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Jack was in heaven. Or maybe hell? He’s not really sure if the sight of Bittle in a skintight green dress cancels out the embarrassment of seeing Bittle in a skintight green dress in public, at the Halloween Epikegster, where anyone could look over and plainly see the lust on Jack’s face.
Bittle had been excitedly planning his costume ever since finding the dress at a Goodwill during one of his and Lardo’s regular thrift-shopping trips. “I saw it on the rack and couldn’t help myself! Look, it’s the same exact dress that Beyoncé’s right backup dancer is wearing in the Freakum Dress video. Look!” And then Bittle would play approximately five seconds from the video, the only five seconds where the dress in question was shown. Jack was pretty sure that Bittle was just using this whole thing as an excuse to wear the dress he found. But damn, did it look good.
Bittle had also found an orange pair of heels to accompany the dress and complete the Freakum Dress look, but they’d been abandoned pretty early on in the night for dancing purposes. This was around the same time that Jack made the decision to retire to the reading room, still in his black cat “costume” (if you could even call it that.) Jack was a man who knew his limits, and watching Bittle twerk in a bodycon dress breached a horniness-in-public limit that he had previously been unaware of.
He drags two duvets through the window, one to sit on and the other to protect him from the biting November air. He has to distract himself from thoughts of Bittle somehow, so he reaches through his window to grab his copy of The Warmth of Other Suns by Isabel Wilkerson. He closes the window to keep the cold out before hunkering down in his little duvet-nest to read.
Just as he’s finishing the preface, he hears the window creak and slide open. Bittle sticks his head out. “Jack, honey, do you have some socks I could borrow? The floor’s getting sticky down there. I don’t really love the feel of tub juice on my bare feet, and it’s been a while since I’ve done my laundry. I promise I’ll wash them tomorrow with all of my stuff.” Bittle’s hair is sticking to his forehead from sweat.
“Er, yeah. Check the second drawer of my dresser, there should be a few pairs in there.” Jack also didn’t love the idea of tub juice getting on a pair of his socks, but he just couldn’t say no to Bittle.
“Thanks honey!” Bittle disappears for a moment before popping back up with a white pair of Jack’s knee-high Nike socks. “Can I use these? They look like the warmest option.” Jack nods. Bittle leans against Jack’s dresser to pull the socks on one-by-one, and Jack can see the way his dress hikes up through the window. He shifts his eyes back down to the book in his lap, ears red from more than just the cold.
Some time passes, but Jack still doesn’t hear the sound of the window closing. He turns his head and sees Bittle leaning over the windowsill.
“Would you like some company out there?” Bittle asks, and his face is so thoughtful and earnest that Jack has to laugh.
“I thought you were having a good time at the party?” Jack says. “Besides, you put all that effort into your costume. The people need to see it.”
“Yeah, but I have a good time with you, too. Besides,” Bittle must have made up his mind, because he’s already halfway out the window, “They weren’t playing nearly enough Beyoncé to keep my attention.” Bittle is all the way out onto the roof now, setting his water bottle down on the windowsill before plopping down next to Jack. “Let me under those covers, mister. It is too cold out here for my little dress. Come on. Scootch.”
Jack offers one corner of the duvet to Bittle, who settles down right next to Jack and drags the duvet across his waist. Jack dogears his book and sets it to the side. Bittle drapes both of his legs over Jack’s lap and leans onto Jack’s shoulder.
“I saw that Camilla was at the party. I don’t mean to pry, just- is that why you went all hermit tonight?” Bittle asks. Jack smiles and shakes his head.
“No, that’s not it. I’m just a hermit, I think. Camilla and I had a really mutual break-up, no hard feelings involved. I caught up with her for a bit before coming upstairs, we’re good.”
“Alright, if you’re sure…” Bittle pauses to look up at Jack, who nods in response. “Good! Then I can gush about her costume. Lord, she just looked so beautiful, didn’t she? I’ve never even seen Game of Thrones, but if that’s what the characters look like, it might be worth a watch! That costume was just fabulous. And I reckon it doesn’t hurt that she’s so easy on the eyes either, huh?” Bittle rambles on and on.
Jack snorts. “You sure you don’t have a little crush, Bittle? Promise I won’t tell.” He says, causing Bittle to laugh.
“She’s just so beautiful- you really have a type, dontcha?” Jack turns to face him, confusion evident on his face.
“What do you mean by that?” he asks. Bittle sighs and tucks himself under Jack’s arm. Jack pulls him closer to his side.
“Well, just from what I’ve seen- Camilla and Samantha I mean- well, all the women you’ve dated have been very feminine.”
“Some of the men, too.”
Bittle gasps. Jack isn’t sure what possessed him to say that, but it’s too late to take it back now. The best thing he can do now is act nonchalant, act like he hasn’t just told Bittle something that not even Shitty knows. Bittle wraps an arm around Jack’s back.
“Well,” Jack says, “ I've only really dated one man before. And yeah, he was… in touch with his feminine side, as they say.” Bittle is hanging onto every word that Jack says.
“So you're, what, just attracted to feminimi- feminemity- gosh, that word- fem-i-nin-i-ty, regardless of gender? There must be a word for that. Is there a word for that?”
“You’d have to ask Shitty. And no, it’s not even that- I can definitely appreciate masculinity too, trust me. But there is something to be said for the convenience of a dress.” Well shit, that’s out in the world now too. Jack just can’t bite his tongue tonight, it must be the two beers he had before calling it a night. He’s certainly not drunk, but, being the lightweight that he’s become, those two beers were enough to loosen him up a bit. It doesn’t seem like Bittle’s freaking out or anything, so fuck it.
Jack lays his warm hand on Bittle’s thigh, right above his knee.
“The convenience?” Bittle asks, turning so his knees face Jack.
“Yeah, convenience. I could just slide my hand right up,” Jack starts kneading at the meat of Bittle’s thigh, “no buttons or anything to worry about. Not as many obstacles.”
“You could.” Bittle is breathless, staring right into Jack’s eyes. He rests his hand on his own thigh, just below Jack’s. His fingertips brush Jack’s wrist.
“I mean, that’s why I don't usually wear boxers. It’s more convenient like this.” Jack flicks his thumb out, tracing uncharted territory at the top of Bittle’s thigh.
“So, what, you wear briefs instead? That’s more convenient?” Bittle is obviously chirping him.
“I never said that, just that I'm not wearing boxers.” Oh my God. Why can’t he just shut up.
Bittle stops, and the implication behind Jack’s words sinks in.
“You- Jack Zimmermann! Right now? You dirty dog!”
Jack is laughing. “No, no. It's not- it’s just convenient!”
“Convenient, mhmm, that’s your favorite word ain’t it. You go to a haus party commando in your little sexy black cat costume, I see you. Convenient for what?” Bittle’s cheeks are red, and the blush is spreading down his neck, ending just where the halter neck begins. His eyes keep flicking down to the bulge in Jack’s jeans as if by accident, like Bittle can’t control his intrigue. One layer separates his bare leg from Jack’s cock. Good Lord.
“For bathroom purposes! I can just unzip my fly and get it out, easy access. And it just feels free-er. I mean, I wasn't planning on wheeling tonight, you know me. I’m not a one-night-stand type of guy.”
This takes Bittle by surprise. “Really? I mean, Lord, Holster makes it sound like you leave every party early to, y’know, get some.” Jack shakes his head at this.
“No, Holster doesn’t know. Really I just leave because it gets to be too much sometimes. And besides, I don't- I don’t really sleep with strangers. For me, I know it’s different for everyone, but for me, sex is something I only share with someone I really care about.”
Jack looks up finally to make eye contact with Bittle, whose left leg has bent so that his calf lays between Jack’s thighs. His socked foot tucks beneath Jack’s right knee. Bittle’s right leg is draped completely over Jack’s lap, just slightly bent so that he can face Jack. His torso is tucked up under Jack’s right arm. Jack’s left hand is still placed on Bittle’s right leg, but it’s moved further up during their conversation; now it sits mid-thigh, just breaching the line of Bittle’s dress, Jack’s fingers covered by the dark green material. His thumb is rubbing back and forth over the sensitive skin on the inside of Bittle’s exposed thigh. Occasionally, he squeezes.
“That’s real sweet, Jack.” Bittle says.
Jack shrugs. “It’s not that I've never had a casual hook up before, but I've just noticed, I mean, it just feels better, right? When you’re with someone you lo- someone you care about. There’s more passion when there’s more trust.”
Jack’s hand keeps creeping up Bittle’s thigh. He spreads his fingers out as wide as they can go; his index finger brushes against the lace of Bittle’s boyshorts, which, fuck. Jack hadn’t really considered what kind of underwear Bittle might have chosen for the costume, but now that he knows, now that he feels the thin lace on his fingertips, he can’t stop thinking about it. Bittle’s breath hitches suddenly, and his exhale is more of a whine than anything else. There’s a bulge in the front of his dress which is rapidly becoming impossible to ignore. His eyes are closed, and he tucks his face into Jack’s neck, breathing heavily now. His hot breath washes over Jack’s exposed skin. He squeezes his thighs together, trapping Jack’s hand between their warmth. Jack squeezes his hand right back.
“Jack.”
Bittle shifts his left leg down so that the side of his bare calf settles right into the cradle of Jack’s groin. His knee touches right below Jack’s navel. If he were to shift it down just an inch-
Jack slowly drags his hand back down to Bittle’s knee. “Yes, Eric?”
Bittle draws a rattling breath in, then pulls his head back to look Jack in the eyes. A tense moment of silence stretches out between them before Bittle breaks it. “I’m a little thirsty- I brought a water bottle out. You want some?”
Jack nods. Bittle swings his legs off of Jack’s lap and starts to turn around. Jack grips at the pant legs of his jeans and tugs down to readjust his cock, which has been filling up consistently ever since Bittle first joined him underneath the duvet. Once it’s no longer pressed uncomfortably against the zipper of his pants, Jack settles back down and turns to look at Bittle who is- oh, calisse. Bittle is on his hands and knees, crawling to get to the water bottle he’d originally placed on the windowsill. His dress is riding up in the back as he moves, leaving his firm thighs on display in the cold winter air. The tightness of his boyshorts has caused the plump of his upper thighs to jut out, the soft skin just barely brushing together as he crawls. The material of the dress just barely covers his ass, which has definitely developed since the beginning of Ransom’s Better Bitty Booty Bureau plan.
Bitty reaches the window, which is really not that far, grabbing the water bottle and arching his back, why is he arching his back? But he is, and the dark blue lace of his boyshorts becomes visible from the back, from between his thighs, beneath his dress and mon dieu his perineum must be directly beneath that lace. Still on all fours, Bittle uses one hand to unscrew the cap and put the tip to his mouth. There’s a heavy weight between his legs that’s visible from this angle where Bittle's balls are snugly covered by lace, hanging there and surely so warm, right above the spot where Bittle's thighs meet.
Jack’s left hand, which was clenched over his thigh, unfurls. He slips it in his pocket and traces the tip of his cock through the thin cotton pocket liner of his jeans. It’s wet. It twitches against his fingertips as Bittle spreads his knees further apart, giving Jack a better view of the lacey bulge sitting between Bittle's legs. If he shifts his hips up, his tight jeans would pull his foreskin back just a bit to expose his sensitive slit, and- Jack catches himself, looking up to see that Bittle isn’t even drinking the water anymore, just holding the bottle to his lips with his head turned to watch Jack from his periphery. Jack flushes, taking his hand out from his pocket and clenching it in the material of his jeans again before moving it over to wrap around Bittle's ankle.
“That’s just unfair.” Jack might be feigning nonchalance, but his voice is even deeper than it is in their mornings at Faber. Bittle laughs, finally turning back around to face Jack and crawling over to their shared duvet.
“You said you were thirsty, right?” Jack nods again, frantically, and Bittle swings his leg over to straddle Jack’s lap. He’s not quite settling down, just hovering over Jack on his knees. Bittle brings the water bottle up to Jack’s mouth while Jack’s hands grab onto the meat of his thighs, fingers pressing into bare flesh in an attempt to ground himself, to prove to the universe that this is actually happening.
Bittle presses the tip of the bottle against Jack’s bottom lip, and Jack leans forward to wrap his mouth around it. Jack makes unwavering eye contact with Bittle as he gulps the water down. His cheeks hollow out. Bittle startles and squeezes the bottle, causing water to overflow and drip out of the corners of Jack's mouth. Jack coughs a bit, causing Bittle to draw back the water bottle with one hand and frame Jack’s face with the other.
“Oh God, are you alright? I’m sorry honey, I didn't mean to-”
Bittle cuts himself off as Jack uses his grip on Bittle's thighs to pull him down snugly against his lap. The heat of Jack’s erection seeps through his jeans and onto the cold skin of Bittle's inner thigh.
“Don’t worry,” Jack says, “not the first time that’s happened to me.” But he’s still trying to catch his breath.
Bittle wipes his thumb across Jack’s lips to collect the water while putting the bottle down with his other hand. His thumb lingers on Jack’s lower lip which drops down as Jack opens his mouth slightly, just enough for Bittle to feel his warm breath.
Bittle shifts his hips to the left, causing his lace-covered cock to brush and settle against Jack’s. Jack bucks up with a very subtle motion, the head of his cock nudging up against the base of Bittle’s much more exposed erection. Bittle lets out a moan and grips Jack’s shoulders with his hands, eventually trailing them down to rest on Jack’s pecs.
“Eric…”
Their faces are close now, breaths intermingling as Bittle works up a slow rhythm with his hips. Jack slides his hands up, up, up, until Bittle’s dress is completely hiked up to his waist. Jack grips the meat of Bittle’s hips, urging him along. The denim pressure against his cock is rough, but Bittle’s boyshorts are so blue and so soft against Jack’s calloused hands. He could just slip them to the side if he wanted to, it would be so easy-
But then the window slams open.
“Jackabelle!” Shitty’s voice booms, cutting through the sounds of the music still pumping downstairs. Bittle scrambles out of Jack’s lap and pulls his dress down a bit to cover up some more skin right before Shitty leans his head out and spots them.
“Oh! And look, Beyoncé’s out here too! Just a flush of celebrity in the reading room tonight. What a coinkydink.” Shitty is visibly very drunk, slurring over his words and not really focusing on either of them.
“Beyoncé’s backup dancer, Shitty. I would never imitate the queen herself! Who do you think I am!” Bittle stands up, wrapping one of the duvets around his shoulders and turning back to Jack. “You comin’ in, honey?” he asks. Jack takes a few moments to respond, still dazed from the drastic change in tone.
“Uh, sure. Yeah. Let me, here.'' Jack stands up, gathering the other duvet in front of his crotch and grabbing the discarded water bottle. They both make their way through the window and into Jack’s bedroom, where Shitty is sprawled on his back on the floor. Bittle snorts a laugh and carefully steps over him, walking to the door.
“Eric, wait, I, uh-“ Jack closes the window. “Shits, is there something you wanted? or just checking up on me?”
Jack nudges Shitty's shoulder with his foot. “The latter, mon petite Canadian Apollo. Or, not so petite. Hey Bits, what’s the French word for ‘jacked?’ You’re in the intro course, right?”
Bittle just laughs. Jack gathers Shitty up by the armpits and hauls him to his feet.
“Yes, very funny Shits. Please go to bed.”
“Oh my God- that’s so good. And I wasn’t even trying, either! Jacked.. Jack- get it? Hah. New nickname? Jacked Jack? Yes? No? Maybe so?”
Jack ushers Shitty through the door to their shared bathroom.
“Uh-huh, Shits. That’s- I'll think about it, okay? You got some water in your room?”
Shitty shakes his head no. “Here.” Jack hands him the water bottle from before. “Drink this and get some sleep, alright?”
Shitty has just acquiesced when Jack shuts the door and locks it. Bittle is laughing by the door to the hallways. “Lord, Jack. I can’t believe you gave him that bottle!”
Jack smiles and shrugs his shoulders. “It’s Shitty. He’d be thrilled to find out he’s drinking my backwash right now.”
The two of them stand there, staring at each other from across the room. Jack slowly makes his way to Bittle. He reaches out to touch Bittle's forearm and leans in just a touch too close. “I should probably get to bed now, I have a meeting with my thesis advisor tomorrow morning.”
Bittle's eyebrows shoot up. “On a Saturday? That’s just unethical!”
Jack shrugs again. “I’m the one who signed up for the time slot. I didn’t expect to be up this late, I think.”
“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry for keepin’ you up! I had no idea, here, lemme get out of your hair real quick-”
“No, no, Eric. It’s not- don't apologize. Okay? I wouldn't have stayed up if I didn't want to. I- trust me, I wanted to.”
Bittle nods, wide brown eyes looking up at Jack and crisse, he’s not sure how much longer he can handle this. His cock is still throbbing in his jeans; it’s gotten to the point of being downright uncomfortable.
“Alright, if you say so. I, uh, me too. Hm. Goodnight, Jack. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Bittle opens the door.
“Goodnight.”
Just before Bittle can step out into the hall, Jack touches his arm to stop him. “And uh, Eric.” Bittle turns to look at him. “Think about me, okay? I'll be thinking about you.”
Jack's wolf eyes stare him down, his pupils dilated in a way that’s more visible now than it was out on the dark roof. Bittle inhales. Breathes out.
“Yeah, Jack. Yeah.”
Jack holds him there for a moment longer before giving one curt nod and stepping back. Bittle closes the door behind him, and Jack waits in place until he hears the soft click of the door across the hall.
Fuck.