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The Cigarette Trope

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Pitch sat outside Dreamland’s palace smoking a cigarette. It wasn’t a real cigarette, of course. Rather, it was an archetypical, or maybe metaphorical, sort of cigarette. The way it metaphorically tasted and gave him a metaphorical rush, though, made him understand why humans continued to smoke despite quite rational fears for their health.

Not that this cigarette was going to affect his health as real cigarettes affected humans. And perhaps his enjoyment of it wasn’t remotely like a human’s, either. After all, the cigarette was actually made up of dreamsand. When he got to the filter, he was going to eat the remainder of it. He figured he deserved that as much as he deserved to smoke the thing in the first place.

He rolled his shoulders and pressed them back against the palace’s warm, slightly rough wall, smiling as he thought of Sandy on the other side, sleeping peacefully in the center of a huge, disheveled bed. Pitch had worked very hard indeed to bring him to that state.

His smiled turned into a smirk. Oh yes. Very hard. That was what Sandy wanted and needed, and quite frankly, demanded at times like these: a good hard fucking with a long hard cock.

Pitch took a deep drag of the golden cigarette, and after a moment, exhaled a prodigious cloud of glimmering black smoke. It was nice to be wanted, even if he couldn’t quite shake the feeling that even he shouldn’t know how hard the Sandman would come after shadow tendrils forced him to his hands and knees and spread him wide for a pounding from the Boogeyman’s cock. That even he shouldn’t know how Sandy’s soft, warm, sweet flesh would tremble under the Boogeyman’s hands and lips and tongue and teeth, how Sandy’s face would twist in pleasure as he pulled the Boogeyman closer, deeper, and guided a gray hand to mercilessly tease his own straining golden cock.

Pitch ran a hand through the disarray of his hair and looked out over Dreamland’s deep blue ocean. Well, he’d survive having these things feel like forbidden knowledge, so long as he was the only one who got to know in such an intimate way just how much fucking Sandy needed before he fell into contented sleep.

Pitch’s thoughts continued to wander as he sat, and smoked, and enjoyed the feeling of Dreamland’s dim and gentle sun on his bare chest. He really did enjoy being needed so desperately when Sandy sought him out, and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t handle these sex marathons, but what if…what if he and Sandy could seek each other out on terms other than desperation? What if Pitch stayed here in Dreamland until Sandy awoke? What if they made breakfast together? What if they took a walk on the beach, what if they went swimming, what if they had a long conversation? Normally such things seemed entirely out of reach, but it was difficult for Pitch to resist elevated notions of his own value after getting so spectacularly laid. Speaking of, what if they went back to bed after this long conversation, and what if they made love again, with Sandy’s desperation replaced by curiosity that would lead his delicate hands to rove over every inch of Pitch’s ghastly gray skin, except of course with Sandy touching him it wouldn’t seem ghastly at all, oh, what if? And Sandy would kiss him and Pitch would know that every single one of those kisses was sincere, and it would be sincere, too, when Sandy finally slid his pretty cock inside Pitch, when he finally gave Pitch what he had been too afraid to acknowledge that he’d been craving…

To say that Pitch was wrong-footed when the other Guardians showed up on the beach would be an egregious understatement. He was sitting on a stone seat on a balcony that clearly led to Sandy’s bedroom, hair a mess, no shirt or robe of any kind in evidence, and smoking the most obvious cinematic shorthand cigarette ever held between two fingers. All his options seemed bad, so he continued to sit and smoke.

“It’s Pitch!” He heard Tooth exclaim, then everyone was running up to the balcony.

Well. Maybe he wouldn’t continue to sit. This might get noisy. He got up and closed the balcony doors, and when he turned back around Jack’s staff was pointed right at his throat. “Don’t try to deny anything, Pitch,” Jack said. “We know Sandy’s missing, and if you’re in Dreamland, there’s no way you’re not involved.”

Pitch could only stare at Jack for a moment. Was the boy three hundred years old or not? If Pitch had found Jack in a state mirroring his outside, say, the Warren, he wouldn’t assume that hostilities had escalated between him and the rabbit.

“Sandy has been missing for four days now,” North said, his swords in hand, ready to join Jack’s staff. “Man in Moon wants us to check in, and now we find you? This is not looking good.”

Was the obvious conclusion really that unthinkable? Also, four days? He was going to have another cigarette. “The Man in the Moon is a naïve old busybody,” he said without pausing to think, and then only pausing to realize he couldn’t just leave that statement. Damn. He really had no idea what he was going to say. “I know all of you have places in your realms where the Man in the Moon can’t see, and you know what? I bet you use them, too. North, if I found you dressed the way I am, with your hair styled the same way, resting on one of the balconies of the Tooth Palace, I certainly wouldn’t immediately assume it was for hostile reasons.”

“Now listen here,” Bunny began, stepping forward and thus missing the interesting shades of red North and Tooth were both turning. “If you think for one second—”

“Shh!” Pitch folded his arms and looked sternly at Bunny, which threw everyone off. “Sandy. Is. Sleeping. Do you know how rarely he gets a chance to sleep? How difficult it is for him to actually fall asleep for himself and not for his work? Quiet. He doesn’t like being woken up.”

“But you,” Bunny started again, much more quietly.

“I don’t have a Man in the Moon-sponsored open invitation to Dreamland,” said Pitch. “I don’t think that will come as a surprise to you. So obviously, if Sandy didn’t want me here, I wouldn’t be here, unless you think I’ve gotten a whole lot more powerful lately, which I haven’t, thanks to you, so…” He took a last drag on the cigarette, not sure where that sentence had been going.

“You honestly expect us to believe that you…” Tooth trailed off, sounding uncertain.

“That I did exactly as Sandy requested of me? Yes, I do expect you to believe that, because it’s true. Can’t North tell when people are lying or not?”

“You are not exactly a naughty child,” North said.

“And a good thing, too,” Pitch said. He sighed. “Well, I can’t fight you all here without waking Sandy, so if you’re going to be stubborn I’ll open these doors and you can go in, silently, and see that he’s sleeping. And then you can leave.” He looked each of them in the eyes in turn, then popped the cigarette butt in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. “And I’m staying until Sandy kicks me out,” he said, leaning back against the wall and re-folding his arms. It was nice to see how nonplussed that last bit with the cigarette had made everyone. No one wanted to acknowledge it, or anything else that was going on, and the only way to avoid these things was to accept Pitch’s offer.

So they did.

Pitch formed another cigarette out of a nearby plant on the balcony and lit it as they left. Well, he had been undecided about staying before, but now that he had declared himself to the Guardians, he certainly wasn’t going to back down.

Later, after a long, long conversation, he found himself strangely, genuinely grateful that they had forced his hand.