Title: The Red
Rating: R (suicidal thoughts, male/male relationships, sex, violence,
underage drinking)
Summary: The prequel to 'Shades of Red', from Lance's perspective. Lance
gets what he's wanted and the wounds of his past are slowly healed.
Disclaimer: I do not own any products, books, or characters in this story.
I ran my finger tips over the worn cover, tatter and ripped with years of use before I had come upon it; one page had soda spilt on it and was crinkled slightly, another was taped where it had been torn in half, the colors of the bent cover were fading, and in dull black letters it read "Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet".
I don't remember why I kept it around or why I even read it, all I remember was losing it in the couch my freshman year and my foster parents had to pay for it. It wasn't until I was moved again that it was found. I got it wrapped in a brown paper package that was coated in clear tape one day. There was no note or explanation, just the book.
I would lock myself in my room and read it when I felt like escaping the world, it was the only book I owned and multiple passages were etched in my mind. I even underlined a few that caught my attention. My favorite line in the book I now held was 'I am fortune's foe' because I often feel like fate is plotting against me.
The paper rustled in a quiet protest as I turned the cover to the first page and mulled over the first paragraph of the prologue. Never had the words made such sense to me as they did now. The first line was no longer the Montague and Capulet houses, both rich and powerful; instead, in my mind, they had turned into the Brotherhood and the X-men, both mutants shunned from society. In my thoughts Verona had become Bayville, the ancient grudge had turned to co-existence against homo-superior, and the star-crossed lovers were Scott and me.
That probably wasn't accurate, though. He probably hated me as much as he acted he did, or maybe even more. I felt something for him though, it felt wrong and disgusting, but at the same time new and exciting and right. I'm not sure if it was love or lust, personally I didn't believe in love. Love was just something that people came up with, it wasn't actually real, just an illusion like a rainbow: pleasant but gone far too soon. Love was hormones gone wrong, end of story. None of that explained the wrenching longing I felt near him; apart it wasn't so bad, more of a dull ache, but near him I couldn't think. I wanted him more than I wanted to think or feel or even breathe. It was totally irrational and I hated the control the feeling unknowingly gave my supposed rival.
The pages flipped before me until I found the line I was looking for and then I creased it so it would stay open and traded it for a wooden box on my nightstand. It wasn't a special box; it was crudely simple and constructed in wood shop. The kid who used the hammer after me had somehow managed to drive a nail through his thumb though so it was a little more than just a stupid box, but it was dangerously close.
The knife it contained was a switch blade with a black handle and gleaming blade, simply perfect. I couldn't stand the pain not having him gave me; it was worst than whatever death could do to me.
"O happy dagger," I whispered like someone would actually have a chance at hearing me though they were all downstairs, "this be thy sheath, there rest and let me die." I pressed the tip against the hollow of my neck, hands disturbingly steady, and miniature beads of blood started to form before, with a gasp, I was suddenly throwing the knife into a wall. It shuttered slightly on impact, but stuck. "You won't get the satisfaction of my death," I hissed at the knife, "try as you might I will not be killed!"
Let him torture me, let this feeling grow and consume me a live. I was no star-crossed lover, I was Avalanche. I could make buildings crumble at my will, crack open the very earth if I so pleased. I would not let him be my undoing, no matter how much it hurt. And it did hurt, more than any wound could, but I have learned to thrive on pain.
I fell almost helplessly on my back, the wooden boards that held my mattress groaning in protest to my weight. I was now draped across the width of the bed, head tipped back and eyes concentrating on the door. A feeling of panic washed over my body and I jolted up and grabbed the book before I flopped back down again, clenching the worn bit of literature to my chest. Some had blankets or stuffed animals, I had my book because it was from the last house I was before my life had gone completely to hell. The next house had only been where I slept and as long as I went to school I was free to wander, to be involved in the things that took place on the streets. I had been the threat to the businesses if they didn't pay their protection, my power easily ruining the shops. When I was at home with 'Romeo and Juliet' it was only their world of tragedy and romance that I was concerned about, and for a while I could hide.
The thunder that was Fred's laughter broke me from my trance and I lifted just my head to look around the room, though I knew no one was there. Clips of the conversation downstairs caught my ears and the word 'party' muttered unmistakably from Pietro got me out of my room. A party meant alcohol; alcohol meant a temporary fix for my life. If I got completely smashed Todd could always drive us home, or Pietro. Though either of them behind a wheel was a very scary thought.
"That'd definitely be a challenge," Pietro was chattering as I made my way down the stairs, "don't think any girl would lay Todd, at least not sober." There was a pause as he thought and then I knew he was smirking because it was in his voice. "Lot's of girls will be plastered though."
"Shut up, Pietro," Todd snapped back as I descended the last of the stairs, "any girls you get probably don't even now they started before-" The conversation came to an abrupt halt when I entered the room and my presence was known, they knew I hated when they argued, even if it was good natured, and would more likely punch them out than listen to it.
"Where's this party?" I asked studying the book when I had noticed that I was still holding onto it and shoved it into my back pocket.
"What was that book?"
I glared at the adrenaline junky who had asked me the question before sneering at him. "Ways to break annoying little speedster's legs and make them regret asking things that are none of their business." I didn't wait for his reply, no matter how witty it might have been, and grabbed my jacket at the door wondering absently if I should go take the knife out of my wall. "Now, the party?"
"Uh, yeah," Todd stood for a change, but his body language was submissive. Hell, even Fred's was, Pietro was the only one who didn't think I'd actually hurt him. It wasn't because he thought I particularly liked him, it was because I'd never be able to catch him. "Pietro just showed us the flyer some chick gave him, it's actually already started." He offered me a brightly colored sheet of paper but I ignored him.
"Fine, get your coats and we'll go." No chance was given for them to answer or for Pietro to make a comment like 'yes mother' for telling them to get their coats and just headed to my jeep. The back of my mind noted that I was low on gas while another part scolded me for making Todd cower. I didn't like having to be rough and harsh, but if I wasn't the dominant than I was the submissive and that was something I'd never let myself be again like I had when I was young so I could fit in. Not unless I was forced into the position. As a last afterthought before the others made it out I crammed the book into the glove compartment.
X
The music hammered at my eardrums in an attempt to break through them as Limp Bizkit's 'Break Stuff' vibrated off the walls. Pietro had already disappeared into one of the smaller rooms, a girl entering a few moments after him dragging some guy behind her laughing drunkenly. I watched the door for a while to see if Pietro would come out, he didn't. "Anything to fuck a cheerleader," I muttered before raising my beer and taking a healthy swig. I never drank anything I didn't open myself at parties, last time I did that I woke up in a dumpster with a few bruised ribs. Better than waking up in a strange bed with a sore ass I suppose.
The air was thick with the stench of sweat and alcohol, a girl was passed out in the corner, propped against the wall by a slightly worried friend so she wouldn't drown in her own vomit, a couple was practically screwing each other on the couch, and someone burst into the room shouting 'fight' over the crowd but not being heard by many.
"Who?" A random raver asked a primitive lust to see blood shed etched in his tone and eyes, though most wouldn't notice; it was something in human nature that dated back to the Roman Empire or even before.
"Duncan's got Summers cornered!"
My grip on the bottle tightened as I heard the details, even though he wasn't mine I felt an overwhelming need to protect Scott, which was ironic since I was usually the one trying to beat the shit out of him. That feeling was back again though, just knowing Scott was near had stirred it and I stalked through the crowd in a rampage toward the fight.
It wasn't hard to find considering the mass of people that were flooding to the area, and I pushed passed each one of them until I was in the center of the ring. Immediately I knew something was amiss about Scott, usually he could've easily avoided the clumsy blows, but he was too jumpy and as I watched actually jumped into a hit instead of away from it. Tracks of crimson were already marked under his nose and he looked at me as if I was here to aid in his senseless punishment.
"Hey, Matthews!" I grabbed his shoulder, digging my fingers into the fabric of his designer shirt and swung him around in one fluid motion. I didn't bother talking, just brought my right fist up as I swung him around and slugged him in the jaw.
"What was that for, Alvers?" His voice was sharp as he swayed at the force of my blow. "I thought you hated Summers as much as I do."
I smirked at his comment and caught him by the back of the neck before he could react to my first hit, brought my knee up, and drove his stomach into it. "That's why no one is going to lay a finger on him but me!" I snapped back equally sharp and cold. I meant what I said, but not in the way the mob was thinking.
I watched him stagger for a moment with a grim sneer of satisfaction at his pain, the back of my mind registered that Scott was looking almost thankful and I flashed a concerned smile at him that no one else would be able to pick up before Duncan was fully standing again and prepared to strike. I ducked the careless punch and thrust outward with the heel of my hand and connected with cartilage.
"You're pathetic," I muttered as my opponent cupped his now heavily bleeding nose. Some good came out of having a shitty childhood- one on one without any powers I could most likely beat the living daylights of anyone around my size or smaller. I only stayed long enough to make certain that he didn't try and attack, but with a broken nose that was unlikely, before I turned and left. The mass of spectators parted before me and I almost felt like laughing at their cowardice, but I didn't.
My forest green, dented jeep with chipped paint and rust on it sat on the side of the street awaiting my return. I named it Rochelle because, like a girl by the same name, it was a good ride. I fished in my pocket for my keys trusting Fred, Todd, and Pietro to find their own way home. I knew they'd manage, they always did, and my evening had been ruined so I just wanted to go home and watch TV. I found my key ring and held it up in the glow of the street lights filing through the mess of keys, most of which I wasn't supposed to have.
"Alv," I paused in my key search and turned my attention to the familiar voice, "Lance."
He was standing in the middle of the street and looked incredibly nervous, ready to pounce on anything that moved. If I ever found out who had laced his drink or given him a drug I'd kill them and leave their remains on the side of the road to be mistaken for road kill. I offered him my hand and pulled him over to the relative safety of the street curb, or at least it was safer than the middle of the road.
"Get in," I commanded finally finding the right key, though if my veins weren't pulsing with adrenaline I would've found it a lot sooner, "I'll take you home."
"NO!" He pulled away from me and shook his head like a defiant little child who didn't want to go to school. "No, I can't, I-I-I," his knees suddenly folded and I caught him before he hit the cement. He was making little whimpering noises muttering reasons why he couldn't go back, most along the lines of not letting them see him like this while the rest were either senseless or too jumbled to make out. I managed to steady him on his feet just in time for him to fall to his knees and retch. His form gleamed pale blue as the moonlight reflected off his sweaty skin and I felt an urge to go mess Duncan up some more. Instead I sighed and opened the passenger door.
"Get in." He looked at me, pleading with me silently. Years of no one being able to see his eyes had taught him to show emotion with the rest of his face and right now it was begging me not to take him back to the Institute. "Trust me." The softness in my voice surprised me more than it did Scott; actually he didn't seem very surprised at all, like I talked to him in that concerned almost loving voice daily.
He slid into the seat and watched my every move as I walked around the hood and got behind the wheel. I grabbed a napkin out of my pocket and handed it to him for his nose. As the engine sputtered before it started purring he seemed to be fascinated with my every move and started to chew on the right half of his bottom lip. It was something I noticed he did only when he was really nervous, like a test was being handed out that he knew he did badly on or he was speaking in front of the class. The skin was reddened with abuse once he let it go and I resisted the urge to lean toward him and kiss it better.
I wasn't sure if Scott slept or simply fazed the rest of the world out as I drove to the run down house that I resided in. Nonetheless I worried, I wasn't quite sure the drug he had been given and I was afraid that if he fell asleep he'd never wake up. He got out of the car once we stopped though and followed me into the house like a starving little puppy that was being offered food.
"Drink," I told him after I'd retrieved a glass of water, "not all at once, just sip it." He looked at me as if I'd just told him to pick up hot coals and then at the water before he took it, finger tips brushing my hand as he did so. He pulled back rather sharply and stared into the water as if it had some answer to a question that no one else could answer. Finally he decided to just ask me instead.
"Why'd you help me?" Such a soft, shaky voice that sounded like no one had ever helped him without wanting something in return. The tone in his voice made me want to take him in my arms and tell him I cared about him and couldn't stand to see him hurt, but that would be admitting my nemesis was anything but in my eyes and that would be showing weakness.
"Matthews' a jerk," I retorted as he took a cautious sip from the cup not responding. After a moment of awkward silence I touched his shoulder to get his attention causing him to shutter. "Uh, my rooms up stairs," I told him ignoring the way he was leaning into my hand ever so slightly, "I'll sleep on the floor and you can go back to the institute in the morning, by then you should be back to normal."
"Ok." His gaze was trained on my face and smiled in the way he did that probably made plenty of girls melt, and right know I knew how they felt. He took another drink before setting the glass on the grubby counter and turning around to face me. "Thanks." His hands rested on my cheeks and my mind froze as he pressed his lips against mine, moving his hands to the back of my head to press my face harder against his. My body was reacting without my consent, my arms tightened around his torso; I shifted my weight into him so he was forced against the counter.
He's drugged, a part of my mind scolded, you shouldn't take advantage of him. I involuntarily groaned at the reasoning I was just now deciding to have and pulled away. He wouldn't have it though; he still had his hands on my head and pulled me back, moving his arms around me to hold me there after he was secure in the idea I wouldn't stop kissing him. Every part of my body seemed to be turned on to maximum pleasure and my nervous system coursed with feeling as my hands drifted south over the cloth that covered his toned chest and abs.
"Scott," I muttered into his mouth once I'd regain control of myself, of course this was after one more touch and it'd be to hell with it all and I'd take him on the kitchen counter. Was the kitchen counter even big enough for both of us? Better move to the table if it got that far. "Stop," I grabbed his wrists firmly. He looked at me and I wished I could see his eyes so I could tell if he was relieved I'd stopped him or hurt that I'd pulled away. "There's got to be some shred of reason in that head of yours, just think about what you're doing and with who you're doing it with."
There was a long pause of utter silence where only the wind rattling the windows could be heard. It was a tense moment and I felt like just shaking him till he spoke, but that might end up with his glasses falling off and me getting lasers right in my face.
"I know," he finally stated in a calm voice that sounded too controlled to even possibly be under any influence, "and I want to do it, with you." He leaned forward and quickly gave me a peck on the nose erasing all my suspicions that maybe he was talking and not the drug.
A heavy sigh made my chest deflate and I looked at my feet only to be reminded that the truth was that I wanted him as well. I turned my gaze back to his ruby shades. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the same, but I don't want you to regret it later." When had I become so mature and actually care about the future? "Sleep on it."
In the long run it was all too easy, he had thought for a moment then shrugged and replied with a simple 'sure' and yawned before asking me to show him to my room so he could sleep. I wasn't really sure if it was because I'd told him to sleep on it or that he really was tired, but I was sure that I still had a slight problem. Actually it wasn't that slight. I tried to think un-sexy thoughts such as Fred in a bathing suite doing aerobics and initially it worked if you didn't include the nightmares I'd be having for the rest of my life.
My room was a mess and, surely enough, the knife was still stuck in the wall. I grabbed the box from my nightstand and tossed the knife carelessly in before closing the lid and shoving it in the back of my closet. By the time I'd done this Scott had taken the liberty to shed all his clothing except for his boxers and curl himself up under my minimal amount of covers that were worn and too thin to help much.
"Comfortable?" I rolled my eyes as he sat up and frowned looking around like he was missing something.
"Nope," he got up, "at least not yet."
I had been sarcastic but apparently he had very selective hearing. I tried to focus on something besides his incredibly sexy body. His muscles were toned instead of built and it showed that he wasn't as strong as I was, but he possessed the agility I lacked. I might've not been clumsy but his movements were smooth and quick, something his lean build allowed him to do. My musings distracted me from him removing my shirt until he already had the clothing half way off.
"Whoa, hey, I thought you were going to sleep on it!" I tried moving back but ended up hitting the wall. I felt suddenly trapped, like a deer in the headlights, and my brain started to process all the escape routes.
"You aren't going to sleep in your shirt, are you?" He pulled at the hem of my black tee-shirt and seemed to be ready to just tear it off.
"I suppose not," I pulled my shirt off while I stuttered out the reply. He'd meant for me to sleep with him? Well, yeah but not in that sense in the more innocent sense and-- I couldn't think straight. I registered him humming as his fingers fumbled with my fly. Ok, I had not given him permission to undress me! Yet he was and I really didn't seem to have much say in the matter.
"You don't wear boxers." He stated it so simply, totally ignorant to the fact that I was, actually, not wearing any form of underwear. Ok, he was drugged, pure and simple. Hopefully he was drunk too so he wouldn't remember any of this, though that would be rather shocking for him to wake up in the morning next to me in nothing and him in just his boxers. He grasped my wrist and pulled me over to the bed, I was a bit too shocked to respond and I was also afraid that if I moved on my own free will I'd have him pinned under me whether he liked it or not. Languidly he pulled me down and then curled up against me with his head on my chest. "That's better."
I just gave up, he looked too peaceful and cute to disturb anyway. So I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and pulled the blankets over us before joining him in sleep.
I ran my finger tips over the worn cover, tatter and ripped with years of use before I had come upon it; one page had soda spilt on it and was crinkled slightly, another was taped where it had been torn in half, the colors of the bent cover were fading, and in dull black letters it read "Shakespeare's Romeo & Juliet".
I don't remember why I kept it around or why I even read it, all I remember was losing it in the couch my freshman year and my foster parents had to pay for it. It wasn't until I was moved again that it was found. I got it wrapped in a brown paper package that was coated in clear tape one day. There was no note or explanation, just the book.
I would lock myself in my room and read it when I felt like escaping the world, it was the only book I owned and multiple passages were etched in my mind. I even underlined a few that caught my attention. My favorite line in the book I now held was 'I am fortune's foe' because I often feel like fate is plotting against me.
The paper rustled in a quiet protest as I turned the cover to the first page and mulled over the first paragraph of the prologue. Never had the words made such sense to me as they did now. The first line was no longer the Montague and Capulet houses, both rich and powerful; instead, in my mind, they had turned into the Brotherhood and the X-men, both mutants shunned from society. In my thoughts Verona had become Bayville, the ancient grudge had turned to co-existence against homo-superior, and the star-crossed lovers were Scott and me.
That probably wasn't accurate, though. He probably hated me as much as he acted he did, or maybe even more. I felt something for him though, it felt wrong and disgusting, but at the same time new and exciting and right. I'm not sure if it was love or lust, personally I didn't believe in love. Love was just something that people came up with, it wasn't actually real, just an illusion like a rainbow: pleasant but gone far too soon. Love was hormones gone wrong, end of story. None of that explained the wrenching longing I felt near him; apart it wasn't so bad, more of a dull ache, but near him I couldn't think. I wanted him more than I wanted to think or feel or even breathe. It was totally irrational and I hated the control the feeling unknowingly gave my supposed rival.
The pages flipped before me until I found the line I was looking for and then I creased it so it would stay open and traded it for a wooden box on my nightstand. It wasn't a special box; it was crudely simple and constructed in wood shop. The kid who used the hammer after me had somehow managed to drive a nail through his thumb though so it was a little more than just a stupid box, but it was dangerously close.
The knife it contained was a switch blade with a black handle and gleaming blade, simply perfect. I couldn't stand the pain not having him gave me; it was worst than whatever death could do to me.
"O happy dagger," I whispered like someone would actually have a chance at hearing me though they were all downstairs, "this be thy sheath, there rest and let me die." I pressed the tip against the hollow of my neck, hands disturbingly steady, and miniature beads of blood started to form before, with a gasp, I was suddenly throwing the knife into a wall. It shuttered slightly on impact, but stuck. "You won't get the satisfaction of my death," I hissed at the knife, "try as you might I will not be killed!"
Let him torture me, let this feeling grow and consume me a live. I was no star-crossed lover, I was Avalanche. I could make buildings crumble at my will, crack open the very earth if I so pleased. I would not let him be my undoing, no matter how much it hurt. And it did hurt, more than any wound could, but I have learned to thrive on pain.
I fell almost helplessly on my back, the wooden boards that held my mattress groaning in protest to my weight. I was now draped across the width of the bed, head tipped back and eyes concentrating on the door. A feeling of panic washed over my body and I jolted up and grabbed the book before I flopped back down again, clenching the worn bit of literature to my chest. Some had blankets or stuffed animals, I had my book because it was from the last house I was before my life had gone completely to hell. The next house had only been where I slept and as long as I went to school I was free to wander, to be involved in the things that took place on the streets. I had been the threat to the businesses if they didn't pay their protection, my power easily ruining the shops. When I was at home with 'Romeo and Juliet' it was only their world of tragedy and romance that I was concerned about, and for a while I could hide.
The thunder that was Fred's laughter broke me from my trance and I lifted just my head to look around the room, though I knew no one was there. Clips of the conversation downstairs caught my ears and the word 'party' muttered unmistakably from Pietro got me out of my room. A party meant alcohol; alcohol meant a temporary fix for my life. If I got completely smashed Todd could always drive us home, or Pietro. Though either of them behind a wheel was a very scary thought.
"That'd definitely be a challenge," Pietro was chattering as I made my way down the stairs, "don't think any girl would lay Todd, at least not sober." There was a pause as he thought and then I knew he was smirking because it was in his voice. "Lot's of girls will be plastered though."
"Shut up, Pietro," Todd snapped back as I descended the last of the stairs, "any girls you get probably don't even now they started before-" The conversation came to an abrupt halt when I entered the room and my presence was known, they knew I hated when they argued, even if it was good natured, and would more likely punch them out than listen to it.
"Where's this party?" I asked studying the book when I had noticed that I was still holding onto it and shoved it into my back pocket.
"What was that book?"
I glared at the adrenaline junky who had asked me the question before sneering at him. "Ways to break annoying little speedster's legs and make them regret asking things that are none of their business." I didn't wait for his reply, no matter how witty it might have been, and grabbed my jacket at the door wondering absently if I should go take the knife out of my wall. "Now, the party?"
"Uh, yeah," Todd stood for a change, but his body language was submissive. Hell, even Fred's was, Pietro was the only one who didn't think I'd actually hurt him. It wasn't because he thought I particularly liked him, it was because I'd never be able to catch him. "Pietro just showed us the flyer some chick gave him, it's actually already started." He offered me a brightly colored sheet of paper but I ignored him.
"Fine, get your coats and we'll go." No chance was given for them to answer or for Pietro to make a comment like 'yes mother' for telling them to get their coats and just headed to my jeep. The back of my mind noted that I was low on gas while another part scolded me for making Todd cower. I didn't like having to be rough and harsh, but if I wasn't the dominant than I was the submissive and that was something I'd never let myself be again like I had when I was young so I could fit in. Not unless I was forced into the position. As a last afterthought before the others made it out I crammed the book into the glove compartment.
X
The music hammered at my eardrums in an attempt to break through them as Limp Bizkit's 'Break Stuff' vibrated off the walls. Pietro had already disappeared into one of the smaller rooms, a girl entering a few moments after him dragging some guy behind her laughing drunkenly. I watched the door for a while to see if Pietro would come out, he didn't. "Anything to fuck a cheerleader," I muttered before raising my beer and taking a healthy swig. I never drank anything I didn't open myself at parties, last time I did that I woke up in a dumpster with a few bruised ribs. Better than waking up in a strange bed with a sore ass I suppose.
The air was thick with the stench of sweat and alcohol, a girl was passed out in the corner, propped against the wall by a slightly worried friend so she wouldn't drown in her own vomit, a couple was practically screwing each other on the couch, and someone burst into the room shouting 'fight' over the crowd but not being heard by many.
"Who?" A random raver asked a primitive lust to see blood shed etched in his tone and eyes, though most wouldn't notice; it was something in human nature that dated back to the Roman Empire or even before.
"Duncan's got Summers cornered!"
My grip on the bottle tightened as I heard the details, even though he wasn't mine I felt an overwhelming need to protect Scott, which was ironic since I was usually the one trying to beat the shit out of him. That feeling was back again though, just knowing Scott was near had stirred it and I stalked through the crowd in a rampage toward the fight.
It wasn't hard to find considering the mass of people that were flooding to the area, and I pushed passed each one of them until I was in the center of the ring. Immediately I knew something was amiss about Scott, usually he could've easily avoided the clumsy blows, but he was too jumpy and as I watched actually jumped into a hit instead of away from it. Tracks of crimson were already marked under his nose and he looked at me as if I was here to aid in his senseless punishment.
"Hey, Matthews!" I grabbed his shoulder, digging my fingers into the fabric of his designer shirt and swung him around in one fluid motion. I didn't bother talking, just brought my right fist up as I swung him around and slugged him in the jaw.
"What was that for, Alvers?" His voice was sharp as he swayed at the force of my blow. "I thought you hated Summers as much as I do."
I smirked at his comment and caught him by the back of the neck before he could react to my first hit, brought my knee up, and drove his stomach into it. "That's why no one is going to lay a finger on him but me!" I snapped back equally sharp and cold. I meant what I said, but not in the way the mob was thinking.
I watched him stagger for a moment with a grim sneer of satisfaction at his pain, the back of my mind registered that Scott was looking almost thankful and I flashed a concerned smile at him that no one else would be able to pick up before Duncan was fully standing again and prepared to strike. I ducked the careless punch and thrust outward with the heel of my hand and connected with cartilage.
"You're pathetic," I muttered as my opponent cupped his now heavily bleeding nose. Some good came out of having a shitty childhood- one on one without any powers I could most likely beat the living daylights of anyone around my size or smaller. I only stayed long enough to make certain that he didn't try and attack, but with a broken nose that was unlikely, before I turned and left. The mass of spectators parted before me and I almost felt like laughing at their cowardice, but I didn't.
My forest green, dented jeep with chipped paint and rust on it sat on the side of the street awaiting my return. I named it Rochelle because, like a girl by the same name, it was a good ride. I fished in my pocket for my keys trusting Fred, Todd, and Pietro to find their own way home. I knew they'd manage, they always did, and my evening had been ruined so I just wanted to go home and watch TV. I found my key ring and held it up in the glow of the street lights filing through the mess of keys, most of which I wasn't supposed to have.
"Alv," I paused in my key search and turned my attention to the familiar voice, "Lance."
He was standing in the middle of the street and looked incredibly nervous, ready to pounce on anything that moved. If I ever found out who had laced his drink or given him a drug I'd kill them and leave their remains on the side of the road to be mistaken for road kill. I offered him my hand and pulled him over to the relative safety of the street curb, or at least it was safer than the middle of the road.
"Get in," I commanded finally finding the right key, though if my veins weren't pulsing with adrenaline I would've found it a lot sooner, "I'll take you home."
"NO!" He pulled away from me and shook his head like a defiant little child who didn't want to go to school. "No, I can't, I-I-I," his knees suddenly folded and I caught him before he hit the cement. He was making little whimpering noises muttering reasons why he couldn't go back, most along the lines of not letting them see him like this while the rest were either senseless or too jumbled to make out. I managed to steady him on his feet just in time for him to fall to his knees and retch. His form gleamed pale blue as the moonlight reflected off his sweaty skin and I felt an urge to go mess Duncan up some more. Instead I sighed and opened the passenger door.
"Get in." He looked at me, pleading with me silently. Years of no one being able to see his eyes had taught him to show emotion with the rest of his face and right now it was begging me not to take him back to the Institute. "Trust me." The softness in my voice surprised me more than it did Scott; actually he didn't seem very surprised at all, like I talked to him in that concerned almost loving voice daily.
He slid into the seat and watched my every move as I walked around the hood and got behind the wheel. I grabbed a napkin out of my pocket and handed it to him for his nose. As the engine sputtered before it started purring he seemed to be fascinated with my every move and started to chew on the right half of his bottom lip. It was something I noticed he did only when he was really nervous, like a test was being handed out that he knew he did badly on or he was speaking in front of the class. The skin was reddened with abuse once he let it go and I resisted the urge to lean toward him and kiss it better.
I wasn't sure if Scott slept or simply fazed the rest of the world out as I drove to the run down house that I resided in. Nonetheless I worried, I wasn't quite sure the drug he had been given and I was afraid that if he fell asleep he'd never wake up. He got out of the car once we stopped though and followed me into the house like a starving little puppy that was being offered food.
"Drink," I told him after I'd retrieved a glass of water, "not all at once, just sip it." He looked at me as if I'd just told him to pick up hot coals and then at the water before he took it, finger tips brushing my hand as he did so. He pulled back rather sharply and stared into the water as if it had some answer to a question that no one else could answer. Finally he decided to just ask me instead.
"Why'd you help me?" Such a soft, shaky voice that sounded like no one had ever helped him without wanting something in return. The tone in his voice made me want to take him in my arms and tell him I cared about him and couldn't stand to see him hurt, but that would be admitting my nemesis was anything but in my eyes and that would be showing weakness.
"Matthews' a jerk," I retorted as he took a cautious sip from the cup not responding. After a moment of awkward silence I touched his shoulder to get his attention causing him to shutter. "Uh, my rooms up stairs," I told him ignoring the way he was leaning into my hand ever so slightly, "I'll sleep on the floor and you can go back to the institute in the morning, by then you should be back to normal."
"Ok." His gaze was trained on my face and smiled in the way he did that probably made plenty of girls melt, and right know I knew how they felt. He took another drink before setting the glass on the grubby counter and turning around to face me. "Thanks." His hands rested on my cheeks and my mind froze as he pressed his lips against mine, moving his hands to the back of my head to press my face harder against his. My body was reacting without my consent, my arms tightened around his torso; I shifted my weight into him so he was forced against the counter.
He's drugged, a part of my mind scolded, you shouldn't take advantage of him. I involuntarily groaned at the reasoning I was just now deciding to have and pulled away. He wouldn't have it though; he still had his hands on my head and pulled me back, moving his arms around me to hold me there after he was secure in the idea I wouldn't stop kissing him. Every part of my body seemed to be turned on to maximum pleasure and my nervous system coursed with feeling as my hands drifted south over the cloth that covered his toned chest and abs.
"Scott," I muttered into his mouth once I'd regain control of myself, of course this was after one more touch and it'd be to hell with it all and I'd take him on the kitchen counter. Was the kitchen counter even big enough for both of us? Better move to the table if it got that far. "Stop," I grabbed his wrists firmly. He looked at me and I wished I could see his eyes so I could tell if he was relieved I'd stopped him or hurt that I'd pulled away. "There's got to be some shred of reason in that head of yours, just think about what you're doing and with who you're doing it with."
There was a long pause of utter silence where only the wind rattling the windows could be heard. It was a tense moment and I felt like just shaking him till he spoke, but that might end up with his glasses falling off and me getting lasers right in my face.
"I know," he finally stated in a calm voice that sounded too controlled to even possibly be under any influence, "and I want to do it, with you." He leaned forward and quickly gave me a peck on the nose erasing all my suspicions that maybe he was talking and not the drug.
A heavy sigh made my chest deflate and I looked at my feet only to be reminded that the truth was that I wanted him as well. I turned my gaze back to his ruby shades. "I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the same, but I don't want you to regret it later." When had I become so mature and actually care about the future? "Sleep on it."
In the long run it was all too easy, he had thought for a moment then shrugged and replied with a simple 'sure' and yawned before asking me to show him to my room so he could sleep. I wasn't really sure if it was because I'd told him to sleep on it or that he really was tired, but I was sure that I still had a slight problem. Actually it wasn't that slight. I tried to think un-sexy thoughts such as Fred in a bathing suite doing aerobics and initially it worked if you didn't include the nightmares I'd be having for the rest of my life.
My room was a mess and, surely enough, the knife was still stuck in the wall. I grabbed the box from my nightstand and tossed the knife carelessly in before closing the lid and shoving it in the back of my closet. By the time I'd done this Scott had taken the liberty to shed all his clothing except for his boxers and curl himself up under my minimal amount of covers that were worn and too thin to help much.
"Comfortable?" I rolled my eyes as he sat up and frowned looking around like he was missing something.
"Nope," he got up, "at least not yet."
I had been sarcastic but apparently he had very selective hearing. I tried to focus on something besides his incredibly sexy body. His muscles were toned instead of built and it showed that he wasn't as strong as I was, but he possessed the agility I lacked. I might've not been clumsy but his movements were smooth and quick, something his lean build allowed him to do. My musings distracted me from him removing my shirt until he already had the clothing half way off.
"Whoa, hey, I thought you were going to sleep on it!" I tried moving back but ended up hitting the wall. I felt suddenly trapped, like a deer in the headlights, and my brain started to process all the escape routes.
"You aren't going to sleep in your shirt, are you?" He pulled at the hem of my black tee-shirt and seemed to be ready to just tear it off.
"I suppose not," I pulled my shirt off while I stuttered out the reply. He'd meant for me to sleep with him? Well, yeah but not in that sense in the more innocent sense and-- I couldn't think straight. I registered him humming as his fingers fumbled with my fly. Ok, I had not given him permission to undress me! Yet he was and I really didn't seem to have much say in the matter.
"You don't wear boxers." He stated it so simply, totally ignorant to the fact that I was, actually, not wearing any form of underwear. Ok, he was drugged, pure and simple. Hopefully he was drunk too so he wouldn't remember any of this, though that would be rather shocking for him to wake up in the morning next to me in nothing and him in just his boxers. He grasped my wrist and pulled me over to the bed, I was a bit too shocked to respond and I was also afraid that if I moved on my own free will I'd have him pinned under me whether he liked it or not. Languidly he pulled me down and then curled up against me with his head on my chest. "That's better."
I just gave up, he looked too peaceful and cute to disturb anyway. So I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and pulled the blankets over us before joining him in sleep.