Mitch couldn't believe this.

His brain was literally not comprehending anything. Not the gentle caresses on his sides, not the whispered mumbles, not the warm breath tickling down his exposed neck. Just… Nothing.

'I like you!'

It was a slip. He didn't even want to say it. It sounded childish, even to him. This wasn't how he pictured his confession.

But then again, he didn't picture Jerome's stunned, yet gleeful expression, either. He was shocked, honestly. He wouldn't've ever expected Jerome… to like him back.

Not that he was complaining, don't get the wrong idea here!

In fact, he was happy. More than happy, actually. He was happy as shit!

…

Shit.

It was getting to his head. He felt like a sap, but he couldn't help feeling happy. There was fog all around him, enveloping him and swallowing his mind.

"Mitch?"

Huh?

Oh wait, that was his name.

Mitch, yeah. Right…?

…

Right.

"What…?" he responded, the fog clearing a bit.

Jerome was propped over him, hand on each side of the Canadian's head. His eyes looked concerned and his lips were set in a straight line.

"Is this really okay?" he asked, moving a hand to brush against Mitch's cheek.

"Huh…?" A confused noise left his red lips. What was Jerome…?

"You look out of it. Are you sure?" Jerome smiled softly at him. In the slowly setting sun, his eyes appeared sparkling.

Mitch blinked. "Y-Yeah I'm sure!" he exclaimed, frowning.

After so long of only dreaming about being with the damned American… No, he was sure he wanted this. Nothing could make him think otherwise.

"Okay G. Mind passing me the lube from the table?" Jerome asked huskily, leaning down to nibble gently on the shell of Mitch's right ear.

"Mnh," Mitch stretched his arm, feeling around for the small bottle. His slim fingers grasped it and he gave it to Jerome, who licked down to his lips, pecking them gently and pulling away.

"Turn around, Mitch," Jerome whispered, popping the cap open. He squeezed some of the clear gel onto his fingers, rubbing it around to warm it at least a bit.

Mitch pushed himself up and rolled around, propping his head onto his forearms. Jerome grabbed his thighs, gently pushing them up and open. Mitch's face flushed and he buried it into his arms.

He shivered when he felt Jerome's fingers run up his skin. They circled his entrance, drawing a long groan out of his lips.

One slipped inside, slick with the gel. Mitch bit his lip, fisting a handful of the covers. It felt weird when it moved inside of him.

Graduately, he became used to it, and it started feeling good. It sent shocks of pleasure up his spine.

He gasped, feeling his body involuntarily jerk with Jerome's every movement.

"Ah," he panted, squeezing his eyes closed in pleasure.

"Does it hurt?" Jerome asked, moving the finger gently.

Mitch shook his head from side to side, not trusting himself enough to be able to form words.

"Tell me if it does and I'll stop," Jerome said, pushing a second finger in. It didn't nessesarily hurt, but the stretch was certainly something new and made the Canadian gasp. But Jerome went slow and was careful.

Soon enough, Mitch's senses were overridden by pleasure again, making him moan out loud. Jerome scissored them, causing Mitch to grab onto the covers tightly.

Jerome then pulled them out, Mitch protesting with a whine. He pulled away, undressing himself.

"Can you turn over?" he asked as he tugged down his boxers.

"Why?" Mitch asked.

"Because I want to see your face when I'm buried deep inside of you," Jerome answered, not batting an eyelash, with a deep husky tone that sent shivers crawling on Mitch's skin.

The Canadian's cheeks flushed even more, if that was possible, and he rolled over. His chocolate eyes went straight to the taller American, roaming his skin.

They fell upon a black patch when they wandered downwards, and Mitch had to prop himself up on his elbows to be able to see it properly.

There was a writing engraved into the skin on Jerome's hip. It read…

…

Power moves only.

…

Mitch blinked in confusion for a few seconds. But then, almost like the gears in his brain moved, he burst out laughing.

He laughed so much that he had to hold his stomach because his sides hurt. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes.

As he went to wipe them, gasping for breath, his wrists were grabbed and pinned to the mattress.

"Mn?" he let out a confused sound, looking up at the scowling Jerome.

The American was glaring at him as he pinned both of Mitch's wrists above his head with one hand.

"D'you like my tattoo?" he asked teasingly, even though he knew from Mitch's laughter.

There was no time for Mitch to actually answer, because the next thing he knew, Jerome's hips snapped forward. Mitch's mouth hung open, his eyes squeezed closed.

The Canadian gasped, his voice stuck in his throat as his body accumulated to the stretch. Jerome pulled out, pushing back in right after.

Mitch gripped the bed sheets with his fists, his knuckles turning white from the force of his hold. His body shook with the onslaught of feelings, and he bit his lip hard enough to break the skin and taste the coppery crimson on his tongue.

Jerome fell into a smooth rhythm, thrusting at a medium pace, panting and groaning as Mitch's heat surrounded him.

The bed creaked under them, adding to the symphony of sounds in the bedroom. Mitch was moaning unashamedly, the remains of the blood from his lip slowly dribbling down his chin, mixed with saliva.

The pleasure was great, and there was a knot forming in his abdomen, tighter and tighter as Jerome sped up, grasping his thighs and pulling them farther apart.

"Jerome!" he shouted, throwing his head backwards as the pleasure hit its highest, his vision overcome by white as his body was wrecked with pleasure all over.

As he slowly came back to his senses, he could feel warmth pooling inside of him. Jerome was propping himself up over him, panting with his eyes closed.

He gently pulled out, drawing out a small groan from Mitch. The American flopped down next to him, wrapping his arms around the shorter.

"Really?" Mitch remarked, and the sarcasticness could be heard even through his sleepy tone.

Jerome smirked, bringing Mitch closer to himself. "Yep. You can't say that was an anti, now can you?"