Chapter Text
Warren Worthington III was not a man easily deterred. The incident with the bay window at sunset was unfortunate, truly, but it was easy to see how Kurt could have mistaken his strategic posing as mere sunset-admiration. No matter. Warren could fix this easily enough. After all, the Xavier mansion was blessed with a truly shocking amount of scenic balconies and garden pathways. All he needed to do was to pick a few that were the most visible and the rest would work itself out. Again, this was a foolproof plan. Nothing could go wrong. Nothing at all.
“What’s Worthington doing?” Scott whispered to Jean. The two of them had been talking under Jean’s favorite tree when Scott noticed the mutant in question leaning in a faux-casual fashion against the balustrade lining the gravel walkway. His white t-shirt was stretched just a little too tightly across his chest, the broadness of which was accentuated by his crossed arms. His biceps were nearly straining against the fabric of his sleeves. His wings were held aloft for reasons as of yet unknown, unfolded in their full glory against the afternoon sun.
Privately, Scott thought Worthington looked like a douchebag. But what did he know.
Jean barely looked up from the sandwich she’d brought with her. Bananas and Nutella. Disgustingly unhealthy. Her favorite. “He’s trying to impress Kurt,” she replied through a mouthful of potassium-rich chocolatey heaven.
Scott almost fell backwards in shock. “He’s what?!? I thought he hated Kurt. Are you sure?”
Jean snorted. “He’s thinking it so loudly, it’d be impossible to not be sure. ‘God, I hope Kurt walks by soon, I hope he notices me, he can’t not notice me, look at me, look at my wings, I look amazing, fuck my back is sore but it’ll all be worth it when Kurt finally falls in love with me, ’.” Jean repeated Worthington’s thoughts out loud in a flat, faux-deep voice. “He’s like ridiculously in love with Kurt, it’d be cute if it wasn’t so sad.”
Scott needed a moment to process all this. He needed several moments. He probably needed like an hour’s worth of moments because what the fuck. Worthington? Surly, traitorous, borderline-alcoholic Worthington? Had a crush on Kurt? The purest, kindest soul to walk the earth? Their Kurt? That wasn’t possible. That was like...that was like if Magneto was somehow Peter’s dad, it was that unlikely and weird.
“But are you sure, Jean? Are you totally sure? Are you like 100% sure. Would you swear on that horrifying sugary concoction that you call a sandwich that you’re sure .”
Jean rolled her eyes. “Do you want me to say what he’s thinking out loud again?”
Scott nodded rapidly.
“Okay, here we go. Ahem. ‘Kurt’s so hot, I’m the only one at this school that’s hot enough for him, he’s just so hot, please notice me, Kurt. He has to see how worthy I am of him, I’d do anything for him, he’s so beautiful, his eyes are like the sky right before the sun sinks, and I want to trace over all of his scars and run my hands over his skin, his skin looks so soft, like twilight velvet, and oh god, I just wanna kiss him so bad, his lips look so soft, and I can’t wait for him to finally fall into my arms so I can see those lips wrapped around my -”
Jean’s eyes widened in horror as she cut herself short and adopted a perfect thousand-yard stare. Scott suddenly became very interested in the frisbee game happening across the lawn. Oh, look. There appeared to be an argument. The kid who could stretch his limbs used his powers during the game. This was apparently cheating. Was using your mutation at a school for mutants actually cheating? This was the kind of deep philosophical question he’d ask the Professor later. Maybe his long, enthused, rambling discourse on the intricacies of the fairness of mutation-usage on the playground would somehow send Scott into a deep-enough stupor to erase the knowledge that Warren wanted...wanted...wanted to do that...to Kurt.
Jean, on the other hand, was beginning to understand the professor’s former alcohol problem.
“I can’t block them out, Scott ,” Jean whispered brokenly.
“What? You can’t block what out?” Scott asked, immediately concerned.
“Warren’s thoughts . He keeps thinking about...about...oh god, Scott, make it stop.” Jean clutched her temples and curled up, unable and unwilling to handle the amount of filth that Worthington was so obliviously projecting.
“Come on, Jean.” Scott hurriedly took Jean’s hand and led her away. “Let’s um. Let’s go find Ororo, see if she can teach us some new recipe from home.” Scott hated cooking, normally, but he was willing to do literally anything else besides think about Worthington’s apparent depravity.
Someone should warn Kurt, Scott thought vaguely, before another disgusted groan from Jean made him walk even faster.
Kurt noticed Warren. Kurt noticed Warren plenty. It was hard not to. Warren was gorgeous. His face must have been made in the image of actual angels, it was so beautiful. You could see the whole world spun into his eyes, earthy hazel at the heart of stormy oceans. And his wings. Kurt couldn’t get over Warren’s wings, hadn’t been able to ever since he’d first seen them in the cage, splattered with blood as they were. Warren’s wings would have sent artists into fits as they rushed to paint their awe-inspiring span across cathedral ceilings and immortalize their deadly splendour in stained glass. And now that they had grown back as God made them, Kurt wasted no time in appreciating the alabaster glory of Warren’s feathers. They always seemed to glow when struck by sunlight, and there was no shortage of opportunities to appreciate the feathers being struck by sunlight now that Warren had recently taken up the very strange practice of posing ridiculously at any given location on the grounds and in the mansion.
So far, Kurt had caught Warren in poses including, but not limited to: slouching in the breakfast nook as his wings sprawled across the entire bench, resting against the kitchen counter as the early-morning sunshine dusted his wings in soft gold, lingering outside the boys’ bathroom, wings still inexplicably unfolded.
And, on one shocking, heart-stopping occasion, approximately three weeks into Warren’s new hobby, he was found draped decadently on a chaise longue in the second floor music room where Kurt had gone to seek some peace and quiet, one wing outstretched vertically against the backrest, the other one splayed out across the ground. It looked patently uncomfortable, so Kurt knew not why Warren would willingly rest in such a fashion, and he had ostensibly been reading, as evidenced by the book loosely clutched in one hand, but Kurt did not know why one had to be shirtless to read. Surely this was not a strange American custom, as Scott did not read shirtless, when he bothered to read at all. The good doctor read often, and clothed, and the professor was certainly never seen shirtless. No, it must have been a strange Warren custom. In any case, Kurt stammered his apologies and promptly vanished.
Kurt did not at all let his eyes linger on Warren’s muscular chest as he backpedaled towards the door, so shocked (enthralled) by such a shameless (breathtaking) display that he forgot to teleport. He did not let his eyes rake over Warren’s spectacular abdominals either, nor did he at all briefly fantasize what it would be like to be held in (down by???) those arms, so powerful and strong, and-
What was the point of denying it. Kurt knew he did. God knew he did. But could God really fault him when Warren was clearly sculpted by God himself as a test to the whole of mankind? He was sure that better men and women would have fallen to Warren’s majesty. The Lord had tested him, and he had failed, but could anyone else claim to be able to do better?
Even worse, shortly after the music room incident, Warren appeared to develop a newfound love for shirtless exhibitionism, which, to each man his own, but why did the Lord test Kurt so , why did the Lord seek to punish Kurt with the sight of Warren’s torso cast into sharp relief as he lounged on a lawn chair in the West Garden veranda, clad only in a pair of low-slung jeans, the jut of his hip bones peeking sinfully over the waistband? What had he done to deserve this cruelty (absolute blessing)?
On all other occasions, however, Warren’s poses were all...amazingly stupid. Beautiful, but stupid. And somewhat awkward, if Kurt was being honest, because surely Warren had no idea how absurd he looked leaning against that balustrade this morning, or how absurd he looked pretty much every time he was leaning against something with his wings opened (for perpetually unfathomable reasons), and it always seemed that the polite thing to do whenever Kurt encountered Warren when he was posed thusly was to pretend as though nothing was out of the ordinary and carry on as per usual, no matter how ludicrously attractive Warren still managed to look, even when leaning purposelessly against the newel post in the main foyer, gazing soulfully into the middle distance.
Yes, that was the only thing that could be done. Politely ignore Warren. That was it. And pray.