gala_apples

fic time!

unfortunately, it's xmen fic, and i'm not sure if anyone on my list is active in that fandom. maybe read it anyway? i wouldn't mind betaing suggestions.

title: Wood, and other things to not build a home out of
pairing: Bobby/John
rating: NC17
summary: Bobby knows how to solve John's rages

The mansion is nearly all wood paneling. Bobby doesn’t know who chose this décor, but thinks it’s a bit off. Maybe if rich sophisticates were still living there, but with sixty teens, all still learning control? It’s sort of frightening, if one stops to think about it.

And of course, his roommate is the most likely candidate in the entire place to cause death and dismemberment. Okay, maybe not dismemberment, that fine category belongs to Logan. But living in a wooden box, with a quick to anger pyromaniac. It’s enough to make a guy nervous, any day.

Exam days, however, are the worst. There are courses everyone must take, to keep the illusion that all they’re learning is “reading ‘riting and ‘rithmetic”. God, what Bobby wouldn’t give for that to be the only mandatory lessons. Instead there are lessons on defense, lessons on offense, and the most prevalent: lessons on control.

Today’s exam is in geometry, angles to be precise. Bobby’s not concerned. If not an A, he can easily pull a B+. John, on the other hand, has been looking back and forth from textbook to notes for ages, and the frown lines are only thickening.

Some would ask, how can he tell? Most of the students here avoid John, afraid because he’s always angry. Everyone here can do damage if they’re angry, but John is one of a few that could wipe out the entire school, if pressed enough. But Bobby knows by now the levels of John’s anger, knows when to be truly terrified that they live in a wooden box.

Today is one of those days. Instinct, common sense would lead a person to hide all methods of flame. Take his lighter, warn everyone from smoking. Instinct would be horribly wrong, and possibly get everyone killed. The only thing that makes John angrier then feeling stupid is taking away his source of power. Maybe that is a way of making him feel stupid, making him useless. Bobby doesn’t really stop to think about the philosophical ramifications of this rage, he’s got bigger things on hand. Such as, how can he settle the pot?

There are three ways, as devised by Bobby Drake. Later someone may offer an alternative, but right now it’s up to him. It was no coincidence the second he made his way here, they roomed him with the firestarter. It’s almost comical in cliché. He was left to flounder, and he found his way. They can’t blame him if his ways wouldn’t pass the medical bar of ethics.

The first is a good brawl. If he walked up to John right now and slapped him upside the head, it would serve as a perfect vent. They could just go at it, and John would have an opportunity to beat out the rage. Not that Bobby just took it. A, it wouldn’t serve as a good release, John would start to feel guilty, and the anger would bottle up again. B, it’s against Bobby’s constitution as a 17 year old male to let someone beat him up without putting up any fight.

The downside to this plot is the pain afterwards. Bobby has to write the test too, and he’s not going to be able to concentrate with bruises in blossom.

The second is a good drink. One only goes to so many family functions before knowing there are multiple types of drunk. Some get religious, some get depressed, some get obnoxious, and some turn into brawlers. Thanks to a very enterprising Kitty, the students have alcohol at only 1.5 times the cost of the actual bottle. John’s kind of drunk is by far Bobby’s favourite. He’s the type that finds everything hysterically funny. There’s potential for the firestarter to puke every time they drink. Not from nausea, not being able to hold liquor (His Uncle Cliff would call that weakness in a man), but from laughing so hard he stops breathing, and begins to choke. When Bobby can make John beg for him to stop talking, because everything is just so ridiculous, he knows he’s won.

The downside to this is Bobby would have to drink too. And really, while no teenager would pass up the opportunity to get wasted, it’s not the best of strategies before a test. In fact, it’s the least likely strategy for passing, and God knows, if John fails, he’ll only have to study for a make up quiz, and that just repeats the cycle.

The third is a good fuck. Scientifically, it probably has something to do with endorphins, and hormones and adrenaline. Realistically, Bobby doesn’t care why it works, just that it does.

The downside is, of course, that if Rogue finds out, she’ll be angry. Angry enough to take off a glove and give his face a slow slap. It’s a bit hypocritical, he thinks, considering that she’d jump into Logan’s bed the second she had a chance. But girls are weird that way, their dirty thoughts aren’t cheating, but men’s dirty actions are.

The ever-present clink of the lighter is missing, which can only mean one thing. John isn’t sure if he can control his impulse to light everything, and so he doesn’t give himself the option. It’s the perfect time for Bobby to step in. Otherwise the lighter will clink open, and then it’s up to him to stop the fire for as long as it takes the Professor to get to their room. He’ll save the day by temporarily making John think he’s an eight year old girl, it’s his most common routine for those that are having a meltdown.

Frankly, Bobby thinks it’s a bit creepy. The Professor is a great man, he’s rescued hundreds of kids. But there’s no denying that the ability to control someone else’s thoughts, actions, even core soul of who they are, that ability is even more frightening then John’s burning everything to the ground. It makes Bobby strive for as much control as possible, so he never has to be the one having his will taken.

The thought of saving him running through his mind, Bobby stands and pulls back the spinny chair, and John along with it. At home, those computer chairs were the bane of his existence, nothing could convince a ten year old they weren’t meant as fairground rides. Ronnie saw their sole purpose as to spin until he collapsed from dizziness and fell out of the chair.

John glares and reaches for his lighter. It’s only a foot from his grasp, on the desk. Bobby has no intentions of letting him get it, however. He moves the chair even further away, it’s more difficult as it begins to roll on top of the shaggy rug. It’s actually a bathmat, neither boy liked the texture of the old burgundy one, and it was the first thing to go during John’s first rage. By now the teachers know the furniture should be easily replaceable, not antiques.

The brunet is glaring daggers, and thank God no mutant here has that actual power. Only Magneto would be able to provide a counter, and he’s obviously not available. “I want my lighter,” he growls. He’s trying to move the chair, but Bobby is holding the armrests hard enough that nothing moves. Bobby knows he’s cutting it close, known from years of experience that lighter removal is the dumbest way to get himself killed, as soon as John does get the lighter.

So instead of delaying any more, he drops to his knees in the space between John and the desk. “You want this more,” he replies, and nuzzles John’s zipper.

It’s an old game. The rules were devised almost three years ago, mere months after John showed up, Jean Grey holding his few possessions. By now, the both know how to play. John’s head falls back on the chair, Bobby reaches to unzip the metal teeth. It’s not surprising that they’re both already hard, being with someone that consumes you does that. They don’t have enough time any more, Rogue and Jubilee are always around, always wanting. The moments they do have, they know how to use.

Bobby opens his mouth, and plunges it over John’s cock. He can’t quite deepthroat, but his gag reflex is lesser then most. John’s fingers are curled against the armrests, knuckles slowly turning white. He loves to see that. When you live in a boarding school, with telepaths, no less, it’s difficult to get privacy. He knows that the Professor will never say anything, and to keep the rest in the dark their trysts are silent. Neither scream, neither moan. All pleasure is shown through their minute movements.

With what he calls a firm tug on his mutant powerhouse, the ice starts flooding his veins. Bobby’s saliva cools, and John’s left leg is kicking the bed frame. They’ve talked about this before, the old nights where they had time to talk after sex and before sleep. According to the fireshaper, it’s the most erotic thing John’s ever known.

He changes rhythm, moves his neck faster and faster as his tongue is winding slowly. It’s difficult, almost as bad as pat your head rub your stomach. But it’s worth it, when John shoots all over the inside of his mouth, and down his throat. He’s coughing, a bit, but that’s worth it too. And he’s hard, and knows that whereas John’s class isn’t for over an hour, his starts in ten minutes. But even that’s worth it, because John picks up the lighter and flicks at it absently, smiling. He grabs the text, and flips the page. Bobby has saved the wooden box that is their home.