Disclaimers: If they were ours, they'd probably try to get
away eventually. Cowards.
He thought he was gone. Taken off, flown the coop, set off for parts unknown. Or fairly well-known, if he's honest. But gone, just the same. Very ordinary-looking Bobby at home on Long Island, doing ordinary-looking-Bobby things.
Weird e-mail from Hank makes him come back.
He finds Hank. Different. Huge like he's always been, but cat-faced. Blue. Longish, very soft-looking fur, and his hands like paws. And somehow in spite of it still elementally Hank. Glasses perched impossibly on the end of his nose, vivid mind behind the eyes. Vocabulary and irritation and genuine affection in his look when he sees Bobby in the driveway.
Bobby's not quite sure if he's welcome. He left. Left Hank and Scott and Logan to fight the remaining Sentinels, and yeah, they're all older than he is, but he was still supposed to be one of them.
Wasn't ready for the quiet of the house, or the looks his parents gave him. Remembering the kitchen-as-winter-palace ice accident that made him run the first time. They weren't quite convinced he had it under control. And neither was Bobby, frankly. Lying awake at night with his window open, breathing suburbia and miserably lonely.
So. Train to Salem Centre, hitch-hiking from there. Bag over his shoulder and his jacket -- the leather one, the one Scott helped him pick out -- wrapped around him and this ridiculously long scarf that his mom made him for Christmas when he was twelve wrapped around his neck. Cold hands.
Warm Hank. Who comes down the mansion steps like he only weighs a fraction as much as he currently does, picks Bobby up, and just holds him off the ground for a couple of minutes. Sniffing his hair a bit, but that's actually an old Hank thing, just not one they've mentioned much. The fur's soft, like the really expensive kind of coat you used to be able to buy, before people started throwing blood on you in the streets for wearing one. Big Hank, wrapped all around him, and he's grateful, more than grateful, that someone's finally glad to see him.
Though Hank doesn't usually hold him up for quite this long. Bobby waves his fingers in Hank's face, expecting thesaurus-perfect sarcasm, and only getting a wider smile. Like watching a lion smile. A lion like something Bobby would've drawn at the end of a box of Crayolas, when he only had four different shades of blue left and that annoying silver one that you could never use unless you had black construction paper, something he had, at that age, been convinced was only available around Halloween, and then only for teachers.
No real reason to think that, he just kinda did.
And Hank's still holding him up.
"Yep, that's me, are you going to put me down?"
"Well, that could get inconvenient if either of us, you know, wants to do anything else today."
And Hank gets this thoughtful crease between his eyes, genuinely thoughtful, like he's really trying to puzzle this out. "Hank?"
"Hush, Bobby, I'm attempting to calculate alternative solutions to this problem."
"Alternative to putting me down?"
"Because you're not gonna do that."
"Oh, most assuredly not. You might get away."
And this is when Bobby decides to worry. "Hey, Hank, about this latest mutation --"
"Ah-ha! You can feed me!"
"I can ... what?"
"Well, we are undoubtedly going to require sustenance at some point. Since your hands are free, you will be able to provide me with the nourishment I need." Hank finishes with a half-pleased, half-smug grin. And continues to grin, as Bobby continues to stare.
Right, try again. "So, about this new mutation, Hank --"
"I believe you said that already, Bobby."
"Very true, but it's only the beginning of what I was going to say."
"Ah, I see. Please continue."
"Is there anything ... different about this mutation? You feeling okay, big guy?"
"I'm positively in the pink, Bobby. Or perhaps the royal blue, but I'm sure you understand what I'm saying."
Bobby wonders if he does. Hank feels warm. Warm in a furry-body kind of way, but also the kind of warm that makes you check a person's forehead with the back of your hand. Not that he's in any position to judge. His mother caught him in the yard in the early morning a few days ago, crouched in just his boxers and stroking the frost. Way to make the 'rents relax, Bobby.
"I missed you, Hank." Wraps his arms back around the furry blue neck and hugs one more time, because he wants to and because he thinks it might be some kind of cue to let go.
And Hank does, at least, put Bobby back on his feet. Holds him there, though. Bobby's arms don't reach all the way around Hank's body anymore. Hanging onto the warm, butter-soft leather of Hank's jacket.
"Indeed. And I have had to alter most of my trousers."
"Yeah, I could see where you might." Snakes a hand in towards Hank's waistband and a spot that Bobby remembers was ticklish on Hank's old body. Still is. Snapping twist of blue warmth away from him when Hank dances back. Though Bobby's not fast enough to get loose before a paw closes on his wrist.
"Hey, you sure I'm safe in those mitts?"
"Bobby, I assure you that though I presently lack the fine motor capacity to wield a ball-point pen or perform cranial surgery--"
"--I have retained my gross motor skills, and as such am quite capable of manipulating the common Iceman when I wish."
Up on Hank's shoulder in a too-easy fireman's carry. Both his feet kicking and his backpack hits the ground with a soft thud. He gets to look at it longingly, maybe howl for it a little, while Hank hauls his sorry ass inside.
Excellent view of blue fur, really, though not a good enough view to justify the new, improved, portable Bobby, as far as he's concerned. Sucks in as deep a breath as he can manage in this position and gets his face mashed against Hank's body for the trouble. Not with nose- breaking force, or anything, but definitely firmly. Hank holds him there and continues to lope through the mansion.
Well, that leaves open the possibility that someone will notice.
And soon enough, there's Scott. "Hey, Hank. Bobby's acting up again, I take it?"
"Oh, my, yes. He tried to escape."
Short bark of laughter that only gets louder when Bobby starts kicking.
"I'll just trust you to mete out whatever punishment the situation calls for, then."
"Indubitably, Scott. Until later."
And they're moving again. He's going to frost Scott's shorts for the rest of the man's natural life. He's going to frost his coffin. He's going to ... get carried into a room and have the door slammed and locked behind him.
No answer, and the next thing Bobby knows he's being unloaded onto a hospital bed. The lab, then. And the construction's been completed. Looking around is a little like looking around a Science of the Future! exhibit at an expo. Looking around being the only thing he can do with Great Big Psycho!Beast holding him down to be strapped in.
And he remembers. The Professor is currently testifying before the Senate. It was in that e-mail he sent. The one after the -- in retrospect -- very odd letter from Hank that had contained nothing but several sonnets to the human brain. And an haiku.
So. Tender mercies and all that. He can hope, at least, and it's not like it's Magneto holding him down, or some random villain who might want to, say, steal his brain for research purposes. Though he's fairly sure that someone would love to tell him that there wouldn't be any point.
*Bobby, your brain would be of little use to science. It died long ago from lack of use.*
*Wouldn't dream of it.*
Gone. Not even the fingernails-on-a-blackboard scrape of her in his head.
He wonders if screaming for Jean would help, whether she's psychic enough yet to hear him.
Gets distracted by very soft fur tickling his ribs. Enough to make him scream like the little girl that everyone secretly knows he is and curl up in a very tight ball. Trusting Hank not to let him roll off the table.
It's close. He manages to wiggle away fast and far enough that his centre of gravity goes over the edge, and it's only Hank's lunge that saves him from being Bobby-the-Superhero-Who-Caved-His-Own-Head-In. Curl and roll with him at the safe, airborne heart of it. All of Hank's gymnastic skills are still there, bright and fast, and the second's view Bobby had of him jumping made him think of a really big, oddly-coloured cat.
And then lying on the floor, wrestling but not hard, and it's been a long time. Bobby wonders when he got to be such a touchy-feely person, and figures it's probably X-related. His mother hugs him lightly around the shoulder occasionally. His father shakes his hand. And yeah, neither Jean nor Emma's real touchy (well, maybe Emma, but not in a way that he can quite describe as friendly), but the warm- fuzzies of his adolescence involve being very comfortable in an X-Man dogpile, watching TV.
He wonders for a minute or two why Scott always gets to be on top. And then gets back to the quasi-serious business of trying to escape from Hank, which involves a great deal of wriggling and blue fur blocking out the rest of the universe at regular intervals.
Damn Emma anyway. Frosted bustiers, oh yeah, that's the plan. And hey --
Frosts up enough to be slippery to the touch and makes a break for the door.
And gets tackled. Thoroughly, bruisingly tackled.
"Ha! Got you."
It's time for reason. "You know, Hank, I'm beginning to get a little worried."
"Whyever for, my young friend?"
"Well, it's mainly the involuntary imprisonment."
"Ahh ... well, that's only to ensure that you cannot get away."
"You've mentioned that a few times. Why am I not allowed to get away?"
"It would be a very, very, very bad thing."
"I ... see. Why would it be a bad thing?"
"But I was sure it was obvious!"
"Well ... no, actually, it's not. And you're heavy."
"Yes, I mass well over 400 pounds, as you know. However, as I am not placing anything near my full weight on you at the moment, you really have no reason to complain."
"I beg to differ!"
"Okay, I surrender on the weight thing --"
"Excellent! Now let's get you back to bed."
"You never explained why I'm not allowed to get away."
"Oh, of course. Terribly sorry. I must admit to feeling a trifle absent-minded just lately. Most probably it has something to do with the massive hormonal imbalances."
"Massive hormonal imbalances. Uh, huh. This would probably explain a lot, actually."
"About the me getting away?"
"You're not allowed to."
"Because then I wouldn't have a Bobby to play with, and that wouldn't do at all."
Back onto the bed, plunked down there quite firmly, and it's only quite a lot of yowling and several promises to stay where he's put that keep Hank from strapping him down. As long as Bobby lies quietly, Hank's satisfied.
Just quiet for a minute. The last time he saw the lab, it looked a lot more ... well, lab-ish. Bunsen burners. Petrie dishes. Bits of machines being dissected in corners. None of this chrome-and-flatscreen stuff.
Things are stored right now, which means that either Hank's given up on research until he figures out how to titrate using his claws, or Hank's been up to something interesting enough to abandon the slightly disturbing wet trays of cells and compounds that used to be the centre of his universe.
"Did you build it?"
"Build what, Bobby?" Soft, furry hands on his face and arms, just smoothing him. Careful with the claws while he takes Bobby's coat and scarf away and lays them over a chair.
Cracking smile. "Yes." He nods toward a set of nearly invisible doors off to the left. "And the biological imaging chamber."
"Oooooh, I get it. Hank's got new toys! You know, I woulda looked with you if you'd just asked."
Hank shakes his head. "I very much doubt that, Robert. And at any rate, only Charles can yet use Cerebra."
"He say what it's like?"
"He said lights. Millions of them."
That's a lot of mutants. Everywhere in the world. They're less alone than they think they are.
Hank's calmer when Bobby looks. Still watching him with glittering eyes, but without the hysterical-comedy edge that was starting to get pretty disturbing. Quiet cat feet padding back toward him, and Bobby's trying to decide whether or not Hank looks normal wearing both clothes and fur. Or not 'normal', but.
Thought interrupted about the time Hank dives in. Replaced by thoughts of hormonal mood swings, and disemboweled Bobby, wonders if he needs to ice up a bit until Hank's brain re-forms. Instead gets his t-shirt pushed up and his belly thoroughly raspberried.
It's his day to scream like a little girl, it really is. Squirming and shrieking and never quite getting away, and he wouldn't have believed, actually, that Hank could still do this, what with the new shape of his head and all.
Stills and shivers when it changes from a raspberry to a slower, much more serious tonguing. In and around his navel, up and down his abdomen. Disturbing, yeah, but it feels good, and for whatever reason instead of pushing Hank off he's holding him in place, sucking in air hard enough to raise his ribs and turn his belly concave, twisting just a bit to get licked in a couple of places that've been complaining that Hank missed them.
Actually goes as far as moaning before Hank pulls back and stares at him. Bright, surprised eyes in a familiar/not-familiar face.
And the manic cheer is just gone. Like that. And Bobby is definitely relieved. Relief is an emotion he can go with, but Hank sounds worried and his hands are still caught in Hank's fur and now Hank's starting to look a little horrified, and guilt really can't be far behind, and that's wrong. It's one of the basic facts in the universe that Bobby should in no way upset Hank, no matter whose fault it is.
"Hey, Hank, it's okay. You're just having Beastly PMS or something. Hormones."
"Hormones." He sounds choked.
Bobby pets him a little, tries to project general it's-okayness, but he can see Hank reliving the past hour or so, and it's not pretty. Hank finally shaking loose and backing away from him and looking to be about three and half seconds from a full-fledged bolt and "Hank. Hank, stop, you didn't hurt me --"
"I was. I was tasting you. I need to. I should just --"
"Stop. You should just stop. I knew you weren't going to eat me or anything." And besides, it felt good. Which is way more than Bobby wants to deal with right about now, when the most important thing is to keep Hank from disappearing in a haze of guilt for the next six years, but Hank is shaking his head, lips curling back from those new, improved teeth and --
"No, I wasn't going to eat you, Bobby..."
"Well, see, even better. Just a little licking between friends, which is, okay, disturbing, but it." Felt good. "But it's okay."
"No. No, it isn't. You taste very good, Bobby, and I think you should let me go now."
He gets up, making himself suddenly huge, and heads very fast for the door.
And Bobby jumps. He knows that a hundred and forty pounds of Bobby isn't going to take down a quarter-ton of furry Beast, but he has to try, and he's trusting that Hank's sense of propriety won't let him go barreling through the house with Bobby hanging on desperately around his neck.
Well, maybe half an hour ago it did, but his current sense of propriety won't, and that's the main thing.
Hank sits, just tucks his legs under him and drops into a sitting crouch on the very clean floor. Faint ammonia smell. Bobby scoots around without letting go and drops himself in Hank's lap, straddling the big legs and hanging onto his shirt.
Whatever Bobby's feeling from sitting this close, he'll just ignore, because he's just way too close to aroused, too, and things are weird right now. And it's not exactly the point.
Well, yeah, actually it probably is -- he's starting to understand that -- but they're about three issues away from dealing with that one.
"This happened before?"
"Now and then. The hormone surges are quite intense."
Bobby pulls back and studies him.
"Tell me it wasn't Scott last time."
Which does, in fact, raise the mental image of what Scott might look like, mostly naked and without the stick up his ass, squirming while someone licks his tummy. It's the sort of thought that makes you wonder if Jean's about to hit you with a telekinetic wedgie. And make you even more nervous when she doesn't.
Hank shakes his head. "I fear our leader has romantic trouble enough without my interference."
Bobby pricks his ears up. "Scott and Jean are fighting? That's it. Hell's freezing over. The Professor'll get a toupee next. Emma might even wear clothes."
It has the right effect. Hank laughs. Wraps both big arms around Bobby and hugs him, rocks him back and forth and roars. A little louder than he used to, but maybe he has new vocal cords or something.
And that's as good as it's ever been. Close and held in a reasonably normal position. Hank and the only expectations on him is that he'll be a friend, a good one. Nothing but what he wants, anyway.
Hank trailing off into chuckles, and Bobby suddenly gets a flash of Emma dressed like a small-town librarian. Hair in a neat bun, skirt down to her ankles, huge, bulky sweater --
*And you wonder why I had no intention of saving you.*
*Watch your back, popsicle.*
Gives his mental Emma a massive wart and feels something coming at him for a moment before slamming up every wall-like thing Jean's ever taught him. Shakes it off, which has the effect of making Hank start to pull away again.
Bobby wraps his arms around his neck and holds on until Hank returns the gesture.
"Bobby, the things we're choosing not to discuss at present could fill volumes."
"You know me. Strong, silent type." Silently not-panicking about being groin to groin and chest to chest and it's really, really comfortable to just rest his head between Hank's head and shoulder. Or maybe comfortable isn't the right word. Sort of a slow, lazy feeling that still makes his heart pound.
"Bobby, we have to talk --"
"No. No. We really don't. Trust me on --"
Low growl beside his ear, making him shiver. "If we don't talk, I have to touch you."
"Oh, God..." And it's him sounding this broken and suddenly Hank is pulling him in hard, paw-hands roving all over his back and down and apparently that talking thing was time sensitive and sensitive is a really good word because he's hard all over and nuzzling and Hank's growling steadily and things are rapidly getting all out of control.
Just ... oh... furry. Hank's hands are soft in a way that no entirely human hands are ever going to be. Softer than the softest female touch he's ever had. Makes him tense and shiver and push back against them and forward against Hank's chest. And even this, in spite of his arousal, is just a really elaborate form of snuggling. A more erotic version of what used to happen when Bobby had nightmares, or Hank couldn't sleep, or they got particularly comfortable during the all- night, all Next Generation, Star Trek Fest. Bobby and warm, big Hank and pop corn.
It's Bobby who kisses. Hank's smelling him all over, rubbing against him, and Bobby has to kind of pause and wait for the right moment. Just the slightest movement backward that lets him get the big head in his two hands and lean in and.
Oh god yes.
Warm, alien shape of the mouth, but it opens against his. Sharp teeth that he can trace with his tongue, warm Hank smell/taste. Heave of that huge chest while he leans in and gives this his most serious try. Not his first kiss, but different enough that he hasn't got anything to compare it to.
And then his head tips back and Hank's tongue is in his mouth, long and smart and reaching. Big hands holding him together and thank god for Scott's hideously painful flexibility lessons. Bent over half- backwards and loving it.
The kiss breaks and Bobby takes blue fur from both Hank's cheeks between his fingertips and rubs it.
"This is really ... this is gorgeous, you know?" It really is. Maybe not entirely human, but he's beautiful in that silky, feral way that you see in African animals. Wisdom in him of something ancient.
"I was kinda expecting you to tell me about it, you know? I had to hear about your new you from Jean. But I suppose the hormones--" forehead rub, "were keeping you busy, yeah?"
Rubs himself down into Hank's lap. He vaguely knows he should have big issues with this, but he really doesn't. Nope. Not one. Just Hank, warm and soft and friendly and smart, his friend since he was a pathetic scared kid. Holding him gently.
"Bobby, I desire you greatly."
Makes his breath hitch, makes him start to ache. Just that fast. Stilted, archaic language and everything. Oh, man, he's got it bad and talking would be really good now.
"Touch me." Not what he wanted to say, though he isn't entirely sure what he might have wanted to say, only. Only it was necessary, because there's nothing in Hank's eyes but this almost agonized want.
Like Bobby's the most necessary thing in the room, oxygen aside, and he's being bent back again. Hank's eyes almost lambent bright. Teeth showing and Hank bends to his throat, and even though it's only the vaguest idea of danger, the motion makes Bobby buck up hard.
Paw tugging his shirt aside and Hank's tongue on his collarbone, curling up around his throat. Not true cat-rough, but not strictly human, either, and he breaks out in goosebumps like a thirteen year old girl. Too good to feel truly embarrassed. Too good to do anything but let his head fall back and moan.
And Hank purrs.
This vast low rumble that's its own kind of agony. Bobby feels himself shuddering and gives Hank his full weight. Trusts him. Needs this. Something. So hard.
Shifting now until it's like a rewind. Him on his back on the floor, Hank straddling him. Only touching him now. More weight. Serious intent. Something almost like fear now, but it's Hank, and Bobby's going to get this. Whatever this is. Everything this is.
"Bobby." That low, growling voice. "Take off your shirt, please."
Minute where he wants to ask Hank to do it for him. But if he can't even hold a pen, buttons are a write-off. So. Unbuttoning, shrugging off the shirt and wiggling out of t-shirt underneath. Leaving himself bare to the waist. Cold floor under his shoulders and warm Hank against his chest. Ohhhhh, fur. He's so soft. Feels so good.
Hank bends his head down to Bobby's chest, starts smelling him at the throat. Down around both shoulders, into the cool creases of his armpits, across his chest. Tongue on him tracing every rib. Navel, circled and licked and yeah, it does feel better that they can just do this. His fingers in Hank's fur again, encouraging.
Tongue along the waist of his jeans.
Soft knuckles rub against the little indentation of his waist. Pensive, and the mouth on him stills after a minute.
"I believe it might be a good idea to remove ourselves from these environs."
"Though I am aware you do not feel the cold, this is not the most comfortable venue available to us. And Jean is taking an unwholesome interest in the workings of my machines, lately."
Bobby thinks that if Emma were actually here -- and he's not convinced that she's not, but she felt far away -- it'd be time to scrub his brain out with soap. Does not want to be caught with the images of Jean and machines that're currently in his brain. Next time he pissed Emma off, all she'd have to do would be share those bits with Scott, and next thing you know it's mornings for Bobby, bright, super-early mornings with jogging and sparring and bleeding and bruises...
Buries his face in Hank's shoulder and laughs helplessly.
Hank just pets him. Fur against his belly.
His room, he thinks, except that he doesn't have a room. He left. Strange-familiar house that he's only just come back to. And Hank's room is more or less buried in printed matter; he'd bet his eyeteeth on that one. Which leaves...
Slow nod. "Indubitably."
So. Gathers his clothes and manages to get the t-shirt over his head, overshirt shoved under his arm, out of the lab and up the stairs. Finds his backpack dumped on the landing. Remembering when he was twelve and already too old for this, and dragged all the blankets he could get his hands on up to the attic and built a fort out of them anyway. Sat in it reading Superman comics and eating most of a bag of Oreos for eighteen hours until someone noticed he was missing. Asleep by the time anybody went looking for him.
He woke up and this huge person was animal-crouched under the blanket- roof, looking at him. The glasses somehow unreasonable on a man that size.
Hank helped him find old furniture that genuinely wasn't being used, and that, say, Scott or Logan, wouldn't miss too much. Built him a permanent hide-out and ran interference when he wanted to be alone.
And sometimes visited. Diffidently, at first, and then just as a matter of course. This, too, was Bobby's room, and Hank was always welcome.
Attic corner covered with pillows where actual chairs were unavailable. Mismatched motley thing going on, the cushions from a half-dozed sprung couches, a few hopelessly stained throw pillows, tatty old comforters, huge down roof filtering sunlight. Stacks of paperbacks and comics and magazines too glossy too ignore when Bobby is in those "ooh, shiny!" moods. Tiny refrigerator, shut down, now, but usually filled with assorted tasty snack sensations.
The best fort ever, and just one of many reasons that Bobby's decided growing up is for quitters. And a little weird to be hard here. To feel this untouched cold, and know the only possible relief is Hank. Sex. Sex here.
Weird, but maybe no better place, after all. He wants Hank out of those clothes. Hank standing so huge in this small place, dominating Bobby's senses and he attacks the shirt with something like singleminded focus and Hank just lets him.
Too much. Responsibility, and, yeah, claiming this, because Hank is no one's but his. All his and shirt off and Bobby presses his face against Hank's chest. Buries himself in fur and nuzzles and searches until he finds the flat coin of a nipple.
Sucks. Hard. Aches at Hank's gasp and bites down, half-helplessly and just needing. Wrapping his arms around Hank as far as he can get them and holding on. Sucking and licking and biting and needing that wet low growl and getting it with a soft hand in his hair. Tickle of claws on his scalp and. Silence.
No big words, no commentary, just the sounds. Sex sounds and touch and Bobby's getting warm again. Body insisting he's on the right track and God, oh God, so good.
Just groans when Hank flips them and lays him out on the pile of various softnesses. Keeps sucking as long as he can. And then one more time down his body, that mouth, him moaning louder in the sound- swallowing closeness of the attic. Spreads his legs as wide as he can around Hank's body and sort of wiggles up against him. Thrusts. Twists upward when a big hand closes around him there and massages.
"Oh god Hank please."
Fumbling at his waist. Bobby eventually reaches down and helps, pulls the buttons loose and tangles his fingers with those soft paws and laughs when the still-very-opposable thumbs close around his own. Both of them working his jeans open and his underwear down, laughing and Bobby knows he's not helping by wiggling this much, but he just can't resist.
Thinking that five cold hours by train and car and foot was no price at all to pay for this.
This first touch of tongue and fur against his erection. It leaves him too breathless to scream, just gasps like he thinks his lungs will tear. No fear at all of the teeth, and that's stupid, he should be very, very afraid, but he's just not. Holds still, finally, when big hands grasp his hips and whimpers while Hank licks his thighs, his hips, the shape of his pubic hair, and only when he's really going to lose it, his cock.
And, well, naked Bobby, Hank in just his uniform pants, filtered light of the attic, one boy going very quickly insane. Loving the noises Hank makes while he tastes him and just about inside out from the sensation of it.
"Yes Hank oh god I missed you please..." and then, without any forethought at all, "Fuck me if you're going to oh god yes."
Still moment in which Hank pulls his head up and stares at Bobby. Reaches out a hand and strokes his cheek with the back of it. Hard, cool claw-backs making him shiver.
Sits back and just watches.
Bobby makes a couple of decisions that mostly involve sitting up long enough to get his jeans off properly, which entails unlacing his shoes first, and getting his socks off. And then sits there, naked and looking back, knees spread enough to make sure they both understand what he just offered.
"Bobby ... I would do anything before hurting you." Hank's hands opening and closing on air, constant flex of them and Bobby knows they want to be on him.
Scoots closer and grabs Hank's wrist. Presses it to his face and rubs. Tries to spread his legs a little wider. Something back-brain instinctive about it. The knowledge that Hank wants him, that he can drive Hank a little crazy with it. Be the hungry slut and fuck, oh fuck, crazy light tracing of one neat claw back behind his balls and if he bucks it could be very, very bad, as well as difficult to explain.
Just arches with it. Grunts through clenched teeth as the claw moves lightly over his balls, circles and spirals his cock and God God please and he doesn't know if he's moaning aloud, just knows this tease is killing him.
Looks up to beg for more and Hank's just focused on his crotch. Eyes gleaming. Something like possessiveness that makes Bobby's skin heat even more, like his personal temperature controls just took a vacation, leaving him to roast in this pleasure.
"Please do it, Hank. Please."
"Bobby ... we need ... I can't --"
"Inside me, Hank, I swear it'll be okay I need you there need you to fuck me hard --"
Sudden fist around his cock. Brutal and soft at the same time, stripping Bobby's cock like Hank's trying to yank the orgasm out of him by main force. Just falling into it for a moment, bracing his hands on the floor and thrusting up into dryness that still isn't quite enough friction. That fur ... so good and he can lose himself in this. Let Hank just use him but God he wants more...
Soft breath against his neck for a second before Hank hauls him bodily into his lap. Just gracelessly sprawled across him, clinging while Hank jerks him off, twisting and uncareful and going nuts from the fur-slide against his naked skin. Still trying to pull his brain together enough to beg when all his limbs turn electric for a split- second, and he comes, wailing and shaking and collapses against the arm holding him.
Has to get his breath back. Warm and post-orgasmic and trying not to cry. Staring up at Hank with a look that he knows is close to miserable betrayal. Biting his lip. And as soon as there's feeling back in his hands, he pushes himself upright. Tries to get out of Hank's lap.
Hank keeps him there. Arm wrapping around his shoulders, pulling him in, and this careful, careful kiss. Soft, snuffling, still-aroused breath against his cheek.
He can't not melt. Still relaxed from coming and delighted by the feel and smell of Hank's fur. Rubbing against him, naked against fur and leather and only gradually realizing how hard Hank still is under him.
Hank rubs his face against Bobby's cheek. Makes him shiver. "Bobby. I need you to consider carefully what you asked."
And yeah, he's noticing that his brain's working better. Thinking a bit more clearly about what he wants, how he wants it. Maybe not just tearing into him. Softer, a bit more careful, but he wants it...
"Bobby, have you ever engaged in such an act before?"
"You know the answer to that." Burrows his face into Hank's chest fur. Hank knows Bobby would have told him. He knows the details of every tiny kiss Bobby's ever had. Hank knows, could know so much. Brief image of a younger self, icing his groin down regularly because he couldn't hold back, hard all the time.
If Hank had gone hormonal then ... shivers and feels the first tiny rush of new arousal. "Hank, I have. Some lotion you won't hurt me you won't --"
Gasp above him and Hank's body just surges. Iron hard heat against his ass. Pushing and large and Bobby grinds down against it. Just to see. Just because he has to.
"Bobby, I fear my control is rapidly eroding." That growl, that growl --
"Fuck me, Hank. Please, tell me you will ... God, fuck, anything--"
"Anything you want, Bobby, yes, so beautiful... but I can't. Prepare you."
Oh. And oh, fuck, it's almost crushing. Just something basically wrong that Hank can't touch him inside, Hank should be all over him, Hank should never stop touching, and Bobby comes somewhere close to himself when he realizes that he just rubbing himself up over Hank's body.
His friend, his friend with that unmistakably pleading note in his voice, holding him, but not stilling him, giving Bobby this, too, and it's so good. Too good. Bobby's cock trying to rise to the occasion much, much too soon and he can't stop, can't stop until finally he gets it.
God, no one, no one would ever say he was bright. Do it himself. Hand lotion in his backpack.
Where. In his backpack. Has to move away, moaning while he does it, tiny hesitation before Hank lets him go. Hunting for it now, tossing pillows and he feels almost blind with it, so hideously, childishly unfair that he has to be separate from Hank for this and there. Just outside the fort. On the floor and Bobby snags the lotion.
Walks unsteadily back to where Hank is still sitting there, just watching him move. Bends down for a none-too-careful kiss, sloppy and wet and knees almost giving at the feel of Hank's tongue in his mouth. Pulling back before he can fall, moving a few steps away and settles against the couch.
Spreads his legs and just touches himself.
Need in even this. Showing Hank the way he jerks off, the way he plays with his balls.
Not even hard again yet, but on his way there. Closer every time he rolls his balls in his palm. Feels the shape of them, pulls the skin tight around them to show them to Hank, offer them up to him. Shiver through him when Hank growls. Reaches for him and rubs a careful heel of his hand against the tight-stretched skin.
Leaves them in Hank's grip while he slides his fingers down. Not even slick, yet, but reaching towards it and. Can't. Has to shift, get his knees up, ass out, legs way apart, has to scramble to manage it. And does, gets so he can feel the air brushing him, and Hank's fur, and Hanks god his eyes watching him, balls in that soft-hard grip.
Hand lotion helps. Slick-cool on his fingers, something that he thinks would probably be uncomfortable for someone with a higher body temperature than his. Slides his hand down and touches the hole. Place he's never been, or not like this. Never deliberately touched it before, not quite sure how it can be aching the way it is. Little flex when he touches, and a long quiver through him at the cool-slick- pressure.
Takes a long, deep breath before he pushes the first finger in. God in him, nowhere near as big as Hank's going to be, but enough to make his eyes wide. Sliding in just a bit too fast, making himself gasp and just before he thinks he can't do this, hits something and bends his whole body most of the way over backward. Wants it again, wants it harder. Lifting his whole body up after the feel of it. Slick touch inside him and god if Hank feels even half this good...
Another one. Awkward to slick it without taking his hand out, but he manages it, help from Hank handing him the bottle and taking it away. Not holding his balls anymore, but rubbing the insides of his thighs, holding them apart and tilting them up to make him open. Hank's gonna take him, just as soon as he can manage to get himself ready.
Pressure against him while the second one goes in, and here's the stretch he didn't have before. Has to push a bit to get it in, has to pant for a long time, and no, it doesn't hurt, not exactly, but he can feel it. Pressure in his belly making him hard again. Makes him want that other finger way before he's ready to take it.
And Bobby can't wait. Shoves in with a cry and twists with it, Hank pushing him wider, either making it easier or just making it better. Wonderful that he doesn't have to hold his own thighs open. Hank will do it Hank will take care of him and what if and oh god. Has to fuck himself. Finger himself, god, like a girl. Can't keep his eyes open. Just thrusts and thrusts until he finds the rhythm, finds the friction that's just burning him alive.
Feels himself loosening and does it faster, harder, needing it to be Hank doing this and he's begging and Hank's growling and Bobby doesn't understand waiting anymore. It's just this meaningless, awful thing that has nothing to do with him, with them --
"Bobby, I must remove the rest of my clothing."
"No, no, just keep holding me oh god open. Just keep looking --"
"Looking at me."
Shoving in just the tip of a third finger and it makes him shudder convulsively, makes Hank growl, lean in and place his teeth very, very gently against Bobby's throat. A smile, a snarl against his skin and Bobby has to rub at it, mark himself, fuck himself, fumbling for the lotion and just dumping a huge dollop of it on himself, slicking it around his hole and his pumping fingers.
Can't get in far but he has to, has to reach that spot and Hank lets him go and he can hear the zipper going down so loud, and this groan of relief that makes him open his eyes.
Half-lidded and staring just as Hank stands to shed the uniform pants and his briefs. No shoes or socks, of course, just those new and weirdly rounded feet-paws and Bobby's still pumping, still trying to keep himself open, but he has maybe one functioning brain cell left and it's telling him to look. Look up and Hank is so big. Something that would maybe frighten him, that maybe should frighten him, but he just wants to be. Surrounded.
Held in and engulfed and Hank's cock. Deep blue and furless, pushed almost all the way out of its sheath and leaking steadily and Bobby wants.
Lying very still with the fingers still up inside him. Slick and wet and god he's such a slut. Just watching with big eyes while Hank gets a palmful of lotion and rubs it on himself, more even than there is on Bobby, and yeah, that's probably a good idea. Make this a bit easier.
He leans into the kiss Hank offers him. Big, dangerous mouth on his own. Arm around his shoulders pulling him forward, turning him, laying him down. On his back in the soft floor of the fort. And he just lies there for a sec with his knees spread and stares. Shivers when Hank's knuckles brush his ankle. Moans when those hands pick him up. Both feet up off the floor, forcing his hips up and out, spreading him. Flexibility that he's just barely held onto during his last period of non-superheroness, but it's enough to get him wide enough for Hank's body to fit in against him.
And then higher, feet on Hank's shoulders, around his neck. It leaves Hank's hands free, and as long as he's leaning in close ...
Gonna give it up just like this. Stretched and spread, feet widening to rest on Hank's shoulders, pushing to stay there, and soft fur brushing his too-open hole.
Slick like he can hardly believe it, careful of the claws, god he's so empty. Wants this.
"Shhh, Bobby. Gently."
Fuck gently. Same thought that stays in his mind right up to the second he feels the head of Hank's cock against him. And then a lot of blankness and this slow, shaky breath while he thinks about taking that inside him. It's already pushing. Opening him, just steady and inexorable, making him wider and tighter-stretched and he can't even talk, can't moan, can't do anything but pant and want. And howl when it pushes in, this sudden slide that he can feel rearrange him. God so big, just in him far enough to be past the widest stretch, holding still while his feels his eyes and his mouth go just the same amount of round, trying to believe he's doing this.
Hank's holding him again. Bracing his legs wide while animal-soft hands on his thighs pet him. Whispering how brave he is to do this. Take this. How good he feels. How beautiful he is, how gorgeous he looks stretched this far open.
"Always so very beautiful, Bobby. I've wanted you..."
"Oh God, Hank... inside me, oh please oh fuck..." Trailing off into meaningless babble and it's all meaningless. Nothing compared to being spitted on Hank and the mindlessly obvious realization that he's about to be fucked now.
Hank panting like he's run a race, straining to hold himself still while Bobby wraps his mind around all this and, finally, moves.
Shifts and flexes internal muscles and he can't decide if that was a mistake or not. Sudden burning and fullness and Hank's helpless jerk, sinking him deeper inside and Bobby let's his head fall back. Tries to focus enough to keep his legs up and Hank starts to slip out, apparently dragging Bobby's insides with it and he can't help but follow the movement. Winds up pushing in to the next thrust and groans aloud.
Head falling back and everywhere his body's alive and Hank is fucking him now. Out and in, forcing a sound out of Bobby with each thrust because its hitting just right, so deep, Hank.
Scrabbling to get his foot back on Hank's shoulder and so utterly unprepared for the next thrust, almost yells with it despite Hank moving so slowly, or maybe because of it and again and this explosion of pleasure and Bobby does yell this time and
"Bobby, please, you must... please relax oh God I can't hurt you, don't let me hurt you..."
Can't even begin to form an answer, can't do anything but yell again, sobbing, when Hank thrusts in again, eyes closed and tortured with it. Good and pain and more good, inside, oh inside and Hank's growling now, shaking with it. Next thrust harder and Hank's begging, but Bobby's feet slip and the angle's wrong and this is going to kill him.
Hank slipping out with a moan and touching him with shaking hands, touching his face, and at first Bobby can't make out the words, but
"I'm sorry, oh Bobby, my beautiful, we don't have to, I'll stop, I promise it's okay, but please stop crying..."
"No, Hank, God, you can't stop you have to fuck me, Hank, please, it's okay, it's okay..." All the words he has left and Bobby bucks up, tries to reach Hank's cock, tries to get it back, tries to think.
Finally rolling over on his belly, knowing Hank will move to comfort him, but pushing up on his knees before Hank can apologize again. Before Hank can do anything but see him like this. See him begging for it.
Open hole aching without Hank and he wishes so hard that he could just say this, tell him how much he wants it. Just needs it to be a bit easier. Maybe. Whimpers when Hank reaches out both hands and rubs his back. Soft, steady, working out the tension in him, rubbing it all down to pleasure that melts and pools in his belly just above his cock.
"God... want you, Hank."
Kisses on his back. Strange and not the kisses he would have expected, softer and wetter and more diffuse, covering him. Licking his shoulderblade and rubbing just a single tooth against it.
And hands sliding under him, starting at his belly and working up to his chest. Careful fingers touching his nipples, working them up to points and rolling them. Tight grip that makes him shiver. And twist on them, fast and sharp and it makes him howl, makes him buck and beg and god he wants this. Bends his shoulders farther down and pushes his ass back.
"Please Hank. You have to fuck me you can't tease me like this. God you felt so good, you went so deep."
Ghost of a voice against his shoulder.
"Deeper this way, Bobby."
"I don't care. Do it."
"Hank, if you love me, please!"
Kiss at the base of his spine, just where his ass starts.
"As you wish," like the ghost of a movie, one that they've seen god knows how many times together.
Fingers brush at his face, and Bobby didn't actually realize until now that he's crying. Tears burning down his face, and he must have scared Hank to death. And yeah it hurt, but it was so good. Something wet on his shoulder that he doesn't acknowledge, and a kiss on top of it, and Hank bends over him.
Just covers him for a minute. Hank's big enough for that. His whole world blue and soft and loving him. Kissing the side of his face, rubbing that massive chest against his shoulders. Cock just barely brushing against his ass, giving him time to get comfortable with this closeness.
Then one hand reaches back and he can feel it again. Big, but not impossible. Makes him groan, bite his lip while it pushes. What he really wants is to scream. Just let this all out as sound. Show how much he wants it. But he needs not to scare Hank. So. Just breathing ragged like something a hundred years old, waiting for what might be permission. Pushing back helplessly when it takes too long and Hank's cock rubs all along his cleft, slick and hot and it makes Bobby whine like a dog.
"Shhh... I have to. I have to be inside you again, Bobby."
"God, Bobby, I need you, please be ready for this --"
"Gonna scream I will I will... just do it anyway --"
Roar of a growl and Hank slams home and Bobby does scream because it's exactly as good, better, deeper, Hank so thick and hard inside him. Sliding out almost all the way and driving in. Hank covering him and fucking him and Bobby tries to bite his lip, but just tastes iron and yells anyway.
Impossibly good, needful thing and Hank doesn't stop this time. Fucks Bobby through the sobs and cries and moves his hands back to Bobby's nipples, pinching and twisting them, bright, lancing shots of sensation right to Bobby's heavy cock and it's finally sinking in.
Everything Hank can do to him. Is doing to him and Bobby can't do anything but love it, rock back against the steady thrusts and dream of it being just like this forever.
Nothing but Hank and the way Hank is working him, using and taking and breathing hot and humid against the back of his neck, licking him up to the edge of Bobby's hairline and down again. Soft grunting growls and those hands on him. Soft rake of claws down the center of his chest and Hank's hand closing on his cock.
Pumping him and fucking harder now and Bobby just leaves his mouth open. Lets Hank fuck the sounds out of him, surrounded and full and needing, just needing.
Pumping that ends with this thrust, deeper in his body than it's gone before, makes him scream again. The sound huge in his ears but somehow muffled by the fort around them and fuck it, they're at least two floors above anybody else. Lets Hank hear him. Fucking so deep, smooth pumping that just breaks every so often and pushes deeper. Pushes the air out of his lungs and he's not going to have any voice tomorrow.
"So lovely Bobby. Beautiful. What I wanted--" god deep "-- for so long."
Bends down over Bobby, heavy enough against him to press his chest down against the floor, just his ass up and Hank shifts in him as they move, hits exactly the right place, and whatever he felt with his fingers working it isn't anything to this.
Long trail of a kiss that reaches the corner of his mouth, makes him turn his head and cry into it. Can't not make noise while he's being fucked like this. Something Hank gets, he thinks, because there's no threat of stop in him, just wanting.
Gone from his back for a second. Cold without him. Then hands on his chest, cock moving in new, mind-numbing ways in him, and Hank lifts him. Strong like Bobby can never believe. Gets upright and pulls him back into Hank's lap. Kneeling behind him, this huge base of support for Bobby to settle against. The weight of his whole body pushing him down onto Hank, rubbing the good spot with every shift, not even sure if Hank can thrust like this but Bobby thinks he could come just by working his hips.
Gets his knees under him and does just that. Fucks himself on it, arches back and takes the kisses Hank was aiming to give the top of his head, twists and moans when those furry hands come up to keep working his nipples. Bright pain-pleasure like he wouldn't have believed, not even a place on himself he'd thought about until this.
Works himself in sharp twists, shallow, slow circles, gets the head of Hank's cock rubbing deep inside him, so vivid he can tell just where it is. Kissing and jerking himself. Hank growls into his mouth. Shifts them just that much and slams into Bobby from underneath. So deep Bobby's eyes give out for a second, and then, god, again.
Pushes him over. Hard, impossible thrusts and his nipples like controlled lighting and both hands frantic on his cock. Screaming the house down and absolutely not caring. Desperate until he's completely limp, leaning forward again.
Hank's hands around his waist, but he pushes against him, and Hank does eventually let him slide. Bobby catches himself on too-shaky arms, folds them and lays his head on top. Somehow keeps his hips up, still impaled on Hank, who's still hard, let Bobby come twice already.
Bobby says, "Finish. It's okay, just do it."
Gets pulled up higher and deep. Every part of him so sensitive and he's moaning again. Half-sobbing and terrified of getting hard again. Fear of his insanity, like, oh, sorry, folks, Iceman won't be in today, Hank fucked him catatonic. On and on and Bobby isn't sure if he even has actual bones anymore. Whole body liquid and Hank's as the thrusts get ragged, almost brutal. Harder and faster and hitting him just right inside until Bobby has to squeeze his oversensitized cock to get it under control. Off-balance and being moved with the fuck until Hank finally slams in hard one last time and comes roaring.
Just barely managing to catch himself before collapsing half to the side. Still managing to pin Bobby to the pillows beneath them and that's. Really wonderful, actually. One of the best ideas Beast has had today out of a whole slew of very good ideas.
Bobby catches himself purring a little and goes with it. Moans a little when Hank shifts away, but it's only to pull Bobby in to spoon against him. Curled and limp and kissed, again and again, on the back of his neck. Makes him shiver and move closer. Hank's arm around him.
Warm and safe.
Bobby closes his eyes and starts working on all the different ways to avoid morning after conversation. Happily, most of the ways involve nudity.