Sound came from the closed off room, vibrating the bodies of those
who wandered by. No one questioned why the sound was so loud, and
no one really cared. Which is exactly why the young man had his
stereo so loud- the attempt to block out the world. It seemed with
times passing he was less called on for friendly things, such as
the simple "hanging out". He was bitter, now, being fully
transformed to ice. But none of his teammates seemed to care. They
were lost mourning over the death of Jean, rebuilding the school,
fighting over teams, or just not around anymore. He'd been left on
the backburner of a 12-burner stove, and someone forgot to add him
to the dinner meal. Just left there, sitting cold, growing older.
That's what Robert Drake –Bobby, Iceman- felt like. A leftover
from a meal long ago. The original X-Men were still around, but it
seemed as if they'd forgotten him, again. In fact, they did. His
birthday was last week, and everyone forgot. Except his lover-
currently stuck on a mission somewhere else- , who had called and
wished him a happy birthday. It wasn't a happy birthday, but the
effort was kind.
He'd turned up the sound to drown out the world, but he wasn't
even listening to the music played. He hadn't listened to that
band in years, and covered it up with a pair of headphones playing
what he really liked now. Bobby was afraid of people hearing his
newest sound affection. Afraid they might make fun of him. It
wasn't an embarrassing band, no, nothing like that, but it would
spark questions. So instead, he lay eagle spread on his bed,
headphones deafening his senses to the outside world. Pure ice,
inside and outside, literally and figuratively. Since becoming a
walking otter pop, as Canadian teammate Jean-Paul put it, he felt
no happiness, no anger, just a growing coldness as it crept up
from his toes, to his heart, and his mind. He was dying.
Bobby lay naked to the world on his bed that day. Earlier, he'd
scratched a shinny "I Love You Kurt", into his stomach. Kurt was
away, and by the time he'd come back, Bobby would no longer be
there, but his message would be. Or so he hoped, if he hadn't
melted into a puddle by then. He and Kurt had had many fun, wild
romps together in the past. Bobby remembered all the times they'd
snuck into a broom closet and made out, or had sex in the back of
the Blackbird when no one was paying attention. Oh god, the sex.
He and Kurt, so many positions, so many times. Days they'd spend,
locked in a room, screwing until their asses were black and blue,
giving blow jobs until their teeth marks became permanent
indentations on each others cocks. Nothing was sacred in those
rooms, guts were spilt, blood shared, pain became last in line,
after bliss and love. Yes, love, Bobby had loved Kurt so much,
from the day they met until today. Because today Bobby was dying-
he'd decided a while ago. His sarcastic nature was gone; nothing
existed besides his new "bad-ass" attitude, and a decline in his
love and passion for Kurt. Kurt had forgiven him for telling him
he wasn't an original "X-Man", but things had been bad since then.
He'd been angry with Warren not long after, for sharing Danger
Room secrets with Cain, and then with Scott for not letting his
switch teams. After China, he'd had enough. No one was taking him
seriously anymore; Kurt even seemed to blow off his down crested
attitude, his traurigkeit, as something that would pass in time,
once he accepted his new mutation. Yeah, right, accept something
that he felt was ruining his life? Not letting him feel the warmth
of his lover, of a human touch? Never.
So that's where we find Bobby now. In the crossroads of life and
death. His headphones on, naked for the world to find him, on his
bed. A gun, stolen from somewhere- he couldn't remember or care-
lay on the floor. He wasn't going to use it, but it was there.
Instead, he held a broken end of one of Kurt's foils in his hand.
Ice couldn't bleed, but he could try. After all, he was human,
once.
Kurt came home from a mission two days later. He'd called, and
called, but no one seemed to know where Bobby was. No one would
check his room, either. Worried, he didn't bother to unpack.
Instead, teleported outside Bobby's door, worried crossed his
handsome blue face. He knew, deep down, that on the other side of
this door, nothing living existed anymore, but he refused to
accept that. Opening Bobby's door (he'd left it unlocked, in case
anyone felt like trying to stop him), he saw what became of Bobby.
Iceman, Bobby Drake, had made his final pass back as human, but
didn't live to enjoy it. Blood, now dried to a dark red, stained
the sheets around the body, dripped onto the floor, making a large
puddle. Ants had crawled in through some unseen crack, and carted
out the particles. His eyes were open, his mouth closed. If at
anytime he'd looked more at peace, Kurt didn't know. He'd sliced
his wrists open, upwards, not side-to-side, the right way. After
that, he'd managed to cut his throat open. But the message he'd
left remained in tact, across his belly, just as he'd carved it in
ice, "I Love You Kurt." Once, long ago, they'd promised to love
each other until death. Bobby kept his promise, and for that Kurt
loved him back, and would love his now deceased partner, until his
death as well.
The End.
who wandered by. No one questioned why the sound was so loud, and
no one really cared. Which is exactly why the young man had his
stereo so loud- the attempt to block out the world. It seemed with
times passing he was less called on for friendly things, such as
the simple "hanging out". He was bitter, now, being fully
transformed to ice. But none of his teammates seemed to care. They
were lost mourning over the death of Jean, rebuilding the school,
fighting over teams, or just not around anymore. He'd been left on
the backburner of a 12-burner stove, and someone forgot to add him
to the dinner meal. Just left there, sitting cold, growing older.
That's what Robert Drake –Bobby, Iceman- felt like. A leftover
from a meal long ago. The original X-Men were still around, but it
seemed as if they'd forgotten him, again. In fact, they did. His
birthday was last week, and everyone forgot. Except his lover-
currently stuck on a mission somewhere else- , who had called and
wished him a happy birthday. It wasn't a happy birthday, but the
effort was kind.
He'd turned up the sound to drown out the world, but he wasn't
even listening to the music played. He hadn't listened to that
band in years, and covered it up with a pair of headphones playing
what he really liked now. Bobby was afraid of people hearing his
newest sound affection. Afraid they might make fun of him. It
wasn't an embarrassing band, no, nothing like that, but it would
spark questions. So instead, he lay eagle spread on his bed,
headphones deafening his senses to the outside world. Pure ice,
inside and outside, literally and figuratively. Since becoming a
walking otter pop, as Canadian teammate Jean-Paul put it, he felt
no happiness, no anger, just a growing coldness as it crept up
from his toes, to his heart, and his mind. He was dying.
Bobby lay naked to the world on his bed that day. Earlier, he'd
scratched a shinny "I Love You Kurt", into his stomach. Kurt was
away, and by the time he'd come back, Bobby would no longer be
there, but his message would be. Or so he hoped, if he hadn't
melted into a puddle by then. He and Kurt had had many fun, wild
romps together in the past. Bobby remembered all the times they'd
snuck into a broom closet and made out, or had sex in the back of
the Blackbird when no one was paying attention. Oh god, the sex.
He and Kurt, so many positions, so many times. Days they'd spend,
locked in a room, screwing until their asses were black and blue,
giving blow jobs until their teeth marks became permanent
indentations on each others cocks. Nothing was sacred in those
rooms, guts were spilt, blood shared, pain became last in line,
after bliss and love. Yes, love, Bobby had loved Kurt so much,
from the day they met until today. Because today Bobby was dying-
he'd decided a while ago. His sarcastic nature was gone; nothing
existed besides his new "bad-ass" attitude, and a decline in his
love and passion for Kurt. Kurt had forgiven him for telling him
he wasn't an original "X-Man", but things had been bad since then.
He'd been angry with Warren not long after, for sharing Danger
Room secrets with Cain, and then with Scott for not letting his
switch teams. After China, he'd had enough. No one was taking him
seriously anymore; Kurt even seemed to blow off his down crested
attitude, his traurigkeit, as something that would pass in time,
once he accepted his new mutation. Yeah, right, accept something
that he felt was ruining his life? Not letting him feel the warmth
of his lover, of a human touch? Never.
So that's where we find Bobby now. In the crossroads of life and
death. His headphones on, naked for the world to find him, on his
bed. A gun, stolen from somewhere- he couldn't remember or care-
lay on the floor. He wasn't going to use it, but it was there.
Instead, he held a broken end of one of Kurt's foils in his hand.
Ice couldn't bleed, but he could try. After all, he was human,
once.
Kurt came home from a mission two days later. He'd called, and
called, but no one seemed to know where Bobby was. No one would
check his room, either. Worried, he didn't bother to unpack.
Instead, teleported outside Bobby's door, worried crossed his
handsome blue face. He knew, deep down, that on the other side of
this door, nothing living existed anymore, but he refused to
accept that. Opening Bobby's door (he'd left it unlocked, in case
anyone felt like trying to stop him), he saw what became of Bobby.
Iceman, Bobby Drake, had made his final pass back as human, but
didn't live to enjoy it. Blood, now dried to a dark red, stained
the sheets around the body, dripped onto the floor, making a large
puddle. Ants had crawled in through some unseen crack, and carted
out the particles. His eyes were open, his mouth closed. If at
anytime he'd looked more at peace, Kurt didn't know. He'd sliced
his wrists open, upwards, not side-to-side, the right way. After
that, he'd managed to cut his throat open. But the message he'd
left remained in tact, across his belly, just as he'd carved it in
ice, "I Love You Kurt." Once, long ago, they'd promised to love
each other until death. Bobby kept his promise, and for that Kurt
loved him back, and would love his now deceased partner, until his
death as well.
The End.