Work Text:
me 3:42 PM
Would you like to go to dinner? On Valentine's?
Quentin 3:45 PM
Yes
Peter thumbed through the rest of their conversation. Aside from a few messages hashing out the where and when of their dinner date, it hadn't been brought up again. Life carried on as if nothing had changed, like Peter hadn't just crossed the invisible boundary between them.
He'd been all butterflies and tongue twisters for weeks before finally forcing himself to type the words out, too nervous to say them in person. Years, he'd known Quentin Beck, and he still wasn't positive he could read the man. The what if 's were all spoken in the voice of his sixteen year old self, but they made a compelling argument when he wasn't trading banter with his partner over the Manhattan skyline.
But he'd said yes! And here was Valentine's Day, as garishly crimson and saccharine sweet as it was every year. Peter couldn't even find it in himself to be uncomfortable with the canoodling couples across from him on the subway. He was too excited.
The train rolled into the 86th Street station and Peter pocketed his phone, tapping his foot until the doors slid open and allowed him out. He strode quickly past the brightly mosaiced walls and up two flights of stairs, emerging into the cool afternoon air.
Peter dithered on the corner, debating whether to cross to the opposite side of the street and buy a rose from the bodega, or if maybe that was going too far. He missed the light, decided that was a sign, and chose to continue on towards the restaurant instead. Roses were a second date kind of thing, anyway.
Right? Maybe.
He continued contemplating the etiquette to flower gifting until he caught sight of Quentin standing just outside the small bistro they'd be dining at. Everything about him was fantastically attractive, from his fitted blazer to the gentle curl of his hair on the back of his neck.
"Peter," he greeted with a warm smile. "You look... wow."
It was a good wow . The kind that made Peter preen and grin delightedly as Quentin's eyes trailed up and down his figure.
"You don't look half bad yourself," he said.
That was an understatement; Quentin looked gorgeous. Peter was used to him in loose shirts and faded jeans, workout gear and his combat suit. He could rock a tux like every other handsome man on the planet when the need arose, but casual elegance wasn't usually his style.
He'd put in the effort tonight, and glanced down at himself as if he'd forgotten that fact. Peter noted the distinguished salt and pepper in his beard with a familiar fondness.
"Thanks. We never discussed dress code, so I assumed..."
"You look incredible," Peter assured. "Shall we?"
Quentin's mouth quirked into a smile. He swept the door open and gestured Peter inside with a polite incline of his head. Charmed, he slipped past him into the bistro's quaint entryway, where a hostess greeted them.
She asked for their reservation, then led them back to a quiet corner where a table for two was set with low burning tea lights. The shadowy alcove was tucked halfway behind a decorative sculpture, which was par for the course when they went out together. Mysterio didn't hide his identity, so it wasn't uncommon for people to approach Quentin in public.
They started with a basket of bread and a shared saucer of olive oil, followed by an appetizer of Peter's choice. He picked, because he had the larger appetite and tended to eat most of it himself. And similarly, it was Quentin who picked the wine to pair with their entrees, because he knew his way around a vintage.
Conversation flowed easily between them, shifting effortlessly from one topic to the next. The appetizer disappeared between bouts of laughter and playful teasing, only to be replaced by the main course. Peter stole a sample of Quentin's entree while he thanked the waiter and pretended not to notice when he retaliated.
Dinner was delicious, not to mention, familiar. In fact, aside from their attire and the lack of grievous injury, this wasn't so different from any other night. As a younger hero, going to dinner with Quentin Beck had seemed both intimidating and special. After several years, it was just a Tuesday night. Or Wednesday. Or whatever time they felt like sharing a meal without the obligation of cooking.
Which was all to say that as Valentine's dates went, this one was going well. Perhaps too well, if the nagging anxiety in Peter's mind was to be believed.
"Dessert?"
"You pick."
Quentin spent more time perusing the dessert menu than he'd spent on their wine. Peter watched him for almost five minutes, vacillating between a chocolate torte and an apple tart before finally deciding on the torte. The waiter brought the plate with two spoons.
The bill arrived and Peter paid, surprised when he was permitted to without complaint from his companion. Usually they split the check when they weren't fighting for the right to cover the whole thing, but this time Quentin seemed content to be treated.
Twilight settled over the city in long shadows and the last rays of sunlight glinting off skyscrapers. Central Park beckoned from behind nearby stone walls, inviting them on an evening stroll through the quietly swaying trees. Peter offered the crook of his arm and Quentin took it.
They went walking arm-in-arm down a shady path, forking and twisting until the sounds of the city faded behind them. Peter snuck glances from the corner of his eye, watching the light play off Quentin's dark hair. He looked completely relaxed, eyes upturned to the painted skyline, small smile playing around his mouth. It was his content expression, the one he wore after a day where he felt he'd accomplished something. Peter knew it well.
"You know this is a date, right?"
He felt silly as soon as he asked. It was hard to mistake this for anything but a date, but he had to be sure.
Quentin came to a halt, unintentionally positioning them in the golden glow of the fading light.
"I know." he said.
"I like you." Peter continued boldly. "No-- That's not right. I love you."
"I know." he repeated, and then he leaned down to kiss him.
Quentin kissed the way he spoke; politely and well, with an underlying current of something that made your heart race. He left his hand innocently on Peter's elbow until he stepped closer, when it moved to curl possessively at the small of his back. The kiss deepened, both tilting their heads and parting their lips as if they'd read each other's thoughts.
"Oh." Peter said, once they finally separated.
"Want to know a secret?"
"Sure."
Quentin brushed a stray curl back from Peter's forehead.
"I love you too."
" Oh ." Peter said breathily.
Then he kissed him again.