Cupidity
Title: Cupidity (not as nice of a word as it sounds)
Author: me
Rating: R
Pairing: Bobby/John, mentions of Bobby/Rogue
Summary: I haven’t written Bobby/John is so long, and then this came out of nowhere. Well, my friend Hannah liked it when she read it. I kind of think it’s a little disturbing, kind of puts John and Bobby in a relationship that’s messed up.
It was wrong, plain and simple, what I felt for Bobby was completely wrong. Oh, it would have been perfectly fine in theory; wanting someone of the same sex, equal rights and all that bullshit. It would have been better all around if I had just wanted him, maybe then we could have fucked and I could have gotten what I felt for him out of my system.
But I didn’t just want him, which was what he didn’t, couldn’t, understand.
It was…cupidity; I burned with this sickening, all-consuming desire to own him. I wanted him to be utterly mine; I didn’t want anyone or anything else to have any part of him.
He thought what I felt for Rogue was jealousy, and for the professor, well, he undoubtedly came up with some kind of rationality after I left to join Magneto. But it was more than petty jealousy. I hated Rogue for the part of him she had and I loathed the Professor for being the embodiment of the ridiculous cause that Bobby believed in.
I wanted to take every little piece of him that they had. No matter how much of him was mine already I still wanted more. Even if we’d come out, even if he’d given up Rogue and gone out with me exclusively I wouldn’t have been happy. I would never have been happy until I’d burned out and destroyed every bit of him that wasn’t mine.
I think he saw that, saw that I was never completely happy. He was always offering more, growing frustrated as nothing he did contented me. And I greedily took what he gave, devouring his sacrifices and wanting with every breath.
But there was always a teeny tiny part of me whispering in the back of my head, “This is wrong, you can’t do this to him.” I didn’t acknowledge that voice at first, shoved it out of my mind and filling myself instead with my perverse desires. Until the one day when my selfishness gave in for just a second and the small part of me that gave a damn about anyone else had the chance to be heard.
It was a night like every other; with him beneath me, his wrists straining against the belts that held them to the bedposts, and my name falling again and again from his lips so many times that I had to slip a gag into his mouth just to shut him up. He begged with his eyes, with his body, writhing wantonly against me. I drove him towards the edge as many times as I could, but constantly stopped just before he came. I didn’t want to let him find release, because that was the way I liked him; at my mercy, unable to think of anything but me and what I was doing to him.
He moaned through the gag as I slid my hands across him, panting and struggling to focus on breathing as my grip tightened around his cock. But I didn’t like that, didn’t like him being focused on anything but me. My other hand slipped around his neck and panic flared briefly in his eyes as I applied pressure.
A few minutes later he came into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling into his head as his semen spurted across his abdomen. I released him and leaned back, unable to keep the pleased smirk from my lips. Only then did I realize that his chest wasn’t moving.
Any pleasure I felt fled as I yanked the gag from his mouth and shoved my lips over his, pushing air into him until he coughed against my mouth. I untied him with shaking fingers, using the sheet to wipe off his stomach.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I whispered frantically; too sickened by what I’d done to feel anything but horror as he looked at me with adoration in his eyes, even as his lashes were wetted by the tears that slipped down his cheeks.
He grasped for me as I pulled away, “John don’t…”
I jerked away from his hands, suddenly unable to stand his touch, “Don’t what? Jesus I nearly killed you!” I nearly killed him and he was looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered to him. That was what I wanted, but it wasn’t; I wanted his devotion but at that moment I was so appalled by it that I found myself backing up against the wall as far away from him as I could get.
“John…”
“I nearly killed you.” That time it was a whisper, I couldn’t even look at him as he approached me.
He shook his head, the motion seen out of the corner of my eye. “Please John,” he reached for me again, turning my head back towards him. “I don’t care.” His body was cold as he pressed against me, his lips cold as he pressed them to mine.
“I don’t care.” He repeated, burying his head against my neck.
His body felt good against mine; but I’d taken so much from him already. I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling him trembling beneath my fingers.
“I do.” I said and shoved him away from me. He didn’t even bother to catch himself as he fell to the floor, just stared at me with betrayal in his eyes.
“I nearly killed you.” I said, disgust with myself thick in my voice, “I can’t…I won’t do that again.”
“John.” He said, some sense returning to his eyes along with a little anger, “You started this.”
“I know.” I said, “And now I’m ending it.”
He stood again, “That’s not how it works, John, you can’t end it just like that.”
My eyes were drawn to the bruise forming on his neck, my handprint faint on his pale skin. Without another word I shoved past him and reached for the clothes I’d discarded earlier. He fell silent as I dressed, desperation in his eyes as he watched me head for the door.
“John. You can’t leave me.”
My hand stilled on the doorknob, the hopelessness in his voice freezing me faster than his gift ever could. I shut my eyes, trying not to hear the pain in his words, and forced myself to turn the doorknob.
The rest of the school was quiet that night as I headed upstairs, and I was grateful for it as I slipped out onto the roof. I wanted to wish it all away, the guilt I felt and the desire that was slowly taking hold of me again. I wanted to go back to the room I shared with Bobby and hurt him for being so damned easy to hurt. But the little voice that was usually so quiet was screaming in my head.
I forced myself to wait until predawn glowed on the horizon before I returned to the room. Thankfully Bobby was asleep by then. I looked at him for an undetermined amount of time. For once I saw past the perfectly shaped lips, past his perfectly fuckable body, I saw the fading marks on his wrists and throat as well as the bone weariness that was apparent even as he slept.
I leaned over him, brushing my lips across his. “I’m sorry.” Then I went over to the dresser and grabbed my shower stuff and a different set of clothing.
No one had taken a shower for hours so the water was hot enough to be scalding. I stripped down as the room filled with steam; then stepped underneath the stream, using the heat to wash away my emotions until I could feel nothing but the pounding droplets against the back of my neck and my shoulders.
Then the tears came, hotter than the shower water.
><><><><><><><><><><><><>
He cornered me at the museum the next day, pressing close with a terse, “We need to talk.”
I started to say something sarcastic but then I looked in his eyes and I nodded, wanting him still but afraid to touch him. He didn’t seem to have the same dilemma, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me over to one of the tables. We sat in silence, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
Finally, “John I…”
“Bobby.”
He turned and I sighed as Rogue walked up to join us. Saved by the bell. The pretty belle that at that moment I still felt just an inkling of hate towards. But she actually cared about Bobby, she was good for him whether they could touch each other or not.
If she noticed my change in attitude towards her she gave no indication. That was fine though, she could do whatever she wanted as long as she kept Bobby busy until I figured out how the hell I was supposed to get away from him and the school.
Someday I’d come back, but not while I wanted him as much as I did, not while I could still hurt him.
Author: me
Rating: R
Pairing: Bobby/John, mentions of Bobby/Rogue
Summary: I haven’t written Bobby/John is so long, and then this came out of nowhere. Well, my friend Hannah liked it when she read it. I kind of think it’s a little disturbing, kind of puts John and Bobby in a relationship that’s messed up.
It was wrong, plain and simple, what I felt for Bobby was completely wrong. Oh, it would have been perfectly fine in theory; wanting someone of the same sex, equal rights and all that bullshit. It would have been better all around if I had just wanted him, maybe then we could have fucked and I could have gotten what I felt for him out of my system.
But I didn’t just want him, which was what he didn’t, couldn’t, understand.
It was…cupidity; I burned with this sickening, all-consuming desire to own him. I wanted him to be utterly mine; I didn’t want anyone or anything else to have any part of him.
He thought what I felt for Rogue was jealousy, and for the professor, well, he undoubtedly came up with some kind of rationality after I left to join Magneto. But it was more than petty jealousy. I hated Rogue for the part of him she had and I loathed the Professor for being the embodiment of the ridiculous cause that Bobby believed in.
I wanted to take every little piece of him that they had. No matter how much of him was mine already I still wanted more. Even if we’d come out, even if he’d given up Rogue and gone out with me exclusively I wouldn’t have been happy. I would never have been happy until I’d burned out and destroyed every bit of him that wasn’t mine.
I think he saw that, saw that I was never completely happy. He was always offering more, growing frustrated as nothing he did contented me. And I greedily took what he gave, devouring his sacrifices and wanting with every breath.
But there was always a teeny tiny part of me whispering in the back of my head, “This is wrong, you can’t do this to him.” I didn’t acknowledge that voice at first, shoved it out of my mind and filling myself instead with my perverse desires. Until the one day when my selfishness gave in for just a second and the small part of me that gave a damn about anyone else had the chance to be heard.
It was a night like every other; with him beneath me, his wrists straining against the belts that held them to the bedposts, and my name falling again and again from his lips so many times that I had to slip a gag into his mouth just to shut him up. He begged with his eyes, with his body, writhing wantonly against me. I drove him towards the edge as many times as I could, but constantly stopped just before he came. I didn’t want to let him find release, because that was the way I liked him; at my mercy, unable to think of anything but me and what I was doing to him.
He moaned through the gag as I slid my hands across him, panting and struggling to focus on breathing as my grip tightened around his cock. But I didn’t like that, didn’t like him being focused on anything but me. My other hand slipped around his neck and panic flared briefly in his eyes as I applied pressure.
A few minutes later he came into unconsciousness, his eyes rolling into his head as his semen spurted across his abdomen. I released him and leaned back, unable to keep the pleased smirk from my lips. Only then did I realize that his chest wasn’t moving.
Any pleasure I felt fled as I yanked the gag from his mouth and shoved my lips over his, pushing air into him until he coughed against my mouth. I untied him with shaking fingers, using the sheet to wipe off his stomach.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I whispered frantically; too sickened by what I’d done to feel anything but horror as he looked at me with adoration in his eyes, even as his lashes were wetted by the tears that slipped down his cheeks.
He grasped for me as I pulled away, “John don’t…”
I jerked away from his hands, suddenly unable to stand his touch, “Don’t what? Jesus I nearly killed you!” I nearly killed him and he was looking at me like I was the only thing that mattered to him. That was what I wanted, but it wasn’t; I wanted his devotion but at that moment I was so appalled by it that I found myself backing up against the wall as far away from him as I could get.
“John…”
“I nearly killed you.” That time it was a whisper, I couldn’t even look at him as he approached me.
He shook his head, the motion seen out of the corner of my eye. “Please John,” he reached for me again, turning my head back towards him. “I don’t care.” His body was cold as he pressed against me, his lips cold as he pressed them to mine.
“I don’t care.” He repeated, burying his head against my neck.
His body felt good against mine; but I’d taken so much from him already. I put my hands on his shoulders, feeling him trembling beneath my fingers.
“I do.” I said and shoved him away from me. He didn’t even bother to catch himself as he fell to the floor, just stared at me with betrayal in his eyes.
“I nearly killed you.” I said, disgust with myself thick in my voice, “I can’t…I won’t do that again.”
“John.” He said, some sense returning to his eyes along with a little anger, “You started this.”
“I know.” I said, “And now I’m ending it.”
He stood again, “That’s not how it works, John, you can’t end it just like that.”
My eyes were drawn to the bruise forming on his neck, my handprint faint on his pale skin. Without another word I shoved past him and reached for the clothes I’d discarded earlier. He fell silent as I dressed, desperation in his eyes as he watched me head for the door.
“John. You can’t leave me.”
My hand stilled on the doorknob, the hopelessness in his voice freezing me faster than his gift ever could. I shut my eyes, trying not to hear the pain in his words, and forced myself to turn the doorknob.
The rest of the school was quiet that night as I headed upstairs, and I was grateful for it as I slipped out onto the roof. I wanted to wish it all away, the guilt I felt and the desire that was slowly taking hold of me again. I wanted to go back to the room I shared with Bobby and hurt him for being so damned easy to hurt. But the little voice that was usually so quiet was screaming in my head.
I forced myself to wait until predawn glowed on the horizon before I returned to the room. Thankfully Bobby was asleep by then. I looked at him for an undetermined amount of time. For once I saw past the perfectly shaped lips, past his perfectly fuckable body, I saw the fading marks on his wrists and throat as well as the bone weariness that was apparent even as he slept.
I leaned over him, brushing my lips across his. “I’m sorry.” Then I went over to the dresser and grabbed my shower stuff and a different set of clothing.
No one had taken a shower for hours so the water was hot enough to be scalding. I stripped down as the room filled with steam; then stepped underneath the stream, using the heat to wash away my emotions until I could feel nothing but the pounding droplets against the back of my neck and my shoulders.
Then the tears came, hotter than the shower water.
><><><><><><><><><><><><>
He cornered me at the museum the next day, pressing close with a terse, “We need to talk.”
I started to say something sarcastic but then I looked in his eyes and I nodded, wanting him still but afraid to touch him. He didn’t seem to have the same dilemma, grabbing me by the arm and dragging me over to one of the tables. We sat in silence, neither wanting to be the first to speak.
Finally, “John I…”
“Bobby.”
He turned and I sighed as Rogue walked up to join us. Saved by the bell. The pretty belle that at that moment I still felt just an inkling of hate towards. But she actually cared about Bobby, she was good for him whether they could touch each other or not.
If she noticed my change in attitude towards her she gave no indication. That was fine though, she could do whatever she wanted as long as she kept Bobby busy until I figured out how the hell I was supposed to get away from him and the school.
Someday I’d come back, but not while I wanted him as much as I did, not while I could still hurt him.