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if there's anything on my face you put it there

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Jack hasn’t had sex with enough people to have a good idea of how many hickeys is a normal amount. Before Bitty, it was just Kent, and they never really made it to a bed. Bitty is the first person who’s ever taken his time with Jack, who’s paid attention to more of him than his mouth and his dick. Afterward, Jack is covered in reddish blotches, and he’s not really sure if that’s typical.

He gets his answer in the locker room, when Shitty looks him up and down and says, “Holy shit. Bro, did you get attacked by leeches or are you fucking a vampire?”

“Uh,” says Jack. “Not leeches?”

Ransom and Holster let out identical obnoxious hoots, and the whole room erupts in congratulations and speculation. Jack tries not to cringe too much, because he grew up in locker rooms and he knows that letting chirps get to you is a good way to keep them coming, but he’s really not comfortable with how closely they’re all examining his body.

“Hey!” Shitty says loudly. “Enough, leave him alone.” He shakes his head at the worst offenders, like he wasn’t the one who started it. “Happy for you, buddy,” he says, clapping Jack on the shoulder, and goes back to toweling down his skate blades.

Jack sneaks a glance at Bitty. He’s not watching, but his ears are a little pink.


When they can get a minute alone at the Haus, Jack says, “Hey, I’m sorry about that.” Bitty gives him a questioning look, and he elaborates, “Letting them see the marks. I should’ve been more careful.”

Bitty laughs. “You’re so Canadian, apologizing for stuff that isn’t one tiny bit your fault. It’s fine. Honestly, I like it when people see.”

Jack wrinkles his forehead. “You... want them to know we’re together? But..." They’ve had this conversation. Jack doesn’t want to come out yet. He’s going to sign with an NHL team and get some decent numbers under his belt first, and telling the guys would be too much of a risk. He thought they were both clear on that.

“No, no,” Bitty reassures him. “You don’t have to tell them it was me. I mean, you don’t have to do anything. I’ll stop leaving marks if you want me to. Just..." He lifts up Jack’s shirt and touches one of the hickeys. When he looks back up, his eyes have gone dark. “I really, really like it. Do you mind?”

Jack isn’t all that hot on the idea of being perpetually teased about his sex life for the rest of the season, but--well, he is pretty fucking hot on the way Bitty’s looking at him right now.

“Do one on my neck,” he says.


The neck thing isn’t as good an idea as it seemed at the time. He spends the next week anxious that someone with media connections is going to start asking questions. No one does, but it’s stressful enough that he admits to Bitty he’d rather not do it again.

Anywhere that gets hidden by clothes is fair game, though. The team already has all the ammunition they need, and while the chirping doesn’t stop completely, it does die down as they all get used to it. And now that Jack knows what to look for, it’s fun to see Bitty trying not to react whenever it comes up in the locker room. He learns to budget time for sex after practice; after Jack gets naked with marks on him, Bitty’s always in the mood to leave some more. After the second time that happens, Jack’s lingering doubts are gone.

If it were any other group of people witnessing this, he might be worried that someone would figure them out, but he knows his team. They’re dense about this kind of thing. Hell, he didn’t realize at first that Bitty did it on purpose, and he sure had a clue or two. Holster doesn’t even notice when Bitty reorganizes the dish cupboards every few weeks--these guys aren’t going to pick up on a little blushing.

“Doesn’t it hurt, though?” Chowder asks, wide-eyed, after one particularly long night leaves Jack’s thighs and belly streaked with red and purple.

Jack touches a mark just above his pubic hair curiously. “Not really. I guess it’s a little tender? Not as bad as what you jerks do to me in practice.” He rubs it fondly, smiling at the memory of Bitty putting it there, and when he looks up Bitty is gone.

“They would have noticed that time,” Bitty explains later, after they’re done having sex. “The front of my towel was rising like a soufflé.”


Jack shouldn’t be blocking shots in scrimmages for a number of reasons, including his imminent NHL career and the fact that he hardly ever gets played on the PK in actual games, but he can’t help his instincts. His dad never held any truck with the idea that offensive stars should be allowed to slack off in their own end, nor with the concept of games that don’t matter. Jack was raised to give his all every time he’s on the ice, and it’s hard to turn that off.

He still knows he shouldn’t be doing it, so when Bitty’s shot catches him on the side of his knee, he tries not to let anyone see how much it hurts. They wouldn’t do anything about it anyway, except yell at him and maybe make him leave practice, and there’s no reason for that. It’s just a bruise, nothing structural.

Bitty sees it that night, as he’s kissing his way down Jack’s body. He’s about to take Jack’s cock into his mouth when he stops short and says, “Is that from my shot today?”

Jack winces. “Yeah.” He hopes he’s not about to get a lecture instead of a blowjob. Bitty doesn’t play coach nearly as often as some of the guys (for example, Jack) but he does tend to get indignant when he thinks Jack isn’t taking good care of himself. It’s sweet of him to be concerned, but Jack’s dick would like him to be sweetly concerned later.

Actually, Bitty doesn’t seem concerned. He has a familiar look on his face, the one Jack catches glimpses of every time he takes off a piece of clothing and reveals a mark on his skin. He stares at the bruise for a long moment, then he practically gags himself on Jack’s dick.

Jack stuffs the side of his wrist into his mouth to stifle his groan. Bitty swallows around him a few times, constricting and releasing, then comes up for air and gets distracted by the bruise, leaving Jack spit-slick and desperate.

“Shit, Bitty, please,” Jack whispers, not trusting himself to vocalize without letting the whole Haus know what they’re doing. Bitty snaps his gaze away from Jack’s knee and resumes sucking him off, but it isn’t long before he’s up on his elbows staring at the bruise again. It’s the most enthusiastic and least focused blowjob Jack’s ever gotten.

“Bitty,” says Jack.

“Oh, oh, sorry!” Bitty turns his attention back to Jack’s dick, but Jack stops him.

“Are you into, like... pain?” he asks, a little warily. There are a lot of things he’s okay with doing for Bitty’s sake, but if this is heading in a torture-dungeon kind of direction, he’s not too sure he’s up for it.

Bitty sighs. “No, it’s not about that. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You just like seeing me all covered in pretty colors?”

Bitty looks up to meet Jack’s eyes. “I like seeing where I’ve been,” he says softly. “It’s like a little part of you is mine.”

“All of me is yours,” says Jack.

Bitty’s mouth is back on his cock so fast it startles him, sucking like he doesn’t need air. Jack yelps and sticks his wrist back in his mouth, but he doesn’t need to stay quiet long. Bitty brings him to orgasm in about a minute flat, then collapses with his head on Jack’s splayed thigh, gasping for air.

“I messed up your sheets,” he says between deep breaths. “Sorry.”

Jack feels a little bad that he didn’t even notice Bitty coming. “It’s fine. C’mere.” He pulls the dry side of the covers up over them and wraps Bitty in his arms.

“Sorry I hurt your knee,” Bitty mumbles into his chest.

“You’re doing pretty good on the unnecessary apologies, but you’ll have to work on that accent if you want to earn your Canadian citizenship,” says Jack. “Less y’alls, more ehs.”

“You shush up, Zimmermann,” Bitty commands, and falls asleep with his fingers resting on top of a hickey on Jack’s chest.


Jack isn’t an exhibitionist, but the thing with the marks kind of turns him into one. It’s a little bit addictive, the way he can drive Bitty up the wall just by showing some skin. He’s never been that guy wandering around the locker room stark naked all the time (Shitty is that guy, and not only in the locker room), but these days he doesn’t bother with the towel as much. He takes his time getting dressed, and he lets Bitty leave a mark behind his ear once--not as obvious as the neck, but visible in public, and Bitty loves it.

The weather gets hotter and hotter, and one day Jack decides to hell with it and just putters around the Haus shirtless. Bitty spends the day alternately hanging out with him in the living room and dashing off to whip up a series of progressively more complicated no-bake mini cheesecakes.

The last time he disappears into the kitchen, Jack follows him. He’s sitting on the counter watching Bitty obsessively build little towers out of raspberries and chocolate shavings when Ransom wanders in, chugs a can of soda from the fridge, and says to Jack, “So do you get those all from one chick, or are you just bangin’ your way through campus and telling them all to sign their work?”

Bitty knocks over his pile of raspberries. “Goodness!” he admonishes.

“Hey, he’s the one flaunting it,” Ransom points out, and no one can really argue with that.

“I’m not sleeping around,” says Jack firmly. “I’m off the market.”

Ransom raises his empty soda can in acknowledgement. “You’re in this for real, huh?”

Jack nods. “It’s serious.”

Ransom snorts. “She’s serious about consuming your flesh, anyhow. When do we get to meet this lady of yours, huh?”

Jack isn’t really listening, because behind Ransom’s back, Bitty is giving him that look. The look that means, based on Jack’s past experiences, that good things will happen if he goes upstairs and removes his clothes. “Uh, later,” he says vaguely to Ransom, and hops off the counter.

He almost doesn’t have time to get his underwear off before Bitty is there behind him, kicking the door shut and grabbing his waist from behind. “Jack,” he says urgently, and digs his teeth into the meat of Jack’s shoulder. “I swear I have never in my life been so tempted to rip off a man’s saggy jorts in front of God and everyone. Get your beautiful behind on that bed right now.”

Jack obeys with speed. Bitty strips down and bounces on top of him, straddling his stomach. He’s hard and leaking already. “Jack,” he says, hand on his dick, hips bucking and ass rubbing on Jack’s skin as he strokes himself. “Please let me come on your face, please.”

Jack has no idea whether he can say no to Bitty. He’s never wanted to try.

He wriggles down the bed, urging Bitty up onto his knees, giving him a better angle. A drip of precome lands on Jack’s neck, and Bitty gasps and jerks himself harder. He’s making more noise than Jack is usually comfortable with, but fuck it, he can’t care, not with Bitty coming apart above him like that. Jack parts his lips, ready and waiting, and Bitty almost wails as he tips over the edge.

Jack catches some of it in his mouth, and the rest spills over his cheeks and neck and pillow. Bitty slowly sits back to straddle him again, staring at Jack’s face like he stared at that bruise.

“I wish I could take a picture of this,” he says. “I know, I know--but I wish I could.”

Jack licks Bitty’s come off his lips. “I’d let you.”

Bitty touches Jack’s wet cheek, fingers sliding down to his jaw. “Don’t be an idiot, Jack. You shouldn’t let anyone do that.”

“I’m a total fucking idiot,” Jack tells him, “and I’d let you.” His face is starting to feel a little cold and gross, but he stays exactly where he is.