Fandom: X-Men/Sky High
Pairing: John Allerdyce/Warren Peace
Summary: It's John's birthday, if he wants to be on the West Coast then that's his right
A/N:This is unbeated as it is a comment_fic. It's spell-checked though, so I hope it won't be too bad.
John had been sitting on the same spot, watching the candle in the lantern on his table burn down while flicking with his lighter for hours when one of the waiters said to him: “Sorry, but we’re closing.”
John drew a small fireball and snapped: “Fuck off.” The waiter merely raised his eyebrows.
“Nice.” And suddenly both of his under arms were encased in fire. John whistled and held his hand out since he recognised a kindred spirit when he saw one:
“Warren.” Warren sat down opposite of John.
“So, you’re mutant, too.”
“Obviously.” Warren grinned. He was very attractive with his shoulder long dark hair and the red strands.
“To which school do you go?”
“Sky High and you?”
“Isn’t that on the other side of the country?”
“I needed a bit of fresh air.”
“On the other side of the continent?” Warren asked doubtfully.
“It’s my birthday; I can do whatever I want tonight.”
“Okay, okay.” Warren backed off: “What brings you here?”
“I just drove by.” John shrugged but then amended with a half-grin: “That and my ex-boyfriend hates Chinese.”
“Two years and three weeks ago this Southern girls walks into our class and it’s like I’ve never existed.”
“Ouch.” Warren said sympathetically.
They talked for a while about other topics: school, fire until the woman behind the bar yelled something at them in Chinese. Warren yelled back and rolled his eyes at the answer he received.
“Come on.” He offered John his hand and the two of them left the restaurant to wander through nightly LA. It was a warm night, warmer than New York had been when John had left it and he found it easy to talk to Warren. Easier than the uncomfortable silences between him and Bobby whenever they were alone in the same room ever since Rogue had come to the school.
“Wait here.” Warren told him when they reached a park bench somewhere. John had long since lost his way of direction. For once he did as he was told and watched Warren jog over to a small bakery that was still open. When he came back he held a cupcake with a burning candle in his hand:
“Happy Birthday, John.” He grinned. John tilted his head at the flame and it went out.
“What did you wish for?” Warren asked. He had leaned in so close that John could feel his words against his skin.
“I can’t tell you.” He grinned back.
“In that case I wish you will push me away.”
John had missed kissing like this: simply sitting somewhere with your arms around each other and to kiss and kiss and kiss without ever having to stop, slower and faster, deep and shallow, lustful and languid, until the sun rose again.
The sun was rising when they stumbled back to the street where the restaurant and John’s, well Logan’s actually or rather Scott’s, stolen motorcycle were. They held hands and laughed, drunken on each other and a night without sleep.
In his pocket John still carried the cupcake. He broke a piece of it off and offered it to Warren, who ate it out of John’s hand, sucking his thumb into his mouth and biting it lightly, his dark, smouldering eyes never leaving John’s.
John kissed him again, his tongue chasing sugar and strawberry flavour from Warren’s lips into his mouth.
“Happy Birthday to me.” He whispered huskily when they broke apart but remained so close that they could still feel each other’s breath on their faces.
“You shouldn’t drive sleepless as you are.” Warren whispered back.
“You’ve got a better idea?” John asked roughly.
“I do, plus you still need to finish your birthday cake.” He gestured at the half-eaten cupcake and pulled John inside with a laugh.