Jean-Phillipe and Jean-Paul (backdated to the night of the 14th)

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Jean-Phillipe and Jean-Paul get very, very drunk and waste the opportunity by behaving themselves.



The number of bottles Jean-Phillipe had managed to lay his hands on filled his arms to the point where he was reduced to knocking on Jean-Paul's door with his foot. If he'd been more sober, perhaps this might not have seemed like such a good idea, but good ideas had gone out the window after about the fifth glass of zinfandel. He'd even been flirting with Mark, for goodness' sake. Though Mark had apparently mellowed enough to be civil and flirt back. It was good to be a young attractive gay man. "Monsieur Beaubier!" he called, rapping impatiently with his foot again. "I have wine and vodka and bourbon to share!"

Jean-Paul's eyes widened slightly at the sheer number of bottles. "Baise-moi! This must all be a plan to kill me and take over my classes." He moved to relieve the younger man of some of his burdens. "You are quite the patriot."

"Allons enfants de la patrie, le jour de gloire est arrive!" Jean-Phillipe sang boisterously, if not entirely on key, and allowed himself to be ushered into Jean-Paul's living area. "Where are your glasses? It would be uncultured and...unsanitary...to drink from the bottle, oui?"

"Unsan...? Ah, that is right. You are also one of the afflicted." Jean-Paul headed to the kitchen and returned shortly with two stemless balloon glasses. "Whose powers did you wind up with? Should I worry about more poltergeists?" He grinned and examined the wine labels, looking for the strongest proof and wondering if he should skip right to vodka.

"I believe Madame Grey-Summers determined that I have Callie Betto's. They don't seem to have done anything, however." Jean-Phillipe pouted. "I attempted to grow tobacco. It did not work." He shrugged. "But on the plus side, it means I do not have to worry about accidentally electrocuting anyone, so there is that." He poured a generous helping of wine into the glass Jean-Paul had handed him.

"It also means that I do not have to make sudden polite excuses to get the drunk fledgling telekinetic out of my room." Jean-Paul was quite willing to toast to that. "Though that may still happen if Jeanne-Marie drops by. If she asks, we are working on a lesson plan."

"Mhm." Jean-Phillipe nodded the firm wobbly nod of the clearly intoxicated. "I doubt she will believe us with all these bottles," he noted, gesturing extravagantly. "Unless we can convince her it's a lesson about French culture and vintners."

"If I come up with a better plan, you will be the first to hear of it." Jean-Paul took a generous swallow of the red. Over on the coffee table, his laptop chimed helpfully -- he had new mail. Which really would not have been of any interest if he hadn't taken notice of the sender. "Your cousin is trying to get in touch with me. Could this be mere coincidence? Surely not."

"O merde." Jean-Phillipe groaned and then took a long swallow of wine before pouring himself some more and drinking that as well. "I am sure that I do not want to know at all what she is saying." He covered his face with one hand. "Which is to say please, of course, tell me what utterly embarrassing tidbit my drunken cousin has decided to email you."

"Shame on you, Jean-Phillipe. Your cousin obviously cares about you very much." Jean-Paul kept the laptop angled just wrong, so that his guest could not see the message. "She is concerned about your well-being, in fact, what with you being all alone with an older man, and is imploring me to use the greatest care possible with you when you inevitably succumb to my wiles. It is very touching."

Jean-Phillipe lay back in his chair with his hand still covering his face and made a groaning noise. "She must be drunk to imply that sort of thing. Normally she is far too stuck up and straight-laced to even hint at the possibility." Which was not to say that he found the idea of 'succumbing' to Jean-Paul's 'wiles' at all distasteful.

Jean-Paul chuckled. "It would make for a complicated working relationship, in any case."

Jean-Phillipe grunted. "C'est vrai," he admitted. He shrugged, in fine Gallic fashion. "So," he continued, "how have things been lately for you?" A concerned note crept into his voice.

The older man sighed. "There is a reason beyond the fact that I like you for my diving into a bottle tonight. The waking hours are getting better, the nightmares are getting worse."

Jean-Phillipe nodded. He was prey to his own nightmares every now and again, but he suspected that the sort Jean-Paul was referring to were a bit more...intense than that. "Is there anything that I might do to help?" he asked after a pause.

A wry laugh, then Jean-Paul raised his glass in a small salut. "This is a start. Keeping me awake and distracted, that is also good." After a moment, the speedster seemed to sober a bit. "I have also been meaning to thank you, for keeping up the preparations for next semester with me. I know I have not been the best company, but it...has been very good for me to be able to look forward, instead of concentrate on the...unpleasantness of the present."

"De rien," Jean-Phillipe demurred, waving a hand embarrassedly. "It is the least I could do as your assistant." Part of him wanted to ask if he made an appearance in any of those nightmares, but he restrained himself. Keeping Jean-Paul distracted was helping, and bringing up the very subject that he was distracting the older man from would be unhelpful.

"Hardly, but I will stop flustering you." Jean-Paul changed the subject from there, perhaps not quite smoothly but segueing them into talk of the school and complaints of how the Field Trip Curse seemed to have expanded its definition to include simply setting foot off the school grounds. Fueled by alcohol, the conversation rambled from there, touching on France, Jeanne-Marie, Marie-Ange, Alpha Flight, Mark and everything in between.

After the lengthy discussion, and after glancing at a clock and realizing how late it was, Jean-Phillipe attempted to stand up and failed miserably. He swore, then frowned as Jean-Paul chuckled at his predicament. "I believe that I have had too much to drink," he announced. "And so, I declare that you are going to let me sleep on your couch as punishment for having corrupted me so."

"Keeping you a prisoner of drink on..." He followed Jean-Phillipe's gaze to the clock. "...the day after Bastille Day. I should be struck dead for such behavior." He scooted over, leaving most of the couch open to Jean-Phillipe. "It is yours, more or less."

"More or..." Jean-Phillipe realized what Jean-Paul meant, and actually blushed slightly. "I accept," he said, grabbing a cushion to serve as a pillow.

Jean-Paul laughed muzzily. "Just until I am near enough to passing out that I stumble to bed. Sweet dreams, Jean-Phillipe."