lee_fallon | AU - Clichéd Bar Meeting

Lee doesn't really mope these days, mostly because life is short and there are much better things he could be doing with his time. But, if he's honest with himself, he is feeling a little down. He's spent a lot of his life alone, and he's gotten used to it, but since he's been in Darrow and has been spending so much time with Connor, he's started to almost expect to have someone to share things with, even if the sharing is largely just sex.

He knows that he and Connor aren't exclusive, and it's better that way for everyone considered. Still, Lee's pretty sure he's not going to get another chance at a New Years Eve kiss, and even though Connor doesn't know that, there's a part of Lee that hates the idea that Connor found and went home with someone else that night. Especially after the sweet little make out session they had earlier in the evening.

So Lee's here to try and disabuse himself of the notion that he's in some kind of a relationship with Connor, because he's not. Back before he came here he'd go out to bars for hookups all the time, and it's about time he did that again. He needs someone else's hands on him, someone else's mouth and someone else's dick. And, in Darrow, this is the place to find it.

Walking up to the bar, he briefly notices someone he recognizes, a guy he met the first time he was in this bar, albeit briefly, when he danced with him and his boyfriend. Lee orders a gin and tonic, and even though he knows this guy is off limits, he turns to him once he has his drink in hand.

"Hey," Lee says, catching the guy's attention. "How are you?" he asks, keeping it simple, not wanting to intrude if the guy's waiting for his boyfriend to join him, or wanting to be alone.

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Kavinsky let out a bitter sort of laugh, lifting his glass and tapping it lightly against Lee's. As with the first time he'd met the guy, he was cute--somehow exuding charm even after only a few moments, good looking, older. The kind of guy that, probably, he would have cruised in DC. The last thought made Kavinsky almost roll his eyes at himself, but he worried that might make Lee think he was blowing him off.

"Besides getting blindingly drunk by myself? Well--not by myself, now." Kavinsky let his smile go momentarily cheeky. It wasn't flirtatious, really. But it was trying. "Nazdrave. Please tell me you're not drinking vodka."

He didn't think he could handle the reminder of New Years.

"Gin," Lee replied. "I'm off vodka at the moment," he added, remembering how horrifically hungover he'd been after New Years Eve, waking up early and feeling miserable all day. He tried not to remember how he'd ended up in Connor's bed that afternoon, unsure if Connor had even bothered changing his sheets after fucking another guy there the night before. He wasn't angry because he didn't have room to be, but it didn't mean he wasn't a little bitter about having had to go home alone.

Lee took a drink of his gin and tonic, licking his lips. "Taking a night off from the boyfriend?" he asked, mostly just testing the waters, seeing if there was any potential here for more than just having a couple drinks together.

"Yeah, me too," Kavinsky mumbled, never really a fan of the astringent bite of vodka but now the memory of the turpentine smell-flavor just made him shift a hand to the half-faded hickey on his throat.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the track of Lee's tongue on his lip. His smile stayed contemplative, inviting, but his eyes shut off at the mention of Newt. His chest ached with the thorns of what he'd done.

He tossed back the rest of his whiskey sour and signaled the bartender over, leaning over a bit flirtatiously, body one long, fluid line--aggressive but at ease; the same simple, easy posturing that had gotten Newt into his bed, and gotten Connor's cock into his mouth--as he said, "Whatever you've got with your top shelf tequila. Heavy on the tequila."

Kavinsky dodged the question, and Lee could read the possible meanings there, and he knew better than to push the issue. There were obviously some kind of issues going on there, and Lee knew better than to tread into those waters. He watched Kavinsky's body move as he ordered another drink, and Lee made quick work of his as well, signaling the bartender to make one of whatever he was making for Kavinsky for him as well.

They had their new drinks in short order, and Lee offered Kavinsky another silent toast before he took a heavy swallow. Tequila was dangerous, and he'd gotten into his fair share of trouble because of it over the years. He felt like tonight would be a good time for something like that to happen again, and wondered if Kavinsky had similar plans.

Rolling his shoulders back, Lee took another healthy swallow of his drink, way past ready to be drunk. "Fuck, I'm getting old," he groused as he set his drink back on the bar. "Five years ago I'd come to a place like this and have a guy ready to take me home in the first ten minutes."

Kavinsky laughed, soft, rolling the edge of his glass against bottom lip between a couple small sips. The tequila wasn't as harsh as the whiskey, but that was dangerous in its own way. He set the glass down and smudged a stray drop off the glass, sucking it off his thumb.

"If it's any consolation," he said, canting his hip slightly, "Nobody's offered to take me home yet either."

It hadn't been his intention, either, when he'd come in and been intending to drink himself into oblivion. Nothing was going to fill out the holes in his chest. But Kavinsky was used to existing in piecemeal. He smiled lazily, stroking his thumb over his bottom lip a few times.

"And you're not old."

Kavinsky was young, though his ages was difficult to guess, and Lee had a feeling that was intentional. He was also dangerously attractive, square jaw and piercing eyes, thick dark hair. He was lean and muscular, and Lee was sure he looked incredible naked, wiry and tall. If the opportunity ever presented itself, Lee would feel very fortunate to get a look.

He told Lee no one had tried to pick him up yet, and Lee wished he could make an offer, but he didn't really know what was going on with the boyfriend, and he didn't want to make anything more awkward than it already was.

There were signals, though. The way Kavinsky kept touching his mouth, how he licked the drop of condensation off his thumb. It was all very sexual, very telling.

"Thank you for saying I'm not old," Lee said with a small smile, knowing full well there was probably at least fifteen years between their ages. He took a drink of his tequila cocktail, then reached up with his damp fingers and touched the side of his neck, sending his own signal back, wanting to see if what he was reading off Kavinsky was true or not.

Kavinsky contemplated the hesitation he could see in the line of Lee's jaw, the set of his back, and he wondered if it was the age difference or the knowledge that, the last time they'd met, it had been with him stalking up behind Newt while the two of them had danced. Sure, the three of them had danced, and laughed. He could still vaguely remember the warmth of it all. But Lee had also been terribly careful when Kavinsky first appeared, and that definitely hadn't been because of his and Newt's ages.

He put the thoughts out of his head. They wouldn't do him any good now. All he could do was think about this moment. All he could do was see where this was going. For now, his eyes tracked Lee's drink, the bob of his Adam's apple, the slow, light track of Lee's fingers on his own skin. It wasn't much, but Kavinsky had had less to work worth than that before.

He ducked his head a little, gaze gone coquettish as he smirked. "So do you take people home, Lee, or are you strictly into being taken home?"

The change in the way Kavinsky looked at him, the slight deepening of his voice and the dark hungriness of his eyes, the way he smiled, sweet but with the promise of something much dirtier linger, it told Lee what he needed to know. He swallowed just to see Kavinsky's eyes watch the action of his throat as he did it, and he licked his lips, meeting Kavinsky's gaze, his own running with a heated undercurrent now as well.

"I'm flexible," Lee replied, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a sip, his eyes on Kavinsky's the entire time. "I keep a lot of wine stocked at my place, which is usually a good draw. But I also have a pretty decent bottle of tequila I haven't opened yet," he added, the offer obvious just beneath the surface. He wasn't completely certain yet that this was a sure thing, but the chances were getting better all the time, and Lee's stomach started to warm in anticipation of what might happen if he was able to take Kavinsky home with him.

The wine didn't hold any special appeal to Kavinsky. It was a drink his mother liked, that he'd snuck at holidays before the substance parties became a hit, to get drunk with his friends, before he got in the habits of heavy liquor. The tannin tastes of it always tended to linger too long for his tastes; and sweet wines tended to get a raised eyebrow and too much teasing, being a teenage boy in a repressed small town.

But Lee's tracking look and darting tongue, the half gifted promise of tequila--and a bed, at least for a little while, if not the whole night--dripped down Kavinsky's spine. He turned his cocktail between his fingers for a second, then knocked it back with a couple of heady swallows.

"Dance with me first." There was a note of a question in his voice, an imploring sort of pitch. The music wasn't the kind that Kavinsky danced to, the sort where everything was visceral and close and filthy. But the prospect of closeness before he let Lee take him home had a certain appeal. It wouldn't be the first time an older man treated him kindly in public before putting him face down into bed, after all.

This isn't the sort of hookup Lee's used to, a guy wanting to spend more time with him than is strictly necessary for the actual sex portion of the evening. But he remembers the last time they'd danced, the careful distance he'd kept between the front of himself and Kavinsky's boyfriend, between the back of himself and Kavinsky. He liked the idea of having a chance to try it without the guardedness, to have someone close to him for something other than a way to get off.

He drained the rest of his own drink in a hard swallow, the burn lingering as he set the glass on the bar. "Okay," he agreed, licking his lips and letting his eyes do an appreciative slide down Kavinsky's body, thinking about what it might feel like to have Kavinsky move against him, even just on the dance floor.

"Lead the way," he told Kavinsky as he took a step closer, not touching but letting heat mingle between them.

Kavinsky slipped his hand into Lee's, drawing him out onto the dance floor. The music was campy, older than he was, not the least bit the sort of thing he'd ever listen to. But it had a beat to it, and Kavinsky could press his body close to Lee's without another thought, and close his eyes. He could, for a moment, shut out everything else.

He felt infinitely silly, like this. An absolute cliche, the both of them, and he hoped that Lee was perfectly aware of it. It made him smile a little. He was too fit to really be a twink, and he knew that, but he was still young and could make a good show of mediocre innocence.

Aware of his melancholy, he turned his back to Lee, pressing himself back against him and dragging one of Lee's arms around his chest.

Lee mostly didn't care, but he couldn't help wondering what everyone around them thought of them, the fact that Lee was obviously too old and not nearly hot enough to be dancing with someone as young and attractive as Kavinsky. They probably thought he was pathetic, trying to reclaim his youth, that Kavinsky was offering charity. And maybe both of those things were even true; he didn't want to admit it, but Lee was here in part to try to mend his bruised ego. Though, to be fair, dancing with Kavinsky now wasn't hurting that endeavor at all.

Closing his eyes, Lee pressed his hand into Kavinsky's chest, his fingers following the line of his ribs and pulling Kavinsky against him, their bodies moving together. It felt good, the heat and solidity of Kavinsky against his chest, like something he could have without eventually paying for it. He wasn't exactly turned on yet, but there was a warmth building that said that tide was turning, and Lee exhaled, knowing Kavinsky could feel his breath against the side of his neck.

Kavinsky closed his eyes, humming tunefully along with the music as Lee's hand slid along his body, over his shirt. It had only been a couple days, and loneliness had crept in swiftly, in a way Kavinsky was loathe to admit to when he had gone all his memorable life without any serious attachment. He knew this was not a serious attachment, but the warmth, the contact, the familiarity of touch raced through him and his body soaked it in desperately.

He leaned back into it, canting his hips back against Lee's intimately, lifting a hand to run over his short hair and cup the back of his neck. He tilted his head to the side and exposed his neck, nothing indecent, but an invitation.

A part of him wondered which would happen first: them getting out of hand and being asked to leave, or one or the both of them deciding it was time to go of their own volition.

Kavinsky was pliant and reactive under Lee's touch, and it felt so good to let go and just be, let the music move them, enjoy each other's bodies. The way Kavinsky touched him felt new, confident and desirous, and this was exactly what Lee needed, to feel wanted by someone who couldn't hurt him.

When Kavinsky rolled his hips back, Lee shifted his hand downward, palm against his lower abdomen, their bodies grinding slowly in tandem. Kavinsky tipped his head and offered the long, pale length of his neck, and Lee found it with his mouth, his lips tracing the tendon as much as he could from behind, not kissing as much as touching softly. Lee wasn't sure how Kavinsky felt about kissing, even not on the mouth, so he wanted test the waters first before crossing any lines.

Though, from the feeling of Kavinsky's body moving, pushing back and seeking more contact, Lee had a feeling there wasn't a lot that was going to be off limits here. The idea aroused him all the more, his cock hard enough now that Kavinsky would be able to feel it, rigid against his tailbone as his hips rode back into Lee's.

Kavinsky didn't let himself drift to any other time another man had touched him like this, didn't think of other beards that had scratched against his neck or hands that had rested low on the little bit of softness that sat on the low spot of his belly above his low-slung jeans. Lee was still cautious, still tentative, but he was present. The moment was its own moment.

He pressed himself from hips to shoulder against Lee, a sigh shivering out of him as, for the moment, he contemplated where they were at. This was the point where--the first time with Connor--he'd made things simple. A quick, messy blow in the bathroom. But the prospect of being taken home, of being wanted, even while he felt as low as he did was terribly tempting. Lee was handsome, confident; Kavinsky didn't doubt he had plenty of experience with a face like his.

"Whenever you're ready," Kavinsky said, and then, sort of sniggering to himself, because he knew he had to be nearly twenty years Lee's junior, he twisted a little and whispered against Lee's ear, "Daddy."

Kavinsky didn't know it (because they were still virtual strangers), and Lee was sure it was something meant to tease and titillate, but the way Kavinsky called Lee 'daddy' made something hard twist in his chest, ice water sinking through his veins. It didn't mean anything necessarily, because it wasn't like Connor had invented the concept of calling an older man something like that during sex, but it was close enough to home, and the way Kavinsky seemed more than willing to go home with Lee made it even more likely he'd gone home with Connor at some point too. There was no proof, of course, and Lee wasn't about to ask, but Lee's mind supplied a whole gallery of images, a whole riot of unpleasant thoughts.

What first felt like panic turned quickly to something else, and Lee was filled with the sudden desperation to take Kavinsky to his bed. Connor wasn't his boyfriend, and he wouldn't ever be; there was no reason to feel jealous, and no reason to pretend leaving space for Connor in his life, sexually or otherwise, made a difference.

Sliding his hand up Kavinsky's front, he cupped his palm over Kavinsky's throat, feeling the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallowed beneath the light pressure he put there. "Let's go," he said, his mouth hot against the rim of Kavinsky's ear, dark desire bleeding back through him, chasing away the coldness he'd momentarily felt, banishing it for the rest of the night.

There was a moment, contemplative and still, where Kavinsky was worried he'd offended Lee. He knew, from experience, that some guys didn't like the joking about the age difference. He'd only been with a couple other guys that were old enough that he could manage to realistically pull off calling them daddy; only the businessman from DC had taken to it kindly.

Then Lee was moving, a firm sort of authority in him now. His hand was warm, definitive, exacting as his fingers curled at Kavinsky's throat, and he did swallow for a moment. He let himself fall into it, lets the sensation wash over him. He's good at this, if nothing else.

He let Lee lead the way, the still mostly unseasonable weather meaning that Kavinsky's light jacket gave him a fairly perfect reason to be near Lee the whole way back to his apartment.

They didn't speak as they walked to Lee's place, and while that was a little uncomfortable in a way Lee didn't enjoy, he couldn't think of anything to say, either. Instead he used the time to sort out his feelings, to find something closer to a level of zen. It had been a while since the last time he let his feelings get the better of him this way, and he'd lost sight of his enlightenment. He wasn't meant to have deeply lasting connections to things, to people, was supposed to find comfort and peace through letting go. Tonight was about sharing pleasure with someone else, two beings coming together and finding joy in each other before going their separate ways. Having Kavinsky close by his side was enjoyable and pleasant, it felt good, and that's all that mattered.

Inside his apartment, he took Kavinsky's jacket and hung it on the hook by the door, putting up his own beside it. He pulled off his shoes and left them in the entryway, then walked toward his living room where Kavinsky stood, looking both younger and older now in the light of Lee's home.

"Do you want anything to drink?" he asked, happy to pour Kavinsky a drink if he needed or wanted one before they got started.

The warmth of the apartment settled a bit of Kavinsky's nerves. He let Lee take his jacket and hang it up, and when Lee took off his shoes, he followed suit with his boots, making sure they were neat and easily accessible for when he had to leave.

He tucked his hands into his back pockets, the weight of them dragging his low-slung jeans down a little bit as he looked around the apartment a little. It was laid out a bit differently than his had been, then Newt's, then Al's or Connor's.

"I'll take some of that tequila, if it's still on offer," he said mildly. "But that's a want, not a need."

The walk had sobered him up a little of the whiskey and tequila. The melancholy was deep in his bones, and he knew he'd be more pleasant company with a couple shots in him. He shifted one of his hands to his front pocket, picking out an old altoids tin and flicking it open to rifle through the pills he had.

"It absolutely still is," Lee replied, heading into his kitchen to pull the bottle out of a low cabinet. Lee spent most of his time drinking wine, in or out, but sometimes something with a little more immediate kick was required. He'd bought this bottle of tequila before Christmas, but he hadn't had a need to get into it until tonight. Unwrapping the plastic from the top, he set the bottle down and pulled the cork, moving then to get two shot glasses. He poured a shot each, then set Kavinsky's glass on the counter nearer to him.

He watched as Kavinsky looked through a tin he must have pulled from his pocket, and he'd been to enough gay bars in his life to know what Kavinsky kept in there wasn't mints. But he did't comment, and he wouldn't ask. He'd done E himself a few times when he was younger, had tried acid and GHB. For the most part he'd even had a good time doing those things, but drugs had never held much of a general appeal for him. Still, he had no issue at all if Kavinsky wanted to partake. Whatever got him where he needed to be was fine with Lee.

He waited until Kavinsky took up his shot before he lifted his own. "Salud," he offered in toast, thinking Spanish would be appropriate considering the alcohol involved.

Kavinsky popped a brightly colored pill into his mouth, tucking it under his tongue to let it dissolve as he tucked the tin back into his pocket and strode over to the counter and picked up the shot glass. He clinked his against Lee and, with a softly murmured, "Salud," as well, he threw it back.

The alcohol was warm, burning down his throat without the cut of a mixer or the promise of a chaser. His mouth watered a little in the aftermath, his eyes watering a little, but he held himself together commendably. When he'd swallowed, he set the shot glass back down on the counter and hummed vaguely, contemplating if he'd need a second one or if it would make him sloppy.

"Any plans on how the night was going to run, once you got someone home?" Kavinsky looked up through his eyelashes at Lee, almost coquettish again, leaning against the counter a little. It would take a few minutes for the pill to kick in, but the alcohol would help, and he certainly wasn't adverse to starting while he was still, nominally, sober.

Lee tossed his own shot back and watched as Kavinsky took his as well, saw the way Kavinsky's throat bobbed as he swallowed down hard around the burn of the tequila. Lee licked his lips and considered Kavinsky's question.

"I hadn't really thought about it," he said after a minute. "All I really want to do is get a bad taste out of my mouth," he added, hopping Kavinsky would get the idea of what he meant without having to go into detail. He'd spent way too long going down a path he shouldn't have been on in the first place and he desperately needed some realignment.

"Do you have a preference, top or bottom?" he asked as he poured himself another shot, then inclined the bottle of tequila toward Kavinsky in silent offer.

Kavinsky let out a dry, nasal sort of laugh. He pushed his shot glass closer, nodding for the refill, as he slanted his hips towards Lee's body. His jeans caught on the cut of his hips, slid down a little, flashed the color of his boxer briefs. He did nothing to conceal the boyish underwear.

"Bottom," he said without any particular hesitation. He ran his tongue along his lower lip. His eyes darted over Lee's body, taking him in slowly. "I can be convinced otherwise, but it takes me a bit more work."

Lee obliged, filling Kavinsky's shot glass with tequila, and he let his eyes fall to Kavinsky's waist, drawn there by the calculated movement of Kavinsky's hips. Unconsciously, Lee licked his lips.

"I'm good either way," Lee replied, stopping to swallow his shot, coughing once roughly once it was down, setting his glass on the counter and moving closer to Kavinsky. "No need to do any convincing," he said, reaching out to touch Kavinsky's side with his fingertips.

Kavinsky hummed, the pill finally starting to catch in his system, starting to bring out the warmth and color in Lee's voice. He could feel his breath picking up a little bit, watching Lee's tongue on his lips, watching his throat work a little bit. He picked up his own shot glass and threw back the tequila, letting it burn its way down, fiery, liquid amber, warming him through, building the heat in his body that was calling out to the heat in Lee's body.

He let out a little hum as Lee touched his side. With careful deliberation, he stacked his shot glass into Lee's, finalizing their drinks for the moment. His buzz from the bar was neatly returned, swirling with the ecstasy in him, and he let himself feel blissful for a moment.

"How were you thinking of getting that taste out of your mouth, daddy?" Kavinsky smiled, lazy and easy. "I don't have a lot of limits."