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It’s okay if you can’t catch your breath

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Jack knows he should wait for Bitty. The box is their Thing, a joint gift from Shitty and Lardo that has surprisingly thus far held no allusions to actual joints. Jack’s still holding out for that one because he knows it’ll be vetoed immediately, but it’ll still be funny. And predictable. Regardless, the box is meant to be opened as a pair.

But Bitty had surprised him with the lingerie note, so Jack figures he’s allowed to pick one by himself.

Besides, just thinking about coming home to Bitty like that is.

Jack may have to take a longer than usual shower after his run.

He probably should also not be thinking about this on his run. His joggers don’t do much to hide the start of something Exciting below the belt, so he relegates to all thoughts about the box and Bittle in blue underwear to the backburner.

Or, at least his shower, once he’s done running around in public.

He gets home and eats something and waits until Bitty kisses him goodbye before unearthing the box from their bedside table. It’s a very unassuming thing for all that it’s given them. Not for the first time, Jack considers sending Shitty and Lardo a basket of some kind.

His task would be most easily accomplished by looking through all the options in the box and picking the best one to surprise Bitty with. Except, half the fun is not knowing what they’ll grab out of the box. And Jack likes the surprise element, even if he hates surprises in general. So, that’s a no go.

There’s a real possibility that the next best course of action is to just. Pick one. And hope for the best. He figures, if nothing else, he’ll just get creative or wait for Bitty to come home and brainstorm with him.

So, Jack opens the box and plucks out the first paper he sees.

He reads it once. Twice. And then smiles. Because he couldn’t have chosen better if he’d thought of this one himself.

Jack takes a long shower and lets himself think.


Jack hears Bitty’s key in the door and takes a deep breath. It’s now or never, quite literally.


The lights are dimmed low for this, and it’s not even really a mood thing, more like Jack likes the hazy half-glow that their living room lights have when only half are turned on. It’s gentler, more forgiving. Things look a little less frightening when they’re only half illuminated.

“In the living room,” he calls, adjusting his position against the wall. He’s forgone a shirt for this, but he’d at least picked out a clean pair of joggers. Not that they’ll stay clean for long.

“Lord, I had a long day.” Bitty appears in the doorway, already barefoot and rumpled, and Jack would abandon his plan if he didn’t already know that Bitty has a Thing for stuff like this.

He stops when he spots Jack, perched against the wall, a barbell in each hand, legs at a perfect ninety-degree angle. In the half-light, Jack can see the shadows of his confused expression.

“What’s goin on in here?”

Jack grins, a little smug because there’s a catch in Bitty’s voice, one that definitely has to do with the way Jack knows his biceps look.

“I hope you don’t mind,” he says, stealing parts of Bitty’s speech from his lingerie adventure, “but I picked a note without you.”

“Oh?” Bitty sounds intrigued, and Jack’s grin gets a little smugger. Bitty wanders further into the room until he’s standing right in front of Jack, arms folded across his chest. “And what did this note say?”

“The exact phrasing was, and I quote, ‘Bench press but sexy. Exercise each other into oblivion.’ I'm assuming it was one of Shitty’s additions.”

“Rightfully so,” Bitty says, and then he does exactly what Jack was hoping he would and slides onto Jack’s lap. With Bitty straddling his wall sit, his weight pressed against Jack’s thighs, Jack can finally feel a slight burning in his muscles. Work out sex might well turn into an actual work out.

“Although,” Bitty continues, “I don’t know how well I’d’ve been able to bench press you. Our dear friend was probably banking on you making at least one selection by yourself.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Bits,” Jack says, dropping one of the barbells in favor of sliding his hand over Bitty’s ass. “You’ve put a lot of work into your body.”

“More like a lot of protein.” Bitty mimes biting Jack’s jaw and then presses a kiss there instead, letting Jack fondle his ass. “Is this going to be considered more athletic than usual? Do you have the trainer’s permission to engage in such rigorous activities?”

“It’s the offseason, bud,” Jack replies, abandoning the other barbell so wrap his other hand around Bitty’s waist. The weights were really just to set the scene, anyway. “If I’m lucky I’ll strain something. I’m sure Shitty would love to hear about a sex injury over brunch this weekend.”

Bitty’s laugh is half-lit, matching the mood of the room without losing any of its brilliance. “Maybe we’ll make another tape: sex sent me to the ER.”

Jack laughs so hard it almost topples them both, but he remains seated and Bitty clenches his thighs deliciously around Jack’s.

Once it’s clear they aren’t going to fall over, Jack reluctantly takes his hands off Bitty’s ass to work on the buttons of his shirt. A minor sacrifice for the greater good, the greater good being more of Bitty’s lovely tan skin on display.

Bitty slides the shirt off his shoulders when Jack finishes, and then it’s just the two of them shirtless in a half-lit room. A relatively normal Wednesday night in their apartment.

“You’re taking the lead on this one, Jack,” Bitty says, running his hands down Jack’s front, thumbs dipping into the defined lines of his abs. Abs that he Definitely does not upkeep for Bitty and his Very Obvious Thing for muscles, he’s just a professional athlete, thank you for much. “What’s the plan?”

“Exercise each other into oblivion,” Jack replies, and in what anyone who hasn’t seen his work out routine would call an impressive feat of strength but is really just another normal part of their Average Wednesday, Jack stands and turns to press Bitty against the wall. Bitty keeps his thighs wrapped around Jack’s waist, and the result is a beautifully pinned Bitty in mood lighting.

Bitty, looking only mildly surprised by the change in altitude, runs his hands up over Jack’s shoulders.

“My, my,” he says, sounding breathless and southern and beautiful. “What big muscles you have, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“The better to fuck you with, my dear,” Jack quotes, then nips at Bitty’s throat, practically feeling the vibrations of Bitty’s laughed moan.

“Could we do that?” Bitty asks, and it’s doing Incredible Things to Jack’s already turned on body that he sounds eager and not at all embarrassed by that excitement. “Could you hold me up and fuck me?”

It’s Jack’s turn to groan, because Bitty swears, yeah, he swears when they have sex and when he drops things and the rare few occasions when his bake doesn’t turn out perfect. But hearing that sunshine voice drop f-bombs in the context of kinky work out sex? Jack’s dick was interested before Bitty walked in the door, now it’s about crawling out of his joggers.

“That sounds like an exercise in something,” Jack mumbles, trailing his lips down Bitty’s neck. He strategically shifts his hands further down, using the wall and his hips to keep Bitty practically floating while he works at the zipper on Bitty’s pants. His arms are only burning a little bit, so maybe he can count this as offseason lifting. Maybe cardio, too, depending on how much they get going.

He doesn’t even bother taking Bitty’s pants all the way off, because that would involve letting go of Bitty, and it’s almost a competition now in Jack’s head, where Bitty can’t touch the floor until he’s orgasmed. The floor is Successful Exercise Sex. And Jack doesn’t half-ass things.

Jack peels Bitty’s pants over the curve of his ass, just far enough that they won’t be in the way, but not inhibiting Bitty’s spread thighs. Jack Zimmermann may not know much about clothes, but he knows the dexterity of Bitty’s tight pants.

Once Bitty has been successfully bared, his hard cock sitting proudly between his and Jack’s stomachs, Jack moves to work on his own pants.

He’s had the foresight to wear joggers, clothes that are easily tugged down and abandoned around his ankles. Probably not very sexy and a little bit of a tripping hazard, but those are concerns for later Jack. Current Jack has an enthusiastic blond to pleasure.

Jack reaches between them and wraps one hand around both their cocks, using his own steadily leaking precome to ease the slick glide of his palm. Then he leans in and sucks Bitty’s bottom lip into his mouth because they hadn’t had a make-out session in long enough that Jack actually misses the feeling of Bitty’s mouth on his.

It’s wonderful mouth, Jack decides. It would be a shame not to lick into it as often as possible.

Bitty writhes as much as he can against the wall, and Jack realizes, at that moment, that he literally controls All Their Movements. Because he’s holding Bitty up against the wall, pressed against him like it’s his damn job. And Jack’s not one to be turned on by control, but the feeling of Bitty’s weight against him, knowing that Jack’s the only thing keeping him upright? It’s better than Jack could ever imagine.

“Did you,” Bitty pauses to sigh as Jack leaves his lips long enough to lave at that spot by his ear that makes him sigh Every Time, “remember the lube?”

“Eric Richard Bittle,” Jack says, letting go of them and leaning a little bit to pluck the lube from his expertly positioned coffee table. “I came prepared.”

“Such a boy scout.” Bitty chuckles, a breathy thing that’s half pleasure half amusement, then whines when Jack tweaks his nipple.

He warms the lube between his fingers on one hand, the other studiously holding Bitty up and maybe leaving red finger marks against his ass. Maybe. Jack tries not to picture that too much, because he’s there for a workout, not to only last a couple minutes. He mourns the loss of seeing Bitty open for him, but at least at this angle, Jack has an uninhibited view of Bitty’s face while he fingers him. And. Honestly. That’s just as good, if not better.

Bitty’s wonderful blush has extended most of the way down his chest, and Jack loves that he gets to watch it spread, gets to hear when Bitty keens and arches his back, pushing against Jack despite the fact this his shoulders are probably getting sore.

And feeling Bitty open up for him, even without the visual, is still Amazing. Slick and warm and welcoming Jack into him. Even with just three fingers inside of him, Jack feels like he’s home.

“Sweetpea,” Bitty says, and his voice is wrecked, his back arched to the point where he’s pressing against Jack’s chest, skin to skin. “As much as I love havin’ you inside of me in any capacity, my shoulders are startin’ to feel a little sore.”

“Is that a gentle request to get on with it?” Jack teases, tracing his thumb along Bitty’s rim.

Bitty’s eyelids flutter, but he still manages to nudge Jack with his heel.

“I don’t feel exercised into oblivion yet.”

“Really?” Jack tilts his head a little and presses deeper into Bitty, crooking his fingers as he goes. “Because I’m feeling a strain in certain places.”

Bitty keens, clawing at Jack’s shoulders, and Jack’s gonna have marks tomorrow.

“Jack,” he whines, dropping his head back against the wall with a gentle thump. “Please.”

“Alright, bud.” Jack presses a kiss to Bitty’s sweaty hairline, then bends his knees to get a better angle. Bitty loosens his hold on Jack’s waist enough that Jack can lift him higher. He uses one hand to line himself up, and then, with the patience and grace of a professional athlete, lowers Bitty onto him.

Bitty’s body welcomes him in, just like Jack knew it would, and inch by gratifying inch, Bitty sinks lower. Before long, he’s seated on Jack’s lap, the weight of him leaving Jack a little breathless, though that might be just because of how Fantastic his dick feels.

The angle must do something for Bitty too, because he’s practically tearing at the wall, heaving deep breaths and gasping Jack’s name like he’s some kind of god. And, like this, his whole body pressed against Bitty to keep him where he wants him, Jack kind of feels like one.

He considers taking it slow, but his thighs are actually burning now and his arms seem quick to follow suit. So Jack takes up a relentless pace, one where he can feel Bitty move up the wall with every thrust.

Bitty’s making breathy noises, practically punched out of him, and Jack thinks he probably is too. But he’s too busy chasing the feeling of pounding into Bitty over and over again to really notice much else.

Bitty, at some point, drags Jack’s lips up to his own, where the kiss messily, more tongue and heavy breathing than actual making out. But it gathers enough of Jack attention that he’s able to reach between them for Bitty’s cock, which is no small feat given how much his muscles are actually shaking at this point. A sex injury might not have been too far off.

Bitty swears, low and heavy in Jack’s ear, then comes between them in a burst of warmth. He gasps, legs clenching around Jack’s waist, his whole body clamping down on Jack’s dick, and, really, Jack never stood a chance.

He has the foresight not to trip over his own joggers when his legs give out, leaving the two of them slumped against the wall, sweaty and sated. At least the mood lighting makes it softer than their harsh breathing would suggest the sex went.

Bitty gently brushes sweat-damp hair off Jack’s forehead, then, in an act that is almost indecently opposite that soft gesture, pulls Jack into a bruising kiss. The grinding against Jack almost—almost—gives his cock ideas about round two, but the burning in his thighs says otherwise.

“You are welcome to pick me up and fuck me against any surface you please, from this point forward,” Bitty declares when he comes up for air.

Jack, who can’t take his eyes off Bitty’s pink, swollen lips, just nods dumbly and presses against him for more.

He knows they aren’t leaving the floor for a while, at least if his legs have anything to say about it. Might as well make the best of it.