his eye as the pale tip of his ear reddens. 

”Where’dya want me to drop ya’ off?” He asks as soon as they’re on the road.

Jack replies, giving Aster the directions. The point where he drops him off is just around the bend of a narrowing road. A row of tall, stalking houses line the street, rounding off with a small rusted gate haunting the dead end, blocking off a footpath into a fence of tall pine trees. Aster parks the car on the sidewalk, allowing Jack to get out. The young man thanks him abashedly, stepping round the car and onto the path. 

Aster watches him through the mirrors, rolling down his window as he passes by his side. 

“Jack!” He calls after him, “About the babysitting, I’ll text you alright? Keep an eye out.”

Jack turns; his voice a light lilt as he cocks his head at him, ”You got it, Bunny.”

Jack waves, shucking up his hood as he turns around. He lingers for a moment, before starting up the car and to focus on all the turns he took to find his way back to the main road rather than the lingering scent left in his car.

—

Two nights before Ana is due to disappear, Aster sends a text Jack’s way. 

He scrolls up the short ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ texts Jack had been spamming him with ever since.  He’d made sure to respond to each of them dutifully. Even, on rare occasions, engaging in small conversations (or rants really) with Jack before he headed out to work or as he was getting ready for bed. 

J: I burnt my rice :( 

    *Image Attached*

A: It’s a rice-cooker. How did you manage?

In refute to that, Aster had received a picture of Jack pouting as he ate his burnt flakes of rice and stew with a fork. He’d laughed surprisingly, and thus accidentally had misplaced his mug as he was setting it on the counter. It fell, shattering across the ground in large shards. Aster bit his lip from swearing as Sophie began to giggle madly in her chair. He shot her a warning look before running a hand through his hair exasperated. 

A: Could be worse.

He’d sent the text quickly, alongside an attached photograph of the shattered porcelain on the floor. 

J: LOL that’s karma

A: Karma for what?

J: for not sympathising with my pain ?

Jack rarely ever disturbed him midday. But the one time he had, he’d manage to catch Aster on one of his days off, in the middle of a workout in his garage. With a simple “what you doinnn?” from Jack, he’d managed to distract Aster for about a quarter of an hour. It was foolish of him to think that giving in to his plea and sending him a picture of himself would actually get Jack to pipe down. But he was glad for it, because in turn he’d managed to get the greatest image ever of Jack attempting to flex his pretty slim muscles.

With the times and dates sorted however, Aster had nothing more to say to Jack but a simple “Goodnight” (as per usual) and to wait for a typically spammy reply before he switches off. But when he lays down on his pillow and stares at the ceiling, he feels strangely itchy. He’s excitable like he hasn’t been for about a decade now and it feels a little ridiculous. He frowns, checking his phone one more time. 

J: sweet dreams bunny -_- .•°

There is a picture. Jack’s lying in his bed, his wispy hair strays over the cotton pillow he’s melted into. Completely bed-written. He smiles, sleepy and coy. The curves of his cheeks are lightly flushed, and his eyes are fluttered low too, as if he was ready to nod off any moment now. His pajama shirt is just unbuttoned enough to expose a dip down his chest where that flushed pink continues, spotted with light freckles. The picture itself isn’t out of the ordinary for Jack, who was very random-selfie prone. 

It should be harmless.

But that itchiness curls in on itself in his gut. Aster’s hand almost instinctively begins to stray down from where it rested on his chest.

This is wrong. 

He presses down just over the jut of his crotch. He’s already hardening, and the reminder just helps to make his cock jump.

— Very, very wrong. 

The veiled look he searches for in Jack’s eyes chases away his shame though. And it returns, unholy, in a different form. Aster swallows as he palms himself through his pants, slowly rocking his hand over the quickly forming tent there. 

Suddenly, he was more than ready to clamber into his own coffin and wait for the lid to be nailed down. 

The images come to him quickly. They’ve been lingering as half-thoughts in the decaying parts of his mind now for a while. Now he gives a face to them. 

He relaxes back into the pillow, shutting his eyes. 

There, a noisy mess of meeting hips can fill the silent space of his room. Between his dark, muscular thighs, a slender body bounces up and down, pinned down to white-cotton sheets. Not his own, but Jack’s. Aster spreads his milky-white thighs apart, holding them there as he thrusts deeper into Jack; watching the small gap in between them close with a messy slap as he rocks into the boy. 

He whines throatily. His eyes weepy; squeezed shut as small moans clumsily tumble out his mouth even as he struggles to keep composure through the rough pounding. His pajama shirt, left half buttoned, rides up his stomach with each thrust, exposing the leaking cock that drools down his lean stomach. 

Aster’s hands slip into his pants. He tugs away the covers, fisting his cock and quickly swiping over the head.

The picture of Jack, who smiled so sweetly to him over the phone, is now thoroughly ruined. He fists his white sheets, scrambling for purchase as he comes completely undone by Aster’s doing. 

He comes at the thought of Jack choking on his name, locking his legs about his waist and desperately fucking back down onto his dick. 

The dark, grey room blinks back into focus, leaving just the phone light for illumination.

His soft, black shirt is completely stained, and his phone, left low by his softening cock, had managed to get caught in the crossfire. He sighs, picking it up and seeing the picture still there, splattered with his own cum. 

The itch simmers completely, and the shame rolls back in nagging waves as if to say ‘I told you so.’ and turns his stomach inside out. He can feel the frown working on his face as he flings the sheets aside and tugs off his shirt.

Ten years his senior, he reminds himself. Nearly a decade apart. Only met on a flight just a week and a bit back! Too young, too naive: doesn’t know what he’s getting into. 

When he gets up to go to the bathroom and clean himself off, he’s stuck with just one overbearing, heavy thought—

He’s severely and thoroughly fucked. 

—

Jack turns up at his step two days later, right on time. Aster dips his head out the door when he arrives and looks about, trying to figure out how he’d gotten here. 

“I took a bus,” Jack appears to read his mind, smiling shyly, “Do you know you don’t live that far from a stop?”

“No, I didn’t…” He raises his brows at Jack. He seems to do that a lot more lately.

Jack doesn’t make much of the comment and simply hums. He watches as the young man’s eyes break their contact and trail down, down, down to his chest. 

Crap, he isn’t ready at all. He is still in the tank top he wore to sleep the night before. 

He prays it isn’t dirty. If he is wearing a stain at the moment he’d probably stick his head down the toilet and flush it till he can no longer breathe. He glanced down quickly just to check. 

But no, it was fine.

(Thank god.)

He looks back up to Jack. 

There is a slight look of surprise on his face: his eyebrows are raised and lips pinched as if he’s been caught right in the act.

Before he has the time to question it, a thunder of footsteps emerge from behind him as Aster finally opens the door wide enough for the two of them. Like a cat desperate to flee, Sophie runs straight past Aster and onto the porch. And just as she’s about to collide right into the young man there, Aster sweeps her off her feet and up into his arms. 

“We’re going to be needing a fence for you soon.”

Jack chuckles, waving a hand at Sophie who’s currently trying to wriggle out of Aster’s hands.

“Hi again, Sophie.” He leans into her line of sight.

“Come on Soph, d’ya remember Jack?”

Sophie stops her frivolous attempts to escape, staring blankly at her father and then at the man before them. It takes a long note of absent humming for some form of recognition to finally gather in her eyes. Straightening up in her father’s arm and pointing at Jack, she barks.

“Woof! Woof!” Her hands are grabbing at him in the air.

“Woof— What?” Jack looks taken back and fairly amused. 

Even Aster takes a second to piece it together. Glancing between the crown of Sophie’s blond hair up to Jack’s white.

“Ahhh.” He clicks, “The dog. She remembers you with the dog toy.” 

Sophie barks again, as if to confirm it.

“Wow. You’re a wonder Sophie.” He tilts his head closer, inspecting her with his curious, blue eyes. 

“Ooh. Pretty.” Sophie whispers cheerily.

Given the opportunity of some close proximity, the little girl quickly leans forward, grabs Jack’s nose and honks it. 

“Sophie! Get your grubby fingers offa’ him.” He pulls her back, setting her back on the wooden floor behind him. He turns back to Jack, looking sheepish. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“No. I’m flattered, really.” 

“Well. Now you know what you’re in for.” He sighs, “Still up for it?”

“I’m never one to turn down a challenge.” 

Even with his awkwardness and the slight uncomfortability that comes with being in someone’s home for the first time, Jack seems to fit in near-seamlessly within the household. Sophie kicks in her seat at the table while Aster does a full tour of the kitchen.

“This is her breakfast, lunch and dinner.” He points across the three sections of the fridge. “I’m warning ya’, she can make a bit of a mess if you don’t keep an eye on her.” 

Pointedly, Sophie with her bowl full of strawberries, swiftly raises a hand ready to slam the sweet fruits into mush when Aster reflexively catches it. He eyes Jack, who nods understandingly in response.

Jack slinks behind him, eyes following each picture frame as they wander up the stairs. Sophie babbles nonsense in his arms: singing some form of tune or melody. 

By the way her arm keeps hitting his shoulder, he can vaguely tell she’s trying to reach out for Jack, which is somewhat of a good sign. In the early days, when the strain of work looming overhead finally caved in, Sophie would cry and cry for days when he left for work. She’d fight the arms of any babysitter trying to hold her down: kicking at doors, throwing toys, refusing meals— It got to the point where he was risking his business skipping days to stay at home and take care of her. But he’d rather lose a few wads of cash than his daughter, so truly he didn’t mind. 

Sophie was only really receptive to anything cute, cuddly and well-known. If it wasn’t vaguely familiar, it was out. So when an old family friend, Ana, asked to help out, he practically hit gold. As long as she kept her ecstatic personality (coupled with her strange medical hobbies) under wraps, she ticked all the boxes for Sophie’s credible list.

He glances back at Jack quickly as they turn for his daughter’s room, wondering if he meets the criteria too- or is somehow an exception. 

Squinting, Jack’s gaze wanders down the hall to the furthest room: his own. The door is cracked open; just barely unveiling the untucked, dark sheets of his bed. The sudden urge to slam the door shut nearly overwhelms Aster. He sets Sophie down and edges over, seals the crack gently. 

“That was my room.” He tries to distract Jack from his obvious apprehension with a tense smile, “Probably don’t wanna go in there. It’s a wreck.” 

“Not one for spring cleaning?”

”Not until it’s actually spring.” He huffs. “In my defense, I’m barely ever in there, so.”

Aster doesn’t stick around to watch Jack’s gaze shift. He quickly opens the door beside him, nodding to its interior.

”This is Sophie’s room,” He says more confidently.

”Huh”, Jack tips his head in, looking about the larger space.

”Clean, right?”

”Is it bad to say I’m surprised?” 

“Nah, not at all. ‘Takes about an hour everyday to get the place tidy before she goes to sleep. This,” He swerves his finger around the room, “Doesn’t last long.” 

Sophie slips past the door through Aster’s legs and immediately bolts for the toy-chest, toppling over the neatly stacked toys. Aster curses under his breath and Jack laughs quietly beside him. 

“So I take it you’re the one cleaning after her all the time?”

”Yep.” He says, letting out a heavy breath, "I'm the only one for the job, so.” 

Jack blanks a bit. Parting his lips around a wordless question before his gaze resolves. His whole demeanour shifts into something more relaxed. His shoulders slump and eyes drop. He looks up at Aster with a sly look playing on his face.

“Oh. Well, I guess I’ll try to keep it tidy.” Jack grins and tips his head. “No promises, though.” 

“Yeah— Well, good luck with that. You’ll need it.” He laughs him off, brushing a hand against the back of his neck. 

Really, Aster feels like groaning and shoving his head into the wall. Every lingering glance Jack throws sinks down the back of his neck; runs like fingers down his chest and dips into the navel. His stomach twists just hearing him walk about the house behind him, unknowing to his thoughts. 

Jack reviews everything with unreadable passivity. He wanders around, listening to Aster’s list of chores with a diligent eye and a smile, pleased like the cat that got the cream. And Aster can’t for the life of him understand what’s to decipher from the curve of his lips or the tilt of his head. 

He’s lucky their main priority is Sophie. The burden of his thoughts could be swept aside as he went through the routines mindlessly. Even when the sound of Jack drumming his fingers against a cabinet seems to drown out all word and thought; a splinter cracking open a dam. 

He’s so distracted he doesn’t even notice when he spins back around that Jack is right behind him. Falling over himself, Aster crowds him against the wall. He catches himself with one arm, slammed right against his head just before he collides with Jack. 

The dam breaks wide open. 

“Crikey— Sorry, didn’t see you there. Let me just.”

“No.” Jack coughs, “No— It’s fine.”

He hastily pushes himself away. Though his hand stays firm beside Jack’s head.

Is it discomfort that winds his brows tight? That brings frustration to his eyes and storms his cheeks with a bashful flush.  He can’t tell. All he knows is that Jack is definitely getting closer, and suddenly his knees feel pathetically weak; his eyes darting between Jack’s parted lips and back. 

“Kissy kissy?”

They both jump, breaking apart to look down at the little girl wedged between them. 

Aster straightens up, looking back at Jack who has begun snickering under his breath. 

“Yes, Sophie. Kissy kissy.” He says sarcastically (at least, with what he believes to be sarcasm), pointedly looking Aster right in the eyes as he pulls away. 

In one blink, Jack slips out of his sight

Aster is left staring ahead in confusion. Too weak to stand on his own two feet and unable to move further away. 

“I think it’s about time for breakfast? Don’t you?” Jack easily distracts her.

His feet shuffle unwillingly as he turns, watching Jack lead Sophie away, chiding her little remark. He sent back a lenient smile at Aster before taking her down the stairs and out of sight.

Now he’s left to consider whether the closing distance between them was some sort of optical illusion. Perhaps the product of Aster falling into the consuming typhoon of Jack’s eyes. Or maybe Aster’s mind was deluding himself when it was truly him being drawn towards Jack, crowding him into the narrow space.

Just the thought of his body acting out in such a manner without any real consciousness makes him cringe.

He pinches his brow tight, heading fast down the stairs after his daughter and the new babysitter; a freshly revised apology ready to go. And then he turned the corner. 

“You’re right. She’s definitely a handful, but I’m pretty sure it’ll be alright.” Jack is cheesing at him from across the room with Sophie in arms. 

Completely brushing over whatever had just happened then. (As truly, nothing had happened at all.)  With the brilliant addition of ignoring the small hands playing with his hair. 

Jack glances aside at the clock, frowning.

“Uhm… It’s nearly eight,” He reminds Aster and steps closer, “Is that everything I should know? Or is there a secret, spooky basement that I’m also forbidden from entering.”

“Uh. No, yeah. That’s it.” Aster fumbles over himself, “I’m gonna go get ready then. Feel free to use the kitchen however ya’d like.” 

“Okey dokey.” 

Jack smiled, leaning on a counter and waving him off. Aster watched him till he turned the corner, holding his eyes till — like the streetlamps of a road on a dark night— they passed by the window of the door. 

Aster doesn’t hear much when he exits the shower. Sophie’s giggling feverishly downstairs, and Jack’s voice as decipherable as a whisper. He’s half tempted to lean down the stairs and listen in if not for the fact he is just in a towel. 

Aster slips inside his room quickly, before someone mistakenly gets a peep of him soggy and half-naked. He almost forgets he’s in the house, looping a tie around his neck; fastening it tight about the collar. He picks up the sidebag left in the corner of his room and peels open the door. 

“Aster?” A voice yells from downstairs.

His heart spikes like he’s swallowed shards. 

“Everything alright?” He hurries down the hall, peeking into the kitchen.

Jack’s fist appears round the corner. The fingers uncurl one by one.

“Eggs, milk, flour,” Jack counts, “Sugar and sugar. I found them all relatively easy.” 

He steps into sight, carrying a pan. Aster can smell the sweet yet flat and savoury scent of pancakes. The fat, stacked kind.

“But where are you hiding the syrup? Don’t tell me you haven’t got any.”

“Taking full advantage of the kitchen huh?” Now the novelty has worn off, he can move about again. He quickly fishes out a glass bottle, setting it on the table. 

“Yep, hope this isn’t docked from my pay.”

“Not if you make me a plate.” He takes the seat beside Sophie, who is eagerly playing with her cutlery despite having already finished her own breakfast. Aster wonders when he should tell Jack his daughter was born with a bottomless stomach. 

“Oh? And I’d thought a chef would be more than proficient at cooking for himself. Am I getting a promotion?”

“You’d call this a promotion?”

Jack hums. His sly grin bears sharp teeth that threaten to sink into Aster’s skin. He slides a plate of fresh pancakes across the table to Aster. “From babysitter to housewife.”

He hides his cough behind his hand, tilting his head to look at the pancakes, rather than Jack. Pleased at this, Jack snickers from across the room. As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough. 

“Ain’t it a little reductive to claim all a housewife does is cook and look after the kids? There’s a lot more to the job." He tries to gain ground, sending Jack an accusatory look.

The snickering stops, but the smile doesn’t fade. It only slightens, becoming more fox-like by the second. 

“Are there other things you want me to do, Bunny?“

It flashes past him in an instant. The act of service; the duty to society; to marry and reproduce. 

Or try as hard as possible.

Bested, and nearly kicking himself for feeling so weary under the boy’s gaze, Aster reserves himself to eat the small pancakes; serving a few to Sophie. 

He doesn’t say much, only giving Jack a well assessed rating when he asks for it which is just “too mean”. But did he really think his american style pancakes could best his version. No, naturally he would exceed him. To which Jack took as a challenge. And now he owes him one stack of homemade pancakes. He allows himself to pick at the few serves he accepts, feeding Sophie some simultaneously before he looks down at his watch.

It’s nearly nine. 

Aster slides out his seat. The chair scrapes loudly as he stands. 

“Time to go?” Jack tilts his head, one cheek still stuffed with food.

“Yep. I’ll be back around five. Got a shorter day today.”

“Alright, I’ll see you later then.”

“Mm. Don’t burn down the house.”

“We’ll try. Won’t we Sophie?” He grins across the table at the little girl with crumbs and syrup smeared over her mouth. 

Aster turns, seeing his daughter looking up at him knowingly. He bends down and kisses Sophie’s forehead, “I’ll miss you, ya’ little anklebiter. Be good for Jack alright?” 

Just at the last minute takes a napkin to wipe her face clean before he leaves. 

The front door whistles as the harsh wind pushes its way into the house. His shoes rattle and thud as they hit the floor. He slips them on quickly, one hand balanced on the doorknob. 

Faint footsteps follow behind him. Aster glances back. 

Jack carries Sophie in his arms, waiting dutifully down the hall. A shy smile plasters his face, his cheeks delightfully rosy and fresh. His daughter waves gleefully, one fist clutched in Jack’s sweater for balance. The picture seems natural in his mind. A bit different from when Ana is with Sophie. There’s a detachment in those moments that doesn’t allow his brain to piece certain things together. To slot Ana against his side as he would do with Jack. 

“Bye-bye, Bunny!”

“Be back soon.” Jack says behind a squirming Sophie. 

He can’t help the warm smile on his face, nodding back at Jack before he closes the door behind him, sealing away the sight. 

—

Aster doesn’t bother looking at the clock by the time he gets home. He knows it’s late. Faint pop music and dialogue bleeds through the front door. The living room window, despite its curtain being drawn, is lit up. The porchlight overhangs him as he shoves his keys through the door, rattling it through the lock. 

He tumbles through his doorway absolutely exhausted and nearly slumps to the floor after his back slams it shut. The music ceases.

With his weakened mind, he half-expects Ana to come strolling down the corner; ready to scold him for pushing himself too far again. But instead, he’s just met with the light footsteps of Jack, plodding down the hall.

“Aster?” 

He tilts his head down, cracking open an eye, and releases a long-overdue breath.

“…Jack.”

“You’re late.” Jack notes, concerned.

“I— I know.” He peels himself off the door, feeling his coat falling off a shoulder. And if he weren’t already a dishevelled mess, his hands fall weak, lose their grasp, and drop the bag into a heap on the floor, “I’m really sorry. There was this big whole mess with legal… We had to hold up everything cus’ some dingo lost contracts for some thingy, and—“

“Woah,” Two small hands press into his shoulders, halting him in his steps, “Slow down, Bunny. It’s fine.”

“I already put Sophie to sleep. No worries there.” Jack smiles reassuringly, tilting his head. 

“Aw, Jack. You’re a life-saver.” Aster leans forward: in his fatigue, barely registering the weight he’s pushing onto Jack, who laughs, struggling to keep him upright. “Ma’ angel…”

“Ok big guy,” Jack pats his fingers and pushes him back, grinning shyly under the flattery, “I think you might need some rest.”

He smiles back, though it's entirely wonky with sleep and willingly follows Jack down the hall, led by the hand loosely wrapped about his own. Somewhere along the way, he kicks his shoes off, and by the time he makes it to the couch he’s nearly worn right to the bone. 

He falls back onto it, taking Jack with him. The boy stumbles forward with the tug landing on his lap. Aster doesn’t even notice till he feels something wriggling under his palm and weight shifting on his body. 

“Bunny?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m kind of trapped.” 

He cracks an eye open, looking towards the voice. Jack’s bright eyes face him back. He’s got one arm wrapped around his waist, practically binding him to Aster’s chest. A hand squeezes his side. Blinking, he lets go (though unwillingly), allowing Jack to take a safer seat just beside him. But not without a few giggles. 

Aster lets himself laugh a little too. Because at the moment, everything seemed a little ridiculous. 

Especially the mute actor spinning around on a park bench on the television. Seriously, what was Jack watching?

When he finally turns back around, he finds Jack still looking at him. The room is dark, so it’s left up to the tv light to illuminate them in a clash of electric blues. And Jack looks so soft and inviting... He has to blink a few more times just to clear the brain fog building up.

Jack huffs amidst the radio silence and tilts his head: now looking more familiarly amused.

Aster sighs, “Thanks, Jack. Swear I didn’t mean to get caught up like that. I’d have warned you if I knew.”

“Bunny…” Jack drags the name out and hangs his head, shifting closer to him on the couch, “I already said it’s fine.”

“Still, I oughtta make up for it.” He fishes about in his pocket, finding the thick wallet. The boy’s eyes widen. “Here, an extra forty.” 

“Woah.“ Jack’s hand rests on his shoulder, “Aster, you don’t actually need to pay me.”

“What? Mate. I’m not just gonna let you work for free.”

“…Yeah, but—“ 

“Jack.” He interrupts, “For my peace of mind, please?”

“…Fine. If you insist…”

The hand on his shoulder squeezes lightly and shifts down his arm.

Jack blinks and cocks a brow, “Woah.” 

Aster carefully measures Jack’s expression, flickering between the fingers dragging down his arms to his studying eyes. 

“You’re really tense.”

”What?” He breaks out of the hypnosis his slow touches put him under and faces Jack properly.

”You have knots like everywhere.”

”Huh. Really now. So you’re telling me you’re also a trained masseuse?”

”I am a man of many talents.” Jack grins, plucking his hands away from his upper arm. “Now turn around.”

”Ha.” He looks at Jack for a moment, “Are you serious?”

”Yup, spin around. Trust me.” He raises his fingers into the air, "Magic hands…!”

“What?! Don’t you have a home to get back to? It’s late, you know.” Aster looks back at him doubtfully. Though not entirely distracted from how Jack keeps shuffling closer.

“The last bus doesn’t come till another half hour anyway,” Jack slinks towards him, a cat-like grin playing on his face, “Pleaseee? If you do, I'll actually take the money!”

Aster struggles to decipher how Jack would benefit from him doing so whatsoever. The expectant expression on his face only shuffles the countless mix of signals in his mind. Reluctantly, he turns. Keeping an eye on Jack while he rests one foot up on the couch, and allows his back to face him. 

“Seems like I’m getting more out of this than you.” He grumbles, feeling heat rise up his neck. It only bristles when two chilled hands place themselves right above his shoulder blade and start kneading at the tightened muscles.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that Bunny,” Jack’s voice seems silkier, skimming across the raised hairs at his nape and right down his ear. 

The hands grope around his shoulders, rhythmically pushing and pulling at him in slow circles. The sleep swaddling him with heat is only emboldened by Jack’s soothing touch. His blinks start to flicker and slow.

“What? What’dya mean…?” He slumps forward, trying to leer away from the sound.

Jack hums, “I dunno.”

The hands slip down the planes of his back, moving over his shirt. Jack’s thumb drags down the dip of his spine and curls either side of the bump. They press deep alongside the fingertips skimming down his back. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows the groan in his throat.

“Maybe I just find it fun.” He finishes. 

”…This is your definition of fun?” 

“Mhm.” 

Aster can feel him sliding closer as he sinks away from Jack’s voice. He’s nearly pressed against his back. His mind hones in on the soft takes of his breath. He searches over the dark couch in front of him, trying to resist the urge to turn right around or bolt. The strange blend of sleep overwhelming him and the touch electrifying him mushes into a blur of sensations.

”Aren’t you having fun?”

Jack is near flush against him. Aster no longer sees any reason in attempting to further curl into himself. But he still stammers, replying to him.

“N—No.”

“No?” Jack’s voice is right against his ear, he rests his head upon his shoulder.

The hands playing down his back stop. They slowly start shifting their grip around his sides.  Aster watches with a careful eye as they wind up his chest and reach for the line of his shirt. Those slender fingers carefully pop a button out of place. The sound startles Aster back into reality.

”Uh! Jack?” Aster inadvertently bucks Jack off as he shuffles into him, sitting upright.

“Hey! Calm down, I just need to unbutton you a little. It’s a bit hard to do this over your shirt, you know.”

Skeptically, Aster glances back at Jack over his shoulder. He isn’t even slightly deterred; simply patiently waiting on his word; unsubtly glancing between him and the shirt buttons. Aster rolls his eyes, just to play off the embarrassment that’s likely obvious on his face. 

”Fine.” He grunts. 

Making quick work of it, Aster unfastens the first few buttons of his shirt, adjusting it so it can sit loose enough for Jack and leaving the collar open enough that it can just show the edge of the tattoos lying beneath the cloth. He doesn’t miss the way Jack’s eyes unblinkingly follow his moves.

He looks back at him as if to say “Happy?” before turning back around. Ignoring the swooping feeling in his stomach when Jack’s cold fingers first meet his warm skin. He immediately resumes his place right up against him and almost eagerly begins snaking his hands up Aster’s shirt. 

“You’re warm.” Jack kindly notes.

“You’re cold.” He stately replies.

At this, Jack flattens his palm across the planes of Aster’s back, making him bristle and wince.

”Really…!” Jack keens, leaning over his shoulder. 

Aster sends him a quick glare, biting down the noises in his throat. 

“Don’t worry, Bun Bun, I’m sure they’ll warm up soon.” He comments and rests the other hand on his bare skin. They ghost down his waist in light trails, rubbing small, relieving circles into his sore spots. 

Really, Jack could be a mind reader with the way his fingers traverse his body. Eventually he comes across just the right spot. Aster, in his sleep-deprived state of mind, fails to suppress the very verbal groan in his throat. His posture falters under Jack’s relentless touch, and he has to place a palm down upon the cushions just to keep himself upright. Jack chases after him, a soft laugh whispering from his lips. 

“I told you. I’m good right?” 

“You can be quiet.” He grumbles, allowing his eyes to slip shut, if the shade of darkness could allow him to avoid all confrontation with the blood quickly flowing down his body. 

“Huh. I’m not the one being loud though?” Jack teases him, continuing to massage the spot. He can feel his sharp gaze on him, studying his every reaction.

“Jack.” With the pressure overwhelming him, he growls.

”Aster.” 

A hand starts slipping, smoothing right over his side and curling over his lower stomach. The fingers skim lightly down his navel, stirring the nerves sowed deep into his gut. The noises fall out naturally as his will unravels. Jack’s completely silent as the hand edges down through the trail of his stomach and teeters as the waistband of his pants. 

By now, Aster’s breath, completely laboured and shaky, stutters. His weight feels entirely too heavy as he manages to keep himself upright, blinking himself awake to watch Jack’s pale hand trace over the thickening veins as the other drags rhythmically over his back. It seems as if all the small aches and pains of his body have dissolved, and all that is left is a slow coat of pleasure. The small, bold fingers edge the line of his waistband, dancing on his skin. They pause there, making Aster wait, before withdrawing entirely. 

”Crap.” 

And the couch shifts so that he can no longer feel the weight of Jack behind him. He sighs through his nose, feeling the release of a long-held breath wave through his body. He collapses back into the cushions, letting an arm fall over its back and looking up at Jack who is fishing out his phone. 

“Sorry, Bunny, got to dip. Thanks though.” 

“…Thanks for what?” Aster asks as soon as his breathing is back under control. 

He ducks down, so he’s eye level with him again, and leans forward. The space closes between them. His eyes keep a steady watch over his lips. Jack quickly swipes the swaddle of dollars out his pocket, pinching them between his two fingers with a grin, and leans back. 

“Bye, Aster.” 

Before he can blink, Jack swoops forward, placing a light kiss to his head. And in the second his eyes flutter closed for, he slips out of sight. Aster turns in time to listen to the front door opening and slamming shut. Briefly, he wonders whether he had hallucinated the entire event, listening to the quiet hum of the television screen. But the lasting evidence of his fringed nerves, still lit like hands were wandering over them, quickly brushes the thought away. 

—

Aster woke up early the next day without all the kinks and pains that typically came with him. And the greatest boner he had ever had for a while now. He stared momentarily at the tent in his sweatpants, his eyes skimming over the memories of the night prior and decided that by some miracle he had delayed his hard-on for hours after Jack had finally left. 

So naturally, Aster swiftly divested himself of his bedsheets and began his daily routine with a shower. 

‘Ah. Fuck.” He bites the skin of his palm, letting the water run over him as he fists his cock. 

His eyes slip shut as his mind strays. The phantom of last night’s touch skims over him, joining his hand as he pumps his cock. 

In his imagination, a voice whispers in his ear.

”Fuck. You’re big, Bunny.”

Jack rests on his shoulder, flush against Aster’s back as his hand strokes slowly up and down his length.

”I don’t even know if that’ll fit.” The voice teases, ghosting over the shell of his ear. A wet, lean stomach presses into his back. 

Aster groans into his palm, feeling his stomach curl and tighten. 

“Is that good?” Jack whispers and he can hear the grin in his tone. 

A thumb drags from the head of his cock down the thick vein on its side before closing tight around him. Just to drag out the noises from Aster’s throat. Another cold, damp palm slips up his chest, pawing over his upper stomach. 

The hand covering his mouth falls to brace himself against the tiles of his shower wall. 

“Jack.” He groans, barely audible above the falling water. 

”Mmph. Bunny.” The weight on his back shifts closer, till Aster can feel the ghost of that skin pressing against his cheek, neck to neck. 

Jack’s hand fucks over his dick faster, pumping over the swollen head and down to his base. Another hand gropes his upper chest, splaying fingers across them before letting them drag back down to his navel again. 

“Bunny,” Jack whines in his ear, rubbing himself against Aster’s back, “I wanna see it, please. C’mon, for me.” 

His hips buck into his fist as he feels the knot in his gut begin to twist. The steam of the shower makes his head feel light and the veins in his hand swell as he works himself over. He rests his forehead against the coot tiles, quickening his pace.

Jack envelopes him like the warm heat of the room, flushed against him as his soft palm strokes his cock. 

“Please, Bunny,” He mouths against his neck, “Please?”

Jack moans against his skin, he can feel his soft hair on his skin as he noses against his shoulder. His fist tightens over his cock, stroking hard and fast. 

”You’re so good. So good…” He breathes out, losing all mirth in his tone, and groanes almost desperately as he rubs against him, “Cum, Aster. C’mon.” 

Aster’s hips stutter. He bucks forward, once and then twice into his fist before he’s completely spent over the bathroom tiles— biting a knuckle to keep his groans quiet. He feels as if the knot he had swallowed in his throat has sunk right into the depth of his gut. His legs weaken as the last few spurts dribble down his fingers. Breathing heavily as the release floods over his system. The water is left running; the clog of mist fogs his mind from the more haunting thoughts as he allows it to wash over his face.

Aster steps out the shower with his hair dripping; ready to fall over himself with how light-headed he feels. He can already imagine Jack laughing just at the thought of his clumsiness as he wipes himself dry.

Before he even thinks about going to wake Sophie up and get ready for the rest of the day, he washes his hands clean with soap at least three times. 

—

It’s around five o’ clock when Aster finally decides to check his phone. He’s never really bothered to do so in the past, for if it wasn’t a phone call, he’d rarely ever pick it up, but these days, he navigates through it in a way that, once foreign, is becoming continuously more familiar to him. There’s five unread messages awaiting him from Jack. Warily, he considers opening them, hovering over the inbox when the nerves get to him. It closes with a click as he shoves the phone into his back-pocket. 

With it being his day off, he’s underwhelmed with the surprising lack of relaxation he’s supposed to be getting. He stares at the list of meals he’s meant to prepare in anticipation for Sophie’s week ahead for the third time that day, just hoping to check off the half-way point. 

That’s right, he can check Jack's messages later, he’s technically still got work to do. 

By the time he remembers to do so, the sun has already passed by the window and left him with a curtain of mellow blue. He sits on the edge of his bed, clad in an old, black tank top and boxers, flickering through the phone. He’d amassed a couple other messages over the course of the day. A few wellness checks from Tooth, a spam mail from his phone provider, and four more messages from Jack. 

His heart races a little, childishly. Feeling adrenaline rush back up to his head; despite the fatigue of chasing his daughter around all day causing him to sit slumped and worn. He furrows his brows tensely as he opens the inbox and cards through the messages, scrolling to the top. 

J: good morningggg :)

A: Morning. 

Sent 9:02 am.

That had been the last time he opened their messages, and at the time (despite any hopes he may have) he hadn't expected more than that.

10:36 am

J: did u sleep well ?

J: after my hard work you should have 

11:06 am

J: *Image Attachment*

    breakfast, don’t judge

2:48 pm

J: bunnnnnny

J: what u doiiiiiinnnnn???

6:15 pm

J: are you ignoring me?

J: don’t tell me i was THAT bad

8:16 pm

J: asterrrr

J: i’m bored

J: *Image Attachment*

    hello?

Delivered 8:54 pm

Oof, maybe he ought to have responded earlier. Aster stares at the image Jack sent last momentarily. It barely shows Jack’s face, illuminated majorly by his phone light, but Aster can still see his petulant frown and floppy white hair as he slumps over the pillow. He’s on his bed again, this time still in his hoodie. Though there are none clear in sight, Aster just assumes Jack is still wearing pants of some kind, because the thought that he is not alarms him. The sheets cover up a lot, so it doesn’t give him much to ‘think’ about anyway.

He scrolls back up the messages, thinking of a reply. 

A: You call that breakfast?

A: No wonder you’re so skinny.

Deciding that he’s not likely to get a reply anytime soon, Aster picks himself off the bed, phone in hand and wanders into his bathroom. He blinks as he switches on the overhead lights, sensitive to the change, and set his phone on the counter. Not even a second after picking up the toothbrush does Aster hear a few short buzzes upon the countertop. He switches to his left hand to pick it up, glancing over the notifications. 

J: didn’t i say no judging???

J: and hello, nice seeing you mr. busy

Aster rolled his eyes, coming to terms with how needy Jack might actually be. Doesn’t the kid have friends? There’s no reason he should be that desperate to talk to him.

A: Some of us do have lives to live you know.

He sticks around to watch the message turn to ‘Seen’, watching Jack type while he begins brushing his teeth. 

J: apologies sir 

J: i’ll be sure to book an appointment next time

J: sooo, what are you doing?

The question is almost ridiculous. Really, it’s ten o’ clock at night. There’s not much he could possibly be doing. So Aster decides to send a picture of him mid-a-brushing, holding the camera up to his mirror at a level enough height that only the waistband of his boxers could be seen.

A: *Image Attachment*

    What does it look like I’m doing?

There’s a bit of a time delay between when Jack first reads the message to when he actually responds which has him stuck brushing the same tooth, staring at the screen in anticipation. The texts roll in slowly and shortly.

J: o.o

J: nice tats

There’s a pause.

J: also

J: u rlly DO work out

J: wow

He frowns briefly, glancing up at the mirror. He’d forgotten how much of himself he’d put on show. And the overheads tended to bring out the sculpt of his muscles some more… 

A: Did you have doubts or sumthn?

J: no doubts

J: but 

J: you should send another picture 

J: just so i can make sure. 

And, well, it’s his day off. He can have a little fun. He catches his toothbrush in his mouth, lowering his now free hand against himself to flex. He tilts his head to watch the phone camera, making sure he gets a good shot.

There’s an even longer pause after— 

And Aster can’t help but wonder.

A: Jack.

J: yeas

A: What are you doing?

J: bnothingg

J: gskd

J: b

A: Nothing?

J: mhmn

J: bu nnyy

J: *Image Attachment*

The picture is a (quite blurry) bird’s eye view of Jack in his bed, the sheets shuffled carelessly around him. Jack’s brows are wound tight, furrowed and frustrated. He covers half his face with his hand, as if he were trying to hide his flushed cheeks; and failing. He must have changed somewhere between the time he last sent a picture and now, because he was back in his pyjama shirt again. Unbuttoned enough to reveal his chest. It opened up at the bottom, unveiling the lower half of Jack’s stomach, toned and lithe– arched slightly towards the camera. 

And, perhaps thankfully, Aster was right about one thing, he was wearing pants. His legs are scrunched together, covered by nothing but his boxers. A faint outline of Jack’s shape caught his eye. Aster held the phone close to his face, ignoring the jump in his cock at the sight; knowing one look in the mirror would likely display to him an increasingly similar situation. 

Aster sets his toothbrush down, washing it clean so he can compose himself, and braces one hand on the counter.

J: ha 

He’s taunting him. 

Aster can barely think of a text appropriate enough to send next, so instead, he hits the call.

The phone rings for a few seconds at most before Jack picks up. The other line is quiet momentarily as Aster brings the phone to his ear.

He tries to keep his voice as steady and stern as he can when he speaks.

“Jack.”

”Mm.” There’s a rustling of sheets and withheld breaths before Jack talks. “Bunny?” 

He practically moans the name in his ear. 

Aster’s head shoots up. He frowns at himself in the mirror, eyes quickly scattering down to the semi growing in his boxers and decides he should probably move this conversation. Right. Now.

“I’m guessing you liked the pic then,” He approaches apprehensively.

There’s a pleased noise on the other side of the line and the quiet sound of shuffling fabric. 

“Yeah,” Jack breathes out. Aster can hear the sleazy grin in his voice, “You can tell?”

Jack doesn’t even try to hide the little muffled, wet noises. It almost leaves Aster in shock as he holds the phone close to his ear. The sounds wrecking his entire system as they flood through him. He stands beside his bed, astonished, staring at the dark, grey sheets.

”Jack. You’re not seriously…” He drifts off.

Jack bites back a whine, answering him with a worn voice, ”Seriously what?”

There’s maybe a single beat between that and the unfiltered moan the boy lets out. He can hear a groan clawing at the other’s throat.

That confirmed it then. Aster’s head feels light as he sits back down on the side of his bed. 

It feels surreal, listening to him from the other side of the call. Images forcing themselves into Aster’s mind: Jack biting himself, fisting his needy, pink cock to his picture. His semi just got promoted.

“Bunny… Ah— You know,” Jack’s voice, rich with bliss and working around the half moans and whines, draws out the words, “Your arms are… really big.”

God forgive him.

”Yeah?” Aster lowers his voice and leans forward to speak into the phone. He waits for Jack to speak 

“Mmph. Yeah. So big.” Jack says absently as the rustling sounds pick up again, “I’d probably weigh nothing to you, huh.”

“Yeah, well. You’re a small thing anyway…” He sits back, one hand subconsciously gripping his thigh for some tether. 

There’s a breathy laugh, so much silkier than the typical chuckles he hears from Jack. He wants to sow the sound into his skin. “You’re right…” 

“You could probably pick me up and…” Jack seems to struggle with the words, growing more noisy and frustrated, “And…”

“Jack.” He says once, trying to hold on to the last grip he had on himself.

“Fuck me— right against a wall.”

He growls, frustrated, and pulls down his boxers, holding the phone between his shoulder as he does so.

“Dammit, Jack.”

He’s sly in his ear, teasing his name out between his lips, “Aster…”

Aster quickly peels back the fabric, revealing his hard, leaking cock to the air. He wraps a hand around himself, squeezing the base firmly.

If possible, he lowers his voice further, spitting through his teeth. ”Is that what you want? To get fucked?”

Jack’s voice spikes as he keens. “Yeah— Bunny…”

The little nickname, which he usually doesn’t even bat an eye at, bothers him at the moment. Reminding him of the indecency of the situation he so dearly fought to ignore. He fucks up into his fist harder, holding the phone close.

“Don’t call me that.”

“What?” Jack laughs briskly, a snarky tone returning to his voice as he whispers, “Would you prefer daddy?”

“Jack.” Aster groans warningly.

“Ha. Mm… fuck me, Daddy.” He says mockingly at first, before losing all composure again. His voice spiralling off,  “Fuck me… fuck me.” 

The wet, squelching noises are distinct in Aster’s ear. He’s not just getting himself off. 

Jack’s fucking himself.  

He’s begging in his ear for Aster’s cock while fucking himself on his fingers. At least what he assumes to be so. He can only imagine how he’d doing it, lying back in his bed, legs spread as he fucks himself, desperately trying to seek out his climax. The thought makes his head reel. A spurt of pre-cum dribbles down his dick. 

“Jack. I don’t think you know what you’re getting into.”

“I don’t?”

He huffs out his nose and tries to take in a steady breath “No. You don’t.”

“What don’t I know then?”

“I’m not exactly a gentle guy.” He strains, “You’re too young. I don’t think you can handle it.”

“Wh—Why…? What’ll you do to me?”

Aster tried to restrain himself before speaking, taking in an unsure breath and gritting his teeth. He thumbed over the head of his cock, considering the possibilities in his mind. Sixty positions he could fold Jack into flickering past his eyes. He tears away from them with a frustrated snarl.

“Maybe, I wouldn’t do a thing. Just keep you here, sitting on my cock till ya’ pass out from the pleasure.”

Jack chokes on the other line. His voice sounds muffled, like he’s got a hand over his mouth as he moans and hums in pleasure at the thought. 

“N’ everytime you’d dare wriggle about, I’d fuck up into ya, just enough to leave you writhin’ again.”

The loud whine in his ear tells him all he needs to hear.

Aster scoffs in disbelief.

“Jack, you’ve got to be fucked, gettin’ off to this.” He says while nearly bucking up into his own fist.

“Not my fault, Aster.” Jack’s broken voice warbles in the other line, “Take some— Ah— Responsibility.”

“I didn’t ask you to ruin yourself.” He growls down the phone, pumping himself faster. 

“Ha, maybe I want you to ruin me.” He softly snides back before returning to his whines, “…Please, Bunny. Please.” 

The lewd noises alongside the sweet pleas running out of Jack’s mouth are making his head swim. He can hardly think of a reply any longer, his brain losing track of his ideas.

“I can’t.” He says. Tense and short. 

“I want you to.” Jack keens. And Aster can tell from his feverish voice to the quickened pace of those noises that he’s getting close. He struggles through his words as he draws nearer, “C’mon Aster, you can. Just, fuck me. Fuck me, please. Please!”

He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling his body draw taut as he listens to Jack’s desperate, strangled moan. 

The thick vein leading down to his dick thrums with blood as he squeezes down on it. He feels his orgasm wash over him in waves as Jack continues moaning his name over and over again. 

His mind placates him with images of the boy bouncing back on his cock, riding through the pleasure that’s causing weakness in his knees. He comes with a groan, feeling spurts of wet warmth dribble down his fingers. A name slipping out his gripped teeth. 

His body feels tense, like razors were pressed against each inch of his skin. In contrast to his mind, which by now is a cloudy, soft mess of its former self. 

He barely registers the self-satisfied hum on the other side of the line. The sound of rustling about, slow moans and short breaths as Jack seems to fix himself up. A whisper is sent down the line.

“Sweet dreams, Aster.” 

The line goes dead. Aster is left staring at his hand as the tone rings.