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Nov. 26th, 2005 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eliyesAlrighty. Brief bit of set up. Bobby and Jean-Paul are taking a week's vacation at a ski hill in Quebec. Alone. Together. (Other people were invited but it ended up just the two of them, which is ... causing Jean-Paul some stress.) They're getting along rather well, and when this particular scene begins, they'd just been to a nearby restaurant for dinner, where the proprietor knows Jean-Paul fairly well and had some amusing (I hope -- I haven't written them yet) moments of conversation with Bobby.
I think the formatting might try to do something odd on me, here, since I started writing this in one program at work and finished it in another at home. Let me know if there's a sudden style change; it's early morning, I'm not quite awake right now.
I suppose I should also give you a sentance fragment warning. I seem to be bad for that lately.
They got back to the cabin and neither of them felt like going immediately to bed, so Jean-Paul opened a bottle of wine and they sipped and chatted. Tonight they avoided the topic they usually seemed to get around to – relationships – and spoke of other things, happier things. Jean-Paul found himself telling funny stories about his life, new ones springing to mind as his memory helpfully provided them, anything to get Bobby to keep laughing like that. It was easy, because episodes would come to mind as he listened to and laughed with Bobby.
And it was honest laughter. No bitterness, no sarcasm. It wasn’t faked. It was nice to laugh like this, and doubly nice to see Bobby laugh – because up until now, from all the conversations they’d had, it had been starting to seem like he hadn’t had much to laugh about in his life. Perhaps all the soul baring had been necessary for them to get comfortable enough with each other to let themselves laugh.
Bobby shifted, and crinkled slightly. Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow at the noise, and watched as Bobby dug into his pocket and then threw three condoms and a breath mint onto the coffee table.
"Those are from the lady at the restaurant," he said with a grin. Jean-Paul sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I am sorry. She probably thinks we --"
"Oh, she definitely does," Bobby confirmed. "She pretty much interrogated me while you were in the restroom. Nicely," he added, noting Jean-Paul's appalled expression.
"What did she ask? What could she have had time to ask?"
"Oh, you know. The usual. Where I'm from, what I do, how we met, how I like Quebec. She's a fast talker, I'll give her that. I was honest, but I really didn't bother to argue with her -- I don't think she would have believed me."
"She either would have assumed you were not publicly admitting to our relationship, or that I had foolishly fallen for a straight man. Again." Jean-Paul did not entirely like the look of sympathy Bobby gave him.
"A lose-lose situation. So, I told her the truth. Basically that this week has been a chance for us to get to know one another outside of work." He frowned suddenly. "Have I damaged your reputation?"
"No." Jean-Paul smiled at his concern, trying to forget his irritation over Marguerite's meddling.
"Oh, good." Bobby relaxed against the back of the couch. "Well, you can always tell her that we decided to stay just friends, if it comes up."
"Mm." Jean-Paul picked up the wine bottle to refill their glasses, and was surprised to find it nearly empty. He tried to add up in his head the wine they'd had with dinner and what they'd drank since, and came to the conclusion that this was the most alcohol that he had ever seen Bobby consume in one go. He noticed for the first time that the man was flushed, a fact he hadn't given much thought to since he himself felt warm.
With a mental shrug, he poured the last few mouthfuls into their glasses. Why waste good wine?
"Besides, it was flattering," said Bobby, sipping.
Jean-Paul's eyebrows shot up. "Flattering?"
Bobby gave him another of his trademark sudden grins, eyes twinkling.
"Well, you're quite a catch. Out of my league, really. It was nice she didn't think so." He resettled himself so that he was lying on the couch, head propped up by cushions.
"That is one of the oddest things you've ever said to me," Jean-Paul proclaimed. "Explain to me why you think I am such a 'catch'." He crossed his arms.
"Stroke your ego?"
Jean-Paul snorted. "Humour me."
"Stroking! Well, let's see. You're intelligent, successful, charismatic... Internationally famous, national hero, sports star. Erudite writer."
"Erudite?"
"Er. Your book is well written, clear, and witty. Erudite."
"...You read my book?"
"Yep." Bobby chuckled. "I pre-ordered it and everything. So: published author goes well with intelligent. And you're drop dead gorgeous."
Still mulling over Bobby's interest in his book, the compliment blind-sided him.
"...I am?"
Bobby turned to look at him, twisting on the couch.
"Haven't you ever looked in a mirror?"
"Well, yes --"
"Okay, let's start with the obvious. You're tall -- I wish I was that tall -- but not too tall. You have a good build, and you've been an athlete most if not all of your life. But you aren't overly bulky, although you've got good, broad shoulders. ...What else? Hm. You have fine, even features. Really striking, very handsome. Your ears give you that touch of the exotic. You have great hair. You dress well, which helps everything. And -- the best part, the part I most wish I had -- is the way you move. You're graceful, smooth. Sometimes a little... I dunno. Like a cat." Bobby sighed deeply, adding in a mournful voice, "I wish I could move like you. I've tried, believe me. I just can't. I like to tell myself that it's your speed, but really I think I'm just not built for it."
After expounding on this topic, Bobby downed the last of his wine, and then hiccoughed. With a grimace he sat up, and hiccoughed again. Jean-Paul, head whirling with confusion over all this, seized upon the opportunity to do something. He gathered up the empty bottle and glasses, and went to the kitchen to get them both some water.
"Oh!" Bobby exclaimed. "And you're wealthy, you're not stupid with your money, and you're a self-made man. Even to people who claim to deplore wealth, your drive and ability to succeed are impressive." He paused to hiccough. "Did I already say charismatic?"
"Yes, you did," Jean-Paul replied from the kitchen, shaking his head with incredulous amusement as he poured the water.
"What about your sense of humour? *hic* Did I mention that?"
Jean-Paul returned, handing Bobby a glass.
"You mean my 'acid wit', as Anne likes to call it?"
"Yeah. I like it." Bobby smiled warmly at him, and something seemed to melt in Jean-Paul's gut, spreading tingles through his body. This was rapidly becoming unfair. On the other hand, if Bobby was always this positive when intoxicated, perhaps they should drink more often...
"I was not expecting an itemized list," he said as dryly as possible, under the circumstances. He watched Bobby carefully sip the water.
"I'm good with lists." Bobby drank again, and Jean-Paul watched him, committing the moment to memory. The way his throat moved, the way his hair shifted as he tilted his head; his lashes against his cheek, the barest peek of the tip of his tongue through the glass. Drinking water was not usually a spectator sport, but right now it was breath-taking to watch.
It's the wine. I've had too much wine.
Finally managing to look away, Jean-Paul sipped his own water.
"So? Do you see why you're a catch? Of course I was flattered."
"I suppose. I do not see how I am 'out of your league'."
"Oh, please! *hic* Ow. Like I'm anything special? What could I possibly offer you?"
"Honesty," Jean-Paul said immediately. "Companionship. I enjoy your company. Laughter. You listen, when I am serious and when I am not." His lips tilted in an amused smile. "Do you know how rare it is to find someone who appreciates my sense of humour?"
"...Well, you have a rare brand. And don't think that I can be fooled into thinking you aren't being serious when you're joking." He waggled a finger at Jean-Paul. "I've played that game, too."
"Exactly." Jean-Paul pointed at Bobby, who hiccoughed. "Exactly. You understand that. But you also seem to understand that sometimes I am only joking. I do have a sense of humour."
"Of course you do!" Bobby said, indignant that it should be suggested to be otherwise.
"And," Jean-Paul all but purred, a predatory gleam in his eyes, "Do not think your physical charms elude me. You, too, have been in physical training since you were a boy. You are not unattractive, and I personally like the way you move."
Bobby laid a hand over his face, trying to hide both his smile and his blush. It was just the sort of charming gesture to keep Jean-Paul looking at him with hungry eyes, which he did, and could not care about.
"No list?" Bobby asked, eyes closed.
"I do better with paragraphs. Would you like me to write a few about you?" His smile widened, flashing teeth. "I do not guarantee you would remain clothed."
"Oh god," said Bobby, and laughed. "Best not to. The students might find it and get ideas."
"I have already confiscated pornographic materials from the students, generally featuring the female teachers, but not always," Jean-Paul said matter-of-factly. "I do not care if they produce them, but not while they should be taking notes or otherwise paying attention in my class. Eventually, one of them will hit on the idea of my being attracted to you regardless of whether or not I describe you in prose. They have hormones, and some of them are creative."
"Really? Our students are making porn?"
"Drawings, fiction, comics... yes. Occasionally about each other, as well. It's very strange." He paused. "I direct the artists to Rasputin, generally."
Bobby didn't manage to keep a straight face.
"I take it you've seen his sketchbooks, then?" Jean-Paul's puzzled expression set him off into fresh laughter. "You haven't? Oh, no! Jean-Paul, Petey likes to draw people he knows. And he likes to draw nudes." He gave Jean-Paul an openly appraising look. "Don't say no if he asks you to model. Ooh, and maybe ask to see some of the ones he's done of Logan."
"Logan? Nude?"
"Yes. Generally in the outdoors, too, even if that's not where he posed. Petey seems to find him a fascinating subject."
"...Amazing, the things you learn..."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. He doesn't only do nudes. But he does them often, sometimes even when you haven't posed for him. Caused some problems when someone found herself in his sketchbook and got the wrong idea, not too long ago. Anyway, if he does anything explicit, I haven't seen it. He just -- he doesn't have any hang-ups about nudity. He told me once that it's easier to see a person for who they really are without the layers of social identity they put on with their clothes."
"An interesting argument. Have you ever posed for him?"
"Once or twice. Most of what I've seen is his original teammates -- Ororo, Logan, Kurt, not so much Sean -- his sister, and Kitty. Although he showed me some sketches of Hank." Bobby smiled fondly. "I think by this point he's done most of us."
Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow.
"And so, if I modeled for him, I would be 'joining the club'?"
Bobby shrugged.
"Not what I meant, but you could look at it that way."
"What did you mean?"
Bobby visibly hesitated, his mouth almost beginning to form a word. He tilted his head to one side, giving Jean-Paul a long searching look, which Jean-Paul countered by gazing steadily back. Then he looked away, sipping his water before finally, he spoke.
"...I’d like to see what he would draw. Not just because you’re easy on the eyes, but..." He motioned with his hands, almost as though holding something. "Piotr, when he draws or paints someone, tries to capture more than just... appearance. Something of their character, their personality. I'd like to see what he would do with you."
A pregnant pause followed, and then Jean-Paul gave Bobby a wry smile.
"Monsieur Drake, if you keep telling me I'm good-looking and suggesting I model nude, I might start thinking you have a crush on me." He winked, and fetched up Bobby's glass for a refill as Bobby chuckled.
"I did," he admitted.
Jean-Paul stopped, halfway to the kitchen, and turned around.
"Pardon?"
Bobby gave him an embarrassed grin.
"That first year you were in the Olympics? I developed this huge infatuation with you. I was even a member of the Jean-Paul Martin fan club -- the first American member, in fact."
Jean-Paul stared at him a moment, and then within a blink he was handing Bobby a full glass of water and resuming his seat, face set in a confused-and-determined-to-get-more-information expression.
"When you say 'infatuation', what do you mean?"
"Oh, you know. I had a poster of you on my wall. I watched you on TV. A couple of times, someone in Canada sent me tapes of the interviews with you that weren't broadcast in the states. I actually saw you compete professionally, in person, three times. It was almost four, but Magneto attacked at the last minute, once."
Jean-Paul blinked.
"I remember that."
Bobby nodded, carefully not meeting Jean-Paul's eyes.
"I... had these daydreams, sort of fantasies... Where you and I met and became friends." He turned his glass nervously in his hands, dropping his voice. "...and you wouldn't mind that I was a mutant, because I would make you a ski hill anywhere in the world."
He suddenly grinned down at his water.
"I guess you could say that this week is literally a dream come true."
"Yes," Jean-Paul said. He wasn't sure what else to say about this somewhat odd, unexpected -- and unexpectedly sweet -- revelation. Bobby finally looked at him again, eyes uncertain and ears red with embarrassment.
"I hope you don't think I'm some kind of stalker."
"Luring me here to do... what?"
Bobby grinned. "Wrangle free private skiing lessons!"
Jean-Paul chuckled. "Those, you got. Is that what happened in these fantasies?"
"Sometimes, but we had many adventures. Very kind of Johnny Quest. Lots of dangerous situations and daring stunts. And we never lost."
"Good."
"Although you know, the adventures tapered off once the X-men started to get really active. After that, they were more normal: you coming with us to the ice cream parlour, or for burgers, or to a coffee house. And then it was just telling you about my day. And then... I guess I stopped."
Jean-Paul felt a peculiar pang at that. Bobby had outgrown his 'crush', whereas Jean-Paul's had developed only recently.
Bobby favoured him with a worried smile.
"Do you mind? Being my 'imaginary friend' for a few years?"
If he keeps giving me those vulnerable, puppy-dog looks, it may be years before I 'grow out of' this.
Jean-Paul stood, and held out a hand to Bobby.
"I am not imaginary now."
Bobby took his hand, and Jean-Paul pulled him to his feet.
"So, how does reality compare to your imagination, Bobby?" he asked. They were standing close, and Jean-Paul did not let go of Bobby's hand, nor did Bobby pull it free.
"Oh, much better," Bobby replied, patting Jean-Paul's arm. "You provide your own dialogue, and the ski lessons actually help." He tilted his head back to smile up at Jean-Paul. "Also, back then I didn't know you could fly."
"That makes a difference?"
"Flying is cool."
Jean-Paul snorted. "Too obvious, that pun." He raised an eyebrow as Bobby tried to hide a yawn. "Time for bed?"
Bobby nodded, still yawning, managing to get out an "uh-huh".
I think the formatting might try to do something odd on me, here, since I started writing this in one program at work and finished it in another at home. Let me know if there's a sudden style change; it's early morning, I'm not quite awake right now.
I suppose I should also give you a sentance fragment warning. I seem to be bad for that lately.
They got back to the cabin and neither of them felt like going immediately to bed, so Jean-Paul opened a bottle of wine and they sipped and chatted. Tonight they avoided the topic they usually seemed to get around to – relationships – and spoke of other things, happier things. Jean-Paul found himself telling funny stories about his life, new ones springing to mind as his memory helpfully provided them, anything to get Bobby to keep laughing like that. It was easy, because episodes would come to mind as he listened to and laughed with Bobby.
And it was honest laughter. No bitterness, no sarcasm. It wasn’t faked. It was nice to laugh like this, and doubly nice to see Bobby laugh – because up until now, from all the conversations they’d had, it had been starting to seem like he hadn’t had much to laugh about in his life. Perhaps all the soul baring had been necessary for them to get comfortable enough with each other to let themselves laugh.
Bobby shifted, and crinkled slightly. Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow at the noise, and watched as Bobby dug into his pocket and then threw three condoms and a breath mint onto the coffee table.
"Those are from the lady at the restaurant," he said with a grin. Jean-Paul sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I am sorry. She probably thinks we --"
"Oh, she definitely does," Bobby confirmed. "She pretty much interrogated me while you were in the restroom. Nicely," he added, noting Jean-Paul's appalled expression.
"What did she ask? What could she have had time to ask?"
"Oh, you know. The usual. Where I'm from, what I do, how we met, how I like Quebec. She's a fast talker, I'll give her that. I was honest, but I really didn't bother to argue with her -- I don't think she would have believed me."
"She either would have assumed you were not publicly admitting to our relationship, or that I had foolishly fallen for a straight man. Again." Jean-Paul did not entirely like the look of sympathy Bobby gave him.
"A lose-lose situation. So, I told her the truth. Basically that this week has been a chance for us to get to know one another outside of work." He frowned suddenly. "Have I damaged your reputation?"
"No." Jean-Paul smiled at his concern, trying to forget his irritation over Marguerite's meddling.
"Oh, good." Bobby relaxed against the back of the couch. "Well, you can always tell her that we decided to stay just friends, if it comes up."
"Mm." Jean-Paul picked up the wine bottle to refill their glasses, and was surprised to find it nearly empty. He tried to add up in his head the wine they'd had with dinner and what they'd drank since, and came to the conclusion that this was the most alcohol that he had ever seen Bobby consume in one go. He noticed for the first time that the man was flushed, a fact he hadn't given much thought to since he himself felt warm.
With a mental shrug, he poured the last few mouthfuls into their glasses. Why waste good wine?
"Besides, it was flattering," said Bobby, sipping.
Jean-Paul's eyebrows shot up. "Flattering?"
Bobby gave him another of his trademark sudden grins, eyes twinkling.
"Well, you're quite a catch. Out of my league, really. It was nice she didn't think so." He resettled himself so that he was lying on the couch, head propped up by cushions.
"That is one of the oddest things you've ever said to me," Jean-Paul proclaimed. "Explain to me why you think I am such a 'catch'." He crossed his arms.
"Stroke your ego?"
Jean-Paul snorted. "Humour me."
"Stroking! Well, let's see. You're intelligent, successful, charismatic... Internationally famous, national hero, sports star. Erudite writer."
"Erudite?"
"Er. Your book is well written, clear, and witty. Erudite."
"...You read my book?"
"Yep." Bobby chuckled. "I pre-ordered it and everything. So: published author goes well with intelligent. And you're drop dead gorgeous."
Still mulling over Bobby's interest in his book, the compliment blind-sided him.
"...I am?"
Bobby turned to look at him, twisting on the couch.
"Haven't you ever looked in a mirror?"
"Well, yes --"
"Okay, let's start with the obvious. You're tall -- I wish I was that tall -- but not too tall. You have a good build, and you've been an athlete most if not all of your life. But you aren't overly bulky, although you've got good, broad shoulders. ...What else? Hm. You have fine, even features. Really striking, very handsome. Your ears give you that touch of the exotic. You have great hair. You dress well, which helps everything. And -- the best part, the part I most wish I had -- is the way you move. You're graceful, smooth. Sometimes a little... I dunno. Like a cat." Bobby sighed deeply, adding in a mournful voice, "I wish I could move like you. I've tried, believe me. I just can't. I like to tell myself that it's your speed, but really I think I'm just not built for it."
After expounding on this topic, Bobby downed the last of his wine, and then hiccoughed. With a grimace he sat up, and hiccoughed again. Jean-Paul, head whirling with confusion over all this, seized upon the opportunity to do something. He gathered up the empty bottle and glasses, and went to the kitchen to get them both some water.
"Oh!" Bobby exclaimed. "And you're wealthy, you're not stupid with your money, and you're a self-made man. Even to people who claim to deplore wealth, your drive and ability to succeed are impressive." He paused to hiccough. "Did I already say charismatic?"
"Yes, you did," Jean-Paul replied from the kitchen, shaking his head with incredulous amusement as he poured the water.
"What about your sense of humour? *hic* Did I mention that?"
Jean-Paul returned, handing Bobby a glass.
"You mean my 'acid wit', as Anne likes to call it?"
"Yeah. I like it." Bobby smiled warmly at him, and something seemed to melt in Jean-Paul's gut, spreading tingles through his body. This was rapidly becoming unfair. On the other hand, if Bobby was always this positive when intoxicated, perhaps they should drink more often...
"I was not expecting an itemized list," he said as dryly as possible, under the circumstances. He watched Bobby carefully sip the water.
"I'm good with lists." Bobby drank again, and Jean-Paul watched him, committing the moment to memory. The way his throat moved, the way his hair shifted as he tilted his head; his lashes against his cheek, the barest peek of the tip of his tongue through the glass. Drinking water was not usually a spectator sport, but right now it was breath-taking to watch.
It's the wine. I've had too much wine.
Finally managing to look away, Jean-Paul sipped his own water.
"So? Do you see why you're a catch? Of course I was flattered."
"I suppose. I do not see how I am 'out of your league'."
"Oh, please! *hic* Ow. Like I'm anything special? What could I possibly offer you?"
"Honesty," Jean-Paul said immediately. "Companionship. I enjoy your company. Laughter. You listen, when I am serious and when I am not." His lips tilted in an amused smile. "Do you know how rare it is to find someone who appreciates my sense of humour?"
"...Well, you have a rare brand. And don't think that I can be fooled into thinking you aren't being serious when you're joking." He waggled a finger at Jean-Paul. "I've played that game, too."
"Exactly." Jean-Paul pointed at Bobby, who hiccoughed. "Exactly. You understand that. But you also seem to understand that sometimes I am only joking. I do have a sense of humour."
"Of course you do!" Bobby said, indignant that it should be suggested to be otherwise.
"And," Jean-Paul all but purred, a predatory gleam in his eyes, "Do not think your physical charms elude me. You, too, have been in physical training since you were a boy. You are not unattractive, and I personally like the way you move."
Bobby laid a hand over his face, trying to hide both his smile and his blush. It was just the sort of charming gesture to keep Jean-Paul looking at him with hungry eyes, which he did, and could not care about.
"No list?" Bobby asked, eyes closed.
"I do better with paragraphs. Would you like me to write a few about you?" His smile widened, flashing teeth. "I do not guarantee you would remain clothed."
"Oh god," said Bobby, and laughed. "Best not to. The students might find it and get ideas."
"I have already confiscated pornographic materials from the students, generally featuring the female teachers, but not always," Jean-Paul said matter-of-factly. "I do not care if they produce them, but not while they should be taking notes or otherwise paying attention in my class. Eventually, one of them will hit on the idea of my being attracted to you regardless of whether or not I describe you in prose. They have hormones, and some of them are creative."
"Really? Our students are making porn?"
"Drawings, fiction, comics... yes. Occasionally about each other, as well. It's very strange." He paused. "I direct the artists to Rasputin, generally."
Bobby didn't manage to keep a straight face.
"I take it you've seen his sketchbooks, then?" Jean-Paul's puzzled expression set him off into fresh laughter. "You haven't? Oh, no! Jean-Paul, Petey likes to draw people he knows. And he likes to draw nudes." He gave Jean-Paul an openly appraising look. "Don't say no if he asks you to model. Ooh, and maybe ask to see some of the ones he's done of Logan."
"Logan? Nude?"
"Yes. Generally in the outdoors, too, even if that's not where he posed. Petey seems to find him a fascinating subject."
"...Amazing, the things you learn..."
"Oh, don't get me wrong. He doesn't only do nudes. But he does them often, sometimes even when you haven't posed for him. Caused some problems when someone found herself in his sketchbook and got the wrong idea, not too long ago. Anyway, if he does anything explicit, I haven't seen it. He just -- he doesn't have any hang-ups about nudity. He told me once that it's easier to see a person for who they really are without the layers of social identity they put on with their clothes."
"An interesting argument. Have you ever posed for him?"
"Once or twice. Most of what I've seen is his original teammates -- Ororo, Logan, Kurt, not so much Sean -- his sister, and Kitty. Although he showed me some sketches of Hank." Bobby smiled fondly. "I think by this point he's done most of us."
Jean-Paul raised an eyebrow.
"And so, if I modeled for him, I would be 'joining the club'?"
Bobby shrugged.
"Not what I meant, but you could look at it that way."
"What did you mean?"
Bobby visibly hesitated, his mouth almost beginning to form a word. He tilted his head to one side, giving Jean-Paul a long searching look, which Jean-Paul countered by gazing steadily back. Then he looked away, sipping his water before finally, he spoke.
"...I’d like to see what he would draw. Not just because you’re easy on the eyes, but..." He motioned with his hands, almost as though holding something. "Piotr, when he draws or paints someone, tries to capture more than just... appearance. Something of their character, their personality. I'd like to see what he would do with you."
A pregnant pause followed, and then Jean-Paul gave Bobby a wry smile.
"Monsieur Drake, if you keep telling me I'm good-looking and suggesting I model nude, I might start thinking you have a crush on me." He winked, and fetched up Bobby's glass for a refill as Bobby chuckled.
"I did," he admitted.
Jean-Paul stopped, halfway to the kitchen, and turned around.
"Pardon?"
Bobby gave him an embarrassed grin.
"That first year you were in the Olympics? I developed this huge infatuation with you. I was even a member of the Jean-Paul Martin fan club -- the first American member, in fact."
Jean-Paul stared at him a moment, and then within a blink he was handing Bobby a full glass of water and resuming his seat, face set in a confused-and-determined-to-get-more-information expression.
"When you say 'infatuation', what do you mean?"
"Oh, you know. I had a poster of you on my wall. I watched you on TV. A couple of times, someone in Canada sent me tapes of the interviews with you that weren't broadcast in the states. I actually saw you compete professionally, in person, three times. It was almost four, but Magneto attacked at the last minute, once."
Jean-Paul blinked.
"I remember that."
Bobby nodded, carefully not meeting Jean-Paul's eyes.
"I... had these daydreams, sort of fantasies... Where you and I met and became friends." He turned his glass nervously in his hands, dropping his voice. "...and you wouldn't mind that I was a mutant, because I would make you a ski hill anywhere in the world."
He suddenly grinned down at his water.
"I guess you could say that this week is literally a dream come true."
"Yes," Jean-Paul said. He wasn't sure what else to say about this somewhat odd, unexpected -- and unexpectedly sweet -- revelation. Bobby finally looked at him again, eyes uncertain and ears red with embarrassment.
"I hope you don't think I'm some kind of stalker."
"Luring me here to do... what?"
Bobby grinned. "Wrangle free private skiing lessons!"
Jean-Paul chuckled. "Those, you got. Is that what happened in these fantasies?"
"Sometimes, but we had many adventures. Very kind of Johnny Quest. Lots of dangerous situations and daring stunts. And we never lost."
"Good."
"Although you know, the adventures tapered off once the X-men started to get really active. After that, they were more normal: you coming with us to the ice cream parlour, or for burgers, or to a coffee house. And then it was just telling you about my day. And then... I guess I stopped."
Jean-Paul felt a peculiar pang at that. Bobby had outgrown his 'crush', whereas Jean-Paul's had developed only recently.
Bobby favoured him with a worried smile.
"Do you mind? Being my 'imaginary friend' for a few years?"
If he keeps giving me those vulnerable, puppy-dog looks, it may be years before I 'grow out of' this.
Jean-Paul stood, and held out a hand to Bobby.
"I am not imaginary now."
Bobby took his hand, and Jean-Paul pulled him to his feet.
"So, how does reality compare to your imagination, Bobby?" he asked. They were standing close, and Jean-Paul did not let go of Bobby's hand, nor did Bobby pull it free.
"Oh, much better," Bobby replied, patting Jean-Paul's arm. "You provide your own dialogue, and the ski lessons actually help." He tilted his head back to smile up at Jean-Paul. "Also, back then I didn't know you could fly."
"That makes a difference?"
"Flying is cool."
Jean-Paul snorted. "Too obvious, that pun." He raised an eyebrow as Bobby tried to hide a yawn. "Time for bed?"
Bobby nodded, still yawning, managing to get out an "uh-huh".
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-27 05:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-28 07:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-29 02:08 am (UTC)I'm wondering if I should take the reference to students out, but on the other hand, I'm going to be reworking the beginning anyway; I could make them teachers.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-29 05:46 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-29 03:25 pm (UTC)Sometime soon I'll start typing up the various "Meanwhile, abck at the mansion..." scenes that go in this fic between Bobby+Jean-Paul scenes...