I don't usually write Sky High fic, but this idea caught me and wouldn't let me go until I finished it. Mira has been an OC of mine for a long time (in another fandom, actually), but she fit in so well here that I couldn't resist. I watched Sky High again a few months ago with some friends, and I was struck by how wholesome Warren Peace is. I wanted to write him with a character who's just as tough as him - and just as sweet.
This is a departure from my usual style. It's been a few years since I've posted anything here, and this is a different sort of story.
Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognize from the movie. Please enjoy!
It is dark, and she does not recognize him. He is just another hot guy stumbling through the crush of the club, halfway blacked, tall and dark and handsome and looking for a girl to take home. She is not entirely sober herself, and in the strobing lights, he looks like just the thing to make her forget.
They are fucking in the women's room before she recognizes him, and by then all she can do is laugh, too drunk to care, too far gone to stop. And when they are breathing heavily, sweaty and sated, when he mutters his invitation into her neck, all she can do is nod, and run her fingers through his hair and down his back, and stumble into a taxi with him all over her -
And even though she knows who he is, she does not hesitate to follow him home, to let him taste her and touch her, to stumble into his room, to sleep in his bed. She is too drunk to care, and she is touching him too much to stop.
He is warm and solid under her hands, and they are both sloppy and sweaty and drunk, and his mouth is hot on her skin and his hair is silky in her fingers, and she kisses his tattooed wrists because they are the part of him she knows best.
She wakes up sore, and she can feel his warmth behind her, and she groans at the sunlight before she remembers who he is.
His arm tightens around her waist, solid and strong, and she can't help but squirm. He mutters something into her hair. They are both still naked, she realizes. She does not think he knows her name.
But she knows his, so she would like to keep it that way. If she had been thinking straight last night, she would have left after he had fallen asleep.
She shifts again, trying to slide out from under his arm, but his grip is too tight - he grumbles again, and then she can tell he is awake by the way his arm suddenly lets her go. He rolls over onto his back, groaning, flopping one arm over his eyes.
She has clipped her bra back on by the time he sits up, and she is looking for her underwear. She thinks she might have left it on the floor of the women's bathroom, actually, and sighs. Her head is killing her.
"Coffee?" He asks, voice hoarse and hungover. She knows how he feels, and maybe that is what makes her nod.
"If you have any," she replies, immediately regretting it when he stands unsteadily and she catches another glimpse of him. God, he's gorgeous. And naked.
She averts her eyes, blushing, but he does not notice. He is too busy looking for his own clothes, rummaging through a drawer until he finds a pair of boxers. He doesn't bother with anything more, and she supposes this can be her karmic punishment for going home with the man in the first place.
She pulls her dress on, making a face at its new wrinkles, and trying to pull it a little further down her legs than it really wants to go. She doesn't like wearing it the morning after, especially without panties, but it's all she's got. She's not going to sit on the chair he offers her without something over her ass, even if she thinks he might not mind.
He slides a mug of coffee over to her and slumps down in his own chair, crouching over his cup, dark hair hanging like a curtain over his face and almost hiding his mug from view, and she is not surprised to see him gulp down the piping hot liquid like it does not burn him.
She knows it doesn't, but she does not have that luxury. Part of her wants to blink, to wait for the mug to cool down there in her hand while she looks around in silence, but she doesn't want to live through this hangover there too, and she has to give the mug back to him before she leaves, anyway. She's made this dumb decision, and she might as well stick it out.
So she blows on her mug and watches him gulp his down, and thinks that she should probably stop hooking up with strangers.
He's finished the first mug by the time he looks up at her, perhaps a little surprised to see she hasn't left yet. He squints at her, and she makes a wry face, sipping the coffee.
"Do we know each other?" He asks, and she doesn't choke on her coffee. She doesn't. She expected this, eventually.
She sets the mug down and coughs into her hand, and says hoarsely,
"Do we?"
It's a dumb thing to say, especially since she can't keep her eyes from glancing down at his wrists when she says it. He is looking at her when she meets his eyes again, though, like he doesn't believe her.
He's smart not to. She's lying.
It doesn't make it any less annoying.
"I'm from Maxville," she says, sighing. This, if anything, makes him more suspicious. "Your tats - my dad did those."
"You're Alek's daughter," he says, flatly. She wonders what her dad said about her to him. Nothing good, probably.
She can feel her lip start to curl into a sneer at that thought, then snorts, at herself as much as him.
"Yeah," she says. "Mira."
He eyes her for a second before relaxing, getting up to pour himself another cup.
"Warren," he says, "More coffee?"
He ends up giving her a lift home, so she doesn't have to call a cab. Her phone is dead, anyway, and she doesn't know if she could find her way back from his apartment. She thanks him absently as she clambers out of his car, trying not to show her ass to the world. He grunts in acknowledgement and waves away her thanks, obviously still in pain despite the dark sunglasses he wears, and it is not until she gets back up to her apartment that she realizes he's slipped his number somehow into her purse.
It makes her grin wryly, shaking her head, and she knows she should throw it out, forget all about him, avoid him like a plague. She types it into her phone, though, before she throws it away.
It's always good to have a superhero's number, right?