Page 21

17 EMERSON

Emerson stares at himself in the mirror, trying to imagine what exactly it is that Jason sees when he looks at him. Before, when he’d thought Jason was straight, he assumed Jason’s gazes were friendship. Sure, they seemed like more, but Emerson wasn’t exactly in the position to know that. He’s never had a best friend or a lover.

Lover . Emerson doesn’t think he likes that word. It makes things sound tawdry or rooted in sex. While Emerson would very much like to have sex with Jason, in a myriad of ways, it’s not what he wants the most. Or what he wants right now, if he’s being honest.

He knows he’s been in the bathroom a long time. First to brush and floss, then to change into the clothes Jason brought him. The sweatpants hung over his feet, and even when he cinched the waistband, they’re still too big, so he settled on only wearing the t-shirt Jason brought him over his compression boxers.

Considering the shirt fits Jason, it hangs loosely on Emerson—the neck exposing his sharp collarbones. The way it drapes over his lanky body makes it look like he’s not wearing anything underneath. He has no idea if this is something Jason might like. He’s never looked at himself and tried to understand what other people might find attractive or not about him. While Emerson has certainly felt attraction to men, it’s always been fleeting. He’s never felt his heart in his gut or a simmering arousal. Probably because Emerson is very good at compartmentalizing, and he’d never actually wanted anything from the men he thought were handsome. He wants things from Jason. So many things.

“Everything alright in there?” Jason calls. It’s expected really, since Emerson has been in the bathroom an exceptionally long time just to brush his teeth and change. He tried to brush his hair too, but Jason’s got something called a boar bristle brush. He says it’s good for his short, mixed hair.

Emerson has never even heard of it, only knows it made his hair look like he stuck his finger in a light socket.

Accepting this is as good as it’s going to get, he takes one final deep breath before reaching for the doorknob. This is only Jason , he reminds himself. Jason isn’t going to judge Emerson’s hair or anything else about him. Jason is a good man. He makes Emerson feel happy and safe in ways he didn’t even know were possible. Still, he’s never shared a bed with anyone. He has no idea what the social etiquette is in this situation. He wishes he did.

Twisting his fingers, he steps into the bedroom, exhaling a shuddering breath at what he sees. Stella is fast asleep on her dog bed in the corner along with Freddie. Emerson is curious how Jason got him to sleep there if he usually sleeps in the bed, but it’s not something he’s going to worry about right now, too grateful he will get Jason all to himself for this first night.

The blankets have been turned down, and there is one pillow on each side of the bed, Sharky sitting directly in the middle.

“Wasn’t sure what side of the bed you prefer. Didn’t wanna put him on the wrong one.”

That little part of Emerson that always feels a little bit wrong rights itself. He takes the five steps to the bed and drags Sharky to the left, away from the side of the bed with the window. The blinds might be shut, but Emerson has never been able to sleep near windows, and the fact that Jason is letting him choose, even though it’s his bed, loosens the knot in his chest. Before he can crawl into bed, Jason is behind him, those strong hands of his on Emerson’s hips as Jason’s mouth moves to the back of his neck.

“Sorry,” he murmurs.

“Are you really?”

Those big hands slide around to his tummy. He’s a little too skinny, his hip bones jutting out and his skin soft and squishy despite his lack of body fat. When Jason’s hands slide under the shirt, he half expects him to change his mind about what he feels, but instead his fingers spread wide as Jason lets out a contented sigh.

“You smell amazing.”

“Thank you,” Emerson says, blushing when Jason laughs. The vibrations of it against his back are as unfamiliar as the lips that kiss their way up to the shell of his ear.

“I don’t think I ever thought about how good another man could smell. I’ve been missing out, clearly.” Jason kisses the side of his neck once more as the tummy touches morph into a full body hug from behind. “I’m so glad you’re here, Emmy.”

The air in his lungs expels in a shuddering exhale. He’s always loved Jason’s hugs, but this is the first one from behind like this, and despite Emerson’s impressive vocabulary, none of the words he possesses come close to accurately describing how good it feels. He’s just so big, strong and warm. That part of Emerson’s brain that is almost always in fight or flight registers safety in the most basic way. A hug has never felt so good, and Emerson lets his weight fall back, a small sound of surprise falling from his lips when Jason scoops him off the floor and carries him to the bed.

Jason is careful when he sets him down, his soft laughter as he tries to covertly climb over Emerson instead of going all the way around endearing.

“You’re too big to sneak you know.”

“I know, but I’m doing it anyway,” Jason grins, ending up on top of Emerson, knees bracketing his own with one hand on either side of the pillow. “Hey there, handsome.”

“Hi.”

“There’s a man in my bed,” Jason says.

“You have very good observational skills.”

Jason barks out a laugh, glancing over his shoulder when Freddie startles. He silences himself by lowering his face into Emerson’s neck, the soft rumble of his continued amusement making Emerson smile.

Eventually Jason stops laughing, his words slightly garbled against the side of Emerson’s neck; yet somehow he understands every single one. “I like you so much.”

A simple confession, though the impact it has is anything but. Emboldened by the words, Emerson feels brave enough to touch the way he’s wanted to since Jason’s confession. He moves slowly almost as if afraid Jason might tell him to stop, even though he knows logically he won’t, letting the tips of his fingers skim against Jason’s belly where his shirt hangs loose.

“Is this?—”

“Good,” Jason finishes.

Emerson forgets to breathe when he inches his hands beneath the shirt in earnest, unprepared for Jason’s hitch in breathing. He hasn’t even done anything yet, barely skimming his fingers over the bit of hair from Jason’s treasure trail above his boxers, but from the sound Jason makes, it’s almost like Emerson is touching him somewhere far more salacious.

“Is this okay?” Emerson asks, unsure why he feels like he’s doing something naughty just from his hands under Jason’s shirt.

“Very fucking okay,” Jason says, the pitch of his voice shaky when he pulls his face out of Emerson’s neck to hover above him. “Full permission to touch me anywhere you want.”

The weight of Jason’s gaze is palpable, but the idea of eye contact right now, even with Jason, makes his skin feel itchy. He focuses instead on Jason’s mouth, memorizing the shape of his lips and the dip of the dimple in his chin as he smiles down at Emerson.

Through skyrocketing nerves and growing arousal he continues, gliding his hands up Jason’s belly. The skin is smooth then it’s not, the hair all over Jason’s chest a delight beneath his fingers. He knew Jason had chest hair—has seen it peeking out of the top of his shirts—but knowing something exists and feeling it are entirely different, and Emerson can’t stop touching it, stroking his hands over the swell of his pecs and biting on his bottom lip.

Eager to touch more, he rucks the shirt up, exploring Jason’s chest with eager eyes and equally eager hands—pausing just to stroke the hair on his chest.

“I can take my shirt off,” Jason offers.

“Please,” Emerson whispers, still not able to look him in the eyes.

For a disappointingly long few seconds, Jason is out of reach, sitting back on his heels to tug his shirt off in one swift go before he’s tumbling down on top of Emerson again without an ounce of insecurity. Not that he has anything to be insecure about. Jason’s body is a thing of glory, his biceps as massive as his broad chest and the muscles in his body honed from years of physical activity and dedication. There’s nothing hard about him though, the places that might be nothing but muscle in someone else are softened by Jason’s love of Pop-Tarts and that Mexican peanut butter candy that Emerson always forgets how to pronounce.

“I like snack time,” Jason grins when Emerson’s hands give his middle a squeeze.

“I like your body,” Emerson replies. “It’s big and strong and safe.”

“Yeah?” Jason balances himself on one hand so his other can stroke the hair back on Emerson’s head. “Not too big and hairy for you?”

Emerson shakes his head, ready to revel in Jason’s body any way he’s allowed. He wants to shove his face between the swell of his large pecs, to feel the scratch of all that chest hair against his cheeks. He wants to touch this big, beautiful man everywhere. Jason said sex didn’t have to be on the table tonight, but Emerson has waited twenty-six years for this and he’s pretty sure dying is a real possibility if he’s not allowed to finally have sex.

With a sudden burst of clarity, Emerson knows exactly what he wants, but getting the words to come out doesn’t seem to happen. The question is right there, hovering at the edge of his consciousness and sitting heavy on the tip of his tongue. Yet, no matter how many ways he rephrases it in his mind the words won’t come out.

“If talking is too hard, you can just do whatever it is you’re thinking about,” Jason suggests.

Were it anyone else, Emerson might be alarmed at his mind being read, but this is Jason who knows him, who can likely tell from the way he’s tapping his fingers against his chest and opening and closing his mouth that being verbal is suddenly far too difficult.

“How about this,” Jason says, reaching for one of Emerson’s fidgety hands and lifting it to his mouth. He kisses each finger before bringing it to his chest. “You just do what feels good, whatever that looks like. If I don’t like it, which between you and me is statistically impossible if you’re the one touching me, then I promise to tell you. Can we do that?”

Can Emerson do that? Can he just touch and explore without overthinking and worrying? Can he take what he wants without needing to ask permission or fear it’s too much? Can he make Jason feel as good as he makes Emerson feel just through his existence? He isn’t sure, but he wants to try.

“Emmy,” Jason whispers, clearly unsure what to make of Emerson’s silence. “I’m not going to rush you. We can take this as slow as you want.”

Emerson shakes his head vehemently from side to side. Slow is not what he wants. He might be a virgin but it’s not because he’s averse to sex. He’s just never met anyone who felt worth being this vulnerable with, but Jason makes the rush of arousal and anxiety bearable. It’s not scary, not in the way he always feared it might be.

“Alright.” Jason bends down kissing his forehead, then his nose. He kisses each of his cheeks then takes his lips in a kiss so sweet that Emerson’s toes curl beneath the blankets they’re tucked under.

There have been countless times in Emerson’s life when he is hyper-aware of his own body, usually when overstimulated. Times he suddenly feels every place the seams of his clothing are touching him or the wind is too abrupt against his skin. Times where his heart seems to beat too fast for his own body or his senses are on high alert in the worst way possible.

He’s hyper-aware of his body now, except it’s not painful or uncomfortable; it’s intoxicating.

All Jason is doing is kissing him, and Emerson can’t keep still, the cool cotton of the sheets beneath his legs a stark contrast to the heat of Jason’s body. He wants to feel more, doesn’t want Jason holding himself up. He wants to be crushed under Jason’s bulk, wants to feel those gloriously thick thighs and strong legs against his own. Jason’s only wearing loose boxers, so if he changed the position, his legs might rub against Emerson’s. The idea takes hold until Emerson is driven mad with the need to touch more.

Unable to put words to the desire he takes action, wrapping his own legs around Jason in a silent plea while tugging on his hips. Thankfully Jason seems to get the message, his kisses turning into moans when their clothed cocks rub together.

“You’re hard,” Jason marvels, as if he can’t believe it. Emerson echoes the sentiment even if he can’t seem to say it. Jason’s erection is firm, clearly bigger than his own and every time Jason shifts, it rubs against him in the most delicious pressure.

If Emerson were a cat, he’d roll Jason over and rub himself all over him, but he’s not sure if that would be weird. Except, Jason said he could do what he wanted. He promised to tell Emerson if he didn’t like something and Emerson trusts that Jason meant it.

Summoning all of his courage, Emerson gives Jason’s hips a push. For a second, Jason looks like a puppy someone kicked, confused and sad. Emerson doesn’t give him time to worry, pushing him until their positions are reversed, and Jason is the one on his back with Emerson seated on his lap, Jason’s cock firm beneath his ass. His dark hair is in disarray, his cheeks flushed and his chest heaving and Emerson feels more powerful than he ever has in his life.

Jason is wrecked from a few kisses, his boxers damp from his arousal, his body flushed and wanting. Emerson did this.

“I want to see if I can fit your cock in my mouth. It feels really big, so I probably can’t, but I want to try.”

Jason’s mouth falls open, the pink on his cheeks deepening to a dusty rose that highlights the warmth in honey-sweet brown eyes. “Uh, yes. Definitely yes.”

“I have a gag reflex and no idea what I’m doing,” Emerson warns, not wanting him to get his hopes up. “But I won’t throw up on your dick, I promise.”

Jason laughs, and Emerson’s chest warms because he knows Jason’s laughter isn’t directed at him. Jason laughs when he’s happy, which is often, but knowing he’s happy right now, half-dressed with Emerson still feels good.

“I’m pretty sure whatever you do to my dick, I’ll thank you. Unless you bite it, that might hurt.”

“I don’t want to bite your cock,” Emerson frowns. “Do people do that?”

“I had an ex-girlfriend that—you know what, we don’t need to talk about that,” Jason says with a shake of his head. “Just do what feels good.”

He’s glad Jason cut that off. Emerson isn’t sure if it's jealousy that one comment sparked or something else. All he knows is he doesn’t want to think about the people who have touched Jason before, or he’s going to compare himself to them. He wants to focus on them right now, just him and Jason, in Jason’s bed. Together.

“I want to make you feel good,” Emerson blurts, surprised at how easy the words come.

“My sweet Emmy.”

“Say it again,” Emerson begs.

“Emmy.”

“Not that,” Emerson whispers. “The other part.”

“You mean the part where I called you mine?” Jason hand skims over his thighs, rubbing circles just beside his knee. “You want to be mine, Emmy?”

Emerson is quite certain he’s never wanted anything more in his entire life than to belong to Jason. Which is saying a lot because Emerson has spent a lot of time over the years wishing for things he couldn’t have.

“I’m probably going too fast.” Emerson focuses on the callous on Jason’s thumb and how it feels against his skin. “This is breaking the rules a bit, isn’t it? We haven’t even had our first date yet, and now we’re going to have sex, and I’m asking for too much and?—”

“Breathe, Emmy.” Jason’s voice is deep and even when he speaks, his thumb continues its ministrations. “For what it’s worth, there are no rules in dating. Maybe more like a playbook.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Nope.” Jason pops the p while bringing his other hand up to grip Emerson’s hip. “A well-crafted playbook is crucial in football. It’s full of offensive and defensive plays, along with formations and strategies.”

“I don’t think I understand what that has to do with sex.”

“Nothing I guess, but everything too.” Jason squeezes his hip. “The playbook offers structure and strategy to win games, but sometimes—sometimes you have to say fuck the playbook and just make the play.”

“You’re comparing me to football again, aren’t you,” Emerson says, unsure when that became endearing.

“What can I say, I’m a simple man. I know what I like.” Jason’s thumb hooks under Emerson’s shirt and then below his waistband, a touch as teasing as it is grounding. “What I like is you, Emmy. Consider this me making my play.”

Jason clears his throat, his handsome face becoming even more handsome with the breadth of the smile that spreads across it.

“Emerson Miller, I am a very not straight man—probably bisexual if you want to be specific, which I know you do—and I want you. I want you in whatever way I can have you. So if you ask if you can be mine, I’m going to tell you yes, because I’m over here wanting the same damn thing. Ask me, Emmy, please.”

Heart in his throat, Emerson utters the five scariest words of his life. “Jason, can I be yours?”

“Yes, a million times, yes.” Jason surges up, kissing Emerson with all the gusto and finesse that Emerson lacks. “Fuck, you’re perfect.”

“Think that’s you,” Emerson utters, kiss drunk and stupidly happy.

Impossibly, Jason’s smile widens, his dimple on full display.

“I think I should have tried this gay thing sooner. Wait until I tell Theo. Ten out of ten.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Emerson laughs.

“Did I make you laugh? I made you laugh!” Jason actually pumps his fist in the air, looking more like one of the teenagers on his team than a thirty year old man. Maybe that’s what Emerson likes about him so much. He’s never afraid to be excited or share his joy. He doesn’t care about being superficial, only being real. “Hell yeah. My first gay kiss, my first boyfriend, and now I made you laugh. This is the best day of my life.”

“Boyfriend,” Emerson croaks.

Jason stills, hand hovering in midair. He drops it to the back of Emerson’s neck, smoothing his fingers back and forth. “Um, yes? I thought that was kind of what the ‘ be mine ’ thing meant. That’s what it meant right?”

“I’ve never had a boyfriend,” Emerson whispers, unsure if he wants to smile or cry or hide.

“Me either,” Jason says, curling the fingers around his neck and offering one of those firm, reassuring touches that Emerson likes so much. “We can figure it out together though. I bet we’re going to be fucking awesome at being boyfriends.”

As always, Jason’s conviction is unshakable, and it soothes the part of Emerson that needs to know what to expect. Whatever happens, good or bad, he knows Jason isn’t going anywhere.

If Jason King were a book boyfriend, he’d almost think he was too perfect. Except Jason isn’t a character in one of Emerson’s fictional stories. He doesn’t have to fall asleep with the words of his favorite novels in his head, imagining what life might be like if he were better at being a person or if he had someone who cared about him. This is real life, and it’s better than anything off the pages of one of his books. Jason is better because he’s real.

Emerson desperately wants to feel that realness. He wants to feel every inch of Jason’s perfectly imperfect body, to feel his dips and hollows, the muscle and softness. He wants to hear the rich timber of Jason’s voice, to know what another man—what his boyfriend —looks like when he comes.

For the first time in Emerson’s life, he wants to try something messy, emotionally and physically. He wants to taste Jason’s release, wants to sleep in a bed that’s not his own, in the arms of the one person who feels more like home than anyplace in his entire life ever has.

Emerson wants to love Jason King. Emerson does love Jason King. That, certainly, is too soon to say. So he says something wildly different instead.

“Can I still suck your cock, please?”

Emerson holds his breath, heart thundering against his ribcage. For a dizzying second, he feels like maybe he might pass out, and he really wishes that his brain understood that fight or flight is meant for actual near death experiences and not asking if you can suck your first dick.

“I think that’s the most polite proposition ever directed my way.”

“Is that a yes then?” Emerson prompts, seeking a more explicit answer despite Jason’s earlier consent.

“It’s a yes.” Jason’s eyes crinkle, his hands roaming over Emerson’s side. “Everything is a yes with you. Today, tomorrow—yes.”

“Remember, I’m going to be bad at this.” Emerson scoots down Jason’s body and settles in the space between the spread of his legs. “I’ll learn though.”

“Whatever you do, I’m going to like,” Jason assures him. “I’m uh, embarrassingly close to coming already. Just fair warning.”

“But I haven’t done anything yet.”

“I know,” Jason huffs. “I don’t think I’ve been this turned on since I was a teenager, sneaking extra boxes of tissues and lotion into my room so my parents wouldn’t know what I was doing. Except this is better because it’s not my right hand, it’s you. Sorry, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?”

“I like that you talk a lot,” Emerson admits, skimming his fingers over Jason’s stomach. It quivers under his touch, and he curls his fingers under the waistband, heart in his throat when Jason lifts his ass so Emerson can tug them down. It requires a bit of maneuvering to get them all the way off, but when he does, there is very little oxygen left in his lungs and all the blood in his body has gone south, south, south.

If Jason in nothing but his boxers was a sight, then Jason completely naked is his every fantasy come to life. The treasure trail he saw a peek of above Jason’s boxers is on full display now, the path leading down, growing thicker and darker. Emerson’s eyes trail lower until they settle on where Jason’s cock is nestled in a thick patch of dark hair, its girth as impressive as the rest of Jason.

Eager to touch, he lets his hands wrap around it, marveling at how thick it is and how little of it he can cover with one hand. Jason makes a strangled moan when Emerson strokes up, the hold loose and exploratory as he focuses on the sensory delight of Jason’s erection in his palm.

Touching another man’s dick is very different from his own; Jason’s is thicker, with the foreskin at the end that exposes the slit with every downward stroke.

Curious, Emerson bends down, letting his tongue dart out to lap at the precome that's collected there. Jason lets out a low string of expletives that Emerson is ninety-nine percent sure are in Spanish and also likely meant to be favorable, if the way Jason’s big body quivers is any indication.

Delighted by the feeling beneath his fingers, and the way Jason falls apart, he wonders what will happen when he actually puts his mouth on it. Bending himself in half, he means to swallow Jason’s cock—or at the very least the tip of it—but almost immediately gets distracted by his body hair. The dark curls surrounding his dick are so different from the wavy hair on Jason’s head or the soft fuzz on his chest. Without even consciously making the choice, Emerson’s hand relaxes its hold on Jason in favor of letting his fingers drag through the hair around the thick base.

Wondering if it might feel the same against his cheek, Emerson lays himself flat on the mattress, long legs hanging off the end of the bed so that he can rub his cheek against it. The position is definitely awkward but oddly satisfying, since the base of Jason’s cock butts up against his mouth and other cheek, flooding his olfactory senses with the thick scent of Jason’s arousal. This close the scent is stronger and sharper, but not at all unpleasant, and Emerson breathes in a shuddery breath, his own dick achingly hard in his boxers.

The softness of Jason’s skin is a contrast to the coarse hair around the base of his erection, and Emerson lets himself explore, hand trailing up and down in lazy strokes as he mouths against the side and watches a bit more precome dribble down, glistening over the thick vein that runs along the underside of his cock.

It’s not until Jason makes an inhuman sound halfway between a grunt and a whimper that it occurs to Emerson he’s probably not doing a very good job. He hasn’t actually done more than stroke and lick, and he kind of even forgot he was supposed to be making Jason come, more interested in the sensory experience of touching another man, especially one with a lot more body hair.

“Sorry,” Emerson huffs, wiping away the spit that’s dripped down the side of his chin on the back of his arm.

“I’m not sorry, that was great,” Jason grunts

“You liked it? I wasn’t sure if, well—it’s not weird?” Emerson presses, wanting the truth even while he dreads it if the answer isn’t the one he wants. He rises onto his hands and knees, eyeing Jason’s cock with a fortifiable mix of desire and apprehension, unsure how exactly he’s supposed to fit it in his mouth.

“There is nothing weird about you, but shit—watching you just touch me like that. No one has ever touched my body the way you did just now. It took every ounce of self control I have not to come watching those pretty hands and mouth of yours.”

“You really liked it?”

“Are you pressing for praise? Because I’m more than happy to give it,” Jason smirks, rising onto his elbows. There’s a light sheen of sweat on his face, and his cheeks are flushed. “You give the best dick fondles ever. Ten out of ten.”

“You gave being gay a ten out of ten too. You’re not very discerning.”

“You’re using very large words right now and expecting me to reply to them while you’re in my bed, wearing my clothes, looking sexy as hell.”

“Was that a question or a statement?”

“I don’t know,” Jason laughs, throwing his arm over his face. “I’m just trying not to embarrass myself by coming like a teenager all over your hands or face.”

“It would be very flattering if you did that,” Emerson says, shocked at his own boldness. “Also, I uh, would not mind if you came on my face.”

Jason groans loudly. “Emmy, you’re going to kill me.”

“Death by sex sounds like a satisfying way to go.”

“I can see the headline now: local high school teacher and football coach Jason King—who spent the first thirty years of his life thinking he was straight—had his bisexual awakening due to the new teacher at school. Sources close to Mr. King tell us he liked gay sex so much that he came too hard and—” Jason makes a croaking noise, falling back on the bed.

It is so entirely ridiculous that Emerson laughs, harder and deeper than he’s laughed since he was a child. He falls on his side, turning his head to muffle the sound in the mattress when one of the dogs barks. Jason says something that quiets them down, and before Emerson knows what’s happening, Jason’s big hands are under his armpits hefting him up the bed until they’re sharing one pillow and laughing quietly.

“I didn’t know sex could be fun,” Emerson whispers.

“Me either,” Jason says, nudging his nose into Emerson’s face. “I knew it’d be good though, with you.”

“Does it count as sex if neither of us have come though?” Emerson asks, squinting down between their bodies. Jason’s still gloriously naked, but Emerson’s boxers are damp in the front from his arousal and Jason’s shirt, while comfortable, is getting in the way of him being able to rub more of his body against Jason’s.

“Sex can be whatever we want, but if you’re open to both of us coming, preferably soon, I would be very on board with that.”

“Can I be naked, too?”

“Can you—fuck, yes.” Jason’s hands fly down to Emerson’s shirt, all but yanking it off him, quickly followed by his boxers. “Naked Emmy time, please and thank you.”

Emerson laughs again, unsure if he’s ever felt so happy in his entire life. He knows the answer when Jason hefts Emerson on top of him, their bodies pressed together from the tips of Emerson’s toes to their chests. Every bit of the contact is glorious, the firmness of Jason’s leaking dick so different to the softness at his belly.

“Oh,” Emerson gasps, eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head when Jason holds onto Emerson’s hips and moves him up and down to rut their bare cocks together. “ Oh .”

“Theo told me about this. He said it felt good.” Jason continues to move him, dragging their erections together with every roll of his hips and pulling on Emerson’s. “He was right.”

“I like frottage,” Emerson whines.

“Me too,” Jason grits, fingers curling around Emerson’s hips in the most gloriously possessive hold. Everything in Emerson’s brain short circuits, the glide of skin on skin and cock on cock along with Jason’s labored breathing is all it takes for his inexperience to show. When he comes, it’s with a bitten off cry he tries to silence in Jason’s neck. Through it all, Jason murmurs soft words of praise while stroking up and down Emerson’s back in a way that makes him want to stay glued to Jason and never move. Something that very well might happen if he doesn’t move and all the come dries on him. There’s also the part where Jason hasn’t come yet.

Determined to make Jason feel at least half as good as Jason made him feel, he pulls away, moving only enough to get his hands on Jason again. Emerson gives him a few strokes, watching the way Jason’s thick thighs tremble before getting a jolt of confidence that he doesn’t expect, slinking his way down Jason’s body and engulfing as much of his cock as he can. It’s not very much because Emerson’s mouth is not at all big enough to accommodate Jason’s girth in circumference or length, but he gets a good two inches down, which he’s really proud of.

Three things rapidly become apparent. One, Emerson’s gag reflex is a little more sensitive than he thought. Two, despite discovery number one, he likes the feel of Jason in his mouth, hot, heavy and thick with a salty tang. Three, and this one is the most pressing, Jason wasn’t kidding when he said he was close.

“Emmy—” he gets out, fingers curling in Emerson’s hair to give him a warning tug.

Unsure if he wants to try and swallow or pull back, he ends somewhere in the awkward middle, swallowing down a rather large mouthful of Jason’s release while the rest of it lands on his cheeks and chin.

“Holy shit,” Jason groans, petting the side of Emerson’s face. “That was the single hottest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Again, Emerson questions Jason’s judgment, but there seems little point in voicing that out loud when it always seems to work in Emerson’s favor. That and the fact that Jason looks entirely blissed out while his come drips off Emerson’s face leads him to believe he wasn’t entirely horrible at it.

“I would definitely do that again,” Emerson muses. “Though I wouldn’t mind some water. I think come makes me thirsty.”

“Give me thirty seconds to regain feeling in my legs and I’ll get you water.” Jason offers two thumbs up along with a self-satisfied grin that makes Emerson feel as good as the shared orgasm had.

True to his word, Jason departs just half a minute later, dropping a kiss on the top of Emerson’s head before he climbs out of bed. He heads to the bathroom, leaving the door cracked just enough that the light from the bathroom filters into the bedroom. While he listens to the sound of running water, he tries to focus, but his brain is a scattered mess of things like you sucked a cock, to Jason smells good, to you’re not a virgin anymore . At least he doesn’t think so. The parameters surrounding someone losing their virginity always sounded incredibly vague to Emerson, who never understood how you could lose something that was technically not real.

When the bed dips signaling Jason’s return, he turns to find Jason wearing a new pair of boxers and nothing else, unless you count his smile. In his hand is a glass of water and a damp washcloth which he brings to Emerson’s face first, wiping it over his sticky chin before passing him the water. Emerson gulps it down with a thirst he’s rarely experienced. To Emerson’s surprise and pleasure, once he’s finished Jason continues to clean him. The cloth is delightfully warm against his skin and the fact that Jason took the time to warm the water before bringing it to clean him off makes him want to hide under the pillow. Unable to look Jason in the eyes, he squeezes his shut instead. One of the stories his mom liked to tell him was about the time he’d wanted a waffle after bedtime and snuck into the kitchen, certain if his eyes were shut and he couldn’t see her that she couldn’t see him. This feels adjacent to that. Jason is still here, he knows he is from the hand settled on his thigh to the gentle way he draws the warm washcloth over Emerson’s belly. It’s just that somehow it feels safer if he can’t see him.

“Do you want your phone?”

“No,” Emerson whispers, feeling a bit ridiculous. He wishes he could explain why talking is okay, but only if he’s not looking at Jason.

In the beginning, Emerson had been sure once Jason saw him deregulated or overwhelmed, had to deal with the parts of his autism that weren’t useful or quirky, he might grow weary of them, of him. But somehow, Jason makes Emerson feel as accepted now as he does when Emerson’s able to function more like everyone else. Amazing as that is, it makes him want to hide even more. Sure it’s only Jason, and yes he’s safe, but being perceived after that kind of vulnerability makes his skin crawl, and Emerson squeezes his eyes shut. Somehow the simple act of not making any eye contact is what allows him to keep up the conversation.

“Is it okay if I keep talking?” Jason moves the washcloth lower, lifting Emerson’s cock to clean around the base and up to the tip. There is nothing remotely sexual about the touch, yet it’s as affecting as the orgasm, maybe even more so, albeit in a different way. “You can push me out of the bed if the answer is no. That’s what my brothers used to do when we were kids. Well Charlie anyway, antagonistic asshole.”

“M’not gonna push you out of the bed,” Emerson mumbles.

“Well that’s a relief. I mean you could if you needed to, but the ground is cold, and my ass might be big but that would hurt.” Jason continues to wipe Emerson clean even though he’s certain he must be done by now. “I liked what we did. A lot. Not just because of the orgasm, which was good. Did I mention it was ten out of ten?”

The hint of a smile plays at Emerson’s lips, some of his anxiety fading with every swipe of the warmth cloth against his clammy skin. “You did.”

“Good because you know that was outstanding. We definitely are very good at sex. If there were awards, I would give them to us.”

Part of Emerson wants to point out that ninety-nine percent of that is likely because Jason has more experience than him, but he doesn’t, because Jason’s other hand has started giving him some kind of one-handed deep pressure massage, making thinking difficult. Not a minute later, Jason drops the washcloth and uses both hands, digging into the tight muscles of Emerson’s shoulders.

“I didn’t know sex came with massages,” Emerson murmurs, pretty close to drooling. Jason has magic hands, that's the only explanation for all the tingles of pleasure in his body right now. Nothing has ever felt this good, ever, which is saying something since he just had another man's cock against his own.

“I aim to please,” Jason says, the sound of his delight evident in the pitch of his voice. “Only the best for you. Orgasm, clean up, and a massage. It’s the boyfriend package.”

Warmth floods Emerson’s chest, white hot and blinding, and before he knows what he’s doing, he’s rolled over so he can shove his face into the pillow.

“That was a very not subtle plea for a back massage, which I will happily oblige.”

“I wasn’t—” Emerson starts intending to correct Jason. His brain has other plans however, all coherent thoughts leaving his body when Jason’s strong hands dig into the tight muscles in his upper back. “You hunch over your desk and books too much, Emmy. I’ll need to work these muscles out for you more, maybe daily.”

“Nngghh,” Emerson grunts.

Jason straddles his thighs, swiping his hands up and down Emerson’s back alternating between massaging the muscles and soothing strokes that have Emerson boneless and melting into the mattress.

A single kiss is pressed to his spine. “Mine.”

Another kiss to his shoulder. “My Emmy.”

One to the other side. “My boyfriend.”

A trail of kisses up his spine until Jason stops, lips hovering where Jason’s hand often rests. “My beautiful, perfect Emerson.”

When the tears fall, they’re not sad or broken, just a release—a tight unfurling of the emptiness that’s sat inside of him for so long. With every tender kiss and stroke of big hands, Jason strips away more than fatigue from his muscles.

Emerson’s last thought before sleep claims him is that maybe this is what it feels like to be loved.