A Gentleman Never Tells - part 1
Jul. 12th, 2005 01:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
eliyesThis is something I was working on a while ago, and found in my notebooks when I was looking for something else. This is all that I have written, but I know more of how it goes. Hell, the scene that the story takes its name from isn't even written yet.
Jean-Paul Beaubier (Northstar) and Robert "Bobby" Drake (Iceman).
These days, I don't keep up with Marvel continuity much. I find it hard to keep straight what books are supposed to be continuity, and which aren't. I do know that at some point in the last year or two, Northstar ended up becoming a teacher at Xavier's, and the book where that happened, he developed a crush on Iceman.
I happen to love these two characters anyway, and it made sense to me, given the personalities that I'm used to, for them to develop an interesting friendship. I don't know if this story wants to be slash. There are people in the story who want it to be ^_^ but that's the only bit I haven't really worked out yet...
This Bobby is pretty mellow compared to what I'm used to, but we'll say that's because he's made peace with his father, finally. (Which he had in the books last I checked.) This Northstar is muttering dire things at me for dwelling on his frustrations. This continuity does not match any book, but it could.
November 29, 2005 edit: Took out a plot hook that I decided not to run with.
A Gentleman Never Tells
Jean-Paul was sitting in the library, reading, when Bobby found him.
“Jean-Paul?” Bobby said, leaning into the room from a nearby doorway. Jean-Paul looked up, and was startled by the hesitance on Bobby’s face. It made him look vulnerable, and Jean-Paul’s heart fluttered. He quickly masked his expression, but his treacherous pulse would not let him forget his continued failure to get over this silly crush.
“Yes, Bobby?” he asked, raising one finely arched eyebrow.
“. . . Do you still ski?” Bobby asked.
Ah.
Jean-Paul closed his book around the scrap of paper he was using to mark his place. He gave Bobby a considering look, and was rewarded – punished? – with the sight of the other man biting his lip.
Oh, how cute. He does not want to injure my feelings. He’s killing me.
“Yes, I still ski, recreationally,” Jean-Paul said evenly. Bobby visibly relaxed.
“Oh, thank God. It would be a crime against snow if you’d given it up!”
Now Jean-Paul’s other eyebrow went up.
Does he realise how I could take that . . . ?
Bobby grinned. “And I should know, right? Anyway, would you like to come skiing?”
Jean-Paul had to admit that he found the thought appealing. Briefly, he entertained a mental image of Bobby skiing, and after all, the Iceman need not wear so many concealing layers of clothes . . . Or indeed, any at all.
The thought made him smile, which made Bobby smile back, which made Jean-Paul feel evilly pleased that Bobby did not know why he’d smiled.
Chances are, though, that this is a “family” event, he reminded himself. Which might not be a bad thing; doing something that does not revolve around superheroics. Yes, and it might keep me from doing something foolish as well . . .
“Who else is going?” he asked. Bobby frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, coming to sit on the ottoman by Jean-Paul’s armchair.
“Honestly? So far only me for sure.”
There went that treacherous heart again.
“Hank had a new research project land in his lap, and while he doesn’t mind skiing, it’s not really his thing. Scott and Jean are planning on running the kids through some new training exercises. Warren hates skiing. Remy hates snow, the bastard. Sean’s getting a visit from his daughter, and they already had plans. Ororo was going to come – and trust me, she’s as much a goddess on the slopes as off them – but her girlfriend from Japan is apparently going to be in town tomorrow night, and they haven’t seen each other in a –”
“Stop! Wait! Ororo’s girlfriend?” Jean-Paul interrupted.
“Oh, that’s right, you’ve probably never met Yukio.”
“I was unaware that Storm dated women,” Jean-Paul said.
Bobby blinked at him. And then again.
“Well, it’s hardly obvious,” Jean-Paul began crossly, but Bobby was already laughing.
“You thought – because I said ‘girlfriend’ – it meant –” He lost the ability to speak, bent over double. Head perilously close to Jean-Paul’s lap.
Mon Dieu.
Jean-Paul crossed his arms, irritated as much at himself as at Bobby.
“Yes, then what did you mean?”
“Oh – oh God.” Bobby wiped his eyes, straightening. “I just meant her friend, who is female.” His face turned thoughtful. “But you know, it wouldn’t shock me if it were more. Ororo is a very accepting and open-minded and loving person, and Yukio seems to really bring out her adventurous side.”
“Adventurous, like when she had the mohawk and wore all leather?” Jean-Paul asked skeptically. Bobby grinned.
“Yeah, a lot like that, actually.”
Suggest that his friend, whom he believes to be straight, might not be, and he is not upset. Interesting. Granted, straight men seem to have some bizarre fascination with lesbians . . .
“. . . Where were you planning on going skiing?”
“Oh, there’s a place just upstate. It’s not wonderful, but it’s not bad, and we wouldn’t be away for too long.”
“How long were you hoping to get away?”
“Well, ideally, a week. But, that’s pretty unlikely, so probably just one and two-half-days. You know, including travel and packing. An entire day for skiing and cocoa.”
“You do realise that it would easier to get more time with a smaller group?”
“Hmm. Maybe. It looks like it’s going to be a small group anyway. Are you interested? I’d rather not go alone . . .”
Good Lord, save me from this man’s deadly puppy eyes.
“I am. I’ll probably have to argue with the infirmary, but I must exercise somehow, and fresh air is supposed to be such a restorative, hm?”
“Great!” Bobby bounded to his feet. “I’ll see if I can’t round up some more people.”
“If you do not round up too many – say, one or two more – and especially if we can get more than just a day or two away, I have a ski lodge in Quebec.”
The exuberance with which this offer was greeted was gratifying, to say the least.
* * *
Two days later, Bobby and Jean-Paul were in northern Quebec. Alone. For a week. Together.
Jean-Paul had had second thoughts when Bobby was unable to find anyone else to go. Apparently he was going to get to torment himself into un-“falling for” Bobby.
His doctor had laughed at him.
“Of course no one else volunteered! Acid Wit and Sarcasm Boy, for an entire week?” she’d said. She’d also warned him against overexerting himself, but winked and plainly hoped that he’d make a play for Bobby despite the glaring obstacle of Bobby’s heterosexuality.
Jean-Paul had also wondered what Bobby’s friends thought of the two of them going off together for a week, but they had all seemed to think it quite normal. Warren had expressed the hope that Jean-Paul would give Bobby a lesson in humility on the slopes, since he was a much better skier than any of them and had let it get to head when he was a teenager. Scott had told him to have fun, and Jean had just smiled, that infuriating smile that did not reveal whether Jean-Paul’s feelings were well enough hidden. He suspected they were not.
“Got you with the puppy-dog look, did he?” Hank had said, then patted his shoulder and assured him that with time he may develop a partial immunity.
Ororo was nowhere to be found.
So, despite second thoughts, here he was in a private ski lodge with a funny, friendly, boyishly sexy heterosexual. Whom he had a crush on.
Sometimes, I am an idiot.
Even now, Bobby was settling into the guest room. Jean-Paul had had clothes left for him in the master bedroom, and now sat on the couch drinking water and contemplating the spectacular view of the mountain through the picture window. His skis, and Bobby’s, were leaned by the front door. He had to admit, Bobby had nice equipment and obviously took good care of it.
And we’ll just not explore that thought, he told himself dryly.
“Did you say something?” Bobby asked, walking into the room still tucking in his shirt. He had changed into suitable skiing clothes.
“Moi? No. Are you ready?”
Bobby gave him a thumbs-up and a bright smile.
“Let’s go!”
* * *
This is so much better than the skiing in New York! Bobby thought, following Jean-Paul down the mountain. They’d dutifully attended a ski safety lesson, done the bunny hills to stretch, and then tackled progressively harder trails. He didn’t think he, at least, was ready for the black diamond trails, although Jean-Paul probably was. Right now Bobby was holding him back, but he didn’t feel too guilty because Jean-Paul knew the trails better and was showing them to him. Besides, they had a week.
And watching the man is sheer pleasure. He gives new meaning to ‘poetry in motion’!
It was a thrill to engage in his favourite sport with a former Olympic Gold Medallist in that sport.
Even if the bastard judges took back his medal.
Bobby didn’t think Jean-Paul had cheated, but he also intended to never bring it up.
As they got to the bottom of the trail, slowing gradually so as not to crash into anyone, Bobby saw Jean-Paul squint up at the sun. When he drew alongside, Jean-Paul said, “It must be nearly three o’clock. Break for lunch?”
“I was wondering what the growling noise was!” Bobby laughed. “I thought maybe a bear was following us. Sure. Any place around here we can grab something quick, or do you want to go back to the lodge?”
“There’s a canteen. Soup, cocoa, coffee, sandwiches, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds great! Let me do some stretches, first. God, I’m hungry!”
“You don’t even realise until you stop moving,” Jean-Paul agreed, also stretching.
Soon they were inside, sitting on a squishy couch with mugs of soup and cocoa, and grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates.
“So, what do you think? Nice place?” Jean-Paul asked casually, watching Bobby take a bite of sandwich.
Bobby groaned with pleasure, dropping his head against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes.
“This place is awesome. Some of the nicest trails I’ve ever skied. And the scenery is gorgeous.”
“It’s very nice, yes,” Jean-Paul said, looking away.
“Also, this sandwich? This is the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had.”
Jean-Paul laughed.
“You only say that because you’re happy. By the end of the week you’ll be sick of them.”
“Maybe. I think I’ll get another one while I still appreciate them.”
“I’ll get it. I’m done, and I want more soup.”
Bobby watched Jean-Paul walk away, then wolfed down the last bite of his sandwich and turned to pick up his cocoa. When he turned back, there was a pretty young blonde snowbunny taking Jean-Paul’s spot on the couch, and smiling at him.
“Um,” he said.
“You just get here?” She asked. Her teeth were perfect.
“This morning,” he confirmed. He was about to say that Jean-Paul would be right back when she spoke again.
“Going to be here long?”
“Hoping for a week.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Cool. I’m Cerise.” She held out her hand. He shook it.
“Bobby. Just so you know, my friend who was sitting there will be back in a sec.”
She flashed that toothpaste commercial perfect smile again.
“No problem, Bobby. I just wanted to let you know that me and my friends are having a hot tub party at Dudley Lodge tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you’d like to come?”
Bobby blinked at her.
“Um, Cerise, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’m a little old for hot tub parties.” With college girls.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, voice low and flirty.
Why couldn’t hot college snowbunnies hit on me when I was their age? he wondered.
“Listen, just think about it. Here’s a little map. Bring your friend, too, if you like.” And then she passed him a piece of paper and left.
He looked at the paper, sipping his cocoa. It said, “You’re invited to a HOT TUB PARTY!!” There was a cartoon girl in a bikini on each side of the paper, and sure enough, a decent map of how to get from the main Lodge to the party.
Bobby tucked the paper in his pocket.
“Who was that?” Jean-Paul said, standing by the couch and frowning after the snowbunny.
“She said her name was Cerise, and she was inviting me to a hot tub party,” Bobby said, taking one of the grilled cheese sandwiches Jean-Paul held.
“She looks a bit young for you.”
“That’s what I said. You’re invited, too, by the way. I think she was just too shy to approach you directly, you stud, you.” Bobby winked.
Jean-Paul snorted and sat down.
Sorry, girls, Bobby thought, Iceman doesn’t do hot tubs. I might melt.
* * *
It was roughly seven o’clock when they got back to their lodge. The ski trails were lit when the sun went down – before, really, because of the shadow cast by the mountain – and they’d stayed out until they were hungry again.
“Do you mind if I shower first, since I’m making dinner?” Jean-Paul asked. “I will be quick so you have hot water.”
“Take your time, I don’t mind cold showers,” Bobby said.
Jean-Paul frowned at him.
“But the hot water will keep you from getting stiff muscles.”
“That’s why I’m going to stretch while you shower. Do you mind if I raid your CDs?”
“Fine, suit yourself. Don’t complain to me if you’re stiff later,” Jean-Paul said, heading for the bathroom.
“What do you think the cold showers are for?” Bobby teased. Jean-Paul made a show of turning around and rolling his eyes as he closed the door.
He was always saying things like that, and it was part of the problem. Certainly, some of the time it was sardonic, but that hardly bothered Jean-Paul of the infamous acid tongue. But he dropped casual comments, calling Jean-Paul “handsome” and “sexy”, and it was just friendly teasing.
And that’s all it is. Unfortunately.
Obviously Bobby must be extremely comfortable with Jean-Paul’s sexuality, and his own.
Which is damned attractive in a man. Especially after some of my relationships.
At this rate, I’m going to need a cold shower, he thought.
Then he stepped into the spray of hot water and gasped as the heat immediately began to relax his muscles. All foolish thoughts of cold showers fled him.
A slow, throbbing bass rhythm played from the living room. For a moment, the knowledge of what song it was danced just beyond his reach, and then the smoky, sexy saxophone began. He groaned.
Of all the albums he could have chosen . . .
The last time he’d listened to this, he’d been here with Réné. They had made love to it. It had been collecting dust on his shelf since he and Réné broke up, and now the handsome man he was spending a week with – but couldn’t touch – was out there stretching to it.
This is going to be a long week.
* * *
Bobby was in a state of just easing and relaxing his muscles, taking slow deep breaths, and pleasantly not thinking much at all. The music combined with and enhanced the experience, intrinsically a part of it. His breath and the saxophone. His spine and the piano. His heartbeat and the rhythm set by the bass guitar. All were connected.
As he moved from one position to another, he noticed Jean-Paul, leaning in the kitchen archway. His silver-and-black hair was still damp, the slightly pointed tips of his ears poking into view. He’d already had time to dress. Bobby glanced at the clock.
“Seven-thirty already?” he asked, surprised.
“Oui. I think there is some hot water left, although from the look of you, you’re relaxed enough already.”
Bobby smiled, a slow, languid smile.
“Yeah. I’ll just go wash off the sweat in a minute.” He slowly and carefully extended his leg and rotated his hip.
“Is that yoga?” Jean-Paul asked, watching him.
“Well, probably partially. My – . . . a woman I had dated taught me these stretches. I suspect they may also borrow from tai chi. Anyway, they work better for me than the stuff I learned at Xavier’s.”
“Hm,” Jean-Paul said, and turned to look into the cupboards. “Grilled chicken and rice sound good?”
“Yep. Okay, I’m off to the shower.” He laughed. “After all, can’t have sweaty ol’ me stinking the place up.”
* * *
Nevermind that sometimes healthy sweat is a good smell, Jean-Paul thought, leafing through the spices as Bobby went off to the bathroom. Nevermind that you look very nice with your shirt off. Nevermind that I’d had no idea you were so flexible, and I’d dearly love to know where you got that scar on your chest. See if you have any more.
I should just nevermind.
Mon Dieu, this is going to be a long week. What was I thinking?
* * *
Bobby was pleasantly surprised by what a good cook Jean-Paul was. Over the excellent dinner, they talked about the skiing, and about jazz. The conversation moved into the living room with the remnants of the wine, and then hot cocoa. Bobby was pleased to see Jean-Paul smile several times, and even laugh.
Before they went to bed, they worked out a plan of alternating dinner duties – and Bobby warned Jean-Paul not to expect anything too fancy from him – and agreed on a time to set the alarm for. They bid each other a genial goodnight, and turned in.
* * *
Jean-Paul Beaubier (Northstar) and Robert "Bobby" Drake (Iceman).
These days, I don't keep up with Marvel continuity much. I find it hard to keep straight what books are supposed to be continuity, and which aren't. I do know that at some point in the last year or two, Northstar ended up becoming a teacher at Xavier's, and the book where that happened, he developed a crush on Iceman.
I happen to love these two characters anyway, and it made sense to me, given the personalities that I'm used to, for them to develop an interesting friendship. I don't know if this story wants to be slash. There are people in the story who want it to be ^_^ but that's the only bit I haven't really worked out yet...
This Bobby is pretty mellow compared to what I'm used to, but we'll say that's because he's made peace with his father, finally. (Which he had in the books last I checked.) This Northstar is muttering dire things at me for dwelling on his frustrations. This continuity does not match any book, but it could.
November 29, 2005 edit: Took out a plot hook that I decided not to run with.
A Gentleman Never Tells
Jean-Paul was sitting in the library, reading, when Bobby found him.
“Jean-Paul?” Bobby said, leaning into the room from a nearby doorway. Jean-Paul looked up, and was startled by the hesitance on Bobby’s face. It made him look vulnerable, and Jean-Paul’s heart fluttered. He quickly masked his expression, but his treacherous pulse would not let him forget his continued failure to get over this silly crush.
“Yes, Bobby?” he asked, raising one finely arched eyebrow.
“. . . Do you still ski?” Bobby asked.
Ah.
Jean-Paul closed his book around the scrap of paper he was using to mark his place. He gave Bobby a considering look, and was rewarded – punished? – with the sight of the other man biting his lip.
Oh, how cute. He does not want to injure my feelings. He’s killing me.
“Yes, I still ski, recreationally,” Jean-Paul said evenly. Bobby visibly relaxed.
“Oh, thank God. It would be a crime against snow if you’d given it up!”
Now Jean-Paul’s other eyebrow went up.
Does he realise how I could take that . . . ?
Bobby grinned. “And I should know, right? Anyway, would you like to come skiing?”
Jean-Paul had to admit that he found the thought appealing. Briefly, he entertained a mental image of Bobby skiing, and after all, the Iceman need not wear so many concealing layers of clothes . . . Or indeed, any at all.
The thought made him smile, which made Bobby smile back, which made Jean-Paul feel evilly pleased that Bobby did not know why he’d smiled.
Chances are, though, that this is a “family” event, he reminded himself. Which might not be a bad thing; doing something that does not revolve around superheroics. Yes, and it might keep me from doing something foolish as well . . .
“Who else is going?” he asked. Bobby frowned and rubbed the back of his neck, coming to sit on the ottoman by Jean-Paul’s armchair.
“Honestly? So far only me for sure.”
There went that treacherous heart again.
“Hank had a new research project land in his lap, and while he doesn’t mind skiing, it’s not really his thing. Scott and Jean are planning on running the kids through some new training exercises. Warren hates skiing. Remy hates snow, the bastard. Sean’s getting a visit from his daughter, and they already had plans. Ororo was going to come – and trust me, she’s as much a goddess on the slopes as off them – but her girlfriend from Japan is apparently going to be in town tomorrow night, and they haven’t seen each other in a –”
“Stop! Wait! Ororo’s girlfriend?” Jean-Paul interrupted.
“Oh, that’s right, you’ve probably never met Yukio.”
“I was unaware that Storm dated women,” Jean-Paul said.
Bobby blinked at him. And then again.
“Well, it’s hardly obvious,” Jean-Paul began crossly, but Bobby was already laughing.
“You thought – because I said ‘girlfriend’ – it meant –” He lost the ability to speak, bent over double. Head perilously close to Jean-Paul’s lap.
Mon Dieu.
Jean-Paul crossed his arms, irritated as much at himself as at Bobby.
“Yes, then what did you mean?”
“Oh – oh God.” Bobby wiped his eyes, straightening. “I just meant her friend, who is female.” His face turned thoughtful. “But you know, it wouldn’t shock me if it were more. Ororo is a very accepting and open-minded and loving person, and Yukio seems to really bring out her adventurous side.”
“Adventurous, like when she had the mohawk and wore all leather?” Jean-Paul asked skeptically. Bobby grinned.
“Yeah, a lot like that, actually.”
Suggest that his friend, whom he believes to be straight, might not be, and he is not upset. Interesting. Granted, straight men seem to have some bizarre fascination with lesbians . . .
“. . . Where were you planning on going skiing?”
“Oh, there’s a place just upstate. It’s not wonderful, but it’s not bad, and we wouldn’t be away for too long.”
“How long were you hoping to get away?”
“Well, ideally, a week. But, that’s pretty unlikely, so probably just one and two-half-days. You know, including travel and packing. An entire day for skiing and cocoa.”
“You do realise that it would easier to get more time with a smaller group?”
“Hmm. Maybe. It looks like it’s going to be a small group anyway. Are you interested? I’d rather not go alone . . .”
Good Lord, save me from this man’s deadly puppy eyes.
“I am. I’ll probably have to argue with the infirmary, but I must exercise somehow, and fresh air is supposed to be such a restorative, hm?”
“Great!” Bobby bounded to his feet. “I’ll see if I can’t round up some more people.”
“If you do not round up too many – say, one or two more – and especially if we can get more than just a day or two away, I have a ski lodge in Quebec.”
The exuberance with which this offer was greeted was gratifying, to say the least.
* * *
Two days later, Bobby and Jean-Paul were in northern Quebec. Alone. For a week. Together.
Jean-Paul had had second thoughts when Bobby was unable to find anyone else to go. Apparently he was going to get to torment himself into un-“falling for” Bobby.
His doctor had laughed at him.
“Of course no one else volunteered! Acid Wit and Sarcasm Boy, for an entire week?” she’d said. She’d also warned him against overexerting himself, but winked and plainly hoped that he’d make a play for Bobby despite the glaring obstacle of Bobby’s heterosexuality.
Jean-Paul had also wondered what Bobby’s friends thought of the two of them going off together for a week, but they had all seemed to think it quite normal. Warren had expressed the hope that Jean-Paul would give Bobby a lesson in humility on the slopes, since he was a much better skier than any of them and had let it get to head when he was a teenager. Scott had told him to have fun, and Jean had just smiled, that infuriating smile that did not reveal whether Jean-Paul’s feelings were well enough hidden. He suspected they were not.
“Got you with the puppy-dog look, did he?” Hank had said, then patted his shoulder and assured him that with time he may develop a partial immunity.
Ororo was nowhere to be found.
So, despite second thoughts, here he was in a private ski lodge with a funny, friendly, boyishly sexy heterosexual. Whom he had a crush on.
Sometimes, I am an idiot.
Even now, Bobby was settling into the guest room. Jean-Paul had had clothes left for him in the master bedroom, and now sat on the couch drinking water and contemplating the spectacular view of the mountain through the picture window. His skis, and Bobby’s, were leaned by the front door. He had to admit, Bobby had nice equipment and obviously took good care of it.
And we’ll just not explore that thought, he told himself dryly.
“Did you say something?” Bobby asked, walking into the room still tucking in his shirt. He had changed into suitable skiing clothes.
“Moi? No. Are you ready?”
Bobby gave him a thumbs-up and a bright smile.
“Let’s go!”
* * *
This is so much better than the skiing in New York! Bobby thought, following Jean-Paul down the mountain. They’d dutifully attended a ski safety lesson, done the bunny hills to stretch, and then tackled progressively harder trails. He didn’t think he, at least, was ready for the black diamond trails, although Jean-Paul probably was. Right now Bobby was holding him back, but he didn’t feel too guilty because Jean-Paul knew the trails better and was showing them to him. Besides, they had a week.
And watching the man is sheer pleasure. He gives new meaning to ‘poetry in motion’!
It was a thrill to engage in his favourite sport with a former Olympic Gold Medallist in that sport.
Even if the bastard judges took back his medal.
Bobby didn’t think Jean-Paul had cheated, but he also intended to never bring it up.
As they got to the bottom of the trail, slowing gradually so as not to crash into anyone, Bobby saw Jean-Paul squint up at the sun. When he drew alongside, Jean-Paul said, “It must be nearly three o’clock. Break for lunch?”
“I was wondering what the growling noise was!” Bobby laughed. “I thought maybe a bear was following us. Sure. Any place around here we can grab something quick, or do you want to go back to the lodge?”
“There’s a canteen. Soup, cocoa, coffee, sandwiches, that sort of thing.”
“Sounds great! Let me do some stretches, first. God, I’m hungry!”
“You don’t even realise until you stop moving,” Jean-Paul agreed, also stretching.
Soon they were inside, sitting on a squishy couch with mugs of soup and cocoa, and grilled cheese sandwiches on paper plates.
“So, what do you think? Nice place?” Jean-Paul asked casually, watching Bobby take a bite of sandwich.
Bobby groaned with pleasure, dropping his head against the back of the couch. He closed his eyes.
“This place is awesome. Some of the nicest trails I’ve ever skied. And the scenery is gorgeous.”
“It’s very nice, yes,” Jean-Paul said, looking away.
“Also, this sandwich? This is the best grilled cheese sandwich I’ve ever had.”
Jean-Paul laughed.
“You only say that because you’re happy. By the end of the week you’ll be sick of them.”
“Maybe. I think I’ll get another one while I still appreciate them.”
“I’ll get it. I’m done, and I want more soup.”
Bobby watched Jean-Paul walk away, then wolfed down the last bite of his sandwich and turned to pick up his cocoa. When he turned back, there was a pretty young blonde snowbunny taking Jean-Paul’s spot on the couch, and smiling at him.
“Um,” he said.
“You just get here?” She asked. Her teeth were perfect.
“This morning,” he confirmed. He was about to say that Jean-Paul would be right back when she spoke again.
“Going to be here long?”
“Hoping for a week.” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“Cool. I’m Cerise.” She held out her hand. He shook it.
“Bobby. Just so you know, my friend who was sitting there will be back in a sec.”
She flashed that toothpaste commercial perfect smile again.
“No problem, Bobby. I just wanted to let you know that me and my friends are having a hot tub party at Dudley Lodge tomorrow night, and I was wondering if you’d like to come?”
Bobby blinked at her.
“Um, Cerise, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’m a little old for hot tub parties.” With college girls.
“Oh, I don’t think so,” she said, voice low and flirty.
Why couldn’t hot college snowbunnies hit on me when I was their age? he wondered.
“Listen, just think about it. Here’s a little map. Bring your friend, too, if you like.” And then she passed him a piece of paper and left.
He looked at the paper, sipping his cocoa. It said, “You’re invited to a HOT TUB PARTY!!” There was a cartoon girl in a bikini on each side of the paper, and sure enough, a decent map of how to get from the main Lodge to the party.
Bobby tucked the paper in his pocket.
“Who was that?” Jean-Paul said, standing by the couch and frowning after the snowbunny.
“She said her name was Cerise, and she was inviting me to a hot tub party,” Bobby said, taking one of the grilled cheese sandwiches Jean-Paul held.
“She looks a bit young for you.”
“That’s what I said. You’re invited, too, by the way. I think she was just too shy to approach you directly, you stud, you.” Bobby winked.
Jean-Paul snorted and sat down.
Sorry, girls, Bobby thought, Iceman doesn’t do hot tubs. I might melt.
* * *
It was roughly seven o’clock when they got back to their lodge. The ski trails were lit when the sun went down – before, really, because of the shadow cast by the mountain – and they’d stayed out until they were hungry again.
“Do you mind if I shower first, since I’m making dinner?” Jean-Paul asked. “I will be quick so you have hot water.”
“Take your time, I don’t mind cold showers,” Bobby said.
Jean-Paul frowned at him.
“But the hot water will keep you from getting stiff muscles.”
“That’s why I’m going to stretch while you shower. Do you mind if I raid your CDs?”
“Fine, suit yourself. Don’t complain to me if you’re stiff later,” Jean-Paul said, heading for the bathroom.
“What do you think the cold showers are for?” Bobby teased. Jean-Paul made a show of turning around and rolling his eyes as he closed the door.
He was always saying things like that, and it was part of the problem. Certainly, some of the time it was sardonic, but that hardly bothered Jean-Paul of the infamous acid tongue. But he dropped casual comments, calling Jean-Paul “handsome” and “sexy”, and it was just friendly teasing.
And that’s all it is. Unfortunately.
Obviously Bobby must be extremely comfortable with Jean-Paul’s sexuality, and his own.
Which is damned attractive in a man. Especially after some of my relationships.
At this rate, I’m going to need a cold shower, he thought.
Then he stepped into the spray of hot water and gasped as the heat immediately began to relax his muscles. All foolish thoughts of cold showers fled him.
A slow, throbbing bass rhythm played from the living room. For a moment, the knowledge of what song it was danced just beyond his reach, and then the smoky, sexy saxophone began. He groaned.
Of all the albums he could have chosen . . .
The last time he’d listened to this, he’d been here with Réné. They had made love to it. It had been collecting dust on his shelf since he and Réné broke up, and now the handsome man he was spending a week with – but couldn’t touch – was out there stretching to it.
This is going to be a long week.
* * *
Bobby was in a state of just easing and relaxing his muscles, taking slow deep breaths, and pleasantly not thinking much at all. The music combined with and enhanced the experience, intrinsically a part of it. His breath and the saxophone. His spine and the piano. His heartbeat and the rhythm set by the bass guitar. All were connected.
As he moved from one position to another, he noticed Jean-Paul, leaning in the kitchen archway. His silver-and-black hair was still damp, the slightly pointed tips of his ears poking into view. He’d already had time to dress. Bobby glanced at the clock.
“Seven-thirty already?” he asked, surprised.
“Oui. I think there is some hot water left, although from the look of you, you’re relaxed enough already.”
Bobby smiled, a slow, languid smile.
“Yeah. I’ll just go wash off the sweat in a minute.” He slowly and carefully extended his leg and rotated his hip.
“Is that yoga?” Jean-Paul asked, watching him.
“Well, probably partially. My – . . . a woman I had dated taught me these stretches. I suspect they may also borrow from tai chi. Anyway, they work better for me than the stuff I learned at Xavier’s.”
“Hm,” Jean-Paul said, and turned to look into the cupboards. “Grilled chicken and rice sound good?”
“Yep. Okay, I’m off to the shower.” He laughed. “After all, can’t have sweaty ol’ me stinking the place up.”
* * *
Nevermind that sometimes healthy sweat is a good smell, Jean-Paul thought, leafing through the spices as Bobby went off to the bathroom. Nevermind that you look very nice with your shirt off. Nevermind that I’d had no idea you were so flexible, and I’d dearly love to know where you got that scar on your chest. See if you have any more.
I should just nevermind.
Mon Dieu, this is going to be a long week. What was I thinking?
* * *
Bobby was pleasantly surprised by what a good cook Jean-Paul was. Over the excellent dinner, they talked about the skiing, and about jazz. The conversation moved into the living room with the remnants of the wine, and then hot cocoa. Bobby was pleased to see Jean-Paul smile several times, and even laugh.
Before they went to bed, they worked out a plan of alternating dinner duties – and Bobby warned Jean-Paul not to expect anything too fancy from him – and agreed on a time to set the alarm for. They bid each other a genial goodnight, and turned in.
* * *
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-13 09:57 pm (UTC)I know that its just one request from someone you don't know but I'd love to see this continued at some point.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-14 04:19 am (UTC)Hi! I was just wandering about searching for fanfic when I found this and its great :D
D'awww. *toescuff&blush combo* Thanks.
I'd love to see this continued at some point.
The first part of Part 2 is here (http://eliyes.livejournal.com/6643.html). I have more written, but I decided to stop posting WIPs until I had them finished and I've never finished this, mainly because I started reading the books. *facepalm* OOCness, aieee. I still have the plot in my head, but I have no end, and I got derailed. :/
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-14 01:43 pm (UTC)Hehehe, well whats the main problem about the end - is it still the will they/won't they issue from the comments for the 2nd part?
If its to do with Bobby's sexuality then Carey did say that he sees Bobby as a homophobic bisexual or something like that.
Anyways, hope you find your ending! :)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-14 02:25 pm (UTC)I have a lot of issues with Bobby's characterization from, oh, at the very least around when Jean-Paul joined the team onward. I've always seen him as bisexual (though leaning towards girls more than guys, I must admit), and I don't see how the guy who seemed most comfortable with talking about such things could be homophobic. B|
I had thought about rewriting this as solely from Jean-Paul's pov, so that what Bobby thinks of this whole trip could be a mysterious mystery, but eh. I do that a lot, I find. ^^; I like the Bobby pov bits too much to change them... Basically I'm waffling all over the place.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-14 10:44 pm (UTC)A JP POV fic would be good, exploring his reactions and feelings whilst also keeping the mystery and having the reader go through the same train of thought with him but since you've already started this one in a different way it would be a shame to change it. I'm sure you could think of another fic to write where you could have it from his POV only, like a post Hand brainwashing storyline.
Hehehe, anyway I'm sure wherever you decide taking the story will be great and if its still a tough choice you could always have alternate endings? Then you can make one the main and the other the 'What if?' like Marvel does all the time, lol. :)
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-16 01:26 am (UTC)I think that's what he meant, but it's not like it was shown.
I mean from his reaction from getting a secondary mutation it'd be understandable. If he was scared of standing out as a mutant because he looked different it wouldn't be a huge leap to imagine him being scared of standing out by admitting he's bisexual or dating/sleeping with another man.
And this is the part that was the most out of character from the whole thing. I mean, apart from the fact that he didn't actually have a(nother) secondary mutation and he's actually had to deal with the "the place where I was injured in ice form isn't changing back to flesh because it's not healed thing. Bobby has never been bugged by standing out. Bobby was a normal kid and was still the freak in his neighbourhood. Bobby's favourite people are Hank, Warren, The Thing and The Gargoyle. People who look very off and/or have extra limbs. Bobby has never been good at hiding his mutation and always was irked he had to. Bobby loves attention. So this whole thing made no sense to me.
Hehehe, anyway I'm sure wherever you decide taking the story will be great and if its still a tough choice you could always have alternate endings? Then you can make one the main and the other the 'What if?' like Marvel does all the time, lol. :)
I know they do, it kinda drives me nuts. ^^; I like AUs, but whenever I'm presented with a choice, for example, between reading a slash version or gen version of a fic, I get flustered. And I don't think I can write just two endings, because the tone would be different depending on what kind of story. Now, I have read stories in gen and slash versions that were good, and I've also read reincarnation!crossover and non-reincarnation!crossover versions of a series, and having seen how much had to be changed/added/removed to make those work... it seems like a lot of work. ^^;
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-17 02:06 pm (UTC)I know what you mean, from reading about his character it does seem weird that he'd get so angsty over something like that. Then again I'm a sucker for a bit of angst so I just glazed over it, hehehe, I just treated Austen's storyline as if it were different from the main Marvel universe because then you could consider a different backstory for the characters.
Ah okies, sorry I didn't think of all the editing and time you'd have to put into the first parts of the series to create the alternate endings. :S Well anyway, good luck with what you choose in the end! :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-17 07:45 pm (UTC)It was the secondary mutation and being depowered that were in his head. If he'd actually had a secondary mutation to make him all ice all the time, he wouldn't have been able to trick himself into thinking he was bog standard human again. (Not that he ever was.)
It's very weird to me that he was sucked along into both trends, and I therefore think someone was messing with his head, or else he's got an undocumented receptive empathic sensitivity, which would make a hell of a lot more sense for his character, in some ways. And having telepaths romping around your brain for so many years might mess you up that way. I mean, Xavier brainwashed him from the start -- Bobby didn't want to join up, and his parents didn't want to let him, and Xavier made them go along with it while he was busy making everyone else forget about the whole "Bobby Drake is a mutant and we tried to kill him" thing.
Like I said, I'm not sure I'm going to come back to this story. I have other ones I'm working on, and some of them involve skiing. <.< I'm always working on many more things than I actually finish, though.