Take me home tonight

[Jack Ripley]

Jack spent most of the past weekend nursing his hangover but in the good company of his newfound friend, Brayden. At least, that's what he assumed they were. He was so hammered that night that he didn't remember much about the night but the morning, at least, was made nicer by the fact that somebody was there to dote over him. Hangover or sickness, Brayden was there to help.

Work at the school continued in the same vein as it had before. Luckily, Jack was nice and sober before he went in for work that week. And then... the curse of the weekend had arrived again. Friday night, Jack was content enough to stay in and play some card game that Brayden introduced him to at his apartment. But Saturday night, he found himself feeling... antsy.

He had no idea how the hell Brayden lived the way he did, in what appeared to be some form of celibacy. Virgin? He could be, but that would be so, so sad, given he was in his 30s. Poor, sad Brayden.

Jack almost texted Brayden to extend the invitation to him but if he recalled anything from his party night with co-workers, it was that Brayden didn't seem to like it much. (Also, Jack was mercilessly teased by Ali for having kissed him...? Ah, well. Drunk eyes.)

Dressing to the nines as he was wont to do, Jack took the walk up to the night club with all the confidence of a king strolling the streets of his commoners. And when he entered the night club, which he had attended before, he was more than a little pleased to see a great deal of the most beautiful naked men, dancing in lurid ways that left nothing to the imagination. Jack felt like he was eye fucking them just stepping into the place. God, if he felt like he was at home anywhere, this had to be it.

Stepping up to the bar, he held up some folded cash between two fingers.

"House special," he said. "And don't hold back on the hard stuff."

He knew he should be trying to steer clear of alcohol but with an entire week rubbing it out for somebody that clearly only wanted to be friends, he needed some kind of relief from it all.

[Marguerite De Silva]

Saturday night and the club was awash in sin and liquor.

Ho
Hum

Marge stood behind the bar wiping a glass clean with a towel, eyeing a cute blond who was making eyes at her from the other end of the bar. She was tempted but he looked too young. Probably got in on a fake ID—the bouncers weren't known to check that religiously here. Pity. He looked like he could be entertaining for a few hours after work—after her work that is. But then again it might be too late past his bedtime.

She actually had a little inward laugh at her own joke, lips curving up briefly. Oh—hello. He was what they called a tall drink of water... in like 1980. In the modern day, he was what Marge called Promising. She watched him approaching and waving his little dollar bills around, ordering a strong drink. Marge whipped the bills out of his hand as fast as anyone could blink.

"Coming right up. One Forget-Me-Not." Which was a stupid name for a drink loaded with enough booze to knock out a horse. But hey—Marge just made the drinks, she didn't have any lessons on morality for these people. As she grabbed various bottles with practiced ease, she eyed him. Shit. Gay. Yeah, that was magical powers for you—couldn't let a girl find that out on her own, could it? She might have at least had a little fun trying.

Gay and pining. Oh, if she had a dollar for every time somebody came through with a sob story like that. Nevertheless, as she slid the drink over to him, she remarked casually, "Going straight for the hard stuff huh? Tough week?" He could've been here for a good time and she could have been wrong, but she wasn't. That was the curse of her abilities. It made her look like a know-it-all bitch.

Well, it made her look like a know-it-all. Marge had the bitch part all covered on her own.

[Jack Ripley]

"Ooh, what a cute name." Forget-Me-Not. Like the flowers, right? A cute sentiment but he was pretty sure that a drink with such a cute name was meant to knock a person out on their ass. Well... Fine. That was good. He just needed enough alcohol in him to make everything fuzzy and sweet. He knew he shouldn't be drinking. That he should have stayed home but he was about to go crazy sitting there in his apartment alone. And going over to bother Brayden? Just going to bother himself, too, the way he felt.

Not that he had to drink to scratch that particular itch. It just made it easier.

"Fuck yes," he said, almost as if he had been holding the words in for far too long and needed to release them. "Well, maybe not tough, per se. Long. Way too long. Do you know it's been a week since I got laid?"

It was fine to divulge these things to bartenders. He tended to befriend them at places that eventually became his regular stomping grounds. Turning his head to look at the beautiful, beautiful men, he sighed. Hey, he could still appreciate the male form in all its shapes and sizes, couldn't he? And they were gorgeous, all in their different ways. They were already making him a little hot and bothered.

"Any of them available?" he asked, since the bartender would know. "Scratch that... do you think any of them would be interested?" He ran a teasing glance over one man in particular, from head to toe. "God, where do they even come from?"

[Marguerite De Silva]

The drink was starry blue just like the flowers, thanks to a generous dash of blue curacao. It was pleasant going down--not so much coming up. Marge would know. She'd had a few... for research purposes. One didn't seem like it'd knock this fella off his feet, though. Something told Marge he could hold his own.

Apparently he was also quite chatty, which was kind of cute in that it had been a week since he'd gotten laid and why the hell did he wait so long? With those good looks? Marge laughed at his ill luck. Bad fortune? The pining? It wasn't a cackle or anything, she didn't delight in his plight, but the eager way his words spilled out was funny. Marge leaned against the counter and rested her chin on her palm, watching him hungrily eyeing every scantily clad young man that walked past.

"Balls probably as blue as that drink, huh?" she asked bluntly, with another laugh. "If it makes you feel any better, most of them are as horny as you are. Half of them have already come over to hump the bar." Most of them were young, handsome men out looking for a good time. Some were already eyeing Jack like wolves, circling, probably waiting for a chance to get in. Jack was dressed to the nines--they scented money in the air and Hazleton, for some reason, was not short on poor, good-looking young men. There was even some vampire up in a mansion on a hill who kept a harem.

"Why'd you wait so long?" 

(Forget-me-not)

[Jack Ripley]

He arched a brow when the drink was placed before him. Well worth the money just for that color. Jack loved his color. Lifting the drink, he let out a soft snort of a laugh. If only his balls were the same pretty blue color as the cocktail. If he had to imagine the term blue balls as a color, though, he thought it would be a nasty, ugly bruise of a blue, for how much torture it was.

"My god... don't remind me. If I don't have somebody calling me daddy by the end of the night, I'm going to kill myself." He tilted the glass to his lips and let the cool liquid slide down his throat easily. It might have been hard liquor in there but he was a practiced enough drinker to make it look easy. Although the liquid was cool in temperature, it was warm when it hit his belly. He could tell this was a hard hitting one.

Setting the already half empty glass down in front of himself, he toyed with the slice of lemon that came with the drink.

"Work week," he said. "Turns out, it's not so good for my level of productivity if I'm not productive in the bed at least semi-regularly." He lifted the glass to take another drink. "That and I want somebody that's either playing one hell of a game of hard-to-get or genuinely isn't interested. As fun as the games can be, I can't take it another day longer. Last night, I spent the night at his place and all we did was play cards."

[Marguerite De Silva]

A whole week and he was climbing the walls already, was he? God, Marge could relate so hard. She shook her head pityingly as he continued on with his sad, sordid tale, downing the drink like it was blue kool-aid. Marge was impressed--not even a cough or a shudder and he'd swallowed about half of it in one breath. She got started on another, anticipating that one pretty blue drink wasn't going to cut it for him--not if he was going to do some damage to some poor little thing later on.

"You played cards. On a friday night." She stopped to level a Stare at him. Yes, it was a judgmental Stare. It was full on judgmental and she didn't care to dial it back. "You. This." Her finger drew an oval in the air, encompassing him and his fine ass figure. "Playing cards instead of fucking. Oh honey. What. Are you doing?" Marge tsked as she slid the second drink over on a coaster. (She'd get the money and the tip from him in a bit.)

"Is he worth all that? He must be one hell of a guy." That or what's his name here was badly smitten.

[Jack Ripley]

"Right?" Jack said with a shrug and a look that said finally, somebody that understands! He placed a hand to his heart as she stared him down and then drew attention to his looks. Yes, him. Yes, all this--spent a Friday night playing cards instead of fucking. It was a real tragedy, was what it was. He might not want a relationship... (Did he? Or didn't he? He didn't know, fuck, it was too hard to make up his mind about it.) But he definitely needed sex. Didn't any healthy male his age?

This bartender, though, she got it. And she was on the ball, too. Jack gratefully received his second drink and half stood so he could pull his wallet out of his back pocket. Sliding his card out, he handed it over to the bartender.

"I might be here a while."

That was his answer for whether or not Brayden was worth all that. Having Brayden in his life... was worth it. But he didn't think even Brayden would have wanted to keep him from having sex. Just because one of them was fine with celibacy didn't mean that the other was. And hell if he even knew what Brayden wanted. There were hazy snippets of a drunken conversation but to tell the truth, he didn't remember most of what happened that night he came back from the bar after work.

Just that it was the last time he had sex--and it wasn't with Brayden.

"Oh... hm..." He caught the eye of a handsome man dancing in a distinctly sexual way. There were women around him but he seemed more interested in looking at Jack. As Jack lifted his glass for another drink, he winked. When he set his glass down, he smiled at the bartender.

"I'm Jack, by the way. And he's worth... something." But maybe just as a friend, which he supposed in itself was something quite valuable to somebody who never had true friends before.

[Marguerite De Silva]

What a fucking tragedy. That a man with needs had to wait an entire week just to play some silly little card game on a Friday night. Mm. Marge did not approve at all, no she did not. She, too, was a sexual being and she wasn't ashamed of that. They all had needs. It wasn't like having feelings for someone meant that they had to cut themselves off from the rest of the world.

As long as they weren't together in a relationship, hey, all bets were off. Besides, cards? Cards? Alone together with no one else watching and all they did was that? It sounded to Marge like the other guy wasn't that interested. She didn't think it was Jack. He didn't look like the shy type exactly, not after lifting his glass to a man dancing with a group of women. That took balls. (Blue balls.)

"Marge." She reached over and took hold of Jack's jaw, physically turning his head back around. "Not him. Uh uh. Bad news if you hate games, baby. Whatever's on this card probably wouldn't cover his tab for the night." But she could see why Jack might be attracted to someone like that--that was a man who knew his worth and expected others to know it too. However, he wasn't for Jack, the man who respectfully let another man lead him around by the nose, and whipped him into playing cards all night.

There was something still respectful in Jack, she thought. And it was respect that kept him from pushing the guy down or forcing himself onto him, wasn't it? By his own admission, that other one was worth something. More than he was willing to let on, Marge would bet. Ah, men. They were so depressingly simple.

"How about that one?" There was a brown-haired young man dancing his little heart out, dressed so scantily that he might as well have been wearing nothing at all. The crowd had parted a little ways, enough for Marge to notice him. Earlier he'd been by to drink his liver rotten. He tipped her a hundred dollars--probably thought it was a tenner--and then swayed off onto the dance floor where the crowd absorbed him.

[Jack Ripley]

It wasn't as if the card game was bad. They obviously had fun with it. There had been lemon water and popcorn (...) and Jack recalled flicking a popcorn against the side of Brayden's head when he was too busy concentrating on his cards. There was a point when Jack shuffled the cards and went whoops and let them flip up around them. Just maybe as kind of an excuse to see Brayden bend over. That was when he knew he had a bad case of attraction and it wasn't just going to go away.

The shower he took later when he was back home was... interesting. It was just lucky that his apartment wasn't wall adjacent to Brayden's.

"What?" Marge caught him looking at a handsome dancer with a definite cocky look to him. What? What, she didn't think Jack was capable of navigating these men on his own? (Then again, she worked here and saw who these people took home.) He flicked a glance back over in that direction as Marge dished that the guy was a big time player. Games. Jack sighed. Of course he was.

Turning to see who Marge was talking about, Jack's gaze ran over him in appraisal. "Hm... He's a cuti--wait a minute." Jack put up a hand and turned his head. "Hold up." Finishing what was in his second glass, Jack got up, saying to Marge, "Watch my coat--please and thanks, you're a doll," before he weaved his way through a handful of dancers.

"Allie?" Jack said, reaching out to touch his arm.

[Alejandro Riviera]

Forget-me-not.

Forget-me-not.

Alejo loved the sound of that, hyphens and all. On his third glass, he finally got the pun behind it and he laughed so hard that he doubled over. See, it said forget me not, but then it was so full of delicious booze that it made you forget your troubles. Right? Wasn't that--no. He swore he got the joke behind the name and then it was gone. Oh well, too bad!

Five glasses later, everything was encased in crystal, shiny and glowing and perfect. Fucking perfect. Alejo felt good with bodies pressing into him, all around him, swallowing him and swallowing his pain. After an entire week sitting in his motel room, barely eating and drinking, he just lost it. He got out in the tightest leather pants he had, the clingiest, most sheer top he could find at some cheap shop downtown and he fucking lost his mind at this club. Alejo couldn't even remember the name of it, that was how drunk he was. He was pretty sure most of his blood had been replaced by blue curacao by now and it felt. So. Fucking. Good.

Someone's hand snaked around to rub at his crotch and he turned into them, grinning. Alejo ground into that hand and threw his head back, sighing. Laughing. Felt good. Even if it was a rough hand, and even if the guy who held him looked like a bruiser. You know--one of those ones. Didn't matter. As long as it wasn't a good, kind, true man like Judah. He wanted nobody like Judah for...ever. Forever.

Hearing his name called, he shoved his partner off and turned. Whaaat? Was that really sex god? Jack? (Jack called him a sex god but that was what Alejo remembered of him in the moment, in his drunken haze.) He threw himself onto Jack, lips immediately crashing against lips and bodies fusing together as one.

"Jackie!" Alejo's laugh was delighted. Alejo's hands went low. "How the hell did you know I was here?"

[Jack Ripley]

Whoa, whoa. The response was immediate. As soon as Allie turned around and saw him, he latched onto Jack like a... he didn't know. Like an octopus tentacle. No? A suction cup? No. A cuddly koala bear? Okay, that worked. Iffff koala bears also kissed enthusiastically and tasted exactly like neon blue Forget-me-not.

"I didn't!"

Honestly, he had no idea the intrepid little backpacker was still in Hazleton, let alone at the exact same night club! It was pleasant surprise, though. Wasn't it? The last time they met, Allie seemed a little disappointed when he left, but that was probably because Jack's immediate attention was snagged onto his neighbor when he texted him back. (He didn't think he actually expected him to.)

"You're still in town, I see," Jack said, hands sliding around Allie's hips. Looking him over and taking in the... ah, interesting choice of fashion, Jack felt a niggling sense of concern. "Where did you even get this outfit? You look like a Hot Topic prostitute and half the guys here are definitely waiting to fuck you in the closest bathroom. Just... so you're aware."

Pulling Allie closer, almost protectively, he drew him towards a less crowded area of the club. In a quieter tone, he asked, "Are you okay, sweetie? Did somebody roofie you?"

[Alejandro Riviera]

"You didn't?!" Alejo was appropriately shocked because for some reason he thought Jack found him here... intentionally? As if Jack would be out looking for him. Alejo did sort of fall off the face of the earth and Jack never did call him, so he went ahead and assumed that once again he was the only one who was reaching out and getting a handful of nothing. Whole lotta nothing.

Right now though, his hands were full of something. A nice ass. He remembered this ass even in his inebriated state and his coy little grin said that he still liked it a whole lot. "Still hanging around the old place, you know," he said, as if he was so over this damned sleepy little town. Judah was still out there somewhere with his... with the love of his life. And Alejo had been putting off going home because he knew that he would go into their apartment and probably have a breakdown.

Better to have a breakdown here in this wonderful club, with a whole lot of strangers. And Jackie. Handsome Jackie, so put-together. So sweet. So... normal that nobody knew what he was inside. He was basically a taller, slightly older Alejo. "Hey. I resemble that remark..." He frowned, then laughed, feeling feather-light. Were guys watching him? Were girls watching him? Were they lining up to fuck him? He couldn't tell. At some point he thought he'd been in a corner and someone had their hand down his ultra-tight pants but that was like. At least twenty? minutes ago?

"Jackie. I cannot be roofied." He clung to Jack and rested his cheek against Jack's chest. "Nooo, that's. That doesn't happen. It's like against the law and shit and I will arrest anybody who tries." He nuzzled his cheek against Jack. "I just had. Five. Six of those blue drinks."

[Jack Ripley]

No, unfortunately. Jack just assumed the cutie from the club had gone on his way to other distant lands. Or back to his boyfriend maybe. Jack had no scruples there. The guy might have a boyfriend but... he slept with Jack. And they had such a good time, too.

They had that connection. That nothingness. That core feeling of not belonging. But... lately. Jack didn't feel that way so much anymore. Something about just being around Brayden made him feel like a better person. Not so much nothing anymore. He'd become something to Brayden. Even if it wasn't a sexual relationship, it was one that had quickly become dear to Jack's heart.

In just a week, so much inside felt changed. But... how changed? And what about Allie? What happened in the week since they met? Something drastic. He no longer looked like that naive young man he met back at the other bar. He was something else now.

"Well if you resemble it so much, consult me first before you dress for the club."

The tight pants were a nice touch but that shirt was definitely screaming "fuck me daddy." Which was somewhat amusing to Jack since he recalled his fun little partner doing the fucking.

"Hm... and how many of these people know you're a cop? Because darling..." Jack ran a little thumb over Allie's lower lip. "Your outfit leaves nothing to the imagination. So if you're packing tonight, it must be hidden... somewhere it really shouldn't be."

[Alejandro Riviera]

"I will not!" Indignantly he slapped Jack's ass. Well his hand was there. It was a spank, he couldn't tell a lie. It was a spank. "You're not my dad, I don't--I don't have to report to you." His real dad would be spouting blood out of every orifice in outrage at Alejo's antics here tonight, he'd bet. His parents were Ultra Conservative. His mother prayed five times a day--probably asking God to save her heathen son.

Well tough fucking luck. Alejo was beyond saving now. He was hollow and broken, no longer that fresh-faced young police officer who swore to uphold the law and to protect every citizen. Right now all Alejo wanted to protect was his right to p-a-r-t-y!

He sighed up at Jack and kissed the pad of his thumb as it traced his lip, not even realizing that he had blown his cover. So much for innocent young backpacker huh? "Shut up and dance with me, you old fogey. What happened to you? A week apart and you're all... acting your age?" He laughed again, feeling silly, silly, silly. Alejo cuddled up to him and wrapped his arms securely around Jack's waist.

"Dance with me Jackie."

[Jack Ripley]

"I... what on earth are you talking about?" Jack would have found the spanking to be quite nice actually, if it weren't for the unsexy comments about him being his dad. And not in the daddy sense used sexually. Was he actually insulted by Jack's comments on his fashion choices? Well. He should be! He did look like a teenaged prostitute!

And now the fogey comment. Jack had no idea where it was all coming from but... he found it all distinctly... unattractive. There was an age gap for certain but having it called to attention... Jack thought the arresting comment was a joke and joked back but... now he wondered. With Allie taking everything so seriously, as if he were an obnoxious teen with some baggage to unload... Fuck. Well. He barely looked old enough to be here, let alone a cop. Maybe it was Jack thinking too much for once.

Cops just.... understandably made him uncomfortable.

"Actually..." He tried to extricate himself from Allie. "I'd rather not. I was just..."

Warning him that there were some rapey looking creeps watching him? He did his duty then. It didn't seem like Allie much cared. About that or... anything.

"Never mind... just... be careful."