Princess Caught
Jan. 24th, 2016 02:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
katleeptTitle: Princess Caught
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: X-Men
Character/Pairing: Angel/Husk, Chamber/Husk
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
1_million_words Thursday Tropes: Distracted by the Sexy/My Eyes Are Up Here
Warning(s): None
Word Count: 1,223
Date Written: 24 January, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.
She hadn't expected to like this tonight. She had fought Warren at every turn, but finally, he had explained to her that he simply did not want to show up alone and that it was necessary for him to attend this gala. He hardly ever asked to attend his socialite events, because he knew she didn't like them, but they both recognize that his funds are necessary to funding the team. Thus, it was that, for the better of the team, Paige had finally agreed to accompany him tonight.
She had liked dressing up once. She can still remember when Monet flashed her credit cards to allow the entire new team a shopping spree when they had first formed Generation X. That time, and the girl she had been then, seem both to be a lifetime away. She's grown since then -- grown in the use of her powers and her abilities as a hero, grown older and more refined, but also grown harder and colder.
She should be with the team tonight. She should be out there saving lives instead of in here waltzing among people who would not deign to even look down their noses at her if they knew from whence she had originally come. She isn't of their kind. Not only is she a mutant, but she's one of the poorest people with whom these people have ever come into contact. She's one of the lucky ones, though: She has a family whose always fought to provide each other with a better life. She has a family who loves and supports her, both at home in Kansas and here in New York.
Her mind seems to waltz with the classical music. She knows she doesn't belong here, but Warren needs her, so she'll stay. She does almost like the dress he chose for her tonight. Its neckline is lower than she would like, and its hem higher, but she likes the way it feels against her skin. She likes the way in shimmers in the sparkling lights, and if she dares be honest with herself, she likes the way the men look at her in it.
She's never received such attention in her whole life as she does when she's on Warren's arm. Most nights, she recognizes that people stare at her not because of she herself but rather because the other women are wishing they were on Warren's arm and the men are longing to be him. They would never want his problems; they have no idea of the trouble they both face on a daily basis. They only want his money, his prestige, and, of course, his power.
But tonight, she knows they're actually looking at her. She's caught more than one man staring at her breasts while they're talking to her, but thankfully, Warren has shown up every time her face has started to turn red and whisked away into another dance. She's not accustomed to being stared at like she's some kind of a sexual object. She knows she shouldn't like it -- her mama always told her good girls didn't dress like this --, but she does.
Her mama also always told her that a good girl dances with the one who brought her, but she's danced with several men this evening, all of whom Warren gave his head a slight nod to indicate was all right with whom to dance. He's been busy talking to investors, and she knows he wants her to have a good time. She shouldn't be. She hadn't expected to, but she is.
She's reminded of the Cinderella story. She never wanted to be Cinderella while growing up. Her focus was always far more on becoming an X-Man than on any Princess. She wanted to be the one doing the rescuing, rather than the one being rescued, but tonight . . . Tonight, she feels like a Princess. She doesn't feel like the little, ole gal who came from the country to become an X-Man at all. Her species, her pocket book, nor even her intellect define her tonight.
She's just declined an invitation for a second dance with the same man, who's old enough to be her grandfather, and is turning to go for a drink when a man steps into her pathway. She can already hear people beginning to whisper. He doesn't belong here, no more, she remembers as her eyes slowly travel up his familiar, leather-clad body, than she does. "Jono," she almost squeaks his name in surprise, "what are you doing here?"
Thought I'd come tell ya we're back, Sunshine. World's saved again. He glances over her shoulder, and she knows the moment he spots Warren in the crowd. She feels a strange twinge when she recognizes the jealous glint in his eyes. But I can see yer busy.
Ah'm not too busy for you. The words are on the tip of her tongue, but somehow, she can't manage to say them.
His steady gaze shifts back to her, and she notices that he's the first man all night not to stare down at her cleavage. His eyes are focused on hers, however, and she feels strangely naked before him. He's always been able to read her so easily, no matter how hard she's tried to hide her true feelings. She swallows hard. "Jono -- " she starts to say, but he's already shaking his head.
It's strange, she thinks, how he can unnerve her so much with one respectable look. She almost wishes he would look down at the tops of her breasts where others have been staring all night. She wishes he would see how beautiful she is; she doesn't realize that he sees it every time he looks upon her, even if for but just one passing second.
Goodbye, sunshine, he says, and his words echo with a hollow feeling inside her very core. He turns to leave.
"Jono!" she cries out and grasps his shoulder, but just at that time, she feels another familiar hand, this time clamping down possessively on her thin waist.
"Thank you for your help, Jonothon," Warren speaks to the younger man's retreating back, but both men understand the unspoken words hidden in his statement. He's thanking him for much more than helping the team save the world tonight; he's thanking him for knowing where his place is now and leaving the treasure they both covet to Warren.
Warren whirls Paige around to face him, takes her hand, and kisses its back, acting as though he is the normal, perfect gentleman before the crowd watching them. "Thank you for waiting for me, sweetheart. Am I too late to claim a dance?"
"N-Never," she answers with a tremulous smile, and if that smile is forced, neither of them admit to noticing, just as they overlook the way her answer stammers reluctantly from her mouth. Warren takes her in his arms. They are a good, safe place and have brought her many comforts and pleasures over the months they have been together, but yet, as he dances her across the floor and she smiles for him and for the public (for the team, she reminds herself), her mind is not there. It is not with the man she is chosen. Nor is her heart for it's retreated back to England again.
The End
Author: Kat Lee
Fandom: X-Men
Character/Pairing: Angel/Husk, Chamber/Husk
Rating: PG/K+
Challenge/Prompt:
1_million_words Thursday Tropes: Distracted by the Sexy/My Eyes Are Up HereWarning(s): None
Word Count: 1,223
Date Written: 24 January, 2016
Summary:
Disclaimer: All characters within belong to Marvel Comics and Disney, not the author, and are used without permission.
She hadn't expected to like this tonight. She had fought Warren at every turn, but finally, he had explained to her that he simply did not want to show up alone and that it was necessary for him to attend this gala. He hardly ever asked to attend his socialite events, because he knew she didn't like them, but they both recognize that his funds are necessary to funding the team. Thus, it was that, for the better of the team, Paige had finally agreed to accompany him tonight.
She had liked dressing up once. She can still remember when Monet flashed her credit cards to allow the entire new team a shopping spree when they had first formed Generation X. That time, and the girl she had been then, seem both to be a lifetime away. She's grown since then -- grown in the use of her powers and her abilities as a hero, grown older and more refined, but also grown harder and colder.
She should be with the team tonight. She should be out there saving lives instead of in here waltzing among people who would not deign to even look down their noses at her if they knew from whence she had originally come. She isn't of their kind. Not only is she a mutant, but she's one of the poorest people with whom these people have ever come into contact. She's one of the lucky ones, though: She has a family whose always fought to provide each other with a better life. She has a family who loves and supports her, both at home in Kansas and here in New York.
Her mind seems to waltz with the classical music. She knows she doesn't belong here, but Warren needs her, so she'll stay. She does almost like the dress he chose for her tonight. Its neckline is lower than she would like, and its hem higher, but she likes the way it feels against her skin. She likes the way in shimmers in the sparkling lights, and if she dares be honest with herself, she likes the way the men look at her in it.
She's never received such attention in her whole life as she does when she's on Warren's arm. Most nights, she recognizes that people stare at her not because of she herself but rather because the other women are wishing they were on Warren's arm and the men are longing to be him. They would never want his problems; they have no idea of the trouble they both face on a daily basis. They only want his money, his prestige, and, of course, his power.
But tonight, she knows they're actually looking at her. She's caught more than one man staring at her breasts while they're talking to her, but thankfully, Warren has shown up every time her face has started to turn red and whisked away into another dance. She's not accustomed to being stared at like she's some kind of a sexual object. She knows she shouldn't like it -- her mama always told her good girls didn't dress like this --, but she does.
Her mama also always told her that a good girl dances with the one who brought her, but she's danced with several men this evening, all of whom Warren gave his head a slight nod to indicate was all right with whom to dance. He's been busy talking to investors, and she knows he wants her to have a good time. She shouldn't be. She hadn't expected to, but she is.
She's reminded of the Cinderella story. She never wanted to be Cinderella while growing up. Her focus was always far more on becoming an X-Man than on any Princess. She wanted to be the one doing the rescuing, rather than the one being rescued, but tonight . . . Tonight, she feels like a Princess. She doesn't feel like the little, ole gal who came from the country to become an X-Man at all. Her species, her pocket book, nor even her intellect define her tonight.
She's just declined an invitation for a second dance with the same man, who's old enough to be her grandfather, and is turning to go for a drink when a man steps into her pathway. She can already hear people beginning to whisper. He doesn't belong here, no more, she remembers as her eyes slowly travel up his familiar, leather-clad body, than she does. "Jono," she almost squeaks his name in surprise, "what are you doing here?"
Thought I'd come tell ya we're back, Sunshine. World's saved again. He glances over her shoulder, and she knows the moment he spots Warren in the crowd. She feels a strange twinge when she recognizes the jealous glint in his eyes. But I can see yer busy.
Ah'm not too busy for you. The words are on the tip of her tongue, but somehow, she can't manage to say them.
His steady gaze shifts back to her, and she notices that he's the first man all night not to stare down at her cleavage. His eyes are focused on hers, however, and she feels strangely naked before him. He's always been able to read her so easily, no matter how hard she's tried to hide her true feelings. She swallows hard. "Jono -- " she starts to say, but he's already shaking his head.
It's strange, she thinks, how he can unnerve her so much with one respectable look. She almost wishes he would look down at the tops of her breasts where others have been staring all night. She wishes he would see how beautiful she is; she doesn't realize that he sees it every time he looks upon her, even if for but just one passing second.
Goodbye, sunshine, he says, and his words echo with a hollow feeling inside her very core. He turns to leave.
"Jono!" she cries out and grasps his shoulder, but just at that time, she feels another familiar hand, this time clamping down possessively on her thin waist.
"Thank you for your help, Jonothon," Warren speaks to the younger man's retreating back, but both men understand the unspoken words hidden in his statement. He's thanking him for much more than helping the team save the world tonight; he's thanking him for knowing where his place is now and leaving the treasure they both covet to Warren.
Warren whirls Paige around to face him, takes her hand, and kisses its back, acting as though he is the normal, perfect gentleman before the crowd watching them. "Thank you for waiting for me, sweetheart. Am I too late to claim a dance?"
"N-Never," she answers with a tremulous smile, and if that smile is forced, neither of them admit to noticing, just as they overlook the way her answer stammers reluctantly from her mouth. Warren takes her in his arms. They are a good, safe place and have brought her many comforts and pleasures over the months they have been together, but yet, as he dances her across the floor and she smiles for him and for the public (for the team, she reminds herself), her mind is not there. It is not with the man she is chosen. Nor is her heart for it's retreated back to England again.
The End
