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There were few things about Jake that were a certainty. He didn’t do romance, he didn’t do fancy dates, he didn’t do surprise gifts, he didn’t do the same girl in one week (though he found himself making exceptions for that rule more and more often), he didn’t do sappy, he didn’t do fluffy, he didn’t do excessive PDA in any realm unless it was to make Rooster uncomfortable, and he most certainly didn’t do love.
And yet none of those certainties seemed to apply to you. This agreement the two of you had come to did not include romance or dates or surprise gifts. For the most part, he’d managed to stick to those set rules. Just sex. Sex was something he could handle… Hangman could handle it very well. Even better was the lack of dates or expected romance to follow. Here he could kick your ass in a training exercise, piss you off so bad, and slap your ass on the way to the showers to give you something better to do with your mouth. Sometimes Hangman would toe the line of acceptable friends with benefits affection by kissing down your neck, again solely to make Rooster uncomfortable, but he would never dream of holding you close after blowing your back out in those few moments of respite before you slide your pants back on and head to your room.
And yet there was a small gift sitting in the center of his desk that Jake had gotten simply because he knew you would love it. Technically, he wasn’t breaking any rules. This was not a gift for you. It was for him. An unavoidable purchase because he had walked past a shop in town earlier and saw it in the window and imagined the way your eyes would light up if you saw it, which made him smile. A real sap. Smiling at the thought of your joy. Heart skipping a beat knowing you would have grabbed him by the hand to drag him into the store just to look at it. If the two of you had been something, if Jake had any feelings for you - strings attached - he would have bought it for you in secret to surprise you with that night. You would have signed his name in a whole and complete way that no one had ever said to him before. Not Hangman, not Bagman, not Seresin. Jake. Nothing special but it sounded like a prayer on your lips.
And yet that wasn’t going to happen because that wasn’t what the two of you were like. There were no domestic moments of intimacy living anywhere except in this strange fantasy that had caught Hangman completely off guard. It had stopped him in his tracks and blacked out his mind. But that couldn’t be love. Hangman didn’t love people. He strung them out to dry at his earliest convenience. Bagman didn’t do love. He insulted them so badly they stormed out of the room. Seresin didn’t do love. He fucked and convinced himself that was enough to live off of. Jake didn’t do love. Or so he had lead himself to believe all these years.
And yet there was something brewing deep into Jake’s chest that he couldn’t bring himself to hate. You were something he could never hate. He’d tried like hell, but could never manage it. The real issue was figuring out whether or not to do anything about it. Break the terms and agreements in a risky move to grasp at the mere chance of being able to dress you up, take you out, and tear those clothes off you with his teeth. Have you call out his name and never have to wonder if you were calling out someone else’s name later in the week because you’d be his and only his.
And yet, Jake had few certainties in his life. Rules he had established with himself long ago. He didn’t do relationships, and he didn’t do love. So he pulled open a drawer and swept that little reminder of you into it, shoving it closed with more ferocity than intended. These feelings would pass.
He’d tear his heart out if he had to.