Vanessa & Jean-Paul | BACKDATED

[x-copycat.livejournal.com]

After his text Vanessa heads over to Jean-Paul's suite for a bit of much needed mindless distraction.

Jean-Paul left the door to his suite open just a crack so Morgan could get in, then went to the kitchenette to cut the rest of the celery. The peanut butter was already on the counter, two jars: one crunchy, one smooth. The movie looked ridiculous, which was precisely what he wanted and what he figured Morgan might need.

Ridiculous seemed to have become a way of life between Jean-Paul and Vanessa. It wasn't usually intentional, but she needed something to distract him loads of times and humor and innuendo were both second nature for her. The movie he'd proposed seemed right in that vein, though she suspected they both needed the distraction.

Vanessa knocked on the door once before the force of it swung the door open a bit. "Mi amor?" she called playfully and poked her head through the door. Once she spotted her friend in his kitchen Vanessa trotted through the door and shut it behind her. "So you're into zombies, eh? Who would've guessed?"

"It is my secret shame," Jean-Paul said, finishing up with the celery and piling it in a bowl with the carrots. "You are bound to silence, mon ami." Grabbing the peanut butter jars, he headed for the couch. "Do not make me pointlessly threaten to kill you. We both know I could not manage that and my manhood cannot take the blow."

The smirk was instant. "Oh, I don't know, love. I think your manhood could use some blowing, probably." With the smirk still on her face the metamorph followed the Quebecois to the couch and gracefully fall into place beside him She turned big, innocent eyes to him but the still present smirk ruined any chance of the effect working.

"I believe it has received enough of that treatment during the last few weeks," Jean-Paul said, snorting softly. "And you are not offering, anyway. Such a tease, my friend. How does your electric carrot boy handle you?"

She raised an eyebrow at that. "Has it? You ho." She clearly didn't mean it. Vanessa had no idea who'd been blowing Jean-Paul's manhood and she wouldn't ask but she hoped it was making him happy. She knew all too well how self-destructively sex could be used by people. Loads of times it was an empty act to pass time, to distract, or to fill a hole it would never adequately fill. She did not ask, for now, if he was falling into any of those traps. Instead she waved a hand through the air. "I could offer, but you've never taken me up on it before, regardless of who I was wearing." The teasing tone was all the indication that should have been needed to tell she wasn't exactly moping about it.

"I was a fool, oui?" Jean-Paul asked, snorting softly as he handed Morgan the bowl of vegetables, then the jar of smooth peanut butter. "But now it is too late, I think."

The metamorph sighed in the most melodramatic manner possible. "Si, senor, it is too late for us and the orgasms we could have shared," she lamented. Vanessa took up a most mournful position while she scooped some peanut butter out for her celery and then chomped the end off.

"Damn," Jean-Paul said, flattening the vowel in an effort to imitate the flatter American accent. "But we can watch the film, at least." Having said that, he reached for the remote control and turned on the TV, then the DVD player, and pressed play. "I have heard there are strippers. Women, but still. Zombie strippers."

"Zombie strippers?" Vanessa perked. "You really are looking out for me, aren't you? I have such a fetish for scantily clad dead women. Especially if they're giving me a lap dance and trying to eat me," she said with an utterly serious voice. "I love a woman who'll devour me."

Jean-Paul's nose wrinkled. "Oui, well. That is not what I was thinking so much." The movie started, though, and he fell quiet, munching on a carrot while the credits rolled.

Vanessa let the silence descend during the credits but once the movie began properly she asked, "Is there an amusement park in this?"

"I believe so - it is called Zombieland, is it not? This sounds like a place full of rides and blinking lights," Jean-Paul answered, shrugging. He reached for the can of chunky peanut butter and scooped a bit out with a piece of celery. "Raisins," he said, tone contemplative. "For... what are they called? Ants on the log? I should have gotten raisins."

"That sounds gross. Who wants to eat pretend ants?" People ate insects in some places, but Vanessa wasn't sure anyone actually ate ants. They were tiny, pesky creatures and they probably didn't crunch when you bit into them either. Insects were no fun to eat unless they crunched, though she really preferred to get her protein another way. Scorpions tasted vile.

"I do not know," Jean-Paul said, shrugging. "I simply want raisins and this is what people call them here when you eat them with peanut butter and celery." He flipped the celery around so he could dip the other, unbitten end in the peanut butter, then eat it, too. "Look, the stripper." He pointed at the television.

Vanessa shut up to watch the men pour out of the strip club on the TV while she chomped on her celery. There was a zombie stripper in pursuit, dollar bills in her g-string and everything. Shaking her head, the metamorph made a tsking sound. "Tassels? Really now? That's just poor taste. I mean, as much as I like a girl who wants to consume me, there's just no excuse for tassels."

"This makes me glad," Jean-Paul said conversationally, "That I have no need to go to strip clubs and things." Because that was just unattractive. He didn't like breasts on his best days, and now he had the image of rotting ones bouncing in slow motion to go with the intrinsic dislike. "I feel that was unnecessarily jiggly."

Frowning, Vanessa nodded in agreement. "There's no way tits that size actually bounce that much." She actually looked down at her own chest. Then she poked at a breast. Hers seemed too firm to jiggle that much. Then again, Vanessa lived in sports bras. She wasn't really the sexy cleavage sort most of the time. Maybe they did jiggle that much when they were free. Clearly she was giving this too much thought.

"They're so long," Jean-Paul muttered, eating another carrot as the scene changed. "I know men who would pay to have that much length for certain parts of them."

Vanessa snickered. Her eyes slid to the side and she smirked at her friend. "Some men, but not you huh?" The implication was clearly that he at least thought he was more than long enough.

Smirking, Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows. "Only people who are very insecure worry about what they do not have rather than learning to use very well the things that they do." Which neither confirmed nor denied her implication.

Her own smirk only got worse. "Monsieur, are you implying you are a veritable stallion in bed?" She very blatantly let her gaze travel downward and linger on his crotch. "Mm...I really did miss out then, huh?" There was a very faint waggle of eyebrow while she let her expression shift into something that suggested she was thinking very vivid thoughts about what, exactly, she had missed out on. She had no such actual mental images, but you'd not know it from the look of her. A small bite to her lip added to the effect.

"I said nothing of the sort," Jean-Paul replied, his own expression prim. "Conjecture all you like Morgan. I will not give you anything that might be used against me in future." There was a dramatic pause before me muttered, "But I have had no complaints."

"Must be all that experience age brings," she noted with a sage nod, "'cause most men are fucking shite in bed." What was worse was that you couldn't just kick them out of bed when they were paying for it. Vanessa had become an expert at faking an orgasm before most girls had lost their virginity.

"Oui, that must be it," Jean-Paul said dryly. "Experience and age. I have them both in, what is it called? Spades?"

"Nah, you're a veritable virgin sacrifice, love." She winked at him and nudged him a little with her shoulder. Another dip into the peanut butter with a fresh stalk of celery and another end chomped off had her making a content sound. "Virgins are overrated anyway, all awkward and scared of fucking up and all."

Rolling his eyes, Jean-Paul snorted softly. "Virgins have their uses, do they not?" Or maybe they didn't anymore. He considered that. "A... what is it? Door stopper? A bookend? I would not want one in my bed, I think, but they are good for other things."

"Slaves. They're good for errands, dirty work and house keeping. They don't get distracted as easily but they live in hope of the elusive orgasm given by something other than their own hand." Vanessa smirked. "I dated a virgin. He was far too passive in any sort of sexual activity. A bit like deflowering the innocent, that." She made a face and actually shuddered.

"You dated a virgin?" Jean-Paul asked, more curious than incredulous as the boy in Zombieland started talking about his rules. "I think I have never done that..." He paused to consider the various men he'd fucked over the years. "I think I slept with a few by accident, though." Frowning, he said, "There was the one time, when one of them decided partway through to ask me to stop. I did, of course. But still. I think I felt badly for him."

"Aye, I dated a virgin. I didn't know he was a virgin until after. Probably still would've dated him. I never slept with him though." She'd dated Sam for months without giving him more than a blow job. She'd dated Lex for a matter of weeks before stripping him bare and fully having her way with him. She suspected he'd needed that just as much as she did. Life of a soldier didn't make it easy to date, she supposed. "I didn't want to be responsible for his view of sex."

"Mm... oui," Jean-Paul said. "I have not really... dated anyone." Jake counted, but that had seemed so one-sided at times that he wasn't sure it really counted. He also wasn't sure the distinction made sense outside his own rather warped mind, so he kept it to himself. "It is not something I... do. I think. Not well, at least." His tone was wry.

"Not well or don't do," she asked with a slightly raised eyebrow. "You just not interested or shite at it?" Loads of people were terrible about dating and horrible in relationships but they did it anyway. Some people genuinely had no interest in a relationship. She couldn't honestly say she knew that Jean-Paul was the latter. All she'd ever known for certain was that he was pro-sex and fell into relationship substitutes easily. At least he had with her.

Jean-Paul shrugged. "Je ne sais pas," he murmured, eyes turning back toward the television. "A combination, maybe."

"Not interested because you're shite at it?" That was her version of combining the two. "All that experience you've got with age and you haven't figured out relationships yet?" Then again, she was twenty six when she'd gotten into her first relationship. That had been a mess. No, it hadn't been, but she felt like it's tidiness was a mess all to itself.

"Something like that," Jean-Paul said, nodding. Drawing one knee up to his chest, Jean-Paul settled his chin on it and absently nudged the bowl of vegetables back toward Morgan. If he'd been in the mood for self-pity, he might have said something about never really being given the chance to practise the relationship aspect of things, but he wasn't. So he snorted when the man on the toilet got eaten by a zombie going under the stall door before reaching for another carrot.

"And that," she gestured at the tv with her last nub of celery, "is why you don't use the public toilet." She let the question of relationships drop. Responses took on a certain quality of shortness to them when someone didn't want to talk about something and Jean-Paul's had seemed to hit that point so she backed off. She would have thought he'd have a string of ex's, honestly. He'd been out and proud as both a mutant and a homosexual for ages. Once he'd been kind of famous. He was attractive, intelligent, well-read and a decent person, so what gave? She didn't ask, just watched the carnage while she chewed her celery and reached for another stalk.