Chapter Text
Jake is civilized enough, what with his crisp accent and lilting consonants and charming smile. He can pass as a normal kid most of the time with no indication to the wiser that he has lived most of his life on an desert island before you brought him to your shitty little Houston apartment.
But there is a wild side to Jake that you definitely can’t ignore, especially not when it presents itself so fiercely. Most of his hair-trigger instincts, such as shooting the toaster the first time you made him breakfast, had largely gone away after the first few weeks, but something deeper--something more primeval--definitely still remains entrenched inside the English genome.
You see a glint of it whenever you give in and participate in one of his wrestling boughts—you know how antsy Jake gets when he has nothing to do, and sometimes the treadmill you bought for him isn’t enough to expend all his boundless energy. So you routinely engage Jake in some of his beloved “scrums,” and for the first few weeks he beats you easily, bright and victorious smile plastered on his face as he grabbed you into a tight lock until you shouted uncle.
However—despite all of Jake’s boasts and bluster you learn that he has several glaring weaknesses when it comes to wrestling. He is enthusiastic and strong but you soon learn that when you either work his arm behind his back or pin him down he is entirely helpless, unable to shake you off and get himself free.
You tuck that bit of information away for a later date—much, much later if the glaringly romantic blackhole that is Jake English doesn’t wise up and figure out that maybe those ironic midnight blanket fort snuggles weren't all that ironic after all. Because you have to admit, even the sizeable irony woven into those Fluttershy bedsheets can't cover up the stupendous slew of obvious indications that you think of Jake as more than just an interesting jaunt through the intricacies of inter-cultural understanding.
It’s a combination of things that brew your feelings for Jake into a thick dark draft beer of homolust—his eyes, his voice, his hair, his silly endearing accent. You never think it’s his wildness that appeals to you until one particular incident.
It’s a hot day made even hotter inside your cluttered apartment, and the air conditioner is broken because despite all his money your Bro can’t get off his lazy Hollywood ass and fix it, so to compensate Jake takes off his shirt as you slip your ratty black wife beater up over your head, casting them both over the arm of the couch.
The heat makes Jake sweat and makes his blood boil, and sooner or later he is pacing energetically about the apartment, sitting down and then getting up again moments later. You watch him a little as he rolls around on the floor, whining. He looks up at you upside down, kicking his legs petulantly into the air.
” ‘S far too hot to simply faff about, here! Dirk, old boy, what say you to a quick bout of fisticuffs, mmm?”
You shrug a bit and mumble noncommittally, ignoring Jake until he rolls over onto his stomach and crawls over to you, a pout set on his face. You keep on ignoring him until he settles his chin on top of your knee, tilting his head and looking at you with those big damn green eyes.
Fuck. There's no way you can say no to that stupid doofy puppy dog look.
So you push yourself up off the couch as Jake bolts to his feet, excitedly hopping from his left to his right. He's already in position, hands balled up in front of him. You sigh, getting into a ready position as well, hands clawed and ready for the moment Jake lunges forward at you, eyes practically glowing with bursting energy.
He goes for your forearms, trying to incapacitate you as quickly as he can, but you managed to grab and lock your fingers with his, holding him off. He lets out breathy noise that's a cross between a laugh and a pant as he tries to break free of your grip, throwing his weight against you in an attempt to knock you off balance, but you're already familiar with Jake's tricks, and you ain't falling down to that one. Quickly you shift your weight to the side and instead it's Jake who loses his balance, pitching forward a bit and giving you enough of a grace period to flashstep behind him, twisting one arm behind his back as you grab the other wrist, restraining them both against spine.
Jake lets out a surprised gasp, struggling around and trying to break free from your grip. You hear a couple of colorful Jakeisms burst from his lips as he tries to pull away from you, but you hold firm.
You expect Jake to slow down,stop struggling, and reluctantly declare defeat in the face of your wickedly superior skills, but instead his movement intensifies until he's practically thrashing around. He brings up his leg and stomps repeatedly on your foot, scraping his heel against your shin and making you hiss in pain. But you don't let go--you don't plan on letting go until Jake at least calms down enough. But it doesn't look like that is happening anytime soon.
You're normally pretty cool and collected in these type of situations, but when Jake tosses his head and lets out what is definitely a snarl the pit of your stomach curls a bit in the definitely un-Striderlike feeling of fear.
Tightening your grip on his wrists, you lean forward a bit, your chin brushing his shoulder and your nose just barely touching his ear as you try to whisper and calm him down from his frenzy.
"Shhh, Jakey, c'mon dude--chill out."
You're a bit worried, because in the past when you've been tussling and Jake gets into one of his wild boy moods, he will do nearly anything to escape your hold, including hurting himself in his desperation to get free. You're pretty sure if Jake had a limb trapped under a rock like in one of his shitty nature movies he wouldn't even wait an hour for the rescue choppers to arrive before gnawing off his own arm.
Right now his thrashing is getting a bit dangerous, as you can feel his wrist starting to twist in your grasp, and as you're just about to let go of him Jake rears back with a growl, the back of his head smacking into your chin and automatically making you lose your grip.
Your hand flies up to your face but before you can even begin to assess the damage you are tackled to the floor as Jake pounces on you. Jake immediately goes for your wrists and tries to pin you down as he straddles your waist; and his clothed crotch is rubbing up against your bare abs and he's sweating and growling and showing off his teeth and, and fuck--
Fuck, this is getting really, really stupidly hot really fast.