Bobby is one of those people who's uncomfortable in his skin. Always has been. Always will be. It comes from being such a very awkward preteen, he thinks. Always so sure he was going to completely and totally embarrass himself. He never did, not really, not in the huge way he was worried about, but he still can't get over the feeling. That he's going to do something stupid. And, well, he just did something stupid.

He kissed John.

Didn't think about it, didn't think about it at all, 'cause if he'd thought about it he sure as hell wouldn't have done it. So it's almost as much a shock to him as it is to John. Maybe more. Not that Johnny seems to be complaining. And then – whoa. He kissed John. That just hit him. Holy shit. That was not in the original plan. Not that his plan was much of a plan, mind you. The kiss just seemed to be more of a fantasy than a feasible option.

So here he is – here they both are, staring at each other like a couple of idiots. And all Bobby can think is that John hasn't changed much. Subtly. In ways probably only he would notice. His hair was longer, and Bobby was willing to bank on the fact that his temper was even shorter. He had a new tattoo on his shoulder and a new scar on his arm. But maybe he hadn't really changed at all. His lighter was still sticking out of his front left pocket, one eye was still slightly darker than the other and you could still see the faint scar on his cheekbone from some misadventure or another. He was still Johnny. Wasn't he?

And before Bobby can figure out exactly which way is up Johnny kisses him this time. And where Bobby's kiss was a 'goddamn-it-I've-missed-you' John's is 'don't-fuck-with-me-fuck-me'. And it's weird, because Bobby prides himself on being the only one with even an inkling of what goes on in John's mind., on what's going on behind those dark eyes. Only he realizes that even he doesn't have a clue right now. That's a look Bobby's never seen. It's kind of like how John looks at fire, but only a little. And then he doesn't know and he'll probably never know, because his eyes have slid shut. Slid shut in pure bliss. Fuck, Johnny can kiss. Pent up anger and heat and questions that haven't been answered are all pouring out, are all demanding a reaction. And if it's a reaction John was looking for, it's a reaction he's getting.

Bobby wraps one arm around John's neck and the other around his waist. He doesn't protest when John pushes him up and against the wall. He barely registers that the weaker his knees get the tighter he clings to Johnny. He's been waiting for this, damn it. He thought he'd been waiting for months but now he realizes he's been waiting for this his whole life. His hips begin to move up against John's of their own accord.

And Bobby is surprised when Johnny pulls back, so surprised he almost doesn't notice that Johnny's hair is messier than before, his lips red and swollen, his breath hot against Bobby's face. Bobby's trying to discover if he still has a brain to use when John laughs. He grabs hold of Bobby's hand and drags him back out onto the dance floor, the lights swirling and flashing in front of Bobby's eyes, the smoke sort of irritating him but not really, because Johnny smells like smoke all the time. And when they hit the dance floor they dance, obviously, and John looks good when he dances. The opposite of Bobby, who never really could dance but discovers it's not so difficult with John wrapped around him. Not so difficult at all. Not even when the music is pushing into his ears, clawing at the edges of his brain, screaming for room. Not that he's even really paying attention to the music, not when every place that John is touching him burns.

John's hand is resting comfortably on Bobby's stomach, moving him back and forth against John with each beat. The movement is not very fast but it's not slow either. Dancing feels almost like sex, for some reason, which is strange because how can anything be almost sex? Not that Bobby would actually know. And Bobby thinks he's lucky that none of this requires talking because, true to form, he'd probably babble and babble and never stop babbling, just like the inside of his head seems to be doing right now.

There's a second or two where Bobby completely loses himself in that music. Loses himself in the crowd around him and falls into a place just beneath total consciousness, not quite totally aware. He doesn't even register the other bodies bumping up against his but he knows exactly where John is touching him. Where John isn't touching him. Where he wants John to be touching him. He's hot hot hot and it should feel strange, being so used to the cold. But it doesn't feel strange. Doesn't feel the least bit strange.

He never used to understand the urgency he'd see in couples sometimes, like a few months ago when Jubes and Piotr had been hot and heavy and it seemed like they could never get close enough, never go fast enough. He understands that now. He's a bit dense at times, he admits it. He thought maybe that he had started to get it back in his bedroom at home, when he kissed Rogue. Closer closer harder faster hotter. So he pressed his lips to hers and thought, maybe – but no. Nothing. She stole his breath away and he froze hers. Bobby isn't very good at recognizing death calls in relationships.

But he doesn't have to worry about that right now, because this certainly can't be called anything quite yet. Maybe never. But if it will, if it ever earns that title of 'relationship' he isn't going to worry. Bobby knows better than to try to pin down Johnny. Johnny doesn't know what he's doing in the next hour most times, and if he did it certainly wasn't written in stone. Of course, if he said he'd do something he always would. Johnny was always a whole hell of a lot of contradictions.

John's mouth latches onto the curve of Bobby's neck, the soft juncture just under the edge of his shirt, biting just hard enough for it to hurt, just hard enough for Bobby to cry out. And part of Bobby's mind is screaming, asking what the hell he's getting himself into, and the other part says he would really appreciate if Johnny did that again. Contradictions. Such a mess of contradictions.

"Please, Johnny..." Bobby almost knows what he's asking for, even though he can't say it.

Everything is hopelessly muddled together in his head. Not that any of this ever made sense. Not that it probably ever will. Bobby's not sure if he can keep his cool, if he stand the heat. Not even sure if he wants to anymore. He thinks maybe he understands John a little better now. Doing something too fast to really do it properly yet trying to anyway; there's fun to it. Danger. Not dangerous, exactly, because Bobby knows how dangerous feels. This is... reckless. Wild. Frantic, frenzied, crazy, insane. And there's possibility. A distinct possibility. Of what? Bobby's not sure. And that's half the fun, isn't it?

Too many questions. Too much to think about and only a split second left to decide. But if Bobby were honest he'd realize he decided a long time ago.

He forces his arm to unwind from around John's neck, feels his hand curl up in the other boy's, urges his feet to follow John. They stumble across the dance floor and into a back room of the club, pushing aside a curtain and falling onto the couch or chair or whatever the hell is back there. And god knows how many people have been there before and what they've done, but Bobby doesn't care and he's pretty sure it isn't John's top priority either.

Not when Johnny is looking at him like that. Looking at him the same way he watches the fire flickering in his hands, with this almost unholy glee, like deep down he can't quite believe. And John is so stoic most of the time, so closed off from the world that Bobby can barely register that this is Johnny. Johnny is looking at him like that. It's probably the hottest thing he's ever seen in his life.

Another bruising kiss, and the new and altogether too exciting feeling of John on top of him. He's surprised at the sheer heat radiating off of John's skin, heat he can feel even through the clothes. Heat he'd rather feel without the clothes. One of his hands twists in Johnny's hair, hair softer than Rogue's even. Her hair was actually the only part of Marie you could touch. No one was quite sure why. But Bobby had wondered what Johnny's hair would feel like, what Johnny would smell like. So his hair feels soft and John smells like smoke, woodsmoke. Not the stink of sulfur but clear and crisp and sharp. Sharp's a good word to describe Johnny.

Bobby's fingers itch. Itch because he wants to touch Johnny so. Damn. Badly. But he doesn't know what's game and what's not, what he can do and what he can't. John's got the floor because Bobby's pushed his boundaries as far as he can for one day. He's done pushing. He'll go along if Johnny pulls at him, but Bobby can only fight so much.

But Johnny, as usual, seems to know exactly what he's doing. His hands have no difficulty in rearranging Bobby's clothes, in stroking Bobby surely, and smirking when Bobby whimpers. Bobby follows in fumbling example, heart racing. He's always been hyperaware of everything around him, despite how out of touch with the world his teachers thought he was, and now he's on overdrive. Too much to touchtastehearsmellsee.

At the first touch of Bobby's hand against his stomach John gasps.

"Bobby..."

The word fades into an indistinct growl as Bobby dares to go further, beyond cloth and metal to skin. Hot skin, very hot under Bobby's hands. And Bobby realizes they haven't said one word since they've been in this room. Not one. Not until Johnny said his name. And when Johnny begins to stroke faster, to move up against Bobby, then Johnny's name bursts out from him, and it's a strangled groan that says Bobby can only take so much.

"Johnny..."

John is somewhere between straddling him and sitting on top of him. And it's awkward, because there are better and easier ways to do this but neither of them want to untangle themselves long enough to get that way. They want to see and touch and feel, so yeah, it's awkward, and slightly uncomfortable too, but at the same time Bobby can honestly say he's never felt anything better in his life. He can't stop moving. Can't stop thrusting and grabbing, can't stop from clinging desperately to Johnny, leaving perfect little curved nailmarks as he goes. Every few seconds Johnny kisses Bobby, or bites at his lip or his neck or his nipples through his shirt, because they couldn't take the time to get that undressed, and it's like Johnny can't stand to not be tasting him.

Bobby's world explodes in stars. It had to happen sometime, with his hands around the edge of John's thigh and the curve of his ass, with Johnny pressed up oh-so-hard against his stomach. Bobby arches forward, his nose bumping up against John's as they kiss again, and he thinks he tastes blood. He explodes. That has to be the only word for it. That has to be what happened. But the world fades back from blinding whiteness to color, to Johnny, still moving up against him. And when their mouths meet this time it seems as if one is trying to devour the other. He feels the bite of John's fingers in his sides, the scrape of John's teeth against his neck, the tremor that runs through Johnny's body when he comes, following Bobby by only a second or a minute or two or a year. Time slows, time stops, time is somewhere in Bobby's bloodstream and trying desperately to escape, but he doesn't want it to.

Bobby doesn't know what to say, not in the almost-silence of the room, the only actual sound the fragments of the booming music that manage to bleed their way through the walls. He doesn't know where this goes, but it seems to fall into place. He watches as Johnny pulls off his shirt and wipes them both off. They both zip up and fix their clothes and as they step out of the door Bobby's hand finds its way back into John's. It stays there as they walk back through the club, to the front door and into the chilly May air. Stays that way when John pulls him into a cab and Bobby's mind frantically scrambles to come up with the name of the hotel he's staying at. He finally does and he tells the cab driver, and his hand moves from Johnny's hand to his chest, to a nipple ring that definitely wasn't there at the Mansion and Bobby finds himself inordinately interested in. John's chuckle sends a shiver down his spine.

And they don't talk, and Bobby knows that at some point the silence will have to be broken. But that isn't right now.

I updated! Yes! Finally!

Sorry. The evil writers block has been banished :)