Oh, these snippets are so nice! Can I ask number 2? Doing heroin under the aurora borealis has cartrip/runaway vibes and I'm here for it even if it isn't that
Heylo! Did you see my other post about #2? Even so, here’s a little more of that Bitty as a househusband / Jack as a crime boss au <3
Eric steps into Jack’s personal space, tucking himself between the open flaps of Jack’s peacoat, wrapping his arms around his waist, stealing body heat, implying much more than he could possibly say.
“This is mine,” Jack breathes, clutching him tightly. “What I have with you isn’t for public consumption.”
The garage is not the place for declarations of anything, let alone romantic overtures so close to a minivan, but as Jack nudges Eric’s chin up with gentle fingers — takes in his red-rimmed eyes, the determined furrow between his brows — he finds the courage to voice his feelings from somewhere deep, honest, and true.
“I love you.” Jack says softly, watching Eric’s features relax as Jack’s words register, anger abandoned. “I do. More than is healthy for a man in my position. I love your fire,” Jack presses a kiss to Eric’s cheek. “Love the way you talk in your sleep,” he kisses the other cheek. “I love how passionate you are about your family and I love all the snacks you make me.”
“Ugh, sweetheart,” Eric giggles, ducking his head so Jack’s next kiss lands on Eric’s nose instead of his lips. “Oh, my lord, I’m sorry, I love you, too!”
“So rude, what are we going to do about that?” Jack wraps his coat around Eric’s body, trapping him.
“I love you — don’t murder me,” Eric’s muffled voice vibrates against Jack’s chest. “Please let me go, I have money.”
“Not enough money,” Jack teases gruffly, inching toward the mudroom door as Eric shuffles blindly with him, giggling. “Watch your step, eh?” Jack can feel where Eric’s breath is dampening his shirt and he’s suddenly, irrationally afraid Bittle might bite his nipple. “Don’t trip.” Jack opens his coat and looks down at Eric’s winsome, smiling face; his hair is mussed: the carefully styled, faux disheveled look devolved into something actually disheveled, courtesy of Jack’s wool coat and lack of boundaries. He’s beautiful, the most singularly perfect thing to happen to Jack in years, if not his entire life — and this perfect man’s husband is currently zip-tied in the back of Alexei’s truck, awaiting a much less enjoyable evening.
“What, not playing the bad guy, anymore?” Eric teases, toeing off his boots. “No chance of ravishment?”
“Thought we should have dinner first,” Jack explains, patting the wet spot on his chest. “Before you eat me.”
