They pull up at some fancy Thai place that Jack's never been to. It's understated inside and out, but Jack's not paying much attention to interior decorating. His mind is in overdrive, trying to decide on what to say that won't make him sound like a blithering idiot. Luckily his mouth is ignoring his brain, running on small talk with just a hint of flirtatiousness.

The maître d' leads them to seats near the window, looking out over the city. On a clear night it would be a gorgeous view of Manhattan, but tonight the fog is in the way. Not that it matters; Jack's attention is focused solely on Pitch.

As they talk, Jack's brain slows its frantic panic and he starts to actually relax instead of faking it. Even though Pitch is haughty and maybe even arrogant, his sharp humour makes Jack smile and his liquid movements make Jack-

Well, interested. Very interested.

At one point Jack's cuff rides up as he reaches for his glass, and Pitch's eyes zero in on the little sliver of revealed wrist. He reaches over and gently runs a finger over Jack's inner wrist. His brain instantly goes offline and his dick suddenly wants to be the centre of attention.

"A tattoo?" Pitch asks, his finger still stroking across Jack's sensitive skin, back and forth, back and forth.

It takes a few attempts before Jack manages to speak. "Uh huh," he says, and grins in an attempt to hide his lack of higher brain function.

"What is it?"

Jack's grin widens. "Why don't you take me home and find out?"

With a chuckle, Pitch circles Jack's wrist with his thumb and forefinger, holding tight, and Jack's brain gives up completely. It feels - claiming. Possessive. Like a cuff that claims him as Pitch's, and he likes that more than he would ever have thought possible. It's only for a handful of seconds and then Pitch pulls away, sits back and sips his wine.

"Not tonight," he says, and Jack wants to scream at him.

"Oh, come on. You still worried about the whole payment thing? Don't. This is off the books. Something we both want."

"If it's something we both want then it's something we can both wait for," Pitch says.

"I don't know about that," Jack mutters. He tells himself that if there's another date, next time he's going to be the one being a pricktease, though he knows that wouldn't pan out. He wouldn't say no to anything. If Pitch asked him he'd get under the table right now and suck him off.

Jack licks his lips. Now there's an idea.

When the meal's over, Pitch pays, and as they head back to the car Jack tries to think of a way to change Pitch's mind. Stripping might work, he thinks, and he's seriously considering it as they get into the limo. Pitch tells the driver to take Jack home, and Jack's about to argue when Pitch grabs the front of his jacket and pulls him close, kisses him hard. It's unexpected, but Jack will definitely take it. Pitch's kiss is hot and fierce; he's totally in control and Jack finds he wants him to be, and not just because Pitch is a damn good kisser. He just - responds to Pitch, finds himself whimpering and pliant. He doesn't bother trying to think of why that is; he just goes with it, letting Pitch push him down onto the seat and climb on top of him, throwing his leg over Jack's hips so that he's straddling him.

Oh god, Jack thinks. Pitch's weight on top of him makes him want - everything - and he presses his hips up, grinding.

"No," Pitch whispers, biting Jack's bottom lip and making him whine. "I'm in control."

You wish, Jack thinks.

"Uh huh," Jack says.

Pitch smirks at him before leaning in to bite his lip again. The little flashes of pain make Jack gasp and he wants more. More pain, more pleasure, just -more.

Pitch doesn't let him have it. He pushes himself up on his elbow and grins at Jack, but before Jack can catch up with what the hell is happening, his hand are under Jack's shirt, teasing his nipples. Jack wants to swear but his throat seizes up and all he can manage is another strangled moan, all he can feel is how hot Pitch's hands are, how good it feels having his nipples squeezed and teased, and how much he likes Pitch looking down at him like that, all of his concentration on Jack, fierce and sharp and burning hot.

Then they're kissing again, Pitch's nails scraping down Jack's sides, his tongue in his mouth, and Jack's brain is reeling, he's whimpering and he feels like he's melting.

And then Pitch pulls back, sits up, straightens his shirt.

Jack stares up at him.

"You're home," Pitch tells him, and Jack continues to stare.

"But-" It's still hard to think so his gestures at his cock, tenting the fabric of his trousers.

"I know," Pitch says, and his predatory grin makes Jack swallow.

"But-" Jack casts about for something to follow that up with. "Come on!"

The grin widens. "Next time," Pitch says, "I am going to take you up to my room, get you down on your knees and make you suck my cock. Or perhaps I will bend you over the back of my sofa and spank that pretty little arse of yours. Perhaps I'll just get you on all fours and fuck you until you scream. I haven't decided yet."

"Wh- why not now?"

"Partly because you were forced into this-"

"No, I want this, I-"

"And partly because I want to tease you."

"This is more than fucking teasing," Jack growls, pushing himself up into sitting and groaning as his cock rubs against the material of his trousers. "You do - that and then you – you stop-"

"I like to be in control, Jack," Pitch says, his smile sharp as a crescent moon. "I like to remind people of that. What I would really like is for you to go up to your room and not touch yourself. I'd like for you to save that for me. Do you think you can do that?"

Jack blinks. For Pitch to tell him when he can come - give him permission - that's a very nice idea. But Jack knows that there's not way he'll be able to do it. If Pitch isn't going to make him come then he's going to do it himself or he's going to explode.

"No." Jack glances out of the window and realises that they're stopped outside his building and wonders when that happened.

"A shame. But perhaps we can work on that later. I could leave you tied up. Tease you. Get you hard but not let you come. Keep you there like a good boy - maybe if you beg hard enough, I'll bring you off."

"I'll beg right now."

"No," Pitch says, and reaches across Jack to open the door. "I'll text you tomorrow. And do try to control yourself. Try to be a good boy."

He steals one last kiss and then pulls back, smirking. Deciding that Pitch is in fact a stubborn asshole and isn't going to give Jack what he wants, he glares at him and pushes himself out of the car. He walks past the doorman, trying ineffectually to hide his hard-on with his jacket, and goes up to his room.

For a moment he thinks about what Pitch said, about waiting, but there's no way in hell that's going to happen. He doesn't even bother stripping. Instead he throws himself onto the bed and pulls his cock out. It's already slick, smothered in pre-come, and he strokes himself, thinking of Pitch pressing him down like that, of his fingers encircling his wrists-

He yelps in surprise as he comes, spurting over his shirt. His whole body tenses up and his thighs shake, and he feels like the breath's been punched out of him. He gasps, shaking, still stroking his cock, milking every last drop from it. That was - intense. Really fucking intense. Jack stares down at his shirt, covered in come, and gives an exhausted grin.

"Holy shit," he says. That was one of the best orgasms he's ever had. It was - It was incredible. He fishes around for more words to describe it and gives up. His brain is officially not working. He considers going to get a shower, but the instant he closes his eyes, he's out for the count.