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Peter was standing in his black swimming trunks outside the coach. He watched all the kids stroll off the coach in pairs, with their beach gear, some carrying chairs and massive umbrellas to stick into the sand. He himself had a bag with a towel, spare shirts, shorts, and sandals, a cap with the NASCAR logo on it, which he stole from the local supermarket, and a butt-load of sunscreen.
He was lightly tan-ish, but if he got any more tan, he’d combust and remove all mirrors from the mansion so he wouldn't have to remind himself how weird he looked.
Jean came up next to him, dressed in an orange tank top, jorts with sequins shaped into a star on the butt, pink sandals, and a white cap. “Brave of you to actually tag along,” she teased, “brave of you too, considering your pasty white skin and ginger hair.” Peter retaliated. Jean made a fake dramatic gasp. “It is true what they say, the heat does make people moody,” she giggled. Peter let out a small laugh as well.
“I hate everything about the beach; the sand is honestly the worst thing about it,” he complained. He watched as Charles and Hank did a headcount of all the kids. “What made you join along?” Jean asked, and Peter rolled his eyes. He knows that Jean knows, but she’s waiting for him to admit it.
“I don't know.. Kurt just convinced me to come along,” he slyly replied. Jean grinned at his response. “That's what they all say when they try to get into someone's pants.” Jean nudged him teasingly, Peter made a disgusted face, and nudged her back, making her stumble to the ground. Jean groaned angrily and tried to drag Peter down, too.
Charles, who was speaking to the students, was telling the kids what time they were leaving and how far out into the sea they could go. He stopped and sighed as he watched Jean struggle to drag Peter into the sand. “Jean! Stop it, or I'll make Kurt teleport you home!” he yelled across the sea of students. Jean stopped for the moment and made a disgruntled face. Jean pointed at Peter, who was standing there frozen, “He pushed me into the sand first! Don't take me home! Take Peter home! He’ll enjoy it more because it's ku—” Peter kicked sand into Jean's face to make her stop talking. “Shut up!” Peter gritted through his teeth. He looked up to see Kurt looking at him, laughing quietly with the rest of the students.
He quickly looked away and lent a hand to Jean. “That should get you laid within the next two weeks.” Peter pushed her into the sand again.
Charles let everyone go, and all of the children rushed down to the beach. Three children yelling to move out of the way while they sledded their boogie boards down the ramp. He, Jean, and Scott were all walking together behind Ororo and Kurt.
“I'm surprised you're not speeding down there,” Scott asked, catching the attention of Ooro and Kurt. Peter shrugged, “Sand would go everywhere, and I don't like the feeling of sand all that much, you know.” “Why are you here then?” Scott added, Jean gave another evil smirk. “It's because he has a fat crush–” Time slowed in Peter's eyes. He grabbed the bucket that Ooro was holding and ran down to the shore. He watched as sand parted like the Red Sea behind him, and he felt bad for all the people who were about to get sprayed with sand. He scooped up some water and ran back towards the little group. Time went back to its normal pace. He heard the groans of people now trying to get sand out of their mouths as he poured the water over Jean's head. She froze, eyes pinched closed, spitting the salty water out of her mouth. The others just looked at them both, mouths slightly agape. Jean opened her eyes, “Just you wait, Peter–” she said, vengefully.
Peter just nodded, handed back the bucket to Ororo, and walked through them, continuing his journey down to the beach. He settled himself far enough from major crowds of people, yet still close by, so people like Charles didn’t think he drowned or something.
He laid his towel down and perched his bag next to it. He grabbed one of his many bottles of sunscreen out of his bag and his hat. He sat down on his towel and squirted sunscreen down his legs and arms. He rubbed it all in, though the sunscreen mixing with his leg hair grossed him out. He sighed as he just managed to get to the back of his shoulders. He’d just wrap a towel around him for the rest of the day.
“Need help?” Peter looked up to see Kurt smiling at him, his canines shining through.
“Er.., yeah. Thanks,” Peter handed the sunscreen to Kurt, who then plopped down behind him. He felt the coolness of the sunscreen drip down his back. Kurt started rubbing it in, and Peter felt his face heat up. Talking to Kurt was already enough to give him heart palpitations, but this? This could give him a heart attack. “What dis your plan for today?” Kurt asked, Peter blanked him for a moment. He didnt have a plan; he was just going to wait it out on his beach towel. “Not much, probably sleep.” Kurt raised an eyebrow at his response.
Peter thought about how stupid he sounded saying that out loud. He regrets that and wishes he could turn back time.
“Sleeping must be a hobby, ja?” Kurt asked, grabbing more sunscreen. Peter zoned out because of all of this touching, “hm?” “Well, at the mansion, you sleep. Besides missions. Now you're here…planning to sleep?” Kurt wasn't wrong. Peter slept…like a lot. He slept through a fire alarm one time, as someone left toast unattended. He slept through his own birthday, too, not like he would spend it with anyone besides his mother. Charles realised shortly after what he had done and guessed Peter didn't want something extravagant, so he got him a chocolate cupcake and a birthday card, which was signed by the majority of the students. He has it pinned above his bed.
Peter was more of a night owl anyway; when the mansion was asleep, he’d be awake. Running, walking, and stealing food out of the fridge. He’ll sometimes slightly askew things, so it makes people think they're going crazy. “True.. I sleep a lot, but I am awake at night. Maybe you'll catch me one day.” That last bit was a pun inflicted on itself, as no one could ever catch him.
Kurt made an amused hum and got up. “Thanks, need me to do you?” Peter was ignoring all the dirty undertones that one phrase held. Kurt shook his head, “Ororo helped me do it.” Peter nodded and looked back at the ocean, expecting Kurt to walk away. A quick moment of silence went by. “For a fast guy, you are very slow.” Kurt laughed, and Peter snapped his head back at him. “What do you mean?”
“Well.. are you not hanging out with us?” Kurt questioned, Peter looked past him, and saw the little group he was with earlier waiting around, presumably for the two of them.
“I mean, I can if you want to, I don't mind staying here—” Peter managed to blurt out before Kurt grabbed his arm and teleported them to the group. The group made a little cheer as they both arrived and insisted that everyone get in the water before they burn like Charles Christmases' Hog Roasts. Peter found that a strange reference, as it was only one time, but he still found it funny in his head.
They all marched down to the shore in a group, picking up Jubilee and Kitty on the way. The whole group went ahead, and Peter took his time walking down, as the shore hadn't come in yet, so the walk was still quite far. Jubilee was walking with Kitty in front and briefly gave a glance over at Peter, who was trudging alone with his head down. She whispered to Kitty to walk ahead and catch up with the others while she slowed her pace to meet with Peter. Peter still had his head down but noticed she had met pace with him.
“Hey, Jubilee, you alright—”
“Is it true you have a crush on Kurt?”
“Is that how you approach all conversations?” Peter laughed.
Jubilee stayed silent, waiting for an answer. Peter sighed, “It depends on what you consider crush, who told you?” he questioned.
“Well, I heard jean gossiping about you and Kurt to charles; so then for a while I had my suspicions, but then Jean was talking to Ororo about you and Kurt and then I sent Kitty to go ask about it because apparently I spill secrets, when I don't, it was one time and anyway, ororo told kitty and then she told me.” she blurted, peter gave a mental applause in his head because she is one to not give up.
“So, who have you told?” Peter added, She must have told someone. “Hank? I don't really know how I got into that conversation with him, but he seemed vaguely interested.”
“Does kurt know?”
“I don't think so, unless Jean said it to him through the brain,” she directed, pointing to her forehead. They stayed silent for another minute. “I'm rooting for it, though. I'll be happy to plan your future wedding.” Peter scoffed at her comment. She was bright, but he didnt know she was that bright.
“Wow, I'll consider that offer. Who else have you planned weddings for?” he laughed. Jubilee frowned. She went on about how she has this big book of wedding stuff specifically planned for Charles and Erik, for when he eventually returns, as she quoted that he turns up every couple of blue moons, so she had to make sure he would stay. She also mentioned that Peter would be Erik's best man and that Erik would have to give a tribute to him at the wedding.
It tore his heart a little when Jubilee mentioned Erik, as Peter knew that the chance of Erik staying forever would be very, very, very, very low. Then he remembered he had never told Jubilee that Erik was his father, and he was now wondering how she knew that, but before he could ask, she said, ‘Last one to get there is a rotten egg!’ and was already sprinting to catch up with the group. He laughed at her demise and ran past her, making her stumble to the floor. He ran past the rest of the group, making them wobble a bit, then he ran into the sea. Leaving a massive backsplash that sprayed the people around him.
He pinched his eyes closed and swam deeper until his hand was touching the floor, which wasn't that far down. He felt that his hat had floated up to the surface, but he didnt care for the moment. He twisted himself so that he was on his back, slowly rising to the surface. His puffed-out cheeks were getting harder to hold, but the surface was getting nearer. He hadn't been counting how long he'd been down there, but he was guessing around a minute. Peter couldn't remember the last time he went swimming; it was probably when he last went to the beach… which was when he was about nine years old. He liked the pressure of the water; he likes how it's not too heavy yet light enough for him to slowly rise to the surface. Peter felt his body pop above the surface. He opened his mouth, making a gasp for air. His eyes opened, and he saw that the group was looking at him. They all just stared, not saying a word. This was one of Peter's worst nightmares, initiating conversation.
“I think you guys should get in… very cool in here,” he yelled, while floating like a starfish. He remembered that one advert where if you were struggling to swim, which he wasn't in that moment, you float on your back and spread out like a starfish. It worked very efficiently. The next thing he heard was jubilee yelling, “cannonball!” and jumping into the water, which sent a small wave, making Peter drift away. He heard the rest of the group jump into the water and start splashing each other. He still splayed himself like a starfish, enjoying his own company. It wouldn't be so bad if he fell asleep in the water, right? Just has to make sure he doesn't roll over. He closed his eyes, and he felt himself spinning slowly. Until something sharp poked him on the back, he snapped his eyes open and started flailing around. He was not about to get eaten by a shark; that is a lame, painful way to die. He moved a distance away from where he was poked by the alleged shark. He was about to swim to shore when he saw a blue figure emerge from the water.
He frowned at kurt who was now laughing hysterically. “I am surprised you did not run away,” he laughed. Peter gave an awkward laugh in return.
“I thought you were a shark or something, man!”
“If I were a shark, I would have eaten you by now,” kurt replied.
Peter gave him a nod. Peter noticed that they had drifted farther than they were supposed to be and noticed that kurt was struggling a bit. “We should go back, I think, if we go any farther well drift off to sea and well have to be shipless pirates for the rest of our lives,” Peter joked. He swam over to kurt and grabbed his hand and dragged him along as he started swimming back to shore.
“I'm guessing you're not a good swimmer then,” Peter asked, “Well, being in the circus for most of my life, I would usually just imagine vhat it would be like to be on a beach.”
“Are you enjoying it?” Peter added, turning on his back, facing kurt, still holding his hand and paddling back to shore.
Kurt's face lit up, his bright, perfect smile filling his face. “Very much, I am also…” kurt was thinking of a word to say, “very gleeful zat you came along,” he exclaimed.
Peter was going to explode; everything he ever wanted was literally right in front of him.
Is it better to speak or to die? Peter thought. He wanted to confess his protruding love to kurt in that very moment.
Peter would throw parties in his own non-existent mansion across the lake from kurt just to get his attention.
Peter would write three hundred and sixty-five letters for kurt.
Peter would wait a year for kurt just to be with him again.
“Peter…?” kurt interrupted. Peter snapped out of his haze that he didnt realise he was in and noticed that he had stopped paddling to shore.
He started kicking his legs again and started moving backwards again. They managed to make it back to shore, and Peter helped kurt out of the water. He heard a small, “Oh!” come from kurt. He looked down to see that kurt had tied Peter's hat from earlier to his swimming trunks. “I vas supposed to give it to you back there, but I forgot I had it,” he said, untieing it and handing the cap back to Peter. “Thanks, you can go join the others. Ima’ go back to my towel,” he said, pointing to his towel with his thumb. Kurt nodded. He gave one last smile before he went and joined the others back in the water.
Peter walked back to his towel, passing Charles on the way. He was sitting on a beach chair under an umbrella, reading a book, something about Homer having an odyssey. Charles looked up from his chair, “I don't even have to read your mind to know what you're thinking, Pietro,” he smirked, as he closed his book. Peter stopped in his tracks and looked at Charles. “Don't call me that, I don't like it.” Peter huffed, charles rolled his eyes. “Learn to like it, it's on your birth certificate,” he pointed out. Peter hated it when people called him Pietro. It reminded him too much of his father; he theorized that his mom named him that to have some resemblance to his dad. “Well, you're not my mother or my sisters, so you still can't call me that,” he established. Charles just made an unamused nod and patted the seat next to him.
“I'm wet,” Peter looked himself up and down. “It's fine, I doubt Hank is coming back anytime soon,” Charles said, both looking over at Hank, who was yapping away at Alex Summers.
Peter sat down next to Charles, looking at everything but him. “Jean says you're quote unquote in love,” Charles stated. Peter rolled his eyes. “Shes very invested in my love life. Y’know, I didn't even tell her, she read my mind! I personally think that's an invasion of my privacy—”
“Well, you haven't denied it–”
“Who are you to talk about love? You've been single for like thirty years!” Peter scoffed, and Charles pursed his lips at his comment. If Peter was already clocking him, he might as well continue.
“Oh, and your on-and-off fling with my dad isn't eligible dating advice either.” Charles snapped his head towards Peter.
“It is not me, it's him! He’s the one not ready to commit,” Charles yelped back. Peter thought they sounded like a bunch of teenage girls watching Beverly Hills, 90210 or something, that's what Jean usually sounds like when she’s yelling at the television.
They both went quiet, both looking at the ocean. “Well, many of the students are rooting for it. By that I mean, jubilee, kitty, jean, and partially me.” Peter interrupted; another moment of silence went by.
“Have you heard of the book that Jubilee made?” Peter added, and Charles just nodded. “I went through it, very well planned.” Peter just nodded at his statement. This had gotten very awkward, and Peter wanted to leave, but he couldn't think that because then Charles would read his mind and think he was rude, considering this whole interaction was rude enough. Peter was about to get up, and then he thought of something. “When he does come back, I give you… consent for you to tell him that I am his son.” Peter sat on the edge of his seat. Head turned to look at Charles. “No– no, Peter, I can’t do that, it's not my place to tell.” Charles sneered. Peter just raised an eyebrow. “Just think of it as truthful babytrapping… but like twenty years too late.” Charles let out a small laugh.
Peter got up and continued his stroll to his towel. He plopped himself down on the floor, lying down. He was ready to sleep, considering it was about eleven AM, though he didnt go to sleep until half five that morning. He didnt bring his Walkman because he was scared he would get sand in it. He'll just have to enjoy the music from a distance; he was hearing ‘Cyndi Lauper,’ but he couldn't make out what song it was. He grabbed the spare towel and folded it into a pillow. Peter put it behind his head and rested. He grabbed his now-damp cap and placed it over his face. He felt his eyes slowly close, soon drifting off into a nap.
Another reason he doesn't go to the beach is that the heat makes him sleepy.
When Peter woke up, his eyes immediately adjusted to the brightness. He felt around for his cap, which had fallen off. He fully opened his eyes and saw that the sun was setting. Damn, had he really slept that long? He looked around, and everyone was packing up for the day. It now felt pretty pointless to come along to the beach; maybe he needed to find another hobby.
“The beast rises from his pit!” he heard a voice say. He looked to his left and saw Jean walking towards him. “What time is it?” he asked, “around six thirty.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “That's late, isn't dinner usually served at like five?” Peter questioned, Charles liked sticking to the schedule.
“Charles let the kids go crazy on his credit card, one of the students bought a massive sundae from the cafe by the car park, and if he ate it in under twenty minutes, he would get it for free… he completed it, but threw up everywhere afterwards,” Jean said, lending a hand to help Peter up. He was hesitant because of what happened in the morning, but he took it anyway, and nothing bad happened. “Kurt seemed disappointed that you weren't awake for the whole day.”
“He was?” Peter's voice cracked, and he violently cleared his throat after saying that, "I mean, he was?” Jean couldn't help but smile warmly. "I think you should ask him to sit together on the way back," she suggested gently, wiggling her eyebrows playfully. “No, and don't try to force me—I'll run home if I have to," he said, pointing and grabbing his belongings quickly. Jean laughed and told Peter to follow her back to the coach.
He was sitting by himself on the coach, he didnt have the balls to ask kurt but yet again, he enjoyed his own company. When you spend most of your life physically alone with no friends, for quote unquote being the ‘weird kid’ with white hair and kids calling you ‘grandpa’ or ‘Benjamin Button’ on the playground, you learn how to enjoy being by yourself. No, his mother or sisters didnt count. The journey went slower than it should have, with traffic at every point because everyone was coming home at the same time. He wanted to run; he needed to run. He unplugged his seatbelt and walked to the front, and saw Charles sitting by himself, reading that Homer Simpson book or something.
Peter sat down next to him, “Peter? You alright?” Peter shook his head, “Can I run home? I haven't run in a couple of hours—” Charles gave him a weird look, “No, go sit down.”
“I'm already sat.” Peter snarked,
“Don't make me call your father.” Charles joked, trying to keep a straight face.
Peter made a dramatic sigh. “Meanest mom ever!” he said in a sarcastic, sassy girl voice. Charles laughed at the interaction. “But seriously— can I run home?” Peter repeated, “Still no, you agreed to join us, you have to sit through it,” he said, picking his book back up.
Peter got up and returned to his seat, making eye contact with kurt on the way. For the next five minutes, he sat in silence, enduring the coach moving slowly, until his stomach rumbled. He looked in his bag next to him for food; he knew he hadn't packed.
Another thing he hated about beaches, he had to be organized.
By the time the coach was moving at speed again, he was considering downing the sunscreen. He looked out the window, daydreaming of all the food he was going to steal from the kitchen fridge that night. “Hallo, Peter,” a familiar voice perked up. He looked to his right and saw kurt wobbling standing up. He quickly moved his stuff to the side of his feet and let kurt sit down. Kurt pulled the tray table down in front of him and placed a box on it. It was a travel-size battleship game. “Would you like to play? The group taught me how to play,” he smiled. Peter looked to kurt, then to the game. Was this a fever dream?
“Yeah– of course,” he said nervously. Little did kurt know that this was his poker face, and he was absolutely goated at Battleship. He would play against his mother and would win consistently, to the point where his mother accused him of cheating. Yet, no mutant power had to be used to win at Battleship.
Kurt opened the box and set up the game while Peter grabbed his boats and pegs. He twisted himself so that he was cross-legged, sitting sideways on his seat. Peter pulled his case closer to him and placed his boats strategically. They both prepared themselves, and Peter let kurt go first; might as well give the loser a head start. Kurt gave a small hmm before giving his answer.
“B5?” Peter looked at his board; he was one off, he had a boat going down at B4. “Nope, I bet you have one at J1?” kurt gave him a frown. “I'll take that as a yes.” He grabbed one of his pegs and put it on the board. The rest of the game went as you expected, kurt managed to sink one of Peter's ships, yet it was the only two-by-two one. Peter dominated and took all of Kurt's ships out. Kurt gave a sigh, muttered a well done, packed the game up in a rush, and went back to his seat. Peter's heart sank to his arse. Was being too good at Battleships a red flag? He should've just let kurt win, I mean, he only learnt how to play like forty minutes ago.
He spent the rest of the journey wanting to crumble into a ball and be kicked to the moon. His stomach rumbled again. He also spent the rest of that trip wanting food.
When they got back to the mansion, it was already dark, and the kids were yawning like crazy. Charles advised them all to go take showers, but most of them just nodded and went straight to bed instead. Peter went downstairs to his room in the basement. He left his bag by the door and went to go have a shower in his dingy little bathroom. There was still a bunch of sand on his feet, and the feeling grew more uncomfortable by the second. He turned the shower on and stripped himself of his spare clothes, which he had put on before he got on the coach. He saw steam drift from behind the curtain, and he got in and immediately washed his feet first. The sand washed off, little grains still sticking to the shower floor. He washed the rest of his body, removing the stickiness of the sunscreen he had lathered all over himself. He couldn't stop thinking about that game of Battleships. Peter regrets not going easy on kurt. Peter gets too giddy when he knows he is too good at something. He huffed and turned the shower off. He got out and grabbed the towel from the rack beside the sink. He wrapped the towel around his lower half and walked back into his bedroom.
He walked over to his wardrobe, which was missing one of its doors. He vaguely remembers drinking one too many of Logan's beers one night and decided to use something that wasn't a Frisbee as a Frisbee. Charles was confused when one of the students told him that a wooden wardrobe door was stuck in a tree. Peter grabbed his ‘pyjamas,’ which were really just an old Whitney Houston 1987 world tour shirt his mom gave him when it didnt fit her anymore, and some sweat shorts. He dried himself off and put his pyjamas on. He looked at his clock on his nightstand, ‘20:38.’ He would wait for the next twenty minutes to sneak out and get food, but he was hungry now.
He got to the kitchen in a blur; the lights were off. He turned them on and went to the fridge. He opened it and scanned the fridge with his eyes. Vegetables, vegetables, fruit, stale birthday cake from last week, blue cheese— ew, milk that's about to go off. Fudge cake that's labelled as Scotts…
He took the fudge cake out of the fridge and grabbed a fork from the drawer. Scott knows not to leave good-looking food in a mansion full of children who are stuck to schedules. He quickly ate it and threw the plate and fork in the sink.
“Scott despises you enough–” Peter turned around quickly, covering the sink. “He knows not to leave good food in the fridge,” Peter retaliated. It was Kurt who stood in a black shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms. Kurt just nodded and moved towards the glassware cupboard to grab out a cup. He walked over to the sink, giving Peter a look to move out of the way. Peter clocked it and moved out of the way. He moved towards the door to leave.
“I am sorry about the game on the bus.” Peter stopped in his tracks nd looked back, kurt who was leaning against the sink, glass of water in his hand. “I've been told I am a… sore loser by ro’ i apologise” he spouted, Peter just nodded in return.
“It's fine, I've always been good at battleships, it's like the one physical game I'm good at.” Peter laughed, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. They stood there in awkward silence, kurt downed the rest of his drink and put the glass in the sink. He walked towards Peter, “Would you like to play again tomorrow?” he asked. Peter felt his face get hot. “Yeah, erm, yeah– where abouts?” he said nervously, no poker face this time. “Your room? Mine dis being used for study tomorrow,” Peter nodded frantically, kurt mumbled something in German and walked past him, Kurt’s tail caressing Peter's arm on the way out.
Peter was surprised that he didn’t explode in that very moment. He raced back to his room and looked over it in disappointment. There were clothes and empty Twinkies boxes scattered across the floor. He used his speed to gather all of the clothes, sort out what was clean and dirty, fold the clean ones up, and throw all his dirty clothes into his hamper. He gave a huff and looked around, and still saw all the Twinkies boxes over the place. He used his speed again to gather them up and stack them into a wall in the corner of his bedroom. It now looked clean enough to have guests over, he let out a sigh of release and flopped down onto his bed. He grabbed his Walkman from somewhere on his bed and put on his headphones; he played the last thing that he was listening to. ‘Message in a bottle’ by the police. He was wallowing in self-pity when he was listening to this, imagining conversations about telling Magneto that he is his father. All those conversations ended in Peter running for his life. It gave him a shiver just thinking about it.
Peter almost fell off his bed when he heard a loud knock on his door.
He sat up and looked at his alarm clock. ‘11:32 AM’. He couldn’t have slept that long, damn. He got up and went to open his door. On the other side stood kurt. Box of battleships in hand.
Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck
“Oh, should I come back later? I thought you would be awake—”
“Nonononono– it's fine, I'll get changed before lunch is served,” he quickly said, stepping out of the way for kurt to come through. Kurt came through looking all around the room. He stared at all of his concert posters, raising an eyebrow at the Twinkie box wall, noticing the birthday card he signed above Peter's bed.
“Very nice room, as the Americans say, ‘it gives you character’” he said, using air quotes. Peter laughed at his sympathetic mocking of American phrases. Peter went to the corner of his room and pulled out the two beanbags that were stacked upon one another. He gestured to kurt whether he wanted the dark blue or the light blue one. Kurt pointed to the dark blue one. He chucked it over in kurts direction, and kurt sorted it out and then sat on it, across from Peter. He opened the box and gave one set to Peter, and gave him his boats and pegs. Peter opened his setup and placed his boats less strategically than last time. Kurt finished setting up and offered for Peter to go first.
“Right, erm– C2?” Peter looked up from his board and saw Kurt's mouth hanging open. Peter picked up a peg and placed it on the lid of his board. “C3?” he reluctantly asked. Kurt let out a little huff and nodded. The game went as you had expected. Peter was trying not to sink his ships, yet kurt had them in the most obvious spots. “I do not understand how you are so good!” kurt yelped, leaning back on his beanbag. Peter chuckled, “I don't put them in the most obvious spots. Look—” he turned his set around and showed kurt where he placed them. “See how they're placed in like an order? It leaves gaps in the most obvious place where someone would put them,” he pointed to the ships. Kurt made an amused nod and looked back at his board. “Play again?” kurt asked. Peter nodded with a laugh, making kurt let out a big grin. They played again, and kurt did better, he almost got of peters ships, but Peter beat him by one. Kurt was proud of himself for doing better and that he was actually enjoying it. They played more rounds until Peter's alarm clock started blaring " Heat of the Moment " by Asia.
“What dis the alarm for?” kurt asked, watching Peter get up to turn it off. “Well, because I sleep in late, it's to make sure I actually wake up and eat something. So, brunch basically?” he turned, looking to kurt, who had his head slightly tilted, looking in confusion.
“Brunch? What dis that?”
“Breakfast and lunch combined,” he stated, using his hands to mush his fake breakfast and lunch together.
Kurt gave a nod and mentally made a note to try out brunch one day. “Wanna get lunch and come back after?” Peter asked, kurt noticed him thoroughly rub his hand down the side of his shorts. “I wish, but charles vants me to do some training,” peter muttered an ‘oh’ and nodded. “But lunch vould be nice,” kurt added, not denying his offer. Peter's face lit up and leant down to help kurt clean up. “It is fine, you schould get changed though,” he giggled, eyeing his Whitney Houston shirt. Kurt was right; he'd never hear the end of it from Jean because of this shirt.
He walked over to his wardrobe and picked out a Van Halen shirt he probably stole from the mall.
Kurt picked up most of the pieces, realising he was missing one of the boats. He turned around to ask Peter where it was and realised he had turned at the wrong moment. Peter was shirtless, his back muscles stretching as he pulled his shirt off, and his boxers were peaking out from the top of his shorts. Kurt couldn't help but stare so hard. The moment died when Peter put on his new shirt, and kurt snapped out his fantasy fever dream. He asked Peter where the other boat was, and Peter realised he was holding it the whole time. He chucked it back to kurt who put it away. He grabbed the box, and they both went upstairs. Kurt said he'd be right back and said he was going to give this back to Ororo. Before Peter could nod, kurt bamfed away, and blue smoke appeared. About thirty seconds later kurt came back in his blue cloud of smoke. Kurt gave a smile and suggested they start walking to get food while there was some.
They headed to the canteen, grabbed a tray, and saw what food delighted them today. Kurt grabbed a ham sandwich, Caesar salad, and an apple for lunch. Meanwhile, Peter grabbed a handsandwhich, a banana, and three Twinkies from the dessert bar. A couple of months ago, Charles was taking suggestions for what new food there should be for the cafeteria, and Peter made sure he put Twinkies on the list.
They sat down at a table, across from each other. Peter grabbed all three Twinkies, opened them, and stacked them. He took a big bite of his Twinkies sandwich. He didnt realise kurt was giving him a confused look until he finished the so-called sandwich in two bites.
“I do not understand what is so good about them,” kurt shrugged, picking up one of his sandwiches and taking a bite. “To be honest, me neither. I just remember the first day my mother brought home a box of these. I ate all of them in five minutes,” he shrugged back, picking up his sandwich too and biting half of it.
“What's your favourite food?” Peter asked, eating the other half. “I like kartoffelsalat—”
“A what?” Peter interrupted, kurt frowned.
“It dis a potato salad, but Germans did it better,” kurt pointed out, “probably did, I don't like potato salad.”
“What do you like, other than Twinkies?” Peter thought for a moment, then picked up his banana from his plate and waved it gently in Kurt's face.
Kurt sighed and looked at his plate. He picked up his fork and gathered a bit of salad. He then pointed his fork towards Peter, who was happily munching on his banana. “Try this,” Peter looked over and made a disgusted face at the sight of it. “I'm alright, thanks,” he declined. Kurt was stubborn; he would get his way.
“Just this, no more,” he promised. Peter raised an eyebrow and shook his head. “It will not kill you, spinach, mayonnaise, and stale bread cubes!” he yelped, “Croutons..?” kurt frantically nodded at his correction.
“Still no–” Peter opened his mouth to take another bite of his banana, kurt took that small window of opportunity to shove the fork in his mouth, making Peter choke as the fork stabbed the back of his throat.
“Chew!” kurt yelled again, grabbing the attention of some people nearby. Peter reluctantly chewed on the salad, then swallowed, while pulling a ‘I hate this.’ face. “Okay, it was not that bad–”
“See! You like it, new food to eat now—” he said happily, grabbing a bite of his salad for his own mouth. Peter grinned, trying to hold in his laugh; he could deal with that type of stubbornness for the rest of his life. He went back to eating his banana, happily. They ate the rest of their lunch, discussing the briefing plan for the next mission. Soon after they walk out of the cafeteria together, Peter walks Kurt to the door leading downstairs. They stopped at the door. “I enjoyed lunch, I hope to do it again sometime.” kurt pleased, Peter stood there nervously, nodding and softly laughing to his statement. “See you later,” kurt smiled, his tail caressing Peter's arm, opening the door, and walking downstairs. Peter watched the door close, and he felt like he wanted to collapse on the spot. He turned to walk away, and Jean was behind him.
“Jesus, fuck jean–” Peter shrieked, hand to his chest. “So how's it goingggg—” she asked, guiding them toward the corridor with classrooms. Peter scrunched his face, “I'm doing fine, personally. I mean, I slept in late but–” Jean punched him in the arm, Peter letting out an ‘ow’.
“Don't play dumb, I'm rooting for this Peter. Don't let me, Ororo, Kitty, Jubilee, possibly Hank, and Charles down!” she stressed,
“who else did you tell, the newspaper?” he laughed at his own joke. They stopped outside a classroom, “I'd better see improvement by the end of the week.” Peter was concerned for Jean because she was treating this like Peter was on a behaviour report. Peter nodded and let her go into the classroom; he now had about five hours to waste.
Dinner came around, and Peter skipped it. If he ate dinner, he wouldn't be hungry for his late-night snack run. He sat at his desk, organising his mixtapes and useless educational books that he doesn't read. Except for one, which is about the body, Charles recommended it, as that's what his power relied on. His body. A knock on the door interrupted his organising, and he yelled for the mystery person to come in. It was kurt, with a plate of food. Specifically, jacket potato with chilli, cheese, and something that is probably Greek yogurt, and some nachos on the side. “You were not at dinner, so I saved you some,” kurt said, handing the plate to Peter. He could not deny Kurt's gesture, plus it looked really good. “Thanks, I wouldn’t have skipped if I knew it was this,” he laughed, placing the plate on his desk. Kurt chuckled in return, “So you do eat healthy-ish food,” kurt reminded him. Peter shrugged, “When I have to, so when I go home to see my mom.”
“Where does she live?” kurt asked, tail swaying. “Washington, I go visit her at the end of every month.” kurt smiled, his heart warmed at the thought of Peter being happy. “I schould let you eat before the food goes cold.” They both nodded. Kurt turned to leave, but Peter stood up, making his chair fall to the floor. Kurt snapped back around, being startled at the noise, and Peter cleared his throat. “See you later tonight? I'll probably be awake and wondering about y’know,” he said, rubbing a hand on his neck. Kurt smirked as he now knew where this was going; he actually knew from the start. After Peter poured water over Jean's head at the beach, Jean had had enough of Peter's swooning and told kurt that Peter was crushing on him and asked Kurt to make a move. Kurt obliged; he liked Peter for way too long. He would watch him on missions, how he moved, and how he showed little to no fear when fighting someone. Kurt could get his head wrapped around that.
“Sure,” he smiled, walking out of the bedroom. Peter stood there for the next minute, making sure all his body parts were working. He felt like they had all just exploded, and his insides were doing backflips. He picked up his chair, sat down, and started eating his potato. He didnt even like chilli all that much, but kurt gave it to him, so it tasted better.
Peter was grabbing Scott's second fudge cake, which he bought in place of the first one. Scott accused a lot of people of eating it, and eventually came to the conclusion that he must have eaten in and didn't remember. He walked over to the utensil drawer and grabbed out a fork. He stabbed a piece and was about to take a bite when a blue cloud of smoke appeared in front of him. It made Peter jump, “Holy fuck, kurt! Second time today someones done that.” Peter whisper-yelled, kurt giggled in reply. “Well, Pietro, better start expecting it”. Peter's heart sank to his arse, again. “Where did you get that from?” Now taking his well-deserved bite, Kurt leaned against the dining table, hands holding him for support. “Charles slipped up vhen talking i was talking to him earlier.” Peter took another bite of the cake. “It is a very beautiful name, I think you should use it more,” kurt said.
It made Peter go red in the cheeks a little. Peter finished chewing his bite, “Unless you are my mother, sisters, or potentially Charles, you can not use it,” he declared. Kurt raised a brow. “If I kept using it, would you let me?” the blue boy asked, getting up and walking closer to Peter. Peter went wide-eyed; the fact that he was this close was making blood rush to places where it shouldn't be. He placed the plate down next to him and leaned back against the counter. “Maybe—” he said, avoiding eye contact.
Kurt nodded and walked to where the plate was. “Vhat is the difference?” kurt asked, picking up the fork with a piece of fudge cake on it. “Between what?” “This and regular Schokoladentorte—” kurt stopped before he could finish the rest of his sentence, “cake, with the cho–cola-te…” kurt had a hard time pronouncing long-ish words. Before saying it, he would repeat it in his head, hoping that when he said it, it would come out the same. “Chocolate cake? Erm, fudge cake is more…moist–” kurt giggled at Peter when he said that, “moist! What a funny word,” he laughed, taking a bite of the fudge cake.
Chewing with a blank face, his expression turned surprised when Peter guessed he liked it. “I now see why Scott likes this so much—”
“Wannagooutwithmetommorrow?” Peter spat, Kurt didn't get a word of what he said, and tilted his head slightly. “Erhm– yeah, wanna go out with me tomorrow? We can go into town–”
“I would love to, Pietro.” his hand moved on top of Peter's. Peter stared at his hand, then at Kurt's angelic face. His elf-like ears poking out of his hair, and his dark blue markings blessing his face.
“If I were to kiss you right about now, would you let me?” Peter asked, getting ready to run away if he said no. “Only if you let me call you Pietro,” kurt wagered. Pietro let out a small laugh. “I'll allow it then,” Pietro murmured, leaning over to kiss Kurt.
Kurt closed his eyes, blissfully leaning into the touch. Pietro's hands found kurts waist, sliding firmly against his side, while kurt reached up to interlock his fingers behind Pietro's head, pulling him closer. Pietro pulled back an inch, trying to catch his breath. Kurt had grown impatient and smashed his mouth back onto Pietro's. Kurt forced his tongue inside, drawing a soft, muffled moan from Pietro at the sudden intensity. They parted only for short, breathless breaks. During one of them, Pietro picked up kurt entirely, placing him on the counter. Sliding between his legs, Kurt's tail wrapped tightly around Pietro's waist, anchoring them together. They dove straight back into making out, the urgency making them clumsy enough that Pietro bit Kurt's lip more than once. Heavy breaths echoed between them, never wanting to pull away.
Kurt pulled back, “Pietro, it dis getting late. We will continue this tomorrow…?” he whispered, touching foreheads with Pietro. “Yeah, yeah,” he smiled, reluctantly moving out of the way. Kurt hopped off the counter. Kurt dusted himself off and turned to look at Peter. “When we speak in front of friends… shall I call you Peter?” he thought for a moment, Pietro was a name barely anyone knew him by. People calling him Pietro would feel like talking to a stranger. Though he knew the people so he wasn't a stranger to them.
“Nah, I think Pietro sounds better.” kurt grinned at his comment, “See you tomorrow, Pietro.” he waved a small goodbye and bamfed back to his room, supposedly. Pietro leant back against the counter, eyeing the fudge cake. He put a mental note to treat him and kurt to all the fudge cake they want one day, and possibly Scott, but who cares.
The next day rolled around, and Pietro took kurt out to the mutant-friendly side of town to go look at the markets. Kurt was offering to pay for his own things, yet Pietro had scrounged up about five hundred bucks he got from his piggy bank, so he had to pay. They went to a diner, and kurt made sure Pietro tried something new. When they got back to the mansion, they noticed everyone was outside enjoying the sun and having a small garden party. Kurt took that opportunity to suggest they continue what they had left of yesterday. Pietro happily agreed, and they went back to his room and made out for the next hour or so, after kurt mentioned one of Pietro's interests and Pietro went ham on it. Yapping away about his hobbies.
Sooner or later, kurt asked Pietro to be his boyfriend, and Pietro said anything but no. Something Pietro loved about beaches is that he never knew he'd find everything he ever wanted there.