Mark, Jean-Phillipe, and Marie-Ange

[x-pressive.livejournal.com]

Jean-Phillipe takes a night out in the city, and meets the DJ. In this case, yes, "meet" is euphemistic.


A throbbing bass line and flickering lights greeted Jean-Phillipe as he walked through the door into Silver. His eyes adjusted quickly, and he took a deep breath, as if he were trying to breathe the club's ambiance in. His first impression was that it seemed all right, though the crowd was on the tame side compared to some of the Parisian clubs he'd been to. Still, it was a club, and there was music, and drinks, and hopefully good-looking men to dance with. He pushed his bangs back and allowed himself to be drawn into the press of the dance floor.

If the act of joining X-Force hadn't taken at least 10 years off Mark's life, then his post-mission activities were tantamount to reviewing his own death warrant. He was still trying to get over the fact that he'd just rescued a teenager from being slaughtered by a supposedly divine organization. So tonight, like most nights, he was drunk. Not hammered, but not tipsy either. Just that very pleasant dizzy fuzzy drunk.

He sat at the bar, idly chatting with acquaintances, assured that his pre-set playlist would take care of all the music itself for now. His hand properly salted, he lifted it to his mouth to lick it off when he spotted Jean-Phillipe. His gaydar went crazy. Smiling wickedly, he quickly took the tequila shot, barely even savoring the burning sensation down his throat, and followed the kid to the dancefloor.

Jean-Phillipe could almost feel the other man's eyes on his back, so he turned and sized Mark up. Athletic, dark hair, and from the way he swayed, he had moves. He crooked a finger in a minute gesture, inviting Mark to come closer.

Excellent. Mark in turn found himself assessing Jean-Phillipe as he approached him to dance. It was a mission in and of itself, maybe something to add a year or two back to his life. In the mob of people, he couldn't help but be pressed against the other guy, and held in a wince as his hip briefly protested. Jean-Phillipe even smelled good, and Mark inhaled deeply to take it in, a stark contrast to the sweat and booze and smoke that surrounded them.

The pair danced several songs, staying closer to each other each time the crowd pressed them together, until they were practically glued to each other from shoulder to knee, one of Jean-Phillipe's arms around Mark's neck, the other hand balanced on the point of his hip.

Could have been the tequila talking, but Mark was obviously very much pleased by this arrangement. He smirked, noticing that Jean-Phillipe was, too. He hissed when Jean-Phillipe's hand came to his hip, but hoped it came out as more of a pleasant gasp than a pained yelp. He stood up on his toes to close the four inch distance between their lips. "Mark," he whispered, his introduction already lost in Jean-Phillipe's mouth.

Forward. Jean-Phillipe liked that. He returned the kiss with interest, and when they finally pulled apart, he grinned wickedly. "Enchantee, Mark," he replied. "I am Jean-Phillipe."

Ooh, French. Mark was going to have to ask Doug for lessons. "New in town?" he asked. One song flowed into the next, a remix of some top 40 hit, and Mark involuntarily sparkled. If he had any shame, he'd blush.

"Oui. I have not been in New York long, and it is my first time here," Jean-Phillipe told him. Seeing the sparkles, his eyes widened in appreciation. "I had heard that Silver was a place where mutants could be themselves, and I am glad to not be disappointed."

"Well then, bienvenue vers l'Amérique." Mark waggled his eyebrows and lowered one glittering hand to Jean-Phillipe's waistband. "You heard right. You won't find any place like this anywhere. Or people like these."

Jean-Phillipe grinned mischievously and leaned forward to initiate another kiss. "Then it is fortunate that I am here," he said seriously, his voice a bit huskier.

Mark returned the kiss eagerly enough, and his fingers brushed up Jean-Phillipe's waist. "I'd love ta show you around, give you the grand tour. To get you acquainted with New York, of course."

Mark had been forward earlier, now it was Jean-Phillipe's turn. "Perhaps you might start by giving me a tour of the restroom," he whispered in Mark's ear before drawing back and waiting to see how he responded.

Had he been at all sober, Mark would have controlled his reaction. But being somewhere between dizzy and rolling on the floor, Mark giggled, like a kid given free rein in a toy store. "I would be most obliged," he said. "Follow me."

~*~

Mark is in for an amusing situation when his new "friend" meets his co-worker.


Mark didn't walk out of the restroom so much as strut. Making his way to the bar for a drink, he spotted a familiar redhead, and sauntered up behind her. "Just a rum and Diet Coke for me," he said to the bartender. "And my very good friend here will have a . . .?"

Working with Mark and spending as much time around him as she did, Marie-Ange know that the strut could only mean one thing. He had found 'love' once again. And by love, Marie-Ange was sure that Mark would really mean a brief dalliance in the privacy of the men's bathroom. And by privacy, it was understood that Mark had the key. "You are in a good mood." She said, shaking her head in amusement. "Vodka and sour mix please." And to the bartender.

"I love your country so much. Seriously, I wish I were French." Mark accepted his drink and passed a few bills to the bartender. "You know, I'm not one to kiss and tell, but really. I got it good."

"I am not sure how that relates to my being French..." Marie-Ange said, slightly puzzled. "Unless I can assume that your latest is French? Really, it is not that special. Paris smells and has mimes, and they have riots over stupid things. Sort of like your universities here and their American football, but with barricades and news reporters making references to Les Miserables, which is so overdone." Somewhere in that, she had accepted her drink as well, and sipped at it. "Someone should give this bartender a raise. This is very good."

Mark pondered. "Well, he wasn't Eurotrash, so I consider that a win. At least not trashy by my standards. Why em em vee." A new familiar figure appeared in the crowd, and Mark smiled. "And there he is. On a scale of one to ten, what's your first impression?"

Except that Marie-Ange's only reaction was a groan, and then quickly downing her entire drink.

"Bon soir, cousin," Jean-Phillipe said in that politely neutral tone of voice that said 'I can't stand you, but I will make nice for the sake of the man I just hooked up with'. He looked from Mark to Marie-Ange. "You two know each other?"

"Do you?" asked Mark incredulously. "Wait, cousin?! Angie, I didn't know you had a cousin here. Huh. Wow." Mark followed Marie-Ange's display and finished off his drink. "Well, that's a mind-fuck."

"What planet have you been living on for the last ...few months?" Marie-Ange asked Mark, utterly ignoring Jean-Phillipe. "He has a journal and is living at Xavier's. I do not know why. Possibly to make my life a living hell just by being in the same state as I am." She pinched the bridge of her nose, and gestured at the bartender to refill her drink. "And now he is having sex with my co-worker. I would commit ritual disembowelment, but I am not Japanese, and it would ruin my outfit." And it would probably make Jean-Phillipe happy, which was certainly not in her plan, ever.

"You think I actually pay attention to those Degrassi rejects?" Mark looked up at Jean-Phillipe. "Present company excluded, of course." He turned back to Marie-Ange. "I think you're overreacting. If he likes me, then he can't be that bad, right?" If you ignore the fact that the last person Mark slept with had tried to kill him.

Jean-Phillipe waved his hand dismissively. "I think that everyone there is crazy myself, so I would hardly take offense." He looked from Mark to Marie-Ange. "Marie-Ange is biased where I am concerned, so I very much doubt she is going to behave rationally about this."

"I went to that school. Does that make me a reject from your television show?" Marie-Ange asked dryly. "I am being perfectly rational. I am not dumping drinks on anyone's head, causing violence or bodily harm or conjuring imps to create a ruckus. All of which I could do. Perhaps except dumping a drink, that would be a waste of alcohol."

"No, you're just being melodramatic by bringing up those scenarios in the first place." Mark waved a hand at the bartender, who quickly returned with a trio of tequila shots. "C'mon, can't we just drink to anonymous sex in public rest rooms and enjoy the night?"

"I am perfectly content to drink to that," Jean-Phillipe said, downing his shot easily. "I am not so sure about her," he continued cattily.

"Can I drink to non-anonymous sex in my bedroom where innocent bystanders do not run the risk of walking in and seeing me?" Marie-Ange asked, but regardless, took the entire shot in a single gulp with almost no reaction. "Someday someone is going to take a picture of your naked rear end and put it in the Village Voice." She said, directing it at Mark.

"I've been trying to pick up Dan Savage for years, maybe this'll finally get his attention," Mark mused.