(no subject)
May. 12th, 2012 06:58 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gala_applesTitle: Inviolable
Fandom: Macdonald Hall
Pairing: Bruno/Boots
Rating: pg 13
Wordcount: 1953
Warnings: Elements of dub-con.
Summary: Nothing will upset the sanctity of Bruno's life, not even when Boots uses his powers against him, in a verse where Macdonald Hall and Scrimmage's are schools for mutants. No matter what happens, Bruno Walton is immobile in his love for his school, and his love for his best friend.
Prompts used: mutants, side effects, blood loss, and loss of childhood for hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction.
Boots wakes up naked beside Bruno and the happenings of last night come flooding back. Poker night is always insane, and last night was no different. From Larry cheating by making his poker chips look like different denominations to Wilbur punching a hole into the cinderblock when Mark ate the last of his turkey to Diane teleporting in late night with Cathy on her back, it was a mess.
Not to mention what happened at the end of the party. Halfway through the umpteenth attempt at another game -the ability to actually play poker is inversely correlated to how much alcohol has been drunk- Boots got a nose bleed. Bruno actually reacted before he did, shoving the hastily gathered hem of his shirt under his nose. Cathy created a handful of ice chips for him, then had to go stand in the bathroom while she struggled to gain her control back and chips poured out of her hand into the shower. Bruno called it a night for them, and they went back to their own dorm, Boots still wearily pinching his nose. And then as they were both stripping down to boxers for bed, Boots had a control malfunction.
It's okay though, Bruno was really drunk. As long as he can sneak out of Bruno's bed without being seen, there’s a chance it'll be forgotten. It’s a bad thing to think, of course. Completely immoral. Boots knows that, and he doesn’t plan on changing. Morals are something that get instilled as a child, and he didn’t have much of a childhood. The vast majority of mutants get their abilities between five and ten, and he wasn’t one of the lucky mutants with a teenage onset. The entire third grade class suddenly swarming him is still one of Boots clearest and worst memories. It wasn’t long after that authorities recommended Macdonald Hall. At some point between helplessness and learning control Boots realised the more his power is acknowledged in the aftermath, the worse it is for everyone.
Right now his basest desire is to get dressed and leave the room. So of course Boots loses his balance putting on his pants and the resulting thud wakes Bruno up. That's the way Boots’ life is. The last lucky thing that happened to him was when the Maldonian ambassador’s son crashed his hot air balloon and Mr Diaz was so grateful that a school of mutants saved his child he recommended the Maldonian president change their mutant equality laws. And that was years ago.
“Boots? Where you goin'?”
Over the years Boots has seen Bruno do some amazing things in the morning. Boots is hardly ever around to watch Bruno get ready for class, normally already situated in his seat, but he knows it takes him less than five minutes to get dressed, grab his shit, and sprint to the next building. Boots tries to have a piece of toast wrapped in a napkin waiting for him. It’s just before seven, so Bruno has approximately two hours by his schedule, but the crash has his hair trigger something is wrong at Macdonald Hall internal alarm going off, so of course he’s awake.
“Um.”
Boots knows immediately it’s the wrong thing to say. ‘To the library’ or ‘getting breakfast’ could have saved him, got him out of the room before Bruno's brain was engaged. At the very least it would have delayed the confrontation until later when Boots was more capable of it. But he flubbed his lines. The lack of immediate mundane answer jogs Bruno's brain. He sits up and asks again “Boots, where are you going?”
He’s got Bruno’s full attention, which can only mean one thing. He's fucked. There's no shame in admitting Bruno has more willpower, it's just the truth. If Bruno starts interrogating Boots is fucked because there’s no way he can stay silent under Bruno’s badgering. Unless he pulls out his powers. Which he can’t, because Sturgeon will find out, and the Fish is no Scrimmage, kind and accepting of all her students foibles. Besides, his damn powers got him in this situation in the first place.
“Uh. I think I need to talk to Diane. Sooner the better. I’m pretty sure she kidnapped Dave, and we have group work first period.”
Bruno looks at him for a second, then flops back down on his bed. Boots's heart flutters. He's getting off this easy? Without Bruno saying a single word? Holy shit, maybe even the visual cue of mostly-naked Boots isn't enough to make him remember. It would be the best luck in the world; it's rare that Bruno drinks enough to black out. None of them do. Drinking that much tends to result in powers cascading out of control. After that time when Mark got cornered by the Blabbermouth when he was wasted and got convinced he should share all the thoughts his telepathy was picking up, they’ve employed the strategy of a designated partier; someone that watches to make sure Wilbur’s not going to start lifting cars and Chris isn’t going to spray fire everywhere. Sidney obviously failed at protecting them last night, and as frustrating as that is on his own behalf, maybe it’s a good thing for Bruno.
Boots pulls on his belt, fingers dragging to find the notch. His need to get the fuck out is at war with the urge to appear as normal as possible. Which means that since his Mutant Pride bracelet isn’t on the desk where he usually drops it he needs to delay his escape until he finds it. Normally he won't go anywhere without wearing it, his friends will ask questions if he’s not wearing it.
One of the first campaigns Bruno ran -way back in their first year attending Macdonald Hall- was a pride campaign. As soon as Bruno was enrolled he became a bastion of mutant pride. Macdonald Hall has always been a safe place. It’s easier to be a mutant in Canada, pride doesn’t need to be as aggressive when tolerance is more wide spread. But even at ten, Bruno was never one for passivity. In the same manner he’s done everything else in their time here, he decided to kick things up a notch. Boots has worn the bracelet since the day Bruno spent all his spending money for the semester getting a crate of custom silicon bands. He has to find the bracelet and put it on, no matter how much it might kill him to dawdle looking for it.
He's around the bed and nearly out the door when Bruno speaks. “Boots?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to shower before you go to class. You smell like my come.”
Hand on the doorknob, Boots freezes. He desperately wants to see if Bruno is grinning. Well, of course he will be, that’s not the question. The real question is what kind will it be? Bruno’s got a range of smiles, each meaning very different things. Boots can't look, can't move his head, can't even twitch his eyes. He's never felt more deer in the headlights than he does now.
“For fucksakes Boots,” Bruno says, exasperated. “Come here.”
Stiffly Boots walks back to the bed. He sits gingerly on the edge of it, making sure he’s not touching Bruno. His power isn’t actually triggered by skin contact, but a lot of people are under the impression it is. It makes people feel more comfortable if he doesn’t touch them unless they initiate. He hesitates a moment before crossing his legs and scooting back a few inches. Might as well be comfortable for an end of the world conversation.
“It's not that big a deal.”
Boots crosses his arms. “Do you even remember it, or did you just guess?” Bruno just looks at him. “Come on Bruno, did you fucking deduce it by the way I walked, my clothes, the ruffle on the fucking pillow?”
Bruno replies “my pillows don’t have ruffles.”
He barely stops himself from punching Bruno. “Jesus fucking christ! Not the point!”
Bruno smirks. “Technically it was Bruno fucking Boots.” Boots doesn't stop himself this time. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as it should. He blames it on the blanket absorbing the hit, not that he doesn’t like hurting Bruno. “You hit like a girl, Boots. A non-Cathy girl, because fuck knows she’s a good football player.”
Sometimes his friend is absolutely infuriating. Anyone else in the world would be horrified that they’d been unfairly seduced, but not Bruno. Bruno’s making jokes about it.
“I feel really bad.”
“About the fucking, or the way it went down? Or the hangover? Or does your ass hurt?”
“You are the only person in the world that I’d have to clarify that for. I feel bad that I made you want me, because I couldn’t control myself.”
Bruno shakes his head. “Every person at this school that smuggles in alcohol knows exactly what they’re doing when they drink. It’s an unstated contract that if you choose to come to a poker night you’re putting yourself into a position where someone’s powers might get acted upon you. I could have just as easily had my heart punched out through my ribcage if Wilbur patted me on the back.”
“Don’t say that.” The idea of Bruno dying by someone else’s hands makes Boots want to vomit.
“It’s true, Boots. But instead of getting Larry reading my mind, I got you making me aroused. But the thing is? I’m already pretty into you.”
“You’re straight.” It’s not like Boots doesn’t know what kind of porn Bruno has.
“I’m like, a one on the Kinsey scale. Heterosexual with incidences of homosexuality. Kay?”
“I’m your only incidence,” Boots points out, stubbornly.
“False. I kissed Clint when his girlfriend from Scrimmages asked us to. She’s got remote viewing, she seemed to like it.”
“More than you, probably.” He refuses to let Bruno jolly him out of feeling guilty.
“Shut up already. We’re lifemates, man. After Macdonald Hall, same college, same grad program. We’ll buy a duplex, and you and your husband will live on the left, and me and my wife will live on the right. We’ll share a nursing home. Side by side graves. If some time in those ninety years we fuck again, I’ll deal.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Losses of control happen. And really, I brought it upon myself with giving you all those shots.” Boots opens his mouth and Bruno talks over him. “And don’t even start about victim blaming, because I’m not a fucking victim. Your ability makes me like it when it’s happening, and your friendship makes me not care when it’s over.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“And I’m still only vaguely interested.”
Boots shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He’s not sure how much more Bruno wants to talk about it. For his part, he just wants to try to get back to normalcy. Bruno must feel the bed moving under his beginnings of standing, he sits up and curls an arm around Boots’ neck. Boots’ choices are getting strangled, or quickly adjusting to lay with his head on Bruno’s chest. He feels uncomfortable, not suicidal, so he lies down.
“I’m going back to sleep,” Bruno says, voice already sounding sleepier than it did a moment ago. Boots tries to sit up but Bruno’s arm only tightens around him. Apparently he’s going back to sleep too, on top of Bruno, with no concern as to the false danger of skin contact. Bruno will never change, Boots thinks. He’s pretty okay with that.
Fandom: Macdonald Hall
Pairing: Bruno/Boots
Rating: pg 13
Wordcount: 1953
Warnings: Elements of dub-con.
Summary: Nothing will upset the sanctity of Bruno's life, not even when Boots uses his powers against him, in a verse where Macdonald Hall and Scrimmage's are schools for mutants. No matter what happens, Bruno Walton is immobile in his love for his school, and his love for his best friend.
Prompts used: mutants, side effects, blood loss, and loss of childhood for hc_bingo.
Disclaimer: This is a non-profit, non-commercial work of fiction.
Boots wakes up naked beside Bruno and the happenings of last night come flooding back. Poker night is always insane, and last night was no different. From Larry cheating by making his poker chips look like different denominations to Wilbur punching a hole into the cinderblock when Mark ate the last of his turkey to Diane teleporting in late night with Cathy on her back, it was a mess.
Not to mention what happened at the end of the party. Halfway through the umpteenth attempt at another game -the ability to actually play poker is inversely correlated to how much alcohol has been drunk- Boots got a nose bleed. Bruno actually reacted before he did, shoving the hastily gathered hem of his shirt under his nose. Cathy created a handful of ice chips for him, then had to go stand in the bathroom while she struggled to gain her control back and chips poured out of her hand into the shower. Bruno called it a night for them, and they went back to their own dorm, Boots still wearily pinching his nose. And then as they were both stripping down to boxers for bed, Boots had a control malfunction.
It's okay though, Bruno was really drunk. As long as he can sneak out of Bruno's bed without being seen, there’s a chance it'll be forgotten. It’s a bad thing to think, of course. Completely immoral. Boots knows that, and he doesn’t plan on changing. Morals are something that get instilled as a child, and he didn’t have much of a childhood. The vast majority of mutants get their abilities between five and ten, and he wasn’t one of the lucky mutants with a teenage onset. The entire third grade class suddenly swarming him is still one of Boots clearest and worst memories. It wasn’t long after that authorities recommended Macdonald Hall. At some point between helplessness and learning control Boots realised the more his power is acknowledged in the aftermath, the worse it is for everyone.
Right now his basest desire is to get dressed and leave the room. So of course Boots loses his balance putting on his pants and the resulting thud wakes Bruno up. That's the way Boots’ life is. The last lucky thing that happened to him was when the Maldonian ambassador’s son crashed his hot air balloon and Mr Diaz was so grateful that a school of mutants saved his child he recommended the Maldonian president change their mutant equality laws. And that was years ago.
“Boots? Where you goin'?”
Over the years Boots has seen Bruno do some amazing things in the morning. Boots is hardly ever around to watch Bruno get ready for class, normally already situated in his seat, but he knows it takes him less than five minutes to get dressed, grab his shit, and sprint to the next building. Boots tries to have a piece of toast wrapped in a napkin waiting for him. It’s just before seven, so Bruno has approximately two hours by his schedule, but the crash has his hair trigger something is wrong at Macdonald Hall internal alarm going off, so of course he’s awake.
“Um.”
Boots knows immediately it’s the wrong thing to say. ‘To the library’ or ‘getting breakfast’ could have saved him, got him out of the room before Bruno's brain was engaged. At the very least it would have delayed the confrontation until later when Boots was more capable of it. But he flubbed his lines. The lack of immediate mundane answer jogs Bruno's brain. He sits up and asks again “Boots, where are you going?”
He’s got Bruno’s full attention, which can only mean one thing. He's fucked. There's no shame in admitting Bruno has more willpower, it's just the truth. If Bruno starts interrogating Boots is fucked because there’s no way he can stay silent under Bruno’s badgering. Unless he pulls out his powers. Which he can’t, because Sturgeon will find out, and the Fish is no Scrimmage, kind and accepting of all her students foibles. Besides, his damn powers got him in this situation in the first place.
“Uh. I think I need to talk to Diane. Sooner the better. I’m pretty sure she kidnapped Dave, and we have group work first period.”
Bruno looks at him for a second, then flops back down on his bed. Boots's heart flutters. He's getting off this easy? Without Bruno saying a single word? Holy shit, maybe even the visual cue of mostly-naked Boots isn't enough to make him remember. It would be the best luck in the world; it's rare that Bruno drinks enough to black out. None of them do. Drinking that much tends to result in powers cascading out of control. After that time when Mark got cornered by the Blabbermouth when he was wasted and got convinced he should share all the thoughts his telepathy was picking up, they’ve employed the strategy of a designated partier; someone that watches to make sure Wilbur’s not going to start lifting cars and Chris isn’t going to spray fire everywhere. Sidney obviously failed at protecting them last night, and as frustrating as that is on his own behalf, maybe it’s a good thing for Bruno.
Boots pulls on his belt, fingers dragging to find the notch. His need to get the fuck out is at war with the urge to appear as normal as possible. Which means that since his Mutant Pride bracelet isn’t on the desk where he usually drops it he needs to delay his escape until he finds it. Normally he won't go anywhere without wearing it, his friends will ask questions if he’s not wearing it.
One of the first campaigns Bruno ran -way back in their first year attending Macdonald Hall- was a pride campaign. As soon as Bruno was enrolled he became a bastion of mutant pride. Macdonald Hall has always been a safe place. It’s easier to be a mutant in Canada, pride doesn’t need to be as aggressive when tolerance is more wide spread. But even at ten, Bruno was never one for passivity. In the same manner he’s done everything else in their time here, he decided to kick things up a notch. Boots has worn the bracelet since the day Bruno spent all his spending money for the semester getting a crate of custom silicon bands. He has to find the bracelet and put it on, no matter how much it might kill him to dawdle looking for it.
He's around the bed and nearly out the door when Bruno speaks. “Boots?”
“Yeah?”
“You might want to shower before you go to class. You smell like my come.”
Hand on the doorknob, Boots freezes. He desperately wants to see if Bruno is grinning. Well, of course he will be, that’s not the question. The real question is what kind will it be? Bruno’s got a range of smiles, each meaning very different things. Boots can't look, can't move his head, can't even twitch his eyes. He's never felt more deer in the headlights than he does now.
“For fucksakes Boots,” Bruno says, exasperated. “Come here.”
Stiffly Boots walks back to the bed. He sits gingerly on the edge of it, making sure he’s not touching Bruno. His power isn’t actually triggered by skin contact, but a lot of people are under the impression it is. It makes people feel more comfortable if he doesn’t touch them unless they initiate. He hesitates a moment before crossing his legs and scooting back a few inches. Might as well be comfortable for an end of the world conversation.
“It's not that big a deal.”
Boots crosses his arms. “Do you even remember it, or did you just guess?” Bruno just looks at him. “Come on Bruno, did you fucking deduce it by the way I walked, my clothes, the ruffle on the fucking pillow?”
Bruno replies “my pillows don’t have ruffles.”
He barely stops himself from punching Bruno. “Jesus fucking christ! Not the point!”
Bruno smirks. “Technically it was Bruno fucking Boots.” Boots doesn't stop himself this time. It doesn’t feel as satisfying as it should. He blames it on the blanket absorbing the hit, not that he doesn’t like hurting Bruno. “You hit like a girl, Boots. A non-Cathy girl, because fuck knows she’s a good football player.”
Sometimes his friend is absolutely infuriating. Anyone else in the world would be horrified that they’d been unfairly seduced, but not Bruno. Bruno’s making jokes about it.
“I feel really bad.”
“About the fucking, or the way it went down? Or the hangover? Or does your ass hurt?”
“You are the only person in the world that I’d have to clarify that for. I feel bad that I made you want me, because I couldn’t control myself.”
Bruno shakes his head. “Every person at this school that smuggles in alcohol knows exactly what they’re doing when they drink. It’s an unstated contract that if you choose to come to a poker night you’re putting yourself into a position where someone’s powers might get acted upon you. I could have just as easily had my heart punched out through my ribcage if Wilbur patted me on the back.”
“Don’t say that.” The idea of Bruno dying by someone else’s hands makes Boots want to vomit.
“It’s true, Boots. But instead of getting Larry reading my mind, I got you making me aroused. But the thing is? I’m already pretty into you.”
“You’re straight.” It’s not like Boots doesn’t know what kind of porn Bruno has.
“I’m like, a one on the Kinsey scale. Heterosexual with incidences of homosexuality. Kay?”
“I’m your only incidence,” Boots points out, stubbornly.
“False. I kissed Clint when his girlfriend from Scrimmages asked us to. She’s got remote viewing, she seemed to like it.”
“More than you, probably.” He refuses to let Bruno jolly him out of feeling guilty.
“Shut up already. We’re lifemates, man. After Macdonald Hall, same college, same grad program. We’ll buy a duplex, and you and your husband will live on the left, and me and my wife will live on the right. We’ll share a nursing home. Side by side graves. If some time in those ninety years we fuck again, I’ll deal.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“Losses of control happen. And really, I brought it upon myself with giving you all those shots.” Boots opens his mouth and Bruno talks over him. “And don’t even start about victim blaming, because I’m not a fucking victim. Your ability makes me like it when it’s happening, and your friendship makes me not care when it’s over.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“And I’m still only vaguely interested.”
Boots shifts uncomfortably on the bed. He’s not sure how much more Bruno wants to talk about it. For his part, he just wants to try to get back to normalcy. Bruno must feel the bed moving under his beginnings of standing, he sits up and curls an arm around Boots’ neck. Boots’ choices are getting strangled, or quickly adjusting to lay with his head on Bruno’s chest. He feels uncomfortable, not suicidal, so he lies down.
“I’m going back to sleep,” Bruno says, voice already sounding sleepier than it did a moment ago. Boots tries to sit up but Bruno’s arm only tightens around him. Apparently he’s going back to sleep too, on top of Bruno, with no concern as to the false danger of skin contact. Bruno will never change, Boots thinks. He’s pretty okay with that.