Something you’ve always wanted to try but never thought to actually ask for — blame the box and finally do it
Jack blinks down at the piece of paper.
“Well? What’s it say?” Bitty asks, sitting cross-legged on their bed, his giant sweater pooling around his waist and spilling down his thighs. His tiny shorts barely peek out beneath the fabric, and it paints a casual picture that has Jack’s breath catching in his throat. Bitty’s breathtaking in a way that makes Jack feel more comfortable in his skin than anything else. Their familiarity is warm, soft and yielding in a way that makes Jack want to do nothing but Touch for hours.
But. The box, or more specifically, Lardo, is telling him to do More than touch. Or maybe Extreme Touching.
“Uh,” he says, because Jack Zimmermann is known for his Eloquent Speech.
He has to say something, though, or Bitty’s going to lean forward and take the note from him, and then the game is over. He’ll want to know what Jack’s never told him he wants.
Does Jack have anything he wants that he hasn’t already told Bitty? Or that Bitty hasn’t already discovered?
They’ve been doing This for years and pulling out increasingly scandalous notes for six months. At this point, is there something Jack wants but hasn’t asked for yet?
Bitty does lean forward, impatient and mischievous, and Jack catches sight of his shorts again; the red fabric a stark contrast against the tan skin of Bitty’s thighs.
Jack moves his hand instinctively, keeping the note out of Bitty’s reach, grateful that his body’s moving faster than his brain can at the moment.
His brain is busy reminding him of all the times Bitty’s worn those tiny shorts around the apartment. The times he’s bent over something and glanced over his shoulder at Jack, knowing full well the effect they have. The times Jack’s peeled them off Bitty and thought vaguely about how they’re so short Jack could probably find a way to fuck Bitty in them.
And. Jack can work with that.
“Uh,” he says again, and he knows his face is flushed, but at least he knows Bitty finds it endearing.
Bitty raises his eyebrows and waits, still stretched towards Jack on his hands and knees. He’s smiling, and his smile only grows when Jack’s eyes drop down to where the shorts curve over Bitty’s ass.
“It’s really good that you’re wearing those shorts,” Jack says, and Bitty full on Smirks.
“And why would that be, Mr. Zimmermann?”
Jack folds the note and drops it onto their bedside table, eyes still tracing over Bitty’s lovely thighs.
“Because the note wants us to explore some previously unexplored interests,” Jack says and it’s not even a lie, but it also allows Jack to skip over admitting how Much he wants to do this. Bitty probably already knows, although this would be the first time Jack asks him—
“Leave them on while I fuck you.”
It’s blunter than Jack meant to say it, more a demand than a request, but Bitty laughs and drops back onto his ass, legs bent in front of him.
“Maybe I want to fuck you in the shorts,” he teases, and that. That’s an image that makes Jack start to question his hastiness.
“Uh,” Jack says, because apparently it’s that kind of night.
“Don’t stress yourself, Jack.” Bitty laughs and stretches his arms languidly above his head. The sweater rises a bit, exposing the shorts and a little sliver of Bitty’s stomach, and that’s really all it takes for Jack to crawl forward.
Bitty leans back as Jack moves, stretching out beneath him, until Jack’s hovering over Bitty on his elbows, nosing at the soft hair along Bitty’s temples.
“I’m not stressed.”
Bitty hums and reaches up to cradle Jack’s face in his hands. “Clearly. Although,” one of his hands drags down Jack’s chest and stomach until it’s resting just over the bulge in his sweatpants, “it seems like part of you is rather stiff tonight.”
“Ha,” Jack says, but it’s more breathy than he intended, mostly because Bitty’s fingers are deftly stroking him through his pants.
“Not that I’m complaining,” Bitty says, a little too casually for someone currently fondling Jack’s balls. “After all, it’s a little easier for you to fuck me in these shorts if you’re not too relaxed.”
Jack drops his head down onto Bitty’s shoulder, laughing and So Turned On.
“You’re going to kill me,” he says. “I’m dead.”
“Shame,” Bitty replies, dipping his fingers into Jack’s pants and wrapping them around his cock.
Jack groans and pushes himself up, vaguely remembering that he had a plan, he had a strategy, and it involved getting into Bitty’s pants without actually taking them off.
Bitty squeezes and his other hand strokes over Jack’s cheekbone.
And Jack knows if he doesn’t do something now he’ll come in his pants before they even really get things started. Which. Is the opposite of what he really wants.
Jack sits back on his heels, effectively — Unfortunately — putting him out of Bitty’s reach. Bitty makes an unhappy noise and flops his hands down at his sides.
“Come back,” he whines, and Jack shakes his head.
“I have some stuff to do first,” he says, running his palms down Bitty’s front; the soft sweater material bunching under his fingers. When he reaches the end, he teases his fingertips along the bottom of Bitty’s shorts, just barely tracing the soft skin underneath.
“What kind of stuff?” Bitty asks, breathlessly, his hips wiggling.
“Important stuff.” He abandons Bitty’s shorts, much to Bitty’s visible and verbal dismay, and slides his hands up under Bitty’s sweater. He likes the feel of his skin even more than the soft, knitted material.
Jack can feel Bitty breathing as he moves, fingertips tracing over his ribs, thumbs brushing over his nipples. Bitty shivers and Jack does it again, pressing a little bit as Bitty’s nipples pebble beneath his touch.
“Oh, yes,” Bitty sighs, arching his back, “very important.”
Jack rucks up the sweater so he can press a wet kiss to Bitty’s sternum, hands still working. He kisses up further, dragging his lips across Bitty’s skin until he can press an open-mouthed kiss to Bitty’s left nipple. Jack can feel Bitty’s heart racing underneath his skin and grins, scraping his teeth just barely over the bud.
“Very important!” Bitty gasps, hands gripping Jack’s hair and holding him there, as Jack licks broad strokes over Bitty’s nipple.
Jack strokes one hand down to the waistband of Bitty’s shorts. He can feel the way they strain to hold Bitty, hard in his shorts, and it makes Jack shiver.
He keeps moving his hand down, barely stopping to tease Bitty’s cock through the material, his intended destination only a few scant inches of fabric away. He thumbs along the bottom of the shorts again, this time dipping inside far enough to determine that Bitty isn’t wearing any underwear, that his fingers can brush dryly over Bitty’s hole, cup his cheek through the leg hole of Jack’s favorite article of Bitty’s clothing.
Bitty groans underneath him, fingertips scratching Jack’s scalp and tugging at his hair until Jack finally pulls off Bitty’s nipple and lets himself be drawn into a wet, desperate kiss.
Bitty drags his tongue over Jack’s bottom lip and then nips at it, merciless in his taking of Jack’s mouth.
But Jack can be merciless too.
It takes Jack a fumbling moment to finagle their lube from where they’d had the foresight to leave it on the sheets beside them, and then another to squirt too much onto his fingers before dragging them back up into Bitty’s shorts.
It’s undoubtedly cold, and Bitty gasps, his fingers twisting in Jack’s hair, just on the right side of too rough.
It’s easy to slide one finger in, then to work in another, and then Jack sets up his own merciless rhythm, pressing into Bitty purposely, twisting his fingers until—
“Jack!” Bitty gasps, “Fuck!”
“I’m getting there,” Jack teases against his jaw.
But when he goes to try and slide a third finger in, he realizes he can’t quite get it. The fabric of the shorts is stretchy, but not quite enough to give Jack the room he needs to properly finger Bitty, let alone fuck him.
“Get there a little faster, please,” Bitty pleads, panting, his eyes screwed shut.
“I’m trying,” Jack grunts.
He can’t get a great grip under the shorts, and it's as maddening as it is Incredibly Hot. He tries to shift his hand, twist his wrist, and while it drags Delicious noises out of Bitty, it brings Jack no closer to fucking him with the shorts on.
“Damn it,” Jack swears, even as Bitty trembles beneath him. “I can’t— the shorts—”
“Jack,” Bitty gasps, rolling his hips, the motion and his voice both so desperate. “Jack, just use my thighs, please, I—”
Jack grunts, Horny and Trapped and trying to fit another finger between Bitty’s beautiful cheeks and the shorts that are frustratingly tight. “I won’t fit,” he concedes, because he doesn’t want to hurt Bitty, because pleasing Bitty is more important than chasing this fantasy to its end.
“My thighs, Jack,” Bitty repeats, and, really, Jack can’t be disappointed with that.
He drags his lube-covered fingers out of Bitty’s hole, the shorts hiked up so far Jack can see traces of gleaming wetness smeared on Bitty’s skin. He wipes his hand over Bitty’s thighs, then squirts another handful of lube there as well.
Bitty squeezes his thighs together, and the pressure tightens the way the shorts are strained against his cock. Bitty moans, breathy and low, and Jack just wants to press himself close.
So he does, practically tearing off his sweats and easing his cock between the smooth skin of Bitty’s thighs, marveling at the slick tightness, the friction against the bottom of the shorts. It’s not what Jack imagined, but it’s Incredible and it leaves Jack’s mind reeling.
He fucks desperately between Bitty’s thighs, fingers gripping too tightly at his hips.
Bitty’s hands clutch at Jack’s shirt, fisted in the material as he tries to rut against Jack’s stomach, his cock straining in the material of his shorts.
It’s a desperate race at that point, one that Jack knows neither of them can lose. He palms at Bitty’s cock through his shorts in between his own frantic thrusts.
Bitty grunts and a dark stain appears on the front of his shorts, and then Jack spills between Bitty’s thighs, leaving his own mess behind.
Jack drops, sprawled over Bitty, just breathing against his neck. He wants to be closer, to wrap his arms around Bitty and lay there forever.
But there’s an uncomfortable stickiness between them, as well as Bitty’s rucked up sweater. So he rolls off and settles for draping an arm over Bitty’s hip. Bitty, who smiles at him warmly, face flushed and eyes heavy-lidded.
“I would say you did something very important today, Mr. Zimmermann,” Bitty says, eyes flickering to Jack’s lips moments before he leans in for a soft kiss. “Very important.”
Jack hums and presses another feather-light kiss to the corner of Bitty’s mouth.
“Still a man of many words, I see.” Bitty grins, and it offsets their kiss, but Jack doesn’t mind.
“Uh,” he says, because he knows it’ll make Bitty laugh.
Still chuckling, Bitty leans over him and deftly plucks the note from the table. Jack doesn’t try to stop him.
“Oh, Jack,” Bitty says, scanning it quickly. His smile is soft, even if his face is still flushed.
“Sorry,” Jack says, and he’s not really sure why he’s apologizing, just that he feels like he needs to.
“Stop it.” Bitty cups a hand over Jack’s cheek. “Do not apologize, that was something I enjoyed so much, you have no idea.”
Jack has some idea, he thinks, discreetly peering down at the mess they’ve made of Bitty’s shorts.
“I’ve had these since college, why didn’t you say something sooner?”
“I don’t think I really considered actually doing it until I read the note,” Jack says, and he feels like he has to explain, even if Bitty’s gaze is nothing but fond. “I just daydreamed about it a lot.”
“Do you do that a lot?” Bitty asks. “Have fantasies you don’t think we’ll really do?”
“I dunno.” Jack shrugs as best he can while laying down. “I think, with you, I just want to do everything.”
Bitty’s blush darkens and he smooshes his face against Jack’s shoulder.
“Jack, I can’t chirp you when you’re being so endearing.”
“We both know that’s a lie.”
Bitty smacks him with a pillow.
“Do you have any?” Jack asks, looping his arm around the pillow.
Bitty squints at him. “Any what?”
“Fantasies? Or things you want to try but haven’t mentioned?”
Bitty grins, and there’s a glint in his eyes that tells Jack there’s Something coming his way.
“Maybe there is.”