Jack Zimmerman is exactly Bitty's type.
Eric has always had a weakness for dark hair and blue eyes, especially on a boy that's lean and has pale skin. There weren't many of those in Georgia when he was first figuring out his feelings; it feels like every single one of them caught his eye. And then there were all the celebrities that turned his head--he watched Sherlock with his mother and tried not to give away how his heart pounded when Benedict Cumberbatch was on the screen, with that black hair and ivory skin. And watching Johnny Weir skate in the Olympics had just about killed him.
Bitty's not as tan and freckled as he used to be, what with spending two-thirds of his year in Massachusetts, but he's still not as pale as Jack. Jack is a fairy-tale child: Red as blood, white as snow, black as a raven's breast. Well, more like black, white, and blue as a winter sky. Jack's lips turn rosepetal-pink when he's flushed. His eyes are always the same amazing icy blue.
They're not cold eyes, though. Right now they're looking at Eric with so much love and affection, and desire and want, that he hardly knows what to do. Here's this beautiful boy, the man of his dreams, lying naked in bed with him, smiling at him with sleepy blue eyes that, for a change, don't look sad or wistful. Jack so often looks that way, sad or wistful or at least distant, not quite in the here and now. Not when he looks at Eric, though. All of him is right there, brimming over.
Eric has seen a lot of boys who turned his head, famous actors or athletes he thought about kissing when kissing was as far as his imagination went. He hasn't known a lot of athletes like Jack, though. Jack looked at this tiny boy from Georgia and expected no less from him on the ice than he expected from Ransom or Holster. He got up *before* the ass-crack of dawn to work with Eric on his fear of checking, because Eric Bittle was on his team. He was harder all the time on himself than he was on anybody else.
Bitty thought it was rough sometimes being the little fairy son of the town football coach; it had to have been harder for Jack to be the son of a really famous athlete and lose his chance at early fame because of his mental health issues. Bitty might have walked away from hockey at that point, but Jack didn't. He never gave up.
Jack reaches out and curls his hand around the back of Eric's neck, drawing him closer for a kiss. Eric will never forget that day, the first time Jack kissed him--when he showed up at the Haus, out of breath and out of words, when he should have been on his way out of Bitty's life for good, and then just kissed Bitty, just like that. Even if this relationship doesn't work out the way Eric hopes it will, thinks it might, he'll never forget that. This kiss, right now, is just as sweet. Jack is not always good with his words. Even when he tries to talk about his feelings, he can sound like Jack Zimmerman, hockey robot. But he's 100% clear what he's trying to say with his mouth, his hands, his body. Jack Laurent Zimmermann, not actually a hockey robot, loves, wants, and needs Eric Richard Bittle.
Bitty winds up on his back, Jack leaning over him and stroking his dick as they kiss. Bitty lets his hands roam all over Jack's body, through his rumpled hair, down his neck and over his heavy shoulders, down his back to his solid hips and his perfect ass. Jack makes a noise like a purr into Bitty's mouth and draws away. "Fuck me, Bits?"
Oh, lord, Bitty just about has a spontaneous orgasm every time Jack asks him to top. He used to think any guy that wanted to go to bed with him would want him to bottom, all the time, but Jack asked Bitty to fuck him first, before they tried it the other way around. And they both seem to like switching up. Jack's already fucked Bitty today and Bitty's so ready to return the favor, especially when Jack hands him the lube and then swings around so he can suck Bitty off while Bitty fingers him.
It's a little bit of a contest then to see who can distract the other one from what he's trying to do. Bitty summons all his powers of concentration to focus on prepping Jack sufficiently while Jack's mouth is having a wild love affair with his cock. He comes quiveringly close to orgasm when he's got most of four fingers in his boyfriend's ass and takes his revenge by bunching all four fingers against Jack's prostate.
"Oh my fucking god, Bits." Jack collapses over Bitty's legs and does a little quivering of his own.
"Ready now?" Bitty uses his sweetest voice, grinning triumphantly at the back of Jack's head. He works the condom on his cock while Jack hauls himself to his knees and gets the pillows where he wants them. Usually Jack likes Bitty on his back when he's topping, at least for starters, and behind him like this when Bitty tops. Bitty really doesn't care; there's something thrilling about every position they've tried so far. He likes having Jack above him, looking into each other's eyes while Jack fucks him, and he also likes seeing Jack on his hands and knees like this, Jack's glorious round ass and heavy thighs and the long rippling slope of his back falling away to his bare neck, his tousled hair.
Bitty pushes in easily, all the way in, feeling Jack's groan of pleasure as he drapes himself over his boyfriend's back. "Oh, Bits, yeah," Jack tosses his head a little, "do it to me."
"I will, darlin', I will." He gets a good grip on Jack's hips and starts to move, not fast yet, not hard, but with a little twist of his hips on each stroke that he knows will really get Jack going. It does the trick; Jack starts pushing back against him, huffing with the effort. Bitty hums under his breath, bracing his palms against Jack's butt, refusing to let him take control; keeps up his rhythm, determined, until Jack's groaning starts to sound painful. He gives Jack one sudden slap on the ass, hard as a push for the net, and pulls out.
"Turn over, sweetheart, please?"
Jack obliges, pulling up his knees without being asked. Bitty bites his lip for self-control, seeing Jack spread himself like that, his hole soft and glistening with lube, his cheeks flushed. Bitty kneels close and draws Jack's legs onto his shoulders, pulls Jack up against him, before pushing in again.
Jack groans and lets his arms fall out to the side. His eyes close, but every so often he forces them open again to meet Bitty's. Those glacier-blue eyes get colder than the South Pole when he's angry, but they turn hot like the center of a flame when they're making love, when he's fucking Bitty or Bitty's fucking him, like now. With Jack's heavy legs over his shoulders, Bitty has to put his back into it, but he does, he *can*. He's so much stronger than he used to be, the fastest player on the ice in almost every game, he could swoop down low and knock down all those big football players like duckpins, those big beefy boys who bullied him. Here he is now fucking a boy who's a better athlete than any of them, stronger and handsomer and gentle and kind--
Bitty's loud when he comes, always, unless he smothers himself, holds it back. In the privacy of Jack's apartment, he can wail as much as he wants, and he does, grinding helplessly into Jack as the pleasure pours through and out of him. Jack croons encouragement and grips his biceps, lets Bittle collapse on his chest when he's done.
It takes a minute for Eric to shape his mouth for a kiss, then words. "You alright, honey?"
"I will be--"
Jack tips him gently over; he lands on his side, facing Jack, who's stroking himself efficiently, his wide soft eyes on Eric's face.
"Oh, let me--"
"No, 's alright, just kiss me, kiss--"
He kisses Jack and lets Jack kiss him, fingers twined in Jack's thick dark hair, while Jack works his own cock with his hand against Eric's belly until they moan together and Jack comes, sighing.
They lie there face to face, Eric's hand cupping Jack's face, Jack's hand on Eric's chest, for a long time. When Eric can open his eyes again, Jack opens his eyes, too, smiling.
Black as a raven, white as snow, blue as the hottest flame. And easy to talk to, and kind. Yeah, Jack is exactly Bitty's type--a beautiful boy, a friend, a boyfriend.