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He’s laying back with his fingers laced behind his head, head tilted slightly, watching snow fall in fat lazy flakes through the window. Beside him, Jake is sleeping soundly, cuddled up against him in a way that is profoundly embarrassing. Also, fucking awesome. He keeps sneaking looks at him, glancing from the foggy, frost-crusted window panes down to peek at Jake’s goofy dream face, mouth all half open and drooling freely. It makes the corners of his own mouth tug dangerously upward, and the last thing he needs is Jake waking up and catching sight of him mooning over him like -- well. Like the besotted teenager he isn’t so many years off from actually still being.
So he quickly turns his attention back to the snow and the cycle repeats. Winters that are actually cold are still new to him, and before this time and this place and this recycled planet he’d only ever seen the stuff in shows. His and Jake’s place is too far south for it, but Jane always invites them all up north for the holidays. Says it isn’t proper to celebrate if there isn’t snow on the ground. Sets them all up in fancy rooms in her winter villa, and plays the part of the fussy hostess, trying and failing to pretend that she doesn’t enjoy every damn minute of it.
With everyone under one roof, there aren’t many quiet parts of the day. Pretty soon there will be feet stomping around, voices and laughter, impatient knocking on their door, Jane’s pained voice informing them that they are going to miss breakfast if they aren’t out in five minutes and the clock’s ticking, buster.
But for now, it’s just them, and this, and a sense of contentment that still feels foreign, but less so every year.
Outside, a gust of wind drives the snow against the glass, and the window rattles under the assault. Dirk lifts his head and pulls the blankets up a little further. Jane keeps the temperature inside liveable, but her definition of comfortable is about ten degrees cooler than his. It’s always worst in the morning, when they’ve got a pile of blankets and a store of body heat and a bed that’s just so much more comfortable than anything outside it.
Another, stronger gust whistles past the window. Jake moves against him, groaning out a truly pathetic noise. “Five more minutes,” he mumbles into Dirk’s side, tightening the arm he has thrown over him. Dirk stays very still, but he can’t help the quiet, amused sound that escapes him. Jake yawns. Mumbles something unintelligible. When Dirk glances down at him again, his mouth is closed and his eyes are half open, blinking slowly.
“It’s just the wind,” Dirk advises him. “You don’t have to get up, yet.”
“Right,” Jake mumbles back, cracking another yawn. “How friggin’ long have you been up, though?” He nudges one of Dirk’s legs with a knee, admonishing.
“Uh. Not that long,” Dirk says. He doesn’t actually know. The sun had been at least partially up?
“Superbly convincing,” Jake teases him.
“Look, awake or not, I’m not exactly in a hurry to get up either.”
“Really,” Jake says, and his eyebrows shoot up and gets this look, and Dirk’s eyes skip hastily off his face and start tracing nervous patterns on the ceiling, instead. Jake lets out this warm little chuckle against him, and Dirk’s face and shoulders both prickle with heat. “And why’s that,” Jake prompts him, when it becomes clear he isn’t going to say any more on his own.
“Because it’s fucking cold out there,” Dirk replies, too quickly, which makes it sound like he’s covering for exactly what Jake thinks he’s covering for, but he’s not. It’s the actual truth, god damn it. He fidgets in place, just barely resisting the urge to cover his face.
“I bet it’s not so bad,” he says. Which is a bunch of hilarious bullshit, because Jake is almost as big a baby about the cold as Dirk is, usually. Jake sits up, pushing the blankets away. Dirk looks up at him, eyebrows raised. Jake runs his hands through his hair, cracks yet another exaggerated yawn, and Dirk lets his eyes rake down his body because uh, he can’t not. Nice. Jake reaches blindly behind him for his glasses, fumbling around a bit and nearly knocking his phone off the nightstand before he finds them. By the time he has them on he’s already hunching his shoulders like he’s second guessing hopping out of bed into the frigid yonder after all.
“Careful, now,” Dirk says. “If you actually drag your ass out there before Jane comes knocking, you might give her a coronary. That kind of shock, you know. Bad for anyone.”
Jake rolls off his side of the bed, waving a dismissive hand. “Jane would knock your block off if she heard word of you even accidentally insinuating she’d die of a broken heart on my behalf.”
“Fuck,” Dirk says. “You’re right. Don’t tell her I said that.”
“Right-o. Secret’s safe with me,” Jake winks at him -- fuck, it’s too early for this shit -- and walks over to their shared closet, which is full of empty hangers, because their unpacked bags are still sitting in a pile on the floor. Dirk watches him drop to his knees, muttering unintelligibly and rifling through their shit, pulling rumpled clothes out and holding them up. He’s shivering, now. He’s also dressed in nothing but a pair of pretty flimsy boxers, and his ass is still pretty much the best ass in the entire universe, so, yeah. Yep. Dirk sits back, crosses his arms, and just… watches.
The problem is, Jake knows all of this is true, too. So eventually he whips his head around and catches Dirk shamelessly ogling him, just like he knew he would. He quirks one eyebrow and sits back on the floor, which has to be like, way too cold to be comfortable, and Dirk shrugs as though to say, look, what the fuck do you want from me? Jake picks up a shirt, balls it up and throws it at him. Dirk catches it easily and tosses it aside.
“You sure you’re not cold, over there?”
“Please,” Jake says, reaching for another shirt. The wind is rattling the windows, again. “Some men, Strider, are built with hardy constitutions. We don’t wilt in the face of a little bit of a chill.”
Dirk snorts. “Interesting word choice,” he says. Jake smirks at him, and Dirk’s heart does this embarrassing fluttering-squeezing bullshit in his chest. He clenches his jaw, refusing to give in to this transparent bait. “You’re kind of shivering, over there,” he points out, keeping his voice as impassive as possible. Pretty good. Nailed it.
“I’m absolutely not,” Jake insists, though he clearly is, and he heaves himself back up on his feet and holds up a sensible long-sleeved button up shirt that Dirk is absolutely certain he’s never seen him actually wear.
“If you’re trying to impress Jane, you’re gonna need to learn how to operate an iron, first.”
Jake looks it over. He winces and nods, dropping it unceremoniously back into the pile. “They’re all like that,” he says, mournfully.
“Not like it matters too much. You know she’s going to be too busy scolding Dave and Roxy for showing up to the table in their pajamas to notice our own many trespasses.”
Jake laughs. “Imagine if we showed up in our pajamas,” he says, waggling his eyebrows.
“Pretty sure that ends with our grisly deaths.”
“Buried out back in the wild tundra,” Jake agrees. “Not even a marker left for the spot.”
Dirk pulls the blankets up over his shoulders. “But, seriously. I think you’re actually turning blue, man. Oh, shit. Was that the goal all along? Did I crack the code, here?”
Jake gives him an exaggerated eye roll, but he’s kind of fidgeting from one foot to the other, and Dirk thinks he knows why. It’s because his feet are bare and the floor is fucking cold. Jake crosses his arms. “If that’s the case, maybe I ought to find some way to get you out of those blankets. Lord knows you’ll never actually try the body paint, will you?”
“Fuck no,” Dirk says, and Jake heaves a truly dramatic sigh, clutching his chest.
“My poor thwarted fantasies,” he mourns.
“Yeah, sorry. Nothing here but pasty white. Practically transparent. Pretty much the most unattractive color living flesh can be, I think.”
“Now, I don’t know about that,” Jake says. Now he’s rubbing his hands up and down his crossed arms, too. “I’m sure that somewhere, someone out there is incredibly attracted to your otherworldly pallor. I’ve heard tell from several firsthand sources, in fact, that supernatural romance is once again ascendant in the market. Maybe you ought to pose for a cover?” Jake blinks at him, wide-eyed, the very picture of innocence. Dirk pulls the blankets up over his head and groans.
“Fuck,” he says. “Please say you had this conversation with Karkat, not Rose.”
“‘Conversation’ is an overly generous word for it, I’m fairly sure,” Jake says, and Dirk can hear the laughter there, barely in check. His heart is doing the thing, again. He half pokes his head out.
“Sure is warm in here,” he says, muffled into the covers. Jake tucks his hands defiantly into his pits. It says more than he thinks it does about his intentions right now that he hasn’t bothered to put any clothes on, wrinkled or not. “Warm and frankly comfy as fuck.” Jake drops his arms and kicks a few discarded shirts back into the closet with his heel. “Shit, from in here, you can’t even tell it’s literally below freezing out. Like, straight up -- freezing? What’s that? Some shit for people who hate soft blankets and hella decadent guest beds, I guess?”
“Now, hold your tongue there, mister,” Jake interrupts him, and Dirk lets himself grin, since the blankets are covering most of his face, anyway. “I’ll have you know that you’re dancing dangerously close to slander with that implication! I am, as ever, profoundly humbled by and grateful for Jane’s extravagant generosity.”
“Right, of course.”
“But an honorable gentleman can hardly back down from a challenge now, can he? So I suppose I’ll just have to dress myself and march out to face the day, despite my deep appreciation for soft blankets and the like…”
“Jake,” Dirk says. He takes a deep breath.
“Dirk?”
“What if an honorable gentleman’s less honorable boyfriend made an outright dishonorable suggestion, instead?”
“Well now,” Jake says, going very still. “That would be a temptation, wouldn’t it?”
“So…”
“Of course, an honorable gentleman has to hear the terms before he makes any binding decisions,” Jake says, and Dirk sinks down a little lower under the blankets, and seriously contemplates throwing a pillow at him.
“The terms,” he repeats.
“Oh, yes. Explicitly, in fact.”
“Right.” He changes tactics. “Please just get the fuck over here,” he says.
“Hmm. Now, that isn’t very detailed…”
God damn it. “Have you considered that maybe I’m leaving the details up to you for a reason?”
“Unfair,” Jake says, but he takes a couple steps forward. “That’s playing very dirty right there, you of all people ought to know. Leaving me to the whims of my own insatiable imagination, Dirk, really?”
“God. Come off it, Jake, we both know that the nightmare that passes as your imagination is just a constant loop of that fucking blue song from the 90s,” Dirk says. He schools his face, forces it utterly neutral, just as Jake’s eyebrows start to pull down. “Now, listen up --”
“Don’t!”
“Here’s the story, about a little guy --”
“Dirk, no, I swear to god --”
“That lives in a blue world.”
“No! Dirk, I mean it, you are absolutely not --”
“And all day and all night, everything he sees is just --”
“I am not listening to you recite the lyrics to that fucking song again!”
“Blue,” Dirk goes on, blithely, and he’s not even looking at Jake anymore because if he does he will absolutely laugh, and it’s important to do this as dispassionately as possible. “Like him,” he adds, theatrically. Jake groans. “Inside and outside…”
“Oh that is it,” Jake shouts, and they’ve been getting progressively louder, sure, trying to talk over each other and all, but he actually lets this fly at the top of his fucking lungs. And sure enough, in the aftermath of it there comes a series of warning thumps from the room above them, vibrating menacingly through the floor. Jake claps his hands over his mouth, and they both glance upward and then back at each other and are quiet for three entire seconds before they just lose it, completely lose it simultaneously. Dirk buries his face in his arms and the blankets, and Jake laughs into his hands. Dirk tries and fails to remember who has that room, and frankly, he’s glad. There are no good options, and he doesn’t want to know.
When Jake talks again, it’s much quieter, practically a whisper. “Now you’ve done it,” he says, and Dirk lifts his head up just in time to see him leap back onto the bed, which creaks dangerously as he crawls the short distance toward him. His face is all determined and amused simultaneously and god, fuck, he’s so goddamn hot, it’s completely unfair. Dirk lets the blankets drop, and Jake grabs him by the shoulders with fingers that are so cold they actually burn a little, but he doesn’t flinch back. “Fuck that stupid shitty song, and fuck you too,” Jake says, and then he kisses him, hard, mashing their faces inelegantly together the way he always does when he’s especially impatient. Dirk makes a muffled half-protesting sort of sound, but Jake is having none of that, and he responds by working his tongue insistently past Dirk’s teeth and pushing him back against the headboard simultaneously. This slams back against the wall hard enough to make the walls reverberate around them and they both freeze, eyes flying wide open.
The wind whistles against the windows.
No admonishing thumps sound from above… this time.
Jake crawls up into his lap and resumes where he left off, and all creeping thoughts of who might be inadvertently hearing this mercifully scatter. Jake is freezing, but Dirk wraps his arms around him anyway, pulling him closer, running his hands up and down his back. Shit. “Shit,” he repeats, gasping it aloud, and Jake swallows the breath the word comes out on and laughs, rolling his hips against him. Dirk slumps back against the headboard and presses himself up to meet him.
“Hmm,” Jake murmurs eventually, in between long, attentive kisses. He pulls back, blinking slowly, and Dirk peers up at him, breathing fast.
“What?” There’s a thread of anxiety winding itself around the back of his brain, which is fucking stupid, so he does his best to clip it off. Jake likes to tease, and the way his thoughtful expression melts into a little crooked smile confirms it. Dirk raises his eyebrows. Jake leans in, gripping his shoulders tight.
“It’s just that I believe I was promised blankets,” he says, conversationally. He wiggles his eyebrows. He looks ridiculous. “They were described, as I recall, as warm and comfy as fuck?”
“You can’t be serious.” Dirk’s eyebrows climb up even higher. “Are you serious? What do you want me to do, swaddle you like an infant?”
Jake leans back, his hands sliding off of Dirk and wrapping around his own admittedly very exposed body, instead. He’s so gorgeous, fuck. Dirk scoffs at him, but he can’t help the way he licks his lips, still breathing too hard to hide his actual feelings about this. “Are you telling me that you lured me over here under false pretenses?” He slumps backward, affecting a pathetically pouty aura. He’s suspiciously good at it.
“See, but if you would just come back over here, I’m pretty sure we could, like…” He trails off. Jake’s chin lifts and his expert pout wars visibly with a more intrigued expression. “You know,” Dirk says. “Heat things up pretty fast, and all.” His face, in fact, is already burning. He sits up and grabs blindly for the edge of the coverlet bunched up somewhere around his knees.
“You’d like that, would you?” Jake says, just as Dirk finds the edge and yanks it up, pulling it comically over Jake’s shoulders.
“Always do,” Dirk says, and whether Jake’s happy little sigh is in answer to that or just the warmth of the coverlet, he isn’t sure. More importantly, Jake bends down to kiss his way down the side of his neck, wiggling back up flush against him. This leaves Dirk awkwardly holding the blankets in place, or else they’ll just slide their way back down, so he just half-sits there gripping them in his fists while Jake slips his arms around him and nibbles insistently at places that leave him hard and stuttering his hips upward in practically no time at all.
“I’m having a hell of a dilemma,” Jake says, and Dirk lets out this sharp, incredulous little laugh, and thinks, you and me both, buddy. “I know,” Jake goes on, even though he definitely has no fucking idea. “I think I left the… you know,” he makes this mystifying twisting motion with his hands, “in the bag, and on the one hand, if this is going to happen I most certainly need to go retrieve the damn stuff, but on the other hand,” and he slumps down and wraps his arms around Dirk and presses his face against his chest, “You are so fucking warm.” Dirk manages to get one hand free of blanket duty and works his fingers into the mess of Jake’s hair, instead. Jake makes an approving sound.
“I mean,” Dirk says, working all of that through his jammed up brain gears, “Nothing specific has to, uh, happen.”
“But in that case, what a waste!” Jake is practically nuzzling against him, which is nice, even though the plastic corners of his fucking glasses are poking uncomfortably into him now and then. Whatever.
“This is nice, too,” Dirk insists, and his voice sounds less pathetic, now, with his heartbeat slowing back to something not imminently life-threateningly frenetic. This state proves short lived, because Jake then lifts and turns his head and starts pressing these lingering kisses into his collarbones, and his heart starts up into a breathless gallop again, beating almost painfully in his chest. Jake dips his chin and runs his fingers up Dirk’s sides, grinning at the way it makes him squirm involuntarily, hovering in that crisis point directly between pleasurable and just plain ticklish.
“It is,” Jake agrees, finally, dragging his lips down over the freckled, pale expanse of his chest, lifting himself up on his knees and elbows. The blankets hang over them, draped over his back, and Dirk thinks blanket fort and almost chokes to death in his desperation to not laugh at his own internal bullshit. Jake misinterprets this and puts his hands on his shoulders, brows knitting. “Dirk?”
“I’m good,” Dirk gasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “Hey. We don’t have to do anything crazy. We can just like, make out or whatever, at least until Jane knocks and we go scrambling to opposite ends of the room in abject horror.”
Jake makes a thoughtful sound. Shimmies a little further down, deeper into the blankets. He presses his wet mouth against skin that’s really more stomach than chest at this point, and Dirk swallows hard, keeping his eyes firmly closed. “I’m more interested in the or whatever part,” Jake admits, “Not that a bit of good old fashioned necking isn’t a fine time, and all.” He quiets down for a second to do some more mouth stuff down there, slow and playful, sucking lightly at a spot just above his waistband.
“You’re killing me,” Dirk informs him, only half joking.
Jake lifts his chin, and the wet sound his mouth makes as he does so honest to god makes his dick throb. Bullshit. Unfair. “Oh, no. You’ll live,” he promises, and his smile is softer than it was, and it’s so much worse than the smirking. “It’s just, shit, Dirk, these visits are hard on the old frisky business schedule, aren’t they?”
He lets out a startled laugh. “Can you not call it that, Jesus. You make it sound like an official brand of Roxy’s kitty kibble.”
Jake snickers softly, kisses the skin just beneath his navel one more time, and then sits up, sliding the blankets up and off them both with the movement. He’s sitting on Dirk’s legs, hands on Dirk’s hips, fingers toying with the waistband of his boxers. Dirk’s arousal at this point is goddamn painfully obvious, and he can see Jake plainly eyeing this, just getting more smug by the second. God.
“It’d hardly be gentlemanly to leave you in this sorry state,” Jake says. Dirk covers his eyes, pressing the heels of his palms into the sockets, and Jake makes a little scolding sound. “Hey now,” he says, snapping Dirk’s own waistband at him by way of admonition. Dirk grunts at him, but he doesn’t drop his hands. Jake’s fingers walk up his chest, which tickles slightly, and then he pinches one of his nipples, which absolutely does not. Dirk jerks backward, hands flying off his face.
“God damn it!” he hisses, slapping Jake’s arm away, but he doesn’t protest when Jake just brings it right back and starts running his thumb in soothing little circles around him instead. He has a question on his face, though, demanding to be answered. Dirk lets his head fall back. “Whatever you want,” he says, because that’s just how it is. He wants whatever Jake wants, and that’s that.
“In that case, what I want is for you to watch this,” Jake says. Dirk’s answering laugh is far too strained to pass for sincere.
“Watch what,” he says, but Jake is already moving, dipping back down into his previoius position. His breath is hot over Dirk’s stomach, in stark opposition to the chill of rest of the room, and the contrast makes goosebumps prickle up all over his skin, arms and legs and everywhere.
“You know what,” Jake murmurs, halfway down his chest, and yeah, that’s probably fair. Jake’s fingers slide back over the fabric of his boxers, pressing lightly over the embarrassing outline of his dick, and squeeze him firmly through the cloth. A breathy little fuck escapes him, and he nods, forcing his eyes open and his chin down. Jake’s eyes catch his and he grins, letting go of him just long enough to hook his thumbs into his boxers and slide them smoothly down over his hips. Dirk lifts his ass to facilitate this, because Jesus, who wouldn’t, and he wonders vaguely why they’re doing this, meaning this activity in particular, because Jake really likes getting more than he likes giving in general, and, and -- and. Okay. He takes a deep breath. He has to stop. Jake’s mouth is slick and wet and warm and god damn perfect, and like hell is he going to let his broken brain invent something wrong with the situation, lest he dare fucking enjoy it. He shoves his thoughts away, his eyes slide shut, and -- Jake makes this rebuking noise and lifts his head and actually stops.
“Fuck, what are you --”
“Are you going to watch?”
“Ah, shit.” Dirk’s eyes pop open. He viciously quashes another heavy wave of crippling insecurity, looks down at him and just -- nods. Vigorously. “Yeah. Fuck. Look, I’m watching. You’re hot as hell. Like the sun, man. If I go blind --”
Jake makes this exasperated huff sound and dips back down, and of course his transparent ploy works perfectly because there is absolutely no way that he can keep that sentence going with Jake English’s mouth all over his dick. Words melt into a long, enthusiastic groan, instead. It feels incredible, it always does. Jake never really tries to take too much, but he’s super fucking eager about what he does go in for, and god damn. He laps at him with the flat of his tongue, then takes the head into his mouth, applying just the right pressure, and all the while he’s shooting insistent looks up at Dirk and every moment of eye contact while he does this is fucking agony.
“Jesus,” Dirk gasps, closing his eyes for just a bit longer than he should be allowed to get away with. Jake makes a noise around him, and it feels so fucking good, that noise vibrating around him, that tongue turning in lazy circles, that face -- Jake English, everybody -- bobbing up and down in shallow yet enthusiastic motion on his dick. Dirk breathes out quiet moans, encouraging him, disconnected words occasionally falling out unbidden between embarrassing sounds. Yes, good, holy shit, dude -- fuck yeah or fuck yes, and sometimes just Jake, Jake, Jake with his hips moving and legs squeezing in time with each plea.
So it’s a shock when Jake’s mouth pops off of him, unprompted by any particular misbehavior Dirk is immediately aware of. He licks one final long stripe up the underside of his dick and then lifts his head up, running his tongue over his lips and shaking his head. Dirk makes a dismayed sound, blinking furiously, mouth dropping open to ask -- what did I do? But his thoughts are all caught up in a fog, and he just kind of makes a desperate questioning grunting sound instead of doing anything articulate.
Jake grins at him, and Dirk’s cock twitches and his heart stutters all in tandem. “Shit, Dirk, I know, I’m the worst, but I thought it would and as it turns out it’s just not going to work.”
“What?” Oh, good, he’s found his words like a fucking adult. “What are you talking about? What’s not going to work?”
Jake kisses the juncture between his pelvis and thigh, and wraps his fingers blessedly around Dirk’s bereft cock and pumps the length of it, squeezing tight. His head falls back with a tired, needy groan. “You’re just too god damn tempting, Dirk, what am I supposed to do? Just jerk myself off when I’ve got you laying here like this,” he stops to laugh, “-- with this --” and he squeezes meaningfully, leaving absolutely no ambiguity. “Jesus Christmas.”
“Jake,” Dirk says, sucking in a deep breath, “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, and you’re fucking killing me, man. You’re killing me.”
“Just wait,” Jake says, and he gives him one final little squeeze and then gets up on his knees, tossing the blankets off the bed completely. Dirk just lays there for a second on his back, his boxers tangled around his hips, blinking up at the ceiling. Jake mutters a string of perplexing curses, sliding backward off the bed. Dirk shivers as the sheen of sweat he’d been working up starts to cool against his skin, and off to the side he hears what sounds like Jake ferreting through their things in the closet, again.
“What the fuck are you looking for?” he demands, when his brain fog dissipates enough to form the query. It comes out vaguely accusatory.
“You know!” Jake throws his hands up and wiggles his fingers suggestively. “The stuff!”
He’s opening his mouth, about to demand something a little more goddamn descriptive, when it hits him. He sits up, wrapping his arms self consciously around himself. Fuck, it’s fucking cold in here. Jake looks ridiculous, his bare ass wiggling as he crawls around in the mess of their belongings.
“Are you looking for the fucking lube?”
“Yes! Where the fuck is it? I’m sure I had it right --”
“Here?” Dirk uncurls himself and opens the nightstand drawer. Jake hears this and whips his head around, his face a mask of horror.
“You put it there?”
“Well, fuck, man, what good was it going to do us in the fucking closet?”
“You actually put a half used tube of sex grease into Jane’s fucking nightstand drawer?!”
“Can you not call it that, please? And it’s not Jane’s drawer, it’s ours. I mean, I guess technically it’s Jane’s, in the, uh, overarching sense, but realistically it’s not like anyone is going through our shit, and -- come on.” He can’t help it, it’s too absurd. He covers his face, swallowing a bout of nervous laughter. “It’s not like I was going to forget it, fuck.”
Jake just gapes at him. Dirk leans over the side of the bed, grabs the blankets off the floor, and pulls them up over himself, burying his face in them. Very adult. Nailed it. “Thought it would be better to have it nearby,” he goes on, weakly.
“I see. So you were prepared for this exact eventuality,” Jake says, and he at least sounds less like he’s being scandalized to death before his very eyes. “I should have known!”
“Well, you know, people are always telling me, Dirk, you should really be more optimistic…”
Jake laughs, and it’s this high pitched nervous giggle that sounds so fucking ridiculous that Dirk can’t help but laugh, too. There’s this rustling sound while Jake presumably gets back up, a few hurried footsteps, and then the bed creaks while he climbs back in and crawls up close. He tugs the blankets off of Dirk just sits there, shaking his head. “Give me that thing,” he says, holding out a hand.
“Only if you seriously promise to stop calling it fucking sex grease,” Dirk says. “I’m not a god damned robot.”
Jake waves a hand. “The wank wax.”
“No.”
“Motion lotion.”
“I swear to god --”
“Dirk, please hand over the sexy toil oil --”
“Absolutely not.”
Jake makes a grab for it. Dirk holds it insistently out of reach. “The scream cream,” Jake decides.
“Maybe the worst one yet?”
“Oh, fine. The blessed fucking lube tube, Strider, hand it over!”
“All right.” Dirk tosses it at him. “I’ll let that one slide.”
“Slide,” Jake repeats, snorting.
“Don’t make me take it back.”
“I’d like to see you try,” Jake says, and then he’s crawling triumphantly back over him, and Dirk hastily unfolds himself backward to accommodate. His thoroughly wilted boner stirs back to semi-attention with Jake’s body pressed all up against him like this, his breath warm in his face. Jake reaches down between them and grips him tight, squeezing and stroking him rhythmically back to life. Dirk concentrates on making appreciative noises, trying his damn best not to overthink it, but when Jake squirts a handful of hard won lube into his hand and continues working Dirk over with it, his suspicion overrides the pleasure and he catches Jake’s wrist, frowning.
“What are you doing?”
“Let’s see! All the damn work, as far as I can tell, your Majesty,” Jake quips back, and there’s this second, this shitty little moment where Dirk’s brain tries to seize on that and make it more than just teasing, make it commentary, make it a problem, and it takes some effort to pull it in. But he does. He lets go of Jake’s wrist and lets himself fall back into the pillows, twitching his hips up appreciatively.
“Which only he makes me more suspicious,” he says, finally, plucking the response out of an ocean of way more pathetically insecure ones on the tip of his tongue. “You must have a hell of a payoff in mind for all this effort.”
“You know me too well,” Jake says, and he punctuates this by giving his dick another tight squeeze, right at the base. “I was thinking…” He strokes him slowly, thumbing the tip. Dirk focuses all his attention on how good this feels, being touched like this, slicked up like this. He sighs, hissing softly through clenched teeth. “I’d like to be the one that does the climbing today, if you get what I’m saying.”
A strained laugh rattles out of him. “I don’t know, Jake. Are you sure you’re up for all that work, though?”
“Well, you know what they say about Texas rodeo,” Jake says, grinning like the atrocious fucking handsome little imp he is.
“Oh my fucking god,” Dirk groans into his hands. “Never say that again.”
“It’s never easy, but it’s always fun--”
“Hey, yeah, and sometimes you end up in a hospital, and you goddamn deserve it, jackass.”
Jake doesn’t bother arguing. Instead he just makes a dismissive scoffing sound and leans over him to kiss him again. Dirk allows this, because he is physically incapable of denying Jake English access to him in basically whatever capacity he wants. Jake makes an appreciative, husky little moan against his mouth that almost does a better job of stirring his dick up than the actual touching. They settle back into this, grinding and groaning and generally just getting all up in each other’s business. Dirk manages to kick his boxers off, freeing his legs to curl around the back of Jake’s knees, and simultaneously he works Jake’s down his hips, too.
“So,” Jake gasps into his ear, “How about it, then?”
“Dude,” Dirk slides his hands down and squeezes Jake’s gloriously bare ass, eliciting a surprised little jump from him. “You know I’ll do whatever you damn well want.”
“Maybe so,” Jake says. His brows furrow. “But--”
“But you’d better hurry your ass up if you’re going to beat the timer we’re working against, here,” Dirk says, and Jake shoots a glance at the window. It’s full on morning, outside, and the clouds are breaking up. It’s hard to tell if the snow in the air is still falling, or just blowing off the eaves of the building. If it were any other season there’d have been birds chirping everyone awake and shit. “Hand over the -- what’d we decide on? Right, the lube tube, if you please. Someone’s got some goddamn work to do, for once.”
Jake gives him this tired smile and sits back, and just kind of looks at him. It makes him nervous, but that’s nothing new.
“Well?” Dirk wiggles his fingers in his face. “You didn’t lose it, did you?”
“Dirk, I swear to christ, I’m only going to ask this friggin question one time and you had better answer me with the truth.”
“Wow,” Dirk blinks, dropping his hand. “Alright. What?”
“Do you or do you goddamn not want me to climb into your skinny little lap and ride you like a wild bronco, right now?”
“Oh my god,” Dirk chokes. His arms fly up and cross firmly over his face.
Jake leans in, his hands sliding over Dirk’s shoulders, back behind his neck, pulling him close, but his arms don’t budge an inch. “Besides,” he says into his ear, smooth and conspiratory, “You know perfectly well that door is locked, sir.”
“I do,” Dirk agrees, faintly, muffled into the crooks of his own elbows.
“So no, I don’t intend to hurry.” Jake slides his fingers roughly into Dirk’s hair, one hand clutching a fistful of it back so his chin tilts up with the motion. Dirk’s stomach flips over and his heart kicks back into high gear. His ears fill with the sound of it beating in his throat. “Is that aright with you, Dirk?”
“That is,” Dirk licks his lips, and Jake’s eyes move to watch that, and oh, god. “I mean, that’s, yes. Right. That’s all right. One hundred percent, all systems go, I’m --”
Jake cuts him off with a kiss, which, thank god for that. Dirk is still for a few frenzied heartbeats, and then he sits up and wraps his arms around Jake’s neck and kisses back, shoving all his thoughts about noise and time and the light streaming in through the window and all of it into a corner, a tiny little inconsequential corner where he can just ignore that and enjoy this, instead.
Jake wiggles his boxers the rest of the way off and kicks them over to who knows where, and then he wraps an arm around the small of Dirk’s back and bends him backward over it. Dirk shifts himself down and grinds up against him, using one hand to search for the fucking lube -- please still be somewhere on this damn bed -- while he pants desperate sounds into Jake’s mouth. Eventually, Jake realizes what he’s doing and sits up, laughs breathlessly, and helps him find the stupid thing.
He scoots up to put himself in reach, lifting himself up on his knees, and Dirk wraps one arm around the back of his neck and pulls him down hard while his other hand busies itself behind him. The lube is cold, but Jake himself is decidedly not, and it’s nice to have so much to concentrate on because it keeps everything else the hell out. He works Jake open with his fingers on one end and his tongue on the other, and the sounds that Jake makes in response make his middle flare with familiar, hungry heat. Soon enough he has Jake rocking against him, grinding his ass back on his fingers in one motion and his dick against the hollow between Dirk’s ribs with the other, growling into his mouth. Dirk opens his fingers, stretching him, and Jake pulls off his mouth and gasps a string of increasingly ridiculous curses into his shoulder. The back of his neck is slick with sweat, and certain parts of Dirk’s own anatomy are begging, begging, just fucking begging to keep this moving.
“Give me that,” Jake gasps at him, straightening up on his knees, and obediently, Dirk pulls his fingers out and wipes them surreptitiously on the sheets. He grunts as he grabs and then hands off the bottle, and Jake’s fingers shake a bit as he shimmies back and works Dirk up one more time. Jake doesn’t bother wiping his hands off when he’s satisfied, which turns out to be pretty fucking funny when he then tries and fails to get a good authoritative grip on Dirk’s wrists. His fingers just kind of slide up Dirk’s forearm, and Jake swears profusely and Dirk laughs, genuinely fucking laughs in his face.
But even as he does so, he lifts his arms and puts them where he knows Jake wants them, up over his head. Jake holds him down with one slippery hand, and it’d be easy to get free if he had any interest whatsoever in doing so. He one hundred percent does not. He watches while Jake grips himself in his other hand, guiding them together, and he knows god damn well that Jake wants him to watch his face as he sinks down with a wholly satisfied breathy moan. So he does. And it’s fucking exquisite, like always.
As promised, Jake takes his time -- at least at first. He starts with this slow, grinding motion, his gorgeous green eyes half hooded and arresting Dirk’s gaze completely. And again, like always, looking at him while they do this is way too fucking much. Dirk’s eyes slide down and trace the curve of his jaw, the line of his neck, the broad expanse of his shoulders instead. Jake makes a soft needy sound and they move together, sneaking looks at each other, electric jolts going through him when their gazes cross and their eyes lock and Jake grins at him and moves his whole body on top of him, and -- fuck, he thinks, oh fuck, oh fuck.
“Jake,” he pants, squirming beneath him, and Jake leans back and Dirk watches his muscles clench and release and move him faster, faster, up and down. The bedsprings are conducting an embarrassing symphony beneath them, and Dirk actually does wiggle one arm free to hold the headboard back so it can’t go on cheerfully bouncing into the fucking wall, jesus christ. Everyone can probably hear this and he is way too far gone to care. Jake is a fucking sight, he could just watch and appreciate and experience this forever… except he can’t. There’s already a telltale tightness pulling together deep in his belly, heat and pressure building right behind his cheerfully bouncing balls, and he chokes on an undignified half-moan, half-laugh at the intrusive image that flashes behind his eyes, a little frenzied.
Blessedly, Jake doesn’t seem to notice his myriad dilemmas. “Dirk,” he’s busy panting, “Sweet criminy, yes, Dirk, oh jesus jumped up fucking christ,” he goes on babbling, and it’s funny, absolutely, it’s fucking hilarious, but it’s also Jake English clutching desperately at him while he loses his mind on his dick, and he simply cannot last very long in the face of that fact. And the problem is, this isn’t like when Jake fucks him. When Jake fucks him, he can just let it take him whenever he wants and Jake can just keep on going, grinding into all his oversensitive parts until he’s shaking, hoarse and begging, and -- fuck, fuck, he can’t think about that, what the fuck. What the fuck. He might be saying that out loud, oh, what the fuck.
Jake folds forward, changing -- everything, the feel of it, the angle, the view -- and buries his face into Dirk’s neck, muffling a pretty constant stream of nonsense into the skin there, punctuated by short, raspy gasps. He slides an arm between them and jerks himself with shameless abandon, his knuckles sliding rough against Dirk’s stomach. Dirk wraps his arms around his shoulders, clinging tight to him and gasping humiliating shit at him, too. Eventually, Jake is just saying his name, repeating it over and over in time with his movements, and it’s too much. Just way too fucking much. His body and his brain both simply and simultaneously give up. His hips jerk and his breath catches and he feels Jake clench exquisitely around him, and the backs of his eyelids go momentarily white.
His arms go loose and Jake laughs into the space between the joint of his shoulder and the underside of his jaw, still rocking against him and working his dick in his own grip. “Oh, you fucking did it, didn’t you,” he says, teasing, and then he bites him hard enough to elicit a shocked, breathless sound, and Dirk practically spasms beneath him.
“Shit, Jake, I just -- shit,” he moans. He wants to apologize, and he fights the urge, Jesus, self, not right now. Jake sits up, wiggles his hips, and Dirk watches with lidded eyes and parted lips while he finishes himself off, breathing hard. His face is a sight to behold, locked in pleasure, but then, so is his dick, painting his chest and stomach in warm, pearly streaks.
And then it’s just their breathing, for awhile. The blankets are long gone, but the cold is far away, and he’s vaguely aware from the way his ears are ringing with the relative silence that everyone in the goddamn cabin probably knows what just went down. He cannot quite yet bring himself to give a fuck, though he does wince when Jake drags a corner of the sheet over him, wiping up most of his pretty mess before he flops down bonelessly atop him. Dirk threads his fingers in his hair, and Jake makes a murmured sound of approval. His nose and the corners of his glasses are poking uncomfortably into him. He doesn’t really give a fuck about that, either.
When their heartbeats slow and the sweat starts to dry and the chill sets in, Jake takes it upon himself to fish around for the discarded blankets, pulling them up and over them, snuggling in tight. Dirk’s eyes flicker to the window. The clouds are gone, and the grey tint to everything indoors and out has gone with it. Bright sunlight glitters in through the frozen glass.
“Hey,” he says, voice hoarse. “Look at that. Nice start to another beautiful fuckin’ day here in winter wonderland.” Jake makes a noise that’s hard to interpret -- he’s either agreeing or making fun of him or both.
“For my own part I have to say, I don’t know why we ever actually get out of bed. What a stupid idea. What’s out there that’s better than what we can manage right here, I say.”
Dirk’s fingers still and tighten in his hair, tugging gently. A million thoughts flash through his mind at once, most of them some flavor of Nah, dude, you’d get sick of me eventually, but it’s gotten easier to swallow that reflex down. “Having a hard time coming up with anything,” he says instead, and Jake chuckles, softly.
“We oughta just tell them all to sod off for a day,” he says, cracking a yawn. “Snuggle up here and waste all the daylight hours snoozing and canoodling and give a hearty fuck you to whatever the busybodies have to say about it.”
Dirk grins into his hair. He’s so god damned full of shit. The second Jane or Roxy or Jade or anyone so much as gives him a sideways look he’ll be tripping all over himself to get back in their good graces, and so will he. But...
“Sounds good,” he says, instead of saying any of that, because -- well, it damn well does.
They get about ten minutes like this before their phones go off, buzzing simultaneously on the nightstands. Jake startles up, nearly knocking the top of his head into Dirk’s jaw, and looks over and narrows his eyes at them, fidgeting in place.
“Well?” Dirk teases him, crossing his arms under his head. Their phones go off again, and it feels… ominous. “Going to shut them off for us, there, English?”
Jake shoots him a panicked look, opens his mouth, and closes it again. Dirk raises his eyebrows. One of their phones vibrates right off the stand and clatters to the floor. Sweet.
“God damn it,” Jake mutters, swinging off him and the bed to fetch his. Dirk sits up, watching him fuss over it, and is surprised to find that a… not insignificant part of him is just thinking, smugly -- Whatever. Worth it.
...Mostly.