WARNING: This chapter contains, among other things, breaking the law, mass consumption of alcohol, dirty dancing, skimpy clothing, Gucci clothing, sexual innuendo, a random drunken hook-up, bad driving, slashy themes, Wayne's World quotes, pretentious internal monologue, and a sing-along to Korn and Limp Bizkit's evil "All in the Family." If any of these things are going to offend you, please skip this and the following chapter. This sucker is so long, I'm dividing it into two parts!







Dirty Bass

Wherein the kids have their night out on the town

Telltale Quote: Oh my god, that like... can't be legal.– Kitty Pryde



From the diary of Jeanne-Marie Beaubier, October 18

Dear Diary,

Things have been going well, now that school is well settled in— we've survived over a month of it now, and with no mishaps to speak of. I suppose living in a completely English-speaking environment has really improved my language skills, because I have very little trouble in my classes. And if I do have trouble, there is always a friend in class to ask, which makes it easier. But I love school, and I love living here at the Institute even more than I did at first. It's hard, sometimes, when the girls I meet at school want me to spend time with them, go out somewhere late, and I cannot. I know they are having so much fun, but I also know that my duties as an X-Man don't allow for the crazy parties they are all going to, all the time. Most weekends are very free, but other than that, I know I have to be up early. And I don't really like to miss church– I know Kurt went by himself before I came, but I like spending that time with him. He's a different person, on Sunday mornings. Pensive and spiritual. Still always laughing, but always so gentle. I don't like to miss it.

I suppose church itself has also been good to me, these past few weeks. It's nice to feel that connection. That forgiveness. But it helps to have a friend there. I don't think doing things on my own is very fun. Jean-Paul seems to enjoy it, but not me. I like to feel like I'm surrounded by... warmth.

But this life of school and the Danger Room is getting... boring? I don't know, exactly what the word I want is. I am having fun, but lately I've been wanting something more. I heard Jean-Paul and Pietro last week, talking about going out, in the city. I asked them what they meant, and they asked me if I'd like to go dancing with them some time, and that Wanda and Rogue wanted to come too. I suggested that we take the others with us– but Jean-Paul said it would be too difficult to get them in, since most of them aren't eighteen yet.

I begged. And he gave in to me. He always complains that he cannot tell me no, no matter what I ask of him. I'm beginning to believe him, really.

He says the fake IDs for Bobby, Berto, Sam, Ray, Amara, Kurt, and Kitty should be ready in a few days. As well as the ones for those of us who are already eighteen– he said that if he was making them all into eighteen-year-olds, no reason those of us who are already eighteen– us, the Maximoffs, Rogue, and Lance– shouldn't be twenty-one.

I didn't ask him where he was getting them. Sometimes, my brother scares me, with the things he knows. I know I've done some.... not so nice things in my days before coming here. But Jean-Paul is so strangely familiar with being... bad. I love him for it, of course, not in spite of it. But it does make me think, sometimes.

Speaking of such things, I caught him the other day, coming out of his room with Pietro. Both of them a mess, and... grinning. I do love my brother dearly, but I cannot approve of this. I know that Roberto and I aren't the most innocent, but we are far more innocent than those two, and it's perfectly obvious. They don't even care who knows what they're up to. And believe me, no one wants to know.

At least, I don't. It's very uncomfortable, looking your brother in the eye when you see him coming out of his room, hair a mess, with another boy. I suppose I should be thankful that he is careful to not let me... feel anything, but they could at least be more discreet. And to think, he actually complains that I am too much of a flirt. But flirting is harmless. And whatever goes on between the two of them... I know it isn't innocent. True, I helped them to become friends again, and I'm glad he is happy lately. But honestly. I considered his point of view, the idea that maybe he doesn't really have a choice. If I love him, I must love all of him, after all. But no sister wants to actually think of her brother behaving that way, with anyone. I am fairly certain I would feel the same if it was him and Rogue, doing such things. But Pietro... I don't know why. I just don't like to think of it. He just seems so... wicked.

Anyhow he is my brother, and I do adore him. We have not fought in well over a month, so I don't want to bring it up with him. And he's doing me such a favor, getting everyone into the clubs like this. I'm so excited to go out again! This time, I will remember. I have a good feeling. I will be with my friends, and I will remember every moment.



Jean-Paul had finished passing out IDs earlier in the day. He felt a bit guilty about the whole thing, but not because they were breaking the law. He hadn't been bothered about the law since he was ten years old. No, he felt guilty because he really did wish they could tell Scott, and have him come along. But Pietro and Jeanne-Marie had brought him to his senses about that quickly, pointing out that their darling Boy Scout would no doubt torpedo the entire mission. Alex offered to run interference with him instead, convincing Scott that they needed a little brotherly bonding, effectively removing him from the house for the entire evening. Luckily, the Professor and Jean were both out of town for the weekend, hanging out with some Worthington fellow for undisclosed reasons, so there were no worries about the damned telepaths catching on, anyhow.

This whole twenty-one to drink issue was, in his opinion, utterly ridiculous. Who in the hell needed to be twenty-one? Americans. At eighteen, they can choose who is President of their country, but they can't decide if they're capable of handling a G&T. They can go to war and die for their country, but they can't have a fucking beer beforehand. Who invented that rule, anyhow?

Sometimes, he really feared he'd moved to a country of fundamentalists. Not that he had much love for Canada, but living here certainly made him appreciate it. Sure, he still wasn't legal there either. But at least he was close.

Still, he'd been meaning to do this for a long time. With any luck, he could hand his keys to one of the kids, and have a little fun. Drake was probably his best bet, of those not sanctioned to drink. Kurt would probably want a beer or two, despite the under age issue, and despite the fact that Iceman was a little nuts, he could drive. And Jean-Paul sure as hell wasn't going to trust his baby to any of those New Mutants. Dodgy kids. Besides, Bobby was intimidated just enough by him that he'd be really fucking careful with the car.

Jean-Paul examined himself closely in the one full-length mirror he had access to in the place, the one in the locker room. The new, dark jeans had just come in from Gucci, and they were slung dangerously low on his hips. Which he liked. Gave him a use for that belt Scott had given him. Too bad he couldn't show him how brilliant it looked, really. He wasn't sure how he felt about the fit, otherwise, as it was a little loose. But a quick turn around proved they fit well enough to show off his assets reasonably.

The shirt, also recently arrived, fit perfectly. Shoulders were always a problem, when ordering without trying on, particularly since his were rather well-developed. But he found this to his liking, luckily. It was a very light grey, almost white, and long sleeved, but lightweight enough that it wouldn't cause him to sweat. The color was nice– complimented the silver streak in his hair, really. Nice, loose fit, but showed off what was underneath when he moved. Top two unbuttoned, bottom tucked in. Looked good with the low jeans, made him look taller somehow. And tucked in would irritate the shit out of Pietro, who had seemingly lost all of his former reluctance about making a display of his affections, and would no doubt be trying to feel him up all night. And irritating Pietro always amused Jean-Paul immensely.

So long as it didn't mean he'd lose buttons, of course. Not that he'd likely mind, at the time, if Pietro got a little overzealous, but this shirt was new for the love of god, and he really didn't feel like convincing someone to sew the extras on tomorrow morning.

He rolled the sleeves up carefully, just past his wrists. Made sure the small knot of the scarf stretched thin and flat around his neck, black with just a little grey print, wasn't visible under his collar, and took a moment to admire the effect of it at his white throat. Hair was just right, falling with carefully planned randomness over his forehead, showing his ears just the way he liked it. Nice to see it behaving, for once.

A last overview... well not quite like the runway model he'd seen wearing almost the same exact outfit, but good enough. And definitely better than the shirt in pink, like that guy had been sporting it. Jean-Paul was brave, but not brave enough for that. But yes... yes, this should do nicely.

Nice to know that he would at least look as good as Ray, who had come to him in a panic, on Jeanne-Marie's direction, for something to wear. And Ray, he had to admit, looked damn good. He was about the same size, actually, so the black linen herringbone pants had really done wonders on him. Good looking kid, that one.

Shame Alex wouldn't be coming, really. Or perhaps it was a good thing, if Ray was as straight as his roommate claimed he was. Ray's ass in those pants would really only be a horrible tease for the poor surfer boy. And his shoulders plus Jean-Paul's favorite sweater would definitely equal a puddle of Alex.

Right. Just one more look.

Ok. Looks good.

Marde, too long since he'd done this. This was fucking fun, and they hadn't even gotten anywhere yet.



Bobby stared at the ID JP had handed him earlier as if it would bite him. "You guys are sure about this?"

Amara shrugged, looking really damn cute in her stretchy little green tank top and dark, but strategically faded jeans. Great color on her, green. "Why not? I mean, what's the worst that could happen? They say no, and we go back home."

"This "legal drinking age" crap is so lame. Americans...," Roberto whined, rolling his eyes. "Anyhow we're all dressed nice. They aren't going to argue if you look like you have money."

Bobby, for one, wasn't so sure about that. Not that he didn't want to go, because he did. A lot. But... this was kinda dodgy. Almost anything involving JP was, of course, he'd learned that during their short association. But this was... well, breaking the law.

Not that he'd never done that before, just... "Can't they arrest us or something?"

Sam, shifting uncomfortably in the tight black v-neck he'd borrowed from Bobby, shot him a terrified glance, examining his own flawless, new ID with just as much distrust. "Ah hope not... they cain't... cain they?"

Amara rolled her eyes. "Oh gods, you two, you sound like someone's grandmother. No, they won't. They'll just take the IDs. Anyhow, you two are the Americans here, how is it that Berto and I are the two who know what's going on?"

"Too bad Alex isn't here," Berto flopped down onto his bed, before Bobby could object to Amara's dig at him, "He woulda had fun. Poor guy, stuck with Shades."

Bobby was about to agree with that sentiment, and suggest a moment of silence to commemorate Alex Summers' noble sacrifice for them all... but found himself staring, mouth open, when Jeanne-Marie entered the room.

Everyone was staring, actually. Well, every boy. Slim black pants, heavy boots, and a crimson halter tied with thin strings around her neck, leaving half of her perfectly toned stomach exposed. A thin, shining red and silver chain was wrapped around her waist, the trailing edges of it meeting halfway between her bare navel and the low (Jesus, that was low...) waistband of those tight pants. Her dark hair was free, flowing down her back and over her shoulders in gorgeous, silky waves. So much white skin, and it looked amazing against the dark black and red of her outfit, of her hair... and that chain at her stomach... wow... mesmerizing really.

"Damn... you look beautiful, JM," Roberto grinned at her, breaking the momentary silence.

Aurora actually blushed, and came to his side, then kissed his cheek. "Everyone's ready? My brother is on his way–,"

Jean-Paul entered at that exact moment. And actually, he looked just as hot as his sister. If you liked that sort of thing. He was probably the only guy in the world who could wear a damn scarf and look less gay for it. Somehow make it seem cool. Looked like a goddamn runway model.

Bobby, however, wasn't really into things on that side of the fence. And, therefore, simply felt amazingly outclassed. And ridiculous, in his own jeans and vaguely Hawaiian black shirt. Had white flowers on it, big ones. He'd liked it... before JP had walked into the room. Not to mention the stupid black twine necklace he had on, the one his first girlfriend had given him (oh god, not a good memory, don't think about that!) Goddammit, he must look like a little kid!

Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows at him, and Bobby realized he'd been caught staring. "Looking sexy, Drake," the Canadian practically purred at him, with that smarmy grin he was so good at.

Bobby felt his face flush, and immediately turned up the cold to make it stop, on reflex.

Sam elbowed him, "Don't start that, it's already cold in here!"

But Jean-Paul was coming toward them now, and had already started giving direction. "Here's the plan, mes amis. Amara, you and Ray will go with Kitty and the Brotherhood. Jeanne-Marie, Sam, Roberto, you come with me and Rogue. You'll have to squeeze into the back with Kurt, but it shouldn't be too bad. And you, otter-pop," he turned to Bobby now, "you sit over the stick, next to me, so you can get familiar with the car. You're going to be my DD for the ride home, because I don't plan on being in any kind of state to drive anywhere."

Bobby felt his eyebrows raise in alarm. "Huh?!"

Oh great. Brilliant, Drake.

JP raised his own eyebrows, to match his expression. "You do have a driver's license, non?"

Bobby gulped, knowing all eyes in the room were on him. And most of them were as wide with surprise as his. "Uh... well yeah."

"Good. You can drive a stick?"

"Um... yeah. I learned on a stick."

"Excellent. Then you're it. Lance can pick whoever the hell he wants, but since we're teammates and all, I trust you."

"But... Kitty..."

Jean-Paul just stared, this time. "You're joking. Did they let her have a license?"

He gave a nervous laugh, and almost mentioned Kurt as an alternative... but fuck! JP was going to hand over his keys? To him? The keys to the amazingly hot silver BMW M5 sitting in the garage right now... hot damn! Guess he hadn't heard about their little joyride incident... "Uh... ok. Glad to do it."

"If you don't want to..."

Sam elbowed him again.

"No. No, it's cool."

Jean-Paul smiled, benevolently. "Thanks. Appreciate it. Let's go, Lance is here. Pietro sent me a text a few minutes ago that said time to go, bitches."

Everyone started to follow him out, mostly muttering about the irritating Maximoff.

Bobby just shook his head, hard, starting to feel like he was wandering through a very strange dream. This was going to be a weird fucking night, alright.



Wanda could've wished for a better spot. Crammed into the back of Lance's Jeep between Pietro and Ray was not her ideal mode of travel.

Although, she had to admit, Ray was looking damn good. She'd always liked that hair of his, and wherever he'd been shopping was a definite improvement.

But Pietro was making her crazy already. "Dude, can you step on it? Damn, I coulda been there an hour ago!"

"Get out and run then, Pietro," Lance snarled from the front seat. He'd been irritated all night by the shiny black long sleeved button-down she'd forced him into, but she wasn't about to have him turn up looking like a hood in a vest and black t-shirt.

She didn't much care what anyone thought of them, of course. Just that she knew Kitty was looking forward to this, and would be happily surprised if he looked decent. And really, he did clean up pretty well. Not like Jean-Paul or Ray... but who the fuck would clean up like JP? The man had a morning hair routine that rivaled any woman she knew. It was just the kind of thing the Canadian cover boy would excel at, in fact.

"Dude, they're beating us!" Her twin whined beside her, pointing between the front seats to Jean-Paul's silver car as it swerved quickly through the traffic in the city, already a good four cars ahead of them.

Amara shoved at him impatiently, eliciting a squeak from the speedster, and leaned forward. "Who's your DD, Lance?"

He glanced into the rearview at her, quickly, and then over at Kitty. Who was smiling at him sweetly.

"Um...," he fidgeted, tapping the steering wheel in agitation. "I guess you, since you asked. That ok?"

The dark girl nodded, and sat back satisfied. Kitty made a horrible face, and Lance ignored it entirely.

Wanda rolled her eyes. Jesus, this could end up being a really long night, if she didn't find something to entertain herself with. Why the hell did she let her loser of a brother and his idiot pseudo-boyfriend talk her into things like this?

But finally the huge party of teenage mutants, armed with fake IDs and their best "out to get some" clothes, met up in the parking garage and headed down the street to the club Jeanne-Marie had decided on. She and JP had gone "scouting" apparently, a few nights ago, and this one allowed in eighteen year olds, and had good music. Apparently, it also had a mysterious "upstairs" bar, for the over twenty-one crowd, where dirty deeds were supposedly the order of the day– or night, as it were. But there were only a few of them, really, who were armed with that caliber of ID. So she didn't suspect it would be a problem. JP and Pietro would be the only two who would be interested in that anyhow.

Knowing them, they definitely would. But good god, she didn't want to think about that. She loved JP to death, and was glad her brother was finally getting some action (certainly made him less of a ass), but it was more than enough to see JP in the morning in his underwear now and then, brushing his teeth with Pietro's toothbrush. More than that, she did not need to know. Sisters do not need details. Definitely not.

Not that she didn't like seeing Jean-Paul in his underwear. But it was the principle of the thing.

She found herself standing in the short queue outside the club (short due to the relatively early hour), next to a very nervous looking Sam Guthrie. She looked him over once. Cute kid, really. Needed a hair cut, since he was kinda flirting with a mullet, but he'd obviously found some decent clothes, and had on a pair of cargo pants that made his ass look pretty damn cute. Someone must've informed him that there were materials other than denim. "What's wrong with you, Crash?" she asked him.

He looked over at her, obviously surprised to be spoken to. And probably even more surprised that it was her doing the speaking. "Uh... nothin'. Just a little..."

"Let me guess. Scared as shit?"

He grinned lopsidedly, "Just a little."

She rolled her eyes at him. But really, his stuttering was sort of cute. Endearing, like that backwoods accent. Spending so much time around arrogant speedsters and volatile Brotherhood members really made a girl appreciate things like that. She didn't know him well, just said hi and bye regularly in Spanish class. She would've grouped with him, if the dreaded Mr. Harrison ever let them choose their own groups... "It's no big deal. Just have fun."

He furrowed his brow at her. "Ah cain't dance."

She shrugged. She hadn't exactly spent a lot of time out clubbing, but she knew she could dance well enough, if she wanted to. And she certainly didn't have anyone to impress at a place like this. "Not much to it. Just move when the music does."

"JM tried ta show me, but ah just get... aw hell...," the boy sighed and rolled his eyes skyward, obviously having given up.

Wanda bit her lip for a moment, and made her decision. "Alright, here's the deal. I'll show you how, but you can never speak of this again, alright?"

The southern boy's lopsided grin appeared again, in full force. "Really? Wow... thanks Wanda."

She rolled her eyes once again, cursing herself for an idiot. But what the hell. Not like she had anything else to do. She wasn't planning on getting fucked up like her brother, that ass. She had no wish to feel hung over, or to lose control of herself. Maybe hanging out with Crash would entertain her.

For a while, anyhow.



The music hit Kitty the moment they walked into the place, and she immediately started to move, bobbing her head with it happily. "Oh yeah, this is what I'm talking about!"

Kurt grinned beside her, "Oh man, this place is crazy! And listen, they're playing my song!"

Kitty felt her ears perk up, and wrinkled her nose at her friend beside her. "What song is that?"

"I don't know, but I like it!" Came the enthusiastic answer, as Kurt pulled her out onto the dance floor instantly.

She followed along happily, knowing that Lance would be making a beeline for the bar to try out those IDs JP had gotten them all. She did not approve, of course... but she wouldn't be allowed in without hers, so really, she had no room to complain. She just wished that for once Lance could... chill out. Calm down. Be good.

Of course, she liked the bad boy in him too. So maybe not that good...

Kurt, having adjusted his inducer to give him the look of a typical club-hopping teen, was grinning at her as he started moving to the heavy thud of the bass that was all around them. His teeth flashed in the changing lights, green, then blue, and she knew that smile well enough. That was her Fuzzy's grin, if she'd ever seen it before. She was glad the inducer didn't change everything about him, at least. Even if it did tone the fangs down.

Ray was bouncing nearby, and bumped into her, purposefully with his hips, laughing as it sent her a step to the left. "Dude, this place rocks," he looked up and around at the lights that were everywhere, and at the upper level that was for "twenty-one and up only," as the sign said. His lips started moving with the music as he bobbed his head up and down, bent his knees and started doing a clever move Kitty had never seen before.

"Hey man, you're pretty good!" She exclaimed happily at him, taking him by the hand.

"Damn right I am! And you guys too. Dude, I owe Jean-Paul big time for this one. I've been dying to get out of the Institute."

Kurt made an odd grunt of agreement beside them, "Ja, seems like things get so stifling, when school begins again. And no good parties lately, either!"

"Don't I know it. And did you hear," Ray was grinning and bouncing with them now, "JP's letting Bobby drive the M5 home!"

"What?!" Kitty glared over his shoulder at the figure of JP, who was leaning on the bar between his sister and Pietro, sipping some kind of dark drink with a lime sticking out the top of it already. "I'm the oldest one of us not drinking, I should so be driving!"

"Nein, Katzchen, I am!" Kurt corrected her. "But we'll see about that not drinking issue..."

That did not make Kitty feel any better.

Amara bopped up beside them now, and did a rather exotic looking move that involved much hip wiggling and spinning her hands around in tight circles, high over her head, first one hand, then the other. After a moment, she laughed at everyone just watching her, "Traditional dance can be used in non-traditional ways, you guys! Check it out!"

Kitty spent a few moments learning the moves from her while the boys laughed and continued to bounce happily, and Bobby came over to join them. And then she remembered that she was irritated with the little snow-cone machine. "And why are you driving Jean-Paul's car home tonight?"

Drake grinned at her recklessly, "No idea, Kitten. Might have something to do with your questionable driving skills."

She hit him with a well aimed blow to the shoulder and he squeaked in protest. "Maybe someone should tell him what the X-Jet looked like when you finished with it!"

He narrowed his eyes at her, no longer brown but flashing red and blue in the lights. "You wouldn't!"

She giggled, finding it hard to be irritated for long with the music flowing through her veins like that. "Don't sweat it, popsicle. I'm just happy to be dancing."

"I'm happy you're dancing too!"

She just looked at him for a moment.

His face flushed.

And everyone started laughing as the temperature dropped a good ten degrees in the surrounding area.


This was so not Lance's scene.

He looked around at the press of bodies, the bouncing twenty-somethings, the flashing lights and huge speakers, grumbling to himself unhappily. Kitty was already dancing with that idiot Kurt, just as he'd suspected she would be, and he still didn't have a drink. Well, unless he counted the flask in his pocket. But he definitely needed something more, if he was going to be hanging out at this place all night. Hell, if he had enough, maybe he'd even be able to get up the nerve to try and dance with her.

He was only here because of her, after all. She'd convinced him, in the end.

At the moment, he was cursing himself for being so weak-willed as to give in to such a request. What the fuck had he been thinking?

"Hey rock-head, want a drink?" Pietro was suddenly beside him, grinning evilly and holding two drinks.

Lance furrowed his brow, "Feeling philanthropic, Maximoff?"

"Big word, Lance! Triple word score!"

Avalanche rolled his eyes. He'd learned long ago never to play Scrabble with Quicksilver. Or cards. Or anything that could be cheated at by getting a look at the other players' pieces or cards. Every time, Pietro gave in to his baser urges and looked before they could even see that he'd moved. "That's a first, that you let someone else get one of those."

Pietro stuck his bottom lip out in a rather humorous sort of pout, however, and helped out a drink to him– something tall and light brown, with a lime in it. "Lighten up, dickhead. You looked confused as to how this whole going to the bar and ordering thing works, so I did the honors. Take it."

Grudgingly, he accepted, still confused. "What is it, anyhow?" He took a sip. Sweet. Didn't taste alcoholic at all. Like really sweet–

"Long Island iced tea," the silver-haired speedster told him, bobbing his head a little with the concussive base of the music. "Shit fucks you up fast, and you can't even taste it."

"What, you don't like the taste of alcohol?" He joked.

Quicksilver pursed his lips, pulling yet another comedic face.

And Lance realized that Pietro probably didn't enjoy the taste of alcohol. Which lightened his mood considerably, so that he laughed. "Oh man, that's a good one. What a hard ass, can't even handle a little liquor!" He did consider the guy a friend, in a way, but after all the shit he'd put them through, he couldn't help but be a little delighted to see him humiliated in any fashion, really.

"Hey!" Came the immediate protest, "What's the story here? I buy you a drink, you give me shit? This is what I get for being a nice guy!"

Come to think of it, Pietro was being awfully nice. For him. "...you want something, don't you?"

Pietro grinned evilly. "Just your help. Wanda's being bitchy about drinking, but I want to get her fucked up. You know, get her to relax, have some fun. Bring her some of these for me?"

Lance took a thoughtful sip, trying to decide how he could best play the hand that was being dealt to him. "Why don't you do it?"

"You fuckwit, she knows I want to get her drunk. Bring her three of these and she won't even realize what's hit her. Just tell her you ran into some extra money in our account, and thought you'd get her something light, since you know she's not a drinker. C'mon, it'll be funny," he was whining by the end of this little speech, bouncing from one foot to the other like an excited three-year-old.

Actually, it would be pretty funny to see Wanda get trashed. Assuming she wasn't an angry drunk, which could be bad news. Possibly the worst news New York City would have had in a few years, really. But in his experience, and he had a lot with drinking even if it wasn't with these fancy cocktail things, people who were usually angry tended to chill the fuck out when they were drunk... and be pretty hilarious, on top of that.

But he figured he'd let Pietro sweat just a little more. The guy made his life hell half the time, the least he could do was give a little back. "I don't know, Pietro..."

"Awww, come ooooon! It would work on Kitty too, I bet , if you shared yours with her..."

Lance shot a sidelong glance over at Kitty, looking absolutely gorgeous in her sleeveless black silky top, with those little black pants... and caved instantly. "Ok, you're on."

Quicksilver grinned, and pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket, then pressed it into his free hand fast. "Great. Heretakethis. She can't see me buying them."

He pushed the money into his pocket without looking, but from the feel of it, he'd be set for the night. For him, Wanda, and Kit. "Uh, that was a lot, wasn't it? You sure...?"

Pietro shrugged, "Whatever. Not like JP lets anyone near him buy their own drinks anyhow."

Lance raised an eyebrow. Whatever the fuck was going on between them, he didn't want to know. He knew more than he wanted to already. Pietro's room was a little too close to his own for him to be comfortable speculating when Jean-Paul was in there with him. He usually just went downstairs to watch TV or something, when that happened.

Not that he was pretending to know what was going on. Just that he'd rather not find out, first hand.

But he couldn't resist the joke, anyhow. "Riiight. Found yourself a sugar daddy."

Pietro actually stuck his tongue out at Lance before turning to walk away.



Aurora was fairly certain that if there truly was a heaven, and she liked to think there was, it would be like this.

She liked music like this. Heavy, thudding, that made her heart change its rhythm to match its own. Jean-Paul referred to it in English as "dirty bass." She liked that. It seemed appropriate. Didn't make her feel particularly dirty...

Well, at least, it didn't at first. It was getting there now, though, considering how close Roberto was to her at the moment, smiling at her with those huge, pretty brown eyes of his. Just a hint of sweat at his hairline, dark olive cheeks touched with pink. They were both working hard.

And drinking fast. She didn't normally do this sort of thing. Not because she thought it was wrong or bad, but just because she'd never really been around much alcohol. Sometimes, someone would buy her a drink in Montreal, but she rarely finished, and always left quickly, when it happened. Tonight, Jean-Paul had gotten her the first drink, and stood beside her as she drank it, while he had his own and his first cigarette of the night. And then she'd been found by her beautiful boyfriend, who'd pulled her out on the dance floor.

With whom she'd proceeded to share every drink she'd had tonight. And this made... four so far.

She hoped Jean-Paul wasn't paying attention. He'd warned her not to drink more than four, or she might get sick. And she hadn't felt like telling him to piss off, at the time, due to the music, so she'd only rolled her eyes. She didn't feel sick, anyhow. A little fuzzy, from all the lights flashing, maybe. They seemed to be bleeding into one color sometimes, in her head, behind her eyes, and at other times she could've sworn they changed with the thumping of the bass. Just like her heart rate changed with it.

Just like everything in her. She twisted her hips around, ,and Berto kept his hands on them, moving his own hips to the beat in a way she had to admit was quite lovely. He was the best dancer of all the boys, and she loved that about him. Sometimes, she knew, he seemed shallow. But he did love music, and art, and those were two of her favorite things. And they always ended up having the best time, when they were together. Wasn't that what really mattered? The music?

Thirsty, feeling herself start to sweat under her mass of hair, she took another long gulp of her rum and coke, mid-gyration. When she'd finished, she handed it to Roberto, who removed one of his hands from her, with a charming hesitancy, and took the glass, then a long drink of his own.

They had beer machines, like pop machines, on the corners in his home town in Brazil, he'd told her. It struck her as funny at the moment, as she watched his throat work while he gulped. He lowered the glass and grinned at her, "What are you laughing at?"

"You're quite the drinker."

He kept grinning, and handed the glass back, then returned his hand to her hip and pulled her forward, so that she had to hold the glass out to the side to avoid crushing it between them. His whole front pressed against hers, warm and solid. And he kept moving his hips like that, and she couldn't help but go with it. With the music, but with him too, really. "You're doing pretty well yourself," she could feel him smiling, against her own cheek, "Feeling ok?"

She giggled, and put her lips to his ear. He liked to be kissed on the ear. And she could smell his shampoo, something spicy and woodsy. Felt his soft, curling hair against her face. "Feels good."

He didn't answer. He just made a sort of... growling noise in his throat, and kept dancing. Not really pushing against her, exactly. But definitely touching. Everywhere. And his hands moved to her bare back now, toying with the chain at her waist.

Maybe he was a little bold. But really, so was Aurora. When it came to some things.

Over his shoulder, she caught sight of Wanda, who was, rather surprisingly, dancing with Sam. Not as close as she and Berto were dancing, but... "Berto, look at Sam!"

Reluctantly, he pulled back a bit, his eyes looking a little glazed, and turned to look over his own shoulder. "Well, fuck me! Go Cannonball!"

She laughed at that, took another drink, and threw an arm over his shoulder as he returned to dancing with her, close, moving against her so nicely, palms flat and hot on her back. She buried her face in his hair and let her lips brush his ear, and felt his hands move downward, instantly.

"You do look really beautiful tonight, Jeanne-Marie," he said, so quietly it was almost lost in the screeching of the electronic bass that was thick in the air around them.

She smiled, into his ear, "You are beautiful too."



"Aw hell, Wanda," Sam shook his head now, feeling just a little bit dizzy, "Ah'm hopeless. It's real nice of ya ta try..."

For what seemed like the hundredth time tonight, she rolled her eyes at him. And took the last drink from a glass of the mysterious "iced tea" Lance kept supplying her with.

Supplying them with, more like.

Avalanche had claimed that it was some strange "Brotherhood fund" providing the drinks. Wanda had sniffed at the first one, suspiciously, and glared an awful lot. Sam, hoping to prove himself the gallant sort, had offered to try it for her. She took him up on it, and he'd found that it tasted... well damn, it tasted good. So they'd been drinking them ever since, sharing glass after glass. Three now, maybe? Was it four?"

Sam had no idea... but they definitely were not the "light cocktail" Lance had made them out to be. He wasn't that familiar with drinking. The Guthries never had much in the house (too many kids around, his father claimed), and his friends hadn't really been old enough to get into that scene. And then he came to the Institute, and no one there had ever really drank around him...

Enter the Canadian wonders, and suddenly he found himself swept into the nightlife of New York City. The little boy from Kentucky. Ty and Lucy's oldest. Dancing with a really damn pretty, if slightly scary, girl in a nightclub. And, he had to figure, pretty drunk.

Hella drunk, as Alex would've said. He always liked that "hella" thing, but never really had the guts to say it.

But honestly, he was so out of his league. This place. People like Jean-Paul, Wanda, Rogue, this was a world where they could all exist. Not this country boy, nooo sir.

He' been trying to explain that to Wanda, but she wasn't taking no for an answer. And slowly, they'd drifted from the crowd of his friends, until it was just the two of them, drinking and dancing... and hell if he knew how to talk to a girl like her.

"Don't be an idiot, you hick," she laughed, after the obligatory eye-rolling. "You're looking good. You got something better to do here than learn to dance?"

Admittedly, there was nothing he'd rather do in a place like this than be in such close proximity to the oddly mystifying Wanda Maximoff. Not that he liked her, nothing like that. But they had Spanish together, and sometimes, he couldn't help but notice how pretty she was. In a kinda scary, punky way. And she was smart– smarter than that windbag Harrison. And older than Sam. And... well, scary. Powerful. He just never expected that someone like that would be so... nice to him. "No," he kept trying to move with her, hoping she wasn't lying and he'd finally found the beat. But he was getting too fuzzy to really care. Which was probably lucky. "Ah just figured you would, is all."

"Oh yeah," she nodded to the side, toward her brother and JP, not so far from them, voice dripping with sarcasm, "Like watching Pietro grind Jean-Paul all night. No thanks, not interested. Hell, it's not like I ever go out, either, Crash. I just think that dancing is kind of a no-brainer. Someone apparently forgot to get that memo to Drake, however..."

Sam looked past the, he had to admit, mildly obscene sight of the two boys dancing and caught sight of Bobby jumping up and down like a complete fool next to Kurt. Kurt looked pretty good, he figured. But Bobby... "Wow. Do ah look that bad?"

She graced him with a rare smile. Not a sarcastic one. Not a wry one. Just a nice, big smile. "Not anymore, tiger."

Dizzy as he was, he couldn't help but notice that she didn't look so scary when she smiled. And she really had beautiful lips, under that red lipstick. "You should smile more," he said, without thinking.

Her brow furrowed a little, as she moved a closer, considering him, shoulders moving up and down, stomach and hips somehow managing to go side to side as she did it. How she could do that, he couldn't imagine. Sure did look good, though. "What do you mean? I smile."

He shook his head, trying not to stare down at her half-bared midriff, moving like that, and took the hand she was holding out, again unthinking. He didn't even realize until he felt the girl's hand in his that he'd done it, but he was too interested in the topic of conversation, Wanda Maximoff's smile, to really feel too embarrassed about it. "Na. Ah mean, ah don't know ya very well, but ah do see ya every day, in school. And ah've never seen ya smile like that before."

A thoughtful expression fell over her face, and red lips turned almost pouty. She bit at the lower one for a minute, as if in deep thought.

Sam... just stared. He was torn somewhere between fascination with her and a sick-stomach feeling of self-consciousness.

But the "iced tea" had been taking the edge off that sick thing little by little. And really, compared to how it had been when they'd first started dancing, it was practically gone now.

Still, she was looking at him, and he was just staring back. Guthrie, ya idiot! Say somethin'!

But she beat him to it, "That's kinda sweet of you, you know."

He swallowed hard, and tried to keep dancing. Whew, wasn't she something else... "Well, ah just thought... someone should tell ya, is all."

"Hey guys!" A grinning Lance suddenly interrupted his moment of appreciation, coming from the direction of the JP-Pietro pile up, Kitty smiling stupidly under one of his arms. "We come bearing gifts!"

"Oh look," Wanda was grinning at him. Not that nice smile from before. More like a malicious I'm about to hurt you grin. "The drink fairy. What is this shit, Alvers. I feel–,"

"It's good!" Kitty interrupted, holding out a drink to Wanda. "Quick, take it! I'm not supposed to have it."

Wanda rolled her eyes, yet again, but ultimately accepted.

"You two look cozy," the brunette raised an eyebrow at the other girl.

Sam felt his face flush, and realized that he was still holding Wanda's hand in his. Rather tightly.

He almost let it drop, but decided against it when he felt her grip on him tighten, inexplicably.

"Uh... she's teachin' me how ta dance."

Kitty just raised her other eyebrow, to match the already elevated one, and kept looking at Wanda.

"Oh Jesus, Kit, get real," Wanda tugged at him impatiently, and took a quick gulp of her drink. "Let's get outta here, Sam. Let's save Drake from the white boy groove he's got going on."

Sam grinned at Kitty and Lance happily, as he let himself be led around by the hand.

Sure, he was out of his league. But he'd take what he could get, while he could. He doubted, somehow, that there'd be many more nights in his young life where he had a girl like this one on his arm. And really, it was pretty damn fun.



Kitty was staring, open-mouthed. Amara was leaning on her, as if she couldn't hold herself up, shaking her head.

And Rogue was just... guh.

She didn't know how the hell she felt, other than hot, at that point. And quite possibly drunk as a skunk. But watching Pietro Maximoff and Jean-Paul Beaubier practically go at it on the dance floor was definitely having its effect.

"Oh my god that like... can't be legal," Kitty breathed, hand at her throat, having just joined the other two girls as spectators while Lance went to get himself another drink.

"Ah don't care if it is or not, ah'm enjoyin' it."

And she was. She watched carefully as Jean-Paul wound his strangely fluid body up with Pietro's thinner one, bent to kiss his neck, slid his hands down between them to hook into the front of the silver-haired boy's jeans. Her eyes followed the roll of Pietro's hips, as they pushed covetously against the other boy's, watched how his chest pressed into Jean-Paul's moved with him, like this was something they'd practiced. Jean-Paul's hands slid up between them, pushing Pietro's thin sweater up, so that it showed a white, flat stomach, lined with muscle, hip bones rising sharply out of the low waistband of his jeans. Jean-Paul ran his thumbs along them slowly, and Pietro had his hands in the other boy's hair now, moving JP's head to where he wanted, and covered his mouth with a long, open mouthed kiss. Their jaws worked together, tongues visible in flashes for a moment, necks exposed. Pietro's long, pale hand was running down Jean-Paul's side suddenly, then behind him, sliding into his back pocket.

"I didn't know they were..." Amara whispered, fascinated by the display.

Rogue nodded, "Oh yeah, they are. A few times a day."

"God, does he like... tell you about it?" Kitty pulled at her shirt, as if she was having trouble breathing with it so close to her neck.

"Not explicitly, as per mah instructions, but yeah, ah guess so. Ah mean, he's been in a lot better mood lately, he had to be gettin' laid. Was only a matter of time before ah called him out on it, so he just told me."

"What a waste of two beautiful men," Amara said sadly. "Women everywhere are weeping because of moments like this one."

Kitty wrinkled up her nose, "Whatever, they're totally scary. They deserve each other. But... yeah... they look..."

"Fuckin' hawt?" Rogue supplied.

Kitty nodded, wordlessly, pony-tail swinging.

Jean-Paul suddenly looked over at them. She caught his eyes, icy, intense blue eyes, and he flashed her a smile.

Her heart jumped into her throat. Ok, she really was over that whole crush thing. It was a flash in the pan. But sometimes, she couldn't help but feel like there was a little something more to her friendship with JP than just... well, being friends. Only on her end, of course. She knew that. And it was ok, because it's not like she was in love with him or anything... just... well hell. Natural attraction, call it. And if they were gonna put on a show, there was absolutely no reason she shouldn't enjoy. Friend or not, he was still awfully pretty.

Goddamn. Little bit of sweat in his hair, face flushed. He winked at her, then put his lips to Pietro's ear. Saying god knows what to him. The silver-haired boy suddenly looked over at the girls too, straight at Rogue, and smiled. Insidiously.

She felt her lips start to curl up in a sneer. Alright, so he was fucking hot too. But Christ, Pietro was a little bastard. What the hell was Jean-Paul thinking, anyhow? He was gorgeous, smart, funny, he could have anyone he wanted. And here he was, wasting his heart on this little...

Pietro suddenly slid his hand out of Jean-Paul's back pocket, and held it out in her direction, then crooked his finger at her. Telling her, in no uncertain terms, come here.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but stopped when she saw Jean-Paul grinning at her. Oh no, they were not even serious. She couldn't dance to save her life! Last time he'd made her, she'd felt a complete idiot, and that was just in her room at the Institute! But he raised his eyebrows once, suggestively, and said something else to Pietro, then started to come in her direction.

"Oh Jesus Rogue," she heard Amara practically squeal. "He's totally coming for you. If you end up in the middle of that act, I am going to have to officially hate you for about three weeks."

"Oh god, Pietro is such a dick," Kitty complained. But a quick glance at her showed that she was still looking too drunken and impressed with their former display to manage a seriously disapproving expression.

"Ladies," Jean-Paul greeted the three of them, as he sauntered up to their little knot. "What, done dancing already?"

"Some of us don't dance," Rogue reminded him, smiling in spite of herself. It was just like him, though, to want to get her into something fun. JP was a lot more fun than people gave him credit for, and if he liked you, he liked to spread that around pretty good. He liked seeing his friends having fun more than he liked it for himself, probably.

He held out a hand to her, "Don't be ridiculous. You've danced with me before."

She shook her head, but started laughing. If he wasn't so goddamn... disarming all the time, she knew very well she would've been able to stand up to him. But between that and her affection for him, not to mention that she'd just been admiring how pretty he was, she really didn't stand a chance. She reached out a gloved hand to him, and he pulled her after him, back to Pietro.

"Looked like you could use some fun, Rogue-y," the silver-haired imp half sneered, half grinned.

Weird, how he could manage to be so sincere, but so sarcastic, at once. And it wasn't just that she didn't know the difference. She'd spent enough time around Pietro Maximoff to know that when he said things like that, he meant them both ways, equally. She rolled her eyes at him, and started to retort–

But was stopped when he put his hands at her waist, hot through the thin mesh of her outer shirt, and pulled her close to him, already starting to move to the music. And he just smiled, rakishly.

Good gawd, why do ah let mahself get into these situations?

After a few moments, however, she let go of the whole "I don't dance" routine, and let herself he guided by the two boys, one on either side of her. Jean-Paul slid his arms around her from behind, latching them together at her navel and putting his cheek against hers, using her hair for a shield between them. She could feel him smiling against her face, and it made her want to laugh, for some reason. For no reason. Pietro's hands slid down a little further, onto the hips of the ragged, ripped up, short jean-skirt she was wearing over heavy black tights, and hooked into her front pockets.

For a moment, her stomach flipped in panic, remembering just how bad the results of dancing close to someone could end up being. But she was covered. Midriff bearing tank top under long-sleved black mesh over shirt, that clung to her so that they'd have to really make an effort to get to her skin (not gonna think about that, so not gonna think about that... phew, need another drink...) Safe enough, anyhow, as long as JP kept thinking and kept her hair between them.

And before too long, she relaxed almost completely. Whether it was due to the alcohol, or the music, or the fact that two extremely pretty boys were "showing" her how to dance-- an action which consisted of one on either side of her at all times, moving themselves so that she couldn't help but follow along-- she really wasn't in the mood to resist anymore. Eventually, she even found herself laughing with Pietro as he made jokes about her not being half bad at this dancing thing. Jean-Paul spun her around and she threw her arms around his neck. So warm and alive and just plain... happy. Not a thought in their heads but the feeling of another person so close, closer than she was used to feeling anyone at all. Closer than she could normally allow anyone to get.

Safe, though. Relaxed. And really, just... fun. So fun, in fact, that she was really feeling pretty guilty after a few songs of grinding and laughing and spinning and twisting. After all... this was Pietro Maximoff who had his arms around her and his front pressed against her and his...

Hrm. Pietro must've really liked to dance...

But really, she could always just blame the fact that she was enjoying dancing with both Pietro and Jean-Paul on the liquor. Convenient excuse, that, in case anyone asked. After all, she hated Pietro.

But she found that she liked him a little bit more, when his mouth was shut, and he was busy looking good.

Some men, she decided, should really be seen and not heard.



Roberto had to admit, he was mildly disappointed when Jeanne-Marie expressed a wish to go and dance with everyone, finally. He'd liked having her all to himself.

He liked the fact that she was so beautiful, of course. What kind of man wouldn't? He even liked that all the boys looked at her like that.

Just, he didn't really want them looking at her.

It didn't make sense, of course, but he didn't try to make it. He was a creature of his emotions, and he knew it. Why fight nature? Rationally, it was nothing. But emotionally, he wanted her all to himself. And he wanted everyone to know that she was all his.

Especially when she was looking the way she looked tonight. She was always amazing, naturally. Just that tonight... there was a lot more of her on display than usual, was all.

And Bobby, Kurt, And Ray (fucking Ray...) were all getting an eyeful. All the boys were. Except for Sam, who seemed utterly taken in by the Scarlet Witch's magic for the evening, and was presently staring at her, holding her hand, holding a very intense conversation about god only knew what, and dancing with her.

Yes, Sam was dancing. And he didn't look half bad.

Maybe he'd finally see the merits of something other than that country shit he was always peddling off as music. God, that shit was terrible. Lost my dog, lost my truck, lost my wife, end of fucking story.

Roberto slid an arm around JM's waist, maybe a little protectively. But she didn't seem to mind. He brushed his fingers over her smooth skin, bare, warm, just slightly sweating. Enjoyed the feeling of closeness almost subconsciously. But even in his alcohol-addled state, his self-preservation instinct kicked in, and he darted a quick look around for a sign of her insane brother... and saw him going up the metal spiral staircase... with Pietro in tow. "What the fuck is that about?" he said aloud, without really meaning to.

Kitty had come up beside him, a staggering, grinning Lance in tow (who always seemed to have a fresh drink in hand, no matter when Berto caught a glimpse of him.) Her eyes followed his, and latched on to the two figures just as they disappeared into the upper level of the club. "Holy shit!"

Roberto shook his head at the sheer, unadulterated shamelessness of Jean-Paul Beaubier. "Bicha louca..."

Jeanne-Marie had taken notice now, and looked over at him, still laughing from something Drake had been saying. "What's that?"

His drunken mind fumbled for some way to avoid telling her that first off, he'd just seen her brother disappearing upstairs with Pietro, and second, that he'd just effectively called her brother a fag. He hadn't meant it to be so derogatory, but he really wasn't in control of his functions at the moment... it had just come out... ahh fuck.

Kitty, however, came to his rescue, "I stepped on his foot! Whooo, sorry Berto! Clumsy me!"

He shot the older girl a grateful look, and saw that Kitty was still wide-eyed with the knowledge of what was going on with JP at the moment (not that it meant anything, of course, that they were making their way to the nefarious "upstairs..." maybe they were just going to check things out... oh fuck, like he could believe that...,) despite her timely, if somewhat awkward, save. He shook his head at her quickly, enforcing, hopefully, what Kitty already knew. JM was not to find out about that.

If Jeanne-Marie knew what they'd just seen, she would go into fits. The first time she'd seen Pietro coming out of JP's room half naked, she'd nearly flipped her lid. And he adored her too much to let her be upset. Berto was unclear on whether it was the fact that her brother was gay, or the idea that he was doing Pietro that really bothered her. Sometimes, it seemed more like one, and sometimes more like the other. He really didn't want to think of the implications there– JM's disorder gave her enough trouble without confusing the shit out of her about issues like this. Thinking of her trying to muddle through her reasons for her feelings, finding two answers to the same question, and being unable to sort out which was real... god.

He knew there was nothing he could do to help. But he could at least protect her from it, as best he could. She was strong, and he knew it. She'd proven it to him more than once. But it was so hard to tell what would... set her off. Make her... well, crazy.

And if anything could, it would be her brother. A fact that irritated him to no end, really, in a vague, yet insistent way. He could've sworn he'd only signed on for one Beaubier... but damn, sometimes he felt like his love life really hinged on both of them.

Kitty nodded to him, obviously getting the message loud and clear, and understanding the reasoning behind it, despite the fact that she was as tanked as Roberto himself. He smiled at her, feeling a huge rush of thankfulness that she was at least sober enough to help him out on this one. And then, he felt Jeanne-Marie slide out of his grip.

As she had a tendency to do. Sometimes, holding on to her was like trying to hold on to water. Or air.

Quickly, he looked to see what the hell that was about, and saw her going toward Drake's outstretched arms, as Lance, a suddenly present Rogue, Kurt, and that insufferable shit Ray encouraged the two of them with laughter.

He narrowed his eyes, feeling his blood heat, feeling his body searching for something more, that energy inside of him... but there was no sun inside, so there was no point in starting something. No juice.

Even if he really wanted to start something.

Amara came up on his other side, however, and took his arm, laughing at the spectacle of JM trying to get Bobby to look like less of an idiot when he did that bouncing shit, and he smiled down at her. She started moving just a little, doing some sort of move with her other arm and swiveling her hips. Reminded him of the Hindi movies his friend from back home used to watch all the damn time. Not exactly, but it had that slinky, flowing look to it.

Hell. What was he mad about again? He was going out! This was what they did at home. It wasn't Carnival in Rio, exactly, but it was pretty damn fun.

And anyhow, it was all about the music, right?



Kurt was, to put it mildly, worn out.

All those sessions in the Danger Room should've given him better stamina, shouldn't they?

What was going on here?! He sagged against the support of Kitty's shoulder, who had kept on dancing even after Lance had retired to one of the couches. Along with Sam and Wanda, who looked really beat. And who were acting pretty ridiculous, really.

He hadn't known that Wanda Maximoff had it in her to ever act ridiculous. But he could've sworn that she was... flirting with the younger boy. In a sort of bossy, matter-of-fact way. And that Sam, somehow, was managing to flirt back. In a very... well, Sam way, but flirting nevertheless.

Alcohol was a strange and wonderful thing. He was not unfamiliar with it. He was German, after all. But he'd declined to get completely hammered tonight, and had been content with the three beers Jean-Paul had smuggled to him throughout the course of the night. Particularly after he noticed that Lance was trying to get the better of Kitty by getting her far more drunk than he'd expected such a little girl could handle. He figured someone who was older ought to remain slightly responsible, even if that wasn't his usual gig.

He hated to think that Scott was rubbing off... but if Scott was growing a sense of humor, it seemed like a fair trade, really.

And he didn't mind so much, anyhow. Drunk people were fun to mess with after all. He was more in the mood to just dance his tail off, and have a good time, than he was for a hangover.

Correction, he had been in the mood to dance his tail off. Now he just wanted to go to bed. Kitty led him, helpfully, over to the side of the club, and helped him step up onto the arcaded platform the couches were on. The place was dead cool, with those little alcoves for people to just relax and nurse their drinks, if they weren't into dancing. The light was lower under the arcades, and the flashing was less insistent.

As he landed on a couch next to Kitty, however, he found that the thump of the bass was no less insistent. Went right through the furniture, into his tail.

Not that anyone could see his tail, at the moment. But he could feel it, nevertheless. It was arranged rather awkwardly behind him, since he was sitting like everyone else, which always made him a bit uncomfortable. But he hadn't the energy to fix it, at the moment.

"Ach, Katzchen, I've danced myself out."

She giggled, "You're so silly Kurt. I'm still going, and I've had way more to drink!"

"You, meine Freunde, are drunk," he reminded her. "If I were drunk, I'd still have some dance left in me too."

She laughed. "I guess I have Lance to thank for that," she turned her head toward him and yelled his name as she said it.

The mutant in question opened his eyes and blinked at them. "Huh? Wha– Kitty. Kitty, come over here!"

She stuck her tongue out at him, pushed off Kurt's chest, and continued dancing right there in the comparatively peaceful alcove.

The girl was unstoppable. Just watching her, no matter how pleasant it was, made him even more tired.

Rogue suddenly hopped over the back of the couch and landed next to him, holding a cigarette in one gloved hand and a glass of water in the other. "How's it goin', bro?"

He leaned on her heavily, and looked up with what she called "those damn puppy dog eyes" (even when they were yellow.) "Ach, tired!"

She rolled her eyes and inhaled on the cigarette heavily. "Don't be such a baby, Kurt!"

He sat up, laughing at her. "Since when do you smoke?"

"Since JP gave me one and the huge sweaty guy who was just tryin' to dance with me offered to light it."

"You're drunk!"

She took the cigarette from her mouth, and stuck it between his lips, carefully, then sat back and smiled at him. "You're a genius, kiddo."

He just shook his head at the grin on her face, so out of place on his gothically tragic "sister," and noticed that Kitty's personal dance party in front of them had grown exponentially. Bobby, Ray, and JM had come to join her, invading what he'd hoped would be his personal little haven until it was time to go. He sighed, inhaled on the cigarette still stuck between his lips, and looked down at his watch.

Then gasped. Scheisse, no wonder he was tired! It was one AM! The place would close in an hour, and they were missing half of their X-Men. Suddenly, this whole being the "responsible" older kid was becoming pretty irritating. Man, what a drag!

He glanced around quickly, to take stock of who was there and who was missing, and his eyes fell on Sam and Wanda, at the other end of the small alcove.

And the cigarette dropped out of his mouth, as it fell open. Rogue saved it, luckily, and probably returned it to her own mouth, but he really had no idea. He was too busy staring.

No... he had to be seeing things. That was definitely a hallucination.

Unglaublich...



To be Continued, next time!













++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

AN: First off, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate all the thoughtful responses to the last chapter. I honestly expected it to bore the shit out of people. I purposely went from smut to ponderous navel-gazing because 1- A story fic like this allows me that freedom, and far be it from me not to use every freedom at my disposal. 2- The chronology of things works out this way, for character development reasons. And 3- Trying to put myself in her shoes, I remembered that I spent a lot of time at that age sorting my head out, about spirituality. I'm trying to define her, as a character, based on those things that are important, at that point in your life. A point I'm not all that far from myself, but am far enough from that it sometimes requires a little thought to get there ;) I'm really pleased that it seemed to inspire some kind of reaction from some people, I honestly didn't expect anyone to give a damn.

That said, let me also respond to the reactions to JP's angry agnostic point of view. The response to his conversation with JM was both the most positive (seemed that many people can identify with the ideology I tried to articulate there,) and the most negative (due to his sometimes over-blown accusations and possible exaggeration.) A few people pointed out to me that saying that religion kills more than disease is illogical and just plain wrong. If this detracted from the story for you, my apologies. That was not my intent, of course. I do want to say that first off, the points of view represented in this fic were not my own., and everything I had the characters say was merely something someone of that same point of view has said to me at one time or another, in an attempt to portray the points of view from an honest a perspective as I could. Except, perhaps, for Wanda's ideas, which are essentially my own, but I'm not selling anything here! I swear! And secondly, Jean-Paul was being emotional, and trying to look logical. People do this a lot when they feel really strongly about something, but are refusing to become emotional outright, knowing it detracts from the credence of their point of view. Of course, so do exaggerations, but he's angry JP, after all. Perhaps I failed in some way to make it clear, that this was the effect I was going for, but please don't be offended by that statement, or by any others in the story.

You all have no idea how much this helps my writing. Makes me so aware of what I've said, and if there is a better way to say it. I honestly can't thank you enough for the honest reviews.

Right! Moving on!

Akuma no Tsubasa: I agree that JM's upbringing was a very integral part of her character... or it should be, if Marvel didn't waste her ;) I appreciate that you felt the various points of views were decently represented. I was afraid that I would seem more biased toward the one I actually tend to lean toward, but it seems like everyone is ok with the way it went down. Admittedly, there is a special place in my heart for JP/Bobby. I love it. They are perfect. Evo Bobby, not so sure... guess it just depends on how you write your Evo JP! But 616... so much love for them. You're right, it seems so real, the randomness of it. Sue and I are working on 616 stuff right now, and she won't let me have them shag! Oh god, don't hurt me, I love you Sue!

Angharad: I'm glad that I made her perspective understandable. It's honestly not one that I share, so there was much acting involved, let me tell you. Thank you for the compliment, and lovely to meet you.

Relwarc: While I share your sexual attitudes, I was raised in a fairly religious (though hardly fundamentalist) household, and am most definitely an atheist. Probably part of what motivated the writing of the chapter in the first place, the broad range of views I've been exposed to in my lifetime, much like yourself! I agree that many of the charges leveled at religion are foolish– the charge that Islam is a violent religion, that the Hindu goddess Kali is a "goddess of death" (don't get me started on that...,) etc. etc. Funny how people latch on to things like that, when they're angry at a religion, or afraid of it. I hope that came through, in the chapter. And Kurt, huh? You're right, I haven't used the Elf much. Which is a damn shame, since I'm mildly obsessed with him. The request for Scott's reaction to Alex being gay shall not go unheard, either, my friend. It's in the pipeline!

Guidi: I'm flattered that you thought the last chapter was any thing in the realm of mind-blowing. I can understand the failed Catholic thing, being from a large Irish-Catholic family myself, as well as having an ex-Catholic schoolboy for a boyfriend, at the moment. Personally, I'm from the "I don't need all the answers" camp, and Wanda's point of view was mine, essentially. I've never read "Sophie's World," but I've seen both Stigmata and Dogma repeatedly, and loved them both. I will definitely look it up! It's really funny, what you say about Alex being so... "restrained." Excellent point... I hadn't thought of it like that! And yes, Murmur should die. Is she around? I should bring her in just so I can axe her. God she was annoying...

Caliente: I dunno that I'm terribly deep. I think I just had a lot of free time in high school. ;) You're right though, JP's PoV was definitely the most difficult one to live with, and oddly enough, the one that most people seemed interested in. It is a valid one, definitely. While I am a raging atheist, as you may have seen in the rest of this AN, I definitely respect and admire religion, and the need for it. It's a beautiful thing. A beautiful thing I don't have the capacity for. So much for being deep! And don't worry, I like philosophical mumbo jumbo. It makes my world go round, sometimes! I do understand about feeling as if you've let a family member down by not following their faith, though. Oh yes. Ohhhh yes. And Sam... Sam!!! 3

Risty: The shift from smut to theology wasn't exactly what I'd call "impressive..." maybe a little more... ADD? No, really. I'm with you, Wanda, and Bobby, but you're right. Angels are pretty damn badass. Glad you picked up on that, I was wondering if anyone would! Go go gadget bad symbolism!

TKD: Ok, so here's a story for you. When I was 17, we were at the Cleveland Museum of Art and it was like the... I dunno something anniversary of the diocese there. So they had this huge show of art from the Vatican. And they had Entombment. I walked into the room, stared at it, and stopped dead in my tracks, and immediately started crying. In this room full of people. Seriously, completely redefined my idea of beauty. And you know I don't do dead white guy art– Tibet or bust, with me. That whole Nepal thing three years later finished shaping my idea of beauty, but goddamn this is a long-winded pretentious sonofabitch of an Author's Note, so I'll spare you... I do appreciate your encouragement when it comes to the story by story format I'm doing here. I wasn't sure if it was working– if I was treading water and just screwing around, since I'm essentially writing fluff (Spiritual Fluff (tm) is my new term, thanks!) Glad to know it feels ok. You're awfully fucking sweet to me, you know. And yes. Yay Wanda!

jacob: Oh gratz on the cable! Gods, I miss my DSL... anyhow, I really appreciate your comments on the Alex coming out chapter. I think the tension and undercurrent of the whole thing were really what made me want to write it in the first place, and I'm so pleased that it came through I can hardly think straight right now. My brother has just told me to read "The Da Vinci Code," actually, so I'm bound to check that out soon, and I've never heard of "Angels and Demons," but those are two of my top interests, when it comes to western religion, so I will definitely check that recommendation out as well. Thank you so much for your thoughtful reviews, you can't know how helpful it is to me to get feedback like that. Lovely of you.

Shaman Dani: The warm fuzziness of learning about their teammates hits me too darlin. I love to just have them figure stuff out about each other. Human interaction, though I complain about humanity on a daily basis, really is inspiring sometimes. Appreciate the comments, as usual! You're a dear!

S-Star: Ach sorry, hope I didn't cause brain freeze. No one should be subjected to theological and/or philosophical ramblings early in the morning, that's for damn sure. This one might've been more to the early crowd's taste!

Fata Morgana: I'm really glad that you enjoyed it... and guess what? You were my 100th review. God, never thought I'd see the day that happened. I agree, the Church does bring peace to many people. As to JP being raised Catholic... I never really thought he would have much time for that, like you said, except for the first six years of his life. Never seen it addressed, I just assumed that culturally speaking, his exposure would be pretty everyday. And that he wouldn't be too excited about them, really. But he's made comments about "god" before in the comics, god making you a certain way, blah blah blah, so I went for agnostic. And don't worry about shutting up. You know I love to blab about these twins ;)

Oh god, will I ever stop talking?! Anyhow, it's pretty important to me that everyone realizes that it means a lot to me, all of the thoughtful comments and encouragement and corrections. I'm just trying to get better, and it wouldn't happen if no one gave enough of a flying fig to leave me a review. So if I missed you, I'm sorry! And you'll be hearing from me some time very soon. Thanks. 3 -Beaubier-