After Battle Rituals
TITLE: After Battle Rituals
PART: 1/4
AUTHOR: ayumie
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: John/Bobby
SUMMARY: It had started with a phone call almost a year after Alcatraz, when a reformed Brotherhood had resumed its fight for mutant supremacy.
NOTES: Thanks to lea724 for being a wonderful beta-reader. Just a series of short PWP I write to distract myself from my impeding master thesis. Procrastination, yay!
1.
When the X-men prevented an assassination attempt on a known supporter of anti-mutant legislation, Bobby looked at the ashes on the ground and silently awarded himself a point. The postcard arrived two days later with nothing but today’s date written on it. Nothing else was necessary. It had started with a phone call almost a year after Alcatraz, when a reformed Brotherhood had resumed its fight for mutant supremacy. They always used the same motel, the same room. If the owner recognized them, he never showed it.
Bobby pulled into the parking lot and took a deep breath. He should turn and drive back to the mansion. He didn’t, though. He never did.
Pyro was already there. The moment he closed the door behind himself, warm lips were pressing against his and he could have sworn he felt the room’s temperature go up for several degrees. After a moment, Pyro pulled away, smiling brightly at Bobby’s dazed expression.
“What do you want, Iceman?”
Looking at that smile, he knew what he wanted. He gently cupped Pyro’s cheek, thumb tracing soft lips.
“Make it up to me, John. Like when we were at school.”
For a moment Pyro didn’t react and Bobby beat down a brief pang of guilt. But it was his turn, the X-men had won this round, meaning that tonight he got to call the shots. John would do anything he wanted. Those were the rules.
A tug at his hand brought Bobby back to reality and he somehow remembered to kick off his shoes before he was pushed onto the bed. It was big, king-sized, but they were lying face to face, close together like it was one of their old bunks. John’s smile was back, young and bright and oh so fake. Nimble hands were unbuttoning his shirt and, looking down, he realized that half his chest was covered in hoarfrost. John chuckled and leaned down, running warm lips over his frozen flesh. Bobby moaned helplessly as he felt teeth chip at a patch of ice and finally close around one of his nipples. He closed his eyes and conjured up the memory of their room, the secure knowledge that the worst tomorrow held was a math test and fish fingers for dinner.
A hand was sliding up his leg, pausing mid-thigh to roll him onto his back. Bobby groaned and twisted his hips, trying to get closer to John’s hand. That mouth was still working his nipple, a devastating combination of wet and teeth and suction and it had been so long. He didn’t bother to stifle the small, frantic sounds he was making. John had often told him that he loved hearing him moan, called him responsive and beautiful and slut. Then, as though to reward him, John gave him what he wanted, a strong hand between his legs and he could feel the heat of it even through layers of denim. Soon he was positively writhing, needing progress, friction, anything at all. Eyes still closed, Bobby whimpered as he felt John lift his head, somehow certain that he was being laughed at.
“I really could make you come just like this.”
And, God it was true. He was so close already, so fucking needy, just like the teenager he was willing himself to be. Bobby’s nipples were sore, even the one that hadn’t been touched at all, and wasn’t that just what he needed: phantom lust. Blindly, he pulled John into a kiss, threading his fingers through hair that was too short, too rough to feel right. The taste was right, though, as was the smell of smoke and fruity shampoo. Bobby’s hands were moving down John’s back, slipping beneath his T-shirt to touch heated skin. He dug in his fingernails, eliciting a full-body shudder. Despite the mind-boggling way John was sucking on his tongue, Bobby realized in a sudden moment of clarity that the other boy was trying to get off his pants. He helped as much as he could, lifting his hips and moaning encouragingly.
Then John wasn’t kissing him anymore, wasn’t touching him at all. Bobby blinked, confused. Pyro was looking at him with something like worry. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut and once more immersed himself in his fantasy. Hot fingers brushed his cheek and then John was back against him, slowly crawling down his body.
“Shh. I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you Bobby, such good care…”
The last was spoken directly against his cock. Bobby felt his spine bow as wet heat swept across his erection. Instinctively his hand tangled into unruly hair and he struggled to keep from tightening his grip and thrusting. John could take it rough, would probably welcome it, but tonight wasn’t about that and besides, it’d be a pity to hamper that expert mouth, always too fucking skilled even when he had been just a kid.
Soft lips around the tip of his cock, kissing, sucking, sliding down and down and down until Johnny’s throat was tight around him, tongue fluttering against the base. Bobby whimpered as fingers circled his balls, stroking and rolling until he thought he’d go out of his mind. Hell, he probably was out of his mind, because he was talking nonsense - ‘yes’ and ‘please, John, please’ and ‘more’ and ‘love you, Johnny’.
When John started to moan around his cock, everything stopped. Nobody could last through this. He came, hard, biting his free hand to keep from screaming.
Bobby was drifting, only vaguely aware that John was grinding against his thigh, and, God, he probably should do something to bring him off. But apparently that wasn’t necessary, because after another moment teeth sank into his shoulder and John went completely still. With a sigh Bobby convinced his sluggish limbs to move, curling up and around the warm body beside him. He knew he’d have to open his eyes sooner or later, let go of the illusion.
In the end John made the decision for him.
“I really don’t know why you insist on doing this to yourself - dwelling on the past. It just makes you feel even worse once-“
There must have been something in Bobby’s face, because Pyro paused and he felt arms tighten around him.
“Come to think of it, though, your little schoolboy fantasies of yours are pretty kinky. Considering that you’re teaching now and everything. Maybe next time I ought to call you Professor Drake.”
And just like that Bobby could grin and look up, because he recognized John’s way of non-apologizing when he heard it. For now at least, they were okay. They’d go to sleep, maybe have sex again if one of them woke up in the middle of the night, and in the morning he’d pretend to sleep through the noise of Pyro leaving.
*
The next postcard arrived three months later, after a particularly nasty run-in with a few Brotherhood members that landed Rogue and Nightcrawler in the sickbay for the foreseeable future. ‘03/23,’ it said, ‘And bring your uniform.’
PART: 1/4
AUTHOR: ayumie
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: John/Bobby
SUMMARY: It had started with a phone call almost a year after Alcatraz, when a reformed Brotherhood had resumed its fight for mutant supremacy.
NOTES: Thanks to lea724 for being a wonderful beta-reader. Just a series of short PWP I write to distract myself from my impeding master thesis. Procrastination, yay!
1.
When the X-men prevented an assassination attempt on a known supporter of anti-mutant legislation, Bobby looked at the ashes on the ground and silently awarded himself a point. The postcard arrived two days later with nothing but today’s date written on it. Nothing else was necessary. It had started with a phone call almost a year after Alcatraz, when a reformed Brotherhood had resumed its fight for mutant supremacy. They always used the same motel, the same room. If the owner recognized them, he never showed it.
Bobby pulled into the parking lot and took a deep breath. He should turn and drive back to the mansion. He didn’t, though. He never did.
Pyro was already there. The moment he closed the door behind himself, warm lips were pressing against his and he could have sworn he felt the room’s temperature go up for several degrees. After a moment, Pyro pulled away, smiling brightly at Bobby’s dazed expression.
“What do you want, Iceman?”
Looking at that smile, he knew what he wanted. He gently cupped Pyro’s cheek, thumb tracing soft lips.
“Make it up to me, John. Like when we were at school.”
For a moment Pyro didn’t react and Bobby beat down a brief pang of guilt. But it was his turn, the X-men had won this round, meaning that tonight he got to call the shots. John would do anything he wanted. Those were the rules.
A tug at his hand brought Bobby back to reality and he somehow remembered to kick off his shoes before he was pushed onto the bed. It was big, king-sized, but they were lying face to face, close together like it was one of their old bunks. John’s smile was back, young and bright and oh so fake. Nimble hands were unbuttoning his shirt and, looking down, he realized that half his chest was covered in hoarfrost. John chuckled and leaned down, running warm lips over his frozen flesh. Bobby moaned helplessly as he felt teeth chip at a patch of ice and finally close around one of his nipples. He closed his eyes and conjured up the memory of their room, the secure knowledge that the worst tomorrow held was a math test and fish fingers for dinner.
A hand was sliding up his leg, pausing mid-thigh to roll him onto his back. Bobby groaned and twisted his hips, trying to get closer to John’s hand. That mouth was still working his nipple, a devastating combination of wet and teeth and suction and it had been so long. He didn’t bother to stifle the small, frantic sounds he was making. John had often told him that he loved hearing him moan, called him responsive and beautiful and slut. Then, as though to reward him, John gave him what he wanted, a strong hand between his legs and he could feel the heat of it even through layers of denim. Soon he was positively writhing, needing progress, friction, anything at all. Eyes still closed, Bobby whimpered as he felt John lift his head, somehow certain that he was being laughed at.
“I really could make you come just like this.”
And, God it was true. He was so close already, so fucking needy, just like the teenager he was willing himself to be. Bobby’s nipples were sore, even the one that hadn’t been touched at all, and wasn’t that just what he needed: phantom lust. Blindly, he pulled John into a kiss, threading his fingers through hair that was too short, too rough to feel right. The taste was right, though, as was the smell of smoke and fruity shampoo. Bobby’s hands were moving down John’s back, slipping beneath his T-shirt to touch heated skin. He dug in his fingernails, eliciting a full-body shudder. Despite the mind-boggling way John was sucking on his tongue, Bobby realized in a sudden moment of clarity that the other boy was trying to get off his pants. He helped as much as he could, lifting his hips and moaning encouragingly.
Then John wasn’t kissing him anymore, wasn’t touching him at all. Bobby blinked, confused. Pyro was looking at him with something like worry. He quickly squeezed his eyes shut and once more immersed himself in his fantasy. Hot fingers brushed his cheek and then John was back against him, slowly crawling down his body.
“Shh. I’m here. I’m gonna take care of you Bobby, such good care…”
The last was spoken directly against his cock. Bobby felt his spine bow as wet heat swept across his erection. Instinctively his hand tangled into unruly hair and he struggled to keep from tightening his grip and thrusting. John could take it rough, would probably welcome it, but tonight wasn’t about that and besides, it’d be a pity to hamper that expert mouth, always too fucking skilled even when he had been just a kid.
Soft lips around the tip of his cock, kissing, sucking, sliding down and down and down until Johnny’s throat was tight around him, tongue fluttering against the base. Bobby whimpered as fingers circled his balls, stroking and rolling until he thought he’d go out of his mind. Hell, he probably was out of his mind, because he was talking nonsense - ‘yes’ and ‘please, John, please’ and ‘more’ and ‘love you, Johnny’.
When John started to moan around his cock, everything stopped. Nobody could last through this. He came, hard, biting his free hand to keep from screaming.
Bobby was drifting, only vaguely aware that John was grinding against his thigh, and, God, he probably should do something to bring him off. But apparently that wasn’t necessary, because after another moment teeth sank into his shoulder and John went completely still. With a sigh Bobby convinced his sluggish limbs to move, curling up and around the warm body beside him. He knew he’d have to open his eyes sooner or later, let go of the illusion.
In the end John made the decision for him.
“I really don’t know why you insist on doing this to yourself - dwelling on the past. It just makes you feel even worse once-“
There must have been something in Bobby’s face, because Pyro paused and he felt arms tighten around him.
“Come to think of it, though, your little schoolboy fantasies of yours are pretty kinky. Considering that you’re teaching now and everything. Maybe next time I ought to call you Professor Drake.”
And just like that Bobby could grin and look up, because he recognized John’s way of non-apologizing when he heard it. For now at least, they were okay. They’d go to sleep, maybe have sex again if one of them woke up in the middle of the night, and in the morning he’d pretend to sleep through the noise of Pyro leaving.
*
The next postcard arrived three months later, after a particularly nasty run-in with a few Brotherhood members that landed Rogue and Nightcrawler in the sickbay for the foreseeable future. ‘03/23,’ it said, ‘And bring your uniform.’