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"Jack. Hey. Wake up."

Jack is bolt upright in a strange bed in a dark room, ears ringing, his entire body in fight-or-flight mode. It takes a moment before he registers Bitty's voice next to him and Bitty's fingers scratching a slow rhythm on his leg. The flash and crash that come a moment later are another clue to what's happened. He laughs a little, sheepishly, and rubs his face with both hands.

"Sorry, I usually sleep through storms."

"S'okay. It's right overhead, it woke me too."

Bitty keeps drawing soothing little circles on Jack's thigh, orienting Jack to his body, to the room. Bitty's bedroom in Madison, lit only by the faint glow of a bedside clock that says it's just after 2 in the morning. Bitty's too-small bed, the top sheet kicked down to their ankles. Bitty himself at his side — warm, a little sweaty, wonderfully naked — murmuring, "You all right?"

He takes a deep breath, holds it for a moment, and blows it out slowly. Then he lowers himself back onto his pillow and wraps Bitty's hand in his own, pulling it up to his chest. "I'm good."

Bitty snugs up against his side. "Me too," he says, all hot breath against Jack's cheek.

Bitty traces random shapes with his fingertips on Jack's chest. Jack lets his own hand drift aimlessly down the slope of Bitty's back, enjoying the long, low sigh it earns him. Even with Bitty's mouth next to his ear, he can barely hear it over the rattle of rain on the window and the overlapping thunderclaps. He still keeps his own voice to a whisper, mindful of the Bittle parents sleeping elsewhere in the house, when he asks, "Is the weather always like this in the summer?"

"Pretty much, yeah. It'll pass, though."

"Don't think I'll be able to get back to sleep before that."

"Me neither." Bitty shifts in the dark, languidly slides one leg up to hook over Jack's hip, and drops a ghost of a kiss to his chin. "Um, is it okay if I try something?"

"Sure, what — "

Jack is glad the storm is loud enough to drown out the gasped tabarnak, Bittle! that rips out of him when Bitty slithers down his body, nudges his legs apart, and licks a scalding path up one inner thigh.

A flicker of lightning catches Bitty looking up at him with his mouth inches from Jack's rapidly filling cock. "I have no idea what I'm doing, but..." Bitty says. "Is this okay?"

Jack nods, swallows hard, and chokes out a stunned "Yeah."

"Stop me if you don't like it."

The idea is so absurd that Jack laughs under his breath. There's not much he wouldn't enjoy letting Eric Bittle do to him. "I'll like it. I promise."

"So will I."

Bitty lowers his head and does something with his tongue that makes Jack thunk his head down onto the pillow. Then he settles in and takes his time — a lick here, a nuzzle there, a light nip, a hard suck. Just when he seems to be falling into a rhythm, he switches it up, eases off, experiments. Jack melts into the drawn-out pleasure of it, lets it well up and wash over him in waves, murmurs "yes" whenever Bitty pauses to ask if he's enjoying it.

Bitty eventually pulls off to nose at the crease of his groin and mouth at the taut skin there as his hand keeps a slow, insistent rhythm. "Jack," he whispers thickly. "Am I awake?"

Jack could pinch him and make a joke, but he opts instead to cup a palm against Bitty's jaw and whisper back, "Maybe we're having the same dream."

"Lord, you're just so..." He doesn't finish the thought. Instead, he pulls Jack back into his mouth and moans around him, sharp and shockingly tender. Jack struggles to breathe through the urge to move and the pulse building at the base of his spine.

"Bitty." It's a warning. They haven't discussed — He doesn't expect — "Bits, I'm getting close."

Bitty's free hand flies up to Jack's hip. Jack slides his hand down to meet it, and Bitty laces their fingers together like he's drowning and only Jack can pull him to safety. Jack tugs him upward and begs, "Kiss me," and Bitty does. He sucks at Jack's lower lip and continues stroking him in the same deliberate rhythm until Jack whimpers into his mouth and comes all over his hand.

"Oh, oh my god, that's gorgeous." Bitty straddles him, presses down and writhes, slick and urgent, while Jack tries to catch his breath. "Jack," he gasps. "Jack, you..."

Lightning sears the room, freezing the image of Bitty over him with his head thrown back, eyes shut, mouth open, beautiful. Jack thinks dazedly that if that's the last thing he ever sees, he wouldn't complain. Then Bitty is just a blur in his dazzled vision, a weight slumping down into his arms, face damp against his own in the warm dark. Jack wraps both arms around him and holds on.