Fic: Stupid Cupid 4/42 (Xena, Cupid/Strife, NC17)
Title: Stupid Cupid
Fandom: Xena
Pairing: Cupid/Strife
Rating: NC17
Summary: An AU that sprang from a challenge posted on the AJCS list, in which Strife is the lead singer in a punk band and a teenage Cupid falls in love.
Cupid was bigger than Strife. Not alarmingly so or even so much that they’d draw a lot of attention walking down the street together, but he was at least a few inches taller and he definitely had more muscle than the too-thin man staring him down. So there was no reason for him to actually be scared just because Strife was glaring at him like Cupid had just insulted his mother. Or his hair. He definitely looked scared, though, and Strife had to work hard to ignore the surge of guilt that shot through him. He did his best to ignore another, different kind of surge and narrowed his eyes even more dangerously, taking another step forward.
He was almost surprised when Cupid backed up in response, but before either of them knew what was happening Cupid was pressed against the wall and Strife was standing less than a foot in front of him. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but he had every right to be pissed at Cupid. He was the one that lied, and Strife was the one that had been putting up with the insults and cradle robber jokes from his friends for the past four days.
“How old are ya?”
The question escaped his lips before he even realized he was about to ask it, but he figured it was as good a place to start as any so he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Cupid’s lips parted and his eyes got a little wider, then he looked down in the direction of Strife’s chest and he wasn’t sure thanks to the dim light in the hallway, but he thought Cupid might be blushing. Then the other boy’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Strife stifled a groan and rolled his eyes. “Look, Cupe, I know ya lied. High school, not college, right? Yer eighteen, though…just say yer eighteen.”
“How’d you know?”
“That stuck-up bitch Gabbie knows some a yer friends from the clubs,” Strife answered. “They’ve been givin’ me shit about ya all week. But yer a senior or somethin’, right? So yer eighteen.”
“I’m a senior,” Cupid answered, but from his nervous expression Strife could tell he was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t tell me yer like some kid genius that’s like fifteen and just looks really old fer his age.”
“No…nothing like that, I swear.” His nervous little laugh was pretty cute, as it turned out, but Strife ignored that thought and drew himself up a little straighter. He was still at least three inches shorter than Cupid, but it made him feel a little more in control. “I’ll be eighteen in a couple months. I didn’t mean to lie about it, Strife, I swear. It just happened so fast and then…and you just assumed…I didn’t really think it would matter.”
“Shit, Cupe,” Strife said, but he was talking more to himself than the boy he had trapped against the wall. “Yer just a kid.”
“I am not,” Cupid protested, evoking a smirk from Strife. He sure as hell didn’t look like ‘just a kid’, especially not with the new facial hair, but just for a second when he denied it he sounded like one. Then Cupid let out a sigh and slumped back against the wall, his shoulders sagging a little. “Besides, it’s not like I expected to see you again or anything. I didn’t think you’d care.”
Shit. This was exactly what Strife had been trying to avoid, so of course Gabbie had drug the kid backstage the first chance she got. He knew Cupid would turn up at the show, he wasn’t lucky enough to expect the kid to actually stay in the suburbs where he belonged. And now he was standing right in front of Strife, looking so…wounded. Like he was waiting for Strife to tell him he was wrong, that he did care and he was glad to see Cupid no matter how old he was. Which was so not going to happen, no matter how bad Strife felt for what he knew he had to do.
“Look, Cupe, I got a lot goin’ on with the band…”
“I told that girl I didn’t need to come back here,” Cupid interrupted, looking up with such a hopeful expression that Strife nearly lost the struggle against the groan rising in his throat. “I would have waited until after the show.”
“Nah, It’s not that. What I’m tryin’ ta say here…wait. After the show? Doncha got a train ta catch?”
As soon as Cupid shook his head Strife knew he was in trouble, but the smile was what did him in. He wanted to be pissed - he was pissed; at Gabbie, at his bandmates, at whoever was fucking with his life by handing over a perfectly good teenage boy that he should stay far, far away from. He couldn’t be pissed at Cupid, though, not when he looked so good and so much older than seventeen. Life was really fucking unfair, and if it was the last thing he ever did he was going to find a way to get even with God. If there was one of those.
“Look, I didn’t…” Strife paused and looked away, cleared his throat and forced himself to look back at Cupid. He wasn’t used to being in this position, but he was pretty sure the responsible thing to do was to ask. “I didn’t hurt ya or nothin’ last time, did I?”
“Jesus, Strife, I’m not some virgin,” Cupid answered, and this time Strife was sure he was blushing. “I asked you, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Look, Cupe, I’m not lookin’ fer some kind of relationship here. I got too much shit goin’ on with the band and all.”
“Me either,” Cupid answered, his expression a picture of sincerity. He looked like he actually meant it, but even if he was going to be eighteen soon he was still pretty young. Strife was pretty sure he was going to regret this, but it was hard to resist when he had all that teenager practically pressed up against him.
“So ya gonna stick around…fer the show, I mean.”
Cupid shrugged and damn, even that was kind of cute. He was definitely going to regret this, especially when the rest of the band found out what he was doing. There was still time to walk away, to tell Cupid they’d already had their fun and it was time to move on. Before he could talk himself into it a strong hand landed on the back of his neck, and a second later Cupid’s lips were moving against his. He thought about stopping it, he even put his hands on Cupid’s chest to try to pry his mouth away. Instead of pushing Cupid away he found himself gripping the front of Cupid’s shirt, tugging him closer with one hand while his other hand worked its way under Cupid’s coat.
And wow, he was looking forward to getting Cupid out of all those fucking clothes, which just meant things had already gotten way out of hand. When he finally summoned enough self-control to pull away they were both panting, and he couldn’t help a little smile at Cupid’s dazed expression. “Sure you don’t hafta catch a train before the show’s over?”
Cupid shook his head against the wall, his chest heaving invitingly under Strife’s palm. “It’s Saturday. No school tomorrow.” He grinned again and pushed himself off the wall, moving a little closer to Strife in the process. “So I’ll see you after the show?”
Fuck. Just…fuck. This was not the way this was supposed to go at all. Strife let out a resigned sigh and nodded. “Yeah. Just hang out out front, I’ll find ya when we’re done.”
“Okay.” Cupid eased himself around Strife and it was a struggle not to grab him and pull him back for another kiss. Strife stopped just short of rolling his eyes at himself, shaking his head instead as he watched the blond turn and disappear through the door that led to the main part of the club. Once he was alone in the hallway his brain kicked back in, and he didn’t bother to suppress the groan that escaped his throat. He’d been telling himself for days that if Cupid showed up at the club he was going to blow him off, no matter how hard it was to ignore the kid. He sure as hell wasn’t going to offer to meet him after the show, and he definitely wasn’t going to take some teenager home with him.
But what else could he do? It wasn’t like he could drag him backstage for another quick fuck, they’d already done that and anyway it wasn’t like he owned the place. The manager would want them out of there pretty much as soon as the show was over, and then there was the rest of the band to consider. So he had to take Cupid home with him, and even though he’d never admit it part of him really, really liked that idea. Granted the apartment he shared with Herc and Iolaus was a dump, but he had a bed and it was more or less clean and the thought of Cupid stretched out on his sheets where they could take their time…
He was officially losing his mind. He never should have moved to New York. His mother was right, he hadn’t even been in town a month and already the city was fucking with his head. Only he had a sinking suspicion his sudden bout of sentiment had more to do with Cupid than the city, which was all the more reason he should fake some kind of illness and get the hell out of the club right now. Preferably through the back door.
“Strife, you gonna stand in the fucking hallway all night, man? We’re on, let’s go.”
Hercules’ voice shocked him out of his reverie and he looked up, scowled firmly in place as he pulled himself together and strode toward his friends.
“Where’d Jailbait go?” Iolaus asked, smirking at the thunderous expression turning Strife’s eyes almost black.
“Quit fuckin’ callin’ him that,” Strife snapped as he shoved his way past his band mates. He didn’t bother to look back and see if they’d followed him onto the stage, if they’d come looking for him that meant they were ready to start. He headed straight for the microphone and made a few unnecessary adjustments to the height, keeping his attention focused squarely on the stage and not on the audience. There was no way he was even going to glance in Cupid’s direction or he’d never get through a set, let alone a whole show. He’d just put it out of his mind and focus on the music, and when the show was over he’d deal with whatever was going on between them.
~
By the time he got back out to the main part of the club Cupid’s table was long gone, so he made his way over to the bar to order another beer and watch the show from a safe distance. He wasn’t expecting to be dragged backstage before the show even started, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to find himself confronted with an angry Strife. Granted he had a pretty good reason to be pissed at Cupid, but it wasn’t really that big a deal, was it? So he was a couple years younger than Strife thought, he was mature for his age. Most of the time.
And anyway it wasn’t like they were dating, Strife had made that perfectly clear. What Cupid really didn’t get was why Strife had felt the need to point that out when he wasn’t even from New York. Obviously they weren’t going to have any kind of commitment when Strife was going back home eventually, Cupid was just counting himself lucky that he got a second…whatever. It wasn’t like he could really call it a one-night stand, or even a two-night stand. The fact was that they hadn’t even spent a night together, all they’d gotten was half an hour in the back of a club. It wasn’t romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but Cupid was willing to take what he could get.
Maybe that was pathetic, but right then he didn’t really care. He was still too caught up in the memory of Strife’s tongue mapping every surface of his mouth to care about much of anything except the guy on stage and how much longer he was going to have to wait before they could be alone again. The fact that Strife wanted him to hang out until after the show ended was a good thing, at least Cupid had been trying to convince himself of that since Strife told him to wait out front. That meant they were going somewhere besides the back room of the club, maybe somewhere with an actual bed. The band had to be staying somewhere, and even if it was just a seedy motel room Cupid wasn’t complaining.
The thought of Strife taking him back to his room was more than exciting, but he couldn’t help wondering what would happen after the main event. Maybe Strife wasn’t the type of guy that wanted him hanging around after, and how was he supposed to ask something like that, anyway? He had no idea if that was the sort of thing you brought up before or after the actual sex. Was he even supposed to bring it up, or did he just pretend he was asleep until he really fell asleep or Strife woke him up and kicked him out? Somehow he had a feeling Strife wouldn’t have a problem telling him to get out if that’s what he wanted, but now that he knew Cupid’s age maybe he’d feel responsible for making sure he got home safely.
And if that wasn’t the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him…he didn’t even know that Gabbie chick, or how she knew who he was, but part of him wanted to hurt her for humiliating him in front of Strife. It was bad enough that she’d told him the truth about Cupid’s age, but then to drag him back there and embarrass them both in front of the whole band…Strife was right, she was a bitch.
Hating Gabbie didn’t solve his problem with how to play it cool once Strife came looking for him, though. He’d never really thought of himself as ‘too young’ or ‘just a kid’ before, but now that Strife knew how old he was Cupid suddenly felt awkward and clueless about how to handle himself. Maybe Auto and Psyche had been right to worry that he was in over his head, because the more he thought about it the more he almost wished they’d show up and force him to go home with them.
By the time the show ended he was ready to crawl out of his skin, and the bar was practically empty when Strife finally appeared. He’d changed into a faded black tee shirt with a picture of some band Cupid had never heard of before on the front of it, and his black jeans hung low on his hips. “Let’s go,” Strife said without meeting his gaze. In fact he kept glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stage door, almost as though he was trying to get out of there before his friends showed up and saw him with Cupid.
“Yeah, sure,” Cupid answered, swallowing a rush of nervous tension as he stood up and straightened his coat. He followed Strife to the door and stepped outside, hurrying to keep up as Strife turned down the sidewalk and headed away from the club. “Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry,” Strife muttered, slowing down marginally to let Cupid catch up with him. He cast a sidelong glance at Cupid, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as his lips turned up in a crooked grin.
“What?”
“Nothin’. Yer hair, it’s different, isn’t it?”
Cupid smiled self-consciously and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting back to the sidewalk in front of him. “Yeah, there were red streaks last time. They wash out.”
Strife nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, shivering a little in the cool night air.
“Cold?”
“What? Nah,” he answered, surprise flashing in his eyes for a second before he smiled. “I’m alright. We’re almost there.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” Cupid asked, suddenly feeling stupid for not even questioning where Strife was taking him. Everything both his parents had drilled into him about being safe and looking out for himself went right out the window whenever Strife was around, but he couldn’t help feeling like he could trust his new…whatever. They weren’t friends, really, and they definitely weren’t boyfriends, so Cupid wasn’t sure exactly what to call them. Not that they were going to know each other long enough to need a label, considering tonight was pretty much the last time Cupid could expect to see him. That thought made his stomach sink, and he pushed it away and focused on Strife as they turned a corner.
“My place,” Strife answered, turning toward a run-down brownstone and taking the stairs two at a time. “It’s kind of a dump, but it’s cheap and the neighbors don’t bitch about the noise.”
“Your place?” Cupid frowned as he followed Strife up the stairs, ignoring the graffiti on the walls and the way his boots stuck to the stairs. “You mean you have a place? As in a permanent place?”
“Yeah, what’d ya think, I lived in the club or somethin’?” Strife laughed as he stopped in front of a door on the second floor and fished in his pockets until he found a key. “Herc and Iolaus crash here too, they share the living room and I’ve got the bedroom. Neither of ‘em will share with me, think they’re afraid I’ll jump ‘em or somethin’. They wish.” He let out another snort of laughter and kicked the door shut, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter and pulling the fridge open. “Ya want a beer or anythin’?”
“No…thanks,” Cupid answered distractedly, his mind reeling as he scanned the obviously lived-in apartment. He could see the living room through the open kitchen, taking in the two twin mattresses shoved against either wall. There was no couch in sight, and they didn’t seem to have a TV. The small table in what he assumed would be the dining room was littered with beer bottles, show flyers and what looked like discarded sheet music, and the rest of the living room was made up mostly of piles of clothes. “So you…live here?”
“Gotta live somewhere, right?” Strife twisted the top off a bottle of beer and took a long swig before he turned back to Cupid and frowned. “Fuck, Cupe, what’d ya think, we were sleepin’ in the van?”
“No, it’s just…” Cupid shook his head, trying and failing to snap himself out of the fog that had settled over his brain. Strife lived here, in this apartment. Which meant he lived in New York City, as in he wasn’t packing up and going back to wherever he came from as soon as the band’s gig at The Underground was over. Which meant…nothing, Cupid reminded himself fiercely. He’d already laid down the ground rules for their…whatever, and the first thing he’d said was that he definitely wasn’t looking for an underage boyfriend. “I thought you were just in town to do a few shows. Auto - that’s my best friend - he heard you were from Detroit or somewhere.”
“Was. As in past tense. As in good riddance. Ever been ta Detroit?”
Cupid shook his head, but the sensation made him feel a little light-headed. Maybe he’d had too much beer at the show, or maybe this whole ‘casual sex’ thing was getting to be too much for him to handle. Either way he felt like he should sit down very, very soon.
“Yeah, well, yer not missin’ much, trust me. Xena’s from here, the chick that plays bass. Herc, Iolaus and me moved out like a month ago after our old bassist bailed on us ta get hitched.” Strife stopped talking and stared at him for a minute, his forehead creased as he watched the color drain out of Cupid’s face. “You okay, Cupe?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine,” Cupid answered, although he wasn’t at all sure he was fine. Strife living in New York didn’t change anything, but at the same time Cupid couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was happening that was bigger than both of them. He shook it off and told himself to stop being stupid or Strife really was going to start thinking he was just a kid. “Guess I just drank a little too much at the club or something.”
“Yeah? Ya wanna lie down?”
Strife’s mischievous grin was infectious, and Cupid found himself nodding as Strife stalked toward him. A pair of hands landed on his hips to push him backwards down the hall, and he focused all his attention on not tripping on any stray clothes and falling on his ass before they made it to Strife’s bed.
Fandom: Xena
Pairing: Cupid/Strife
Rating: NC17
Summary: An AU that sprang from a challenge posted on the AJCS list, in which Strife is the lead singer in a punk band and a teenage Cupid falls in love.
Cupid was bigger than Strife. Not alarmingly so or even so much that they’d draw a lot of attention walking down the street together, but he was at least a few inches taller and he definitely had more muscle than the too-thin man staring him down. So there was no reason for him to actually be scared just because Strife was glaring at him like Cupid had just insulted his mother. Or his hair. He definitely looked scared, though, and Strife had to work hard to ignore the surge of guilt that shot through him. He did his best to ignore another, different kind of surge and narrowed his eyes even more dangerously, taking another step forward.
He was almost surprised when Cupid backed up in response, but before either of them knew what was happening Cupid was pressed against the wall and Strife was standing less than a foot in front of him. Okay, so he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing, but he had every right to be pissed at Cupid. He was the one that lied, and Strife was the one that had been putting up with the insults and cradle robber jokes from his friends for the past four days.
“How old are ya?”
The question escaped his lips before he even realized he was about to ask it, but he figured it was as good a place to start as any so he crossed his arms over his chest and waited. Cupid’s lips parted and his eyes got a little wider, then he looked down in the direction of Strife’s chest and he wasn’t sure thanks to the dim light in the hallway, but he thought Cupid might be blushing. Then the other boy’s tongue darted out to wet his lips and Strife stifled a groan and rolled his eyes. “Look, Cupe, I know ya lied. High school, not college, right? Yer eighteen, though…just say yer eighteen.”
“How’d you know?”
“That stuck-up bitch Gabbie knows some a yer friends from the clubs,” Strife answered. “They’ve been givin’ me shit about ya all week. But yer a senior or somethin’, right? So yer eighteen.”
“I’m a senior,” Cupid answered, but from his nervous expression Strife could tell he was about to say something he didn’t want to hear.
“Don’t tell me yer like some kid genius that’s like fifteen and just looks really old fer his age.”
“No…nothing like that, I swear.” His nervous little laugh was pretty cute, as it turned out, but Strife ignored that thought and drew himself up a little straighter. He was still at least three inches shorter than Cupid, but it made him feel a little more in control. “I’ll be eighteen in a couple months. I didn’t mean to lie about it, Strife, I swear. It just happened so fast and then…and you just assumed…I didn’t really think it would matter.”
“Shit, Cupe,” Strife said, but he was talking more to himself than the boy he had trapped against the wall. “Yer just a kid.”
“I am not,” Cupid protested, evoking a smirk from Strife. He sure as hell didn’t look like ‘just a kid’, especially not with the new facial hair, but just for a second when he denied it he sounded like one. Then Cupid let out a sigh and slumped back against the wall, his shoulders sagging a little. “Besides, it’s not like I expected to see you again or anything. I didn’t think you’d care.”
Shit. This was exactly what Strife had been trying to avoid, so of course Gabbie had drug the kid backstage the first chance she got. He knew Cupid would turn up at the show, he wasn’t lucky enough to expect the kid to actually stay in the suburbs where he belonged. And now he was standing right in front of Strife, looking so…wounded. Like he was waiting for Strife to tell him he was wrong, that he did care and he was glad to see Cupid no matter how old he was. Which was so not going to happen, no matter how bad Strife felt for what he knew he had to do.
“Look, Cupe, I got a lot goin’ on with the band…”
“I told that girl I didn’t need to come back here,” Cupid interrupted, looking up with such a hopeful expression that Strife nearly lost the struggle against the groan rising in his throat. “I would have waited until after the show.”
“Nah, It’s not that. What I’m tryin’ ta say here…wait. After the show? Doncha got a train ta catch?”
As soon as Cupid shook his head Strife knew he was in trouble, but the smile was what did him in. He wanted to be pissed - he was pissed; at Gabbie, at his bandmates, at whoever was fucking with his life by handing over a perfectly good teenage boy that he should stay far, far away from. He couldn’t be pissed at Cupid, though, not when he looked so good and so much older than seventeen. Life was really fucking unfair, and if it was the last thing he ever did he was going to find a way to get even with God. If there was one of those.
“Look, I didn’t…” Strife paused and looked away, cleared his throat and forced himself to look back at Cupid. He wasn’t used to being in this position, but he was pretty sure the responsible thing to do was to ask. “I didn’t hurt ya or nothin’ last time, did I?”
“Jesus, Strife, I’m not some virgin,” Cupid answered, and this time Strife was sure he was blushing. “I asked you, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember. Look, Cupe, I’m not lookin’ fer some kind of relationship here. I got too much shit goin’ on with the band and all.”
“Me either,” Cupid answered, his expression a picture of sincerity. He looked like he actually meant it, but even if he was going to be eighteen soon he was still pretty young. Strife was pretty sure he was going to regret this, but it was hard to resist when he had all that teenager practically pressed up against him.
“So ya gonna stick around…fer the show, I mean.”
Cupid shrugged and damn, even that was kind of cute. He was definitely going to regret this, especially when the rest of the band found out what he was doing. There was still time to walk away, to tell Cupid they’d already had their fun and it was time to move on. Before he could talk himself into it a strong hand landed on the back of his neck, and a second later Cupid’s lips were moving against his. He thought about stopping it, he even put his hands on Cupid’s chest to try to pry his mouth away. Instead of pushing Cupid away he found himself gripping the front of Cupid’s shirt, tugging him closer with one hand while his other hand worked its way under Cupid’s coat.
And wow, he was looking forward to getting Cupid out of all those fucking clothes, which just meant things had already gotten way out of hand. When he finally summoned enough self-control to pull away they were both panting, and he couldn’t help a little smile at Cupid’s dazed expression. “Sure you don’t hafta catch a train before the show’s over?”
Cupid shook his head against the wall, his chest heaving invitingly under Strife’s palm. “It’s Saturday. No school tomorrow.” He grinned again and pushed himself off the wall, moving a little closer to Strife in the process. “So I’ll see you after the show?”
Fuck. Just…fuck. This was not the way this was supposed to go at all. Strife let out a resigned sigh and nodded. “Yeah. Just hang out out front, I’ll find ya when we’re done.”
“Okay.” Cupid eased himself around Strife and it was a struggle not to grab him and pull him back for another kiss. Strife stopped just short of rolling his eyes at himself, shaking his head instead as he watched the blond turn and disappear through the door that led to the main part of the club. Once he was alone in the hallway his brain kicked back in, and he didn’t bother to suppress the groan that escaped his throat. He’d been telling himself for days that if Cupid showed up at the club he was going to blow him off, no matter how hard it was to ignore the kid. He sure as hell wasn’t going to offer to meet him after the show, and he definitely wasn’t going to take some teenager home with him.
But what else could he do? It wasn’t like he could drag him backstage for another quick fuck, they’d already done that and anyway it wasn’t like he owned the place. The manager would want them out of there pretty much as soon as the show was over, and then there was the rest of the band to consider. So he had to take Cupid home with him, and even though he’d never admit it part of him really, really liked that idea. Granted the apartment he shared with Herc and Iolaus was a dump, but he had a bed and it was more or less clean and the thought of Cupid stretched out on his sheets where they could take their time…
He was officially losing his mind. He never should have moved to New York. His mother was right, he hadn’t even been in town a month and already the city was fucking with his head. Only he had a sinking suspicion his sudden bout of sentiment had more to do with Cupid than the city, which was all the more reason he should fake some kind of illness and get the hell out of the club right now. Preferably through the back door.
“Strife, you gonna stand in the fucking hallway all night, man? We’re on, let’s go.”
Hercules’ voice shocked him out of his reverie and he looked up, scowled firmly in place as he pulled himself together and strode toward his friends.
“Where’d Jailbait go?” Iolaus asked, smirking at the thunderous expression turning Strife’s eyes almost black.
“Quit fuckin’ callin’ him that,” Strife snapped as he shoved his way past his band mates. He didn’t bother to look back and see if they’d followed him onto the stage, if they’d come looking for him that meant they were ready to start. He headed straight for the microphone and made a few unnecessary adjustments to the height, keeping his attention focused squarely on the stage and not on the audience. There was no way he was even going to glance in Cupid’s direction or he’d never get through a set, let alone a whole show. He’d just put it out of his mind and focus on the music, and when the show was over he’d deal with whatever was going on between them.
~
By the time he got back out to the main part of the club Cupid’s table was long gone, so he made his way over to the bar to order another beer and watch the show from a safe distance. He wasn’t expecting to be dragged backstage before the show even started, and he definitely wasn’t expecting to find himself confronted with an angry Strife. Granted he had a pretty good reason to be pissed at Cupid, but it wasn’t really that big a deal, was it? So he was a couple years younger than Strife thought, he was mature for his age. Most of the time.
And anyway it wasn’t like they were dating, Strife had made that perfectly clear. What Cupid really didn’t get was why Strife had felt the need to point that out when he wasn’t even from New York. Obviously they weren’t going to have any kind of commitment when Strife was going back home eventually, Cupid was just counting himself lucky that he got a second…whatever. It wasn’t like he could really call it a one-night stand, or even a two-night stand. The fact was that they hadn’t even spent a night together, all they’d gotten was half an hour in the back of a club. It wasn’t romantic by any stretch of the imagination, but Cupid was willing to take what he could get.
Maybe that was pathetic, but right then he didn’t really care. He was still too caught up in the memory of Strife’s tongue mapping every surface of his mouth to care about much of anything except the guy on stage and how much longer he was going to have to wait before they could be alone again. The fact that Strife wanted him to hang out until after the show ended was a good thing, at least Cupid had been trying to convince himself of that since Strife told him to wait out front. That meant they were going somewhere besides the back room of the club, maybe somewhere with an actual bed. The band had to be staying somewhere, and even if it was just a seedy motel room Cupid wasn’t complaining.
The thought of Strife taking him back to his room was more than exciting, but he couldn’t help wondering what would happen after the main event. Maybe Strife wasn’t the type of guy that wanted him hanging around after, and how was he supposed to ask something like that, anyway? He had no idea if that was the sort of thing you brought up before or after the actual sex. Was he even supposed to bring it up, or did he just pretend he was asleep until he really fell asleep or Strife woke him up and kicked him out? Somehow he had a feeling Strife wouldn’t have a problem telling him to get out if that’s what he wanted, but now that he knew Cupid’s age maybe he’d feel responsible for making sure he got home safely.
And if that wasn’t the most embarrassing thing that had ever happened to him…he didn’t even know that Gabbie chick, or how she knew who he was, but part of him wanted to hurt her for humiliating him in front of Strife. It was bad enough that she’d told him the truth about Cupid’s age, but then to drag him back there and embarrass them both in front of the whole band…Strife was right, she was a bitch.
Hating Gabbie didn’t solve his problem with how to play it cool once Strife came looking for him, though. He’d never really thought of himself as ‘too young’ or ‘just a kid’ before, but now that Strife knew how old he was Cupid suddenly felt awkward and clueless about how to handle himself. Maybe Auto and Psyche had been right to worry that he was in over his head, because the more he thought about it the more he almost wished they’d show up and force him to go home with them.
By the time the show ended he was ready to crawl out of his skin, and the bar was practically empty when Strife finally appeared. He’d changed into a faded black tee shirt with a picture of some band Cupid had never heard of before on the front of it, and his black jeans hung low on his hips. “Let’s go,” Strife said without meeting his gaze. In fact he kept glancing over his shoulder in the direction of the stage door, almost as though he was trying to get out of there before his friends showed up and saw him with Cupid.
“Yeah, sure,” Cupid answered, swallowing a rush of nervous tension as he stood up and straightened his coat. He followed Strife to the door and stepped outside, hurrying to keep up as Strife turned down the sidewalk and headed away from the club. “Where’s the fire?”
“Sorry,” Strife muttered, slowing down marginally to let Cupid catch up with him. He cast a sidelong glance at Cupid, some of the tension easing out of his shoulders as his lips turned up in a crooked grin.
“What?”
“Nothin’. Yer hair, it’s different, isn’t it?”
Cupid smiled self-consciously and ran a hand through his hair, his gaze shifting back to the sidewalk in front of him. “Yeah, there were red streaks last time. They wash out.”
Strife nodded and shoved his hands in his pockets, shivering a little in the cool night air.
“Cold?”
“What? Nah,” he answered, surprise flashing in his eyes for a second before he smiled. “I’m alright. We’re almost there.”
“Where are we going, anyway?” Cupid asked, suddenly feeling stupid for not even questioning where Strife was taking him. Everything both his parents had drilled into him about being safe and looking out for himself went right out the window whenever Strife was around, but he couldn’t help feeling like he could trust his new…whatever. They weren’t friends, really, and they definitely weren’t boyfriends, so Cupid wasn’t sure exactly what to call them. Not that they were going to know each other long enough to need a label, considering tonight was pretty much the last time Cupid could expect to see him. That thought made his stomach sink, and he pushed it away and focused on Strife as they turned a corner.
“My place,” Strife answered, turning toward a run-down brownstone and taking the stairs two at a time. “It’s kind of a dump, but it’s cheap and the neighbors don’t bitch about the noise.”
“Your place?” Cupid frowned as he followed Strife up the stairs, ignoring the graffiti on the walls and the way his boots stuck to the stairs. “You mean you have a place? As in a permanent place?”
“Yeah, what’d ya think, I lived in the club or somethin’?” Strife laughed as he stopped in front of a door on the second floor and fished in his pockets until he found a key. “Herc and Iolaus crash here too, they share the living room and I’ve got the bedroom. Neither of ‘em will share with me, think they’re afraid I’ll jump ‘em or somethin’. They wish.” He let out another snort of laughter and kicked the door shut, tossing his keys on the kitchen counter and pulling the fridge open. “Ya want a beer or anythin’?”
“No…thanks,” Cupid answered distractedly, his mind reeling as he scanned the obviously lived-in apartment. He could see the living room through the open kitchen, taking in the two twin mattresses shoved against either wall. There was no couch in sight, and they didn’t seem to have a TV. The small table in what he assumed would be the dining room was littered with beer bottles, show flyers and what looked like discarded sheet music, and the rest of the living room was made up mostly of piles of clothes. “So you…live here?”
“Gotta live somewhere, right?” Strife twisted the top off a bottle of beer and took a long swig before he turned back to Cupid and frowned. “Fuck, Cupe, what’d ya think, we were sleepin’ in the van?”
“No, it’s just…” Cupid shook his head, trying and failing to snap himself out of the fog that had settled over his brain. Strife lived here, in this apartment. Which meant he lived in New York City, as in he wasn’t packing up and going back to wherever he came from as soon as the band’s gig at The Underground was over. Which meant…nothing, Cupid reminded himself fiercely. He’d already laid down the ground rules for their…whatever, and the first thing he’d said was that he definitely wasn’t looking for an underage boyfriend. “I thought you were just in town to do a few shows. Auto - that’s my best friend - he heard you were from Detroit or somewhere.”
“Was. As in past tense. As in good riddance. Ever been ta Detroit?”
Cupid shook his head, but the sensation made him feel a little light-headed. Maybe he’d had too much beer at the show, or maybe this whole ‘casual sex’ thing was getting to be too much for him to handle. Either way he felt like he should sit down very, very soon.
“Yeah, well, yer not missin’ much, trust me. Xena’s from here, the chick that plays bass. Herc, Iolaus and me moved out like a month ago after our old bassist bailed on us ta get hitched.” Strife stopped talking and stared at him for a minute, his forehead creased as he watched the color drain out of Cupid’s face. “You okay, Cupe?”
“Yeah…yeah, I’m fine,” Cupid answered, although he wasn’t at all sure he was fine. Strife living in New York didn’t change anything, but at the same time Cupid couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something was happening that was bigger than both of them. He shook it off and told himself to stop being stupid or Strife really was going to start thinking he was just a kid. “Guess I just drank a little too much at the club or something.”
“Yeah? Ya wanna lie down?”
Strife’s mischievous grin was infectious, and Cupid found himself nodding as Strife stalked toward him. A pair of hands landed on his hips to push him backwards down the hall, and he focused all his attention on not tripping on any stray clothes and falling on his ass before they made it to Strife’s bed.