You Got Some 'Splainin' To Do!

"C'mon, kitten. It'll be great. Imagine all the peons looking at you like they wanna kill you!" Jack shoves the pink shirt Rhys's way, smirking.

"Yeah that's the problem, Jack." Rhys takes the shirt and holds it up. He eyes the font and frowns. "Why can't I be eating your ass?"

Jack quirks a brow at him.

Rhys waits.

"...Seriously? I have to explain my shirt to you?" Jack tosses the yellow shirt on and smooths it out over his wide chest. "Between you n' me, I'm the asshole, baby."

"Awe, I can't decide if that was a compliment or not." Rhys slips out of his own shirt to pull the new one over his head. He feels Jack's burning gaze the whole time until it's settled over his abdomen.

"I can't decide if I wanna eat your asshole right now or show off these friggen shirts." Jack steps close to Rhys, running his thumb over soft lips.

Rhys snorts. "You know. I could enjoy being a pillow princess every now and then." He shivers when Jack's hand slips under the shirt to rub at his hip. "You should've gotten different shirts."

Jack barks out a laugh. "That's the joke, kitten. They all think you bend over for me." He swipes out his tongue to gloss over Rhys's lips. "But we both know how feral you get when your tongue's slippin' inside my hole."

Rhys groans. "Let's get this over with." He tugs on Jack's arm to subject himself to Jack's shenagains.

It goes off exactly as Jack wants. Curious gazes. Giggles. Smirks. Rhys's face burns with embarassment, but he's hard as a rock all through it.

And when they get back to the penthouse? Rhys shoves Jack into the bed and spreads those strong legs wide.

"H-hey!" Jack laughs, squirming around as he's getting out of his clothes. "Wanna switch shirts?"

"Shut up and let me fuck you."