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Holding me down

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It starts with a package Shitty tries to discreetly leave on Jack’s dining room table.

It’s a paint-splattered cardboard box duct taped shut with such vigor Jack’s not entirely sure he’ll be able to get it open. It isn’t subtle.

Jack should know better than to accept another box from Shitty.

“If this is another cowboy hat I’m canceling brunch.”

Shitty snatches the box back up, holding it in his arms like a baby, as if Shitty has ever held a baby in his life.

“Jacques, I’m telling Lardo you don’t like our presents.”

Jack rolls his eyes. “I just can’t keep telling Tater we lost ours and then successfully hide two of them in the apartment. He’s over here a lot. And has no regard for privacy.”

“It’s not a hat.” Shitty sets the box back down, then pats it awkwardly, and that really confirms for Jack that Shitty’s never even met a baby. “But it is wearable.”

“Wearable like in public? Or is this more of a ‘for Bitty’s eyes only’ thing?”

“I mean, Lardo wouldn’t complain, but everybody else would probably say this is more of an indoors kind of thing.”

Jack kind of wishes he was strong enough to ask his best friend to stop giving him and his significant other sex gifts. But they’ve all been Really Great gifts so far.

So Jack pats the box too and ignores the way Shitty silently gloats.

***

“Did you get another sex box?” Bitty asks incredulously, eyeing the little cardboard monstrosity on the table. “Do they know we’ve barely made a dent in the first one?”

“I’ve been ignoring Lardo’s emails with the checklist, so I’m sure they know we haven’t finished yet. We’re horny, but we also both have jobs.” Jack flips the page in the book he’s trying to read, but his world famous focus is Otherwise Occupied.

Bitty gives the box another lookover and then looks at his watch. “Speaking of which, I have to go. Erika asked me to pick up a weekend shift.”

Jack refrains from grabbing Bitty’s ass when he leans over to kiss him goodbye, and then he’s alone in the apartment. With a box from Shitty.

Jack doesn’t even bother trying to read another page before he’s up and rummaging through the single junk drawer Bitty pretends serves a purpose beyond holding loose screws and mystery keys. There’s probably an exacto knife or pair of scissors in there somewhere.

There isn’t, and Jack contemplates going to the store for one, before he remembers the toolkit in the closet Bitty’s father gave them. He valiantly ignores the involvement of Bitty’s father in obtaining whatever strange sexual item is in the box, which Jack will hopefully be using very soon to further deflower Coach’s son.

When Jack finally manages to get the box open without losing any fingers, he realizes he probably isn’t the one who’ll be doing the deflowering.

***

“Sweetpea? Are you home?”

Jack shuffles against the sheets, lifting one leg, stretching his arms, and yeah, maybe he’s posing a little, but he knows what he looks like. He Knows.

He also knows he’s very lucky he managed to set this up by himself, because it would’ve been Very Embarrassing if he’d had to call someone to help him.

“In here,” Jack calls.

Jack shifts a bit more, tugging himself a little bit further upright, spreading his legs a little bit more. He stills, though, when he hears Bitty shut the apartment door.

It takes Bitty a minute to wander in, enough time for Jack’s dick to perk up even further and his afternoon spent researching how to handcuff himself to the headboard feels Super Validated.

Especially Super Validated when Bitty lets loose the sexiest gasp Jack has ever heard.

Jack preens where he’s spread out on their bed, completely naked except for a pair of handcuffs threaded through the headboard. Definitely an indoors only accessory.

Bitty takes him in slowly, and Jack’s seen Bitty catalog enough pie tins and rolling pins and their now extensive collection of Sex Items, to know when Bitty’s focused. To have that gaze trace over his bare body, from his curled toes to where his wrists are carefully pinned, is not only validating but Super Ridiculously Hot.

“I didn’t realize this was something you might be into,” Bitty says, his eyes never leaving Jack’s wrists, voice breaking on the last word.

“I figured we could try it out,” Jack replies, tugging a bit at the cuffs and Loving the way Bitty’s eyes track the movement, the way his throat bobs when he swallows. “Besides, I had some inspiration.”

He nods at the foot of the bed, where the note has been carefully set beside Jack’s feet.

He’s not going to tell Bitty he stood in the kitchen holding the handcuffs for several minutes before his brain started working again. He’s not going to tell Bitty he ran out of the kitchen to dig frantically through the Brunch Box until he found the right note to match the cuffs, unable to even consider going another day without trying them out. He’s not going to tell Bitty handcuffing himself to the bed was the only way to not jerk himself off after reading the note, neatly traced in Lardo’s scrawling script.

Bitty picks up the note and Jack reads the memorized line in his head while watching Bitty’s fingers shake.

‘Tie him to the bed and use one of those pretty toys I know you have’

Bitty sucks in a breath and looks down at Jack, brown eyes wide and cheeks a desperate shade of red.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, as though Jack’s the one who hasn’t been waiting for this moment all day.

Jack nods, mouth suddenly very dry. He tugs at the cuffs again, and the metallic rattle against their headboard sends a visible shiver down Bitty’s spine.

“You gotta be vocal with me, sweetpea. Enthusiastic, e--”

“Yes,” Jack interrupts. “Yes, I’m sure. I almost ruined the sheets just thinking about it.”

Bitty shakes his head, but it does nothing to disguise the blush staining his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I just did laundry too.”

“We can do it again.”

“Did you,” Bitty swallows, and Jack feels like he’s never seen him so turned on before, so out of his mind with just the idea of what he could do--what Jack was going to let Bitty do to him. “Did you have an idea of what you wanted me to use?”

Jack shakes his head, a tiny lie, and bites his lips to hide a smile, but he figures Bitty will realize that pretty quickly.

Bitty, with still shaking hands, presses a light touch to the muscle of Jack’s calf, before tripping across the room to where they’ve stowed their Bag of Stuff in the closet. It takes Bitty a second to get the closet door open, then another to tug the bag out from where Jack had carefully tucked it in only an hour ago.

Jack can see the moment Bitty opens the bag, see the very second his breath catches in his throat, the moment his brain short circuits in a way Jack is Very Familiar with.

Bitty looks over his shoulder at Jack, pink mouth dropped open, expression like Jack hung the fucking moon and then let Bitty fuck him on it.

“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty breathes. “You are so perfect. I’ll bake you anything you want tomorrow. Anything.”

He tugs the pink silk out with gentle hands and stands up, staring at it with a cherished mix of awe and adoration. Then he turns that gaze on Jack, and Jack thinks he’d gladly hang the moon for Bitty. He’d hang two moons.

Jack clears his throat, not even bothering to hide his amused grin. “Do you wanna put them on me?”

Bitty makes a wrecked sound in his throat, and they haven’t even really gotten started yet, but Jack thinks if it were possible just to come from Bitty’s hungry stare, he’d find out now.

Bitty abandons the Bag of Stuff and nearly launches himself onto the bed. The mattress bounces a bit, to the point where Jack’s knee nearly collides with Bitty’s head, but Bitty’s laughing gracelessly and it’s perfectly imperfect.

Jack wants to kiss him, always wants to be doing nothing but kissing Bitty senseless at all times, but he makes himself stay focused. If Bitty can center himself, so can Jack.

Bitty, for his part, slides the panties reverently over Jack’s ankles, pulling them up Jack’s body like he’s touching something sacred, something reverent. He glides his thumbs over Jack’s knees, drags his nails up his thighs, until the silk-soft material is settled just below Jack’s cock, looking lewd stretched around his thighs.

“Oh, Jack.”

Bitty’s breathing is rough and he’s staring at Jack’s dick and the panties with such intensity Jack almost starts to uncuff himself to check on him. But the second he moves, the second the handcuffs click against the headboard, Bitty kicks back into motion, tugging the panties up and over Jack’s cock, where they barely contain him.

The material is Ridiculously Smooth, and Jack rolls his hips to try and get that feeling everywhere. It’s a little too snug on his ass, but it makes the pressure against his dick delicious. Jack feels like Sin Incarnate. He should’ve put the panties on ages ago.

Bitty groans appreciatively and then licks his lips, dragging his palms up and down Jack’s thighs. It’s a maddening, barely there touch, especially with Bitty kneeling between Jack’s thighs, so far from Jack’s cuffed hands. Jack’s fingers itch to reach to touch to take, but he can’t, not with them pinned so far away from Bitty’s lovely skin.

“I’ve been thinking about these for a really long time,” Bitty admits, voice low, as his hands glide up Jack’s legs to settle in a v on either side of his cock, fingertips caressing the soft material. “But none of the pictures in my head looked anywhere near as good as you do in real life. God, Jack, I could just--”

Bitty stops, like trying to come up with what he’d do to Jack is too much for him. It’s nearly too much for Jack, who suddenly feels like he’s been waiting forever to get to do this with Bitty. It was intended as a gift for him, but Jack feels kind of selfish now, because he’s so hard he’s a little worried he’ll rip the underwear.

Bitty slides his hands together, so his thumbs are rubbing against the underside of Jack’s cock through the material. And, Yeah. That’s.

Jack is pretty sure he’s Dead now, but the only thing he regrets is he hasn’t touched Bitty yet.

Jack arches into the movement, rolling his hips, almost surprised when the cuffs catch his wrists as he tries to reach for Bitty. They started as really kinky, but now it’s kind of frustrating, having Bitty so close, so pink, so Unbelievably Turned On, but Jack unable to touch him.

“Bits,” Jack whines, because while he knows that gleam in his eyes is trouble, he knows whatever Bitty does will be Spectacularly Hot, and all Jack really wants in that moment is to run his fingers down Bitty’s body and peel him out of his clothes. He wants to touch and tug and press light bruises into Bitty’s hips, run his thumb along the slick skin of Bitty’s lower lip. He wants he wants he wants.

“What do you want, Jack?” Bitty asks, smoothing his hands away from Jack’s cock (Jack whimpers because that’s the Opposite of what he wants) and up his chest instead. Bitty’s fingers on his skin are marvelous, really, but Jack wants More.

“I’d love it if you’d strip down too,” Jack says, panting. “And come closer so I can touch you.”

Bitty quirks an eyebrow, something Lardo no doubt taught him, and peels himself away from Jack. Jack watches him go with a moan, because now they aren’t touching at all, just Bitty kneeling between Jack’s spread thighs, and that’s Not what Jack wants.

Bitty settles his palms on his own thighs, then arches his back and drags them up his front, bunching his shirt in the process, fingers making a slow, treacherous path up to his neck. “Would you touch me like this?” Bitty asks, one hand settled in the hollow of his throat, fingers inching beneath the collar of his shirt. He’s rumpled and flushed pink and yes, Jack thinks, that’s how he’d touch him.

“Hold your horses, Mr. Zimmerman,” Bitty says, and the phrase makes Jack think of their cowboy hat for Some Terrible Reason, and then he figures he really is Dead because panties and that hat combined would be lethal.

“I thought Shitty was going to give us another cowboy hat,” Jack blurts, because apparently he’s incapable of appropriate dirty talk when faced with bondage. “He said this time it was indoors only attire.”

Bitty, thankfully, must think it’s endearing and somewhat relevant because he just laughs. “He was right, this is not Falconer’s publicist approved clothing. Another hat might be fun, though I thought you wanted me to take off clothes, not put on other ones.”

“You should take off your shirt,” Jack says, because he can get back on track, he Totally Can.

“Should I?” Bitty settles the hand not tracing his collarbone teasingly over the front of Jack’s underwear, close enough for Jack to feel the heat, but still not touching.

Jack grunts, hips twitching, and Bitty’s still wearing all his clothes, but the sweet frustration from the cuffs and the glide of fabric on his cock makes this so much more erotic than Jack had suspected. “If you’re going by what I would do, I’d definitely touch you under your shirt. Remove the shirt from the premise. Gone.”

“You’re right.” Bitty hums and dips his fingers lower, trailing across his collarbones. He starts unbuttoning his shirt with his other hand, giving Jack a teasing glimpse of the skin underneath. He slips it off his shoulders, lit beautifully by the fading sunlight.

“I would also take your pants off. Immediately.”

Bitty laughs again, probably at Jack’s eagerness to see him naked, but Jack can’t bring himself to care.

“Only because you’re in charge.” Bitty tugs open his slacks, a slow, aching reveal of skin that has Jack jerking at the cuffs.

It actually kind of hurts a bit, and Jack can feel his wrists getting sore even as they rub against the padding.

“Don’t stress yourself, sweetpea,” Bitty murmurs, abandoning his efforts with his pants to settle his hands back on Jack’s chest, a soothing touch that still blazes across Jack’s skin with such ferocity, he’s surprised there aren’t sparks. “I can’t let the captain of the Falconers start the season with a sex injury.”

Jack kind of feels like he’d wear a sex injury label with pride.

“Let me get out of these, and then we can discuss what you’d like me to use?”

Jack’s brain has to rewind a few steps before he remembers the note. And oh. Yeah. That sounds Great. More than Great. Jack’s brain doesn’t have a word better than Great, though, so he settles for whining only a little when Bitty pulls away.

“Whatever you want. Anything.”

Bitty hums as shucks his pants and underwear in one smooth movement, then bends over to dig through the bag. Jack’s got a Truly Fabulous view of his ass while he works, which, given the wink Bitty gives him over his shoulder, is absolutely intentional.

“I think,” Bitty says, tugging something sleek and blue out of the bag (because all their sex toys are blue, Bitty’s got a Thing for blue, Jack doesn’t question it), “I’d like to open you up and slide this inside, then open me up and slide you inside. Does that sound doable?”

“Super doable,” Jack says, and he’s fairly certain the words don’t sound too choked.

Bitty snags their bedside table drawer lube (significantly less full than their sofa side table lube or their barely touched kitchen drawer lube) and slicks up his fingers. And now they aren’t touching, Jack can sort of breathe again, even if breathing is all he can really do.

“If I didn’t think you’d come immediately, I’d eat you right out of these,” Bitty says, nodding at the panties Jack’s now certain are permanently stained with how much precome he’s leaking.

Jack makes an embarrassing noise, then desperately tries to regroup his thoughts.

“I’d like to revisit that plan when I’m not handcuffed to the headboard.”

“I think that can be arranged.” Bitty drops the dildo next to Jack on the bed and slings one leg over Jack’s waist, settling between his thighs. “Regretfully, though, I think they have to come off now. I’m worried we’ll tear them otherwise, and the first trip to the sex shop was traumatizing enough.”

“They had a good run,” Jack agrees, lifting his hips to help Bitty slide them back down one-handedly. They only make as far as Jack’s left ankle, but Bitty seems to decide they can stay there and scoots back a bit.

Bitty’s always been careful, always been slow and sweet and sure when he stretches Jack, and this time is no different. Every touch burns through Jack in the best way, heating him up from the inside out until he’s sweating and aching and full. Jack’s ass was meant to take Bitty’s fingers, Bitty’s cock, anything Bitty was willing to give. He’ll never be tired of the feeling. Even laying down, his legs feel weak.

“I’m good, Bits,” Jack says between clenched teeth, because he’s hanging onto a thin wire here, and if Bitty wants to fuck and be fucked at the same time, he’ll have to get moving.

Bitty--whose desire to fuck and be fucked must be Truly Great--slips out of him, leaving Jack empty and more than ready for the sleek blue dildo beside him.

“Should I put it in or open myself up first?” It’s the first time Bitty looks unsure about this whole production, and Jack would find it hopelessly endearing if his ass wasn’t so empty.

“Me first,” he says, which may or may not be logistically sound, but Jack has no desire to wait to be filled.

“If you come before you’re inside me, we’re going to have words,” Bitty says sternly, but his delight shines through the moment the dildo breaches Jack’s hole.

It’s thick, a little thicker than Bitty, whose dick Jack’s ass is intimately familiar with. It slides in with ease, though, because Bitty is Thorough and Dedicated to Jack’s pleasure and Jack can’t do anything but keen and cling to edge.

Bitty slides it in until he’s pleased, then withdraws his hand, leaving Jack full but still aching for movement, for friction, for something. Bitty sets about fingering himself open at a truly invigorating pace, or maybe Jack’s just lost all concept of time, too busy feeling full and watching Bitty open himself in the dying sunlight, kneeling over Jack like a god of pleasure, one Jack would be more than happy to worship for the rest of his life.

“You still good, sweetpea?” Bitty asks, forehead glistening with sweat, body arched beautifully over Jack.

“Just enjoying the view,” Jack pants, which makes Bitty swat at Jack’s chest and then settle his palm there to keep from tipping over.

“You’re doing great, Bits.”

“It’s a pretty good view from where I’m sitting,” Bitty says, sliding his lube-slick hand down over Jack’s cock. It’s not a fair maneuver, and it takes Jack several seconds to get his brain back in comeback-making order.

“I love you,” is what comes out, desperate and definitely not what people are supposed to say mid-fuck, but then Bitty lowers himself onto Jack’s cock and for Jack’s brain it’s Game Over.

Bitty rolls his hips, and he’s So Good at that too, so good at pressing down, grinding deep, riding Jack. And then, in a true show of dexterity and multi-tasking, Bitty twists and wraps his hand around the edge of the dildo still in Jack’s ass, thrusting out and then back in to match his own pumping hips with a brilliant alignment.

Jack is a gasping, sweaty mess, overwhelmed and hardly able to do more than breathe as the double sensation of a hot clench around his cock and the fullness inside him coalesces in the brilliant man above him.

“Bits,” he manages, frantic and Wanting. “Bits, please, I--”

He crests and arcs and shouts and they’re definitely going to get a noise citation from their neighbors.

Bitty doesn’t last much longer, grinding down as Jack comes inside him, painting stripes up Jack’s chest.

Then it’s just their harsh breathing in the room, offset by the occasional click of the cuffs against the headboard.

“We,” Bitty says, after he slumps down onto Jack, flushed and beautiful and pressing soft kisses to Jack’s chest and using gentle fingers to pull the dildo out, “are doing that again. So many times. In fact, I’m going to call in sick to work tomorrow so we can do this exact thing again.”

Jack thinks that’s the Greatest Idea, and he’d agree with Bitty vocally, but his shoulders are starting to ache and his inability to touch Bitty is Actually Going To Kill Him.

“Bits, can you…?” he shakes the cuffs again and Bitty startles.

“Oh, goodness, sorry Jack, you’re probably sore as all get out. I’ll get you out of there--where’d you put the key?”

Jack blinks, and it takes a moment for his sex-addled brain to think back to the box. The box on their kitchen table with nothing but a pair of handcuffs in it. No key.

“Son of a bitch,” Jack whispers. “I’m going to kill Shitty.”