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You All Have Guns, And You Never Put The Safety On.

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Things weren’t really looking up for Tate. Ever since his 18th birthday it kinda sucked, even in college he couldn’t find his flock. Though he was happy to be away from his mommy dearest.

It was still his freshman year, he was trying to things, definitely trying new things. He didn’t have much to mope about nowadays, he was just lonely, and confused.

Being in college changed him a lot. He was able to see the groups he wanted to be in, emulate he fashions he liked. Plus it drove his mother crazy to see his outfits, she nearly stabbed him at thanksgiving.

He never knew how cheap it was to be goth, it just took a little effort was all, the glares and frightened looks were worth every ounce of it.

On the matter of trying new things, he was very out of his element.

The neon lights and continuous thumping of Olivia Newton John was almost enough to immediately drive Tate out of the gay bar. Instead he ordered a drink, finding that it was very strong and very cheap, settling happily in his stomach.

Though that wasn’t a good enough reason for Tate to stay. Tate had only recently made out with one dude in the back of a party, and since he was trying new things he thought he’d explore that avenue, but currently, it was no dice. He hated people, he hated pop music, he hated dancing. He was just being an idiot.

The club was flashy, everyone with bottle blonde hair, not that Tate could judge, and high waisted shorts, barely there shirts like sorority girls or something.

No, Tate wasn’t staying for that, and he wasn’t going to leave until he finally worked up the nerve or got drunk enough to speak to the young man who stuck out like a sore thumb on the dance floor.

His jet black hair was spiked in every which way, his face was pale, carefree and blissful as he danced. Even in his dress he was different, where others wore hot pants, he wore ripped jeans akin to Tate’s own, instead of cut off t shirts he opted for a black bleached stained tank top. He stood much much taller than the rest, easily spotted in the crowd.

Tate situated himself in a booth away from the dance floor but close enough where he could see the young man easily. He sipped his whiskey as he watched him dance and dance, a parade of various men trying to dance with him, only for a song or two before the next would come along, placing their hands on his hips all the same and dancing like they weren’t going to be replaced.

None of the comings and goings of the strangers seemed to bother the raven haired young man, only leaning into whatever present body that had earned his favor. Never too personal, never too much before the next partner would come along. He even seemed bored at some, shoving and moving onto the next if the partner got too handsy too quickly.

He felt like he was watching a private show, how the young man rolled his hips to the beat. Tate’s face flushed red as he moved back and forth to whatever Madonna song was blasting.

Tate was being sleazy, the poor dude didn’t deserve to get stared at by some creep like Tate. Hell, Tate didn’t even know what he was doing here, he’d stayed far too long for it to be just checking him out, at this point it was just gross.

He was just staring at his drink now, maybe for too long. He had drank a few.

Okay only four but Tate had always been a lightweight.

He was considering another, maybe he could summon some liquid courage.

With a sigh put his head in his heads. He was a fucking loser. Now he had to wait before he could drive home, so he was just stuck there, not even wanting to look at the young man anymore, feeling guilty.

Tate apparently was too buzzed to notice the figure next to him, sliding into his booth.

“Why have you been you staring at me all night?” A voice rang out over the club music, deeper and heavier than the bass of the speakers. “You ever gonna work up the nerve to say something?”

Tate jolted up, eyes wide to see the stranger, sitting next to him, nearly inches apart.

“I noticed you look different.” Tate yelled back, leaning closer to the young man.

The young man rested his hand on Tate’s neck as he leaned in.

“Lots of people do. I can say the same.” The young man said before sitting back, looking over Tate and smiling. He reached out and flicked one of the safety pins on his jean jacket, smiling in content as it rattled. “You sew all your patches on yourself?” He asked running his fingers over his Dead Kennedys patch across his heart.

“Yeah, be kinda lame if I didn’t.” Tate shrugged, eyes following the young man’s hands as he fiddled with the studs on his shoulders.

“I agree. This jacket would be nothing, kinda commercial if you didn’t, it’s all very personal, y’know?” He said resting his hand on Tate’s neck. “Dead Kennedys are pretty fucking cool dude.”

“Yeah they’re one of my favorite bands, I own all their records.” Tate said.

Where had this guy been this whole year? In a matter of seconds he seemed to understand everything about Tate.

The young man grinned like a crocodile, wide and mischievous, as if he knew a secret that he couldn’t share.

“I’m Tate.” He introduced, the young man nodding as he held closer to him.

“You’re pretty cute, Tate. I’m Victor.” He said. “Can I see the rest of your jacket? Like can you turn around?”

Tate nodded, shuffling awkwardly around and only lightly bumping into the table as he turned around, his feet propped up on the booth like a kid.

He shivered as the young man, Victor, traced various patches on his jacket, carefully running his fingers down the notches of his spine. Tate bit his lip as he turned red, focusing on the stain on the wall and not the easy touch of the stranger. He felt like he was going to spontaneously combust if Victor continued.

Victor rested his hand on his shoulders where his studs were placed, leaning forward and said something else but Tate couldn’t figure it out over the new song playing.

“What?!” Tate asked.

Tate turned around too quick and smacked his side on the table. His face grew an even deeper red in embarrassment.

Victor only laughed, a choking and squeaking sound, something so unexpected from the man shrouded in all black, wrapped in a cloak of mystery.

“Are you okay?!” Victor asked reaching out to touch his sore side.

Tate winced but shook his head.

“I’m alright, what did you say?” He asked.

Victor situated himself even closer, practically in Tate’s lap, well, definitely in Tate’s lap. He towered over him. Tate couldn’t help but clutch and support him as he leaned down, lips just past his ear.

“I asked if you dance, Princess.” Victor said, his voice more gravelly than before, breath hot against his skin.

Tate barked a laugh, shaking his head.

“I don’t.” Tate said, turning to look at him, his face barely an inch away.

Now that he was closer Tate could see more about him. How a scar lined the bridge of his nose, how his freckles dotted sporadically everywhere across his face, how soft and pink his lips looked.

“It’s not really dancing, Tate. It’s swaying with an excuse to touch each other.” Victor said gesturing to the dance floor.

Out there was a sea of people loosely moving to the music and mostly just groping and grinding on one another.

“Nope. Still don’t dance.” He said shaking his head.

Victor frowned.

“Whatever. This music just isn’t your scene. Give me a minute, don’t go anywhere.” Victor said, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before crawling off him and disappearing into the crowd.

Tate held his face where Victor had kissed him.

What the fuck was happening? He was sure he didn’t do any coke that night but, this was way too good to be true.

Maybe he wanted to rob him.

Before Tate could spiral further into his buzzed delusions Victor was back, crawling into his lap once more and cradling his face.

“Where did you go?” Tate asked.

“Nowhere. I know I just mentioned it, but you ever been told you’re hot before?” Victor said. “Something...there’s something about you.”

Victor sat back on his heels, hands just tracing over his face. He sat on Tate’s lap like he’d been there forever, fitting perfectly against him.

Tate knew he was attractive yeah, but he now was flushing like some idiot southern belle who got told she was pretty by some dumb beau. Hopefully Victor couldn’t see it in the club’s lighting.

“I could say the same, you’re something else.” Tate replied. “You talk to all the boys this way?”

Victor shook his head.

“No. I’ve just got a thing for gothy punk blondes that scream mommy issues.” He said holding Tate’s chin steady.

“Mommy issues? Really? What gives it away?” Tate laughed.

Victor shrugged.

“Took a guess, it’s 50/50 here, but I’m gonna say you got daddy issues too.” Victor said. “Also, no one happy with their parents comes into a gay nightclub in their full goth regalia.”

Tate laughed. He was so close to him now, almost enough to kiss. Maybe he was getting overconfident, like all the men who danced with Victor before him.

Victor moved first, leading the kiss. He kissed him deep and fast, far too experienced to be sloppy, tongues sliding against one another. His thumbs smoothed over the sides of Tate’s face, happily humming.

Tate experimentally tightened his grip on his waist, Victor apparently appreciated, gasping against his lips.

He pulled back suddenly, head popping up like a prairie dog as the current song faded out. Hastily he got off Tate’s lap, grabbing his hands and pulling him towards the dance floor.

“Hey, wait, I don’t dance.” Tate said shaking his head but not yet pulling away.

“Don’t worry, I can lead.” Victor assured as the song began to change.

Heavy bass thumped from the speakers as Eurythmics’ “Sweet Dreams” came ringing out. Victor’s grin grew wide, guiding him deeper until they were in the middle of the dance floor, bringing Tate flush against him, chest to chest.

“Did you do this for me?” Tate asked.

“Maybe. C’mon, here, hold onto my waist.” Victor said positioning his hands on his lithe hips.

Victor put his arms over his shoulders, swaying back and forth. So not exactly dancing just, moving together. Still Tate felt lost, he’d never danced like this before, he wanted to be good at it, especially for Victor.

Victor’s hands clutched Tate close, gently scratching his nails down his back over his coat.

The gazed of other men towards Victor were unavoidable, apparently missing the memo that he was Tate’s now, even if it was for the moment. Tate felt sudden possessiveness over the near stranger, wanting everyone to know that he was off limits.

Tate leaned up, freeing one of his hands to grab Victor by the jawline and pull him into a kiss. Victor didn’t skip a beat before he kissed him back, melting into him.

All Tate could think of was the glares most likely upon him, maybe even disappointment in their gazes. In that moment Victor was his, fucking his, and they all needed to know.

Victor kissed him with finesse, already pinpointing what made Tate shudder and tense. He bit down on Tate’s lower lip, dragging his teeth across it. Tate shuddered, taking in a sharp breath with Victor capitalized on, sliding his tongue deep.

They still swayed, back and forth, Victor’s leg sliding in between his, grinding against his hardening cock. Tate hissed out, his eyes squeezing tight.

Victor must’ve sensed it, his kiss growing even more intense and quick like he was engulfed by a wildfire. He grinded against him, Tate almost sighing in relief when he felt Victor hard against him, letting him know he was into it as well, that Tate wasn’t going to be pushed away for getting too close to him.

Tate broke the kiss, holding onto Victor’s face as he pulled back. Victor was slack jawed, eyes glassy but focused solely on Tate. Without thinking Tate placed two fingers on Victor’s lips, his velvet soft tongue chasing out to lick them. With finesse and ease Victor bobbed his head down, eyes locked on Tate’s, unflinching, daring even, as he swirled his tongue around Tate’s thick fingers. Tate couldn’t break away from his stare even if he wanted to, he wanted to push harder, watch Victor take his fingers with grace as they almost gagged him.

Tate sighed, feeling his dick twitch in his pants at the sight and the feel. Slowly, deliberately he pulled his fingers out of Victor’s mouth, leaving an obscene string of spit between his lips and fingers. Tate quickly held his jaw, leaving it sticky with his own silvia. Victor tilted his head back, barring his throat out to him. Tate leaned into him, unable to deny such an offer. He bit down the side of his neck, stopping about halfway down to nip in earnest, sucking and laving in order to leave a deep purple bruise.

The song had changed, now Soft Cell’s “Tainted Love” came blaring out. Normally Tate wouldn’t have noticed such a thing but he was listening oh so closely to Victor’s soft, choked back little whines.


Victor was so vocal, so eager to please, already turning himself inside out for Tate after some grinding and making out. Tate wished this could be more than some random club encounter. Tate wanted to lay him out, take him apart slowly, watch how his thighs would shake, get him to beg so sweetly with that low, low voice that Tate felt in his chest.

Victor pulled away from him, making his heart stop for a moment before Victor nodded his head to the back door.

“I could use some fresh air, pretty boy, what bout you?” Victor yelled over the music.

Tate simply nodded, holding onto his waist as he followed him through the crowd, eyes focused in on the back door ever approaching. Tate felt his stomach tie itself in knots, he wanted, he wanted more than anything else.

Victor held the door open for him and Tate slid out, sighing out against the cool night air. Victor was so close to him, now just one on one. He was even prettier like this, his face so feminine yet unmistakably masculine, the hallows of his cheeks deep and smoothly sweeping like the contours of a cat’s face, his eyes hooded and deep set, jaw strong and sharp.

Victor slowly walked towards him, backing him into a brick wall, his hands on either side of Tate’s head.

Tate’s breath hitched, the only warmth in the cold night air being Victor. He reached up and kissed him again, still hungry but less needy, not feeling the need to let everyone know. Victor slotted himself, hands slowly dragging down his side, hands warm and wide. His hands dipped underneath his shirt, feeling the soft skin of Tate’s stomach, licking into his mouth as Tate sighed.

This was so different from any other time he had made out with a girl, their hands were always small and soft, Victor’s were wide and calloused and it made him keen out.

Victor broke the kiss, dragging open mouthed kisses down his neck until he slid onto his knees before Tate, big green eyes staring up at him through dark eyelashes. Carefully he nudged his nose up under Tate’s shirt, tickling him lightly before Victor laid sloppy kisses over his stomach, nipping slightly.

Fuck, Tate felt like he was going to die, his cock was way too hard to just be trapped there, getting brushed against as Victor leaned into him.

“Is it okay if I blow you?” Victor asked, in between kisses across Tate’s stomach.

“Holy shit, yes. Please.” Tate rasped out.

Victor pulled away, lips in a smirk and eyes with a mischievous glint.

“You beg so pretty, princess. Do it again.” Victor said, painstaking taking his time undoing Tate’s belt.

Tate would turn himself inside out, stand on his head and recite the alphabet in French if Victor told him to right now.

“Please, please. Fuck. I need you to suck me off or I think I’m gonna die. Please, baby.” Tate rambled, only slightly wincing at the endearment that had slipped out.

Victor hummed, happy with Tate’s pleas. He easily fished Tate’s hard cock out, Tate hissed at the cold winters air.

Victor gave small, experimental kitten licks at the head, making Tate bite back a groan. Without warning Victor swallowed him down with expertise, Tate bit into his knuckles to keep down a shout.

His mouth was warm, soft, wet and so fucking good, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. Every girl who had done this was sloppy compared to this, lackluster and downright pathetic. Victor’s strong jaw helped him stretch wide and suck tight, creating spots behind Tate’s eyes and his thighs beginning to tremble.

Victor bobbed his head with a steady rhythm, taking him deeper each time, even when Tate felt the tight and soft casam of Victor’s throat. He tilted his head occasionally changing the angle when Tate felt himself begin to catch his footing, but Victor seemed to thrive off of the small sounds that escaped Tate.

“So good,” Tate whispered, “fuck, so good.”

Tate grabbed onto Victor’s curly hair, causing Victor moan in return as he gave it a sharp tug. Tate wanted to let go, snap his hips with a brutal pace and take, but Victor held his hands on Tate’s hips to keep steady.

Victor was good, so good. He was skilled, practiced and it showed, pulling off almost all the way just to lav over the sensitive head, sticky with pre come, bright red lips wrapped tightly around it. Heat began to pool in his belly, sparks lighting at the base of his spine, somehow electric and lulling at the same time. Jealousy bubbled in Tate as well, knowing that Victor wasn’t his, that he could easily go off and use his skills on some loser, someone who wouldn’t appreciate what they had under them.

Tate looked down at him, his wide eyes staring back up at him, looking far too pretty to be on his knees, but then again perfectly suited for it. Tate never wanted this to end, this fleeting chance encounter to be much more permanent in his life. His tongue was skilled, stroking the vein that ran under Tate’s cock, his muscles tensing. Tate cupped his face, pressing on his cheek with his thumb and feeling it on his dick through the fleshy wall of Victor’s cheek, Victor groaned sending the vibrations straight to Tate’s dick. He seemed to like it, getting used, like he was a means to an end, but he was so much more, perfect to be used but deserved so much more.

“Shit,” Tate muttered, taking in sharp breaths. “I’m close.”

Victor hummed his acknowledgment before doubling his efforts, setting a rough and brutal pace for them both. Tate banged his head back against the brick wall and he tried to steady himself, biting his lip to stay quiet because they were in a back alley after all.

Tate let out a deep breath as he came, feeling like a whip crack. A low growl came rumbling from chest, wordlessly crying out as he felt Victor swallow down every last drop like he was hungry for it, hands smoothing over his shaking thighs to ease him.

Victor eases off of him, tucking Tate back into his pants. Victor scrambled back to his feet, drawing Tate into a kiss, he could taste himself in the kiss.

“Hey, hey.” Victor muttered, his voice fucked out and hoarse. “You good?”

“Yeah.” Tate said.

A beeping sound came from seemingly nowhere causing both of them to jump.

“Ah fuck! Damien!” Victor exclaimed smacking his forehead.

Tate tilted his head to the side and squinted.

“My little brat baby brother, who I love, don’t worry. But I gotta you know, make sure he’s sleeping okay because I promised him that I’d be back to fuckin...this all sounds very fake and you probably don’t care! I am, sorry.” Victor said shaking his head.

Tate laughed, he was talkative, caring too.

“No, no it’s alright, this is when most guys in my position duck out right? So…” Tate trailed looking at the ground.

“Fuck, okay. So,” Victor paused fishing something from his back pocket. He raised a small object in victory, a stick of eyeliner. “Here’s my number…” he said drawing out the ‘r’ as he wrote down his number on Tate’s forearm.

Once done he leaned down a pressed a kiss next to it before holding out the eyeliner to Tate. Tate looked at him in puzzlement.

“You can write yours on me too, if you want. I’ll call you after I make my brother a fried baloney sandwich and oh my god I’m trying to be cool so you’ll call me but that is, not working out.” Victor said shifting back and forth.

Tate quickly took Victor’s eyeliner and scrawled down his number on Victor’s forearm.

“I think the more you talk the more I like you,’re still cool.” Tate said.

Victor huffed, almost incredulous. Tate pressed the eyeliner back into his hand.

Victor leaned in once more and pressed a kiss to the side of Tate’s mouth before waving a goodbye and running out of the alley.

Tate stared down at the number, committed it to memory. Before he raced to his dorm and waited by the phone for Victor to call, and picked up the moment it rung, happy to hear his deep voice on the other end.