Disclaimer: I'm just one of those fangirls who fantasize way too much.

By the time he realized he was full-on staring at those gorgeous lips, they were turning themselves against him.

Oh, the agony.

The lips. The very lips that had pressed on his own just yesterday. Behind the privacy of his bedroom's locked doors. Lips that acted as a medium for a thoroughly enjoyable session of exploring his body. Nipping on his ears. Taking possession of his neck. Marking territories along his jawline.

The lips he loved. And somehow—as if it were a strange kind of drug—could never get enough of.

The lips which were screaming words at him this second. Practically condemning his existence. (What has the world come to? Worst yet, what has his head come to?)

He ran his eyes along its texture—by now too familiar to him, and its color—presently reddened with anger (pretended, he hoped).

Couldn't this just end already?

Apparently the lips weren't letting him go that easily. Another time he'd happily allow them to continue, but this. This torture was too much to take.

To watch the lips he loved form the words he despised.

"Alex," the lips voiced aloud his name (Thank God neither of them were much vocal in their time alone together. Their secret was kept safe.), "Why did you have to do this?"

Fuck politeness. He had abandoned his place in that land a long time ago.

His eyes drifted from the lips down to his own shoes, a mere show of fascination with its plain brown colors. Just to make it realistic, he added some feet shuffling and (quicker, make it quicker) allowed his gaze to settle back on the fellow mutant's perfect blue eyes.

(And by perfect, he wasn't kidding. The scientist's eyes were the kind of flawless blue shades painters could imagine. He didn't want to sound cliché or corny, but it was only with those eyes that he surrendered without conditions—and that was even a rarity. The sky did indeed paled in comparison to them.)

Sensing his stubborn silence, the scientist grumbled in his throat and began again. "Look, if you don't explain, we're still putting the blame on you. Come on, Alex, it's obvious."

Blatantly obvious it was. He tried to search for traces of forgiveness in those eyes, hints of pretend, though his own reported back to him that there was none.

"I didn't do it," he answered, his tone indifferent and nonchalant. He couldn't give a shit about Raven's projects, particularly this very absurdly silly one. A Kissing Booth? Get real. What did they even need money for? He thought a girl, adopted by the likes of Charles Xavier and therefore had been rolling in riches more than half her life would not waste a single minute of her time thinking about how to generate more income. Raven proved to be otherwise.

"I didn't," he repeated, to deepen the impact of his word.

"Dude," Sean's voice roused him from his reverie, reminding him of the other mutants' presence in the room (the whole pack of them standing there, facing him off, like he was their war prisoner), "We know."

Just admit it was the implied meaning.

He shook his head.

Raven made an irritated tsk sound. She stood next to the scientist, arms crossed at her chest, having adopted one of the more successful patented Raven's Facial Fury Expressions ™. "I just can't believe you," she said, stressing the pronoun mentioning the victim, "We caught you red-handed. Evidence all there. Everything against you. And no words from you to defend yourself?"

He let her question, a forceful projector of emotions raging inside her, hung in the air, light and weightless, same as he regarded its importance. She might have asked him if the weather was fine today for all he cared.

Darwin cocked an eye at him. "This is uncool," he muttered under his breath.

Uncool. The last word he could be concerned with right now. What was cool and what was not remained irrelevant, as the one 'uncool,' item Raven decided to do that morning persisted in his thoughts.

"You didn't have to do this." He heard the dejected, sad words from those sweet lips, and sighed.

She didn't have to do this, either.

What he did may have been hell of a failed move, he admitted, but it didn't very much deviate from his usual behaviors as the Academy's official asshole.

Did it?

In his defense, at least, he wasn't the one who started this shenanigan. It was her.

She didn't have to do this. Didn't have to do this at all. Didn't have to mess with his erratic whirlpool of emotions and caused an explosion which backfired on him.

She stole those lips—the lips he believed he could rightly claim ownership of—from him.

The sounds. The disturbing sounds. Light 'plop,' sounds made when two pairs of lips detached troubled him.

And she supposed he could just sit there, his attentive ears as witness to the disaster that was unfolding before his eyes?

The girl was bent on ruining his life.

Well, before fate beat her to it, that is. They were deciding on the unfortunate mutant to man the booth (and presently, savoring the taste of imaginary lips in his tongue, his heart regretted that not one second had the thoughts of volunteering as an excuse to save the troubles had crossed his mind.), and a simple, pathetic (he mentally labeled it that, because, face it, none of them were actually getting kissed as a result of the game) 'spin-the-bottle' game was their judge (since when could inanimate objects tear his day apart?)

He had woken up that morning, apparently too late, and was called out to breakfast before he could tidy his hair (a shameful mess, Hank should be so guilty). Hank missed the subtle eye contact they usually shared—his clueless genius was chatting with the girl. He had blinked, irritated. Already a strange feeling rumbled in his stomach (he was pretty sure it was far from hunger). This was not a good day.

His belief was confirmed when the bottle, conspicuously enough, pointed at Hank.

Angel giggled. Sean and Darwin shared a look, and her—the queen bitch—had this mad, bizzare grin on her face.

He kept his own lips sealed, but thoughts run wild in his head.

What the fuck was she going to do to him? With that smile, his—cough—Hank—cough—might have been her latest Frankenstein.

It didn't help that, thinking back, while he did not wished to volunteer himself, he was the one who eagerly agreed to spin the bottle for them.

And look where his hand got him.

Sweet hell of suffering.

Shocked, he watched Hank help Raven onto her feet, then about to follow her to her room. She turned back at them, her hand still entwined in Hank's, saying, "Wait here, guys, got a major makeover to do. Hank'll be a hottie before you know it."

She chuckled at her own words, the signal of the devil's approach to him. Hank stopped at her words, stood, blushing to the roots of his hair.

Their eyes met one moment. He tried mouthing "Get out while you can," at the scientist, yet the calm refusal in the blue eyes puzzled him.

He was too good for his own self. Too good, and (curse everything) that was still part of while he liked him.

So he merely sat there when she led Hank away (like a pet, he thought, disgusted), Angel running after them, volunteering her assistance.

Oh, fine. At least his heart was at peace that Miss Raving Lunatic wasn't torturing his dear nerd alone. She had her associate.

Fun, fun, fun.

XXXXXX

It seemed a long time until Raven's personal creation was unleashed on the Academy's grounds. His eyes followed the living room's ancient, grandfather clock's seconds hand. He wasn't even aware of when his fellow mutants had escaped the room, leaving him to sit by himself on the rug.

And, when the clock told him a good number of hours had passed, he heard footsteps and muffled noises.

"No, Raven, I can't—" Hank's. He recognized the voice with a sudden alert in his heartbeats.

"Come on, you look fine—" Raven. A typical girl's tone. Persuasive, masking a perfect aggressive, maneuvering command.

"—but I—"

"—trust me." Hank would have gone mental if he chose to trust Raven.

Wait, he already did.

Alex facepalmed.

"—I can't go out like this—" He adored Hank's hesitancy. His awkwardness. Damn. He was allergic to a person completely opposite to him and he didn't know it before.

"Hank," another voice interjected, a soothing warning. Angel, he supposed. "You look handsome, what's wrong with that?"

His heartbeats stopped. What did she call him?

Those bitches.

"See—do you see what I'm talking about—he's—" Raven had a side talk with Angel, probably bored out of her frustration for her fashion model.

"—You don't understand—" (he interrupted Hank's sentence, thinking bitterly to himself. Of course nobody understood. No one did. But me. No one understood you like I did.) "—I've never—"

"—never what? Look this good?" Raven's incredulity was so direct Alex was sure it could hit him in the face.

"—Can't you see it as an improvement?" Angel again, this time a little hint of annoyance creeped its way into her tone. If it wasn't so obvious (to her), not everyone needed to be noticed everywhere like she was.

Hank was a special one. He knew it too well.

"Oh—just walk in, will you? No one's there yet." An audible push accompanied Raven's cajoling words. He wondered how the two lithe girls managed it, since Hank alone was double their size.

He heard Hank's shoes screeched on the wooden floor.

"The last I saw," Angel huffed, (Great, so they were paying for this) "It was just Alex."

"—A—Alex?"

Then. Despite his irritation and disappointment fate's control of his day, he smiled. Hank sounded so surprised at that news.

He thought the nerd should have known better.

That was when he looked up. And—the second time of the day (by far the worst day of his life)—was shocked out of his brains.

Hank's hair, darkened to a brownish black color, was cropped shorter than it was before, in a style that it hung on more snugly on his scalp (he wouldn't present himself as the best judge of fashion, so any mention of styles he would have to pass). His normal glasses replaced by a black rimmed, wired one. His lips colored by some lipstick that made them stand out. A trick of makeup the girls used highlighted his high cheekbones. And his eyes, Thank God, his mesmerizing blue eyes, were left untouched. He was dressed in a simple T-Shirt and jeans outfit, but damn, that was such a change from his everyday Doctoral, geeky uniforms. Those shirts. And now he was just one of them—an ordinary teenager (one who had gotten his PhD at an absurdly young age, if that was to be taken into account).

He had drunk his full of Hank's 'new look,' and was left undecided which feature was his best. A rush of air into his lungs, and he realized he had been unconsciously holding his breath.

Fuck. Was he that affected?

He heard an 'ahem,' from Raven, and forced his eyes to meet hers. "What," () he said.

She shrugged. The girls were standing at Hank's either side. "What do you think, Alex?"

He got up to his feet, pretended a quick, overall glance at Hank, and raised an eyebrow. (Very suave, there you go). "I don't think he's that much different." (Keepitcalmkeepitcalm, beHank, for God's sake).

Angel shot him a 'you-don't-know-shit,' look. "Too bad," she replied, "We girls here think he's pretty hot."

Raven nodded. "I think he's ready."

Hank—bless him—who had been quiet during this (very disturbing) discussion about him (and him alone), blurted out, "Uh, I'm sorry? Ready…for what?"

Alex wanted to shoot Raven for her next move. She had snaked an arm around Hank's shoulder, whispering into his ear, "A kissing booth, darling. We talked about that in the morning, remember?"

Then (he couldn't understand the inner workings of his emotions, either) he wanted to laugh at Hank, at his cute, stitched-up eyebrows.

Something was perfectly wrong with him, and he was happy.

He hated to admit he was welcoming more and more of that feeling in him these days.

Raven (resuming her usual posture) put a hand on his shoulder. "And you, blonde boy, you're taking the first shift of guarding the booth."

"Me?" He couldn't help the ridiculous raise in pitch of his voice. He didn't want to appear that obviously awkward. But he shattered.

Damn Hank.

Angel brushed some dust off his arm, "Yes, you."

He was doomed.

One little word was his death sentence.

What flew by in his memories (and were quite hazy now) were the painless parts (Funny, the human mind. The moments that pleased our hearts we could not remember much. It's the heart-breaking moments that clung to us, that the more we tried to let go, the more vivid the colors, the voices, the images focused on in the mind.) of calling back Sean and Darwin, of setting up at some park nearby (Raven had told Charles they needed fresh air and were going for a picnic. Marvelous liar that girl was,), and of taking his position.

This wasn't even an important role, it dawned on him as he sat on the stool next to the booth.

Raven just wanted to torture him, he was sure.

Because what happened next evoked the mysterious feeling he didn't suppose he was capable of.

What he used to not understand why girls he dated had acted upon the impulses of this particular feeling so much.

He was shaken up with jealousy.

Sure, Hank wasn't in love with half the girls he had to kiss, but there were pretty good looking, over-enthusiastic, and downright nuts ones that made Alex felt he was dying in his seat.

But the scientist seemed safe in his booth, receiving customers. He gave some chaste kisses on the lips and (Alex noticed with a jolt some Hank had lingered in his kissing.), pecks on the cheek.

So far, so good. Nothing passionate and over-the-top. No tongues. No hearts broken (if any were, it was going to be his.)

But it were the sounds. The lips. Oh, just all the aspects of that horrible booth bothered him. Why were they doing this for Raven (fine, fine, some orphaned kids, but what the hell) anyway? Getting worked up and flustered because of her?

Load of nonsense.

He concentrated his attention on the field in front of him, in attempt to tune out the sounds of greeting, coins being dropped, banks handed over, and, worst, lips making contact.

An endless stream of them. These girls were relentless, weren't they?

The lot.

He was almost at the end of his shift (an excruciating two-hour session) when something inside him snapped.

Fires torched the booth, and he had simultaneously gotten up and calmly walked away.

A frightened brunette had run away from the booth, Hank detaching himself just in time.

He heard Raven yell after him, "You fucking idiot!"

And Hank caught up with him, hand catching his wrist. "Why did you have to do that?" he asked, sighing, "You're going to have to explain it to Raven, you know."

Alex went without a word.

The door closed after them.

Alex had his back to Hank, arms crossed at his chest, eyes studying a superfluous detail of a painting on the wall. There'd better be a reason for Hank to drag him in here.

The mutants were getting tired of staring back at him, after he had kept them in suspense (a big laugh at that one) for more than half an hour. They started to separate, Raven muttering, "You're going to have to pay for the damage," (What damage? The booth was a last-minute transformation of a life-size cardboard box into something presentable. Must have cost, oh, not much.) when Hank had him by the arm.

"I'm taking him to my room, Raven," he said, "He and I needed to have a talk."

Raven gave him a subtle look of approval. "Well then," she answered, "Hope you can get him to say something remotely close to admittance of his crime."

His crime. The way she said it made his action sounded more drastic than it was. And he wasn't exactly aware of how Hank planned to 'make him,' confess his sins until he felt Hank's lips on his neck.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his hand taking Alex's (by now) limp, cold one. "Alex, I'm sorry. I had to, in front of Raven. I—"

Alex wanted to swing around and punch Hank's damn face. He wanted to grab Hank and shake him, demanding for explanation with his persistent "Why? Why? Why?" Instead, he drew in a sharp, shaky breath, had his hands on Hank's shoulders, and, before the scientist could move, had him pinned to the wall. Alex had his arms the either side of him, as he leaned in to press his lips to Hank's.

His sudden movements sounded a loud "thump," on the wall, but he couldn't care.

He was claiming what was his.

And with Hank in this new self, oh, the poor guy was oblivious to the effects he had on Alex. Besides, he didn't seem to mind the ploping sounds of the lips anymore. He simply didn't want them to stop.

Hank responded hungrily, as if the lips he had kissed this past afternoon did not matter. He kissed Alex, their tongues playing with each other, like the first time their lips touched, the instant they first dared to act on their physical desires, just not too long ago.

Just when their lips parted for air, Hank trailed kisses down Alex's exposed skin, his hand mussing Alex's hair. Probably his own sweet way of apologizing. Alex couldn't say he wasn't enjoying the scientist's lips on him.

"So tell me," Alex breathed, his lips repaying Hank's favors, "Was that all an act?"

"Yeah," Hank chuckled, kissing him lightly on the lips, "Wasn't I good?"

The blonde punched him on the shoulder. "You fuc—"

"Now, now," the scientist said, lips curved into a smile, "I covered up for you, don't I deserve some sort of reward?"

Alex planted a kiss at his neck. "You already got more than you deserve, you ass."

Hank wiggled an eyebrow in reply. "I actually had to thank you, though," he muttered, "Couldn't keep Raven off my back all day."

"How many times have I told you not to be a fucking gentleman?" Alex laughed. His lips nibbled on Hank's ear.

Hank shuddered, but managed, "Isn't that how you like me?"

Alex pushed Hank's head away playfully, "And I'm supposed to accept that you'll always be smarter than me, huh?"

"Maybe," Hank teased, licking his lips. "I just thought you should know."

Angel jumped. "I heard a thump," she said nervously, "Did something happen?"

"What, did they kill each other already?" Sean piped in.

Raven shushed them. The pack of mutants poked their heads out from the wall in front of Hank's room's door.

"I just think," she mused, "While he's in there, Hank could teach Alex a thing or two."

Just then the door creaked open. Hank was leaning casually against the door frame, Alex facing him, feet a step outside the room.

"Oh look," Darwin whispered,"He's coming out."

Sean's and Angel's eyes widened at the states of Alex and Hank. The blonde's hair was disheveled, his shirt left hanging unbuttoned. Hank looked no less better. He stood, half-naked, his T-shirt crumbled in his fist, dark mop of hair mussed up.

Sean's mouth hung open. "You're going to want to see this, Raven."

Hank was laughing at something Alex had said to him. The two shared a brief kiss, chuckled at themselves, before Alex pulled Hank close, and their lips met again.

There was a loud thud! on the floor.

"Oh….shit," Darwin and Sean swore. "No."

The mutants spun around, Angel rushing to Raven's side.

"Raven…Raven, are you okay? Raven?"

"RAVEN!"

A/N: Muahahahah. XP.

Humor/Romance. Love 'em. Hope you've had as much fun reading as I did in writing!

Thank you to all my lovely readers, reviewers, and anyone who's clicked on this story/stopped by,

Loves,

Your ever humble fanfic writer :)