Bitty doesn’t play hockey anymore, but he still skates whenever he has the opportunity. And Jack, as his wealthy significant other with regular access to a skating rink, does what is probably his civic duty of making sure Bitty gets ice time.
It’s not selfish. At All.
Because it’s good for Bitty to be on the ice. Freeing and fast and Great. For Bitty. And for Jack too, because it’s fun to skate with Bitty, to just circle each other. To knock each other around a bit. To race around the ice.
To watch the way Bitty can still lift his leg up Like That. And skate beautifully. In his tight-fitting exercise pants. All flexible and such.
It’s even Better when Jack can get them private ice time and watch Bitty skate circles around him, stretching his arms up and doing jumps like it hasn’t been years since he competed.
He’s still really, Really Flexible.
And Jack knows that. Oh, does he know that. The yoga mat still makes him feel a little horny when he sees it. But on the ice, where he first met Bitty, where they first came out to the world. It’s special. Different.
It makes Jack’s heart sing and his dick swell and. It’s all happening on ice, so Jack’s pretty sure Literally Nothing Could Be Better.
So Jack waits until Bitty lands a jump and comes to a graceful stop before he basically pounces on him. He’s got Bitty against the boards, hands sliding around his waist, lips searching. It’s really good that Bitty isn’t afraid of checking anymore, because what Jack is doing is essentially make-out-checking.
Bitty, for his part, doesn’t even question this change of pace and slides his cold fingers under Jack’s shirt, humming against Jack’s lips.
Jack presses closer, until Bitty is pinned between his body and the boards, a little sweaty and a lot beautiful, cheeks red from the cold. And if Jack starts rocking a little bit, pushing his hips closer, until Bitty’s moving with him, a dirty grind against one another, hands tracing further inside clothing and—
Bitty pulls away, face flushed and mouth beautifully kiss-swollen. He takes several deep breaths, and Jack realizes he’s panting too.
“Jack Zimmermann, we are not fucking on the ice. It’s too cold and your coworkers have to be here.”
“We fucked in the locker room. My coworkers have to be there too.”
Bitty leans his head back against the boards, visibly attempting to compose himself while Jack continues to shamelessly rut against him. “That was different.”
“I wasn’t going to freeze my dick off in the locker room. Now, get us off the ice and maybe I’ll blow you in the penalty box.”
Jack laughs and doesn’t move. “I think that might encourage poor behavior.”
“We don’t need that kind of response,” Bitty says “Don’t get into any fights. Maybe I should start using sex as a reward system for clean games.”
Jack hums, leaning down to kiss Bitty’s damp temple, his ear, the top of his neck. “Fuck me during rewatches and review tapes and I’ll think about it.”
Bitty’s voice wobbles minutely. “Will that help you remember stats and team strategies?”
“Hmm, maybe.” Jack kisses lower, dragging his lips over Bitty’s pulse, which is jumping erratically under his lips.
“Captain Zimmermann distracted during hockey. What have I done to you, you poor boy?”
Jack grins against Bitty’s skin and then pulls back minutely. “We can skip the penalty box for the snack bar, if you want.”
Bitty smirks. “Because I’m a snack?”
“I don’t know what that means. But. Yes.”
“You’re sweet,” Bitty says, pulling his hands out from under Jack’s shirt, which Jack doesn’t really feel is productive movement in the right direction. “But that’s unsanitary. The only place we fuck near food is our own kitchen, that’s a hard and fast rule.”
“It’s not the only thing hard and fast,” Jack says, keeping his hands securely on Bitty’s hips, skating backwards, toward the doors in the rink.
Bitty rolls his eyes, skating with Jack. “I want a divorce.”
“We aren’t even married, yet.”
Yet. The word sticks in Jack’s mind, making him fumble a bit.
But Bitty just laughs, face flushed pink, and Jack can feel the knot of anxiety in his chest loosen immediately.
“Fine, but we aren’t doing anything in the snack bar,” Bitty says, spinning them so he’s the one skating backward, leading Jack off the ice.
“Do you have a better idea?”
“I always have a better idea.”
Jack casts a forlorn glance over his shoulder at the penalty box, but steps off the ice and onto the rubber mats. Bitty lets go of one of his hands so he can lead them away from the ice, and Jack decides that watching Bitty’s ass in those pants makes up for not getting to have sex on the ice. Bitty would probably say it’s too cold anyway.
They wander further from the ice, back toward the halls that hold the locker room, and Jack thinks a repeat of the time they fucked there wouldn’t be a terrible way to spend the day. He actually gets as far as determining which bench he’ll fold Bitty over when Bitty drops his hand.
Bitty ducks around the corner and grins when they get to the end of the hall.
“The equipment closet?” Jack makes a face. There aren’t any benches in there.
Bitty turns the knob and opens the door, looking over his shoulder at Jack. “Well, I’m not gonna have sex on the Zamboni.”
“Tater doesn’t need any more reasons to give me another nickname.”
Bitty raises an eyebrow and backs into the closet, dragging Jack with him. “Do you tell Tater about all of our sex escapades?”
“He just knows! He clocked my sex injury the minute I walked in the locker room, and he keeps asking about the cowboy hat. Tater has a sixth sense for our sex life.”
“I thought we decided it wasn’t a sex injury.”
Jack shakes his head and slips his hands under Bitty’s thighs, hefting him up until he wraps his legs around Jack’s waist, careful of his skate blades. He walks them further into the equipment room, until Bitty’s back hits the far wall, pinned against Jack’s body like they had been on the ice.
“Let’s just try not to get another one, okay?” Jack leans against Bitty a bit as he widens his stance, careful of the way his skates feel a little more precarious off the ice.
He’d take them off, but honestly, fucking Bitty in skates has been on his Dangerous Sex List for longer than he wants to admit.
Bitty seems similarly inclined, because he just hooks his ankles a little closer, grinding their hips a little harder, blades angled away from Jack’s body.
“No injuries, got it,” Bitty says the words against his lips and then dives back in, like they haven’t even left the ice. Bitty kisses like he skates, smooth, fast, and unapologetic. He breathes warmth into Jack to rival the cold air around them, the layer of sweat beneath their clothes burning through Jack.
Jack steals breaths between warm presses of lips and rocks his hips, digging his fingers into Bitty’s thighs. His muscles burn a little bit, and it’s been a while since they’ve done this. It’s been a while since he’s simply picked Bitty up and fucked him against the wall. Mostly because wall sex is conducive to shoulder bruising, but Jack figures with the number of layers they’ve got on, it shouldn’t be a problem.
Jack rolls his hips again and Bitty gasps into their kiss, eyelids fluttering. He shivers, and Jack can feel every bit of him moving with how closely pressed they are. He can feel the way Bitty twitches in his pants, the way his thighs tremble and then squeeze even tighter around Jack. Like he aches to be closer the way Jack does too.
The grinding feels really good though, and as eager as Jack was to possibly fuck in the penalty box, the air is cold. And his dick his very warm in his pants. Very warm in his pants and pressed against Bitty’s dick, a pocket of warmth Jack feels a little reluctant to risk losing.
“Jack,” Bitty pleads, like he knows what Jack’s thinking when he grinds a little harder, thrusts a little more frantic. “Jack, please, touch me.”
“I am touching you, bud,” Jack says, dragging his lips down Bitty’s neck, tongue against his skin. “I’m touching you a lot, actually.”
“How about some—ah!—some under the clothes touching?”
Jack hums, like he’s thinking about it, and really, Jack wonders, how difficult could it be? How hard could it be to make Bitty come like this? Pinned and pleasured through his clothes?
“We haven’t done this in a while,” he says, lips moving across Bitty’s throat, feeling the way he swallows, the way his heartbeat increases just a bit.
“Grind together? We spend an inordinate amount of time doing that, Jack.” Bitty’s words are hitched, a shiver to them that has Jack thinking no, it won’t be very difficult at all.
Jack hums again. “We do, don’t we?” He breathes against the hollow of Bitty’s throat, hips circling in a steady rhythm. “I was thinking more along the lines of how long it’s been since we finished like this.”
“In our pants?” Bitty probably meant his voice to sound scandalized or indignant, but it comes out breathy and more than a little turned on. “We aren’t in college anymore, Jack, we—”
“We are adults who can absolutely grind against each other in a closet and feel like that’s enough,” Jack interrupts, pulling back to look Bitty in the eye. He intentionally rolls his hips slowly, more purposefully, dragging his fabric covered dick against where Bitty’s So Hard.
Bitty bites his lip and groans.
“We used to do this all the time,” Jack says, voice low, practically a rumble in his chest as he thrusts against Bitty. “You used to ride my thigh and ruin your shorts, back before you let me lick you clean.”
“J-Jack—” Bitty’s mouth is so pink, his cheeks rubbed practically raw by Jack’s stubble, and he’s something Jack wants to look at forever. Slack mouthed and panting, hips twitching like he remembers exactly what Jack’s thigh feels like between his legs.
Jack remembers exactly what it feels like too.
“You’d get so embarrassed, until I rolled my hips to show you how much it turned me on. You always got so red, it was beautiful. You’re still beautiful.”
And he is, hairline damp and eyes squeezed shut, a desperate chase with barely enough friction. But Jack’s Determined now.
“Just kissing you was new and wild back then,” Jack says, because Bitty’s shaking, Bitty’s cresting the edge and coasting on Good Feeling and Jack wants to take him all the way to the end. “But it was worth waiting for, to get to have you like this, any way you’d let me. Slide my thigh between yours, watch the way the edges of your shorts would catch, the way you’d grip my shirt so tightly. And the way you looked at me—God, Bits, the way you looked at me, like I’d given you everything and the moon.”
Bitty opens his eyes, and it's the same expression, the one Jack can conjure in his mind any time. He Knows this expression, just like he Knows he looks at Bitty the same.
“It drove me wild, bud. Made me realize I wanted you any way you’d let me have you. And if that meant a few months of grinding against your side, of sliding my leg between yours, then I was going to do that. I still will. C’mon, Bits, I know you remember what it feels like.”
And almost like staring adoringly at each other is something that Turns Him On, Bitty lets out a startled gasp and rocks his hips in stuttering motion before stilling. He sucks in deep breaths, chest heaving with the effort of panting in the space between them.
Jack keeps up his own motions, dragging his hips against Bitty’s, not caring about the mess but mindful of the way Bitty shivers against him.
It doesn’t take too much longer after that for stars to burst behind Jack’s eyes, and then they’re both breathing raggedly in the equipment closet.
Jack’s knees wobble a bit, a reminder that he’s on skates and still gripping Bitty’s thighs tightly. And he’ll deal with that. In a minute.
“Good Lord, Jack, when did you get so good at using that mouth of yours?”
Jack grins. “When I realized I could do more than just blow you with it.”
“I can get behind that,” Bitty says, and leans his head back against the wall, neck arched and exposed. Jack presses a soft kiss there and just breathes.
“You stole my thunder though?”
“Hmm?” Jack raises his head so Bitty can do the same.
“My thunder,” Bitty repeats, wiggling a bit until Jack sets him down, hands gliding unabashedly over his ass as he does so. “I had plans.”
“Plans beyond orgasms in the equipment closet?”
Bitty sticks a hand into the thin pockets along the seam of his pants and withdraws a folded note. “Plans, Jack,” he says, handing the note to Jack.
Jack takes it and unfolds it, grinning before he even reads the thing.
“This all started on the ice—can you keep the party going there?”
Jack looks down at Bitty and grins. “I think I hijacked those plans pretty well.”
“My version would’ve involved fewer clothes,” Bitty says, expression distasteful as he plucks at his pants. His face is still flushed though, cheeks pink with pleasure, so Jack knows he’ll be forgiven for the uncomfortable ride home.
“We can do your version at home if you want. Round two.” Jack winds his fingers through Bitty’s and tugs him toward the door, which he belatedly realized they never closed behind them.
Bitty tilts his head like he’s thinking about it and leads Jack back down the hall, to where their bags are waiting beside the ice.
“Maybe round two has a different theme,” he says, reaching into his other pocket and withdrawing another folded note.
Jack grins, wide and So, So Pleased. “Maybe it does.”