The Impression

Chris is plastered to Joey’s back, and it’s going to suck when they go outside because it’s twenty degrees to the club’s ninety. He’s been hard longer than he can remember, arms winding around Joey’s middle and his dick fitting so perfectly in the cleft of Joey’s ass; his tongue swipes along the hairline of Joey’s neck, collecting the salt there, and he can tell Joey likes that by the fingernails he rakes up Chris’s arms.

Joey turns around, clamping firm hands onto Chris’s waist and pulling him close so their cocks grind together through the tight fabric of their jeans. Chris is suddenly glad that Joey dressed him this evening, leaving black leather and mesh that Chris would never have agreed to wear if he didn’t know sex would be involved.

Joey pulls him in close, and Chris thinks he’s going to be kissed and tilts his head accordingly, but Joey just rubs at his face with his own, their facial hair scratching at each other while Joey’s fingers slip past the waistband of Chris’s pants.

Chris is *so* glad he lost the coin toss tonight.

They’re dancing past other couples who are paying them not the slightest bit of attention, caught up in grinding and groping and other g-words that end in -ing, and suddenly there’s wall. Wall that Chris is shoved up against, with Joey’s strong thigh between his legs lifting him just off the ground, not so much that it’s painful–more pleasantly uncomfortable.

This time Joey kisses him, his tongue shoving roughly through Chris’s teeth, licking the roof of his mouth and grabbing his shirt in concentrated fistfuls, tugging Chris down so that he loses what little breath he has, brooking no argument–not that Chris had any, because any train of thought he might once have had is now wrecked on the tracks of JoeyJoeyJoey and moremoremore.

When Joey finally lets him breathe, pulling back with all his intense focus directed at Chris’s well-bitten bottom lip, Chris re-thinks what just went through his mind and snorts. Which might have been the wrong idea, because Joey gets distracted from his concentration, which makes his eyes narrow in a way that induces wriggling of the more-pressure-please kind.

Joey’s hands leave his shirt, and Chris doesn’t like that, but it’s okay because they slide down Chris’s sides to rest on his thighs. Before he quite realises what’s happening, Joey has used the wall and his own strength to wrest Chris’s legs around his waist, locking them behind his back and growling a “Stay put” that Chris really thought wasn’t his range.

Chris’s fingers thread through Joey’s hair, and he needs to remember to tell Joe to cut it, because it’s dangerously close to mullet-ness. It’s useful right now, though, because when Joey shifts, Chris’s fingers tighten, and that elicits a shudder from Joey he likes so much that he does it again.

Joey’s mouth clamps on his neck, and Chris arches forward, popping things in his spine that have probably never gotten the attention they deserved until now, and his boots dig into Joey’s ass, and he thinks any self-esteem issues he might have had about his size and/or weight are *so* gone now, because Joey has him up against a *wall* and they’re having sex in a club, and he feels fucking great. One of Joey’s hands has managed to push its way down Chris’s pants to knead a fistful of Chris’s ass, which Chris is totally in favour of. He communicates this to Joey through a drawn-out groan that starts deep in his chest and shudders all the way down his body until he’s pushing hard at Joey, jerking his hips in just the right way that send Joey over the edge, so that Chris is body-checked against the wall, Joey’s teeth still sunk into his neck, his body used as a buffer for everything Joey’s feeling.

Joey’s mouth finally disengages from his neck, and he breathes heavily against Chris’s skin, hot air against burning flesh, and Chris cannot fucking *wait* to see the mark that will leave. When Joey pulls back, Chris slides down the wall the few inches to the floor, slumping heavily. He reaches down to adjust himself, but Joey bats his hand away and pins him with a glare.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

Chris tries and fails to hide his grin, and instead tries for cocky. “I know.”

Joey’s serious, pointed expression transforms itself into something that affects Chris far more deeply: a slow, careful smile, showing just the hint of teeth that adds a predatory edge to his expression. Chris shudders and his eyes close for a bare second; he thinks that coin toss was rigged.

“We’re going home now. And if you even think of all the things I’m going to do to you when we get there, I’ll know. If your breath stutters, I’ll know. If you take your eyes off me, everything’s off.”

Chris nods.

Joey’s hand reaches out to swipe across Chris’s eyebrow, his fingers skimming down Chris’s cheek. “Let’s go home.”