armartello: (Default)

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Jazz groaned into his phone, adjusting his tie as he stared at himself in the mirror. “Why the fuck do I need to hire a date?”


“I’m sorry, love,” Savin said, his tone apologetic. “My parents need me in the Empire right now, I can’t just -- leave ‘Tousan and ‘Kaasan to deal with this alone.”

 

“No, no, it’s fine, I just --” Jazz sighed and switched hands, lifting his phone to his right ear now and moving away from his mirror. He moved to the bed, where he had his jacket draped on top of it. “Are you sure you’re really okay with this? I mean -- I’ve looked into the whole -- ‘Sidearm’ thing here and it sounds like they’re, uh, full-service, and…”

 

“Jazz, you’re poly,” Savin said, and Jazz could almost hear the shrug of his shoulders. “I mean, I know you really aren’t seeing anyone else at the moment, but -- you can hire someone to pretend to be your date for the next few weeks and not sleep with them too, you know. If you don’t want to.”

 

“But what if I want to?” Not that he was sure he could even sleep with a Sidearm. He still wasn’t a hundred percent certain that they slept with you for pay -- or if that cost extra, or -- damnit, why couldn’t he just get a date the normal way? Except in Cliffton, homosexuality wasn’t exactly smiled upon, and while he’d had several people approach him expressing interest, the fact that he was married scared a lot of them away.

 

“Then ask me if you can, like you normally would?” Savin suggested, as if it were the simplest answer in the world. “I don’t get why you’re making such a big deal out of this, it’s just a few weeks and I should be back in Cliffton with you, okay?”

 

“What if you’re in the Empire longer than that?” Jazz asked, trying to keep his despair at the very idea from edging into his voice. “Savin, we’ve never been apart this long, I don’t -- I don’t know, it feels almost wrong to do this…”

 

“Then don’t hire a date?” Savin said, his tone now carrying an edge of annoyance. “Look, I know appearances are important to you and that I was supposed to be meeting President Piero --”

 

“Piere.”

 

“Whatever,” Savin said, obviously exasperated now. “Just -- if you hire someone to be your ‘Sidearm’, aren’t they going to have to go with you to every official dinner or event you go to, anyway?” He cleared his throat. “They’re supposed to be pretending to be your husband, right? Not just some random date?”

 

“They don’t recognize same-sex marriages here, remember?” Jazz said, now studying himself once more in the mirror as he adjusted the fit of his jacket. “I mean, if you’d rather I just made the guy a permanent thing so you’d never have to go to one of these things, I’d understand, but -- tell me that now so I can know what to tell the person I’m hiring…”

 

“If you’re nervous about them being dicks about same-sex couples you could always hire a woman, mate,” Savin said -- and this time, Jazz could certainly hear the amusement in his tone. “Wouldn’t have to worry about wanting to sleep with them then, yeah?”

 

“I am not hiring a woman,” Jazz nearly growled into the phone. Savin laughed, and Jazz felt the tension ease a little from his shoulders. “Okay, so -- you’re really okay with this?”

 

“Yes, love,” Savin said. “I’m okay with this. Go and pick the hottest guy of the fucking group, if it’ll make you feel better about it. Just let me know if you wanna take advantage of all the services they provide, okay? But I gotta go -- gotta get ‘Kaasan ready for her appointment…”

 

“Okay, okay,” Jazz said, smiling into the phone. “Tell Nina I said hi and give her a hug for me, okay?” There was a pause, and then, “Oh, hey, Savin?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Tell Nina to give you a hug for me, too,” he said, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling his shoes closer to him. “I miss you. Please take care of yourself, okay?”

 

“Okay,” Savin said. His tone was soft. “I love you.”

 

“I love you, too.”

 

As Jazz hung up the phone, he placed it on the bed beside him and looked up at himself in the mirror once more. His hair was just about perfect, falling over one eye and not a single strand out of place as far as he could tell. Blue eyes blinked back at him, but he covered them up with his hands and groaned into his palms.

 

Escorts weren’t that big of a deal, in Cliffton. They were almost even considered a rite of passage -- a sign of prestige. But in an hour, he had to walk into a room and make a choice, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he was supposed to even be making that choice. Should he go for the hottest man in the room? Should he pick one that would compliment his appearance? One that looked like Savin? One that didn’t?

 

He was overthinking this. He knew he was. With a long, suffering sigh, Jazz pushed himself off the bed and glanced himself over in the mirror before finally, finally taking his first steps out of his bedroom. Picking someone pretty to be arm candy shouldn’t be all that difficult, and he just needed to stop thinking about it this hard. This was normal in Cliffton -- men did it all the time, according to the individuals he worked with at the embassy. He wouldn’t be doing anything all that unusual.

 

He just hoped there’d be a guy there that’d be to his liking, at the very least.

 

***

 

“I can’t do this,” Jazz murmured to himself, speaking to no one in particular. He wasn’t the only man present at the -- well, it was a pretend-gala. He was surrounded by Majerian military types, most of them blond-haired and blue eyed like himself, though their skin tones were much darker than his own. Golden and brown, making their lighter hair and eyes stand out. A few women were even scattered amongst the small crowd, which would make finding a male Sidearm that much more difficult, considering there were fewer of them than female ones.

 

If the Sidearms even picked their clients based on looks, he was never going to hold a candle to what was considered the golden standard in Majeria. He wasn’t at all built like any of the men and women in the military -- he was shorter than most of them, slimmer than them, and definitely not as well-muscled, though he’d retained a lot of his form from when he used to dance.

 

They were briefed on the selection process -- a dance (thank god, Jazz could at least do that part) where they would select a potential Sidearm, then dinner (he wasn’t sure of Majerian military dinner customs but he’d done his best researching them before this and hopefully he remembered them well enough) to see if he and his potential Sidearm would be a good fit for one another, then a more private (oh god, Jazz hoped they weren’t supposed to be that kind of private) thirty minutes where he and his potential Sidearm would go over the details of a potential contract.

 

He had to be professional. Everyone here carried a certain air with them; that this was a serious, almost sacramental process. So when he and the other men and women were guided into the first stage, it took everything in his power to keep his shoulders squared and his smile from looking less nervous than it actually was.

 

His eyes scanned the Sidearms, all impeccably dressed. The majority of them were obviously Majerian, most of them golden skinned and dark haired, unlike the Blondies he’d been trying to mingle with just moments before this. There were a few who were obviously Umani, their long limbs even darker skin tones almost exotic amongst the group of people that stood before him. And as he stood frozen in place, his -- he guessed he could call them competition -- were already making their selections, approaching the men and women they wished to take home with them.

 

How the hell was he supposed to make a choice, here? There were so many options -- even the women were beautiful, even if he wasn’t into them. And the few male Sidearms were already mingling with women, and the Majerian potential clients were already so much more relaxed than him. Maybe Savin was right, maybe he shouldn’t even bother with this -- it’s not like he needed to have a date, and --

 

“This your first time?”

 

Jazz almost yelped, thankfully squashing the sound deep in his throat as he looked towards the source of the question. His eyes widened, his whole back stiffening as he gave the Sidearm -- a male, very tall, very hot Sidearm -- a once over, his stomach twisting and trying to climb into his throat. “I -- no?” he managed, not at all sounding like his usual, poised self. “I mean, yes, it is, but --”

 

“Nervous?” the Sidearm asked, raising a well-groomed eyebrow. Jazz found himself having to resist the urge to give the young man -- he couldn’t be much older than eighteen -- another once over.

 

Jazz gave a weak laugh and rubbed the back of his neck, wishing his face didn’t feel so hot, all of a sudden. “Just a little bit,” he conceded, clearing his throat. He offered the Sidearm his hand. “My name’s Jazz -- and yours is…?”

 

“Devin,” Devin answered. He stared at Jazz’s hand for a moment before taking it in his. They shook hands briefly. Once finished, he folded his arms over his chest and studied Jazz, cocking his head to one side. “Not from Majeria, are you?”

 

Jazz shook his head. “I’m from -- I think you guys call it the Alban, here?” He sighed and licked his lips, glancing around the ballroom. “Though I guess that was kinda obvious…”

 

He was, after all, the only white person in the entire room. Even Devin, whose skin tone was lighter than most -- even the Majerians -- was a dark tan compared to Jazz. His eyes were a light amber in color and his hair was so dark it was almost black. His height and build were obviously not Majerian -- but he was too light-skinned to have been Umani, except…

 

“Kinda is, yeah.” ...his accent was definitely Umani, what with the way his words rolled together. He offered Jazz a quiet little smirk and glanced around the ballroom, placing his hands in his pockets. “Dance’s gonna start soon. Might wanna partner up.”

 

Jazz took that moment to realize just about every single potential client had already lined themselves up with a Sidearm except himself. He looked up at Devin and offered him his hand once more, this time with his palm up. “I’m a pretty good dancer, even if I’m nervous,” he said, offering Devin a small smile he prayed didn’t look all that desperate.

 

Devin raised an eyebrow again, but slipped his hand inside Jazz’s own and pulled him close, sliding an arm around Jazz’s waist. The sudden close proximity to him made Jazz’s head burn from the tips of his ears down the edges of his neck, his eyes growing wide as the music seemed to cue on with Devin’s movements. Still, Jazz managed to position his own arms correctly, realizing after a moment that Devin was somehow leading and he wasn’t.

 

“Never seen anyone turn that color before,” Devin said after a moment, a low chuckle rumbling through him. “Didn’t know it was possible…”

 

Jazz shot him a withering look, clearing his throat again and straightening his back. He tried not to focus on how Devin’s hand felt pressed against his back and how they had just enough distance between their bodies to be tasteful and professional. “Do you always treat potential clients this way?” he quipped, willing his blush to die away.

 

“Know what you’re even hiring me for?” Devin returned, a knowing smirk gracing his features. “Not being from here and all?”

 

“Sidearms provide a lot of -- different services,” Jazz said, wishing like all hell that his face would resume its normal temperature and color. Except he was now imagining what it’d be like to bed Devin, and he hoped his forming erection wouldn’t be noticeable. “I know everything I could be hiring you for. I just -- I have a husband.”

 

Devin blinked, and Jazz could’ve sworn he felt his fingers curl in a little on his back. “Don’t need me then, do you?” he asked, the two of them moving in time with the music much better than Jazz had expected to be. He supposed that’s why Devin opted to lead, other than for aesthetics.

 

“He’s back home,” Jazz said, turning his head to the side. He tried to ignore the ache in his chest. “His mother’s not doing so well, so he went back home to help his father out. I have a -- well, several -- important dinners coming up with the leaders of Cliffton and had already RSVP’d with a plus one, and since he’s not here...” Jazz shrugged, figuring the rest was pretty self-explanatory.

 

“He okay with you doing this?” Devin asked, his tone shifting somewhat.

 

Jazz nodded. “It was his idea, actually,” he said with a quiet laugh. “I mean, I don’t necessarily have permission to sleep with anyone, but -- he’s alright with me hiring someone to take his place at those dinners.”

 

Devin nodded, directing Jazz through unfamiliar movements. He’d never danced this particular style before, though he’d tried to study the various dance styles present in Majerian culture before today. Still, Jazz found himself growing easy with them, especially with Devin’s arm around his waist and acting like an anchor.

 

“Said you were from the Alban, right?” Devin asked after several minutes had passed.

 

“Yeah, I am,” Jazz said, smiling a little. “I’m an ambassador.”

 

“Kinda young, aren’t you?” Devin asked, raising an eyebrow. “Thought only old people did jobs like that…”

 

Jazz laughed, and out of the corner of his eye he swore he saw Devin blush a little. Cute. “I’m twenty-three,” he said, giving Devin a warm smile. “I’m not that young…”

 

“True. S’Ancient, compared to me,” Devin said, grinning.

 

Jazz gave him his best incredulous look, one brow lifting higher than the other. "Wait -- how old are you?" he asked, studying Devin's face. He didn't dare make the comment about how unprofessional it was for Devin to comment on Jazz's age that way -- but at the same time, the comment had helped Jazz to further relax in Devin’s arms. Maybe that had been the point -- Sidearms were supposed to help keep a client well-balanced. Or so he had read in his research...

 

"Nineteen," Devin answered, still smirking. He looked away from Jazz, his fingers sliding to Jazz’s hip. “Gonna be twenty soon, though…”

 

“Mm, I don’t know if I can hire a teenager…” Jazz teased, finding himself moving on autopilot as he stepped closer to Devin. He had to resist the urge to run his hand up Devin’s chest, along the inside crease of one of his lapels. He wasn’t sure what level of touch was appropriate when he hadn’t hired Devin yet. “When’s your birthday?”

 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Devin countered, just as the music came to an end. He put a respectable distance between him and Jazz once again, letting his hands fall away from Jazz. “Should go take a seat; dinner’s gonna start soon.”

 

Jazz found himself nodding, taking Devin’s arm as the two of them walked over to one of the lavishly decorated tables. None of the food had been brought out yet, but the rest of the potential clients and their potential dates for the evening were already settling into seats, each one apparently marked with a potential client’s name.

 

Devin’s brow furrowed as he looked at the name markers. “Don’t see your name here,” he said, glancing over at Jazz.

 

Jazz groaned, his name sticking out at him like a hitchhiker desperate for a ride. “That’s because they used my full name,” he said, gesturing to the placard and settling in his seat. Ambassador Jasper L. Callahan stared back at him, and he desperately wanted to remove it from the table but wasn’t sure if he could or not.

 

Devin just nodded, settling in the seat beside Jazz with a grace Jazz almost envied. Everything about the other man was downright perfect, from the shape of his nose to the dusting of freckles that decorated it and his cheeks. And he was doing an excellent job, helping Jazz to feel at ease in an unfamiliar environment -- in a similar way to how Savin would have done so, too.

 

“What’s the L stand for?” Devin asked after several long minutes, giving Jazz a little smile.

 

“Levi,” Jazz said, reaching for a glass to pour himself some water from the shared pitcher -- but Devin was faster and did it for him. “My whole name is Jasper Levi Callahan.”

 

Devin nodded again, handing Jazz the glass before pouring one for himself. “Devin Renton,” he said, keeping his voice low. “You ever been to a Majerian dinner before?”

 

Jazz shook his head. “I’m usually meeting with the President in the Umani Republic,” he said, matching Devin’s volume. He tried his best to ignore the placard, which was much fancier in appearance than it needed to be. “Anything unusual I should know about before they bring out the food?”

 

“Got a lot of fu -- a lot of knives,” Devin said, his face coloring a little. Jazz blinked, then grinned when he realized just what Devin had been about to say. He cleared his throat and did his best not to let his slip show in his expression. “Each one’s got a purpose; only use ‘em for certain things. Gonna be a lot of meat, too.” Devin’s nose wrinkled.

 

“I take it you don’t like meat,” Jazz said, chuckling. “And how many knives is a lot?”

 

“Ten. Don’t use forks or spoons, here,” Devin said. “Also, considered polite to talk with your mouth full.”

 

“Really?” Jazz’s eyebrows flew towards his hair in incredulity. “I hope I haven’t been accidentally rude at the dinners I’ve been to, so far,” he said, blanching at the thought. He’d been so careful to follow the different customs present in Cliffton, but Cliffton was comprised of two, very culturally varied states. He’d been doing his best to follow Umani practices; the Majerian ones were almost entirely foreign to him, if Devin’s brief instruction was anything to go by.

 

“Bet you haven’t been,” Devin said, giving Jazz a reassuring look. He placed his hand on Jazz’s arm. “Can tell you do your research.”

 

His hand was gone as quick as it had been there, the entire table’s food arriving with a flourish. Jazz’s eyes widened a little at the sight -- at how the ten(!) knives were all placed in front of each guest along with the food.

 

“Want anything in particular?” Devin asked. “Can get it for you.”

 

Jazz had a feeling the only correct response was to let Devin serve him his food. With a small smile, he nodded and murmured a light thank you before glancing at the steaks and other various foods piled in front of them.

 

The food itself was spectacular, but picking the right knife for everything -- well, he was glad he had Devin beside him to direct him to the right choice. Devin’s instruction was subtle and discreet and Jazz couldn’t have appreciated it more. He couldn’t have appreciated him more, considering just how much he’d done to soothe Jazz’s nerves, earlier that evening.

 

They made small talk, Devin opting to answer with nods or shakes of his head instead of speaking around his food, which really was considered normal and not disgusting amongst the Majerians present at the table. In between bites, he asked questions of his own, his amber eyes studying Jazz as he gave his answers.

 

“So, Devin,” Jazz said, folding his arms on top of the table and leaning on them. He kept his voice low and his eyes on Devin. “I guess this is an odd question, but -- are you gay, or…?”

 

“Gay,” he answered, having just swallowed his bite of food. “Don’t take female clients unless I gotta. Haven’t had to take ‘em much.”

 

Jazz nodded, a slow smile making its way across his lips. “D’you always find the one guy who looks like he’s gonna faint with nerves and help him calm down, then?”

 

Devin laughed, the sound quiet as he lifted his water to his lips. He dropped his eyes from Jazz, another faint blush dusting his high cheek bones. “Don’t approach clients much at all,” he said. “Just -- looked like you needed some help, is all.”

 

“Mm, thank you for that. I think I would’ve just turned and left, otherwise,” Jazz said, laughing a little himself. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and without thinking Jazz pulled it out and glanced at the screen, displaying a single text from Savin, reading: Is your pretend-date going okay? ;) Shaking his head, Jazz slipped his phone back inside his pocket. “So you usually just let clients come to you, then?”

 

Another nod, then a swallow as Devin finished another small bite of his food. Jazz didn’t dare make a comment about how here was more food than empty spaces on Devin’s plate. “Some of ‘em can be creepers -- easier to tell by how they get my attention.”

 

“That sounds about right,” Jazz said, frowning a little to himself. “I remember when I used to strip -- how I’d know which customers were best to avoid at all costs just by how they dressed...”

 

Devin furrowed his brow. “‘Strip’?” he asked, one brow lifting higher than the other.

 

Jazz blinked, then felt his whole face burn as he realized what it was he’d just said. He covered his face with his hand, groaning a little as he tried to will his blush away. “It’s -- I used to dance at a strip club, when I was -- well, when I was your age,” he said after a moment, realizing there was no point in trying to hide it.

 

“Don’t think we have those here,” Devin said, studying Jazz. “What kind of dancing?”

 

“Exotic dancing,” Jazz said, clearing his throat. He scooted closer to Devin so he could keep his voice even quieter than it had been as he did his best to try and explain. “Um, my particular club -- we had to dress up like women and wear women’s lingerie, that sort of thing. And as we danced we’d -- take clothes off…”

 

Devin’s eyes lit up, understanding registering on his features. “Sounds interesting,” he said, and Jazz noticed a shift in the way Devin looked at him and blushed, turning away. “Why’d you stop?”

 

“I started working directly under Emperor Cruz,” Jazz answered. “It’d be quite the scandal in the Empire if a member of the Emperor’s Council was found dancing at a strip club, so I stopped.”

 

“Don’t treat sex workers all too good there, huh?”

 

Jazz shook his head. “Not at all,” he said, turning back to his food. He sipped at his water once again, glancing around the room. “We don’t have ‘Sidearms’ back in the Empire, either -- though we do have something similar, but… again, they’re kind of looked down upon. From everything I’ve seen, Sidearms are almost considered a sign of prestige -- you all aren’t cheap.” He tried to keep his tone light; joking.

 

Devin scoffed, lifting his chin a little as he resumed picking at his food. “Don’t know how much being an ambassador pays; couldn’t tell you if I’m out of your price-range or not,” he said, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

 

“I guess I’ll be finding out once we’re dismissed from the table, hm?” Jazz asked, managing to pick up the right knife as he resumed eating his own meal. He could tell by the approving nod of Devin’s head.

 

“Guess so.” The two of them lapsed into a silence after that, small talk having been exhausted and Jazz spending more time observing the rest of the table than his companion’s actions. He wanted to text Savin back, but didn’t want to be rude, not knowing the etiquette with that sort of thing here in Cliffton.

 

“So why’d you decide to be a Sidearm?” Jazz found himself asking before he could stop himself. Even as the words left his mouth, he could tell that was exactly the wrong thing to ask. He placed a hand over his face and tried to will his embarrassed flush away before it could settle in, to no success.

 

“Why’d you strip?” Devin countered, lifting an elegant eyebrow.

 

Jazz pulled his hand away from his face and peaked up at Devin through his lashes, swallowing the rest of his embarrassment away. “Because I missed dancing, and working at a strip club didn’t interfere with my classes,” he answered. “It certainly helped that the money was pretty good, too, though.”

 

“Like what I do,” Devin said with a shrug. He slipped his knives back into their holders and gently pushed his plate further back on the table. “Didn’t start out as a Sidearm; take regular clients during the week, too, outside the dinners.”

 

Jazz blinked, absorbing Devin’s words one by one as he followed Devin’s lead and pushed his own plate aside. And once again, he found himself imagining Devin in far fewer clothes than he wore right now, on his back with his face contorted in pleasure. He wondered how he’d sound -- how he’d taste. Devin said he liked what he did. Jazz had enjoyed stripping -- hell, to some degree he missed it and opted for putting on private shows for Savin instead.

 

“That’s good,” he said after a moment, managing to get his imagination under control as he grinned up at Devin. “I’m glad to hear that you do.”

 

Devin nodded and glanced around the table. Jazz did the same, noticing that other guests and their potential Sidearms had begun to slip away from the table. When Devin stood and offered Jazz his hand, Jazz gulped and took it without hesitating and hoping his face was at least a light shade of pink and not the deep red he thought it had to be.

 

Devin led him out of the dining hall and towards a set of doors, some of which were open and others that weren’t. Without hesitating, Devin slipped inside one of the open rooms, lightly tugging Jazz into the room with him.

 

“Too bad you’ve got a husband already,” Devin said as he shut the door behind them both, his expression downright predatory. “Don’t think we’d be spending the next thirty minutes just talking, if you didn’t…”

 

Jazz’s blush spread down through his chest -- it had to have, because the whole upper half of his body felt not. He didn’t dare look away from Devin, one hand slipping inside his pocket and reaching for his phone. “I’m -- my relationship with my husband is open, as long as I ask for permission?” he offered, his words almost coming out as a squeak. “He messaged me earlier, actually, asking how things were going --”

 

Devin snickered and walked over to the -- oh god, there was an actual bed in the room. “What’d you ask permission for?” he asked, reclining back against the pillows. His hand drifted up his chest. “Don’t really do anything for free, though the Union is paying me right now…”

 

Jazz’s mouth fell open, his eyes following every movement of Devin’s fingers -- how they unbuttoned his jacket and pushed it aside. Without thinking, he pulled his phone out and tapped out a response to Savin: They have a bed in the ‘private’ meeting area and I’m fucking dying Savin can I make out with him a little?

 

He prayed that Savin hadn’t decided to go take a nap or something in the time he’d taken to respond, crossing his fingers as he waited. Even as he waited, he found himself walking closer to the bed -- closer to Devin, who was watching Jazz intently. Just as Jazz reached the edge of the bed, his phone buzzed in his fingers, Savin’s message reading:

 

Making out is fine. Just don’t forget to actually tell him the details of what you’d be hiring him for. We can talk about you doing anything else below the belt later… I love you <3 Have fun ;)

 

Jazz tossed his phone down on the nearest surface, took one last glance at Devin, and found himself climbing onto the bed and straddling the younger man. “He says it’s okay if I make out with you,” he said, licking his lips as he carefully positioned himself over Devin in such a way that he actually wasn’t touching him.

 

Devin raised an eyebrow. “That means…?”

 

“Nothing below the belt,” Jazz said. He lowered himself a little, bringing a hand to Devin’s face. “He also said I should actually discuss the details of the job I’d be hiring you for, too. Because I would love to have you with me for those dinners.”

 

“Don’t see why we can’t do both,” Devin said, smirking up at Jazz as he slid his hands up Jazz’s arms. “How long’s the job?”

 

“I’m not sure.” Jazz shivered at Devin’s touch, brushing his fingertips down the edge of Devin’s neck and noticing the tiny hitch in Devin’s breathing at the action. “Savin’s going to be gone for a while -- another month, at the very least.”

 

“Savin your husband?”

 

“Mhm.” Jazz bent forward, his lips ghosting just where his fingers had been as he hummed his response against Devin’s skin. “There’s five dinners scheduled in that time. First one’s Friday.”

 

Devin gasped underneath him, tilting his head to give Jazz better access to his neck. “What time?”

 

“Dinner’s at six.” Jazz breathed against Devin’s throat. He kissed his way along the edge of Devin’s jaw, savoring the way Devin trembled underneath him. “Do you prefer to be picked up, or…?”

 

“Picking me up’s fine,” Devin answered, his breath quickening a little as Jazz continued to tease him. “Can give you my address and my waveless number…”

 

Jazz managed not to roll his hips against Devin’s, though his forming arousal was already becoming painful. “How does payment work?” he asked, trying to keep his head just clear enough to keep having this conversation instead of focusing on how to make Devin squirm. “Does the Union take care of that, or…?”

 

“Can pay through the Union, yeah,” Devin said, his word strained as he tangled one of his hands in the hair at the back of Jazz’s neck. “Sex isn’t -- included, but -- can pay me for that ‘stead of through them, if you don’t want ‘em to know.”

 

“So that costs me extra no matter what, then?” Jazz felt like he should be offended at the very thought of paying for sex with Devin -- and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to feel that way. Not as he licked along the edge of Devin’s neck and relished in the way he shivered. How Devin’s own arousal was becoming obvious as Jazz’s hands drifted over Devin’s chest.

 

“Mhm. ‘Making out’ with me doesn’t, though.” Devin moaned, arching his back a little as Jazz nipped at his neck. “Can do that as many times’s you want…”

 

Jazz smirked a little to himself. “Is that so?” he asked, lifting his head away from Devin’s neck. He leaned in again, this time capturing Devin’s lips with his own. Devin downright whimpered at the action, and Jazz had to remind himself that this was all he could do. That he couldn’t push this further. “Good to know…” he breathed as he pulled away just far enough to speak. “I guess we need to exchange information, then?”

 

“Can in a bit,” Devin murmured. “Got some more time…” He rocked his hips upwards, bringing Jazz’s attention squarely back to the fact he had a very beautiful man underneath him. A very beautiful man who was now flushed with arousal and a little breathless from Jazz’s teases.

 

Jazz grinned down at Devin, stroking his cheek and letting his nails scrape every so slightly against the edge of Devin’s neck; along the angle of his jaw. “I suppose I’m allowed to kiss you during dinners?” he asked, leaning in to press his lips against Devin’s once more. Devin hummed his response against Jazz’s mouth, his lips parting as Jazz moved to deepen the kiss.

 

Devin’s tongue against his own sent shivers down his spine -- and Jazz felt Devin’s weight shift, throwing him off balance and placing Jazz squarely on his back. Jazz’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening as he stared up at Devin -- as Devin’s hands glided over his chest and began to unbutton his shirt.

 

“Nothing below the waist, right?” Devin asked, breathing the words against Jazz’s throat.

 

“D-Devin…” He should stop him. It wasn’t necessarily just making out if Devin’s hands were roaming over his body like this, especially not if he -- “Oh god,” Jazz moaned, throwing his head back against the bed as Devin’s lips ghosted down his chest and over an exposed nipple. Jazz squirmed, which just seemed to encourage Devin further, his tongue swirling around the hardened nub.

 

“Like that, huh?” Devin said with a snicker, glancing up at Jazz to gage his reactions as he teased both of Jazz’s nipples between his fingers, now. “‘Skinda hot, not gonna lie…”

 

“This is so not fair,” Jazz moaned, covering his face with his hands. He gasped as Devin’s tongue teased one of his nipples again and tried not to be embarrassed by the fact he was so obviously turned on by Devin’s teases. Just a moment ago he’d had the upperhand -- what happened?

 

“Mm, wish you could do more than ‘make out’ with me, huh?” Devin quipped, his tongue dipping lower. Just as Devin’s lips brushed against Jazz’s happy trail, Jazz’s mind became filled with images of Devin’s mouth around his cock; of how Jazz would grab fistfulls of that luxious hair and pull

 

“You’re damn right I do,” Jazz grumbled. As tempting as it was to let Devin unbuckle his belt, Jazz pushed himself upright and gently nudging Devin to sit up with him. He gave Devin an apologetic smile at the bemused expression forming on his face. “Sorry, it’s just -- I know I’ll get carried away if I let you continue for much longer, and -- it’d be best if I didn’t…”

 

Devin blinked, then flushed a deep red, nodding as he moved to smooth down his hair. “Um, right,” he said, clearing his throat. “Don’t wanna get you in trouble with your husband.” His deft fingers then moved to his buttons, redoing them as he pushed himself off the bed. “Guess we should exchange info now, huh?”

 

Jazz almost whined, wanting to do nothing more than reach out for the younger man and pull him back onto the bed. Except he kept his hands in his lap and covered his obvious erection with them. “I guess so,” he managed after a minute, glancing around to locate his phone. “There’s a way to book dates and stuff on the Union’s site, isn’t there?”

 

“Yeah,” Devin said, readjusting his pants. Jazz did his best not to eye the size of Devin’s own obvious bulge; though his tongue still darted out over his lips as he thought about how Devin’d taste. “Won’t have my contact info or anything on there, though. Gotta give you that myself.”

 

Jazz nodded, swiping his phone up from the floor. He watched Devin’s every move and gave him a disarming smile, patting the space beside him on the bed. “Sit, Devin.”

 

Devin did as he was told, settling in the exact space Jazz had patted. They exchanged contact information quickly, their arms brushing against each other’s as they tested that the numbers worked. When it was all said and done, Jazz slid an arm around Devin’s back and leaned in close. “Thank you for making this a much less nerve-wracking experience for me,” he said, leaning up to brush his lips against Devin’s cheek. “You’re obviously very good at your job…”

 

Devin’s cheeks were dusted in pink again, his amber eyes meeting Jazz’s almost shyly. “Don’t mention it,” he said, a slow, sweet smile making its way across his lips. He nudged Jazz’s chin upwards and kissed him softly, and Jazz found himself unable to pull away. It wasn’t long before Jazz was parting his lips and eagerly meeting Devin’s tongue with his own, the kiss progressing a little slower this time.

 

Before Jazz could even consider pushing Devin back down onto the bed, the lights flickered and Devin pulled away, looking apologetic as he did so. “Time’s up,” he said, giving Jazz an unreadable look. He cupped Jazz’s cheek, brushing his thumb against Jazz’s lips. “Gonna pick me up Friday, right?”

 

“Yes,” Jazz breathed, unable to look away from Devin’s eyes. His chest ached at the thought of having to wait so long to see Devin again. “I’ll text you to let you know what time to expect me at your place, Friday.”

 

Devin nodded, brushed his lips against Jazz’s once more, and pushed himself off the bed, adjusting his clothes once more. As he slipped his jacket back on and approached the door, he gestured to Jazz’s front. “Might wanna button up and stuff, ‘fore the lights go out.”

 

Jazz blinked, then stood up himself and smoothed out his shirt, buttoned it back up, and tucked it back into his pants. “Thanks,” he said with a quiet laugh. “Probably would’ve forgotten all about that ‘til it was too late…”

 

He didn’t dare let himself acknowledge how his heart fluttered when Devin just smirked at him in response. It was one thing to find his Sidearm completely and totally aesthetically pleasing -- he’d expected that, even as he’d browsed the Union’s site. Somehow, Devin hadn’t been featured -- but to be fair, Jazz hadn’t looked for very long.

 

He hadn’t expected to enjoy a Sidearm’s company as much as he did Devin’s. And that, he knew, could spell trouble for him, if he wasn’t careful. As he and Devin walked out of the room together and went their separate ways, Jazz vowed to tell Savin all about his pretend-date.

 

Maybe Savin would give him permission to do more than make out with Devin, if he did…

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