Tension
Bobby Drake and St. John Allerdyce had been best friends since they first met.
No, that’s not right.
At first, Bobby Drake and St. John Allerdyce had hated each other when they first met.
Bobby had had his room to himself for months now, since Pioter had moved into the room next door, and frankly, he’d been enjoying his solitude. Then St. John, with all his rough and tumble “I was a rich kid but I decided to strike out on my own and look where it got me now” attitude, arrived, and really threw a monkey wrench in Bobby’s “quiet room to myself” plans. From the first day that St. John stormed into their newly shared room, flicking that Zippo constantly, there had been shouting and screaming matches.
“This is my space! Get out!”
“Yeah, well you don’t need all of it, do you, dumbass?!”
“Back off!”
“You!”
“You!”
More than once in the first few weeks, the boys would end up in Dr. Grey’s office, one with burns, the other with frostbite or still in one solid block.
Finally, Bobby decided that he could be the bigger man, and decided to ignore St. John. That was a lot easier said than done, because once St. John realized exactly what the other was doing, he began doing anything he could think of to make Bobby’s life miserable, in an attempt to bait him. It worked for about a week, then St. John burned one of Bobby’s favourite books, and the other boy tweaked.
“What the hell were you thinking?”
St. John turned from the TV and the conversation he’d been having with Jubilee, smirking. “Whatever are you talking about, Drake?”
Bobby held up the charred remains of his book, which really meant only the covers. The entire inside had been burned. “You burned my book!”
St. John sneered. “What makes you so sure it was me?”
“Because you’re the one who controls fire?!” Bobby growled, fists clenched.
St. John shrugged. “Sorry. No idea what you’re talking about.”
“That’s it!” Bobby roared, and blasted a wall of ice at the other boy.
Unfortunately, Jubilee was also caught in the rather large block of ice, which turned out to be the biggest problem the Professor had had with their fight when he had them called to his office later.
“I can understand your anger with each other,” he had said. “However, another student was harmed in your pointless fighting. I am ordering you to work these problems out, and if you use your powers, I will serve further punishment. Dismissed.” Their confrontation took place in the Danger Room, probably because it was the safest place in the school and Scott Summers, who had been put in charge of their ‘detention’, probably didn’t trust them not to use their powers. Frankly, neither trusted the other not to use their powers. Scott had taken St. John’s Zippo as a precaution, though St. John had brought along three or four other lighters, just in case. He didn’t want to be unarmed while Bobby had his powers at his constant disposal.
But though the Professor had said no powers, he hadn’t said no fighting, and the door had barely closed before they lunged at each other, snarling and biting and scratching and punching and kicking and generally acting like two wild animals set loose on each other.
St. John gave up first.
Despite his superior skills, the simple fact was that he was smaller than Bobby, who beat up on him with the expertise that one gets from having an annoying little brother. Breaking away, he stood there panting, the two of them watching each other warily.
Bobby’s nose was bleeding profusely, a steady drip drip on the floor of the Danger Room, and one of St. John’s eyes was swelling shut. Rasping, he narrowed his one good eye at Bobby. “You could, yanno, cry if you wanted to. I wouldn’t laugh at you.”
Bobby snorted, then winced when that really hurt his nose. “Yah, righ’...” he sounded odd, with his nose possibly broken.
“No, I won’t,” St. John swore, holding up his hands in a disarming pose. “See? Won’t attack you, won’t even laugh at you.”
Bobby wiped at the blood with the back of his hand. “Don’ wanna cry.”
“I just broke your fucking nose, and you’re gonna tell me you don’t want to cry?” St. John snorted, and spit a mouthful of bloody spit to the floor. “Like I believe that.”
“Don’ wanna cry,” Bobby insisted, but took a couple steps forward, until he was definitely in St. John’s private space. St. John eyed him nervously, about to step back, when Bobby reached forward, placed his hand behind St. John’s head with deceptive gentleness, pulled him forward, and kissed him.
It was messy, it was bloody, what with their both continual bleeding, and it wasn’t the best kiss ever, but both boys went at it with the same fervor they had been fighting with only minutes before, both trying to devour the other’s mouth.
Scott, from where he stood at the entrance to the Danger Room, snorted to himself, rolling his eyes behind his red quartz glasses. Figures.
It was sexual tension all along.
And leave it to Charles Xavier to be the one to figure it out.
Return to X-Men.