hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-05-08 12:06 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-05-08 12:06 pm
Entry tags:
Pretty! Shiny! Typical.
I’ve discovered that there’s a disturbing (or not) pattern emerging with regards to my writing: (looks furtive) I go where the boys are.. True story. Angel, Smallville, Harry Potter, Everwood, Ocean’s Eleven, LOTrips… and now X2.
What can I say? I’m not so good for the long-term (except with Lex), but I’ll give you your money’s worth while I stick around. This is also probably the point where I should explain that I had no interest in Xmen fiction (love the comics though), until about four days ago. Kassie had tried and tried hard, even wrote some, but I said no. Now look.
It’s not hypocrisy, just procrastination!
This section is dedicated to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ethrosdemon as she felt short changed from last time. My bad, babe.
Movieverse: X2
Thermal IV: Melt
Click fwoosh.
Bobby is dreaming.
Click fwoosh.
Johnny’s lost his lighter, which means there is no possible way he could be sitting on Bobby’s bed right now, shirtless and playing with that goddamn lighter. But he is, and he’s… smirking. Johnny doesn’t smirk. Oh, wait. Yes, he does, and he does it with that mouth. That mouth that Bobby can stop thinking about having wrapped around his cock.
Much in the same way that Bobby’s already got his own hand around wrapped his dick, but under the covers.
Oh please, dear God, let him be dreaming.
Click fwoosh.
“I thought you lost your lighter.” Even in his dreams Bobby’s conversation skills are craptastic, and no wonder he never gets the girls. No wonder he never gets the guy. Not that that really matters because Johnny is just sitting there, on the side of his bed, playing with his lighter, and he’s shirtless, and Bobby’s jerking off under his sheets.
He’s going to hell.
Click fwoosh.
He doesn’t care.
“I did, but you found it for me.”
“I did?” Yes, Bobby is definitely dreaming. He has no idea what time it is, but it’s dark, and the only light in the entire room is coming from that lighter. And wow, St. John looks good in... firelight. That was lame, and did Bobby mention the part about how he’s got his hand down his pants while he’s carrying on this conversation?
Why can’t he stop stroking himself?
Because he’s seventeen.
Because he’s a guy.
Because Johnny’s not wearing a shirt.
And besides, he’s dreaming.
Click fwoosh.
“Don’t you remember?” Johnny’s smiling like the proverbial cat, with that mouth and those lips. Oh fuck.
Bobby can hear his sheets rustling as his hand begins to pick up the pace. Long strokes, his thumb dragging over the head just. like. that. Oh. Bobby really wants to use two hands right now. He really wants to kick off his sheets and pajama bottoms so he can get himself off, but Johnny’s just sitting on the side of his bed, grinning. Bobby’s being so obvious. He really can’t bring himself to care. “No. Yes. Maybe?”
Bobby has no idea what he’s supposed to say, he has no idea what they’re supposed to be talking about either. His cock is desperate at this point because St. John’s just sitting there on the side of his bed while Bobby very indiscreetly jerks off, and Johnny’s got a really nice body. Bobby’s been trying so hard not to notice the full picture, afraid that he might turn the entire mansion into an iceburg, but now that it's right there --
“Oh well, I suppose that means you don’t want me to thank you either?”
Click fwoosh.
Time out.
“Uh.” Bobby’s hand pauses in mid-stroke, and Johnny can’t possibly be talking about what Bobby thinks he’s talking about. Except that St. John’s shifting on the bed, and he’s pulling down Bobby’s blankets.
There are things less embarrassing than being caught by your roommate with your hand down your pants; Bobby found that out this evening: you could keep going while he watches, and Bobby’s hand has a mind all its own. It’s still stroking while Johnny looks on, removing all the linen obstacles and holding his lighter just out of harm’s way.
Bobby’s never been this hard in his life, but he freezes when Johnny’s hand comes down on his wrist, stopping his movements. It doesn’t matter, though. Johnny’s touching Bobby. The heat from his hand is seeping through Bobby’s pajamas. He’s practically touching Bobby’s cock, and Bobby’s going to come in his pants any second now.
“Is that a yes or a no, Bobby?”
“Yes! Fuck, Yes!”
Bobby would agree to steal Cyclops' motorcycle, thereby ensuring immediate death, as long as Johnny doesn’t leave his personal space. Lucky for him it doesn’t happen that way. One minute St. John’s sitting on the side of the bed, watching, and the next he’s straddling Bobby’s legs, allowing his non-lighter-holding-hand to rub where Bobby’s holding his cock. “Good.”
Click fwoosh.
“Show me what you’re doing, Bobby, I wanna see.”
And in the end that’s all it takes.
Bobby doesn’t even get his pants off before he’s coming hard and loud. Very hard. His back arches off the bed so high he’s sure he’s broken something, and when he finally comes down the humiliation starts creeping in. Before Bobby can apologize or even try to move away, Johnny’s hand is back on his wrist, pulling it up and out of his pajamas.
Somewhere along the line Bobby blinks, because one minute Johnny’s got a lighter in his hand, and the next everything is dark. There’s a wet mouth, the wet mouth, wrapping itself around Bobby's fingers and sucking. Licking. Oh, dear God. Soft lips, warm, very warm mouth around his fingers, and fuck, who needs downtime anyway? Eventually the sucking stops, and Bobby’s hands grope for a moment, trying to find Johnny’s hair.
With his free arm, he props himself up to kiss Johnny. Finally.
“—by? Bobby!”
No, that’s not what comes next.
“Drake!”
Oh. No. Not now.
Why now?
Bobby hates being awake. “..Nnn. What’s wrong?”
“Dude, you’ve gotta wake up, there’s ice on the nightstand, and I’m about to freeze to death.”
Bobby’s never experienced déjà vu, but he certainly understands the sentiment because there’s St. John sitting on the side of his bed. Again. But there’s no lighter this time, and uh, oops. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t – I was dreaming.”
“I know, and if I had something to channel my powers with I wouldn’t care. I’d defrost and go back to sleep, but no lighter, so no go.”
“Oh, shit. I. --” Johnny wasn’t kidding, there’s ice on the nightstand, plus St. John’s nose is all red, and his lips are slightly tinged. Are they turning blue? Is he getting sick? Fucking fuck, what a great fake boyfriend Bobby makes, nearly letting Johnny freeze to death just so he can get off in his pants. Which apparently he did because, eww. And also wet, and cold. Fuck. “I’m really sorry, look, we’ll get you a new lighter first thing in the morning, cool?”
“Yeah, but –“
“And in the meantime, you can sleep… I’ll go sleep in the living room, and you can sleep here? Sound good?” Bobby’s already trying to figure out how to get out of bed without having Johnny see the mess in his pajamas, so please don’t let him have made a wet spot too.
He’s just fucking hopeless.
“No! I mean, you don’t have to do all that.”
If Bobby were a bit more awake he might be a bit more clued in to the way St. John’s looking at him like he’s a piece of steak or a new Zippo, but he’s not, ostensibly because of the whole dreaming business. Ergo, right now Bobby’s as dense as a block of ice. “I nearly froze you to death, I think it’s the least I can do.”
“I um… how about – why don’t we share?” Well, Bobby can think of a at least five reasons off the top of his head, but that doesn’t stop him from flipping back his covers in invitation.
“Sure. Get in.”
-finis-
Notes: Huh. I am starting to think this story is really just an exercise for me to practice writing my porn. Feh. I don’t hear Bobby complaining. Much.
What can I say? I’m not so good for the long-term (except with Lex), but I’ll give you your money’s worth while I stick around. This is also probably the point where I should explain that I had no interest in Xmen fiction (love the comics though), until about four days ago. Kassie had tried and tried hard, even wrote some, but I said no. Now look.
It’s not hypocrisy, just procrastination!
This section is dedicated to
ethrosdemon as she felt short changed from last time. My bad, babe. Movieverse: X2
Thermal IV: Melt
Click fwoosh.
Bobby is dreaming.
Click fwoosh.
Johnny’s lost his lighter, which means there is no possible way he could be sitting on Bobby’s bed right now, shirtless and playing with that goddamn lighter. But he is, and he’s… smirking. Johnny doesn’t smirk. Oh, wait. Yes, he does, and he does it with that mouth. That mouth that Bobby can stop thinking about having wrapped around his cock.
Much in the same way that Bobby’s already got his own hand around wrapped his dick, but under the covers.
Oh please, dear God, let him be dreaming.
Click fwoosh.
“I thought you lost your lighter.” Even in his dreams Bobby’s conversation skills are craptastic, and no wonder he never gets the girls. No wonder he never gets the guy. Not that that really matters because Johnny is just sitting there, on the side of his bed, playing with his lighter, and he’s shirtless, and Bobby’s jerking off under his sheets.
He’s going to hell.
Click fwoosh.
He doesn’t care.
“I did, but you found it for me.”
“I did?” Yes, Bobby is definitely dreaming. He has no idea what time it is, but it’s dark, and the only light in the entire room is coming from that lighter. And wow, St. John looks good in... firelight. That was lame, and did Bobby mention the part about how he’s got his hand down his pants while he’s carrying on this conversation?
Why can’t he stop stroking himself?
Because he’s seventeen.
Because he’s a guy.
Because Johnny’s not wearing a shirt.
And besides, he’s dreaming.
Click fwoosh.
“Don’t you remember?” Johnny’s smiling like the proverbial cat, with that mouth and those lips. Oh fuck.
Bobby can hear his sheets rustling as his hand begins to pick up the pace. Long strokes, his thumb dragging over the head just. like. that. Oh. Bobby really wants to use two hands right now. He really wants to kick off his sheets and pajama bottoms so he can get himself off, but Johnny’s just sitting on the side of his bed, grinning. Bobby’s being so obvious. He really can’t bring himself to care. “No. Yes. Maybe?”
Bobby has no idea what he’s supposed to say, he has no idea what they’re supposed to be talking about either. His cock is desperate at this point because St. John’s just sitting there on the side of his bed while Bobby very indiscreetly jerks off, and Johnny’s got a really nice body. Bobby’s been trying so hard not to notice the full picture, afraid that he might turn the entire mansion into an iceburg, but now that it's right there --
“Oh well, I suppose that means you don’t want me to thank you either?”
Click fwoosh.
Time out.
“Uh.” Bobby’s hand pauses in mid-stroke, and Johnny can’t possibly be talking about what Bobby thinks he’s talking about. Except that St. John’s shifting on the bed, and he’s pulling down Bobby’s blankets.
There are things less embarrassing than being caught by your roommate with your hand down your pants; Bobby found that out this evening: you could keep going while he watches, and Bobby’s hand has a mind all its own. It’s still stroking while Johnny looks on, removing all the linen obstacles and holding his lighter just out of harm’s way.
Bobby’s never been this hard in his life, but he freezes when Johnny’s hand comes down on his wrist, stopping his movements. It doesn’t matter, though. Johnny’s touching Bobby. The heat from his hand is seeping through Bobby’s pajamas. He’s practically touching Bobby’s cock, and Bobby’s going to come in his pants any second now.
“Is that a yes or a no, Bobby?”
“Yes! Fuck, Yes!”
Bobby would agree to steal Cyclops' motorcycle, thereby ensuring immediate death, as long as Johnny doesn’t leave his personal space. Lucky for him it doesn’t happen that way. One minute St. John’s sitting on the side of the bed, watching, and the next he’s straddling Bobby’s legs, allowing his non-lighter-holding-hand to rub where Bobby’s holding his cock. “Good.”
Click fwoosh.
“Show me what you’re doing, Bobby, I wanna see.”
And in the end that’s all it takes.
Bobby doesn’t even get his pants off before he’s coming hard and loud. Very hard. His back arches off the bed so high he’s sure he’s broken something, and when he finally comes down the humiliation starts creeping in. Before Bobby can apologize or even try to move away, Johnny’s hand is back on his wrist, pulling it up and out of his pajamas.
Somewhere along the line Bobby blinks, because one minute Johnny’s got a lighter in his hand, and the next everything is dark. There’s a wet mouth, the wet mouth, wrapping itself around Bobby's fingers and sucking. Licking. Oh, dear God. Soft lips, warm, very warm mouth around his fingers, and fuck, who needs downtime anyway? Eventually the sucking stops, and Bobby’s hands grope for a moment, trying to find Johnny’s hair.
With his free arm, he props himself up to kiss Johnny. Finally.
“—by? Bobby!”
No, that’s not what comes next.
“Drake!”
Oh. No. Not now.
Why now?
Bobby hates being awake. “..Nnn. What’s wrong?”
“Dude, you’ve gotta wake up, there’s ice on the nightstand, and I’m about to freeze to death.”
Bobby’s never experienced déjà vu, but he certainly understands the sentiment because there’s St. John sitting on the side of his bed. Again. But there’s no lighter this time, and uh, oops. “Oh shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t – I was dreaming.”
“I know, and if I had something to channel my powers with I wouldn’t care. I’d defrost and go back to sleep, but no lighter, so no go.”
“Oh, shit. I. --” Johnny wasn’t kidding, there’s ice on the nightstand, plus St. John’s nose is all red, and his lips are slightly tinged. Are they turning blue? Is he getting sick? Fucking fuck, what a great fake boyfriend Bobby makes, nearly letting Johnny freeze to death just so he can get off in his pants. Which apparently he did because, eww. And also wet, and cold. Fuck. “I’m really sorry, look, we’ll get you a new lighter first thing in the morning, cool?”
“Yeah, but –“
“And in the meantime, you can sleep… I’ll go sleep in the living room, and you can sleep here? Sound good?” Bobby’s already trying to figure out how to get out of bed without having Johnny see the mess in his pajamas, so please don’t let him have made a wet spot too.
He’s just fucking hopeless.
“No! I mean, you don’t have to do all that.”
If Bobby were a bit more awake he might be a bit more clued in to the way St. John’s looking at him like he’s a piece of steak or a new Zippo, but he’s not, ostensibly because of the whole dreaming business. Ergo, right now Bobby’s as dense as a block of ice. “I nearly froze you to death, I think it’s the least I can do.”
“I um… how about – why don’t we share?” Well, Bobby can think of a at least five reasons off the top of his head, but that doesn’t stop him from flipping back his covers in invitation.
“Sure. Get in.”
-finis-
Notes: Huh. I am starting to think this story is really just an exercise for me to practice writing my porn. Feh. I don’t hear Bobby complaining. Much.
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no subject
My instincts are saying that being broken is a bad thing, but you seem all right with it.