There's this little red door just at the at the edge of West End that Geoffrey had never paid much attention other than to wonder why would anyone need that many flowers. As he approaches the place right beside Jonathan, he can't help but feel taunted by the unkempt canopy of flowers, fragrant and dark red against the equally dark night.
Behind the wooden door, a waiter in a crisp uniform, who Jonathan greets by name, takes their coats and leads them to a table.
"Oh, I feel underdressed…" Geoffrey finds himself saying, but it's not totally true. The place is dark enough for him to feel comfortable, almost sleepy, and the building itself does not seem to have been designed to become a restaurant, small tables scattered around with mismatched chairs that shouldn't be, but are very charming.
A small and private smile grazing his lips, Jonathan whispers back, "You're fine…"
And he means it. He expected more of a fight from Geoffrey when he suggested they come here, but he is happy to have the hunter with him in such a familiar setting. Before he left for war, he used to come here all the time.
Looking back, he can't really remember what was the last time. One of those uncomfortable dates Mary insisted on sending him on? Their mother's birthday, the last one they celebrated, so long ago? He can't say for sure, but one thing he knows. He was happy, the last time he came here. Not that he isn't now, with the careful glances Geoffrey keeps shooting him, but he is now sullied by a darkness he knew nothing of before.
As they sit, Jonathan is brought back from his memories by Geoffrey commenting, "I don't think I can afford this place."
Around them, a few couples and small groups of friends and family eat and drink quietly whispering among themselves, indifferent to them.
"It's a good thing you're not paying, then," Jonathan says as their waiter returns with menus. Jonathan waves a hand at them and dismissively says, "We'll have the lamb."
"What?" Geoffrey mumbles in confusion.
Jonathan considers him for what feels like an eternity. With a wink, he says, "Trust me."
And, well, it's true that this night could have gone a lot of different ways, but this is not something Geoffrey expected when he left the headquarters: having dinner with a leech. That and the weird fluttering in his chest that steals his ability to find a comeback.
The waiter, convincingly polite, asks, "And to drink?"
Geoffrey would go with whisky. It's cold enough that his body will appreciate it, but Jonathan speaks first, "Some red wine. Bordeaux?"
The waiter nods one more time, saying, "I'll be back in a moment."
"How hungry are you?" Jonathan asks before Geoffrey can say anything else.
"Well, I haven't really eaten since early afternoon, so…"
Jonathan seems satisfied with his answer, because he says, "Good. You'll have to eat for the two of us."
Geoffrey is smiling to himself when the waiter returns with their glasses of wine. Jonathan stares longingly at the dark liquid.
"Are you trying to fatten me up, Reid?" Geoffrey asks with a smirk. Jonathan raises his glass and Geoffrey follows him. As their glasses clink together, he teases:
"Can't I just spoil you without some hidden agenda?" And it's his choice of words, the mischievous glint in his eyes, the lazy smirk on his lips, that sends a rush of adrenaline through Geoffrey's body. He should have said no, he realises. He should have found a random bar and paid for any food they had instead of coming here to sit in front of this man with the too knowing, too hungry eyes. It's off-putting, being the sole center of Jonathan's attention like this.
Jonathan lifts the glass to his nose and breathes it in, lips parting in helpless desire. The Ekon wants to drown in the richness of the wine, but knows he can't. So he takes in the aroma, a bit metallic, earthy and rich, and stares like a starving man as Geoffrey takes a small, measured sip, eyebrows immediately shooting up as whatever brought that frown onto his face vanishes from his thoughts.
"Is it good?" Jonathan asks, barely recognising his own voice, too husky, too anxious for approval. Geoffrey licks his lips, a flash of pink tongue, and Jonathan clenches a fist. "Do you like it?"
He wants to taste the darkness of the bordeaux on Geoffrey's tongue.
"It's delicious," Geoffrey replies, moving in for a more generous sip, mouth working around the flavours as his face heats up under Jonathan's scrutiny.
Jonathan takes a deep breath. Clears his throat. Adds, "Glad you like it."
As Jonathan sets his own glass down, Geoffrey purses his lips. Asks, "You really can't drink at all?" Jonathan shakes his head. "Not even a sip?"
"I can… taste it," Jonathan explains as he does just that, lifting the glass to his mouth and allowing the liquid to graze his lips. It is barely a sip at all, but the flavours explode inside his mouth in a way he had not anticipated. He is so distracted by the intensity of it he doesn't notice the way Geoffrey is staring at his mouth like he has just discovered something massive. Jonathan sighs, staring wistfully into his glass. "But I guess… it's better for the two of us if I don't get into the habit of indulging myself too much and… giving into temptation."
Geoffrey nods, not sure at all what they're talking about. As Jonathan abandons his wine, their eyes meet.
"Might be tough," Geoffrey thinks out loud. "Resisting."
The hunter covers his words and the embarrassment thick inside his chest with a sip of wine. He's right, Jonathan thinks.
Resisting is tough. It's always tough. When earlier Jonathan felt the scent of Geoffrey's dried blood in the air, it took everything in him not to sink his fangs into the hunter's flesh. It would have been so easy, too, Geoffrey so filled with his frustrations and grievances he wouldn't have noticed what was happening until it was too late. Until Jonathan's mouth was filled with his blood, life slowly draining from the hunter's body as the hunger took over him.
There's another hunger, however, that Jonathan has been feeling as of late. A hunger that has very little to do with blood and a lot to do with Geoffrey.
"Wine is not the worst temptation on my plate, as I'm sure you understand…" Jonathan quips, wondering if Geoffrey's blood would taste sweeter with the alcohol swimming in is body. He licks his lips, tasting the last traces of the wine, and hoarsely whispers, "But, yeah, this is… good wine."
Geoffrey nods in agreement. The table they are sitting at feels smaller than it was a few minutes ago as they unconsciously lean towards one another, eyes searching each other's faces for signs they are not used to looking for.
"Pardon me for interrupting," The waiter says as he approaches their table with two hot plates. Geoffrey jumps in surprise, bumping his leg against Jonathan's under the table.
"Thank you," the Ekon says as their food is set, eyes narrowing as if it has somehow offended him. The waiters steps away and Jonathan risks a glance at Geoffrey, "It sure smells enticing…"
It is Jonathan's turn to feel like coming here was a bad idea. He remembers the food being very good, but this is ridiculous. On their plates, racks of lamb bleed their juices onto soft mashed potatoes and roasted mushrooms. Jonathan can smell rosemary and thyme, butter and cumin, black pepper and his mouth feels… empty.
Geoffrey fusses with his knife and fork for a second before cutting into his food and says, "I feel almost bad for eating in front of you…" Then he takes a bite. He lets out a moan that has Jonathan biting his lower lip and immediately corrects himself, "No, scratch that, I don't feel bad at all. This is… amazing."
Jonathan sighs. He doesn't mean to, but can't help but track every single movement Geoffrey makes. A piece of mushroom pierced by a fork and a bit of mashed potatoes stained with the juices of the lamb find its way into the hunter's mouth and Jonathan could die a happy death at this moment.
As Geoffrey chews, very obviously enjoying everything, Jonathan comments, "They almost closed during the epidemic." He is hopelessly trying to find something to say, to do, other than to look at and starve for this man. "This place. People weren't going out to eat anymore, supplies were scarce…"
Geoffrey swallows and takes a hearty gulp from his wine.
"Thank God they didn't close…" He says with a dry chuckle. Jonathan doesn't laugh. "You're staring," Geoffrey manages to say after a few minutes pass.
"I'm sorry," the doctor says and he is, but he can't stop.
Geoffrey tells himself that the warmth on his face comes from the wine and hot food, but he is not that good at lying to himself. Not when he keeps bumping into Jonathan's legs under the table, keeps forgetting how to breathe, how to sit like a normal person.
When he's almost done with his food, which almost makes him feel sad, Jonathan switches their plates in a swift movement. He looks around impishly as if making sure no one's looking, which earns him a chuckle from Geoffrey. He didn't need to, though. No one is looking at them, in this dark, warm place, and Geoffrey starts to feel a bit reckless.
"You weren't kidding about spoiling me…" he throws Jonathan's words back at him, face still flushed bright. Jonathan just leans on an elbow and lazily looks over as his companion cuts into his new dish while saying, "You know those moments when you first experience something you just sort of know you'll always crave?"
Jonathan nods, Geoffrey's words ringing more true than the hunter could ever know. Jonathan stretches a leg under the table, bumping into Geoffrey, but neither of them move away.
"This is one of those moments. You have officially ruined me, Jonathan," Geoffrey melodramatically says as he drinks the last of his wine. "I knew you were a bad influence all along, now I'll go bankrupt over food."
Jonathan grins, very obviously proud of himself, and lifts his own glass to his mouth one more time. Lips still tingling with sensation, he pushes his glass forward and, as if asking a favour, says, "Finish my wine?"
"Oh, since you insist…" Geoffrey obliges, sipping from Jonathan's glass before going back to his food, leaving the Ekon to stare helplessly at the glass, at the twin marks of their mouths. "You don't have to get me drunk, you know?"
Jonathan looks at Geoffrey, thinking he might be drunk himself because all of his eloquence abandons him. "Sorry?" he says.
"I said: you don't have to get me drunk," Geoffrey repeats and, with a defeated gesture, elaborates, "I already like you, Jonathan, despite knowing fully well that I really shouldn't."
He is speaking platonically. Jonathan knows that. He knows that and still Geoffrey's words make him want to reach over and lick the wine and blood from his lips.
Jonathan lowers his gaze, instead. Things are becoming too intense, too fast for his liking. He needs to be able to think about these things before acting, but he did not expect to feel this way about Geoffrey.
The silence that reigns while the hunter finishes his food, however, is not an uncomfortable one. When the waiter takes the plates and glasses away, he asks if everything was all right. Geoffrey can't really go any further than 'good' with his inner glutton singing with joy. No dessert for them. Just the check, thank you.
"We still have work to do," Geoffrey reminds Jonathan, his words making the cold streets outside bleed into their cocoon.
Jonathan is still smiling as he reaches for his wallet. Handing the money over, he tells the waiter, "It was perfect. Thank you, Gordon."
They are moving more slowly than usual as they stand up, laziness from the meal and hesitation to go back to the real world staggering their movements as they put their coats back on. But Jonathan boldly leaves his hand on the small of Geoffrey's back when they exit. That doesn't require any effort at all.
The warm light from inside the restaurant bleeds onto the pavement for a second before the door closes behind them. Jonathan pauses, hand pressing down against Geoffrey's back as if to make itself known.
This time, Geoffrey doesn't complain about Jonathan's touch. On the contrary, he moves a bit closer. Jonathan can smell the wine in his breath.
"I thought about turning you, you know," Jonathan blurts out before he can think better of it. Geoffrey barely reacts other than a raised eyebrow, a confused glint in his eyes. Jonathan elaborates in a whisper, leaning in to be heard, to be closer, he's not sure, "Back at the hospital. When we fought. When I had you on your knees, I thought about turning you."
It's something else, what he wants to convey. Geoffrey eyes seem to penetrate the depths of Jonathan's thoughts, but what he manages to say is, "Bullshit."
It's almost a challenge, the way he says it. Gravely, Jonathan nods.
"Well, I'm glad you didn't," Geoffrey says, matter-of-factly. "I would have killed you."
But he doesn't move away. If anything, he comes closer, turning so that they're standing face to face.
"Well, you had already tried that, if you don't remember," Jonathan teases him. Then his gaze changes into something less gleeful and more thoughtful, considering. He licks his lips, unsure, the hand on Geoffrey's lower back turning heavier, more possessive, the longer the hunter allows himself to be touched. Jonathan adds, "It was out of spite, though. That I thought about it. But I… I think you might have enjoyed taking part in this cursed existence…"
The look on Geoffrey's face is almost dreamy, as if he is really thinking about it. About something, anyway.
"Can you imagine that?" Geoffrey wonders aloud, accent heavy around every syllable and a nasty smirk that Jonathan wants to kiss right off his lips. He leans in as if to tell a secret and Jonathan can almost taste him, "I'd be the greatest vampire hunter ever. Your worst enemy, in fact."
That startles a bark of a laugh out of Jonathan and Geoffrey looks awfully proud of himself. Proud of making Jonathan laugh. The Ekon is a second away from throwing caution to the wind and risking taking a fist to the face just to feel Geoffrey's lips against his when he hears a familiar voice exclaiming, "Oi, Johnny! I can't believe you're here!"
Jonathan frowns, the moment shattering right in front of him. Geoffrey turns towards the street as the doctor does the same, frustration burning white-hot in the pit of his stomach.
"Oh," Jonathan says, finally recognising the couple walking towards them. His frown deepens in confusion, "Clarence. Venus. Date night?"
