The title comes from a Philip Larkin poem (of the same title):
She kept her songs, they kept so little space,
The covers pleased her:
One bleached from lying in a sunny place,
One marked in circles by a vase of water,
One mended, when a tidy fit had seized her,
And coloured, by her daughter -
So they had waited, till, in widowhood
She found them, looking for something else, and stood
Relearning how each frank submissive chord
Had ushered in
Word after sprawling hyphenated word,
And the unfailing sense of being young
Spread out like a spring-woken tree, wherein
That hidden freshness sung,
That certainty of time laid up in store
As when she played them first. But, even more,
The glare of that much-mentionned brilliance, love,
Broke out, to show
Its bright incipience sailing above,
Still promising to solve, and satisfy,
And set unchangeably in order. So
To pile them back, to cry,
Was hard, without lamely admitting how
It had not done so then, and could not now
"Isn't life a series of images repeated each changing slightly?" Andy Warhol
If you were to ask him, alone or otherwise St. John Allerdyce did not play truth or dare. Not because he can't lie with a straight face, because he can and it's not because he can't take a dare because what kind of pussy can't? It's just that the last time John technically played truth or dare, he set the woods on fire by Amy Greco's house and had the cops called on him. He ended up serving two years in a high security juvenile detention center for arson and endangerment, based on his previous record of fights, truancy, bouts of leaving foster families for days on end, and the fact he tried to hit a police office when the first car pulled into the field. That escape move had failed miserably and had severely pissed over the cops, the judge, his parole officer, the city of Las Vegas, the state of Nevada, and the people he had been hanging around with because 'dude. You don't hit cops.'
However. It has been almost a year since John went away and came back again, and evidently one of the rules of Mansion-style Truth or Dare is that once you played, you're always invited. Truth or Dare, like any thing at the Mansion, had a series of unspoken rules that everyone knew. One- you do not talk about Truth or Dare. Two- what happens at Truth or Dare stays in the host's room. Three- if you are watching Truth or Dare you're playing Truth or Dare. Four- if you're the host to Truth or Dare you bring the alcohol and you start the game. Five- once the alcohol runs out, Truth or Dare is over. Six, you do not dare anyone to touch Marie. Seven- you cannot dare someone to tell a truth. Eight- you cannot take only Dares or answer only Truths. Nine- once you've played Truth or Dare, there is always an open invitation for you. These are the rules that John won't break.
Which is why he's sitting with his back against the foot of Bobby's bed, staring at bottles of alcoholic lemonade Bobby must have found somewhere, forgotten from a late night shared between Professor Summers and the woman he used to love, or stolen from his house in the last weekend he took the train down. The New Kids are here too, although after sixteen months of rebuilding and classes and moving on, they're no more foreign than he is, if not less. Everyone is piled around Bobby and his room, most sitting on the floor. The Old. Piotr. Marie (her hand is near but not touching Bobby's). Kitty. Jubilee. The New. Warren. Emma. Remy. And those from the somewhere in between awkward silence and polite conversation, those who were once Old but now are New as anyone- him.
Bobby clears his throat and John reaches forward, taking the first bottle, twisting the cap off and waiting for the First Question to be asked and answered before taking the first sip. Rule ten. The others follow and even the New know to wait, so evidently there have been games going on that he hasn't been privy to. "Warren. Truth or dare."
"Truth." John watches Bobby bite the side of his lip. Bobby was always better at thinking up dares; it's Jubilee you have to watch out for, her Truths tend to bite through bone. Not to mention, her bullshit meter is pretty intense making her a double threat at card games.
"If you could… if you were stuck on a deserted island with any celebrity and had to eat them to survive, who would it be?" John smiles. Typical of Bobby to break the ice and foreshadow tonight's atmosphere; there were only ever two possibilities- hard-core dares and dark secrets, or goofy questions and middle school challenges.
"Shamu or Keiko or whatever one they're on. I could live for years off of him."
"Assuming there's a fridge and a barbeque," mutters Jubilee. They all drink as the game begins. John takes two gulps because there's still three bottles left and if he paces himself right, two of them are his. And if this is the way things used to be, Bobby has saved another few bottles just for them and the next late night one-on-one "if you had to pick" session.
"John. Truth or dare?" Rule eleven- you can't ask whoever just asked you.
"Truth." John generally shies away from these till he's on his second bottle or glass or shot but screw it. His poker face is as good as ever.
Jubilee whispers in Warren's ear. Rule twelve- you can offer people hints but they don't have to take it. "Who were your first and most recent kisses?"
"Respectively, Jess Mendez and Magneto." John doesn't break his stare. He's lying. His mother had kissed him once, many years ago, after drinking too hard, pulling him into her arms and crying into his hair and kissed his lips, the cartilage of the ear and then the forehead, by the hair line where he had a scar from jumping out of his crib one too many times. Bobby had kissed him when he came back, after he walked into the room right before dinner and found John sleeping in his old bed. John had woken up to Bobby's open mouth gawk and the sound of a frozen slice of pizza and plate shattering on the ground, scrambled up and they stared at each other before Bobby had kissed his cheek mumbling 'missed you' and went to wash his hands for dinner. There was no rule that said you couldn't protect your roommate's fragile sexuality.
"Kitty. Truth or Dare?" He drinks as he waits. No one is meeting his eyes and staring at any place but him.
"Dare."
He smiles. "Dare you to dance." She blushes and proves that old insecurities never really die.
"Alone?"
"I'm not moving." Blushing still she stands, kicking off her thick-soled sandals and Emma whistles softly. Bobby, always the accommodating one, turns on the CD player and puts in John's latest mix CD; on the cover is a picture John found digging through old copies of Life, some Italian teenager with a snake wrapped around his neck like a thick choker. He's memorized it by now, and knows which numbers are instrumental and which hardcore Irish punk, which are Elliot Smith, which are French ska. Kitty dances and they watch, memorized by the curves her body makes as she sways in and out of the song, the way her jeans rides down, the way her T Shirt rises slowly and twists out of place as she grinds against the air, the partner who isn't there, wondering if she'll slip up and phase out of her clothes. When the song is over, they clap lightly and she blushes again, giving a little bow, sitting down and drinking.
"Piotr. Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"I dare you to kiss whoever you have a crush on." They're still playing this game; two years now and they dance around each other. John drinks to typical as Piotr kisses Kitty.
"Remy. Truth or dare."
"Dare, ami."
"Kiss the person in this room you find most attractive."
"If it's a tie?"
"Both." Remy shrugs, drinks and stands. He goes first to Emma and pulls her up by the hand, kissing her chastely on the mouth. She smiles as he nods and lets go of her hand. He walks again, and John concentrates on another drink. A leather-gloved hand holds his elbow and pulls him up, spilling the piquant liquid over his chin as he coughs. Remy gives him a moment to wipe his mouth and licks away the last of the lemonade as he presses his lips against John's. Without a backwards glance or quip he goes back to his seat and John sinks down again, licking the taste of Remy from his lips. No one says anything.
"Marie. Truth or Dare."
"Truth." Marie is without a doubt, the hardest person to let play. Kissing games are out and tact refuses questions about boys, sex, or previous experiences. They are left with dares and questions centering on her familiar position as the Mansion's Never Ever Gonna Get 'er Girl, from stripping, to kissing through gloved hands, to touching through shirts and panties.
Remy is thinking and they sit in uncomfortable silence. Sighing John gets up, and crouches in front of him, ignoring that his shirt is probably rising up over his spine and his jeans sliding down and he's revealing all those things he used to make an effort to hide, pulling his ear forward and whispering 'who or what frightens you the most?' It's a crappy question but perhaps it can spark some form of any idea in the Cajun's head. He stands, shrugging in acknowledgment of the 'merci' he receives.
He returns to his seat and concentrates very hard on half an orange Tic-Tac buried between carpet fibers. It must be Bobby's because once foods go into day-glow colors John tends to not eat them. If he were to be asked (and he wouldn't be) he'd probably explain that food pantries hand out nutrition in oranges and pinks and greens and yellows bright enough to hurt your eyes and remind you every time you open the fridge that, oh yeah, you're on welfare and eat crap most people don't know is sold in super markets. "Who here frightens you the most and why?" Rule thirteen- two part questions are allowed but they must be specified before any part is answered.
"John. Because I don't know what would stop him." John looks up and she's meeting his eyes. He always used to win the staring contests that made up grade school. "John and Bobby, truth or dare?" Rule fourteen- you can ask two people at the same time but they must agree to the same question or challenge.
"Dare ok John?' John shrugs.
"Take a shower together. No clothing. Five minutes." John blinks. Crap. He hesitates and Bobby steps up down from the bed; John knows Bobby's blushing and his ears are going red. John gets up and walks stiffly to the bathroom, chugging the last of the bottle and tossing it into the wastebasket. Rule fifteen- host cleans up, including disposing of the alcohol. Rule sixteen- if anyone finds the bottles, the host takes the blame. See Rule One for clarification. John stripped down, conscious in the 'other people will be looking at him' way of every scar and how he got it, every blemish, and every patch of acne. And Bobby, of course, being Bobby, looked like a freaking Greek God. It wasn't that he didn't have acne or little nicks and scratches too, but poise can make a person glow. And Bobby, no matter how bashful he tried to be could not deny his own self-confidence.
They stand in the shower not touching, Bobby with his back to the water and John still fairly dry, leaning against wall, trying to ignore the crowded throng of viewers or the way Bobby's body looked wet. "Which one of you wants the next question?" Emma's question breaks his concentration from a spot of mold above Bobby's head and his eyes flicker down, catching a glimpse of Bobby's groin and blond hair and his half-an-erection before he yanks his eyes back up.
"Rock paper scissor?" John shrugs and they tap their fists into their hands. Both rocks. Both scissors.
"Forget it, you ask."
"But paper beats rock." Bobby tries to play fair and John shrugs. "Ok… Emma. Truth or dare?"
"Dare." She's already smiling and Bobby can't disguise his grin. John would drink to teases but Bobby isn't exactly allowing a lot of the water to reach John. He sighs and stands straight, sliding forward and making sure not to touch Bobby or the glass door, grabbing the shampoo bottle and exchanging his place with Bobby's.
"As long as I'm in here." It's easier with his eyes closed to imagine that perhaps there is no one else watching. For a fraction of a second, it is just he and Bobby, showering together.
"Dare you to get in." She strips down, stepping in between them. Now John is sure she's busy smiling at Bobby with doe eyes and he's looking back with a dopey grin.
"Time?" John asks, opening his eyes for a moment. Piotr startles and looks down at his watch.
"Two minutes."
"John, truth or dare?" Emma asks.
"Truth."
"What's something about Bobby you don't think he knows you know?"
"He takes sleeping pills." John chooses to ignore the fact that Bobby does know he knows because Bobby started getting Dr. McCoy to give him double the dosage, so there's enough to last the month for John and Bobby. He asks before anyone can say anything, "Warren. Truth or Dare?"
"Dare." John thinks for a moment and Bobby leans over, pressing against Emma for a moment to whisper, 'lap dance'.
"You can get out now," Piotr says. John shuts off the water, letting Emma and Bobby scramble for towels as he wraps Bobby's around his waist.
"Can we get dressed by ourselves?" He motions for the door and gradually they all shuffle out. John dresses, careful not to look at Bobby, or to look up for that matter. He'd rather not watch Bobby make 'please hump me' faces at Emma at the moment. Once outside he opens another bottle. "Warren, give a lap dance to someone. Don't care who." He should have thought about that, he should have factored in the wings and if John were Bobby, he'd blush and apologize.
John never liked Boston anyway.
Marie puts on the music this time, sifting through the mass that is JohnBobby's CD collection, which like so many other things, ownership is only recognized until they fight. Warren stands, his face flushed slightly but he can blame it on the alcohol. He waits, as if someone would call for his service, as if someone would save him from embarrassment or the truth. He finally walks to Jubilee and dances clumsily to the German discothèque beat, his face flushing with every passing moment until the song is done. Jubilee pulls on his arm and whispers something in his ear. He drinks long before he asks Kitty.
"Truth."
"Who was the last person in this room you lied to and what was it?"
She blushes. 'Marie. I… I borrowed your black skirt, the leather one you can't find? And I kind of ripped it. I was going to give it back, but not till I got sewed up. Sorry." Marie says nothing but perfects her glower. "Jubilee, truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"Dare you… dare you…dare you to find Logan and get him to recite "Little Bunny Foo-Foo" for you. I'll come to make sure he does."
"Easy." They left.
"How exactly does that go?" asked Piotr, voicing all of their thoughts.
"Little Bunny Foo-Foo, hopping through the forest. Scooping up the field mice and bopping them on the head," said Bobby after a moment.
"Real masculine Bobby," said John. Bobby blushed and chucked an empty apple pie wrapper at him. John ducked and they waited. After a moment, Jubilee came back in, standing in the doorway.
"Forgot, Remy, truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"Dare you to make out with John until we come back."
"Do I have to do anything or am I like a mannequin here?" John said to the closing door.
"Kiss him back dumb ass- on a bed." John shrugged and drank again, swallowing hard as the door shut. He didn't show alcohol like other people, he had learned a long time ago and it took more liquor than what was here tonight to break well-learned inhibitions. It was more of the things he would let himself think about. Like how tight Remy's jeans were and how he almost, almost, smiled like Bobby. How he wasn't thinking, but instead, I wonder if he kisses like Bobby, like he's kissing his name into your mouth? John placed his bottle down; checking to make sure it's not resting on the fringe of the rug. He sat on the bed, Indian crossed on Bobby's bed, and Remy to his side, slightly in front.
John waited, and then felt Remy's lips against his and his hand holding to his hip. John leaned back, pressing his head into Bobby's pillow, Remy straddled him and they kissed, careful to keep everything and anything under the guise of the dare and its blanket protection. Remy's hand swiped against John's groin, and how could he have forgotten how much heat Remy gives off? He slid his hand the wrong way against Remy's hair, pressed his ear to his lips and whispered, 'not now.' And Remy offered half a smile because he knows that relationships don't always mean holding hands and 'reminded me of you' gifts, that relationships can exist solely on your ability to imagine with your eyes open. Erik got it. Christ, Mystique lived through that shit.
No one said anything as they kissed and Marie had never bothered to turn off the stereo after Warren's lap dance; it played softly, covering up the slurp of lips and the sound of the door opening. "Jeez boys, don't get too into it or anything," said Jubilee as she came back in. Remy and John broke apart quickly and fighting the urge to wipe his lips with the back of his hand, John returned to his seat, playing with his bottle.
Kitty was laughing. "Jubilee just kept begging him to help her remember the words and when he finally said them, she got him to hum the tune! It was so funny!" They give the obligated smile at the mental picture. It's Remy's turn.
"Bobby, truth or dare?"
"Truth." Jubilee whispers in Remy's ear.
"What's something you know about John that no one else knows?" Go on, Bobby, tell them the guys in bars and I'll tell them about the last Truth session, two days before I defected when you kissed me and the copious amount of tongue. Tell them about the nightmares and I'll tell them about the crying in your sleep.
"He was institutionalized." Bobby stops, tears his eyes away from Emma's full breasts, but it's too late now. If he had fired a gun, John would be bleeding out his throat, probably coughing out his last words and chunks of his Adam's apple.
"Fuck you." There were lines and then there were lines. Bobby crossed the later, the one with emphasis, the one where it's no longer good fun and games.
"Wait, as in a mental hospital?" Marie drops her drink and it sloshes against the ground, spilling on the floor. It's not like they have to worry about it staining- the Professor coated this room in varnish long ago.
"Fuck you Robert Lawrence Drake." Bobby isn't playing with Emma's hand anymore.
"John I, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking." John wins the staring contest although he's cheating because he's glaring. Bobby looks shocked as he realized that he too, could be a douche bag.
"Mon cheri-"
"When I was thirteen." John's knew he was breaking Rule Number One, don't tell more than you need to and Rule Number Two because they're basically the same thing, keep your cards to yourself but talked anyway if only because the music so weren't appropriate for the moment. "A foster didn't feel like dealing with me, so he sliced up my wrist while I was sleeping and said he walked in on me trying to off myself." He stops.
Screw regaling the group with tales of shock therapy or the long, lonely three months in which suicide did seem like a good idea; put Bobby in the position where he could offer up that the foster father was desperate, that John had threatened to say why he asked for boys, where he could tell them all how John had figured out pretty quick who to screw in order to get the decent food or roommates who didn't carry razor blades in their boxers. See what Bobby would say.
"John I'm sorry, I-"
"Just ask the next fucking question Drake."
Silence. "Truth or dare John?"
"Truth." Cause you'll just say it all anyway. John's shoulder ached, where he dug out the chip Erik had put there, slicing through nerves and picking out with bloody fingers the homing beacon of various metals, each pure enough for Erik to trace and track, complete with a bar code. When he arrived at the Mansion three weeks later, the new doctor had to reopen the fresh scar and repair what John had severed.
"Why'd you leave?"
"Why not?"
"That's a crap answer John," said Jubilee. John finished his drink and picked up the last unopened bottle.
"I see your cards." Rule nine- there is always an open invitation for you in Truth or Dare when information is wanted and no one dares ask. These are the rules that John won't break
"What are you talking about?" John shrugged. Rule seventeen- tell them what they want to hear. Rule three, fight, flight or fake it.
"Shouldn't you be asking why I came back?" He left, letting the opening crack of the plastic ring around the cap be his answer. If this was after his return, he'd blame the exhaustion he feels on fucking his way to the Mansion's gate, he'd blame it on not sleeping, on bleeding. He'd blame it on the soreness that had never left, not after his mother died, not after Rick went to prison for beating a guy to death, not after the fosters and the hospital and Juvie. He'd blame it on any and every situation he put himself into because john wasn't an idiot and knew how to take care of himself and every instance of his past that Bobby pitied, Bobby didn't know was a purposeful choice. He'd blame it on holding everything in, he's blame it on anything as long as he didn't have to admit he's weak, and he misses things.
"John?"
"What?" John let the word spit out, into the cloudy night sky. Bobby stood next to him for a few moments before crouching down, gingerly resting his weight on his toes.
"You cold?"
"Are you?"
"I don't get cold, remember?"
John waits. "Whatever."
"I'm sorry, for what I said. I really, I wasn't thinking. I had no right to say that about you."
"No, you didn't." Bobby is playing with the shingles, digging his fingers under the edges, and breaking off tiny parts of the corners. He crumbles the bits of the roof between his fingers and after watching, John holds out the bottle, not bothering to make eye contact. "Here."
"Thanks." Bobby drank. "The game's done. It stopped after you left."
"And what, you resurrected it so you could grill me? I never told him about the people here. He didn't care. He knew about everything anyway. I mean he built the place."
"So why'd you go?"
"Why'd you date someone you couldn't touch?"
"Can't touch you and I'm your friend."
"Why'd you date someone you couldn't touch?"
"Always falling for people I can't touch."
"How's that working for you?"
"Seen better days." John nodded and knew Bobby was still waiting for an answer.
"I don't know."
"You came back."
"Didn't fit there. Don't fit here. Just, I was looking for some place where I wasn't at odds for once. I didn't," John sighs and drinks. "I didn't mean to hurt you or anybody. Figured you had Marie, you had here."
"You had here. You had me."
"No I didn't. That's some fucking fairy tale we tell ourselves. I didn't have you. Like you said, you can't touch me. You shouldn't."
"Is there where you make the token fire and burn reference?"
"No. This is where I tell you that you got too much to fuck it up with me or on me. I can do this on my own. And sit down the right way or stand. You'll fall if you stay like that." Bobby sat. "I'm sick Bobby. You, you're not, ok?"
"I don't care."
"I do. And bull shit you don't care."
"I don't!" Bobby took the bottle out of John's hands and drank. "Look, if you're just saying this cause you wanna get with Remy or something-"
"It's not that. Bobby… I'm not worth it. You. The risk. Your parents. Whatever."
"Shouldn't I get to decide-?"
"No, because you'll make the wrong decision."
"Look, just cause you're too much of a fuck ass to let people get close to you-"
"People leave Bobby! You got support systems, people who'll stand by you. I got me. If something were to happen and there were to be a choice made, people would choose you."
"I'd choose you."
"Christ, you don't get it Bobby! Stop falling for people you can't have!" Bobby calmly put down the bottle, icing it to the roof. He grasped John and kissed him and for a moment, John kissed him back, then pushed him off. "You're an asshole."
Bobby kissed him again. "Don't take no for an answer either. John, I want to touch you. OK? If you'd just let me, please… I, I missed you. I love you."
"It's really easy to say 'love'."
"OK, I missed you. I love you. I want to take care of you."
"Bull shit." Bobby kissed him again and John let him. Rule four, sometimes, if you pretend that everything will be ok then you start to believe it after a while. Rule five, sometimes lying to yourself is all you have. He closed his eyes, because he hated kissing with his eyes open.