[for @catknit7, who is always lovely]
Jack’s hair is flour-dusted from Bitty’s hands in it, nails scritching up the back of his head. Jack’s hands slip beneath Bitty’s shirt, pressing him close, closer, closest, kissing him until Bitty is breathless and pulling away because…because…Lord, he can’t remember, not when Jack tastes tart with cherries and sweet with sugar. There was a pie, he thinks. There was a pie. But there *is* Jack and Jack is smiling at him and his mouth is *perfect* and Bitty leans in for another taste. Gasps with delight when Jack’s arms tighten around him and the floor disappears from below. Suddenly there’s a counter beneath him and Jack spreading his knees and laughter is tumbling between them. Bitty is incandescently happy.
It puts Bitty at the perfect height for Jack to nuzzle at the line of his neck, the curve of his Adam’s apple. He tucks his nose against the corner of Bitty’s jaw and breathes deep as Bitty clutches at his shoulders, the hair at the nape of his neck. Bitty laughs, the sound turning into a moan when Jack kisses him, open mouthed and soft, against his neck, following the collar of his shirt to suck lightly at the hollow of his throat.
Bitty shivers and tilts his head back, gives Jack more room to lick and suck and kiss. He keeps his fingers in Jack’s hair, hooks his ankles around Jack’s thighs. Lets himself be kissed senseless in the kitchen of the Haus because he can, he *can*.
They’ll be chirped about it later–especially if the pie gets burned–but Bitty doesn’t care. He can’t, not when Jack is pulling back to look at him with his blue eyes and his kiss-pink mouth and his hair a mess across his forehead. Not when Jack smiles at him and asks if he already set a timer and laughs, a burst of sweetness in the air, when Bitty says, “Yes, probably, you’re distracting, c'mere,” and pulls him in again.