illsuiteddowner

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur didn't really have a plan past getting out of here, but then Jack grabbed his arm and stopped him in tracks. It was tight enough to hurt a little bit. Arthur didn't try to break free.

"You're... going to help me?"

He would have thought Jack would be glad to be rid of the burden. Even if his motive was self-preservation, keeping Arthur close seemed antithetical to that goal. Was he really willing to risk his own life to help Arthur? The man on TV was kind, but Arthur wasn't dealing with him. That man took his Joy. Arthur, and all of Wellington Wells, didn't know the real Jack Worthing at all.

But it wasn't as if Arthur had any other options. In actuality, he was incredibly lucky to have made such a powerful friend so soon after coming off his Joy. Jack knew how to survive as a Downer; Arthur didn't. It all came down, as simply as possible, to those two facts.

It wasn't Jack who wanted to hurt him. It was everyone else against the two of them. When Arthur looked at it in that light, he couldn't help but feel a sense of kinship with his fellow Downer. It would be nice to have an ally. It had been so long since he had had someone in his corner.

When Arthur looked down at Jack, there was trust written across his unmasked face. He may not have realized it, but he had made up his mind, too. "Whatever happens, you won't be found out. I won't let you regret it."

@unclejackworthing

When Arthur lost his job at the "O" Courant, he was hired on as a writer at the Wellington Wells Broadcast Corporation. Over the years, he ended up doing many things other than writing, but technically, his job was to come up with the fun, light topics Uncle Jack talked about. This segment was on the uses of a common flower in Wellington Wells, the Rose of Gilead.

Arthur was alone in the writers' room when he started working on it. He was often alone in the writers' room. Getting work done wasn't a strong suit for the people of Wellington Wells. It was one of the most quiet places in the studio and he often popped in there to get some ideas for upcoming shows written down.

That was the case with this Rose of Gilead show. Arthur usually had to do more research for these sort of segments, Arthur found that the words came easily. Soon he had written down a recipe for a medicinal balm that soothed minor wounds without even thinking.

Funny that he still remembered it. He'd never been much interested in flowers, but Percy had told him so many times he could never forget it. He would repeat it over and over again, any time he was thinking about it, and Arthur could hear every word of the instructions he'd written down in Percy's voice, clear as day. And with it came the memory of that same voice screaming out Arthur's name, over and over again, and Arthur became urgently aware that he needed to take his Joy.

But he didn't.

He still hadn't taken his Joy when one of his coworkers rushed in, demanding to know where he'd been. Arthur started some excuse about having his nose to the grindstone, and she interrupted him to say it didn't matter, didn't he know that filming was going to start any minute now? Uncle Jack would be furious if no one was operating the teleprompter, she said, and Arthur knew very well that that was his job, because Jack snapped when people took too long, and he wasn't going to put his colleagues like her through that, was he? Of course not.

She was so focused on her own ranting that she didn't seem to notice Arthur's haggard appearance. It was a good thing that no one would be looking at Arthur behind the teleprompter. When Jack was around, all eyes were on him. It was a small blessing. The last thing he wanted was to get chased out of the Broadcast Tower for being a Downer.

Was he a Downer now? Well, here he was, deliberately not taking his Joy. There weren't any other words for it.

Arthur managed to get behind the teleprompter controls just as Jack was coming out of his dressing room. Arthur was breathing a little too hard, partially from rushing but mostly from anxiety. He wasn't making any noise, but if someone looked at him, he didn't know what they'd see. For once it paid off that no one ever gave him a second glance.

Arthur operated the teleprompter so automatically he didn't even comprehend what the topic was until Jack was already reading it. Jack was wearing his Humor Hour costume. Arthur had time to think that the giant bowtie was really too ridiculous when you weren't on Joy when his eyes scanned ahead on the teleprompter and he realized the segment was a fan-favorite recurring topic. Downer jokes.

What's the difference between a Downer and an onion? read the first one. No one cries when you chop up a Downer.

Arthur was fairly certain all the color drained from his face. These jokes were about him, now. It made him seriously question whether it was the right decision to stop taking his Joy. The smart thing would be to go back on it and pop a Joy the instant he could leave the teleprompter.

But he wasn't going to do that, was he? He wanted too badly to remember. As Uncle Jack started to read the jokes and laugh too hard at them, Arthur began to shake. Had Jack always been that... Threatening? Was being off Joy making everything feel a lot more dangerous than it had a few hours prior, or had it always been that terrifying, and Arthur just didn't notice?

[illsuiteddowner]

"Pretty... What?"

Though Arthur had certainly never been called that before, it wasn't the point. He shook the thought away and focused on the dire situation he was in. Even when he was on Joy Arthur still couldn't seem to fit in. There was no way he wouldn't be noticed immediately. Jack had, after all.

"Oh, God. You're right."

Arthur put his hands to his face and found the stupid Happy Face mask keeping him smiling. Jack already knew he wasn't on his Joy, so why was he bothering to keep it on? He snatched it off in a fit of pique and covered his face with his hands instead.

"What am I going to do? I can't go back on Joy. I owe it to... To someone important."

He didn't even remember enough yet to explain to Jack what he was trying to remember. Besides, Jack probably didn't care about his long-lost brother. But what Arthur did remember was that he was supposed to take care of Percy, and he didn't. Until he figured out what he'd done, going back on Joy wasn't an option. Arthur's hand slid down to his throat, nervously holding it like the imaginary noose around his neck.

"Everyone is always telling me to pop another Joy. The only reason that little shit Clive hasn't gotten away with it is because everyone sees me taking them. There's no way I'll be able to fake it. If I'm extremely lucky, I'll end up in the Garden District where they kill each other for food."

Arthur was breathing too fast. His hand fell even further and clutched at his suit jacket over his heart. He finally tried to push past Jack, mask still in his hand, as politely but firmly as possible.

"You shouldn't be seen around me. Even if you are Uncle Jack, they'll notice you, too."

@unclejackworthing

When Arthur lost his job at the "O" Courant, he was hired on as a writer at the Wellington Wells Broadcast Corporation. Over the years, he ended up doing many things other than writing, but technically, his job was to come up with the fun, light topics Uncle Jack talked about. This segment was on the uses of a common flower in Wellington Wells, the Rose of Gilead.

Arthur was alone in the writers' room when he started working on it. He was often alone in the writers' room. Getting work done wasn't a strong suit for the people of Wellington Wells. It was one of the most quiet places in the studio and he often popped in there to get some ideas for upcoming shows written down.

That was the case with this Rose of Gilead show. Arthur usually had to do more research for these sort of segments, Arthur found that the words came easily. Soon he had written down a recipe for a medicinal balm that soothed minor wounds without even thinking.

Funny that he still remembered it. He'd never been much interested in flowers, but Percy had told him so many times he could never forget it. He would repeat it over and over again, any time he was thinking about it, and Arthur could hear every word of the instructions he'd written down in Percy's voice, clear as day. And with it came the memory of that same voice screaming out Arthur's name, over and over again, and Arthur became urgently aware that he needed to take his Joy.

But he didn't.

He still hadn't taken his Joy when one of his coworkers rushed in, demanding to know where he'd been. Arthur started some excuse about having his nose to the grindstone, and she interrupted him to say it didn't matter, didn't he know that filming was going to start any minute now? Uncle Jack would be furious if no one was operating the teleprompter, she said, and Arthur knew very well that that was his job, because Jack snapped when people took too long, and he wasn't going to put his colleagues like her through that, was he? Of course not.

She was so focused on her own ranting that she didn't seem to notice Arthur's haggard appearance. It was a good thing that no one would be looking at Arthur behind the teleprompter. When Jack was around, all eyes were on him. It was a small blessing. The last thing he wanted was to get chased out of the Broadcast Tower for being a Downer.

Was he a Downer now? Well, here he was, deliberately not taking his Joy. There weren't any other words for it.

Arthur managed to get behind the teleprompter controls just as Jack was coming out of his dressing room. Arthur was breathing a little too hard, partially from rushing but mostly from anxiety. He wasn't making any noise, but if someone looked at him, he didn't know what they'd see. For once it paid off that no one ever gave him a second glance.

Arthur operated the teleprompter so automatically he didn't even comprehend what the topic was until Jack was already reading it. Jack was wearing his Humor Hour costume. Arthur had time to think that the giant bowtie was really too ridiculous when you weren't on Joy when his eyes scanned ahead on the teleprompter and he realized the segment was a fan-favorite recurring topic. Downer jokes.

What's the difference between a Downer and an onion? read the first one. No one cries when you chop up a Downer.

Arthur was fairly certain all the color drained from his face. These jokes were about him, now. It made him seriously question whether it was the right decision to stop taking his Joy. The smart thing would be to go back on it and pop a Joy the instant he could leave the teleprompter.

But he wasn't going to do that, was he? He wanted too badly to remember. As Uncle Jack started to read the jokes and laugh too hard at them, Arthur began to shake. Had Jack always been that... Threatening? Was being off Joy making everything feel a lot more dangerous than it had a few hours prior, or had it always been that terrifying, and Arthur just didn't notice?

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur had been expecting the worst. For Jack to call out the dreaded "D" word to everyone in the Broadcast Tower and gather them all around to beat Arthur to death. He was the voice of Wellington Wells. He was the one on television every day reminding everyone to take their Joy and be a good citizen. The last thing Arthur had been expecting was for Jack to throw the pill away.

He was so stunned that he struggled to respond. He couldn't quite process what was happening. "I... I haven't had time to come up with a plan. I only decided to go off my Joy an hour before filming."

His mind struggled to catch up with what Jack was saying. Why did it make things complicated for the both of them? Jack knew he was off his Joy and he wasn't doing anything about it. There could only be answer, but it was impossible to believe.

There was only one type of person who could forgive a Downer in Wellington Wells, and that was another Downer. But how could Uncle Jack be a Downer? He represented everything Wellington Wells stood for. He was the perfect citizen. Everyone loved him--there was no way he could be hiding such a secret in plain sight of everyone, was there?

"Mr. Worthing, y-you're..."

Jack was already so close that Arthur couldn't help leaning in a bit closer to get a better look at his pupils, but Jack's gaze was so piercing that he quickly broke eye contact and startled away again, overwhelmed. Despite his failure to check his pupils, Arthur was fairly certain it was true. Jack wasn't acting like someone on Joy.

What was more, he was deliberately revealing himself to Arthur. He could have left Arthur to the wolves, but he didn't. Arthur didn't know what it meant. He was conditioned to trust Uncle Jack, but was it smart to hold onto something like that in this terrifying new world without Joy? He didn't know what to believe in anymore.

"How long have you been hiding it?"

Arthur had spent so long in a drugged haze, oblivious to the world around him. Jack could have been off his Joy the entire time and he never would have noticed. Was that true for everyone? Did they all just write off anything strange because no one could believe their Uncle Jack might secretly be the worst thing anyone in Wellington Wells could imagine?

"How have you been hiding it? No one ever pays any attention to me and you figured it out right away. Every pair of eyes in Wellington Wells is on you, at all times. You must be a better actor than anyone ever realized."

@unclejackworthing

When Arthur lost his job at the "O" Courant, he was hired on as a writer at the Wellington Wells Broadcast Corporation. Over the years, he ended up doing many things other than writing, but technically, his job was to come up with the fun, light topics Uncle Jack talked about. This segment was on the uses of a common flower in Wellington Wells, the Rose of Gilead.

Arthur was alone in the writers' room when he started working on it. He was often alone in the writers' room. Getting work done wasn't a strong suit for the people of Wellington Wells. It was one of the most quiet places in the studio and he often popped in there to get some ideas for upcoming shows written down.

That was the case with this Rose of Gilead show. Arthur usually had to do more research for these sort of segments, Arthur found that the words came easily. Soon he had written down a recipe for a medicinal balm that soothed minor wounds without even thinking.

Funny that he still remembered it. He'd never been much interested in flowers, but Percy had told him so many times he could never forget it. He would repeat it over and over again, any time he was thinking about it, and Arthur could hear every word of the instructions he'd written down in Percy's voice, clear as day. And with it came the memory of that same voice screaming out Arthur's name, over and over again, and Arthur became urgently aware that he needed to take his Joy.

But he didn't.

He still hadn't taken his Joy when one of his coworkers rushed in, demanding to know where he'd been. Arthur started some excuse about having his nose to the grindstone, and she interrupted him to say it didn't matter, didn't he know that filming was going to start any minute now? Uncle Jack would be furious if no one was operating the teleprompter, she said, and Arthur knew very well that that was his job, because Jack snapped when people took too long, and he wasn't going to put his colleagues like her through that, was he? Of course not.

She was so focused on her own ranting that she didn't seem to notice Arthur's haggard appearance. It was a good thing that no one would be looking at Arthur behind the teleprompter. When Jack was around, all eyes were on him. It was a small blessing. The last thing he wanted was to get chased out of the Broadcast Tower for being a Downer.

Was he a Downer now? Well, here he was, deliberately not taking his Joy. There weren't any other words for it.

Arthur managed to get behind the teleprompter controls just as Jack was coming out of his dressing room. Arthur was breathing a little too hard, partially from rushing but mostly from anxiety. He wasn't making any noise, but if someone looked at him, he didn't know what they'd see. For once it paid off that no one ever gave him a second glance.

Arthur operated the teleprompter so automatically he didn't even comprehend what the topic was until Jack was already reading it. Jack was wearing his Humor Hour costume. Arthur had time to think that the giant bowtie was really too ridiculous when you weren't on Joy when his eyes scanned ahead on the teleprompter and he realized the segment was a fan-favorite recurring topic. Downer jokes.

What's the difference between a Downer and an onion? read the first one. No one cries when you chop up a Downer.

Arthur was fairly certain all the color drained from his face. These jokes were about him, now. It made him seriously question whether it was the right decision to stop taking his Joy. The smart thing would be to go back on it and pop a Joy the instant he could leave the teleprompter.

But he wasn't going to do that, was he? He wanted too badly to remember. As Uncle Jack started to read the jokes and laugh too hard at them, Arthur began to shake. Had Jack always been that... Threatening? Was being off Joy making everything feel a lot more dangerous than it had a few hours prior, or had it always been that terrifying, and Arthur just didn't notice?

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur's breath stuttered each time Jack's lips made contact his skin. The praise murmured against his collarbone made him him shiver. Jack seemed to have so much power over him, to make him react with the simplest of touches. What surprised Arthur was that he only wanted more. He wanted permission to forget every stressful depressing thought he spent the rest of the time worrying about and empty his mind of anything but what Jack was doing to him.

Arthur didn't move when Jack finished unwrapping him like a gift. He stared up at Jack--for permission, or guidance, maybe just to see what he was going to do. His trousers were all that was between his most private areas and Jack's touch. He wanted it over with, so he lifted his hips up so Jack could slide them off.

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur didn't know how to believe what Jack said. He didn't even know how to process it. When was the last time someone had believed in Arthur? Was it Ms. Byng, telling him and every other student that he would do great things? Did Jack really have no reason to lie? If he wanted to manipulate someone as desperate for human connection as Arthur was, this was exactly the way to do it.

"You always seem to see the best in me," said Arthur, soft, not accusatory. "No one has ever been so determined to look at me in the most flattering possible light."

Was it all because of the train? Or was Jack just insane, seeing things in Arthur that no one else ever could? Though it had only been a few days, he certainly knew Arthur better than anyone had in years. The situation was so mad to begin with. It was impossible to know what was real and what wasn't.

His head hurt. His body hurt, and only hurt more when he shifted. Nothing would make the bruises go completely away, but healing balm would have helped with the pain. He had some, didn't he? He always carried some around with him, considering how often Downers tended to get hurt. But that was in the pocket of his suit, which was downstairs.

"My brother, Percy..." Arthur didn't know why he felt he needed to explain. Giving credit where it was due, perhaps. "He was obsessed with plants. When we were kids, he would tell me over and over how to make a balm that helps with wounds. I thought it was irritating at the time, but... He's helped me quite a bit out here."

He didn't know why it was difficult to ask for even simple things. Vocalizing his needs required him to push past every instinct he'd spent thirty years building up. He needed to get over it. Jack said he wanted to help.

"There's a tin in my suit pocket. It's nearly full. Could... Could you get it for me?"

@unclejackworthing

Arthur had gotten a little too far away from Jack. He knew he was going to get told off for it when Jack inevitably caught up—but was it his fault he was faster than a man twenty years his senior? (Arthur was still grappling with that little facet of this whole thing.) Of course there was a part of him that was testing boundaries to see if he could get away with it. He might have been deliberately mixing in with the crowd in the hopes that Jack would lose sight of him. Jack could never prove it was intentional.

He was so focused on Jack that he didn't realize the alley he slipped into wasn't empty until it was too late. There was a gaggle of Plough Boys already occupying the area and they took notice of Arthur's entry.

“Well, if it isn't Arthur Hastings,” said one of them. Arthur recognized him vaguely from school, one of the older boys who was always picking on him and Sally. “I heard you got a fancy job in the Parade. What are you doing slumming it with the rest of us here?”

Arthur had done much more slumming it than in Hamlyn Village. He'd spent more than enough time in the Garden District lately, but he kept that to himself. “Lovely to see you,” he said nervously, backing up into the alley wall as the three Plough Boys spread out to corner Arthur. “But I really should be going…”

“Nah,” said the ringleader, pulling out a lead pipe. “The way I see it, if you're working in the Parade, you must be loaded, right?”

“I don't—work in the Parade anymore, as such,” started Arthur, but he wasn't given a chance to explain.

With a cry of “get ‘im, boys,” the three men fell upon Arthur and started to whale on him with their weapons. Arthur was on the ground almost instantly. He curled up into a ball as the blows rained down on him, arms over his head to protect it. Their laughter rung in his ears.

Something with a sharp edge caught Arthur's side and a pained noise escaped him as blood began to gush from the wound. Arthur tried to stem it with his hands, but the ringleader smacked his arm away with the pipe and flipped Arthur onto his back to look at him. He stepped on his stomach, making it difficult for Arthur to breathe. “You always were an easy target,” laughed the Plough Boy. Arthur looked over his shoulder to make eye contact with Jack.

Fuck.

Arthur didn't know whether he should be relieved or even more scared. All he did was freeze, unable to look away from Jack's approach.

[illsuiteddowner]

There was nothing Arthur could do but tremble. With the way Jack had crowded him into the makeup table, there was nowhere to run but directly into him. He could try to shove past him anyway, but he wasn't sure he stood a chance in a physical struggle. He was trapped.

He could take the Joy and make all of this go away. All he had to do was open his mouth and swallow. This whole idea was naive and foolish and if he didn't give in now, something much worse was bound to happen.

But he could still hear Percy's voice in his head, droning on about the Rose of Gilead, and then growing louder and louder until he was desperately screaming Arthur's name. He flinched and, decision made, turned his face away from the pill.

"I... I can't," he said, staring at the poster on the dressing room wall. Why did he have to confess to Uncle Jack himself, the face on every television reminding him to take his Joy? No one would doubt Jack's word for a second. He was sealing his own fate. "I need to remember. I'm sorry."

@unclejackworthing

When Arthur lost his job at the "O" Courant, he was hired on as a writer at the Wellington Wells Broadcast Corporation. Over the years, he ended up doing many things other than writing, but technically, his job was to come up with the fun, light topics Uncle Jack talked about. This segment was on the uses of a common flower in Wellington Wells, the Rose of Gilead.

Arthur was alone in the writers' room when he started working on it. He was often alone in the writers' room. Getting work done wasn't a strong suit for the people of Wellington Wells. It was one of the most quiet places in the studio and he often popped in there to get some ideas for upcoming shows written down.

That was the case with this Rose of Gilead show. Arthur usually had to do more research for these sort of segments, Arthur found that the words came easily. Soon he had written down a recipe for a medicinal balm that soothed minor wounds without even thinking.

Funny that he still remembered it. He'd never been much interested in flowers, but Percy had told him so many times he could never forget it. He would repeat it over and over again, any time he was thinking about it, and Arthur could hear every word of the instructions he'd written down in Percy's voice, clear as day. And with it came the memory of that same voice screaming out Arthur's name, over and over again, and Arthur became urgently aware that he needed to take his Joy.

But he didn't.

He still hadn't taken his Joy when one of his coworkers rushed in, demanding to know where he'd been. Arthur started some excuse about having his nose to the grindstone, and she interrupted him to say it didn't matter, didn't he know that filming was going to start any minute now? Uncle Jack would be furious if no one was operating the teleprompter, she said, and Arthur knew very well that that was his job, because Jack snapped when people took too long, and he wasn't going to put his colleagues like her through that, was he? Of course not.

She was so focused on her own ranting that she didn't seem to notice Arthur's haggard appearance. It was a good thing that no one would be looking at Arthur behind the teleprompter. When Jack was around, all eyes were on him. It was a small blessing. The last thing he wanted was to get chased out of the Broadcast Tower for being a Downer.

Was he a Downer now? Well, here he was, deliberately not taking his Joy. There weren't any other words for it.

Arthur managed to get behind the teleprompter controls just as Jack was coming out of his dressing room. Arthur was breathing a little too hard, partially from rushing but mostly from anxiety. He wasn't making any noise, but if someone looked at him, he didn't know what they'd see. For once it paid off that no one ever gave him a second glance.

Arthur operated the teleprompter so automatically he didn't even comprehend what the topic was until Jack was already reading it. Jack was wearing his Humor Hour costume. Arthur had time to think that the giant bowtie was really too ridiculous when you weren't on Joy when his eyes scanned ahead on the teleprompter and he realized the segment was a fan-favorite recurring topic. Downer jokes.

What's the difference between a Downer and an onion? read the first one. No one cries when you chop up a Downer.

Arthur was fairly certain all the color drained from his face. These jokes were about him, now. It made him seriously question whether it was the right decision to stop taking his Joy. The smart thing would be to go back on it and pop a Joy the instant he could leave the teleprompter.

But he wasn't going to do that, was he? He wanted too badly to remember. As Uncle Jack started to read the jokes and laugh too hard at them, Arthur began to shake. Had Jack always been that... Threatening? Was being off Joy making everything feel a lot more dangerous than it had a few hours prior, or had it always been that terrifying, and Arthur just didn't notice?

[illsuiteddowner]

There was a satisfying moment where Jack looked shocked and flustered and Arthur felt a thrill of pride, but it wasn't long before Jack was kissing Arthur again and all the thoughts flew out of Arthur's head. When Jack broke the kiss, Arthur was the one who was flustered again.

His breath caught as Jack played with the button, already feeling vulnerable even before any action was taken. He tried to respond, but his voice didn't work the first time. The second time, he managed a squeaky, "All right." His hands grasped at the sheets nervously. Aside from the shower with Jack, he had never been naked in front of anyone but family before.

Still, Arthur wanted this. His head was spinning in the best possible way. He repeated himself, still a little shaky, but firmer this time: "All right." He nodded.

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur was already opening his mouth to make excuses, but as Jack's hand landed on his back he sputtered and lost the words, turning red. He couldn't back away without making a scene. He couldn't do anything without making a scene. There was no response that didn't out him as a Downer other than "Oh, yes, Uncle Jack, sir, I'd love another Joy!"

He couldn't go back on his Joy already. What if he forgot what he was trying to remember in the first place? Arthur urged his brain to work as he tried frantically to come up with a plan. Maybe he could hide the pill in his cheek. Nothing he could think of seemed all that convincing.

He was so busy panicking that he didn't fully realize where Jack was taking him until they were there, and the realization only heightened his panic. Jack never let people into his dressing room. He knew something was wrong. Arthur had to do some kind of damage control before things got out of hand.

"Mister--Jack," he started haltingly, but despite all of his best efforts, he couldn't think of anything else to say. He just stood there stupidly, gaping at him like an idiot. "You have a lovely dressing room," was all he could offer up.

@unclejackworthing

When Arthur lost his job at the "O" Courant, he was hired on as a writer at the Wellington Wells Broadcast Corporation. Over the years, he ended up doing many things other than writing, but technically, his job was to come up with the fun, light topics Uncle Jack talked about. This segment was on the uses of a common flower in Wellington Wells, the Rose of Gilead.

Arthur was alone in the writers' room when he started working on it. He was often alone in the writers' room. Getting work done wasn't a strong suit for the people of Wellington Wells. It was one of the most quiet places in the studio and he often popped in there to get some ideas for upcoming shows written down.

That was the case with this Rose of Gilead show. Arthur usually had to do more research for these sort of segments, Arthur found that the words came easily. Soon he had written down a recipe for a medicinal balm that soothed minor wounds without even thinking.

Funny that he still remembered it. He'd never been much interested in flowers, but Percy had told him so many times he could never forget it. He would repeat it over and over again, any time he was thinking about it, and Arthur could hear every word of the instructions he'd written down in Percy's voice, clear as day. And with it came the memory of that same voice screaming out Arthur's name, over and over again, and Arthur became urgently aware that he needed to take his Joy.

But he didn't.

He still hadn't taken his Joy when one of his coworkers rushed in, demanding to know where he'd been. Arthur started some excuse about having his nose to the grindstone, and she interrupted him to say it didn't matter, didn't he know that filming was going to start any minute now? Uncle Jack would be furious if no one was operating the teleprompter, she said, and Arthur knew very well that that was his job, because Jack snapped when people took too long, and he wasn't going to put his colleagues like her through that, was he? Of course not.

She was so focused on her own ranting that she didn't seem to notice Arthur's haggard appearance. It was a good thing that no one would be looking at Arthur behind the teleprompter. When Jack was around, all eyes were on him. It was a small blessing. The last thing he wanted was to get chased out of the Broadcast Tower for being a Downer.

Was he a Downer now? Well, here he was, deliberately not taking his Joy. There weren't any other words for it.

Arthur managed to get behind the teleprompter controls just as Jack was coming out of his dressing room. Arthur was breathing a little too hard, partially from rushing but mostly from anxiety. He wasn't making any noise, but if someone looked at him, he didn't know what they'd see. For once it paid off that no one ever gave him a second glance.

Arthur operated the teleprompter so automatically he didn't even comprehend what the topic was until Jack was already reading it. Jack was wearing his Humor Hour costume. Arthur had time to think that the giant bowtie was really too ridiculous when you weren't on Joy when his eyes scanned ahead on the teleprompter and he realized the segment was a fan-favorite recurring topic. Downer jokes.

What's the difference between a Downer and an onion? read the first one. No one cries when you chop up a Downer.

Arthur was fairly certain all the color drained from his face. These jokes were about him, now. It made him seriously question whether it was the right decision to stop taking his Joy. The smart thing would be to go back on it and pop a Joy the instant he could leave the teleprompter.

But he wasn't going to do that, was he? He wanted too badly to remember. As Uncle Jack started to read the jokes and laugh too hard at them, Arthur began to shake. Had Jack always been that... Threatening? Was being off Joy making everything feel a lot more dangerous than it had a few hours prior, or had it always been that terrifying, and Arthur just didn't notice?

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur's heart started beating faster as Jack straddled him a second time. He registered Jack staring down at him with a look like a lion at a zebra before he was kissing Arthur again.

The kiss was long and hungry, and Arthur was already shivering by the time Jack pulled away. He didn't do so for long, though, quickly putting his mouth on Arthur's throat and eliciting a gasp from him. That gasp turned into an embarrassing little squeak as Jack lightly added his teeth. Arthur would never get used to being kissed like this. His imagination would never have been able to conjure up the way it felt. Arthur felt Jack's warm hand on the bare skin at Arthur's hip, stilling some of Arthur's shaking.

It wasn't fair that Jack was calm and collected enough to throw in little compliments intended to fluster Arthur even more. Jack was speaking against Arthur's neck, his breath tickling the saliva-wet skin there. Arthur tilted his head up slightly with one hand and kissed him first, as hard as he could, learning by catching Jack's lower lip between his teeth and nibbling it. He knew Jack wouldn't be expecting it. He wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine. He didn't run his fingers through Jack's hair as he pulled away, but he brushed them over it, awkwardly smoothing back his hair and huffing a soft laugh when he saw Jack's face. "I was hoping you'd be surprised."

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

It was obvious that Jack wasn't telling Arthur everything he was thinking, but, like he always did, he shifted the focus back to Arthur. Arthur didn't force the issue. They weren't faking anything; they had agreed on that. If he said he was okay to continue, if he didn't want to talk about it, then that was allowed.

Arthur was staring at his face, trying to read it, when Jack kissed him and broke his concentration. Arthur managed a smile, looking down. He liked the praise. He liked how Jack always seemed to see him in the best possible light, regardless of how much he actually deserved it. "I'm not even doing anything."

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Though Jack's kiss to his jaw was light, Arthur shivered nonetheless. His hands found themselves hovering over awkwardly Jack's back, not quite making content, and it took a conscious effort to move them the rest of the way and lightly touch Jack's back.

Jack had a way of talking. There was a reason he was so beloved by everyone despite both his hidden disdain and his hidden proclivities. He knew the right thing to say, and Arthur felt like he could relax a little at his words. Once he fought past the initial burst of embarrassment at Jack pointing out his 'beautiful moans.'

"I-I'm glad I'm doing better than I thought, but..."

While the fact that Jack was rusty came as a surprise, it was also a relief. Maybe a little intimidating in a different way, considering Arthur was going up against the memory of Jack's sainted dead wife--but the circumstances were entirely different, and it made Arthur more concerned for Jack than anything else.

"If it's your first time in twenty years, then it might... bring up memories." There was nothing worse in Wellington Wells than that. It was unpleasant of him, but Arthur hadn't been really thinking about how Jack felt about all this. He'd thought, since they were both hard, naturally they would progress, but... "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed... If you need to stop, you can, too."

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Jack's reaction was welcome confirmation that Arthur wasn't making a bad choice with all this, and he glad he didn't have to do anything that he didn't want to do, but he was really hoping for something like a specific timeline. He really just wanted a suggestion of what might happen next. Not knowing what to expect was putting him on edge. Every kiss felt completely new and overwhelming in a different way compared to the last. He didn't know how the kissing would escalate, let alone the apogée of the act, which, despite his terror, Arthur very much wanted to reach because he was harder than he'd ever been in his entire chaste life. It was just that he had absolutely no idea what might go into getting there.

Would Jack touch his dick? How would any of it feel? Could he make him cum just from kissing his neck? Arthur didn't know if Jack was that good, but with the way it had felt, it was starting to become more and more plausible. Every sex scene he'd read in a book had been between a man and a woman, and even they had completely taken flight from his head and left him with no frame of reference. All he could think of was the awful stories Sally used to make him listen to about her rubbish boyfriends and Arthur didn't think Uncle Jack would fuck anything like them.

It was supposed to be spontaneous. He was overthinking it. He knew he was overthinking it and he was doing it anyway. He took a deep breath. They'll take it nice and slow.

"You're probably used to people who've done it more," Arthur said, holding his own arm and rubbing it nervously. "I... I want to... I want to. But you must have, so many times, and well, I... I wouldn't... I wouldn't make it at the Reform Club."

Logically, Arthur knew this panic was probably in large part due to the crash and the pause from distracting touch. It wasn't stopping him from panicking.

"I'm just not sure what to... do. Blokes say it's bad when women just lie there. That must be doubly true if you're a man. I mean, you must have your pick of eromenos," the younger and more submissive partner in an ancient Greek homosexual relationship. "I probably don't match up."

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur is being kissed again without an ounce of hesitation; he forgets to breathe until Jack squeezes his thigh comfortingly and Arthur's mind catches up with the rest of him. He stops tensing up and tries to relax, letting Jack kiss him. Arthur takes a deep breath when Jack pulls away, but then he's on him again, rougher than before. Arthur's free hand flies up and then hovers awkwardly to the side, unsure of what to do with it. Jack breaks away and Arthur again tries to take a slow breath.

Then suddenly Jack is on his neck, and Arthur's hand grabs at Jack's clothes as an unexpected squeak comes out of Arthur. He had no idea being kissed there would feel like so much. Jack quickly kisses him again and Arthur manages not to squeak this time, but just barely.

"Ja-ack--" he starts to say instead, but the sound is quickly aborted when Jack continues to kiss his throat, over and over again, until Arthur is no longer squeaking but whimpering, whining, making these horribly embarrassing noises that he had no time to come to terms with being able to produce at all before he was making more and louder ones. His hand scrabbled at the sheets and his thighs squeezed around Jack's knee, completely independently of Arthur ordering it. He didn't want to be arching his back and moaning just from having his neck kissed. It was too embarrassing to contemplate, the feeling so overwhelming he couldn't think, reducing his awareness entirely to bodies and heat and Jack.

There's a split second between kisses when Arthur's collar is tugged open with so much force that the button flies off, then Jack's mouth is on his collarbone and Arthur is struggling to breathe. He's starting to think he can't do this after all, that it was all too much, that maybe he was too broken to have sex like a normal person when Jack stops, apparently sensing that Arthur needed it.

"Y--yes. Yes. Please." He needs to remember how to breathe. "I-I just need a moment."

He's very aware of how hard he is between them, and then suddenly aware of how hard Jack is too. It made it all seem so real. Arthur wanted to be touched, but if being kissed was so overwhelming, he didn't know if he could ever take that going where he thought it was supposed to go.

"I'm afraid I... I don't know very much about having sex with men." He's still breathing hard. His voice is shaky. "Are there ways to go about it other than you g-going... um... inside me? Because I-I don't think I'm quite ready for that."

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur didn't know what it said about him, that he could relate so easily to a serial killer, but Jack's story sounded familiar. Not the drinking, but the going through the motions like a ghost, doing as he's told and nothing else. Maybe if Arthur hadn't stopped taking the Joy before it stopped working, then he would have snapped and started killing people too. He sort of already did. Self-defense didn't make the victims less dead.

"I understand. I don't want this to be the real me either. Not the idiot sleepwalking through life on Joy, or the creep skulking around stealing from dead bodies and people with nothing." He could go on for longer about the many sins that made him so distasteful, but he didn't. It wasn't the point.

"I don't want to be either of those people, but I did do those things. I don't feel like it's who I really am, but what's the difference? You are your own actions."

Arthur wasn't really intending to come down so hard on Jack, but even if it was collateral damage from Arthur's own firm belief that he was a bad person, he did think it was true. Still, he softened up slightly, not wanting to blame him.

"I know what you mean, though. I've been on Joy since I was nineteen. As soon as I was off it I was forced into this awful life on the edges, scavenging and killing to survive. I don't know who I am either. I feel like I never got to learn."

Jack had had a life before all this and tragically lost it. It wasn't that surprising he'd gone mad. Pretty much everyone in Wellington Wells had.

"This place brings out the worst in people," said Arthur. "But I think perhaps there's more to you than just your worst."

@unclejackworthing

Arthur had gotten a little too far away from Jack. He knew he was going to get told off for it when Jack inevitably caught up—but was it his fault he was faster than a man twenty years his senior? (Arthur was still grappling with that little facet of this whole thing.) Of course there was a part of him that was testing boundaries to see if he could get away with it. He might have been deliberately mixing in with the crowd in the hopes that Jack would lose sight of him. Jack could never prove it was intentional.

He was so focused on Jack that he didn't realize the alley he slipped into wasn't empty until it was too late. There was a gaggle of Plough Boys already occupying the area and they took notice of Arthur's entry.

“Well, if it isn't Arthur Hastings,” said one of them. Arthur recognized him vaguely from school, one of the older boys who was always picking on him and Sally. “I heard you got a fancy job in the Parade. What are you doing slumming it with the rest of us here?”

Arthur had done much more slumming it than in Hamlyn Village. He'd spent more than enough time in the Garden District lately, but he kept that to himself. “Lovely to see you,” he said nervously, backing up into the alley wall as the three Plough Boys spread out to corner Arthur. “But I really should be going…”

“Nah,” said the ringleader, pulling out a lead pipe. “The way I see it, if you're working in the Parade, you must be loaded, right?”

“I don't—work in the Parade anymore, as such,” started Arthur, but he wasn't given a chance to explain.

With a cry of “get ‘im, boys,” the three men fell upon Arthur and started to whale on him with their weapons. Arthur was on the ground almost instantly. He curled up into a ball as the blows rained down on him, arms over his head to protect it. Their laughter rung in his ears.

Something with a sharp edge caught Arthur's side and a pained noise escaped him as blood began to gush from the wound. Arthur tried to stem it with his hands, but the ringleader smacked his arm away with the pipe and flipped Arthur onto his back to look at him. He stepped on his stomach, making it difficult for Arthur to breathe. “You always were an easy target,” laughed the Plough Boy. Arthur looked over his shoulder to make eye contact with Jack.

Fuck.

Arthur didn't know whether he should be relieved or even more scared. All he did was freeze, unable to look away from Jack's approach.

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur wasn't really aware that his hand was in front of his face until Jack was pinning it to the pillow. He wasn't using much force, but then he was suddenly also looming over Arthur, everywhere in his senses. His knee was firm between his thighs and brushing up against areas where Arthur was starting to become excited. It was enough to get his heart pounding. He looked wide-eyed up at Jack and then was being kissed again.

His lips parted when Jack kissed his jaw. Arthur only had time to be self-conscious of how badly he needed a shave for second, and then Jack's mouth was on his and he couldn't think of anything else.

This wasn't how he imagined it would go. He had always pictured a nice girl, like Pru. He hadn't really pictured anything past that, because that was when the details started to get fuzzy; but he certainly hadn't anticipated being kissed so fiercely, so desperately. It made fireworks go off in Arthur's brain, and between them he managed to think that maybe Jack was dying of thirst, too.

By the time Jack pulled away, Arthur was gasping. Jack's breath tickled against Arthur's neck while he paid him more compliments and made Arthur shiver. He was so overwhelmed that when he opened his mouth to say something, all that came out was an embarrassing giggle. One hand immediately tried to shoot up to cover his mouth, but Jack still had it pinned beside his head and his hand went nowhere.

Another nervous laugh escaped as Arthur's hand went limp again and he became even more acutely aware of how dangerous Jack could be. He knew the reasonable reaction to being reminded of that fact was to want to stop, but it was the opposite. He felt a mad sort of power knowing someone who could have so easily killed him was so dedicated to Arthur. It made him think there must have been a small part of him that was actually worth something.

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Arthur was breathing fast after only a few kisses and a smattering of praise. Of course Arthur had never been praised for his looks before. He knew he was awkward and gangly, not a looker by any means. He may have cut an acceptable enough figure in a proper suit, but nothing that stood out, and certainly not like this, tearstained and bruised and unshaven, wearing ill-fitting pajamas. Arthur didn't think Jack was lying; he just didn't have a clue what he was seeing.

"No," he said bluntly, even as he was still shivering. "T-though I wouldn't say I'm out of your league. I think everyone in Wellington Wells has had a Joy-induced dream exactly like this."

Himself included, though that was as close to openly admitting it as he was going to get it. The Joy had probably worn off partway through Arthur's particular version, as he mostly remembered being frustrated, grinding himself against dream-Jack to no avail. The real thing was much different. Jack had done little but kiss him a few times and Arthur was already overwhelmed.

To be fair, it was still more than Arthur had ever experienced before. Jack's hot mouth against his jaw wouldn't get out of his mind. One of his hands had migrated its way to his face without him noticing.

@unclejackworthing

It was Arthur's fault for getting too comfortable. Jack was in the kitchen trying to figure something out while Arthur waited in the living room. Jack was only a room away. He got too comfortable.

When the knock on the door came, he nearly jumped out of his skin. He was in no state to entertain company. He was wearing someone else's pajamas and covered in bruises after his last encounter. But when he he hesitated too long, he heard a voice through the door:

"You'll want to cooperate, of course. It's a matter of your health." Arthur looked through the window and made direct eye contact with a doctor. Another one was behind him, difficult to mistake when they were dressed almost identically in the same odd fashion sense common among Wellington Wells' medical community.

Arthur's heart sunk, but he put on the best smile he could and opened the door. He tried to keep his body mostly behind it. "Gentlemen! Lovely day for it! Now what's all this about a medical emergency?"

"Yes, well, you'll forgive the intrusion, but my colleague and I happened to be wandering along when caught your scent through the window. It's ajar."

Arthur looked at it again. Indeed it was. Why did every little thing have to go wrong? The doctor pushed past Arthur into the living room, then turned to face him, so Arthur had a doctor on both sides.

"And, when we'd sniffed you out, then we couldn't help but notice that peculiar pungency telltale of one off their Joy." The doctor smiled, his creepy little mustache curving up at the edges. "So of course we both agreed it was our medical duty to come remedy the situation."

"Oh, dear!" It wasn't difficult to look horrified. It was harder to to look like he had nothing to hide. "Silly me! Has it been that long since I've popped a Joy? I'll take one straight away. I'm so thankful to you for warning me, Doctor." Arthur kept turning between the doctors, unsure which one to face. "And, uh, Doctor. Jolly decent of you."

"Yes, we'll administer a dose presently." The doctor leaned close, peering at Arthur with one fish eye. The one behind Arthur--he was getting them mixed up now--took a noisy sniff of Arthur's neck. "Are you certain you don't need more extreme medical intervention, sir? You do seem to be rather beat up."

"Oh, not at all! That's why I'm at home in my pajamas, you see. Silly me, I tripped down the stairs and the doctor put me on strict bed rest until I've healed up."

If only smiling hard enough would make them believe him. His cheeks were starting to hurt. "I've been going crazy here at home instead of at work. I'm sure the Joy will help with that." Arthur tried to step out from between the duo. "I'll just step away and go take care of that right now. I shouldn't waste another minute."

The doctor behind Arthur grabbed his upper arm and wrenched him back in place. "You'll forgive us for wanting to take you back to the office just to be sure. It is a matter of your health, after all. You can't be too careful."

"Oh, pish-posh!" said Arthur desperately. "I'm as healthy as a horse. Just some light bruising."

"I think that's for a qualified medical professional to to decide, don't you think?" The doctor in front of Arthur produced a rather large syringe as the one behind him held Arthur's arms. "But first there is the matter of your Joy. I think you'll be much more agreeable once the proper dosage is applied.

The doctor came in close and tilted Arthur's head up to expose his neck. He ran a finger along the vein he chose and then stabbed the needle into Arthur's skin, fully compressing the plunger and emptying the pink liquid into Arthur's bloodstream.

"Shit," said Arthur. His legs had suddenly stopped working correctly. He collapsed into the doctor's arms. Too much Joy.

[illsuiteddowner]

Jack's tone made Arthur bristle, but he did have a point. There was no reason for Jack to do all this if he wanted to kill Arthur in the end. He could have plans other than killing Arthur, though. Arthur couldn't begin to imagine what those might be, but he had already been kidnapped and forced to make human meat pies--how much weirder could it get?

There was no point in arguing about it, even if he did keep finding himself doing it. He couldn't possibly get away from Jack in this state even if things did get bad. His body hurt. His head hurt from worrying. He wanted to be able to just trust him, despite his better judgement. Maybe he should be working towards making that easier.

"I might not be so worried if I knew more about you. I admit it's hard to imagine you opening up the way you have, only to kill me after. It's only that when I look at you, I can't stop seeing the man on the television who lies with ease."

And what, exactly, did Arthur want Jack to do about that? What would make it easier for Arthur hand over all the power in this shit situation he's found himself in?

"Tell me more about the real you. I... I don't know what. Anything. I just want it to be true."

@unclejackworthing

Arthur had gotten a little too far away from Jack. He knew he was going to get told off for it when Jack inevitably caught up—but was it his fault he was faster than a man twenty years his senior? (Arthur was still grappling with that little facet of this whole thing.) Of course there was a part of him that was testing boundaries to see if he could get away with it. He might have been deliberately mixing in with the crowd in the hopes that Jack would lose sight of him. Jack could never prove it was intentional.

He was so focused on Jack that he didn't realize the alley he slipped into wasn't empty until it was too late. There was a gaggle of Plough Boys already occupying the area and they took notice of Arthur's entry.

“Well, if it isn't Arthur Hastings,” said one of them. Arthur recognized him vaguely from school, one of the older boys who was always picking on him and Sally. “I heard you got a fancy job in the Parade. What are you doing slumming it with the rest of us here?”

Arthur had done much more slumming it than in Hamlyn Village. He'd spent more than enough time in the Garden District lately, but he kept that to himself. “Lovely to see you,” he said nervously, backing up into the alley wall as the three Plough Boys spread out to corner Arthur. “But I really should be going…”

“Nah,” said the ringleader, pulling out a lead pipe. “The way I see it, if you're working in the Parade, you must be loaded, right?”

“I don't—work in the Parade anymore, as such,” started Arthur, but he wasn't given a chance to explain.

With a cry of “get ‘im, boys,” the three men fell upon Arthur and started to whale on him with their weapons. Arthur was on the ground almost instantly. He curled up into a ball as the blows rained down on him, arms over his head to protect it. Their laughter rung in his ears.

Something with a sharp edge caught Arthur's side and a pained noise escaped him as blood began to gush from the wound. Arthur tried to stem it with his hands, but the ringleader smacked his arm away with the pipe and flipped Arthur onto his back to look at him. He stepped on his stomach, making it difficult for Arthur to breathe. “You always were an easy target,” laughed the Plough Boy. Arthur looked over his shoulder to make eye contact with Jack.

Fuck.

Arthur didn't know whether he should be relieved or even more scared. All he did was freeze, unable to look away from Jack's approach.