Work Text:
“Jesus Christ, Matt, could you let me have one thing?”
They’re back from the bar, just drunk enough to be stumbling into the apartment. Jay storms furious towards the living room as Matt closes the door behind them with a put-upon sigh.
“My God, Jay, are you still on this?” Matt takes his jacket off and throws it on a chair (aims for the chair, at least; it lands somewhere near the fridge). “Listen, I’m sorry you couldn’t seal the deal with that girl, but you’re freaking out on me, man. Besides, there’s other fish in the sea, eh?”
“Not with you swimming around in it!” Jay points wildly in his direction and Matt pulls a face. “And don’t act like this isn’t your fault.”
“My fault? Oh I’m sorry Casanova, I forgot that every woman on earth is just waiting for the chance to throw herself at you—”
“You’re such an asshole—”
“As if every girl is just dreaming of some guy who’s built like a scarecrow and doesn’t own a comb—”
“Like you can talk!” Jay grabs another beer from the fridge and sits heavily on the couch. “Stop playing innocent, Matt, it’s not cute. I just don’t understand why you keep doing this.”
Matt blinks and grasps for something to say. He’s not, like, surprised, per se, that Jay’s picked up on the pattern, it’s more that he’s having the unpleasant feeling of his optimism about Jay’s ignorance falling apart. If he were a lesser man, Matt might even be feeling a little embarrassed to be caught out like this – but he’s not a lesser man, and he hasn’t really been caught doing anything anyways, hasn’t even done anything wrong, frankly, if anything he – that’s it. “Did you ever think maybe I’m looking out for these girls?” Matt redirects as Jay glares at him. “No seriously, Jay, the last girl you managed to convince to come home with you ran out of here in tears—”
“That was a misunderstanding!” Jay leans forward like he’s going to get up (Matt thinks this is potentially good if he’s about to storm up to his room, but potentially bad if Matt’s pushed him to violence) and then takes a moment to visibly reign himself in (usually bad). “You know what I think?” Jay gestures in Matt’s direction with his beer, something halfway between a sneer and a grin creeping across his face (uh oh). “I think you’re jealous.” (This is catastrophic.)
Matt opens and closes his mouth, hopes Jay’s drunk enough that he can’t tell Matt’s flailing. “Jealous?” He means to sound incredulous, dismissive, but it comes out weak and maybe even a little nervous. He tries for a scoff and it lands flat. Jay takes a drink, looking smug.
“Yeah, jealous.” Jay leans forward again, gets that glint in his eye that he always gets when he thinks he’s figured something out. Matt’s palms are sweating, but he reminds himself that Jay only has about a 50/50 shot at being right about anything at any given time, and even that’s being sort of generous. “I think you can’t stand that girls like me more than you, and that’s why you always have to act like a fucking psycho, so I can’t have them.”
He looks so pleased with himself that it actually pisses Matt off. He’s never known anyone who can be such a smug asshole while also being about a million kilometers off the mark, but Jay somehow manages every time. Matt takes a deep breath and tries to remember that this is a good thing, for Jay to get so close to the issue and then veer hard left, but he has this hot, itchy feeling he gets sometimes when these things come up. That feeling that makes it so he can never leave a close call alone, always has to twist the knife – the one in his or Jay’s back, he’s never sure until the damage is done. And so he means to say something placating and move on, he really does, but instead what comes out is, “You are hands down the dumbest person I’ve ever met.” Before the words are even all the way out of his mouth, Matt knows it was the wrong – the worst – thing to say. (He doesn’t even really think it’s true, thinks Jay can be pretty brilliant, actually, not just because he’s obviously a piano genius but also because there are times that Matt thinks he and Jay might actually share a brain with how quick he picks things up when everyone else is miles behind, on another planet.) But he’s annoyed, alright, and sort of tipsy, and he briefly thinks that he might even be a little hurt before he shoves the feeling aside. “Fuck, that’s not – listen,” Matt starts, not sure where he’s heading with it, but he’s too late to salvage things anyways, to brush past the statement before it sticks.
“Fuck you.” Now Jay sounds flat and wounded and has that distant, sad look in his eye, like he’s about to shuffle over to the piano and play that stupid fucking Charlie Brown song or something. Matt can not handle that right now.
“Look, Bird,” the nickname is a desperate bid and Matt knows it, thinks Jay probably knows it too, “What do you even care what I think?” Jay frowns. Matt decides to suck it up so the night can move on and they can play Mario Kart or something, he’s getting sick of this conversation, wants to get out while he’s still managed to dodge being cornered. “You’re right, man, I’m just – jealous. Or whatever.” There’s a bitter taste in his mouth, but he pushes past it. “You got me, I’ll chill out, okay, next time I’ll be, like, the world’s best wingman–”
“Next time?” Jay’s loud and unbelieving and seems like he’s fired back up. Fuck. “Matt, I’m never taking you in public again. I’m serious.”
Matt knows Jay doesn’t mean it, or at least hopes so, but then he thinks some more and he also knows that he was particularly egregious tonight, not that he would ever, ever admit it. It’s just, that girl had been so handsy with Jay, like, right off the bat, no tact at all, it had twisted his guts in knots in disgust at her desperation more than anything, honestly. And Jay was way out of her league, anyways – really, Matt had saved him the embarrassment, and he thinks about saying that but doesn’t want Jay to think he’s complimenting him right now, and the silence has stretched for way too long and Matt fumbles blindly for a line and somehow lands on, “Come on, man,” which is maybe the lamest possible thing to say in this moment.
Luckily, Jay seems to mostly just be looking for an excuse to keep going off on him, doesn’t seem like he even really registered Matt’s specific words. “No, I mean it,” he’s saying, his volume ramping up steadily, “You are such a pain in the ass. Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I got laid?”
Matt does, actually, but he’d rather be shot in the face than say that out loud. Instead, he opts for, “Sorry, are we talking before or after my sister?” It’s a cheap shot and doesn’t even really make sense, but he figures Jay’s too pissed off and buzzed to nitpick Matt’s phrasing right now. Jay just gapes at him, seems like he might actually be so mad that he had a stroke, and Matt pushes ahead before Jay can come up with something to say. “Look, Jay, I’ll make it up to you–”
“You’ll make it up to me?” Jay’s furious again, slams his empty beer bottle down on the coffee table and does some violent gesturing. He stays seated, though, so Matt counts his blessings.
“Yeah, man, I’ll make it up to you–”
“How are you gonna make it up to me–”
“Come on, Jay, I–”
“Like, are you gonna suck my fucking dick about it?”
As soon as the question is out, Jay snaps his jaw shut so hard it makes an audible click. There’s a profound, horrible silence in the apartment as the question settles. Deliriously, Matt imagines he can hear the moment the words hit the floor. He blinks. Jay has this wild, panicked look in his eyes, and Matt thinks he can see a blush creeping through Jay’s stubble. Matt flat out refuses to think about what his own face must look like, because he knows deep in his heart that there’s probably some awful transparency there.
Jay groans and leans back into the couch, covering his face with his hands. “Shit, Matt, I didn’t–”
“Yeah, alright.” Matt’s as surprised as anyone that he says it. He actually looks over his shoulder to see if somehow someone else maybe was responsible, but there’s no one there. Obviously. He swallows audibly and cringes at the sound, and when he turns his head back to the living room Jay is staring at him, slack-jawed. Matt waits for Jay to say something, but he seems to have been rendered entirely speechless. Matt can’t really blame him. He tries to think very quickly and very carefully about what he’s going to do next.
The thing is, Matt just says shit all the time. He doesn’t even think about most of what leaves his mouth, let alone mean it. But he finds that he really, really meant that. It’s not, like, his fault, alright, that he said it – you try being starved and locked in a room with some beautiful handsome off-limits steak, who suddenly after like ten years decides to put up a sign that says eat me, and like it’s obviously a joke or a jab or some other j-word but you’re starving, you know, you kind of have to seize the opportunity when it arrives, even if you think the steak is probably secretly full of rat poison, doesn’t matter, you’ll take what you can get, at this point, right? Or something. Matt thinks this particular metaphor has gotten completely out of hand and also it’s been what feels like hours since he spoke and he’s a man of action anyways, so. He takes a tentative step towards Jay, who sucks in a sharp breath but doesn’t move. Jay watches like a hawk (ha, Bird, get it?) as Matt eases towards him. Matt swears the air gets thicker with every inch he moves, feels like he’s maybe going insane, and thinks desperately that he wouldn’t be doing this if he thought there was no chance but Jay hasn’t asked him what the fuck he’s doing, yet, and there’s this heat that Matt doesn’t think he’s imagining in Jay’s eyes.
It doesn’t take long for Matt to reach the couch. He’s standing right in front of Jay, towering over him, really, and Jay’s looking up at him dumbly, clenching his hands on the edge of the couch cushion. Nothing’s even happened but Matt feels absurdly like this is all moving way too fast, like they should talk about it or something, but he somehow knows for a fact that if the momentum gets broken now they’ll never get it back, won’t ever talk about it again, maybe won’t ever talk again period, and — Matt thinks he might be freaking out, a little bit. He does the only thing he can think to do, the natural next step, and drops to his knees. It’s not graceful, he hits his hip on the coffee table and lands too hard, no padding at all with the way his jeans are shredded, but it’s worth it for the fucking look Jay gets on his face. Matt runs one hand up Jay’s calf, hooks a hand around the back of his knee.
“Matt,” Jay’s voice is thick and a little uneven, “If you’re fucking with me right now, man, I swear to God—”
Matt shakes his head as hard as he can, tightens his grip on Jay’s leg. “Serious as a heart attack, Birdie. Promise.”
Jay still looks sort of uncertain, but he takes a deep breath and does this thing where he spreads his legs and slides down the couch a little at the same time, which all moves his crotch significantly closer to Matt, who thinks he might actually die. Matt finally drops his gaze from Jay’s to look in front of him and, wow. Matt feels a knot he didn’t know was there in his chest start to unravel at the irrefutable evidence that Jay’s not fucking with him, either. Well, not unless Jay has a totally unrelated boner and/or is planning an incredibly elaborate gotcha, but Matt’s pretty certain that Jay was genuinely clueless until about thirty seconds ago and he’s more a follower than a leader, anyways, Matt doesn’t think he could pull something like that off. So, he lets the knot in his chest unravel.
Matt leaves one hand behind Jay’s knee and puts the other on Jay’s thigh, rubs it up and down. He looks back up at Jay and says, “If you don’t mean this or you want me to stop, you need to say something, like, now.” Jay blinks down at him. “I’m serious man, I think I’m gonna go crazy down here, this is your last chance.” Matt doesn’t mean to make it a challenge, but it comes out as one anyways. Sort of sounds like don’t pussy out on me.
To Matt’s surprise, Jay scoffs and says, “You wish.”
Matt feels a sort of thrill that Jay seems to be settling into the situation, but he also kind of wants to get him back to that dumb, awe-stricken look he was sporting a minute ago. He brings both hands up to Jay’s waistband but doesn’t pull it down, grabs one of Jay’s hips with one hand and ghosts his thumb over the button of his jeans with the other. Matt rests his cheek on Jay’s thigh (Jay clenches his jaw and stiffens almost imperceptibly beneath him), looks up through his eyelashes and says, “I’ve never done this before.” He’s sort of playing coy but, beneath that, he’s also being serious, leaves off be nice to me? be gentle? mostly because it would make him sound like a bitch but partly, Matt realizes with a sharp heat in his gut, because he’s not actually sure he wants that.
“No shit,” Jay says. There’s silence for a beat, Matt willing himself to move but not quite there yet. Jay rolls his eyes. “You can start by taking off that fucking hat. Seriously, man.”
Matt just blinks at him. He’d honestly forgotten he was wearing it. Jay huffs and goes to remove it himself, and Matt expects him to smack it off his head or fling it away carelessly, but Jay just leans over to set it gently on the opposite arm of the couch, out of reach. The movement snaps Matt out of his daze a little bit, lets him finally move his shaky hands to undo the button of Jay’s jeans, pull down the fly. Jay sighs as Matt’s knuckles brush over his zipper and he leans his head back, and — fuck, he looks good like this, Matt thinks, is pissed that the entitled air Jay’s giving off is actually really, really doing it for him, is even more pissed that Jay seems like he’s managed to relax into the situation when Matt suddenly feels like he might pass out or throw up or something, which. Not ideal for the task at hand. Whatever, Jay’s not the one about to suck his best friend’s dick, Matt thinks he’s entitled to a little nervousness.
Above him, Jay clicks his tongue and says, "Should've guessed you were all talk,” and it’s clearly a dig but it comes out a little strained as he shifts his hips expectantly. When Matt glares up at him, he can’t quite decipher the look in Jay’s eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Matt bites, “Would you rather I was, like, gagging for it?” He feels himself blush at the phrasing even as he notices Jay’s grip on the back of the couch tighten. Interesting. “That’s weird, man, and also kind of ga—”
“I just wish you’d do something down there.” Matt’s actually glad Jay cut him off instead of agreeing to pick a fight in which Matt doesn’t really have a leg to stand on, but the relief doesn’t have long to settle; even as Jay’s talking, he’s putting one hand on the back of Matt’s head and pulling him down, impatient. Matt tries to make an indignant noise but instead makes something that sounds suspiciously like a moan that’s muffled into Jay’s skin as he suddenly finds himself with his nose pressed against the waistband of Jay’s underwear. Matt doesn’t even need to look up to know that Jay’s got a stupid smirk on his face, can almost hear it in his breathing. Matt’s still feeling a bit self-conscious and strange, but, credit where credit’s due, the push did get him out of his head enough to take action, so. It seems sort of stupid to mouth at Jay through his boxers (Matt’s brain supplies the word nuzzling, which is immediately kicked with great prejudice into a locked drawer), but the feeling doesn’t last long, not with the choked-off noise Jay makes up there, surprised, like he somehow wasn’t really expecting it. Matt pushes in closer, opens his mouth and experimentally uses the flat of his tongue to lick a broad stripe up Jay’s dick through the damp cotton – Matt thinks it’s his dick, anyways, hopes he’s in the right area, it’s kind of hard to tell with the layers and the way his head is swimming. He must’ve done something right, though, if the way Jay shudders beneath him is any indication. Matt grabs Jay’s hip and does it again, and Jay’s hand which had been resting in his hair suddenly tightens and yanks him back so sharply Matt gives a small yelp and reaches back to grab Jay’s wrist. Jay doesn’t let go but he does loosen his grip fractionally, gives Matt an apologetic look, and – Jesus. Matt actually takes a good look at Jay’s face and he sort of looks wrecked, flushed and a little crazed.
“Matt,” Jay says, and Matt can tell he’s trying to sound calm and collected but he’s failing miserably, “Fucking, get on with it, yeah?”
Matt kind of wants to make Jay beg, he realizes. The force of it hits him like a truck. He wants to take his time, maybe even wants to get Jay to the point of tears, until he can’t think about anything else, wants to make him realize he was fucking stupid for ever trying to get this anywhere else, for thinking anyone but Matt could ever give him anything he needed. Matt licks his lips and watches Jay’s eyes drop to track the movement, feels a sharp pain in his ribcage when he remembers that’s not what this is. Kicks himself for letting himself think about it, for wishing this was more than a pathetic attempt to keep Jay from walking out the door. But the damage is done. And so maybe Jay doesn’t say please, but Matt chooses to take the request as a win. Matt swallows, watches Jay track that, too. He doesn’t trust his voice but he nods, barely, as much as he can with how tight Jay is still holding onto his hair, the sensation of his grip barely edging over into being unpleasant. Matt swipes his thumb over Jay’s wrist where he’s still holding on, and Jay shakes him a little once, twice, like Matt’s a dog he has by the scruff of the neck, Jesus Christ. He can’t quite stop a small whimper from coming out, and Jay lets go with a laugh, gives Matt a couple playful but firm pats on his cheek — fuck’s sake — and leans back again, grinning. Jay spreads his arms along the back of the couch and lets his knees fall apart even more, quirks an eyebrow at Matt. “Well?”
“You’re such a douchebag,” Matt spits, even as he’s scrambling forwards, fuming over the butterflies in his stomach (not butterflies, really, something worse – wasps, maybe), absolutely livid at his own reaction to Jay’s behavior, hoping Jay doesn’t notice the way his hands are shaking as he grabs the waistband of his underwear, hoping he can’t tell Matt actually is fucking gagging for it, now, as he finally gets Jay out of his pants, and. Oh. That’s – that’s a dick, alright. Matt just barely stops himself from letting out a hysterical giggle. It’s not – Matt’s seen Jay naked before, and vice versa, it’s just. He’s never seen Jay like this. Matt’s embarrassed to realize his mouth is watering a little.
“Yeah?” Matt barely registers Jay talking above him, snaps his eyes up to look. “I think you like it.”
“You’re unbelievable,” Matt says, can feel himself blushing and curses himself as Jay huffs out a laugh. “No, seriously, I don’t know how you manage to pull anyone like this.” Matt really shouldn’t antagonize, not right now, but it’s second nature at this point. He can’t deny the thrill that runs through him when Jay sets his jaw and gets a mean little glint in his eye.
Jay grabs the back of the couch like he’s stopping himself from reaching for Matt, who short-circuits a little imagining the possibilities of what he would do if his hand did reach him. “You’re stalling,” Jay says, and gives a pointed look down at his own crotch and then back at Matt’s face, eyebrows raised in a challenge, which simply won’t do, so.
Matt leans forward and grabs the base of Jay’s dick and puts his mouth on him all at the same time, before he can think about it too hard or chicken out (so what if he was stalling, sue him). Jay seems caught off-guard, gasping and arching into Matt’s touch. It’s…fine, Matt thinks, the warm weight of Jay in his mouth, he feels sort of indifferent towards it. He realizes he should probably be moving and bobs his head up and down, feeling kind of stupid and self-conscious before he hears Jay moan out a breathy, “Jesus Christ, MJ,” above him, and then his hand is back in Matt’s hair, and Matt thinks oh, shit as he realizes that, actually, this is easily in the top five best things to ever happen to him. He hooks his left arm under Jay’s knee, manhandles him a little (the noises Jay makes as he gets moved around, God, indignant and offended and a little whiny) so that his leg is over Matt’s shoulder and Matt can grab at Jay’s hip, run his hand up Jay’s side inside his shirt where his skin feels like it’s on fire.
“Matt, Matt, fuck,” Jay starts babbling above him as Matt works on seeing how deep he can take him (he thinks he’s doing pretty good, all things considered, never had much of a gag reflex to begin with anyways, and he pats himself on the back for remembering to tuck his teeth and breathe through his nose). “You’re fucking – killing me–” Jay can’t even finish his sentence, tightens his grip in Matt’s hair again and thrusts up at the same time and Matt actually does gag, just a bit, and Jay surprises Matt by muttering, “Shit, sorry,” and taking his hand off Matt’s head so he can come up for air if he wants, which, absolutely not, thank you very much. Matt grabs Jay’s wrist and puts his hand back where it was. Jay chuckles and doesn’t hesitate to grab Matt’s hair, even harder than he had it before, pulling tight enough that Matt feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes, tries very hard not to think about what he looks like right now. “Matt, MJ, look at me.” Matt can hear the faint smile in Jay’s voice, past the breathiness and the strain. Matt doesn’t particularly want to look up, doesn’t really think Jay needs to see whatever is in his face right now, but he opens his eyes and does it anyways. “That’s it, good boy,” Jay grits out, and something passes over his face like he didn’t mean to say it. Matt hears that was a good girl clear as day in his head, remembers the sheer relief when Jay had sat down next to him after all the crying and the yelling and the spitting, remembers playing dumb in an attempt to get past the writhing jealousy he’d felt at the time. So yeah, maybe when Matt hears good boy, instead, he moans and ruts against nothing, as if that’s his fault, these are fucking, insane circumstances, and he thinks he’s maybe low on oxygen besides, okay? Jay grins down at him, his expression edging into a sneer, fangs on display, and he says, “You’re such a freak.” It’s a little mean but it’s not, like, the meanest Jay’s ever been. Not by a long shot.
Matt, who is rapidly abandoning what shreds of dignity he has left, is actually reevaluating the idea that he had any dignity to begin with, can’t do anything but nod and moan again around Jay’s dick. Jay hisses and fucks shallowly into Matt’s mouth, is letting out a steady stream of dirty talk that Matt thinks would sound stupid as fuck coming from anyone else, probably. Shit like being so good for me and look at you and knew that fucking mouth was good for something. Matt’s brain is doing a weird thing where it’s simultaneously trying to internalize everything photographically and also gloss over the details, because if Matt focuses in too hard on the words he thinks he might come in his jeans and then he’ll probably legitimately die of embarrassment. After a little while – could be seconds or hours or even days, for all Matt knows – Jay makes an obvious effort to stop moving so much, actually seems like he’s trying to pull Matt off of him. Matt decides immediately that he would rather die than let that happen, wraps his free arm around Jay’s thigh and presses his forearm against his hips, holding him back and doubling down in his efforts to swallow Jay whole. Jay curses and curls over him like he can’t stop himself, twists his one hand in Matt’s hair and brings the other to the back of Matt’s neck and establishes a weird push-pull thing like he can’t decide what he wants. Matt’s delirious with it, feels on top of the world, bizarrely proud that Jay’s losing it a little.
“Fuck, MJ, you gotta — I’m gonna—” Jay leans back and Matt realizes what’s happening, is actually sort of touched that Jay was trying to be a gentleman about it. Matt genuinely can’t imagine freeing up his mouth for even a second to clarify how much he absolutely does not want to move and so he does the only thing he really can think to do in this situation, which is give Jay a shaky thumbs up and shoot him a wink. Jay laughs above him in a way that sounds horrifically fond but also completely strangled, which has Matt’s stomach doing insane somersaults, and then he’s pulling Matt so close that his nose gets buried in Jay’s pubes (which is kind of weird and gross but not, like, the worst thing in the world). Jay thrusts into his mouth once, twice, and then he’s coming with a wet groan.
Matt doesn’t get it all – it’s his first time, okay, sorry he’s not, like, a dick-sucking professional – but he does manage to swallow most of it. Jay finally successfully pulls him off by the hair, and there’s actually a string of spit between Matt’s mouth and Jay’s dick that lingers for a second, like a fucking, bad porno or something, it’s humiliating. Matt’s panting and his face is on fire and he doesn’t even want to think about what he looks like, right now. Jay’s still holding him in place with one hand and he takes his other to give Matt a couple more of those playful slaps on the cheek, leaves his hand there and says, “Attaboy, Matthew,” with a shit-eating grin and Matt decides that he’s absolutely gonna kill Jay if he ever convinces himself to get up off his knees. Matt rolls his eyes but before he can come up with something to say, Jay takes his thumb and swipes it through the mess on Matt’s chin, gathers up whatever’s there and pushes into Matt’s mouth with it. It’s stupid, so stupid, Matt’s already blown the guy, for fuck’s sake, but he goes along with it anyways, sucks Jay’s thumb like a fucking nympho. Shit, is Matt a slut? He’s starting to think he might be a little bit of a slut. He shifts where he’s still kneeling, trying to get some of the pressure off his knees and his dick at the same time. Jay gets this…look in his eyes, Matt doesn’t know what it is, but Jay says, “C’mere, fuck,” and grabs Matt by the lapels to haul him bodily up onto his lap. Matt’s too confused to resist, ends up straddling Jay on the couch with his shoes still on, so stupid, and then Jay’s hand is on the back of his neck and pulling him down and –
Somehow, even after everything else, kissing Jay is what feels like crossing a line they can’t come back from. Or maybe saying Matt’s getting kissed by Jay would be more accurate – Jay’s on him like a madman, it’s gross, Matt’s pretty sure there’s still drool all over his chin and he realizes that Jay can probably taste himself in Matt’s mouth with how aggressively he’s sticking his tongue in there, Jesus Christ. Matt lets out an awful whine, he can’t help it, it just happens, and Jay (bastard) makes an encouraging noise and grabs a handful of Matt’s ass. Matt needs Jay to touch him, like, now, but doesn’t want to pull back to say so. Instead he grabs Jay by the wrist and maneuvers his hand to his crotch, doesn’t dare push down but hopes that Jay gets the hint anyways.
Jay does. He pulls his mouth off Matt’s but Matt doesn’t have long to mourn the loss, is almost immediately making happy noises as Jay moves on to biting Matt’s jawline, his neck. Jay undoes Matt’s jeans one-handed. “What the fuck.” Jay pulls back like he’s been burned, looks up at Matt like he’s about to start freaking out and Matt rolls his eyes. “No, just. Neat trick, Bird.”
“Fuck off,” Jay scoffs, but there’s no bite to it, just naked relief, “Scared me.” He puts his mouth back on Matt’s neck and his hand back at Matt’s waistband. Matt decides not to dignify Jay with a response beyond shuffling forwards on his knees, grinding into his hand, figures that’s the best way to get obviously I want this, you fucking moron across to Jay. He thinks it works but then Jay’s taking his hand away, and Matt makes an embarrassing, needy noise, before Jay holds his hand out, palm up, in front of Matt’s face.
Matt frowns. “I don’t–”
“Spit in it, idiot.”
“Oh! Gross,” Matt says, but he does it anyway. Jay laughs and finally, finally gets his stupid hand down Matt’s pants, and, “Holy shit, Jay.”
“Yeah?” Jay’s grinning and it’s not a mean one, looks open and happy. “You like that, MJ?” He’s doing something genuinely diabolical with his thumb and Matt puts a hand on the back of the couch next to Jay’s head to brace himself. Matt’s not even going to last thirty seconds, probably, which is mortifying – but then again, he managed to not already have a wet patch in his jeans by the time he finished blowing Jay, so he’s gonna choose to say that, overall, a win is a win.
“Fuck you,” Matt bites out, but any edge is lost in the moan that immediately follows. “I can’t even fucking – look at you, right now.”
“Yes, you can,” Jay says, and then he actually grabs Matt by the jaw so he can’t look away and, oh, it’s over, Matt has one hand white-knuckling the back of the couch and the other probably leaving bruises on Jay’s shoulder as he comes in Jay’s hand and makes a noise that he absolutely will not ever, not even under pain of torture or death, admit came from him. Jay gives his face one gentle shake and then lets go, pulls his hand out of Matt’s pants and scrunches his nose at it in an expression of distaste that’s sort of unbearably cute. Matt has just enough wherewithal to blindly reach behind him until he grabs the napkins on the coffee table, leftover from their last takeout, throws them vaguely at Jay before he collapses on top of him with his head in the crook of his neck. Jay makes a little humming noise as he wipes off his hand, and Matt can tell he’s being too clingy but can’t stop himself from snaking his arms around Jay’s shoulders while he has the opportunity. He’s not sure he’ll get it again, he thinks out of nowhere, and he suddenly sort of wants to die. Jay brings a hand up and combs it through Matt’s hair, way too gentle, petting him, really, and Matt thinks he might fucking — cry, or something, he’s not sure. It’s fucked.
“Well,” Matt says, because it’s been quiet for too long. He doesn’t have anything to follow it up with, but Jay cuts him off anyway.
“Shh, MJ, don’t ruin it,” Jay says, still running his fingers through Matt’s hair, and Matt’s heart somehow sinks and soars at the same time.
There’s another long stretch of silence. And Matt doesn’t want to ruin it, but his pants are getting sticky and uncomfortable and he sort of wants to go rinse his mouth out and, more than anything, maybe, the longer he sits in Jay’s arms the worse he knows it’s gonna hurt when he leaves them. So Matt gives Jay one tight squeeze and then sits up and leans back, cracks his neck and avoids Jay’s eyes. He shuffles around mentally for something to say so he can break away, somehow settles on, “I gotta piss,” and immediately wants to punch himself in the face.
Jay gives him a little half-smile. He’s doing this very distracting thing where his hands are resting on the outside of Matt’s thighs, his thumbs soothing circles on his hipbones. “I’m not stopping you.”
Matt doesn’t move for a good thirty seconds, and he’s not sure why. He realizes abruptly that he’s waiting for Jay to kiss him again, which is so embarrassing that he scrambles off of him as fast as he can, almost falls on his ass on the floor, knows he’s blushing and has the bizarre urge to put his hat back on. He eyes where it’s sitting on the couch but leaves it be, then realizes he’s just sort of standing in place and fidgeting. He can feel Jay’s eyes on him and refuses to look over at him. “Right,” Matt says, claps his hands once, “I’m just gonna—” he does a vague, aborted gesture behind him, and then he’s turning tail and booking it to the bathroom before Jay can respond, but he hears something that sounds suspiciously like laughter at his back. Matt ignores it, stops by his room and grabs a t-shirt and his flannel pajama pants (and some clean underwear) on the way to the bathroom. He very deliberately does not look at himself in the mirror as he washes his hands and swigs some mouthwash, briefly considers taking a shower but figures fuck it, he’s tired, it’s not that serious. He chucks his dirty clothes vaguely in the direction of his hamper on the way back down to the living room, pauses on the last step to take a deep breath and tries to shake the nervous energy out of his body before rounding the corner.
It looks like Jay also had time to go change, sitting on the couch in sweats and his red hoodie. There’s a fresh beer in front of him and one on the coffee table by Matt’s usual spot, too. He has a Wii remote in his hand and gives Matt a crooked little smile. “It’s still sort of early,” Jay says, “You wanna play?” If Matt didn’t know better, he’d say Jay almost seems nervous.
“Sure, man.” Matt goes to get on the couch, has a quick, silent crisis about where to put himself and ends up sitting about a foot away from Jay, close enough he imagines he can feel the heat radiating off of him but not so close that he’s making it weird. He thinks. Jay knocks their knees together, and Matt lets out a breath he didn’t know he was still holding. It’s not nearly enough, for Matt, not in a real way, but he thinks the warm line of their legs pressed against each other will probably get him through for now. They’re okay, which he realizes is more than he had really hoped for. He knows how to play the long game, he figures, he can work with this. It’s fine. It’s all good.
They pull up Mario Kart. Jay fucking dusts him.