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Drivin' with my eyes closed

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“I took a week off,” Bitty announces, dropping a duffel bag on their bed, narrowly missing Jack’s feet. “Pack a week’s worth of underwear.”


“I guess you don’t have to pack any underwear if you don’t want to,” Bitty replies with a shrug, turning back toward their closet.

Jack bites back his smile. “Not the underwear, the week off?”

“It’s an off week for you,” Bitty says, tossing a pair of jeans onto the bed beside the duffel. “So I called in my vacation days and we’re playing hooky.”

Jack sets his book down and rolls off the bed, carefully folding the clothes Bitty continues to pile on their bed. “They’ll survive a week without you?”

Bitty shrugs, going for nonchalance, but Jack can see the tension in his shoulders, the bags under his eyes. “We’re going to find out.”

“A whole week. Do you have a plan?” Jack asks, more out of concern for their car than anything else. He already doesn’t care where they go, just that it’ll be him and Bitty for an entire week with nothing in the world in the way. No demanding jobs, no strict schedules, just the two of them and whatever they decide to do. Jack doesn't even care what that will be.

“Of course,” Bitty says with a wink. “We’re road tripping to DC.”


A road trip with Eric Bittle requires two rolling pins (stuffed haphazardly beside rolled jeans), protein-packed home baked snacks (Jack’s nutritionist learned early on to ban the mini-pies), and a playlist prepped within minutes.

Jack has grown accustomed to all of these things after so many years of dating and living together, but that doesn’t mean he enjoys them any less.

“I think we’ve got everything?” Bitty says, which means they have at least another fifteen minutes of double checking before they’ll actually leave. But Jack dutifully does a sweep of the bathroom just in case one of them forgot their toothbrush.

(Neither forgot.)

While he’s inside though, he stares at his gear bag, where he’s carefully hidden a little jewelry box in a side pocket.

This could very easily just be a fun trip, a way to spend time together when they’re otherwise catching evenings and odd days off. But it could also just as easily be Something Else.

Shitty’s words flash through his mind: “If you don’t propose to him, I know for a fact he’s gonna propose to you.”

Jack looks down at the bag, trying to think fast, but it’s just Shitty’s words on a loop.

If this is an attempt on Bitty’s end to propose to Jack, Jack has to be ready to get down on one knee first.

The thing is, though, he Really Doesn’t want to propose in Washington DC. It’s something Jack would love, full of history and beautiful architecture, but it’s not right for Bitty. Bitty deserves a picnic by a lake in the summer, the two of them flushed from the sun and a few Other Things. The only history Bitty needs is their own, and Jack just knows he can do better than hijacking a nice afternoon beside the Lincoln Memorial.

He’s not going to propose to Bitty this week, Jack decides.


He sticks the jewelry box in his pocket, then rejoins Bitty downstairs, stealthily stuffing it into his bag of toiletries under the guise of a forgotten toothbrush.

Just in case.

“Six and a half hours,” Bitty proclaims, plugging his phone into Jack’s car. “Not the longest we’ve ever been in a car together.”

“Are we stopping for more than lunch along the way?” Jack shifts the car into gear and it doesn’t take long for him to head toward the nearest freeway.

Bitty shrugs, and there’s something about his expression that Jack doesn’t trust, something that sends a thrill down his spine, thoughts of a ring in the back increase. “We’ll see how we’re feeling.”

The first hour or so is uneventful, set to the quiet bass of someone Jack doesn’t recognize. It’s enough to distract Jack, to make him think that this really is just going to be a road trip. That Bitty’s planning isn’t always hiding something else.

Jack loves driving. If hard pressed, he’s not really sure he could eloquently explain why. It might be the control thing, or maybe a direction thing, but Jack really just thinks it’s a whatever thing. Driving is easy, the way the wheel curves under his hands, the way the road curves under his tires. He doesn’t have to think about strategies and positions, he just has to drive.

It’s easy, Jack thinks, where everything else in his life hasn’t been.

Driving with Bitty is a little bit different. It’s still easy, still thoughtless, but now it’s something he does to the heavy beat of Beyonce or to the smooth sound of Bitty’s southern accent, thicker when he tells stories about home, about his family, about things he still wants to do in life.

Now, Jack drives with Bitty in the passenger’s seat and thinks about how it’s just another thing he gets to do with the man he loves beside him, and really, that’s what Jack loves the most.

To his surprise, Bitty directs him away from the freeway after they’ve passed out of the city.

He understands after another few moments, when they’re the only drivers on the road, somewhere green and empty.

Because then Bitty’s hand is on Jack’s leg, fingers inching higher.

“Bud,” Jack says, voice low, a rumble in his chest. “I know you took driver’s ed.”

“And?” His hand keeps moving.

“I know that you know about the rules of safe driving.”

“I do.” Another inch closer to where Jack knows he shouldn’t be starting to swell, but Definitely is.

Jack glances over, and Bitty’s not even looking at him, just staring straight ahead through the windshield, fingers teasing the inseam of Jack’s jeans. “And you know how I’ve never gotten a ticket, right?”

“Your safe driving record turns on both me and our insurance company.”

Jack snorts and tightens his grip on the wheel when Bitty’s knuckles graze over him.

“I don’t think this counts as safe driving.”

“Pull over then,” Bitty says, and he’s teasing enough that Jack knows he doesn’t have to really pull over, that Bitty would pull his hand away if he didn’t, that it wouldn’t break either of their hearts if he just kept driving. But.

Jack pulls over.

“Safety first,” Bitty says as soon as Jack turns the car off, then promptly climbs over the gear shift to sit on Jack’s lap.

It’s a tight squeeze, their car not built to hold two adult men in the driver’s seat. But Bitty is undeterred, sliding his knees on either side of Jack’s hips and grinding down like there isn’t a steering wheel pressing into his back.

And then Jack can’t really pay attention to how cramped it is, because Bitty’s tongue is tracing over his teeth. He bites Jack’s lip and soothes the skin with his tongue, and that’s really the only thing Jack wants to think about.

Jack’s hands settle beautifully on Bitty’s ass, palms gliding across the denim, fingers more than happy to squeeze a little, tug Bitty closer.

Bitty fits so well against him no matter what sort of space they occupy, and Jack will forever be grateful for Bitty’s slight stature. It’s selfish of him to like the way Bitty makes him feel Big, but it’s also great because he can pull him down to grind against and not accidentally hit the horn on the steering wheel.

Bitty kisses languidly, arms twined around Jack’s neck like they’re sprawled on their couch at home instead of pulled over onto the side of some back road. He rolls his hips in Jack’s lap, cock twitching in his jeans like there’s no one in the world but the two of them.

It makes Jack’s head spin in the best way, pressed against his seat by the weight of Bitty against his chest. They used to do this on the rare occasion when Jack would drop Bitty off at Samwell, getting in a last minute kiss or ten down the street from the Haus, hidden from view by a little grove of trees. It’s a good memory, Jack thinks, made even better by the feel of Bitty under his hands.

Bitty pulls back, the two of them breathing hard, but he barely takes a moment to breathe before leaning down to mouth at Jack’s jaw, to scrape his teeth over the tendons in his neck.

“Bud, somebody could pull over behind us,” Jack says, panting, finding enough brain power to remember they’re still technically in public. “They’d see us.”

“They’d see us what?” Bitty breathes, ghosting his lips over Jack’s ear before tracing back down over his jaw. “Shamelessly going at it on the side of the road? Fooling around in this car like a couple of horny teenagers? Do you think they’d watch?”

“I hope not,” Jack admits, even if his skin is humming at the prospect. He drags his hands up Bitty’s back, bunching up his shirt in the process, before dipping his fingers just inside the hem of Bitty’s jeans. “I’m the only one who gets to see this.”

Bitty’s hips twitch, then he stops and deliberately rolls forward at an achingly slow pace, like exclusivity doesn’t Absolutely Turn Him On.

“Well then, since it’s just us,” Bitty says, fingers winding in Jack’s hair, “you don’t have to worry about it.”

“You’re a menace.”

“I’m a menace with a note in his pocket about road head,” Bitty replies, pushing away from Jack and squeezing his arm in between the seat and the door. Jack doesn’t realize what he’s doing until the seat slides back the few inches that it can.

Jack nearly chokes and immediately slides a hand from where it’s fondling Bitty’s ass to slide into his back pocket. He finds it on the first try, but Bitty snatches it from his hand before he can open it, pressing his lips to Jack’s with intent.

“The next time you’re out driving, get frisky behind the wheel—but remember, safety first,” he quotes against Jack’s lips, then drops the note into the cupholder by the gearshift. He licks into Jack’s mouth for a few seconds more, then leans back, grinning when Jack chases after him.

Bitty winks at him and slides down, and Jack has to take a sec to be grateful for how small Bitty is again because he tucks himself right into the space between Jack’s legs, down beside the pedals.

Jack, mourning the loss of Bitty’s ass in his hands, slides them into Bitty’s hair instead, and he can’t complain too much, because it’s soft and positioned very close to Jack's dick, which is starting to strain in his jeans.

“Am I still a menace?” Bitty asks, stroking his palm over the front of Jack’s jeans before slowly tugging the zipper down.

“The worst,” Jack grunts, scratching Bitty’s scalp. “But I have to admit you look incredible down there.”

“I always look incredible,” Bitty replies, rolling his eyes, grin wide. He pulls Jack’s cock out of his underwear and fists it slowly. “And you’re biased because I’ve got your dick in my mouth.”

“It’s not in your mouth yet, but I’m definitely not biased,” Jack says, jerking forward as Bitty leans forward and licks up from base to tip. His tongue is pink, and every time they do this Jack thinks about how small Bitty’s mouth is, the obscene stretch as he wraps his lips around Jack’s cock and takes him deep.

Jack doesn't have a size kink, but he kinda sorta definitely has a Bitty kink.

“Definitely not biased,” Jack gasps as Bitty swallows him down. His eyes roll back and he drops his head against the headrest, trying not to twitch his hips toward where Bitty’s mouth is warm and wet.

Bitty pops off for a moment to ask, “do I still look good, Jack? C’mon, eyes on me.”

And it’s a struggle to lift his head, but not a struggle at all to look down at Bitty, bright-eyed and eager, sucking Jack’s dick while nestled by the gearshift like he’ll never get the chance to do it again.

"So good, bud," Jack says, and those are all the words he knows.

Bitty's hair brushes against the steering wheel every time he tongues at the head of Jack’s cock, so Jack slides a hand around the back to keep a barrier between them. Bitty hums gratefully and it jolts down Jack, his hips twitching minutely as he tries to keep control.

Jack loves driving, and maybe it is a control thing, but he loves Bitty more, and he knows with him it’s never about control.

Bitty’s mouth is slick and warm and he blows Jack ruthlessly, like this blow job is a race to see how quickly he can take Jack apart. He’s got one hand fisted around the base and the other tracing over Jack’s balls, a combination that has Jack trembling.

It makes Jack wish he could reach more of Bitty, take him apart while he does this for Jack, but the car is Literally In The Way, so Jack drags his fingers through Bitty’s hair and watches him instead.

Bitty preens under his gaze, dark eyes on Jack’s face. His lips are stretched obscenely, and he’s Absolutely Beautiful.

It’s the confidence in his eyes that really gets to Jack. When they first met, Bitty had been afraid of everything. He let Jack pet him through his clothes, press kisses to his shoulders, his forearms, but he shied away from anything more physical. Now, though, he's the instigator more often than not, comfortable with his skin and Jack’s gliding together.

Jack knows he would’ve been okay if Bitty had wanted to keep a careful distance between them. He would’ve been okay with having Bitty in any capacity for the rest of his life.

But he’s also More Than Okay with Bitty pushing him to the side of the road and dropping to his knees, pulling Jack close until his name permanently lives on Jack’s lips.

“Bits,” Jack says, and it's breathy and reverent and probably not suited for a roadside blowjob, but really, it can’t be helped. Jack does things at a level that other people don’t, commits in a way he sees mirrored back in Bitty, who seems to realize that Jack is tipping toward an edge with no return.

Bitty pulls back a little, pressing his tongue along the bottom ridge, then dives back in, hollowing his cheeks and Jack sees stars.

It’s thunderous, even more so in this small space, like Jack and Bitty are wrapped in a bubble of heat. Jack feels pulled apart and thrown together with sudden, startling lucidity, and for a moment Jack can do nothing but exist, as he trembles under Bitty’s lips.

He’s nothing and everything all at once, and it’s a lot for a blow job induced orgasm on the side of the road.

He can’t keep watching Bitty, no matter how much he wants to, because his whole body is tense with pleasure now, head tipped back, the gray material lining his car glaring down at him judgmentally.

Their car has Seen Some Things, and this isn’t the first.

Bitty crawls back up into Jack’s lap and presses light kisses to his dazed face.

“I thought maybe you’d talk your way through that one,” Bitty says between kisses. “You’ve been so vocal lately, really leveled up your dirty talk game.”

“I wasn’t expecting a roadside ambush,” Jack wheezes, chest heaving and sweatier than when they left.

Bitty shrugs, and he’s hard in his jeans but making no moves to deal with it.

“I can talk dirty now if you want,” Jack offers. “And you can jack off onto my chest. I have some car napkins left.”

Bitty laughs and presses a kiss to Jack’s cheek.

“You’re sweet,” he says, pressing one more lingering kiss to Jack’s lips. Then he slides off Jack’s lap and back across the gear shift to his own seat, settling in like they’d stopped to grab snacks instead of turning Jack into a snack. “I’ll wait until we’re in DC. You can make it up to me there.”

“You sure?” Jack asks.

Bitty buckles himself in, grin lopsided and lips swollen. “Of course. I’ve always wanted to shove gay relationships in the face of angry politicians by fucking near where they all live.”

Jack laughs, figures that’s the sweet end of it, and turns the car back on. It takes him a second to remember how his arms are supposed to work, but then he pulls them back onto the street without too much trouble.

“Which monument are we hitting first?”

He tangles his fingers with Bitty’s on the console between them.

“Washington National Monument,” Bitty replies with a smug smile. “I like things that are tall and hard.”

Jack snorts and squeezes Bitty’s hand.

He figures they’re in for a memorable trip and a lot of historical tours. Maybe Jack can convince Bitty to do another roleplaying sexcapade with him, something Constitution-themed. He figures that’s the end of it, they’ve fulfilled the note and its smooth sailing from here.

It happens three more times before they’ve even made it to DC.

Jack pulls over every time.