mitsubishievo | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"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."

Kavinsky breathed out a noise that was part sigh and part laugh. The Prince did not suit Jack's beautifully hipster exterior, but it did make him about five-thousand percent more Aglionby. And Kavinsky could get behind that tonight.

He closed his eyes and shut his mouth, though he was smirking.

"I am going to slap that look off your face," promises Jack and then he pulls up, slipping Ghost into a parking spot like she was made to fit there. He kills the engine.

"I want you to get yourself off right here," he says. "Where anyone could see. Just in case I decide you don't get to do it again tonight."

Kavinsky bit his lip and sighed out his nose. He was still a moment. The idea of Jack torturing him all night with the inability to come was astounding. He opened his jeans, pushed them and his shorts down just far enough to reveal his cock and balls. There, for a moment, was the vague distaste for his own cock, but it passed; he got hard, and that was what counted.

He wrapped his fingers around the shaft and started to stroke, looking over at Jack with dark, intense eyes.

Jack leans back in his seat, turned slightly to the side, watching as Kavinsky plays with his cock.

"God, that suits you so much."

Kavinsky sighed out, turned on more by the way Jack looked at him. He twisted his hand up at the head of his cock, stroking down his foreskin on the way back down. He felt red hot with arousal, desperate and tender in the chest. "You like it, baby?"

"I like how slutty and perfect you look right now," says Jack, his eyes roving, hungry. "I like how you're doing your best to be good."

Kavinsky let out a shivering breath. The reminder, half-unspoken, to be good reminded him that he wasn't supposed to talk unless he'd been told to. So he bit his lip and moved his hand a little more urgently. He watched Jack watch him, feeling filthy and admired. He twitched his hips up into the circle of his fist, progressively more desperate.

Jack waits until he judges that Kavinsky's pretty close to the edge and then he leans in a little.

"Now stop," he says. "Take your hand away."

Kavinsky let out a stuttering, desperate breath, but he did as he was told. He took his hand off his cock and braced it against his thigh, though all he really wanted so to reach out and grab Jack and kiss him. He bit his lip and sat there, cock out and hard, dripping precome down the shaft.

"What if I made you stop properly?" asks Jack, his head tilted. "What if I made you button up and get out of the car right now?"