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But then you came along and learned me

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It’s Shitty’s fault, Jack decides.

The yoga mat, not the sex injury.

Although, he could probably be blamed for that too, seeing as his idea of the gift that keeps on giving is a box full of sex acts.

But he can, at the very least be blamed for the yoga mat.

“It’s a good idea, Jack,” Bitty says (about the yoga mat, not the sex injury—neither of them actually knew it would cause a sex injury). He’s holding the blue mat almost reverently, like this new gift from Shitty is anywhere on par with the last one. “Yoga’s a great way to stay healthy.”

“I guess I just don’t get the appeal. It’s too slow, there’s nothing happening.”

Bitty’s smile gets bigger, shows a little more teeth. “You must not be doing yoga right then, because I can guarantee something happens.”


Something does happen.

It starts with that same blue yoga mat that Jack finds Bitty on when he comes home one afternoon.

Or, more accurately, it starts with the blue yoga mat and the blue yoga pants and the way Bitty can slide his leg into the air behind him effortlessly.

It makes Jack feel like a caveman, both because he is Not that flexible and also because he’s Definitely drooling.

But Bitty’s ass in yoga pants. Bitty’s ass in yoga pants Doing Stretchy Flexible Leg Things.

Jack’s allowed to ogle, he has Bitty’s express permission to ogle at all times. This is a new kind of ogling though, he thinks, as Bitty arches his back, arms pressed in front of him, stretching his leg even higher.

“Enjoying the view?” Bitty asks, not even bothering to look at him.

“Tremendously,” Jack replies. “But I think I could maybe help with your form.”


Jack steps closer and gently traces his hand along Bitty’s calf, down over his knee to his thigh, which Jack can feel quivering minutely beneath the thin fabric.

“I think you just need a little bit more pressure,” Jack says, pressing his hand even lower, his body following, until he’s kneeling beside Bitty’s other leg, toes pressed to the ground beside him. Jack drags his hand over Bitty’s ass, then deliberately cups his hand over the front of Bitty’s pants. “Particularly right here.”

Bitty’s back curves a little more, and he hums, breathing changing enough that even if Jack couldn’t feel Bitty stiffening he’d still know this was affecting him.

“You’re right,” Bitty says, and there’s a strain to his voice that Jack Knows has nothing to do with yoga. “Maybe you should provide a little more. I hear friction can be especially good for your muscles.”

Jack just hums and presses a bit, his fingers rubbing over Bitty with slow intent.

Bitty’s leg wobbles, bending at the knee, but all that does is give Jack more room to work him. He wraps his free arm around Bitty’s leg and guides Bitty’s knee to rest on Jack’s shoulder, all the while working him with his other hand.

Bitty’s arms are shaking now, but he’s valiantly holding his pose, and Jack Knows how flexible Bitty is, they’ve been Very Creative with testing his limits, but there’s something different with this.

Maybe it’s the pants, or the mat, or the way Bitty’s shakily holding himself up even while Jack does his best to distract him. Maybe it’s just Bitty, the way he makes everything he and Jack do into something warm and breathtaking.

Jack’s doesn't really care what it is, just knows his chest is tight with Something, and he eases Bitty’s leg down to the ground.

“Hey,” he says gently, and he knows his smile is making his eyes crinkle and is probably a weird contrast with the way his hand is still pressing the heel of his hand into Bitty’s yoga-pants-clad-dick, but Jack figures their relationship is all about contrasts and coming together.

“Hey,” Bitty replies, breathy and glassy-eyed, finally looking up at Jack. His hips are rolling into Jack’s touch, seeking more.

“Yoga, huh?”

“You hush,” Bitty says, and his eyelids flutter. “I’ll have you know it’s very relaxing.”

“Is it?” Jack presses his palm a little harder.

“Y-yes. All about patience and intention.”

“Oh, I can guarantee I’m full of intent.” Jack grins, slowing down his hand, just a gradual grind against Bitty’s front.

“You’re not the only one. Shitty gave me the yoga mat two months ago.” Bitty grunts, then palms at the edge, peeling it up far enough for Jack to see the slip of paper underneath the corner. “Then last night I pulled this note out of the box.”

Jack takes both of his hands off Bitty to lean around him and pluck the note off the hardwood.

Bitty slowly lowers himself completely to the floor and ruts shamelessly against the yoga mat. It almost enough to have Jack tossing the note over his shoulder in favor of seeing if he can lick Bitty through his pants.

But Jack rolls his shoulders and reads the note.

“Yoga is for posers—think you two could get into it?”

“I think it might be a bit of a stretch,” Bitty says, and when Jack looks at him he’s rolled onto his back, stretching his arms above his head luxuriously, like his dick isn’t severely tenting the front of his yoga pants.

“You’re terrible,” Jack groans, leaning down to kiss Bitty, because puns deserve kisses, even the bad ones.

Bitty hums into the kiss, sucking on Jack’s lower lip until he pulls away, leaving Bitty flushed on his mat. “I dunno, I’ve gotten pretty good at it. I think I could handle some doggy style and a half-moon pose. Although, I was hoping to convince you to do a full moon with me.”

Jack rolls his eyes and tugs up the edges of the yoga mat until Bitty’s wrapped inside it, then slides his arms underneath and picks him up.

“I’m surprised Shitty hasn’t tried to convince you that 69 is a yoga pose.”

“Who’s to say he didn’t?” Bitty replies, rubbing the edge of the mat between his fingers as Jack carries him into their bedroom. They aren’t going to have sex on a yoga mat on the hardwood, it’s not good for Jack’s knees. Or his back. Or all of him, really.

“The mat has a few uses, I see,” Bitty says, looking up at Jack from the yoga mat burrito Jack made. He’s grinning, not at all surprised by this turn of events, face still pink from before. “Exercise, seduction, and transportation.”

“So much for slow and steady uses only.”

“All of those can be slow and steady things, Jack.” Bitty’s voice is still steady, but there’s a secret behind his smile now, something small and pleased and very, very warm.

Jack unfolds the yoga mat and drops Bitty onto the mattress, where Bitty immediately stretches out again.

Jack drops the yoga mat and climbs after him, and this is Much Better. He also takes an extra few seconds to pull off his clothes, naked and ready for whatever Bitty and his yoga pants glory have in store for him.

“I’m not sure slow and steady go well with the 69 yoga pose. That feels more appropriate for a different pose.”

“I’m sure I can think of a few,” Bitty says thoughtfully. “Yoga is all about patience and slow, intentional movement.” He rolls up against Jack and pushes at his shoulders until Jack’s beneath him. Bitty keeps urging him toward the headboard until Jack’s shoulders hit their pillow.

“You think we can do slow and steady?” Jack jokes, tracing his fingers up the side of Bitty’s thighs, the yoga pants soft beneath his touch.

“Oh, I know we can,” Bitty says, eyes gleaming as he takes Jack’s hands in both of his and directs them to the sheets on either side of Jack’s hips. “Yoga is all about control. So stay.”

Bitty lets go of his hands and Jack keeps them at his sides, fingers curling in the sheets to keep from reaching out for Bitty again.

Bitty peels off his yoga pants, and while Jack is sorry to see the form-fitting fabric go, it’s also a Delight to see Bitty’s skin at any time. Once they’re both naked, he fishes the lube out of their bedside table and straddles Jack’s lap.

Jack’s arms twitch as he almost reflexively settles his hands on Bitty’s hips. He catches himself though, and Bitty raises an eyebrow at him, smirk firmly in place.

“Good job, Jack.”

Jack preens, even if it hurts a little not to be running his fingers down Bitty’s sides.

Bitty opens the lube and pours a small amount onto his fingers, then tucks those fingers behind him. His eyelids flutter again, and Jack whines. He can’t see what Bitty’s doing, but he Knows, and somehow that makes it all the more difficult not to Touch, to turn Bitty until he can see every finger slide inside of him.

But Bitty’s either eager to get to the next part or takes mercy on Jack and opens himself up without too much ceremony. Bitty can be quick and efficient when he wants to be, and as affected as he was earlier, he’s now the epitome of control.

“Let’s try this my way—I think we can probably do an approximation of the chair pose.”

Then Bitty’s sinking down onto him, the slow roll of him almost enough to make Jack feel like he can’t breathe.

“Bits,” he gasps, and the word feels torn from his throat, living and greedy.

Bitty curves his palm around Jack’s jawline as he settles down, making soft, gentle noises. He strokes Jack’s face with one hand, then drags the other down his own chest, starting a torturously slow grind with his hips.

“Patience,” he whispers.

It’s excruciatingly tender, painfully gradual, the way Bitty rolls his hips. He’s got Jack’s thighs pinned beneath him, the intentional weight of him enough for Jack to know that if he plants his feet on the mattress and tries to Take it won’t end well for him.

Bitty’s in control, and it’s the most delectable suffering Jack has ever had the pleasure of experiencing.

Bitty’s hands feel warm against his face, against his neck, the air between them nothing but gasped confessions that Jack is pretty sure aren’t real words, but he can’t even hear himself, can’t bring himself to care.

“You’re doing so well, sweetheart,” Bitty breathes, and that Jack can hear, that Jack can feel down to his core. Bitty rocks his hips and flutters around Jack, and it’s So Good, but then he slows down again, and Jack can’t breathe with how much he Wants.

“Look at you,” Bitty says, and his mouth is at Jack’s temple, breath warm and lips soft. “The captain taking orders from little old me. And you take them so well, Jack, giving me exactly what I need. Nobody fits with me the way you do, nobody could ever come close.”

Something possessive wakes inside Jack’s chest, a burning that threatens to overwhelm the soft way Bitty’s pressed against him.

Jack wants to wrap his arms around Bitty, wants to dig his fingers into the flesh of his ass and pull him closer, fuck him deeper. Anything to tell Bitty that of course, no one else comes close, because Bitty is Jack’s and Jack is Bitty’s and no one else has ever or will ever be That.

Bitty winds his hands through Jack’s hair, tugs it roughly once, and then soothes the pull with his fingers. He gently curls his hands down, almost petting Jack, then cups his face between his hands. It cools the frantic pull inside of him a bit, calms the thicket in Jack’s chest, but it does nothing the way Jack can feel himself stretching toward completion.

Bitty leans in and presses a soft, barely-there kiss to Jack’s lips, and it parallels the motion of their bodies, the soft press and gentle roll that has Jack nearly in tears.

Jack kisses him back, running his tongue along Bitty’s bottom lip, and Bitty gives in, pressing in deep and dirty with his mouth and he maintains his impossibly slow pace fucking himself down onto Jack.

“Bits,” Jack begs against Bitty’s lips, and Bitty catches his lower lip between his teeth in response.

“It’s all about patience, Jack,” Bitty replies, tightening his thighs around Jack’s sides. “You’ll get there, we both will, because you’re so good. So good for me.”

It’s obscene, the way his body rolls over Jack’s, steady as Jack trembles, intentional as Jack falls apart. Bitty was made for patience and blinding love, and Jack’s a little bit afraid that words are going to spill from him that he can’t take back.

Words that go with the ring hidden in the bottom of his gear bag. Words that would not be appreciated as part of a desperate plea just to get Bitty to Fucking Move.

Jack bites at Bitty’s collarbone just to prove he can do something other than breathe, and Bitty twitches, a minute motion that has him pressing down on Jack’s cock in a way that punches a harsh breath from between Jack’s lips. He aches to hold, to press, to take, but mostly he just Aches.

Jack’s not sure how Bitty hasn’t come yet, how he’s holding himself with such control, keeping both of them in check when Jack knows the Want is lurking just barely below the surface. He’s hard, cock an angry red color when Jack glances down at it. He’d love to touch, to mouth at the hot skin, but he’s too occupied with keeping his heart beating, fairly certain that his imminent cause of death will be Bitty fucking onto him with such tenderness that Jack’s heart just Stops.

Bitty must take pity on Jack after who knows how long, because he leans forward, giving Jack permission to move his legs, as wobbly as they are, and plant his feet on the mattress.

Jack puts both hands on Bitty’s ass and yanks him down, breathing hotly against his neck and fucking up into him like he’ll die if he doesn’t come in Bitty’s ass Right Now.

It takes hardly anything, as overstimulated as Jack is, for him to press deep into Bitty and shudder, hurtling off the edge of what is probably the most Obscenely Intense Orgasm of Jack’s life.

He’s clinging to Bitty probably a little too hard, but Bitty’s just making gentle noises again and brushing his fingers through Jack’s hair. It’s a lot, overwhelming in several ways, but Jack doesn’t care.

Bitty’s dick—Still Hard, What The Fuck—nudges against his stomach, and Jack will do something about that, he will, as soon as he’s able to let go of Bitty.

Bitty, however Ironically, doesn’t seem to have the patience to wait for Jack, and starts rubbing himself on Jack’s skin, a desperate roll of his hips that has Jack thinking that Bitty wasn’t as Completely in control as Jack thought he was.

It only takes a few thrusts for Bitty to come between them, then he collapses, boneless, against Jack.

“I’d get more into yoga if this was the end result,” Jack says when he can finally breathe again.

Bitty gently runs his nose along the side of Jack’s neck. “We could try couples yoga. If we do it at home, clothes are probably optional.”

“I’d say clothes are forbidden during in-house yoga,” Jack agrees. “Except I was pretty fond of those pants you were wearing.”

“I think you’d be fond of me doing yoga in just about anything,” Bitty counters, thumbs tracing little circles on Jack’s hips. “The shorts come to mind, as do the panties. But naked yoga has a nice ring to it, especially if you decide to try it with me.”

“Aren’t we already doing naked couples yoga?” Jack runs his palms down Bitty’s back, and they’re breathing in sync now, the rise and fall of their chests a rhythm that Jack wouldn’t mind falling into all the time.

Bitty huffs a small laugh against Jack’s skin, and it makes him shiver. “We should probably upgrade to solo naked yoga then. I wouldn’t mind watching your first time, just to make sure you do it right.”

“How kind of you.” Jack grins and leans sideways to snag the yoga mat off the floor.

He promptly cracks his head on the headboard corner.

The pain is quick and sharp but luckily doesn’t seem bone-deep. Jack’s done the concussion thing and knows this isn’t that.

It is, however, enough to make him bleed, if Bitty’s horrified gasp is anything to go by.

“Jack! Oh, Lord, let me get a washcloth.”

“For my head or my dick?” Jack laughs, and yeah, definitely not a concussion if he can make jokes.

Bitty’s already disappeared off him and pauses only to throw an unimpressed look over his shoulder as he ducks into the bathroom.

“Jack Zimmermann, you’re lucky it’s an off week,” Bitty says, climbing back onto Jack’s lap, and really, naked straddling is a great distraction, Jack’s not even sure his head hurts anymore.

Except it does when Bitty dabs at it gently, trying to clean the blood so he can actually see the wound.

“I had plans,” Bitty mutters. “Sexy, sweet plans that did not involve the emergency room over a sex injury.”

“I’m still interested in the sexy sweet plans,” Jack says quickly, and this time he’s allowed to settle his hands on Bitty’s hips. “And it’s not a sex injury. Technically, I was injured after sex.”

“We’re naked in bed; it’s a sex injury.”

“We’re still naked,” Jack points out, trying to look sexy even with his head wound. “I’m not averse to doing more things.”

Bitty pulls back and looks down at Jack, expression soft, and it warms something inside Jack, makes all of him feel soft, too.

“No,” Bitty says, and smiles his beautiful small smile, the one that Jack most associates with quiet post-intimacy moments when the two of them are breathing and there is nothing in the world to do but exist near one another. “Now’s not the right time. You’ll know when it’s right.”

He presses the cloth to Jack’s forehead again, and Jack reaches up to cover Bitty’s hand with his own.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’ll know.”