Disclaimer: It’s all Doqz’ fault. He wrote
a good chunk of it... So I’m going to give him half the blame. He
doesn’t know yet. Wahahaha. The power of the keyboard...
Oh yeah, no money, not ours, yadda yadda...
"Okay, okay, now just hang on a minute," Bobby said, flapping his
hands as if they'd help him. "I can--"
"Checkmate, Bobby," Hank said smugly, sitting back in his chair and
linking his fingers behind his head. "Check. Mate."
"No, I'm sure that--"
Hank just continued smiling, knowing that Bobby would give up in
a moment. Sure enough, Bobby sighed and sat back on his hands, shaking
his head and smiling good naturedly. "Fine. But clean underwear only,
Hank snorted a laugh, getting up and sweeping the chess pieces into
a little box.
"I still think it was rigged."
Scott peered over his book at them, smiling slightly. "Bobby, you
always lose," he pointed out.
"Yeah, but he only had his king and queen! I had all my bits!"
"Pieces, Bobby!" Hank corrected on a hopeless chuckle.
"Whatever." Bobby shrugged and snatched one of Scott's Goldfish crackers,
ignoring the older man's wordless protest.
"Shall we?" Hank asked, grinning wickedly as he gestured toward the
Bobby sighed and nodded, cringing. "We'd better hurry."
They scurried up, Hank in the lead as Bobby hopped up the stairs
behind him, his face brightening at the thought of underwear.
Hank stepped to the side of the wall, looking around suspiciously.
"All clear for Operation: Panty Raid!" he whispered as Bobby darted
around his best friend and knelt in front of Rogue's door, giggling.
"Bribing Remy," Bobby murmured somberly, pulling out a velvet fold
and unwrapping it tenderly, "a fifty-year-old bottle of scotch. Stolen
from Logan." He smiled and pulled out three slivers of metal, eyeing
them in the light before inserting them into the doorlock. "Buying
Victoria's Secret catalogues? Five bucks. Bribing Jubilee to put them
in Rogue's room to get her out of the house? Thirty bucks. And pictures."
The door clicked quietly and swung open. Bobby stood, posing reverently
at the threshold. "Getting into Rogue's bedroom, unseen, for a panty
raid?" He smiled and turned to Hank.
"Priceless." Hank grinned.
From downstairs Bobby heard Scott's shout: "You two had better not
be doing anything that's going to have someone coming after me!"
"Don't worry!" Bobby shouted back, the moment broken. He gleefully
ran inside and ripped open Rogue's top dresser drawer. He peered at
the panties inside. Carefully, he pulled out a pair of daisy print
underwear and dangled them in front of his eyes. "Ohhh, bikini cut.
Very daring, Rogue." He grinned broadly. At least this part of the
bet wasn't so bad.
Bobby heard Scott say something on a groan, but didn't quite catch
the exact words. Whooping, Bobby ran out of Rogue's room with underwear
flying in circles over his head. Hank followed him downstairs, taking
them three at a time, cackling gleefully. As they ran out of the front
door, Hank pausing to grab his keys, Bobby heard Scott mutter, "I
didn't see a thing." It made him laugh a lot louder.
Hank leaned against a red brick wall, his legs crossed at the ankles,
arms over his chest. Bobby was enjoying this. That wasn't part of
"Rubber ducky, you're the one!" Bobby sang loudly, dancing down the
streets of New York in his boxers, a pair of cotton underwear on his
head. His hair frazzled out of the leg holes like a squirrel with
a bad haircut. "You make bathtime so much fun!" He paused to wiggle
his eyebrows suggestively at the rubber ducky he held, then stopped
to eye a store window.
Hank frowned as the younger man disappeared inside, then reappeared
a moment later, something peach-colored under one arm.
Bobby set it up straight, grinning at the red-haired blow-up doll
wickedly. "Look, Hank!" he shouted happily, holding her up. "It's
Hank choked, his eyes watering as he doubled over, coughing furiously.
"Rubber Roguie," Bobby sang at the top of his lungs, dancing down
the street with the doll in his arms, "You're the one! 'Hiya shugah!,'"
he squeaked, "You make bathtime--" he stopped, grinning straight at
Hank before turning back to the doll and winking broadly. "So
much fun! Hiya sugah! Rubber Roguie I'm awfully foonnnnnnnnnnd--of
y--" He stopped, looking up and smiling hopefully. "Uh. Hi, Logan."
The Canadian stood in the doorway of Harry's, his eyebrows raised.
"The boys inside," he nodded toward the bar, "are just wonderin' what
you happen to be doin' with that blow up doll. And that underwear.
On your head. Bub."
Bobby grinned, his eyes totally guiltless. "Why, I was just dancing.
And singing. I'm a dannncing queen! Young and sweet, only seventeen!"
He danced away, nearly running down the down the street in his efforts
to escape from Logan and his cronies.
"Hey! That's an extra song!" Hank called.
"It's on the house!" Bobby laughed back, spinning his doll on the
sidewalk and almost hitting an elderly woman. "Oops. Sorry, ma'am.
This is Rogue. Rogue, say hi." He squeezed the doll's buttocks and
she squeaked, while Bobby chirped, "Hiya, shugah!"
Then he danced down the sidewalk once more, assaulting random passersby
as they met.
Hank followed reluctantly, fighting the urge to break into hysterical
giggles and the equally powerful urge to flee the crime scene. It
wasn't until he rounded a corner and saw the press pack flowing from
the courthouse toward Bobby that the urge to flee the crime scene
"Was he supposed to enjoy that?" Warren asked, cocking his head and
watching the television where Bobby pranced, turning his back to the
camera to wiggle his butt in a lewd manner, grinning suggestively
over his shoulder.
Hank buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. "We are never
making homemade Twinkies again. I knew Bobby was putting too much
sugar in them . . ." He frowned suddenly, and paled beneath his fur.
"And I did turn away for a second . . ." Horrified realization colored
his voice. "Maybe it wasn't sugar." He sighed resignedly and looked
up. "And no, he wasn't supposed to enjoy that. God damn it."
Warren grinned, arching back to watch Hank where he hulked behind
the sofa. "This is Bobby. Really, now."
Hank was about to respond when the front door opened, and Bobby skipped
in. "I'm a dannnncing queen! Young and-- hey, Warren! Did you see
me on TV?" He grinned.
"Oh, yeah," Warren said, looking back at the show. "I'm just waiting
until Rogue sees it."
Bobby's smile faded. "Yeah. Um. Heh. I'm sure she'll see the funny
side of it . . ." Bobby's smile came back with force, then, and he
tugged his panties down farther over his ears. "Anyway, I'm not afraid."
He put his fists on his hips, puffing out his chest. "I'm Batman!"
Bobby took off, running around the room and miming a cape. "Duh nu
nu nu duh nu nu nu nu nu BAT MAN!"
Warren's wasn't paying attention anymore, his eyes riveted on a figure
leaning in the doorway. "Is that a--" Warren stopped, years of prep
school forbidding him from quite admitting that the blow-up doll looked
suspiciously like a sex toy, complete with pouched mouth.
Bobby grinned, his eyes mischievous once again. "Rubber Roguie, she's
the one! She makes bathtime so much fu--"
"Robert William Drake!"
"There is no Robert William Drake! Only Batman!" Then he turned and
saw Rogue standing in the doorway, holding Rubber Roguie. He cringed
and dodged out of the doorway, leaping behind the couch, where he
burrowed into Hank's fur, ignoring Hank's yelp of alarm. "It wasn't
me! That man dancing--that's obviously a shape-shifter!" Bobby struggled
harder as Hank grabbed at him, trying to force him away. His voice
rose in mock panic. "I've been framed! It's a conspiracy! Just like
"I'm an unarmed civilian!" Hank said to Rogue, still struggling with
Bobby. "Don't hurt me! Take him!"
"What did you think you were doing?" Rogue snapped, stalking toward
"I am woman, hear me roar?" Bobby offered, smiling weakly.
"I'm still a civilian! Totally innocent! Completely! Indubitably!
Innocent!" Hank cried, and finally wrested Bobby off his back.
"Traitor!" Bobby squealed as Hank tossed him at Rogue. "Chuckles!"
he screamed as the professor entered from the other side of the room.
Charles' face paled and his eyes widened. "I'm sorry? Did you just--"
then he shook his head, as if it simply wasn't possible.
"You take 'im!" Rogue snapped, and hurled Bobby's nearly naked frame
at Xavier's hovercraft. The whole thing dipped and rocked as Bobby
landed, sliding across the gold paint and crashing against the professor.
He slipped right back off with a yelp, landing on his feet and bolting
for the coffee table. He grabbed the remote, holding it at arm's length
and backing slowly toward the door.
"Everyone, just back away! I have the remote and I'm not afraid to
Rogue snorted. "Like that matters to m--"
"Now, Bobby," Warren interrupted, standing slowly, his hands patting
the air gently in placating motions. "There's no reason to do this.
There's still time for you to make it right. We'll all forgive you
if you just put down the--"
"We will not forgive him!" Rogue snapped.
"We WILL!" Warren roared back at her, his face turning an unhealthy
shade of violet. "That's the last remote! Do you want to watch the
Christian Music Network all week?"
She hesitated for a moment, the prospect too terrible to imagine.
"There is such a thing as the buttons on the television," Charles
said, frowning at all of them. "Bobby, could you possibly take those
underwear off your head?"
Bobby looked at him, a look of betrayal on his face. "Et tu, Chuc--"
"Don't." It only took the one word.
Bobby grinned, but didn't quite say the name. Even he didn't dare
mess with Chuck--he meant, the Professor. "Listen, let's make a deal.
You get me out of this, and I'll paint a really cool racing stripe
on that chair of yours."
Charles' expression didn't change from the one of distaste he was
still wearing. He turned to Hank and looked at him steadily. "You
Charles eyed him. "You may fix it. I'll be back at dinner, and I
expect Rogue's underwear to be returned by then. I hope Bobby will
also be dressed." He turned, then stopped and looked back. "At his
own underpants." Charles left the room.
"Warren," Bobby said, holding the remote threateningly above his
head as his eyes flickered nimbly from Rogue to Warren, "don't even
think about it. I can break this faster than you can get over here."
"I wouldn't mind watching CMN all week. They have the Creed documentary
on this weekend," Rogue said, rubbing her hands together. "And if
it means I get my hands on your scrawny little neck, all the better."
"I have to admit that I really would appreciate it if I didn't have
to see you mostly naked any more than necessary," Scott said from
the corner easy chair.
"Scott!" Bobby chirped. "I didn't see you there! And, hey, I'm confident
in my body, secure in my masculinity! I think I could even wear a
"Oh, Jesus!" Warren cried, his voice breaking with the pain.
"All night long let me see that thong! Thong! Thong!"
"Oh my God!" Warren screeched, suddenly on his feet, "someone put
him out of my misery!"
"I got it!" Rogue shouted, flying over the couch and Warren both,
lunging at Bobby. He turned and bolted for the glass door, only to
run right into it and bounce back into Rogue's arms. "Ow."
"Caught!" Warren said happily, leaping off the couch and ricocheting
off the wall, then snatching the remote out of the air. He did a mid-air
victory dance, wings bobbing and fluttering in his ecstasy, Before
landing on the couch and raising the remote in his clutched fist.
"I - am - triumphant!" He smiled beatifically and calmed down suddenly,
cradling the remote next to his chest lovingly. "That bad, bad man
didn't hurt you, did he?" he crooned.
"Now why don't you show that much initiative in the Danger Room?"
Scott asked, frowning. "Though, perhaps without the . . ." he eyed
Warren, "unhealthy fondling."
Warren shot him a dirty look, then proceeded to ignore Scott magnificently.
"Rogue, let him go!" Hank said, jumping over the sofa himself and
trying to pry them apart. "He's not invulnerable and his bones just
won't bend that much!"
"I'll have you know that Myrtle has no complaints about my flexibility!"
Bobby protested around the shoulder-lock Rogue had put him in.
"Quiet, Bobby, I'm trying to save your neck!" Hank hissed.
"Ohhhh," Bobby said, winking. "Riiiiiight."
The phone rang and Scott picked up the portable that was beside him.
In the background the television continued playing, Bobby singing
'Dancing Queen' to the reporters. "Yeah, he's here," Scott said, standing
and walking to where Bobby, Hank and Rogue stood entwined. "It's for
you," he said, holding the phone to Bobby's ear.
"Hi, hon!" Bobby chirped happily. Then his face fell and his eyes
flickered to the television in horror. "Oh. You saw that, huh? Nah,
that's not me. You thought that was me? Ha ha!" he laughed unconvincingly,
"No! Of course not! What sort of person would have underwear on their
head? What sort of demented--ah, Rogue, watch the hair--twisted and
sick perso-- Myrtle? Myrtle?! Mert—“ He stopped and looked at the
phone. “Well, her name was Myrtle. I suppose the break-up was
inevita--Gah! Rogue, not the hair! Not the hair!"
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