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Type does not get jealous.
In fact, Type has never been jealous in his entire life. He has certainly never, ever, been jealous of an inanimate object.
And he is not jealous of his football jacket - he’s not!
He just needs to wash it because he hasn’t in a longtime, since yesterday in fact, and it would be much more sensible for Tharn to cover up with a blanket.
Or even curl around Tharn because, while most people are unaware of this, Type knows that it’s the best way for people to conserve body heat.
Yeah, it’s…practical.
Yanking said jacket out from under Tharn’s head might have been too much for his obviously tired boyfriend but considering it’s Tharn’s fault anyway - the thieving ass - Type doesn’t feel too bad about it.
Mostly.
“Oy! Type!” Tharn groaned, eyes still half closed.
“Stealing other people’s jackets is rude – asshole!” Type tacked on that extra expletive to show how angry he is at his boyfriend's obviously rampant descent into criminal behavior and not because it’s cute to see Tharn rubbing his eyes.
Tharn just grumbled in response, pulling on the sleeve held tight in Type’s hands, a part of the jacket still buried under him.
Type, by the way, is not blushing at the feeling of heat from the fabric because that is cheesy and dumb and… – and this is all stupid Tharn’s fault anyway! Honestly, he could have just asked to cuddle with Type.
(He probably would have smacked Tharn’s arm and said “no”, but he would have and that’s all that matters!)
“Why were you sleeping with it?”
“You weren’t using it!”
“Well, I need it now!” Type said, continuing to tug.
“For what?” Tharn asked, suspiciously, straining over the bed, trying to see if Type was wearing his shoes.
The sleep is slowly leaving Tharn, like it always does when he gets too scared, or too anxious, and he’s sitting up, holding onto the jacket, fingers flexing.
The sight of his hands has Type quickly wondering if he should have just shoved at Tharn until he was curled in his arms. But that is stupid and…and cheesy, and Type does not want to cuddle with Tharn, he's being practical and not jealous of his jacket – so there! Asshole!
“None of your business, dumb Tharn!”
A familiar – stupid, lazy, beautiful, not beautiful! it is and oh my God it’s so hot – grin stretches across Tharn’s face that usually spells trouble for Type. Before he can race out the door though, Tharn’s already pulled him onto the bed, burying his face in Type’s neck and nipping at his collarbone.
“Type,” Tharn whispered, nipping at his boyfriend’s golden skin.
“What!?” Type snapped, pushing at him, trying to hide the shivers and the gooseflesh that prickles his arms. The slow curling of want, the burning desire that builds in his chest. “Don’t you “Type” me!”
“Do you want me?”
Type lurches away, from that voice, that stupid, please–let–me–touch–you voice, trying to stand, “Who’d want you!?”
“You,” Tharn replies simply, that shark-like grin still on his face. He manhandles Type so that they’re facing each other.
Type can’t help but still, fingers flexing over Tharn’s shirt, pinching the fabric between his fingers.
And then there’s that stupid pout that Tharn only brings out when he’s teasing but it makes Type desperate and want and sad and hot all the same and Tharn is not above using it to lure Type into a false sense of safety.
“Would my sweet, beautiful, jealous wifey leave me here all alone? Cold and sad?”
“Yes!” Type says firmly, because he would, dammit!
(“No.” he thinks, remembering the look on Tharn’s face when Type had broken up with him. I t might have been fake, but Type still worries that it broke something irreparable between them.)
But it’s not as though Type has much of a choice in getting away though because Tharn is pulling him down against the bed, curling their legs together and then they are laying together, chest to back, and Type is not happy about this!
“Idiot,” Type murmurs, sinking into Tharn’s hold.
“Hm,” is all Tharn says in reply, pulling Type into a deep, languid kiss that seems to only be making the pitiful heat in his stomach worse.
✧✧✧
He was tired, and Tharn wouldn’t have minded cuddling with Type, loves it if he’s being honest, but it’s second nature to kiss him and always, always, kiss him well.
This does, of course, lead to biting and groping and the next thing he knows Tharn’s got the hand that was curled around Type’s side buried in Type’s shorts.
“Thought you –?”
Tharn can’t help but laugh at the cut off words that turn into a heavy gasp or keep his own dick from hardening at the heady whimper Type makes when he tightens his grip.
“Bastard – thought you were cold!?”
“Yeah,” Tharn says, his voice – filthy rich, burning – hot, against Type’s cheek. His other hand is uncomfortably stretched to pinch at Type’s shirt covered nipple, and he can’t help but kiss Type’s neck again. “Thanks for warming me up, love.”
Type shook his head, hips slowly rocking into Tharn’s hand, “I’m – gasp – I’m not!”
“You are,” Tharn said, still whispering, still soft, “Touching you always warms me up, you’re just so warm…so wet.”
“Not!” Type whimpered. And he’s grinding against Type, the knuckle of his thumb tight between his teeth.
“Such a sweet, lovely, wifey – to warm his husband up.”
Tharn pulls his hand away from Type’s nipples, red and swollen, and goes to slip down his shorts, just enough to reveal his own achingly hard cock, already straining towards Type.
✧✧✧
Type’s hips are moving back and he’s shaking with lust, because dammit he wants it, wants it, wants it – the words hit like a jackhammer in his head.
When they’re both fully clothed the size difference between them isn’t easily apparent, even Type had been surprised that first night and he’d loved it all the more when it seemed to make Tharn even more obsessed with his body and his pleasure.
Type can’t help but love how Tharn covers him. Loves the wide expanse of shoulders, arms that ripple, his hands–
Oh god, Type thinks he could write very badly written poetry about the feeling of Tharn’s hands, the sight of them on his stomach – fingers, nimble from years of drum playing, guitar strumming, heart stealing – digging into Type’s thighs, curled around his cock–
And he knows he’s going to have bruises.
The bruises.
Type wants more bruises.
On his thighs, his chest, his neck.
He wants the hint of Tharn’s – obsession, desperation – love all over him.
The problem is Type just hasn’t figured out how to say it, not without those familiar insecurities bubbling in his stomach, completely at war with the thudding need and want and – dammit, yes – love that he has for Tharn.
But Tharn knows, because of course he knows, and Type cries out at the feeling of sharp teeth against his shoulder.
“So beautiful,” Tharn whispers, laving the mark with his tongue.
The words make Type sob with desperation, “Please, plea–”
Type slaps his wet hand over his mouth at the feeling of Tharn’s cock pressing against him, in him. The tip, hard and burning. And it’s just too much. It’s all too much.
Just the feeling of Tharn behind him feels more overwhelming than the touch of any previous partner, and Type can’t help but reach up to dig his nails into Tharn’s arm, that is still somehow curled tightly over Type’s chest, to try and hold on.
Tharn hisses from the pricks of pain and squeezes him tighter as Type rides through his orgasm. Type cries out as Tharn twists his fingers around his sensitive cock.
“Is this all I need to do?” Tharn asked, there’s a hint of mockery there.
His touch borders just on too much, too much, but it’s Tharn still pushing in that makes Type keen, tensing and straining for the feeling anyway, even as the overstimulation causes a sharp undercurrent of pain.
“Shush, let me in.”
“Tharn–”
His name is a heady gasp in Type’s mouth and he feels Tharn’s dick pulse as it continues to press.
“I know, I know.”
With Tharn it’s always been never enough, even that first night, but this is too much, never enough and it’s more, painfully, wonderfully, overwhelming.
And then there’s a moment when Tharn begins to push, slip in and Type doesn’t even try to breathe before he falls.
(Every thrust is too much in the way that it’s not enough and he wants more before he even thinks to wonder when it became more than just touching him. But Type is too far down to care, too lost to try and push him away.)
✧✧✧
Tharn is pretty sure he would laugh right now if it weren’t for the fact that he was so turned on, but he just can’t help but smile anyway.
He knows he’s good, knows how to make Type fall to pieces, but this. This is so much more than that.
Type’s been acting weird for days, it hasn’t been that long since Lhlong and it had only served to make Tharn worry more. Any of Types weirdness had only been soothed when they were touching. Near each other. Looking at each other. And it, in turn, soothed Tharn's fears of him leaving.
Tharn knows other people might call it twisted codependency and manipulation, but he also knows they love each other. Flowers bloom in the spring, the Earth revolves around the Sun and Tharn and Type love each other.
It’s only here though that they know it, that they’re sure of it. When they’re together is the only time they aren’t afraid.
And after years of worry and fear, and partners who disappeared, he craves it. Craves it in a way that Type willingly indulges and revels in because he’s just as scared.
Maybe it is codependency and manipulation but there’s something so, so beautiful about it anyway.
And so, he takes.
He takes Type and thrusts and pushes, he bites at a neck the color of cream, he plucks at nipples that have only grown more and more sensitive.
Type isn’t moving, except for his hips, content to be pushed and placed where he needs to be, but his hand are still tight on Tharn’s arm, still holding it close.
And when Tharn stops to pull him closer, Type whimpers, searching for him and Tharn whispers against his ear, thrusts slow and measured, meant to pull Type apart.
“I’m here, Type,” Tharn murmured, “Your Tharn is here.”
And then his boyfriend’s gone again.
They both sink into it and it’s impossible to do anything but hold tight to each other and chase their pleasure and stay so close it seems impossible to do anything.
“Love you, Type,” Tharn whispered, “I love you. Always. I love you.”
✧✧✧
Type can’t think beyond now, it’s too hard to pretend otherwise, and he’s pulling at Tharn, desperate for him in a way he only ever is when he’s with the love of his life.
It’s the feeling of Tharn in him, his cum, his teeth, that make Type come and when he does it’s like free falling – like dark and love and warmth and everything that could ever be good is always going to be compared to his Tharn.
Tharn is dimly aware of Type shaking, he pulls him closer to try and fight back the shivers.
But all Type does is curl closer, head nestled against Tharn’s neck.
“I love you. My love. My love, I swear.”
And it doesn’t matter that Type doesn’t say it back, doesn’t matter that they’re both still tumbling between heartache and peace, because it’s everything to be here with him.
Type is (will always be for forever) everything.
Tharn will always be there.
For forever.
✧✧✧
Later that night, when Tharn is still asleep, Type leans over him, running a finger across cheeks that look gorgeous red, and kisses his forehead, before any shame can convince him to scurry away.
And he whispers, “I love you too. Tharn. I swear too.”
He pads over to the kitchen, searching for water and still deep in a peace that only being Tharn can bring.
✧✧✧
And if Tharn’s eyes flutter open, because he never could stay asleep when Type left, even before. And if he smiles amidst the buzz of contentment well, that’s everything too.