Teh big, gay mutantsex. Ye have been warned!
"I'm cold."
The words are out and Bobby doesn't even care that he can't take them back. It's funny. He used to be so guarded, so scared of letting his weaknesses show. And now he doesn't care.
Logan pulls off his jacket and hands it to Bobby.
"Go on. I don't need it."
Body temperature is more of a comfort thing for Logan. It doesn't really matter if he gets too hot or too cold, and Logan's not real big on comfort either. Still, it's a nice gesture, and from Logan a rather big one. Someplace in the back of Bobby's mind he's sure he's grateful. But he can't feel it right now.
"Thanks," he whispers, and his fingers curl around the collar of Logan's jacket as he pulls it onto his lap. "But it won't help."
Logan raises an eyebrow. "And exactly what has ya that cold, kid?"
Bobby thinks of the unused bed on the other side of his room, the two empty chairs in the dining room, the unfamiliar substitute science teacher. He remembers how his training partner has to be constantly switched, since technically he doesn't have one anymore. He thinks of the awkward silences that happen sometimes, the way people laugh and then look like they think that maybe they shouldn't have. But he doesn't possess a way to explain that.
"Nothing." Nothing's wrong.
"Nothing," Logan echoes. "Seems like everyone's had a problem with nothing lately."
"Not like me." Jubilee's 'nothing' is directly connected to her bank account and Rogue's varies inversely to her level of self-pity. Right now, Bobby can barely stand to look at her. Even Scott's 'nothing' is a lie. He's still drowning in grief. Bobby feels… cold. Chilly and icy and inert. Like he feels nothing. Like he has nothing. Like there is nothing.
Logan nods and agrees. Bobby thinks that he's just had an epiphany or revelation, or something like that, but he doesn't feel any better for it.
"I'm cold, Logan."
"I know, kid." And then Bobby is wrapped in strong arms and surrounded by warmth. Fingers brush over the back of his head and rub his back. And he thinks he's found his place; here, on Logan's lap, the coat crushed between them.
Logan takes Bobby out for movies and then ice cream. Two or three hour epics most times, because Bobby has a thing for magic and fighting and strange, cringing figures with wheezing voices. Or maybe it's the elves. Logan is never quite sure.
The ice cream is always some form of chocolate. Rocky road, chocolate and peanut butter, dark chocolate, chocolate with sprinkles. Usually two bowls worth, and Logan's too, because he only eats a few bites of his own bowl. He doesn't care for sugar.
Bobby babbles. About the movie, about school, about Rogue's strange new predilection for hot pink. He asks Logan questions like 'What does caveat emptor mean?' and 'What's the difference between a crocodile and an alligator, anyway?' The funny thing is that Logan usually knows.
When they drive back to the school, which is a good half an hour or more away from the town, Bobby usually falls asleep. Logan covers Bobby with his jacket.
There's a difference between holding Bobby and holding Bobby. Pheromones practically float off the kid. He is seventeen after all, but sometimes his scent does take a sharp spike. Usually when he's sitting on Logan's lap.
He didn't see it coming, and for that he feels stupid. He's ignorant about some things, he'll admit, but he's not stupid. The kid was just looking for comfort, looking for touch, looking for a little attention in a place that couldn't afford to give him any. The attention was always on the visible ones. The ones that screamed, the ones that came in bruised and broken and beaten. No one paid much attention to the class clown. No one seemed to notice that the Iceman was colder than he should have been. No one but Logan.
He'd liked the kid from almost the moment he'd met him. Bobby had accepted Rogue without thought and without question. He'd comforted her when she was scared. He had a sense of pack, and the way Logan saw it, that was a good thing. Logan had even been amused by the chilly handshake he'd gotten upon his return to the Mansion last year. Bobby had come to Rogue's defense. Amusing, and his heart had been in the right place.
Bobby had been fifteen at first count, and when Logan found himself becoming too interested in scents, he'd left. He refused to walk down that road. He'd roamed, and gone to Alkali Lake, and come back to the Mansion in his own good time. By then Bobby had turned sixteen and was going on seventeen and then (please, God) going on eighteen. At least then when Logan lusted he wouldn't feel quite so guilty.
So here he was. With seventeen ohsoclose to eighteen year old Bobby on his lap and in his arms. Pheromones flying. Bobby just looking at him, wide-eyed.
"Logan?"
"Yeah, kid?"
And what the hell Bobby was searching for in his face, Logan had no idea. But he must have found it, because after a moment he sighed and placed his head back on Logan's shoulder.
Logan is bulky and muscular, though not very tall, and Bobby is kind of slight and kind of slim, and when he's tucked up and curled on Logan's chest it's funny how perfect a fit it is.
Friday night at the Mansion. Normally not much different from any other night, but tonight there is a celebration in one of the Rec rooms. Bobby's birthday party. Birthdays aren't celebrated 'officially' at the Mansion, but some of the girls baked Bobby a cake that afternoon and some of the Mansion showed up with gifts to help him eat it. Bobby is liked by almost everyone in that Mansion because he has a sense of humor and also because Scott is often ticked off at him. Both things are a surefire seal of approval in this place.
It was a mostly teenage affair. Logan avoided the room like it was the plague and he was a man without a healing factor. The pheromones were enough to drive anyone up a wall, not to mention the chattering and giggling. He'd leave them alone.
Logan walks down the stairs and begins to head into the kitchen, hoping against hope (and school policy) that he might be able to find a beer.
"Logan!"
"Hey. Happy birthday, kid."
"Are you ever going to stop calling me that?"
"Nope." Logan closes the refrigerator (still no beer) and begins to head back up to his room.
"Hey, where're you going?"
Logan raises an eyebrow.
"It's movie night! You can't skip out on movie night!"
"Thought ya might have better things to do."
Bobby waves a hand. "They just want an excuse to stay up after curfew. Besides, something better than getting hyped up on sugar and watching Dodgeball?"
Logan winces. "Bobby…" Another Ben Stiller movie?
"Dodgeball," Bobby answers firmly.
With a long-suffering sigh, Logan walks out into the hallway, opens the closet, and throws Bobby a coat.
"I s'pose I'm paying."
Bobby looks scandalized. "Of course! It's my birthday!"
It's not Bobby's first kiss. It is, however, his first kiss with a guy. It's definitely different. Logan has stubble, for one, which is something Bobby never even wanted to consider with a female but is perfectly fine now. And it's different because Logan is stronger and harder and muscled. He isn't soft and scented and he doesn't have curves.
Bobby wants Logan. He has wanted him. But it's much harder to ignore it now that he knows Logan wants him too.
Logan draws in a deep breath, and his fingers dig into Bobby's back and sides.
"Bobby… Bobby, we have to stop."
"Why?"
Logan fixes Bobby with his best 'I think you know why' glare, but Bobby isn't fazed.
"I'm eighteen."
"Age has nothing to do with it." Logan lies easily and convincingly when he wants to, but Bobby still knows he is lying. Age matters. Age is why Logan kissed him today but wouldn't have yesterday.
"I've wanted this for months. Please, Logan. I need you."
'Please' is the one word that can break Logan. 'Please', if it is soft and begging and if there is a quiver in the voice that says it. When that one word falls from Bobby's lips, Logan knows he is lost.
Logan is clumsy with a desperate need to touch but not hurt, and Bobby is clumsy because he is awkward, scared, aroused, and painfully eager all at once. But, he thinks offhandedly, it's still better than nothing.
Bobby's been kissed but he's never done anything like this before. A girlfriend like Rogue was a very good reason for sexual abstinence. He's innocent but he's not naïve, not in this age of Internet porn and dirty magazines. Not to mention that John was his roommate for awhile.
So he knows what's going on and he knows what he wants. He's thought about it, he's imagined it, he's dirtied a few sets of sheets over it. But nothing – nothing, nothing, nothing has really prepared him for it. Couldn't possibly have. Whatever Logan's doing has just wrenched another scream out of him, not to mention reduced him to a warm, babbling puddle. It's too much and not enough and Bobby knows he is in over his head.
He feels like he is drowning.
He sobs out "Logan," and Logan is there again, kissing him, roughly licking away his tears. Logan's weight on top of him reassures him, tells him he isn't drowning, he's right here, he's loved.
"Please," Bobby hears himself beg. "Please, Logan." He feels callused fingers over him and under him, everywhere. Teasing and touching. "Logan… I need you." Pointed teeth suckled on his skin as if desperate for the blood underneath. He feels his hips grasped in strong hands and lifted up. He's sitting on Logan's lap, sitting there almost exactly like he has a thousand times before, and he understands Logan's intention. He feels their cocks slide together, sweat and slick, and he places his hands on Logan's shoulders, lifts up, feels Logan's fingers part his cheeks and then press up and in and oh God, it's strange because it's painful but oh, so good. And it doesn't even hurt so much when Logan starts to move, because how much pain can a babbling puddle be in anyway?
His head tilts back and Logan kisses him again and – ah, he likes how Logan kisses. Logan kisses like he fucks; hard, fast, and absolutely devastating. Logan's hand slides from Bobby's hip to his cock and begins to pump leisurely, bleeding together the pleasure and the pain, and Bobby rocks his hips into Logan's hand. He thinks that Logan is lucky to have a healing factor, otherwise his back would be a mess of bruises and nailmarks tomorrow because right now there is no need to be gentle. There is nothing to worry about except feeling. He claws another scratch into Logan's back and runs his fingers over it as it heals and Logan moans. And it's only another minute before he's shuddering, shivering all over like he used to before he couldn't get cold anymore, and Logan's name is strangled in his throat. He comes all over Logan's hand and stomach. He goes limp, almost boneless. He feels the subtle tightening in Logan's thighs and the world is absolutely brilliant for a moment, and crystal clear, like he had covered everything in ice without making it cold.
Logan shifts so they both lie down comfortably on the bed, and Bobby knows he's crying. Little sobs that catch on the edge of each fluttering breath. He snuggles down into the bed covers and Logan's arms and waits for his breathing to slow down. His heart's beating so fast even he can hear it, much less Logan.
"Ya okay?"
Bobby doesn't say anything.
"Are ya hurt?" Logan asks, this time more urgently.
"I can't feel my toes."
With that Bobby feels an almost uncontrollable urge to giggle. And he does. Logan relaxes against him and growls deep in his chest.
Bobby's train of thought is jumping from track to track rapidly. It's Logan-centered at the moment, and for a good reason, but he still can't help but notice the time on the bedside table. 2:06 a.m. He's now eighteen and a day.
"I've got a Danger Room session in…" Oh, some amount of time he can't figure out right now. He's come – bad word choice - to the conclusion his brain is completely fried. Not that the usual condition of Bobby's brain matter is much better…
"Then get some rest, kid. Yer gonna be sore." Logan's voice is almost monotone as he says this, but Bobby knows that if he turned around Logan would be grinning that smug grin of his. Bobby twists a little and then winces. Yeah, he was going to be sore.
"I'm going to kill you," he vows suddenly. He winces again when he thinks of what a Danger Room session always entails: Running, weights, sparring... Scott probably won't accept 'recently ass-fucked' as an excuse to get out of the session. Though it might be worth checking just to see the look on his face.
"Like to see ya try."
Bobby only growls in response.
He doesn't know if Ororo is shocked or if Scott disapproves. He doesn't know if the Professor is disappointed or if the stares he feels on his back as he walks away are disgusted or not. Because, for once, Bobby Drake simply does not care what other people think of him.
He is happy.
Bobby is always amazing, but Logan discovers he likes Bobby best when he's thoroughly fucked. When he's sweaty and boneless and sprawled all over the sheets. When he smells like Logan, when he smells like their room and their bed. When he smells like their smell.
Their smell. Logan finds that their smell is difficult to categorize. It's a little like Bobby, a little like ice, which is sharp and clear. The wood and earth tang is from Logan, and that smell is dusky and dark, like the shadows in a forest. There are the scents of sleep and sex and sweat, and the shampoo Bobby uses. Soap. There's blood. There's happiness. It changes a little each day, but essentially it's the same. Each day Bobby smells less and less of 'Bobby' and more and more of their smell. He smells a little like himself, a little like Logan, and lot like love.