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“What if he hates me?” Jim has to ask, possibly too late because he’s in the car and they’re turning into the drive of a very nice house now, many hours into the journey they’re taking because he got caught the previous year pretending to have family to visit over the winter break when really he sat in his college dorm room and played video games for two weeks straight.

And he’s possibly asking the wrong person, because Jo is going to be a great engineer but she has never been the most sympathetic friend. She’s plenty kind, offering to take him back to her family home on the holidays to stay with her and her dad, but she is not interested in listening to his irrational anxiety while trapped in an enclosed space with him. Not again. “Shut up, Jim.”

“I'm serious!”

“Why would he hate you? He's never met you. You planning to shit on the rug or fuck my grandma? Jesus. Calm down. He's one of those Southern Gentleman types, anyway, so he'd never turn you away on the holidays even if he did hate you.”

“You have to know that's not helpful.”

“Jim. You're my friend. I've told him how much you matter to me. And he knows you punched out that guy who was following me. He's gunna love you. To be honest, I'm more worried about you," she mutters, almost as an afterthought, as they arrive on the porch.

"You're what?" Jim barely has time to stare at her in relation to that particular bombshell before the door is opened and holy shit, alright, that's what he's dealing with.

Jo talks to her dad pretty regularly. They get along, although they didn't always, especially when she was younger. 

She has not at any point mentioned that he is outrageously hot. He's tall, and built, all warm eyes and holiday-lazy scruff and a plaid shirt with jeans like he can't possibly be close to twice Jim's age. There's not a single strand of grey in his dark hair.

Jim has some very inappropriate intrusive thoughts about calling him daddy, realises a moment too late that he should have been listening to the beginnings of a conversation instead.

"I'm sorry, what?" He asks, when they both look at him expectantly before he has a chance to catch up. 

"Long journey?" Jo's dad, who has probably by this point mentioned his name and now Jim can never ask, thankfully seems understanding if a little bemused, rather than offended.

Jo is less forgiving. She rolls her eyes, tells her dad, "I drove." And then she thrusts her suitcase into Jim's arms. "Take my bags. Upstairs. Second door on the left. Yours is the third."

Maybe sensing that Jim has already forgotten that, Jo's dad smiles at him, takes the case with big, warm, steady hands. "I'll give you a hand."

God, Jim wishes he would. He has to panic briefly when he thinks he might have said that out loud, but nope. Still managing to appear sane, if a little stupid. Great first impression. Fuck. He's here for two weeks and he needs to be good.

Jo's already moving into the house, brushing past both of them. "I'll get some beers. You got some, right, dad?"

"Yes, honey." Jo's dad calls after her, rolls his eyes in an affectionately conspiratorial sort of way before he leads the way up the stairs. "Honestly, my own daughter, drinking Budweiser in this house. She might not be mine."

"Least she doesn't drink yours," Jim manages to say, instead of just staring at his ass. He really needs to get a grip.

Poor choice of words for the moment. Jim's fingers twitch with the urge to reach out, but then they're at the top of the stairs and making eye contact once more.

"Well, thank the Lord for that." Jo's dad sets Jo's case down just inside the door to one of the guest rooms, pauses to look Jim in the eye as he asks, "You like to drink?"

Ooh, this is definitely a test. Jim knows instinctively there’s no point in lying, settles for some mostly-truths. "Just a couple. For fun. Loosen up a little."

It’s instinctive to give someone a friendly once-over, just a glance and a quirked brow, when saying something like that, isn't it? It is for Jim. Jo's dad gives him a funny look, but doesn't follow-up. Maybe he just thinks Jim's a little weird.

Probably a fair observation. Jim trails after him, those last few feet to the next door.

"Jo tells me I don't have to worry about you sneaking in to stay with her in the middle of the night."

"Oh, no! We're not- no. Yikes. I mean, not that she's- bad, or anything. I just-" Jim pauses, takes a deep breath, resets. "You don't have to worry about that, sir, I have nothing but respect for your daughter. And your rules. In your house. I'm- I know I'm being an idiot right now but I'm really grateful to be here. Thanks for having me."

He's so fucking stupid. It’s ridiculous. But something softens in Jo's dad's face at the sentiment he's attempting to express, anyway.

"Happy to have you. Come on, let's get a drink. You must be tired." 

And if his gaze lingers a little where Jim's old shirt hangs a little loose around his neck, well, it's probably Jim's imagination.


They sit around in the den that evening, with some amazing food and light, easy conversation. Jo catches her dad up on all the silly bits of gossip and he responds like he knows what she’s talking about, like he really recognises the names of the people she associates with.

She also skirts neatly around tales that tell of the trouble Jim occasionally -routinely- gets himself into, for which he is grateful.

Not quite grateful enough, not to ask, when Jo’s dad disappears into the kitchen for a moment, "How the fuck. Has a man so hot produced a daughter that looks like you."

"Well, you like the sort of girls who are willing to go home with you, so there's no accounting for taste." Jo responds without looking up from her phone, still tapping away.

Jim grimaces. Can’t argue with that.

When Jo’s dad comes back, he’s bearing a bottle of bourbon.

“Truth or dare?” Jim asks, because he’s juvenile and an idiot and two beers in he’s finding it more difficult to push his real nature down.

There’s a glass pressed into his hands and a generous measure poured into it, with the words, “Just drink.”


It’s all part of a horrifying plan to get to know him, only without the pretence of a game. The three of them get pretty damn drunk, although Jo’s dad -who at some point Jim has aggressively nicknamed Bones, and he can’t even remember why- handles his bourbon much better than either Jim or Jo. She literally needs carrying up the stairs and pouring into bed, more exhausted from the long drive than drunk but the results the same.

And then Bones -seriously, where the fuck did that even come from?- claps Jim on the shoulder, gives him a heart-stoppingly genuine smile and heads off to his own bedroom, leaving Jim to stare longingly after him and then basically fall through the door to his room when Bones glances over his shoulder and nearly catches him doing it.

They’re both drunk, though, so it’s probably fine.


“I think I love you,” Jim confesses, after yet another fantastic homemade meal, followed by an outrageously indulgent dessert of chocolate pie, the memory of which might just keep him warm in years to come.

And Bones smiles at him, relaxed and pleased by the compliment, and he’s gorgeous, kind and so fucking smart. Jim’s really enjoying being around him, talking to him, just spending time with him, and even with the age difference between them, with Jo out doing some last-minute shopping, conversation between them flows so easily.

There’s something else between them too, Jim’s sure of it. He gets the impression Bones is a pretty tactile guy, but Jim knows that sensation of a lingering touch, of gaze held just for the sake of it. It’s making something vibrant and anticipatory sizzle within him, and even if neither of them never do anything about it, the tension between them -because if it’s there, it’s so fucking mutual- then Jim will be glad just to have experienced it.

He’s sure it’s one of those social faux pas sort of situations, too, to try and fuck your friend’s dad when they’ve offered to spend their rare shared family holiday season with you.

They spend the evening together, just watching something terrible on TV, making conversation about the littlest things. When it’s already pretty late, Jo messages to say she’s met up with some old school friends and won’t be home that night.

It brings a whole new crackling tension to the air between them, knowing they have the house to themselves, but Jim’s being good, isn’t he?

They go up to bed fairly early, too early for there to be nothing behind it. Neither of them trust themselves around each other, Jim thinks. The urge to reach out and touch is getting stronger with every single word, every low laugh, every shared glance.

And then-

“You got everything you need?” Bones asks him, leaning in the doorway to Jim’s room, looking soft and a little sleepy and with an indulgent smile on his face, like all he wants is for Jim to stop resisting the magnetism between them.

Like all he wants is for Jim to smile at him, to take the few steps he needs to close the gap between them, to reach out and toy with just the hem of his soft, plaid shirt and say, “Almost.”

Anybody who didn’t want him would move back at that point, break the cautious contact, maybe brush him off with a comment about just offering help with the laundry or a cup of coffee.

Jim is used to that kind of awkward fumbling, is not used to this, almost flinches as Bones reaches for him, too, brushes Jim’s cheek with his fingers on the way to cradling it in a warm palm, tilting Jim’s head to look deep into his eyes.

Jim has no idea what he could possibly be searching for, swallows thickly, just looks back but can’t settle on where, takes in as much as he can while they’re so close, gets stuck on dark, hazel eyes and soft pink lips. He leans in without even thinking and is guided so gently into the perfect angle for them to fit together as they kiss.

And fuck, it’s good. Jim’s never had that thing before, where it feels like electricity at every point he touches someone, like fireworks are exploding in his brain trying to tell him how right this is.

“Fuck,” he breathes against parting lips because there is no other way to express how he’s reeling from the impact of this simple contact, and he just groans whole-heartedly when Bones’ tongue meets his, coaxes him into responding.

It’s unfamiliar. Jim’s never been kissed like anyone might be interested in just that, before. It’s always been a rushed precursor to even more rushed sex, and he simultaneously feels like he wants to do this forever and can’t possibly wait for more. Not sure where to put his trembling hands, he clutches at Bones’ clothing, is pulled in and pressed close -and fuck, again, because Bones is ripped- against a gloriously strong body. He maybe whimpers, is ready to voice some sort of objection when Bones’ lips twitch upwards in response except-

“God, you’re gorgeous. Nobody’s ever taken the time to take you apart before, have they?”

And Jim cannot find words to answer, not that he could reasonably be expected to, but at least Bones holds him up with his arm a tight band around Jim’s waist when his knees threaten to give way. He’s sure he’s never been this turned on, has definitely never felt like he could come from some admittedly rumbling, roughly accented dirty talk.

Technically he has done pretty much everything before. Or so he had thought. When Bones looks at him again, darker and more intent than before, a strange combination of lustful and concerned, Jim shakes his head, pleads with his eyes for there to be no mockery in response to his confession.

Bones only smiles at him softly, though, like he understands. “I want to fix that. You’ll tell me to stop, if it gets too much?”

“It won’t.”

Bones’ eyes narrow at that. It sort of feels like it was the wrong answer.

“I mean- yes, I will?”

“Yes, you will.”

He’s so much older, so confident, so sure of himself as he shrugs off his plaid shirt, slips his belt free of the loops. Jim’s mouth waters. He can’t believe this is really happening. He feels awkward and while he knows he looks good, objectively speaking, he’s not really sure what to do with himself and he can’t imagine his hesitance is sexy or reassuring.

Bones pulls his T-shirt over his head, too, revealing tanned skin wrapped around a defined chest spattered with freckles, though, and Jim knows he can’t miss out on this. He takes a deep breath and stands tall and finds a glittering smile.

“There you are,” Bones says, too, smooths a hand up Jim’s stomach, gathering his shirt with it. “I don’t make a habit of this, you know.”

“You could. I don’t know anyone’d turn you down.”

Okay, that’s cute. Bones’ expression still twists doubtfully at the compliment, and this is the same guy Jim has been getting to know, who he feels safe with and wants to talk to and touch and kiss. He’s just super hot, that’s all. Jim’s not so bad himself.

He shrugs, too, because he thinks he knows what Bones is worried about and yes, there is a bit of a power imbalance between them, but Jim is more than capable of making his own decisions, of taking care of himself. “You don’t need to worry about me. I know you won’t hurt me.”

“Not ‘til we work out some safewords, anyway.”

Oh, Jim’s in love. He grins, pulls his shirt off, starts on his pants, stops only when Bones’ hands find his.

“Let me?”

Jim does. And it turns out Bones can work at his belt buckle while Jim has his mouth pressed to a gratifyingly pounding pulse point, while he experimentally scrapes his teeth across the skin of Bones’ throat. When Bones rumbles a low laugh, Jim feels it in his chest. He examines the curve of a slim waist with his hands, trails his fingers up a shapely torso, brushes them just gently across tightening nipples. Yes, he can do this.

“Just do something for me?” Bones pauses once they’re both in their briefs, even though the tenting of the fabric reveals almost as much as their being completely naked would. “Don’t censor yourself. I like you. I want to hear you. Want to know what I do to you.”

Jim just takes hold of his wrist, guides Bones’ hand to the jut of his cock and smirks.

Bones rolls his eyes and shoves Jim in the direction of his bed, crawls on top of him and if he wants Jim to talk, that’s what he’s doing to get. “Fuck, you’re hot.”

“Not so bad yourself.”

When Bones kisses him, Jim arches up to meet him, grinding the lengths of their bodies together, groaning emphatically at the friction on his unfamiliarly neglected cock. Usually he’s come, by now. He shuffles around to try and rid them both of that final barrier between them, wants to feel Bones’ skin against his, everywhere except the grind of their bodies together already feels so good.

“Oh, no,” Bones murmurs, though, pins him down with a hand on his hip and if he’s trying to reduce Jim’s burgeoning arousal it is not working. “I’m not letting you come in your underwear when you can be doing it in my mouth. Let me take care of that for you.”

It’s all Jim can do to stop himself from coming right there, that vivid mental image and that gorgeous voice conspiring against him. “I’m not gunna-“ he almost loses his confidence, before he manages to confess, feeling every day of his relative inexperience. “I won’t last long.”

Bones just smiles at him, is crawling down Jim’s body, taking his briefs with him. “Maybe not the first time.”

And Jim is not used to having to hold back, usually rushes to the finish line as quickly as possible, but that mouth is hot and wet and soft around his cock, Bones so implausibly gorgeous, that he finds it in him somewhere to hold back. Even though it makes him tremble all over, turns his every exhalation into a shrill whine, he tries so damn hard. Bones works at him with skill and patience and for every one of Jim’s involuntary responses makes rumbling sounds of approval that vibrate through him and drive him higher.

It’s so good. It’s fucking torturous bliss, knowing that if Jim were stronger, they could do this for hours, but long before he’s emotionally ready he shatters with a suitably broken sound, comes onto Bones’ tongue, down his throat. He’s gentled through it so he’s practically sobbing by the time he sags, oversensitive and overwhelmed, into the sheets, with soft kisses being pressed to the insides of his thighs.

“I want to wait. I like it,” Bones tells him, too, when Jim drags him up and into a proper kiss, all uncoordinated enthusiasm coaxed slower into a deep, wet slide of tongues, when Jim reaches for his cock, still hard and dark and wet at the tip. “It alright if I fuck you, sweetheart?”

“Yes. Please, that.”

Bones growls his approval, breaks their kiss to bite Jim’s throat and make him shudder with the invigorating sparks of pain, laps at his skin and asks, in between, as though it’s all that easy, “Can I rim you?”

Jim arches with the almost painful rush of blood to his oversensitive cock. “Oh my God, you’re gunna kill me.”

“I hope not. I’ve got plans for you.”

And then Bones urges him over, onto his side and then to sprawl on his front, thumbs Jim’s cheeks apart and begins to slowly, lovingly, work him open on his tongue.

It’s like nothing Jim has ever experienced. He’s never had so much attention selflessly lavished on him, has never experienced this in anything beyond a perfunctory attempt to get him going. And it worked, before, so it’s absolutely perfect now, Bones swirling his tongue, spearing it deep inside him, sucking on his sensitive rim, only pushing his fingers in when he’s certain Jim is wet and swollen and ready.

Jim whines and writhes and shudders, can do nothing else, but Bones withdraws to kiss the small of his back, to rub soothingly at his side, to murmur encouragement.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous. Wanted to touch you for days,” he says, as he twists two fingers in Jim’s hole, makes him sob so loud he almost can’t hear the words, “God knows I shouldn’t. But you feel it too, don’t you? How good we could be.”

It pulls at everything inside Jim, and he remembers Bones’ warning about it possibly being too much, and he understands. It’s so close to overwhelming, but he wants it, wants more, nearly screams as Bones’ tongue slides so easily into him, inside of him, where he’s exposed and smooth and wet.

“God, I love how responsive you are. The sounds you make for me. I could keep you here for days, fill you with my fingers and my tongue and my cock until you’re hoarse.”

“What the fuck,” Jim pants, to a rueful laugh.

“Too much?”

He sounds like he genuinely cares, like Jim’s wishes are what matters most here, as though he’d sacrifice fulfilling that desire just to have him, in any way he could. Jim wants to cry, manages somehow to find words instead although he buries his face in the sheets to say, “You’re perfect. I want that, all of that, please fuck me I want you so much.”

“You ready, beautiful?”

Jim keens, nods frantically. He wants it to hurt a little, to feel the stretch, to struggle to take it so he can pretend it’s that that’s stealing his breath away.

“Will you turn over for me? So I can see you?”

Jim has literally never been asked that question before, and something deep inside of him tells him to panic, but he knows this is right, that it’s different to anyone that’s come before.

And he wants to see, too. Bones’ lips are dark and swollen, wet from his attention to Jim’s hole and although he won’t kiss Jim on the mouth, he lavishes attention on his jaw and throat even as he rolls on a hastily-acquired condom and strokes lube over it. It’s all so easy. Jim is never going to be able to go back to fucking people his own age again.

He doesn’t know if he’s going to be able to go back to fucking anyone else, at all, but he’s not quite ready to think about that, just yet. Words said in the heat of the moment don’t necessarily mean-

“Oh, fuck yes,” he groans, and shudders, and trembles at the first sensation of the stretch, of knowing it’s Bones breaching him. His eyes want to close, and it’s a battle to keep them open but even Bones is losing his composure, the muscles of his stomach rippling as he tries to hold back, ever the gentleman.

Jim lifts his hips, drags him in a fraction deeper, hears him grunt like he’s been punched and feels an aroused shiver shoot up his spine at the dark glare he receives for it.

“I’m not gunna break, Bones.”

“I told you-” is the only warning he receives before Bones is pulling out, making Jim whine with the loss and reach out to clutch at him, to try and pull him back with legs wrapped around his waist- “I’m not gunna hurt you. Now trust me.”

And fuck, Jim doesn’t like it, but he does trust him, and although he pouts and pleads with his eyes, he stops trying to make anything happen.

Bones smiles down at him, strokes Jim’s cock to make him sigh with building pleasure, so he relaxes and loses tension he hadn’t even realised he was holding. “That’s it. You tell me if anything hurts, now.”

It doesn’t hurt. Oh, God, Jim’s never known it could be this easy, but Bones slides right in the second time and there’s no burn or pain, just the visceral, all-consuming fullness he’s only ever ineffectually chased after before. He makes a nonsensical, whimpering sort of noise, wants to drag Bones close but doesn’t dare, for fear of losing this.

Such fears don’t bother Bones, who pets his thighs and lets his gaze wander over Jim’s body as he settles, as deep as he’ll go, then begins to roll his hips. He’s got such confidence, and it’s not at all unfounded, Jim realises, as each one of those movements begins to spark somewhere he’s only ever felt in passing before, an itch he’s had but has never been able to scratch.

It’s all he can do to match that rhythm, to lift his arms and grip the headboard of his bed and grind down into it, to have both of them groan with the first time Bones nails his prostate dead on, making him clench tightly with the flash of bright-hot pleasure.

They are amazing together. Bones reads him and his body, never needs to ask what feels good, just finds that angle and keeps at it, pushing one of Jim’s thighs back with one hand to stretch him open further while he pounds him into the bed and murmuring appreciatively at how flexible he is.

And Jim wants everything he has to give, to try every single idea he’s suggested, doesn’t feel like he can do much when he’s being so ruthlessly held down but he can see Bones is getting what he craves, too, in every shift of their bodies, in every drop of sweat that drips down his chest, in his dark, intent eyes with blown-wide pupils.

It all feels so good Jim’s almost forgotten that there’s an endgame here, and Bones only has to take hold of his cock and stroke roughly a few times before he’s coming, every single muscle in his body pulling taut at the sharp burst of it, at the pulses that paint messy stripes across his chest and spatter between them.

He has to clench tight, his muscles milking Bones’ cock as he continues to grind deep inside of him, coaxing out shivering aftershocks that make Jim twitch helplessly, but Bones’ eyes are on Jim’s face, like he’s any sort of a sight in the throes of his climax when he finally shoves in and shudders and comes. He groans, low, and it’s very possibly the best sound Jim’s ever heard.

He hunches over, too, doesn’t want to pull free just yet and Jim doesn’t want to let him go, either, knows he’s going to feel his absence immediately but he still won’t kiss, even though Jim doesn’t mind the taste of himself on Bones’ tongue.

Instead he strokes Jim’s hair, looks into his eyes, smiles softly at him, wraps him in his arms and holds him close until his softening cock threatens to slip free and he has to attend to the condom.

Jim’s feeling brave. As Bones ties the condom off and tosses it in the bin, Jim reaches out to stroke a single finger along his arm. It’s the clearest indication he’s ever given a lover than he doesn’t want them to go. He sort of gets his wish.

“Let me wash my mouth out. Clean us both up. I’ll be right back.”

“And then we can go again?” Jim asks, with shameless optimism, except when Bones comes back and kisses him soft and sweet and wipes him down with a warm, damp cloth, all he wants is to curl up against his side and sleep.


Saying goodbye is hard after a few more days together, occasionally stealing moments, but they have each other’s numbers, and Jim’s the last person prone to overestimating his own long-term appeal but he thinks they might be alright. They sneak a kiss while Jo’s loading up the car, smile dumbly at each other for a little while, break apart with a last, lingering touch of their fingers.


“I told you you could do better than those stupid girls on campus,” Jo says, after they leave. She’s watching the road so can only glance over and bare her teeth at him briefly when Jim stares at her in horror.

“Did you set me up with your dad? That’s so messed up!”

Jo scoffs. “What do you know? You don’t even have a dad.”

They share a conspiratorial look, their shared smiles too broad for the terrible joke, just like always. Jim loves her so damn much. She might be his best friend.

And then Jim says, “I got a daddy now, though.”

At least Jo glances in her mirror before she jerks the steering wheel to the side and back so Jim’s head hits the window.