Current location:	my imagination
Current mood:	excited
Entry tags:	drabble, lancitty, x-men: evolution

Let's defy convention
So I edited a chapter and wrote maybe 400 words today, but I figure if I can just write something every day, it'll keep me in the habit. Since it's been way too long since I wrote something Evo, here's a little drabble.

Title: Nine Minutes
Rating: PG
Fandom: X-Men: Evolution
Genre: General
Wordcount: 296
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: “We have no time,” she says as he starts the ignition.
Ship: Lance/Kitty
Notes: The title is derived from how long it took me to write it. I just felt like writing, really, so there're bound to be a few mistakes.

Nine Minutes


“We have no time,” she says as he starts the ignition.


“Relax.” He puts his elbow on the windowsill in that arrogant way that he always does and cocks his head over to her, smirking in that arrogant way that he always does. “We got plenty of time.”


“No, the Professor’s coming back in ten minutes –”


“Stop worrying so much,” he cuts her off as he shifts the gear into reverse and slams his foot on the pedal. “We’ll be back in ten minutes. Maybe fifteen or twenty. Depends on my mood.”


She bites her lip in that way that she always does, that way that he loves. Perhaps he’s just doing this to see that little gesture. “I’ll be in trouble if I’m not there.”


“Yeah,” he says as he shifts it into drive, grinning, “because Xavier’s never had a little fun before.”


“Don’t be stupid –”


“C’mon.” He looks at her, begging her with his eyes. Just this once. I promise. “Rules are made to be broken.”


She sighs. “We have no time.”


“Don’t be stupid,” he repeats, teasing her. “We’ve got all the time in the world. Look, now we’ve only got nine minutes because you’ve been arguing so much. Do you wanna be ten minutes late or fifteen minutes late?”


She stares at the stain on the seat and twirls her hair with her finger in that way that she always does. Finally, she looks up with a small smile and that glint in her eyes that he knows she’s seen far too many times in his. “What about twenty?”


He laughs. “Thatta girl.”


Without warning the car speeds out of the driveway and out into the road, into nowhere, and they know that they’ve left all forms of convention behind.