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FIC: Fragment: 3/3: Bobby, St. John/Bobby: NC-17

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  • Jenn
    3/3 --It couldn t be quite real, standing outside the Mansion like this, daylight breaking and dawn was going to be gorgeous, red and orange and yellow. Like
    Message 1 of 1 , Mar 18, 2002

      --It couldn't be quite real, standing outside the Mansion like this,
      daylight breaking and dawn was going to be gorgeous, red and orange and
      yellow. Like he'd ever be able to see a dawn again and not *think* of

      --"Don't leave."--

      --The knapsack was pulled over Johnny's shoulder--if Bobby had been five
      minutes longer in the hangar downstairs, he would never have caught him.
      Reddened eyes and white fingers shaking on the strap, his whole body
      vibrating. God, this couldn't be happening, not now.--

      --"You can't--Johnny, don't do this. Please.--

      --"I have to." Fingers tightening and desperation was setting in, almost
      visible as a halo around him. Bobby could feel the heat of his skin even
      from three feet away and Johnny cornered was a dangerous, dangerous man.
      Just--never to him. Never before now. "I don't believe in this shit,
      Bobby. Never did. Get the fuck out of the way or come with me."--

      --And the weirdest shit was flickering through Bobby's mind--their dorm
      room at Columbia that Johnny had been saying was too small and the fact
      Johnny had just invested serious cash in acetone and fuses in a box hidden
      in their closet. They'd just talked about getting a fucking *apartment*
      for God's sake, and was Bobby that blind?--

      --"Don't ask me that."--

      --When the fuck did things change? How? What the *fuck* had he missed?--

      --"Then move."--


      He'd asked that one, though. Two letters, an email, and a phone call. No,
      actually, scratch that. He'd burned the letters seconds after writing
      them, deleted the email, and looked at the phone for fifty minutes before
      burning the paper scrawled with a number he'd paid a small fortune to get.

      One of about ten thousand questions Bobby knew he was never going to get an
      answer for. Why he was mutant, what had happened the night Johnny had

      Why he'd *let* him go.

      Rolling over, Bobby enjoyed the slow, trickling heat, the total enervation
      post-orgasm that he sometimes thought he lived for. Johnny, fucked out
      beyond belief and limp across him, hadn't so much as shifted in response.
      Smell of sweat and sex and whatever else there was that Bobby was just too
      damn uninterested to identify. Mouthed the hand he was holding, twisting
      their fingers together to get to the delicate wrist, feel the blood
      pounding sluggishly against his tongue.

      Everything ached in a wonderful way--his cock, his ribs, probably his
      concussion too, but hey, concussions turned out to be highly useful and
      Bobby was wondering if he'd been conditioned to get hard from pain.
      Something Johnny taught him, maybe. Along with the bitterness. Johnny'd
      always been multi-talented.

      "Hey." Warm breath on his chest.

      "Mm." Bobby answered, licking a circle into Johnny's palm. Bit at a
      finger, then smiled, kissing the back of Johnny's hand lightly before
      curling his fingers over the bare shoulder so close. Vivid red marks that
      would be bruises come tomorrow--or later today, or whatever. Such soft
      skin, like he was at eighteen. Soft and warm and so good. Bobby stared up
      at the ceiling. "They'll come back when they find me."

      "I know." Open mouthed kiss to his chest, licking absently. More simple
      enjoyment than arousal.

      "Need a ride back to the current secret hideout?" Bobby asked the ceiling,
      felt Johnny's grin and a quick, sharp-bright bite. Mmm.


      "Maybe take a vacation instead," Bobby said, and Johnny stiffened. Tried
      to pull away, but Bobby was stronger, always had been in some ways. There
      was a flare of heat on that impossibly soft skin, and Bobby ignored it,
      waiting until Johnny settled back down. Stiff, but at least not fighting.
      "What? You have plans for new acts of mutant terrorism for the next two
      weeks or something?"

      Low, reluctant laugh.


      "I'm tired of waiting." It was soft and it was honest, which was a step in
      the right direction at least. Johnny didn't move--didn't even seem to
      breathe. Bobby stroked down the long back, the sweat drying into it, the
      feel of the lines his nails had cut.

      "You're serious."

      Maybe yes. Maybe no. Probably yes, though, and it was fucked-up, but hey,
      look at his life. He taught accounting to mutant kids and saved the world
      between classes. Breathed out and shut his eyes, just feeling.
      They--them--it was still here. Time didn't mean shit. Intact, fragmented,
      and *here*.

      "Invitation's open, Johnny," he said slowly, and Johnny drew back. Pyro
      was in bed with him now, but that was okay. Lifting himself awkwardly on
      his knees beside him, staring down at Bobby with guarded eyes and stiff
      movements of his body as he dressed.

      Johnny did denial like he did sex--very, very well.

      "You're crazy. It doesn't mean anything." Bobby could count the bruises in
      the faint firelight, wondered a little what Mystique would say when she saw
      him. Grinned to himself.

      "Still running, Allerdyce? Thought that was Logan's thing."

      He could hear Johnny dressing, the soft pant of his breath, the stiffness
      of his body when he shut himself up inside, and there'd been others since
      him--not many, granted. Not enough to wipe the memories or submerge the
      need. And ten years? God. Ten years he didn't want to really live again,
      and so yes, he'd let Johnny go the first time, but he'd been a kid and so
      betrayed and so--God, so young. He hadn't known what he was giving up.

      He wasn't sure he could do it again, even if he wanted to.

      "Don't, Bobby. That's past." The room was getting hotter faster, the snow
      swept inside melting and Bobby opened his eyes on the ceiling, thinking

      Ten years.

      "How you getting home?"

      "I'll figure something out." Johnny breathed out sharply. "It's been
      several hours. They're probably coming now. You'll be okay."

      "You know standard operating procedure as well as I do," Bobby answered
      easily. "Any minute now."

      Little, rough silence of breath and cold, and Bobby grinned as the room
      cooled, as Johnny brought himself under control, fire dying in the hearth.
      He stretched on the bed, knowing Johnny was watching. The door opened,
      more cold, and Bobby laughed, soft and strangely freeing.

      "Bobby--" Johnny cut himself off, and Bobby closed his eyes. Listened to
      everything not said.

      "Say no, Johnny. Say never again."

      The door shut, leaving silence like a blanket of snow in the shack.

      But he didn't say no.

      The End

      Personal Webpage:

      "Now I�m grieving over a doomed love on a show I haven�t seen."
      --Peggy, after reading CLex fic

      "It's not like we're trading blowjobs for chicken nuggets here."
      --Clark, You Get Fries With That, by Caroline
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