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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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"Why are we here again?" asks Jack, laughing a little as he grinds forward into Kavinsky's hands. Suddenly, he's painfully uninterested in dancing.

"We were making a valiant effort that we could go longer than twenty minutes without jumping each other's bone?" Kavinsky grinned, giving Jack a squeeze. He leaned in close to his ear, sighing for a moment. "But I want your cock so bad, I can almost taste it."

Jack's fingers tease along the seam in Kavinsky's jeans that follows the cleft of his ass.

He swallows.

"We could just go and find a room.

Kavinsky shivered in Jack's arms, shifting his mouth to brush their lips together. He bumped his hips gently against Jack's hip. "That a suggestion? You still trying to play it cool? Or are we goin', handsome?"

"I can think of a hundred things I'd rather be doing than dancing with you right now," says Jack, almost growls it, and threads their fingers together. "C'mon."

The tone of voice sent an instant shiver down Kavinsky's spine. He curled his fingers against Jack's and let himself be pulled away from the dance floor. On the way to the door, he fished his phone out of his pocket and sent a quick text to Newt--because even if Newt had said he was okay, Kavinsky wanted to give him the option of an out if he needed it. No part of Kavinsky wanted to hurt anyone here.

Jack doesn't really stop until they're out in the air again. When they get to the car, he nudges Kavinsky back with his hips, takes a hungry, possessive kiss.

"What kind of hotel are you in the mood for?"

Kavinsky let himself be consumed, possessed by that kiss. He wound his arms around Jack's neck and held onto him, like this wasn't just what it said on the tin: friends going out and then heading to a hotel to fuck. His weight sank back against the car, and he smiled wickedly.

"Oh, I get a choice? I mean, I figure hotel carpet all feels about the same, when you're having me on my knees all night."

"Yeah, but maybe I want to treat you right," teases Jack, his palm skimming against Kavinsky's jaw as they kiss. Jack rocks hips forward, just a little. "You're fucking around with a mayor's son now, baby."

Kavinsky breathed out a laugh, because he'd fucked around with plenty of mayors sons back in Henrietta, and he'd gone to plenty of hotels, and the cross over of those two had happened a couple times, but not consistently.

He licked into Jack's mouth. "You can treat me however you want tonight, sweetheart. I'm all yours."

"Well I absolutely intend to treat you well," says Jack and then he grins. "At least at first."

Kavinsky hummed, bringing his hands down to Jack's hips. He squeezed gently, his thumbs rubbing at the cut of Jack's hipbones. "What are we waiting for then, handsome? You were the one that rushed us out of dancing."

Jack rolls his eyes and takes another kiss, hungry, deep, pressing forward with hips and tongue.

"C'mon," he says, finally breaking the kiss. "I know just the place."

Kavinsky lingered against the car door for a moment after Jack was done kissing him, pulling the threads of his sanity back together. Then, when Jack had moved away enough, Kavinsky half turned and let himself into the car. He sank into the seat, a part of him wishing they were just going to hook up right then and there.

With a grin, he unabashedly adjusted his cock in his jeans.

"You've got no manners," says Jack, huffing a laugh as his eyes track down to Kavinsky's hand on his cock and back up again. "That...how you need to be treated?"

It's a sort of game, but not the one that him and Poison play. Slightly different rules. But Jack Vincent is nothing if not adaptable.

Kavinsky grinned cheekily, taking it as a compliment. He was quite well mannered, when he wanted or needed to be, but that wasn't very often at all. Especially not when surrounded by rude boys that made him feel like this.

He kept his hand where it was, more subtle than the initial shift, but definitely working at himself gently. "What does that look like, huh? Treating me like a rude boy. Teaching me some manners."

"Slapping you around a little bit until you learn?" asks Jack, eyebrow raised as he starts the car and pulls away from the curb. "Tell me what you need to make sure a lesson sticks."

"That all?" Kavinsky laughed. Getting slapped around a bit sounded great, but that wasn't a reinforcement of any sort of manners. He took the hand off his cock and reached over to touch Jack's thigh, squeezing, working his fingers slowly up toward Jack's cock.

"Gotta tell me what you want me to do. Make sure I do it just how you like. We're working on manners here, right? So, where can I touch? How long do I gotta wait before I get to come? That sort of thing."

"In which case, you can keep your hands to yourself," says Jack, his voice gone chilly. He's doing a pretty passable impression of his dad, right then. "And your mouth shut until I tell you otherwise."

Kavinsky let out a shuddering breath. He kept his hand where it was for one more moment, only the length of time it took him to say, "Avoid the left cheek." Then, without further ado, he pulled back and sank into his seat, eyes half shut and contemplative in the way he silently watched Jack drive.

"Left cheek," echoes Jack, making a mental note of it. He notices the effect that that voice has on Kavinsky though; it's similar to the way he reacts to Poison, sometimes. "Anything else I ought to know?"

"No marks," Kavinsky said. It was not a hard and fast rule, but it was a good one to have. Especially if they were going to be doing something hectic and overwhelming. He smiled softly and then shrugged. "Otherwise, I think I'm yours."

"No blindfolds, right?" he asks, glancing over at him. "And no...head under water." Which is not something he would ever, ever do anyway.

"Yeah, but those are always," Kavinsky said. He grinned over at Jack, tongue sticking out just a little as he idly played with his earring with one hand, his necklace with the other. "This is the opposite of having me sit quietly and behave, you know."

"I'm just getting everything clear in my head," says Jack, rolling his eyes. When he glances at Kavivnsky again, he does his best Prince Vincent impression. "So shut the fuck up."