Jack does a lot of really silly romantic things the first few months after Bitty moves in with him. Bitty has a job at a bakery downtown, doing a lot of menial work for minimum wage, up at ridiculous hours and usually sleeping when Jack gets home, so since they can’t really go out on dates very often, Jack tries to do little things when he can.
He sends flowers to the bakery every few weeks. He leaves little notes hidden around the apartment for Bitty to find. He makes sure that he gets out of bed the same time as Bitty, no matter what, so that they can have their coffee together and kiss goodbye for the day. He makes sure to bring Bitty things all the time, Falconers merchandise fresh off the rack, groceries every week, a cute trinket, a new stuffed animal—Jack is too generous for his own good.
One afternoon, Jack comes home with a gift bag while Bitty is putting the finishing touches on dinner. Bitty barely even looks up at him, too busy with the pot roast, so Jack is able to stash the bag in the bedroom and come back into the kitchen to help with the mashed potatoes. Bitty doesn’t even notice.
It isn’t until they’re watching TLC later—Say Yes to the Dress is Bitty’s favorite post-dinner television show, especially the Atlanta episodes—that Bitty has any clue what he’s in store for. Right as the second episode finishes, Jack slides his nose down Bitty’s jaw, his signature subtle move.
Bitty smiles softly, turning to kiss him. “Hey,” he mutters.
“I bought you something,” Jack tells him. “Or—us. I bought us something.”
“Jack,” Bitty starts.
“C’mon.” He turns off the TV, grabs Bitty’s hand in his as he stands, pulling him to his feet. “Let me show you.”
Bitty’s not going to argue. He follows Jack into the bedroom, where the gift bag sits neatly on the pillows, pink and decorated with ribbon. Bitty doesn’t recognize the label, but that’s not much of a surprise—right now they only have two dildos and a cock ring, so they haven’t quite branched out into all of the brands of sex toys.
“Go on,” Jack says, gesturing. “Open it.”
So Bitty climbs up onto the bed and sits cross-legged, blinking up at Jack as he pulls the colored paper out of the bag and finds—
Jack nods, smiling softly. “Yeah.”
Bitty turns the tube over, examines it. “Flavored lube.”
“Apple flavored,” Jack points out.
Bitty feels his cheeks heat. “Apple flavored lube. Because apple is your favorite—oh my God, Jack.”
Jack sits beside him on the bed, kissing his temple. “I just thought,” he says, voice low and confident, “that since you like it so much when I eat you out, this might be fun. And after, you’ll be nice and slick so I can push right inside of you.”
Bitty’s heart is fluttering, even after two and a half whole years with this boy. “Okay, Mr. Zimmermann,” he says, kissing Jack emphatically on the mouth. “Eat me like a pie.”
The next time Jack takes a bite of Bitty’s maple-sugar-crusted apple pie, he immediately gets hard. Zero to sixty in two seconds flat, and what’s the worst of it is that he’s not at home with his boyfriend, or even alone anywhere. No, he’s at a charity bake sale that the bakery is doing, and Jack is there with half of the Falconers for press—press that is very nearby, too close for comfort.
Luckily, Bitty is standing in front of him, so he can politely set down his piece of pie and kiss the top of Bitty’s head, standing closer.
“Jesus, Jack,” Bitty says, half turning to look at him when he feels Jack’s hard-on press against him. “What—”
“The pie,” Jack says, trying to control his blush. “It tastes like…”
Jack clears his throat. “You know.”
He can see that it takes Bitty a second but not much longer than that. His eyes go wide, his mouth dropping open. “Oh,” he says. “Oh, I—well.” He’s smiling now, and he turns away from Jack once more, leaning against him. “I suppose there are worse ways to react to my baking.”
Jack laughs joyously, wrapping an arm around him and kissing his cheek. That shot is captured by no less than a dozen photographers, and Jack and Bitty are the only ones who know what was happening.
Bitty really likes shower sex. He knows it’s not terribly convenient or even necessarily comfortable, but there’s something about a dripping wet Jack Zimmermann that makes him ache. Also, Jack is improbably good at having sex is strange places—he’s capable of holding Bitty against the wall, doesn’t get distracted from his tasks very easily, and has a questionable obsession with making Bitty come. All in all, it’s not hard to enjoy sex somewhere as restrictive as a shower when Jack is there, putting in 110% effort.
Bitty often prefers to shower in the evenings because of how early he has to be awake. But on his days off, he doesn’t bother to set an alarm in the mornings and when Jack rolls out of bed and heads to the bathroom, he often follows. This morning is one such example.
Bitty is a little behind because he heads straight for the coffee machine, waking it up and setting it working. He could, hypothetically, wait around for his drink for only a few minutes, but instead he pads barefoot into the bathroom just in time to watch Jack settle under the spray.
He stares for a long moment, gazing through the opaque curtain as Jack tilts his head, wets his hair, his face. He drags one of his hands down over his throat, his chest, and Bitty makes a soft, whimpering noise.
Jack smiles, nudges the curtain. “Hurry or I’m gonna be late.”
Bitty shoves down his shorts, pulls his shirt over his head, and leaves them on the floor as he joins Jack, immediately pressing up on his tip toes to kiss him, hot and excited. It’s been a few days since they’ve had sex, what with so many games, and Bitty’s work. Jack’s going on a whole week and a half of roadies in just a few days, and Bitty won’t be able to go with him, so they both want to get in as much of each other as they can.
Jack sighs softly when Bitty wraps a hand around his cock, stroking slowly, patiently. He rolls his hips barely and Bitty hums, thumbing over the slit.
“What do you want?” Jack asks him, voice already a little bit breathy.
“You,” Bitty say automatically.
Within seconds, he finds himself hoisted up by his thighs, pressed against the tile as Jack reaches for the lube, tucked in a little basket on the wall along with soaps and other bath-time necessities. Jack’s fingers inside of him get him all the way hard, and he’s writhing for more in no time, kissing Jack eagerly and tangling his fingers in his hair.
He arches to try to get closer and Jack almost loses his balance, taking half a step back and catching himself, before planting his feet and pinning Bitty properly to the wall.
“Jesus Christ,” Bitty sighs. “Maybe you better set me down.”
Jack hums, nuzzling up under Bitty’s chin. “Not yet. You’re not ready.”
“You can finish prepping me with my feet on the ground—”
“I can do it,” Jack dismisses, and Bitty trusts him. He lets Jack add another finger, stretch him just the slightest bit more. It feels so remarkably good that Bitty lets his head fall back against the wall, lets himself roll his hips—Jack really is amazing at this, at all of this. He’s never left Bitty feeling the slightest bit unsatisfied.
The problem comes when Jack steps back again, probably to resituate his cock from where it’s trapped against his stomach, maybe to shake out any tension in his legs, but whatever the reason, Bitty isn’t prepared to be dragged away from the wall so when he’s pulled forward, he tries to make up for the surprise with all of his weight.
When they lose their balance this time, it’s not quite as easy as catching a misstep. Instead, Bitty is frantically grabbing for the curtain rod, trying to use it for leverage so that they don’t tip over—and when it goes clattering to the ground, so do they.
In the aftermath, they’re not too hurt. Jack’s a little bruised on his calf from hitting the tub and Bitty fell on his back so he’s a bit sore, but nothing is broken and no one is bleeding, so he’s decided to count it as a win.
“Fuck,” Jack says decisively, untangling himself from the fallen curtain so that he can stand and turn off the shower. Bitty, from his vantage point on the ground, feels a hysterical giggle building in his chest, and he lets it go, laughing and laughing as he takes in the disaster scene around them.
He can’t stop, even when Jack lifts him up and carries him to the bedroom, checks him for injury. He can’t quit laughing, even though he’s stuffed full of lube and his dick isn’t the slightest bit hard anymore. He doesn’t stop until Jack kisses him, long and deep and sweet, kisses him as if there’s nothing in the world he wants more.
“I’m sorry,” he says as he runs his hands down Bitty’s shoulders. “You were right, I should’ve listened.”
“Oh, Jack, we’re fine. It’s fine,” Bitty says, still beaming. “I was just thinking—it’s kind of like the old days.”
“Ya know,” Bitty laughs, a twinkle in his eye. “Checking practice.”
Jack loves Oats. The kitten comes home with them in the spring when everything is beautiful and he’s just won the Stanley Cup. Bitty picks her up from the rescue when she’s so small that she fits in his hand and over the next three months, she grows big enough to be able to jump onto their bed on her own. (She uses the night stand and her little bed to climb her way up there, but she manages it.)
She’s cream colored with brown spots, hence her name. She’s soft and beautiful and she likes to sleep on Jack’s chest more than any other location. Jack has often woken up to her sitting on his face or throat multiple times. Bitty has pictures.
Her love for sleeping in their bed can get kind of difficult when they want to—be together. Bitty has taken to putting her bed in the living room and closing their bedroom door. It doesn’t take much to convince her to explore the apartment or climb the giant castle Jack bought for her the same day they picked her up, and Jack is always sure to open the door before they go to sleep.
One evening, they come home from a gala. They’re all dressed up and they’ve had a few cocktails. Jack is totally in love with this boy beside him—this man—wearing a beautiful suit, with his hair perfectly done, cheeks glowing. He’s so handsome and so perfect that Jack has to kiss him right this instant. So he does. He kisses his boyfriend and walks him towards their bedroom and barely remembers to nudge the door shut with his heel.
“Fuck,” Bitty says when Jack falls to his knees on the floor, helping Bitty out of his shoes. “What are we doing?”
“I want to make love to you,” Jack tells him, tossing his shoes aside and pulling off his socks. “Can I?”
Jack undresses him without hesitation. He knows all of Bitty’s twitches and ticks, the way he moves when Jack’s hands are on him, and soon he’s naked against the sheets, pulling Jack on top of him. Jack loves it like this, face to face, wrapping Bitty up in his arms and holding him so, so close. It’s his favorite way to have sex, something intimate and so fucking meaningful, all pressed together so that Jack can feel their heartbeats pounding together, feel every inch of Bitty’s skin on his.
He likes to do it slow like this, when they have the time. Jack is patient, methodical, knows just how to open Bitty up and make him melt against the sheets. It takes a long time, but Jack doesn’t feel rushed at all when he finally pushes inside of Bitty, both of Jack’s arms wrapped under him, breathing hotly against his neck.
“Oh, Jack,” he says softly, arms wrapped tight around Jack’s shoulders.
He feels lost. He might as well be floating, rocking into Bitty’s body, letting himself follow what feels good. Bitty doesn’t have any complaints, keeping his legs tight around Jack’s waist and letting out soft, sweet moans. Jack wants to hear him all the time, and it’s easy to just keep it up, drag it out, so that Bitty’s voice fills their apartment.
He doesn’t pay attention to how long they’ve been locked up together, can’t focus on anything but the way it feels, how good it is to be inside of Bitty, to be losing himself in the way their bodies move. He feels like he’s drifting, coming undone.
Which is probably why it’s so startling when he hears the soft, unmistakable sound of Oats, meowing. Jack jerks his head up to look, sees the cat sitting on the other side of the mattress, staring. Instead of reacting reasonably, Jack promptly tries to both pull Bitty closer and away from Oats, resulting in a push-and-pull that sends them tumbling off the mattress, onto the hardwood floor.
“Jack!” Bitty groans, caught underneath Jack’s weight, pinned to the floor. “Jack, why—oh my God.”
Jack doesn’t even have time to turn his head before he feels Oats drop onto his back, crawling along his spine and up onto his head. He huffs out a sigh, watching Bitty as his face turns from shocked to delighted as the kitten settles on Jack’s hair, meowing softly.
“Oh,” Bitty coos, reaching up and plucking Oats from her perch. “I thought you closed the door.”
“I did,” Jack insists. “She must’ve been in here when we got home.”
Bitty laughs, holding Oats against his chest with one hand and stroking her with the other. “What a little voyeur.”
“I’m sorry she ruined the mood.”
“Oh, please. Here.” He sets Oats on Jack’s shoulder, making sure she’s staying put. “Go put her out in the living room. I’ll be here…waiting for you to get back.”
Jack feels a little bad about exiling her, but he only hesitates for a moment when he sets her down on her climbing castle. After all, he has a boy waiting for him in his bedroom.