Title: Possibly, Maybe: Chapter Five
Author: Blu_Eyed_Demon
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Uncanny X-men
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-men or any of the characters or this would have probably happened in the comics
Summary: Bobby's utterly miserable and no one but Jean Paul seems to be noticing...
Chapter Five: In which drunkenness ensues

Chapter Five

They sat at the bar and Bobby swayed a little as he drained the last of his vodka coke. He put the glass back down and at a gesture from Jean Paul the bartender refilled it. The other man also ordered bottles of a beer Bobby had never heard of and handed cash over as Bobby sipped experimentally. It tasted good and there were now four bottles of the stuff sat in front of them so he was momentarily content. He definitely had found the best drinking buddy: good taste in alcohol and the money to pay for it.

"Why do you stay here when the people make you say miserable?" Jean Paul asked him suddenly, jerking him from his now hazy thoughts. He thought about it for a while, before eventually answering with his eyes glued firmly on the beer bottle.

"They're my family. I love...some of them." Trying to order his thoughts was difficult, especially since he'd been drinking to drown his thoughts out. "Where else would I go? No money, no job, no home. The mansion, the school and the X-men is all I've got."

"You've left before though." Jean Paul's voice was reasonable and less drunk than him, which was odd because Bobby was certain they'd been matching one another drink for drink. Just his luck that he was drinking with a heavyweight, or was it him that was the lightweight? He couldn't remember at the moment. The beer was good though, he decided as ran his fingers over the label that read 'Hoegaarden'. It wasn't something he'd heard of before but he was definitely having more of it.

"I always come back though. Been here since I was what? Thirteen? I dunno, I was a kid. Lived here more than with my parents, I'm, I'm you know. What do they call it? Institutionalised." Bobby said bitterly "'Sides it's my home. I do like it I just...things are too much right now."

"How are you institutionalised, mon cher beau?" Jean Paul asked and Bobby thought about asking the other man if he knew that Bobby didn't understand French but that would take too much effort.

He leant into Northstar a little, nearly slipping off of his stool in the process. "Steady there, Otterpop. Don't want to have to disturb Annie's date because you're a clumsy drunk."

"I'm, I'm not drunk." Bobby claimed as he lent against the Canadian's shoulder a little, he felt a hand on his back steadying him. He glugged down more beer before continuing. "And I'm instit...thingy because I don't know how to live any other way. I was trained, no raised to be a superhero. I tried normal life and normal girlfriend and I couldn't do it. It wasn't for me. I just ended up back with the X-men or with some other team and the normal girlfriend couldn't hack my weird life and, hey, I'm 'immature and inexperienced' so who's to blame her?"

"Robert, you don't have to stay here if you're so unhappy. You could go anywhere." Jean Paul's hand rubbed his back in a soothing kind of a way and Bobby sighed.

"I don't want to. They're still my friends, I just...there's so many people here now and it's not the same and I miss what it was. I think. Or maybe I don't, I just don't anymore and maybe it doesn't matter coz I'm-" He cut himself off, he couldn't tell Jean Paul about his little problem, it would horrify him. He wouldn't want to touch him any more and that hand on his back felt so damn good.
Bobby sat up very straight suddenly. That was dangerous thinking, he couldn't think like that or he'd get hurt again and things were bad enough as they were.

"You're what, Robert?" Jean Paul asked softly, leaning in a little.

"I'm really loving this beer."

They'd moved on to tequila at some point and Bobby was now slouched against Jean Paul as they both sat in a secluded booth. Robert's warm weight felt so good against him. He was nestled against Jean Paul's side with the Canadian's arm lightly around him, resting across his chest- it had been the only comfortable way to sit. They each sat in their reclined positions with beer bottles in hand having demolished all the tequila shots already.

He looked down and realised Robert was talking. He really should listen, Robert had a lovely voice...

"And to think I was worried that it would stop me getting dates. Lorna's already seen to that." He was saying bitterly.

"Why wouldn't you get dates? No one listens to a bitch like Lorna." Alcohol and defensiveness over Bobby drove him to use such language about his former, well, not friend but acquaintance.

"Ice." Bobby slurred a little on the word and it made him seem cute to Jean Paul. Cute was never a word he liked to use but it was the only one that fitted. He was perfectly content to stay cuddled up here with slurring Bobby for as long as possible. "Immature ice. Inexperienced ice. Who wants to date Frosty the Fucking Snowman when there are all the hot, warm, mature options at the school?"

"Some people," Jean Paul told him, voice heavy with suppressed desire. "Prefer the cold to the warm, you know?"

Bobby slowly slid down, repositioning himself so that he lay with his head in Jean Paul's lap, looking up at him. He struggled to remain calm at the proximity of Robert's head to his crotch as Bobby half-smiled up at him. It was a sad smile, the sort that told him that the younger man didn't believe a word he was saying.

He absently stroked Bobby's hair, trying to coax his drunk brain to come up with some reassuring words without coming out and saying 'Me. I would date you, I'd give my right arm for the chance!'

"It's true, cher, for some people cold and ice is more of a turn on than warmth." He continued, speaking slowly to make sure that he's speaking enough English, with so much alcohol it was harder to order his thoughts into a single language. It was the curse of being a drunk bi-linguist.

"Oh great, I'm a fucking fetish." The younger man still in his lap groaned unhappily.

"Robert, Lorna is one woman. One spiteful, nasty woman so why are you letting her drag you down so much, cher?" Jean Paul asks gently, his tender touch moving from Bobby's hair to his cheek. His cheek was warm, warm and soft and good. "No one who matters cares what she thinks."

Bobby's unfocused gaze met his own and Jean Paul tried to smile at him reassuringly, still stroking cheek. Slowly, as though it were a lot heavier than usual, Bobby raised his hand and brought it to the Canadian's lips, tracing the smile.

"You smile like Cloud.." Bobby informed him thickly, his touch lingering for a moment before dropping heavily onto the soft padding of the booth. "You should smile more, Star. Looks good."

"I was told..." He's having trouble deciding what to say and what not to say. He doesn't want Bobby thinking he's a weird stalker. "You loved Cloud very much." He settled on saying. Since he hadn't taken a sip of any of the beer in his hand and it had been a while since the tequila, his hyperactive metabolism was beginning to clear out the toxins and he could feel his head slowly clearing. Probably for the best, he decided, since with Bobby draped across his lap and touching his lips like that, his willpower was crumbling.

"Yup, loved her..." Bobby nodded, awkwardly trying to drink his beer in his prone position. "Loved him too and that was scary...then I lost them and never got to..." Jean Paul wasn't sure if it was alcohol or emotion that was making it difficult for Bobby to speak coherently. He strongly suspected both.

Bobby took another gulp of beer and a little of the liquid missed his mouth and began to trail down his chin, down his neck over his adam's apple and heading for his chest. For one wild moment Jean Paul very nearly gave into temptation to lean down and like it away but came to his sense at the last moment, mentally shaking himself.

"Come on, let's get you home." Jean Paul decided, knowing that, sobering or not, he was fast heading towards doing something he really shouldn't and Bobby was far too drunk to make any kind of choice or give any sort of consent. The last thing he needed was Worthington hunting him down and accusing him of taking advantage of Robert.

It took a long while for them both to be standing at the same time, and even then Bobby was leaning heavily against him for support with Jean Paul's arm securely around his waist. Bobby's mouth was too close to his ear as they made their shakey way to the exit. His breath was hot and heavy, sending small shivers down Jean Paul's spine. His ears had always been a rather sensitive spot for him and to have Bobby's breath so close made his swallow hard and his pants suddenly felt a lot more constrictive around the crotch than they had only moments before.

"Tu êtes ce qui rend très difficile d'être nobles, Otterpop." He told the other man as he shifted Bobby's weight a little.

"French is cool. Will you teach me? Pretty please?" Bobby asked before descending into laughter as Jean Paul scooped him into his arms, deciding it was a much easier way to carry the younger man, not to mention less arousing now that Bobby not longer had close access to his ears.

"I like French." Bobby started again, seemingly perfectly content now that he wasn't focusing on Lorna's disparaging remarks.

Considering how little control the younger man had of his body, Jean Paul decided quickly that his new car was not a viable option and so he decided to use his power to get Bobby back to his own room in seconds.

"French is just so...wow how did we get back here?" Bobby looked around his bedroom with a look of absolute wonder on his face.

"I am, as you say, a 'speedster', am I not?" Jean Paul asked in amusement. He'd actually gone a lot slower than his usual speed since he could still feel some of the alcohol's affect as well as being worried that Bobby might hurl if he went too fast.

He carefully placed Bobby on his feet, grabbing him by the waist when the Iceman swayed dangerously. With one swift motion, Jean Paul had him at the foot of his bed.

"Let's get you in bed, mon amor." He murmured, letting good of Bobby so he could simply fall back onto the bed. The plan didn't go as he'd expected, however, because Bobby suddenly grabbed the front of his shirt. The unexpected tug of Robert's drunk weight brought Jean Paul down heavily on top of Bobby.

"Don't go." He pleaded and, when Jean Paul tried to move off of him, Bobby tightened his grip on the front of his shirt to ensure he wasn't going anywhere. Panic shot through him as he realised that there was no way Robert couldn't feel the evidence of his lingering arousal from having hot breath on his ears.
Luckily, he seemed so utterly at peace so Jean Paul could only assume that the younger man was either too drunk to notice or care . Perhaps both.

"Don't go." He repeated insistently, his eyes fluttering closed.

As Bobby's form relaxed on the bed, Jean Paul shifted his body off of him and looked down. It seemed Bobby had past out.
Jean Paul shook his head with an affectionate smile. Ordinarily, he would have called this evening a disaster and been quite irritated with the man he'd spent it with but instead he felt closer to Robert than he ever had before.

Moving quietly, he rose off of the bed and carefully removed Robert's shoes, placing them neatly beside the wardrobe before looking around. He'd never actually set foot in Bobby's room before, there had never any excuse or reason to.

The walls were a deep blue, paint chipped in some places which made Jean Paul think it probably hadn't been redecorated since Bobby had first claimed the room or at least not long after. Posters were dotted around the room depicting a variety of movies and winter sports and above the bed was a collection of photographs from Bobby's first days at the mansion up until fairly recently.
There was a small desk boasting a collection of student papers, report cards and accounting text books, a television with some sort of games console set up in front of two large bean bag chairs made of a worn looking brown leather. In short, the room was thoroughly Bobby, there was no other way he could think to describe it.

His eyes inevitably fell back to Bobby, who was still lying peacefully on his bed with his mouth hanging open very slightly. Noticing that there was more than a little beer splashed on the sleeping man's shirt, Jean Paul sighed and moved closer. The shirt was more expensive that Robert had apparently realised and deserved to be properly dry cleaned rather than sacrificed to the laundry service of this school. And it had nothing to do the wanting an excuse to see Bobby Drake shirtless, nothing at all.

He moved onto the bed carefully and start unbuttoning Bobby shirt in a way he hoped wasn't too creepy. He didn't want to seem like some sort of desperate predator even to himself.

Slowly, Bobby's eyes opened slowly looking a little vacant "Hey there." He grinned up looking drunk and relaxed.

"Go back to sleep Robert, I'm just going to put this shirt to be cleaned properly. When it comes to labels, you have to be careful how you treat them and you, cher, have been careless with your alcohol." He told Bobby as he unbuttoned the shirt.

"What?" There was a sudden panic in Bobby's voice and demeanour startled Jean Paul "No! Don't!"

"It's ok Robert, it's just-" Jean Paul trailed off with a frown. "Why are you turning to ice, Robert? I am no threat." As his brain caught up with him, he recalled the coldness of Bobby's chest that afternoon and registered Bobby's horror-stricken face as he slowly asked "What's wrong, Cher?" Bobby remained silent, simply staring up at him.

"Bobby? What's wrong?" Jean Paul asked again, his eyes trailing down from the fear in his eyes to the strange patch of ice that stretched over the other man's chest and snaked down just past his belly button. Something was going on and whatever it was, Bobby was scared and Jean Paul was suddenly very, very sober.

Bobby was too drunk for this, much to drunk. He started to get up but the room span around and he slumped back, misery setting in once more.

"This is...are you stuck?" Jean Paul's accent was strong again and Bobby didn't think it was alcohol, they hadn't been drinking for a while but couldn't imagine why else it would go like that.

He opened his mouth but nothing more than a pained noise came out and so he simply nodded, trying his hardest to keep his emotions in check. He'd been expecting Jean Paul to express revulsion and run but he was still there, eyes moving from it to his face and then back to it. Finally finding his voice, Bobby said softly "I got stabbed and now it won't change back. Now it's spreading."

"Oh Robert," The Canadian sigh and gently ran his fingers over the ice. "This is what's been making you so miserable?"

Bobby was to stunned to speak, why wasn't the other man horrified with his appearance? Why was he even touching it? Wasn't the cold hurting him?

"I'm turning to ice, who wants a block of ice? Who'll love someone it's uncomfortable to touch?" Even as he spoke, he was hyper aware of the warm hand running over the cold ice portion of his torso. It felt good, strange certainly, but good.

"Not everyone is as petty or superficial as you expect them to be, Robert." Jean Paul's hand stilled over the thinner trail of ice that dipped down his stomach.

Bobby opened his mouth to ask the other man how he could be so sure, but never formed the question because a realisation hit him in that moment. The way Jean Paul was looking at him, touching him.

Acting on pure instinct and throwing any remaining common sense out of the window, Bobby sat up again and lent forward brushing his lips against the other man's. He'd just felt so fucking lonely lately, that was all. He couldn't help it.

But then Jean Paul jerked back away from him. "Non, Robert, no." His voice was quiet and soft but it rang in Bobby's ears as he buried his hand in his hands once more. How could he be so stupid to think someone like Jean Paul would want to kiss a guy like him?

Mind foggy with intoxication, he tried to think up an excuse for the stupid kiss. He was inclined to blame alcohol and loneliness. And maybe Lorna, it was always good to blame Lorna.

Jean Paul's hands reached out and took his wrists, guiding his hands away from his face.

"Bobby, look at me Cher, please."

Slowly, Bobby looked up waiting for the scorn and sarcasm to start. He blinked furiously as he tried not to think about how embarrassed he was going to be come morning.

"If you really meant that kiss," Jean Paul says, watching Bobby with a touch of uncertainty "Then kiss me when you are not drunk."

Bobby nodded quietly and allowed Jean Paul remove his shirt fully before he lay back down, his mind in a drunken whirl.

"Sleep, Robert," Jean Paul murmured, "We will talk when we are sober."

Bobby nodded again, his body feeling heavy as he rested his head on the pillow, utterly exhausted. "Stay. Please." He was so sick of being alone and the after effect of vast quantities of alcohol had just left him feeling just a little needy.

After the smallest of hesitations, Jean Paul nodded before removing his jacket and kicking off his shoes. Bobby watched with half closed his eyes, feeling pleasantly warm and floaty as Jean Paul settled beside him. Barely awake, he heard Jean Paul murmur in his ear, felt the warmth of his breath and the light tickle of his lips brushing the shell of his ear.

"Bonne nuit, mon amour. Beaux rêves."

Translastions-

Tu êtes ce qui rend très difficile d'être nobles, Otterpop. - You're making it very hard to be noble, Otterpop

Bonne nuit, mon amour. Beaux rêves.- Good night, my love. Sweet dreams.