Heros to Each Other

Summary: Since they're both home alone for the night, Warren and Will spend it at Layla's. Swearing, voyeurism, Layla/Will, body mods. Review if you feel the urge, flame if you must, but know that flames will be cleverly mocked offline.
Disclaimer: If I owned Sky High, there would have been a make-out scene with Layla, Magenta, and Warren. Mmm, angsty bishi yumminess.... Erm, I mean, ignore the drooling. I'm normally not this rabid. >.<

Meanwhile, somewhere in the author's head...
"Hey, lady!"
What is it, Warren? I'm trying to write chapter three. Which is late. *Looks at calendar* Very late.
"Yeah, about that. Why the hell am I so sappy all of a sudden? I'm supposed to be a badass!"
I'm the writer. You're whatever I say, as long as I can come up with some decent b.s. And at least I haven't killed your mom off.
"Yeah, but..."
Would you rather be making out with Will? Or Lash? I could have you making out with Lash.
"Uh, no."
That's what I thought. Look, if you're good, I'll write a scene with just you and Layla in the next chapter, okay? *leers*
".... Can Magenta be in it?"
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Warren loved his motorcycle. He'd saved up for it for two years, but his mother made him wait until he turned seventeen to actually buy the thing. He'd been completely shocked when she'd paid for the custom paint job and all the riding gear he didn't already have. They were hardly poor, but he figured she must have been putting money away for it nearly as long as he had. I have the absolute coolest mom. Ever. He leaned into the last turn before Layla's house, wishing he'd put his hair into a ponytail before putting the helmet on. It wasn't like he didn't know he'd wind up brushing it for a half hour afterwards. That was his mom's biggest complaint when he'd started growing it out: "You let it get all tangled!" Maybe he'd get Layla to brush it for him. She liked that kind of stuff, and he could say his arms ached. He flatly refused to admit that it felt good. And it'll be worth it to have her chest pressing up against my back.... he thought as he pulled into her driveway.

The garage door opened, and he could see Layla's mom standing next to it, waving at him. He got off the bike, took a deep breath, and thanked every god in existence that Mrs. Panabaker's power was talking to animals and not telepathy. He hoped it was, at any rate. He didn't want his epitaph to say 'Killed by an angry hippie.' He noticed her leggings and corrected himself. 'Killed by an angry, Spandex-wearing hippie.'

"Oh, Warren! It's wonderful to see you, dear. Go ahead and park your bike, and come on inside. You must be absolutely freezing." She closed the door and leaned over to lock it. Warren was suddenly acutely aware where Layla had gotten her figure from. He took another deep breath and opened the door to the house, only to be held at bay by a hissing, puffed-up cat.

"Mrs. Panabaker?"

She looked over her shoulder and made a face at him. "You're always so formal, Warren. Makes me feel old."

"Oh, right. Sorry." He always felt a little weird calling Layla's mom by her first name. Of course, he had just been staring at her ass, which was also always a little weird. "Pandora?"

"What is it?" She stood up and straightened her shirt out. Unlike the leggings, it was loose and flowing. It also draped, and to great effect. He tried to tell himself that she'd obviously picked it because it was comfortable; his hormones told him to fuck off.

Damnit. She's Layla's mom. Don't stare. "Why is she hissing at me?" He'd thought he'd been on good terms with her. In fact, he'd been the one who'd rescued the pregnant cat from the alley behind the Paper Lantern. "Did anything happen to the kittens?"

"Oh, Marlin? Her babies are fine. In fact, they're already trying to roam around the house," she said, shaking her head, and picked the cat up, "and their eyes aren't fully open yet. So, they get stuck or lost, and Mommy has to find them. She's probably looking for one now. Just head on upstairs, and I'll bring you kids something to snack on when we find..." She said something to the cat, who may have said something back. Warren had no idea. "...Mushu. Of course it would be Mushu."

She walked into the house, muttering to herself. Or, more accurately, to the cat. Warren found his eyes sliding down her body, following every twitch of her supple hips. God. Damn. If Layla's half as good-looking as her mom in twenty years, Will won't know what hit him. The door led into the laundry room, and Warren sat down on the bench next to it to take his boots off. Lucky, oblivious bastard.

Once his footwear was safely cradled in the shoe rack, he went up the stairs to Layla's room. Her door was open just a crack, and he could hear her giggling. Curious, he peeked in, crouching down so that he'd be harder to spot. He could see the edge of her bed, and lots of plants, but his eyes were immediately drawn to the big easy chair in the corner. Will was the one actually sitting in the chair, with Layla perched on his lap. Her light green blouse had been halfway unbuttoned, and one side hung seductively off her shoulder, exposing the side of her breast. His pulse raced as Will slid his hand up her side and ran his fingertips over her bare skin, his other hand toying with the ties on the side of her long, blue skirt. Warren stood up. I shouldn't be watching this. They're my best friends. I really shouldn't be....

Layla moaned. He kneeled, leaning his head against the doorjam so he could see better. Will had pulled the blouse down even farther, and from the angle he was at, Warren could see her entire breast perfectly. Her nipple was small and light pink, and there was a tiny silver ring hanging from it, glinting in the light. No, no, no. I refuse to let hormones get the best of me today. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate on something, anything else, but another moan from Layla made them snap open again. Will was stroking her breast, rubbing his thumb across the nipple and tugging lightly on the ring, and, although he couldn't see from his angle, she was clearly trying to unbutton his pants. He exhaled softly as Will undid the last button on Layla's shirt and slid it off of her.

Me, zip. Hormones, two.

Layla frowned and stood up. She tugged on the ties holding up her skirt and let it fall to the floor, and Warren's breath caught in his throat. He stared at her perfectly rounded ass for what seemed like minutes before it occured to him that she wasn't wearing panties. She crawled back into the chair, straddling Will, and seemed to finally get the button open on his jeans. She leaned to one side of the chair to help him remove them, but her hands never made it past his crotch. She started sliding one hand up and down his dick, while her other hand slid between her legs. Will gasped and pulled her hand away.

"Maybe this isn't a good time."

"Why not?" Warren couldn't see her face, but he could hear her pout. He cursed silently, not sure whether to feel grateful or pissed. He briefly contemplated his hard-on, and settled for pissed. With a hint of embarrassed.

"Who knows when your mom will be back up here? Besides, Warren's coming over."

"So?" She stood up and started putting her skirt back on. She was definitely pouting. Pouting sexily, at that. "Would it really be so bad? It's not like you two hate each other." They continued talking, but Warren couldn't really hear any more of the conversation.

He sat on the floor and frowned, lost in his thoughts. What the hell was she talking about? For that matter, what the hell am I doing? Peeping on my two best friends? Damnit, I'm supposed to be the totally-in-control one! He thought back to his first- and, strangely, only- fight with Will, and shook his head. It had been years since then. He no longer lost control over his anger so easily- and after he and Nikki had nearly killed each other during the freshman year New Year's dance, he didn't lose control over his hormones, either.

"Layla dear, the snacks are ready! I need some help with the trays!"

"Okay, Mom! I'll be down in a second."

Warren stopped himself just in time to not yell that he'd help. Ohshitohshitohshit, he thought as he scrambled to get up. He had no idea how standing up would help, but it seemed better than sitting next to the door. Maybe he could pretend he had just made it to the door. He had just leaned into a half-crouch, trying to regain his balance, when the door flew open, knocking his feet out from under him. He hit the wall hard as Layla nearly tripped over his legs, barely catching herself on the doorjam.

"Warren!"

"Ow."
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A/N: Okay, that's it for chapter three. Sorry for the lateness, but I had to fight this story tooth and nail to get it typed out.