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FIC: Tending Toward Destructive: Thing Five: 1/1: NC-17: St. John, Bobby, St. John/Bobby

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  • Jenn
    Title: Tending Toward Destructive: Thing Five Author: jenn (jenn@igg-tx.net) Codes: St. John, Bobby, St.John/Bobby Rating: NC-17 Series: On Love and Lust
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 9, 2001
      Title: Tending Toward Destructive: Thing Five
      Author: jenn (jenn@...)
      Codes: St. John, Bobby, St.John/Bobby
      Rating: NC-17
      Series: On Love and Lust at Mutant High #23
      Summary: And of course, the fifth thing. And this is slash. Relatively
      detailed slash. Note the rating.
      Author Notes: For some reason, you combine Dido with Snake River
      Conspiracy for your listening pleasure and THIS happens. I don't know why.
      Yet there it is.
      Feedback: Still with soda. I'm pathetically easy to please. :)
      Webpage: www.wolverineandrogue.com/seperis/mutantindex.html <--all
      preceding stories housed there.


      Bobby was snoring. And it was keeping St. John awake.

      Now, under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be that much of an issue.
      St. John was used to that. Bobby snored, he dealt with it. Even slept
      through it. Bobby was one of those rare individuals that, once they went
      to sleep, it took some serious circumstances to wake them up. Colossus had
      done it once, but that wasn't the preferred method of getting Bobby Drake
      awake. St. John was fond of the fact his clothes were both warm and dry.

      But in this instance, for some reason, the snoring was giving St. John some
      serious problems. Toss one way, nothing, toss another, nothing, stare at
      the ceiling, note how very nice the plaster is and aren't you impressed you
      get to see it?

      Far less fascinating than one might expect. If that was even possible.


      Nothing. Whispering had never worked before, what the hell gave him the
      idea it would work this time?

      Bed was warm. Warm, comforting, covered in blankets--well, he could warm
      any given area anyway, but that was beside the point. He liked being
      prone. He liked the fact he wasn't moving. He liked the fact that it was
      at least--check the clock--six hours before he was required to be anywhere
      near awake, and he looked up at the ceiling. Let his eyes close. Imagined
      sheep jumping over fences. Okay, so yet another thing that never really
      worked, especially when--

      There was more snoring.

      "Fuck, Bobby, you swallow a lawnmower or somethin'?" Bobby snored on,
      oblivious to his roommate's dissatisfaction. Damn him. Yes, he was cute
      when he slept--but damn him anyway.

      He could lay here, prone, yes, awake however--or get up and wake the boy.
      Choices, choices.

      On second thought, Bobby responded well to nighttime wakings. Which he
      hadn't tried in awhile. For a reason, and St. John knew there'd *been* a
      reason, something about not being a substitute or not being first, but you
      know, at midnight after bedchecks, it just didn't seem like a *pressing*
      reason. A reason worth keeping up, at any rate, and that's what sent St.
      John's feet to the floor--

      --no, he was getting up to wake up Bobby so the boy would *please* stop
      snoring, thank you. That was it. Period.

      Sliding out, he winced at the feel of the floor, realizing abruptly that
      the floor wasn't *that* cold and his temperature had jumped, and shit, this
      couldn't be good. No, wake up Bobby, that's it. No groping unsuspecting
      roommate, no matter how good he looked laying there--with that chest
      exposed by the blanket rucked around his hips--

      Oddly, however, the snoring had stopped and St. John was halfway across the
      room before he realized that--and so was completely startled when he looked
      up from his feet, to see Bobby up on one elbow, looking at him with that
      peculiar mixture of patience and amusement.

      "Snoring wake you up, Johnny?"

      Um. Yeah. Definitely.

      "Just gonna wake you up. You sound like a dying bear, you know." That was
      so all. Wake the boy up, crawl back to bed, think about arctic
      temperatures--oh, no, that reminded him of Bobby, what the fuck do you do
      when your fantasy life actually *includes* cold showers?

      "Hmm. Did you consider that pizza thing tonight a date?"

      Whoa fuck, where the hell had *that* come from? St. John blinked, staring
      at the younger boy, because really, how the hell did you answer that? Yes?
      Sure thing? No, because I was thinking of someplace nicer? God.

      "Umm--did you?" Brilliant, Johnny. Just fucking brilliant.

      "No." St. John breathed, not sure how he felt about that. "It wasn't what
      I had in mind, you know? For a first date."

      "A first date?" And still yet, words eluded him. Normal thought eluded
      him. "I'm assuming you mean--um, you and me, right?"

      Things like this happened in his fantasy life. Usually included whipped
      cream and some experiments with massage oil. His feet were never cold, he
      hadn't been studying the plaster five minutes earlier, and shit, he knew he
      probably would have remembered to bring condiments of some kind.

      So yeah, this was real. No magical whipped cream appeared out of nowhere.

      "Something like that." A jerk of the covers, and St. John actually found
      himself taking a step backward, just from shock. Bobby grinned. "Come
      on--you can keep me from snoring. I don't bite."

      "I might."

      They'd just so thoroughly left ambiguous territory and into sexual innuendo
      that St. John just let his feet react and take him where obviously, he
      should be going. This was a dream, of course. No question. He fell
      asleep thinking of that picture of Bobby in his drawer and was having one
      hell of a damned good nighttime fantasy--because Bobby-boy just wasn't the
      aggressive type.

      Fantasy meant that he was perfectly okay in sliding into bed and finding
      the cool skin of Bobby's face with the tips of his fingers, tracing the
      fine line of his jaw, over his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Shifting
      himself on an elbow as Bobby slid down on his back, a hand coming up to run
      down the back of his neck--that was good. Even better when Bobby turned
      his head, brushing his tongue across the fingers near his mouth, then
      glancing up a little warily. Always slightly unsure, even when he was
      inviting St. John into his bed, that was Bobby to the fingernails and St.
      John slowly leaned down, kissing the cool lips, opening instantly and with
      gratifying enthusiasm, and he'd never had a dream this good, this real.


      "Tomorrow." At first, he couldn't figure out what the other boy was
      talking about. "To little Italy, that cafe on Magnolia you like so much."
      A breath before another kiss, a little harder, even more enthusiastic.

      "That cafe--" Oh God, Bobby's hand was resting just above his ass and
      steadily working its way down. "What--"

      "For dinner."

      He was grounded and he didn't give a shit. Cafes were good.

      "Cool with me, Drake--" Sliding down a little to find the line of his
      throat. Let out a breath when Bobby slid a hand up his back and
      fingernails scraped across his shoulders. "Shit, that's good, Bobby."

      "Hmm. Nice to know." A breath, then he found that perfect spot on Bobby's
      shoulder, felt him shudder and bit lightly. Addictive, to feel that under
      him, shifting his weight over until he was straddling the younger boy.
      Bracing himself on his hands, he stared down at him, taking in the light
      flush, the rapidly cooling skin against him. "Johnny? You okay with this?"

      "Beyond words." Seriously beyond words. He wasn't sure there were words
      left in his vocabulary. "Really okay. Are you?" Though he could be
      cynical on occasion, he just didn't see Bobby tossing back the covers just
      any old time.

      "You have no idea." A leg hooked around his knee and Bobby was on his
      back, more than a little startled, hearing Bobby's low laugh and the long
      fingers tracing the line of his chest. "You're getting warmer.

      Considering Bobby was currently rubbing against a very important part of
      his anatomy, that just wasn't a surprise. Not at all. Taking a deep
      breath, he ran his hands along the strong shoulders and to his surprise,
      his hands were pinned down by his head.

      And yes, it was official, Bobby not only outweighed him, Bobby was fucking

      "Uh, Bobby--"

      "Shh." A lowered head and he shut his eyes at the feel of that cool mouth
      running over his chest, slowly mapping the skin just below his throat.
      Pausing at each nipple, and with every move of his body, he was rubbing
      against Bobby, and shit, that was good. That was soo good. It was better
      than good and Bobby was dropping a little lower each time, the brush of
      teeth against the skin of his stomach and so abruptly he didn't even know
      it was happening until he heard the clothing drop on the floor, he was

      God, yes. Nothing wrong with naked at all. Good things happened when

      "Bobby--" he wasn't sure what he would say, if he was asking, begging, or
      some sort of weird combination of the two--hell, he may just like the way
      it sounded on his tongue. It rolled off. Bobby. It rolled off the
      tongue. Bobby. Bobby--

      "Oh *fuck*, Bobby!" he breathed in shock, feeling the cool lips close over
      the head of his cock. He felt his back arch sharply off the bed, Bobby's
      fingers laced through his, trapping them against the mattress. An
      extremely talented tongue traced the tip, then he felt Bobby take a breath
      and how the hell--how the *hell*--did he get it that far down his throat
      all at once?

      He wasn't going to last any time at all--his skin temperature was already
      erratic and no amount of control was ever meant to last through Bobby Drake
      doing *that*. No human could be expected to keep any kind of control when
      that was happening, when Bobby slowly slid up the length, sucking lightly,
      glancing up with a wicked little grin, before back down, all the way down--

      "Oh yes. Hell yes. Bobby--"

      Another, faster stroke, and every muscle in his body clenched as Bobby
      found a rhythm he liked and went to town--oh yes, that was good. Fingers
      growing steadily cooler in his--or was he getting warmer?--staring up at
      the ceiling--a damned interesting ceiling, little stars everywhere, and a
      shudder ran through him when Bobby stepped it up and *how* did he know to
      do that?

      "Bobby--" And there was nothing he could do--thrust up against that cool
      mouth, such an amazing contrast to the heat of his body, and everything in
      him went hot and bright. Knew he must have said something, but had no idea
      what--God, Bobby, babe--

      Coming down was slow and slowly cooling and he was vaguely aware Bobby had
      shifted back up, laying down beside him.


      "You can buy me dinner. Go to sleep. I'm freezing." A twist of the
      blankets around them, Bobby's head against his chest, his eyes slowly
      closing after what was perhaps one of the best orgasms of his life--

      "I'll buy you dinner?" Dinner for oral sex. Hmm.

      "Fair trade, dude." A pause, then the absent movement of fingers against
      his chest. "Night."

      "Cool." Sliding an arm around Bobby, shutting his eyes on the ceiling,
      wondering about Bobby's preferences on Italian food. Because, really,
      tomato sauce was at its best licked directly off the skin.

      The End

      --She has all the passion and attraction of airplane noodles.--Nacey's
      opinion of Jean's wild side
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