Jack Vessalius was the youngest son of a noble family with little prestige or much of anything to their name. Jack was something of an obnoxious twit, always running about in his desire to tease or flirt or be unnecessarily kind to children and servants, and it vexed Glen – slightly – to see the man do so within the Baskerville premises.

Still, he could never bring himself to mention it.

Jack's hair was also ludicrously long for even a noble. His braid swung past his knees several inches, and Glen had to wonder exactly how long his hair was when unbraided and loose.

He did not ask or mention that, either.

Jack had a way with words, in spite of being such a carefree, generally worthless loaf. When he spoke, attention would turn immediately to him, may it be positive or negative. Being as talkative as he was, Glen was not surprised that the vast majority of feedback tended to be negative, usually from Lotti, who would become incensed at the man's constant chatter.

Glen certainly did not mention how he sort of liked dozing off to the sound of Jack's voice.

He was sure, however, that the reason Lotti found so much distaste in Jack was not any of those things; it was, instead, the relationship that he himself held with the man, which many continuously classified as odd.

Glen did not see it as odd.

If anyone else but a fly on the wall had been in the room the day he and Jack finished the pocket watch, all would have been understood. Tiny gears churned and whispered out the sweet, high melody of 'Lacie', and Glen had allowed himself the guilty pleasure of a smile. He had no idea how music boxes or watches or any of the sort worked, but Jack did. Jack's knowledge of music was generally confined to children's songs on a piano, but Glen knew much more.

The watch was the cumulation of what they each had. It was their child.

Jack's smile lit up the room as he passed the object to Glen after shutting it, emerald gaze bright and eager. "I told you we could finish it today," he proudly exclaimed. "Now, make sure you keep it somewhere safe."

Glen tilted his head a bit to the side before taking the watch from Jack's hand, fingertips brushing against the other man's palm in a touch too lingering to be innocent. The brightness in Jack's eyes did not fade, but his lashes cast a shadow all the same as down they fell, one of the more subtle indications of Jack's changing mood.

"I will always keep it with me."

"That would be the safest place," Jack agreed, and opened his mouth to say more. Glen decided then that for once, he would have none of the man's chatter, as current moments called for different things, and thus leaned forward, sealing their lips together.

Any words Jack thought to speak dissolved into a sigh, warm and soft and pleased. Truly, Glen loved that sound, because it was so distinctly Jack when Jack was around him; content and happy and his, all his –

Glen did wonder when their friendship had turned to this, but he could not find the strength to care as he caught Jack by the waist, brusquely hauling him forward and directly into his lap. The blonde's initial response was something of a squawk as he shifted to properly straddle Glen as well as the confines of a chair would allow.

"There's a bed," Jack felt the need to point out, somewhat indignant but too satisfied with this new development to truly react otherwise, "five feet away."

"Yes," Glen agreed as he lifted his hands to immediately do away with the long coat hanging from Jack's shoulders, his mouth already on the slim expanse of a perfect neck, "and yet I want you here."

Impetuousness. When had he ever possessed such impetuousness? Glen did not know, nor did he care as he and Jack's world was reduced to nothing but fumbling hands and tangled limbs and heat; sweet, heady, mindless heat that made Glen gasp aloud as Jack sunk down onto him, the infuriating man smirking through his own pleasure at his ability to tear Glen so far astray. Astray, astray, astray – astray from his plans, from his house, from Lacie, from everything –

Glen knew if he was not careful, Jack would be his life.

It ended far too quickly for Glen's tastes, but there was never any holding back when it came to Jack. Soon he found himself with an armful of that youngest son of some no-name noble family, sweaty and dirty and tousled and beautiful.

And his hair was coming out of its braid. Glen wished he had the heart to make Jack stand up, just so he could see exactly how long it was when down. Instead, he just touched it, reveling in how Jack, who cost him nothing, could feel like the most expensive silk in his hands, when he had certainly paid a pretty penny for fabrics of a far less pleasing design.