Chapter Text
Bradley is dreaming.
He knows it must be a dream, because they're in Bradley's room at the Alphabet house, and the last time he'd seen that room it had been empty after he'd shipped everything to California. He's sprawled across the bed with its blue comforter and throw pillows. The window is open, vague sounds of one of Alphabet's never-ending parties filtering through.
Jake is there, because Jake is in all of his dreams. Always golden, always smiling, always looking at Bradley with those pretty green eyes. Even in his dreams, Bradley loves Jake more than anything. And they're always good dreams when Jake is in them.
In this one, Jake is between his legs at the end of the bed, fingers of one hand curled around Bradley's thigh, the others pushing insistently inside of him, making him gasp. The room around them is hazy and light, all warm and soft with the night and the delicious, heady sensation of Jake's hands on him, Bradley's favorite feeling.
Dream Bradley reaches down for Jake and pushes his fingers into his soft hair, shorter than before. Jake's warm lips press against the inside of Bradley's thigh, so close to his achingly hard dick. Bradley's hips push down of their own accord, wanting Jake's fingers deeper. Jake shushes him when he whines, rubbing over Bradley's sweet spot with practiced ease. Jake always takes care of him.
"Baby," he murmurs.
"Come on, honey," Jake says back.
A blink and Jake is above him, time skipping in the way dreams often do.
Bradley tilts his hips up, relaxing into Jake's touch, eagerly anticipating the feeling of Jake fucking inside of him.
And Jake does, feeding Bradley his cock, blunt head pushing past his rim.
Bradley gasps at the push, the pressure, the stretch, and then—
And then he gasps himself awake, and Jake really is pushing into him, really is inside of him, fucking the breath right from Bradley's lungs.
There's sunshine on his face and Jake's hands are on his body and ocean air is blowing in through the open doors and windows. He's behind Bradley, curled up along his body like they're a set of parentheses, like spoons in a drawer, Jake's chest to Bradley's back, hips pressed to his ass, easing himself into him. Bradley can't breathe, can hardly see two inches in front of himself, can't think past Jake, Jake, Jake.
Jake is inside of him, and all Bradley can do is call out his name.
"Baby," Bradley gasps. He fists a hand in the fancy linen sheets of their Airbnb, seeking a grasp on what, who, where he finds himself.
"There you are, darlin," comes Jake's voice, low and rough in his ear. "There we go," he says as he bottoms out inside of Bradley, hips flush to his ass cheeks.
"Oh, oh—"
He knows, now, where they are.
In their Airbnb in Lagos, a big apartment by the sea. They have the big French doors thrown open and the windows as well, soft breeze sending the drapes billowing around. The place is all old charmingly-peeling stuccoed walls, high ceilings, art prints in faux gilded frames, great bowled wine glasses, a view of the town square. The Portuguese sun casts everything in shades of buttery yellow, bright to Bradley's still-sleepy eyes. Outside of the apartment, the town lolls in the hot afternoon. Inside it, Jake's cock is taking Bradley's breath right from his lungs.
"That's it, B, come on," Jake says softly, lips brushing the shell of Bradley's ear.
Bradley comes back to himself, to earth, to his body.
Jake's arm is under his head, bicep like a pillow beneath his ear. His other hand is on Bradley's hip, wet with lube, slippery on his skin. He holds him tightly, grinding into him so slowly, so gently. Every point of contact between them is hot, burning into Bradley's flesh like a brand, like Jake's marking him as his property. Bradley fucking loves it. All he's ever wanted is to be Jake's, to really belong to him the way he's felt he has for years.
They've only done this a handful of times, and every instance has driven Bradley to tears almost immediately. He trusts Jake implicitly, always has, and trusts him to make them both feel good. But something about Jake trusting him back enough to do this, to give this to them both, to wake Bradley up by easing his cock into him, it drives Bradley wild. It's so sexy and so intimate and so much—
It's all encompassing. It's completely overwhelming.
It makes him feel so held and loved and wanted.
Already his eyes are watering, filling with tears.
"Jake, baby," he whines.
"I've got you, honey. I gotcha." Jake kisses the tender spot behind Bradley's ear, runs his tongue over it once. "Feel good?"
Bradley nods, reaching back to tangle his hand in Jake's hair. It's coarse with salt, both from their swim earlier and sweat from the sex they'd had before their nap, fast and hard and dirty. Jake had put Bradley on his knees, had kissed a line up his spine and then pushed his face into the pillow and fucked him right into the mattress. After, Jake had run a cloth over Bradley's sweaty body, slow and gentle enough that Bradley had gotten hard again and Jake had sucked him off once more. But Bradley had fallen asleep before getting a shower.
Jake's come is still inside of him, probably slicking the way right now. Jake's fucking it out of him: Bradley can hear it. It's wet and loud and sounds absolutely filthy, and Bradley's so turned on he can feel it in his teeth. He wants Jake's come in him always, wants Jake to stuff him full and let him walk around with it dripping from his hole, hot and wet and claiming. Bradley is completely obsessed with Jake, always has been, but during times like these he feels like a feral beast.
The angle they're at allows Jake's cock to brush against his prostate with every slow grind into him, sweet pleasure sparking through his nervous system each time. Bradley's cock, when he reaches down to wrap a shaking hand around it, is wet, precome leaking from his tip like a fountain. The touch makes him keen, makes him fuck forward into the circle of his fingers. In his gut, his orgasm is building fast, a coil tightening, ready to snap, to burst into white hot pleasure.
"Baby, baby, I'm— Jake, baby, I'm close—"
Jake doesn't speed up, just keeps fucking into him at the same lazy pace. "Come for me, honey, c'mon. I've gotcha, B. I gotcha."
Bradley does as he's told.
He comes all over his hand and the sheets, crying out Jake's name as that coil snaps within him. The delicious pleasure spreads from deep in his spine to between his hips to the tips of his fingers, to the ends of his fucking hair. He screws his eyes shut tight, tears flowing freely, letting out something like a sob into the warm afternoon. Only the feeling of Jake still grinding slowly inside of him keeps Bradley tethered to the earth. Without Jake touching him and fucking him through it, he'd float away entirely.
There's sweat dampening his hairline and tears dampening his cheeks, and Jake's arm beneath him is damp with a combination of both.
"Oh, that's it, B. There you go," Jake says in his ear.
His voice is breathy with exertion. His big hands are warm on Bradley's already overheated body. The one on his hip holds him tightly, pulling him back onto Jake's cock with each press inside. The other is tangled in his hair, bent back so Bradley's still resting on his bicep. Bradley turns his head and mouths at the warm skin of his arm, letting out a little noise when he feels the muscle flex beneath him. He's so warm, burning Bradley with every point of contact, branding him more and more.
That could also be the sunburn Bradley sustained after falling asleep on his stomach on the beach yesterday, but he prefers to think it's Jake pressing his palm and fingerprints into his skin.
"Fuck, baby," Bradley sighs out. He feels more awake now. More like he's inside of his body, rather than watching from above, or from the dream. "Thought I was dreaming."
"Yeah?" Jake murmurs. "Dreaming about me fucking you?"
"Always dreamin' about you," Bradley says truthfully.
He told Jake that once. Long ago, an evening in Jake's bedroom, the first time he'd cockwarmed him. They'd lain in bed afterwards, exchanging truths and pieces of their lives with one another. He'd told Jake about his father dying, and Jake had told him about Levi. That was the first time Bradley had considered telling Jake about Irons. The secret had weighed on him for a long time; he'd known Jake would help him shoulder the burden, but the fear of scaring him off was far heavier. He'd been terrified of losing Jake before he ever had him.
Now, he knows Jake is in this for the long haul. He's known it for some time. Jake loves him. The knowledge of that always washes over Bradley in a warm wave, like sinking into the tub after a long day, or finally stepping into sunshine after being out in the cold. Every day he appreciates it more; every chair pulled out for him, every brush of Jake's hand against the small of his back, every little kiss pressed to his cheek or his forehead when they fall asleep tangled in one another. Jake loves him. Loves him.
"Wanna see you," Bradley tells Jake. "Need to see you."
He's always so needy when Jake wakes him like this. The tears and the overwhelming affection and attraction make it so that he needs eyes on Jake as much as possible, needs to hold him close so he really can't float away, despite the way his body feels untethered from his brain. Touching Jake's warm, smooth skin and looking into his clear green eyes makes it better. Makes everything better, actually.
With a kiss pressed behind his ear, Jake acquiesces. Both of them let out a sound when Jake pulls out of him. Bradley's moaning at the sudden emptiness, and he knows Jake is groaning at the way Bradley's hole is likely trying to keep him inside, pulling on his cock. Gently, slowly, Jake turns Bradley onto his back and then maneuvers himself between his legs. Bradley watches him, appreciating the way he so gently lifts his legs so he can settle between them, the way he strokes up and down his thighs, setting goosebumps off all over his skin, the way he smiles down at him with those gorgeous eyes.
"Hi," Bradley says, smiling back.
"Hi," Jake parrots.
Kneeling over him, Jake is a long, lean line of muscle and tanned skin. The Portuguese sun has only turned him more golden; it was like he'd become tan the moment they'd stepped off of the plane in Lisbon. It's a good look on him: it makes his hair seem lighter, makes his eyes look more green than ever. Every linen shirt looks like it's been tailored to fit him, like the color was picked by a stylist so Jake can be photographed for the cover of a magazine. And he's so beautiful while they're out and about, too. He makes the old tiled streets and tall cliffs and long beaches look like just a backdrop compared to the sunny set of his face, eyes crinkled at the corners with his smile.
"I love you," Bradley tells him, because he does.
Jake ducks his head, smiling more. His hair flops over his forehead a bit. Bradley's brain had gotten it wrong in the dream. "Love you, B. Ready for me?"
"Please," Bradley says, nodding. He sniffles a bit; his eyes are still watery.
Gently, Jake lifts Bradley's legs up again, moving him so he can fit the thick, blunt head of his cock to his waiting hole. Bradley is wet with lube and come, and Jake teases them both, running his dick through the slickness of Bradley's crack. They both let out little gasps at the sensation. Jake's cockhead catches on Bradley's hole and he eases himself in, leaning forward, hand falling to the mattress to hold himself above Bradley. Bradley looks up at him, unable to look anywhere but into Jake's lovely eyes, to watch him as he fills him up so completely. It's like he's filling Bradley everywhere, heart, lungs, throat. It leaves him breathless, every time.
"Baby, baby, oh—" he whimpers, unable to keep Jake's name from his mouth.
Sensitive from his orgasm and with the general overwhelming feeling of Jake's attention on him, Bradley squirms, hips wriggling so he can take more of Jake inside of him, can feel him deeper. Everything feels so staggering— it's all so much. Jake shushes him, running a hand up his side, soothing him like he's some kind of spooked horse. The image makes him smile a little, and succeeds in settling him.
He looks down the length of his body and wishes he could see where he and Jake are connected, wishes he could watch Jake's cock stretch him out as he takes it, takes it, takes it. Takes it all and fucking loves it. There's nothing else on earth that makes Bradley feel the way sex with Jake does, like he's riding some crazy high and getting higher on it every time. Jake's attention, his labored breaths, the way his cheeks flush such a pretty pink— it's all addicting to him.
Tightening his grip on the backs of Bradley's knees, Jake pulls out slowly and then fucks back into him, lube and come slicking the way and making a loud, wet sound. Bradley lets out a shaky whimper, unable to hold it back. He reaches for Jake. Jake meets him halfway, leaning forward on Bradley's legs more so he can take his outstretched hand and bring it up to his neck. Bradley curls his fingers around his nape, looking up through his lashes and into Jake's face, his expression beautiful in its open pleasure.
"Fuck," Jake sighs. "So good, B."
Bradley just hums, brushing his fingers through Jake's sweat-damp hair. At this angle, Jake's cock brushes over Bradley's prostate more deliberately each time he moves inside of him. It's all Bradley can do to gasp into the air and fist a hand in the sheets. The balmy air blows over them, and a car honks outside. Someone calls back to them in the lilting, smooth Portuguese tongue. Jake fucks into Bradley smoothly and Bradley cries out just as loud.
"God, baby— Oh my—"
Bradley can't seem to finish a sentence, or a thought, or a breath. Jake's filling him so fully, so completely, that he can't think past it. He's laying in the wet spot on the sheets and barely even registers it. He lets his hand fall a little, sliding down Jake's jaw until he's cupping his cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing over the soft swell of his bottom lip. Immediately Jake's mouth falls open, pink tongue slipping out to lick over the digit. Warm and wet and welcoming, and Bradley pushes more, guiding Jake's tongue back into his mouth and his thumb along with it. Jake wraps his lips around Bradley's thumb and sucks on it, soft inside of his mouth like velvet.
Lashes fluttering, Jake laves his tongue over the pad of Bradley's finger and hollows his cheeks around it. He looks just as good as he does when he's got Bradley's cock in his mouth, lips pink and lovely. Bradley groans, pushing down harder, feeling the slide of saliva inside of Jake's mouth. Bradley remembers, once, Jake asking him to spit inside of his mouth. Something about the possessive notion of it, about the way it felt like he was claiming him so completely, had sent Bradley reeling. He wants it now.
"Baby," he breathes out, tipping his mouth open, "spit in my mouth, baby, please, I— I need it."
Jake's eyes fucking light up. He raises a brow, releasing Bradley's thumb from his mouth. Bradley drags it along his lip before tangling his fingers in Jake's hair once more. The rhythm Jake has built up doesn't stop or slow; he keeps on fucking Bradley steadily, jolting him along the mattress each time his hips meet his ass. Bradley wishes he could stretch out this moment, wishes he could bottle it up and put it in a flask to drink all day long. Warm European sun and Jake above him, around him, inside of him, so all-encompassing.
"Yeah?" Jake asks.
Bradley nods, opening his mouth wider.
He watches Jake gather saliva into his mouth before pursing his lips and spitting into Bradley's waiting mouth. It hits Bradley's tongue, hot and wet, and Bradley swallows it right down. The sensation of it seems to ignite all of Bradley's nerve endings all at once. He fucking loves it, opening his mouth once more for Jake to do it again. And his wonderful Jake does, letting more spit drip from his tongue to Bradley's before kissing him messily. Bradley loves the idea of their saliva mixing, of their DNA becoming one.
"Fuck, B," Jake says, pulling back. His lips are shiny. "So fucking hot."
It's all Bradley can do to nod and pull Jake back in again, to slide his hands down his back and encourage him to fuck him harder. Jake gets the memo, tucking his face into Bradley's neck and snapping his hips into him at a brutal pace. Bradley's hard again, in fact he may never have gone soft. He wants to feel Jake fill him up, wants to be marked by Jake's come, by the sign that Jake found such pleasure in his body that he reached orgasm inside of him. It's a miracle to him that Jake feels the same sort of addictive obsession and attraction; every time feels just as sexy and heady as the very first time.
"'M yours," Bradley tells Jake, voice wobbly as Jake fucks the breath right out of him.
Jake groans into his neck. "You're mine," he says back, sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin of his throat. "I'm yours too."
"Mine," Bradley says, breaking off to gasp as Jake's cock drags against his prostate when he shifts angles. "Oh, fuck! Baby, right there—"
Because he's an angel, Jake keeps on going just like that, hitting Bradley's spot with every thrust. Bradley's moaning every time, digging his nails into Jake's back, tension and pleasure building more and more in his spine. If Jake keeps on going like this, Bradley's going to come again. Only with Jake has Bradley ever been on such a hair trigger with his orgasms. It's like Jake could look at him a certain way and he'd cream his pants. It's incredible. And every time, the orgasm sweeps him right off of his feet.
"Gonna come, I— Fuck, B, I'm close," Jake pants.
"Come in me, baby, please, I want it," Bradley pleads.
Jake draws himself up, hands planted on the mattress on either side of Bradley's head. "Fuck," he gasps. "Gonna fuck you so full, B, sweetheart, you feel so fucking good."
"Please, baby, c'mon," he says. "Need you, need it—" he breaks off, something hot curling in his chest as he processes the filthy words about to come out of his mouth. "Want you to come in me, baby, please, fill me up again, I want it."
A particularly deep thrust sends Bradley's jaw dropping open on a deep inhale, and Jake spits onto his waiting tongue once more. Almost immediately after, Jake's hips slow, then come to a stop as he buries himself deep inside of Bradley and comes. Bradley watches the way his face contorts with pleasure, eyebrows knitting together, mouth lax, moans falling from his lips as he goes over the edge. And Bradley feels it, feels the way Jake's dick pulses inside of him, feels the warm wetness as he comes deep in him for the second time that day. It's a deliciously dirty sensation, hot and slick and wet inside him.
Jake all but collapses over him again, face returning to the crook of Bradley's neck, lips hot on his pulse point. Bradley strokes his hands up and down Jake's strong back, working him back down from the edge. His own orgasm is somewhere in the back of his mouth, building slowly after the quick first one. All of his limbs feel weak, like Jake's turned him into jello. Even his arms tremble as he rubs Jake's overheated skin, core shaking as he holds his legs up.
"Fuck," Jake sighs a moment or a million later. "Jesus, B."
"Good?" Bradley asks.
He feels Jake nod into his neck. "So fucking good. Fuck, it's so hot waking you up like that. Jesus."
Bradley smiles. "Seein' shrimp colors?"
Jake's laugh is warm and familiar. "Sure am. Gimme a sec and I'll get you. Fuck."
Bradley pats Jake's back. "I know, baby. Take your time."
"Fuck you."
"Mm, yeah. Sure did."
More laughter. Then Jake rises again, catching Bradley's eye with a smile. He pulls back so Bradley can lower his legs a bit, resting them on Jake's thighs. It's a relief to Bradley's shaking limbs. Jake is still inside him, slowly going soft. With every moment, Bradley feels the slide of Jake's come in him, and the sensation has him moaning loudly. There's going to be a wet spot on the bed. He doesn't care; there's a laundry machine and spare linens in the closet somewhere. He wants more, wants Jake to fill him completely, wants to feel it every time he sits or moves or breathes. Fuck, he wishes he had a plug here. Jake could slip it past his rim so Bradley could walk around with Jake inside of him all day long.
"Where'd you go, sweetheart?" Jake asks, nudging Bradley's knee with a hand.
Bradley sends him a smile. He probably looks completely blissed-out, because he is. "Thinking 'bout keeping your load in me all day. Going out with it in me. All wet."
Jake's eyebrows go up, pretty lips parting. "Yeah? You like it when I make a mess of you, huh?"
As he speaks, Jake's hand snakes down Bradley's thigh and between his legs. Bradley feels his fingers slip between his cheeks, to where they're still connected. Jake rubs at Bradley's wet hole, at the sensitive skin there, at the ring of muscle stretched tight around Jake's cock. He pushes at his taint and Bradley moans, head falling back onto the pillows. Even this has that energy building more and more at the base of his spine, and Jake is only playing with him. Toying with him. Teasing him.
Distantly, as if from under water, he hears Jake hum, like he's thinking.
And then he grinds his hips up into Bradley, just a bit.
Every orgasm Jake's given Bradley has been earth-shaking. Bradley feels like a different person every time, like every instance Jake makes him come has turned his DNA into something new, some sparkling thing changed by the pleasure Jake has brought him, again and again. Bradley's so in love with him, so attracted to him, so completely wrapped up in him, that his orgasms with Jake have always come so quickly. He came in his pants that first time Jake kissed him, for god's sake.
This one is no different.
Just the slow movement of Jake into him, brushing just right against his prostate, combined with the low, sexy tenor of his voice has Bradley shattering apart on the bed.
All he knows is Jake's name as he bursts into pieces, into white-hot shards of satisfaction.
He feels his own come landing on his stomach, on his chest, adding to the mess he's already become.
Some time later, he feels Jake's big hands rubbing up and down his sides, his thighs, bringing him back down from the edge.
"You alive?" Jake asks.
Bradley tries to speak, and his voice comes out in a croak. They both laugh, and then he goes for another attempt. "Holy shit. I don't even know what that one was from, holy shit."
"You like it when I talk dirty."
"I think if you talked dirty for long enough I could come without you touching me at all."
Jake raises an elegant brow. "Well, I know what we're doing after dinner."
Dinner.
Right. Portugal. Vacation. Earth. Life outside of this bed, outside of Jake's cock in him.
Bradley nudges Jake with a leg, and Jake gets the message. Both of them moan when Jake finally pulls out. Immediately Jake's come slides out of Bradley in a rush, so hot and wet that Bradley's spent cock gives a valiant twitch. There will be more of that later, he knows. Jake is gentle as he lets Bradley lower his legs. Bradley reaches up for him, pleased when Jake collapses onto the bed beside him, half draped over top of him. A big, happy sigh comes from Jake, and Bradley mirrors it.
For a few minutes, they relax in a post-coital haze, wrapped up in one another, coming down from it all. That balmy breeze floats through the room again; Bradley opens his eyes to watch the curtains drift in the windows. Earlier, the Atlantic Ocean had been bracingly cold. They'd dove in and out of waves, surrounded by white beach and steep cliffs. The water and sky are both so incredibly blue here. Across the sea, Tangier and Morocco lined the coast, invisible to them but exciting in the knowledge of such seemingly far away places so close by.
Bradley's stomach rumbles loudly, reminding him that he hasn't eaten since they picked up pastries and coffee this morning. He probably had four of the little egg custard pastries that are sold all over the place, sweet and rich with a perfectly flaky crust. They go well with coffee; he and Jake have spent most mornings sat outside at the same cafe in the town square, chatting over their breakfast as they make plans for their day. Most nights they've picked a spot in town and found a table for dinner, but tonight Bradley made a reservation for a fancier place. A date, amidst all of their other dates on this vacation.
A hand rubs over his stomach, but then, encountering the drying come on his skin, Jake recoils and laughs, sending Bradley laughing as well. Together they head for the shower, cool water flowing over their overheated bodies as they maneuver around one another in the stall. After he's rinsed his hair out, Bradley finds himself pulled gently into Jake by the chain around his neck, fingers tugging him close. They kiss lazily under the spray, hands wandering without destination or goal, simply to touch and feel.
He's a little sore when they get out of the apartment and into the narrow streets. It's mostly in his hips and his hamstrings, but it isn't too bad. A swim tomorrow before they make the drive to Lisbon will help. Since he's stopped the regular workouts from baseball, his body's been in an adjustment period. He and Jake still go to the gym in Pasadena together often, but they work out differently from how they used to. It's fun, to run and exercise with one another to stay healthy rather than to dedicate all of their energy to their teams. It feels good.
Baseball ended for Bradley in early June, to a powerhouse Villanova team.
Jilly was, of course, intensely pleased.
She'd been there with Jake in Nebraska, watching from the stands. Bradley had played a pretty good game, but Villanova's team played a better one in the end. Jake and Jilly had handed over hugs and kisses and comfort.
He'd shed tears with his team as they trudged back to the locker rooms, as they went through their final postgame discussion together. It was funny; even as they'd left the field he'd forgotten what the last pitch he threw was, which throw Javy had called from the plate. A million throws and catches between them, coming to an end. Javy's a great guy; Bradley misses him already. They have plans to visit him in the fall, though. Neither he nor Jake have been to Louisiana, so they're excited to see New Orleans with him as their guide.
Baseball was always Bradley's thing with his mom. She'd slice oranges and bring them in a Ziploc, and they'd smile at one another with the rinds in front of their teeth, cackling in the car on the way home from games. She was the one sitting with him in the yard as he practiced his slider, his changeup, his sweeper. They had a pitching net in the yard, and she'd sit on the porch while he threw ball after ball into the nylon netting. When he wasn't deployed, Maverick would come over and play catch with him, or try and swing at Bradley's fastball. The older he got, the more Bradley struck him out.
His dad never saw him play. Not even tee-ball, he'd been too little.
But Mom had been at every game.
Bradley's sensitive. He feels things very deeply, is what Mom used to say. So losing baseball, to him, feels like he's losing yet another piece of her.
And oh, how he wishes she could've met Jake.
She would've loved him. His smile, his laugh, the way he doesn't take any crap from anyone, least of all himself. They'd probably gang up on Bradley and tease him good-naturedly, laughing like hyenas together. He'd never come out to her, but it never felt like something he had to do. If he'd been with Jake back when she was alive, he could've brought him home to her and she would've pulled him into her arms without a second thought.
Bradley's lucky to have been surrounded by so much love.
Luckiest of all to be encompassed by Jake's love.
Things are changing for him and Jake— well, they have changed, now. College has ended, and they've made the move out to Pasadena. Their little house is filled with life, with their life, books and framed photos and love all over the place.
They even got a cat. Nova, short for Supernova (an homage to Bradley's new job, and for the stars they used to walk under on their way home from parties together), a big fluffy gray beast who runs the whole household. She's loud and affectionate, and Bradley finds his heart so full of affection for her and Jake that sometimes he thinks it might burst. Together, he and Jake will sprawl on the couch and bet on which of them Nova will choose to sit with, tail swishing back and forth. She purrs like a motor when they pet her, which they do often, and likes to climb under the covers with them and scoot to the end of the bed to lay by their feet.
Maverick is watching her while they're away. He's got some shore leave, so he's staying in their guest room and keeping her company. It reminds Bradley— he needs to text him. The time difference is a lot, Pasadena is eight hours behind, but he knows Mav will get back to him eventually. He slips his phone from his pocket and types out a few texts while they walk.
Bradley: How's my baby girl???? I need pictures!!
Bradley: Is she sleeping well? How often are you changing her litter box?
Bradley: She requires regular kisses btw
Bradley: We're heading to Lisbon tomorrow. 3 hour ish drive
Surprisingly, Maverick answers back quickly. The pictures are sweet. Nova snoozing on top of the kitchen island in a patch of sunshine, Nova sprawled across a pair of denim-clad legs, Nova curled up on his and Jake's bed. Her big yellow eyes are visible in the last one, bright and beautiful. Immediately Bradley misses her, his big fluffy friendly girl. They're a little family, him and Nova and Jake.
He sends the pictures to Jake.
Bradley: SHE'S SEW CUUUUUUTE IM GNA PUKE 😍😍😍😍😍
Bradley: OUR BABIEEEEEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭
"You're texting me while we're together, I see," Jake notes, glancing at his phone.
"It's Novie," Bradley informs him in a faux-hurt voice, pinching his side lightly.
"Oh, shit," Jake says immediately. He opens his phone and coos at the photos, and Bradley preens at being right.
They're walking side by side on a tile-lined street, past homes with colorful, elaborate doors and windows with pretty cast iron railings. The evening is warm, and despite both of them being dressed in breezy fabrics, they're both sweating. Jake looks like a model in his button-down linen shirt, a large slice of his tan chest showing. There's a hickey on his collarbone that Bradley left the other night. He's got on a nice pair of linen pants, too. With his tan and the nice fabric, he's the picture of a European summer.
Bradley's dressed similarly, albeit in a matching linen shirt and pants. His are a light cream color, whereas Jake is in a blue shirt and white bottoms. Their fingers are entwined as they stroll to the restaurant, each of them pink from sun and flushed from the wine they'd sipped on as they got ready. The restaurant they have a table at is in an old house in the center of town. They're seated outside in a courtyard at the center of the house, amidst rough stone walls and big leafy plants. Their table is set with beautifully thin-walled wine glasses and flickering candles. They chat as they pass appetizers back and forth, fresh bread with sardine pâté and seared scallops in a peach salad. Entrees are tiger prawns and codfish, both served artfully on fancy plates and enjoyed wholeheartedly.
Neither of them have room for dessert, too full of sparkling Vinho Verde, sweet Port wine, and good food. Instead they stroll through the town, which is buzzing with action on this summer evening. At the center of the town square is a large marble monument, though Bradley and Jake can't read the Portuguese plaque that dedicates it. A group of teens are skateboarding in one section of the square, wheels loud on the tiles. Several tables are full of bracelets and other leatherworks, merchants calling out to all the tourists to try and pick up customers. Couples like Bradley and Jake meander around, tan and smiling.
"D'you think you could live here?" Jake asks as they walk.
Bradley cocks his head, thinking. "Probably. But I'd want to learn Portuguese."
"I bet you could learn it in a week," Jake tells him, squeezing his hand three times. Bradley squeezes back.
"Languages have never been my thing," Bradley says. "I took Spanish in high school. Portuguese sounds kinda similar."
They stop for a moment as a little girl runs across their path with a bubble wand, both of them smiling as a harried father strides after her.
"I feel like I'd wanna be in Lisbon," Jake says. "I've never lived in a big city like that, I think it would be cool."
Bradley scoffs. "You're from one of the biggest cities in Texas," he quips.
"I'm not having this argument again," Jake groans.
"City boy," Bradley taunts.
"Oh, shush," Jake says, letting go of Bradley's hand to pinch at his side.
They come upon a little bar at the edge of the square. There's a guitarist strumming away inside, and the music floats out to the tables and chairs set outdoors on the tiles. Without discussing it, they take a seat at one of the little tables, settling where they can watch the square and hear the pretty music. Bradley orders a beer and Jake gets a negroni and they sip on them leisurely, people-watching and chatting about their plans for the next day. They're headed to Lisbon for a week tomorrow, to fill up on more art and culture and good food.
"Javy called earlier, while you were napping," Jake says after a little while of comfortable silence. Their knees bump under the table.
"Yeah? What's he up to?" Bradley asks.
Jake waves a hand in the air. "Usual stuff. Working, helping Nat study, all that. He asked about you."
"Did you tell him how you were planning on waking me up?" Bradley raises an eyebrow at Jake, feeling a smirk slide into place on his face.
"I should've," Jake says. He smirks right back. "You really liked that, huh?"
"Like it wasn't obvious," Bradley quips. "I died and came back, like, six separate times."
"Noted." Jake nudges Bradley's knee. "Can't wake you up like that tomorrow, though, not if we gotta get on the road."
Bradley rolls his eyes. "We don't have to meet the host until two. We have time for a swim and some breakfast, baby."
"My ass doesn't count as breakfast, B."
"Oh, it certainly does," Bradley says, deeply pleased that Jake anticipated what he was going to say.
They chatter and flirt over another drink before paying their bill and rising from their chairs to walk around some more. Old town Lagos is very pretty, charming and crowded and lovely. It's hilly, though, and they find themselves being lazy, choosing the downhill alleys and streets rather than the uphill ones. But they can't resist the tiled street with steps leading up it, too intriguing to turn away from. They race up it, pointing out pretty windowsills and doorways.
There's a large group of people their age crowded outside of buildings along the next street. They're clustered together, sharing cigarettes and sipping on icy drinks, all talking and laughing. Bradley smiles back when a girl with a buzzed head sends him a grin. He can hear music emanating from the nearest building, and spots a few bouncers outside. They're all bars and clubs. This must be where people their age go out in Lagos. Everyone outside is gleaming with sweat and smiling, happy to be with their friends.
Smiling more, Bradley turns to Jake, squeezing his hand.
"Feel like going clubbing, baby?" he asks, turning to walk backwards so he can face Jake.
Jake raises his eyebrows. "What, you wanna go in?"
"Seems like fun. A little dancing, a couple drinks." He does a little dance, happy when it makes Jake laugh.
"Yeah? You gonna put those hips to work?"
Bradley nods, waggling his eyebrows at Jake. "C'mon, let's do it! We don't have to stay long. I wanna dance with you, baby."
"Alright then," Jake concedes. "Lead the way."
"Woo!"
Five minutes later they're shouldering their way through the dance floor of a place packed to the gills, bass bumping up through the floors and into Bradley's heart. Jake's hand is in his, and he follows him to the bar on the far side of the place. There's a disco ball suspended from the ceiling of the place; it casts multicolored lights all around the room, making Jake glow like holographic confetti. It takes them a while to get through the pulsating crowd and to the bar, but they make it. Jake orders them something Bradley can't hear from a bored-looking bartender and pays with a few Euro bills.
While they wait, Bradley sways and bounces with the music, watching Jake watch the crowd. His eyes flick across the throngs of people, and his head bops to the beat. As the night's gone on, his shirt has fallen open more; there are four buttons undone now. His throat and chest are glistening with sweat, shiny and appetizing. Since the school year ended, he's been growing his hair out a bit. It flops prettily over his forehead, parted in the middle, shorter on the sides. It's a smidge lighter with all the European sun, a warm light brown that makes his eyes look even more green.
He's so pretty, but never prettier than when he's smiling at Bradley, handing him a plastic shot glass and a plastic cup, both filled with liquid.
The music builds to a climax as they tap their shot glasses together and throw them back. It's bright and citrusy, maybe a kamikaze or something. Whatever it is, it goes down easily, and he calls out a whoop that travels nowhere in the crushingly loud room. Jake takes Bradley's glass and puts it with his on the bar, and then taps his cup against Bradley's in another cheers. His drink, when he sips it, tastes like a vodka lemonade or something similar. Jake's looks to be the same. Leaning into him, Bradley brushes a thanks up against his ear, then kisses his temple as he pulls away.
Out on the dance floor, the sheer number of people in the room means they're all pressed up against one another. Bradley's not complaining. He bends his knees a bit and pulls Jake into him by the hips, both of them moving with the beat of the song. Jake's arms wind around his neck, a smirk on his beautiful face as he tips his head from side to side. Someone jostles them a bit and Jake steps in even closer. Condensation from his cup, or maybe just his drink, drips down Bradley's neck. He doesn't care. In fact, it feels good; it's blissfully cold.
The heat in the room is oppressive, making everyone shine with sweat. It smells like fruity vape smoke and sweat, in the way that only clubs seem to hold the scent all night long. Every once in a while confetti will fly through the air as the beat to a song drops. None of the music is familiar, and neither are any of the faces moving through the dance floor around them. It's even more fun like that; it makes it feel like they're alone even when they're surrounded by people, like he and Jake are the only people on earth.
Bradley leans in again so his mouth is right by Jake's ear. He has to yell to be heard. "Haven't seen you here before," he calls.
Jake is smiling when Bradley pulls back. "I'm just visiting," Jake says back. Bradley can read his lips.
"Where from?"
"California," Jake tells him.
Hearing (or rather, seeing) Jake imply that California is home sends a thrill up Bradley's spine. This too, is a thrill: Jake's hand wandering down Bradley's chest, clever fingers undoing the buttons of his shirt one-handed until it's completely open. It exposes his chest to him, warm air somehow still cooler than when he was covered by the shirt. Bradley knows he's a pretty fit guy. Still, it's so gratifying to watch Jake's eyes track up and down his torso as they dance, to feel his fingers drag down his chain, his neck, his chest, his abs, and back up. It's always gratifying to see that Jake's just as attracted to him.
"Like what you see, California boy?" Bradley asks. This time, he makes sure his lips brush against the delicate shell of Jake's ear.
"Obviously," Jake says, smirk sharp and gorgeous. He holds his drink up to Bradley and Bradley takes a long swig of the sweet lemonade.
Bradley traces the pad of his thumb over Jake's collarbone. "I like what I see," he shouts, "a lot."
He punctuates his sentence by licking a stripe up Jake's strong neck, tasting sweat and skin, familiar and heady. It has Jake melting into him, pulling him close with a hand on his back, palm on overheated skin underneath his shirt. Bradley goes, tilting his head, ready when Jake slams their lips together in a hot, messy kiss. He slides his hands up Jake's sides, one settling on his waist, the other going further north to cup his jaw. It's flashing lights underneath a disco ball, confetti in their hair, lemonade sweet and saccharine on Jake's tongue as it slips into Bradley's mouth.
They make out like that for a bit, pretending to dance, mostly just bouncing to the beat. After a bit, Bradley pulls back, out of breath from Jake, Jake, Jake. Always Jake.
"Your friends gonna miss you if I steal you for the night?" he calls.
Jake is radiant in the colored lights. His lips are shiny and red, eyes dark as he looks at Bradley. "I dunno… I should probably get back to them…" he says, all falsely unsure.
Jake's never unsure. But the imaginary scenario has Bradley's blood heating.
"Tell them you're busy," he says. "You've got a face to sit on," he informs Jake. He runs his tongue along his ear this time.
When he straightens, he can see that Jake's decision is already made. "Take me home, then."
They run and skip and walk through the little streets, teeming with nightlife and tourists and locals alike. Above them, the stars are bright. There are more visible here than there were back at UVA, that's for certain. Everything is old-school oil lamps and yellow street lights and warm summer air. Jake's hand is solid and steady in his, laughter bright as they keep flirting like they don't know one another, like they haven't traveled across the world together, like Jake isn't holding Bradley's heart in his palms, like he hasn't kept it safe for months.
Bradley presses Jake up against the wooden door of their Airbnb and kisses the last of the cocktail from his lips. Jake runs his hands up Bradley's sides, easily accessible with his open shirt. It has him breaking out in goosebumps as he flattens his hands against the door on either side of Jake's head, licking into his mouth, devouring the little noise Jake makes. His sounds taste better than any Portuguese delicacy, any fresh seafood (which they've been gorging themselves on), any cocktail, any fancy Vinho Verde. Jake's his favorite flavor of anything.
"Take me to bed," Jake murmurs against Bradley's lips.
And who is Bradley but to do as he's told?
Inside, Bradley lays Jake out on the sheets and kisses up and down his body, taking off his clothes as he goes. He takes his time, pressing his lips along each of Jake's legs, up his torso, down his arms until he's smooching each fingertip and making Jake laugh. Only when he's naked does Bradley flip them, laying out on his back and instructing Jake to kneel over him and sit on his face. They keep reverting to the silly flirting, Jake playing bashful, saying he never hooks up with strangers. For his part, Bradley pretends to be the mysterious local, attempting to seduce Jake into a night of steamy lovemaking that he'll never forget.
But when Jake bops Bradley's jaw with his knee while he climbs over him they break character, laughing until Jake's collapsed over him, gasping out apologies and wiping the mirthful tears from Bradley's face. It's only once Jake has covered Bradley's face in kisses that he lets Bradley direct him right where he wants him: kneeling over his face. Bradley squeezes at Jake's big thighs and pulls him down onto his mouth so he can go to town on his favorite activity: making Jake feel good.
It's so rewarding; Bradley really loves eating Jake out. Between the sounds he makes, the shake of his legs, and the way his pretty pink hole flexes and clenches as Bradley licks him out, it's a blissful experience. He loves being surrounded by Jake this way; his weight, his smell, his gorgeous thighs bracketing Bradley's head. If Bradley died just like this, he'd die a very happy man.
Bradley kisses at Jake, licks at him, sucks at him until Jake's relaxed enough for him to push his tongue inside. He flicks it in and out, making sure to catch on the rim the way Jake likes so much. Sliding his hands up his legs, Bradley wraps both arms around Jake's strong thighs, digging his fingertips in, holding him close. Above him, Jake's hands are braced on the wall, likely the only thing keeping him from collapsing into a puddle. Bradley squeezes his thigh three times. I love you.
It doesn't take long to have Jake shaking apart above him, coming all over himself with a cry of Bradley's name. All it takes for Bradley to reach his own orgasm is a hand on his cock and he's gone, messing his briefs, dissolving into pleasure. Nothing is sexier than making Jake feel good, and making him come by eating him out always has Bradley following him swiftly. Hot ropes of come paint his stomach and abs. Both of them are out of breath, coming down from the peaks of their pleasure.
Jake flops down onto the mattress beside him, and Bradley turns to face him. Post-orgasm Jake is beautiful. Flushed and a little sweaty, glowing in a well-fucked sort of way. It's always incredible to see the impact he has on Jake. He really is into Bradley, really does love him and love fucking him. It's easy to see in the way he smiles at Bradley, the way he runs his hand up and down his chest, the way he brushes Bradley's hair back from his forehead to press a kiss there, the way he wipes the spit from Bradley's mouth and mustache.
"Good, baby?" Bradley asks.
Jake nods, eyes lidded. "Very." He pats Bradley's chest. "You gonna be hungover tomorrow on the drive, big guy?"
"Nah," Bradley says. "We should drink some water, though. Probably shower."
"Ugh."
"C'mon, let's do it before we have to change the sheets again. I don't think the others are dry yet."
It's a quick shower, not their usual lingering, steamy kind. Back in bed, Bradley gently bullies Jake into being the being the big spoon. Falling asleep with Jake curled up against him is always wonderful. Jake kisses the back of Bradley's neck and holds him close to his chest, murmuring sweet words and sleepy, vague plans for the next leg of their trip. The warm breeze keeps floating in through the windows, and the nightlife of Lagos continues on without them. Inside the apartment, Bradley and Jake drift off into an easy sleep.
In the morning, they pack their things and head for Lisbon.
It's about a three hour drive. They pour their things into the rental car and Bradley drives them, following Jake's directions and singing along to the music he plays. It's mostly on one highway. They pass miles and miles of cork tree farms, where most cork is sourced for wine bottles all over the world. Sometimes they'll spot farms or cows, and even a few seemingly abandoned farmhouses.
Occasionally, Jake will pull up the Wikipedia page for the city to read them information about its history and culture. Bradley eats it up, loving how the city has such character. They'd flown into Lisbon, but they'd only seen it through the rear window of the car as they'd headed to Lagos. But it's a huge city, brimming with people, food, culture, art, and architecture. A huge castle defines the skyline, towers and ramparts and walls lit up each night by huge lights.
Their Airbnb is in a little district called Estrela, for star. They're near plenty of gorgeous churches, cozy wine bars, and a huge park populated by trees, sculptures, and a cute little cafe amidst the nature. They're also close to a huge basilica, a gigantic baroque structure that stretches high into the sky. Each morning, they walk to the park, called Jardim da Estrela, and order coffee and breakfast.
They explore the neighborhoods of the city, clocking seven or eight miles each day in strolling and climbing; Lisbon is even hillier than Lagos. By the time they get back from dinner and drinks each night, they're both exhausted. After the first day of exploration, they flop onto the couch to zone out and have some quiet phone time. Bradley pulls Jake's feet into his lap and pushes his thumbs into the arches, massaging away at the tired muscles. It makes Jake moan out loud, and then they lock eyes for a moment before bursting out into laughter.
"Into foot stuff, baby?" Bradley asks, eyebrows up.
"Yeah, shoving my foot up your ass," Jake snarks.
Bradley laughs loudly. He's so in love.
On the third afternoon, they hike up the steep streets to the castle. It's the oldest place Bradley's ever been. According to Google, people have been living in the neighborhood around the castle for over a thousand years. The castle itself is a shell of what it used to be, but it's still beautiful: all huge stone walls, tall staircases, and the best view in the city, according to who one asks. The Moors built it some twelve hundred years ago. They explore the place, snapping photos and gasping at the vistas.
Without fail, their favorite thing about Portugal is how you can get a drink just about anywhere. The castle is no different: there's a bar along the ramparts, little tables and chairs alongside that same incredible view, interspersed with old olive trees and plaques of information. They split a dozen oysters and have a few Aperol spritzes, baking in the sun and loving it. In his breezy shirt, shorts, and sneakers, Jake looks handsome and relaxed, and Bradley is so in love with him.
The sun starts to sink low as they enjoy small bites, marveling at the old architecture all around them. When the sun begins to turn the sky orange and pink, they take their drinks for a walk, perching on one of the walls and watching it set over the city. Bradley feels like he starts glowing when Jake steps close, tipping his drink against Bradley's.
"You look incredible there, let me take a picture!" Bradley says.
With a smile, Jake indulges him, posing by the old stone wall, and Bradley sends the photos off into the groupchat he has with Jake's mom, dad, and Jilly. He isn't sure what time it is back in Texas, so he simply has to hope he isn't waking them with a late text message. But he can't help it; Jake looks so happy and sweet with the city spread out below him, beautiful as ever. Every time Bradley looks at him, he's struck by how stunning he is.
The first time he saw Jake, it was at one of his soccer games.
He'd been with Javy and some of the other baseball guys. They'd wandered over to the field after their first team meeting with their coach, and had decided to stick around and watch the men's team play. Even now, Bradley remembers that they'd been playing against Virginia Tech. UVA lost. He hadn't really gotten a good look at Jake while he was on the field, but later he'd come jogging across he field to say hi to Javy. Bradley had been chatting with Mickey, or maybe someone else, it doesn't matter now. All that matters is he'd seen Jake and lost track of his conversation, of his train of thought, of anything that wasn't this bright-eyed, beautiful man before him.
The soccer team had been in their white uniforms. Jake had been tan from a summer outdoors and he'd been practically glowing in the sunshine, flushed from the game and smiling seeing Javy, his new roommate. Back then, his hair had been a lot shorter, and maybe a bit lighter, too. But looking at him was like staring at the sun itself, blindingly bright and warming. It's still like that even now; Jake is the sun that Bradley's world spins around.
It wasn't long after his mom died. Most of his brain had been consumed by both grief and the herculean effort to not let that grief consume him. He wanted to be a normal, carefree college kid. He wanted to party with his frat and play baseball and meet new friends, and earn his degrees. His mom wouldn't have wanted anything else.
They hadn't started classes yet. He didn't know that he'd be seeing Jake three times a week for the rest of the semester, or that they'd be paired up for a project. He didn't know that Jake would hand him his ass and cause him to fall for him right away. He also didn't know he'd end up in that whole clusterfuck with Irons, or that seeing Jake across campus or in a classroom would make his whole week every time. All he knew was that his catcher's roommate was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
And then they got put together for the history project, and Jake opened his mouth and spoke with sharp words and a sharper smile, and it's been over for Bradley ever since.
He never won the College Baseball World Series.
He isn't going to the MLB (he did hear interesting things from scouts, but he wasn't interested), isn't going to win the World Series there, either.
He was smart in school, but didn't get valedictorian.
But having Jake, having the knowledge that he's not only attracted to Bradley, but just as in love? That he feels the same, that he's all in as well? Bradley doesn't need any prizes or trophies or medals.
Jake is more than enough.
No, he's everything.
Every good thing on Bradley's earth is better for having Jake in it.
Jake's greengreengreen eyes and his pink lips, the little circular scar beside his right eyebrow and the birthmark on his hip. Jake's loud laugh and his dry humor, the way he's been trying his damnedest to say please and thank you in Portuguese everywhere they go. The way his face softens when he looks at Bradley like he's crazy, that little wrinkle appearing between his brows. The way he's smiling at Bradley with a face like the sun.
It hasn't even been a year yet, but Bradley feels like he's known Jake his whole life.
"C'mere," Bradley says, holding out a hand.
Jake takes it and Bradley pulls him in close. He settles his free hand on Bradley's chest. "I've always liked this," Jake says softly, fingers toying with the ring on Bradley's chain. "Your dad's?"
Bradley smiles. "Nope."
"Oh, mom's?" Jake's eyes are still on the gold band. "That's cool. I like how simple it is. Pretty."
Something warm and soft is spreading through Bradley's chest. Warmer than the European sun, than the breeze unsettling his and Jake's hair. "Not Mom's either, Jake."
Finally Jake looks up, meeting Bradley's gaze, one eyebrow up. He always notices when Bradley calls him anything other than baby. "Then whose is it?"
"It's yours," Bradley says simply.
He's been waiting for this a long time.
Jake's eyes fucking light up. In the sunset over the castle, he's luminous. His cheeks are pink with sun and alcohol, and his hair flops so perfectly over his forehead. There's confusion in his eyes, but also a jovial sort of doubt. "Mine?"
"Yours," Bradley repeats.
Bradley is patient. He's been patient about this for a long, long time. He can wait a little longer for Jake to inquire a little further.
Jake's hands are still. He's holding the ring— his ring— between his thumb and forefinger. "But— You've worn this the whole time I've known you?"
Bradley shakes his head. "Since October, actually."
"Are you kidding?" Jake asks, voice small.
"About this? Never."
"Bradley," Jake says on a laugh. He flattens his hands over Bradley's chest. Bradley wonders if he can feel how fast his heart is beating. "You've been carrying around my engagement ring since fucking October?"
Bradley nods. "Sure have, baby. I wanted it to experience college and stuff with us. It's been through everything with you! And me, I guess."
"Bradley," Jake repeats. He isn't laughing, but there's a little smile on his face. Bradley thinks he spots his eyes watering a bit, sparkling along his lashes.
"Jake," Bradley says back, mimicking Jake's tone.
"You're serious."
"I've never been more serious about anything," Bradley says.
It's the truth. He wants Jake. Forever. Everything else is just noise.
"You said no ring by spring for us," Bradley continues, "so I just have this for whenever you're ready."
Jake's eyes flick down to the ring, then back up to Bradley. "You are somethin' else, Bradshaw."
Bradley smiles. "I'm aware. But now it's been everywhere with us! With you!"
That day, after Jake had found out about Irons, Bradley hadn't been able to keep his hands off of it. Sliding it along the chain, slipping his fingers through it, fiddling with it. He'd been fidgety, consumed with nerves, with the overwhelming terror that this was it, and Jake would never wear the ring. That he'd turn his back on him. Bradley had known he would wear the ring forever anyway, even if Jake had chosen to leave him.
When you know, you know, right?
And Bradley's known for some time.
Jake is it for him.
But Jake had stuck with him. So Bradley's waited patiently for the day that Jake would notice, would ask about it.
It couldn't be more perfect. A castle in Lisbon, a bright sunset, Aperol spritzes in hand, an entire city spread out before them. Jake, tanned and a little tipsy and so, so beautiful. He's filled out more since soccer's ended, built like a damn refrigerator now. There are little lines that appear beside his eyes when he smiles, little parentheses that appear in his cheeks with the force of his grin. He looks happy. Happy to be here with Bradley, to be finding out about this, to know Bradley is in this forever.
Bradley makes him happy.
"So you say the word," Bradley says, "and it's yours. Well, it's already yours. But you get it. I'm ready when you are, baby."
Jake steps back, taking Bradley's drink from his hand, putting them both on the table near them. Then he returns to Bradley, hands on his shoulders, pulling him into a hug. Bradley wraps his arms around Jake's waist, holding him close, chest to chest, heart to heart. His heart's always belonged to Jake. From that first moment on the sidelines of the soccer field, to the classroom in the humanities building where they had their class together, to a Robert De Niro party at the Alphabet house. A kiddie pool, a piggyback up the stairs, walks home under the stars, skinny dipping in the reservoir, a state fair with fireworks at the top of the Ferris wheel.
He's always wanted to make Jake happy. That's how the Snapchats started; he thought they might make Jake laugh, might make him smile. When he's messaging anybody else, he doesn't really misspell stuff. But he'd gone out on a limb and decided to be as ridiculous as possible with Jake on the off-chance that it would make him stick out, make Jake smile.
And every smile of Jake's has been so rewarding. Bradley never wants those warm, bright smiles to go away.
So he bought that ring in October, and has kept it warm ever since.
Someday he'll put it on Jake's finger.
Not today, he doesn't think.
But someday soon.
He's got one for himself, too, so they can match. He wants it all with Jake: rings and vows and their daughter Nova and their little house in Pasadena.
"I feel like you're gonna want, like, fireworks and rose petals and confetti when you do it," Jake says, pulling back to look at him.
Bradley laughs, squeezing at Jake's waist. "You're not wrong. Just tell me when you're ready, and I'll plan it all."
"Okay," Jake says. His smile is bright.
Bradley kisses him, basking in the waning sunlight and the summer warmth and the knowledge that Jake is all in right alongside him.
Jake tastes like Aperol and Prosecco, like lemon and good bread, like the rest of Bradley's life.
Later, they descend from the castle, heading for their dinner reservation.
He has Jake's ring around his neck and Jake's heart in his hands.
Bradley follows Jake down the narrow street, fingers entwined.
He'd follow him anywhere.