Just Like Old Times
John can't sleep the first night after he leaves. He tosses and turns in the overly starched sheets and tugs the pillow around the bed in an attempt to get comfortable.
It's too quiet, too empty. He can't hear Colossus snoring or muttering the occasional Russian sentence in his sleep. And above all, there's no Bobby one bed over, sleeping with his covers thrown back and his t-shirt rucked up, showing smooth pale skin above the band of his boxers.
John is fascinated by that skin, especially when Bobby slips into his bed, tugging his shirt over his head and letting it puddle on the floor as he dips down to catch John's mouth with his own. Bobby is surprisingly warm for a mutant whose power is creating ice but then, he does always complain that John is cold for someone who can manipulate fire.
John always blocks out the unwelcome mental reminder that he's only being used because of the untouchable Marie and just falls into the kiss, pulling Bobby closer in an attempt to remind him that John can be touched. Wants to be touched.
They're lucky that Colossus is a sound sleeper. They're quiet, they have to be, but it's still weird to think that the soundtrack to their mutual frustration is heavy snoring and Russian. A world away from the cold clinical silence that surrounds him now.
He doesn't know why he's trying to get to sleep anyway. Every time he closes his eyes, all he can see is the flames, the police cars twisting up in the air and then the sudden numbness when Marie's hand closed around his ankle and everything started to get fuzzy around the edges. It's all mixed in with the bitterness he always feels around Bobby and Marie, heightened by their sudden /closeness/ and then Magneto's voice, calling to him out the helicopter window and the icy air on his face when the 'chopper took off with him aboard.
The door snicks open and there's a dip as someone sits on the end of his bed. Yellow eyes watch him carefully and in the flash of his lighter, John can see blue scales. Mystique is silent for a moment before she nods, a flash of white teeth as she moves closer, blue scales dropping away. They morph into elbow length gloves and a curl of white hair in front of his face before they're completely replaced by Bobby's face, his mouth, his voice. John lets the lighter drop as Bobby's body presses him into the bed. John runs his fingers through short blond hair and closes his eyes. It's just like old times, he tells himself as Bobby's fingers ice their way down his ribs.
Just like old times.