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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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"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.

Kavinsky's mouth is a drooling, sloppy mess and Jack couldn't be more into it if he tried. His fingers tug in Kavinsky's hair, pulling his mouth off his cock.

"Where do you want me to come?" he asks, his voice chilly and firm.

Kavinsky gasped, sputtering just a little when Jack pulled him off, and aching for it, desperation and hunger written across his face. He sagged, just a touch, tried to lean in to get more of Jack's cock, but the grip on his head was deliciously firm.

"In me," he said, thick with wanting and the accent he worked consistently to suppress. "God, fuck, in my mouth? In my--my ass, wherever, just--"

"I'm going to have plenty of time to come in your ass tonight," says Jack, grinning. He traces his thumb along Kavinsky's bottom lip. "Try again."

Kavinsky's eyelashes fluttered. He breathed through his nose, trying to ground himself. It wasn't working. He opened his mouth and licked at the pad of Jack's thumb, looking up at him with dark, needy eyes. "Come in my mouth, please, maĭstor. I want to swallow your come."

"Good boy," says Jack, patting Kavinsky's cheek before he guides his mouth down onto him. It doesn't take long, only a couple of thrusts, before he's coming into Kavinsky's mouth.

Kavinsky moaned around Jack, as he slid back in, as he fucked, and as he came. He swallowed deftly around him, a desperate sort of need in every little movement of his lips and his tongue. And even after Jack had finished coming, Kavinsky lingered on what he was doing, cleaning Jack up and sighing against his skin. He was so hard it almost hurt, but he hadn't been told he could come. So he wouldn't.

When everything becomes a little bit too sensitive, Jack pushes Kavinsky back with one hand against his forehead. His eyes drift down to Kavinsky's hard cock, the glistening tip.

"God, look at you," he says. "You're a mess."

"Doing quite well, I thought. Not quite a mess yet," Kavinsky chirped. His voice was a little ragged, but still dripping with humor, with a quiet trust and admiration. He shivered there, kneeling at Jack's feet, and waited.

"Get up on the bed," says Jack, his eyes hungry for a moment. "I want to suck your dick." He knows there's a game they're playing here but, in that moment, he doesn't even care.

Kavinsky smiled, a little indulgently. There had been a time, months and months ago now, that Kavinsky wouldn't have believed those words. Like so many things in his life, they were becoming progressively more believable.

He climbed up onto the bed, moving toward the head of it. He sat against the pillows, legs sprawling wide. "Here I am, maĭstor. All ready for you."

He's not playing th egame anymore, not right now, but Jack smiles, a little, at the tone of voice, at what Kavinsky calls him. Jack slips back up onto the bed, bending over Kavinsky's body to kiss his chest, down to his belly. His fingers graze against the hard length of his cock.

Kavinsky could tell that they had shifted, somewhere, but he didn't know if it was him or Jack or both of them. He pushed his fingers through Jack's hair, gentle, edged with adoration that he was trying hard to not feel. Try hard to keep battened down. This was just fucking.

The kisses weren't helping. Kavinsky had just fucked plenty of people. They didn't kiss him like that, tender and lingering. He squeezed his eyes shut and arched his back, pressing his hips up.

He's still getting used to the fact that this is allowed, no part of it illicit, everything they do permitted. He's getting used to the differences, the way Poison feels different to Kavinsky, the differences between their cocks, the ways that they react to pleasure. He bends his head hair slipping across his forehead as he brushes his lips against the shaft of Kavinsky's cock.

"Fuck," Kavinsky breathed. He tucked his fingers under his head, rather than drag Jack around. They both knew that Jack would like that and, hell, Kavinsky would like it too. But he was supposed to be being good. He had not slipped all the way from the role Jack wanted him in, some slutty boy he'd picked up and taken somewhere private. Isn't that what he was?

Just as softly, he said, "Don't tease. Please, Jack."

Jack hadn't been intending to, if he's honest, and he parts his lips, sliding his mouth down over the first few inches of Kavinsky's cock, his cheeks hollowing as he starts to suck. One hand slides up Kavinsky's belly, teasing his nipple with the edge of a thumbnail.

Kavinsky breathed out, gustily and wanting, a little shaky. Jack's mouth was a perfect wet heat, a wonderful mess of attention, and his hands felt sure and heavy on Kavinsky's skin. He squirmed, a little, pressing more toward that touch, shuddering breath in and out as he tried to keep from flying apart.

"'m I allowed to come from this?" It seemed important to ask right now, before he made an ass of himself.

"Yeah," says Jack, breathily, his hand sliding over spit slick skin before he ducks his head again, licking the head of Kavinsky's cock like a lollipop. "In my mouth. On my face. What do you want?"