"Would you stop already?" Bobby huffed. John snorted, walking further away.
"Just. Just wait a minute!" Bobby yelled, desperately. John turned around and looked at him.
"What's the matter Ice-boy?" The pyromaniac smirked, smoothing out a flameball, but despite the cocky front he put on, Bobby noticed tightly clutched fingers around the zippo in the other hand.
"Don't leave." The blond blurted out, as he caught up to him, hands on knees, panting.
Bobby's eyes darted to John, gauging his reaction after years of rooming with the pyromaniac. The flame ball swelled slightly and the subtle narrowing of his eyes tell Bobby all he needed to know, and the blond walked forward, grabbed the hand holding the zippo, and yanked the brunet close, burying his head into the hair .
"Please. Don't leave me," Bobby pleaded softly, gripping him closer, the heat underneath John's skin searing his hands.
Words didn't need to be said aloud, grasping onto the scent of gas and fire, the mingling of ice and fire, and voiceless, they stood there.
The cyrokentic pressed his lips gently against John's neck, and the brunet shivered under the touch, and time rushed by.
Even though it's been forever since they've last seen each other, there's still a freeze burn on John's neck, which he touches absentmindedly when he feels lonely, and Bobby always looks at the faint burns on his hand, tracing the scars and gripping the zippo just a little tighter.
Not mine.