Robert Drake's Lost Hope
TITLE: Robert Drake's Lost Hope
AUTHOR: ayumie
RATING: NC-17 (maybe R)
PAIRING: John/Bobby
SUMMARY: When Pyro saw the newsreel about the sudden ice age that had descended over a nice Boston suburb, he knew what had happened.
NOTES: Since everybody seems to be doing the angst thing, I thought I'd jumo onto the bandagon. My heartfelt thanks go to to my brilliant beta-reader lea724 and rivrea, whose sage advice helped bring this fic along. Also, comments make me happy ;)
Robert Drake's Lost Hope
When Pyro saw the newsreel about the sudden ice age that had descended over a nice Boston suburb, he knew what had happened. What he didn’t know was why he immediately called Mystique to tell her he wouldn’t be available for missions for the next few days and drove a rental car six hours to Massachusetts.
*
The edge of the ice was startling. Even after the crowd of spectators and the police tape the transition from warm spring afternoon to Arctic hit him like a punch. Well, he was used to that. Cupping a small ball of fire in his hand, he ducked past the tape and into somebody’s backyard. The ground was slippery, almost impossible to negotiate, and Pyro fell twice before he could slow down without fear of discovery. He hadn’t realized that it’d be this far. The ice was all around him, covering every surface like a shroud. He briefly looked at the houses, wondering if there were people in there, freezing, dying. There was no living thing as far as the eye could see. It was impressive as hell. Who would have thought little Bobby Drake could do something like this?
Pyro pushed on. The X-Men had to be around somewhere. He could feel Storm in the flawless blue sky, in the strength of the sun. When he reached the house, though, there was no one in sight. Nothing had changed. He could still see the torch marks he had left on the porch, although now they were covered by a foot of solid ice. The rest of the house was in a similar state.
He found Bobby upstairs in his old room. It had been a long time since he had seen him out of his ice form, without his X-Men leathers and Pyro wondered at how young he still looked and how lost. Bobby had to know that he was here, but he wasn’t doing anything, was just sitting on the bed and staring at his hands. He didn’t even try to extinguish Pyro’s fire. Sloppy. And dangerous.
Pyro stayed close to the door, grateful for the warmth of his flames as the cold crept up from his feet. He waited. After a long time, Bobby looked up.
“It was a car crash. I … I didn’t speak to them after, you know… The Professor wanted me to, he talked to them, but I just couldn’t…”
Pyro wanted to say that this was how it should be, that they didn’t deserve anything else. Not after what they had done. He kept his mouth shut, though. Bobby clenched his fists.
“I .. I should have tried. I should have … and now it’s too late.”
After a moment Pyro decided that it was his turn.
“So, where’s the leather brigade?”
“I- I attacked Kitty. She was so sympathetic and …. and understanding and I just couldn’t take it.”
Bobby was looking at him like he thought he’d understand. In a way, he did. He got the hurt and the anger and even why Bobby would blame himself. What he didn’t get was the desire to just sit there and wait for the police to arrive. Pyro scowled. The X-Men wouldn’t stop them, not when it came down to it. Oh, they’d talk and talk and go through the official channels, but in the end the police would do what they always did: rush in with their guns drawn and all it took was one bullet, because Bobby wouldn’t heal. The thought made him angry.
“You can’t stay here, you know. Sooner or later they will decide that you’re dangerous, no matter what your little friends say. And you know what I’ll do.”
A feral grin and Bobby’s eyes widened.
“You wouldn’t.”
Instinctive denial, even after all this time.
“I’m here, ain’t I? Your choice, Bobby-boy.”
It really was as simple as that. He’d cheerfully fight the police, fight Iceman, if it meant getting Bobby out of here. Because this wasn’t how it was meant to end, not in this shithole of a place where so much had gone wrong already.
In the end, Bobby gave in as he had known he would. Pyro didn’t have a plan. It seemed only natural to push Bobby into his car (nothing to see, just a couple of college students on their way home) and start driving. Neither boy spoke as they left Boston. Pyro forced himself to drive slowly, to ignore the police cars still heading in the opposite direction. They’d figure it out, the connection between the house and Xavier’s. They’d dig up the reports from the last time they had been there and that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Pyro was a wanted terrorist. Xavier might be able to bury any charges against Bobby later on, but for the time being he'd better get him as far away as possible.
By the time Pyro pulled into a nondescript motel, it was dark. He killed the motor and stretched, arms reaching back to grip the headrest. He sighed, feeling the edge of the lighter in his pocket dig into his thigh.
“You can call them, you know. Just give me a few minutes to disappear.”
“Actually, I’m really tired.”
The room was what Pyro had grown to expect: bland comfort, air-conditioning at full blast, and windows that hadn’t been opened in weeks. Pyro got sandwiches and sodas from the gift shop, but neither of them felt like eating. In the end he just kicked off his boots and lay down on the bed near the window. For a moment he wondered when it had all gone wrong. Then he stopped.
He felt the mattress dip beside him.
“Can I-?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Bobby didn’t even pretend to stay on his side of the bed. Within seconds Pyro felt cool breath against the nape of his neck, a heavy arm around his waist. Bobby.
“It’s stupid, but I always felt that if Ronny hadn’t called the police that day, if we hadn’t fought…”
“You’re right. That’s stupid. Now shut up.”
God, trust Bobby to want to bare his soul. Not that he’d ever understand. The disappointment, the sheer fury Striker’s attack had unleashed in John, because, in spite of everything, he had felt safe at Xavier’s. But they hadn’t been, would never be, unless something changed and not only were the X-Men failing, as often as not, they were defending the fucking bastards who were targeting mutants. Suddenly Pyro felt very tired. He closed his eyes, willing this day to be over already.
*
They had breakfast in the car, cheap coffee in paper cups and yesterday's sandwiches. After he had finished his own, Pyro watched Bobby crumble the soft bread. Sighing softly, he started the engine.
“I’ll drive you home.”
Suddenly Bobby looked up.
“To tell the truth ... I'm not sure I want to go back.”
Pyro stared. It took a few seconds for those words to sink in and when they did, they didn’t make sense, not to anyone who knew Bobby. None of this did.
“What do you mean, you're not sure?”
Instead of answering Bobby pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. It took Pyro a moment to unfold it and scan its content. A nasty little smile tugged at his lips. It was an anti-mutant flyer, nothing new or terribly original, but bad enough in its own right.
“I found these at my parents house. They ... they were good people. They were my parents. If they believed these, if the Professor couldn't get through to even them, then ... then maybe it really is hopeless.”
What was he supposed to say now? They didn't really mean it? They must have had reasons? If you could talk to them right now, they would tell you how much they love you? Bullshit.
For one terrible moment Pyro thought that it was some kind of trap, a ploy to infiltrate the Brotherhood. Then he remembered the ice and surely the X-Men wouldn’t endanger all those people. He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t do that to Bobby.
Finally, Pyro just stuffed the flyer into his jacket and put the car into drive. He pushed the buttons of the radio until he found a station that didn't play country music or bubblegum pop. He drove aimlessly, away from Boston, away from the coast, only stopping once to force Bobby to eat. In the end it was the threat to burn down the diner and all its customers that did it.
By nightfall they checked into yet another motel. Food, a quick shower, and Pyro hated the silence that was stretching between them, hated seeing Bobby like this. And, sure, he hated Bobby at times, tormented him with words and actions, but he didn't want him to hurt, not without being the cause of it.
Pyro stepped out of the bathroom, shivering as a blast from the air-con hit his wet hair. Bobby was sitting on one of the beds, still looking forlorn, miserable. Fresh anger welled in Pyro's stomach. He wanted fire, needed to feel it crawl out of his hands and rise. Clenching his fists at the need to reach for his lighter, he turned on Bobby.
“So, is there a particular reason you don't feel like going back to the X-Geeks? Things getting too tough without your girlfriend holding your hand?”
Bobby failed to rise to the jab, failed to even look at him, which rankled all the more.
“Ran off with Wolverine, didn't she? Well, what would you expect from her sort?”
He hadn't meant to say these things, he really hadn't, but at least Bobby finally lifted his head.
“It wasn't like that. She doesn't - I was the one who broke up with her. It's- it's just that I thought that it would get better. Being an X-Man.”
Bobby paused, stared at his hands for moment, before he continued in quick, breathless words.
“There are so few of us left. People leave, get cured, die. Even the kids are scared. And you know what? They are right, because after every holiday another one of them doesn't come back. Their parents are curing them, John. The Professor says that we've got to keep doing what we have always done, convince people one by one, but it's like he doesn't even believe it anymore. He's ... he's trying to be himself, only he isn't. Kitty thinks it's something about his new body, hardware and software or whatever, but ... but it feels like all of us have somehow lost hope. Kitty and Piotr and I, we try, but it isn't enough. It just isn't enough! And now my parents...”
For a moment Pyro didn't know what to say, unable to process the jumbled mess he had just heard. This was ... seriously fucked up. Bobby needed comforting, reassurance of some sort, and Pyro sure as hell wasn't the right person to give him that. He quickly looked away.
“Look, I'm sorry I said that just now. But I really think you ought to go back to the school and talk to somebody there. Maybe Storm. She's not totally useless.”
Bobby gave something between a laugh and a sob.
“Yeah, that's great advice, coming from you.”
Silence.
“Could you ... could you come here and sit with me for a moment?”
Pyro hesitated. Then he moved gingerly towards the bed. Bobby pulled him down, pulled him close, face cool and damp as he pressed it against Pyro's neck. For a tiny moment, he allowed himself to think that it could be done: that Bobby was so hurt, so confused, he could be persuaded to abandon the X-Men for good, could be talked into coming with Pyro. He'd protect Bobby, slowly ease him into the Brotherhood, and they could be together and it'd be...
No. He had been through too much to indulge in pretty fantasies. There just wasn't enough anger, enough fear, in Bobby to make him Brotherhood material. He had to remember. Bobby was Iceman, was the enemy, even when he was curled around him like he was the only warmth left in this world, even when Pyro's fingers slipped into Bobby's hair, palm resting against baby-soft skin.
*
In the morning Bobby kissed him. It was sweet and drowsy and everything he didn't need. This was the way they had used to kiss a long time ago, before they had become all about guilt and anger and jealousy, before Rogue.
Pyro frowned, tugging at Bobby's hair to get him to break the kiss. Looking into those lost, blue eyes, he suddenly felt very tired.
“Fucking me isn't going to change anything. You know that right? This doesn't change anything.”
He expected Bobby to look hurt, to pull away and maybe try to argue, but the other boy just sighed wearily.
“Yes, I know.”
Maybe Bobby was right and they had lost hope - not that hope had ever done him much good. The next kiss was harder and, feeling sharp teeth tug at his lower lip, Pyro moaned. His body was moving on auto-pilot, one leg bent awkwardly as he twisted into Bobby's touch. He had forgotten that Bobby could be like this, rough and desperate, and soon enough he was panting helplessly, all but baring his throat as that cool mouth brushed his ear.
They had both slept in their underwear, which was fine, really, since it meant fewer clothes to take off. Then there was nothing but naked skin and Pyro arched his back, testing the weight, the strength that had settled on top of him. There was something raw in Bobby's eyes, something that hadn't been there before. Suddenly, he needed more, more contact, more friction, more of everything. He ran his hands down the other boy's back, squeezed his ass to urge him into the movement. Bobby shuddered, stilled.
“Don't. I can't ... I need...”
Pyro felt the air around them chill, knew that Bobby must be close to the breaking point. He smiled gently and ran his fingers over a stubbly cheek.
“Don't worry so much. Just fuck me.”
Bobby moaned like he couldn't help it and sat up, wildly looking around.
“In my jacket.”
When the other boy scrambled off the bed, Pyro quickly rolled over and got onto his knees. Then the other boy was back, fingers cold and slick as they pressed into him. He tried to relax, to steady himself as he felt the blunt pressure of Bobby's cock. Pyro hissed at the sting of the first thrust, struggling to catch his breath. He never got the chance. Bobby started moving immediately, muttering low, broken words that made no sense at all. There was sweat and frost and, shivering, Pyro tried to meet Bobby's thrusts, but there wasn't enough of a rhythm to make it work. When the other boy suddenly cried out and came with a helpless jerk of his hips, he could have wailed in frustration.
Pyro let himself collapse and, extricating himself, immediately reached for his dick. He jerked it frantically to get some relief, but after a moment his hands were pushed aside and he looked up to meet Bobby's eyes.
“Here, let me-”
The other boy’s lips were cool against his flesh, firm and practised and he didn’t last much longer than had. Fingers clenching into soft, blond hair, Pyro came hard.
It took him a while to calm his breathing, to remember the last five years, but when he opened his eyes, Pyro knew what he had to do. Feigning nonchalance, he got up and fled into the bedroom. He couldn't give Bobby hope.
*
That day Pyro drove steadily, trying to steel himself for the upcoming confrontation. If Bobby realized where they were going, he didn't show it. But all too soon the mansion was looming in front of them, dark and forbidding against the overcast sky. Pyro stopped the car and, keeping his eyes on the road, jerked his head.
“Get out.”
Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. He could feel Bobby looking at him, feel his confusion.
“Why?”
Pyro reached into his pocket, found the flyer the other boy had given him the other day. He smoothed the worn paper and handed it back to Bobby.
“You know, I've met the guy who made these. Well, others like these. Mystique traced him from his website. The bastard burned.”
Bobby's eyes were wide now, troubled. Pyro laughed
“You're one of them, Bobby. Maybe you think you've changed, but you didn't. You're just being stupid. So stop wasting my time. Go back to your little friends and pull kittens out of trees, or something.”
God, how he wished Bobby would just take the hint and leave, wouldn't keep looking at him until he had to meet his eyes. Pyro wasn't sure what the other boy read in his gaze, but after a moment Bobby softened and slowly, hesitantly, reached for the door.
“John, I-”
“Don't.”
For a moment he thought that he saw Bobby smile.
“Thank you.”
And then it was over. Mind curiously blank, Pyro watched the other boy walk away. The moment Bobby disappeared through the gate, he reached for his cell phone. Mystique answered on the second ring. He could hear the grin in her voice.
“You coming in, kid? Everything taken care of?”
“Yeah. Tell the old man I'll see him tomorrow. And 'stique? I'm in the mood for work. Have something good for me when I get there.”
THE END
AUTHOR: ayumie
RATING: NC-17 (maybe R)
PAIRING: John/Bobby
SUMMARY: When Pyro saw the newsreel about the sudden ice age that had descended over a nice Boston suburb, he knew what had happened.
NOTES: Since everybody seems to be doing the angst thing, I thought I'd jumo onto the bandagon. My heartfelt thanks go to to my brilliant beta-reader lea724 and rivrea, whose sage advice helped bring this fic along. Also, comments make me happy ;)
Robert Drake's Lost Hope
When Pyro saw the newsreel about the sudden ice age that had descended over a nice Boston suburb, he knew what had happened. What he didn’t know was why he immediately called Mystique to tell her he wouldn’t be available for missions for the next few days and drove a rental car six hours to Massachusetts.
*
The edge of the ice was startling. Even after the crowd of spectators and the police tape the transition from warm spring afternoon to Arctic hit him like a punch. Well, he was used to that. Cupping a small ball of fire in his hand, he ducked past the tape and into somebody’s backyard. The ground was slippery, almost impossible to negotiate, and Pyro fell twice before he could slow down without fear of discovery. He hadn’t realized that it’d be this far. The ice was all around him, covering every surface like a shroud. He briefly looked at the houses, wondering if there were people in there, freezing, dying. There was no living thing as far as the eye could see. It was impressive as hell. Who would have thought little Bobby Drake could do something like this?
Pyro pushed on. The X-Men had to be around somewhere. He could feel Storm in the flawless blue sky, in the strength of the sun. When he reached the house, though, there was no one in sight. Nothing had changed. He could still see the torch marks he had left on the porch, although now they were covered by a foot of solid ice. The rest of the house was in a similar state.
He found Bobby upstairs in his old room. It had been a long time since he had seen him out of his ice form, without his X-Men leathers and Pyro wondered at how young he still looked and how lost. Bobby had to know that he was here, but he wasn’t doing anything, was just sitting on the bed and staring at his hands. He didn’t even try to extinguish Pyro’s fire. Sloppy. And dangerous.
Pyro stayed close to the door, grateful for the warmth of his flames as the cold crept up from his feet. He waited. After a long time, Bobby looked up.
“It was a car crash. I … I didn’t speak to them after, you know… The Professor wanted me to, he talked to them, but I just couldn’t…”
Pyro wanted to say that this was how it should be, that they didn’t deserve anything else. Not after what they had done. He kept his mouth shut, though. Bobby clenched his fists.
“I .. I should have tried. I should have … and now it’s too late.”
After a moment Pyro decided that it was his turn.
“So, where’s the leather brigade?”
“I- I attacked Kitty. She was so sympathetic and …. and understanding and I just couldn’t take it.”
Bobby was looking at him like he thought he’d understand. In a way, he did. He got the hurt and the anger and even why Bobby would blame himself. What he didn’t get was the desire to just sit there and wait for the police to arrive. Pyro scowled. The X-Men wouldn’t stop them, not when it came down to it. Oh, they’d talk and talk and go through the official channels, but in the end the police would do what they always did: rush in with their guns drawn and all it took was one bullet, because Bobby wouldn’t heal. The thought made him angry.
“You can’t stay here, you know. Sooner or later they will decide that you’re dangerous, no matter what your little friends say. And you know what I’ll do.”
A feral grin and Bobby’s eyes widened.
“You wouldn’t.”
Instinctive denial, even after all this time.
“I’m here, ain’t I? Your choice, Bobby-boy.”
It really was as simple as that. He’d cheerfully fight the police, fight Iceman, if it meant getting Bobby out of here. Because this wasn’t how it was meant to end, not in this shithole of a place where so much had gone wrong already.
In the end, Bobby gave in as he had known he would. Pyro didn’t have a plan. It seemed only natural to push Bobby into his car (nothing to see, just a couple of college students on their way home) and start driving. Neither boy spoke as they left Boston. Pyro forced himself to drive slowly, to ignore the police cars still heading in the opposite direction. They’d figure it out, the connection between the house and Xavier’s. They’d dig up the reports from the last time they had been there and that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that Pyro was a wanted terrorist. Xavier might be able to bury any charges against Bobby later on, but for the time being he'd better get him as far away as possible.
By the time Pyro pulled into a nondescript motel, it was dark. He killed the motor and stretched, arms reaching back to grip the headrest. He sighed, feeling the edge of the lighter in his pocket dig into his thigh.
“You can call them, you know. Just give me a few minutes to disappear.”
“Actually, I’m really tired.”
The room was what Pyro had grown to expect: bland comfort, air-conditioning at full blast, and windows that hadn’t been opened in weeks. Pyro got sandwiches and sodas from the gift shop, but neither of them felt like eating. In the end he just kicked off his boots and lay down on the bed near the window. For a moment he wondered when it had all gone wrong. Then he stopped.
He felt the mattress dip beside him.
“Can I-?”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Bobby didn’t even pretend to stay on his side of the bed. Within seconds Pyro felt cool breath against the nape of his neck, a heavy arm around his waist. Bobby.
“It’s stupid, but I always felt that if Ronny hadn’t called the police that day, if we hadn’t fought…”
“You’re right. That’s stupid. Now shut up.”
God, trust Bobby to want to bare his soul. Not that he’d ever understand. The disappointment, the sheer fury Striker’s attack had unleashed in John, because, in spite of everything, he had felt safe at Xavier’s. But they hadn’t been, would never be, unless something changed and not only were the X-Men failing, as often as not, they were defending the fucking bastards who were targeting mutants. Suddenly Pyro felt very tired. He closed his eyes, willing this day to be over already.
*
They had breakfast in the car, cheap coffee in paper cups and yesterday's sandwiches. After he had finished his own, Pyro watched Bobby crumble the soft bread. Sighing softly, he started the engine.
“I’ll drive you home.”
Suddenly Bobby looked up.
“To tell the truth ... I'm not sure I want to go back.”
Pyro stared. It took a few seconds for those words to sink in and when they did, they didn’t make sense, not to anyone who knew Bobby. None of this did.
“What do you mean, you're not sure?”
Instead of answering Bobby pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his pocket. It took Pyro a moment to unfold it and scan its content. A nasty little smile tugged at his lips. It was an anti-mutant flyer, nothing new or terribly original, but bad enough in its own right.
“I found these at my parents house. They ... they were good people. They were my parents. If they believed these, if the Professor couldn't get through to even them, then ... then maybe it really is hopeless.”
What was he supposed to say now? They didn't really mean it? They must have had reasons? If you could talk to them right now, they would tell you how much they love you? Bullshit.
For one terrible moment Pyro thought that it was some kind of trap, a ploy to infiltrate the Brotherhood. Then he remembered the ice and surely the X-Men wouldn’t endanger all those people. He sincerely hoped they wouldn’t do that to Bobby.
Finally, Pyro just stuffed the flyer into his jacket and put the car into drive. He pushed the buttons of the radio until he found a station that didn't play country music or bubblegum pop. He drove aimlessly, away from Boston, away from the coast, only stopping once to force Bobby to eat. In the end it was the threat to burn down the diner and all its customers that did it.
By nightfall they checked into yet another motel. Food, a quick shower, and Pyro hated the silence that was stretching between them, hated seeing Bobby like this. And, sure, he hated Bobby at times, tormented him with words and actions, but he didn't want him to hurt, not without being the cause of it.
Pyro stepped out of the bathroom, shivering as a blast from the air-con hit his wet hair. Bobby was sitting on one of the beds, still looking forlorn, miserable. Fresh anger welled in Pyro's stomach. He wanted fire, needed to feel it crawl out of his hands and rise. Clenching his fists at the need to reach for his lighter, he turned on Bobby.
“So, is there a particular reason you don't feel like going back to the X-Geeks? Things getting too tough without your girlfriend holding your hand?”
Bobby failed to rise to the jab, failed to even look at him, which rankled all the more.
“Ran off with Wolverine, didn't she? Well, what would you expect from her sort?”
He hadn't meant to say these things, he really hadn't, but at least Bobby finally lifted his head.
“It wasn't like that. She doesn't - I was the one who broke up with her. It's- it's just that I thought that it would get better. Being an X-Man.”
Bobby paused, stared at his hands for moment, before he continued in quick, breathless words.
“There are so few of us left. People leave, get cured, die. Even the kids are scared. And you know what? They are right, because after every holiday another one of them doesn't come back. Their parents are curing them, John. The Professor says that we've got to keep doing what we have always done, convince people one by one, but it's like he doesn't even believe it anymore. He's ... he's trying to be himself, only he isn't. Kitty thinks it's something about his new body, hardware and software or whatever, but ... but it feels like all of us have somehow lost hope. Kitty and Piotr and I, we try, but it isn't enough. It just isn't enough! And now my parents...”
For a moment Pyro didn't know what to say, unable to process the jumbled mess he had just heard. This was ... seriously fucked up. Bobby needed comforting, reassurance of some sort, and Pyro sure as hell wasn't the right person to give him that. He quickly looked away.
“Look, I'm sorry I said that just now. But I really think you ought to go back to the school and talk to somebody there. Maybe Storm. She's not totally useless.”
Bobby gave something between a laugh and a sob.
“Yeah, that's great advice, coming from you.”
Silence.
“Could you ... could you come here and sit with me for a moment?”
Pyro hesitated. Then he moved gingerly towards the bed. Bobby pulled him down, pulled him close, face cool and damp as he pressed it against Pyro's neck. For a tiny moment, he allowed himself to think that it could be done: that Bobby was so hurt, so confused, he could be persuaded to abandon the X-Men for good, could be talked into coming with Pyro. He'd protect Bobby, slowly ease him into the Brotherhood, and they could be together and it'd be...
No. He had been through too much to indulge in pretty fantasies. There just wasn't enough anger, enough fear, in Bobby to make him Brotherhood material. He had to remember. Bobby was Iceman, was the enemy, even when he was curled around him like he was the only warmth left in this world, even when Pyro's fingers slipped into Bobby's hair, palm resting against baby-soft skin.
*
In the morning Bobby kissed him. It was sweet and drowsy and everything he didn't need. This was the way they had used to kiss a long time ago, before they had become all about guilt and anger and jealousy, before Rogue.
Pyro frowned, tugging at Bobby's hair to get him to break the kiss. Looking into those lost, blue eyes, he suddenly felt very tired.
“Fucking me isn't going to change anything. You know that right? This doesn't change anything.”
He expected Bobby to look hurt, to pull away and maybe try to argue, but the other boy just sighed wearily.
“Yes, I know.”
Maybe Bobby was right and they had lost hope - not that hope had ever done him much good. The next kiss was harder and, feeling sharp teeth tug at his lower lip, Pyro moaned. His body was moving on auto-pilot, one leg bent awkwardly as he twisted into Bobby's touch. He had forgotten that Bobby could be like this, rough and desperate, and soon enough he was panting helplessly, all but baring his throat as that cool mouth brushed his ear.
They had both slept in their underwear, which was fine, really, since it meant fewer clothes to take off. Then there was nothing but naked skin and Pyro arched his back, testing the weight, the strength that had settled on top of him. There was something raw in Bobby's eyes, something that hadn't been there before. Suddenly, he needed more, more contact, more friction, more of everything. He ran his hands down the other boy's back, squeezed his ass to urge him into the movement. Bobby shuddered, stilled.
“Don't. I can't ... I need...”
Pyro felt the air around them chill, knew that Bobby must be close to the breaking point. He smiled gently and ran his fingers over a stubbly cheek.
“Don't worry so much. Just fuck me.”
Bobby moaned like he couldn't help it and sat up, wildly looking around.
“In my jacket.”
When the other boy scrambled off the bed, Pyro quickly rolled over and got onto his knees. Then the other boy was back, fingers cold and slick as they pressed into him. He tried to relax, to steady himself as he felt the blunt pressure of Bobby's cock. Pyro hissed at the sting of the first thrust, struggling to catch his breath. He never got the chance. Bobby started moving immediately, muttering low, broken words that made no sense at all. There was sweat and frost and, shivering, Pyro tried to meet Bobby's thrusts, but there wasn't enough of a rhythm to make it work. When the other boy suddenly cried out and came with a helpless jerk of his hips, he could have wailed in frustration.
Pyro let himself collapse and, extricating himself, immediately reached for his dick. He jerked it frantically to get some relief, but after a moment his hands were pushed aside and he looked up to meet Bobby's eyes.
“Here, let me-”
The other boy’s lips were cool against his flesh, firm and practised and he didn’t last much longer than had. Fingers clenching into soft, blond hair, Pyro came hard.
It took him a while to calm his breathing, to remember the last five years, but when he opened his eyes, Pyro knew what he had to do. Feigning nonchalance, he got up and fled into the bedroom. He couldn't give Bobby hope.
*
That day Pyro drove steadily, trying to steel himself for the upcoming confrontation. If Bobby realized where they were going, he didn't show it. But all too soon the mansion was looming in front of them, dark and forbidding against the overcast sky. Pyro stopped the car and, keeping his eyes on the road, jerked his head.
“Get out.”
Of course, it wasn't going to be that easy. He could feel Bobby looking at him, feel his confusion.
“Why?”
Pyro reached into his pocket, found the flyer the other boy had given him the other day. He smoothed the worn paper and handed it back to Bobby.
“You know, I've met the guy who made these. Well, others like these. Mystique traced him from his website. The bastard burned.”
Bobby's eyes were wide now, troubled. Pyro laughed
“You're one of them, Bobby. Maybe you think you've changed, but you didn't. You're just being stupid. So stop wasting my time. Go back to your little friends and pull kittens out of trees, or something.”
God, how he wished Bobby would just take the hint and leave, wouldn't keep looking at him until he had to meet his eyes. Pyro wasn't sure what the other boy read in his gaze, but after a moment Bobby softened and slowly, hesitantly, reached for the door.
“John, I-”
“Don't.”
For a moment he thought that he saw Bobby smile.
“Thank you.”
And then it was over. Mind curiously blank, Pyro watched the other boy walk away. The moment Bobby disappeared through the gate, he reached for his cell phone. Mystique answered on the second ring. He could hear the grin in her voice.
“You coming in, kid? Everything taken care of?”
“Yeah. Tell the old man I'll see him tomorrow. And 'stique? I'm in the mood for work. Have something good for me when I get there.”
THE END