Prompt Post: ROUND TWO
ROUND TWO IS CLOSED
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Rules post.
Flat view.
ROUND TWO: Updates Post (WIPs only)
ROUND TWO: Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
Please use the Discussion Post if you want to talk about community alterations or get my modly attention. Do not ( Read more... )
<< ROUND ONE | ALL ROUNDS | ROUND THREE >>
Rules post.
Flat view.
ROUND TWO: Updates Post (WIPs only)
ROUND TWO: Fills Post (completed Fills only)
damalur's firstclasskink on Delicious.
Volunteers always welcome.
Please use the Discussion Post if you want to talk about community alterations or get my modly attention. Do not ( Read more... )
Alex watches from afar, feeling the damp grass tickle the backs of his knees and the occasional sharp gust lift the fine blond hairs on his arms, and sighs deeply. The stiff heat is lulling him to a half-sleep; he feels his lids flutter once, twice, and then three times, but he does not close them completely. He is too busy observing the wool of Hank's cardigan, too busy trying to figure out why somebody gifted with such a vast intellect can't seem to grasp the basic concept of peeling off a layer or two when it is 86 degrees Fahrenheit outside.
Or maybe, says a sly, familiar voice in his head, you just want to get the bozo down to his skivvies, you little queer, you.
Alex looks over again, catalogues the image Hank makes sprawled across the grass with his limbs impossibly pale and long, and feels the longing - a very different sort of sensation from the cosmic energy, but no less painful - twist in his heart. His mouth drops; the old discontent floods his chest like a hurricane in a barrel; he thinks to himself I cannot be here again but of course there is nowhere else he could possibly be, not with Hank McCoy and his bow-shaped mouth as red as strawberries in the summertime only a few feet away from him.
There is something almost ironic about the boy's beauty, Alex decides; it is too feminine - the mouth too sweet, the eyes too pretty, the bones too seemingly brittle. For a boy whose mutation gives him the strength and speed and invulnerability of the garden variety beast, Hank is... strangely fragile-looking, tall and thin with features like freshly-polished porcelain. But Alex has seen what Hank can do when he puts his mind to it, has seen Hank outrun the Professor five to one barely expending the slightest of efforts. For all of his attempts at looking unremarkable, Hank McCoy is anything but.
Alex closes his eyes, absorbs the epiphany, and then discards it. He is a twenty-year-old red-blooded American male; he has better things to do with his thoughts than get all lovesick over a boy who hides behind thick black frames, reads journals with the title Journal of Genetics on the front, and wears the most inconspicuous loafers he can find in order to hide his abnormally large feet.
"Hey bozo," he says, breaking the silence. From the corner of his eye, he notices a vein throb against the column of Hank's throat.
"What is it?"
So sullen, Alex notes, not without an ever-growing pang of guilt, and yet the boy still answers to that name. "What're you reading?"
Hank's brow furrows; Alex does not think the gesture is at all adorable. "You wouldn't be interested."
"What, you think just because I'm an ex-con I don't understand science?"
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"Well fuck you," Alex says. Then, after waiting a beat: "You're probably right."
Something in Hank's face twitches. A few more seconds pass. "I could... try explaining to you, if you'd like. It's not actually that complicated, see," - the beginnings of a smile now, so bright and blinding and oh, the way his eyes catch the rays of the sun and somehow manage to outshine them...
Alex feels something like panic rising in his throat.
"You know, when I ended up in prison, I wasn't exactly happy about it. But at least it saved me from having to listen to my teachers ramble about Shakespeare and evolution all the time. I already get enough of that from Charles, thanks. I don't need another lecture from you."
The light fades from Hank's eyes; the blues become a little less blue, and Alex's heart rate returns to normal. "Of course you don't. My mistake."
Hank's mouth looks an unhappy curve. Alex feels like patting himself on the back and punching himself in the face all at once. He settles instead on raising his right arm in the mocking salute of the handsome sailor and flicking his fingers in Hank's general direction.
When Hank probably thinks Alex is no longer looking (Alex is never no longer looking, so long as he's within Hank's vicinity), Hank rolls his eyes. "I promised Raven I'd go for a walk with her just before dinner," he says. In one swift, fluid motion, he is back on his feet, tucking the journal under his left arm.
Alex feigns a yawn. "I have no idea what she sees in you," he drawls. Don't say it! "You're so ugly."
It is hardly the first time he has said such a thing to Hank; it is also hardly the first time Alex has meant its exact opposite, but Hank's hurt flush - a rather fetching shade of peach, really - is not any less potent. Alex holds his breath and does his best to look nonchalant as Hank stares back at him, blue eyes keen and angry behind thick lenses, and for a moment, Alex thinks Hank is going to say something. Stand up for himself, maybe, or - god forbid - finally really question Alex as to why the hell Alex is such a giant dick to him all the time, why Alex is always equipped with stone after stone to throw at Hank's decidedly inoffensive veneer. But Hank does neither of these things. Instead, his mouth thins into a line of resignation, and he sends Alex the same sarcastic salute that Alex sent him just a few minutes ago, though he only uses two fingers instead of a full hand.
Alex watches Hank's retreating back, shoulders jutting against the dimming skyline, and tries not to think of Hank slipping one of those two fingers into Raven's waiting hands. The first mental image disappears, only to be replaced by an even more treacherous second - Hank with his fists knotted in Raven's gold hair, mouth a hungry red hole, stupid goddamn cardigan unbuttoned and sliding clumsily over narrow shoulders...
Breathe in, breathe out.
The sun will go down soon.
Alex bites his lip so hard his entire mouth tingles and decides to take in the sunset from behind the stained glass windows of Charles' mansion after all.
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i can has sequel? please? please please please please?
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Much as I love the pigtail-pulling in this ship, I'd really like it if they end up happy together. I'm seconding the commenter above -- SEQUEL, PLEASE. I BEG OF YOU.
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I toss my name in too for a sequel.
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Pretty pretty pretty please can we have a sequel, lovely anon?
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