Post Prom: Cammie & Manuel; Cammie & Jake

[x-scorpion.livejournal.com]

Coming back after dodging the Prom, Cammie runs into Manuel. The side effects of a late night fight have some unexpected consequences. ((ooc: Possibly NSFW))

Cammie shook her hair out of the braid as she entered the kitchen. Tonight had been prom, and as it was a dance at a school she avoided it like a plague. She had signed out a car, went into New York and had enjoyed herself. After all, why the fuck not? She apparently was ‘designed’ to do this sort of crap so maybe she owed it to posterity or something.

She headed towards the kitchen, her mind on a post fight drink. Grinning she remembered the face of one of the bikers as he ate heavy boot. Life needed more moments like that.

Manuel pulled a glass from the cupboard and momentarily blazed the fridge light across his torso as he opened the door, fetching the orange juice. A yawn was suppressed, especially by the emotional charge that was stalking towards him and despite the energy level that spiked in him, his mind was still groggy.

He could have probably been a little dressed better or rather, dressed with more clothes on than just the jogging pants he was wearing, however he thought that he would have been able to by pass anyone that came in his direction. As it was, he was not ashamed to show a little skin, only personal preference maintained that he would rather be well dressed then not dressed at all.

As an after thought, he put away the juice and poured himself some milk, glancing over his shoulder to see Cammie walk into the dark kitchen.

“And a half-naked man is making off with the juice. God save us all,” she said, heading for the kitchen sink, “Oh I’m sorry, it’s not a man. I guess I was bound to make that mistake sometime with so many assholes taken to wearing skin and pretending to be people.” She was still buzzing from the fight and for a moment she pictured kicking Manuel in the face and smiled.

Her smile matched her emotions but he was not daft to read into that completely. As it was, he was being fed by one of the top three loudest people of the mansion and it was difficult to focus on himself rather than her. She was like a magnet to attention.

Tilting the glass, he gestured with it. "It is Milk." Then he offered her a very very forced smile.

“And this is poison,” she said, lifting up a container, “And that was way too much information, thank you shirtless bastard.”

"Yes, I am my father's bastard child. That makes plenty sense." He rolled his eyes, though knowing his English was particularly horrible when he was partially asleep.

Cammie blinked. She had to think about that one for a moment. When you spent a few years speaking gutter English the literal meanings of words became lost on you.

“That’s NOT what I meant,” she said, pouring herself a glass of pure poison. She tossed around insults like they were candy. Cammie hated to think what would happen if everyone took her literally.

"Now if you were speaking of my sister, then yes, you would be accurate. Though I highly doubt you would be so rude to a four year old, unless I am incorrect on that?"

“It depends,” Cammie snarked with a wicked grin, “Is the four year old steeling anything of mine? Because then I might. Either way, she’ll learn it on her own likely before she’s nine. Get used to it.”

Manuel thought to argue though he believed it would have fallen on deaf ears. Especially to someone who wasn't raising a four year old. "Mother of the year, I see."

“I must take after MY mom,” Cammie returned, taking a shot of the poison and wishing it could do something to her, “After all, nothing says I love you like thinking your kid is a perfect weapon then shoving them in an orphanage.” She spoke brightly, but the anger churned.

His own emotions notched up with the her cheer and he had a very difficult time ignoring the underlying stir with that snarl in her emotions. Thank god they were practically in the dark or else his eyes would be also absorbing all those saturated colours, toning down a good fraction from what it would have been.

"You need to stop being so cheery. It's disgusting."

“Yeah, but I don’t ride the emo cutter bus so I’ll stick to this. Me on the emo cutter bus kills all of you,” she returned. “Luckily for the entire world though you’re the only one who seems really pissed off that I’m happy,” she said with that twisted smile. “I’m not sorry it bothers you.”

Manuel rolled his eyes and he paused to take another drink of his Milk but an emotion hit him like a wave and did more than charge him. It excited him, suddenly setting his glass down and eying her. "Are you..." he started, thinking it was just him. "Are you turned on?"

Cammie spit her drink back into her cup, “What? I.. No! Whatever gave you that idea? And it’s not you’re fucking business anyway!” she said, thankful that it was dark enough in here and she was dark enough skinned to hide any blush. It was a side effect to the fight she got back from. It wasn’t like she got laid that often, fights were the next best thing, really.

Manuel's hand suddenly fastened over Cammie's bicep, pulling her too him and the surge he got from her nearly made him stumble. He braced himself, gripping his cane and immediately erected his shields, building up the layers until he was sure that he could cut her off from him. "You are."

“Let go,” Cammie said, trying to pull back, “It isn’t any of your damn business if I am.” She fought, she was buzzed. That was it. It wasn’t any of her business. And not something a soft faced guy with a horrible accent would be interested in. “Unless you wanted to do something about it,” she taunted.

The contact was staggering, heightening emotions between them and the spike coursed through him like an electrical charge. He turned her until her back was pressed into the counter, his body flush up against hers and he stared at her hard before a devilish grin crept over his features. "Tempt me."

Okay, this was getting interesting. She didn’t care that she had dropped her drink. Cammie looked right back up at him, wearing a twisted smile that was similar to what lit her face during a fist fight, “What? You’re going to come this far and then chicken out?” she returned, “You don’t have it in you.”

"I am waiting for you," Manuel countered. "I do not take without an invitation." He was not intoxicated but very well have could be for the amount of restrain he had to show here. He did not need a certain Cajun knocking at his door again.

“Do it,” she returned simply. Though the words were by no mean quiet or subdued. They were lit with the same enjoyment that came from taunting a guy into hitting her. She wanted it to happen, the left over urge from the fight itself mixing with the very real feeling of him right here. And it had been a long time. She didn’t like the guy so that wasn’t emotional attachment. “You said it yourself, I’m turned on. I want you to do it.”

His fingers tangled through her green locks and he balled a fist, jerking her head back. "You are an insufferable bitch."

The pulling on her hair hurt, but it also felt good. The way coming home bruised and bloody felt good. She grinned at his words, “Fuck you,” she replied with a short laugh, “You gonna to fizzle out on me too?” She also had to deal with the fact that now she was even more aroused. She didn’t bother to try to ignore it, but let it course through her. Cammie lived in the moment when the moments were like these.

Manuel took in a slow, but primal breath and his hand released her, fingers splaying out over her neck and dropping down to her collar bone into her shirt. He ignored the second part, answering to her rebellious nature. "Yes you will."

Afterward, while sneaking back to her room, Cammie gives Jake an eyeful accidentally.

Now that was good. She still had some of the post sex glow on her face as she left Manny, pants on, the rest of her clothes under her arm and her stomping boots unbuckled. It was four in the morning, or around there, so she wasn't very worried about being caught topless. Even so, she started pulling her shirt on, over her skin.

Even in the dimmed lights of the hall, her scars were visible. The large one on her left side from the knife that had just missed her kidney and other small scars dotting her skin. It was pure talent that let her walk while she put the shirt on. Until she realized she had it tangled up and then had to walk, untangle the shirt and try to put it back on blind. Needless to say that took a couple more seconds and she wasn't watching where she was going.

Despite all the teasing he'd gotten from Jean-Paul for the state of his fridge, Jake was amused to discover that the speedster was lacking in a few things himself. Like Nutella. He'd thrown on a pair of pajama pants, intending to make a quick run to the mansion's kitchen, but that was before a pair of breasts had come walking down the dark hall towards him. He blinked, frozen in place. Like a deer in the headlights, he thought, and then he couldn't help snickering.

And then he noticed the bandages wrapped around the noticeably darker hand. In all likelihood, this was gonna hurt.

When she did pull on her shirt the rest of the way her eyes narrowed, "So, did I blind you or are you looking to get sucker punched?"

"Neither," he replied, tearing his eyes away from her chest in an effort at self-preservation. "Midnight skinny-dip?"

"No," Cammie said, smirking evilly, "Why the hell are you here? The teenagers need a Zac Efron?

He smirked back. "Elijah Wood, actually." He scratched the back of his head. "You missed the party. Not in the dancing mood tonight?"

Her face fell into a tight expression, "No. I do not dance. At all."

"Ah." He was pretty sure he was about to get hit, but he asked anyway, watching her carefully. "That have anything to do with the quarterback?"

"Oh, you want a prize for that? What the fuck are you still doing up, anyway?" Cammie retorted.

He shrugged. "Ran out of Nutella."

"Congrats, you now have your nuts," Cammie said at that. Subject shift away from the dance.

It was late, and Jake was tired enough to actually giggle at that, thinking of what Jean-Paul would have to say about her comment. "Yeah. Things would be awkward otherwise."

"Well, at least your nuts didn't respond to me being topless," she said dryly, "Who're you going to go lick that off of?"

"A gentleman never licks and tells," he smirked back. "And you? Walking around topless for fun, or were you getting some licks in yourself?"

"You're not a gentleman," Cammie said with a laugh, "And yeah. I got laid. And I didn't even have to embarrass myself in a dress. I had it coming - first time in over six months. Boys don't like me for some reason. Never did figure out why."

"Maybe because you hit them all the time?" He shrugged.

"Oh, I haven't hit you yet. And you know it as well as I do. I'm made to hit people," Cammie returned.

"So maybe you should find someone who likes it rough. Unless you already have." Jake smiled suddenly. "And now I'm very curious."

"If we're talking kinks," Cammie said, "I'm the kind of girl who likes it when the guys hit back. Who it was doesn't matter."

He grinned. "Oh, now I'm definitely curious--most of the guys around here are a little too straightlaced for that sort of thing." He leaned against the wall, considering. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours?" After all, since Jean-Paul's birthday most people knew about them, but he hadn't seen Cammie there, either--it was possible she'd been playing recluse and didn't know.

"Why do I care who you're fucking?" Cammie laughed, "Seriously, it doesn't matter. It's getting laid, not a relationship. I don't have those."

"That's all mine is," Jake replied. "C'mon, don't make me guess. Who was it?"

"Fine. I just fucked a Spaniard. I don't care what his name is, especially when he's good at other things he can do," Cammie said with a laugh.

Jake actually gaped at her for a second before he started to laugh. "De la Rocha?" That explained the hitting, then. "That's...unexpected. And amusing."

"That's his name? Makes him sound like a bug. Oh well. He can't stand me; I hate him, we'll likely never do anything again, so it's perfect. And less painful on my wrists than a vibrator," she quipped.

He shook his head, still amused. "I really hope there's Nutella in the kitchen, because I'm certainly not going to get any sleep tonight now that I've got that mental image in my head."

"Oh, it so turns you on," Cammie returned, "I know you just spend your time dreaming about naked Spaniards."

He shuddered at that. "No. Not really. Nothing good ever happens to me in Spain. Or with Spaniards, for that matter."

Cammie snickered, "Well, this Spaniard was okay," which was an understatement, but so what. The fight already had her going, it was just an extension of that. "Nothing I'd write home about though."

Jake shook his head again. "Nothing I want to keep envisioning, so I think I'm going to go find the Nutella. Unless you two screwed all over the kitchen?"

"All over the kitchen," Cammie said proudly, "Though I think the fridge is safe. No wait, up against there too. Sorry," it was said so cheerfully it was almost comedic. Little did he know it was almost totally honest.

He looked at her for a moment, then looked at the direction she'd come from, considering. Ultimately, he decided it was best for all involved that he treat it as a joke. "At least promise me you didn't use up all of the chocolate."

"Quit whining you bastard and go get your peanut butter," Cammie said with a yawn. She was bushed now that she stopped to think about it. Amazing what a good night could do to someone.

"I'm sure there are gloves under the sink, at least," he said tiredly, turning towards the kitchen. "Try not to screw anyone else on the way to bed, k?"

"Fuck you," Cammie said lightly on the edge of another, longer yawn, her hand up like she was almost waving.

"Not with de la Rocha's dick," he called over his shoulder. "G'night, Ishmael."