Part Twelve
A/N: More m/m smut, though less graphic than before. Yes, you finally find out what happened with Warren, in one of my pluperfect flashback sequences. Does anyone find the tense irritating?
Jean Paul wrapped his arms around Bobby's waist and would have buried his head in Bobby's shoulder if it wasn't for the two helmets keeping them chastely apart. Bobby pressed back against him in response, and turned his head enough for Jean Paul to see him grinning through the darkened visor. He revved the engine of the bike happily and knocked the kickstand away. Jean Paul tightened his grip in anticipation and tucked his legs up, not liking the sense of instability inherent in the position.
Bobby released his grip on the bike for a moment to squeeze Jean Paul's hand. The heady sensation that had led him to the bathroom was returning. And now they were heading home. The bike throbbed between his legs as they took off down the road. He wished he could talk to Jean Paul.
Jean Paul's hands were low around his waist. At one point they slipped back to rest on his hips and he felt Jean Paul pull back. He growled, inaudible over the snarl of the bike, and pressed back. Jean Paul took the hint and let his hands rest back in Bobby's lap. Bobby surprised himself by being half hard already. Jean Paul seemed impressed as his hands explored Bobby's denim.
Could you have sex on a motorbike? You'd want the guy behind and the girl in front. Or, well, one guy behind and one guy in front. There were mechanics here Bobby still wasn't quite sure of. Hell, there was probably terminology he wasn't aware of. Were there names for the guy who, uh, did the thrusting and the guy who was, well, thrust into? But Jean Paul's roving hands suggested a perfect alternative that Bobby had no problem getting his head around. Bobby ground back against Jean Paul.
Bobby pouted inside his helmet when Jean Paul stopped abruptly, but the sight of the turning for the Institute flying past distracted him from this tragedy. Oops. There were other exits, but Bobby was well aware of what he was doing as they spend past those as well. His thighs tightened around the bike and caught Jean Paul off guard as they roared down a track Jean Paul probably hadn't even seen.
Jean Paul changed his grip on Bobby from firmly holding to clinging. He could reassure himself that if the bike went over he could fly, preferably taking Bobby with him. But he'd still rather stop and find out what the hell Bobby thought he was doing. The lane - there was no other word for it, and even 'lane' was rather too generous - was badly paved and completely dark, trees overhanging on either side. It was also particularly windy, something Bobby seemed to be immensely enjoying.
It occurred to Jean Paul that he hadn't even checked if Bobby had a license for this thing. He'd obviously learnt to ride at some point, but as they clocked up 80 mph through the forest Jean Paul wondered if anyone had taught Bobby to ride safely.
His doubts crystallised as a pair of headlights materialised in front of them. Bobby's reaction was immediate, but it wasn't enough. Jean Paul put one foot to the ground and pushed, sharply, managing to lift both Bobby and the bike a few brief metres onto the slight bank, slowing them down as he did so. They lay there, a confused pile of men and metal, as the truck grumbled past.
Jean Paul sat up and pulled off his helmet. "What the fuck did you think you were doing?" he roared in French.
Bobby untangled himself from the bike and stared at him, miserably. "I guess I don't need to ask what you just said," he sighed. "I'm sorry."
He'd only been fooling around. It wasn't as though anyone had been hurt. Scott had had no right to shout at him like that. He'd embarrassed him in front of all of the others. They hadn't even tried to stand up for him. He'd decamped to the showers to feel sorry for himself. It had been like being yelled at by his father.
Jean Paul reached out and pulled Bobby's helmet off him, almost taking his ears off with it. He ran long fingers through Bobby's messy hair as he let the anger bleed away.
"Where are we?" he asked eventually.
"Maybe half a mile from the institute," Bobby shrugged. "I just thought it would be… fun. Exciting."
"We do not need more excitement in our lives," Jean Paul said darkly. "Excitement and near death experiences are, as usual, intricately linked."
Bobby hunched his shoulders and drew his head in. "I said I was sorry," he mumbled.
He'd realised that they had to be done in there by now, which meant they were avoiding him. He'd been in the shower so long it had grown cold. They had been just like the showers at his old school gym, right down to the mildew in the shape of Argentina, though here it was on the opposite wall. With a sickening jolt, he'd realised he was homesick.
Jean Paul forced a smile. "Of course." He was very irritated with Bobby, but he didn't dare show it. It had looked like this evening was going to be one hundred percent perfect. Bobby hadn't even been mad at him for turning him down earlier. So right now it might be best to just let it go, if he could. It wasn't exactly starting as he meant to go on, but if he could stop Bobby from panicking and trying to pretend nothing happened for long enough to get him used to a same sex relationship then he'd be able to set things straight.
Jean Paul wasn't surprised when a sense of foreboding settled on him. That dread was the way he seemed to start most relationships. And they never lasted very long.
He had missed his parents. He had missed his school. He had really missed his girlfriend, even if she had been adamant that it was over before he'd even left. He's been mortified that he'd spent so long crying. He was a superhero now. Superheroes didn't cry, even if they were just teenaged boys.
Bobby was standing the bike back up again and checking it over. He felt wretched, and Jean Paul's fake forgiveness wasn't helping. It sent sparks of annoyance down his own spine. He didn't need this patronising pardon. He'd made a mistake, and sure, he didn't want to be hated for it, but trying to pretend a mistake hadn't even been made was worse.
It was, quite simply, the most excruciatingly embarrassing moment of Bobby's life. Standing there, hand on cock, as Warren walked in naked. Staring at each other. And then Warren continuing, deliberately choosing the shower next to Bobby, and grunting something about the cold. Bobby had mumbled something about missing his girlfriend.
Bobby snatched his helmet from the ground and turned to face Jean Paul. "Stop smiling," he snapped. "Or fake it a little more convincingly."
Jean Paul was taken aback. "What would you rather I did?" he spluttered.
Warren had asked about her, and Bobby had forced himself to dredge up painful memories. He did miss her and was hurt that she'd left him, even though he'd been trying to keep her safe. Warren had admired his chivalry. That had meant a lot to Bobby.
"Yell. You yell at everyone else, but I can't think of a single time you've yelled at me," Bobby told him. "I've got to irritate you. I irritate everyone, sooner or later."
"Yes, you do irritate me sometimes," Jean Paul admitted. "As does everyone else."
"So be irritated! I almost got us both killed. You frowned a bit and then… nothing." Bobby spread his hands. "I like you, Jean Paul. I don't want you all bottled up. Trust me," he smiled knowingly, "no good ever comes of that."
Bobby had reached out and touched Warren's wing, fascinated by the way the water ran off it. Warren had smiled at him. Bobby had admired him for a while now, looking like some religious sculpture from Italy, all firm jaw and rippling chess and long sweeping wings. He had to know he was that beautiful, had to be inherently aware of it in the same way Bobby was inherently aware that he wasn't.
Jean Paul stared at Bobby, and then smiled genuinely. "D'accord, yes, I was angry. I do not like being in a situation where not only do I have no control, but I do not know what to expect from that situation. So while I might in fact enjoy speeding through deserted roads in the dead of night with my arms around someone I care for, I would prefer it if you told me that was what I was doing. Otherwise it makes me nervous, which makes me angry."
Bobby smiled at him. "Okay! Okay. See, we've got that straight now. It won't happen again. If you don't yell at me in future, I want it to be because I don't give you cause to, not because you don't feel able to."
They had been so close. Bobby had still been hard, and still aware of it, but he had also been so aware of how close Warren was and how cool Warren was and how brave and how handsome. Warren had just been ignoring it. What did he expect Bobby to do, start jerking off again?
"After all your talk of justifying things to yourself and forgetting things, I want to be careful that I give you no reason to want to." Jean Paul stepped in, close. "I am not going to let you let this go," he said possessively.
"I don't want to let it go," Bobby told him, suddenly aware of how much he did want to.
Bobby had wanted to kiss him. Bobby had wanted to run his hand down Warren's wing, up his shoulder, and round the back of his head to bring him in for a nice long, slow kiss. His own cowardice had appalled him. He had remembered standing in the shower, a little like this, watching as the jocks beat up that kid who'd come out the day before because one guy thought he might have been looking. He'd seen them do it a few more times, and he'd listened to the constant jeering, until one day the guy was gone. And with the others, when the suicide rumour reached them, he'd laughed at the guy's stupidity. He hadn't quite dared to do more than nod when the others said the world was better off without his sort. Those nights that followed, he'd dream about the boy coming back from the dead. The guy would tell everyone how Bobby was just like him and then show them, and those dreams invariably ended with sticky sheets and sweaty limbs.
Jean Paul pulled him into his arms and kissed him. Bobby held him, tightly, and kissed back. He was scared. Far too much was happening.
"Are you alright?" Warren had asked. He'd reached over casually, and placed a hand on Bobby's hip. For one brief, shining moment, Bobby had thought the attraction might be mutual.
He had to get past this confusion and push past any related fear. He had to tie up loose ends. He had to take what he wanted, when he wanted it, before he was unable to.
"I miss my girlfriend," Bobby had mumbled. "I- I miss her loads. I miss having a girlfriend, you know? Having someone to be close to, like that. Friends are great, all you guys are great, but it's not the same."
He was grateful for the erection straining in his jeans. Proof that he did want this, proof that he was doing the right thing. And he didn't even have to worry about what anyone else might think, because they were utterly alone in the dark woods.
"I miss that too," Warren had said.
Bobby kissed with wild abandon, half leaning on the bike and half on Jean Paul, hands clutching at clothes and hair and bared skin, hips bucking against Jean Paul.
Jean Paul pulled back, gasping for air. "Oh, Bobby," he moaned.
"Take me," Bobby said.
"Take… me," Bobby had stuttered. "I'll… let me touch you."
"What?"
Bobby kissed him hungrily, trying to turn back time. He traced his tongue along his jaw and cheekbones and nibbled his ear. Hands roved around Jean Paul's waistband.
Warren had stared at him, and Bobby had thought he was going to be sick. Then Warren had reached down and taken Bobby's cock in his hand. He'd brushed the top of it with his thumb. Bobby had swallowed hard and reached out for Warren's still flaccid length. Slowly, he had begun to move his hand up and down.
"Bobby, Bobby," Jean Paul pushed him away. "Bobby, what are you doing?"
"I don't know," Bobby managed. "Fuck me. Something, anything."
It was a bit like jerking off, except the wrist angles were all wrong. They hadn't taken their eyes off each other the entire time. They hadn't looked down, they hadn't touched anywhere else. They'd even kept the same rhythm. As the cold water poured between them, they'd worked each other. Bobby had wanted to kiss him so badly.
"Bobby?" Jean Paul took him by the shoulders. "Why are you doing this?"
"I want to…" Bobby shook his head. "Forget it," he murmured. "Just keep kissing me."
Warren had upped the pace first. There was a look on his face Bobby hadn't particularly liked, something between disgust and regret. He had been thrusting into Bobby's hand. God, that was power. When Warren came, he'd come for Bobby, because of Bobby. That was power. He had needed Bobby.
Jean Paul had doubts, but Bobby was sucking on his neck now and had hands inside his shirt, exploring. Jean Paul ground against Bobby's hips and slid one hand down the back of Bobby's jeans.
Bobby had come first, inevitably.
Bobby came, grunting, so abruptly that Jean Paul was taken completely by surprised. He looped his arms around Jean Paul's shoulders and rested his weight there, like he was about to collapse. Jean Paul held him, still amazed. It had been barely an hour since the bathroom. Was this… it wasn't going to be a common occurrence, was it? It could explain why Bobby had such trouble holding down a girlfriend, Jean Paul supposed. He tried to put the thoughts out of his mind.
Bobby had managed to keep his mind on what he was doing and Warren had come with a thrust that had made Bobby slip backwards on the wet tile. The older boy had stood over him, bent forwards and panting hard. Bobby had stared up at him, licking his lips.
"Bobby?" Jean Paul murmured.
"Warren," Bobby moaned.
"Warren?"
"I don't want you to mention this to anyone," Warren had said, straightening up and breathing heavily. "Not even to me. Especially not to me. I…pretend it never happened, okay?"
"Okay," Bobby had sighed, head drooping.
"Warren?" Jean Paul spat, jumping backwards and dropping Bobby to collapse in a heap on the ground.
Bobby stared at him. "What? No!"
"Warren?" Jean Paul repeated, stepping forwards again, face dangerous.
Bobby brought his knees up, buried his head in his hands, and began to cry.
"Bobby," Jean Paul snarled.
"Go away," Bobby sniffed. "Fly away home."
A figure stepped out of the shadows. "Who are you talking to?" Warren said. "Which one of us?"
The pain and fury that had built up in Jean Paul in those few short seconds released in one blinding blur of a fist. Warren sailed back, knocking his head on a tree and slumping to the ground. Jean Paul stood there, enjoying the sensation, but Bobby half crawled and half ran across to his friend. As he checked him over Warren opened his eyes and stared at him.
"I was worried about you," Warren growled. "I was worried, Bobby." He sat up carefully.
"Worried enough to come and spy on us?" Jean Paul stood over him. "That worried?"
Warren ignored him. "I asked you-"
"You told me," Bobby reminded him bitterly. "War…"
"Did you tell him, yet?" Warren asked him. "Did you tell him about us jerking each other off in that shower? I bet you told him in graphic detail."
"I didn't say a word," Bobby told him.
"What?" Jean Paul said weakly. "You…"
"Forget it," Bobby turned and snapped. "Go away."
"No."
Bobby decided to ignore him. "Warren, you said never to mention it and I didn't. Not even to you."
"I want to know what happened," Jean Paul demanded.
"What are you doing with this guy?" Warren asked.
"Well, earlier we were having a lot of fun and I was getting some stuff sorted out," Bobby said crisply, "and then I almost got us both killed and now I'm beginning to think that might have been a better end to the evening. Certainly would have capped this miserable day off quite nicely."
"You don't have stuff to sort out," Warren insisted. "You'd be better off ignoring him. You'll feel better for it," he added. "Come on, Bobby, you can't convince me you've changed after all these years. You've been happy with girls. Why are you hurting yourself here?"
"I don't know," Bobby said. "I was happy earlier. I think I am going to be happy with Jean Paul. And… if it doesn't work out, you can say 'I told you so' and I can stick it my ever increasing list of failed relationships. And if it does, then I'll be happy and you…" he trailed off.
"I'll have to be happy for you?" Warren frowned at him. "I can't do that."
"I know," Bobby said in a very small voice.
"I'm going home," Warren said, struggling away from the tree and checking his wings. "Next time, Bobby, don't expect me to come after you when you disappear all fucking night."
Bobby watched the silhouette of his best friend fade into the clouds overhead and realised, with a sinking feeling, that it was going to rain.
"Bobby?" Jean Paul offered him a hand up.
"I can't tell you what happened between us, not unless he says it's okay," Bobby told him.
"He was… pretty clear, on what happened," Jean Paul pointed out with a slight smile.
"True," Bobby smiled weakly.
"Come on," Jean Paul handed him his helmet. "Let's get back, yes?"
"You're not yelling again," Bobby pointed out.
"I do not see why I should be angry with you. Hearing his name at that moment was not the best timing on your behalf, but understandable now I know he was here."
Bobby decided not to mention that he hadn't seen Warren until Jean Paul had, when he'd joined the conversation. Telling someone that he'd been thinking about someone else while they were making out, even if he hadn't intended to, wasn't a winner in any relationship. He knew Jean Paul wanted this to work out, even if he wasn't sure why the older man had invested so much emotionally in a relationship barely hours old, and he wasn't going to force him to put up with more than he had to.
"I understand why you are keeping this secret," Jean Paul went on, though his voice was strained, "since you do not want to sever your friendship with Warren."
"It's hard to understand from the outside," Bobby told him. "It will work out, though. And I'm not going to lock you two in a room or anything until you get along, like in those cheesy movies."
"It would be more like the Thunderdome," Jean Paul commented wryly.
Bobby leant over and kissed Jean Paul gently. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Today has been extremely intense, emotionally, for me. I didn't sleep much last night, and first there was Hank's news, then the fight with Warren, and then us, at the coffee shop, and then you yelled and I got confused and everything kind of caved in on me," Bobby finished breathlessly. "I really just need to get home and go to sleep."
Jean Paul held Bobby tightly. He'd never thought it through this far. His fantasies involved Bobby falling for him and great sex and, well, that was it. There was never any subplot involving homophobic friends or repressed Bobby or emotional roller coasters for anyone. He wanted this to work, but he hadn't thought about his work he'd have to put in to make that happen. If it all got too much Bobby would call it quits and go back to how things were, and Jean Paul couldn't bear that. He didn't know how to help, yet, but he knew he was going to have to take some of this weight off of Bobby's shoulders.
"I will make you happy, Bobby," he breathed in Bobby's ear. "This relationship will work out. We will be happy and Warren will just have to learn to live with that."
"Thanks," Bobby hugged him. "I'm sure you're right, and it'll all work out." he kissed Jean Paul again and pulled away, putting his helmet on. Jean Paul did the same with more reluctance. Bobby winked at him as he climbed onto the bike, and Jean Paul shivered.
"Warren?"
"Yes, Bobby?"
"We're still… this won't change our friendship, right?"
"Not if you don't let it. I don't intend to. Get off the floor and hurry up and get dressed. We'll be late for dinner."
"Coming."
Bobby had climbed slowly to his feet, watching Angel walk away. He never had managed to forget, though he'd done a good job of pretending, for Warren's sake.
