Standing there in the doorway of Chris Genovese's bedroom was a girl in her mid to late teens, gazing adoringly at a boy; his lean frame draped casually against the side of his armchair as he propped up an elbow to look over at her, his dark hair all a mess as it spiked this way and that, green eyes grazing into a darker brown territory (from the weed permeating the air, impregnating it with a heavy load), a boy that she had really come to like, that she would do next to anything for. Raising his hand before bringing it to his mouth to cover his asthmatic coughing fit, Chris waved at her, inviting her to come over and chill with him. Smiling at him as she entered the room, tossing her spicy eggplant of a shoulder-bag into the corner, the contents shifting precariously from her carelessness, Emily strolled by the other (mostly unused) armchair, banging her shin into the semi-comfortable square - which would be a lot more appealing if anyone had ever actually sat on it - as she bypassed the genuine leather.

"Fucking A!" Grabbing her jeaned calve, Emily hobbled the rest of the way to sit on the arm Chris wasn't still leaning against, eyes streaming as she let it out like a sailor at sea, "Hovering sucking cunts! Fuuuuccckkkk! Why do you even have that god damned demon seat?! Mother fucker!"

Thinking that she was just being a big baby as she bitched over spilled milk, or whatever the cliché was (did it have something to do with cats? Whatever, like it mattered) Chris shrugged her pain off, handing her his piece as she settled, watching as she took a few hits before passing it back to him. While they *cough* Emily *cough* primarily kept her dosages considerably mild, Chris wasn't a stranger to dancing on the grave of overdose in a mocking fashion; in another vernacular, drugs weren't an unknown third companion for the duo.

Waiting for his next turn, Chris would vary his viewpoint from looking between what wasn't manufactured by the teeshirt companies and the larger picture, glazed-over orbs finally catching sight of her bag. While most bitches carried purses, Emily always had her backpack, which he felt was far more practical. "Another fight?" She nodded, a moody darkness in her face indicating that it wasn't a subject to be elaborated upon. "It's cool, you know you can crash here for awhile, until shit cools off at home."

As if that would ever happen! If it wasn't enough that her mother called almost every other weekend asking her to come back (back, to butt-fucking Vermont, where there was shit to do expect for either run away nightly or be subjected to the noises of her mother's amateur porn hour), her dad was also picking fights with her about the lack of direction her life was taking! Art was a legitimate option, but the way her old man was going on about it, she might as well have said something insane, like she wanted to go back in time and be Jack Kirby, or a fucking washing machine! So Emily had relocated to her uncle Javi's, but lately even Javier was getting on her case; his target of choice was less the when and where spent her time and more of the who she was spending it with. Emily and Chris had been together for awhile now, and it was obviously serious, but he had misgivings about her dating the son of New York's most dangerous gangster (who had just so happened to be employing a majority of the family), so he he had started to lay into her about her choices too.

Coughing as she passed the giver of marijuana back, Emily wondered aloud, "You sure your parents are cool with that?" Sure, his dad might have been the one that wanted them together in the first place, but something told her that his mother disapproved. Maybe it was the relationship, or perhaps it was just the young artist herself that she looked down upon, but either way, Emily always had the distinct impression that she might as well be dead in Chris' mom's eyes. But she didn't take it very personally, because Angie Genovese was a woman that seemed to dislike anything underneath her own rigid standards, including her own son. "I mean like your dad and stuff."

He scoffed, "My parents can go fuck themselves for all I care. I want my lady over for a couple of days, my lady comes over for a couple of days." Even stoned out of his mind, Chris didn't miss the doubt enhancing the natural pout in Emily's lips. "I said don't worry about it. You just get settled, and I'll deal with them."

Beaming at Chris' bold statement, unsure about which she part she liked the most - him standing up for her like that, or the commanding, possessive way that he staked his claim on her. Probably the later. Fine, it was DEFINITELY the later. Maybe it was watching both her mother and step-mother getting talked down to her entire life, or maybe she was just sick, but one thing Chris had picked up early on about his girlfriend was that she actually got off on being dominated. Slipping down the armrest to sit in his lap, Emily snuggled up against him, slathering his neck in butterfly kisses, but that wasn't really enough to show her appreciation, so it wasn't long before she became more aggressive, nipping and sucking at his flesh like a vampire or zombie that only would be satisfied by him alone. Because he wasn't already covered in her hickies...

[Several Months Ago...]

Set up to meet on his birthday, it was now Chris' turn to return the favor and go to Emily's for her birthday, but being the daughter of goons and chauffeurs, it was a considerably smaller affair, and with the Vela's being so focused on family, it was much more intimate, with only a handful of individuals not related by blood or marriage. Naturally the Genovese's had been invited, which as boring as that made the night (making the guest list consist of only four or five people under the age of eighteen, and all of two over ten) it gave the teens the perfect chance to slink away. After the cake had been cut and the personal chatter and social climbing hit its peak, the dynamic duo crept away, upstairs to her bedroom.

While his was simple and dark - a total boy-cave - her's was almost exactly the opposite; baby blue walls, shelves lined with texts on beginner's psych and whole stores' worth of paints, a night stand with doilies - fucking lace doilies! - her bed was blanketed with periwinkle and curtained with a matching canopy. It would have been the epitome of girly, had the walls and furniture not been the victim of a one-sided paint war. The massacre of the rainbow was a very fitting personal touch, splatters even tossed randomly at the ceiling, dripping lime-green stains off of the crystal chandelier. And on that note, just like the lone speck of green to hit the dark hardwood, this was the first time he - or any boy - had actually seen her room.

Sighing in exasperation, a complete teenage drama queen, Emily closed the bedroom door behind her friend. "Don't you just love how they stop me from going to my room with a guy? At my own party nonetheless!" Shaking her head, her hair swishing from side to side, Emily ran her fingers through it, still not used to the fact that she had cut it just a few days prior. "Whatever. At least now we don't have to miss that superhero marathon."

"Great." Truth be told, as much as he loved those flicks, he would much rather be fucking her than watching movies he'd seen a billion times already, but Emily was a total fucking cock-tease! Sometimes she would come over in the sluttiest fucking things, once or twice he could have sworn she even went bra-less, but the minute he would try to steer the conversation towards moving their friendship to the next level, she would either just laugh at him (which was annoyingly cute the first time), or just change the subject entirely. Watching her as she sat down on the edge of her bed, dress revealing a generous view of something black that she was moderately quick to hide again, it would be a lie to say that he wasn't hitting zipper. "Just great."

Glancing over at Chris, Emily marveled at how he just wasn't seeing it - she had done everything she could think of to get his attention, to drop the hint that she wanted him to move that final ten percent, to make her a woman, but somehow even her strategic commando operation had failed to garner his attention. Chris had no idea what it was like to be a teenage girl, to have a hoard of slutty bitches always breathing down your neck, harping on you for every tiny little thing that they could, be it actually touching the food on your plate or having a best friend who was a guy that you weren't fucking. With Emily, the normal shit she didn't sweat so much, but the shit they were talking about her and Chris was really getting to her, wearing her down and combing perfectly with her doubts and insecurities - they had been nigh inseparable since they had met, and yet they still hadn't even kissed. The girls said that they had been close for months and still hadn't hooked up, that even he must have had higher standards to fuck a charity case like her, and she was beginning to wonder if that wasn't true...

Brushing the hem of her dress off, purposely making the material shift in a way that showed more and more skin, Emily tried to say as casually as she could, "Yeah, no one's going to be up here for a couple of hours... just us. I could probably scream for my life, and no one would hear me. Or you could. Or even the both of us... I mean, we're really alone right now." If she had to say the word 'alone' anymore, she was going to smack a bitch. "So,"she fished around, finally just blurting out, "do you think I'm pretty? I mean, like hypothetically."

He had failed to see what her damage was, changing subjects out of the blue. "What the fuck are you babbling about? Why the fuck are you acting so strange?" He demanded. "Seriously, what the fuck?"

Ok, that was it, she just couldn't take it any more! Growing a pair of five-second testies, she shouted, "Good fucking dammit, I swear you are impossible to figure out! One minute I think that you might like me, and then the next you're fucking oblivious to my existence! Honestly, I can't figure out how many times I've tied to drop the hint!"

"What hint? What the fuck is your damage you psycho... Wait, did you just...?!" She nodded, a dirty look on her face as realization set in, clicking the last several weeks into place for him. "For fucks sake, I thought you were the one being a god-damn cock-tease!"

She didn't know if she wanted to kill him or kiss him at that moment, or some dangerous mix of both. "I've been trying to get your attention for weeks now, you fucking retard."

Crossing his arms, he frowned at her. "I'm not the only one who's retarded."

Emily rolled her eyes. "Just get the fuck over here and kiss me already."

First things first, I'd like to thank Mieko-chan12 and DevilToBeLoved for your reviews! As it will become obvious, I'm very huge into thanking my reviewers publicly for their support (but if you don't want the recognition, let me know, alright?), so thanks! So, at least as far as last names go, I decided to lean more towards the comic book. I realize that it's lame/lazy to just put them as a couple from the very beginning, but the way I've set this up, I don't think its such a sin. Besides, I'm going to go back and flesh it out, how they came to be and that sort of thing, so its not like its just WHAM! they're a thing. Oh, and a warning - I foresee the next chapter getting dark...

Remember, reviews are always welcome, no matter how nit-picky or simple! So review!

Kick-Ass is the property of Mark Millar and John Romita Jr. Emily Vela is mine.