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Ain’t never gonna be the same

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Shitty actually gives him the hat weeks before it becomes relevant, handing it over with a strange sort of reverence at brunch.

“It’ll make sense later,” Shitty says, after Jack just stares at him holding the cowboy hat. He sounds just like Johnson, and Jack’s about to point that out when—

“Johnson gave it to me forever ago. Said it was for when he couldn’t progress the narrative any further. Whatever that means.” Shitty rolls his eyes and drops the hat on the table, freeing up his hands for another helping of strawberries. “But! It has a purpose now. Or, it will. When you get there.”

Jack just nods and makes a mental note to push brunch an hour earlier, that way Shitty will have less time for recreation before they meet up.


The cowboy hat sits in Jack and Bitty’s hall closet, atop their broom handle, for another three weeks. Jack would forget about it, but he sweeps religiously. So every Tuesday he’s reminded that it’s there, for whatever cryptic purpose Shitty and Johnson had deigned.

Then Bitty comes home with lingerie from Lardo, and Jack thinks, oh, he might have an inkling as to what the hat is for.

His theory is confirmed when, exactly four weeks after cowboy hat brunch with Shitty, he pulls a note out of the sex box.

‘Save a horse, ride a cowboy’

“Yee-haw,” Jack says, deadpan.

Bitty, who’s across the room sorting laundry, turns to look at him with a frown. (“Putting things away can be a precursor to sex, Jack. Cleanliness is a lot like foreplay. Don’t look at me like that.”)


“It’s partner,” Jack corrects, managing to maintain his straight face.

Bitty rolls his eyes and finishes folding Jack’s billions of socks before making his way over. Slowly. Because he’s in Those Shorts and the tiny asshole knows what he does to Jack in those.

By the time he settles in Jack’s lap, back to Jack’s front, Jack has almost dropped the note in favor of pulling Bitty closer faster. He’s pleased with this result, though, so perhaps his patience is improving.

Bitty wriggles a bit, making Jack bite back a whine, before settling his hands over where Jack’s are holding the note.

“This has Shitty written all over it,” Bitty says, dropping his head back against Jack’s collarbone and peering up at him. “I didn’t know he listened to Big & Rich.”

“Bud, even I know that song.”

“Yeah, but you have a weird country music folder in that head of yours. I hardly had to dip into any Sugarland for your education in that genre.”

Jack hums thoughtfully, stroking his thumbs over Bitty’s fingertips. “I guess this is why Shitty gave me the cowboy hat.”

“Oh, good Lord.” Bitty laughs, pressing his hands to his face. “We might need to talk to those two about prop distribution. I can’t believe we let a sex hat sit in our hall closet for all the world to see.”

“I think really only Lardo and Holster saw it, though there is a chance Tater wore it when he came over.”

“I can’t believe you let our friend wear our sex hat.”

“To be fair, we haven’t used it for sex yet.”

Bitty still has his hands pressed over his face, although at this point Jack is pretty sure he’s just trying to stop himself from giggling.

“We don’t have to use the hat,” Jack starts, but Bitty cuts him off before he can finish the thought, finally putting his hands down.

“Jack Zimmermann, Shitty and Lardo will take one look at us and Know we didn’t use it if we don’t. They’ll just Know. We have to use the hat. For them.”

It’s Jack’s turn to laugh because Bittle sounds so adamant, but he’s also got a dryer sheet stuck to his shirt and is rambling about a cowboy sex hat. What is his life?

“We can always get rid of it afterward.”

Bitty shakes his head, exasperated, and plucks the dryer sheet shirt. “Do we need to discuss Shitty’s intentions with this one?”

“I think this one’s pretty self-explanatory.” Jack loops his arms around Bitty’s waist and presses his lips to the pulse point in his neck. Jack’s rather pleased when it jumps under his touch.

“Should we draw straws for who gets to be the cowboy?” Bitt asks, tipping his head so Jack can kiss more of his lovely neck. Jack could probably spend all day mapping the delicate skin of Bitty’s throat. Another time, perhaps.

“You’re already got an accent, why don’t you let me ride you?” Jack teases, licking a stripe up the side.

Bitty sputters and ducks his neck out of reach. “I do Not have a cowboy accent, good Lord.”

“So, you don’t want me to ride you?”

“Let’s not be hasty.”

Jack laughs and presses a kiss to Bitty’s temple. “Go get the hat.”

Bitty crawls out of his lap and disappears into the hallway.

“Would it be too cliché to play the song while we do this?” Jack calls after him.

Bitty reappears, cowboy hat perched on his head, and leans seductively against the doorframe. “It’s cute that you think one song will be long enough.”

Jack stands, reeling Bitty in until he can pluck the hat from his head and settle it on his own.

“’Scuse me, partner, ‘m I tall enough to ride this here ride?” he asks, trying his hand at a western accent. It goes about as terribly as he imagined it would, and he has to actually pick Bitty up off the floor where he’s wheezing.

“I’m sorry,” Bitty manages to gasp out, but he can’t seem to stop the laughter from bubbling out of him. “I love you, but please don’t ever do that again.”

Jack takes the criticism in stride.

He tugs Bitty’s shirt over his head, thumbs playing over the ridges of Bitty’s hip bones, his nipples, his collarbones. Bitty shivers under his touch.

They strip until Jack’s wearing nothing but the cowboy hat, and Bitty doesn’t give him a chance to feel foolish about it.

“C’mere cowboy,” Bitty says, wriggling his way up the bed until he’s stretched out, looking very inviting. He’s got the lube in one hand, however he managed that, and Jack licks his lips.

Jack throws one leg over Bitty’s waist, straddling him with his best cocky cowboy smirk. “You never answered my question.”

Bitty just raises an eyebrow. “And what question was that?”

Jack smirks. “Am I tall enough to ride this ride?”

“Jack Zimmermann, you are the only one allowed to ride this ride. Now get down here and kiss me.”

So Jack does.

Bitty is a master with his fingers, always managing to find every place inside Jack that lights him up with only a few strokes. Jack’s dick is practically weeping before Bitty even gets a third finger in.

Jack kind of feels like he can’t breathe, in a good way, and he knows he’s making noises he should probably be embarrassed about. A few fingers in his ass and suddenly Jack’s a gasping mess. He’s not embarrassed though, just unbelievably turned on and ready for the main event.

Bitty must sense the urgency because before long he’s fully reclined on their mattress, dick hard and waiting, looking like a perfect fit for Jack’s stretched hole.

Jack’s thighs are shaking, more from pleasure than anything else, and Bitty takes mercy. He guides Jack down, and with a push, he’s inside Jack. They both take a second to breathe, and Jack bends down to kiss Bitty one more time (with a little more tongue than is probably necessary, sue him) before sitting upright and lowering himself further.

Once he’s fully seated in Bitty’s lap, Jack flicks the brim of the cowboy hat, feeling a little silly and a lot turned on. He likes the action, likes the way Bitty bites his lip at him when he does it, like he’s trying not to laugh. So Jack does it again, punctuated with a clench of his thighs around Bitty’s torso, like he’s settling himself on a horse, or a mechanical bull. Or his boyfriend’s first-class dick.

“If you call me partner while we’re fucking,” Bitty says, voice already sex wrecked and lovely. “I’ll buck you off the bed.”

“You say that now, but I bet there’s at least one western phrase or bit of slang that’s sexy.”

“You aren’t allowed to make this one historically accurate,” Bitty replies, too articulate for someone with their dick in someone else’s ass. “If I know our friends, there is at least one historic event related sex note in the box.”

And. That’s a good thought. Because Jack may or may not already have several fantasies about Bitty in a civil war military uniform, Bitty in a leather jacket and slicked back hair, Bitty in—

He stops that train of thought because he wants to enjoy what’s happening now, which includes a cowboy hat and his beautiful boyfriend spread out beneath him.

Jack adjusts the cowboy hat one more time, just to make sure it’s secure. Then, he rolls his hips with purpose. He gives himself a brief second to consider how riding a horse is not at all similar to riding a dick, then groans and promptly loses any semblance of thought.

Bitty’s sweaty beneath him, knees bent up behind Jack’s back, giving them both the perfect angle to watch Jack’s body undulate over Bitty’s.

“I was right,” Bitty gasps, thrusting up to meet the motion of Jack’s hips. “You take it so well.”

“If you make this another praising venture I’ll bring back the western accent.” Jack pants, then squeezes Bitty’s cock inside of him.

Bitty moans, long and loud, hands tightening their hold on Jack’s hips. He’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. Jack tries not to feel smug about that.

“You could sing me every Willie Nelson song you know instead.” There’s a gleam in Bitty’s eyes, and maybe Jack should’ve listened to the song again before they got started. Because as lovely as a room filled with their grunts and gasps is, Jack would have liked to have a witty lyrical reply to that. But he doesn’t, so he does the next best thing.

Jack stretches his arms above his head without stopping his rhythm, biting his lip and trying not to feel like he’s putting on a show. Even though he definitely is. Even though he can practically feel Bitty’s gaze hot on his torso, tracing the movement of his muscles, the fluidity of his body. Hell, even his cock, bouncing against his stomach with every movement, feels warmer under Bitty’s gaze. And when Jack finally looks down again, the sight of Bitty flushed beneath him, darkened gaze watching Jack like he’s the hottest thing he’s ever seen, well.

Jack’s allowed to be a little proud.

Bitty’s hands slide to his ass, as they inevitably do, inching closer to his crease and stretched hole. One of these days, Jack thinks, Bitty’s going to slide a finger in with his cock and it’ll be game over before Jack can even consciously react.

He doesn’t this time, but just the thought has Jack’s dick jumping.

Bitty thrusts his hips up a little harder, starting to get erratic and desperate.

Jack switches to circular motions, to make it a little easier for both of them, then just gives up and leans forward, propping his hands on the mattress on either side of Bitty’s head. They kind of have to make eye contact now, but it’s nice. Intimate. Jack likes that part of it, would never admit it, but when Bitty fucks him, Jack really, really likes to look him in the eye.

So, he does. He cups Bitty’s jaw with one hand and holds himself up with the other and rides Bitty to the best of his ability while bent over like this. And it feels Amazing.

Bitty licks his lips and looks up at Jack with heated eyes. “Make some noise, Jack,” he says, sultry and a little more southern than usual, and Jack’s dick takes nearly inappropriate notice. His mouth is so red, his face flushed, brown irises covered almost completely by his pupils.

Jack’s already riding the edge, heat coiling low in his gut, building inside of him with every slide of Bitty inside of him, every press against that spot inside of him that makes his eyes roll back.

Then Bitty leans in and whispers hot in his ear, “You look so pretty riding me like this.”

And even without a hand on his dick, Jack comes first.

He rides Bitty through the waves, drawing it out and letting himself be loud for once. Then, muscles burning in his thighs, Jack collapses against Bitty.

Bitty lets out an undignified squawk, and right, he hasn’t come yet.

Jack heaves himself up, ignoring the tender, slightly overstimulated feeling in his ass. With the grace of a man sliding off a mechanical bull, Jack flips them and lets Bitty have at it.

Bitty, ever the romantic, links their hands together and then fucks Jack with such ferocity that Jack’s dick can’t help but attempt to perk up again. He won’t get hard again, not after that, but the shocked twitches help prolong the hazy post-sex feeling.

Bitty manages not much longer before spilling into Jack with a drawn out moan. Then he collapses too, and they just kind of lay there, sweaty and sexed out. The hat is long gone, either from Jack’s enthusiastic riding or when he flipped them, it doesn’t matter.

What does matter, is when Bitty looks up at him, still flushed and pink, and says, “How was the ride, partner?”

It’s Jack’s turn to wheeze, but neither of them seem to find it too off-putting.