the gorgeous and the grotesque
blithefool asked for “First time or Clothed getting off or they could be the same thing” ;D
Years later, Julio remembers the incident with a hot, messy flush of desire and embarrassment – coupled with a hearty helping of amazement that they somehow ended up attempting to balance a checkbook together in the end.
The only thing I love more than smooching is awkward sexual tension.
dorksidefiker replied to your post:This is an invitation
Jono, Angelo, and the totally accidental bleaching of every bit of clothing Jono owns.
It wasn’t that Angelo didn’t think Jono could be intimidating. He was a walking piece of leather and attitude, and he had the uncanny ability of expressing “fuck you” in thirty-seven different ways with just his eyes. That, and Angelo had seen some of the things Jono had done with his powers, either when they were training or actually in a fight, and he didn’t doubt for a second that Jono was up there with Emma and Monet as far as dangerous teammates went.
But it was hard to remind himself of any of that when Jono looked like someone had just stabbed his new puppy right in front of him.
“Look, it’s not…I mean, maybe we can fix this.”
Jono’s hands twitched around the blotchy shirt in his lap.
Maybe not.
It was supposed to have been a prank. Just a simple, harmless little prank, probably followed by lots of “oh, lighten up!” puns. Just a little bleach in the wash when Jono finally crawled out of his dungeon pit to do his laundry. Jubilee, of course, having never actually used bleach in her life (“Have you seen how much color I wear, Angelo? Please.”) didn’t know how much to use even under good circumstances. What had been “just enough to be annoying” very quickly turned into “oh dear God, we’re going to die.”
And then Jubilee had conveniently disappeared into town to see a movie with Paige, leaving Angelo to deal with a more or less literal fire-breathing dragon whose entire wardrobe had been replaced with that of an 80s-era hair band member with poor impulse control and a shaky hand.
“Jono?”
Angelo stepped into the laundry room, brow furrowed, and leaned his hip against the washing machine. Jono sat on the floor exactly where he had been for the past five solid minutes as he sorted through his clothes in search of anything, just one thing, that had survived. When he’d reached the mottled black and dingy white t-shirt at the bottom of the pile, his will to keep searching (along with what appeared to be his will to live) completely left him.
He still hadn’t said anything beyond that initial what the fuck happened.
“Hey, uh, I know this looks bad. But first of all, I’d like to point out that this was all Jubilee’s idea.” Angelo wasn’t the type to throw his friends under the bus, but when that friend bailed on him and left him to take the fall on his own? Different story. “Second, we can totally fix this.”
Did I ever tell you where I got this shirt?
Angelo blinked, then shook his head.
Before I came over here, Morrissey did a surprise show at a pub my band had a gig at. I tripped over my own feet just to get a glimpse of him onstage, and after the show, he stuck around to chat with the other bands playing that night. He gave me this shirt off his back.
“Really?”
No, you idiot. I bought it off the discount rack at a shop. Point is, it’s still my bloody shirt and I still didn’t want it ruined. And this!
Jono yanked a pair of jeans out of the pile in the basket and threw them at Angelo. They landed in a sad pile of bleached black denim at his feet.
What the hell am I supposed to wear now?
“They’re just splotchy, man. It’s not that ba–”
Angelo stopped short at the thirty-eighth variation of fuck you Jono leveled at him.
I am going to kill you both. I am going to strangle you with my worthless jeans, since that’s all they’re bloody well good for now, and then I’m going to hang you outside my door as a warning to everyone else.
“You wouldn’t. I’m too cute for that.”
Jono held up a dark gray sock that hadn’t escaped the bleach assault, either. His eyes narrowed accusingly, prompting Angelo to take a half step backwards.
“You’ve had those socks forever. Look, they got holes in them and everything. They need to be put out to pasture anyway.”
With alarming calmness, Jono picked up another pair of recently created acid wash jeans and stretched one leg of the pants between his hands to test the fabric’s strength. When he looked up, Angelo was almost certain he saw a curious twitch in Jono’s left eye.
Run, Angelo.
blithefool : “Eeee! Okay, I feel like this is gonna get dark but how about ‘When was the last time you murdered someone?”
Ric felt personally responsible for each failed jump, each dimensional shift that wasn’t home. He was picturing home, goddamnit, picturing their shitty room in that shitty funeral home with the dirty socks and the food he knew ‘Star hoarded in the dresser. He could smell it, could feel it, and whatever demon-shit-magic that had punted him and ‘Star to mojoworld, had barred the gates home.
He felt responsible because if he could just anchor them right, ‘Star wouldn’t be throwing up after every jump. Wouldn’t be wiping what looked suspiciously like blood out of his scruffy, half-kept beard as he squared his shoulders and tried to give Ric what he thought was a reassuring smile (he’d never mastered that, despite all the changes he’d gone through, ‘Star was still the worst liar he’d ever met, and he was grateful for that)
This place was better than some, worse than others, and they’d spent the last several hours dodging some jackbooted, totalitarian thugs. In the shadows of the alley, Ric pushed ‘Star behind the dumpster. “I’ll take care of them.” He whispered, hands shaking with more than the subtle tremors of his powers. “You just rest, ok, babe?”
“Julio.” ‘Star stroked his fingers through Rictor’s hair and drew their faces close. “When was the last time you murdered someone?”
“…’Star..” Rictor tried to pull away, but ‘Star held him fast.
“If you try to delay them with your powers it’ll just draw more of them here.” ‘Star whispered with a little smile.
“You know I can turn a human into custard with those powers, right?” Ric scoffed, his snort cut short as ‘Star lightly headbutted him.
“You haven’t been a killer yet. I’m not going to let you become one now.” He pressed a kiss to Ric’s forehead, stubble rasping painfully across sweaty skin. “Let me do what I was trained for. Let me protect you.”
“You don’t have to! I’m perfectly capable of…” Ric paused. (Of killing. Like you are. Of course I am. I have to be)
‘Star pushed past him, blades rasping from his sleeves. “Just watch my back, mi amor.” He smiled with a little shake of his head. “I’ll be done before you know it.”
OMG. Gambit teaching Jono’s class. Somebody wrote it and I’m dying.
“I know what you’re thinking.” Feral said, ostentatiously grooming herself from the top of the television set.
“No, I’m relatively certain you do not.” ‘Star replied, trying to focus on the infomercial people failing to do simple tasks like carry a bowl of cheese puffs across the room. He had been bred for the arenas of Mojoworld, and to fail in the most menial of tasks like that..
“I’m leavin’ tomorrow, ya know.” Feral uncoiled her tail in front of the screen and ‘Star twitched, unable to fully appreciate the elderly woman now trapped in her barcalounger on the screen. “This fine piece of pussy is heading out into the world. You had your chance, red, and now..” She paused to loudy lick an unruly section of her tail.
“And now I cannot see my shows because you are grooming yourself directly in front of the television.” ‘Star grumbled, then, with the reflexes of a warrior born, grabbed the nearest pillow to place between himself and Feral as she sprang up onto the couch. “Feral.”
“We can never be together, shattybuns.” She breathed and he winced, just a little. “A kiss, then, before I hit the road?”
Shatterstar clutched the pillow tighter. Rictor had taught him a phrase for just such occasions. “Talk to the hand, Feral.” He tried, woodenly holding up one hand while he continued to clutch the pillow fiercely with the other.
She licked his palm with the same long rasping tongue she’d just groomed herself with and then bounded away dramatically. With a queasy, strangled little sound, ‘Star looked around to ensure no one had possibly heard that, then wiped his hand on the couch.
By the time he looked back at the television, the Infomercials were over and it was just the boring news again. “Fekt.”
OMG. I love this so much.
It was 10am and the coffee shop was uncomfortably crowded. Usually Richter was able to score an empty table and get some work done before class. Now it looked like sleeping thirty minutes past his alarm was going to throw his whole morning off. Currently the line was stretching out the door with students all clamoring for their lattés. Richter craned his neck, trying to see over the sea of people. He spotted an empty chair in the very corner of the café and made a beeline for it, dribbling coffee on himself in the process. It wasn’t until he sat down that he noticed the well-muscled red head sitting across from him.
***
He’s a little surprised when he realizes he’s not alone any more. The language tapes were helping but he had to keep his earphones in all the time. It has dulled his other senses. His seatmate smiles in a disarming fashion, his dark hair is wavy and unkempt. He’s spilt coffee on himself, brown fingers rubbing at the stain absently. Gaveedra looks at the other boy for several moments before he remembers to say hello.
***
The red head removes his earbuds, and nods at him. Says hello. He has some sort of accent that Richter can’t place. He looks down and spies a gym bag (not surprising with muscles like those) with a Calculus 1 book sticking out of it.
‘Um, you know, I’m in that class too’, he points his chin towards the book by the other boy’s feet. ‘I’ve never seen you before. Did you transfer?’
The red head nods again. Not much of a conversationalist.
***
He would like to converse with this boy but he cannot find the words. The language is too new. He holds out his hands in supplication.
‘I- my English is not…clear.’
‘Oh, man. I’ve been there. It’s OK. You’ll get it.’, the dark haired boy smiles at him again. It is a very nice smile.
His seatmate takes sip of his coffee and another drop lands on his shirt.
‘¡Mierda! I just washed this!’
***
The other boy is laughing- or Richter imagines he is. It’s less of a laugh and more of a deep rumbling sound.
‘Are you laughing at my expense, amigo?’
‘I am, hm, I am sorry.’, the red head forces a straight face.
‘I’m just teasin’ you. I’m Richter, by the way. Well, Julio, really. Richter’s my last name.’
‘Gaveedra’
A lil Gen -X era X-Mas fic under the cut. In the spirit of the holidays or whatever.
It’s been hours and the snow is still falling. Fat wet flakes blanket the courtyard of the Massachusetts Academy and, at this rate, the whole school will be buried by morning. Ms. Frost special ordered an enormous balsam fir for the holidays. She placed it in the center of the courtyard. Angelo thinks it was the biggest Christmas tree he’s ever seen. Now it more closely resembled a small snow covered mountain. The golden star had long since been obscured by the winter storm but he can still make out the tiny twinkling lights under the snow if he squints.
The wind howls, blowing drifts of snow that rattle the ancient windows. He shivers. The basement room is so drafty, Jono’s collection of band posters rustles slightly with every gust. Somehow his friend never seems to notice the chill but then Angelo sort of doubted Jono can feel cold anymore. Or heat. Which is probably why he wore a leather jacket with matching leather pants year round. Angelo wondered if he has a dresser full of the same outfit or if he just never does laundry. Both scenarios seem equally plausible.
He turns back to the couch, rubbing his hands together to try to generate a little warmth. Jono’s been silently watching television. There’s some sort of Twilight Zone marathon he seems marginally invested in.
It is Christmas Eve and they are the only ones left in the school for the holidays. Paige had gone back to Kentucky, Monet was vacationing in Paris with her family, Everett was in Missouri, and Jubilee had taken Penance to New York with her to visit Logan. Sean had cheerfully offered to bring them to Muir Island and Emma suggested they join her in Tahiti. Jono immediately declined and Angelo had followed suit, choosing his best friend over the potential of seeing Ms. Frost in a bikini. With the temperatures hovering in the 20’s, he was beginning to question his sanity.
He sits, tugging a blanket from the back of the couch around his shoulders.
Jono regards him, head tilted slightly, ‘ You cold, mate?’
‘Sí. I miss winter in Los Angeles. This place is like a frozen wasteland. I dunno how you stand it.’
‘Hadn’t noticed t’be honest’
Shocking.
Angelo pulls the blanket closer and grabs a pack of cigarettes wedged between the couch cushions. He pats his pockets. No lighter. Damn. No matches either. He shoots Jono his best puppy dog look, cigarette hanging from his lips, unlit.
‘Bloody hell, Ange.’
Jono says his control over his powers is spotty at best. But Angelo’s seen him when he’s focused. Hell, he watched him rebuild his body from nothing.
‘I ain’t got no matches.’, he wobbles his lower lip for effect, ‘Please?’
A sigh rattles through his head followed by a concentrated psonic blast.
Angelo smiles and puffs his cigarette absently. Plumes of smoke drifting lazily towards the ceiling.
‘Gracias.’
‘Yeah, yeah.’
Jono makes a show of scowling but Angelo can tell he isn’t half as annoyed as he pretends to be. That’s the thing about Jono. He might act moody or say that he wants to be left alone. But Angelo? Angelo knows better.
‘Does the smoke bother you?’
‘Why would it? I don’t breathe and I ‘aven’t any lungs. You, on the other hand…’
‘You know me. Live fast, die young and all that.’
‘You really believe that?’
He sighs, ‘If I wanted a lecture, I’d call Mi mamá- if she didn’t already think I was dead, that is.’
Jono studies him, eyebrows furrowing, ‘… You alright, mate? I’m the one wot’s supposed to be morose. It s’not the other way ‘round.’
‘Yeah. Sorry. The holidays just gets me thinkin’ about all the family I’m missing. What did your parents do for Christmas?’
‘Eh? Well, I guess they went on holiday. Skiing, maybe? Dunno. I stopped spending time with them as soon as I was old enough to say no.’
‘That’s a little sad, man.’
‘Yeah, well, th’ feeling was mutual. Trust me. Not really sure ‘ow I fit in with that lot.’
‘Hm.’
‘You could always call ‘er. Yer mum, that is. Let ‘er know yer safe.’
‘She was never exactly fond of…our type of people.’
‘Not sure which bit yer referring to, but…’
‘Take your pick.’
Jono seems to ponder this. Rakes a hand through his unruly mop of hair.
‘ ‘Er loss then, eh?’
Angelo shrugs, grey face pulling into an exaggerated frown.
‘I mean, it seems a bit silly to cut someone out of yer life for wot they can’t control. She ought’er be grateful. ‘Er son’s a superhero, after all.’
Jono’s hand is on his back, gentle and reassuring. It’s shockingly intimate for someone who usually folds in onto himself. Jono doesn’t hug. Jono doesn’t even shake hands, really. Jono would probably wrap himself in caution tape if he thought Emma would let him.
He musters a lopsided smile, ‘Not so super. But thanks, amigo.’
‘Right then.’
Jono lets his hand linger for a moment and then reaches for something under the couch. He scrounges for a minute and then produces a tiny box, wrapped rather haphazardly in snowman wrapping paper. Angelo estimated that Jono had used at least a half a roll of Scotch tape on the tiny parcel.
‘Merry Christmas, and all of that.’
He’s momentarily stunned.
‘I didn’t get you noth-‘
‘Oh, just open it, you wanker.’
He does with some amount of effort. At least he didn’t use duct tape.
It’s small, and golden and it has his initials carefully etched onto its surface. It takes him a moment to process.
‘You got me…a lighter?’
‘I’m tired of being yer human Zippo, Espinosa. Now don’t lose it in the bloody couch cushions’
fin
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have mercy.
rawr
A Beautiful Monster 