Dennis swiping through instagram stories and one of his friends from undergrad posted a bunch of stuff from a family reunion. He mindlessly clicks through them, contemplates unfollowing the guy (they havent spoken in a few years and he can barely remember meeting the guy) but then he gets to a slide that makes him pause. Theres a man, a silver fox if he was gonna put a label on him, dripping wet from the pool, body muscular and taught. His freckled skin that goes on and on and on, a happy trail dipping down into sinfully short board shorts that cling to him, the outline of a thick cock clear as day. Dennis takes a screenshot, hopes his old college friend doesn’t get a notification, and goes to his camera roll to continue drooling over the stranger.
It’s during this session of ogling at a random man related to someone he used to know that he (finally) notices the tag. JaackRabot75. He flies back to insta, prayers answered when the stories are up and goes to the hot guys account. There aren’t that many posts, some selfies taken at that angle that really shows his age (which dennis finds far too endearing). He spends a few minutes (hours) going through the profile, smiling when he sees the curly hair was originally auburn, sees that he’s a doctor from a post in scrubs, sees he’s in Pittsburgh from a post at a bar with a friend. He stops his investigating when he catches the time and realises he needs to go to bed before his 8am class in the morning, settling on having just a couple hours of sleep.
He hits follow before switching his phone off for the night.
When Jack checks his phone after hand offs, one of the few notifications is one from instagram. He barely uses the fucking thing, his therapist recommended journaling a few years ago now, but when putting a pen to paper didnt work too well, she recommended the app. She said it could be useful to help keep track of important or special moments, keep in contact with friends and family.
He thought it was bullshit, still kinda does, but it was something. And it did help him keep up to date with people he didn’t see as often, kinda.
He never bothered with privacy settings, what did he have to worry about? He only followed people he knew and who would be interested in him?
He clicked on the profile, apparently mutuals or whatever with his nephew. The profile had no faces on it, just various landscape shots, mostly of fields. Probably a friend his nephew met at college.
Whatever, he needed to sleep.
Dennis spent the next few weeks constantly going back to the guy’s, Jack’s, profile. Which was totally fine and normal. But seriously can you blame him? He’s broke, he’s homeless, this is the only hobby he can really afford.
Which is why it’s a bad idea to go to the bar.
The bar is one Jack tagged maybe once, but, from the looks of both his and the bars posts, it's a place he frequents a lot.
It's also a gay bar, which is...something.
(Dennis definitely never overthought it when he found out, definitely didn't daydream about being pushed against the wall of the bathroom and being fucked roughly by the older man, maybe getting a kiss before he's left alone with sore thighs. Thinks about following Jack home, desperate and begging for more like a sick, stray dog, pathetic enough he'll eventually give in and let him in, let him sleep on the floor until he's properly cleaned up and won't track dirt through the house. He dreams, he dreams, he dreams, he -)
He's in the stool Jack is sitting on in most of the photos he found, imagines he can feel the heat from the mans skin seeping into him through the dirty fabric of the stool, taking a ridiculously long time to drink the watered down cocktail a guy across the bar bought for him (thank God for that), daydreaming again.
The husky voice nearly knocks Dennis out of his seat, shitty martini spilling over the edge of the glass slightly. A warm palm steadies him by gripping the back of his loose jeans (had he really lost that much weight?), and Dennis whips his head around, stuttered out apologies freezing in his mouth.
"Woah there. Didn't mean to take you out, kid." Hearing Jack's voice, deeper than he imagined, and seeing his freckled skin and grey hair in person, close enough to truly see the smile lines, the wrinkles that emerge as he smiles, eyes squinting in concern, hand warm on his lower back, fingers digging near the waistband of his boxers. He released his grip once it was clear Dennis was stable, hand grazing around his waist as he settled down in the seat next to him, waving a hand to the bartender for a drink, a whiskey.
Dennis followed him with his eyes, never once blinking, wide and starstruck. When the glass was put down and Jack was distracted taking a swig, he asked, "are you sure?" through his tight throat. He could feel his whole face light up when Jack turned back to look at him, a small smirk brightening his face.
The older man shook his head with a huffed out laugh, turning his body towards him now. "I'm Jack, what's your name, kid?"
"Dennis," he breathed out, trying not to stare at the thighs straining against his jeans, "nice to meet you, sir."
"Jack, please," and that response at the honorific seemed to weak, considering the way Jack's smile sharpened and he shifted slightly, spreading his legs slightly further apart - wide enough the fabric strained a little more against his bulge - and he leaned further towards him. "Do you have anywhere you need to be tonight?" It should have been embarrassing, the speed with which he shook his head, but Jack just chuckled, hand once again gripping the back of his jeans, hauling him up, the material squeezing his crotch just on the right side of painful. Once they were both standing safely, Jack put some money down on the bar, never loosening his grip as he pulled Dennis to the door, "Let's head out then."
Dennis didn't let them make it out of the parking lot.
