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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

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."

Lee licked his lower lip again when Kavinsky stacked their shot glasses, a very clear indication that he was ready to get things started. His head was starting to spin just a little from the tequila, and Kavinsky smelled so good. Reaching out again, he lets his fingers find the little strip of bare skin between Kavinsky's shirt and his boxer briefs, curling them so he could tuck his fingertips below the waistband.

"Let's start simple," he said, the way Kavinsky called him 'daddy' shivering up his spine in a different way this time, a much more pleasant sensation. He sucked a breath through his nose, shifting his hand until he caught the button on Kavinsky's jeans, working it open. He had to bring his other hand in to pull down the zipper, and once the front of Kavinsky's pants were open, he pressed his palm in against Kavinsky's cock, feeling the warmth of it, half hard in his palm.

"Can I suck you?" he asked, his eyes moving to Kavinsky's face, admiring his smooth, young skin, his soft lips. He still wasn't sure if kissing was on the table or not, so he shifted his eyes quickly back to Kavinsky's, focusing there.

Kavinsky laughed, not unkindly, as Lee touched him so cautiously and gently, like he was a flight risk. It was such a contrast to what he was used to, he was expecting, especially that he'd given up limits. He didn't contest the touch, though it, more than anything, made him wary.

He slanted his hips toward Lee's touch, seeking it. "That's certainly one way to do it," Kavinsky said, that laugh still lingering in his voice, and he smiled. He didn't miss the way that Lee looked at his mouth, the way that he had been looking at his mouth and kept looking at his mouth. Kavinsky licked his lips, shifting his thumbs down to the waist of his shorts to slowly peel them down.

There was a moment, however brief, where Kavinsky let himself be a shy teenage boy about himself. He was tall and rangy, lean, but when it came to his cock he felt insufficiently average, and his European heritage had kept him uncut--a point of embarrassment throughout years of showering in gym class.

His cock didn't get the memo on being embarrassed. Almost as soon as he pushed his shorts down, he went from half to fully hard, with all the blinding enthusiasm inherent of being a teenage boy.

Lee could sense some trepidation in Kavinsky, and he had a moment of realization, seeing that the willingness to let Lee do anything he wanted with him was more of a defense mechanism than anything else. It made Lee a bit uncomfortable, which was probably a good thing, causing him to retreat just a little, to lock himself down.

Looking away from Kavinsky's face, he reached out and wrapped his hand around the girth of Kavinsky's cock, manipulating his foreskin as he stroked, using nature's genius to his advantage. His mother was first generation French-American, and his father only two years removed from his Irish heritage, so his cock was intact as well, meaning he gave no pause at all when encountering Kavinsky's.

He focused on stroking Kavinsky for a few long seconds, watching the way his dick reacted to the attention, the dampness at the tip, the flushed and flared head. It wasn't until Kavinsky started making sounds of light frustration that Lee moved to settle on his knees, pushing Kavinsky's foreskin back so he could run his tongue over the end of Kavinsky's cock, moaning softly at the taste of his skin.

Something in Kavinsky's stomach shifted as Lee looked away from him, walls isolating them from each other in a way that was wholly different from the manner in which Kavinsky regularly isolated himself from people. He watched the side of Lee's face, tried to puzzle it out, tried to figure what he'd said or done wrong with his body language that had slipped things strangely. He didn't know how to ask if he'd done something wrong.

Tentatively, as Lee stroked him, as he sank to his knees, Kavinsky touched his short hair. He ran his nails over his scalp gently, adventured the shape of his head and down to the back of his neck while he leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. His toes curled against the linoleum and he tried his best to not seem too eager, but also not too hard to get, that fine line of wanting it--he did, the feeling of wanting it coursed through him--when he had to direction.

Before they came here, and since they'd arrived, Lee had gotten the impression that Kavinsky wanted something dirty and hard, and maybe not quick necessarily, but definitely not tender. In general Lee was okay with that, had been all but subsisting on it for years, rough handjobs in bar bathrooms, a good hard fuck in the back of someone's car. It was never nameless or rude, but it wasn't lasting either, it wasn't sweet, barely something more than assisted masturbation.

Connor had been sweet. The last time they'd been together, the moments they'd shared, it felt like something real. But once Lee had gone home, walking out in the cold, reality had spun out in his mind, reminding him that it was just sex, had never been meant for anything more. It made Lee angry, not at Connor, but at himself. He wasn't a lovesick teenager, he was a grown adult, a man who had seen enough people turn their backs on him back when he still had a chance at life. Connor didn't know how short Lee's lifespan was, but he'd also not shown much of an indication that what they had was special to him. His being over invested wasn't Connor's fault, and Lee needed to put an end to those feelings as quickly as possible.

What he needed was something caring, even if none of it was real. Kavinsky probably wouldn't be interested in that, but for now Lee let himself indulge. He spent a longer time than usual experiencing Kavinsky's dick, licking and sucking at it in a way that wasn't particularly conducive to building toward an orgasm. It was more like foreplay, Lee's mouth working over the stretched, hot skin, straying off to kiss and bite hipbones, shifting low to suck at Kavinsky's balls.

Minutes later Lee's chin was dripping with saliva, his mouth tingling from the textures of Kavinsky's skin, from exquisite overuse. Pulling back for a moment to lick his lips, he didn't look up at Kavinsky, not wanting to see impatience or disapproval, just took a breath and went to work, holding Kavinsky's cock so he could slide his mouth over it, bobbing with intent now, pushing deeper with each stroke, flattening his tongue to increase the friction, humming to enhance the sensation.

Kavinsky tried to shut out the wash of guilty emotion in his chest, the pain and loss. He tried to focus on the moment, on this moment, on Lee's mouth and the feeling of his hair under his fingers. All he ended up doing was focusing on the cold stab of guilt in his stomach, that his last bit of tenderness had been in the morning of New Years Eve, and now, the next was a man try to forget himself, trying to wash a taste out of his mouth of someone else.

A breath stuttered out of Kavinsky's chest and he looked up at the ceiling of Lee's apartment, rather than down at his head. He stared for a moment, then clenched his eyes shut, trying hard just to have this moment, letting his body be sand in a desert, desperate for the contact, for the touch, for the feel of another body. It wasn't hard to be like that. That was the most frightening part was how badly his body craved the attention, the affirmation, of someone else's touch.

When Lee stopped his adorations and set to actively sucking Kavinsky's cock, he wasn't entirely sure what to do with it. He gripped the edge of the counter top with one hand, biting his lip, holding himself back from the edge. For all he was worth, he couldn't look down at Lee, couldn't see that avoidance, that despair that he wasn't someone else who ought to be standing here. His fingers danced on Lee's hair, trembling.

"Do you..." His voice faltered, the waters choppy and rough in his chest, and he had to heave in a breath, had to look down at least a little. "...do you want me to come or, or should I wait?"

Lee didn't mind the question, or the nature of it, especially considering the situation, but the idea of stopping what he was doing to respond seemed unfathomable. He rolled his eyes upward to meet Kavinsky's gaze, but he found it was elusive, the expression on Kavinsky's face a mirror image of the ache pervading Lee's own heart.

He closed his eyes and pushed deep, swallowing around the head of Kavinsky's dick, hoping that the fact that he wasn't stopping would answer Kavinsky's question sufficiently. His hands caught Kavinsky's hips, holding on tight, moving over Kavinsky's dick with practiced grace, hoping to bring him off, to get them both out of their heads even if only for a few blissful seconds.

It was probably karmic retribution that Lee had managed to take someone home who was as broken and lost as he was. He wished there was a way they could connect, that they could heal each other, but there was no hope of that. He wasn't even sure he'd be able to make Kavinsky come, as hard as he was trying, and the thought made something new break loose in Lee's chest, unable to stand the idea that he could fail at this, at sex, something he'd always relied on to be there to make him feel worthwhile, like there was a reason he was still here. He took Kavinsky as deeply as he could on every downstroke, his breathing harsh through his nose, voice a low whimper in his throat, giving everything he had to this moment, needing it, desperate to find worth in the culmination of his efforts.

Kavinsky whined, softly, as Lee kept going. He shifted his hand off the counter to cover one of the hands that Lee had on his hip, covering it for a moment before he shifted it up, up, gripping his shoulder instead.

He tipped his head back a moment, closed his eyes, let himself go. It didn't take much, just the slow unwinding of the tension he had around his stomach, around his heart. A soft, broken noise erupted out of him as he felt his orgasm cascade through him, sudden, a crashing sort of need seeking comfort.

His cock twitched but his hips were mercifully still. His knees trembled, threatening to collapse if Lee let go of his hips. Kavinsky breathed roughly through it all, trying to rein in the overwhelming, disastrous emotions in his chest that he was deliberately trying to ignore. It wasn't fair to Lee to be thinking of someone else. It wasn't fair.

The flood of Kavinsky's release filled Lee's mouth and he moaned as he worked to swallow, proud of how skillful he was at this, how much he liked it, taking in a load of someone else's release. He only kept his mouth around Kavinsky's spasming cock until the tremors began to subside, withdrawing before the sensitivity got to be too much. He kept his hands on Kavinsky's hips, pressing his face into Kavinsky's softly heaving belly, catching his own breath.

A moment later, he swallowed and shifting back, sitting on his heels. "Thank you," he said, flicking his eyes up toward Kavinsky's face but not leaving them there for long, not wanting to make Kavinsky feel like he had to look back. "I really like getting to do that," he added, liking the way his mouth tasted, the tingling of his lips and slight ache in his jaw.

Kavinsky had glanced down, just as Lee looked up, and their eyes met for a moment. Kavinsky felt too raw, too honest and open and terribly sensitive, terribly aware of every nerve in his body, the ache in his hand, the sting in his eyes. Then Lee was looking away, anywhere but at his face. A shuddering breath rattled in his chest, wet and awful, that he tried desperately to turn into a laugh.

"Yeah," he breathed. And then, with a soft delay, "Thank you."

He wanted, desperately, to kiss Lee, to have Lee kiss him. But Lee had been pointedly avoiding it since this whole thing kicked off, and it seemed selfish to ask for it now. He fused a smile onto his lips, still touching Lee's head gently, running the edge of his nails just behind his ear.

"What can I do for you?"

Lee closed his eyes when Kavinsky touched him, the feeling of his fingertips so light and gentle on such a sensitive part of Lee's body sending a shiver through him. He bit his lip as he opened his eyes again, and he realized he was the epitome of pathetic, sitting here like this, completely dressed at the feet of a beautiful, naked young man. Like so many other times in his life he wondered how he'd gotten here, how different choices had put him in this situation.

He licked his lips, and he tasted Kavinsky on his tongue, but it wasn't enough. He turned his eyes upward, waiting until Kavinsky looked down at him, until their gazes locked.

"Would you kiss me?" he asked, and he knew it was a request that could very well send Kavinsky on his way, or turn him off so utterly that they could never look each other in the eye again, if their paths ever crossed in the future. But it was really what he needed, what he'd been needing since before they left the bar. It was a vulnerable thing, to ask for something like this, but he didn't think he could get more exposed than he already was in that moment.