A/N: Dear Liu: Fuck you. Love, onelildustbunni. PS: Happy holidays everyone!
-11-
Julian adjusts the stupid orange visibility vest, dragging the bag and holding the long poking stick in his other hand. He's in a bad mood, has been all week. His exams went poorly—even worse than he had expected—due to his not being able to focus; the reason was about five hundred yards away, clad in a similar safety outfit, trying to stab a piece of paper on her poking stick. She looks frustrated, too, but for a different reason.
He turns back to his job—cleaning the highway. He hates how he's spending his Friday; turning his back to the girl who has become his greatest desire, and instead scrutinizing the land for garbage. Brilliant. He picks up an empty coke bottle and shoves it wearily in his bag. It isn't the job, nor the company, that bothers him; it's the situation.
Around Noon, he becomes aware that he is hungry (despite looking at garbage for the past three hours), and he heads back to their agreed meeting point. Sure enough, Laura is already there, perched on the side rail, sandwich in hands, chewing with a speculative expression.
He approaches, then finds his lunch in the cooler and moves to sit beside her. She jerks a bit and eyes him jumpily; he raises his eyebrows. Before he can comment, a convertible sports car with the top down zips past—a blue BMW—containing two younger male passengers. They are laughing; one turns and hurls his fries platter at Laura as they pass.
"AIEEE!" She shouts, as a splatter of ketchup hits her in the face. She closes her eyes, her nostrils flaring in anger; Julian looks at the platter, then bends down and picks it up.
"Watch this," he says. He looks at the sports car—about forty feet down the road now—about twenty fries raise from the platter—and moments later, there are screams in the distance as the food imbeds itself in their windshield (along with a few spider web cracks).
The car swerves, then holds course, speeding up.
"I'll admit, that was impressive," Laura says, with a slight smile when the car is out of sight. "You're getting better with your whole power thing. What was it again?"
"I can move stuff with my brain," Julian recites. He still hasn't managed to memorize the proper word for his power.
"Mind over matter," Laura says. "Like Jean?"
"Better," Julian says proudly. He has worked for this moment, the moment in which he could impress her with his control over his telekinesis. Even if that moment never came, he had wanted to be ready.
"That's pretty cool," Laura says.
They eat the rest of the lunch in silence, then return to their duties.
…
"God," Julian groans, as they head up the grand staircase that evening, boots clumping unevenly, grimy and exhausted from their long day of harvesting garbage from the Interstate. And even more exhausted at the thought that they'll have to repeat the whole day tomorrow, and the day after. Apparently, earning credit for community service hours actually required spendingthe hours doing community services.
"I wonder if I'll ever be clean again," Julian says miserably.
Laura keeps her eyes trained on the floor and says nothing. She has not spoken one word since earlier in the afternoon, but her agitation with him seems to have grown. He shrugs it off; he has more pressing issues, such as whether or not he can ever get the rings of grime out from under his fingernails (from when he'd accidentally spilled a half-filled oil can, abandoned on the side of the interstate).
They reach the landing, ascend another set of stairs, and head towards the dorms. There are two wings; one for boys, one for girls. He glances at Laura.
"Have a good evening. I'll text you tomorrow when I'm ready. We can—" he pauses. Laura has paused, too, and something is different. She has an expression of faint inner conflict. Hesitation.
"Thanks for, well, earlier," she says, smiling slightly.
"Don't mention it," he says uneasily. Something is off. Something…is familiar. He studies her face, and as she steps forwards he has a brief notion of what it might be.
"Laura—no," he says, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Not like this." He realizes that this is why she has been jumpy all day. She'd known this was coming, and she didn't want it to happen, whatever her reasoning may be. So he won't let it.
She blinks, as if awakened by his voice. And then he feels the pheromones beginning their deadly work, a gentle tickling at his mind, suggesting things. Like how easy it would be to let his hands slide down to her sides.
"Goodnight," he says, letting her go. They nod slightly at each other, and head down their respective corridors. Julian makes it into his room and locks the door; with a thought he moves his bureau in front of the door. He knows that neither of them can be trusted right now.
…
Knock knock, on his door. He opens one eye and glances at his alarm clock; it's nine o' clock in the morning, way too soon. They need to be at the office by 10:00; from there they will be directed as to which highway they will be maintaining for the day.
"Comin'…" he yawns, trips on his blanket, and almost brains himself on his dresser—blocking the door.
Oh. Right. He eyes the door. Laura and the pheromones. Which will be a problem today—an unavoidable problem. It would be hard to explain to the Professor why they've skipped out on a mandatory assignment.
He moves the dresser back to its original place, without a sound, and twists the doorknob cautiously, thinking. How will he manage this?
Laura's eyes are trained on the floor. She's wearing baggy clothing that looks like her brother's; an oversized sweatshirt with the hood up, pants that completely hide her legs. She smells funny, too; a mix of semi-repulsive odors emanating from her form like a skunk. She's taken precautions.
She says nothing.
"Let me grab my keys," Julian says. He could fly them there, but Xavier has warned about using their powers in such a fashion. It's safer to drive.
A few minutes later, Laura follows him down the stairs, her hands in the front pocket of her sweater. In the garage, he opens her door; she doesn't even grunt 'thanks' when she gets in. He doesn't comment; the door opens and he backs the car out, deciding to act like she's not even there. Which is difficult; occasionally, between breaths in—despite his opening the windows—he catches a whiff of what he assumes are the pheromones—a good smell, amongst the medley of foul odors she's emitting—as it sends a tingle down his spine and raises the hairs on the back of his neck.
On the road, he considers turning on music, then thinks better of it. He settles for a News channel; Laura does not comment against it, so he listens to reports of unsolved murder cases, garden shows and tax breaks. When they reach their adopted Interstate fifteen minutes later, a Viagra ad comes on, and he bites his lip to keep from laughing, even though the situation isn't really that funny.
Laura is out of the car before he's even stopped it, walking around to the trunk, where the gear is.
She jerks her hand up to indicate that he is to unlock it; he complies, and she burrows in, like a wild animal tearing into its prey. Moments later she pulls on her ugly orange vest, wields her poking stick and a garbage bag; she tucks her sandwich bag into her sweater pocket, then heads down the side of the Interstate very quickly without stopping to clean up the garbage nearby. Downwind of where he is standing; he can tell because there is a breeze.
Julian moves more slowly, trying to ignore the hurt that has inadvertently come with her actions—now that he is alone again. She's so eager to make sure nothing happens between them. Is she disgusted by him or something? He doesn't think so—based on what she's said, and how she's acted in the past—but his instinctive feeling is rejection.
Spinning his stick around like a baton, he stabs it viciously into a pop can beside his car's tire.
…
After a hard day of harvesting garbage off the side of the Interstate, Julian heads back to the car and looks in the direction Laura has been cleaning. She's still going, about a mile off, stooping to pick up a wrapper of some sort.
He calls to her; she picks up her bag and heads towards him. He steels himself for a rush of pheromones, but nothing happens. He opens the trunk, and helps her tuck in the huge bag beside his.
Laura suddenly raises her head, cringing and looking over his shoulder. Her hood falls around her shoulders.
RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMM, a car—a red Karmann Ghia—zips past them, probably flooring the gas pedal.
WOOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOOWOWOO-
Police cars. Julian turns; there are about four police cars in pursuit of this car. Four. It's probably something serious; he thinks for a second, then looks at the car again.
"I'll be right back," he says to Laura.
Moments later, he is gaining on the car from high above. This should be simple; he knows exactly what to disconnect on the gear shaft. He reaches out; the car makes a sound as it suddenly begins to slow down. He hears a panicky voice saying 'FUCK!' from inside the car; he quickly heads back to where Laura is waiting, before anyone can see him flying.
The Police cars swoop down on the now-stopped vehicle, a mile down the road, and the doors slam open in a flurry of activity. He sees officers drawing weapons and screaming at the car's driver, but he can't hear what they are saying.
"That was pretty cool," Laura says, watching all of this, their situation momentarily forgotten. "You think fast, kid. You just might make it."
"Make what?" Julian asks.
"I dunno. Make it out alive?" Laura suggests. Her hair moves in the breeze; he gets the tingle up and down his spine again. He digs in his pocket for his keys.
Laura turns, catches his eyes, then looks at the hood of his car. He flushes—he knows what thought has just run through her mind. It's running through his mind too, stronger with every breath he takes.
"Your hood," he says softly.
She starts and pulls it up; they get into the car, and he rolls the windows down by pressing a button on the driver's side door. Laura leans against the passenger side window and doesn't speak.
Soon they are back at the mansion. Laura's first out of the car; he follows her up the stairs, noting the tingling up and down his spine has grown more constant now, more insistent.
"Laura?" he asks, as she's about to branch off into the woman's dorms. She freezes, but doesn't turn around. "What?" she asks, her voice stiff. It's clear she doesn't want to talk.
"Is this about me?" he asks. He can't help wondering.
Laura doesn't answer.
"I don't understand why you're so afraid of something happening," he says to her back, unable to help himself. "I get the whole pheromones thing, I do. But…it's already happened once. Why are you so afraid of it happening again?" He pauses. "Do you not like me, or something?"
"Goodnight," she says gruffly.
"Please answer me," he says. "The truth will hurt less."
Now Laura turns, and her eyes are full of anger. "Really? Are you sure? The truth doesn't hurt less for me! Just leave me alone!"
"Laura—" he starts, but she silences him. "No! I told you to leave it alone! One of the things I hate about you is you don't respect me!"
"You don't respect meeither," he says, seething. "You started this whole thing, then you won't finish it. You leave me hanging on, with no closure, and no clue. I—"
"You want to hear it? I think you're disgusting, repulsive, and I'm ashamed I slept with you to begin with!" Laura snaps. "I keep taking showers but I can't wash your dirt off! There, are you happy?"
Julian is stunned into silence. They stare at each other for a moment, neither believing what she has just said, or that she had the nerve to say it. As she watches him, the intensity of the tingle from the pheromones turns hot; she is releasing more of them. Maybe because her body is denying her words.
The next moment finds them entangled. Julian's hands are already under her clothing, fervently feeling her skin; hers are already at his belt, undoing the buckle. He breaks off the kiss, takes her hand and leads her down the hallway to his room.
"I shouldn't—" she says, as he opens the door with his mind. But she doesn't finish the sentence, follows him in and shuts the door behind them. Her fingers find the hem of his shirt and then she pulls it off; he takes her in his arms, closes his eyes and presses his nose to her neck, inhaling and letting the pheromones saturate his system. The more he gets, the more he wants, and the more he needs.
His hands find their way under her sweater and push it off roughly, then he throws it to the side with an annoyed expression. It was in his way. She tears off his shirt, he deals with her pants, almost systematically, as if they are nuisances, unnatural barriers.
Julian picks her up and throws her on the bed; she seems to enjoy this, as she sits up slightly, her eyes demanding more. He puts his hands on her sides and runs them down the length of her body, then gets to work on exciting it. She arches her back as he settles on his knees and tastes her. When he decides she's ready, he climbs up and pulls her down the bed to meet him, still standing on the floor. He feels something burst (he doesn't even recall feeling this last time) and pushes in harder, incensed. The pace he sets starts off frenzied and grows even more intense. When he gets close, Laura suddenly sits up and kisses him, her hands running down his jaws and neck; this surprises him, as they haven't really expressed much tenderness in the last few minutes. He doesn't even notice himself finishing, as he's too focused on what his mouth is doing.
About an hour later, they curl up on his bed, exhausted. They are both still covered in grime from their hard day of labor, and now a sheen of perspiration, but neither notices. Sleep comes easily.