Pride Day, Mark and JP
Jun. 29th, 2008 09:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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xp_logsJean-Phillipe and Mark head in to town for Pride Fest. It doesn't go exactly as planned.
There are times when climbing out of the New York City subway onto the street is like climbing into another world. Leave the dark, old, and often dirty subterranean train behind and be welcomed by the skyscrapers of Battery Park glittering in the sunlight or stalls and shops of Chinatown or the unkempt apartments of Borough Park. Or, as Mark saw as he stepped onto 14th Street, Fairy World. It was like a fat kid sat on a rainbow until it exploded all over the street.
Mark loved it.
If Xavier's and Silver were places where Jean-Phillipe felt like he could be completely open and at home as a mutant, then coming up from the metro into the chaos of Pride Day was like finally discovering a place where he could completely open and at home as a gay man. He breathed deeply, his eyes flicking here and there in an attempt to take it all in at once.
Hands clasped firmly, Mark led Jean-Phillipe the block down 14th to Hudson, the beginning of Pride Fest. Hudson was closed off for six blocks for the street fair, filled with queers and non-queers of all shapes, sizes, and colors browsing the goods of LGBT New York, raising awareness, and generally being fabulous. Mark had decided to tone down a little today, going for a t-shirt that simply had the word "Recruiter" in rainbow colors printed across the chest. He left the fairy wings and glitter at home.
It was not that Jean-Phillipe was averse to proudly proclaiming his homosexuality, but he simply could not bring himself to wear the sort of over-the-top attire that many of the other people around them were. It was garish and tacky, and Jean-Phillipe enjoyed neither of those things. So he contented himself with a very tasteful rainbow armband over his usual tight jeans and long-sleeved shirt.
"You know, hon," said Mark, pulling softly on Jean-Phillipe's sleeve as they stepped into the tent of a Tom of Finland-wannabe displaying his art, "It's the end of June in Manhattan. Lose the sleeves."
Jean-Phillipe pulled his arm away from Mark, a slight frown on his face. "I prefer not to show the scars," he said in a clipped tone. It was certainly hot, and he was sweating under the shirt. But just because he was 'out' in terms of both his sexuality and his mutancy didn't mean that he was not slightly self-conscious about the scars from his manifestation.
Mark rolled his eyes. "That sure doesn't stop you from showing off to every boy who flaunts himself at you," he muttered cattily before he realized what he was saying. Oops.
"Jealousy does not become you," Jean-Phillipe said, somewhat loftily. "What is the old American commercial? 'Don't hate me because I'm beautiful'?"
"Oh, please. I'm not jealous." Mark picked up a print just so he could have something to do with his hands that didn't involved clenching them into fists to punch Jean-Phillipe.
"Really." Jean-Phillipe arched an eyebrow. "You could have fooled me," he retorted. He supposed this confrontation had been brewing for a while now.
It being a gay pride parade and all, the speakers on every corner blasted circuit music that could drown out even the high spirits and laughter and shouting of the parade's attendees. Nice for the atmosphere, but bad for Mark, who slipped just a bit and gave the booth-worker a nasty shock when he handed back the picture. "Sorry," he said before pulling Jean-Phillipe out of the tent. "Seriously, do you have to make googly eyes at everyone you see? You're doing it right now!"
"I was not aware that you had any say in what I choose to do, or who I choose to do it with." Jean-Phillipe had been sensing for a bit that Mark was interested in making their relationship more exclusive. However, he was not at all ready to 'settle down', and he much preferred to play the field. An afternoon like this was full of opportunities for him to ogle and to be ogled.
"I'm not asking for a wedding ring, you retard." Mark sighed and flailed his arms frustratedly. "But, like, why not? I'm not opposed to open, but what's wrong with actually being boyfriends and not just fuck-buddies?" Jean-Phillipe hadn't shot Mark yet, which he took as a sign that he'd be good boyfriend material.
Jean-Phillipe shrugged. "That is not what I am looking for. It is that simple." And it truly was in his head. "Besides, you have told me about your last...liason."
"Ugh. I was hoping I'd upgraded," Mark retorted, the spite quite clear in his tone. "You know, people who say they want lots of sex with lots of people without any strings attached are usually hiding deeper issues."
"What are you, my psychiatrist?" Jean-Phillipe asked, somewhat defensively. "Perhaps you should look in a mirror first, cher," he shot back sarcastically.
Mark didn't say anything. Rather, after a moment's pause he pulled Jean-Phillipe in close for a kiss. A deep, intimate, sweep a guy off his feet kiss. He ignored the hoots and hollers of passers-by, who were assuming they were just being Proud. Mark had a point to make. "Tell me that's not more to you than foreplay," Mark dared huskily as he pulled away slowly, his lips still barely an inch from Jean-Phillipe's.
Jean-Phillipe paused for a moment, pursing his lips. Mark -was- an excellent kisser. But after that moment, he shook his head. "Non. Je suis desole, Mark. I like you. But I do not feel the same way that you do."
"Fair enough." Mark nodded and stepped back, his eyes still locked on the taller boy. "I guess that's it, then? No point in belaboring the moribund."
"Je suis desole," Jean-Phillipe repeated. And he -was- sorry. But not enough to stay under false pretenses. "This is where we go our separate ways, I suppose." And he did just that, walking off into the press of people without drawing it out further.
Mark stayed put for a moment, watching his now ex disappear into the crowd. He shook his head and sighed, heading off into another direction. "My life is a fucking cliche," he said to himself amidst a group of half-naked bleach-blond twinks in tossing handfuls of glitter into the air as they pranced down the street.
There are times when climbing out of the New York City subway onto the street is like climbing into another world. Leave the dark, old, and often dirty subterranean train behind and be welcomed by the skyscrapers of Battery Park glittering in the sunlight or stalls and shops of Chinatown or the unkempt apartments of Borough Park. Or, as Mark saw as he stepped onto 14th Street, Fairy World. It was like a fat kid sat on a rainbow until it exploded all over the street.
Mark loved it.
If Xavier's and Silver were places where Jean-Phillipe felt like he could be completely open and at home as a mutant, then coming up from the metro into the chaos of Pride Day was like finally discovering a place where he could completely open and at home as a gay man. He breathed deeply, his eyes flicking here and there in an attempt to take it all in at once.
Hands clasped firmly, Mark led Jean-Phillipe the block down 14th to Hudson, the beginning of Pride Fest. Hudson was closed off for six blocks for the street fair, filled with queers and non-queers of all shapes, sizes, and colors browsing the goods of LGBT New York, raising awareness, and generally being fabulous. Mark had decided to tone down a little today, going for a t-shirt that simply had the word "Recruiter" in rainbow colors printed across the chest. He left the fairy wings and glitter at home.
It was not that Jean-Phillipe was averse to proudly proclaiming his homosexuality, but he simply could not bring himself to wear the sort of over-the-top attire that many of the other people around them were. It was garish and tacky, and Jean-Phillipe enjoyed neither of those things. So he contented himself with a very tasteful rainbow armband over his usual tight jeans and long-sleeved shirt.
"You know, hon," said Mark, pulling softly on Jean-Phillipe's sleeve as they stepped into the tent of a Tom of Finland-wannabe displaying his art, "It's the end of June in Manhattan. Lose the sleeves."
Jean-Phillipe pulled his arm away from Mark, a slight frown on his face. "I prefer not to show the scars," he said in a clipped tone. It was certainly hot, and he was sweating under the shirt. But just because he was 'out' in terms of both his sexuality and his mutancy didn't mean that he was not slightly self-conscious about the scars from his manifestation.
Mark rolled his eyes. "That sure doesn't stop you from showing off to every boy who flaunts himself at you," he muttered cattily before he realized what he was saying. Oops.
"Jealousy does not become you," Jean-Phillipe said, somewhat loftily. "What is the old American commercial? 'Don't hate me because I'm beautiful'?"
"Oh, please. I'm not jealous." Mark picked up a print just so he could have something to do with his hands that didn't involved clenching them into fists to punch Jean-Phillipe.
"Really." Jean-Phillipe arched an eyebrow. "You could have fooled me," he retorted. He supposed this confrontation had been brewing for a while now.
It being a gay pride parade and all, the speakers on every corner blasted circuit music that could drown out even the high spirits and laughter and shouting of the parade's attendees. Nice for the atmosphere, but bad for Mark, who slipped just a bit and gave the booth-worker a nasty shock when he handed back the picture. "Sorry," he said before pulling Jean-Phillipe out of the tent. "Seriously, do you have to make googly eyes at everyone you see? You're doing it right now!"
"I was not aware that you had any say in what I choose to do, or who I choose to do it with." Jean-Phillipe had been sensing for a bit that Mark was interested in making their relationship more exclusive. However, he was not at all ready to 'settle down', and he much preferred to play the field. An afternoon like this was full of opportunities for him to ogle and to be ogled.
"I'm not asking for a wedding ring, you retard." Mark sighed and flailed his arms frustratedly. "But, like, why not? I'm not opposed to open, but what's wrong with actually being boyfriends and not just fuck-buddies?" Jean-Phillipe hadn't shot Mark yet, which he took as a sign that he'd be good boyfriend material.
Jean-Phillipe shrugged. "That is not what I am looking for. It is that simple." And it truly was in his head. "Besides, you have told me about your last...liason."
"Ugh. I was hoping I'd upgraded," Mark retorted, the spite quite clear in his tone. "You know, people who say they want lots of sex with lots of people without any strings attached are usually hiding deeper issues."
"What are you, my psychiatrist?" Jean-Phillipe asked, somewhat defensively. "Perhaps you should look in a mirror first, cher," he shot back sarcastically.
Mark didn't say anything. Rather, after a moment's pause he pulled Jean-Phillipe in close for a kiss. A deep, intimate, sweep a guy off his feet kiss. He ignored the hoots and hollers of passers-by, who were assuming they were just being Proud. Mark had a point to make. "Tell me that's not more to you than foreplay," Mark dared huskily as he pulled away slowly, his lips still barely an inch from Jean-Phillipe's.
Jean-Phillipe paused for a moment, pursing his lips. Mark -was- an excellent kisser. But after that moment, he shook his head. "Non. Je suis desole, Mark. I like you. But I do not feel the same way that you do."
"Fair enough." Mark nodded and stepped back, his eyes still locked on the taller boy. "I guess that's it, then? No point in belaboring the moribund."
"Je suis desole," Jean-Phillipe repeated. And he -was- sorry. But not enough to stay under false pretenses. "This is where we go our separate ways, I suppose." And he did just that, walking off into the press of people without drawing it out further.
Mark stayed put for a moment, watching his now ex disappear into the crowd. He shook his head and sighed, heading off into another direction. "My life is a fucking cliche," he said to himself amidst a group of half-naked bleach-blond twinks in tossing handfuls of glitter into the air as they pranced down the street.
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