Disclaimer: this is a part of a fangirl's daydreams.
Look at him.
Just look at him.
His face. Its unfolding smile, cheeks slightly flushed, eyes focused on him, lips apart in an act of hesitancy.
"What did you say?" he asked, repressing the strangled hoarseness in his voice, now dropping his test tube in its rack, a hand placed on the lab table to stabilize himself, as he decided to give the invader his full attention.
The blonde pursed his lips and simply repeated his question, his tone the exact same as the first time. (It would have been satisfying were he an actual robot.)
Another spark ignited within the scientist's mind.
He couldn't be serious. Just who had the nerve to concoct this disturbance so early in the week of training deserved senseless torture. That wouldn't equal half the contractions his heart was undergoing these past few minutes.
He had no troubles with the Academy's official asshole waltzing into his personal territory, (Since the pack of mutants had moved into Charles Xavier's spacious estate, he learned it was as futile to guard his 'home,' as it was to reserve the next piece of apple pie during lunch. They were a disorderly, rowdy bunch. He wondered how they'd survive to the real battle.) no troubles with the bad boy's use of his eyes to inspect his racks and documents, and even only had the slightest bit of disapproval (because it was fucking unnerving) when the line of sight shifted onto his face.
He blinked and adjusted his lab glasses. Was this really happening?
Two, three more seconds, and he still (he cursed himself for being so self-conscious all the time) felt the strong gaze on him. He resisted with all the rational powers he had not to whip himself around and bluntly spit out, "What the hell are you doing?" Instead, he went on dropping chemicals into the test tube, murmuring further plans to avenge the mutant in front of him (which never worked) under his breath. Until he heard the awkward (obviously, to him) shuffling footsteps, heavy, discontinued breathing, and the moist sounds of tongue licking lips. (He prided himself on his active ears, but, ah, had he fantasized about hearing that. No…he really had a knack for recalling the delicious fantasies that were the source of his present torment, didn't he?)
So he glanced up from the bubbling gray liquid…into Alex Summers' eyes.
Unconsciously he felt himself studying the curves of a metallic zip on Alex's leather jacket. How his frame of the outside world changed so fast, as a film's scene cuts to another immediate event happening simultaneously, was his way of avoiding eye contact, he guessed. A small kick in his stomach, and he wondered, really was in thirst to analyze why the blonde was just standing there. No words. No teasing. Physical contact. (The usual means of communication between them)
Silence was a impenetrable wall.
Then Alex decided to ruin his imaginary solitude for him.
"Bozo," he said, his deep voice echoing off the lab walls. What Hank was concerned with was the tone. Maybe Raven had sneaked into the lab and slipped a tranquilizer or a stronger drug (possibly?) into Alex's daily glass of orange juice during breakfast? He was strangely calm. His beginning of a sentence had that rare air of truth, as if he could actually meant what he was going to say.
Hank glared at him anyway.
Alex faltered, surprisingly. "Uh—um, I mean…Hank."
He corrected himself? Since when did Alex had it in his mind to address fellow mutants with their respective names, and not his personal creations he seemed so proud of?
Worse, it was the way his name came out of those lips, stripped of Alex's signature coarseness he thought reserved for him. There was an uncharacteristic tenderness masked in there somewhere.
Either Alex had swallowed the wrong bottle of juice or his ears had a major defect. Hank trusted the more likely probability of the latter.
He sighed a little and replied, "Yes?" in a tone indicating his impatience to get the conversation (if it was anything but an eye-staring, mental battle) over with.
"I was thinking…" (Alex Summers considering a decision? Jackpot.) "No, hm—oh, fuck!"
The hotheaded blonde gave in to swearing and kicked the ground, irritated at the flow of emotions mysterious to Hank, who by this point was watching in bemusement.
"…go out with me?"
He almost dropped the test tube he was holding, traces of humor disappearing from his face. No, he couldn't be serious.
Why was a person—fine, a mutant—like Alex Summers would be interested in him for a romantic activity as a date? What was the chemistry in the attraction here? The unlikely, opposite poles of magnets? The nerd and his bully? The logical jigsaw pieces did not add up.
When Alex's proposal did not change from its first delivery, Hank concluded the (daring) act to be a new practical joke.
Creative, he had to give Alex that, but what was not in the least a sound contribution to tomfoolery (Alex's specialty) was the effect the simple words (he should have rejoiced at) had on his heart.
Yes, he was a shameful hypocrite, fantasizing about what he deemed impossible and was fully aware of its implausibility. At the very instant, however, he wasn't about to admit that. (To doubt Alex when his own heart was screaming for him to accept!)
He might have developed a fondness for Alex Summers.
Like the birth of other invisible, fickle human emotions, the feeling evoked in him occurred unnoticed. It wasn't difficult to have his attention projected onto a particular mutant who was asking too much of (and abusing) it. That was the first stage. Alex's constant 'light bullying' of him, coining terms for just him (and two of those, in fact). Then there was his face. Oh, he didn't know how to begin. The stupid, mischievous expression, his disarming smirks, teasing eyes…he could go on. And the voice, its sharp edge whenever Alex called his name. Today it was devoid of any characteristic, cocksure charm it normally had (another reason to doubt Alex). The second stage was when he discovered it took unreasonable efforts to look Alex in the eyes. Or glance at his face as he used to do. Blush would color his cheeks, and he would have to calm the bizarre rush of heat wave that was within him to continue whatever it was he was doing. Things were hardest when conversations became unavoidable, especially since he was developing that damn personalized suit for Alex. He'd had his eyes on something plain while Alex jabber away, and added in every now and then when he felt it was necessary to stop the boy's bullshit.
Yet sometimes he lost focus (as us imperfect humans are inclined to) and zeroed in on the danger zone: the lips.
He looked at them now, nearly slapping himself when he realized what fun his ridiculous imagination had been having.
It was only in his mind that Alex expressed interest in him. Just what was happening now bordered on the skew, (and not-so-symmetric anymore) line he drew between dreams, illusion, and reality.
Of course it's not true. It can't be happening. He's toying with your feelings. Another one of the games he used to boost his ego.
Don't give in. Distrust your stupid heart. It's only acting on its jolted impulses. False alarm. Mocking, pretended act of interest. Dismiss everything.
He made the short mental trip back to reality and was surprised to notice Alex had remained in his spot, hands tucked in the pocket of his jeans, nonchalantly watching him.
The sight of the blonde.
He couldn't take it.
"So," Alex said again when he met Hank's inquiring stare, "What'd you say?"
A/N: Multi-chapter! trololol. To be Continued :D.
Thank you all my lovely readers, reviewers, and anyone who's stopped by or clicked on this story,
Your ever humble fanfic writer :)