Fic: Aflame
E-mail: violet147@yahoo.com
Rating: R.
Warnings: Boy sex. As always.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairings: Bobby/John
Summary: He's not going to spontaneously combust.


Bobby’s hands weren’t ice-cold when they first touched his skin. That was the first thing wrong with the scenario. John had spent months wondering just how cold Bobby’s hands would be, and the first time his fingers lightly traced designs into John’s stomach, they weren’t cold at all. He just let it go, though, as Bobby’s fingers had reached his belt, and he remembers thinking to himself that maybe it was a good thing that Bobby’s hands weren’t as cold as he thought they would be.

It ended up lasting for months, but John only really remembers the last time he and Bobby had sex. After Bobby came and he was panting like he just completed the running of the bulls, he collapsed down next to John, onto his stomach, and he turned his head, facing John. He reached over and pushed back a lock of John’s hair, which had fallen into his face. It was a sentimental gesture, but it felt empty. John doesn’t know if it just felt empty on his part or not, but he had said nothing.

“Aren’t you afraid?” Bobby had asked.

“Of what?”

“Of accidentally setting yourself on fire.” Bobby ducked his head, then looked back up with shy eyes. “I mean, you’re always playing with that lighter, and, like, I swear, you’re going to end up lighting your sleeve on fire or something,” he said. He reached up and caresses John’s cheek, then pulled away, almost guiltily. “I just keep waiting for it to happen,” he confessed, his voice low.

John just laughed and kissed Bobby, even though something told him that this wasn’t part of the protocol, not anymore. “I’m not going to light myself on fire, Drake,” he told him as he rolled on top of Bobby, pinning Bobby down. “I’m under complete control,” he had added with a slight leer.

Bobby laughed and wrapped his arms around John’s waist. “Under complete control my ass,” he said, leaning up and meeting John for a kiss, their tongues immediately starting to duel. Finally they parted and Bobby grinned. “I can’t believe you’re ready to go again,” he said.

“I’m always ready,” John had replied. He let the sentence hang in the air, and they just looked at each other, as if both knew what he was not saying. Finally he reached down and kissed Bobby again, and let it all go as Bobby’s fingers ran along his sides, and for some reason, they felt much colder than they ever had before, but he said nothing. Maybe it had been a good thing. Maybe he had imagined it. Who knew for sure?

And after John came again with a slight howl, he collapsed back down and immediately leaned towards Bobby to wrap his arm around him. He snuggled in closer, and it was like that for a few seconds until Bobby started to laugh nervously. He ended up rolling out of the embrace, out of the bed and standing up, giving John a slight grin as he reaches down and grabs his boxers. “Jesus, you’re burning up, man. I’m going to sleep in my bed,” he told him.

He had leaned over, gave John a quick kiss on the mouth, and whispered good night. He didn’t seem to notice the way John was looking at him as if he were bewildered, and he crawled into his bed. He pulled the covers up over and him and sighed deeply, contentedly, seemingly ready to go to bed.

John had just laid there, his arm outstretched and laying on the spot of the bed that had been Bobby’s space, staring at Bobby lying in his own bed. He was silent for a few moments. He remembers that he had tried to think of something profound, something that would express the hurt in his chest but retain some dignity as well, but he just rolled over onto his side. He pulled the covers tight around himself, as if he were trying to make himself into a mummy. For some reason he was absolutely freezing and having no clothes on didn’t help matters much, either. But he just let go, and he didn’t roll back over to grab his boxers or to look at Bobby or anything. All he had said was, “Good night.” and left it at that.

He thinks back on all this when Erik’s got his hand on his arm, showing him just how far he should extend his arm when he’s in battle, so as to not bring harm to himself. He’s coming to love these lessons with Erik; it feels good to stretch his limbs and Erik teaches him lessons that are meant for him, not for an entire room of freaky kids. It really doesn’t get much better than that; he’s very happy with the choice he’s made.

“You must extend your arm more,” Erik is saying, and he extends John’s elbow a bit, forcing his arm to stretch. “If you don’t, your opponent can kick you, and you’ll end up setting yourself on fire.”

That’s what brings back the memories, Erik telling him he’s going to set himself on fire. He looks up at Erik and for a moment, Bobby’s there, smiling, telling him if he doesn’t stop playing with his lighter he’s going to set his jacket sleeve aflame. When he blinks, Bobby is gone, and Erik is there, so he just lets it go, and doesn’t think about it. He merely extends his arm and twists his fingers as the flames shoot forward. He does not set himself on fire.

Later, when he’s alone in his new bed, he looks around at the walls, he looks at the silk sheets lying on top of him, and he looks over next to him at the giant space on his bed, and he stretches his arm out, like he did the last night he was with Bobby. His hand brushes his arm, and his skin is on fire, even though he feels ice-cold inside. He realizes that even if he does end up setting himself on fire one day, it won’t matter anyway. If it happens, he will not combust, like Bobby and Erik and everyone else says, because he’s already been set on fire before, by a pair of fingers that weren’t really as cold as he thought they would be.

He rolls over and sighs deeply. He’s not going to spontaneously combust. After all, he has been burned before. One cannot set what remains of ashes aflame a second time.


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