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Constant thoughts of seeing you

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They don’t go out very often. Jack’s famous in enough circles that going out on the town can be difficult, and for as outgoing as Bitty is, they’re both homebodies at heart.

But this, a New Year’s Eve party at some nightclub, was unavoidable after hiding away this long. Jack is pretty sure Shitty has been telling their friends that he and Bitty are sex hermits. And while that’s probably true, Jack doesn’t need that sort of thing circulating around.

So he and Bitty can make an appearance. Even if there are a lot of reasons Jack would much rather be at home with Bitty.

The music is Way too loud and there are far too many drunk people. He’s pretty sure at least four strangers have taken his picture tonight. He had practice this morning so he’s tired and a little sore. There are a myriad of reasons to pluck Bitty off the dance floor and take him home.

But the bump and grind of Bitty’s hips against his are sweet. So Jack doesn’t mind too much that the music is so loud he can’t think.

That, and he can see Shitty from the edge of the dance floor, growing flow spiked up with purple glitter, a boa around his bare shoulders. Jack can’t see Lardo beside him, she’s too short, but he knows she’s there in her matching boa, face painted with intricate swirls.

Similar paint streaks swirl across Bitty’s cheeks and around his eyes, alluring and bright, the glitter catching the light as he dances. His eyes are closed, face tilted up, like the music and the feel of Jack beside him is all he needs.

Holster and Ransom are out there somewhere, and Farmer had dragged Chowder off to some other corner of the dance floor almost as soon as they got there. He’s not sure how they’re going to ring in the New Year together if they’re scattered across the floor, but that sounds like a problem for a Jack who doesn’t have Bitty pressed up against him, grinding to the tune of some pop song with heavy bass.

Jack can’t really dance—he doesn’t know what to do with his arms, his hips feel wrong, and next to Bitty, he feels like a fumbling giant. But if Bitty wants to dance, then Jack can slide his hands over Bitty’s hips and pretend he’s moving to the beat.

And Bitty, with or without the glitter that catches the flashing club lights, the tight jeans, the v-neck, looks Incredible. If Jack has to poorly dance beside anyone, he’s happy he’s next to Bitty.

Especially because Jack drew a note right before they left, and the gods of the brunch box were definitely smiling down on him.

It’s warm, almost too warm, and Jack can feel sweat beading in various places on his body, but there’s nothing in the room hotter than Bitty.

Bitty, who’s rolling his hips in an all too familiar way, whose hands make their way from his own hair to Jack’s, whose shoulders roll with the rest of him. Seductive and sinful, and Jack can’t stop staring.

He tugs Bitty closer, and they’re already pressed together in the crowd, flashing lights and glitter everywhere. But they’re plastered together now, close enough that Jack’s sure Bitty can Feel him. The bump and grind of their hips has been Very Effective.

Bitty looks up at Jack, eyes open and movements sharp, even as his sly smile grows.

“Really?” Bitty laughs and Jack can barely hear him over the pounding bass, the people screaming lyrics around them. “Here?”

Jack smiles and he’s going for suggestive, but it probably betrays how much the music and all the people here are making him a little bit nervous.

Bitty ducks his head and laughs again, hands winding around Jack’s waist and dipping into his back pockets. Then he tugs one back out, fingers wrapped around the note Jack stuck in his pocket.

He unfolds it in the space between them, both of them standing in a sea of dancing bodies, heads tipped down to read.

You make me feel like dancing—how do you feel about a scandalous night out?

Bitty looks up and nearly cracks his head against Jack’s nose. Jack dodges, and it probably looks like a weird dance the two of them are doing, but everyone else is doing something weird too, so Jack isn’t particularly bothered by it.

Not when Bitty hooks his fingers in Jack’s belt loops and drags him off the dance floor.

They make it to the back of the club without incident, even though Jack is Very Sure he saw Lardo wink at them when they caught sight of each other between dancers. She’s slathered in glitter and wearing what Jack is pretty sure is a different shirt than the one she wore into the club. It’s Very Apparent she’s having a Great Time.

Jack’s not 100% sure where they’re going. His own plan petered out as soon as Bitty hit the dance floor, moving his hips in a way that had all of Jack’s thought processing ability Immediately vacate the premise.

Luckily, it seems like Bitty has a plan, or at least enough of one to get them into the empty club bathroom and lock the door behind them.

The lights in the bathroom are different than the flashing colored bulbs in the club, mostly in that there’s only one functioning light. From the way it’s barely enough light to see the room around them, Jack’s pretty sure that one’s on its way out too.

“This is probably a little different than doing something in the Falconer’s locker room,” Bitty says, nose wrinkling as he looks around the room, crowding Jack back against the door. “I don’t think we could get Tater to clean this place for us.”

“You underestimate just how badly Tater is rooting for our continued sex life.”

“He’s not as invested as Shitty and Lardo, who have apparently been inviting us out to clubs every other week for that very reason.”

Jack makes a face. “We need more friends.”

“Maybe we’ll meet someone waiting in line outside the bathroom.”

“The people we’re going to make wait outside while we have enthusiastic club bathroom sex on New Year’s Eve?”

Bitty shrugs. “At least they’ll already know we’re sex hermits.”

“We’re not sex hermits.”

Bitty looks around the dark, empty bathroom, then looks back at Jack, and yeah, okay, they kind of are, but Jack doesn’t need anyone else knowing that.

What he does need is for Bitty to stay close to him until he decides how they’re going to do this in a public restroom.

“You drew the note, you take the lead on this one, Jack,” Bitty says, leaning up on his toes to press distracting kisses to Jack’s neck. It’s going to leave a mark, Jack knows, especially when Bitty nips at the skin with his teeth, but Jack has long since decided he is more than okay wearing Bitty’s marks.

It does, however, make thinking a lot harder, and Jack just lets out an ungraceful grunt and drops his head back against the door. He manages to pick up the grinding rhythm they had out on the floor again, and it rekindles the heat that had been building in Jack’s stomach all night.

They bump together and grind a little harsher than they would on the dance floor, the music echoing from outside, bass still thumping around them like a tangible beating heart.

Bitty bites Jack’s lip and runs his tongue along the edge of his teeth and Jack is lost, at the mercy of the way Bitty tilts his head, the way he slides a hand between them, fingers skimming Jack’s belt as he touches the skin under Jack’s shirt.

“You make any decisions?” he asks, breathy and deliberate, and Jack doesn’t know how he ever thought of Bitty as someone innocent, not with the way his dark eyes flick over Jack’s face, lingering on his kiss-swollen lips.

“My brain’s not really working at full speed right now, Bits,” Jack says, and it makes Bitty laugh and mouth at his throat again.

“I wonder why,” he mumbles, breathing over Jack’s Adam's apple.

“It’s definitely how loud the music is.” Jack huffs a laugh and drags his palms along Bitty’s arms, around his sides, down his back. He’s in Incredibly Tight jeans, and while it’ll make them difficult to get off, they’re currently a gift to Jack. His hands still fit perfectly over Bitty’s ass, and he touches with both reverence and possession.

“Yeah, right. You can’t fool me, Mr. Zimmermann.” Bitty shivers, but his voice is steady.

“Only because your brain is working. Which is an outrage, really. You should be as stuck as I am right now. Clearly, I’m not doing this right.”

“You’re doing just fine, Jack. Only, If you don’t start thinking soon, I’ll do something about it,” Bitty says, lips tracing down to the hollow of Jack’s throat, the edge of his collarbone, his sternum. Bitty drops slowly, intentionally, until his breath is warm over the front of Jack’s jeans.

And then Jack’s heart is in his throat, it has to be, because there’s no other reason his words won’t work.

He threads his fingers in Bitty’s hair and drops his head back against the door. Words are overrated.

Bitty tugs him out of his jeans and wastes Zero Time, sucking him down so hard a gasp punches its way out of Jack’s throat, and he tugs a little too hard on Bitty’s hair. But Bitty, saint that he is, just hums and runs his tongue along the underside of Jack’s cock, like blowing him in a bathroom on New Year’s Eve was the plan all along.

And that sure sounds like a good plan now, at least to Jack, who decides then and there that Bitty deserves the Absolute Best Blowjob that Jack can give.

That has to wait, though, because Bitty’s hollowing out his cheeks and scraping his nails along the exposed skin of Jack’s thighs, taking Jack’s jeans with him.

It’s a lot, the pounding of the bass against the floor, the door, Jack’s bones. Bitty, kneeling in front of him, doing something the two of them wouldn’t have even dared to try a year ago. A blowjob in a public place. A scandalous night out.

Bitty’s right, it’s not like the Falconer’s locker room. But Jack knows there are other people here; there are strangers only a few feet away. And they have no clue that Jack’s being taken apart against a bathroom door.

And that. That gets Jack’s heart pounding a little faster, fans the heat in his belly a little harder.

Bitty pulls off his cock and breathes, his fist still pumping over Jack’s slick skin. His face paint is still there, Jack can see a little bit of glitter shining in the dim light. Jack wants to drag his thumb through it, see if the entire evening melts away, but at the same time he doesn’t want to break the spell.

That, and his limbs are all feeling a little wobbly as he hurtles closer to the edge.

Bitty mouths at Jack’s balls, his fingers tracing back and back, and Jack can’t take it. His knees feel like they can’t keep him upright, the metal of the door digging into his shoulder blades. It’s Too Much and Not Enough and doesn’t know how every time they do this he somehow finds himself falling apart in new ways.

And fall apart he does, to the feeling of Bitty, Bitty, Bitty and the pounding bass around him.

It takes Jack a second to come back, to stop feeling like his heart is going to come flying out of his chest. But then he’s tugging Bitty up and switching their places, so that Bitty’s leaning against the door and Jack is on his knees, a different kind of carnal worship.

Jack unzips those Ridiculously Tight jeans and gets them as far down Bitty’s thighs as he can, then licks up the side of Bitty’s cock, slow and sure. For as Intentional as Bitty was, Jack matches. 110%. He Knows.

“Oh, Jack, Lord, you’ve got a mouth made for sinnin’ and I very much appreciate it.” It comes our Undeniably Southern, and Jack bobs his head and groans, and if he could go back in time and come again to the sounds of Bitty’s drawl, he would.

He still might, at a later time. They still have that cowboy hat after all.

But right now they’re in a nightclub bathroom in Boston, and Jack has a job to do.

Bitty’s thighs shake under Jack’s hands, nothing but punched out gasps and shaky exhalations made under his breath.

“Jack, holy shit, we’re—it’s—”

It’s not a sentence, not a complete thought, and Jack feels vindicated because clearly his blowjob skills are up to par.

The Absolute Best Blowjob that Jack can give is a Go.

Jack doesn’t know a lot of tricks, but he doesn’t really need to with how well he knows Bitty’s body, so he pushes every button he can think of. He traces his tongue over the head. He runs his thumbs over the creases at the tops of Bitty’s thighs. He bobs down far and breathes through his nose and thinks, if there are only three things Jack Zimmermann is good at, they’re hockey, photography, and blowjobs.

Through the door, Jack can hear the music beat in time to something, people shouting in unison. He can’t quite make out all the words with the way people are screaming, unintelligible even if they’re chanting the same thing, until suddenly he can.

“Nine...eight...!”

The new year countdown, Jack realizes, sliding his hand through Bitty’s hair, his hips twitching minutely. The year is seconds from being over, and Jack Zimmermann has a dick in his mouth.

“...six...five...four!”

It’s a hell of a way to enter the new year, but honestly, Jack wouldn’t rather be anywhere else. He has 365 other days to see people or do things, and if he gets to ring in the new year being intimate with Bitty. Well. Jack can’t complain.

“...two...ONE!”

Neither can Bitty apparently because the crowd outside collectively loses their shit at midnight right as Bitty shudders and comes in Jack’s mouth.

He’ll definitely make fun of Bitty’s timing. Later.

But, for now, Jack’s Committed, so he swallows and strokes Bitty through it, listening to the sounds of people singing and probably finding dark corners to do questionable things in. When Bitty stops trembling, Jack stands, and Bitty tugs him into a thorough kiss. They slide together, holding on tightly with shaky hands.

And Jack just knows he’ll keep holding Bitty in this new year just as tightly as he did in the old.

They’re breathing against each other now, exchanging soft kisses in the dim light. The sound of cheers are muffled by the door, but still there, a backdrop of celebration to their intimacy. It’s nice, the way it makes Jack feel like he’s in a bubble, just the two of them, in a world filled with joyful noise.

He could do it, Jack knows, here and now. Propose to Bitty with the sounds of the new year ringing around them. Start this new chapter of his life, their life, in the new year.

It’d be romantic. Beautiful.

Or, it would, if they weren’t in the dark bathroom of a club, covered in several bodily fluids.

Jack laughs and cups the back of Bitty’s head, threading his fingers through the short hairs at his nape.

“What’s so funny?” Bitty squints up at him, mouth twisting like he’s trying not to laugh with Jack.

“Nothing,” Jack says, but he can’t stop smiling, imagining looking down and seeing something shine on Bitty’s left hand.

Bitty keeps squinting up at him, but he’s grinning too, and the room is barely lit, but Jack can still see the blush on Bitty’s cheeks, still streaked with glitter.

Jack threads the fingers of their free hands together and thinks, not now, but soon.

“Happy New Year, Bits.”

Bitty squeezes his hand. “Happy New Year, Jack.”