Wonderful Tonight
by K. Stonham
first released 25th November, 2020
The thing is, Jack is five inches taller than Eric. He weighs nearly fifty pounds more. (And all of it, as Eric is fond of pointing out when he teaches Jack to do lifts, is pure muscle. Eric may possibly also appreciate at this other times as well, but those are not meant for public consumption.)
So, physically, Jack is bigger.
But even when he's getting jars off the top pantry shelf, it never feels that way.
Eric is the bigger person.
Eric, like everyone Jack has ever gravitated toward, is an extrovert. His personality fills a room, no matter how many other people are in it. He smiles, he laughs, he chides, he scolds, with varying degrees of intensity. He is a nurturer, a natural host, and he is unafraid to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Jack, in contrast, is... small. Drab. Quiet. He can make small talk on a somewhat limited set of topics, but without Eric there (and sometimes even with), he'd end up retreating to an empty room and running through his breathing exercises. He cannot charm people or control a social situation the way he's seen his husband do any number of times. He knows he's not broken, but he also knows that these are things he is simply unable to do. They're as impossibly far beyond his abilities as it is for a fish to walk on the moon.
Yet somehow this glorious, gregarious, beautiful man, with a smile that's as golden as his hair, and a tongue that's as quick as his skates, thinks the world of Jack.
("I don't know what I did in another life to deserve Lards, man," Shitty had told Jack once, "but good job, past me!" He'd raised a beer to salute his previous incarnation. Jack knows exactly the feeling.)
Eventually the party winds down, guests drifting out the doors in ones and twos. Nursey's the last to leave, Dex hauling him out by an elbow. It had surprised almost everyone when the two of them had moved in together after graduation, but despite Holster's betting pool on the matter, their post-Samwell roommateship has managed to survive three years and four girlfriends so far. It probably helps that they now have separate bedrooms.
Jack... had never expected to be hosting literary soirees. But the overlap of connections between Eric's publishers and Nursey's meant that things like this just popped up on his schedule every now and again.
(He still doesn't get Nursey's poetry. Jack reads it, the same as he keeps up with the rest of his and Eric's former teammates' lives, but it's just words to him. The deeper meanings he knows Derek intends elude him. Dex, despite being as involved in the prepublication drafts of Nursey's work as Jack is in Eric's, feels the same way. Lardo had just smirked at both of them over the rim of her wineglass and said, knowingly, "It's all about how it makes you feel, and how it tilts your worldview, bros," before drifting back into the crowd.)
"Well," Eric says, "I think that went rather well." He surveys the damage, which is... a lot less than some of their parties have left on the apartment.
(Cup celebrations, mostly. And one or two Samwell-alumni-only-okay-yes-you-can-come-too-Tater parties. Sometimes Jack suspects that Tater is almost angling to move into their spare room again. Which, he loves his friend and teammate, but no. Not going to happen. Some days Jack needs to be able to come home and shut the door and have it be only him and Bits.)
Jack looks at his husband, the love of his life, as he starts going around, picking up stray wineglasses and collecting abandoned plates.
He pulls out his phone and thumbs through the apps until he finds what he wants. He connects to the speakers and starts a song playing, low and gentle.
Eric pauses, looks at him.
Jack crosses the space between them, guides Eric to leave the dishes on the coffee table. "Leave it," he says. "I'll get it later." He wraps his arms around his husband, pulls him close.
"Well, I won't say no if you want to do the cleanup," Eric says, and leans against him, swaying with Jack. After a moment, he looks back up, all big brown eyes and a touch of concern. "What's on your mind, sweetheart?"
"Just thinking how much I love you," Jack says, as Eric Clapton sings about much the same thing. "You're so good at this."
"Yeah, well, hosting's in the Bittle genes."
Jack smirks a little and his hands drift lower. "I can think of something else I'd like to get in the Bittle jeans."
That earns him a gasp and a small smack on the chest. "That was terrible, Mister Zimmermann."
Jack's fingertips sneak just into Bitty's waistband.
"Didn't say I wasn't amenable," Jack's husband says, smiling, and they dance their way slowly toward their bedroom.
Author's Note: Just a sweet nothing that came to me while listening to Eric Clapton's song "Wonderful Tonight." Probably heavily influenced by one of my favorite shots of the whole series: the fourth page of 4.25, where (a) Bitty and Jack are depicted as the same size, with (b) Bitty being the one taking the lead.