Page 22 of Knot That Serious

“Guess I’ll just have to distract you, then,” Jack mused, and took one half of the bow at Beckett’s throat between two fingers. He gave a soft tug, and the collar loosened, exposing his throat.

“Go on,” Beckett said, and Jack slipped his hands beneath Beckett’s shirt, watching his palms beneath the sheer black fabric. It sent shivers across Beckett’s skin, pebbling his nipples for Jack to thumb at, returning the favor.

Beckett lifted his arms and Jack followed, the fabric pooling over his wrists as he pushed the shirt over Beckett’s head. It landed in the same spot as Jack’s silk shirt.

Jack was all searing body heat as they came back together, mouths locking into a sloppy kiss. Jack rolled his hips, grinding in Beckett’s lap.

They were both hard, confined within clothes that, in Beckett's opinion, contained far too many layers. But he ran his hands over the smooth expanse of Jack’s back, feeling his muscles shift beneath his palms. Jack panted into his mouth, rolling his hips in a rhythm.

Beckett leaned back, sinking hard into the couch cushions, and dropped his hands to Jack’s waist, dragging him over his lap. Jack gasped, and Beckett drank the sound from his lips.

His breath skated across Beckett’s cheek, eyes shuttered closed as Beckett urged him into slower, needier thrusts. It matched the pace of the music, the thrum of the bass, but he didn’t trust Jack to notice.

He trailed his lips to the side, letting Jack carry the rhythm, and inhaled sharply at his neck. “You smell so fucking good,” Beckett told him. “Cinnamon.”

“Says you,” Jack said, voice a little breathy. Beckett tried not to smirk at the sound of it. Probably failed. “You smell green, like when you walk into a greenhouse or something.”

“I like that,” Beckett decided. He’d never heard anyone describe it that way. “You’ve been thinking about what I smell like?”

“No. You've barely crossed my mind,” Jack drawled.

Beckett chuckled, stilled Jack’s hips, and thrust up against him until Jack released a hushed moan. “Really?” Beckett asked, letting doubt drip into his voice. “Haven’t been thinking about me?”

Dropping his hands, he unthreaded the button on Jack’s pants, heard his breath catch, and met his eyes, all half-lidded honey.

“Not even this?” he asked, and wrapped his hand around Jack’s cock, shoving his pants down just as much as Beckett needed.

Jack swallowed a moan, the sound dying somewhere in the back of his throat. Dropping his gaze, Beckett stroked Jack and tightened his grip near the head. A pearly bead escaped, and Beckett thumbed it away, using it to ease the glide. Jack still hadn’t responded, and Beckett paused. “Hmm?”

Jack blinked at him. “Maybe I’ve had some… thoughts.”

Beckett rewarded him with another stroke, enjoying the way Jack's jaw tightened, eyelids fluttering shut. In the process, his attention got caught in their laps, and his breath hitched.

“Told you,” Beckett said, watching his painted nails wink in the light with each stroke.

“Uh-huh,” Jack responded, choked off. Then his hands were at Beckett’s waistband, tugging his button open and freeing him. Fresh heat struck him, Jack’s touch electric as he stroked Beckett.

It was cramped with two hands, and their wrists and arms kept bumping until Beckett nudged Jack’s touch out of the way and circled them both with one hand. They both moaned at the new sensation, and Jack rolled his hips, fucking Beckett’s fist in a stuttering movement.

“Do that again,” Beckett told him. Jack’s eyes widened, but he followed the demand and swung his hips against Beckett. Their cocks slipped together, the heads catching before sliding past, and Beckett tightened his hold on them.

He glanced up to find Jack’s jaw slack, lips parted with hushed breaths as he stared down at them. Beckett leaned up into him, catching his mouth with his own. Their lips slotted together, and Beckett kissed him, felt the shift to desperation in the way Jack slid his tongue against Beckett, cupping his face and holding him still.

Their tongues twined and Beckett stroked them, meeting Jack on each sloppy thrust, their precum mixing to slick their cocks.

One of Jack’s hands knocked into the back of the couch, slipping over the smooth fabric before grabbing hold.

On the next downstroke, Beckett’s fingers brushed against the swelling at the base of Jack’s cock.

Beckett released his own cock in favor of sliding his fist down Jack’s, circling the knot and squeezing tight. His hips kicked into Beckett’s hand.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jack choked out.

Beckett grinned against Jack’s lips, then released the knot to stroke them together again. “Gonna come for me?”

“Fuck,” Jack huffed out, hips stuttering. Beckett dropped the other hand to his hip, held him down.

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