So, The Keychain turns out to be, not so much “this private bar I know” as it is, “the single coolest place Jake has ever set foot in”, with psychic bartenders and just the right amount of grime to make him feel like Bruce Willis. And Majors (who has told Jake several times to call him Dave but he’s still kind of in awe, so…one step at a time) turns out to be, not so much “probably the coolest person Jake knows” as he is, “definitely the coolest person Jake knows”, with about a thousand amazing case stories that legitimately sound like action movies.
“So McNeil is still unconscious, and I don’t have my gun, and the bomb timer is down to one minute. The doors are still locked, and Erikkson, the bastard, is already halfway down the side of the building. Obviously I’d be able to kick the doors down-“
“Obviously,” Jake agrees, taking another sip of his drink.
“-If my leg hadn't been broken by the little weasel during our little fistfight earlier, so I…” Majors trails off, staring at the glass of mystery alcohol in front of him.
“Yeah? What did you do?”
Majors sighs, squinting into the distance.
“What I had to.”
Jake is kind of scared of him, but also kind of wants to be him, and also kind of wants to make out with him a bunch.
Majors downs the rest of his drink in a single gulp, barely even wincing, as Jake finishes his own off, and sets the empty glass back onto the counter before arching his back, arms up over his head in a long stretch. This is exactly what he’s been needing lately, it’s just fun. Everything has just been…weird and stressful and awkward lately, but Majors is really cool and impressive, and Jake is very pointedly not thinking about why he’s been all stressed lately, because really, getting drunk and sad and complaining about how stupid grownup feelings are probably wouldn't do wonders for making a new best friend.
He slumps back into his chair, smiling and chill, and when he looks back up, Majors is grinning at him.
“If you’re done with your drink, I’d like to show you something.”
The door shuts behind them with a soft click, the chatter and music of the bar cutting off suddenly, and leaving Jake with the sound of his own breathing, slightly heavier than usual.
“The…bathroom?” Jake ventures, glancing around at the pale green stall doors, the row of sinks along one wall, the mirror above them. It all seems very normal and bathroom-y, but Majors laughs quietly.
“The bathroom,” he confirms.
“Is there…something special? About this bathroom?” He croaks, leaning against the cool wall in an attempt to ease the sudden heat under his collar, as Majors takes a step forward, the squeak of his shoes against the linoleum seeming jarringly loud in the quiet room, and even though he’s a solid five feet away, Jake swears he can smell the leather of his jacket, can feel the heat coming off him in waves.
“Well,” Majors says “there’s some graffiti in one of those stalls left by Frank Serpico-“
“Yeah, I can show you later if you want, but more importantly, I get the feeling you’re pretty into me, is that right?”
Jake’s focus snaps back from the stall Majors had gestured to, to find that there was suddenly only a few inches separating them, and yeah, he definitely isn't imagining it now, the scent of leather and spicy aftershave and amazing police work is heady, and the whole front of his body feels like it’s burning.
“How…?” Because seriously, Jake thought he’d been subtle about this.
“I’m a great detective, Jake, the clues were all there. Plus, I heard Santiago making fun of you earlier. Apparently you need to ‘stop drooling over Detective Majors and his, admittedly, gorgeous assets, because we’ve got work to do.’”
Jake groans, and drops his head back against the wall.
“Don’t put words in my mouth, man.”
“Can I put something else in your mouth, then?”
“What?” Jake’s jerks his head up, and becomes very aware of how close they are, how the other detective’s blue, blue eyes are staring with a hot intensity at - yup, at his mouth.
“I could do the same for you. Or use my hand if that’s what you want. I kind of get the feeling…” he drags his nails lightly down the side of Jake’s neck, and grins victoriously when he shivers “that you’re a fan of hickeys. So maybe hand stuff would be better. It’s up to you."
Majors is smiling at him, not threateningly, but definitely wolfish in a weird, sexy kind of way. His breath is hot against jake’s neck and ear as he leans in.
“That sound like something you’d be into?”
And yes, yes it definitely is. He might have some complaints about the location, though.
“You don’t wanna come back to my place instead? Where, you know, there isn't the chance of some drunk, tattooed pool player is gonna barge in on — well, actually, it still might happen, I live in kind of a shit neighbourhood, but still, a lot less likely. Plus I have a bed.” Even as he speaks, Jake is tugging his jacket off, letting it slide to the floor
“I’m a risk taker, Jake, Danger’s my middle name,” he stretch his arm out to the side, towards the door, and a second later there’s a decisive click that turns Jake on more than it should. “Also, the door locks.”
“Well alright alright alright,” and he tugs Majors in by the collar of the shirt.
Correction: this is exactly what Jake’s been needing lately. Nothing like getting your mack on with a gorgeous, amazing detective to take your mind off of awful, unrequited feelings for another gorgeous, amazing detective, right? But, okay, he seriously, seriously doesn’t need to be thinking about her right now, and — yeah — he’s having a little trouble thinking about anything at all, with the way Majors is scraping his teeth along Jake’s lower lip, and the way his amazing, wonderful thigh is insinuating itself between Jake’s legs and pressing just so against the bulge in his jeans. Jake sighs, rocking his hips as steadily as he can into that fantastic pressure, trying to keep his breathing under control and failing miserably as Majors turns his attention to Jake’s neck, pressing light little kisses on the sensitive skin there before tightening this grip on Jake’s hips and sucking hard.
And then, because he’s actually an idiot, who doesn’t understand when it’s probably best to call someone by their first name, Jake grinds down on the solid thigh between his legs and gasps out “Shiiiit, shit, Majors”.
Majors laughs, actually laughs out loud, the dick, which, ok, rude. But Jake doesn’t have time to snark about it before the hot, insistent mouth that had been working so pleasantly on his neck, pulls back, and Majors exhales hotly against the beard burn Jake undoubtedly has by now, before replying.
“Thought I told you to call me Dave,” he mutters, voice gone all rough and scratchy and heated like he’d just smoked about 10 cigarettes or given a bunch of blowjobs, and yup, Jake has absolutely no idea what he’s even thinking anymore because Majors — Dave — is rubbing his dick through his pants.
It’s at this point when Jake has to just drop his head back against the wall behind him and stop even pretending he’s cool, because seriously, one of Jake’s personal heroes, and quite possibly the sexiest man on the planet, is gonna give him a handjob in the bathroom of his cool, underground hangout.
Dave’s apparently caught onto the fact that his awful, scratchy, sexy beard is kinda doing things to him, as he leans in and rubs his whole fucking cheek against Jake’s neck like a cat, leaving a raw, achy feeling that makes Jake wanna whine, as much as the steady, rolling pressure of Dave’s hand against him. Jake’s hands, until now pressed still and hard against the wall, rise up shakily to Dave’s shoulders, work at pushing that stupidly attractive leather jacket off of him. He pulls away just long enough to shrug out of it, tossing it towards the sinks, Jake’s hands on him as soon as possible, running over his chest and shoulders as Dave flicks open the button of Jake’s fly with one hand and presses his hips securely into the wall with the other. He hesitates for a moment, fingers stroking the sensitive skin of his hips, in a way that’s probably meant to be soothing but is really just making Jake kind of desperate to feel those fingers a little lower. Dave glances up and smiles, roguish and quick, but genuine.
Now Jake really does whine.
And that’s that.
Everything after that is a haze of heat, of the contrasting pain and pleasure of Dave’s mouth gentle on his neck, his beard scratchy in the best way, of Dave’s hand on him, skin rough and calloused, touch firm but not quite firm enough to really satisfy, until, very suddenly, it really is.
“Oh, shit, shit yeah, Dave, I-“ he chokes as he comes, his whole body jerking under Dave’s hands, dislodging the teeth scraping along his earlobe and squeezing Dave’s shoulders in an attempt to ground himself.
He slumps against the wall, shuddering, as Dave rubs soothingly against his hip, smiling quietly against Jake’s neck and cleaning him up with a handful of tissues that were probably willed into existence by sheer sexual energy.
And right then he notices significant bulge in the front of Dave’s pants, and he would be embarrassed at what an inconsiderate bathroom hookup he’s being if he weren’t so distracted by the sight.
“Sooo, what you said about my mouth…You still want me to? Do you have-“
Dave plants one last scratchy, bitey kiss on him, then pulls away to yank his jacket off the counter and rummage through the pockets, producing the little foil square Jake was after, and tossing it to him with a cocky little smile. Then he leans in close enough to hook his fingers through the belt loops of Jake’s still unbuttoned jeans, and with a little push, Dave’s the one with his back against the wall and his hands sliding up to Jakes shoulders, urging him down, down, down.
Oh yeah, this is exactly what he’s been needing lately.