Part Eleven

A/N: This is the chapter where the smut kicks off. If you don't like m/m smut, stop reading about halfway down and just pretend. And this isn't the end of the fic. Just in case people wondered.

Bobby caught Jean Paul grading papers at lunch time. He'd been wandering around outside prior to that, walking round and around the lake. Why were the revelations he hid from himself always revealed in sporadic outbursts to friends? Things he couldn't bear to think he was happy to shout.

Jean Paul looked up as he entered and looked back down at his papers almost immediately.

"You wanna go out tonight?" Bobby asked with forced casualness. "I'm in the mood for coffee, and we could take my new bike out for a spin."

"I am busy," Jean Paul said shortly.

Bobby halted midstep. "What?"

"I am busy. Sorry."

"Okay… how about now?" Bobby offered desperately.

Jean Paul shot him another very brief look and tapped the papers he was marking with the end of his pen.

"Tomorrow?" Bobby asked.

"I will be busy. Sorry, Bobby, but I am very busy for a very long time."

"Really? Because it sounds more like you're fobbing me off," Bobby said crisply. "I haven't had a day that sucked this badly for months."

Jean Paul flinched, but kept his head down. He'd made his decision. Now was the time to start cooling things down between the two of them. Only a few more months before he could take a nice long holiday. The Caribbean, maybe. That would be nice. Or he could always go back to Montreal.

"Jean Paul," Bobby said softly, "I need to talk to you."

Against his better judgement, Jean Paul found himself looking at Bobby. He looked young and scared.

"You can not talk to anyone else?" Jean Paul asked.

"No, I can't," Bobby swallowed. "I've just had a terrible fight with Warren."

"Just?" Jean Paul frowned. "I thought that was hours ago."

Bobby flushed suddenly. "Did… could people hear us?" he asked in horror.

"What? No. But Warren came back earlier, slamming windows."

"Oh, I see."

They looked at each other for a few more moments. Jean Paul could feel himself wavering, but he forced himself to hold firm.

"I am sorry, Bobby, I simply can not be available tonight. I have been neglecting my work so much for you lately. Maybe next week?"

Bobby blinked at him. "Maybe," he said quietly. "I'm sorry for keeping you from your work." As Jean Paul examined that last statement for sarcasm or irony, Bobby got up from the table and left in silence.

"Hey, where's ya partner in crime?" the girl behind the counter looked at Bobby with concern.

"Busy," Bobby said bitterly.

"You two have a fight?"

"I look that bad, huh?" Bobby smiled weakly. "I had a blazing row with one of my other friends. If it hadn't been for that then JP and I probably would have fought, but all my aggression kinda got sapped out of me."

"Baby," she clucked sympathetically. "Hey, don't you pay for that. I'll put it on his tab, shall I?" She grinned at him.

"Yeah," Bobby grinned back. "Cool."

He took his coffee and cream bun to a table and settled in, helmet tucked beneath his seat. Great bike. Bobby leant back in his seat and began to read the varnished newspapers on the table top. It was the first time he'd come here alone, but he thought of this as his table, not their table. It had the paper from the day of his birth on it. A girl was singing in the corner of the room, the girl who'd winked at him the first time he'd come, and he raised the tall mug to her, earning himself a flirtatious wave.

It was strange, being here alone, but not that bad. He felt more able to think. Maybe he associated this place with being freer to express himself. He smiled at his own fancy and stuck his finger in the cream bun, scooping out the thick whipped cream and sucking it from his finger slowly. It was sexual, he decided, it had 'implications'. And he could enjoy that. He was a mature adult, with a mature sexual appetite. Which happened to include both sexes.

That… Both sexes. Both. Men and Women. He still couldn't quite get his head around it. He knew all the mechanics of women, but what was he meant to do with men other than what he'd done already, which he could have done with women anyway? He'd never fantasised of doing anything with a guy. Well, not anything specific to a guy. He had dreamed about guys. And that was okay, and normal, because he was sexually attracted to guys.

It still didn't feel normal, not quite. But he felt vaguely obliged to pretend to himself it did. He didn't know how long he had left. It could be forever, it could just be tonight. So he had to get his head around this now. Before, it hadn't really mattered. It hadn't been going to be long before he was unable to participate in any relationship, hetero or homosexual, so it wasn't worth worrying about. But this was so different.

There was a thunk and his attention was drawn back to the present. A second motorcycle helmet had landed on the table, and following the hand resting on it and up the arm and passed the shoulder there was a very beautiful, very delicate, very strong face. Pointed ears and all, it was Jean Paul, and his face was twisted with concern and guilt.

"You came," Bobby breathed.

"Je suis desolee," Jean Paul murmured.

"Uh, sit down," Bobby gestured. It unnerved him, having Jean Paul stand over him like that.

"I am sorry," Jean Paul repeated, still hovering.

"You came," Bobby told him again. "Just sit, okay? You're forgiven," he added, realising this was the key to unlock Jean Paul's knees. The Canadian collapsed into a chair on cue.

"I should not have put you off," Jean Paul said weakly.

"Well, no, but you're here." Bobby smiled at him, and pushed half the cream bun over. "And you already paid for my stuff, so you're doing quite well really."

Jean Paul didn't ask, but accepted the sickly pastry. "You wanted to talk?" he said hopelessly.

Bobby stared at him long enough to make Jean Paul uncomfortable. "Did you fly here?" he changed the subject in the end.

"Yes. I brought the helmet because I was hoping you might allow me on the motorbike, as you promised."

Bobby grinned. "Sure."

They sat in awkward silence for a moment. Bobby watched the singer with uncomfortable intensity. He drummed his fingers on the table, and Jean Paul began to wonder if perhaps Bobby hadn't been happier alone.

"This shouldn't be hard to say to you," Bobby said, quietly enough that Jean Paul almost missed it. "Except, well, I partly blame you. Turning up and being gay and out and not caring what people thought. It's rather harder for those of us who do worry about how we appear to others."

"Bobby?" Jean Paul had a sinking feeling that he knew what was coming and he couldn't begin to imagine how he'd react when he heard it.

"A few years ago," Bobby began, "I was suffering from insomnia. I'd had a dream, a wet dream, about a guy and I was very determined that it was perfectly normal for a heterosexual guy to dream about things like that and it didn't bother me at all and that I was going to drink myself into a complete stupor so there was no chance I'd dream like that again."

"Bobby," Jean Paul fumbled, "are you trying to say you are, are, are like me?"

Bobby turned to look at him. "I think I'm bisexual. I've spent years managing to ignore half my sexual preference, but it gets rather harder when there's someone around to identify with. I felt like part of me was rebelling."

Jean Paul reached out, but couldn't work out why and was left with his hand hovering over the table. Bobby took it and squeezed.

"I'm confused right now," he said softly. "I thought you might be able to help, but I think now it's something I've got to think through on my own."

"I want to help," Jean Paul said weakly.

"Thanks," Bobby grinned.

"Bobby…" Jean Paul held his hand and looked away, wondering if now was the right time. "You have nothing to fear, except yourself."

"That's… deep." Bobby chuckled.

"Tell me how you came to realise this," Jean Paul insisted. "I might be able to identify."

"You want to swap stories like teenaged girls?" Bobby grinned. He dug his finger into the cream again and licked it, thoughtfully. He watched Jean Paul's eyes follow his tongue, so he began to suck on the digit to see the reaction. Jean Paul's lips parted. "Well," Bobby purred, "as I was saying, a few years ago I was suffering from sexuality related insomnia."

"Yes?" Jean Paul murmured.

Bobby dug his finger into the cream filling again and held it out. "Taste it," he commanded. Jean Paul looked baffled, so Bobby pressed the finger to Jean Paul's lips. He was rewarded with a sharp intake of breath and slowly, so slowly, the parting of those lips and the first touch of a hot wet tongue.

"I was sitting in what is now the student's lounge," Bobby continued with his story. "I watched porn and drank beer."

"Bobby," Jean Paul moaned, pulling away from the still half coated finger. "What are you…"

"I'm seducing you," Bobby smiled suddenly. "I've had people telling me that you wouldn't be adverse to it."

"Oooh," Jean Paul breathed.

"Do you want to hear about my sexual awakening?" Bobby raised an eyebrow. "Well, one of them. I had this tendency to repress afterwards. Always found an excuse to put it behind me. Never had the right role model."

"Mon Dieu, Bobby," Jean Paul gulped. "You do not need to try so hard."

Bobby's confident smile wavered. "I just… I don't want to piss about any more. I'm sick of trying to work things out. I just want to know, now."

"Don't rush yourself." Jean Paul echoed Hanks sentiments. It wasn't something Bobby wanted to hear.

"I've had years of false starts," Bobby told him. "I mean, one night with Gambit almost had me certain, just like I am now, but I let it go and took it too slow and I retreated from it again. So now I push myself, and I think it's going to turn out okay. Is it?"

Jean Paul, despite reservations, let himself say what he wanted to say, not what he thought Bobby needed to hear right now. "Of course, Bobby."

Bobby's smile returned. "I…" He couldn't quite say it. "How best should I seduce you?" he substituted.

Jean Paul responded, "tell me more about this encounter with Gambit."

"Jealous?" Bobby smirked. "I've heard you think quite highly of him."

"You would know why."

"I didn't then. He was just Remy. He appeared with a case of beer while I was watching two girls make out in a hot tub. I was hideously embarrassed, but he laughed and joined me." Bobby took a sip of his coffee. "It had to be about three AM. We sat and made lewd comments and got drunk. If you thought the other night was interesting, it was nothing compared with that night. I can't believe I still remember it."

Bobby took a bite out of his cream pastry and looked inside it for more cream. He found enough to make it worth discarding the dry shell and lapped the dumpy cream from the base of his knuckles. Jean Paul leant over and sucked the swirl from the tip of his finger. They shared a warm look.

"It finished, and it was late," Bobby went on, voice much huskier and deeper than before. "We didn't know each other, Gambit and I, that well back then, though even I knew he was going through a rough patch with Rogue. I think I had some idea that I should encourage him to talk about it, but my alcohol befuddled tongue managed to steer the conversation in another direction entirely.

"He told me, it somehow being relevant, that when it came to porn he preferred to watch two girls go at it, but to read about two guys. I told him that was rather gay. He laughed at me. Told me it only made sense, since it was much easier to identify with the sensations when reading about guys, and accused me of being close minded.

"I told him no, basically. I even told him I'd had a gay experience before, just to make my point."

"Had you?"

"Yes, in fact. He didn't believe me though," Bobby breezed on determinedly. He wasn't going to bring the whole Warren incident up again. "So I kissed him. Long, and slow. Lots of tongue."

Jean Paul's breath caught in his throat and Bobby noticed. "Are you enjoying this?" he purred.

"Oui," Jean Paul said in a slightly strangled tone.

"Should we decamp to the bathroom?" Bobby asked.

Jean Paul's eyebrows disappeared into his hairline. "You think we should…"

"Well, this story is about to get a little too X-rated for such a public forum," Bobby told him, leaning close over the table.

"Nngh," Jean Paul said.

Bobby stood up slowly and walked around the table. He let his hand run down Jean Paul's shoulder and back as he walked past. Jean Paul turned in his seat and for a moment just watched as Bobby sauntered towards the large bathrooms towards the back of the café. He climbed to his feet and, hunching slightly with his hands casually folded in front of him, followed Bobby.

Bobby was leaning in the door of the disabled bathroom, the largest and most spacious. He crooked a finger at Jean Paul.

It was insane, but it was so insane it dreamlike and Jean Paul would do anything to act out some of his dreams. He stepped past Bobby and put the lid down on the toilet, sitting down with his legs open. Bobby perched on one of the rails meant to help someone stand up. Some still chivalric part of him had checked before they entered that there was no one disabled in the restaurant.

"So, Bobby, tell me, what happened next?"

Bobby ran his hand along Jean Paul's sharp jawline, angling his head towards him. "Well, we were sitting together on the couch, him with his legs drawn up and me sprawled everywhere, and I leant in, like this, and kissed him, like this." Bobby bent forwards and opened his mouth over Jean Paul's. Jean Paul's whole body moved towards him in one convulsive jerk. Bobby traced the tip of his tongue along Jean Paul's bottom lip before dipping into his mouth, carefully teasing the older, more experienced man. He pulled back slowly, keeping their faces close.

"He was amused, not impressed," Bobby whispered. "So we went at it again, and again, and again. We must have made out for hours." He kissed Jean Paul again, slow and tender and controlling the passion and the power he could feel building up in Jean Paul. "We don't have time for that," Bobby told him, "so why don't we skip to the next bit?"

"The next bit?" Jean Paul murmured. He nibbled Bobby's bottom lip, teeth firm but tender. "What happened next?"

"He felt I was still too blasé about it," Bobby hummed, nuzzling Jean Paul's cheek. "He decided to push me. I was hard, god, I was aching. And he was too, but as the less experienced I received preferential treatment. He opened my fly with his teeth." He paused, to let it sink in. Before he could continue Jean Paul's head suddenly dipped and he gasped as the rough zip grazed across his swollen erection.

"And then what did he do?" Jean Paul asked, voice muffled in Bobby's lap. Bobby opened his legs further, suddenly nervous.

"He sucked me off," Bobby said.

Jean Paul's head came up quickly. "Do it properly," he hissed. "Do not ruin this now." He met Bobby's frightened eyes with a challenge.

"I don't reme-" Bobby stopped himself. That didn't matter, did it? He swallowed difficultly. "He took me in, all at once," he began, hushed. "He took me – oow – he took me in and held my entire lee-ength for a few long moments. Letting me get used to the idea," he panted. "And he pulled away again, and looked at me for a moment for confirmation. I nodded, and he did something different then, with his tongue on the head. Yes, YES… that… Oh god. He kissed the tip then, laughing under his breath," as Jean Paul was doing now, amused at Bobby's insistence on continuing his narrative, "and took me in again, up a-aa-and down. That for a while," Bobby let it go for a moment, head lolling back against the cold tiles on the wall as Jean Paul skilfully worked his cock. As he felt the tension build inside him he tried to bring his imagination back into play. "I was about to come," he hissed, "and he pulled away, smirking." Jean Paul paused before he did as Bobby described.

"And then what did he do?" Jean Paul asked, wondering if Bobby did remember. He pulled Bobby's trousers down a little further and kissed his thighs while Bobby tried to recover enough coherency to go on.

"He took my balls in his mouth," Bobby said.

Jean Paul smirked against the soft, pale flesh of Bobby's leg and let his tongue flick out first. He did as Bobby said, sucking slightly. Bobby threw his head back and moaned.

"You liked it," Jean Paul pulled away for a moment. "You liked it a lot."

"So he didn't stop," Bobby snapped, still staring at the ceiling. Jean Paul took the hint and returned to his ministrations.

Despite having a few more ideas to explore Bobby let Jean Paul take full control, suckling on his balls and pulling in his cock with one hand until he came. Jeans around his knees, head bruised against the wall, amazingly sexy man between his legs… Bobby stared at the ceiling and ran his hand through Jean Paul's hair, allowing the man to sit up again and move back onto the closed toilet. Bobby fell from his awkward perch to bruise himself on the floor, looking as undignified as possible. Cold on the tiles.

They watched each other.

"And then," Jean Paul said slowly, "what did you do?"

Bobby panted and climbed to his feet, pulling his trousers up and zipping himself in. He didn't let his eyes leave Jean Paul's.

"I did this," he said carefully. This was theone part he'd tried so hard to forget, but he'd never reallysettled on a reason why. "I panicked because I knew I ought to reciprocate. So I tried, I really did." He knelt in front of Jean Paul and with all the trembles of the previous time unbuttoned the expensive slacks. Jean Paul was still hard, maybe even harder than previously. Bobby swallowed. Had Jean Paul enjoyed doing that? He wasn't sure he could. "I don't think I did it right," Bobby said, mired in memory again. "I... I licked it." And he did. He ran his tongue from the base of Jean Paul's cock to the tip, lingering for a second, tasting the precum.

Jean Paul's hand ran through Bobby's hair. "Do not do anything you are not comfortable with," he murmured fondly.

"I lost my nerve then. He understood, of course he fucking understood," Bobby said bitterly. "Everyone always understands. Treat me like such a fucking innocent, such a virgin." He raised his head to look Jean Paul in the eye. "I gave him a hand job," he said simply. "No one pushed me, so I didn't push myself, and the next day I lapsed back into my utter conviction that it was just a fluke, like the time before and any time that might come after, and I was straight. Obviously I was straight. Everyone treated me like I was straight. Everyone assumed I was straight, including me."

Bobby thrust himself up then for a brief, hot kiss with Jean Paul, hard and pushy. Pulling back he flashed him a smile and then disappeared down again, and Jean Paul thrust without thinking into the wet warm cavity. Bobby choked and jerked his head back.

"Desolee," Jean Paul breathed.

Bobby ignored him and wrapped his mouth around Jean Paul's cock again, just the tip, and settled his hands on Jean Paul's hips to keep him still. Slowly, tentatively, he began to move up and down Jean Paul's shaft, not able to take it all into his mouth at once, not able to take half, but taking as much as he could. He licked the cock again, amused as the way it twitched, and let his hand do some of the work. Not because he was ashamed to do it this time, but because he wanted to and couldn't. He let his tongue tease the slit at the top and his teeth along the length and Jean Paul was writhing desperately and occasionally his hips would buck without warning despite his best efforts and it was kind of exciting, that way, with all these new things and strange challenges and Jean Paul was screaming something in French and oh god that was hotter than he'd expected and it hit the back of his throat and he was gagging but he had to swallow or he'd throw up and oh god…

Bobby choked and coughed and managed to keep his lunch where it belonged. Jean Paul had his head on the toilet cistern and his hands in Bobby's hair and a smile on his face Bobby hadn't seen before. Collapsed on the bathroom floor, propped up on his own hands and shaking like an earthquake.

"Oh, Bobby," Jean Paul stared down at him. "Je t'aime."

"Huh?" Bobby's nose wrinkled in confusion.

Jean Paul laughed and stood up, taking Bobby's hand pulling him to his feet and holding him warm against him, sharing a long kiss. He could taste his own semen, which amused him, though he knew for next time to try and warn Bobby in English.

"So," Bobby said, pulling away and discovering to his dismay that they'd never even locked the cubicle door, "motorbike?"