Is it possible? Have I finally returned to full-time X2 writing?
Fic: The Forgotten Middle Children
Author: the_smooth_one
Rating: R.
Warnings: Violence. References to sex. Language.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: Bobby/Rogue/John
Summary: He never told them how to rise above it.
Notes: Thank you to visbot for the encouragement and other shit. Muah!
Cross-posted in here, icemanroguepyro and dry_ice
It was John’s idea, first. He told them about it after he got back from his detention, the third of six he had to serve after torching Storm’s plants as part of a bet.
Rogue was the one who picked up on it first. She said they should do it through her tears, after her session with the Professor had ended with him telling her she should just learn to accept her mutation, not control it.
Bobby was the one who threw the first punch. He did it after John snidely told Rogue she couldn’t do it because she was a girl. He wasn’t sure why he did it, and he wasn’t sure why it felt so good, hearing John’s nose crack underneath his fist, but it did; it felt great.
John didn’t say anything at first, just held onto his nose and tried to catch the blood. Finally he looked at Bobby and just laughed, the blood running from his nose staining his teeth red. “Can you get me a towel?” he asked Rogue, grinning wide for her.
Rogue didn’t scream or jump back. She simply left the room, and when she returned to the silence, all she did was press the towel gently to John’s nose. She wiped his lips clean, with softness that only reaffirmed John’s assumption that she couldn’t participate in his plan. Then she grabbed him hard by his neck and stuck out her tongue, licking his teeth clean and pulling away. A drop of blood from his nose fell onto her lip and she stuck her tongue out, licking it away, and she smiled. “Let me in,” she told both of them.
Bobby was the one who said okay. He looked John in the eye and said it without saying it, that yes, Rogue would be allowed to join. Both of them knew, without having to say it aloud, that she needed it, needed the release it would offer, almost more than they needed it. John had nodded his agreement, and looked over at Rogue. “You’re in,” he said.
John said that he and Bobby would go first the next night, so Rogue could learn how it was done. She rolled her eyes and said nothing, just sat on the workout bench as John and Bobby circled each other, fists drawn and sneers on their lips. Bobby swung first, but missed, and John punched him square in his stomach, causing Bobby to fall over and for John to smirk over at Rogue. “You’re sure you want in?” he asked.
Rogue stood up and in three seconds, John was on the ground with his eye swollen and her foot pressed against his throat. She smiled, and Bobby wasn’t sure, but he swore he could have seen the snarl of a wolverine on the edge of her lips. “You’re sure you don’t want out?” she answered, her hair falling in John’s face as she leaned over to look at him.
Bobby didn’t do anything when John finally got up and he watched the two of them punch each other in the stomach, the chest, the kidneys. John wouldn’t punch her in the face, though, because he didn’t want anyone to know about their little club. This was what John told him later when Bobby was wrapping the gauze around John’s torso, concealing the bruises. No one could know about it. They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t see its purpose.
When John was finally healed enough to go on, it continued, John and Bobby fighting again, but this time Bobby was ready, and at least got a couple more punches in. He even managed to kick John in the stomach, which sent him to the floor, gasping and wheezing. Bobby looked at Rogue then, who watched John with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m next,” she announced.
Rogue stood up then and Bobby didn’t even have to say it, she knew what he was thinking. “I don’t care. I’m going to fight you.” She circled him like a wolf, hands in fists at her sides, walking with a grace Bobby’s only ever seen one person walk with. They were like that for a moment, locked in a tango, then she finally struck, placing one tight fist onto Bobby’s jaw. “Come on, Bub,” she told him. She was unaware of what she had called him.
Bobby did say something that night, when John was holding a pack of ice to Bobby’s jaw and Rogue came floating into their room, wearing only her robe and her hair dripping wet. When he told her, her eyes widened and she walked over to John, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Why do you think I asked to be a part of this?” she asked, tapping a finger to her temple. “I needed SOMETHING to get him out of here.”
The more time that past, the more John wanted to have a fight. He didn’t want to wait for Bobby’s jaw to heal, or for Rogue’s cuts to fade, he wanted to fight while they were fresh and waiting to be deepened. The more he fought, the wider his eyes got, and the calmer his voice became, like he had finally found God or his reason to live. Neither Bobby nor Rogue said anything. They just let him be, and just nodded when he said, “This is enlightenment, guys. This is freedom.”
Rogue had never looked happier, even though when she undressed she looked as if she were being beaten. She didn’t say it like John, but Bobby knew she felt it, the freedom, the independence, the sense of power that had been denied to her ever since her mutation manifested. It was in the way she stepped, like a predator, the way she licked the blood clean from their wounds at night, the way her laugh flittered in the air like a howl. It was in her words, whenever she said, and “The answer is seventy-two” or even “We are not killing each other. We’re helping each other live.”
Bobby couldn’t be so sure. True, it felt incredible watching the blood flow, or watching his friends gasp as they hit the ground, and yes, he even felt free at times. But when he couldn’t breathe, when he coughed up blood, when he looked in the mirror and saw all the bruises on his skin, he wasn’t so sure it was freedom he was feeling, but he could never say that. He could never tell John and Rogue, “Our souls are fading, each time we do this.”
John liked to talk about it in front of other people, but always in code. He liked to preach about its attributes, about its purpose and rewards. The other kids would look at him with wide, curious eyes as he talked of enlightenment, how it could only be found through pain and suffering, that you couldn’t find peace until you allowed your body to live through the agony of punches. He told them, “You are the forgotten middle children.” but he never told them how they could rise above it and find their place and their peace.
And Rogue always laughed at him when he said this, and would just push him up against the wall. She told him to shut up as she sank to her knees and undid his pants, rolling her eyes every time John insisted it was true, that amongst the illustrious X-Men, they were nothing but shadows. “Alright, Tyler. Whatever you say,” she said, wrapping her hands around John’s cock and stroking with the same strength she could punch you in the gut.
Bobby just watched them together, amazed at their ferocity of their fights and their trysts, for that was all it could be; Rogue could never be anyone’s true lover. He’d try to get involved, kissed the skin on John’s neck, stroked Rogue through the confines of her clothes, let himself be pulled into their embrace, but he could never really focus on what they were doing to him, he could only watch them, in their glorious violence, try to destroy and rebuild each other through punches and kisses, kicks and touches, words like, “How does that feel, fucker?” and “Yes, please, more.” and “No, Bobby, come here, come closer.”
Yet John was John, and he always got bored, no matter how much fervor he put into anything in the beginning. It was impossible for him to stick with something forever, even if he had wanted to in the beginning. And so here it was, the moment both Bobby and Rogue knew would come, the moment where John moved on to another grand scheme, without kissing them goodbye, without any declarations of love or even lust. He just simply said, “You always do what you’re told?” and walked away, as if scorning them for following the orders of the X-Men, as if scorning them for following HIM as long as they did.
Rogue did not cry, not like Bobby did, because there was really no reason to cry, she said. She didn’t want to fight, though, because it was John’s idea in the first place and she didn’t want to trample on the copyrights of it. When Bobby couldn’t laugh, she bit her lip nervously, biting so hard Bobby could see the blood on her lip, and before he could do anything, she stuck her tongue out and licked it away. “I can’t cry, you know,” she said, touching the bruise on Bobby’s chest that was threatening to fade away. “He’s not really gone. He’s still here.”
Bobby did cry, though, because he realized he had been nothing to John, just a fight, just a fuck, just a friend, nothing more. He couldn’t be comforted by Rogue’s assumption that because John was in her head he wasn’t truly gone. For weeks he would look at his fists, wanting to feel the imprint of John’s skin on his hand, hear the crack of John’s nose, feel John’s cock inside him, and when Rogue tried to hold him, he could only roll away from her. “Don’t you see?” he asked her. “He was right. He was right along.”
They were the forgotten middle children now.
Author: the_smooth_one
Rating: R.
Warnings: Violence. References to sex. Language.
Feedback: Always appreciated.
Pairing: Bobby/Rogue/John
Summary: He never told them how to rise above it.
Notes: Thank you to visbot for the encouragement and other shit. Muah!
Cross-posted in here, icemanroguepyro and dry_ice
It was John’s idea, first. He told them about it after he got back from his detention, the third of six he had to serve after torching Storm’s plants as part of a bet.
Rogue was the one who picked up on it first. She said they should do it through her tears, after her session with the Professor had ended with him telling her she should just learn to accept her mutation, not control it.
Bobby was the one who threw the first punch. He did it after John snidely told Rogue she couldn’t do it because she was a girl. He wasn’t sure why he did it, and he wasn’t sure why it felt so good, hearing John’s nose crack underneath his fist, but it did; it felt great.
John didn’t say anything at first, just held onto his nose and tried to catch the blood. Finally he looked at Bobby and just laughed, the blood running from his nose staining his teeth red. “Can you get me a towel?” he asked Rogue, grinning wide for her.
Rogue didn’t scream or jump back. She simply left the room, and when she returned to the silence, all she did was press the towel gently to John’s nose. She wiped his lips clean, with softness that only reaffirmed John’s assumption that she couldn’t participate in his plan. Then she grabbed him hard by his neck and stuck out her tongue, licking his teeth clean and pulling away. A drop of blood from his nose fell onto her lip and she stuck her tongue out, licking it away, and she smiled. “Let me in,” she told both of them.
Bobby was the one who said okay. He looked John in the eye and said it without saying it, that yes, Rogue would be allowed to join. Both of them knew, without having to say it aloud, that she needed it, needed the release it would offer, almost more than they needed it. John had nodded his agreement, and looked over at Rogue. “You’re in,” he said.
John said that he and Bobby would go first the next night, so Rogue could learn how it was done. She rolled her eyes and said nothing, just sat on the workout bench as John and Bobby circled each other, fists drawn and sneers on their lips. Bobby swung first, but missed, and John punched him square in his stomach, causing Bobby to fall over and for John to smirk over at Rogue. “You’re sure you want in?” he asked.
Rogue stood up and in three seconds, John was on the ground with his eye swollen and her foot pressed against his throat. She smiled, and Bobby wasn’t sure, but he swore he could have seen the snarl of a wolverine on the edge of her lips. “You’re sure you don’t want out?” she answered, her hair falling in John’s face as she leaned over to look at him.
Bobby didn’t do anything when John finally got up and he watched the two of them punch each other in the stomach, the chest, the kidneys. John wouldn’t punch her in the face, though, because he didn’t want anyone to know about their little club. This was what John told him later when Bobby was wrapping the gauze around John’s torso, concealing the bruises. No one could know about it. They wouldn’t understand. They wouldn’t see its purpose.
When John was finally healed enough to go on, it continued, John and Bobby fighting again, but this time Bobby was ready, and at least got a couple more punches in. He even managed to kick John in the stomach, which sent him to the floor, gasping and wheezing. Bobby looked at Rogue then, who watched John with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m next,” she announced.
Rogue stood up then and Bobby didn’t even have to say it, she knew what he was thinking. “I don’t care. I’m going to fight you.” She circled him like a wolf, hands in fists at her sides, walking with a grace Bobby’s only ever seen one person walk with. They were like that for a moment, locked in a tango, then she finally struck, placing one tight fist onto Bobby’s jaw. “Come on, Bub,” she told him. She was unaware of what she had called him.
Bobby did say something that night, when John was holding a pack of ice to Bobby’s jaw and Rogue came floating into their room, wearing only her robe and her hair dripping wet. When he told her, her eyes widened and she walked over to John, wrapping her arms around his waist and resting her chin on his shoulder. “Why do you think I asked to be a part of this?” she asked, tapping a finger to her temple. “I needed SOMETHING to get him out of here.”
The more time that past, the more John wanted to have a fight. He didn’t want to wait for Bobby’s jaw to heal, or for Rogue’s cuts to fade, he wanted to fight while they were fresh and waiting to be deepened. The more he fought, the wider his eyes got, and the calmer his voice became, like he had finally found God or his reason to live. Neither Bobby nor Rogue said anything. They just let him be, and just nodded when he said, “This is enlightenment, guys. This is freedom.”
Rogue had never looked happier, even though when she undressed she looked as if she were being beaten. She didn’t say it like John, but Bobby knew she felt it, the freedom, the independence, the sense of power that had been denied to her ever since her mutation manifested. It was in the way she stepped, like a predator, the way she licked the blood clean from their wounds at night, the way her laugh flittered in the air like a howl. It was in her words, whenever she said, and “The answer is seventy-two” or even “We are not killing each other. We’re helping each other live.”
Bobby couldn’t be so sure. True, it felt incredible watching the blood flow, or watching his friends gasp as they hit the ground, and yes, he even felt free at times. But when he couldn’t breathe, when he coughed up blood, when he looked in the mirror and saw all the bruises on his skin, he wasn’t so sure it was freedom he was feeling, but he could never say that. He could never tell John and Rogue, “Our souls are fading, each time we do this.”
John liked to talk about it in front of other people, but always in code. He liked to preach about its attributes, about its purpose and rewards. The other kids would look at him with wide, curious eyes as he talked of enlightenment, how it could only be found through pain and suffering, that you couldn’t find peace until you allowed your body to live through the agony of punches. He told them, “You are the forgotten middle children.” but he never told them how they could rise above it and find their place and their peace.
And Rogue always laughed at him when he said this, and would just push him up against the wall. She told him to shut up as she sank to her knees and undid his pants, rolling her eyes every time John insisted it was true, that amongst the illustrious X-Men, they were nothing but shadows. “Alright, Tyler. Whatever you say,” she said, wrapping her hands around John’s cock and stroking with the same strength she could punch you in the gut.
Bobby just watched them together, amazed at their ferocity of their fights and their trysts, for that was all it could be; Rogue could never be anyone’s true lover. He’d try to get involved, kissed the skin on John’s neck, stroked Rogue through the confines of her clothes, let himself be pulled into their embrace, but he could never really focus on what they were doing to him, he could only watch them, in their glorious violence, try to destroy and rebuild each other through punches and kisses, kicks and touches, words like, “How does that feel, fucker?” and “Yes, please, more.” and “No, Bobby, come here, come closer.”
Yet John was John, and he always got bored, no matter how much fervor he put into anything in the beginning. It was impossible for him to stick with something forever, even if he had wanted to in the beginning. And so here it was, the moment both Bobby and Rogue knew would come, the moment where John moved on to another grand scheme, without kissing them goodbye, without any declarations of love or even lust. He just simply said, “You always do what you’re told?” and walked away, as if scorning them for following the orders of the X-Men, as if scorning them for following HIM as long as they did.
Rogue did not cry, not like Bobby did, because there was really no reason to cry, she said. She didn’t want to fight, though, because it was John’s idea in the first place and she didn’t want to trample on the copyrights of it. When Bobby couldn’t laugh, she bit her lip nervously, biting so hard Bobby could see the blood on her lip, and before he could do anything, she stuck her tongue out and licked it away. “I can’t cry, you know,” she said, touching the bruise on Bobby’s chest that was threatening to fade away. “He’s not really gone. He’s still here.”
Bobby did cry, though, because he realized he had been nothing to John, just a fight, just a fuck, just a friend, nothing more. He couldn’t be comforted by Rogue’s assumption that because John was in her head he wasn’t truly gone. For weeks he would look at his fists, wanting to feel the imprint of John’s skin on his hand, hear the crack of John’s nose, feel John’s cock inside him, and when Rogue tried to hold him, he could only roll away from her. “Don’t you see?” he asked her. “He was right. He was right along.”
They were the forgotten middle children now.