Angel dances beautifully, her hips twisting in perfect time with the music, her shoulders rolling, fingers outstretched and pretty. She is a lovely creature out on the dance floor, doing her job wonderfully, but Janos is slowly losing his appreciation. Azazel has had his eyes on her since she started, and Janos doesn't like it. If things were different, if he were a woman perhaps, he would force Azazel's attention back on himself without fear of repercussion. Things are how they are though, and he is stuck sulking at the bar beside Azazel, and already on the wrong side of tipsy.
The club had seemed like a wonderful recruitment idea at first, the underground where mutants went to mingle, or in Azazel's case, simply exist, but now, now Janos wishes he had just stayed home. Azazel is interesting, especially to other mutants, and more than one woman has approached him with sly eyes and a pretty smile. Janos practically burns with his jealousy, with his helplessness. He has no hold over Azazel, cannot control it if he decides to slip away with one of them, but at least these women, he would never have to see again. Angel is a teammate though. If Azazel turns his eyes to her, Janos thinks he might just drown himself in a bottle.
His next drink is taken out of his hands by a tail, and he looks up at Azazel, and his worried eyes. “I think you have had enough my friend.”
“You do not tell me what to do,” He snaps, and pulls it back. Azazel's brow furrows, and Janos realizes he said it in Spanish, not English. He doesn't care though, just shrugs and takes a long sip to be defiant.
“You are acting strange.” Azazel tells him, and his tail wraps around Janos' wrist, pulls him a little closer. “What is the matter?”
“You look at the women here like you want to fuck them, and you ask me why I am angry? You look at her,” He indicates Angel, “Like you want to fuck her, and you expect me to act as though it does not affect me?” Azazel is confused, trying to comprehend Janos' meaning from other things, his body language, his tone, but Janos gives no hints, or at least hopes he does not. Jealousy does not become anyone.
“Green is a good color for you my friend, but perhaps not this shade,” Both of their heads snap up, to the bartender, with his strange slitted eyes, and the green scales that cover much of his skin. He smiles when he see he has Janos' attention. “You might want to watch your mouth here. You never know who is listening. Even our kind can still hold certain prejudices.” He leans down on his elbows, and smirks at Azazel, who looks even more unhappy. He understands maybe a sentence or two of Spanish, but not nearly enough to follow.
“Do you hold those prejudices?” Janos asks, with a smile, if only because it is making Azazel angry and Janos likes the thrill that gives him.
“For someone as beautiful as you, no.” His tongue flits out, like a snake's, tasting the air, and he reaches out to tuck some of Janos' hair behind his ear. It is a risky gesture, but the club is dark, and people are drunk. His hand is stopped by Azazel's though, red around his green, like an American Christmas, but there is nothing joyful in his face.
“You will keep your hands to yourself, yes? Or perhaps limbs grow back like tails?” Janos huffs, angrier for some reason, the drink making him illogical perhaps, and leaves them both at the bar, his glass empty and abandoned. He pushes his way through the crowd until he reaches Angel, who greets him with an oblivious smile. When he gets close enough she can get a good look, she laughs, pretty laughter that sounds less joyful and more learned to Janos.
“Oh Christ, you're drunk, aren't you?” He shrugs, and lets her pull him close, wrap his arms around her waist, and dance against him. “Come on, you need to burn some of that off, before you do something stupid.” He finds it easy to move with her, to concentrate on the music instead of his own demons, and the unintentional pun makes him laugh aloud. “Okay buddy, when you're laughing at your own jokes, jokes you didn't say out loud by the way, it's time to call it a night.” Angel doesn't sound disapproving, merely amused, and he likes her lack of judgment.
He dances with her through many songs, and though her body does nothing for him physically, the heat and the closeness of it does get some reaction internally, and their dancing becomes more sensual. “All that, and nothing? But hey, sexy man who can actually dance, I'll take it.” He chuckles into her hair. “So what are you and Red fighting about now?”
“He acts like I'm blind, like I can't see him looking at these women,”
“Jesus, you're back to Spanish. You're lucky I can understand you. And sweetie, he's going to look. Doesn't mean he's going home with any of them.”
“He doesn't respect me,”
“He's a man, Janos. They don't respect anyone. All they're after is a piece of ass.”
“I'm a man too Angel.”
“I know baby, but you're not like Azazel.”
“You think Azazel only wants me for sex?”
“I don't know, but judging by the way he's trying to light me on fire with his eyes, I'd say he's at least pretty damn jealous right now.” Janos looks up, but the club is dark and Angel's vision is better than his. He can see Azazel's form, but not his face. “Hey, I have an idea,” She takes his chin and pulls him down so that they can kiss, a soft one that kind of startles him, and she releases him quickly enough that he can't react. “Oh yeah, he's pissed.”
“That was not nice Angel,” He chides, and starts to sway again. He feels less drunk, and he wants to keep dancing, hold onto the feeling.
“Perhaps it is time we went home, my friends.” Azazel is behind him.
“I can find my own way.” Angel says, and Janos repeats her, in Spanish.
“You are going home,” Azazel orders, and Janos watches the room disappear. Everything is the comfortable blur of teleportation, and then their room, in their current living space. “What are you thinking, making yourself drunk in public? Your power, you know how you get,” His next sentence is a barrage of hard Russian, none of it happy.
“I will do as I please,” He says, struggling.
“Oh, now you speak English! Not at the bar, when that ублюдок put his hands on you, no, then you smile, you speak so that I cannot understand, say things I do not know, and you go dance with the girl, make everyone want you! You kiss her! Why you do these things, in front of me?!” He is almost shouting, maybe keeping his voice lower so as not to wake the others. “You want make me angry?!”
“Oh, because you not make me angry when you let women touch you? I should react how? Tell me!”
“You want to show everyone what we are? Bad enough, I look like devil, I must be outcast from my own, to make you happy?”
“I want to know that I am important to you! I need more from you!”
“What if I will not give you more, then what? You will leave?”
“Do you want to find out?” Azazel stares at him, and then Janos is looking at only smoke. “You run, of course! Because that fixes everything!”
He feels awful, like sweat and smoke are clinging to him, so he takes a shower and cleans his teeth. The hot water feels good, but gives him no relief from the fight, and as the alcohol leaves his system, he comes to regret what might have sounded like an ultimatum. Being with Azazel gives him grief, but he doesn't want to not be with him either.
Their bedroom is dark when he enters, but there is music playing, soft and low, a man crooning in French. The street lamps give enough illumination that he can see Azazel, just his outline and a hint of red.
“I did not mean that the way it sounded.” Janos says, hoping he sounds sincere in his apology. “I should not have behaved that way.” Azazel offers him a hand, and Janos takes it, lets Azazel pull him close. Their joined hands he extends out in a position Janos knows, so he expects the hand at his hip, and he moves his free hand up to Azazel's shoulder.
The dance is slow, to match the music, and he rests his forehead against Azazel's, but he keeps his eyes closed. He has no idea what this is, and he has no desire to ruin it by looking, only to not see what he wants to.
“I cannot dance with you there.” He murmurs, but he is so close, Janos hears every word. “We cannot be open anywhere but here. But you know, if I could, if I could dance with you there, I would.” Janos moves his head, so he can rest against Azazel's shoulder. “Please my darling, I need this to be enough.” His heart catches on the my darling, and he sighs, nuzzles into Azazel, so that his lips touch Azazel's skin.
The man's voice washes over him, and the arm on Azazel's shoulder wraps around his neck. Azazel's arm goes tighter around Janos, and they are so close that they are only swaying now.
“This is enough my love.”