Three Sentence Ficathon

Jack nicknames him "the bard" because he recites poetry, softly, every night; at first he speaks the lines to himself, but in time he understands that they do not mind the sound, are soothed by it even.

The bard is younger than either of them but has seen far more war than Jack and David put together; he is not broken, exactly, but he is brittle enough that Jack and David do their best to stop their fights, their old resentments, and to focus on maintaining as much peace as they can in their exile. He is good for them (they always do better when there is something to protect together instead of having to agree on what they want).

When he finally asks to join them in bed, he asks if he can write on them, dark words in ink across their bodies; on David, he writes a romantic ditty over his chest, on Jack a melancholy poem of longing that winds around his torso from his shoulderblade to below his navel. He reads the poems aloud to them, lips honey-slow as he draws out the sounds, then suggests that they blur the written words with hands and mouths.

They were worried at first, that the bard would be one more thing they fought over, one more tract of embattled territory in their long history of love, rivalry, and hate. But the young poet made it clear: they would not compete for him -- he would conquer them both.