It takes Jack a bit to notice. Which, given the vibrant red shade of Bitty’s lips, is kind of embarrassing on Jack’s part.
In his defense, the season opener is next week. His physical body is somewhere between his second and third protein shake, but his brain is absolutely running through practice, probably under the impression that Jack is still taking the longest shower of his life.
Jack’s so deep in plays he doesn’t even register the apartment door opening.
So when Bitty wanders into the kitchen, Jack doesn’t immediately register that anything is different. The plays and the shower and the protein shake and all that. It’s not his fault.
“You okay, sweetpea?”
Jack nods and hums when a pair of arms loops around his waist, a compact body pressed against his back.
Jack nods again, then the endless loop of practice plays in his head falters. The arms around his waist squeeze for a second and it’s almost like waking from a dream. His brain catches up with his location, and the plays drop their frantic race. He’s in their kitchen, Bitty wrapped around him, and things are good.
Bitty lets him go, and it gives Jack a few seconds to shake off the last of the plays clinging to his brain.
Jack sets down his protein shake (second? Third? He’s not even sure what flavor it is) and turns around.
Bitty’s elbow deep in their pantry, several ingredients stacked on the counter beside him.
“Hey, bud,” Jack says.
Bitty glances over his shoulder, and his already Bambi-esque brown eyes are Striking. He looks away before Jack can really process why. “There you are. I was wondering if I’d lost you to the hockey void for the day.”
“You pulled me out.” Jack watches Bitty tug another bag of chocolate chips out of the pantry. “I can spiral later.”
Bitty snorts. “Not if this goes my way, mister.”
“Have something in mind?” Jack’s brain has already skipped ahead to try and figure out what recipe Bitty’s putting together, and he thinks it might be one of Moomaw’s, or maybe Mary Berry’s. They make a lot of similar pastries.
Bitty turns around and looks up at him through his lashes and. Oh. It might not be a baking thing, it might actually be a sex thing. Which Jack is Very Okay with.
“I was thinking I’ve always wanted new ways to mark you up while we make out.”
He smiles, and that’s when it hits Jack that the angles of his face are sharper, the tinge of his lips is redder, that the black line around Bitty’s eyes isn’t just his imagination.
Bitty’s in their kitchen wearing a face full of makeup, and Jack has never felt more conflictingly aroused.
“Are you...wearing makeup?”
Bitty cocks his hip and smiles, lipstick bright. “You catch on fast, don’t you Mister Zimmermann. What do you think?”
“Bits,” Jack says slowly, and part of him wants to reach out and rub his thumb across Bitty’s cheek, see if the pink will streak across Bitty’s face or stay where it was put. See if his thumb will come away covered in blush. He wants to make a mess, but he can’t until he knows--“Is this something you want?”
Bitty falters, a frown pulling across his face. “Is it something you don’t?”
“That’s not it,” Jack says quickly, moving his hands down from where they’re floating in their air between them to rest against Bitty’s biceps. “You look incredible, you always do. But that’s the point--you’re always so beautiful. You don’t--I don’t want you to feel like you have to--” Jack’s stumbling over his words and Bitty’s looking more concerned the longer they stand there.
“You don’t have to do this,” Jack blurts, and he can almost hear Shitty’s lecture in his head. “You can if you want to, but you don’t have to.”
“What on Earth are you talking about, Jack Zimmermann?”
“I mean,” Jack lets go of Bitty and runs one hand through his hair. “You look amazing with or without the makeup, so I want you to know that. Because you are. Great.”
None of the words in his mouth are making any sense, but recognition dawns across Bitty’s face, so Jack thinks this might count as a victory. Maybe.
“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says slowly, and the eyeliner is really Doing Things to his eyes that Jack hadn’t even realized it could do. “Are you trying to give me Shitty’s ‘The Everyday Consent’ lecture, mashed into his rant about the beauty industry?”
And. Yeah. That’s probably a good summation of whatever Jack’s brain is trying to do, except for--
“And tell you how beautiful you are. Always.”
Bitty’s grinning up at him, looking exasperated and fond, and Jack is realizing just how often Bitty wears that expression.
“I just. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do something about your appearance if you don’t want to. I know I’m under a lot of scrutiny from the media, and that extends to you, but I never want you to feel like you have to be someone else for them.”
Jack feels kind of proud of himself for that speech. Years listening to Shitty have certainly helped his ability to articulate every so often.
Bitty smiles, and his eyes are soft, even with the black lines around them, and Jack loves him SO Much.
“I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do sweetpea, but Lardo did this for me because I pulled a note out of the box.”
“That’s not to say I wouldn’t wear it another time. It’s a weird feeling, but I’m not opposed.” Bitty shrugs. “But I will admit I was hoping you’d be more into it. I do love Shitty’s socially aware lectures, but not really as a precursor to sex with you.”
“Especially not if I butcher the speech.” Jack shuffles his feet.
“I’d let you try again, but I’m really more interested in seeing if covering you in lipstick kisses is as hot as I thought it would be?”
Jack gives Bitty a soft smile, because this boy is Beautiful and Understanding and Jack would think Bitty’s more than he deserves, but he’s been in enough therapy that the thought changes to how well they’re suited for one another and how well they fit together.
So Jack takes Bitty’s hand and leads him to their bed and decides that a makeup makeout session sounds like something he’s at least willing to try.
The lipstick doesn’t really change how Bitty’s lips feel under his. It has a somewhat perceptible taste, but the slick slide of Bitty’s tongue across his teeth quickly distracts him from that.
It’s hot breath and nipping lips and dragging skin and Jack wonders why they don’t spend every moment just kissing one another.
Jack settles his hands on Bitty’s lower back and pulls him closer, their bodies grinding and rolling.
Bitty pulls back after a bit, and Jack’s eyes are immediately drawn to the lipstick smears smudged across Bitty’s lips, a few streaks going so far as to reach towards his cheeks and jaw. Jack’s fairly certain his own face looks similar, given the way Bitty’s gaze is drawn to his mouth with a pleased glimmer.
“Have I been sufficiently marked?” he teases, rolling his hips up against Bitty’s.
Bitty grins wickedly and drags his thumb over Jack’s lower lip. “I can think of a few other places I’d like to mark you up.”
It all moves very quickly from there.
Jack strips out of his clothes. Bitty does too. Bitty reapplies his lipstick from a little tube he produces. Jack allows himself to recognize that the smudged lipstick around Bitty’s mouth paired with a fresh, neat application Does Things to him. Which. Okay. Cool.
But in the midst of all this, Jack doesn’t really see it coming. Bitty keeps dropping lines about marking him, and while he does leave clear lip prints over Jack’s heart and another just below his navel, it isn’t until Bitty has Jack spread out on his stomach, ass in the air, that Jack realizes Bitty’s True Intent.
Jack presses his forehead to the sheets and almost laughs.
“I never even fathomed I’d have lipstick anywhere near that part of my body.”
“It’s a wonder of a body,” Bitty replies, hands smoothing over Jack’s ass, thumbs spreading him apart. “And I meant what I said: I’ve always wanted to find new ways to mark you up.”
And then Bitty dives in, licking at Jack like a starving man.
It’s almost Too Much right away. Jack’s always been very sensitive there, especially when Bitty seems very keen on tongue-fucking him to death.
Bitty’s enthusiastic with this, the few times Jack has let him do it, and it now seems very apparent that Bitty’s goal is to get Jack as messy as possible in the process of making Jack come as quickly as he can. A double challenge, framed in a such a way that Jack knows there’s no way he’s coming out of this anything less than a sweaty, whining, lipstick covered, boneless mess.
He moans and buries his face in the sheets, and he can already feel his thighs shaking.
“Bits,” Jack gasps, wet saliva dripping down the back of his thigh, everything a wave of Too Much, Not Enough. “Bits, ah.” His words aren’t working again, but this time it’s because he’s fairly certain his brain has melted.
And then Bitty pulls away, gently licking at the rim of what Jack is sure is his thoroughly lipstick streaked hole, and the motion makes him shiver.
“You doin’ alright, sweetpea?” Bitty asks, and he sounds breathless, but Jack can’t look at him, can barely move he feels so turned on. His cock is thick and heavy between his legs, and it feels like his skin is buzzing.
Bitty slides one hand down Jack’s back, until his fingertips are between Jack’s shoulder blades. Jack arches into the touch, seeking More.
Jack groans and turns his head to try and see Bitty. And.
He was right. Bitty looks wrecked, although Jack is certain he looks the same, lipstick and spit smeared across his jaw. The eyeliner is still perfectly in place, and the eyeshadow around his eyes make Bitty look like some kind of sex demon. A sex demon who is Perfectly Welcome to spend eternity eating Jack out.
“I was wrong,” Jack gasps out, fingernails digging into the pillows. “You should always wear lipstick.”
Bitty laughs and ducks back down so his mouth is nearly back exactly where Jack wants it, breath dancing across his skin.
“The Zimmer-booty,” Bitty says, pressing a soft kiss to Jack’s thigh before nosing his way back to Jack’s hole, “deserves to be worshipped.”
Jack feels like he’s on fire, skin tingling Everywhere, but it all emanates from where Bitty’s tongue is flicking in and out of him, where Bitty’s making obscene noises and moaning against him, where Bitty Bitty Bitty is tearing him apart.
Bitty’s hand slides between Jack’s legs to grip his cock, and he’s coming Hard onto the sheets below him. His knees would give out if Bitty weren’t still holding him in an iron grip, tongue brushing against Jack’s rim until it’s Too Much, Way Too Much.
Bitty pulls back enough just to breathe on Jack, and even that feels overstimulating.
Through the haze of his orgasm and the loud sound of his lungs trying to catch up, Jack can hear the slick sound of Bitty jerking his cock.
Jack groans and manages to turn his head enough to watch as Bitty strips his cock frantically, eyes on Jack’s probably thoroughly marked hole.
He comes not long later, shoulders tensing, cock spilling over Jack’s ass. Jack can feel the mix of saliva and semen running down his thighs and almost asks Bitty to take a picture so he can see what the lipstick looks like. Almost.
His mouth isn’t really working though, so he lets himself go boneless, ignoring the wet patch beneath him in favor of silently convincing Bitty to get as close to him as possible.
Jack counts it as a win when Bitty collapses nearly on top of him, and they spend an almost alarming amount of time just trying to breathe.
“What did the note say?” Jack eventually asks, and while his lips are finally working, he’s not really sure the rest of his body will ever move again.
“Call Lardo about guyliner.”
“So she didn’t know which one of us would pick it out?”
Bitty laughs and tucks himself closer to Jack, hands splayed across his chest and nose rubbing against the back of his neck. “I’ll be honest, as much as she loved making me up, she seemed kind of disappointed that it wasn’t you who showed up on her doorstep.”
Jack hums. “Maybe some other time.”
Bitty’s fingers twitch, and Jack smiles.
“I thought you didn’t like makeup?”
“But you do.”
Jack can feel Bitty squish his face against Jack’s back, his arms tightening into a squeezing hug. “You’re perfect, Jack Zimmermann. With or without makeup.”
Jack would flip them and cover Bitty with kisses if he could move. But he can’t, so he settles for threading his fingers through Bitty’s.