I apologize now for any blatant screw-ups here, as this is the very first chapter I've written on my new laptop, the keyboard of which is wonky, to say the very, very least. >.> So! It's prolly all messed up! Please feel free to email me if I make some really dumb mistakes, so I can fix `em! :D I appreciate constructive criticism! Just don't send me retarded flames, like: "Ur dumb and u cant spell and U SUCK!!!!!!!!!" because I'll delete those. -_-;;; Unless you actually leave that signed, in which case... I dunno. Maaaaybe I'll just flame back! XD Unless! You've never written anything, in which case, you have no right to talk aaaanyway, so... yay! And now I'm babbling, so I be shutting up now. :D

And response to... (don't bother reading unless you've reviewed/read the reviews recently)
*Michiru: My God, woman! You just spent a marathon time reading and reviewing! Go you! :D And I appreciate your email, as you already know... so... what else to say... hmm. Twincest forever! XD ::kisses Michi's feet::
*Medusa171: Medsie! Squee! O_O What the hell do I even say to you now that we chat so much? Damn... well... um... lil sis! ::clings:: :D :D :D I'm such a loser ;D
*R: I'm especially pleased with you, Lord R (if I may call you as such...?) because you got the good woman hooked on Evo AND slash, and she's writing a niftacular ficcy that I am loving (even if it's sorely lacking in the Pietrance departement as of late ;D). And I just remembered that Lady asked me to send along a copy of this chapter awhile back... oops! #^_^# I don't believe she gave me your email addy anyway, so thatr makes my forgetfulness okay, I think.... yes. :D
*batE: Batty! ::clings:: Must... have... more... Admirer! ::faints:: I demand it! Annd you'll get your smut, little missy, just wait... oh yes.... it's a'comin'! XD By the way... drumstick. XD XD XD
*AngelRosiel: Ahh, Rosie! It only took me, oh, twenty-seven chapters to get my numero uno idol to review... nifty! :D I wonder if you've even read this far yet... I guess I'll see soon enough, won't I? ^^ But it does my heart proud to hear positive things from you, above all, since... well, since it was you who got me hooked on Evo slash in the first place, Lance/Pietro in particular. Aren't you proud? You have mucho influence, baby... soak it up like a sponge ;D
*maxine mcginnis: Aww, I bet a Lantro from you would be hella nifty! :D But don't go rushing into anything, because it'll make you uncomfortable the entire time (hence the Kurtty crap I'll never post... >.>;;) to attempt a pairing that bugs ya. ^^ And no saving reviews till the end! ::pokes:: Authors neeeed encouragement before, during, and after fics, in order to stay motivated and whatnot, as you must know, since you gave fics, and I'll quit preaching now, but you know what I mean! :D
*ruby red: In Pietro's case, perhaps, and to me, absolutely. JTHM is one of my new favorite passtimes (my EvoSlash brethren hooked me! >.O). And you know I'm good for the slash, baby! Be patient! ^^
*LemonKitty: Heeey, new reviewer! Ahoy, there! :D And thankyouthankyou!! on the faves putting-on-ness! :D :D :D This pleases the PB muchly. And don't worry one bit about random Pietrp and/or Lance gushing... it happens ::shrugs:: We're all used to it `round here, that's for damned sure (you should hear me in IMs... it's all "....Lanciepoo! Pie-baby! ::squeals:: My precious little boys!!" and... yeah O.o; I'm a flake.)... but anywhee, welcome! ::is happy::
*Taiorami aka Tainisha: This name game is getting confusing, Tai! ::cries:: Oh, well, either or at this point, I guess. ^^; But I SO know what you mean on the stupid G - PG13 rating default CRAP they started... for the longest time I didn't even know what the hell that was, or that it was even there! I missed out on my hardcore stuff during this sad time. ::moment of silence for temporarily forsaken PWPs:: Yessss... defaults suck me hard. Almost as hard as Lance sucks-- um... hehe. Next chapter, godammit! Later! >.O
*Dakota Rain: Ahh, another new reviewer! Hola! ::waves:: Don'tcha take any crap from that computer, y'hear me, sonny? ::squints:: I beat mine into submission on a regular basis -- just needs to be shown who's boss ::nods:: And... there may or may not be another alleyway-ish scene in another PB-proofed ficcy, coming (or not coming) soon. Keep an eye out. ::winks::

Disclaimer: As if! No, really, if you actually believe I own any of this (makes grand sweeping gesture) then I have some prime swamp land down in Florida you may be interested in... No, seriously. I don't own anything. (Duh?)

To set the scene: Lance had allowed Pietro to watch his rental first. Pietro had payed apt attention to the wide-screen as PeeWee Herman did bizarre and tasteless (according to Lance, the movie critique extraordinaire) things. In fact, Pietro had only left the bed twice during the entire film, and the bedroom only once, practically a new record for the speedy teen. Things were going great.... until Lance's flick began. Pietro whipped out that infernal laptop he'd laid claim to, and begun typing away like mad, the constant clicking sounds in the background slowly but surely driving Lance insane as he tried to pay attention to his movie. A movie which, admittedly, Pietro had no interest in and wasn't watching anymore, claiming even before the thing was through the previews that he "didn't like it." Which brings us to....

"Pietro!"

Innocently: "What?"

"Cut it out!"

"What?"

"Goddammit, typing, that's what!" Lance exploded, slamming the screen down and yanking the flat, black computer off of Pietro's lap, tossing it and allowing it to skid across the comforter. The leftover sexual tension from earlier was still coursing through Lance's system, making him one very horny, unpleasant guy right about then. Pietro swallowed nervously at the look in the dark eyes. Lance grabbed the remote and stopped his video before hauling himself out of the bed, grabbing his clothes and leaving the room to cool down, lest he lose control and do something he'd regret.

Pietro was torn. Part of him (the bigger, more vociferous, obnoxious part) wanted to follow Lance and apologize; he knew he was being rude, but... fine, okay, he had no good excuse, damn it. But, the sensible part of him reminded that Lance needed some space for a bit, much like Pietro himself had for a time. But damn, did he wanna follow! Feeling guilt at having his thoughts immediately spring towards the laptop, which he couldn't use now since it was the source of the problem (the surface problem, at least) and he wasn't interested in Lance's movie, so... what to do? Pietro hadn't a clue. Chasing down Lance and "rocking his world" sounded like a mighty fine plan, but drat! He couldn't do that. Damn!

Disgusted, Pietro sat back against the pile of pillows, crossing his slender arms over his chest and choosing to wait it out until his pet decided to return to the nest.

Lance wanted to break things; he desired it desperately. But what to destroy? Certainly not the... ohh, no. Not that, anything but--

Lance's nicotine craving was squished as flat as the smokes as he stomped the pack beneath his boot. He was very, very proud of himself -- he'd stood up to the pull of the fags -- and won! His brain congratulated him on his strong will, and Lance mumbled something about "not being anyone's bitch," among other things, as he rubbed some warmth into his frigid fingers. Perhaps mid-December wasn't the best time to be cruising with the top down. Er, off. "Stupid teasing warm days," he muttered, knowing the phrase didn't quite make sense. Did he care? Not at all.

As he pulled out of the small parking lot, he saw a handful of teens, obviously searching for refries, rush over to the squashed package, searching frantically for anything salvageable. Lance snickered sadistically as he threw the gear into overdrive and sped back toward home.

Pietro's eyes widened as he turned over in the bed and peeked at the clock. Suddenly, he remembered that... he was supposed to work tonight! Hell and damnation!

"CrapCrapCrapCrapCrap," he repeated as he pulled a sweater over his head, and fastened the fly of his jeans. Taking a half-second to peer in the mirror and smooth his hair, Pietro took off at top speed for the docks.

Desperate now, Lance even checked the bedrooms of Todd and Fred, and even his own, hoping to find the speedster somewhere; anywhere. Lance searched the house from top to bottom before enlisting Todd and Freddy's help. They didn't appreciate being woken up in the middle of the night for such a thing, but reluctantly complied after seeing the frantic look on the earth-shaker's face. He was tense as they'd ever seen him.

"Sorry `bout that," Pietro returned, sprinting over to the older boy for instruction. Truly, Pietro adored his job -- he was among other mutants, ones who appreciated his talents and, most importantly, paid him well. He had almost saved up enough cash to buy Lance everything he'd been eyeing around town for Christmas. And the other two's presents as well, but Lance's gifts were first and foremost.

"Aww, it's all right, mate," the Aussie, John, assured him, handing Pietro a legal-size sheet of yellow paper, encased in laminate to preserve the writing in case of inclement weather. "'Ere's the list for tonight -- an' try not to upset t' boys too much," Johnny winked at Pietro, turning his back and retreating toward the small wooden office up against a brick building.

"Okay," Pietro said to himself aloud, trying to drive the chill from his bones by making conversation with himself. It worked... to a degree. "Load the crates from sector B-16 to the rear deck. Cake," he murmured, looking around at who else was working that night. He noticed that smarmy Cajun, and the aloof Russian dude, crouched on either side of a low crate, playing cards, or so it appeared. "Oh yeah, those two are just so doing work," Pietro mumbled as his eyes were recaptured by a small flash of light as something apparently exploded, and he saw the Cajun chortling and ribbing the Russian, who didn't look too pleased. Staying far away from that, Pietro decided, making his way to secor B-16 to begin his first task of the evening.

Cracking his knuckles and stretching his legs a final time, Pietro moved quickly to make fast, efficient work of his daily duties so he could return home before he was missed, not aware that it was already too late.

The brunette's head popped out of the doorway just in time to see the younger teen slip into Mystique's bedroom. "Gotcha," Lance whispered as Pietro exited, looking perplexed. He stepped out into the shadows, effectively scaring the hell out of the pale youth.

"Christ!" Pietro swore, a hand fluttering to his throat. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"

"Maybe," Lance replied easily, drifting over to where his beau stood, frozen in place by his residual fear. "Where ya been?"

Pietro scowled. "I could ask you the same thing," he said, sizing Lance up from his place cornered against the wall. His hands, always the first things to betray him, drifted in nervous habit to his hair, tugging and toying with the locks. He inwardly groaned as he saw Lance notice the fresh bandage on his left hand. Lance seized his wrist, examining the injury more closely in the poor light.

"What happened?" he asked, more softly this time, taking Pietro off the defensive. The smaller teen sighed.

"I just had a little accident at work, no biggie," he said casually, then slapped his hands over his mouth and widened his eyes. Shit! WhatDidYouJustSayYouMoron?!

"Work?"

"Uh, what I meant was, er, what I mean to say is, um... GotttaGoBye!" Pietro sang cheerfully, darting into his bedroom and locking the door behind him.

"Huh?" came Lance's ever-clueless reply. He rapped on Pietro's door. "Lemme in, Pie," he ordered. "Don't make me take the door off the hinges," Lance threatened, and he was rewarded with the small click of the lock being reversed. Thank God that was easy enough, Lance thought as he turned the handle.

The warm body was flung at Lance at a speed he was completely unprepared for.

"Pietro?" Lance protested, trying to pry the smaller mutant off of himself.

"Let's not argue," Pietro said brightly, smiling and changing the subject to a safer topic, such as Christmas. "What do yoooou want from Santy Claus this year?" Pietro cooed sweetly, ruffling Lance's hair and slipping out of his grasp, walking over to his dresser, removing several articles of clothing as he did so. Lance watched; transfixed. He tuned out Pietro's incessant chatter as he stared at he increasing nakedness before him. Only to be... quickly covered by a robe. Dag nabbit.

"What?" he replied intelligently. Pietro smirked.

"You weren't listening to a word I said, were you?" Pietro complained, heaving a huge quantity of fabric out from under his bed. Denim. For Fred, for Christmas. Two new sets of overalls. Pietro knew the blond mutant would be pleased; he'd even created a variety of tops for the boy, as well as for Todd. They would each have a lovely new wardrobe come December twenty-fifth.

"Of course I was," Lance assured him coolly, moving to join the ashen-tressed youth on his bed, shoving the pile of denim out of the way to make himself a place on the faded quilt. Pietro scowled.

"Really?" he drawled, picking up two swatches and comparing their quality against one another as he studied Lance's expression. "I just told you that I got you a blow-up Larry King doll for Christmas, and you didn't bat an eyelash."

Fuck! "Ohh, um, I actually wouldn't mind one... I mean, those glasses, and that hair... er, lack of hair..." Lance failed miserably in his attempt to save himself.

"I should hurt you for saying that, but I'm in a forgiving mood," Pietro said flippantly, lining up two rough edges of fabric inside-out, and continuing the seam he'd started earlier.

"You have that inside-out, you know," Lance pointed out, feeling pleased with himself.

Pietro rolled his eyes, retorting with: "You obviously don't know what you're talking about. Seams are supposed to be sewn inside-out, dummy." Pietro's eyes flicked up at Lance for only a moment before returning to his task at hand. "That way they look normal when they're finished and right side-out."

"Yeah, you're right," Lance assented with a sigh. Then: "Hey... you changed the subject!"

"PietroSmirk (TM) "I know. And I'm damned good at it."

"True, but... no! What job?" Lance pried further, scooting closer to Pietro on the bed. Pietro, without breaking rhythm, threatened Lance with the threaded needle, forcing him back almost a foot in fear of being impaled by the pointy metal. "What job?!"

"Whatever," Pietro shrugged. Lance was getting pissed.

"Pietro, you'd better not be into drugs or something--" Lance was cut off quickly.

"Do I look stupid to you?" Pietro demanded, tossing the project aside and lurching up to pace at the foot of the bed. "Really? I look like I'm on drugs?" he demanded, staring Lance down in a battle of wills.

"Oh, come on!" Lance was the first to look away. To the victor go the spoils.

"I really don't want to tell you about my job. Okay?" Pietro said simply, looking at Lance for a reaction. The brunette felt he was being tested, so he allowed Pietro to have his way. For now.

"Fine."

Pietro hadn't anticipated winning so easily. Nifty! "Oh, okay... good," he countered, moving to resume sitting on the bed beside Freddy's unfinished overalls, taking the stiff fabric into his hands once again. "I quit tonight, anyway," he added the lie, immediately regretting it and cursing his stupidity. In the dimly lit room, Lance hadn't noticed the little Homer Simpson-ish "D'oh!" face Pietro had made.

"Soooo... What are you doing?"

Pietro quirked a brow. "Nothing..."

"Cool."

"Yeah..."

"...Were you gonna sleep at all tonight?" Lance asked hopefully. Settling down into their cozy nest of bedding and shutting the world out for at least a little while before they had to get back up for school sounded heavenly to the rock-tumbler.

"Oh, yeah... sleep..." Pietro mumbled even as he set down the project and rubbed at his eyes with the back of his wrist. The fatigue of his continued poor physical condition, paired with the intense work he'd just been doing for the past several hours was finally catching up to him. Lance took his cue and began bundling the material back into its under-bed box for storage. Pietro abandoned Lance in his cleaning and left the room, leaving a very startled mutant in his wake. Naturally, Lance jammed the cardboard bucket beneath the bed roughly (when it, naturally, wouldn't slide beneath with ease) and followed.

He slitted his blue eyes open to peer about the room as Lance moved lower down his cheeks, chin, neck. The sun was casting a rosy glow that seemed to illuminate the room, yet still leave space for the dark corners to hide from the light. Evasive shadows, eluding the touch of morning sunlight, cool as autumn breezes, and yet, warmer than the kisses being strategically planted along Pietro's collarbone. Halfway to Heaven? To Hell? These were among Pietro's disjointed, fleeting thoughts as he came crashing back into his own body from his momentary high; the precious euphoria. He felt Lance's questing hand at his drawstring pajamas, and froze. Could he do this? Could he really?

"Do you think I'm overreacting?" Pietro's sudden question caused Lance's hand to draw away from his crotch quickly.

"No," Lance said unsurely, guessing at what Pietro wanted to hear, and not necessarily what he truly believed. Pietro heaved a sigh, turning from his side onto his back, tucking his arms beneath his head as he began.

"I don't want to be like this," he started frankly, determined to be brutally honest with his lover. "I hate that something that stupid... thing did is dictating my life now." He tried valiantly not to let the welling tears escape the corners of his eyes, but gravity defied his silent demands.

"Heeey," Lance soothed, scooting closer to the smaller boy, but being careful not to touch. He needn't have been so shy, however; Pietro's next movement involved crumpling into the older mutant's arms, sniveling rather pathetically, in his own opinion. He cursed his "weak" tears, which were quickly dried and gone anyhow, courtesy of Lance. Somehow, this emotional outburst had undammed a deep well of self-pity, self-hate, and self-doubt; emotions rarely permitted to see the light of day, at least in the presence of others. But that was just the thing... with Lance, only Lance... Pietro felt... safe.

"You're gonna fail tenth grade if you don't go, Pietro," Lance warned with a shrug, deciding to switch to a new tactic -- indifference. Pietro lifted one corner of the fluffy headrest and peered at his boyfriend warily.

"Soooo... did you just say I could stay home?" he asked cautiously. He watched Lance shimmy into a pair of jeans and yank a shirt over his head, then a sweater, taking time to run his fingers through the unruly chestnut mop, still damp from the recent shower.

"If you want, stay home. I can't really force you... but I don't want to hear your bitching when you fail and get kicked out of school."

"I won't get kicked out," Pietro said confidently. "As if I would be so lucky..." he added under his breath. Lance, busy swiping his dark hair with a brush, didn't catch the comment.

Pietro smirked to himself, and decided to make a quick run to the john -- and mess Lance's hair up a bit as he did so. Lance cried out in surprise as the streak of silver whizzed past, leaving a tousled mess of damp locks in its wake.

"Pietro!"

Pietro snickered as he closed and quickly locked the bathroom door, fully satisfied with the thoughts of his impending day of rest and relaxation.