Fic: The Club
E-mail: violet147@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13.
Warnings: Everyone's hitting it with someone. Whee.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: Bobby/John, John/everyone.
Summary: Bobby wants to be part of the club.


Bobby was fine with it when Kitty kissed Johnny. Perhaps it was because Bobby had been there for it, and had known it had only come about due to Spin the Zippo. He had felt completely fine when the lighter had landed on Kitty, and John had leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. It had lasted for five seconds. Bobby hadn’t been sure if Kitty would kiss back, but in the last second, she got some lip action going before it ended. Later he had to coax her out of the bathroom, where she had locked herself in after the kiss ended and it was Peter’s turn.

The next day he tried to ask her why she had locked herself in the bathroom. She had refused to answer, kept twirling her hair in her fingers. Bobby had asked if Johnny was a bad kisser, and Kitty had said no. Johnny was NOT a bad kisser. Johnny wasn’t so bad at other things, too, she had said, which confused Bobby, but he didn’t say anything. Apparently after their conversation she had locked herself in the bathroom again, mumbling something about Johnny and Zippos and new underwear. Bobby didn’t ask any more questions.

And when Jubilee kissed Johnny, he was a little miffed, yes, but he had handled it fine, or fine as a perpetually horny seventeen-year-old boy could handle it. He hadn’t been witness to this one, but he had been witness to Jubilee fleeing from the scene of the crime. He had returned from the kitchen with a whole carton of Cookies ‘n Cream ice cream, Johnny’s favorite, and before he could open his door, Jubilee stepped out.

With her pants undone and her shirt completely unbuttoned to reveal her purple lacy bra.

“Err. Hey. Bobarilla,” she had said, pulling her shirt closed.

Bobby merely blinked and walked inside the room, shutting the door with a soft click. He hadn’t seen it. He hadn’t seen Jubilee’s underwear. He hadn’t seen Jubilee’s BOOBS. He looked over at Johnny, who was standing in front of the mirror, and Bobby had just sighed.

Johnny HAD seen Jubilee’s underwear. And her boobs. And Bobby, despite his good intentions, was MIFFED.

A couple of days later he went up to Jubilee, who had been sitting with Kitty, whispering like a pack of witches, glancing over at Johnny every few minutes, then going back to the whispering. He had cleared his throat and they had looked up at him suspiciously, like he was going to peck their eyes out, or worse, Johnny’s eyes. “What happened yesterday?” he had asked.

“What?” Jubilee is a very, very good liar.

“What happened between you and John?”

Jubilee never gave him a full answer, just some mumblings about Zippos and new underwear and panthers. Then she had turned to Kitty and they had started whispering again, signaling to Bobby to leave, because obviously he wasn’t part of their new little club or whatever. That’s okay.

Bobby’s not much for extra-curricular activities anyway.

But when Bobby saw Peter walking out of the laundry room on his way back from the kitchen with Rocky Road ice cream, hair askew and licking his lips, that was something else. While it wasn’t as horrifying as seeing Jubilee’s boobs, it was a little disturbing seeing Peter, who’s got a good hundred pounds on him, reaching down and re-adjusting the monster that Bobby KNOWS he’s packing down there. Peter is six foot hundred, at least; it has to be the size of the Loch Ness monster, maybe larger.

“Err. Robert,” he had said, nodding his head a bit and walking away, and Bobby had just stared after him, carton in hand. And when John followed out of the laundry room, smirking and wiping at his lips, Bobby knew that John was familiar with that monster Peter’s packing down there, and despite his honest-to-God-efforts, he was getting pissed off.

He waited about a week before he finally went up to Peter, who had started sitting with Kitty and Jubilee, joining in on their whispers. “What happened last week?” he had asked, this time failing to disguise his distress.

“What?” Apparently Jubilee’s been teaching the Russian how to lie. Fuck.

“What happened with you and Johnny?”

And Bobby be damned if Peter didn’t start mumbling about Zippos and new underwear and chopsticks. And Bobby’s ice cream be DAMNED if he didn’t turn and start whispering to Kitty and Jubilee about things they talked about in their secret little club that Bobby was most definitely not a part of.

Fuck them and their little, “We’ve Done Sexual Things With St. John Allerdyce” Club. It’s a stupid club anyway.

The absolute final straw, though, is when he’s walking to Mr. Summers’ classroom, eating a bowl of Mint Oreo ice cream, when he sees Rogue walking out of Storm’s classroom, face flushed, pants unzipped, and her belt in her hand. When she looked up she saw Bobby and stopped, her face going white.

“Err. Bobby,” she had said. Her voice was hoarse. She was holding her fucking BELT. Her pants were unzipped, and. There is SOMETHING all over her silk scarf.

Bobby has had enough.

“What the hell happened?!”

“What?” Has Jubilee been setting up classes or something behind Bobby’s back? Fuck.

“What happened between you and Johnny?!”

And of course, Rogue didn’t give him an answer, just some mumbling about Zippos and new underwear and apparently silk’s just thin enough to be FELT, and that was when Bobby walked away. He has had enough.

He wasn’t even surprised when the next day Rogue was sitting with the We’ve Done Sexual Things With St. John Allerdyce Club. Only now it had been renamed We’ve Done Sexual Things With St. John Allerdyce And You HAVEN’T Club.

Bobby’s not only a perpetually horny seventeen-year-old boy, but he’s fragile. He’s susceptible to peer pressure. And damn it, he wants to be a part of that club.

So the next day he goes looking for Johnny after their last class, determined to tell John off about his slutting around and how it’s not coming in Bobby’s direction. After all, if he’s going to do shit with PETER, the Russian with the Loch Ness dick, then he should be doing the exact same things with Bobby, his oldest, most trusted, and cutest best friend.

For some reason he stops off at the kitchen to grab some ice cream before his talk with John, and just as he pulls a carton of chocolate out of the fridge, he sees Johnny. In the pantry, shirtless with his arms crossed over his chest and smirking at Bobby.

Bobby drops the carton of ice cream and looks at Johnny, who looks like he’s going to gobble Bobby up in a minute. Which, by the way, Bobby is totally down with.

“You’ve been moping around like a puppy for weeks,” Johnny tells him.

“You’d be moping too if you kept catching everyone getting off. While you’re NOT,” Bobby answers.

Johnny smiles and saunters over to Bobby, arms still crossed over his chest. “Aww. Is poor little Bobbaran feeling left out?” he asks in a baby voice, sliding up next to Bobby.

“Yes. You should hear them over there, mumbling about Zippos and underwear and chopsticks.” John’s right up against him. “Fucking chopsticks? What the fuck is THAT, man?”

“Wanna find out?” John asks leeringly.

“Well of course I do,” Bobby answers. “It’s no fun being on the outs of something like this.”

John leans forward and kisses him, slow at first, then worming his tongue into Bobby’s mouth and cupping Bobby’s hips with his hands. It definitely lasts more than five seconds, and Bobby feels a surge of triumph, seeing as this was not a result of Spin the Zippo.

“Took you long enough to fall for it,” Johnny says as they break away.

Uh, what? “What?” Bobby asks.

“I wasn’t going to say anything, but. They were all just a ploy. To get you to notice me.” Johnny may or may not be blushing. It’s way cute. “Did it work?” he asks.

“Oh yeah,” Bobby answers, wrapping his arms around Johnny’s waist. “It definitely worked.”

The next day Bobby is sitting with Jubilee and the rest of them, whispering about Zippos and new underwear and maracas.

Bobby is now the President of the We’ve Done Sexual Things With St. John Allerdyce Club.


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