X-Men fic: Bobby/John
Title: Only Comfort, Calling Late
Author: bloodnfire
Disclaimer: Not mine. :(
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing and sex
Summary Two years after X3 John receives a letter.
Notes Many thanks to inootz for looking over this for me :) Title and quote from Every You Every Me by Placebo for the dry_ice soundtrack challenge. 100_situations prompt 055. Trip
All alone in space and time.
There's nothing here but what here's mine.
John leaned back against the blue plastic chair, his eyes moving between the electronic board flashing departure and arrival times in garish yellow letters and the crumpled boarding pass in his hand. Flight C17 Delayed. Almost eight hours he'd been here and it was already taking it's toll on him. John never did take well to being cooped up and with his latest lighter now in the hands of some jerk in customs who had seemed almost sadistically pleased when John set of the metal detector with a small handful of lose change he had forgotten the take out of his pocket. Sure, it had just been a cheap, plastic bic, no point carrying a zippo when he had to discard lighters every week or so, but without it he found himself with no way to vent the nervous energy that was building up inside him. His plane was supposed to leave five hours ago but it's arrival had been delayed due to bad weather conditions in Melbourne.
So here he was, trapped in Sydney Airport with nothing to do but wait. Not that John wasn't used to waiting by now, in fact it seemed like all he had been doing for the past two years. Waiting for the heat to die down after Alcatraz, waiting for his name to drop off the FBI's most wanted list, waiting until it was safe for him to go back to the States. Waiting for someone to find him. Well, they finally had, hadn't they?
***
After two years of wandering the globe, aimlessly going where the tickets were cheapest, living off the only one of the Brotherhood's many bank accounts he had the number for, a letter found him in a grungy backpackers in Rome. Just a date in three weeks time, one he wasn't likely to forget either, and a city scrawled in familiar handwriting on a piece of plain white paper folded around a check. Probably enough for a plane ticket from just about anywhere in the world. John's first instinct was to destroy the note, burn it to ashes, and cash the check immediately. No point wasting good money just to protect his pride, right? Instead he shoved it to the bottom of his backpack. John had left Rome within the hour, he'd stayed there too long anyway.
The letter was like a weight in his backpack, no matter how hard he tried not to think about it John could practically feel it through the canvas. He spent a week in Amsterdam, shacked up in a hostel with Christian, an English art student he met in a cafe. Christian was a pretentious little bastard, especially when he was stoned, but he paid for everything and he was a good fuck, so John didn't complain. Amsterdam left him with one hell of a hangover but did nothing to ease the weight of the letter, it's date growing ever nearer, from his mind.
Sydney was inevitable really, he'd been born here after all, he should probably at least see it. Although he had no clear memories of the place John had almost expected to feel something here, maybe the slightest glimmer of the childhood he never had. But no, it was just like all the other cities in the world and John wandered it's streets with the same vague sense of disconnection he had felt everywhere else. He spent the night on Bondi beach with a bottle of bacardi and a packet of cigarettes for company. Fumbling through his backpack for his wallet his fingers brushed paper instead of fabric. John pulled out the crumpled envelope, turned it over and over in his hands for a moment before pulling the contents out and letting the white envelope fall into the sand. He flicked a cigarette butt into the ocean and murmured, "What the hell, why not?"
***
Finally. John made his way to his seat, not bothering to resist the urge to glare at the overly chipper flight attendant. He sank down into the seat and closed his eyes, ignoring the instructional videos and flight attendants pointing out the exits. He'd seen it a million times before and besides, if a situation arose that required an emergency exit in mid-air he, and everyone else on the plane, was fucked. There was nothing to be done about that and John had already wasted too much time on self deception to bother pretending otherwise. Staring out the window he watched Australia get smaller and smaller, losing detail until it was nothing but a chunk of green surrounded by the dark blue of the sea.
Opting not to watch whatever crappy movies were on offer, John sipped his complementary coffee and glanced around at the other passengers. People flipping through newspapers, a girl scribbling in a tattered notebook, a mother trying to keep her kids quiet. Strangers making small talk with each other. John tended to avoid talking to the people he ended up sitting next to, he didn't want to know where they were going or anything else about them and like fuck he was going to tell them anything about himself. Fortunately there was an empty seat between him and the nearest person, a fifty-something year old guy in a rumpled suit who seemed more interested in staring at the flight attendant's ass than talking to John.
The fingers on his left hand drummed a silent rhythm against his knee while the right toyed with small hole in his sleeve. A faceless voice proclaimed half an hour until landing and John tried to ignore the cold, tight sensation that was creeping from his stomach up to his chest. He let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, ran his fingers roughly through his hair and tried to relax. No matter how long a flight was it always seemed to go too fast, John thought. He liked the time he was in the air, or on a bus or train, just the time where he was in between places. For those few hours he could pretend that was actually going somewhere as opposed to going anywhere. He could pretend that there was something waiting for him. Well now there was and John couldn't decide whether to this was good or not.
***
He made it through customs without being strip-searched, which John had learned early on to count as a plus. He tossed his backpack over one shoulder and glanced around casually, trying not to appear as if he was looking for anyone in particular. No sign of him. Disgusted with himself for the sense of disappointment he felt John headed for the bar. He ordered a Jack Daniels, flashing his passport when the bar tender demanded ID and ignoring her smile and comment about his date of birth. The stool next to him creaked as someone sat down and ordered a beer.
"Hi, John." He stiffened and mentally prepared himself before turning to face the newcomer.
"Drake." John said matter of factly, as though they ran into each other on a weekly basis. "How you been?"
"Alright." Bobby took a sip of his beer, a small smile playing across the corners of his mouth. John studied his face he looked different, older obviously, and definitely less clean cut than he always used to be. Stubble lined his jaw, his hair was longer and he just looked harder. It made John wonder just what had been happening in the mutant world that he'd missed in his travels.
"Still playing superhero?" John asked with a smirk, the one that was specially reserved for pissing off Bobby.
Bobby rolled his eyes but answered, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a thin cellphone with an X on it. "Not full time, but they call when they need me." He paused, looking at the phone in his hand. "Do I even want to know what you've been doing?"
"No." He replied simply and grinned when the look on Bobby's face became a mixture of worried and amused. "Relax, Iceman, nothing illegal. Well, nothing that falls under you jurisdiction anyway."
Bobby half laughed, shaking his head. He took another sip of beer, frowned and glanced around at the other patrons of the airport bar. When he seemed sure that no one was paying any attention to them he discreetly blew on his bottle. Not so much as an icicle formed on the glass but Bobby looked a lot more satisfied with the next sip. Bobby's control over even the smallest thing seemed to have improved, not to mention the human ice statue trick that had bought their last meeting to a very sudden and very painful close. John unconsciously rubbed the spot on his forehead, just below the hair line where he still had a scar from that fight and found himself suddenly very aware of the fact that he hadn' t replaced his lighter yet. Bobby eyes trailed down to John's hand and John became aware that he was tapping his fingertips against the bar.
"Here," Bobby said, pulling something out of his other pocket and tossing it in front of John. A plain silver zippo.
"Thanks." John murmured, flicking it open, igniting the flame and flicking it shut.
"Figured you'd need it." Bobby paused as though he were unsure of his next words. "Do you wanna get out of here?"
John pocketed the lighter. "Lead the way."
***
It was a twenty mintute cab ride to Bobby's hotel room, a pretty damn nice one too, especially compared with the places John had been staying the last couple of years. They were through the door for about forty seconds before John found himself slammed up against it, Bobby's lips pressed hard against his own. Hands tangled in hair and pulled impatiently at shirts and belts until it was just fingers exploring flesh. Somehow they made it to the bed and Bobby's lips were on his neck, his hand was around Bobby's cock and Bobby's teeth scrapped against that spot on his throat and John became too lost in sensation to form even the most incoherant of thoughts.
Clarity returned to him the moment before he came. Bobby was on top of him, inside him, hand pumping up and down John's cock. His own name fell from between Bobby's lips along with a string of curses that Bobby only used during sex and for the moment it was like nothing had changed. Like they're still seventeen and sharing a dorm room at Xavier's, only it's better because they're better, more experianced. Then Bobby kissed him, looking into his eyes, and John felt all his feeling of disconnection disappear, like a veil had been lifted from between him and the world. When Bobby started to move away John grabbed his face in both hands, pulling him back and kissing him deeply. After two years of living anonymously, never telling the people he met anything about besides his name (and sometimes not even that). Two years of feeling nothing for anyone he was here. With Bobby, who knew him. Bobby knew who he was, who had been, what he had done and was still here with him. It was too much, months and months of surpressed emotions were finally released as, with a long wordless cry, John came.
***
“How'd you afford this place?” John asked, lying on beside Bobby between what he thought must be the most expensive sheets he'd ever fucked in. “Hell, that was a pretty fucking big check you sent me, where'd that come from? Don't tell me the X-Men get paid now.”
Bobby shrugged. “Trust fund. From my grandparents. Got it when I turned twenty-one.”
“And you decided to spend a shit load of it on a date with little old me?” John said with smirk.
“Is that what this is?” Bobby replied. “A date?”
John snorted. “Date, booty call. Whatever you want to call it. Not exactly a cheap fuck though.”
Bobby was silent for a long moment and John closed his eyes, preparing to go to sleep.
“Are you going to be here in the morning?” John rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling fan then turning to face Bobby.
“Yeah, I guess I'll be sticking around for awhile.” John said. “Not like I have anywhere better to be.”
“Gee thanks.” Bobby said sarcastically, kicking him under the covers. “I'd be offended but from you that's like a declaration of love.”
“Fuck, you're really going to make me regret coming here aren't you?” John replied with a glare that was only half real.
“Yep.” Bobby's arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him closer. “But I'm sure I can make it worth your while.”
“You better.” John said leaning back against Bobby's warm body.
“Hey, John?” Bobby murmured into his ear.
“Mmm?”
“Happy Birthday.”
Author: bloodnfire
Disclaimer: Not mine. :(
Rating: R
Warnings: Swearing and sex
Summary Two years after X3 John receives a letter.
Notes Many thanks to inootz for looking over this for me :) Title and quote from Every You Every Me by Placebo for the dry_ice soundtrack challenge. 100_situations prompt 055. Trip
All alone in space and time.
There's nothing here but what here's mine.
John leaned back against the blue plastic chair, his eyes moving between the electronic board flashing departure and arrival times in garish yellow letters and the crumpled boarding pass in his hand. Flight C17 Delayed. Almost eight hours he'd been here and it was already taking it's toll on him. John never did take well to being cooped up and with his latest lighter now in the hands of some jerk in customs who had seemed almost sadistically pleased when John set of the metal detector with a small handful of lose change he had forgotten the take out of his pocket. Sure, it had just been a cheap, plastic bic, no point carrying a zippo when he had to discard lighters every week or so, but without it he found himself with no way to vent the nervous energy that was building up inside him. His plane was supposed to leave five hours ago but it's arrival had been delayed due to bad weather conditions in Melbourne.
So here he was, trapped in Sydney Airport with nothing to do but wait. Not that John wasn't used to waiting by now, in fact it seemed like all he had been doing for the past two years. Waiting for the heat to die down after Alcatraz, waiting for his name to drop off the FBI's most wanted list, waiting until it was safe for him to go back to the States. Waiting for someone to find him. Well, they finally had, hadn't they?
***
After two years of wandering the globe, aimlessly going where the tickets were cheapest, living off the only one of the Brotherhood's many bank accounts he had the number for, a letter found him in a grungy backpackers in Rome. Just a date in three weeks time, one he wasn't likely to forget either, and a city scrawled in familiar handwriting on a piece of plain white paper folded around a check. Probably enough for a plane ticket from just about anywhere in the world. John's first instinct was to destroy the note, burn it to ashes, and cash the check immediately. No point wasting good money just to protect his pride, right? Instead he shoved it to the bottom of his backpack. John had left Rome within the hour, he'd stayed there too long anyway.
The letter was like a weight in his backpack, no matter how hard he tried not to think about it John could practically feel it through the canvas. He spent a week in Amsterdam, shacked up in a hostel with Christian, an English art student he met in a cafe. Christian was a pretentious little bastard, especially when he was stoned, but he paid for everything and he was a good fuck, so John didn't complain. Amsterdam left him with one hell of a hangover but did nothing to ease the weight of the letter, it's date growing ever nearer, from his mind.
Sydney was inevitable really, he'd been born here after all, he should probably at least see it. Although he had no clear memories of the place John had almost expected to feel something here, maybe the slightest glimmer of the childhood he never had. But no, it was just like all the other cities in the world and John wandered it's streets with the same vague sense of disconnection he had felt everywhere else. He spent the night on Bondi beach with a bottle of bacardi and a packet of cigarettes for company. Fumbling through his backpack for his wallet his fingers brushed paper instead of fabric. John pulled out the crumpled envelope, turned it over and over in his hands for a moment before pulling the contents out and letting the white envelope fall into the sand. He flicked a cigarette butt into the ocean and murmured, "What the hell, why not?"
***
Finally. John made his way to his seat, not bothering to resist the urge to glare at the overly chipper flight attendant. He sank down into the seat and closed his eyes, ignoring the instructional videos and flight attendants pointing out the exits. He'd seen it a million times before and besides, if a situation arose that required an emergency exit in mid-air he, and everyone else on the plane, was fucked. There was nothing to be done about that and John had already wasted too much time on self deception to bother pretending otherwise. Staring out the window he watched Australia get smaller and smaller, losing detail until it was nothing but a chunk of green surrounded by the dark blue of the sea.
Opting not to watch whatever crappy movies were on offer, John sipped his complementary coffee and glanced around at the other passengers. People flipping through newspapers, a girl scribbling in a tattered notebook, a mother trying to keep her kids quiet. Strangers making small talk with each other. John tended to avoid talking to the people he ended up sitting next to, he didn't want to know where they were going or anything else about them and like fuck he was going to tell them anything about himself. Fortunately there was an empty seat between him and the nearest person, a fifty-something year old guy in a rumpled suit who seemed more interested in staring at the flight attendant's ass than talking to John.
The fingers on his left hand drummed a silent rhythm against his knee while the right toyed with small hole in his sleeve. A faceless voice proclaimed half an hour until landing and John tried to ignore the cold, tight sensation that was creeping from his stomach up to his chest. He let out a deep breath he didn't know he was holding, ran his fingers roughly through his hair and tried to relax. No matter how long a flight was it always seemed to go too fast, John thought. He liked the time he was in the air, or on a bus or train, just the time where he was in between places. For those few hours he could pretend that was actually going somewhere as opposed to going anywhere. He could pretend that there was something waiting for him. Well now there was and John couldn't decide whether to this was good or not.
***
He made it through customs without being strip-searched, which John had learned early on to count as a plus. He tossed his backpack over one shoulder and glanced around casually, trying not to appear as if he was looking for anyone in particular. No sign of him. Disgusted with himself for the sense of disappointment he felt John headed for the bar. He ordered a Jack Daniels, flashing his passport when the bar tender demanded ID and ignoring her smile and comment about his date of birth. The stool next to him creaked as someone sat down and ordered a beer.
"Hi, John." He stiffened and mentally prepared himself before turning to face the newcomer.
"Drake." John said matter of factly, as though they ran into each other on a weekly basis. "How you been?"
"Alright." Bobby took a sip of his beer, a small smile playing across the corners of his mouth. John studied his face he looked different, older obviously, and definitely less clean cut than he always used to be. Stubble lined his jaw, his hair was longer and he just looked harder. It made John wonder just what had been happening in the mutant world that he'd missed in his travels.
"Still playing superhero?" John asked with a smirk, the one that was specially reserved for pissing off Bobby.
Bobby rolled his eyes but answered, reaching into his pocket he pulled out a thin cellphone with an X on it. "Not full time, but they call when they need me." He paused, looking at the phone in his hand. "Do I even want to know what you've been doing?"
"No." He replied simply and grinned when the look on Bobby's face became a mixture of worried and amused. "Relax, Iceman, nothing illegal. Well, nothing that falls under you jurisdiction anyway."
Bobby half laughed, shaking his head. He took another sip of beer, frowned and glanced around at the other patrons of the airport bar. When he seemed sure that no one was paying any attention to them he discreetly blew on his bottle. Not so much as an icicle formed on the glass but Bobby looked a lot more satisfied with the next sip. Bobby's control over even the smallest thing seemed to have improved, not to mention the human ice statue trick that had bought their last meeting to a very sudden and very painful close. John unconsciously rubbed the spot on his forehead, just below the hair line where he still had a scar from that fight and found himself suddenly very aware of the fact that he hadn' t replaced his lighter yet. Bobby eyes trailed down to John's hand and John became aware that he was tapping his fingertips against the bar.
"Here," Bobby said, pulling something out of his other pocket and tossing it in front of John. A plain silver zippo.
"Thanks." John murmured, flicking it open, igniting the flame and flicking it shut.
"Figured you'd need it." Bobby paused as though he were unsure of his next words. "Do you wanna get out of here?"
John pocketed the lighter. "Lead the way."
***
It was a twenty mintute cab ride to Bobby's hotel room, a pretty damn nice one too, especially compared with the places John had been staying the last couple of years. They were through the door for about forty seconds before John found himself slammed up against it, Bobby's lips pressed hard against his own. Hands tangled in hair and pulled impatiently at shirts and belts until it was just fingers exploring flesh. Somehow they made it to the bed and Bobby's lips were on his neck, his hand was around Bobby's cock and Bobby's teeth scrapped against that spot on his throat and John became too lost in sensation to form even the most incoherant of thoughts.
Clarity returned to him the moment before he came. Bobby was on top of him, inside him, hand pumping up and down John's cock. His own name fell from between Bobby's lips along with a string of curses that Bobby only used during sex and for the moment it was like nothing had changed. Like they're still seventeen and sharing a dorm room at Xavier's, only it's better because they're better, more experianced. Then Bobby kissed him, looking into his eyes, and John felt all his feeling of disconnection disappear, like a veil had been lifted from between him and the world. When Bobby started to move away John grabbed his face in both hands, pulling him back and kissing him deeply. After two years of living anonymously, never telling the people he met anything about besides his name (and sometimes not even that). Two years of feeling nothing for anyone he was here. With Bobby, who knew him. Bobby knew who he was, who had been, what he had done and was still here with him. It was too much, months and months of surpressed emotions were finally released as, with a long wordless cry, John came.
***
“How'd you afford this place?” John asked, lying on beside Bobby between what he thought must be the most expensive sheets he'd ever fucked in. “Hell, that was a pretty fucking big check you sent me, where'd that come from? Don't tell me the X-Men get paid now.”
Bobby shrugged. “Trust fund. From my grandparents. Got it when I turned twenty-one.”
“And you decided to spend a shit load of it on a date with little old me?” John said with smirk.
“Is that what this is?” Bobby replied. “A date?”
John snorted. “Date, booty call. Whatever you want to call it. Not exactly a cheap fuck though.”
Bobby was silent for a long moment and John closed his eyes, preparing to go to sleep.
“Are you going to be here in the morning?” John rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling fan then turning to face Bobby.
“Yeah, I guess I'll be sticking around for awhile.” John said. “Not like I have anywhere better to be.”
“Gee thanks.” Bobby said sarcastically, kicking him under the covers. “I'd be offended but from you that's like a declaration of love.”
“Fuck, you're really going to make me regret coming here aren't you?” John replied with a glare that was only half real.
“Yep.” Bobby's arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him closer. “But I'm sure I can make it worth your while.”
“You better.” John said leaning back against Bobby's warm body.
“Hey, John?” Bobby murmured into his ear.
“Mmm?”
“Happy Birthday.”