A/N: Uh. Damn, what could I possibly say about this fic other than… there's some sexual stuff, but you'll live. And Pietro's jealousy is seriously hardcore. You'll see. There's some major angst and mind-fucks (along with the other kind) in this, so read lightly and try to enjoy it.
Disclaimer: Pffft. Don't mock me.
Surrogate
by Aloren Neranth
He never was a fan of moonlight, of course. Sure, the moon often sparked images of romance and starlit dinners on the beach. But tales of such seaside picnics never mention the fact that, nine out of ten times, you'd have sand buried in your ass-crack. And everyone always fails to admit that, for some people, moonlight makes you look dead.
That's how Lance Alvers looked, splayed out on Pietro's bed, tonight. Dead. Ghostly white light bleached his normally tanned skin, making him look dirtied and sallow. The beams poisoned the strands of hair on his head, chocolate-brown, but tonight bathed in unnatural pallor. He was unmoving, still, as if struck with rigor mortis, and his joints remained locked in their stone-solid bends. Tonight, in Pietro's bed, to Pietro's eyes, Lance Alvers was a corpse.
But he was smiling.
Pietro's sneer deepened as his eyes stabbed roughly over every inch of that perking, smirking, uppity look on Lance's face. Those eyes curved upwards, that mouth stretched out with glee… What the hell could possibly be making Lance smile in his sleep? Was it the fact that he and Pietro had spent another one of their loveless, lack-luster couplings a few hours ago? No, of course not. Sex with Pietro never made Lance smile. Smirk and waggle his eyebrows, maybe, but never could any hint of nightly play with the beautiful gypsy make that earthshaker beam like this.
It drove him mad, absolutely mad. Pietro didn't see why he was so unfulfilling to Lance. Wasn't he perfect enough? He was AMAZING in bed -- a living legend. He never once failed to throw his lover into the realm of exhausted delirium after the act was completed, even if Pietro himself could easily handle many more rounds a few minutes after. But Lance didn't have the energy the speed demon had; therefore, it made more sense to say Pietro wasn't satisfied with the sex. Not Lance.
Why, then, would he never send that smile the younger boy's way? Why wasn't he woken up by a soft caress along his face by those dark, deadly hands, or a kiss from those sweet lips along his brow, while loving words were whispered into his ear? When Lance woke up, rested and relaxed, he either engaged in another exhausting, but thrilling act with Pietro, or he got dressed and left. There was no cuddling afterwards. No roses, no blushes, no soft, loving smiles. There were no glittering eyes, no long sighs, no poems flowing like music from their hearts. Birds didn't sing when they looked at each other.
Why wasn't Pietro good enough to have Lance's heart? The rock-tumbler already had his, though obviously he either didn't care, or he didn't realize. But how could he not? Pietro put every ounce of passion he had into their unions, every fucking time. That's what made the sex so damn good. But somehow Lance could not see that. He was so blinded by his own pleasure that he didn't recognize when love was being applied to it. He couldn't see that...it wasn't just screwing anymore.
The younger one knew what stopped Lance from loving him. He knew why he smiled in the dark, in his dreams, at some mystery occasion unfolding like a splitting flower in his evanescent subconscious… but never at Pietro. Yes, he knew, and he loathed thinking of it, for the bitterness and jealousy in his heart always threatened to consume him and ruin everything. He was lucky to at least be bedding Lance. Why ruin that?
But sometimes he thought of it. Sometimes when they were writhing and pushing against each other, Pietro caught his proof; the half-moaned name of someone else. The word was often never fully groaned, and sometimes quickly replaced by Pietro's name. But that slip-up was so common; it weighed heavily on the boy's mind. A black mist fogged and swirled about his eyes, causing him to scowl and hiss, bitter as a serpent.
"Summers."
Though "sum" was the most common syllable to escape the earthmover's lips, sometimes both were gasped while Pietro slid his pale hands, his sculpted face, down that older boy's dark chest. And to further that proof, Lance never looked at him when he moaned that damned interloper's name. Pietro's snowy skin, contrasting to the darkness of his lover's, was never regarded to those brown eyes, nor his face, his pink tongue, his thin, swaying hips. Lance's eyes were always closed off to that picture, pretty as it may be, and Pietro was always, no doubt, replaced by someone entirely different.
That's why he didn't keep Lance's heart in his hands. That's why the senior didn't recognize the force behind Pietro's passion. That's why he was never graced with a certain gay little smile on the lips of that body currently under his sheets. Lance wasn't bedding Pietro in his mind. He was bedding Summers.
The very thought of it burned a hole in Pietro's heart and made him turn away from the prone body of his teammate. He simply couldn't sum up the amount of anger and failure it sparked in his mind. The backs of his eyes were alight with it; almost as if he were the one with the destructive beams, not Scott. Pietro couldn't handle being played, or used as a model for someone else's painting. Wasn't he good enough? He was a million times more attractive than Scott Summers! And he was wittier, cooler, and so much more fun than that anal-retentive drill-sergeant stick-in-the-ass. Any sane person would leap at the chance to spend the night with him! Leap!
But no, he was second-card to that stupid, pompous, obnoxious little Boy Scout with the perfect GPA and the perfect girlfriend, living in their perfect mansion with their perfect friends. Perfect perfect perfect, they were all so fucking perfect. But surely not more so than Pietro. No, Pietro was above everyone! No one could possibly be better than him! It was ridiculous to think that Lance preferred to dream about that goody-two-shoes golden boy, whose eye color he couldn't even see thanks to those tacky shades. Meanwhile Pietro's eyes were clear and blue, like polished sapphires buried in deep, faceted December snow. And Lance preferred those tacky shades? Why?!
It made no sense to him, none at all. He was better, he knew it, but Lance still doted on his rival. Even though he was regularly fucking the most amazing being on Earth, his heart was still thrown to the wind like a love struck school boy, eyes set adoringly on those ruby-quartz shields. Why? What could Scott Summers possibly have that Pietro didn't? Aside from that ever-present steel-barbed cock in his ass.
The thought of it all, the nerve of it, drove Pietro insane. He silently wondered what the fuck was up with the world, and entertained the theory that everyone had gone insane but himself. Here he was, gorgeous, smooth, sexy, and capable of having anyone in the universe… and yet somehow that damned senior, that damned Lance Alvers, had captured his heart from the moment Pietro's eyes kissed his face for the first time. Pietro had chosen him out of the entire universe! And Lance was too damn stupid to see it, or even be grateful for it. He had the nerve to use Pietro for sex, to vent his frustration on the poor boy, all the while imagining his rival, never once giving thought to the endless emotion stirring in his lover. Fucking pig.
But Pietro never had the heart to make their countless meetings end. No, sex with Lance was the worst drug imaginable; bitter, hurtful, poisoning… but altogether everything Pietro desired. He wanted to be close to Lance, to feel him, to be one with him and just completely melt into the presence of his chosen. And the only time that happened was when they had sex. Of course it's one sided, as Lance is busy dreaming of that fucking X-Geek, Pietro thought angrily. But still, it was his only chance to be whole. He wasn't about to give it up.
But more and more, lately his jealousy had been growing. Either it was because Lance was getting bolder, or because that cursed name had been uttered more than usual… But there was a darkness stirring in Pietro's heart, and it wasn't long before he started to entertain ideas of revenge. No one could steal his love's adoration away, not when it rightfully belonged to him, the only one actually worthy of such a prize. Especially not that brainless dipshit. No, especially not him; and it'd be so easy for Pietro to break him. He was more skilled in manipulation than anyone, and could easily dissect and break a person. If he wanted, he could destroy Scott Summers, and free Lance of whatever siren-hold that idiot had on him.
The notion flirted with him, sometimes like a tempting whisper of wings, or sometimes like a violent pounding of hooves. I can annihilate him, I can kill him, I can break his mind and leave him bleeding on that stupid red-headed bitch's evening gown, Pietro often thought in the confines of his brooding mind. And really, was he above such inhumane acts? Of course not. He'd shoot Scott Summers in the face with a cannon for Lance; in front of the X-mansion, with that mean hairy guy's claws at his neck if he had to. Well, maybe not that. His neck was pretty, and claw-cuts would no doubt scar that milky surface. Pietro hated scars.
Nevertheless, it was safe to say that sometimes Pietro had some rather disturbing thoughts. But he figured, who could blame him? He was the son of a maniac, who had left him as a child, though he was obviously the most amazing kid on the planet. He was forced to live in a stinking, rotting house with dirty teenage boys, while his heart's desire used him as a template for a perverted sexual fantasy. Who could blame him for being bitter, he, the greatest there ever was? If Lance had smiled at him just once, damn him, and given him some sort of hope… than perhaps Pietro wouldn't have drifted to this demented realm. Maybe he would have been a happier person if Lance had recognized his adoration.
No, "adoration" was the wrong word. Desire? Love? Obsession. Pietro was absolutely obsessed with that peacefully slumbering earthmover. Perhaps, deep down in the chambers of his heart, the white-haired lad knew that he was so deeply enthralled because Lance was so unattainable. That smile, he had to seriously work for it. Lance was a challenge. But a challenge that threatened to eat holes in his heart and drive him to unspeakably cruel heights.
And Pietro would go there; given the final push, of course. Whether it came or not was up to the stars.
He turned over again and faced that dull, statue-like, beaming figure, then tried to shake his disgust. No doubt the dead looking young man was dreaming of Scott Summers. And no doubt he'd wake up, amorous from such a wonderful dream, and Pietro would be jumping through those hoops again. As much as he enjoyed their morning romps, the knowledge of his face being replaced by a tenser one with sunglasses never failed to churn his stomach.
It never fucking failed.
*****
Lance's eyes fluttered open, adjusting quickly to the ultra dim light. The sun wasn't even peaking yet, and the moon still sat low in Pietro's window. Light shined in through the panes of cracked glass, turning the still atmosphere into a dreamy, painting-like vision of peace and satisfaction. Next to him lay his lover, still, his breathing soft but always rapid. Pietro was beautiful in the moonlight; Lance never failed to notice. That white hair, that frosty (but always shockingly warm) skin, draped in pristine cloud-colored sheets… every surface of his companion glowed with a healthy, radiant luster in the moonlight. It was breath-taking. It made Lance think of romance and starlit dinners on the beach.
Of course he cared for the boy. He may not have loved Pietro distinctly, but he certainly wouldn't hurt him. No, they were friends, but friends enjoying lots of hot sex, right? Pietro was just his friend, his fuck-buddy to put it crudely; but that didn't mean he couldn't appreciate the aesthetic fascination of the boy. Lance wasn't always picturing Scott. Just… well, most of the time. But sometimes, Pietro was just too beautiful to blur out of his mind. Sometimes his lithe, waif-like figure would dance in his mind, on his hips, like the ghost of a love long ago.
But still, the tempting image of his rival never failed to brighten his heart and stir a rarely quelled heat below his hips. For all of Pietro's beauty and charm, and damn good bedroom techniques, he couldn't match the place Lance had reserved for the leader of his enemies. It was strange, he knew, but exciting at the same time. He was secure enough to admit to himself that he liked it. He enjoyed the taboo nature of his lust, and the fact that any tryst to be had with Scott would most likely end up a little violent. But he was totally okay with that. In fact, the thought of such delicious roughness just turned him on more to the idea of bedding Summers. Why have boring, conventional, predictable sex when he could have mind-blowing, new, refreshing, insane, godly, raw…
Lance's eyes flickered over Pietro's sleeping face. The boy didn't look happy. In fact, his sleep betrayed things that the boy never showed to anyone in his conscious state – hurt, loneliness, pain. Lance knew. He wasn't an idiot. Pietro was hurting.
His face reminded Lance of the times where he convinced himself he could never have Scott without somehow getting drugs, alcohol, and/or ropes involved. That forlorn, hopeless expression… the knowledge of there being no chance at all for true completion… all were too familiar to him. Lance's heart reached out to Pietro and felt his pain. Whomever the boy was desperately pining for, Pietro didn't think he could have him.
Daniels, Lance thought. He was convinced the object of Pietro's heart was Evan Daniels, the young, spunky kid living at the enormous mansion that apparently housed both of their loves. And because of that, Lance thought their little romps were perfectly justified. Pietro was so amazing because he was mentally making love to Evan, while Lance was likewise mentally making love to Scott. A simple trade-off, right? They were friends, comfortable enough with each other to reach this level of partnership… and while they weren't the truly desired men, they were the next best thing, surrogates, and had mind-blowing sex to boot. It seemed pretty damn fair to Lance Alvers.
And he knew Pietro didn't mind.
Of course, Lance thought it was funny how the younger boy seemed to have better control over himself than he did. Lance heard how often he slipped up; he didn't think his desire for Scott was a secret to Pietro. But that wispy little gypsy never missed a beat, never slipped up. While Lance was groaning, "Oh god, oh fuck, yes, nnngh, Summers," Pietro was busy gasping Lance's name into the dark air of the room. Sometimes it made the rock-tumbler feel guilty, and when he accidentally said Scott's name, he'd try to replace it with Pietro's. Sometimes.
Often he wondered why Pietro never thought to moan Evan's name while they rocked and shuddered. Sex, in Lance's mind, would be more fun if they could say their loves' names openly, instead of dancing around it and pretending they were mentally doing each other. Sometimes he thought about bringing it up to Pietro. But then he figured, perhaps the boy thought his love for the skater was a secret, and wanted to keep it hidden. Perhaps he didn't want Lance to know.
So it was never mentioned.
*****
Hours later, when both young men awoke, the sun was up and the sounds of Todd and Freddy causing havoc in the kitchen wafted up to the orange and yellow bathed bedroom. Lance was the first to sit up and stretch, the muscles along his bare back tensing and relaxing at the tiny exercise. Pietro, through foggy eyes, painfully admired the view of his lover's physique. Then, with a groggy sigh, he turned over and closed his eyes again. Images of the night before flushed into his mind, and memories of that damned smile came back to him and made him sick.
Lance looked over at his partner, a tiny smirk on his face. He was in a good mood this morning, despite the slight worry he still had for Pietro. The boy was obviously melancholy, but that didn't dampen his spirits any. In fact, he knew just the way to brighten the pale gypsy's outlook today.
"Good morning, beautiful," he breathed hotly into one white ear, his arm curving around Pietro's delicate waist, while his hand spread out onto his warm belly and stroked.
The younger boy's eyebrows quivered a little in grief. Just say it, Lance, just say his damn name and get it over with, Pietro thought darkly, miserably. Just say it and fuck me because it's convenient and you can't have your godamn X-Geek wonder boy. He didn't bother to greet Lance back.
"Come on, don't sulk… We had a good night, didn't we?" Lance purred suggestively into Pietro's ear, his teeth descending to nibble on that tiny lobe of flesh. His smirk grew as he felt the body shiver under his soft bite.
"I guess so…" Pietro finally breathed. His voice broke unbecomingly but suggestively, and with a mental curse, the boy swallowed and tried to remain calm. He couldn't give in so soon; not to a simple ear-nibble. No, if Lance wanted to repeat those disgusting (but horribly wonderful) practices, he'd have to work for it. "Quit it," he demanded.
"Aw, not in the mood?" Lance asked, his hand swiping down Pietro's abdomen. The boy's skin was always so warm, especially in the morning. It was comforting, and pleasurable alone just to touch. His fingers crept ever downwards, till they spiraled along the beginning of a soft white tail under his navel. To his gratification, Pietro gave another timid shiver before shifting away from that wandering hand.
"No, I'm not," the younger replied breathlessly, never once turning back to look at Lance.
"Now that doesn't sound very Pietro-like," the other responded with a taunting hint in his voice.
Yeah, well, your fucking X-boy won't always be up and ready to screw in the mornings either, you hornball, Pietro thought bitterly. He began to think darker things, when all of a sudden he felt that frisky hand return, in a more tempting spot. With a sharp gasp, his thighs clenched and he bit softly into his bottom lip. "Lance…" he groaned. "Cut it out."
"Don't be so difficult, 'Tro," the earthmover mumbled into that pure white hair. "I'm just trying to cheer you up. You looked a little down this morning." His fingers tightened teasingly, maddeningly, their tips drawing circles across taut flesh. Pietro gave a weakened moan and shifted his hips, before stopping himself and growling a little.
"Sex isn't going to help, Lance. Just stop, I don't want this," he stated, though his voice sounded a little throaty and uncertain.
Lance bent his head down and nipped at the base of Pietro's neck, his tongue darting out to dampen the skin. He sent a series of bites up and down that stretch of white, all the while progressing with his hand. "That's not what you're really saying," he whispered against the younger boy's throat. "You should listen to your body." That said as he moved closer to Pietro, spooning his back and rolling him delicately onto his stomach. His hand moved away and, relishing the tiny whimper that came with its absence, he pressed intimately against his companion. "Come on, I think you need this," he tried one last time. Certain parts of him fitted delicately with the shapes of Pietro's body, almost perfectly, always amazingly. Finally, a defeated sigh rose from his teammate as he relaxed against the begging.
"Fine, Lance. Go ahead," Pietro mumbled, feeling like the most cowardly, easy little whore in the universe. But God help him, he couldn't fight that voice anymore. He couldn't ignore that touch, which he craved as desperately as he craved just one damn smile from his lover. So he gave in and accepted it.
Lance chuckled a little, neither amusement nor gloating in that laugh; it was just the expectant, excited sound of arousal. Pietro was fully turned on his torso now, and arching beautifully to make the first step easier. The brown-haired teen glanced down that lean back, to the boy's neck, to that snowy hair. Impulsively, he reached out and grabbed a handful of it, tilting Pietro's head back further. Lance, smirk still intact on his face, leaned down to whisper into his partner's ear. "You know, you can say whatever you want. I won't care."
"What?" Pietro asked sharply, confused, his mind swimming from the feeling of Lance pressed so deliciously down his spine. "What do you mean?"
"During this, I mean… you can say his name," Lance explained sincerely. He reached around and caressed Pietro's face once, then closed his eyes and let his imagination go to work. In his mind that slender frame bulked, those shoulders widened. Pietro's chest was built broader, and his rear wasn't quiet as nubile. His hair went from snow-shades to tones of brown, more honey-colored than his own dark chocolate. And finally, frames of ruby glasses appeared. Lance's smirk turned into a natural, excited smile; and then, he gave a thrust.
Pietro gasped loudly and squeezed his eyes shut. The lack of lubricant often made this part quite painful, but unfortunately for him, that's the way Lance liked it. Rough, raw, and natural. But what was this about saying his name? What the hell did that mean? Pietro groaned weakly and clamped his muscles down, his mind trying to come up with some sort of plausible explanation for Lance's statement while the said teen began to move his hips. Then it hit him. Oh god… he thinks I'm like him! Picturing someone else, someone not him! Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuckf—AUGH! "Ah!" he whimpered as the older one's motions turned rough. With a strangled breath, Pietro finally let go of his thoughts and focused on the powerful mutant behind him, whose body masterfully invaded his own.
*****
Scott Summers loved days like this; so full of energy, so bright, with so much potential to them. There was much that could be accomplished on a day like this. There was much to behold, to do, and to orchestrate. Yes, today held many opportunities indeed.
But at the same time, he was afraid of mornings such as this. With the potential to achieve came the potential to change; and sometimes, sometimes those changes weren't in his favor. No, he wasn't the sole receiver of this fruitful morning. Others could reap its harvest, and Scott Summers had many enemies.
Timidly, as if his thoughts could turn that dangerous potential in the enemy's favor if they lingered too long, his mind reached to the Brotherhood boarding house. What could they get up to on such a day? What changes could those troublemakers, those delinquents, force upon innocent lives? Billions in property damage, Scott wagered with a frown. Maybe the loss of life… Well…
Suddenly, his mind drifted to the train incident not too long ago. Yes, the collision of a speeding engine with many tanks of gasoline had completely been the Brotherhood's fault… but that earthmover, Avalanche, had saved many lives that day by burying the explosion. It had proved the senior (who never graduated due to expulsion) had some decency, right…? Scott hoped so. And he hoped it was enough to keep his idiot friends from killing people.
Don't get your hopes up, Summers, that delinquent's tone gloated condescendingly in his head, baiting him. Scott's mouth formed a thin line of smoldered anger. Lance's voice had taunted his mind many times before… and usually in tough situations. In fact, it was safe to say that the words of the dark-haired mutant often inspired him to reach his full potential. If he couldn't be the best, people like Lance Alvers would gain the upper hand and destroy many precious things.
Well… not exactly, Scott heard his logical side argue. He's never actually killed someone, as far as we know… he's come a long way from that little punk who nearly murdered Kitty's parents.
Oh, shut up, Scott's less logical, more emotional mind voice demanded. He's still a little punk, and I hate him. He's against everything I stand for.
No, not exactly. He doesn't want innocent people to die, not by the hands of his team. He has a good heart…
Oh, forget it!
Scott Summers let out a long, tired sigh of defeat. His thoughts of late were more and more often concerning that rock-tumbler, and always completely conflicted. Yes, they were rivals but… Alvers was changing, and anyone could see it. How long would it be before they hated each other no longer? How far until Scott had the chance to give in to lurking demons, to reach out and soothe that wild mane, without it being totally wrong?
Never, shut up! he thought bitterly at the path his mind was traveling down. Don't think of such disgusting things! What would the Professor say? What would JEAN say?
The thought sobered him immediately for a few moments, and forced him to swallow a mushy spoonful of milk-saturated cornflakes.
Scott Summers didn't like change. Especially change that threatened to uproot and destroy the perfect little world he'd established here at the Institute. Surely, entertaining those flighty thoughts of dark romance, of built-up tension, of unspoken apologies and promises to his former rival, now lover, and a guy to boot… surely those would ruin everything he held dear.
And besides, what would everyone else say? What would they do if they knew he was weak enough to ponder bygones being bygones with their enemy… weak enough to play with scenarios of epiphanies and newly-spoken emotions, though his mind begged the desires to diminish… weak enough to fold under the tension, under his relentless teenage hormones, and jerk late at night when everyone slept. That's not how it started, of course – imagining Jean sleeping, innocent, alone, that's how it started… but somehow, she never stayed with him. She was always replaced with a much more frightening, manly figure, and their positions were switched. Scott shook his head and downed another spoon of cereal. Such horrible grievances and shameful failures weren't breakfast table appropriate.
After all, he's my enemy… he's a delinquent, a danger, a son of a bitch…
… But on the other hand…
*****
"'Ey Speedy, listen to this!" Todd laughed, yellowed eyes pinned to the newspaper he'd pilfered from a neighbor's yard earlier. His finger traced the lines of the horoscope section under Pietro's sign, while he read the text out loud. "'You will act upon your greatest wish today, and get what you desire. Tread carefully, however… your gain comes with a price.' Haha! Sounds like you're gonna ride Lance's ass today, yo!"
Lance coughed loudly on his waffle, then gawked at the frog-like freshman. "Todd! What the hell!"
"Oh please, dawg, y'all are so loud even the neighbors complain. Don't think we can't hear that," the boy chuckled dryly. At his side, Freddy grumbled and nodded, his mouth currently filled to the brim with syrupy, Eggo-like off-brands. "And we know you ain't the one catchin', if you know what I mean."
Lance shot a hasty, embarrassed glance over at Pietro, a slight blush on his dark cheeks. But the boy didn't seem to care much about Todd's confession. In fact, he had a serious, almost black gaze set upon the newspaper in front of their youngest member. He wondered if he should ask the boy why he was trying to set the paper on fire with his gaze… but decided against it. Pietro only talked about his feelings when he wanted to. No amount of badgering would get him to spill.
Meanwhile, the snowy-haired mutant was deeply considering the horoscope. Pietro had always been interested in the zodiac; he figured he could trust the stars and the moon and the planets to tell him things about his life. What the hell else were they there for? My greatest wish…he thought, eyebrows furrowing. What is that? Gone, I want Summers gone. I want him to stop stealing what's rightfully MINE. I want Lance to be mine and only mine, godamn it! I'm getting that today? I'm getting it… but it comes with a price. Fuck! What price? Is it worth it? He glanced over at his lover, who poked at a waffle innocently with his fork. Pietro begrudgingly remembered that very morning, where not only did Lance let him know he was oblivious to the younger boy's love, but had also moaned Scott's name into his hair more times than normal.
Of course it's worth it! he scolded himself. I'm losing him! Soon he's going to ask me to wear shades to bed! No, I can't play this game with him anymore. I have to win him over, even if it means destroying that damn Boy Scout with my bare hands. I will win him. He'll be mine.
He'll be mine.
"I'm going for a walk," Pietro announced as he stood up and straightened his shirt. "Or a run. Whatever. Don't expect me back for a while." Before the others could ask why he suddenly felt like leaving, the speedster had zipped out of the kitchen and out the front door with a bang.
The boys looked at each other, confusion in their various colored eyes. Then, Freddy broke the stare-fest and reached over the table, snatching Pietro's half-full plate, and scarfing down the cheap waffle contents with glee.
*****
Scott hummed contently as he sprayed suds from the red exterior of his car, the hot sunlight keeping him warm despite the splash of icy water. Inspired by the sunny, energetic day, Mr. McCoy had taken the new recruits and a few of the older ones (including the practically ancient ones, Logan and Professor Xavier) on an excursion to Bayville's historical park. The mansion wasn't empty of course; Ororo, Jean, Rogue, and Kurt remained somewhere inside. But they all had their own chores and work to do. This left Scott alone to relax outside, washing his favorite piece of metal and wheels in the world, while the sun dried it in minutes.
The young man leaned down and grinned into his reflection. He was shirtless, wet, sweating, and a little soapy, but hey, the car was clean enough to eat off of! Scott considered his labor well-rewarded, and began to turn off the hose. A gentle breeze whipped by his ear and whispered over his skin. Scott smiled, turned his head to the direction of the wind, and inhaled deeply.
"Hiya, Summers," a voice greeted flirtatiously from the hood of Scott's car. The brown-haired boy gasped sharply and turned towards the sound, his hand snapping up to his glasses automatically. "Oh come now, there's no need for that, Scooter! I'm not here to fight."
"What are you here for, Maximoff?" Scott growled, immediately suspicious. His hand stayed at the brim of his shades, ready to snap them off and blow the quasi-albino into the courtyard and over the gates at the first sign of trouble. But strangely enough, there didn't seem to be any sign of trouble. Pietro sat on his hood, lounging back against the neatly-cleaned, sparkling windshield, his arms folded behind his head. He looked perfectly innocent, aside from the leering grin he was giving the older mutant.
"I just want to talk," Pietro replied sweetly, his acting skills flawless. "We've never had a civil conversation before, you know. In fact, I think the only time we've talked is when you were defending Daniels and I swung your ass straight off your feet."
Scott sneered, his fingers twitching around his rims. "Save it, Maximoff, I'm not buying it. What's your game?"
Bored with the threats and disbelief, Pietro sat up straight and folded his legs. His devilish grin turned into a cocky, thin-lipped smirk. "I know about Lance," he said simply, the shortness of his confession heightening the impact drastically.
For a moment, the older mutant thought his heart stopped beating. His hand moved away from his glasses momentarily, and his mouth cracked open in a not so subtle gape of shock. As soon as he realized how surprised he looked, however, he wiped the expression off and replaced it with one of anger and annoyance. "What the hell are you on about, Pietro?"
The white haired boy's eyes closed for a moment, and he looked overly smug and satisfied. "Heh heh heh," he chuckled through those pale lips, and then moved to all fours. Like a cat, he crawled hands-and-knees across the hood of the car, closer to his adversary. "You know exactly what I'm 'on about', Summers. Your initial reaction proved it." He leaned in closer, eyes sweeping down the expanse of Scott's bare, hairless chest. "I know about the things that haunt you late at night. The whispers you speak into your blankets while you're whacking it. I know, Scott… and I'm here to help." His grin spread again, flashing perfect white teeth at the older mutant.
Of course Pietro was only guessing at this point. But he'd seen the obvious sexual tension that Scott gave off around Lance; he'd seen it and noted it. He knew it was likely the bespectacled boy was secretly turning over images of his rival in his mind, deep in the night, when only his heart could clearly see what he desired – another guy, who was also the enemy. And he knew the young man was extremely insecure about it; that's the way Scott Summers was.
If there was anything Pietro knew best, it was how to break a person down once he knew their weaknesses.
For what seemed like hours to the snowy locked boy, Scott just gawked at him. He simply didn't know how to react to this. Never in a million years would he have guessed Pietro Maximoff, brightest and swiftest of the Brotherhood, would sit perched on his hood, taunting him with his deepest, darkest secret. And never would he have guessed that Pietro would… offer… help?
"What are you getting at?" Scott asked awkwardly, trying to step away from those searching, groping blue eyes. The boy's gaze was making him distinctly uncomfortable. Or maybe it was the fact that he was totally busted by one of his enemies.
"Do you have any idea how gawky and inexperienced you are, Scott? You poor little fumbling virgin… I bet you've never gone past kissing." He chuckled triumphantly at the blush the older boy produced, thusly proving him correct. "Lance is a very skilled lover, Scott. He'd laugh at you."
Scott's head snapped up and he made eye contact with the paler boy, even though the said boy couldn't tell. "Y—You…"
"That's right, Cykey," Pietro taunted, his voice dripping with false honey. "I have. I know what it's like to have Lance in bed… and you're nowhere near the caliber he's at. He'd laugh at you and kick you out." He mentally gloated as he saw Scott's head duck down in what was either embarrassment or shame. Those expressive eyebrows hitched miserably for a moment, before drawing down in annoyance.
"I have no plans to bed him, Maximoff, so save it," he bluffed.
"Oh, Summers, don't lie to me," Pietro purred, his legs coming around to slowly slide off the side of the car. He leaned against it confidently, his hands at his hips. He quirked an eyebrow and gave the older mutant a dazzling, suggestive glimmer of clear blue eyes. Lips perked higher as he saw the brown haired boy's Adam's apple plunge, the tell-tale sign of a deep, nervous swallow. "I can see right through you." He took a step towards the young man, delighting in the look of panic that fleeted over his features. "You want him. You want him bad, and you can't have him… but what if you could, Scott? What if he returned your feelings?"
Scott first paled at that suggestion, and then flushed as a spark of hope lit at the base of his heart. He looked at Pietro like a child tempted with candy. "W… what if…?" he asked timidly, his voice breaking mid-annunciation.
"I told you, he'd laugh at you and kick you out. You're pathetic, Scott. You don't have any hope of pleasing Lance. Unless…" That slow, violating gaze dripped over his skin again; Scott suddenly felt the need to cover his chest. It was very much an "eyes up here" moment, one the older boy had rarely experienced. Just the look alone would have sent him fleeing to the safety of the mansion, had he not an ounce of self-control.
God, he's right! Scott thought with despair. I AM pathetic. A simple look makes me uncomfortable.
Right where I want you, Summers. You're going down. Pietro's tongue dashed over his lips, and his body swayed closer to the other mutant's. Scott paled a little, and sort of shrunk back. But the dove haired boy's gentle hands were soon placed around his neck. A soft pressure on Scott's flesh, and then the feeling of Pietro's hips pressed to his. "Unless… I…" the boy whispered, tugging Scott's head down to meet him. That trademark smirk flitted over his face again, before lips pushed against lips. There was a sharp inhale, and a flicker of tongue, before Scott, with a yelp, tore away.
"We can't do this! Are you crazy?!" the older mutant fretted a little hysterically, eyes darting over the many windows of the building in search of a witness. "This is wrong, wrong, wrong! You're a guy! You're in the Brotherhood! And we're in front of the mansion, which has people in it. That includes Jean, my girlfriend. What about her, Pietro?! Do you think I could do this to her?" He shook his head, hazel hair dancing across ruby-quartz sunglasses.
Pietro's heart trembled with vicious, fluttering glee. So the torment begins. "Who's to say little Miss Soccer Captain will even care about you in a few more weeks. You could easily be ditched, just like that blonde football freak in high school. How can you be so sure you're not next on the long list of ex-boyfriends? And then who will you crawl to? Lance won't want you, Scott… not as pitiful as you are now. He wants excitement." He moved back to Scott's side and rolled onto his tip-toes, so he could whisper into the older mutant's ear. "Are you really going to lose your chance because you were too afraid to learn?"
"I… I…" Scott sighed and shut his eyes tightly, his head shaking once again. He didn't want to cheat on Jean, he really didn't. But Pietro had a point… perhaps he was just one of the many men Jean Grey would go through in her life. And then what would be left for him? The only other person he was remotely interested in… as much as it pained him to admit it, for the first time in his life… was Lance. And Pietro knew the rock tumbler better than Scott could boast. Yes, that snowy haired gypsy knew how… experienced… Lance was, and what he expected from his lovers. And Scott could barely provide a decent kiss, with his embarrassing lack of knowledge. "And what do you get out of this?" he finally asked, though not really caring.
"Uhm, are you missing my point, Summers? I get sex, plus the satisfaction that I successfully corrupted an X-geek," that seductive gypsy taunted with a cheerful, excited spark in his voice. "That's all I need. And besides, it's a challenge!"
With a heaving sigh, the older mutant's shoulders sagged. "This is wrong, Pietro, completely wrong, and I'm going to regret it, I just know it… But… this is the only chance I'll have, right? I can't reject it and then kick myself over it later, in case the opportunity comes." And, while he hated to admit it, the younger boy was extremely attractive; Scott didn't know why he never saw it before. And now Pietro was offering him something he could only dream about, something formerly forbidden but now within his grasp.
You're so predictable, Summers. So foolish and predictable. What does he see in a naïve little golden boy like you? Pietro thought, malice in his heart. "I knew you'd see it my way," the boy breathed, his voice seductive and smooth. "And trust me, you won't regret it."
For a moment, Scott was suspicious. But wait, why should I trust him? he thought with his logical side. He's a backstabbing little traitor. What if he has other motives?
Who cares?! the less logical voice yelled. He's hot, he's willing, and he's got a good point! And we all know what a whore he was in high school. What the hell could he possibly want besides a lay? You're never going to get another chance like this! Go, go, go!
"Well," Pietro cut in. "Aren't you going to show me to your room?"
*****
Jean Grey was getting nervous, and when she was nervous she would often fidget. The fidgeting began not too long ago… but for what felt like an eternity to her. It completely distracted her from her work, and she certainly couldn't afford that. But she was also too well-mannered to probe Scott's mind.
No matter how nervous she was.
A few hours ago, she'd passed by the young man's room to ask him for some printer paper. Her hand was raised, poised to knock, but suddenly she was halted by soft sounds coming from behind the door. Soft sounds that very much resembled… moans. Well, ever the observant, Jean immediately blushed up to her ears and assumed that Scott was… well… in need of some time alone. So, flustered and embarrassed, she had turned away to go ask Kurt for the desired paper instead.
But the sounds hadn't stopped. If anything, they were getting louder and more numerous. Scott, give it a REST! she thought, but not once daring to use her telepathy. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass her poor, obviously frustrated boyfriend.
That had been an hour ago. Now Jean was getting desperate. Her fingers clicked impatiently over the carved, wooden desk, and a number of items floated around her head. She couldn't sit still and constantly shifted to get comfortable. The red-headed girl tried with all her strength to concentrate on her work; but to no avail. She kept catching hints and whispers of those noises coming from a few rooms away.
And it made her very, very nervous.
Suddenly, a knock at the door shocked her out of her fidgeting fit, and made her yelp as the floating objects dropped from her mental hold. Flustered, she picked herself up and padded quickly to the door. She tried to look confident as she opened it, but felt clearly that her face was red.
"Kurt!" she gasped, spotting the slim boy at her door. His tail was in his hands, and it was flickering nervously to and fro. Kurt Wagner stared at it, fixated, like it was the most fascinating thing to behold. He was obviously feeling as out of place as she was. "Er… what do you need, Kurt?"
"I… uhm…" With a heavy sigh, the blue-furred teen bit his lip and closed his golden eyes. His hands tightened nervously around his tail. "Look, Jean, I'm not going to sugarcoat it. I know you hear it. We all hear it, except for Ororo. Thank God she's on the other floor. It's driving me and Rogue mad. I don't want to 'port in there… so I was wondering… C-Could you search Scott's mind and find out what's going on? For his sake?"
Jean blushed at the thought; she'd been tempted to do that exact thing ever since it started. "I don't know, Kurt… I don't want to disrespect his privacy," she said softly, placing a hand on his slender shoulder. He looked up at her finally, worry and embarrassment in those golden circles.
"But Jean, he's… doing something in there, and has been for so long. It just doesn't seem right. Aren't you nervous or worried at all?"
"Like you wouldn't believe," the red-headed girl mumbled. She looked behind Kurt and spotted Rogue a few paces away, looking just as frustrated and vaguely horrified at this scenario as the rest of them were. Jean's heart immediately went out to the children; they really shouldn't have to suffer this uncomfortable embarrassment anymore. "Oh, all right, come on, you two… I'll get to the bottom of this." Two sets of eyes quickly lifted up to her in grateful appreciation.
They walked uneasily towards Scott's room, blushing and mumbling and twitching as the breathing, the moans, and the cries got louder. As they halted in front of the door, there suddenly came a loud cry of, "Oh GOD!" Kurt uttered a squeak and Rogue cleared her throat loudly. Jean fought the urge to fidget again, or maybe juggle a few of the busts and statues in the hallway with her mind. But no, she had to be the adult here.
"Scott?" she called tonelessly, rapping softly at the door. "Are… are you okay in there?"
"JEAN! Oh god! Don't come in!" Scott's voice warbled from the other side. "I-I-I-I'm FINE! Just… just don't wo—" He interrupted himself with a long, tense moan that sounded like either agony or longing (which took a minute for Jean to identify, as she'd never heard such a noise from her boyfriend before). "Shitshitshitshit," he swore softly, startling the trio at his door. Scott never swore. "Oh Gooooood…"
"Er… I don't know about you, Jean, but I don't trust that. If you don't search him now I'm 'porting," Kurt said, resolute. Rogue nodded next to him, ready for action if need be.
"Okay, okay… hang on." The young woman closed her eyes for a moment and concentrated, her telepathy flowing through the door, to her honey haired boyfriend inside. She reached out to Scott's mind… and was immediately flooded with many images she didn't expect. The shock of them, appearing so fast to her mind's eye, startled her and caused her jaw to drop.
Pietro Maximoff, his head buried in Scott's lap. He was doing… with his mouth… And there were fresh memories of many, many other acts that came before this one. Some that Jean had never imagined, or wanted to, for that matter, and there were some that sent a furious blush to her face. Words echoed in her head, moans, swears, and occasionally a ruthless, breathy chuckle. And in Scott's mind was… hope for more to come, such raging hope and desire, it stole the air from her lungs and nearly made her eyes bug out of her head. Hope for… for…
"Lance?!" she cried, eyebrows shooting to her hairline. Though it was Pietro in there with her boyfriend, Scott's imagination was nothing but a swirling, writhing barrage of Lance's face, of his body, of yearnings for that brown-haired delinquent to be in that bed with him instead. Jean's face went dead-white as she observed and understood. He was cheating on her. He had cheated on her. And not only that, but… his feelings obviously belonged to someone else. Scott Summers had lied to her, and now he was in there doing absolutely unspeakable things to not only an enemy, not only someone who was definitely not Jean Grey, but who was a male. The realization of it all suddenly crashed down on the telepath, tearing her trusting, unsuspecting heart to bloody shreds. "Oh, Scott, how could you?" she whispered weakly, tears filling her eyes. With a strangled choke for breath and a whimper of heartbreak, she turned and fled back to her room.
Kurt and Rogue turned to each other as Jean's door slammed closed and hysterical echoes of weeping began to bounce through the young woman's door, while Scott's strained moans continued to radiate from the room in front of them. "D… Did she say 'Lance'?" the blue one questioned his equally startled and disgusted friend.
"Ah think she did, Kurt…"
"Lance Alvers is in there making… Scott… and those noises… oh my goodness," Kurt babbled, wringing his three-fingered hands nervously, assuming something that wasn't exactly true. Still, the effect was quite similar than if he'd known the real situation. A distracted blush rose to his cheeks, thankfully hidden by his fur, as their leader suddenly let out a wavering cry, followed by exhausted panting from deep in the room.
"This is… weird," Rogue mumbled clumsily, glancing down, her own face stained red with embarrassment as well. "C… Can we get out of here, Kurt? Please?"
"Absolutely," the fuzzy one replied quickly. He grabbed his friend's sleeved arm and teleported them the hell away from that now silent door.
*****
Pietro yawned and sat up, stretching his pale limbs above his head luxuriously. At his side, Scott Summers snored with simple content into his pillow, his bare back open to the air. The speed demon looked over his recent lover and shook his head, a smirk flirting with his face. Scott wasn't about to wake up anytime soon. He'd made sure of that.
What a work out! Pietro thought as he climbed out of bed, shaking the cramps and stiffness from his muscles. Rough and clumsy, maybe, but that guy was like… insatiable. I wonder how long he's been too afraid to try to get laid. Another tiny yawn fluttered over his lips as the white-haired boy took in his surroundings. The sun was going down in Scott's window, and the thin smell of food reached the mutant's nose. Dinnertime? How long have I been sleeping? Oh well. He casually glanced out the large, expensive looking window and caught sight of the younger mutants playing happily in the yard. So everyone's back from their little field trip. Perfect. The final blow's about to fall, my dear, unsuspecting Scooter.
He searched the room for his shirt, but couldn't find it on the floor or the furniture. The gypsy checked under the bed, in case it had been kicked into the dark messy recess on accident; no such luck. Damn it! That was my favorite shirt! Pietro cursed, giving the messy quarters another quick search. With a sigh, he gave up and opted instead to steal one of Scott's button-downs tops. He tied the bottoms together so it fit better (and showed a little belly), then tugged his pants up.
Across the room, he spotted a pair of red glasses glinting in the deepening sunlight. Of course, sometime during the encounter Pietro had taken them from Scott's face and tossed them across the carpet. The older hadn't had protested, or even really noticed. Now Pietro reached down and picked them up, considering them sharply before folding its arms and shoving the specs into his pocket. With a vicious grin shot towards the still sleeping Scott, Pietro blew a kiss and left the room.
*****
Logan, he's in the kitchen, Charles informed his friend mentally. He'd sensed Pietro's presence the moment he'd set wheel on the institute's property earlier that evening. But at that point, both of the boys had been asleep, so the old mind-reader hadn't seen any malice in the white haired gypsy's company; only wisps of soft, uneasy dreams. The old man was morbidly curious as to what the member of the Brotherhood was doing sleeping in the mansion, but ever the humanitarian, he wasn't going to search Pietro's mind until he had to.
Charles' heart was uneasy, however. Jean was up in her room crying, and every time someone tried to speak to her, she'd just block them out of her head or scream things no one could understand through the door. She also prohibited anyone from entering the room; Kitty and Kurt had been about to try their luck before the owner of the Institute halted them and told them to leave her be.
He had a feeling it was connected to the young Maximoff's presence somehow… but it was best to let things like this fall into place by themselves. He knew better than to meddle in the affairs of young people. Still, Charles was ever ready for trouble, and had asked Logan to be on guard, just in case.
Don't worry, Chuck, I'm ready, Logan replied, gritting his teeth. He'd be up out of his chair, claws extended, the moment he felt the tiniest breeze.
So Pietro calmly appearing at the entrance of the dining room, plate in hand, wearing Scott's shirt and some very rumpled jeans, certainly surprised them all. "Hey, muties! How's it going? Nice chow you got here!" the boy greeted with a cocky grin, as every face in the room turned to gawk at him.
Logan growled and leapt from his chair, his metal claws unsheathing and heading towards Pietro's skull. He saw the boy's eyes widen, and then there was nothing.
"Aw, look what you made me do, Cujo!" Pietro whined from the other side of the room, pointing to where half his food was spilled onto the formerly pristine floor. His lower lip set in a firm pout. He'd really been looking forward to those crab claws.
Logan charged again, both hands extended. The boy sighed and rolled his eyes, waiting for the fuss of the "welcome wagon" to end. When he focused again, the hairy old guy's hand knives were inches away from his face. Pietro, knowing he could dodge those things faster than Logan could even think of using them, wasn't afraid in the least.
"What are YOU doin' here?!" Rogue yelled, jumping from her seat. She glared at Pietro then glanced over at Charles, as if offering to drain Maximoff if they needed her to.
"Yeah! Like, what is this, a raid?" Kitty joined in, her chair grinding against the hardwood floor as she stood. The other mutants all began shouting their own questions and threats, along with exclamations of surprise, before Charles interrupted.
"Please, children, sit down. Everything will be answered soon," he said calmly, then addressed the snowy haired young man who looked about ready to kick Logan in the groin if he didn't get away from him soon. "Mr. Maximoff, why are you here?"
Don't you know, grandpa? The boy surprised the telepath by speaking directly to his mind, an infuriatingly taunting smirk on his face. Don't get it yet? Then maybe this'll help you out. He formed a strong mental image of himself and Scott, participating in their earlier rendezvous; the younger held down by strong hands as the dominant's hips pressed tight to his backside. Charles blanched frightfully at the "sight", the color draining from his face, then looked down at his plate and stayed silent. Everyone in the room stared at him uncomfortably, wondering what had happened to make their professor go so pale.
I knew he was in Scott's room but didn't guess why… and now I know what they were doing, the old telepath though to himself, quietly searching the minds of the people who'd been there while all of this had went down. He needed to know why such a disastrous thing hadn't been stopped, and why, more importantly, Scott had let this happen. Kurt and Rogue thought it was Lance in there because Jean… Now Jean's up in her room crying… Ororo hadn't heard a thing…He turned his mind back to the intruder's memories, and watched in silence as the seduction in front of the mansion played like a video for him. This isn't Pietro's fault… Scott should have turned him away. "Logan, it's all right. Mr. Maximoff means us no harm," Charles sighed.
"But what's he doing here?" Kitty questioned loudly, staring unhappily at the white haired wonder as Logan grumbled, retracted his claws, and made his way back to his seat. He kept a close eye on his former prey, however, and would be there swift as a cat if his services were needed.
"Just visiting a friend. And getting some chow!" Pietro answered, holding up the plate with an aggravatingly cheerful, innocent look on his face. He waltzed over to the table, and then took a seat next to Rogue, who glared spitefully at him. "Hey Roguey, long time no see."
"What's yer game, Pietro?" the Southern girl hissed, moving her chair away. He smelled funny, like sweat and a mixture of other things she couldn't identify.
Kurt, on the opposite end of the table, stuck his fork in the Brotherhood member's direction. Both he and Rogue were more suspicious than anyone after the shock they had that afternoon; they assumed the speed demon was there to collect Lance, or to do something else as foul and deceptive as the events that had gone on earlier. "Yeah, what are you up to?" he asked accusingly.
"Geez! I knew you guys were losers but I didn't know you were rude too!" Pietro scoffed, putting his nose in the air and his elbows on the table. Inside, his heart chuckled with black happiness; everything was going perfectly. He just had to wait for his chance and then… "If you must know, Summers invited me. Which means I'm a guest, whether you like it or not! And good little X-children should be polite to their great leader's guests, shouldn't they?"
"What?! YOU were the one in Scott's room today?!" Rogue yelped in horror, leaping from her seat and throwing her hands in the air. Across the table, Kurt had a similar reaction.
"YOU'RE the one Scott cheated on Jean with?!" the blue-furred boy cried, then gasped and threw his hands over his gaping mouth. "Oh shit," he hissed.
Pietro was surprised for a moment; how exactly had they known about that? Then he figured, with a graceful shrug, that they had been with the red-head when she had come to the door earlier. Either that or they were actually smart enough to figure out that Scott hadn't been whacking it for hours upon end. With a smooth, aloof smirk, Pietro glanced at Rogue, then Kurt. "Yup, that was me," he said in a tone soaked with amusement and arrogance.
Half the table, which had been waiting and staring with baited breath, went nuts with shock. Some of the students dropped their silverware, and some leaped from their chairs. Everyone began shouting and asking questions, all directed to Pietro, Rogue, and Kurt. Each kid at the table wanted to know when, where, why, how, and it was obvious they'd be gossiping about this for weeks into the future.
"Students, PLEASE!" Charles yelled over the chaos, his head beginning to ache from such noise, stress, and shame. "Sit down and be silent at once!"
"You heard the Professor!" Hank McCoy said suddenly, giving everyone a stern, but slightly weirded-out look. "Behave."
The other X-children grumbled and returned to their places, their fear of the adults stronger than the shock and excitement of this incredibly juicy news. Still, they looked from the Professor, to Pietro, to Rogue and Kurt, searching for any answers they could find, and any torrid details. "Now, this isn't appropriate at all," Charles said, shaking his head. "But Mr. Maximoff is correct. He's Scott's guest, and he isn't here to hurt us. We mustn't be rude, so long as he isn't."
"But Profess—" Kitty started, but stopped when the older man gave her a stern look. She fell silent, sunk into her chair, and stared into her food, her appetite gone. This sucks.
At the other end of the table, Pietro was eating contently. His plan was going wonderfully, he was getting a free dinner, and he'd had a rather satisfying lay; all in all, a great night. All that was needed now was a little extra push and he'd be done. After finishing his meal quickly, the boy shoved his plate away and grinned at the ceiling. "So who knew the golden boy Scott Summers would forget about his girlfriend so easily to screw the enemy! The guy enemy no less. I wouldn't have guessed. But then, I also didn't know he was so horny for Lance either! Man, you should have heard him yelling 'Alvers! Alvers!' It was so funny. So where's Little Miss Perfect now? I'd like to tell her our darling Scooter would gladly leave her ass for some of Lance's." He looked around angelically, waiting for the explosion.
"Aw man, Scott's GAY!" Bobby Drake lamented first. At the head of the room, Charles groaned loudly with exasperation.
Appropriately, the table broke into murmurs and whispers, and a few shouts of dismay from girls who may have been crushing on the leader of the X-men. Pietro felt many hot glares shooting his way, but all it did was amuse him more.
"Hey, don't blame ME, kids. It didn't take long for Summers to give in. About four or five minutes, I'd say." Okay, that time he was stretching a little, but it wasn't like anyone there besides the bald paraplegic would know.
"Mr. Maximoff, please! I'm going to have to ask you to leave now!" Charles Xavier ordered, his voice tense with suppressed anger. With a satisfied smile, Pietro stood and left his plate on the table.
"As you wish, my humble host," he teased, stepping confidently over to the entrance way, grinning and winking at the violent looks of hate being thrown at him. At the threshold of the room, he then stopped; his sharp ears caught a sudden noise, like clumsy footsteps in the hallway. Soon the entire room began to hear it. Charles turned pale as he realized who it was.
"Professor? I lost my shades," the very strained, groggy voice of Scott flew towards them. Everyone gasped and sat rigid in their chairs, waiting for the man in question to appear. He did a few seconds later, shirtless and stumbling, his hands covering his eyes. "Professor? You in here?"
Pietro's blue eyes were wide for a minute as he suddenly couldn't believe his luck; then he smirked towards the table of very flustered, upset, shocked little mutants. Quickly, he slid a slender hand into his pocket and pulled out Scott's sunglasses, pushing them delicately up the bridge of the older boy's attractive nose. "Here you go, baby," he purred loud enough for all to hear, and moved closer to his former lover's torso.
"Pietro?!" Scott cried desperately as he heard the voice. His eyes opened from behind the shades, and he was rewarded with the snow haired boy's very smug, very satisfied, very sexy face. For a moment the world stood still, and a pain in his chest made him wonder absently if he was having a heart attack. In horror, he turned and realized that everyone in the room was gaping at him with knowing, ashamed faces. They watched him like a crowd would watch a dirty television show; and Scott was obviously the bad guy, judging from the amount of glares. "I-I-I thought you had left!" he stammered uneasily, his shoulders beginning to shiver with realization.
"Nope, I stayed and had dinner with your family here. Your parents and siblings were very mean to me," Pietro teased, pushing himself against Scott's chest, rewarded with the look of terror and illness that action inspired in the older boy. White fingers began to trace circles on bared, tanned skin. "But that's okay. We had a great time earlier." The older mutant, mouth hanging in shock, didn't protest when his partner placed a sweet, taunting kiss on his lips. But when the entire table gasped in horror, Scott knew then what it was like for one's world to come crashing down. The only thing he was thankful for was that Jean wasn't in the room.
She knows, Charles intruded with a sigh. It was evident then to the young man how pained and disappointed this experience had made his mentor. Scott felt like crying. Don't bother. Jean's up in her room doing enough for the both of you.
Scott glanced back down towards Pietro, his covered eyes never blinking. There was so much he wanted to say; he wanted to wail, to scream, to be angry. He wanted to run from everyone's stares. He wanted to kill himself as the guilt suddenly descended on his firm shoulders, filling his heart and his eyes with knowledge that he had done it. Scott Summers, by his own free will, had fucked everything up.
There wasn't a single word on his lips as the dove haired angel against his chest gave him a naughty glimmer and a wink. "And now I must go, since Pops Xavier told me to leave. And Scooter…" The speedy mutant traced a long finger down Scott's chest, over his waistband, and towards lower places. The older suddenly felt as if he were about to pass out, and hopefully never wake up again. "If you find my shirt, please return it." And with that, Pietro flew into the night.
Scott, now alone, turned back to the room of mutants and stared miserably, his mouth open as if he was going to say something. "Please just go to your room, Scott," Charles spoke first, placing his head in his hands.
*****
As Pietro ran home, he happily gloated, his heart full of dark triumph. Hahahaha! Mission accomplished! I thought he was going to die when he heard my voice! Fuck you, Scott Summers. You tried to steal my Lance, and now your life is nothing but shit. Your girlfriend hates you, your professor's ashamed, and none of those worshipping little freaks will ever think well of you again. And best of all, he's mine now… all mine! Lance is MINE!
Though he had to admit, it hadn't been a bad lay.
A/N: No, I'm not ending it this way. I don't want to be lynched. There's going to be one more chapter, where you'll see what happens. Don't worry. And, as always, please review so I won't cry and assume I'm writing this for an illiterate brick wall. I'm serious. Review or I'll kill Jamie!