InsaneJournal

take yourself to higher places.. PART TWO?
Who: Luc and Joaquin.
What: Rendezvous at the Spearmint Rhino.
Where: Las Vegas, Nevada.
When: Friday, August 12, 2011. Around 8pm.
Warnings: Well, it is in a strip club.. and it is Luc and Joaquin.. I'm thinking.. boobs and awkward? So far.. Okay, so I said nsfw right? Right.
Notes: PART TWO OF TWO. PART ONE, BECAUSE IJ IS LAME. Also, completed.

Luc nudged the angle of Joaquin's jaw with his nose, breathing hot and heavy into the kisses he pressed to the other man's exposed throat - tongue darting out occasionally to sample the skin there, because he really couldn't help himself anymore.

Fuck, he actually wanted more - and that was a strange experience for Luc, to actually want more of something like this.. of course, it had conveniently slipped his mind just then (for obvious reasons) just how much more he'd wanted from Nate that he'd never gotten.. and Luc was so tired of wanting. Hell, of needing something like this - though what exactly 'this' that he needed so fucking badly entailed, Luc was entirely unsure.. considering he'd done (very, very) little more with Nate than what he was doing just then with Joaquin.

He mouthed his way down Joaquin's throat, biting softly at the other's adam's apple as he continued his way southward. The grip on his tie elicited a moan against the other man's skin from somewhere deep in Luc's chest, and his hips bucked almost involuntarily in reaction to the fact that, clearly, Joaquin actually wanted him - at least to a certain degree, and that was more than enough.

"Nngh.. God.. you feel so good," he murmured, nosing lightly at the hollow of the other's clavicle before laying a wet kiss there.

Truthfully, he didn't want to stop - hell, he wanted to go and to get the fuck out of here and back to that hotel room and to the fucking beds but he wasn't about to move, no sir, no way. Not when reality was waiting outside, and this felt too sublime to even think about stopping himself just to relocate.

He let a hand slide up under the front of Joaquin's shirt, letting his palm skate along the flat of his abdomen and up to his chest - pressing it there just to feel the brunet's heart beating as his lips once again found Joaquin's. The kiss was languid and searching, completely contradictory to the fire that was boiling in his veins and how every nerve in his body was screaming for skin-on-skin contact - but it felt.. well, hell, it was the best kiss he'd had in ages; the first real kiss he'd had in far too long.

For someone who spent a lot of time paying attention to scenery - every little detail of his surroundings - Joaquin had forgotten about where they were, or at least he’d chosen to ignore it. While yes, going back to the hotel would have been the better choice, whether they were still in the VIP section of the Spearmint Rhino or not meant very little to him, surprisingly, and Britt’s presence had slipped his mind almost completely. He swore between heavy breaths, shivering at the bites Luc was leaving along his throat.

He thought for a moment maybe he should say something, but all that came out was a muffled groan against Luc’s lips. Loosening the man’s tie and not caring to see where it ended up once he was done with it, Joaquin rolled his hips down again against Luc’s, the feeling of his hand pressing against his bare skin unfamiliar but divine all the same. His fingers worked to try and unbutton Luc’s shirt, more unsteady than they’d been before.

Luc didn't work out, but he was definitely strong - it was harder for him not to be with just how much space he took up as a person. So it was with only minor difficulty that Luc's hands once again found Joaquin's hips, grasping firmly there to leverage the other man onto his back onto the couch - climbing over and up between the brunet's legs with an ease that was almost unnatural. He thanked God the couch spanned the wall, because his long legs needed quite a bit of room - but this? This was much better.

He propped one hand up by where Joaquin's head was against the cushion, fingers of the other spidering their way down the length of the other man's body. While Luc was probably far more inexperienced than Joaquin in this department, there was one thing he knew what to do with - his hands. After all, there hadn't been much he and Nate could do beyond that - so he had gotten a lot of practice.. well, back when he was able to get it.

"Mm, Jesus H," he mumbled under his breath, his hand finally coming to a rest at the juncture of Joaquin's thighs, palming the hardness there languidly. His touch was far more confident than any other action he'd made up until that point, because this? This he knew. This was familiar and comfortable and something he'd missed so badly, he didn't even realize it when the, "God, Nate," whispered past his parted lips where he'd taken to laying warm, damp kisses against Joaquin's chest.

It only took half a breath for the words to fall on Luc's ears, though, and it made his eyes go wide and his head snap up, blue gaze entirely panicked as he looked up at Joaquin.

"Oh - ohmygod, Joaquin, I'm - " He stopped and pulled back like he'd been burned, scrambling for the other end of the couch to preemptively move away before he could be pushed. "I'm so sorry."

Britt's glanced over her shoulder when it dawned on her that she wasn't hearing what she was supposed to be hearing, one perfectly-shaped brow arching as gray eyes checked out the scene. Oh, wow. This couldn't be good.

Joaquin felt like his head was spinning as Luc moved him onto his back, staring up at the other man through half-lidded eyes as he settled between his legs, a sleepy smile curled over his lips. Somehow he wasn’t really nervous anymore - or at least he’d just blocked it out and let pleasure take over.

“Fuck, Luc,” he murmured, closing his eyes and rocking his hips up against the other man’s hand. Everything seemed perfect then, despite the fact that they were still in a strip club and drunk and really, how professional was this but then... Then it all came crashing down on top of Joaquin just when he was really getting comfortable. Nate.

He frowned, opening his eyes. Who was Nate, anyway? Did it even matter? Nate wasn’t him. Luc wasn’t thinking about Joaquin, he was thinking about someone else. Luc’s instant reaction didn’t help matters, either, and soon he found himself slowly sitting up, his hand in front of his mouth as he tried to think of what to say. Was there anything to say?

Words couldn’t explain how much Joaquin wanted to get out of that club right then. He wanted to go home - not even home. He wanted to be up in the mountains or something, somewhere away from everyone.

This was exactly why he didn’t do this kind of thing.

The way Luc's heart was hammering in his chest wasn't a result of his libido anymore - nope, he was panicking. Panicking because he'd actually called Joaquin Nate and that was just so not okay on so many levels. This was bad. This was so, so fucking bad.

"Jesusfuckingchrist," he hissed when he felt the sting of tears behind his eyes - and, no, there was no way. He wasn't that drunk and that was definitely not happening while he was here. Not now, and certainly not ever in front of anyone.. well, ever. His eyes were violent blue pools of emotion then, wide and unsure as they raked over Joaquin's face.

"I - I'm.." he stammered, completely at a loss for what he was supposed to say then that could possibly salvage this - because Luc didn't mean to say that, and he most certainly hadn't intended on fucking things up as badly as it would appear he had done. So he ran a hand through his hair before getting unsteadily to his feet, palming over his cheek as he looked down at the ground and then back to Joaquin.

"I'm just.. so sorry," he said softly, and took a few steps towards the door - but Britt stepped into his path. Tiny as she was compared to Luc's massive frame, she was still a force to be reckoned with - after all: dynamite.

"What's the problem, baby?" It was a pointed question that she said as smoothly as she could, a coy smile playing across her full, glossed lips as she let her index and middle fingers walk up Luc's chest.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but stopped short and shook his head, maneuvering past the tattooed blonde and making a bee line for the bathrooms - because at least there he could catch his breath and try to figure out a way to smooth all this over.. because, God, he still wanted Joaquin sofuckingbadly - but the chances that Joaquin was never going to let something like that happen again.. well, they seemed far more likely at that moment.

Joaquin felt absolutely terrible - like all of that confidence and shamelessness had just gotten ripped apart, leaving him the awkward, shy mess he’d always been. But at the same time, watching Luc, he wasn’t sure he was mad. He looked so upset, beyond just the embarrassment Joaquin was feeling himself. The light was dim, making it hard to tell, but Luc almost looked like he was tearing up. He opened his mouth to speak but couldn’t quite find words, just watched as Britt tried to block the man from the door, with little success.

Rising from the couch he quickly rebuttoned his shirt, pulling down at the bottom to try and make it look less rumpled, then hurried toward the door.

“Look, um, Britt, um, I’ll be back, okay? We’ll be back. I mean - shit, this is fucking...” He ran a hand through his hair. “This is weird but I’ve got to make sure he’s okay.”

He was pretty sure that wasn’t the typical just got called the wrong name reaction, but something was definitely wrong. Slipping out past Britt he walked quickly toward the closing bathroom door, yanking it open and stepping inside.

“Luc?” he called.

Britt was at a loss - because this was a new one, definitely. But it was clear that all she needed to do was find the waitress and tell her how much money to put on Luc's tab - she was tempted to say a grand, but she didn't want to hustle him that badly, so she just said $500. She'd charged more for less, really (and more for more, but she'd at least earned it then).

Luc hadn't thought that Joaquin would follow him - which was exactly why he went for the bathroom. Of course, he hadn't thought about much except for his need to get far away from Joaquin right then, just because he needed some space to reoxygenate his brain and think for a second. He smiled weakly at the bathroom guy as he posted up at the sink, head snapping up when he heard his name - eyes wide again as he looked at the brunet male behind him through the mirror.

"Fuck - Joaquin - !" he stopped himself short of saying anything, shooting a glance over to the bathroom attendant and making a weak gesture with one hand to try and signal that any conversation they could possibly have needed to die right then and there. He stepped towards him, giving his shirtsleeve a tug as he passed by to exit the bathroom - and headed for the exit of the club (telling his waitress to put a $200 tip on the bill and close him out when he passed her at the bar) towards the parking lot where he'd valeted his car.

He was far too drunk to drive - but after a little negotiation with the valet, he managed to get his keys from him, because he wasn't looking to drive actually. He just wanted to be in his car because it was secluded and quiet and familiar - and away from prying ears and eyes. And maybe because he had his iPod in there and it might help him think; God knew he needed all of it he could get. Jesus Christ.. what had he done?
Jesus Christ. Joaquin followed quickly behind Luc, painfully aware of how odd the situation must’ve looked if anyone was paying attention. At least it would be a memorable night for Britt. Or not. He somehow doubted this was a regular occurrence, but he had no idea. It was too bad they were rushing out - she was actually pretty cool. It was too bad her amazing little plan had ended not so amazingly, but regardless...

Somehow Luc had managed to convince the valet to get his keys back - he had no idea how, but he did. At least Joaquin would be there to keep him from actually driving anywhere if he got any bright ideas about it. Once they were out at the car, the silence felt almost deafening after being in the club, and Joaquin had no idea what he was supposed to say.

“Are you, um... Are you alright?” he asked softly.

Luc didn't even get into the car - just stopped at the driver's side to fold his forearms against the roof of the BMW and lean his forehead against it. He was shaking, his shoulders tensely hunched as he squeezed his eyes shut, furrowing his brow against the tears that were threatening more fully in the cool desert night air.

He shook his head at himself, like that alone would keep all of these emotions at bay - but Luc wasn't stupid. He knew he was too fucked up to keep this up for much longer, and what he'd done had fucked him up more than the liquor ever could. He shook his head again when he heard Joaquin's voice, swallowing thickly against the rising lump in his throat in an attempt to force it back down where it belonged. God, Nate.. and poor Joaquin.. and, fuck.

"I - " His voice broke on the syllable, eyes still screwed shut as he took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "No," was a harshly shaking whisper, only audible because of how quiet it was outside compared to in the club itself. He pushed himself away from the car suddenly, hands going up to tunnel in his hair as he took a few strides away from the car only to pace back. His face was an emotional trainwreck, the tears shining in his eyes in the lights of the lot as he continued to work his bottom lip between his perfectly white teeth. "I'm not okay," he whispered, quietly defeated - and it was almost like he was saying it to himself. He sniffed back the burning in his eyes (still winning on that front, but for how much longer.. he didn't know), shaking his head over again.

"I - " He finally let himself look at Joaquin (he'd kept his back to him as much as possible during his pacing), and something broke inside him. His features twisted in despair, he hit the button on his clicker to unlock the car.

Flinging the driver's seat open, he dropped himself inside the seat so he could slam the door shut. Once behind the wheel, he covered his face in his hands and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel itself - breath hitching in his throat as the first sob came out. Nate. Natenatenatenatenate. He hadn't felt this kind of aching loss so keenly since the day they buried him.. and Johnnie Walker wasn't going to let him just blow that fact off this time.

Joaquin hadn’t known Luc very long, and he certainly didn’t know him very well, but he honestly never expected to see him like this, especially not on this trip. The Luc he’d met was impossibly charming and seemingly confident - seeing him break down was almost shocking.

He kept silent from the other side of the car, not wanting to intrude or seem nosy, but at the same time he wanted to help if he could. While he never was a people person, Joaquin wasn’t going to let the man be miserable all on his own, even if he could only provide a shoulder to cry on and a pair of ears.

He breathed in deeply as Luc pressed his forehead against the steering wheel, waiting a good minute before gently opening the passenger side door and sliding in beside him. Chewing his lip, he hesitated before finally speaking, his voice quiet.

“Do you... um, do you want to talk about it? I’m... I’m here if you want to.” He wondered if maybe he should call a cab, but he wasn’t sure how long they could be here in the car.

This was not at all a state Luc Haust would ever have let Joaquin see him in if he had any handle on the situation then - but he clearly didn't. And as his body was wracked by a few choked-out sobs, he shook his head - keeping his face covered to salvage what little of his dignity he had left. Talk.. God, he did want to talk to Joaquin about it. He so did, but there was no way he could bring himself to fess up to any of it at the moment.

And what was he supposed to say? Oh, sorry I called you my dead boyfriend's name while I was rubbing your cock - but, believe me when I say it isn't a totally bad thing. Why isn't it a bad thing? Oh, you know, because I'm still in love with him. Right. That would go over like a lead fucking balloon, he would put money on it.

He pressed his forehead harder into the leather of the steering wheel, rubbing hard at his eyes after taking a few deep, sniffling breaths - sure, he'd lost it (completely) for a few minutes (which was essentially an eternity in Luc's world, but still), but he could get it back together, right? Right.

He let his eyes fall closed, keeping his head leaned against the wheel as he swallowed hard to try and steady his voice before even attempting to speak again. "I.." He trailed off, having to clear his throat to get the last of the choking emotion out of it. "I can't."

He slid his palms over the curve of the wheel, knuckles going white when his fingers clenched around it. He was shaking his head again, brows furrowing against the second wave of tears he could feel rising up as his mind took him on a quick jaunt down the last few weeks of Nate's life. A wave of nausea washed over him as he remembered just how much pain his lover had been in and how there was nothing Luc could do to ease it even the slightest bit - how it made him feel so helpless and useless and worthless for so many weeks after he'd died..

"God, Nate.." he breathed, like it was some kind of prayer, and it was almost subconscious the way his right hand went to clutch at his ribs on that same side, pressing flat against the freshly stinging tribute he'd gotten inked beneath his shirt there - pressing hard, because the pain of the tattoo almost felt good compared to the feeling in his chest. It felt like his heart was breaking all over again, and he'd never wanted so badly to reach into his own chest and rip it out so he wouldn't have to feel it anymore. "I can't."

Joaquin kept his eyes down toward his own lap, pressing his hands flat against his knees. “Okay,” he murmured. “It’s okay. You um... Don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. I’m sorry.” He still felt like shit, and being kept in the dark wasn’t helping, but what was he supposed to do? Demand to know an acquaintance’s personal business? Especially regarding something that was apparently extremely upsetting? Nate. Luc had never mentioned a Nate, but... Well, he was obviously important. Jesus, and he’d gotten so brave, too.

“Do you... uh...” He glanced over at Nate, now pressing his hand to his ribs, and winced at how pained he looked by it. “Do you want me to call a cab?” It looked like the night was only going to get worse from there - at least if they were back at the hotel maybe things could calm down a little. Maybe he could get Luc to just sleep it off and he’d feel a bit better in the morning. Doubtful, but...

Yeah. This trip was a bad idea. Everything he’d done tonight was an even worse idea.

Luc squeezed his eyes more tightly shut, taking in a deep breath and sighing it out before settling back in the seat of the Bimmer, hands falling into his lap to pick at his cuticles as his gaze followed the task closely when he opened his eyes again.

"M'sorry," he mumbled, and he wanted to offer Joaquin a smile but it was beyond his capability. He swiped his tongue across his bottom lip instead, teeth digging into the dampened flesh when he realized he could still taste Joaquin there. "M'really sorry."

Fuck, but that whiskey had hit him hard really fast, and now he was practically spinning - or maybe he was just dizzy from the psychological wound he'd so cleverly reopened himself, albeit subconsciously when he'd initally said Nate's name.

"S'not your fault, y'know." His voice was low and wearily weak. He was frowning when he finally looked up at Joaquin, throat tightening ever-so-slightly, though he bit down on his lip again in an attempt to quell the feeling. It didn't work. "I - "

He wanted to tell Joaquin everything about Nate just then - wanted to share the good with all of that bad and the in-between and just.. spill his guts to someone he actually felt some kind of connection with for once instead of just his therapist. Wanted to, but couldn't. His pale eyes studied Joaquin's face carefully, and he knew in his gut that the other man deserved some kind of explanation - that it wasn't fair to pull this whole thing on him and just expect him to be okay with not understanding what the problem was.

So, instead of attempting to gather the thoughts together that it would take for him to form coherent sentences at that moment (far too much effort involved in that, and he was way, way too drunk) - he grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked the buttons down and apart, sending them flying in various directions in the cab of the car. And effectively ruining the shirt, but he'd already lost the tie that went with it - and, on top of that, he couldn't really give a fuck.

He let the shirt fall down off his shoulders a little and he lifted up the right side to show a piece of saran wrap stuck to vaseline and inked lines against his skin. He peeled back the covering with his left hand, revealing the full design of the tattoo itself. Positioned beneath his arm about level with his nipple was a chain of three hyacinth flowers horizontal above an old english text reading 'N. Walliams,' and below that a flourished script that stated '30 sept 1984 - 23 jan 2011.' And as he showed that to Joaquin, Luc couldn't even look at him, his gaze averting to his lap again because it was too much for him then. Truthfully, his entire conscious being felt about as raw and exposed as that patch of skin did.

Joaquin shook his head, trying his best to give Luc a reassuring smile as the man looked up at him. “No, no, um, it’s okay. Really. Don’t... Be sorry.” He still was clueless as to what this was all about but with the way Luc had broken down, he was worried about the man. The whole... really hot thing that had been going on back at the club didn’t matter anymore, which was really too bad but - there were more important things to worry about now.

He was surprised as Luc started yanking his shirt open, buttons flying every which way, and was about to ask what he was doing when he spotted the fresh ink beneath Luc’s arm. For a second he didn’t understand the relevance, but once he read the name and the dates marked there, he felt his heart sink.

“I’m so sorry, Luc,” he murmured, not sure what else to say. Everything made a little more sense now, and Joaquin felt... He couldn’t quite explain it. More and more he felt like everything he’d done, he shouldn’t have.

Luc let his shirt fall back down, pulling it over his chest and abdomen a little self-consciously; while he'd been so eager to get naked earlier, now it left him feeling too vulnerable - and Luc hated to feel vulnerable. So much so that his first instinct was to turn on the car and go back to the hotel right then and there, just so he could lock himself in his room of the suite and try to recover some of his self-respect. He felt like an asshole, that was for sure - hell, he'd called Joaquin Nate (he was still reeling from this fact), and nevermind the scene he'd caused after that one.. God. He was hesitant to look back up at the brunet, the reluctance written all over his features as he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

"S'nothing to be sorry about," he said quietly, because it was true - after all, it wasn't Joaquin's fault Nate died. Fuck, it wasn't even Luc's fault, but of course it felt like it was. "Sorry doesn't bring anyone back."

Had he been sober, a statement like that would have never left his mouth; he couldn't help but smile wryly at the remark though. It was definitely also the liquor that had to do with how he brought a hand up to cup Joaquin's cheek, thumb sliding across the skin there gently. It was as much of an affectionate gesture as he was capable of with the emotional state he was swimming in and out of then, but Joaquin at least deserved that much - because he really had done a lot better than Luc would have if he'd been in the other's shoes.

His hand dropped back into his lap, finding his keys to toy with the rings on them absently - now itching to get the fuck out of the parking lot and to the hotel. The bed was practically screaming his name with how exhausted the short burst of tears had made him. Now he just felt.. completely drained. And not at all in the way he'd wanted to be when this whole evening started either.

"S'probably time to call that cab."

Joaquin sighed softly, nodding. “I guess that’s true enough.” He watched the man carefully as his thumb brushed against his cheek, letting out a deep breath slowly. He’d wanted to get closer to Luc, but now that he had - a lot closer than he’d expected, honestly - he felt as though he’d done something terrible. After all, he’d sparked this breakdown, hadn’t he? Telling himself silently that he should continue his tradition of not drunkenly kissing random acquaintances he found attractive, Joaquin reached over to give Luc’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, then pulled away and fished his phone out of his pocket.

After calling for someone to pick them up, Joaquin looked over at Luc again and smiled faintly. “C’mon. I think... Um, we could both use some rest.” He opened the car door and waited for Luc to follow suit before getting out.