Jake Kiszka x Reader (Post-Band Film AU)
After lurking here and there, I finally caved and incorporated Jake into a short piece I'd started for a college class. No, I have no shame.
I hope you find it titillating.
Feedback is welcomed and greatly appreciated 🖤
Contains: Alcohol, cursing, sexual situations...hand kink?
Lead-in: You've overworked this scene to smithereens, rewriting the score, recuts, to where the original scene has been completely abandoned. All to avoid telling the director that you need to reshoot the practical effects that were half of the film's budget. Musician blames the edit; Editor doesn't think it's salvageable. The Musician [Male, sat left] and Editor [First Person, sat right] are reviewing the sequence on the projector.
“It's just not cutting enough," you said.
"Mmm.” He took a generous swig of neat blanco from his hatched rocks glass, audibly forcing the liquor down. The long silver pendants around his neck fell forward, dangling in front of his chest whenever he reached for the coffee table.
His severely unbuttoned shirt did the same, black linen separating past his sternum and joining just below his ribcage, opening itself to expose skin you hadn’t seen. Jake’s body was akin to his other features–His frame was soulfully edged, strong-knit like a craftsman, but his flesh was gentle, supple, a little romantic.
"I think we’re just gonna have to reshoot it," you said. "Build this up properly."
His eyes fluttered shut. All the work he’d done, it wouldn’t be lost entirely, but the time wasted pained him. The entire night had been a battle over the pacing, and why it felt so awkward. He had already written the score, so you were left to the task of cutting the film to tempo by hand. If you even alluded to the issues within the raw footage, he’d shoot you a look, don’t say it. One time you muttered, you can put glitter on a piece of shit, it’s still a piece of shit. His best suggestion of the night, I could use a drink, so could you.
He finally agreed, nodding his head reluctantly. "I'll talk to Josh, see what we can do." He patted the top of your hand twice, resting it there loosely. "What you've done here is fantastic, I'm sorry if I–I didn't mean to insult you–"
"You didn't," You chuckled. "The blind leading the blind," you said pointing between the two of you.
His head fell back with a soft laugh. "Right you are," he said, emphasizing his words with another pat on your hand, resting it there yet again.
You've never rejected his touch, but you've felt the need to question it. You wouldn’t put it past him, whether his actions were intentionally absent-minded, or he was simply unaware of the effect he had on you. Neither he nor his brother were ones to be very shy of physical affection. After a drink, however, he would languidly dance the line of professionalism and flirtation, making himself impossible to extrapolate. That was when you realized, this was the first time you too had been drinking.
He began to tap his thumb against your skin rhythmically, contemplating, while his eyes rested on the frozen film. You watched the tendons in his strumming hand twinge and flex, his middle finger joining in for what was some pattern playing in his head.
Then the tapping faltered, slowing to a stop.
You could feel him watching you now, no longer lost in thought. For once, this felt unadorned, forthright, like he was asking for your permission to continue. You looked to him, searching his face for a tell of some kind, but he was only doing just the same. Like you, he had no intent to speak.
You were taken aback by his pupils, so clearly blown out, even with only the flicker of a projector. His lips fell apart from how shallow and desperate his breathing had become, but he tried to hide it. He sucked on his lower lip, softly dragging it out against his teeth, wetting it with his tongue. You felt his hand begin to stir, gently pressing the entire surface of his fingers into your skin. Neither of you had blinked.
You began to turn your palm over. He took over naturally, leading your hand to be fully encased underneath his. It was warm, almost hot, and it flooded your body. Slowly, he curled his arm, lowering his head slightly as he brought your hand to his soft mouth. He paused.
A small breath that had escaped his nose tickled your skin. He became entirely transfixed in your eyes, silently ordering them to stay locked on his, before moving again.
He pressed his lips delicately to the base of your thumb, again along the joint, and once more against your knuckle. You pulled a long breath through your nose.
He looked pleased with himself, wearing a small smirk as he extended your thumb with the coaxing of a finger. He then wrapped his lips around the sensitive pad, watching your mouth part for him. With a gentle squeeze to your hand, he started to suck lightly. A jolt shot up your arm when you felt the brush of his tongue.
"Fuck," you whispered. A small, sweet sound pressed in his throat. He looked to your forearm, catching the trail of goosebumps he'd left behind. You needed to touch him.
You brought your other hand up the side of his neck, weaving the tips of your fingers through the hair just behind his ear, lightly tracing your thumb along his jawbone. He gave a final kiss to the pulse point in your wrist, and you closed your fingers around the roots of his soft hair. He blew an impish wisp past his lips, shaking his head as if he were trying to taunt you. You tugged harshly.
He held his jaw stiff, sucking a sharp breath through his teeth, followed by a dark, full-toned groan vibrating in his chest. As your hand wandered back down his neck, he pulled you in by the lock he had on your arm, wanting your body close to his. Pressing your thumb into the hollow under his ear, you rolled his head to the other side, exposing his neck for you.
"That’s what you wanted," he said…
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