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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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They haven't been doing this for very long but Jack loves the way that Kavinsky sounds when he's starting to come undone like that. He moans in encouragement, bobbing his head faster, keeping up the pace.

Kavinsky finally couldn't quite hold back any more. He slipped a hand out from under the pillow and touched Jack's hair, sighing a bit, gripping tight but not holding or tugging--he wanted Jack to keep moving like that, keep sucking, keep bobbing his head as he--

"Fuck." His hips jerked up as he came, the groaned, sobbed word the only warning he could manage.

Jack's had enough practise at that over the last six months that he doesn't need warning - he manages to swallow smoothly, bobbing his head until Kavinsky's dick starts to soften and Jack's sure he's spent.

Kavinsky slumped back in the pillows a bit, trying to steady his breathing. It only worked so far, before he was laughing softly. He ruffled his fingers in Jack's hair as he finally pulled off.

"Thanks, baby," he murmured. And then, rather embarrassingly, he said, "You didn't have to do that."

"Did I ruin the game?" Says Jack, blushing a little. He's still grinning. "I just really wanted to go down on you, man."

"No, that's not--"

He grabbed Jack under the arms and hauled him up, kissing him. He could taste himself on Jack's mouth, and he groaned a little. His arms wound around Jack's shoulders, holding him close.

"I ain't complainin', baby."

"Couldn't help myself," says Jack, his face flushing as he rocks closer, dropping kisses along the side of Kavinsky's neck.

"I ain't complainin'," Kavinsky assured again. He tilted his head back and wrapped his arms around Jack's shoulders. The roll and rock of their hips against each other, even just that little bit, was overwhelming and spectacular. He ran his nails against Jack's nape. "Please say you're still gonna fuck me at some point, yeah?"

"I am absolutely going to fuck you," promises Jack. "And I'm totally going to stick my tongue in your ass.I am all about my own enjoyment this evening."

Kavinsky breathed out a bit of a laugh. He kept his fingers on Jack's nape for a moment. There were words, heavy and waiting, on his tongue and he couldn't say them. He let them live in his chest, in the back of his throat, and when he spoke, it was a soft, rapturous, "That sounds real good, baby. Whatever you want."

"You," says Jack and, right then, he means it utterly because, right them, it's just the two of them and nothing exists out of his room. "You're what I want."

Kavinsky closed his eyes and breathed through a wave of swooping, reeling feelings in his chest. He slatted his legs apart easily, inviting Jack even closer than he was, and hugged his knees against his sides. He kept his eyes closed for a long, trying minute, until he could make sure his eyes weren't too soft, too considering, too full of hope for something that he knew wasn't there.

When he looked again, it was through his eyelashes. He licked his lips. "Sounds good, baby. How d'you want me?"

Jack slips comfortably between Kavinsky's thighs, rocking down against him, taking a kiss. He tilts his head, looking down at him.

"Like this?" he asks, and it comes out as a question. "Just like this?"

Kavinsky shivered and closed his eyes again. He breathed and rolled his hips to meet Jack's on each gentle, coaxing rock. They were working themselves, each other, back up, and they were young enough that it wouldn't take too much time.

"Yeah," he breathed. The game was lost entirely on Kavinsky now. His chest was all full of heat and light, a hundred things to wide to fit in his ribcage. He breathed each one out on a sigh.

There's a lot to be said about this, about taking their time, about grinding against Kavinsky like this.

"I want to take my time with you."

"We've got time," Kavinsky assured. He'd need to check in with Newt at some point, but not yet. He wasn't expected home anytime soon. He nudged his knees gently at Jack's sides and just thought about this: the splash of colorful ink on Jack's skin, the weight and warmth of his body, the softness of their raspy breathing.

"I'm whatever you need me to be, tonight, baby."

"I need you right here," says Jack, kissing down Kavinsky's neck again, his cock getting harder with every shift against Kavinsky's body. "I need to fuck you until you can't even remember your name."

Kavinsky arched his neck, exposed himself. He touched over Jack's tattoos, up over his shoulders, wound his fingers into the other boy's dark hair. The press of Jack's cock against him made him feel indulgent and lazy and proud. He'd done that. He'd made Jack feel like that.

"'s an awful lot of fuckin'," Kavinsky breathed with a smile. "I've got a pretty memorable name."

"We've got the room all night," says Jack, rocking down with his hips, taking another kiss from Kavinsky's smiling mouth. "Plenty of time to work you over."

Kavinsky arched his hips up to meet the press down. He wrapped a leg behind Jack's thigh and held him close, grinding up against him, a filthy rock of their hips. He thought he might be content with just this, maybe, for a while. He could live on the slide of their cocks against each other and the rush of their breathing against each other's skin.

"God, you feel amazing," says Jack, mumbles it, presses the syllables into his skin. He pushes up on his elbows so that he can look down at Kavinsky as he rocks against him.

"And just think," Kavinsky breathed out, "you're not even inside me yet."

His gaze caught on Jack's as he looked at him like that, as he moved over him. Kavinsky felt his face flush, and he diverted his gaze a bit, closed his eyes after a moment, breathed through the moment.

"Plenty of time to get there."

He watches Kavinsky blush, something he doesn't see too often, and it's beautiful. Jack kisses his flushed cheek. "Is this okay?" he asks. "Do you need me to...be different? Go harder?"

"No," Kavinsky breathed, and made a huffed, angry noise that his voice creaked a little in saying it. He shut his eyes and made himself breathe in and out, once, twice. He tilted his head up, just a little, so their foreheads bumped gently. "No, this is--it's good. It's really good. I just don't do soft that much. Sorry if I cry."

"You cry?" asks Jack, softly, kissing along Kavinsky's jaw, down the hollow of his throat, as he rocks his hips, as he grinds down against him. "You'd tell me if it was because I hurt you, right? If something didn't feel good?"