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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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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?"

"On your back," says Jack, because he'd meant it when he said that he wanted Kavinsky right there when he fucked him.

Kavinsky was still for a moment, catching his breath, before he could conceivably roll himself over and put himself on display. He sprawled gracelessly across the bed, legs splayed, cock hard, arms tucked up above his head once more.

"C'mon, baby," he breathed, squirming his hips on the mattress. "I need it."

Jack takes a moment, sits back on his heels.

"Can I come inside you or do you want me to wear a rubber?"

"God," Kavinsky breathed, laughed. Was that even a question? Why would they start using condoms now, when they hadn't the last two times? He supposed it was considerate--and some quiet, nasty part of him said that he probably should, since the opening of Jack and Poison's relationship went both ways.

"Want you t' come inside me. God, baby."

It was the answer that Jack had been hoping for. He slicks his cock and then leans between Kavinsky's legs, one hand curled around his dick until he guides himself into place. He slides into Kavinsky's ass as slowly as he can bear.

The slowness was almost agonizing. Kavinsky groaned and squirmed his shoulders a little, trying to find a good way to cant his hips up and meet Jack pressing in. That was, definitely, a downside to this position. How was he supposed to fuck back at a good angle when arching his back just pressed his hips down toward the bed? How embarrassingly folded up was he going to have to get?

"God, you feel amazing," says Jack, hitching one of Kavinsky's legs higher against his thigh so that he can push into him deeper. "You feel so, so fucking good."

Kavinsky reflexively wrapped his leg around Jack's hips, dragging him in as deep as he'd go. He'd squeezed his eyes shut again, breathing raggedly, but his lips tilted up in a smile. "You gonna keep teasin'? Or you gonna fuck me?"

That makes Jack laugh and he growls, softly under his breath. He pushes Kavinsky's knees up towards his chest and fucks him harder, deeper, like he means it.

To be bent in half like that helped to focus him further, intent on this moment, this feeling, Jack pressing into him. It was rougher than a moment before, more intentional, and Kavinsky licked his lips filthily. He wondered if he could egg Jack into really going all out, or if he should settle for what he was given.

Leaning down, Jack takes a kiss as he fucks him, one hand gripping his thigh to keep it up, keep his leg bent. The angle is so sweet Jack can't keep a clear thought in his head.

The kiss buffered the breath from Kavinsky's lungs. He did his best, try to kiss back, trying to kiss more, but the position was more advantageous to Jack kissing him than anything else. He could barely even rock his hips to meet Jack's movements, but Jack could move however he wanted.

"Fuck," he breathed effortlessly. "Fuck, baby, you feel so good."

"You don't feel so bad yourself," gasps Jack between heated, hurried kisses. He shifts his position slightly so that he can thrust into Kavinsky harder, getting lost in him. "You feel...fuck, K. You feel so fucking good."

Kavinsky shifted his hands to hold under his knees, pulling his legs back even closer to his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a second, a long, steep breath. Jack felt amazing, deep and intent, and Kavinsky was trying to hold back the itch of tears.

"Fuck. Molya--oh, shit." Kavinsky bit his lip, trying to keep that tenuous grasp on his English, just a little longer. His cock dribbled against his stomach and he whined softly.

"C'mon," says Jack, wrapping his fingers around the bedframe so that he can fuck Kavinsky harder, to give him more leverage. "Tell me how much you love it. Let me hear you talk."