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Numb	By : Rivulet027 Category: X-men Comics > Slash - Male/Male > Bobby/Jean-Paul Views: 1986 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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- 1
Spoilers: Sometime after Bobby’s secondary mutation thing, but in this
he’s managed to control it. I won’t chose exact book numbers as I
haven’t read in awhile.

Note: A big thank you to James, who issued the challenge that made me
write this and for putting up with me while I was having issues about
writing my very first NC-17 piece. Another big thank you to
buzzylittleb and dwarfy_drm for the excellent beta’s. Any mistakes in
the fics are all my own. Feedback is welcome, especially constructive
criticism as this is my first NC-17 piece.

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I blame shock, yeah, shock is a good scapegoat. Cause well my mind’s
blank. Part of me is still trying to process what Jean-Paul told
me, the other is going ‘oh blow job good.’
So yeah, shock.

I mean its not every day your boyfriend comes to you and say ‘hey I’ve
cheated on you. I still love you.’ How exactly Jean-Paul thought sex was
going to fix everything I’m not sure.

The conversation runs on a loop in my head until I’m unable to focus on
what Jean-Paul’s doing with his mouth. I can’t forget. Who would forget
having their heart ripped out and handed to them?

“We found her, my sister.”

“And?” I’d been worried; he’d been looking for her, been worrying about
her, since before he came to the mansion.

“She told Walter and me…she told us off. Then…Then she said,” he’d
stopped and stared at the floor.

“She said she never wanted anything to do with me again.”

His eyes met mine, “Bobby, I-I slept with Walter.”

It’s that last sentence that skidded my brain away and sent me into the
realm of not thinking. There are other things I could’ve handled
better.

‘Bobby, you’re annoying I don’t love you anymore,’ that I could have
handled. I could have laughed that off and pretended I’d seen it
coming.

‘Bobby, I’m sorry, I’m in love with Alex now,” is something I could have
dealt with. I mean, been there, done that, and had my heart broken more
then once.

But ‘Bobby I slept with Walter’? How was I supposed to have seen that
one coming? I guess I should have, I mean what with the whole
crush, unrequited love thing, but Walter dated his sister, so
well…uh gross.

Those words ‘I slept with Walter’ played over and over in my head. Why
did I ever think I was enough to keep him interested in me? In us? Why
didn’t I see this coming?

Okay shock’s wearing off and a whole lot of anger’s taking its
place. I’ve put up with more bullshit over the past few months from my
so called friends for dating him. I’ve told my parents that I’m dating
him. My parents! The ones who want me to bring home a nice, normal
girl! And, okay, if you get down to it that’s me stuff, but he was a
catalyst, a catalyst that cheated with an ex-teammate. I mean a former
football playing scientist versus me, somewhat goofy guy with an
accounting degree. And it’s kinda hard to wallow (in self pity) when
his mouth is around my cock and his hand’s tugging at my balls.

Fuck, he’s gorgeous. Suddenly, all I can think about is the fact that
Walter had his hands all over my boyfriend.

I ice up, but I only ice up that one part of me he’s attached
too. Learning how to overcome secondary mutations and controlling them
has advantages.

He gets stuck. Now most people in this situation, you’d think, they’d
try to get unstuck, or make a lot of noise in protest. He just glares
at me with this righteous look of indignation, which-of course-leaves
me even angrier then before. Who is he to feel righteous about anything
right now?
I try to tell him, but nothing comes out.

It’s so fucking frustrating! The angrier I get, the lower, softer, my
voice gets. Usually when I’m pissed I can manage a whisper but when I’m
really enraged nothing comes out. Nothing! It’s been this way since I
was a kid! That’s part of the reason I do so many pranks in a loud and
annoying manner. The instances where I need to be loud, need to be
annoying, I can’t make a sound.

He knows this. Instantly the righteous look is gone, and he’s looking at
me with concern as his fingers brush soothing circles against my outer
thighs.
Calm down, I tell myself, at least say something.

I’m not even sure what I want to say.

I could say, ‘Don’t ever fucking come near me again,’ which I really do
have a right to.

I could forgive him, but where would that get me? If I tell him it’s
all right he won’t think twice about cheating on me again will he? I’ll
have lost him completely.
I’ve already lost him, haven’t I?

I’m not sure I even want him anymore. I run a hand through his hair as
this hits me as I contemplate my other option. I could tell him I
don’t love him anymore.

No! No! I can’t. Even though I can barely look at him right now without
seeing Walter, I still love him.

Fuck, I still love him. I still feel that.

When I finally manage words I whisper, “Let’s get one thing clear right
now. You will, never, ever, fucking cheat on me again. Got that?”

He nods carefully.

I de-ice and push him away from me. He pulls himself to his feet
gracefully, because Jean-Paul is never anything but graceful.

I grab my pants and start pulling them up, I barely remember him pulling
them down. I don’t want to remember his explanation that both he
and Walter had been hurt, that he’d needed someone and Walter had been
there.

He swears at me, angry now. I try to push past him, he grabs me, and
turns me to face him, “Bobby, you could have hurt me!”

“You hurt me,” I throw back, my voice barely there.

His face momentarily gets that ‘Bobby’s so hot when he’s
pissed’ look, before going back to angry, hurt, then confused. When
did I get so good at reading Jean-Paul?

I clench my fist tightly. I can feel my nails digging into the palms of
my hands as I mentally run over the last six months. Fuck, we just had
our six month anniversary two weeks ago. I’d been so
happy and now…now…

I stare at him, not sure I can even get words out, but unable to leave.

He’d been gone for three days, ever since Logan had gotten the
information on where his sister was. Three days suddenly running
through my head. He’d wanted to speed there. Walter had insisted on
showing up from Alpha Flight and then Scott had convinced him to take a
jeep instead, so they could take some supplies to her, in case she
wouldn’t come to the mansion with them.

“I missed you,” I manage to whisper as I back up against the door. I
glare at him as I search for the ability to manage words. He’s suddenly
pressing against me, pushing me into the door. He kisses
me, desperate ‘want you now’ kisses tinged with an apology and this
fear of loss.

Memories of him whispering ‘mine’ against my flesh and this sudden
realization that he truly has lost anyone he’s ever loved
overwhelms me. I wrap my arms around him, pulling him closer: one hand
on his back the other on his neck as we kiss. I’m suddenly wanting…

wanting him.

“Mine,” I tell him in between our kiss, my voice slowly returning to
normal.

“Mine,” I manage forcefully as I back us towards our bed.

I’ve never done this before, never taken control in any
relationship, ever, but the
anger, confusion, want, need, lust, pain, the inability to tell
him anything, has me moving forward, not hesitating.

We pull off his shirt. He unbuttons my pants. As he goes for my zipper
I slide my hand into the back pockets of his jeans, haul him against
me, and grind slowly.

He pulls his head back, looking at me through half closed eyes. He
exhales, bites my lower lip, then moves in for deeper, longer, kisses
as we grind against each other.

He moans, tries to slide his hand between us. We slow. My eyes close as
he pulls down my zipper. I open them to catch his grin.

I shove his hands away and glare, “Mine.”

He looks at me confused as I shove him back against the bed. He lands
sprawled on his back. I yank off his shoes. They land on the floor with
a clunk. I toss socks away. I unbutton his pants, order him to lift his
hips.
He licks his lips.
“Bobby?”

Our eyes meet. I can’t control the anger, hurt, but I can focus it. He
lifts his hips and I yank off his pants. He naked, completely and I
don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. Just spread out, staring up
at me, questioning eyes darting over my face.

My eyes travel up from his
feet, ankles, long runner’s legs, balls, cock, smooth strong stomach. I
pause, tilt my head, wonder if the bruise there is from Walter.

Can’t think.

Push against him, kiss him, bite his neck, anything to not think. His
legs wrap around mine and he writhes against me. I kiss him forcefully
cutting off his moan. I pull away. He watches as I pull my shirt off. I
hesitate as I start to push my jeans down. I stand suddenly realizing
what I’m doing, what’s brought us…
Us?
What us?
There’s only…

Him watching me, me hesitating and before I can work myself back to that
cold sort of angry, furious enough to leave, he’s
kissing me again, pushing my jeans off and then pulling me back into
bed.

“Yours, Bobby, want you, don’t leave me alone, please don’t leave me
alone,” against my lips and I’m suddenly unable to think anything
beyond wanting him.

He pauses between kisses only long enough to finish pulling my pants
off. The nakedness brings my mind back to sex as I kiss him
back, desperate to bury the pain. My hands traveling down his
back, him grinding against me combining with a groan against my lips
makes it easy to lose myself.
I want him.

I want to forget that Walter exists. I want Walter to never enter our
lives again. I want to wrap my hands around Walter’s neck. I want to
hurt him for ruining all my illusions. Every thing I believed in about
me and Jean-Paul is shattered.

All I can see is Walter. All I want is Jean-Paul Walterless.

It’s hopeless. As much as I want to lose myself in Jean-Paul, there’s
only the two of us, a bed, and Walter hanging over our heads.

All I want to do is forget.
Is that wrong?

He’s kisses his way slowly down my chest to my stomach. I feel him, warm
breathe, hot tongue, with just a hint of teeth. He works
slowly, sucking hard enough to leave marks. He swipes his tongue around
in broad strokes. He’s making me moan, one hand jerking me off. His
other hand slides toward my face, he brushes his fingers over lips.

I-I can’t. I want…I so really want to, but I can’t. Fuck Walter. Fuck
Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul.

I push his hand away from my mouth and tell him, “Come here.”

He’s glances at me, confusion on his face. I grab hold of his upper arm
and tug him towards me, pull him close, and then we’re kissing again. I
wrap my arms around him and roll us so he’s on his back. My hands on
the bed, just over his shoulders, I lift my upper body and look down at
him, pause.

He breathes heavily, stares at me, our eyes meet. He moves slowly against
me, silently telling me to do something already.

I ache. I still love him and that’s more wrong than his cheating.

“Bobby, please don’t…”

I cut him off with my mouth, kiss deep, pull him close, and as I pull
away again I growl, “Mine.”
He pulls me back in, kisses me roughly.

I kiss haphazardly, move to his neck, suck while I grind with him. I
leave a large mark beneath my lips. With his metabolism it’ll be gone
before morning. At this point I don’t care I need to bruise, a
claim, even if it’s only for a little while.

I move down his chest, my tongue moving down the center before sweeping
over a nipple. I bite, hard enough for him to cry out and arch into
me. He moans my name as I soothe with my tongue before I move to the
other. I swirl my tongue around before moving down. This is what I
need, to concentrate on him, making him react, hearing my name on
his lips, him muttering unintelligibly, not only for the words I don’t
understand, but the speed.

This is how I want Jean-Paul, utterly and wholly mine.

It hits me then, this might be the last time I have
this. Pain, confusion, anger, loss, wash over me as I move against
him, make him cry out, pant, want.

I nip, lick, my way down to his inner thigh. I wrap my hand around his
dick, my thumb swiping over the tip as I suck on his balls. He
moans, pants, as I glance at his face, take in the love mixed with
desperation before I open the nightstand and pull out what I need. Then
I stare at him, laying their naked, under me, panting and watching my
every move.

“Bobby,” he tells me in a throaty voice as our eyes met. It’s clear he
means ‘don’t stop.’

I wet my lips. I can’t do this. I want to, a large part of me needs
to, but I’ve never made lo…fucked him before. What if I fuck up? What
if…what if Walter was better?
“Robert,” he says.
I glance at him.

“Bobby,” he whispers as he gives me an understanding smile. His long
fingers brush over my face and he sits up, kisses me slowly as he pulls
the condom from my hand. With a wicked smirk he opens it, slides it
over my cock. He licks his lips, then looks up at me. His eyes dart
over my face before he leans in again, kisses me, pulls back, takes
the lube from me.

“Move down the bed,” he tells me. I nod, do so silently. He sits across
from me, spreads lube on his hand and then he’s running it over my
cock.

I bit my lower lip, barely remember to breathe in and half close my
eyes, watching him as he adds some to my fingers then lays back
slightly as he guides one of them into himself. Our eyes lock, right
before he lets go of my hand. He lays back and grips the
pillow near his head as I pull my finger out, then in again, watching
him breathe heavily as I add a second. He moans my name on his
lips. Mine.

I gain confidence as I move my fingers inside of him. It’s a heady
experience stroking moans from him.

His grip on the pillow tightens as his head pushes back against the bed
as his hips move with me and he tells me with a
growl, “Now, Bobby, now.”

I bite my lip and fight the urge to pull away from him, walk away and
leave him wanting. His head tilts forward, our eyes once again
meeting. My heart lurches and heat spreads over my body. I pull my
fingers out and replace them with my dick, slowly slide into
him, never breaking our mutual gaze.

Oh God, actually I don’t believe in God, atheist, but oh God.

All the way there and I pause, as he wraps his legs around me. I brush a
stray hair out of his face and tell him, “Say it.”

He frowns, frustrated.

“Bobby,” he tells me forcefully as his hips move, urging me to stop
staring at him as if I’m going to consume him and actually do
something.
“Say you’re mine,” I tell him.
His eyes widen.

I roll my hips, “Say it.”
“Bobby, yours, you know I’m yours.”

I kiss him, desperate for him to know how I need this, us, not to be
over. I’m lost as I feel his cock between us. I kiss him, touch
him, fuck him, with all my pain and confusion driving and overwhelming
me. It’s all I have, all I know and all that I want in this moment. I
pour everything I have left into this one act, in him, on him, for
him, with him.
It’s all I have.
I lose myself.

He’s loud and I make little noise, concentrating instead on making him
feel. Want him, need him, and above all hate Walter.

Moving. Thrusting. Touching. Kissing. Hating Walter. I hurt. I ache. I
love. I hate and it’s good, it’s bad, it’s pain, it’s love. It’s the
beginning and the end of everything.

And when it’s over, after we’ve come, I realize I feel
nothing, numb. I’ve poured every emotion into this one act and it’s
left me dead.

I move out of him, throw the condom away and roll to my side staring at
the clock realizing that less then an hour ago I loved this man more
than myself and now…
now…

I feel nothing, not even pain.

He curls into me, nuzzles my neck and I ignore the words he whispers
against my flesh. I let him hold me, but don’t move to touch him, as I
stare at nothing, searching internally for any feeling.
Nothing.

I don’t even feel love anymore. I bite my lip and wish I could mourn
this. It’s over. No more Jean-Paul and me. I’m done. Tomorrow I’ll be
single.

Only I won’t, because I know that I’ll keep my mouth shut. I’ll go on
like nothing’s changed, try to ignore and cover the numb, almost
painless feeling with jokes. I won’t leave him. I can’t be like
everyone else in his life. I’ve had it done to me and I can’t do it to
another person, even if he’s hurt me.

I wonder how long it’ll be before he leaves me.
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