Chapter Text
Bradley is leaning against the piano in the Hard Deck, deep in conversation with Nat, when he feels a warm arm wrap around his waist. He doesn’t need Nat’s eyeroll to know that it’s Jake, who must be done with the game of pool he had coerced some overconfident out-of-towners into playing — that it’s Jake is clear from the way he pulls Bradley in close, tucking his head over Bradley’s shoulder. Warmth blooms in Bradley’s chest at the casual intimacy of it all. He turns his head, catching Jake with a kiss on the cheek. Nat makes an exaggerated retching sound, to which Bradley graciously responds by flipping her off.
“Did you win your game of pool?” Bradley asks Jake.
Jake snorts, holding a wad of cash in front of Bradley’s face. “Do I ever lose?”
Nat crosses her arms. “Bagman, someday somebody will start putting warning posters up about you and you’re going to get your ass kicked.”
Jake hums, tucking the cash back in his pocket and tightening his hold on Bradley’s waist. “It’s not like I’m hustling them — I did warn them I was good. It’s only hustling if you lie about it.”
Bradley shakes his head. “Well in that case, you will truly have the moral high ground when they inevitably kick your ass.”
Bradley can feel Jake’s huffed laugh on his neck, and it sends a shiver down his spine.
“You going to kick my ass if I beat you at pool?” Jake asks.
Bradley laughs. “You couldn’t convince me to play pool with you. I know my odds, and I saw that stack of cash.”
“Couldn’t I?” Jake grinds his hips against Bradley’s ass. He’s not hard, but the suggestion is enough to make Bradley’s blood warm.
“Hey! Can you not?” Nat protests. “I’m literally right here!”
This time Jake flips her off.
Bradley takes a deep breath, trying to recenter himself. “No, Jake. I’m not playing pool with you.”
“That’s a shame. I wasn’t going to try to get you to bet money,” Jake says, digging his chin into Bradley’s shoulder a little bit.
Bradley feels his eyebrows shoot up. Jake always plays for money. Even against friends, he says it isn’t fun if there aren’t any stakes. “Really?” he asks, tone as disbelieving as he feels.
“Mm-hmm.” Jake turns his head, lips brushing Bradley’s ear. “Want to know what I was going to bet?”
Bradley’s not sure he does, but he nods anyway, unable to deny his boyfriend anything when he gets like this.
“A blowjob,” Jake whispers in his ear, breath hot and wet, and Bradley’s head falls back against Jake’s shoulder with a groan. “Loser sucks off the winner.” His hand traces lightly over Bradley’s stomach, and even over his shirt it’s enough to have Bradley’s muscles jumping with anticipation. “Still don’t want to play?”
Bradley rolls his head so he can look Jake in the eye. “Fuck you. Fine, I’ll play.”
Jake grins, pressing a light kiss to Bradley’s lips. “Thought you might.” He turns his head to face Nat, winking at her. “Got another one.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh fuck off. I don’t even want to know what you bet to get him to play, just get out of here.” She tips back her glass, scowling when she realizes it’s empty. “I need another drink after putting up with your bullshit. Bradshaw, you owe me a goddamn drink.”
Jake snorts. He gives Bradley one final squeeze, then releases him. “I’ll go rack ‘em, you get Nixy a drink. You can’t afford to lose your only friend.”
“Yeah, yeah, fuck you,” Bradley says, kicking playfully at Jake’s ankle, but Jake dodges out of the way, blowing him a kiss.
“Maybe,” he replies with a wink. He pauses for a moment and his eyes go dark and lust-filled as he looks Bradley up and down, gaze lingering indecently on Bradley’s crotch before returning to his face, which Bradley thinks must be turning pink because he can feel the heat crawling up his neck. Jake smirks. “I guess we’ll just see, won’t we."
Bradley’s heart picks up just a little, and he rubs both hands over his face, suddenly feeling like he’s made a deal with the devil. If Jake keeps acting like this, Bradley’s not sure he’ll survive the game.
When he looks back up at Nat, she’s glaring at him. “I should make you get me two drinks, just for that.”
“Me?” Bradley protests. “That was all Jake!”
“And he’s your boyfriend,” she says. “Two drinks.” He opens his mouth to protest again but she waves a finger at him. “The more annoying you are about it the more that number goes up. Two drinks, Bradshaw.”
By the time Bradley’s gotten Nat her drinks and made it to the pool table, Jake has the balls racked and is sitting on the edge of the table, spinning a cue idly with his hand while he checks his phone. He’s sitting with his legs spread wide, like he always does, and Bradley has the sudden impulse to take advantage of it, to step between Jake’s thighs, catch his chin in one hand, and kiss him until they both forget about the game. But Jake looks up from his phone as Bradley approaches, grins and slides down from the pool table when he catches sight of him, and although Bradley tries to steal a kiss as Jake is handing him a cue, Jake only allows it for a moment before pushing him away.
“Nice try, stud,” Jake says, patting Bradley’s chest. “But we have a game to play.”
Despite his mild disappointment, Bradley feels a wave of fondness wash over him. Jake’s single-mindedness can be frustrating, but it’s so fundamentally him that it makes Bradley smile.
“Fine,” Bradley concedes. “But I get to break, and no trying to distract me.”
Jake raises an eyebrow, reaching out a hand to trace over Bradley’s chest and down to his waist. “You saying I’ve got to try to distract you?”
Bradley rolls his eyes, swatting Jake’s hand away. “Conceited. No, that’s why I said it. You’re distracting enough as it is.”
“I’ll allow it,” Jake says with a grin. “Go ahead and break. You need all the help you can get.”
Bradley shakes his head and steps up to the table. He’s honestly not even sure why he agreed to this. For all that he’s enticed by the bet, he really doesn’t like to lose, and playing with Jake means losing is practically a guarantee. But he looks up at Jake just as he’s about to break, and Jake is looking at Bradley like he wants to eat him alive, and yeah, okay, that’s why he agreed to this.
Bradley breaks and the balls scatter, a single striped ball rolling into one of the pockets, though with how distracted he is, he feels lucky that any of the balls are pocketed at all. He manages to pocket two more stripes, Jake’s eyes scorching on his back, before he misses.
He stares at the table for a moment, trying to figure out if he thinks Jake will be able to win in the next round. Before he has the chance to turn around, he feels Jake come up behind him.
“Well, you tried,” Jake says, his body a hot line against Bradley’s back as he reaches around to pluck the cue from his fingers. Distantly Bradley wonders where Jake’s own cue went, since he definitely had one at the start of the game.
Before Bradley can question it, Jake has peeled himself away and is working his way through the solids with brutal efficiency, pointing to a pocket then pocketing a ball quickly and moving on to the next. In no time at all, all that remains is the eight ball, perfectly in position for the corner pocket. Jake looks at Bradley and winks, pointing to the pocket. Then, without missing a beat, he steps around the table, lines up his shot, and sends the ball rolling into the wall of the table.
Bradley stands frozen as he watches it bank and roll into the opposite corner. He stares stupidly at the pocket for a long moment, as if the eight ball is magically going to reappear somehow, then tears his eyes away to look at Jake, who’s leaning against the table, eyebrow raised.
Bradley swallows hard. “Jake, did you just…?”
“I love making you just a little stupid,” Jake says with a smirk, and Bradley thinks maybe he should take offense to that, but he’s still trying to understand what just happened.
Jake lays the cue on the table, then pushes off, getting right up into Bradley’s space and wrapping his arms around Bradley’s neck. “We both know I would’ve won.” He leans in, breath tickling Bradley’s ear as he whispers, “but I didn’t want to.”
“Fuck, Jake,” Bradley swears, closing his eyes against the sudden rush of arousal coursing through his body.
Jake hums. “That’s the idea.” He pulls away, one hand sliding down to grab Bradley’s as he starts to drag Bradley toward the door to the deck.
It takes Bradley a moment to get his feet to cooperate, and he stumbles slightly, might have fallen were it not for Jake’s firm grip on his hand. The night air feels almost cold on his overheated face as Jake tugs him outside, but he can’t pause to enjoy it because Jake is pulling him down the stairs and around the building, over to the partially enclosed area between the fence and the dumpster. They don’t pass many people on their way — it’s cool enough that the only people outdoors are a few couples making out on the deck chairs out back, too wrapped up in themselves to notice the purposeful way that Jake is pulling Bradley toward the shadowy corner.
Once they’re there, Jake shoves Bradley against the fence with a thud that’s as loud as a gunshot to Bradley’s ears.
“Jake,” he protests quietly, now that he’s had time to process what’s happening, but Jake presses a finger to his lips.
“I wanted to play a game of pool, and I did. Now I want to suck you off,” Jake says matter-of-factly, moving his finger away from Bradley’s mouth and replacing it with his lips, warm and soft, and the contrast between Jake’s body heat and the coolness of the night is enough to make Bradley’s brain go staticky.
After a moment Jake pulls away, and Bradley nods desperately. “Yeah, okay. Do it.”
Jake smiles, recapturing Bradley’s lips with his own. This time the kiss is filthy and deep, Jake’s tongue mapping the layout of Bradley’s mouth as his hands deftly move to Bradley’s belt.
Bradley’s attention is torn between Jake’s mouth, hot and slick against his own, and his hands, which brush against Bradley’s rapidly hardening cock as he unbuttons Bradley’s jeans and draws down the zipper. Bradley bites off a moan as some of the aching pressure is relieved, but is unable to do the same when Jake’s hand finds its way into Bradley’s briefs, wrapping firmly around him.
Jake shushes him, pulling his hand away and moving from Bradley’s mouth to place hot kisses down his neck and along his collarbones where they’re accessible, tugging Bradley’s tank top down to scrape his teeth over Bradley’s nipple, pebbled and hard from arousal and the cool night air. Bradley has to bite his lip hard to keep from making noise, feeling his head hit the fence behind him as he lets it fall back, overwhelmed by the mix of sensations.
“Jake, fuck,” he hisses, clenching his hands by his sides to keep from digging them into Jake’s hair and making it even more obvious what they’re doing.
Jake just hums in response, continuing his journey down Bradley’s torso, rucking his tank top up to press open mouthed kisses down his stomach as Jake lowers himself to his knees.
Once he’s on the ground, Jake pauses for a moment, and Bradley hazards a look. Jake looks positively sinful, eyes nearly black with lust, face only half visible in the shadowy darkness. He leans forward, mouthing hot and wet at Bradley’s cock through his briefs, and Bradley’s hand flies to cover his mouth, trying to mute the low groan that’s fighting its way out of his body.
Jake tucks his fingers into the top of Bradley’s briefs, starting to pull them down just far enough to expose him fully to the night air when suddenly there’s a loud bang on the dumpster next to them.
Bradley nearly jumps out of his skin, sending Jake tumbling to the ground as he shoves his boyfriend away and scrabbles desperately with his pants, barely managing to get his fly zipped before the bartender’s head appears around the side of the dumpster.
“No funny business going on back here, I hope,” Jimmy says archly, looking between Bradley, whose belt is still undone, and Jake, who’s sprawled on the ground glaring daggers at Bradley.
Bradley opens his mouth, but no words come out, so he looks wildly to Jake, who rolls his eyes.
“No,” Jake says acidly. “I wasn’t feeling well, thought it would be better to throw up out here than inside on the floor. Bradshaw came with me, but clearly he’s done more harm than good.”
Jimmy hums. “I’m sure. Go on, get out of here. Better have someone drive you home if you’re feeling so poorly.” He slings open the lid of the dumpster and tosses a bag in, closing it again and giving them a meaningful look before heading back inside.
Bradley runs a shaky hand over his face, then holds it out to Jake to help him up, but Jake just glares at him and hauls himself to his feet.
“Jake, come on,” Bradley protests. “He scared the shit out of me.”
“Out of you? Jesus, Bradley, I was the one on my knees,” Jake spits. “And it was fucking Jimmy. What was he going to do?”
“I know, I know, baby, let me make it up to you.”
Jake snorts. “Oh you’re going to make it up to me, alright. Repeatedly. And next time we play pool? We’re playing for money.”