Title: Domino Does Dallas
Genre: Humour/Romance
Summary: Tabitha finds John's secret pr0n stash. Whether it's to dig himself out of trouble, dig his own grave for when Tabs inevitably kills him, or dig out from under the monumental pile of b.s. he's spewing, one thing's for certain: John's going to need a shovel. First person John POV. Waff-y companion fic to Sixteen Items Or Less (but stands on its own if you don't feel like reading the first.)
Rating/Warnings: M for a bit of language and implied smut/adult themes.
Pairing: John/Tabitha
Disclaimer: Marvel owns everybody and everything.

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The apartment is far too quiet and far too dark when I get home from work. If I'm not there, Tabs almost always turns on the stereo or the TV or both, and every light in the house, even if she goes for a lie down. She says the place feels empty and 'spooky' otherwise. I usually tease her for it, but I'm honestly a little spooked myself at the moment; I can practically hear the dramatic violins swelling as I face an imminent knife to the gut from a serial killer. I flick on the light in the foyer and, feeling a bit better in the face of forty watts, sway my hips coquettishly. I have a right to be worried; it's always us beautiful blondes that go first.

Tabs probably just stepped out to the corner store or something. Still, I take off my empty fuel pack with unnatural care, leaning it against the shoe rack instead of clunking it down. "Hello?" This would be the point in the movie where Tabs would start sarcastically clapping and I would snark my character. Nice work on announcing your position, mate. Why don't you just stab yourself and save the killer the trouble? Of course, the first few people who die never know there's a psycho on the loose. I frown. I don't want to be an establishing plot point; I want to be a scrappy main character.

I palm my lighter with a deep breath, press my back against the wall, and move toward the kitchen. I turn the light on there, and then proceed to repeat the process for the bathroom, the hallway, and the bedroom. I notice, as I sweep back the coats dramatically to reveal no one hiding behind them, that Tabitha cleaned out the closet today. I vaguely remember her mentioning she was planning to do that over breakfast this morning, but it was before my coffee and the details are sketchy.

I have no idea who designed our apartment, but there are a few things about it I would change. There's no electrical outlet in the bathroom, for one. The exhaust above the stove just vents back into the kitchen instead of outside. And, most importantly right now, there's no switch in the living room. To turn on the lights, you have to walk all the way to the centre of the floor, flagrantly exposing yourself to possible madmen and shin-bruising coffee tables, and pull the cord on the ceiling fan. I am five steps in, eyes darting rapidly to the shadows, using an appropriated flame from my lighter cupped in my hand as a makeshift flashlight, when Tabs clears her throat.

Now, I am a trained member of Magneto's elite security force. I have a laminated certificate in my HR file at work to prove that. I've even been commended on several occasions for my level headedness both in the field and during exercises. The only reason I just shrieked like a little girl was as a tactic to throw my enemy off-guard. (And because when I jumped, I may have lost control of my fire for a split second and singed my hand a bit, but that's beside the point.)

"Jesus, Tabs, you scared me half to death." I turn on the light. Her arms are crossed. Her legs are crossed. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. She's scaring me...full to death (it seems I'm experiencing both heart and syntax failure) now. She's got that 'we-need-to-talk' look on her face. What did I do? What didn't I do? Think, man! I've got nothing. Hell. Yesterday, I was a hero. They delivered the new couch and she was surprised and delighted and I was the best boyfriend in the world. Right now, I'd rather take my chances with that serial killer.

"You look a little jumpy, John. Why don't you sit down?" Her mouth stretches in an unnervingly cool smile and I know I have screwed up something royally. Tabs... well, she isn't usually what you'd call a calm angry. I'm unwilling to take my eyes off her, in case this is some kind of ruse and she's trying to catch me off guard for a barrage of those little poppers of hers. Those things sting like mad. Tense seconds pass; she's waiting for me to sit. I look swiftly around the room and realize now that every chair, every cushion, every ottoman, is covered with DVD cases. DVD cases for porn. DVD cases for my porn. Because she cleaned out the closet today and I hide it in the closet.

I'm a fucking dead man.

"Tabs..."

"I have to admit I'm a little disappointed--"

"Sweet, it's not what you think..." it's exactly what she thinks, "I can explain." I can't explain, but as an English major, I've learned to never say die when it comes to spinning bullshit. I take a seat in a chair across the room--her aim goes pear shaped any further than three metres--and examine the two titles I had to pick up to do so. I can work with this.

"This, for example..." I hold up Domino Does Dallas, a classic from my youth. Mutant fetish flicks were big among the flat-scanners for a while in the late nineties. The makeup's fairly convincing but you can tell it's not actually her. It's probably the first and only time in my life that I'll complain about a porn star's chest not being big enough. "Now, Domino is one of the finest mercenaries of our time. If she is taking on all of Dallas, armed with just a whip and a ball-gag, that's a training video I need to see for my professional, nay, my personal growth. Think about it: accuracy, stamina, perseverance in the face of a seemingly impossible task. Those are lessons that carry over into all walks of life." My pants have neither burst into flames nor are they suspended from a telephone wire. Yet. Tabs looks like she might be considering it with me in them as she points to the other DVD case in my hand.

"So, what's the life lesson in Lusty Sluts Gone Wild?"

"Cautionary tale." I nod solemnly. "Gone. Wild. As in feral, Tabs. It's not Lusty Sluts out for a Sunday Stroll, now is it? I mean, heaven forbid, say there was a libido-crazed hoard of women on Genosha and I was called in to deal with it. You would want me to know how to diffuse the situation, wouldn't you? I don't want to be underprepared and succumb to their indecent breast-flashing. That would be tragic." It's not one of my better efforts and she's not biting. In my defence, I usually date girls who aren't the full quid.

"Tragic," she repeats, her expression unreadable.

Unreadable. I smile to myself. I've found my new approach. "Okay. I admit it; I do like the occasional tastefully executed adult film. But, I promise, it's nothing for you to be upset about, sweet." I stroll to our bookshelves, shielding my genitalia from attack in what I hope is a subtle, casual manner, and pluck a well worn paperback from amidst my Bukowskis and my Vonneguts and my Klostermans. "It's not any different than you reading these."

I've chosen Doctor, Down Under, and I don't need the dog ear to know that the smut begins on page 97. It's also not one of my better efforts, though it paid a months' rent and I stand firm that no one should be able to hold what you write in college against you. I almost had a heart attack when I first saw Tabs unpack it. At least I had the sense to use a pseudonym; I'm fairly confident she doesn't know I'm the author. I strike my best melodramatic pose, and begin reading aloud in a low, sultry voice. "'Ginger's deep auburn hair shimmered, flowing freely over his hands like a silken waterfall, and her eyes sparkled in the moonlight. Sliding his fingers into her hair, he cupped the back of her head and tipped it back, taking her lips with his in a salute to her beauty and his deep love for her. Her lips were so soft under his he nearly lost his mind. She smelled of springtime and tasted like the headiest of wines.'" God, I don't remember it being this terrible. "'He tried to keep the kiss soft, but she stepped closer. The feel of her breasts touching his chest through his scrubs fired a blaze of heat that went straight through him and had nothing to do with the Australian summer. Ginger quaked in his arms and moaned again, her hand in his hair now. She was clearly as on fire for him as he was for her. He felt as if he would burn up if he didn't have her. In his bed. In his life. He didn't know how he'd go on without her. He couldn't lose her. Lose this!'" I pause, returning my voice to its normal timbre. "See, that's literary porn right there."

Tabs is just sitting there, staring levelly at me.

If she would just yell or something... I plough onwards. "Alright, so it's a bit different. But lots of guys watch this stuff. I mean, sometimes you're at work and I need to--" I have been so good with Tabs. I haven't cheated on her with anything more than a tube sock, and that's unprecedented for me in relationships. It's entirely unfair that I have to explain myself, and I'm starting to get angry. Too angry. I force myself to take a deep breath. I am not my father.

The reason I have been so good with Tabs, I remind the part of my brain that's screaming out with white hot rage, is because I actually give a damn about her and what she thinks of me. That's also unprecedented. The fire dampens a little. And what she's probably thinking right now is that I'm both an insensitive bastard (which is true) and a total dog (which is also true,) and that I'm deferring to porn because she's not satisfying my needs in the bedroom (which couldn't be further from the truth.) Her brain works like that sometimes, and it kills me, because I want to undo all the crushing shit people have told her along the way and I know I can't.

I sigh and take a seat next to her on the couch. "Look, sweet, it's not a reflection on you; it's not a reflection on us. God, you drive me absolutely fucking mad with how sexy you are." She's got her hand clamped over her lips thoughtfully, but she doesn't seem to mind when I put my arm around her shoulder and I'm choosing to take that as a good sign. "You know I can be a bit of a root rat, eh? If I could, it would just be you and me and the fine products of the Trojan corporation all the time. We wouldn't even need any piece of furniture but our bed." I pat our new couch with my free hand. "But let's face it, we've got to work and pay the bills. And that means that sometimes I'm not here or you're not here and so I...outsource. And, to be honest, I'm probably not going to stop. I'm sorry if that upsets you. 'Cause I don't want to hurt you." I squeeze her against my side, and realize that she's smiling behind her hand. "Hell, that's half my motivation. I'm more than a little nervous about snapping your pelvis prematurely. And don't even get me started on the dangers of friction burns."

She leans into my chest, grinning fully now. "Geez, Allerdyce, and I wasn't even trying to fish for compliments. I should let you shoot your mouth off more often."

"So, you're not cross with me?" I'm sure my confusion is evident on my face.

"Nah, mostly just disappointed that you've been holding out. To think, I've been downloading it off the internet like a sucker all this time when we had a comprehensive library right in our own home."

I am vaguely incensed. "You just let me twist in the fucking wind."

Her giggling is not helping to restore my dignity. "Well, you were kind of on a roll."

"But what about the skulking in the darkness a-and this?" I make a sweeping gesture to the DVD cases littered around the room.

She grins a little sheepishly. "I was a bit upset that you thought you had to hide it from me, so I was kind of hoping to surprise you by setting it out and watching it with you but then... Well, you looked so freaking jumpy, and I've got to admit, I was beginning to think you'd never shut up after you interrupted me." She kisses my nose. "It was kind of funny to watch."

"Worst. Girlfriend. Ever." I frown at her, sulking. "Wait--did you just say you were going to watch porn with me?"

"Well, that, and I was hoping we could...uh, christen the new couch while we did. But if you'd rather just spend the night pouting..."

I pull her closer, kissing her cheek. "Best. Girlfriend. Ever. Back in two shakes with the condoms." I vault off the couch, pausing briefly as I go to shove the paperback into the bookshelf.

"Wait!"

I raise my eyebrows at her. "What?"

"I was thinking..." She bites her bottom lip. I'm reminded exactly why I'm in love with her. "Maybe we could add a 'John reads smut out loud in his sexin' voice' portion to this evening? 'Cause that was kind of hot."

I toss it back to her, unable to keep the grin off my face. "Sure thing, sweet. You know, I wrote that book."

"Sure you did, John. And Lusty Sluts Gone Wild is a cautionary tale."