96 - Keckle - Slam (X-men: First Class) - wizefics

[ficwize.livejournal.com]

Title: Slam!
Fandom: X-men: First Class
Prompt: 96 - keckle at tamingthemuse
Warnings: None, but silliness.
Rating: Gen
Summary: It's not easy to be the Iceman's best friend. There's a job description and everything.
Disclaimer: Not mine, but I wrote it.
A/N: This is my first venture into X-men: First Class.

As always, feedback is welcome and appreciated.

*************



Robert Drake was not the person Henry McCoy used to imagine might be his best friend. Of course, that was before he'd gotten to know Bobby. Bobby, for all his pranks and all his mischief, made an excellent best friend.

Take, for example, his seemingly unending supply of good ideas - at least, they were ideas that Bobby thought were good and Hank took interest in because they were so very different from the types of ideas that he himself usually had. Not, Hank told himself, that he found Bobby's ideas mundane or unintelligent. In fact, to the contrary, Hank could often tell by the astonished, amused, exasperated and infuriated expressions worn by his teammates and mentor that none of them would have ever had quite the same ideas as Bobby did.

Bobby was unique. Yes, Hank told himself, that was it. But even more fun - and it was fun - thank having the idea was the style with which Bobby carried them out. Hank, well aware of his own intelligence, was often surprised that he could never remember just how he'd let Bobby talk him into some of the things they did.

Take for example, last Friday night.

***************

"I'm bored." Bobby announced, dropping with a dramatic flare onto the foot of Hank's bed. "Let's go into town and do something."

"Is there anything in particular you had in mind?" Hank didn't bother looking up from his book. He was familiar with this process and it would take Bobby at least twenty minutes to think of something worthy of his attentions on a Friday night.

"We could get pizza," Bobby mused, flopping onto his back and crossing his arms behind his head. "Or go to the movies. Or maybe to the mall - I think they got some new video games at the arcade."

"Mmm." Hank turned the page, noncommittally. Bobby didn't seem to mind.

"It's a nice day out," Bobby continued, undeterred by Hank's lack of interest. "We could go down to the amusement park by the lake." He paused, thinking. "We could pick up chicks!"

"How do you propose we do that?" Hank asked idly, turning another page as Bobby thought.

"You could spout poetry at them!" Bobby leaned on his side, looking at Hank with enthusiasm. "You're good at that."

"I do not believe it would be seemly to spout poetic phrases of attraction at total strangers," Hank looked up long enough to make sure Bobby was listening.

Bobby wasn't.

"It'll be awesome!" He had that light in his eyes which suggested that he was becoming attached to an idea. "You can woo them in and I'll be there with the net."

"Woo them in?" Hank asked with growing amounts of alarm. "Net? These are not fish we are talking about here, Robert." He paused. "Besides, how would you catch them for yourself if I am the one 'wooing'?"

"My sense of humor and charm, of course." Bobby replied in a tone which indicated that Hank should have thought of that himself.

"Of course." Hank hid a grin. "My mistake." He closed his book and raised an eyebrow. "Out of curiosity - and mind you, I am not agreeing to this plan - how precisely do you envision this poetry wooing going?"

Bobby bounded to his feet. "I'll show you. Get dressed in something cooler than that and meet me downstairs in fifteen minutes."

"Wait!" Hank held out a hand trying to stop Bobby from speeding out and to his own room. "I didn't agree to this!"

"Yes you did." Bobby ducked under his arm and ran into the hallway. Turning, he bounced backwards a few steps. His excitement was obvious and contagious. "Besides, it'll be fun!"

Hank scowled slightly, trying to foresee all the ways this plan of Bobby's - whatever it was - could go wrong. "I'm not sure about this."

"Don't you trust me?" Bobby asked, a hint of real hurt in his voice and Hank was reminded that, for all Bobby's extroversion, he was still surprisingly unsure of himself at times.

"Of course I do." Hank sighed. "But I'm not changing clothes."

"You really should," Bobby countered, turning to run to his room. "Wear something cooler than that!" The slamming door ended the conversation and Hank looked down at the button down shirt and slacks he was wearing before he wearily began to look for clothing which would suit Bobby's directives. He was nearly to the back of his closet before he remembered the tee shirt that Bobby had bought him last week with the dramatic statement that Hank should at least try to act like a teenager sometimes. Pulling the shirt out of the bag, Hank read the caption with a grimace, but dutifully put it on before going downstairs.

***************

Scott was lounging by the front door when Hank reached the landing. He glanced at Hank's shirt, one eybrow arching as he grinned. "Shameless self advertisement, Hank? I didn't think that was your style."

"I assure you," Hank answered dryly, "that a tee shirt proclaiming that "I'm with Genius" and an arrow pointing at my head is not my idea of 'style'."

"It's funny and cool." Bobby's voice piped up as he opened the door and leaned inside. "And it looks good. C'mon. Let's go!"

Hank started walking outside, pausing as he realized Scott was going with him. Bobby shrugged when Hank threw him a curious look. "We needed a ride, so I asked Warren to drive us. He and Scott decided to come along."

"We heard you were going out to pick up chicks," Warren quipped from where he was sitting in the driver's seat of his convertible. The car was idling patiently, waiting for them to climb inside. "We didn't want to miss this!"

"I assure you that it won't be that exciting," Hank hedged, but Scott shook his head.

"Not a chance we're not going along now. Bobby said something about you spouting sonnets."

Feeling a growing sense of panic, Hank glared at Bobby. "I promised nothing of the sort. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise." Bobby grinned, jumping into the backseat. Ignoring Warren's yelp about keeping shoes off the leather, Hank climbed in beside Bobby.

"I don't want any surprises." Hank growled. "I don't like surprises."

"You'll love this one," Bobby enthused, leaning forward to tell Warren to take them down to the square.

"What's on the square?" Scott, Warren and Hank all spoke together and Bobby sat back looking smug.

"Our destination - and lots of hot chicks."

"That's rather sexist of you, don't you think?" Scott asked, sounding mildly disapproving and Bobby snorted.

"There are probably some not-so-hot chicks there, too. Does that help?"

Hank couldn’t help it. He grinned and patted Bobby’s shoulder. “I don’t think that’s what our fearless leader meant.”

“Oh.” Bobby frowned, thinking for a moment. Then he grinned and Hank groaned inwardly. It was Bobby’s “I’ve thought of something funny and am going to say it regardless of what it will do in the long run” smile.” “I’m sorry, Scott. You’re right.” His grin got bigger. “I’m sure there will be lots of hot guys there, too.”

Whatever reply Scott was going to make was drowned out by Warren and Hank’s howling laughter.

“Just take us downtown and shut up,” Scott spoke between his teeth.

Warren smirked. “In a hurry now that you know there are hot guys? You got it.” He stepped on the gas and the car surged forward, Bobby’s whoop trailing behind it.

***************

“What’s going on?” Warren demanded, coming over to the small bistro table where Hank and Scott were sitting. He was carrying one plain coffee with cream and sugar for Scott, a hot tea for Hank, and had ordered himself something with whipped cream and the words “ducle” and “loaded” scrawled on the side. “Where’s Bobby?”

“He disappeared as soon as we sat down,” Scott stated sourly. Hank patted his hand comfortingly.

“I’m sure he won’t repeat that you are looking for a hot date again tonight. He’s does not always make the wisest decision’s about what’s funny, but he doesn’t like to repeat a joke.”

“Yeah, but that guy by the bar hasn’t stopped staring at me since,” Scott replied with a sulk.

“What’s the problem?” Warren asked with a smirk. “He’s a redhead. We all know how much you like redheads.”

“Warren,” Scott’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t get a chance to finish what was obviously going to be a grand threat because Bobby bounded back over.

“Alright, we’re all set!”

“Set for what?” Hank asked mildly, sipping his tea.

“The part where we pick up chicks.”

“And what exactly is the plan for that again?” Hank looked at his friend curiously. Bobby was looking far too pleased with himself.

“I told you earlier, Hank. You get their attention with poetry, and I’ll keep it with my charm and sense of humor.” He cast a thoughtful glance at Scott and Warren. “Scott isn’t looking for women tonight and Warren can always talk about how rich he is. We’re all set!”

Hank had to take a large swallow of tea to keep from laughing at the affronted looks on Warren and Scott’s faces. He promptly choked on it when a girl dressed all in black with to much makeup stood up at the microphone at the front of the club and started speaking. “Welcome everybody to tonight’s Queer Expectations Poetry Slam.”

The smile on Bobby’s face faltered, his eyes widening in dawning horror. “Queer? As in gay?”

“You brought us to a Queer Poetry Slam to pick up chicks?” Warren hissed. Scott’s jaw was somewhere on the floor, but Hank closed his eyes, knowing from long experience that this was about to get worse.

“We have a new participant tonight…”

“Bobby, tell me you didn’t.” Hank whispered.

“And we always let the virgins go first! Everyone welcome Hank “The Poet Who Knows It” McCoy to the stage.”

The applause was polite and loud enough that it covered Scott and Warren’s hysterical laughter. Shaking his head in disbelief, and glaring at Bobby with murder in his eyes, Hank stood up slowly and walked to the stage. He would have preferred to bolt for the door, but there was too large a crowd now, and while he was pretty sure he could have gone over the tops of most of them, he didn’t want to have people making comparisons between the athletic stylings of Hank McCoy and The Beast afterward.

“So,” the Emcee drawled when he got up on stage. “Your boyfriend said that you were really shy about this sort of thing.”

“Err… umm… yes.” Hank’s normal eloquence deserted him at the mention of Bobby as his boyfriend. A glance from the side of his eye showed that he supposed object of his affection was trying his best to melt into the floor, but Scott and Warren were clapping and cheering loudly.

“You have two minutes.” The girl smiled at him encouragingly and left him on the makeshift stage. In front of everyone. Who were all staring at him waiting for him to spout some sort of emotional justification for their existence in life while validating their choices.

Hank had faced down the creatures on Monster Island with less fear.

“This doesn’t seem like such a good idea,” he stated softly, eyeing the path to the doorway again. Swallowing, he paused and looked out at the people waiting expectantly. “I’m not sure what I’m doing.” He shook his head. “This was a mistake.”

The silence was deafening and Hank was seconds away from throwing his pride to the wind when a sudden rush of movement made him look up in time to see Bobby shoving past a few people to get to him.

“Don’t be sorry.” Bobby protested. “I’m sorry! I got you into this. I know you weren’t expecting this. Neither was I. I didn’t mean to… whatever. Look – I’m sorry that I relied on the internet to figure out what was going on. It obviously lies.” He swallowed hard, apparently oblivious to the fact that he was now the center of attention. “Don’t be mad. You’re my best friend. You’re always there when I need you and I would never do anything to upset you.”

“I’m not angry.” Hank was still keenly aware that everyone was watching, but he couldn’t ignore the very real upset in Bobby’s eyes. “I’m not sorry I agreed to go out with you. I just wish I knew what I was getting myself into.” He grinned, ironically. “I wish you knew what you were getting me into.”

Bobby gave a choked laugh. “I never know what I’m getting myself into. That’s why I hang around you. You make things easier. A lot of times, anyway.”

“And you make things an adventure.” Hank no longer cared that people were watching. He reached out and clasped Bobby’s shoulder and Bobby sighed in relief. A quiet bell sounded, startling them both and they turned back to the audience just in time to receive a standing ovation as the listeners all jumped to their feet.

The Emcee came up to the stage, wiping suspiciously at her eyes. “That was beautiful. The use of both of you was inspired. It felt so organic and genuine. What a wonderful piece of Coming Out poetry.”

“Wha…?” Bobby’s jaw dropped and he blushed solid red, aware for the first time that people had been listening. He floundered for a second, trying to think of something to say, but Hank had regained his equilibrium. Stepping forward with a smile, he squeezed Bobby’s shoulder.

“Thank you. Thank you very much.”

***************

“I can’t believe that you won.” Scott repeated for the hundredth time.

“I can’t believe I got a parking ticket.” Warren snapped, again. “Bobby this is all your fault.”

“Nothing went the way I thought it would tonight either.” Hank spoke before Bobby could. “But I’d say over all, the evening was a success. We won free coffee for a month, the admiration of our audience, and several stories which will provide amusement,” he paused, “in the future.”

“Yeah, but it still is Bobby’s fault.” Warren griped. “You owe me $15 for the ticket.”

“If memory serves, Warren.” Hank retorted, “You were the one who chose where to park. Don’t blame Robert for your bad decisions.”

“Yeah.” Bobby quipped. “What Hank said.”

Warren sighed. “Fine.” He drove in silence for a moment before adding. “It could be worse. Scott got asked out on a date.”

With Scott and Warren safely distracted by their inability to stop throwing insults at one another, Hank relaxed back into the car seat. The whole evening had been a disaster, but it wasn’t really Bobby’s fault. Hank wouldn’t let the others pick at him – and he’d done his best to protect them from Bobby, too. After all – that was his job as the best friend.