Shot Through The Heart

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Jacques Roux

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Finding the guns had finally been a stroke of good luck. Luck, not being something they had an abundance of. But this time, it was. They had been packed in grease, so salvageable. Raven was working on a few bullets, and Bellamy would start gun training. There were a few that showed more promised than the others -- and he especially wanted his seconds to be well equipped with the weapons. Finally, they had something to fight back with.

The Grounders had their damn primitive weapons. And now, they had gun. A way to properly defend themselves. Shortly after finding the guns, Bellamy had also decided to stay among the Arkers, rather than flee out of fear of what the Ark would do when coming down. With this change in mind, this determined position to stay here . . . he now needed to get things in order. They needed to build defenses, train, sustain what food they could. There was a lot that needed to be done, but Bellamy was going to stay and see it through. Tonight however, he told Jacques to come to his tent.

The delinquent was one of his seconds, and Bellamy wanted to go over very basic training with the guns. They wouldn't be able to fire yet but he wanted the man to get a feel for the weapon; the weight, the position, all that. Besides, Jacques held a lot of promise. He was someone that Bellamy trusted emphatically. Someone who he knew he could rely on. It was late so most others were most probably sleeping. Bellamy however, was checking over the weapons, polishing them up, seeing how in tact they were. Apart from getting jammed, or the bullets not working . . . they were pretty damn decent. Approaching footsteps caused him to raise his head to the entrance of his tent as he saw Jacques enter. "Come in," he encouraged, already holding out one of the guns for him to take.

[Jacques Roux]

Swallow your pride down.

Suck my cockiness. Lick my persuasion. Eat my poison.

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Under the veil of the darkness of night is when Jacques most often did most of his own personal explorations and private outings. No one to bother him. No one to track him. And certainly no one to reprimand him or throw him into Lockup for trying to reconvene some unfulfilled desire of love lost -- or in his case, love never known. Was it practical for the boy to venture into the woods unarmed and as a lone wolf? Of course not. But whether one might label him as brave or a fool, he had a deep sense of invincibility that resonated from his core. Such territory came with being young. But much of it came from the shade of Jacques' personality was painted. Life was nothing ever meant to be met with longevity in his eyes, but rather risks, excitement and adventure. And here on the Ground, he could do just that: Whatever the hell he wanted.

Few people struck a sense of panic or even slighted worry in the boy, but Octavia's brother was one that pinged him to his core. Not because he truly cowered in terror at the idea of pissing Bellamy off, but more he didn't really care to hear his shit. Sure, Jacques followed Bellamy, but that wasn't because he thought the guy had a real entitlement to the leadership role he was taking up. Instead, as per usual, the lost boy was looking for someone to guide him. It was easier to let others make the large decisions, and that's what Bellamy enjoyed doing. But truth be told, all jokes and sass aside, Jacques Roux just felt safe with him. Whether or not it were realistic, he truly believed in his heart of hearts that Bellamy would never let anything happen to him. And maybe that was a lot of weight for one to carry, but that was also why Jacques was in no contestant for the title or role.

But on this night, Jacques was a bothersome bloat. He tore through camp with a fast-paced jog, running a palm through dampened hazelnut locks. He didn't stop to converse, not really caring if anyone he knew may have stopped him to pass question. He certainly looked busy.. and moist, glistening at best. But not a drop of his shimmer was perspiration. Jacques had been swimming at the lake nearby, despite the obvious that had occurred with one of their own not long ago upon their first landing. It was that sense of danger that Jacques flew blind to. If he wanted to swim, he would swim. Especially because now he could. And it was more than some sheek workout to keep him in shape, it was spiritual. But damn if he didn't lose track of time, knowing full well he was already later than Bellamy might have been expecting him.

Ah, fuck it. He's probably getting his dick wet.

The thought alone caused the boy to chuckle that classic half-grin smirk which caused his dimple to present. Shaking his head at the idea, Jacques slowed down upon nearing Bellamy's tent. Glancing down over his attire, he pulled at the lower half of his shirt which had come to slide upward in his quick change and trek to return. With a subtle clearing of his throat aided by a palm brought to lips, Jacques responded to the familiar voice beckoning him forward. With a final look over his shoulder, he slipped into the warmer confinements of his friends' tent.

With a curious glance over toward Bellamy, he raised a brow accompanied with a sense of caution at the firearm that was already being held out to him. It should have come at no surprise that Jacques was hesitant to deal with any sort of weapon, but that was likely because of his inability to have done so yet. "Heh.." He chuckled nervously, lifting a hand to idly rub at the back of his neck while his spare found itself digging anxiously into his empty pocket. "Right at it, huh?" There was a small beat to pass, followed by a slighted sigh from the boy before he reached out his hand to accept what he had agreed to come here to do. Reluctantly and less enthusiastic than what he was prone to exhibiting, Jacques wrapped his palm around the cool steel hilt of the gun before taking it into his grasp. He was not quick to cradle it however, instead offering silent inspection upon it. It was as foreign to Jacques to hold a gun as it was for him to be acting as shy or hesitant as he were.

But, as usual, he played off his insecurities (especially in being potentially bad at something) with cocky, jestful humor. "No dinner or nothin'? Just 'come in, put my gun in your hand'." If it sounded sexual, it was because he meant for it to. That was one thing Jacques was too: Sexual.

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TAG: Bellamy Blake WORDS: 827
NOTES: Jacques may or may not be a casual little flirt. I do not apologize.

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Jacques Roux

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy had to admit that thee were times where he could truly appreciate his friends snarky remarks. Even if the older male showed no sign of it. Right wasn't an exception to that. He casually ignored the potential double meaning of the word gun. Instead, he looked at the delinquent, briefly glancing at him as he took the weapon. But it wasn't the actual inspection of the gun that Bellamy had noticed. It was Jacques damp hair. Which, could only mean one thing knowing his friend.

"Did you go alone?" He asked him, not bothering to ask him where he went or if he went. Bellamy was concerned about the male's safety though. His protective nature wanting to make sure that everyone remained safe. If Jacques went out by himself.. . well, that placed a risk on him. And Bellamy sure as hell didn't want him doing anything to endanger his life."It's not armed," he explained to him, figuring that could help provide him with some comfort if he was uneasy with the weapon. "Hold it like this," he demonstrated, Bellamy taking one of the rifles in his own hands to show Jacques how it should be leveled.

"You're gonna need to keep one on you at all times. Especially outside this camp." Aka if he went swimming against which, Bellamy was fairly certain he would. And as Jacques was one of his entrusted seconds, he was one of the few who would be permitted to keep a gun on him, rather than Bellamy have misgivings about it. With the guns coming to camp, they were Bellamy's responsibility . . . thus, anyone being stupid with them would be his fault. He had enough faith in Jacques to know he wouldn't be though. Jacques was one of the better ones. Loyal. Cautious . . . most of the time anyway.

[Jacques Roux]

Swallow your pride down.

Suck my cockiness. Lick my persuasion. Eat my poison.

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Distraction had been too present with the idea of and the very real foreign feeling of the cool steel hilt pressing against his palm. He had entirely forgotten the fact that he was still damp from his evening dip, a notion that Bellamy hadn’t overlooked. There was a sudden sinking feeling from deep within his gut. Immediate response didn’t pull his gaze to meet the stare of his friend. Instead, he was almost too shameful in that moment to even look Bellamy in the eye. His jawline visibly tightened, jowls of his chiseled expression flexing with varying degrees of intensity as he silently battled the options he was now presented with. He could tell the truth, face whatever silent disappointment the man had to inflict upon him or he could lie and attempt to weave his way through the sticky situation in a means to avoid having any of Bellamy’s faith misplaced in him. Dammit, why was he so concerned with what this prick thought of him?

Because.

Saying nothing was an answer in and of itself, he knew that. His gaze snuck a peek upward through a still downturned expression, accompanied by an inward pursing of thin lips, much akin to how a pup might look to its owner when he knows that he has done wrong by the leader of their pack.

Because Bellamy gave him a place to belong to. Because Bellamy cared.. That’s why he even bothered to ask.

Fuck. That alone made Jacques feel a feeling entirely unfamiliar to him, but he was not naive as to what it was. Guilt stung at him with a silently weighted burden. But never once did Jacques’ placid features waver, he remained stalwart and poker-faced through and through.

His joking nature was gone for the moment, but he still cared enough to force a smile in a means to lighten the situation -- not for his sake, but to not bother Bellamy with any of the feelings that were plaguing his mind. Egotistical as he might be, selfish was not a quality that really rang true to the notorious Aquaboy of the Ark. Ironic. Pulling his attention back toward the rifle in hand, he glanced back and forth between his own firearm and the exhibited version of how Bellamy was holding to his. After a moment of study, he offered up his best effort in recreating the same grip, position and stand Bellamy had…

And looked awkward as fuck doing it. Shit. There was a small sigh that passed between his lips, head tilting backward as he released his hold on the weapon with both hands and instead allowed it to fall casually into one. He shifted his hip and relaxed his stance just as quickly as he had assumed it. If there was one thing Jacques wasn’t content with admitting, it was when he was bad at sometime. “This is stupid. I’m never gonna get this. I don’t know why you’re even having me do this.”

Defense mechanism activated: misplacing blame for his own flaws and faults. Jacques notably pouted in the most prideful way possible.

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TAG: Bellamy Blake WORDS: 519

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Jacques Roux

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Sometimes silence spoke volumes. Jacques' confirmed that he had gone out alone, and that was something Bellamy often discouraged. It wasn't safe out there. The threat of the Grounders was severe; they were at war with them. Anything outside of the gates of the camp exposed them. He knew he was already dealing with a group of rebellious teens but that wouldn't stop him from constantly reminding them of the risks that came from venturing in solitude outside camp. But Bellamy didn't say anything -- not yet. Instead he just watched Jacques attempt to adjust with the position of the gun.

He was getting frustrated. Understandable. Many of the delinquents had never held one before, but that was why he was giving personal training to those like Jacques. So that they would get additional support in it, as seconds. "Because you need to learn." His answer was as simple as that. He had to know how to do this because when the Grounders came, when the war was at their gates . . . they needed every able man. They needed people who could make a good shot. Instead of trying to use words to describe it, Bellamy decided to show him. After all, the older male had always been a man of action. He moved behind Jacque, taking his hands and adjusting them over the gun. "Hold it up to eye level, straight, like this." His hand moved over the younger males, lifting the weapon to show him how it should be wielded.

"It's dangerous to go by yourself," Bellamy pointed out while getting Jacques into position, needing to put in that plug addressing the risks of venturing from the camp. There was a familiarity to this moment of adjusting the younger male, reminding him of when he had shown Clarke in the bunker. The touch on the shoulder, the close proximity. The sensation this time however was a bit different. And there was no strange hallucinogens to blame. "How's that feel?" He asked, not meaning for his words to hold a double meaning, as his hands returned to his side, and allowing Jacques to hold it up on his own. Though Bellamy only move a small step back, to give him the necessary space, still positioned behind Jacques.

[Jacques Roux]

Swallow your pride down.

Suck my cockiness. Lick my persuasion. Eat my poison.

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Fuck. Why did Bellamy always have to be right? That realization alone was enough to make him eyeroll.

God, I’m so bad at it though.

He wanted to whine. Wanted to, but didn’t. Truth be told, Jacques knew that learning to use a gun was only a polite way of masking the reality of what was occurring: he was learning to kill. For survival, of course. But be that as it may, it was still a very heavy weight and sudden awareness that Jac didn’t truly think himself ready for. He didn’t know if he’d be able to even do what he was was supposed to when it came time for it. Snarky as he may be, that’s really all the boy was: all bark, no bite. No way, even being trained and equipped, he’d be able to take down any Grounder -- no matter how threatening they may be.

Jacques had looked up to Bellamy, significantly, even in the short time they’d been departed from the Ark. Sure he may have given him lip or sass at times, but he was undoubtedly the tender heart of the gang, even if he didn’t always show it. Bellamy was like the fatherly figure he’d never had. No, that’s not right, more akin to an older brother. But even that was far off because for Jacques to brand him as such would mean that he had to deny the very real attraction that he felt toward their new found leader, despite his never revealing such (not even entirely to himself). Why? Because it was impossible. He wasn’t entirely sure Bellamy swung in that direction and the guy clearly had more important tasks to take care of.

No way, Jacques, don’t kid yourself. He’s never even offered you a second look. And that’s saying alot because A LOT of people offer you second looks..

He was just on the bridge of preparing himself to offer up another attempt at correctly wielding the firearm he’d been given, when the anti-Ark leader himself stepped in to provide other plans. And holy shit was Jacques unprepared. His eyes widened as he felt Bellamy slip up to press against him from behind, larger palms mounting atop his while moving to steady his aim and grip upon the rifle.

Rifle. His rifle. I want his rifl-- Jacques, fuck!

Steadily cursing himself for the thoughts that were plaguing his mind now in full force, he could hardly focus. A small breath swept between soft lips, his figure stiff as a means to denote unease at their new found strategic embrace. And then bam, there it was, the reprimand -- buttering him up just to snap the trap shut. Jacques sighed audibly, pulling his cheek inward against his molars to chew against it. When he spoke this time, his voice was softer, void of his usual snark, “I know…”

So you come with me…

The boy relaxed back into the ease of his usual self and haughty swagger, more so once Bellamy had slipped away. It was in that time Jacques decided to get his cards back together before resuming that facade of an egocentric poker face. Having sex with Bellamy? Well, that was one thing. Jacques was pretty much the shag king at this point in their Ground excursions. But enjoying the closeness of their alpha as much as he had? That was a foreign sense of security and emotion that he only felt when swimming.

“I’unno,” he came swinging with a grinning jest. “That the same move you pull on all the girls you traffic in and out of here?” Jacques passed his tongue along the inside of his cheek to stifle the growing smile he wore before turning to face the Blake sibling.

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TAG: Bellamy Blake WORDS: 626

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Jacques Roux

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

Bellamy didn't miss the eye roll, or the confirmation from Jacques regarding not venturing out the gates alone. Bellamy hoped he heeded to it. With his responsibility for every delinquent, his vow to protect them . . . came the inevitable guilt when they lost one of their own. For the time being he would let the subject go, but it was not forgotten. Hell, he expected it to come up again during some point in the night -- depending how long Jacques remained. But for now, he focused on the true reason he had asked the younger male to come: gun training. Or at least the preliminary things. In terms of handling a weapon. As Bellamy adjusted the delinquent's position, he noticed his body somewhat tense -- if that was even the correct word for it. He figured it was due to the unfamiliarity -- and perhaps unease -- of holding a weapon such as this. It was quite a change for most everyone here, so it was entirely understandable.

It was his latter spoken comment that caused the older male to pause for a moment, a slightly raised eye brow at the remark of women trafficking in and out of here. Bellamy did not often speak of the intimacy he found with others. At least the physical one. It never went deeper than that. But in a camp as small as this, it uncontrollably went around. He wasn't phased by it. He had his own reasons for never being able to explore anything more with someone. Reasons that were deeply rooted in his failures to protect his mother and sister. And for the responsibility of killing so many people on the Ark. The culling. More than likely even causing the death of many of these delinquent's parents. Bellamy had deprived so many others of love . . . what gave him the right to allow himself the grace of it?

Besides, he couldn't afford the luxury. He was devoted to protecting the 100 -- what was left of them -- rather than building his own personal relationship with a partner. But that didn't mean that he didn't want it. Crave it. Long for it. The former janitor kept a completely stoic appearance -- a skill he had mastered due to a lifetime of lying to practically everyone on the Ark in order to guard the secret of a sibling. "You got a problem with something?" He asked, unable to resist the question. While it wasn't overly defensive, it was spoken in that typical blunt tone that naturally fell from him.

From one simple question, his thought had delved into all that. Since when did a single remark stem into such thoughts of partnership. Why did it seem . . . different coming from Jacques, compared to anyone else? "Cause if you do, say it." One again, his tone lacking an overly defensive aggressive tone, going to a composed, stoic one. He felt the urge to ask . . . to find out why his frequent interactions was brought up. Knowing, that it surely couldn't mean anything more than just a typically snarky remark from the younger male -- which was hardly uncommon.

[Jacques Roux]

Swallow your pride down.

Suck my cockiness. Lick my persuasion. Eat my poison.

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Jacques had only been teasing with the remark composed in regards to the human trafficking that ensued from Bellamy’s end. Be it as it may, they were in a most compact space now -- much more so than aboard the Ark, even. And because of that, word traveled fast about who was sleeping with who. It wasn’t even just Bellamy. Truth be told, it was common of nearly all the Delinquents at this point. But for some reason, the escapades of their infamous leader, had resonated more deeply with Jac. At least, deeply enough for him to remark on it. But innocent to it all, or simply oblivious, the Arker wore a smug little smirk. He was trying to ease the tension of the situation, or at least tension elsewhere that had developed from the closeness of the two. Damn, he was so stupid for getting flustered like that. What was that shit? Jacques didn’t get nervous. He made people nervous. But boy, did he certainly regret his attempts to lighten the situation with where Bellamy went next. He should have known. Bellamy wasn’t one to take anyone’s shit.

“I..” Jacques froze in place, falling quiet as he could feel his tongue swelling within his mouth. He swallowed nervously, cutting off his speech pattern as his eyes searched nervously against Bellamy’s. He was trying desperately to find some semblance of a grin, a smile, a chuckle to alleviate the stoic disregard that he was being shown. “Wh-What..?” He chuckled himself, still trying desperately to make Bellamy smile. To have that dry expression shattered. To have some simple proof that Bell was kidding in return. But alas, he found none.

A chill resonated throughout the core of the boy, his lips still agape searching for words that would not come. Because in that moment, all he could focus on was the very realization that he was a deer in headlights. And that he had undoubtedly struck a nerve with the only.. -- what would he even call Bellamy at this point? A friend? Because he wanted to. So badly he wanted to. But if things were to be militia oriented, then he supposed it not right to impose the emotionality of friendship upon an environment that only offered room for one hard truth: survival.

Take it back. Jacques, take it back.

If there was one thing Jacques was notorious for being, it was a causal flirt. Hell, he was a full on tease at times. As well as an asshole, an egotistical prick, a snarky little shit, a rebel. The list goes on, really depending upon who you ask. But every bit of it, a defense mechanism in and of itself. The truth? Was that Jacques Roux had never known any sort of intimacy, emotionality, or co-dependence. But co-dependent was exactly what he’d always longed to be. One wouldn’t know it from any run ins with him, however. ‘Bite before you’re bitten, sting before you’re stung. No one can hurt you if you don’t show them the way to your castle.’

Most children were raised receiving some semblance of love, from at least one of their parents. An uncompromisable, unconditional sense of care that came without any attachments or obligations and resonated to remain no matter how badly one’s decisions might be in life. But when the odds are against you from the start, with only one parent: a father, who blames you for the absence of his lover: your mother -- that sort of commodity of love isn’t exactly ever experienced nor understood. Instead, replaced by countless times hiding in the vents of the Ark -- just to cry without being seen. Missing a woman you’ve never known, and longing for the acceptance of a father who openly detests your presence in the world. All while stuffing tiny hands into tiny pockets and storming through the corridor back to his schooling, past hallways filled with the very thing he lacked, witnessing hugs from parents and kisses from lovers that he’d always looked upon with silent envy.

So if that meant he spent a year in Lockup, then that was an easy cost to pay for the night he first defied the odds of the Arkers and learned to swim. It was why he’d been out every day since their arrival on the Ground. It was why he would still continue to defy Bellamy even despite his apology. Jacques didn’t enjoy the coolness of the sea or his dances through the lake because it accomplished some sensation of excitement or freedom or experience of one of nature’s mightiest elements. It was the warmth he felt from within, even against the icy cold. It was the sense of security that came from the water’s powerful embrace. It was the irony of a boy born first from water rather than air, rekindling his roots.

He frowned, looking toward Bellamy now and losing all swagger or playful jeer that was found there before. Jac was resorting to the sole defense mechanism that he oft found when someone had stumbled upon his ‘castle’ in the deadness of night -- anger.

“I don’t give a fuck about who you’re taking to bed.” His brows knitted to denote his aggression. “We don’t all give such a shit about you as you’d like to think.” His gaze was like some aimless void, nothing found within those deep brown hues when his eyes met that of his ‘Commander’s’ now. “We continuing,” he lifted his rifle to denote why he’d come. “Or not?”

’We don’t all give such a shit about you as you’d like to think.’

It was the first lie he’d ever told Bellamy. Because the truth was, even if he wasn’t being honest with himself, Jacques did.

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TAG: Bellamy Blake WORDS: 960

[Bellamy Blake]

Tag: Jacques Roux

whatever

THE HELL WE WANT

The conversation was taking a drastic turn. Bellamy's inquiries had provoked a reaction from Jacques. One that was hardly teasing or held any jovial tone. Bellamy supposed he should have expected this. After all, he knew Jacques personality well enough to be aware of his snark. His attitude. It wasn't his initial words that hit him, but the ones that followed. Ones that spoke of how not all of them gave a shit about him. He knew it was true. He knew he didn't deserve any kindness or concern from the delinquents. Not after all he had done to them. But . . . the words hit him none the less. The reminder, that he had always lived for other people.

First it had been Octavia, now, it was the delinquents. It seemed more natural for him to devote his life to protecting another, or others . . . rather than live for himself. After all, he had spent more years than not doing so. While the words pierced him like an arrow, he made no show of it. He just looked at Jacques, the older male slightly clenching his jaw. He wasn't going to retaliate in anger, certainly not physical anger anyway. "Why don't you decide," he spoke to him, the words not exactly holding any sort of considerate notion. He wasn't saying it to be nice.

"Seems you don't give a shit about a lot of things. And if your damn safety is one of them, then I guess we're done here." He was doing this to help Jacques; to help him protect himself, and the others. "But if you're calm enough to continue, then stop being an asshole." He was leaving the choice in his hands, not about to force him into this when he was clearly agitated by Bellamy's response . . . just as Bellamy had reacted more seriously to what he assumed was a teasing comment from Jacques. Was it a good idea for both males to be in the same vicinity right now? Bellamy wasn't entirely sure. But, nor was he kicking Jacques out nor showing any sign of his desire for the younger male to exit.

[Jacques Roux]

Swallow your pride down.

Suck my cockiness. Lick my persuasion. Eat my poison.

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Guilt quaked the boy, regret settling in not long after he’d spoken the very words of animosity that he wished he could take back. That wasn’t him. What he had just not was not at all reflective of how he truly felt. Bellamy had been good to him. Bellamy had taken him in, cared enough to provide him with materials and knowledge and to take the time that no one else had. “Bellamy…” He couldn’t bring himself to look at the older boy at first, though his voice was soft and raspy. Truth be told, Blake wasn’t much different than him in the sense that he was far too great at concealing his emotions, or just pretending like he didn’t have any. Jacques knew that wasn’t the truth, though.

His stare lifted quickly, searching for that of his Commander’s even if Bellamy wouldn’t look at him, he needed to make amends to make right for his hateful outburst. “Bellamy, I didn’t mean that..” Apologies were the rarest thing to ever stem from Roux. Not that he was incapable of understanding when he was wrong, or that he did little wrong -- more so that he didn’t care to make right whatever mistakes he’d made by others. But with Bellamy, things were different. This was someone that he cared for. And that much was evident by the plaguing sensations that were attacking all sensory functions at this time.

“I do care,” he protested with silent pause. “I do give a shit.” The boy was shaking his head, vision deterring once more. “I give a shit about a lot of things, I’m just not the best at expressing it. And..” The truth gates were opening. “And it’s just easier for me to pretend I don’t.” He wasn’t even sure if Bellamy was listening anymore. Maybe he was the sort who got his pride stung and walled up. But Jacques needed him to hear this.

Stepping forward, he reached out to grab at the sleeve near the wrist of Bellamy’s shirt in an effort to gain and pull his attention. He didn’t let go immediately either, “I’m trying, Bell.” All ego had left the room. That was the most genuine thing he’d ever told anyone else and also the most true. He let his hand fall away, but not before adding a final note: “And I do care about you..” Realization hit as he realized what he’d actually just done. His voice trailed into a nearly inaudible whisper onto the second half of that sentence, “Or I wouldn’t have done that..”

He moved to pick up and shelter his rifle once again. “Sorry for being an asshole.” And then with the same usual jeer he was known for exhibiting, “I can’t promise it won’t happen again.” The boy looked up from his gun with an impish grin.

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TAG: Bellamy Blake WORDS: 474