Jean-Phillipe and Jean-Paul

[x-cynosure.livejournal.com]

Jean-Phillipe runs into Jean-Paul during a late-night kitchen raid; they commiserate about the joys of being a double minority.



He'd recovered somewhat from his chain-smoking fit of sulking, but Jean-Phillipe still tended to avoid most of the residents of the mansion, mostly out of a sense of not feeling like he had much in common with them, or any real reason to socialize. But still, food was a necessity, so he tended to make late-night trips to the kitchen area. It wasn't a sure-fire way to avoid people given some of the odd sleep habits that residents had, but it was a way to at least avoid most of them.

The kitchen was dark, save for the small panel-light over the stove, which gave off just enough illumination to light the way to the refrigerator. Jean-Phillipe was still squinting against the light of the fridge when the figure at the table behind him spoke up.

"You're welcome to the pasta if you want it. I do not think it will keep very well."

"Merci," Jean-Phillipe answered. He supposed it was a good thing that he was not quite as jumpy and looking over his shoulder as he once had been. Maybe that meant he was finally getting comfortable at the mansion and not quite so much of a guilty conscience.

Jean-Paul smiled from the shadows and took another sip from his water glass. "What are you doing up so late?"

"I could ask you the same," Jean-Phillipe replied with a shrug. "I have always been something of a night owl." Which was true, if not the reason he had gotten in the habit of eating late in the evening.

"Avoiding reality. This seemed as good a spot as any." Jean-Paul leaned back in his chair. "I'll sleep eventually. Maybe next week."

"I certainly understand the desire to avoid reality," Jean-Phillipe said, fishing the aforementioned pasta out of the refrigerator and placing it in the microwave. "And sleep is overrated, I think. Too many enjoyable things to do in the nighttime." Not that he'd been to a club or had any...other nighttime activities lately.

"Why limit yourself to one time of day?" Jean-Paul's gaze followed the younger man. "I think we can agree on sleep, however. It makes the time pass too quickly. And then your brain gets bored and starts playing tricks."

"The interesting things rarely happen in the morning," Jean-Phillipe shot back. "Clubs do not open until sundown, all-night restaurants, and so forth." He chuckled and stretched, not missing the way Jean-Paul's eyes followed him.

"You must not be keeping the right company," Jean-Paul said with a laugh. "It's not the place, it's who you're with." Jean-Phillipe's shirt rode up as he stretched, revealing a pale (absolutely lickable) slip of skin along the small of his back. Jean-Paul felt a flicker of conscience at the thought, then stomped on it.

'Oh, hush. He is too young, but it doesn't hurt to look.'

"Mhm," Jean-Phillipe murmured in agreement at the end of his stretch, a combination relaxed noise and almost-purr. He adjusted his shirt back down as it bunched, and leaned against the sink. "So you were quite vague with why you are up at this time of night," he noted.

"I prefer to think of it as being concise," came the teasing reply. "And besides, I am sure a man used to adventurous nightlife would be bored to tears by the tales of my lazy evenings."

"My nightlife has been far from adventurous these days," Jean-Phillipe corrected, good-natured, but ever so slightly miffed as well. "I was perhaps looking for some vicarious enjoyment of your evening."

"Ah, I fear I'm doomed to disappoint you, then." Jean-Paul glanced down at his empty water glass, plucked it up and headed to the sink. "I graded papers, took a break to head down to Harry's to be thrashed at pool, then took a drunk friend home and put him to bed. All very dull, see?" He could have asked Jean-Philippe to move, but it seemed less effort to maneuver around him, even if it did mean brushing up against him lightly.

Jean-Phillipe did not object to the invasion of his personal space at all. "Still more interesting than mine," he noted. "I could not tell you the last time I left the mansion."

"I think that would have been last month, just after Clarice decided that she was going gay. At least, I have not seen you out and about since. Or does it only count if you leave the grounds?" Hm. Babbling. Perhaps he should be plotting a retreat. He could sense the beginnings of an ill-advised offer stirring in his mind, and it would be best if that was where it stayed.

Jean-Phillipe barely bit back a caustic comment about whether or not the purple girl was serious about it or not, but 'trendy' homosexuality was something he found possibly even more ridiculous and offensive than bigotry. Besides, his comments on her journal had not ended all that well.

Even in the barely-lit kitchen, the look on Jean-Phillipe's face spoke volumes.

"It will work out for her or it will not. Either way, more for you, non?" The older mutant raised his glass in a small toast and drank.

"Hnh," Jean-Phillipe grunted noncommittally. He grabbed a fork out of one of the drawers and fished his bowl of pasta out of the microwave to begin eating. "For there to be more for me, more men around here would have to like the cock," he said waspishly.

"There is that." Jean-Paul sighed. "Even getting out into the world, the pickings get surprisingly thin once the m-word is introduced into conversation."

"The ones who have no problem with the m-word have problems with the g-word. Or if they don't have a problem with the g-word..." Jean-Phillipe made a frustrated gesture with his fork, a small spark jumping across the tines before he stabbed a piece of pasta with extra force.

"And they wonder why we are so prone to bad moods," Jean-Paul remarked lightly. "We should probably take to handing over cards before the date even starts. 'Check one. I am - a) fine with dating someone with an extra kink to his genetic code or b) not worth wasting the price of a drink on'."

"As some of the Americans would say, that seems so very 'high school'," Jean-Phillipe replied with a sigh. "Check one, yes or no. Do you like men? Do you like mutants?" He snorted. "Either that or like something out of that Dr. Seuss book. 'I do not like those mutant gays, I do not like them any day'," he extemporized.

"'And though I was gagging for your prick, you're now unnatural -- you make me sick.' That sounds familiar somehow, but I can't think of where I could have possibly heard it before." Jean-Paul put his glass in the sink. "Well, I've been cheery company tonight."

Jean-Phillipe rolled his eyes at the rhyme, which was quite possibly worse than his own. "Better than no company," he offered. Not that he was going to directly admit to being lonely from his self-imposed isolation from the rest of the mansion.