Disclaimer: If they were mine would I be just writing about them? I think not. So they aren't mine, neither one of them, so don't sue, I'm just a poor college student, barely feeding her birds!
Thanks to: Peg for being wonderful enough to beta this for me (Any mistakes in here are my fault), and everyone who gave wonderful feedback and nagged me to keep going.
Rating: NC-17 probably for m/m nookie
Pairing: ?/Bobby
Summary: How the date went after Bobby finally called in "Wave Goodbye To Sanity"
Archive: Go for it, just tell me if you do
Feedback: *insert much groveling here* Please?
E-mail: susie2@peoplepc.com
Previous parts found at (un)frozen
Series should go like this: Waving Goodbye to Sanity; Still Waving Goodbye; And Time Marches On

Still Waving Goodbye
by Shera Crawler 007

Feet were sexy. He felt rather pleased with this discovery. Yes, feet were sexy. There was just something in the way they seemed to flow, muscle over bone, skin over muscle. Smooth, warm, silky skin.

He trailed his hand down the arm resting on his chest again, meditatively. Maybe he was starting to get a fetish for feet ... or maybe it was just a fetish for this particular pair of feet. It had to be something like that, because he seriously doubted that even the sex god of the X-men, Remy, had feet that gorgeous. Which was telling because even he had to admit there wasn't much to Remy that wasn't downright sexy.

The man even had sexy ankles. Maybe he should tell him, after all it was pretty important to know if you had sexy ankles or not. Well ... it wasn't really but he was feeling too good right now to let that bother him.

Suddenly he was really glad he'd gotten up the nerve to call him ... repeatedly. After all if he hadn't he'd be in his own bed right now, alone. Definitely not contemplating sexy feet or feeling how good it was to have someone gorgeous, warm, and heavy lying on top of him. Those arresting hazel eyes were half-closed, staring contentedly off into space.

Vaguely he wondered what his lov-- His brain stuttered to a stop before he could even think the word, which was getting annoying. He could think it at least, maybe not say it out loud but at least think it. He could at least have that much respect for the guy he was sleeping with. So ... Lov- Lover. Didn't that imply something though...something more than just a quick tumble after meeting in a bar and later pizza? Wasn't there supposed to be some sort of emotional attachment ... love was after all the root of the word.

But then ... he couldn't exactly think up another word to use ... and he sort of felt like there was ... potential in that word. It was better not to lead himself on here though ... so he could think the word, he felt better. He was with his lover, they had just had sex, great sex ... so they were lovers. It wasn't that hard, and it was a lot easier to think of him as his lover instead of 'that guy'.

He went back to vaguely wondering what his lover was thinking ... but he didn't really know him well enough to ask. Or maybe he did, he'd slept with him twice now ... was that enough to start getting personal? Was it really personal to ask someone what they were thinking or was it just annoying? Could you think of someone as a lover and not ask what they were thinking? Wasn't the word lover just ... so ... just so wonderful and personal and boy was he imagining more to this than there was.

He felt to damn good right now though to think about that too long. He'd worry about it when he went home in a few hours. Until then he was just going to lie here, be pleasantly crushed by his lover, and think happy happy thoughts.

Happy thoughts like how this entire date -- or whatever it was -- had gone. Happy thoughts about how he had been pressed up against the apartment door as soon as he'd been dragged inside and thoroughly kissed hello. The one hundred and one doubts that had been chewing at him fled like Dalmatians when Cruella DeVille stalked into a room.

Happy thoughts like how they had barely managed to stumble to the couch shedding clothes as fast as they could, but never as fast as they needed. Because they needed to feel silky skin against their own now , immediately, as soon as physically possible if not before.

And then they were collapsing onto that comfortable leather couch, naked, twined around one another, both trying to gain the upper hand and neither really managing. That oh-so-male body pressed as tight to his own as it was going to get and still it wasn't close enough. He should have felt awkward because of it but instead it just made him want it even more, that strange yearning exhilaration washing over him every time he felt the other's cock rub against him.

Bobby could have stayed like that, mock wrestling with him for a dominance he wasn't sure he really wanted, and never need anything more. At least until hot green-hazel eyes fixed on his own baby blues and a condom and lube magically appeared from the stash under the couch into his hand, an open invitation that even Bobby Drake wasn't dense enough to misunderstand.

Preparation was a blur of frustration, blotted from memory by the sweet victory of sinking inside another willing body. And he was inside of him, inside that incredibly hot, incredibly male body. Listening to the little whimpers and half-pleading moans that were being muffled in male arms beneath him as he thrust inside of him.

Sweat poured from them both, rolling into his eyes, tickling down the side of his face to wet the broad shoulders beneath him, exploding sharp and salty on his tongue as he nibbled, bit, and licked the back of his neck.

There was so much to memorize, so many things he wanted to take away with him in case they never turned this into a real relationship, because he didn't think he could ever go out and do this again. Go through the mix of terror and guilt it took to actually go out and find a man, instead of a woman, to be with.

But he didn't have the time to memorize anything except the feel of his lover beneath his hands, the taste of him in his mouth and the feel of his body around him because he was there and oh-god-was-everything-right-with-the-world.

Oh yes that was a very happy thought. The rest of the night had gone as good too ... eating pizza and drinking beer ... talking about everything meaningless. It seemed like he had found a kindred spirit in the mastery of meaningless conversation. To think he had talked, just talked, for an hour about absolutely nothing important and not once had either of them angsted on the furniture or been interrupted by spandexed psychopaths. Miracles did happen.

And what was even more miraculous was that he didn't find them stumbling through uncomfortable silences ... and he didn't find himself getting booted out the door politely. No, instead conversation had led somehow to pizza flavored kisses ... which had led to the bedroom ... more kisses more sex ... and then this.

After sex cuddling.

He barely knew him but this certainly didn't seem to be turning out like a one -- well technically two -- night stand. It didn't seem like the beginning of something that was only going to last a month maybe and then quit. No ... it felt like ... there might be something more ... substantial somehow. And even if that little hint of possible commitment scared him it also sparked a little warm flare of hope.

Of course it probably wouldn't mean anything because he was going to go home in a few hours ... and then they'd both have a week of their regularly scheduled life, completely away from one another. And they could do nothing but think about how horribly stupid this entire sorta-but-not-quite relationship they were having really was.

His thoughts were interrupted by the faintly sleepy, annoyed weight of a pair of hazel eyes. Really gorgeous hazel eyes really, just like everything else about the man. Silky brown hair fell in haphazard waves, sticking up here and there in odd places from earlier activities ... a lock of it fell into his eyes and his fingers itched to brush it back for him.

What the hell, he did and the annoyed gleam that lit his lover's eyes transformed into a faintly amused look, as the stubborn hair just flopped back into his eyes. Bobby ignored it for a moment to trace a finger down his forehead over the nose that really was too big but somehow didn't look bad at all on him, and over the full bottom lip. It lent his face a certain pouty quality that was either endearing or sexy depending on the moment. Right now it was more endearing.

"Go to sleep." Bobby sighed and smiled wryly, he really needed to work on his threatening voice, but he decided to humor him anyway, "Yes sir, I can do sleep." He grinned when he felt the other man's hand pushing his head down to rest on his chest.

He really didn't feel like sleeping, but he wasn't against snuggling until he had to leave.

continued in "solitary confinement" >>

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