“But it’s hot outside,” Noah says—whines, really—flopped on his back across his bed.
“It’s July,” Jack says, putting on his obnoxiously effective not dealing with your bullshit right now face. “It’s going to be hot no matter what we do and I wanna go out.”
He’s wearing a t-shirt with a neck so stretched out that Noah isn’t entirely sure if he took scissors to it or not, and jeans with a massive rip at the knee. Noah is wearing loose jeans and a tank top, because he doesn’t dress like a lunatic in the summer. And because he didn’t change after yoga, but whatever.
“Come on,” Jack whines, the words drawn out. He’s leaning against the door, his hip cocked. “It’ll be fun.”
“Ugh,” Noah says.
Jack raises one eyebrow—when did he learn to do that? He didn’t know how to do that in Ann Arbor, Noah remembers watching him struggle with it. “I’ll make it worth your while,” he tries, leering a little.
“Fine,” Noah says, grimacing. “You’d better.”
“But not unless you put on better clothes,” Jack adds. “I think I have another pair of jeans.”
It’s a mediocre club, because the good clubs don’t let 18-year-olds in—especially 18-year-old boys—and because Jack has terrible taste.
“You’re just a snob,” is Jack’s response when Noah informs him of this.
“Just because I have taste—”
“Shut up, Hanny, you just like being a pain in the ass.”
Noah leers at him. “I like being a pain in your, sure.”
Jack shoves him in the back, hard enough to make him stumble. “Get inside, I don’t have to listen to this.”
They’re carded at the door, and given black stamps on both hands, the kind that don’t come off and that you wake up the next morning to find stamped all over your face. Jack says nail polish remover gets them off, but he has a big sister to tell him shit like that.
“If we’d stayed at mine we could have gotten drunk,” Noah mutters. “And you’re not even a good dancer.”
“Like you are.”
There’s pounding music, predictably, the bass so loud that Noah can barely hear the tune. He doesn’t think he recognizes the song anyway, so it doesn’t matter much. Lots of people dancing, lots of people whose hands aren’t adorned with ugly-ass black stamps drinking, and two people in the corner making out in a way that, frankly, looks more fun than anything anyone else is doing.
“I’m not doing this again unless you buy me a fake,” Noah adds, in Jack’s ear. “A good one. A Massachusetts fake.”
“You’re so fucking needy,” Jack grumbles. “I’ll get you drunk this weekend, shithead.”
Noah rolls his eyes even though Jack isn’t looking. “Get me drunk and try to give me a horrible drunk bee-jay, probably.”
Jack shrugs with one shoulder. “Are you gonna say no?”
Noah lets him sweat for about ten seconds before he says that obviously he isn’t.
It’s not so terrible once they’re actually inside—there’s a bunch of girls dancing in a group, and Noah lets his eyes linger on the sway of their hips, an easy point of focus in the dark commotion of the room.
Neither of them is a good dancer, but that’s kind of the point of places like this—no one can see enough to care. Most of the people Noah can make out don’t seem to be particularly good dancers either, or maybe he just can’t tell. Or maybe they’re drunk. This would all be easier if he was drunk, honestly, easier to let himself go with the flow.
Jack goes for it, which makes sense. He’s the one who wanted to come out, and this has always been more his scene than Noah’s. With the terrible scoop-neck shirts and the skinny jeans and—everything. Noah is out of place in his polo and jeans that aren’t so tight you can see his religion. He lurks at the edge of the crowd, mostly watching. A few people come up and dance with him a little bit, one guy leering so openly that Noah wonders, briefly, if Jack actually brought them to a gay club.
The guy’s kinda hot, and Noah’s tempted for half a second, but then Jack appears at his elbow, whining that Noah’s no fun, and the guy retreats.
“You asked me to come so I came,” Noah says.
“You look like someone’s dad scowling in the corner,” Jack says, tugging at his wrists. “Come on, come have fun.”
The thing about arguing with Jack is that it’s usually not worth his time, because Jack is too stubborn to not get his way, so Noah lets himself be dragged out and danced with a bit. Jack actually moves his arms for him, until everyone around them is laughing, and then a couple of girls whose names they don’t get dance with them for a few minutes.
Jack is sweaty by now, making his shirt clingier and even more translucent. But he uses his body well, with a familiarity that makes him eye-catching even if he’s not particularly talented. Noah likes to watch him move, regardless of whether it’s skating or working out or even dancing.
“You’re staring,” Jack says, right in his ear. Noah shrugs.
“Yeah,” he says. “Not a bad view.”
Jack actually shimmies his hips at that, which like—what the fuck, who knew he could do that. Noah tries to pretend it doesn’t make him swallow his tongue, and, from the look on Jack’s face, fails completely. Jack does it again.
“You’re easy,” he says, his voice smug now.
“So are you,” Noah says, letting his lip curl into a little sneer. “I haven’t done anything and you’re all over me.”
Jack shrugs. “I know what I want.”
Noah wants to be archly superior about it, pretend that he’s not going to be easy for Jack like this, but his body has other ideas. His blood already feels like it’s running hot, anticipation coursing under his skin. That’s the problem—he’s learned to expect this by now, and it’s good, but now if he doesn’t get laid tonight it’ll be a letdown.
(It’s not really a problem. Sex is great, and Noah is enjoying having a lot of it.)
Jack grins, wolfish in the dim light. He takes a step toward Noah, and then another so their chests are pressed together. They’re about the same height, which isn’t something Noah’s used to in people he sleeps with, but it’s a nice change. Jack doesn’t kiss him, just crowds him and then, after what feels like an eternity, reaches down to brush his hand across the front of Noah’s jeans.
He’s not hard, but that’s going to change quickly with Jack groping him.
Jack slides his hand across Noah’s dick through his jeans again, a light touch that feels like more because of the friction.
“Ugh,” Noah says, aiming for expressive. It comes out a little choked, because it’s difficult to sound disgruntled when someone is touching your dick. He leans in to kiss Jack instead of saying anything else, a rough clash of teeth before they find a more comfortable position. Jack bites on Noah’s lip, and Noah responds in kind, and then they’re stumbling back until Noah’s back hits the wall. It’s only a few feet, since he was kind of hiding in the corner.
They keep kissing, sloppy and enthusiastic. Jack’s not groping him anymore, which is too bad, but he’s got his fingers laced into Noah’s hair at the nape of his neck, tugging so that he can mouth at the side of Noah’s neck. It’s really not unpleasant.
He winds an arm around Jack’s waist, takes the opportunity to grab his ass a little bit. Mostly his jeans choices are stupid, but they have some merits and most of them involve letting Noah touch his ass. And look at it. Jack makes a pleased noise, the sound vibrating against Noah’s neck. Noah kisses him again, dragging his teeth across Jack’s lower lip until he shudders, licking into his mouth and letting Jack scrabble uselessly at him, trying to get closer.
Jack’s hard now, Noah can feel his dick pressed against his hip, and it’s probably so blatant through his jeans. Anyone who looks at him will be able to tell as soon as he stops grinding absently against Noah’s hip. Noah is a little smug about it.
“Do you wanna do this here?” he asks right in Jack’s ear, and Jack makes a noise that isn’t a yes or a no. Noah bites down on the pulse point under his jaw, hard enough that Jack’s going to have a mark tomorrow, and his hips jerk. Still no straight answer, though.
“Well?” Noah says, but he immediately ducks his head back to Jack’s neck and gets to work giving him a real hickey instead of just some bite marks. Jack groans, low and rough.
This is fun.
One of Jack’s hands is in his hair, tugging at the ends. Noah’s not really into that, but he’s into the way that Jack’s fingers are scrabbling for purchase, that he’s too distracted by everything that Noah is doing to him to get a good hold. He can feel how hard Jack is against his hip, and when he reaches down to touch him, Jack’s jeans are clearly pulled uncomfortably tight.
Which, to be fair, they were probably already uncomfortably tight. But now Noah can feel Jack’s boner pressed against the zipper and there’s no give at all. He brushes the back of his hand down the front, and Jack shudders.
“That looks uncomfortable,” Noah says. Jack groans, a frustrated noise.
“Are you going to do anything about it?” he asks. His cheeks are flushed—it’s too dark to see the color well, but Noah knows the pattern of color on him, even in shadowed greyscale.
“What,” he says, his voice not nearly as flat as it usually is when he talks shit to Jack. “Do you want me to get you off here?”
“I don’t care,” Jack bites out, sharp against Noah’s lips and kissing him again as soon as he’s done speaking. It’s messy, his lips uncoordinated against Noah’s, and too much tongue. Noah doesn’t care, uses his teeth even though he knows that won’t dissuade Jack, and lets Jack kiss him until his lips start to feel used.
Jack is probably so red, now, and Noah kind of wishes he could see it. On the other hand, Jack is quickly approaching desperate, his hips working against Noah’s thigh. Someone probably got him worked up while he was out dancing, because he’s easy but he’s not usually this easy. Noah kind of likes that, someone else getting Jack on-edge and leaving him for Noah to take care of the fun part.
“Can you come like this?” he asks when Jack finally stops kissing him. He’s wound one of his hands back to Jack’s ass, and he slides it into the pocket of Jack’s jeans, pulling them impossibly tighter at the front. Jack is breathing hard, his eyes closed. He pitches forward, letting his face rest against Noah’s shoulder. Noah can feel him breathing, and the motion of his hips is slower now, timed to his breaths. Like he’s trying to control himself.
“Yeah,” he says, and Noah can barely hear him.
Something curls in Noah’s stomach, thrilling and dangerous. This is—not at all where he thought tonight would go.
“If your jeans were less stupid,” he says, turning his head so his mouth is close to Jack’s ear, “I could jerk you off.”
Jack doesn’t answer with words, just a low groan muffled against Noah’s skin.
“I wonder if you could come just by rubbing against your own pants,” Noah continues, and now he’s thinking about that, Jack lying on his back in just his jeans, his hips rolling against nothing but the friction of his own stupid clothes. It’s not an unpleasant thing to picture, especially since he was already hard from Jack trying to rub off against him.
It’s not particularly urgent, and he’s more opposed to the idea of spending the rest of the night with his boxers covered in jizz than he is enticed by the idea of an orgasm right this instant, but the tiny gasps Jack is making against his neck are going to be a great memory when he can actually take his pants off.
Noah squeezes his ass again, and pulls Jack’s hips closer against his.
“Fuck,” Jack whispers.
They’ve done this enough that Noah knows his tells by now, knows the way his breathing goes ragged and when he’s about to come. He’s barely even been touched—though to be fair, Noah has no idea how much he might’ve gotten groped while he was dancing—and he’s shaking, rough gasping breaths against Noah’s skin. His teeth scape the skin of Noah’s neck, and then Noah can feel him go limp, shuddering a little.
If Jack’s jeans weren’t so tight, Noah would slide his hand into the front and touch him, just to see him squirm from the overstimulation. Instead, he lets Jack gasp against his shoulder for a few seconds and doesn’t take his hand out of the back pocket. He’d kind of like to leave, so that he can get off, because it’s not going to do it here. Also, Jack is going to look like even more of a mess and there’s probably a wet spot on his pants.
“We should go,” Jack says into his ear. His voice is a little fucked. “I can blow you in the car, if you want.”
Jesus Christ. Noah isn’t sure whether he wishes he was better than this. “Sure,” he says.
In the bright lights of the parking lot, the spot on the front of Jack’s jeans is extremely visible. Noah tries not to be a little smug about it, and then decides he doesn’t care.
“Nice pants,” he says. Jack shoves him, scowling a little.
“I’m going to have to buy new ones,” he says.
Noah laughs openly at him. “You weren’t exactly complaining earlier.”
“Fuck off.” Jack is scowling. It doesn’t stop him from groping Noah as soon as the car door closes behind him. He leers and does something horrifying with his eyebrows. Noah wishes that was enough to make him less turned on, but it really isn’t.
“I’m not driving you back to Chelmsford tonight,” Noah says, and Jack shrugs.
“Cool,” he says, and then, “so I can make you work for it.”
Noah groans. “Come on,” he says. “I didn’t make you wait.”
“Yeah,” Jack says, “you just made me come in my pants in public. I get to do what I want now.”
Unfortunately, Noah doesn’t have a lot of room to argue on that one. He lets Jack rub his palm slowly over his dick, the friction from his jeans maddening. He’s been hard for a long time now.
The backroads way to his house takes longer, but it keeps them off the interstate, which is good, because Noah doesn’t really trust himself at 70 miles an hour with Jack’s hand in his pants. Which it is now, because he unzips Noah’s fly as soon as they’re out of the parking lot. He tugs at the slit of Noah’s boxers until he can get a hand on his dick for real, and then just—starts jerking him off.
Noah slows down carefully at a red light. At least there’s not a lot of traffic.
It’s a long light—the pedestrian light is counting down from 50—and there’s no one around.
Jack tightens his hand around the base of Noah’s dick, and then somehow bends himself over despite the presence of the gearshift and breathes hot and damp against the head. Noah hisses, harsh in the quiet. The only other sounds are the dull growl of the engine and Jack’s breathing.
He wraps his lips around the head of Noah’s dick and sucks hard; Noah can see his cheeks hollow even in the strangely angled cast of the streetlights. His eyes fall shut for a few seconds, and then he forces them open. There’s still no one else at the intersection, and there’s a long time left before the light changes, but he. Needs to pay attention.
He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, and then another. Jack makes a low noise around his dick, and his mouth slides farther down. Noah bites his lip, and squeezes the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white.
The light turns green.
Jack pulls off, smirking at Noah. His lips are red, and he keeps his hand wrapped around the base of Noah’s dick.
At the next red light, Jack bends over and gets his mouth on on him again. It’s not as long a light, but Jack gets more into it, and Noah groans when he pulls off again.
“Come on,” he says. Jack looks unapologetic.
“I don’t wanna die when you crash the car.”
“Fuck you, man, I can drive,” Noah says. He tightens his hands on the wheel where they’d slipped while Jack was blowing him.
“Uh-huh,” Jack says. “Sure you can.”
Even with Jack’s weird desire to not die, Noah still comes before they get home, his hands slipping off the wheel and his eyes closing against his will. There’s no one else at the intersection, and he takes a moment to compose himself even though the light is already green. Jack looks exceptionally pleased with himself, Noah notices, but he’s also hard again. He squirms in the passenger seat.
“You’re not gonna enjoy the rest of this drive,” Noah says.
“Wow,” Jack says. “Ungrateful. Maybe I’ll just take care of this myself.”
Noah gives Jack an appraising look, and rolls through a stop sign. “I’ll make it worth your while if you don’t.” He takes one hand off the wheel to palm at Jack’s crotch. “Assuming you’re not too attached to these jeans.”
“I hate you,” Jack says.
“No you don’t.” Noah gropes Jack one more time, enough to make him whine when he puts his hand back on the wheel.
“Ugh,” Jack says. “I can’t believe this is the thanks I get for road head.”
Noah leans over and presses a smacking kiss to his cheek. “Patience, my young Padawan.”
“Why do I let you touch my dick?”
Smirking, Noah takes the second to last turn to his house. “I’m very talented.”
Jack groans, more exasperated than aroused now. “Drive faster so I can take my pants off.”
“You’re awfully demanding for someone who only lets me touch his dick reluctantly,” Noah says. Jack’s cheeks are pink, visible in the occasional glow of the suburban streetlights. “Especially since you already came tonight.”
He glances over just in time to see Jack give him a scathing look. “Are you making me be nice to you in exchange for sexual favors?”
“Mmhmm,” Noah says.
“That’s rich,” Jack says, “considering that you’re never nice.” He pushes the car door open before Noah has come to a full stop, because he’s crazy. “But I guess I can do it.”
“Looking forward to it,” Noah says. He climbs out of the car, locking it behind him, and smirks at Jack. “Assuming you can even do it.”
“Watch me.” Jack is grinning. “I’m gonna be the nicest person you’ve ever seen.”
“I doubt it,” Noah says, but he grins back and smacks Jack on the ass. “But I guess you can try.”