Fanfic: First Date (Chalk And Charcoal Series)

[smokingmirror]

Title: First Date
Series: Chalk And Charcoal
Author: Avarice
Rating: PG
Pairing: Mikhael/Tybalt
Spoilers: pre BMB
Summary: Mikhael asks a classmate out on a date. May 1994.
Word Count: 2079
Date First Posted: 04-11-2001
Date Revised: 22-05-2011
Beta: Tink
Awards: -
Notes: First in a series of 10 fics about Mikhael and Tybalt's relationship, pre-Harley. I always meant to cover the two years that they dated, including all that nonsense with the Dean, etc. I lost steam and got distracted by other projects along the way, so it currently sits only at 10 fics, all in chronological order (check summary for order), but in the last moment, I have resisted numbering them from 1-10 because I still have a few stray urges to go back and work into this more. It might not happen, but at least I won't mess up my system if I do. A lot of their break-up stuff ended up getting handled in my long one-shot All The King's Horses, and the ramifications are still being dealt with in my epically long (for me) WIP Rewriting History. Yes, even after about 7 years or some ridiculous amount of time, I'm still working on it! I just can't let it go.
Feedback: always welcome, as is constructive criticism.
Also Archived At: LJ

Streetcorner, 5:40pm

Mikhael looked at his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

Either his watch was 40 minutes fast, or he'd been stood up. Mikhael fervently hoped it was the latter -- he really couldn't afford to get the battered timepiece checked out if it was acting up.

The Russian sighed and shook his head, shoulders slumping. That thought really wasn't very reassuring. Especially since his self esteem and confidence in his social abilities had pretty much been shot to hell from the age of fifteen.

Being thrown out of home by your parents would do that to you.

Mik sighed again -- depressed at the thought of his family -- and looked down at his feet, wondering again how he got himself into this situation.

+++

It was the voice that caught him to begin with. Mikhael was so determined to work his way through the course, from the time he got to the studio in the morning to the time he left at night, dark eyes very rarely strayed from what they were working on. As such, he didn't really know most of his class by their faces.

He was intimately aware of their voices, though. It was his only real identification tool. Karen the sculpture major had a flowery, light voice that went up at the end of each sentence. Scott, a fellow painting major was nasal, always sounded chronically depressed, and had the tendency to speak like a talking clock. Tom was softly spoken and had a barely noticeable lisp.

They, along with many other students, greeted him every once in a while. Sometimes stayed around and tried to make conversation, but it was usually quite one-sided and they gave up.

It wasn't that Mikhael didn't want to talk, or he disliked them, it was just that he didn't know what to say. Small talk was a foreign concept, and the idea of actually sharing his life story with anyone made him break out in a cold sweat.

As it was, answering "Yes", "No", "Sorry, I'm not interested in you", and the occasional grunt worked fairly well.

But with a murmured 'Hi, Precious," the Russian's focus suddenly began to waver. Because it came to pass that Mikhael Rasputin met Tybalt O'Donnel.

Mikhael found himself watching Tybalt whenever they were in the same room. The redhead's presence seemed to command his attention. Tybalt oozed charisma and attitude, and everybody knew who he was. Other students melted when he greeted them, teachers smiled and Mikhael... Mikhael was lost. He attempted to be as discreet as possible, wanting neither the object of his scrutiny nor his classmates to know what drew his head up from the work that had so consumed him before.

It didn't take long for the aforementioned object of his scrutiny to notice him, however. Mikhael wasn't sure whether to be pleased or flat out embarrassed when Tybalt began reacting to him. A casual touch that lingered on the arm, a blatant double entendre, or some glowing praise on his latest work with that voice just made for purring.

It took around three weeks of Tybalt's not so subtle groping for Mikhael to gather up enough courage to even consider the prospect of opening his mouth and asking the redhead out on a date.

Two weeks later, Mik actually made the decision to ask him...

...having never spoken much more than four mumbled words at a time in Tybalt's presence. Considering Tybalt was so blatant in his intentions, though, Mik figured it might be easy.

The exchange went thusly:

"Um... Tybalt?"

"Yes, sexy?"

Stalled. "I.. er.. that is to say, you..."

Amused smile. "What about me?"

"Do you want.. to.. er..." Dissolved into mumbles.

"I'm afraid I don't follow you."

"Want to... d-.. da--" Curse.

Chuckle. "How colourful."

"Not what I meant."

"Oh?"

"W-would you... uh... " Fidget, fidget.

"Would I what?"

Stalled. Raised eyebrow in response, and impatient tapping foot.

Strength. Fortitude. Courage. "Wouldyougooutwithme?" Relief.

"Hm..." Contemplative. "What for?"

A beat, and embarrassment beyond measure.

Arms crossed. "Mikhael, I don’t follow what you're asking me."

Ground teeth. "Look, doyouwantodatemeornot?"

Pause. Smile. "Oh. A date..."

Sigh. "I'm sorry... It's... it's okay if you don-

"Thursday. 5pm. Corner of Austin and Fuhr." Smirk. Exit, stage left.

+++

Streetcorner, 5:45pm

Dusk was the peak commuter crossover time. People were still traveling home from work even as others set out for a night on the town. Mikhael could barely keep his head up, preferring to study the concrete, instead.

Without even realising it, Mik started voicing his mental chant. "...not coming, he's not coming, he's not coming, he's not coming, he's not comi-"

A hand on his arm made the Russian jump and spin around.

"Not yet, but buy me a drink and see how far you get," Tybalt smiled, his voice taking an apologetic tone. "Judging by your mantra, I kept you waiting?"

"Oh... uh, not so much," Mikhael scratched his arm nervously. The redhead responded by gently but firmly taking Mik's arm and looping his own through it.

"Let's go then, shall we?"

+++

Starbucks, 6:30pm

Tybalt stretched and settled comfortably back into the plush chair. "You're kidding me, right? I never would have picked you for a fan of Redon..."

"His work... intrigues me," Mik managed to say with a straight face before it gave way to a small smile, "as did his reputed techniques."

Tybalt choked slightly on his drink in his haste to reply. "Hell yeah. Did you ever see the egg cup one? No one could draw that and not have the aid of hallucinogenic substances."

"I concur," Mikhael nodded seriously.

"If we're talking surrealists, I have to go straight to Monsieur Renè Auguste."

"Magritte?" the Russian perked up.

"The one and only," Tybalt grinned. "I never bought into all of Dali's hype. He was never figurative enough for me. Magritte was much more eloquent."

"I agree! The concept behind 'The Treachery of Images' is so ironic. And his juxtaposed objects were always great."

"Yep. Did you ever see the painting with the girl eating the live bird? That's my favourite."

"I remember that one. My favourite was always 'The Lovers'." As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Mikhael ducked his head, embarrassed. He looked over at Tybalt, cheeks flaming.

The redhead's lips quirked, and he felt Tybalt's foot brush his ankle under the table. "I always liked that one, too."

+++

Starbucks, 8:15pm

"So I say, if you're an artist and you marry a porn star, you're obligated to fuck her and make sculptures of it for a worthy, cultural cause."

"...Uh," Mikhael's cheeks suffused pink. Tybalt's eyes glinted with amusement.

"You've seen Koons' Made in Heaven series, I take it?"

Mik nodded dumbly, unable to make the flush go away. Tybalt leant forward to pick his coffee up off the small table between them, 'missed' and ran a fleeting finger over the Russian's trouser-clad knee before withdrawing.

"You're cute when contemplating hetero sex."

"Well, I don't mind it happening, I just wish they didn't feel the need to flaunt it."

Tybalt's loud laugh intermingled with Mik's deep chuckle.

+++

Starbucks, 10:05pm

"I suppose you like Man Ray, too?" Tybalt asked offhandedly, swishing the remainder of his moccachino around in its container. Mikhael's eyebrows rose as he nodded avidly. "Mmmm... the viola lady... but excuse me for interrupting. You were talking about... light and dark?"

Mikhael sat on the edge of his chair and leant forward, enthused by the subject. "Caravaggio used chiaroscuro as a technique like da Vinci meant it to be used when he invented it."

Tybalt nodded slowly, crossing his legs. "A classicist, eh?"

The Russian gave a faint smile. "Something like that."

Leaning forward slowly so as not to make Mikhael nervous, the long haired man whispered conspiratorially, "Personally, I always had a thing for his Dionysus..." he let the sentence trail, a hungry smile on his face. Mikhael's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't break eye contact.

"Me too," the dark-haired man admitted after a moment of silence.

"A young body taut in all the right places will get to even the best of us," Tybalt gestured broadly, holding the brunet's eyes for a pregnant moment before sitting back.

"It certainly will," Mik murmured.

+++

Starbucks, 10:59pm

"...the great thing about Wagner is-"

"Excuse me, gentlemen," a waitress cut into Tybalt's tirade about the composer. The redhead looked up at her irritably, and she baulked. "We're closing now,"

Tybalt did not get up until he looked at his watch. "We spent the whole night... talking," he remarked with a vague surprise.

Mikhael stood up and straightened his slacks, the nervousness and awkwardness he had forgotten over the course of the night suddenly back threefold.

The pair was unceremoniously shooed out of the establishment. Tybalt looked up at Mikhael, who was busy looking down at the pavement. Mik hazarded a glance up and found Tybalt staring at him with an inscrutable expression. Immediately the brunet's heart rate sped up, even as it dropped into his stomach. Was he unhappy? Did he not have a good time?

"Walk me back to my dorm?" Mikhael nodded dumbly. "Good," Tybalt looped his arm around Mik's again. "Now where was I... Oh yeah. Gotterdammerung. Wagner was a fucking genius because..."

+++

Tybalt's Dorm, 11:38pm.

The redhead fumbled with his keys, sticking them in the door before turning to Mikhael. For his part, the Russian was doing well not to look like he was actually going to bolt.

"I-" he cleared his throat before letting a hysterical bubble of laughter burst from his throat. Tybalt watched silently. Mik rubbed his head and gave a calmer, self-deprecating laugh. "I’m sorry, I'm just not any good at this."

"S'okay, I think I'll keep you anyway," the longhaired man teased, enjoying watching the subsequent flush and squirm.

"I had a... a really nice time," Mik said truthfully. For all the doubts he had let his mind conjure up with the somewhat dubious start, it had been a pretty seamless first date. Tybalt turned out to be surprisingly intelligent, versed on a number of subjects, with a colourful and well thought out opinion of each one. He debated like a pro. It was a lesson for the Russian to not assume beauty and brains were mutually exclusive.

Speaking of which... he really had to stop staring at Tybalt's mouth. The lips were smirking in a decidedly non-ignorant fashion.

"Same here. I wasn't sure whether you didn't talk much because you were an imbecile or because you were just the strong, silent type. I'm very happy it's the latter," Tybalt dropped his voice, purring his 'r's.

Mikhael smiled somewhat bashfully, trying to rein his coherent thoughts. "I... I guess I'll see you tomorrow afternoon, then?" the brunet's eyes widened and he panicked. "At class. I meant at class. I wasn't implying to go out again... although, if you wanted... but it's no trouble. I don't mind if we don't go out again. That is to say, if you didn't want to. This isn't coming out right. Maybe I should transfer cla--mgffm!"

His frantic diatribe was cut short by a pair of soft, cool lips. It took his brain approximately four seconds to process what was happening, another three to catch up on the breaking development that Tybalt's tongue had just entered his mouth and was currently doing the most amazing things with his own. Automatic impulses shot through his body, jerking a left arm around Tybalt's narrow waist, the right to the side of his face in a tentative caress.

The redhead murmured in approval, but pulled back gracefully. "See what else your mouth can accomplish?" he chuckled, panting slightly. He disengaged himself from Mikhael's grip and studied the flushed cheeks and bewildered expression with an amused smile. Tybalt turned the key in his door and opened it up, stepping inside.

"The quadrangle next to the amenities block, 1pm. We can have lunch before the session starts. Goodnight, Precious." With one last smile, a bit softer than all the others, Tybalt shut the door.

"Goodnight," Mik whispered, his stomach doing a strange backflip at the prospect of meeting the redhead again tomorrow.

With a small, hopeful smile, Mikhael began the walk to his own dorm, humming one of Siegfried's refrains from Die Walkure.

For some reason, he really needed some Wagner. And a cold shower.

~finis