Mirror, Mirror

Mirror Mirror Chapter Fifteen
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *ahem * found some stuff that I forgot to put in the box so… two boxes! Yay! InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: Four on the way. Morgan: How goes the Halloween show? Readers/Reviewers: Thank you!



“What’re you doing up?”
Bobby shifted guiltily, pulling the chenille throw more tightly around him. “Couldn’t sleep…” He gestured towards the muffled sounds of arguing coming from upstairs. “Jubilee and Remy are at it again. He’s back one hour and already they’re having one of their ‘talks’.” He smiled faintly at Saint John and moved his feet to make room on the sofa. “Want to sit?”
“I just got up to get a drink but… sure.” The Australian transplant sat heavily next to Bobby, covering a yawn with the back of his hand as he did so. “It’s after eleven… we have that field trip into the city tomorrow and have to leave here at six. Why don’t you take something and get some rest?” he asked, dropping his hand to rest lightly on Bobby’s ankle. He could feel the heat radiating off of his boyfriend’s skin and frowned. “You’re hot.”
“Thanks…” Bobby assayed a salacious wink at Saint John and was rewarded with a snort and eye roll. “It’s just because I’m under this blanket and wearing flannel and the heater finally kicked on…” he trailed off, shrugging. “I feel fine.”
Saint John did not reply directly but rather leaned in close, pressing the inside of his wrist to Bobby’s forehead. “Bobby, you have a fever. There is no way all of this,” he waved a hand to take in the blanket and the warm room, “can make you this hot. C’mon. We’re going to see Beast.” He stood and held out a hand to help his boyfriend to his feet.
Bobby shrank back into the sofa cushions. He had only been released from the infirmary a week or so before and he had nightmares ever since. He did not know what had made him so sick, why he had been tied down to the bed, but Jean had said they were both having seizures and being violently ill. He had no reason not to believe her but something just did not ring true. “No,” he said after a brief pause. “I’m fine. I’ll just go to bed and if I’m still hot in the morning I’ll… I dunno. I’ll take something for it.” He rose without accepting Saint John’s hand and offered him a shy smile. “Want to walk up with me?”
Saint John inhaled deeply, trying to decide if Bobby was hiding something or really did just feel fine and want to go to bed. “I think,” he paused, watching his boyfriend’s face, “that I’m just going to sit here and watch t.v. a while. I’m not tired for some reason. I think it was all this walking around.” Upstairs, a door slammed and heavy footsteps fell, then there was silence. The front door opened and closed, Kitty and Wanda walking past the lit up rec room without pausing. Finally, silence fell again. Glancing curiously at Kitty as she marched up the stairs, her back ramrod straight, Saint John added, “I think it’s going to be hard to sleep in a few minutes anyway.” He barely had time to turn back to Bobby before he had the wind knocked out of him. He was on the floor, Bobby atop him, his face strangely alight with some new expression that was, Saint John thought, frankly terrifying. “Not the time,” he gasped, pushing against the slightly shorter teenager. “Lemme up.”
“I really think,” Bobby replied, not easing up on his grip at all, “that I’d feel *much* better if we fucked.” He smiled, baring his teeth in a nearly feral manner, and pressed his knee more firmly against Saint John’s stomach. “I’m so hot, Saint John…”
Saint John blinked, stunned. It felt as if he were watching this from a distance, seeing Bobby attack him, watching this stranger lick his face lewdly before reaching a free hand for the buttons on his pajama top. “Bobby, stop it,” Saint John heard himself say as if through several layers of cotton wool. “I said no!”
Bobby rocked back onto his heels, squatting over Saint John. His smile had become nearly a grimace, anger radiating from him. “I need this, Saint John. Don’t you want me? You said you loved me…” His voice was thick and rough, as if he were trying to catch his breath after a hard run.
“Bobby! GET OFF ME!” Saint John snapped back into a full awareness. He could feel Bobby’s weight pressing against him, smell the mint-cinnamon tang of toothpaste and mouthwash on his breath, but most horribly, he could feel the fingers at his throat, the arousal pressed against his belly. This was not right, not in any sense of the word. It was not a game, not some play acting at being aggressive and coy. Bobby was not at home in his head and Saint John would be damned if he let this happen to him.
“STOP!”
Saint John gasped again as Bobby seemed to be jerked away, flying up into the air and hitting the wall opposite, near the foyer. He struggled to sit up and nearly shouted in surprise at what he saw. Jean, or what appeared to be Jean, her body crackling with fire. She seemed to glow from within, her eyes like flames and her skin lit from within. His body tensed reflexively. Fire called to him—it always had—and he wanted nothing more than to touch her, to draw the flames into him as he stared at her illuminated form. “Jean,” he finally husked. “What’s going on?”
She raised her hands to eye level, her body curling in on itself as if she were in great pain. “I don’t know,” she rasped. “I don’t… help me.” She straightened suddenly, her head thrown back and an unearthly scream piercing the air. The flames licking over her skin winked out and she was Jean again, normal and unscorched. Her cry died out and her body arched and flexed, falling to the ground with a hard thud.
Saint John scrambled to his feet and hurtled over the sofa to get to her. Bobby groaned from the spot where he had fallen on the floor but he did not move. Good, the Australian teenager thought. He did not want to deal with him just yet. “Jean, wake up,” he urged, dropping to his knees beside her and slapping her cheeks. “Jean!” Already footsteps were coming and he could hear others calling, asking what was wrong. “Jean, c’mon...” Saint John felt his stomach shiver in fear, something deep and primal that he had never felt. This, he thought, looking down at Jean’s slack jawed unconsciousness, was the first step towards something very bad.

A/N Smut tomorrow!