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laleiaTitle: Kissing Warren
Fandom: Sky High
Rating/Pairing: PG-13, Warren/OFC, implied Warren/Will, Warren/Layla, Will/Layla, Warren/Will/Layla
Summary: Warren tries to reassure himself of his heterosexuality.
A/N: Obviously, I didn't do much work at work, and instead spent my time surfing the Internet and writing fanfic. This is one of the only completely results.
“I would never screw Stronghold,” he said. “I want to clarify that.”
“That’s good to know,” I said cautiously.
“I’m not gay,” he said firmly. “And even if I were, Stronghold is a friend. I don’t screw my friends.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, unsure why he was talking to me. Warren Peace and I had been in most of the same classes for three and a half years, and we’ve never exchanged a single word, and that includes the project we partnered up for.
“I like girls,” he continued. “I’ve had a lot of girlfriends. And I liked it, liked having them, liked kissing them, liked fucking them. I. Like. Girls.”
I didn’t bother to respond this time, merely looked around to me to see if this surreal conversation weren't actually a product of my imagination.
“I like girls,” he said, “And girls like me. They fall for me. They go out with me. They sleep with me. They love my bad boy rep. Especially since at the end of the day, I’m practically guaranteed to never turn villain.”
A bit egotistical, but true – 80% of the girls at Sky High had a crush on Warren Peace.
“So if I’m not going to screw Stronghold, and I’m not gay, then why won’t Layla sleep with me?” he demanded.
Somehow, I had missed the leap in logic.
“You’re a girl,” (Uh oh, speeches that started with “you’re a girl” never ended up well…) “So can you tell me why Layla would tell me that sleeping with her would just be ‘an attempt to sublimate my desire for Will into a more heterosexual, heteronormative attraction that would in the end still be dominated by the perpetual Damocles’ sword that both of us desired Will more than the other, which could only lead to illicit affairs on both our parts until we finally descended into...’”
“Descended into what?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I stopped paying attention at that point.”
“So … do you, um, desire Will?” I ventured.
“No,” he said flatly. “Have you not been listening? I’m not going to screw Stronghold, and I’m not gay.”
“‘Not going to’ isn’t the same as ‘don’t want to,’” I pointed out hesitantly. “And you don’t have to be gay to, um, desire him.” What an odd word.
“I like girls,” he bit out.
“You could like girls and Will,” I suggested. “Why don’t you try kissing him and see what happens?” And I could sell tickets to some of the girls in school who’d been dying to see the two in bed together for three years. I could be rich in the space of 24 hours.
Warren scowled as he stalked toward me, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked me in the eye. I was sure he was about to reiterate his point with some pyrotechnics for emphasis, and braced myself for the inevitable singed eyebrows. Instead, he kissed me.
It was hot. Amazing. I haven’t had that much experience, but Warren was an extremely good kisser.
Finally, he drew away with a smug smirk on his face. “Told you I liked girls.”
i blinked. Sighed. “I’m a guy,” I told him.
He blinked, nonplussed. “You can't be a guy,” he said doubtfully, looking me over. I knew what he saw -- androgyny personified. A slight, frail frame; short, wispy hair; long eyelashes and baby-soft skin. People often had to look twice before correctly pin down my gender -- the first time they met me.
“I can’t believe you missed that small detail after three years of classes together. Typical.”
Warren now looked decidedly sheepish as he edged away.
“So. Here's where you find where you really stand, Warren Peace. Would you kiss me again, knowing that I am not, in fact, a girl?” I asked. “Might be a less embarrassing experiment than kissing your Stronghold out of the blue.”
“He’s not my Stronghold,” Warren snapped, before considering my offer. Then he leaned in again.
This kiss was different, more tentative on his part and more aggressive on mine. It lasted longer, involved more teeth, and ended only when we ran out of oxygen.
We were both panting when we finally drew apart, and he looked somewhat shaken. No surprise given that he'd been convinced he was 100% striaght. “I can’t believe you’re not a girl,” he mused as he leaned against the wall. “I always thought your name was Molly.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am a girl,” I told him. “Three and a half years in your class, and you fell for it? The name's Mary Sue.” I laughed at the expression on his face as I headed for the door. “But I can now assure you that you don’t only like girls.”
And then I gone. Molly, indeed.
Fandom: Sky High
Rating/Pairing: PG-13, Warren/OFC, implied Warren/Will, Warren/Layla, Will/Layla, Warren/Will/Layla
Summary: Warren tries to reassure himself of his heterosexuality.
A/N: Obviously, I didn't do much work at work, and instead spent my time surfing the Internet and writing fanfic. This is one of the only completely results.
“I would never screw Stronghold,” he said. “I want to clarify that.”
“That’s good to know,” I said cautiously.
“I’m not gay,” he said firmly. “And even if I were, Stronghold is a friend. I don’t screw my friends.”
“Okay,” I said slowly, unsure why he was talking to me. Warren Peace and I had been in most of the same classes for three and a half years, and we’ve never exchanged a single word, and that includes the project we partnered up for.
“I like girls,” he continued. “I’ve had a lot of girlfriends. And I liked it, liked having them, liked kissing them, liked fucking them. I. Like. Girls.”
I didn’t bother to respond this time, merely looked around to me to see if this surreal conversation weren't actually a product of my imagination.
“I like girls,” he said, “And girls like me. They fall for me. They go out with me. They sleep with me. They love my bad boy rep. Especially since at the end of the day, I’m practically guaranteed to never turn villain.”
A bit egotistical, but true – 80% of the girls at Sky High had a crush on Warren Peace.
“So if I’m not going to screw Stronghold, and I’m not gay, then why won’t Layla sleep with me?” he demanded.
Somehow, I had missed the leap in logic.
“You’re a girl,” (Uh oh, speeches that started with “you’re a girl” never ended up well…) “So can you tell me why Layla would tell me that sleeping with her would just be ‘an attempt to sublimate my desire for Will into a more heterosexual, heteronormative attraction that would in the end still be dominated by the perpetual Damocles’ sword that both of us desired Will more than the other, which could only lead to illicit affairs on both our parts until we finally descended into...’”
“Descended into what?” I couldn’t help but ask.
“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “I stopped paying attention at that point.”
“So … do you, um, desire Will?” I ventured.
“No,” he said flatly. “Have you not been listening? I’m not going to screw Stronghold, and I’m not gay.”
“‘Not going to’ isn’t the same as ‘don’t want to,’” I pointed out hesitantly. “And you don’t have to be gay to, um, desire him.” What an odd word.
“I like girls,” he bit out.
“You could like girls and Will,” I suggested. “Why don’t you try kissing him and see what happens?” And I could sell tickets to some of the girls in school who’d been dying to see the two in bed together for three years. I could be rich in the space of 24 hours.
Warren scowled as he stalked toward me, put his hands on my shoulders, and looked me in the eye. I was sure he was about to reiterate his point with some pyrotechnics for emphasis, and braced myself for the inevitable singed eyebrows. Instead, he kissed me.
It was hot. Amazing. I haven’t had that much experience, but Warren was an extremely good kisser.
Finally, he drew away with a smug smirk on his face. “Told you I liked girls.”
i blinked. Sighed. “I’m a guy,” I told him.
He blinked, nonplussed. “You can't be a guy,” he said doubtfully, looking me over. I knew what he saw -- androgyny personified. A slight, frail frame; short, wispy hair; long eyelashes and baby-soft skin. People often had to look twice before correctly pin down my gender -- the first time they met me.
“I can’t believe you missed that small detail after three years of classes together. Typical.”
Warren now looked decidedly sheepish as he edged away.
“So. Here's where you find where you really stand, Warren Peace. Would you kiss me again, knowing that I am not, in fact, a girl?” I asked. “Might be a less embarrassing experiment than kissing your Stronghold out of the blue.”
“He’s not my Stronghold,” Warren snapped, before considering my offer. Then he leaned in again.
This kiss was different, more tentative on his part and more aggressive on mine. It lasted longer, involved more teeth, and ended only when we ran out of oxygen.
We were both panting when we finally drew apart, and he looked somewhat shaken. No surprise given that he'd been convinced he was 100% striaght. “I can’t believe you’re not a girl,” he mused as he leaned against the wall. “I always thought your name was Molly.”
I rolled my eyes. “I am a girl,” I told him. “Three and a half years in your class, and you fell for it? The name's Mary Sue.” I laughed at the expression on his face as I headed for the door. “But I can now assure you that you don’t only like girls.”
And then I gone. Molly, indeed.
