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Come As You Are

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Jack remembers about two minutes after he first places a hand on himself. His mind is fuzzy from the satisfying exhaustion of the game, and his internal monologue is hard to hear over the thrumming hubbub of the kegster going on downstairs. Even his subconscious can’t remind him at first, because it finally finds itself in tune with his foremost thoughts, now all completely obsessed with Bitty Bitty Bitty.

He’s thinking of Bitty, who is probably still downstairs, the scent of alcohol heavy on his breath, singing and shouting and dancing. Jack was done for the very moment he saw Bitty dancing in the middle of the living room floor, a red cup in one hand and the other high in the air. Bitty’s eyes were closed and his hair was ruffled. His top few buttons were undone. And he was rolling his hips. Jack stared at him, transfixed, for the entire song. The way he moved was impossibly, sinfully alluring. Sweet, innocent Bitty, who probably wasn’t even being sexual on purpose, who was just enjoying the music and letting his body move to it, had Jack suddenly bounding up the stairs and locking the door to his room, hard and aching in his jeans.

At first, Jack can’t even think at all, wrenching off his shirt and pulling down his trousers and shoving a hand down his boxers to finally, finally lay a hand on his erection, and he doesn’t know why he’s never let himself think about this before, fuck. He feels heady with arousal and his hand feels so good as it moves up and down at the same rhythm as he’s imagining Bitty moving up against him, and yeah, he’s getting into this now, and –

And he finally remembers why he doesn't do this very often.

The thing is, Jack can’t come. Not anymore. SSRIs do brilliant things for his general mood, turning down the volume on the worrying, paralyzing voice in his head that used to keep him up every night, but they have the adverse effect of wreaking havoc on his sexual performance. He can still get aroused, mentally (very easily, it turns out). And most of the time – but not all of the time, notably – he could get hard. But he didn’t seem to be able to orgasm anymore. He could get very close, right up to the precipice where his body and mind are both yearning for release, but physically he just can’t seem to produce an orgasm.

Honestly, while it’s still a low price to pay for the mental relief the medication brings him, the side effect’s a bitch. At first, Jack thought he might be able to overcome it, because a teenager doesn’t just stop jerking off cold-turkey, at least not without a fight. He tried taking his time and building himself up, going hard and fast for as long as he could stand it, using different kinds of lubes – nothing seemed to do the trick.

With time, allaying that aggravation (the kind that comes as soon as Jack, well, doesn’t, and knows it’s time to give up) took precedence over his hundred-and-ten-percent, never-give-up attitude. He sort of stopped masturbating, because he’s learned that it’s easier to just ignore the initial flairs of arousal than it is to deal with the immense frustration that accompanies a climax thwarted.

Jack’s will isn’t ironclad, and he does touch himself occasionally, usually in the morning if he wakes up hard and rutting against his mattress. It’s instinct, and it’s also just instinct to masturbate if he’s incredibly turned on in real life, which hasn’t happened in a long while. He’s already pretty deep into his fantasy – an alternate reality, in which Jack goes downstairs and grabs Bitty and pulls him into a dark, secluded corner where they rut against each other until they both come – when he realizes there’s not much hope of this ending successfully.

It turns out that the only thing that feels more depraved and shameful than coming all over yourself thinking about your teammate is trying to come all over yourself thinking of said teammate but failing to do so.

Desperation, too, is a bitch, and Jack isn’t proud of the filth that his mind supplies in his attempts to get off. He knows, logically, that it’s hopeless, but he runs through the list of every single act and idea that used to tip him over the edge, with Bitty in the starring role.

He’s left kicking his heels against his mattress in frustration. He’s sweaty and flushed all over and still achingly hard. He’s too worked up to fall asleep.

He rolls onto his side, grabs a book off the floor, and tries to distract himself until he dozes off.


Jack spent the entire plane ride to Georgia fretting. He doesn’t know if Bitty would expect anything. The situation isn’t completely dire – it would be far worse if he couldn’t make his partners come. He’s ready and eager to lavish all of his attentions on making Bitty feel good, but he worries that, after a few times, Bitty will notice the pattern, and assume that Jack isn’t attracted to him. He might think that his problem is Bitty’s fault, and that’s the absolute last thing Jack wants him to think.

Now, in the heat of the moment, pressed up against Bitty on the spare bed in his basement, Jack suddenly realizes that he can use his words. He’s not a particularly big talker, but he shares more with Bitty than he does with anyone else, and he needs to know.


“Yeah?” he answers, a bit out of breath. He already looks a bit overwhelmed, just from their heavy petting.

“I need to tell you something before we go any further,” Jack says, his voice low and quiet.

“Whatever it is, you can’t be as nervous as I am.”

Jack raises a concerned eyebrow.

“Well – you know I’ve never done this before. What if I’m no good? I want you to enjoy this, and I don’t really know how,” Bitty mutters, staring at his hand on Jack’s upper arm.

“That’s actually something you don’t have to worry about,” Jack starts, “because I can’t really come.”

Bitty frowns. “You’ve – you’ve never – I thought that you and – and even if not, haven’t you ever, by yourself?” He looks very confused.

“I can’t do it anymore,” Jack clarifies. “Common side effect of my anxiety medication. I’ve basically lost my ability to orgasm, and sometimes I can’t really get hard, either.”

Bitty pauses, absorbing the information. “You really can’t?”

“I’ve tried, believe me. But no, I don’t seem able to do it now. So, if I don't orgasm, it is absolutely not your fault. You won’t have done anything wrong. It’s just me, so please don’t worry about it, okay?”

“Jack, we don’t have to do this, not if you’re not going to enjoy it,” Bitty says, finally looking up into Jack’s eyes.

“No, I want to – I’ll still like it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll enjoy being with you, Bits. If you feel comfortable with that right now, I’d love to make you feel good.”

Bitty nods frantically, and Jack leans in to kiss him as his hand trails down towards Bitty’s hips.


They’ve settled into a working routine now, sexually speaking. Bitty tries to compensate for the one-sidedness by never explicitly initiating, never just demanding sex out of the blue – they kiss plenty, and if Jack is interested (which he usually is), and Bitty wants to (he always does), they’ll move on to something more. Jack strokes him and sucks him and fingers him and licks him, anything to bring Bitty the pleasure that he deserves.

Bitty has tried to get Jack off, of course. It would have been surprising if he hadn’t, honestly. He’d go down on Jack forever if Jack didn’t stop him, pull him back up so he could return the favor. Jack can’t help but feel pathetic from time to time, his dick miserably soft and slick with spit as it lies against his thigh. When he does get hard, though, he always makes sure to tell Bitty how good he’s making him feel, even if he eventually has to give up.

And, one day, Jack is rimming him, and Bitty suddenly speaks up, inexplicably cogent for someone writhing around naked between the bed sheets.

“How come I never do this for you?”

Jack pauses. “I don’t – I don’t know.” He frowns. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

“I was just thinking that the pleasure is more internal, when you do this. So maybe it wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t, you know, get hard.” Bitty blushes fiercely, still reticent to talk directly about these things.

“I’ve never actually bottomed before,” Jack admits.

“Well, we’ve got the same parts, Jack,” Bitty teases. “It’s not like you couldn’t. Not that I’m demanding that you let me full on fuck you or anything! But maybe you might enjoy something like this, or fingering. It can feel really nice.”

Jack feels kinda, well, stupid for not having thought of this before. “Yeah, we should try that, if you want to.”

“I do,” Bitty says. “But first, um, would you mind?” The blush returns and he bites his lip as he lifts his hips up in his request. Jack can’t resist but to grant it.


It does feel good when Bitty touches him there, it turns out. It feels really nice even when he’s not hard, and sometimes, it helps him get to that point. Bitty started with just external stuff, and now he’s been very slowly easing Jack into more penetration, not aimed at opening him up so much as at just gently massaging Jack’s prostate. The pleasure was unexpected the first time that Bitty touched him there, and Jack remembers first feeling embarrassed by the noise he made, a moan crossed with a touch of a whine, and then seeing the look on Bitty’s face. His eyes were wide with awe, and his cheeks were bright red, and he asked in the smallest voice if he could touch Jack there again.

It’s definitely an improvement in their sex life. Jack still isn’t coming, but he feels like there’s more hope like this than there was before – he’s certainly gotten closer a couple times, with Bitty’s mouth on him and his fingers inside him. And it’s not all about the goal of an orgasm, either. Bitty is making him feel good, and it feels intimate, too.

And, more importantly, it feels less one-sided to both of them. Bitty isn’t afraid to initiate sex anymore, now that he’s not afraid that Jack’s getting nothing out of it. And Jack likes being a little more vulnerable with Bitty, even if he’s not being reduced to a completely incoherent mess the way he should have been.

Then, one day, Bitty is up in Providence visiting Jack. Jack has early afternoon practice, but when he comes back, the house doesn’t smell of anything freshly baked. The kitchen is actually a little chilly, even. There’s no evidence that the oven has been turned on at all, peculiarly.

“Hey, sweetie,” Bitty calls out to him from the couch in the den.

Jack drops his bag in the closet before heading over to greet him. “Hello, bud,” he says, planting a kiss on Bitty’s forehead. “What did you get up to this afternoon? Did you go out and do something? I always feel so bad leaving you here.”

“Yeah, I went into town,” Bitty answers quickly, and now Jack knows something is up, because it’s a rare occasion when Bitty isn’t chattering away. Probably the first thing he learned about Eric Bittle was that he couldn’t exactly be described as laconic. Jack loves how much Bitty is willing to share with him, from the personal to the mundane, so he knows that this is strange.

“Where’d you go?”

“Oh, just explored. Just went out for more eggs; you were out.”

Jack is admittedly not quite as spiritually in tune with the contents of his refrigerator as Bitty is, but he’s certain that that’s not true. He bought two dozen on Friday morning just in anticipation of Bitty’s visit, just so he wouldn’t have to go out to buy anything in case he wanted to bake something. Pies can’t appear without basic ingredients, even when Bitty’s in the kitchen. Jack learned that shortly after moving into his own place. Apparently the cupboards didn’t just come with stuff like cream of tartar and vanilla extract – not that Jack was sure those went into pies. He’d basically just bought out the entire baking aisle at the supermarket and hoped that would suffice.

Jack doesn’t know why exactly Bitty is being so squirrelly about this. It’s not as if he’s ever insisted that Bitty wait at home for him. “You can just tell me if it’s none of my business, you know? You’re entitled to your privacy; you don’t have to try to hide anything. I won’t pry if you don’t want me to.”

Bitty blushes a little. “I got something for you, actually. I just thought I’d wait until later… but I suppose I could show you now.”

“Only if you want to.”

“Yeah.” Bitty bites his lip. “It’s in your room,” he says, getting up off the couch.

Jack kicks his shoes off in the hallway, not wanting to drip the collected rain onto his carpet, and then reaches back for Bitty’s hand as they walk into the bedroom. On the bed lies a completely non-descript white box. They sit on the side of the mattress and Jack opens it, careful not to rip the packaging, and removes a smaller plastic box from inside.

“It’s for you,” Bitty explains, his voice near a whisper, as Jack examines the vibrator, a sleek, slightly curved thin silicone thing in a matte navy blue finish. “I thought maybe this could make you feel even better, if you want to try it.”

It purrs to life, a low rumble, when Jack presses the button on the wide base. The vibrations intensify in frequency as he clicks forward through the settings before turning it off again. He can’t imagine how this would feel in him.

“Thank you,” he says, and he’s suddenly a bit overwhelmed that this sweet boy in front of him went out and bought this just for Jack, just to make him feel good. That this boy is in his life, for all of Jack’s past and present problems, and is apparently willing to stay in it. “Thank you for thinking about me, for trying, for caring, for being here with me.”

“Of course, honey,” Bitty says, and then he’s hugging Jack, hard and tight and close, holding him just the way Jack likes to be held.


They try it that evening – as spontaneous as Jack would like to be, he’s always a sweaty, tired mess right after practice, not exactly ready to fall into bed. He took a shower and cleaned himself up while Bitty made dinner for the two of them.

He’s lying on his back on the bed, two pillows under his head and one propping up his hips, and watching Bitty gently finger him open. He’s focusing on breathing through his nose and keeping those breaths slow and steady, but the occasional gasp slips through as Bitty’s fingers – two of them now – graze against his prostate.

He stops after a while to take Jack’s half-hard cock into his mouth, suckling lovingly at the head. And it feels nice – of course it does – but the anticipation is killing him.

“Are we going to try using the – ”

“Just be patient, Jack,” Bitty says just as he puts a finger back in and crooks it upwards, rendering Jack momentarily incapacitated. His voice is authoritative, too, and it’s basically the hottest thing Jack has ever experienced.

Bitty really goes at it, then, massaging Jack’s prostate with purpose and giving his cock some attention with his tongue, until he feels that strange mixture of feelings, of being both devastatingly close and hopelessly far away. This is the moment that Jack has come to associate with frustration; with sweaty, fruitless exertion; with failure and a weird concomitant sense of shame.

This is also the moment that Bitty chooses to pick up the vibrator, already cleaned and slicked up, and slowly slides it inside Jack.

“Bits,” Jack breathes, adjusting to the shape and thickness, both slightly different from Bitty’s fingers. He moves it in and out for a little while, letting him get used to it, and then clamors up on to his knees and moves forward until he can put his lips up near Jack’s ear.

“Are you ready?” Bitty asks.

“Yes,” Jack chokes out, and then Bitty reaches back and, with the press of a button, Jack is suddenly arching into the best sensation he has ever felt. He closes his eyes as Bitty kisses down from his lips to his neck to the dip between his collarbones.

The vibrations feel amazing, the feeling reverberating through him, and Bitty begins to move it so it strokes up and down along his prostate. Jack dimly thinks that he should really be remarking on how incredible it is that Bitty has become so confident, from so shy and inexperienced to someone who can take care of Jack in ways that he can’t do, even for himself, but he can’t really focus, because the pleasure is ratcheting up inside him in a way that feels too good to ignore.

It’s only a few minutes before Jack is panting and feeling a lovely, fadingly-familiar inexorable heat build up, emanating from where Bitty is paying careful attention to him. It feels like a fucking miracle, and he doesn’t want to tell Bitty, just in case it all suddenly goes away. Bitty is kissing and sucking on the tip of him, and angling the vibrator just right, dragging it slowly back and forth, and laying his hand so gently on Jack’s stomach, and he looks so beautiful and dedicated, and then Jack comes.

It takes Bitty by surprise just as much as it does Jack, and Bitty kisses Jack’s hips and soothes a hand along his abdomen as he shudders through it. He manages to turn off the vibrator right before it becomes too much, and slides it gently out of him before crawling back up to look Jack in the eyes – or, at least, to try to coax him to open them.

“Sweetheart, that was beautiful,” Bitty whispers. “Tell me how you’re feeling, honey.”

Jack is still breathing hard when he looks up at him and answers, first with a nod. “Really good, Bits.” He pulls Bitty down to kiss him softly.

Jack dimly thinks that he should really be remarking on how close they’ve grown since they first tried to do this, on how that initial crush developed into honest-to-goodness love and an intimacy that runs impossibly deep, but he can’t really focus, because being together in this moment, just the two of them, feels too perfect to ignore.