fic: the old college try | Hank/Alex, pg13
Title: The Old College Try
Author: kevo
Pairing: Hank/Alex
Rating: PG-13 (language, references to drug use, suggestions of sex)
Warnings:: is un-beta’ed a warning-worthy offense?
Word Count: just over 6400
Summary: The thing is, part of what makes Hank McCoy uncomfortable to be spending time alone with Alex Summers is that it’s possible that he has the smallest, most minute crush on him. - or, college AU in which Hank tries a new look to get Alex’s attention.
Author’s Note: inspired by this here prompt. If you like this, I’ve got ideas in the work for a sequel or two.
“The Old College Try”
Hank McCoy has a strange little group that he calls his friends.
Strange because it’s highly probable that none of them would even speak to each other under normal circumstances. Apart from all being sophomores at North Salem University, they are from extremely varied walks of life.
Hank himself is a socially-awkward science nerd. Raven is a brainy party girl. Alex is a hard-as-nails football stud. Angel is a tough dancer chick. Armando is eloquent and thoughtful, a poet-slash-comedian. Sean is a stoner and small-time drug dealer.
Most of them wouldn’t know each other at all, were it not for their campus’s Gay-Straight Alliance. There they hold different labels than they do with the rest of the world:
Hank, a still-somewhat-uncomfortable-about-it gay man; Raven, the two-beer bisexual; Alex, also bi, though admittedly more into dudes; Angel, a fiercely proud lesbian; Armando, straight but pro-gay; Sean, straight, except for maybe sometimes when he’s intoxicated.
There are others in the Alliance. Those who come in and out, no pun intended. The clearly-closeted students who get scared after their first meeting. The straight ones who appear infrequently for fear of being labeled queer. And then there are randy students of the gay, bi, or questioning variety who show up looking for an easy lay. (Something Alex and Angel are usually more than willing to provide, depending on the pursuer’s gender.)
No matter who came and went, the core remained the same since Raven and Hank began it their second semester. At first they only saw each other at the weekly Tuesday night meetings. Then Raven discovered Marvel, the nearest gay club off campus, and insisted on a field trip. After that, their group became like a little Gay-Bisexual-Lesbian-Ally family. They attend to Angel’s dance recitals, Alex’s football games, Sean’s parties.
This is why, when he is to be honored with an award for his work in the Science Department, Hank invites them to attend his awards ceremony. He attempts to explain his accomplishment to them, but the only ones who come close to understanding are Raven and maybe Armando. The others are bored by it, though genuinely happy for him.
So when most of the group doesn’t come, Hank isn’t surprised. Armando performing an open mic night is one thing. A dull ceremony in the name of science isn’t the most attractive of invitations. The ones he does spot in the crowd are Raven, of course, and Alex. The blonde man is a bit of a shocker. Hank would’ve speculated on any of the others, even Sean, showing up before him.
The whole event is mercifully brief - the Science Department members are fittingly concise in their speechmaking. After, Hank finds his friends in the crowd. Raven gives him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, while Alex gives him a half handshake, half arm-slap sort of ‘bro hug.’
“Good job, sweetie,” Raven coos.
“Yeah, man,” says Alex. “I didn’t understand a word of your speech, so I know it must’ve been good.”
“Uhh, thanks, I guess,” Hank titters.
“Well, boys,” Raven says briskly as they exit the hall. “The night is young and so are we. There’s at least four parties we could hit. What do you say?”
“Do you have a preference?” Hank asks Alex.
“It’s your big night,” says Alex. “We should definitely celebrate it.”
“Yeah,” Hank says, adjusting his glasses. “You’re right, we should, um. We should celebrate. O-only I’m not, uhm…”
“Not exactly a ‘party animal’?” Alex grins. At Hank’s guilty smile, he turns to Raven and says, “Why don’t you go on ahead? Hank and I will get a drink and then maybe meet up with you later if he’s feeling it.”
This suggestion surprises Raven, who arches an eyebrow at the offer and says, “Really. Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
Not needing to be told twice, Raven heads for the nearest keg stand. As they watch her retreat into the night, Hank says to Alex, understandingly, “You don’t have to stay with me. I mean, you can go with Raven. If you want.”
“I’m doing what I want, Hank,” Alex grunts. “C’mon, let’s hit Cerebro.”
Cerebro is North Salem University’s answer to your basic college ratskeller, though the school disavows any knowledge of it. The establishment is an open secret, and has been completely student-run since it was founded by a student who was Psych major with a minor in Spanish. Hence the name. Hank doesn’t like bars much but, when he does go out, he likes Cerebro.
They walk in what Hank projects to be a slightly uncomfortable silence. He doesn’t know what to say to Alex, really. He considers the man a friend, but they don’t really have enough in common to spend time one-on-one. With the group, or even just them and Raven, would be fine. This? Not quite so much. But he couldn’t exactly say no to Alex’s invitation. It would’ve been rude.
Okay, that, and something else. The thing is, part of what makes Hank McCoy uncomfortable to be spending time alone with Alex Summers is that it’s possible that he has the smallest, most minute crush on him.
It started that first trip to Marvel. Hank had never been to a gay club before. Or any club, for that matter. His interest in such venues was limited, plus he never had anyone to go with before. It was overwhelming, with the flashing lights and the writhing bodies and the patrons’ various states of dress, or lack thereof. The others were having an amazing time. This might’ve had something to do with the others all being hit on left and right. Hank did not illicit as much as a raised eyebrow from the hot gays surrounding him. Even the overweight drag queen who told Sean he had DSL (or Dick-Sucking Lips, as s/he explained) would’ve been better than nothing.
After two hours and no bites, Hank was starting to grow despondent, wondering if he had enough cash in his wallet to call a cab back to the dorms, when a slightly-sweaty Alex brushed up beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder.
“What’s up, bigfeets?” Alex asked over the music. “How come you’re not dancing? Afraid you might trip?”
Hank’s size thirteen Chucks had been the subject of gentle ribbing since the Alliance’s start. While he normally went along with it, tonight he was not in the mood to have his flaws pointed out so brazenly.
“No,” Hank answered flatly. “I just - I’m not - I don’t feel like it.”
“It’s a club, Hank,” Alex reminded him. “You come here to dance and to hit on hot guys. You haven’t done either tonight.”
Rather than point out the problem with that, namely that nobody was interested in him (and since when was it any of Alex’s business anyway?), Hank settled for a half-hearted glare at the shorter man.
“You’re dancing,” Alex declared. “Scratch that - we are dancing. Let’s go, bigfeets.”
Before he could argue, before he could even articulate any sort of sentiment, Hank was being dragged out onto the dance floor. Once his thoughts caught up with his kidnapping, he supposed he didn’t have any real reason not to acquiesce. If he got desperate, maybe he really could trip, or at least pretend to, and use that as an excuse to bail.
Dancing with Alex was awkward to start. For one thing, Hank didn’t dance much. Still doesn’t, truth be told. The blonde clearly picked up on this, and attempted to help the struggling scientist but Hank wasn’t getting it. Saying “loosen your hips” doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to do it, after all. The process was becoming more frustrating than sitting alone at the bar all night. Then a new song came on.
“Boom, clap. Boom-de-clap-de-clap. / Boom-boom clap. Boom-de-clap-de-clap.“
“Ohh, yes!” Alex crowed.
“What?” asked Hank. “What is this?”
“You don’t know Hannah Montana when you hear it?” Alex balked. “‘Hoedown Throwdown’?” Hank shook his head, feeling very much like he’d slipped into another dimension. “And you call yourself a gay man…”
Then something very strange happened. About two dozen people, mostly gay men but some women, all started doing the same dance. It was the kind of thing Hank had only seen in movies. But that wasn’t the weirdest bit. That would have to be the fact that Alex was among this group.
“Where did you learn this?” Hank shouted over the music as Alex was jumping to the left, sticking it, and gliding.
“I knew this girl once who was really into Hannah Montana,” Alex told him as he leaned in left and clapped three times. “Well. I knew some parts of her better than others. Come on, it’s not as hard as it looks!”
By the end of the song, Hank found he was nearly able to pop it, lock it, and polka dot it right along with everyone else. And he had fun doing it, too.
“Man, you did awesome,” Alex grinned.
As the dancers around them gave each other congratulatory pats on the back, Hank all of a sudden found himself being tugged into a half-hug. Pressed so close, Hank was overwhelmed by the pure smell of Alex; some combination of cologne (a perfect balance of flower and spice), clean laundry, and sweat that was difficult not to simply stand in and breathe.
“Th-thanks,” said Hank as the shorter man pulled away all too soon.
“Now that you’ve finally loosened up,” Alex said, “let’s see what you can do.”
And so they danced.
That night, on the pulsating dance floor, Hank caught one of the first genuine, non-snark-related smiles he’s ever seen on Alex Summers’s face. It was white and beaming and something Hank still loves to see.
Despite having Alex glued to him for over an hour, or perhaps because of it, Hank walked away from his first trip to Marvel dissatisfied. He took a pass coming along on the next two. It wasn’t until the third after, fourth overall, that Hank did go again, and only because the others refused to go without him. His second trip turned out astronomically better than his first. Hank got hit on more than any of them that night. The hot guys with nerd fetishes must’ve all been on vacation at the same time during his previous visit. This was both a delight and a disappointment for Hank because, though it was great to feel desirable at last, it meant there was no reason for Alex to invite him to dance.
He made the mistake of telling Raven he thinks Alex is cute and has regretted it ever since. She brings it up at least twice a month, continually encouraging him to go for it.
“What about the Alliance?” Hank asks on these occasions. “If things don’t work out, it’ll make meetings very uncomfortable.”
“Who gives a shit?” is her emphatic reply, because sometimes there’s no reasoning with that girl. “Like Alex hasn’t fucked half the guys who show up.”
“That’s a comfort,” Hank will say. Then, in a much smaller voice, he asks, “What if he doesn’t like me?”
At this, Raven has taken to pursing her lips and fixing him in an even stare because she’s grown tired of arguing that Hank is very handsome, despite his geekier qualities. (And maybe even because of them.) Sometimes there’s no reasoning with Hank, either.
It’s so pathetic and clichéd - the science nerd pining after the football player - that Hank tries not to dwell on it too much. The crush is a minor one, anyway. He doesn’t typically think about it unless he hasn’t been with anyone in a while or is rebounding. Currently, he’s the former.
Upon arriving at Cerebro, they each order a beer and talk for a while about nothing in particular. Chit-chat, mostly. How classes are going. The extended summer climate they’re still enjoying. Whether Alex is ready for the Homecoming game next weekend. Hank tries twice to explain exactly what he was given an award for. The second time Alex claims to sort of get it but Hank isn’t convinced he does. By that point he’s most of the way through his beer and starting to feel more comfortable.
“So. Alex ‘Havok’ Summers,” Hank says, quoting Alex’s football nickname. “Where did ‘Havok’ come from?”
“You’ve seen me play,” Alex responds.
“Yeah, you’re, uh. Pretty rough.”
“I’m five-ten playing with guys who are mostly - well, your height. You’re like six-two-ish? So if I’m not rough, I’m dead.”
Hank nods. What he knows about sports could fill a teaspoon, but he does know physics, so he understands what Alex meant.
“It’s actually a, uh - a little more than that. I -” Alex pauses before looking Hank dead in the eye. “You really wanna know?
“Absolutely,” Hank says.
“I’ve never been all that afraid of people finding out about me. You know, that I like guys. I’m a good player, and I know my spot on the team is secure, but… Well. Bisexual guy. Football. Locker room.”
“Gotcha,” says Hank, cringing as he recalls his own turbulent experiences in the locker room during high school. They were limited but memorable.
“A couple of the other players, they gave me kind of a hard time about it. They never did anything to me, like, physically. Just said some stupid shit. One day after practice, these two guys were laying into me about it. I never did anything, I stayed cool and kept my head down and all. But Coach overheard them. So he comes over and he says to ‘em, ‘Listen, guys. It doesn’t matter if he does dudes or not. Summers is a fine player, so I’d watch out if I were you. ‘Cause one way or another, that boy could wreak havoc on your asses.‘”
“Are you serious?” Hank asks mirthfully.
“Hell yes,” Alex smiles. “The story spread through the team and soon they were all making jokes about it and me ‘wreaking havoc.’ After a while I just became Havok.”
“Spelled with a ‘k’?”
“Yeah, some monkey-brain on the school paper doesn’t know how to spell. It just stuck that way.”
“That’s really great, that your coach stood up for you like that,” says Hank.
“Coach Lehnsherr is a great guy,” Alex replies. “Nice ass, too.”
Hank laughs some more.
“Okay, now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?” Hank repeats.
“Yeah, I told you something personal, now you’ve gotta tell me something,” Alex tells him. “That’s how this works, man. Come on, spill.”
Maybe it’s because he topped off that beer, or maybe it’s because he genuinely wants to repay Alex’s confidence. Either way, Hank blurts, “Raven started the Alliance for me.”
“What d’you mean, ‘started it for you’?”
“She, uh… You know we both work in the tutor center, right? We’ve been doing it since our first month here. It’s how we met. She used to flirt with me, a-and I, well. I tried, in my own way. I-I-It didn’t take her long to figure out, um, that I wasn’t interested. Why I wasn’t interested. Sh-she’s the, uh. The first person I ever came out to. I mean, does it count as coming out if the person asks you point-blank?”
“She asked you if you were gay?” Alex hoots. “That’s so Raven. …Oh, Jesus, don’t ever tell her I said that. I greatly value my testicles and would prefer not to have her remove them.”
“Your secret dies with me,” Hank vows.
“So anyway, she asked you, and you said yes?”
“I’m pretty sure I started crying,” Hank admits. “Or hyperventilating or something. I was a mess. You know how direct she is.”
“Let me guess: the way she asked you was saying, ‘So you like dick, right?’”
“Near enough. After the, uh, the shock wore off, she told me she was bisexual. It - It was like a curtain had been pulled back. Like I could finally see that there were other people who are like me. She started pointing out other gays on campus, people I never even considered…”
“Did she point me out?”
“Well,” Hank says sheepishly, “by the time she did, a lot of people had already heard what happened at that TKE house party.”
One of Alex’s more notorious exploits was when he was discovered at a party in one of the bedrooms with three frat brothers from Tau Kappa Epsilon.
“Aww, man,” Alex groans. “I’m never gonna live that night down, am I?”
“No, I don’t think so,” replies Hank with an uncomfortable chortle.
“Wait, so, how did that lead to…?”
“Right. She kept pointing out all these gays and saying that it was unfair that we didn’t have someplace we could, you know, meet. There are clubs and fraternities and sororities for so many things at North Salem, but nothing for the gay community. So that’s when she started pestering her brother about it. He’d been teaching here a few years at that point, and he knew what needed to be done to get the club off the ground. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“But what does that have to do with you?” Alex asks.
“Oh. I-It’s not - She’s never said she did it for me. But it’s what I’ve always assumed. She has no other interest in organized extracurricular activities, so I doubt she would’ve come to the idea otherwise. I think… I think she wanted me t-to meet others who are - who are like me. She wanted to show me that it’s all right, to be who I am.”
“It is, you know,” Alex says gently.
“I’m coming around to that conclusion,” Hank nods. “Still haven’t told my parents, though.”
“My mom knows. My dad…” He frowns. “I never see him anyway, so I don’t really give a shit if he does.”
“How did your mom take it?”
“In stride,” Alex says, his frown retreating. “The string of men she’s gone through since my dad left? I don’t think she can blame me for liking guys, considering how much she does. I was more worried about my older brother. He, uh, found out by walking in on me.”
“Jeez, Alex!” Hank snorts. “Have you ever heard of a lock?”
“Hey, it’s only happened to me twice ever, okay!” Alex cries, though he’s laughing as he says it. “He tried being a dick about it. Until I told him I knew he was cheating on his high school girlfriend, Jean, with some bitchy chick named Emma he met at college. That shut him up. Anyway, turns out he was more pissed I kept it from him than anything. Do you think your parents wouldn’t approve?”
“I honestly have no idea. Th-they’ve never indicated one way or the other. The town I’m from, it’s a small town in Connecticut, really dull. Typical suburbia. People are nice, but they stay out of each other’s business. When I got picked on in school, it was for being a geek, not for, you know… Me being gay, it’s just one of those things that’ve never come up.”
“Parents can surprise you,” Alex says wistfully. “My mom, she… She’s put up with a lot from me.”
He’s quiet for a minute after that. Hank wants to ask, but knows you can’t push Alex on anything. So he waits while Alex fiddles with the label in his beer bottle, until finally the blonde murmurs, “I have a criminal record.”
Unsure of what to say, Hank simply says, “…Really.”
“Yeah.” After another swig off his drink, he elaborates, “Some property damage. A fight that got - just - way out of hand. Football is the only reason the school looked the other way on it. It’s why I had to stop myself from getting into anything with those guys in the locker room. I’ve got, um, control issues.”
“You never said anything,” Hank remarks. “In front of the others, I mean.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you just bust out in front of strangers,” says Alex.
“I hardly think any of us are strangers anymore.”
Alex shrugs, apparently done with that line of conversation. Out of nowhere, he reaches over and plucks the glasses off Hank’s face.
“Hey, give those back!”
“Oh, wow,” Alex says, blinking as he places them on his own face. “These aren’t actually as bad as I thought they’d be. You barely even need glasses, do you?”
“I need them enough, thank you,” Hank replies as he snatches his spectacles back. “Talk about control issues.”
“I was only funning around,” Alex huffs. “You could probably get by without wearing them all the time, you know.”
“I don’t wear them all the time,” Hank disputes. “I don’t wear them when we go to Marvel sometimes.” This makes Hank think of the club, of dancing. Of Alex pressing close to him. He thinks of these things and says, “Hey. D-do you remember that first time we all went together?”
“I got eight phone numbers that night,” Alex recalls, smiling a bit at the memory.
“Angel got eleven,” Hank teases.
“Yeah, well you didn’t get any,” Alex snaps back. That bit of truth clams Hank up quick. Alex must be remorseful, because he adds in a much kinder tone, “It was probably only because you wouldn’t ditch the bowtie.”
“I like bowties,” Hank responds feebly, fingering the offending item at his throat.
“It’s dorky, Hank.” He puts his bottle down with an audible thud and looks at Hank in earnest. “You’re not a bad-looking guy, you know? You need to play that up more. Maybe, I dunno, try a T-shirt sometime, some jeans. Lose the glasses. Do something with your hair. You gotta shake up your image, Hank. It’ll make a big difference. You’ll be beating guys off with both han- Oh. Um. Forget I said that last part.”
“I-I-I don’t know,” Hank stammers.
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t. You’re not really…”
‘Not really’ what? Hank demands silently.
“Wild enough,” Alex concludes.
Oh.
“Oh.”
“No offense,” Alex throws in as an afterthought.
“Right, right,” Hank murmurs. “Um. I’m, uh. I’m actually getting kinda tired.”
“No you’re not,” Alex accuses. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know, Alex, I know,” Hank says pacifyingly. “You should catch up with Raven, okay? I’ll see you later.”
He tosses the money for his beer and a decent tip down and flees from the bar. He’d like to believe he hears Alex hiss a frustrated “Fuck!” as he leaves, but it’s probably his imagination.
The next time Hank sees Alex is at the Alliance meeting the following Tuesday. Apart from a slightly frostier reception than usual, Alex behaves no differently toward him. It’s as if their outing never took place, except now Alex won’t so much as glance in Hank’s direction. They weren’t really biffles before, so no one notices a difference. Except for Raven.
“Okay, what aren’t you telling me?” she demands once the group has disbanded for the night.
“Umm, that my middle name is Philip?” Hank ventures.
“Already knew that,” Raven grits out. “Don’t play dumb with me, Hank. You’re too smart to be any good at it. You said you and Alex had a beer and you went home. The way he was staring at you tonight -”
“He wasn’t staring at me,” Hank contends. “He didn’t even look at me.”
“So you admit something is wrong then?” Raven smirks jubilantly. Hank frowns. “And anyway, you’re wrong. He was looking at you. Only it was whenever you weren’t looking at him.”
With great reluctance, Hank relays the details he left out about his Saturday night. Alex telling him a story about the football team. Hank talking about coming out. Almost telling Alex, finally, how he felt, until Alex started in on the notion of Hank changing his image. Then the storming out.
“Hm,” is all Raven has to say to the whole ordeal.
“That’s it?”
“Yes,” says Raven. “That’s it: Hm. It sounds to me like Alex has provided you with the necessary tools for winning his heart. Or at least his hard-on.”
“I don’t want to win his hard-on,” Hank mumbles, adding silently, At least not only his hard-on.
“Hey, that’d be a start,” Raven points out. “It’s worth a shot, Hank. In fact, I think I have an idea that just might work. What have you got to lose?”
My dignity? Hank speculates.
It’s his own fault that Raven takes Alex’s idea and runs with it. Not only is she impulsive by nature, but she’s been begging Hank to let her make him over for ages. So when he told her about his conversation with Alex, he should have expected this reaction.
First she insists on a whole new wardrobe for him. Or at least a few new outfits. Money has never been an issue for Hank, especially with two scholarships paying for his entire education, room and board included. Still, he doesn’t look forward to explaining this credit card bill to his parents. He texts his dad as a warning, and so that he doesn’t think the card has been stolen when he sees the surge in activity.
He also hopes he never has to cross the threshold of an Abercrombie & Fitch ever again.
“That place reminds me of Marvel,” Hank says, taking in a huge lungful of clean, cologne-free air once they’ve left the store.
“Yeah,” Raven replies gleefully, like it’s a good thing. “Most Abercrombies are like mini gay clubs. Pounding music, dim lighting, and the overwhelming man-musk smell. If everything was covered in glitter and confetti, the comparison would be perfect.”
The night before Homecoming comes the physical aspect of Hank’s makeover.
“Raven, I-I-I-I’m not so su-sure about this,” he says, tugging anxiously at the disposable table cloth secured around his neck as a barber cape.
“Hank, I’ve been cutting and dyeing my own hair since I was fourteen,” Raven barks. “And doesn’t my hair always look fabulous?”
“I try not to use that word very often,” Hank mutters, mostly to himself.
“Shut up, I look fabulous and you know it.”
Then she comes at him with the scissors. For someone who doesn’t put much thought into his looks, Hank can’t help bemoaning the loss of each lock of hair. He hasn’t had it cut this short since he was a boy, since before he was in charge of his own appearance. It doesn’t take very long. Twenty minutes later he’s looking at the aftermath in a mirror. The overall effect doesn’t make Hank appear younger, like a little boy, the way he’d imagined it might. Instead, he looks startlingly similar to one of the models crowding the posters of that Abercrombie store.
“You should’ve let me do this ages ago,” Raven clucks as he studies himself in the mirror. “You are fucking edible, Hank. Truly.”
“It’s not quite as bad as I envisioned.”
“Just say ‘yes, Raven, I look hot.’”
“Yes, Raven. I look hot.”
“One last thing,” Raven says, producing a small makeup bag.
She turns out the bag’s contents onto her bed. They consist of several blue containers of various shape, size, and purpose.
“You are going to look wild.”
If he’s being honest with himself, Hank must admit that he does feel rather wild as they walk into the North Salem University Sports Arena the following afternoon. So many heads swivel around to watch as he walks by that he loses count around fourteen. The shocked looks on their friends’ faces certainly help. Each has something different to say about his transformation.
There’s an “Oh my Gahhhd!” from Angel, a “Trippy.” from Sean, and a “What did you let her do to you!?” from Armando.
His hair, now shortened and spiked up, has been dyed cobalt blue. The effect is highlighted with matching nail polish and eyeliner. He wears a tight, short-hemmed bright yellow T-shirt, dark skinny jeans that hug his hips, and no glasses. The one item Raven didn’t make his change was his beat-up old Chucks.
“You guys like it?” Hank asks nervously. “It’s y’know, for Homecoming. School colors, blue and yellow.”
“You look UH-mazing, Hank!” Angel assures him. “I love it. I’m just jealous I didn’t think of it first.”
“I’m not, but that’s mostly because I don’t think I could pull off the blue hair,” Armando chuckles. “It works for you though, man. Definitely works.”
“Trippy,” Sean says again, lifting his sunglasses to get a better look. “It’s very… Oh shit, and your hair is blue, too.”
“You all right, Sean?” Raven asks, bemused.
“Is he ever?” Armando retorts playfully.
“Pre-Homecoming party last night,” he explains tiredly. “Very late night. Very lucrative night, but very, very late night.”
“Come on, baby,” Angel says, taking him by the arm. “Let’s go get seats and you can fall asleep on my shoulder.”
The Alliance crew is, by far, the most enthusiastic in their section, making an enormous racket every time No. 54, Alex ‘Havok’ Summers, steps onto the field. Whenever Hank raises his arms to cheer, the hem of his T-shirt rises about four inches, exposing his abdomen. It makes him a little uneasy, even more so when he notices that a number of spectators glance his way when his arms go up.
The North Salem Blue Mutts win, by a small margin. Enough to still call it a victory, at least. The gang waits for Alex to meet them in front of the stadium. His reaction to Hank’s new look when he does is a wide-eyed “Holy shit!” Hank isn’t sure whether this is a good or a bad thing, but he’ll take it. It does guarantee one thing: he’s gotten Alex’s attention.
There are festivities to attend that day. Barbeques and parties and all sorts of Homecoming shenanigans. Their group forms a cluster, going from one soiree to the next all together.
As they hop from party to party, Alex keeps watching Hank. Hank doesn’t notice the pattern until party number three, and by party number six it starts to make him discomfited. Especially because he’s already getting a lot of attention from partygoers, thanks to his new look. He’s trying to notice Alex’s stare when someone shouts at him over the music.
“Hey!”
Hank turns, years of antisocialism preparing him for the worst, and finds himself face-to-face with Jean-Paul Beaubier, notorious campus heartthrob. Like the Zac Efron of North Salem, if Zefron was definitively gay. He’s one of the few men Alex has never been able to charm the pants off of yet.
“Love the hair,” Jean-Paul tells him, with a bright, toothy smile.
“Uhh, thanks,” Hank replies. “It’s, um. It’s a new look.”
“That must be why I haven’t noticed you around before. I’m Jean-Paul, by the way.”
Yeah, I know who you are, Hank manages not to say.
“Hank,” he says instead, extending his hand.
“Would you care to dance, Hank?” Jean-Paul asks as he holds Hank’s hand a few seconds longer than necessary.
Following the briefest hesitation, Hank answers, “Yeah, sure.”
He isn’t nervous, or at least not as nervous as he thinks he should be. This is Jean-Paul ohfuckmealready Beaubier, after all. Even this close he’s flawlessly good-looking. And slightly too handsy, seeing as they only met two minutes ago. Plus his cologne is a bit too sharp. It makes Hank’s nose itch like it did in Abercrombie. It’s nothing like the flowery-spicy smell of -
No, Hank scolds himself. No, you are not thinking about Alex right now!
Though he does wonder mildly, as he gives Jean-Paul what he hopes is a sexy smile, whether Alex is still watching him now, and what he might think of what he’s seeing. Not that Hank is dancing with Jean-Paul for Alex’s benefit. It’s because he’s Jean-seriouslyfuckmealready-Paul. However, it does fill Hank with twisted sense of triumph, knowing this is should score way more cool points than eight phone numbers in one night.
After a while, Jean-Paul declares he’s thirsty, and they go in search of refreshments. Hank’s friends are all conveniently converged around the nearest punch bowl. They were clearly watching, and their reactions are mixed. Raven is beaming with pride (and also a little flustered by Jean-Paul’s handsomeness), Angel is smirking approvingly, Armando is snickering, and Sean is pretty baked so he’s more focused on the strobe light he’s staring directly into. Alex, on the other hand, is stone-faced.
“Hey, guys,” Hank greets them. “This is Jean-Paul.”
“Oh, we know,” says Angel. “Right, Alex?”
“Yeah,” Alex grunts. “Sup?”
“Not much,” Jean-Paul replies. “Just getting to know Hank here.”
“Didn’t look like you were doing much talking,” Raven grins over her cup.
Slipping an arm around Hank’s waist, Jean-Paul muses, “Who said anything about talking?”
“You know, Hank,” Alex says, looking the metamorphosed man over. “With that dye job, the makeup, the big feet? You’d make a decent clown. You could give Bozo a run for his money.”
Hank’s face crumples like a paper cup. He takes a few seconds to recompose himself, he’s so caught off-guard by Alex’s statement. The others appear appropriately uncomfortable, with the girls and Armando glaring and Jean-Paul giving an awkward cough.
Excusing himself, Hank scurries outside to stand alone for a few minutes. The Indian summer seems to have disappeared at sundown, and autumn is on with a vengeance. Hank shivers in his thin T-shirt, refusing to go back in. He’d rather contract hypothermia. It’d be less embarrassing right now.
And because Hank can’t even properly die alone of hypothermia, he hears someone come up behind him.
“Hank, come back here,” Alex says.
Fuck off, is what Hank would like to say, but instead he replies, “Go away, Alex.”
“Hank, it’s freezing out here,” Alex argues. “You’re gonna turn blue. I mean - aw, hell.”
Alex’s letterman jacket slips over Hank’s shoulders from behind. Hank lets him, for a number of confusing reasons, but mostly because he is very cold. It smells of leather and Alex and Hank allows himself a few seconds to bask in it.
“What I said before,” Alex says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think - I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“No, Alex,” Hank spits out, “you never try to be mean.”
“Whoa! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Just - go inside, Alex. All right?”
“No, it’s not all right. What’s going on with you? This -” he says, gesturing at Hank’s metamorphosis, “- this isn’t you, Hank.”
“That’s the whole point!” Hank cries. “This is - this is me losing the glasses. This is me shaking up my image, like you said. This is me trying -” He stops. Almost doesn’t say it. Then decides, as Raven would say, who gives a shit? “This is me trying to get you to notice.”
“You did this…for me?” Alex says slowly.
“W-well. Yeah,” says Hank. Then, more confidently, “Yes. You’re the one who, who said -”
“I know what I said. I meant…”
He pauses to give a heavy sigh. Hank wants to bolt again, to rush back to his dorm room and pack his things and abandon North Salem forever, to avoid what he knows is coming next, what he’s always known would come next. This whole goddamn experiment was stupid. He’s let Raven talk him into a lot of stupid stuff in the year plus that he’s known her, but this is, by far, the stupidest. He has blue hair, for God’s sake! Hank is on the verge of knocking Alex down and making a run for it when Alex finally speaks.
“I meant other guys might be more interested, Hank. Some of us already were.”
Hank blinks. It’s all he can do, because he’s not sure he’s breathing right now. And his ears certainly can’t be picking up sounds right, because what he thinks Alex just said, the implication, it simply cannot be right.
The only word Hank can manage to force out is, “Were?”
“And still are, bigfeets,” Alex clarifies with an easy smile. “Don’t go twisting my words around.”
“What - when?”
“Remember last spring, when you helped me study for my finals so I wouldn’t flunk out?”
Hank nods. Of course he does. It’s one of the few times before last weekend that he and Alex ever spent any extended period of time alone together. Huddled over sweaty textbooks in the un-air conditioned library, with Alex often stripped down to his white A-shirt. It was the most exquisite torture Hank had ever known.
“Pretty much since then,” Alex says, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I woulda done something about it but then it was summer. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to get you alone since the semester started. I thought last week was my chance until I fucked it up.”
“You didn’t -” Hank stops short because, okay, Alex sort of did fuck it up. But not beyond recovery. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You dyed your hair blue, Hank,” says Alex. “And you’re wearing guyliner and nail polish because of the stupid thing I said. I don’t even know why I said it, because I like how dorky you dress. I like your glasses. I just thought, I dunno, maybe if I could get you to loosen up a bit…”
“It was Raven’s idea,” Hank confesses. “The hair. All of it, really. She thought it would grab your attention.”
“She was right about that,” Alex replies, taking a step closer. “Although I think making me jealous with Jean-Paul was taking it a little far, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t -”
And then Alex is kissing him. It’s gentler than Hank expected, for someone with a reputation like Alex’s. Not that he’s thinking about Alex’s reputation right now. All he’s thinking about is the feel of warm lips on his own and the collar of the jacket pressing into his neck and the smell that’s a combination of spicy-floral cologne, clean laundry, and sweat. He’s shivering when Alex pulls away, and it’s from more than just the cold night air.
“Sorry,” Alex says. “I, uh… I couldn’t wait much longer to do that.”
“N-no problem,” Hank tells him.
“So how temporary is this stuff, anyway?” Alex asks, fingering Hank’s blue-tinted locks.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Hank frowns.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Actually, it’s… kinda sexy.”
“Se-sexy? Me?”
“Am I lookin’ at anyone else right now?”
The answer is probably no, but it’s difficult to tell while Alex is kissing him again. Hank decides that, as long as he’s being kissed, he doesn’t quite care.
Author's Note, Part Deux: so, I didn't just randomly put the "Hoedown Throwdown" in this fic, and it's not entirely because of the gorgeous Lucas Till's Hannah Montana connection either. While trolling browsing YouTube for vids of this lovely young man, I discovered THIS. Hula!Havok wasn't born in First Class, it seems. Damn that boy has hips. Anyone who can make me a decent .GIF icon of Lucas doing the Hoedown dance gets a fill of their choosing. (Just no beast!Hank, plz.)
Author: kevo
Pairing: Hank/Alex
Rating: PG-13 (language, references to drug use, suggestions of sex)
Warnings:: is un-beta’ed a warning-worthy offense?
Word Count: just over 6400
Summary: The thing is, part of what makes Hank McCoy uncomfortable to be spending time alone with Alex Summers is that it’s possible that he has the smallest, most minute crush on him. - or, college AU in which Hank tries a new look to get Alex’s attention.
Author’s Note: inspired by this here prompt. If you like this, I’ve got ideas in the work for a sequel or two.
“The Old College Try”
Hank McCoy has a strange little group that he calls his friends.
Strange because it’s highly probable that none of them would even speak to each other under normal circumstances. Apart from all being sophomores at North Salem University, they are from extremely varied walks of life.
Hank himself is a socially-awkward science nerd. Raven is a brainy party girl. Alex is a hard-as-nails football stud. Angel is a tough dancer chick. Armando is eloquent and thoughtful, a poet-slash-comedian. Sean is a stoner and small-time drug dealer.
Most of them wouldn’t know each other at all, were it not for their campus’s Gay-Straight Alliance. There they hold different labels than they do with the rest of the world:
Hank, a still-somewhat-uncomfortable-about-it gay man; Raven, the two-beer bisexual; Alex, also bi, though admittedly more into dudes; Angel, a fiercely proud lesbian; Armando, straight but pro-gay; Sean, straight, except for maybe sometimes when he’s intoxicated.
There are others in the Alliance. Those who come in and out, no pun intended. The clearly-closeted students who get scared after their first meeting. The straight ones who appear infrequently for fear of being labeled queer. And then there are randy students of the gay, bi, or questioning variety who show up looking for an easy lay. (Something Alex and Angel are usually more than willing to provide, depending on the pursuer’s gender.)
No matter who came and went, the core remained the same since Raven and Hank began it their second semester. At first they only saw each other at the weekly Tuesday night meetings. Then Raven discovered Marvel, the nearest gay club off campus, and insisted on a field trip. After that, their group became like a little Gay-Bisexual-Lesbian-Ally family. They attend to Angel’s dance recitals, Alex’s football games, Sean’s parties.
This is why, when he is to be honored with an award for his work in the Science Department, Hank invites them to attend his awards ceremony. He attempts to explain his accomplishment to them, but the only ones who come close to understanding are Raven and maybe Armando. The others are bored by it, though genuinely happy for him.
So when most of the group doesn’t come, Hank isn’t surprised. Armando performing an open mic night is one thing. A dull ceremony in the name of science isn’t the most attractive of invitations. The ones he does spot in the crowd are Raven, of course, and Alex. The blonde man is a bit of a shocker. Hank would’ve speculated on any of the others, even Sean, showing up before him.
The whole event is mercifully brief - the Science Department members are fittingly concise in their speechmaking. After, Hank finds his friends in the crowd. Raven gives him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek, while Alex gives him a half handshake, half arm-slap sort of ‘bro hug.’
“Good job, sweetie,” Raven coos.
“Yeah, man,” says Alex. “I didn’t understand a word of your speech, so I know it must’ve been good.”
“Uhh, thanks, I guess,” Hank titters.
“Well, boys,” Raven says briskly as they exit the hall. “The night is young and so are we. There’s at least four parties we could hit. What do you say?”
“Do you have a preference?” Hank asks Alex.
“It’s your big night,” says Alex. “We should definitely celebrate it.”
“Yeah,” Hank says, adjusting his glasses. “You’re right, we should, um. We should celebrate. O-only I’m not, uhm…”
“Not exactly a ‘party animal’?” Alex grins. At Hank’s guilty smile, he turns to Raven and says, “Why don’t you go on ahead? Hank and I will get a drink and then maybe meet up with you later if he’s feeling it.”
This suggestion surprises Raven, who arches an eyebrow at the offer and says, “Really. Are you sure?”
“Definitely.”
Not needing to be told twice, Raven heads for the nearest keg stand. As they watch her retreat into the night, Hank says to Alex, understandingly, “You don’t have to stay with me. I mean, you can go with Raven. If you want.”
“I’m doing what I want, Hank,” Alex grunts. “C’mon, let’s hit Cerebro.”
Cerebro is North Salem University’s answer to your basic college ratskeller, though the school disavows any knowledge of it. The establishment is an open secret, and has been completely student-run since it was founded by a student who was Psych major with a minor in Spanish. Hence the name. Hank doesn’t like bars much but, when he does go out, he likes Cerebro.
They walk in what Hank projects to be a slightly uncomfortable silence. He doesn’t know what to say to Alex, really. He considers the man a friend, but they don’t really have enough in common to spend time one-on-one. With the group, or even just them and Raven, would be fine. This? Not quite so much. But he couldn’t exactly say no to Alex’s invitation. It would’ve been rude.
Okay, that, and something else. The thing is, part of what makes Hank McCoy uncomfortable to be spending time alone with Alex Summers is that it’s possible that he has the smallest, most minute crush on him.
It started that first trip to Marvel. Hank had never been to a gay club before. Or any club, for that matter. His interest in such venues was limited, plus he never had anyone to go with before. It was overwhelming, with the flashing lights and the writhing bodies and the patrons’ various states of dress, or lack thereof. The others were having an amazing time. This might’ve had something to do with the others all being hit on left and right. Hank did not illicit as much as a raised eyebrow from the hot gays surrounding him. Even the overweight drag queen who told Sean he had DSL (or Dick-Sucking Lips, as s/he explained) would’ve been better than nothing.
After two hours and no bites, Hank was starting to grow despondent, wondering if he had enough cash in his wallet to call a cab back to the dorms, when a slightly-sweaty Alex brushed up beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder.
“What’s up, bigfeets?” Alex asked over the music. “How come you’re not dancing? Afraid you might trip?”
Hank’s size thirteen Chucks had been the subject of gentle ribbing since the Alliance’s start. While he normally went along with it, tonight he was not in the mood to have his flaws pointed out so brazenly.
“No,” Hank answered flatly. “I just - I’m not - I don’t feel like it.”
“It’s a club, Hank,” Alex reminded him. “You come here to dance and to hit on hot guys. You haven’t done either tonight.”
Rather than point out the problem with that, namely that nobody was interested in him (and since when was it any of Alex’s business anyway?), Hank settled for a half-hearted glare at the shorter man.
“You’re dancing,” Alex declared. “Scratch that - we are dancing. Let’s go, bigfeets.”
Before he could argue, before he could even articulate any sort of sentiment, Hank was being dragged out onto the dance floor. Once his thoughts caught up with his kidnapping, he supposed he didn’t have any real reason not to acquiesce. If he got desperate, maybe he really could trip, or at least pretend to, and use that as an excuse to bail.
Dancing with Alex was awkward to start. For one thing, Hank didn’t dance much. Still doesn’t, truth be told. The blonde clearly picked up on this, and attempted to help the struggling scientist but Hank wasn’t getting it. Saying “loosen your hips” doesn’t mean anything if you don’t know how to do it, after all. The process was becoming more frustrating than sitting alone at the bar all night. Then a new song came on.
“Boom, clap. Boom-de-clap-de-clap. / Boom-boom clap. Boom-de-clap-de-clap.“
“Ohh, yes!” Alex crowed.
“What?” asked Hank. “What is this?”
“You don’t know Hannah Montana when you hear it?” Alex balked. “‘Hoedown Throwdown’?” Hank shook his head, feeling very much like he’d slipped into another dimension. “And you call yourself a gay man…”
Then something very strange happened. About two dozen people, mostly gay men but some women, all started doing the same dance. It was the kind of thing Hank had only seen in movies. But that wasn’t the weirdest bit. That would have to be the fact that Alex was among this group.
“Where did you learn this?” Hank shouted over the music as Alex was jumping to the left, sticking it, and gliding.
“I knew this girl once who was really into Hannah Montana,” Alex told him as he leaned in left and clapped three times. “Well. I knew some parts of her better than others. Come on, it’s not as hard as it looks!”
By the end of the song, Hank found he was nearly able to pop it, lock it, and polka dot it right along with everyone else. And he had fun doing it, too.
“Man, you did awesome,” Alex grinned.
As the dancers around them gave each other congratulatory pats on the back, Hank all of a sudden found himself being tugged into a half-hug. Pressed so close, Hank was overwhelmed by the pure smell of Alex; some combination of cologne (a perfect balance of flower and spice), clean laundry, and sweat that was difficult not to simply stand in and breathe.
“Th-thanks,” said Hank as the shorter man pulled away all too soon.
“Now that you’ve finally loosened up,” Alex said, “let’s see what you can do.”
And so they danced.
That night, on the pulsating dance floor, Hank caught one of the first genuine, non-snark-related smiles he’s ever seen on Alex Summers’s face. It was white and beaming and something Hank still loves to see.
Despite having Alex glued to him for over an hour, or perhaps because of it, Hank walked away from his first trip to Marvel dissatisfied. He took a pass coming along on the next two. It wasn’t until the third after, fourth overall, that Hank did go again, and only because the others refused to go without him. His second trip turned out astronomically better than his first. Hank got hit on more than any of them that night. The hot guys with nerd fetishes must’ve all been on vacation at the same time during his previous visit. This was both a delight and a disappointment for Hank because, though it was great to feel desirable at last, it meant there was no reason for Alex to invite him to dance.
He made the mistake of telling Raven he thinks Alex is cute and has regretted it ever since. She brings it up at least twice a month, continually encouraging him to go for it.
“What about the Alliance?” Hank asks on these occasions. “If things don’t work out, it’ll make meetings very uncomfortable.”
“Who gives a shit?” is her emphatic reply, because sometimes there’s no reasoning with that girl. “Like Alex hasn’t fucked half the guys who show up.”
“That’s a comfort,” Hank will say. Then, in a much smaller voice, he asks, “What if he doesn’t like me?”
At this, Raven has taken to pursing her lips and fixing him in an even stare because she’s grown tired of arguing that Hank is very handsome, despite his geekier qualities. (And maybe even because of them.) Sometimes there’s no reasoning with Hank, either.
It’s so pathetic and clichéd - the science nerd pining after the football player - that Hank tries not to dwell on it too much. The crush is a minor one, anyway. He doesn’t typically think about it unless he hasn’t been with anyone in a while or is rebounding. Currently, he’s the former.
Upon arriving at Cerebro, they each order a beer and talk for a while about nothing in particular. Chit-chat, mostly. How classes are going. The extended summer climate they’re still enjoying. Whether Alex is ready for the Homecoming game next weekend. Hank tries twice to explain exactly what he was given an award for. The second time Alex claims to sort of get it but Hank isn’t convinced he does. By that point he’s most of the way through his beer and starting to feel more comfortable.
“So. Alex ‘Havok’ Summers,” Hank says, quoting Alex’s football nickname. “Where did ‘Havok’ come from?”
“You’ve seen me play,” Alex responds.
“Yeah, you’re, uh. Pretty rough.”
“I’m five-ten playing with guys who are mostly - well, your height. You’re like six-two-ish? So if I’m not rough, I’m dead.”
Hank nods. What he knows about sports could fill a teaspoon, but he does know physics, so he understands what Alex meant.
“It’s actually a, uh - a little more than that. I -” Alex pauses before looking Hank dead in the eye. “You really wanna know?
“Absolutely,” Hank says.
“I’ve never been all that afraid of people finding out about me. You know, that I like guys. I’m a good player, and I know my spot on the team is secure, but… Well. Bisexual guy. Football. Locker room.”
“Gotcha,” says Hank, cringing as he recalls his own turbulent experiences in the locker room during high school. They were limited but memorable.
“A couple of the other players, they gave me kind of a hard time about it. They never did anything to me, like, physically. Just said some stupid shit. One day after practice, these two guys were laying into me about it. I never did anything, I stayed cool and kept my head down and all. But Coach overheard them. So he comes over and he says to ‘em, ‘Listen, guys. It doesn’t matter if he does dudes or not. Summers is a fine player, so I’d watch out if I were you. ‘Cause one way or another, that boy could wreak havoc on your asses.‘”
“Are you serious?” Hank asks mirthfully.
“Hell yes,” Alex smiles. “The story spread through the team and soon they were all making jokes about it and me ‘wreaking havoc.’ After a while I just became Havok.”
“Spelled with a ‘k’?”
“Yeah, some monkey-brain on the school paper doesn’t know how to spell. It just stuck that way.”
“That’s really great, that your coach stood up for you like that,” says Hank.
“Coach Lehnsherr is a great guy,” Alex replies. “Nice ass, too.”
Hank laughs some more.
“Okay, now it’s your turn.”
“My turn?” Hank repeats.
“Yeah, I told you something personal, now you’ve gotta tell me something,” Alex tells him. “That’s how this works, man. Come on, spill.”
Maybe it’s because he topped off that beer, or maybe it’s because he genuinely wants to repay Alex’s confidence. Either way, Hank blurts, “Raven started the Alliance for me.”
“What d’you mean, ‘started it for you’?”
“She, uh… You know we both work in the tutor center, right? We’ve been doing it since our first month here. It’s how we met. She used to flirt with me, a-and I, well. I tried, in my own way. I-I-It didn’t take her long to figure out, um, that I wasn’t interested. Why I wasn’t interested. Sh-she’s the, uh. The first person I ever came out to. I mean, does it count as coming out if the person asks you point-blank?”
“She asked you if you were gay?” Alex hoots. “That’s so Raven. …Oh, Jesus, don’t ever tell her I said that. I greatly value my testicles and would prefer not to have her remove them.”
“Your secret dies with me,” Hank vows.
“So anyway, she asked you, and you said yes?”
“I’m pretty sure I started crying,” Hank admits. “Or hyperventilating or something. I was a mess. You know how direct she is.”
“Let me guess: the way she asked you was saying, ‘So you like dick, right?’”
“Near enough. After the, uh, the shock wore off, she told me she was bisexual. It - It was like a curtain had been pulled back. Like I could finally see that there were other people who are like me. She started pointing out other gays on campus, people I never even considered…”
“Did she point me out?”
“Well,” Hank says sheepishly, “by the time she did, a lot of people had already heard what happened at that TKE house party.”
One of Alex’s more notorious exploits was when he was discovered at a party in one of the bedrooms with three frat brothers from Tau Kappa Epsilon.
“Aww, man,” Alex groans. “I’m never gonna live that night down, am I?”
“No, I don’t think so,” replies Hank with an uncomfortable chortle.
“Wait, so, how did that lead to…?”
“Right. She kept pointing out all these gays and saying that it was unfair that we didn’t have someplace we could, you know, meet. There are clubs and fraternities and sororities for so many things at North Salem, but nothing for the gay community. So that’s when she started pestering her brother about it. He’d been teaching here a few years at that point, and he knew what needed to be done to get the club off the ground. The rest, as they say, is history.”
“But what does that have to do with you?” Alex asks.
“Oh. I-It’s not - She’s never said she did it for me. But it’s what I’ve always assumed. She has no other interest in organized extracurricular activities, so I doubt she would’ve come to the idea otherwise. I think… I think she wanted me t-to meet others who are - who are like me. She wanted to show me that it’s all right, to be who I am.”
“It is, you know,” Alex says gently.
“I’m coming around to that conclusion,” Hank nods. “Still haven’t told my parents, though.”
“My mom knows. My dad…” He frowns. “I never see him anyway, so I don’t really give a shit if he does.”
“How did your mom take it?”
“In stride,” Alex says, his frown retreating. “The string of men she’s gone through since my dad left? I don’t think she can blame me for liking guys, considering how much she does. I was more worried about my older brother. He, uh, found out by walking in on me.”
“Jeez, Alex!” Hank snorts. “Have you ever heard of a lock?”
“Hey, it’s only happened to me twice ever, okay!” Alex cries, though he’s laughing as he says it. “He tried being a dick about it. Until I told him I knew he was cheating on his high school girlfriend, Jean, with some bitchy chick named Emma he met at college. That shut him up. Anyway, turns out he was more pissed I kept it from him than anything. Do you think your parents wouldn’t approve?”
“I honestly have no idea. Th-they’ve never indicated one way or the other. The town I’m from, it’s a small town in Connecticut, really dull. Typical suburbia. People are nice, but they stay out of each other’s business. When I got picked on in school, it was for being a geek, not for, you know… Me being gay, it’s just one of those things that’ve never come up.”
“Parents can surprise you,” Alex says wistfully. “My mom, she… She’s put up with a lot from me.”
He’s quiet for a minute after that. Hank wants to ask, but knows you can’t push Alex on anything. So he waits while Alex fiddles with the label in his beer bottle, until finally the blonde murmurs, “I have a criminal record.”
Unsure of what to say, Hank simply says, “…Really.”
“Yeah.” After another swig off his drink, he elaborates, “Some property damage. A fight that got - just - way out of hand. Football is the only reason the school looked the other way on it. It’s why I had to stop myself from getting into anything with those guys in the locker room. I’ve got, um, control issues.”
“You never said anything,” Hank remarks. “In front of the others, I mean.”
“It’s not the kind of thing you just bust out in front of strangers,” says Alex.
“I hardly think any of us are strangers anymore.”
Alex shrugs, apparently done with that line of conversation. Out of nowhere, he reaches over and plucks the glasses off Hank’s face.
“Hey, give those back!”
“Oh, wow,” Alex says, blinking as he places them on his own face. “These aren’t actually as bad as I thought they’d be. You barely even need glasses, do you?”
“I need them enough, thank you,” Hank replies as he snatches his spectacles back. “Talk about control issues.”
“I was only funning around,” Alex huffs. “You could probably get by without wearing them all the time, you know.”
“I don’t wear them all the time,” Hank disputes. “I don’t wear them when we go to Marvel sometimes.” This makes Hank think of the club, of dancing. Of Alex pressing close to him. He thinks of these things and says, “Hey. D-do you remember that first time we all went together?”
“I got eight phone numbers that night,” Alex recalls, smiling a bit at the memory.
“Angel got eleven,” Hank teases.
“Yeah, well you didn’t get any,” Alex snaps back. That bit of truth clams Hank up quick. Alex must be remorseful, because he adds in a much kinder tone, “It was probably only because you wouldn’t ditch the bowtie.”
“I like bowties,” Hank responds feebly, fingering the offending item at his throat.
“It’s dorky, Hank.” He puts his bottle down with an audible thud and looks at Hank in earnest. “You’re not a bad-looking guy, you know? You need to play that up more. Maybe, I dunno, try a T-shirt sometime, some jeans. Lose the glasses. Do something with your hair. You gotta shake up your image, Hank. It’ll make a big difference. You’ll be beating guys off with both han- Oh. Um. Forget I said that last part.”
“I-I-I don’t know,” Hank stammers.
“Yeah, I figured you wouldn’t. You’re not really…”
‘Not really’ what? Hank demands silently.
“Wild enough,” Alex concludes.
Oh.
“Oh.”
“No offense,” Alex throws in as an afterthought.
“Right, right,” Hank murmurs. “Um. I’m, uh. I’m actually getting kinda tired.”
“No you’re not,” Alex accuses. “Look, I’m sorry, man. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know, Alex, I know,” Hank says pacifyingly. “You should catch up with Raven, okay? I’ll see you later.”
He tosses the money for his beer and a decent tip down and flees from the bar. He’d like to believe he hears Alex hiss a frustrated “Fuck!” as he leaves, but it’s probably his imagination.
The next time Hank sees Alex is at the Alliance meeting the following Tuesday. Apart from a slightly frostier reception than usual, Alex behaves no differently toward him. It’s as if their outing never took place, except now Alex won’t so much as glance in Hank’s direction. They weren’t really biffles before, so no one notices a difference. Except for Raven.
“Okay, what aren’t you telling me?” she demands once the group has disbanded for the night.
“Umm, that my middle name is Philip?” Hank ventures.
“Already knew that,” Raven grits out. “Don’t play dumb with me, Hank. You’re too smart to be any good at it. You said you and Alex had a beer and you went home. The way he was staring at you tonight -”
“He wasn’t staring at me,” Hank contends. “He didn’t even look at me.”
“So you admit something is wrong then?” Raven smirks jubilantly. Hank frowns. “And anyway, you’re wrong. He was looking at you. Only it was whenever you weren’t looking at him.”
With great reluctance, Hank relays the details he left out about his Saturday night. Alex telling him a story about the football team. Hank talking about coming out. Almost telling Alex, finally, how he felt, until Alex started in on the notion of Hank changing his image. Then the storming out.
“Hm,” is all Raven has to say to the whole ordeal.
“That’s it?”
“Yes,” says Raven. “That’s it: Hm. It sounds to me like Alex has provided you with the necessary tools for winning his heart. Or at least his hard-on.”
“I don’t want to win his hard-on,” Hank mumbles, adding silently, At least not only his hard-on.
“Hey, that’d be a start,” Raven points out. “It’s worth a shot, Hank. In fact, I think I have an idea that just might work. What have you got to lose?”
My dignity? Hank speculates.
It’s his own fault that Raven takes Alex’s idea and runs with it. Not only is she impulsive by nature, but she’s been begging Hank to let her make him over for ages. So when he told her about his conversation with Alex, he should have expected this reaction.
First she insists on a whole new wardrobe for him. Or at least a few new outfits. Money has never been an issue for Hank, especially with two scholarships paying for his entire education, room and board included. Still, he doesn’t look forward to explaining this credit card bill to his parents. He texts his dad as a warning, and so that he doesn’t think the card has been stolen when he sees the surge in activity.
He also hopes he never has to cross the threshold of an Abercrombie & Fitch ever again.
“That place reminds me of Marvel,” Hank says, taking in a huge lungful of clean, cologne-free air once they’ve left the store.
“Yeah,” Raven replies gleefully, like it’s a good thing. “Most Abercrombies are like mini gay clubs. Pounding music, dim lighting, and the overwhelming man-musk smell. If everything was covered in glitter and confetti, the comparison would be perfect.”
The night before Homecoming comes the physical aspect of Hank’s makeover.
“Raven, I-I-I-I’m not so su-sure about this,” he says, tugging anxiously at the disposable table cloth secured around his neck as a barber cape.
“Hank, I’ve been cutting and dyeing my own hair since I was fourteen,” Raven barks. “And doesn’t my hair always look fabulous?”
“I try not to use that word very often,” Hank mutters, mostly to himself.
“Shut up, I look fabulous and you know it.”
Then she comes at him with the scissors. For someone who doesn’t put much thought into his looks, Hank can’t help bemoaning the loss of each lock of hair. He hasn’t had it cut this short since he was a boy, since before he was in charge of his own appearance. It doesn’t take very long. Twenty minutes later he’s looking at the aftermath in a mirror. The overall effect doesn’t make Hank appear younger, like a little boy, the way he’d imagined it might. Instead, he looks startlingly similar to one of the models crowding the posters of that Abercrombie store.
“You should’ve let me do this ages ago,” Raven clucks as he studies himself in the mirror. “You are fucking edible, Hank. Truly.”
“It’s not quite as bad as I envisioned.”
“Just say ‘yes, Raven, I look hot.’”
“Yes, Raven. I look hot.”
“One last thing,” Raven says, producing a small makeup bag.
She turns out the bag’s contents onto her bed. They consist of several blue containers of various shape, size, and purpose.
“You are going to look wild.”
If he’s being honest with himself, Hank must admit that he does feel rather wild as they walk into the North Salem University Sports Arena the following afternoon. So many heads swivel around to watch as he walks by that he loses count around fourteen. The shocked looks on their friends’ faces certainly help. Each has something different to say about his transformation.
There’s an “Oh my Gahhhd!” from Angel, a “Trippy.” from Sean, and a “What did you let her do to you!?” from Armando.
His hair, now shortened and spiked up, has been dyed cobalt blue. The effect is highlighted with matching nail polish and eyeliner. He wears a tight, short-hemmed bright yellow T-shirt, dark skinny jeans that hug his hips, and no glasses. The one item Raven didn’t make his change was his beat-up old Chucks.
“You guys like it?” Hank asks nervously. “It’s y’know, for Homecoming. School colors, blue and yellow.”
“You look UH-mazing, Hank!” Angel assures him. “I love it. I’m just jealous I didn’t think of it first.”
“I’m not, but that’s mostly because I don’t think I could pull off the blue hair,” Armando chuckles. “It works for you though, man. Definitely works.”
“Trippy,” Sean says again, lifting his sunglasses to get a better look. “It’s very… Oh shit, and your hair is blue, too.”
“You all right, Sean?” Raven asks, bemused.
“Is he ever?” Armando retorts playfully.
“Pre-Homecoming party last night,” he explains tiredly. “Very late night. Very lucrative night, but very, very late night.”
“Come on, baby,” Angel says, taking him by the arm. “Let’s go get seats and you can fall asleep on my shoulder.”
The Alliance crew is, by far, the most enthusiastic in their section, making an enormous racket every time No. 54, Alex ‘Havok’ Summers, steps onto the field. Whenever Hank raises his arms to cheer, the hem of his T-shirt rises about four inches, exposing his abdomen. It makes him a little uneasy, even more so when he notices that a number of spectators glance his way when his arms go up.
The North Salem Blue Mutts win, by a small margin. Enough to still call it a victory, at least. The gang waits for Alex to meet them in front of the stadium. His reaction to Hank’s new look when he does is a wide-eyed “Holy shit!” Hank isn’t sure whether this is a good or a bad thing, but he’ll take it. It does guarantee one thing: he’s gotten Alex’s attention.
There are festivities to attend that day. Barbeques and parties and all sorts of Homecoming shenanigans. Their group forms a cluster, going from one soiree to the next all together.
As they hop from party to party, Alex keeps watching Hank. Hank doesn’t notice the pattern until party number three, and by party number six it starts to make him discomfited. Especially because he’s already getting a lot of attention from partygoers, thanks to his new look. He’s trying to notice Alex’s stare when someone shouts at him over the music.
“Hey!”
Hank turns, years of antisocialism preparing him for the worst, and finds himself face-to-face with Jean-Paul Beaubier, notorious campus heartthrob. Like the Zac Efron of North Salem, if Zefron was definitively gay. He’s one of the few men Alex has never been able to charm the pants off of yet.
“Love the hair,” Jean-Paul tells him, with a bright, toothy smile.
“Uhh, thanks,” Hank replies. “It’s, um. It’s a new look.”
“That must be why I haven’t noticed you around before. I’m Jean-Paul, by the way.”
Yeah, I know who you are, Hank manages not to say.
“Hank,” he says instead, extending his hand.
“Would you care to dance, Hank?” Jean-Paul asks as he holds Hank’s hand a few seconds longer than necessary.
Following the briefest hesitation, Hank answers, “Yeah, sure.”
He isn’t nervous, or at least not as nervous as he thinks he should be. This is Jean-Paul ohfuckmealready Beaubier, after all. Even this close he’s flawlessly good-looking. And slightly too handsy, seeing as they only met two minutes ago. Plus his cologne is a bit too sharp. It makes Hank’s nose itch like it did in Abercrombie. It’s nothing like the flowery-spicy smell of -
No, Hank scolds himself. No, you are not thinking about Alex right now!
Though he does wonder mildly, as he gives Jean-Paul what he hopes is a sexy smile, whether Alex is still watching him now, and what he might think of what he’s seeing. Not that Hank is dancing with Jean-Paul for Alex’s benefit. It’s because he’s Jean-seriouslyfuckmealready-Paul. However, it does fill Hank with twisted sense of triumph, knowing this is should score way more cool points than eight phone numbers in one night.
After a while, Jean-Paul declares he’s thirsty, and they go in search of refreshments. Hank’s friends are all conveniently converged around the nearest punch bowl. They were clearly watching, and their reactions are mixed. Raven is beaming with pride (and also a little flustered by Jean-Paul’s handsomeness), Angel is smirking approvingly, Armando is snickering, and Sean is pretty baked so he’s more focused on the strobe light he’s staring directly into. Alex, on the other hand, is stone-faced.
“Hey, guys,” Hank greets them. “This is Jean-Paul.”
“Oh, we know,” says Angel. “Right, Alex?”
“Yeah,” Alex grunts. “Sup?”
“Not much,” Jean-Paul replies. “Just getting to know Hank here.”
“Didn’t look like you were doing much talking,” Raven grins over her cup.
Slipping an arm around Hank’s waist, Jean-Paul muses, “Who said anything about talking?”
“You know, Hank,” Alex says, looking the metamorphosed man over. “With that dye job, the makeup, the big feet? You’d make a decent clown. You could give Bozo a run for his money.”
Hank’s face crumples like a paper cup. He takes a few seconds to recompose himself, he’s so caught off-guard by Alex’s statement. The others appear appropriately uncomfortable, with the girls and Armando glaring and Jean-Paul giving an awkward cough.
Excusing himself, Hank scurries outside to stand alone for a few minutes. The Indian summer seems to have disappeared at sundown, and autumn is on with a vengeance. Hank shivers in his thin T-shirt, refusing to go back in. He’d rather contract hypothermia. It’d be less embarrassing right now.
And because Hank can’t even properly die alone of hypothermia, he hears someone come up behind him.
“Hank, come back here,” Alex says.
Fuck off, is what Hank would like to say, but instead he replies, “Go away, Alex.”
“Hank, it’s freezing out here,” Alex argues. “You’re gonna turn blue. I mean - aw, hell.”
Alex’s letterman jacket slips over Hank’s shoulders from behind. Hank lets him, for a number of confusing reasons, but mostly because he is very cold. It smells of leather and Alex and Hank allows himself a few seconds to bask in it.
“What I said before,” Alex says. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think - I wasn’t trying to be mean.”
“No, Alex,” Hank spits out, “you never try to be mean.”
“Whoa! What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Forget it. Just - go inside, Alex. All right?”
“No, it’s not all right. What’s going on with you? This -” he says, gesturing at Hank’s metamorphosis, “- this isn’t you, Hank.”
“That’s the whole point!” Hank cries. “This is - this is me losing the glasses. This is me shaking up my image, like you said. This is me trying -” He stops. Almost doesn’t say it. Then decides, as Raven would say, who gives a shit? “This is me trying to get you to notice.”
“You did this…for me?” Alex says slowly.
“W-well. Yeah,” says Hank. Then, more confidently, “Yes. You’re the one who, who said -”
“I know what I said. I meant…”
He pauses to give a heavy sigh. Hank wants to bolt again, to rush back to his dorm room and pack his things and abandon North Salem forever, to avoid what he knows is coming next, what he’s always known would come next. This whole goddamn experiment was stupid. He’s let Raven talk him into a lot of stupid stuff in the year plus that he’s known her, but this is, by far, the stupidest. He has blue hair, for God’s sake! Hank is on the verge of knocking Alex down and making a run for it when Alex finally speaks.
“I meant other guys might be more interested, Hank. Some of us already were.”
Hank blinks. It’s all he can do, because he’s not sure he’s breathing right now. And his ears certainly can’t be picking up sounds right, because what he thinks Alex just said, the implication, it simply cannot be right.
The only word Hank can manage to force out is, “Were?”
“And still are, bigfeets,” Alex clarifies with an easy smile. “Don’t go twisting my words around.”
“What - when?”
“Remember last spring, when you helped me study for my finals so I wouldn’t flunk out?”
Hank nods. Of course he does. It’s one of the few times before last weekend that he and Alex ever spent any extended period of time alone together. Huddled over sweaty textbooks in the un-air conditioned library, with Alex often stripped down to his white A-shirt. It was the most exquisite torture Hank had ever known.
“Pretty much since then,” Alex says, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “I woulda done something about it but then it was summer. I’ve been trying to find an excuse to get you alone since the semester started. I thought last week was my chance until I fucked it up.”
“You didn’t -” Hank stops short because, okay, Alex sort of did fuck it up. But not beyond recovery. “It wasn’t that bad.”
“You dyed your hair blue, Hank,” says Alex. “And you’re wearing guyliner and nail polish because of the stupid thing I said. I don’t even know why I said it, because I like how dorky you dress. I like your glasses. I just thought, I dunno, maybe if I could get you to loosen up a bit…”
“It was Raven’s idea,” Hank confesses. “The hair. All of it, really. She thought it would grab your attention.”
“She was right about that,” Alex replies, taking a step closer. “Although I think making me jealous with Jean-Paul was taking it a little far, don’t you?”
“I wasn’t -”
And then Alex is kissing him. It’s gentler than Hank expected, for someone with a reputation like Alex’s. Not that he’s thinking about Alex’s reputation right now. All he’s thinking about is the feel of warm lips on his own and the collar of the jacket pressing into his neck and the smell that’s a combination of spicy-floral cologne, clean laundry, and sweat. He’s shivering when Alex pulls away, and it’s from more than just the cold night air.
“Sorry,” Alex says. “I, uh… I couldn’t wait much longer to do that.”
“N-no problem,” Hank tells him.
“So how temporary is this stuff, anyway?” Alex asks, fingering Hank’s blue-tinted locks.
“You don’t like it, do you?” Hank frowns.
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Actually, it’s… kinda sexy.”
“Se-sexy? Me?”
“Am I lookin’ at anyone else right now?”
The answer is probably no, but it’s difficult to tell while Alex is kissing him again. Hank decides that, as long as he’s being kissed, he doesn’t quite care.
Author's Note, Part Deux: so, I didn't just randomly put the "Hoedown Throwdown" in this fic, and it's not entirely because of the gorgeous Lucas Till's Hannah Montana connection either. While trolling browsing YouTube for vids of this lovely young man, I discovered THIS. Hula!Havok wasn't born in First Class, it seems. Damn that boy has hips. Anyone who can make me a decent .GIF icon of Lucas doing the Hoedown dance gets a fill of their choosing. (Just no beast!Hank, plz.)