Chapter Text
It was never meant to go quite this far.
It had started innocently enough -- most of his grand plans usually did -- and from there, things had just ... escalated.
I don't need any fancy service or anything, Bunny had said.
I just need you to check on things, make sure nothing's gotten in to mess things up, he'd said.
I'm counting on you, he'd said.
I'll owe you one, he'd said.
Jack was pretty sure that this wasn't the sort of repayment Bunny had meant -- in fact, he'd outright wager everything he had on it. But he'd gotten started, now, and even with every instinct he had shrieking indignantly at him, he couldn't make himself stop.
("Are you saying you actually hibernate?" Jack leaned forward, still balancing on his staff, and raised an eyebrow. "What, you're the Easter Bear now, instead of a Kangaroo?"
"Very funny." Bunny's voice was dry enough to cut. "It's an energy conservation thing. Maybe I don't need it, but I get my best ideas during that nap. Are you gonna help, or am I gonna have to put you back on the 'Evict on Sight' list?"
"I'll help, I'll help!")
"I'll help, you said," Jack muttered to himself. "Just leave it to me, you said. Maybe the cold's gotten to your brain, Jack."
He paused at that, but when there was no response, he let out a deep sigh. "And then you had to keep saying yes, didn't you, good old Jack Frost, now he's got responsibilities, he's a Guardian, trust him with your sleeping body--!"
He bit his lip to cut himself off and rose to his knees, walking forward on them until he was in place. Practice made perfect, and he'd done this enough times to have a decent idea of how to situate himself.
The first year he'd been on his best behavior. As much as he liked to bait Bunny and get him riled up, it was different when it came to pulling pranks that wouldn't be noticed for months. Frosting the sentinels was no fun when there was no Bunny to discover them within an hour and throw a fit about it, and destroying more delicate plantlife never had any appeal. Frosting funny patterns into Bunny's fur didn't really have lasting effect, either; even the permanent markers he'd borrowed from Jamie wore off by the time Bunny's annual three-month nap ended.
Besides, as much as he hated to admit it, part of him had been quietly thrilled to be given that responsibility. As much as he disparaged the very idea of it, something like this implied trust -- trust in him, Jack Frost! -- and the last thing he wanted to do was botch that chance. It hadn't been North, or Tooth, or Sandy that Bunny had asked, but him, and a not-so-small part of his heart still leapt at being seen and acknowledged.
So the first year had been easy, if boring. He breezed in about twice a month to see how the Warren was fairing, and as Bunny had said
(Bunny had said a lot of things)
it mostly ran itself with smooth efficiency. The bushes that would eventually bloom into the coloring flowers were growing tall and strong, and the egg sentinels brought water and fertilizer when necessary. The first year passed without any incident, and when he arrived at the tail end of summer (winter in Australia, and he still marveled at how different it felt from his memories and instincts), Bunny was awake and pleased in his own unique Bunny way -- which amounted to a gruff thank you and the roughly affectionate swipe of a paw through his hair when he joked about taking over the place for himself next time.
And then the next year, Bunny asked him to keep an eye on things again. Jack spent most of that summer-winter exploring the various tunnels and passages of the Warren, making it a game to try and remember correctly which ones led where.
(The last one he found was the one that took him straight back to Burgess, within sight of his pond, and even if it was just a stupid coincidental thing, he couldn't help but feel a little touched.)
The third year, though ... that was when things started going downhill.
His first thought had been to start exploring the tunnels again; there were enough that he hadn't gotten through even half of them, the year before. He'd only meant to wander around a bit first, then get started on proper exploring, when he stumbled across Bunny's nest. It was cleverly hidden behind two angled boulders, so that anyone not deliberately looking for places to poke through would miss it, and inside it was dry and warm and smelled strongly of warm breathing animal. Jack settled both feet on the ground and walked as quietly as he could, very nearly tiptoeing to the nest against the far wall.
For all that his bed was a mess of clean straw and dried grasses, Bunny slept like a human man might, his body twisted so that he was half on his back and half curled on his side, breathing deep and slow. Occasionally his nose would twitch or an ear would shiver in vague gestures, but no golden figures appeared over his head -- whatever dreams he had, they were spun from his own hand, with no help from Sandy. He remained still even as Jack crouched down beside him, not even twitched when Jack reached out to rest light fingers on his arm.
Later, Jack refused to think of how long he just stayed there on the first day, watching nervously for any signs of consciousness as he gently ran his fingers through the short, fine fur of Bunny's arms. It was softer than he imagined, even knowing what rabbit fur could be like, and just that had been enough to nearly lull him into a trance, digging his fingers deeper until he could feel the corded muscles underneath, and that was its own particular little thrill, curling in his belly until he had to pull back and flee, taking the tunnel that took him to Santoff Claussen. He spent the rest of that month being a diligent helper for North, and tried his hardest not to think about Bunny's sleeping face.
But the problem with Jack was that once he had an idea in his head, it was impossible to get rid of. Call it instinct related to his center, call it a talent for mayhem, whatever it was, sometimes he would be seized with an impulse that wouldn't let him go until he'd seen it through to its most glorious conclusion.
The blizzard of '68 had been one of them. So had been the snowball war of the previous year, and he was probably lucky that Jamie was a lot more tolerant than Bunny.
So there it was. It started small -- he'd catch himself rubbing his own arms and being disappointed at their texture until he realized what he was missing, then he would jerk his fingers as if burned. Then he spent time hanging out at the Bennett's while Jamie and Sophie were at school, watching Sophie's pet rabbits moving around in their hutch, or as they slept curled in tiny bundles of gray fur, and okay, maybe he was getting a little pathetic, but it was fine. It was cool. He had everything under control.
Or at least, he did until he didn't.
The next time he visited the Warren, he told himself sternly that he wasn't going to go to Bunny's room -- he'd do what he was asked to do and he would leave, and he'd leave Bunny to his creative dreams, and everything would be fine.
Except as soon as he touched down on the warm stone, his feet were moving before he could stop himself, carrying him back to that cleverly-hidden chamber and the sleeper within. This time, Bunny slept entirely on his back, one arm over his eyes, stretched out to his full height, and the thick tousled fur of his chest ruff looked so soft that he wanted to just sink his fingers into it. Which was stupid and dangerous (he didn't think Bunny would much appreciate being essentially groped in his sleep), but again, he was moving before he really thought about it, leaning one knee against the side of Bunny's nest and reaching out.
It was softer than the first gentle snowbanks of winter, and smelled so ridiculously green that it made his nose tickle. He just barely refrained from sneezing, and when that was successful, well. After that it was only a small step to climb all the way onto Bunny's nest, and then onto Bunny himself, keeping his fingers deep in that soft fur and settling to rest his cheek against the slow steady drumbeat of Bunny's heart.
Nothing happened that second day; of that, Jack was completely sure. He just stayed until he'd fallen asleep, only to snap awake some time later when Bunny shifted under him, grumbling something subvocal that soon faded away. Again Jack fled for Santoff Claussen, which was really about as far away as one could get from Australia, though this time he couldn't make himself stay the whole month, skulking among the elves and yeti and causing enough minor damage stacked that Phil eventually "suggested" that he leave for a while.
But by then, it was already too late. The next time he returned to the Warren, nervous and almost sick to his stomach, it was too late.
He didn't do too much at first -- just touching, really, just running his hands first over the places he could reach just kneeling by Bunny's nest, and then the places he could reach by crawling onto it, perched on the side of it with his knees. He always held his breath as he did, half afraid that the sound of something else living in Bunny's space would wake him, and then it would definitely all be over.
In the meantime, though, Jack was determined to learn what he could.
He learned that there were scars under Bunny's fur, knotted and puckered and hidden from sight; he learned that the markings on his fur went all the way down, darker patches on the skin itself. He learned that if you scratched under Bunny's chin, even with cold fingers, one of those great ridiculous feet would twitch weakly in the phantom gestures of thumping; he learned that the ears were off limits, because any time he got close to them, Bunny would begin to stir, his muttering growing louder, and it would take long, long minutes for him to subside after Jack backed off.
He learned all of these things and then tucked them somewhere away in the back of his mind as precious little nuggets of information -- things that were so deep that, he hoped, even if his teeth were to suddenly start falling out, Tooth would never see them.
It was almost a disappointment when he arrived at the Warren the next time and found Bunny awake.
The fourth year was the one that, in his mind, Jack called The Line.
For the first time, he couldn't actually fool himself that he wouldn't head straight to Bunny's room, and that there was still something left -- something very specific -- that he was looking for.
There was a line, and he crossed it.
He learned that applying gentle pressure low on Bunny's belly, at the groin, yielded a cock that was long even when flaccid and more human in appearence than expected, which sent a visible shiver through Bunny's body when he touched it, and then he was completely doomed. Part of him had hoped, however dimly, that this would be the end of it -- he'd satisfied his weird curiosity and that would be it. That would be the end.
Except Bunny did shiver when Jack touched his cock, his hips lifting subtly, and he moaned when Jack did it again, lightly skimming his fingers along its length, and it didn't take much at all to coax it to full hardness, jutting up in a gentle curve between his hips. The smell was stronger like this, so that the little chamber was practically saturated with the scent of green growing things, and at heart, Jack was only human, and an impulsive one at that.
After three hundred years, he'd learned a few things -- and this modern day and age wasn't very shy about what it had on display. For someone who was curious and invisible, there was no shortage of information. He only used his hand first, because he wasn't entirely sure it would even fit in his mouth: he stroked slow and curious until Bunny began to grunt in his sleep, hips starting to move with greater insistence, and then he did it faster, hard and almost rough, the way he would usually take care of himself. All the while, Jack leaned closer, watching with fascination at the expressions that flickered across Bunny's sleeping face.
It should have been ridiculous -- or at least a little embarrassing -- but Jack was only fascinated. There was some part of his mind that rebelled at his actions -- never mind the fact that Bunny was male, Bunny was ... well, a bunny. A giant rabbit! Even if he had remarkably humanlike expressions, even if he walked on two legs and spoke with words instead of grunts and squeaks and a twitching nose, he was still alien in so many ways. There was nothing about him that should have been appealing at all--
Bunny came with a ragged sigh and without waking, his cock jerking in Jack's hand, leaving his fingers spattered with hot stickiness.
Jack fell back with a thump, breathing hard himself. There was a roaring of blood in his ears, loud enough to drown out nearly everything else; his entire world narrowed down to the wetness in his hand and the tightness in his pants. He stared at his hand like it was something strange to him -- not quite a traitor, but certainly not at all like he'd expected. There was no way to deny what he'd done to himself; the evidence was there, dripping across his fingers.
Now what? he thought to himself, distant, his own thoughts echoing and dim even to himself. He'd done it for sure. He'd done it and the part of him that wasn't distantly horrified was uncomfortably aroused, and Bunny, stupid Bunny, just groaned in his sleep again and rolled over so that his back was to Jack and that was it, that was everything. Part of him was almost insulted that he hadn't even registered enough of an impact to wake the stupid rabbit, but the rest of him was almost pathetically relieved. How did you even explain something like that?
So Jack did the reasonable and rational thing to do, and he ran. He meant to stay away for the rest of the season, to give himself time to recover (and maybe regain the ability to look Bunny in the face without remembering what it looked like with Jack's hand on him, stroking him hard and fast), but in the end he returned only a week later, his heart in his throat and his skin buzzing with nervous anticipation as he tiptoed his way back to Bunny's room.
He was about fun, not about smart decisions.
Or, at least, that was what he told himself as he crawled onto Bunny's nest, straddling one outstretched leg and reaching down with curious light fingertips. Fun wasn't about taking careful advice, no matter who gave it -- fun was about being impulsive and trusting your instincts; fun was about taking a risk and living through the freefall, and even if it hurt later, that didn't change the glory that could be found in single snatched moments.
Something about those thoughts rang hollow to him, but he pushed that bitter tang of guilt steadfastly away. He could deal with the consequences later. Right now, he had a new game to experiment with, and maybe -- just maybe -- he would have his fill before Bunny woke up at the end of the country's winter.
There were more things that Jack learned, during that long breathless season. He learned how to draw out Bunny's sleepy pleasure, which parts would get him a surprised moan or a raised hip; he learned the proper angle that he needed to settle himself, on his hands and knees above Bunny's prone body, for sex to work. He learned that even he could be warm -- hot -- without pain for something like this, that Bunny's cock was big but not impossibly big -- and that it was a struggle to breathe properly with it inside of him, but not nearly as difficult as it was when he looked into Bunny's sleeping face and wished with all his heart that those eyes would open and look at him with affection rather than disgust.
He learned that sometimes, after sex, if he stretched out and pressed himself close, Bunny's arms would come around him and tuck him in close, and at least for a short while he could rest in the illusion of being a lover rather than an interloper.
After the end of Bunny's hibernation that year, Jack spent most of his time avoiding the Warren and its master; even when the Guardians gathered for socializing, he found ways to avoid being too close to Bunny, or being alone with him ever. He doubted it went unnoticed -- even he wasn't that arrogant -- but at least no one brought it up to him, and though sometimes he could tell Bunny was watching him, the topic was never brought up.
He couldn't tell if he was grateful for that, or if it made him feel worse.
During the fifth year, Jack stayed away for a whole month before he went back. He was actually a little proud of himself; maybe it meant he could break the habit, and before Bunny could catch on. Once he did, there was almost no way that anything would be the same ever again, and as much as Jack didn't mind change, there were some things that felt close to sacred. The love and support of his fellows was high on that list -- would they strip him of his title, if they found out? Would it be like that one awful Easter years ago, when he'd come back to find eggs smashed everywhere and Bunny raging in pain and anger?
"Sure," he muttered to himself, through clenched teeth. "Just do the same as you always do, Jack, just keep digging that grave deeper."
He moved up to straddle Bunny's hips, bracing his hands on Bunny's chest, shifting to angle himself.
"Maybe a fruit basket would work for a consolation present."
Long, strong fingers closed around his wrists. "I prefer the ones with pineapple, m'self."
Jack's head snapped up. He found himself staring straight into Bunny's open (open, oh shit) eyes, and all he could do was freeze (ha ha) in place, his hips still raised, his mouth open in an o of silent panic.
Bunny propped himself up onto his elbows, still holding on to Jack's wrists. "Now," he drawled, and the look in his eyes was spring storms and bruised greenery, "what's all this about?"
Jack swallowed hard. Try as he could, though, he couldn't actually make himself form the words. Panic began to seep into his awareness in drips and degrees, and once it had settled its sharp claws in, he tried to jerk back automatically. Bunny's grip tightened on him, and Jack had a moment longer of staring into those narrow aware eyes before the world suddenly flipped upside down, twisting his stomach with it. A heartbeat later he was sprawled on his back with his legs splayed wide and open around Bunny's hips, his arms stretched high over his head and pinned in place by a single strong hand.
Bunny leaned over him, and his breath was warm on Jack's cheek. "Now, Frostbite," he said, "let's try that again. What d'you think you were doing?"
"Um." Jack's voice came out as a high squeak. "Bunny, uh, I can explain--"
"Go ahead." Bunny shifted his weight, settling himself comfortably between Jack's legs, and Jack shuddered a little at the pressure -- even now, Bunny was hard, hot skin pressed against his skin in an implicit threat. "I'm all ears."
"H-haha, that, that's good," Jack stammered. He twisted his wrists a little, testing the grip on them, but Bunny's hold was absolute. "All ears, huh, I'll remember tha-- ah!" He gasped as Bunny gave a sharp pointed thrust against him, the tip of his cock pressing but not yet entering. "B-Bunny, c'mon--"
"In a moment." Bunny put his other hand (paw?!) on Jack's chest, his fingers splayed wide. Jack could feel the gentle prick of claws against his skin, and it made him swallow hard, suddenly dizzy with posibilities. "You've been making a right nuisance of yourself all year, yeah? It's enough to drive someone a bit mad."
"Y-you're always mad," Jack managed, then hissed as Bunny's claws raked down his front, across his chest and down over his stomach. "It's like your default state of being--"
Bunny hummed and thrust forward again. This time, he sank halfway into Jack and paused, tightening his grip on Jack's wrists as he keened. "That so?"
Jack swallowed hard, dragging his head against the nest. It was impossible to breathe like this, so close and tight and hot -- he'd been stupid to think he was having trouble before, when Bunny had been underneath him. Now that he was the one under Bunny, and all he could do was spread his legs wider, whining in his throat. There'd been a question, he knew there was a question, but he could only stare pleadingly up, his whole body shaking now.
"Bunny," he choked, and "please," and "I'm sorry."
He closed his eyes after that, unable to bear seeing whatever look crossed Bunny's face -- but his voice was surprisingly gentle as he murmured something low that might have been an assent, then began to move, and there was no soft gentle buildup, there was no slow start, and Jack learned something else in that moment: that doing it by himself, alone and wishing for a partner, was nothing at all compared to the real thing, moving together instead of on his own, moving with someone rather than solo.
He came harder and faster than he ever remembered in the whole of his life, his voice rising up in a startled shout; it took only a few more thrusts before Bunny's face was pressed into the crook of his neck and shoulder, bititng down hard, and Jack knew without a doubt that he had finished as well. He didn't quite collapse in the aftermath, but he did sink gently down, at first pressing the whole of his sturdy weight into Jack's body, then sliding halfway off. The pressure on his wrists loosened, then vanished. If he wanted to escape, now was the best time -- maybe they could call it even now; maybe thngs would go back to normal in a few more centuries, maybe--
Bunny's arms wrapped around him and pulled him in close. Jack couldn't help the startled yelp that escaped him; it was like the last year, when Bunny had unconsciously cuddled him like a lover, but when he looked up, Bunny's eyes were open and dark.
"Uh," he managed, his own voice sounding weak to his own ears, and got a finger pressed to his lips instead.
"Shut it, Frost," Bunny said, his voice a low rumble. "And go to sleep already."
He closed his eyes. His breathing evened out, but his arms didn't loosen their hold around Jack. In spite of himself, he pressed a little closer, turning his head so he could press his ear to Bunny's chest, listening as the thunderous pounding of his heart slowed and settled into a familiar gentle rhythm.
Did this mean things were okay? Did it mean that he wouldn't lose everything? Did Bunny think this was all an elaborate dream? Did--
A heavy paw-hand settled on the back of his head, pressing it closer to Bunny's chest. "Sleep, Frost," Bunny groaned.
And for once, Jack took a deep breath, curled his fingers in soft fur, and listened to someone else's suggestion.