Rating: PG-13 for language and sexual references.Genre: Humor/Crack(-ish). Summary: Kurt has discovered a new use for his holo-watch, and it's a bit . . . revealing.
Warnings: Kind of . . . made of crazy. To the brim.
Pairings/Characters: Todd/Kurt (duh), Rogue, Kitty. Hints at Kitty/Lance and a hint at a Secret Surprise Pairing that was squeezed into the end for my pal Thad. Cheers, Thad. Only for you would I do this terrible thing.
Author's Note: My friends and I, we have a lot of time on our hands, and we mostly spend it talking about comic books, porn, or porn related to comic books. One day my friend Twitch had an idea. "Isn't it possible," she suggested, "that Kurt could be totally naked under his watch's hologram?" We conceded that, not only was it possible, but it was quite likely. (Come on, you can just tell by looking at him that he'd be into that kind of thing.) One thing led to another, and soon I had started writing what you will soon read, unless you give up after the author's note and go back to something more interesting. However, I soon went off on extraneous tangents and essentially spun out of control as far as having an actual plot went, and as a result about seven holidays passed us by between the time Twitch gave me the plot bunny and the time it was actually finished. After some painful and anesthetic-free fic surgery, I came up with the following, which, while it may not be the best, deepest story I've ever written, certainly contains the most naked people. Anyway, happy Halloween, Thanksgiving, Hannukah, Christmas, Kwanzaa, New Year, Martin Luther King, Jr., Day, and Venereal Disease to you, Twitch, and I hope it meets your standards, because otherwise I may have to join the church and devote my life to god, and that would be such a waste.
Disclaimer: Marvel's, Warner Brothers', some other people's, but definitely not mine.
Kurt Wagner Hates Pants (A Nudist's Story)
There are, at the Institute, a number of things that qualify as Bad Signs. Rogue looking cheerful before noon, for one. Evan scouring the refrigerator. Logan . . . existing. One learns very quickly to stay away.
The Red Alert Bad Sign basically consists of a certain elf looking tremendously pleased with himself without having any obvious reason to be tremendously pleased with himself. In this situation, things are liable to explode.
This morning, nothing will explode, at least not on purpose. Nor will anything within the mansion break, warp, melt, snap, wilt, or collapse, to general surprise.
Something is, however, currently expanding. It is Kurt's ego.
He regards himself in the mirror, grinning like a loon. What brilliance! He can't believe he never thought of this before. The endless possibilities make his head swim.
He tilts his head to the side. No. Not the blue shirt, not today. He touches his holowatch; his image flickers, and suddenly he's wearing burgundy over his jeans. He nods. Much better.
He gazes fondly at the holowatch. What a truly marvellous invention. And he knows more about it than anyone, excepting the Professor. So who can tell . . . ?
He places a hand mockingly on his chest and grins again as his fingers sink smoothly through his clothing and land directly on his fur.
With his tail (now invisible), he grabs his bag from the table behind him and drops it into his waiting arms. Completely and utterly thrilled at his own genius, naked as the day he was born, Kurt strides out of his room and down the stairs.
"Like, seriously, Kurt, you look like you've got lockjaw," said Kitty, frowning at him. "Are you okay?"
"She's right," said Rogue, regarding him suspiciously. "You've been grinning all mornin'. What's wrong with you?"
"Hmm . . . ?" said Kurt distantly, adjusting his backpack and smiling blissfully at the slight breeze playing over his skin.
Then he walked into a tree. And fell over.
"Jeez, Kurt!" snapped Kitty, looking torn between irritation and undignified laughter. Kurt lay on his backpack helplessly, like an upside-down turtle, waving his limbs feebly and staring at the leaves above him.
"Um . . . help?" he ventured.
Rogue snorted and grabbed his hand, dragging him to his feet.
"Thanks," said Kurt. Then he shrieked as she pulled his head towards her, pried open his jaws with one gloved hand, and sniffed his breath, frowning.
"Well, he hasn't been drinkin'," she reported, and added, wrinkling her nose, "or using mouthwash either. Let's see, now. . . ."
She reached out, grabbed a handful of Kurt's shirt, and dragged it towards her nose, presumably for another sniff test. Or at least, she would have if he had actually been wearing a shirt. As it was, she took a deep breath of nothing before she realized that her hand was completely empty.
Rogue stared at her hand, at Kurt, and at her hand again. Then she reached out and poked Kurt in the chest experimentally. He watched as surprise was replaced by horror on her face as her fingers touched fur.
"Oh, man, Kurt. . . ." she said, looking up at him. "Are you serious?"
He grinned apologetically, shrugging.
"Oh, man," Rogue said again, smacking her hand against her forehead. "Good grief, Kurt. . . ." She sighed in exasperation. "It's your funeral," she said over her shoulder as she turned to go.
Kitty, who had missed most of this, having been somewhat distracted by the arrival of the official motley crew and the grin sent in her direction by its most senior member, turned around now, looking flustered and confused. "What?" she said. "What's going on?"
"Ask him," said Rogue shortly, indicating Kurt with her thumb, and walked off.
Kitty whipped around and glared at Kurt. "Well?" she demanded.
"I've no idea," said Kurt uncomfortably.
Kitty rolled her eyes, growled in frustration, and followed Rogue to the front doors of the main school building.
Kurt sighed. He tried to adjust his nonexistent collar, and then felt very stupid.
Well . . . he always stayed away from people. He'd just have to be extra careful today.
Leaning his head back, he relished the breeze ruffling his fur. Then he squared his shoulders, resisted (with some difficulty) the urge to giggle like a little girl, and marched into school.
Life was good.
By lunch, he was no longer quite so certain his idea had been a good one. It was certainly an adrenaline rush: every time someone brushed past him, the air currents moved his fur a bit, making him jump automatically. A couple of times he'd nearly 'ported. That was not a good thing.
He'd also found out that, amazingly enough, pants did have their uses. For example, he'd found himself desperately wanting an extra pair of safety goggles in science lab in case someone spilled some terrifying chemical on a crucial part of his anatomy. Then there had been the English room, hot and stuffy on the best of days, and metal chairs, painful to get out of even with pants on. He was sure he had left at least five layers of thigh skin behind when he'd got up.
Still, the fact remained: he was naked. And no one else was. He snickered triumphantly and contemplated dancing. He couldn't dance, but that never stopped him from trying.
He was interrupted just before he attempted the hula (a truly terrifying sight) when someone said behind him, "You comin'?"
He turned around. It was Rogue. She was giving him a thoroughly disapproving, peering-over-nonexistent-bifocals look.
"To lunch," she said, indicating the cafeteria doors with a toss of her head. "You comin'?"
Kurt shook his head. "No, thanks," he said. "I'm not too hungry. I was just gonna go behind the bleachers and hang out till next period."
"Right," she said, and shook her head. "See you, Kurt." She walked through the cafeteria doors; as they opened, a gush of sound came out, then abruptly stopped as they swung closed. Kurt was alone.
He looked around.
Ah. That was better. So, so much better. Air currents.
Under the bleachers, Kurt sighed. If he closed his eyes and ignored the occasional faint car engine, he could almost imagine that he was home in the mountains again, having made a daring escape from his mother, who had a Thing about Putting Clothes On. He'd never understood it; who was there to see him? And if anyone was there, would it really make a difference whether the blue demon was wearing pants or not?1
They seemed to have a real clothing fixation here in America as well. Kurt didn't understand it; it felt completely unnatural. After all, what was skin there for?
Of course, he mused, he appreciated nudity so much more than everyone else. It was the wind in his fur that made him do it.
Wow. He sounded like a cowboy.
He felt the breeze pick up almost imperceptibly, and he grinned and raised his arms, turning his head and sighing as his fur shifted, tickling him. Nothing, but nothing, was as excellent as this.2
Something behind him rustled and went, "Mhn?"
Kurt froze. Oh. Crap. Oh crap. Crapcrapcra—had they seen him 'port? No. No, they would have said something. Or screamed. But how could they not have seen?
He advanced cautiously. Something seemed to be slumped against one of the bleacher supports. Or—someone. Wearing old, muddy shirts and torn jeans. Head leaning forward. Breathing deeply. Smelled like a sewer. Eyes shu—
You have got to be kidding me.
Toad? Here? Now?
"Oh, Gott in Himmel," he said quietly, shaking his head. Then he thought and added, "No effing way." This seemed to express his current sentiments more accurately.
Without even noticing it, he'd crouched down and tensed up, ready to jump, 'port, attack, or whatever else might be necessary. This was sort of a conditioned response, considering the fact that he and Toad were basically guaranteed to attack each other on sight.
Toad didn't move.
Kurt watched him, counting breaths. Okay, he's not sick or dead, he's just asleep, he thought, feeling both relieved and hassled. Yes. Great. He's asleep here. Where I want to be. Damnit!
Toad's hair, in his face as always, fluttered as he breathed. Looking at him more closely now, Kurt thought, Mein Gott, he looks horrible. He did, too: the bags under his eyes, usually only visible in a certain light, were a sleepless grey even in the patchy sun under the bleachers, and his skin was, if possible, more weirdly pale than normal.
Kurt sighed, grousing mentally. Okay, he's exhausted. So what? So I can't wake him up, damn it. But if I'm quiet and he stays asleep . . . yes. I can do that. Just ignore him.
He moved a few feet upwind of Toad and settled his back against one of the bleacher supports. It was pleasantly cool and sent a little shiver through him. Metal like this, big metal, he hadn't had much experience with before coming to Bayville. It was an odd shape and texture, and it held its temperature longer than stone did. Still, he'd gotten used to it quickly, and the edge of the support dug into his spine in exactly the comfortably uncomfortable way he'd expected it would.
You learn to appreciate the small things when you have to wear long sleeves and long pants all the time—the textures, the temperatures, the shapes of things. . . . He never really got to touch things as much as he wanted, except at the mansion, though not even very much there—he was still self-conscious (and with every new recruit brought in he got nervous again), and the stupid spandex suit covered even more than his ordinary clothes. Besides, what would be the point? Everything at the Institute was already familiar to him. What he really wanted, and always had, was to explore, using all of the senses available to him. As it was, he felt stifled.
The wind picked up a bit, ruffling his fur again. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Even just sitting here, eyes closed, he was picking up more sensory signals than he usually did on high alert. Sometimes it felt like he was covered in cat's whiskers. It sort of went beyond touch into something else, picking up vibrations in the air and—
Toad made a little whiffling noise in his sleep.
Kurt scowled. I am trying to have a moody introspective here, damn you! Halt den Mund! He glared sideways at Toad.
The problem with glaring at sleeping people is . . . well, you just can't do it, really. It feels wrong, like coming up behind someone and knocking them out. You try to glare, and your eyes sort of cross, but you keep trying anyway, and your eyes start to water, and eventually you have to look away because you're getting a headache. Something built into the brain thinks sleeping people are helpless and cuddly. (Like kittens, although admittedly in this case the analogy could use some work.)
Kurt squinted at his nose, and then gave up. Well, fine. If he couldn't glare at Toad, he wouldn't look at him at all. He glared at the bottom of the seats above him instead. Right. Pretend it's him. Use your imagination.
He winced. I sound like Barney.
Promptly, 'I Love You, You Love Me' rose from the hellish depths of his hindbrain and got stuck in his head.
Damn you, Toad! So much mental anguish. . . . He hummed the first stanza of 'Joy to the World That Barney's Dead' to make himself feel better. It worked. Sort of.
Seriously, though, that frog was dead. Took his spot under the bleachers and caused him to get Barney songs stuck in his head. D-e-a-d dead.
He noticed his tail was twitching and tried to force himself to calm down. It wasn't Toad's fault about Barney, really; it was Kitty's. Hmm, speaking of which, he needed to come up with a really creative revenge scheme for that. Honestly, just because one 'ports unannounced into the shower while she's in it, she has to throw a hissy fit. Barney, I mean, that's cruel and unusual punishment, ja? So, let's see—turning off the hot water while she was in there? Too easy. Every day for a week? No, still too easy. What about—ha! What about 'porting across town and dragging Lance into the shower with her? The Professor would be livid, and Lance and Kitty would probably both beat the living crap out of him, but it would be so very worth it. And, come to think of it, maybe Lance wouldn't be too mad at all. . . .
Toad muttered something. Kurt frowned. Did he just say 'get the keys to the octopus barn'? I just don't want to know what he's dreaming about. I just don't.
He regarded Toad. The boy was curled up with his knees tucked under his chin and his arms clasped around his shins, like he was protecting his stomach. Sort of like an armadillo, or maybe a hedgehog. Kurt tried to imagine a toad/hedgehog hybrid and failed miserably. What would that be called, anyway? A toadhog? A hedgetoad?
There was a buttercup growing a few inches away from his hand. Feeling slightly pathetic, he picked it and held it up, examining it closely with fingers as well as eyes. The stem was springy, in a way, with a waxy texture; the petals were somewhat indescribable. He held the flower to his chin, realizing after a confused moment that he couldn't see his own neck and wasn't sure the buttercup test worked on blue fur anyway. Besides, he thought, I already know I like butter. And cheese. And kefir. . . . Mmm, I could go for some right now. . . .
He contemplated the flower for a moment. Flowers were really only interesting when they were still growing. It was kind of stupid to pick it, now that he thought about it. This was probably symbolic of something, but he sure didn't know what.
He tucked it behind his ear, reminded as he did so of his interrupted hula earlier. Actually, he hadn't done a naked dance all day. This was Wrong. It had to be remedied.
He stood up, thought for a moment, and then did a few beats of the dreaded Blue Hula before falling easily into the disco-hips, waving-arms, frightening and exuberant Naked Dance of the Elf. He considered turning off the watch, realized that would be really suicidal, and so let himself sink into the "rhythm". He "boogied down". His ancestors averted their spectral gazes in shame.
"You really need to work on that, dawg."
Kurt gave a high-pitched scream, jumped backwards, and banged his shoulder on the edge of the bleacher support. He looked around wildly.
Toad was watching him, rubbing his eyes. He gave Kurt a sleepy yellow grin, but Kurt noticed he'd gone from the hedgetoad position to his customary defensive stance, crouching with toes and fingers on the ground, powerful leg muscles tensed to hop.
"Oh, it's you," he said, torn between relief (it was only the Toad) and annoyance (he really wanted to finish his naked dance). He willed his heartbeat to slow.
Toad looked at him from under heavy lids. His stare was vaguely accusatory, as was his tone when he said, "What're you doin' here?"
Well, I'm totally butt-naked under this hologram, and I wanted to spend lunch period dancing in the grass like a fairy princess, supplied Kurt's brain. What he actually said was, "I wasn't really hungry, I guess. I come out here sometimes at lunch."
"Whoa, it's that late?" Toad frowned at the sun. "Shit." He looked sideways at Kurt again. "I was here first, ya know," he said.
Kurt bristled. "Oh, right," he snarled. "These are not your personal bleachers, mein Freund."
"Ain't what I meant, boy," said Toad mildly. "You coulda dumped me into, I dunno, the middle of a lake or somethin' while I was asleep, right?"
Kurt tried to look offended (he wasn't very practiced at it and ended up just looking constipated). "I would never do that!" he said primly, sniffing. "That would be sneaky and underhanded! We don't work that way in the X-Men!"
Toad rolled his eyes and made a loud gagging noise, miming sticking a finger down his throat. "I'd'a done it," he said, after he'd made that contribution.
"Ja, I bet you would," said Kurt, surveying him with distaste.
"Oh, cut it, fuzzy," said Toad wearily. "I just woke up. I don't need to be moralized at right now."
"So why were you sleeping under the bleachers?" Kurt said crossly.
"None of your fucking business, elf-boy." The other boy's tone was low and dangerous.
Kurt sighed. He had been so relaxed just moments ago. "Truce for now, ja?" he said bleakly, removing the buttercup from behind his ear and fiddling with it absentmindedly. "It's too nice out, and I don't have the energy, so just forget I said anything and pretend I'm not here, okay?"
"Fine," came the terse response. There was a moment of silence, during which Kurt pulled a few petals off of the buttercup. Then: "No kidding, though, you can't dance at all."
Kurt looked up, ready to growl at Toad again, only to find himself faced with a broad grin. He stared for a moment, then grinned back. "Eh, you're just jealous 'cause I'm so good."
Toad snorted. "Oh, yeah. And I'm the queen of Australia."
Kurt gave a mock-bow. "Her Highness the Toad," he drawled, and frowned. "I've just noticed—that sounds really strange," he said.
"What, 'Her Highness the Toad'?" said Toad, squinting at him. "Damn right it sounds strange. I mean, you'd hope it would, right? If that sounded normal—"
"No, that's not what I meant." Kurt shook his head. "It's the Toad part. It's a bit weird to call you that at school or wherever, isn't it?"
Toad exhaled sharply and rocked back onto his ass. "It's just what people call me, yo."
"But it's not really a name," Kurt insisted.
"Fine, fuzzy, use my name," Toad said impatiently. "But then drop it, right? Don't make such a huge damn deal out of it. Fucking drama queen."
Ignoring the bait, Kurt tried it out. "Todd," he said experimentally, sucking his teeth and considering. "To-odd. Todd Tolensky. Toddy. To-o-o-o-o-odd. Her Highness Todd. Toddikins. Queen Todd." He nodded seriously, closing his eyes. "It'll do."
He waited for the expected enraged outburst. Then he waited for a response of any kind. Then he opened one eye, then the other. He blinked. Todd was gone.
"Todd?" he said nervously. No answer. "Todd?" he said again. "Um."
He looked left. He looked right. He did a half-turn and looked behind himself. Then, with a dawning sense of horror, he sat back on his heels and looked up.
He got a half-glimpse of a malicious yellow grin before an armful of dry grass was dropped into his open eyes and mouth.
"Gyaah!" he said eloquently, clawing at his eyes and spitting. "Ouch, damnit!" He glared up at Todd as his eyes began to tear. "What'd you do that for, eh? Bastard!"
"You will address me as 'Your Highness'," Todd said, and dropped onto Kurt's shoulders, knocking him down.
"Mmf!" said Kurt, finding his mouth full of grass for the second time in thirty seconds. "Get off my neck!" he managed.
Todd scooted backwards until he was sitting on Kurt's back in such a way that Kurt could (sort of) breathe.
"Look," said Kurt, staring at the dirt, "Todd, let me up—"
"Your Highness," said Todd again, in annoyingly smug tones.
"Mein Gott, you're weird!"
Todd hummed to himself.
Kurt groaned. "Fine. Your Highness, could you let me up already?"
"What's the magic word?"
"Todd!" screeched Kurt. "Get off me!"
"Awright, awright, awright, no need to get all bitchy about it, foo'—" He started to get up, then paused and sat back down.
"What?" whined Kurt as he felt his rib cage compressed once again (Todd was surprisingly heavy).
"Hmm," was all the response he got. Then Todd poked him in the spine with one cool finger. As flesh prodded fur, one thought took over Kurt's brain and shouted at him: Oh. Damn.
"Hmm," said Todd again. He gave Kurt another poke. Then he said conversationally, "Weirdest thing, fuzzy. I'm probably hallucinatin' or somethin'. But from up here, it sort of looks like my butt is passin' clean through your shirt. Any idea why that might be, dawg?"
"Um," said Kurt, eloquence increasing by the second. "Um. About that—"
Todd leaned forward and snickered in his ear, "You are completely fuckin' naked, aren't you, you furry pervert?"
Kurt squeaked and propelled himself out from under Todd. Turning to face him, he stammered, "Th-that's not true! I'm, um, wearing pants! It was just, um, you know, hot today and, um—uh—"
Todd snorted. "Hey, cool it! We all got our little hang-ups, right?"
"It's—I'm not—" Kurt sputtered. "That's not why!"
"Whatever," said Todd, rolling his eyes. "You need to take a few deep breaths before you have a freakin' heart attack." Before Kurt realized Todd had moved, the back of the other boy's hand was half an inch away from his forehead. "Yeah, you're blushin' hard, yo. Or whatever you call it. Hey, if your skin's blue, do you, like, blush purple or some shit? Like violetting or somethin'?"
"Gah," said Kurt. This sounded appropriate, so he said it again: "Gah."
"Thanks, I learned a lot from that." Todd shoved his hands into his pockets, leaned against the nearest support, and slid down into a sitting position, legs akimbo. "Damn. Never knew you were a nudist, Wagner."
"Gah!" said Kurt. He cleared his throat. "I am not having this conversation with you," he said firmly.
"No, you're not," Todd agreed. "I'm doin' most of the talkin'. You're just goin' 'gah' every couple seconds."
"'Gah' happens to have a very specific meaning where I come from!" replied Kurt hotly. "It is not my fault if you're too stupid to know what it is!"
"Yeah? What's it mean, then?"
"It means—" Kurt flailed mentally a bit. "Uh, it means—"
"It means 'gah', man," Todd said. "I kinda think 'gah' is the same all over the world. It just means, 'Damn, there is nothing I can think of to say right now, so I'll just make random noises with my mouth open like a fish.'"
Kurt glowered. "Oh, shut up."
"And it don't make you any less of a nudist." Todd gave him a smirk.
"For the last time, I am wearing pants!" screamed Kurt untruthfully.
"Oh, sit down already, you're makin' me tired standin' up like that," said Todd lazily. He hooked his ankle around Kurt's, pulling him off balance, and watched with mild interest as he fell over onto his butt. "You're fallin' down a lot today, fuzzy. Maybe you need to get your inner ear checked," he added.
Kurt glared and blew a raspberry at him.
Todd rolled his eyes again. "Well," he said acidly, "nudist or not, at least we know that you're Mister Mature."
"For the last time: I. Am. Not. Naked," said Kurt. He wondered with a sort of disconnected terror what he would do if Todd told him to prove it. He could just 'port the hell away from there, but he had the nasty feeling that, if he did, Todd would poke him experimentally every time they crossed paths for the next year, which would probably be a bit difficult to explain to the others at the Institute without revealing the fact that he was, in truth, less than fond of clothing. Heavens only knew what that would lead to. Kitty going totally ballistic, of course. Probably Logan getting him dressed every morning.
Yikes. What a thought. He cringed.
"What's the matter with you?" Todd asked, glancing at him curiously. "You look like you just swallowed a lemon."
Kurt shuddered. "Nothing," he managed.
"Hmm." Todd scratched his chin and yawned. "Well, it's kick-ass that you can walk around naked like that—all right, half-naked, half-naked," he amended hurriedly as Kurt drew breath to start shouting again, "I meant half-naked, chill—without anyone knowin'." He sighed wistfully. "Wish I could do that."
Suddenly he looked sideways at Kurt, a grin flickering across his face. "Hey. Lemme try the watch, man."
Kurt whipped his head around and stared. "You want to do what?" he asked incredulously.
"Try the watch," Todd insisted. "C'mon, I ain't gonna hurt it, dawg!" He tugged at Kurt's wrist pleadingly.
"Absolutely not!" shrieked Kurt, trying to pull away. "You're crazy! No!" Mein Gott, does he actually not know how important this thing is?
Suddenly Todd scowled and looked away. "Look, I just wanna see how I'd look, okay? If I wasn't green and webbed and freaky." He yanked viciously at the watch, then dropped Kurt's wrist with disgust and pushed him away, throwing his hands up in the air. "Just forget it, man. Fuck you. I could just steal the damn thing anyway. Forget it—"
This next turn of events might be somewhat confused played at real time, so we're going to slow it down for you. Here's what happened.
Kurt's watch, which he tended to fiddle with, had come loose, as it often did. He normally tightened it periodically, but on this particular day he had been distracted by the tremendous amounts of clothing that he was not wearing. Thus the watch dangled on Kurt's wrist.
Todd had large fingers. While trying to get Kurt's watch off of him, the watch had gotten snagged in the crook of his finger. Todd was too busy scowling to see this.
So when Todd threw his hands up into the air dramatically, the watch came up too.
It's a well-known fact that what goes up must come down.
The watch came down.
Into a puddle.
Sizzle. Snap. Crackle.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled fanfiction.
Kurt stared in horror at the watch, sparking merrily away in its puddle.
"Um," he said.
"Uh. . . ." said Todd, who was looking elsewhere.
Kurt looked at him, then down at himself. "Gah," he said, and scuttled around his bleacher support until all the important bits were out of sight.
"You said you were wearing pants!" Todd said, sounding somewhat strangled.
"What, you believed me?"
"Well. I bet you won't make that mistake again, at least."
Todd groaned. "Man, you moron. What the hell made you think coming to school like that was a good idea?"
"Don't know," Kurt said in a small voice.
"Well, shit." Kurt heard a frustrated sigh. "You can't just walk around like that."
Cloth rustled. Then Kurt was hit in the face with a wad of white cotton, which, once unfolded, turned out to be Todd's first layer of clothing. It was surprisingly clean.
"Thanks," Kurt said uncertainly, putting it on. He tugged the bottom down as far as he could and stepped out from behind the metal pillar, just as Todd replaced his other shirt. He caught a glimpse of dark green and mottled purple on the boy's skinny ribs.
Todd looked him up and down critically. "It'll do for now," he decided. Then he caught Kurt's expression. "What?" he snapped.
"Nothing," Kurt said quickly, looking away. "Thanks."
Todd glared at him suspiciously for a moment. Then he sighed. "Sorry about your watch, yo," he said, and he actually sounded sincere. "Didn't mean to total it for you. I just wanted to see how . . . well, what it'd be like to—"
"To look normal," Kurt said, without thinking.
Todd's fist caught him across the jaw. It was a clumsy blow, but it knocked the wind out of Kurt and sent him back onto his ass, reeling.
He looked up at Todd, who was sucking on his knuckles.
"Yeah," Todd said. "Pretty much."
"I saw your back," Kurt ventured.
Todd snorted. "You didn't do it, jerk."
"I'm still sorry."
"Hmph." Todd looked at him oddly. "Guess you really are." He shook his head, grinning. "Damn, you're weird."
"You're one to talk!" Kurt retorted.
"Well, elf-boy," Todd said, smirking at him, "I'm not the one sitting in mud, basically naked thanks to a crazy kink."
"Oh, come on, man!" Kurt grinned back. "Don't tell me you wouldn't've jumped at the opportunity."
Todd looked at him sideways for a moment, one eyebrow raised. Then he crouched, leapt, knocked Kurt to the ground.
"Yeah, I'd do that," he said, perched triumphant on Kurt's stomach.
"That wasn't fair!" Kurt complained.
Todd snickered. "Life ain't fair, buddy," he said, leaning down and flicking him on the nose. "Better get used to it."
"Oh, hmph yourself."
"I'm really muddy, you know."
"You're pretty muddy too."
"And I'm wearing your shirt."
"And you're sitting on my chest."
"There's really only one way this can go from here, ja?"
"Okay. Just checking."
As she left the building, Rogue saw a blue-and-white blur weaving past out of the corner of her eye. She stared. It was Kurt. Wearing a white shirt. And nothing else.
"Oh, fuck. . . ."
She intercepted him, insanely glad that she was late leaving; there would have been some extremely awkward questions otherwise. Or screams. Whatever.
She pushed Kurt up against a wall out of sight of any windows or doors and whacked him upside the head. "What the hell is wrong with you, you moron?" she hissed.
"Hmm? . . . Hey . . . hey, it's Rogue . . . hey!" said Kurt, looking at her vaguely.
She smacked him again. "Kurt! You're naked! And blue! Where's your watch? Where did you get that shirt? Where have you been all day, damnit?"
"Know what, Rogue?" said Kurt dreamily. "You'd make a great librarian."
"What the fu—"
He frowned. "But you can't wear those gloves, you know?" he said thoughtfully. "Librarians don't wear gloves, right?"
He reached out to peel them off. She tried to catch his hand, but he'd already done it and touched her. His eyes rolled for a moment, and then he collapsed.
"Kurt! Are you okay?" Rogue began, crouching down to him and feeling guilty even though it was his own stupid fault. But then, as the memories, began to flash past her eyes, she stopped and fell backwards onto her ass.
It . . . it was horrible.
"God, Kurt, you couldn't even be on top!" she squeaked, clawing at her eyes in a fruitless attempt to make the images stop. "Oh god . . . oh god . . . need to wash my brain . . . god. . . ."
Finally it was over. Rogue glared, panting, at Kurt, who had a really irritating smile on his face. "When you wake up, I am gonna kill you," she muttered.
Okay . . . okay . . . what she needed to do right now was 'port them back to the mansion, get Kurt some pants, and hit him with a bat until he woke up.
She swallowed. And until he does, I need to remember that what's in my head right now is not mine. I will not acknowledge really wanting to fuck Toad right fucking now. I just won't.
She squeezed her eyes shut, and then they were gone.
After a moment, a skinny figure emerged from the bleachers, whistling and looking extremely pleased with himself, and hopped off into the sunset.
It's no fairy-tale castle, but a quick fuck behind the bleachers will do in a pinch.
1. Truth to tell, Kurt's bits were the most normal parts of him. (No, there will not be details.)
2. Can you tell that he's a virgin?