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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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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?"

Kavinsky blurted out a gust of laughter, that simple question irrationally hilarious to him. He skimmed his fingers on Jack's shoulders, down his arms. "Yeah, 'm physically capable of it, motherfucker. Yuck it up."

He made himself look at Jack then, glad he had been laughing because it made the smile look and feel genuine. He dragged Jack in for a kiss. "You won't. You'd have to be goin' pretty crazy to. It'll feel good. You'll feel good."

Jack looks at him for another moment and then he slips away from him, just long enough to grab the lube out of his bag. He slips between Kavinsky's thighs again.

"Roll over."

Something tripped in Kavinsky's chest. Guilt, for laughing off what may have been genuine worry, or something else. Why was this harder than the last two times? It wasn't, he knew. He was just making it like that.

He trailed his fingers over Jack's arm, tracing the tattoo idly, and rolled over as instructed. He was hard again, but not distractingly so. He'd manage. He lifted his hips and spread his legs, the way he knew he looked good.

Jack spreads some lube directly into the crease of Kavinsky's ass, slicks his fingers and presses two against him, easing them inside. He leans down, pressing a wet, sucking kiss against Kavinsky's tailbone.

The press of two fingers at once pushed breath and noise out of Kavinsky, jarred and sudden. He clung to the sheets under his head and rolled his hips back to meet Jack's touch, his wet lips on his skin, the heat of his breath. "Fuck, baby."

Jack fucks Kavinsky's ass with two fingers, lets his mouth drift lower, teasing alongside his fingers with the tip of his tongue. The lube doesn't taste great, but he's not exactly in a place where he cares.

Kavinsky reached back, touched Jack's wrist to gently guide the angle of his fingers pressing into him. He rocked his hips back to meet him, to meet his tongue. His breath had turned into a ragged thing, breathy moans all around the edges, cock twitching toward his belly.

Jack keeps the angle that Kavinsky nudges him to, slides a third finger in alongside the other two. He twists his hand, looking for Kavinsky's prostate, wanting to hear him moan.

It didn't take that much to get a sweet, needy noise out of him. His breath stuttered, turned into a chesty, needy noise as Jack kept up what he was doing. He buried his face in the mattress, some attempt to muffle all the noise. His knees shuffled just a bit wider.

"Are you ready?" asks Jack, thoug he thinks he knows the answer to that question. "Can I fuck you?"

"Don't gotta ask," Kavinsky murmured, and nodded a bit. He wasn't used to being asked for these sorts of things. Jack's voice felt heavy on his skin. He arched his back and pressed against Jack's fingers until he slid them out. "Want me like this? Or back on my back?"