The free book table doesn't hold any more books from the series Megamind likes so much, but he does find her a different romance book that he says is good, too. He looks a little wary, still, as he hands it to her, but when she smiles and thanks him, his lips curve up in answer, his eyes lighting up.

The flight back to her apartment is a special kind of torture for Roxanne. She's pressed so close to Megamind, her arms around him, her legs on either side of his hips, and the darkness, the sound of the engines, the way that they're the only ones in the sky—it all feels incredibly intimate in a way that sets Roxanne's heart to racing, makes her stomach flutter and swoop.

(she is so very aware of all the places that their bodies are touching and half of her mind is filled with mental screaming and the other half is frantically wishing that the flight never ends)

It does, though, eventually, end; Megamind lands the hoverbike on her balcony, cuts the engine, and helps her off the bike.

They stand there for a long moment, the sudden silence very loud around them.

Abruptly, Roxanne realizes that she's still holding Megamind's hand, that she's been holding it for an awkwardly long amount of time. She drops it quickly.

Megamind pulls his hand back as though she's burned it, flexes his fingers like he's checking that they're all still there.



They both speak at the same time, then stop.

"Sorry—ah—" Megamind waves at her to continue.

"No, no, you go first—"

"Um," he says again, the fingers of the hand she touched making small, nervous motions at his side, "I was—just wondering what sort of—casual. touching. we were talking about…you know, with the, ah—practice and—convincing. Because. I mean. I've never—I don't really do this sort of…"

He looks incredibly uncomfortable about this, Roxanne realizes with a sinking heart. Oh no.

It was wrong; it was wrong to ask him for this. the fact that she evidently has this—thing—for him makes it even more wrong.

(I don't really do this. I've never.)

"Wait, never, never?" Roxanne blurts out, and Megamind winces, glancing away from her.

(he looks even more uncomfortable now oh no)

"No," he mutters.

"—um—o-okay; that's—okay!" Roxanne says quickly. "So I was—the—touching thing, right, um—hugs? And—holding hands, and—sitting together on the couch…also maybe kissing if you're okay with it," she adds in a rush because she is a terrible person with no self-control.

Megamind's head jerks up, his eyes flying to hers.

The lights of her living room are shining through the glass doors, casting Megamind's face half in light and half in shadow, and his ears and cheekbones are glowing almost fuchsia as he blushes.


"Only if you're okay with it, though," Roxanne repeats quickly.

Megamind gulps visibly, his long throat working.

"I—um—yes; I—yes," he stammers. "That's—yes."

"—right!" Roxanne says, with a bright, half-panicked laugh. "I mean, it's not like it's a—big deal, right; it's just acting, so it's not like it matters!"

"—of—yes. Of course. Right, yes; right—" Megamind agrees.

"Right! So. Um—" Roxanne hesitates. "—do you—want to—now?"

"N-now?" Megamind says, his eyes absolutely enormous.

Roxanne gives another bright laugh, this one edging even closer to panic.

"Yeah, I mean, this is, like, our—fake—first date, right? And a kiss at the end of the first date is kind of tradition, so…"

"O-okay," Megamind says, "I—um…I don't. Know what I'm supposed to do."

"Ah—right," Roxanne says (he said he'd never done this sort of thing before, had he really meant none of it, ever? hasn't he ever wanted—?)

"Maybe it'll—be easier if I kiss you," she says. "If—if that's okay?"

"—yes," Megamind whispers, "yes, that's—that's okay."

Roxanne bites her lip and steps closer to him. Her gaze catches on his mouth, heat rushing to her face, butterflies fluttering in the pit of her stomach and around her heart. She glances back up; he's watching her still, his eyes open and beautiful and unfairly green.

"Close your eyes," she whispers.

He does, his lashes fluttering dark across his cheekbones, and something about that—the trust, she thinks dizzily, it's the implied trust—makes her breath catch.

"I—but I won't be able to—see what you're doing…" Megamind says, and again Roxanne's eyes are drawn to the shape of his mouth.

She slides one hand over his shoulder, feeling the material of his stolen tuxedo, feeling the shape of his body beneath it. Roxanne reaches up with her other hand and lays her fingertips soft against the side of his face, rubs her thumb lightly over his lower lip.

Megamind's lips part a little in response.

"You don't have to see, Megamind," Roxanne whispers to him. "You just have to feel."

He takes a small, quick breath and Roxanne leans forward that last inch and kisses him.

It's—she was right, before, kissing him is—electric. She brushes her lips over his, gentle and slow, and it feels more achingly intimate than a simple kiss has any right to be. She feels him take another sharp breath, and it catches at her heart, sends a shock of desire through her—god, she wants—

She kisses him again, pressing her lips to his, now, instead of merely brushing their mouths together.

Roxanne is pretty sure, now, that Megamind wasn't exaggerating when he said he's never done any of this before; he doesn't seem to know how to respond, at first, and his mouth is almost immobile, his lips stiff against hers. After a moment, though, his mouth softens and his lips begin, hesitantly, to move with hers.

She makes an involuntary noise of approval and presses herself a little closer, kisses him a little harder.

(she's trying, trying to keep her half of the kiss under control; she needs to be careful with him, needs to—)

Roxanne slides her hand from his cheek to cradle the back of his head in her hand and Megamind makes a soft, shocked noise and clutches at her, his hands going to the small of her back, his fingers twisting in the fabric of her dress and Roxanne winds her other hand around his neck and kisses him harder, deeper, all her thoughts about careful and control flying apart.

Megamind gasps, the first time she flicks her tongue over his lower lip; the second time, he parts his lips for her, lets her slide her tongue against his, flicks his own tongue against hers, sweet, shy little movements that drive her absolutely wild.

(she wants to bite him, wants to shove him up against the glass door and kiss her way down his neck while she fumbles the handle open, wants to walk him backwards to the couch, still kissing him, wants to push him down so she can climb into his lap and—)

Megamind breaks the kiss.

"—your hair," he says "can I—can I touch—? I'm—trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with my hands—"

"Wh—what?" Roxanne asks, reeling. "I—yes?"

(she'd lost all coherent thought, had felt like she was drowning in that kiss, and Megamind had been thinking about where to put his hands?)

"Oh, good," Megamind says, his fingers sliding into her hair as he leans forward to kiss her this time.

And—and it's so good, the press of his mouth is more sure, now, and the clutch of his fingers in her hair is a fairly good imitation of desperation, and it's easy to lose herself in the sensation again, to give herself over to the feeling of being kissed, but.


(I don't really do this)

(I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to do with my hands)

She breaks the kiss, panting for breath and Megamind steps away, looking uncertain again.

His mouth is tinted pink, too, now, like his cheeks and his ears, flushed pink from kissing her—oh god, he's beautiful, and she wants—

"Did I do that right?" he asks.

"—yeah," Roxanne says, the butterflies in her stomach turning into something hard and cold and heavy. "Yeah, that was—a good start. To the practicing. I'll, um. I'll see you tomorrow at ten."

"Shopping," Megamind says.

"Shopping," Roxanne agrees, and opens the balcony door quickly, before she does something stupid like give into the desire to kiss him again.

The flight back to the Lair is a bit of a blur for Megamind.

She kissed him! Kissed him! And not—not just like she did, before, either, in her living room.

That, on Roxanne's balcony, that was—lightyears beyond that first kiss, an entire universe beyond the best mental images his mind has ever been able to imagine of what kissing Roxanne might be like.

The reality, it turns out, is—indescribable. He's never felt anything like that, before: the sheer, complete pleasure of feeling her lips moving over his—her tongue, god—feeling her pulling him close, her hand on the back of his head sending shockwaves of shivery bliss down his spine, and the sensation of all of that, together, had whited out all of his thoughts except for the need to make sure that Roxanne was feeling this, too, that the kiss felt just as good to her, but he hadn't known what he was doing, hadn't even known where to put his hands, and—

Ridiculous to think, of course, that the kiss could have felt even one tenth as good to Roxanne as it felt to him—it didn't mean anything to her, while to him it meant—everything, really. But he'd wanted, so badly, to make her feel good. And she'd said he could touch her hair…

(ohhhh evil gods, her hair was so soft and silky, and her head had fit so beautifully in his palms, which—had that? been inappropriate? holding her head like that? Humans don't have the same erogenous zones as he does, he knows that; he'd felt like he'd died and gone to evil heaven when she put her hand on the back of his head, when she'd wound her arm around his neck, and oh no; maybe he shouldn't have let her do that, either? He hadn't exactly been expecting her to do it, and the feeling of it had sort of shorted out his brain, but—)

He should. he's going to have to. explain. about that. isn't he.


Because. Because Roxanne said that they're going to practice more, and that sounds like maybe that means more kissing, and maybe he can get it right, the next time. Maybe he can do better.

He'd asked Roxanne, afterwards, if he'd done it right, and she'd said yes, but she'd looked—he hadn't been able to read her expression, but it hadn't really been a happy expression. And she'd went inside rather quickly, after that.

He's probably terrible at kissing, isn't he.

Or maybe she'd just been tired of his company? Megamind knows he can be rather wearing, in large doses. And she's going to have to see him again tomorrow…

Tomorrow. He's going to see Roxanne again tomorrow.

Maybe she'll even kiss him again, tomorrow, he thinks, and his heart flips over.

Roxanne hides in her bedroom until she hears the sound of Megamind's hoverbike taking off—and then fading into the distance as he flies away.

She slides to the floor.

"Fuck," she whispers. "Oh, fuck, Roxanne; what have you gotten yourself into?"

Bringing a fake boyfriend to a family function? Sad. Having a supervillain who kidnaps you regularly pretend to be your fake boyfriend at a family function? Pretty goddamn weird. Realizing you have a thing—she refuses to categorize it further than 'thing', refuses to examine the feeling more closely—having a thing for the supervillain who kidnaps you regularly and who is going to be pretending to be your fake boyfriend?


No. No no no. She can deal with this. She just. has to stay calm.



(Fuck fuck fuckity FUCK fuck her this is a fucking DISASTER.)



Roxanne grips her hair in her hands, trying to ground herself, but it just makes her remember Megamind's hands in her hair and—

(I'm trying to figure out what to do with my hands)

—and he apparently hadn't been affected at all by the kiss that had left Roxanne breathless and aching. He'd been thinking about what to do with his hands, for god's sake.

He'd said he didn't do this sort of thing, that he'd never done this sort of thing and—


Oh no.


Is he maybe asexual? Or—and—aromantic?

Or maybe he just doesn't find humans attractive, maybe she's too different—skin the wrong color, head the wrong size—for Megamind to ever look at her and want.

The way her heart falls at that makes her want to slap herself—stop being so dramatic! It's just a—you just have a thing for him, it's not like it's—it's not like you're in—

Nope. Definitely just a thing. An unrequited thing, but still. Just. a thing.

She can—she can get through this. She faces much worse things on a weekly basis: alligators and bombs and giant robots with lasers and shit she's thinking about Megamind again has she always thought about him this much how did she not notice this?

It's—it's just a thing. And—and maybe this—the pretending, maybe it'll work out for the best! Help her get him out of her system.

Yes. That's—that's a good way to look at it.

(fuck. fuck. FUCK.)

Oh, fuck it; she's going to bed. be continued.

notes: thank you for all of the reviews! I really appreciate them so much; getting them is always so exciting!