Pitch is good.
But then Jack already knew that. It's different this time, though. Pitch's mouth is warm, his hand firm around the base of Jack's cock - that's the same. But the ropes hold him in, ground him. They make him feel safe. Like it's okay to enjoy this, to give himself up to the feeling. Like he can trust Pitch.
And he can trust Pitch, right?
Jack's eyes flutter open. It takes an effort because his eyelids are so heavy. He looks down at Pitch, on his knees, putting all of his effort into making Jack feel good, focusing completely on him, his eyes darting up occasionally to make sure that Jack is alright.
With a steel certainty, Jack is sure he can trust him. He does trust him.
So he lets himself go.
Shutting his eyes again he tips his head back and opens himself to all of the sensations that Pitch is invoking in him. The heat of his mouth, of the hand splayed on Jack's hip. The wet, indecent noises of his tongue and lips on Jack's cock. The whimper that Jack lets slip from his lips. Pulling on the ropes, feeling them holding him. He sinks deeper into himself, into the pool of stillness inside him, a place where all of his worries and fears are banished, where he can just feel...
He feels a smile curve his lips, feels joy grow in him like one of those sped-up videos of a plant blooming. It's not because Pitch is giving him a fucking awesome blow job. It's more than that. Pitch is giving him form and shape, and what does that even mean?
It's nonsense, but it doesn't matter, because Pitch is here to look after Jack, dumb thoughts and all-
And then even those dumb thoughts are fracturing, blowing away like fall leaves in a gust of wind.
There's just the pleasure: intense, hot, building until Jack feels like he's going to burst. His whole body is shaking, fine little tremors accompanied by quick, gasping breaths.
Pitch is deep-throating him and it's-
It's perfect.
Jack's hands clench and unclench where they're bound against his shoulders, wanting to grasp Pitch's hair.
But he can't and that's okay. His stomach muscles tense, and he knows it's not going to be long until he comes. A tumbleweed thought bounces through his mind - so soon? Or is it not soon? How long has it been? It doesn't matter. Pitch wants him to come, and his mouth is so hot, and he's so good at this, it can't be long now, and Pitch wants him to come-
And he does.
With one long, loud cry he comes in Pitch's mouth, eyes closed, his whole body tensing through the climax - and then relaxes,all the tension of the day, of the month, of his life dropping away with one single breath.
He feels drunk, and is barely aware of Pitch leading him to the bed, lying him down. Of Pitch lying by his side, stroking his hair, carefully undoing the ropes. And then Jack is grabbing Pitch around the waist like a limpet until the world comes back into focus, until the muted, mellow colours become brighter and realer.
"How are you feeling?" Pitch asks, and Jack makes a vaguely positive noise in answer. "Use your words, Jack. Was that good?"
"It was good."
Pitch laughs, just a little, fond and soft. "When I said words, I didn't mean repeat mine. Tell me how it was. Tell me how you're feeling now."
"It was really good. It was-" Jack pauses, licking his lips and fishing for words in his pleasantly soupy brain. "I trust you. I felt looked after. Safe. And that… That made me just relax and…" He waves a hand vaguely. "It was the most awesome, most chilled out orgasm I've ever had."
"Excellent," Pitch says, lifting Jack's wrist and kissing the inside of it. His thumb traces the beginnings of Jack's tattoo. "That was my intention."
Jack hums and then snuggles a little closer to Pitch. Which is when he realises Pitch is still hard, and that he should really do something about it. Feeling languid and lazy, he shuffles up the bed until he's in a better position, propped up on the nest of pillows and leaning on his side. With a concerted effort he undoes Pitch's fly. Pulling out his cock, he hums in satisfaction at the heat and hardness of it under his fingers.
"You don't have to," Pitch says.
"I know," Jack says, and starts to move his hand. He watches Pitch's face as he jerks him off, watches as his cheeks grow pink, as his mouth drops open, as his eyes close. Jack's arm starts to ache but he keeps going, and he's rewarded in a matter of minutes as Pitch comes for him, come arcing onto his belly, so hot against his skin. Pitch's mouth is still open, his breathing ragged, and Jack pulls him down to the bed by his side.
"Fuck," Pitch says, voice hoarse.
"I know," Jack agrees, and pulls Pitch's sweater off, throwing it carelessly to the side. He strips off the t-shirt beneath, uses it to clean both of them up, and then it joins the sweater. Jeans and briefs are discarded last of all, with grumbling assistance from Pitch, and then Jack cuddles up to him, resting his hand on his chest and watching it as it rises and falls with his breath.
They lie there together, not sleeping, not speaking, just enjoying each other's company. It's a novel experience for Jack, and one he could get used to. He's sure Pitch is going to want to talk about it soon: did Jack like the rope – hell yes – did he like the blow job – fuck yes. But for now this comfortable silence is all he needs.