simping like never before

Jayce is trembling against you.

It takes some effort, to work him up to this point. A whole day of teasing, your touch only fluttering over him for brief moments, your attention always focused elsewhere. A bit of air blown against the shell of his ear, a half-moment of kissing at his workbench in the lab before you’d wandered off, an errant brush of the back of your hand against the front of his pants – these little moments peppered throughout the day meant that the instant you’d both gotten back to his apartment, Jayce was crowding himself up against you, wobbly and desperate.

So naturally, you’d dragged him into the bedroom and into your lap, just to work him up some more.

“What’s the matter?” you ask, unable to stop your mouth from curling into a grin. “Weren’t you eager to get your clothes off just a few minutes ago?”

“This isn’t what I had in mind,” Jayce grumbles, tugging down the hem of the tight, silky-pink camisole you’d coaxed him into.

It isn’t quite long enough for him, and the way it compresses his chest is bordering on obscene, especially with your vantage point over his shoulder. But more important than the fit is the way it matches the silky-pink panties you’d also managed to coax him into.

He jolts as your fingers, cool on heated skin, brush between his thighs to muss with the soft hairs there. Close enough for him to taste, but not quite where he wanted.

You drop a placating kiss to his shoulder, gazing up at his reddened face through your lashes. “Isn’t this better, though?”

“Not reall-y – ah!” Jayce bucks up against your hand when you curl your fingers indulgently around the soft curve of his balls, barely contained in delicate silk, and gently squeeze.

“You sure? Isn’t the texture nice, Jayce?” You can’t keep the amusement out of your voice, rolling your fingers around the heft of him just to hear him gasp.

It takes him a half second of panting, but you’re delighted when he nods stiltedly, cock twitching beneath the smooth finish of the fabric. You reward him with a firm, luxurious grope of sensitive flesh, your lips sucking indulgent kisses to the side of his throat. Jayce’s hips grind up into your hand, and you allow the restless squirming, right up to the point that he lifts his hand from the bedspread to rub shaking fingers against the sticky-wet fabric clinging to the head of his cock.

The sharp crack of skin on skin rings loud in the quiet bedroom, your fingers snapping whip-fast from their fondling to spank Jayce’s soft inner thigh. His hands shoot down to grasp at yours, squeezing imploringly at your fingers for pleasure, rather than pain.

“No touching,” you scold softly, almost drowned out by Jayce’s startled yelp.

His sheepish sorry is less than convincing, but you drag your hand back onto pink silk to squeeze generously at him anyway.

Jayce draws one of his hands back to the bedspread for stability, letting out a shuddering breath when you place your unoccupied hand over it, lacing the fingers and pressing gently down in reminder to keep it there.

His other hand circles your wrist loosely, frantic with the need to touch something if not himself.

You allow it, even as Jayce’s fingers fidget up, questing over the back of your hand slowly, till he’s cupping your hand, cupping him. Magnanimously, you let him guide the pace, Jayce’s breathing going choppy and high as he goads your every squeeze and stroke of his sac, restoking the burn of his arousal.

Your fingers wriggle further between his legs, the pad of your index rubbing circles into the sensitive skin of his perineum. Jayce’s hips buck, fingers slipping between yours as a ragged groan drags itself from his throat.

“Fuck, please, right there –”

His hips are doing all the work at this point, thighs clamped tight enough around your hand to prevent movement, just dragging himself against your palm onto the point of your fingers in desperation.

Jayce’s brows furrow, pinching at his bottom lip with his teeth. The frustration of the day is finally coming to a head, his rhythm hitching as his muscles start to tighten with the closeness of his orgasm.

“That’s it,” you sigh against his neck, “Just like that, sweetheart, you’re almost there. Barely even had to touch you.”

You flex your hand just enough to give one last little squeeze to his soft balls, and it’s enough for him to break.

Jayce’s thighs go rigid, hips just barely twitching to wring out the pleasure as his body locks up against yours and a reedy whine tears out of his throat. The pink fabric soaks dark and sticky against his cock, thick come seeping through to rub wet against your wrist.

He rocks up against you for what feels like forever, panting his way through it. When Jayce finally goes boneless against you, you drag your hand up over the wet mess he’s made of his panties – not so secretly enjoying the way Jayce jerks and sighs, overstimulated – to your mouth, sweeping your tongue indulgently over the come sticking to your skin.

You’ve barely cleaned them before Jayce is nosing his way in for a kiss, messy as he tries to catch his breath and lick the taste of himself from your mouth all at once.

“Worth the wait?” you lilt playfully when Jayce finally has to pull away for more air.

He hums pensively, eyes still hazy with want. “Yeah. I want to taste you next, though.”

You’re chewing on an excellent snickerdoodle cookie and waiting for the ‘snap.’

The tiny pine tree you’d brought home to stuff into the corner of your shoebox grad-student apartment couldn’t be more than three feet tall, set on a table to add a bit of winter cheer to the sea of textbooks and beat up mechanical projects that usually comprised your place. And despite its diminutive size, Jayce has spent the last five minutes strapping on a distinctly oversized tree topper to the poor thing.

It’ll totally work, or so he had said. Handmade. Just for you.

Not like you were going to tell him no, even before he had held the ornament aloft so giddily, absolutely gleaming with earnestness and excitement…

Jayce stands at the center of your living room, surrounded by cheery garlands and two tacked up stockings, staring down your tree with a contemplative hand on his chin, as though there were simply a better angle he could come at it from. The branch woefully strapped with the dense, albeit beautiful, piece of metalwork droops down towards him as if prostrate and begging for mercy.

“I just thought–” Jayce closes his mouth again for a moment, regarding the poor tree with a grimace. “I thought the wood might be a bit stronger?”

You blink at the topper – solid metal! The size of your cranium! In no universe was that thing meant for a tree smaller than the towering one in the festival market square! – and swallow back cinnamon sugar.

“Well, the ornament is just, uh, extremely well made,” you offer, gently.

Snap.

Shouldn’t have opened your mouth. The tree takes the opportunity to splinter, topper lurching abruptly into the floor at his feet with a dull thunk.

Jayce sucks in air through his teeth. “I owe you a new tree. And maybe a new floor.”

That startles a bark of laughter from you, standing up from the kitchen stool to go place a gentle hand on his shoulder, surveying the carnage. “Definitely not. We’ll just get more creative with displaying it.” Your eyes dart around your cramped living room for prospective spots. “I think it would look excellent on top of the bookshelf. Flanked with some candles.”

Jayce nods slowly, but his pout is still focused on the splintered bough. His brows still furrowed with the need to fix, to problem solve. 

“Before that,” you ply, drawing your hand from his shoulder to rummage in a festive bag beneath the coffee table, “would you like to help me tack these up instead?”

Jayce's eyes flick to the bundle of mistletoe sprigs dangling from your fingers. The frown startles off his face as his lips part slightly, wanting. 

“Oh! Well, yeah–” The corners of his lips quirk up, somewhat bashful, somewhat delighted. “Yeah, I can definitely help with that.”

The tree is all but forgotten in the subsequent flurry of kisses. One right there in the living room. One out on your tiny balcony, breathing in the scent of candied fruits and nuts wafting across your neighborhood from the festival market up the street. Another in the doorway of your kitchen. Approximately twelve exchanged in the middle of your bedroom, Jayce's fingers curling in the soft yarn of your sweater to haul you up against him, eager and sweet against your lips.

He lurches back sharply enough to make you jump, snapping his fingers. “I've got it – I'll build you a new tree. You don't mind the brass aesthetic, do you? It'll be very art deco.”

The abruptness of it startles laughter out of you, too caught in your mirth to remind him that Christmas is in four days, and he hardly has the time to spare building you some sort of steampunk tree.

And yet the tree appears, nestled in the crook of Jayce's elbow when he knocks on your door Christmas Eve, tiny and sturdy and gleaming in the light.

Jayce stiffens as your jaw comes to rest against his shoulder, hands freezing their progress. Chancing a glance down, he confirms that yeah, you’re out cold.

It's another late night at the Academy, spent doing curriculum work instead of work that could change the world someday. Jayce was fighting with a tricky relay of copper fittings. You'd finished your share of the project twenty minutes ago, both the clean copy of delicately illustrated schematics and all the vocal presentation bits that Jayce dreaded.

Nobody likes group projects. Jayce knows he isn't out of the ordinary there. He just can't help but feel that it grates on him more than the average student, faced with the fact that most of his peers didn't actually care about discovery. They just cared about making themselves look good. 

Not you, though. He'd only shared classes with you this semester, but you were always fair in your division of the work.

And you were one of the only people who seemed to be able to stand his… candidness, always laughing it off when he’d get frustrated with the pace, being slowed down by others.

‘It’ll get done either way, slow or not.’ You'd been smiling at him so sweetly when you'd said that, despite the fact that he knew he had been nothing but irritated and fussy. Your patience had left him stricken with… something.

Jayce decides to leave you be, asleep on his shoulder. This project wouldn't have been a problem if the rest of your group members had anything to offer except slapdash efforts and excuses, leaving the two of you with the brunt of the work.

Tonight, Jayce is the one slowing you down, grumbling his way through fixing the shoddy work your other partners had put forward and finishing the things they had neglected to do entirely. To get this project up to his usual standards…

It’s eating up far too much time. The least he can do is let you rest a bit.

---

Your pillow is talking.

“Finally. Alright, I’ve got it dialed in so the fluid can actually cycle through all of the cooling chambers even as a prototype – the professor should be impressed. This is almost professional quality, so our marks should be flawless.”

Your pillow also smells incredibly good, nice and warm, so you elect to ignore it and nuzzle deeper.

“Are you listening?” – it sounds incredibly put out – “Hey. Wake up, we can go home now.”

Blearily, you blink your eyes open and find yourself caught up in Jayce’s gaze, the low lamplight reflecting off the gold of his eyes and revealing him peering down at you, close and tired and – dare you say – almost fond looking.

This close you can see every last eyelash, and how his stubble is starting to come in from the late hour on the alluring curve of his jaw. Despite the bags under his eyes, they’re bright and satisfied, his face almost glowing, the way it always does when he’s worked hard and made something perfect.

In fact, you can almost feel that glow on your skin. When did he get so warm? His ears are starting to get red.

That little detail reminds you just how close your faces have become, but a sleepy contentedness has drizzled its way into your joints, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away.

He’s just so –

“You’re really lovely when you’re making progress, you know that? It opens you up,” you sigh, still half dreaming, watching the flush spill across his face.

Jayce is too busy looking at your mouth to respond, his own ever so slightly parted.

Were you not half asleep, you probably never would have chanced it. But the way he was looking at you almost lost, how close he was –

It felt natural, to wriggle in closer, tilt up your jaw invitingly.

You catch the way his brows shoot up just as your eyes slip shut, and your mouth slots perfectly against his, slow and –

And unmoving. A little shocked stiff. Jayce makes a funny little noise in the back of his throat, something aching and perhaps a touch confused.

You jolt back, suddenly a whole lot more awake. “Sorry. Wow, sorry, I should have asked first –”

“It’s fine,” Jayce cuts in, a little strangled, busying himself with wrapping the prototype in oilcloth and setting it inside its small crate as an excuse not to meet your eyes. “You were – It was nice, just – I’ve never done that before.”

The end of his sentence leaves him in a rush. If it’s possible, his ears seem even redder now.

“Never?” you echo, a bit disbelieving in the wake of how plush and soft his lips had been against yours.

His shoulders hunch up defensively, looking awfully small for such a large man. “I’m kind of a busy guy, alright?”

Jayce’s fingers snap the clasps shut on the lid of the box, but your brain wrapped itself around the way he’d said your kiss was ‘nice’, and you’re itching to try again, to give him something even nicer to latch on to.

“Too busy to give it another go?”

Jayce’s wide eyes cut over to yours finally, from where he’s tucking the prototype into his satchel.

His fingers loosen on the strap of his bag. “Well. Maybe not,” Jayce mumbles, leaning in close enough for you to close the gap again.

The shuddering exhale Jayce gives you when you bring your lips together this time is everything, your hand coming up to cup his jaw and guide him into the most comfortable angle. His movements are still a bit stilted compared to yours, but he’s mimicking your motions in an incredibly earnest fashion.