ax_main | Jean-Paul and Warren, Saturday Night

Warren arranges a night in the City, and Jean-Paul finally lets some personal info slip.

The Hellfire Club was a huge brownstone on the Upper West Side--and it was even bigger on the inside, what with all the subbasements. Founded some fucking ages ago, Warren had no idea, by some rich asshole who wanted to party with his rich asshole friends and keep all the poor people at bay, it was one of New York's oldest establishments--and even more exclusive than the Union Club. For all that, it was unassuming, if beautiful, on the outside, and bore no identifying marks.

Warren folded himself up and out of the Town Car he'd arranged, giving a wave to the driver, and then held out a hand for Jean-Paul. They'd had a drink (or two) on the way. Maybe he was being kind of silly. All he could think of was that soon, he could get out of his wing rig and this big ass coat and let his wings go free... and have a bad ass dinner he was sure Jean-Paul would love.

He didn't know all that much about Jean-Paul, for a guy he'd been making out with regularly for about a month now. But Warren did know that what he'd told Tessa was true: food was the way to this guy's heart. Or... whatever. Mind. Yeah, that.

"Doesn't look like it, but inside is the best restaurant in the City," he said.

"Oh, big talk." Jean-Paul was already leaning on Warren's shoulder, not tipsy, but more relaxed than Warren had seen him before. "But I lived over the best restaurant in Montreal... in Quebec... for four years. You're going to have to try pretty hard to impress me."

"I already told them to have their game face on," Warren promised, slipping an arm around Jean-Paul's waist and leading him up the steps. His own cheeks were slightly warm. And Jean-Paul's hair always smelled really nice. Also, wow, little tidbit of information there--Warren logged and noted it. Lived above restaurant. He grinned. "Can't wait to hear how it stacks up."

When they reached the door, Warren waved at the hidden camera, and the door clicked unlocked. A handsome, older gentleman in a tux opened up and stepped back, gesturing to an opulently decorated foyer. Mahogany, leather, Persian rugs, original art, all with a very old and respectable quality too it. Also, crystal chandeliers. He said, "Welcome back, Master Worthington."

"Thanks, Gerry. This is my date, Jean-Paul," Warren said as they stepped inside. The ceilings were soaring, the mouldings carved with intricate vine patterns... and the odd animal or demon peeking out of them.

"A pleasure to meet you, sir." Gerry nodded deferentially to Jean-Paul.

"Likewise." Jean-Paul grinned at him briefly, then began tugging at Warren's coat. "Get this fucking thing off."

Warren laughed and squeezed Jean-Paul, nuzzling at his hair.

Gerry laughed too, though far more restrainedly. "You're in the Roosevelt room, Master Worthington." He turned to lead them to the elevators. "Dahlia will be taking care of dinner for you."

"Oh great, I love her," Warren said, distracted.

The elevator dinged, Warren pulled Jean-Paul inside and waved to Gerry, then started pulling off his coat. "Thanks!"

"The less often you have this on, the happier you are. Which means the happier I am." Jean-Paul ran his fingers oh, so lightly through Warren's feathers. "But mostly you."

As the elevator carried them up, Warren leaned over and stole a kiss while undoing various straps. It was muscle memory, by then, even though he hadn't been wearing it lately. God, that felt good--both letting it go and the way Jean-Paul was ruffling him.

"So. What do I do not to embarrass you?" Jean-Paul laughed. "Not that I won't. I just want to know that I'm doing it on purpose."

"You could never embarrass me," Warren promised with a grin. "And even if you could elsewhere, you really can't here. The shit that goes on in this place--I'm not old enough to now about most of it, but you know rich people and their debauchery. We'll be the best behaved pair in the building even if we trash the room."

The door slid open, revealing a spacious, opulent hallway straight out of Versailles. Warren tugged Jean-Paul by the hand, letting the straps hang from his wings as he stretched them carefully behind him, coat over one arm.

Jean-Paul was doubly glad for his game face as they walked the opulent hallway. Even dressed nicely as he was, he doubted he rated above peasantry here, but damned if he was going to look like he cared.

"So you have a different brand of debauchery in mind?"

"Me?" Warren tugged Jean-Paul through a set of french doors and into a large-ish dining space. He threw his coat over a nearby hutch that looked like it might be a genuine Chippendale. The whole space was high-ceilinged, beautifully moulded, and as carefully curated as the rest of the place, maybe even moreso. The view through the huge windows was beautiful: the street and the old brownstones with high-rises in the distance. "I'm an angel, remember?

"But honestly, I was thinking unabashed hedonism." Warren pried off some of the straps and flung them, then gestured to the beautiful table, set for two. There was an orchid centerpiece, a silver ice bucket cooling a bottle of dom, and two small, elegant menus--sans prices, of course. "I had some weird idea that might appeal to you." He grinned.

There were two doors off the dining area, obviously opening up into some kind of suite, but for the moment they were closed, leaving the two boys alone in a beautiful room with a gorgeous view.

Jean-Paul was actually speechless for a moment, stirring out the bubbly relaxation of the champagne haze. It was, of all things, the menu that did it. The lack of prices was at least language he understood, and put things in a weird sort of context.

"I keep forgetting that there's a difference between rich and RICH with you."

Warren flushed and rubbed at the back of his neck, but also smiled. "Yeah, we're, uh, those people. Is it too much?" His brow furrowed. "We can order pizza. Pizza is totally hedonism too."

"Hey." Jean-Paul slid an arm around Warren's waist and pulled him flush against his front, into a kiss that was firmer and more possessive than usual. "I'm not throwing anything back in your face. Just finding my footing. Come on. Let's settle in and enjoy."

Warren's wings gave an excited little flutter at the kiss--so did his heart, because he was an absurd stereotype around this dude, sometimes. And he liked it. Warren nodded and pulled Jean-Paul to the small, round table, where the low lighting of the room made it feel almost intimate in spite of the high ceiling. "I just want you to be comfortable and enjoy. I mean, what's the point of money if you can't treat your--friends like they deserve?" He smiled hopefully.

One of these days, Warren would learn to stop leaving him these openings. These little escape hatches. But not tonight, apparently. He flashed Warren a wicked grin.

"Oh, now that is kind. But then, what do you deserve that I could ever manage for you?"

Warren smiled and settled onto the stool they'd brought for him and his wings. It was nice, not having to scrunch up or put them over the back of something. He reached for the bottle and started prying out the cork. "Honestly? All this--and even the other stuff I have planned for tonight--it seems kind of lame compared to..." He looked away and chuckled at himself, grateful for the low light since he was flushing again. "The candle thing was pretty awesome."

Jean-Paul chuckled. "Well, I bet they would bring in candles and let us eat on the floor if we wanted to. It wouldn't be quite the same, would it?" He propped his chin up on his hand. "Sometimes you seem surprised when people are nice to you. I thought that was my thing."

"Do I? People are usually nice to me because I'm rich, honestly." Warren made a thoughtful face, then sent the cork flying across the room. "But you're not just nice. You're, like. Thoughtful?" He held up the bottle for permission to pour. "Is that learned or just your personality?"

"I'll say learned." Jean-Paul laughed, but it was flat. "Just because no one would ever say I'm naturally thoughtful."

"Except me?" Warren poured for them both. "I'd rather know what you think than them."

"Mmm. Keep giving me booze and you may get more than you bargained for on that front." Jean-Paul took his glass with a nod of gratitude. "But honestly, I don't know. I never thought about it much."

"I always think self-reflection is boring," Warren admitted, chuckling at the crack. "so I can't say I blame you. Do you think--"

But whatever he was going to ask was cut off by the entrance of a matronly-figured older woman with a magnificent gray bun atop her head. She was also dressed in a tux--and a huge smile for Warren.

"Dahlia!" He grinned. "How you been?"

"Excellent Mr. Worthington, excellent. I was pleased to hear you'd be with us tonight. And your date."

"Mr. Worthington is my dad, please. this is Jean-Paul Beaubier."

"A pleasure." She addressed the question to Jean-Paul: "Will we be having the sommelier's selection with each course tonight, sir?"

Warren waggled his eyebrows, encouraging, but letting Jean-Paul decide. He didn't want the guy to think he was trying to get him liquored up. Though... well, they were already on their way.

A moment of... something flashed in Jean-Paul's eyes. A stray cat that had just remembered to be wary around people. But it was there an gone, and then Jean-Paul was smiling again.

"By all means."

Warren caught the look, but pretended not to. He hadn't gotten this far with JP here by calling him out when he got skittish, after all--and Warren would've been too polite to regardless. He wasn't sure if Jean-Paul's moment of uncertainty--or whatever--was along the lines of what he'd been thinking himself, or if it was something to do with Dahlia, but either way after she finished her pleasantries and left the room, he said, "We don't actually have to drink it all. Just nice to get the whole effect. I mean, you're a foodie so I figured. What kinda restaurant did you live over?"

"A bistro in Montréal." Jean-Paul toyed with his champagne glass. "And just so you know, it's not that I don't trust you enough to try getting drunk with you. That part would probably be a lot of fun."

"Bit of a relief to know," Warren admitted. He should've known Jean-Paul would see that he'd seen. He sipped at his own flute, then dared to ask, "So, what is it?" He would also have asked if he could help with whatever it is, but that felt... wrong, with JP. Somehow.

"Trusting everyone else."

"Believe it or not," Warren raised his glass. "That I understand, if for different reasons."

People were nice to him because he was rich, yes. But they also wanted to take him down for the exact same reason the second his back was turned. That was second nature, to a Worthington. Warren prided himself on being more open than his parents, all the time... but he was also canny enough to know where his money could buy loyalty and where it couldn't.

Thankfully, the Hellfire Club prided itself on being bought. Expensively.

"I'm sure you do. I figure, if I'm going to ruin my life, I should at least make it a deliberate choice. Not a potentially drunken mistake."

Warren couldn't help but he extremely flattered to be on the short list. "Then tonight we stay juuuuuust sober enough to watch each other's backs." And someday, he was going to make sure Jean-Paul felt secure enough to let even that go--for an hour or two, anyhow. He'd find a way.

"Deal." Some tension Jean-Paul hadn't been fully aware of slowly loosened its grip on his chest. He clinked his flute lightly against Warren's. "And if I start getting bad, just get me out of sight and take your shirt off. I promise, I will be distracted."

"Don't have to tell me twice. It'll be my pleasure." Warren waggled his eyebrows and took a sip of his champagne. He was about to ask more about the bistro, but again, Dahlia entered, this time with the caviar and soup. "Thanks."

"What will we have for the main course?" She asked.

Warren deferred, letting his guest go first as he reached for a caviar fork.

Jean-Paul studied the menu again, but he already knew he'd made his choice.

"The beef carpaccio and the crispy truffle potatoes," he said, looking up at Dahlia. "Grilled asparagus with mine, sil vous plait."

Warren inadvertently licked his lips when JP added the little French touch. Why that was hot, he didn't know, but it totally was. "Lobster burger here, please. I'll have the potatoes too. Thanks, you're the best."

Dahlia smiled benevolently at them both. "I'll give you gentlemen some privacy, and knock when I come back."

Warren winked at her just before she left. Then said. "The québécois is hot, by the way."

"I suspected so," Jean-Paul said. He helped himself to caviar. "From the look you gave me, I half-expected you to say you were going to have the Canadian for your main course." All right, maybe that was a bit of an overstatement, but not by much. And Jean-Paul was in no way complaining.

Warren flushed pleasantly. "What can I say, you look delicious. But I'll let you refuel before I start propositioning." He popped some more caviar into his mouth, grinning impishly.

***

After a beautiful dinner perfectly paired with a succession of gorgeous wines, Warren strapped his wings back down--temporarily--and they ventured back to the car. It was a short ride in the direction of the harbor, but Warren cut it even shorter by asking the driver to let them out early. "Little walk after dinner?" He asked Jean-Paul. "Enjoy the last of summer in the City?"

"Enjoying the company," Jean-Paul corrected. Arms around waists were tricky with Warren's wings strapped down, so Jean-Paul took his hand instead. "But New York is an overdressed call girl compared to Montreal."

"You just don't know her like I do," Warren assured him with a little chuckle. He threaded his fingers through Jean-Paul's, pleased with the casual affection--it meant a lot, coming from Jean-Paul. Making out, sure, the guy was as ready as Warren. But this was something else.

And yeah, Warren was still sort of high on the validation of being with a guy who was cool with... dating things. With him. They wandered along, passing people who didn't seem to notice them or care. Home sweet home New York. "It's kind of weird I've never been to Montreal, though. You should show me around sometime."

"I promise you'll have a good time, one way or another." Jean-Paul squeezed his hand. "This is new, you know. I never had time for this before."

Warren was smiling like an idiot by then and he didn't care. There was a slight breeze off the river--he wished he could feel it in his feathers briefly. Nice night, though. Getting nicer. "Too busy with skiing? Or something else?"

"Mostly the skiing. Then Jeanne-Marie. And my powers made things even more complicated. Getting hot and heavy with some guy in a club I shouldn't even be in? I can do that. One and done. Dates..." He chuckled. "Dates are new territory."

Warren nodded. "The dates I have had we're all pretty different from this," he admitted. This felt a lot more... grown up. "We're figuring it out so far, though. And at least we don't have to worry about the powers thing.

"What about Jeanne-Marie though? I'm mean, time-wise? Did something happen?" It struck Warren that her name on the list was a little concerning, and he looked it.

"I found out she existed, for one thing. That took up a lot of my attention."

Warren looked over at Jean-Paul, confusion evident on his face, frowning. "You found out..." But there was only one thing that could mean, and understanding dawned. "Oh shit. How? And when?"

"It's not exactly a happy story." Jean-Paul waved off the question. "Are you sure you want to ruin our date?"

"Getting to know you is pretty much the opposite of ruining it, for me," Warren admitted. He'd been dying to, but it wasn't easy... and he felt like he was close to at least finding out part of why, if nothing else. "But if you'd rather save the story for another time, cool. Last thing I want to do is ruin it for you." He smiled gently and rubbed a thumb over Jean-Paul's, finding it weirdly comforting.

Jean-Paul caught his breath. "Maybe once we're in private?"

"That's up next." Warren nodded and smiled, then glanced out over the river. "Our ride is just up there. I thought maybe seeing her lights from the river would give you a better opinion of New York."

"I'm sure that's entirely what you had in mind." Jean-Paul squeezed his hand again. "We'll have it entirely to ourselves."

"Okay, yeah, I'm also trying to vary potential make out sites, I admit it," Warren said with a cocky little smile and a squeeze back. "Wouldn't want you to start getting bored with me." He obviously did not think that was actually a potential problem. At all.

"Please. I've got a lot of you left to explore." The look on Jean-Paul's face made it clear that was not meant innocently.

"God, that look..." Warren shook his head, blood rushing in his ears of a sudden. "Suddenly regretting this waking idea a little. Feeling weirdly impatient..."

"See, this is why you can't get me drunk. Because now I just want to fly you off to a roof and do something fun, but stupid. Annnd you could probably talk me into it too."

"Nice to know I'm not alone with that impulse." Warren leaned a little closer, so his shoulder brushed against Jean-Paul's. They'd said they'd watch each other's backs, and even if it would've been fun... also, totally stupid. Awesome to have the company in hormonal frustration hell, tho. Because damn, dude was so. Hot. "You're a lesson in anticipation, JP. I'll probably thank you for it some day."

"'Some day' might be soon." Jean-Paul looked up at Warren, catching his gaze with his own and grinning, warm and affectionate, if not quite unguarded. "Don't ever think you're not tempting me."

In truth, Warren liked that expression even more than the 'eat you alive' one. He bumped Jean-Paul's shoulder with his own before pulling him onto the docks. "Then my work here is done.

"But for the record, I like the pace. I've got some stuff to work out. I just think more with my dick and less with my actual brain sometimes." As the whole Tamara debacle proved.

"Yeah, that's fine." Jean-Paul shrugged. "We're both just feeling our way through things, right? We've got the mutant thing and God knows what else coming up. So... yeah, we can just enjoy each other."

"That's one way to put it." Warren waggled his eyebrows a little, smiling. "I can definitely manage that. Ooh, here's our ride."

All the boats at this particular point were large and shiny, but this one was slightly smaller as yachts went. It had a large deck covered in loungey furniture and a wet bar with yet another bucket cooling champagne, plus strings of party lights. It was called "Hudson Mist".

Jean-Paul blinked, grinned like a demon, then darted for the boat, still holding Warren's hand.

"Come on. I'm having ideas!"

"Don't have to tell me twice." Warren went more than willingly, waving to the captain when her head popped out of the cabin. The sooner they got this boat into the middle of the river, the faster he could get this damn coat off. And if he was lucky, Jean-Paul's fingers into his feathers.

***

Jean-Paul suspected they were going to be in very big trouble when they got back to the school. They hadn't finished the champagne, but they'd had enough of if that there were past the fuzzy, mellow fun of being tipsy, and into a heavy (faintly nauseous, in Jean-Paul's case) lassitude that made it much more agreeable to stretch out on the wide deck chairs and... do not much of anything really. Jean-Paul kept one possessive hand buried in Warren's feathers, stroking his fingertips idly against delicate skin, and shifting his touch as directed. His gaze was directed upward at the stars, less washed out here than they were by the city's light pollution.

Warren had flopped onto his wings next to Jean-Paul, enjoying the calming petting and the faint rocking of the boat. He turned to look at Jean-Paul in the dark, lazily running his gaze over every inch of that ridiculously pretty face. And he asked, "Will you tell me about Jeanne-Marie now?"

"Mm?" Jean-Paul rolled onto his side, facing Warren. "Maybe. What do I get for spilling my story?"

Warren just turned his head to face, since turning his whole body would involve moving his wing away from Jean-Paul. He wouldn't be able to lie on them like this all night, but it was perfect for skyline watching right now. "Name it. Worthingon family dirt? Tickets to Hamilton? A hickey right..." He pushed up the bottom of Jean-Paul's shirt, to poke a spot directly above his navel, then rub it with his thumb "...there?"

That earned him a snort of laughter.

"Well, if you're going to move in on my personal space, might as well go all the way." Jean-Paul stood, but just long enough to plant his ass on Warren's chair. "Move over, Worthington."

Warren did immediately, and stretched out his near wing so Jean-Paul could curl up within it. "I wanna try this." He also wrapped an arm around Jean-Paul's shoulders, pulling him close, and when Jean-Paul curled up against his side, he curled his wing around, too, blocking out the view over Jean-Paul's back. "There. You said we'd wait for somewhere private. That about does it." He smiled, feeling fuzzy and floaty and warm.

"This..." Jean-Paul barely brushed the tip of his finger over Warren's primaries, an utterly besotted smile on his face. "Perfect." He snuggled a little closer, a fever-warm heat against Warren's side. "Where did I stop talking?'

Warren's breath caught, so much so he had to clear his throat--and his mind--to remember. He rubbed his cheek against Jean-Paul's head without even thinking. "You said something happened? Part of the reason you haven't had much time for dating?" Zero specifics, in his usual Jean-Paul way.

"Oh. Oui. Right." Jean-Paul was quiet a few moments. "Raymonde suggested it. He's the man who owns the restaurant. He said I should know myself better. And I didn't care, because my parents were dead and I didn't care about that either. But I looked myself up and it turned out that they weren't even my parents. My parents died when I was a baby. But my sister didn't."

Warren frowned, trying to process. It took a moment to disentangle the strands, but when he finally thought he had, he asked, "So you didn't know she existed?" If he sounded uncertain, well, he was. That was huge, and if he wasn't understanding this right... he was going to feel really stupid for asking that.

"Right. The assholes who adopted me didn't adopt my sister. They never told me about her. And then they died when I was little and it was foster homes until I ran away and met Raymonde.

"But anyway. I found out I had a sister. And so I spent a lot of time just with her after that. Not a lot of time for dating or whatever."

"Well, yeah, makes perfect sense." Warren frowned, wondering what kind of dickheads would split siblings up like that--and then not tell them. That they'd both landed in places like that... what the fuck. "I had no idea. I mean, obviously I didn't, but. It's cool that you two are so close now--or seem super close, I mean, hell if I know."

"We're trying." Jean-Paul was quiet for a while. He lay still, save for the occasional light stroke to Warren's wings. "Raymonde wanted to adopt her when he found out, but the agency wouldn't let him. That's why we decided to move to the school. So we could live together almost like brother and sister."

"Almost," Warren repeated, not really a question. His champagne addled-mind was putting pieces together. Raymonde owned the bistro. Jean-Paul lived over the bistro, because he'd run away from a foster home (many foster homes?) and somehow ended up with Raymonde. "For what it's worth, from the outside it looks like you're exactly like brother and sister.

"I always wanted a sister. Not so much a brother." Because if he had a brother, they'd be pitted against each other in a battle to please their father, and that sounded even more exhausting than the current situation.

"It's nice, having her around. Flying with her. She understands being alone in a crowd."

"Mmm." Warren... actually didn't. He knew what it was like to be alone when he was with his best friend, though, so he could imagine it was similar but bigger. Way bigger.

He played with a few strands of Jean-Paul's hair, silently and drunkenly having the revelation that there was as much sadness in him as there was mystery and irony and attitude. It made Warren like him even more. Made him more of, like, a person.

He wasn't drunk enough to think Jean-Paul would enjoy hearing that, though. "Was it weird, at first, how much she looked like you? But how different things were?"

Jean-Paul laughed and made a playful grab for Warren's hand. Apparently, being drunk turned Warren's maybe-boyfriend into an overgrown kitten: cuddly, affectionate, but easily distracted.

"Non. Not weird at all. It was like... being completed. Like an answer to a question I didn't know I'd been asking. She... she made sense somehow. Like I'd been waiting for her. We've known each other like... three months?... and we finish our sentences sometimes."

Warren snorted out a laugh, weirdly delighted, and let go the hair to reach for the hand instead. "That sounds like magic." He was glad it existed.

"I wouldn't have uprooted my life for anything less." Jean-Paul grappled his hand and kissed Warren's fingers.

"So I have her to thank, you're saying?" Warren grinned.

Jean-Paul laughed softly. "Maybe. Bust mostly you have you to thank. You're so hot... an' nice. And you like my sports. And you think skiing is sexy."

"All true," Warren murmured into Jean-Paul's hair. "Your own personal fanboy... who's even kind of nice. Sometimes."

"Most times. Always to me. Not many are. Not for real." Jean-Paul sighed against his chest and closed his eyes.

"I'd offer to kick anyone's ass who's ever less than nice to you, but I feel like you got that handled. You ever want backup, tho. Avenging Angel." Warren chuckled silently, chest bouncing. "You smell nice. Feel nice."

No response. Jean-Paul had fallen asleep curled up in the circle of Warren's wings.

Warren had just enough time to beam with pride that this odd, lovely, skittish boy was warm and safe enough with him to actually get tipsy and sleep next to him--before he fell asleep to the rocking of the boat, too.