teen!Vintopher Drabble Prompt: A date
It isn’t a date. It isn’t. Chris tells himself this as he leans back on the hood of his car, waiting for Vincent to escape whatever mundane thing he’s supposed to be doing today. They have to grab what times they can together - times when school or hunts or family aren’t monopolising their lives. Today is a lazy Saturday afternoon.
His hands are pushed deep into his jeans pockets and he can run his finger along the inside, feeling where the two lines of fabric meet and are sewn together. He isn’t sure why he’s fixated on that, but it gives his mind something to focus on, like a mantra. The sun is warm on his face and when he tilts his head up to the sky it dances in geometric patterns behind his closed eyelids. He could stand like this for hours, breathing in the summer. It beats the times he’s had to hide behind the wheel of the car and Vincent wound up smelling of rain and misery with the excitement. Wet dog, he’d said, and Vincent had shyly shaken his head out anyway, and Chris had licked the droplets from his lips and warmed his lover up the best way they knew how.
This time, though, he can just let his senses stretch out to fill the world around him. Without his eyesight, everything else sharpened. He heard the footsteps and then breathing, not bothering to open his eyes until Vincent was standing beside him, shuffling uncomfortably.
Chris makes him wait, his lips curling into a smile as he worships at the shrine of the sun. He knows Vincent will be running through possibilities, maybe even wondering if he should just get onto his knees and open his mouth. (That happens, sometimes. When they’re both too horny or too tense or too short of time.) Before the wolf does so, he opens his eyes and the black narrows down to pinpricks.
“Get in,” he says, and Vincent does.
It’s not so unusual that his boyfriend bitch pet lover wolf partner beta is surprised by the request-cum-order, and he slips into the passenger seat of the car. Chris scoots forwards until his sneakered feet hit the floor, then he gets behind the wheel.
Vincent buckles in when Chris does, curiosity there on his face. Curiosity, and a desire for kisses. Their eyes meet briefly in the rear view mirror, but Chris isn’t ready for kisses yet. He drives him and drives him and drives him until they’re miles from home. Until they’re somewhere that no one will know who Vincent is. Chris, they might. But not by sight, anyway. He pulls into the lot by the bar, then cocks his head towards the place.
“Okay,” Vincent says, confused.
When they get into the building, though, it becomes a little more clear. There’s rather more men than women here, and there seems to be a rather distinct gender-split. Men with men, women with women. A few men dressed as women, and no sports on the TV. Chris guides Vincent to a booth, and they end up facing one another.
“…it’s… nice,” Vincent says, his lips turning up in a soft smile.
Chris spent a long time looking for it, truth be told. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You want some fries, wings, something?”
“That would be great, thanks.”
The hunter nods, and goes to place their order. It isn’t a date. It’s just that he wanted a drink. Not at all because he knows the sanctity of a gay bar will always keep them safe. No one would dare look here for either of them, and for a while… they can just be Christopher and Vincent, not Argent and Hale.
Plus, when he gets Vince to blow him in the car, later, his mouth warm with alcohol and chicken-sauce, no one will look twice into the vehicle when a hand slams into the glass.
They get back late. Very.
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