Chapter Text
This is the fourth date Laurent is about to go on, and he is not amused.
The first guy his brother set him up with was twelve minutes late, wore flipflops, and assumed Laurent would not pay for his half of the dinner. The second guy didn’t even show. The third guy reeked of cologne and when he opened the cab door for Laurent, he leaned in to kiss him, which prompted Laurent’s fight or fight instincts to flare—and well, according to Auguste, he now has a black eye. Good. If any man tries to kiss Laurent without his explicit consent, a punch to the face is the least form of punishment he should be expecting. Therefore, he isn’t at all enthused by the prospect of another night of his spent away from his comfortable apartment with his 2 cats and cozy library. Definitely not when he knows his brother has shit taste in men.
I shouldn’t have come out to him, he thinks for the millionth time since then. But he’d been seventeen and foolish enough to think it’d be a fanfare-free event. Not a hell in which he’ll be set up with men because now he’s turned twenty-three and remains as single as he was when he was seventeen. Apparently, to Auguste, he was a ‘catch’ and was ‘wasting his time on his own.’ Laurent vehemently disagrees. But he’s also a good brother who cannot find it in his heart to tell Auguste to mind his business and leave him alone. Hence why he’s now trudging—elegantly, in his favorite Saint Laurent loafers—into another restaurant.
He meets the gaze of a jittery blonde woman who introduces herself as his server. Ashleigh is her name, and he tries to assure her he won’t be staying long with a smile, but it must look like a grimace because she visibly flinches. His feelings aren’t hurt—much—by her reaction. He is after all a tall and intimidating man. He follows her to the table his date has reserved with weariness settling in his heart. As Ashleigh stops at a table, Laurent gives it a slow inspection and thinks, This must be wrong.
“I apologize, Ashleigh, I meant a reservation for Damen.”
The man seated at the table is standing, a casual smile pulling on the corners of his mouth. “I am Damen,” he says, offering Laurent a hand.
Laurent gives the presented hand a glance and wonders how rude he might come off as if he declines it. Deciding against it, he slots his hand into it and—a miniscule shudder passes through him, making him blink multiple times. Damen gives his hand a squeeze, not too tight, not too loose, and releases it. and for a split, ridiculous moment, Laurent wishes he didn’t.
“Laurent,” he says.
“Heard great things about you, Laurent,” Damen says.
He takes his seat, giving Ashleigh a quick glance and murmuring thank you, then grabs the menu. He’s already seen the menu and chosen his meal beforehand, but he needs the physical weight of something sturdy in his hands. They are positively trembling. What is happening to him?
“Is this your first time at Le Bernardin?” Damen asks.
Laurent doesn’t peel his eyes from the menu. He hums distractedly. “Not quite. I came once for a company brunch. Never got to sample their dinner options.” He doesn’t like the way the words glide so easily out of his mouth. Neither does he like the way he’s unable to look up into the eyes of the man he’s on a date with.
Get a grip, Laurent, he berates himself.
“Ah,” his date says. Nothing more.
Curiosity piques in Laurent. He glances up, aware of how silly he might appear, peeking from the top of the menu as he’s doing. He finds Damen staring at his own menu with a look of dismay. Oh? Does he not like Le Bernardin?
He clears his throat and ventures to ask, “Is the cuisine not to your liking?”
Damen’s eyes grow wide and then, as their gazes connect for a prolonged second, he finally shrugs, the tops of his cheeks coloring the faintest hint of pink. Laurent’s throat grows tight.
Realizing he is simply staring and not speaking, Damen’s lashes flutter. “Uh, not precisely.”
Laurent closes his menu and finds that he cannot look away from the way Damen’s face is utterly incapable of hiding his feelings. He dislikes the restaurant—a place hundred or perhaps thousands would give an arm to dine in. He gives him a closer look. Inspects the way his dark shirt hugs the contours of his shoulders. The way the sleeves are snugly wrapping around his arms. Sensing Laurent’s inspection, Damen fiddles with one cuff—he doesn’t look comfortable, dressed the way he is. Laurent absently finds himself worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.
He releases it and asks, “Would you like to… go somewhere else?”
Damen blinks. “I— Is that— No, no, I’m fine. I’ll be fine, I promise. I just find these kinds of places a bit…” He trails off, and Laurent is far too fascinated by the visible thump of Damen’s pulse on the side of his neck to mind it.
Still, he prompts, “A bit…?”
“Stuffy,” Damen exhales with an apologetic look delivered from beneath long, thick lashes.
Laurent’s mouth parts without his notice. He smiles. “Let’s go somewhere else. Somewhere that is not…stuffy,” he adds the last with a raised eyebrow.
Damen stares at him, his head slightly tilted. “Do you mean that?”
He shrugs. “Yes. I see no reason we must dine here.”
“Anywhere I want?” Damen asks, his eyes glinting.
Laurent gets the feeling he’ll regret it, but he says it anyway. “Anywhere you want.”
///
Laurent definitely doesn’t regret letting Damen take him where he wants. He is having the time of his life. An hour ago, they landed in a restaurant with tables so small, he and Damen didn’t practically fit comfortably, not without his knees ending up between Damen’s legs. Their solution was to ignore it, despite the physical touch making Laurent’s body thrum with awareness. Damen was warm, obscenely so. And he instantly shone once they got comfortable, leaning on his elbows and telling Laurent that this place served the best burgers you’ll ever have.
With a skeptical look, Laurent had said, “I’ll be the judge of that.”
Yet again, he is proved wrong. The burgers he’d devoured—yes, plural, he had two, despite them being nearly the size of his head—were scrumptious. He has sauce somewhere on his chin, but he doesn’t care because he’s laughing at the horrible story Damen is telling him.
“We were, what, ten or something, but Nik was convinced the old man stole our football, so he had to get it back. That’s Nik in a nutshell,” he says with a laugh and a slight shake of his head.
Laurent arches an eyebrow. “Stubborn?”
“Precisely,” Damen confirms with a nod, wiping his hands neatly using the wet napkin provided to them. Laurent had to use three and he still feels sticky sauce between his fingers—and doesn’t mind it.
“What happened then?” he prompts, resting his chin on the palm of his right hand, his left laid casually on the small table, cleared of their debris.
Damen’s eyes are honest-to-God twinkling. He leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “He broke into the old man’s house.”
He lets out a gasp of feigned outrage. “No!”
“Yes,” Damen confirms with a breathy chuckle. “He literally broke the man’s window and climbed in—or tried to, anyway.”
“You can’t stop there,” Laurent says, lowering his eyes to where Damen’s hands rest…two inches away from his. He is gripped by the desire to touch Damen’s hands. Map out the long fingers. Find out what his knuckles are like.
Damen’s eyebrows are lifted when Laurent finally looks up at him. “What if I did?”
He chews on the corner of his bottom lip. “Then you’d be a tease.”
They lift even higher. “What if I am fine being a tease if it means I get to have another date with you?”
Laurent’s heart hiccups in his chest. He isn’t quite used to the feeling. He’s gone twenty-three years sans this feeling. He’d never thought he’d even experience it for himself.
“Then I shall await the continuation of Stubborn Nik’s Misadventures with bated breath,” he says.
Damen’s eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.
///
Laurent stares at his screen long enough for it to go dark. He’s gone on the wrong date. Damon. Not Damen.
With a sigh, he finds Damen’s number saved into his contacts and shoots him a text.
Three question marks shouldn’t be this adorable. But they are. Laurent sighs.
Anyone else sending multiple texts that could’ve been one would’ve annoyed Laurent, but it is safe to establish that to Laurent, Damen isn’t just anyone.
Damen sends a picture which appears to be a screenshot of another text conversation from the preview. Laurent laughs out loud at the first line.
Laurent tries not to feel a niggle of jealousy that ‘Ancel’ has evoked that adorable response of a string of question marks from Damen. He feels it anyway. Also, Damianos?
Warmth spreads through Laurent’s chest. Does Damen think that far ahead, of meeting Laurent’s brother? From a first date? Does he like him?
He types the words: He’ll like you if I like you. But his fingers hover over the SEND then decides it’s far too soon for him to be sending such implications and hits the BACKSPACE button.
Laurent curls onto his side, Misha, his four-year-old Persian cat, lets out a disgruntle purr as she adjusts to his new position—seeing as how he’s deprived her of using his thighs as a bed, he understands her chagrin. Leo, however, the ten-year-old tabby, is offended for no discernable reason and bounds off of the small corner of the bed which he’d been occupying and settles into a loaf on Laurent’s reading chair. With that little feline drama over, Laurent returns his attention to Damen.
Yet again, another evidence to how well and truly fucked Laurent is: he doesn’t mind the emoji.