[C] looking for a good time

Deacon was sat in his favourite club, in his favourite booth, with his favourite drink in hand.

Tonight was going to be a good night.

The Warlock was out looking for a good time, he felt like he needed it, maybe he's even find someone to take home for the night.

Taking a sip of his drink caused him to purr as the amber liquid burned delightfully down his throat. Placing the now empty glass on the table.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," purred a voice in Doc's ear. In an easy move a lithe, tanned body swung around to perch in Doc's lap. Doc's presence was so often in the club that people didn't waste time with preamble now. Once Doc was sighted, a stripper would deposit themselves in his lap.

Tonight Doc's delight was Turkish. "How's it hanging, doll?"

There was hardly any pause for a conversation to grow before Demir leaned in to Doc's neck. Doc wasn't here for the conversation. He was here for the men, and on the very rare occasion he wanted something different, the women.

It was perhaps ten minutes later an amused noise sounded as another worker set collecting rack down on the edge of Doc's table. Ian shook his head minutely as he observed Demir work, and heard the sharp intake of breath Doc gave in response to Demir's work.

Not like that, sweetheart. That patch is a little too sensitive to go shoving your fangs into. The best reactions come from there if you use your tongue.


The thought wasn't given a voice.

"Want another?" the Aus asked, lifting Doc's empty glass and giving it a gestural little shake. "Or are you moving onto cat piss?"

His tone wasn't wholly unpleasant, but the meaning behind it was clear. Clearly Doc was settling for less with the rest of his night, why not add the alcohol to that running tally, as well.

He couldn't help the slightly louder amused huff as Doc jerked and hissed slightly under the teeth sinking into the patch beneath his ear again. Demir clearly couldn't tell the difference between the good and bad kind of pained reaction Doc gave.

His laughing blue eyes met Doc's own not so amused blues as he waited for his answer.

"Evening tiger." The man purred as Demir perched himself in his lap, at least he knew not to waste time with formalities now.

Deacon had certain spots that were quite sensitive but he wasn't one to tell his partner if they were being too rough.

He liked to let others use his body as they pleased, though that usually meant he had to endure situations like this.

He hissed as teeth dug into his skin, squirming beneath the man as a flash of pain spread down his throat.

Deacon's eyes met Ian's, narrowing slightly in a wince as his neck was assaulted again, he was going to be wearing Demir's marks for a while.

"Make it a double shot."

He'd be needed that soon enough.

"Yes, sir." Unlike his last words, this tone was full of open mockery.

He went as far as giving Doc a lazy salute before picking up the half-full rack of glasses and wandering off.

He took his time with stacking the dirty glasses in the dishwasher and checking the other tables in 'his area' before returning to Doc with his double shot.

The drink he poured was the top shelf stuff. That, at least, he wouldn't compromise on.

He set it down on the edge of the table and turned to leave, pausing only to throw some advice over his shoulder: "Careful, doctor dentures, keep it up and you'll tear his poor throat out."

Deacon snorted a laugh as Ian went off to get him a drink. He could be such a dick sometimes, still, the man took care of him when I came to alcohol.

The Warlock gave a relieved sigh when Ian returned with his drink, grabbing it eagerly and bringing it to his lips.

He gave a groan of pleasure as the liquid spread over his tongue.

"You're the best."
He purred, it took a long while to get it but the quality was worth it.

Leaning back he relaxed into the attention of the Shifter in his lap.

Demir pulled back from Doc's neck at the 'advice.'

"I don't see you doing it better, mouse," he called after the younger man, who didn't dignify him with even a twitch of his bare, tattooed shoulders.

Demir shook his head. "Always a critic, that one, Doll." He rolled his eyes and leaned down to lave his tongue slowly up the column of Doc's throat.

Deacon's eyes narrowed as Demir threw an insult at Ian.

Reaching up he gripped the man's chin, pulling his head back so he was staring the man in the eyes.

"Watch your mouth kitten, I don't pay you to talk, got it?"

It was rare that Doc got serious but this was one of those times, he didn't come here for this kind of childhood bullshit.

Demir's brows arched upwards when he was dragged back to Doc by his chin.

He wasn't used to this firm Doc. Doc was usually so drunk or high that he didn't give a shit about anything. Being serious like this was unheard of.

"You don't pay me to be a kitten, either," he purred, resting his hands on Doc's chest and teasingly dragging his nails downwards towards his stomach, like a slow cat scratch.

"No, I definitely do not. While you're with me, I want all your attention on me, not him."

He couldn't help but feel defensive, Ian was one of the few people he actually gave a shit about in his long life.

Doc gave a groan as nails ran over his body, arching into the touch, enjoying the warm sting that followed.

"Him, who?" he replied coquettishly.

His fingers slid under the hem of Doc's shirt, fingertips stroking upwards slowly. He watched his hands disappear under the thin fabric.

"What's with you and this shirt?" he asked, hands smoothing further up Doc's stomach. He did it in a way that the shirt didnt lift.

"Got some gruesome scars or something?" His hands smoothed around Doc's torso, over his ribs. Then his fingers curled and nails bit into the flesh again, dragging down purposefully slowly in almost exactly the same moved he'd pulled a moment ago. "Or scared you'll leave me startstruck if it comes off?"

Deacon had always been wary of taking his shirt off.

To master spells and access them more easily he magically branded runes into his flesh, they ran up both his arms and down his sides. Fresh runes itched and ached like crazy.

Once they had healed it left the skin severely tender. He always kept them covered because when exposed it put a huge target on his back ' I'm a rare and powerful warlock, come steal my blood or use me for your own gain' it wasn't a like he wanted to live, so he hid them.

"I'm just self consci-"
His words were cut off as nails dragged down the length of his runes. It felt like flames had erupted down his sides, searing his flesh.

Deacon's body jolted severely beneath the man, his nails biting into the chair beneath him. The Warlock's mouth fell open as if to shout out but the pain silenced him.

Ian didn't want to admit that he was keeping tabs on Doc. 

He wasn't doing it for any reason but making sure that Demir - their loose canon - didn't fuck over a well paying guest, he told himself.

No matter how many times he told himself, he didn't believe it, but he told himself again and again.

So he was well-aware of the exchange, and was half way across the floor when he heard the distinct shift in Doc's breathing. He didn't even realise that he'd dragged Demir off Doc's lap by the back of the tie around his throat until he was looking down, rather owlishly, at the Scot's pained expression.

"Usually," he muttered after clearing his throat, turning his gaze down to Demir. "We stop before we immobilise our clientele with excruciating pain."

As soon as Demir was dragging from his lap Deacon doubled over, clutching at his sides as he took in a sharp gasp of air.

Pain flared through him as the magic in the runes protested against that treatment.

The sensation of it had left him winded, taking him sharp breaths of air but barely exhaling.

"Ian..."

He was panicking, magically he was powerful but he had a human body, and human bodies went into shock quite easily.

"Nu-uh."

He dropped Demir, kicking him aside, and crouched in front of Doc. His hands rested on Doc's knees.

"Not happening. Look at me, Dea. Look at me and breathe, 'cause I can assure you, I'm not going to be kind if your ass passes out on me."

His fingers ran gently over Doc's knees, tracing random patterns. "You can feel that, can't you? Focus on that. I'm writing a message to you. Let's see if you can get it."

He traced letters on Doc's knee, slowly and just gently enough that Doc would have to focus on that rather than the pain searing through his ribs to be able to crack the little code.

It took a moment for Deacon to properly focus on Ian, instead of focusing on his own panic.

As he did his eyes slid shut as he tried to remember how to exhale.

His attention was slowly drawn to his knees and the feeling on Ian's hands on them.

The more he focused on that, the less attention he gave to the pain.

As his breath came back to him he started muttering the letters Ian was writing back to the man as best he could.
"I...F...Y...O...U."

He wrote the message, slowly and purposefully once, then gave a moments pause.

His eyes were focused on Doc's breathing, and the tremble set in his limbs. It was lessening now. His breathing was almost even, and his shakes weren't full body tremors.

He picked up writing again, running through the message a second time.

The more he wrote the more calm Deacon became, the less the pain affected him.

As it began to subside he leaned forward, resting his head on the man's shoulder, memorsing the letters and trying to form them into words.

By the end of his second time writing out the message Deacon's breathing was even and his body has calmed down considerably.

The warlock gave a weary chuckle as he figured out the sentence, resting against the Shifter for a moment as he relaxed completely.

Ian gave a low chuckle, that was little more than a huff of air, himself.

"There." He gave Doc's thigh a pat. "Wasn't so hard, was it?"

He didn't move from his spot, half worried that if he did try to shift Doc even the slightest right now he'd crumble.

"How did you survive with me?" It was a sarcastic rhetoric.

"Fuck that hurt..."
The man grumbled, feeling more himself now that he could think straight.

He gave a half smile as he looked down at the ground from his position resting again Ian.

I nearly didn't. he thought to himself.

He really didn't know how he had managed to get through life these last few years. It had been hard though.

"And here I thought the doubling over and silent scream meant you enjoyed it."

Wit, even the lowest form, could be used to diffuse a lot of situations. It usually worked well with Doc.

"You need to get your ass home and rest."

Deacon snorted a laugh, trust Ian to be making jokes at a time like this, still, it eased him a little bit.

He shook his head a little.
"I'm fine, I'll take it easy."

The last thing he wanted was to spend the night at home, alone in his large apartment.

Ian pulled away, standing and shaking his head as he walked away.

Ten minutes later, he returned fully dressed, with his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"Get up before I carry you home myself."

As Ian walked away Doc leaned back, downing the last of his drink in one large, satisfying gulp.

When the man returned he looked up at him, raising and eyebrow.

"Seriously?"

Ian was treating him like a child, he was a grown man, he could take care of himself.

"Yeah, fucking seriously. Move."

He jerked his chin toward the door, looking seven kinds of unimpressed as he waited for Doc to move.

Then he bought out the big guns. The counting.

"Five.... Four... Three..."

Deacon raised an eyebrow at the man as he started counting down.

This was ridiculous, Ian was treating him like a misbehaving infant.

The man sat back, crossing his arms over his chest, smirking up at him with his signature 'try me, bitch' expression.