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What the fuck is it with the kid, that all he ever does is push and pick at Tyler like a toddler with a scab.
Except right now Jeremy Gilbert’s not picking at scabs, just leaving bruises behind Tyler’s ears and down Tyler’s throat and working his hands into the front of Tyler’s pants. What the fuck, what the fuck, whatthefuck, Tyler keeps thinking. Like, he’s pretty sure neither of them is famous for their communication skills, but he’s also pretty sure that if this was what Jeremy’s whole thing with him was really about then he would have noticed earlier. There would have been signals, right, before they got to this point. But no, Jeremy Gilbert seems to have gone from sober and awkward attempts at friendship (or whatever) to six shots of tequila and a marked interest in giving Tyler a hand job. What the fuck, Tyler thinks again, or maybe he says it; boundaries are blurry right now.
When Jeremy finally gets the buttons on Tyler’s jeans loose, he makes a pleased, guttural sound against Tyler’s pulse and rolls his hips forward.
“Shiiiit,” Tyler hisses, wanting more of that. Jeremy huffs a laugh.
“I thought you might growl,” he says, angling his head away but keeping his hips close.
“Not if you’re good.” Tyler slides his hand to Jeremy’s waist, rubbing there for a minute like he’s making up his mind about which direction to head – it makes Jeremy lick his lips like he’s hungry and push forward. Tyler likes this better, likes the idea that Jeremy might have to ask for something too, and likes feeling the denim-veiled promise of Jeremy’s cock against him. He moves his hand between them, fiddles with the placket on Jeremy’s jeans. Jeremy lets him, because Jeremy thinks he knows what’s going to happen now; he looks turned-on and smug, like he can afford to be patient. And yeah, Tyler’s got a definite interest in that direction, but right now he wants something else – so he moves his hand up, feeling Jeremy’s belly expand, palming his ribs, and then finding a nipple to play with. He likes the way his discovery makes Jeremy’s breath come faster and deeper, and kind of ragged. Jeremy rolls his hips again, and that’s a definite pleasure too, but Tyler’s recovered something since they started – it doesn’t send him over any cliff edges like it would have a few minutes ago.
“Foreplay happens before,” Jeremy says, like he might be whining if he could catch his breath.
“I’m not the one who started in the middle,” Tyler tells him. He lets his hand slip down, hovering at the bottom of Jeremy’s ribcage. “I can stop,” he says, although he pushes forward with his hips, to give Jeremy a sense of what he thinks of that idea, “if you want.”
“Don’t stop,” Jeremy says, he looks down, and when he looks up his eyes are hungry. “Just – “
“Good,” Tyler says, and even if he still doesn’t know what’s going on, he knows what to do.