Somewhere in the strange complexities of the cosmos, this might be a good idea. Nevertheless, John couldn't think of a single place, real or imagined, where it was a good idea for him to be going out to a club, dance club no less.
He was going to have to have a serious talk with Luke about his power of persuasion. A night out meeting friends for drinks, a little steak dinner, and taking in a Red Wings game was his idea of a good time. He wasn't even adverse to a local pub, throwing back a few beers, or maybe a game of darts or pool. But dancing? Really? He didn't dance, at least not where anyone could actually see him. He hated the crowds and the constant slam of strangers against him. What he hated the most about dance clubs was by the end of the night, the dancing reminded him more of an orgy to music than dancing. Not that John was a prude by any stretch of the imagination; he just thought there was a time and place for everything. In his opinion, the middle of a crowded dance floor was neither the time nor the place for fucking.
One minute he had been holding his own, forcing Luke to back down, the next, BAM, dance club plans. He could pinpoint the exact moment he'd lost the battle. It coincided with him agreeing to anything as long as Luke shut the hell up about the disaster known as Jacob. Jacob was a period in his life he wanted to erase.
John stood in front of the mirror studying his image with a critical eye, trying to see himself as others might. He kept his thick chestnut hair neatly styled. Some might say it was a little long, since it had a tendency to curl around his collar, but he rather liked it. His eyes, once described as sea foam green, were just green in his opinion. They were okay. His mouth may be just a little too big for his face, lips a little too full, giving the impression that he wore a pout, but at least he had great teeth, thanks to his Dad being an orthodontist. Four years of braces could do amazing things. He'd been blessed with his mother's clear olive skin and he worked hard at keeping his six-foot-two frame in shape. He wasn't bulky with muscle, but what muscle he had was well defined. He'd do someone who looked like him. Hell, he wouldn't even have to use a bag.
"Listen to yourself!" He glared at the reflection in the mirror. "Your looks have nothing to do with not being good enough for Jacob. You simply aren't." He turned from the mirror, threw the damp towel in the direction of the hamper and stalked out of the bathroom.
With little thought to his attire, he dressed in a comfortable pair of worn jeans that hung low on his hips and a soft green button-up shirt, adding brown leather shoes and matching belt. That was the extent of 'getting ready.' He had no plans to try to impress anyone tonight. He didn't even plan on dancing. Luke wouldn't need much company. He'd give him an hour, maybe less, and Luke would be off in search of his next conquest. Luke, with his over confident charm and absence of emotional connection, was the typical Playboy. Find 'um, fuck 'um, and forget 'um was the motto Luke lived by. John could quietly sneak out of the club when Luke was otherwise occupied and be back home, stretched out on the sofa with the remote in his hand in two hours tops. If lucky, he wouldn't even have to miss this week's episode of Supernatural.
|CHECK IT OUT HERE|