Page 106 of Make the Play
“I love you,” Jason repeats, lifting Emerson’s hand and bringing it to his lips. He kisses the back of his trembling hand, eyes never leaving Emerson’s face. “You don’t have to say it back, Emmy. I don’t want you to feel pressured or stressed, but I’m not going to take it back or lie to you. I love you and?—”
Emerson launches himself at Jason, scrambling across the bench seat and into Jason’s lap. With lightning quick reflexes, Jason readjusts his seat as far back as it goes to make room for Emerson who, despite his long limbs, manages to curl himself into Jason’s lap then promptly buries his face in Jason’s neck. Wrapping his arms around Emerson, Jason smooths his palms up and down the curve of Emerson’s spine, breathing easier when he feels some of his boyfriend’s tension begin to fade.
“I didn’t mean to say that right now,” Jason admits, “not because it’s not true but because I’m not sure if it’s too soon. But, Emmy, loving you comes as easily as breathing, and those feelings just wanted to come out.”
Emerson’s nose is shoved into the side of his neck, each of his short and shallow breaths warm against the hollow of his throat. It doesn’t escape Jason’s notice that while his unplanned confession has left Emerson reeling, he’s not pulling away, but rather trying to get closer—his arms wrapping around Jason to smash them between the seat and Jason’s body almost as if he’s trying to make them one.
Though the angle is slightly awkward, Jason manages to press a kiss to the top of Emerson’s head before stroking a hand through his soft red locks. Slowly, Jason breathes him in, his scent familiar now. Everything about Emerson is familiar now and it thrills Jason in unexpected ways.
“You’re an easy man to love, Emerson Miller.”
“No, I’m not,” Emerson protests.
“You are to me,” Jason counters, aware that one confession from him won’t undo the trauma he suffered living with a family who never saw or acknowledged his worth. Thankfully, Jason’s a patient man; if he’s lucky, maybe Emerson will keep him around long enough to show him exactly how loveable he truly is.
“Other people would disagree,” Emerson says, each word spoken slowly.
“Some other people are stupid, you know,” Jason points out. “For example, not everyone likes football, and they’re wrong about that, so clearly their judgement can’t be trusted. You are excluded, obviously.”
Emerson pulls back to frown at Jason. “Did you just compare me to football again?”
“Suppose I did,” Jason smirks, delighted to be able to see Emerson’s beautiful face, tear-stained and guileless and most importantlyhis. “I told you, I’m a man who knows what I love, and that’s football and my boyfriend.”
“I’m scared,” Emerson admits.
Jason cradles Emerson’s face in his hands, thumbs stroking over his cheeks and an echoing wetness at the corner of his eyes. Fuck, he is so in love with this beautiful man.
“I’m not going anywhere, Emmy. I love you. It’s okay if you don’t yet but?—”
“Of course I love you,” Emerson blurts, sounding halfway between laughing and crying. “I love you so much and I thought it was just me. I didn’t think….I didn’t think someone like you would ever, that you—ugh.”
Emerson’s adorable frown deepens. Jason can't resist the urge to lean forward and kiss it, knowing him well enough now to know his expressions don’t always match his moods. At least, not in the way Jason’s expressions might.
“You’re so cute.”
“You’re so,ugh,” Emerson groans, deepening the kiss and clenching his hands in Jason’s short hair. “You big, ridiculous man.”
Jason’s smile threatens to split his face in two. “You mean the big, ridiculous man you’re in love with.”
Emerson huffs, his pale chinks pink with a blush. “Yes, Jason.”
“You love me,” Jason repeats, pretty sure he could run a marathon or lift a car from the endorphins running through his body right now. “My boyfriend loves me.”
“You’re very happy about this,” Emerson says, fingers toying with the strings of Jason’s hoodie.
“Damn right I am,” Jason grins, puffing out his chest.
There’s a very primal urge in Jason to scream from the top of the bleachers, “I have a boyfriend and we’re in love.” He’s not sure if that goes against school policy. Even if it's not, it would be too much attention for Emerson anyway, but Jason can daydream about it even if he won’t actually do it.
Maybe he can get Emerson to wear his hoodie while he teaches one day. Or something else with Jason’s name on it. Probably not, since Emerson has his own unofficial teaching uniform with his array of green shirts and sweaters that make him look so damn cute.
“I do love you,” Emerson whispers, tugging on his hoodie strings in what Jason now knows is his way of asking for a kiss.
Eager to oblige, Jason tips his head, loving when Emerson is in his lap like this. There’s something intimate and arousing about being the one who has to angle his face up to Emerson. Jason is not a small man by any means, but having Emerson above him in any capacity is incredibly appealing. He lets one hand slide around to cup the back of Emerson’s head, pulling him down into a kiss that promises so much more than Jason can give in a truck parked in front of his parent’s house.
Emerson’s hands roam over Jason’s chest, one of them slipping beneath his t-shirt and hoodie to palm at Jason’s belly while the other slips down the neck of Jason’s hoodie to stroke his chest hair. Slowly but surely Emerson’s getting bolder with his touching, not quite as shy about showing Jason how much he enjoys his body. The thing about Emerson’s touches is that more often than not they aren’t sexual, at least not intentionally. Jason quickly found that Emerson enjoys digging his fingers into the softest part of Jason’s stomach or thighs, or dragging his nails or face over Jason’s body hair in some kind of uninhibited sensory exploration of Jason’s body. He never minds how turned on Jason gets, but it's rarely his starting intention.
“It feels good,” Emerson quietly whispered a few days ago, seemingly content to knead and stroke without an ulterior motive.
