Disclaimer: I do not own Bobby, I wish I did, Oh how I wish I did but I don't. So don't sue me! I have no money I'm just a poor poor college student. Poor broke me. I don't know who that other guy is in this story so uh ... there.

Okay and just a little request *puppy dog eyes* I've never tried to write Bobby before, I'm not entirely to familiar with him outside of fanfics, so um...comments please. Tell me if I went wrong! I must know! *grins* Pretty please let me know what you think, I uh ... I'll think really nice thoughts about you! Feedback at susie2@peoplepc.com

And Time Marches On
by Shera Crawler 007

Bobby rested his chin on his hand, eyes glued to the digital clock on the bedside table. He could barely read it from where he was laying in the bed, but felt a little to comfortable to move just to see it better when he could see it perfectly fine if he just squinted his right eye a little and tilted his head just so while holding his breath. Presently 11:58 glowed greenly at him.

Any second now, if the world still worked the way he thought it did when the day had started, the eight was going to become a nine. God he hoped it was going to turn nine instead of seven or three or maybe that little symbol name for The Artist Formerly Known As Prince. That would match how crazy he felt being here. It turned nine, 11:59, and he silently rejoiced even as he got a little more depressed.

One more minute until midnight ... one more minute until he was going to make himself leave. One more minute ... it came to him suddenly that he didn't much like minutes ... or time for that matter, at least not when it made him have to get up in the middle of the night to go back to his normal life.

Okay maybe normal wasn't the right word for your life when you were a mutant superhero that turned into a block of ice on a regular basis. But he liked to think of it as normal, maybe not conventional normal, but it was still normal if it was how every day was, right? After all Jean dying and coming back to life on a weekly basis was normal, the key to it was that it happened so often, sort of like a fact of life. Sort of like peas and carrots, and bad Forrest Gump impressions, it just happened ... a lot and it was normal and really really annoying.

He was saved from contemplating normality when the strong arm already draped across his naked waist tightened slightly and a face snuggled against his back between his shoulders. A smile snuck up on him, not really fading much when something wet rolled down his back from the vicinity of that face that sure as hell wasn't sweat. He drooled in his sleep, somehow he couldn't believe the little tingle of delight that ran through him at knowing that.

Sighing softly he lay there for a moment, luxuriating in the feel of a warm -- no scratch that the man was like a portable heater, a top of the line one at that -- hot body snuggled up against his. Hell he even enjoyed feeling drool roll down his back, although it was a little gross, if he just didn't think about it to hard though he could enjoy it.

He wanted to go to sleep, desperately wanted to go to sleep, his eyes were gritty from staying awake all night. But he didn't want to miss anything, no telling when he'd be back in this bed again being drooled on. That reminded him it was time to squint at the clock. 12:01. Damn.

For a moment he considered just staying where he was until morning but once again the thought of going to the mansion after spending the night obviously with someone else ... and all the questions ... and jokes ... and Warren's little smirking looks that were more than enough revenge for all the times he'd teased flyboy about staying out when they were younger....

No he did not want to spend the rest of tomorrow, or rather today, blushing over his secret. Better to sneak in like Gambit in the middle of the night. At least the Cajun kept it down to one raised eyebrow and a smirk around his cigarette that could either be classified as rubbing it in or congratulating him.

He sighed again and slowly pried the arm from around him, smiling slightly at the sleepy grumble and the now lonely arm stretching out searching for him, and finally took pity enough to shove a pillow against the man to curl up around. Which he did, like a freaking boa constrictor.

Bobby shook his head and quietly tiptoed out of the room, shutting the door behind him with exaggerated care before getting started on the daunting task of finding out where his clothes had landed after being yanked off him. A shoe under the fish tank, pants behind the couch, shirt on the floor in front of the door, and so on.

Dressed and smelling faintly of sex, he glanced around the living room one last time before letting himself out the door and back into his regularly scheduled program of denying who he was and freezing Hank's underwear.

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