The first time they talk about it at all is the first time they see each other since the kiss. There have been late night Skype sessions where they could see each other across a grainy screen, but…it’s different, in person. It’s better.
Jack comes to visit for the Fourth of July. He understands the hype behind the holiday but mostly he’s using it as an excuse to see Bitty. His parents are incredibly kind; they ask him about hockey, about his plans and how his parents are doing. They congratulate him on the Falconers and they seem genuinely interested in his life without any ulterior motives.
They put out an air mattress on Bitty’s floor for him, and Jack’s willing to sleep on it, but he also doesn’t protest when Bitty pulls him into his bed. They lie there, heads on pillows, hands gently clasped together between them, and whisper to each other until deep into the night. When Jack leans in to kiss him, Bitty’s eyes are wide and his breath is fast, and he can’t help but grin into it, especially when Bitty doesn’t hesitate at all to kiss him back.
They lie on their sides, Jack’s right arm under Bitty’s pillow and his left gripping Bitty’s hip. Bitty’s arms are folded against Jack’s chest, hands gently clutching his T-shirt. They kiss, and kiss, and kiss. It’s been weeks since they’ve seen each other, and calls, texts, and Sype only get them so far. But this. This is real. This is good. This is Bitty’s warmth against him, the sweet smell of his shampoo in Jack’s nose, the gentle sighs from his throat, and the soft feel of his lips. This is everything Jack’s been missing for weeks, and he can’t believe that he gets it now.
He pulls Bitty closer, hand on his back, and feels that he’s hard, poking right into Jack’s hip.
“Sorry,” Bitty says, and he scoots backwards. He looks embarrassed, eyes downcast and cheeks tinted pink even in the dark.
“I don’t mind,” Jack says honestly, and he leans back in to kiss him again, but Bitty stops him with a gentle hand on his chest.
“We can’t—my door doesn’t have a lock and the walls are so thin anyway—”
Jack nods. “Okay. Whatever you want.”
Bitty blinks at him, and he leans back in quickly, for a fast, eager kiss. Jack thinks it will stop there. He thinks Bitty will roll over and fall asleep and in the morning, they’ll go about their day continuing to pretend they aren’t together. But instead, Bitty keeps kissing him, hand clenched around a fistful of his shirt.
When he pulls back again, he says in one rushed breath, “I’ve never done this.”
Jack figured that. He’s heard stories of the Haus parties that he skipped out on, heard when Bitty got kissed by some guy on the basketball team. So Jack knows that he isn’t saying he’s never been kissed before. He’s saying—
“Any of this,” Bitty continues. “I’ve never dated someone. I’ve never had sex.”
Jack nods. He doesn’t have any expectations. He didn’t come to Georgia looking for sex. He came here for Bitty, to see him, to hold him for a little while. He doesn’t care when they have sex—even if they have sex. “Okay,” he says.
“You… You have, right?”
So they talk about it. They talk, in stilted whispers about Kent Parson and Camilla Collins. They talk about how Jack feels about sex, about how he would rather know someone—he would rather love someone before anything else. They talk about how Jack is bad with feelings, how he needs prompting to communicate, to know what anyone wants out of him. He’s bad at this because he’s always been scared of it, but with Bitty he’s not scared enough to keep him from trying.
Bitty comes to Providence at the beginning of August, a week before school starts. The plan is to spend a few days with Jack, and then they’ll go up to Samwell together so Jack can visit with the team before classes and practice begin. He’ll come back again for the first game, and he’s already talked to Georgia about setting aside a bunch of tickets for the first Falconers home game for the Samwell team. Everything is falling into place.
The first night he’s there, he’s too tired to do anything but sleep. They order take out and Bitty dozes off on the couch while they watch TV. Jack carries him to bed, and Bitty sleeps pressed against him, mouth open against his chest.
They spend all day together. Bitty cooks breakfast and Jack takes him around the city. It’s an entire day in the sun, and Bitty is thrilled to see all the sights that Jack wants to show him. But when it’s over—when they’re back in Jack’s apartment, and the lights are low and dinner is over and there’s Sports Center on dully in the background, the last thing on Bitty’s mind is Waterplace Park or the bonfires that line the rivers (which Jack had pointed out with extreme excitement, explaining the cultural importance of the event for long minutes while Bitty had spent time gazing at the lines of his jaw).
It occurs to Bitty that, for the first time since they started dating, they’re alone. There’s no one in the next room to keep a secret from. There’s no one important enough who would call right now and interrupt them. They’re alone, and so when Bitty kisses him, he does it with insistence, overwhelmed at the knowledge that they have a whole week to do whatever they want.
Jack doesn’t deny him the kiss, leaning in so he can wrap an arm low around Bitty’s back. The way they’re twisted on the couch isn’t really conducive to anything but a few shallow kisses, and it means that Bitty’s back is angled strangely, so it’s really in his best interest to swing his leg over Jack’s and sit in his lap, hands on the back of his neck as Bitty deepens the kiss.
Jack hums into his mouth, hands big and warm on Bitty’s hips. They kiss for a long time, Bitty moving his hands from Jack’s neck to his hair, to his shoulders, to his chest, along his arms, and then back again. This time, when Jack pulls him closer, Bitty knows that he’s pressing his dick against Jack’s stomach. But he doesn’t pull back, and Jack doesn’t push him away. In fact, Bitty can feel that Jack’s hard too, pressing against the inside of Bitty’s thigh.
It makes Bitty’s heart jump into overdrive, the heady knowledge that Jack wants him. It’s good, it’s amazing, but it’s also terrifying. It’s terrifying because one minute they’re sitting there, very politely ignoring the fact that they’re both hard, and the next minute they’re grinding against each other, Jack’s hands clenched against Bitty’s back and Bitty’s hands grasping fruitlessly at Jack’s arms.
Jack puts his mouth on Bitty’s throat, kissing his way up to his ear, and Bitty can only gasp and roll his hips and do his best not to fall over. He feels so overwhelmed, but he also never wants it to end, like he’s simultaneously drowning and taking greedy gulps of air.
One of Jack’s hands releases its firm hold on Bitty’s T-shirt and drops to his butt, dragging their hips closer together, making sure that there’s nowhere for Bitty to go that won’t get him some friction where he needs it the most. And in between being delighted that Jack Zimmerman’s hand is on his ass and feeling entirely undeserving for Jack Zimmerman’s hand to be on his ass, Bitty realizes he’s going to come.
It’s some combination of Jack’s tongue on his pulse and the rolling friction between them and Bitty feels like all of his nerve endings are crying out for release. But it’s also—it’s also too good for him to want to stop yet, which is why he needs to tell Jack, so that they can slow down, so that they can just do something else—
Jack captures his mouth, though, one hand firm on the back of Bitty’s neck. And when he breaks the kiss, he’s the one who says, “Bittle. Bitty, I—I’m going to—”
The blood whooshing around in Bitty’s head drowns out the rest of Jack’s sentence, but it doesn’t matter because Bitty’s gone too, tensing up as he comes in his shorts, Jack’s name caught in his throat.
Jack comes too, trembling in his arms, panting like he’s just come off the ice. He’s beautiful like this, vulnerable and pliant against Bitty, and even though he thinks he’s meant to feel awkward about the come staining his underwear right now, the only thing he feels is overwhelming joy.
If Jack wasn’t sure that he loved Eric Bittle before, he’s certainly sure when he rolls over in bed and sees the boy sitting up, hair still a mess from his pillow but wearing one of Jack’s shirts. He’s also holding a cup of coffee and a scone on a plate, and Jack lets his eyes slip closed again as he breathes in how the whole apartment smells like blueberries and sugar.
“Don’t fall asleep,” Bitty says. “And don’t get too excited. This is just to tide you over—I found a restaurant that makes the biggest omelets on the coast and it’s all I’ve been able to think about.”
They go to breakfast, ankles brushing under the table. The food really is delicious, and as big as the breakfasts he and Shitty used to make during protein days in their first year at Samwell. After, Jack is totally willing to go back to his apartment and stay in bed all day, curled up with Bitty—the logic being, of course, that he can’t touch Bitty in public the way he wants to be touching him right now. But then, as Jack is paying the bill, Bitty starts chattering on about the Museum of Natural History and how Jack could give him a tour and tell him all the facts—like his own private tour guide.
“I don’t know anyone who knows more about history than you, Jack,” Bitty says with a soft smile, and Jack decides not to point out that his realm of interest is not exactly centered around natural history because Bitty looks so damn pleased with himself.
So they do that instead, brushing shoulders as they walk around the museum. They eat ice cream and make up voices for some of the posed animals. They don’t leave until the late afternoon, and Jack is fighting every desire to just reach out and pull Bitty into a kiss. It kills him that he can’t. It kills him that he can’t just show his boyfriend affection whenever he wants.
“Hey,” Bitty says, nudging him as they sit on the bus back towards Jack’s apartment. “Whatever you’re thinking, cut it out. I’m on vacation—we’re together—let’s focus on that, okay?”
Besides, as soon as they trip in the front door of Jack’s apartment, they’re on each other like white on rice. Bitty must have been feeling it too, all day, the desperate need to be close, the longing just under his skin.
That’s how he ends up holding Bitty against the door, the boy’s legs clenched around his hips. Jack doesn’t know—he never knows just how far to push, so he’s doing his best not to be insistent or grabby, but right now he can’t help it. Bitty is so soft, so sweet up against him and Jack’s been aching to touch him all day.
After a long moment of shallow dry humping and deep kisses, Bitty turns his mouth away from Jack’s and Jack pulls back to blink at him.
Bitty’s face is flushed red, pleased but shy. “Do you mind if we—don’t, right now? I’m ten kinds of tired and I really want to take a shower and cook you dinner.”
Jack nods immediately, already moving to help Bitty back on his feet. “I’m sorry—”
“No, don’t apologize, Jack,” Bitty says, still smiling. “Trust me. That’s still on my list of things to do. Later.” And, as if sealing that promise, he pulls Jack down for a long, tender kiss.
When Bitty gets out of the shower and begins cooking, Jack follows him around the kitchen, looking for a way to help. It occurs to him, after a moment, that maybe all he’s doing is getting in Bitty’s way, but Bitty only beams at him when he offers to participate. He shows Jack how to combine the spices to rub on the chicken and how to cut the onions the right way. When the bright orange cast iron pot is in the oven, he rewards Jack’s helpfulness by making out with him against the kitchen counter.
Of course, he should’ve known that those slow, innocent kisses would make his blood boil. He doesn’t want to spoil the dinner that Bitty has planned for them by getting too worked up, so he’s going to make an excuse for them to go sit on the couch together and watch TV when Bitty pulls off his apron and says, “Well, Mr. Zimmerman, that needs to be in the oven for forty-five minutes. Whatever will we do with the time?”
Bitty doesn’t protest a bit when Jack lifts him onto the counter, a clean side, far away from all the knives and cutting boards that Bitty was using. In fact, he pulls Jack in with his heels on Jack’s thighs, and soon enough, they’re both hard and too hot and clinging to one another.
“I want to touch you,” Bitty says, voice almost a whisper. His fingers are tangled in Jack’s T-shirt, gripping the fabric like an anchor. “Can I?”
Jack licks his lips, nods. “Yes, of course, as long as I can touch you.”
Bitty’s teeth sink into his lower lip, and it’s frighteningly adorable, considering the fact that Jack is probably seconds away from getting his hand on his dick. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah.”
Jack unbuttons Bitty’s shorts without breaking eye contact. He needs to make sure that Bitty is really okay with that, that this is what he wants. And Bitty’s gaze is unyielding, beautiful. Jack has to look what he’s doing when he reaches past the waistband of Bitty’s underwear and pulls out his cock, holds it gently in his hand while it hardens, stroke his thumb over the slit in the top. He’s cut, smooth, soft skin, pink and already leaking a little bit against Jack’s fingers.
“C’mere,” Bitty insists, digging his heels into Jack’s thighs and reaching for the button on his cargo shorts. Jack cares less about Bitty’s hand on him than his own on Bitty, but it makes him falter all the same, Bitty touching him, wrapping his hand around him and pulling from root to tip.
Jack jerks, falling forward against the counter. His face is close enough to Bitty’s then to steal a kiss, and Bitty’s free hand clutches at his hair, keeping him within kissing distance even as his hand moves. And this—even in its simplicity—this is the hottest thing Jack can even think of, being pressed up against Bitty, having Bitty in his hand, having his soft moans muffled against Jack’s mouth. It’s so good, so perfect, that Jack can’t imagine anything being better.
It’s even fun. Bitty moans when Jack stops his stroking to squeeze the base of his cock, keep him right on edge, and he’s so lost that his head falls back and hits the cabinet with a sharp thwack. Jack is ready to stop, to move them to the couch or the bedroom, but Bitty only laughs, bright and happy, and scoots closer to the edge of the counter, dropping a sweet kiss on Jack’s jaw.
He doesn’t stop, though. He drags his mouth down Jack’s throat, keeping his hand moving at a cruelly indulgent pace, and when Bitty sinks his teeth just gently into his skin, Jack comes, surprising himself out of a thick haze of lazy sex and into a hurried orgasm that feels like it’s ripped straight from his gut.
Bitty falters, hips jerking. “Oh my God, Jack,” he says softly.
Jack kisses him, fast and fierce. “You can hold my shirt—I don’t mind.”
“You’re so—oh.” Bitty shudders and grasps at Jack’s shirt, gasping as Jack speeds up his strokes. He wants to watch Bitty come, wants to see the way his face changes—he didn’t get to see it last night, on the couch, and he wants it now, wants to know.
It’s heartbreakingly beautiful, Bitty’s soft whine right before he comes, right when his body is about to let go. The way his forehead scrunches and his mouth opens wider, the way he bites down on his lip as he crashes through the pleasure, his come-splattered hands sticky on Jack’s shirt.
They kiss after, Bitty’s mouth soft and yielding beneath Jack’s. Not for the first time, Jack wants to cover him with kisses and trap him in bed and never let him leave. But the smell of rosemary chicken and onions has filled his apartment and Bitty is beaming like the proverbial cat, and he knows that his night is only going to get better from here.
On Wednesday morning, Bitty doesn’t want to get out of Jack’s bed. Jack tried to get him to get up and go running, but Bitty simply rolled over and snored dramatically into his pillow, so even though Jack’s not here right now, Bitty can’t fathom moving.
It’s a good thing, too. Because Jack comes back from his run around eight and gets in the shower. Bitty can hear the water running, hear Jack even singing quietly under the spray. It’s some old eighties rock anthem, and Bitty laughs, even as he dozes. Then Jack comes into the bedroom wearing basketball shorts and towel drying his hair, and Bitty rolls onto his back and says, “Good morning.”
Jack’s smile is big and beautiful. “Hi.”
“Come on back to bed,” Bitty tells him, dragging the sheet backwards. “The sun’s barely up.”
Jack doesn’t argue, even though he could. He slips between the sheets easily, dragging Bitty close and nuzzling at his neck. Bitty goes willingly, winding his arms around Jack’s neck.
“Did you have a good run?”
“The river’s beautiful during the sunrise,” Jack mumbles into his shoulder. “But I missed you. You should be running more—Ransom and Holster will have you all doing ridiculous drills in just a few days.”
“And I will put it off until then,” Bitty informs him. “Now, kiss me good morning if you want to convince me to make you breakfast.”
Jack laughs, and he presses his mouth softly against Bitty’s. And Bitty could stop there, could roll out of bed and get into the kitchen so that they can start their last day together. But instead he slips his hand against Jack’s back and deepens the kiss, sucking on Jack’s lower lip. He feels himself harden in an instant, the second that Jack responds, rolling on top of Bitty and slotting their legs together.
“We don’t have to,” Bitty starts, letting his hands explore Jack’s chest.
“I want to keep you in this bed for as long as possible,” Jack says lowly, and it’s so sexy in that goddamn accent that Bitty feels physically weak.
He’s already shirtless, so the obvious next step is for Jack to pull off his little cotton shorts and ravish him, but Jack is deliberately slow about all of it. He starts at Bitty’s ear, nibbling, licking, seemingly chronicling every response that Bitty has to his touches. And then it’s his jaw, the sensitive part of his neck where his shoulder slopes, his collarbone. Jack’s ridiculously thorough, even licking across Bitty’s nipples and catching the arch of his back as he shoves himself closer to Jack’s touch.
He spends time on Bitty’s stomach, tracing lines around the hints of muscle, not quite as well defined as Jack’s. He nuzzles into Bitty’s belly button, into the soft patch of blond hair there that leads down under his shorts, and his hands are gripping Bitty’s hips supportively, like he wants to lift him.
“You can take them off,” Bitty says, squeezing Jack’s shoulder. “I—I want you to touch me—”
Jack doesn’t hesitate, drags the elastic waistband down as soon as Bitty lifts his hips again. Then they’re gone, and Bitty is lying in Jack’s bed, naked as the day he was born, and he’s thrilled.
He thinks maybe Jack will crawl up his body again, maybe they’re grind together a bit and come that way, nice and slow. Or maybe Jack will take him in hand again, stroke him off until he can’t walk straight. But Jack doesn’t do either of those things—no, instead, he steps off the bed so that he can kneel at the foot of it, so that he can press his mouth to Bitty’s ankles, so that he can kiss lines up Bitty’s calves, so that he can nuzzle at the soft skin of Bitty’s inner thighs, and that’s when Bitty is so hard he thinks a soft breeze would make him come.
“Jack,” he says weakly. “What are you—”
“I want to suck you,” Jack says in a rush, a blush high on his cheeks. He looks nervous, like he’s unsure what Bitty’s response is going to be, like he’s doesn’t know whether or not what he wants is okay.
Bitty would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised, but his cock jerks against his stomach and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
“Is it okay?” Jack asks, because Bitty hasn’t said anything.
“Yes,” Bitty breathes. Then, “Yes,” more confidently. “If you want to. Yes.”
There’s no word in Bitty’s vocabulary to describe what it feels like when Jack is massaging his thighs while he licks up his cock, the flat of his tongue drawing a line along the vein on the bottom. There’s no word for the way Bitty feels when Jack holds the base of his cock in one hand and matches his strokes with the rhythm of his mouth so that when Jack is pulling off, his fist is pulling up, like Jack’s trying to drag Bitty’s orgasm from him. There’s no word for when Jack takes him all the way in deep, slurping against his skin and bobbing his head up and down, taking Bitty into his throat without missing a beat.
And Bitty—Bitty has to try to come up with words because if all he does is focus on the sensations, he’s going to lose his mind. He has to focus on his fingers in Jack’s dark hair, on the way his heart is pounding in his ears, on the way Jack’s shoulders are framed with the sunlight beaming in through the curtains. He has to think about anything else but the way Jack’s mouth on him makes him feel.
Jack pulls off just before Bitty comes, strokes him through it, and Bitty still moans at the ceiling, shaking as he tries to right his breathing. He’s expecting Jack to crawl up his body so that Bitty can touch him, can make him come too. But while Bitty is busy recovering from the last few world-shattering minutes, Jack has his forehead pressed against Bitty’s thigh while he jerks himself off, and Bitty doesn’t know it until he comes, groaning into Bitty’s skin.
Bitty has to go up to Samwell on Thursday night and Jack can’t go with him because he has to stay for team business. The Falconers are doing a meet-and-greet and a team dinner, but Jack’s going to come up on Saturday morning, spend the day with Bitty, and then when the rest of the Samwell team (plus Shitty) arrives the next day they’ll have a big dinner together and celebrate the new semester.
Thursday morning, Bitty does get up and go running with him. It’s like being in season again, exercising together, training together. He gets to listen to Bitty chatter while they loop around the block, run down into town to see people leaving coffee shops or opening their stores for the day. Bitty is fun to run with, exhilarated as he hops over cracks in the sidewalk and laughs about a pun on a storefront. He rushes ahead of Jack once, all concentrated speed and competition, and Jack’s heart threatens to burst out of his chest.
They race back to the apartment and Jack beats him by a handful of seconds. He’s trying not to gloat too hard, but he’s still grinning as he closes the door behind them. Inside, Bitty toes off his sneakers and his sweaty socks, pulls off his shirt as he walks towards the bathroom, and Jack’s celebratory bragging dies in his throat. Bitty looks over his shoulder and Jack knows he’s staring, unmoving in silent wonder as he stares at the smooth line of Bitty’s back.
Bitty smiles, delighted. “C’mon, Jack. Come wash my back.”
Jack, a master of grace on the ice, practically trips over himself to get his shoes off, and it doesn’t help that he’s trying to tug his shirt over his head at the same time, but Bitty only laughs a little. Besides, when Jack stalks down the hallway after him, blood hot with the thought of them pressed together in the shower, Bitty isn’t laughing at all.
The first few moments in the shower are perfectly innocent, Bitty shampooing his hair, Jack standing under the hot spray to just wash away all the sweat from the run. Bitty reaches around him to grab the body wash and Jack takes that moment to steal a kiss, lingering with his tongue against Bitty’s lower lip. Bitty sighs into the kiss, hand coming up to rest on Jack’s face.
“Here,” he says, putting the bottle against Jack’s chest. He has a wicked smile on his face, and Jack can’t help but grin back at him and accept the soap, flipping the cap open. Bitty turns back around but he stays close, his back almost touching Jack’s chest.
Getting to put his soapy hands on Bitty’s skin is remarkably sensual, trailing his fingers down his shoulders, his arms, over his ribs and down to his hips, where Jack massages his thumbs into the base of his back. Bitty sighs softly, head falling forward a bit and Jack drags his hands upwards over his spine, rubbing gently as he goes.
Eventually, Bitty turns around and kisses him, pulling him down by his neck. Jack doesn’t stop touching him, hands dropping lower now, hovering just above his ass because he isn’t sure what Bitty’s answer will be.
“I’ll make you a deal,” Bitty says, voice quiet as he drops kiss after kiss on Jack’s chest. “We’ll finish this shower, dry off, and once we’re in bed, you can put your hands all over my butt, okay?”
Jack nods immediately. “Yeah, okay.”
It feels like they’re racing again, both of them laughing as they hurry to dry off, speeding down the hall to Jack’s bedroom. Bitty, grinning and naked, flops on his back on the bed like a starfish, and Jack feels his stomach twist into a knot of anticipation.
“Can I ask you something?” Bitty whispers a few minutes later, when they’re lying on their sides, arms around each other. They’re been kissing nonstop ever since they crashed into bed together and they’re both hard even though neither of them has done anything about it yet.
Jack makes an affirmative noise, nibbling on Bitty’s earlobe. “Of course,” he says. “Anything.”
“Have you ever fingered someone?”
Jack can’t help the fact that he freezes, hand firm on Bitty’s thigh. He pulls his head back so that he can meet Bitty’s eyes, and the fact that they’re doing this in the daylight means that he can see Bitty’s blush clearly, all pink and pronounced across his cheeks. “Yes,” he says, honestly, and watches how Bitty’s face stays perfectly still.
“Would you want to—to do that, with me?”
He does. He really, really does, because the second he lets it sit in his brain—as soon as he gives himself the opportunity to picture it, even just for a moment, what it would be like for Bitty to be writhing on his fingers—his balls start to ache with the need to come. So he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, if you want to.”
“I do,” Bitty confirms, and his blush seems to get darker, spreading up to his ears. “But I, uh, I don’t have—”
Jack rolls half on top of Bitty, silencing him as he reaches over to the drawer on the right side of the bed, fumbling around in the drawer. Bitty only laughs, high and delighted, and presses his forehead against Jack’s shoulder.
There’s something ridiculously intimate about being in Bitty’s arms, about kissing him deeply while he fumbles with the bottle of lube. It’s more than it was with anyone else; this is more important, more valuable, just more. And Jack feels like his heart could explode from how absolutely, impossibly happy he is.
Bitty squirms against him, back arched, and Jack meets his eyes while he presses one slick finger inside, slow and careful. Bitty exhales heavily, hands resting on Jack’s shoulders. “Oh,” he says, blinking at the ceiling.
Jack doesn’t respond, trying to focus all of his energy on what his fingers are doing. Bitty is, unsurprisingly, rigidly tight. He’s nervous, as anyone would be the first time, and so Jack is prepared to be patient, to be in this for the long haul. So he’s not expecting it when Bitty spreads his legs a bit and says, “You can do another.”
So he does, just as slowly as the last, letting Bitty get used to them, get used to how it feels. He moves them, carefully, and watches as Bitty’s cheeks get pinker and his eyes go distant. Jack feels his own cock throbbing for attention, rock hard and poking him in the gut, and when he glances down, Bitty’s still just as hard.
Jack feels like he should throw himself a parade for this accomplishment, but instead he just slowly moves around inside of Bitty, crooking his fingers this way and that, trying to figure out what makes him tick. Then, when Bitty encourages him, there are three fingers and Jack could come untouched right now because this is just as hot as he thought it was going to be.
It’s not strictly a surprise when Bitty wraps his hand around his cock, pulling quickly, like he’s racing towards the finish line. Maybe Jack would’ve liked it if they could do this for a little longer, if he could really get a feel for the way Bitty wants to be touched, but he gets it. He gets how much Bitty wants right now, and he’s not going to deny him. All the same, Bitty must pick up on whatever it is he’s feeling, because he tells Jack through his quick breaths: “If I come now, you can—fuck me after,” and he stumbles over the word, like he’s unsure. “I just need—”
He comes between one breath and the next, spurting up his chest, trembling just barely as he comes down. Jack stays where he is, fingers tucked inside of Bitty, knees between his legs, heart racing as he waits for Bitty to react.
“You have condoms, don’t you?” Bitty asks, voice lazy now that he’s come.
Jack swallows. “Yeah,” he says. “Are you sure you want to?”
Bitty nods. “Yeah. I am. Let’s do this.”
Of course, it’s so much easier said than done. There’s the awkward organization of limbs, the fact that Jack fumbles with the condom, the way that Bitty is lying there, still soft against his thigh, seemingly entirely uninterested in the whole situation.
But he holds onto Jack’s arms confidently and grins as he lines himself up, and they kiss, all warmth and love and longing, and he thinks maybe this really can be perfect. He can feel that Bitty’s hard again, hard and leaking with excitement after only a few minutes of kissing, so Jack starts to guide himself inside and, after only a moment, no more than an inch, is halted by Bitty saying—
Jack does, looking up to the boy’s face. “Bitty—”
Bitty sucks in a deep breath and sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “Sorry, just… Slower, I think?”
“Maybe we should stop.”
“No, no, keep going. We can do this,” Bitty says, determined. “Seriously, keep going.”
So Jack resettles his weight on his knees, pushing in further. He’s not sure, not really, but if Bitty says it’s okay—
“Okay, wait,” Bitty repeats, stilted and high, like he’s in pain, and Jack tenses every muscle, unmoving. “I—actually I don’t think I can—could you please—” He pushes just barely against Jack’s stomach and Jack immediately moves, carefully pulling back so he can kneel between Bitty’s legs. “I’m sorry,” Bitty starts to say, and Jack feels guilt bubbling up in his throat like bile.
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Jack tells him, even when his heart is thudding in his ears. Bitty sits up, resting his weight on his hands, and Jack glances down between Bitty’s legs, where he’s not even the slightest bit hard anymore. It makes Jack want to shield himself, suddenly horrifically ashamed of his boner.
“Jack, honey,” Bitty says, and Jack can’t help the way he flinches. Of course Bitty would zero in on his discomfort, how embarrassed he is to have hurt Bitty. “Jack, it’s okay.”
Jack nods. He knows, he really does, that Bitty wouldn’t be saying that if he didn’t mean it.
“This happens,” Bitty says, overtly calm now. “We were never gonna get it perfect on the first try.” He lifts one hand to Jack’s neck, pulls him in. Jack goes easily, sinking back down on top of him. “Why don’t we just try something else?” Bitty asks, one leg wrapping around Jack’s. He arches, just barely, to press against him, and Jack clenches his hands in the sheets. “We can just do this,” he says, and arches again, sliding so that his cock drags from Jack’s hip to his stomach. He’s at least half hard now, warming up all over again. “Is this okay?”
Jack nods weakly. “Yeah. I—Bittle—”
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bitty coos. “I’m right here, c’mon.”
It’s surprisingly easy, falling into Bitty’s rhythm. He’s suddenly so sure, so confident, and Jack finds himself falling into it, kissing Bitty deeply as they rock together, their cocks sliding against their hips, their stomachs. Jack has been so hard for so long that it makes perfect sense for him to come first, but he tries to hold off as long as he can, so he can make sure that Bitty feels as good as he does.
When he does come, it feels like it’s being torn from his body, and he’s breathless with it, gasping as his whole body tenses. Bitty, in turn, makes a sweet whining noise through his orgasm, identical to the way he sounded the other night after the museum, when Jack had him pressed against the counter. Jack loves that sound so much that he could roll around in it.
After, Bitty worms himself against Jack’s chest, head tucked beneath his chin. “I feel really lucky,” he says, voice just above a whisper, “that I get this with you. With someone so important to me.”
Jack feels his heart swelling his chest, and he closes his eyes, wrapping an arm around Bitty. “Me too,” he says honestly. “I’m lucky too.”
“We’re lucky,” Bitty decides, and Jack lets that phrase ring his head until he falls asleep.
When Jack shows up at Samwell in his rented car on Saturday morning, with his old Samwell Hockey T-shirt on, he knows that the only person in the Haus is Bitty. Chowder, Lardo, Ransom, and Holster are arriving tomorrow morning, and Shitty’s coming down late tonight. So he has no qualms whatsoever about walking in the front door with his old key and interrupting Bitty where he is, as expected, standing over his new oven, whispering sweet nothings to it.
Their reunion is remarkably dramatic considering they only saw each other two days ago. It doesn’t give Jack a lot of hope for the next year, the fact that he can barely stand to be away from Bitty. But he pushes that thought away because they have this weekend at least.
Bitty jumps into his arms, kissing him eagerly, and Jack grins into it, wrapping his arms around Bitty in return.
“I missed you,” Bitty says quietly, stroking his thumb over Jack’s cheek. He kisses him again before dropping back onto his feet. “How was the drive?”
They talk in the living room while they wait for the pies Bitty is baking for Shitty and Jack are in the oven. They sit close together, Bitty with his legs thrown over Jack’s, but constantly leaning into him, just little touches that make Jack’s heart thud in his chest.
The pies finish and Bitty sets them out to cool before he grabs his sneakers. “I have a suggestion,” he says. “It’s only ten, so we could go to Faber for a few hours, get lunch, take a walk around the pond, and come back here in time to—” His cheeks flush. “To spend some time together before Shitty gets here.”
Jack wants to take a picture of Bitty’s blush, wants to keep it in his pocket so he can always remember how stunning he is. Bitty looks so earnest, so excited, that Jack has no reason to say no to the plan. It sounds like fun, getting to skate with Bitty again, and he’s missed Samwell this summer, more so than any other summer since he knows he won’t really be back the same way ever again.
There’s no reason for anyone else to be in Faber, and Bitty can get in because he has Lardo’s key, so they can hold hands while they skate. Bitty can do his jumps and twirls and Jack can watch in awestruck appreciation as Bitty skates backwards at the speed of light before jumping into a twist that Jack thinks is going to snap his ankle—but he lands, perfectly, and Jack feels like he just got the breath knocked out of him.
When they get back to the Haus, Jack is firmly not expecting them to just go upstairs and have sex immediately. He doesn’t want to have any expectations for Bitty, especially not about this. But just because he isn’t planning on it happening doesn’t mean that he tries to stop it when Bitty kisses him as soon as they’re through the door and drags him upstairs.
“We went to Faber,” Bitty says as they’re climbing the stairs. “We got lunch—we got ice cream—we walked around the pond for a whole hour and a half, and I couldn’t touch you the whole time. Do you have any idea how maddening that is, Jack Zimmerman?”
“I think I have some clue,” Jack says, already putting his hands up under Bitty’s shirt, pulling it over his head before they’re even through his bedroom door. When said door is closed and locked, Bitty pushes Jack against it, launching himself onto his toes to kiss him, clinging to his shirt even as he tries to get it off of him.
Jack walks them backwards, hands on Bitty’s hips as he points them towards the bed. When the back of Bitty’s knees hits the edge of the bed, he sits, his fingers twisted in the belt loops of Jack’s shorts. Jack moves to get Bitty further onto the mattress, kissing him so that he can guide him back, but Bitty breaks away to say, “I have plans, Jack,” in his sweet, southern voice.
And Jack can’t bear to crush his plans. So he stands there while Bitty tongues along his hip bones, while Bitty clutches his thighs, while Bitty unbuttons his shorts and proceeds to drag down his underwear, not even flinching when Jack’s cock springs up towards his stomach.
Bitty is—slow. Careful. Methodical. He touches Jack all over, gives him a few meaningful strokes and drops an open mouthed kiss on the head of his cock—and Jack can’t help the strangled noise that escapes him, he really can’t. Bitty has been slowly proving himself to be more than a cute little figure skater from Georgia over the past two years, but this… This is on a whole new level that Jack’s brain can barely compute. He’s known for a little while that Bitty can be devastatingly hot without even trying, and now there’s just more evidence.
Jack locks his knees to keep them from failing him. He pays attention to his breathing, to his heart rate, and he’s trying to count how many times he’s inhaling in a minute but he loses track during at least three attempts because Bitty is sucking him down like he’s a goddamn popsicle on the hottest day of the year.
He’s clearly unpracticed, sloppy, not taking Jack too deep for fear of choking, most likely, but Jack couldn’t care less. Because even with sloppy eagerness, Jack is so hard that it hurts.
He warns Bitty when he’s about to come, hands shaking on his shoulders, and the boy pulls back to look up at Jack, all soft brown eyes and red mouth. Jack groans, eyes slipping closed, and Bitty strokes him off, nuzzling and kissing into Jack’s hip. He almost cries out when he comes, but the noise is halted in his throat by lack of oxygen, and instead he grunts wordlessly and waits for his vision to clear.
Bitty is saying something under his breath, something about ridiculously hot hockey players and Jack grabs him by the thighs and heaves him back onto the mattress so he can straddle him, pulling down Bitty’s shorts without hesitation. Jack jerks him off using his own come as lubricant, and when Bitty orgasms, he does cry out, clinging to Jack like a dying man.
Jack can’t help but grin as they clean up in the bathroom, trading kisses and damp washcloths. He’s never been happier in his life than he is in that moment. Sharing these moments with Bitty, when it’s just the two of them, when they’re together and happy and have no need for anyone else, that’s what makes Jack realize that they can get through all of it.
The long distance, the hassle of Jack being on the road, the complications with keeping it a secret, the hectic schedule of a college junior. They can do it all, because they’re nuts for each other.
Downstairs, Jack sits at the counter while Bitty cuts open his maple-crusted apple pie and serves him a slice. They sit beside each other with forks in their hand and Bitty gives him a sweet, maple-flavored kiss that they manage to pull away from mere seconds before the front door swings open.
Shitty’s in the Haus, and their weekend will just have to wait.
Jack stays through Monday night, and he’s hypothetically meant to be sleeping on the couch but he’s a big guy and—well, they were all teammates once so nobody bats an eye when he says he’s sleeping in Bitty’s room. Monday night, they’re lying in the dark, quiet and thoughtful. They whisper to each other back and forth about everything, about nothing. They talk about Bitty being nervous for the pre-game workouts, nervous that without Jack there he’s going to fall behind. They talk about Jack being worried that the best games he ever played were with Bitty, and when he’s not there anymore, maybe he can’t keep it up. And they comfort each other with sweet words and soft kisses and somehow, somehow Jack ends up on top of him, whispering promises into Bitty’s throat.
Bitty’s the one who asks for it, because Jack would never prompt him like that, not when it might come out sounding like an ultimatum or an expectation. He lets Bitty take the reins, and Bitty knows that that’s a good thing, for both of them. So Bitty’s the one who asks, in the dark, in the summer heat of the room, even with the windows cracked for the breeze—he asks for Jack to make love to him, because he doesn’t want Jack to leave again without knowing what it feels like for them to be as close as possible.
He’s blushing furiously when he asks, face hidden from Jack’s view only because he has his eyes buried while he kisses Bitty’s neck. But Jack lifts his head quickly, eyes hooded and soft, mouth open. “You’re sure?”
Bitty nods, hands flexing on Jack’s shoulders. “Yeah,” he says. “I want to try again.”
“We can go slow,” Jack tells him, hand not moving from where it was originally perched on Bitty’s hip, fingertips tucked under his shirt. “You can tell me to stop at any time. I won’t mind.”
“I know,” Bitty says softly, bringing one hand up to brush again Jack’s face. “C’mere.”
They kiss again, falling back into the routine they know so well. Jack shakes the covers off of them, peels his shirt off over his head and Bitty helps him do the same to his own shirt. He laughs into Jack’s mouth while he trails his hands down his stomach, running his fingers into the notches of Jack’s muscles, the ridges and lines of his body.
They were in locker rooms together for two years—Bitty knows what Jack looks like, but getting to touch is an entirely different thing. He doesn’t know that he’ll ever get used to that, to the freedom to just reach out and put his hands on this man.
Bitty winds up on top of him, perched in his lap. It’s his favorite place to be, close to Jack’s mouth with enough room to touch him however he likes. He can’t, from this spot, get his hands on Jack’s butt, but it’s a sacrifice he has to live with. Besides, with Jack’s chest against his and Jack’s hands under his thighs, he’s distracted enough as it is.
He’s half hard by the time they’re both naked, squirming against Jack, his cock finding friction between their stomachs. “Sorry,” he says weakly, but he doesn’t stop rolling his hips. “The—the lube?”
Jack doesn’t break eye contact, those big blues staring right into Bitty, mouth soft and open in an expression of utter wonder. He stays exactly like that while his hand scrambles over towards the far side of the bed, where he tossed the lube after he took it from his bag just a few minutes ago.
(That had been hilarious, the way he had blushed and cast his eyes down, shirtless and hard in his sweats. Jack’s accent had actually gotten stronger, like it does when he’s embarrassed, but he was smiling shyly when he said: It was just in case. Bitty’s never been happier that Jack is so well-prepared.)
Two fingers, and Jack is kissing him hotly, mouth open and wet. “Okay?” he asks, moving them in and out gently.
Bitty nods weakly, panting against Jack’s cheek. He’s moving his hips with the motion of Jack’s wrist, chasing the feeling of Jack inside of him. Even when he gets up to three fingers, when it’s more and sharper and Jack is fumbling a little bit to make it fit, Bitty can’t help but roll his body into the small thrusts, the eager ministrations of Jack’s hand.
His whole body jerks when Jack finds his prostate. Their eyes meet, Bitty’s face hot while Jack stares—Bitty wants to ask him what he’s waiting for, but it becomes pretty clear once Jack starts rubbing right against that spot, right where lights explode against Bitty’s eyes and every limb becomes a pile of goo. It’s nerve wrecking, how incredibly desperate Jack makes him feel, but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.
It feels like a workout, the way his thighs have tensed, how much he’s straining to keep his body moving. It burns in the best way, and there’s sweat beaded on his forehead. When he pulls his hands through Jack’s hair, he can feel his temple is damp too. He watches a line of sweat drip from Jack’s dark hair down to his jaw, and Bitty chases it with his tongue.
Jack groans, his free hand gripping Bitty’s thigh tightly. “Another?” he asks, and Bitty nods immediately.
“Yeah, one more,” he says. “Please.”
Jack huffs a laugh against his mouth as he leans in for another kiss. “So polite,” he teases, and Bitty bites Jack’s lip in response.
“Says the Canadian,” Bitty responds, and Jack’s delighted laugh is totally worth it.
Jack puts him on his back a few minutes later, after Bitty’s thighs have started spasming. He’s too turned on to care that he’s lost his leverage, too excited to be nervous now. He’s harder than he’s ever been in his life and Jack Zimmerman is on top of him, kissing him fiercely.
“Don’t move,” Jack tells him, and he sits up on his knees so that he can lean over to the bedside table and grab a condom. His hands are so big compared to the little foil packet that Bitty can’t help but grin to himself, spread eagle against his mattress.
He’s not grinning anymore, however, when Jack holds his cock in his hand to roll on the condom. It’s deliriously sexy and Bitty feels lightheaded just watching the way his long fingers, still slick with lube, stroke himself over the condom, getting used to the fit and the feel. His pupils are blown wide, hiding all but a ring of blue, which Bitty gazes into longingly he leans in.
Jack fits his hands around the bottom of Bitty’s thighs, lifting them to wrap around his torso, his heels coming to rest in the small of Jack’s back. Bitty is flushed, breath coming quickly as he lets Jack position him however he wants. He thinks he should be embarrassed, on display like this, but it’s hot, unbelievably so.
“C’mon,” Bitty urges, one hand on the back of Jack’s neck, the other gripping his bicep. “Don’t stop now.”
Jack has his head ducked as he guides himself in, no doubt watching as his cock disappears into Bitty’s body, but Bitty is glad that he’s not being scrutinized because his mouth is wide open, his eyes fluttering, his heart probably about to beat out of his chest. Jack inside of him is something totally different, big and solid and maddening, filling every inch of him, making him feel like he’s about to burst at the seams even now.
“Jack,” he gasps softly, arching. “Jack, I—” He breaks off with a moan as Jack pulls out again, just to push back in.
Jack captures his mouth, sweet and shallow, and lets his forehead rest on Bitty’s. “I know,” he says, voice thick, hand squeezing Bitty’s thigh. “I know. God, Eric—”
The hilarity of his first name on Jack’s tongue is abrupt but ultimately overshadowed by Jack’s well-timed thrusts knocking the breath out of him.
It’s still slow, still careful, even though Bitty was sure they were going to lose any semblance of self-control as soon as all of the prep was done. He should’ve known, Jack’s body is a powerhouse, and he seems as dedicated to this as he is to hockey, making sure they take their time, making sure they do it right. He can’t pretend to be bothered by that, not when Jack is inside of him, around him, holding him, making him feel like he’s floating.
Bitty lets his hands wander, dragging them from Jack’s shoulders down his arms, up his back again, kneading at all of the well-formed muscle. Down again, the thin gap of air between their stomachs, over Jack’s tight abdomen. He wishes he could grip Jack’s hips, wishes he could feel the power pumping out of them, but that would mean giving up this position, and he doesn’t think he would do that for a million dollars. Instead, he compromises by arching into Jack, making him react with a sweet groan and a deeper thrust, sharper and less controlled than anything else they’ve done tonight and Bitty can’t help but be proud of himself.
Jack wraps a hand around Bitty’s length, stroking slow and tight so that Bitty moans to the ceiling, shaking with just how much he needed that. Jack’s perfect, attentive, doing everything just how they need it done, and Bitty can’t stop himself from praising him, overwhelmed with affection.
“You feel so good, honey,” he says, the words tripping off his lips as Jack sucks on the skin of his throat. His words are longer, drawled in his accent as he writhes under Jack’s tongue, squirms on his cock. He’s desperately hard, mind all but lost to the heat of their bodies, and he’s going to ask—he’s going to insist that Jack put aside his plans for tender lovemaking in favor of something faster, but he never gets the chance.
All it takes is Bitty’s fingernails scratching down his back—which he only does because Jack’s managed to grind right into his prostate—before he’s abandoned the routine. From there on, it’s fast, eager, desperate, both of them clinging and grinding against each other as their mouths clash together. It takes mere seconds for Bitty to come over Jack’s fist, stifling his cry in the meat of Jack’s shoulder. Jack follows, thrusting in broken movements for only another moment before he shudders through his orgasm, eyes closed tight, his expression halfway between pained and blissful.
It’s actually the aftereffects of it all that Bitty loves the most. He loves that they lie there together for a few minutes, unmoving, just breathing. He loves that Jack has shifted his weight so that he can lie down on his side, face pressed into Bitty’s neck.
Eventually they get up. Jack disposes of the condom, Bitty cleans up the drying come in the bathroom, wipes away excess lube from his thighs. He’s too tired to be embarrassed, too happy to be nervous when he comes back to bed to find Jack still naked, waiting for him.
Jack holds him against his chest, arm thrown over Bitty’s stomach. He nuzzles into the back of Bitty’s neck, breath hot against his skin.
“Bitty,” he says, the way he only does when he’s awestruck. “I…”
Bitty smiles to himself. “I know, sweetheart. Me too.”