mitsubishievo | (AU) Gotta be compatible, take me to my limits [for Bull]

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(AU) Gotta be compatible, take me to my limits [for Bull]

It had been a long night, and Kavinsky was getting close to calling it quits for the day. Tips had been bad throughout the night--not for any particular reason, he'd been making okay, but the crowd was thinner than usual.

Part of that, he thought, might be the big, imposing guy with the horns at the bar. Big guys like that, who weren't on payroll, tended to make people uncomfortable. Kavinsky didn't think he was uncomfortable--not really, anyway, not any more than he ever was; wary, more than anything else.

He approached slowly, slid into the empty spot next to the guy at the bar. He hadn't put on any more clothes from his last routine, so he was wearing only some tight, black shorts that barely covered his ass.

"Hey, mister," he said, smooth and gentle. "You wanna buy me a drink?"

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The Bull turned his head slowly, a faint smirk tugging his mouth. "And why would I want to do that?"

The young man was good-looking, and even in the dim light Bull could see some freckles. He liked that. He'd come here tonight as if he could be anonymous - not as easy in Darrow as it might have been in Ferelden or Orlais. Granted, anonymity was a sliding scale. He stood out no matter where he went. He'd been nursing drinks at the bar, watching sinuous bodies moving with a kind of controlled abandon. It was nice, he'd give it that.

"Because I'm pretty," Kavinsky said, smiling cheekily as he leaned an elbow on the bar top and looked up at the guy. Sitting down, at least, they were almost a similar height, but Kavinsky could tell by the guy's build that he was huge. A little over a foot taller than Kavinsky was, and built like a brick shit house.

"You gotta name, mister?"

"If that's the measure of earning a drink, maybe you should buy me one."

Bull chuckled, because he knew he was not pretty, probably not in any measure of the word. He took another drink from his glass. "I'm the Iron Bull. What am I calling you?"

"And if I weren't on the clock..." Kavinsky made a guess that, wherever this guy was from, there might not be a lot of paid company. Or there was, and this guy was just used to people foregoing their paychecks for a crack at him. Kavinsky, though, rather liked his paycheck. And that he got to drink on the clock.

Kavinsky smiled, sweet, and adjusted his shorts a little bit. "Joseph." He pulled the name out like it had more syllables than it really did--Gee-yo-seph--and then winked. "Bull, huh?"

He shook his head, but he ordered another drink - and told the bartender to get Joseph what he wanted.

"Yeah, Bull. Picked it out myself.. seemed to fit. It works for me."

"You'd have to, with a name like that," Kavinsky said, still smiling so sweetly. The bartender put down a tumbler of tequila in front of Kavinsky. He picked up the tumbler and smiled, tilted it in a quiet salute for the drink.

He waited until he'd taken a sip before he said, "Name the only thing that's...bull-like?"

"What, you didn't notice the horns? Pretty sure that's why I have half the bar to myself right now."

People avoided him, and that was fine. He understood, even if it was isolating. He sipped his new drink.

Bull was pretty sure he knew what Joseph was referring to, but let him say it.

"Mmn," Kavinsky said, soft, contemplative. He looked at the horns again, contemplative about them. Contemplative about how they'd feel with his hands on them. With his knees on them. "Less bull. More water buffalo."

But they both knew that wasn't what he'd been talking about. Kavinsky sipped his drink, then hummed softly and leaned over, sweet smile gone cheeky and wicked. "Never met a guy with horns before. They sensitive?"

"Not really," he answered. "I can feel weight, impact on them. But not really anything else. "They itched like hell when they were growing."

Bull smirked and tipped his head a bit. "Want to touch them?"

Kavinsky reached out as the Bull tilted toward him. He wrapped his fingers around the tip and slid his hand down the pillar of the horn. He pressed gentle pressure on it. Intellectually, he knew what a horn was--the same things as nails, as hair. But touching it was different some how.

He slid his fingers back up toward the tip, then back down, then up. He grinned, lazy, eyelashes fluttering just a little.

Bull snorted a laugh when he realized what Joseph was doing. "You might have better results if you tried that somewhere else." He lifted his head slowly, pulling away from Joseph's sliding touch. He took a long drink from his glass. "Why'd you come over here?"

Kavinsky had that wicked look on his face still, teasing and knowing. He pulled his hand away from the horn as the Bull lifted his head back up. He lifted his tumbler and swirled the amber contents, then sipped slowly. He preferred to sip his tequila to having it as a shot.

"The Iron Bull," he murmured, and hummed, and then looked up at Bull again. "Seems a mouthful to say when someone's got a cock in 'em."

"If someone can say my entire name with my cock in them, we can call that an accomplishment." Maybe it was bragging, but mostly it was... biology. He was a foot or more taller than most human men he'd met, and beyond that he was big. Everywhere. And in his experience that led to fun, but generally incoherent evenings for those that decided to go through with it.

"Well, that sure doesn't answer the unspoken question," Kavinsky said, and winked. "You expecting just--oh, oh, yes, oh, just like that!"

He did an almost comical version of the moaning, the pornographic language spilling out of him like a water fountain. He pawed at the front of his shorts with one hand, and his hair with the other, and then ended it all with a giggle.

Bull rolled his eye and he finished his drink as Joseph nearly fell off the bar stool with all his mimicry. Small talk was fine when he was fishing for information, but that wasn't why he was here. "You wanna ride the bull or not?"

They all came for different reasons - most of them out of curiosity. Some backed out before the night was over, others stayed. Bull wondered which Joseph would be.

Kavinsky slid off the stool and put that beatific smile back into place. He smoothed his shorts a little, as if there was something more than barely-there fabric to smooth. He looked at the Bull through his eyelashes, hair falling across his forehead.

"Do you want me off the clock? Or are you paying for my time?"

"You approached me," he pointed out. Though he supposed he was the one that finally made the proposition. "Off the clock. This could be a while anyway." Bull left money on the bar and got up, rising to his full height of nearly seven and a half feet.

More than a foot taller. Kavinsky smiled at the bartender to close out his tab for the night and pay him out. When that was clear, he smiled up at the Bull.

"Gotta gimme a minute to grab my clothes. Meet me out front." Kavinsky gave Bull a wink, and then sauntered away, stuffing the wad of cash he'd earned for the night down the front of his shorts.

Bull watched the young man go, then shook his head and headed for the front of the club. The nights were getting cold but he didn't have a coat yet. He made a mental note to give Krem money for that soon, whether he'd take it or not. He needed something that fit, and material was not inexpensive, he knew.

He had his head back, looking up at the stars that could be seen through the street lights when Joseph came back out. He lolled his head so he could see him. "Where are we going?"

Kavinsky sized the Bull up as he walked up, lighting a black paper clove cigarette. He'd pulled on jeans and his jacket, but no shirt, a small bag slung over his shoulder. He smiled around the cigarette, tilted precariously between his lips.

"My place," Kavinsky said, and shrugged. It was as good a place as any. And he had that fucking huge bed there. This guy seemed like he'd need a huge bed.

He'd driven to work, but there was no way the Bull was fitting into the Evo. Not with those horns. So that meant they were walking. Part of him wanted to ask to be carried. To have his fingers curled around those horns again. Later. Instead, he said, "This way," and started off.

Bull walked next to him, matching his pace. He was used to walking with people that had shorter legs - much shorter, in some cases. Sera had no shame in asking for a ride, though. The scented smoke caught his attention; something about it was vaguely familiar, the spiced smell.

"What are you smoking?"

Kavinsky looked up, a little surprised by the question. Normally, what are you smoking was said with disdain rather than curiosity. The Bull's voice was purely curious. Kavinsky pulled out his cigarette case. It rattled, the quiet noise of being empty.

"Clove cigarettes. You want one?"

"No... but I kind of like the smell." He wondered what Joseph's mouth would taste like after smoking it. He'd find out later.

Kavinsky jangled the seemingly empty cigarette case and then disappeared it into his jacket again. He exhaled a heavy plume of the sweet smelling smoke, sharp in the back of his throat, and grinned. "Suit yourself, man."

"I'll taste it on you later, without the smoke." And, he imagined, he would smell it in Joseph's hair. "Why did you give me the option of paying?"

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