After the Fall: Part Ten
Almost done.
Title: After the Fall: Part Ten (still being told somewhat with meals and dialouge)
Rating: R (language, under age alcohol consumption, sex, and violence)
POV: John
Summary/Spoilers: a/u after "X2". Previous installations located in Memories.
“The only activities I could think of that humans do that have no other animal equivalent were smoking, body-building and writing. That’s not much, considering how special we seem to think we are.” Douglas Coupland “Life After God”
Bobby stood in his shorts when John opened the door. Bobby’s hair shone wetly in the light from his desk, and he grinned. “Hey John. Have some ice cream if you want it.”
John shook his head and stepped into the room. “Uh, no. Actually, we need to talk.” That had not been as easy as Hank has claimed it would be, as they drove for half an hour downtown, looping stop signs without signals and nudging curbs until Hank made him pull over. When he could breathe without shaking, Hank let him move into shotgun and drove them home. John got himself back under control.
“Yeah sure. Hey, the Professor said I could sleep in tomorrow. I’m sure you can too if you talk to Hank or Professor Braddock or someone. Just say I woke you up real bad when I came in.” Bobby spooned a big helping of ice cream into his mouth- looked like Rocky Road.
“That’s great Bobby.”
“Yeah well” he shrugged, “tonight we went to Seattle and there was this girl there who could melt-“
“Hey Bobby? Can we put that on the backburner for a minute or two?”
“Um. OK.” Bobby pulled a shirt over his head, and he sat on the edge of his bed. He was still holding the ice cream. It wouldn’t melt as long as Bobby kept it cool. John’s thigh suddenly seemed to notice the lighter and heat against it. Without meaning to, he raced through the Hail Mary once in his head, getting only slightly tripped up on ‘now and at the hour of our death’. “What’s up?”
“Fuck. Uh…” Bobby waited. “Nothing.” John stepped towards his bed, shrugging off his jacket.
“It’s not nothing John. What is it?”
“It’s just- I-“ John stared at the wall, Bobby’s Frank Miller poster and tried to catch his breath, “are you into dudes Bobby?”
“What?” Bobby was standing, his voice all quiet and calm and tense. The ice cream dropped to the floor.
“I- it’s nothing ok? I don’t know why I said that.” John scratched his face, his neck.
“Where did you hear that?” Bobby balled his hands. John stared at the ice cream leaking onto the carpet.
“I didn’t hear it exactly. Not like that. I- someone led me to believe that maybe, maybe this whole ‘Separate Peace’ thing I keep running into isn’t a one-way street.”
“Did McCoy tell you this?” Bobby was expressionless. That must have been part of the training. Poker faces, battle tactics.
“Not explicitly.” John wondered for a moment if Bobby’s ice cream was melting under just the heat of the lamp. He hadn’t turned on the overhead when he came in, and the one light threw shadows indiscriminately. The whole thing could be a Pollack painting, or one of those German Expressionist films he found in the Library one day during lunch. The hollows in Bobby’s throat looked more pronounced. John glanced down; the light guillotined his body in two. “Look Bobby… this is stupid. I don’t want things to change between us.”
“Change in what way?”
“What?”
“How do you want things to be? Best case?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like this? Roommates? Friends? Boyfriends?”
“What?” Finally Bobby fidgeted, his left hand combing back his hair. Pieces stuck up in the wake. “Bobby, just- please. All I’ve been getting lately is maybes and hints and people half talking. So, whatever you want to say, just say it. Do you like guys?”
“No.”
“Oh. Oh shit.” John closed his eyes.
“No, John, I didn’t mean all guys. I mean, I don’t like guys, not really, but you’re different.”
“How sentimental of you Bobby.”
Bobby shifted; his bed squeaked. “I told you about me and Hank talking. I just, it wasn’t until after you left, I… like you said about separation.”
“Bobby, if that’s your attempt at clarification, it’s not going so well.” John leaned against the wall. He remembered how tired he was. Bobby’s clock read 5.14. Fuck.
Bobby stood up and stepped towards him. John didn’t flinch. “What do you want to do John?”
“About what Bobby? You’re hinting and suggesting and I know what I want but at the moment I’m fucking tired and fucking confused. Check a box Bobby: yes or no, do you like me?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you want to treat that?”
“Maybe… maybe we go out sometimes?”
“Under aliases? Or what?”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary for me to quote Joan Jett at this point, but I think the Mansion has a pretty well defined idea of my reputation.”
“And Seth?”
“He knows. Well, I hit him with the gay mutie one-two punch. What about Rogue?”
“It’s ironic. But I don’t think she’ll care.”
“I don’t do PDA.”
“Neither do I.”
“I guess then that explains the whole Rogue fiasco?”
“Shut up John.” Bobby inched closer. John didn’t move. Bobby didn’t break eye contact.
“Fuck it.” John stood up and kissed him. Bobby smelled like vanilla and toothpaste, his skin still slightly damp. He relaxed his hands and touched John’s stomach gingerly. His eyes were fucking closed, but John couldn’t close his. Should he use tongue? Was that too much? He parted his teeth slightly and Bobby’s tongue thrust in. God, John hated chocolate ice cream. Fuck this. He stopped thinking about other things than the kiss. They broke apart, Bobby’s spit on John’s lips.
John rubbed the stubble on his chin. Maybe he wouldn’t shave tomorrow. Today. If he ever got to sleep. Bobby blushed. “So.” Bobby gave a half grin. “Your ice cream is melting Bobby.”
“Huh?” Bobby turned. “Oh shit.” He picked it up and blew on it, put it down on his bed. Bobby went into the bathroom and came back with paper towels. He sponged up the mess and threw them in the trash. John sat down on his bed and kicked off his boots. He cracked his neck and rested his head in his hands, elbows on knees. Bobby sat next to him, the bed squeaking gently. He touched John’s shoulder, squeezed. “So.”
“Yeah.” John sighed.
“You tired?”
“Been up.”
“Me too. Fell asleep in the jet on the way back. Logan gave me this look when I woke up, like I wasn’t old enough for it yet.”
“Logan’s a prick most of the time.”
“Yeah.” Bobby let go of his shoulder and dropped his hand to his thigh. He left it there, probably waiting for John to grab it. John couldn’t bring himself to lift his head though. “Sure you don’t want ice cream?”
“Nah, I’m ok. Think I’m going to go to bed.”
“K.”
“K.” They sat there for another moment. John lifted his head and kissed Bobby’s cheek. He stood. “Night.” He pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. Bobby stood and smiled.
“You don’t mind if I stay up a bit?”
“No. Enjoy your ice cream.”
“Thanks.” Bobby went over to his desk and sat in front of his computer, grabbing the carton from his bed. John crawled into bed with his jeans still on and blacked out to the sounds of Bobby’s keyboard clicking.
~***~
John slept like shit. When he woke up, there was blurriness about him and his eyes didn’t focus for a few seconds. Those seconds gave him enough time to remember where he was and what had happened. He checked the other bed- Bobby, out stone cold. Weren’t they supposed to be together in bed right now? Or fucking? That’s how it went in the pornos. John cracked his neck, and closed his eyes, tried to relax. Nothing. He checked the clock. 7:30. Great. Not only had he slept like shit, he had an hour to kill before class. Course he could not go to class, but porn never seemed to mention what happened the night after, beyond the cliché, and since he and Bobby were most definitely not waking up wrapped up in each other’s arms and exchanging Eskimo kisses or whatever, the prospect of Bobby making him waffles was out. And he didn’t feel like having another Talk.
John grabbed the closest shirt on the foot of his bed and put on his boots. Finger combing back his hair, he grabbed his cigarettes and his book bag (last night when killing time he had done all his homework and fucking tonight’s homework too. He sincerely hoped this meant he could do today on autopilot) and headed for the library. Thumbing the racks, he picked a Salinger and collapsed into one of the leather arm chairs. He was on “it was a day, God knows, not only of rampant signs and symbols but of wildly extensive communication via the written word,” when someone said “Good morning” and sat in the chair across from his, setting a steaming mug of coffee and a stack of papers on the table. John’s mouth watered. Summers was looking at him funny. “You’re awake early John.” He shrugged. “Everything alright?” Somehow, John kept from snorting.
“Fine.”
Summers nodded. “I assume you were not out running?”
John snorted this time. “No. Definitely not.”
“You might want to consider it.” Summer picked up a few papers, and pulled the pen out from behind his ear.
John scratched his stomach, his nail tugged on the stud deliciously. “No, that’s all right. I do my time in the Danger Room and that’s plenty. Besides, shouldn’t you be more careful about training the enemy? Benefit really worth the cost and all that?”
“So you have been paying attention in Economics.” John shrugged and put up the book, blocking his face. Summers stopped talking. John finished the novella and pocketed the book. He drank his coffee on the porch smoking.
He grabbed a piece of toast and ate it on the way to Lit, scratched his cheek with one hand while he chewed. Hair tickling the underside of nails. Felt good- maybe Bobby’s hair would feel like that? It was buzzed now. He kept Salinger in his back pocket when he sat, sliding into one of the last seats. Braddock looked at him with one eyebrow raised but didn’t question his deviation from his normal seat. He didn’t feel any buzzing, so he guessed she wasn’t reading his mind either. They were discussing Flannery O’Conner, and John tried to keep from dozing. Too late, a book thudded on his table and slid to him. He jerked awake. “If Miss O’Connor is not holding your attention, perhaps you would prefer to read something else.” He didn’t let himself react, didn’t blush. He picked up the paperback and read the back cover, took his time and stared for a moment longer than was necessary. He looked up and shrugged.
“Thanks.” He tucked it in his book bag. Betsy lifted an eyebrow. “So…. The relationship of Rufus and Norton.” He bullshit.
~***~
“John. Hey John.” John kept his eyes closed, even if Bobby’s fingers were tracing his cheek. He dug his head further into the pillow.
“What?”
“You trying to tell me something with this?” John opened his eyes. Bobby was kneeling next to his bed,
eyes even with John, hand still on John’s cheek. He slid over in the bed, one hip hanging off the edge. Bobby climbed under the covers and went back to stroking his cheek. “You slept through dinner.”
“Don’t care.” Bobby wrinkled his nose.
“You spell like coffee and cigarettes.”
“Lucky for me you like those things.” Bobby nodded and left his palm against John’s cheek. John pulled down the hood of his sweatshirt and tucked his arm under his head. “It’s all I went on today.”
“Ordered you Dominos.”
“Thanks.”
“Why didn’t you sleep in? I told you-“
“Couldn’t sleep.” He couldn’t make eye contact with Bobby when he showed up in Poli Sci, hated himself for feeling rattled.
“You sure you’re ok with this?” John slid his hand under the cover of Bobby’s shirt, holding his hip in answer. Bobby closed his eyes and sighed.
“God Bobby, if that’s all it takes-“
“Fuck you.” John laughed and slid his hand upwards, tugging at his shirt. Bobby pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. “You.” John pulled off his sweatshirt and T-Shirt, knees shifting under the bed. Bobby ran his fingers against John’s chest; he shivered, traced Bobby’s ribs. John didn’t remember deciding not to kiss Bobby but he didn’t and Bobby didn’t, and they just touched and oh god- Bobby tucked one cold finger under the waistband of John’s jeans. Bobby removed the finger.
“What the fuck-“ Bobby palmed the front of John’s jeans, clumsily pushing down, forcing zipper to scrape flesh. “Oh.”
“Take ‘em off.”
“Can’t.”
Bobby stopped touching. “Why?” John scraped his nails gently against Bobby’s pecs, watching the shiver.
“Cause Dominos is gonna be here soon and Summers will flip if the guy idles outside the gate for longer than two seconds or whatever. And one of us has to have pants on to get it.” Bobby bit his lip and looked like he wanted to kiss John.
“They’re calling your cell.” John slipped his hand down Bobby’s pants and felt skin. Bobby arched his back, thrusting his hips into John’s hand.
“Then I guess that answers things, doesn’t it?”
“Someone will get it.” Bobby writhed a little as John gently twisted hair around his index finger.
“And want to know why we didn’t.”
“So? Let ‘em.”
“Wow Bobby. In 24 hours, you’ve gone from Dr. Phil to Dr. Ruth. No wonder people hide their kids from the gay.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not right now.” Bobby panted. John took the moment to kiss him.
~***~
They lay on their backs, crammed onto Bobby’s bed. Two nights ago, John had fallen off the edge, and he still wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the heat. Bobby had stopped wearing underwear under sweatpants, and John was wearing shorts to bed these nights. Their fingers twisted and clenched. Bobby rolled onto his side and kissed him, one finger tracing the pockmarks in John’s bicep, making his way down to the ink. Maybe he should tell them whose cigarettes those had been, whose pennies had made his skin smell like plastic melting. Not now, oh God not now. Bobby smiled at him, lips tight against teeth, and he let his head dig into the pillow. They had pulled the bed away from the wall a few inches, enough so it rocked against nothing. Bobby crept towards him, his knees against John’s hips. “John?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you think it might be time to take you know, the next step?”
“Very After School Special Bobby.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You want to fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Well I don’t know. I think I should consider my options and get back to you.” Bobby flicked his stomach, his index finger ringing against the stud. He pulled on it gently. John rolled his shoulders back, feeling his chest rise. “Considered them. Houston says it’s a go.”
“Cool.” Bobby kissed him; John traced his sides. Bobby slid his hand under John’s back and pushed, trying to force him over.
“Bobby, what the fuck?”
“What?” Bobby did it again. John pulled his chin back.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“I’m not going anywhere Bobby.” Bobby stopped, looked at him.
“I’m not a bottom John.” John laughed. He didn’t mean to.
“Neither am I Bobby. So get the fuck off me.”
“What the hell John?”
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.” John pulled on his jeans and thrust his feet into his boots.
“What the hell is your problem John?”
“I. Don’t. Do. That.”
“And I’m not a fag.”
“Guess we’re just at an impasse then, huh Bobby?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Find yourself some other little bitch Bobby. Ain’t gonna be me.”
“I thought you wanted to have sex!”
John lit a cigarette. Bobby’s hand frosted. “You worried I’m gonna set something on fire Bobby?”
“You’re fucking crazy enough. You’re getting pissed over fucking nothing.”
“Nothing? Is that what you call it?” John stood up, turned. Bobby got off the bed. He was losing his hard on, and he had a bruise on his thigh from his last Danger Room exercise. “I’m not your fag Bobby.”
“I’m. Not. Gay.”
“Well then that’s the shit, ain’t it?” Wait a bit. “Queer.” Bobby hit him. He dropped the cigarette, and went for the chin. The door was locked. They bounced from the bed to the floor. John went for the gut. Bobby must have forgotten any fancy jujitsu crap Logan was passing on because he was just flat out punching at whatever piece of John was in front of his fists. John had one knee on Bobby’s leg- he hoped it was on the bruise- and he wasn’t letting go of that hold. Bobby got a knee under John’s chest and pushed. John hit the door. They sat for a beat, staring at one another. Bobby’s lip and chin was bleeding. He had a bruise on the side of his eye. John spit; it caught Bobby on the leg. He got up and slammed the door, ignoring the people leaning out of their doors.
Stairs. Third door on the left. Garage. Oil smell. Small room. Sports equipment. Kicked the barrel of balls. Kicked it again. Pushed it. Everything flung out in a wave. His foot hurt. Baseball bat. Door. Night air. Mosquitoes were long gone. Fireflies too. Last weekend was first frost. Go to the woods. The bat felt loose in his fingers. First tree too small. Second tree maple? Oak? Fuck knows. Windup, the pitch, and the swing. The swing. Again. Again. Again. His hands hurt. Swing. Something cracked. Goddamn he wasn’t gonna fall. Not now. Not again. Not this time. Swing. Maybe he’d find a bathroom stall, some other little shit with chapped lips. No. No. Tired of bathrooms and back rooms, everything reminded him of things he could have been. Things he wasn’t so far from. A chunk of bark hit his cheek. Driving though. Driving sounded good. Gasoline. Fire. Boom. Swing. He tasted iron. Must be bleeding. His chest hurt. Should stop smoking. Should he see Bobby’s face? Wasn’t even a decent fight. This was some lame shit. Better get the car keys before someone stopped him. Drop the bat. Keys. Set off the alarms, didn’t mean to. Thought that was the right car. Was someone saying his name? Drive fast, no music. Some public talk radio shit. No energy to turn it off. He hoped someone stole the car. Maybe Africa. Yeah. Africa. There was his goddamn five year plan. Fingers weren’t gripping the wheel right and the car was swerving. Pull off the road. Turn the heat up. Lock the doors. Climb into the back seat, and shake to the sports scores.
Someone knocked on the window. He curled tightly and then tried to stretch his legs out. His shoulders were still shaking. Whoever it was, they were blowing smoke against the window. He thought he saw a motorcycle. Against his better judgment, John unlocked the door. Logan climbed in, sat in the back seat and took up entirely too much room. “We got to stop meeting like this kid.” His knees dug into the back of the driver’s seat.
“You fucking serious? You want me to light you on fire?”
Logan left the door open and blew out smoke. “I think I might have blown my hair back.” John ignored the compliment.
“Look, just leave me the fuck alone. I’ll return the car in the morning. Hell, I might put gas in it.” A breeze drifted in the door and tousled his hair.
“Can’t kid. I’m involved now. We’re all involved.”
“That mean Summers is talking to Bobby right now? And the Professor is coaching both of you on what to say? Cute. God I hope he goes with a Goethe quote. That walk two moons crap is so cliché.”
“You need my jacket kid?”
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
John crossed his arms. “How did you get stuck with this job? Sure Braddock would have gone for it. Could have given me a good book. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or some bullshit.” Hank was in France, so the recovery went to Logan? Why did they keep coming after him?
“Cause I went after you.”
“And why’s that? Please say I remind you of you. Please say it.”
“You want to talk?” John laughed. It sounded forced.
“No. Not really.” Sports were back on. “I would like to get falling down drunk though.”
Logan sighed. “Think Charles wouldn’t quite agree with that teaching method.”
“Way to be a badass. Oh, but you’re a teacher now. I see.” Logan reached into his jacket and passed him a flask. He drank long and passed it back. “Thanks.” Logan gulped loudly.
“No problem.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s Scott’s.” This time the laugh sounded real. “Do you want to go back?”
“To what?”
“The Mansion.”
“I don’t know.” They sat.
“Thought you didn’t like silence.”
“The radio’s on. You can change it if you want.”
“It’s fine.” He passed him back the flask. John downed whatever was left.
“I’m not riding back on the back of your hog or whatever.”
“You ok to drive?”
“Enough.” Logan stayed quiet. “I’ll drive slow. Speed limit, even.”
“You get pulled over, you’re on your own.”
“Thought there was no ‘I’ in team.”
“We on a team now?”
“Aren’t we? Mutants against everyone else?”
“Think that’s Magneto talking.”
“No. Erik’s more of ‘blow everyone else to shit’ kind of guy.”
“So I’ve seen.” They sat through world news, waiting for something to have blown up, mothers to have lost sons, those things that John hadn’t felt anything for in a long time. Hell, was it Juvie? Or earlier?
He didn’t drink more than a bottle of red wine, and it was partly gone already. And it was Miles Davis. And he didn’t let himself think, or touch a pen, before passing out on Hank’s bed, his fingers curled tight into the mattress.
Tried posting this earlier, may/may not have gone through. Whoops.
Title: After the Fall: Part Ten (still being told somewhat with meals and dialouge)
Rating: R (language, under age alcohol consumption, sex, and violence)
POV: John
Summary/Spoilers: a/u after "X2". Previous installations located in Memories.
“The only activities I could think of that humans do that have no other animal equivalent were smoking, body-building and writing. That’s not much, considering how special we seem to think we are.” Douglas Coupland “Life After God”
Bobby stood in his shorts when John opened the door. Bobby’s hair shone wetly in the light from his desk, and he grinned. “Hey John. Have some ice cream if you want it.”
John shook his head and stepped into the room. “Uh, no. Actually, we need to talk.” That had not been as easy as Hank has claimed it would be, as they drove for half an hour downtown, looping stop signs without signals and nudging curbs until Hank made him pull over. When he could breathe without shaking, Hank let him move into shotgun and drove them home. John got himself back under control.
“Yeah sure. Hey, the Professor said I could sleep in tomorrow. I’m sure you can too if you talk to Hank or Professor Braddock or someone. Just say I woke you up real bad when I came in.” Bobby spooned a big helping of ice cream into his mouth- looked like Rocky Road.
“That’s great Bobby.”
“Yeah well” he shrugged, “tonight we went to Seattle and there was this girl there who could melt-“
“Hey Bobby? Can we put that on the backburner for a minute or two?”
“Um. OK.” Bobby pulled a shirt over his head, and he sat on the edge of his bed. He was still holding the ice cream. It wouldn’t melt as long as Bobby kept it cool. John’s thigh suddenly seemed to notice the lighter and heat against it. Without meaning to, he raced through the Hail Mary once in his head, getting only slightly tripped up on ‘now and at the hour of our death’. “What’s up?”
“Fuck. Uh…” Bobby waited. “Nothing.” John stepped towards his bed, shrugging off his jacket.
“It’s not nothing John. What is it?”
“It’s just- I-“ John stared at the wall, Bobby’s Frank Miller poster and tried to catch his breath, “are you into dudes Bobby?”
“What?” Bobby was standing, his voice all quiet and calm and tense. The ice cream dropped to the floor.
“I- it’s nothing ok? I don’t know why I said that.” John scratched his face, his neck.
“Where did you hear that?” Bobby balled his hands. John stared at the ice cream leaking onto the carpet.
“I didn’t hear it exactly. Not like that. I- someone led me to believe that maybe, maybe this whole ‘Separate Peace’ thing I keep running into isn’t a one-way street.”
“Did McCoy tell you this?” Bobby was expressionless. That must have been part of the training. Poker faces, battle tactics.
“Not explicitly.” John wondered for a moment if Bobby’s ice cream was melting under just the heat of the lamp. He hadn’t turned on the overhead when he came in, and the one light threw shadows indiscriminately. The whole thing could be a Pollack painting, or one of those German Expressionist films he found in the Library one day during lunch. The hollows in Bobby’s throat looked more pronounced. John glanced down; the light guillotined his body in two. “Look Bobby… this is stupid. I don’t want things to change between us.”
“Change in what way?”
“What?”
“How do you want things to be? Best case?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Like this? Roommates? Friends? Boyfriends?”
“What?” Finally Bobby fidgeted, his left hand combing back his hair. Pieces stuck up in the wake. “Bobby, just- please. All I’ve been getting lately is maybes and hints and people half talking. So, whatever you want to say, just say it. Do you like guys?”
“No.”
“Oh. Oh shit.” John closed his eyes.
“No, John, I didn’t mean all guys. I mean, I don’t like guys, not really, but you’re different.”
“How sentimental of you Bobby.”
Bobby shifted; his bed squeaked. “I told you about me and Hank talking. I just, it wasn’t until after you left, I… like you said about separation.”
“Bobby, if that’s your attempt at clarification, it’s not going so well.” John leaned against the wall. He remembered how tired he was. Bobby’s clock read 5.14. Fuck.
Bobby stood up and stepped towards him. John didn’t flinch. “What do you want to do John?”
“About what Bobby? You’re hinting and suggesting and I know what I want but at the moment I’m fucking tired and fucking confused. Check a box Bobby: yes or no, do you like me?”
“Yes.”
“And how do you want to treat that?”
“Maybe… maybe we go out sometimes?”
“Under aliases? Or what?”
“What do you want?”
“I don’t think it’s necessary for me to quote Joan Jett at this point, but I think the Mansion has a pretty well defined idea of my reputation.”
“And Seth?”
“He knows. Well, I hit him with the gay mutie one-two punch. What about Rogue?”
“It’s ironic. But I don’t think she’ll care.”
“I don’t do PDA.”
“Neither do I.”
“I guess then that explains the whole Rogue fiasco?”
“Shut up John.” Bobby inched closer. John didn’t move. Bobby didn’t break eye contact.
“Fuck it.” John stood up and kissed him. Bobby smelled like vanilla and toothpaste, his skin still slightly damp. He relaxed his hands and touched John’s stomach gingerly. His eyes were fucking closed, but John couldn’t close his. Should he use tongue? Was that too much? He parted his teeth slightly and Bobby’s tongue thrust in. God, John hated chocolate ice cream. Fuck this. He stopped thinking about other things than the kiss. They broke apart, Bobby’s spit on John’s lips.
John rubbed the stubble on his chin. Maybe he wouldn’t shave tomorrow. Today. If he ever got to sleep. Bobby blushed. “So.” Bobby gave a half grin. “Your ice cream is melting Bobby.”
“Huh?” Bobby turned. “Oh shit.” He picked it up and blew on it, put it down on his bed. Bobby went into the bathroom and came back with paper towels. He sponged up the mess and threw them in the trash. John sat down on his bed and kicked off his boots. He cracked his neck and rested his head in his hands, elbows on knees. Bobby sat next to him, the bed squeaking gently. He touched John’s shoulder, squeezed. “So.”
“Yeah.” John sighed.
“You tired?”
“Been up.”
“Me too. Fell asleep in the jet on the way back. Logan gave me this look when I woke up, like I wasn’t old enough for it yet.”
“Logan’s a prick most of the time.”
“Yeah.” Bobby let go of his shoulder and dropped his hand to his thigh. He left it there, probably waiting for John to grab it. John couldn’t bring himself to lift his head though. “Sure you don’t want ice cream?”
“Nah, I’m ok. Think I’m going to go to bed.”
“K.”
“K.” They sat there for another moment. John lifted his head and kissed Bobby’s cheek. He stood. “Night.” He pulled his shirt over his head and let it drop to the floor. Bobby stood and smiled.
“You don’t mind if I stay up a bit?”
“No. Enjoy your ice cream.”
“Thanks.” Bobby went over to his desk and sat in front of his computer, grabbing the carton from his bed. John crawled into bed with his jeans still on and blacked out to the sounds of Bobby’s keyboard clicking.
~***~
John slept like shit. When he woke up, there was blurriness about him and his eyes didn’t focus for a few seconds. Those seconds gave him enough time to remember where he was and what had happened. He checked the other bed- Bobby, out stone cold. Weren’t they supposed to be together in bed right now? Or fucking? That’s how it went in the pornos. John cracked his neck, and closed his eyes, tried to relax. Nothing. He checked the clock. 7:30. Great. Not only had he slept like shit, he had an hour to kill before class. Course he could not go to class, but porn never seemed to mention what happened the night after, beyond the cliché, and since he and Bobby were most definitely not waking up wrapped up in each other’s arms and exchanging Eskimo kisses or whatever, the prospect of Bobby making him waffles was out. And he didn’t feel like having another Talk.
John grabbed the closest shirt on the foot of his bed and put on his boots. Finger combing back his hair, he grabbed his cigarettes and his book bag (last night when killing time he had done all his homework and fucking tonight’s homework too. He sincerely hoped this meant he could do today on autopilot) and headed for the library. Thumbing the racks, he picked a Salinger and collapsed into one of the leather arm chairs. He was on “it was a day, God knows, not only of rampant signs and symbols but of wildly extensive communication via the written word,” when someone said “Good morning” and sat in the chair across from his, setting a steaming mug of coffee and a stack of papers on the table. John’s mouth watered. Summers was looking at him funny. “You’re awake early John.” He shrugged. “Everything alright?” Somehow, John kept from snorting.
“Fine.”
Summers nodded. “I assume you were not out running?”
John snorted this time. “No. Definitely not.”
“You might want to consider it.” Summer picked up a few papers, and pulled the pen out from behind his ear.
John scratched his stomach, his nail tugged on the stud deliciously. “No, that’s all right. I do my time in the Danger Room and that’s plenty. Besides, shouldn’t you be more careful about training the enemy? Benefit really worth the cost and all that?”
“So you have been paying attention in Economics.” John shrugged and put up the book, blocking his face. Summers stopped talking. John finished the novella and pocketed the book. He drank his coffee on the porch smoking.
He grabbed a piece of toast and ate it on the way to Lit, scratched his cheek with one hand while he chewed. Hair tickling the underside of nails. Felt good- maybe Bobby’s hair would feel like that? It was buzzed now. He kept Salinger in his back pocket when he sat, sliding into one of the last seats. Braddock looked at him with one eyebrow raised but didn’t question his deviation from his normal seat. He didn’t feel any buzzing, so he guessed she wasn’t reading his mind either. They were discussing Flannery O’Conner, and John tried to keep from dozing. Too late, a book thudded on his table and slid to him. He jerked awake. “If Miss O’Connor is not holding your attention, perhaps you would prefer to read something else.” He didn’t let himself react, didn’t blush. He picked up the paperback and read the back cover, took his time and stared for a moment longer than was necessary. He looked up and shrugged.
“Thanks.” He tucked it in his book bag. Betsy lifted an eyebrow. “So…. The relationship of Rufus and Norton.” He bullshit.
~***~
“John. Hey John.” John kept his eyes closed, even if Bobby’s fingers were tracing his cheek. He dug his head further into the pillow.
“What?”
“You trying to tell me something with this?” John opened his eyes. Bobby was kneeling next to his bed,
eyes even with John, hand still on John’s cheek. He slid over in the bed, one hip hanging off the edge. Bobby climbed under the covers and went back to stroking his cheek. “You slept through dinner.”
“Don’t care.” Bobby wrinkled his nose.
“You spell like coffee and cigarettes.”
“Lucky for me you like those things.” Bobby nodded and left his palm against John’s cheek. John pulled down the hood of his sweatshirt and tucked his arm under his head. “It’s all I went on today.”
“Ordered you Dominos.”
“Thanks.”
“Why didn’t you sleep in? I told you-“
“Couldn’t sleep.” He couldn’t make eye contact with Bobby when he showed up in Poli Sci, hated himself for feeling rattled.
“You sure you’re ok with this?” John slid his hand under the cover of Bobby’s shirt, holding his hip in answer. Bobby closed his eyes and sighed.
“God Bobby, if that’s all it takes-“
“Fuck you.” John laughed and slid his hand upwards, tugging at his shirt. Bobby pulled it off and dropped it on the floor. “You.” John pulled off his sweatshirt and T-Shirt, knees shifting under the bed. Bobby ran his fingers against John’s chest; he shivered, traced Bobby’s ribs. John didn’t remember deciding not to kiss Bobby but he didn’t and Bobby didn’t, and they just touched and oh god- Bobby tucked one cold finger under the waistband of John’s jeans. Bobby removed the finger.
“What the fuck-“ Bobby palmed the front of John’s jeans, clumsily pushing down, forcing zipper to scrape flesh. “Oh.”
“Take ‘em off.”
“Can’t.”
Bobby stopped touching. “Why?” John scraped his nails gently against Bobby’s pecs, watching the shiver.
“Cause Dominos is gonna be here soon and Summers will flip if the guy idles outside the gate for longer than two seconds or whatever. And one of us has to have pants on to get it.” Bobby bit his lip and looked like he wanted to kiss John.
“They’re calling your cell.” John slipped his hand down Bobby’s pants and felt skin. Bobby arched his back, thrusting his hips into John’s hand.
“Then I guess that answers things, doesn’t it?”
“Someone will get it.” Bobby writhed a little as John gently twisted hair around his index finger.
“And want to know why we didn’t.”
“So? Let ‘em.”
“Wow Bobby. In 24 hours, you’ve gone from Dr. Phil to Dr. Ruth. No wonder people hide their kids from the gay.”
“Fuck you.”
“Not right now.” Bobby panted. John took the moment to kiss him.
~***~
They lay on their backs, crammed onto Bobby’s bed. Two nights ago, John had fallen off the edge, and he still wasn’t sure if it was the wine or the heat. Bobby had stopped wearing underwear under sweatpants, and John was wearing shorts to bed these nights. Their fingers twisted and clenched. Bobby rolled onto his side and kissed him, one finger tracing the pockmarks in John’s bicep, making his way down to the ink. Maybe he should tell them whose cigarettes those had been, whose pennies had made his skin smell like plastic melting. Not now, oh God not now. Bobby smiled at him, lips tight against teeth, and he let his head dig into the pillow. They had pulled the bed away from the wall a few inches, enough so it rocked against nothing. Bobby crept towards him, his knees against John’s hips. “John?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you think it might be time to take you know, the next step?”
“Very After School Special Bobby.”
“You know what I mean.”
“You want to fuck.”
“Yeah.”
“Well I don’t know. I think I should consider my options and get back to you.” Bobby flicked his stomach, his index finger ringing against the stud. He pulled on it gently. John rolled his shoulders back, feeling his chest rise. “Considered them. Houston says it’s a go.”
“Cool.” Bobby kissed him; John traced his sides. Bobby slid his hand under John’s back and pushed, trying to force him over.
“Bobby, what the fuck?”
“What?” Bobby did it again. John pulled his chin back.
“Stop it.”
“What?”
“I’m not going anywhere Bobby.” Bobby stopped, looked at him.
“I’m not a bottom John.” John laughed. He didn’t mean to.
“Neither am I Bobby. So get the fuck off me.”
“What the hell John?”
“Fuck you, you fucking bitch.” John pulled on his jeans and thrust his feet into his boots.
“What the hell is your problem John?”
“I. Don’t. Do. That.”
“And I’m not a fag.”
“Guess we’re just at an impasse then, huh Bobby?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Find yourself some other little bitch Bobby. Ain’t gonna be me.”
“I thought you wanted to have sex!”
John lit a cigarette. Bobby’s hand frosted. “You worried I’m gonna set something on fire Bobby?”
“You’re fucking crazy enough. You’re getting pissed over fucking nothing.”
“Nothing? Is that what you call it?” John stood up, turned. Bobby got off the bed. He was losing his hard on, and he had a bruise on his thigh from his last Danger Room exercise. “I’m not your fag Bobby.”
“I’m. Not. Gay.”
“Well then that’s the shit, ain’t it?” Wait a bit. “Queer.” Bobby hit him. He dropped the cigarette, and went for the chin. The door was locked. They bounced from the bed to the floor. John went for the gut. Bobby must have forgotten any fancy jujitsu crap Logan was passing on because he was just flat out punching at whatever piece of John was in front of his fists. John had one knee on Bobby’s leg- he hoped it was on the bruise- and he wasn’t letting go of that hold. Bobby got a knee under John’s chest and pushed. John hit the door. They sat for a beat, staring at one another. Bobby’s lip and chin was bleeding. He had a bruise on the side of his eye. John spit; it caught Bobby on the leg. He got up and slammed the door, ignoring the people leaning out of their doors.
Stairs. Third door on the left. Garage. Oil smell. Small room. Sports equipment. Kicked the barrel of balls. Kicked it again. Pushed it. Everything flung out in a wave. His foot hurt. Baseball bat. Door. Night air. Mosquitoes were long gone. Fireflies too. Last weekend was first frost. Go to the woods. The bat felt loose in his fingers. First tree too small. Second tree maple? Oak? Fuck knows. Windup, the pitch, and the swing. The swing. Again. Again. Again. His hands hurt. Swing. Something cracked. Goddamn he wasn’t gonna fall. Not now. Not again. Not this time. Swing. Maybe he’d find a bathroom stall, some other little shit with chapped lips. No. No. Tired of bathrooms and back rooms, everything reminded him of things he could have been. Things he wasn’t so far from. A chunk of bark hit his cheek. Driving though. Driving sounded good. Gasoline. Fire. Boom. Swing. He tasted iron. Must be bleeding. His chest hurt. Should stop smoking. Should he see Bobby’s face? Wasn’t even a decent fight. This was some lame shit. Better get the car keys before someone stopped him. Drop the bat. Keys. Set off the alarms, didn’t mean to. Thought that was the right car. Was someone saying his name? Drive fast, no music. Some public talk radio shit. No energy to turn it off. He hoped someone stole the car. Maybe Africa. Yeah. Africa. There was his goddamn five year plan. Fingers weren’t gripping the wheel right and the car was swerving. Pull off the road. Turn the heat up. Lock the doors. Climb into the back seat, and shake to the sports scores.
Someone knocked on the window. He curled tightly and then tried to stretch his legs out. His shoulders were still shaking. Whoever it was, they were blowing smoke against the window. He thought he saw a motorcycle. Against his better judgment, John unlocked the door. Logan climbed in, sat in the back seat and took up entirely too much room. “We got to stop meeting like this kid.” His knees dug into the back of the driver’s seat.
“You fucking serious? You want me to light you on fire?”
Logan left the door open and blew out smoke. “I think I might have blown my hair back.” John ignored the compliment.
“Look, just leave me the fuck alone. I’ll return the car in the morning. Hell, I might put gas in it.” A breeze drifted in the door and tousled his hair.
“Can’t kid. I’m involved now. We’re all involved.”
“That mean Summers is talking to Bobby right now? And the Professor is coaching both of you on what to say? Cute. God I hope he goes with a Goethe quote. That walk two moons crap is so cliché.”
“You need my jacket kid?”
“I don’t want it.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
John crossed his arms. “How did you get stuck with this job? Sure Braddock would have gone for it. Could have given me a good book. Cat on a Hot Tin Roof or some bullshit.” Hank was in France, so the recovery went to Logan? Why did they keep coming after him?
“Cause I went after you.”
“And why’s that? Please say I remind you of you. Please say it.”
“You want to talk?” John laughed. It sounded forced.
“No. Not really.” Sports were back on. “I would like to get falling down drunk though.”
Logan sighed. “Think Charles wouldn’t quite agree with that teaching method.”
“Way to be a badass. Oh, but you’re a teacher now. I see.” Logan reached into his jacket and passed him a flask. He drank long and passed it back. “Thanks.” Logan gulped loudly.
“No problem.”
“That’s good.”
“It’s Scott’s.” This time the laugh sounded real. “Do you want to go back?”
“To what?”
“The Mansion.”
“I don’t know.” They sat.
“Thought you didn’t like silence.”
“The radio’s on. You can change it if you want.”
“It’s fine.” He passed him back the flask. John downed whatever was left.
“I’m not riding back on the back of your hog or whatever.”
“You ok to drive?”
“Enough.” Logan stayed quiet. “I’ll drive slow. Speed limit, even.”
“You get pulled over, you’re on your own.”
“Thought there was no ‘I’ in team.”
“We on a team now?”
“Aren’t we? Mutants against everyone else?”
“Think that’s Magneto talking.”
“No. Erik’s more of ‘blow everyone else to shit’ kind of guy.”
“So I’ve seen.” They sat through world news, waiting for something to have blown up, mothers to have lost sons, those things that John hadn’t felt anything for in a long time. Hell, was it Juvie? Or earlier?
He didn’t drink more than a bottle of red wine, and it was partly gone already. And it was Miles Davis. And he didn’t let himself think, or touch a pen, before passing out on Hank’s bed, his fingers curled tight into the mattress.
Tried posting this earlier, may/may not have gone through. Whoops.