The big red bow is still on the porsche when he and Isaac push and shove their way into the backseat, laughing and jabbing each other with elbows and Jackson nearly drops the bottle in his hand, but recovers just in time, slumping back onto the seat with an ‘oomph’. Isaac follows him a few seconds later, pulling the door shut behind them, and settling in the seat so their shoulders are pressed together, “Alright, birthday boy, what’s next?”
Jackson huffed, stretching out in the seat, letting his head slump onto Isaac’s shoulder as he twisted the cap off the bottle, “Now we get super drunk and regret it in the morning,” he answered, tipping the bottle back and taking a long swig. He pulled it away, coughing some and laughing as he pressed it into Isaac’s hand.
Laughing as well, Isaac took the bottle, letting his fingers graze Jackson’s, taking his own smaller swig of the drink, “This tastes horrible,” he stated after a few minutes of quiet, prompting laughter out of Jackson before he took another drink from the bottle, pouting when Jackson pulled the bottle from his hands.
“It really does,” Jackson agrees softly, but still tips the bottle back for a drink. Some of it misses, the clear liquid trekking down along Jackson’s jaw and throat; Isaac’s eyes follow it diligently and before he realizes it, he’s leaning in and lapping at the liquid with his tongue, sucking at the skin of Jackson’s throat.
It takes him a few a seconds to realize he’s not being pushed away and Isaac pulls back to meet Jackson’s eyes. He feels triumphant at the fact that Jackson’s pupils are blown.
Neither one of them speaks, but Jackson fishes the cap to the bottle out from the seat and once it’s on, it’s like someone flipped a switch. Jackson is on him, their teeth knock and it’s not really the best kiss, but it doesn’t matter.
Isaac isn’t sure how it happens but he ends up on his back, fingers threaded into Jackson’s hair as their frenzy calms some, trading almost lazy kisses. It’s quiet and good and not like them, but then Jackson presses down, his hips pressing into Isaac’s. It draws a deep groan from Jackson and - Isaac will never admit it - a high needy whine from him.
Fingers are pushing under his shirt, blunt nails scratching at his skin, and Isaac sits forward enough for Jackson to tug his shirt off. It’s a tight fight and their arms bang the roof more often than not, but they manage it and Isaac slumps back against the leather seat.
Jackson is watching him, eyes dark and spots of color up on his cheeks. Reaching out, Isaac pulls Jackson to him and kisses him, sucking Jackson’s lower lip into his mouth and worrying it briefly with his teeth while his fingers work on the buttons to Jackson’s obscenely priced dress shirt.
The shirt gets caught around Jackson’s shoulders and they both laugh - high and verging on hysterical - before they finally manage to get it to slide the rest of the way down and then Jackson is pressing against him, almost like a blanket, skin and skin. It draws sounds out of both of them, but it’s not enough.
They’re rutting against each other, shameless and hurried, until Isaac manages to get a hand between them, tugging open the button of Jackson’s jeans and easing down the zipper, pressing his fingers against the line of Jackson’s cock through the denim and fabric of his boxers. Jackson keens above him, eyes shut and head tilted back, his mouth open and lips obscenely red. Isaac thinks he could come from that sight alone.
He manages to get Jackson’s jeans down some, his hands bumping Jackson’s in their rush to try and rid each other of clothes. It’s not easy in the tight space of the backseat and the leather keeps sticking to Isaac’s back, but it doesn’t matter because they manage to get the layers of fabric out of the way and are back to rutting against each other, skin against skin.
It’s dry and not perfect, but it’s still good. It’s better when Jackson spits in his palm and gets a hand around both of them, jacking them off at the same time. Isaac is babbling, interspersed with whatever sounds Jackson draws up of him when he brushes his thumb over the head of Isaac’s cock, and he drags Jackson’s head down to him, kissing him, deep and filthy. It knocks the rhythm off, but it doesn’t slow them down any.
Isaac comes first, arching off the seat with a low cry, spilling over Jackson’s fingers and making the slide easier. Jackson follows seconds later with a stifled groan, before he slumps down over Isaac. It’s uncomfortable in the small amount of space, not to mention the stickiness trapped between their bellies, but neither of them move. Isaac drags his fingers through Jackson’s hair, staring at the roof of the car, while Jackson pants hotly against his neck.
They’re still for a few minutes, just the rise and fall of their chests, until Jackson pulls back. He’s watching Isaac carefully, expression unreadable in the golden glow from the street light spilling in through the windows. Isaac grins, lopsided and drags Jackson into a kiss, before mumbling against his lips, “Happy birthday, Jacks.”
They both laugh and the tension is broken as they both wrestle back into their clothes, complaining at the uncomfortableness of it. Grinning and laughing, they hustle each other out of the car, but once they’re out, the bottle of vodka gripped unsurely in Jackson’s hand, they’re quiet, just regarding each other.
Isaac fights the urge to draw Jackson into another kiss, settling for a lopsided smile, “See you at school Monday?”
Jackson nods, a slow smile drawing on his lips.
Isaac laughs, reckless and maybe hysterical, turning and jogging towards his house. He stops at the door and looks back, tossing a wave at Jackson who is still standing by the porsche, watching him.
When Isaac gets to school on Monday, he has a split lip, a black eye, and his ribs twinge uncomfortable when he twists around in class to find Jackson, but Danny is there instead. At his lifted eyebrow, Danny indicates to his right, Isaac’s left. Isaac feels something like dread pool in his stomach and it only becomes worse when he turns his head to find Jackson and Lydia bent close together, talking, their fingers locked together in the aisle between the desks.