Title: Romeo and Juliet
Authors: vkdemon and karomeled
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Alan Deaton/ Chris Argent
Genre: pre-canon, angst
Rating: M
Words: 2 406
Warnings: slight d/s leanings
Summary: He draws the bowstring close to his face, letting the feather tickle his cheek like his mother taught him. The arrow whistles through the space, cutting in half the stale air of the old barn and digs into the wooden wall three inches from Alan's face. The love story of Alan and Chris told in five acts.
AN: Part 1 of "For a Lover of Long Ago" series.
"O serpent heart hid with a flowering face!
Did ever a dragon keep so fair a cave?
Beautiful tyrant, feind angelical, dove feather raven, wolvish-ravening lamb! Despised substance of devinest show, just opposite to what thou justly seemest - A dammed saint, an honourable villain!"
He draws the bowstring close to his face, letting the feather tickle his cheek like his mother taught him. Aim and release. The arrow whistles through the space, cutting in half the stale air of the old barn and digs into the wooden wall three inches from Alan's face.
He jumps off the loft and smirks.
"I will curse you." Alan Deaton, dark skin smooth and free of the lines of worry that would pain him as he aged, glares at the arrow and snags it from the wall. "If this is your idea of a joke..."
"No, this is my idea of saying that you're getting sloppy," the archer rolls his eyes. "You didn't even notice me, did you? And you can quit with the cursing threats, you barely stopped your puppy from shredding you to pieces," he openly glared.
"Beth Hale is a friend." He returns the glare before rubbing his forehead. "I noticed you, my friend, but I don't expect friends to shoot at me." He produces a 6 pack of beer. "In fact, I think I should keep these to myself."
"But it's okay for a friend to try to eat you?" The boy says and carefully places his bow on the counter of an old table. He isn't going to let go that easily. Chris crosses his arms over his chest eyeing the alcohol. "Why do you even hang out with her? She's so lame."
"I had wolfsbane dust on my hands from helping with her brother's tattoo. She freaked." Alan wiggles the alcohol, happy he had covered-up the bruises from Beth's lunge. "You're the boy looking like Robin Hood. Lameness."
"Watch it. That bow costs more than all of your weed." Chris snatches the offered bottle and drops on the ground next to Alan.
"Fancy." Alan moves to nudge Chris' shoulder. "So how long before you have more insane training? Is daddy planning to drop you in a well and make you climb back out? I'd say learning about horticulture is far less dangerous even with the werewolves."
Chris sighs and relaxes against the wall, welcoming the acrid taste in his mouth. "I don't know. I'm a good shoot already," he says combatively. "And what is more dangerous than weres?"
"Your sister's tantrums." Alan quips as he opens his own beer. His body lounges mostly against Chris, enjoying the nearness even if the hunter always has to bring up his werewolf friends.
The young Argent snorts. "Yeah. Maybe. She's going to lead us all some day, can you imagine?" His head rests against Alan's. "Unless I find a wife first."
"I'll need to find a new profession. She won't stop at shooting the wolves." Alan bites his lower lip as he dares to slip his arm around Chris' lower back.
"Jesus, Alan, she's six. You don't know what she's gonna do when she grows up," Chris snaps. The need to protect his family name ss too deeply ingrained in his mind to allow the comment even from his best friend. "And don't give me some aura bullshit."
Deaton sighs and slides his arm away. "Aura is only part of the problem. There's also the little issue with her enjoying kicking the terrier I was rehabilitating with dad."
Chris puts the bottle down and adverts his eyes. "Whatever. We have our code. You'll still be able to stick over your cauldron as long as you like."
"You know how I loooove witch jokes. Why the hell am I friends with you?" Alan shoves himself off Chris' shoulder. He hates fighting over their families problems.
The corner of Chris' mouth quirks involuntarily. "Witch jokes? You mean you don't really live in a grim ancient house with dessicated animal organs hanging from the ceiling and big cauldron boiling some green substance in the middle?"
"Nope. But I do make some nasty pipe bombs. Oh wait... That's hunters." Alan sasses back with his mouth set in a thin line.
Chris' smile falls from his face at the reminder. "Then why the hell are you friends with me?" He grabs the bottle and takes a large gulp.
"Because when we're not talking supernatural politics you're one of my best friends. But since we can't hang out and have beers without bringing it up I'll just go back and roast up some frog livers."
"Sure. Maybe some of your beisty friend would be a nicer company," Chris regrets it as soon as he says it but his jaw is still set tense and eyes glaring and he is not going to back away, not now, not ever, he's as much an Argent as his sister after all.
"Maybe I should take her up on the offer for diner and the movies." Of course it would have been a 'I'm sorry for accidentally mauling you' date but Chris doesn't need to know that.
"What are you waiting for?" Chris growls and neither of them moves an inch.
"Nothing obviously." Alan snaps, not breaking Chris' gaze. "I'm tired of this. So fucking tired of your bullshit prejudice. If you took a second to look at me, just me and not my family or what yours says..."
Chris snarls in irritation and smashes their lips together, holding Alan's face in place with his hands and waiting for him to submit to the kiss, to stop talking, fighting and seeing other people and be his, his only, to finally see he's Alan's only real friend, the one who wouldn't just lose control and hurt him, who lives to protect people like Alan from monsters.
Alan groans and falls into the kiss. Chris is always like this, stubborn, prideful, and so obsessed with the damned code. The Deatons had been protectors of the ancient knowledge and help to supernatural peoples for generations. He can't understand seeing the wolves as anything but people. He wraps an arm around Chris' neck to keep the man on him. Alan breaks the kiss for a moment. "Shirt off, now."
Chris reaches for the edge of his clothing and pulls it over his head not even complaining about being bossed around. The late fall air cools his skin and he knows that soon they'll have to find a different place for this. If it's going to last, runs through his mind and he attacks Alan's clothes with a new fervor, tearing the shirt from his pants.
The young Deaton knows his friend is going to be on him in no time. "Chris." He traces the thick muscle of Chris' shoulder. He just has to kiss at it before nipping hard enough to leave a mark.
Chris breaths out, fingers clenching on Alan's hips. He rolls his hips, rubbing over the man's groin slowly, careful not to speed things up too much. He wants to devour and taste and make Alan fall apart and remember and still be sour when he meets his werewolves. The already existing bruises earn the dark-skinned boy a warning growl, and Chris teases them viciously with his fingers. "She merely freaked out, is that right?" His voice is low and dangerous and Alan must know he's going to pay for Beth's attack all over again.
The witch smacks Chris across the back of his head. "Bastard. It's fine. I'm fine." He tries to pull away and hide the mottled bruising of his chest. Chris' possessiveness is hot, most days, but not on this issue.
Chris grabs his hands and pins them over Alan's head. "Did you just hit me?" He murmurs against Alan's jaw and scratches over the bone with his teeth. His hips pick up the pace over the other man's. "How rude," he says searing his teeth over Alan's throat.
Alan shivers and arches up under Chris' teeth. The Argent is always intense. Alan bites down on his lower lip. "Yeah... What are you going to do about it?"
"Whatever I want," Chris smiles down on him and leanes back, releasing his arms. "Get your pants off."
"Pushy." Alan fumbles for a moment with his belt. He pushes his hips up toward Chris'. "Help me out."
Chris tugs the jeans harshly off him and cups the bulge in his underwear, massaging it through the material. "Let's see if tonight you're going to blow too soon again," he smiles cruelly and pulls the thin clothing off.
"Asshole." Alan would have loved to deny it, but he's come early more than once under Chris' insistent fingers. "Chris, come on, I need you."
"Of course inow/i you need me," Chris says and leans in to tongue at Alan's stomach. His lips slide around the pubic hair and tease the sensitive flesh of the boy's pelvis. He brings a hand to Alan's cock and presses the organ against his cheek, rubbing it over it.
"Fuck." The witch thrusts up, leaving a line of precome across his cheekbone. Alan's voice drops as his face heats. "Chris. Please."
"What are you asking for?" He looks up at the man with satisfaction.
"Your mouth. On me." Alan's palms press into the ground as he strains to keep himself from fighting back.
Chris lips brush up the hard shaft and caress the glans. He licks it, slowly twirling his tongue around the edge and dipping into the slit. "And what do we say when friends grant our wish?"
"Hurry up, Dickhead?" He can't help it. Alan has always had a snarky streak. His father is the same. You take the world in stride when it has sick werewolves and touchy hunters in it.
Chris smiles against the organ and leans back. His hand closes around it in a loose grip. "How about a 'thank you'?"
"Nah. I don't give gratitude for a job unfinished." He lifts an eyebrow and pushes himself up on his hands.
"Too bad," Chris murmurs and lets his cock out of his hand. He wraps hands around Alan's neck, one thumb resting on his trachea, and he goes back to kissing him, hard and gentle and slow too, changing the angle and pace whenever he likes. He expects Alan to take care of himself when they're like this.
Alan growls, but the sound is lost against Chris' mouth. He nearly loses himself in that place of bliss. His leaking cock keeps him focused. One hand goes between them and cups over Chris' fabric covered cock and presses his heel inward.
Chris' response is instantaneous. He grips the wrist and holds pinned it by Alan's side, the other hand still firm against the boy's throat. He doesn't allow him to touch tonight.
"For fuck sake. It's barely an injury. It was my stupid fault for not washing up after handling the wolfs-bane. I was trying to finish faster so I could get here and see you!"
Chris slides his hand into Alan's hair and grabs a handful, exposing the lean, dark neck. "So it's my fault then? For rushing you up?" He straddles the other boy, their stomachs meet and between them Alan's cock is trapped. Not enough to make him come, but sufficient to torture.
"Nnnn." Alan tries to buck up. He desperately writhes, but the Argent has him pinned too well. "Fuck. Yes."
"Because I let those like her walk around free," Chris accepts the words as a defeat and his teeth come back to bite under Alan's ear, molding his captive's words into a pained yelp. He presses against him, drives his hips back and forth chafing the boy's shaft with his pants. "You can come."
"Hate you. I hate you. I hate you!" Alan seizes under the Argent, coming over his stomach and Chris' pants. For once he plans to have a normal night with the hunter's son. But no, it always descends into this, fighting over ideals and Chris taking control. Still... the bliss that covers his body is worth it.
They lay on the dirty ground afterwards, Alan coming down from the pleasant haze and Chris calms down too. "I'm going to college next summer," he breaks the silence hoping Alan will read it for what it is.
"Going out of state to find that wife?" Alan can't look toward Chris. It is only a short time before the end of their teen years in Beacon Hills. He knew Chris wouldn't stay his for much longer, even if it's what he longs for. "Make sure to check if she has a gun licence."
"I need to broaden my horizons," he repeats his father's words.
"Way to quote, Gerard." Alan knows exactly who's pushing Chris' buttons. "What if I fight? What if I tell everyone what we've done together?"
Chris sits up and looks down on him. Part of him wants to exchange a threat for a threat, the other is stunned at the prospect of being fought for. "Then you could never count on a next time," he says calmly after all.
Alan closes his eyes against the tears. "So, it's lose you now or lose you later. Fine choice you give me."
Chris scoffs, stand up and turns away. He puts his shirt back on, hiding the drying come underneath, and makes sure his voice is harsh enough to hide the broken tone. "You can't lose something you never had, Deaton."
The family name is a slap in the face, a reminder of how little he ever mattered to Chris. Or at least that's what the Argent wants him to believe. He pushes himself up, refusing to be lower than his coward of a former lover. Despite being fully naked, he puts off an aura of calm control. "You're right. I can't have what was never offered. Then of course you can't let yourself give anything to anyone. I do hope you find a wife that fits the life you think you want. Maybe then you'll find a way to be happy in the cage you made."
Chris' fingers still against the buttons of his shirt. The boys stand there, silent and still, until he throws a "See you later, witch." over his shoulder. Chris grabs his arrow and walks away without a second look.
"Let's hope not, hunter."