“Are you sure? It’s just– I don’t really…” Jack doesn’t really know how he feels about what Bittle just asked of him. “I don’t know how to talk dirty, let alone in French, Bits. I don’t think this is a very good idea.” He rolls onto his back on his bed where they’re both sprawled out, officially studying but in reality spending more time trading kisses. Well, and now this.
“Well, have you ever tried it?” Bittle asks, hoisting himself up on one elbow and putting on a face that looks very much like a mother scolding a child for not trying some new food. “Besides it’s hot whatever you say as long as it’s French. Trust me.” With that, Bittle collapses back to lie on his back and tangles his fingers with Jack’s.
“And you found that out from listening to me speak to my dad,” Jack says and covers his eyes with a hand. “This is all kinds of fucked up.”
“No, not just that!” Bittle protests and he’s laughing now. Jack probably would too if this wasn’t so… weird. “And it wasn’t until I heard you swear in french that I realized it actually turned me on. And that definitely wasn’t to your dad.” He peeks out between the fingers just as Bittle starts prying them from his face altogether with gentle hands.
“It sure wasn’t,” Jack agrees. He turns his head to look at Bittle for a moment, considering his boyfriend’s request. “I just don’t think I’m gonna be good at it.”
Apparently Bittle sees right through him and picks up on his apprehensiveness because his features go soft in sympathetic smile.
“You don’t have to worry so much about it. I mean, I won’t even understand any of it. The only sentence I know in French is voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir.” Somehow—probably because he has heard the lyrics a thousand times—he actually pronounces the words somewhat correctly.
“Of course that would be the one thing you know,” Jack laughs . “You’ve watched that movie too many times.”
“Not possible,” Bittle disagrees, his face all indignant and scrunched up.
“Do you even know what it means?” Jack asks.
“Not really. Something about a couch maybe?” he guesses and Jack can only laugh.
“You wanna sleep we me tonight?” He says
“Yeah, that was kind of the whole point of this but don’t change the subject,” Bittle says, rolling his eyes.
“I didn’t. That’s what the line means.”
“Oh,” he says when it registers and then he gasps. “Gracious!”
“What? I know for a fact that you’re not that innocent…” Jack frowns a little.
“No, it’s just…” Bittle says and chews at one lip, “my mother is a big fan of Moulin Rouge too and well, I’m certain she doesn’t know what it means either and she’s going around saying it.” That makes Jack chuckle a little
“Do you want to go call her right now to tell her that maybe she shouldn’t keep quoting just that to everyone?”
“I might shoot her a message later,” Bittle admits, ever the ridiculously kind person, “but right now there are more pressing matters at hand.” As he says this, he tugs at Jacks shirt. Jack takes the hint and moves until he’s situated above Bittle bracing on his elbows so as to not crush him with his weight.
Usually, Jack slips into French without a problem but suddenly his head is void of anything to say at all. He can't think of anything. He tries to recall what he normally says during sex. Nothing comes to mind, though he doesn't know wether that is because he doesn't talk much or if it's just stage fright.
Well, he doesn't need to start sprouting words right away, he figures. So Jack starts with something that he's at least familiar with, bridging the gap between them with a kiss. That he knows how to do. In fact in the time they've been dating (after both of them got their heads out of their asses and realized the pining was mutual) Jack has developed and discovered techniques that will have Bittle melting beneath him.
It involves him running his fingers through the locks of blonde hair that are a little longer on top of Bittle’s head and sucking on his lips with precise intent. That is a sure way to get Bittle moaning before any other parts of their bodies have touched.
“Nng… Jack,” Bittle lets out just as Jack moves his hands to shed some of the clothes that act as barriers between them. He starts with the shirt that Bittle is wearing, unbuttoning it slowly enough while he distracts Bittle with his mouth. Apparently it’s not in the right way because Bittle pulls away just enough to catch his eyes. And Jack supposes he is supposed to say something because that was really the purpose of all this, it’s just that… What do you even say? I like your dick? I wanna fuck into tomorrow?
There’s nothing else to do but just try, Jack figures and starts forming words instead of just thinking them.
“Uh… Je veux ta bi–” he stops short. The word bite—dick—sounds far too much like Bittle. Why has he never realized that? Maybe because Jack isn’t in the habit of really using those words. Even now, when he’s supposed to he can’t say that, not when it sounds like that. It just feels kind of wrong. Something else then.
“Tu… er…” he starts, “m’excites… tellement.” That doesn’t even sound remotely sexy. This is hard.
Jack covers his face in his hands and he can feel the blood rushing to his cheeks (which is very much the wrong place is should be rushing to). He can’t even look at Bittle, he thinks but then there’s a rumbling underneath him. Jack peeks a look between his fingers and what does he see? Bittle’s face scrunched up and giggling.
“Sorry, I’m sorry it’s just—“ Bittle wheezes a little bit. “You’re really not good at this.”
“I told you that from the beginning,” Jack retorts and maybe he’s pouting a little. It’s ridiculous, frankly, that he should feel offended that his boyfriend doesn’t think he can do dirty talk. He really can’t, but Bittle’s giggling. Giggling! Jack surges down to muffle that laugh with his own lips. Then maybe he can stop laughing, Jack thinks as he kisses Bittle senseless. It seems to be working because his lips go from stretched in a smile to soft and pliant before he’s kissing back with the exact same fervor. The giggling stops. And then the kiss kind of does too because Bittle pulls away just enough that they’re not exactly kissing as they are sharing breath. His hands settle in Jacks hair.
“Y’know, you could start out a little smaller,” Bittle says and he’s looking at Jack with that face he makes when he has just had an excellent idea for a new kind of pie.
“How?” Jack doesn’t want to sound pessimistic but he thinks he just proved that he’s not good at expressing anything sexual in words, French or otherwise.
“Like, maybe you don’t have to do it all on yourself,” Bittle suggests, “after all, we both know I’m the talker in this relationship.” This time it’s Jack’s turn to let out a chuckle. Well, he’s not wrong.
“So you are,” Jack agrees and in a flash of an idea he moves his mouth from Bittle’s and down in a trail toward the place where neck meets collarbone. “But I’m still not sure I’m following?” He puts his lips to skin and sucks lightly. That earns him a quick gasp and fingers grabbing at his hair and Jack smiles. He’s not incapable of turning his boyfriend on after all.
Bittle looks down at him for a moment, considering something. Then he smiles and speaks, his voice lowered just a note.
“You wanna rid me of these clothes?” he asks.
“Yes,” Jack answers, his hands already going to the buttons on Bittle’s shirt.
“Ah ah,” Bittle says wagging a finger. “In French.” The idea dawns on Jack just as he pries the first button free.
“Oui,” he breathes and it’s not hard. It’s only one word of course but it’s an improvement. He keeps going with unbuttoning the shirt and leaves a trail of kisses against skin. “Oui, oui j’veux.”
Jack can hear the hitch in Bittle’s breath but if it’s to do with his speaking french or the fact that he uses his teeth to nip at the skin just under Bittle’s navel, he doesn’t know.
“And what’s next?” Bittle’s hands don’t grip Jack’s hair as much as they curl up in it and stroke slowly back and forth. Jack looks up. He looks lovely, splayed back on the bed as he is. Jack kind of wants to just crawl back up there and kiss those full lips but he has business down here to attend.
“Ton jean,” he says without trouble as his fingers hook on the waist of Bittle’s jeans. “Il va falloir l’enlever.” It’s not much work to get the pants open and pull them down Bittle’s shapely legs. Fuck, hockey players have great asses alright but there’s nothing like the legs on this one. He gets rid of the socks while he’s down at the feet and that leaves Bittle in only his boxer briefs.
“Ah– Jack, don’t you think it’s time for you to shed some clothes too?” The writhing has gotten steadily worse—better—and it’s just like Bittle’s to not be able to stay still even if his life depended on it. He’s a little quicker to get to this point than usual though. Apparently the talking is working.
“J’aime quand je t’ai complètement nu sous mes mains,” he says shaking his head. He can’t deny that he really likes the sight of his naked boyfriend and it’s only those pesky briefs in the way now. Jack gets working on removing them too. “Tu te tortilles si joliment, ma rondelle.” The writhing immediately stops and Bittle looks at him with wide eyes.
“Oh my god Jack, did you just call me a hockey puck?” Jack falters in his venture.
“Uhm– yeah..?” He doesn’t know what to say, it wasn’t even a conscious decision, not something he’d thought through at all. But maybe Bittle thinks it’s too weird. “Is that not–“ he starts asking but he stops almost immediately when he sees the muscles on Bittle’s flat stomach ripple. A glance up at Bittle’s face confirms his suspicion. He is in fact laughing for the second time of one sexual encounter. This time Jack just sighs and nips at the delicate skin on the inner thigh that right by his mouth. He thinks he can appreciate the fact that Bittle is laughing at the endearment rather than being horrified by it. Jack pulls the briefs all the way down and off Bittle’s feet. Okay maybe he can stop giggling now. Instead of telling Bittle to stop, Jack decides that actions speak louder than words. He starts kissing his way up Bittle’s legs, beginning with a soft press of lips against the inside of the ankle. The giggling dies out. It’s replaced with quiet pants by the time Jack reaches the place where leg meets hip. The skin there is impossibly soft and smooth and he sucks lightly, barely enough to leave a mark. Above him Bittle lets out a sound so delicious and Jack is determined to make those sounds keep coming. He moves to Bittle’s cock kissing it at the base and trails slowly upward until he reaches the head, slick with precome. When he puts his lips around it and sucks Bittle’s hips hitch and he moans. Jack slips off and grins up at Bittle who looks sheepishly back.
“Sorry,” he says but he knows that Jack doesn’t really mind. It’s just a very good excuse to put his hands on Bittle’s hips to keep him still.
“Ne bouge pas,” Jack says and then he swallows Bittle down. This time he’s prepared for the jump and presses down with his hands as he works on Bittle’s cock. He likes doing this, the singular focus on giving pleasure. Getting into the moving rhythm, swirling his tongue, sucking and humming now and then.
“Ahh, Jack it’s all– nice and—hnng—good,” Bittle pants after awhile, “but I’m no gonna… if you continue–“ He breaks off when Jack goes so far down that his nose touches the golden curls on Bittle’s stomach. Jack gets the message anyway and pulls off with an obscene pop! For a moment Bittle lays there catching his breath but then he reaches for Jack’s t-shirt.
“You really need to take off your clothes now, Jack,” Bittle whines and Jack grins.
“Mhm, je suppose que tu a raison,” he admits and pulls off his t-shirt in one brisk movement. His sight is only blocked for a second but when he’s able to see again, Bittle isn’t where he left him. Instead he has crawled to the side of the bed to reach into the night stand.
“Oh darn,” Bittle says under his breath, that lovely Georgia accent coming through, "we're out of condoms here."
"I've got some in my room, I'll just get them," Jack says, making the switch to English easily—after all it's what he speaks most of the time—and gets up. The journey across the hall is quick and so is finding the necessary supplies. He considers for a moment if he should bring some lube as well, but Bittle didn't mention that so he probably doesn't need to. So he goes back and when he opens the door to Bittle's room he's met with quite a sight.
"Mon dieu," Jack breathes as he looks at Bittle, still completely naked and on his back, only now he’s bent in half with his legs in the air and what’s more important he has two fingers in his ass. Sliding them in and out almost lazily Bittle practically drips with lube. Jack shuts the door, and then he’s fumbling to get out of his pants. As soon as he’s undressed he hurries to the bed, grabbing the bottle of lube that lies abandoned next to Bittle. When he leans in, Bittle’s legs naturally part and settle on either side of Jack. Bittle keeps his fingers in, but makes space for Jack to press one lubricated finger in beside them. He tries to go slow, but then Bittle wiggles his fingers to stretch himself and Jack’s finger slips all the way in. For a second Bittle freezes and holds his breath and Jack stops immediately.
“Did I hurt you?” Jack asks, already starting to pull out. But Bittle shakes his head and grips Jack’s hand with free hand to keep it there.
“Nono keep going,” he says and lets go only when he feels Jack tentatively sliding the finger in again. This time Bittle stays still and soon enough Jack has found his prostate and is brushing over it every now and then. He has also replaced Bittle at some point so he now has three fingers inside him and Bittle grips the sheets with both hands. The sounds Bittle makes whenever Jack hits the right spot are positively devastating and so is the face he makes and Jack chooses to tell him this. Bittle pants in response but he also arches his eyebrows—reflecting beautifully the arch of his back.
“I thought that this… was gonna be in french,” he says and manages to sound smug despite barely having enough breath for it.
Right, yes, Jack is supposed to be speaking french. He’d completely forgotten in the middle of all this. And now he’s thrown again. Just what is he supposed to say?
Bittle must see the hesitation on his face because he loops an arm around Jack’s waist and pulls him in.
“C’mere,” he mumbles, pressing a soft wet kiss to Jack’s lips. “You really don’t have to do it if you don’t want to or if it’s too hard.”
“I do want to,” Jack says and he’s telling the truth, he actually does. And not just for Bittle’s sake. “It was kind of fun, it’s just… I don’t–“
“It’s just that you don’t know what to say,” Bittle finishes. How does he read Jack’s mind like that? Is it some kind of southern witchery? Jack just nods and Bittle smiles at him.
“Just say what you just told me, only do it in french,” Bittle suggests—or rather tells him, because there’s a certain degree of demand in his voice. “And if you wouldn’t mind terribly much, then hurry up and get your dick in me before I actually explode.” How he does it is beyond Jack because it sounds so crude and at the same time it makes Jack’s breath hitch and makes him want to do exactly that. So he takes a cue and grabs for a condom. He has to pull his fingers out for this and Bittle whines from the loss. Jack remembers the other thing Bittle told him to do—the dick thing was quite distracting—and this time the words come a little easier.
“Les bruits que tu fais… ils sont complètement dévastateurs.” He opens the condom packet and rolls it on with a swift motion. This he knows how to do. He knows just what Bittle likes and he knows how to fuck him just right. He can add a little french-speaking to that. Sure.
“Don’t think so hard, Jack,” Bittle says, framing Jack’s face with his hands, “I can hear the creaking of your brain all the way down here.” He pulls Jack down for another slow kiss. “You don’t have to worry, it’s good; you’re good. God you’re amazing, I still can’t quite believe I’m so lucky.”
Jack wants to let Bittle know that he feels the same, that he often wonders how he ever deserved it the day this tiny southern hockey player with an affinity for pies and a heart too big for his body turned up and laid his love on everyone. He wants to let Bittle know that he’s become the person Jack feels most comfortable around, who makes him feel safe. Safe enough to care less about what everybody else thinks and safe enough to try silly things like speaking french in bed. He wants to say all this but he doesn’t know how to, not yet. So he smiles into Bittle’s chest and mumbles out a reply in french.
“Il est moi qui a de la chance.”
That has to do for now because Jack isn’t the best with words and feelings, alright? So he goes for actions instead and slots himself down between Bittle’s spread legs. Slowly, despite of the hurry that’s starting to form low in his stomach, he slides in and god the way Bittle feels around him, it’s almost too much. His hand finds Bittle’s, fingers entwining as he starts thrusting. The way Bittle wraps his legs around Jack’s waist has Jack breathless and he considers stealing some of Bittle’s but instead words practically fall out of his mouth.
“Ahh, oui, mon beau, mon tresor. Tu es mon désir et mon bonheur.” He’s going to come embarrassingly quickly because of the sounds Bittle makes every word. Fortunately it seems he’s not that far ahead what with those sounds. Jack reaches down between them to stroke Bittle off. Squeezing his eyes shut, Bittle wears an expression of pure bliss. When he opens his eyes again and focuses his eyes on Jack, there’s so much adoration in those eyes. Jack really loves that look—no strike that, he loves Bittle. Oh shit, he loves Bittle.
He comes just like that as if the realization was all it took.
Before he knows it, he has let out a breathy, “je t’aime.”
In the next moment hot come splatters between them and Bittle looks at him with wide eyes.
“Jack, did you just–?”
A part of Jack—even in his post orgasm haze—panics because Bittle looks like he understood what he just said. He shouldn’t be able to though.
“I thought you said that– that you didn’t know any French,” Jack says and he hears the shrillness in his own voice. He can’t help it.
“Jack, everybody and their mother knows how to say… I love you in different languages…” Bittle looks flushed but whether it’s from the sex or this—development, Jack doesn’t know. He won’t look Jack in the eye, fixing his gaze somewhere on Jack’s chest.
“I didn’t mean– well I did, I just maybe didn’t mean to say it out loud,” Jack tries and he almost winces at the tripping over words but then Bittle looks up.
“You meant it?” Bittle asks and he’s positively glowing. The panic curling in Jack’s stomach diminishes and he smiles.
“I did,” he says, “I do.” It’s wonderful—and also quite frightening—to say but what’s even better is the way Bittle does a quick intake of breath before he breaks out in the widest and most brilliant smile.
“Jack,” Bittle says, “I love you too.”
As much as Jack could stare at Bittle when he smiles like that, he just has to kiss the hell out of him right now. So he does, right up until Bittle swats him on the shoulder and pulls away. Bittle’s still grinning as he scrunches up nose.
“It’s not that I couldn’t keep doing this forever but maybe in a little more comfortable position?”
Jack realizes that he’s still inside Bittle and they’re both smeared with come. Maybe it’s not the most romantic position, Jack thinks and chuckles as he pulls out and sits up.
“I’ll get something to clean us up,” he says, standing to make his way to the bathroom. “Then we can get back to…” Jack feels his cheeks flush and he’s honest to god blushing. He’s about to open the door when Bittle speaks.
“Hey Jack?” Jack looks back at Bittle, splayed out naked on the bed, still flushed and grinning. “Je t’aime.”
Bittle doesn’t pronounce is completely but what does that matter? Jack laughs. “I love you too.”