Author has written 7 stories for X-Men: Evolution, Batman Beyond, and Ghost Busters (Real/Extreme). Thankee to Mor O'Conner for the wondiferous image :points:'Lo. I'm a newspaper copy editor/wannabe writer. I can't seem to get enough of sci-fi, fantasy or action cartoons, and I love to write fanfiction. I'm an RGB/Batman Beyond/X-Men: Evolution fan. I try to give good reviews, and I don't mind getting them in return. Fave pairings: In RGB: Egon/Janine *Story Preview* Admirer, chapter eight “What’re you so happy about?” The speedster asked in a suspicious tone, his voice roughened with fatigue. The blond shrugged, the dreamy smile becoming a little more pronounced. “Just thinking . . . ever hear of that, Quickie?” “Obviously you haven’t, Daniels, or we wouldn’t be doing any of this.” Evan gave a dismissive snort, running the back of his hand across his brow. “So how’s your head, anyway?” Pietro started, the voice as unexpected as the question. “My . . . head?” “Yeah. From last night.” Evan glanced over at him, frowning. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been acting kind of . . . weird. Even for you.” Pietro studied Evan from the corner of his eye. FuckFuckFuck. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Um . . . you know. At lunch today—” Pietro closed his eyes briefly and allowed himself one last Fuck! before launching into defensive mode. “Look, Daniels. I don’t know what you think you saw, but itwasn’twhatitlookedlike. There’snotanythinggoingon --” He broke off when he suddenly realized that Evan wasn’t beside him any more. He was, in fact, behind him. Almost the entire length of the track behind, and looking at him in stunned incredulity. Pietro looked down at his traitorous feet and kicked at the asphalt. Fuck. The first time he’d ever lost his grip on his control – it would figure that it would happen while Evan was there. Pietro averted his eyes as he waited for Evan to catch up. I’m in deep, deep, deep sh— “I thought you said wearing all that slowed you down.” Pietro pulled at the topmost shirt in disgust. All three garments were soaked through and weren’t doing a thing at the moment except irritating him. “Forget it. Come on.” Pietro gritted his teeth, the hair at the base of his neck bristling. He had to keep his cool. That was the only chance he had of getting through this ordeal with a modicum of dignity was to not let Evan get under his skin more than he already had. “What I was saying was that me and Lance were just fooling around –” He winced. That didn’t sound quite right, either. “Joking around. It wasn’t anything . . . weird.” He darted a glance at Evan, waiting for his reaction the news. Evan wasn’t looking at him, and what little he could see of his expression was blank. Pietro wondered if Evan hadn’t heard him or was just ignoring him, and was about to repeat his statement when Evan spoke. “Oh . . . um, yeah.” Evan blew out a breath as they passed beneath the face of the fieldhouse clock. “Uh . . . whatever. I didn’t think . . .” Evan trailed off, and Pietro fought hard to keep his breathing normal waiting for the hammer to fall, for Evan to call him a sick twitch, or a pathetic idiot, or . . . or . . . “Whatever,” Evan said again, his voice raspy. Beads of perspiration were beginning to collect on his forehead. “Whatever you and Alvers get up to, it’s not . . . like . . . it’s any of my . . . business.” “I know that.” Pietro snapped, feeling suddenly disappointed. Far from sounding embarrassed, pissed, amused or hope-of-hopes, jealous, Evan merely sounded indifferent, as if finding adolescent mutant teens in a state of undress was a common occurrence in the halls of Bayville High. That, and the way he said “whatever” made Pietro want to slap him repeatedly. “But if you’ve got ideas about telling stories to any of your friends, I wouldn’t waste my breath.” “Chill.” Evan attempted a shrug that didn’t quite make it. “I figured you and Alvers were . . . whatever. Besides, I don’t think you’re his type, man.” The voice was gently teasing, and Pietro aimed a sharp glare at the blond who was doing a poor job of trying not to smile. “Not his type? Like I’d ever go for him. Too much of a headache.” Pietro hesitated a moment, before saying in as casual a tone as his breathless voice could form, “Besides, I kind of have a thing for blonds . . .” |
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