Vanessa & Jean-Paul | Monday evening

[x-copycat.livejournal.com]

With their recent case behind them the friends get together for some much needed unwinding, with Chinese food of course because either of them cooking could wind up disastrous.

Posted early in the day due to the players being away

Jean-Paul was carrying a large paper bag from the local Chinese restaurant with one arm while he tapped on his window in the hope that Vanessa would open it so he wouldn’t have to dig around for his keys. He’d had a nifty little window lock put on his, much the way his friend had for her apartment and the office, and it was entirely too convenient for words - unless, of course, he had his arms full of delicious Chinese sustenance.

Vanessa barely heard the knock and only went to check the window as an afterthought. Padding through his place on bare feet, her inkling proved worthy of investigating. There was, indeed, a rather striking Quebecois hovering outside the window. He even lived there. She flipped the latch on the window and pushed it open so he could slip inside. “I could have lived with the cold if you wanted to just leave it open. God knows you’d be well enough protected from intruders with me in here.”

“Eh,” Jean-Paul said, shrugging. “It is best, I think, not to tempt fate.” He put the food down on the coffee table in the living room and started setting the containers of food out. “Plates?” He asked, raising a brow. Personally, the Quebecois could have done without them. He didn’t mind eating straight from the carton - but it was likely best to just make sure in case Vanessa was feeling... prim or... something. He wasn’t sure. The thought made him quirk a smile, though.

“Are we throwing the plates at someone?” She was slower getting back to the couch, of course. When Jean-Paul didn’t need to keep pace with someone his “slow” pace was still the equivalent of her running, literally. It suited her just fine, though, because by time she fell into place on the couch again there were open cartons, napkins and silverware all set out. Plus, he was back on the couch. Damn, he really was handy, huh?

Vanessa grabbed a carton with orange chicken in it and a fork. Then she shifted so her back rested against the arm of the couch and stretched her legs out across her friend’s lap, grinning as she did so.

“Do not get your toes in my lo mein,” Jean-Paul warned, tapping the bottom of his carton against Vanessa’s big toe before digging in. “Mmph... Madame Wong - she makes the best food.” It was nice that his friend wasn’t terribly interested in all the propriety that plates implied. He wasn’t particularly invested in it, himself, most of the time.

“My toes are completely uninterested in your lo mein.” They wiggled and one foot nudged his arm. “Your rolls now... Those they could be very keen to investigate.” Vanessa waggled her eyebrows and purred for all of three seconds before she devolved into laughter. “Does Madame Wong know you by name yet? Or possibly by associating your face with your order?” She was relatively sure Jean-Paul got variations on the same thing every time, the only difference likely being whether he was with her or Will or Kevin or whoever else he fed.

“Oui,” Jean-Paul said around a mouthful of noodles. “She knows my phone number. And my accent.” He couldn’t help grinning at that. “She corrected my order last week. I had forgotten the dumplings.” The Quebecois basically loved that the little Chinese lady knew his order. It was something sort of novel, being someone’s regular customer. “Madame Wong also gave us extra doughnuts for dessert.” Fried dough with sugar - how could he say no to that?

Laughing with a largely unchewed piece of chicken in her mouth created a dangerous situation where Vanessa nearly choked. God, but it was nice to laugh so much after the week they’d just had. And it was nice for Jean-Paul to not be reminding her how unhappy he’d been with the calls she’d made about how to utilize personnel. She could always depend on him to tell her just how displeased he was and then move the fuck on. Vanessa counted it among one of his more attractive qualities. “That was very nice of her. The doughnuts and the correcting your order last week. She probably makes a killing on you alone. Never mind how many others are probably around with your sort of metabolism.”

“Mm...” Jean-Paul nodded earnestly now, because really. It was true. He dropped a good fifty to eighty bucks at Golden China on a weekly basis - and that was if he only went once. Sometimes, he went by multiple times. “But it is worth it.” Reaching over with his fork, the Quebecois stole a piece of orange chicken.

“Not arguing here.” But she did swat at his hand while he stole chicken from her carton. The swat was mostly for show. Especially when she nabbed one of those little baby corn cobs from his carton of noodles. “I wouldn’t need to run half as much if I would eat less Chinese but, really, how could I ever say no to my dearest love? Impossible!” Making it sound like a complete after thought, Vanessa waited a beat and said, “You’re my second dearest love.”

“You were talking to the tiny corn cob, were you not? For if I was second to a vegetable, I would be very sad,” Jean-Paul said, popping the chicken into his mouth and chewing contentedly. Delicious. He had dumplings and vegetables in brown sauce plus pork fried rice and a few other odds and ends.

Vanessa blinked at him. “No, no, darling, you are second to Chinese food. That’s hardly as demeaning as being second to a vegetable.”

“Hm...” Reaching for the container holding the dumplings, Jean-Paul pretended to consider that. “I am not so sure how I feel about this.”

“Are you going to divorce me? Because, you know, technically I was with the Chinese first.” She had a very reasonable tone as she made her argument. “And I sincerely doubt I manage to rank as your dearest love, mi amor.”

“You are my wife, are you not?” Jean-Paul asked, a positively pious expression sliding into place on his face.

She raised an eyebrow. “Your wife, yes, but that hardly qualifies me as your dearest love, what with your string of trollops you’ve got lined up. You even spend most of your nights away from me.” Vanessa sighed as sadly as possible. “I turn to Chinese to help assuage the pain.”

“Trollops,” Jean-Paul said, snorting softly. “They are not trollops. They are... quality friends. With benefits.” He grinned, quirking a brow.

“Is that what they are?” She sniffled at him. “Well, you have quality, beneficial friends who you spend more time with than me. I think that means you don’t love me as much as you want to pretend to. Thus, Chinese is my dearest love.”

“Fine, fine,” Jean-Paul said. “I will spend much more time with you. I will interfere in all aspects of your life. And poke at you when you find trollops of your own.”

Her expression turned from sullen to hopeful. “You think I might get my own trollops? Truly?”

“Oui, I would not say this if I did not think so.” He ate a dumpling, humming low in his throat in contentment because it was delicious.

Vanessa shrugged as she swallowed. “I’ve already got a trollop. I can probably only focus on one trollop at a time anyway.” She’d managed to juggle Warren and Will both just fine, but that was only for about two weeks before Jean-Paul had stolen Will all for himself. So greedy.

“Is your trollop a good trollop, then? Very good? I think my wife should have the best only.”

“Mm...” she nodded, chewing on another piece of chicken. “He’s an excellent trollop, truth be told. I’ve no grounds for complaint, which is pretty impressive when you consider my extensive experience in the field.” Slick little smile spread across Vanessa’s lips. “And he manages to keep up almost all the time, so bonus points.”

“Who is your trollop, mon ami? I have heard you speaking of no one.”

In true Vanessa fashion she only smiled and pulled another bit of chicken off her fork with her teeth. She looked contemplative as she chewed, only speaking after she swallowed. “Haven’t I mentioned him? Hm, how completely out of character for me.” An amused smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

“Non, it is very in character, as you say,” Jean-Paul said, snorting softly. “I had thought you might say, anyway.”

“Why would I want to do that?” Vanessa waved a dismissive hand. “Once I let the cat out of the bag it usually runs rampant and everyone’s got a bloody opinion. I learned that when I dated Sam. It never really changed.” To be fair, Jean-Paul had never hassled her over anyone she had dated aside from teasing her for not telling him who her boyfriend was when she started dating Lex. “Besides, he’s not a boyfriend. I think I might officially ordain him a trollop, actually.” She wondered how Warren would feel about that lovely little honorific.

“You should give him a badge or a button, something so that he will be easily identifiable as your trollop,” Jean-Paul said. “And I will find out, eventually, who this trollop of yours is.”

“I could always try to brand my name on his ass but that seems much more permanent than our arrangement is likely to be, don’t you think?” Branding a Worthington like cattle was, however, incredibly funny to think about. “And, aye, I’m sure you will figure it out one of these days. You’ll turn up at my window and he’ll be in my bed. It’s the hazard of giving you a key to that window lock, I suppose.”

“Also, I have gotten very good with the camera and the binoculars,” Jean-Paul said, tone somewhat philosophical. “I would not take your money shot, of course. Only use my new set of skills to find out who your trollop is.”

“You’re going to spy on me?” Vanessa couldn’t help laughing. Jean-Paul sitting out on the roof of the building across the street with a telescopic lens on the camera just to find out who her trollop was happened to be more than just a little amusing. Despite how amusing that would be, however, Vanessa knew that Warren was still closeted in regards to his genetic status. Hell, he was probably publicly closeted about his sexuality, too, for all she knew. “I’d appreciate you not taking any shots, actually. He’s sort of...private about certain things. Like being a mutant.”

Raising his hand boy scout style, though he’d never been in the scouts, Jean-Paul said, “I promise not to take any shots. I will only use your telescope lens to discover your secrets.” Then he dug into his dumplings again while contemplating the vegetables in brown sauce. “He does not have tentacles, does he? I think you should warn me if he does, because I did not like the last pictures I saw of a man with tentacles. And me seeing that was also your fault.”

Ah, the tentacle guy. Vanessa smirked a little at the mere memory of that. Jean-Paul was still scowling when she’d gotten back into town as well. “Funny, I don’t think Wade was nearly as traumatized as you and he was there. But you shouldn’t knock tentacles. I’m sure they can be very erotic.” She went searching for a carton of fried shrimp and let Jean-Paul think about the tentacles a bit longer, because she was clearly a terrible person. “He doesn’t have tentacles. I’m not really sure you want to see him naked, though. That could also be traumatic for you.”

Jean-Paul looked at Vanessa askance. There were really very few men in the world that he couldn’t at least find something aesthetically pleasing about, but she knew that. So what would traumatize him about her trollop? The Quebecois was pretty sure he didn’t want to know. “Hm...” Nudging the shrimp toward her with his toes, he shrugged. “I will find out and, if I am traumatized in the process, you will have to buy the next round of food. This is not so difficult, I think.”

Vanessa happily grabbed the carton of shrimp and popped one in her mouth. Who needed sweet and sour stuff? Only people motivated enough to find it and that certainly wasn’t her. “Alright, love, but I think you’ve just got a fetish for watching people have sex that you’re not admitting. Or watching mates have sex. One of two. And that’s fine, you know, it takes all kinds. I’ll just have to warn him that if you start giving him odd looks its because you were sitting on the roof of the building across the way spying.”

Jean-Paul paused with a dumpling halfway to his mouth as he considered that possible fetish she’d mentioned. Vanessa was joking, he was pretty sure. Sticking the whole dumpling in his mouth, he chewed contemplatively, then shrugged. “Watching can be very nice.”

“Ah, and finally we reveal the real reason you don’t want me to take the infidelity cases,” Vanessa announced with a flourish of fork. “You want them all so you can get your watching out of your system. If you had just told me you were a dirty pervert from the outset I would’ve handed you all those cases without second thought. You know me, always wanting to bring joy to the masses and if watching people get it on makes you happy who am I to stand in your way?”

Snorting, Jean-Paul shook his head. “Non, mon ami.” He didn’t bother disputing it anymore, just laughed a little. Delving into his possible fetishes wasn’t on his list of to-dos for the evening. “Your trollop, he will stay a trollop?”

“Mmhm,” she nodded. “Pretty sure anyway. He doesn’t want a relationship and neither do I. It works out, you know? We hang out, we get dinner, we have a lot of really good sex, we have breakfast and one of us goes on our way. It’s pretty much a win-win situation unless someone gets attached in a more-than-a-friend way, but I don’t think either of us are going to.” Or perhaps she just hoped neither of them were going to. The friends with benefits thing was going so well so far.

Jean-Paul’s eyebrows rose a little. “Dinner, sex, breakfast... hanging out? This does not sound so much like a trollop, mon ami. A trollop is only for the sex. I know these things. I have had many trollops in the past.”

Vanessa shrugged, completely unfazed. “He’s a friend with benefits. Well, he was benefits and became a friend, technically. ‘Trollop’ is so much easier to say, though. And far more amusing.” She sighed and sounded playfully exasperated when she said, “If you insist upon accuracy then he’s a friend with benefits, mi amor. But I’m still going to call him a trollop.” Mostly because Warren Worthington: Trollop had a certain ring to it, Vanessa thought.

Waving one hand, Jean-Paul shrugged. “Oui, as long as you know that he is not a trollop. Though, truly, he does not sound so much like a friend with benefits, either.” Pointing his fork at Vanessa, the Quebecois shook it a little. “It sounds like a relationship that you are not calling a relationship.”

Eyes narrowing, she swatted at the pointing fork. “It’s not a relationship. He can go off and do whatever with whomever and I can go off and do whatever with whomever. I just don’t have any whomevers to do anything with so I don’t, that’s all. We’re just mates who have a thorough appreciation of one another naked. That’s all.” Though now Jean-Paul had planted a bit of a seed of doubt in her head. Was she in dangerous territory with Warren? Vanessa didn’t want anyone to wind up hurt and she was pretty sure they were both on the same page about their situation. What did Jean-Paul know anyway?

Shrugging again, Jean-Paul ate another dumpling and grinned. “If you say so, mon ami.”