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femmedelalune (![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} femmedelalune) wrote,@ 2008-02-26 18:59:00 |
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X-Men, 12, Bobby and Jean Paul
I was going to start some Chamber/Gambit, but then I found this on my harddrive. I had no idea I was here.
Title: Rescue You
Rating: 12
Warnings: language
Summary: Bobby realises that Lorna is using him, and accepts Jean Paul's friendship. Set pre M-Day.
A/N: lyrics come form Right Said Fred's Rescue You. I have no clue if I've ever posted this anywhere before (and if not, why not).
Rescue You
Of course love’s meant to hurt
That’s why girls dress to kill
Bobby stood in the shadows, as transparent as he could make himself. There was no light here to cast some telling reflection, nothing behind him to distort the object of a passing glance. In a bitter moment of self-congratulation, he told himself he wouldn’t make a half-bad spy.
Things had been going so well with Lorna. Slowly, but well. She’d been hurting and unsure, but if Bobby was good at anything it was being reassuring. He was the boy next door. He was the boy girls ran back to when the tall, dark and handsomes turned out to be a little more mysterious than they liked. His every thought and feeling was transparent to them.
He was the boy girls ran away from when they found such safety and security stifling.
And they ran to Alex.
He remembered a conversation in the kitchen, weeks ago, with Jean Paul. Northstar had been looking a little miserable, and Bobby had taken it on himself to cheer the other mutant up. After all, that was his role in life. Eventually, Northstar had admitted that he was worried Bobby’s own happiness would be fleeting.
“At... at the hen night, the bachelorette party,” Northstar had said softly, “she expressed some opinions that - how do you say? - were not flattering.”
“Well,” Bobby had blustered, “she was about to marry Alex. She could hardly be nice about her ex, could she?”
Northstar had grimaced. Bobby had looked at him, and then sat down opposite, suddenly deflated.
“Look,” Bobby had said, “I know it wasn’t that long ago. I know she loved him. But... But he’s single now, and she’s come to me. Not him. She’s had another of being jerked about by guys like him. She came to me.”
In retrospect, Bobby realised that he might have started pleading at that point.
“May I ask some personal questions?” Northstar had asked, with more than hiss usual tact.
“About what she said?” Bobby remembered how the apprehension had sent icy shivers down his spine, and the irony of it all.
“Is it true that you and she never consummated the relationship?” Northstar had asked.
“Blunt,” Bobby had commented.
“I warned you they were personal questions.”
“I don’t recall actually saying you could ask them,” Bobby had retorted. Jean Paul had almost looked apologetic, or as apologetic as he ever got, when Bobby had decided to stop prevaricating. “Yes, it’s true, okay? We were just kids, really. And, okay, that’s not something I particularly wanted announced to the female legions, but it’s not something I’m ashamed of.” He had been feeling defiant until he had taken another look at Northstar’s face. “And she said something else, didn’t she?”
“As you say, it was the night before her wedding to another man,” Northstar had said hesitantly. “It no doubt means nothing.”
“Don’t start that now. Come on, spit it out.”
Northstar had looked amused at the terminology for a brief second.
“She implied... she implied you were a burden. That you were to be endured, rather than someone to be physically intimate with. She told us you were very immature and inexperienced.”
“That was a long time ago,” Bobby had spluttered. “Of course I was then. I was just a kid.” He had recovered himself, had fought to make what he was saying sound like rational arguments instead of rebuttals born of denial. “I... Thank you for tell me, Jean Paul. I appreciate your honesty. I really believe, though, that she’s changed her opinions. I’m not who I was then any more than she is.”
Jean Paul had been apologetic and understanding, and now it was Bobby sitting in the kitchen looking miserable. He’d fled the hangar as soon as Lorna and Alex had taken their tryst elsewhere. He’d fled right into a solid wall.
The advantage, he mused, of being ice, was that you never needed to worry about anyone seeing you crying. Tears froze back into the ice they came from before they even had a chance to fall. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bother make the hot chocolate his hands where currently wrapped around, and he watched frost crackle across its surface.
Of course Lorna had gone running to Alex again. Before, he hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted because he was too immature. Now he was too cold. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe she wanted sex. It never did.
God, the trains and trails of women in his past. Sex was always their idea. He just wanted to be close. And now he could only touch people if they were wearing plenty of clothes.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
“Otter-pop?”
It was said with such concern and friendship Bobby almost melted there and then. So what if he barely knew Jean Paul? The man spoke the nickname like they were long time lovers. More tears sprang up in Bobby’s eyes.
“You were right about Lorna,” he said, voice thick.
“Oh, mon cher,” Jean Paul breathed. He was still behind Bobby, unseen, but Bobby could picture his face.
“I was an idiot. Again. Fuck.” Bobby couldn’t disguise the pain. At least, he thought, Jean Paul was gay. Gays were meant to be better at all the weepy feeling stuff, weren’t they? No need to worry about being all macho around Jean Paul.
Or were those just the stereotypes his father had forced into his head? Bobby couldn’t remember ever seeing Jean Paul upset. Hardly someone who shared his feelings at all, really. Hid them behind that sharp humour Bobby, in his quiet moments, admired for being a better shield than his own flamboyant strain.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder. A bare hand. Bobby turned his head to look at it. It tightened, and he could feel warmth radiating from Jean Paul. He was more sensitive to temperatures now, and he could the increase in heat wasn’t just because Jean Paul had stepped closer.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked, momentarily distracted from his woes. “Isn’t it too cold?”
“I am impervious to extremes of temperature,” Jean Paul told him. He squeezed his shoulder again. “Also, I grew up in Canada.”
It was a joke, sort of, and Bobby sort of laughed. He reached up and put a hand over Jean Paul’s and closed his eyes. It felt good, with Jean Paul just behind him. Comforting. An Ice heart thumps in an Ice ribcage, and Bobby wanted to be thirteen again, running to his mother because Sarah had told him she wasn’t going to be his girlfriend any more. He wanted a hug.
Jean Paul placed his other hand on Bobby’s other shoulder and bent over him, scrutinising him. Bobby couldn’t stop a smile at those bright blue eyes and the hair hanging straight down, the pointed ears and the slight frown. He chose not to ask himself why Jean Paul was going so far out of his way to cheer him up.
“You are easily distracted,” Jean Paul observed, still upside down to Bobby’s eyes. “Perhaps this is an avenue we ought to explore, non?”
“I’m really not in the mood to go out,” Bobby told him.
“Je comprends.” Jean Paul squeezed his shoulder again, thumbs moving in small circles. This really was far more closeness than Bobby had come to expect from the man. Hell, he might be edgy is someone like Warren or Hank started doing this.
The phrase ‘Ulterior Motive’ was well known to Bobby’s vocabulary. He’d been applying it to Lorna’s affections just recently. He swallowed, hard.
“Perhaps a film,” Jean Paul suggested softly.
“I said I don’t want to go out,” Bobby snapped, standing up and pushing him away. Jean Paul backed away quickly, raising his hands in submission and smiling slightly.
“We have cable here, Bobby. You may have your pick of one of a hundred terrible movies without ever leaving the mansion.”
Bobby felt a little ashamed of his violent reaction. He didn’t know which felt worse: the idea that Jean Paul only being nice to him in the hope of getting laid or that he was happy to use Jean Paul’s lust to get the comfort he desired. He fidgeted where he stood.
“Anything is better, otter-pop, than sitting here in the dark feeling sorry for yourself,” Jean Paul coaxed. “Trust me: I know.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry.” Bobby bit his lip. “Yeah, let’s watch a film. Something funny. Or, as you say, terrible.”
“Shall we look for camera crew in mirrors and wrist watches in Ancient Rome?” Jean Paul smiled at him.
“Yeah. Something like that. Though seriously, don’t expect me to be any kind of good company.”
“Of course not, mon cher,” Jean Paul told him. As he led the way to the den, empty at this time of night, Bobby tried to pretend to himself he was misremembering his translations every time Jean Paul called him ‘my dear’.
With my hand upon my heart
A promise starts I’ll rescue you
With my hand upon my heart
Just one slow dance I’ll rescue you, rescue you
I was going to start some Chamber/Gambit, but then I found this on my harddrive. I had no idea I was here.
Title: Rescue You
Rating: 12
Warnings: language
Summary: Bobby realises that Lorna is using him, and accepts Jean Paul's friendship. Set pre M-Day.
A/N: lyrics come form Right Said Fred's Rescue You. I have no clue if I've ever posted this anywhere before (and if not, why not).
Rescue You
Of course love’s meant to hurt
That’s why girls dress to kill
Bobby stood in the shadows, as transparent as he could make himself. There was no light here to cast some telling reflection, nothing behind him to distort the object of a passing glance. In a bitter moment of self-congratulation, he told himself he wouldn’t make a half-bad spy.
Things had been going so well with Lorna. Slowly, but well. She’d been hurting and unsure, but if Bobby was good at anything it was being reassuring. He was the boy next door. He was the boy girls ran back to when the tall, dark and handsomes turned out to be a little more mysterious than they liked. His every thought and feeling was transparent to them.
He was the boy girls ran away from when they found such safety and security stifling.
And they ran to Alex.
He remembered a conversation in the kitchen, weeks ago, with Jean Paul. Northstar had been looking a little miserable, and Bobby had taken it on himself to cheer the other mutant up. After all, that was his role in life. Eventually, Northstar had admitted that he was worried Bobby’s own happiness would be fleeting.
“At... at the hen night, the bachelorette party,” Northstar had said softly, “she expressed some opinions that - how do you say? - were not flattering.”
“Well,” Bobby had blustered, “she was about to marry Alex. She could hardly be nice about her ex, could she?”
Northstar had grimaced. Bobby had looked at him, and then sat down opposite, suddenly deflated.
“Look,” Bobby had said, “I know it wasn’t that long ago. I know she loved him. But... But he’s single now, and she’s come to me. Not him. She’s had another of being jerked about by guys like him. She came to me.”
In retrospect, Bobby realised that he might have started pleading at that point.
“May I ask some personal questions?” Northstar had asked, with more than hiss usual tact.
“About what she said?” Bobby remembered how the apprehension had sent icy shivers down his spine, and the irony of it all.
“Is it true that you and she never consummated the relationship?” Northstar had asked.
“Blunt,” Bobby had commented.
“I warned you they were personal questions.”
“I don’t recall actually saying you could ask them,” Bobby had retorted. Jean Paul had almost looked apologetic, or as apologetic as he ever got, when Bobby had decided to stop prevaricating. “Yes, it’s true, okay? We were just kids, really. And, okay, that’s not something I particularly wanted announced to the female legions, but it’s not something I’m ashamed of.” He had been feeling defiant until he had taken another look at Northstar’s face. “And she said something else, didn’t she?”
“As you say, it was the night before her wedding to another man,” Northstar had said hesitantly. “It no doubt means nothing.”
“Don’t start that now. Come on, spit it out.”
Northstar had looked amused at the terminology for a brief second.
“She implied... she implied you were a burden. That you were to be endured, rather than someone to be physically intimate with. She told us you were very immature and inexperienced.”
“That was a long time ago,” Bobby had spluttered. “Of course I was then. I was just a kid.” He had recovered himself, had fought to make what he was saying sound like rational arguments instead of rebuttals born of denial. “I... Thank you for tell me, Jean Paul. I appreciate your honesty. I really believe, though, that she’s changed her opinions. I’m not who I was then any more than she is.”
Jean Paul had been apologetic and understanding, and now it was Bobby sitting in the kitchen looking miserable. He’d fled the hangar as soon as Lorna and Alex had taken their tryst elsewhere. He’d fled right into a solid wall.
The advantage, he mused, of being ice, was that you never needed to worry about anyone seeing you crying. Tears froze back into the ice they came from before they even had a chance to fall. He wasn’t even sure why he’d bother make the hot chocolate his hands where currently wrapped around, and he watched frost crackle across its surface.
Of course Lorna had gone running to Alex again. Before, he hadn’t been able to give her what she wanted because he was too immature. Now he was too cold. It hadn’t occurred to him that maybe she wanted sex. It never did.
God, the trains and trails of women in his past. Sex was always their idea. He just wanted to be close. And now he could only touch people if they were wearing plenty of clothes.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
“Otter-pop?”
It was said with such concern and friendship Bobby almost melted there and then. So what if he barely knew Jean Paul? The man spoke the nickname like they were long time lovers. More tears sprang up in Bobby’s eyes.
“You were right about Lorna,” he said, voice thick.
“Oh, mon cher,” Jean Paul breathed. He was still behind Bobby, unseen, but Bobby could picture his face.
“I was an idiot. Again. Fuck.” Bobby couldn’t disguise the pain. At least, he thought, Jean Paul was gay. Gays were meant to be better at all the weepy feeling stuff, weren’t they? No need to worry about being all macho around Jean Paul.
Or were those just the stereotypes his father had forced into his head? Bobby couldn’t remember ever seeing Jean Paul upset. Hardly someone who shared his feelings at all, really. Hid them behind that sharp humour Bobby, in his quiet moments, admired for being a better shield than his own flamboyant strain.
A hand came to rest on his shoulder. A bare hand. Bobby turned his head to look at it. It tightened, and he could feel warmth radiating from Jean Paul. He was more sensitive to temperatures now, and he could the increase in heat wasn’t just because Jean Paul had stepped closer.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” he asked, momentarily distracted from his woes. “Isn’t it too cold?”
“I am impervious to extremes of temperature,” Jean Paul told him. He squeezed his shoulder again. “Also, I grew up in Canada.”
It was a joke, sort of, and Bobby sort of laughed. He reached up and put a hand over Jean Paul’s and closed his eyes. It felt good, with Jean Paul just behind him. Comforting. An Ice heart thumps in an Ice ribcage, and Bobby wanted to be thirteen again, running to his mother because Sarah had told him she wasn’t going to be his girlfriend any more. He wanted a hug.
Jean Paul placed his other hand on Bobby’s other shoulder and bent over him, scrutinising him. Bobby couldn’t stop a smile at those bright blue eyes and the hair hanging straight down, the pointed ears and the slight frown. He chose not to ask himself why Jean Paul was going so far out of his way to cheer him up.
“You are easily distracted,” Jean Paul observed, still upside down to Bobby’s eyes. “Perhaps this is an avenue we ought to explore, non?”
“I’m really not in the mood to go out,” Bobby told him.
“Je comprends.” Jean Paul squeezed his shoulder again, thumbs moving in small circles. This really was far more closeness than Bobby had come to expect from the man. Hell, he might be edgy is someone like Warren or Hank started doing this.
The phrase ‘Ulterior Motive’ was well known to Bobby’s vocabulary. He’d been applying it to Lorna’s affections just recently. He swallowed, hard.
“Perhaps a film,” Jean Paul suggested softly.
“I said I don’t want to go out,” Bobby snapped, standing up and pushing him away. Jean Paul backed away quickly, raising his hands in submission and smiling slightly.
“We have cable here, Bobby. You may have your pick of one of a hundred terrible movies without ever leaving the mansion.”
Bobby felt a little ashamed of his violent reaction. He didn’t know which felt worse: the idea that Jean Paul only being nice to him in the hope of getting laid or that he was happy to use Jean Paul’s lust to get the comfort he desired. He fidgeted where he stood.
“Anything is better, otter-pop, than sitting here in the dark feeling sorry for yourself,” Jean Paul coaxed. “Trust me: I know.”
“Yeah. Yeah. Sorry.” Bobby bit his lip. “Yeah, let’s watch a film. Something funny. Or, as you say, terrible.”
“Shall we look for camera crew in mirrors and wrist watches in Ancient Rome?” Jean Paul smiled at him.
“Yeah. Something like that. Though seriously, don’t expect me to be any kind of good company.”
“Of course not, mon cher,” Jean Paul told him. As he led the way to the den, empty at this time of night, Bobby tried to pretend to himself he was misremembering his translations every time Jean Paul called him ‘my dear’.
With my hand upon my heart
A promise starts I’ll rescue you
With my hand upon my heart
Just one slow dance I’ll rescue you, rescue you
