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carmillaPROMPT: AU - Vince is Nathan’s age, and the two are thick-as-thieves. They decide to head down to Canal street one night, and Vince meets the infamous SAJ. Stuart takes him home, and then to the hospital.
Nathan pulled first.
That was only to be expected; it was Nathan’s idea, after all, to come out here. Nathan was the one with the confidence. Nathan was the one with the sparkling eyes and the shining gold hair, the tight T shirt hiding the perfect body. Not that Vince fancied Nathan. They’d snogged a couple of times, just for the sensation, just to know what it was like, but it hadn’t felt right. They’d known each other too long; they were too intimate, the wrong kind of intimate. It’s hard to really get into snogging a guy when you know his mother by her first name, know what he jerks off to, know exactly how he makes his tuna mayonnaise sandwiches.
So they’d come here, where they were anybody and nobody, and now Nathan had his tongue down the throat of a man whose name he didn’t know, and Vince was sitting at the bar, toying with a cranberry juice, and not sure if he was jealous or impressed or hurt or what.
“What’re you drinking?” The stranger laid a casual hand on his arm, and treated him to a smile that could melt butter.
“Umm… cranberry juice.” Vince felt his stutter lurking behind his teeth, ready to come out, and bit it back viciously. The stranger smiled.
“Nothing stronger?”
“No, I – er, no.”
“Ah well. You want another one?” Seeing Vince’s hesitation, he added, “Or would you rather just have a dance?”
This guy had to be ten years older than him, even if he was hotter than hell. Vince looked over to where Nate was taking down his guy’s number on the back of his hand.
“Yeah, alright,” he said.
~
Dance, to Vince, meant ‘jump up and down to the music’, with optional extras of ‘headbang’ or ‘wave your hands around in the air’, depending on where you were. It most emphatically did not mean ‘hold tight to someone, put your hands on their arse, pull them in tight, and sway to the music so your crotches grind together’. He wasn’t complaining, though.
~
The stranger’s name was Stuart. Stuart Alan Jones. Somehow it had seemed really important to Vince that he knew that before they started kissing, and now that they had, he couldn’t imagine why. He couldn’t really imagine why he’d thought anything was important before. He was drowning, clinging to the back of Stuart’s top, as Stuart pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together with one of his hands sandwiched in between, toying with Vince’s shirt buttons. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care.
“So,” Stuart said at length when the kiss had ended, begun again, and ended once more, “are you coming back to my place or what?”
Nathan had gone to get the last bus home. If he ran now, he could just about catch up with him. They could swap stories.
“Yeah, OK then.”
Vince’s story was going to be better.
~
Vince’s shirt was on Stuart’s couch. His jeans were on Stuart’s floor. He was on Stuart’s bed, and Stuart was with him. He was touching Stuart’s chest, running his hands over the smooth skin, toying with his nipples, not quite daring to go lower yet. He let Stuart roll him over onto his side, spoon up next to him, take one of his hands and guide it over his own skin.
“What do you like?”
“Umm… I like Doctor Who, and Corrie. And I collect -”
Stuart swatted his arse, playfully. “In bed, geek boy.”
Vince would have liked to pretend he was a man of the world, but his powers of bluff deserted him. “I’m… not really sure.”
Stuart grinned, wolfishly. “Then I’ll teach you.”
~
He did. He taught him ‘hand job’ and ‘blow job’ and ‘rimming’ (during which Vince honestly thought he might pass out), and previously theoretical concepts took on a life of their own that Vince could never have imagined. He was attempting reciprocation, accompanied by vague, approving noises from Stuart, when a ringing interrupted them. Stuart plucked Vince's hand away and made a long arm for the phone. The person on the other end said something and Stuart’s eyes went wide, then he put his hand over the receiver and mouthed ‘get dressed’.
Vince was re-buttoning his shirt in the living room when Stuart emerged, also clothed.
“Do I have to go?” he asked, somewhat disconsolately.
“I have to go. To the hospital. My son’s just been born.” Stuart cast a measuring eye over Vince. “How old are you, by the way?”
“Sixteen.” Vince wasn’t tall for his age, like Nathan was; he doubted he could get away with any more. Stuart nodded, not looking at all perturbed.
“You can come with me if you like. But if Lisa asks, you’re eighteen.”
~
Having been told everything in the taxi, Vince was prepared for the gaggle of women in the hospital. He’d never met lesbians before, so far as he knew, but they seemed nice; nicer than Stuart gave them credit for, definitely. Romey had smiled when Stuart handed her the flowers Vince had suggested he bought on the way in, and none of them looked the least surprised to see Stuart’s hand wrapped casually around Vince’s waist. He could get used to this, he thought.
~
Much later, they stood on the roof, looking out over the orange glow of the city at night. Stuart was buzzing; Vince wasn’t sure whether that was the effect of fatherhood, or the pills he’d seen him swallow ten minutes before. He grabbed Vince, danced him round in a circle, hugged him, and planted a brief, fierce kiss on his lips. Then he dragged him to the edge of the roof, stood behind him, and called out, “I’m the king of the world!” Vince giggled, but Stuart’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon they were both shouting it out to the empty streets. Then Stuart pulled him close, inserted a finger teasingly into his waistband, and, his breath hot on Vince's neck, started whispering detailed plans about what he was going to do with him when he got him home.
Vince was flying.
Nathan pulled first.
That was only to be expected; it was Nathan’s idea, after all, to come out here. Nathan was the one with the confidence. Nathan was the one with the sparkling eyes and the shining gold hair, the tight T shirt hiding the perfect body. Not that Vince fancied Nathan. They’d snogged a couple of times, just for the sensation, just to know what it was like, but it hadn’t felt right. They’d known each other too long; they were too intimate, the wrong kind of intimate. It’s hard to really get into snogging a guy when you know his mother by her first name, know what he jerks off to, know exactly how he makes his tuna mayonnaise sandwiches.
So they’d come here, where they were anybody and nobody, and now Nathan had his tongue down the throat of a man whose name he didn’t know, and Vince was sitting at the bar, toying with a cranberry juice, and not sure if he was jealous or impressed or hurt or what.
“What’re you drinking?” The stranger laid a casual hand on his arm, and treated him to a smile that could melt butter.
“Umm… cranberry juice.” Vince felt his stutter lurking behind his teeth, ready to come out, and bit it back viciously. The stranger smiled.
“Nothing stronger?”
“No, I – er, no.”
“Ah well. You want another one?” Seeing Vince’s hesitation, he added, “Or would you rather just have a dance?”
This guy had to be ten years older than him, even if he was hotter than hell. Vince looked over to where Nate was taking down his guy’s number on the back of his hand.
“Yeah, alright,” he said.
~
Dance, to Vince, meant ‘jump up and down to the music’, with optional extras of ‘headbang’ or ‘wave your hands around in the air’, depending on where you were. It most emphatically did not mean ‘hold tight to someone, put your hands on their arse, pull them in tight, and sway to the music so your crotches grind together’. He wasn’t complaining, though.
~
The stranger’s name was Stuart. Stuart Alan Jones. Somehow it had seemed really important to Vince that he knew that before they started kissing, and now that they had, he couldn’t imagine why. He couldn’t really imagine why he’d thought anything was important before. He was drowning, clinging to the back of Stuart’s top, as Stuart pulled him closer, pressing their bodies together with one of his hands sandwiched in between, toying with Vince’s shirt buttons. He couldn’t breathe. He didn’t care.
“So,” Stuart said at length when the kiss had ended, begun again, and ended once more, “are you coming back to my place or what?”
Nathan had gone to get the last bus home. If he ran now, he could just about catch up with him. They could swap stories.
“Yeah, OK then.”
Vince’s story was going to be better.
~
Vince’s shirt was on Stuart’s couch. His jeans were on Stuart’s floor. He was on Stuart’s bed, and Stuart was with him. He was touching Stuart’s chest, running his hands over the smooth skin, toying with his nipples, not quite daring to go lower yet. He let Stuart roll him over onto his side, spoon up next to him, take one of his hands and guide it over his own skin.
“What do you like?”
“Umm… I like Doctor Who, and Corrie. And I collect -”
Stuart swatted his arse, playfully. “In bed, geek boy.”
Vince would have liked to pretend he was a man of the world, but his powers of bluff deserted him. “I’m… not really sure.”
Stuart grinned, wolfishly. “Then I’ll teach you.”
~
He did. He taught him ‘hand job’ and ‘blow job’ and ‘rimming’ (during which Vince honestly thought he might pass out), and previously theoretical concepts took on a life of their own that Vince could never have imagined. He was attempting reciprocation, accompanied by vague, approving noises from Stuart, when a ringing interrupted them. Stuart plucked Vince's hand away and made a long arm for the phone. The person on the other end said something and Stuart’s eyes went wide, then he put his hand over the receiver and mouthed ‘get dressed’.
Vince was re-buttoning his shirt in the living room when Stuart emerged, also clothed.
“Do I have to go?” he asked, somewhat disconsolately.
“I have to go. To the hospital. My son’s just been born.” Stuart cast a measuring eye over Vince. “How old are you, by the way?”
“Sixteen.” Vince wasn’t tall for his age, like Nathan was; he doubted he could get away with any more. Stuart nodded, not looking at all perturbed.
“You can come with me if you like. But if Lisa asks, you’re eighteen.”
~
Having been told everything in the taxi, Vince was prepared for the gaggle of women in the hospital. He’d never met lesbians before, so far as he knew, but they seemed nice; nicer than Stuart gave them credit for, definitely. Romey had smiled when Stuart handed her the flowers Vince had suggested he bought on the way in, and none of them looked the least surprised to see Stuart’s hand wrapped casually around Vince’s waist. He could get used to this, he thought.
~
Much later, they stood on the roof, looking out over the orange glow of the city at night. Stuart was buzzing; Vince wasn’t sure whether that was the effect of fatherhood, or the pills he’d seen him swallow ten minutes before. He grabbed Vince, danced him round in a circle, hugged him, and planted a brief, fierce kiss on his lips. Then he dragged him to the edge of the roof, stood behind him, and called out, “I’m the king of the world!” Vince giggled, but Stuart’s enthusiasm was infectious, and soon they were both shouting it out to the empty streets. Then Stuart pulled him close, inserted a finger teasingly into his waistband, and, his breath hot on Vince's neck, started whispering detailed plans about what he was going to do with him when he got him home.
Vince was flying.