Drowning in My Skin

"Y'not trying hard enough," Toad demanded, "I know you can do better."

"I'm TIRED," The Blonde complained, leaning over to brace her hands on her thighs, panting for breath.

"You're hungover," He corrected, not looking the least bit sympathetic, "Party a little less and training won't be so bad."

"Says the guy who has no life," She muttered.

"C'mon. Again," He gestured for her, "You're not following through on your punches."

Boom Boom rolled her eyes and moved to attack him again, her hand to hand skills sorely limited. She obviously didn't care and was confident that her bombs could deal with any trouble she might get into, but Magneto insisted. And Toad was purposefully NOT a fun trainer. He made her get up early and work past exhaustion. He ignored her whining or made her work twice as hard because of it.

He blocked every hit she threw at him easily, without any apparent effort. They hadn't gotten to the point where he'd hit her back yet and he knew she wasn't looking forward to it. He caught another punch and yanked her forward, throwing her off balance to slam into him, smirking broadly.

"Okay asshole, I'm done," Boom Boom announced.

Toad glanced down at her with an amused smirk, "Too tough for you, Pet? Maybe you're not cut out to be Brotherhood material."

She put both hands on his chest and pushed back with a glare. She couldn't move him, he was a shortl stocky mound of green muscle. She was about to turn and storm off when he caught her chin between calloused fingers.

"You've a good thing going here, Boom," he told her seriously, "I wouldn't muck it up if I was you."

"I dunno what you're talk-..." Her words cut off with a sharp pinch to her chin.

"The drugs, kitten," He scolded softly, "Y'think I don't know? You're high as a fucking kite more'n you aren't. And I don't give a shit if you wanna screw yourself over but I thought I'd give you the advice. If Magneto finds out, you're fucked."

"I'm not-..." She tried to argue but he pinched harder.

"He will sodding kill you girl. It makes you a liability to us. Get it?"

Trying to gather back some of her dignity she bobbed her chin minutely and he let her go. She rubbed at the offended area and shot him a glare.

"Well who asked you anyhow?"

He snorted and moved across the room to pick up his water bottle, squirting the remainder in his mouth before tossing the empty vessel into a corner. He'd been nice enough today. He'd warned the little chit, which was more than she'd have done for him.

He headed toward the punching bags on the other side of the room deciding to work out his frustrations physically. She was such a fucking idiot to throw this away. A home, food, shelter, a purpose. For what? Whatever the fuck she was snorting in some shithole club's men's room? He didn't even want to think about what she was doing to get money for said drugs. She was wasting all her opportunities. And she was so damned lucky. Great powers. Great body. Beautiful fucking face that just made him sick inside when he thought about what a whore she was.

He swore internally and focused on the task at hand. Find his center. Keeping his form tight. A strong punch to one of the bags brought a smirk to his lips again, and helped him forget about the blonde.

Another and another and his knuckles started to hurt, the bag bouncing back and smacking the wall with every thrust of his shoulder. His legs he never had to work on much. He could kick through a wall if he had to. But the upper body he was constantly improving.

He'd just about shoved her completely from mind when a slender pink manicured hand reached out to rest on his shoulder.

He slid his eyes back to glance at her, pausing in his movements but not turning to face her. Waiting expectantly for her to explain herself or leave him be.

"You won't ...tell him...will you?" She stammered out, looking truly nervous.

He went back to punching the bag, not even sparing her a look.

"I'm not a narc, Boom."

Back to punching and hearing the thud of her boots on the training room floor as she headed out.

Stupid.

Hit.

Fucking.

Hit.

Blonde.

Hit.

Pretty.

Hit.

BITCH.

---------


Wrapping up his bloody knuckles with gauze he strode toward the kitchen in search of libation. It wasn't that Toad didn't drink. Or hell, smoke the occasional jay. He just wasn't fucking stupid about it. He didn't disappear all night and stumble back the next morning smelling like puke and booze and other things that Toad preferred not to think about. He didn't get so shitfaced that he didn't remember the next day.

Well alright, he had a couple of times, but those had been stressful moments and it wasn't like it was right before a mission or something. And it certainly wasn't often. Almost never.

Hell, she didn't remember half the time, he'd wager. She didn't remember him finding her out on the beach near the very badly tied off boat and helping her back to her room. Shit, he'd slung her ass over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and she hadn't so much as whimpered. He should have just left her there. Would have served her right. Half in the surf and when the tide came in carried off to get eaten by a shark or something. Damned pretty, not appreciating a fucking thing she had.

He glanced up as he wandered in the kitchen to see none other but the Blonde bombshell herself sitting at the round metal table, her head in her hands. He was soft, that's what it was. He retrieved a couple of beers and plopped one down in front of her as he took the seat opposite cracking his open.

"Headache?"

He was just getting damned soft.

She cracked the beer without looking up at him and took a small sip and then it turned over and spilled all over the table, running off the metal to dribble onto the cold stone floors. She made no move to correct it.

"Th'Fuck Boom?" Toad demanded, leaping up from his seat to right the can and reach across to shake her.

At the jarring motion she slumped and slid sideways in the chair, careening toward the floor, eyes rolled back up in her head.

Fuck.

Toad caught her limp wrist jerking her back his direction before she could slide off completely and crack her head, already moved around beside the chair with a well-placed hop. The liquid collecting on the floor forgotten.

His hand caught her cheek, his other arm reaching around under her arm to keep her upright. He tried to turn her face up so he could see her.

"Boom Boom," He demanded, and when that didn't get her attention, "Tabitha, lookit me."

Her eyes slowly slid over to his, dazed and a goofy expression on her face.

"Hey Toad," she mumbled out, almost incoherently.

This was worse than when she'd been drunk off her ass. He frowned, glaring at the world in general and lifted one of her arms around his shoulder, his arm going around her, the other slipping beneath her legs to pick her up. Her head fell back like a rag doll's and she giggled softly to herself.

"You stupid bloody bint," he muttered angrily as he carried her toward her own room. No way was he going to let her vomit in his room. Or go through withdrawls or...whatever the fuck she was going to be doing.

He'd just dump her in there. On the bed. Leave her to take care of her own stupid self. That was completely his plan.

It had been such a nice plan.

He sighed as he kicked her door closed behind him and lowered her onto the bed, head on her pillow. She looked over at him and giggled, pointing.

"Tooooooad."

"Shut up," He muttered, irritably going to untie her bootlaces and drop the heavy things on the floor with a thud. He pulled the socks off for good measure and then moved around the bed to look at her with derision. "Do I even want t'know what you took?"

"Oh stuff," Was the only reply he got.
He found himself sitting at the edge of her bed looking at her. Breasts rising and falling with each gasped breath, pupils dilated, flush to her cheeks. He wondered absently if that was what she looked like getting fucked.

There was this sneaky, wretched little voice that told him he could do it too, if he wanted to. Pull off her clothes, unbutton his fly and he'd be balls deep in her before she even knew what was happening. Hell, in this fucking state she might even enjoy it.

He swore out loud and shoved the thoughts away. He was a depraved muthafucker. But he was not a rapist. He would not do that to another person. Not after his own physical mistreatment at the hands of the man who'd run the orphanage.

He'd just see that she was alright and then leave her to go jerk off to some ten year old Hustlers that he had hidden under his mattress. He shouldn't even wait around, but he was obviously doing it. She just made him so angry. And he certainly, beyond all shadow of any sort of ridiculous doubt, did not like her.

"Toad, heeeelp," she cried sounding more uncomfortable than distressed.

He yanked himself out of his reverie to realize she was pulling at her shirt trying to get it off over her head and getting stuck in the process. He tried not to snicker.

"Leave y'shirt on, woman," He ordered, reaching to straighten it and pointedly not looking at the lacy black bra with red stars on it that he could see her nipples through.

"But it's all hard to breathe" She complained, fighting his hands for just a second before letting them lay limp beside her again.

"Why'd you do this?" He quietly demanded of her, reaching to pull her into a sitting position and climb behind her to keep her up and breathing. She rested back against his chest without complaint and stretched out to pull his arms around her.

"I dunno," She sounded so out of it, "I like to forget stuff."

He sighed and didn't try to pull his arms away, just sitting behind her and holding her since that's what she wanted. And a beautiful girl like that undoubtedly always got what she wanted. Why oh why couldn't he just walk away and not give a shit? Well, he could take small comfort in the knowledge that she might not remember this later.

"Well you're doing a hell of a job with that now, pet," He muttered, absently stroking the pads of his thumbs along her upper arms. She shivered a little, burrowing deeper against his chest. It was unexpected and not completely unwelcome.

With a small frown of self-loathing he admitted that it was really nice to hold a girl in his arms. That he'd probably spend the day here making sure she didn't die and that this contact would will have been the best erotic moment of his life thus far.
His life, undoubtedly, sucked.