WARNING (in case you've forgotten, already): This chapter contains, among other things, breaking the law, mass consumption of alcohol, dirty dancing, skimpy clothing, Gucci clothing, (MUCH STRONGER) sexual innuendo (than the first part,) a random drunken hook-up, bad driving, SERIOUSLY 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! Otherwise, welcome to the second part of Evolution: Up All Night!










Dirty Bass (Continued)

Wherein the kids have their night out on the town

Telltale Quote: Dude... if you're gonna spew... spew into this -Bobby Drake




Pietro, for one, felt much better.

He smoothed out the front of his recently replaced sweater, shot himself one last long glance in the huge mirror in the bathroom, and turned his gaze to his best friend (though that hardly explained their relationship, at this point,) Jean-Paul Beaubier. Who was looking, as usual, like a million bucks. Like he hadn't even been touched. Shirt perfectly unwrinkled, scarf straight and unmussed, hair totally in order. All cleaned up and pretty again.

He looked fucking good tonight. Like a goddamn movie star.

Hell, he'd even looked like a movie star five minutes ago, shirtless, breathless, leaning up against the door waiting for Pietro to...

Guh. Fuck. Not again. Sometimes, it was a great thing, being so quick to recover. But other times, it was a real pain in the ass.

He couldn't help it that he was fast and impatient! It was his mutation!

"What?" The Canadian raised his eyebrows, questioningly, when he caught him staring.

"You look pretty, flyboy."

Jean-Paul laughed, "I'd better. Took me an hour to get dressed."

"Dude, you're such a girl."

"How long did you take in the bathroom getting ready tonight, Pietro?" Jean-Paul crossed his arms over his chest and leaned on the bathroom sink, a little unsteadily.

At that, Pietro raised one silver eyebrow, and decided not to answer. Wanda had almost killed him, he was in there so long. She had, in fact, made his hair gel chase him out, after about an hour. "Ah, fuck you."

"You're never happy," Jean-Paul mock sighed, pushing off the sink now and grabbing him by the front of his sweater, pulling him toward the door. "So goddamn demanding. I let you make a mess of me, and you complain that I ought to fuck you too."

Pietro, in his drunken state, couldn't help but linger on just how good the word "fuck" sounded coming out of his friend's mouth like that. Something about that word and its implications was positively brilliant, when it was JP's voice that said it.

And anyhow, he knew damn well Jean-Paul was just giving him shit. The guy liked getting messy.

Ah fuck, that was hot.

Jean-Paul pushed the door open, and grinned back at him, giving his shirt one last tug to bring him up so that they were walking beside each other. "And don't look at me like that right now. I've just gotten you calmed down. I'd like you to be able to walk out of here, and if we disappear again I'm never going to hear the end of it from Rogue tomorrow."

"Shoulda brought her along," Pietro laughed, sliding an arm around Jean-Paul's waist as they stopped so the other boy could light up a cigarette.

Jean-Paul passed the first to Pietro, and then lit himself one, and threw an arm around his shoulders as they started walking again, toward the steps. "Good god, Pietro, she can suspend her hatred of you for long enough to share a dance or two, but I think that might be pushing it. And stop looking at them– you get excited again, you're on your own. I don't want to hear you bitch about blue balls, and no, I'm not carrying you out."

Pietro pulled his eyes off of the mostly naked couple practically going at it on the dance floor near the upstairs bar. And tried not to pay attention to the various other blatant sex acts that were happening amidst the thudding of the bass and the haze of the alcohol and the red, red lights that defined the beautifully twisted "upstairs." Goddamn. So much sex. Right out in the open. And Jean-Paul walked by it like he didn't even notice.

He knew better, of course. Pietro knew damn well that JP's libido rivaled his own. But where Pietro didn't bother to control it, Jean-Paul was almost always in control.

Which was precisely what made it so fucking sexy when he finally broke. Like he had, roughly ten minutes ago.

Fuck. Yeah, this guy was definitely good enough for him. Weird, how this shit had turned out. But JP made it seem like it was no big deal. Never wanted him to act all... stupid and romantic. Jean-Paul had made it more than clear that he wasn't interested in the whole "boyfriend" scene, and that if Pietro wanted to continue to date people, that was his prerogative. And despite the fact that Pietro had about as much interest in dating anyone at that point as JP did, which was absolutely zero to be blunt about it (why buy the cow when you get the sex for free... or whatever...,) it was the idea of such an arrangement that made the whole thing so comfortable. No jealousy, no expectations, no bullshit. Well, no more than your average friendship. Which, he knew, he was lucky to have from Jean-Paul at all, considering what a dick he'd been to him on more than one occasion.

So this whole best friends who have sex thing was really a stroke of fortune that he didn't deserve.

Which, of course, didn't mean he wasn't going to take full advantage of it. But, he told himself, at least he had the sense to realize that he didn't deserve it.

Anyhow, that boyfriend love story romantic bullshit was so... well, he wanted to say it was... gay. But the irony of that was pretty hard to escape, so he was presently trying to come up with a better word.

Either way, this digging a guy thing was just getting better and better every day.

He staggered just a bit with a sudden head rush, as Jean-Paul slipped out of his grip to start descending the stairs in search of their friends and housemates. The dark-haired boy looked up at him, smirking. "One too many, Pietro?"

Pietro blew a nice long gust of smoke right into his smug face, "Nicotine, dickhead. Speedsters and stimulants. Or are you too drunk to feel it?"

Jean-Paul raised those upswept eyebrows once again (damn, that was sexy too... how was it that everything JP did ended up making Pietro want to do really dirty things to him... or maybe that was just Pietro... or maybe it was just the alcohol... no wait, that happened when he wasn't drunk... well fuck...), and grinned. "I'm too fucking worn out for it to matter, at the moment. Just don't hurt yourself, hm?"

Pietro followed him down the stairs, holding carefully to the hand rail to avoid any embarrassing stumbling that might occur if he wasn't careful. Goddamn, so much depressant alcohol in his system... and this cigarette was fucking with his sensitive systems again, kicking them back into high gear for a few seconds at a time. But oh, that head rush was good.

Fuck it, he could just let JP guide him back to their friends. He took another long drag as he reached the bottom of the stairs safely, and scraped his tongue against his teeth, trying to get rid of that weird combination of alcohol, nicotine, and Jean-Paul that was clinging to it, despite the half-gallon of water he'd sucked down in the bathroom, and hooked a finger into the back of JP's belt. Thus attached to his friend, he staggered along happily behind him until they made their way to the other side of the crowded club, and the small alcove the rest of their company was occupying.

"Looks like the party is over, mon ami," The darker speedster was laughing, as Pietro finally stepped up to his side to survey the wreckage of the group. Kitty, JM, and Ray were still dancing like they'd never stop, but pretty much everyone else had found a couch and were collapsed all over each other, with ridiculous grins on their faces, for the most part.

"This was a good idea, JP! Damn, we're smart!" Pietro announced, waving his cigarette.

Jean-Paul grabbed his wrist, as Pietro's cigarette nearly scorched his shirt, and rolled his eyes at him. "I already have to replace buttons because of you–,"

But as he looked at his burning cigarette, Pietro's eyes continued to travel, to a shadowy recess in the alcove, where there was one couch occupied by only two people...

And he froze. He felt his forehead creasing with irritation instantly, and his teeth clenched hard in... anger? Something like anger. Something bad, whatever it was.

JP let go of his wrist, and turned his head to follow Pietro's gaze. When he saw what it was he was staring at, he let out a low whistle, "Wow. Didn't see that one coming."

"I'll destroy him," Pietro found himself growling, without ever parting his teeth. His could feel his lip curling up now in a snarl, just enough to let the sound through.

There, only a few yards from where he was standing, was the normally hapless Sam Guthrie.

Kissing his sister. They were sitting close, on the couch, faces hidden by their obviously open-mouthed kiss. Sam had one hand on Wanda's knee, and the other on the back of the couch, and Wanda had her hands on top of his... oh... oh man, someone was going to die for this...

JP laid a hand on his shoulder now, and held him firmly, like he could feel Pietro's need to dart off and pull that southern bumpkin off of Wanda immediately. "Easy, boy. I know how you feel... but Wanda might kill you if you go over there in a rage..."

Pietro was having a hard time processing why, exactly, he was feeling this way all of the sudden. This feeling of... protectiveness, or something. But he honestly did want to strangle Cannonball, at the moment. In fact, his hands were positively twitching.

"Anyhow, you're the one who wanted to get her drunk."

He pulled his eyes off the horrifying display in the corner, and glared at his friend. But before he could unleash the tirade of swearing and bitching he could feel coming on, he noticed that Rogue had come to his side. Or rather, she forced him to notice her when she gave him a solid thump to the chest.

"Don't ya even think about it, Quickie," she snarled at him through purple lips, tightening her fist around a good chunk of his sweater. "Ah see you lookin' at them, and don't you dare go act like a jerk. Not after you two disappear for a half hour lahk that."

Momentarily shocked that Rogue would dare to push him around, he just gaped at her.

She took that, apparently, as an invitation to continue bitching him out. "Ah'm serious. Ya go over there and the gloves come off."

Really, she was pretty hot when she was mad. So Pietro grinned at her.

She rolled her eyes, and let go of his shirt with a slight shove that sent him into Jean-Paul's waiting arms. His friend straightened him up, and said, "She does have a point..."

"You get mad when Roberto even looks at JM!" He argued, no longer grinning and suddenly deciding he might want to strangle JP as well, just for good measure. Of all people, he really ought to understand.

Jean-Paul smirked at him, unimpressed. "True. But if she were dating Sam, I'd have no worries. In fact, she'd have my blessing. He's a good guy. Not to mention in heaven right now."

Pietro started to argue again, but Rogue cut him off. "We're not talkin' about Berto and JM, we're talkin' about Wanda and Sam. Look, ya can even see their hands! It's harmless! Not like you two..."

JP raised his eyebrows at him suggestively, and gave him a sudden smack on the ass that stung quite nicely.

Ah, fuck.

Well, that certainly put it into perspective. Still wasn't fair, considering JP's aversion to DaCosta. But he did have a point. Guthrie was harmless...

And it kinda was his fault, after all. He'd been the one who'd wanted her to get drunk, relax, have some fun...

Right. Right, he was being stupid. Hell, Wanda had the power to take on their father, she could sure as hell handle Sam Guthrie. Jesus, what the hell was he thinking, getting all upset over that...?

Obviously thinking the situation diffused (what, was that some kind of Girl Power thing, defending one of her sisters, or something?) Rogue turned away from him, as Kurt grabbed her attention with a joke he was telling his half-asleep crew of drunken mutants. Jean-Paul started to say something else, but was cut off by the appearance of his own sister, who threw herself into his arms and started babbling happily in French, then pulled him away to dance with her.

Standing alone now, Pietro watched them for a moment, the drunken, startlingly similar Beaubier twins, laughing and dancing with each other. Weird. They'd only known each other for a few months, and they were closer than he and Wanda, who had grown up with each other.

Not that Wanda remembered anything real about that.

But still, something about that was pretty lame.

Anyhow, it did calm his anger a little more, and he found that he had all systems in his complete control once again.

Man... that was weird. Never felt that before. Well... not exactly. He had, but it was so long ago, he could barely remember it. He considered this newfound protectiveness with a characteristic Quicksilver train wreck of a thought process (Lame. Shock. What? Protect. Choke. Destroy. Damn. Laugh,) as he watched Roberto DaCosta scowling at the Beaubiers from his seat next to a passed-out Lance. And suddenly decided that he didn't much care for the little Brazilian Wonder either, just on principle.

Much to his surprise, his drunken internal monologue was suddenly broken into by a very flushed, very drunk Kitty Pryde, who had him by the hand and was pulling him into her arms. "C'mon Pietro, last dance!"

For a minute, he just stared at her, confused. But soon enough, he was dancing with Shadowcat as if he'd never been angry. And definitely as if she wasn't supposed to be one of his friends' girlfriends. Man, she must really love to dance.



Ray hadn't had so much fun in years.

Not even in the Danger Room. Not even fighting with Roberto.

He was in the front seat of JP's M5, Bobby at the wheel, Kurt sitting bitch. He'd traded rides with Sam, who was suddenly surgically attached to Chick Maximoff (as opposed to Dude Maximoff. He and Alex had recently devised similar designations for the Beaubiers recently as well,) much to everyone's surprise and amusement. Jean-Paul was in the back seat, trashed off his Canadian ass and not giving a fuck that Bobby was about to make his transmission drop out the bottom of the car in the middle of New York City, one arm around Rogue, one around his sister. Roberto was on the other side of JM, behind Ray.

But even that didn't bother him, in the least.

"Oh shit, this is Korn and Limp Bizkit!" Bobby suddenly shouted, cranking up the stereo.

Ray immediately recognized the familiar strains of the singularly offensive rant known as "All in the Family," and whooped with joy. "We gonna do this, Drake?" He leaned over Kurt and leered at the boy in the driver's seat.

Bobby shot him a sidelong glance, grinning, and nodded, "Only if I get to be Jon Davis."

"You're on."

The entire front seat started bobbing their heads as one, Kurt included, as Bobby turned the sound up even louder. Damn, JP had a good stereo... must've been some kind of custom job. "Say what, say what?" Ray spat, flipping Bobby the bird over Kurt's lap.

"My dick is bigger than yours!" Bobby announced, along with Korn's lead singer, as the whole back seat cracked up.

And they continued on, through more say what say whats until the entire car was having so much trouble sitting upright that everyone was on each other's shoulder, near hysterical.

Ray flew through his first verse with no hitches. This was his shit, he knew it like the back of his hand. Kurt was clearly unfamiliar with the little tune, because he was laughing after every line, and the people in the back were no less entertained.

"Check you out, punk," Bobby was retaliating with Jon Davis now, gesturing wildly, like some kind of ridiculous skinny white boy metal-head, his head bouncing dangerously, "Yes I know you feel it! You look like one of those dancers from that Hanson video you little faggot ho!"

This drew even louder cackles from the drunken back seat, as Ray feigned total outrage at the insults, making his hands into fists and swinging them in Bobby's direction so that Kurt had to hold him back.

"Please give me some shit to work with," Drake continued, shooting him a cocky glare, "Cause right now, I'm all it kid. Suck my dick kid. Like your–daddy–did."

"Oh Christ!" Jean-Paul sounded like he was having trouble breathing in the back.

But Ray knew that the fun had only just begun, and launched into his own retaliation, grinning so hugely it almost hurt. "Who the fuck you think you're talkin' to?" he shot back with Fred Durst, gesturing, he knew, like a sad white boy rapper– which was pretty much his opinion of the Limp Bizkit frontman anyhow.

"Me!" Bobby announced, somewhat more high pitched than the sinister tones of Jon in the background.

"I'm known for eatin' little whiney chumps like you," Ray continued, punching at the air in front of Kurt again.

"Whatever!" From Bobby.

"All up in my face with that–,"

"Are you ready?!" His opponent roared, this time in a startling approximation of the Korn frontman.

"But halitosis–," Ray shook his head and sneered, "is all you're rockin' steady. You little fairy–,"

"Scott!" Bobby announced, totally spontaneously, causing another peal of laughter from the backseat, and making Kurt hold his sides in laughter.

"Smellin' all your flowers," Berserker was laughing so hard at his friend's outburst that he was having trouble keeping up with the verse now, "Nappy hairy chest– look it's Austin Powers!"

"Ah, yeah bay-bee!" the opposition drawled, with a particularly offensive cockney accent.

And Ray found that he couldn't finish the verse at all, because Bobby's Austin Powers "impression" was simply too much for all of them.

Except for Iceman himself, who was right back on it with the next part, "What the fuck you sayin'? You're a pimp? Whatevah! Limp dick! Fred Durst needs to rehearse," he shook his head from side to side comically, "needs to reverse what he's sayin'!" And he carried on through the rest of the verse.

But Ray really didn't notice, because it had suddenly occurred to him that this song was not particularly... PC. And JP was in the back seat. He turned around as Bobby sneered and bounced by turns to his verse, and caught the Canadian X-Man's eyes with his own.

He didn't seem bothered. In fact, he was laughing so hard that Rogue was fanning him like she was afraid he would stop breathing.

But still... that wasn't cool. Not being one for categories, Ray didn't really spend much time thinking about JP's sexual proclivities. Hell, he didn't even categorize his own, just because he had something of a rebel in him that hated the way society pushed people into a little box and neatly labeled them for reference. Mutant, student, punk, straight, smart, gay, flatscan, emo, boyfriend, girlfriend, whatever the fucking category was. It irritated him to have someone tell him what he was about, when all they knew was the label. So he didn't like to do it to anyone else, ever. And he sure as fuck didn't want anyone thinking he approved of bashing anyone for some stupid label society put on them. It was cool that JP was chill about the whole thing...

But still, it was kinda shitty to talk like that with dude in the car.

(And damn, he needed to stop calling everyone "dude" all the time. Living with Alex was rotting his brain, he was sure of it...)

"Yo, sorry about the whole gay bashing thing," he told Jean-Paul anyhow, over the screeching guitars.

Jean-Paul waved his hand, on the other side of Jeanne-Marie, who had her face buried in his shoulder and was shaking with laughter. "Fuck it, mon ami. That's entertainment."

Maybe Alex was right. Dude could be pretty laid back, apparently...

(Goddammit, again with the "dude..." ah hell, why fight it?)

Ray turned back around in his seat, and caught Kurt smiling at him. Almost like he was proud, or something.

But Bobby was already yelling, "I hate you!"

So Ray had no choice but to yell back, "And I hate you!"

"You know what you know what?" Bobby looked over at him again, quickly, eyebrow raised.

"It's all–in the–family," they chorused.

Again, Ray tripped through his verses, laughing and bouncing and nearly causing Bobby to rear-end the car in front of them... twice. But they made it and Bobby launched into his final run, "Come on hillbilly! Can your horse do a fuckin' wheelie? You love it down south and boy–," he shot Ray an evil grin and put on his best "Deliverance" accent, "You sure do got a purdy mouth."

"Oh, that's terrible!" Jeanne-Marie screeched as her brother made a rude gesture to explain what it was the song was talking about. She reached up and smacked Bobby on the back of the head now as he and Ray traded more I hate yous back and forth.

Blessedly, Bobby reached out and turned the volume back down again, before the song got really foul at the end, where the two singers started yelling about what they were going to "do" to each other.

Bobby was a friend and all, but a little too awkward to be comfortable singing that kind of shit to him, probably. And anyhow, more gay bashing, kinda. So fucking weird. The song had always just been a joke to him... he'd have to try and like... be more careful or something. Good thing Sam wasn't here in fact, or he'd have to feel bad about the whole southern joke thing too!

"How can they even play that on the radio?" Rogue laughed.

Yes, genuinely laughed.

"Fuck, you guys are crazy," Jean-Paul reached up and ruffled Bobby's hair, almost affectionately. "Now hurry up and get me the fuck home. I need a goddamn cigarette, and no smoking in the BMW."

"Dude," Ray turned around, "hook me up!"

Jean-Paul began digging in his back pocket, drawing a dirty look from his sister, who suddenly found herself with his elbow in her side, but Ray's attention was suddenly caught by the shifting Roberto next to her.

"Um, guys...," the previously silent Brazilian boy suddenly piped up, turning an interesting shade of green. "Um..."

Bobby shot him a nervous look in the rearview as Jeanne-Marie turned to him, fawning over him with a sweet, "Oh no, Berto, are you sick?"

But Bobby, like he'd been reading Ray's mind all along, immediately pulled out the Wayne's World quote-age. Not to mention the mini garbage bag JP apparently kept stashed in the door, which Bobby held over his head, dangling it into the back seat. "Dude... if you're gonna spew... spew into this."



Amara Aquilla sighed. The night had been fun. Definitely fun. Dancing and laughing and just chilling out with her friends. The chance to dress up and look good and go out on the town. Seeing all the boys all cleaned up and pretty. She didn't even mind being among the four or five sober mutant teenagers heading home tonight. She was happy to be Lance's designated driver. And she was glad that Bobby hadn't wrecked the M5 in front of them, which was, incidentally, spewing really loud industrial rock-sounding music and bass.

But goddamn, the Brotherhood boys were obnoxious.

She eyed Lance in the rearview mirror, as he tried for about the thousandth time to put his arm around a drunken, obtuse Kitty Pryde. "Knock it off, Lance! God, you're like, totally breathing my air!"

"Aw, come on Kit, I just want to be close to you...,"

Amara rolled her eyes. God. How pathetic men were sometimes. Not to mention see-through. She was glad that Kitty had the sense to see Lance's obvious agenda tonight... or at least, the sense to not be interested in having him breathing down her neck.

"Jesus Christ, Lava Lamp, could you speed it up?! I'dliketogethomesometimethisyear!"

She glared out of the corner of her eyes at Pietro, in the passenger seat just next to her. "Pietro, don't make me fry you. I have fire, and I'm not afraid to use it."

Blessedly, however, Amara could see the Brotherhood Boarding House, not a half mile down the road, so she floored it and had them to the door in no time. "Alright, thanks for flying Aquilla Air. If you had a problem with our service, piss off and die. Brotherhood out, X-Men in!"

Pietro shot her one last glare, and became a sudden gust of wind, as far as she could tell. Either way, he was gone, and the door to the house was hanging wide open. Kitty helped Lance down from the Jeep (or rather, she tumbled out and then watched him do about the same, before crawling back in), and Sam got out and held the door for Wanda.

"Wait!" Lance was suddenly pressed against Amara's window.

She shook her head, and rolled the window down. "What, Alvers?"

"This is my Jeep! You can't take it home!"

"Jean-Paul said he'll bring it back tomorrow morning. We can't stay here."

"I think you should!"

"You think Kitty should. Get your ass inside before I fry you and Pietro both," she told him, rolling the window back up, and almost catching his fingers in the top of it.

Lance's upper lip curled in a sneer. But surprisingly, he simply staggered away, into the house.

Sam and Wanda were still babbling at each other, quietly now, but the open door on that side let in some of the conversation here and there. "...any time... really sweet of... funny thing... damn tired... stupid brother... didn't know you... smile..."

Amara turned around in her seat and caught Kitty's eyes, grinning. The older girl was covering her mouth to keep from giggling, obviously, and shook her head. Amara mouthed the words, "So cute," to her.

Shadowcat nodded, and removed her hand from her mouth. Her blue eyes looked to the side, quickly then, and Amara noticed that she suddenly couldn't hear anything else coming from the pair outside the Jeep.

She turned to look at them, following Kitty's gaze, and saw them caught in a full-on lip lock. About the cutest lip lock Amara had ever seen, at that. Poor Sam looked like he had no idea what to do with his hands, as he was holding them up, and out to the sides, like he'd been taken by surprise, and Wanda had him by the front of the shirt with both hands.

Amara looked back to Kitty, grinning hugely over the back of the driver's seat, and the two girls let out a simultaneous "Awwww!"

Wanda let go of Sam with one hand, the hand closest to the car, and held it out like she was offering them something. And then the hand started to glow blue and green in the night.

Amara ducked just as a bolt of blue hex-lightning whizzed over her head, and into the soft top of Lance's Jeep, causing it to ripple and flow for a few seconds before returning to normal. She kept laughing, however, and when she managed to peek back over her seat again, Kitty was covering her mouth once more, eyes bulging in barely-restrained laughter, and Sam was standing outside the Jeep, alone, watching as Wanda closed the door to the house behind her.

"Oh my god, Sam, you totally just made out with Wanda Maximoff!" Amara laughed.

The blonde boy turned around suddenly, grinning stupidly, and scratched at the back of his head. "Aw, we were just goofin' around. Wasn't anythin'."

"You two are totally cute!" Kitty gushed.

Sam staggered the few steps back to the car, closed the door, and situated himself in the back seat, then let out a long sigh and let his head thump against the door as he leaned on it. "Wasn't anythin', Kitty. She was just sayin' thanks for the compliment, was all."

"Must've been a hell of a compliment, considering that you two were stuck together at the lip for about an hour back at the club," Amara told him, starting the car up again and heading back to the Institute. Holy gods, that had been adorable. Really gave her faith in men, honestly. Maybe the Brotherhood boys were asses, but not their X-Men.

Well, not Sam, anyhow. And Alex, Bobby and Berto were cute enough to make up for their transgressions. And Scott had that sexy in charge thing going. And Ray looked great when his shirt was ripped. And Kurt was all velvety, and those fangs were way sexier than he knew. And Jean-Paul was devastating– gorgeous and off-limits, what a combination. And Jamie... well, Jamie was still young enough to be adorable. Barely.

"Maybe you could teach Lance about compliments," Kitty suggested, giggling again, as if she'd been reading Amara's mind. "Or about being a nice guy. He was like, totally trying to get on me all night! I mean, he's cute and he's really a good guy, underneath, but like... gross!"

"I dunno, Kit," Sam was smiling next to her, a bit dreamily, "Ah reckon it's a little too late to save some people, don't you?"



Alex instantly recognized the outfit as the work of Jean-Paul.

He shot the Canadian speedster a dirty look as he came through the door, and got a smarmy grin in return.

Jesus. Why'd he have to let Ray borrow those pants anyhow?

"Jean-Paul...," Scott was saying beside him, as various and sundry mutant teenagers began sprawling out in the living room, or heading to the kitchen, some staggering, some singing, all laughing aloud. "Why do I feel like you're somehow responsible for this... and that whatever this is, I'm not going to like it?"

JP came directly to them, where they were standing at the foot of the stairs. Scott had heard the garage open, from where they'd been sitting in the kitchen. He'd been a freak all night, in fact, jumping at every little sound since they'd come home from the movie. Alex had been busted of course, once Scott realized that he was purposely trying to keep him out later than usual, suggesting a movie that started at 11PM, asking for Taco Bell when it was over. But they'd been home almost an hour now, and the house was just a little too dead for Cyclops not to notice that most of his charges had flown the coop.

Too bad really. Alex had kinda wanted to have that little "talk" with his big brother tonight, since they had so much time together. But between the dinner at a hyper-macho sports-bar type restaurant, the movie, where he'd had to keep quiet the whole time, and the aftermath, where Scott had paced around like an angry father for an hour or so, alternately brooding quietly and pumping Alex for information, there really hadn't been much of a chance.

Alex, of course, had pleaded innocent. Claimed that he didn't know a thing about it.

Scott wasn't buying it. And neither was Mr. Logan, when he'd seen him in the hallway about a half hour ago. Lucky for Alex, however, Logan had simply raised an eyebrow at him, growled a little, and headed back to his room.

"Don't worry your pretty head, mon ami," Jean-Paul was saying, sauntering up to them like he hadn't a care in the world. His normally ivory pale cheeks had a little more color in them than usual, and those electric eyes were wide awake and flashing. "Everyone is alive and well, and though they may sleep late, they will pull through. The belt is great, by the way."

Scott looked down, at the belt he'd given JP for his birthday, and furrowed his brow. "It is. But that's not the point! Where the hell have you guys been? I've been worried sick! You're supposed to be older, Jean-Paul, a responsible role model for these kids...," but he trailed off as he watched Jeanne-Marie helping a surprisingly frail-looking Roberto up the stairs. And hopefully, into bed, where he could sleep it off. Dude looked wrecked. "Oh Jesus, what's wrong with him?"

"He's fine," JP shrugged, carelessly, "It's all out of his system now."

"What is out of his system? Jean-Paul–,"

But Scott was interrupted by a loud BAMF! and the appearance of one Kurt Wagner, bag of potato chips in hand. "See, JP, I told you he would be up and waiting!"

"Kurt, how could you let him–,"

Kurt held up one three-fingered hand and closed his eyes, striking a pose like a statue of a Roman orator. "I don't know what you're talking about, Slim. Surely, you're mistaken. We were at a party all night long."

"Half of you are drunk! What the hell kind of party was that?!" Scott growled, through his teeth.

Wow. Alex had never seen him turn quite that shade of red before. Impressive.

Jean-Paul moved a little closer and put an arm over Scott's shoulders, squeezing him once, "Relax, Summers. Everything is fine, non? We're all here, all safe, no worries."

"Where are Amara, Kitty, and Sam then?!"

Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow and made a face that showed just how impressed he was with Scott's ability to take one look at the group and know who was there and who wasn't. "They're on the way. They're dropping off Lance and the Maximoffs."

"Oh my god, you're shitting me. You did not take those guys with you too. Jean-Paul I'm going to–,"

"Shhhh," JP put a finger over his own lips and shook his head, squeezing Scott's shoulders again. "No threats. You love me, remember."

"You smell like gin," Scott informed him, wrinkling up his nose.

Kurt rolled his eyes, still watching next to Alex, "Mein Gott, you're fighting a losing battle, Jean-Paul. We should've brought him a few beers, he would've been a lot nicer about this."

"I really hope you didn't drive home...," Big Brother was shaking his head again.

"The popsicle drove, never fear."

"You let Drake drive your car?" Scott's anger seemed to drain out of him as surprise smacked him in the back of the head.

"Oui. Listen to me, Scott. I wanted to tell you, but they wouldn't let me. I would've liked nothing better than to get you drunk and watch you relax. But circumstances did not allow, we were responsible about it, and everyone is safe and sound–,"

Alex was shaking his head at Jean-Paul's drunken attempt to sound convincing when he felt someone tap his shoulder. He turned around to see Bobby and Ray grinning at him, both holding huge glasses of water and bags of junk food. "Have a good time?" He asked, mildly amused at the looks on their faces. And trying very hard not to stare.

"The best! Here man, I brought you a souvenir!" Ray held out something small and green to him. "Sucks that you couldn't come, but this chick was passing these out so I figured we'd bring you a little piece of the action."

Bobby nodded, "Just so you know we appreciate your sacrifice, my friend."

Alex shook his head and took the plastic thing from his roommate. And started grinning when he saw what it was. "A Heineken bottle opener," on a key chain, no less! Rock! What he was going to do with it, he had no idea, but it was still kinda cool that they'd thought of him. "Great, now all we need is some beer!"

The other two laughed and then Ray started talking again. "Dude, we want to go watch Wayne's World. You in?"

"Yeah," he answered immediately, "Let's watch it in our room. Sam should be here soon, JP said, he'll want to watch. Is Berto gonna make it?"

"Yeah, he'll be ok," Bobby nodded, laughing again, "He yakked outside but he's cool now. Me and Ray are sober, so we said we'd check on him a couple times an hour."

Alex raised an eyebrow, "You two are sober? Damn, who else?"

They looked at each other and grinned, "Amara," Ray answered finally, "And... well, Kurt is sorta sober. I think that's it. That it Bobby?"

Bobby nodded, "That's it."

"Sam is fucked up?" Alex asked, impressed. Wow, didn't expect that...

"And hooking up with Wanda," Bobby covered his mouth and giggled, not unlike a little girl.

Alex felt his eyes go wide, "You're kidding me! Sam Guthrie?" Ok now, that he really hadn't expected. Holy shit... that was so weird it... almost made sense, really.

Ray nodded solemnly, "Another one bites the dust, man. Love is in the air. Ok, Alex, lets go get your shit set up. I gotta get out of these clothes," he started pulling at the tight sweater he had on, making a face of disgust at it.

Alex swallowed hard. "Uh... you go ahead and change. I'll be up in a second, I wanna make sure Scott doesn't kill anyone. Or himself."

Ray nodded and gave him a thumbs up, then turned to sprint up the stairs, and Bobby wandered back to the kitchen. Alex let out a long breath, and hung his head for a moment, trying to fight off mental images of Ray running up the stairs like that. And peeling off those clothes.

When he finally turned around, he saw Scott shaking his head at JP, but looking very defeated. "Alright... fine. But if the Professor, or anyone else, finds out about this, you're taking the fall."

Jean-Paul nodded, "Of course, I wouldn't have it any other way. And next time, you're coming with us."

Scott raised an eyebrow, "Not a chance, flyboy."

Jesus, how did JP do that? Dude could talk his way out of anything. Funny for a guy who normally exhibited as much charm as Magneto. Making friends was clearly not the Canadian X-Man's first priority.

Jean-Paul smirked at Scott, and then turned his attention to Alex, sharp blue eyes focusing on him and demanding his full attention. The speedster came to his side, and put an arm around his shoulder, then steered him off to the side just a bit, leaving Kurt and Scott to argue some more. "Like the pants?"

"Dude, you're sick," Alex said, smiling so hard his face hurt. Damn, it was nice to have someone around who knew...

"I thought you'd like them. Lucky you didn't come, you should've seen him dancing–,"

"I hate you, Jean-Paul," he laughed.

Jean-Paul winked at him, then kissed him on the cheek, with a loud sort of smacking sound.

"Dude, stop flirting with my kid brother!" Scott yelled, from the other side of the foyer.

JP just winked again and headed out the front door, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he did so.

Alex shook his head, and turned to go upstairs, assuming Ray would've returned to his normal state of loose, perfectly non-suggestive dress by now, safe in the knowledge that Scott's head wasn't going to explode.

Of course, he wasn't quite sure about his own head, after that. But hell, he might as well enjoy the ride while it lasted.

Jean-Paul stared up at the night sky, leaning back on the front stoop of the Xavier Institute, watching a small, grey wisp of cloud make its way across the face of the full moon.

And enjoying the next-to-last cigarette in his pack.

He was in a horribly fucking excellent mood. Nights like these, he always felt like he was watching his life from the outside, through someone else's eyes. Like watching a particularly well-shot film, alone in a dark theater, all the important bits captured in still photography in his mind. He could remember all of the sensations, of course. The floor shaking under the soles of his boots with the bass. The lights flashing, reflecting at odd angles, behind his eyes, even when he closed them for a moment. The cold of his Jack and Coke on his tongue, the burn of the bourbon as it slid down his throat, caught him on fire from the inside. The crush of another body against his, the feeling of hands in his hair. The taste of another's mouth, like sweet cocktails and cigarettes.

He could still feel it all, if he thought about it. Snapshots of sensation. But he didn't necessarily recognize them as belonging to him, personally. Could've been anyone's night.

It was hot, drunken, dirty, blissful, confusing, fascinating, sweaty, a million other things, by turns. So many feelings, he'd hardly had time to appreciate them. So many things that had happened.

Sam Guthrie. The way he leaned over to kiss Wanda, his hands not knowing where to go, eyes shut tight. Funny, he never would've called that one, but now it made sense. Both of them innocent. At least, to those kinds of things. They'd fought each other, beaten Apocalypse, hell saved the whole world before. They were heroes and villains before they were seventeen. But when they looked like that, they were still just kids. That kind of picture wasn't even just pretty, it was beautiful.

Rogue dancing with them, green eyes lit up, like her heart was on fire. The girl who couldn't be touched, with her arms around someone. It had to be good for her, and he knew it was for him, to see her like that. He really did love her, his first, most trustworthy friend here in Bayville. And he'd never seen her like that before, all that passion, the way she smiled when she relaxed, let herself have fun, stopped thinking she was going to hurt someone-- or, for that matter, that she wanted to hurt someone-- and just let herself go. She was a genius, when she looked like that.

Bobby Drake, driving his car. The way that kid laughed, the way he acted out his part, as he and Ray threw insults back and forth to the grind of guitars. A different kind of brilliant. Bobby was the entertainer, the joker, voice cracking and accents changing and music blaring. Really, it was almost sad, in Jean-Paul's present pensive state of mind. No one could be like that all the time, not inside, joking and laughing. There were probably layers to Drake that, if he was very lucky, someone might actually uncover in a decade or so. But god, wasn't he gorgeous when he was laughing like that? What did it feel like, to laugh the way he did?

Pietro. Jean-Paul had no interest in love, in romance. He never had. He wasn't even sure he was capable of it. But he had an interest in Pietro. In the way he was never afraid to meet his gaze, no matter what it was saying. In his fearlessness. In his silver hair and his hard body and his inviting, evil grin. The world was his, and he was the Lost Boy. He'd never grow up, in some ways. Little silver god, owned the world around him, whether the world knew it or not. Just thinking of his face, of that smirk he had, smug and uncompromising. That was all it took, to make Jean-Paul adore him, really.

And here, now. Sitting against the wall, taking his last drag. Letting it fill his lungs, and letting it out slowly. Slight chill in the air, smell of autumn decay already all around, fall filling his lungs at the next breath in. Felt good. Smelled good.

The door opened, and he didn't bother to look and see who was coming outside.

He'd felt her when she put her hand on the doorknob.

"How's Berto?" He asked, as his sister came to sit next to him on the cold concrete, leaning her head on his shoulder. He didn't like the kid dating his sister, but he didn't actually wish him ill. Most of the time. And even then, he didn't wish alcohol poisoning on him. Just a good swift kick in the ass, mostly.

"He's fine now, brother. Watching the movie with the other boys. Did you have a good time."

"I did. And you?"

"Wonderful."

He flicked his cigarette butt into the bushes, and put an arm over her shoulders, pulling her close and leaning his head on hers, just slightly. It always felt so easy, being around her when they were both so calm, so happy. Just like being alone. Only... better, actually.

And that was something he'd never imagined possible. Not in his wildest dreams. "I thought you'd be in bed."

"I don't want to go to bed."

He sat up a bit, and she did too. He watched her face for a moment, that strange feminine echo of what he saw in the mirror every day, and pushed some hair out of her eyes, carefully. She looked dead tired, but she'd done well tonight. Had too much to drink, and still kept running. "No, me neither."

"I know," she smiled at him, sleepily. "I thought you'd be... at the Brotherhood house."

"No. Don't feel like it."

She just looked at him for a moment, but seemed to accept this answer. She felt a bit uneasy, in that little echo of her that was in his mind at the moment.

But he didn't want to think about that, at the moment. About her obvious disapproval of what he was doing. He didn't want to know if it was because she didn't like Pietro, or because she didn't like that he was a boy. Because if it was the latter... no. Not right now. Not when he was feeling so good. Couldn't handle it, at the moment.

"Do you love him?"

Well that was... utterly fucking unexpected. Jean-Paul blinked. And was suddenly very glad he had another cigarette on him. He sat up even straighter now, and pulled out the pack, then the last cigarette, and lit it. "Why would you ask such a thing?"

While waiting for her answer, he inhaled deeply, then let it all out, slow, watching it curl over their heads.

What a fucking thing to ask.

"Something in your eyes," she looked upward and watched the smoke dissipate, as if fascinated by the wisps and curls of it, "when you look at him."

He shook his head and smiled. Jeanne-Marie was naive. Innocent. She didn't understand, and wouldn't. "No, my sister, it's not love." But he didn't much feel like explaining, so he asked her, "What about you? Do you love your Rober'?"

"No," she answered immediately. "But I love things about him."

He looked over at her, and took another drag from the cigarette. Savoring it. "Like what?" And then, he blew the smoke out, slowly.

"I love when he's happy. When he's running or playing, laughing or dancing. I think it's beautiful," she informed him, almost bashfully.

"Beautiful...," he muttered, not certain if he was agreeing or questioning. Just trying to feel the word out, maybe. Come to grips with it. Wrap his head around what his sister was trying to tell him. He'd used the word himself, not so long ago, talking to her, differentiating it from "pretty." And he'd used it in his head just now, thinking of Sam, Rogue, Bobby, Pietro. But why?

"Beautiful because when he's like that, I can understand him. Or he could understand me. At those times, we think the same. And I think he's beautiful."

He watched her now, as she looked away from him, and up at the moon. In profile, he didn't think she looked much like him at all. Her face was so much more delicate than his. Smaller, sweeter.

Or maybe it was the light. Moonlight plays tricks on the eyes, after all. "That is when something is beautiful? When you... get it?"

She nodded, still looking up, "I think so. When it says something you meant to say. Or even just wish you had. That's what I mean."

He considered this, and nodded, slowly. Thought about the things he'd seen tonight, why he felt they were beautiful. And he had to agree. "You're right, Jeanne-Marie."

His sister looked over at him now, and simply watched him for a moment, thoughtfully. A moment later, she spoke again. "I think you love him, Jean-Paul."

He smiled at her. So sweet. Trusting. Naive. God, don't let her change. Not ever. "No, I don't love him," he forced out, without thinking about it. "I want him. It's different."

"It's ok then? To do... such things with someone you don't love?"

A somewhat sarcastic snort escaped him, that time. "If it wasn't, I'd be out of luck, wouldn't I?"

"You've never been in love?"

"No," he admitted. "Have you?"

"No. But if you never have been, how would you know that you're not right now?"

"How do you know?"

"I don't look at Roberto the way you look at Pietro, Jean-Paul."

He looked away from her now, suddenly uncomfortable with the intensity behind her eyes. He knew it was ridiculous. Those eyes, as electric as they seemed, they were just like his. But somehow, he didn't want to look at them. Not at the moment. "Why do you ask me such questions? Does it matter to you?"

"It does."

"You don't like him anyway."

"Non," she admitted, "I don't. I don't trust him. And I don't want you to be hurt."

"He can't hurt me."

"He did before."

He kept smoking now, as an excuse not to answer her. To try and get his bearings. He was still too drunk to be having this conversation, and he knew it. Still too honest. "I wasn't hurt, Jeanne-Marie," he finally answered, after a moment. "I was angry. There is a difference."

She leaned on him now, one arm over his shoulder, her chin resting on her forearm. "You think that no one knows you, brother. But I do. Just... don't get hurt."

"I don't love anyone," he insisted, still not looking at her, his brain entirely frozen up by some strange force. "I never have. I don't know how."

She kissed his cheek, quickly. "I don't believe you."

Finally, he looked over at her. Met those eyes. And knew he was lying. "Just you. That you believe?"

She nodded, "Yes. That I believe."

He looked back up at the sky, and sucked on his cigarette some more.

"Does it hurt, when you say you don't love him?"

He sighed, desperate for her to finally let him change the subject. "No."

"Say it again."

"I don't love him. Jeanne-Marie, please--,"

"Ok, I'll stop. Do you want me to leave?"

"No," he said, without having to think it through. "Stay. It'll be cold soon, too cold to stay out. I want to enjoy the night."

She yawned, suddenly, covering her mouth and looking way from him. "Oh, me too, Jean-Paul. All the others are in bed or watching that movie, though."

"Who needs them?"

She graced him with another smile, and replaced her head on his shoulder, all traces of unease gone again. Just contented sleepiness.

He looked back up at the sky, put his arm around her again and watched it blankly for a while, finishing his last cigarette. Pictures flashing through his mind, and thoughts flying in every direction after them.

In a few minutes, he became aware that Jeanne-Marie was asleep against him. So he took one last deep breath, filling himself with the night air, and picked her up off the ground. Her arms wrapped around his neck trustingly, like a sleeping baby, and he carried her inside, up to her room, and deposited her safely in her bed. A last look convinced him that he should take off her heavy boots, for the sake of her sheets, and then he left her.

Jeanne-Marie, the little princess. Innocent. Naive in a way that defied all logic, after the hell she'd been through. His sister. The first and only thing he'd ever been certain of, the only thing he'd ever known would be there when he woke every morning, no matter what. They could fight to their hearts' content, but they'd never be alone, now. Even if they wanted to, really.

He couldn't really process it, of course. He'd been having trouble understanding his own feelings all evening. But he knew he'd seen a lot of beautiful things tonight. And he was sure that she topped them all.






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

AN: I think that about covers all the bases of a drunken night of debauchery. Dancing, sweating, sex, laughing, staggering, singing, someone puking, and the final "deep" conversation with someone out on the balcony/porch while smoking the end of your pack and losing your buzz. Cheers, all.



Relwarc: Kurt/Wanda seems to be a popular one, due to Nocturne. And the fact that it could work. Wanda is my favorite, in Evo, so I wanted to try something new with her. And I do adore Sam, and think those two would actually be really good for each other. And while Alex's attempts to talk to Scott were thwarted, this time around, I'm sure something like this would be sitting heavily upon our surfer boy. Before long, he really isn't going to be able to keep quiet anymore, I'd imagine. You haven't long to wait (like oh... next chapter, I'm guessing!) Thanks for the really well thought-out reviews, that means a lot to me.

Akuma no Tsubasa: Haha well it's pretty obvious what was shocking Kurt. Hell, it'd shock me! In fact, I'm pretty sure it did when it occurred to me... I'm glad that the quick changes in pace aren't too distracting. I love jerking things around like this, and I know damn well that the next one (the third in the unholy trilogy that's planned for these kids) won't allow me to do it, because I'm going back to doing something like "Relativity." Ya know, with a plot, villains, that kind of thing ;) Glad you're enjoying, and thanks for letting me know!

peanut: Yes... hangover... definitely. As for breaking out the hose on Pietro and JP... I can't imagine them being any other way for some reason. Just seems like two speedsters, particularly when one like Pietro, who is infamous for his multiple dates in one night, etc, would be hard to control. Eventually they'll have to have a conversation or two, but you know how it is when you're first starting out with someone. And when it's two 18-year-old boys... *ahem* Anyhow, happy it was entertaining!

Caliente: Evil? Yes, it's true. My brother and my ex-roommate (with whom I am good friends, mind you) are convinced that I'm Satan. In yo' FACE Azazel!!! Anyhow, right. Now I'm being random too. I just want to say that that was one of the cutest, funniest reviews in the history of the world. You're a darling. And yes, Comic!Scott can suck it. Evo!Scott (at least when you and I get our hands on him mwahaha-- Your Scott was fantastic and angsty and I loved it!) has potential! Roberto and JM actually isn't my favorite pairing either, if you want the truth. It just seemed like something I HAD to try. They're learning from each other. And I have big plans for her later, to be honest. I'm glad you liked the bit with Rogue. I love Evo!Rogue. She needs to have fun, dammit. And yes, HELLA is a hilarious word. I love it. I say it sometimes, here in the middle of Appalachia, for no reason at all. Just because I find it amusing. I dunno why I assigned it to Alex, but it just seemed to me that it was something he'd pick up on. ;) Go go north Cali (even if I've only been to SoCal... /cry.) And here's a little insider tip for you, to spoil anything but... there is no Kurt/Kitty planned. I like the pairing. In fact, one of my fave stories is a Kurt/Kitty by Taekwandodo. But no, that's not where I was going with that. Rest assured.

Shaman Dani: Not too much of a cliffhanger! Yeah Alex is a real trooper there, but someone needed tot ake one for the team. /nod. Glad you think Sam and Wanda worked. To be honest, I wasn't sure if I wanted to make something of them, or to leave it as a kind of embarrassing memory thing for them both. But knowing Sam... yeah. Next chapter. 3

Fata Morgana: Hahaha JP and Berto really should talk things out, but you're so right... JP admitting that he's been wrong about something? Not in this lifetime. Well, at least, not to Roberto ;) Haha! And yay, you posted a new chapter! As soon as I finish this long ass AN, I'm so there!

TKD: Go Sam! Yeah I've been in Kurt's role a few times, I gotta say. Everyone else is all fucked up and you're just tired and want to go home. I figure that Fuzzy can handle it better than most though, since he's so good-natured. If it were JP or... hell anyone else, they'd be a horrible bitch by then. And yeah, I'm trying to get some personality into Berto, but he's still... well Berto. I dunno. More on that next time!

S-Star: The general public, in my experience, generally either stares at, or ignores two guys, two girls, or a guy and a girl nearly going at it on the dance floor. And they say absolutely nothing haha. Every time I've been club/bar-hopping there is always at least ONE couple at it. Personally, I usually laugh. Course, I spent the last three years in a very... open minded, let's say, city, so that might have a lot to do with it. As to what I'm smoking... well I'm not about to get myself busted by admitting to that in public like this, so... I'll never tell! (come on over, I got some left...) Thanks for the review, I really appreciate it!