Check What? Deeze Pucks!

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“It’s not like this with other people.”

Eric whispers it against Jack’s lips with the gentleness of a well-worn secret. He isn’t sure how long they’ve been here, Jack on the edge of his bed and Eric in his lap, little points of contact, and he doesn’t know what spurred this moment into fruition. One second Eric heard Jack come home from his last final, the next he was walking into Jack’s room with sudden intent, and now—

It’s not like this with other people.

He hates how small he sounds in saying that, he hates how true it is—all those dates the boys set him up on, all those fumbled encounters at the bars, the stilted online messages and brief kegster hookups. They don’t even compare to the feel of Jack beneath him like this, how safe and easy and powerless Eric feels.

Something minute changes in Jack’s features, his lips nearly brushing Eric’s when he speaks. “What is?”

“This,” Eric says again, breathlessly.

There’s a moment where everything lingers—Jack’s hands spread across Eric’s back, the early-May sun warming the corners of the room, the weight of Eric’s legs framing Jack’s thighs—and something heavy rises in Eric’s chest at the sight of it. Hope, fear, all these words begging to be said clawing up his throat. He has to fiddle with the ends of Jack’s hair at the nape to distract himself from popping this surreal bubble they’ve made. He’s made.

Two years ago, Eric walked out of SMH’s first practice promising to himself that Jack Zimmermann would never hold any control over him. It was easy then, what with how Jack treated him those first few months. He made sure to keep that promise even as the years passed, even as Jack and he got closer and closer—teammates to friends to this carefully constructed and barely acknowledged balance they have now—because no matter what, Eric knew it would never end without regret. It was this intrinsic sense in the back of his mind, in the bottom of his gut he felt around Jack nearly all the time.

Granting Jack control would be handing him pieces of Eric that would never be given back.

Somewhere between last summer and right now, though, Eric lost sight of that promise, Jack now has a piece, and the aftermath is this situation Eric can’t remedy, not when he’s so openly exposed himself. The decision has been laid out and Eric’s given his part. Only Jack can make it now.

“Jack?”

Jack blinks, his eyes beautiful in the evening light. Then, slow and tentative, he presses his lips against Eric’s again. “This?”

Eric takes a moment before he nods.

One of Jack’s hands moves from Eric’s back, up his arm to his neck, squeezing the curve of muscle there. The skin of his palm is rough, the smell of him delicately overwhelming. He moves forward again, almost jerkily, just enough that Eric can’t stop himself from taking another kiss. It’s deeper, longer, and it’s not enough and it’s too short.

“It’s not,” Jack murmurs. There’s a shutter in his voice, saying more, saying with clarity the fear Eric’s had since that day in the kitchen.

It’s not the right time.

ugly meet au: strangers bitty and jack hit it off at a holiday party at the volleyball team's house, and in a move uncharacteristic for them both decide to sneak upstairs. bitty, because he decided his new year's resolution is to date and have sex no matter what, and jack, because the team had a bad run and for once he wants to just forget about hockey instead of obsess about it.

it'd be a mutually destructive night, except they both freak out at the last second and balk.

and it'd remain only an embarrassing memory otherwise, except they both start the first day of the new semester finding out they're taking a tiny class together.

It’s late when they get back to their hotel, the floor quiet as Jack pulls the keycard out of his pocket and swipes into their room. If Jack were still playing, their hallway would be filled with the sounds of exultant hockey players, high off of a playoff season overtime win, chirping each other across the hall and slamming doors. But Jack’s GM now, and he always makes sure his assistant books his room on a different floor. 

The room is dark, illuminated by the lights of the city, visible through not-quite-opaque curtains. Bitty should have turned on the entryway light before he left for the game. He hadn’t counted on getting back this late, or drinking just enough to make everything seem just a little off balance. He trips over his own feet and sways into Jack, steadying himself against Jack’s left bicep.

“Easy, bud,” Jack chuckles, and Bitty can tell Jack’s already starting to loosen his tie as they stumble their way to the bed. Jack won’t turn on the light, not now, but Bitty’s eyes have begun to adjust. 

I don’t know what to write on these anymore?

nsfw.

tape / zimbits, rated e, 2.8k

pwp, massage, rimming, fingering, anal sex, jack watches tape and bitty plays with him

my first offering for peach week! it doesn’t follow any prompt outside of the bitty is hot as fuck general bandwagon that I think we should all jump on. 😌

enjoy!

i've had a ton of headcanons and ideas abt things bitty has done floating around in my head so im sharing them with yall bc i love them

-he's very familiar with moonshine. he has many opinions on it, especially the horrible stuff sold in stores, and he WILL eloborate if given the chance

-he could play a pretty good fiddle at one point, but is very out of practice and he'd love to pick it up again

-he's very good behind the wheel of any vehicle on a dirt road, even the most rocky, pot holed, washed out, sandy roads imaginable. the first time jack experiences this he's both car sick and falling even deeper in lust love with bitty by the minute 

-bitty can make the most fucked up almost just plain explosives firecrackers 

-he’s just about as handy as dex when he needs to be, but is not above pie-related bribery to get dex to do it instead

-when he Really Laughs it's actually quite loud and deep

-he raised a nest of baby sparrows by hand when he was 13

-he's a beast on a mechanical bull

-he gives Jack his hat at some form of event down in Madison. jack only knows what it means bc bitty had explained it to him earlier when a guy had given his hat to his girl to a flood of wolf whistles. jack is Flustered™ but incredibly pleased

“I’m so sorry,” jack repeats, one more time. 

“‘s okay, sweetie,” the man – bitty – says, still holding a bloody kleenex against his nose. he looks even paler now than he had been in the dark corridor, in his ghostly-white make-up. “people react ‘ifferently.”

“yeah, euh,” jack chuckles. “I thought I’d be fine. it really was just instincts.” instincts, that made him slam the door close of that one haunted house corridor shut just as bitty had popped up on the other side of it, screaming at him. 

then, the scream had turned rather pained.

“I hope it’s not broken,” he says. “it shouldn’t be. it doesn’t look broken.”

good, because otherwise he’d have defaced someone who ended up not being a ghost, but actually a cute cute-looking guy. 

“’ealt with a lot of ‘roken noses, huh?” bitty asks, with a half-smile. 

“actually, yeah.” he rubs at the back of his neck. “ice it ten minutes every hour and it should be fine in a few days. I really am sorry. if there’s anything I can do to make up for it…”

bitty lifts his face from his kleenex. “what about… a date, maybe?”

jack blinks. “that’s a concussion, not a broken nose.” 

no expectations

The end of the year has been a whirlwind, sure, but it still feels surreal that this is it; it’s all over for this year’s seniors. Bitty fixes his tie one last time, takes a deep breath to center himself, and leaves his room. He’d filmed the intro to his vlog, and he’d meant to film more, but he’d been at a loss for words once the weight of the day finally settled on him. Jack and Shitty are graduating. They’re leaving Samwell to do bigger and better things, and sure, they’ll visit when they can, but Harvard? The NHL? Their lives are going to be so busy, a visit or two a month will be lucky all things considered. Bitty knows why it’s hitting him so hard, and it’s not because of Shitty-- though Bitty is going to miss him something fierce-- but because of Jack. 

The last thing to go into his bag is his toothbrush, and Bitty stands there holding onto it for minutes on end, like maybe as long as it’s not packed none of it is has to be real.

“Bitty?” Jack asks quietly from somewhere outside the bathroom, and when Bitty looks up he sees him in the mirror, hovering by the doorway with his shoulders hunched. His face is pale and blotchy. Bitty’s is, too. 

The toothbrush is Samwell red. Jack got it for him back in August, before he even saw the inside of this apartment; Bitty found it sitting on the counter the first night he spent here. So you’ll have a spare when you come over, Jack said earnestly, awkwardly, and what Bitty heard was, I want you here. He can’t bear to leave it behind now, when he’s already walking out on much more important things. 

“I hate this,” he says, even though he really shouldn’t. Not when they’re both hurting so badly as it is. A part of him is angry that this is the first time they’ve had alone together in months and they’re wasting it on this. The rest of him knows that if they go on like this, sooner or later one of them’s going to break, and there’d be no way to put the pieces back together. 

Neither of them are willing to do that to one another.

“Me, too,” Jack says. His voice is hoarse from crying. Bitty wants to drop the toothbrush and turn around, throw his arms around Jack and hold on tight, tell him that it’s okay, that they’re going to figure this out, that as long as they have each other’s backs there’s nothing that could come between them. 

But he doesn't, because that would be lying.

“This is for the best,” is what he actually says, taking in a deep breath then letting it out slowly. He wipes a few stray tears from his lashes with a knuckle and repeats firmly, “We’ll – we’ll look back at this in a few months or, or a year, and we’ll know that it was the right thing to do. Right? I’ll retake this year’s courses and pass them this time, and you won’t be too tired to play your best, and. And we’ll be friends again, so we’ll still have each other.” He stops then, heart racing, the sick feeling that’s been twisting his stomach for hours getting worse, and looks over his shoulder to meet Jack’s eyes directly. “We’ll still have each other, right? Tell me we’ll – tell me we’ll try to be friends again, that we won’t – Jack –”

“Yeah,” Jack breathes out in a rush, voice cracking mid-syllable. His throat jumps when he swallows. “I promise. I – Bittle. It might – it might take a while, before we can…” Be in the same room without bursting into tears, he doesn’t say, yet somehow Bitty hears anyway, “but I promise we’ll get better. I can’t – we’re a team, Bits. Always.” 

“Lord,” Bitty whispers. He doesn’t bother wiping his tears this time. They’re spilling out too quickly, streaming over tacky cheeks and soaking the collar of his shirt. “I hate this. I hate this. I wish we – I wish we could just fast forward, y’know? Skip all this stupid time where I have school and you have hockey and – get to the point where we have all the time in the world to just. Be together.” His voice is wobbling, and he knows he has to get it together before he starts sobbing again. “Ugh, I’m sorry. Skipping to your forties probably isn’t your dream scenario.”

Jack’s answering smile is tiny and really, really sad, but it’s there. “Being forty sounds kinda nice when you put it that way, eh? Never thought I’d look forward to retirement. Would you even want me in my forties? You know what my dad says about his joints.”

I’ll always want you, Bitty wants to scream, but can’t. He hopes Jack knows anyway. “Sure I would, sweetpea. Joints and all.”

“Maybe if we’re both single then,” Jack says, and it’s supposed to be a joke, Bitty knows it is, but it’s also raw and desperate. Both of them clinging to the idea of a time where they get to have this, where they get to keep this. “We could get married, do it right. Whaddaya say?” 

“All right,” Bitty says, partly laughing and partly crying. This isn’t the proposal he thought he and Jack would have one day, but he’ll take it. Joke or no joke. “If we’re both single by forty, we’ll get married. I might even get to feed you wedding cake, huh? No more hockey diet.” 

Jack ducks his chin. He doesn't reply, but his eyes are glinting.

The toothbrush ends up at the bottom of Bitty’s bag, under a pile of hoodies he used to keep at Jack’s and a textbook from the French class he failed. It’s not much comfort, when Bitty’s crying himself to sleep that night, but it’s all he has to carry him over: worse comes to worst, at least he’ll only have to pine away for nineteen years.

jack inviting bitty to play golf and bitty agreeing but saying he doesn’t know how to play actual golf. jack saying he’ll teach him and bitty picturing jack ✨~teaching him to play golf~✨ like in the movies but really it’s a fully structured golf lesson and bitty ends up just uncomfortably sweaty and bored.

by hole 7 bitty gets frustrated and tells jack what he thought their day would look like. jack just going ‘oh’ and immediately gives into bitty’s ~learning how to golf~ fantasy and they only make it three more holes before their sexual tension is just through the roof and they throw in the towel to go home and bone