None of the characters are mine, they belong to marvel.
The Morning After
--Frost
The morning after was never quite as good. Never quite as magical. In fact, it was never anywhere near good, or magical. The morning after was when that beautiful slow motion effect of the night left the senses, leaving one feeling like time was going by so fast it was hardly worth trying to make heads or tails of it.
Remy LeBeau, to put it simply, hated the morning after. With a short groan, he rolled over in his bed, the starchy sheets making soft whisping noises as he did so. He didn't dare open his eyes yet. He knew, full well, that it was the morning after. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't quite remember what had gone on the night before. That was always a bad sign. It meant that he'd gone a little too far into those drinks. And, sighing inwardly, it also meant that he'd probably made a few mistakes. He silently hoped to God that his mistakes hadn't been that bad, and that this day would past quickly, uneventfully, and without too much of a headache.
'Time to face your fears, LeBeau. Time to open your eyes and see how bad you fucked up this time....' It was sound advice, that he had given himself. And so he heeded it. His eyes--beautiful crimson orbs that swam in an endless sea of obsidian--opened slowly, taking the time they needed to adjust to the light.
Then it hit him. He didn't use starch sheets; his were always silk. That, and the fact that his room didn't have a window on the far wall to the left. He wondered how he could be so ignorant of that fact that soft breathing noises were coming from behind him; that slight weight on the other half of the bed. Shit, he cursed the powers that be, did the morning after always have to be so bad? Now... to figure out who's room he was in, without disturbing whomever he was sleeping next to....
Grinding his teeth in slight annoyance, he sat up slowly, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. If he was lucky, it had just been a one night stand, just some random person from the bar. He stood up from the bed, recieving an annoyed groan from the other occupant. He was almost too frightened to look. Chiding himself softly for being so worried, he turned around to face the bed. And was really rather surprised at what he found.
Hair that was somewhere inbetween a sandy blonde and brown peeked out from under the sheets--a little too shortly cropped to look messy, even now. Shoulders too, that were toned, but not to the point of being called over muscular. Remy LeBeau blinked, and stared for a moment. The man was pretty--not in the nearly delicate way that Remy was himself, but in a different way. It was hard to explain, and even harder to think of through the headache that was quickly developing.
Bobby Drake. He'd gotten drunk, and slept with Bobby Drake-the living ice cube. Despite his surprise, Remy was almost proud of the decision he'd made last night. Bobby was a good guy-- honest, caring, good looking. He'd probably been just as drunk, though, or else this never would have happened. Shit, shit. 'I hate the morning after,' was all that Remy could think.
He shook his head, and silently found the clothes on the floor that had obviously been thrown off with some haste the night before. It was early enough in the morning that he could sneak back to his own room without being caught. And if he was lucky enough, Bobby wouldn't remember much of anything. Kid had enough trouble being an x-man, the worst thing that could happen was that he'd find out he'd slept with the scoundrel of the team....
Bundle of clothes in his arms, he snuck to the door--narrowly avoiding a few odds and ends on the floor. Hand touched the door knob, turned...and then he nearly died from surprise alone. "Moron cajun," came a sleepy voice from the bed. "Get back in bed, it's still early." Remy's eyes, wide as saucers, stared confusedly at at half sitting Bobby Drake, who was scowling at him quite convincingly. "Look," Bobby started again, "Don't make me pull some line about how I need you here just because I'm cold. We both know it's not true. But get back into bed, anyway." And with that, he went back to sleep.
Remy stared for a moment longer at the form of Bobby Drake. Well, he obviously knew what had gone on...and didn't seem to mind yet... "Oh, fuck," he muttered to himself, dropping his bundle of clothes and crawling back under the covers to spoon himself against the warmth of Bobby. "Still early...'can wait a l'il longer f'r it t'be de actual mornin' after..."
The Morning After
--Frost
The morning after was never quite as good. Never quite as magical. In fact, it was never anywhere near good, or magical. The morning after was when that beautiful slow motion effect of the night left the senses, leaving one feeling like time was going by so fast it was hardly worth trying to make heads or tails of it.
Remy LeBeau, to put it simply, hated the morning after. With a short groan, he rolled over in his bed, the starchy sheets making soft whisping noises as he did so. He didn't dare open his eyes yet. He knew, full well, that it was the morning after. Unfortunately for him, he couldn't quite remember what had gone on the night before. That was always a bad sign. It meant that he'd gone a little too far into those drinks. And, sighing inwardly, it also meant that he'd probably made a few mistakes. He silently hoped to God that his mistakes hadn't been that bad, and that this day would past quickly, uneventfully, and without too much of a headache.
'Time to face your fears, LeBeau. Time to open your eyes and see how bad you fucked up this time....' It was sound advice, that he had given himself. And so he heeded it. His eyes--beautiful crimson orbs that swam in an endless sea of obsidian--opened slowly, taking the time they needed to adjust to the light.
Then it hit him. He didn't use starch sheets; his were always silk. That, and the fact that his room didn't have a window on the far wall to the left. He wondered how he could be so ignorant of that fact that soft breathing noises were coming from behind him; that slight weight on the other half of the bed. Shit, he cursed the powers that be, did the morning after always have to be so bad? Now... to figure out who's room he was in, without disturbing whomever he was sleeping next to....
Grinding his teeth in slight annoyance, he sat up slowly, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. If he was lucky, it had just been a one night stand, just some random person from the bar. He stood up from the bed, recieving an annoyed groan from the other occupant. He was almost too frightened to look. Chiding himself softly for being so worried, he turned around to face the bed. And was really rather surprised at what he found.
Hair that was somewhere inbetween a sandy blonde and brown peeked out from under the sheets--a little too shortly cropped to look messy, even now. Shoulders too, that were toned, but not to the point of being called over muscular. Remy LeBeau blinked, and stared for a moment. The man was pretty--not in the nearly delicate way that Remy was himself, but in a different way. It was hard to explain, and even harder to think of through the headache that was quickly developing.
Bobby Drake. He'd gotten drunk, and slept with Bobby Drake-the living ice cube. Despite his surprise, Remy was almost proud of the decision he'd made last night. Bobby was a good guy-- honest, caring, good looking. He'd probably been just as drunk, though, or else this never would have happened. Shit, shit. 'I hate the morning after,' was all that Remy could think.
He shook his head, and silently found the clothes on the floor that had obviously been thrown off with some haste the night before. It was early enough in the morning that he could sneak back to his own room without being caught. And if he was lucky enough, Bobby wouldn't remember much of anything. Kid had enough trouble being an x-man, the worst thing that could happen was that he'd find out he'd slept with the scoundrel of the team....
Bundle of clothes in his arms, he snuck to the door--narrowly avoiding a few odds and ends on the floor. Hand touched the door knob, turned...and then he nearly died from surprise alone. "Moron cajun," came a sleepy voice from the bed. "Get back in bed, it's still early." Remy's eyes, wide as saucers, stared confusedly at at half sitting Bobby Drake, who was scowling at him quite convincingly. "Look," Bobby started again, "Don't make me pull some line about how I need you here just because I'm cold. We both know it's not true. But get back into bed, anyway." And with that, he went back to sleep.
Remy stared for a moment longer at the form of Bobby Drake. Well, he obviously knew what had gone on...and didn't seem to mind yet... "Oh, fuck," he muttered to himself, dropping his bundle of clothes and crawling back under the covers to spoon himself against the warmth of Bobby. "Still early...'can wait a l'il longer f'r it t'be de actual mornin' after..."