Title: Deliquesce
By foggynite
Fandom: Uncanny X-men
Pairing: Bobby (Iceman)/Jean Paul (Northstar)
Rating: PG-13 to be safe.
Summary: First, he has to stop lying to himself.
Notes: Basically an accompanying Bobby-centric piece to my other fic "Winter" but you don't necessarily need to read that to understand this, I think. I dunno. I've read the other one. Hint.
Warning: This is slash. I am not your parent. If you don't like boys getting it on with other boys, it's up to you to have enough self-knowledge not to read it. There's that fancy little BACK button up at the top, if you're still confused.

The advertisement on the table top was in a little rotatey-thing, and Bobby couldn't help himself. Its siren call was apparent the moment they sat at the rickety café table, and he tried to refrain from reaching out. He tried really hard. But he failed, and let it spin with a whir of little ball bearings. A few yuppies at the surrounding tables turned to look and he pretended to be unconcerned, sipping at his drink.

He didn't want to look up, see the embarrassment on Jean Paul's face. Because when Bobby was nervous, he reverted to what he did best—Deflect and goof off. So he cradled his café mocha between his palms and looked out at the other patrons on the other side of the window.

Fact was, he didn't want Jean Paul to think he was a total whackjob. Preferably, he would give off the air of just a reasonably cute superhero. He was willing to settle for that. He would kill to settle for that, because he was pretty sure his nerd vibes had been going strong for the past hour they'd been trying this... hanging out thing.

Hanging out without anyone else from the team to buffer them. And really, this was one of Bobby's stupider ideas. He'd had the thought in the car, tucked resolutely in the passenger seat because Jean Paul refused to ride in the deathmobile (Hey, every superhero needs a something–mobile. Bobby's was just... special). But he'd looked across the front seat, watching Jean Paul's expression in the dying sunlight, listening to the other man talk about his corporate interests, and he realized that he...

He could really like this.

Because Jean Paul didn't talk down to him like the rest of the team. Sure, the guy was arrogant, but Bobby was beginning to realize that he wasn't the only one with defense mechanisms. And Jean Paul didn't assume that because Bobby had spent most of his younger years goofing off that he didn't understand "adult" things now. They talked about Jean Paul's company the entire way into town, shareholding and acquisitions, and it was a real conversation. Bobby was a freakin' accountant, and Jean Paul didn't belittle that. He even asked Bobby about his non-X-men years like he really wanted to know the answer.

And his stomach clenched, because when he looked back up from the window, Jean Paul had an amused smile on his face and was watching Bobby openly.

Bobby couldn't help smiling back.

The kiss was tentative. Merely an exploratory pressing of lips, but teasing for all its brevity. Bobby gave a slight laugh as Jean Paul pulled back, both breathless.

"So um. Yeah." Bobby smiled. "I'm open to possibilities."

Jean Paul blinked. "Oh."

"'Oh'? Could we have a little more of a reaction here?"

"C'est tres bien?" Jean Paul blinked again.

"I don't know what you just said, but I'm assuming you're not averse to repeating the experience?"

"Non, non... I would like that very much." Quickly recovering his flirtatious grin, Jean Paul cupped Bobby's cheeks and plundered his mouth.

When Bobby's communicator started beeping, they broke apart gasping.

"What?" Bobby snapped, pressing the talk function with an unsteady hand.

"We've got a situation here, Iceman." Warren's cool tones were projected from the tiny bit of electronics. "We need you and Northstar ASAP."

Exchanging a glance with Jean Paul, Bobby replied, "On our way."

After a second, Jean Paul smirked. "Ah, the life of a superhero."

Bobby smiled. "You wanna take the car or you wanna fly?"

"I believe I can get us there faster than your vehicle."

"Hey, she's a classic."

"Of course. Isn't that what they call everything sensible people no longer buy?"

Laughing, Bobby shrugged into his jacket and let Jean Paul have the last word. For now.

The Canadian tucked his hands under Bobby's arms, drawing him tightly against the burning heat of his chest.

Bobby gasped as they took to the sky.

Bobby balked when he saw where they had pulled up to.

"Nuh-uh. No way!"

Jean Paul merely glanced at him, mild as you please, and Bobby could have strangled him. Would strangle him. Soon.

"You do know what kind of club this is, right?" His voice was getting harsh with near-panic.

"Oui, Robert."

Robert. Not Bobby. Okay. Time to back track. Close to thin ice there.

"I'm just saying, it's gonna be conspicuous, y'know?"

"Is that what you're really worried about?"

Hell yes. "Nah. Let's go."

The line was nearly gone when they got to it, and the floor was vibrating from the bass inside. Bobby tried to convince himself that his stomach was flipping over from the heavy smoke, and not the fact that he was there. With Jean Paul. And if anyone who knew them saw this, there'd be no question about their "hanging out."

But then they were inside and his chest was vibrating with the music and there were literally hundreds of guys around them in various states of undress, and Bobby really wanted to get Jean Paul on that dance floor. Wanted to see the line of his neck slick with sweat.

So he grabbed the Canadian by the hand and tugged him through the crowd, because if they were there and anyone had seen them, it was already too late, and he was heady with the atmosphere of the place. Low lights, smoke, strobes, guys making out right on the dance floor. The surge of excitement and terror that went through his limbs reminded him of the battlefield.

But this was his "normal" life.

Glad he had only worn a t-shirt and jeans, he turned to Jean Paul, pulling the other man close as they swayed with the remix's beat. Jean Paul was beautiful, even with the image inducer for his ears, but Bobby knew that if he reached up, ran his hands along the back of Jean Paul's head, he would... Yeah, he would feel the pointy tips of the other man's ears, and from the expression on Jean Paul's face, he'd just found a sweet spot.

No one would look at them funny here. No one would stare. They could just relax, enjoy the music and talk with their bodies, because words had no place here.

Jean Paul stepped in closer as the floor got more crowded, sliding his thigh between Bobby's legs and just... pressure, a quick grind to make Bobby gasp and grip him tighter. The light brush of Jean Paul's mouth, the smell of his sweat, and Bobby surged against him, tongue swiping across soft lips that opened eagerly, and they were making out in public and it was exhilarating.

They hadn't been dancing long when Jean Paul pulled back far enough to mouth something at him. It took Bobby a few moments to lose the glazed look, but then he made a confused face. Jean Paul leaned in, and oh yeah, that was enough to make his mind crash and burn.

"Hotel?" Jean Paul shouted in his ear, and Bobby could only nod dumbly.

Hotel. Privacy. Nakedness. Preferably in that order, but he couldn't guarantee anything.

Out to the car again, silence this time, tense but not awkward, because this was a new step, but it was right. It felt right. And Bobby didn't know how to feel about that.

So Jean Paul was pissed at him. Bobby could deal with that. He had dealt with it before, and hopefully would again, he just had to make it right at that moment. He just didn't know how.

Jean Paul wasn't like anyone else he'd dated. Guy or girl. Admittedly, he didn't have much experience on the guy part, but he'd never wanted to put himself on the line for someone, not like Jean Paul made him want to. And that scared the bejeezus out of him because in the X-men, it was never just about one teammate. If he went through with this, made this official, it would affect everyone, and that wasn't just Bobby being egocentric. He could count off the teammates who would be supportive, the ones who wouldn't care, and the ones that might plot his death. They wouldn't say anything openly to Bobby, oh no. But they could make Jean Paul's life very unpleasant.

Make their lives very unpleasant, and part of the current problem was that Bobby wasn't thinking in "we" terms. Reviewing their argument in his head, he could admit that yes, Jean Paul had a point. A few points. Very angry, sharp points, but true nonetheless. Bobby wasn't being fair to him, wasn't being fair to his teammates, or even fair to himself.

Bobby had been lying to everyone for years. But the deceit had started with himself. The thought of being gay made him uncomfortable, afraid. And it was easier to ignore it, ignore everything he wanted, to stay the joker when everyone else was moving on, as long as he didn't need to face the truth about himself. But Jean Paul wasn't willing to let Bobby lie to him. Jean Paul had looked past the goofing off, past all Bobby's defenses, and he could see the real Bobby, underneath all the ice.

He would lose that, was already losing that, because he was afraid. He was a world famous superhero, even if most of the fame was for being mocked, but he faced death every time he went out there. So why couldn't he tell his friends some basic truths about himself?

He tried to picture himself telling everyone, and he got through Jean, Hank, and Jubes before Warren came up and his mind stuttered to a halt. It would be worse than Apocalypse. There was no way in hell he could go through with that. No way.

But he was dating Jean Paul, and he had admitted to himself a while ago that it was more than sex. They understood each other, beyond the whole hero bit and corporate shmuck bit. Jean Paul was a friend, too.

He couldn't lose that. Weighed against everything else, he couldn't lose that. Because Jean Paul warmed that frozen spot, the place where he was empty and cold, and frozen over. Jean Paul's condescension, his smile, the amused crinkle at the corner of his eyes. His quick temper, his gentle hands. The way he opened himself up completely, but still kept his privacy. His capacity for love while still holding himself aloof.

Bobby looked out over the lake, at the far shore. Jean Paul had landed finally, and just seemed to be wandering, lost in thought.

Taking a deep breath, Bobby started to run, trying to catch up.

He tugged a fleece pullover on, zipping it up until it covered the bite marks on his neck, and quietly shut the door to Jean Paul's room. They'd never even fooled around at the Mansion before, but yeah.

Honesty time.

Jean Paul was hopefully still asleep, but it was early enough yet that the people on the top of Bobby's list were awake. He toyed briefly with the thought of talking to the professor, only he couldn't help his shudder because that would be like talking to his dad about his romantic life, and he didn't want to be scarred for life again. Besides, the prof probably already knew, and would know that Bobby was willing to discuss it. So yes, dodged that bullet for now.

The older students were still up when he wandered past the rec room, bare feet padding on the carpet, and no one paid him any attention. If they were up, then Jean probably was, too. But Bobby had to talk to Hank first.

The lab had evolved over the years, through the many reconstructions of the Mansion, but it was still inherently Hank. For one, it had that musky Beast smell that Bobby actually found soothing, and he shoved his hands in his pockets, hunching his shoulders because it was probably going to get awkward soon. At least for a little bit.

Hank was peering in a dissecting microscope when Bobby knocked and entered without waiting for permission.

"Mr. Drake," Hank intoned with a smile.

"Dr. McCoy," Bobby responded, giving a little bow. The banter eased the knot in his chest but his stomach was still trembling.

"Are you well, Robert?" Hank had put on his doctor face in the momentary pause. "You look flushed..."

"Uh," Bobby cleared his throat and tried again. "Well, actually, I wanted to, y'know, talk to you. About something. Something important. And, y'know, I wanted you to be the first to know, cuz you know you're my best friend, right? You've always been my best friend even when we weren't talking to each other, and—and—"

Hank was frowning worriedly. "Is something wrong? Is it your secondary mutation? I can run several diagnostic—"

"No, no. Not that." Bobby cut him off. "This is. Well, it's kinda personal. Like, about me. And you should know."

"I see." The other man had his scientist face on now, and Bobby shifted nervously. "Would you like to tell me what it is?"

"Well..." He started to ramble again, but caught himself. He just had to say it. Just come right out. Bad choice of words. He tried again. "I'm sure you've noticed that Jean Paul and I are... um... friendly these days..."

"I had noticed your new amicable relations. I must admit that I am not quite surprised—"

"You're not? Why not?" Bobby tried to keep his voice from cracking while Hank beamed at him.

"Well, I'm positive that, despite your contrasting dispositions, you have much in common. In fact, your body language has been quite vocal recently, but I have been confused at times—"

Bobby lost his train of thought. "My what? What? What's my body been saying?"

Hank pushed his glasses farther up his nose. "Well, I have observed moments in which your body language is obviously very open towards Mr. Beaubier, yet during the same observational period, you will close yourself off while still maintaining pleasant conversation." Hank looked innocent. "Really, it's mostly in the tilt of the hips..."

Bobby was getting over his anxiety enough to become suspicious. "You've been watching us."

"We do live in the same house, Robert."

"Yeah." Bobby scuffed his toe on the cold linoleum floor. He looked up quickly when Hank cleared his throat.

"I assume your news might have something to do with the beard burn on your cheek..." Hank's tone was friendly, a little teasing, and Bobby blushed, raising a hand to his face.

"Um, yeah."

Glancing away, Hank focused on the sterile chrome counter. "As long as you are happy, my friend, you'll find no censure here. You are happy, correct?"

Nodding, Bobby found his throat was tight. Hank smiled at him. "Then I thank you for telling me yourself." He turned to the microscope and shut it off. "Would you care for a round of Nintendo?"

Bobby stared at him for a moment, then nodded again. "Yeah, Blue. That'd be cool."

Well, he reflected, at least nothing was broken. Really. Except maybe a friendship that had lasted more than half his life, but hey.

His steps were angry, rocky sand scattering as he paced the shore of the lake. Everyone was acting different. He knew this would happen. They were either staring at him like he was some freakshow in a zoo or they were avoiding him. It was awkward. He hated awkward.

His stupid hands wouldn't stop shaking, so he jammed them into his pockets. He was pissed. That's what he kept telling himself. He was pissed. Because he knew Warren was going to be an ass about all of this. He knew it. Just like he knew Warren had "no problem with those people" as long as his good friend Bobby wasn't one.

"Dammit."

He kicked a spray of sand towards the water and started moving, just walking on the shore away from the Mansion. The displacement of air warned him of Jean Paul's arrival before the man landed.

"Robert?"

He must have really looked like shit if Jean Paul was willing to sound concerned. He kept walking away, though, leaving it up to Jean Paul whether he wanted to follow.

The taller man fell into step beside him, reminiscent of when Bobby had sought him out last time. Maybe that was why he came to the lake, hoping he would be found. For a moment earlier, leaving the mansion after listening to Warren rant, he had thought of being angry with Jean Paul for all that had happened. But he couldn't blame him. He was doing this mostly for himself, after all, and he wouldn't regret it. He wouldn't. That didn't make it hurt any less, though.

And Scott said he would never grow up. Hah.

They came to the tree line and Bobby stopped, staring blindly into the forest. Jean Paul came to a halt, too, just within reach, but not too close. Almost as if he was unsure of his welcome.

Silently, Bobby held out his hand to him without looking, unwilling to see the tremors that had spread to his arm, too. Jean Paul grasped his hand readily enough and put up little resistance when Bobby pulled him in for a tight embrace.

"I'm sorry," Jean Paul whispered into his neck.

"I'm not."

"Ms. Guthrie saw fit to inform me of her boyfriend's response."

"Jean Paul..." There was a warning in his voice, but he didn't know why. Maybe he was afraid that, if he heard about it from other people, heard that Paige and Warren were already targeting Jean Paul, that then he would get really pissed and fuck the friendship. But he didn't want to have to choose. Not if he could help it.

Instead he just wrapped himself tighter around Jean Paul, soaking in his warmth, and felt a little freer than he had in years. Yeah, Warren was being a dick, but at least Bobby was being honest.

Finally.

'Tis very warm weather when one's in bed. Jonathan Swift
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