Author Notes: Combine Dido and Snake River Conspiracy and odd thing happen.

*****

Bobby was snoring. And it was keeping St. John awake.

Now, under normal circumstances, this wouldn't be that much of an issue. St. John was used to that. Bobby snored, he dealt with it. Even slept through it. Bobby was one of those rare individuals that, once they went to sleep, it took some serious circumstances to wake them up. Colossus had done it once, but that wasn't the preferred method of getting Bobby Drake awake. St. John was fond of the fact his clothes were both warm and dry.

But in this instance, for some reason, the snoring was giving St. John some serious problems. Toss one way, nothing, toss another, nothing, stare at the ceiling, note how very nice the plaster is and aren't you impressed you get to see it?

Far less fascinating than one might expect. If that was even possible.

"Bobby."

Nothing. Whispering had never worked before, what the hell gave him the idea it would work this time?

Bed was warm. Warm, comforting, covered in blankets--well, he could warm any given area anyway, but that was beside the point. He liked being prone. He liked the fact he wasn't moving. He liked the fact that it was at least--check the clock--six hours before he was required to be anywhere near awake, and he looked up at the ceiling. Let his eyes close. Imagined sheep jumping over fences. Okay, so yet another thing that never really worked, especially when--

There was more snoring.

"Fuck, Bobby, you swallow a lawnmower or somethin'?" Bobby snored on, oblivious to his roommate's dissatisfaction. Damn him. Yes, he was cute when he slept--but damn him anyway.

He could lay here, prone, yes, awake however--or get up and wake the boy. Choices, choices.

On second thought, Bobby responded well to nighttime wakings. Which he hadn't tried in awhile. For a reason, and St. John knew there'd *been* a reason, something about not being a substitute or not being first, but you know, at midnight after bedchecks, it just didn't seem like a *pressing* reason. A reason worth keeping up, at any rate, and that's what sent St. John's feet to the floor--

--no, he was getting up to wake up Bobby so the boy would *please* stop snoring, thank you. That was it. Period.

Sliding out, he winced at the feel of the floor, realizing abruptly that the floor wasn't *that* cold and his temperature had jumped, and shit, this couldn't be good. No, wake up Bobby, that's it. No groping unsuspecting roommate, no matter how good he looked laying there--with that chest exposed by the blanket rucked around his hips--

Oddly, however, the snoring had stopped and St. John was halfway across the room before he realized that--and so was completely startled when he looked up from his feet, to see Bobby up on one elbow, looking at him with that peculiar mixture of patience and amusement.

"Snoring wake you up, Johnny?"

Um. Yeah. Definitely.

"Just gonna wake you up. You sound like a dying bear, you know." That was so all. Wake the boy up, crawl back to bed, think about arctic temperatures--oh, no, that reminded him of Bobby, what the fuck do you do when your fantasy life actually *includes* cold showers?

"Hmm. Did you consider that pizza thing tonight a date?"

Whoa fuck, where the hell had *that* come from? St. John blinked, staring at the younger boy, because really, how the hell did you answer that? Yes? Sure thing? No, because I was thinking of someplace nicer? God.

"Umm--did you?" Brilliant, Johnny. Just fucking brilliant.

"No." St. John breathed, not sure how he felt about that. "It wasn't what I had in mind, you know? For a first date."

"A first date?" And still yet, words eluded him. Normal thought eluded him. "I'm assuming you mean--um, you and me, right?"

Things like this happened in his fantasy life. Usually included whipped cream and some experiments with massage oil. His feet were never cold, he hadn't been studying the plaster five minutes earlier, and shit, he knew he probably would have remembered to bring condiments of some kind.

So yeah, this was real. No magical whipped cream appeared out of nowhere.

"Something like that." A jerk of the covers, and St. John actually found himself taking a step backward, just from shock. Bobby grinned. "Come on--you can keep me from snoring. I don't bite."

"I might."

They'd just so thoroughly left ambiguous territory and into sexual innuendo that St. John just let his feet react and take him where obviously, he should be going. This was a dream, of course. No question. He fell asleep thinking of that picture of Bobby in his drawer and was having one hell of a damned good nighttime fantasy--because Bobby-boy just wasn't the aggressive type.

Fantasy meant that he was perfectly okay in sliding into bed and finding the cool skin of Bobby's face with the tips of his fingers, tracing the fine line of his jaw, over his cheek, the corner of his mouth. Shifting himself on an elbow as Bobby slid down on his back, a hand coming up to run down the back of his neck--that was good. Even better when Bobby turned his head, brushing his tongue across the fingers near his mouth, then glancing up a little warily. Always slightly unsure, even when he was inviting St. John into his bed, that was Bobby to the fingernails and St. John slowly leaned down, kissing the cool lips, opening instantly and with gratifying enthusiasm, and he'd never had a dream this good, this real.

"Bobby--"

"Tomorrow." At first, he couldn't figure out what the other boy was talking about. "To little Italy, that cafe on Magnolia you like so much." A breath before another kiss, a little harder, even more enthusiastic.

"That cafe--" Oh God, Bobby's hand was resting just above his ass and steadily working its way down. "What--"

"For dinner."

He was grounded and he didn't give a shit. Cafes were good.

"Cool with me, Drake--" Sliding down a little to find the line of his throat. Let out a breath when Bobby slid a hand up his back and fingernails scraped across his shoulders. "Shit, that's good, Bobby."

"Hmm. Nice to know." A breath, then he found that perfect spot on Bobby's shoulder, felt him shudder and bit lightly. Addictive, to feel that under him, shifting his weight over until he was straddling the younger boy. Bracing himself on his hands, he stared down at him, taking in the light flush, the rapidly cooling skin against him. "Johnny? You okay with this?"

"Beyond words." Seriously beyond words. He wasn't sure there were words left in his vocabulary. "Really okay. Are you?" Though he could be cynical on occasion, he just didn't see Bobby tossing back the covers just any old time.

"You have no idea." A leg hooked around his knee and Bobby was on his back, more than a little startled, hearing Bobby's low laugh and the long fingers tracing the line of his chest. "You're getting warmer.

Considering Bobby was currently rubbing against a very important part of his anatomy, that just wasn't a surprise. Not at all. Taking a deep breath, he ran his hands along the strong shoulders and to his surprise, his hands were pinned down by his head.

And yes, it was official, Bobby not only outweighed him, Bobby was fucking *strong*.

"Uh, Bobby--"

"Shh." A lowered head and he shut his eyes at the feel of that cool mouth running over his chest, slowly mapping the skin just below his throat. Pausing at each nipple, and with every move of his body, he was rubbing against Bobby, and shit, that was good. That was soo good. It was better than good and Bobby was dropping a little lower each time, the brush of teeth against the skin of his stomach and so abruptly he didn't even know it was happening until he heard the clothing drop on the floor, he was naked.

God, yes. Nothing wrong with naked at all. Good things happened when naked.

"Bobby--" he wasn't sure what he would say, if he was asking, begging, or some sort of weird combination of the two--hell, he may just like the way it sounded on his tongue. It rolled off. Bobby. It rolled off the tongue. Bobby. Bobby--

"Oh *fuck*, Bobby!" he breathed in shock, feeling the cool lips close over the head of his cock. He felt his back arch sharply off the bed, Bobby's fingers laced through his, trapping them against the mattress. An extremely talented tongue traced the tip, then he felt Bobby take a breath and how the hell--how the *hell*--did he get it that far down his throat all at once?

He wasn't going to last any time at all--his skin temperature was already erratic and no amount of control was ever meant to last through Bobby Drake doing *that*. No human could be expected to keep any kind of control when that was happening, when Bobby slowly slid up the length, sucking lightly, glancing up with a wicked little grin, before back down, all the way down--

"Oh yes. Hell yes. Bobby--"

Another, faster stroke, and every muscle in his body clenched as Bobby found a rhythm he liked and went to town--oh yes, that was good. Fingers growing steadily cooler in his--or was he getting warmer?--staring up at the ceiling--a damned interesting ceiling, little stars everywhere, and a shudder ran through him when Bobby stepped it up and *how* did he know to do that?

"Bobby--" And there was nothing he could do--thrust up against that cool mouth, such an amazing contrast to the heat of his body, and everything in him went hot and bright. Knew he must have said something, but had no idea what--God, Bobby, babe--

Coming down was slow and slowly cooling and he was vaguely aware Bobby had shifted back up, laying down beside him.

"Bobby--"

"You can buy me dinner. Go to sleep. I'm freezing." A twist of the blankets around them, Bobby's head against his chest, his eyes slowly closing after what was perhaps one of the best orgasms of his life--

"I'll buy you dinner?" Dinner for oral sex. Hmm.

"Fair trade, dude." A pause, then the absent movement of fingers against his chest. "Night."

"Cool." Sliding an arm around Bobby, shutting his eyes on the ceiling, wondering about Bobby's preferences on Italian food. Because, really, tomato sauce was at its best licked directly off the skin.