Jack spends most of the next morning agonising over when - and whether - to text Pitch. Is it too early? Should he leave it a few days? Normally Jack's relationships are pretty easygoing, but nothing about Pitch suggests 'relaxed' to him. It makes him worried about doing something wrong, moving too soon and scaring him off. Can he even scare him off, or was he only interested in a one-night stand in the first place?
If he only wanted a damn one night stand he could at least have fucked me, Jack thinks and then sighs. Maybe he should go out. Get coffee, or go wander around Central Park.
Or maybe he should text Pitch.
Grumbling at himself and his stupid circular thoughts, he picks up his phone, starts a message and then puts his phone down again.
"You're pathetic," he tells himself, and pushes himself up from his bed, grabs a hoodie and heads out.
He starts wandering the streets with no real direction in mind. Last night was good. Really good. But Pitch is- Jack's brain comes up against a roadblock. What is Pitch? Controlled. Aloof. Intense.
He's a fucking pricktease is what he is.
That last thing - the bit about asking Jack to hold on, to not make himself come until Pitch gave him permission…
Jesus, that was hot. Just thinking about the way that Pitch looked at him while giving that command is enough to get his cock interested. Could he wait? If that's something Pitch is really into - could Jack wait, do what Pitch asked? Do anything Pitch asked? Licking his lips, Jack shoves his hands in his hoodie pocket. His rapidly hardening cock answers that question; or at least, he'd sure as hell give it a try. He's done some kinky stuff. One boyfriend liked to tie him up. Not boyfriend really. A guy he slept with occasionally. But he didn't have that same intensity as Pitch, wasn't so in control and utterly confident, and that's what Jack found so damn hot.
His phone buzzes, jerking him out of his thoughts. A text, from Pitch.
If you're free this afternoon I want to see you.
Well that's to the point. Jack reads it and rereads it, trying to see if there's anything between the lines that he should be reading, but there's not really anything else toread.
Sure, I'm free whenever. Where do you want to meet?
Almost immediately, an answer:
Mason's coffee near the Museum of Natural History. 3pm.
It's 2:15 now, and Jack's within walking distance. A coffee shop though - bit of a difference from last night.
Sure, see you there, Jack sends, and then chews his lip. On the one hand, Pitch wants to see him again. And he responded so quickly, that's got to mean something, right? On the other, it's not exactly a romantic date. Those texts weren't romantic either, or hot, or even teasing. They're just-
You're overthinking things,Jack tells himself, and that always gets him in trouble. Fishing his earbuds out of his pocket, he puts on a podcast to try and distract himself.
When he gets to Mason's he breathes in deeply, lets it out slowly.
You've only had one date with this guy. The fact that he paid for it kind of makes things weird though. Fuck Ben and his ridiculous fundraiser. If it wasn't for him, Jack wouldn't be nearly as nervous out by all of this.
Yes, you would, he thinks. He's nervous because Pitch does strange things to him, makes him feel all pliant and submissive, and like he wants to do any thing he asks. Besides, if it wasn't for that fundraiser he probably would never have met Pitch in the first place.
Stepping inside he glances around. No Pitch yet. It's exactly the kind of place he'd imagine Pitch going to, though. Tidy, straight lines, Escher on the walls. Strictly monochrome, effortlessly elegant and chic. The menu is straightforward: coffee or tea. Those are literally the only choices. No frothy milk or syrups and definitely no frozen semi-milkshake monstrosities. On the counter there's a minimalist menu describing the three kinds of roasts and the five blends of tea, and Jack frowns as he looks at it, having little idea what any of them are talking about. It's wine-bottle-label nonsense, so he orders a medium roast and dumps cream in it before going to a table in the corner.
While he's waiting, he glances around the room at the other people. There's a few older guys sat together, both of them staring at their phones. There's a red-haired woman staring out of the window, and Jack wonders who she's looking for. Is she waiting for someone or just people watching? Concentrating on these other people gives him a chance to stop worrying about himself, so he invents back stories for them.
She's just moved to the city, he decides. She doesn't really know anyone yet, but she's okay with that. She wants to see where she fits into New York first, see how she likes the taste and the tune of it before she really builds a life here.
The guys are old friends. Went to school together, meet up only a few times a year but whenever they do they fit back into their easy friendship without even the slightest bit of effort from either of them. One looks up from his phone and smiles at the other - they start a quiet conversation and Jack feels bad for trying to listen in.
But then the door opens and all thoughts of anyone else are dashed from Jack's mind.
It's Pitch, wearing a military-style black coat with gold buttons, tight black jeans and scuffed Docs. His hair is tousled and windswept and come on, seriously, how is Jack supposed to deal with this?
He spies Jack and comes over, resting a long-fingered hand on the back of the chair opposite. Jack stares at his nails for a moment, not quite able to meet his eyes just yet, and notices that he needs a manicure.
"Hope you weren't waiting long," Pitch says, and Jack forces himself to look up. He's less intense in the daytime, Jack thinks vaguely and offers Pitch a smile.
"Not at all."
Once he's gotten himself a drink, Pitch sits opposite Jack and gazes at him for a long moment. Jack wonders what he's looking for and shifts a little in his chair.
"Before we go any further, we need to talk," Pitch starts. "About what I want from you."
"You made that pretty clear last night."
Pitch holds his gaze for a long moment and then cocks his head slightly. "Yes. A little too clear. It was - inappropriate."
"I don't know about that. For the record, though, I didn't wait. And I'm glad I didn't because it was fantastic," Jack says with another grin and Pitch breathes in sharply.
"I'm sure it was. But - about what I said-" Pitch stops himself and wraps both hands around his coffee cup, looking over at Jack with a serious expression. "No. Before that I want to talk about Benard."
"Really? Seriously? Because I can think of a whole bunch of more interesting things to talk about."
"As can I, but this is important. When we met on the balcony, I wanted you." The forthrightness takes Jack by surprise, and he blinks. "However, I wouldn't have acted on that without Benard's little auction."
"Why?"
"Because of how young you are. I don't make a habit of dating boys half my age."
"Maybe you should make a habit of dating one in particular," Jack suggests and points at himself. It coaxes a smile from Pitch, and he takes a sip of his coffee to hide it.
"I bought that date at the auction because I could see how uncomfortable you were. I thought that we had a connection on the balcony and that perhaps you wouldn't mind a date with me."
"I definitely didn't mind it. There was chemistry, fireworks, the whole thing."
"I just wanted to be clear, to draw a line in the sand. Whatever happens from here on in has nothing to do with that. No monetary dealings beyond perhaps paying for dinner. Strictly personal from now on."
"Sounds good," Jack says, draining the last of his coffee and leaning forward. This talking is making him nervous; he's always afraid he'll say something wrong, like he always seems to. "So - back to your place?"
Another smile from Pitch. It's like a game - how many times can Jack get Pitch to smile against his will? "Not quite. The other thing that I wanted to talk about are my proclivities."
Jack blinks. "Your what?"
"When it comes to sex, I am not what you might call vanilla."
"Yeah, I got that," Jack says, thinking back to the night before. "You're kinky."
Pitch's eyebrow hitches. "Indeed I am." He taps his coffee cup. "Are you?"
"Uh. I - haven't had a huge amount of experience. I mean – I kinda like being tied up-" Jack stops there because Jesus Christ, Pitch's eyes just flared like a supernova. He reaches across the table to circle Jack's wrist with thumb and forefinger, just as he did last night, and suddenly Jack's mouth is dry. "And I, uh. Blindfolds. I like it a bit rough." Oh god, the way Pitch is looking at him, how is he supposed to deal with that? They're not even in a bar where they might have the excuse of being drunk, but if Pitch leapt over the table and pinned Jack to the floor - which it looks like he wants to - Jack would have absolutely no problem with that. He doesn't even think he'd mind the audience.
"Do you," Pitch says, his voice smooth and deep, ever-so-slightly different than his normal voice.
"Uh. Yeah. Like I said. Not much experience. But - I'd like more. And you'd like to give it to me, right?"
"Right," Pitch says, his thumb moving in tiny circles over the inside of Jack's wrist. It makes his breath hitch - such a tiny thing, but damn if it doesn't feel good. And if that feels good.
"So - you're going to give it to me, right?"
Pitch stares at him for another long moment and then he sits back, folding his arms. Jack has to bite down on a disappointed groan when Pitch is no longer touching him.
"Yes," he says. "I am."
A/N: Thank you so much for the favs, follows and comments! You guys are amazing. I'm so happy you're enjoying this! Sorry this is a few days late, I'll try and get back onto the Friday update schedule next week.