Model Boyfriend

I had my laptop open on the kitchen island as I cooked. Why was I cooking? Because my damn boyfriend was playing the Broncos at Mile High Stadium the next day and was laughing at me through the webcam from his hotel room in Denver.

"How are you fucking laughing when I'm destroying your favourite fryingpan?" I asked as I tried to salvage the burnt stirfry. Mrs O'Leary put a paw over her nose at the stench. Why didn't anyone ever warn me that adulthood meant having things like a favourite spatula or getting excited over new kitchen sponges? The very sponges that will have to work overtime cleaning the damn pan.

"It's fine," Jason shrugged, grin still intact as he sipped at a cup of tea. "I still have the saute pan."

"Yeah, and I still have your virginity," I snapped, hearing more laughter behind a blushing blonde Superman. "Sorry, you had to hear that, Blake. But we all know you've heard worse."

"It's cool," came the answer from Jason's teammate and usual roommate for away games. "I'm gonna have to remember that for when my girl and I are fighting, though." I laughed, flicking the diced vegetables around the pan one final time before deciding that it was a lost cause.

"Oh, fuck it," I growled, dropping the pan into the sink. "I'm ordering pizza." Mrs O'Leary perked up with interest. "With extra pepperoni."

"Percy, no," Jason protested from my laptop.

"If you want me to be healthy, then be here to cook me dinner." Jason rolled his eyes in annoyance, which somewhat lost effect through a computer screen.

"I'm gonna let that slide because I know you're pissy about having lunch with my dad tomorrow." I groaned as I plopped down on the stool in front of the laptop.

"I was looking forward to watching your game at Frank and Hazel's. Now I have to sit through lunch at the fucking club and keep all my cheers to myself because I have to be polite." Jason chuckled.

"And we all know how you hate being polite," he smirked.

"You worked so hard to be where you are, Babe," I countered, his eyes softening. "Excuse me if my proud ass gets a little loud when you're killing it on the field."

"Oh, I've never complained about you being loud, Perce," Jason winked. "Even if our neighbours have."

"You're the one they're actually complaining about," I countered. "People just assume it's me because of your buff NFL ass. Maybe I should get to the gym more. You know, build some fucking muscle."

"I might just spontaneously grow ovaries," Jason mumbled, making both Blake and I laugh. Jason wasn't that shy talking about sex anymore. Being friends with Will would do that to a person. The blonde was not only overly descriptive about his own sex life, but also requested detailed accounts of others' escapades to gain inspiration. "Let's not forget that this whole thing started with me spotting you in the gym. The first time you bench pressed shirtless, I damn near jumped you."

"You guys need some privacy?" Blake asked, making Jason blush again.

"Sorry," he apologised.

"Moving on, you get your results yet?" I asked

"No," Jason answered. "It's being released tomorrow morning, so we can check together when I'm home."

"I'll stock up on champaign, then, counsellor," I smirked. Honestly, that might have been the only good thing about having lunch with Zeus. It gave me a chance to ask permission...or in Zeus Grace's case, strike up a deal. He'd probably make me jump through hoops, but if his demands got too outrageous, Jason already agreed to elope.

"Don't fucking jinx it!" Jason protested, making me chuckle.

"Nothing I do now is gonna change what you wrote on the exam months ago, Babe. If you fail, it's on you."

"Wow, and I was hoping to talk to my lovely supportive boyfriend tonight, you know, maybe cure some pregame jitters and feel good about myself after a gruelling day prepping for tomorrow's game. Is he there, by the way?"

"Who's pissy now?" I raised a brow at him. "You know I'm right, though."

"Yeah, I know," he conceded.

"I'm really looking forward to having you home, though," I smirked, mind already filling with all the possibilities of what might happen the following night. The thought of finally calling Jason my fiance was thrilling beyond words. I had it somewhat planned out. I'd drop to my one knee as soon as we got Jason's positive results. Jason would answer with an 'of course, you idiot,' and then we'd have sex on the floor. Followed by champaign and then more sex. Okay, so maybe I was thinking about the sex more than anything else, but who could really blame me?

First, though, I had to wrangle a blessing from Zeus Grace, and that definitely wouldn't include any sex. A shudder ran through me at the mere thought. Bad joke, Jackson, bad fucking joke. I suddenly missed Jason all the more, and I lost my appetite for pizza once I pictured his disappointed sigh. I decidedly ordered a grilled chicken wrap and Ceasar salad instead. I sent Jason a picture before I ate.

'I hope you're fucking happy!' I captioned the picture.

'Ecstatic!' came Jason's reply, followed by 'Okay, we're going to dinner now. Love you!'

'Love you too!' I replied.

I knew Jason would probably only read the message when he got back. He never took his phone with him to dinner. Which is why I entertained the thought of maybe sending something a little more risque, knowing that he wouldn't unknowingly open the message at the table in front of his teammates. No, Jason would only open the messages once he got back to his room. He'd be flustered and try to hide his blush from Blake before excusing himself to the bathroom for a shower. A shower in which he'd probably jerk off thinking about me, biting down on one fist to try and keep quiet.

That mental image crumbled my reluctance. So, I tucked in Mrs O'Leary for the night and made myself comfortable on our bed, discarding all my clothes but the black boxer briefs. I had a little more chub than back in college, but I knew I still looked good in regular clothes, at least. My jammers were another story. Jason insisted that they still looked amazing, but I despised the slight increase of pressure around my thighs. Considering I didn't spend the majority of my free time swimming laps in a pool anymore, it would be expected. That's not to say I've stopped working out altogether. I doubt I would ever be able to sit still long enough to entirely stop.

I still got in a few laps now and then at school. One of the perks of being the assistant coach was getting free access to the pool. What really kept me fit was working on the boats and teaching the kids to sail. In fact, it had my body aching on occasion.

Putting my slight increase in body fat and growing insecurities aside, there was one thing I knew always got my Superman's engine revving. My tattoos had Jason drooling at a simple glance. A quite ironic thing, considering he found them revolting on literally anyone else.

"They're just so you," he had said when I asked him about it once. "Like, sometimes, it's hard to believe you weren't born with them."

Maybe he only liked them because they were on me. They permanently marked and identified my skin, my body. He didn't need to see my face to know it was me. He knew every square inch of my skin intimately and could identify every slither. I grinned as I spread myself across our covers, tilting my head to the side to expose my neck and taking a real money shot of the map across my back. I felt slightly giddy, nearly cackling as I sent the picture to Jason.

For the next picture, I flipped onto my back, bracing my feet on the mattress and bringing up my thighs to display the brightly inked jellyfish across spread legs. Once again, I angled my head away, taking a shot from my shoulders downward. I bit my lip, picturing Jason's eyes the moment they landed on the pictures. Would he keep them on his phone? For the lonely days, when we were held apart by work. Or would he immediately delete them, too concerned about anyone but him ever seeing the pictures?

My blood started flowing south, thinking about how his heartbeat would spike, staring at my inked flesh. Oh, how I wished I could feel his thundering pulse beneath my fingertips, beneath my lips as I marked up his skin. But I couldn't. He was one thousand eight hundred miles away, two hours behind our bedside clock.

I cupped my hardening cock through my underwear, snapping another picture for my Superman.

'I miss you...' I messaged. 'Thinking about you...'

I hooked the waistband of my underwear under my balls, trying to imagine it was Jason's hand, creating a tight ring around my shaft, Jason's hand causing that friction. I documented each step for him, every touch. I swiped a palm across the head of my cock, gathering some precum to slick my movements. I grabbed the lube from our bedside table. Discarding my underwear to somewhere on the floor. I spread my thighs again, bringing a slick finger to my puckered hole. Knowing Jason couldn't finger himself to thoughts of me fucking him because he had to play a game the next day, I would have to give him what he needed to imagine fucking me.

Slowly, I worked myself open. Soon enough, I had two digits, knuckle deep, plunging toward my prostate. All I thought about was Jason as I lit the fire in my own belly. Three fingers stretching me, and all I could think is how it wasn't enough, how it would never be enough, how I so desperately needed Jason to cum. It was that desperation that had me squirming on our bed, begging an empty room for release, begging a man in another city to let me cum. I scrambled for Jason's pillow, his lingering scent helping me regain some semblance of my sanity. It was just enough, just what I needed, to push me over the edge.

I came, Jason's name on my lips. The last two pictures I took were my painted fingers and then my tongue cleaning them off. I quickly sent a last couple of messages to Jason, knowing full well that he won't be reading them for a while. Exhausted, I got up on shaky legs and quickly rinsed off in the shower. Pulling on one of Jason's sweatshirts and some boxers, I snuggled into bed, holding Jason's pillow close and inhaling his scent. My phone vibrated on my bedside table, screen lighting up with messages from my blonde Superman.

'You're fucking killing me, Babe! I wish I was back home. I wish I could hold you. I love you more than anything!' I smiled at his response, tired body surrendering to the gentle lull of slumber.