Four Card Studs - By Mice
Eleven years ago...
"I'll see your Oreo, and raise you three Chips Ahoy."
"Chips Ahoy. I'm showing two pair high and the only thing Warren Worthington, playboy at large, can throw at me is three measly Chips Ahoy."
"Yeah, well, Hank, you can tell the boy over there to stop eating his winnings!"
"Bobby, stop eating your winnings!"
"But they're so tasty!"
"We can't cash out your digestive remains!"
"I've kept an inventory of everything I've ate." Bobby Drake held up his impressive napkin of accounting. "I'm still winning!"
Warren and Hank flipped over the remaining three cards, much to Hank's delight. He grabbed the small kitty of chocolate chips and creamy middles; quickly smacking Bobby's hand away from fudge covered graham cracker.
Warren rolled his eyes as he leaned over to Scott and whispered. "Why did we have to let the icicle into this club?"
Scott arranged his respectable winnings into a careful pyramid. "Jean made us. She felt that Bobby needed more male influence in his life. She thought joining our club would be a good way to do that."
"But the club name was the "No Bobby Drake Club"!"
Scott looked at him through his deep red glasses and put his hand on Warren's shoulder. "Not anymore."
"What?"
"Jean told Bobby a white lie..."
Warren turned back to Bobby who had a comical brown smudge of fudge around his mouth talking to Hank. "So, you really think I could be the fourth stud in "Four Card Studs"?"
Warren buried his face in Scott's shoulder. "I miss our old club, Scott."
Scott patted Warren on the head before dealing.
Hank smiled patiently at Bobby. "I think you definitely have potential. After all, we are to be a club of four, young, virile young men and from where I sit, there are only two currently in this club—"
Warren and Scott quickly threw each other looks of panic.
Hank sighed. "Scott, you cannot tell me that things have progressed so deftly in the courting of Lady Grey."
Scott stared down his teammates best he could. "She just hasn't given me a sign that it's okay to take things that far."
"Very well," Hank said as he picked up his cards. "Before your next date, I shall fashion Jean with a sign that says, "Do Me Now. You, Scott Summers. Do. Me. Now." Would that be a good enough sign for you?"
Warren ruffled Scott's hair. "Don't worry, Slim. I'm sure if you're patient, you'll get some before you're on Social Security."
Hank sighed again, picking up his cards. "Copulating with coked up socialites hardly seems fantastically manly, either, Warren."
Warren puffed up his chest proudly. "I'm already in the double digits when it comes that area."
"The only thing double digit-ed about your number is the I.Q.'s they possess and the grade in high school they are currently in," Hank shot back. "When I referred to two men possessing a studly nature, I was counting myself and my reflection in the mirror over there.
Bobby watched Hank, who was a huge, hulking god with two, squabbling geeks beside them. "So, what about you?"
Warren, wounded, agreed with his former annoyance while throwing in his bet into the kitty. "Yeah, Hank. Why do get to claim such superiority?"
Scott shrugged at what was going around him.
Hank smiled to himself. "The summer before I came here, I had sex every day, three times a day, for two months."
Warren smirked. "With yourself does not count, Hank."
Hank threw an animal cookie at Warren's head. "I was trying to save up money to go to college and there was a farm about twenty miles away from my parents who needed a hired hand."
"Did you wear overalls?" Bobby asked innocently – he dwelled only in the safe, suburban Long Island. He didn't know what went on at farms, but had a romantic dream of wearing overalls and playing in mud since he was three.
Scott shook his head while dealing out a few cards. "Bobby—"
"No, I want to know, too! Were there overalls?" Warren was also a city dweller and while he had met several people of several races and cultures, "farm boy" wasn't one of them.
"On occasion." Hank answered as he raised his bet. "She was a young teacher whose husband had run the farm, but he had become quite ill the spring before and had passed on. She was most likely to sell the farm that year, but wanted to make sure that the last crop he put in would be harvested.
"I was barely sixteen and when she took my hand that first time, I was a nervous wreck—"
"Hey, how old was she?"
Scott folded. "Do you want me to hit Warren, Hank?"
"She was about thirty-five."
"Was she fat? Ugly? Hairy? Smelly? A dwarf? Dis—"
"Proceed with hitting Mr. Worthington, Mr. Summers."
"It should be known that Mrs. Weathers was quite attractive. Brunette with soft hazel eyes and a simply lovely bosom. Legs that were the envy of every girl at my high school."
"And she had sex with you?"
Scott glared at Warren.
"I'll shut up."
"Thank you. As I was saying, it was the end of my first week there and she took my hand in the kitchen – where she had just scrubbed the floor with something that smelled of pine – and she gently – ever so slightly –
"Caressed your chest?"
"— ever so lovingly –
"Grabbed your ass?"
"— ever so—"
"Grabbed your package—OW! Scott!"
"Wasn't me."
"Bobby?!"
Bobby folded. "Let the man speak, Trump, Jr."
"—she kissed me." Hank grinned. "Then, when I didn't pull away, she led me to her bedroom with the utmost urgency.
"Now, I did say Mrs. Weathers was a teacher...she taught English in my high school. When we made it to her bed, half clothed, fully desired, I was insistent on the end result...she forced me to stop at every part – she refused to let me go without quoting, and then citing the original speaker. I'd be kissing her neck – First kiss, one Marcus Aurelius, progress down one inch. Second kiss, one Mark Twain, progress down one inch. Third kiss, one Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch, down one inch. It was an insane process that taxed my mind. Slowly, my lips and hands were able to explore this body – the pace was agony, but the memories are rich and full.
"When we finally, FINALLY got down to the business of our mutual pleasure, our mutual release—"
Warren laughed as he called Hank's bluff. "I knew it! I knew you were a minute man!" Scott and Bobby glowered at him into silence.
Hank laid down his hand. A straight flush. "It was the first known earthquake in Dunfee, Illinois."
Five minutes ago...
Warren and Scott marched to the lab with a suspicious package in hand. Scott had no idea what was in the package, but Warren had insisted that it was important – this was original team business. That answer satisfied Scott.
It didn't put him at ease, but it was satisfactory.
The one other question he asked was, "Why isn't Bobby here for this?"
Warren scowled on his own. "I can't break the poor kid's heart."
They arrived at Hank's lab and Warren took the distinction of knocking on the lab door.
Hank opened the door and was surprised to see the two of them. "Did someone die?"
"No," they answered in unison.
"Did someone send out for Chinese and not ask me what I wanted?"
"No."
Hank sighed. "Well, then, at least it's not bad news. What can I help the two of you with?"
Warren went to a table and uncovered the package that was in his hands. "Does this look familiar to you, Henry Phillip McCoy?"
Hank paled best he could at the sight of the green and gold bound book. "Oh my stars and garters..."
"Scott, do you remember a night where Hank basically said he was the only real man at Xaviers?"
"Warren, what's this about?" Scott asked while taking the book.
"This is the yearbook of our dear Dr. McCoy's graduating year. In it, there's a picture of someone he proceeded to tell a sordid story about and made claims to sexual gratification. Scott, look up Mrs. Weathers and tell us what you think of Hank's described beauty."
Scott opened the book up to the page Warren had book marked. Scott was not a man to swear. But as he closed the book and muttered, "Jesus Christ, Hank," his friends knew the gravity of such a claim.
Warren took the book and opened it up for Hank. "How old would you say the woman in that picture is?"
"Warren—"
"If you'd like, we can ask the carbon dating machine you have back there."
"You can't ask a carbon dating machine questions like that!"
"Yes I can! I'll go up, ask, "Carbon dating, who is younger? The woman who took Hank's virginity or Grandma Moses?" And the carbon dating machine will say, "That thing was around when the universe was created!" I mean, really, Hank – you couldn't have done what you said without breaking both her hips!"
Hank hung his head low until a very welcome voice came into the room. "Hey guys, what's going on? Why does Warren have a book? Hey, can I have a book? I want a book!"
"Bobby, now's not the—"Warren began to explain when Bobby took the book from his hands.
"Hey! Hank! It's your old high school!" Bobby looked at the page. "Hey, Hank, you're right – Mrs. Weathers' mother in law is ancient!"
Warren grabbed the book back. "Let me see that!" He skimmed its pages. "This is the only Mrs. Weathers in the alumni!"
Bobby rolled his eyes. "It's like you didn't listen to the story, Warren! Hank's Mrs. Weathers didn't teach when he was a senior. Here." Bobby went to a bookshelf in Hank's lab and opened it up to the alumni page. "This is Hank's junior yearbook. That's his Mrs. Weathers."
Scott and Warren stared at the page. "Uhm...gee...I'm, gosh, I'm real sorry, Hank..."
Hank tsk'd his head. "Warren, I'm really surprised that you would do such a thing!"
Warren grabbed his yearbook and left.
When Warren was out of earshot, Scott leaned over. "Yeah, sorry about that. Hey, are we still on for Saturday?"
"Oh, the "No Warren Worthington Club" meeting?" Bobby piped up.
"Paige is making cupcakes," Hank added. "Don't miss it."
Scott nodded and left the room.
Bobby finally turned to Hank. "I told you not to be surprised when Warren did that!"
"Good ol' predictable Warren."
"I told you that photoshopping your yearbook was a good idea!"
"Yes, Bobby, you are brilliant."
"...and you still promise not to tell the guys how I looked up Mrs. Weathers and even after meeting her, I still made a pass at her when I went home with you that one Thanksgiving, right?"
"Robert, to do so would betray my legacy."
"And make Warren right?"
"Rule one of the "No Warren Worthington Club" is that "Warren is never right.""
"Paige came up with the best rules."
"That's why she's president."
"And why you are still the first stud of Xaviers."