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Idle hands are the devil’s workshop; idle lips are his mouthpiece.
An evil man sows strife; gossip separates the best of friends.
Wickedness loves company—and leads others into sin.
Proverbs 16:27-29
[probably]
Dean was so fucking annoyed.
A few little things could make him lose his cool. Sadly and embarrassingly Jack was one of them. Jack and everything about him, actually.
He knew he had no right, not now, but his instincts were petty about the whole thing. Dean very much a wild beast at a heart and also a wild beast at a mind. And his mind was telling him a couple of things: First of all, Jack hadn't come up with a new lover since their break up. This piece of information was important because in Dean's book, for something to be categorized as past, there had to be a present. Jack had no present. Good.
Secondly, Tua and Timmy managed to get Jack to attend all of Dean's performances so he could be part of his morale support team. Also important intel because Jack wasn't stupid; if he really resented being dragged to Dean's performances, he would have said so. Tua and Dean wouldn't insist if Jack were serious about his complaints. So that counted for something.
Consequently, Dean's brain had reached an obvious conclusion. Even if they weren’t boyfriend and boyfriend anymore, Jack was still Dean’s. They maybe weren't back but Jack would still be his in his mind. And if his mind operated in a certain way, Dean would manipulate reality to operate in the same way.
At least until he found someone new. Someone who could surpass Jack, entertain him for more than a few hours and outside of a room, occupy all the space that Jack occupied. Difficult, if not impossible though.
Jack, however, wasn't allowed to get someone new. Not before Dean did, of course, and that’s why Raffy pissed him the hell off. Raffy wanted to be Jack’s new chick, he wanted Dean’s place.
Dean hated feeling threatened.
It's not that Raffy, of all people, represented a threat. Pffft.
Dean doesn't like Raffy, by the way, if it isn't blatantly obvious. That little shit is arrogant, pretentious, and way too full of himself. His bone structure isn't bad. Okay. But Raffy doesn't deserve any credit there! His damn genes existed before him. If Dean has to give something to someone, he'd give it to Raffy's mother.
Something, mind you, not everything. Because something he wouldn't grant her was the upbringing. Ugh, Raffy falls short in that aspect. A spoiled brat who had everything handed to him on a silver platter, strutting around with airs of superiority and a sense of entitlement just because he's him and he has money. His mother’s money, it should be clarified.
Dean is convinced that his stupid, conceited, money-lined ass is what gives him the nerve to think he's better than Dean.
Dean, who doesn't know what he'll do if Tua ever gets tired of him and decides he's too much trouble to have as a hanger-on and kicks him out.
Dean, who got into this situation with Jack precisely because...
Anyways.
The thing is, Raffy is a fool who dares to think he’s better and had the nerve to show him so to his face with a “I can’t wait to be on the play. Do you think you will be there too?”
That's why Dean, not known for having much self-control, can't help but throw his barb, needing to make his dominance clear.
“We might get to play together, I’m the main character and you’re ensemble like always.” And he says this in the most annoying tone possible, like a star talking to a dumb rookie who knows noting about the real thing, because that's what he's doing.
He feels a surge of pride when he sees the grenade land where it was supposed to, Raffy's face does that thing where he looks super vulnerable but after a few seconds he hides it. One might think it left him speechless but Dean knows those of his ilk and can see Raffy's bitchy potential. Not Dean’s level, duh, but is enough for him to know the bastard is going to respond with something equally passive-aggressive before he even opens his big mouth.
“That's why I respect you, phi. What you had before, I want that too.” That's what he came out with, in a no respectful tone.
If Dean didn't know he would lose face, he would have screamed. He screamed, indeed, internally. If they weren't in a public place, he would have jumped on him. He would have pulled his hair out with his bare hands until what he had under his scalp could be seen. Well, being in public has never stopped him; it's really more a matter of having manners. Raffy is obviously challenging him, and going after him right now would make him look bad. Although the real reason is that, through his peripheral vision, he sees that Jack is looking at him. Jack, who understood Raffy's comment and is evaluating Dean's reaction.
Dean, for once, play it cool. He lets out a hearty laugh, he pretends the barb goes unnoticed and even acts moved.
“It's nice to have fans, be a role model.”
A maniacal laugh echoes in his own head, and before they can counterattack, he flees.
The fight-or-flight is one thing, but this is Dean's fight-and-flight and world be dammed. He excuses himself politely, and having Jack's attention even after turning his back on the table is enough to sustain his walk gracefully and his retreat not seem rushed. However, once she leaves the place and is alone, she makes sure to kick the garbage bags hard.
Dean would punch a wall, but there are levels, and he's not going to stoop that low because of Raffy so he settles for throwing one of the bar's empty liquor bottles to the end of the alley. After watching it break, Dean lay down on the cleanest part he could see and took out a cigarette and lighter. He frowned as he lit it, stupid waste of money.
At least he hadn't spent anything today; he was running on a shorter account than usual this week. A part of him wishes he had refused to come. The idea of going to this club was to celebrate that Jack's proposal for the play had won the vote against his classmate and therefore, he had directly secured the position of director.
He assumes there weren't enough lesbians in fourth year this term, so that’s why Wicked lost. Dean was sure he would've played Fiyero. Raffy could keep Dillamond. Ha.
“Leech. Nothing more than a damn big leech.” Dean mumble to no one but himself and the dark, smelly alley.
Really. Is Raffy incapable of coveting something original? What kind of withered and bitter soul must one have to be unable to want their own space and have to pursue that of another person? Can’t he greed for uniqueness?
Why he has to want what Dean has, specifically what belongs to Dean?
Well… It's quite flattering.
For someone like Dean, who enjoys not seeing beyond his own nose on purpose, looking for a megalomaniacal side to this situation is only natural. So if he thinks about it, it's actually endearing that Raffy is so obsessed with him. It means that at least Dean has some kind of value, that it possesses some kind of aura and power to be coveted. Dean, who has almost nothing but himself, is capable of arousing jealousy, envy, and greed in someone like Raffy. Huh, suddenly Dean's ego increases to bubbling levels.
If Raffy were only chasing Dean's spotlight, he wouldn't care so much. He can keep the limelight. Dean is able to keep his fucking spotlight. But… Raffy wants more than only that, he wants Jack. Jack.
And to be honest, Dean isn't so sure how much he really has going for himself in this respect. Because even though it has already been established that Jack belongs to Dean, Dean does not belong to Jack. Not because he doesn't want to. Despite his proud pronouncements about belonging to no one and being his own person, Dean wants to belong to Jack. He longs for it. But for you to belong to someone, that person must want it too. I am yours, for as long as you'll have me and all that. And that’s it. Dean is Jack’s but Jack will not have Dean. Not anymore.
And that's why, no matter how silly threat Raffy seems to him, or how much he's ridiculous, there's still a deep insecurity within Dean. An insecurity that stems from nothing more and nothing less than a lack of ownership. In the past, getting rid of leeches that wanted to take Jack away was easy. Dean could fight, yell, spit, scratch, and scream if necessary, because he had the status that justified it.
Dean was Jack’s past. It didn't matter if Jack didn't have a new present. Honestly, Dean didn't know what he would do if Jack did; he thought he might kill or kill himself, whichever was worse.
Although almost nothing was worse than knowing that now Dean is nothing more than an ex. People at the university know, they whisper about it, they laugh about it. He doesn't know if they're laughing at him or at Jack, or at both. But Dean puts on his usual mask and pretends it doesn't bother him, pretends he isn't losing sleep over the remote possibility that everyone in the damn faculty is laughing at him because he's a shameless idiot who just had to screw everything up. Or worse, that they pity him. Because only those who have more than you, those who are better, pity you. Being pitied was the worst. Living knowing that you survived because you were pitied was even more horrible.
He blinked away the light moisture from his eyes, and the realization that his throat was itchy was embarrassing. But that was exactly what he needed to recover and be back to his senses.
Dean was so damn bored, of everything. He was also still annoyed. An annoyed and bored Dean was dangerous.
For others and for himself.
With a bitter laugh, Dean dropped the cigarette to the ground and made a decision: he is no letting Raffy have his way with anything. Dean will get everything Dean wants and he’s going to do it tonight. Tomorrow he'll need to distract Raffy, give him trouble, find someone to keep him busy; but first he needs Jack in his pocket.
So Dean considered what he could do. He hadn't actually tried to sleep with Jack again, not since his pleas not to break up hadn't worked.
But quite some time has passed. Maybe Dean has a chance. He has caught Jack staring at his collarbone and cleavage more than once, so he's definitely not indifferent to Dean. Come on, realistically, it probably didn't matter what Dean did; Jack would never be sexually indifferent to him. The problem was that he wouldn't act on it.
Until now.
With renewed confidence, he made his way inside the bar. When he returned, he noticed that neither Raffy nor Jack were where he had left them. For a moment, his heart stopped, but a quick glance around allowed him to locate Raffy with Pete and Jack at the bar, probably ordering something to drink. Oh, and he was talking with some guy. Distracted. Perfect.
With the utmost casualness, Dean walked over to the bar, where Jack's colourful cocktail had just been placed in front of him. Jack, engrossed in conversation with who he recognized as his defeated classmate, nodded to the bartender and continued talking, without immediately taking his drink. Dean had to be smart about this, use every limit of his cunning and invoke any evil help he could find to make the plan he was putting together work out.
“Jack!” With a smooth movement, he positioned himself right next to Jack and adjusted his expression to look suspicious but sincere. “Can I talk to you for a mome—? Oh, I’m so sorry!”
And with the most sincere clumsiness, he spilled the drink on Jack when he tried to put his arm around the director's shoulders.
“Shia, Dean!” Jack stood up immediately, panting. The sticky liquid covered his abdomen and seeped into his pants. Dean did his best to look dismayed, fussing over the stain and the ‘accident’.
“Aw, I’m really sorry. Come on, let me help you.” Taking advantage of the fact that Jack didn't seem to suspect anything, or at least not that much, Dean grabbed his arm and started dragging him along. To show goodwill, he turned to the other man, who had remained silent and was watching them with a raised eyebrow. “New, sorry, we'll see you in classes, bye!”
“No worries.” Was New's answer and Dean would concede that he was smart enough to leave.
Jack said nothing as Dean ushered them both out of the club. Through the front door. Dean didn't turn around, but he really hoped Raffy would see them leave together.
“What's this all about, Dean?” And that was Jack's serious tone, which showed that he wasn't going to accept nonsense.” You'd never waste a drink. That cocktail was cheap, but yet.”
“Ok, yes, the spill was on purpose.”
To deceive successfully, one had to admit to having lied. People like Jack tended to trust a liar who admitted to the lie. In that way, Dean was telling the truth, not the whole truth, but at least some of it. Plausible denial or whatever that shit was.
“Why, pray tell?”
And here comes, the sick in Dean’s head crafting bullshit.
“I saw that they put something in your drink.”
“What? Who?!”
“I don't know, Jack, I don't know everyone, but after the bartender served you the cocktail, someone slipped something into it. I saw it!” And then, add a little vulnerability to be convincing. “You know I tend to look at you a lot…”
And that did it. Jack sighed deeply and visibly relaxed his shoulders, giving in. Although he didn't answer Dean at all and turned around, turning his back on him and walking out into the street with the phone in his hand.
“Are you leaving?”Please, say yes, please.
“Yeah, I'm tired and I don't want to spend another minute with my shirt soaked.” Just as Dean predicted, great.
“Let me come with you.”
“No way.”
Dean had already saw this coming so he didn’t quail. The practical approach was the key here, even if was based in a total makeshift lie.
“Oh come on, I'm worried about you…. What if they already put something in the drinks you had earlier? Are you calling a Grab? What if it kicks in while you're on the way? It's dangerous, Jack.”
Jack doesn't say anything more, puts his phone back in his pocket, and crosses his arms while he waits. A few seconds pass, and since Dean isn't told to leave, he takes it as an invitation. He stands next to Jack, waiting with him, and is momentarily distracted by the way the muscles in his arms flex.
If all goes well, those arms will be around her very soon.Dean has a good feeling. After all, Jack seems cooperative enough; he doesn't know if Jack believed his lies, but so far he's letting him get away with it, and that's what matters. When the car arrives, Jack climbs in the back without saying a word to Dean to follow, but he doesn't close the door after sitting down, which is invitation enough. Dean, with a rather smug smile that he really shouldn't be showing right now, follows him and sits next to him, closing the car’s door.
On previous occasions when Dean and Jack had been together in the back of a car, going home together after a night at the club, they were usually super close. Their knees would touch, their arms would be close. Jack would hug him, Jack would kiss him.
Right now, Jack is staring out the window, occasionally peeling the sticky fabric off his shirt with one hand, making faces of disgust. Dean doesn't open his mouth and decides that enjoying a quiet, peaceful walk with Jack is, in fact, a small victory. He should enjoy it while he can.
When they arrive at Jack's, the man doesn't open the door for him, nor does he use words to invite him in. He remains silent, opening the door and entering without saying a word. But, again, he doesn't slam the door in Dean's face.
His heart pounding, Dean crosses the threshold. Stepping inside feels surreal, like something he never thought he'd ever experience again. Absolutely nothing has changed, and yet it all feels unfamiliar. Dean's throat tightens again, and when the unmistakably Jack scent hits him, his eyes sting. He misses it. He misses him. Hell, he misses him so much.
“What do you really want?”
The voice of this attractive ex-boyfriend of his jolts him out of his lethargy, and Dean forces himself to move beyond the door. He is delighted to discover that the voice is coming from the bedroom, a path he knows perfectly well. He heads there with a determined step and is greeted by a sight that almost makes him cough. Jack isn’t wearing his shirt.
Sure, Jack said what he wanted to do was change his sugary cocktail-covered shirt, which made sense. But that meant Dean was now in Jack's bedroom with a very topless Jack.
“I told you, I wanted you to arrive safe.”
He managed to reply, his voice perfectly balanced and his arms crossed. This was going well, and even better, Jack seemed to be cooperating. Dean couldn't push his luck and appear too anxious, or everything could fall apart.
“I'll take that as you're leaving.”
See?
Dean carefully weighed his options, considering his possibilities. If he acted too self-sacrificing, Jack could kick him out without a second thought. If he was too brazen, he could seduce him, or perhaps anger him and end up getting thrown out.
He opted for something in between: deflecting and flattering in the Dean style.
“I haven't been here for a while... the decor is still fine, but don't you think something's missing?”
“What? Did you steal something from me?”
“Do you want me to steal something from you?” Now Dean had to come up with a stupid but plausible excuse, something manipulative to confess to Jack, who knew Dean had ulterior motives. “Congratulations again on winning the project proposal.”
“Ah, so this is what it's all about. The play?”
Dean could work with this, making it about the play.
“Well, I'd like to know if you already have the adapted screenplay finished. If so, I'd appreciate having an advance copy.”
“And what makes you think I would give it to you?”
“Aaaw, come on, for the good old days.”
“Are you trying to do some kind of casting couch?”
Dean smiled, a playful and victorious smirk. He was finally stepping the land he wanted. Maybe he actually could get Jack tonight and the main character role. With a slow, sweeping gait, Dean approached Jack, stopping just inches away. He could feel the other's body heat in front of him, and he knew Jack could feel his. Dean knew he had won.
“The casting couch is normally requested by directors from actors, not by actors from directors. So let me ask, are you trying to get me to do a casting couch for you?”
Jack, God bless him, did not respond immediately but let his eyes wander over Dean's figure, checking him out from his hair to his toes, lingering for agonizing extra seconds on his legs and the expanse of his chest visible in the neckline of his red shirt.
“You want this role so bad you’re willing to trade your body?”
The complaint didn't go unnoticed, though it was weak compared to the darkness that settled in Jack's eyes, bright and mesmerizing. Dean remembered Raffy's words. What you had before, I want that too.
Over his dead body.
“I want the role. And I want you too.”
Jack seemed to morbidly enjoy Dean's shameless acceptance of his desire. However, he quickly masked the expression of satisfaction, and a new, serious, stony one rose in its place. Dean already knew what he was going to say before he even said it.
“It goes against the policies of the theatre department and the university, and it goes against my personal principles.”
“Personal principles as a director?”
“Personal principles as in we broke up.”
“Aow. So harsh.”
“I was under the impression you had come to terms with—”
“Come to terms, come to terms, buuuuh. Are we fucking litigants? Khun Jack, Attorney at Law?”
“You like to lower yourself.”
The double meaning was humiliating in both its forms, but Dean was so close to getting what he wanted that he decided to ignore it.
“I’m not below to do it in exchange of something.”
“I know.”
“You damn well know, you’re the one who said it.” Yes, he was going to ignore it, but he wasn't going to let it go without making a petulant comment about it, at the very least. Jack silence was a victory itself. “Cat got your tongue?”
Then, Dean decided to act, knowing that he had already won this case and continuing to drag things out would only cause them to argue. He raised his hand, which itched to touch, and yielded to his desire to trace Jack's abs. The ridges he had memorized were warm beneath his palm, where he could feel the muscles twitch at his touch, how affected Jack was because of Dean.
It made him proud. So proud that Dean dared to lean forward, searching those lips, and oh, how wonderful, those lips he had missed so much found him right in the middle of the journey. He had missed this with all his being; the blood in his veins boiled with longing, a heat enveloped him everywhere. Jack was anxious too, kissing him as if demanding something; Dean felt like he was going to swallow the life out of his body.
Dean wasted no time in raising his other hand, and both roamed over Jack's torso, searching, squeezing, anchoring. Jack didn't touch him, not yet; the only part moving on Dean were his lips, driving him wild, making him crave more. Jack had always been an expert at undoing it, and Dean wasn't going to settle for less. With a firm grip on the principal's broad shoulders, Dean pulled them apart, proud and smug to see Jack's face flush and the man panting even if he knew with certainty his own face wasn't far from the same.
“I'm not one of those who do couch castings, I have much more class.” He warned him, manoeuvring them both towards the bed. Jack, walking on his back, let himself be pushed. “Bed casting sounds more appropriate.”
Jack was being very pliant in Dean's hands. Which was a little suspicious because Jack didn't mince words and would directly reprimand Dean when necessary, when he thought Dean was crossing the line. Which happened quite often. But now Jack didn't question him, not so much, he didn't inquire further about the story of the something in the drink, he simply indulged Dean with this.
However, Dean reflected as he violently pushed him down onto the bed and finished unbuttoning his shirt under the other man's watchful gaze, Jack was not one to have Machiavellian motives by chance. The logical explanation here was that he was allowing Dean to do this... because he wanted it too.
And the idea of it, the possibility that Jack might have missed him, even if only a little bit. He knew the attraction was still there, but that Jack felt the need to allow Dean his tricks only to end up like this, with Dean climbing all over him. And his eyes, the way he looked at him, as if being with Dean like this was some kind of reward.
Dean was truly screwed because just that look made him forget any insecurities that might have weakened him before. Perhaps it was something temporary, certainly something temporary, but when his lips met Jack's again, he felt powerful once more. Just as powerful as he had felt in the past. His stupid, rather foolish heart sadly seemed to only feel complete when he was with Jack. Dean so desperately wanted Jack to feel the same.
Part of him knew that all of this meant nothing. He was happy that he would probably get the lead role, because Jack was simply true to his word. Dean knew this perfectly well; Jack had been true to his words when they broke up. That's why he knew this hookup didn't mean, under any circumstances, that they would get back together. It didn't matter when Dean wished it were so. It didn't matter when it hurt him, just as much as it made him so embarrassingly happy and excited that this was happening. He also was grateful that only he had access to his own thoughts.
As Jack finally sprang into action, surrendering and turning around to shield Dean with his slightly larger figure, Dean thought that nothing really mattered. Since he was one of those purposeless people, a waste of breath and energy, ending up in this mess was better than not. Having even the tiniest bit of Jack's attention was better than having nothing. This was no different from the rest of his self-destructive behaviours, and it leaves him with many, many benefits that any other coping mechanism.
Shit. Dean should stop spiralling. It will be fine.
Jack seemed fine. He looked eager to explore and worship Dean's body with his tongue, licking, sucking, and biting all over. Dean felt Jack's strong hands squeezing him, drawing sounds out of him that only Jack could make him make. As their moans mingled, his last coherent thought was, well, maybe this didn't have to be just an one time thing...
Exes hooking up is nothing new, right?
Even if they were Jack and Dean.
Dean will be fine.