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Jack pulls back only millimeters, just enough to make sure that this is real. That it won’t be another time when he wakes up and kissing Bitty dissolves, spilling through his fingertips.
But Bitty is real, solid in the feel of his palms against Jack's chest. Against the curve of Jack's hands on his jaw. The soft press of lips and the tangle of their tongues.
He dips back in again and again. When he stops to breathe, Bitty wants. Wants more. Wants him back.
And that is better than any hockey goal could ever be.
Jack hears the buzz of his blood, the thrum of his need. It's audible and he blushes, until he realizes it's his phone.
"Sorry." Jack whispers, still a teeny worried that he's taken liberties.
"Jack Zimmermann." Bitty breathes, says it like he's about to chastise him, but Bitty’s fingertip traces Jack's lip.
Jack steals one more kiss before he pulls the buzzing phone from his pocket.
"I have to go."
Bitty’s eyes say a hundred things to Jack, who's unschooled in this language of feelings. But he knows sadness shows in his own eyes, to start this and have to stop. He waited two years. Too long.
Jack takes Bitty’s hand, threads their fingers like he's always wanted to. He takes the other hand to his lips. "Let me change your ticket home."
Before Bitty can speak, Jack cuts him off. "I’ll introduce you to my parents and to George the right way. We can—stay.”
He hopes Bitty knows what he means with the words he doesn't say.
"Will there be more kissing?" Bitty toys with Jack's tie.
Bitty’s breathless, and Jack aches with the way he looks right now, hopeful and a little overheated. He rolls his eyes theatrically. "Definitely not."
"My goodness, Jack--" Bitty looks up through his lashes and blinks as slowly as he can and while Jack is focused on his brown eyes, Bitty slides his hand over the bulge in Jack's trousers. "--You choose now to chirp me?"
Jack whimpers at the touch that feels electric. "Please. Stay." He'll beg more if he has to.
Bitty shifts his hips, and Jack knows he must be in the same state. "I'll let my parents know." He whispers, his voice gravelly as he looks in Jack’s eyes.
~*~
At the hotel’s restaurant, Jack intends to introduce Bitty as his boyfriend, but then it sounds ridiculous. "Mom. Dad. Eric and I are—we—I—” Jack doesn't have the right words. But his Dad smiles, and his mom looks at Bob with the same fondness that Jack looks at Bitty. Or that Shitty looks at pie.
He takes Bitty’s hand under the restaurant table and strokes his thumb in slow circles. When he feels brave, Jack rests his fingertips on Bitty’s thigh, sliding closer, closer to the crease of his thigh. Bitty’s breath catches and Jack knows they’ve got to get out of here or he’ll do something he hasn’t done since he was a teenager.
~*~
Bob disappears when the cake arrives, and when he returns he’s grinning. He turns to Jack, blocking Alicia and Georgia’s view. “Here’s your room key, son. Your things are being moved.”
Jack looks down. His new room is on the 8th floor of the hotel, nowhere near his parents’ room. He thanks his father without embarrassment.
“Mama and I are leaving tomorrow. We’ll meet you for lunch, if you’re available.” He winks at Jack and Bitty, before returning to his seat. Alicia asks no questions and Georgia can see that it’s useless to hope for Jack’s attention.
Bitty grabs Jack’s hand and looks innocently at the others. “Please excuse us.” He offers no further explanation, and Jack follows, his grin growing larger.
He doesn’t hold Bitty’s hand in public and assumes that Bitty understands why. But once they’re in the room with the metallic clank of the door’s lock still in their ears, Bitty slams Jack against the door. Rolls his hip against Jack while he kisses him, nips at his bottom lip, drags his tongue over it and nips it again just to hear the noises Jack makes each time.
Jack’s brain whites out. There’s only him and Eric. There’s only here and now. And this.
Jack cradles Bitty’s cheeks. The soft, perfect skin against his calloused fingers feels beautiful, like coming home after being away forever. Bitty’s eyes are closed, but his mouth is open and Jack teases him, touches the tip of his tongue to Eric’s. Flicks it, and when Bitty waits, Jack swirls his tongue around Bitty’s, sucks it and flicks it again.
Bitty moans beautifully loud and whispers God, Yes against Jack’s lips. And Jack drops to his knees, his back still against the door. He hasn’t done this in a thousand years, thinks about who and when, then stares at Bitty’s fly, wraps his hands around Bitty’s thighs to ground him to this.
Because that was then, and this is everything.
He tries to unzip Bitty’s jeans, but he feels like he’s wearing Chowder’s gloves without any of Chow’s grace. But when his fist brushes Bitty’s thick bulge and he writhes, Jack thinks maybe they’re both fumbling for what they want.
When Bitty’s jeans lie at his ankles, when Jack presses his mouth over the tight boxer-briefs, at the thigh, at the crease of the hip, over Bitty’s erection, Jack mewls something that may be a sob. He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care because he’s waited for two years to know this taste.
Bitty hooks his thumbs in the boxer’s waistband and shimmies them down into the denim puddle at his feet. Jack tongues the drops from the tip and savors it, impresses it in his memory to retaste on a long, winter road trip.
Bitty slides his fingers through Jack’s hair, and if he pulls a tiny bit and Jack presses into it, that’s ok. They’re adults, friends who will be lovers. Bitty won’t judge him, won’t kiss and tell. Jack wets his lips and takes the head into his mouth, wrapping his lips tight. When he swirls his tongue in soft circles, Bitty’s knees almost give out, but Jack’s hands curve around Bitty’s muscular hips and hold him upright.
Jack looks up, the blue eyes through black lashes, and watches Bitty, his head back and mouth open. And when Jack slides his hand to cup Bitty’s balls and flicks his tongue right there under the crown, Bitty loses his mind again and again.
Jack hasn't listened to his own body that's screaming against the tailored trousers. He's likely to ruin them in a minute and Crisse, that would be better than fine. Because when he caresses Bitty’s balls as he swallows as much cock as he can, Bitty’s hands yank at Jack’s hair. That’s the warning Eric gives before coming.
Jack loves it.
Bitty gently collapses to the floor and leans again Jack. “Oh my word. As soon as I can breathe, I’ll…” Bitty ends the thought with a wave of his hand and drops his head to Jack’s shoulder.
“No need.”
“Jack I want to. I--” Bitty lifts his head and looks at Jack's flushed face. “Oh. Too late?”
Jack nods. “But give me 30.” He smiles and thinks he's never been happier in his life.
Not at home. Not at the Haus. Not on the ice.
But here. With Bitty.
This he could do forever.