STUFF

by Devo

Fandom: Uncanny X-Men
Comments: I had this sitting around on a disk; it was actually, to my own shock and wonder, finished. Just needed some polishing up, et voici. Short but sweet.

Takes place in cannon...somewhere in the near future.


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It was the wrong end of the weekend to be stuck inside of a mansion. Too many empty rooms, and frustrating hallways with which to torture oneself. Bobby had just about had it.

He was only doing it to himself, he knew. He was hardly a prisoner here. Could leave any time he wanted; take a car, take a bike, go into town. But then...most of the stores were closed. He didn't feel like driving anywhere. Didn't feel like making the effort. Same old excuses, yada yada. What else could he do about it?

So he stomped the halls, moaning like a cat in heat. Bored out of his caffein-adled brain, looking for somebody, anybody, with whom to share his misery. Forcibly if needed.

Wandering into the study, Bobby was greeted with the sound of furious typing. A sound not so much like individual fingers striking keys, but rather a continuous machine-gun stutter. Long rapid bursts only occasionally broken by a mutter, or grumble he recognized as Jean-Paul's. Signs of life, at last.

A brief search soon turned him up, skinny and pensive in an armchair, curled around his laptop, fingers a blur. Bobby sidled up to him with what he thought was the utmost stealth. Jean-Paul gave an inarticulate sound, halfway between a whinge and a groan, and hunched over even farther.

"Watcha writin'?" Bobby muttered, slinging himself into the chair next to Jean-Paul.

"Stuff." Came the flat reply.

"Of course stuff! Everything by nature, is 'stuff'." Bobby sniped. "_What_ kind of _stuff_?"

"Things. Look, you're crowding my headspace..."

"Begyerpardon?"

"Distracting me? It's nothing interesting. Just some thoughts. Random bullcrap. You know, stuff." Jean-Paul waved him off, distracted, other hand still hammering away.

"May I read said 'stuff'?"

"No."

Somehow, in the midst of all of this, Jean-Paul had continued typing. His fingers moved so quickly and without pause, it was hard to believe he wasn't just pelting out gibberish; hitting random key sequences simply for the sound of it. Bobby tried to snatch a peek around the resolute fortress of shirt and ribcage, but an arm moved to block him. Jean-Paul gave him a good hard skunkeye, sidelong, still typing.

"I swear, you're worse than me when you get bored. Isn't Remy around to entertain you?"

"Is he ever?" Bobby pouted. "There's only so much X-Box and< masturbation a man can take...I'm about to go insane here."

"Go?" Jean-Paul smirked. "Well, be sure to send me a postcard."

"Yeah, wish you were here. Hah-hah."

"I'll tell you what. The less you bother me, the sooner I'll be done."

"And then what?"

Jean-Paul shrugged inelegantly. "I suppose we could...do stuff."

"Would there be any similarity to the 'stuff' you're not letting me
read?"

"Probably none whatsoever. Why don't you go read a magazine or something?"

Bobby sighed. "Fine." He slinked off to the periodicals rack and snatched up the latest issue of, guess what, 'Stuff'.

He wasn't sure why--oh why--he was reading it, if not for the sake of irony. But before he had a chance to become properly engrossed, or even angered, the sounds of typing ceased. Bobby quickly ducked behind the glossy covers.

"Very funny." He heard shortly. Then two elegant fingers dipped into his line of sight, and pulled down the magazine. "Fine taste in irony...poor taste in reading material." Jean-Paul purred.

Bobby grinned all cockeyed. "What happened? After all of that...trying to shoo me off, here you are."

Jean-Paul gave a sheepish smirk. "Headspace, once invaded, is no longer inviolate. In other words, my train of thought derailed and crashed into a gorge. The resulting fire-ball was spectacular."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"No you're not." Jean-Paul fired back, but his voice was more teasing than serious. He uncerimoniously flopped into Bobby's lap, seeming pleased at the resulting grunt.

Bobby freed an arm, and reached up to play with Jean-Paul's hair, which had gone wild in the space of a few weeks. It now had a tendency to fall over his eyes, ears, and face. Must've annoyed him to no end, as he was forever, and furiously clawing it back.

Bobby hardly needed to ask why he'd let it go so long, though. He need only see the way Jean-Paul preened and scowled under that raven mop, admiring his bad self every time he passed a mirror or store window.

Yeah, vanity, how becoming in a man. Somehow, though, Jean-Paul wore it well. Managed to make it endearing almost. If only for his irritation when Bobby laughed at him.

"You remembered to save your file, right?" Bobby murmured, distractedly. He'd moved on from Jean-Paul's hair, fingers now gently massaging the pressure points between ear and temple.

"You know how obsessive compulsive I am. Yes, about twenty times. It's also password protected, should you feel tempted to snoop."

"Your lack of trust in me is shocking." Bobby deadpanned.

"Don't take it personally. Now, what would you like to do?"

Bobby thought on it a moment, fingers coyly teasing the rims of Jean-Paul's ears. His eye took on a definite hungry glint as he quietly drawled

"Oh, yano, stuff."

Jean-Paul looked up, eyes a narrow warning. "Quit saying 'stuff'!"

Bobby laughed, and bent to kiss him. "That might be a tough one,
since everything by nature--"

"Please shut up." Jean-Paul covered Bobby's mouth with his own, curtailing any further sound. "You know what I meant."

"Of course, it goes without saying. Upstairs?"

"For what?" Jean-Paul grinned dangerously.

"You know...everything."

"That's more like it."


~end~