Pick your poison

[Jack Ripley]

"Hey--"

He didn't need help swinging! Yet it was happening. Like he was a kid again, back when he was still a shorty and his little legs didn't reach the ground. Now it was quite the opposite. Also, he didn't have to be told twice to hang on as Brayden shoved the swing up into the air.

"I can't say it doesn't."

It really did feel like flying. Weirdly, everything about hurtling through the air on the swing made him feel buoyant. He closed his eyes and let out an almost childlike laugh. When was the last time he felt this light and airy? Probably back in those kindergarten days. Weird how those were his happiest days, but that was when he realized that there was love in the world. A teacher that cared meant the world to him. It was no wonder Jack eventually went on to become a teacher himself.

"You better hurry and catch up to me or you're going to lose your own bet."

[Brayden Smith]

"Oh I'm not losing! I'm the King of the Swings!"

Yes... it was the stupidest thing he'd said all day. Again—no amount of caring. Bray ran back to his own swing and got back into it, pumping his legs to get up higher, higher, higher into the air. The wind sliced past his face and he let out an exhilarated laugh, and the higher he swung, the further away he left his worries and troubles behind. For a moment he was free as a bird, unfettered, unrestrained.

However, as energetic as Bray was, shorter legs meant that he couldn't get up as high or as quickly as Jack. Bray laughed again—and then reached over to pull on the chain links of Jack's swing to sabotage him a little. All's fair in love, war and swing wars, right? That was definitely the saying. Bray didn't count on his own swing wobbling so ferociously though, and ended up having to abort and jump off again before he collided painfully mid-air with Jack.

"Cheaters... never prosper," he gasped as he got to his feet, shaking his head and brushing off his pants.

[Jack Ripley]

"All right, Your Majesty. Then show me what you got!"

Never mind that Jack had to have a little help getting up off the ground. Who knew he'd be in his 30s and still awkward in his own limbs? Shocker.

"Oh--hey--what!"

Things were going oh-so-smoothly--up until the point where Brayden decided to play dirty. Jack didn't even know he had it in him. It seemed like soft little Brayden wasn't as soft as he made himself out to be! Jack found himself twisting around in his swing and before he could end up smacking straight into Brayden, Brayden made the decision to jump off first.

Meanwhile, Jack's swing was out of control and he swung his legs out in an attempt to grab hold of the nearby pole and stop the wild swinging. His head spun and he felt slightly green around the gills by the time he managed to wrap a leg around a pole. He slid up and off the seat, grasping onto the pole like a lover.

"I declare by default that I win, since you're a filthy little cheat!"

[Brayden Smith]

Jack's exit off the swing was slightly more graceful than Bray's—but not by much. As he grabbed onto the pole and slid off his own swing, Bray was on his feet laughing at the way he was hugging the metal structure. "Hey if you're not cheating, you're not trying!" He declared as he walked unsteadily over; his legs were broken. Both legs, broken from the way he landed after he leapt off his swing.

Bray pried Jack off the pole and collapsed against him, still laughing at their silly and very ungraceful play session. How did they do it as kids? When they could leap on and off slides, swing all the way up to the skies, jump off with scant regard for personal safety... Ah, it was good to be young. But it also felt good to let go for a little while, especially after such a heavy moment earlier in the cafe.

He wound his arms around Jack's waist. "So what does the winner want for winning?" Was there anything a filthy cheater like Bray could give him that he didn't already have? Glamor, grace (most of the time), fashionable attire and friends all around him, Jack seemed to have it all. His apartment was impeccably furnished; he knew how to cook and he told marvellous stories. It was truly difficult to look past all of that when it was so prominent.

[Jack Ripley]

"How dare you, sir, accuse me of not trying because I'm not a filthy cheat," Jack said in his most over-the-top imperious tone. It came to him so naturally. But there was a hint of playfulness that hadn't been there before. Now that he wasn't hugging a pole, he came to be hugging Brayden instead.

"Hmmm," he hummed, having to think that one over. What did the winner want? There were never any stakes in this bet. Brayden just made one without laying out the terms. Jack went along with it. And it was all for fun and games. Nothing serious. It was nice, actually, to see this more playful side of Brayden in full detail, rather in snippets and spurts.

"I want you," he declared, pulling Brayden closer so that he could kiss the tip of his nose affectionately. His voice lowered, in case the kids were listening but also because... it was really only meant for Brayden's ears, anyway. "I want you tonight. No wine."

No wine. Just the two of them. And then Brayden could stop being shy around his naked body. Jack wanted to see the emboldened side of Brayden. He knew it was there. Just like the playful snippets, there were sneak peeks here and there of a bolder Brayden. Like when he said no with absolution in his tone.

"Just," he said slowly, drawing the words out, "you."

[Brayden Smith]

Apparently he did dare, because he just did. But it was all in good fun. Winning or losing, it was all a game and besides, Bray wasn't that competitive! No one enjoyed losing but it also wasn't as if his life depended on coming out on top. Bray was simply happy—and he felt blessed, truly—to be able to share a moment and a laugh with Jack.

Arms around one another, he felt finally that he was home. Home was where the heart was, and his heart was with Jack. It seemed odd now to imagine having lived so long without him. How ever did Bray exist before? How did he get through the days and nights that dragged on and on in an endless loop? Jack really did flip his entire world upside-down, and all he did was move here and say hello.

"Me?" Bray smiled at the peck on the nose—such an affectionate thing, such a Jack thing to do. If Jack had ever been starved for love, it didn't show because almost deceptively, he was so affectionate with everyone that people must have thought he grew up surrounded by love and attention, and was accustomed to showing it. Not so. That was the trouble with that armor, sadly; it was too convincing.

Ah—but Jack wanted him tonight. No wine. Bray's gaze fell down to Jack's lips as they formed the words again. Just. Him. As if he had to repeat himself for Bray to get the implications of 'no wine.' But he wanted it, too. He really did, without wine, without anything to get in the way of what he felt was an important act of intimacy. Sex meant something to Bray. Love and sex, they were part of the same package.

"I want you too." He kissed Jack's chin softly, aware that kids were watching. Probably not a good time to start madly making out. A hug was fine, though. Soft whispers, they were okay. "Tonight. And every night." Not that he was propositioning for sex every night—how exhausting!—but he wanted to be with Jack when the lights were dimmed and the covers pulled up over them. He wanted to rest his head on Jack's chest, for Jack to rest his head on his shoulder, to hold, to be held. He wanted everything that being lovers entailed.

"...but maybe we should... stop hugging now..." He caught sight of a mother glaring at them and eased away. "Ahem. So. Let's. Not be here... with the angry moms...?"

[Jack Ripley]

This time, Jack was determined to make it good. Not that it wasn't good before but he was going to make it good. Memorable. Brayden wouldn't forget it this time. He would be present and in the same moment as Jack. That was what he wanted. None of this one-sided love anymore. Jack didn't want to be the only one holding onto a precious memory and he wanted... he wanted Brayden to have a chance, too. To show his love and affection in a way he wasn't prepared to when he was so, so drunk on that wine.

Satisfied that they were again on the same page, Jack smiled and nodded. His finger gently poked the same spot he'd just kissed on Brayden's nose.

This, Jack didn't mind people seeing. But he understood Brayden's sentiment. Reluctantly, he removed himself from Brayden's warm embrace and took his hand, tugging him along with him. His smile was wry as he said, "We're not welcome anywhere, are we?"

Which was a lie; they were probably welcome at the cafe but that was... Jack didn't like airing that sort of thing in public. The fact that he even said as much as he did, shared as much as he did--in public, no less--was a feat in itself.

As he walked Brayden away from playground, Jack said suddenly and apparently out of nowhere (but it had been on his mind when he searched Brayden's closet earlier): "Whatever happened to that nice tie of yours? I didn't see it in your closet."

[Brayden Smith]

Bray turned his back on the disapproving mothers and their no doubt emotionally scarred children and let himself be pulled off the playground. This was a place for kids anyway, not for men in their mid-thirties to declare undying love (and to sneakily indicate that they both wanted to have sex later that night). He did cast an apologetic look over his shoulder, though, unable to help himself. He really, really needed to stop apologizing for everything.

"What tie? Oh the-the turquoise one?" He only had one tie that Jack would consider nice. "It's... back in the tie box." The nice box he got it in, he put the tie back to keep it clean and safe. And that box, he slid into his drawers rather than leaving it just anywhere in his closet where he could crinkle it or lose it in that sea of 'one palette' grays and tans and blacks.

"Why? Should I wear it tonight?" There was a touch of humor in his tone as he imagined wearing only that tie and nothing else. Bray laughed despite himself. He'd heard of people leaving their socks on but... ties?

[Jack Ripley]

The image of Brayden wearing nothing but a turquoise tie made Jack laugh. He leaned against Brayden, then slid his arm around his shoulders.

"I'd say no, but now I kinda need to see it."

Brayden really just did this shit to himself. Poor, poor Brayden. But Jack hadn't meant to ask where it was for tonight. More like he'd been wondering if it was still in Brayden's position because, well... He could build an outfit around that tie. And he thought Brayden would look quite lovely in the right outfit. Already, he had various articles of clothing in mind. Turquoise looked really good, actually, with that soft grey that Jack seemed to like. A fitted coat and trousers, a nice white button up... He could pull it off, he thought. Maybe even a paisley vest. Or would that be overkill on Brayden...? Hm. Maybe.

He was quiet, content as they walked away from the playground and left it behind. There was a nice expanse of trees, bushes, and small woodland creatures nearby and Jack could even hear the cheerful babble of a creek he couldn't yet see.

"We didn't have this kind of thing where I grew up," he told Brayden as they walked through the cool shade of the trees that still held onto their leaves during the winter. Jack couldn't say what they were; botany or whatever that plant studies thing was called was never his strong suit.

"The best I had was the tall grass in our yard. I used to sit out there and hide and pretend I was one of the stray cats and dogs that lived out there." He lifted his arm and gestured to a place on the underside of his upper arm. "Got bit by a tick in there. I didn't think about all the bugs that were hiding out there with me. My father had to pull it out, I did it wrong. I kinda panicked and ripped it off, but did you know, the head stays if you don't pull them out right?" He made a face. "So gross, am I right?"

[Brayden Smith]

"I... I don't think you do need to see that," said Bray dubiously, realizing not long after that he effectively dug himself into that hole with his own two bare hands. Maybe all of this off-the-cuff commenting without thinking deal wasn't the way to go. When he over-thought every comment, at least he didn't get in any trouble. Of course he also didn't get anywhere but there was safety there—and not landing himself in hot water.

He sighed; if Jack wanted to see it, it would probably happen anyway. Jack had that way with him and Bray was so weak against him. There was no defense against Jack and it wasn't fair!

"You mean forests? You grew up in the city... Weren't there parks?" Probably not nature parks like these, though. Bray glanced around at the evergreens, the pines that scented the air, maples with their bare branches mingling with birch trees whose tall, straight, banded white and gray trunks stood out. Fae weren't as in-tune with nature as sylphs (supposedly) but Bray felt a great deal of comfort every time he strolled through the woods or through this park. He didn't think he could live in a big city full of concrete and chrome, where the air was choked full of auto exhaust and fumes.

"What—" He was about to ask what made Jack decide to leave all that behind, but Jack continued speaking so he fell silent and listened. "I-I didn't know that, no," Bray grimaced. The thought of a tick's head dangling off the tender arm of a little boy... "That's... not right." His arm slid around Jack's waist as they headed down a random path; all of them led around in a circle, so he knew they were in no danger of getting lost.

"Why did you hide there? Was it... did you go there to hide from your mom?" Most little boys pretended they were tigers and bears, not... stray cats and dogs. There was something to that. Did Jack want to get away so badly that he would have settled for being a stray neighborhood animal? Bray's hold on Jack tightened; he turned to kiss Jack's cheek affectionately, as though to make up for the neglect he faced all those years ago.

[Jack Ripley]

Jack smiled knowingly at Brayden's tone of utter doubt. What? What was wrong with a pretty, handsome man with only a tie around his neck? Those Chippendale dudes did it, didn't they? Practically the same thing. And anyway, it wasn't like Brayden had to do it for anybody other than Jack, who would love-love it and appreciate it. He gave Brayden his best puppy eyes, which didn't come into play often.

"Park has a different meaning in Boston."

At least, in the slummy, city parts of Boston. Parks there were dinky, sad little things. They were squeezed into places they hardly belonged, with barely any grass. Mostly, they just had filthy sand and that weird bouncy foam material in the place of grass. And the trees were tiny, pale half-grown things standing up only with the help of sticks as they tried to grow. Try being the operative word; the kids in slum town Boston weren't kind to those little baby trees.

"There's a little scar there now." Obviously, Brayden couldn't see it right now, underneath his clothes. But it was there. He lowered his arm. Why did he hide out there? Jack could remember it like it was yesterday, though it was so long ago.

"...it was best to just stay out of her way." That was answer enough, he was sure. When he was still too little to understand that his mother didn't love him, Jack used to cry a lot. He was one of those inconsolable babies that grew into a quiet toddler. In particular, he remembered one night when he was really sick. He didn't know what it was. Chicken pox or something. He had a bad fever and he just didn't feel good. His mother was sleeping on the couch, like she usually did, with the television on for comfort. She wasn't really sleeping though. She was passed out from some drug or other.

Jack remembered climbing onto the couch with her, slipping under one bruised arm and listening to the sound of her heartbeat. It was almost like being in the womb again.

"That was when I was small enough to get away with hiding in the tall grass. It was my secret place. I used to listen to the neighbors play their music, too. They were always throwing parties. Loads of drunks shouting and fighting. But I liked the music." He half smiled as he slid his gaze sidelong toward Brayden. "And I was the gayest little boy ever. I used to dance to it." He laughed. "And I had an audience of strays so I thought I was pretty damn good."

[Brayden Smith]

"I'm sorry."

Apologizing came second-nature to Bray but he had never meant it as much as he did in that moment, with his heart full to bursting but this time... with sorrow. Not with joy, like back at his apartment when Jack agreed to be his lover. Not with weightless happiness like it did only moments earlier when they flew on the swings. Now there was a deep, heavy sadness.

He could see it in his mind's eye: a lonely, unloved little boy swaying and twirling to the muffled music from the house party nearby, dancing with an invisible partner, dancing to a captive audience of other unwanted, unloved, lonely little things—cats, dogs, rats maybe. The image brought tears to his eyes. Bray breathed in suddenly and deeply and turned away. He swept thumb and forefinger across his eyes to rid them of tears, then pinched the bridge of his nose momentarily.

It was impossible to care for someone and not be moved by such sad stories. And while he knew that Jack wasn't looking for pity, he felt it in its purest form for Jack. Bray sniffed softly. "Sorry," he murmured to the trees and the grass, knowing that those years of suffering were long past, that Jack was loved in the present day. But the scars had to still be there; the memories never left Jack if he could speak so vividly about them.

There was so much pain there, contained within one man. How did Jack do it? How did he manage to laugh that breezily, and to recount those stories without wanting to break down? Even hearing it made Bray emotional. Jack was so, so strong. Or there were more barriers there to block out the horror, allowing him to speak of such a horrific level of neglect and make it out to be some kind of amusing anecdote.

Bray didn't want to focus on the terrible parts but they were glaring. "I don't know how she... How can anyone not love their own child?" It was abhorrent to Bray. It was unnatural. Was Jack not her child? Didn't she feel anything to have given birth to him? No sense of responsibility, not even a shred of affection?

[Jack Ripley]

"Hey..." He pulled Brayden in closer. "Don't. It's all in the past now."

His tales weren't meant to make Brayden... cry. Jack thought he wanted to hear these silly stories from his past, to be a part of it, even if he wasn't there. Maybe it was a mistake, though. Their upbringings and their parents were on complete opposite ends of the spectrum. A man like Brayden, who actually grew up with unconditionally loving parents... Jack didn't mean to but he felt like he was breaking Brayden's heart.

Jack thought about changing the subject but now that they were here, at this point where Brayden felt safe asking the questions and Jack felt safe answering them... it seemed like shutting the door in the face of what was building between them. So Jack sighed and toyed with his tie.

"She was still a kid herself when I was born and I never met my grandparents but I get the feeling they weren't that kind to her, either. But... that doesn't change the fact that she was the most selfish person I've ever known. All she cared about was her own pain and she spent all her time finding ways to try and run from it. Honestly, B... I don't think she knew how to love anybody, not even herself."

[Brayden Smith]

"It's too cruel, Jack. You-you didn't deserve any of it."

That any child—not only Jack—was made to suffer through that was unconscionable! And it wasn't just Jack, he knew that—there were hundreds of thousands of children who were born to poor families, who were unwanted and unloved, beaten and kicked and starved, and none of them ever asked to be born into that kind of abuse. Jack hadn't asked for it either but that was his cruel fate, into which he was unceremoniously thrust.

Bray's heart did break; he was heartbroken. Someone he loved with all his heart carrying the burden of all of that abuse couldn't fail to hurt him deeply. He turned into Jack and breathed for a few moments, breathed him in. Poor Jack. Poor, sweet Jack, trying to comfort him, trying to explain his mother's unforgivable actions. Bray didn't hate her—he couldn't truly hate anyone—but he felt strongly about her... to put it politely.

"How did you grow up to be so strong?" Bray finally looked up, dry-eyed but still torn up inside. His hands slid up to cup Jack's face, to stroke his cheeks with his thumbs. "You... you're so warm and loving and beautiful." Unlike her, selfish and self-absorbed. Jack managed to rise above that, somehow, and Bray had nothing but admiration in his heart and in his eyes for Jack.

"You're a miracle. I mean it."

[Jack Ripley]

Jack thought back to those kids on the playground and back even further, to the kids he knew in high school, junior high, elementary, and finally, all the way back to kindergarten. Kindergarten had been his saving grace. A place to go where he was guaranteed food, games, interaction. A lovely woman who spoke to him, talked to him like he was there and not as an irritant or a thorn in her side.

She must have known, Jack thought. When he came to school dressed like a homeless person. Too skinny. And the moment she talked to him, oh boy. Jack opened straight up. He had so much to tell her. Stories he made up in the back alley, his adventures with the strays, his love of the neighbors' music, even things he wasn't aware he shouldn't tell her about... Like the mother that slept all the time and how his father begrudgingly did fatherly things like bring home KFC or tell him to take a bath.

Jack didn't know if she called anybody or if anybody ever came. If they did, nobody bothered to tell him.

Brayden's mom sounded so much like his old kindergarten teacher, like her and Mrs. Hoffman rolled into one. And she raised Brayden well. Maybe he was too serious and too shy and he was a satellite but he knew real love and he knew how to love. Jack was envious of that feeling, while at the same time, not too stupid to realize... that he was feeling it now.

"I had no choice," he said, not to the ground or to the space between Brayden's eyes--but directly to him. Part of him wanted to deny that he was strong but if he wasn't strong, he wouldn't be here. He knew when he was at his weakest points; this was not it. Brayden hadn't been there during the weak points, when he was really off his shit, when the bad things happened, when the breakdowns occurred, and he could hardly paint himself as anything, let alone the Jack Ripley he worked so hard to become.

When it came right down to it, he had to at least be stronger than past Jack. The teenager that was sullen and given to wild mood swings, the idiot too high to know what he was doing, the struggles to stay afloat in a school where he suddenly wasn't effortlessly brilliant but had to actually work to keep his place.

A small scoff. A brief flit of the gaze. The Jack Brayden described didn't sound like him. Warm? Loving? He'd take beautiful. He wished he were the former two. Like he said, his idols were just that and he wanted so to be like them.

"Well," he said, after a long moment, hand rising up to the back of Brayden's head, forehead brushing forehead. "You only see those things because you're special. Most people would say... I'm kind of charming, if a bit snobbish, too sarcastic for my own good, and yes, maybe beautiful. That part takes effort, though, you know. You haven't seen me after a week long bender--and your stars willing--you never will."

He placed a gentle kiss to Brayden's lips, stepping closer, enfolding him in his embrace. "But I think you're mistaken. You, Brayden Smith, are the true miracle. I think... you might even have the power to save me..."

Maybe it was putting a lot on somebody but if anybody could... if anybody came close to it... Brayden... Brayden was the one. There were no games. His love was simplistic. He was so giving it was almost self-sacrificial. And that scared Jack. How far did somebody like Brayden even go... to protect the people he loved? Jack didn't want to think about it, because either direction deeply depressed him. Instead, he kissed him again, a little deeper, but not less gentle.