It’s been two weeks and Jack kind of feels like he might explode.
“It can’t have been that long.”
Jack sighs into his phone, stretching his toes out to the end of his stupid hotel bed. “You lived at the bakery last weekend, and I was in Chicago earlier that week.”
Bitty ruffles something on his end of the phone. “But the weekend before that—”
“I was in Detroit. And then you had meetings that went late.”
Jack knows. His sex radar might not always be completely calibrated, but ever since the season started he’s been hyper-aware of the time he and Bitty get to spend together. Or, in this case, lack thereof.
And he knows for a Fact that it’s been two weeks since sex of any kind. Two Weeks. And the last thing they did—two weeks ago—was exchange lazy shower handjobs. Which, don’t get him wrong, had been Great, but. Jack misses Bitty, and he’s more than willing to admit he’s missing him and the Awesome Sex they have.
“Huh.” The shuffling on Bitty’s end stops. “I guess it has been a while since I mentioned a note to Lardo. Shitty’s been crashing our brunch session since you’ve missed the last few, and he’s been very persistent about his spreadsheet. I think Ransom helped him put it together, although I don’t know what on Earth he told that boy about the box—”
“Bits.” Jack settles his hand over himself, and he’s not hard, not when Bitty’s rambling about spreadsheets and brunch. He’d kind of hoped that this phone call would be Something Else.
“Sorry, sweetpea.” Bitty lets out a breath. “I think I’m just a little worked up since we keep missing each other. Ships in the night and all that.”
Jack swallows. This is a direction he can work with.
“We could work off some of that energy if you want.”
Bitty’s silent for a moment, then, “What did you have in mind, Mr. Zimmermann?”
And Jack’s not really had to be too wildly creative, not since the box showed up and created situations for them. So he maybe didn’t think this far through, because before the box, phone sex had just been phone sex. Now, it’s Phone Sex, and kind of a production. But Jack likes it, wants something a little bit different. Controlled Spontaneity. Just Jack’s speed.
Bitty apparently correctly interprets where Jack’s silent thoughts had been headed, because the shuffling starts up again, but this time it includes by a sound Jack is Very Familiar with: the opening of a wooden box.
“Are you looking through the notes?” Jack doesn’t mean to sound so eager, but at this point his dick is having a Pavlovian response to the box being opened.
“No spoilers,” Bitty replies. “But I do know for a fact that there’s a note related to our particular predicament in here somewhere.”
“Lardo dropping hints?”
“Shitty actually. He strongly suggested that I take the time to make sure both you and the box got some of my attention tonight. Which. Please come home soon, because I don’t know how much more of Shitty-and-Lardo brunch I can take. I need an even number to make sure they don’t gang up on me, and Dex won’t come to another one. He says he’s still scarred from the last time.”
“Less talking about our friends during foreplay, please. Although, I think Ford might be a good fix for that, if you ever need another possible sex talk plus one.”
“That’s what Chowder said.” Bitty huffs a small laugh and then hums triumphantly. “Found it.”
“What’s it say?”
Bitty laughs again. “Lonely hotel room tryst turned love shack away from home.”
“Poetic. And possibly grammatically incorrect?”
“Definitely Shitty’s handwriting. Should we turn on Baz Luhrmann in the background?”
“Only if we’re filming this one too.” And that sounds nice; a video of Bitty for when Jack’s away from him, something that can let Jack pretend for even just a second that he can touch Bitty’s skin, sweaty and flushed.
It’s been a Long Two Weeks.
“I think not,” Bitty says. “I know for a fact that Tater goes through your phone regularly. You’re lucky I let you keep a few even remotely scandalous pictures.”
“Bits.” He’s not whining, but his hand isn’t going to do it without Bitty tonight. At this point, nothing feels quite right without Bitty.
“Okay,” Bitty laughs, and there’s some more shuffling. “I get it, I’m horny too. Kickstart something, honey.”
And. Jack doesn’t really feel like the note is pulling its weight here, just suggesting phone sex. They were probably going to do that anyway. So he’s back where he started, feeling like he has to start their conversation with a cliche.
“What would you do if I was there?” he asks, and winces. Very Smooth, Zimmermann.
“Probably bake you a pie.”
Jack laughs, and he should have known that wouldn’t work. “Bits, I’m trying.”
“Sorry, I know, but the grocery list is on the counter and I got a little sidetracked.”
“Why are you in the kitchen?”
“You say that like we don’t regularly have sex in this kitchen.”
Jack rolls his eyes. “Is that what we’re doing now? Having phone sex in the kitchen?”
“I cleaned it today, so that’s a hard no.”
“I’ve got something hard for you,” Jack teases.
“Jack Zimmermann, did you come up with that one by yourself? Or is there a pizza delivery guy from a seventies porno feeding lines into your hotel room?”
“The only other man here is a big Russian guy, but he won’t be back until later.”
“Did you sexile Tater?” Bitty sounds scandalized, like he hasn’t called Tater himself and instructed him to leave Jack’s hotel room on past roadies.
“What? No, he’s out enjoying whatever New Jersey has to offer. If anything, I think he sexiled himself. There was a lot of eyebrow wiggling right before he left.”
They’re completely sidetracked now, and it’s not unfortunate, not really, because Jack is more than willing to talk to Bitty about anything and everything at any time. He’d be okay if they did nothing but talk tonight. But. Two Weeks.
“We’ve run off the rails again,” Bitty says, and there’s more shuffling in the background, and Jack figures they’re probably done trying for the night, if what they were doing could even be considered trying.
Jack huffs. “Why does this feel so awkward? We’ve had phone sex before.”
“Sweetpea, I don’t know what to tell you.” Bitty’s grinning, Jack just knows he is. Because of course it’s Hilarious, even if it is also Unfortunate.
“Maybe it’s the note putting pressure on us. Or us putting pressure on ourselves.” Jack sighs.
There’s more shuffling over the line, but Bitty remains silent.
Jack doesn’t bother to take his hand off himself, even if nothing is stirring down there. Tater will be gone at least another hour, so if nothing else Jack can just. Sit there. With his hand on his junk.
It’s kind of pathetic sounding when phrased like that. Especially after they already pulled a note from the box.
“You still there, sweetpea?”
Jack hums. Maybe he’ll just go to sleep early. The note will hold. They don’t exactly expire.
“Good, because I just got out that dildo, you know the blue one?”
Jack sits up. He definitely knows that dildo. He knows that dildo biblically.
“I’m going to need an answer if you want this to go any farther.”
“Yes,” Jack says, because he Does want this to go farther, Very Badly.
“Good. I’m all focused now, so maybe now we can try again?”
Jack snorts. “Did you put the grocery list away?”
There’s a telling pause.
“Do you want me to put the dildo away too?”
“No.” Jack laughs again and rubs his palm over the front of his sweats, where things are finally starting to Take Notice.
Bitty makes a smug noise. “That’s what I thought. I’m going to strip now, you wanna join me?”
Jack looks down at the only clothes he’s wearing, his sweatpants. He hooks his thumbs in his waistband and tugs them down just enough to expose his cock, leaving the fabric stretched around his thighs. “I’m good like this. You want a picture?”
“Mr. Zimmermann,” it’s Bitty’s scandalized voice, over dramaticized, and Jack can almost hear him smiling. “This is a purely audio interaction. No pictures, you’ll have to use your words.”
Jack grins and wraps a hand around himself, not stroking, just enough contact to keep things moving. “Okay, Bits, whatever you say. What’s happening at the love shack home location?”
There’s the definitive sound of a bottle being opened, a click that makes Jack regret agreeing to audio only.
“Just warming up. I’m naked now, and I’ll have you know I haven’t given up my squat routine. Ransom even said I’ve been a little overzealous lately, but now that I know we had a two-week dry spell, it makes sense. So I’m looking good.”
“Are you sure we can’t do pictures?”
Bitty laughs. “Jack, you saw me two days ago.”
“But I didn’t look at your ass two days ago,” Jack whines.
“Jack Zimmermann, I look at your ass every day and I expect that to be reciprocated.”
“I’ll stare at your ass for an hour when I get home, I promise, just tell me what you’re doing?”
Bitty sighs, another dramatic noise Jack is fairly certain is only happening because he can’t see Bitty’s face. “If you must know, I’m—” he whimpers, and Jack is Very Invested now, So Invested.
“Bits,” Jack prompts, stroking himself, and the friction is too much without lube, but he can’t get up and get it now, not with Bitty making soft pleasured noises in his ear.
“I’m—ah—opening myself up. Two fingers now.”
And if Jack closes his eyes he can picture it, Bitty sprawled across their bed on his side, one hand resting on his stomach, just barely grazing his hard cock, the other working inside his ass, two fingers moving in and out with increased speed. He’s probably dripping, both from his cock and the lube in his ass, Bitty’s always a little overzealous with that, creating a slick slide that Jack would love to glide his fingers along too.
Bitty moans, and Jack swipes his thumb over the head of his cock. His other hand is gripping his phone so tightly it’s white-knuckled, as if by sheer strength and force of will Jack can bring Bitty to him through the phone.
“You sound so good, Bits,” Jack says. “So good.”
“Are you touching yourself, Jack Zimmermann?”
And how Bitty manages to sound teasing with two fingers in his ass, Jack will never know. Somehow chirping each other in bed has become a solid pillar of their relationship, and Jack wouldn’t change it for the world.
“I am,” he says, because Bitty’s giving him something, he should give back. “Just a hand on my dick.”
“That’s it?” Bitty tsks. “Put me on speakerphone and put your other hand to good use. For example, I’m—ooh, ah, fuck, Jack—”
Jack groans, and he wants to hear what Bitty’s doing with his other hand, he Really Does, but the sounds he’s making are delicious, and Jack’s pretty certain he’d be able to come just listening to Bitty gasp and moan.
Jack tightens his hand around himself and then does as Bitty instructed, setting his cell phone on the pillow beside his head, Bitty’s now slightly staticy groans coming through louder.
“You good, bud?”
Bitty pants into the phone, then says, “Yeah, I added a third finger, and it’s good, it’s full, but it’s not you. Come home and fuck me, Jack.”
Jack swipes a thumb over the head of his cock, and he’s leaking a lot now, the friction slick and lovely. “I will, Bits, I’m home the day after tomorrow, then we can do that, we can do whatever you want.”
Bitty moans. “I’m holding you to that. I want you, but I suppose this dildo will have to do for now.”
He’s not jealous of a dildo. That would be ridiculous. It’s blue rubber. He’s a multi-million dollar earning NHL captain. He’s a Stanley Cup winner. He’s got the greatest partner in the world.
A partner who’s sliding that blue dildo into his own ass too many miles away from Jack, a dildo that gets to be where Jack isn’t.
Fuck. Jack is jealous of a dildo.
Jack can picture Bitty, probably rolling his hips minutely as he presses the dildo inside himself, flushed pink all the way down to his chest, other hand doing—
“What’s your other hand doing, Bitty?”
Bitty huffs, half a laugh, half a whimper, and Jack can hear rustling sheets now, can picture Bitty rolling onto his stomach, legs parted, knees bent, his beautiful ass raised just enough that Bitty can have a good angle for pressing that dildo in and out.
“It was pinching my nipples,” he says. “But now it’s holding onto the sheets so I can—” he makes a punched out panting noise, and Jack knows, he just Knows what Bitty’s doing— “fuck myself properly.”
Jack rolls his hips, lifting them up, a poor imitation of what Bitty’s doing on the other end of the phone. He twists his wrist on each stroke, chasing the sound of Bitty’s pleasure.
“Keep going, bud, you’re doing so good,” Jack says, because he has to give Bitty something, anything to match what Bitty’s giving him. “How’s it feel?”
“Not as good as you.”
And it’s a dildo, Jack knows that, but it still strokes his ego a bit. It still makes him ache to be home in a little apartment in Providence, where his bed is warm and full of squirming, pleasured Bitty.
“My hand is a pretty poor substitute, too,” Jack concedes, even as said hand is pushing him closer to the edge, his toes curling as he speeds up.
Bitty’s breathing faster too, and Jack can picture it in his mind, the frantic push and pull, weaving a hand between his legs to stroke himself as the dildo presses against that spot inside of him.
“Jack, Jack, I’m—ah—I’m—”
“Me too,” Jack gasps. “Me too, Bitty, I’m here, this—you’re so good, I—”
Jack’s not sure when Bitty comes, whether he did before or after Jack, because it got a little blurry in the end, and the curse of just audio is he can’t look over at Bitty’s pleasure flushed face, kiss the red staining his cheeks, help him ease the dildo back out, pull him close and warm and sated, and—
“You okay, Jack?”
“Yeah.” Jack sucks in a breath and sinks, boneless, into his bed. “Yeah, I’m good. You?”
There’s a pause, and Jack can picture Bitty easing the dildo out of himself, slow and easy, probably covered in lube. He’ll have to shower, and that’s just thing another Jack wishes he was there to be a part of.
“I’m good. Not bad for love shack tryst phone sex.”
Jack shakes his head and smiles. “We’re having a sex marathon when I get home. I’m serious, only getting up for food, maybe. We’re fucking in every room.”
Bitty laughs. “I’ll find the blueprints. Maybe borrow Shitty’s spreadsheet.”
Jack smiles softly, tugging the phone closer and closing his eyes, like if he pretends hard enough Bitty will suddenly be there beside him.
“You should get some sleep,” Bitty says. “You’ve got a game tomorrow.”
“And you’ve got blueprints to find.”
Bitty laughs again, a little distorted through the line, but warm and there.
“Good night, sweetpea. I love you.”
“Love you too, Bits.” Jack yawns.
He knows he has to get up and get himself in order before Tater comes back. He knows he should review practice tapes and game day stats. But for just a moment, Jack can let himself lay in bed, sated, and pretend that Bitty’s breathing over the phone is him beside Jack, warm and home.