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The look of it was as sweet as the sound

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It doesn’t click in Jack’s mind that something is Happening until Bitty lights the candle on the table between them.

It’s like a light goes on in Jack’s brain at the same time, fork halfway to his mouth, and realizes, oh, Bitty might be trying to propose to him.



He finishes his forkful and smiles across the table at Bitty and tries not to let his eyes show how suddenly manic he’s feeling. He’s not sure he succeeds.

“Jack,” Bitty says, twisting his napkin in his hands, “I know it’s been kind of a wild week, what with my new job starting and planning for Lardo’s gala, but I really appreciate how supportive you’ve been. And I love you, so much, and I think—”

“Let me just get something from the kitchen real quick!” Jack interrupts, already out of his seat and practically running through the door. Because, holy shit, Bitty’s going to propose first, and Jack can’t let that happen.

Only now he’s standing in their kitchen, still holding his fork, trying frantically to come up with a way to stall this proposal. He can't hijack this moment, his own ring is still in a drawer in their bedroom, and Bitty would notice if he wandered out and made a beeline for their bedroom.

No, he has to make a plan here. And it’s got to be fast, or else Bitty will come looking for him. And Jack won’t have a chance to even think about getting down on one knee.

He looks around the kitchen for something, anything, he can use to sabotage this dinner. It can’t be terrible, because this is Bitty, and clearly Bitty worked hard for this. Also, Jack loves him, so he can’t afford to be irredeemably stupid. He has to be smart, calculated but not cruel. He has to ruin the night without Bitty even realizing he did it on purpose.

And there, on the kitchen counter, is his saving grace, his act of desperation, his deus ex machina:

A pie.

It’s absolutely perfect, with a lattice crust and a little heart at the center. It’s maple apple, Jack can tell by the way the edges are browned and sweet, sugar artfully coating the edges of the pan.

It’s amazing and thoughtful and sweet and Jack has to throw it on the floor.

It’s the only way, he tells himself, reaching for it. He can make it look like an accident, like he didn’t mean to throw Bitty’s beautiful proposal pie onto their recently cleaned kitchen floor. He do this. Jack Zimmermann is the king of ruining moments.

“Jack?” Bitty says, standing in the kitchen doorway.

Jack flinches and his elbow catches the rim of the pie tin.

The pie tips off the counter, and in the time between when it falls and splatters against the floor, Jack thinks, yeah, okay, it really was an accident.

It lands face down, because of course it does, and pie filling splatters across the floor, like a piece of Jackson Pollock modern art made to symbolize Jack’s gut-filling guilt.

Bitty blinks and looks down at the pie on their floor, the shattered remains of his proposal creeping all the way across the wood paneling to the underside of their fridge across the room. It’s a massacre, a brutal murder, and Jack feels Terrible.

Then Bitty laughs and shakes his head, holding up his own fork. “You ever see that episode of Friends with the floor cake?”

They eat pie off the floor until midnight and then lick the sweetness from each others’ mouths.

Bitty doesn’t propose.

Jack doesn’t either.


Jack manages to brace himself before Tater collides with him, a frenzied cloud of Russian words clogging up his visor. He can't stop smiling, though, can’t stop the way his eyes tear through the crowd, looking for someone he knows will share his smile.

The rest of the team converges on his and Tater’s on-ice celebration before he can find Bitty, but it’s okay, he knows he’s here. He always knows exactly where Bitty is when he comes to Jack’s games.

The buzzer is still going, long and loud, somehow still overpowered by the cheers of every gold and blue clad fan in the arena. It’s a hard-pressed victory, and Jack’s heart is full.

Well, almost full, he thinks, finally managing to break free of the group hug to seek out Bitty along the edge of the arena. They’re separated by several yards of ice and a thick sheet of glass, but it doesn’t matter. He’s here, looking at Jack, and Jack just.

Jack doesn’t even think about it, just glides to a stop beside the glass and starts to drop to one knee. He doesn’t even have the ring on him, wouldn’t dare take it on the ice, but it doesn’t matter. He’s caught up in the victory and the way Bitty’s blue beanie matches his Zimmermann jersey. Adding a ring would be another way of showing the world that they’re together, that they’re in love. That Bitty will wear pieces of Jack better than Jack ever could.

There’s a slightly panicked look in Bitty’s eyes, but it’s matched with awe and such love that Jack knows Bitty will say yes, will only be angry that he couldn’t ask Jack—

And then Tater runs him over, the two of them sprawling across the ice.

Jack blinks up at the bright lights and the jumbotron hanging over them, before glancing over at Tater, spread-eagle beside him.

Tater is grimacing, not meeting Jack’s eye, and then Jack knows. Tater was in on it, and he’s officially taken Bitty’s side.

“Tater,” he says, straight-faced, “et tu.”

“Itty Bitty promise so much pie,” Tater whispers back, looking like he’d much rather be celebrating with his team than betraying Jack on the ice. “I am weak man for love and also blueberry.”

Jack finds Bitty in the crowd again, and he’s laughing, sandwiched between Shitty and Lardo, eyes glued to Jack.

He’s beautiful and Jack’s not even mad.

It’s only fair; a pie for a pie.


Jack has “emergency practice” twice the following week, eating up time Bitty had suggested they use for a walk in the park, or fancy dinner at his favorite restaurant.

Of course, Bitty, in turn, is suddenly swamped with baking projects, which is valid with his new job, but also a little bit excessive and conveniently timed for when Jack wants to take Bitty stargazing or to their other favorite restaurant.

(They have three favorite restaurants, but neither of them is willing to propose in a place that serves carne asada tater tots and sushi rolls side by side, no matter how much they love the food).

There are phone calls with Moomaw and Bad Bob, some real, some feigned, and after about two weeks of delicately refusing (or outright sabotaging) date nights, Jack can tell Bitty’s exhausted. They both are. Jack misses Bitty so much it aches, which is a weird feeling to have about someone he lives with, but it’s there nonetheless.

So when Bitty pulls the brunch box from where it had been hiding in their closet (Tater was Nsy and had shown up more than once, summoned by one or both of them to end a romantic moment, something he was unsurprisingly very good at), Jack doesn’t even consider an ulterior motive.

“We need this,” Bitty says, rooting around for a note, and it’s unnamed, the fact that they’re both trying to propose to one another, but they won’t talk about it. Can’t, without ruining what is no longer a surprise.

They both want it to be, though, so they’ll suffer through a little forced ignorance.

It’s Bitty who fishes the note out, handing the box to Jack so he can unfold it, the air around them unfolding too, like their competing proposal tension is easily turning into sexual tension.

“Oh,” he says, which in relation to the box means that Jack is going to have a Truly Wild Night.

Bitty passes him the note, hand settling on his arm, like he needs to hold Jack for this note to be read.

“We know Bitty can dance, but can you boys use something else to put a little bounce in your step?”

Which. Is very Vague. Even with the slightly crude drawing of what Jack thinks is supposed to be an ass, but looks more like a speedbump.

Luckily, in tiny script underneath, little parenthesis have been drawn in, containing a very straightforward explanation: “Try the little ones that vibrate—they’re like a little secret you can wear wherever”

“Oh,” Jack echoes, because that feels like an appropriate response.

“Yeah,” Bitty says, expression unreadable.

“Do we even have something like that?” Jack asks, more to himself than an actual question, but Bitty turns a brilliant red. Jack raises his eyebrows at him.

“I may have picked up something like that when I went to that sex shop a while back,” Bitty admits. “I may or may not have panicked and hid it at the bottom of the bag.”

“Bud,” Jack says, and his voice is soft, sure that his expression is even softer.

“I didn’t panic about us,” Bitty says, squeezing Jack’s bicep. “Just the implications of something like that. It’s designed to be inside a person for a while, and that’s something new and...”

“And...exciting?” Jack offers, trying to gauge where Bitty’s at now. Because they don’t have to do this; Jack will drop the note into fireplace if Bitty’s not comfortable with it. But Bitty bought it for a reason.

Bitty gives Jack a shy smile. “I’ve...thought about it. And it would fit Shitty’s note since it, um, vibrates.”

Ignoring the way the word vibrate sends something tingling down Jack’s spine, he looks down at the handwriting on the note. “How do you know Shitty wrote this? It sounds like it comes from someone with experience.”

“Honey, we both know Lardo pegs.”

Jack, who did not know that, nods like he does, and purposefully ignores the way his worldview shifts a bit with the new, unwelcome knowledge. He has to rethink a lot of the notes Shitty wrote for the box, and decides he doesn’t really Need To Know. Mad Respect, but thinking about Shitty having sex in any capacity kind of makes Jack want to take like six showers.

“I didn’t even open the package,” Bitty says, saving Jack from himself. He turns back toward the closet and tugs out their Bag of Sex Toys, rooting around inside.

He pulls out a still-packaged vibrator and they stare at it together, until Jack says—

“You should wear it for Lardo’s gala tomorrow night.”

He doesn’t even know where the thought comes from, let alone why or how it exits his mouth with startling clarity.

Bitty jerks and looks up at him, mouth slack and eyebrows furrowed.

And Jack should apologize and take it back, except…

Except now that the idea’s in his brain, he kind of can’t stop thinking about it. He’s obviously been struck over the head by the New Fetish Fairy, but the thought of Bitty wandering around in a fancy suit, mingling with friends and fancy artists, all the while hiding a little black plug, nestled right between his cheeks, Does Things to Jack.

It’s unreasonable to expect Bitty to say yes, to jump straight into the deep end with this thing Bitty wasn’t even sure he wanted to try at home. Jack shouldn’t get his hopes up, can’t get his hopes up, because it would be unfair to Bitty, who—


Jack blinks. “What?”

“We should try it,” Bitty says, decisively.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.” Bitty nods, looking over the package with interest now, and Jack almost drops to his knees then and there. He’s not sure if it would be to blow Bitty or propose to him, because honestly either are Incredibly Plausible.

He stays standing, though, mostly because Bitty disappears to find something to open the package with, meaning Jack is alone in their bedroom with a boner, and that’s not a situation Jack is fond of.

Jack wanders after him, and they stand elbow to elbow, working the package open, reading the instructions, washing the smooth silicone. Jack is tasked with locating batteries while Bitty rolls the plug around in his palms.

“Tomorrow,” he says, looking down at it.

“Tomorrow,” Jack agrees, eyes glued to the plug, the way Bitty’s thumbs roll over the smooth material.

He blows Bitty in the kitchen and feels marginally better about waiting twenty-four hours to fulfill the note.


Lardo is radiant, draped in some sort of fancy golden dress. Her hair, shaved on one side, falls in gentle waves over her right shoulder, and she wears this confident success as though it’s a beer pong victory, owed to her, the queen of poised nonchalance. But Jack knows she earned this, worked hard for this night, and her smile is a little wider because of it.

“Jack,” she says, pulling him into a very strong hug, the bracelets around her wrists jangling. “Did you see the fancy food? Bacon-wrapped scallops. I’ve made it.”

“Lardo, you made it two years ago when that Brooklyn investor asked you to marry him after he saw your art,” Bitty says, and Lardo moves to hug him too, the two of them small and fancy.

Jack thinks back to only an hour or so ago, when he gently fingered Bitty open, dragged his palms down the backs of Bitty’s thighs. He can still hear the way Bitty’s breath hitched, see the way his fingers clutched at their sheets, as Jack slid the little plug inside.

He’d helped Bitty stand, held him until the glazed look in his eyes faded, until they’d had to pull on their suits, hiding this little secret of theirs from the world.

Now, Lardo pulls back from the hug, and Shitty claps Jack on the shoulder, appearing from amidst a traveling band of waiters.

“I’m lucky she turned him down,” Shitty says, and he’s Absolutely Beaming with pride, looking at Lardo like the sun and moon both came down to bask in her light. “And he’s lucky she still agreed to sell him her art. There are better proposals than that.” Shitty winks at Jack and snags a glass of champagne from a roving waiter.

“There are,” Jack agrees, and thinks about the box in his pocket, a just in case.

“Holster’s somewhere bidding on paintings for his office,” Lardo says, waving a hand at the crowd, where, unsurprisingly, Holster’s blonde hair stands out several inches above the crowd. Artsy folk are short, apparently, Jack thinks, or Holster is tall no matter where he goes.

“Ransom here yet?”

Shitty points over at a sculpture that looks a lot like the Samwell mascot, Wellie, after he’s been around a few too many geese. Ransom is staring at it in wonder, and Jack makes a note to buy it for him later. No doctor’s office is complete without a strange and somewhat frightening art piece.

The evening dissolves into beautiful paintings, sculptures that Jack is fairly certain are phallic in nature, but can’t comment on, and his friends eating half the food available. It’s really a glorified night at the haus, except Lardo’s making a lot more money with her art than she ever had with pong bets.

Through it all, Lardo accepts compliment after compliment, fancy art folk commenting on her style and medium, the way she’s taking the art world by storm. There are names dropped that Jack doesn’t know, money spent that Jack is impressed with, even with his salary. Bitty’s beside him the entire night, and it makes Jack’s insides warm, as though he’s been drinking champagne the whole night.

The gala is winding down before Jack even remembers the controller in his pocket, that he and Bitty had come with a secret mission, another purpose. Jack glances over at Bitty, who’s laughing with Lardo and Ransom, their little group gathered together to steal a little piece of the night for themselves.

It’s perfect, Jack thinks, just as Bitty taps his champagne flute.

“I’d like to make an announcement,” Bitty says, smiling, eyes on Jack. And Jack feels his stomach drop to his shoes.

It’s cheating, Jack thinks, to propose in front of their friends like this, where Jack can’t sabotage it without everyone knowing exactly what he’s doing.

“A lot of you know that I recently started a new job.”

“Hell yeah, Bits!” Shitty actually punches his hand in the air, managing for all the world to look like a frat guy, even in his fancy black suit and tie. Some things can’t be buried beneath a conservative haircut and a law degree, but Jack wouldn’t have it any other way.

At least he wouldn’t if Shitty would stop beaming at the two of them like he knows exactly what’s coming. The traitor.

“Thanks,” Bitty says, face pleasantly pink. “It’s honestly been such a whirlwind. But what’s really made it so incredible is how supportive Jack has been. I really couldn’t have done any of this without him. Sweetpea, you’ve been supporting me for years, encouraging me to be better even when we couldn’t stand each other. You’re my heart, Jack.”

Ransom “awwws,” and, God, Bitty’s really going to propose to Jack with a vibrating plug in his ass. What a Power Move.

Jack would be Amazed and Turned On if this weren’t ruining his proposal plans.

Jack reaches into his pockets, fingers brushing past the ring box and closing around a little oblong controller.

He tugs it out, confused for a moment before he remembers. His face is probably Incredibly Red, but hopefully, his friends will chalk it up to the way Bitty’s still talking about how pleased he is to be there with Jack, supported so wholly.

“New car?” Holster whispers and plucks the device from Jack’s hand. “Never seen a key fob like this before.”

Jack heart actually freezes in his chest, and he opens his mouth to stop him, do something, but Holster’s already passing it between his hands, thumb grazing the button on the side.

Bitty’s speech cuts off with a loud yelp, and his champagne sloshes over the rim of his glass.

He’s wide-eyed, staring at Jack, expression Horrified and Turned On all at once, something Jack doesn’t know how to deal with.

Lardo, beside Bitty, looks between the two of them and Holster’s hand, putting the pieces together at a speed that kind of hurts Jack’s brain. By the time he even realizes that she Knows, she’s already thrown herself against Bitty’s shoulder, knocking the two of them sideways several paces.

“Oh shit,” she says, looking at where her champagne has spilled down Bitty’s front, then down at her ankle, like the kitten heels she’s wearing have suddenly decided to cause her Massive Inconvenience. “I’m so sorry, Bits, we should get you cleaned up.”

Shitty immediately starts yelling about needing a clean up in the baking aisle, and he might not know what’s going on, but he’s been Lardo’s ride or die for years, and Jack knows they can read each other better than even he and Bitty can.

Holster hands Jack the controller back without even looking at him, hastily reaching for the nearest circulating server, asking for napkins.

Bitty’s still red-faced, and Jack can see a fine tremor in his shoulders, but he manages to gracefully sidestep the concern and starts weaving his way towards the nearest restroom.

Jack waits a moment, sure that everyone’s attention is elsewhere, then quickly follows, reaching the bathroom moments after Bitty ducks inside.

It’s the fanciest bathroom Jack’s ever been in, complete with a weird little fancy waiting room, an actual overstuffed sofa pressed against the wall opposite the sinks. There are round mirrors with light bulbs all around them, probably for selfies or something, because bathrooms this fancy couldn’t conceivably be for anything else.

And then there’s Bitty, leaning against the sinks, face hidden by his shirt collar, and all of Jack’s guilt comes rushing at him, almost a crushing weight against his shoulders.

“God, Bitty, I’m so sorry,” Jack says, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands, doesn’t know what to do with himself, because he wanted to stop the proposal, but not like this. Not in a way that could so thoroughly embarrass Bitty in front of all their friends. “He just grabbed it out of my hand, I forgot I even had it.”

Bitty’s grip is white-knuckled against the fancy sinks, head hanging down between his shoulders. He’s still shaking, but Jack can’t see his face, can’t see how monumentally he Fucked Up.

“Did you lock the door?” Bitty asks quietly, and god, it’s going to be a blowout fight, where Bitty will have every right to eviscerate him in this bathroom. They went from a possible proposal to a brawl in the bathroom, and Jack is Mortified and Very Sweaty.

“No, Bits, I’m sorry—”

“Jack,” Bitty says, finally looking up at him, and to Jack’s Very Intense relief, Bitty doesn’t look Murderously Angry. In fact, he kind of looks horny. “Jack, I need you to go and lock the door, because if we’re going to have sex in this bathroom, none of our friends or Lardo’s esteemed patrons are going to walk in while we’re doing so. Understand?”

Jack nods, dumbly, mouth dry, and turns back to the bathroom door, which thankfully does indeed have a fancy lock.

He takes a moment to breathe, hand on the cold lock of the door, then turns to look back at Bitty.

Who, apparently, in the time it took Jack to lock the door, has pulled his cock out of his slacks and has wrapped his hand around it.

Jack’s not sure what his face does, but Bitty laughs at him.

“It’s still vibrating,” he replies, already looking So Debauched. “And I’m not feeling very patient tonight.”

“Lucky for you, we don’t have to be very patient,” Jack says, stepping into Bitty’s space and leaning his palms against the countertops. “You’re already stretched open.”

Bitty laughs and settles his other hand on Jack’s chest, pressing him back a step. “Oh, sweetpea, that’s not how this is going to go. Holster turned on the vibrator, so I’m going to let that buzz along while I eat you out and fuck you against the counter top.”

Jack feels like he must have left his brain over by the locked door, because he doesn’t even really think about what Bitty said, just Reacts.

He’s twisted them around so his back is against the counter, instead of Bitty’s, not even registering how hard the stone is as he drops his lips onto Bitty’s.

“You like that idea, hon?” Bitty asks against his lips, fingers twisting in Jack’s dress shirt.

Jack nods, words gone, swallowed, and swipes his tongue over Bitty’s bottom lip.

“I thought you might,” Bitty says, and his hands are on Jack’s belt, on his fly, tugging down his slacks and underwear.

Jack only hesitates because making out with Bitty is an activity he’s hardly ever willing to end, but Bitty puts his hands on Jack’s lips and with one last slick kiss, spins him around. Jack bends over the counter top, planting his elbows on the surface, and the lights are so bright. He can see himself in the mirror, flushed red, mouth wet. But he can also see Bitty behind him, hands on Jack’s ass, gaze appreciative as he looks him over, and that’s a way better view.

Bitty’s catches his eye in the mirror and smiles. “This looks familiar, doesn’t it?”

Jack hums in agreement, remembering the mirror sex, one of the first notes they’d pulled from the box. They’ve come a long way, the two of them.

Bitty brushes his thumb over Jack’s hole and Jack suppresses a shudder, dropping his head between his shoulders.

“None of that,” Bitty says, smacking him lightly, more a pat than anything else. “You made me watch, now you gotta do the same. See what I do to you, what your face does when I take you apart. It’s beautiful, Jack.”

Jack groans but lifts his head up until he can look at Bitty in the mirror again.

Bitty clicks his tongue but goes back to his appraisal of Jack’s ass.

“You have easy access to that controller?”

Jack fumbles for a moment before he’s able to fish it from inside his coat pocket.

“Go ahead and kick it up a notch. Not all the way, just a bit more.”

Jack does, and Bitty gasps, eyes sliding shut for a moment, cock jumping against Jack’s skin.

“Perfect. Thank you, Jack. I’ll tell you when to do that again.”

And then Bitty’s gone. Or, the mirror him is gone, nothing but a tuft of blonde hair barely visible behind Jack, his fingers tugging his cheeks apart.

Bitty starts easy, just his tongue brushing over Jack’s hole, and it’s still enough to make Jack’s knees shake.

It’s lightning and fire all manner of Intense Feelings, because couples pick things up from one another, and Bitty has certainly taken on part of Jack’s 110% personality.

He’s not shy after that, as though if he reaches far enough inside of Jack he can draw out the shuddering breaths and shaky words that manage to find their way past Jack’s throat.

“Bits,” Jack grits out, and the counter is bearing most of his weight now, because his legs have disappeared completely. “You’re—eugh—more, Bits, c’mon.”

And this has to be punishment for letting Holster have the controller. This long, drawn-out destruction of Jack’s physical being, this denial of what he really Wants, is Bitty’s retribution.

“Jack,” Bitty says, and his breath is warm against Jack, his tongue used for words instead of driving Jack to the brink. “That’s not how it works, sweetpea. I have to get you ready, unless you want hand soap in here?”

“Will it be faster?”

“I’ll be more sticky than anything else.”

Jack can’t see Bitty’s face, but he can picture his expression, fond exasperation with a tinge of Horny.

He thinks maybe if he’s quiet for long enough Bitty will just grab the soap.

Instead, Bitty just laughs and works a finger inside Jack.

“You’re lucky you’ve got a cute butt, Mr. Zimmermann.”

“My everything is cute,” Jack replies, eyes shut, focused on the feeling of Bitty’s finger pressing inside, seeking a part of Jack his tongue couldn’t reach.

Bitty hums, clearly in agreement and his tongue brushing against where a second finger pushes inside.

It’s an admittedly harsh stretch, one that Jack tries not to wince away from, but Bitty’s attuned to his body. He stops, and Jack can’t stop the whine that spills from his throat.

“Sweetpea, I hate to say this, I really do, but my spit is not a great alternative to lube. It’s not gonna happen, hon.”

And, there must be a god who exists in some capacity, because Jack’s remaining brain cells rub together enough to remind him that—

“I have lube,” Jack gasps. “In my pocket, a travel packet.”

Bitty stops entirely, and Jack rocks his hips back, seeking motion, seeking something.

“That would’ve been convenient information before I threatened you with soap,” Bitty says, the hand not currently working its way into Jack’s body digging through the pockets of his dress pants. He laughs triumphantly when he finds it, followed by the sound of him tearing the little packet open with his teeth.

“Now we’re cooking with gas.”

It’s slick and easy from there, a little more gliding and stretching before Bitty appears in the mirror again, looking at Jack with dark eyes and intent.

“Last chance to back out.’ Bitty wiggles his eyebrows. “We can go back to the party, where Lardo’s patrons are none the wiser.”

“Are you kidding me?” Jack looks over his shoulder at Bitty, not content enough with just meeting his gaze in the mirror. “Literally nothing would make Lardo happier than the two of us boning at her big art party.”

Bitty laughs and Jack turns back to the mirror to watch him. Bitty catches his gaze and grins.

“Eyes on me, Jack,” he says, then presses in.

Jack just barely manages to keep his eyes on Bitty, watching the way he bites his lower lip, the way his face gets flushed, the way he can’t tear his eyes away from where he’s disappearing into Jack, rapt.

He’s beautiful, Jack thinks, as he’s filled completely.

Bitty’s deep inside Jack by the time Jack remembers the controller clenched in his fist. He’s not sure he even has the wherewithal to make it work, but it’s a simple action to clamp his thumb down over the knob.

Jack can hear it when it kicks up, both in Bitty’s bone-deep groan and a vibrating hum that fills in the spaces between their gasps.

“J-Jack,” Bitty gasps, hands so tight on Jack’s hips, his own stuttering in their rhythm. Jack whines until Bitty finds it again, brushing against the piece of him that has sparks flying in his vision. “I said I’d tell you w-when.”

“You don’t have the controller,” Jack says, rolling his hips back to meet Bitty’s thrusts.

Jack can hardly keep his head up, can hardly hold himself up on his elbows, but he will for Bitty, who’s watching him in the mirror with hooded eyes and pink cheeks. His bow tie is still perfect around his neck, his clothing barely rumpled, if a little champagne stained, a neat and tidy piece while Jack falls apart beneath him.

The vibrator continues to hum, and Bitty’s trembling, fingers digging into Jack’s skin as he throws himself erratically into Jack. He’s desperate, and so put together, and Jack feels like his heart is going to fly out of his chest.

It nearly does when one of Bitty’s hands lets go of his hip long enough to wrap a hand around Jack’s cock, pumping him to the rhythm of a vibrator Jack can’t even feel. It doesn’t take long before he spills over, barely managing not to stain his suit.

He has to remind himself Again, when Bitty gasps and shudders against him, that proposing to Bitty in a bathroom while they’re fucking is Not A Good Idea.

Bitty drapes himself over Jack’s back, face buried between his shoulder blades, still shallowly thrusting even though he’s already come. They breathe together, like they always do, seeking each other’s heartbeats, a matching breathing rhythm.

Then Bitty pulls back, rights himself, and slides out of Jack. He doesn’t go far, though.

Jack watches in the mirror as Bitty reaches behind himself, face still slack with residual pleasure. His hand appears a moment later, clutching the little black plug, and then it disappears again. Jack can feel the edge of it nudge against him, catching on his rim before sliding in.

“It’s only fair,” Bitty says, thumbing at his rim once the plug is secure, and Jack, feeling full again, Bitty’s release still tucked inside him, can only drop his forehead onto the countertop.

Bitty tugs Jack’s underwear and pants back up over his ass and zips him up, putting them back together like they haven’t spent the better part of the last half hour defacing the nicest bathroom either of them have ever been in.

“You good, sweetpea?”

Jack pushes himself up, and standing feels little weird, this Thing still inside of him. It’s not unpleasant, and Jack kind of thinks if he hadn’t just had an Insane Orgasm, it could get him hard again.

“How’d you do this all night?” Jack asks, shifting his feet, testing the way the plug moves with him.

Bitty, looking too put together for how debauched Jack feels, just grins.

“You get used to it.” He pats Jack on the ass, which sends all sort of Tingling Feelings through Jack’s body, and unlocks the bathroom door.

Jack gives himself a moment to breathe, then follows Bitty, hands in his jacket pockets.

It takes him a moment to realize the controller is gone.

Bitty, further ahead, winks at Jack over his shoulder.