Disclaimer - No characters belong to me.
"The Backseat"
It was a while before Pietro, several weeks before Fred, and the Brotherhood House was significantly quieter. With only four bedrooms occupied and more room to avoid each other, the team was not yet a family. They didn't know one another very well, and there was no set hierarchy. All in all, things were...blah. Nondescript. BORING. And it probably would have stayed that way, except...
"Like, what's goin' on? The microwave's broke, yo!" Todd cried. He banged on it, pushed some random buttons, and slimed its door, thereby exhausting his mechanical skills, but the damn thing still refused to work.
"What're we gonna do fer dinner?" Rogue asked nervously. The cupboards, refrigerator, and freezer were all filled nukeable meals, not one ounce of real, fresh food anywhere.
"Can YOU cook?" Lance asked Mystique.
"That, Mr. Alvers, is by far THE stupidest thing I've heard in a very long time."
The four of them stood silently, regarding their newly deceased kitchen appliance. Then they glanced at each other, back to the microwave, and each other again.
"So...McDonald's okay?" Mystique finally said.
* * *
"I call shot gun, I call shot gun!" Todd cried as he hopped to Mystique's sports car.
"WHAT? That's not fair," Lance groaned.
Mystique, who was in the form of a slight, gray-haired woman, slid into the driver's seat and shrugged. "He called it."
Rogue and Lance climbed into the backseat. "There's no room back here..." Rogue muttered.
"Just deal with it!" Mystique barked.
She started the car and pulled out onto the road. The radio blared on automatically, tuned onto an oldies station. "Love Me Do" was playing, right in the middle of the chorus.
"Oh, I like this song, yo," Todd remarked.
Mystique's eyes lit up. "The Beatles? You like the Beatles?"
Lance was rather distracted. Rogue's left breast was pressed against his right arm. It wasn't on purpose; the extreme smallness of the backseat left little personal space. Nevertheless, he was entirely aware of its shape, size, and its pressure against his arm.
"Yeah, I like them okay," Todd answered.
Rogue was also somewhat distracted. Her breast was pushed against Lance's arm, and she was enjoying the sensation; this was the closest she'd been to a boy in too many months. She pressed against him a little harder.
"You like them 'okay'?! The Beatles produced the greatest music ever heard! It was practically written in the stars!"
"Um, okay. I believe you - "
"The beginning! Two lads from Liverpool meet and decide to form a band..."
Was it just him, or had Rogue moved against him more? Just a little? It seemed like she had. Did she? Naw! Rogue just wasn't that type of girl. But... Her breast was still against his arm, warm and intoxicating. It'd been too long since he was with a girl; he HAD to find out. Casually, as if by accident, Lance let his hand fall on Rogue's knee.
"They called themselves the Quarrymen originally..." Mystique continued.
"Oh," Todd mumbled dejectedly.
Had he done that on purpose? It looked that way, and he didn't seem to have noticed it happened, but she couldn't even begin to ignore the spidery feeling of Lance's fingers on her knee, despite the layer of her stockings between them and her skin. In any case, it was a GOOD accident. But then, slightly, so slightly, his fingers twitched, and Rogue was, suddenly and certainly, sure he knew exactly what he'd done. The idea amused and excited her, and now that she knew his motivations, she was prepared to act. In one languid movement, Rogue slowly stroked Lance's arm with two of her gloved fingers. She felt him shiver. Their eyes met.
"I bet you didn't know that Ringo wasn't an original member."
"Nope."
"Pete Best was the original drummer, but he left the group after..." Mystique blathered on.
She smiled that dark Rogue smile at him, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. He wanted to kiss her lips until they bled, lick the salty skin between her breasts, smell her scent on his sheets in the morning. Impossibilities, all of them. There was something, though... Never breaking away from her gaze, Lance slid his hand from her knee, up her thigh, and to a more intimate place. Rogue closed her eyes and, shuddering, pressed even harder against him. She hooked her thumb in one of his belt loops, and his lips curled into a grin.
"Now, they called him Ringo because of the rings he wore on all his fingers."
"Like, whoa. "That was a stretch."
"Todd!" Mystique snapped. "NEVER criticize a Beatle!" Abruptly, she hit the brake and stopped. "We're here."
"Finally..." Todd mumbled.
In the backseat, Rogue and Lance had quickly separated and were now the picture of slightly over-angelic innocence. They climbed out after Todd.
"What, is it, like, hot back there or something? Your faces are all red, yo."
There was a hush for a moment before Rogue answered with a hint of laughter in her voice, "Yeah, it got pretty hot."
Todd frowned, confused, before he hopped across the parking lot and through the glass doors of the restaurant.
"Hey!" Mystique called after him as she followed. "Don't go far! I haven't even gotten to the Ed Sullivan Show yet..."
Silently and side-by-side, Rogue and Lance walked after them. When they had passed the golden arches, she looked at him from the sides of her eyes.
"So...do ya wanna sit next ta me in the booth?"
Lance blushed, but grinned and met her stare again.
"Only if we can sit in the backseat on the way home again, too."
Rogue laughed (a rare occurrence) and nodded. They went inside.
THE END
* * *
Author's Note - I just did this fic for fun; I readily admit there's no substance to it. But I've been urging people to write Rogue/Lance fics for so long that I decided to finally get to doing one. Mystique's meandering one-way conversation is a slight exaggeration of my parents' ability to talk forever on Beatles-related topics. Well, to wrap it up, I like this! It was great to write. And I hope you guys like it, too. If you do, review please!! Writing's hard and requires encouragement.
"The Backseat"
It was a while before Pietro, several weeks before Fred, and the Brotherhood House was significantly quieter. With only four bedrooms occupied and more room to avoid each other, the team was not yet a family. They didn't know one another very well, and there was no set hierarchy. All in all, things were...blah. Nondescript. BORING. And it probably would have stayed that way, except...
"Like, what's goin' on? The microwave's broke, yo!" Todd cried. He banged on it, pushed some random buttons, and slimed its door, thereby exhausting his mechanical skills, but the damn thing still refused to work.
"What're we gonna do fer dinner?" Rogue asked nervously. The cupboards, refrigerator, and freezer were all filled nukeable meals, not one ounce of real, fresh food anywhere.
"Can YOU cook?" Lance asked Mystique.
"That, Mr. Alvers, is by far THE stupidest thing I've heard in a very long time."
The four of them stood silently, regarding their newly deceased kitchen appliance. Then they glanced at each other, back to the microwave, and each other again.
"So...McDonald's okay?" Mystique finally said.
* * *
"I call shot gun, I call shot gun!" Todd cried as he hopped to Mystique's sports car.
"WHAT? That's not fair," Lance groaned.
Mystique, who was in the form of a slight, gray-haired woman, slid into the driver's seat and shrugged. "He called it."
Rogue and Lance climbed into the backseat. "There's no room back here..." Rogue muttered.
"Just deal with it!" Mystique barked.
She started the car and pulled out onto the road. The radio blared on automatically, tuned onto an oldies station. "Love Me Do" was playing, right in the middle of the chorus.
"Oh, I like this song, yo," Todd remarked.
Mystique's eyes lit up. "The Beatles? You like the Beatles?"
Lance was rather distracted. Rogue's left breast was pressed against his right arm. It wasn't on purpose; the extreme smallness of the backseat left little personal space. Nevertheless, he was entirely aware of its shape, size, and its pressure against his arm.
"Yeah, I like them okay," Todd answered.
Rogue was also somewhat distracted. Her breast was pushed against Lance's arm, and she was enjoying the sensation; this was the closest she'd been to a boy in too many months. She pressed against him a little harder.
"You like them 'okay'?! The Beatles produced the greatest music ever heard! It was practically written in the stars!"
"Um, okay. I believe you - "
"The beginning! Two lads from Liverpool meet and decide to form a band..."
Was it just him, or had Rogue moved against him more? Just a little? It seemed like she had. Did she? Naw! Rogue just wasn't that type of girl. But... Her breast was still against his arm, warm and intoxicating. It'd been too long since he was with a girl; he HAD to find out. Casually, as if by accident, Lance let his hand fall on Rogue's knee.
"They called themselves the Quarrymen originally..." Mystique continued.
"Oh," Todd mumbled dejectedly.
Had he done that on purpose? It looked that way, and he didn't seem to have noticed it happened, but she couldn't even begin to ignore the spidery feeling of Lance's fingers on her knee, despite the layer of her stockings between them and her skin. In any case, it was a GOOD accident. But then, slightly, so slightly, his fingers twitched, and Rogue was, suddenly and certainly, sure he knew exactly what he'd done. The idea amused and excited her, and now that she knew his motivations, she was prepared to act. In one languid movement, Rogue slowly stroked Lance's arm with two of her gloved fingers. She felt him shiver. Their eyes met.
"I bet you didn't know that Ringo wasn't an original member."
"Nope."
"Pete Best was the original drummer, but he left the group after..." Mystique blathered on.
She smiled that dark Rogue smile at him, green eyes sparkling like emeralds. He wanted to kiss her lips until they bled, lick the salty skin between her breasts, smell her scent on his sheets in the morning. Impossibilities, all of them. There was something, though... Never breaking away from her gaze, Lance slid his hand from her knee, up her thigh, and to a more intimate place. Rogue closed her eyes and, shuddering, pressed even harder against him. She hooked her thumb in one of his belt loops, and his lips curled into a grin.
"Now, they called him Ringo because of the rings he wore on all his fingers."
"Like, whoa. "That was a stretch."
"Todd!" Mystique snapped. "NEVER criticize a Beatle!" Abruptly, she hit the brake and stopped. "We're here."
"Finally..." Todd mumbled.
In the backseat, Rogue and Lance had quickly separated and were now the picture of slightly over-angelic innocence. They climbed out after Todd.
"What, is it, like, hot back there or something? Your faces are all red, yo."
There was a hush for a moment before Rogue answered with a hint of laughter in her voice, "Yeah, it got pretty hot."
Todd frowned, confused, before he hopped across the parking lot and through the glass doors of the restaurant.
"Hey!" Mystique called after him as she followed. "Don't go far! I haven't even gotten to the Ed Sullivan Show yet..."
Silently and side-by-side, Rogue and Lance walked after them. When they had passed the golden arches, she looked at him from the sides of her eyes.
"So...do ya wanna sit next ta me in the booth?"
Lance blushed, but grinned and met her stare again.
"Only if we can sit in the backseat on the way home again, too."
Rogue laughed (a rare occurrence) and nodded. They went inside.
THE END
* * *
Author's Note - I just did this fic for fun; I readily admit there's no substance to it. But I've been urging people to write Rogue/Lance fics for so long that I decided to finally get to doing one. Mystique's meandering one-way conversation is a slight exaggeration of my parents' ability to talk forever on Beatles-related topics. Well, to wrap it up, I like this! It was great to write. And I hope you guys like it, too. If you do, review please!! Writing's hard and requires encouragement.