Tracks

Apparition

Content warning for sexual content.

---

Opening his eyes to the sight of the little house by the tracks, Jacks feels immense relief. The heels still on his feet make an unfamiliar noise as he steps onto the wood of the front porch in the dark. He opens the door, locking himself inside. It's completely dark, the smell of earth rising from the floorboards, the tall leafy stalks that he had allowed to grow now forming thin, red-tipped buds at their tops. He kicks the heels off, placing them beside the door.

"Goethe?" He calls, taking off the matching blue hat and holding it in his hands as he searches for the ghost.

There is no answer. Jacks assumes he very well may still be making the trip to Hell and back with the three men he'd gotten away from Charlie. He sighs, wiping sweat from his forehead that had collected under the brim of the powder blue wool.

"I hope you're safe, Charlie." He says with a fond smile, undoing a button from the high-necked blouse.

From here, he makes his way to the oven, still slightly hot with coal. The water would still be warm. He runs a bath, admiring the colors and subtle details of the clothes he had stolen as he undresses in the dim electrical light of the washroom, storing them folded in a drawer. Sitting on the edge of the porcelain, Jacks is careful as he slips his fingers under the sheer fabric of the stockings, working them down his calf. He feels himself hold his breath at the sensation that builds when he feels the fabric slip down his leg. He sighs, slightly confused by the feelings he's experiencing surrounding something so mundane. He's curious about it– but pushes it away.

"Out of all things..." He laughs at himself, shaking his head.

Swiftly slipping the other one off and closing them into the drawer with the rest of the outfit, he makes a note to delve into that more in an effort to better understand himself. But for now, he needed answers to a much more pressing question.

Was that truly Goethe watching him at those two bars? And if it was, why was he showing himself to him there, out of all places– when before, when he had been so desperately alone and felt so afraid? Jacks sighs, lowering further into the water of the bath and relaxing into it. As he sits, his mind is entirely occupied by those smoldering eyes that burned into him, a piercing orange that nearly set him on fire. He plays it over and over in his mind, recollecting the broadness of his shoulders, the elegance of his hands, the slender curves of his wrists, just barely visible under the sleeves of his shirt. He dwells on the image of the man, concluding that it had to be Goethe; until his body starts to react– an involuntary whimper leaving his lips as he feels himself harden between his thighs. What would it be like to be looked at by him like that up close? Would he have that same starving look in his eyes when the two of them can finally meet face to face? He rinses off, ensuring the water is as cold as it could be, and makes his way back onto the tile, where he dries himself off in his nightshirt.

A sound suddenly catches in his ears from another room— the creak of the rocking chair from the bedroom. He lunges out, his feet still wet, tracking water across the floor as he enters the room across the hall, swinging the door open and clutching his hands to the chair, looking for something. Anything. Goethe laughs, the room filling with the sound.

"Did I scare you that badly?" A swipe of coal dust appears on Jacks' hand, causing his legs to buckle. He supports himself, stepping back, trying not to let the sound of his breath picking up become too obvious.

"You couldn't scare me more than you did earlier. Was that really you in there?" Jacks scans the chair, not knowing where to look.

"Yes, Jacks– that was me." Goethe confirms, pulling a wet strand of hair off of Jacks' cheek. His breath catches again, knowing the aroused state he was in just had to be obvious at this point.