Disclaimer: They're Marvel's.
Notes: Contains no actual sex, but does mention m/m sexual activities. One for the break-up challenge, short and ugly.
Fighting writer's block. Need ammo. Send feedback.

Winter Where You Are
by Poi Lass

He was never quite sure how it had happened; if it was his fault or if they'd both just drunk too much; if he was seduced or seducer; if he'd finally given himself away: some word, some action, some look, or if he'd been fooling himself and Remy had known all along. But he was alone again by the time he woke up, left wondering if it had really happened or just been the best dream of his life or what, because when he arrived back at the mansion, everything was perfectly normal and Remy didn't say a word about it.

And when some random comment had made him think of that night, made him blush and glance at Remy -- Remy looked through him like Winter, from which it was understood that he was not to talk about it and not to think about it; that there would be no long looks, no covert touches, no private jokes. It never happened.

Until it happened again.

Until he glanced up from his beer, another perfectly ordinary evening out, to see Remy looking at him in a way he already knew well, and he'd had just enough to drink to find himself drawling: "So you wanna get a room?" as if he didn't care one way or the other -- but not quite enough to maintain his cool when Remy pulled a key out of his pocket.

But the next time he asked, as casually as was humanly possible, if Remy wanted to "go out," Remy had other plans, couldn't make it, suggested he ask Bishop instead. Which was a mental picture that made him choke, and when Remy thumped him on the back, making some comment about watching what he ate, his warm hand lingered no longer than it should have.

And so more unwritten rules were made clear without a word being spoken; Remy chose when, where, if, and he -- well he could always say no if he wanted to, could say, sorry, I can't, I have a date, I have a headache, I'm not in the mood, I don't want to, to which he knew Remy would simply shrug, would say "D'accord", and find someone else, someone better and more experienced and more attractive and never ask again and -- and he always said yes.

And so he became two people: Bobby Drake, and the nameless, shameless, prideless man who let Remy fuck him because he couldn't say no to those hands, those eyes, that mouth. Because Remy would do anything but kiss him, which was yet another thing he understood without asking. Kisses were for lovers. Kisses were for Rogue.

And sometimes he wondered bitterly what Remy wanted with him, anyway; there must be cheaper whores, ones who didn't demand his smile, and his laugh, and his tenderness. But then, maybe that was what he wanted, to be with someone who loved him enough to want those things, to be with someone who loved him, because after all, who wouldn't want  that? He did. Desperately.

And so he fled into the bathroom before Remy saw him crying, and threw up. Strange, because it was usually before they went out that he did that, like he always had before exams, and the first day of school, and visits to his parents, and fights with Magneto on the rare occasions that they had advance warning about it.

And Remy didn't knock on the door and ask him if he was all right, didn't come in, didn't hold him, and when he thought about it, he realised that if Remy had ever been at all likely to do any of those things, he wouldn't be throwing up in the first place.

And Remy didn't comment when he came out and got dressed without showering, even though they always showered, to try and keep Logan from finding out, even though Remy had said they'd have most of the night this time, as they weren't expected back, and hardly anyone was home.

He said, "I can't do this anymore," and forced himself to look into his not-lover's eyes as his throat closed on all the things he still had just enough pride not to say: It's not enough, this isn't enough, I deserve more, or at least I want more, I want you, I want you never to look at anyone else, I want to kill any woman you flirt with, I want to kill Rogue, I want to drop to my knees and beg her to forgive me, I want you to kiss me, just kiss me and I'm yours forever, or just ask me to stay, just say you want me to stay, and I'll stay, I'll stay, I'll stay.

And Remy shrugged.

"D'accord."

-(main) - (biography) - (discussion) - (stories) - (pictures) - (links) - (updates)-