WARNING: This story is DIRTY. Do you hear me? Dirty! If you can't handle slash, or sex, or smut, or any number of s-words, you do NOT want to read this, I promise. Take your virginal eyes and skip to the next chapter, please, because this is NOTHING but smut. And, of course, Indian food. God, I love Indian food.
Sex and Samosas
Wherein Jean-Paul and Pietro... well... hell, look at the title. They're clearly craving Samosas.
Telltale Quote: Dude, how come I can't do the vibrating thing?– Pietro Maximoff
Pietro really hadn't thought it through. His ban on thinking about how, exactly, he felt about Jean-Paul had forbidden it.
So he'd done exactly what he'd felt like doing, without really considering why.
Other than, of course, the fact that he wanted Jean-Paul Beaubier more than he'd ever wanted anything in his life. And for the last month, fuck, probably longer, every time he'd gotten himself off, he'd ended up doing it while fantasizing about the absolutely fucking gorgeous Canadian X-Man.
Ok, so he'd broken his ban on JP thoughts then. But hell, like he had control over his brain when that was going on.
Apparently, it had been the right decision– to go with his instinct instead of his brain, that is– because now, Jean-Paul was kissing him. Better than that, the moment they'd entered the room, JP had slammed him against the wall, hard, without even saying a fucking word, and started kissing and biting and scratching at him instantly. Like a predatory, powerful, fucking gorgeous tiger. In fast-forward. Quicksilver fast.
Really kissing. Not screwing around because they were high. Not fucking with his mind, not giving him shit. No, JP had his tongue in Pietro's mouth, nearly down his fucking throat, and Jesus Christ it tasted good. Musky and male and like the cigarette he'd probably been smoking before Pietro had found him outside the Institute, just where he'd known he would. Heaven. And Pietro's back was flat against the wall, and his hands were in JP's pockets and ah, his ass was hard under those jeans, and goddamn, speaking of hard...
Fuck it. He had no idea what he was "supposed" to do, "supposed" to feel. Right or wrong or normal or strange, it wasn't even a thought in his head. He just wanted it. He fucking wanted it now. He pushed his hips against his friend's, sucking at Jean-Paul's full bottom lip, hard. Dying to get closer, to feel more of him, to get him out of those bloody irritating clothes... skin. He just wanted Jean-Paul's skin all over him. White and hot and goddamn he felt good.
He slid his hands up the other boy's back, inside his shirt now, because he had to feel it. So warm, already, even though they'd only been inside a few seconds, probably. He could feel Jean-Paul, hard in his jeans, and pushed against him again to tighten the already impossibly tight space between their hips, made JP moan just a little into his mouth. Pietro wondered if he was always so quiet, or if he ever got loud. He wasn't sure which would be hotter, but he suspected that it wouldn't matter. Any noise out of that captivating mouth would only make him want it more, make him harder, make him push against him like this again and again until he finally fucking did something about it because oh god he wanted it now.
Jean-Paul suddenly slowed down, and pulled back, just his chest. He never let up that pressure between them, right where Pietro could feel his sex pushing at him (Ah fuck Jean-Paul's cock is right there, fuck need to feel it against me, want to feel it, need to push harder.) He bit at Pietro's lip, not quite gently, but not enough to draw blood, anyhow, and let out a heavy breath as Pietro pushed his hips upward against him. JP slid warm hands under his sweater, still moving at a slightly accelerated speed, but slower than their frenzied kissing before, and pushed it out of his way. Pietro felt his friend's flattened palms, felt the roughness of his thumbs pulling at the thin, soft hair on his belly, then the small patch at his chest, snagging at his nipples. Made something electric shoot through him, something that woke him up, woke up every nerve ending in his body at once, made him see spots for just a second. Jean-Paul stopped biting, stood straight, and looked him in the eye.
Blue. Guh... so blue. Looking at him like that. Like he'd steal Pietro's soul right through his eyes if he didn't comply with his every demand, and instantly. Fuck, he loved that look.
Pietro sped up again, and was out of his shirt before the other boy blinked, and pulling at Jean-Paul's. Short work was made of it, and suddenly they were pressed together completely, front to front.
Ah. Fuck. Skin.
Strange feeling, as he licked at Jean-Paul's teeth, his tongue, wrapped his arms around him, ran his hands down the hard, pronounced muscle of his back, then up again, hands moving faster than mouths. Strange feeling of flatness that fit into his own. Hot skin, rough hair at his chest, dark and thicker than his own, catching at it. Something so masculine. Seemed so much more... real. Made him want to rut against him like some kind of desperate animal. Panic in his stomach, of the best kind. Made him desperate all over, in fact. So solid, so hard and warm and very male. Now. Want it now.
Jean-Paul was kissing his neck now, open-mouthed, licking him, biting at him, at that not-quite-speedster but not-quite-human pace, fast and wet. His hands were all over Pietro, and they were moving fast. Because when JP wanted to be fast, he was damn fast. And god, every time he sunk his teeth in like that, Pietro was sure he was going to come right there and then, totally unceremoniously, in his jeans. Sent shockwaves through him, when he felt that almost-pain.
JP hadn't said a word, not a fucking word, but Pietro understood anyhow.
(So hot so hard need to get my hands on him need to feel him want it want it want him now.)
He couldn't stop to think about this. He would think it was wrong. He would think he was pushing Pietro. Even though the opposite was clearly true.
Pietro was pushing him– right over the goddamn edge. So. Hot.
He wanted to eat him alive. Hand him pinned down on the bed and was sucking at his hot skin, all over his chest, holding himself over Pietro so that they barely touched. Jeans still on. He wanted them off. As much as he was enjoying the feeling of his cock pushing against stiff jeans, of the blood coursing through it, he knew damn well it'd feel even better against Pietro's skin. The silver-haired boy was positively burning up. But he made him wait, because he knew that was just what Pietro couldn't handle. Waiting. He'd slowed down now, to almost "normal" speeds, and was presently sliding down Pietro, tonguing his friend's skin hungrily as he squirmed underneath him. Dying for him.
God, that was hot, knowing that Pietro was dying for him. Further down still, until he was kissing his flat, taut stomach, covering him with his mouth and flicking his tongue over the salty skin until Pietro convulsed under him. Unh... the taste of him. He lowered himself, finally, unable to resist. Pushed his erection into Pietro's long thigh, and Pietro instantly moved against it. Made him release a harsh breath, at the flash of oh fuck that shot through him. In retribution, he slid his tongue into his friend's navel, raised his eyes to watch his face as he convulsed again.
"Ah, fuck, Jean-Paul...,"
Christ. He couldn't help it. He moaned into Pietro's belly, when he heard his name like that. Voice low, lazy, just barely recognizable as Pietro's. He sucked hard, just below the navel, at the pale skin above his waistline. Knew it would leave a mark. Wanted to. Tasted wonderful. Sweat and skin. Just like he'd wanted it to. He slid upward a little, dragging himself across Pietro, slid one hand up to the other boy's chest as he sucked hard on another spot, just above the sharp ridge of Pietro's hip bone rising out of his jeans, and dug his nails into him. Not too hard... just a little... and he pulled down, scratching four long, pink trails on that perfect, smooth skin, all the way down to his waist.
Pietro's back arched, suitably, and he let out a beautiful string of expletives that made Jean-Paul want to thrust hard, down into the sheets. Jesus, the mouth on him.
Oh god, that wicked fucking mouth.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. Pietro didn't care what the fuck Jean-Paul did to him. He would've taken anything, anything, if it meant this could go on just a little longer.
Naked. Absolutely fucking naked. Jean-Paul was wrapped around him, kissing him. So fucking aggressive. Fingers in his hair, ungentle. Fist tightening around the hair just above his neck, pulling. Sent a charge through him, made him jerk against Jean-Paul, into his stomach. His entirely perfect, washboard stomach. The whole front of him, shameless and hot and hard, never giving an inch. All that heat. JP's cock next to his, pushing into him.
Oh fuck, if this kept up, he wouldn't have to do anything at all. All that skin, all that gorgeous, hot skin against him. Something wet on Jean-Paul's stomach, from one of them, both of them, didn't matter. It was dangerous. It was brilliant. It was such a fucking rush. He didn't mean to any more, he didn't even have control, but he kept pushing against JP harder. There was a spot, just below the head of Pietro's insistent erection, that was like pushing the fuck yeah button every time it rubbed against the body next to him. Impossible to resist pushing it. He wasn't even trying to, it just happened.
He felt like he was on fire, and he felt so good.
Jean-Paul was pushing back now, pressing his body against Pietro's hard, clutching at him with his free arm, pulling him tight against him, breathing something into his ear as he rained kisses on him. Not silent anymore, but still quiet. Words Pietro couldn't understand, something in French, but it didn't fucking matter what it meant. All it meant to him was that he was about to come all over his best friend's stomach (ah fuck just thinking about it holy fuck how can it feel like that from just thinking about it don't do it yet hang on feel more feel that want him) and it felt so amazing like this, with Jean-Paul's teeth digging into his neck, with those nails in his back, that hand in his hair. Hurt so good. Wanted to feel. Wanted it now.
Jean-Paul pulled back a little, slid one hand between them, keeping the other in Pietro's hair. Felt cold, wanted to be against him, until he felt that. JP's hand around him, lightly. Fitfully, he grabbed at his friend's arms, dug his fingernails into him, saying something, maybe it was ah yeah. Pietro really couldn't be sure. But yeah, this was what he wanted. He thrust up, involuntarily, into Jean-Paul's hand, felt it tighten, just enough.
Something... oh fuck. Something fucking vibrating against that spot. Light, barely there, but so fucking fast. That molecular vibration that Jean-Paul had and Pietro simply did not. Pushing his buttons.
Pietro felt himself starting to shake, from the inside out, and honestly assumed that however the fuck JP managed that, he was also managing to melt his brain. He buried his face in the other boy's neck, kissing him fast, hard, mumbling something about ohholyfuckohmygodfuckmeyeahJean-Paulfuckyeahyeahyes
But again, he couldn't really be sure what he was saying. Particularly since his brain appeared to be totally liquified.
JP's other hand, the one that wasn't occupied alternately stroking him hard and fast, and vibrating against the spot to end all spots without breaking his rhythm, somehow, clutched at his hair. Jerking at it, pulling it, just painfully enough. Jean-Paul muttering in his ear again, breath hot and wet, like he was encouraging Pietro. Asking him for it. Not begging, not JP, no never, but definitely encouraging.
Fuck. So. Much. Feeling.
No air. No time. (Here it comes oh fuck I can't stop it ah oh Jesus Christ holy fuck Jean-Paul.) Pietro squeezed his eyes shut and sucked in a hard breath, held it. And felt his world fucking explode in Jean-Paul's hand. Pure, intense, hot whiteness, starting in Jean-Paul's hand and spilling through Pietro's entire body like a flash flood. Taking anything in its way out with it, wiping him out entirely. Skin. Hot. Sweat. Salt. Him. Hand. Bite. Kiss. Scratch. Feeling. Pull. White. End.
He was still shaking when Jean-Paul let go of him and shoved his shoulder down roughly, so that he was flat on his back again, and slid downward...
And started licking him.
Another convulsion shot through him, as Jean-Paul's tongue slid over the length of him, and licked him clean. He took him into his mouth, and Pietro's back arched, entirely without his permission, as a smaller explosion hit behind his eyes. When he was released from JP's extremely warm, extremely wet mouth again, he felt his friend licking at his stomach, just below his navel. And realized that he'd made quite a fucking mess, going off in JP's hand like that.
And Jean-Paul was working hard to clean it up. And his substantial erection was hot and starting to leak as he did it, pressed against Pietro's leg.
And goddamn, he looked like he was enjoying it. His dark head at Pietro's stomach, moving up and down as he worked. He slid that fabulous tongue upwards, not missing any of the sticky wetness on his way, into Pietro's navel again. Pietro gave an involuntary shiver of pleasure, feeling his tongue dip into him like that, and shifted his leg against Jean-Paul purposefully. He felt, more than heard, the moan JP allowed to escape from him, lips pressed against his navel, making it vibrate with the sound.
He was spent, yeah, for the moment. But fuck, that made him wish he wasn't.
"Christ, Jean-Paul, you're... goddamn you're...," (Sexy? No, understatement of the century, don't be an idiot. Amazing? No, that's not even half of it, not even worth mentioning. Hot as fuck? Making me wonder how I can possibly keep from getting hard again in roughly thirty seconds?) Holy god, he'd never seen anything, anything like that in his entire fucking life, let alone felt it, actually thought he'd see someone doing it to him.
But JP continued, with the occasional murmur of appreciation, until there was nothing left on Pietro's stomach but his spit. Dragging his rough, hot tongue over his skin, licking every last bit of the sex from him. Slowly, but hungrily. As if it were a matter of the utmost importance. Like he was down on his knees, praying to Pietro, almost. Like it was some kind of sacred act of worship, of adoration, appreciation. Like he needed it.
Fuck, that looked like fun.
The thing about Pietro was that he was so smooth. So goddamn hard and lean and long limbed. He was, to put it bluntly, fucking beautiful. He was pretty with his clothes on, but without? Ah fuck, heaven. And Jean-Paul didn't even care if he finished what he'd started, because all he needed was that. Jesus, the taste of him. Slightly familiar, warm and salty and so undeniably male, but always different. Fuck it was good. He'd had a feeling it would be.
And damn, the way he moved. The way he just didn't care, had absolutely no shame. Took what he wanted, didn't even have to say anything to make it clear. The most expressive body language. A shiver, a push, a bite, a kiss. The smallest thing he did spoke volumes. So positively responsive, so unashamed. Pietro wanted what he wanted and didn't give a fuck what Jean-Paul thought of it. And Jean-Paul ate it up, that attitude.
As it turned out, however, Pietro was clearly planning to finish what he had started. Jean-Paul was sitting against the wall, in fact, on the bed, and Pietro was curled up, bent over on his knees between JP's legs. Biting at his inner thigh, lightly.
Wicked fucking mouth. Jean-Paul figured that his own was a bit wicked as well, because he honestly did have a bit of an oral fixation. He needed to keep his mouth busy, wanted to taste everything, was seriously affected by the sensuality of it. Needed to have his mouth involved in everything. But Pietro...
Wasn't this fucking amazing? Pietro's hot tongue running all over every sensitive spot he could find, searching. Jean-Paul clutched at the sheets under him, pulling them into fists, letting them go. Something traveled straight up, from the base of his spine, when he felt that exploring tongue hit something new. Hot and warm and so fucking seductive, talking him into somehow getting harder, growing until he felt certain he would die if his brain lost any more blood to his lower body.
He wanted desperately to grab Pietro by the hair, but didn't want to interfere. But fuck, he loved the way the guy loved to be pushed, pulled, sucked, scratched, bitten. Loved that Pietro wanted to be manhandled like that, wanted him to own him like that. Loved the way he swore when he felt something he liked and...
Ah sacre mere. That tongue, running up his shaft. Pausing under the head of it, as it pulsed once, then twice. Growing impossibly, desperate for release. Jean-Paul pulled at the sheets some more, trying to avoid squirming too much. Chrisse, he wanted to fuck that gorgeous, wicked mouth right then. Hard. God, he knew it was hot in there. Hot and wet and fucking–
"Need instruction, if things get rough, JP."
Yeah right, like it would take any fucking skill at this point. He muttered something in return, to the voice speaking below. And gasped aloud as he felt Pietro's mouth suddenly close around him, warm and wet and mon dieu he was sucking hard. Pietro's tongue pushed up, instantly, making the space close in tight and hot, and he slid down further than Jean-Paul had ever expected, lips nearly meeting up with the hand anchoring him at Jean-Paul's stomach. Involuntarily, he felt his hips try to buck at the shock of pure joy that rendered him insensible for a moment. Ah, but he wanted to. Needed to–
Didn't have to. Pietro was moving, now that he'd tested things out, and quickly built his rhythm with his head, using his tongue in a rather clever way, pushing it up and against him so that it dragged over him perpetually, rubbing him into some kind of fuzzy ecstatic state in no time. Electric current in something like heavy waves washing in and out of him. Crashing through his body and pulling out with that irresistible undertow.
Fuck. Pietro. Sucking his cock.
Thinking about it made him dizzy. Looking down and watching it nearly made him black out, as he felt still more blood rush into his ecstatic member. He told him, in joual, just what he thought of it. Too hard to think in English, right then. Not usually, just right then.
Told him how fucking beautiful he was. Told him he was going to fuck him proper some day. Told him a hundred other such appropriately dirty things that Pietro couldn't understand. Didn't matter. He didn't understand the words, maybe. But he was definitely getting the point of them.
He fought to hold still, as waves of something began to build in him. Didn't want to mess it up, the thing Pietro was creating. But oh marde, that was so fucking tight, in there, and those lips wrapped around him and that tongue pushing at him as his head rocked, and fuck, he wanted to grab him by the hair and push up hard every time he felt the back of Pietro's throat closing in on him like that, when he slid down that far, and sweet Jesus just let it last a little longer, Chrisse, just a little longer...
"Ah, fuck... you sure...?" He managed to breathe, by way of warning, not even sure if there was time for Pietro to get off of him, at this rate.
Pietro's free hand squeezed his thigh impatiently. A yes I'm fucking sure, asshole gesture if ever Jean-Paul had seen one.
Which was a good thing, because almost simultaneously he came like a fucking shotgun, long and so hard he lost his power of sight for a few minutes. Silent, not breathing. Stomach tight, holding his body totally still, fighting it. He always held his breath until it was over. The fight made it more intense. And ah, yeah, it took a minute to be over, really.
But Pietro didn't move. Just stayed where he was, bent over like that, licking at him. Swallowed dutifully, and kept it up, until Jean-Paul felt his blood returning to where it ought to be, finally, and let his head hit the wall behind him with a dull thud and a long release of his breath.
When Pietro sat up, he was grinning, lips beautifully swollen and pink. He drug his hand across his mouth quickly, and raised one silver eyebrow.
God. That mouth. How was he supposed to catch his breath, looking at that mouth?
Jean-Paul leaned forward, covered those puffy lips with his own, and pulled Pietro into him, literally arranging him so that the other boy was sitting in his lap. Pietro complied with an uncanny amount of flexibility (of which Jean-Paul made a mental note, as such a thing could come in handy, next time around,) and ended up with his legs wrapped around Jean-Paul's midsection, for all intents and purposes.
And his raging fucking hard-on pushing into Jean-Paul's stomach, once again.
Oh Jesus. Apparently, Pietro Maximoff liked giving head. A lot. Wasn't that a lovely surprise?
He'd like getting it a lot more, Jean-Paul was willing to bet.
But first, he just kissed him. Forced Pietro to take it slow, to wait. Slow down, Quicksilver, stop and enjoy. Jean-Paul, for his part, was certainly enjoying, still reeling just a bit. But the lack of urgency in him, now that he felt so blessedly released, allowed him to feel everything slowly, carefully, for a moment. The weight of Pietro in his lap. The feeling of his smooth skin under his fingers. The taste of both of them, mingling in their mouths as they kissed, violently. Hungrily. Pietro's fingers in his hair, raking through it. Jean-Paul was tempted, for a moment, to take a fucking bite out of him, he was so perfect. So goddamn delicious.
But he didn't. He just kept his face upturned, and kissed him. Let Pietro pin him to the bed, to the wall like this. Let him taste himself on him. Let him grind into him just a little more. Let him think he had control.
Let him beg, maybe, if he got lucky.
Because fuck, that was hot, the way Pietro's entire body asked for it. Jean-Paul was pretty sure that alone would be enough to make him want to do this all night.
As if he would need convincing.
He'd known it was going to be... different. Pietro had done some shit in his time. He didn't go out on five dates a night sometimes and never end up with someone willing to get him off, one way or another. He'd been having sex since he was fifteen years old, back home in Transia, after all.
But holy fuck. Hot.
First off, no teenage girl had ever, ever done something like that whole licking him clean act. Which, by the way, he fucking loved. It was like being worshiped. And it felt amazing, as he was laying there, trying to catch his breath. But Jean-Paul's tongue always felt amazing, of course. He'd known that for a long time, really.
And that vibrating thing... what the fuck? Best. Thing. Ever.
But it didn't even end there. Jean-Paul also sucked cock like a fucking pro. Tight and hot and taking him in so far that Pietro could've sworn he was fucking his best friend's throat. And, of course, loving it. And damn, he knew the buttons to push. That thing, with getting his finger wet, and then...
Unh. Never tried that before. Was weird at first, when he realized what JP was about to do with that finger. But once he relaxed... holy fuck, if that hadn't pushed him right over the goddamn edge. Like it woke something else up, having something inside of him, stretching, even just a little like that. And considering that he was getting the blow job of the century at the time, it was really all he could do not to slam down on Jean-Paul and fuck himself silly, to be honest.
Course, that might've been a little over the top. But he'd been a little preoccupied at the time with the earthquake of an orgasm that had been building through his entire body, so he really couldn't be expected to take the blame for his urges at the time, now could he?
And seriously, who the hell knew how much fun it was? Doing it for someone, that is. Getting head was always fun (well, unless it was bad, then it was just boring, and sometimes pretty painful, but that was hardly an issue with JP was it?) But he'd actually enjoyed that, even if it did make his jaw a little sore, afterwards. And if that made him a cocksucker... well shit. He'd take the title. Feeling JP coming in his mouth... now that is what is known as a power trip. Someone like Jean-Paul Beaubier, someone so cool, so calm, so constantly in control of himself... getting that excited over him. Fuck yes. That was the fucking business, right there. He'd swallow all day if he got to see that expression on JP's face more often. Like he'd just been smacked, and loved it. Those pale blue eyes looking like the thick lashes were too much for them, like they couldn't possibly get more than halfway open, those heavy lips open as he fought for air. Sure, it tasted a little funny, but not bad. Kinda good, really. Just different.
He was pretty sure he'd get used to it.
Jesus, the shit he'd never known before today. He could write a book.
Jean-Paul was stretched out now, across the bed, eyes closed. Also suitably beaten down. Pietro was pleased to find that there was no cuddling of any sort about to happen. He was definitely not a cuddly kind of guy. And neither, apparently, was his friend. It was a phenomenon he'd never quite understood, the need to curl up with someone after getting off. Personally, Pietro usually just wanted some fucking breathing room.
"Dude, how come I can't do the vibrating thing?"
Jean-Paul's icy eyes snapped open, and he smirked, face half in the pillow since he was on his stomach. "It's just the way my powers work. A molecular thing. Did you ever try?"
"Course I fucking did! Well, not that exactly, but I can't vibrate," he pouted. Now that sucked. That'd make jacking off about a hundred times easier. Fast worked too, for him, but that... "That's a goddamn art form, JP. I can do some shit, but not that."
Lazily, his friend laughed at him, and rolled over onto his back, tangling his long legs up in the sheets and leaving his pale chest exposed to the air, which was growing cooler as the night stretched on. It had been dark for some time now, but it got dark early, this close to winter. "What can I say? I've picked up some tricks."
"Do I want to know?" Pietro smirked right back at him. He didn't want to know, actually, because he didn't give a fuck. Not unless it was to write whoever the hell had taught him how to suck dick like that a thank you note.
"Being famous has its perks," his elf-eared friend raised both eyebrows at him. "Drugs and sex, mainly, in the off-season. What there is of it."
"And you live at the Institute now why?" Pietro was at a loss.
"Gets old," Jean-Paul's shoulders moved, just a bit, in a sort of lying down shrug.
Shoulders. Great shoulders. Looked good. Felt good. Tasted good.
Fuck. JP was hot even when he couldn't possibly go at it again.
Well, at least not for a few minutes.
"How do drugs and sex get old? Enlighten me," He flipped over onto his back as well, and put his arms behind his head, under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
"Rather have a sister," was the only answer he got.
This made him look back over at his friend, thoughtfully.
Jean-Paul just kept looking up, face blank. Like he hadn't even spoken.
The guy never said much, about his past. Not that Pietro ever did either. All that bouncing around and separation and stealing and searching and...
Sometimes, Pietro had to wonder if he wasn't really fucking scarred from all that shit, and just too lame to realize it.
But looking at JP, he figured he probably wasn't the only one with issues like that.
And he knew he wasn't the only one who didn't feel like talking about them.
He also knew that his stomach suddenly seemed to be trying to eat its own lining. "Fuck me, I'm starving."
Jean-Paul's smooth face finally took on some expression again, one of supreme discomfort, as he rubbed at his stomach. His cut up stomach. That Pietro had just– "Yeah," the darker boy cut into his thoughts. "You know what we need? Samosas. That Indian restaurant in town has the fucking best samosas. We need them."
Pietro's mouth started to water at the very thought. "Man, we need bags of them."
"Mountains."
"Better yet. Let's roll."
After about ten gigantic samosas, Jean-Paul didn't feel faint anymore.
After about twenty, he was able to slow down eating enough to hold a decent conversation.
Jesus, he was done in though. Fucking tired. "Christ man, it's still early and I'm ready to drop."
"Yeah, well who knew that spending all evening in bed could make you more tired?" Pietro grinned at him over the chutney, then looked back at his own food and dug in with his hands.
"If anyone could make it more tiring, it'd be you." Pietro managed to make everything tiring. It was a key aspect of his personality, in fact, as far as Jean-Paul was concerned.
Pietro cackled a bit, around a mouthful of samosa. "Yeah, that's what happens when you live fast. Can't keep up?"
Jean-Paul grinned, "I'm doing alright."
"Yeah, looks that way, man."
Fuck, he thought, shoving another half a samosa into his mouth, savoring the fried appetizer (god this shit was amazing....) Never would've thought when I woke up this morning that today would end up so...
"This is kinda weird, innit?" Pietro interrupted his thoughts, suddenly, taking a quick break from his rapidly disappearing pile of appetizer to gulp down half his cup of chai in one swig.
Jean-Paul looked up, and caught his eyes. And Pietro just looked back, that familiar, childishly curious expression on his face. No discomfort. No guilt. No shame. Just interest in what Jean-Paul thought about the situation.
So he decided to be difficult. "What? The Indian food? The Bollywood soundtrack? Or what came before it?"
"Well, the music is a little fucked up too," Pietro admitted, referring to the cheesy Hindi music spilling from the speakers around the dining room, "but mostly what came before." He took another quick bite, but a smaller one, so that it was easier to talk around. "I mean, we're friends, right?"
"I should hope so."
"So that usually doesn't mean you get to do... whatever the hell that was."
"No. It's not likely. In fact, the practice is generally frowned upon."
"But we did. And now I'm just like... sitting here across from you eating fucking Indian food. Just like any other day of my life. And I don't feel... different. I mean, you're still just... JP."
Jean-Paul cocked his head now, and blinked at the silver-haired boy. And realized, "No... didn't change much, did it?"
"Well, I mean, I feel tired. And I'm grinning like an idiot, cause who the fuck doesn't after they get off. And I think I like you way more as of about an hour ago. But you know what I mean?"
That made him laugh, and he took a drink of his own spicy chai, nodding from behind it. Honestly, he was pleased with Pietro for bringing it up. While he wasn't much for "talking things out," it was pretty mature of the guy, out of character mature, even, to be so cool. About something like this, anyhow. Considering how long they'd gone pretending that they didn't want to do exactly what they'd just done... repeatedly. "Yeah, I know. What, you thought everything would change? Did you think we'd stop talking? Or start taking moonlit strolls?"
Pietro rolled his eyes, "Did I say I like you more? I meant less. Way less."
"Ah, you'll change your tune as soon as you recover your strength," he teased, licking the chutney from his fingers, finally feeling as if he'd eaten about all he could... for another few hours, anyhow. But maybe he'd get some of that sweet stuff, that gulab jamun...
"No doubt about it, JP. So what, you're not mad at me anymore?"
That actually made Jean-Paul laugh. Not even he was bitchy enough to be angry after that. "Nothing says I'm sorry like a blow job, Pietro."
This made his fiend snicker evilly. "Great. I'll keep that in mind."
"Let's hope you don't need it," he was rolling his eyes now. "No, I forgive you, this time. But don't fucking do it again, huh?"
"Whatever. Just checking."
"I'm not about to start sleeping with a pansy, so you'd better not." It was a lie, of course. He'd sleep with Pietro even if he jumped up on the seat right there in the restaurant and started screaming that there was a mouse under his chair and he needed Jean-Paul to save him from it. He honestly didn't give a fuck. He was well hooked.
But Pietro didn't need to know that. Not now, and probably not ever.
"If you're trying to motivate me to be more noble, Jean-Paul...," Pietro started, but trailed off, and raised one silver eyebrow thoughtfully. He was quiet for a minute, as if he were considering the threat seriously.
And finished, "I think you may have found the one thing that could convince me."
