Taste Of
Title: Taste Of
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Victor Borkowski/Jean-Paul Beaubier
Prompt: 39. Taste
Word Count: 1153
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Victor and Jean-Paul’s first official date (cause a quickie in the closet just doesn’t count).
Author's Notes: Sequel to Into the Black
Jean-Paul leaned against this car, drumming his fingers on the roof and not looking at hi watch. He had resolved himself to patience. He would take this at the pace it would go.
Victor came running out the front of the Institute, pausing on the steps to flash Jean-Paul a smile that looked startling white against his green skin. Jean-Paul found himself returning the smile as Victor hopped down the steps, black leather jacket flapping with each step. Jean-Paul remembered that jacket. It had been a birthday present from Victor’s parents. He’d worn it non-stop for two months straight, only retiring it when it got too hot.
Victor had filled out since then. He no longer swam in the jacket, though it still hung loose on his frame. But it looked good on him, caressing slim shoulders and a long, lean torso. Jean-Paul could still remember that torso pressed against his, that smiling mouth against his neck. He quickly suppressed that memory. They were going to take this slow, dammit. Neither of them were going to rush into a relationship they weren’t ready for, closet quickies be damned.
Victor was just slightly out of breath when he reached the car. “Sorry,” he said with a small shrug. “Got cornered by Julian. Shall we?”
Jean-Paul gave Victor a once-over, and found himself approving of the dusty red pullover and dark slacks. He looked good. “Lets,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
***
The restaurant was nice. Not so upper crust that Victor felt underdressed, but definitely a cut above the bars and burger joints that were the background to his love life.
Jean-Paul looked comfortable as he took his seat, the waiter quietly delivering their menus and murmuring suggestions as to what the gentlemen would care to order. They ended up settling on the steak, well done for Jean-Paul and rare for Victor. The waiter left them, returning only briefly to drop off a bottle of red wine.
Now came the hard part of every first date: talking to each other.
Victor took a sip from his wine glass (slowly, slowly this isn’t like a night out with Julian) and frowned. He wasn’t an expert on wines, but it tasted a little off. A quick glance at Jean-Paul as he scowled at his own wine glass told Victor that he wasn’t alone in the sentiment.
“Tastes funny,” he said.
“Indeed,” Jean-Paul agreed with an annoyed sigh. He summoned the waiter back over with an imperious wave of his hand, and proceeded to dress him down for having the gall to serve them bad wine. Victor smiled indulgently and let Jean-Paul vent his spleen. He was now fully expecting their food to be spat on, and it was hardly the waiter’s fault the wine was off, but Jean-Paul was on a roll, and he was remarkably funny when being a bitch.
The waiter was sent off with orders to bring the manager at once, and Jean-Paul sat down with a huff. “That,” he asked with a little sniff, “are you smirking at?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable when you’re indignant?” Victor asked.
Jean-Paul’s lips turned up in a little smirk, and he made a show of preening. “Of course I am.”
Their eyes met, and both snickered. They were still laughing quietly when the manager arrived; a thin, twitchy man who wrung his hands and smiled falsely as his eyes watched Victor coldly. Victor knew that look, and felt his good mood evaporate. It had been shaping up to be such a nice night, too.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” the manager asked, turning his attention fully to Jean-Paul.
“The wine,” Jean-Paul said, “is disgusting.”
“It wasn’t that bad. It tastes a little off.” Victor tempered.
“I assure you, our wine is of the finest quality,” the manager said, ignoring Victor.
“You serve vinegar,” Jean-Paul snarled, “and bad vinegar at that.” He rose to his feet, looking down his aristocratic nose at the man. “I dread to think what the food would actually taste like. In fact, I do not thing I care to find out.” He opened his wallet and slapped a bill that almost made Victor swallow his tongue down on the table. “Victor?”
The green mutant got to his feet, shrugging on his jacket. “Alright.” He followed Jean-Paul out to the parking lot, hands in his pockets. “Now… why the blowup?”
Jean-Paul unlocked the gar with a growl. “I do not like the way he treated you.”
Victor rolled his eyes. “He didn’t make a fuss, and he’s entitled to his opinions.”
“And I am entitled to not dine in a bigoted establishment,” Jean-Paul snapped, his sensual lips compressing into a thin line.
“I’m used to it, and I can defend myself.” Victor walked up to Jean-Paul and tilted his head up slightly to he could look the taller mutant in the eyes. “It’s a fact of life when you look like I do.”
Jean-Paul put his hands on Victor’s shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate it,” he said. “And that wine was disgusting.”
“We’ll have to find somewhere else to eat,” Victor pointed out, planting his hands on Jean-Paul’s hips, his eyes half closed.
“I think dinner with Wolverine would be infinitely more pleasant than this place. And would smell nicer.” Jean-Paul kissed him, slow and sweet. He cupped Victor’s face, tilting it up a bit more, his tongue entwining with the younger man’s.
“Or we could skip dinner,” Victor suggested breathlessly as they pulled apart. His stomach grumbled loudly, and Jean-Paul chuckled. Victor rested his head against his shoulder, his body shaking in almost silent laughter.
“Burgers?” the speedster suggested.
“If you’re up for it.”
***
Jean-Paul Beaubier was trying to drive him.
The emphasis here: trying.
Victor Borkowski was making it difficult to concentrate, with his hand on Jean-Paul’s thigh and climbing steadily higher. The speedster was torn between swatting the hand away as a distraction and encouraging Victor to go faster.
“Victor…”
The younger mutant flicked his tongue around Jean-Paul’s ear. “Pull over,” he suggested. A mad little impulse encouraged the Canadian to do just that. He pulled on to the shoulder, and before he could say word one, Victor had unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed over the gear shaft. He straddled Jean-Paul’s lap, burying his hands in his hair and moving in for a kiss. He tasted like cheeseburgers and the chocolate milkshake he had consumed with such gusto earlier.
“Are you sure you aren’t secretly a speedster?” Jean-Paul teased, his hands trailing down Victor’s back before sliding under his shirt. “You seem to be fond of going fast.”
“Like the man said, live fast…” Victor mumbled into Jean-Paul’s neck.
Fandom: X-Men
Characters: Victor Borkowski/Jean-Paul Beaubier
Prompt: 39. Taste
Word Count: 1153
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Victor and Jean-Paul’s first official date (cause a quickie in the closet just doesn’t count).
Author's Notes: Sequel to Into the Black
Jean-Paul leaned against this car, drumming his fingers on the roof and not looking at hi watch. He had resolved himself to patience. He would take this at the pace it would go.
Victor came running out the front of the Institute, pausing on the steps to flash Jean-Paul a smile that looked startling white against his green skin. Jean-Paul found himself returning the smile as Victor hopped down the steps, black leather jacket flapping with each step. Jean-Paul remembered that jacket. It had been a birthday present from Victor’s parents. He’d worn it non-stop for two months straight, only retiring it when it got too hot.
Victor had filled out since then. He no longer swam in the jacket, though it still hung loose on his frame. But it looked good on him, caressing slim shoulders and a long, lean torso. Jean-Paul could still remember that torso pressed against his, that smiling mouth against his neck. He quickly suppressed that memory. They were going to take this slow, dammit. Neither of them were going to rush into a relationship they weren’t ready for, closet quickies be damned.
Victor was just slightly out of breath when he reached the car. “Sorry,” he said with a small shrug. “Got cornered by Julian. Shall we?”
Jean-Paul gave Victor a once-over, and found himself approving of the dusty red pullover and dark slacks. He looked good. “Lets,” he said, sliding into the driver’s seat.
***
The restaurant was nice. Not so upper crust that Victor felt underdressed, but definitely a cut above the bars and burger joints that were the background to his love life.
Jean-Paul looked comfortable as he took his seat, the waiter quietly delivering their menus and murmuring suggestions as to what the gentlemen would care to order. They ended up settling on the steak, well done for Jean-Paul and rare for Victor. The waiter left them, returning only briefly to drop off a bottle of red wine.
Now came the hard part of every first date: talking to each other.
Victor took a sip from his wine glass (slowly, slowly this isn’t like a night out with Julian) and frowned. He wasn’t an expert on wines, but it tasted a little off. A quick glance at Jean-Paul as he scowled at his own wine glass told Victor that he wasn’t alone in the sentiment.
“Tastes funny,” he said.
“Indeed,” Jean-Paul agreed with an annoyed sigh. He summoned the waiter back over with an imperious wave of his hand, and proceeded to dress him down for having the gall to serve them bad wine. Victor smiled indulgently and let Jean-Paul vent his spleen. He was now fully expecting their food to be spat on, and it was hardly the waiter’s fault the wine was off, but Jean-Paul was on a roll, and he was remarkably funny when being a bitch.
The waiter was sent off with orders to bring the manager at once, and Jean-Paul sat down with a huff. “That,” he asked with a little sniff, “are you smirking at?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re adorable when you’re indignant?” Victor asked.
Jean-Paul’s lips turned up in a little smirk, and he made a show of preening. “Of course I am.”
Their eyes met, and both snickered. They were still laughing quietly when the manager arrived; a thin, twitchy man who wrung his hands and smiled falsely as his eyes watched Victor coldly. Victor knew that look, and felt his good mood evaporate. It had been shaping up to be such a nice night, too.
“Is there a problem, gentlemen?” the manager asked, turning his attention fully to Jean-Paul.
“The wine,” Jean-Paul said, “is disgusting.”
“It wasn’t that bad. It tastes a little off.” Victor tempered.
“I assure you, our wine is of the finest quality,” the manager said, ignoring Victor.
“You serve vinegar,” Jean-Paul snarled, “and bad vinegar at that.” He rose to his feet, looking down his aristocratic nose at the man. “I dread to think what the food would actually taste like. In fact, I do not thing I care to find out.” He opened his wallet and slapped a bill that almost made Victor swallow his tongue down on the table. “Victor?”
The green mutant got to his feet, shrugging on his jacket. “Alright.” He followed Jean-Paul out to the parking lot, hands in his pockets. “Now… why the blowup?”
Jean-Paul unlocked the gar with a growl. “I do not like the way he treated you.”
Victor rolled his eyes. “He didn’t make a fuss, and he’s entitled to his opinions.”
“And I am entitled to not dine in a bigoted establishment,” Jean-Paul snapped, his sensual lips compressing into a thin line.
“I’m used to it, and I can defend myself.” Victor walked up to Jean-Paul and tilted his head up slightly to he could look the taller mutant in the eyes. “It’s a fact of life when you look like I do.”
Jean-Paul put his hands on Victor’s shoulders. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to tolerate it,” he said. “And that wine was disgusting.”
“We’ll have to find somewhere else to eat,” Victor pointed out, planting his hands on Jean-Paul’s hips, his eyes half closed.
“I think dinner with Wolverine would be infinitely more pleasant than this place. And would smell nicer.” Jean-Paul kissed him, slow and sweet. He cupped Victor’s face, tilting it up a bit more, his tongue entwining with the younger man’s.
“Or we could skip dinner,” Victor suggested breathlessly as they pulled apart. His stomach grumbled loudly, and Jean-Paul chuckled. Victor rested his head against his shoulder, his body shaking in almost silent laughter.
“Burgers?” the speedster suggested.
“If you’re up for it.”
***
Jean-Paul Beaubier was trying to drive him.
The emphasis here: trying.
Victor Borkowski was making it difficult to concentrate, with his hand on Jean-Paul’s thigh and climbing steadily higher. The speedster was torn between swatting the hand away as a distraction and encouraging Victor to go faster.
“Victor…”
The younger mutant flicked his tongue around Jean-Paul’s ear. “Pull over,” he suggested. A mad little impulse encouraged the Canadian to do just that. He pulled on to the shoulder, and before he could say word one, Victor had unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed over the gear shaft. He straddled Jean-Paul’s lap, burying his hands in his hair and moving in for a kiss. He tasted like cheeseburgers and the chocolate milkshake he had consumed with such gusto earlier.
“Are you sure you aren’t secretly a speedster?” Jean-Paul teased, his hands trailing down Victor’s back before sliding under his shirt. “You seem to be fond of going fast.”
“Like the man said, live fast…” Victor mumbled into Jean-Paul’s neck.