Joey is standing over JC on the porch, one foot up on the bench next to JC's thigh, a forearm propped on his raised knee. His hands lie directly in JC’s line of sight, and JC is surreptitiously studying their calluses, their soft places, their painted fingernails.

JC is toying with the beer bottle he’s holding between his legs, peeling the label off in strips with nervous fingers. Joey speaks to him in low, confidential tones, but JC has a hard time concentrating on what he’s saying. It’s difficult, when Joey’s black denim-clad legs are practically touching his, when the edge of Joey’s boot barely brushes the outside seam of JC’s pants.

JC always dresses up a little for the club. He likes to put some effort into it, maybe to mark it as separate from the rest of his life. He usually wears slacks and a dress shirt - always black, of course - but every once in a while, if he’s feeling confident, or wild, he’ll slither into his flame-sided leather pants and a tight black t-shirt. He knows he’ll make a scene if he wears that outfit. He only wears it when he knows he won’t mind everyone looking at him.

Right now, tonight, he wishes he was wearing the leather, or at least black jeans - something, anything more casual than the dress pants that make him feel like a huge dorko before Joey’s feline ease. His only consolation is that the cut of his pants allows him to hide the interest he feels growing, the interest in ... well, in Joey’s interest, which isn’t hidden at all in his tight jeans. The man obviously isn’t wearing underwear, JC thinks to himself, then almost laughs out loud at the prim voice in his head. He can’t help smiling, even though he tries to bite it back.

"What’s so funny?" Joey breaks off his ramblings to ask.

"Nothing, n-nothing." JC is still trying to force down the giggles. Joey pins him with a look, but JC just shakes his head.

JC gasps when Joey grabs his chin and waggles it gently. "I said, what’s so funny?" JC wonders whether to make the leap from impressed to scared, but Joey leans in closer, and JC can see the teasing glint in his eyes now. He lets the smile come easily this time.

"I was just wondering whether you were wearing underwear." As soon as the sentence crosses his lips, his cheeks flush. "I mean, uh, I ..."

Joey chuckles, leans down even further, tips JC’s head up. "If you’re lucky, I might let you find out." His breath whispers hot over JC’s lips.

JC will decide later it was the tingles up his spine that made him lean forward that last inch. He’ll never know for sure. All he knows right now is, one second he’s wondering desperately what Joey’s lips feel like, and then next second he knows: hot and dry and soft, with a tinge of the cigarettes they all smoke.

In the back of his head, JC knows they are becoming the center of attention as Joey leans further into the kiss, as JC arches up into him, as their mouths meet again and again. And he hears the gasps and murmurs from the spectators when Joey folds his legs onto the bench and straddles JC, pinning him to the wood boards.