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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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"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?"

Something in Kavinsky's chest ached for a second and he diverted his gaze for a moment to compose himself. Being overwhelmed with need maybe wasn't the best time to have that idea floated past him. It felt terribly like a rejection, and more importantly a mocking. He licked his lips, kept his hands still and his posture wholly accepting.

"'s your car," he breathed. He made a conscious effort of steeling his voice. "Told you you can do whatever you want with me."

Jack gives every sign of thinking it over for a moment. His eyes drift over Kavinsky's body, the lewd jut of his hard cock between rumpled clothes.

"You can come," he says, finally. "But make it quick."

Kavinsky didn't want to come like this. He wanted to come while he was spread out for Jack, while he was doing what Jack needed to get himself off. He closed his eyes briefly and wrapped his hand around his cock again. It wouldn't take much to get off. He just worried that Jack would hold onto that promise, and not let Kavinsky come again for the rest of the night.

"Come on," urges Jack, turning more firmly in his seat so that he can watch Kavinsky play with himself. "Be a good boy."

It was the urgency and command in come on rather than the praise that spiked pleasure into Kavinsky's chest. He shivered and fucked into his fist, his breathless noises taking on a bit more weight as he rushed, headlong, into his orgasm. He had the place of mind to cup his hand against the tip of his cock, so he wouldn't make a mess all over the upholstery of Jack's fancy retro sportscar.

Arousal flares through Jack as he watches Kavinsky come, as he watches it pass over his face like that. He swallows, closing his eyes for a moment, riding it out.

"Now clean up your mess."

Kavinsky was moving his hand up before Jack spoke, while his eyes were closed. So when Jack spoke, Kavinsky let out a little whimper as he sucked and licked at his fingers and palm. He made good time on cleaning himself up, and double checked his other hand. His cock was a mess, but there was nothing else he could really do about that.

Jack watches as Kavinsky licks every last spot of come off his skin. He shivers as a wave of arousal goes straight through him.

"Now put yourself away and get out of the car."