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"I've got better shit to do than waste time drinking with you, Jacob," Ned says, rising to leave.
Oh, that's no good.
"Wait one minute, Wynert!"
But Ned doesn't wait, so Jacob moves to stop him, and he does it in the only way he ever would. (That didn't involve a blade, anyhow.)
Jacob means it as a joke, really -- hands on either side of Ned's head, trapping him against the bookcase, just a bit rougher than necessary. Ned doesn't seem startled anyway, but Jacob feels the impulse to show off every second of his life. He looks down at Ned like he's caught prey –– Ned being so prim and tailored drives him insane. He can't imagine keeping his shirt cuffs that white for longer than a minute, and there Ned is, always starched and pristine.
"Is this really necessary?" Ned asks, completely unfazed. "Move, you big lug."
"What if I don't?" Jacob asks. Their faces are close, ostensibly because it's easier to lord your size over someone when you grant them no personal space, but Jacob gets a kick out of how Ned's pupils dilate, how their noses bump.
Ned doesn't say anything for a moment, so Jacob just lingers, hoping he'll give in, show any sort of emotional reaction. He doesn't. His resolve just makes Jacob more curious. Makes his heartbeat pick up. (Why?)
"Jesus," Ned says. "You know, sometimes you come on too strong."
"Who says I'm coming onto you?" Jacob says, but they're making eye contact and Ned doesn't blink, he just holds Jacob's gaze from behind those poncy little spectacles. His lips are full, parted just enough to show a bit of tooth. Jacob can almost feel Ned's breath, they're so close.
And right there, Jacob thinks a rare thought: I think I'm going too far this time.
After all, this is a little... homosexual.
"Jacob," Ned says, low and warning, but he doesn't seem unnerved at all. If anything, he seems to lift his chin a little, jut his chest forward. They're so close that Jacob inhales when Ned exhales. Too close to back away now, certainly.
And just like that, Jacob abruptly decides he never takes anything too far, and presses his mouth to Ned's.
Ned doesn't do jack shit to resist, either –– Ned's face fits between his palms like it was meant to be, and if Jacob's being honest, he gets a kick out of Ned putting up with his rowdiness. Jacob kisses him roughly, and Ned makes a little noise. His hands fist in the front of Jacob's shirt and pull him in closer, and then he's got a thigh firmly between Jacob's legs.
Emboldened and none too shy, Jacob grazes his teeth over Ned's lower lip.
"You be careful," Ned says, pulling away slightly, but he's a little breathy, a little worked up. "I've got to go in public with this face."
"Stop whining," Jacob says, and Ned grabs him by the groin so hard that Jacob is momentarily jolted from the moment. He opens his mouth to complain –– look, man, don't touch my cock, I'm not some sodomite, that's not that this is about, and other such defenses that would be odd out of a man's mouth after a kiss like that. But Ned speaks first, fingers wound into the front of Jacob's trousers with surprising strength.
"You can leave marks on every other inch of my body, if you want," Ned hisses. "But you leave the face alone."
"Is that a challenge?" Jacob asks. And then, just to push the envelope: "Are you giving yourself up to me, Ned?"
"I'd be a fool to tell you that if I didn't think you'd take it that way," Ned replies, hand easing off. "You mind yourself, Jacob Frye. You're coming onto me."
"Are you suggesting I'm––"
"Jacob?"
Both of them freeze. That's Evie from somewhere down the train, and Jacob mutters under his breath and pries himself from Ned so fast he's nearly loses his own feet. Ned snorts.
"YES, sister dearest?" Jacob calls back, frantically waving Ned away, which is two different sorts of stupid at once: Ned is as smooth as buttermilk in these sorts of situations, and calling Evie something like that is only going to make her suspect something is up.
But no matter, the damage is done: Jacob practically flings himself into the booth table, grabbing cards off the tabletop to frantically assemble a hand. Ned is no help, sliding in across from him and picking up a newspaper, and despite Jacob's attempt to wave him into a mock card game, Ned refuses to budge.
"You bastard," Jacob hisses, "pick up the cards."
Nothing. By time he hears the thu-thunk of Evie hopping from one train car to the next, he is rapidly setting up a game of Patience for himself.
Problem is, he doesn't really know how to play Patience.
"Jacob?" Evie repeats, rounding the corner. She's dressed to the nines in full Assassin gear, and by the look on her face (and the look of his rumpled outfit) he's not dressed for whatever she was going to invite him to. Jacob looks up at her and she looks down at his hand of cards. "What on earth are you playing?"
Jacob doesn't reply at first. Ned kicks him under the table, and Jacob instantly dislikes his shiny pointy-toed shoes a little more, but all he can do is grit his teeth. Ned smiles a little.
"You know how funny it is to watch Jacob try to teach himself a card game you can't gamble in?" Ned asks. He reaches for his tea, and Jacob sneers at him across the table before looking down at his cards. It'd be a great hand if he wasn't trying to play at goddamned Patience!
"I can only imagine," Evie says, looking from Jacob to Ned and back.
"Shut up," Jacob says. "Wynert, here, I mean. Not you, Evie." He pauses. "Dearest."
"Stop that, it's strange," Evie says, but she doesn't seem suspicious at all. She plucks her kid gloves from her belt and begins to pull them on. She adds: "I was going to ask you if you wanted to come with me on a lead, but you hardly look ready to leave the train."
"If you're inviting me, it must be terribly boring with no chance of gunfire or horse-chase. Stuck with me again, Ned," Jacob says, like it's a death sentence. And then he realizes it is: now that they're extricated from each others' grip, like hell he wants to discuss any of this with Ned, the man who will point out everything he's doing wrong and then let him do it anyway. He looks to Evie, very swiftly: "Now, there's an idea. Why don't you take Neddie? He could pass for an intellectual."
Ned doesn't even respond, he just sips his tea and then goes back to the paper, as though he gave two shits about the post. It annoys Jacob so much, but his heart is pounding.
Evie just looks down at Jacob, suddenly calculating. She knows he's up to something. He can only pray she doesn't care, too focused on whatever mad conspiracy theory ancient prophecy lineage quest thing she's usually on about.
"I'll respectfully decline," Evie says, and she touches a hand to Ned's shoulder, as kindly as Evie gets. "No offense intended, Ned."
"None taken," Ned replies, smoothly.
"Goodnight, Jacob," Evie says, and just like that, she's gone again.
For a moment they sit in quiet, nothing but the train rumbling beneath them. Jacob stares into space for a moment, trying to ignore how Ned is now watching him, and he doesn't like being preyed on one bit.
And then Ned says: "So you come onto men, then? Can't say I predicted that, but then again, I never see any Judies around here. Except perhaps that one time I found you in a brothel –– you seemed more like you were there to dress them and do their hair than bed them."
"Shut your bone box," Jacob replies.
Ned just chuckles.