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

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?"

Kavinsky huffed, looking up at the ceiling silently for a moment, trying to compose himself. He could feel the slow, tightening wind in his stomach, and he didn't want that yet. He just wanted to hold on.

"In your mouth," he groaned. His hips hitched up toward Jack. "God, c'mon. Please."

Jack smiles at the lift of Kavinsky's hips, the hint of desperation. He ducks his head and slips his mouth down over Kavinsky's cock, taking him all the way down, as deep as he can. He squeezes Kavinsky's hip, encouraging.

Kavinsky groaned--more whined then anything--as Jack slipped down on him again. He gripped the underside of the pillow he had his hands tucked under now, focusing instead on just his hips, on letting Jack lead the pace of this with his bobbing mouth and his gripping fingers.

"Shit," he breathed, eyes slipping closed. He was so close already. "Shit, Jack..."

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."