The First-and-a-Half Date - Claire and Jack - PG

[yourclaire]

4 December, 1982

Jack eyed his hair in the mirror. Was this the first or second date? Did it matter? Girls like Claire liked to count things, didn't they? Hopefully fish and chips would be all right.

He parked in front of her house and craned his neck up to look at the windows. Was she watching from one? Waiting for him? Something about Claire was enchanting, and he almost didn't feel stupid standing outside.

Almost. He knocked, and waited.

Claire had, indeed, been waiting. But not by her window. Of course she had been watching from behind the lacy curtains until a pair of headlights slowed, but once their light was cut, she hopped away from the window and ran down the stairs.

And waited for the knock.

The knock prompted her to wait an additional ten seconds, so as not to seem overly-excited, before opening the door.

“Hi!”

"Hey," Jack said, smiling. "Ready?" It was a good thing he used minimal words. No one would notice how she stole them away even more. Shit, if he could just touch her!

"Food?" he asked, walking around so he could get her door and peeking over his car to keep looking at her as she approached.

“Food would be lovely!” Claire said. It wasn’t that she was particularly hungry; it was that, well, food was safe and she wouldn’t have to worry about other things.

Carefully making sure her dress and matching jacket stayed where she wanted them, she slid into his (ugly) car and settled back into the seat.

***

Girls looked good in dresses. Especially Claire. But she was a better girl. With much better legs. "Y'look good," he allowed, after a consideration. "Very nice." Jack started the car and smiled. New girl and old girl.

There was a place near the cinema. They would go there.

Claire felt her heart flutter and tried not to act as though it had at all. Compliments, even very brief ones, were compliments none-the-less. “Thank you,” she said. “You look nicer.”

Jack shook his head. Nope, sorry, Claire. "Thanks," he said anyway. Speeding, they'd make it on time for any film they wanted. Or that Claire wanted.

Laughing, though the laugh dissolved into a giggle, Claire shifted to look out the window. Jack was going awfully fast, but who was she to say anything?

“I hope I manage to fulfill your expectations on this very first date.”

First! Good, she'd mentioned it. "One and half," he said, though, sharing his theory. He'd already kissed her, which made it one (and worth the dreams of sixteen or so. Did her lips have to be so soft?

The place they were going had the added benefit of being far from any of his friends' usual hangouts. Claire wouldn't like them and they wouldn't like Claire. But Jack did.

“One-and-a-half, then,” Claire said, amused. “I’ve no objections to that. I may even oblige and increase it to two, if you impress me.”

Jack was the sort of boy Claire wanted impressing her.

Jack glanced over at Claire and found it hard to look away. What the fuck, Jack. But he wanted to impress her. "Okay." He doubted he could impress her in any way that had worked before.

“I was joking.” She nudged him, smiling. “Where are we going for this food?”

"Just here." Jack parked across the street and pointed to the simple restaurant he’d found. They would have to cross the street. He was looking forward to holding her hand.

Fish and chips! That was easy and something much more fun than a high-class, ultra-rich restaurant. Claire grinned again. She unfastened her seatbelt and adjusted the hem of her skirt somewhat anxiously.

Jack went round and, as planned, reached for her hand before even locking the door. "Hungry?" Her hands were softer than his, which he'd expected. Certain sandpapers probably were.

“Yes!” Claire said, holding onto Jack’s rather rough, but very warm hand as she stepped from the car and made sure her skirt wasn’t sticking in odd places. Once the look-over was complete, she decided, very firmly, that she didn’t want to let go of his hand again.

And so they walked in together holding hands, and were even seated that way. Jack had to say he didn't mind. This date was going just fine. He didn't let go, even with menus on the table.

Claire was grateful for it. She only hoped that he wasn’t doing this just to humor her. Unlike her other two boyfriends, Jack was someone she actually wanted to put serious consideration into having a proper relationship with.

They ordered quickly and Claire was grateful for the breaking of the barrier—menus ought to have been clear. She leaned a bit closer to him and watched him for a moment. “I haven’t had fish and chips in an age. We’re not encouraged to eat it.”

"You who?" Her family was banned from fish and chips? Jack tried not to eat so quickly in case she didn't really like them. Was she being polite by even caring? And why was he freaking out?

“Us students at school. I suppose I never mentioned where I go. The Royal Ballet School.” Claire did like fish and chips, and she ate them in a manner that displayed only the very antithesis of everything she held in such high regard as a dancer.

"Damn." Jack looked at her mouth and watched her eat. A lot. Maybe he could speed up again. Although her mouth was very distracting. She was awfully fancy, which didn't surprise him, but it was kind of intimidating. "Never seen ballet."

Claire raised her eyebrows. “You’ve never seen ballet? Oh, surely you must have seen something! Everyone’s seen ballet!”

Jack shrugged. "Nope." If he had a television he might have caught some. He knew what it was, of course, but that was it. Maybe her friends had seen ballet. But if he saw her again, he might eventually notice some. In a corner.

“I’ll have to show you sometime, then,” Claire said as she finished and picked at the newspaper, now covered in crumbs. “If you wouldn’t mind, anyway. Some people find ballet to be terribly boring. I’m sure you’re one of those people, or will be.”

He had a leather jacket with patches on, after all.

"Maybe." Didn't it normally require bathing suit things? He wouldn't mind seeing Claire in one of those. He moved his hand, not realising he was still holding hers. Oh. Well, he'd just drink with the other hand. "We'll see."

Claire shifted and wondered what to talk about next. There were lots of questions she wanted to ask him, but it didn’t seem like he was the sort interested in talking. So she settled for watching him.

Jack glanced up at her and stopped eating. They had enough time to sit here if they wanted to, but he could tell she wanted to talk. Jack didn't like talking, but he could keep her from being uncomfortable. He nudged her leg under the table and smiled.

Claire laughed softly and watched their hands, tangled so permanently together. His skin was darker, likely from time spent out-of-doors. His hands were bigger and rougher and strong. She felt a bit self-conscious, for a brief moment, staring at her slightly-freckled, rather pale, dainty fingers and manicured nails. There was grease under Jack’s.

After a moment, she nudged her foot against Jack’s ankle. “You’ll be happy to know that, having slept on it, I came to the conclusion that I still like you.” If it wasn’t obvious.

Jack laughed. "Me too." He'd slept less, though, for thinking about her. A lot less, but she didn't need to know how much he liked her. "Thanks." No one like her had liked him before, and he was basking in it. In her.

“Sure,” Claire said. “And thank you!” She shifted again and leaned forward to kiss him on the cheek.

This time Jack grinned. "You done?" They could sit here some more, but Jack preferred his car. Girls liked it, too.

“I am,” Claire said with a nod. She was looking forward, with slight nervousness, to the rest of the evening. But not that car.

"Okay." Jack fished his wallet out of his pocket with one hand and pulled enough money out, leaving it at the end of the table before shifting and returning his wallet to its proper pockety place. He smoothed his thumb over her hand. She could decide when they left. He didn't even mind missing a movie if she didn't want to see it. What was wrong with him?

“Come on, you,” Claire said, pulling him up by the hand she hadn’t let go of. “Where are we off to?” Anywhere was fine with her. Anywhere at all, so long as Jack was there.

Jack shrugged. "Film." She could pick it. As long as there was no singing. Or animals. Or singing animals. "Okay?"

“Okay,” Claire agreed, leading them out of the restaurant. The cinema was close. They would see their film and Claire would spend the entire time wondering about after it was over and what would come next.

Jack knew what he wanted. But Claire had already stated her terms, and he was going to try to deal with it, if not gracefully. He opened her car door first and held it open. He also held her hand a little tighter. Maybe they didn't have to get in yet.

Claire grinned at him and kissed Jack once on the lips before letting go of his hand and sliding into the car. She knew he couldn’t have been eager to go somewhere else, but keeping him waiting was half of the game. She had to know if he could stand it—she had to let him know she was firm in what she said.

Jack shut the door and tapped the window before going around to his side. It was only a short drive to the cinema, and he parked legally for once, considering that Claire was a—what where they? Balleters? Ballerinas! How funny. Plus, she had kissed him, and that was a good sign.

Truthfully, Claire would have easily given up going to a film in favor of spending more time with Jack in a proper environment to do so, but she wasn’t going to let him know. Where was the fun in that? She held his hand through the entire thing, leaned her head against his shoulder at times, and avoided all extra physical contact for the hour and some odd minutes they were in the dark together.

Jack hated every second. Every fucking second was torture for him and he wanted to move his hand from around her shoulders and down any article of clothing. He wasn't picky. But he was aching. This was the biggest joke on him ever; the most beautiful girl and the least contact he'd ever had on a date. Fuck life!

When the film ended, Claire let go of his hand and immediately stood up. She knew that she could control herself, but at the same time, he was making her head swim. She was the one who led them out of the building and into the cold December night. A gust of wind nearly lifted her skirt up her thighs. The only complaint she could muster was that it was very, very frigid wind.

Jack followed Claire out and slid his arm around her waist. It was dark out, which annoyed him, because that meant the date was almost over. "Next Friday?" he said, watching her.

“Sure!” Claire agreed, leaning against him as they walked back to the car. “We don’t even have to wait until then. I’m off school now.”

Jack hesitated. "Tomorrow?" Tomorrow would be great, he thought. Overnight would make it better to tomorrow, but if he had to wait he would. Impatiently.

“All right,” Claire agreed. “I think that would be just fine!” She tried not to giggle; he had chosen the next available moment with only a small hesitation. And the way he barely said anything at all only made him seem less of the tough punk Claire had thought he was.

When she saw the car, she almost stopped. Now was not the time to be shy. “If you can stand to wait until the evening.”

"Lunch, then," he said, since she'd suggested it. He didn't start the car right away. He looked at her. This wasn't the time for a goodnight kiss, but he could hardly put it off much longer. He hoped he wasn't the only one.

Claire giggled and kissed his cheek again, wanting to do nothing but cause him to either admit that waiting is not going to work out for him, or explode. The latter was what made Claire’s heart continue to flutter again and again. That she could affect him like this was a whole new power.

“Have you forgotten how to get to my house?”

"No." He'd memorised it, even if it wasn't his usual part of the city. He made the drive quickly, glancing over at her at every single light. Would she just get out of the car? They'd kissed last time, but there was no telling how quickly they could move along when she had a very specific limit. Jack wasn't used to these games, and it unsettled him.

When the car pulled up in front of her house, Claire sank a little lower in the seat. The lights were off—it was late—but the street lamps colored the car orange. She looked over at Jack. “Thank you,” she said, unbuckling her seatbelt and leaning over to kiss him gently.

Jack unbuckled his seatbelt as well and leaned into her to continue the kiss. He held the back of her head gently and laced his fingers into her hair. He deepened the kiss gently, carefully, in case it was too much.

Which it very nearly was, if only because Claire was suddenly wanting nothing more than to climb into his lap, an action she discouraged herself from doing. But she did let herself follow Jack’s lips, slipping into the kiss and almost forgetting herself.

She pulled away after a moment, but didn’t move again. What harm was there in a kiss or two or three? She had snogged other boys. One other boy. But a boy nonetheless.

Jack followed her instantly, kissing her again now that he had done it once. He wanted more, and he tried to encourage her by opening his mouth just a little bit wider against hers.

The barrier broken by the brief feeling of Jack’s tongue, Claire let her own new sexual frustration bleed out through the kiss. A kiss that was rapidly developing into something much more intense than just a snog. She held onto his jacket and turned more in her seat, her knee smashed up against the emergency break.

Jack pressed her back into her seat, leaning so far over her that he was practically on her seat. Snogging her was addicting and he didn't want to stop exploring her mouth until he had it memorised.

Claire welcomed it, hooking her hand around the back of his neck now, letting her legs move apart just enough to give Jack room. It hardly seemed to matter that her skirt was riding up her thighs. She made a soft, gasp-like noise when they broke apart to breathe, then quickly claimed his lips again.

Jack made a small noise and rested his knee on her bare thigh. He wished that he could feel her, skin to skin. Instead he touched her face, held it so she couldn't move away, not that she wanted to. She was responding to him, and he loved her reactions.

For a brief moment, Claire started to worry that she would be unable to stop. Especially when she moaned softly, surprising herself, as Jack came ever closer. The heat inside the car was reaching a point that was becoming uncomfortable, and somehow, without breaking away, she managed to slide her jacket off.

That was all she intended to take off.

Jackets, yes. Jack followed suit by removing his, letting it fall behind him on the seat, and when his arms were preoccupied with that he slid his lips down her face to her neck. His breath was hot and her skin was warm and he became carried away with marking one spot on her neck, mouthing it and then biting gently.

Claire bit her lip as Jack bit her neck and couldn’t fight back a moan. The sound didn’t surprise her this time, and she moaned again, whimpering softly as Jack worked his lips and teeth and tongue against skin she had no idea was this sensitive. It made her shiver, squeezed the air from her lungs and the blood from her head. She arched her neck, urging him to continue, and slid her hand against the front of his shirt.

Jack tensed when Claire touched him and instantly relaxed again, all but melting into her as he bruised that spot. With her neck arched he took breaks to kiss up and down the smooth pale skin. He didn't know how much time had passed, and didn't care. He could do this forever, but it was getting harder to just keep his hands where they were.

Of course Claire was slowly starting to realize this, but she was so far beyond any rational thinking that instead of pulling away, grinning and disappearing out of the door, she curled her hand into his shirt and the other into his hair.

Now Jack moaned, and his fingers curled against her skin unconsciously. Shit. "Claire--" he said, brokenly, before finding her lips again, and hard.

Claire buried herself right against Jack again, kissing him as intensely as he kissed her. But when she focused back on the way her name echoed off of his lips, she was snapped out of her daze and immediately she laughed and pulled away.

“I should go,” she whispered, breathless.

"Don't," he whispered, grabbing the sleeve of her dress lightly but quickly. She had to go, but that didn't mean he wanted her to. He slid back into his seat slowly, still not letting go.

Claire was pulled gently along with him, although his grip was so light she could have easily stayed where she was. “Tomorrow,” she reminded him, grabbing her jacket as her lips hovered near Jack’s. She kissed him quickly and opened the door, sliding back and out of the car.

Jack grinned and leaned close to the door, watching her. "Bye, Claire." He still liked her.

Claire still liked him.

Perhaps a little more than before.

She waved her goodbye before slipping inside and slumping happily against the door. No one was up, or at least visibly awake, and Claire rubbed her neck for a moment before running up the stairs and dropping her jacket on the bed. She had to find a mirror.

Running to her vanity, she sat down and turned on the lamp. Low light glowed across her skin, illuminating a hideously fantastic bruise on her neck. Claire grinned, then giggled, and finally went to her bed and grabbed her diary from its sacred hiding spot in the drawers underneath it.

There was so much to write!