Fic: The Trouble with Affection - Part Two 1/2

[forty_licks]

Title: The Trouble with Affection - Part two
Author: forty_licks
Rating: Nc-17, bring on the smut

Pairing: St. John/Pietro, (St.J/B, It’ll get there in the end I promise! Just not in this bit!)

Length: 7019

Summary:  St John needs to sober up, Pietro is Pietro and Remy gets picked on.
Warnings: Angst, refrences to comic verse. Butchering of time lines, and the bumping of uglies. Oh and horrendously foul langauge.
Spoilers: X1, X2 and X3, plus some comic verse.

Disclaimers: Yes I own them, I’m working on getting Pietro in the olympics so I can make a load of cash. St John is a lazy fucker and eats all the food in the house. Bobby’s in the shower singing the backstreet boys, I think he’s been spending a little too much time with Scooter.

Authours notes: I’m looking for a beta, so apologies if the grammar in this chap wants to make you commit suicide. But if your willing to proof read and bat about ideas, gimme a buzz!

Part two - St John POV -

“What the fuck was that little display in aid of, eh?”  I ask as we turn out of the mansion grounds. I put my feet up on the dashboard, and rest my head on my elbows... I mean knees.

“What display?” Pietro asks innocently as he speeds down country lanes to the motorway the big wide Yankee motorway.

“Don’t y’you fucking play the innocent card with me!” I yell, say, putting my legs back down and turning towards him. “You may be a…a lot older, but I’m not as thick as you take me for! No sir, St John has a brain up here” I can’t believe he jumped me like that, In front of Bobby! “And he ain’t afraid to use it lovey, love, love! I ain’t thick!”

“Sometimes I think you are, St. John.”  Pietro says not only slowly, but also quietly.

“What is up with you Speedy? You assault my best friend, stick your tongue half way down my throat then fucking ignore me and try and play the bloody innocent And I know, innocent you ain’t, love. This morning proved that” He’s still not answering me, just staring at the road in grim determination. So I lean over and grab his crotch for empathy, no not empathy, emphasis!

“What the bloody fuck are you doing St. John!” he yelps like a girl “Stop pawing me, how fucking wasted are you? You can barely string a sentence together!” His features locked up tighter than a nun’s chastity belt. I don’t like it, nope, not one bit… means I’m in the doghouse, but what have I done!

“What have I done?” I ask, leaning closer to my lover. He doesn’t say anything just wrinkles his nose. So I repeat!

“Oi, hello? What have I done?” This time Pietro pushes me out of his face and I sprawl in my seat, I grab my Zippo and pull out a flame, he just looks at me funny, almost… what’s the word? Wearily?

“Fucking say something!” I scream at him, the flame in my hand flaring and singing the roof of the car. He doesn’t reply, just gives me another look and puts his foot down on the accelerator, speeding off towards the city. We drive in silence, and y’know the drive home; it’s a long drive. So it was a long, long silence. Why the hell he’s pissed of at me I have no idea. I’m the one who should be tearing down the place. He acted like a fucking child, and he’s twenty odd years my senior! I look out the window and finally see the lights of the city flashing by, fast like Jube’s little fireworks…god I miss them… god I don’t feel so good…

“Babe…” I moan “I think I’m gonna puke…”

He turns a sharp corner, and heads down in to our buildings car park (when did we get here?) Bringing the car to a sharp halt.

“WATCH IT!” I yell. Clinging to the sides of the car for dear life, sure I’m being melodramatic, but I don’t give a flying toss.  He doesn’t say anything, pushes me door open, and I fall out the car and literally spill my guts up on the floor.

“God Sin, how much did you and Drake drink?” disgust very evident in his voice, whether its directed at my puke, at Bobby or at me, I have no idea. Pietro walks round the car talking to himself, no doubt cursing me. I catch odd words here and there as he crouches at my side, rubbing my back in small circles. Arsehole, twat, brewery, Drake, and otter-pop appear frequently in his tirade. Whispers echoing round the empty car park.

“Otter-pop?” I ask, when I catch my breath trying not to heave. Doesn’t work.

“Doesn’t matter, just something JP used to say.” He explains whist I decorate the floor… must be careful of his shoes.

“Baby,” I say, ergh, my throat feels like I’ve been drinking razor blades.  “Don’t mention that fucktard when I’m arou-“ Sadly that sentence was cut short by yet more heaves. Suddenly the small circles are gone, I miss the circles. Something is placed at my mouth and I’m leaning against something rock hard; eyes screwed shut… why is it so bright in here?

“Small sips.” I’m told, as I’m fed, what is quite possibly the nectar of the Gods “you got it all out St John?” I nod in response and the small circles are back, but on my neck. The water is taken away from me, I can feel it and what ever I puked drip down my face.

“Speedy, “ I start “I think I’m drunk…I’m drunk and you’re mad at me… I’m drunk and I saw Bobby, I’m drunk and you groped me in front of him, I’m drunk and Bobby only just found out I’m gay, I’m drunk and he now knows, he knows I’m with you, he wasn’t supposed too…. And I’m drunk” something soft is patting at the sides of my mouth, cleaning me “Why are you mad at me? What did I do?”

“You really don’t know?” I shake my head… very bad idea. “I’m not having this conversation with you like this…” I can’t see his expression “come on, I have an idea. Are you going to open your eyes?” I don’t reply, but hear a sigh. Ha! I’m a poet and I damn well know it! Oh wait being dragged up.

Now one of the little known perks of dating a speedster; zero percent body fat! Strong as hell is my man! He’s got an arm round my waist, and somehow I have an arm over his shoulders.

I pry open my eye, adjusting to the artificial glare, as he drags me to the lift punches in our code then presses the glowing button. Tapping his foot as he impatiently waits for the lift. Pietro never takes the lift, too slow, he just runs up the stairs. Eventually the lift chimes and we stagger in, my stomach sloshing as we ride up to our flat. I stumble again as the metal box halts and the doors open. He catches me, and frog marches, proper French styley me to our room rummaging at high speeds through his pockets for the keys. Makes me dizzy when he does that… He perches me briefly against the wall as he opens the door, before regaining his hold on me and walking me into the flat. Straight past our nice, comfy, warm bedroom and pushing me into what I thought was going to be the kitchen. But considering I was shoved into the dark and onto something soft, but strangely hard and lumpy. I gathered I wasn’t in the kitchen, this was confirmed when I heard a very feminine voice scream…

“JESUS CHRIST!”  Oh crap.

““Qu’est-ce que…!” Feck. I’m in Wanda and Remy’s room.

Pietro flips on the light switch to reveal, a very naked Wanda, and a Cajun who dived under the covers complaining about the light.

“St John?” Wanda asks wrinkling her nose and pulling some of the duvet over her small breasts. She looks from Pietro and me, with a confused look, her black hair is all over the place, and she rubs her eyes.

“That’s me!” I say shifting about of the bed, ensuring more grumbling in French.

“He’s completely pissed out his skull, just puked his guts in the car park.” Look at him, Pulling a disgusted face, like he’s never puked before… hang on, he probably hasn’t…

“Good one Saint, better not ‘av got me car! “ lo and behold, the duvet speaks! “But Pietro, as much as I lov’ y’ and ze Saint. Why are y’ ‘ere? What ‘as dis got to do with Remy an’ Wanda, eh, why y’ ‘av to wake us up? I’ll never get back to sleep now!”

”I want to have it out with him, but I bloody well can’t while he can barely stand up straight!”

“What happened?” Wanda’s asks, as I flop back on the bed. “Ow that’s my leg!” she kicks me off the bed and onto the floor.

“It’s that incident all over again.” Pietro sighs. Looking distraught. “I’m not losing someone else to Bobby fucking Drake!”

“Sacrebleu, what time is it? Three AM; it’s to early for dis shit.” I peek over the bed to briefly see Remy’s equally messed up hair, poke out the duvet before diving back under.

“Shut it, Ginger Pubes…” Pietro barks, hitting a spot he knows will fuck Gambit off.

“Its AUBURN! Remy not fuckin’ Ginger!”  Remy pokes his, undeniably russet, head out again, squinting in the light. Rem’s does NOT like being woken up.

“It’s amazing what a bottle of hair dye can do.” Pietro bitches, I love their catfights, he loves Remy really.

“It’s amazin’ what a bottle o’ bleach can do!” saucer of milk table two!

“BOYS! Can you put you testosterone aside for thirty seconds, Pietro please explain why St. John is on my bed reeking to high heaven! Remy stop pouting. No, you’re not ginger; you are auburn. Go back to bed.” Pietro takes a breath and Remy dives again.

“He’s ashamed of me Wanda, it’s happening all over again.” His speech speeding up to beyond its normal just way too fast, to something barley comprehendible.

“What’s happening again?”

“Take one second to think about who he’s” he points at me “been with tonight.” Hand on hip. Queen.

“Oh… that.” And the proverbial penny drops! Well for Wanda at least. I got lost ages ago.

“Yes that.” the (natural) blonde says.

“Darling, John’s not like Him, not at all…”

“It’s already started, he’s ashamed of me…”

“What do you mean I’m ashamed of you?” I exclaim cutting Wanda off before she had a chance to speak and catching up with the convo.

“Look”… Pietro sighs and runs a hand through his hair, such a bloody drama queen! “Darling, can you sober him up? Then we can go to our room and I can yell at him in peace?” He asks his sister.

“Sober him up?” Wanda repeats, “How the fuck am I supposed to do that! Give him a coffee, put him to bed, sort it out in the morning, ‘bout time you told him anyway.”

“Told me what?”

“Hey, look, I’ll send Remy off to ‘work’ and I’ll even get out of your hair for a few hours. Just let me get back to bed, its three am babe!”

I sit on the floor watching the twins battle it back and forth. Its creepy when they do the whole talking with their eyes shit. I wonder if they are secretly telepaths…. God I hope no, then Wanda will know it was me who stole her black jeans that time.

“Wanda, please?” I can see her resolve waver, they never can say no to each other.

“I don’t know how!” She whines.

“Just give it a shot? Just think what’s the probability of him suddenly sobering up!” He pleads. I personally am quite happy drunk here on the floor, it’s quite comfy and the room is spinning at a leisurely pace.

“You trust me, a hex bolt and your boyfriend, in the same situation?” She looks shocked, and slightly scared for Pietro’s sanity.

“No Wanda, I trust you.”  He’s got her there. Hang on she’s going to use a hex bolt on me, I’ll end up a Koala, or a sperm whale or a girl! They don’t call her Scarlet Witch for nothing! I watch as Wanda sighs and runs a hand through her hair.

“I’ll do it on the condition that if he doesn’t end up as a bowl of petunias, you take him down that all-nighter café and have it out, cause it’s a public place and he’s too vain to have a hissy fit in public and cause I really want to sleep and I don’t need you yelling and screaming at each other then undoubtedly you’ll end up having make up sex, and Christ Pietro, he is loud…” Hey I resent that!

“I second dat!“ The duvet replies, traitor.

“And don’t get mad if he does get turned into a bowl of petunias. Cause you asked for it.”

“Fine! Fine, no I won’t get mad. Now, please?”

“Not a fucking chance darl!” I say crawling out the room as fast as I can. Forgetting that Pietro’s in the way. I suddenly feel a cold blast run thought my system, from the tips of my toes to the hairs on my head, and for one glorious moment I see everything in stark quality, Wanda, still pretty much naked of the bed, Pietro with a look of grief I’ve never seen on his ever-youthful face, the cream carpet with its hundreds of fibres, the moth fluttering by the light in the hall, then everything came crashing down. I was startlingly sober, with no hangover, but a god-awful taste in my mouth.

“St. John.” Wanda asks timidly “You ok?”

“Oh my god…” I groan standing up slowly. I hate being sober.

“Johnny?” she asks again, with a little more panic in her voice.

“I’m fine love, need to brush my teeth though. Ergh whiskey mouth, though I must ask NEVER do that again!” I stand up and shake my self off, looking up two inches to meet Pietro’s eyes.

“Run down to the café, get us some coffee. I’ll be there in a bit, go plan your speech for how this is all my fault.” I don’t look back at him or Wanda just storm off to our en suit and a toothbrush. I can faintly hear the twins talking then the tell tale slam of the front door.

After my mouth feels like my mouth again, I grab a quick shower and change of clothes before I slowly, just to piss him off a little more, meander down to Joe’s twenty-four hour café. I drag my feet along the path, and spark up another fag. If I live past thirty-five it’ll be a bloody miracle.

Tonight’s been fucking weird. From me actually telling Bobby something significant, to Pietro’s little display followed by silence and of course to Wanda sobering me up, god I love that woman, but WTF mate. Seriously messed up, the twins have defiantly got issues.

Plus… If I’m being honest, I will admit, I am slightly worried. I haven’t seen Pietro this upset or blatantly over react this much since I told him ‘bout leaving Xavier’s and joining up cause I loved Bobby Drake. God that was a shite night.

I round the corner and look up at the garish neon sign above the door, looking through the window I see Pietro is in our corner, head resting on his palm and slouched over, he hasn’t seen me, he’s just circling his spoon in his hot chocolate. I know the steaming cup opposite is my usual mocha with cream two sugars and a pink marshmallow. You can’t stay solidly with some one for over four years and not pick up some things.

I don’t get him, I spent the night drinking with Bobby, I know he has something against him, but so what! It’s just like I’ve been doing for the past couple a weeks. What was so different about tonight, its not likes its our bleedin’ anniversary or summat. He’s such a shit. More arrogant than his father, and trust me that takes some doing. He’s rich, gorgeous; his Dad is Bloody Magneto, ‘Stique dotes on him like hell, his twin sister is one of the most powerful mutants alive and will bend over backwards for him, note tonight. He’s got me, and whilst I’m not attractive in a Bobby “Mr America”, or Remy “GQ” kinda way. Still better looking that you average Joe. Plus I can control fire.  So what the hell has he got to be miserable about? Why the hell is he miserable with me, yeah I got pissed; I will admit I’m a lightweight, but half bottle of whisky, straight. Come on; cut me some slack here! It’s not like puked on his clothes, I didn’t cause I scene, I didn’t run back to the x-twats, hell I didn’t even flirt with any one.

Mind you it was only Bobby, and yeah I may have been hopelessly in love with the guy before he chose the untouchable whore for a wife, decided to be devoutly heterosexual then proceeded to rip out my heart and stomp on it, by having her there all the fucking time, then leaving me in the cold to be picked up by a maniac and to fester in my rejection and unrequited love. Not to mention the time I tried to kill him just to make the pain STOP. Phew, that tirade could have given Pietro a run for his money.

But my point is Bobby is a no go, and it was thanks to Pietro that I realised that.

It was Pietro, not Bobby, who wouldn’t let me go. Who chased me and broke down my shields, laying me bear and bathing old wounds, thawing my frostbite. I owe him so much; I just wish he’d lose the attitude. Mind you at least I can blame Northstar for that. Fucker.

He catches me staring at him; his Ice blue eyes meeting mine. I suppose I should go in and see what he has to say….

I walk in, door chiming and Fat Joe waving with his fat three-fingered hand at me in a silent greeting, I weave through the tables to our corner and sit opposite Pietro picking up my spoon and mimicking his actions…

“Took your time.” He says looking up at me and taking a small sip of his drink.

“I had a quick shower.” I reply.

“I gathered.” He pointedly looks at my still wet hair then sits back and puts the spoon down.

“What’s your problem today?” I ask, sick of his little mind games “Wanda’s time of the month? Didn’t think that was for a we-“

“Why hadn’t you told Bobby we were together, you said you would but you obviously hadn’t?” he asks. Finally getting to the fucking point.

“Is that what it’s all about! We’ve been through this, and how did you know I hadn’t?” Bloody hell, talk about flogging a dead horse.

“’Cause you may be an twat, but you tend to be a polite twat. You would have introduced me, instead of trying to send him in the opposite direction, as far away from me as possible. And no, we haven’t been though this. I’ve mentioned it and you’ve made excuses. From ‘Too much too soon’, or ‘he doesn’t even know I’m gay!’ well sorry love, but he does now. How the hell could he miss it in the first place? I’m pissed cause you’ve started fucking off once a week to meet the boy who you were at one point desperately in love with, or have you forgotten the times when you would spend hours crying in my arms, or the times you used to call me Bobby?” the name flies out of his mouth with the venom he always has against him. Any one would think they had crossed paths before.

“FUCK YOU!” I yell, drawing attention from the other drunkards and users occupying the café this early in the morning. Damn Wanda for being right. I lower my voice “That was years ago Pietro, years. I stayed in London for years, for YOU, hell it’s your bloody fault I am the way I am, hell its your fault I dress like this, speak like this, put up with Wanda’s random reality warp-“ I think both feet just flew into my mouth,

“I’m going to let you get away with that comment solely ‘cause I know you well enough to know you don’t mean it. But I swear St John, insult Wanda again and you’ll regret it.”

“That was out of order, you know I love her. I’m just pissed off Pietro, I’ve changed so much since being with you and for the better.”

“Well your American Australian hybrid was rather irritating, Aussie English I can cope with. Plus I finally got you out of the rags you called clothes.”

“Shut up Pietro.” He raises an eyebrow at me; Only Wanda gets away with shit like that.

“Christ,” I breathe out “Look babe, I love you. Yeah I didn’t tell Bobby, but he was my best friend for years, is it wrong to want to try and regain some of that? I’m with YOU, Pietro…” I whisper harshly leaning forward.

“St. John, have you fried what little sense you have already? Have you tried seeing things from my point of view?” he asks, leaning towards me, steepling his hands.

“I don’t get what you mean.” I confess.

“Lets put it this way. How would you like it if I started being all chummy with one of my exes again?”

“Bobby’s not my ex, and yeah like THAT’S gonna happen. Not like Northstar is going to show up is it? I may not know what the fucker did to you, but I know he pulled a hell of a number on you.”

“Just like Bobby pulled one on you…” He has a slight point there, but…

“Yeah but Bobby didn’t mean too. He’s really naïve…” I come quickly to his defence. Pietro doesn’t know actually know Bobby, he doesn’t understand.

“Tell me about it…” he mumbles. I feel like screaming.

“I don’t get it. Ever since we met, when ever Bobby gets mentioned you turn into a total prick.” Seriously, it’s fucking annoying.

“I do not!” I hate it when he gets all indignant. I can see where this is going.

“What do you want out of this conversation? ‘Cause we’re not getting anywhere and I want to go home.” I ask

“I want you to think about something from my point of view…” I snort at that, Pietro’s view on the world is drastically different from any one else, and that’s not just because everything is so slow to him. “No I’m serious, Think about it…What if I started meeting up with an ex, one I was in love with, for hypothetical purposes lets say Jean-Paul… ” He pushes, trying to get me to see something that I swear just isn’t there. I just don’t see how Northstar showing up has anything to do with Bobby.

“But it doesn’t make sense Pietro! Northstar is a cock, full stop.”

“And Bobby Drake’s a whore!” The silence is deafening…He at least has the grace to look sheepish. We both sit still for a bit, gathering our thoughts

“You don’t know the guy, why do you hate him so much! For fucks sake you hit him, like a bloody coward! It doesn’t make sense, it’s not like Bobby is actually my ex!”

“Yes it does make sense St John! And it was a slight slap, not like a punched him or anything!”

“That’s not the point! What have you got against me spending time with him? What have you got against him! I know you hate him” He looks up at me sharply “Look if you two would just meet properly, then maybe…”

“Not a fucking chance St John…” He growls.

“Why not? What is your problem? Pietro, we are just going round in circles… Just flat out tell me, what I’ve done wrong.” It’s hard to resist the urge to slam my fist on the table, but luckily I do.

“I’ve told you; you didn’t tell him about me.” Why does he sound so damn sad!

“There is more to it that that. Come on…” I soften my voice.

“Try thinking about it this way… What if I had ran into Jean-Paul up the road or something, and didn’t tell you.”

“Look I said I was sorry about that!” he ignores me completely and just carries on talking.

“What if I started going drinking with the man I once loved with all my heart? Spilling my life story out to him, but denying one crucial fact. The fact that I’ve had a lover, you, for four years… What if during one of these conversations and meetings where you doesn’t exist, I realise that, ‘oh fuck, I still love this guy’ and then I’ll slowly grow more and more distant from you, till one day I’ll come up to you and say. “Oh St John, even though there is no chance JP and I will get back together, I’m still leaving you cause I’d rather chase this idea.” He’s defiantly upset, I can barley make out the last few sentences they were said so fast.

“Oh Pietro…” I sigh. For some one so arrogant he sure is insecure, I swear if I ever get my hands on Northstar… “That’s not going to happen….”

“It is Sin, I know it will, it happ-“ He cuts him self off. “Look Wanda was right, this was a retarded idea, I’m going home, we can talk about this tomorrow.” He grabs his jacket and I reach out and catch his arm, before he can take off.

“Sit, is that what happened with Northstar?”

“John, we’ve also had this discussion. I’m not talking about it. It doesn’t matter anymore… ok?”

“No, cause that obviously has a lot to do with this!” He just looks away “Pietro, come on. You owe me this…” Whoa déjà vu. “This is what Wanda was on about earlier, isn’t it?”

“I’m surprised you remember that, considering how drunk you were.” He snarls standing up and rooting for change in his pocket.

“Don’t change the Subject! Tell me, Please!” He looks down at me, with barely concealed panic.

“John, I’m not going to, so don’t make me, please? It was years ago.”

“Pietro, you’ve kept this between you and Wanda for too long. Sit and spill. I’m tired of guessing, and it will help me understand this situation a whole lot better.”

It’s fucking ironic that I’m a romance novelist, writer’s lives are meant to be dull as hell, which is why they create other worlds. My life, better than Eastenders!

To Part two