Like a Root Canal

My parents were pretty pissed to hear that I was a mutant, but they wouldn't have called the police on us. At least I don't think so. It was Ronnie, with his flip-switch temper, who ran upstairs and did it himself. I try to remember being his age, try to find a way to excuse him, but as frightened and alone I felt at sixteen, I never woulda done that. Not ever.

"John, what the hell are you doing?"

The rustling stops. "Sorry."

Oh shit. I coulda thought twice before asking him, coulda listened to the rhythm of the rustlings. There was one. I guess I just missed it, being so deep in thought. We lie silently for what seems like forever. Then he clears his throat nervously.

"Sorry, man."

"That's all right," I mumble. What the hell else can I say?

More silence. Then it hits me. I'm getting hard. I shouldn't be getting hard!! I should be soft, softer than I've ever been in my whole life. Suddenly, a rush of impulses comes at me from all directions. John flicks his lighter, sending up a small flame. Our tent goes orange and I can see again, though just barely.

He's on his side, looking at me. "You sure?"

"Sure I'm sure. Everybody does it."

"Even you?" he smirks. "Little goody-goody Bobby Drake?"

"Aw, shut up, man."

The smirk melts off his face and he lies back down, staring upwards. He's shut off his lighter and is playing with a sphere of flames, rolling it back and forth across the length of his body without actually igniting anything. "Whaddya think about when you do it?"

"What? Whaddya mean, what do I think about? What do you think about?"

He shrugs, then grins. "Your girlfriend."

"Dude," I snort. "Shut up." I reach over and punch him in the arm. The flames tremble slightly.

"Watch it!" He laughs and suddenly it's just us again, best pals like we always were before Rogue came along, before John got weird and megalomaniacal and angry at everything. I watch the shadows on his face shift and change with the movements of his fireball. He's grinning, watching me watch him.

"You totally want me."

"Huh?" Didn't expect that. I sorta thought the awkward part of the conversation was over. "I want you like I want a root canal. I want you like I want your grandma."

This makes him laugh again, and his ball of fire is extinguished entirely.

I roll onto my back and stare upwards. Even in the dark, I think I feel John's eyes boring holes in my body. He shifts and then the rustling starts again. Holy crap. I go completely still, breathing shallow, quiet breaths, and listen.

Yeah, so I'm listening to my best friend jerk off in our tent. Big deal. He doesn't think I'm asleep--he couldn't yet--so there isn't even that excuse. My own cock starts to rise in my boxers and I bite my lip, stifling thoughts that have to be gay as hell. John's chest, thin and smooth with dark, wiry little hairs and just enough definition, John's deep brown eyes like pools of murky water. I see his lips, full and pretty, wrapped around my cock, and then, before I know it, my hand slips down into the tangled wreaths of my pubic hair.

John's breath is speeding up. He's not even trying to hide what he's doing now. Part of my brain screams that this is wrong and I need to get the fuck out of there, but I just can't. I take my cock into my hand and start pumping, matching my rhythm to that of his jagged breaths. A soft moan escapes my lips. John echoes it.

He's going harder, faster now, gasping. "Holy shit, Bobby, just get over here."

I tense up. "What?"

He reaches out in the dark, nearly hitting me in the eye. "Get over here, just do it now."

I'm silent.

"Don't pretend you weren't enjoying it, okay? C'mere."

I guess he's always been the domineering one. Ever since we met. Bossing me around. I roll over so close that I can feel his hips against mine, his hair brushing my face. "What now?"

I guess it's a stupid question. I guess I know.

He must agree with me, because he doesn't say a word, just turns and takes my face in one rough hand and pulls it towards him. I grunt and accept the assault and then he's kissing me...or I'm kissing him, taking great swallows of air in the few moments that exist between our lips parting and then meeting again. He leans in, pushes his face up against my ear.

"Suck my cock, Bobby."

I moan hollowly. Geez, I hope the others are asleep. Lust is spilling through my veins like a dam's burst, and I feel so slick and heady that I barely gasp out a reply.

"Okay."

"Atta boy." I feel his hand on the back of my neck, yanking me up hard so I'm sitting beside him on my knees. It hurts a little, I guess, but I already mentioned how incredibly high I feel. I'm so horny pain seems like nothing at all. Then he pushes me down, smashing my face into his pillow. Practically missed it. What would he have done if I'd hit the tent floor? Would a few missing teeth deter him from making me his?

"John, I changed my mind."

"Like fuck you did." He grabs me under the belly and hoists my ass up in the air. I'm wrestling with him, but he seems suddenly stronger, so I go limp. Not sure what I want anymore. He puts both hands on my ass and yanks my boxers down, and we're skin on skin. He leans up against me, draping himself like a blanket over my back and kissing at my throat. "You want this."

Do I? I let him slide backwards over my body. He's so warm and it's been so long since I've felt another human being. Damn long.