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Harry squirmed in his lap, suddenly overcome, as though his entire body was an itch that he needed to scratch. He liked kissing—he loved kissing—but he also wanted more. He gasped as Jack took hold of his hips and widened his stance so that Harry’s knees dug into the couch on either side of his thighs. Then Jack’s hands shifted, sliding around to his arse, and he urged Harry closer so that there was barely any distance at all between them. For a moment Harry was lost in the kiss, not sure of what to do with his hands, and sure as hell not knowing what to do next. He opened his mouth when Jack’s tongue pressed against the seam of his lips, and gasped.
Jack pulled back, but only long enough to lean in again. This time he didn’t kiss Harry's lips. Instead he kissed his jaw, while Harry’s mouth hung open stupidly. He swallowed and put his hands on Jack’s shoulders, digging his fingers in and shivering when Jack made a moaning sound that signalled his approval.
Harry’s hips juddered forward—he hadn’t meant them to—but he could feel that Jack was still hard, and the knowledge made him almost dizzy. He squirmed again, still not knowing what to do while Jack kissed and nipped his way down the column of his throat. Harry threw his head back. He should have been mortified at the sound he made when Jack licked then kissed his neck, but he decided to save his embarrassment for later. He didn’t want to ruin this moment with self-recrimination. Arousal burned in him, coiling tight and low, and it felt so good. It also felt awful, because he was suddenly so greedy for it, and Jack wasn’t giving him enough.
Jack’s hands moved from his ass to his hips again, then slid up his sides. They dragged over the soft fabric of his T-shirt and Harry wondered what they would feel like against his naked skin, but before he’d had more than a moment to contemplate that, Jack’s right hand skimmed over Harry’s left nipple, and it hardened under his touch. That was weird, right? That was so weird. He squirmed, and Jack did it again. Then he pinched the nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and the elastic band in Harry’s balls, the one that had been winding tighter and tighter and tighter this whole time, just fucking snapped.
Harry was vaguely aware of making that embarrassing noise again, but most of his focus was on the way his dick was throbbing in the confines of his trackpants, pulsing and spurting and just doing what the fuck it wanted without any regard for things like Harry’s dignity. He slumped, gasping, onto Jack, and rested his head on his shoulder while Jack smoothed his hair. His scalp tingled under Jack’s touch, and he butted at Jack’s hand like a cat demanding scritches. Jesus, was Harry turning into a cat now? Was that what being sexually active did to someone? Did this even count as being sexually active or was it active-adjacent? It was his first time ever doing something with someone else involved, which felt like a big deal, but at the same time, if anyone asked, what had they actually done together? He hadn’t even seen Jack’s dick yet, and if the way he’d reacted so far was any indication, when he did, he was likely to blow his load and hit the opposite wall at the sight of it. If he did, would that be pathetic or impressive?
“Stop thinking so hard,” Jack murmured into the hollow of his throat. He pressed his lips gently against the soft skin there, making Harry’s back arch with sensitivity, which in turn made him newly aware of the wetness in his track pants.
He pulled back and looked down at himself, cheeks heating. “Sorry.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “What for? That was fucking hot. I feel like a sex god right now.” He grinned widely, and the tiny knot of tension that had been forming in Harry’s gut dissolved, just like that. Jack wasn’t judging him—and if the bulge in the front of his pants was anything to go by, he wasn’t turned off in the least.
Harry pressed his palm gently against the hard flesh. “Do you want me to, um. Do something with this? I don’t know what, exactly, because I’m new at this, but… I could jerk you off, probably?”
Jack’s face did something complicated. “You don’t sound super enthusiastic about that.”
Harry tried to deny it, but the words got stuck in his throat.
Jack leaned in and kissed him softly, a whole other different sort of kiss than the ones they’d shared only moments ago. “Tell you what. You go and get cleaned up, and I’ll go and, uh, take care of this, and we’ll meet back in the kitchen in ten minutes, and I’ll romance the fuck out of you with homecooked Thai. How does that sound?”
It sounded pretty perfect, actually. Harry wished he was ready to do more, and he wanted to be ready, but he’d only been a boyfriend for a few hours now, so it was probably okay to take a little longer to wrap his head around it. Plus, the wet stickiness of his track pants was becoming more unpleasant with every passing second. Having sex was a bit like eating prawns, he decided. Awesome at the time, but messy as hell afterwards.
“I just, um.” He wrinkled his nose. “Nobody likes the dickhead on the group project who doesn’t do his fair share, you know?”
“That’s…” Jack blinked at him. “It’s not a group project, Harry. Nobody’s getting graded. It’s about having a good time, not ticking a set of boxes.” He grinned. “It’s like kindy instead. Everyone gets a sticker for trying.” He nudged Harry off his lap. “Now go and get changed.”
Harry nodded, flushing, and headed for the stairs. As he headed up, Jack called out, “And Harry? For the record, you get a gold star.”
He grinned to himself and the tiny warm glow in his chest grew.
When he went back downstairs again, after sitting on his bed and watching his clock and wondering how long Jack needed to ‘take care’ of himself, he found Jack already back in the kitchen. The stir-fry was sizzling, and the coconut rice was simmering. Everything smelled amazing.
Harry shuffled up to Jack and leaned against him. Jack put an arm around him and looked down when Harry pressed his thumb against Jack’s chest. He burst out laughing. Harry had stuck one of the stickers from his last prac to his shirt. It was a cartoon dog on a skateboard, giving a thumbs up. It said, in sparkly writing, GREAT JOB!
“You too,” Jack said, and kissed him.
Dinner was amazing. Harry wasn’t sure if it was because Jack had cooked exceptionally well or if it was just him, because everything felt amazing right now. The cold beer they had with dinner? Amazing. Jack’s smile? Amazing. Their hands grazing when they both reached for the Looney Tunes Nutella drinking glass while they dried the dishes, and Jack’s fingertips lingering on his skin? Amazing.
Okay, so it was definitely him. Harry didn’t care, though. In the last twenty-four hours he’d gone from potentially crossing a line with a roommate and beating himself up about it, to gaining a boyfriend and having an orgasm—with another person there. As far as he was concerned, he was winning at life right now.
After dinner they curled up on the couch together, picking one of those mildly entertaining formulaic romcoms to watch that didn’t require too many brain cells. Harry got to sit pressed up next to Jack. He didn’t even have to wonder if it was okay, because Jack draped an arm around his shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was.
Harry didn’t pay much attention to the movie. He was too busy enjoying the warmth of Jack’s body where they were touching and turning his head to share the sort of kisses that didn’t lead anywhere, but were just nice. He dozed off at some point. When he closed his eyes, the romantic leads were sworn enemies, and when he opened them again there’d been some sort of revelation or plot twist, and Harry watched the scene unfold as sexual tension fairly crackled between the actors until they both lunged forward and then they were kissing passionately. A smile pulled at the corners of his mouth, because he’d always watched movies like this and felt like he must be missing something, that there was some secret knowledge that everyone else was privy to except him.
But curled up next to Jack, he got it now.
There was the rattle of keys in the door, then Tris flounced in and dropped his messenger bag dramatically. “Well, that study group was a waste of time,” he announced. “There wasn’t a single attractive person there. Except for me.” He stopped and took in the way Harry’s head was resting against Jack’s shoulder, and Harry pushed down the urge to scuttle away. “So, this”—Tristan pointed between them—“is a thing, then?”
“Yeah.” Jack sounded pretty pleased about it. “It’s a thing.” The arm around Harry’s shoulder tightened reassuringly.
“Thank fuck. The pining was palpable.” Tristan paused in the act of scooping up his bag and turned to them. “Just do me a favour, will you, and try and keep the noise down when you’re banging? I’m a light sleeper,” he said, without the slightest trace of irony. Then he waggled his fingers at them vaguely. “I’m getting changed and then I’m going out. I’m meeting someone.” He swept out the door and up the stairs to his room.
There was a moment’s silence as they both stared after him, then shared a look. “It’s official,” Jack said. “Tris has all the self-awareness of a kumquat.” He grinned at Harry, and Harry grinned back, an unfamiliar warmth blooming in his chest. Was this all part and parcel of having a boyfriend? Having someone to share things—things like orgasms and inside jokes about idiot roommates—with?
Because if this was what it was going to be like, Harry was here for it.
