Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1688426.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      John/Bobby
  Character:
      John_Allerdyce, Bobby_Drake
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-05-25 Words: 4828
****** Of Bridges Burnt ******
by ayumie
Summary
     AU. What would have happened if Bobby had run away from home? Oh, and
     porn.
Notes
     Meant for the December challenge. Thanks to
     [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]
lea724 for being a wonderful beta-reader, to [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/
img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]hisoka44 for helping me brainstorm, and to
[http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]aervir for
saying my fic doesn't suck. Merry Christmas!
TITLE: Of Bridges Burnt
AUTHOR: [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]ayumie
RATING: NC-17
PAIRING: John/Bobby
SUMMARY: AU. What would have happened if Bobby had run away from home? Oh, and
porn.
NOTES: Meant for the December challenge. Thanks to [http://l-
stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]lea724 for being a
wonderful beta-reader, to [http://l-stat.livejournal.net/img/
userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]hisoka44 for helping me brainstorm, and to [http:/
/l-stat.livejournal.net/img/userinfo.gif?v=17080?v=115.3]aervir for saying my
fic doesn't suck. Merry Christmas!
OF BRIDGES BURNT
Fuck, shit, fucking shit, fuck. John was trudging home, constantly repeating
his litany of curses. It had been a bad day. First of all, it was raining,
which he absolutely hated because it made everything that much harder to burn.
Then some shit-faced punk had drawn a knife on him for no apparent reason,
forcing him to use his powers in a very public place. And now he was being
followed. With a final, heartfelt ‘shit,’ John turned into a narrow alley.
Retreating into a shadowy doorway, he slowly counted to ten. Soon enough, he
heard footsteps and, stepping forward, John found himself face to face with a
boy his own age. He let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Just
a nuisance, then. John glared at the intruder.
“Why are you fucking following me?”
The boy was shifting from one foot to the other, clearly nervous. He was
wrapped in a thick winter jacket, shoulders hunched like he was cold
regardless.
“I saw what you can do.”
“Then you should know to stay the hell away from me,” John said menacingly,
hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible. He really needed to get
out of the rain. But as he made to leave, the kid wouldn’t let him pass.
“Wait! I’m like you. I can ... do things.”
The kid held his hand in front of John’s face, clearly expecting some kind of
reaction. For a moment, neither boy moved. John was about to call bullshit when
he suddenly realized that something was happening to the raindrops around them.
They were freezing against the kid’s skin. A few pellets of ice fell to the
ground and John drew an involuntary gasp. Fuck.
“I need a place to stay. I’ve got some money.”
John glanced around, quickly considering his options. Finally he nodded. He
couldn’t afford to draw any further attention. Ice crunched under his boots as
he pushed past the kid. The other boy followed him all the way to the abandoned
building he was currently inhabiting. Truth to be told, he was rather proud of
this one. He had claimed a comparatively well-preserved one room apartment on
the second floor. Of course there was no electricity, but the windows weren’t
broken and he even had a lock on the door, keeping his few possessions as safe
as they were going to get in this part of town. There was a big mattress and
even some furniture the previous owners had left behind when they were being
evicted. And best of all, there was running water. By John’s standards, it was
positively sumptuous. The kid looked around like he was used to better.
Once they were safely inside, John took off his jacket and threw it over a
chair. He turned to face the kid.
“Give me the money.”
The boy seemed kind of hesitant, but obediently handed over a small wad of
cash. It was mostly tens and twenties, which John quickly pocketed, already
calculating how long he could make them last. Then he took another look at the
kid. The boy was clean-cut, attractive in a high school heartthrob kind of way.
Other than the expensive-looking clothes he was wearing, he was carrying a
bulging backpack that was probably meant for school things. He didn’t have the
look of one abused, but his eyes were haunted anyway. Those eyes were ...
arresting.
“My name is Bobby.”
John quickly looked away.
“Good for you. What do you have in there?” he said, nodding at the kid’s
backpack.
“Nothing. Clothes.”
John shrugged, randomly pointing at one of the corners.
“You can sleep over there. Tonight. Just move the candles aside.”
And tomorrow he’d get rid of the kid, maybe tell him to go to the social
workers, the good ones who didn’t ask any questions. They were probably just
waiting for a case like this.
Turning his back on Bobby, John took out his lighter and squatted down, making
a small flame jump towards the waiting candles. He was doing well, he told
himself. He didn’t have much, but at least he knew things – which shops didn’t
have a security system, for instance. He knew how to avoid getting hooked on
drugs, which places were safe enough to sleep at, which people sometimes had
errands to run and which girls would get drunk and do it for free. And if he
really needed money, well, he knew all about spotting the right men, too, the
ones who paid best for a blowjob. Compared to most of the people he knew, he
was doing very well indeed.
John looked at the kid with something like pity. This one didn’t know anything.
Impulsively he got up and pocketed his lighter.
“My name is Pyro. Or John. Whichever.”
And somehow, in the next morning Bobby didn’t leave.
*
There were a lot of firsts in Bobby’s life, now that he was staying with John.
The first time he said ‘fuck that’ and meant it. The first time John let him
sleep in his bed so he wouldn’t be so very, very cold. The first time he walked
out of a shop with a can of Coke he hadn’t paid for. The first time he saw a
fresh body, a girl even younger than himself with blood on her shirt and a
terribly still face. The first time Johnny took him along to make money,
loitering at the edge of a crowd while every now and then some guy would pass
them a stolen wallet. The first time he realized what else John sometimes did
for money and the thrill of anger and sick curiosity that followed. The first
time he used his new powers to hurt somebody, on John’s command, just to show
that he wasn’t easy prey. The first time he woke up and didn’t expect to be in
his old room, but exactly where he was – on a dirty mattress in a rundown
building with Johnny’s warm body pressed against his. The first time he had
sex, with a girl he hardly knew, but who had made him an offer Johnny told him
he’d be a fool to refuse. It had been good but not what he had imagined and
when he came, he had thought of feverish skin and Johnny’s mouth doing
forbidden things.
 
 
Three months had passed. It was colder now and the rain had turned into snow.
Clutching the bag of groceries tightly to his chest, Bobby hurried through
streets that had become familiar. People called out to him and he shouted a
greeting at those he knew, while brushing the others off with a rude gesture.
He was fitting in. These days when Bobby looked into the mirror he found that
there was little left of the kid he had been not even a year ago. He looked
older, tougher and there was something permanently hostile in his eyes,
something that said ‘leave me the fuck alone!’
Bobby shivered and, feeling a shift in the temperature around him, struggled to
get a grip on his wayward power. Despite his best efforts he was still randomly
freezing things, alternately not feeling the cold at all and trembling at the
ice running through his veins. He shivered again, walking faster. Johnny would
be home and where Johnny was, there was warmth. He didn’t even want to think
about what a winter without heating was like for those who didn’t have a fire-
based mutant to help them out.
He found the other boy just the way he had left him – lying on his stomach with
an old paperback by his side, eyes fixed on the flames that danced across his
outstretched hand. Johnny could play with fire for hours at a time, entranced
and happy in a way Bobby had learned to associate with junkies on a good trip.
Throwing down his bags and jacket, he hurried to join the other boy in bed,
snatching as many blankets as he could reach. He felt like he was frozen
himself. Johnny drew a sharp breath as cold hands were shoved under his sweater
and pressed against his bare skin, but didn’t try to pull away.
“You’d better make a whole lot of ice this summer, Drake,” he grumbled and
inched closer, sharing the heat he was drawing into his body.
Bobby grinned and nodded. As soon as he was a little warmer, he stretched and
grabbed his jacket, quickly extracting all the small knickknacks he
automatically pocketed wherever he went, mostly candles and lighters and snack
food and why the hell did he bother to steal dental floss?
Picking through the groceries, Bobby shoved a sandwich at Johnny. Looking at
the other boy’s bowed head, he could see the knobs of Johnny’s spine push
against his skin. He briefly wondered what his mother would think if she could
see them right now. She’d probably be horrified at the idea that her oldest son
had spent the better part of the winter in an abandoned building, holed up in
bed with a boy she’d consider trouble at best and an abomination at worst. But
then, she’d probably consider him an abomination, too.
Bobby shook his head. He had stopped dwelling on his family a long time ago.
Now he wouldn’t think about them any more than he would think about the dirt or
the smells or the scorch marks on the walls where cockroaches had proved too
slow for John’s fire. He had other things to worry about.
Two hours later, when Johnny was asleep with his head jammed beneath his arm,
Bobby was still wide awake, still thinking about money. There never seemed to
be enough of it and then there’d be none at all and he had never realized how
much things cost. He had never realized what it meant to go hungry, either. The
last few weeks had been particularly tough until yesterday when John had
announced that he’d had enough. Bobby had watched mutely as the other boy
grabbed his jacket, lit a cigarette he didn’t smoke, and slammed the door on
his way out. Bobby wasn’t stupid. When John returned three hours later with
enough money to last them through the next few weeks, he knew what had
happened.
It was easy to imagine: Johnny idling in some street, lips smiling and pouting
at the same time. Some man would see him, want him – how could they not? – and
Johnny would meet his eyes, only not too long, because ‘really Mister, I don’t
usually do this…’. Then they’d be in some out-of-the-way spot, a restroom
maybe, and Johnny would insist on getting paid first, charming more money out
of the guy than he had meant to give. Then Johnny would get to his knees. At
that point Bobby wasn’t sure what would follow. Perhaps John wouldn’t do much
of anything, merely offer up that pretty mouth. Maybe he’d want it to be over
soon, work to make the man come as quickly as possible.
Feeling slightly sick, Bobby wondered whether Johnny hated it. He never said
anything, but maybe it was one of those things you did not talk about, because
that’d mean they were real. Bobby swallowed a groan. He was half-hard, which
was another thing Johnny never seemed to mind even when they were tangled
together and there was no way in hell the other boy could miss it. In fact most
of those times Johnny had been kind of hard as well. Bobby suppressed another
groan. What was he thinking? He flinched as John suddenly lifted his head and
blinked sleepily.
“ ‘s matter? You’re fucking cold.”
Bobby panicked. He had to say something, anything to throw John off the track,
anything but the truth.
“How did you… Why are you here? Why did you run away?” he blurted out, and,
fuck, he hadn’t meant to ask that question either, hadn’t thought he’d ever
dare to.
For a moment John didn’t react. When he finally spoke his voice was low and
indifferent the way it only got when he cared about something.
“I didn’t. I’ve pretty much always lived like this. Only there used to be my
Mom.”
Now Bobby needed to know.
“Tell me.”
“There ain’t much to tell. Mom was young when she got me. There wasn’t any
money. Sometimes she found men we could stay with. Most of the time, it was
places like this. When I was ten, she moved in with some asshole and started to
drink. ‘Course she’d always been drinking some, but that’s when she really fell
apart.”
It was dark, so Johnny couldn’t possibly be seeing the look on his face. Still,
the other boy gave an exasperated sigh and poked his elbow into Bobby’s ribs.
“Don’t you fucking dare feel sorry for me. She wasn’t all bad. She tried to
take care of me, even after – you know.”
For a long time neither of them spoke.
“And then?”
“Like I said, there was that asshole. Things got difficult and I had to get
out. I moved in with some kids I knew, stayed there for some time. Didn’t find
out I was a mutant until later. It was – it wasn’t that bad. In the end, the
house burned down and I decided I was better off on my own. Nothing
spectacular.”
Only Bobby knew that he was hearing the heavily edited Johnny version of
things. God, John couldn’t have been more than twelve when he lost his mother,
one of the youngest kids, one of the weakest. Bobby had seen enough to guess at
what that meant. And then a fire? He wanted to hug John, to tell him that
everything was okay and maybe kiss his forehead the way his mom always had when
he’d had a bad dream. John wouldn’t welcome such gestures, though. So Bobby
tried not to put too much admiration into his voice, tried to show that he
understood.
“That must have been tough.”
Johnny didn’t say anything, but his body relaxed minutely.
*
“That it?”
John looked up at the large cream-colored house with open dislike. It was so
fucking suburban he wanted to puke. Liz nodded and found the key under a fake
rock. There were five of them: John, Bobby, and three girls who lived in the
same street.
As soon as they were inside, the girls veered off to the right, laughing at
something Liz said. Bobby had stopped in the atrium, face set in an unhappy
frown. He looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here. John stopped and
glanced back over his shoulder.
“Whatcha waiting for? Let’s go upstairs. I want a shower.”
A shower, a real shower with plenty of hot water, and if that wasn’t enough to
tempt the other boy into action, he didn’t know what would be. And sure enough,
Bobby snapped out of whatever trance he had been in and followed him upstairs.
“How did you find this place anyway?”
“Liz lucked out. Some rich kid picked her up and got talkative – spare key,
Christmas with the grandparents, everything. I just organized the car.”
John opened another door and there it was: the bathroom. He looked longingly at
the gleaming tiles, but stepped aside.
“You go first. Oh, and if you find any cash, give it to Liz. Everything else is
up for picks, though.”
“How much time do we have?”
“The girls want to stay until it gets dark. Makes it easier to get stuff
outside. Take your time.”
Bobby hesitated for a moment, then nodded and entered the bathroom, leaving
John free to wander back downstairs in search of the kitchen. Along the way he
stopped in the master bedroom and raided the mom’s jewelry box. When he
discovered yet another bathroom, John grinned. It clearly was meant to be.
Twenty minutes later he was thoroughly pleased with himself. He had left his
old clothes behind and taken a plush, white terrycloth bathrobe. John
absentmindedly flicked his lighter and drew a small flame, remembering the heat
of the water. He found Bobby in one of the smaller rooms, a room that looked
like it might belong to a kid their age. The other boy was lying on the bed,
one arm thrown over his eyes. John stared. Bobby looked … like he belonged.
Even after all these months, even dressed in torn jeans and a ratty old T-
shirt, Bobby managed to fit. Except that he didn’t. He belonged with John now.
Acting on impulse, he climbed onto the bed and straddled Bobby’s prone form. He
pulled the other boy’s arm away, needing to see his face.
“Is this it? Is this what your home was like?”
Bobby didn’t say anything, eyes huge and wounded as he looked up at John.
“Damn. Listen, you don’t need those fuckers. They’re assholes. We’re doing
fine, right? We’re fine.”
And Bobby was still looking so fucking hurt. John cursed again, knowing that
nothing he could say would make a difference.
“John…”
Bobby was reaching out for him, fingers curling around the nape of his neck
and, not for the first time John wondered whether the other boy realized just
what he was doing. To John there were two kinds of touches – the ones that lead
to sex and the ones that demonstrated superiority, the way you’d pet a tame
animal just to prove that it was yours. With Bobby it was neither, although,
fuck, sometimes John wished…
“Johnny,” the other boy said again, almost like a question.
He was being pulled down, pulled closer. John swallowed hard, trying to
remember the things that mattered. Bobby … Bobby was the only one he could
trust, the only one who cared. Fuck. Bobby didn’t want … had never wanted,
despite all the times John had given him license to pretty much do as pleased….
Except that now Bobby was kissing him. God. Fuck. The lips on his were soft,
parting readily as John nudged them with his tongue. They kissed slowly,
tentatively, like neither boy could quite believe this was happening. So good.
Tongue sliding against tongue, licking, sucking, tasting. Feeling Bobby’s
fingers tighten in his hair, John groaned and slumped forward. They came to lie
next to each other, still breathing hard. For a long time, both of them were
silent.
John’s hand clenched into the other boy’s T-shirt, fingers fidgeting against
his chest. He could feel Bobby’s cock against his thigh, the small, involuntary
movements of his hips.
“You’re hard,” John said, knowing he was stating the obvious, but, hell, they
had been hard together before and nothing had happened and now things were
different and he needed Bobby to understand.
“So are you.”
His fingers found one of Bobby’s nipples, rubbing it through the thin cloth of
his shirt.
“What do you want?”
He’d stop if Bobby asked him to, he really, really would.
“I … don’t know.”
But Bobby was reaching out again, obviously needing the contact. John held
completely still as cool fingers traced his lips and throat. When Bobby’s
fingers reached the collar of the bathrobe, his breath hitched.
“Can I…?”
Fuck yes. John nodded breathlessly, struggling to pull his arm from the sleeve
as the other boy tugged impatiently at the thick fabric. Then those cold hands
were touching his skin, slowly sliding down his chest and over his shoulders.
John shivered into the other boy’s explorations, hips twitching appreciatively.
Bobby immediately picked up the movement and within seconds they were rubbing
against each other, setting a steady rhythm that drew moans from both boys.
Another kiss, this one messier than the last, more urgent. Finally John pulled
away, grinning at the disappointed noise Bobby made.
“Too many clothes. Sit up.”
Bobby didn’t hesitate. Eyes never leaving John’s face, he pulled off his T-
shirt and tossed it aside. Bobby was gorgeous. So fucking beautiful, like
something out of a magazine, and John knew that he wasn’t the only one who had
noticed. If it wasn’t for the whole mutant thing Bobby would be – Bobby
wouldn’t be here.
John twisted, shaking off his crumpled bathrobe. Fingers skimming the waistband
of the other boy’s jeans, he looked up.
“So have you decided what the fuck you want?”
And Bobby nodded and arched his back, pressing up against John’s teasing hand.
“More.”
Undoing his pants was a matter of seconds and pulling them off took only
slightly longer. John grinned at the wet patch that was spreading across the
front of the other boy’s boxers, the way the cotton was clinging to his
prominent erection. He couldn’t help but lean down and mouth that hard bulge,
further soaking the thin fabric. Bobby groaned and slumped back onto his
elbows.
“Johnny, please!”
A sharp tug and the boxers were out of the way. It was even better that way,
all salt and musk and aroused boy. John indulged himself, touching, tasting,
nuzzling, before he drew the other boy’s cock into his mouth. He knew what was
at stake. He had to make it good, make sure Bobby didn’t freak, didn’t regret
things. There seemed little reason to worry, though, because already the body
beneath his was shuddering, hips rising to meet John’s teasing tongue. Running
a soothing hand over the other boy’s tense stomach, he picked up the pace. Not
long now.
“Oh, God!”
And because it was Bobby, he didn’t mind swallowing. After a while, the
shudders subsided and John looked up.
“Holy fucking shit.”
Bobby’s hands were encased in a thick layer of ice, ice that was glittering on
the sheets and spreading across the mattress. It stopped inches from John’s
knees. John swallowed hard, arousal faltering. Mostly it was the look of terror
on Bobby’s face that snapped him back into reality.
“Are you ok? I mean, fuck, does it hurt?”
“N-no. It feels … weird, I guess.”
Bobby flexed his hand and the ice cracked, revealing normal looking skin. John
breathed a sigh of relief. No permanent damage. Bobby was still looking
panicked though, obviously thrown by this new weird thing his body was doing.
John grinned, affectionately poking the other boy in the ribs.
“Impressive, Drake. That happen every time you beat off or should I feel
special?”
Bobby mumbled something too low to understand, but John thought he caught the
words ‘pretty fucking special.’ Grin widening, he got up and threw the other
boy his jeans.
“C’mon, get up. In case you didn’t notice, you fucking froze the bed. ‘Sides,
if we don’t get moving, the girls will hoard all the good things. ”
 
When they left the house five hours later, they were carrying enough stuff to
fill the trunk and most of the extra space, clothes and food and various things
deemed worth fencing piled up around them. Liz was driving, since she was the
only one who looked old enough to make her fake driver’s license convincing.
Humming contently, John leafed through a book he had picked up. He could feel
Bobby’s hand against his thigh, radiating a nervous cold but undeniably seeking
contact. John shifted, leaning into the other boy’s touch. The cold intensified
and for a moment he wondered whether he was messing things up. But, oh, this
was fun. And it kept being fun all through the ride home, what with the way
Bobby kept glancing in his direction only to quickly look away.
By the time they had dropped off both the car and the merchandise, it was close
to midnight. John immediately took off his boots and jacket and crawled into
bed, resolutely suppressing a brief pang of anxiety. Bobby knew that nothing
had to change, that they were still, well, them.
Then the other boy was next to him, close enough to touch. Neither boy moved.
But Bobby was still looking at him, eyes bright and sharp in the near darkness.
“So Johnny, what do you want?”
John laughed, thinking of all the ways he wanted to touch Bobby, of the ways he
wanted Bobby to touch him, and the impossibility of putting any of it into
words without sounding stupid or trite or straight out perverted.
“Just fucking kiss me already.”
And Bobby did, kissed him until John found himself groaning into the other
boy’s mouth. Simultaneously drawing closer, they fitted their bodies together,
so good, so … Bobby. Nipping insistently at the other boy’s lip, John tried to
remember why breathing was so important. When they broke apart, both boys were
panting.
“Clothes?”
John nodded, already busy jerking his hoodie over his head. One by one,
sweaters and T-shirts, pants and socks were discarded and tossed on top of the
blankets. Touching Bobby’s skin was always something of a shock. To John, most
people felt cool, but nobody else was quite as … chilling. Not that it didn’t
feel good. Bobby’s fingertips on his chest were enough to draw a sharp moan,
because, God, so very good.
“Tell me what to do.”
And John felt like laughing again, because, fuck, Bobby was doing just fine,
spectacular in fact, what with the way the other boy was running his hands all
over his chest, only pausing occasionally to pinch a nipple. He twisted his
body beseechingly into Bobby’s touch, murmuring things like ‘yes’ and ‘there’
and ‘harder’ and ‘just don’t stop.’
Finally, when he found that he couldn’t take it anymore, he put his hand on top
of Bobby’s and guided it down, down, down. It was Bobby who gasped even as his
fingers curled around John’s aching cock, hesitant at first, but quickly
gaining confidence. Together they pumped and stroked until John whined and
thrashed and came.
Getting Bobby off was a matter of seconds. A few slick touches, a rough kiss,
and he was spilling all over John’s hand and belly.
Breathing hard both boys collapsed, barely managing to snatch an old T-shirt to
clean themselves. John smiled as he felt Bobby sneak a tired arm around his
waist.
*
John was watching him from beneath lowered lids and Bobby shivered, knowing
that the other boy was quite probably devising new ways to combine fire, ice,
and two fifteen–year-old bodies.
Now that it was getting a little warmer, not even Johnny could stand the
thought of being ensconced in their small room and could be persuaded to spend
some time outside. They had set off in the direction of the closest store with
the vague notion of buying ice cream, but, not being in a hurry to get
anywhere, both boys kept fooling around, laughing and jostling each other.
Once they arrived at the store, John decided to wait outside. Bobby just
shrugged and went ahead, thinking that perhaps there had been trouble the last
time the other boy had come here. Inside, he went straight for the ice cream,
grabbing a large container of chocolate chip, his favorite. He even resisted
the urge to nip anything – too close to home.
Glancing out of the window, Bobby frowned. There were people talking to John.
None of the usual crowd, either, and Johnny was looking way too tense. So not
good. Shifting impatiently, Bobby willed the guy behind the counter to hurry
up. In the end, he almost ran out of the shop. Johnny was still standing with
his fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white as he was clutching his
lighter. He was glaring and, as he stepped up beside the other boy, Bobby knew
that his own eyes were just as hostile.
There was a man and a woman, both dressed in stylish leather jackets and
looking ridiculously out of place. The woman was absolutely stunning, dark-
skinned with a shock of white hair that seemed to move in a non-existent
breeze. The guy, too, was clearly handsome, although part of his face was
obscured by a pair of sunglasses. At least they didn’t look like the religious
kind. The woman smiled.
Bobby didn’t say anything as she launched into what was obviously a standard
speech. He listened to all her pretty words about a special school for mutants,
about scholarships and getting an education, but all he could think of was
plenty of food and a safe place to stay, a good place to stay with electricity
and warm water and how he had missed all these things and how much he wanted
them for Johnny. Hand clenching into the other boy’s sweater, he found himself
nodding.
 
 
It was good while it lasted. But when John climbed out of the Blackbird some
two years later, Bobby followed without a moment’s hesitation.
The End
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