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Once the hockey season is over, Saturdays at the Haus start to follow a predictable pattern.
Without a game to worry about, and with Monday’s homework assignments nothing more than a twinkle in everyone but Jack’s eyes, there’s no reason not to spend the day drinking and lazing around. More often than not, they end up outside in the grass or piled into the living room. Today they’re watching some show about dogs on Animal Planet. It’s not quite a party yet, but it’s Saturday, so it’ll inevitably become one before the end of the night.
Bitty’s sprawled out sideways in his favorite chair, legs hooked over one arm, head propped up on the other side. He’s two beers in and contemplating grabbing a third from the case of Natty that Shitty brought up from the basement. Ransom, Holster, and Shitty were high earlier, but Bitty’s not sure if they still are. He hasn’t been paying too much attention.
Honestly, he’s a little distracted. There’s a golden retriever on the screen.
Bitty loves living in the Haus.
“Hey, Bitty?” Holster asks. He’s sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table. Ransom is lying with his head on the opposite armrest and his legs draped over Holster's lap.
“Yeah?” As Bitty glances over, he stretches his toes out in front of him, into a beam of sunlight. He feels warm, buzzy, lazily content. The sunlight feels good on his bare skin.
“Can you get me a soda?”
“No,” he says, unmoved even as Holster bats his eyelashes at him. He’s too comfortable to get up.
“Shitty?” Holster asks.
Shitty is lying on his stomach—feet in the air, elbows on the floor, chin propped up on his hands. He doesn’t even look over at the sound of Holster’s voice.
“This dog, brah,” Shitty whispers. “Look at this dog.”
Ransom snorts a laugh.
Holster sighs dramatically. “Look, Bitty, I tried,” he says. “But Shitty’s long gone. If I get up, I'll disturb Rans. It’s gotta be you.”
“Get your own soda,” Bitty says, without looking over again. Shitty’s right, the dog is fucking cute. It has little floppy ears, short little legs. Dachshunds, goddamn.
“Please,” Holster says. “Bits, please.”
Just then, Jack appears in the doorway to the living room. He came home a while ago (from the library), but he went right up to his room. Probably to do more homework or something. On a Saturday.
“Whatcha watching?” Jack asks. Bitty should probably learn to emulate Jack’s work ethic, but whatever. He’s not after a 4.0. Also, fuck doing homework on Saturday. That’s what Sundays are for.
“Documentary about World War II,” Shitty says, and then ruins it by giggling.
Jack doesn’t even notice. “You are?” His brow furrows when he looks over at the screen, which currently has a fluffy looking lab puppy on it.
“Please,” Holster says, throwing his empty beer can at Bitty’s knee. “Bits, please, I’m so thirsty. I can’t drink more beer. I need a soda.”
Bitty ignores him. He’s not going to get Holster a soda. He's not a frog anymore. If he gives in it’ll only encourage this kind of obnoxious behavior.
“It’s Animal Planet,” Ransom says to Jack. “We’re learning about dogs.” He swings his legs off Holster's lap and scoots over to the middle of the couch, patting the empty space invitingly. Holster sighs noisily, but he scoots over too.
“Oh,” Jack says. “Okay.” He starts forward, coming all the way into the room, trailing around to the other side of the couch.
“Bitty,” Holster begs.
Bitty even doesn’t think about it before he says, “Jack, go get me a soda.”
It’s weird. Later, thinking it over, it’s clear to Bitty that Holster was the reason he did it. He was being so annoying, and Bitty kind of just wanted to shut him up.
But none of that explains how Bitty had known it would work.
It does, though. Jack freezes in front of the couch, knees slightly bent, halfway to sitting down. He straightens up slowly.
“What kind of soda do you want?” he asks.
Bitty taps his lips, thinking it over. “What kind of soda did you want, Holster?”
He slants a glance over at where Holster’s sprawled out on the couch; he looks thrilled. He says, “A Sprite!”
Jack looks toward Holster, then back at Bitty. He’s still standing there, just waiting.
Bitty looks at Jack steadily. “Hm. Get me a Coke, please?”
“Okay,” Jack says, and turns around.
Holster grins lazily over at Bitty until Jack comes back from the kitchen with one can.
Only one can. A Coke.
The hot flush of satisfaction that runs through Bitty’s body is instantaneous and extremely fucking weird.
“What!” Holster stands all the way up, he’s so outraged. Shitty is literally rolling on the floor laughing at him. “What!”
Bitty’s hardly paying attention; he’s distracted. He didn’t completely realize it until Jack came back without a soda for Holster, but it’s exactly what he wanted. It’s not like it would have been a big deal if Jack had gotten a can for Holster, too—that’s kind of what Bitty expected him to do, even if that wasn’t quite what he asked for. But somehow Jack read between the lines. And it’s—it’s just kind of surprising, how good that feels.
Jack passes the can of Coke to Bitty, sits down in the empty space on the couch, looks at the TV, and doesn’t say a word. Bitty pops the tab of his soda. He takes a long drink, holding eye contact with Holster as he does it.
“Ahhh,” he says. He’s gloating, and it feels great. “Really hits the spot. Thanks, Jack.”
Jack shoots a look over at Bitty, quick as anything, and something about his expression feels like a jolt of electricity along Bitty’s spine. Holster stands up and storms out of the room, presumably to get his own damn soda after all.
Ransom shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He claps an affectionate hand on Jack’s shoulder.
“That was funny, bro,” Ransom says. Jack kind of shrugs like wasn’t me.
Bitty thinks maybe he should be laughing, too. It’s funny, seeing Holster so pissed off. But what Bitty feels is… darker than laugher. He feels satisfied. He’s still thinking about that look Jack gave him. He’s still thinking about how easily Jack did what he asked.
He’s thinking about how good that felt.
-
Bitty keeps thinking about it, all through the next hour of Dogs 101. He can hardly pay attention to the screen; his thoughts are much more engrossing.
Bitty’s always been curious about Jack. He’s spent the past two years trying to figure him out, not to much avail. Besides overhearing that argument with Kent Parson, Bitty doesn’t really feel like he’s ever gotten a good look at what’s going on underneath Jack’s inscrutable facade. Bitty’s sure that they’re friends. He’s not sure if they could be anything else.
Sometimes Bitty thinks there’s something there, but whatever it is always slips away before he can identify it.
But this is… Well, kind of interesting. A little weird, too, but maybe Jack was just in a good mood and didn’t mind doing Bitty a favor. It doesn’t necessarily mean anything.
It could be nothing, but it kind of felt like something.
And besides, that’s not the only reason Bitty keeps thinking about it. He keeps thinking about it because he liked it. He liked it a lot, the way Jack did what he asked. Exactly what he asked, without a question. It seems like something that shouldn’t be hot, but Bitty can't stop thinking about it.
It’s completely weird, and maybe it’s just because he’s three beers in, but Bitty is totally, stupidly turned on by the whole thing. He wants to do it again. Whatever it was. He wants to make it happen again.
Bitty’s not sure exactly how to make it happen again, unfortunately. It’s not like he planned it before, but now Bitty finds himself wondering what kind of things he could tell Jack to do. He doesn’t want to freak Jack out or anything, because it probably didn’t mean anything earlier. But, maybe, Bitty could test things out a little. Ask for a couple of simple things, see how Jack reacts. If it goes well, maybe…
Well, Bitty doesn’t know what comes after the maybe. But he wants to see.
-
So that’s why, a little while later, Bitty stands up and announces, “I’m making a pie. Well, pies.”
It’s approaching 8 o’clock, which means that Ransom and Holster are going to start texting people to come over soon. If they’re going to have guests, there should be pie. That’s just good hospitality.
Also.
Also, it gives Bitty a chance to try something.
His plan is so, so tame, by any standard. It’s practically almost something they’ve already done before, but that’s kind of the beauty of it. Bitty’s just going to ask Jack to help him in the kitchen.
Or, well... Not ask.
But there’s precedent, anyway. Jack’s helped him out before—a lot of the team has—so it’s a normal thing to do. Safe. Not weird. He can just… see how Jack reacts, before trying anything more daring. Bitty doesn’t even know if Jack would want to—Anyway. That’s not the question, right now.
Jack is still in the living room with the rest of the guys. Lardo and Chowder have shown up already, and Dex and Nursey are probably going to turn up at any moment. The sound of talking and laughter in the other room has picked up a little, but it’s not so loud that they won’t hear Bitty if he raises his voice.
After a while, everything’s ready. Bitty has already washed the apples. They’re piled in a colander in the sink. He hates peeling apples—if apple pie wasn’t such a classic, he’d give up on making it completely—so it won’t be the first time he’s asked someone else to do it. It’s not a huge deal, to have Jack help.
Bitty takes a deep breath, places his palms flat against the counter. He just needs to do it. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’ll be fine.
“Jack,” Bitty calls. “Come in here. I need help with this pie.”
Bitty keeps his hands on the counter, staring down into his bowl of flour. He should turn around, but he’s—he doesn’t want to look. What if Jack doesn’t come?
But then there’s a flash of movement in his peripheral vision, and when Bitty turns his head, Jack is standing in the doorway. Thank god. But Bitty still has to… He hesitates a second. He’s just not sure exactly how he should say it. Bitty wants to ask nicely, can you please, but that’s not the point of all this. He needs to just tell Jack to do it, but what if that sounds rude, what if Jack gets offended, and maybe he doesn’t actually—
“What do you want me to do?” Jack asks. His voice sounds completely normal, and Bitty doesn’t know what that means. Good? Bad? Jack’s not freaked out, at least. He’s just… waiting.
Something hot curls in Bitty’s gut, watching Jack watch him.
“Peel the apples in the sink for me,” Bitty says. He smiles at Jack to soften it a little, but it’s still… he’s not asking.
“Okay,” Jack says, and does.
-
When Jack’s done, Bitty shoos him back to the living room. He finishes the pies and gets them into the oven, and then sits down heavily at the kitchen table. He just needs a minute to think about all of this. A moment alone while he waits for the pies to bake. His phone is in front of him, the timer counting down on the display.
Bitty keeps getting distracted thinking about Jack’s hands: the way he stood at the sink, holding the paring knife, methodically working through the pile of fruit. It’s definitely a weird thing to think about—it feels so inappropriate, it’s not like Jack was trying to do something hot—but Bitty keeps thinking about it anyway.
While Jack was working, Bitty kept wanting to watch him, to look, to stare, but Bitty at least had enough self-control not to do it. He forced himself to work on the crust instead, but he still couldn’t turn off his awareness of Jack, standing right next to him. His body felt like it was radiating heat, like the space between them was charged with something, until somehow the fact of Jack’s arm existing a foot away from Bitty’s shoulder felt as intense as a physical touch.
There’s no reason for it. It wasn’t a sexual thing, Jack helping, it’s just Bitty’s weird fantasies twisting it all around, and Jack’s probably not even—
Anyway, it doesn’t prove anything. Maybe Jack just wanted to help. Maybe Jack was just being nice. Friendly. Any of the guys would help Bitty in the kitchen. They all appreciate the pies. So it doesn’t have to mean anything.
But then Bitty thinks about how he said, “That’s great, Jack. Thank you.” The way Jack’s eyes snapped up to meet his gaze. The noise Jack made, just a little mmhm in the back of his throat, agreement or acknowledgment or… pleasure, maybe. Maybe.
Bitty thinks about that noise and keeps thinking about it until he realizes he’d turned off the timer automatically when it'd gone off several minutes ago, and then forgotten about it completely.
Fuck.
He doesn’t burn the pies, but it’s a close thing.
-
People who aren’t directly associated with the hockey team start to show up, so it becomes really and truly a party. No one notices that the pie crust is a little too brown, but Bitty knows. This is getting out of hand. He needs to leave it alone.
He doesn’t want to leave it alone.
What Bitty really needs is more beer. That’ll be a good distraction from all this.
-
In the kitchen, Bitty finds Rans talking to some tall blonde girl. He digs a beer out of the cooler and tries to remember her name. He’s pretty sure he’s seen her around—another party? Dining hall? She might be on the tennis team. Or, it was volleyball, wasn’t it?
“Hey,” Bitty says, cracking open his beer.
“Bitty!” Rans says. “You’ve met March, right?”
“Dunno,” Bitty says, taking a sip of beer. “Have now. I’m Eric, but everyone calls me Bitty.”
March looks him up and down. “I can’t imagine why,” she says, deadpan. Ransom dissolves into giggles. She lifts her hand and bumps it into Ransom’s fist without even looking.
“March, oh my god.” Ransom is still giggling. “That was nice.”
“That was uncalled for,” Bitty corrects. “And to think I made you guys pies.”
March glances back at the table behind her. Two of Bitty’s pies have already been devoured, but there’s a couple pieces left in the third.
Looking at the pies makes Bitty think of—earlier, but he pushes the thought away. He needs to stop. He needs to not be weird about this.
“I didn’t know if I should trust those, frankly,” March admits. “Like, random party pies? Uhh.”
“I am very trustworthy, thank you,” Bitty says, grumpily.
“You should have pie,” Ransom says to March. “And then we should play beer pong. Bitty, did you know March has never played beer pong?”
Bitty hams up his gasp, bringing a hand to his mouth in faux shock, which seems to gratify Ransom.
“Shaaadup,” March says, punching Ransom in the arm. Kinda hard, looks like. Rans winces slightly. To Bitty, she adds, “The volleyball team prefers flip cup to beer pong.”
“Oooh,” Bitty says. “We should play flip cup.”
“Don’t you start with me.” Ransom gives them both a warning look.
“It’s way better than beer pong,” March says to Bitty. “Also? Cait is legendary. You’ve never seen a girl chug a beer faster.”
“Cait?” Bitty asks, but it clicks the second he says it. “Oh, you mean Farmer? Wow. Really? I’d love to see that.”
Ransom rolls his eyes. “Less talk about flip cup, and more talk about beer pong, the greatest of all drinking games.”
“It’s not that great,” Bitty mutters.
March looks equally unconvinced. “What about Kings? Stump? Oh, have you ever played Slap Cup? Now that’s a great ga—”
“Shhhh.” Ransom cuts her off with a finger to her lips and a narrow-eyed glare. “Beer pong.”
“Fine, fine,” says March, rolling her eyes. She looks amused, though.
Ransom levels Bitty with a look. “So, beer pong is ‘not that great,’ huh? You saying you can beat us?”
“I wasn’t saying—” Bitty starts, but it’s clearly hopeless. Ransom has his determined face on. Bitty’s not going to get out of this one. “I don’t have a partner,” he tries. He knows it’s futile.
“You have two minutes,” Rans says. He grabs a stack of solo cups from the counter top.
Bitty’s about to leave the kitchen—he’s hoping for Lardo, but Holster would do in a pinch—when March groans loudly. She’s holding a fork in one hand.
“This is the best apple pie I’ve ever eaten,” she says. “Is that maple in the crust?”
Bitty feels himself flush a little. “Oh, well, you know, I had help,” he says, deflecting automatically. The flash of memory is instantaneous: Jack’s hands, steady on the waxy skin of the fruit—
Yeah, Bitty knows who he wants as his beer pong partner.
Now just to convince him, right?
“…seriously really good,” March finishes, and Bitty realizes he’d gotten so distracted he hadn’t heard her.
“Well, thank you for saying so,” Bitty says, recovering passably well. “I’m glad to hear it’s appreciated. Be back in a second, alright?” He catches Ransom’s eyes. “Then I’ll kick y’all’s asses, I hope you realize.”
Ransom snorts, but Bitty leaves the kitchen before he can make any kind of comeback. Hah.
Bitty weaves his way through the crowd downstairs, but he doesn’t see Jack anywhere. He has a moment of intuition, though, and goes up to the second floor.
When he knocks on Jack’s door, Jack says, “Come in.”
Bitty opens the door and leans on the doorframe. Jack’s sitting at his desk, reading something on his computer.
“Hiding in your room already?” he asks. He looks at his phone. “It’s not even 9:30.”
Jack looks a little embarrassed. “I was gonna come down again in a little bit.”
“Really?” Bitty’s not convinced.
Jack averts his gaze, but he says, “So—uh, did you want something?”
“I’m about to play beer pong against Rans and his… friend? Hook up? Um. Whatever, anyway, her name’s March. She’s cool.”
Jack nods. “Volleyball with Farmer, right? I think I met her.”
Bitty feels kind of fond. Of course that’s the only information Jack knows about her. He really is a single-minded jock sometimes.
“So,” Bitty says.
Jack raises his eyebrows.
“I need a partner,” he adds, in case that helps Jack get it.
“Oh,” Jack says, straightening up. “Did you want…?”
Bitty resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yeah, Jack,” he says. “Come play with me.”
Jack hesitates. Shit. Bitty knows that he needs to stop. It's not fair to try to force Jack to come down like this, it’s not like he can really say no if he wants to, it's a totally awkward position to put him in—but before Bitty can soften it or take it back, Jack says, “Okay,” and stands up.
Then there's nothing really to do then but go downstairs.
Once they're at the table, though, Jack still looks inscrutable—nervous, maybe? It makes Bitty feel so guilty that he immediately resolves not to try anything else. He needs to just be normal. He and Jack are friends, and that’s good enough. Bitty shouldn’t keep pushing. He’s only going to make Jack uncomfortable. It’s time to let it go.
Bitty tries to smile reassuringly up at Jack. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I’ll drink your beer for you.”
Jack blinks at him for a moment, uncomprehending, like maybe he’d forgotten beer was a part of beer pong.
“Oh,” he says, eventually. “Thanks.”
By that point, Ransom is hollering that they can finally get started, so Bitty doesn’t get a chance to say anything else.
They’re playing 10-cup, and the game starts normally enough. Jack isn’t amazing at beer pong, but he’s acceptable—certainly better than March—and he sinks his first shot after a couple of turns. (Bitty crows his enthusiastic approval; Jack flushes a little pink.) Ransom has sunk four cups to Bitty’s three by then, so they’re tied until Bitty sinks another on his turn.
Each time Jack misses, he swears softly in French. Bitty doesn’t catch the word but he recognizes the way Jack’s accent changes around the sounds.
“It’s alright,” Bitty says, after a particularly close shot, touching Jack's arm. “We’re still ahead. We’re gonna kill ’em.”
When Rans gets the ball for his turn, Bitty tilts his head at the table.
“You want a rerack?” he asks. There are six cups left, but all of Ransom’s shots have been eating through the middle cups, leaving the remaining ones sort of awkwardly spaced out, one cup all alone in the front. There’s not an easy shot there.
“Nah,” Rans says. “Island.”
Bitty frowns. If he makes the shot into the lone solo cup in the front, it’ll be worth double. Then Rans and March would be ahead.
“Aren’t you heating up, too?” March asks. Bitty swears; he’d forgotten Rans called that last turn, too. Jack gives Bitty a concerned look. “So if you make this one you get to keep shooting until you miss?”
“That’s right, baby,” Ransom says. “You’re learning so fast.” March rolls her eyes, but she's grinning, too.
Bitty taps his fingers on the table restlessly. This is bad. Bad, bad, bad.
There’s only one thing to do.
He leans forward, palms bracketing either corner of the table. He knows the position makes the front of his v-neck float forward, shows off the line of his collarbone. He flutters his eyelashes at Ransom.
In a low voice, Bitty purrs, “Hmm, Rans, you think you can get it in?”
Jack chokes with laughter behind him. Ransom just blinks, momentarily taken aback. March takes one look between the two of them and bursts out laughing.
Bitty keeps making doe eyes at him. He pulls his bottom lip in between his teeth.
“Uh, chyeah,” Ransom says, but he sounds shaky, eyes darting between Bitty and the cups.
He misses the shot.
March misses too, but mostly because she’s laughing too much to really focus.
Bitty and Jack have their turn (Jack makes it; Bitty misses) and then Ransom and March ask for a rerack. Bitty’s nervous. With all the cups pushed together, it’ll be a lot easier to sink a cup. Bitty isn’t about to lose tonight, so he’s pretty sure the only reasonable course of action here is to continue with plan Distraction.
It’s probably all the beer talking (since he is drinking double), but Bitty’s pretty sure that means sexy dancing. When the next song starts—some newer Britney Spears song that Bitty can’t remember the name of exactly—he dances along to the song as inappropriately as he can manage.
“Don’t mind me,” Bitty says sweetly, over his shoulder, bouncing his ass as distractingly as possible next to the cups.
March laughs and ends up missing, but Ransom furrows his brows determinedly—staring straight at the cups—and manages to make his shot.
“You’ve got good moves,” March says.
Bitty beams at her, then grabs the cup that Ransom’s shot went into. He hands the ball to Jack and chugs the beer in one go, moving with the music the whole time. March is still giggling at him, so Bitty makes a show of sinking into a squat to retrieve the other ball from the floor, straightening up ass first in one smooth move.
He’s still dancing as he sinks his ball into a cup on the other side of the table.
“Alright!” Bitty crows, bumping his shoulder against Jack’s arm. He looks up at him, grinning. “Make this one and we’ll get our balls back.”
Jack looks over at the table. He raises his hand, but then he hesitates, slanting a glance at Bitty out of the corner of his eye.
“Bittle,” Jack says. “Oh my god, stop for a second.”
Bitty pauses, tipping his head. Jack looks a little flushed.
He holds his tongue as Jack shoots—making another cup, hell yes—and then he gives Jack a smirky look. He shouldn’t be flirting right now: he’s drunk and he’s already resolved to stop doing this tonight, but the chirp is too easy.
“Sorry, guys, I have to stop dancing,” Bitty says, raising his voice so Ransom and March can hear, though he’s still looking at Jack. “I’m distracting my teammate here.”
“Shut up,” Jack says, catching the balls March bounces back to him. He shoots right away and misses. Bitty’s giggling too much when he shoots a second later, so he misses, too. But they’re still way ahead. March and Ransom are toast. Everyone misses for a few turns, but then Bitty makes another cup.
Only one left.
And Rans and March have four.
It’s a perfect night, and Bitty can’t resist teasing Jack a little more. He doesn’t mean anything by it, really. He’s just drunk and happy, and they’re so far ahead that he’s not very worried about the game.
“I’m sorry I distracted you earlier,” Bitty says, mock sincere, leaning in close to Jack. “I’m drunk, you know, I just can’t help dancing a little.” Bitty really can’t; he’s still bouncing along to the music, though he’s not being nearly as showy about it as he was being earlier.
Jack gives him a look. At the same time, March finally makes her first cup. Doesn’t matter, though; her and Rans are still doomed.
“Bittle,” Jack says, pulling March’s ball out of the cup. “I’ve seen you dance sober plenty of times.”
“Yeah, but when I’m sober I don’t dance nearly so dirty.” Bitty can’t help sinking a little lower, rolling his hips for emphasis. “And here I am drinking your beer and mine. I’m gonna be all messy later, and what will you do with me then?”
Jack starts coughing. He’s clearly scandalized. Bitty knows he probably shouldn’t say stuff like that, but can’t help it. It’s just so fun to tease Jack—he’s way too easy to embarrass.
A ball drops neatly into one of the cups on Jack and Bitty’s side of the table. Ransom’s shot. Bitty abruptly realizes he should probably be paying attention to the game.
“Hell yes!” Ransom yells.
Jack reaches for the cup, takes out the ball, and immediately drains it.
“Jack?” Bitty’s brows have drawn together; he didn’t mean to make Jack feel like he had to drink. “You didn’t have to do that!”
Ransom is still cheering. “That was the same one as March got!” he says. “That’s an extra cup!”
Bitty’s not even upset about the fact that their lead has suddenly evaporated. He’s still staring at Jack.
“I’m fine drinking the beer, Jack,” he says. “I was just teasing you.”
“I know.” Jack smiles at him, looking a little embarrassed. “I just—I wanted to. My teammate is giving me serious grief over here. Gotta figure out some way of handling it.”
“If you’re sure,” Bitty says. Jack can make his own decisions, but still. Bitty picks up a cup, looking back at the table questioningly. “Is the third one mine or yours?”
Jack bites his lip, but he picks up another cup.
“Gotta drink my share, right?” Two cups is several less than Jack’s share, but that’s fine. Two solo cups of beer, even if they’re both less than half full, is still more beer than Jack usually drinks at one time.
Bitty finishes his own cup and picks up a ping pong ball. They can still win this. There’s only one cup on the other end of the table. Bitty focuses on it, lining up his shot.
Before he shoots, though, he can’t help glancing up at Jack and asking, “Am I making you nervous, Mr. Zimmermann?” His voice is pitched low; no one else should be able to hear.
Jack looks down at him. He swallows. He says, “Yeah.”
He sounds serious, and it suddenly hits Bitty how inappropriate he’s being—he’s making Jack uncomfortable, and for what? It’s not worth it, even if it feels exciting. He’s not willing to make their friendship weird just for some drunken entertainment.
“Oh my gosh, Jack, I’m sorry.” Bitty lowers his hand; the game feels far away for the moment. “Don’t mind me, I’m just being drunk and stupid. I’ll stop.”
Jack bites his lip. “You don’t have to,” he says, very quietly.
Bitty stares at him. Oh.
He doesn’t know exactly what Jack means, exactly what he wants, but… Maybe. Something like a thrill runs down Bitty’s spine.
Maybe.
Bitty looks back at the cups. Focuses. Shoots. Watches as the ball flies cleanly into the last cup.
Ransom and March groan in unison.
“There’s still redemption!” Ransom cries. He looks at March. “It’s not over. We can still win this.”
Bitty’s not interested in them; he looks at Jack. He can’t decide if he feels shy or confident, but he manages to smirk as he says, “I guess I won’t stop, then. Think you can take it?”
Jack’s little smile makes nervous excitement flutter low in Bitty’s belly.
“Maybe,” Jack says. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see.”
Bitty thinks he can make out a little flush on his cheekbones. He says, “Well, you better pull your weight in this game, then. It’s your shot.”
Jack looks over at the table. “If I make the same cup as you, we win, right? No redemption?”
“You’re not gonna make it,” Ransom says. “No way!”
Bitty leans close to Jack. “Make it for me.” His voice is very, very quiet.
Jack is still focused on the table, but he asks, “What do I get if I make it?”
“I can probably come up with some kind of reward,” Bitty says. “If you can follow instructions.” He keeps his voice low and casual, but he hears Jack suck in a little breath. Louder, Bitty adds, “Make the shot, Jack. Then we can go outside. It’s too hot in here.”
Jack nods, once. Bitty watches as the ball arcs beautifully through the air and thunks solidly into the cup.
Ransom and March scream in disappointment, but something hot is coursing through Bitty’s body. They won and—something is happening with Jack.
He thinks. He’s pretty sure.
“Good game,” Bitty says. Ransom flips him off.
March says, “Can we play flip cup now?”
Jack is looking at Bitty. “The back?” he asks.
Bitty smiles, slow. He tips his head toward the back door, follows Jack as he goes through.
Outside, they find Shitty, Lardo, and Nursey lying in the grass. Jack looks over at Bitty. At his nod, Jack settles down cross-legged next to them.
It feels good outside, cooler than inside the Haus, the grass soft and alive against the soles of his feet. Bitty is pretty drunk, and it feels great to lie back next to Lardo. He tucks his feet under one of Jack’s knees.
Shitty and Nursey are talking about Andover or something, but Bitty shuts his eyes and tunes them out. After a minute, he pokes Jack in the thigh with his toe.
“Give me a massage,” he says, lightly, depositing his feet in Jack’s lap. “My feet’re sore, and it’s your fault, anyway. You were brutal at practice yesterday, Captain.”
In the dim light spilling out from the windows of the Haus, Bitty can just barely see Jack’s face. He looks neutral, not weirded out or anything, but Bitty pushes himself up onto his elbows so he can get a better look at his expression, anyway. Quietly, he asks, “Is this okay?”
“It’s fine,” Jack says, a little breathlessly, kind of like he’s laughing, or annoyed. Put upon. But also… kind of not like that. Bitty leaves his feet where they are.
“You guys are ridiculous,” Lardo says. Bitty jerks, but he realizes a second later she’s talking to Shitty and Nursey, who are arguing loudly about some teacher who was either “cool” or “the fucking worst, man, what’s wrong with you?”
Bitty’s laughing at them when Jack pushes his thumb hard into the arch of his foot, which makes him stop laughing abruptly. Bitty manages not to moan aloud, though. That would definitely make things weird, considering that they’re in public. As it is, he’s kind of pushing the limit of normal platonic interaction right now.
Bitty knows Shitty and Nursey won’t read anything into what’s happening, though. For one thing, Shitty demands foot massages regularly from the entire team, and for another, neither of them are paying much attention to Jack and Bitty. And if Lardo notices something, Bitty knows she would absolutely never say anything about it.
Bitty still doesn’t want to draw any extra attention to them, though. No matter how incredible Jack’s fingers feel, pressing into the arch of his foot.
“You’re good at that,” Bitty says, softly. That’s probably safe enough. Jack just squeezes his fingers in acknowledgment, digging into the muscle. Bitty shuts his eyes.
He accidentally tunes out the conversation again for a while, getting lost in the sensation of Jack’s hands on him, so it seems kind of sudden when Lardo pushes herself up to standing.
“ We’re going to the attic to smoke,” she says. Holster’s standing next to her. When did he get out here? “You guys coming?”
“Oh,” Bitty says, brain catching up to him. “No thanks.” His voice sounds surprisingly normal, at least.
He’s still pretty sure Lardo winks before she turns around.
And then it’s just him and Jack. There’s some people chatting as they lean against the side of the house, but they’re far away, not paying attention to the dark shape of Jack and Bitty sitting there in the grass. No one else is around.
Bitty doesn’t move, and neither does Jack. One of his hands is still wrapped loosely around Bitty’s foot, though he’s mostly stopped moving it. Bitty is already a lot more sober than he was when he first came outside, and Jack hasn’t had much to drink at all. It’s not like either of them are that drunk. Whatever is happening is still… happening. They’re just sitting there, not even talking... It’s not awkward, really, but something about the moment feels tense. Not in a bad way, though.
Every once in a while, Jack absently runs his thumb over the arch of Bitty’s foot.
It’s like Bitty has entered the Twilight Zone. It’s obvious what’s going to happen. Bitty doesn’t really know how he managed to get here, doesn’t know when he realized it was a possibility, but at some point he must have. He's been running on pure intuition all day, and he can't believe this is where it's lead him. It’s not until they’re sitting out there, quiet and still and shrouded in darkness, that Bitty completely lets himself realize it.
Jack is… into this. Jack is waiting for him to do something.
Which means, obviously, that Bitty has to do something. His stomach swoops, just thinking about it. Jack’s thumb sweeps along the curve of his foot. Bitty’s heart is thumping so hard in his chest that he wonders if Jack can feel his pulse through his skin.
Bitty sits up a little.
He says, “Come upstairs,” and Jack jerks hard, his grip tightening, then loosening, then tightening again.
“Okay,” Jack manages. He sounds hoarse. Bitty pulls his foot away, stands up, reaches a hand out.
Jack takes it. Lets Bitty pull him up.
“My room,” Bitty says, quietly. “Wait for me. I’ll meet you up there.”
Jack nods and turns around to go inside. Bitty watches him go.
Once he’s disappeared through the doorway, though, Bitty takes a moment to calm himself down. He’s definitely not reading this situation wrong. Jack is waiting upstairs in Bitty’s room and when Bitty gets there they’re going to—to—what?
It’s not like they’ve talked about any of this. It’s one thing to make Jack rub his feet or peel some apples or get him a soda. In the grand scheme of things, that’s all pretty harmless. But when Bitty goes upstairs, it’s going to… change things. Bitty doesn’t want to do anything that Jack won’t feel good about later.
He wonders whether or not this is going to mean something for Jack. It’s going to mean something to Bitty. Jack doesn’t really seem like the casual type, but—well—that’s the problem with not talking about things. He doesn’t really know. Maybe Jack’s just… interested in hooking up, and that’s all.
Bitty bites his lip. Jack is upstairs already, probably. Bitty shouldn’t keep him waiting.
God. Jack waiting. The image is shockingly hot. It’s enough to get Bitty moving again. The rest of it doesn’t matter for now.
Upstairs, Bitty finds Jack standing in the middle of the room. There’s a red flush spreading across his cheeks. He looks mortified, and Bitty feels immediately guilty for making him wait. Jack has to be just as nervous as Bitty is.
“Hi,” Bitty says, pushing the door shut behind him. For some reason, the sound of the soft click gives him a surge of confidence. With the door shut, it suddenly feels real. This is happening. They’re really doing it.
Bitty tilts his head, watching Jack carefully. “Do you like to be told what to do?”
Jack presses his lips together. He’s looking just past Bitty’s head.
“Answer me,” Bitty says, brave enough to make his tone a little sharp. Just to see. Jack snaps his gaze right to Bitty, though, and it feels incredible. It’s exactly right; exactly what he wanted.
Jack says, “Yes.”
Bitty lets himself smile. Knows it comes out smirking, overly satisfied, but he can’t help it. He expected that answer, mostly, but it feels even better than he imagined it would to hear Jack say it. To know Jack likes it.
“Good,” Bitty says, slowly. “Because, you know, I like telling you what to do, too.”
Jack actually shudders. It’s amazing.
Bitty steps closer. “Are you nervous?”
“No,” Jack says. His eyes flicker away, back again. “Yes.”
“Mmmm,” Bitty says. “That’s okay.”
Honestly, it helps that Jack is nervous. It’s taking everything Bitty has just to hold it together—this is overwhelming, and there’s so much he wants that he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. Jack’s just standing there, looking at Bitty like he doesn’t know what to do, either. He’s fidgeting, a little, but also obviously trying not to move. It’s enough to snap Bitty out of his thoughts. Jack is tense, nervous. His legs might be tired. He doesn’t need Bitty’s indecision right now.
“Go sit down on my bed,” Bitty says.
He watches as Jack goes to perch gingerly on the edge of Bitty’s bed. He folds his hands in his lap, looks up.
Bitty breathes in slowly, watching Jack watch him. He lets the breath out. In that moment, he’s made his decision: they’ll take it slow, this time, and talk later. Kissing shouldn’t be too much, that seems safe enough, for now, and maybe—maybe he can jerk Jack off, too, if it seems like something he wants. But Bitty’s getting ahead of himself. He needs to focus.
He steps forward, getting close, nudging in between Jack’s legs until he’s standing right against the bed. Jack cranes his neck up to look at Bitty. It’s nice to be taller than him for once. This close, Bitty can see how wide Jack’s pupils have gone, black nearly all eclipsing the blue.
“Hey,” Bitty says, a little goofily. Shit. Cool and sexy, he thinks, firmly. Come on, Bittle.
“Hi,” Jack says. His voice is so hoarse it’s just a whisper, but he looks a little less nervous. So maybe goofy is okay.
“You want me to kiss you?” Bitty asks. He puts a hand on the back of Jack’s neck, slides it into his hair.
Jack leans into the touch, says, “Yeah,” so Bitty bends down to capture his mouth. Jack’s hands come up automatically, tugging him closer. He’s so relieved—Jack wants this, it’s okay, it’s good—that he ends up laughing a little into Jack's mouth.
Bitty pulls back enough to make eye contact, teasing, “Eager, huh?”
Before Jack can worry or feel embarrassed, Bitty lifts a knee onto the bed and crawls fully onto his lap. Jack makes a surprised sound when he gets kissed again, a little “Ahh,” into Bitty’s mouth, but he slides his hands down to Bitty’s hips and digs his fingers in.
It’s nice being on top like this; it makes Bitty feel powerful and sexy. He likes the control it gives him, the way his weight pins Jack in place. All Jack can do is sit there and take it when Bitty grinds his hips down.
“Bitty,” Jack says, gasping, fingers digging in tight enough to bruise. Bitty scratches his fingers against Jack’s scalp, rubs his thumb hard against the base of Jack’s skull.
“You’re so good,” Bitty says. “You did everything I asked tonight. It was so, so good, Jack.”
Jack sighs, hands come up underneath Bitty’s shirt, running along the knobs of his spine.
“Can I?” he asks, hands coming back down to finger the hem of the shirt. Bitty is still trying not to escalate things too much, but that seems okay, right, if Jack is asking? And Bitty wants it, too, so he leans back to pull his shirt off. He likes the way Jack stares up at him after he does it, all hungry awe. Bitty likes the way he looks, mostly, but there’s something especially satisfying about being appreciated. And Jack is clearly appreciating him.
“Yours, too,” Bitty says. “Take yours off.”
Jack scrambles to pull his t-shirt off, ends up getting it tangled around his head, and Bitty laughs, helping him out of it. When they finally get it off, he tosses the shirt across the room. Jack’s hands settle back on Bitty’s hips.
Bitty takes a second just to look, running his fingers down Jack’s bare chest, through the soft black hair there. He’s gorgeous. And that seems like something he should say, so he does, and then Bitty is rewarded with Jack's shy, pleased smile.
“Yeah?” he asks.
Instead of answering, Bitty leans forward to sink his teeth into Jack’s bottom lip.
Jack’s fingers tighten again, and now Bitty’s sure he’s going to have bruises on his hips tomorrow. Which is excellent. Bitty wants to see it later, a reminder marked into his skin. He doesn’t know if—maybe this will be the only time, he’s not sure—but right now isn’t the time to think about that, is it? He has better things to do, like brush a finger over Jack’s nipple. That makes Jack gasp, so Bitty pinches, hard, to see how he reacts to that.
“Uhnnn,” Jack groans beautifully. “I really—I want to, can I—?”
Bitty hums, agreeable. Whatever Jack wants sounds great. That’s kind of the idea here.
He’s still a little surprised when Jack rolls them over. Before Bitty’s even sure what’s happening, he’s on his back, Jack hovering above him, nosing his way down Bitty’s stomach toward his crotch.
“Oh, I—” Bitty didn’t actually expect them to go that far tonight, but then Jack runs his teeth over Bitty’s hipbone and looks up at him through his eyelashes.
“I wanna blow you,” Jack says.
And, okay—even if they haven’t really talked about anything, that’s pretty clear, right? Jack wants this. Maybe it’s a bad idea, but Bitty is human, and horny, and so what comes out is, “Yes. That’s what you should do.”
Jack grins at him and flicks open the button on Bitty’s shorts. He pulls them down, taking Bitty’s boxer briefs off at the same time, and then suddenly Jack has a hand on his cock.
“Oh my god,” Bitty says, head thumping back onto the mattress.
Jack licks along the underside of his length, then sucks Bitty’s cock into his mouth. He bobs his head down a little, experimentally, then pulls off, rubbing his thumb over the head.
“Hmmm,” Jack hums, kind of to himself. “I wonder if I can still…”
Bitty can only watch him, wide-eyed. He honestly can’t believe what’s happening. Jack looks so good, so focused, his hand squeezing gently, his thumb rubbing against him absently. Jack seems so tentative about the whole thing that Bitty doesn’t expect it at all when Jack sinks all the way down.
“Ahh!” Bitty says, way too loud. His hips arch off of the bed automatically, fucking up into Jack’s mouth. The movement is accidental, too hard, and Bitty feels instantly guilty. He didn’t mean to do that. Shit. He shouldn’t have done something like that without asking first. “Jack, oh my god, sorry—”
Jack pulls off wetly, meets his eyes. He keeps rubbing his thumb along the side of Bitty’s cock, almost like an apology for not having his mouth on him, and Bitty’s trying to keep his hips still, but it’s hard with Jack looking at him like that.
“You can,” Jack says, voice low. “If you. If you want."
His lips are spit-shiny and already a little swollen. Bitty’s trying to come up with something to say other than holy shit. Instead of doing that, he reaches out a hand and drags his thumb across Jack's bottom lip. He’s mostly just trying to give himself a moment to figure out how to string together a sentence again.
“Are you,” Bitty starts, pauses, swallows. “Are you saying you want me to fuck your mouth?"
His tone comes out a little softer than he means it to, sort of wondering. Jack still makes a sound that’s close to a whimper. He sits up a little more, kneeling there between Bitty’s legs.
“I—yes,” Jack says. “It’s been a while, but it’s. I like that. If you want to.”
Bitty stares at him. “I want to,” he says, because there isn’t another answer. He’s still lying on his back, and Jack’s just sitting there, unmoving, looking down at Bitty’s face. His hand is still on Bitty’s cock. He doesn’t lean down again, or anything, so Bitty tries, “Should I… Just, like this, or…? I’m not really sure how to—?”
Jack bites his lip. “If you, um. Stand? I can lie down. If you have lube that makes it, uhm, easier.”
“Holy shit,” Bitty says. Jack has done this before, enough times to know exactly how to… And with who? Kent Parson? Bitty has wondered if something happened between them ever since Kent showed up at that party last year, but it’s not like they’ve actually talked about it. But maybe there was someone else, too? The idea of Jack with another person makes something possessive tighten in Bitty’s chest, even though that’s totally ridiculous. It’s not like Bitty’s a virgin, if you count his fumbling in high school and that time with Oliver after Winter Screw, which he does, but… he’s still…
This feels different than those times. Bitty’s never hooked up with anyone who wanted—who was—
Bitty forces himself to think the words: he’s never hooked up with someone who was submissive like Jack is. Bitty’s never… besides watching some kinky porn, he’s hardly ever let himself think about this. He’s never really examined his desire for—for sex that goes exactly like this, and now it’s happening and it’s happening with Jack of all people, and it’s just—God, it’s a lot.
But this all seems like something that Jack… has done before. Something Jack knows he wants. Something he might know a little about.
They really need to have a conversation about all of this.
But right now Bitty really wants to get his dick back in Jack’s mouth.
He stands up, even though that means moving away from Jack’s hand, and rummages around in his desk drawer until he finds the bottle of lube.
When Bitty turns around, Jack is lying on his back on the bed. He’s scooted up so that his head is dropping off the edge of the mattress a little. He’s looking up at Bitty from upside down, half smiling.
“Oh my god,” Bitty whispers, stepping forward. He reaches out to touch Jack’s face, to rub his thumb along Jack’s cheekbone. “You’re so hot, you know that?”
“Come on,” Jack whines.
“Hmm,” Bitty says, a little disapprovingly. He flicks open the lube, drizzles some onto his dick. “You’re impatient.” From this angle, it’s hard to get a good look at his face, but the way Jack lets his mouth fall open is pretty clear.
Bitty steps forward and his cock bobs next to Jack’s cheek. He’s never been more grateful for how high his bed is. Jack’s at just the right height for this.
“If you need to stop,” Bitty says. “How will you tell me?”
Jack reaches a hand back, wraps it around the back of Bitty’s thigh, pats twice.
“I’ll tap out if I need to,” he says, then grins. It looks pretty ridiculous from upside down. “I won’t need to, though.”
Then there’s nothing for Bitty to do but slide his cock into Jack’s mouth. It’s amazing how far he can go. He puts his hand underneath Jack’s chin, feels the outline of his own dick through the skin there, nudging into Jack’s throat. It’s a little scary how much control he has right now, but it’s also so fucking hot.
Bitty pulls out, pushes back in again, a little harder, testing. He doesn’t want to do too much. Jack’s hand tightens around Bitty’s leg, but he doesn’t lift it.
“You’re incredible,” Bitty says, because it seems right to talk if Jack can’t. “I can’t believe how well you’re doing.”
Jack brings his free hand down to press against his own dick. He’s still wearing his pants, which seems like a shame, but it’s too late to change that now.
“You can do that, but don’t come,” Bitty warns, stroking a hand over Jack’s jaw. “I want to get you off afterward.”
Bitty expects him to keep touching himself, maybe a little more carefully, but Jack just groans and pulls his hand away, and somehow that’s even hotter. He must be so close that he doesn’t trust himself not to come by accident. Bitty has to shut his eyes through the jolt of arousal that causes. Jack’s into this. He wants this, as much as Bitty does.
“Fuck, I’m not going to last long.” Bitty thrusts in again, harder, and Jack moans around his cock. “I had—no idea—you could be this good for me.”
Bitty watches Jack’s fingers twist into his sheets, like he can hardly keep from touching himself, and somehow that’s what gets Bitty there.
“Jack, oh my god, I’m gonna,” Bitty manages. “Jack, if you want me to pull out, you need to—” Jack’s just hand tightens around his thigh, a clear no, do it, and then Bitty’s coming down his throat.
He pulls his cock out of Jack’s mouth a moment later, gasping. Jack groans as Bitty crawls over him, pushing at his side until he's lying with his head fully supported by the mattress. Then Bitty shoves a hand into his jeans while he captures Jack's mouth in a thorough kiss.
After a moment, he pulls back just enough to say, “Jack, Jack, you were so good.”
Jack presses his face into Bitty’s neck, panting, “Oh, fuck, Bitty, Bitty—” He’s nearly incoherent, gasping and arching up into Bitty’s hand.
“You were so good, honey,” Bitty says. “You were perfect, so good for me, you’re amazing—"
“Please,” Jack says, voice breaking as he comes over Bitty’s hand.
Bitty collapses on top of him, exhausted. Jack seems kind of dazed, so Bitty just tugs at him until they’re lying the right way on the bed, Jack lying against his chest. Bitty pets at his hair gently. He feels a little dazed himself.
“Wow,” Bitty says breathlessly. Jack just tucks his face into Bitty’s neck. He’s warm and heavy and solid on top of Bitty’s body.
They should talk about this, Bitty knows. They should definitely talk. But Jack seems a little far away and Bitty doesn't know exactly what to say. All he can really think is, That was amazing, wanna date?, which seems a little abrupt. They should probably ease into the conversation a little, right?
After maybe fifteen minutes, Jack shifts and moves to pull away.
Bitty was almost asleep. "Hey, what?" he asks, drowsy. "What are you—Didn’t you wanna stay here?"
"Um," Jack says, freezing. "Yes? I thought you were asleep."
Bitty blinks open his eyes, a little aggravated. "I nearly was."
"Oh, sorry." Jack half sits back down. "Should we, uh, talk about..."
It’s a good idea, but Bitty wants to be asleep.
"Yeah, but can we—in the morning?" Sleepiness making him honest, Bitty adds, "I like you, and this doesn't have to happen again, but I'd like it to. If it does, I should probably do some research. And you should probably tell me exactly what you like. Because I had no idea what I was doing."
"Oh," says Jack. He lies down again, pulling the sheets over the both of them. He settles back against Bitty’s chest.
Bitty wraps an arm around him in case he thinks about trying to leave again.
"Yeah, okay,” Jack says. “I can do that. In the morning." A moment later, he adds, "I like you, too."
"Good," Bitty says, tightening his arm around Jack’s back. "Perfect."