Notes from the Author:
Hi folks. This is a Lance/Pietro slash fic I started way back in Feb. I've posted it to a few mailing lists and of course it's on my webpage, but I've been getting piss-poor amounts of feedback so I thought I'd go ahead and try it here. I'm this close - this close - to trashing the whole thing. Anyway, I'd like to know what you think. Please don't flame me - I'm walking a very fine line with this story as it is. Might be a little out of character, but hey, you gotta figure, they've go noone to impress when they (The Brotherhood that is) are all by themselves. I'll post all I got right now here, but if you wanna go to my webpage and look at it there (I'm very proud of this webpage, yes I am), the URL is:
http://www.geocities.com/xmen042
Any way, male/male love on the way. Get it while it's hot. (Well, the story isn't just about those two - we sorta delve into everybody's psyche, but I'm getting ahead of myself).
READ ON!
"Flip Side"
Xavier's children had a mansion. A mansion that was stocked with a fully equipped kitchen, a large swimming pool, high-tech training equipment, a very impressive jet, trees, grass, and lots of space where the mutants that lived there could be themselves.
The Brotherhood had a house.
Now, that's not to say it wasn't a nice house. It was a decent two-story building with a nice façade, slightly Victorian with a touch of 1970s neo-classical added on for good measure. It had five bedrooms (well, really it was four bedrooms and an attic) and two and a half bathrooms. The kitchen was relatively large given the size of the home, which meant that the dining room and living room were really one space, only separated by a creative furniture arrangement. There were hardwood floors throughout the home, although they were slightly worn and discolored in some places ("No splinters that way, " Todd had remarked once). The paint was chipped, the ceiling cracked, the roof leaked some, the carpets were a little stained, and none of the furniture dated past 1985. The plumbing and wiring were also a little messed up, resulting in yelps of pain coming from the showers whenever somebody flushed and fuses being blown on a regular basis. The house was surrounded on all sides by neighboring families in their own homes, families that could be very nosy at times, meaning the members of The Brotherhood were required to keep a low profile.
Regardless of these shortcomings, it was still a house and that was something the majority of its residents had never had before in their short lives.
* * * * * *
"Whisk briskly until a slight froth forms on top of the liquid mixture, slowly reducing the temperature to two-hundred-fifty degrees..." Lance muttered to himself, reading the cookbook in front of him as he stood by the stove. The Brotherhood rotated the cooking and chores. Unfortunately, it seemed that anytime one of them had dinner duty, it always ended up being some kind of takeout. So, on a whim, Lance decided to actually *cook* something. He was finding to it be a lot more difficult then he imagined it would be, although oddly enjoyable and satisfying. Lance was making pretty good progress when the light above him suddenly flickered and popped, plunging the kitchen into semi-darkness.
Lance cursed. Then he cursed some more. He barely noticed the house beginning to shake.
"Lance! Cut that out!" Pietro shouted quickly from upstairs. "The foundation can'take it!"
"Then come in here and change the light bulb in the kitchen!" Lance snapped back.
"Do't y'self!" came the rushed reply.
"I can't! The food will burn!"
Pietro said something just out of range of Lance's hearing, but the brown-haired youth had a feeling whatever was said probably consisted of around four-letters. A sudden 'whoosh' of air rushed past him and the light was almost instantly back on.
"Happy now?" Pietro asked, abruptly appearing beside him, his arms crossed over his chest. His expression was full of irritation, but his eyes betrayed twinkling amusement.
"Very," Lance said with a leering smile, then turned back to whisking his food.
"What's that?" Pietro asked, leaning over the stovetop and sniffing the contents of the saucepan.
"Dinner," was Lance's only reply. Pietro rolled his eyes.
"I know that, you idiot. I meant what *kind* of dinner."
"It's going to be seafood Alfredo in a light cream sauce."
"I don't eat meat," Pietro reminded him. "That includes seafood. And I also don't eat cream, milk, or eggs."
"I'm quite of aware of that, you little vegan tree-hugger," Lance replied, first removing the sauce from the burner then turning to face the fast mutant turned food critic. "Soymilk, flour, and salt," he began pointing to the sauce, yet never taking his eyes off Pietro, "and totally organic pasta," he continued, pointing to a covered pot on the back burner.
"And what about the seafood?" Pietro murmured, purposely keeping his speech and movements at a 'normal' pace, taking a step closer to Lance and putting his own hands on his friend's shoulders.
Lance leaned forward, allowing Pietro to hook his arms around his neck. "Artificial soy meat," Lance whispered, breathing into the silver-haired boy's ear. "You think we can afford real crab meat? We can't even afford fake crab meat." Lance stepped closer to Pietro, putting his hands around his waist, then tilted his head back to look in his friend's eyes. Pietro grinned at him.
"You'll never get Todd to eat that," he told Lance, "and it won't be enough food for Fred." Lance raised an eyebrow.
"Who said I was cooking this for them? There's about two dozen burgers from the fast food joint in the fridge with their names on them," Lance replied. "This is just for you and me." Pietro blinked at him for a moment then smiled.
"You're too good for me," he said softly, moving forward once again, this time embracing Lance in a relatively strong and passionate hug.
"I know," was Lance's only reply, enjoying the feeling of his friend's body pressed against his own.
"And your pasta is burning," Pietro said evenly, being able to see the stovetop in his position.
"Ack!" was Lance's only reply.
* * * * * *
After Todd and Fred's initial complaints at seeing what they called 'eco-food' and a 'girly-meal' respectively, and once they had been placated by Lance dropping the re-warmed burgers on the table, dinner proceeded smoothly. There was a little less conversation since Rouge had left their group, not because Rouge was a great talker, but she did make for an interesting conversation piece for at least the two and a half straight teenage boys in the house (Lance being a bi-sexual). As for Pietro, he didn't talk much anyway, with or without the girl. Still, the loss of her presence was keenly felt all around.
"I wonder what they're eating for dinner right now," Fred said, breaking a silence that had fallen over the group. He was munching thoughtfully over his fifteenth hamburger. "Do you think they have a private chef in that mansion?"
"Probably," Todd replied, his tongue snaking out across the table to grab the ketchup bottle. He turned the bottle over his burger and patiently waited for the ketchup to slide out. "They probably get all their foods catered. Big steaks, fresh breakfasts, fried potatoes, rotisserie chicken..."
"Stop! You're making me hungry!" Fred complained.
"Breathing makes you hungry," Lance muttered under his breath, twirling his pasta on his fork. He took a bite and smiled. Man, did it come out good! He glanced over at Pietro who smiled back. The silver-haired boy had already finished his meal - no matter how much he tried to slow himself down, he still managed to finish first every time. Still, he was polite enough to remain seated until everyone was done. Besides, he had other ways to amuse himself.
"Yeah," Todd continued, as though he had never been interrupted. "In a fancy place like that, you can bet they only get the best of the best. Not re-heated day old hamburgers like us."
"You could have eaten the pasta Lance made," Pietro said evenly, picking up a fork and twirling it. Once again, he was speaking at what felt like a snail's pace for him. Lance raised an eyebrow at this but said nothing.
"I ain't eatin' no eco-food," Todd said with a glare at Pietro. "That crap tastes like cardboard."
Pietro didn't reply. Suddenly, Lance yelped and jumped up, his right knee slamming into the table. Both Fred and Todd jumped back at his sudden movement. Todd's burger dropped to the table in his surprise.
"You got a problem over there, rock boy?" Todd asked, sitting back on his haunches.
"No, no problem," Lance replied through gritted teeth, glaring over at Pietro, who was still calmly staring at the fork in his hand as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. "No problem at all."
Todd rolled his eyes towards the cracked ceiling then looked back down at the table to where his burger should have been. He blinked once at the empty spot then looked over at Fred, who was chewing slowly, his face completely innocent, his eyes averted to a spot on the wall. Todd sighed.
"Well, I guess I'm done," he said, not without shooting a withering glare in Fred's direction. He stood up and stretched, looking over at the clock that hung on the wall above the dining room table. "It's late. I should be heading home anyway." Lance and Pietro both stood up as Todd started to hop towards the front door.
"You could stay here, you know," Lance told him. Todd stopped and looked back at his three friends who were watching him with varying degrees of worry. The toad-boy felt slightly irked by this, yet touched at the same time. "I mean," Lance continued, stepping forward, "we've got plenty of room. Fred's got his room and Pietro and I are, well..." Lance trailed off, trying to make his words somewhat tactful.
"We're shacked up," Pietro responded quickly without a trace of embarrassment. Lance rubbed his forehead and looked at the floor, feeling his face flush slightly.
"Yeah, well, anyway," the rock-tumbler continued after a moment, looking back at Todd, "since Rouge's switched sides, her room is free and so is the attic space. It really wouldn't be a problem."
"Yeah I know," Todd replied after a minute. "But I really got to get home, you know?" He started to rub the back of his neck with his left hand, averting his gaze to the wall. "My mom's got her sickness. I need to make sure she eats and stuff. Thanks anyway, though."
"Well, you've got a key," Lance reminded him. Todd just nodded.
"Right," he said. "Check you later." Todd turned, opened the front door, and left the Brotherhood's home, hopping out into the dark street.
* * * * * *
Pietro was laying on his back on Lance's bed, staring at the ceiling, lost in thought. Lance had the biggest bedroom in the house. Todd didn't need a place to live, so when Mystique recruited Lance, he was the first one to need a home and, therefore, got first dibs on the rooms. Lance had taken the master bedroom, which was especially nice because it was connected to its own private bath. Later, Fred ended up taking the downstairs' bedroom ("I don't want to climb all those stairs!"), and when Pietro had first moved in, he took the room upstairs right next to Lance's. Rouge had lived down the hall from them, although she originally was staying in the attic.
Pietro had been attracted to Lance from the moment he met him, but didn't dare make a move. After all, this was a person he was going to be living with and, by all means, appeared completely straight. Pietro felt himself smiling as he remembered the day Lance had proved him wrong. After he and Lance had gotten closer, Pietro had just moved into Lance's room, since he was spending every night in there anyway.
Everyone in the Brotherhood knew. Neither Fred, Todd, nor Rouge really cared one way or the other. Pietro reasoned to himself that when you've got such a big problem of being a mutant, being gay seemed like a pretty small thing indeed.
Of course, he still hadn't told his father yet.
Pietro was startled from his thoughts by Lance as he walked in the room, heaving a big sigh. The brown-haired youth slowly began stripping off his clothes, right down to his boxers. Then, he slid into bed next to Pietro, who turned on his side to look at his friend.
"What's up with you?" Lance asked after a minute. The question took Pietro completely by surprise.
"Pardon?"
"You've been slow all day," Lance explained. Pietro wrinkled his brow in confusion and Lance was hard-pressed not smile. Pietro was so cute when he did that. *Stay serious, Lance,* he thought to himself. *This is important.*
"What do you mean by 'slow,' exactly?" Pietro asked. Lance sighed.
"You know what I mean. The only thing I saw you do at super speed today was change that lightbulb. You even ate your dinner slower than usual. Not to mention the fact that I could understand practically everything you said, which is pretty rare."
Pietro drew his eyebrows together and shrugged, starting to turn away, but Lance caught him by the shoulder and held him still.
"Tell. Me," Lance said evenly. Now it was Pietro's turn to sigh.
"I didn't want to worry you, Lance," began the silver-haired young man, chewing on his lower lip. Lance swallowed hard and tried to focus on the conversation. That was another nervous habit of Pietro's he found absolutely stimulating. "You see, the past week or so, I've been getting these headaches... real bad... when I used my speed too much." Lance blinked.
"Pietro, that's terrible! Geez, man, you should talk to Mystique about that!" Lance started to sit up, but Pietro pulled him back down.
"No, it's alright. I changed that lightbulb for you today and it didn't hurt. I think I just need to do use my power in moderation." Pietro paused a moment, studying Lance's face. "You have the same problem, don't you?" Lance tried to nod and shake his head at the same time.
"Yes, I get headaches, but that's all part and parcel to my power. It's always been like that. But you've never had headaches before and let's face it, Pietro," Lance sat up, his eyes narrowing in concern, "I may not be a physicist, but I can't imagine how moving around at that speed can be good for your body. Don't you have problems with G-forces and stuff?"
Pietro tilted his head to the side. "You know... I never thought about that. I've never really noticed anything before. I could always just.. move."
They were silent for a moment, absorbing what had just passed between them. Could Pietro's power have the potential to cause him serious physical harm? Lance really didn't want to think about that, especially since his speed seemed almost second nature to Pietro, not to mention slightly uncontrollable. Pietro reached up and once again tugged Lance down towards him.
"Let's not worry about it right now. We can talk to Mystique later and I just won't use my powers unless it's absolutely necessary, alright?" he said, his eyes pleading. Finally, Lance nodded, although he was still lost in thought. The brown-haired youth rolled over onto his back to stare at the ceiling.
At which point, Pietro took the opportunity to straddle Lance's body and plant a firm, demanding kiss on his friend's rather unprepared mouth. Lance's eyes opened wide for brief second, then he closed them, losing himself in the sensation. After what seemed like an eternity (yet somehow still felt too brief), Pietro broke off the kiss, allowing them both to catch their breaths. The speed-demon grinned.
"What is with you and surprise attacks today?" Lance asked, slightly out of breath. "I'm mean, between this and you groping me under the dining room table this evening, I don't think I've ever seen you so... amorous!" Pietro's grin just got wider.
"I did tell you I've been restricting the use of my power all week," Pietro began, leaning down to nibble on Lance's ear. "I've just got all this pent up energy and I don't know what do to with it. Any ideas?" he asked coyly. Suddenly, Pietro found himself on his back, their positions reversed, Lance grinning down at him.
"One or two," Lance replied, taking Pietro's wrists and pinning them above his head with one large hand. Pietro liked big hands.
"You rock my world, Lance," he said with a grin. Lance groaned.
"I'll pretend you didn't say that."
* * * * * *
-Meanwhile-
Todd entered his house, trying to be quiet. The door wasn't locked, which bothered him. He and his mother didn't live in the safest neighborhood. He took a quick scan of the living room and sighed. Yep, the TV was gone again. Dammit.
Todd turned and locked the door, then turned to gaze around his disheveled house. It was unbelievable. When he had left this morning, the place had been reasonably clean. Now, it looked like a tornado had gone through it.
"Todd? Is that you?" came a woman's voice down the hall. It was a grating, plaintive voice. It made Todd's skin crawl.
"Yeah, Mom. It's me," Todd replied, hopping down the hallway to his mother's bedroom. She was sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of the bed. Todd felt a shiver go through him.
He had been born when his mother was only sixteen years old. Todd never knew anything about his father, except his last name of course. That jackass took off before Todd had even been born. Now, only thirty-one, his mother looked over fifty. Her skin was sallow and covered in wrinkles, damaged from years of nicotine and alcohol abuse. Her eyes seemed to have this permanent yellow tint and never really looked directly at any one thing. Todd had helped her dress and fixed her hair like he did every morning, but, like she was every night, she was half out of her clothes and her gray-streaked hair was an absolute mess. She had a half-burned cigarette in one hand and a bottle of booze in the other. With a deep sigh, Todd walked over to her, helping her sit up a little straighter.
"Did you eat anything today, Mom?" Todd asked. The woman scratched her head and took another drag off her cigarette.
"I'm thirsty, Todd. Go into the kitchen and get me something to drink," she told him sternly, looking somewhere over to his left.
"Water okay?" he asked, hoping.
"A beer."
Todd sighed again. It wasn't worth arguing with her. If he didn't get her what she wanted, she just stay up all night screaming and moaning. Todd hopped into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator, retrieved the beer, and hopped back to his mother. Maybe she could drink this and pass out again. Then, Todd decided, he could put her to bed and try to get some sleep himself.
He sat next to his mother, watching her down the alcohol, listening to her nonsensical ravings, his expression hard.
This wasn't going to be him.
It was never going to be him.