Disclaimers: If they were ours, they'd probably try to get
away eventually. Cowards.

Spoilers: "New" X-Men 114, but not really.

Summary: Bobby comes back to the X-mansion and gets a
surprise. God, that's a lame summary. I apologize.

Ratings Note: NC-17

Authors' Note: Absolutely no redeeming value here. None. At
all.

Feedback: Yes, please.
janestclair15@hotmail.com, leytelj@gmail.com

*

He thought he was gone. Taken off, flown the coop, set off
for parts unknown. Or fairly well-known, if he's honest.
But gone, just the same. Very ordinary-looking Bobby at
home on Long Island, doing ordinary-looking-Bobby things.

Weird e-mail from Hank makes him come back.

He finds Hank. Different. Huge like he's always been, but
cat-faced.  Blue. Longish, very soft-looking fur, and his
hands like paws. And somehow in spite of it still
elementally Hank. Glasses perched impossibly on the end
of his nose, vivid mind behind the eyes.  Vocabulary and
irritation and genuine affection in his look when he sees
Bobby in the driveway.

Bobby's not quite sure if he's welcome. He left. Left
Hank and Scott and Logan to fight the remaining Sentinels,
and yeah, they're all older than he is, but he was still
supposed to be one of them.

Wasn't ready for the quiet of the house, or the looks his
parents gave him. Remembering the
kitchen-as-winter-palace ice accident that made him run
the first time. They weren't quite convinced he had it
under control. And neither was Bobby, frankly. Lying
awake at night with his window open, breathing suburbia
and miserably lonely.

So. Train to Salem Centre, hitch-hiking from there. Bag
over his shoulder and his jacket -- the leather one, the
one Scott helped him pick out -- wrapped around him and
this ridiculously long scarf that his mom made him for
Christmas when he was twelve wrapped around his neck. Cold
hands.

Warm Hank. Who comes down the mansion steps like he only
weighs a fraction as much as he currently does, picks
Bobby up, and just holds him off the ground for a couple
of minutes. Sniffing his hair a bit, but that's actually
an old Hank thing, just not one they've mentioned much.
The fur's soft, like the really expensive kind of coat you
used to be able to buy, before people started throwing
blood on you in the streets for wearing one. Big Hank,
wrapped all around him, and he's grateful, more than
grateful, that someone's finally glad to see him.

Though Hank doesn't usually hold him up for quite this
long. Bobby waves his fingers in Hank's face, expecting
thesaurus-perfect sarcasm, and only getting a wider smile.
Like watching a lion smile. A lion like something Bobby
would've drawn at the end of a box of Crayolas, when he
only had four different shades of blue left and that
annoying silver one that you could never use unless you
had black construction paper, something he had, at that
age, been convinced was only available around Halloween,
and then only for teachers.

No real reason to think that, he just kinda did.

And Hank's still holding him up.

"Uh, Hank?"

"Bobby!"

"Yep, that's me, are you going to put me down?"

Cheerfully, "No!"

"Well, that could get inconvenient if either of us, you
know, wants to do anything else today."

And Hank gets this thoughtful crease between his eyes,
genuinely thoughtful, like he's really trying to puzzle
this out. "Hank?"

"Hush, Bobby, I'm attempting to calculate alternative
solutions to this problem."

"Alternative to putting me down?"

"Yes, precisely."

"Because you're not gonna do that."

"Oh, most assuredly not. You might get away."

And this is when Bobby decides to worry. "Hey, Hank, about
this latest mutation --"

"Ah-ha! You can feed me!"

"I can... what?"

"Well, we are undoubtedly going to require sustenance at
some point. Since your hands are free, you will be able to
provide me with the nourishment I need." Hank finishes with
a half-pleased, half-smug grin. And continues to grin, as
Bobby continues to stare.

Right, try again. "So, about this new mutation, Hank --"

"I believe you said that already, Bobby."

"Very true, but it's only the beginning of what I was going
to say."

"Ah, I see. Please continue."

"Is there anything... different about this mutation? You
feeling okay, big guy?"

"I'm positively in the pink, Bobby. Or perhaps the royal
blue, but I'm sure you understand what I'm saying."

Bobby wonders if he does. Hank feels warm. Warm in a
furry-body kind of way, but also the kind of warm that
makes you check a person's forehead with the back of your
hand. Not that he's in any position to judge. His mother
caught him in the yard in the early morning a few days
ago, crouched in just his boxers and stroking the frost.
Way to make the 'rents relax, Bobby.

"I missed you, Hank." Wraps his arms back around the furry
blue neck and hugs one more time, because he wants to and
because he thinks it might be some kind of cue to let go.

And Hank does, at least, put Bobby back on his feet. Holds
him there, though. Bobby's arms don't reach all the way
around Hank's body anymore. Hanging onto the warm,
butter-soft leather of Hank's jacket.

"This new?"

"Indeed. And I have had to alter most of my trousers."

"Yeah, I could see where you might." Snakes a hand in
towards Hank's waistband and a spot that Bobby remembers
was ticklish on Hank's old body. Still is. Snapping twist
of blue warmth away from him when Hank dances back. Though
Bobby's not fast enough to get loose before a paw closes on
his wrist.

"Hey, you sure I'm safe in those mitts?"

"Bobby, I assure you that though I presently lack the fine
motor capacity to wield a ball-point pen or perform
cranial surgery--"

Heave.

"--I have retained my gross motor skills, and as such am
quite capable of manipulating the common Iceman when I
wish."

Up on Hank's shoulder in a too-easy fireman's carry. Both
his feet kicking and his backpack hits the ground with a
soft thud. He gets to look at it longingly, maybe howl
for it a little, while Hank hauls his sorry ass inside.

Excellent view of blue fur, really, though not a good
enough view to justify the new, improved, portable Bobby,
as far as he's concerned. Sucks in as deep a breath as he
can manage in this position and gets his face mashed
against Hank's body for the trouble. Not with nose-
breaking force, or anything, but definitely firmly. Hank
holds him there and continues to lope through the mansion.

Well, that leaves open the possibility that someone will
notice.

And soon enough, there's Scott. "Hey, Hank. Bobby's acting
up again, I take it?"

"Oh, my, yes. He tried to escape."

Short bark of laughter that only gets louder when Bobby
starts kicking.

"I'll just trust you to mete out whatever punishment the
situation calls for, then."

"Indubitably, Scott. Until later."

And they're moving again. He's going to frost Scott's
shorts for the rest of the man's natural life. He's going
to frost his *coffin*. He's going to... get carried into a
room and have the door slammed and locked behind him.

*Professor!*

No answer.

*Hey, *Charlie!**

No answer, and the next thing Bobby knows he's being
unloaded onto a hospital bed. The lab, then. And the
construction's been completed. Looking around is a little
like looking around a Science of the Future! exhibit at an
expo. Looking around being the only thing he can do with
Great Big Psycho!Beast holding him down to be strapped in.

*PROFESSOR!!!!!*

And he remembers. The Professor is currently testifying
before the Senate. It was in that e-mail he sent. The one
after the -- in retrospect -- very odd letter from Hank
that had contained nothing but several sonnets to the
human brain. And an haiku.

So. Tender mercies and all that. He can hope, at least, and
it's not like it's Magneto holding him down, or some random
villain who might want to, say, steal his brain for
research purposes. Though he's fairly sure that someone
would love to tell him that there wouldn't be any point.

*Bobby, your brain would be of little use to science. It
died long ago from lack of use.*

*Emma? Help!*

*Wouldn't dream of it.*

Gone. Not even the fingernails-on-a-blackboard scrape of
her in his head.

He wonders if screaming for Jean would help, whether she's
psychic enough yet to hear him.

Gets distracted by very soft fur tickling his ribs. Enough
to make him scream like the little girl that everyone
secretly knows he is and curl up in a very tight ball.
Trusting Hank not to let him roll off the table.

It's close. He manages to wiggle away fast and far enough
that his centre of gravity goes over the edge, and it's
only Hank's lunge that saves him from being
Bobby-the-Superhero-Who-Caved-His-Own-Head-In. Curl and
roll with him at the safe, airborne heart of it. All of
Hank's gymnastic skills are still there, bright and fast,
and the second's view Bobby had of him jumping made him
think of a *really* big, oddly-coloured cat.

And then lying on the floor, wrestling but not hard, and
it's been a long time. Bobby wonders when he got to be
such a touchy-feely person, and figures it's probably
X-related. His mother hugs him lightly around the shoulder
occasionally. His father shakes his hand. And yeah, neither
Jean nor Emma's real touchy (well, maybe Emma, but not in a
way that he can quite describe as *friendly*), but the warm-
fuzzies of his adolescence involve being very comfortable in
an X-Man dogpile, watching TV.

He wonders for a minute or two why Scott always gets to be
on top. And then gets back to the quasi-serious business
of trying to escape from Hank, which involves a great deal
of wriggling and blue fur blocking out the rest of the
universe at regular intervals.

Damn Emma anyway. Frosted bustiers, oh yeah, that's the
plan. And *hey* --

Frosts up enough to be slippery to the touch and makes a
break for the door.

And gets tackled. Thoroughly, bruisingly tackled.

"Ha! Got you."

It's time for reason. "You know, Hank, I'm beginning to get
a little worried."

"Whyever for, my young friend?"

"Well, it's mainly the involuntary imprisonment."

"Ahh... well, that's only to ensure that you cannot get
away."

"You've mentioned that a few times. Why am I not allowed to
get away?"

"It would be a very, very, very bad thing."

"I... see. Why would it be a bad thing?"

"But I was sure it was obvious!"

"Well... no, actually, it's not. And you're heavy."

"Yes, I mass well over 400 pounds, as you know. However, as
I am not placing anything near my full weight on you at the
moment, you really have no reason to complain."

"I beg to differ!"

"Nonsense, Bobby."

"Okay, I surrender on the weight thing --"

"Excellent! Now let's get you back to bed."

"Wait, wait!"

"Why?"

"You never explained why I'm not allowed to get away."

"Oh, of course. Terribly sorry. I must admit to feeling a
trifle absent-minded just lately. Most probably it has
something to do with the massive hormonal imbalances."

"Massive hormonal imbalances. Uh, huh. This would probably
explain a lot, actually."

"Most probably."

"About the me getting away?"

"You're not allowed to."

"*Why*, Hank?"

"Because then I wouldn't have a Bobby to play with, and
that wouldn't do at all."

Okay. Right.

Back onto the bed, plunked down there quite firmly, and
it's only quite a lot of yowling and several promises to
stay where he's put that keep Hank from strapping him
down. As long as Bobby lies quietly, Hank's satisfied.

Just quiet for a minute. The last time he saw the lab, it
looked a lot more... well, lab-ish. Bunsen burners. Petrie
dishes. Bits of machines being dissected in corners. None
of this chrome-and-flatscreen stuff.

Things are *stored* right now, which means that either
Hank's given up on research until he figures out how to
titrate using his claws, or Hank's been up to something
interesting enough to abandon the slightly disturbing wet
trays of cells and compounds that used to be the centre of
his universe.

"Did you build it?"

"Build what, Bobby?" Soft, furry hands on his face and
arms, just smoothing him. Careful with the claws while he
takes Bobby's coat and scarf away and lays them over a
chair.

"Cerebra."

Cracking smile. "Yes." He nods toward a set of nearly
invisible doors off to the left. "And the biological
imaging chamber."

"Oooooh, I get it. Hank's got new toys! You know, I woulda
looked with you if you'd just *asked."

Hank shakes his head. "I very much doubt that, Robert. And
at any rate, only Charles can yet use Cerebra."

"He say what it's like?"

"He said lights. Millions of them."

That's a lot of mutants. Everywhere in the world. They're
less alone than they think they are.

Hank's calmer when Bobby looks. Still watching him with
glittering eyes, but without the hysterical-comedy edge
that was starting to get pretty disturbing. Quiet cat feet
padding back toward him, and Bobby's trying to decide
whether or not Hank looks normal wearing both clothes and
fur. Or not 'normal', but.

Thought interrupted about the time Hank dives in. Replaced
by thoughts of hormonal mood swings, and disemboweled
Bobby, wonders if he needs to ice up a bit until Hank's
brain re-forms. Instead gets his t-shirt pushed up and his
belly thoroughly raspberried.

It's his day to scream like a little girl, it really is.
Squirming and shrieking and never quite getting away, and
he wouldn't have believed, actually, that Hank could still
*do* this, what with the new shape of his head and all.

Stills and shivers when it changes from a raspberry to a
slower, much more serious tonguing. In and around his
navel, up and down his abdomen. Disturbing, yeah, but it
feels *good*, and for whatever reason instead of pushing
Hank off he's holding him in place, sucking in air hard
enough to raise his ribs and turn his belly concave,
twisting just a bit to get licked in a couple of places
that've been complaining that Hank missed them.

Actually goes as far as moaning before Hank pulls back and
stares at him. Bright, surprised eyes in a
familiar/not-familiar face.

Confused eyes.

"Bobby?"

And the manic cheer is just *gone*. Like that. And Bobby is
definitely relieved. Relief is an emotion he can go with,
but Hank sounds *worried* and his hands are still caught
in Hank's fur and now Hank's starting to look a little
horrified, and guilt really can't be far behind, and
that's *wrong*. It's one of the basic facts in the
universe that Bobby should in no way upset Hank, no matter
whose fault it is.

"Hey, Hank, it's okay. You're just having Beastly PMS or
something. Hormones."

"Hormones." He sounds choked.

Bobby pets him a little, tries to project general
it's-okayness, but he can *see* Hank reliving the past
hour or so, and it's not pretty. Hank finally shaking
loose and backing away from him and looking to be about
three and half seconds from a full-fledged *bolt* and
"Hank. *Hank*, stop, you didn't hurt me --"

"I was. I was *tasting* you. I need to. I should just --"

"Stop. You should just stop. I knew you weren't going to
eat me or anything." And besides, it felt good. Which is
way more than Bobby wants to deal with right about now,
when the most important thing is to keep Hank from
disappearing in a haze of guilt for the next six years,
but Hank is shaking his head, lips curling back from those
new, improved teeth and --

"No, I wasn't going to eat you, Bobby..."

"Well, see, even better. Just a little licking between
friends, which is, okay, disturbing, but it." Felt good.
"But it's *okay*."

"No. No, it isn't. You taste very good, Bobby, and I think
you should let me go now."

He gets up, making himself suddenly huge, and heads very
fast for the door.

And Bobby jumps. He *knows* that a hundred and forty pounds
of Bobby isn't going to take down a quarter-ton of furry
Beast, but he has to try, and he's trusting that Hank's
sense of propriety won't let him go barreling through the
house with Bobby hanging on desperately around his neck.

Well, maybe half an hour ago it did, but his *current*
sense of propriety won't, and that's the main thing.

Hank sits, just tucks his legs under him and drops into a
sitting crouch on the very clean floor. Faint ammonia
smell. Bobby scoots around without letting go and drops
himself in Hank's lap, straddling the big legs and hanging
onto his shirt.

Whatever Bobby's feeling from sitting this close, he'll
just ignore, because he's just way too close to aroused,
too, and things are *weird* right now. And it's not
exactly the point.

Well, yeah, actually it probably *is* -- he's starting to
understand that -- but they're about three issues away
from dealing with that one.

"This happened before?"

"Now and then. The hormone surges are quite intense."

Bobby pulls back and studies him.

"Tell me it wasn't Scott last time."

Which does, in fact, raise the mental image of what Scott
might look like, mostly naked and without the stick up his
ass, squirming while someone licks his tummy. It's the sort
of thought that makes you wonder if Jean's about to hit you
with a telekinetic wedgie. And make you even more nervous
when she doesn't.

Hank shakes his head. "I fear our leader has romantic
trouble enough without my interference."

Bobby pricks his ears up. "Scott and Jean are fighting?
That's it. Hell's freezing over. The Professor'll get a
toupee next. Emma might even wear clothes."

It has the right effect. Hank laughs. Wraps both big arms
around Bobby and hugs him, rocks him back and forth and
*roars*. A little louder than he used to, but maybe he has
new vocal cords or something.

And that's as good as it's ever been. Close and held in a
reasonably normal position. Hank and the only expectations
on him is that he'll be a friend, a good one. Nothing but
what he wants, anyway.

Hank trailing off into chuckles, and Bobby suddenly gets a
flash of Emma dressed like a small-town librarian. Hair in
a neat bun, skirt down to her ankles, huge, bulky sweater --

*And you *wonder* why I had no intention of saving you.*

*Go *away*!*

*Watch your back, popsicle.*

Gives his mental Emma a massive wart and feels something
*coming* at him for a moment before slamming up every
wall-like thing Jean's ever taught him. Shakes it off,
which has the effect of making Hank start to pull away
again.

Bobby wraps his arms around his neck and holds on until
Hank returns the gesture.

"Bobby, the things we're choosing not to discuss at present
could fill volumes."

"You know me. Strong, silent type." Silently not-panicking
about being groin to groin and chest to chest and it's
really, really comfortable to just rest his head between
Hank's head and shoulder. Or maybe comfortable isn't the
right word. Sort of a slow, lazy feeling that still makes
his heart pound.

"Bobby, we have to talk --"

"*No*. No. We really don't. Trust me on --"

Low growl beside his ear, making him shiver. "If we don't
talk, I have to touch you."

"Oh, God..." And it's *him* sounding this broken and
suddenly Hank is pulling him in hard, paw-hands roving all
over his back and down and apparently that talking thing
was time sensitive and sensitive is a really good word
because he's hard all over and nuzzling and Hank's
growling steadily and things are rapidly getting all out of
control.

Just... oh... furry. Hank's hands are *soft* in a way that
no entirely human hands are ever going to be. Softer than
the softest female touch he's ever had. Makes him tense
and shiver and push back against them and forward against
Hank's chest. And even this, in spite of his arousal, is
just a really elaborate form of snuggling. A more erotic
version of what used to happen when Bobby had nightmares,
or Hank couldn't sleep, or they got particularly
comfortable during the all- night, all Next Generation,
Star Trek Fest. Bobby and warm, big Hank and pop corn.

It's Bobby who kisses. Hank's *smelling* him all over,
rubbing against him, and Bobby has to kind of pause and
wait for the right moment. Just the slightest movement
backward that lets him get the big head in his two hands
and lean in and.

Oh god yes.

Warm, alien shape of the mouth, but it opens against his.
Sharp teeth that he can trace with his tongue, warm Hank
smell/taste. Heave of that huge chest while he leans in
and gives this his most serious try. Not his first kiss,
but different enough that he hasn't got anything to
compare it to.

And then his head tips back and Hank's tongue is in *his*
mouth, long and smart and reaching. Big hands holding him
together and thank god for Scott's hideously painful
flexibility lessons. Bent over half- backwards and loving
it.

The kiss breaks and Bobby takes blue fur from both Hank's
cheeks between his fingertips and rubs it.

"This is really... this is gorgeous, you know?" It really
is. Maybe not entirely human, but he's beautiful in that
silky, feral way that you see in African animals. Wisdom
in him of something ancient.

"Bobby..."

"I was kinda expecting you to tell me about it, you know? I
had to hear about your new you from *Jean*. But I suppose
the hormones--" forehead rub, "were keeping you busy,
yeah?"

Rubs himself down into Hank's lap. He vaguely knows he
should have big issues with this, but he really doesn't.
Nope. Not one. Just Hank, warm and soft and friendly and
smart, his friend since he was a pathetic scared kid.
Holding him gently.

"Bobby, I desire you greatly."

Makes his breath hitch, makes him start to ache. Just that
fast. Stilted, archaic language and everything. Oh, man,
he's got it bad and talking would be really good now.

"Touch me." Not what he wanted to say, though he isn't
entirely sure *what* he might have wanted to say, only.
Only it was necessary, because there's nothing in Hank's
eyes but this almost agonized want.

Like Bobby's the most necessary thing in the room, oxygen
aside, and he's being bent back again. Hank's eyes almost
lambent bright. Teeth showing and Hank bends to his
throat, and even though it's only the vaguest *idea* of
danger, the motion makes Bobby buck up *hard*.

Paw tugging his shirt aside and Hank's tongue on his
collarbone, curling up around his throat. Not true
cat-rough, but not strictly human, either, and he breaks
out in goosebumps like a thirteen year old girl. Too good
to feel truly embarrassed. Too good to do anything but let
his head fall back and moan.

And Hank purrs.

This vast low rumble that's its own kind of agony. Bobby
feels himself shuddering and gives Hank his full weight.
Trusts him. Needs this. Something. So *hard*.

Shifting now until it's like a rewind. Him on his back on
the floor, Hank straddling him. Only touching him now.
More weight. Serious intent. Something almost like fear
now, but it's Hank, and Bobby's going to *get* this.
Whatever this is. *Everything* this is.

"Bobby." That low, growling voice. "Take off your shirt,
please."

Minute where he wants to ask Hank to do it for him. But if
he can't even hold a pen, buttons are a write-off. So.
Unbuttoning, shrugging off the shirt and wiggling out of
t-shirt underneath. Leaving himself bare to the waist.
Cold floor under his shoulders and warm Hank against his
chest. Ohhhhh, fur. He's so *soft*. Feels so *good.*

Hank bends his head down to Bobby's chest, starts smelling
him at the throat. Down around both shoulders, into the
cool creases of his armpits, across his chest. Tongue on
him tracing every rib. Navel, circled and licked and yeah,
it does feel better that they can just do this. His fingers
in Hank's fur again, encouraging.

Tongue along the waist of his jeans.

"Hank..."

Soft knuckles rub against the little indentation of his
waist. Pensive, and the mouth on him stills after a minute.

"Mmmm. Penny?"

"I believe it might be a good idea to remove ourselves from
these environs."

"Mmmm?"

"Though I am aware you do not feel the cold, this is not
the most comfortable venue available to us. And Jean is
taking an unwholesome interest in the workings of my
machines, lately."

Bobby thinks that if Emma were actually here -- and he's
not convinced that she's not, but she *felt* far away --
it'd be time to scrub his brain out with soap. Does *not*
want to be caught with the images of Jean and machines
that're currently in his brain. Next time he pissed Emma
off, all she'd have to do would be share those bits with
Scott, and next thing you know it's *mornings* for Bobby,
bright, super-early mornings with jogging and sparring and
bleeding and bruises...

Buries his face in Hank's shoulder and laughs helplessly.

Hank just pets him. Fur against his belly.

His room, he thinks, except that he doesn't *have* a room.
He left. Strange-familiar house that he's only just come
back to. And Hank's room is more or less buried in printed
matter; he'd bet his eyeteeth on that one. Which leaves...

"Attic?"

Slow nod. "Indubitably."

So. Gathers his clothes and manages to get the t-shirt over
his head, overshirt shoved under his arm, out of the lab
and up the stairs. Finds his backpack dumped on the
landing. Remembering when he was twelve and already too
old for this, and dragged all the blankets he could get
his hands on up to the attic and built a fort out of them
anyway. Sat in it reading Superman comics and eating most
of a bag of Oreos for eighteen hours until someone noticed
he was missing. Asleep by the time anybody went looking for
him.

He woke up and this huge person was animal-crouched under
the blanket- roof, looking at him. The glasses somehow
unreasonable on a man that size.

Hank helped him find old furniture that genuinely wasn't
being used, and that, say, Scott or Logan, wouldn't miss
too much. Built him a permanent hide-out and ran
interference when he wanted to be alone.

And sometimes visited. Diffidently, at first, and then just
as a matter of course. This, too, was Bobby's room, and
Hank was always welcome.

Attic corner covered with pillows where actual chairs
were unavailable. Mismatched motley thing going on, the
cushions from a half-dozed sprung couches, a few
hopelessly stained throw pillows, tatty old comforters,
huge down roof filtering sunlight. Stacks of paperbacks
and comics and magazines too glossy too ignore when Bobby
is in those "ooh, shiny!" moods. Tiny refrigerator, shut
down, now, but usually filled with assorted tasty snack
sensations.

The best fort *ever*, and just one of many reasons that
Bobby's decided growing up is for quitters. And a little
weird to be hard here. To feel this untouched cold, and
know the only possible relief is Hank. Sex. Sex *here*.

Weird, but maybe no better place, after all. He wants Hank
out of those clothes. Hank standing so huge in this small
place, dominating Bobby's senses and he attacks the shirt
with something like singleminded focus and Hank just
*lets* him.

Too much. Responsibility, and, yeah, claiming this, because
Hank is no one's but his. All his and shirt off and Bobby
presses his face against Hank's chest. Buries himself in
fur and nuzzles and searches until he finds the flat coin
of a nipple.

Sucks. Hard. Aches at Hank's gasp and bites down,
half-helplessly and just *needing*. Wrapping his arms
around Hank as far as he can get them and holding on.
Sucking and licking and biting and needing that wet low
growl and getting it with a soft hand in his hair. Tickle
of claws on his scalp and. Silence.

No big words, no commentary, just the *sounds*. Sex sounds
and touch and Bobby's getting warm again. Body insisting
he's on the right track and God, oh God, so good.

Just groans when Hank flips them and lays him out on the
pile of various softnesses. Keeps sucking as long as he
can. And then one more time down his body, that *mouth*,
him moaning louder in the sound- swallowing closeness of
the attic. Spreads his legs as wide as he can around
Hank's body and sort of wiggles up against him. Thrusts.
*Twists* upward when a big hand closes around him there and
massages.

"Oh god Hank *please*."

Fumbling at his waist. Bobby eventually reaches down and
helps, pulls the buttons loose and tangles his fingers
with those soft paws and laughs when the
still-very-opposable thumbs close around his own. Both of
them working his jeans open and his underwear down,
laughing and Bobby *knows* he's not helping by wiggling
this much, but he just can't resist.

Thinking that five cold hours by train and car and foot was
no price at all to pay for this.

This first touch of tongue and fur against his erection. It
leaves him too breathless to scream, just gasps like he
thinks his lungs will tear. No fear at all of the teeth,
and that's stupid, he should be very, very afraid, but
he's just *not*. Holds still, finally, when big hands
grasp his hips and whimpers while Hank licks his thighs,
his hips, the shape of his pubic hair, and only when he's
really going to lose it, his cock.

And, well, naked Bobby, Hank in just his uniform pants,
filtered light of the attic, one boy going very quickly
insane. Loving the noises Hank makes while he tastes him
and just about inside out from the sensation of it.

"Yes Hank oh god I missed you please..." and then, without
any forethought at all, "Fuck me if you're going to oh god
yes."

Still moment in which Hank pulls his head up and stares at
Bobby. Reaches out a hand and strokes his cheek with the
back of it. Hard, cool claw-backs making him shiver.

Sits back and just watches.

Bobby makes a couple of decisions that mostly involve
sitting up long enough to get his jeans off properly,
which entails unlacing his shoes first, and getting his
socks off. And then sits there, naked and looking back,
knees spread enough to make sure they both understand what
he just offered.

"Bobby... I would do anything before hurting you." Hank's
hands opening and closing on air, constant flex of them
and Bobby knows they want to be on him.

Scoots closer and grabs Hank's wrist. Presses it to his
face and rubs. Tries to spread his legs a little wider.
Something back-brain instinctive about it. The knowledge
that Hank wants him, that he can drive Hank a little crazy
with it. Be the hungry slut and fuck, oh fuck, crazy light
tracing of one neat claw back behind his balls and if he
bucks it could be very, very bad, as well as difficult to
explain.

Just arches with it. Grunts through clenched teeth as the
claw moves lightly over his balls, circles and spirals his
cock and God God please and he doesn't know if he's moaning
aloud, just knows this tease is *killing* him.

Looks up to beg for more and Hank's just focused on his
crotch. Eyes gleaming. Something like possessiveness that
makes Bobby's skin heat even more, like his personal
temperature controls just took a vacation, leaving him to
roast in this pleasure.

"Please do it, Hank. Please."

"*Bobby*... we need... I can't --"

"Inside me, Hank, I swear it'll be okay I need you there
need you to fuck me hard --"

Sudden fist around his cock. Brutal and soft at the same
time, stripping Bobby's cock like Hank's trying to yank
the orgasm out of him by main force. Just falling into it
for a moment, bracing his hands on the floor and thrusting
up into dryness that still isn't quite enough friction.
That *fur*... so good and he can lose himself in this. Let
Hank just *use* him but God he wants more...

Soft breath against his neck for a second before Hank hauls
him bodily into his lap. Just gracelessly sprawled across
him, clinging while Hank jerks him off, twisting and
uncareful and going nuts from the fur-slide against his
naked skin. Still trying to pull his brain together enough
to beg when all his limbs turn electric for a split- second,
and he comes, wailing and shaking and collapses against the
arm holding him.

Has to get his breath back. Warm and post-orgasmic and
trying not to cry. Staring up at Hank with a look that he
*knows* is close to miserable betrayal. Biting his lip.
And as soon as there's feeling back in his hands, he
pushes himself upright. Tries to get out of Hank's lap.

Hank keeps him there. Arm wrapping around his shoulders,
pulling him in, and this careful, careful kiss. Soft,
snuffling, still-aroused breath against his cheek.

He can't not melt. Still relaxed from coming and delighted
by the feel and smell of Hank's fur. Rubbing against him,
naked against fur and leather and only gradually realizing
how hard Hank still is under him.

"Hank...?"

Hank rubs his face against Bobby's cheek. Makes him shiver.
"Bobby. I need you to consider carefully what you asked."

And yeah, he's noticing that his brain's working better.
Thinking a bit more clearly about what he wants, how he
wants it. Maybe not just tearing into him. Softer, a bit
more careful, but he *wants* it...

"Bobby, have you ever engaged in such an act before?"

"You know the answer to that." Burrows his face into Hank's
chest fur. Hank knows Bobby would have told him. He knows
the details of every tiny kiss Bobby's ever had. Hank
knows, *could* know so much. Brief image of a younger
self, icing his groin down regularly because he couldn't
hold back, hard all the time.

If Hank had gone hormonal *then*... shivers and feels the
first tiny rush of new arousal. "Hank, I have. Some lotion
you won't hurt me you *won't* --"

Gasp above him and Hank's body just *surges*. Iron hard
heat against his ass. Pushing and large and Bobby grinds
down against it. Just to see. Just because he has to.

"Bobby, I fear my control is rapidly eroding." That growl,
that *growl* --

"Fuck me, Hank. Please, tell me you will... God, fuck,
*anything* --"

"Anything you want, Bobby, yes, so beautiful... but I
can't. Prepare you."

Oh. And oh, fuck, it's almost *crushing*. Just something
basically *wrong* that Hank can't touch him inside, Hank
should be all over him, Hank should never *stop* touching,
and Bobby comes somewhere close to himself when he realizes
that he just rubbing himself up over Hank's body.

His friend, his *friend* with that unmistakably pleading
note in his voice, holding him, but not stilling him,
giving Bobby this, too, and it's so good. Too good.
Bobby's cock trying to rise to the occasion much, much too
soon and he can't stop, *can't* stop until finally he gets
it.

God, no one, *no* one would ever say he was bright. Do it
himself. Hand lotion in his backpack.

Where. In his backpack. Has to move away, moaning while he
does it, tiny hesitation before Hank lets him go. Hunting
for it now, tossing pillows and he feels almost *blind*
with it, so hideously, childishly *unfair* that he has to
be separate from Hank for this and *there*. Just outside
the fort. On the floor and Bobby snags the lotion.

Walks unsteadily back to where Hank is still sitting there,
just watching him move. Bends down for a none-too-careful
kiss, sloppy and wet and knees almost giving at the feel
of Hank's tongue in his mouth. Pulling back before he can
fall, moving a few steps away and settles against the
couch.

Spreads his legs and just touches himself.

Need in even this. *Showing* Hank the way he jerks off, the
way he plays with his balls.

Not even hard again yet, but on his way there. Closer every
time he rolls his balls in his palm. Feels the shape of
them, pulls the skin tight around them to show them to
Hank, offer them up to him. Shiver through him when Hank
growls. Reaches for him and rubs a careful heel of his
hand against the tight-stretched skin.

Leaves them in Hank's grip while he slides his fingers
down. Not even slick, yet, but reaching towards it and.
Can't. Has to shift, get his knees up, ass out, legs *way*
apart, has to scramble to manage it. And does, gets so he
can feel the air brushing him, and Hank's fur, and Hanks
god his *eyes* watching him, balls in that soft-hard grip.

Hand lotion helps. Slick-cool on his fingers, something
that he thinks would probably be uncomfortable for someone
with a higher body temperature than his. Slides his hand
down and touches the hole. Place he's never been, or not
like this. Never deliberately *touched* it before, not
quite sure how it can be aching the way it is. Little flex
when he touches, and a long quiver through him at the
cool-slick- pressure.

Takes a long, deep breath before he pushes the first finger
in. God *in* him, nowhere near as big as Hank's going to
be, but enough to make his eyes wide. Sliding in just a
bit too fast, making himself gasp and just before he
thinks he can't do this, hits something and bends his
whole body most of the way over backward. Wants it
*again*, wants it harder. Lifting his whole body up after
the feel of it. Slick touch inside him and god if Hank
feels even half this good...

Another one. Awkward to slick it without taking his hand
out, but he manages it, help from Hank handing him the
bottle and taking it away. Not holding his balls anymore,
but rubbing the insides of his thighs, holding them apart
and tilting them up to make him open. Hank's gonna *take*
him, just as soon as he can manage to get himself ready.

Pressure against him while the second one goes in, and
here's the stretch he didn't have before. Has to push a
bit to get it in, has to pant for a long time, and no, it
doesn't hurt, not exactly, but he can *feel* it. Pressure
in his belly making him hard again. Makes him want that
other finger way before he's ready to take it.

And Bobby *can't* wait. Shoves in with a cry and *twists*
with it, Hank pushing him wider, either making it easier
or just making it better. Wonderful that he doesn't have
to hold his own thighs open. Hank will do it Hank will
take care of him and what if and oh god. Has to fuck
himself. *Finger* himself, god, like a girl. Can't keep
his eyes open. Just thrusts and thrusts until he finds the
rhythm, finds the friction that's just burning him alive.

Feels himself loosening and does it faster, harder, needing
it to be Hank doing this and he's begging and Hank's
growling and Bobby doesn't understand waiting anymore.
It's just this meaningless, awful thing that has nothing
to do with him, with them --

"Bobby, I must remove the rest of my clothing."

"No, no, just keep holding me oh god open. Just keep
looking --"

"*Bobby* --"

"Looking at *me*."

Shoving in just the tip of a third finger and it makes him
shudder convulsively, makes Hank growl, lean in and place
his teeth very, very gently against Bobby's throat. A
smile, a snarl against his skin and Bobby has to rub at
it, mark himself, fuck himself, fumbling for the lotion
and just dumping a huge dollop of it on himself, slicking
it around his hole and his pumping fingers.

Can't get in far but he has to, has to reach that *spot*
and Hank lets him go and he can hear the zipper going down
so *loud*, and this groan of relief that makes him open his
eyes.

Half-lidded and staring just as Hank stands to shed the
uniform pants and his briefs. No shoes or socks, of
course, just those new and weirdly rounded feet-paws and
Bobby's still pumping, still trying to keep himself open,
but he has maybe one functioning brain cell left and it's
telling him to look. Look up and Hank is so *big*.
Something that would maybe frighten him, that maybe
*should* frighten him, but he just wants to be. Surrounded.

Held in and engulfed and Hank's cock. Deep blue and
furless, pushed almost all the way out of its sheath and
leaking steadily and Bobby *wants*.

Lying very still with the fingers still up inside him.
Slick and wet and god he's such a *slut*. Just watching
with big eyes while Hank gets a palmful of lotion and rubs
it on himself, more even than there is on Bobby, and yeah,
that's probably a good idea. Make this a bit easier.

He leans into the kiss Hank offers him. Big, dangerous
mouth on his own. Arm around his shoulders pulling him
forward, turning him, laying him down. On his back in the
soft floor of the fort. And he just lies there for a sec
with his knees spread and stares. Shivers when Hank's
knuckles brush his ankle. Moans when those hands pick him
up. Both feet up off the floor, forcing his hips up and
out, *spreading* him. Flexibility that he's just barely
held onto during his last period of non-superheroness, but
it's enough to get him wide enough for Hank's body to fit
in against him.

And then higher, feet on Hank's shoulders, around his neck.
It leaves Hank's hands free, and as long as he's leaning in
close ...

Gonna give it up just like this. Stretched and spread, feet
widening to rest on Hank's shoulders, pushing to stay
there, and soft fur brushing his too-open hole.

Slick like he can hardly believe it, careful of the claws,
god he's so *empty*. Wants this.

"Hank, please..."

"Shhh, Bobby. Gently."

*Fuck* gently. Same thought that stays in his mind right up
to the second he feels the head of Hank's cock against him.
And then a lot of blankness and this slow, shaky breath
while he thinks about taking that inside him. It's already
pushing. Opening him, just steady and inexorable, making
him wider and tighter-stretched and he can't even *talk*,
can't moan, can't do anything but pant and want. And howl
when it pushes in, this sudden slide that he can feel
rearrange him. God so *big*, just in him far enough to be
past the widest stretch, holding still while his feels his
eyes and his mouth go just the same amount of round, trying
to believe he's doing this.

Hank's holding him again. Bracing his legs wide while
animal-soft hands on his thighs pet him. Whispering how
brave he is to do this. Take this. How *good* he feels.
How beautiful he is, how gorgeous he looks stretched this
far open.

"Always so very beautiful, Bobby. I've wanted you..."

"Oh God, Hank... inside me, oh please oh fuck..." Trailing
off into meaningless babble and it's all meaningless.
Nothing compared to being *spitted* on Hank and the
mindlessly obvious realization that he's about to be
*fucked* now.

Hank panting like he's run a race, straining to hold
himself still while Bobby wraps his mind around all this
and, finally, moves.

Shifts and flexes internal muscles and he can't decide if
that was a mistake or not. Sudden burning and *fullness*
and Hank's helpless jerk, sinking him deeper inside and
Bobby let's his head fall back. Tries to focus enough to
keep his legs up and Hank starts to slip out, apparently
dragging Bobby's insides with it and he can't help but
follow the movement. Winds up pushing *in* to the next
thrust and groans aloud.

Head falling back and everywhere his body's *alive* and
Hank is fucking him now. Out and *in*, forcing a sound out
of Bobby with each thrust because its hitting just right,
so deep, *Hank*.

Scrabbling to get his foot back on Hank's shoulder and so
utterly unprepared for the next thrust, almost yells with
it despite Hank moving so slowly, or maybe because of it
and *again* and this *explosion* of pleasure and Bobby
does yell this time and

"Bobby, please, you must... please relax oh God I can't
hurt you, don't let me hurt you..."

Can't even begin to form an answer, can't do anything but
yell again, sobbing, when Hank thrusts in again, eyes
closed and *tortured* with it. Good and pain and more
good, inside, oh inside and Hank's growling now, shaking
with it. Next thrust harder and Hank's begging, but
Bobby's feet slip and the angle's wrong and this is going
to *kill* him.

Hank slipping out with a moan and touching him with shaking
hands, touching his face, and at first Bobby can't make out
the words, but

"I'm sorry, oh Bobby, my beautiful, we don't have to, I'll
stop, I promise it's okay, but please stop crying..."

"No, Hank, God, you can't stop you have to fuck me, Hank,
please, it's okay, it's okay..." All the words he has left
and Bobby bucks up, tries to reach Hank's cock, tries to
get it back, tries to *think*.

Finally rolling over on his belly, knowing Hank will move
to comfort him, but pushing up on his knees before Hank
can apologize again. Before Hank can do anything but *see*
him like this. See him begging for it.

Open hole *aching* without Hank and he wishes so *hard*
that he could just say this, tell him how much he wants
it. Just needs it to be a bit easier. Maybe. Whimpers when
Hank reaches out both hands and rubs his back. Soft,
steady, working out the tension in him, rubbing it all
down to pleasure that melts and pools in his belly just
above his cock.

"God... want you, Hank."

Kisses on his back. Strange and not the kisses he would
have expected, softer and wetter and more diffuse,
covering him. Licking his shoulderblade and rubbing just a
single tooth against it.

And hands sliding under him, starting at his belly and
working up to his chest. Careful fingers touching his
nipples, working them up to points and rolling them. Tight
grip that makes him shiver. And *twist* on them, fast and
sharp and it makes him howl, makes him buck and beg and
god he *wants* this. Bends his shoulders farther down and
pushes his ass back.

"Please Hank. You have to fuck me you can't *tease* me like
this. God you felt so good, you went so *deep*."

Ghost of a voice against his shoulder.

"Deeper this way, Bobby."

"I don't care. Do it."

"Bobby..."

"Hank, if you love me, *please*!"

Kiss at the base of his spine, just where his ass starts.

"As you wish," like the ghost of a movie, one that they've
seen god knows how many times together.

Fingers brush at his face, and Bobby didn't actually
realize until now that he's crying. Tears burning down his
face, and he must have scared Hank to death. And yeah it
hurt, but it was so *good*. Something wet on his shoulder
that he doesn't acknowledge, and a kiss on top of it, and
Hank bends over him.

Just covers him for a minute. Hank's big enough for that.
His whole world blue and soft and loving him. Kissing the
side of his face, rubbing that massive chest against his
shoulders. Cock just barely brushing against his ass,
giving him time to get comfortable with this closeness.

Then one hand reaches back and he can feel it again. Big,
but not impossible. Makes him groan, bite his lip while it
pushes. What he really wants is to scream. Just let this
all out as sound. Show how much he *wants* it. But he
needs not to scare Hank. So. Just breathing ragged like
something a hundred years old, waiting for what might be
permission. Pushing back helplessly when it takes too long
and Hank's cock rubs all along his cleft, slick and *hot*
and it makes Bobby whine like a dog.

"Shhh... I have to. I have to be inside you again, Bobby."

"Yes..."

"God, Bobby, I need you, please be ready for this --"

"Gonna scream I will I will... just do it anyway --"

Roar of a growl and Hank slams home and Bobby does scream
because it's exactly as good, better, deeper, Hank so
thick and hard inside him. Sliding out almost all the way
and *driving* in. Hank covering him and fucking him and
Bobby tries to bite his lip, but just tastes iron and
yells anyway.

Impossibly good, *needful* thing and Hank doesn't stop this
time. Fucks Bobby through the sobs and cries and moves his
hands back to Bobby's nipples, pinching and twisting them,
bright, lancing shots of sensation right to Bobby's heavy
cock and it's finally sinking in.

Everything Hank can do to him. *Is* doing to him and Bobby
can't do anything but love it, rock back against the
steady thrusts and dream of it being just like this
forever.

Nothing but Hank and the way Hank is *working* him, using
and taking and breathing hot and humid against the back of
his neck, licking him up to the edge of Bobby's hairline
and down again. Soft grunting growls and those *hands* on
him. Soft rake of claws down the center of his chest and
Hank's hand closing on his cock.

Pumping him and fucking harder now and Bobby just leaves
his mouth open. Lets Hank fuck the sounds out of him,
surrounded and full and needing, just *needing*.

Pumping that ends with this *thrust*, deeper in his body
than it's gone before, makes him scream again. The sound
huge in his ears but somehow muffled by the fort around
them and fuck it, they're at least two floors above
anybody else. Lets Hank hear him. Fucking so *deep*,
smooth pumping that just breaks every so often and pushes
deeper. Pushes the air out of his lungs and he's not going
to have any *voice* tomorrow.

"So lovely Bobby. Beautiful. What I *wanted*--" god *deep*
"-- for so *long*."

Bends down over Bobby, heavy enough against him to press
his chest down against the floor, just his ass up and Hank
*shifts* in him as they move, hits *exactly* the right
place, and whatever he felt with his fingers working it
isn't *anything* to this.

Long trail of a kiss that reaches the corner of his mouth,
makes him turn his head and cry into it. Can't *not* make
noise while he's being fucked like this. Something Hank
gets, he thinks, because there's no threat of *stop* in
him, just wanting.

Gone from his back for a second. Cold without him. Then
hands on his chest, cock moving in new, mind-numbing ways
in him, and Hank *lifts* him. Strong like Bobby can never
believe. Gets upright and pulls him back into Hank's lap.
Kneeling behind him, this huge base of support for Bobby
to settle against. The weight of his whole body pushing
him down onto Hank, rubbing the good spot with every
shift, not even sure if Hank can thrust like this but
Bobby thinks he could come just by working his hips.

Gets his knees under him and does just that. Fucks himself
on it, arches back and takes the kisses Hank was aiming to
give the top of his head, twists and moans when those furry
hands come up to keep working his nipples. Bright
pain-pleasure like he wouldn't have believed, not even a
place on himself he'd thought about until this.

Works himself in sharp twists, shallow, slow circles, gets
the head of Hank's cock rubbing deep inside him, so vivid
he can tell *just* where it is. Kissing and jerking
himself. Hank growls into his mouth. Shifts them just that
much and *slams* into Bobby from underneath. So deep
Bobby's eyes give out for a second, and then, god, *again*.

Pushes him over. Hard, impossible thrusts and his nipples
like controlled lighting and both hands frantic on his
cock. Screaming the house down and absolutely not caring.
Desperate until he's completely limp, leaning forward
again.

Hank's hands around his waist, but he pushes against him,
and Hank does eventually let him slide. Bobby catches
himself on too-shaky arms, folds them and lays his head on
top. Somehow keeps his hips up, still impaled on Hank,
who's still hard, let Bobby come *twice* already.

Bobby says, "Finish. It's okay, just do it."

Gets pulled up higher and *deep*. Every part of him so
sensitive and he's moaning again. Half-sobbing and
terrified of getting hard again. Fear of his insanity,
like, oh, sorry, folks, Iceman won't be in today, Hank
fucked him catatonic. On and on and Bobby isn't sure if he
even has actual bones anymore. Whole body liquid and Hank's
as the thrusts get ragged, almost brutal. Harder and
faster and hitting him just right inside until Bobby has
to squeeze his oversensitized cock to get it under
control. Off-balance and being *moved* with the fuck until
Hank finally slams in *hard* one last time and comes roaring.

Just barely managing to catch himself before collapsing
half to the side. Still managing to pin Bobby to the
pillows beneath them and that's. Really wonderful,
actually. One of the best ideas Beast has had today out of
a whole slew of very good ideas.

Bobby catches himself purring a little and goes with it.
Moans a little when Hank shifts away, but it's only to
pull Bobby in to spoon against him. Curled and limp and
kissed, again and again, on the back of his neck. Makes
him shiver and move closer. Hank's arm around him.

Warm and safe.

Bobby closes his eyes and starts working on all the
different ways to avoid morning after conversation.
Happily, most of the ways involve nudity.

Yes.

He's back.
 
 

End

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