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FIC: Improper Thoughts: PG-13: St. John, Jubilee, St. John/Bobby (LL 31)

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  • Jenn
    Title: Improper Thoughts Author: jenn (jenn@igg-tx.net) Codes: St. John, Jubilee, (St. John/Bobby) Rating: PG-13 Series: On Love and Lust at Mutant High
    Message 1 of 1 , May 29, 2001
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      Title: Improper Thoughts
      Author: jenn (jenn@...)
      Codes: St. John, Jubilee, (St. John/Bobby)
      Rating: PG-13
      Series: On Love and Lust at Mutant High #31
      Summary: In which a picture is found and interest ensues.
      Author Notes: This has teased me since, like, the fourth story or so. I
      resisted and resisted and gave in. Bad jenn. <g> Thanks to Beth, Sare,
      and jengrrrl for the read-throughs.
      Archiving: Yes. Just let me know where.
      Feedback: With coffee, happily and perkily accepted.


      It was just a picture.

      That's it. A picture, for goodness sake, and not all that graphic. Just a
      pencil-sketch by someone with some serious inspiration and some serious
      access to a certain untouchable girl.

      Picture, picture, picture.

      Nothing big, nothing earthshattering, really. Pencil on paper in
      non-random form.

      It sat in his head--every single line of it, refusing to budge. Kept him
      up that night, pressed against Bobby's back, trying with limited success to
      control the sudden urge to roll Bobby on his stomach and get rid of some
      serious lust. But that would be--well, not good. Mostly. He thought.
      Not that he hadn't been proxy in Bobby's thwarted Rogue-lust before, but in
      a relationship, he had to be more--ummm, honorable? Something like that.

      And anyway, he didn't know about Bobby, but no amount of imagination could
      possibly turn Bobby's chiseled body into Rogue's. Just no way.

      Just a stupid, well-drawn, extraordinary picture. Of Rogue. St. John
      rolled onto his back and reconsidered some private time in the shower--he
      was relatively certain he didn't want Bobby to wake up to him jerking off
      in bed. He'd ask questions--perhaps wonder why Johnny hadn't woken him up
      for some participation.

      Oh, no, St. John had enough relationship issues with Bobby. He wasn't
      about to add one more. He didn't need it.

      Rolling onto his other side, he gave up the battle, groping under the
      springs until he found his notebook. Leaning over the edge of the bed, he
      lit a small fire in one hand and took another long look and made a

      --it was definitely time for a shower. Definitely.

      He would swear to anyone he hadn't been snooping--he'd went into Rogue's
      new room to get her notes for advanced tactics, which Logan and Scott were
      reluctantly teaching together. And grabbing the notebook off the desk, the
      scrap of paper floated down, landing on his foot.

      It was karma, for being a good boy. Or fate, screwing with his head. Or
      something. He didn't *care* why.

      On his foot. Face-*up* on his foot, in which he got an excellent view of
      some serious skin. Skin that no one on campus had ever seen directly. And
      so much of it--more skin than he knew existed on the human body, wrapped
      around some of the finest bones he'd ever had the good fortune to see.
      Covering a figure--whoa, whoa, dear God. Breathe.


      It took St. John exactly a second to decide what to do and less than that
      to get into the hallway, clutching that piece of paper beneath one arm,
      notebook forgotten, running straight to his room and skidding inside.

      Quick look. No Bobby. Good. Shutting the door, he flipped the lock and
      dropped on the floor to take a good look at the girl who'd more than once
      tripped through his (and Bobby's for that matter) fantasy life.

      Dear *God*. He'd had no idea her legs were that long.

      He'd hidden it under his bed at the sound of footsteps in the hall.

      Eight hours later, as St. John trampled to the shower, notebook clutched
      against his chest, he knew he had to make a decision.


      "Shit," Jubilee said, pressing it out on her floor, brown eyes wide in
      appreciation. "And she wants to wear sweats all the time? Gotta talk to
      that girl. She hides too much."

      St. John looked up from his contemplation of Rogue's chest and blinked in

      "You've never seen her?" Weird. "You lived with her."

      Jubilee frowned as she smoothed down the edge.

      "She's paranoid about skin showin'--never showered when we were around, you
      know. All I can tell you is she's not a fan of underwear, and only that
      because I do her laundry." A pause. "Damn. I guess we have our answer

      St. John couldn't quite tear his eyes from the bare curve of her hip or the
      knowledge that her hip--and all beneath, for that matter--didn't bother
      with little slips of lace, silk, or other excess clothing. Yes, his
      fantasy life needed this. She looked like that? Even in lycra--he'd never
      noticed. Of course, he'd never been exactly Mr. Rogue-lust either, but

      But Jubes had said something about an answer--


      Jubilee grinned wickedly, pointing at the sketch. Like he needed to be
      reminded it was there.

      "Who do you think drew it?"

      Oh wow, oh damn, oh shit, oh dear GOD. Hadn't penetrated. St. John
      straightened, actually feeling a chill run down his spine. Rather like
      adamantium might feel going down his back before picking out a vital organ
      to impale for ornamentation.

      "God. Logan."

      Logan would kill him. Just--boom. Claws out, straight through the chest.
      Kill him. Dead. Well, okay, Remy was still alive, but St. John was aware
      that Logan had had a very long, private discussion with said Cajun,
      resulting in what could be termed some seriously unnatural impotence. Sort
      of funny, definitely. But St. John wasn't exactly sure where stealing
      pictures of Logan's favorite hobby fell in the Logan Rage Scale. Probably
      not hitting Screwing Up Sex (or Sex With Rogue At All) level--but the
      sublevels of Logan Rage might not exactly be much more fun either.

      Sadly, this possibility didn't do much for his overactive libido. Which
      meant he was a hell of a lot more jaded than even he'd thought. His eyes,
      on their own and without a bit of will behind them, were drawn back down to
      her--legs. Legs. Stay on the legs. Nice legs. Bare legs. Miles of bare

      "Right the second time." Jubilee sounded smug. "I wonder what she was

      "Meditating." Jubilee turned curious eyes on him and he felt himself begin
      to flush, hands going hot. "She said Logan likes to--you know, sans the
      whole clothes thing."

      "Ah." A glance back down. "Lucky girl. Shit. Wonder if he'd offer that
      for a regular class. No wonder she's in such a good mood every afternoon."
      Another glance down. "Nature might've screwed her skin, but it sure made
      up for it in other ways." A wave of her hand. "Just look at that."

      St. John was pretty sure he had every pencil stroke memorized.

      "Trust me, Jubes, I've looked."

      Jubilee's head whipped up and a grin of pure mischief turned her lips

      "So Johnny and little Johnny down there gettin' some interest in Roguey?"
      St. John wondered if he was completely red yet and saw Jubilee's amused
      gaze rest on the crotch of his jeans. He rolled onto his stomach--ouch,
      painful, painful, shit--and forced himself to look at the carpet. Nothing
      arousing about carpet.

      But Rogue stretched out on this carpet--

      "Deep breaths, Johnny." She sounded like she was going to laugh. Damn

      "Tell me you look at that and don't get some thoughts."

      Jubilee shrugged, unfazed.

      "I'm neither confirming or denying, boy-o. I'm just not stupid enough to
      get caught up in someone whose sexual fantasies include protruding metal,
      flannel, and growling." A shake of her head. "I'm taking her shopping
      tomorrow. No reason for her to wear all those oversized shirts when she
      can cover *and* show off that body."

      St. John buried his face in his hands. Yes, great. Get some good looks at
      Rogue in Jubilee's idea of appropriate clothing and he'd be doomed.

      "I can't believe I'm getting this worked up over a fucking picture, Jubes."
      Wasn't he better than this? More adult? Oh screw that--he knew for a fact
      ole Scott had skipped the straight and narrow several times, if the
      magazines he'd found in Scott's office once were any indication. But
      geez--was he or was he not in a committed relationship? Moreover--with
      damned hot Bobby? But shit--one glance back at the long lines of Rogue's
      waist and down her hips...

      "Logan has talent." A pause. "Seriously so."

      "I know." Don't look, don't look, don't look...

      "You mean that tres hot sketch of Bobby under your bed that Roguey did for

      St. John was absolutely certain that he couldn't get any redder. Jubes
      stretched out beside him, giggling again and he shook his head against his
      crossed arms.

      "You know about that?" He could feel her amusement like heat. Or maybe
      that was his control slipping. Oh so not a surprise.

      "Oh yeah, baby. Rogue told me and I figured you'd keep it with your
      other--em, questionable reading material. Very nice. You picked out the
      pose, right?"

      "Yes." Yes, he did. And therapy for weird-Rogue-lust should include a
      course of staring at said picture of Bobby. But--but he had the real
      thing, who'd happily strip naked if he wanted. So what the hell did it say
      about him?

      "Mmm. Helped my fantasy life, lemme tell you, Johnny." Another pause,
      then a muffled giggle. "Aww. You feelin' guilty because you're having
      some improper-Rogue thoughts?"

      Well, duh.

      Jubilee pushed him over on his back, smiling down at him.

      "I guess that one night between the two of you wasn't finished, was it?"

      Which of course, brought St. John straight up--big St. John, not the little
      one that had yet to show any interest in going down in the first place.
      Her gaze flickered down and her smile widened again, revealing far too many
      perfect white teeth. Damn her twice.

      "How'd you know--"

      "I know everything, Johnny, so get used to it. No, she didn't talk about
      it, but she sleeps bad and had a few suspicious conversations with herself
      in dreamland." A pause. "You better thank God Logan never overheard some
      of *those*."

      Every day. St. John levered himself up on his elbows, and he didn't look
      at the picture. At all. Even peripherally. Sick curiosity forced him to
      ask. Forced.

      "What'd she say?"

      Jubilee tossed her head back, closing her eyes. Oh dear God, this wasn't

      "{'God, sugar, yes, Johnny, you like that? Oh yes, Johnny, please...'}"
      Jubilee opened one eye, cocking her head. "Smooth, boyo. Real smooth."

      This actually could get worse--St. John wasn't exactly sure how, though.

      "It was just once." Even to himself, his voice sounded odd.

      "Yeah--I can even guess when, during that oh-so-boring,
      Rogue/Bobby/Johnny-no-talk period of time. So be it--whatever you three
      did together--"

      "We didn't do anything together!" Like that hadn't appeared in his fantasy
      life often enough. He could imagine Rogue stretched out between them, all
      silk bodysuit and long dark hair, gloved hands running over his chest while
      Bobby--oh, Johnny, you so don't need to be thinking these things. Will
      *so* go some weird damned places. Just rein in that libido there. Jubilee
      threw him a sunny smile--she could probably guess. She had that kind of

      "--or not." She cocked her head a little then, tapping the sketch. "You
      regret that now?"

      Did he? He'd sent her away, after all. But regret it? He wasn't sure.
      Couldn't be sure. Well, he hadn't been sure when he jumped from that bed,
      either, even though he knew he had to, and did he fantasize about what
      would have happened if he'd just gone with it? Oh hell yes--self-respect
      was cheap crap when compared to Rogue stretched out under him, those
      perfect long legs wrapped around his waist, drawling softly in his ear the
      things she wanted him to do to her, the things she wanted to do to him.

      The things he *knew* she knew from all those minds in hers, things he
      probably didn't know even existed.

      "Symptoms, Johnny."

      Wow, that was--non-sequitir-ish.


      She was watching him, smile gone.

      "Normal symptoms of relationship going badly, kiddo." Her finger stabbed
      at the picture. "This isn't like you."

      Conversely, he wanted to say it was.

      "I'm eighteen, for God's sake. She's gorgeous."

      "She's your sister. That's how you've looked at her, that's how you act
      around her, random lust episodes aside." She was serious, lifting herself
      back into a sitting position, legs crossed. "You've been Bobby's forever.
      Random lust episodes aside. Whatcha thinking, Johnny? What changed?"

      "I have no idea what the fuck you're talkin' about."

      "Sure you do--you just don't wanna say it." An eyebrow arched as she
      braced herself on one hand, head tilting in thought. "Okay, I will.
      You're gettin' weirded out by commitment because you're finally realizing
      what it means. So you're trying to get somewhere destructive, so he'll
      walk away and you don't have to break it off yourself."

      That was so fucking unfair. St. John straightened, grabbing up the picture
      off the floor.

      "I don't need this shit."

      "You need some serious thought, Johnny. Be straight about it. Me, I love
      you both, don't wanna see you two all screwed up because you don't know how
      to talk." Jubilee sighed. "Men. Annoying as hell sometimes. You're
      worse than most--no talking, just hoping people'll figure out what you mean
      by psychic vibes or something. Cool, if any of us were psychic." She
      flicked her hair from her face, shaking her head slowly. "Johnny, don't do
      something you're gonna regret, 'kay? You and Bobs--you're in a rough spot.
      Don't throw it over because you think you can't handle it."

      What he couldn't handle was amateur psychology from one of his closest
      friends. Shit. Getting it from Scooter had been bad enough.

      "And you're such a model of perfect health in relationships." He stumbled
      to his feet, almost crumpling the sketch in his hand.

      Jubilee shrugged.

      "Attacking me won't fix your issues, baby. Go get pissy and bitch at me
      for telling the truth. Doesn't matter. What matters is, you wouldn't be
      getting like this if you didn't know I was right."

      He sure as hell didn't need this. Turning angrily, he headed toward the

      "And leave the picture in Rogue's room before Logan comes looking to gut
      you." He spun to see Jubilee stretched out on the floor, pulling a
      magazine from under her bed. Another wicked smile thrown in his direction,
      as if nothing more untoward had occurred then a chat about pyrotechnics and
      the uses of nitrous oxide. Shit, could have been any day in her room.
      "He's gonna smell you on her desk."

      Oh dear God.

      St. John took off for Rogue's room, slamming Jubilee's door behind him.

      The End

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