Jansis Fic: Not Running, Not a Whim
Title: Not Running, Not a Whim
One-shot
Author: secondmezzanine
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I made it alllllll up, absolutely no truth to it, and no harm or offense intended.
Summary: Jake’s been leading Van on for awhile, but when he finally takes his flirtation a little too far (maybe a lot too far), Van can’t take being turned on and shut down anymore. Lots of angsty and fluffy goodness for you Jansis fans.
Author’s Note: This is my first Jansis fic, and in fact my first RPF. I can still hardly believe I wrote in this genre, but I was inspired in a big way by the awesome writers here. I got really into it and I hope, I really hope, you will be so kind as to read it and give me any feedback. :) This is for the people who like cute boys falling in love!
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The music is pounding through him like the rain coming down in sheets outside. Van takes a swig of his beer and reaches down to tug at his sock. The bottom five inches of his jeans are soaked with the muddy rainwater that Jake dragged him through to get here, the seediest club he’s taken Van to yet. “Trust me,” he’d said. “This place is the best kept secret in the city.” Van was not convinced.
But Jake wanted to go. So he went.
Wiping a damp hand on his knees and readjusting his barstool, Van looks for Jake now. He wonders whether techno music is ever played at a normal decibel, or if it’s a federal requirement that it be played so loudly, he can feel it thundering in his chest. And he wonders, for the fifteenth time tonight, why Jake insists on dragging him to these clubs.
His eyes finally fall on Jake, tucked between two hipsters on the dance floor, his eyes half shut and a lazy smile on his face as he dances. Van feels the corners of his mouth curve upward. He hates dancing (he’s so awkward) but Jake lives for it-Jake’s serious, so serious, all the time, until he gets a gin and tonic in him and then he’s the biggest flirt in the room. Right now he has one hand tucked into the back pocket of the hipster girl in front of him, and is leaning back to whisper-shout, really, over the music-in the ear of the guy with dreadlocks behind him.
Van fiddles with the label on his beer bottle and takes another swig, the half-smile fading from his lips. Yep. One gin and tonic, and Jake will flirt with anyone.
“You okay?” The bartender interrupts Van’s thoughts, leaning up with both hands on the bar.
“What?” Van shouts back.
“I said, you okay?” The bartender is laughing a little, like he can tell Van wishes the music weren’t quite so obtrusive.
Van sneaks a look back at Jake, who is now facing the hipster he’d been whispering to and is tugging at one of the guy’s dreads, a playful grin on his face. “I’m fine,” Van says, his voice a little hoarse. “I mean, he can dance with who he wants, right? Girls, guys, whatever. He’s a free… agent.”
The bartender’s eyes follow Van’s gaze toward the dance floor. “Uh,” he says. “I meant… you okay, like, you need another round?”
Van feels his cheeks burn. “Oh. No. I’m fine.”
“Hey, I’m David.” The bartender flips a towel over his shoulder and steps back. “Let me know if you need anything.” He winks at Van. Van does a slight double-take. Is this guy flirting with him? He watches David move down the bar to take more drink orders. David’s black polo is tight enough to reveal muscular arms and the tempting fit of his jeans. Van swallows hard. He wonders if he should flirt back. If Jake can flirt, so can he, right?
Stop thinking like that, he tells himself. Stop making every little decision based on whether Jake realizes you’re alive today.
He reaches down and tugs at his wet socks again. When he straightens up on his stool, suddenly Jake is there, still hovering taller than him despite the fact that Van’s sitting so high up. “Having fun?” Jake asks, arms crossed, with a teasing smile.
“Fun?” Van smirks. “Yeah, this place is a real find. I especially like the beer-covered floor. It really adds something special when my shoes stick to it every time I take a step.” He gives Jake a slight nudge with his foot, just to see how he reacts. Sometimes Jake ignores those little flirtatious moves Van tries. Sometimes he flirts back.
Tonight the gin and tonic is working in Van’s favor. Jake bends toward him slightly, laughing into his shoulder. Jake’s hand trails on his knee, and Van can’t tell if Jake’s toying with him, or if he’s just supporting himself. “Barkeep!” Jake shouts over the music. He moves his hand and motions David over. “Another gin and tonic?”
David nods, his eyes sliding over briefly to meet Van’s. He raises his eyebrows a fraction as he begins making Jake’s drink. Van shakes his head slightly at him and hides a smile.
Jake sees the small interaction and gives Van a look. “Making yourself a little love connection over here?” he asks, his expression revealing nothing.
“Gotta do something while you charm Mr. Dreadlocks over there,” Van shoots back. He shifts in slight discomfort. Jake is leaning on the bar, head bent toward Van, and Van can smell aftershave and rain and something unidentifiable that makes his stomach twist a little.
“Right,” Jake laughs. “Interesting crop here tonight. You should get out there. I think you’d like Mr. Dreadlocks, as you call him. He’s got the whole tall-and-shouldery thing going on.” His smile twitches a little as he looks up at Van.
“What does that mean?” Van avoids his eyes, concentrates on his beer.
David returns with Jake’s drink, and Jake straightens as he knocks it back. He sets the glass back on the bar with a bang, and surprises Van by grabbing his neck and quickly pressing his mouth up next to Van’s ear. “It means I know your type, Hansis,” he says, his voice throaty and warm. His breath tickles Van’s ear and Van instinctively jerks away before his entire body can flood with testosterone.
“Shut up,” he mumbles with a grin, willing his heart to stop leaping every time Jake looks at him tonight. He hates it when Jake gets touchy-feely like this, because it’s always followed by-
“’Kay, see ya,” Jake says with another teasing smirk, grabbing his drink and sweeping off toward the dance floor again. A moment later he’s gyrating with a blonde in a micro-mini dress. And Van’s still tracing the curve of his ear, trying to stop the tingling there.
“He do that a lot?” David’s back.
“What? Dance with girls? You know. Now and then.”
“No, I mean… practically shove his tongue down your ear and then drop you cold.”
Van snorts. “Oh, that. Well, you know.” He raises his beer in a toast with a wistful shrug. “Now and then.”
“All the time, in other words.” David wipes his hands on a towel and tosses it aside.
Van sighs. “It’s fine. Trust me, he’s not usually like this. Just when he…” He trails off.
“Needs to get laid?” David asks.
Van laughs and shakes his head. “I dunno. Maybe. He only goes out like this every now and then. But it’s not like he’s that hard up for hookups. As you can imagine.” They watch Jake on the floor for a moment.
“I’d fuck him,” David says bluntly.
Van shoots him a look.
“What?” David shrugs. “I would. He’s hot.” When Van doesn’t comment, he adds, “So what, he’s holding out on you? Don’t tell me he thinks he’s straight.”
Van is silent for awhile. “Nope, not the problem,” he finally says, turning back to his beer. “I mean, we haven’t discussed it at length or anything, but… I know he’s swung both ways.”
“Just not with you.”
Van cringes. “Yeah, could you shut up about that? Jesus.”
David snorts with laughter. “Hey man, if you want to hook up with him, now’s your chance. Another drink and he’ll be begging for it.”
Irritation swoops over Van, both with Jake and with David. He suppresses the urge to snap at David that he’s sick of playing Jake’s game. That after a year of Jake’s not-so-subtle touches and teasing remarks, all followed by a quick cold shoulder, and watching Jake hook up with anyone but him, he’s pretty damn convinced that Jake would rather turn him on and shut him down than actually be with him. That he thinks he fell in love with Jake about two days after they first met and the sexual frustration that’s built up since then makes Van want to punch David the Dumbass Bartender in the groin for even suggesting that someone else gets to go home with Jake tonight.
Instead, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. When he sees Mr. Dreadlocks heading in the same direction, Van takes a detour out the front door and presses his back into the side of the building. He leans as far back as possible, trying to keep out of the rain. He breathes in and out. What am I doing here, again? Why am I sitting alone at the bar miserably watching Jake have fun, again? The bouncer at the door shoots Van a curious look.
Van runs a hand through his hair a few times. He shakes his head, preparing himself to walk back into the darkness and pounding music again, and takes a final breath. Go back and force yourself to have a good time, he says. That’s what you’re here for. That’s what Jake wants.
As he’s walking back to his place at the bar, he sees Jake sitting in his seat talking to David. Their heads are bent together. For a moment he panics at the thought that David might be telling Jake about their conversation, but the fear fades when he sees David place a hand over Jake’s and rub his thumb in a small circle on the back of Jake’s wrist. Jake’s laughing and reaching for his drink, as if he gets hit on by bartenders every day. As if he’s okay with it.
Jealousy flares hot in Van’s stomach. “Hey,” he says when he reaches the bar, running a hand up Jake’s back, almost possessively.
Jake spins around to look at him and a huge smile breaks over his face in the darkness. Van reminds himself that it’s because they’re friends, they’re acting partners, they’re everything that can’t be jeopardized, but he can’t stop his heart from leaping a little at how happy Jake always seems to look when they see each other. “There you are!” Jake says, pulling his hand away from David. “Come on. You’re hitting the dance floor and that’s final.”
“Oh-” Van starts to protest (god he’s an awkward dancer), but Jake runs his palm down the inside of Van’s arm and links their fingers together, and Van can’t remember what he was going to say. Before he realizes what’s happening, David’s watching them go with a tiny smirk and Jake’s pulling him off to the side of the crowd of dancers. “Okay fine, one dance, but you’re going to be sorry when I embarrass you in front of your fan club,” Van says, leaning close to speak over the music.
“Shut up, Van. Here, just stand still.” Jake releases his hand and pushes Van’s shoulders slightly, straightening them. He looks up and their eyes lock for a moment. Jake is still looking flushed and cheerful and more fucking gorgeous than Van can ever remember him being, and he suddenly feels self-conscious. Van wonders for the millionth time how he can kiss Jake-or be kissed by Jake-in acting scenes without giving away how hard he’s fallen for real. Even now, despite the darkness of the club and the pounding techno and people dancing all around them, he’s certain he must be the most obvious person in the room.
Jake is talking. “We’ll make it a slow dance, okay? I’ll take it easy on you. No real dance moves required.” Jake lifts Van’s hands up around his neck and curves his own around Van’s back. “Luke and Noah style,” he says, grinning.
Van smiles back, a little sheepishly. “I can handle that,” he says. The reminder of their alter-egos provides him with a safety net, familiar and comfortable and even casual, so he steps closer and runs a hand up into the dark curls at Jake’s neck, tugging him close. The bass beat pounds on at breakneck speed but Van doesn’t want to move, just wants to stay wrapped up in Jake’s arms, pressing his face into Jake’s hair, breathing in that aftershave and rain and alcohol and something-just-Jake scent. “Luke and Noah style,” Van murmurs, and he feels Jake smile into his ear.
“We’re getting pretty good at this, huh?”
“At what?”
“Pretending.”
Van feels his throat tighten and he doesn’t answer for a moment, just lets Jake run his knuckles up and down the small of his back. He wonders if Jake even notices Van’s arousal pressing against him, or the fact that the longer Jake touches him like that, the more turned on he gets. He wonders if Jake can feel his heartbeat through their shirts. He wonders if Jake feels as overheated as he does.
Luke and Noah style. The phrase runs through his head again. “Pretending,” he repeats. “You mean acting.” He dares to brush his lips under Jake’s ear.
“No,” Jake says, almost indecipherable over the music. He steps back slightly and takes Van’s face in his hands. His eyes search Van’s and he takes a deep breath. His fingers feel rough and hard against Van’s skin and Van suddenly feels a little weak. “No,” Jake repeats. He closes his eyes and leans in, brushing his nose against Van’s cheek. “I mean pretending.” His breath is hot against Van’s jaw.
Van can’t speak for a moment as Jake leans even closer, running his lips down along his jaw to his neck.
Oh, god.
Van moans, quietly as possible, and instinctively moves his hands up Jake’s shirt, across his chest, and clutches at his dark hair. Jake is hardly even kissing him, but Van never realized just how-oh god, god, god-- sensitive that part of his neck is until Jake opened his mouth and grazed his teeth along it. If Van was aroused before, he’s desperate now, and the thought jars him back to half-sanity. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now Jake would do what he always does-laugh it off and waltz away and start talking about some hot chick working as an extra this week, or worse, some hot guy. Oh god, don’t, Van thinks desperately. Don’t…
Jake pulls away suddenly but instead of running off, he just moves his hands down to Van’s waist and tugs him toward him again, repositioning his mouth to Van’s temple and breathing hard against him. “Van… don’t you think…”
Van can’t help himself. He has to make Jake stop talking, before he runs away, so he reaches up and runs his tongue along the curve of Jake’s ear, kissing it gently. Jake makes a small sound against his neck and suddenly he’s kissing Van hard, somehow nothing at all like Noah, somehow something all new and thrilling and terrifying at once. Van’s certain he’s going to pass out any second and all he can think is techno techno techno and heat and Jake kissing him for real.
And then they’re being shoved apart by a wayward dancer, drunk and falling all over herself with hysterical laughter at her clumsiness. “Shit! Sorry guys!” She stumbles away and Jake is reaching for Van’s hand.
“Don’t,” Van gasps, taking a step back and hitting a wall. “Stop. What are you doing?” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Don’t… don’t fuck around with me, Jake.”
Jake shakes his head in disbelief, half his mouth curling up into a confused smile. “I’m-I’m not-” He steps in to Van again and presses his mouth back to his neck. “I’m not…”
Van swallows hard and allows himself to indulge in the feeling of Jake’s lips on that spot for a second more, and then he feels Jake smiling again. Jesus, how can he be laughing at this? Van summons his willpower and shoves a hand against Jake’s chest to back him up. “Don’t do that,” he manages to spit out. He ducks under Jake’s arm and takes off. He needs his coat. He needs to go. His neck is still burning.
He’s in the coatroom searching desperately for his jacket, tossing random coats and umbrellas on the floor, when Jake comes up behind him. “Van, what the hell, I-”
“Okay, don’t,” Van says, spinning around and holding up a hand. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re an obnoxious flirt when you’re drunk, and you don’t get to screw anything that moves just because you’re… you’re…”
Jake’s confused expression transforms into anger. “Christ, Van, all I did was-”
“Yeah, I know what you did,” Van says, trying to back away from Jake. He trips over a coat and catches himself on the wall. “What you always do. Whisper in my ear, share a little joke with me. Touch me just long enough on my leg to be sure I’m horny as hell. And then run the fuck away. Right?”
Jake’s mouth has fallen open in shock, but he snaps it shut and narrows his eyes for a second, watching Van clutch at the wall.
“Well… right?” Van tries to catch his breath. Jake shakes his head just slightly and suddenly that infuriating smirk is back. Van feels a mixture of irritation and embarrassment wash over himself. Here he is again, guts on the floor, and Jake thinks the whole thing is oh-so-funny. Before he can open his mouth to speak again, Jake charges forward and traps him. He shoves Van roughly against the wall and captures his mouth with his own. Van’s protest dies in his throat.
His last thought is that he is the most pathetically whipped asshole in New York City.
Jake is still smiling as he kisses him, running his hands through Van’s hair and pressing his thigh between Van’s legs to feel him, all of him, reacting to his touch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Van knows he should be embarrassed at the instant, schoolboy-like arousal Jake evokes in him, but all he’s capable of right now is feeling, feeling, feeling Jake’s body touching him everywhere, his hands in his hair and then on his arms and then reaching back and pulling his shirt up slightly to graze his skin… Jake’s tongue on his mouth and then back at his throat and licking slightly up the exposed chest at his open collar… his breath hot, everywhere… and all Van can do is hold on for dear life.
He doesn’t know if Jake has been torturing him this way for twenty seconds or twenty minutes when Jake finally speaks against his neck. “See,” he whispers, his voice ragged, “Not running.”
“No,” Van mumbles, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if in thanks. “Not this time.”
“God, you say I’m serious,” Jake teases, turning his attention to Van’s ear. “Relax, will you?”
“Relax,” Van repeats dumbly, closing his eyes. “Your tongue is in my ear, and you’re telling me to relax. How the hell did we… end up… and this is the first… you’ve never…” He wants to tell him how insane this seems when Jake’s never indicated that he wanted anything more than to tease Van to the brink of frustration. But with the shivers moving up and down his spine thanks to the thorough treatment Jake is giving his ear, he can’t think.
Jake laughs again. “I’ve been with guys before, you know that,” he says softly. “Makes no difference to me.” The words are barely out of his mouth when Van bristles and opens his eyes slowly.
He lifts his arm and presses it across Jake’s chest, pushing him slowly away. “Makes no difference?”
Jake freezes, realizing what he’s just said. “Come on, you know what I meant.”
“No,” Van says, feeling his heart constrict a little. “I don’t. I should relax because this is just… nothing? You can fuck around with me like I’m one of the closeted guys at a frat party you fool around with in the dark and it won’t mean anything?”
Jake exhales loudly and pushes Van’s arm back against the wall. “No. God! I didn’t say that; you said that. Quit over-analyzing and just…” He presses a kiss to Van’s mouth. “I’m just doing what feels right. You don’t think it feels…?” He blows softly on Van’s ear, kisses his jaw softly. His hand drifts toward Van’s belt buckle.
Van groans in frustration. He summons his willpower and pushes Jake off of him. “Yeah. Yeah it feels, all right. But I’m not gonna be that guy for you, Jake.” He shakes his head, trying to think. “I know you usually get what you want, and god knows I’d love to be the guy who gives it to you, but I’m not letting you fuck me just because you had a whim.”
“A whim?! Jesus, Van, if that’s what-”
Van forces himself to walk out of the coatroom. Forget the jacket. He just has to go. He’s pretty sure that Jake’s just as turned on as he is, and if he gives in for even a second more, he knows they’ll be back at his place within twenty minutes, ripping off clothes and-
Van shakes his head. Don’t. Don’t even think it. That was everything and nothing he wanted. He was in love with Jake, not desperate for a night of meaningless sex.
David the bartender catches his eye as he brushes by the bar. Van ignores him, just heads for the door. He walks home in the rain. Perfect. A ready-made cold shower.
It’s the longest night of his miserable fucking life.
-xxx-
When he opens his eyes to morning light, finally, Van lies in bed for an hour rehearsing the speech he’s composed. It’s an apology, really, for acting the drama queen. He’ll tell Jake to forget everything. He’ll go back to his stupid, unrequited longing and he’ll let Jake turn him on and off and he’ll play his boyfriend on their show and everything will be exactly like it was. Only this time, he won’t give in to any fantastic groping sessions in coatrooms or otherwise. This time, he’s an all-or-nothing package.
He showers and dresses and goes down to the corner market, where he buys a box of double chocolate muffins, Jake’s favorite. He takes the subway over to Jake’s neighborhood and practices the speech, over and over. He’s used to memorizing lines. It’ll be easy. Everything will go back to the way it was, he reasons. So long as they haven’t ruined everything already. He climbs the stairs to Jake’s walk-up.
Van takes a breath, rubs the back of his neck for a moment, and knocks on Jake’s door.
It takes him a moment to recognize the person who answers. They stare at each other for a moment. “David,” Van finally says. David’s tugging a sweatshirt over his mussed hair. He’s only wearing one shoe. Van looks him up and down. “What… what are you doing here?”
The question is so ridiculous that for a moment David just looks at him with pity. “You want me to spell it out for you?” He crosses his arms.
Van peers over David’s shoulder for a moment, but there’s no sign of Jake in the living room. His chest hurts suddenly and he clutches the box of muffins to his chest. “Right,” he says. He turns and heads for the stairs, then backtracks and shoves the muffins into David’s arms. “Here.” His throat is tight. He pauses for a minute. “So… fuck.” He turns and heads for the stairs.
Halfway down the block, he thinks for sure he’s going to throw up, and he pauses at a trash can on the curb to catch his breath.
“Van!”
He lifts his eyes to see Jake running down the sidewalk, his button-down shirt open to reveal his bare torso, tripping over himself as he tries to tug a sneaker over his heel. Van would laugh if the sight of Jake half-dressed didn’t make him a little nauseous and lovesick at the same time.
“Van!” Jake finally gives up on the shoe. He throws it behind him and runs full-speed the rest of the way. He grabs Van’s arm and doubles over, trying to catch his breath.
“Jesus, you are out of shape,” Van says stupidly. He’s frozen for a moment, until he’s suddenly very aware of Jake’s long fingers wrapped around his elbow and pulls away. He’s only gone a few steps when Jake grabs him by the shoulder.
“Van,” he says, still breathing hard. “Nothing happened.”
“You’re damn right nothing happened,” Van says. “Thank god. But looks like you got what you wanted after all, a meaningless fuck, so it all works out.” He knows he sounds like a bitchy fifteen-year-old, but his voice is dangerously close to cracking and he’ll say anything to stop his mind from catching up with his heart.
A flash of hurt crosses Jake’s face. “Not us. I meant-nothing happened with that guy. That bartender. Nothing, Van. I swear.”
Van looks down at Jake’s open shirt and his one bare foot. “Uh-huh,” he says.
Jake rolls his eyes with frustration. “Will you give me a break? I was getting out of the shower when you showed up. Van.” He reaches for Van’s hand, then wraps both his hands around Van’s. His eyes meet Van’s tentatively. “Van… I swear. I was messed up last night. About us. I just-what happened; it hit me like a ton of bricks, okay? I know I’ve treated you like shit. Everything you said, it was right on. And then you walked out and I should have gone after you, but…” He stops for a moment, still breathing hard. “I got drunk instead. Okay? I fucking… had about fifteen more drinks because I was so messed up and then that guy David offered to take me home and yeah, he tried something, yes, but I said no. I just let him sleep on my couch. Really. And I just told him he better be out in the next three minutes.”
Jake looks so earnest, clutching his hand and searching Van’s eyes, that Van only hesitates for a minute before he pats Jake’s hand. “Okay.”
“Okay? You believe me?”
“Sure.” Van sighs. He drops Jake’s hand. “So, I’m just gonna go.” He turns and begins walking down the sidewalk again.
“Van.” Jake’s voice stops him. “Van, why did you come here?”
Van stops. “Look,” he says, his back still turned. “Let’s just forget everything. Okay? We’re good.”
He hears Jake sigh behind him. “Did you sleep last night?” Van doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches an ant crawling on the sidewalk. “I mean, I guess I slept it off for awhile, but… I… Van, will you look at me?” When Van doesn’t respond, he feels Jake step up behind him. “Look,” Jake says softly at his back, “I woke up knowing I made the biggest mistake of my life last night. Not-not the part where I kissed you. The part where I made you feel like it didn’t mean anything to me. Like you were just any random person and not my best friend in the world and the person who makes me better every day and the person I… you know… God, Van, you’re not a whim, you’re not…”
Van is sure he’s probably just hallucinating this entire scene, but he can’t stop the smile that’s creeping up on his face anyway. Behind him, Jake’s fidgeting and sighing, and Van lets out a spontaneous snort of laughter. “Jake,” he says, and he knows it’s right. “I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you whether you want to be my friend or my acting partner or just some guy you made out with at a seedy club one night. Whatever. I’m fucking… yours.”
Suddenly Jake’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s pressing a kiss into the nape of Van’s neck. “You’re mine,” he repeats, resting his forehead on the back of Van’s collar.
And somehow a moment later they’re facing each other and Van’s hands have slipped around Jake’s sides and under the open shirt and Jake is kissing him again. And again. And again.
“I’m never going to another one of your stupid bars again,” Van finally says between kisses. A few passers-by on the sidewalk are staring as they walk around them, but he doesn’t care. This is New York, he wants to shout at them. Get over it.
“Oh come on,” Jake protests. He kisses Van’s temple. “I know of one that has a really excellent coatroom. Trust me.”
Van laughs and kisses him back, relishing the feel of being Van, not Luke, and getting to kiss Jake anyway. He takes Jake’s hand from around his neck and laces their fingers together. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go find your shoe.”
~
One-shot
Author: secondmezzanine
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I made it alllllll up, absolutely no truth to it, and no harm or offense intended.
Summary: Jake’s been leading Van on for awhile, but when he finally takes his flirtation a little too far (maybe a lot too far), Van can’t take being turned on and shut down anymore. Lots of angsty and fluffy goodness for you Jansis fans.
Author’s Note: This is my first Jansis fic, and in fact my first RPF. I can still hardly believe I wrote in this genre, but I was inspired in a big way by the awesome writers here. I got really into it and I hope, I really hope, you will be so kind as to read it and give me any feedback. :) This is for the people who like cute boys falling in love!
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The music is pounding through him like the rain coming down in sheets outside. Van takes a swig of his beer and reaches down to tug at his sock. The bottom five inches of his jeans are soaked with the muddy rainwater that Jake dragged him through to get here, the seediest club he’s taken Van to yet. “Trust me,” he’d said. “This place is the best kept secret in the city.” Van was not convinced.
But Jake wanted to go. So he went.
Wiping a damp hand on his knees and readjusting his barstool, Van looks for Jake now. He wonders whether techno music is ever played at a normal decibel, or if it’s a federal requirement that it be played so loudly, he can feel it thundering in his chest. And he wonders, for the fifteenth time tonight, why Jake insists on dragging him to these clubs.
His eyes finally fall on Jake, tucked between two hipsters on the dance floor, his eyes half shut and a lazy smile on his face as he dances. Van feels the corners of his mouth curve upward. He hates dancing (he’s so awkward) but Jake lives for it-Jake’s serious, so serious, all the time, until he gets a gin and tonic in him and then he’s the biggest flirt in the room. Right now he has one hand tucked into the back pocket of the hipster girl in front of him, and is leaning back to whisper-shout, really, over the music-in the ear of the guy with dreadlocks behind him.
Van fiddles with the label on his beer bottle and takes another swig, the half-smile fading from his lips. Yep. One gin and tonic, and Jake will flirt with anyone.
“You okay?” The bartender interrupts Van’s thoughts, leaning up with both hands on the bar.
“What?” Van shouts back.
“I said, you okay?” The bartender is laughing a little, like he can tell Van wishes the music weren’t quite so obtrusive.
Van sneaks a look back at Jake, who is now facing the hipster he’d been whispering to and is tugging at one of the guy’s dreads, a playful grin on his face. “I’m fine,” Van says, his voice a little hoarse. “I mean, he can dance with who he wants, right? Girls, guys, whatever. He’s a free… agent.”
The bartender’s eyes follow Van’s gaze toward the dance floor. “Uh,” he says. “I meant… you okay, like, you need another round?”
Van feels his cheeks burn. “Oh. No. I’m fine.”
“Hey, I’m David.” The bartender flips a towel over his shoulder and steps back. “Let me know if you need anything.” He winks at Van. Van does a slight double-take. Is this guy flirting with him? He watches David move down the bar to take more drink orders. David’s black polo is tight enough to reveal muscular arms and the tempting fit of his jeans. Van swallows hard. He wonders if he should flirt back. If Jake can flirt, so can he, right?
Stop thinking like that, he tells himself. Stop making every little decision based on whether Jake realizes you’re alive today.
He reaches down and tugs at his wet socks again. When he straightens up on his stool, suddenly Jake is there, still hovering taller than him despite the fact that Van’s sitting so high up. “Having fun?” Jake asks, arms crossed, with a teasing smile.
“Fun?” Van smirks. “Yeah, this place is a real find. I especially like the beer-covered floor. It really adds something special when my shoes stick to it every time I take a step.” He gives Jake a slight nudge with his foot, just to see how he reacts. Sometimes Jake ignores those little flirtatious moves Van tries. Sometimes he flirts back.
Tonight the gin and tonic is working in Van’s favor. Jake bends toward him slightly, laughing into his shoulder. Jake’s hand trails on his knee, and Van can’t tell if Jake’s toying with him, or if he’s just supporting himself. “Barkeep!” Jake shouts over the music. He moves his hand and motions David over. “Another gin and tonic?”
David nods, his eyes sliding over briefly to meet Van’s. He raises his eyebrows a fraction as he begins making Jake’s drink. Van shakes his head slightly at him and hides a smile.
Jake sees the small interaction and gives Van a look. “Making yourself a little love connection over here?” he asks, his expression revealing nothing.
“Gotta do something while you charm Mr. Dreadlocks over there,” Van shoots back. He shifts in slight discomfort. Jake is leaning on the bar, head bent toward Van, and Van can smell aftershave and rain and something unidentifiable that makes his stomach twist a little.
“Right,” Jake laughs. “Interesting crop here tonight. You should get out there. I think you’d like Mr. Dreadlocks, as you call him. He’s got the whole tall-and-shouldery thing going on.” His smile twitches a little as he looks up at Van.
“What does that mean?” Van avoids his eyes, concentrates on his beer.
David returns with Jake’s drink, and Jake straightens as he knocks it back. He sets the glass back on the bar with a bang, and surprises Van by grabbing his neck and quickly pressing his mouth up next to Van’s ear. “It means I know your type, Hansis,” he says, his voice throaty and warm. His breath tickles Van’s ear and Van instinctively jerks away before his entire body can flood with testosterone.
“Shut up,” he mumbles with a grin, willing his heart to stop leaping every time Jake looks at him tonight. He hates it when Jake gets touchy-feely like this, because it’s always followed by-
“’Kay, see ya,” Jake says with another teasing smirk, grabbing his drink and sweeping off toward the dance floor again. A moment later he’s gyrating with a blonde in a micro-mini dress. And Van’s still tracing the curve of his ear, trying to stop the tingling there.
“He do that a lot?” David’s back.
“What? Dance with girls? You know. Now and then.”
“No, I mean… practically shove his tongue down your ear and then drop you cold.”
Van snorts. “Oh, that. Well, you know.” He raises his beer in a toast with a wistful shrug. “Now and then.”
“All the time, in other words.” David wipes his hands on a towel and tosses it aside.
Van sighs. “It’s fine. Trust me, he’s not usually like this. Just when he…” He trails off.
“Needs to get laid?” David asks.
Van laughs and shakes his head. “I dunno. Maybe. He only goes out like this every now and then. But it’s not like he’s that hard up for hookups. As you can imagine.” They watch Jake on the floor for a moment.
“I’d fuck him,” David says bluntly.
Van shoots him a look.
“What?” David shrugs. “I would. He’s hot.” When Van doesn’t comment, he adds, “So what, he’s holding out on you? Don’t tell me he thinks he’s straight.”
Van is silent for awhile. “Nope, not the problem,” he finally says, turning back to his beer. “I mean, we haven’t discussed it at length or anything, but… I know he’s swung both ways.”
“Just not with you.”
Van cringes. “Yeah, could you shut up about that? Jesus.”
David snorts with laughter. “Hey man, if you want to hook up with him, now’s your chance. Another drink and he’ll be begging for it.”
Irritation swoops over Van, both with Jake and with David. He suppresses the urge to snap at David that he’s sick of playing Jake’s game. That after a year of Jake’s not-so-subtle touches and teasing remarks, all followed by a quick cold shoulder, and watching Jake hook up with anyone but him, he’s pretty damn convinced that Jake would rather turn him on and shut him down than actually be with him. That he thinks he fell in love with Jake about two days after they first met and the sexual frustration that’s built up since then makes Van want to punch David the Dumbass Bartender in the groin for even suggesting that someone else gets to go home with Jake tonight.
Instead, he excuses himself to go to the bathroom. When he sees Mr. Dreadlocks heading in the same direction, Van takes a detour out the front door and presses his back into the side of the building. He leans as far back as possible, trying to keep out of the rain. He breathes in and out. What am I doing here, again? Why am I sitting alone at the bar miserably watching Jake have fun, again? The bouncer at the door shoots Van a curious look.
Van runs a hand through his hair a few times. He shakes his head, preparing himself to walk back into the darkness and pounding music again, and takes a final breath. Go back and force yourself to have a good time, he says. That’s what you’re here for. That’s what Jake wants.
As he’s walking back to his place at the bar, he sees Jake sitting in his seat talking to David. Their heads are bent together. For a moment he panics at the thought that David might be telling Jake about their conversation, but the fear fades when he sees David place a hand over Jake’s and rub his thumb in a small circle on the back of Jake’s wrist. Jake’s laughing and reaching for his drink, as if he gets hit on by bartenders every day. As if he’s okay with it.
Jealousy flares hot in Van’s stomach. “Hey,” he says when he reaches the bar, running a hand up Jake’s back, almost possessively.
Jake spins around to look at him and a huge smile breaks over his face in the darkness. Van reminds himself that it’s because they’re friends, they’re acting partners, they’re everything that can’t be jeopardized, but he can’t stop his heart from leaping a little at how happy Jake always seems to look when they see each other. “There you are!” Jake says, pulling his hand away from David. “Come on. You’re hitting the dance floor and that’s final.”
“Oh-” Van starts to protest (god he’s an awkward dancer), but Jake runs his palm down the inside of Van’s arm and links their fingers together, and Van can’t remember what he was going to say. Before he realizes what’s happening, David’s watching them go with a tiny smirk and Jake’s pulling him off to the side of the crowd of dancers. “Okay fine, one dance, but you’re going to be sorry when I embarrass you in front of your fan club,” Van says, leaning close to speak over the music.
“Shut up, Van. Here, just stand still.” Jake releases his hand and pushes Van’s shoulders slightly, straightening them. He looks up and their eyes lock for a moment. Jake is still looking flushed and cheerful and more fucking gorgeous than Van can ever remember him being, and he suddenly feels self-conscious. Van wonders for the millionth time how he can kiss Jake-or be kissed by Jake-in acting scenes without giving away how hard he’s fallen for real. Even now, despite the darkness of the club and the pounding techno and people dancing all around them, he’s certain he must be the most obvious person in the room.
Jake is talking. “We’ll make it a slow dance, okay? I’ll take it easy on you. No real dance moves required.” Jake lifts Van’s hands up around his neck and curves his own around Van’s back. “Luke and Noah style,” he says, grinning.
Van smiles back, a little sheepishly. “I can handle that,” he says. The reminder of their alter-egos provides him with a safety net, familiar and comfortable and even casual, so he steps closer and runs a hand up into the dark curls at Jake’s neck, tugging him close. The bass beat pounds on at breakneck speed but Van doesn’t want to move, just wants to stay wrapped up in Jake’s arms, pressing his face into Jake’s hair, breathing in that aftershave and rain and alcohol and something-just-Jake scent. “Luke and Noah style,” Van murmurs, and he feels Jake smile into his ear.
“We’re getting pretty good at this, huh?”
“At what?”
“Pretending.”
Van feels his throat tighten and he doesn’t answer for a moment, just lets Jake run his knuckles up and down the small of his back. He wonders if Jake even notices Van’s arousal pressing against him, or the fact that the longer Jake touches him like that, the more turned on he gets. He wonders if Jake can feel his heartbeat through their shirts. He wonders if Jake feels as overheated as he does.
Luke and Noah style. The phrase runs through his head again. “Pretending,” he repeats. “You mean acting.” He dares to brush his lips under Jake’s ear.
“No,” Jake says, almost indecipherable over the music. He steps back slightly and takes Van’s face in his hands. His eyes search Van’s and he takes a deep breath. His fingers feel rough and hard against Van’s skin and Van suddenly feels a little weak. “No,” Jake repeats. He closes his eyes and leans in, brushing his nose against Van’s cheek. “I mean pretending.” His breath is hot against Van’s jaw.
Van can’t speak for a moment as Jake leans even closer, running his lips down along his jaw to his neck.
Oh, god.
Van moans, quietly as possible, and instinctively moves his hands up Jake’s shirt, across his chest, and clutches at his dark hair. Jake is hardly even kissing him, but Van never realized just how-oh god, god, god-- sensitive that part of his neck is until Jake opened his mouth and grazed his teeth along it. If Van was aroused before, he’s desperate now, and the thought jars him back to half-sanity. Any second now, he thinks. Any second now Jake would do what he always does-laugh it off and waltz away and start talking about some hot chick working as an extra this week, or worse, some hot guy. Oh god, don’t, Van thinks desperately. Don’t…
Jake pulls away suddenly but instead of running off, he just moves his hands down to Van’s waist and tugs him toward him again, repositioning his mouth to Van’s temple and breathing hard against him. “Van… don’t you think…”
Van can’t help himself. He has to make Jake stop talking, before he runs away, so he reaches up and runs his tongue along the curve of Jake’s ear, kissing it gently. Jake makes a small sound against his neck and suddenly he’s kissing Van hard, somehow nothing at all like Noah, somehow something all new and thrilling and terrifying at once. Van’s certain he’s going to pass out any second and all he can think is techno techno techno and heat and Jake kissing him for real.
And then they’re being shoved apart by a wayward dancer, drunk and falling all over herself with hysterical laughter at her clumsiness. “Shit! Sorry guys!” She stumbles away and Jake is reaching for Van’s hand.
“Don’t,” Van gasps, taking a step back and hitting a wall. “Stop. What are you doing?” He doesn’t know what he’s saying. “Don’t… don’t fuck around with me, Jake.”
Jake shakes his head in disbelief, half his mouth curling up into a confused smile. “I’m-I’m not-” He steps in to Van again and presses his mouth back to his neck. “I’m not…”
Van swallows hard and allows himself to indulge in the feeling of Jake’s lips on that spot for a second more, and then he feels Jake smiling again. Jesus, how can he be laughing at this? Van summons his willpower and shoves a hand against Jake’s chest to back him up. “Don’t do that,” he manages to spit out. He ducks under Jake’s arm and takes off. He needs his coat. He needs to go. His neck is still burning.
He’s in the coatroom searching desperately for his jacket, tossing random coats and umbrellas on the floor, when Jake comes up behind him. “Van, what the hell, I-”
“Okay, don’t,” Van says, spinning around and holding up a hand. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re an obnoxious flirt when you’re drunk, and you don’t get to screw anything that moves just because you’re… you’re…”
Jake’s confused expression transforms into anger. “Christ, Van, all I did was-”
“Yeah, I know what you did,” Van says, trying to back away from Jake. He trips over a coat and catches himself on the wall. “What you always do. Whisper in my ear, share a little joke with me. Touch me just long enough on my leg to be sure I’m horny as hell. And then run the fuck away. Right?”
Jake’s mouth has fallen open in shock, but he snaps it shut and narrows his eyes for a second, watching Van clutch at the wall.
“Well… right?” Van tries to catch his breath. Jake shakes his head just slightly and suddenly that infuriating smirk is back. Van feels a mixture of irritation and embarrassment wash over himself. Here he is again, guts on the floor, and Jake thinks the whole thing is oh-so-funny. Before he can open his mouth to speak again, Jake charges forward and traps him. He shoves Van roughly against the wall and captures his mouth with his own. Van’s protest dies in his throat.
His last thought is that he is the most pathetically whipped asshole in New York City.
Jake is still smiling as he kisses him, running his hands through Van’s hair and pressing his thigh between Van’s legs to feel him, all of him, reacting to his touch. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Van knows he should be embarrassed at the instant, schoolboy-like arousal Jake evokes in him, but all he’s capable of right now is feeling, feeling, feeling Jake’s body touching him everywhere, his hands in his hair and then on his arms and then reaching back and pulling his shirt up slightly to graze his skin… Jake’s tongue on his mouth and then back at his throat and licking slightly up the exposed chest at his open collar… his breath hot, everywhere… and all Van can do is hold on for dear life.
He doesn’t know if Jake has been torturing him this way for twenty seconds or twenty minutes when Jake finally speaks against his neck. “See,” he whispers, his voice ragged, “Not running.”
“No,” Van mumbles, raising his eyes to the ceiling as if in thanks. “Not this time.”
“God, you say I’m serious,” Jake teases, turning his attention to Van’s ear. “Relax, will you?”
“Relax,” Van repeats dumbly, closing his eyes. “Your tongue is in my ear, and you’re telling me to relax. How the hell did we… end up… and this is the first… you’ve never…” He wants to tell him how insane this seems when Jake’s never indicated that he wanted anything more than to tease Van to the brink of frustration. But with the shivers moving up and down his spine thanks to the thorough treatment Jake is giving his ear, he can’t think.
Jake laughs again. “I’ve been with guys before, you know that,” he says softly. “Makes no difference to me.” The words are barely out of his mouth when Van bristles and opens his eyes slowly.
He lifts his arm and presses it across Jake’s chest, pushing him slowly away. “Makes no difference?”
Jake freezes, realizing what he’s just said. “Come on, you know what I meant.”
“No,” Van says, feeling his heart constrict a little. “I don’t. I should relax because this is just… nothing? You can fuck around with me like I’m one of the closeted guys at a frat party you fool around with in the dark and it won’t mean anything?”
Jake exhales loudly and pushes Van’s arm back against the wall. “No. God! I didn’t say that; you said that. Quit over-analyzing and just…” He presses a kiss to Van’s mouth. “I’m just doing what feels right. You don’t think it feels…?” He blows softly on Van’s ear, kisses his jaw softly. His hand drifts toward Van’s belt buckle.
Van groans in frustration. He summons his willpower and pushes Jake off of him. “Yeah. Yeah it feels, all right. But I’m not gonna be that guy for you, Jake.” He shakes his head, trying to think. “I know you usually get what you want, and god knows I’d love to be the guy who gives it to you, but I’m not letting you fuck me just because you had a whim.”
“A whim?! Jesus, Van, if that’s what-”
Van forces himself to walk out of the coatroom. Forget the jacket. He just has to go. He’s pretty sure that Jake’s just as turned on as he is, and if he gives in for even a second more, he knows they’ll be back at his place within twenty minutes, ripping off clothes and-
Van shakes his head. Don’t. Don’t even think it. That was everything and nothing he wanted. He was in love with Jake, not desperate for a night of meaningless sex.
David the bartender catches his eye as he brushes by the bar. Van ignores him, just heads for the door. He walks home in the rain. Perfect. A ready-made cold shower.
It’s the longest night of his miserable fucking life.
-xxx-
When he opens his eyes to morning light, finally, Van lies in bed for an hour rehearsing the speech he’s composed. It’s an apology, really, for acting the drama queen. He’ll tell Jake to forget everything. He’ll go back to his stupid, unrequited longing and he’ll let Jake turn him on and off and he’ll play his boyfriend on their show and everything will be exactly like it was. Only this time, he won’t give in to any fantastic groping sessions in coatrooms or otherwise. This time, he’s an all-or-nothing package.
He showers and dresses and goes down to the corner market, where he buys a box of double chocolate muffins, Jake’s favorite. He takes the subway over to Jake’s neighborhood and practices the speech, over and over. He’s used to memorizing lines. It’ll be easy. Everything will go back to the way it was, he reasons. So long as they haven’t ruined everything already. He climbs the stairs to Jake’s walk-up.
Van takes a breath, rubs the back of his neck for a moment, and knocks on Jake’s door.
It takes him a moment to recognize the person who answers. They stare at each other for a moment. “David,” Van finally says. David’s tugging a sweatshirt over his mussed hair. He’s only wearing one shoe. Van looks him up and down. “What… what are you doing here?”
The question is so ridiculous that for a moment David just looks at him with pity. “You want me to spell it out for you?” He crosses his arms.
Van peers over David’s shoulder for a moment, but there’s no sign of Jake in the living room. His chest hurts suddenly and he clutches the box of muffins to his chest. “Right,” he says. He turns and heads for the stairs, then backtracks and shoves the muffins into David’s arms. “Here.” His throat is tight. He pauses for a minute. “So… fuck.” He turns and heads for the stairs.
Halfway down the block, he thinks for sure he’s going to throw up, and he pauses at a trash can on the curb to catch his breath.
“Van!”
He lifts his eyes to see Jake running down the sidewalk, his button-down shirt open to reveal his bare torso, tripping over himself as he tries to tug a sneaker over his heel. Van would laugh if the sight of Jake half-dressed didn’t make him a little nauseous and lovesick at the same time.
“Van!” Jake finally gives up on the shoe. He throws it behind him and runs full-speed the rest of the way. He grabs Van’s arm and doubles over, trying to catch his breath.
“Jesus, you are out of shape,” Van says stupidly. He’s frozen for a moment, until he’s suddenly very aware of Jake’s long fingers wrapped around his elbow and pulls away. He’s only gone a few steps when Jake grabs him by the shoulder.
“Van,” he says, still breathing hard. “Nothing happened.”
“You’re damn right nothing happened,” Van says. “Thank god. But looks like you got what you wanted after all, a meaningless fuck, so it all works out.” He knows he sounds like a bitchy fifteen-year-old, but his voice is dangerously close to cracking and he’ll say anything to stop his mind from catching up with his heart.
A flash of hurt crosses Jake’s face. “Not us. I meant-nothing happened with that guy. That bartender. Nothing, Van. I swear.”
Van looks down at Jake’s open shirt and his one bare foot. “Uh-huh,” he says.
Jake rolls his eyes with frustration. “Will you give me a break? I was getting out of the shower when you showed up. Van.” He reaches for Van’s hand, then wraps both his hands around Van’s. His eyes meet Van’s tentatively. “Van… I swear. I was messed up last night. About us. I just-what happened; it hit me like a ton of bricks, okay? I know I’ve treated you like shit. Everything you said, it was right on. And then you walked out and I should have gone after you, but…” He stops for a moment, still breathing hard. “I got drunk instead. Okay? I fucking… had about fifteen more drinks because I was so messed up and then that guy David offered to take me home and yeah, he tried something, yes, but I said no. I just let him sleep on my couch. Really. And I just told him he better be out in the next three minutes.”
Jake looks so earnest, clutching his hand and searching Van’s eyes, that Van only hesitates for a minute before he pats Jake’s hand. “Okay.”
“Okay? You believe me?”
“Sure.” Van sighs. He drops Jake’s hand. “So, I’m just gonna go.” He turns and begins walking down the sidewalk again.
“Van.” Jake’s voice stops him. “Van, why did you come here?”
Van stops. “Look,” he says, his back still turned. “Let’s just forget everything. Okay? We’re good.”
He hears Jake sigh behind him. “Did you sleep last night?” Van doesn’t say anything for a moment, just watches an ant crawling on the sidewalk. “I mean, I guess I slept it off for awhile, but… I… Van, will you look at me?” When Van doesn’t respond, he feels Jake step up behind him. “Look,” Jake says softly at his back, “I woke up knowing I made the biggest mistake of my life last night. Not-not the part where I kissed you. The part where I made you feel like it didn’t mean anything to me. Like you were just any random person and not my best friend in the world and the person who makes me better every day and the person I… you know… God, Van, you’re not a whim, you’re not…”
Van is sure he’s probably just hallucinating this entire scene, but he can’t stop the smile that’s creeping up on his face anyway. Behind him, Jake’s fidgeting and sighing, and Van lets out a spontaneous snort of laughter. “Jake,” he says, and he knows it’s right. “I’m in love with you. I’m in love with you whether you want to be my friend or my acting partner or just some guy you made out with at a seedy club one night. Whatever. I’m fucking… yours.”
Suddenly Jake’s hands are on his shoulders and he’s pressing a kiss into the nape of Van’s neck. “You’re mine,” he repeats, resting his forehead on the back of Van’s collar.
And somehow a moment later they’re facing each other and Van’s hands have slipped around Jake’s sides and under the open shirt and Jake is kissing him again. And again. And again.
“I’m never going to another one of your stupid bars again,” Van finally says between kisses. A few passers-by on the sidewalk are staring as they walk around them, but he doesn’t care. This is New York, he wants to shout at them. Get over it.
“Oh come on,” Jake protests. He kisses Van’s temple. “I know of one that has a really excellent coatroom. Trust me.”
Van laughs and kisses him back, relishing the feel of being Van, not Luke, and getting to kiss Jake anyway. He takes Jake’s hand from around his neck and laces their fingers together. “Come on,” he says. “Let’s go find your shoe.”
~