extra, extra!

Swiping the wallet from his grasp, Kip decided that if it was already procured, they might as well enjoy the fruits of that labour. Flipping it open, he took a couple bucks from the pocket, offering them to Francis. "Hard earned cash for the night," he said with a bit of a grin, playfully hitting his shoulder again. "You're a natural, man, would of sworn you were doin' this your whole life!"

Realizing he was getting far too touchy for his own good, he took one final bill and stuffed it into his own pocket -- Francis had done all the work, not him, this was just to make the evening a profit for him. Holding up a finger, he took a few steps away and held the leather up. "Oi! Mate! This yours?" he hollered, and as soon as the man reacted, he tossed it and disappeared back into the shadows. 

Returning, Kip wrapped an arm snugly around Francis' shoulders for a split second, sidling around him again, unable to hide his grin. "Don't worry 'bout watchin' your pockets 'round me, pally, if I was gonna rob ya, I woulda done it when we met, not after I got t'know ya."

"Yes, you can," Milton replied shortly, "unless you can think of a more fitting name for myself." He watched the young man take a sip of his drink, noting how he tentatively he drank it. It wasn’t something he drank an awful lot of, that was quite plain to see, but that was quite clearly a money issue. "It’s simply a pleasure, Kip,” he crooned. “Though now you’ve got me curious about these other names.” A small smirk danced over Milton’s lips, truth in what he was saying. “What do they call you? Doll face? Kipper? Gotta say I’d empathize with the first one.” He took the last mouthful of his drink, enjoying the warm burn of the liquid sliding down his throat, but not giving anything away facially about his last comment. He wasn’t flirting with the kid, he just wanted to get on his good side find out more about him, but if the kid took it as flirting then all the more fun for them both. The truth was he was genuinely curious. Kip seemed to have a quick wit about him, something Milton enjoyed stupendously and that, in the small space of having known him, reminded him of himself at that age. Despite having grown up in a poor environment, and not having much of an education, his time on the street had supplied him with plenty of street smarts and the ability to appreciate good wit. 

Kip’s question about his own attire surprised him but he had to laugh at it. “Maybe I do got a lot to lose. That bull would have a hard time getting anything off me though. Just a heads up in case you try anything later, Kip the kid. As for what I’m doing here,” he paused and shook his empty glass at the bartender, silently asking for another, only just a little tipsy now having finished his third scotch. He looked back at Kip thoughtfully, smirk still in place. “Why don’t you give me a laugh and tell me what you I think a fella like me is doing in a place like this, hm?”

Flirtation came like second nature to him. Most of it innocent, harmless -- the sort of teasing that got him a few cents off his meals, or forge an alliance with some of the people at the paper distribution office, which kept him in the best territories and a slightly higher pay cut than most of the other newsies. In a place like this, though, the fun was lost. He liked flirting with men he didn't think would reciprocate. Handsome as Milton was, they were ultimately there for the same reason. There were at least a dozen other speakeasies in the neighbourhood, but only one sort frequented a place like this. He had to get those kicks another way. "What sorta threat would you pose to the coppers?" he asked, some genuine curiosity mingled with the thin veil of cocksureness he was applying to himself. "You're on your second scotch. Could smell it on your breath. Might get this whole place shut down. Proof's in the pudding, fella. Can't fight what you've already proven."

He leaned in, a small chuckle catching in his throat. "Think you're here the same reason as everyone else. T'get drunk. Find a man equal as drunk to go with ya into a back room. Go home 'n tell your wife you're sorry for workin' late, get two lays in one night, one from him, one from her, but he's the one you're thinkin' about when you got yourself on top of her, 'cuz he's the one you're really interested in." He glanced over, trying to read his face, gauge how much of it was resonating, if any. "Think you're here 'cuz you like the thrill of livin' a double life. What do you do out there? In the real world? You a lawman? A lawmaker? You look like one. So you come down here an' hope that somebody's gonna give you the side eye, look at you the way he looks at a piece o' meat, and make you feel like a man the way your profession doesn't allow you to. That's why I think you're here. 'Cuz you wanna be a man."

His finger ran along the rim of his glass, a hollow noise resonating from it. "Why d'you think I'm here?"

"Southside. An interesting choice," he commented when the cocktail was set in front them, and he slid it towards the man before picking up his third scotch of the evening. "I don’t ask that you pay me back, though I feel like I should know the name of my company for tonight," he said. "You can call me Milton." He smiled before bringing the tumbler up to his lips where he took a gentle sip, eyeing the young man over the rim of the glass. He had a young face, soft features, entirely different to the rugged middle-aged men Milton usually went for.

"Can I?" he repeated, looking over and up without raising his chin, as if he'd been given permission of something he hadn't had before. He reached tentatively for his drink, taking a small sip. Southsides made him feel classier than he was, even if the sting of juniper berries agitated his tongue. He swirled it around in the glass, thin smile on his face. "You can call me Kip, if that's what you want to call me," he explained. "I go by a lot of names, all depends on who's callin'." He ran a finger along the bar, bunching his lips together in thought. "What's a fella like you doin' in a place like this? You're dressed like you got a lot to lose, would be a shame for tonight to be the night the bull decided to close in on it."

Milton found himself spending more and more time at the Back Door Club nowadays. Home could be lonesome at times, and the local bars just didn’t compete in comparison. Plus, seeing as he worked for himself he was fortunate enough to be able to stay out late and drink midweek if he so chose, having no obligations to be at work by the crack of dawn the next morning. As it so happened, he rarely visited the club this early on in the week but he’d had a particularly good day and had deemed himself worthy of a celebration. He’d collected a hefty sum of money from his last catch, a lawyer he’d been tailing who’d been bribing the jury. Or rather, not so much as bribe as threaten. But, giving the man a taste of his own medicine, Milton soon resolved the matter, demanding that the man admit to bribing the court, or Milton would spill the beans to the lawyer’s wife and family about the long evenings after work with a certain secretary of his. That put an end to the matter, and Milton got paid handsomely for his silence.

And so here Milton was, just finishing his second tumbler of scotch of the evening. The club was quieter than on a weekend, there was no doubt about that, but there were still a few handsome men milling about the place. Feeling the need for some company - in all senses of the word - and feeling particularly generous in his good mood, Milton sidled up to one of the men at the bar, his hand splayed next to their own nearly empty glass, perhaps invading their personal space just a little bit, and asked, plastering a charming smile onto his face, “Care for another drink, darling? It’s on me. I’m feeling particularly generous tonight and I couldn’t help but notice your glass is empty.”

He wouldn't say no when somebody approached him, but that was a baseline pleasure. Real pleasure came in the conquest. He thought of Abel. That had been an experience he would never forget. This far into the night, even if he was only one drink down -- a highball, one of the few things he could stomach -- he had trouble remembering anybody, or anything, beyond that night. It brought a smile to his face, coaxed out of it only by the sound of a voice that was directed at him. 

Glancing over, his eyes ran up and over the man's frame, looking for some sort of tell. All the men here had their motivations for speaking to somebody like him. It was usually the other way around, masquerading flirtation as a chance to get another drink so he could have a few extra hours in the lap of luxury rather than the alley he'd staked out not two blocks away. "Never said no to a drink before," he responded with a crooked smile, unsure of its authenticity. "If it's on your tab, then I'll have a Southside. If it's gonna cost me somethin' later, then I'll take another highball." He winked at the men, head tilting. "I don't like takin' debts I ain't sure I can pay up."

Chicago was beautiful at more or less any time of the day, regardless of rain, sun, snow or sleet. The mornings were often bright and hazy in a dusky sort of way reminiscent to Vernon of his mother’s favorite perfume and the mottled coral bottle it came in, always catching the light on her dresser when she’d open her curtains. But even more beautiful than the morning was the night, becoming increasingly more intoxicating the darker it got. The darkest hour was Vernon’s favorite, three in the morning when most of the city was sleeping, and in fact most of the roughians and wild children too. All that was left at three in the morning were the people who waxed poetic, the ones plagued by insomnia, the most interesting company the city had to offer, and that was what Vernon enjoyed more than anything. 

Unlike some, he could control his prospective vices, though that left two competing for the role of addiction, the one he couldn't keep under wraps. Stealing and sex. And where better a place to find both? To really see which of the two would win out in the end.

He sat on a wooden chair near the entrance to the dimly lit room, scanning for vulnerable people, ones who he could walk past without even having to bump into. Jackets left throw on the dividers between booths, or over the backs of couches. His eyes often lingered on attractive faces, one in particular, unable to keep himself from going in for a second glance. 

More words escaped Kip’s lips, but Abel had no intention of answering them. His mouth had other plans. He kissed around each of Kip’s nipple before teething one softly, flicking it with his tongue and pulling on it with his teeth. Once he had sufficiently serviced one, he moved to the other. “Yes,” Abel said, finishing the second nip and moving down to kiss around Kip’s navel. “Tonight’s my usual night to visit the club. I figured I’d either shag you tonight, or go to the club afterwards.” 

Abel’s fingers wrapped around the waistband of Kip’s trousers. “Substitute?” Abel chuckled and unbuttoned Kip’s pants. “This is exactly what I want. You are the real thing, baby.” Abel grabbed the zipper of Kip’s pants with his teeth and pulled it down, revealing the bulge of underwear underneath. “You’ve been hiding this from me all night? That’s not very nice.”

He didn't protest when the playing of his nipples ceased, but only because the sensation of hot breath trailing down his stomach temporarily prevented his ability to speak. Feeling Abel's mouth on his crotch, even through two layers of fabric, made his toes curl and his eyes close shut from the anticipation of things to come. "I wasn't hiding nothing," he protested, nerves pinching together, making the bulge grow and sink to relieve the pressure building in the confines of his briefs. 

Seeing Abel's thighs only made things worse, thick and muscular. The sight was topped only by the vision of what little now separated them from one another, and when the man came back down, he felt body heat all over, tingling against the soft hairs of his legs. The first thrust drove him crazy, biting down on his lip and nearly drawing blood, all to stifle the moan that still managed to break forth. "I can scream as loud as you want," he said, leaning in for another kiss, so grateful that those lips were finally his. They'd been teasing him for so long. "Wake the whole damned neighbourhood if it'll make you happy."

Abel opened his mouth before Kip’s thumb left his bottom lip, and he pushed it into his mouth. A small pop could be heard when he pulled away. “Stud?” He asked with feigned surprise. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you mean.”

He pushed himself to his knees and turned Kip around under him so that they were facing each other. “I’m sorry, Kip, but my patience has run dry. I’m afraid I’m going to lose control here in a minute.” Abel smiled and leaned in, placing a kiss on the prominent collar bone of Kip’s chest. “I’ve wanted…” He placed a kiss on Kip’s neck. “Those lips…” Another on his chin. “On mine…” Another on his nose. “All night.” Abel pressed his lips into Kip’s, letting out a small sigh of relief as he finally got what he wanted.

His hands were finally free to not be afraid of touch, fingertips grazing against the side of Abel's abdomen, slowly curling around to his waist and the small of his back. "My intentions?" he repeated, voice stark as his breath caught in his throat. He was ready to erupt, even now. "I thought I would seduce you with my wiles. Maybe rob you of some cans of beans and whatever I could dig out of your wallet while you slept." Any other time, such candidness would have done him no favours, but the ferocity with which Abel seemed to react towards him, Kip figured he could take the risk. "But then, just now, you called me yours. And now the second part of that plan's gone out the window in favour of this."

Biting down on his bottom lip, he scanned the crowd on either side of them, still partially protected in a darkened part of the fairgrounds, humming to himself in thought. "I dare you..." he began, folding his arms at his chest, one hand raised to scratch his chin as though it were bearded. 

The thought struck him rather abruptly. "I dare you to try and take a fella's wallet," he said, nodding his head several times. "Jus' gotta take it from his pocket, or get caught doin' it. Depends on how good you are." He grinned crookedly, eying Francis down. "I'll even go first, give you a couple hints." 

Without so much as waiting, he bolted off, immediately connecting in a rather rotund man. Apologetic, Kip distracted him by dusting and flattening his tie and shirt, the other hand reaching into his pocket. While the man's head was turned the other way, he waggled it in the air, flashing it to his new partner in crime. Before the mark could look back, though, Kip crouched down, pretending like he was scooping it from the ground. "You dropped it, mister," he said, bowing his head politely, then came back, vanishing into the shadows.

He tossed the boy a wink, biting down on his cheek. "Good," he said plainly, bowing his head down and looking up through his peripherals. "I don't really care for sharing. Kinda selfish like that."

Kip lied down on his bed, his rear end sticking in the air. Abel felt like a tiger who hadn’t eaten for weeks, and he was about to pounce on it when Kip asked another question. “Can’t say I know what a lomi-whatever is, but I can give you a massage, if that’s what you’re after.” Abel smirked. Whether or not the man had been to the Back Door club or not, his intentions were clear.

Abel placed his hand on the small of Kip back and pushed his behind back onto the bed. Keeping a hand there, Abel twisted himself and straddle the younger man’s hips. Without a word, Abel pushed the palms of his hands into the man’s flesh, looking for the tights spots. His hand pushed and pulled on the muscle in front of him, and he shifted his hips every so often to keep the younger man in place.

When he felt the tingle of a whisper in his ear, a chill ran down his back. Now it was his turn to make an actual decision. Not teasing, or playing, or pushing buttons. Kip knew what his answer was going to be, it was just a matter of coming up with the courage for it. This was different than meeting somebody at the club, where you knew what you were getting yourself into. Erring on the side of caution, in a situation like this one, might have been a good idea. He was a street kid. That was always a good idea. 

Hot in the face, he dug himself further down into the cushioning, still squirming from the tickle on his earlobe. "Were those your intentions this whole time?" he questioned, voice weak. His own restraint was lacking. That he lasted this long was nothing short of a miracle. "Lure a kid out here to get some nookie?"

"A tour?" Abel asked, glancing around at his place. It wasn’t that big, but then again, he had no idea of Kip’s upbringing, other than he probably grew up in the depression. "Sure. Follow me." 

Abel stood. “This is the livin’ room. Over there is the kitchen, but it don’t get much use, to be honest. If I didn’t hate doin’ the dishes so much, I might cook more.” He turned and walked down the hall. “That’s the bathroom. Door to the garage.” He said with a nod in each direction. “Down here is where I keep all my receipts for car parts and customers, and…” Abel swallowed as he opened the door at the end of the hall, suddenly forgetting how he left his room. “This is my room.”

He walked into the room slowly, taking it in. It was about the size his parents' room had been, but far cleaner, less crowded. They hadn't grown up terribly poor, but it was a big Irish family cramped in a city house. As he took a step further, his foot caught the door to shut it behind him, letting the wind momentum carry it further on its hinges. "Think I mighta heard a thing or two," he said, purposefully cryptic, smirking crookedly, sitting on the edge of the bed. "You really sleep in this whole thing by your lonesome? No gals or nothing?" He smirked. Apparently, he'd decided to keep up the charade. "That's a pity. A fella could fit two, three other people in here if they was small enough."

Turning over, he crawled further up the bed, making a show of it. As he slid down onto his stomach, he turned his head in Abel's direction. He stretched out, arching his back, digging his belly into the sheets, his rear sticking up in the air. A moan escaped his lips, not feeling any shame for laying in another man's bed without permission. Now that he knew the man's intentions, he could be as brazen and dirty as he pleased. 

He took the deck and shuffled it as commanded. Or he tried to, and the cards flew across the couch. “Ah, sorry. Told you they always flew outta my hands.” Abel shifted to his knees to grab the cards, and he took his time to give Kip a view. He didn’t usually bottom, but it didn’t mean he didn’t have an ass to show off.

He gathered the cards up one by one, resting on his elbows so his backed arched nicely. He could tell the band of his trousers had slipped just past the band of his underwear. He wanted to sneak a look at Kip to see if he got a reaction, but it was too risky. So he kept his pose, hoping Abel was getting just as much out of it as he was.

He made to sit back down before Abel caught the fold in the fabric of his pants, bunching at the button, doing his best to hide it as the cushion rode up, only further tightening the slacks. "Nah, you didn't--you messed nothin' up," he said, tilting his head down, now purposely avoiding eye contact. "The trick was gonna be, you shuffle the cards, I already pocketed the one what you picked. It's right here." Without any flourish or show, he pulled the king of diamonds from the pocket. "These cards are good, 'cause they're old, you just gotta lick 'em and they stick to anythin'. See?"

His tongue poked out, dabbing the centre of the card, and he reached, leaning to the point of toppling over, pressing the back of it against Abel's chest, side of his hand grazing the man's pectoral, quickly rescinding it, stuffing it in his lap to hide the growing fervour. 

"Was gonna... was gonna stick it to my forehead as I held the deck down low, like here." He bent his arms at an odd angle, still trying to conceal himself, flipping one card over at a time. "You'd think I was doin' the trick wrong, so would the whole crowd -- they'd be lookin' at your big, clumsy hands, makin' sure you weren't a cheat and that we aren't in cahoots with each other."

"No need to be shy, Kip," Abel said, shoving the other playfully. "Just me. And I’m the student here, remember?" Now Abel was just being mean. Whether the other was getting flustered because of the lack of shirt or because some other reason, Abel wasn’t sure. But with the way things were going, it didn’t look like Abel would be goin’ to the club tonight after all.

"I’m a pretty big guy," Abel replied, stretching his hand out for a moment before twisting it into a fist. "And I ain’t too good with cards. Always fly outta my hands. I got an idea," Abel sat up and twisted himself to face Kip. "Teach me how you fool people. How you get ‘em to look somewhere else while you’re doin’ your tricks."

The worst part was that he knew this was all being done to get a rise out of him. Somebody was playing his own game against him. His mind wandered a split second, thinking of people who might want some sort of revenge against him. The list was too long to count. 

He eyed Abel, clamping his mouth shut. If this was his punishment for being a no-good crook, then he'd take the hellfire over pearly gates any day.

"That's easy stuff," he said, forcing a small smile, lips tingling as they pulled taut. "It's all about... about leadin' the eye somewhere else. Misdirectin' the focal point." Kip braved the opportunity to stand, adjusting the waist of his trousers to keep himself modest.

His thoughts trailed off as he got inside. “Yea, there’s some-” Abel stopped when he turned the corner, finding the boy shirtless. His imagination wasn’t wrong. “Sorry, kid. Looks like today’s laundry day.” Abel smiled, knowing full well that laundry day was yesterday. “But don’t worry about it,” Abel said, unbuttoning his own shirt and tossing it aside. “Just us guys, right?”

Abel brushed past Kip, letting his abdomen brush against his shoulder. “Lemme just clean off all this dirt, and we can get started, yea?” Abel chuckled to himself as he splashed water on his face. This was turning out to be too easy.

There were a million things going on in Kip's head right that moment. What he was going to eat for dinner tonight. Where he would set up camp next, somewhere to keep him out of the elements before winter sank in too deeply. How a fella could get his chest quite so toned, and his arms quite so sculpted. He looked like a Hellenic god. Something out of one of the pulps he swiped from the news stands. 

This wasn't fair. This wasn't allowed. His brain never got this flustered, stumbled over things that came so easily to him usually. His throat felt suddenly very dry, and his pants tight against his thigh. Kip moved quickly to the sofa, keeping himself a couple of feet away from Abel, angling himself to face him -- which almost meant getting a better view of that chest. "Well, I--uh--I--um..."