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There is no doubt in my mind

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Jack’s not sure what to expect, but he supposes that’s the nature of the box. It’s the nature of Shitty and Lardo too, but he feels less inclined to think about them when he’s watching Bitty strip down in front of him.

One day, he promises to himself, he’ll get Bitty to slow it down, make it a show, but for now, the revealing of skin in any manner is Glorious.

“Alright, hon, my turn!” Bitty’s crawling onto their bed, tan and confident, and Jack’s dick is already interested. Bitty could probably pull out a note that read ‘finger puppets’ and Jack knows he’d be on board. Knowing Shitty, there was a Real Possibility that a note like that is in the box. He hopes not.

Bitty plucks the box from Jack’s hands, where it’s doing a valiant job of hiding how turned on he already is. Bitty just smirks and opens the box.

He roots around, expression thoughtful until he draws a white paper from the box with a little dramatic flourish. He clears his throat and Jack feels a sudden burst of affection for him so strong that he almost misses the pleased look on Bitty’s face.

Then Bitty waves the note in front of his nose, and Jack has to nearly cross his eyes to read it. And. Oh.

“Praise,” Bitty says, expression joyful. “Now I get to run my mouth with a purpose, Mr. Zimmermann.”

And that’s not fair. Because Jack wants to praise Bitty. He wants to shout how great he is from the rooftops All The Time. He wants—

But Bitty’s looking at him with such an eager, affectionate gaze. So, Jack relents, mind already planning time to lavish praise on Bitty at a later date.

Bitty crawls closer, right into Jack’s lap, so that they’re eye to eye, Bitty’s arms settled almost playfully on Jack’s shoulders. It’s like dancing, Jack thinks, if dancing was done naked atop a very expensive set of sheets.

“Hi,” Bitty says softly, his nose grazing Jack’s.

Jack settles his hands on Bitty’s hips and smiles at him. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Bitty repeats quietly, and Jack would kiss him, but they’re both smiling too wide for it to be anything but bumping teeth.

Bitty looks like sunshine in Jack’s lap, and Jack doesn’t know how he got so lucky.

“I don’t know how I got so lucky,” Bitty says, and Jack laughs.

“Me too, bud.”

“I love that you call me that.”


Bitty nods. “I know I can go overboard with the pet names, but you keep it simple. You keep it close to your heart.” Bitty taps Jack’s chest then presses his palm to the skin, and Jack knows Bitty can feel his heart beating, sure and steady. “Because we’re in love, yeah, but we’re best friends too. I like that you keep that part important.”

“You’re important, bud.”

Bitty ducks his face into Jack’s neck, mouthing at the side, and he knows that Does Things to Jack. “I’m the one doing the praising here, sweetpea, remember?”

Jack mimes zipping his lips shut and Bitty laughs again, head thrown back to expose his glorious neck.

Jack can’t resist leaning forward to press kisses against Bitty’s skin, then just holds him close, laving at the tender skin closer to Bitty’s collarbones. He maps out a mark to make and then gets to work, pleased when he can feel Bitty’s cock twitch against his stomach.

“It’s awful hard to think of stuff when, ah, when you’re doin’ that, hon.” Bitty’s breath catches, his words breathy, and Jack kind of wants to forego the box tonight and just love on the man in his arms.

But then he remembers the look on Bitty’s face, how eager he was for this, and he pulls back, just a smidge. Enough to admire his handiwork. Bitty will definitely have to wear a collared shirt tomorrow.

“You’re so good to me, sweetpea,” Bitty practically purrs, sliding his hands down Jack’s chest. His thumbs twitch across Jack’s nipples, a just barely there pressure, and it’s not normally Jack’s thing, but with Bitty everything might as well be his thing.

“You’ve got such a big heart, even if it’s just in finding ways to please me. Don’t think I didn’t notice that new set of piping tips in the kitchen.”

Jack smirks and wraps his arms tighter around Bitty.

“And you’re brave, Jack Zimmermann. You’re brave and I’m proud of you.”

Jack shifts on the bed and leans to press his face in Bitty’s neck again. He knows he’s blushing, can feel it crawling up his neck, and the curve of Bitty’s shoulder looks incredibly inviting.

“Nu-uh, sugar, you gotta look at me while I’m praising you.” Bitty actually taps Jack’s chin back up, so that they’re eye to eye again.

Jack shifts again because looking into Bitty’s eyes while he talks about reasons he loves Jack, no matter how beautiful and brown those said eyes are, it all makes Jack squirm. He gets enough attention, has enough people watching him, that it’s easier to bury his face in Bitty’s neck and feel how much he loves him.

And Bitty, beautiful, attentive Bitty, can tell almost immediately that Jack is shifting toward the wrong side of discomfort.

Bitty slides off Jack’s lap and Jack wants to mourn the loss of so much accessible skin, but Bitty doesn’t go far.

Jack watches as Bitty snags the lube out of their nightstand and settles in front of Jack with it, blush spread high on his cheeks, cock hard and proud.

“I’m gonna keep praisin’ you, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, popping open the cap. “But I’m gonna open you up while I do it. Maybe then you’ll soak everything in.”

“I’m sure I’ll soak something in,” Jack murmurs, already turning to settle on his hands and knees. This, as vulnerable and revealing as it can seem, is almost easy. This he can do.

Bitty keeps up a stream of chatter while he fingers Jack, nice and slow. Two fingers in, easy, and Jack lets himself have this. He lets himself feel the burn and stretch. He's always really liked this part, both for the intimacy of trusting someone to prepare him, and because there's just something about having two fingers in his ass that makes Jack weak at the knees.

“I don’t say it near enough, because it feels like something other people are always harpin’ on about, but Jack, you are a sight to behold. Lord, sometimes you’re skating or coming back from a run, or even just standing in my kitchen, and it takes everything in me not to jump on you then and there.”

“Maybe you should,” Jack grunts, throwing a grin over his shoulder, because he might squirm under Bitty’s adoring gaze, but that doesn’t mean he can’t toss words back at him.

Bitty hums thoughtfully, and Jack can feel his cheeks spread further apart, feel the way his body grows warmer, grows harder, under Bitty’s gaze, under the ministrations of his fingers. “Maybe I will.”

Jack doesn’t have a response to that, so he buries his face in his pillow, grips his hands tighter in the sheets.

“Jack Zimmermann, sometimes I honestly don’t know how I ended up so lucky.” Bitty punctuates this statement with a firm thrust of his fingers right against Jack’s prostate.

Jack’s knees almost give out. Almost.

“I mean, I want to say look at you, but that doesn’t feel right,” Bitty murmurs, his motions even and sure. He rests his other hand on Jack’s lower back, and Jack wants to groan, wants to whine at Bitty to get on with it and fuck him. But he also, in a deep, inadmissible part of his mind, wants to hear what Bitty has to say.

“Because you’re more than your looks. You’re so much More, just in general. And I’m so, so lucky to have you, here, now, and always.”

Bitty withdraws his fingers and Jack lets loose a whine then because he’s empty and clenching. But then Bitty’s there, the blunt pressure of his cock just waiting to fill Jack.

And fill Jack he does.

It’s different, when Jack tops, both logistically and emotionally. It’s overwhelming to be inside of Bitty, to feel so much of him, to know he’s bringing him pleasure from the inside out. And Jack loves it So Much.

But This. Bitty pushing into him with measured breaths, the sense of being filled in ways Jack never thought he could, never imagined he would have the opportunity to experience. It takes Jack’s breath away. Because Bitty fills him perfectly, and some days Jack can’t help but feel awed that he gets to keep this.

"You give so much, sweetheart," Bitty says gently, trailing his fingers down Jack's skin, leaving fiery trails as he goes. Jack can feel his spine trembling, the muscles in his back twitching with every pass of Eric's fingers, every pulse of his cock pressed deep inside Jack.

He’s sweating, they both are, with this slow, heady pace. They aren’t this careful, aren’t this intentioned, not normally. So this, their closeness, their even breathing, the way their bodies pull close, this feels like More.

And maybe it’s just Bitty. Jack knows he’s it for him. Jack knows that he’s gone, that he can trust Bitty to pull him close, to press inside of him with gentle fingers and firm intention. He can trust Bitty to whisper praise into his neck, lavish kisses to his shoulders. He can trust Bitty to love, unconditionally, irrevocably.

Jack knows this.

And even though he knows that Bitty loves him, that he’s it for Bitty, that Bitty holds more love and respect and awe for Jack than his tiny body would suggest, it’s nice, Jack is finding, to be reminded of that fact.

"You give and you give, and you're so good, hon. But when you take me, take everything I give you," Bitty continues, his hips stilling just long enough for his fingers to reach Jack's ass, pull apart his cheeks, and Jack can just picture Bitty looking down at him, at his cock disappearing into Jack's body. "You take so well."

Jack moans, and it’s wrecked and grateful all at once. Because he knows he loves Bitty, but he’s realizing he didn’t know it could be like This. Carnal worship is probably the closest he can get to naming it, at least with Bitty’s cock pistoning in and out of him like it is. But Jack feels cherished, his discomfort and fear of vulnerability abandoned what feels like forever ago, replaced by this.

Bitty’s grip on his hips tightens minutely, his words dripping down into the crevices of Jack, leaving him breathless. Awed. Beloved.

“You take me so well, sweetheart. If I was a poet I’d write sonnets about how lovely you look on your knees. The media’d get a kick outta that, though, so maybe I’ll just keep that here, for us. Maybe I’ll leave marks down your back, whisper how beautiful you are, how wonderful, into each mark. Then you’d have to remember. I could still write something, I know Lardo has body paint we can borrow. Would ‘Property of Eric Bittle’ be too much?"

Bitty doesn't wait for an answer, just presses into Jack a little faster, a little harder.

Jack's hardly making any noises, his breath caught in his throat, rocking back to meet Bittle's thrusts, trying desperately to take everything he's being given.

"I could write about how fantastic your arms are, how well you pick me up. You should fuck me against the wall sometime, I think I’d like that. Maybe enough to write poem about it. Or maybe I’d write it about your cock. You got a pretty one, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Bitty’s hand snakes down to wrap around his cock as he speaks, and Jack has a brief thought that this is like pavlovian training, making Jack accept compliments by stroking his dick while saying them.

It works, though, so Jack isn’t complaining.

“Lord, it’s not just your body though. Your voice does wonders for a young man’s libido. I can’t remember the last time I didn’t shiver just hearin’ you talk dirty. And you can talk, Jack Zimmermann, I know you can. Because you tell me things I want to hear and things I don’t and you don’t ever lie to me, and I know this is supposed to be sexy or whatever, but you make me feel whole, Jack. Like I can be Everything and Nothing and still be enough for you. Because you are for me. Everything and Nothing and More Than Enough.”

Jack almost isn’t aware that he’s coming until after, when he’s shaking apart beneath Bitty, who’s tracing his hands over Jack, whispering words Jack doesn’t understand, but knows are probably endearments he didn’t know he needed.

Then Bitty’s coming too, warm and wet deep inside Jack. Their hips still even if Bitty’s hands don’t, and Jack feels like he’d be comfortable just laying there forever, with Bitty still inside of him.

Eventually, though, Bitty pulls away, leaving Jack just long enough to find a damp cloth. Jack pulls him close when he’s done cleaning them and buries his face in Bitty’s hair.

“I love you,” he says, and he can hear how his voice is shaking, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s true.

“I love you too, sweetpea.” Bitty sighs and burrows closer to Jack, until it feels like there’s no remaining space between them.