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This was not a date. Kavinsky and Jack had agreed that they were not dating, and so this was not a date. It was this: Kavinsky worrying if he was coming on too strong with an outfit that was all tight jeans and loose shirt; Jack picking him up in his car; them laughing with the top down even though it was getting too cold for that; a club, and Kavinsky teasing Jack that he still needed to use a fake ID, and Jack teasing Kavinsky that one of his boys would need to use a fake ID for a whole extra year.

The club was noisy and dim and full of people. Kavinsky didn't think he'd really gone out in ages; he was normally working on weekends, when he would want to go out, and work and school occupied Newt, and Al, and Peter.

"Isn't it a school night?" he asked Jack, next to his ear so he didn't shout himself hoarse in the first ten minutes they were there. He gave Jack's arm a squeeze. "I'm gonna get a drink. What do you want?"

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Kavinsky was rather used to posh hotels. There weren't a lot of them in Henrietta, certainly, but he was known to treat himself when he traveled other places, because what was the point in not treating himself. Somehow, he was a little surprised that Darrow had a hotel of that standard--not quite a luxury place, but something suitably mid-tier.

He lingered at Jack's side, aware that Jack's going-out clothes were still more suiting to this place than Kavinsky's. He leaned in to Jack's ear as they stood at the front desk, Jack getting them a room, and whispered, "Looks like you picked me up for a good time, man."

"What?" says Jack, flashing Kavinsky a look, raised eyebrows and a smile twitching the corner of his mouth as he hands over his credit card. "You saying I didn't?"

Kavinsky grinned lazily, rolling his eyes. What a Goddamn line. And here he'd been trying to at least get a little bit of a fluster under Jack's skin. He leaned his back against the counter, stretching himself out into a series of long, sinuous lines. Bulking up in Darrow hadn't made him big, by any means, but he was certainly a far cry from the wiry, narrow-chested boy he'd been when he'd arrived.

He waited until the card had been run and Jack had gotten the key card and a receipt. "You know," he said. "I could have paid for that."

"Yeah, I know that," says Jack, rolling his eyes as he turns and heads towards the elevator. "But that's totally not the game we're playing here, is it?"

Kavinsky grinned cheekily. It was, actually, something he'd said to guys picking him up before that thought taking him to a fancy place would make the situation less reprehensible. But he didn't say that, because Jack didn't think this was reprehensible.

They got into the elevator, and Kavinsky leaned against the wall until Jack had put in for the floor and they started up. Then, he tucked his thumbs into the waist of his jeans and dragged them down slowly, grinning, watching Peter.

"Should I start out on my knees in here, baby?"

Jack watches the slow progress of Kavinsky's jeans and tilts his head, his eyes darting to watch the climb of floors towards the room they've rented.

"Don't think you're going to have time to make it worth your while, man."

"Never said I was gonna do nothin', anyway," Kavinsky pointed out with a wicked grin. He stayed where he was, tempting and filthy-bodied. "Could just show you how it looks. Could just tease you a tiny bit."

"Is that what you are?" asks Jack, leaning back against the lift, his eyebrows raised. "A tease. Because we're going to work on that, Kavinsky. Your behaviour. How you present yourself."

He's pretty sure his dad said those exact words to him once. Just...different context.

Kavinsky giggled, thrilled and light. He felt abundantly high, without much in his system at all. Maybe he'd need something to sustain it, but he hoped not. He liked this: not quite sober, giddy, getting hard again and even if he hadn't been, so needy he wanted to burst.

"You like my presentation, baby."

"You're slutty as fuck," says Jack, enjoying the roll of the curse across his tongue. "I like that."

The words thrilled in Kavinsky's chest. Yes. Yes, he was, and it was okay here. Everyone was aware and informed, and there was no wrong in this. He grinned at Jack, and slowly undid the fly on his jeans, flashing colorful boxer briefs underneath. The elevator opened onto their floor.

"Lead the way, handsome," Kavinsky murmured, thick and deep and just a little needy. "I'll show you how slutty a fuck I can be."

"I don't think you get to call me that tonight," says Jack, stepping out of the elevator and walking down the corridor with a confidence that says he just expects Kavinsky to follow. "Pick something else."

"I don't think you'd like anything else I wanna call you," Kavinsky said, grinning cheekily. He thought handsome was a perfectly acceptable thing to call Jack. Respectful without being cheeky or presumptuous. But if Jack wanted to be called something else tonight, Kavinsky could supply.

He wandered up close to Jack from behind, wrapping around him loosely and nuzzling at his neck. "Maĭstor," he murmured against his ear, the hint of a moan living in the word.

A smile tugs at the corner of Jack's mouth, as he unlocks the door and pushes it open.

"Does that mean what I think it does?"

"It means whatever you want it to mean, maĭstor," Kavinsky said, sliding into the hotel room behind Jack. Once he was inside, he started to take off his clothes almost immediately. His jeans, already undone, came down from his hips easily. "Figure you want me naked before you want me on my knees, right? Anything else I can do for you before we start?"

"That sounds like a good start," says Jack, eyebrows raised expectantly as he sits on the end of the bed and watches Kavinsky strip.

Kavinsky snorted. He was playing up the bad attitude, in part because he was getting a kick out of it and, in part, because he wanted to see how hard he had to push before Jack did something about it. He'd already proven he was good at following commands. Now, he wanted to see where the patience ran out.

Still, he made a good show of stripping. It wasn't a tease, wasn't a dance. He peeled his clothes off as he stalked toward the bed, until he was naked in front of Jack's knees. Then, he sank to the floor and smirked up at him.

"Good, maĭstor?"

"Good," says Jack, his eyes hungry as they drift over Kavinsky's naked body. Jack swallows and pushes his fingers into Kavinsky's hair, tugging, pulling him closer.

"I bet you've done some filthy things in hotel rooms."

Kavinsky sighed out as Jack tugged him in. He licked his lips, a lazy glide of tongue, and kept looking up at him. "You lookin' for a laundry list? Tryin' to spark your imagination with what other guys have done to me?"

"Oh, I've got plenty of ideas," says Jack, smirking. He slaps Kavinsky's face, sharply, hard enough to make his cheek sting. "But I'm interested in hearing you talk dirty, baby."

Kavinsky made a soft noise, acceptable and just a little pain, as Jack slapped him. It made his ear ring. It rattled pain up to the bruise on his other side. He breathed through it and licked his lips, leaving his head lulled to his shoulders in the aftermath.

"I want you," he murmured, a groan of a confessional moment. "I want to go home with rug burn, my ass all glowing from you slapping me. Want your cock so deep inside me I can taste it." He laughed softly, a lazy grin moving across his mouth as he tilted his head back and looked up at Jack. "I want you to fuck my face until my throat's raw. C'mon, maĭstor. Don't you want to make you your come dump?"

He'd threatened to make Poison something similar not so long ago, and the thought of it makes him hot. He nods, unbuttoning his jeans and shoving them around his thighs, his cock slipping free.

"Suck it."

Kavinsky moved almost before Jack had opened his mouth. He shuffled forward on his knees and leaned up between Jack's legs, and it was so easy to nuzzle at him a moment. To lick up the shaft. To wrap his lips prettily around the head and suck, stroking him with a sure fist. To sink his head down, taking Jack deep in one fell swoop and then bobbing his head so that the head of his cock fucked in and out of his throat filthily as he slurped.

Kavinsky sucks cock like he was made for it, and Jack makes sure to tell him that as often seen he can. He pushes his fingers into Kavinsky's thick dark hair, holding him still while he thrusts up into his mouth.

The continuing litany of Jack's filthy mouth heated down Kavinsky's spine. His eyes unfocused in their half-mast gaze, especially as Jack held him down. He swallowed as best he could, but really all he was doing was making a filthy mess on Jack's cock, drooling down him and his chin and even onto Jack's jeans and the bed between Jack's thighs.