Jack is convinced there are some things he’ll just never, despite valiant attempts, be good at.
Latticework on pies is one. Public speaking is another, although he’s gotten slightly better at that one. Wood carving is a definite entry on that list, despite Lardo’s insistence that his duck did, in fact, look duck-like.
And now, Jack supposes, after replaying the same youtube tutorial for the fifteenth time that afternoon, he can probably add stripping to that list.
He’s never had so much respect for strippers in his entire life as he does at this moment, sitting at the kitchen table, watching a woman and a man (Lauren and Steven, as they’ve perkily introduced themselves each time Jack restarted the video) instruct poor souls like himself how to properly move his body.
It didn’t work the first time he tried, after watching the video three times, or the second after the tenth viewing, but perhaps the third time will be the charm. He tries not to look at his sad, jerking reflection in the dark TV screen when he mimics Steven, because even just the occasional hip twitch he tries to watch himself perform is Embarrassing. Everything feels stiff and stupid and built for something else. Jack can skate and shoot and work harder than God, but dancing? Jack Zimmermann clearly wasn’t made for dancing.
But Jack “110%” Zimmermann will be damned if he doesn’t at least try to learn how to do a sexy striptease for his boyfriend. Life partner. Whatever. Jack really should put a ring on it.
He’s going to learn how to properly strip first though, because if he’s going to do any hip gyrations to Beyoncé, he’s going to at least do them adequately. Bitty will never forgive him otherwise.
It takes another three watch-throughs before Jack feels like he can even try again. He still feels stupid, standing in their kitchen in his running shorts, attempting to mimic the smooth motions of Steven’s hips. Jack is Not Smooth, apparently, and he feels like this should have been something his mother’s grace and his father’s charm should have helped him achieve. Alas, his ass refuses to cooperate, and he pauses the video, frustrated and kind of sweaty.
The note sits innocuously on the coffee table beside his laptop, probably well-intentioned and almost certainly intended for Bitty. But Jack was the unsuspecting idiot who pulled it out and now has to dedicate a rare free afternoon to learning how to gyrate his hips before Bitty gets home.
Jack considers putting it back in the box. He considers hiding it somewhere or throwing it away. Something that will save him from having to do a thing he Clearly Was Not Meant To Do.
Jack sighs and plays the video again.
He’s no closer to truly understanding the mastery of the striptease by that evening when Bitty comes home. But, in true hockey captain fashion, he did dedicate several hours to practice in the hopes that something will click at the right time.
It might not, but at least Jack still has his day job.
“Evenin’, sweetpea.” Bitty presses a quick kiss to his cheek before bustling around the apartment, calling to Jack from another room. “How was your day off?”
“Not as enlightening as I wanted it to be,” Jack admits, the note still out in the open. It’s his last chance to hide it, but Jack knows he won’t. “I pulled a note from the box.”
“Oh?” Bitty’s tone changes to one of Definite Interest, and after a moment he emerges from their bedroom in sweatpants and a soft t-shirt that Jack is fairly certain used to belong to him, with the way it hangs off Bitty’s shoulder enticingly. “And you got started without me?”
“I had to do research, Bits. This was a new ballpark for me.”
Bitty leans over the back of the couch and reaches for the note, which Jack dutifully hands to him. He scoots over so Bitty can sit beside him.
Bitty scans over the note as he moves around the couch to sit. Jack already knows what it says, and he can’t help but frown at the little slip of paper and wish, again, he’d pulled something else out.
Lap dance strip tease for the ages; generic stripper rules apply
Bitty laughs, sweet and delighted. “Oh, sweetpea.”
“You’d be better at it,” Jack says, and he means it. He’d much rather receive a lap dance from Bitty than give him one, but Jack has abided by rules his entire life. It’s a hard habit to break.
“Hush now, none of that. The good Lord didn’t give you that ass for nothing, Mr. Zimmermann. I’m sure I’ll enjoy it no matter what.”
“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, and he’s making Serious Eye Contact with Jack now, “you’re the sexiest boy I know, and I love you. I don’t care if your striptease is the worst to ever happen—”
“It might be.”
“—I will enjoy it because it’s you doing it. So show me what you got, sweetpea. I’ll probably be tearing your clothes off before you even finish your dance, anyway.”
Jack stands up. “That doesn’t really follow the generic stripper guidelines.”
Bitty raises an eyebrow and leans back into the couch. “And when did you become the expert on stripper rules?”
“It’s not—” Jack can feel his face heating up, and he knows Bitty’s joking, teasing him so the nerves sliding down his body will disperse, but it’s working. So Jack keeps talking, keeps letting himself get chirped, because this, Them, never fails to bring Jack home.
“Everyone knows you can’t touch strippers,” Jack says. “Shitty has a whole speech about respecting boundaries in the entertainment industry. I know you’ve heard it.”
“Am I going to be entertained tonight? Or are you going to give me Shitty’s speech?”
“Shitty’s lectures are entertaining.”
“They’re not sexy entertainment. Except maybe for Lardo. And Shitty.” Bitty sighs. “We really need to stop bringing them up during sex.”
“We both know how well it worked out the last time we used Shitty’s social commentary as foreplay.”
“At least I have my pants on this time.” Bitty shakes his head, still grinning up at Jack like there’s nowhere he’d rather be than sitting in their living room with Jack standing in front of him, ready to perform the most awkward striptease in the history of stripteases.
“I feel like I should tell you that I watched a youtube tutorial on how to do this.”
Bitty nods, like he expected this. “You are a well-researched man.”
“That’s also why I know the stripper rules. So no touching.”
“Bossy.” Bitty dutifully settles his hands at his sides, ankles crossed. “Anything else I should know?”
Jack thinks about the split-second decision he made before Bitty got home. The soft material under his jeans.
“Probably best if we just stick to one rule, since I doubt you’ll be able to follow it.”
“Jack Zimmermann, I am a southern gentleman who knows how to keep his hands to himself.” Bitty sniffs. “I love touching you, but I take it back—I won’t touch until the dance is done.”
“Is that a bet?” Jack asks, because he might not have confidence in his dancing ability, but he certainly has a High Competitive Drive.
“Maybe. What do I get if I win?” Bitty’s eyes drag down Jack’s front, and he hasn’t even started moving yet, but there’s a palpable shift in the atmosphere of the room.
Jack considers this, what he’s been hoping to get out of the evening.
“I’ll fuck you if you win,” Jack decides.
Bitty purses his lips, like he’s considering the offer. “And if I lose?”
“I ride you on the couch.”
“Well, with a deal like that,” Bitty says, grin impish, “how could I refuse? It seems like I can’t lose either way.”
“Oh, you’ll lose alright,” Jack says, and hits the button for their stereo system.
“Drunk in Love” starts playing and Bitty makes a small, delighted noise. If nothing else, Jack will get points for his music selection. That part was easy though. Making his hips match the beat is a completely different animal, one Jack Zimmermann is Fairly Certain he won’t be able to handle well.
But. He has a bet to win.
It starts out Awkward. Like. Supremely Awkward. Lauren and Steven had tried their hardest, but some things just didn’t come naturally to Jack Zimmermann.
But, as the song progresses, Jack finds it easier to just roll his hips and move, especially when the only one there to witness his Ridiculousness is Bitty, sitting there biting his lip like he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or not.
“You can laugh,” Jack says, raising his arms above his head and attempting a hip gyration that brings him closer to leaning over Bitty than standing in front of him. “I know I look ridiculous.”
“I’m not laughing because you look ridiculous,” Bitty says, laughter bubbling out of him. “I’m laughing because this is incredibly sweet of you, and regardless of how you think you look, I’m loving every second of this.”
And that’s. Sweet. It makes Jack’s chest feel warm, his hands more steady. But. A part of him—the competitive 110% part—doesn’t want Bitty to just laugh. He wants Bitty to reach out and tug Jack closer, to Want Him.
So Jack kicks it up a notch.
He peels off his t-shirt slowly, dragging his fingertips up his chest as he moves, flexing a bit, because, yeah, he knows his strengths.
Bitty hums then laughs when Jack twirls his shirt over his head.
“Maybe we should’ve broken out the cowboy hat.”
“It’s not too late,” Jack replies, turning around and trying out a little ass shake. “I don’t know if it matches the song choices, though.”
“We could put on “Daddy Lessons,” Bitty replies, and Jack turns back around to catch Bitty’s eyes lingering on his ass. “Although I don’t think that one has the striptease mood you’re trying to build.”
His fingers twitch as he speaks, and Jack has to force down a premature victory smile. He shuffles closer, trying out a flex, gyrating combination that gets him as close to Bitty as he can without touching him.
And then Jack realizes, as the temporary Very Bad At It stripper, generic stripper rules don’t apply to him. So he puts out one arm against the back of the couch to box Bitty in, and the other brushes across Bitty’s jaw.
Bitty, whose eyes are darker now when Jack gets closer, whose cheeks are just starting to turn pink, who’s sweatpants are looking a little tighter than when they started, who might be a little more affected by this than he or Jack expected.
“It doesn’t count if you’re touching me,” Bitty breathes, leaning into Jack’s touch, and Jack can’t fault him for that.
“I can touch, you can’t, that’s the generic stripper rule.”
“I don’t think strippers do any touching either,” Bitty teases, nipping at Jack’s wrist.
“We have to have some of our own standards.”
Jack slides forward until he’s hovering just over Bitty, knees against the couch, tracing his thumb along Bitty’s jaw. He gets to Bitty’s lips, bitten red and so, so soft, and without missing a beat Bitty pulls his thumb in, tonguing along the pad of it.
Jack groans, dropping his forehead down to rest against Bitty’s, watching Bitty wrap his tongue around more of Jack’s thumb, reeling him in like he’s going to swallow Jack whole. Jack probably wouldn’t even fight it.
“Jack,” Bitty says around Jack’s thumb, and his mouth is so wet, so pink and soft and Jack wants to do so much with him. “Jack, keep moving.”
And, yeah, whoops, Jack did stop tugging his clothes off and rolling his hips, too enthralled with Bitty’s mouth on his thumb to Actually Do Anything. But Bitty has that effect on him. He’s all of Jack’s fantasies come to life, with the added bonus of baked goods everywhere.
Jack pulls his thumb out of Bitty’s mouth, because nothing else will get done so long as that’s happening. He tries to find a rhythm again, some sort of hip gyration he’s hoping looks at least slightly more sexy than hilarious now that he’s lost his groove.
Bitty’s grinning, so it’s probably leaning more towards hilarity, but whatever. Jack is still peeling clothes off his body. Bitty’s still tenting his pants. Beyoncé is still playing, because Jack is not above using Bitty’s “Sex (Beyoncé)” playlist to his advantage. It’s a Good Time.
Jack hooks his thumbs in his waistband and tugs down, because Bitty loves the v of his hips, and sure enough, his eyes zero in on the skin exposed.
Jack laughs, feeling high on Bitty and this Ridiculous situation and because he knows he’s about to Blow Bitty’s Mind.
He unzips his jeans and Bitty audibly gasps.
“Jack Zimmermann. You cannot expect me to sit here doing nothing while you’re wearing those.”
Jack laughs again, flush and proud and aching in Bitty’s hungry gaze, the soft material of his panties just visible enough to drive them both wild.
“You’ll have to if you expect me to finish.”
“You’re cruel. A terror, really.”
Jack cocks his hip and tugs his jeans down a little more. “Am I?”
“An absolute menace,” Bitty says, his eyes never leaving the material barely holding Jack’s cock in place. He’s already straining against the material, and each inch he tugs his pants down feels Glorious.
Bitty runs his tongue over his lower lip, and Jack knows he’s teasing him right back, that both of them want nothing more than to get their hands on the other person, but it’s a fun game. And Jack’s competitive enough to know that he doesn’t want to be the one to crack.
Bitty might think he can hold out, but his track record for impulse control means Jack will probably win this one.
So Jack slows down his rolls, eases his pants down as slowly as he can, barely revealing any more material as he goes.
Bitty’s fingers flex at his sides and Jack can almost taste his victory.
Then Bitty surprises him.
“Fuck it,” Bitty says, surging up to grip the back of Jack’s head and drag him in for a harsh kiss. “I want you to ride me more than I care about winning.”
Jack hums into the kiss and almost breaks it with a smile.
His pants are indelicately shoved off and Jack settles his knees on either side of Bitty’s hips, neck bent to keep kissing.
Bitty’s hands almost immediately drop to his ass, fingers tracing the lace edges, digging into his cheeks, spreading him apart.
“Honey, if you didn’t have to change in front of a bunch of hockey players on a regular basis, I’d insist you wear these all the time.” One of Bitty’s hands snakes around the front to rub at Jack’s cock through the fabric, a damp patch growing as he strokes.
“You’d think I’d be better at stripping since I do it so often in the locker room.”
“Lord, Jack, please tell me you aren’t doing any of that in the locker room.”
“Tater would never forgive me for learning a routine without him.”
Bitty laughs, the hand not currently working Jack’s cock at a shiveringly slow pace settling just over the fabric covering Jack’s hole. “Were you serious about riding me?”
“I never joke about riding.”
“Jack, we had a whole sexual interaction that was just cowboy jokes.”
Jack throws his head back and laughs, trying to move his hips to encourage action on either side of him, Bitty’s hands teasing and relentless.
Bitty presses a kiss on his sternum, right between his nipples, and smiles up at him. “Can you reach the couch lube without getting off my lap?”
Jack scoffs, because of course he can. He just has to lean and stretch a bit further than his body wants him to. But he does it.
And Bitty seems grateful, even if it is hiding under how amused he looks when Jack rights himself, the bottle of lube clutched triumphantly in his hand. Bitty’s hand somehow remains on his ass the entire time, because Jack is Goal Oriented, but so is Bitty.
“Can we—” Bitty’s face reddens and he ducks his head, pressing another kiss to Jack’s skin, like by trailing his lips up and down Jack’s sternum he can avoid whatever question he has.
“Can we what?” Jack asks, not to be deterred, even if he tangles his hand in Bitty’s hair to keep him breathing warm and wet against him.
“Can you keep the panties on while I fuck you?”
Jack blinks, and his brain sort of feels like it’s. Done. Gone. Vacated the premise.
Fortunately, his body is still Very Present, and he can feel himself nodding enthusiastically, rubbing himself against Bitty as those lovely, deft fingers tug the fabric aside. It tightens deliciously against Jack’s cock, and then it’s a double sensation again, Bitty’s fingers tracing over his hole.
And maybe Bitty’s as Wildly Turned On as Jack is, because he’s almost rushed with how quickly he stretches Jack. Methodical and teasing is Bitty’s usual Fingering MO, but this time—
This time he’s pushing in a little sooner, bouncing back a little faster, looking eagerly between Jack’s face and the blue panties barely holding him in. And it’s Good, So Good. Jack can feel himself squeezing his thighs, rocking back and forth, fucking himself back onto Bitty’s fingers like he’s never ridden anything better. Even though he knows he’ll be riding something better soon.
Bitty’s other hand squeezes Jack’s hip, his thumb tracing the edge of the panties, pulled taut and stained at the front, and it’s not enough, but for now it’s Good.
Then Bitty’s tugging his fingers out, and Jack realizes he’s got one hand buried in Bitty’s hair and the other gripping the couch life a lifeline, like a fool, and realizes he could have both hands on Bitty.
So while Bitty takes a moment to tug down his sweatpants, hard cock bobbing between them, Jack puts his other hand on Bitty, settling along his jaw, the place it had been when he interrupted his own striptease, thumb teasing Bitty’s bottom lip.
And Bitty sucks that thumb into his mouth right as he pushes up into Jack, and it’s warm suction and stretched fullness and Bitty .
“Jack,” Bitty gasps, panting wetly against his chest, both hands gripping his hips now, slipping against the fabric. He thrusts up, and as he pushes deeper into Jack, Jack’s brain comes back online, reconnecting long enough to brilliantly remind him that the most important part of a striptease is the hip motions.
And boy did Steven and Lauren teach him some good ones.
So Jack starts up a dirty grind, using every body roll he learned, ever trick Lauren suggested, and the sound Bitty makes beneath him is Indescribable.
It drags heat to Jack’s gut, makes him Want, makes him feel like he’s hurtling towards the edge, but he wants Bitty to get there first, Bitty to meet him there, because that’s what this has always been about, what it will always be about. Jack and Bitty.
So Jack fucks himself back onto Bitty’s dick and chases the friction against his chest and revels in the way Bitty lets out punched gasps, driven to nothing but, “Jack, ah, ah, Jack, fuck, Jack!”
And then Bitty’s spilling inside of him, hot and wet and gripping Jack tightly.
Jack keeps moving, keeps up a brutal pace, rutting against Bitty, the fabric of his panties catching and rubbing and it’s So Good.
Then Bitty slides his hand in and it’s game over.
Jack comes between them, sticky and wearing stretched out, stained panties, but sated and full and Pleased.
He doesn’t bother to climb off Bitty, just slumps against him, pressing lazy kisses to his temple, his hair, whatever parts of him he can reach.
Bitty, for his part, doesn’t complain about being squished between Jack and the couch, just trails his palms up Jack’s back, breathing heavily against him.
“I think that was a successful striptease,” he says, voice muffled a bit by Jack’s broad chest.
“I didn’t even get to finish.” Jack laughs, his breath ruffling Bitty’s already sex-mussed hair.
“The purpose of a striptease,” Bitty says, still panting a little bit, flushed pink and exuberant, “is to turn on the viewer. And I was adequately turned on. A victory.”
“I still didn’t get to finish,” Jack repeats.
“Do you want to?”
Jack smooshes himself closer to Bitty until his face is tucked against the side of Bitty’s neck, their arms and legs entwined enough that he almost isn’t sure where his body ends and Bitty’s begins.
He has no desire to do anything but this.
“Nah, I’m good. I won the bet, that’s all I needed.”
He can’t see Bitty roll his eyes, but Jack knows he does.