Fic! *dies of shock*
“Popularity Contest”
By Konstantine
Summary: ”Life is a test and I get bad marks."
Genre: Heroes, Peter/Claire fluff, minor angst (well, it is *me* after all! hehe.)
Rating: PG
Spoilers: None really, fairly AU, set post-season one.
Disclaimer: Characters are not mine, but please do not redistribute without permission. Lyrics from “Degausser” by Brand New.
Author’s Note: I haven’t written fic in a *long* time, which I’m sure is readily apparent from this but hey, something about these two sparked the muse’s interest so I just followed its lead and this is what appeared. Short and pretty pointless but still…Fic! *is still amazed* Might end up incorporating this into something larger that I also have in mind but figured I’d get this up in case the other parts don’t ever materialise…*evilly eyes the muse up*
Dedication: For Ness, as always (if she’ll have it)
***
“…when we were made we were set apart,
Life is a test and I get bad marks,
Now some saint got the job of writing down my sins,
The storm is coming, the storm is coming in…”
***
Peter had never been popular in high school.
Cheerleaders had been something entirely out of his realm of social interaction. Untouchable. Porcelain goddesses brushing against him on this way to Math. Giggling in the back of Chem class. Teasing him at pep rallies with their short skirts and hypnotic hips.
He had openly mocked them to his friends. Them and their athletic boyfriends who used to tease him in the locker room for being tall and gangly instead of built like a small bulldozer. Who used to hide his gym bag and get him into trouble with the coach by making him eternally late to class.
In theory, he had hated cheerleaders and everything they stood for. But he knew that wasn't true. He'd always secretly pined after them. After that way of life and everything it symbolised. The ideal they represented. A happiness and perfection he had never, and probably would never, experience. A whole other way of life, neatly encased in a two piece uniform with matching pom-poms.
Peter had never been popular in high school.
Yet here he was. The cheerleader of all his adolescent fantasies epitomised in the fragile form asleep a mere arm's reach from him. The flimsy bed sheet allowing his eyes to feast on inch upon inch of smooth, tantalising skin, leaving very little to his already well-exercised imagination.
"Peter," a sleepy voice sounded from behind the perfectly proportioned back that had so entranced his attentions. "Stop staring at me and get some sleep."
"Sorry," he mumbled, instantly turning over so that he was now back to back with her and could no longer be tempted by things that he really, really shouldn't be tempted by.
Unbeknownst to him, the cheerleader allowed herself a small smile, secure in the knowledge he couldn't see her, before attempting to get to sleep herself.
Peter had never been popular in high school.
But this definitely wasn't high school.
[End]
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