New York nights

2013, Brooklyn, New York

The vibrant lights of the bustling New York Nights bar illuminated the room, casting an animated glow over Jake as he settled onto a barstool. Disguised in an oversized, ill-fitting suit that seemed more suitable for a mobster from the '70s than a techie in the 21st century, Jake took a moment to adjust his ridiculous suit before attempting to exude an air of confidence. 

He didn’t want to admit to himself how much he missed the Squad. 

It had been 6 weeks (6 weeks!) since he’d gotten the awesome RICO assignment, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t miss the Squad - he missed Gina, Rosa, and even Dad-ptain, and Amy (God he missed Amy like a sore tooth - not that she WAS the sore tooth, but like one)... and things at the Mafia wasn’t exactly what he’d wanted it to be.

There were no cigars, or dark alleys - actually, that wasn’t true, there were a lot of alleys, but these dudes just used them to piss in, not anything more notorious than that.

While he knew that he was supposed to be stopping crime, he almost wished that something would happen already. Most of his post-IT workman day notes were just filled with who was sleeping with who, and which bratty son of the bratty Ianucci was creating a problem for him to solve.

On paper, the gig (hah! He used the word gig - he had to tell Charles about that) looked fairly simple. Go undercover for a few weeks, root out all the moles at the NYPD, catch all the bad guys, become a police legend and have a 3 book series written about him - ‘Case Closed - Jake Open’ (okay, so that was a very shitty name, he had to work on that).

But the more weeks passed by, the more he realized how prosaic the whole thing was - it literally wasn’t the 70s. Most of the mobsters owned a laundromat or two, and they were all desperately trying to become legit - which is what Jake was helping them with, very ironically.

On the flip side, he supposed that’s what police were meant to do - help the community - or so Amy would say, her voice all trilly, her hands tucking her hair behind her ears like there was no tomorrow. 

Jake took a sip of his now almost stale-tasting beer, trying to drown out his thoughts with the burning sensation in his throat. The noise of the bar swirled around him, blending with the thoughts swirling in his mind.

For now, he was sitting at a shitty club, on a more ‘dirty’ job for Leo. Leo had wanted to know who were all the drug dealers on the New York strip, flush out who was buying and selling some of the shitty E that was making people sick. Many of the ‘customers’ had taken to blame the Ianucci family - though, of course, they wouldn’t do something that immoral.

Jake, for one, was quite happy. This was almost exactly like police work - except for just the wrong team. But sooner than later he realized how tedious this job was - essentially waiting for someone to make a mistake and slip up. After the fifth guy who looked like he was a drug dealer turned out to be a Paperboy with a bad cold that made him rub his nose for too long, he was officially bored out of his mind.

He decided to create elaborate backstories for everyone he encountered at the club. The tall guy in the suit was Alexander Goncharov - the secret love child of a Russian Mafia who hid his secret past by playing a boring New York office guy. He was waiting here for his long lost dad, who had secretly planted a spy in his midst (was it midst or mist? He was going to have to ask Amy that) and Alex had fallen in love with her - but wasn’t completely sure of it…

Jake winced at the loud gaggle of young-ish girls who seemed to be there to celebrate someone’s breakup from her crappy ex. He could hear them scream out vaguely generalised statements boys suck Laura!! and super specific ones, like Ted doesn’t deserve a LITERAL goddess like you, You were pulling under your weight guuuuuurl!

He wondered if this is what getting older felt like - when you can no longer understand the words younger kids sprouted from their mouths like a fountain. 

Jake trapped the loud sigh that was threatening to leave his throat and threw a furtive look around the bar - only to be even more disappointed. Most of the people around the bar were regulars - people who he’d already vetted - the ones who came in right after work, the ones who’d be there to hook up (and fail, most often), and the ones who’d sell the drugs and sex.

Leo had already told him to wait until they figured out who the big fish was, and that led to Jake spending more and more time at the bar. Very apropos to the bar’s name, he found himself staying late into the night, striking up friendships with some of the staff, as the place grew dimmer and the atmosphere buzzed with energy.

Maxine-the-bartender had taken an instant liking to him. The forty-year-old looked like one of those people who was completely okay with who they were - flaunting her greying hair, her badly healed Spongebob tattoo, and her whiskey-rough voice that she wasn’t afraid of using.

After weeks of brutal boring work, and not finding anything or anyone of value, all he wanted was a drink. He just hoped it hadn’t been for nothing. Jake caught sight of Maxine when he approached the bar. She gave him a small nod of acknowledgement and silently pushed another, pleasantly cold, long-neck bottle of cheap beer in front of him. 

The music of the loud bar numbed him to his surroundings, and he nursed the beer till it went from cold to room temperature to warm, all the while zoning out completely to whatever was happening around him.

“You want a new bottle of that, champ?” Maxine’s warm voice pierced through the dense fog of too-loud music and too-diluted alcohol. Jake smiled, his mood instantly lifting at her warmth. 

“Sure, why not,” Jake said, just to be polite, and hopefully trying to get her to spill the beans.

“You know what Jake, you are far too young and far too pretty to be sulking around the dark corner of the bar all by yourself. You gotta get yourself out there! Not just chat up everyone, but try and get to know them a tad bit more, y’know.” Maxine crowed, looking at him like he was her nephew, or even worse, her kid.

He knew that he was giving off major ‘don’t bother me’ vibes if the set of his shoulders and the buffer around him were any indications, which was perfect because, after weeks of pretending to be interested in people, he didn’t want to talk to anyone, ever.

Jake decided to play into the Cute-Guy-unlucky-in-love card a bit, gave a loud put-upon sigh, and shrugged at Maxine. Who grumbled something under her breath about men and their dumbness, and simply replaced his bottle, and let him stew in his melancholy. 

“So, who pissed in your drink, there, handsome?” a voice from the side of him asked.

Jake looked at men, too. He'd always known that, on a deeper level which he hadn't dared to explore for a long time. The first time he had dared to act on that feeling of want, he’d been at the academy and a long way from home - his dad had ditched him for a young blonde again, so it had only been Jake and this guy he'd met at a bar.

That night, Alex and he had just spent the night away dancing in close proximity. If he closed his eyes, Jake could feel Alex’s fingers still gripping his hips, like a ghost who refused to leave.

He could barely think of what his father would do, or say, about him being with a man. But Jake preferred women over men four times more often anyway - and it wasn’t like his every other day activity or hobby or - anyway.

Jake would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he looked at men. Sometimes. Not all the time, like it wasn’t a special pass time of his, or anything, but sometimes. He always knew that about himself, ever since he saw Brad Pitt soar around in his navy uniform.

It wasn't a big deal until it was.

Jake startled at the voice behind him - barely hiding his scowl - he was technically not on duty right now, from both Leo-the-not-so-scary-mob boss, or Holt-the-Dadptain, but then the lines tended to blur when you were undercover - maybe the guy was just another Joe looking to score, or a badass criminal looking for an underling. 

But he couldn’t help but be curious, all the same. Jake decided to throw caution in the wind and sent a quick, fleeting glance at the man who’d addressed him.

As Jake looked at the man, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of curiosity, intrigue, and a hint of attraction.

The man had a rugged charm - a sharp, angular face, and bright eyes that seemed to hold secrets of their own. A small smattering of hair on his chin that couldn’t be called a beard, and - piercings.

One in his eyebrow that resembled a ring, and another on his lip, shiny and looking new.

Jake internally winced at that. While he understood the reasonings behind tattoos and piercings, he still wondered how it would feel like. The mysterious man seemed to delight in Jake’s interest, and Jake could almost see him inflate with his attention. There was an air of confidence about him that both intimidated and intrigued Jake.

Jake internally cringed when Mysterious Man pulled his stool close to his own and flagged down Maxine with a cocky flick of his fingers.

Mysterious Man smirked and blinked up at him like a cat, and repeated his question. “If I buy you a drink, will you tell me who pissed in it?”

Caught off guard by the man’s confidence, Jake stammered for a moment before replying, "Uh... no one. Just lost in my thoughts, I guess."

The man smirked, leaning in closer. "Lost in your thoughts, huh? That's a dangerous place to be, especially in a bar like this. Mind if I join you?"

Jake hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He couldn't deny the flicker of interest that had ignited within him, but at the same time, he felt a wave of apprehension. 

Jake tried hard not to showcase just how nervous he was, so the best he could come up with was “cool cool cool cool”. 

The man chuckled at Jake's response. "Cool cool cool cool, huh? Well, that's a start.”

Mysterious Man didn’t seem to find Jake’s nervousness off-putting. He snorted at Jake’s clumsy attempts at chatting up the locals.

He simply flagged Maxine off once again, replacing Jake’s new-old beer with a chilled glass of whiskey. Jake’s internal scowl intensified when he realized that it smelled exactly like the shit his dad used to drink, but the handsome man next to him probably didn’t need to know all the crappy thoughts in Jake’s head.

“So, are you going to tell me your name, or should I just keep calling you handsome?” he mused, flashing Jake a brilliant smile.

The dimly lit bar seemed to hold its breath as Jake weighed his options. It was a risky move, venturing further into the unknown, but Jake couldn't deny the flicker of excitement that danced in his veins.

He gave a quick once-over to everyone around the bar - Maxine was in the corner making lemon circles, the manager was muttering his way through the till, and the customers didn’t seem like they gave a damn.

He bowed his head into his drink and tilted his lips down so that he didn’t have to repeat it again. “Jake,” he muttered, suddenly wishing he’d chosen a cooler-sounding undercover name. “It’s Jake Peralta,” He said, unnecessarily adding his last name too. He was getting sloppy - there was an N number of possibilities when it came to undercover work. For all he knew, Marc could be the brother of some guy he’d arrested a long time ago, coming back to New York to find him and kidnap him.

Mysterious Man leaned back, studying Jake with an amused expression. "Sounds like a name straight out of an action movie," Mysterious Man remarked, his pierced eyebrow raised as he smiled into his glass. He then gave Jake a strong wink, his eyes filled with intrigue.

“Well Jake, as long as we’re speaking freely, my name is Marc. With a C.”

Jake tilted his bottle in Marc’s direction before taking a sip. “So what brings you to New York, Marc with a C?”

Marc shrugged in a casual, devil-may-care way. “Work. I’m a true-born Chicago guy, y’all take your cobblestones and your coffees way too seriously.”

Jake chortled, surprised at Marc’s casual and welcoming tone. But he couldn’t ignore such a great opportunity to chat up a handsome guy under the guise of work.

“Well, what does this ‘work’ entail, might I ask?” 

Jake already knew from his previous perusal of the remaining customers that Marc was not the kind of guy who’d get caught doing something illicit in the corner of a bar, but he was still curious to hear from him.

The silver in his eyebrow lifted once again. “I’m… an art consultant.” He finally said, as if he was unsure of how Jake would react. "I help people understand the true worth of the pieces they desire, and I also help museums in gaining a deeper understanding of the art they house."

That…wasn’t at all what Jake would have expected from someone like Marc. 

But Marc wasn’t done trying to charm him “Let me guess, you’re a Wall Street Banker who spends his free time helping the blind get a better understanding of the benefits of NY bagels”

Jake glared at Marc’s less-than-sympathetic tone but couldn’t help but smile at the man’s daring.

“I’ve lived here all my life,” He said. 

Marc smirked. “I got that sense from you, Jake.”

And then the conversation stilted to talking about the two cities they were from, and the most recent baseball game.

"Yeah, the Sox wiped out the Mets in the last game," Marc remarked with a hint of pride. "But I have to admit, the Mets put up a good fight. Can't deny their resilience."

Jake chuckled, taking a sip of his whiskey. "True, true. New York's never short on passion when it comes to sports. It's almost as if the city's collective hatred for the rest of the teams is a time-honoured tradition."

They continued to compare the quirks and stereotypes of Chicago and New York, from the deep-dish pizza rivalry to the debate over the perfect hot dog toppings. 

“I still can’t believe you guys claim to have invented mustard on hotdogs, that’s very arrogant of you,” Marc remarked a bit waspishly, just as Maxine topped off their glasses with what was probably just coloured water at this point. 

“I still don’t know why you’re taking it so hard,” Jake said, casually shoving at Marc’s decidedly strong and corded bicep.

Marc smirked and leaned into Jake’s space without much ceremony. “I hate to lose, even when it comes to asinine things like baseball and hot dog topics.” 

Jake snorted at his admission and tried not to feel flustered at Marc’s proximity to his face. If Marc leaned in just a bit more, they would bump each other’s noses.

Jake could probably count the number of eyelashes Marc had on his admittedly pretty face, and just as he was deciding whether or not to whisper that to him, Marc surprised him by grabbing Jake's hand on the counter of the bar. 

He dipped his head even further into Jake's personal space and whispered, his voice laced with a mixture of confidence and desire, "So, am I gonna lose out on a night with you, or can we skip the preamble and get back to my hotel room?"

"Are you always this bold?” Jake had to ask, his voice probably giving away the hint of jealousy he felt at how confident Marc seemed.

Marc's expression flickered, the question seeming to finally rattle him enough to momentarily drop the confident act. His eyes darkened a subtle shift in his demeanour betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface. But just as quickly, he regained his composure, a confident smile gracing his lips.

"I always pretend," Marc responded, his voice carrying a touch of self-assurance. "And I'm damn good at faking it till making it. So, does that mean you're interested, or should I drop the act and move on?"

“I think you can drop the act” Jake whispered, even as he tightened his hand around Marc so that he could understand what Jake had meant. “I’m ready to blow this popsicle stand,” Jake couldn’t help but notice how his voice got husky with anticipation. "Lead the way."

Marc reached for his wallet to settle the tab, and out of the corner of her eye, Maxine cast a concerned glance at Jake. She looked at Marc in an assessing way - but much to Jake’s surprise and relief, she must have found something in his eyes that made her close out the bill without any fanfare.

They left the noisy bar behind, Marc very proprietarily grabbing Jake’s elbow as he called for a cab. “I have a car,” Jake said.

Marc gave Jake a look while he hailed the cab, then said, "Neither one of us is driving right now," gesturing towards the crowded streets.

Jake chuckled, realizing that Marc had a point. "Fair enough," he replied, even as he felt his hands start to sweat at the prospect of the fact that the stranger wasn’t a pretty woman, but a man who was almost as tall as him, and definitely stronger than him.

Not that Jake was the kind of guy who had a lot of one-night stands, anyway. It wasn’t really about that, with him, when it came to sex - besides, he didn’t have to leave with Marc - 

Jake felt Marc’s hand trace his own right hand. He stared into the crowded streets of his home, the hustle and bustle calming him down like a white-noise machine, and he felt Marc’s fingers trace his arm from his shoulder, all the way to the tips of his fingers, and much as he hated to admit it, the touch helped Jake ground himself in the present. 

As the cab pulled up, they finally climbed inside, the anticipation between them growing with each passing moment.

Inside the cab, Jake and Marc sat close together, the tension in the air palpable. The city lights illuminated their faces, casting a soft glow that highlighted their features. Jake couldn't help but steal glances at Marc, who seemed utterly ignorant of the mini-implosion he was having.

Just as he was about to work himself into another freak-out, Marc once again, reached out with his hand. A warm presence on Jake’s thigh and it didn’t even feel like it was meant as a precursor to anything - it felt like Marc had simply wanted to offer comfort and reassurance.

Jake's heart skipped a beat as he felt Marc's touch, but instead of pulling away or tensing up, he allowed himself to lean into the contact. It was a small gesture, but it instantly made him feel better.

He opened his mouth to express his thanks or something, but nothing came out, so he huffed out an annoyed sigh, angry with himself for being such a mess.

Marc tightened his hand on his thigh and tried to force some eye contact.

“Jake, I can ask the driver to drop you off somewhere else too, you don’t have to -

Jake interrupted him by grabbing Marc’s hand and pressing it into his own.

“No, it’s all cool. I want - I wanna be here. ” he finally admitted to himself, and Marc, shoulders sagging in relief when he could say that without any fear. He could feel, more than hear Marc's sigh of relief, as he squeezed Jake’s hand tightly in response.

As the cab navigated through the busy streets of Brooklyn, Jake stole occasional glances at Marc, noticing the way the city lights danced in his eyes. Marc seemed to be lost in his own thoughts as well, but their hands stayed intertwined on Jake’s thigh, even though he had started sweating in the ‘cool-new- silk’ that all the kids were wearing apparently.

He swore out loud when he realized that he had to inform Charles about not returning to the safe house tonight, and he squirmed at the fact that he’d completely forgotten.

He reached into his shitty 70s jacket to grab his phone - only to realize to his horror - that it had completely drained its battery (WHY do things that only cost as much as a pizza only last longer as long as a pizza?? He couldn’t believe that he had to ask Leo for a new phone and clone it all over again).

“Actually, could we stop at a pay phone or something, like it’s the 1980s?” He asked, internally cursing himself for forgetting such a crucial thing, Dad-ptain would have on his I’m not mad, only disappointed face on him if he realized how careless Jake had been today.

For all he knew, Marc was not just a cute handsome guy, but a serial killer - or worse - a cannibal serial killer who would feed Jake’s pretty face to his dogs, or something.

Before he could spiral any further though, he decided to be smart for once and inform his team that he’d be away from his safe house for a while.

“I have to… tell my roommate that I might be - Jake felt his entire face turn red “Not coming home tonight.” He finished lamely.

Jake felt as if his head was turning warmer as Marc smirked at his choice of words.

“You know I have a phone…you could call him; promise I won’t listen to your deepest darkest secrets,” Marc said, his voice teasing and inviting. 

Marc finally allowed his hand to be pried off of Jake's thigh and fumbled as he handed Jake the phone. 

Jake was pretty sure someone could cook an egg on his face, with how red and warm it felt to even himself. He nervously typed the safe house's number and sighed in relief when Charles picked up.

"Hey, Chuck," Jake said with enthusiasm as fake as the cheap knockoff sunglasses he had once bought on vacation. "I don't think I'm gonna come back home tonight. Don't forget to buy some cereal for tomorrow."

Jake could hear Charles gasp unsubtly at Jake’s code for ‘everything okay, but stay alert’, and Jake could literally feel the countless scenarios rushing through Charle’s mind right now. But he knew that Charles wouldn’t do anything reckless, as he simply said "Got it, Jake-y boy. Stay safe out there, alright? If you need anything, you know you’ve got Alfred in your corner.”

Charles’ exasperating insistence that he thought Alfred was cool enough to emulate was all he needed to calm himself down.

"Thanks, Chuck. I'll be careful," Jake replied, his voice tinged with a mix of gratitude and apprehension. The call ended abruptly, leaving Jake feeling more out of his skin than anything else that had happened today.

As they approached the hotel, Jake couldn’t help but notice that they were quite far away from the seedy bar they’d met in. In fact, he was sure that this hotel was usually frequented by the same New York bankers Marc seemed to loathe, so he couldn’t help but snarkily comment “So you never told me that your dad was the Governor of New York”.

Marc gave him a confused look for a second but then he laughed out loud as if he was delighted that Jake had decided to play the game.

He finally grabbed Jake by his back, making a shooing motion with his other hand, and pushed Jake towards the elevators.

“My dad’s actually a Rabbi,” Marc intoned, still chortling at Jake as if he’d just cracked the funniest joke ever. “And it’s not my fault if rich people don’t know when someone is charging them ten times for a job I can do with my eyes closed.”

"But you didn't tell me about your mom, is she the queen of Chicago?" Jake poked along, his tone laced with playful curiosity.

Marc's jovial expression instantly faltered, his face turning serious as if a switch had been flipped. He abruptly turned towards the elevator, his movements becoming noticeably abrupt. The sudden shift in Marc's demeanour caught Jake off guard, and he immediately regretted his comment.

"Sorry, Marc," Jake quickly apologized, realizing he had crossed a line. "I didn't mean to overstep. I was just joking."

Marc's response was curt, his voice laced with something that was hard to trace. "It's fine, Jake. It's just that... mom is.... well. Mom is... she's been. She's dead," he finally concluded, emphasizing the last word as if he needed a reminder of his reality.

Jake's heart sank as he absorbed the weight of Marc's words. He had inadvertently poked the proverbial awkward bear with a guy he barely knew, and now he was about to spend the night with him.

He winced outwardly at Marc's admission, feeling the heaviness of the atmosphere settle between them. Frantically searching for a way to alleviate the tension, Jake's mind raced for something, anything, to lighten the dour mood.

Suddenly, a memory sprang to mind, and he blurted out, “You know, there was this one time when I forgot to put food in my friend's fish tank, and I thought she wouldn't find out if I just bought her a new one, but apparently that particular fish was...a rare breed or something,"

Jake continued, fumbling all the way; desperately trying to lighten the heavy atmosphere. "I mean, who knew fish could have pedigrees, right?" Jake could almost see Amy’s painfully saddened and frustrated face in his mind as clear as day.

Marc looked at Jake, his expression shifting from sadness to mild surprise. A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes as he let out a chuckle. "Well, I guess even fish have their own social hierarchies. You learn something new every day."

Relief washed over Jake as he saw Marc's response. Remembering how grounding Marc's touch had felt earlier, he mustered the courage to reciprocate. 

Carefully telegraphing his movements, he gently ran his fingers from Marc’s shoulders to his fingers, all the while staring at the clear window of the elevator to gauge Marc’s reaction.

He could sense the exact moment when Marc lost his patience finally, as he used his considerable strength to manoeuvre him into the side of the elevator. “I’ll be damned if I let dead moms and dead pets ruin our night together” He snarled into Jake’s neck, almost making it sound like a challenge.

Marc cupped Jake’s face with his hands, and Jake couldn’t help but find all the contrasts between his palm and that of a woman’s. Marc’s hands were work-rough and long, and the look that he gave Jake made him feel thrilled from the bottom of his feet to his spine. 

As the elevator doors opened, Marc gestured for Jake to step out first, and they walked down the luxurious hallway toward their room. The hotel reception was big enough to fill in a basketball stadium. 

Jake found himself appreciating the absurdity of the situation. Here he was, standing next to a man he barely knew, as he was approached by a random businessman-guy wearing a suit that probably cost more than his entire year’s salary. 

He couldn’t hear the conversation between Marc and the businessman-guy, only catching a fragment of the receptionist's response. "Will do, Mr. Spector," the man said in a tired, overworked voice.

Jake couldn't help but be intrigued by the mention of such a unique last name. It sounded like an alias, something out of the ordinary. Maybe Marc was a badass bossman after all. His cop instincts got the better of him, and he couldn't resist asking, "Mr. Spector?"

Marc's enigmatic smile widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Yes, Spector. Like a ghost," he replied cryptically, his voice turning sharp. Jake didn’t have to be a cop to hear the ‘drop it’ in that tone.

But before Jake could delve further into his curiosity, Marc's next words, and his hands on Jake’s hips, redirected their focus. "Enough personal history lessons, I want to get to know you in a more practical way now."

As they reached their hotel room, Marc inserted the keycard and pushed the door open. The room was lavish, adorned with plush furnishings and an exquisite view of the city skyline. Jake couldn't help but let out a low whistle, appreciating the extravagance.

Marc glanced at Jake, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Not bad, huh? One of the perks of this line of work, I suppose."

Jake nodded, momentarily forgetting the weight of their conversation as he took in the surroundings. 

The hotel room was big, big enough to fit his apartment twice. Jake couldn’t help but feel wildly out of place, even as Marc ushered him into the dipped ‘bedroom’ portion of the suite.

Now, this had been what Jake had been expecting when he heard ‘Mafia’. Strange names, wealth beyond means, and pretty faces, all to go along with it. Maybe Marc was the guy Leo had been looking for all along, and this ‘clandestine’ meeting could go wrong at any moment.

Somehow, he couldn’t really bring himself to care.

As Jake turned to face Marc, he found himself captivated by the intensity in the other man's eyes. Marc had a knowing smirk on his face when he took Jake’s unresisting fingers and tugged him into himself. Without a word, Marc closed the distance between them, his hand gently cupping Jake's cheek. Their lips met finally, met with an intensity that Jake couldn’t quite capture. 

Marc tugged the tails of Jake’s ugly Jacket out of his pants and began unbuttoning it.

Jake watched Marc’s fingers until he realized what he was doing. He dragged his gaze away, but unfortunately, he ended up looking right into Marc’s eyes, and this time he couldn’t look away. 

Jake’s heart raced, and his breaths came faster as their eyes remained locked while Marc started guffawing.

Jake was stunned for a minute - trying really hard not to get offended before he remembered  - underneath the Prop Jacket, he’d been wearing what Charles had called his ‘Depresso’ clothes - a really old, shitty yellow “WHAM” shirt that had been with him since he was 18.

And yes, he only wore this in the academy whenever he’d missed his mom and Nana - but Charles didn’t need to know that he was right, he’d always Lorde it over him (not really, but then, why make Charles crow even louder?)

“Oh, I’m so glad I get to peel this thing off of you,” Marc commented, dragging his fingertips up the really old shirt.

Marc broke eye contact to toss the shirt towards the chair, and Jake took advantage of it to look down at the rug, studying the pattern as if his life depended on him memorizing it. In his peripheral vision, he saw Marc toe off his shoes, and then reach for Jake’s bare shoulders once again. “What are we doing?” he blurted out.

Marc stopped and looked at Jake with a faint glint in his eyes. “We can slow down, if you want to, you know. We have all night.” And before Jake had any sort of come back for that, Marc grabbed him by his chin, lifted his face into his own, and kissed him as if his life depended on it.

Jake could feel his lips tremor against Marc’s and he moaned at the metallic taste it left in his mouth as Marc decided to slip in his tongue at every alternative kiss they were giving each other. 

He felt Marc run his fingers down his bare back, pulsing and working out some of the knots he found under the skin. Marc’s hands reached his chest and started tickling his sides when they finally had to stop to catch a breath.

Jake took a moment to marvel at how Marc looked under the soft, inviting lights of the room. Marc’s eyes were blown with arousal, and his lips were shiny and pink, and he was panting with effort.

And then Marc reached for the waistband of his slacks. Jake gasped out loud at that, and Marc nipped at his lips again.

“This is about having fun,” Marc said. “We’re not gonna be doing anything that isn’t fun.” 

Jake finally decided to let go of his act too and decided to kill the intense mood that had warped around both of them like a blanket. Clearing his throat dramatically, he belted out, "Partyin', partyin'

Fun, fun, fun, fun

Lookin' forward to the weekend!" in his best-worst, most exaggerated and off-key rendition.

Marc stopped from his ministrations of Jake’s pants and looked at Jake like he couldn’t believe his ridiculousness, and started to chuckle uncontrollably. The sound started as a suppressed snicker, but soon escalated into full-blown laughter. 

The intense mood that had enveloped them melted away, replaced by the ridiculousness of the current situation - Marc, still fully clothed, his hands scrabbling around Jake’s hips, his handsome face lit up with laughter and making him look even younger, and Jake, with his shirt already off, with sweat pooling under his arms and behind his neck.

Marc pulled the button out of its loop, and his intense look went directly to Jake’s groin. 

Before Jake could be blinded by it, Marc kissed him. At first, Jake just let it happen, let himself be kissed by Marc, but he’d been letting things happen to him all night, and he was tired of being passive. He lifted both hands; one fell on Marc’s shoulder, and the other cupped the side of Marc’s face.

Without Jake’s arms to hold onto, Marc’s hands were free to move, too. They landed on Jake’s hips, skimming up his sides. Jake shivered when Marc’s hands touched bare skin. Marc slid his hands around Jake’s back and pulled him closer until their chests touched.

Jake moaned at the strange-sexy feeling of a clothed, flat-as-a-board chest touching his bare one. He fumbled at the front of Marc’s shirt, unbuttoning the sleek black-looking thing as quickly as he could without ripping the offending piece of clothing.

He finally snarled with victory when the shirt slipped down Marc’s shoulders, the broadness of them once again striking Jake. Before he could delve deeper into thinking territory, he grabbed Marc by the shoulders and kissed him deeply.

The feel of Marc’s bare skin against his own was like pouring gasoline on the fire already burning inside Jake. He moaned into the kiss, and then slipped his tongue inside his mouth, feeling around for the piercing that first stuck him when he looked at Marc. 

When they broke the kiss to breathe, Jake pressed the side of his face to Marc’s and just breathed in the scent of him. Marc ran his hands up and down Jake’s back in a seemingly soothing gesture that did nothing to calm him, and then on one sweep down his hands kept going until they cupped Jake’s ass. Marc pulled Jake’s hips in and ground against him, more out of surprise than anything else.

Marc seemed to notice and immediately dropped his hands back to his hips. He stroked his fingers slowly up and down his hips, even as Jake stared him down in all his glory.

He had a nice chest, even if Jake wasn’t used to looking at naked men (in real life, anyway). There was a smattering of chest hair, a David Magen necklace that adorned his well-toned skin, and a few scars that stood slivery and shapely.

Marc tsked at Jake’s silent perusal, and decided to tease him “You can draw me like one of your French girls later, now I want your pants off if you’ll please.” 

Jake snorted at that and grabbed Marc by his hips, and brought their groins together. Marc gasped, looking surprised at Jake’s sudden boldness, and rolled his hips into Jake’s like a dam breaking down his self-control.

Marc’s hands skimmed Jake’s back as they thrust lazily against one another. Marc turned his head and reclaimed Jake’s mouth, and the kiss made everything more immediate. The slow rocking of their hips wasn’t enough anymore. Jake’s fingers dug into the back of Marc’s neck as the kiss turned hard and the thrusts took on more purpose.

Marc panted when he broke the kiss to say, “Pants.”

Marc kept trying to kiss Jake even as he dropped his hands to his waistband. Marc’s fingers were already there, so he reached for the zipper that was the only thing keeping Marc’s slacks from sliding down his hips. They stepped out of their slacks, and in Jake’s case, shoes, trying to keep contact. 

Then, suddenly, Marc stepped out of his pants and Jake was stunned from the edges of his neck to his feet - eyes raking over the naked man in front of him.

Marc was hard, cut, and not as manufactured as some of the porn he’d seen. But what really shook Jake was the complete shamelessness in how he stood in front of Jake.

There was a part of Jake, maybe, that thought some switch would flip where he'd see an actual hard dick and he'd realize this was all some weird moment he got caught up in and, nope, he was actually straight-as-an-arrow, thanks for the unnecessary crisis and minimum of three hickeys.

Instead, Marc reached out to him, bit down on Jake’s earlobe and ran a hand over his ass, squeezing roughly to get him to rut more firmly against Jake’s stomach, and arched his back.

Jake chuckled and made it four hickeys.