More Than Human, ch9, part 3
More Than Human, ch9
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
Title: More Than Human
Chapter 9: Monday Broke My Heart, or Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R/M, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Notes: Thanks to mathkid and juxtaposie who are the best. Around. Nothing's ever gonna keep 'em down.
More Than Human, Pt. 2 - Senior Fall Semester
September - Monday Broke My Heart, or Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night
-sbj-
“You know, Buttercup,” Butch announced as she passed the tupperware of snickerdoodles his way, “whoever happens to nail you down and marry you is going to be a lucky fucking guy. Or girl.”
“Shut up,” she groaned, smacking him with the lid as he bit into his cookie.
“They'd eat well, that's for sure,” Harry added, as an old Dario Argento movie played in the background.
“Your kids would be lucky, too,” Floyd jumped in, and Buttercup picked up a nearby pillow and threw it into his face.
“The hell I'm having kids!”
“He didn't mean now,” Butch teased. “I can see you popping out, like, seven of the fuckers, though.”
“You're going to miss having teeth, bastard,” she snarled, pulling back her fist.
“But you'd need people to cook for!” Butch cried.
“What about cooking for myself?”
“What a sad life that would be.” Lloyd tsked, shaking his head.
“You guys are stupid.” She stuffed a snickerdoodle into her mouth and recapped the tupperware.
“These are awesome, Buttercup,” Mitch said.
“Thank you, Mitch.” After a pause, she added, “See? No wonder Mitch was the only guy I dated.”
A sudden, awkward silence fell over the room. Buttercup, seeming to have regretted her attempt at comedy, started to devour her snickerdoodle. Butch stared at her from the corner of his eye. Her customary smirk and hard expression had given way to uncertainty and she was clearly upset with herself.
The laugh he forced sounded natural enough, and everyone turned to look at him.
“Don't lie, you dyke,” he said, still forcing a snicker. “Sorry to break it to you, Mitch, but you were just a beard.”
The room was still silent for a moment, then the rest of the guys broke into laughter, too, and Buttercup snapped to and punched him in the face.
“Fuck you, Butch!” she cried, but she was smiling, relieved.
Butch maneuvered her fist away from him and announced to the rest of the room, “She just couldn't fake it any longer! She had to be true to herself and accept her love of chicks!”
“You guys are going to find it real fucking funny when my girlfriend's hotter than all of yours put together,” she said, waving a hand around the room.
“Wait, you wanna put them together? Like, as in an orgy?” Butch asked, and got a faceful of pillow.
Ignoring him, Buttercup went on, “Seriously, if all of us had girlfriends, I'd bet you a million fucking dollars that mine would be the hottest.”
“You're probably right,” Harry admitted.
“I think it'd mostly be due to us seeing you date a lady,” Mitch said. “Try and picture Buttercup with a hot chick, guys. Really.”
The room paused, and several pupils dilated.
“Wow,” the twins said, a little breathlessly.
Blushing, Buttercup flew to her feet and made for the kitchen. “Ha ha, fuckers. Who wants a soda?”
“Shh shh shh,” Butch hissed, staring vacantly into the distance. “I'm picturing you with Blossom right now-”
“Cut it out, perv!” Buttercup shouted, and shot a soda can at him that exploded in his face.
***
Blossom's hands were numb as she fumbled through her contacts list, then hit Bubbles' entry.
Her sister picked up on the second ring. “Blossom! Hey! I was getting worried about you-”
“Hi, Bubbles, yes, sorry,” Blossom said, spending her entire arsenal of one-word responses in one fell swoop. “I... I meant to call earlier.”
“What happened?”
“Just... lost track of the time.” She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, where Brick was inspecting the side mirrors of his car.
“Oh, okay.” Bubbles sounded chipper, unconcerned. “Well, we just-I mean, I just sat down to dinner. The Professor's putting in some overtime so he can have tomorrow free for us,”
Tomorrow, Blossom thought. They were making a family day of it tomorrow, so she shouldn't stay out late...
She pulled her phone away to glance at the time in the corner of the little screen. It wasn't even eight yet. As long as she left for home at a reasonable hour...
“So did you want me to set something aside for you?” Bubbles was asking, and Blossom brought the phone back to the side of her head. “Buttercup's out watching movies with the guys. It's just me tonight. Totally just me. By myself. All by my lonesome.”
Something about her tone was off, and Blossom furrowed her brow. “What about Boomer?”
“We saw each other earlier today,” Bubbles said, a little too quickly and casually, but before Blossom could press the issue she heard Brick cough and scuff his shoe along the gravel, and all thoughts of further inquiry dissolved out of her mind.
“Oh.” What were they talking about? What had Blossom called about? “I... just wanted to say, Bubbles, you shouldn't wait up for me.”
“How's that?”
“Well, I... I already ate, kind of, and now I'm thinking of going to...” Blossom's gaze darted to and fro. “I'm thinking, since I'm out, I'm going to do some shopping-”
Almost instantly she realized it was the wrong thing to say. Bubbles was practically bouncing on the other end. “Ooh! Shopping! Shopping where? Oh, maybe I'll come out and join you; I have this top I forgot to exchange-”
“Shopping for books!” Blossom blurted in a panic. “The bookstore! I'm going to the bookstore to shop for books!”
Bubbles stopped bouncing. “Oh.” The exuberance had disappeared from her voice.
Blossom could feel Brick's eyes on her, and she could not stop herself from blushing. “So... don't wait up for me.”
“Okay,” Bubbles mumbled, petulant. “Well, I'll see you later, Blossom.”
“Yeah, sure.” Now her heartbeat was quickening, the numbing tingle on her skin growing. I'm really doing this, she thought, and felt almost separate from her body. I can't believe I'm really doing this.
She and Bubbles exchanged their goodbyes and hung up. This was it.
She tried to keep the fear out of her face as she turned to Brick, who was grinning. “The bookstore, huh?”
“I... it was the only way to discourage her from coming,” Blossom said. Her eyes were drawn to his hand-he was leaning against the passenger side door of his car, and his mitt was already on the handle.
“Ready?”
What am I doing?
She nodded.
Brick tugged at the handle of the door and opened it wide, then waited as she-clutching her purse for support-drew close on shaky legs. When she was settled in the seat he closed it on her, gently (“Watch your skirt,” he warned), and then floated around the front to the driver's seat.
Blossom stared at the dash in a daze, remembering how excited Cindy had been when Brick had offered her a ride. Now here was Blossom, in the very seat Cindy had gaped at her from. In Brick's car. With Brick.
She swallowed as he turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, its vibrating thrum shivering through her seat. He glanced at her and held his gaze, and she stared dutifully straight ahead until his silent watching became too much to bear.
“What is it?”
His eyes flicked to the side panel. “Your seat belt. I mean, not that I would crash, and not that a measly car crash would seriously injure you or me, but all the same.”
She colored and snatched at the seat belt, bringing it around, over, and then fumbled with the act of clicking it into place. She was nervous; the thing wouldn't connect, and she laughed apologetically, almost humiliated by her ineptitude, her complete and total lack of poise-
Brick's hand alighted on the plastic handle of the belt and guided it, locking it in place. She went still at their brief skin contact.
“Don't be so nervous,” he said.
Easy for you to say, she thought. “I just... I've never done anything like this before.” Nor did she know anybody who had ever done this before. She and her sisters were too young to go out dancing in nightclubs or anything like that; if she'd had to put her money on someone she'd have put it on Buttercup, but clubbing wasn't really Buttercup's scene. Buttercup had gone to nightclubs, yes, but only to see bands she liked with the guys, and never out dancing...
Brick put the car into reverse and twisted to see out the back, setting his hand on the headrest of Blossom's seat. The nearness of his hand to her cheek sent another thrill surging through her, and she eyed the line of his torso as it twisted, almost gracefully, a slight curve against the cushion.
“Don't worry about it.” He laughed as he settled back, and that wondrous line disappeared. “You've got me with you.”
***
“What was your sister calling about?” Boomer asked as Bubbles served him a bowl of pasta salad.
“Blossom's going to the bookstore.”
“Oh. Thanks,” he said, accepting the bowl she handed him. He waited for her to serve herself, then took a bite as soon as she was settled.
The room was silent for awhile, save for the clinks of their forks against the bowls and the crunching of food. Boomer's eyes were on her all the while, reflecting with a dazed sort of disbelief on the image of her moving through the kitchen, apron tied around her waist. She had looked so... so wifely, almost, or motherly, and when the thought had first entered his brain he'd blushed, because the only way for that thought to go was to put him in place as her husband.
He cleared his throat and shook his head, diving into his salad with renewed vigor. Bubbles looked at him.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and added, Honey, in his mind.
“What do you think of the food?”
He swallowed. “Delicious.”
“I can tell,” she said, suppressing a little laugh. “You're really digging into it.”
“Mmph,” he mumbled around a mouthful of penne and fantasizing about the two of them at a dinner table in their own house, Boomer with his workday suit still on and Bubbles with that adorable little apron and that adorable little dress sitting down to dinner as cookies baked and they called their kids to-
He dropped his fork with a clatter and covered his face with one hand, and Bubbles' hand flew to his arm.
“What's wrong?!”
“Nothing,” he said hastily. Nothing, honey, sweetie, baby, angel, darlinOKAY BOOMER STOP. “Just... need a moment to clear my head.”
“Are you sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine. Fine. Just... my brain's being stupid.” He smirked at her from behind his hand. “You know... just being myself.”
She settled back, a frown on her face. “I don't think you're stupid.”
He moved his hand away from his eyes and rested his chin on it. “Thank you for thinking that.”
She stared at him a moment longer, pouting, then went back to her food. Boomer did likewise.
“You know,” she said, after awhile, then shook her head, laughing a little. “This is going to sound so weird.”
Boomer looked at her as he chewed, intrigued by her shy blush. “Hmm?”
She pushed her food around her bowl. “Just... sitting down, eating dinner together all by ourselves in the house...” She laughed again, and glanced up at him. “It feels like we're married or something, you know?”
His throat constricted as he looked at Bubbles. Honey. Sweetie. Darling.
“Oh my God, I'm so weird!” She laughed and covered her face with her hands. “Don't listen to me. Forget I said it.”
Boomer reached to pull one of her hands away from her face, and she blinked as he brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then he just held it, right there on the table, and smiled at her as he resumed eating. After a second she did the same.
It carried on for about a minute. And then:
“Okay, Boomer, I'm sorry to break this sweet and wonderful mood, but I'm not a lefty and I can't even hold my fork right. Can I have my hand back?”
***
They drove to Citysville to avoid the high probability of anybody in Townsville recognizing their resident Superhero Team Leader attempting to go clubbing. After asking, Blossom told Brick yes, he could drive with the top down, and no, she wasn't worried about her hair because she went flying around all day at much higher speeds than this and she managed, all the same.
The wind whipping her hair back in a red-orange blur behind her was a sight, and Brick found himself stealing glances at her almost every moment he got. The collar of her shirt flapped against her neck, smooth and almost glowing in the dim dusk light. Her modest skirt fell in waves, curving up just along her knees, and her legs seemed to disappear into the shadowed well of the bucket seat. Her legs were the worst, actually. Brick had to struggle to keep his eyes above the dash and was always overcome with the involuntary urge to wet his lips when his gaze slid over her lower half.
He'd looked up a place on his phone while Blossom had been on with Bubbles. Someplace busy, but not so popular that they might risk being recognized...
He pulled over about a block away and took a deep breath. Blossom was looking around the dark street they were on as he punched the button to raise the top.
“This isn't it, is it?” she asked, dubious. There were nothing but closed shops on this street.
“No, it's around the block. Just parking. And I wanted to... I dunno, prep you.”
Her eyes widened, the faintest glimmer of fear flickering up before she said coolly, “What kind of prepping, exactly?”
He looked at her, backlit by the yellow glow of a street lamp, and indicated her purse. “You won't wanna take that in.”
“What? Why?”
“Too awkward to hold onto while you're dancing, and with so many people around you wouldn't want to leave it just lying somewhere. Pull out what you need and stuff it all in your pockets.”
“I'm afraid I don't have any.”
“You can use mine, then.”
She opened her purse and looked inside blankly. “What could I possibly need in there?”
“Probably nothing,” he admitted. Too young to drink, and whatever ID she had would indicate she was underage...
She handed him her cell phone; he pocketed it. “Won't they check ID?”
He smirked. “That's the trick.” He glanced at her bow. “They'll let anyone in if they look old enough.” Or hot enough.
She stuffed her purse into the glove box and paused after shutting it. “What am I doing?” she whispered.
Brick considered answering for her, but he wasn't sure what would sound right. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what she was doing either; he hadn't even really considered much of where tonight was going, and how they'd wound up here was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. He hadn't planned any of this. It was just... happening.
Blossom squared her jaw and threw open the passenger door, a little aggressively. Brick watched her as he rose out of his own seat-she stamped her feet, patted her skirt, adjusted her top. Despite the wind in her hair for most of the ride over, it still looked only slightly messy, and was really kind of incredibly sexy.
Again he stared at her bow. She caught his gaze and reached a hand up to touch it.
“What? What's wrong?”
Brick floated over to her side-the sidewalk side of the street-and reached a hand for her hair. She pulled back, instantly suspicious.
“What?” she said, a little less friendly this time.
“The bow... kinda ages you down.”
She grasped it, petulant. “What are you-so what do you suggest?”
He stepped closer, trying not to think, because if he thought at all, if he had been thinking at any point this entire evening, then they wouldn't have wound up here, together, about to walk around the corner and into a nightclub.
“May I?” he said, not realizing how gravelly his voice had gotten, and she stilled, lowering her hand. He took that as as good an affirmation as any.
With almost painstaking care, he undid the bow on her head, studied the feather-light fabric in his hands for a second, then, after considering her for a moment, reached to wrap it around her neck.
She inhaled sharply when he passed one end of it over her shoulder, and he bumped her with his other hand as he reached to pull that end back around to the front.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding very far away.
“That's okay,” she said, and his hand twitched as that breathless voice echoed in his brain. He hastily wound the rest of the ribbon gently around to form a loose choker and tied it.
“Okay, that's better,” he said, without looking at her, and turned, face on fire as he began walking. “Let's go.” He heard her scurry to catch up to him.
Around the corner was a different world, buzzing with people and lights. He met the collective gaze of a group of laughing guys as he rounded the corner, and realized with horror as their eyes shifted behind him that in an unfamiliar city like this it would be stupid to stand separate from one another...
He whipped around and crooked an arm around a stunned Blossom, resting his hand on her waist, and shot a warning glare at the group as he walked them both past.
Blossom had made a tiny Eep noise as soon as he'd touched her, or something that had sounded like Eep, but at least she hadn't batted him away or wrenched out of his grasp.
“Brick,” she gasped, recovering her voice. “Wh-what-”
“Sorry.” The heat of her body against his side was almost unbearable. “It's just... there's a lot of weird people around.”
She turned her eyes on him, disbelieving as she matched her steps to his. “That's very chivalrous of you.”
Brick didn't say anything, only took his cap off to swipe at his hair before readjusting it, bypassed the very short line of people waiting to get into the club, and walked straight up to the bouncer, their cover fees already in hand.
Brick was a little taller than average, but height was of little consequence, really; it was the way a person walked, how they carried themselves, that made a real impression. His very presence could be commanding by nature-at least when he allowed it to be-and he drew himself up, darkened his gaze as he measured the bouncer's stoic expression.
Eyes met, money exchanged hands, and at the sight of Blossom the bouncer broke into an approving grin and waved them inside.
Blossom twisted to look back. “He didn't ask for our IDs or anything.”
“Beautiful people don't get asked,” Brick replied, feeling cocky.
She had to raise her voice; the music was growing louder as they approached the floor. “But all those people were waiting-”
“Beautiful people don't get in line, either.”
“Well.” She huffed. “That's not very fair.”
Brick laughed; it was a dark, open room, thrumming from the music, and still early. They had tons of space, or at least enough to get started, and he suddenly felt so in the mood for this. The atmosphere was great, perfect, just what he needed after what had been an emotionally draining past few weeks, and pressed to his side was the fucking icing on the cake.
“Not that this should come as any news to you,” he said with a smirk, “but life isn't very fair.”
The icing vaguely acknowledged his arrogance with a mild glare, but she was distracted by the gyrating people surrounding them on the dance floor.
“That's dancing?” she said, in a voice that indicated she didn't think much of it.
Brick cast the room a perfunctory glance as they came to a stop. “Marginally.” His hand was still on her waist, his smirk still lighting his expression, and he was feeling fucking fantastic.
He spun Blossom around into his arms and she withheld a yelp. Those bewildered doe eyes of hers gazed up at him.
Proper closed position. “Why don't we show them what real dancing looks like?”
***
“I can't believe this fucker fell asleep.” Buttercup laughed from where she was lying on the living room floor, indicating Harry with her foot. The twins and Mitch were sitting in Butch's room by the open window, sharing a joint and chatting.
Butch had one of his own in hand, and he made a show of sucking in a deep breath and exhaling. Army of Darkness played on the TV with the volume turned down.
She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “You sure smoke a lot of that shit.”
He shrugged. “Gotta smoke five times as much as a normal person to get high.”
“How'd you get into it, anyway?”
“Stole it from a guy at work.”
“Why?”
“Bored.”
“You bored now?”
He glanced at her. In truth, he was trying to make it look like he was getting high in an effort to... maybe get her to open up a bit. He didn't know how long the guys were going to be in his room, and he couldn't think of another opportunity to get Buttercup alone.
Or partially alone, he thought, eyes flicking to the dozing form of Harry not ten feet away.
“Not really,” he said.
She settled back down on the floor, curling her arm and resting her cheek on it as she looked at Butch. Something about it made her look very feminine, and Butch held his breath a little longer before exhaling. He stared at her awhile, then realized she had just asked him something.
“What? Sorry, I missed that.”
She smirked. “I thought you said you had to smoke five times as much to get high.”
“Yeah... guess this is pretty strong stuff.”
“Anyway, I asked how old you were when you started smoking.”
He thought for a second. “Fifteen, I think. That sounds about right. It was like two years ago.”
“They let you do that? At work?”
“Not on the job.”
“But where you guys live?”
“They don't care as long as we do our job.”
She picked at a loose thread in the carpet. “You good at what you do?”
“I guess.”
“Hey, thanks for earlier.”
“Huh?”
She was still picking at that thread. “I was trying to be funny. I was trying... you know, to show I was over the whole breakup thing. Like, hey, I'm over it, I can joke about it.” A sardonic smile twisted onto her face. “I don't know. It was stupid.”
“It was a pretty dumb joke, I'll give you that.”
“Fuck you.” She laughed, crawling over to shove at him. He let her.
She sat back on her heels then, watching Butch as he took another drag. He let his eyes get heavy, dim, but watched her in his peripheral vision all the while.
She shifted and laid down next to him, her head near his, near enough to kiss. He only had to turn his head and close those short two inches that separated them.
“Seriously.” Her face filled his vision as Harry snored in the background and the movie played on. “Thanks.”
He allowed himself a slow blink and took care to exhale away from her before turning his head to hers.
“You're welcome.”
***
Bubbles checked the contents of the oven one last time. “Looking good.”
“I've never helped make a pie before,” Boomer said, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“You kinda still haven't,” Bubbles said with a laugh. Boomer was sort of useless in the kitchen, though she figured it was more out of inexperience than something resembling Blossom's genuine lack of talent for cooking.
“Hey! I, you know-rolled stuff. With the rolly thing. And I helped with dishes!”
“Yes, packing them into the dishwasher was a big ordeal.” She rolled her eyes theatrically and took the dish towel back from him to hang on the rack. “But seriously, thank you, Boomer.” She floated up to give him a kiss on the forehead. “You were a wonderful kitchen assistant.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?”
She giggled and tugged him out of the kitchen. “So... what do you wanna do now?” With a vague gesture at the living room, she suggested, “Um, maybe a movie? Or we could go for an evening walk...”
Boomer's eyes had trailed upward, and she followed his gaze to the open door of the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She looked back to see him now determinedly focused on the television, a guilty look on his face.
“You wanna see it?”
He looked at her in surprise.
“Only looking, obviously.” She feigned exasperation. “Silly boy.”
“Um... okay.”
At the top of the stairs she made him wait while she ducked in to make sure there wasn't anything crazy like bras or underwear strewn across the room-not that there usually was, but it didn't hurt to check. After ensuring the place was safe, she beckoned him in.
“Don't tell my sisters you've been up here, though. I don't think they'd take that very well.”
“Yeah, well...” He trailed off as he looked around, taking in the beds set up against three walls of the room. “You guys share a bedroom? Still?”
She shrugged. “Never stopped. I dunno. I mean, we used to gripe and moan about it, but... well, we tried sleeping in separate rooms once and that didn't work out. I guess we just like each other's company.”
Boomer nodded, still looking around. He grinned and then pointed. “I can guess which bed is yours.”
She looked at the tower of stuffed animals he was indicating next to her bed and laughed. “How ever did you guess?”
“I'm psychic.” He drifted over, his eyes glancing out the windows, studying an empty easel by her bed, passing over the vanity she and Blossom shared. He stopped upon reaching her djembe, standing in the corner, and beamed.
“This is the drum you told me about?” he asked.
She hesitated before answering, “Yeah.”
He pulled over the stool at the vanity and dragged the drum out, setting it between his knees. She tensed a little.
He passed his hands over the skin of it, a sad sort of smile on his face. Then, before she had a chance to feel sorry about asking him to give up something he had loved so much, he looked up at her and asked, “Play me something?”
Her eyes widened. “Huh?”
He stood up and waved for her to sit at the stool. “Here. I wanna hear you play.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, recalling how disappointed he'd looked not five seconds ago.
“Really.” He nodded as he reached a hand for her and pulled her close. “Play something for me.”
She sat down, a little hesitant, and angled the drum between her legs, adjusting her skirt as she did so. Boomer settled down on the floor, his back against her bed.
“Can you sing while you play, too?”
“Getting demanding, aren't you?”
“Well, I can't make any music for myself,” he said, and she clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks going slightly pink with shame. “No, stop, don't look like that. I'm not angry. I just... want to hear you play.” He laughed a little. “You know... since I can't make music for myself, you'll have to cover for the both of us.”
She gazed at him a long moment, then readjusted the djembe, tapped experimentally on it, and then, without taking her eyes off of his, began to sing.
***
There wasn't a clock visible from the dance floor of the club Blossom and Brick had gone to. In all honesty, though, the time was the furthest thing from Blossom's mind.
She and Brick had never danced together like this before, meaning out of their own volition and without the deadline of a performance. The only time she'd felt anything remotely similar was when she had subbed for Cindy. That seemed ages ago. That had been such an enlightening, enjoyable experience. Why had it taken so long to come to this, then?
Her heart skipped when he spun her, twirled her, guided her around him in a smooth, effortless arc. It felt so nice to have a partner who just knew how to do it right, perfectly... And they were both right, both perfectly in step and in sync and in tune and so connected; it was unreal that they could just sense where the other's feet were and what they were about to do...
A couple of hours passed without either of them realizing it, until the people closed in on them as the night crowds came surging in. They were forced to draw closer to each other, though neither seemed to mind much.
Brick was a steady presence, his arms always around her-or, failing that, very close by-and several times when some strange guy would try to muscle between them, leering at Blossom, Brick would round her away and draw her even closer, glaring death threats at the offender. It would send a delighted little shiver down Blossom's spine. Not that Blossom couldn't defend herself, but it felt wonderful to know that Brick, of all people, was looking out for her.
The night went on and she lost herself in his arms, dancing with him, and at one point she realized how very close they actually were, how there was no room to really dance or move their feet. They were just pressed to each other, her face nestled in the hollow of his neck and her hands skittering along the thin fabric of his undershirt. Both of them were sweating like mad; it was unbearably warm in here but she felt no desire to pull away.
There was something almost intoxicating about the lights, the music, the whole room, and certainly Brick. She could count the little speckles of sweat on his neck, all the way down to a beautiful little spot on his chest, skin stretched taut over the sternum. Blossom thought hazily back to when she was a kid, how sweat had tasted a little sour and sweet, and wondered-
“Hey.”
She looked up, feeling Brick's hand pushing her hair back from her face and tilting her head up to look him in the eye. “Yes?” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally husky and raw, and her hands drifted along his back, feeling the muscles tighten under her touch.
“Let's go get some air,” he blurted, and she blinked.
“Okay.”
His hand closed on hers, and he began to carve his way through the crowd, Blossom close behind. It did feel hot in here all of a sudden, stuffy, humid with people's sweat and drinks, and when they made it outside even the polluted city smell felt refreshing in their lungs.
Brick paused for the briefest moment outside to suck in a breath, and then they were moving down the street, back towards where he'd parked the car. Blossom felt a sticky mess-she really was soaked, she badly needed a shower, and her hair was an absolute disaster-but despite it, she could not believe how much she had enjoyed herself.
I never would've expected it, she thought dizzily as she loped after Brick, her hand still clenching his. Never. I can't believe how fun that was. Even the obscene, skeezy people around them hadn't been enough to deter her mood. And in the hazy, yellowed street lamps, flickering in the dark, she knew with strangely ethereal clarity why that was.
She laughed in semi-disbelief, and he, him, Brick, he turned and stopped to look at her.
“What?” he asked, and his voice held onto that rough quality it'd taken on in the club. His eyes too were dark and heavy-lidded; he looked far away and yet that gaze still cut into her, stirred some painful longing in her chest. She let go of his hand and clasped at her front, feeling her damp shirt and how it stuck uncomfortably to her body, and that seemed very funny, so she laughed again. She realized with a start that she was still panting for breath, and stepped back a little, her chest heaving.
“I can't,” she started, and had to smile, take a breath again to collect herself. She shook her head and closed her eyes, said, “I can't,” again.
I can't believe I had such a nice time today, she was thinking, trying to say, but she couldn't get enough air. The lights from the club still flickered behind her eyelids, intoxicating, dizzying, like Brick and the scent of the sweat on his neck.
“I,” she tried again, and opened her eyes. She froze, the lights behind her eyes disappearing.
Brick's hand touched her chin, skimmed along her jaw to the back of her neck, and he pulled her flush up against him and kissed her.
***
“My girl's got rhythm,” Boomer said affectionately into Bubbles' hair. They were sitting next to each other on her bed, cross-legged with their backs against the wall.
Her arm wound around his and she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.
“And the voice of an angel,” he went on. She nudged him.
“Stop. That's so cheesy.”
He responded by kissing her temple, and she closed her eyes and smiled. He looked around, spotted something on her pillow, and picked it up.
“Who's this?” he asked, and she looked up to see Octi in his hands.
She laughed, taking her precious childhood toy from him. “My bestest friend ever, and the first love of my life.”
“Really?” Boomer squinted at Octi. “He doesn't get jealous, does he?”
“Give him a second.” She held the purple octopus up so his sleepy eyes could look into Boomer's. She set him on top of Boomer's head. “Octi approves.”
Boomer exhaled. “Thanks for your blessing, Mr. Octi.” He reached up and shook a tentacle, eliciting more laughter from Bubbles.
“It's just Octi,” she corrected. “No need for formalities.”
Boomer took him down and placed him back on Bubbles' pillow. “What now?”
She shook her head, turning her face so her breath puffed out against his neck. “Nothing. Just this.”
He stroked her hair away from her face, again and again. “Okay.”
Her arm drifted across his chest, up around his neck. She kissed him there, feeling his pulse quicken and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His leg shifted uneasily; her dress had ridden up and her bare knee was resting on his thigh. He inhaled, about to say something, then seemed to change his mind and just sighed.
She couldn't help but tease him. “You're so cute when you get all scared.”
“What the-I do not get scared!” he cried, indignant. She held him fast so he couldn't pull away.
“Shh.” She lifted her head, kissed his chin.
He was still pouting. “M'not scared.”
“Of course you're not,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his downturned mouth. He made a little Hmph noise and turned his face away from her.
Not one to be deterred, Bubbles bounced up on her knees and began to plant kiss after tender kiss against his unresponsive lips, a giggle threatening to spill out of her throat.
“You're such a five-year-old,” she teased; already his frown was disappearing and his arms wove around her waist, holding her close.
“I'm pretty sure five-year-olds don't kiss like this,” he murmured, and kissed her back, soft and slow. That was what Bubbles liked most about Boomer's kisses-how gentle they were, how hesitant. He did come off as a scared little boy, more than he or anyone else could know.
They kissed with their eyes closed, and without realizing it Bubbles crawled into his lap as his kissing began to get braver, deeper-
A siren-like buzz blared, and she pulled away from him with a great deal of reluctance.
Boomer looked frightened. “Is that the Boyfriend Killing Machine?” he squeaked, despite his clear effort to not squeak.
“No.” Bubbles floated up and patted down her dress. “It's the hotline.”
***
For all that Buttercup had vocally expressed how much shit she was going to give Harry for falling asleep, she had no trouble dozing off herself.
Butch had stopped the DVD player; Harry was still conked out and Mitch and the twins had dashed out to the convenience store, overcome with the munchies and having eaten their way through all the treats Buttercup had brought over, as well as a box of Brick's cereal.
Buttercup had fallen asleep on the carpet, sprawled on her right side. Butch polished off a can of soda as he sat next to her, studying her sleeping face. He set the empty can on the coffee table and recalled that one photo of Buttercup sleeping in Mitch's bed, looking very much like she did here, with the exception of the long hair. Despite the length, her hair still curled in circular, wavy patterns against the carpet, like black ink on a blank canvas.
He settled himself down flat on his stomach and played with a strand of it, picking it up and letting it fall into a different pattern each time. He traced the path it painted-her hair was smooth, and it smelled like... like something. Maybe just like her.
He took the end of the strand and dusted it along her chin; she twitched and groaned as her hand swiped at her face, but she didn't wake up. She settled back into sleep, her angry brow relaxing and her lips parting.
Butch's eyes trailed down, tracing the outline of her body. Funny how girly Buttercup looked when she was asleep. Her breasts smushed a bit against the carpet, and the line of her hip struck him as exceptionally curvy. The shadows-shadows that tucked themselves in the crease of her fly and spread along her lower leg and in between her thighs in an almost-sensual manner-only heightened her sleeping girlishness.
Butch rested his chin in his hand, staring at her and wondering with a little irritation how often Mitch had borne witness to this exact image. Mitch had said that they'd never done anything worth mentioning, which sounded stupid to Butch. He didn't understand how any guy could stand to keep his hands off her when Buttercup looked like this.
Except him. But Butch was different. He didn't know how, but he was different.
I get her, he thought, a little fiercely. We're going through the same shit, we understand where we're coming from. He'd never been able to talk about fighting with anyone else but her. Never mind that they hadn't talked about fighting or mortality or being better than everyone else in ages, nor had they even sparred, not once since the outburst at the beginning of the year...
I'm different. I get it.
Buttercup inhaled deeply in her sleep and curled into herself a bit, her lips parting that much more. Butch glimpsed the faint white of her teeth, just beyond her bottom lip.
She was never able to talk with Mitch about any of this shit, he thought, reaching a hand to stroke the swell of her lower lip. Buttercup's brow furrowed, but she didn't wake up, nor did she pull away from his touch.
Dimly, Butch applied a little pressure. She sighed in her sleep.
“Wake up, Buttercup,” he said, so quietly that only someone with superhearing would ever hear it. She shifted and made a little moaning sound that sent his mind reeling.
He sat up and scooted away from her, unsure of what the hell was going on with his brain. His mouth felt thick and sour from the soda and the part of his hand that had touched her tingled. He forced himself to pull his eyes away from her.
I'm stoned, he thought, even though he'd barely smoked one joint. It's the drugs. I'm just...
Something went off, like an alarm, and Harry snorted as he shot up.
“I'm up, fuck, I'm up!” he shouted blearily.
Buttercup, too, had jerked awake, and she blinked before yanking her phone out of her pocket. She brought it to her face, her hair matted to her cheek and the imprint of the carpet embedded in her skin.
Butch resisted the urge to reach over and brush her hair away from her face as she slurred, “Hotline. Powerpuff hotline. It's Buttercup. What's up?”
***
It was a relatively chaste kiss, merely lips against lips, and it was with a great deal of reluctance that Brick pulled away from Blossom, unsure of what came next. His chest heaved with the arduous task of breathing-something was clearly wrong with him; he was breathing so hard-and the blood in his head was screaming, pounding as his heart jackhammered in his chest. He didn't untangle his hands from her hair, and then she looked up at him, and Christ, it was almost unbearable.
He felt her hands drift up, alight on his midsection, then, when he didn't pull away, they swept up his chest, along the side of his face and under his sweat-drenched cap into his sweat-drenched hair, and he gasped for one desperate gulp of air before she opened her mouth against his-
Her cell trilled a loud, earsplitting screech, and she yelped and they wrenched out of each other's grasp. They stared at each other for a brief, horrified moment, then she turned away and searched frantically on her person for her phone. Unable to find it, she paused, confused. Then she turned and stared at Brick's pants.
He jerked to and fumbled in his pockets for it-she'd given it to him in the car, of course, how had he forgotten? The distress signal was still beeping, loud and stubborn, and fuck, when had these pants grown so many pockets?
He finally located it and yanked it out, almost dropping it twice before practically throwing it at her. Again she turned away, and flipped it open.
“H-hello?” she said meekly, then cleared her throat and said, in a much more confident tone, “Blossom speaking.”
Brick ran an uneasy hand over his head, then realized his cap was gone. He looked around, spotted it laying on the sidewalk, and picked it up.
“Bubbles, hi... jewelry store? I-yes, I'll get on it. I'll be right there. See you. Yeah. Yeah, bye.” She shut her phone and turned, a little uncomfortably, to Brick. “I... I have to go.”
The shrill cry of the distress signal echoed in his head. “Right. Of course.”
“Can I grab my purse?”
Blossom followed Brick as he dashed to his car, opened the passenger side door, and dug her purse out of the glovebox. He handed it over and she looked at him, blushing as she shouldered it.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes.
“I...” she started, her face a bright, scalding red. “I'm... busy tomorrow.”
Something wrenched in Brick's gut. He bit his lip.
“But I'll see you Monday?”
He inhaled to steel his nerves before meeting her eyes. The hope in her face was almost crushing, but he forced himself to look her in the eye anyway and twitched his lips in some semblance of a smile.
“Yeah. Monday.”
She lifted off the ground, hovering. Now it was her turn to glance away. “I, uh... I had a really nice time today, Brick.”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to swallow down the lump that had risen in his throat.
She lifted her eyes to his again and still hovered there, unsure. Maybe waiting. But for what?
The memory of her lips pressed to his fluttered across his mind.
“You should-you have to go,” he urged, gesturing and blinking too much. “Your sisters are probably wondering about you.”
She nodded, a little too vigorously. “Yeah, okay.” And then, a smile, a smile that twisted a little knife into his chest. “Bye, Brick.”
“Bye,” he whispered, then shook his head and tried to say it again in a stronger voice, but she'd already taken off. His gaze followed the pink streak as it sailed back to Townsville, already fading in the dark night sky. Even after it was gone he stared upward, moving to lean his back against the driver's side door of his car.
He buried his face in his hands, feeling wretched.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and that didn't come out in as strong a voice as he would've wanted, either.
***
The next morning the Professor eyed Blossom with trepidation. He leaned over to Buttercup and Bubbles at the breakfast table. “What is wrong with your sister?”
They all watched as Blossom pranced about the kitchen, packing the picnic basket with food for their hike. She skipped to and fro, a distracted smile on her face.
“Nothing's wrong with me, Professor,” she sang. “It's a bright and pretty day, is all.”
The rest of her family exchanged looks. Blossom was not one for flightiness in the morning, especially on days where the family was going out. She was generally all business, harping on the rest of them about deadlines and missing daylight and why on Earth wasn't this stuff packed already, honestly, how could they expect to go anywhere if they were never prepared for anything?
“Um...” Bubbles started, then steeled herself with a smile and said, “That dress looks really nice on you, Blossom.” She had borrowed one of Bubbles'.
Blossom giggled and twirled for her family's benefit, ending with a little curtsy. “Doesn't it?”
Buttercup, after a horrified moment's contemplation, reached for Blossom's glass of milk and sniffed it.
Blossom glanced outside. “Oh, let me go put my hat in the car. I might forget it.”
“You never forget your hat,” the Professor pointed out warily. “If it gets over eighty degrees you never leave without one for fear of sunburn and skin cancer.”
Buttercup looked up. “Are we immune to that, by the way? The cancer, I mean.”
“Oh, Professor, you're exaggerating. Be right back!” Blossom floated out of the kitchen, humming all the while.
“Okay, you know it's like... Bubbles transplanted part of her brain into Blossom's body,” Buttercup said, gesturing with her spoon.
“I did not!”
“Of course you didn't, sweetheart,” the Professor soothed, placing a hand on Bubbles' shoulder. “Did Blossom do anything special yesterday?'
“Yes, let's run through Blossom's exciting day to see if we can unravel this little mystery,” Buttercup drawled. “First she goes to the museum. For school. For extra credit. Because she's Blossom, she spends, like, five hours there.”
“She ate something at some point,” Bubbles said. “She didn't come home for dinner.”
“I saw two bowls in the dishwasher,” the Professor said abruptly.
“I got hungry twice,” Bubbles said with a shrug.
“So, what, five hours between the museum and a place that serves food. Maybe six total. Then what?”
“Then the bookstore,” Bubbles said.
“Was she still there when the hotline buzzed?” Buttercup asked.
“I think so. I mean, I guess. I didn't ask.”
“Wasn't it, like, three hours after she told you she was going to the bookstore?”
“Your sister could spend an entire day there, easily,” the Professor pointed out.
“What bookstore is open past eleven?” Buttercup asked before polishing off her milk. At that moment Blossom flew back into the kitchen, flowers in hand.
“Look! These were blooming in the yard!” She had tucked one in her hair, and now did the same to Bubbles and their father. “One for you, one for you...” She reached Buttercup, who was glowering at her, daring her to touch her hair. Blossom studied her for a moment, then plunked her last flower into Buttercup's empty milk glass.
“And one for you,” she said, unperturbed. Buttercup scrutinized the flower in her milk glass with what looked like ill-concealed malice.
Blossom sighed as she threw open the window and leaned against the sill, staring off into the direction of the city. “Oh my gosh, you guys,” she said, her voice and stance wistful, dreamy. “Isn't it just a lovely day?”
The Professor looked between Blossom and Bubbles, then whispered, “Are you sure you didn't-”
“No part of my brain is in that girl's body, I swear.”
***
Boomer eyed their leader from the kitchen, then leaned over to Butch and whispered, “What's wrong with him?”
Butch turned and looked at Brick, who was seated at the kitchen table with his head buried in his arms. He was still wearing the clothes he'd gone out in yesterday and smelled of day-old sweat.
“Nothing's wrong with me,” he said, his voice muffled through his arms. “It's just...” He trailed off, then concluded lamely, “Nothing's wrong with me.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Butch said, bored. “Nothing wrong with a guy who slept at the kitchen table in yesterday's clothes and smells like a gym bag. Totally normal.”
“I didn't sleep,” Brick said.
“Oh, well, in that case,” Butch snarked, rolling his eyes. “That does make it a little weird.”
“Have you eaten anything since you got home, Brick?” Boomer asked.
“I'm not hungry,” Brick muttered, a little petulantly. “Besides, somebody ate all my cereal.”
Butch looked around and whistled.
“Well, do you want anything?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Not even a shower?” Butch interjected.
“Later,” Brick responded, head still buried.
“If you say so.”
His brothers flipped on the TV and channel-surfed while Brick remained in the kitchen, his position unchanged. Eventually they retired to their own rooms, leaving Brick by himself at the table.
Slowly, Brick lifted his head. He stared at the sleeves of his shirt, which reminded him of last night. Not that much of anything wasn't reminding him of last night. But seeing his clothes made him feel like he should get out of them.
He rose against the protests of his stiff, aching body and drifted to his room, shutting the door with a soft click. Starting with his cap, he peeled his clothes off piece by piece as he floated to his bathroom. The porcelain tile was cold; he suppressed a shiver and cranked the water warm. It felt good to wash the stickiness off of him, even if running his hands over his hair and around his neck and shoulders reminded him of her touch.
When he was done, toweled dry, and clothed again, he laid on his back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He hadn't turned the lights on and the daylight filtering through his blinds was dim; his room got more afternoon sun than it did morning. His body was grateful for the comfort of his bed, but despite the physical relief Brick didn't fall asleep. He turned over on his side, curling up a little.
I can't believe I did that.
What a stupid thing to do. His entire day yesterday had just been one bad decision after another; he hadn't thought anything through and as a result he had kissed her and now, now he had to contend with the consequences of his stupidity.
I shouldn't have taken her to the club. No, it went farther back than even that. He shouldn't have spent so much time with her at the coffeeshop. He shouldn't have sought an excuse or an opportunity to allow them to spend any more time together than was absolutely necessary. He shouldn't have walked around with her at the gallery, shouldn't have talked to her so much, definitely shouldn't have driven her around in his car or danced with her or touched her at all-
His memory fluttered to that moment of complete brainlessness when he had looked at her, flushed and panting and smiling, still looking radiant even in that ugly yellow light, and something had welled up in him, something that had made him reach for her and pull her close and press his mouth to hers.
His chest twinged, much like it had yesterday at so many points during the day, points where he should've turned around and come home. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head, wishing he'd never kissed her. Because when Brick had kissed Blossom, something had happened.
He'd felt something in him-no, her-no, in the very core of the Earth-shift. Something bright. Something like a match sparking into life. Something heavy, otherworldly, maybe even Heavenly, if he'd believed in a thing as silly as Heaven. The whole world-or maybe the universe, he wasn't sure-had changed.
I'm overdramatizing things, he thought. It was the moment. He had been wrapped up in it, in the atmosphere of the club and the dim city lights and the pretty girl. That was all Blossom was, really. Just a pretty girl. Her lips had been as soft as anyone else's. They'd puckered slightly, then yielded to the pressure of his, maybe with just a touch more hesitation. It hadn't been that much different from kissing Cindy, or any other girl.
Except...
He thought of Blossom in the museum, in the coffeeshop, in the club. He thought of her dancing, fighting, screaming at him until she was blue in the face. He thought of her in all the hundreds upon hundreds of photos he'd taken, of all the sketches he'd done of her, trying to capture that beauty-and before he could stop himself he was thinking She is, she is beautiful, she's stunning. She was almost heartbreakingly so.
And he had kissed her. And the worst part of it was how... fulfilled he'd felt when he had, how... like he was a puzzle, and she'd been the missing piece.
It's just the hormones. He was a teenager. It was to be expected. Of course he'd react to things like this with more emotion. He was only seventeen, after all. Teenagers were like walking emo bombs. Everybody was looking for a connection, and teenagers would react more strongly than anyone else. There were studies on this. It was all due to hormones. It was all chemical.
Brick ran a hand through his hair. That made it a little easier, when he took the time to break things down like this. It cleared his head. He'd forgotten for a second-or a day-that something like this absolutely could not happen because of who she was and who he was and what he wanted-no, needed-to do with his life. In all the time he'd been away from JS he'd lost track of his priorities. She had distracted him. And instead of remembering that she was a former enemy and would continue to be one if he managed to succeed at taking control of JS, he had let her. Fuck, he'd practically invited her to do so.
The buzz of the hotline last night echoed in his head. Even if he was seriously interested-which was impossible, by virtue of his age-she was a Powerpuff Girl. It'd never work. They'd never work.
Those wretched fucking adolescent emotions overcame him again, and he was filled with a sad sort of melancholy as he remembered how her hands had felt on his body, how they had brushed along the nape of his neck as she'd moved in for a second kiss.
The door to his room flew open, and he shot up.
“What the fuck, you two-”
“Cheer up, Emo Brick,” Boomer announced. Butch trailed in after him, a lit joint in his hand. His bed bounced as his brothers flopped onto it.
“Don't suppose you're gonna tell us what's up,” Butch said, taking a puff.
Brick sighed and leaned back on his hands. “Fuck off.”
“Thought so.” Butch offered Brick his joint. Brick stared at him for a second, then reached for it. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, then passed it on to Boomer, who did the same. The joint made its rounds, over and over in an endless circle as the boys reclined on Brick's bed.
“Yep,” Butch said, after some time.
Boomer laughed. “You said it.”
Brick watched the smoke spill out of his mouth and float up to the ceiling. In the dim daylight the smoke could look like anything, like a girl, or a dancing couple. He blew it away.
“Yeah.”
***
Originally posted at http://essbeejay.dreamwidth.org/106465.html.
part 1
part 2
part 3
part 4
part 5
Title: More Than Human
Chapter 9: Monday Broke My Heart, or Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night
Pairing: RrB/PpG
Rating: R/M, because they're teenagers and a good handful of them use terrible, filthy language.
Disclaimer: Pay your respect to Craig, not me.
Summary: There is no way I can make this sound original, ever. My attempt to write a believable RrB/PpG in high school fic. Nobody realizes that some people expend tremendous energy merely to be normal. - Camus
Notes: Thanks to mathkid and juxtaposie who are the best. Around. Nothing's ever gonna keep 'em down.
More Than Human, Pt. 2 - Senior Fall Semester
September - Monday Broke My Heart, or Everybody Knows You Cried Last Night
-sbj-
“You know, Buttercup,” Butch announced as she passed the tupperware of snickerdoodles his way, “whoever happens to nail you down and marry you is going to be a lucky fucking guy. Or girl.”
“Shut up,” she groaned, smacking him with the lid as he bit into his cookie.
“They'd eat well, that's for sure,” Harry added, as an old Dario Argento movie played in the background.
“Your kids would be lucky, too,” Floyd jumped in, and Buttercup picked up a nearby pillow and threw it into his face.
“The hell I'm having kids!”
“He didn't mean now,” Butch teased. “I can see you popping out, like, seven of the fuckers, though.”
“You're going to miss having teeth, bastard,” she snarled, pulling back her fist.
“But you'd need people to cook for!” Butch cried.
“What about cooking for myself?”
“What a sad life that would be.” Lloyd tsked, shaking his head.
“You guys are stupid.” She stuffed a snickerdoodle into her mouth and recapped the tupperware.
“These are awesome, Buttercup,” Mitch said.
“Thank you, Mitch.” After a pause, she added, “See? No wonder Mitch was the only guy I dated.”
A sudden, awkward silence fell over the room. Buttercup, seeming to have regretted her attempt at comedy, started to devour her snickerdoodle. Butch stared at her from the corner of his eye. Her customary smirk and hard expression had given way to uncertainty and she was clearly upset with herself.
The laugh he forced sounded natural enough, and everyone turned to look at him.
“Don't lie, you dyke,” he said, still forcing a snicker. “Sorry to break it to you, Mitch, but you were just a beard.”
The room was still silent for a moment, then the rest of the guys broke into laughter, too, and Buttercup snapped to and punched him in the face.
“Fuck you, Butch!” she cried, but she was smiling, relieved.
Butch maneuvered her fist away from him and announced to the rest of the room, “She just couldn't fake it any longer! She had to be true to herself and accept her love of chicks!”
“You guys are going to find it real fucking funny when my girlfriend's hotter than all of yours put together,” she said, waving a hand around the room.
“Wait, you wanna put them together? Like, as in an orgy?” Butch asked, and got a faceful of pillow.
Ignoring him, Buttercup went on, “Seriously, if all of us had girlfriends, I'd bet you a million fucking dollars that mine would be the hottest.”
“You're probably right,” Harry admitted.
“I think it'd mostly be due to us seeing you date a lady,” Mitch said. “Try and picture Buttercup with a hot chick, guys. Really.”
The room paused, and several pupils dilated.
“Wow,” the twins said, a little breathlessly.
Blushing, Buttercup flew to her feet and made for the kitchen. “Ha ha, fuckers. Who wants a soda?”
“Shh shh shh,” Butch hissed, staring vacantly into the distance. “I'm picturing you with Blossom right now-”
“Cut it out, perv!” Buttercup shouted, and shot a soda can at him that exploded in his face.
***
Blossom's hands were numb as she fumbled through her contacts list, then hit Bubbles' entry.
Her sister picked up on the second ring. “Blossom! Hey! I was getting worried about you-”
“Hi, Bubbles, yes, sorry,” Blossom said, spending her entire arsenal of one-word responses in one fell swoop. “I... I meant to call earlier.”
“What happened?”
“Just... lost track of the time.” She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder, where Brick was inspecting the side mirrors of his car.
“Oh, okay.” Bubbles sounded chipper, unconcerned. “Well, we just-I mean, I just sat down to dinner. The Professor's putting in some overtime so he can have tomorrow free for us,”
Tomorrow, Blossom thought. They were making a family day of it tomorrow, so she shouldn't stay out late...
She pulled her phone away to glance at the time in the corner of the little screen. It wasn't even eight yet. As long as she left for home at a reasonable hour...
“So did you want me to set something aside for you?” Bubbles was asking, and Blossom brought the phone back to the side of her head. “Buttercup's out watching movies with the guys. It's just me tonight. Totally just me. By myself. All by my lonesome.”
Something about her tone was off, and Blossom furrowed her brow. “What about Boomer?”
“We saw each other earlier today,” Bubbles said, a little too quickly and casually, but before Blossom could press the issue she heard Brick cough and scuff his shoe along the gravel, and all thoughts of further inquiry dissolved out of her mind.
“Oh.” What were they talking about? What had Blossom called about? “I... just wanted to say, Bubbles, you shouldn't wait up for me.”
“How's that?”
“Well, I... I already ate, kind of, and now I'm thinking of going to...” Blossom's gaze darted to and fro. “I'm thinking, since I'm out, I'm going to do some shopping-”
Almost instantly she realized it was the wrong thing to say. Bubbles was practically bouncing on the other end. “Ooh! Shopping! Shopping where? Oh, maybe I'll come out and join you; I have this top I forgot to exchange-”
“Shopping for books!” Blossom blurted in a panic. “The bookstore! I'm going to the bookstore to shop for books!”
Bubbles stopped bouncing. “Oh.” The exuberance had disappeared from her voice.
Blossom could feel Brick's eyes on her, and she could not stop herself from blushing. “So... don't wait up for me.”
“Okay,” Bubbles mumbled, petulant. “Well, I'll see you later, Blossom.”
“Yeah, sure.” Now her heartbeat was quickening, the numbing tingle on her skin growing. I'm really doing this, she thought, and felt almost separate from her body. I can't believe I'm really doing this.
She and Bubbles exchanged their goodbyes and hung up. This was it.
She tried to keep the fear out of her face as she turned to Brick, who was grinning. “The bookstore, huh?”
“I... it was the only way to discourage her from coming,” Blossom said. Her eyes were drawn to his hand-he was leaning against the passenger side door of his car, and his mitt was already on the handle.
“Ready?”
What am I doing?
She nodded.
Brick tugged at the handle of the door and opened it wide, then waited as she-clutching her purse for support-drew close on shaky legs. When she was settled in the seat he closed it on her, gently (“Watch your skirt,” he warned), and then floated around the front to the driver's seat.
Blossom stared at the dash in a daze, remembering how excited Cindy had been when Brick had offered her a ride. Now here was Blossom, in the very seat Cindy had gaped at her from. In Brick's car. With Brick.
She swallowed as he turned the key in the ignition and the car roared to life, its vibrating thrum shivering through her seat. He glanced at her and held his gaze, and she stared dutifully straight ahead until his silent watching became too much to bear.
“What is it?”
His eyes flicked to the side panel. “Your seat belt. I mean, not that I would crash, and not that a measly car crash would seriously injure you or me, but all the same.”
She colored and snatched at the seat belt, bringing it around, over, and then fumbled with the act of clicking it into place. She was nervous; the thing wouldn't connect, and she laughed apologetically, almost humiliated by her ineptitude, her complete and total lack of poise-
Brick's hand alighted on the plastic handle of the belt and guided it, locking it in place. She went still at their brief skin contact.
“Don't be so nervous,” he said.
Easy for you to say, she thought. “I just... I've never done anything like this before.” Nor did she know anybody who had ever done this before. She and her sisters were too young to go out dancing in nightclubs or anything like that; if she'd had to put her money on someone she'd have put it on Buttercup, but clubbing wasn't really Buttercup's scene. Buttercup had gone to nightclubs, yes, but only to see bands she liked with the guys, and never out dancing...
Brick put the car into reverse and twisted to see out the back, setting his hand on the headrest of Blossom's seat. The nearness of his hand to her cheek sent another thrill surging through her, and she eyed the line of his torso as it twisted, almost gracefully, a slight curve against the cushion.
“Don't worry about it.” He laughed as he settled back, and that wondrous line disappeared. “You've got me with you.”
***
“What was your sister calling about?” Boomer asked as Bubbles served him a bowl of pasta salad.
“Blossom's going to the bookstore.”
“Oh. Thanks,” he said, accepting the bowl she handed him. He waited for her to serve herself, then took a bite as soon as she was settled.
The room was silent for awhile, save for the clinks of their forks against the bowls and the crunching of food. Boomer's eyes were on her all the while, reflecting with a dazed sort of disbelief on the image of her moving through the kitchen, apron tied around her waist. She had looked so... so wifely, almost, or motherly, and when the thought had first entered his brain he'd blushed, because the only way for that thought to go was to put him in place as her husband.
He cleared his throat and shook his head, diving into his salad with renewed vigor. Bubbles looked at him.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” he said, and added, Honey, in his mind.
“What do you think of the food?”
He swallowed. “Delicious.”
“I can tell,” she said, suppressing a little laugh. “You're really digging into it.”
“Mmph,” he mumbled around a mouthful of penne and fantasizing about the two of them at a dinner table in their own house, Boomer with his workday suit still on and Bubbles with that adorable little apron and that adorable little dress sitting down to dinner as cookies baked and they called their kids to-
He dropped his fork with a clatter and covered his face with one hand, and Bubbles' hand flew to his arm.
“What's wrong?!”
“Nothing,” he said hastily. Nothing, honey, sweetie, baby, angel, darlinOKAY BOOMER STOP. “Just... need a moment to clear my head.”
“Are you sure you're okay?”
“I'm fine. Fine. Just... my brain's being stupid.” He smirked at her from behind his hand. “You know... just being myself.”
She settled back, a frown on her face. “I don't think you're stupid.”
He moved his hand away from his eyes and rested his chin on it. “Thank you for thinking that.”
She stared at him a moment longer, pouting, then went back to her food. Boomer did likewise.
“You know,” she said, after awhile, then shook her head, laughing a little. “This is going to sound so weird.”
Boomer looked at her as he chewed, intrigued by her shy blush. “Hmm?”
She pushed her food around her bowl. “Just... sitting down, eating dinner together all by ourselves in the house...” She laughed again, and glanced up at him. “It feels like we're married or something, you know?”
His throat constricted as he looked at Bubbles. Honey. Sweetie. Darling.
“Oh my God, I'm so weird!” She laughed and covered her face with her hands. “Don't listen to me. Forget I said it.”
Boomer reached to pull one of her hands away from her face, and she blinked as he brought it to his lips for a light kiss. Then he just held it, right there on the table, and smiled at her as he resumed eating. After a second she did the same.
It carried on for about a minute. And then:
“Okay, Boomer, I'm sorry to break this sweet and wonderful mood, but I'm not a lefty and I can't even hold my fork right. Can I have my hand back?”
***
They drove to Citysville to avoid the high probability of anybody in Townsville recognizing their resident Superhero Team Leader attempting to go clubbing. After asking, Blossom told Brick yes, he could drive with the top down, and no, she wasn't worried about her hair because she went flying around all day at much higher speeds than this and she managed, all the same.
The wind whipping her hair back in a red-orange blur behind her was a sight, and Brick found himself stealing glances at her almost every moment he got. The collar of her shirt flapped against her neck, smooth and almost glowing in the dim dusk light. Her modest skirt fell in waves, curving up just along her knees, and her legs seemed to disappear into the shadowed well of the bucket seat. Her legs were the worst, actually. Brick had to struggle to keep his eyes above the dash and was always overcome with the involuntary urge to wet his lips when his gaze slid over her lower half.
He'd looked up a place on his phone while Blossom had been on with Bubbles. Someplace busy, but not so popular that they might risk being recognized...
He pulled over about a block away and took a deep breath. Blossom was looking around the dark street they were on as he punched the button to raise the top.
“This isn't it, is it?” she asked, dubious. There were nothing but closed shops on this street.
“No, it's around the block. Just parking. And I wanted to... I dunno, prep you.”
Her eyes widened, the faintest glimmer of fear flickering up before she said coolly, “What kind of prepping, exactly?”
He looked at her, backlit by the yellow glow of a street lamp, and indicated her purse. “You won't wanna take that in.”
“What? Why?”
“Too awkward to hold onto while you're dancing, and with so many people around you wouldn't want to leave it just lying somewhere. Pull out what you need and stuff it all in your pockets.”
“I'm afraid I don't have any.”
“You can use mine, then.”
She opened her purse and looked inside blankly. “What could I possibly need in there?”
“Probably nothing,” he admitted. Too young to drink, and whatever ID she had would indicate she was underage...
She handed him her cell phone; he pocketed it. “Won't they check ID?”
He smirked. “That's the trick.” He glanced at her bow. “They'll let anyone in if they look old enough.” Or hot enough.
She stuffed her purse into the glove box and paused after shutting it. “What am I doing?” she whispered.
Brick considered answering for her, but he wasn't sure what would sound right. In all honesty, he wasn't sure what she was doing either; he hadn't even really considered much of where tonight was going, and how they'd wound up here was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. He hadn't planned any of this. It was just... happening.
Blossom squared her jaw and threw open the passenger door, a little aggressively. Brick watched her as he rose out of his own seat-she stamped her feet, patted her skirt, adjusted her top. Despite the wind in her hair for most of the ride over, it still looked only slightly messy, and was really kind of incredibly sexy.
Again he stared at her bow. She caught his gaze and reached a hand up to touch it.
“What? What's wrong?”
Brick floated over to her side-the sidewalk side of the street-and reached a hand for her hair. She pulled back, instantly suspicious.
“What?” she said, a little less friendly this time.
“The bow... kinda ages you down.”
She grasped it, petulant. “What are you-so what do you suggest?”
He stepped closer, trying not to think, because if he thought at all, if he had been thinking at any point this entire evening, then they wouldn't have wound up here, together, about to walk around the corner and into a nightclub.
“May I?” he said, not realizing how gravelly his voice had gotten, and she stilled, lowering her hand. He took that as as good an affirmation as any.
With almost painstaking care, he undid the bow on her head, studied the feather-light fabric in his hands for a second, then, after considering her for a moment, reached to wrap it around her neck.
She inhaled sharply when he passed one end of it over her shoulder, and he bumped her with his other hand as he reached to pull that end back around to the front.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice sounding very far away.
“That's okay,” she said, and his hand twitched as that breathless voice echoed in his brain. He hastily wound the rest of the ribbon gently around to form a loose choker and tied it.
“Okay, that's better,” he said, without looking at her, and turned, face on fire as he began walking. “Let's go.” He heard her scurry to catch up to him.
Around the corner was a different world, buzzing with people and lights. He met the collective gaze of a group of laughing guys as he rounded the corner, and realized with horror as their eyes shifted behind him that in an unfamiliar city like this it would be stupid to stand separate from one another...
He whipped around and crooked an arm around a stunned Blossom, resting his hand on her waist, and shot a warning glare at the group as he walked them both past.
Blossom had made a tiny Eep noise as soon as he'd touched her, or something that had sounded like Eep, but at least she hadn't batted him away or wrenched out of his grasp.
“Brick,” she gasped, recovering her voice. “Wh-what-”
“Sorry.” The heat of her body against his side was almost unbearable. “It's just... there's a lot of weird people around.”
She turned her eyes on him, disbelieving as she matched her steps to his. “That's very chivalrous of you.”
Brick didn't say anything, only took his cap off to swipe at his hair before readjusting it, bypassed the very short line of people waiting to get into the club, and walked straight up to the bouncer, their cover fees already in hand.
Brick was a little taller than average, but height was of little consequence, really; it was the way a person walked, how they carried themselves, that made a real impression. His very presence could be commanding by nature-at least when he allowed it to be-and he drew himself up, darkened his gaze as he measured the bouncer's stoic expression.
Eyes met, money exchanged hands, and at the sight of Blossom the bouncer broke into an approving grin and waved them inside.
Blossom twisted to look back. “He didn't ask for our IDs or anything.”
“Beautiful people don't get asked,” Brick replied, feeling cocky.
She had to raise her voice; the music was growing louder as they approached the floor. “But all those people were waiting-”
“Beautiful people don't get in line, either.”
“Well.” She huffed. “That's not very fair.”
Brick laughed; it was a dark, open room, thrumming from the music, and still early. They had tons of space, or at least enough to get started, and he suddenly felt so in the mood for this. The atmosphere was great, perfect, just what he needed after what had been an emotionally draining past few weeks, and pressed to his side was the fucking icing on the cake.
“Not that this should come as any news to you,” he said with a smirk, “but life isn't very fair.”
The icing vaguely acknowledged his arrogance with a mild glare, but she was distracted by the gyrating people surrounding them on the dance floor.
“That's dancing?” she said, in a voice that indicated she didn't think much of it.
Brick cast the room a perfunctory glance as they came to a stop. “Marginally.” His hand was still on her waist, his smirk still lighting his expression, and he was feeling fucking fantastic.
He spun Blossom around into his arms and she withheld a yelp. Those bewildered doe eyes of hers gazed up at him.
Proper closed position. “Why don't we show them what real dancing looks like?”
***
“I can't believe this fucker fell asleep.” Buttercup laughed from where she was lying on the living room floor, indicating Harry with her foot. The twins and Mitch were sitting in Butch's room by the open window, sharing a joint and chatting.
Butch had one of his own in hand, and he made a show of sucking in a deep breath and exhaling. Army of Darkness played on the TV with the volume turned down.
She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him. “You sure smoke a lot of that shit.”
He shrugged. “Gotta smoke five times as much as a normal person to get high.”
“How'd you get into it, anyway?”
“Stole it from a guy at work.”
“Why?”
“Bored.”
“You bored now?”
He glanced at her. In truth, he was trying to make it look like he was getting high in an effort to... maybe get her to open up a bit. He didn't know how long the guys were going to be in his room, and he couldn't think of another opportunity to get Buttercup alone.
Or partially alone, he thought, eyes flicking to the dozing form of Harry not ten feet away.
“Not really,” he said.
She settled back down on the floor, curling her arm and resting her cheek on it as she looked at Butch. Something about it made her look very feminine, and Butch held his breath a little longer before exhaling. He stared at her awhile, then realized she had just asked him something.
“What? Sorry, I missed that.”
She smirked. “I thought you said you had to smoke five times as much to get high.”
“Yeah... guess this is pretty strong stuff.”
“Anyway, I asked how old you were when you started smoking.”
He thought for a second. “Fifteen, I think. That sounds about right. It was like two years ago.”
“They let you do that? At work?”
“Not on the job.”
“But where you guys live?”
“They don't care as long as we do our job.”
She picked at a loose thread in the carpet. “You good at what you do?”
“I guess.”
“Hey, thanks for earlier.”
“Huh?”
She was still picking at that thread. “I was trying to be funny. I was trying... you know, to show I was over the whole breakup thing. Like, hey, I'm over it, I can joke about it.” A sardonic smile twisted onto her face. “I don't know. It was stupid.”
“It was a pretty dumb joke, I'll give you that.”
“Fuck you.” She laughed, crawling over to shove at him. He let her.
She sat back on her heels then, watching Butch as he took another drag. He let his eyes get heavy, dim, but watched her in his peripheral vision all the while.
She shifted and laid down next to him, her head near his, near enough to kiss. He only had to turn his head and close those short two inches that separated them.
“Seriously.” Her face filled his vision as Harry snored in the background and the movie played on. “Thanks.”
He allowed himself a slow blink and took care to exhale away from her before turning his head to hers.
“You're welcome.”
***
Bubbles checked the contents of the oven one last time. “Looking good.”
“I've never helped make a pie before,” Boomer said, drying his hands on a dish towel.
“You kinda still haven't,” Bubbles said with a laugh. Boomer was sort of useless in the kitchen, though she figured it was more out of inexperience than something resembling Blossom's genuine lack of talent for cooking.
“Hey! I, you know-rolled stuff. With the rolly thing. And I helped with dishes!”
“Yes, packing them into the dishwasher was a big ordeal.” She rolled her eyes theatrically and took the dish towel back from him to hang on the rack. “But seriously, thank you, Boomer.” She floated up to give him a kiss on the forehead. “You were a wonderful kitchen assistant.”
“Should I take that as a compliment?”
She giggled and tugged him out of the kitchen. “So... what do you wanna do now?” With a vague gesture at the living room, she suggested, “Um, maybe a movie? Or we could go for an evening walk...”
Boomer's eyes had trailed upward, and she followed his gaze to the open door of the bedroom she shared with her sisters. She looked back to see him now determinedly focused on the television, a guilty look on his face.
“You wanna see it?”
He looked at her in surprise.
“Only looking, obviously.” She feigned exasperation. “Silly boy.”
“Um... okay.”
At the top of the stairs she made him wait while she ducked in to make sure there wasn't anything crazy like bras or underwear strewn across the room-not that there usually was, but it didn't hurt to check. After ensuring the place was safe, she beckoned him in.
“Don't tell my sisters you've been up here, though. I don't think they'd take that very well.”
“Yeah, well...” He trailed off as he looked around, taking in the beds set up against three walls of the room. “You guys share a bedroom? Still?”
She shrugged. “Never stopped. I dunno. I mean, we used to gripe and moan about it, but... well, we tried sleeping in separate rooms once and that didn't work out. I guess we just like each other's company.”
Boomer nodded, still looking around. He grinned and then pointed. “I can guess which bed is yours.”
She looked at the tower of stuffed animals he was indicating next to her bed and laughed. “How ever did you guess?”
“I'm psychic.” He drifted over, his eyes glancing out the windows, studying an empty easel by her bed, passing over the vanity she and Blossom shared. He stopped upon reaching her djembe, standing in the corner, and beamed.
“This is the drum you told me about?” he asked.
She hesitated before answering, “Yeah.”
He pulled over the stool at the vanity and dragged the drum out, setting it between his knees. She tensed a little.
He passed his hands over the skin of it, a sad sort of smile on his face. Then, before she had a chance to feel sorry about asking him to give up something he had loved so much, he looked up at her and asked, “Play me something?”
Her eyes widened. “Huh?”
He stood up and waved for her to sit at the stool. “Here. I wanna hear you play.”
“Are you sure?” she asked, recalling how disappointed he'd looked not five seconds ago.
“Really.” He nodded as he reached a hand for her and pulled her close. “Play something for me.”
She sat down, a little hesitant, and angled the drum between her legs, adjusting her skirt as she did so. Boomer settled down on the floor, his back against her bed.
“Can you sing while you play, too?”
“Getting demanding, aren't you?”
“Well, I can't make any music for myself,” he said, and she clamped her mouth shut, her cheeks going slightly pink with shame. “No, stop, don't look like that. I'm not angry. I just... want to hear you play.” He laughed a little. “You know... since I can't make music for myself, you'll have to cover for the both of us.”
She gazed at him a long moment, then readjusted the djembe, tapped experimentally on it, and then, without taking her eyes off of his, began to sing.
***
There wasn't a clock visible from the dance floor of the club Blossom and Brick had gone to. In all honesty, though, the time was the furthest thing from Blossom's mind.
She and Brick had never danced together like this before, meaning out of their own volition and without the deadline of a performance. The only time she'd felt anything remotely similar was when she had subbed for Cindy. That seemed ages ago. That had been such an enlightening, enjoyable experience. Why had it taken so long to come to this, then?
Her heart skipped when he spun her, twirled her, guided her around him in a smooth, effortless arc. It felt so nice to have a partner who just knew how to do it right, perfectly... And they were both right, both perfectly in step and in sync and in tune and so connected; it was unreal that they could just sense where the other's feet were and what they were about to do...
A couple of hours passed without either of them realizing it, until the people closed in on them as the night crowds came surging in. They were forced to draw closer to each other, though neither seemed to mind much.
Brick was a steady presence, his arms always around her-or, failing that, very close by-and several times when some strange guy would try to muscle between them, leering at Blossom, Brick would round her away and draw her even closer, glaring death threats at the offender. It would send a delighted little shiver down Blossom's spine. Not that Blossom couldn't defend herself, but it felt wonderful to know that Brick, of all people, was looking out for her.
The night went on and she lost herself in his arms, dancing with him, and at one point she realized how very close they actually were, how there was no room to really dance or move their feet. They were just pressed to each other, her face nestled in the hollow of his neck and her hands skittering along the thin fabric of his undershirt. Both of them were sweating like mad; it was unbearably warm in here but she felt no desire to pull away.
There was something almost intoxicating about the lights, the music, the whole room, and certainly Brick. She could count the little speckles of sweat on his neck, all the way down to a beautiful little spot on his chest, skin stretched taut over the sternum. Blossom thought hazily back to when she was a kid, how sweat had tasted a little sour and sweet, and wondered-
“Hey.”
She looked up, feeling Brick's hand pushing her hair back from her face and tilting her head up to look him in the eye. “Yes?” she said, her voice sounding unnaturally husky and raw, and her hands drifted along his back, feeling the muscles tighten under her touch.
“Let's go get some air,” he blurted, and she blinked.
“Okay.”
His hand closed on hers, and he began to carve his way through the crowd, Blossom close behind. It did feel hot in here all of a sudden, stuffy, humid with people's sweat and drinks, and when they made it outside even the polluted city smell felt refreshing in their lungs.
Brick paused for the briefest moment outside to suck in a breath, and then they were moving down the street, back towards where he'd parked the car. Blossom felt a sticky mess-she really was soaked, she badly needed a shower, and her hair was an absolute disaster-but despite it, she could not believe how much she had enjoyed herself.
I never would've expected it, she thought dizzily as she loped after Brick, her hand still clenching his. Never. I can't believe how fun that was. Even the obscene, skeezy people around them hadn't been enough to deter her mood. And in the hazy, yellowed street lamps, flickering in the dark, she knew with strangely ethereal clarity why that was.
She laughed in semi-disbelief, and he, him, Brick, he turned and stopped to look at her.
“What?” he asked, and his voice held onto that rough quality it'd taken on in the club. His eyes too were dark and heavy-lidded; he looked far away and yet that gaze still cut into her, stirred some painful longing in her chest. She let go of his hand and clasped at her front, feeling her damp shirt and how it stuck uncomfortably to her body, and that seemed very funny, so she laughed again. She realized with a start that she was still panting for breath, and stepped back a little, her chest heaving.
“I can't,” she started, and had to smile, take a breath again to collect herself. She shook her head and closed her eyes, said, “I can't,” again.
I can't believe I had such a nice time today, she was thinking, trying to say, but she couldn't get enough air. The lights from the club still flickered behind her eyelids, intoxicating, dizzying, like Brick and the scent of the sweat on his neck.
“I,” she tried again, and opened her eyes. She froze, the lights behind her eyes disappearing.
Brick's hand touched her chin, skimmed along her jaw to the back of her neck, and he pulled her flush up against him and kissed her.
***
“My girl's got rhythm,” Boomer said affectionately into Bubbles' hair. They were sitting next to each other on her bed, cross-legged with their backs against the wall.
Her arm wound around his and she sighed, leaning her head on his shoulder.
“And the voice of an angel,” he went on. She nudged him.
“Stop. That's so cheesy.”
He responded by kissing her temple, and she closed her eyes and smiled. He looked around, spotted something on her pillow, and picked it up.
“Who's this?” he asked, and she looked up to see Octi in his hands.
She laughed, taking her precious childhood toy from him. “My bestest friend ever, and the first love of my life.”
“Really?” Boomer squinted at Octi. “He doesn't get jealous, does he?”
“Give him a second.” She held the purple octopus up so his sleepy eyes could look into Boomer's. She set him on top of Boomer's head. “Octi approves.”
Boomer exhaled. “Thanks for your blessing, Mr. Octi.” He reached up and shook a tentacle, eliciting more laughter from Bubbles.
“It's just Octi,” she corrected. “No need for formalities.”
Boomer took him down and placed him back on Bubbles' pillow. “What now?”
She shook her head, turning her face so her breath puffed out against his neck. “Nothing. Just this.”
He stroked her hair away from her face, again and again. “Okay.”
Her arm drifted across his chest, up around his neck. She kissed him there, feeling his pulse quicken and his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His leg shifted uneasily; her dress had ridden up and her bare knee was resting on his thigh. He inhaled, about to say something, then seemed to change his mind and just sighed.
She couldn't help but tease him. “You're so cute when you get all scared.”
“What the-I do not get scared!” he cried, indignant. She held him fast so he couldn't pull away.
“Shh.” She lifted her head, kissed his chin.
He was still pouting. “M'not scared.”
“Of course you're not,” she whispered, kissing the corner of his downturned mouth. He made a little Hmph noise and turned his face away from her.
Not one to be deterred, Bubbles bounced up on her knees and began to plant kiss after tender kiss against his unresponsive lips, a giggle threatening to spill out of her throat.
“You're such a five-year-old,” she teased; already his frown was disappearing and his arms wove around her waist, holding her close.
“I'm pretty sure five-year-olds don't kiss like this,” he murmured, and kissed her back, soft and slow. That was what Bubbles liked most about Boomer's kisses-how gentle they were, how hesitant. He did come off as a scared little boy, more than he or anyone else could know.
They kissed with their eyes closed, and without realizing it Bubbles crawled into his lap as his kissing began to get braver, deeper-
A siren-like buzz blared, and she pulled away from him with a great deal of reluctance.
Boomer looked frightened. “Is that the Boyfriend Killing Machine?” he squeaked, despite his clear effort to not squeak.
“No.” Bubbles floated up and patted down her dress. “It's the hotline.”
***
For all that Buttercup had vocally expressed how much shit she was going to give Harry for falling asleep, she had no trouble dozing off herself.
Butch had stopped the DVD player; Harry was still conked out and Mitch and the twins had dashed out to the convenience store, overcome with the munchies and having eaten their way through all the treats Buttercup had brought over, as well as a box of Brick's cereal.
Buttercup had fallen asleep on the carpet, sprawled on her right side. Butch polished off a can of soda as he sat next to her, studying her sleeping face. He set the empty can on the coffee table and recalled that one photo of Buttercup sleeping in Mitch's bed, looking very much like she did here, with the exception of the long hair. Despite the length, her hair still curled in circular, wavy patterns against the carpet, like black ink on a blank canvas.
He settled himself down flat on his stomach and played with a strand of it, picking it up and letting it fall into a different pattern each time. He traced the path it painted-her hair was smooth, and it smelled like... like something. Maybe just like her.
He took the end of the strand and dusted it along her chin; she twitched and groaned as her hand swiped at her face, but she didn't wake up. She settled back into sleep, her angry brow relaxing and her lips parting.
Butch's eyes trailed down, tracing the outline of her body. Funny how girly Buttercup looked when she was asleep. Her breasts smushed a bit against the carpet, and the line of her hip struck him as exceptionally curvy. The shadows-shadows that tucked themselves in the crease of her fly and spread along her lower leg and in between her thighs in an almost-sensual manner-only heightened her sleeping girlishness.
Butch rested his chin in his hand, staring at her and wondering with a little irritation how often Mitch had borne witness to this exact image. Mitch had said that they'd never done anything worth mentioning, which sounded stupid to Butch. He didn't understand how any guy could stand to keep his hands off her when Buttercup looked like this.
Except him. But Butch was different. He didn't know how, but he was different.
I get her, he thought, a little fiercely. We're going through the same shit, we understand where we're coming from. He'd never been able to talk about fighting with anyone else but her. Never mind that they hadn't talked about fighting or mortality or being better than everyone else in ages, nor had they even sparred, not once since the outburst at the beginning of the year...
I'm different. I get it.
Buttercup inhaled deeply in her sleep and curled into herself a bit, her lips parting that much more. Butch glimpsed the faint white of her teeth, just beyond her bottom lip.
She was never able to talk with Mitch about any of this shit, he thought, reaching a hand to stroke the swell of her lower lip. Buttercup's brow furrowed, but she didn't wake up, nor did she pull away from his touch.
Dimly, Butch applied a little pressure. She sighed in her sleep.
“Wake up, Buttercup,” he said, so quietly that only someone with superhearing would ever hear it. She shifted and made a little moaning sound that sent his mind reeling.
He sat up and scooted away from her, unsure of what the hell was going on with his brain. His mouth felt thick and sour from the soda and the part of his hand that had touched her tingled. He forced himself to pull his eyes away from her.
I'm stoned, he thought, even though he'd barely smoked one joint. It's the drugs. I'm just...
Something went off, like an alarm, and Harry snorted as he shot up.
“I'm up, fuck, I'm up!” he shouted blearily.
Buttercup, too, had jerked awake, and she blinked before yanking her phone out of her pocket. She brought it to her face, her hair matted to her cheek and the imprint of the carpet embedded in her skin.
Butch resisted the urge to reach over and brush her hair away from her face as she slurred, “Hotline. Powerpuff hotline. It's Buttercup. What's up?”
***
It was a relatively chaste kiss, merely lips against lips, and it was with a great deal of reluctance that Brick pulled away from Blossom, unsure of what came next. His chest heaved with the arduous task of breathing-something was clearly wrong with him; he was breathing so hard-and the blood in his head was screaming, pounding as his heart jackhammered in his chest. He didn't untangle his hands from her hair, and then she looked up at him, and Christ, it was almost unbearable.
He felt her hands drift up, alight on his midsection, then, when he didn't pull away, they swept up his chest, along the side of his face and under his sweat-drenched cap into his sweat-drenched hair, and he gasped for one desperate gulp of air before she opened her mouth against his-
Her cell trilled a loud, earsplitting screech, and she yelped and they wrenched out of each other's grasp. They stared at each other for a brief, horrified moment, then she turned away and searched frantically on her person for her phone. Unable to find it, she paused, confused. Then she turned and stared at Brick's pants.
He jerked to and fumbled in his pockets for it-she'd given it to him in the car, of course, how had he forgotten? The distress signal was still beeping, loud and stubborn, and fuck, when had these pants grown so many pockets?
He finally located it and yanked it out, almost dropping it twice before practically throwing it at her. Again she turned away, and flipped it open.
“H-hello?” she said meekly, then cleared her throat and said, in a much more confident tone, “Blossom speaking.”
Brick ran an uneasy hand over his head, then realized his cap was gone. He looked around, spotted it laying on the sidewalk, and picked it up.
“Bubbles, hi... jewelry store? I-yes, I'll get on it. I'll be right there. See you. Yeah. Yeah, bye.” She shut her phone and turned, a little uncomfortably, to Brick. “I... I have to go.”
The shrill cry of the distress signal echoed in his head. “Right. Of course.”
“Can I grab my purse?”
Blossom followed Brick as he dashed to his car, opened the passenger side door, and dug her purse out of the glovebox. He handed it over and she looked at him, blushing as she shouldered it.
He jammed his hands in his pockets and averted his eyes.
“I...” she started, her face a bright, scalding red. “I'm... busy tomorrow.”
Something wrenched in Brick's gut. He bit his lip.
“But I'll see you Monday?”
He inhaled to steel his nerves before meeting her eyes. The hope in her face was almost crushing, but he forced himself to look her in the eye anyway and twitched his lips in some semblance of a smile.
“Yeah. Monday.”
She lifted off the ground, hovering. Now it was her turn to glance away. “I, uh... I had a really nice time today, Brick.”
“Yeah,” he said, trying to swallow down the lump that had risen in his throat.
She lifted her eyes to his again and still hovered there, unsure. Maybe waiting. But for what?
The memory of her lips pressed to his fluttered across his mind.
“You should-you have to go,” he urged, gesturing and blinking too much. “Your sisters are probably wondering about you.”
She nodded, a little too vigorously. “Yeah, okay.” And then, a smile, a smile that twisted a little knife into his chest. “Bye, Brick.”
“Bye,” he whispered, then shook his head and tried to say it again in a stronger voice, but she'd already taken off. His gaze followed the pink streak as it sailed back to Townsville, already fading in the dark night sky. Even after it was gone he stared upward, moving to lean his back against the driver's side door of his car.
He buried his face in his hands, feeling wretched.
“Fuck,” he whispered, and that didn't come out in as strong a voice as he would've wanted, either.
***
The next morning the Professor eyed Blossom with trepidation. He leaned over to Buttercup and Bubbles at the breakfast table. “What is wrong with your sister?”
They all watched as Blossom pranced about the kitchen, packing the picnic basket with food for their hike. She skipped to and fro, a distracted smile on her face.
“Nothing's wrong with me, Professor,” she sang. “It's a bright and pretty day, is all.”
The rest of her family exchanged looks. Blossom was not one for flightiness in the morning, especially on days where the family was going out. She was generally all business, harping on the rest of them about deadlines and missing daylight and why on Earth wasn't this stuff packed already, honestly, how could they expect to go anywhere if they were never prepared for anything?
“Um...” Bubbles started, then steeled herself with a smile and said, “That dress looks really nice on you, Blossom.” She had borrowed one of Bubbles'.
Blossom giggled and twirled for her family's benefit, ending with a little curtsy. “Doesn't it?”
Buttercup, after a horrified moment's contemplation, reached for Blossom's glass of milk and sniffed it.
Blossom glanced outside. “Oh, let me go put my hat in the car. I might forget it.”
“You never forget your hat,” the Professor pointed out warily. “If it gets over eighty degrees you never leave without one for fear of sunburn and skin cancer.”
Buttercup looked up. “Are we immune to that, by the way? The cancer, I mean.”
“Oh, Professor, you're exaggerating. Be right back!” Blossom floated out of the kitchen, humming all the while.
“Okay, you know it's like... Bubbles transplanted part of her brain into Blossom's body,” Buttercup said, gesturing with her spoon.
“I did not!”
“Of course you didn't, sweetheart,” the Professor soothed, placing a hand on Bubbles' shoulder. “Did Blossom do anything special yesterday?'
“Yes, let's run through Blossom's exciting day to see if we can unravel this little mystery,” Buttercup drawled. “First she goes to the museum. For school. For extra credit. Because she's Blossom, she spends, like, five hours there.”
“She ate something at some point,” Bubbles said. “She didn't come home for dinner.”
“I saw two bowls in the dishwasher,” the Professor said abruptly.
“I got hungry twice,” Bubbles said with a shrug.
“So, what, five hours between the museum and a place that serves food. Maybe six total. Then what?”
“Then the bookstore,” Bubbles said.
“Was she still there when the hotline buzzed?” Buttercup asked.
“I think so. I mean, I guess. I didn't ask.”
“Wasn't it, like, three hours after she told you she was going to the bookstore?”
“Your sister could spend an entire day there, easily,” the Professor pointed out.
“What bookstore is open past eleven?” Buttercup asked before polishing off her milk. At that moment Blossom flew back into the kitchen, flowers in hand.
“Look! These were blooming in the yard!” She had tucked one in her hair, and now did the same to Bubbles and their father. “One for you, one for you...” She reached Buttercup, who was glowering at her, daring her to touch her hair. Blossom studied her for a moment, then plunked her last flower into Buttercup's empty milk glass.
“And one for you,” she said, unperturbed. Buttercup scrutinized the flower in her milk glass with what looked like ill-concealed malice.
Blossom sighed as she threw open the window and leaned against the sill, staring off into the direction of the city. “Oh my gosh, you guys,” she said, her voice and stance wistful, dreamy. “Isn't it just a lovely day?”
The Professor looked between Blossom and Bubbles, then whispered, “Are you sure you didn't-”
“No part of my brain is in that girl's body, I swear.”
***
Boomer eyed their leader from the kitchen, then leaned over to Butch and whispered, “What's wrong with him?”
Butch turned and looked at Brick, who was seated at the kitchen table with his head buried in his arms. He was still wearing the clothes he'd gone out in yesterday and smelled of day-old sweat.
“Nothing's wrong with me,” he said, his voice muffled through his arms. “It's just...” He trailed off, then concluded lamely, “Nothing's wrong with me.”
“Yeah, obviously,” Butch said, bored. “Nothing wrong with a guy who slept at the kitchen table in yesterday's clothes and smells like a gym bag. Totally normal.”
“I didn't sleep,” Brick said.
“Oh, well, in that case,” Butch snarked, rolling his eyes. “That does make it a little weird.”
“Have you eaten anything since you got home, Brick?” Boomer asked.
“I'm not hungry,” Brick muttered, a little petulantly. “Besides, somebody ate all my cereal.”
Butch looked around and whistled.
“Well, do you want anything?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“Not even a shower?” Butch interjected.
“Later,” Brick responded, head still buried.
“If you say so.”
His brothers flipped on the TV and channel-surfed while Brick remained in the kitchen, his position unchanged. Eventually they retired to their own rooms, leaving Brick by himself at the table.
Slowly, Brick lifted his head. He stared at the sleeves of his shirt, which reminded him of last night. Not that much of anything wasn't reminding him of last night. But seeing his clothes made him feel like he should get out of them.
He rose against the protests of his stiff, aching body and drifted to his room, shutting the door with a soft click. Starting with his cap, he peeled his clothes off piece by piece as he floated to his bathroom. The porcelain tile was cold; he suppressed a shiver and cranked the water warm. It felt good to wash the stickiness off of him, even if running his hands over his hair and around his neck and shoulders reminded him of her touch.
When he was done, toweled dry, and clothed again, he laid on his back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. He hadn't turned the lights on and the daylight filtering through his blinds was dim; his room got more afternoon sun than it did morning. His body was grateful for the comfort of his bed, but despite the physical relief Brick didn't fall asleep. He turned over on his side, curling up a little.
I can't believe I did that.
What a stupid thing to do. His entire day yesterday had just been one bad decision after another; he hadn't thought anything through and as a result he had kissed her and now, now he had to contend with the consequences of his stupidity.
I shouldn't have taken her to the club. No, it went farther back than even that. He shouldn't have spent so much time with her at the coffeeshop. He shouldn't have sought an excuse or an opportunity to allow them to spend any more time together than was absolutely necessary. He shouldn't have walked around with her at the gallery, shouldn't have talked to her so much, definitely shouldn't have driven her around in his car or danced with her or touched her at all-
His memory fluttered to that moment of complete brainlessness when he had looked at her, flushed and panting and smiling, still looking radiant even in that ugly yellow light, and something had welled up in him, something that had made him reach for her and pull her close and press his mouth to hers.
His chest twinged, much like it had yesterday at so many points during the day, points where he should've turned around and come home. He ran a hand over his face and shook his head, wishing he'd never kissed her. Because when Brick had kissed Blossom, something had happened.
He'd felt something in him-no, her-no, in the very core of the Earth-shift. Something bright. Something like a match sparking into life. Something heavy, otherworldly, maybe even Heavenly, if he'd believed in a thing as silly as Heaven. The whole world-or maybe the universe, he wasn't sure-had changed.
I'm overdramatizing things, he thought. It was the moment. He had been wrapped up in it, in the atmosphere of the club and the dim city lights and the pretty girl. That was all Blossom was, really. Just a pretty girl. Her lips had been as soft as anyone else's. They'd puckered slightly, then yielded to the pressure of his, maybe with just a touch more hesitation. It hadn't been that much different from kissing Cindy, or any other girl.
Except...
He thought of Blossom in the museum, in the coffeeshop, in the club. He thought of her dancing, fighting, screaming at him until she was blue in the face. He thought of her in all the hundreds upon hundreds of photos he'd taken, of all the sketches he'd done of her, trying to capture that beauty-and before he could stop himself he was thinking She is, she is beautiful, she's stunning. She was almost heartbreakingly so.
And he had kissed her. And the worst part of it was how... fulfilled he'd felt when he had, how... like he was a puzzle, and she'd been the missing piece.
It's just the hormones. He was a teenager. It was to be expected. Of course he'd react to things like this with more emotion. He was only seventeen, after all. Teenagers were like walking emo bombs. Everybody was looking for a connection, and teenagers would react more strongly than anyone else. There were studies on this. It was all due to hormones. It was all chemical.
Brick ran a hand through his hair. That made it a little easier, when he took the time to break things down like this. It cleared his head. He'd forgotten for a second-or a day-that something like this absolutely could not happen because of who she was and who he was and what he wanted-no, needed-to do with his life. In all the time he'd been away from JS he'd lost track of his priorities. She had distracted him. And instead of remembering that she was a former enemy and would continue to be one if he managed to succeed at taking control of JS, he had let her. Fuck, he'd practically invited her to do so.
The buzz of the hotline last night echoed in his head. Even if he was seriously interested-which was impossible, by virtue of his age-she was a Powerpuff Girl. It'd never work. They'd never work.
Those wretched fucking adolescent emotions overcame him again, and he was filled with a sad sort of melancholy as he remembered how her hands had felt on his body, how they had brushed along the nape of his neck as she'd moved in for a second kiss.
The door to his room flew open, and he shot up.
“What the fuck, you two-”
“Cheer up, Emo Brick,” Boomer announced. Butch trailed in after him, a lit joint in his hand. His bed bounced as his brothers flopped onto it.
“Don't suppose you're gonna tell us what's up,” Butch said, taking a puff.
Brick sighed and leaned back on his hands. “Fuck off.”
“Thought so.” Butch offered Brick his joint. Brick stared at him for a second, then reached for it. He closed his eyes as he inhaled, then passed it on to Boomer, who did the same. The joint made its rounds, over and over in an endless circle as the boys reclined on Brick's bed.
“Yep,” Butch said, after some time.
Boomer laughed. “You said it.”
Brick watched the smoke spill out of his mouth and float up to the ceiling. In the dim daylight the smoke could look like anything, like a girl, or a dancing couple. He blew it away.
“Yeah.”
***
Originally posted at http://essbeejay.dreamwidth.org/106465.html.