Thanks for the reviews, love you all lots.
Yes, Kickassangel- Todd's philosophising about death was brought on by your fic! I am so honoured that you acknowledged that I acknowledged your work, lol! *psychic hug.. Ooooo.. Jean-like..
*
I just found out I won my college poetry competition.. Very, very chuffed. The theme was `BRITAIN' so I naturally took the mick out of us Brits. If you want to read it, it's here, if you don't then skip to the story, my friend!
Awfully British
Last train from London Waterloo,
Third carriage from the end and
Everything is very quiet.
The slaves to style with this season's shoes,
The haggard commuters torn between work and home and
The less easily labelled are being terribly polite,
Considering.
She's sitting on his lap,
Skirt hitched high
And exposing
A shocking amount
Of thigh.
His wandering hands
Shift to unspeakable places
At her
Whispered commands.
Everybody is being terribly good about it,
Eyes fixed on the banners overhead or their shoes.
No eyebrows are raised,
Just furrowed in an attempt to look
Completely indifferent to the unfortunate spectacle.
Nobody makes a sound-
After all,
It would be horribly impolite to disturb them halfway
Through their business.
Thankfully, it ends in two stops' time.
She's looking flushed,
He wears a megawatt grin.
Out come the cigarettes and
He holds one to his lips, lighter poised,
Only to be met by mass disapproval.
Arms are folded, eyes are rolled and
Tongues are clicked in a stern tut-tut.
"What manners!" cried a suited one as he disparaged.
"Don't you know this is a non-smoking carriage?"
*
Like a light switching on and off in his brain, subconscious images ran through Pietro's head. A little bouquet of daffodils, tied with red wool. Green Wellington boots. A lobster. A gentleman's tweed hat perched on top of a smart, black umbrella. Next-door's kitten stuck up a tree.
"PietroPietroPietro!!"
Pietro's slideshow of memories skidded to a halt as he felt a foreign elbow jabbing into his ribs, very rudely disturbing him from sleep. He awoke instantly, knowing the voice well.
"Lance?"
"PietroLookMyArmsMyArms! My ARMS!" Lance added, waving them around for emphasis. Pietro rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Lance, you have two of them, big whoop. What kind of a stupid reason is that to-"
Wait a minute. Lance was moving his arms. Lance had life in his arms! The paralysis was gone. They'd beaten it together!
"You- your ARMS! Your arms!"
"My arms!" Lance cried and stood on Pietro's bed, the speed demon following. They grinned helplessly at each other before Lance threw his now vivacious arms around Pietro in a crushing hug.
Pietro couldn't help getting a little soppy in Lance's embrace. It offered everything he didn't have; power, security and warmth. He liked the feeling of being held and holding on at the same time, though admittedly Lance was slowly squeezing the air out of him in his excitement.
"Your arms!" Pietro repeated, lost for words, in a girlish squeal. They began to jump up and down on the bed in their shared happiness, still holding on to each other as they bounced.
This, of course, was a bizarre spectacle to behold. The noise had woken Fred, who was now standing at the doorway and observing what looked like a very large, squealing Mexican Jumping Bean.
"What the hell?"
"Oh," bounce! "Hey Fred," bounce! "We were just," bounce, bounce! "Celebrating the return of my arms!"
"You ain't all paralysed anymore, yo?"
Todd had now appeared too, tousle-haired and sleepy eyed. He was wearing a slightly confused smile to match Fred's mask of utter terror.
"Nope," bounce! "He's all better!" Bounce, bounce, bounce! "We gotta have a party!" bounce! "Let's get some beer! Ooh and balloons!" Boing!
Fred shook his head and lumbered back to bed. Todd leaned on the doorway, a more sure smile spreading across his face.
"Man, you two are such girls. I've seen Kitty and co do exactly the same thing over a pair of shoes, yo."
"Don't care!" Lance cried as he began to pull Pietro across the bed in a clumsy waltz. Pietro hummed tunelessly along in between bouts of laughter. Hysterical tears were beginning to leak out of the corners of their eyes as they cackled insanely. Todd rolled his eyes as their waltz turned into a horrific rendition of a tango, Lance dipping Pietro backwards further and further and further until..
Crash-Squeak-Smack-Creak-Thud!
"Oh fuck."
*
"Is it- broken?"
A pause.
"Shit. Hell, yeah."
"Are you sure? How about if I-"
"LANCE! It's broken, okay?"
"Let me just try something-"
Crack.
"Yep. That's definitely broken."
The two boys stood back, looking at the splintered ruins of Pietro's bed that lay before them. Lance was frowning at the broken bed with his head tilted to one side in what appeared to be deep thought. Pietro held a stray pillow to him with all the tenderness of a mother for her first-born, lamenting his trusty old bed. They had been through a lot together; those pillows had seen infinite tears, it had been his sanctuary during three weeks of glandular fever and the setting for many an erotic dream and a stained sheet.
"We could try to fix it," Lance suggested, doubting his words before they had even left his mouth. Even with his skills in DIY, resurrecting the bed seemed less than likely, more like impossible. Pietro sighed. He tossed the pillow aside in defeat and shook his head, letting a wicked grin spread across his face.
"Guess I'll just have to sleep in your bed, Lance."
"Guess you will," Lance mocked a helpless sigh at the `unfortunate circumstances'.
Then his body seemed to tense and his stature changed noticeably by a few less centimetres. "Pietro, I ain't going all mushy on you.. But can I.. Uh.. Hug you again?" He had wanted to hold something for so long, make use of those awoken appendages. He wanted to use his fingers, his hands, his wrists, his arms- if not to prove that they still worked then to celebrate their none-too-swift return.
"Yeah," Pietro whispered, suddenly feeling just as uncomfortable. "'spose."
"'kay."
After a few seconds of awkward eye contact, Lance stepped up to Pietro so that their toes were touching. He searched Pietro's face for discomfort and was half-relieved, half-worried to find utter blankness. Moving in so that their torsos were pressed against each other, Lance wrapped one arm around Pietro's shoulders and the other around his waist. For a terrible moment, he thought that the speed demon wasn't going to respond and that he had made an awful mistake. Pietro seemed to almost flinch at the touch, unable to relax at first.
Then, impulsively even for himself, Pietro grabbed Lance's waist and encircled it with his long arms. He found that his head fit perfectly under Lance's chin and that at a certain angle he could look up into his eyes. It was all so terribly sweet and sentimental that the boys felt almost ashamed of what they were doing. It was one thing to kiss and grope and have wild, passionate sex but to be cuddling and to be. enjoying it just seemed to confirm it. This was the big one, the one they tried to warn you about and you never listened. This was it, the world's greatest roller coaster: Love.
"I like this," Pietro murmured involuntarily against Lance's collar. "Do you love me?"
Damn it. Why the hell- why the bloody hell had he said that? Oh god. He hid his face in Lance's shirt, just waiting for the laughter. Lance didn't love him! What was he thinking in asking something so stupid and needy? Ugh. He really did hate himself sometimes; well, strictly speaking, he spent a lot more time loving and worshipping the god that was Pietro Maximoff than regretting his existence, but right at that moment he was prepared to run screaming "Abandon ship!" from himself.
Surprisingly, the laughter never came. Lance frowned, staring down into the mass of white hair. Did he love him? It was really too early to tell. Their relationship had come as something of a surprise- a good one, yes, but he couldn't help feeling a little shocked by it all. Perhaps one day he would love Pietro, but not yet.
"I could damn well learn to love you," he said. Without warning, he scooped Pietro into his arms, carrying him like a bride across the threshold. He had always been curious as to how light Pietro was, now he found that the speed demon was no feather. He was certainly light for a boy, that was for sure, but he didn't feel as frail and delicate as Lance had expected.
"What are you doing?" Pietro asked, glimpsing over Lance's shoulder as he was taken into the hallway and then placed down a little less than gently. In fact, to put it lightly, he found himself flung down on to the carpet arse-first with limbs sprawling in all directions. He gave Lance a questioning, if not slightly annoyed look.
"Not used to my arms yet, I guess," Lance shrugged. It had been an involuntary spasm that had sent Pietro crashing to the ground.
Pietro stood up, brushing himself off. "Why the hell did you feel the need to carry me in the first place?"
Lance jerked his head in the direction of the broken bed. "Didn't want you to get splinters," he mumbled, a blush quickly spreading across the bridge of his nose.
Pietro laughed mockingly at Lance as he melted inside. He hated his tough exterior but it had always kept him safe. It was incredible that Lance cared so much about him and could learn to love him, but there was no way he was going to show it. The old Maximoff fa‡ade of `pretend-you-don't-care' was put back on and not another word was said as Pietro went down the stairs. Not that it mattered to Lance; he could read Pietro like a book, and that was saying something for a boy who had failed English Lit before he'd even began the course.
As he stood there alone, still marvelling at the return of his arms, Lance remembered the call he'd had from Kitty. Why had he lied to Pietro about it? After all, wouldn't he be thrilled that the almighty Avalanche was meeting up with her to "dump her sorry ass"? Or was it that he didn't trust himself with Kitty? Maybe that was why he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of seeing her, being in the same room as her.
No, that was bullshit. It had to be. He had Pietro now; he forced himself to remember how amazing it felt to have him in his arms and kiss him silly. Sure, he could learn to love that boy, after eliminating Obstacle Number One- Pryde herself. He'd ring her now and see her tonight, they'd meet up, and he'd tell her straight away. They'd never work together, he was very sorry and she was a great girl who could do much better than him, blah blah.
Ignoring the slight rumbling of anxiety that ran through his intestines, Lance reached for the phone.
Yes, Kickassangel- Todd's philosophising about death was brought on by your fic! I am so honoured that you acknowledged that I acknowledged your work, lol! *psychic hug.. Ooooo.. Jean-like..
*
I just found out I won my college poetry competition.. Very, very chuffed. The theme was `BRITAIN' so I naturally took the mick out of us Brits. If you want to read it, it's here, if you don't then skip to the story, my friend!
Awfully British
Last train from London Waterloo,
Third carriage from the end and
Everything is very quiet.
The slaves to style with this season's shoes,
The haggard commuters torn between work and home and
The less easily labelled are being terribly polite,
Considering.
She's sitting on his lap,
Skirt hitched high
And exposing
A shocking amount
Of thigh.
His wandering hands
Shift to unspeakable places
At her
Whispered commands.
Everybody is being terribly good about it,
Eyes fixed on the banners overhead or their shoes.
No eyebrows are raised,
Just furrowed in an attempt to look
Completely indifferent to the unfortunate spectacle.
Nobody makes a sound-
After all,
It would be horribly impolite to disturb them halfway
Through their business.
Thankfully, it ends in two stops' time.
She's looking flushed,
He wears a megawatt grin.
Out come the cigarettes and
He holds one to his lips, lighter poised,
Only to be met by mass disapproval.
Arms are folded, eyes are rolled and
Tongues are clicked in a stern tut-tut.
"What manners!" cried a suited one as he disparaged.
"Don't you know this is a non-smoking carriage?"
*
Like a light switching on and off in his brain, subconscious images ran through Pietro's head. A little bouquet of daffodils, tied with red wool. Green Wellington boots. A lobster. A gentleman's tweed hat perched on top of a smart, black umbrella. Next-door's kitten stuck up a tree.
"PietroPietroPietro!!"
Pietro's slideshow of memories skidded to a halt as he felt a foreign elbow jabbing into his ribs, very rudely disturbing him from sleep. He awoke instantly, knowing the voice well.
"Lance?"
"PietroLookMyArmsMyArms! My ARMS!" Lance added, waving them around for emphasis. Pietro rolled his eyes.
"Yes, Lance, you have two of them, big whoop. What kind of a stupid reason is that to-"
Wait a minute. Lance was moving his arms. Lance had life in his arms! The paralysis was gone. They'd beaten it together!
"You- your ARMS! Your arms!"
"My arms!" Lance cried and stood on Pietro's bed, the speed demon following. They grinned helplessly at each other before Lance threw his now vivacious arms around Pietro in a crushing hug.
Pietro couldn't help getting a little soppy in Lance's embrace. It offered everything he didn't have; power, security and warmth. He liked the feeling of being held and holding on at the same time, though admittedly Lance was slowly squeezing the air out of him in his excitement.
"Your arms!" Pietro repeated, lost for words, in a girlish squeal. They began to jump up and down on the bed in their shared happiness, still holding on to each other as they bounced.
This, of course, was a bizarre spectacle to behold. The noise had woken Fred, who was now standing at the doorway and observing what looked like a very large, squealing Mexican Jumping Bean.
"What the hell?"
"Oh," bounce! "Hey Fred," bounce! "We were just," bounce, bounce! "Celebrating the return of my arms!"
"You ain't all paralysed anymore, yo?"
Todd had now appeared too, tousle-haired and sleepy eyed. He was wearing a slightly confused smile to match Fred's mask of utter terror.
"Nope," bounce! "He's all better!" Bounce, bounce, bounce! "We gotta have a party!" bounce! "Let's get some beer! Ooh and balloons!" Boing!
Fred shook his head and lumbered back to bed. Todd leaned on the doorway, a more sure smile spreading across his face.
"Man, you two are such girls. I've seen Kitty and co do exactly the same thing over a pair of shoes, yo."
"Don't care!" Lance cried as he began to pull Pietro across the bed in a clumsy waltz. Pietro hummed tunelessly along in between bouts of laughter. Hysterical tears were beginning to leak out of the corners of their eyes as they cackled insanely. Todd rolled his eyes as their waltz turned into a horrific rendition of a tango, Lance dipping Pietro backwards further and further and further until..
Crash-Squeak-Smack-Creak-Thud!
"Oh fuck."
*
"Is it- broken?"
A pause.
"Shit. Hell, yeah."
"Are you sure? How about if I-"
"LANCE! It's broken, okay?"
"Let me just try something-"
Crack.
"Yep. That's definitely broken."
The two boys stood back, looking at the splintered ruins of Pietro's bed that lay before them. Lance was frowning at the broken bed with his head tilted to one side in what appeared to be deep thought. Pietro held a stray pillow to him with all the tenderness of a mother for her first-born, lamenting his trusty old bed. They had been through a lot together; those pillows had seen infinite tears, it had been his sanctuary during three weeks of glandular fever and the setting for many an erotic dream and a stained sheet.
"We could try to fix it," Lance suggested, doubting his words before they had even left his mouth. Even with his skills in DIY, resurrecting the bed seemed less than likely, more like impossible. Pietro sighed. He tossed the pillow aside in defeat and shook his head, letting a wicked grin spread across his face.
"Guess I'll just have to sleep in your bed, Lance."
"Guess you will," Lance mocked a helpless sigh at the `unfortunate circumstances'.
Then his body seemed to tense and his stature changed noticeably by a few less centimetres. "Pietro, I ain't going all mushy on you.. But can I.. Uh.. Hug you again?" He had wanted to hold something for so long, make use of those awoken appendages. He wanted to use his fingers, his hands, his wrists, his arms- if not to prove that they still worked then to celebrate their none-too-swift return.
"Yeah," Pietro whispered, suddenly feeling just as uncomfortable. "'spose."
"'kay."
After a few seconds of awkward eye contact, Lance stepped up to Pietro so that their toes were touching. He searched Pietro's face for discomfort and was half-relieved, half-worried to find utter blankness. Moving in so that their torsos were pressed against each other, Lance wrapped one arm around Pietro's shoulders and the other around his waist. For a terrible moment, he thought that the speed demon wasn't going to respond and that he had made an awful mistake. Pietro seemed to almost flinch at the touch, unable to relax at first.
Then, impulsively even for himself, Pietro grabbed Lance's waist and encircled it with his long arms. He found that his head fit perfectly under Lance's chin and that at a certain angle he could look up into his eyes. It was all so terribly sweet and sentimental that the boys felt almost ashamed of what they were doing. It was one thing to kiss and grope and have wild, passionate sex but to be cuddling and to be. enjoying it just seemed to confirm it. This was the big one, the one they tried to warn you about and you never listened. This was it, the world's greatest roller coaster: Love.
"I like this," Pietro murmured involuntarily against Lance's collar. "Do you love me?"
Damn it. Why the hell- why the bloody hell had he said that? Oh god. He hid his face in Lance's shirt, just waiting for the laughter. Lance didn't love him! What was he thinking in asking something so stupid and needy? Ugh. He really did hate himself sometimes; well, strictly speaking, he spent a lot more time loving and worshipping the god that was Pietro Maximoff than regretting his existence, but right at that moment he was prepared to run screaming "Abandon ship!" from himself.
Surprisingly, the laughter never came. Lance frowned, staring down into the mass of white hair. Did he love him? It was really too early to tell. Their relationship had come as something of a surprise- a good one, yes, but he couldn't help feeling a little shocked by it all. Perhaps one day he would love Pietro, but not yet.
"I could damn well learn to love you," he said. Without warning, he scooped Pietro into his arms, carrying him like a bride across the threshold. He had always been curious as to how light Pietro was, now he found that the speed demon was no feather. He was certainly light for a boy, that was for sure, but he didn't feel as frail and delicate as Lance had expected.
"What are you doing?" Pietro asked, glimpsing over Lance's shoulder as he was taken into the hallway and then placed down a little less than gently. In fact, to put it lightly, he found himself flung down on to the carpet arse-first with limbs sprawling in all directions. He gave Lance a questioning, if not slightly annoyed look.
"Not used to my arms yet, I guess," Lance shrugged. It had been an involuntary spasm that had sent Pietro crashing to the ground.
Pietro stood up, brushing himself off. "Why the hell did you feel the need to carry me in the first place?"
Lance jerked his head in the direction of the broken bed. "Didn't want you to get splinters," he mumbled, a blush quickly spreading across the bridge of his nose.
Pietro laughed mockingly at Lance as he melted inside. He hated his tough exterior but it had always kept him safe. It was incredible that Lance cared so much about him and could learn to love him, but there was no way he was going to show it. The old Maximoff fa‡ade of `pretend-you-don't-care' was put back on and not another word was said as Pietro went down the stairs. Not that it mattered to Lance; he could read Pietro like a book, and that was saying something for a boy who had failed English Lit before he'd even began the course.
As he stood there alone, still marvelling at the return of his arms, Lance remembered the call he'd had from Kitty. Why had he lied to Pietro about it? After all, wouldn't he be thrilled that the almighty Avalanche was meeting up with her to "dump her sorry ass"? Or was it that he didn't trust himself with Kitty? Maybe that was why he felt sick to his stomach at the thought of seeing her, being in the same room as her.
No, that was bullshit. It had to be. He had Pietro now; he forced himself to remember how amazing it felt to have him in his arms and kiss him silly. Sure, he could learn to love that boy, after eliminating Obstacle Number One- Pryde herself. He'd ring her now and see her tonight, they'd meet up, and he'd tell her straight away. They'd never work together, he was very sorry and she was a great girl who could do much better than him, blah blah.
Ignoring the slight rumbling of anxiety that ran through his intestines, Lance reached for the phone.