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“Paint him like one of your French girls,” Jack reads, and he’s sure that’s supposed to be a reference, he just can’t place it.

“That’s less erotic than I thought it would be,” Bitty says.

“There’s an addendum,” Jack says, holding up the paper, where Lardo actually drew a tiny asterisk after her phrase. “We need props from her.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “Of course we do. She’s the only person I know that keeps sex props for her friends on hand.”

“It’s probably a little sexier than a cowboy hat.”

“I remember you liking that just fine, Mr. Zimmermann.”

Jack grins a little wolfishly. “I like the panties even better.”

Bitty flushes a brilliant pink but his smile is smug.

“I’ll call Lardo in the morning.”

**

Bitty comes home from brunch carrying a reusable shopping bag filled with paint.

“She doesn’t seriously expect us to draw each other, right?” Jack asks, plucking out a tube of yellow paint. “Or use it as lube?”

“Jack Zimmermann, if you use paint to fuck me I’ll break up with you.” Bitty deposits the bag on their kitchen table, then promptly peels his shirt off. “It’s body paint.”

Jack is almost too distracted to reply but manages. “Body paint?”

Bitty nods, and he’s too casual about the removal of his clothes. Jack feels like he’s going to combust. Because Bitty is just. Naked. In their kitchen.

He’s seen Bitty naked a lot. It’s a thing they do. But it’s never. Jack isn’t.

Jack doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. Bitty is beautiful and tan and smooth lines and hidden freckles and sometimes weird tan lines and Jack Loves Him So Much.

He follows Bitty into the living room, not really listening to whatever he’s saying, and there’s a tarp now. And Beyoncé is playing. But Jack kind of thinks that’s a constant around their apartment.

Bitty pulls their coffee table out of the way, then points at the couch. Jack, like the good, strong professional athlete he is, doesn’t ask questions. He just obediently shoves the couch aside so Bitty can spread the tarp. All while Gloriously Naked.

“Sweetpea, are you listening to me?”

“Uh.”

Bitty pats Jack’s cheek and shakes his head, amused smile firmly in place.

“I said, you should strip too, and then we can have Weird Art Sex.”

Weird Art Sex. Yeah. Okay. Jack can do that.

He almost trips over his jeans in his haste to get them off and Bitty laughs at him, but before long they’re sitting on the tarp, body paint tubes spread around them.

“Let’s try not to get any on the carpet, alright?” Bitty says, picking up the bottle of purple paint and scanning the instructions on the back.

Jack goes for the blue paint Immediately.

Beyoncé is still singing. Jack recognizes the song, but only because at this point it would be embarrassing not to. Something about a partition. He might not know it as well as he ought to.

Bitty leans back when Jack’s hands gently move him in that direction until he’s sprawling out before Jack like a blank canvas Jack has Every Intention of covering in multiple things today.

Maybe he can convince Bitty to bake them another sex pie when they’re done.

Jack paints a long stripe of blue up Bitty’s side, and it feels like a brand, like some sort of claiming ritual. It’s the color of Jack’s team, the color of Jack’s eyes, splashed across Bitty’s skin and Jack has to wonder why they’ve never done this before. He has a passing thought about other kinds of ways he might claim Bitty, the glint of gold on his left hand, before he shakes the thought away. Another day.

Bitty squirms, and Jack remembers how ticklish he is. He drags the brush a little slower, just to see Bitty’s smile widen, then turns and dips it back in the blue paint.

“Is that the only color you’re going to use?” Bitty asks, stretching his arms over his head. There’s a glorious amount of skin just waiting for Jack to cover (with paint or kisses, he hasn’t decided yet), and it makes Jack’s heart ache in the Best Way.

“I like blue,” Jack replies, then paints another blue stripe across Bitty’s navel.

“I think I’d like to be a rainbow,” Bitty declares, reaching for the red paint. He spreads some across his fingers and sits up to leave fingerprints across Jack’s collarbones.

Jack turns the brush on his left hand, covering his palm with blue paint before pressing it gently over Bitty’s heart.

“You’re a sap, Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, but his expression is soft. There’s a smudge of blue on his jaw.

And maybe pie isn’t a great idea, because Jack wants to lick things off Bitty, but he has a feeling the paint would poison him. Best to save the licking for after their shower. Maybe they can shower together in lieu of eating pie together.

“I’m in love,” Jack says, then cups Bitty’s jaw with his paint colored hand and kisses him soundly.

He can feel Bitty’s fingers tracing over his shoulders, probably leaving trails of red in their wake, and the feeling of being covered in a physical reminder of Bitty’s touch is. Well. Lardo might be onto something.

Bitty pulls away first, biting his lip, and Jack almost reels him back in, except there’s a blue handprint on Bitty’s face, and it makes Jack want one.

He plucks the red paint from Bitty’s hand and squeezes some onto Bitty’s palm. Bitty understands rather quickly, because he immediately spreads it with Jack’s blue paintbrush to make a splotchy purple, then presses his palm over Jack’s face. It’s slanted more like an eyepatch, but it fills a need in Jack.

Lardo probably intended for them to do more than press handprints to each other’s faces, Jack thinks belatedly, and then vocalizes that thought.

“I mean.” Bitty blinks, yellow paint tube gripped in his hands. “Did you have something else in mind?”

“I could paint something on your back?” Jack fidgets a bit on the tarp, feeling more self-conscious then he usually does while naked. “And then you could do the same on mine?”

Bitty squints at him. “If you were literally any of our friends I wouldn’t trust you not to draw a dick. But with you, there’s a bigger chance you’ll eat me out before you finish painting.”

Jack swallows. “Foiled again.”

Bitty laughs, a sunshine sound, and in the light streaming through their window, he looks like a work of art.

“You wanna go first?” Bitty sets down the paint tube, already rolling onto his stomach. And while Jack mourns the loss of his beautifully painted front, there is now a Whole New Canvas to paint.

He must look as eager as he feels, because Bitty laughs again and settles on the tarp, arms folded under his chin. He blinks up at Jack over his shoulder, and Jack does have half a mind to just spread that beautiful ass and lick into Bitty.

“I can practically see you thinkin’, hon,” Bitty says. “Paint first. I want to at least try this. Foreplay is important, Jack Zimmermann.”

“You don’t have to tell me that,” Jack mutters, but leans back and snags the brush and blue paint.

“I didn’t think you thought the Blue Man Group was sexy,” Bitty teases.

Jack considers pausing to ask who that is, but figures he’ll get chirped even more if he does.

“I like seeing you in blue,” Jack admits instead.

Bitty blushes, turning his head away from Jack. “Let’s keep it above the waist, shall we? I’m not interested in testing your paint/lube theory.”

Jack chuckles. “You got it, bud.”

He starts at Bitty’s shoulders, dragging the brush until Bitty’s back is completely blue. He moves slowly, makes sure the strokes are even, taking the time to Zamboni his way over the first coat to even out any patchy bits.

He reaches for the black and red next, and figures he’s come this far, might as well commit.

It’s not very sexy, painting Bitty. The simmering edge Jack started with has faded a bit, but he likes the comfort there. The intimacy that comes from just being naked with someone.

Jack paints in silence, Bitty relaxed beneath him. He might even fall asleep, Jack’s not sure. He nudges Bitty’s side when he’s done, then leans down and presses a kiss to the clean space on the back of Bitty’s neck.

“Your turn, bud.”

Bitty stretches and sits up, the lines on his back moving fluidly, and the arousal Jack felt dissipate starts to simmer.

“Do I get to see it now?” Bitty shoots a coy look over his shoulder, like he has some sort of sixth sense for when Jack feels turned on.

“When we’re done you can look,” Jack replies.

“What if I smudge your masterpiece?” Bitty pouts and Jack has to lean in and kiss him.

“Then we have an excuse to do this again.”

That seems to satisfy Bitty. “Lay down, sweetpea,” he says, and Jack kisses him one more time.

Then he does as instructed and settles on his stomach in the warm patch Bitty left behind.

It’s strange on this end, to feel the brush and Bitty’s fingers move over him in indiscernible patterns.

At first, Jack tries to see if he can tell what Bitty’s painting. But the strokes are too random, and the movements feel purposeless. So Jack, in an action that would pleasantly surprise every therapist he’s ever had, lets go and just relaxes into the feeling.

Bitty doesn’t take as long as Jack did. Or maybe he does and Jack’s just too relaxed to notice. Either way, it feels like not much time has passed when Bitty lays down beside him, curled toward Jack with a content smile.

“I feel like at this point it’s weirder not to have sex,” Bitty muses, tracing a finger lazily through the paint spilled on the tarp. “Like, we just painted each other naked. Non-sexually.”

“I thought it was pretty sexual,” Jack counters, and he’s half hard, so at least there’s evidence that the activity has been at least partially sexual.

Bitty stretches, then settles closer to Jack on his side, the blue hand on his heart and his face bright against his tan skin. “And what were you thinkin’, Mr. Zimmermann?”

Below his waist he’s clean, and Jack has half a mind (and then a whole mind) to change that.

Logistically, penetrative sex would be a mess. They’d have to wash their hands and Jack doesn’t want to get up yet, so that’s out. Oral sex wouldn’t be smart either, considering the sheer amount of chemicals in the paint that would surely poison them. So that’s out too. And if Jack can’t use his mouth or his hands, then—

He looks down at Bitty’s thighs, thick and soft and there. Jack knows there’s a word for it, remembers doing it A Lot when they first started dating. Before they’d worked up the nerve to press gentle fingers inside each other. He remembers it being Kind of Ridiculously Hot.

Because Bitty’s thighs are Actual Masterpieces. Jack would live between them if it wouldn’t inconvenience them both.

He settles a paint-covered hand on Bitty’s hip and tugs him closer. They kiss, a drag of lips and then tongue; a closeness Jack will never get tired of.

Jack lets his other hand stray downward, then rub against the fine hairs on Bitty’s thighs, to press between them.

“I hope,” Bitty says between kisses, “you aren’t going for my ass with those paint-stained fingers.”

Jack laughs and it breaks the kiss. “Absolutely not. But I was thinking we could try something we haven’t done in a while.” He strokes between Bitty’s thighs as he talks, and he can almost see the light go on in Bitty’s head. Then he does see the blush spread across his face.

“I would be amenable to that,” Bitty says and smiling, kisses Jack again. “We’d need something slick, though.”

Jack opens his mouth.

“If you say paint I’m leaving.”

Jack gives him a look.

Bitty starts to sit up.

Jack rolls so that he’s pinning Bitty to the floor, and their laughter echoes through the apartment.

“Not paint,” Jack says, rolling his eyes. “The side table lube is still there from the last time we used it.”

“We sure do have sex in the living room a lot.” Bitty looks up toward where the side table has been moved across the room, revealing more of his lovely neck.

Jack leans in to suck a hickey there, and Bitty hums, content to lay on the floor with Jack tracing marks down his neck.

Jack thinks he might have a neck fetish. Is he using that right? Fetish? Maybe he’ll ask Shitty about it. Later. When he’s not naked on the floor with Bitty.

Or maybe he won’t. The sex pie incident was embarrassing enough. Holster still chirps him about it.

“Someone has to get the lube,” Bitty says, and Jack takes a lot of joy in how breathless he is; how he can feel Bitty twitch against his hip.

Then Jack realizes he is probably the someone, and pushes himself up onto his hands and knees.

“Don’t go anywhere,” he says, crawling over Bitty toward the side table.

“With a view like that,” Bitty says from behind him, “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”

Jack shakes his head but crawls a little slower back to Bitty, just to see the appreciative look a little longer.

He resettles beside Bitty and squirts a fair amount of lube into his clean hand.

“Oh baby,” Bitty says. “Paint me like one of your French girls.”

“I suppose now would be the time I admit to not knowing where that’s from.”

Bitty’s face is expressionless for a moment before he sighs and reaches for Jack’s lube-covered hand. “You’re hopeless, Jack Zimmermann.”

Jack shrugs and slides closer to Bitty, who has directed his hand back toward his thighs. He settles his hand between them, warm and soft, then spreads the lube a little haphazardly, lost in the feel of Bitty’s skin.

Bitty’s the one who moves them forward, rolling over so that the curve of his thighs is settled directly in front of Jack’s dick, his ass resting against Jack’s abdomen.

“It’s like sexy spooning,” Bitty mumbles and Jack has to stop to laugh into his shoulder. The paint on his back is smudged a little, but Jack can still clearly see his painting; a testament to what he loves, a testament to who he loves.

“You’re a sexy spoon,” Jack replies. It’s not his smoothest line, but that can be blamed on Bitty, who slides back enough that Jack’s cock catches on the smooth skin of his thighs and glides between them Beautifully. Jack groans and wonders why it’s been so long since they’ve done this.

He reaches around Bitty—pausing briefly to palm at his lovely hip—to wrap a hand around Bitty’s erection, but Bitty bats his hand away.

“If you think I’m going to miss out on the chance to rub off on those gorgeous hockey thighs, those paint fumes must have gotten to you.”

Jack huffs a laugh as best he can, still enraptured by the slide of his cock between Bitty’s golden thighs.

“God, Bits,” he moans, because that is an Acceptable Response. “Your thighs. We should do this every day. All the time.”

Bitty’s eye roll is almost audible. “Forget work, we can become professional intercrural sex fiends.”

And now that Jack has a name for it, he can absolutely plan their future as Professional Intercrural Sex Fiends. His hockey money should cover them for a few years. It would be fine.

Bitty squeezes his thighs together and Jack loses All Thoughts he Ever Had Ever.

He makes a whining noise and grips Bitty’s hips, pumping his own at a speed that probably shouldn’t be possible while lying on a tarp.

Bitty rolls his hips back too, and Jack has only a little bit longer to ride the feeling. There’s warmth pooling in his stomach, sweat and paint everywhere, and he presses one more kiss to Bitty’s neck, breathes him in, before he stutters to completion.

Bitty wastes no time in rolling over to press kisses to Jack’s mouth, even though Jack is panting and Pretty Far Gone. Jack just kind of holds him, then spreads his legs when Bitty’s hand start inching downwards.

He whimpers when Bitty wipes a hand between his own thighs, gathering lube and Jack’s come to spread between Jack’s thighs. And that’s. That’s Really Hot. Jack kind of wishes he’d let Bitty go first, just so he could do that.

Bitty smirks, no doubt catching the way Jack’s hips twitch forward, the way his fingers briefly tighten on Bitty’s biceps.

“Calm down, big guy,” Bitty teases, spreading the slick mixture between Jack’s thighs. He doesn’t roll Jack over, just tugs him even closer, so their sweaty chests press close. Then Bitty’s cock is pushing between Jack’s thighs and. Yes. The receiving end is just as Sexy.

Bitty grunts, and Jack takes a single second to be sad that their height difference means Bitty’s mouth is out of reach, before Bitty’s clever tongue brushes over Jack’s nipples and. Yeah. Okay. The height difference is a Great Thing.

Bitty’s hands trail over Jack’s lower back as he pumps his hips, his tongue laving over the cleaner spots on his chest. They both feel when Jack’s spent dick twitches against Bitty’s abdomen, and God, Jack’s not That Young anymore, but he kind of wishes he was.

“Jack, Lord, I shouldn’t say it cuz I would love you no matter what, but your thighs are one of my favorite things about you. Hockey has done both of us so many favors, but the biggest is your thighs.”

“Not my ass?” Jack jokes, appreciating the way Bitty’s motions are getting more desperate the closer he gets to the end.

“Don’t make me choose, Jack,” Bitty pants.

Jack laughs and manages to snake his hands between them to scrape his nails along Bitty’s sides.

Bitty lets out a breathy, “Ah ah ah,” before coming between Jack’s thighs, warm and wet.

The paint is starting to feel kind of tacky, and now that he isn’t sex-hazy, Jack’s side is starting to ache from laying on the floor.

Bitty groans and scoots up so that his mouth is finally even with Jack’s again. He kisses Jack, soft and sweeter than pie.

“That was,” he says, brushing his nose against Jack’s, so it’s more sharing space, breathing each other in than anything else.

“Good?” Jack tries.

“Worth repeating. Possibly.”

Jack squeezes Bitty’s hip. “I’m a fan.”

“I’m a fan of showers,” Bitty replies.

Jack laughs. “Take one with me?”

“Why, Jack Zimmermann, I thought you’d never ask.”