![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
butterflyI am already enough in love with Kings to commit fic. Naturally, this means that I have to find out that it got horrible ratings and that people are already predicting an early cancellation.
*sigh*
On the plus side, I wrote fic.
Title: Trading in Futures
Summary: A man without a future is a man with some freedom or Samuels tells Jack of his fate.
Pairing: Jack/David
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 1x01 - "Goliath", references to 1 Samuel.
Trading in Futures
Last night's indulgences had failed to satisfy Jack. Every moment, he had had to endure the sound of his father's voice echoing through his head, hamstringing his attempts at enjoying himself. He'd never suspected, never dreamed that his father had any idea about his... true inclinations, and his stomach still twisted unpleasantly whenever his thoughts reminded him of his father's knowledge.
And it squeezed harder whenever he considered Uncle William's thinly-veiled words. William must be another who believed Jack to be a coward and liar, for no honest man would consider treason and William's words could mean nothing else. Perhaps Jack wasn't an honest man, because he had to admit that his uncle's offer was more tempting than it should be – more tempting than it would have been before Jack's very dissatisfying conversation with his father.
Blinking against the summer breeze, Jack splashed some more vodka – not his preferred drink, but it would do – into his glass and swirled it around, staring down to the bottom. Michelle would castigate him for letting their father's words bother him, would probably tell him that he should have realized that someone had to be keeping pictures out of the paper. His sister was far more wise in the ways of politics than he, far more used to bucking against his father's will. He'd always admired her reckless determination, a trait that he personally lacked.
“What are you doing, child, sitting here by yourself?”
Surprised, Jack looked up to meet Reverend Samuels' eyes. He managed a half-hearted shrug, not wanting to spend too much time with the man, who had always been so close to his father in the days before Shiloh was established.
“It's not healthy to drink alone,” Samuels said, sitting down next to Jack on the broad steps. Jack thought of asking Samuels why he'd wandered to the back gardens anyway, but stopped himself and, instead, he offered the bottle up to Samuels, who took a long, steadying drink from it. Jack took a sip of his own glass and waited to see if this man, too, was going to insult Jack's character and honor.
“You have a choice ahead of you,” Samuels said, placing the bottle on the step above and behind them. Jack raised an eyebrow, propping his glass up on his knee. Samuels had been full of advice when Jack was a child, and he had to admit that some of it had been worth taking. “You will never be king.”
Jack flinched and he pressed his lips together tightly, willing himself to at least keep from crying this time. Had his father told Samuels the truth about Jack or did his words stem from another apparent deficiency in Jack's character?
“I'm not saying this to hurt you,” Samuels said, but Jack still couldn't dare look at him. He'd taken too many hits in the recent days to leave himself undefended. Samuels' warm, broad hand landed on Jack's shoulder, and he felt his muscles tighten. “This is the truth of the Lord.”
“Did-” Jack felt his throat stop up and he had to take some more time just to breathe – Samuels let him and Jack was unsure of whether or not it was a kindness. “Have you spoken to my father about this?”
“This has nothing to do with your father,” Samuels said, gently. “You'll be dead before you can take the throne.”
“This is what your god tells you,” Jack said, shrugging off Samuels' hand and forcing a sneer into his words, but uncertain whether he'd kept out the naked fear clawing at his chest. He still couldn't look at the man, stared fixedly at his drink, though he didn't see it.
“Not mine alone,” Samuels said, but more softly than any words Jack had heard spoken in the last week. “You know better than that.”
“And... and where, precisely, is the choice for me in this plan?” Jack asked, letting the rush of anger in his veins speak for him. He looked over now, to meet Samuels' eyes with a defiant glare. “You speak of my death as a certainty.”
“Your choice, my young prince, lies in how to meet your death,” Samuels said. He flicked his index finger against the glass in Jack's hand, the nail clicking hollowly. “You may hate your successor and spend the rest of your days in bitterness and fear, or you may take him into your heart.”
Jack smiled, though there was no humor in it.
“And what would be the name of this... successor to what should be my crown?” Jack asked. Samuels didn't answer, but merely plucked Jack's glass out of his hands. Jack huffed in indignation, wishing, not for the first time, that Samuels was less certain of himself.
“All things at their appointed hour,” Samuels said, picking up the bottle as well and then standing up with the both glass and bottle.
“I'm fairly certain that theft is still a crime,” Jack said.
“But I know that you won't report it,” Samuels said. “And you took this out of your father's supply.”
Jack opened his mouth in outrage and then closed it, not having an adequate response for the truth. Samuels winked at him – as though he hadn't just informed Jack of a youthful demise – and went up the stairs, taking Jack's alcohol with him.
Family friends, Jack reflected, could be more trouble than they were worth.
Jack sighed heavily and pushed himself up to his feet. Without the alcohol to numb him, his father's words were plucking at him again, and there was, possibly, a place nearby where he could let them go.
Which meant, naturally, that someone was already there. The back lawns were extensive, yet there was a figure in precisely the place where he had planned to brood – and from the shape, he could tell that it obviously wasn't his sister, who was the one person he might have been willing to share it with, as long as she refrained from going on about her health plan.
“I was hoping to be alone,” Jack said, when he got close enough. The man spun around and it was David Shepherd, of course, since he couldn't seem to escape the man. Everyone, from his father and sister down to the palace guards, seemed infatuated with him.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Shepherd said, not saluting but looking like he could at a moment's notice. Jack barked out a short laugh and waved his hand dismissively.
“You can stay,” he said, leaning sideways against the stone balustrade. “As long as you stop calling me 'sir'.”
Despite the envy that tugged at his chest, he was feeling rather more favorably inclined to Shepherd today. Maybe it was the way the sun shone off of Shepherd's hair or the death sentence that Samuels had handed out, but Jack was willing to consider, just possibly, that saving his life was worth the honors that his father had handed out.
“I'll do my best,” Shepherd said, unbending enough to place an arm across the top of the balustrade. He was strongly built, and, of course, he was as brave as everyone said – Jack had heard about the initiation of the Gath peace treaty – and, in his upright way, rather attractive. “If you're sure that it's all right. I wouldn't want to bother you.”
“You won't,” Jack said, which was a lie, but an innocent one. Shepherd would managed to bother Jack whether or not he stayed, so his presence was a moot point. Jack gave the man a look-over, trying to discern exactly what made him compelling enough that Michelle would agree to dance with him, when she danced with hardly anyone. “Tell me, Shep- David, do you believe? Do you have faith?”
“Of course,” Shepherd said, clearly biting back the 'sir' that wanted to follow. “That's actually... that's why I'm out here.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowing with interest. David smiled, with an open honesty that wouldn't last long if he remained at court. His teeth were straight and white, as though nothing about the man dared to be less than perfect.
“That story that the king tells-”
“The butterfly story?” Jack asked, not able to hide the edge in his question.
“Yes,” Shepherd said, with a touch of hesitance. His eyes were bluer than Jack remembered, matching the sky behind his head. “Does the king only have one story?”
“Only one that he insists on constantly inflicting upon the world,” Jack said, leaning slightly toward Shepherd. Shepherd copied his motion, likely unconsciously. “Did you see some yesterday? On occasion, they flit up from the forest below, but they aren't a common sight.”
“More than just saw,” Shepherd said, his voice shot through with wonder, as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes against the sun, light gleaming off his exposed throat. It sent a pang through Jack, strikingly similar to how he'd felt when he'd first begun struggling with inappropriate urges. Shepherd did wear his uniform well. “A... cloud or a swarm of them... settled all around me. My hands, my face... a circle of them, like the crown that your father spoke of, on the back of my head.” He lowered his chin again, sending an uncertain look in Jack's direction. “I came to see if they would return today, but they haven't.”
They wouldn't, Jack thought, a thick lump in his throat. An anointing should only happen once.
“At the time, I wondered if it wasn't a sign from God,” Shepherd continued. “And now, with your words, I'm certain. I know my task now.”
“And that would be?” Jack asked, not sure exactly what he was expecting Shepherd to say. To take your father's place, perhaps, delivered with one of his heart-stopping grins.
“To stay here, in Shiloh, and do what I can to help my king,” Shepherd said and Jack had to cough to cover his confusion. Was Shepherd truly such an innocent? Jack stared at him and, while Shepherd looked slightly uncomfortable, he didn't shift his gaze away and Jack was forced to conclude that Shepherd meant every word. The man appeared to be truly lacking in ambition. How could such a man ever be king?
And here he was, taking Samuels' words seriously, as though the man could truly predict the future. Butterfly crown or no, David Shepherd didn't have the mind of a king. Most days, Jack wasn't sure he did, either, but he did have the training.
“An honorable choice,” Jack said, before the silence had grown too deep between them. “Apart from the job my father assigned you, how did you plan on carrying out this new task?”
“Your sister came to see me the other day,” Shepherd said, earnestly – as though he had any other way to talk – reaching forward to place a hand on Jack's elbow. Jack carefully controlled his body's instinctive reaction to move closer and his heart's impulse to ask what, exactly, his sister was doing going out to Shepherd's. “It worries me to see her unguarded. She's the daughter of the king, but she had no one with her.”
“Perhaps she wanted no one,” Jack said.
“If she were attacked, it would be too late for her to change her mind,” Shepherd said, his eyes troubled. “And you, sir-”
“Ah, none of that,” Jack chided.
“I can't call you Jack,” Shepherd said, an odd pleading edge in his voice.
“Why not?” Jack said.
“Whatever else you are, you're my prince,” Shepherd said. “And my superior officer.”
“What do you call my sister?”
Shepherd opened his mouth slightly, touching his tongue to the center of his upper lip. He seemed frozen between propriety and honesty. It became him more than it should.
“Call me Jack and I'll call you David,” Jack said, his own formality suddenly displeasing. He couldn't continue to think of a man such as this by his last name.
“You already have,” Shepherd – no, David – reminded him.
“So I have,” Jack said. He gave David another long look, noticing him tense further as Jack's gaze drifted over him. “Are you in love with my sister?”
“Am I-” David broke off, looking down. “Am I in love?”
“That's what I asked,” Jack said, feeling braver now that he had seen the lack of malice in David's heart. “My sister – she's got brown hair, princess of Gilboa, you may have heard of her.”
David chuckled, a rich and warm sound. He glanced up again, his eyes meeting Jack's and causing a half-hidden memory to rush back – he'd been only just conscious and his head covered in bandages, but he had barely been able to see David's face, to feel his hand resting against Jack's shoulder, giving him the strangest and most unreliable sense of security. Then his father had come and David had been gone.
“Your sister is... lovely,” David said, and he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, for possibly the first time in the conversation. “I'm attracted to her, I won't lie about that, and I like her, but we've still only just met. It's too soon to talk of love.”
“Good,” Jack said, only barely conscious of the decision he'd made, as selfish as any in his life. He stepped forward and David's brow furrowed slightly, as if to ask what Jack was doing, yet David didn't back away. He merely waited, as if his purpose was to be whatever Jack fashioned it to be, though the truth was-
Jack tilted his head to the side, his eyelids closing naturally as he leaned that breath or two forward, brushing his lips against David's. He stayed there a moment, motionless, and let sensation wash over him – a mouth was a mouth and he could even enjoy kissing girls when he was feeling tolerant, but a man's mouth, a soldier's mouth, had a strength to it even still as it was now. David smelled like a creature of the woods, despite his uniform, all sunlight and grassy meadows.
Not even a true kiss, but Jack pulled away, took a careful step backward, and looked for David's response.
David's eyes were closed, his brow still furrowed in confusion. His tongue darted out to touch his lips, where Jack's mouth had rested. Slowly, his eyes opened and he hardly looked any less baffled, yet he met Jack's gaze without any apparent discomfort.
“Have I offended you horribly?” Jack asked, the question quiet and intimate. David's brief head shake seemed instinctive more than an answer, yet Jack found it reassuring.
“No, I-” David reached up and pressed his fingers against Jack's mouth, and Jack breathed in, everything inside him shivering at David's scent and his touch. “That is... I hadn't realized that you- I mean...”
Jack reached up and carefully folded his fingers around David's wrist, drawing David's hand down and away from his mouth. “I do what I can to hide it.”
“Why?” David asked.
“A future king cannot prefer the company of men,” Jack said, with a wry twist to his mouth.
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” David said.
“I believe that my father burns all the evidence,” Jack said lightly, though he regretted speaking at the pitying light in David's eyes. He wasn't planning on living his life based on Samuels' recent words, but there was... a new freedom in them, nonetheless. A man who might never be king could be just a man. “Tell me, was I wrong to kiss you?”
David stared at him steadily, his wrist still loosely held by Jack's fingers, and Jack felt as though he were watching a mountain lion decide if it should move to strike – after this moment, Jack wasn't sure his life would ever be the same. Yet it was too late now to take his words back, whatever the consequences.
“No,” David said, roughly, and though he but whispered, the words were like a thunderclap in Jack's head.
Jack breathed out, shaky, filled with a sudden rush of elation. His gaze shifted away from David and down to the forest below and he had an idea better than trying to take David back to his rooms and hide him there – which had been a foolish, fleeting thought in any case.
“Would you like to visit the royal gardens?” Jack asked, hoping that he wouldn't need to clarify his intentions. David smiled at him, wide and joyful, and that was enough of an answer. Jack dropped David's hand, though if anyone had seen them from the windows, it was already too late, and led the way.
The gardens were in the late flush of summer, nearly at the fall droop, and agreeably deserted. They were tended in the morning and just before nightfall, to please his mother's wishes, so there was no one to watch as Jack and David slipped past blue irises and lilac hydrangeas. There was a path here, only used by the family, but needs must and Jack wasn't inclined to keep to his father's rules today.
And there, at the bottom of the path, very close to being directly below the cliff where he and David had been standing earlier, was a covered shelter, poorly kept compared to the rest of his family's retreats but all the more dear for it. They had discovered this place when they'd first settled in, and his father had immediately declared it a private cabin, where no staff was to be allowed. As deep into his family's forest as it was, it was as safe as any place could be, for the borders of the forest were constantly patrolled by the personal guard. No matter what David might think, that was a far better use of their talents than nursemaiding Jack and Michelle would be.
Here, there were butterflies in abundance, though not organized in the way David had described them behaving earlier. It seemed as fitting place as any for Jack to... what had Samuels said?
Ah. To take David into his heart.
Jack opened the door to the small cabin and waved David in, then immediately set to opening up the windows to let out the stuffy air. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, David brushing his fingers against the soft fur covering the couch.
“My father killed that deer personally,” Jack said, shutting the cabin door and turning to lean against it. “He gave me the job of skinning it.”
“It's beautiful,” David said, but he wasn't looking at the fur.
Jack's breath caught in his throat, which he hadn't expected. David was fair, true, but Jack had slept with men of more grace and beauty. It didn't seem right, that David should get everything and yet-
“How did you know?” Jack asked but David's blank look forced him to try again. “I heard what you said in the press conference... you knew that I was innocent, without a moment's hesitation. How did you know?”
“Guilty men don't end up with head wounds,” David said. He stepped forward, placing his fingers against the scar Jack still carried. “Why would I doubt you?”
“My mother did,” Jack said, with a bitter laugh. “She had to ask me if I'd done something wrong. She had to make sure.”
“Then your mother doesn't know you,” David said, his hand slipping down to Jack's cheek. “None of the men think ill of you, I promise that. The generals and politicians may be fools, but your men all believe in you. We'll follow you, sir.”
“Sir?” Jack teased, reaching forward to play with the edge of David's uniform. “Such formality.”
“You're still my prince,” David said. “Whatever else you might become.”
“Well, then,” Jack said, tugging open the top button on David's jacket. “Let's find out what that something else will be.”
David stumbled forward, his hand moving to cup the back of Jack's neck – his mouth was on Jack's before Jack had prepared himself and this kiss was powerful and possessive, nothing like the dry touch of lips Jack had given David earlier. Jack gasped, his breath escaping into David's mouth, and it was like the first time.
Not his very first time, with a young kitchen maid, but his true first time, six months later, with a soldier. He'd been clumsy then, as he felt now, and just as thoroughly overwhelmed. He'd fucked dozens of men since then, but the control that he'd built over the years collapsed in the face of David's relentless enthusiasm.
He tried to continue to take off David's jacket, but his fingers kept slipping, David's mouth a constant distraction. What struck him as most unfair was that David wasn't similarly impaired, being able to unwrap Jack's scarf and yank off his coat before Jack had managed so much as the second of David's buttons.
David pushed away from him and Jack took a moment to catch a sorely-needed breath.
“Have you done this before?” Jack asked.
“I've slept with women,” David answered. He was shrugging off his jacket himself and had begun to fold it when Jack lunged for him, hoping to take David as off-guard as he'd been, earlier. Kissing David was already familiar, and Jack tugged David's shirt out of his pants, slipping his hands underneath to the warm skin. He felt... he felt-
Jack shuddered and pressed himself closer, wishing for a wild moment that this cabin was stocked for something other than family use.
“Have you never taken the soldier's comfort?” Jack asked, kissing just below David's ear. Jack himself had enjoyed many nights in that ancient pastime, something so common in the military that none considered it out of the ordinary or as a barrier to future marriage. Jack's fault was in continuing the practice in the world outside soldiers' tents.
“Only with female soldiers,” David said, an odd inflection in his voice.
With every bit of strength he had left, Jack pulled away from David. He was panting, though they had barely begun, and he had to be sure, he had to make certain that this wasn't David's way of serving the family.
“You can say no,” Jack said, staring down at the floor, not quite able to look at David, who was as much a work of art in the indirect light of the cabin as he'd been up under the sun. “You can walk out that door and I promise that I won't blame you.”
There was a long moment of silence, and all Jack could hear was the harsh sound of their breaths.
“No,” David said, thoughtfully, and Jack dared to look up. “I don't think I can.”
Then David took a step forward, reached out, and very carefully and deliberately pressed his hand against Jack's chest, only a thin layer of fabric separating them.
“Some choices can't be unmade,” David said, and there was no more hesitation in him. Jack's heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he'd been wrong, because this was like nothing else he'd felt in his life.
He opened his arms to David and let himself be overcome.
~end~
*sigh*
On the plus side, I wrote fic.
Title: Trading in Futures
Summary: A man without a future is a man with some freedom or Samuels tells Jack of his fate.
Pairing: Jack/David
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 1x01 - "Goliath", references to 1 Samuel.
Last night's indulgences had failed to satisfy Jack. Every moment, he had had to endure the sound of his father's voice echoing through his head, hamstringing his attempts at enjoying himself. He'd never suspected, never dreamed that his father had any idea about his... true inclinations, and his stomach still twisted unpleasantly whenever his thoughts reminded him of his father's knowledge.
And it squeezed harder whenever he considered Uncle William's thinly-veiled words. William must be another who believed Jack to be a coward and liar, for no honest man would consider treason and William's words could mean nothing else. Perhaps Jack wasn't an honest man, because he had to admit that his uncle's offer was more tempting than it should be – more tempting than it would have been before Jack's very dissatisfying conversation with his father.
Blinking against the summer breeze, Jack splashed some more vodka – not his preferred drink, but it would do – into his glass and swirled it around, staring down to the bottom. Michelle would castigate him for letting their father's words bother him, would probably tell him that he should have realized that someone had to be keeping pictures out of the paper. His sister was far more wise in the ways of politics than he, far more used to bucking against his father's will. He'd always admired her reckless determination, a trait that he personally lacked.
“What are you doing, child, sitting here by yourself?”
Surprised, Jack looked up to meet Reverend Samuels' eyes. He managed a half-hearted shrug, not wanting to spend too much time with the man, who had always been so close to his father in the days before Shiloh was established.
“It's not healthy to drink alone,” Samuels said, sitting down next to Jack on the broad steps. Jack thought of asking Samuels why he'd wandered to the back gardens anyway, but stopped himself and, instead, he offered the bottle up to Samuels, who took a long, steadying drink from it. Jack took a sip of his own glass and waited to see if this man, too, was going to insult Jack's character and honor.
“You have a choice ahead of you,” Samuels said, placing the bottle on the step above and behind them. Jack raised an eyebrow, propping his glass up on his knee. Samuels had been full of advice when Jack was a child, and he had to admit that some of it had been worth taking. “You will never be king.”
Jack flinched and he pressed his lips together tightly, willing himself to at least keep from crying this time. Had his father told Samuels the truth about Jack or did his words stem from another apparent deficiency in Jack's character?
“I'm not saying this to hurt you,” Samuels said, but Jack still couldn't dare look at him. He'd taken too many hits in the recent days to leave himself undefended. Samuels' warm, broad hand landed on Jack's shoulder, and he felt his muscles tighten. “This is the truth of the Lord.”
“Did-” Jack felt his throat stop up and he had to take some more time just to breathe – Samuels let him and Jack was unsure of whether or not it was a kindness. “Have you spoken to my father about this?”
“This has nothing to do with your father,” Samuels said, gently. “You'll be dead before you can take the throne.”
“This is what your god tells you,” Jack said, shrugging off Samuels' hand and forcing a sneer into his words, but uncertain whether he'd kept out the naked fear clawing at his chest. He still couldn't look at the man, stared fixedly at his drink, though he didn't see it.
“Not mine alone,” Samuels said, but more softly than any words Jack had heard spoken in the last week. “You know better than that.”
“And... and where, precisely, is the choice for me in this plan?” Jack asked, letting the rush of anger in his veins speak for him. He looked over now, to meet Samuels' eyes with a defiant glare. “You speak of my death as a certainty.”
“Your choice, my young prince, lies in how to meet your death,” Samuels said. He flicked his index finger against the glass in Jack's hand, the nail clicking hollowly. “You may hate your successor and spend the rest of your days in bitterness and fear, or you may take him into your heart.”
Jack smiled, though there was no humor in it.
“And what would be the name of this... successor to what should be my crown?” Jack asked. Samuels didn't answer, but merely plucked Jack's glass out of his hands. Jack huffed in indignation, wishing, not for the first time, that Samuels was less certain of himself.
“All things at their appointed hour,” Samuels said, picking up the bottle as well and then standing up with the both glass and bottle.
“I'm fairly certain that theft is still a crime,” Jack said.
“But I know that you won't report it,” Samuels said. “And you took this out of your father's supply.”
Jack opened his mouth in outrage and then closed it, not having an adequate response for the truth. Samuels winked at him – as though he hadn't just informed Jack of a youthful demise – and went up the stairs, taking Jack's alcohol with him.
Family friends, Jack reflected, could be more trouble than they were worth.
Jack sighed heavily and pushed himself up to his feet. Without the alcohol to numb him, his father's words were plucking at him again, and there was, possibly, a place nearby where he could let them go.
Which meant, naturally, that someone was already there. The back lawns were extensive, yet there was a figure in precisely the place where he had planned to brood – and from the shape, he could tell that it obviously wasn't his sister, who was the one person he might have been willing to share it with, as long as she refrained from going on about her health plan.
“I was hoping to be alone,” Jack said, when he got close enough. The man spun around and it was David Shepherd, of course, since he couldn't seem to escape the man. Everyone, from his father and sister down to the palace guards, seemed infatuated with him.
“I'm sorry, sir,” Shepherd said, not saluting but looking like he could at a moment's notice. Jack barked out a short laugh and waved his hand dismissively.
“You can stay,” he said, leaning sideways against the stone balustrade. “As long as you stop calling me 'sir'.”
Despite the envy that tugged at his chest, he was feeling rather more favorably inclined to Shepherd today. Maybe it was the way the sun shone off of Shepherd's hair or the death sentence that Samuels had handed out, but Jack was willing to consider, just possibly, that saving his life was worth the honors that his father had handed out.
“I'll do my best,” Shepherd said, unbending enough to place an arm across the top of the balustrade. He was strongly built, and, of course, he was as brave as everyone said – Jack had heard about the initiation of the Gath peace treaty – and, in his upright way, rather attractive. “If you're sure that it's all right. I wouldn't want to bother you.”
“You won't,” Jack said, which was a lie, but an innocent one. Shepherd would managed to bother Jack whether or not he stayed, so his presence was a moot point. Jack gave the man a look-over, trying to discern exactly what made him compelling enough that Michelle would agree to dance with him, when she danced with hardly anyone. “Tell me, Shep- David, do you believe? Do you have faith?”
“Of course,” Shepherd said, clearly biting back the 'sir' that wanted to follow. “That's actually... that's why I'm out here.”
“What do you mean?” Jack asked, his eyes narrowing with interest. David smiled, with an open honesty that wouldn't last long if he remained at court. His teeth were straight and white, as though nothing about the man dared to be less than perfect.
“That story that the king tells-”
“The butterfly story?” Jack asked, not able to hide the edge in his question.
“Yes,” Shepherd said, with a touch of hesitance. His eyes were bluer than Jack remembered, matching the sky behind his head. “Does the king only have one story?”
“Only one that he insists on constantly inflicting upon the world,” Jack said, leaning slightly toward Shepherd. Shepherd copied his motion, likely unconsciously. “Did you see some yesterday? On occasion, they flit up from the forest below, but they aren't a common sight.”
“More than just saw,” Shepherd said, his voice shot through with wonder, as he tilted his head back and closed his eyes against the sun, light gleaming off his exposed throat. It sent a pang through Jack, strikingly similar to how he'd felt when he'd first begun struggling with inappropriate urges. Shepherd did wear his uniform well. “A... cloud or a swarm of them... settled all around me. My hands, my face... a circle of them, like the crown that your father spoke of, on the back of my head.” He lowered his chin again, sending an uncertain look in Jack's direction. “I came to see if they would return today, but they haven't.”
They wouldn't, Jack thought, a thick lump in his throat. An anointing should only happen once.
“At the time, I wondered if it wasn't a sign from God,” Shepherd continued. “And now, with your words, I'm certain. I know my task now.”
“And that would be?” Jack asked, not sure exactly what he was expecting Shepherd to say. To take your father's place, perhaps, delivered with one of his heart-stopping grins.
“To stay here, in Shiloh, and do what I can to help my king,” Shepherd said and Jack had to cough to cover his confusion. Was Shepherd truly such an innocent? Jack stared at him and, while Shepherd looked slightly uncomfortable, he didn't shift his gaze away and Jack was forced to conclude that Shepherd meant every word. The man appeared to be truly lacking in ambition. How could such a man ever be king?
And here he was, taking Samuels' words seriously, as though the man could truly predict the future. Butterfly crown or no, David Shepherd didn't have the mind of a king. Most days, Jack wasn't sure he did, either, but he did have the training.
“An honorable choice,” Jack said, before the silence had grown too deep between them. “Apart from the job my father assigned you, how did you plan on carrying out this new task?”
“Your sister came to see me the other day,” Shepherd said, earnestly – as though he had any other way to talk – reaching forward to place a hand on Jack's elbow. Jack carefully controlled his body's instinctive reaction to move closer and his heart's impulse to ask what, exactly, his sister was doing going out to Shepherd's. “It worries me to see her unguarded. She's the daughter of the king, but she had no one with her.”
“Perhaps she wanted no one,” Jack said.
“If she were attacked, it would be too late for her to change her mind,” Shepherd said, his eyes troubled. “And you, sir-”
“Ah, none of that,” Jack chided.
“I can't call you Jack,” Shepherd said, an odd pleading edge in his voice.
“Why not?” Jack said.
“Whatever else you are, you're my prince,” Shepherd said. “And my superior officer.”
“What do you call my sister?”
Shepherd opened his mouth slightly, touching his tongue to the center of his upper lip. He seemed frozen between propriety and honesty. It became him more than it should.
“Call me Jack and I'll call you David,” Jack said, his own formality suddenly displeasing. He couldn't continue to think of a man such as this by his last name.
“You already have,” Shepherd – no, David – reminded him.
“So I have,” Jack said. He gave David another long look, noticing him tense further as Jack's gaze drifted over him. “Are you in love with my sister?”
“Am I-” David broke off, looking down. “Am I in love?”
“That's what I asked,” Jack said, feeling braver now that he had seen the lack of malice in David's heart. “My sister – she's got brown hair, princess of Gilboa, you may have heard of her.”
David chuckled, a rich and warm sound. He glanced up again, his eyes meeting Jack's and causing a half-hidden memory to rush back – he'd been only just conscious and his head covered in bandages, but he had barely been able to see David's face, to feel his hand resting against Jack's shoulder, giving him the strangest and most unreliable sense of security. Then his father had come and David had been gone.
“Your sister is... lovely,” David said, and he seemed to be choosing his words carefully, for possibly the first time in the conversation. “I'm attracted to her, I won't lie about that, and I like her, but we've still only just met. It's too soon to talk of love.”
“Good,” Jack said, only barely conscious of the decision he'd made, as selfish as any in his life. He stepped forward and David's brow furrowed slightly, as if to ask what Jack was doing, yet David didn't back away. He merely waited, as if his purpose was to be whatever Jack fashioned it to be, though the truth was-
Jack tilted his head to the side, his eyelids closing naturally as he leaned that breath or two forward, brushing his lips against David's. He stayed there a moment, motionless, and let sensation wash over him – a mouth was a mouth and he could even enjoy kissing girls when he was feeling tolerant, but a man's mouth, a soldier's mouth, had a strength to it even still as it was now. David smelled like a creature of the woods, despite his uniform, all sunlight and grassy meadows.
Not even a true kiss, but Jack pulled away, took a careful step backward, and looked for David's response.
David's eyes were closed, his brow still furrowed in confusion. His tongue darted out to touch his lips, where Jack's mouth had rested. Slowly, his eyes opened and he hardly looked any less baffled, yet he met Jack's gaze without any apparent discomfort.
“Have I offended you horribly?” Jack asked, the question quiet and intimate. David's brief head shake seemed instinctive more than an answer, yet Jack found it reassuring.
“No, I-” David reached up and pressed his fingers against Jack's mouth, and Jack breathed in, everything inside him shivering at David's scent and his touch. “That is... I hadn't realized that you- I mean...”
Jack reached up and carefully folded his fingers around David's wrist, drawing David's hand down and away from his mouth. “I do what I can to hide it.”
“Why?” David asked.
“A future king cannot prefer the company of men,” Jack said, with a wry twist to his mouth.
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” David said.
“I believe that my father burns all the evidence,” Jack said lightly, though he regretted speaking at the pitying light in David's eyes. He wasn't planning on living his life based on Samuels' recent words, but there was... a new freedom in them, nonetheless. A man who might never be king could be just a man. “Tell me, was I wrong to kiss you?”
David stared at him steadily, his wrist still loosely held by Jack's fingers, and Jack felt as though he were watching a mountain lion decide if it should move to strike – after this moment, Jack wasn't sure his life would ever be the same. Yet it was too late now to take his words back, whatever the consequences.
“No,” David said, roughly, and though he but whispered, the words were like a thunderclap in Jack's head.
Jack breathed out, shaky, filled with a sudden rush of elation. His gaze shifted away from David and down to the forest below and he had an idea better than trying to take David back to his rooms and hide him there – which had been a foolish, fleeting thought in any case.
“Would you like to visit the royal gardens?” Jack asked, hoping that he wouldn't need to clarify his intentions. David smiled at him, wide and joyful, and that was enough of an answer. Jack dropped David's hand, though if anyone had seen them from the windows, it was already too late, and led the way.
The gardens were in the late flush of summer, nearly at the fall droop, and agreeably deserted. They were tended in the morning and just before nightfall, to please his mother's wishes, so there was no one to watch as Jack and David slipped past blue irises and lilac hydrangeas. There was a path here, only used by the family, but needs must and Jack wasn't inclined to keep to his father's rules today.
And there, at the bottom of the path, very close to being directly below the cliff where he and David had been standing earlier, was a covered shelter, poorly kept compared to the rest of his family's retreats but all the more dear for it. They had discovered this place when they'd first settled in, and his father had immediately declared it a private cabin, where no staff was to be allowed. As deep into his family's forest as it was, it was as safe as any place could be, for the borders of the forest were constantly patrolled by the personal guard. No matter what David might think, that was a far better use of their talents than nursemaiding Jack and Michelle would be.
Here, there were butterflies in abundance, though not organized in the way David had described them behaving earlier. It seemed as fitting place as any for Jack to... what had Samuels said?
Ah. To take David into his heart.
Jack opened the door to the small cabin and waved David in, then immediately set to opening up the windows to let out the stuffy air. He noticed, out of the corner of his eye, David brushing his fingers against the soft fur covering the couch.
“My father killed that deer personally,” Jack said, shutting the cabin door and turning to lean against it. “He gave me the job of skinning it.”
“It's beautiful,” David said, but he wasn't looking at the fur.
Jack's breath caught in his throat, which he hadn't expected. David was fair, true, but Jack had slept with men of more grace and beauty. It didn't seem right, that David should get everything and yet-
“How did you know?” Jack asked but David's blank look forced him to try again. “I heard what you said in the press conference... you knew that I was innocent, without a moment's hesitation. How did you know?”
“Guilty men don't end up with head wounds,” David said. He stepped forward, placing his fingers against the scar Jack still carried. “Why would I doubt you?”
“My mother did,” Jack said, with a bitter laugh. “She had to ask me if I'd done something wrong. She had to make sure.”
“Then your mother doesn't know you,” David said, his hand slipping down to Jack's cheek. “None of the men think ill of you, I promise that. The generals and politicians may be fools, but your men all believe in you. We'll follow you, sir.”
“Sir?” Jack teased, reaching forward to play with the edge of David's uniform. “Such formality.”
“You're still my prince,” David said. “Whatever else you might become.”
“Well, then,” Jack said, tugging open the top button on David's jacket. “Let's find out what that something else will be.”
David stumbled forward, his hand moving to cup the back of Jack's neck – his mouth was on Jack's before Jack had prepared himself and this kiss was powerful and possessive, nothing like the dry touch of lips Jack had given David earlier. Jack gasped, his breath escaping into David's mouth, and it was like the first time.
Not his very first time, with a young kitchen maid, but his true first time, six months later, with a soldier. He'd been clumsy then, as he felt now, and just as thoroughly overwhelmed. He'd fucked dozens of men since then, but the control that he'd built over the years collapsed in the face of David's relentless enthusiasm.
He tried to continue to take off David's jacket, but his fingers kept slipping, David's mouth a constant distraction. What struck him as most unfair was that David wasn't similarly impaired, being able to unwrap Jack's scarf and yank off his coat before Jack had managed so much as the second of David's buttons.
David pushed away from him and Jack took a moment to catch a sorely-needed breath.
“Have you done this before?” Jack asked.
“I've slept with women,” David answered. He was shrugging off his jacket himself and had begun to fold it when Jack lunged for him, hoping to take David as off-guard as he'd been, earlier. Kissing David was already familiar, and Jack tugged David's shirt out of his pants, slipping his hands underneath to the warm skin. He felt... he felt-
Jack shuddered and pressed himself closer, wishing for a wild moment that this cabin was stocked for something other than family use.
“Have you never taken the soldier's comfort?” Jack asked, kissing just below David's ear. Jack himself had enjoyed many nights in that ancient pastime, something so common in the military that none considered it out of the ordinary or as a barrier to future marriage. Jack's fault was in continuing the practice in the world outside soldiers' tents.
“Only with female soldiers,” David said, an odd inflection in his voice.
With every bit of strength he had left, Jack pulled away from David. He was panting, though they had barely begun, and he had to be sure, he had to make certain that this wasn't David's way of serving the family.
“You can say no,” Jack said, staring down at the floor, not quite able to look at David, who was as much a work of art in the indirect light of the cabin as he'd been up under the sun. “You can walk out that door and I promise that I won't blame you.”
There was a long moment of silence, and all Jack could hear was the harsh sound of their breaths.
“No,” David said, thoughtfully, and Jack dared to look up. “I don't think I can.”
Then David took a step forward, reached out, and very carefully and deliberately pressed his hand against Jack's chest, only a thin layer of fabric separating them.
“Some choices can't be unmade,” David said, and there was no more hesitation in him. Jack's heart was beating wildly in his chest, and he'd been wrong, because this was like nothing else he'd felt in his life.
He opened his arms to David and let himself be overcome.