The thing about Jackie-Boy was his lips.

That luscious mouth, those lips, that you'd want to get kissed by, again and again, 'til you were bruised.

Dwight knew he shouldn't have been thinking those things about that asshole, but god, the dirty thoughts kept coming, as much as he tried to keep them at bay.

And here he was, standing in front of the guy, in this alleyway, on this night, outside of the bar, eyes quiet, mind screaming at him to grab the bastard and devour him alive.

Jackie-Boy glared at him, annoyed, behind the sheet of black hair over his eyes, "—I asked you what the fuck you're doing here asshole. Get lost."

Dwight answered quietly, fixing the collar of his jacket, "It's none of your business Jackie-Boy. It wasn't my plan to bump into your ugly mug again. And you better do what I said about leavin' Shellie be, or kickin' your sorry ass'll be my business."

Jackie-Boy strode closer to Dwight, hand hovering over his gun at his pocket, "You feel like dancing, asshole? I got my troops right around the corner back there 'case you feel like getting' all lively on me again."

Dwight's senses were on fire and he began to sweat slightly – this was way too close. He could almost feel the heat of Jackie-Boy's breath as he spoke. I must be losing my mind – oh fuck it already.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Dwight lashed out, grabbed Jackie-Boy's gun out of his pocket, and threw it across the alley. And before Jackie-Boy could utter a sound, Dwight had him against the cold brick wall, kissing him hard, trapping his arms at his sides.

Jackie-Boy's grunt of surprise suddenly turned into a stifled moan, as Dwight's tongue attacked his own. Dwight bit and licked those lips over and over, and he felt Jackie-Boy melting into him and he let Jackie-Boy's arms go. They broke off finally, gasping for air, staring at each other.

Then Jackie-Boy was at Dwight's pants, tearing at the button and zipper, and Dwight was at Jackie-Boy's neck, leaving trails of hot, wet kisses. He smelled of booze, cigarettes, and cologne. Delicious.

Jackie-Boy uttered a ragged whisper, his expression pained and focused on Dwight's pants, as Dwight ravaged his neck, "Fuckin' insane…damn. "

I know. I like it. God, yes –

Suddenly a loud voice came from the other end of the alley.

"Hey Jack! 'That you?"

Jackie-Boy dark eyes grew wide, and he broke away, "Fuck." He fixed his ruffled clothes quickly, "Y-yeah! It's me – Jesus Christ – I'm comin' just hold on damnit –"

Dwight quickly hugged the wall, putting himself more into shadow.

The troops. Damn.

Jackie-Boy looked back at Dwight, his eyes smoldering, with unquenched lust or seething anger, Dwight couldn't tell for sure.

Jackie-Boy straightened himself up, pulled out another cig, and lit it. After a second, his voice tense, he spoke,

"See you 'round."

He strode off and Dwight slipped back around the entrance of the alley, and onto the streets, his hands in his pockets.

A burning hot shower, a few shots of whatever was the strongest of what he had lying around, and just maybe he'd be able to get that asshole out of his mind.

For another few hours, anyway…