#anyway.......sam i wrote this this morning during my first class of the day lmao

[clumsyclifford]

hi bella i'm here bc t-shirt by thomas rhett w jalex?????? totally not bc we're listening to the song and have the same brain???? never??? not at all??? ok ily bye

sam the fact that you will just indulge me like this...........i adore you. anyway here’s some thomas rhett jalex to soothe your soul thank you for asking me to write this after i told you i wanted to write it dlgkmdfklgmfj

ao3 link!

-

Jack has a table when Alex arrives. 

“Hey, hey, hot stuff,” he hears, and looks up to see Alex leaning over the patio fence.

“Wow, and only ten minutes late,” Jack says, making a show of checking the time on his phone. He gives Alex his most look-how-impressed-I-am face.

Alex laughs and reaches through the fence to poke at Jack’s shoulder. “I’ll be in in a sec,” he says, and then retreats to go around front. Jack figures he can wait a little longer. Alex will probably stop in the bathroom before he joins Jack at the table, anyway.

A few minutes pass, and then someone tugs gently at Jack’s ear, so Jack puts his phone away, this time for good, and turns a smile to Alex.

Alex looks good. He always looks good, would look good even in a paper bag, even in nothing at all (especially then), but there’s something about the all-black combination that makes Jack’s heart race. Clothes were invented, Jack decides, to be worn by Alex. All clothes.

Leather jackets in particular.

“Hi,” Alex says warmly (he’s trying not to say it warmly but Jack knows he can’t help it), before dipping his head to kiss Jack. “How was work?”

Jack smiles. He always smiles around Alex. He’s probably in love with Alex, but in a relationship this young it’s hard to say, and Jack falls so easily it’s actually ridiculous. The words taste sweet under his tongue, so he leaves them there for the moment. For whatever it’s worth, he imagines he’ll have many days on which to share them.

“Fine,” is what he says instead, as Alex sits down. “Some of this paperwork is going to be the death of me, but you don’t want to hear about that.”

“I do,” Alex insists.

Jack shakes his head. “I promise you, you do not. I was telling Zack about it on my lunch break and I’m pretty sure he fell asleep.”

Alex chuckles. “Well, Zack’s not your boyfriend.”

“That you know of.” Jack waggles his eyebrows. It makes Alex laugh, which is always the goal, and Jack laughs too, mostly to show that he’s joking, but also because Alex’s laugh makes Jack laugh. 

“Fair enough,” Alex concedes. “Well, lucky for you it’s Friday, so no more work.”

“It’s Friday for you too.”

“Yeah, but I have lesson plans to draw up, papers to grade, et cetera.”

Jack squints. “Do you…do you think I don’t have work to do over the weekend?”

“Gonna be honest, I still don’t fully understand your job,” Alex says good-naturedly. 

Jack grins. “That’s okay,” he says. “You look amazing tonight.”

It makes Alex look down at himself, only to look back up at Jack, and under the multicolored string lights of the patio (why are there still Christmas lights up in June?), Jack can see a blush rising. “Thanks,” he says. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

“Thank you,” Jack says. It’s just his work suit. Their date night restaurant is within walking distance of Jack’s office, for convenience reasons, and Jack is still in his suit for the same reason. “I thought I’d make a bit of an effort, you know. Once in a while.”

“Well, if you set the bar low, you can only ever really surpass expectations,” Alex points out. Jack claps triumphantly.

“Exactly!”

The waitress approaches then, asking for drinks orders and informing them of their deal on appetizers, two for the price of one. Jack orders a beer and Alex gets water, because he’s driving, and as the waitress leaves, they decide almost without conversing that they’ll be taking extreme advantage of the two-for-one deal. 

For the rest of dinner they make small talk, except it’s not really small talk, because Jack cares so much to hear about the inane things Alex’s students have done that day; he’s been dying for an update on the gossip about the history teacher and the math teacher, and gasps when Alex shares how a student actually asked Mr. Hood if Mr. Clifford was his boyfriend. (“I’ve literally never seen Calum speechless like that,” Alex says, smirking. “It was almost hilarious.”) It doesn’t feel like small talk to hear about Alex’s day and to talk about his own, because Alex’s eyes are trained on Jack with so much focus that Jack feels like he’s explaining something much more complex and profound than just the broken coffee machine in the break room at work. It would be small talk if they had nothing else to talk about, but they have, and just aren’t; for two hours, while they slowly work their way through their own food and each other’s (Jack shamelessly nicking mozzarella sticks off Alex’s plate), they just catch up.

Jack is probably a bit tipsy as they reach the end of the meal. After Alex pays — immune to Jack’s myriad efforts to stop him, including but not limited to stealing his wallet — they sit at a mostly cleared table, waiting for the check to come back, and Jack stares at Alex. He finds himself doing it more often lately, and he can’t put a finger on why, except that Alex is so goddamn pretty it’s impossible not to stare.

“What?” Alex says, bracing his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. He leans forward. “What are you lookin’ at?”

Jack folds his arms over the table in front of him and mirrors Alex. “You’ve got something on your face,” he says. Alex starts, frowns; Jack giggles. “I’m teasing. You don’t. You’re just so fucking good-looking. I can’t believe you’re mine.”

The blush from before returns with a vengeance. “Careful,” Alex says lightly. “Talk like that might get you into trouble.”

“Are you trouble?”

Alex doesn’t waver. “I might be.”

“That’s where I wanna be, then.” Jack grins. “You wanna come over after?”

“No way,” Alex says, but he’s lying, or joking. There’s a glimmer in his eye that might just be the ridiculous Christmas lights, but Jack has seen it before. “I’ve seen your place. You messy bastard.”

“Hey, I cleaned!” Jack protests. It’s stupid, but he had, and not just because he’d hoped to bring Alex back with him tonight. (Okay, mostly for that reason.)

Alex laughs and pulls Jack into a kiss across the table, and it settles in Jack’s sternum, warmth throughout his chest. He can tell Alex is holding back, and he likes it. 

“Fine,” Alex says, as they break. “Twist my arm. I’ll come over.”

“Yeah, you will,” Jack says, smirking, and just then the waitress returns with the check.

-

They don’t even make it to the landing.

Well, they do, but clumsily, with a lot of tripping and almost-falling. Jack’s not sure if he’s holding tight to Alex so they don’t have to stop kissing or because he’s legitimately afraid to fall over. He’s mostly sober, just tipsy enough that he’s laughing at things that aren’t that funny, like when they reach Jack’s door and Jack realizes he’s forgotten to get his keys out. 

“Shit,” he giggles, and instead of searching for them he just kisses Alex again. Alex is no help at all; he melts into it like every other one, arms securely around Jack’s waist. For a minute Jack forgets that this is supposed to be the beginning of the night, and not the end. Alex’s hands find their meandering way up the back of Jack’s shirt, and Jack makes a quiet noise at the cold of his fingertips against Jack’s skin. He pushes gently at Alex’s chest. “Okay,” he says, slightly sobered, “let me get the door open, you impatient fucker.”

Alex just gives him a cheeky smile and leans in for one more kiss. It’s really fucking hard to turn Alex down, and for a second Jack wonders if he should even bother. Then he feels Alex’s hand dip into his back pocket, and when Alex pulls away this time he’s holding Jack’s keys.

“Too slow,” he says, mouth curling into an enticing smirk. 

Jack shakes his head. “Your fault,” he says as Alex unlocks the door, admitting them both to the apartment. The keys clatter as they land on the dining room table; Jack’s going to forget they’re there later, and Alex will inevitably remember. Both of them kick off their shoes somewhere in the general direction of the front door, and by that time Jack’s grown impatient himself. When Alex looks first at Jack and then past him to the bedroom, a question in his eyes that’s also an answer, Jack wastes no time.

It’s messy, but it’s always messy; Jack loves that about Alex, that he’s not afraid to get his hands dirty, to play rough and leave Jack satisfied but wanting more. Anyway, Jack feels they’ve earned the right to be a little messy. Alex is a middle school teacher, and Jack’s working an office job, for fuck’s sake; if Alex wants to be the reason for wrinkles in Jack’s shirt, Jack’s in favor of that.

After, Alex cuddles himself into Jack’s chest, face pressed into Jack’s neck, trying to absorb Jack’s warmth. Jack doesn’t have control over the air conditioning in his building, and as a result it’s always either slightly too cold or hot. In summer months it’s the former, and Alex isn’t wearing a shirt, which is probably lending to the chill. Jack could suggest that Alex get dressed, but he likes Alex like this, clingy and cuddly, leeching heat out of Jack’s skin. Alex runs cold, unfortunately for him, but Jack runs warm. 

(It’s just another way they’re perfect for each other. Jack keeps running into them, the things that make Alex and Jack complementary, like how Jack doesn’t like pickles and Alex does, or how they don’t share any of the same favorite breakfast cereals so they’d never eat the other’s, or the fact that somehow, having held hands with many people in his life, Jack’s never felt his fingers fit as well as they do between Alex’s. Maybe he’s just romantic, but fuck if he doesn’t feel like he and Alex belong together.)

“You could put a shirt on,” Jack murmurs, pressing a kiss to Alex’s forehead, after Alex shivers and curls tighter against Jack.

“Boring,” comes Alex’s muffled voice. It sends a buzz through Jack’s skin. “Zero points for creativity.”

Jack laughs. “Come on, Al, you’re freezing. Take one of mine.” Alex makes a noise of protest. Jack gently pats his back. “Alex, you’re a big boy. Don’t be stubborn.”

“Your mom’s a big boy,” Alex says, but he rolls away and, with a great dramatic sigh, crosses to Jack’s dresser to rifle through his t-shirt drawer. “Any suggestions?”

“I suggest you put a shirt on.”

Alex shoots him a look. “Duh.” He pulls out one of Jack’s Orioles t-shirts and grins. “Oh, this is it for sure.”

Alex pulls the shirt over his head, and when he resurfaces his hair is hopelessly messed up. Jack can’t help but smile at it, at the whole picture. It’s too much for him, Alex in his Orioles t-shirt and boxers with the fucking American flag on them, which is his idea of a joke (and had, of course, made Jack laugh). 

“What?” Alex asks. He does a spin as if showing off the new look, and Jack snorts and shakes his head. “Stop staring at me, you creep.” He takes a running jump towards the bed, landing with a screech beside Jack and crawling over him. Their legs tangle together, and Jack gazes up at Alex, overwhelmed, hoping he never stops feeling overwhelmed by Alex.

“You just look super hot, that’s all,” Jack says gratuitously. His pulse racing, he tugs Alex down into a kiss. Alex goes willingly, and Jack closes his eyes, drowning in everything Alex; the image of Alex twirling around in Jack’s shirt, the cold of Alex’s skin where Jack’s fingertips graze his hips, Alex humming quietly in the back of his throat as he deepens the kiss, Alex’s hand in Jack’s hair, Alex’s cologne permeating the whole room, Alex’s mouth on his, and all of Jack’s senses Alex Alex Alex until nothing else matters, just him and Alex and the universe on pause.

(He almost says it, really, almost ends the kiss with I love you, you know?, but he stops himself. That’s the kind of thing people do when they don’t have the time to wait, and Jack has time. They have all the time in the world.)