It’s purely cosmic coincidence that Bitty plucks the note from the box at all. Jack is Convinced. The timing is Too Perfect. If Jack hadn’t been there to witness it, he would’ve claimed that Bitty had pulled the note out ahead of time. He’d probably still think Bitty had prepared this in advance somehow, if the comical shock on his face hadn’t been so realistic.
“This is all our fault,” Bitty says, laughing into his hands. “The universe is judging us, Jack. The universe and God.”
“I don’t think either of them are judging us.”
“Really?” Bitty asks, incredulously gesturing down at himself, where he’s wearing the really-super-hot-but-totally-off-limits Mrs. Lovett Halloween costume that Jack has been not so secretly pining over since Bitty wore it in college.
“I think it’s more likely that Shitty knows me really well.”
Bitty waves the note at Jack, and Jack has to admit, it’s scrawled in Lardo’s scratchy penmanship.
“Lardo too. They know a lot about us, bud.”
‘Bake a few pies, Mrs. Lovett, Jack would love to see what’s inside’
“There’s a Waitress reference too because apparently we’re both predictable and not free from the good Lord’s judgment.”
Jack shakes his head and smiles. His fingers are already itching to touch the rough costume lace. Lardo’s right: he really wants to see what’s inside. He feels a bit like a pervert for admitting it, even in the safety of his own head, but Jack really, Really wants to get under Bitty’s skirt.
“Don’t overthink it, Bits, that’s my job,” Jack says.
“I’m literally already wearing the costume, Jack.”
“You were trying it on for Halloween next week.” Jack shrugs. “It’s more our fault for picking out a note while you were wearing it.”
“Or your fault for apparently having a secret Mrs. Lovett thing?”
Jack laughs and gives in, reaching out to touch the material of the dress. It’s a lot softer than generic Halloween costumes usually are, and, really, that only makes Jack want to touch it more.
“It’s just a not-so-secret you thing,” he says, delighting in the way Bitty grins and bites his lip.
“I feel like we’re always dressing up for my benefit,” Jack mumbles, thumbs tracing the beaded edge of Bitty’s skirt. He lowers himself to his knees to get a better look at the corset strapped around Bitty’s waist. He doesn’t miss the way Bitty’s eyes darken, the way his tongue peeks out to lick his bottom lip.
“I don’t know whether to chirp you for an obvious costume kink or to assure you that I have thoroughly enjoyed every costume sexcapade we’ve had.”
“I can definitely chirp you for saying sexcapade.”
Bitty smacks Jack’s hand away and spins, the skirt flaring around him. The thin material along his collarbones is nearly sheer in the dim light of their bedroom.
Jack watches him go, eyes trained on the way his figure cuts through the room, graceful even off the ice. It’s a wonder to watch Bitty skate, even now, but what Jack loves, even more, is watching Bitty spin circles in the bedroom, turn on his heel to slide down their hallway, dance in their kitchen. The everyday, the mundane, the domestic. Things that remind Jack of how he can just have this life outside of fame. Outside of hockey.
Bitty spins once more, then does a little curtsy, and Jack’s still on his knees across the room, because this is a costume, this is a movie character, but it’s also Bitty, and Jack feels as though he could spend all day on his knees and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Jack Zimmermann, you sweet soul, stop looking at me like that.”
Jack blinks. “Like what?”
Bitty blushes, a soft pink that traces all the way down to the collar of his dress, and yes, Jack would very much like to lick the skin there, thanks.
“Like I’m not wearing a costume from a musical about murder. This is a very serious dress, Jack. Mrs. Lovett makes pies from dead people.”
“I’d let you make me into a pie.”
Bitty snorts. “I know you’re trying to be smooth, sweetpea, but I can’t have a flirty conversation about vore with you.”
“Lord, I’m never letting you near the internet.” Bitty shakes his head but steps back into Jack’s orbit, and really, that’s all that matters.
Jack’s hands snake out and snare Bitty’s waist, tugging him back to Jack. He marvels at the way his hands seem to span the whole expanse of Bitty’s corseted waist. Jack knows he’s bigger than Bitty, it’s impossible to even pretend otherwise, but sometimes in moments like this, where his hands are pressed to pieces of Bitty— his waist, his thighs— it’s a striking contrast that makes Jack want to cover Bitty with his body.
He doesn’t, though, because that would put him farther away from the bottom edge of Bitty’s skirt, where one of Jack’s hands is fiddling with the fabric.
“Am I okay to proceed, even with God and Lardo’s judgment?”
Bitty scoffs, but his cheeks are pink. “You know Lardo would never judge us for this. The universe would, but never Lardo.”
Jack’s fingers brush against the skin of Bitty’s ankle, his calloused thumb stroking over the bone.
Bitty shivers, his hands clutching at the fabric of his skirts. “Go on, Mr. Zimmermann. You have my permission to defile my Halloween costume.”
Jack grins wolfishly, then hooks his shoulder in Bitty’s stomach and stands, ending up with a face full of fabric and a surprised Bitty, who should really know better by now.
“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, doing his best to sound affronted, even if the effect is ruined by his laughter. “My defilement does not include being hauled around like a sack!”
He flicks Jack’s ear and part of his skirt ends up draped over Jack’s head, but in return, Jack gets the feel of his broad hands spread across Bitty’s corseted side, drag a hand along his exposed calf.
Jack tries to be gentle with the dismount but, in all honesty, will admit to dumping Bitty on the bed. He bounces once before settling, laughing, his skirt flared around his calves. The wig Bitty had never gotten around to putting on lay on their comforter near Bitty’s head, but Jack’s not really Interested in that part of the costume.
Jack, utilizing the focus he’s famous for, stays his course and practically dives into the layers. They ruck up a bit as he moves, but Jack tugs them back down until he’s effectively found his way under Bitty’s skirt. To find out what’s inside, as the note had so eloquently phrased it.
And what’s inside is really a Gift.
It’s a little dark, but their bedroom lights are bright enough that Jack can see a hazy outline of Bitty’s legs, tan even beneath his skirt. Bitty’s wearing just a pair of boxers, the top of which settle right against where the corset cinches around Bitty’s waist, providing a delicious border below which Jack can truly wreak havoc.
“Jack,” Bitty says, laughing as Jack’s fingertips glide along his calves. He isn’t muffled at all, which isn’t what Jack expected, but he supposes that the illusory nature of the skirt. It only makes Jack feel like he’s hidden away.
“Jack? Did you have a plan?” Bitty nudges Jack’s shoulder with his knee.
“I always have a plan,” Jack says, ducking his head to press a kiss to Bitty’s thigh.
“Jack Zimmermann, the man with a plan.” Bitty laughs and Jack can feel him trembling under his hands.
Jack hums and hooks his thumbs in Bitty’s waistband.
It’s not much of a plan, barely even the outline of one. But it’s something that’s been on Jack’s mind since Bitty laced up that corset.
But Jack has never let the unplanned next stage of anything stop him before. So he tugs Bitty’s underwear down and shoulders his way— quite literally— under Bitty’s thighs.
“This okay, bud?’ Jack asks, breathing along the underside of Bitty’s cock, then further down, down, down.
“Ye-yeah.” Bitty shivers and Jack can feel it. It’s gratifying, electrifying. The kind of confirmation that sends a thrill humming through his veins.
Jack can already feel his cock hardening in his sweatpants, and he rocks against the bed a bit, just to find a little friction. Then he leans forward a licks a stripe across Bitty’s hole, marveling at how hitched Bitty’s breath sounds.
“This still okay, Bits?” Jack presses his lips to the edge, then tracing his tongue around it.
“Jack Zimmermann,” Bitty says, and Jack feels smug when Bitty’s voice breaks halfway through his last name, “I don’t really have the concentration to keep telling you everything’s fine, so please just eat me like you mean it.”
Jack laughs and does as he’s told.
Everything feels more intimate under the skirt, like the world is just Jack and Bitty’s lovely bottom half. His thighs shake on either side of Jack’s head, and Jack smooths along them with his palms, fingertips digging into the soft flesh.
Bitty moans, low and breathy, and it’s Everything.
After a few moments, Jack starts to feel a little light headed. He’d be embarrassed about how long it takes him to realize why, except every single one of his brain cells is devoted to eating Bitty out as best he can. So, sue him if it takes a minute for the stuffy dress skirts around his head blocking his air to really sink in.
It takes a bit more finagling, but Jack’s rather proud of how he’s able to throw the skirts up and over his head without his tongue ever leaving Bitty’s ass.
Bitty huffs and shoves his skirt flat with his palms, giving Jack a fantastic view of his flushed face, the pink blossoming all the way down his chest. The sheer fabric along his collarbones and the corset highlight each breath Bitty takes.
Bitty’s ankles hook behind Jack’s back, even as his knees spread a little further apart, at odds with the way Bitty seems to want to fall apart and drag Jack in simultaneously.
“J-Jack, fuck,” Bitty breathes, head thrown back, hips rolling a little bit as he struggles not to just ride Jack’s face, even if Jack wouldn’t mind that At All.
Jack rocks his hips against the bed a little harder, fucks his tongue into Bitty with Intent. He wonders if Bitty will let him fuck him in the skirts after he’s wrung this orgasm from him. The thought makes him rut a little faster.
“Jack,” Bitty gasps, “Jack, Jack,” just a litany of his name, over and over. A prayer or a praise or something in between, Jack isn’t sure. All he knows is that Bitty’s shaking apart beneath him.
He comes hard and fast, nearly crushing Jack between his thighs, but really, what a way to go.
Jack keeps lapping at him, even after Bitty’s cock stops twitching, even after Bitty’s just a trembling, sensitive mess. He doesn’t stop until Bitty’s fingers twist in his hair, until Bitty’s voice pleads, “Jack, s-stop, it’s too m-much.”
Only then does he pull away. He’s pretty sure there’s come in his hair, but Jack pays no mind. He slips his thumb up Bitty’s thigh towards his hole, slick with saliva.
“Can I?” Jack asks, thumbing the edge.
“Yes,” Bitty says, still trembling, eyes wide as he heaves in breaths.
So Jack does. A few fingers, quick to be sure, and then he’s pushing upward, guiding himself into Bitty, sweats pushed barely down his thighs.
It’s a quick fuck, the kind Jack can feel the build-up for down into his bones.
Bitty pants beneath him, skirts in disarray, skin mottled pink and flushed, grinning broadly. Jack’s sure he’s no better.
He chases after his own release and quietly groans when it hits him.
Jack flops to the side, aware of the already present pressure on Bitty’s ribs from the corset, and laughs breathlessly.
Beside him, Bitty looks thoroughly debauched, skirts twisted around his waist, the very picture of a ravished lover.
“I can’t wear this costume for Halloween,” Bitty says.
“You’ve got time to find another one,” Jack says, his brain already on a loop of other skirts they can find, other times they can do this again. If Bitty rides him in a skirt, how would it move along with them?
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to dress up this year. Maybe ever, after that.”
Jack smirks and rolls onto his side. “You wear Mrs. Lovett and I’ll get the cowboy hat back out,” he says.
Bitty promptly shoves him off the bed.
It’s completely Worth it.