#so i’m letting him keep the epithet especially since the other guys are much taller and more built | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

eighthchiharu · 6 years

Text

Stridercest Week, Day 3: Meet/Cute! [Guardiancest, Mafia AU]

Written for B! :)

Bro meets David at an underground poker game.

It's romantic, in the old-fashioned sense of the word -- dashing, classicly heroic -- when David bursts through the door and grabs one of the players by the back of his jacket. He yanks the 18-year-old kid out of his seat, away from the fleecing he was about to get at the hands of Bro's compatriots, and rounds on the rest of the room with a glare so fierce that Bro's sure a piece of his own soul -- what was left -- was just incinerated under the magnified pinpoint sunlight of David's displeasure.

"You ought to be ashamed," David snaps, and his Transition lenses are so old-man on his young thirties face that Bro has to fight not to smile.

Who the hell is this oblivious nerd?

"Break it up, all of you. Go home!"

There are men in this room, and one woman. All of them over 18, most of them over 27. They're not children, but David doesn't seem to notice that. He does notice Bro, however, lounging at the back of the room in an incredibly out-of-place leather armchair, two guards leaning against the wall nearby. One of them has a hand in his black jacket, but Bro waves, a staying gesture.

David squints, glowers again, and hauls the poor little rich boy out of the room, issuing more threats about parents and expulsion.

It's goddamn adorable.

So maybe they didn't meet, exactly, since Bro didn't get to say word one, but first impressions are, as they say, the strongest, and it isn't long before Bro has the Zahak brothers do a little research for him. Who was that masked man? Where does he live? Who are his parents, what's his income, and do they have his social security number, because that'll give Bro the really good dirt.

adly, there's little dirt to be found, besides his pathetic profile on Tindr that declares he's bisexual -- or maybe it's a happy lack of dirt, because something about David makes Bro want to try a little. Put in a small dollop of effort. Dress up, find the dweeb, and turn on the charm. It seems incredibly easy, like slaying a dragon with a nuclear bomb, but Bro can't get that indignant, scolding look out of his mind. He wants to see it again, face-to-face.

He has the Zahaks do some careful recon work, and within the week Bro knows David's favorite coffee place, his favorite donut place, his favorite Indian food place, and his favorite place for Mexican. The man does. Not. Cook. It's horrendous that someone that brave and dumb and self-righteous doesn't know his way around a frying pan. Even Bro can make tamales or cannolis when the need strikes.

It's all right for now, though. Time for a little swooping in, saving the day, just like David seems to enjoy.

One late afternoon when David is on his way to the Mexican restaurant for some take-away, a meal his arteries are probably gonna regret if he keeps up his regular order, which Bro is sure he will, Bro sets one of his young, nimble-fingered kids into action. Burritos with everything can't be good for anyone on a weekly basis, and Bro is going to solve this tiny health problem with a combination of slick thinking and city charm.

For today's outing, Bro is dressed in a black jacket and slacks, a white shirt with pinstripes so faint you have to be right on top of him to notice their gray striations, shining faintly, polished Italian loafers, but no socks. No tie. He's Mr Casual, Mr Everyday Joe. Nothing to see here except ordinary human perfection, don't stare, please, it makes everyone uncomfortable. He waits on the corner, watching the action unfold with the mirrors on the wings of his pointed sunglasses. Fagan ain't got nothin' on Bro when he's testin' his kiddos.

David is about ten feet out the door when wham -- the kid slams into him. The burrito hits the ground, the kid's foot smashes the goods -- and while David is dazed, the kid lifts his wallet. No money, no lunch, and when the kid takes off running at a pace Bambi would envy, no one to blame.

Bro can't suppress his smile this time. Good thing he's facing the other way.

He doesn't waste his window, though. He spins around and is at David's elbow before the man can finish pushing his nerd-alert glasses back into place, the low groan of dismay only just starting in the back of David's throat as he realizes his meal is sidewalk mash.

The vocalization only cements Bro's resolve, no pun intended. He speaks up, hands in his pockets to keep from seeming like a threat. "Hey, that sucks. You okay? Kids today, am I right?"

"Yeah, I -- man, my burrito! I didn't even see that guy, he just appeared out of --" David finally looks up from the burrito remains, the paper bag wet with sauce, the smell of peppers and grilled meats wafting up tantalizingly, a final salute to its now-wasted tastiness. He looks up, and his mouth falls open.

It was dark in the back of the church they were using for the poker game. There's no way David recognizes him. But even if he does, that's okay. Just means Bro has to shift gears, come in with the back-up plan, the one that involves a little more strong-arm and a little less wine-and-dine --

"... shit, you're hot," David blurts out.

Bro is about four inches taller, and now his smile really won't stay put. "Thanks. You ain't bad yourself."

"I mean -- I mean, uh, I'm -- I do movies. Direct movies. Not do them -- I'm a director. I just mean that -- that was a compliment. For film. You know, because --"

"-- because movies," Bro finishes along with him. Goddamn, this guy really is fucking innocent.

"Yeah," David agrees, finally managing to get his gaping under control. He tugs his shirt into place, brushes a hand down the front of the soft cotton, spreading folds thin enough that Bro can see David's trim physique beneath the loose fabric. "Anyway. I'm fine, thanks. Nice of you to ask -- wait. Aw fuck, cmon, no." He drops a hand to the back pockets of his dark, old jeans, then to his front pockets, then the back ones again.

Bro's enjoying watching David pat himself down, especially running his questing hands over those slim hips, but he spares David another moment of public agony by asking, as if he didn't know, "Somethin' wrong?"

"My wallet!" David moans, and wow, Bro makes a promise to himself that if he gets David alone someday, he's gonna try to get that exact sound back, just as long and languorous as it was, but with Bro's name instead of the billfold's. "The little shit got my wallet! Aw, fuck."

The word is coarse, and surprising for some reason. David exudes charming suburban class, despite his claim as a worldly movie maker, and Bro didn't expect any epithets that would routinely be banned from classrooms. Admittedly, that'd be a rule for younger students, but Bro's golden eyebrows raise all the same. "Damn, that's messed up. Can you call and cancel your cards?"

"Yeah, I can do it on my app. He didn't grab my phone, probably 'cause it's just a Moto." Unhappy, and probably hungry, David pulls his phone out and opens his banking app.

Now that's a little too trusting. Bro puts out a hand and covers the screen, his Rolex flashing gold in the late sunlight. "Hey, don't do that out here. Tell you what, since you lost your dinner, let me take you somewhere. You can cancel your stuff there, and get some food so you don't starve while they mail you more plastic and make you wait four days for the privilege."

If David knows what kind of watch it is, or what kind of jacket and slacks (Tom Ford) or what kind of shoes, he doesn't give it away in the slightest. He just pulls a sad face as his stomach growls like some kind of anime protag. "I can't -- okay, you didn't hear that. "

Bro shrugs. "Sounded hungry to me."

David actually blushes the slightest bit. "I can get food at the commons, really. Thanks, though. You're -- it's nice of you."

"I know a great Mexican place. Burritos like seven-tier cakes. Fattest things you ever saw, and cheap beer to boot. Nothin' tastes better with good Mexican than shit beer."

That's not entirely true, but if David's teaching at a uni, it's about what he's used to. The man's stomach growls again, and David glances around, as though afraid someone might be offended that he's accepting burrito offers from a stranger. "... you sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. All us hot people are sure."

David makes a face, the blush vanishing. "Uh huh. And where's this amazing Mexican place at?"

Bro names a couple of streets, and watches as David fights some internal battle that Bro long ago gave up on, or relinquished his right to even take part in. There's very little conscience where Bro's concerned; just legality, and which side of the law it benefits him to be on at any given time.

This time, he wants to be on the right side. For this guy. For now.

"... yeah, all right." David finally gives in, slightly suspicious, except for the thunderous snarling coming from his belly. "Sorry, it's just -- thanks. I appreciate it. It's seriously kind of you, very cool. If everyone was as decent as you are, we'd live in a very different place."(edited)

Amen to that, Bro thinks. He nods toward the corner. "It's this way. C'mon, ain't a far walk. Just a few blocks."

David nods his blond head, the lenses of his glasses slowly lightening up as the sun sets. They're still dark, but Bro can see the outlines of his eyes through them -- and over them, since he's so much taller. He can see the part in David's hair, the couple of rare strands that seem more silver than blonde, and he wonders how David's scalp would feel beneath Bro's lips. How firm David's waist will be, how warm his hungry stomach.

The last makes him laugh, and when David asks what's so funny, Bro has to make something up. It works, though, and David falls into step beside him, not even noticing the Zahaks drifting along in their boss' wake. Watching. Ready.

#guardiancest #stridercest #bro strider #alpha dave #stridercestweek #day 3 #my writing #fanfic #au #homestuck

47 notes · View notes