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Harry laughed and relaxed under his touch, and they swayed in time to the music together, tucked up close, for two more songs.
Jack was almost sorry to stop when the Chinese delivery arrived.
Chapter Nineteen
Harry leaned back against the couch with a sigh as the credits rolled on the romcom. They’d eaten in front of the TV as they watched the rest of the film, sitting close, elbows clashing as they battled over the last spring roll, and he was aware of the heat of Jack’s thigh where it pressed against his own. That, combined with the warmth in his chest from being here together—in a nice hotel, because Jack thought he deserved it—ignited a buzzing under his skin. He itched to feel Jack’s arms around him, his hands on his bare skin in a way they hadn’t been since their fight. They hadn’t done much except cuddle in the last week, and Harry missed it. Which was ridiculous, since he’d managed perfectly well without sex before Jack had come along.
“I like that ending,” he said in an effort to distract himself, waving a hand at the screen before stretching his arms over his head and folding his hands behind his head, bare feet propped on the coffee table.
“Yeah,” Jack said, but something sounded off. It took Harry a second to realise that Jack was staring, his gaze fixed on the strip of belly skin that Harry’s stretch had exposed.
Oh.
Harry allowed himself to preen for a second at the way Jack’s eyes were dark with want. So he was still interested. Harry had never felt like this. Desirable. And he’d never wanted anyone the way he wanted Jack. Apparently, wanting Jack was going to be his new normal. He couldn’t say he minded.
He kind of wanted to take the lead, to drag Jack to bed by his shirt front and pin him down, but he knew himself well enough to admit that he was probably too new at this to pull a smooth move like that off. That didn’t mean he couldn’t try his hand at some kind of seduction, though. He licked a bit of sauce off his bottom lip and was gratified to see Jack’s gaze tracking the movement, his mouth falling slightly open, lips plush and inviting. Heat sizzled under Harry’s skin and his dick stirred. He wondered if he was meant to wait half an hour after eating to have sex. No, wait. That was swimming.
Jack was still watching him, so he got to his feet in what he hoped like hell was a seductive manner but probably just looked like standing. “I feel like we should go and lie down in that fancy hotel bed,” he said, and extended a hand. Jack’s eyebrows rose as he took Harry’s hand. Harry took a deep breath, tangled a hand in Jack’s hair in a way that he hoped made his intentions clear, and kissed him. Jack’s mouth opened under his and Harry slipped his tongue inside, probing gently as Jack kissed back. Then, in case he hadn’t been clear, Harry whispered in his ear, “I’m not actually sleepy, though.” He put his hands on Jack’s hips and rocked his body forward, his rapidly hardening dick a solid presence between them.
Jack’s breath caught, and he gave Harry a dazzling smile. “That sounds like a great idea.” He slid one hand under Harry’s shirt and splayed his palm against the skin of his back, and Harry couldn’t stop the soft sigh that slipped from him at the touch. Jack touching him felt like something that had been missing finally being returned, the last puzzle piece that held them together neatly slotting into place. Jack’s hand stilled at the sound like he thought he’d done something wrong, so Harry nuzzled the curve of his throat the way he knew Jack liked and said, “So, bed?”
The click of Jack swallowing was audible. “Yeah,” he said, slightly breathless, and steered Harry so they were stumbling backwards across the room towards the bed. The back of Harry’s knees hit the edge and he sat, pulling Jack with him. They ended up sprawled sideways, facing each other. Harry grinned at Jack, then rolled over and straddled him, knees sinking into the soft feather doona. He linked his fingers in Jack’s and leaned down to kiss him. The thrill of being in charge like this was powerful and sexy all at the same time.
Jack moaned into his mouth, and Harry could tell that Jack was hard in his jeans, his erection a solid line pressing against his zipper. He lowered himself so he was sprawled over Jack and rocked his hips, grinding them together, the fabric of his boxers slip-sliding against the head of his dick in a haphazard rhythm.
He pulled back and rolled to the side, then tugged at Jack’s shirt. Jack pulled his shirt off over his head and Harry did the same, only hesitating a moment before shimmying out of his cargo shorts and his boxers and dumping the whole lot on the floor. It was still new, being naked in front of someone, but Jack didn’t stare or make it weird. Instead, he shucked out of his own pants and underwear and pulled Harry back on top of him so he could kiss him some more. He made it seem like their bodies sliding against each other was almost an accident, except the way his hands were plastered on Harry’s arse holding him in place clearly proved it wasn’t.
A thrill ran through Harry at the full-body contact and he shuddered, heat prickling under his skin. Feeling bold, he reached between them and lined their dicks up before grinding down, and the slide of skin on skin, it was—fuck, it was incredible. Harry’s balls throbbed and his cock ached, and he had to hold himself still and take a long, slow breath. This was going to be over embarrassingly fast, and he didn’t even care.
Besides, it wasn’t only him. Jack was squirming underneath him, his mouth hanging open as a moan escaped. Harry kissed him again and rocked their bodies together, the drag and pull of another cock against his maddeningly good, a tortuous tease. Every inch of his skin was sensitive to touch, and Jack’s hands on his arse were reassuring and solid, stopping him from flying away. He arched back into the touch, buried his face in the crook of Jack’s neck, and let his body set a rhythm, riding the waves of pleasure that washed over him.
They rocked together, sensation building, until Jack panted out, “Wanna—can I blow you?” in Harry’s ear.
Harry groaned and instead of answering, rolled over onto his back. His cock slapped against his belly, red and hard and slippery where he was leaking precum. Jack took it in hand and stroked it once, twice, before he gave Harry a wicked smile and slid down his body, his mouth engulfing the head of Harry’s dick in a warmth and wetness that was almost overwhelming.
Harry gripped at Jack’s shoulder, fingers digging into the ink of his tattoo, and his hips rolled upward without his permission as he sank deeper into that plush mouth, helpless to stop himself. Jack didn’t seem to mind though, humming and swallowing around the length, his tongue teasing at the slit, making Harry’s dick throb as his breaths came in shallow little pants. Jack ran a hand down the meat of Harry’s thigh, and it was the whisper of fingertips softly feathering through his leg hair, the gentleness of the touch a stark contrast to the way Jack was sucking his dick like he was born for it, that had Harry’s balls drawing up tight. He barely had time to tap Jack’s shoulder in warning before he was coming, an explosion of heat and pleasure rippling through him and leaving him panting and boneless, his chest heaving.
Jack didn’t pull off like he’d expected, instead swallowing around his dick. Through the haze of his orgasm Harry had a second to feel bad about that and wonder if he’d breached some secret rule of dick-sucking etiquette. But Jack didn’t seem in any hurry to move, and it was only when Harry squirmed in discomfort that he pulled off, tongue lapping at the traces of cum on his bottom lip, his pupils blown wide. “Fuck, Harry. That was fucking amazing.”
Okay then. No etiquette breaches here.
Jack crawled up the bed and flopped down next to him, and it was hard to miss the long thread of precum that drooled from the head of his cock as he moved, glistening like spider silk. Harry was hit by a sudden desire to taste it.
He propped himself up on his elbows, and pressed Jack back against the bed. “My turn. It might not be very good, though. Is that okay?”
Jack bit his lip, and Harry hoped he wouldn’t ask if Harry was sure, or tell him he didn’t have to, or any of the things that might imply Harry wasn’t Jack’s equal in bed. He might be new at this, but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to try everything eventually. Well, maybe not everything—figging was out—but most things. And he definitely wanted to know what it felt like to make Jack shake apart with his mouth, the way Jack had done for him.
Relief washed over him when Jack gazed at him, all dark eyes and swollen, kissable mouth, and breathed out, “It’ll be good, because it’s you.”
Harry felt a rush of warmth from the praise, hard on the heels of his arousal. Which, wow, okay, that was back too, even though he’d just come. And maybe it was a really inappropriate time to think it—okay, it was definitely a really inappropriate time to think it—but Harry recalled the lecturer he’d had in his first year of uni, the one who would always enthusiastically proclaim, “We're doing something exciting today! We’re learning a new thing!”
He shuffled down the bed.
Harry was about to learn a new thing.
“Should I ask why you’re laughing when my dick is in your face?” Jack looked down at him with a dubious expression.
Harry snorted. “I want a sticker when I’m done.”
