April Fandom Muses Prompt: Kiss
Is not a kiss the very autograph of love? -Henry Finck
The first night Jean stayed in the mansion, Warren dropped by Scott's room to hang out in the doorway.
Scott didn't invite him in.
This was an old routine by now. There were enough common areas in the building that Scott figured it was reasonable to assume that anyone who was up alone in his room wanted to be alone in his room, and that any polite person would be okay with that. Warren seemed to get it -- hence the hanging in the doorway, rather than actually trying to enter -- but Scott wasn't sure he actually understood it.
Who wouldn't want Warren Worthington III to grace them with his presence?
But, whatever he really thought, Warren had unimpeachable manners. So he stood in the doorway, politely not saying anything, until Scott sighed, shut his magazine, and said, "What?"
"I was just curious -- " Warren walked cautiously in, glancing up and around in case Scott might have swiped attack drones from the danger room to guard the doorway. Apparently satisfied, he sat at the foot of the bed and reached out for the magazine in Scott's hands. "What are you reading?"
"Nothing." Scott shoved the copy of Full Throttle under his pillow. Not that he was embarrassed about ogling custom motorcycles. But he was embarrassed about ogling bikes he would never be able to afford, and he had a horrible idea that, if Warren noticed, he would go out and buy him one. Scott had already accidentally acquired a cashmere sweater and a good pair of running shoes this way, and it didn't bother him that he'd never be able to pay Warren back, so much as that it didn't even occur to Warren that either of them should care.
"Fine, I won't touch your stuff!" Warren spread his hands, then placed them on Scott's comforter and leaned back. "So --" He arched his wings and his eyebrows seemed to rise with them. "What do you think of her?"
The subject had been on Scott's mind, too, and, as exasperating as Warren's method of starting a conversation could be, he didn't mind having someone to talk with about it. "I think it's going to be tough." Crossing his arms over his knees, he leaned closer to Warren. "It's hard enough learning to control these powers, but even the Professor doesn't seem to be sure what Jean's powers are. And then integrating her with the team, making sure she feels accepted --"
"Whoa there, Fearless Leader. What I meant was, which one of us do you think she wants to go out with?"
"Oh. That." Scott fell back on his pillow and reached behind him to retrieve the magazine. Opening it across his knees, he looked at the pictures and not at Warren. "That's pretty much the definition of a rhetorical question." He turned a page with such force that the paper ripped. "You two have fun."
"No worries, bro --" Warren stood and started backing away, but, when Scott half-looked up at him, couldn't stop from giving a cocky grin. "We'll invite you to the wedding."
"Great," Scott said. "Super." And he couldn't figure out why his hand was tightening around the glossy paper. It wasn't as though he had expected anything different, from the time Jean Grey walked into the school. Jean was pretty, Jean seemed nice, but there wasn't any reason Scott should expect that to matter to him, in any kind of personal way. Pretty girls like Jean found pretty boys like Warren, and they fell in love and they got together and they lived happily. . .
"You're not even going to fight me over this?" Warren demanded.
"Why would I want to fight ?"
"I don't know. Why are you tearing that magazine to shreds?"
"I'm not --" Scott looked down and saw loose bits of paper scattered over the bed. He shook his head. "I’m not. I don't care if you take Jean out. Just don't treat her bad so she wants to leave, that's all."
"That's all?" Warren's eyebrow went up. "Look, Scotty, I understand when we're out at Go-Go's and girls start looking at you, and you just sink down in your chair and pretend to read the placemat." He put a hand out before Scott could protest. "Hank and Bobby can get away with being a little eccentric, but my power and yours -- sure, we blend on the surface. But I can't take off my jacket, and you can't take off your glasses, unless we're pretty damn confident in the person we're with. So I understand keeping to yourself in a setting like that. But Jean -- she's perfect. She's one of us. We don't have to keep secrets."
"Secrets?" Scott snapped. "Warren, I'm not afraid of some girl at the coffee shop finding out about the X-Men. I'm afraid of kissing somebody and blowing a hole in their head." Warren turned to stare at him, and Scott bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to come out with all of that, and now Warren was justly horrified.
But instead of backing away, Warren actually stepped closer, squinted like he was trying to look into Scott's eyes, and said, "You've never kissed anybody?"
"I - didn't say - I - it's complicated," Scott stammered, then quietly added, "No."
"Well." Warren lowered himself onto the bed again. "That seems like a waste."
Scott was feeling rapidly lost in the conversation. He was prepared for Warren to mock his inexperience. But this didn't feel like mocking. His mouth felt dry as he said, "A waste of what?"
Warren tilted his head. "Some really nice lips, for starters." Then, leaning in said, "Close your laser eyes if this scares you."
"They're not lase--" But he didn't get any farther, because Warren's lips touched his. Scott instinctively pressed his mouth closed, but the contact lingered, soft and warm until --
Warren jumped back, landed on his feet, and said with a grin, "I'd say that checked out fine." He held his hands up to frame his face, and added. "See? No holes."
Scott rubbed his at mouth with the back of his hand. "Not funny." He tried to ignore the warm flush in his mouth and cheeks.
"No humor intended," Warren assured him. "No joke, no holes in the head -- no more excuses for you to be such a wimp. Now. The race is on for Jean Grey's heart. May the best man win."
And Warren was out the door, and down the hall, before Scott could figure out what the hell just happened.
The first night Jean stayed in the mansion, Warren dropped by Scott's room to hang out in the doorway.
Scott didn't invite him in.
This was an old routine by now. There were enough common areas in the building that Scott figured it was reasonable to assume that anyone who was up alone in his room wanted to be alone in his room, and that any polite person would be okay with that. Warren seemed to get it -- hence the hanging in the doorway, rather than actually trying to enter -- but Scott wasn't sure he actually understood it.
Who wouldn't want Warren Worthington III to grace them with his presence?
But, whatever he really thought, Warren had unimpeachable manners. So he stood in the doorway, politely not saying anything, until Scott sighed, shut his magazine, and said, "What?"
"I was just curious -- " Warren walked cautiously in, glancing up and around in case Scott might have swiped attack drones from the danger room to guard the doorway. Apparently satisfied, he sat at the foot of the bed and reached out for the magazine in Scott's hands. "What are you reading?"
"Nothing." Scott shoved the copy of Full Throttle under his pillow. Not that he was embarrassed about ogling custom motorcycles. But he was embarrassed about ogling bikes he would never be able to afford, and he had a horrible idea that, if Warren noticed, he would go out and buy him one. Scott had already accidentally acquired a cashmere sweater and a good pair of running shoes this way, and it didn't bother him that he'd never be able to pay Warren back, so much as that it didn't even occur to Warren that either of them should care.
"Fine, I won't touch your stuff!" Warren spread his hands, then placed them on Scott's comforter and leaned back. "So --" He arched his wings and his eyebrows seemed to rise with them. "What do you think of her?"
The subject had been on Scott's mind, too, and, as exasperating as Warren's method of starting a conversation could be, he didn't mind having someone to talk with about it. "I think it's going to be tough." Crossing his arms over his knees, he leaned closer to Warren. "It's hard enough learning to control these powers, but even the Professor doesn't seem to be sure what Jean's powers are. And then integrating her with the team, making sure she feels accepted --"
"Whoa there, Fearless Leader. What I meant was, which one of us do you think she wants to go out with?"
"Oh. That." Scott fell back on his pillow and reached behind him to retrieve the magazine. Opening it across his knees, he looked at the pictures and not at Warren. "That's pretty much the definition of a rhetorical question." He turned a page with such force that the paper ripped. "You two have fun."
"No worries, bro --" Warren stood and started backing away, but, when Scott half-looked up at him, couldn't stop from giving a cocky grin. "We'll invite you to the wedding."
"Great," Scott said. "Super." And he couldn't figure out why his hand was tightening around the glossy paper. It wasn't as though he had expected anything different, from the time Jean Grey walked into the school. Jean was pretty, Jean seemed nice, but there wasn't any reason Scott should expect that to matter to him, in any kind of personal way. Pretty girls like Jean found pretty boys like Warren, and they fell in love and they got together and they lived happily. . .
"You're not even going to fight me over this?" Warren demanded.
"Why would I want to fight ?"
"I don't know. Why are you tearing that magazine to shreds?"
"I'm not --" Scott looked down and saw loose bits of paper scattered over the bed. He shook his head. "I’m not. I don't care if you take Jean out. Just don't treat her bad so she wants to leave, that's all."
"That's all?" Warren's eyebrow went up. "Look, Scotty, I understand when we're out at Go-Go's and girls start looking at you, and you just sink down in your chair and pretend to read the placemat." He put a hand out before Scott could protest. "Hank and Bobby can get away with being a little eccentric, but my power and yours -- sure, we blend on the surface. But I can't take off my jacket, and you can't take off your glasses, unless we're pretty damn confident in the person we're with. So I understand keeping to yourself in a setting like that. But Jean -- she's perfect. She's one of us. We don't have to keep secrets."
"Secrets?" Scott snapped. "Warren, I'm not afraid of some girl at the coffee shop finding out about the X-Men. I'm afraid of kissing somebody and blowing a hole in their head." Warren turned to stare at him, and Scott bit his tongue. He hadn't meant to come out with all of that, and now Warren was justly horrified.
But instead of backing away, Warren actually stepped closer, squinted like he was trying to look into Scott's eyes, and said, "You've never kissed anybody?"
"I - didn't say - I - it's complicated," Scott stammered, then quietly added, "No."
"Well." Warren lowered himself onto the bed again. "That seems like a waste."
Scott was feeling rapidly lost in the conversation. He was prepared for Warren to mock his inexperience. But this didn't feel like mocking. His mouth felt dry as he said, "A waste of what?"
Warren tilted his head. "Some really nice lips, for starters." Then, leaning in said, "Close your laser eyes if this scares you."
"They're not lase--" But he didn't get any farther, because Warren's lips touched his. Scott instinctively pressed his mouth closed, but the contact lingered, soft and warm until --
Warren jumped back, landed on his feet, and said with a grin, "I'd say that checked out fine." He held his hands up to frame his face, and added. "See? No holes."
Scott rubbed his at mouth with the back of his hand. "Not funny." He tried to ignore the warm flush in his mouth and cheeks.
"No humor intended," Warren assured him. "No joke, no holes in the head -- no more excuses for you to be such a wimp. Now. The race is on for Jean Grey's heart. May the best man win."
And Warren was out the door, and down the hall, before Scott could figure out what the hell just happened.