Title: Flick, Click, Hiss
Author: Katarin MoonStar
Fandom: X-Men the Movie (X2)
Pairing: Bobby/ John, IceMan/ Pyro
Rating: PG-13? (it's way to vague to be R, right?)
Warning: mentions of homophobia and bigotry, oh and angst, lots of it
Spoilers: If you haven't seen the movie, don't read this
Summary: "A year ago it had seemed perfectly normal to be kissing his
best friend under the star- filled sky of a Westchester Christmas. " Pieces
are all Bobby has left.
Notes: This is for Amber, who hopefully will read this, but if she doesn't, it's
still for her. She got me thinking of rough break ups and this just tumbled
out after that.
Flick, Click, Hiss
Bobby sat on the bed, a bed as familiar to him as his own and slowly
flicked the lighter on and off. 1,000's of items in the room belonged to him,
but nothing else could make him feel closer to John than this Zippo in his
hands. He could hear the other students laughing outside the door, running
up and down the halls, but in their room, only the steady flick, click, hiss of
the lighter broke the silence.
Sitting, staring at the lighter, Bobby becomes cold for the first time in
a long time. He leaves the bed, and moves towards the closet, intending to
get one of his school sweatshirts, but he passes the hamper on the way
and changes his mind. It's on the top of the pile, and just by looking at it,
Bobby knows it's the Johnny Blaze sweatshirt he got him for Christmas a
year ago. He and John had seen it and laughed about it, imagining Pyro
wearing it while controlling the fire around him.
A year ago Bobby and John had never met Marie ("call me Rogue")
or Magneto. A year ago it had been a simple thing to wait until the
Christmas festivities were almost over to slip outside and exchange gifts in
the snow. A year ago Bobby had stood with delight while he watched John
unwrap the gift and immediately put it on. They had laughed and John had
given Bobby The Authority graphic novels. They made some jokes about
how fake super heroes got to hang out all day and built a snowman. Just
before Bobby moved to go inside though, John grabbed his hand. He
pulled Bobby towards him and held his finger to his lips. He reached into
his pocket and pulled out the Zippo. After the familiar flick, click, hiss, John
told Bobby to close his eyes. When Bobby had opened them again an
entire army of tiny dragons, made of fire, were swirling around them. Bobby
had looked around frantically, laughing out loud and trying in vain to track
the movements of the rapidly moving fire creatures. Before long he was
mesmerized by the way the fire glowed off the pristine white snow and how
the dragons seemed to dance millimeters away from his skin. It was in this
hazy state that he had heard John's voice, right next to his ear, whisper
"Merry Christmas Bobby," before turning me around and sealing his mouth
over mine.
A year ago it had seemed perfectly normal to be kissing his best
friend under the star- filled sky of a Westchester Christmas. It had kept
seeming normal for a while afterwards to. Even after Rogue had shown up,
it hadn't changed things. Bobby used to wonder, in the early days of the
Battle for Rogue, if John was just doing it to get his attention. It had never
mattered to Bobby because, as much as he loved John and needed him
around, he wasn't gay. His father had told him that he "didn't raise any
fags" and Bobby knew that he couldn't be a fag and a mutant, there was no
way he was that unlucky. So when Rogue had come, he had thrown
himself into it, because it just made sense. Rogue was a girl and she was
pretty, John was a boy and while he was pretty, he wasn't the kind of pretty
that Bobby was supposed to want, so he went after Rogue.
Looking back on it, he guesses that it was funny, all that energy
wasted during the day and they'd just go back to there room at night and
expend some more energy on each other. John always wanted Bobby to
stay with him when it was over but Bobby had always laughed it off with a
"c'mon John, we're not like that," or a "yeah and we can hold hands and
braid each other's hair to," and a grin. And if sometimes Bobby could hear
the uneven sounds of John's breathing after they'd gone to bed and John
was trying to hold back tears, Bobby never thought anything of it. John had
lived a much harder life than Bobby and he was entitled to cry. Just
because Bobby had learned at an early age that "only queers and girls
cry," didn't mean he held it against John when he needed to let it out.
Bobby looks down at the sweatshirt and takes it with him back to the
bed. He sits down and pulls it over his head. He sits for awhile before a
familiar smell wafts up from the shirt. At first it's just the familiar scent of
John (butane fuel, ozone and spice), then he detects faint traces of himself
(like snow and pine cones), before a sharp, salty smell reaches his nose.
Bobby looks down at the sweatshirt and sure enough, telltale white spots
run up and down the sleeve. A sudden stab of memory assaults him. John
leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing the first item of clothing he
finds to wipe the sweat and semen of his chest and stomach, before
turning to Bobby and doing the same. John had then tossed the sweatshirt
into the hamper before turning to him and kissing him soundly on the
mouth. That had been the night before Logan had come back, the last
night they had been alone.
Bobby looks down at the spots again and wants to scream. It
appears his dad was both right and wrong. Apparently he did, in fact, raise
a fag, so he was wrong about that. But obviously he was right about only
queers and girls crying, because that's exactly what he's doing now. He
had John for almost a year. A year that he should have told him he loved
him, told him he meant the world to Bobby. Now all he had was a few
stained articles of clothing, a Zippo and a broken heart. Everyone had
blamed John for abandoning the X-Men and Xavier. Bobby didn't blame
him though, he had abandoned him first. John had put everything he had
on the line, repeatedly, and Bobby had tossed it away. Bobby laid himself
down on the bed and tried to sleep. It would be Christmas again soon, and
he had to find some one to sell those limited edition Johnny The Homicidal
Maniac's too John was gone and it was all his fault, and now Bobby just felt
like dying.
Author: Katarin MoonStar
Fandom: X-Men the Movie (X2)
Pairing: Bobby/ John, IceMan/ Pyro
Rating: PG-13? (it's way to vague to be R, right?)
Warning: mentions of homophobia and bigotry, oh and angst, lots of it
Spoilers: If you haven't seen the movie, don't read this
Summary: "A year ago it had seemed perfectly normal to be kissing his
best friend under the star- filled sky of a Westchester Christmas. " Pieces
are all Bobby has left.
Notes: This is for Amber, who hopefully will read this, but if she doesn't, it's
still for her. She got me thinking of rough break ups and this just tumbled
out after that.
Flick, Click, Hiss
Bobby sat on the bed, a bed as familiar to him as his own and slowly
flicked the lighter on and off. 1,000's of items in the room belonged to him,
but nothing else could make him feel closer to John than this Zippo in his
hands. He could hear the other students laughing outside the door, running
up and down the halls, but in their room, only the steady flick, click, hiss of
the lighter broke the silence.
Sitting, staring at the lighter, Bobby becomes cold for the first time in
a long time. He leaves the bed, and moves towards the closet, intending to
get one of his school sweatshirts, but he passes the hamper on the way
and changes his mind. It's on the top of the pile, and just by looking at it,
Bobby knows it's the Johnny Blaze sweatshirt he got him for Christmas a
year ago. He and John had seen it and laughed about it, imagining Pyro
wearing it while controlling the fire around him.
A year ago Bobby and John had never met Marie ("call me Rogue")
or Magneto. A year ago it had been a simple thing to wait until the
Christmas festivities were almost over to slip outside and exchange gifts in
the snow. A year ago Bobby had stood with delight while he watched John
unwrap the gift and immediately put it on. They had laughed and John had
given Bobby The Authority graphic novels. They made some jokes about
how fake super heroes got to hang out all day and built a snowman. Just
before Bobby moved to go inside though, John grabbed his hand. He
pulled Bobby towards him and held his finger to his lips. He reached into
his pocket and pulled out the Zippo. After the familiar flick, click, hiss, John
told Bobby to close his eyes. When Bobby had opened them again an
entire army of tiny dragons, made of fire, were swirling around them. Bobby
had looked around frantically, laughing out loud and trying in vain to track
the movements of the rapidly moving fire creatures. Before long he was
mesmerized by the way the fire glowed off the pristine white snow and how
the dragons seemed to dance millimeters away from his skin. It was in this
hazy state that he had heard John's voice, right next to his ear, whisper
"Merry Christmas Bobby," before turning me around and sealing his mouth
over mine.
A year ago it had seemed perfectly normal to be kissing his best
friend under the star- filled sky of a Westchester Christmas. It had kept
seeming normal for a while afterwards to. Even after Rogue had shown up,
it hadn't changed things. Bobby used to wonder, in the early days of the
Battle for Rogue, if John was just doing it to get his attention. It had never
mattered to Bobby because, as much as he loved John and needed him
around, he wasn't gay. His father had told him that he "didn't raise any
fags" and Bobby knew that he couldn't be a fag and a mutant, there was no
way he was that unlucky. So when Rogue had come, he had thrown
himself into it, because it just made sense. Rogue was a girl and she was
pretty, John was a boy and while he was pretty, he wasn't the kind of pretty
that Bobby was supposed to want, so he went after Rogue.
Looking back on it, he guesses that it was funny, all that energy
wasted during the day and they'd just go back to there room at night and
expend some more energy on each other. John always wanted Bobby to
stay with him when it was over but Bobby had always laughed it off with a
"c'mon John, we're not like that," or a "yeah and we can hold hands and
braid each other's hair to," and a grin. And if sometimes Bobby could hear
the uneven sounds of John's breathing after they'd gone to bed and John
was trying to hold back tears, Bobby never thought anything of it. John had
lived a much harder life than Bobby and he was entitled to cry. Just
because Bobby had learned at an early age that "only queers and girls
cry," didn't mean he held it against John when he needed to let it out.
Bobby looks down at the sweatshirt and takes it with him back to the
bed. He sits down and pulls it over his head. He sits for awhile before a
familiar smell wafts up from the shirt. At first it's just the familiar scent of
John (butane fuel, ozone and spice), then he detects faint traces of himself
(like snow and pine cones), before a sharp, salty smell reaches his nose.
Bobby looks down at the sweatshirt and sure enough, telltale white spots
run up and down the sleeve. A sudden stab of memory assaults him. John
leaning over the edge of the bed and grabbing the first item of clothing he
finds to wipe the sweat and semen of his chest and stomach, before
turning to Bobby and doing the same. John had then tossed the sweatshirt
into the hamper before turning to him and kissing him soundly on the
mouth. That had been the night before Logan had come back, the last
night they had been alone.
Bobby looks down at the spots again and wants to scream. It
appears his dad was both right and wrong. Apparently he did, in fact, raise
a fag, so he was wrong about that. But obviously he was right about only
queers and girls crying, because that's exactly what he's doing now. He
had John for almost a year. A year that he should have told him he loved
him, told him he meant the world to Bobby. Now all he had was a few
stained articles of clothing, a Zippo and a broken heart. Everyone had
blamed John for abandoning the X-Men and Xavier. Bobby didn't blame
him though, he had abandoned him first. John had put everything he had
on the line, repeatedly, and Bobby had tossed it away. Bobby laid himself
down on the bed and tried to sleep. It would be Christmas again soon, and
he had to find some one to sell those limited edition Johnny The Homicidal
Maniac's too John was gone and it was all his fault, and now Bobby just felt
like dying.