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Holly is staying over at Jessica’s tonight. Finally.
It’s not that she isn’t beloved--she’s the apple of both Holland and Jackson’s eyes, without question. It’s just that in their already delicate situation, having a child around just serves to complicate things. If there’s one thing they don’t want, it’s the girl they have come to think of as their shared daughter to hear them having sex. Hasn’t the kid been through enough?
Usually, that means quiet, hurried sex in weird places and at strange times, which can be sort of hot on it’s own, to be fair. But everything gets old eventually, so when Holly says she wants to go to Jessica’s birthday sleepover, they’re more than happy to send her on her way.
Which leads them to this. To Holland, shoved up against the wall, one leg wrapped around Jackson’s thick waist, rutting against each other like horny teenagers. They’ve been falling around the room, leaving behind bits of clothing as they go for the better part of an hour, just enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressed together. At present, Holland’s fingers are fiddling with Jackson's belt buckle, attempting to tear it off clumsily rather than break their kiss to actually look at what the hell he’s doing.
Jackson pulls back and undoes the damn thing for him, throwing it in the pile where their shirts lie. He starts to pull them backwards and trips over one of his shoes, which is only made worse by Holland already trying to shove his pants down. He steps back and instead goes for his undershirt, which Holland has already gotten rid of. He throws it away and goes to grab Holland by the waist again. Strangely, Holland sidesteps him with a sly grin.
Jackson studies him for a moment. Holland is a step away, muscles tense like he’s poised for a fight. Jackson assess him, sees the glimmer in his eyes; the challenge sparkling there. He shoves him lightly back, crowding him up against the side of the bed until he falls onto the mattress, looking up at him with those giant blue eyes. He grabs him by the hair and Holland’s eyes go half-lidded, his mouth dropping open in surprised pleasure.
“You like that?” Jackson is mostly checking that this is okay to do, but he manages to make it sound sort of sexy. Holland makes an affirmative noise, his eyes fluttering shut as Jackson pulls his head around for a few minutes. He changes his grip on his hair every now and then, going from gripping at the tips to gripping at the root, from guiding him to yanking him, watching, enraptured, as Holland allows himself to be played with.
He lets go, rocking back on his heels and fishing his cock out of his pants, leaving them on for the time being despite Holland being totally naked. Holland looks up at him through girlish lashes, breathing hard.
"I want..." He starts, but he trails off, like maybe he's not sure what he wants. Jackson is familiar with these moments. These are the times when Holland wants Jackson to decide what Holland wants. So he does.
He grips Holland around the throat. Holland’s breath catches against his hand and he presses down on his jaw until his mouth opens as wide as it will go, and from there, it’s simple. He holds Holland’s head in his hand and pushes the length of his cock steadily into his mouth. He goes slowly but without stopping, watching as Holland’s eyes water as he attempts to become accustomed to how deep Jackson is going.
“You good?” Jackson double checks. Holland is panting and bright red, his cock hard and dripping pearls of precome already. A bit of drool hangs from his lower lip. He grunts, enthusiastically. Jackson resumes character.
He pulls back just a bit and thrusts forward, still moving carefully for the first few minutes until he feels Holland’s throat truly go lax around him. Emboldened, he begins to thrust in earnest, gripping a handful of blonde hair as he fucks into the wet throat in front of him. He grits out praises every so often, calling Holland a good boy, saying he's doing it just right, yes, just like that, beautiful. Holland starts to gasp and make wet moaning noises around him, and Jackson has to stop and catch his breath to keep from coming down his throat right that second.
He steps back and runs a hand through his hair, pushing the sweaty strands away from his eyes as he regains his composure. Holland stares up at him, eyes shot black with arousal, nothing but Jackson’s pants left between them, now. He gives his dick one long, indulgent tug and then squares his shoulders and kicks off his jeans at last, stepping into Holland’s space again. He shoves him flat on the bed, this time, boxing Holland in with his arms and attacking his mouth. It’s all teeth and tongue and hurried, hot contact, and Jackson is hard pressed to remember any kiss that’s been better.
They break apart for air and Jackson is inspired.
“You trust me?” He asks.
“Yeah.” Holland says, without missing a beat. Jackson leans down and grabs his belt off the floor.
“Turn over.” He says. Holland looks reluctant. “Please.” Jackson tacks on at the end. Holland does it.
“Are you gonna hit me?” He asks. Jackson raises an eyebrow. The tone of Holland’s voice suggest that’s not something he’d be totally against, which Jackson files away for later, but it isn't what he has in mind.
“No.” He says. “Hands, please.”
After only a moment of hesitation, Holland thrust his wrists upwards. Jackson wraps his belt around them in a careful figure eight around one of the bars in the headboard. It isn’t enough to incapacitate Holland by far, but it gets the point across. Jackson smooths his hands down Holland’s back, pressing his hips down when he arches up to meet him. He grips just above Holland’s knees and pulls them apart a bit, leaning down first to drag the curve of his nose along the soft, pale skin that meets him there. He rubs his face up and down the inside of Holland’s thighs a few times, feeling his muscles tense under his fingers and relax again, hearing the thrumming of his blood against his ears when he slows. He tilts his head back, brushing his closed mouth over the pinkish tinge left behind by the scrape of his stubble, getting no further than the swell of Holland’s ass before he moves back down again.
After a moment, he opens his mouth, dragging his tongue in careful swirls over the warm skin. Holland gasps above him, arching his hips up again in an attempt to get more contact. Jackson allows it, this time, rewarding Holland with a series of quick, sharp nips to his sensitive skin, coaxing a few undignified whines from him as he alternates his teeth and his tongue. Every now and then, he draws back to blow a tiny bit of air on the wet, sensitive patches he created, which leaves Holland cursing and arching up to regain contact with him. He works his way up towards the apex of Holland’s thighs, teasing until he can’t bear to keep doing so.
He turns his head and bites one last time. He’s loathe to delay any longer. He’s just as hard and Holland is, he knows, and they both want it. He spreads his tongue over Holland’s asshole, licking and sucking for a moment before plunging his tongue inside. Holland groans, one of his hands wrapping around the bar he’s bound to for purchase as he arches even further into Jackson’s mouth. Jackson kneads Holland’s thighs, running his nails over them as he fucks him with his mouth, his tongue taking up a punishing pace without much warmup. Holland hisses and moans into the damp air, his head rolling between his shoulders like he’s wounded by the intensity of the sensation. His hips buck uselessly, not sure if they should press back or move foreword, but Jackson doesn’t let up for a moment.
His tongue twists and rolls, but it isn’t quite long enough to get the reaction Jackson is seeking. He slips one finger in, mostly to tease, knowing full well it isn’t nearly enough for Holland. For a moment, a fantasy involving Holland taking his and another faceless man’s cock in his ass at once flashes behind his eyes, but he shakes it away for a better time and focuses on the task before him.
Another finger join the first and his tongue, fully focused on making Holland come, now. He’s writhing and moaning, his thighs shaking, and it’s so easy for Jackson to find the secret, sacred spot inside him that lights his eyes up. At first he simply strokes it, passing his fingers and tongue over it until the sweat is beading on the backs of Holland’s thighs, and finally, finally, he presses down. He keeps his fingers firmly curled as his tongue continues it’s ministrations. Hollands starts to twitch around him, his muscles shaking as he nears his orgasm. For a moment, Jackson lets up, only to rear back and plant a bite on the inside of Holland’s thigh even as he slips a third finger into him.
“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!” Holland wails, his cockhead trapped between the hard muscle of his stomach and the warm sheets as he shakes undone, come splashing over him. He thrusts forwards into nothing, frustratingly, and only sort of notices as Jackson grips each of his asscheeks and pulls them open.
He lines his cock up with the stretched, glistening hole and pushes in with a gratified groan, thrusting into the pliant body beneath him with abandon. Holland whimpers, overly sensitive from his orgasm and being unrepentantly ravaged.
“Fuck,” Jackson growls, “I love making you come.” Holland rises to the occasion, looking over his shoulder as best he can in his position.
“Yeah?” He coaxes, eyes lidded, mouth red with biting it. “Well, you did it.” He points out. Jackson grunts the affirmative, rutting into him like an animal. “Fuck, you made me make such a mess, Jackson.” He purrs. “I came all over myself. And all you did was tongue fuck me.” He’s more stating facts than dirty talking, but it does the trick. His speech takes on a desperate cadence as his cock gives an interested twitch. Jackson’s fingers are digging into his hips and Holland could probably get hard again if he tried.
“You’re fuckin’ exquisite.” Jackson murmurs. Holland flushes, and not entirely because he’s being fucked into the mattress. He allows himself a moment of butterflies before he composes himself and responds: “Shit, baby, that’s so good.” He coos. At the pet name, Jackson grips him ever harder and draws him impossibly closer.
“Best you’ve ever had?” Jackson grunts. Holland would smirk to himself if he wasn’t on the verge of drooling. The macho man act is kinda cute, after all.
“Fuck yeah,” He moans “you’re the best cock I’ve ever had.” Technically speaking, he’s the only cock he’s ever had, but it becomes a moot point as Jackson curls around him and shouts his name, coming inside of him in hot, thick spurts. His hips stutter and shove them both up the bed, and both of their heads are swimming with pleasure and desire and the warm feeling of wanting and being wanted.
After a beat, Jackson drags his drooling cock from Holland’s ass, not bothering to wipe away the mess before he goes to free Holland’s hands. Instantly, the smaller man curls into him, his sore wrists tucked between them. Jackson stares at the way wisps of blonde stick to the sweat on his forehead and realizes for the millionth time (though it is still just as surprising and dizzymaking as the first time) that he loves this man.
He thinks, in his sleepy haze, of Holly, the girl who has crawled into his heart, too, and made a home there. Holland nuzzles his neck, already drifting off. Jackson reaches down and loosely twines their fingers together and doesn’t think of how this must be secret, doesn’t think of how it must be shameful, must be private. He doesn’t think of how Holly can never admit she has two fathers. He does not think of how he cannot touch Holland in public.
Instead, he thinks of the warmth of their bed and the crickets outside and how simple, simple, simple love is.
It is the last though in his head before he slips away into sleep.