Author Notes:
Dedicated to Nacey for introing the pairing well enough for me to get a feel for Bobby and partially in response to Shade's challenge to write something that isn't L/R.

*****

There really was something to be said for napping during class. Just behind him, he heard Rogue's soft snore, and Bobby, just across from her, immediately dropped his book as a distraction. Ever defending his damsel in distress (and St. John didn't even roll his eyes, too amused by the image of Bobby on a horse, considering young Bobby had certain issues with animals bigger than he himself was).

"Bobby?" Ms. Munroe was giving him a sharp glance but Rogue, from the changed breathing patterns, was awake and probably doing a good impression of the alert, ever-attentive student (he'd seen it before), and within seconds he could hear the sounds of her pencil moving rapidly over her spiral, too quickly and sharply for her to be taking notes on the reign of Constantine I and therefore she was sketching again. He'd looked once just to see the subject matter and the delicately drawn chain-link fences and images of a what looked like quite a nasty set of claws told him that he really didn't wanna know.

From the corner of his eye, he could see Jubes and Remy going at it again, which if that wasn't a sign of sexual tension he didn't know what was, and it was faintly tempting thought to lock them up in a room together and see just what kind of energy they could generate. Plasma bursts and kinetic charges--if they survived the experience, they would be purring like well-fed cats for weeks and maybe, just maybe, one trip to the mall with the two of them might end up as something other than a bickering match that always made Bobby wince in sympathy and St. John look at the pet store, speculating on the price of muzzles.

"Johnny!" A hiss from Bobby, and that was interesting, since Bobby was a miniature Mr. Summers in the whole 'school is just great!' philosophy of life, and to his surprise, a note was shoved onto his desk by Rogue and it was only with the quick thinking of dropping a book on top of it that they missed Ms. Munroe's sharp eye. They could get away with a lot in Mr. Summers' class, as a rule--the man didn't remember being a teenager and therefore had some weird idea they were more or less miniature adults just as fascinated with gerunds as could be, but Ms. Munroe was not nearly as blind to inattention and the tricks that a thousand generations of teenagers were up to. He smiled and wrote down in very neat letters what was on the board and worked the note down to the edge of the spiral with his elbow.

Six folds--hmmm, a little excessive. Keeping a steady gaze on his teacher for any sudden movements, he pushed it into his lap and crossed his ankle over his knee as casually as he could to block any possible sight from Ms. Munroe and with one hand, carefully opened the paper. One fold, two folds, shit Bobby, six fucking folds? What's in here, the doomsday recipe? Three folds, four folds, five folds, almost there, open and so creased that it was an achievement just to see what the hell was written.

St. John eyed Ms. Munroe as she turned back to the blackboard and then coolly turned around.

"Yes," he said quickly, and spun back into his seat. Ms. Munroe turned around, white hair flying (that sixth or seventh sense for student misbehavior no doubt) and John got the paper in one hand and when she turned back around, carefully spread the ashes across the floor to be mixed with the dust.

Behind him Rogue was giggling and St. John would bet Bobby had turned a very fascinating shade of red.

One day, he would have to check and see just how far that blush went down.

* * * * *

There was something a little too Oz-esque and prisony about backing Bobby up against the wall in the shower, though the glance Bobby threw him gave him the vague idea that he wouldn't exactly be fighting it too hard. To most mutants, a good fight could double as foreplay, and in this case, he figured with a glance down around Bobby's hips, this was definitely one of those times. St. John, however, was still sweaty and very sore and really, this was a shower, where one got clean, not cavorted like British boarding school boys on holiday. Though the imagery of Bobby cavorting was a hell of a distraction.

A quick glance at his roommate just for the sheer enjoyment of it--tall, lean, adding sheer mass at a phenomenal rate and St. John watched the ripple of muscles along his back with a lot more interest than he really felt in Roman history, fun as Ms. Munroe tried to make it. Long legs, that blonde hair, and ice-blue eyes, oh-so-appropriate. Like a Greek statue, and St. John briefly called to mind the history of art class he'd taken the year before and decided that, yes, Bobby could definitely make a good model.

Maybe he'd ask him sometime. So St. John couldn't draw a straight line with a ruler, it would be one hell of a good excuse to get him naked and somewhere private.

And God, Bobby was beginning to seriously outweigh him in the fighting department, a point of annoyance definitely, no matter the aesthetic pleasure of looking at him. St. John was faster--Bobby was just bigger and stronger, and faster didn't mean squat when your endurance ran out too fast to keep away from the bigger guy. In combat with weapons, they were evenly matched, and their respective mutations pretty much canceled each other out, but without a weapon in sight Bobby had the advantage and used it ruthlessly, unless St. John felt the need to pull out a few tricks that were better known in some major metropolitan slums. Which would have ended any interest Bobby would have in doing anything but clutching his mishandled genitals and moaning in bed for a few hours, and St. John really wasn't into that idea at all.

"Johnny? You okay?"

"Yeah." Soapy water in his face when he finished washing his hair and there was a persistent ache in his back and shit, he couldn't even twist around (thank you, Bobby, I didn't need the use of my back today anyway) to get. He gave the wall a look and wondered just how odd it would be if he started rubbing against it like a cat in heat (don't think so), and sighed, turning slightly. "I think you broke my back."

"Didn't break anything. You need to warm up better before we start."

True. Since Remy came, he with the lightning reflexes and so much flexibility that he was an uncomplicated fascination to watch, St. John had started stretching before the work-outs, cutting into his actual warm-up time somewhat. His flexibility was better, but his muscles didn't care for the change in routine yet and St. John made a mental note to extend warm up and warm down time from now on.

"Where?"

Oh, Bobby was right behind him, a hand against his shoulder, and St. John, images of prison flicks notwithstanding, leaned a little in to the firm touch.

"Tenth vertebrae--shit, be careful!" When the fingers gentled, working out the knots, St. John handed himself over to the pleasure of hot water hitting his chest and Bobby's cool fingers working their magic on his back. "Oh yeah--I remember why we're friends now."

"Good thing. Gettin' worried there for a sec."

Under any other circumstances, St. John would have taken that as normal banter, but there was an edge to Bobby's voice that made him wonder. Stretching a little under the skilled hands that were working their way up to his shoulders in steady even strokes, he did a quick mental review of the week since the dance, trying to figure out where that particular idea had come from. Hmm...worked out with Bobby, check, flirted with Kitty, check, didn't talk much to Rogue, check--ah, worked out with Remy and those new stretching exercises that Bobby had asked, just a few hours ago, where he picked up.

"Remy equals me in weight and height," St. John said casually and the hand between his shoulder blades dug in just a little too deep. Hmmm. "He knows stuff I don't."

"Yeah, so I've seen."

Wow, that was interesting as all hell.

Remy hit on anyone at the school, regardless of gender, marital status, or sexual orientation. A refreshing change of pace, since the kids of mutant high tended to be on this side of celibate recently, what with developing powers and Mr. Summers' long and earnest talks on the value of commitment (shit, sir, we're teens, commitment is what we call being faithful to a single television show week after week). Jubilee's experiments had gone badly (so rumor stated) and Kitty phased through her bed one night while she and St. John were enjoying some quality time (not to mention her scorched sheets) less than a year ago. St. John himself had kept his recent activities to some proactive moments in dark corners of clubs, but that was about it--well, except for the cavorting with Bobby, which hadn't yet reached the removal of underwear and search for condoms stage yet anyway.

Remy, who seemed to have the libido of a goat in heat, was definitely waking them up again to the fact that just because they were mutants didn't mean they couldn't have some fun, at least amongst themselves. Since you knew the score--that your partner might phase through the bed during orgasm or turn your hot chocolate into a Popsicle at a moment's notice or accidentally set off some fireworks when they got too much into the moment--it would probably be a better idea, all things considered, to limit yourself to your own class, so to speak. In basic terms, it might not be the healthiest thing in the world, but it couldn't be denied that normal teens got a little odd about some of the things they took for granted.

Incestuous, probably, but they were young and St. John, at eighteen, really didn't feel like confining himself to private moments in his own shower to get a little relief for the next few years. With that thought in mind, he got Bobby by the shoulders and spun them both against the wall. Before Bobby even got his balance back (and he didn't look unwilling, that was for sure), he planted an elbow beside his head and kissed the cool lips.

Even after being under a hot shower for ten minutes, Bobby's body temperature could drop fast, and St. John grinned a little as a hand slid into his hair and another around his back, pulling him into full body contact--mmm, did that feel damn good. So they were mostly naked, doing some serious rubbing in all the right places, and Bobby's enthusiasm meant he had a tongue halfway down his throat--this couldn't be anything but good. Working one hand between them, he slid it along Bobby's chest and dropped around waist area, feeling the younger boy begin to arch--

"Robert? St. John?"

In all actuality, St. John didn't think Bobby had the mutation for teleportation--there was a student who could, though St. John couldn't quite remember the name right now, or really anything else other than the fact that interrupting was highly uncomfortable. But when Mr. Summers--fully dressed and looking more starched than usual--walked in, Bobby was leaning casually against the wall a shower away with extra-cold water spinning down on him and St. John noted that whatever Robert Drake had been feeling fifteen seconds or less before was pretty much killed by arctic temperatures. Grabbing his sponge, he got to rewashing and turned his head slightly, hoping sufficient lather had been worked up to cover anything unusual. Nothing odd going on in here, sir. Just boys bein' boys. Go back and reorganize your pencils, sir.

"Sir?"

Mr. Summers was sometimes out of it--if he'd seen Bobby and St. John on the floor engaged in some serious tonsil hockey, it would have probably taken a few seconds for the reality to dawn on him--but he apparently felt something odd going on and frowned between them.

"It looks like this summer you'll be getting a new instructor," he said calmly, giving them an odd smile that made St. John wonder what was going through the older man's head. "Advanced combat and advanced tactical, along with a few prep classes you're going to need before you start college in the fall. You've both indicated you'd be interested in joining the team, so I thought that instead of you two taking off for the summer, you might wanna sign up for the class. Size is limited--the instructor has stated he won't take more than ten. I've already spoken to four of the other eight and they've all agreed."

"Who else?" St. John asked, flicking a glance at Bobby, guessing already who'd been chosen.

"Jubilation, Remy, Kitty, and Rogue. I've extended the offer to a few others and they're thinking it over."

"I'm in," Bobby said immediately, and St. John was so overcome by a wave of unsurprise he almost sighed, caught himself before he actually did it.

"Me too." Bobby grinned over at him and St. John finished rinsing off. "Cool, sir. Thanks."

Mr. Summers looked amused.

"Yeah, we'll see how grateful you are when you start." Then a wicked grin before he disappeared back out, and Bobby's eyes widened.

"What the hell does that mean?"

St. John shrugged and checked to make sure all the soap was out of his hair.

"I guess we'll find out this summer. Cheer up, Bobby-boy--we got two whole months to get ready." Flipping the shower off, he grabbed his towel and rubbed it through his hair. "You wanna go by the mall?"

"More fuses?" Bobby asked while he ducked into the locker room. "I thought Dr. Grey let you play with your bombs in the lab and use school property if you agreed to stop trying to buy black-market uranium."

"Nah. Remy just wants to practice his thief thing again and I said we'd run cover for him in case of emergency." St. John unwrapped the towel from around his waist and pulled out a pair of sweats. "It'll be fun."

Bobby took both their towels and threw them in the hamper.

"Cool."

The End.