Disclaimer: Nope.
Warnings: Eventual yaoi, Ulrich/Odd, AU-ish (completely school-based, no Lyoko in sight).
Author's Note: Somehow, I feel that I would be flattered if someone accused me of stealing my own work. XD
This is a rewrite of my previous CL fan fic, which I really must delete because it is downright embarrassing...
Belgian waffles had always been yummy, but today they were truly out of this world. Smothered in jam and sugar and at the moment of so very interesting, Odd would have gladly have hybrid babies with this desirable (and only edible) plate of cafeteria food if it meant never returning to his dorm room ever again. Save for rescuing Kiwi, but who could wrestle with specificity when you were this conflicted?
Laugh it off! A miniature Odd cackled, merrily swinging its legs over his left shoulder. Tell Ulrich you were planting some trees!
Last Odd heard, no one referred to blindly dry humping their morning wood against their roommate as 'planting trees.'
And when trivializing the situation doesn't work, what else are you going to tell him? Another voice cried from the opposite shoulder. "Cry me a river, build me a bridge and get over it"?
Unless Odd wanted to see this Rational and Carefree Odd get into a fist-fighting brawl, sugar definitely was not looking like a viable breakfast option. Though that image didn't sound too bad, actually, if I'm becoming schizophrenic, it might as well be entertaining…
Now Rational Odd was waving a fist in the air. Wake up and watch your atypical teenage life swirl down the toilet, won't you?! I said, Keep your distance and don't you dare try to sweet talk Ulrich unless you want him to wring your balls off before they've even had the chance to drop!
Sounds like emotional preparation for the real deal, said the miniaturized infantile half of Odd's personality with a provocative wink. Impishly, he clamored to Odd's collarbone and began to preesyadkee.
You're a fool, Carefree Odd, you're a fool!
They began to tussle.
"Leave me alone," Odd groaned, not caring that he looked like a manic-depressive hamster with his face mushed into the table in fit of despair. "Go away, just go away and leave my teenage life to rot in solace!"
"If you want alone time, you should have said that first instead of throwing a fit," Yumi growled, picking up her tray just as fast as she had set it down. "Come on, Jeremie, we need to find where Ulrich is anyway."
"Wait, don't go, I didn't mean it!" Odd cried, shooting his arms up and flailing them faster than the speed of a hummingbird's wings. He almost pulled them back when he saw Yumi's face—there was no way she was in a friendly mood to handle a light-hearted conversation over breakfast.
"Whatever problem you have, Odd, you better explain yourself fast."
"We're running low on time," Jeremie explained, repositioning his limbs and the tray of silverware across from the troubled Italian. Time: as if explained why Yumi was so blatantly and outright pissed this morning.
PMS? Odd almost wanted to ask, but he didn't quite dare unless he wanted to be castrated bare handed in two seconds flat. Come to think of it, Ulrich might appreciate that. He's probably want my bloody heart in a box, too, just for sick pleasure. It wasn't too far-fetched considering the vicious snarl Ulrich had responded with after finding a certain half-sleepy someone grinding their stiffy away at his leg.
Sigh.
"There's nothing wrong, it's…"
"Did something happen between you and Ulrich because if there's been a rift between you guys that would explain why I haven't seen him or had him answer my phone calls answered over last half hour."
Yumi cocked a fine eyebrow and stabbed her waffle with such (deliberate?) synchronization, it made the strawberry syrup that oozed through the gash look… threatening.
"Nope, haven't seen him since I woke up at seven," Odd squeaked. It was the truth; of course it was the truth. How could he forget how, after massively and vocally riding out his orgasm in his boxer-briefs, he had locked eyes with Ulrich and high-tailed it for the nearest cold shower? "Do you need him for something? Mr. Delmas found my dorm key for me, so it's not a problem if you need a favor."
"…Odd, Mr. Delmas had confiscated your dorm key. But no, we don't need supplies."
"Just him in general," Jeremie said, nodding. "We're rehearsing for a Drama skit, to be delivered in just about… 25 minutes now."
"And skit aside, you're not fooling anyone, Odd. There's definitely something going on. Judging from that long face of yours"—Yumi kicked back her chair, cradling the cafeteria tray in her hands—"I don't even have to ask to know that it's a pretty damn embarrassing secret."
Damn it, Yumi. Damnitdamnitdamnit! Odd ground his face into the wood of the table and wailed something that sounded like "erghghghghg!" So much for theatrics when it came to faking normal.
"Good one," Jeremie said, grinning. "By now Odd would've been on his way to clobber everyone in line for thirds."
"Tell me what other crazy things Odd's claimed as usual," Yumi said, rolling her eyes. She got up, intent to dump her trash at the bin down the long stretch of cafeteria. "Seriously, I want a list by the time I get back."
"If Sissy doesn't stop you along the way," Jeremie amended. Yumi gave him a look before she left Odd still grinding his chin into the table and Jeremie delicately dabbing his mouth with a napkin.
He waited until she was out of earshot before he whipped his gaze to Odd. "Get ready to spill your side of the story, because Ulrich already told me everything."
If Odd had a glass of water within arm's reach, he would have downed it and drenched Jeremie with a spray for effect.
"HE DID WHAT?!"
Jeremie shushed him. "Yumi's still here and it wouldn't exactly be the best idea to let her in on it either, you know."
"What's the point?" Odd groaned, burying his head in his hands in complete humiliation. "She's got half the story down anyway."
Jeremie shook his head. "She was lying when she said that we didn't see Ulrich. He went off with Sissy earlier, so it's not the skit or the grade that has her in this testy sort of mood. Believe it or not, but even Yumi has her own immature moments—that whole theory of hers was on the mark, but inspired by frustration anyway. She'll probably take it back once she's cooled down."
"But Ulrich telling you that," Odd pressed. "You're saying that he actually raced into your room or something and gave you some crazy sob story about I, er..."
"Intruded his personal space?" Jeremie offered, grinning. Admittedly, it was kind of fun to see Odd squirm. "Molested him?"
Okay, it only lasted for like a second, but it was an enjoyable one second.
"You're lying!" Odd blurted suddenly, slapping his hands on the table (then retracting them with a pained ow). "Do you have any idea how long it took him to tell me his favorite color?!"
Missing the point, Jeremie sighed. Of course Odd would be more preoccupied about Ulrich's confidences than the fact that he had molested him just that morning.
"First of all, people are staring so quiet down. Second, Ulrich caught up to me as I was leaving the dormitory hall, so if you're imagining him as gossipy schoolgirl keeping me posted on all the juicy details on a minute-to-minute basis, that's all wrong."
"That's what Twitter is for, Jeremie. And schoolgirls got nothing on Ulrich."
"…Uh-huh… Anyway, Ulrich looked frazzled. I have no clue how intense that…event…was, but it seemed as though even he couldn't keep it bottled up."
Odd said nothing for a while, tapping his fingertips against his cheeks to fill the silence.
"…Funny thing is I don't regret anything."
Wouldn't doubt it, you're flaming and you don't even know it, thought Jeremie, taking a sip from his glass instead of kindly informing his friend. "By the way, Yumi and Ulrich at 11 o'clock."
Odd followed Jeremie's thumb. There was no way of escaping the cafeteria unscathed, and Odd knew it. Glancing between Belpois and the dynamic duo closing in on him and deciding on the lesser of two evils, Odd smiled his cutest. "I trust the kindly Mr. Jeremie Belpois will cover for me, if I'm not mistaken?"
"If you'll do him a solid, he just might." Jeremie smiled a little too widely for Odd's comfort. "Yumi's tough to beat around the bush with, keep secrets no less. Mr. Belpois needs compensation and a little more for insurance in case he gets tangled in some knots."
Odd sighed. Ulrich had already spied him, and although he looked leagues more composed (Smooth Bastard, you) as he chatted with Yumi, Odd was torn between throttling Jeremie and his stupid, whimsical little demands or peppering the nerd's feet with kisses like a beggar.
If only he wasn't so kindhearted to follow through with the first option...
"Fine. It probably has something to do with your progress on the 'Woo and Win Aelita' plan anyway. Anything short of selling my soul, I'll do it."
"It's close enough," Jeremie said, winking. "Babysitting—for one week—my 4-year-old nephews. I'll sleep on the bonus favor and let you know ASAP."
Odd pocketed his dorm key. "You're the devil himself, but I'll do it! Make it worth my while!" He ruffled Jeremie's hair and made like a bandit.
Yumi and Ulrich were dragging Jeremie down the hall for class when he cheerfully informed them about Odd's predicament. "He's backed up real bad," he told them. "The mushroom and pesto got to him from last night, so he's not going to be in class unless you want to see the floor tiles painted—"
Yumi rolled her eyes. "Right, let's go with that. Probably the only believable thing about it is that over breakfast of all places, Odd would choose to TMI his bowel movements."
"We all know him a little too well," Jeremie said, smiling. Yumi laughed, but Ulrich didn't say a word.
For now, that's okay. It's going to be interesting how this all plays out.
"No—no puppy eyes!
"Stay.
"I mean, it Kiwi.
"I don't want to hear a peep."
Acquiescing with a sigh, Odd plucked the slobbery yellow ball, flung it far and watched Kiwi happily skid across floorboards and rugs to catch it. Playing fetch made much racket, but what did he care? It was lunch; not a soul around but for the moaning voices upstairs, where Odd conveniently knew Herb and Nicolas roomed. Sissy's an absolute slut, if only her father knew…
Odd flung the ball again.
Fetch, boy!
…And the lamp blows to smithereens.
"You know, Kiwi," he finally exhaled, prying the slobbery ball from his dog's mouth. "You're three-years-old. That's 21 or so in human years, so it's strange that I've never given you The Talk. Lucky you, you don't need one. It nearly killed me." He tried not to think about it. "See, when the mood strikes you, you go after a leg, a nice pair of furry butt cheeks, or a stuffed animal and no one will blame you.
"But—how should I say this? Humans are different when it comes to humping. Its emotional context, who it's with, how well you do it… It makes my brain hurt! Why can't I screw or rub myself on this guy or that girl without the fuss or awkwardness or explanations!? If I could, I would. But that automatically places me on her level." He meaningfully drew his eyes upward. "More or less."
Figuring Hamlet!Odd had enough of its run in the outside world, (and needed to get some fresh air, a garbage bag for the broken glass, and a laundry basket for Ulrich's duvet because What kind of a friend cums on your duvet and doesn't offer to clean up, I ask you?), he muffled his hearing from the screeches upstairs and, just before rounding the wall, stopped at the door jamb and smiled.
"I wonder what Ulrich's doing now," Odd chuckled. "Probably raging inside a bathroom stall, if I'm not wrong."
Ulrich couldn't undress. Plagued with questions, suddenly uncomfortable, it wasn't possible to step out and get nude in the showers, even if there was comfort in knowing his guilty locker room neighbor was out of sight (but not out of mind).
Sinking atop a locker room bench after 10 minutes of waiting in the bathroom stall for everyone to fizz away, he was reminded of the uniform clung to his skin, and the sweat intruding the corners of lips from rugby.
Fuck! Why am I being a girl about this?! Take it like a man. Close your eyes, get changed, don't drop the soap—
…And pray Jim doesn't barge in on me because I don't have a towel to hide in….
Ulrich's fingers slid to the brim of his shorts, tentatively opening them. He'd showered that morning after Odd booked it from the scene of the crime, but still…
I've scrubbed everything clean. It's all gone, he assured himself, and he couldn't very well strut out in full P.E. gear like a dweeb whose locker got raided. How would he explain the fashion faux pas otherwise?
Slowly, he slid the shorts down until the elastic of his boxers were peeping just enough. Immediately, he was flooded with the images of Odd moaning, getting awfully familiar and pushing the envelope with that erotic dream of his, so much that if he hadn't woken up, there surely would have been contact and—
Right up went the shorts, and down to the bench he went.
"There's a traitor that lives in my pants," Ulrich groaned, fingertips searing into his scalp. Alright, so his dick wasn't the only thing that betrayed him. Hadn't he been fully awake and conscious for an entire minute while Odd was grinding on him? And hadn't he not pushed Odd off?
"Damn you, Della-Robbia. That was…" Amazing? Deli—DELICIOUS?!
"What'd Della-Robbia do now?"
Jim scrubbed his bleary eyes with a fist, pausing first to regard the time before roving over Ulrich who looked frightened, pale, and frankly two hamburgers away from a heart attack. This couldn't possibly be the same hard-ass; it was too amusing, too wonderfully suspicious.
Crossing his arms, Jim leaned against the sinks. "What happened? Can't manage your fan base with a club and a taser anymore?"
"You could say that," Ulrich said carefully. Any other time there was no way of Jim getting the best of him, but now was not the place to get cocky.
"But the real reason why I'm here is because I want to make a request…"
AN: *fangirls* Jeremie *fangirls*
I am extremely lazy at updating, so hopefully the next chapter will be done...soon-ish...