Title: Learning Curve
Author: persepolis130
Pairing(s): Rictor/Shatterstar (main), Shatterstar/various
Rating: R (for non-graphic m/m and m/f sex, language, and discussion about suicide)
Summary: Shatterstar's revelations about emotions, birthday presents, gaydar, prophylactics, and why an "open relationship" is a whole lot more complicated than it sounds.
Author's Notes: I'm not terribly up-to-date with happenings in the rest of the X-world, so guest appearances by other teams likely have little to do with canon. This story is X-Factor compliant up to issue 214 (the Darwin issue), which is when I started writing it. I know very little Spanish, so I apologize if I got it wrong- please let me know if you find any errors (language or otherwise), and I'll fix them!

* * ONE * *

On the south end of Mutant Town sits a grocery store with a Mexican flag in the window. They sell the freshest produce and best spices. The owner has eight fingers on each hand and knows me by name.

He is not there today. Instead, a young woman with press-on fingernails and pink hoop earrings stands behind the register. Her dark eyes are skillfully lined, and her top cuts in a sharp V against the supple curve of her breasts.

"Hola, Señor. I can help you, sir?" she asks above the tinny sound of the radio.

"Buenas tardes, señorita. Encantado de conocerla. Me llamo Shatterstar," I reply, and kiss her.

The stockroom is admirably well-organized. She leans against a shelf of canned goods and gasps at the press of my lips against her neck. Her skin is warm and smooth, and her long hair falls against the jalapeños as she moans out encouragements in soft Spanish.

I have never had sex with my knee atop a crate of chickpeas. I find it very pleasurable indeed.

When we have finished, I select harina de maíz, a can of tomatillo molido, and an onion, and I thank her for her gracious assistance with my purchase. She ignores an old man in cracked sandals who asks a question about cheese and tells me to come again soon. I inform her that I plan to.

Rictor loves tamales. He says that the ones I make are almost as good as his madre's, and judging by the quantity he consumes, she must be quite a cook. He sits in the kitchen while I spoon shredded chicken onto the masa.

"Why are you whistling?" he asks.

I shrug. "I hadn't noticed that I was," I tell him.

He picks at the label of his beer bottle and looks unhappy. "Do I know her?" he says.

"Know whom?" I ask.

He regards the bottle as though its very existence is offensive. "Or was it a him?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," I tell him, and fold a corn husk into shape. Then I remember that the song I hadn't realized I was whistling was the one playing in the grocery store when I left. "Oh," I correct myself, "no, I don't think you know her. I've never seen her before."

He frowns and asks, "What was her name?"

I shrug. "I didn't think to ask."

He shakes his head, mumbles something, and downs the rest of the bottle.

I get him another from the refrigerator and go back to whistling. I wish I knew the words.

Jamie appears in the doorway. "Wow, that smells incredible," he says. "What is it? And how can I get my hands on some?"

"It is tamales, and you will have to ask Rictor if you would like some," I tell him. "I am fixing them for him. They are his favorite."

He grins and comes over to examine my work. "Wow, so you've got your own personal chef now, eh Ric?"

Rictor shrugs. "Whatever." He flicks the bottle top across the table.

Jamie raises an eyebrow.

"Rictor is upset with me," I explain. "Because of the girl at the grocery store."

Rictor's bottle slams against the tabletop. Beer sloshes out over his fingers. He takes a deep breath. "You know what?" he says. "I'm going to make a couple calls about that case. Let me know when dinner's ready."

He storms out the door. I hate it when he's upset with me, but it's so difficult to understand his reasons.

"Is it required to know an individual's name before engaging in carnal relations with him or her?" I ask Jamie. "Perhaps this is where I went wrong."

Jamie blinks. "Uh… well, I mean… people usually, um… what did you say you were cooking again?"

That night, Rictor is full of tamales and well-exercised from the gym but still upset. He is already in bed when I enter the room that we share, but he faces away from me. The sheets are pulled up to his waist, and his naked back beckons enticingly.

"I just have one question," he says when I run my fingers across his skin.

"Yes?" I ask, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"When you, what do you call it, connected with this girl," he begins.

"I did not connect with her," I correct. "We only had sex."

He sighs. "You know, I'm not sure that makes it any better."

"I know something that will make it better," I tell him.

"Yeah?" he says, and rolls to face me. "What's that?"

His words may tell me that he dislikes my interactions with others, but his body speaks differently. When I touch him the way that young woman touched me, he trembles. When I whisper the things that she said, he gasps out my name, fingers gripping my hips. And when he throws his head back in ecstasy, his beauty tears the breath from my very lungs. The connection is made, and our uemeur are as one.

"Thanks for the tamales," he tells me after. He is curled up in my arms, head beneath my chin. "I didn't mean to snap at you. Monet's been pissing me off lately. I think she's still upset about me seeing her naked. Which is stupid because it's not like it did anything for me. But I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

"You are no longer upset, so it's alright," I reassure.

He runs his fingers across my stomach and presses his lips against my chest. "I just… if it's someone I know, could you tell me? I feel like you live half your life away from me, doing God knows what, and… I don't want to get blindsided by it one day and feel like a total pendejo. Okay?"

"If that would please you, Julio," I agree.

"Perfect," he says, and nuzzles against me like an animal seeking warmth. I stroke my fingers through his hair. We fall asleep with bodies and spirits intertwined.


Jamie tries to keep our lives separate from those of the others. Our work is investigation, not mutant liberation. But sometimes our paths cross, and he feels the need to return to Utopia to discuss the situation with Cyclops and Jamie and Jamie. Longshot and I teleport him there.

Doors open on account of the commotion- Jamie disagrees with himself quite forcefully at times- and from one of them, Tabitha's head emerges. She grins and looks well in the tight fit of her uniform. "Well look who the cat dragged in!" she exclaims.

I presume that this expression is idiomatic, as no felines were involved in our arrival.

Smiling, I approach to greet her. She grabs the front of my jacket and pulls me into her room.

Tabitha has always been an accommodating individual. It is a shame that I did not put this trait to use earlier. Though I may have spent less time honing my battle skills, downtime in X-Force would have been much less trying.

"Hey, nice work," Longshot tells me as we prepare to leave. He pats my back in a comradely fashion. I very much like this man.

I like this island as well, and the people on it. The sky is nice also, as is the ocean. The ground beneath my feet feels pleasantly firm, and my legs, a bit stiff from the workout, feel good inside my pants. I like them.

Jamie sighs. "Please tell me your healing factor will take care of that before Ric sees it."

I press my fingers to the still warm mark on my neck. "It will most likely not happen that quickly," I tell him. Then I instruct Longshot to picture home, and draw my blades. The tendrils of his uemeur link to mine, and with a shift of my energies, the portal forms.

"Oh, the shit's going to hit the fan on this one," Jamie murmurs, shaking his head as he steps through.

I hope that this expression is an idiom as well.

A fluorescent light flickering above him, Rictor takes one glance at my neck and turns back to his case file.

Beside him at the desk, Guido pours the remnants of a bag of potato chips into his mouth. "So what did Cyclops have to say? Same old mumbo-jumbo?"

"I had sex with Tabitha," I tell Rictor.

He closes a file drawer with more force than the act technically requires.

"Uuuh-kay. I'm just gonna… go over there," says Guido, motioning toward the door. "Call me for, uh, damage control."

He leaves. I am perplexed. "You told me to let you know," I remind Rictor.

"I know that," he replies. "I'm not upset."

"You are," I tell him.

He says to me, "I didn't mean for you to say it in front of other people."

"Are you embarrassed?" I ask. His face is rather red, and I have noticed that embarrassment does this to him. The concept is one with which I have not yet come to terms. I understand dishonor and shame due to disgraceful conduct, but to feel embarrassment as Rictor explains it, I still lack the social capacities.

He sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. "You and I both understand this thing we're doing," he says, "but other people don't. It's none of their business, and I don't like involving them in it. And now Guido's going to feel this awkward need to be 'helpful' and have a talk with me about it, and when he does that, it gets… awkward."

"I will speak with him instead if you'd like," I offer.

"No!" he says, and holds up both hands in alarm. "Do not talk about sex with Guido. Ever. You understand me?"

"Alright," I agree. While an able companion in battle, Guido is not a visually pleasing man, and an entire conversation revolving around his sexual precepts would benefit neither of us. I motion toward the desk, piled high with manila folders. "Do you have any work for me?"

"Sure," Rictor says, and grabs a thick stack of paper covered in numbers. "This is a list of telephone calls made from our client's stolen cell phone. We're looking for anything with a 616 area code. Here, take a highlighter."

Several minutes pass in silence. Guido does not return. I find three 616 numbers. Rictor clears his throat.

"So… how was she?" he asks. "Tab, I mean."

"She was well," I tell him.

"No," he says. "I mean, how was she in bed."

"Equally well," I answer. When he rolls his eyes, I inform him, "I am afraid I don't understand the question."

"I was… way back in the day, I was interested in her," he says, then frowns. "Well, I thought I was. She was cool. I asked her out once. This was before Rahne, you know. But I think if she'd taken me up on the offer… I probably would've freaked. Tab's great, but she's really…"

"Vocal?" I offer.

"I was going to say 'not my type,'" he tells me.

"What is a 'type'?" I ask.

"Wait, wait," he says. "Vocal? As in- like, during sex vocal?"

"Yes," I confirm.

He makes a noise in the back of his throat. I am unsure of its meaning, so I continue.

"She issued seemingly nonsensical orders during the act which had me at a loss for a response. Perhaps you might illuminate me. Is there an expected reply to the phrase, 'Yeah, give it to me hard, big boy'?" I ask.

Rictor gapes at me.

I am confused. "Do you think that Sam and Roberto required such instruction when engaging in similar activities?"

The humor in this question does not seem apparent to me, but it does to Rictor. He laughs so hard that tears run down his face.

Guido comes in asking what's so funny.

"I cannot tell you," I reply. "Rictor says I am not allowed to talk to you about sex."

"Smart guy," he says, and leaves again.

Rictor is wiping his cheeks and grinning. "You fucking kill me sometimes, you know that?" he says.

I smile and go back to my highlighting. I am glad that Tabitha has made him happy as well.


Rictor stands before the mirror naked, still flushed with heat. The streetlights cast a honey-colored glow across his skin. He pushes his hair back with his fingers and regards his reflection.

"You know, maybe I hated Cable, but I can't knock his training methods," he says to the mirror. "I used to have a six pack."

"I remember," I tell him. "I used to admire it in the showers."

He snorts and turns, examining his backside. "Too much sitting on my ass and not enough moving it, I guess. I need to get to the gym more. And drink less. Next to you, I'm a pretty sorry excuse for a hero."

"You are a detective," I point out. "As am I. Though you may train with me whenever you like. I begin at 4AM."

He frowns and looks at me, hands on his hips. "Did you really watch me back then? I mean, I sometimes thought you did, but… I told myself I was imagining it. I told myself I was imagining a lot of things."

"Of course I did. I looked at everyone," I tell him. "Until Domino told me it was rude."

His mouth drops. "You showered with Domino? When the hell did that happen?"

"Come back to bed," I suggest. I pat the empty space beside me. Domino had a six pack as well.

He rolls his eyes but comes. The mattress dips with his weight, and I wrap an arm around him. His body feels good against mine, and though he may not like the changes, I tell him that I do.

When I first knew him, Rictor was all sharp edges and hard planes. His heart was impenetrable. Even his words could pierce as with steel, though he never turned the blade upon me. Now he is different, softer and more open. He no longer shuts me out of his world.

And he gives me sex, which beats toned abdominals any day.

"Seriously," he says, mock-punching my chest. "When did you shower with Domino?"

"She knew I had no interest," I assure, and rub my cheek against his. I like it when he forgets to shave. His skin makes mine tingle. "You had not yet introduced me to sexual desire."

"I did that?" he snorts, hands running up my back.

"Mmm," I hum, and take his earlobe between my teeth.

He shivers. "You're just saying that 'cause you want some more action. I thought it was some girl… that night in the antro… she was dancing with you, and you ran out, and…"

"No," I tell him, and press my lips to his neck. "She just happened to be there. It was you. It was always you."

We kiss for a very long time. I think of that girl and her hands on me, and Rictor's body moving among the press of dancers on the floor. I remember how I ached for him, not knowing what it meant.

"So I'm the one who unleashed you on the world, huh?" he breathes. He rolls onto his back and pulls me above him. His hands skim down the ripples of my stomach. "Promise?"

His thighs slide around mine, and answering in words seems irrelevant.