When I pushed you pulled, you always made me feel so beautiful [for Jack]

[mitsubishievo]

There was an understanding at the house out on Lark Street, with it's peaceful garden and it's magic birds and it's loving boys, that when Kavinsky went to work at the club on the weekends, it was, in part, to keep him safe and sane with them. This was an appropriate and acceptable expression of his manic need for attention: people looking at his body, people who could not really touch him, and he could give them what they wanted for a moment, for a price. And when it was over, he put all the layers back on and he went on to the house on Lark Street, with it's garden and birds and boys, and they could take all the layers off and it was better, so much better, because he never thought of anyone else.

Except now he had.

Joseph Kavinsky, despite dating and being absolutely head over heels with two boys, did not think of himself as someone who was capable of multiple loves. But that was before Jack Vincent had appeared in the Arch Studio break room, before the quick-fire attempt at friendship had turned into a swooping, consumptive crush. That was before Newt had sat him down and laughingly, jokingly pointed out that Kavinsky talked about Jack the way he talked about Al, or him, and--well. Here they were.

"It can only ever be him," Newt told him, serious, holding Kavinsky's hand and pressing his thumb against the spinner ring. Kavinsky had kissed him and said, "He's got someone, sugar. The Fourth was a one off." But it was a comfort, in a way. A release. Knowing that they had come so far from December and January that Newt could trust him with this, that Newt would trust him to come back--not because he'd been told strictly to, but because Kavinsky always wanted to come back. Just like dancing, Kavinsky could show his skin, but only Newt and Al could crawl this deep inside his chest.

So, that night, Kavinsky danced. The same as any weekend. He had a new routine--less pole work, more filthy gyrations and insinuation of what his body was capable of doing in bed. And that was when he saw Jack Vincent in the crowd.

Comments

[rockabillyboy]

Jack doesn't really know why he's there. It's possible that he's a little drunk. Poison was spending time with Dee and Kavinsky had said something about hanging out until he was done with work and so here Jack is, in a strip club for the first time in his life. He'd been okay up until now but then he finds himself distracted. He finds himself watching Kavinsky dance. And it's not a big step from there to remembering what Kavinsky looks like in bed.

Fuck.

[mitsubishievo]

Jack looked wildly out of his element.

Maybe it was because there was only a handful of guys that came to this club on this night, and most of them were probably about twice Kavinsky and Jack's age, if not more. Maybe it was because, if he was going to be here, Kavinsky wouldn't expect him to be alone. Maybe there were a lot of reasons. But there he was, Jack Vincent, graffiti artist; Jack Vincent, driver of a class muscle car; Jack Vincent, who would have made an excellent Raven Boy.

Kavinsky, in the midst of dancing, made sure that Jack caught eyes with him. It was the kind of look that other people in the crowd might have interpreted as for them, but it was for Jack. Then, smirking, he winked.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack catches the look, knows that it's meant for him and blushes all the same. He's only here because he's got nowhere else to be, because Kavinsky is probably his best friend in Darrow. Never mind that things are more complicated than that, these days.

Jack sips his drink and blushes dark.

[mitsubishievo]

Besides the wink, there was nothing that Kavinsky could do about Jack for a little while. He had two songs, back to back, on the stage, and then he was off--not off the clock, but off the stage. Ostensibly, that meant he was supposed to be back stage getting cleaned up and rehydrated, but it also meant that he could mill the crowd a little bit.

So, Kavinsky got off stage and, shortly, was headed over to Jack with a bottle of water in hand. He drank from it steadily, throat working, and when he was right next to Jack, he grinned at him.

"Fancy seeing you here."

[rockabillyboy]

"You told me to come and hang out if I was at a loose end," points out Jack, rolling his eyes and taking a sip of his beer. "So...here I am. At a loose end." He glances at Kavinsky, the way he's drinking, sweat sheened skin. "I'm possibly a little drunk."

[mitsubishievo]

"Yeah, but I didn't think you'd do it," Kavinsky admitted. There was a bit of a disconnect in Kavinsky's brain, he admitted, that probably had to do with the fact that when he was an observer of these sorts of things--stripping, porn, other sex work like that--it did nothing for him.

But he saw Jack's eyes catching and lingering a little bit. Kavinsky laughed and sat down next to him amiably.

"Your boy know you come to see me?"

[rockabillyboy]

"Yeah, he knows I'm here," says Jack, huffing a laugh. He takes another swallow of his beer and turns his head. "Are you done for the night??"

[mitsubishievo]

"I've got more stage time if I want it," Kavinsky said with a shrug. He'd put himself on for the whole night, but that was before--well, this was a development of some variety, anyway. Casually, he slung an arm across Jack's shoulders. "But that just means I'm missing out on tips, more than anything. I've already made it back."

[rockabillyboy]

"I don't want you to be out of pocket just so you can hang out with me, man," says Jack, leaning into the touch, just a little. "I mean, you've...You can hang out with me any time you like, right? I'm just at kind of a loose end because Poison and Dee are having a quiet night at home."

[mitsubishievo]

"Just said, I already made it back. I'm not out of pocket at all." Kavinsky brushed his fingers up into Jack's hair, and it was a casual touch for now. He didn't ask why Jack wouldn't want a quiet night in with his boyfriend, because that wasn't any of his business. Jack was here, he was here, and that settled something in Kavinsky the way that he settled when Newt or Al came to see him dance.

He laughed, pressing a smile against Jack's temple. "If you're that worried about it, you can buy a lap dance off me."

[rockabillyboy]

"I..." There's this sudden frisson of feeling inside his ribs. He glances at Kavinsky, eyebrows slightly raised. "You think that's a good idea?"

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky looked at Jack softly from the space between their heads. They were very close. It wouldn't take much at all to lean in and kiss him, and there was no one here that knew Jack. It was house rules--no touching the dancers except for tipping, no public displays of affection with the dancers, no sex--that kept him from doing anything.

"Sure," he said, voice calm, professional but flirtatious. "I'll even give you a discount, 'cause you're cute."

[rockabillyboy]

Jack has his doubts, but he's also a little drunk, a little in the mood to be silly. A crooked smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"What the hell. Why not?"

[mitsubishievo]

"Awesome, c'mon." Kavinsky stood up, adjusting his jeans. They were tight, slim through the ass and thigh, accenting he was fitter now than he'd ever been in his life. His shirt for the evening was more like the one Poison had worn at his concert. His tattoos were visible on his ribs.

When he got Jack to his feet, he led him to a small, sectioned off booth area built for nominal privacy and this exact purpose. He pushed Jack gently back into the bench and grinned at him.

"I take cash, bro."

[rockabillyboy]

Jack is blushing pretty furiously as he settles in the booth with his beer cradled between his thighs. He tilts his head to look up at Kavinsky.

"So what's the going rate?"

[mitsubishievo]

"Let's call it sixty," Kavinsky said. There was music, a deep, throbbing house beat, playing in the section. Kavinsky's going rate for lap dances was not, in fact, sixty dollars, even fully clothed. But Jack was cute, and Kavinsky liked him, and this way, if he needed to make excuses with Poison later, he could say he was patroning like he was supposed to. Not a social call at all.

Kavinsky swung his hips obscenely, settled nearly onto Jack's thighs. "I'll even let you touch, if you wanna."

[rockabillyboy]

"Sixty." Jack shifts so that he can grab his wallet and he pulls out sixty dollars, holding them out to Kavinsky. "You're full of bad ideas tonight, aren't you? I thought touching was totally against the rules."

[mitsubishievo]

"I'm saying that you can," Kavinsky said. And that was laden with so many things, beyond just this dance. He took the money and tucked it into the waist band of his jeans, so the bills stuck out cheekily. "If you want to."

[rockabillyboy]

"I'm not supposed to," says Jack, which isn't the same as not wanting to. "I love my boyfriend." Which doesn't make the two things mutually exclusive. He leans back in his chair, looking up at Kavinsky. "You don't get totally naked, right?"

[mitsubishievo]

"I can keep all my clothes on, if you're worried about that," Kavinsky said. He was still rocking and rolling his hips, a slow, teasing, not-touching rhythm as they worked out the limits and boundaries here. That worried second statement clung to Kavinsky like tar. But then, lots of people came in looking for lap dances--this doesn't make me gay I love my girlfriend; Kavinsky wasn't in a place to judge.

[rockabillyboy]

Jack doesn't answer, but he's aware of shaking his head. Because he doesn't want Kavinsky to keep all of his clothes on, not really.

[mitsubishievo]

Kavinsky laughed softly, teasingly. He reached down and moved Jack's hand and the beer bottle in it out from between Jack's thighs, and then slipped a knee between them so he could straddle his thigh, press in, roll and rock with the barest brush of jeans to jeans.

[rockabillyboy]

There's no way that this is a good idea. There's no way that this is going to end well. But, right then, Jack can't bring himself to care, because he's wrapped up in the music, in the barest brush of Kavinsky's jeans against his and it's only a dance, isn't it? No harm's going to come of it.

[mitsubishievo]

The music, as it always did, sank through Kavinsky. He let himself get wrapped up in that as much as he was wrapped up in who he was dancing for. And it was so much easier to dance for Jack, like he was dancing for one of his boys, than it was to just dance for a client.

Jack kept his hands to himself, and that was a fine. Kavinsky tripped off his shirt, dropping it to the side of them as he eased around and pressed his ass back against Jack's hips.

[rockabillyboy]

He's going to get hard - he knows it before it happens. He squirms a little into the seat, shifts so that he can take a sip of his beer, try to settle himself. His eyes slide over Kavinsky's muscles, his tattoos, his bare skin. Jack's breath catches in his chest.