They're both in Jack's billet after practice one gray rainy Thursday afternoon. They're arguing about what game to play, a back and forth that's turned into wrestling on the couch mostly because Kent's noticed that wrestling on the couch has tended to turn into something entirely else often, lately, and he has no doubt that Jack's noticed it, too, when Jack turns his head while Kent's trying to move his hand and - bang! - Kent hits Jack, hard, right across the cheek.
He sits up immediately and starts to apologize - "Fuck, Jack, I'm sorry, I didn't - mean to - " before his brain catches up with the fact that Jack's suddenly gone rock-hard under him.
And before Jack says, face red, "I liked it."
Kent lowers his hands, carefully, to Jack's sides. Rubs at his hips. "I noticed." What is he doing, they don't talk about this, any of this. Also, he shouldn't - but he shifts over Jack, grinding the crease of his ass over where Jack's straining to get out of his jeans. "D'you. Um. Want me to do it again?" That last sentence all comes out as one word - Kent doesn't know why he wants it, could swear he'd never connected these things till just now, but - Jack's staring up at Kent like he could give him the world, if he chose.
"Yeah. Okay." Kent's breath is shaky but Jack's steady underneath him, which is all backwards, probably, upside down, or something. He rubs the red mark on Jack's cheek where it's blooming already with his fingertips. It's warm. Jack smiles up at him, hopefully.
He's so hard.
Kent lifts his hand again and slaps the other side of Jack's face, hard as he can.
Jack bucks under him; Kent holds on with his knees, automatically, or might've been unseated. Jack's breathing hard, and Kent - well. Getting reactions like this out of Jack might've been the focal point of all his fantasies pretty much since they met.
"You like it?" he asks. Rubbing the skin where he'd just hit Jack's cheek with the pad of his thumb, watching the color change from white to red. Taking in the glassiness of Jack's eyes. Not so much needing to check, because it's pretty damn obvious (though - just in case!), but more wanting to hear.
Jack turns his head to the side again, and slurps Kent's thumb into his mouth. His tongue presses it down against his palate. Jesus.
"D'you want anything else?" Kent tries. Because he has no idea how to go about incorporating this into actual sex, or even if that's what he should be doing here - if that's what Jack wants. All he wants is what Jack wants, and also, to get him off eventually. Spectacularly, if possible.
Jack lets Kent's thumb slide out of his mouth, lips slack when Kent presses against them. He shakes his head. "Just like this."
Well - okay.
Kent lifts up his hand to hit Jack again - not in the same place, probably. The face isn't a very big target. Jack squirms, waiting, too. He's rubbing his dick into Kent's ass more insistently, and, honestly, it's making Kent kinda want to forget about all this weird hitting stuff and do what they do normally, but. Then again, there's Jack's face. Marked up and so much more strangely patient than the rolls of his hips, waiting for what Kent chooses to give.
Kent tilts Jack's chin up, tenderly, with the fingers of one hand, and then he hits the exposed underside with the other.
Jack jumps. Kent's hitched forward, this time. His dick presses into the faint softness of Jack's lower belly that all the ab workouts in the world can't entirely erase, and Jack's arms and Jack's knees surround him on all sides. He's breathing hard, too.
"Where else," he says. "Or do you just want the face."
"Anywhere - everywhere," Jack says. Which is. Wow. Kent moves to take his t-shirt off, and Jack moves with him to make it easy. They've done this move... twenty or thirty times now? More? Kent's losing count. He can never, though, lose the sense of wonder he feels every time that they finish pulling the fabric off Jack's arms and toss it aside, the punch right to his gut (but, like, lower) of Jack's massive pecs, of the sprinkling of hair that he's unfairly managed to grow way more noticeably than Kent has.
Kent spreads his finger out over Jack's bared chest, both steadying himself and appreciating the feel of it, and he realizes - yeah. He can do this.
He digs his thumbs into Jack's sternum, and then down the dip in the center of his chest. Jack looks up at him, breathing heavy.
"Kenny? You gonna - ?"
"Yeah," Kent says. He slaps Jack with the palm of his hand, right across his left nipple. "I got you."
There's still a part of him that expects Jack to react to the absurdity of those words in this circumstance with a chirp, or just with the faint smile and the raised eyebrows that mean 'really, Parse, you know I don't even have to say it.' But instead Jack moans, and shakes under him, and lifts a hand up to touch, along with Kent, the red spot on his chest.
"Feels good like that?" Kent asks. He's curious, honestly.
"So good," Jack says. "I want, uh." He rocks his hips up into empty space, his hard dick managing to press only briefly in passing against Kent's lower back.
"You can touch yourself if you want, you know," Kent says. Like he doesn't want everything all at once himself right now. Like he has more than maybe a sliver more of control - of anything, the situation, himself - than Jack does, or seems to.
Jack shakes his head against the couch's pillows. "I don't want. I mean. I do, but. I'd rather wait for you."
"Okay, then," Kent says, agreeably. "But you might be waiting a long time." Admittedly, ten or fifteen minutes is a longish time for them; what they have in enthusiasm and desperation they make up for in lack of stamina and finesse. But what's long to Kent, anyway, is equally long to Jack.
He bends down to lick the mark he'd left on Jack's chest: first gently, and then with scrapes of his teeth. He pushes his ass back into the cradle of Jack's hips, where it wants to be, and feels Jack's fingers twine themselves into his hair. He worries at the nub of Jack's nipple, while Jack pushes and pulls at his head far too gently to have any risk of moving it at all, until he pulls a whine out of Jack's throat. And then, "Do it again. Please."
It's not as if he could ever say no to Jack.
He sits up again, hits Jack's right side. His palm is starting to sting, or maybe he's just belatedly starting to notice it. He locks his knees around Jack's hips so Jack stops fucking moving him, and hits him again, again. He's got a broad canvas. And Jack's been looking like he's about an inch away from coming, for ages now, and Kent can barely stand it.
"Like - wow," Jack hisses. His voice breaks on every other word, it's amazing.
Kent hits the lowest part of his abs, and the noise it makes, fuck him. All these dull thumps and sharp reports, like - well, like practice, and if he's fucked up, then Jack is fucked up right here, with him, so, he doesn't care. He refuses to care about anything besides this, them, here.
He hits Jack's chest somewhere in the middle of it that's already a patchwork of several shades of reddish-pink, from mild to angry, and Jack moves like he's fucking him, through their clothes. Not that they haven't done it for real, but, Kent doesn't know if they could do both at the same time? Maybe, maybe in a minute they'll see -
"You have no idea," Jack breathes. Kent hits him again, up on the shoulder, everywhere he can reach, to take his breath back away, "What you do to me."
"So tell me."
"I don't know how," Jack says, a different, sadder, note of frustration entering his voice. Kent doesn't like to hear it; he bends down to kiss him, which he hadn't done in far too long a time. Jack's mouth, even when he last kissed him - when, yesterday? He hadn't today, in all of this, how? - always feels like coming home.
When he sits back up he feels like he's got just enough distance back to map out a strategy. "Take your pants off," he says. Unless you don't want to, his mind continues, but honestly, that's kind of implied. And as unexpectedly hot as this whole hitting thing is, Kent doesn't think it's quite enough to get either of them off all by itself.
He stands up off the couch for a minute, so Jack has room to move, and takes advantage of the break in the proceedings to remove his own clothing, too. It's fast and easy.
He also takes an extra few seconds before he climbs back on the couch to just look at Jack's dick because, sue him. It's a nice dick. He likes looking at it, he likes it a lot.
And Jack knows it, too. He's thrown his jeans and his boxer briefs somewhere else - Kent doesn't see them, doesn't care where - and now he's sitting there, innocently, casually stroking his dick with just a couple of his fingers, looking at Kent with a smirk like he knows just exactly how much Kent likes it. "What're you waiting for?"
Kent climbs back on - to Jack's thighs, not onto his dick, though that's an idea for a later day that he'd really like to revisit. They're great thighs, too, strong and thick. Kent splays his fingers out over them and still can't cover the whole breadth of Jack's muscles. It's hot.
"So, um," he says. His fingers rub nervously over Jack's skin, smooth and hairy and nngh. Dammit, he's got this - he had it two minutes ago, anyway. "Should I move down here?"
"I - sure. If you want," Jack says.
The bottom of Kent's stomach drops right out. He doesn't climb off Jack. He does want to, he wants to leave right there, but he knows, already, from experience, that that wouldn't end up serving either of them well. "I don't want," he says, stung, "to do anything that you don't want me to do." Jack doesn't react. Maddening, frankly. "You get that I'm doing this - I mean, the - hitting, stuff, because - you asked me to, right?"
"Yeah." Jack's voice is reluctant. Kent wishes he could say he were surprised. What he is surprised by, though, when he looks to see, is that Jack's dick is unflagging, just as hard as ever.
So, whatever it is that's behind Jack's reluctance isn't too bad, he guesses. Breathe in, breathe out, okay. Jack's scent floating up to him through the deep breaths is ridiculously calming as well as arousing, somehow both at the same time. "Is that enough of the hitting, then?"
Jack shrugs. "If you've had enough."
I came out here to have sex with you, not play twenty questions, Kent thinks, and if that's what you want, then can we at least put our clothes back on. But he bites it all back. "So should I just... go back to what I was doing?"
Jack shakes his head.
Kent's annoyed. "What do you want, Jack?"
"Could you hit." Jack chews on his lip. "Don't make fun of me."
Kent rolls his eyes. "You should know I won't." That's why we're here in the first place, isn't it? "So, come on." He tries a drumroll with his fingers on Jack's thighs: it's not awful. "What is it?"
"My dick," Jack says, and instantly turns the exact shade of a tomato.
Kent's mouth is gaping. "You want me to hit. Your dick," he says. As if Jack doesn't know what he's just said. Well, maybe he doesn't, maybe he went temporarily out of his mind for just a minute there, maybe Kent was hallucinating. Either of those things would make just about as much sense as Jack saying and meaning what Kent thought he just said.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," Jack says, sulkily. Kent gets the feeling that if he doesn't turn the momentum of this situation around in the next thirty seconds, it'll be Jack who's wriggling out from under him, and probably stalking off naked, too, and, honestly, that is not a situation that either of them need a repeat of.
Also. "Hell, yeah, I want to."
"You do?" Jack says. "I mean. You didn't seem like it."
Kent waves the thought aside with one hand. "But now that I know how crazy you are, Zimms, d'you think I could miss out on seeing it for myself?" He keeps touching Jack aimlessly: his hips, his thighs, his stomach. His skin's all red more or less right up to a line drawn between hips and waist, and, if Jack doesn't mind, Kent might like making that line disappear.
"Oh," Jack says. He's smiling. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Yeah, well," Kent says. "I think of a lot of things." His thumbs tease the cut of Jack's hips, the irresistible crease between Jack's powerful thighs and his vulnerable groin. "So." It's hard to gather his thoughts, though, when Jack's looking like - all of that. Not quite as close to the edge as he had been, but still torn pretty well apart. "Did you not want me to hit your legs, or did you just not want me to hit only your legs?"
Jack blinks a couple times, clearly resolving the sentence inside his head, then lets his legs fall open under Kent, who's still sitting on them. "Do it."
Kent doesn't make Jack answer that question, though. They've waited long enough. It feels like a challenge and a counter-challenge, like a dare; and then Kent slaps the outside of Jack's bare thigh, where his leg turns into his ass, and he can see Jack's dick jump at the shock, and it feels like something infinitely better.
"Fuck, Jack," he says. It's unreal. He slaps the inside of Jack's other thigh, high up, carefully placed. Jack starts to cry out, but bites it off; it's the first time today that Kent's heard him make any sound from the pain.
He does it again. Other side. Jack's dick spurts out just a drop of precome, and Kent thumbs it off. Ignores Jack's whine, and sucks the salty taste of it off his own thumb, looking unblinkingly into Jack's eyes all the while. Jack is short of breath, again, gasping, fingers clutching the back's of Kent's thighs.
Kent hits Jack's hip, and his dick jumps again, like it's a fucking puppet, or something. Like a marionette. "How does this even work," he asks, mostly to himself.
"I don't know," Jack says. "But please, please."
"Yeah. Okay." Kent's rubbing over the places that he's hit on Jack's leg - it's so pretty. Not that he'd probably ever tell Jack that. But it does something to him, to have Jack's skin look visibly different cause he's been touching it. "It's gonna hurt," he warns Jack. Last chances to back out, and all that.
"Yeah, I'm sure it will," Jack says.
Kent has a sudden thought. "If you like it like this," he asks. "You've never done it to yourself?"
"Ah." Jack looks like he'll die if they don't, again, or like he's driving to the net in OT. "I can't make myself? Like, I want to. But I can't."
"Oh." Kent's brain whites out for a second. Too much implication in there to process. "So you're - yeah. Yeah. Good."
He scrambles up a little, onto his knees, ass resting on Jack's knees, behind him, to get a better angle, and then - yeah.
He hits Jack's dick.
Jack makes a deep grunting noise, and convulses, and comes all over his belly, midway up his chest, even. He grabs his own dick and gives it a few pulls as Kent watches him finish up, and it's, wow, it's a lot. Not just of come, although it is that too, but of hotness, of some sort of feelings and sights and stimulation all piled together for Kent's brain to try to handle somehow without him just making himself come, too, right now, and wasting whatever potential might be left.
He shakes through it, instead, holding the feeling in, watching Jack come down. Watching definitely the hottest thing that he's ever seen in his whole, entire, life.
Eventually - it can't be more than twenty or thirty seconds, max - Jack finishes shoving the last drops of come out of himself. Which is, by the way, an image that makes Kent's dick super envious. Not because Jack's never done it to him, but precisely because he has, and so he knows just how good it feels, and he wants, he wants.
Then Jack opens his eyes again, blue and warm and relaxed in a way they rarely are, and he smiles up at Kent. "That was - wow."
"Yeah, it was," Kent agrees.
"Um. Thank you."
Kent laughs. "It was my pleasure too, dude. Like, literally."
"Yeah." Jack bites his lip, and Kent can follow his line of sight; he knows and Jack knows he knows that Jack's checking that he hasn't come yet. "Come up here."
Kent knee-walks up the couch over Jack's chest to stop, encouraged by Jack's fingers still behind his legs, with the head of his dick bumping Jack's chin. "Gonna do anything about this?" he asks.
Jack sticks his tongue out to lick it, and Kent - yeah. Kent isn't gonna last long.
"You know it." Kent does know it, too, that's the thing. He knows Jack won't leave him hanging, knows just the ways in which Jack likes and tends to reciprocate when he's not doing the driving. Jack lifts his head up and moves both his hands so he's holding Kent's ass and then he slurps most of Kent's dick into his mouth, in one fell swoop, Kent's never managed to figure out how he does it but mostly he's trying to hold onto some edge. He's been waiting and waiting and waiting, and now Jack's mouth is hot and wet around him, Jack's tongue flickering like a fucking - snake, he doesn't know -
He tilts forward, his hands land above Jack's head, on the unused arm of the couch. Something about the angle changes, and Jack sucks, gentle then harder, and he's coming, he's coming into Jack's mouth and Jack sucks him through it, holding him while he trembles and sees stars.
He pulls back when he gets oversensitive; Jack doesn't hold him there. He flops down messily onto Jack's chest, legs folded together any which way.
"I think that's the quickest blowjob you've ever gotten," Jack says. "Including the first one."
"Yeah, well, fuck you," Kent says. He puts up a finger, right into Jack's face; he may be mind-blown and all, but he's not too tired to do that.
"Maybe next time."
"Mmm." Kent can't figure out what they're going to do next. Homework, maybe; dinner, if it's time? Is there gonna be a round two today? "Did you..." he stretches his head out, into the hollow between Jack's shoulder and his neck.
"I don't know." Kent laughs. "I literally don't know. You destroyed my brains, man. They're just - poof, gone."
Jack straightens out his legs, under Kent's. "You'd better get them back in time for practice tomorrow."
"Or your chem homework tonight, ugh, I know."
"Hey, I don't make you do my homework."
Kent turns over; Jack's a pretty good pillow. Maybe they'll take a nap, instead. "I know. You're just very persuasive. I know."
Jack rubs Kent's hair. "Are you going to sleep on me now?"
"Maybe. So what?"