Chapter Text
Life drawing. They had had all kinds of models throughout the semester and now they had to go out and “stretch their wings,” “find their muse.” Ultimately, they had to ask one of their unimates to sit in (preferably) their underwear for several hours so that they could draw them.
His classmates are already pairing up or talking about using one of the cheerleaders or the football guys for a group session to make it less awkward. One person even asks Jamie if he would model for her. He agrees, and she asks if he wants to use her in return, but he already knows who he wants to draw. A polite refusal for her offer and an exchange of numbers so that they can set up his sitting-- which is going to go shitier than a frat john, but she insists that she wants to be able to get the texture of his scars, and she had been the one to help him figure out how the fuck pastels worked in another class, so he kind of owes her.
The minute class is out, Jamie heads to the gym, knowing he’ll either find his subject sparring or working out. He knows his schedule by heart, and he ignores the creep factor of it because dear Lord did he have it bad for the guy. Jamie thinks he knows and just doesn't care. He hasn't twisted Jamie into a pretzel over it yet, but Jamie kind of wishes he would.
Mako “the Hog” Rutledge is wrestling when Jamie walks into the gym. He feels a thrill rush through him at the sight. It’s not that he’s in his very tight wrestling uniform-- though that is usually what gets Jamie’s blood flowing-- it’s that he’s taking on the only other guy on the team that can even come close to Hog’s strength and reach. It’s a rare sight that Mako’s actually legitimately practicing and not just fucking around or teaching the lower weight classes how to do what he does.
Reinhardt is taller than Mako by a hair, but he has nothing on him in sheer weight. Over a hundred pounds separates the two and Jamie’s pretty sure that less than half of it is muscle.
Jamie sits, flips open his sketchbook and starts doodling. Action lines, stick figures, contours, Mako’s face when he gets flipped onto his back, Reinhardt's hand trying to get a grip on the back of Mako’s neck without pulling his long, loose hair. His hand slips and Mako takes advantage of his lack of grip, hooking his leg between Reinhardt’s and twisting to get the advantage. Reinhardt barks out a laugh and grapples with Mako, trying to break his hold by thrashing and moving around on the mat. Ultimately, Reinhardt ends up exhausted and pinned to the mat. He taps out, and Mako extricates himself from the hold with a panting chuckle.
Jamie flips to a new page and sketches the lines of Mako’s shoulders, the contour of the muscles, the breadth of them. When he looks up again, he feels like he’s been snuck up on. Mako’s standing half a meter from him, a brow raised and that unimpressed look he always got when he noticed Jamie sitting in the otherwise empty stands. Color flushes Jamie’s cheeks and he flashes Mako a wide grin.
“G’day,” he chirps.
“Stop being weird,” Mako tells him. His voice is a low growl that makes the hair on the back of Jamie’s neck stand up.
“Weird?” Jamie asks, feigning innocence. He keeps his eyes on Mako’s, giving him a more intense eye contact than most people are comfortable with. Mako just stares back with furrowed brows and an unflinching frown.
“Yeah, weird.”
“Good weird or bad weird?” Jamie asks, maintaining his shit eating grin, despite Mako’s harsh choice of words.
“Weird,” he grunts in reply.
Jamie shrugs and twirls his pencil between his fingers. The silence stretches on before Jamie snaps his pencil to attention between his middle and index fingers. “Wanna pose for me?” he asks, already beginning to darken the shadow cast by the bright gym lights above them on the face he’d already sketched out. Mako’s brows look heavier and his lips look fuller in the dramatic lighting.
“Why?”
Jamie pauses his pencil and looks up at Mako. “I think you’re real interesting,” he tells him. “I got an assignment to ask a classmate to pose for a life drawing session. Care to help a bloke out?”
Mako snorts, but he doesn't turn him down immediately. A little warm ball of hope begins to swirl around in Jamie’s chest.
“Why me?” Mako asks. Behind him, the rest of the wrestlers are heading into the locker room and Jamie looks back on the conversation he’d had to have with his classmate in annoyance. He would have had more time with his muse if she hadn’t stopped him.
“Like I said,” Jamie tells him, flipping his sketchbook closed and beginning to pack up the rest of his stuff. “I think you’re real interesting. Better than doing a group study of a cheerleader or one of the other randos around school,” he points out, slinging his bag over his shoulder and flashing him a grin.
Mako doesn't reply, just stares at Jamie like he’s sizing him up.
“Right. Well, just come by this weekend if you wanna do it.” He has a hell of a time not laughing at his poor choice of words and just settles for grinning more. “I got some booze lying around I can pay you with, if that’s something you’re into.” No response, not even a raised brow this time. Shit. His grin starts slipping, and his throat feels like it’s closing up from nerves, making him stutter. “I’m… I'm over in Alloy Hall, 302,” he says, feeling his cheeks beginning to heat up and his teeth catch on his bottom lip as he fights to keep his grin, shoves back on the anxiety that’s making his heart feel like Mako’s squeezing it hard. He’d never had a long enough conversation with Mako to feel embarrassed before. Christ, it was so awkward and exhilarating all at once.
The tension is broken by the short, dark skinned club manager calling Mako over to “scrub up and grub up!” Jamie quickly collects himself and his things before tripping his way out of the bleachers and back to the safety of his room. It’s once he’s there that he realizes he hadn't told Mako a time or date and that he is more than willing to stay in his boring, boring, boring dorm for two days straight just to make sure he caught Mako if he did come.
And he does come. Not in his wrestling uniform, unfortunately, but in jean shorts and a massive t-shirt that Jamie would swim in.
Not that he was already imagining himself stealing Mako’s shirt. Or one of several hoodies Jamie had seen him wear in the fall and winter.
Nope.
“Can I come in?” Mako asks, once Jamie’s stunned silence got a little too long and weird.
A titter slips out, and Jamie drops his gaze, tries not to grin as he steps aside and lets Mako into his little room. Despite not having left it for almost a full day and a half and having been bored out of his mind, the dorm room isn't clean, and Jamie mindfully kicks a thin coating of clothes out of the center of the room to make floor space for posing.
“Thanks for agreeing to come, mate,” he chatters as he quickly begins to kick other things out of the way, books and other assorted bullshit giving way and piling up on each other to leave a near spotless circle in the middle of the room.
“Sure,” Mako grunts, and he’s so otherwise quiet behind Jamie that he doesn't stop cleaning to turn around until he hears the click of a belt and his head whips around so quickly he feels his neck crack with the force of it.
You don’t have to undress if you don’t want to. Whatever you’re comfortable with, mate. The words clog his throat and make him choke on nothing. Holy shit.
Mako’s kicked off his shoes and fully shoved his shorts and underwear down by the time Jamie’s brain catches up with the situation and his mouth asks the stupidest question he's ever heard as Mako drops his pants and kicks them off into the corner. “What are you doing?” he asks as Mako shucks his shirt off and stands there, naked and looking at him expectantly.
“You’re going to be doing ‘life drawing,’ right?” Mako reminds him, resting a broad hand on his hip and raising a silver brow at Jamie. “I googled it. You didn't really tell me anything .”
Mako had googled life drawing and now he was standing in Jamie’s dorm room, naked as the day he was born and Jamie had to act like he had been expecting this all along .
“Right. Yeah. Sure,” he says smoothly. He did this all the time in class. It would only be weird for the first few minutes and then he would be too engrossed in figuring out foreshortening and proportion to worry about the fact that Mako was even more attractive nude and his cock was bigger around than Jamie’s wrist.
“So, are you going to draw me from memory or what?” Mako asks, snapping Jamie out of his wide-eyed surprise.
“Right,” Jamie says, feeling a sense of déjà vu. “Yeah. Sure.” He swallows and looks around for his sketch pad before plopping on his bed and clearing his throat. “Ah, just… stand in the middle of the space, feet shoulder width apart and relax,” he tells him, flipping hurriedly to a fresh page and beginning to make lines as Mako did as he was told.
Jamie does a few quick proportion sketches before he clears his throat again and makes sure his eyes meet Mako’s. “If you get uncomfortable or need to take a break, just let me know,” he tells him, trying to be as professional as possible with his naked crush in his dorm room, about to do anything he asked of him.
Mako nods, looking a mix of annoyed and bored, but Jamie knows that that’s just his default expression.
“For the first bit, I’m just going to have you hold thirty second poses. You can do whatever you want, just hold still once you're there and then count it down in your head, yeah?” He says, his eyes flicking all over Mako, but trying to stay away from his bits.
Mako grunts in response and starts awkwardly doing poses. The first three are very similar and not at all helpful, but Jamie doesn't say anything, just gives him a thumbs up every time he makes a small, insignificant change. After that, Mako seems to start to get into it and, Jamie begins to suspect, aims to make his positioning as hard and exaggerated as possible for Jamie.
The joke was on him, because Jamie was fast and good. Watching Mako’s wrestling practices had adapted him to being able to make smooth, quick lines and translate the outlines on his paper into finished poses later very easily.
After about ten minutes of the quick poses, Jamie suggests they move on to longer ones, and steps it up to five minutes. From there, they move to ten minutes and then, right around forty-five minutes of posing, Jamie suggests they take a break.
Mako sits in his shorts and drinks a lukewarm beer from the case Jamie kept in the corner. An untouched, open beer sits beside Jamie on the floor. He tries to give his hand a rest, but he just ends up with his nose right back in his sketchbook. Jamie works silently on a few sketches wherein which he hadn't been able to fully figure out Mako’s broad shoulders, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth.
“You're pretty good,” Mako says, and when Jamie looks up, he’s close and peering over Jamie’s shoulder.
Jamie makes that same stupid, tittering laugh and feels his entire face flush at the pleasure of the complement and the fact that Mako was so close. “I’ve had to work hard for it,” he tells him, raising his prosthetic right hand with a delayed flourish of his fingers. “Used to draw with this one.”
“Surprised you’d keep with the art degree if you’re using your non-dominant hand,” Mako admits, looking interested but without pity. Jamie feels a warm feeling swirl around in his stomach and he takes a quick sip of his beer to hide his grin.
“Yeah, well… I got a passion for it, just had to change how I did it.” He shrugs and puts the beer down to pick his pencil back up. He continues sketching until Mako finishes his second beer and belches. “Ready to get back at it?”
Mako nods and stretches before cracking his neck. “You didn't really take a break,” he points out.
“The breaks are mostly for you, mate. Can't have my model fucking off on me because I’m an asshole,” Jamie tells him with a grin.
“Doing yoga and drinking beer is a pretty decent Saturday for me,” Mako points out with a snort as he stands and undoes his shorts again.
You don't have to be naked for this, you know.
If it's uncomfortable you can keep the shorts.
God, you're hot.
Everything sticks in Jamie’s throat again as he forces his eyes back down to his paper and fights the heat in his cheeks.
“How do you want me?” Mako asks, once his shorts at in the corner again, and he’s standing in the middle of the cleared bit of floor.
Jamie has to work through the innuendo fighting to get out before he can answer. “Can you do some wrestling holds?” he asks.
“Sure.” Mako gets down on his hands and knees and mimes a simple hold.
Jamie has already begun sketching when Mako makes a dissatisfied noise and sits up.
“Don't move,” Jamie is already chastising him and looking up at the movement. He sees Mako looking for something and frowns at him. “What’s wrong?” Was he already tired of Jamie’s favor?
“Give me your pillow,” Mako tells him, pointing behind Jamie.
Jamie twists around to get the pillow and tosses it to Mako, not sure what he’s on about.
Mako resumes the position with the pillow in his hold and shifts to get comfortable. “Let me know when you want me to change,” he tells Jamie.
“Right-o,” Jamie chirps, trying to focus on the drawing and not that his pillow was going to smell like Mako now and he was never going to let his mum wash that pillowcase ever again.
They lapse into silence as Jamie concentrates on sketching Mako with more detail this time, adding how his larger freckles stretch with the pose and shading which muscles are flexed and which are relaxed.
Jamie keeps sketching away. Every time he glances up, he sees Mako’s eyes studying him back. Every other time, they’re on his prosthetic. “Wanna know how it happened?” Jamie asks conversationally, slowly fluttering the fingers clutched around the edge of his sketch book.
Mako flicks his eyes away, but they drift back to the teasing fingers soon enough.
“Car wreck,” he says, stilling his fingers and beginning to sketch again. “I’m a pain in the ass on a good day, on a bad…” he shrugs and his pencil stills, then he snorts and sets it aside, flexing his hand. “Fucking cramps,” he says awkwardly, surprised that he was shying away from the accident. He never missed an opportunity to talk about himself.
“You should take a break,” Mako tells him, releasing the pillow and stretching out on the floor.
Jamie’s eyes flick over Mako, and he picks up his pencil to start sketching again, instead.
“Don't want to take up all day and all night,” Jamie tells him, continuing to sketch.
“You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to,” Mako replies.
Jamie shrugs and pulls his knees up, hiding behind his sketch book and going off of memory and imagination instead of drawing Mako directly. Exactly what he wasn't supposed to be doing.
Jamie keeps drawing anyway, until he hears a zipper and he drops his sketch pad--too quickly, he knows, when Mako’s lips twitch into a smirk.
Mako walks over to get two beers and opens one, chugging it as he walks back toward Jamie’s bed. He tosses it into the ring of trash Jamie had kicked out of the way and moves to sit against the bed beside him. “I don't have plans,” Mako mentions, opening the second beer and taking a sip.
Jamie, reminded of his own half-finished beer, gropes around for it and takes a long drink before tucking it into his lap and resuming sketching. He finishes it off a few seconds later and muffles a burp. He’s about to go back to sketching when his sketchbook is dragged from his grip and held out of his reach. Mako presses his beer hand against Jamie’s chest to hold him at bay and shoves him backwards. It makes Jamie’s pulse spike, and he grins nervously as his leg curls beneath the bend of Mako’s from how he’s lying. His other foot so close to Mako’s thigh, another centimeter would put them in contact.
“You know what they say about taking an artist’s sketchbook, right?” Jamie asks, realizing how close they were, how thick they were acting.
“I don't hang out with art farts,” Mako tells him, pulling back to flip through the stolen sketchbook.
Jamie snorts and then it turns into a high pitched giggle as he kicks Mako. “What are you, in middle school?” He asks.
Mako smiles and keeps flipping through pages.
Jamie doesn't feel his face start to heat until Mako makes it far enough back to see the wrestling pictures.
“My suit really this tight?” He asks, raising a brow and tilting the sketchbook to the side.
Jamie blushes and shrugs a little, wishing he still had his beer to keep his hands busy. It had left enough to his imagination that he had been pleasantly surprised when Mako dropped his shorts. He probably shouldn't say that aloud.
“You finally shut up when I want to talk?” Mako asks, flipping to the next page.
Jamie shrugs and twists around to get up and grab another beer, but Mako grabs him by his shirt and shoves him back down. He grins when he turns over and Mako shoves the rest of his beer into Jamie’s hands. “Why do you keep your beer across the room instead of right next to the bed?” Mako asks.
That gets a snort and Jamie crushes the rest of the beer before tossing the can into the ring of trash. “If I kept it ‘round, I would spend three times as much on beer and be constantly trashed,” he tells Mako. “But, I mean, if you want to drag it over…” Jamie didn't mind getting trashed with Mako. It was like a fucking dream come true, really.
Mako snorts and plops the sketchbook back into Jamie’s lap. “How about I keep it over there with me. This is thirsty work, and I wouldn’t want your lines to get wobbly now, you’re getting pretty good at drawing my ass.”
Jamie kicks Mako again and he’s a good sport, rolling off the bed and onto the floor with a chuckle. It feels like a goddamned dream, the both of them buzzed, Mako shoving his shorts down his hips again.
“You know you don’t have to be naked, mate,” Jamie tells him, ready to face the music.
“You’re an hour late on that,” Mako replies, shimmying out of his shorts and stretching out on the floor again. “You seemed really into this position.”
Jamie flushes scarlet and hides behind his sketchbook. He doesn’t know if he wants Mako to be drunk already or for this to be uninhibited flirting. Doesn’t know which one would be worse.
“Pour some more booze on it, you lush,” he says, collecting himself and finally peeking around his sketchbook. Mako’s opening another beer, and doesn’t seem to be concerned with Jamie’s embarrassment.
“Thought I had to stay still,” Mako says after taking a long pull from the beer.
“Feel like this is kind of devolving,” Jamie admits, tempted to sketch more, but… well, Mako was naked on his floor and pouring beer down his throat. He wasn’t likely to get more real work done on this project.
“Yeah?” Mako asks. “That mean you think I should get ready to leave?” He doesn’t move, though, and peers at Jamie from his spot on the floor with a lazy smile.
Jamie starts to shake his head, but if he wasn't drawing the naked, drunk man on his floor, then what were they going to do? Just hang out, naked and drunk? Drink more until Jamie made more of a fool of himself?
What if Mako wasn't just teasing him, though?
Jamie bites his lip and figures that Mako thinks he’s a creepy cunt already, might as well prove it and let his eyes wander for the last time. He slowly nods and lets his eyes slide along the curve of Mako’s soft pecs and the swell of his massive gut, down to the nest of black hair that sprouted around his, frankly, massive cock.
Which was much less flaccid than when their session had started.
Huh. Well, that happened sometimes.
“Fuck,” Mako says, and that jerks Jamie's eyes back up to his face. “You just going to keep staring?” He asks before draining another beer and adding it to the pile.
“What else would I do?” Jamie asks, needing a go-ahead, some sign that this wasn't a dream or a one-sided product of his own imagination. That Mako is actually lying on his floor, carelessly naked and becoming harder with each flick of Jamie’s eyes. That he wants the attention-- Jamie’s attention.
“You can't be fucking serious, mate,” Mako says, sitting up on his elbows and furrowing his brows. “Been here for almost two hours, posing however you like, and all you’ve actually been doing is drawing my ass.”
Excuses that Jamie hadn't only drawn his ass rise up, but fall right back into Jamie's throat. “Y’gotta nice ass,” he says, instead, his voice thin and uncertain.
“Then at least act like you want to fuck it, mate. Christ.”
Oh. Jamie feels his entire body flush with a mix of relief and embarrassment and an untapped eagerness.
“Y-yeah?” Jamie asks, flipping his sketchbook closed and setting it to the side. Fuck, what if this was a joke? He was making a fool of himself and Mako was probably joking . What if he was only joking? Crueler tricks had been played on him-- but Jamie had never wanted anything this badly before. Mako was gorgeous.
A chuckle that sounds more like gravelly thunder makes Mako’s stomach jerk, and he smirks at Jamie. “Yeah,” he agrees, finishing another beer and then resting his hands on his stomach, watching Jamie watch him through half-lidded eyes. “Especially when you always look at me like that,” he tells him. “You’re such a fucking creep.” Jamie would have flinched away from the insult if it hadn't been dripping with warmth. Desire.
“You like it,” Jamie points out, slowly climbing off the bed and walking over to sit beside the case of beer, his bare knee almost touching Mako’s hip.
Mako shakes his head and turns onto his side. His hard cock makes an actual thudding sound as it flops on Jamie’s floor, and he feels dizzy for a second, the sudden rush of heat leaving him reeling, though he was sitting down.
“I love it,” Mako corrects him. “The way you look at me… fuck, mate, I ain't been looked at like a massive side of meat since I got scouted for college wrestling.” His hand slides down his gut to take his massive cock in his hand. “You know how many times I’ve left practice stiff?”
Jamie nearly chokes on his own tongue, he inhales so hard, so fast.
“To be honest, thought this was just a way for you to get me alone-- alone and naked.” Mako gives himself a stroke and a pleased sound rumbles in the back of his throat.
Jamie feels his gut jerk so hard, he wonders if something inside him just broke and started bleeding all over the place. He feels hot and too clothed and he wants to say something cool, but all he can do is keep staring, watch Mako pump himself and rub the flat of his palm over the broad head of his cock.
Mako raises a brow at Jamie’s silence and his hand stills, squeezing the thick base of his cock. “You keep making me doubt you want to fuck around,” Mako says. His words drag Jamie’s eyes back up to his face. “Why are you down here if you’re not going to help a bloke out?” Mako asks.
“Th-think you’re doing alright on your own,” Jamie admits, feeling absolutely pinned by Mako’s intense gaze. He feels too hot for his clothes again, too confined.
This was a real, actual thing that was happening.
Mako sits up and the hand that just touched his cock reaches for Jamie, grabs him by the front of his shirt and drags him forward to mash Mako’s lips against Jamie’s
Holy. Shit. Holy shit.
Jamie takes a few seconds to kiss back, but when he does, it’s perfect. Beer and foul breath flood his mouth when he slides his tongue out to meet Mako’s. Large, strong hands move him like he weighs nothing, and he feels the thick press of Mako’s cock beneath him as he’s settled into straddling Mako’s lap. He wishes his pants were already off.
Mako’s hands slide up his shirt and he pulls back to let him drag it off. Mako’s mouth falls to Jamie’s neck, and he grinds down against Mako.
“Christ,” Jamie breathes as hands grip him, drag him down harder. He wraps his arms around Mako’s shoulders as lips suck at his neck, his chest, the freckles spotting his shoulders. “Holy shit.”
Mako laughs and it jolts his stomach against Jamie, makes his entire body bounce beneath him, and he suddenly wants to feel that same laugh when they’re fucking.
“Get my shorts off,” Jamie demands.
Mako grins and rolls up onto his knees, plopping Jamie on the floor and wrenching his shorts open and down. He hears a seam pop and God, it’s electrifying.
“Fuck me,” Jamie demands.
“No,” Mako rumbles, taking Jamie in his hand and giving him a gentle squeeze. “Suck my cock,” he tells him, tugging at Jamie’s prick, drawing a delighted gasp from him. “Then, you fuck me ,” he says.
“Oh my God,” Jamie groans, shaking his head, but not rejecting the idea. Mako chuckles and leans down to suck on Jamie’s abs, dip his tongue into his belly button as he gives him a rough pull. “Holy shit,” he gasps when he’s let go and Mako shifts to lie back again, legs spread and reaching for another beer.
Jamie stays spread across the floor for a second before he moves into action, grabbing lubricant and a condom from his bedside table. He grabs the pillow Mako had thrown at him as an afterthought, then he’s back on the floor, the pillow beneath his knees and Mako’s dick head sliding salty and hot between his lips. Mako’s cock is just as heavy as he had expected against his tongue, and his lips stretch around the girth of it. He wonders how deep he can take Mako, widens his jaw and relaxes his throat and goes down on him hard, swallowing his gag reflex and drawing back before shoving down again.
Mako curses and Jamie feels a wet hand grab for him, soaked in beer from the smell of it. He’d made Mako spill his beer. Jamie goes down until he feels wiry pubic hair tickling his lips and nose. He groans, his throat aching with the strain, but the satisfaction of Mako’s hand gripping his hair and the taste of him, the way Mako’s heel was hooking around Jamie's back and how, when Jamie opens his eyes, his head is thrown back, his chest is wet with beer.
Jamie pulls back and takes a harsh breath, his hand taking Mako’s spit-slick cock and beginning to pump him, licking drool from his lips and leaning forward to kiss the head, then taking Mako in again. He did it slower this time, sucking and massaging Mako’s cock as he went down to the root again, swallowing with each inch and slurping at the excess spit.
Mako groans and grips Jamie’s hair harder. “Holy shit,” he rumbles, his voice rasping.
It’s music to Jamie’s ears, and he hopes if he makes this the blowjob of Mako’s life, he’ll come back for more. Come back for Jamie instead of the promise of free booze and satisfied curiosity.
He swallows around Mako and feels his throat ache more. It’s going to be sore for days, but it’s worth it. So worth it as Mako drags his nails against Jamie’s scalp and takes a harder grip on his hair. “Fuck,” he groans and his hips thrust against Jamie’s throat, causing him to choke and pull back, sucking lightly on Mako’s head while he regains control of his aching throat.
“Sorry,” Mako rumbles roughly, releasing Jamie's hair and petting him instead. “Shit, you alright?”
Jamie pauses and pulls away to swallow the come and drool that was acruing in his mouth. “I'm fine,” he croaks, rubbing his thumb against the base of Mako’s cock, surprised he’d been able to fit so much of it into his mouth. “Keep pulling my hair and I’ll come before I’m inside you, though,” he tells Mako with a cheeky grin.
Mako’s hand goes from petting to pulling again, and he holds Jamie still as his other hand takes up his own cock and starts pumping himself.
Jamie recognizes that Mako’s going hard and fast to finish himself off, and he gets down on his elbows to nuzzle and lick Mako’s head as he waits for him to come on his face.
“Fuck…” Mako groans before his hand tenses in Jamie’s hair and he draws him closer as he finally comes, spurting up to Jamie’s forehead and then dripping onto his cheek, nose and lips.
Jamie’s abused throat cracks in the middle of his giggle and he licks his lips reflexively, staring up at Mako like he still can't believe this is happening and especially not to him.
“Ready to fuck me?” Mako asks, his harsh grip turning into a pet again.
“Fuck yes,” Jamie says, flashing Mako a grin and leaning in to kiss his stomach, up to his cute outie belly button and then further up his chest and to his neck. “Kind of wish you’d buggered me, though,” he admits as he pulls away to get the lube and opens the cap.
Mako grunts in response and turns over, his knees gathered beneath him and his cheek pressed to the floor. He’s sweaty and he looks exhausted, but in a happy way.
Jamie admires the view for a second before bracing his prosthetic against Mako’s ass cheek and using his other hand to prep him. He wasn't exactly tight, but he seemed really relaxed after the blowjob, and he didn't have any real ties to Jamie so he shouldn't feel the burn of half-baked jealousy in his gut. It’s still there, though. Mako had been so quick to want to fuck, maybe he got screwed on a regular basis.
Jamie shakes the paranoia away and slides a second finger in, then a third, when Mako tells him to hurry up. Jamie leans in to give his ass a cheeky bite, and Mako laughs, calls him a cunt.
Jamie rests his cheek against Mako’s ass after that and marvels at how fucking easy and intimate it is to be with Mako. He’s screwed around before, but it never felt like this. Shit, maybe he was in love.
Once he’s sure he’s lubed Mako up enough, he slicks himself and gets up on his knees between Mako’s legs. He picks up the pillow off the ground and flops it over onto Mako’s head.
“Fuck you,” Mako tells him, but he wraps his arms around it and drags it under his face all the same.
Jamie replies with a delighted laugh and then slowly begins to press in.
Mako’s hot and slick, and pressing into him feels like a goddamned dream. Jamie whimpers as his cock is finally rewarded for its earlier neglect, and he slowly fucks his way into Mako, his hands gripping Mako’s hips and his knobby knees sliding against the hard floor.
Mako doesn't make a sound, just lies there and lets Jamie use him. Jamie licks his lips and still tastes Mako, feels the come drying on his cheek and forehead and he raises his left hand to smack Mako’s ass.
The young man beneath him jolts back onto his cock and a choked groan leaves his throat. “Harder,” he urges, and Jamie’s not sure which, so he just does both, slamming into Mako’s ass harder and bringing down his left hand in a stinging slap to Mako’s rump.
“Yeah,” Mako mumbles, sounding delighted. “Fuck yeah,” he groans, beginning to shift back to meet Jamie’s cock and shivering with every swat.
“Yeah?” Jamie asks, his voice thick from the rough head he’d given. “Like that, huh?” he teases, pinching Mako’s ass cheek right below the swell of the glut.
Mako jerks and shoves back against Jamie’s thrusts harder. “Maybe you should focus on finding my prostate before you move on to dirty talk,” he says, his tone light.
“Aiming’s overrated,” Jamie replies with a snicker. “If I fuck you enough times, I’ll hit it eventually,” he jokes, though he does adjust his aim toward Mako’s belly button.
He knows when he finds it, because Mako jumps like he’s been electrocuted and Jamie lets out a high giggle. “See?”
“Fuck you,” Mako replies, burying his face in the pillow.
“Hope so, mate,” Jamie says through panted breaths. “If there’s a next time, I want you to,” he admits.
Mako makes a strangled noise and Jamie smacks his ass again, laughing as he grips Mako’s hips tighter, fucks him faster.
When Jamie comes, it’s with a few last jerky, haphazard thrusts, sweat slicking between his stomach and Mako’s back. A strangled giggle worms its way out of his throat as he collapses against Mako, breathing in the sweaty musk of him and running his fingers across the freckles and moles spotting Mako’s muscled back.
They lie there for a while, Jamie on top of Mako and the both of them panting. Jamie shifts once his heart has slowed, and he presses a tender kiss to Mako’s back. He pulls out and slips the condom off, struggling to tie the top a little with his prosthetic, but he gets it done before slumping down next to Mako on the floor.
“Beer?” Mako asks, dragging the case closer and popping one open for himself.
“Fuck yeah,” Jamie says, rolling onto his back and removing his prosthetic before stretching.
Mako hands him the beer and Jamie just stares at him before he laughs and opens it for him.
“Ass,” he accuses.
They lie there together, sweaty and draining Jamie’s beer to the last can. Mako opens Jamie’s before handing them over, and Jamie murmurs a soft thanks with each can, progressively getting more slurred and more cuddly until he falls asleep, tucked against Mako’s side.
Jamie wakes up in his bed, his face wiped clean, and his sketchbook and prosthetic resting on his bedside table. His throat is sore, and he swallows just to convince himself that everything that had happened wasn’t a dream. He had deep throated the shit out of Mako’s monster donger, and then he had fucked the largest guy on the wrestling team.
He looks at the time, and it’s only eleven at night. He groans and shifts on the bed, abruptly realizing that he had been tucked in. Jamie can’t help smiling as he presses his face into his pillow.
Christ, Mako was a fucking saint.
He reluctantly grabs his sketchbook, his prosthetic clattering to the floor as he angles it into the moonlight to see what the hell he’d drawn earlier in the evening. He sees a surprisingly decent caricature of himself sleeping and the scribbled words, “stick around after practice tomorrow.” Jamie bites his lip and starts flipping back to the sheet of 30 second poses to start figuring out what he could use for his project. He’d scribbled his signature at the bottom of the page where, now, an arrow and a few question marks pointed to it in light pencil.
Jamie grins and tosses his sketch book on the floor before rolling over in his bed and laughing like a maniac. Mako wanted to see him again and he wanted to know his name.