Disclaimer: I own nothing.
And Then There Were Two
John/Pyro
Real helpful, she is. Oh, yeah, 'the feeling is mutual,' she says. Right after having a temper tantrum, 'trust me'. Bullshit it's mutual, he's practically running away from me. Hell, he's literally running away from me! Admittedly, this was after he had collided with me, and... leaned closer, then turned red and... ran for it... Oh, the idiot.
I really hate it when she's right. She gives you this, this look, like, 'oh, I'm so much smarter than you, and didn't I tell you this would happen!' and it's so infuriating. Now I'm gonna have to endure that look for friggin' weeks, because when she's right, she's right.
Shit, now what do I do?
Make food, for a start. Maybe there's something to be said for the whole, heart-through-stomach approach. He certainly looks hungry.
...Wow. That is hideous. I'm not really in the mood for eating anything, anymore.
This is a weird tradition. I mean, they want to avoid the stress of everyday life, so what do they do? A bunch of young mutants, X-Men in training, gather and play a marathon of hero movies. Great idea.
Of course, I've been asked (read 'ordered') to attend by Marie, and Bobby actually asked me, as well. So obviously I'm going. But under protest.
I turn up in the rec. room, and find that it has already started. There're a lot of kids right now, but I think its right before 'bedtime' (suckers) so they'll be leaving soon. Most of the kids are gathered on the central couch, with the teenagers on the floor or chairs hidden in the shadowy corners, and I expect I'm supposed to do the same until the kids go to bed, when there'll be a mad rush to get to the couch.
Screw that. I shoo a couple of kids off one end of the couch and take up residence. The two boys give me an irritated look, and then settle down on some pillows on the floor directly in between me and the screen. Brats. I'd be irritated, but it's not really a great movie. George Clooney just was not meant to be Batman.
About halfway through the movie (I was almost falling asleep) Bobby wanders in and looks for a seat. The girl sitting on my right shifts closer to her friends so he can sit, blushing and giggling to her friends. It seems like Bobby's got himself a fan club. I'm caught between laughing and growling possessively. Then I realize that I may be being a little bit ridiculous and jealous of a twelve year old moreover.
I'm thirteen-and-a-half, moron!
The voice seems to fast track itself to my head. That means that it must have come from the little girl. God, I think pointedly at her, not another. Keep out of my head please, little girl.
I look over and see her grinning at me from the other side of Bobby's chest. Then she sticks out her tongue. My eyes narrow, and I barely restrain myself from returning the favour. Man, why is it that this particular batch of kids seems to hate me so much? Usually, it's adults that dislike and mistrust me.
This movie would be a lot more bearable if I didn't already know how it was going to end. And if Bobby would stop shifting minutely closer to me, that would be nice too, although I expect it is a bit weird having the little girl making eyes at him. I'm getting entirely too... comfortable, with where we are now.
Just as the credits are rolling, Storm marches in and flicks on the lights. This draws a few protesting groans, as does her announcement, "Anyone under fifteen will be in bed in ten minutes, right children?" 'Night, little girl! I think, and get a smile for my efforts. Finally, there is reluctant progress outwards and, just as I had predicted, a rush towards the couch. Then I grin smugly as Kitty ends up sitting on the floor, and wrap myself deeply into a blanket-nest. The lights go back out, and another movie starts up. It's some weird old movie about shadows and Mongols and stuff, but at least it's mostly distracting me from the fact that he's sitting next to me, leg pressed firmly against mine.
I do that for a while. I bounce between thinking about the movie (Oh, that looked painful.), and pointedly not thinking about him and how close he is (Is his hand getting closer to mine? Is mine getting closer to him?), and nervously glancing at him, then away. Once or twice I catch his eye, then both our faces heat up slightly, and we look away. I really hate this sudden bout of awkwardness between us.
We skipped the first and second Spiderman, going straight on to the third on the rather shaky grounds that "Dark-Spiderman Peter Parker is so much hotter than regular Peter Parker!" which nonetheless gained universal (if unspoken) agreement. Sometime during the movie, our hands finally meet, and we both freeze. The blanket that fastidiously separates me from the outside air mostly covers them, and I can't help but wonder why neither of us is jumping away or making awkward, hurried excuses.
His hands are dry, and mostly smooth, and cool.
My fingers twitch closer, a movement small enough to be involuntary if he freaks out. He doesn't, and his own hand moves slightly closer in response. Painfully slowly, our fingers intertwine themselves. All the while, I'm thinking that this is so stupid and sappy. I also resolutely avoid looking in his direction, vaguely suspecting that none of it is actually happening and that looking might spoil the illusion. During Superman (because really, what is Hero Night without Superman?), I slide ever so slightly closer.
Mostly everyone has left by the time The Hulk comes on, except for Marie and us. She gives me a suspiciously knowing look then goes to bed, leaving just him and me in the dark room. Neither of us have bothered to pay attention to the movie for a while now.
His eyelids appear to be drooping, and his head falls onto my shoulder. That shakes away any last trace of sleepiness I had retained. I stiffen for a minute, before relaxing and shuffling closer so his neck isn't at such an awkward angle. He murmurs his sleepy thanks and I smile almost fondly at him. The last movie ends with no body to get up and start a new one so the screen goes blank, casting the room into a soft, almost-darkness.
I should probably get up and go to my room; I get the vague feeling that tomorrow morning I'll regret it if I sleep here. Those all seem like hazy, distant troubles to my sleepy thoughts, so instead I let my head loll back slightly to rest on the back of the couch and fall gratefully into a blissful, quiet sleep.
I'd hate to be in his shoes tomorrow morning. Also, bonus points for guessing the name of the second movie that they watched. Finally, owning anything mentioned in this fic (other than the opinion that Dark-Spidey was so hot) is nothing but a pipe dream, a cruel illusion, a... You get the idea.
Colvine