yuletide FIC: True Ivy (Sky High, Will/Warren/Layla, PG-13)
I have never written in this fandom before, and I was a little nervous because it ended up being so short, but the recipient loved it, so I am pleased. Here is my 2013 yuletide contribution, True Ivy.
TITLE: True Ivy
RATING: PG-13
FANDOM: Sky High
PAIRING: Will Stronghold/Warren Peace/Layla Williams
SUMMARY: There is a pile of clothing between the bed and the hamper, and the two of them may still have rubble in their hair, though Layla does her best to clean them up after they’re done saving the world.
AUTHOR’S NOTES: Written for Gray Shadows (the afterlight) for the 2013 yuletide. Set post-film, and assuming all participants are of legal age.
Layla wakes with vines entangled around her. When she first discovered her power, it was like this; she woke one morning, six years old, to find her bed covered in dandelions. Layla twirls her finger, and the vines curl around it-friendly vines, comforting vines. They loosen around her body and it’s like being hugged.
Beside her, Will snores quietly, and then, for a moment, not so quietly, and Warren buries his head further in his pillow in reaction to the noise. There is a pile of clothing between the bed and the hamper, and the two of them may still have rubble in their hair, though Layla does her best to clean them up after they’re done saving the world.
***
The boys fight crime, just as they were meant to. There’s no Sky University, so Layla enrolls at a local community college and studies botany. The knowledge is astounding-there’s so much more she can do with each new text she devours, with each new lecture. Now that she knows the inner workings of plants, her powers only grow.
The boys fight crime. Layla makes poultices of aloe and slippery elm, strips the grumbling boys down and applies the poultices to burns and cuts and bruises.
“They invented Band-Aids for a reason, you know,” Will says.
“Also, we’re fine,” Warren adds, glowering.
Layla ignores them, and urges more juice from the aloe leaves.
***
Layla decides to let the vines grow. The creepers spread out over the wall behind the bed, hug the bed posts, the headboard.
“I didn’t sign up for sleeping in a greenhouse,” Warren says.
“You should have read the fine print,” Will jokes, and strokes the rubbery leaves between his thumb and forefinger.
“There’s no fine print for this,” Warren says, throaty, low, and takes Will around the middle and lifts him onto the bed. Layla watches for a moment-clothes being peeled away like a flower’s petals opening-and then hops on the bed, too.
***
The name “Virginia Creeper,” Layla reads, refers to one of the plant’s native locations. It is also used for the whole genus Parthenocissus, and for other species within the genus. The name Parthenocissus comes from the Greek; it literally means “virgin ivy,” and may derive from the common English name of the this species. It is not closely related to the true ivy, Hedera. True ivy has two leaf types, the palmately lobed juvenile leaves on creeping and climbing stems and unlobed cordate adult leaves on fertile, flowering stems exposed to full sun. The latter are usually found high in the crowns of trees or the tops of rock faces. Juvenile and adult shoots also differ, the former being slender, flexible, and scrambling or climbing with small aerial roots to affix the shoot to the substrate (rock or tree bark), the latter being thicker, self-supporting and without roots.
***
They go to one of those make-your-own-painting classes for their “anniversary”-they all have different dates in mind, but Layla counts the first time all of them ended up in the same bed without immediately fleeing the next morning-at Layla’s suggestion. Will comes to please Layla, even though he’s not much with a paintbrush; Warren is more artistic, but what really got him there was the wine.
They paint a still-life, lilies and apples. Then, somewhere in the night, a shriek is heard; sirens go off. Will and Warren sprint into action, Will knocking over his glass of water for cleaning his brush and his glass of wine; Warren smoothly finishing his wine, giving Layla a kiss on the cheek, and leaving her alone to paint lilies and apples.
“You should come with us,” they’ve stopped saying. “You’d be great.”
There’s something about being left behind for murder and mayhem that is unsettling, but she isn’t lonely, exactly. Layla finishes her lilies, and her wine.
***
The vines, true ivy, spread out across the ceiling. The bedroom takes on the sweet, green smell of things growing. Warren lays on his stomach on the bed, naked to the waist, a little blue pilot light of flame burning up his spine. Layla had wanted to try candles, but Warren’s power had had other ideas.
“We’re going to set the bedroom on fire,” she says.
“Again,” Will says, eyeing the scorch marks on the vanity.
“Occupational hazard,” Warren says lazily. His arms are crossed, and his head rests in the nest they make. He is as relaxed as a milk-drunk kitten. “Like breaking mattresses with super strength. What are we on, number four?”
Will blushes, because he is still the kind of boy who blushes. Layla adores him for it.
“Or floating mid-coitus,” Layla says, “though I rather enjoyed that.”
Will is still looking at Warren’s back like he’s thinking of breaking out one of the fire extinguishers-of which there are sixteen-around the house. The last time he doused Warren, though, Will ended up with scorched eyebrows-they are not so grown up that they don’t still bicker.
“Touch it,” Warren tells Layla. “It’s cool.”
Layla sits at the end of the bed, and runs her fingers lightly over the tops of the flames. It doesn’t burn. She mimics the movement of a piano player over Warren’s spine, and the flames dance around her fingers. It doesn’t hurt. It feels just right.
***
The ivy has taken the legs of the headboard, holding the bed in place when they make love. No more rhythmic thumping of wooden feet on the floor, super strength or no; the bed may as well be cemented in place.
Hands, hands all around her. Pale, freckled hands and dark, sure hands, lift her up. Layla’s copper-colored hair dangles around her; she feels the cool night breeze coming in through the window and bathing her body. She prickles, every sense awake, like a night hunter. Blooming datura-an essential ingredient in love potions. The hands lay Layla down and she feels herself begin to open like a flower, her entire body blooming, unfurling. There are two hearts beating for her and she loves them both equally.
They sleep, entangled around each other like the vines Layla twists around her finger.