oh boy did someone say it’s @junosteelfluffweek??? bc here’s my prompt fill for day 1: date night
Juno loves Nureyev. Really, he does. More than anything. But his idea of a date night leaves a lot to be desired. Or, no, that’s not fair. Because theoretically it would be perfect–Nureyev’s a hopeless romantic, always giving Juno extravagant bouquets of flowers and taking him to expensive restaurants for candlelit dinners and buying him lavish suits and dresses and jewelry to parade him around Hyperion City’s finest establishments in, and Juno wishes he could enjoy it, but–.
But to Nureyev, all the galaxy’s a stage, and if he’s always performing, always putting in the work of making some new character or caricature, why not draw some attention to his efforts? But Juno can’t stand the attention. Can’t stand pretending to be someone he’s not, on top of the pretending he’s done all his life, that he’s more than the complete disaster of a person he knows himself to be. Can’t stand feeling like he’s being put on display, or being examined and judged, like he’s some strange curiosity that’s too ugly and worn to fit in with its surroundings.
And it doesn’t help, Nureyev leaning in and whispering in his smooth, seductive cadences how beautiful Juno looks, how every eye on the two of them is just jealous, just wishing they could have what he and Juno have. Doesn’t help the way his clothes never settle right on his scarred and slouched frame, doesn’t help the way that he wants to tug at the seams until they burst, doesn’t help the hot flush of shame he feels every time someone raised and drenched in wealth glances his way, doesn’t help the way he’d rather be anywhere but here.
Of course none of that excuses the way he snaps at Nureyev when they get home, anxiety twisting into accusation, sharp words unsheathed.
Juno tries to apologize, Nureyev tries to dismiss the argument entirely, and that’s that. Nureyev drops the topic of dates for the next few days. Juno likes it better this way, if he’s honest. No performing, just sharing each other’s time, each other’s space, each other’s lives. They do nothing more romantic than sharing a bottle of wine over takeout and a movie, and Juno’s happy with that, even if he can’t stop up the guilt entirely.
And then there’s one night, about a week before Nureyev is meant to leave Mars again, when Nureyev won’t stop staring at the clock. It’s about ten at night, and usually by now he would start settling in for the night, or else be sitting at the table doodling or planning his next heist. Instead, he’s fixing his makeup, painting his lips with a dark plum stain. He switches his usual ear cuff out for an even fancier one, and Juno shuts the book he was reading and watches him contemplate his own reflection in the mirror.
“You got plans for the night?” he asks.
Nureyev nods. “I was planning a surprise for you, actually.”
Juno cocks his head. Tries to fight the suspicious scowl at Nureyev’s suggestion. “What kind of surprise?”
“Well, if I told you that, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise now, would it? Here, take this.” He tosses Juno’s coat at him and turns to leave, not checking to see if Juno will follow. He does, of course. At the car, Juno reaches into the pocket of his slacks for his keys, before realizing that Nureyev has already taken them.
“Any chance I can get a hint at where we’re going?”
Nureyev just smiles coyly. “Patience, Juno, you’ll find out when we get there.”
Juno huffs and folds his arms, and watches the coy smile on Nureyev’s face turn to amusement from the corner of his eye.
For the first few minutes of the drive, Juno keeps pushing his questions, but Nureyev won’t budge with an answer, so Juno stays quiet for the rest of the ride to … wherever it is they’re going. He stares out the window and looks for clues. Starts to get suspicious when they pass into the richer neighborhoods of Hyperion, and narrows his eyes and turns back to Nureyev when he pulls the car to a stop across the street from a massive art museum. Juno recognizes it–he worked a case there a few years back. Nureyev had tried to take him there on a date, once, but Juno had shut the idea down the second he saw the price of admission.
“Here we are,” Nureyev says cheerily, hopping out of the driver’s seat and looping around to open the door for Juno on the other side.
“So this is the big surprise, huh?” Juno asks, stepping out of the car. “You– so, what, are we gonna rob this museum? Is that why you brought me here?”
Nureyev laughs, high and bright. “Well, I must admit that wasn’t what I had in mind, but–”
“Then why?” Juno interrupts. “What other reason would a thief have to come to a museum hours after closing time?”
“Really, detective, I would have thought you were working out some theories, all lost in that clever little head of yours on the ride over. But if I must tell you, I thought we might take some time to appreciate the art.”
“Okay, sure. We’re just here to appreciate the art. Alone,” Juno punctuated. “In the dead of night. With no one else around.”
“I thought you might prefer it that way.” Nureyev smiles, and suddenly it all makes sense. Or at least as much sense as it can make, considering it’s Peter Nureyev and another one of his ridiculous ideas. Because Nureyev can’t do anything halfway, can’t do anything without making it some great dramatic scheme. Because if Juno Steel says he doesn’t like being out in public, doesn’t like being paraded around and put on display, Nureyev can’t just appreciate Juno’s company at home, in a place that’s meant to offer quiet and privacy. No, Nureyev has to have the rest of the world shut up and disappear for a while, so he can take Juno wherever he wants. It’s … sweet, actually. It’s ridiculous, and it’s more than anyone should rightfully be doing for someone like Juno, but–.
But Juno lets Nureyev take his hand and lead him to a little side entrance, pick the lock there, and lead him inside.
The inside of the museum is shrouded in darkness. There’s a long stretch of hallway in front of them, and Juno can barely see anything in it except for the distant, dim lights illuminating the paintings that line the walls. Juno lingers in the doorway for a moment, feeling out the illicit excitement of the break-in.
Nureyev, though, seems to feel no such hesitation, striding casually into the dark.
“What about all the cameras and security?” Juno asks, voice low as he rushes to catch up with him.
“Oh, I had Rita take care of all those,” Nureyev says with a careless wave of his hand. His tone is unnervingly casual, in a way that feels like a deliberate contrast to Juno’s cautious whisper. “She’s really remarkably talented, you know. A gem upon Mars. She could make quite a career in crime if she wanted to.”
Juno rolls his eyes. “You’re not recruiting my secretary for criminal activity.” Nureyev’s teasing, trying to get Juno to bicker and forget that what they’re doing is illegal. Hell, maybe he’ll let it work.
“I think that’s her decision to make, not yours, Juno.”
“I mean it, Nureyev.”
“Oh alright, if you insist,” Nureyev says with an exaggerated sigh. “Now, as for the security guards, I’ve memorized all their movements. Stay by my side and you’ll have nothing to worry about.”
Juno can’t object to that, so he loops his arm in Nureyev’s and follows him down the hall.
Juno might have had his doubts about breaking into a museum for a date, but he has to admit this is easier. More comfortable. Even with the fear that they’ll be found by the guards, there are no eyes on him but Nureyev’s, no extravagant apparel, no expectations. Just Juno, Nureyev, and the dark expanse of the museum spilling out before them.
Nureyev shows him rooms full of holo-sculptures, and tells him about the secrets coded into so many of them, messages between rebel groups on the Outer Rim that he smuggled across the stars to grant hope to revolutionaries on far away planets.
Juno trades him stories of stolen and fenced paintings he tracked down for the curators a few years back. He tells Nureyev about the museum’s acquisition history, shows him which exhibits were looted from the Outer Rim in the last years of the war. Points out a few forgeries–the museum staff knows they’re fake, but the originals were destroyed years ago, and they wouldn’t risk scandalizing Hyperion’s wealthy elite and losing money on the truth.
Nureyev shows Juno the most famous paintings and recounts their histories of disappearances, all the times they’ve been stolen and traded, and how he might, on another night, join the long list of thieves who’ve had the chance to own those paintings.
Juno shows Nureyev his favorite paintings, and Nureyev teases him about the inverse relationship between a painting’s objective quality and Juno’s interest in it.
It’s the most fun Juno’s ever actually had on a fancy date like this, and by the time Nureyev leads him into a massive ballroom he’s almost forgotten they’re not actually supposed to be here. The ballroom’s high ceiling is held aloft by soaring, gilded arches, and ancient marble statues like dancing silhouettes rise out of the floor every few feet. Hanging over everything is a chandelier carved out of a single diamond larger than Juno’s office. The only light flickering in is fractured and golden by the stained glass it falls through, and it sends shards across the faces of lovers and statues alike.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it,” Nureyev says, leaning into Juno’s space. He sounds … really happy. Like genuinely happy, and sure, he’s good enough to fake genuine, but Juno knows him well enough to recognize the difference anyway.
“Yeah, it is,” he says, but he has his gaze fixed on the sharp profile of Nureyev’s face, and the soft smile that graces it.
Nureyev turns to face Juno, and his smile widens to reveal those sharp teeth of his. “My dear detective, may I have this dance?” He offers Juno his hand, and what else can Juno do but take it?
Nureyev holds Juno close and leads him weaving among the statues, almost too fast for the care he takes to avoid bumping anything in the dim light. His skill is elegant and effortless, and he makes unexpected twists and turns with a remarkable ease. Juno may be about twenty years out of practice, but Nureyev wears an awed smile all the same at the way Juno follows so naturally. They dance until they’re laughing and breathless, and when they stop Nureyev steals the air from Juno’s lungs once more with a kiss. Juno sinks deep into the feeling of Nureyev’s sharp teeth at his bottom lip, his slender fingers at the back of Juno’s head, working into the dense curls of his hair, and doesn’t care if he ever breathes again. His arms wrap around Nureyev’s waist, pulling him closer, and he gets so lost in the kiss that he almost misses the sound of footsteps echoing across the ballroom.
Juno pulls away with a start, curses under his breath, and stumbles as his back collides with one of the statues. Nureyev’s hands settle, tense and steadying, on Juno’s shoulders and he peers around Juno and the statue to try to catch sight of the guard.
He reaches for Juno’s hand. “Quickly,” he hisses, and takes off running.
Behind them, the guard shouts, “Who’s there?” and swings a blinding flashlight beam their way, catching only their disappearing shadows as they vanish into a labyrinth of twisting hallways. The guard gives chase of course, and it’s only a few short moments before he’s alerted the rest of the security team and the alarms are blaring all around them.
Juno doesn’t worry though. Nureyev, always the master of a quick escape, has them out of the museum in minutes, and then they’re back in the car, driving away and giggling like teenagers with the thrill of transgression. When Juno finally catches his breath, he leans across the car to rest his head against Nureyev’s shoulder.
“Thank you,” he says. The words feel rough and imperfect escaping his throat, not just because he’s only just caught his breath, but because he’s rarely had an occasion like this to use them. “Listen, I know I was kind of an ass before, about … you know, all the fancy dates and stuff. And you really didn’t have to do this, but I– it meant a lot, that’s all.”
Nureyev takes a second to glance away from the road and press a kiss to Juno’s forehead. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. And I do apologize for before. I should have been more considerate. I shouldn’t have pushed you into a position you wouldn’t be comfortable in.”
“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. Should’ve … I don’t know. But don’t let me stop you from doing things you like.”
Nureyev laughs. “Juno, what I enjoy is spending time with you. Most things are secondary to that.”
Juno feels a blush starting to settle on his face.
“And besides, what could be better than tonight? Breaking into a museum with a beautiful lady, seeing all those paintings and treasures just ripe for the taking.”
Juno pulls back. “Shit, you didn’t actually steal anything, did you?”
Bright mischief lights up Nureyev’s face as he says, “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see the news tomorrow, detective.”
Juno groans, his head falling back against the seat. And all the same, he can’t help but smile.
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