It starts as a weird side-conversation in the Falconer’s locker room that Jack isn’t even part of.
“Yeah, Bridget’s been suggesting it for a while now,” Snowy says, casually lacing up his skates. “I didn’t think she was serious at first because it’s all kinds of gross in here, but she keeps bringing it up.”
Poots blinks at him like he hasn’t been following the conversation, and while Jack won’t admit to eavesdropping, he’s a little confused as well. “What?”
Snowy gestures to the room around them. “Fucking in the locker room.”
And. Something like that had never even occurred to Jack before. The locker room is a workspace. It’s a sweaty, hockey player filled office of sorts. Not a place to have sex.
Except suddenly Jack feels like that would be the best thing. A combination of two of Jack’s favorite things in a way he hasn’t gotten to have them before. He’s been in locker rooms with Bitty before, as teammates, as unlikely friends, but never as what they are now. Never with the potential to do a different kind of sweaty activity.
His brain won’t stop creating images, flashing scenes of the two of them, rocking together in the locker room; Jack, flushed with victory, pads half-on. Bitty, sprawled underneath him, naked and wanting. This familiar place around them. They found each other through hockey, it would only be fitting to celebrate that in a place that feels like home.
He stops those thoughts in their tracks though, because there’s one factor he has to take into account before he lets himself dream and it is that Bitty would Never Ever go for it.
It’s gross in here. Jack knows that. Everybody on their team knows that. And it’s a shared, public space, ergo probably rude to fuck in. Bitty’s manners and aversion to what might possibly be the room equivalent of the Haus green couch means that he’ll never agree to something like this.
Across the room, Snowy and Poots haven’t noticed that Jack has essentially frozen in place, and keep talking.
“Bro. That’s kinda gross. I wouldn’t wanna bring a girl in here. Or a guy.” Poots looks around for Jack and nods at him, which is his way of trying, so Jack can’t really fault the guy for singling him out. And the threat of attention gets Jack moving again.
“She keeps saying we can clean it a bit first. Fuck on the bench or something.” Snowy wrinkles his nose and casts an unsure glance toward the locker room stalls, most of which are filled with their teammates. They work at a very high tech stadium, but hockey locker room stalls are hockey locker room stalls. “I’m just not sure if it would be possible.”
“Oh, it’s definitely possible.”
And. Apparently, Jack isn’t the only one listening in, because the entire locker room turns to look at Marty, a variety of dismayed expressions gracing their features.
“Dude,” Poots says softly, brokenly. “Gabby’s like my mom. Don’t do this.”
Marty just chuckles and continues lacing up his skates, unfazed. “For your sake, I’m not going to tell her you said that. But she’s not embarrassed. We were maybe a little bit creative in my first few years here, and Gabs owns up to it. You can ask her about it sometime.”
“Years? Oh, God.” Snowy hops away from the nearest stall, as though early Falconer Marty sex germs are still lingering.
“I’m never going to be able to talk to Gabby again,” Poots whispers, looking horror-struck.
“You guys were literally just talking about fucking in the locker room.” Guy rolls his eyes.
“Yeah, but Marty’s—”
Jack ducks out of the room before he has to hear more about Marty and Gabby’s sex life, brain still lingering on fantasies of Bitty and the locker room, a forbidden mingling of Jack’s two favorite things.
“I know look,” Tater says, appearing behind Jack and clapping him on the shoulder. “Itty Bitty steal your heart and your balls.”
Jack frowns. “No?”
“Yes.” Tater nods. “Now you only want sex with him. He steal your balls.”
“That’s not what that means.”
And the sort of semi Jack had been sporting is dead. Thank you, Tater. At least he can probably get through practice now.
“Is okay, Zimboni. You and little baker can do ball-stealing in locker room, I help.”
Jack sighs heavily and resigns himself to having more friends invested in his and Bitty’s sex life than is probably healthy.
Jack has a plan.
He’s got two keys from Tater in his pocket, one for one of the stadium side doors and another to the locker room, obtained in some unknown fashion. Jack doesn’t ask questions anymore, not after knowing both Shitty and Tater for as long as he has.
He also has a hastily printed schedule for the next week, times workers come in, times solo practice is set, and the times when no one will be at the stadium. Because Jack doesn’t share and he’s not about to start.
As it turns out, though, he doesn’t even really need his plan.
Bitty’s sitting on the arm of the couch when Jack comes in, ankles crossed and expression perplexed. There’s a note in his hands, and Jack feels the now familiar warm sensation throughout his body that’s probably a Pavlovian response to folded up pieces of paper.
“Hey, Bits.” He presses a kiss to Bitty’s temple as he passes, keys in one pocket, schedule in the other, both burning their way through his athletic shorts. He has to be patient, though, because it’s no use springing anything on Bitty when his brain is clearly busy doing something else.
“Hey,” Bitty mumbles back, eyes not leaving the note. The only indication that he’s aware of Jack’s proximity at all is that he leans toward him, head settling in for what looks like a permanent residence against Jack’s shoulder.
Bitty hums. He’s holding the note at a tilted angle so Jack can’t read it, despite how close they are, and that starts a thrumming in Jack’s veins. They had wicked closet sex the last time Bitty was this perplexed by a note, and Jack wouldn’t mind a repeat, even if his keys and schedule and weirdly overinvested friend are telling him other things.
“You want to share with the class?” Jack prompts, nudging Bitty’s head with his shoulder, and that finally seems to dislodge Bitty from his temporary residence in foggy uncertainty.
“Oh.” Bitty flushes crimson and waves his hand, the note fluttering as he moves. “Well. I drew a note from the box. Which, you probably already guessed. But I picked this note and I’m not really sure what to think about it. It affects you a little more than me, so. I should probably know what you think.”
Jack plucks the note from Bitty’s fingers and reads it. Then he reads it again. Because there’s no way.
Locker rooms were taboo in college, but maybe not in the big leagues?
Fate, or maybe Shitty being unerringly perceptive, is apparently shining down on Jack.
Jack swallows, not sure if he’ll be able to play this off as casually as he’d like to. He could pretend, say he’ll look into getting information and come home tomorrow with the keys and the plans. He could wait, claim he’ll find a time for them and just pick something from the schedule. He could do either of those things.
Instead, Jack Zimmermann, Honest Man and Dumbass, upends his pockets and holds the contents out for Bitty to see.
“Tater wants to help us be like Marty and Gabby,” he says, honesty and dumbassery shining through in more ways than one.
Bitty looks up at him, eyebrows at his hairline, mouth dropped open, blinking rapidly. “Jack…?”
Jack shakes his head. “I didn’t even know it was a thing I wanted to try until Snowy brought it up. It’s a total coincidence that there was a note in the box for locker room sex.”
“Is that something you want?” Bitty’s looking at him with an unreadable expression now, and Jack starts to sweat a bit. Because he’d expected resistance, maybe expected to never do it, but he didn’t see Bitty being judgmental about this at all. Not after everything else they’ve done.
“I mean,” Jack looks down at the keys in his hands and realizing they’re shaking. Or he is. “I guess—but only if you—I mean—”
“Jack.” Bitty’s hands close over his, pulling them to his chest so that all Jack can feel is the way Bitty’s heart is pounding inside him. “Sweetpea, it’s okay, I’m not—I just thought you wouldn’t. It’s your workplace, I’m not even sure how we’d make it work logistically, but I didn’t want you to think I was invading on—”
“You’re not,” Jack says, and his voice is still a little shaky, but he hands are steady, gripping Bitty’s like he doesn’t ever want to let go. “I didn’t think you’d want to, so I—”
They stand there, words tripping over themselves and each other, cluttering the space between them until Jack laughs, a little tense, a Lot Relieved, and steps closer to Bitty, a warm line between Jack and the couch.
Bitty laughs too. “Good Lord, it’s a wonder we do anything new around here.”
“Shitty did say the purpose of the box was to make us more adventurous.”
“What is adventure without a little anxiety?” Bitty rolls his eyes, but it’s fond, a recognition that the two of them aren’t perfect, probably won’t ever be, but at the very least they can have creative sex and Love each other.
“Do I still need to give you the list of reasons we should do it?” Jack asks.
“Maybe just the first one.”
“I think it would be ridiculously hot.”
Bitty laughs, head tipped back to look at Jack. “I’m convinced.”
“Great, because Tater already thinks we’re going to bone in the locker room all the time, so we might as well do it at least once.”
“Apparently we aren’t the only ones, though—what were you saying about Gabby and Marty?”
“You’re sure nobody else is here?” Bitty asks again, hand gripping Jack’s with an iron grip.
“I triple checked the schedule and asked the maintenance crew one more time to be safe. Those brownies you made them have essentially promised us at least four hours.”
“Lord, how we’ll use all that time, I don’t know.”
Jack tugs Bitty around the empty corridor corner, the fluorescents giving everything a brighter glow than normal, completely silent in a way Jack has never heard it before. “I can think of a few things.”
Bitty smacks his shoulder but grins, blush staining his cheeks as the two of them sneak around corners and tiptoe down hallways, feeling like teenagers sneaking around again.
It hasn’t been so long that Jack can’t look at Bitty and see him as he was in college, blonde hair still soft, face so young, so open and glowing. It’s like early mornings at Faber, if their physical contact had been a little less checking oriented. Jack likes to think, every so often, that maybe something could’ve bloomed between them sooner. That maybe, in another reality, or another lifetime, they had all of college to sneak around rinks and steal kisses in hallways.
But they have here, now, where Jack has a permanent home, both with Bitty and the Falconers, those two things converging in the most quintessentially Jack way possible.
“You said this place was cleaned, right?” Bitty asks, peering around the locker room when Jack finally pushes open the door, giddy and drunk on Bitty’s giggly kisses. Because even if Bitty was interested, Jack had been right about his conditions. At least it doesn’t smell as terrible as Jack was afraid it would.
“I came in with a bottle of 409 yesterday and found Tater scrubbing my stall down. I think he and Marty have a bet on whether Snowy or I will be the one to use the locker room first.”
“Lord, if there’s a baby conceived in the Falconer’s locker room.” Bitty shakes his head, but he can’t manage to hide the grin that’s taken up long-term residence on his face, can’t untangle his fingers from where they’re intertwined with Jack’s.
“Probably wouldn’t be the first.”
Bitty shudders, like they aren’t planning to do Unspeakable Things in this locker room. He surveys the room with a calculating eye, taking in lockers, and open space. He’s been in the locker room before, when Jack took him on a grand tour, but he’s eyeing it differently now. And Jack supposes that makes sense; the room looks a little different when viewed through a sex filter.
“That one’s yours?” Bitty points at Jack’s stall, nestled between Guy’s and Thirdy’s.
It’s probably a rhetorical question, but Jack nods anyway.
“Awesome. We should fuck there.”
Jack feels like a bobblehead because he can only nod and think about how he’ll be sitting there before practice and on game day, how his new routine will probably include taking a moment to remember Bitty there with him, pink and beautiful. He thinks that’s an addition he can Definitely live with.
Jack drops down into his stall, hands on Bitty’s hips, tugging them as close together as they can be. Bitty has to crane his neck down slightly to kiss Jack, and it’s the opposite of what they usually have to do, but Jack doesn’t mind. Bitty’s boxing him in, hands cupping Jack’s face, holding him steady as they build up to Something More.
Bitty’s lips are Ridiculously Soft, and Jack knows he’s thought about it before, but he could spend a lifetime kissing Bitty, tasting the corners of his mouth, feeling the pull of his lips, the nip of his teeth.
Jack slides his thumbs under the hem of Bitty’s t-shirt, stroking the smooth skin over his hip bones. The wooden seat beneath him is hard, a stark reminder of where they are, what they’re doing. But there’s a softness in what they’re doing, even if the place is gruff, the intent filthy. It’s them, so it’ll never just be a locker room fuck.
Bitty’s slides his lips across Jack’s and hums. “How do you want me?”
And. Really. Jack has a hundred answers to that question. A thousand.
Anyway that I can have you.
Always and forever.
Here, with me and no one else.
But that’s Incredibly Sappy, and they’re trying to have hot locker room sex, so Jack figures a safer answer would probably be something along the lines of “naked beneath me” or “on your knees.”
Jack hums and pretends to think about it, pressing soft kisses to Bitty’s jaw, his neck, pushing those thoughts into Bitty’s skin, where he knows Bitty can feel them.
“I suppose the real question,” Jack says, thumbs dragging down Bitty’s hips as he speaks, “is who wants to fuck who in the locker room?”
Bitty flushes crimson, and that’s a telltale sign that Jack is going to Love the words that come out of his mouth.
“I was thinking maybe I could ride you? Backwards? That way when you’re sitting here before practice or a game, you’ll think about me.”
“I already think about you.” Jack nips at Bitty’s collarbone, rucking up his shirt so he can trace his thumbs along Bitty’s waistline.
“And now you’ll have me.”
And Jack really does like that, but, he thinks, he could have more, they could do more. So he presses his lips once more to the hollow of Bitty’s throat and whispers. “We have four hours, Bud, I think we can do a double feature.”
Bitty’s hands, carding through Jack’s hair, suddenly stop, and the already growing presence in Bitty’s jeans twitches enough that Jack can feel it where Bitty’s pressed against him.
“I think that sounds amenable,” Bitty says, voice breathy.
They part long enough to strip, and in a locker room like this it feels perfunctory, something the two of them have done time and time again. Then it’s just Jack and Bitty, naked, standing toe to toe in the Falconer's locker room.
It already feels taboo, and the sense of what they’re about to do in a space that it shouldn’t be done sends a thrill through Jack.
Bitty fidgets a bit, eyeing Jack, and there’s something intimate about the sight of his bare toes on the locker room floor, all of him on display for Jack, familiar and exciting.
“You remembered lube, right?” Bitty asks, like he didn’t watch Jack put, not one, but two bottles into his bag, overly aware of how there wasn’t a substitution or a side drawer lube bottle if he forgot.
Jack fishes them out now and then turns back to his stall.
“I’d really like to ride you in there,” Bitty says, observing the space thoughtfully.
And. Jack knew this was coming. They’d talked about mechanics and possibilities. But to be confronted with the Real Thing is. Well.
Jack was half-hard when they stripped, but now he’s at full mast, excited in every sense of the word.
Bitty smirks. “Good to know we’re on the same page.”
And then, as is wont to happen when Jack starts a heavy make-out session with Bitty, a lot happens very quickly.
Jack presses his back against the wall of his stall, hands full of golden skin and blonde hair. Bitty carefully fits his knees into the stall, on either side of Jack’s thighs, leaning down to keep the wet slide of their mouths going, one hand propped against the side to keep himself upright, the other bent back behind himself.
Jack manages to snake one of his hands back there as well, until he finds Bitty’s fingers, covered in lube, pressing into himself. Jack slides a finger in alongside Bitty’s, and he can feel more than hear the moan that rumbles through Bitty. His mouth goes a little slack, his body tense, the two of them building towards something they can’t wait to reach.
And then they’re both letting go. Bitty’s scooting back out of the stall, turning around so that Jack gets a Truly Marvelous look at how well their fingers worked together, opening Bitty so that he can welcome Jack wholly.
Bitty settles back against Jack, clinging to the sides of the stall as Jack guides him down. It’s hot, wet heat, like coming home, and Bitty takes Jack so well, he always has, so that Jack feels shaken, torn open, Fortunate Beyond Belief that a piece of him can be this close to Bitty.
It takes them a moment to settle, once Bitty’s taken all of him, and their breathing is so loud in the quiet space.
Then Jack moves, the barest hint of rolling motion, and they’re off, their rhythm familiar and Breathtaking.
Bitty moans, and the sound echoes in the locker room, carried around them in a way that reminds Jack of surround sound, like Bitty’s around him in more ways than one. It’s loud in the otherwise silent locker room, and Jack’s never noticed how well sound carries in here, if only when there’s just one person making noise.
Or two, Jack supposes, as he grunts and rolls his hips up, hands firm on Bitty’s hips.
Bitty leans back until he’s flush against Jack’s chest, head tipped over Jack’s shoulder. “I used to think about this, every so often. Picture it in my head: you and me back in Faber. I’ve seen you in the locker room before, I’ve had you in our bed, on our couch and everywhere in between, but I never thought I’d get to have the two together. I never thought we’d get to—”
Jack thrusts up into Bitty, thighs shaking with the wet slide, the way Bitty fits against him, the way he spills words in front of them, his body, his thoughts on display for Jack and Jack alone.
Bitty lets out a breathy, “Ah,” and his grip against the stall sides slackens, dropping down until his palms are resting on Jack’s thighs, tense and strained. “Jack, fuck.”
“Bits,” Jack breaths wetly, dragging his lips down the side of Bitty’s neck. His hands drag a different path down Bitty’s thighs, teasing and light along the inside, the closer he gets to Bitty’s cock, before pressing harder when he turns away, leverage for his persistent thrusts into Bitty.
It’s a Lot, almost too much, but that’s the point. So Jack keeps going, keeps seeking and taking and dragging his fingers, until he’s hurtling towards the end, until his chest bursts like fireworks and his body releases inside of Bitty.
Bitty whines, shaking and sweaty against Jack. Jack eases him up and off, forcing himself to stand on shaky legs, because it’s Bitty’s turn now, Bitty’s turn to take and seek.
And take and seek Bitty does.
Bitty’s hands grip at Jack desperately, frantic and wanting, his finish line still out of sight. Jack complies, letting Bitty position him as he wants. He pushes him into place with demanding hands, guiding and pressing until Bitty’s satisfied.
Neither of them can be bothered to open Jack up, so as soon as Jack is turned around, bent over the stall, Bitty’s rocking against him, the line of his cock fitting neatly along the curve of Jack’s ass.
Bitty rocks with a singular, pleasure-seeking purpose, and Jack lets himself just enjoy the ride. The squeeze of Bitty’s fingers around his hips, the way the head of his cock sometimes catches on Jack’s hole, the way it feels like everything is rocking, but it’s just Jack and Bitty, fucking in the locker room.
It doesn’t take Bitty long until he’s gasping and coming, warm against Jack.
Their panting doesn’t echo as well as their moans did, but the sound is still there, making the room feel more cavernous than it is.
Jack feels like he’ll never be able to move from this spot, draped over the edge of his stall, Bitty slumped over him. Like they’ll both still be here when the team comes in tomorrow morning.
But Jack doesn’t share and he’s not about to start. So he’ll make sure they’re up and gone before their four hours have gone by. They should have enough time to clean up after themselves, to make sure there are no scarred maintenance staffers.
“You think you’ll be able to get through practice tomorrow?” Bitty asks, teasing voice beside Jack’s ear.
Jack huffs a laugh. “Maybe. What I’m concerned about is the game the day after. If we win, this might have to become a regular thing.”
Bitty hums. “What a shame that would be.”