OtC 6.3: Do over!
Author's Note: For daughterof_evil, who requested Jealous Asshole!Miles. Set during the teenage years, just before they started dating.
Miles was happy that he wasn't one for facial ticks. It wasn't inherent in his family, at least as far as he knew. He figured if it was, people like his father, his mother, and his grandfather would all have something like that. In spades. So he thought he was fine.
If he wasn't, his eyes would be twitching something terrible something right now, and someone would be calling an ambulance under the impression he was having some kind seizure.
Did she have to do this?
Yes. Yes she did. Sasha was just like that. Something about the big poster boys for steroids just drove her downright nutty. It was the only reason she liked football, she'd admitted that to him more than once. He'd rolled his eyes, made comments about it, but it hadn't really bothered her. She was going to do what she wanted to do. Nothing would ever really change that.
And Miles loved that about her. Except for now. When she was flirting with fucking jocks. The ones with the IQs in the negatives. The ones who more than half of whom were probably in the closet. Deep in the closet. The ones who would die of drug overdoses or syphillis or AIDS or alcoholism or something because they were just so goddamn dumb.
He hated them. He had no problem showing it. He never would. If he did, he wouldn't make it a point to fight with them on numerous occasions. Bastards.
There was nothing he wanted more than to crack open the head of Kyle Roberts, the current jackass she was wasting her time on. And his, since he was stuck waiting for her. They were supposed to hang out after school. The bell had rang fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes. And here he was, stuck watching her set up her next date. What. The fuck.
Maybe if he just went over there and hit him, they could leave and-- No, no, she'd get pissed over that. And maybe even spend more time with these goddamn jocks than with him. Why was he second fiddle to these fuckers? He was better. He knew he was better. If only because he could get through a science class without raising his hand to 'double check' whether or not the element oxygen was the same thing as air.
Dear God, what was she doing?
When Sasha finally deigned to acknowledge his presence from across the football field on which the pair stood, he gave her his finely tuned 'time to go' glare. She laughed at him. Miles seethed. Sasha turned back to Kyle, and finished up the conversation. She smiled, kissed his cheek, and handed him a note before she turned and strolled his way. Undoubtedly her number. And he seethed just that much more.
"You look pissed." She walked past him, ignoring his glare and fixing the backpack slung over her shoulder.
"You're fucking kidding me, right? Him?"
"He's hot. What's so hard to understand?"
Miles scoffed, following after her, his grip tightening on the strap of his own backpack. "The fact that he can't hold up the other end of a conversation. The fact that he's got this empty glaze look in his eyes all the fucking time. The fact that he's probably ga--"
"You don't know that."
The coolness, the casualness, the downright audacity of her answer when he was so clearly pissed, prompted the next outburst. Something Miles would regret the second he fell out of his mouth, but wouldn't be able to take back. Something very, very, dangerous.
"Do you have any idea what you looked like out there?!"
They both froze. Miles' eyes widened at himself, and he stayed perfectly still, as if a single movement would result in Sasha turning around and chopping his head off. In a sense, he wasn't too far off the mark.
"What did you just say to me?" Sasha's tone while she kept her back ramrod straight and facing him, had turned indescribably calm.
"... Fuck." There went the rest of his day. Funny how Kyle Roberts was so suddenly no longer important here.
A rewind button would be so nice right about now.
Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 700
Miles was happy that he wasn't one for facial ticks. It wasn't inherent in his family, at least as far as he knew. He figured if it was, people like his father, his mother, and his grandfather would all have something like that. In spades. So he thought he was fine.
If he wasn't, his eyes would be twitching something terrible something right now, and someone would be calling an ambulance under the impression he was having some kind seizure.
Did she have to do this?
Yes. Yes she did. Sasha was just like that. Something about the big poster boys for steroids just drove her downright nutty. It was the only reason she liked football, she'd admitted that to him more than once. He'd rolled his eyes, made comments about it, but it hadn't really bothered her. She was going to do what she wanted to do. Nothing would ever really change that.
And Miles loved that about her. Except for now. When she was flirting with fucking jocks. The ones with the IQs in the negatives. The ones who more than half of whom were probably in the closet. Deep in the closet. The ones who would die of drug overdoses or syphillis or AIDS or alcoholism or something because they were just so goddamn dumb.
He hated them. He had no problem showing it. He never would. If he did, he wouldn't make it a point to fight with them on numerous occasions. Bastards.
There was nothing he wanted more than to crack open the head of Kyle Roberts, the current jackass she was wasting her time on. And his, since he was stuck waiting for her. They were supposed to hang out after school. The bell had rang fifteen minutes ago. Fifteen minutes. And here he was, stuck watching her set up her next date. What. The fuck.
Maybe if he just went over there and hit him, they could leave and-- No, no, she'd get pissed over that. And maybe even spend more time with these goddamn jocks than with him. Why was he second fiddle to these fuckers? He was better. He knew he was better. If only because he could get through a science class without raising his hand to 'double check' whether or not the element oxygen was the same thing as air.
Dear God, what was she doing?
When Sasha finally deigned to acknowledge his presence from across the football field on which the pair stood, he gave her his finely tuned 'time to go' glare. She laughed at him. Miles seethed. Sasha turned back to Kyle, and finished up the conversation. She smiled, kissed his cheek, and handed him a note before she turned and strolled his way. Undoubtedly her number. And he seethed just that much more.
"You look pissed." She walked past him, ignoring his glare and fixing the backpack slung over her shoulder.
"You're fucking kidding me, right? Him?"
"He's hot. What's so hard to understand?"
Miles scoffed, following after her, his grip tightening on the strap of his own backpack. "The fact that he can't hold up the other end of a conversation. The fact that he's got this empty glaze look in his eyes all the fucking time. The fact that he's probably ga--"
"You don't know that."
The coolness, the casualness, the downright audacity of her answer when he was so clearly pissed, prompted the next outburst. Something Miles would regret the second he fell out of his mouth, but wouldn't be able to take back. Something very, very, dangerous.
"Do you have any idea what you looked like out there?!"
They both froze. Miles' eyes widened at himself, and he stayed perfectly still, as if a single movement would result in Sasha turning around and chopping his head off. In a sense, he wasn't too far off the mark.
"What did you just say to me?" Sasha's tone while she kept her back ramrod straight and facing him, had turned indescribably calm.
"... Fuck." There went the rest of his day. Funny how Kyle Roberts was so suddenly no longer important here.
A rewind button would be so nice right about now.
Muse: Miles Lawson
Fandom: Original Character
Word Count: 700