Alpha and Omega
folder
X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,932
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
X-men Comics › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,932
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
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.
Alpha and Omega
Title: Alpha and Omega
Author: Skye
Pairing: Scott/Bobby
Category: Romance/Drama/Angst
Rating: Nc-17
Warnings: Angst. Character death.
Summary: This fic begins with the first battle against Magneto, and spans comic-verse in a series of scenes between Cyclops and Iceman; Scott and Bobby.
Author's Notes: Omega: Representing the ultimate threat and unlimited potential. There were only three named in canon. Bobby is one of them. In the end, he's the only one. Alpha: Scott is an Alpha level mutant. Deemed a serious threat. Other Alphas are mutants like Rogue, Storm, and most of the X-men.
______________________
Chapter 1: The beginning
Note: Scott's 19, Bobby is 16
______________________
Battle over and won.
Scott tried to ignore that he wasn't alone in the showers. He wasn't seeing the 16 year old who was still shaking with the effects of his first real fight. He wasn't aware that that 16 year old was looking at him with a sort of desperate, needy, gleam in his eyes.
He wasn't aware of what the after effects of the huge adrenaline rush was doing to the kid. He was most certainly not vulnerable to those same influences. In fact he had no idea that being involved in a fight for your life stirred something deep and primal. Really, he honestly had no clue. None.
He sighed.
He looked at the kid.
He sighed again.
"Bobby...," He began.
If Bobby blushed, Scott wasn't aware of it. Not through the red wash of his glasses. In fact he didn't reply at all, just seemed to ignore Scott entirely.
Scott sighed, again. Tilted his head back and closed his eyes to rinse the soap from his hair. Really, his eyes closing had nothing to do with the need to shut out the image of Bobby's hands sliding soap slick over his body and he sure as hell wasn't imagining what those hands would feel like on him. He just didn't want soap in his eyes.
While he was on a roll with his delusions, he didn't wait until he heard Bobby's shower turn off and the door open and close, and then reach for his cock. He most certainly wasn't still imagining the look in those eyes, the intensity and need.
When his hand was knocked away he didn't open his eyes, startled and confused, didn't cry out when a cool mouth replaced it. He most certainly didn't need to close his eyes for fear that the slight of the naked boy kneeling at his feet would make him come, would end it too soon.
His hand didn't curl into the wet hair, and the feel of it clinging to his hand did nothing for him. He didn't mean to push that mouth away only to find he couldn't. His hips weren't lifting away from the tile, seeking to bury himself deeper into that unbelievable suction because the mouth wasn't there to begin with. Because this Was. Not. Happening.
Because it wasn't happening it didn't matter when his hand tightened and pulled as he thrust into the wet and gentle warmth and tightness. He didn't feel a gag because there was no gag and he didn't use one thumb to traced over a high cheekbone, to gentle and soothe as he pulled back and nudged forward again more gently this time.
He wasn't aware of the inexperience and desperate desire to please and to do this. He didn't remember doing this himself, blind on the street. He didn't feel sympathy and the moment of connection and understanding to this kid. He most certainly did not find the control and power of the position, of being here and having someone at his feet as erotic as the mouth and tongue that were playing over his cock.
He didn't continue to thrust, gentle but incessant. He wasn't holding Bobby there until he learned to accept, figured out how to get his tongue and teeth out of the way. He didn't notice when the throat opened to him, finally. He wasn't aware of the tight constriction of the reflexive swallow and it sure as hell wasn't his groan he didn't hear.
He wasn't aware of the hands that lifted to his hips, to hold on and to balance. He wasn't aware of how small they were. He didn't notice when they tried to push away, and didn't have a clue that it might have been because the kid had a cock down his throat and water pouring over them both. He didn't find that slight struggle and then the acceptance of loss of air, the submission the most intensely gratifying thing he had ever felt. That struggle and submission, the soft whimper isn't what made him hold on tighter.
His hand wasn't fisted in Bobby's hair and he was not fucking a 16 year old's throat, pulling and twisting and near brutal. There was nothing he needed and if there was it wasn't this. It wasn't the almost gentle nuzzle against his stomach and the way Bobby was still trying to please him. It wasn't Bobby on his knees.
His eyes didn't open again, and they most certainly didn't focus on Bobby. The boy kneeling in front of him and the absolute focus and adoration and trust in his eyes, in spite of the way he was being used isn't what sent him over. His balls didn't tighten and draw up and he didn't bite his lip as he spilled down the willing throat. He didn't taste the copper of his own blood and wonder what Bobby's tasted like.
The choke, the surprise, weren't what made his loosen his grip on Bobby's hair. His hand didn't turn gentle, petting carefully through the dark hair and the back of Bobby's neck. Bobby wasn't leaning his forehead against his hip, with soft brush of too fast breath against his damp skin. He didn't hear himself say "Thank you" with honest gratitude and awe.
He didn't mean thank you for trusting me, he didn't mean thank you for doing this, he didn't mean thank you for following me. He didn't mean thank you for giving this to me and he sure as hell didn't mean thank you for giving me, us, your life. He really didn't mean "I'm sorry" when he said "Thank you."
He closed his eyes again, reaching to turn off the shower. He didn't feel the loss of Bobby's presence when he stood and moved away. He didn't go to get his towel and dry off. He wasn't keeping himself busy so he didn't have to look at the him, and he wasn't keeping his back turned so Bobby could retreat if he wanted.
He sure as fuck wasn't disappointed when he finally turned back, dried and dressed, and realized he was alone. He wasn't disappointed that he hadn't stayed. He didn't really want to follow Bobby, and explain, because he didn't feel guilty.
Nothing had changed. He was still the King of Denial.
And while he was at it; his dreams weren't haunted by the kid, and the kid was just a kid. It didn't mean anything.
Author: Skye
Pairing: Scott/Bobby
Category: Romance/Drama/Angst
Rating: Nc-17
Warnings: Angst. Character death.
Summary: This fic begins with the first battle against Magneto, and spans comic-verse in a series of scenes between Cyclops and Iceman; Scott and Bobby.
Author's Notes: Omega: Representing the ultimate threat and unlimited potential. There were only three named in canon. Bobby is one of them. In the end, he's the only one. Alpha: Scott is an Alpha level mutant. Deemed a serious threat. Other Alphas are mutants like Rogue, Storm, and most of the X-men.
______________________
Chapter 1: The beginning
Note: Scott's 19, Bobby is 16
______________________
Battle over and won.
Scott tried to ignore that he wasn't alone in the showers. He wasn't seeing the 16 year old who was still shaking with the effects of his first real fight. He wasn't aware that that 16 year old was looking at him with a sort of desperate, needy, gleam in his eyes.
He wasn't aware of what the after effects of the huge adrenaline rush was doing to the kid. He was most certainly not vulnerable to those same influences. In fact he had no idea that being involved in a fight for your life stirred something deep and primal. Really, he honestly had no clue. None.
He sighed.
He looked at the kid.
He sighed again.
"Bobby...," He began.
If Bobby blushed, Scott wasn't aware of it. Not through the red wash of his glasses. In fact he didn't reply at all, just seemed to ignore Scott entirely.
Scott sighed, again. Tilted his head back and closed his eyes to rinse the soap from his hair. Really, his eyes closing had nothing to do with the need to shut out the image of Bobby's hands sliding soap slick over his body and he sure as hell wasn't imagining what those hands would feel like on him. He just didn't want soap in his eyes.
While he was on a roll with his delusions, he didn't wait until he heard Bobby's shower turn off and the door open and close, and then reach for his cock. He most certainly wasn't still imagining the look in those eyes, the intensity and need.
When his hand was knocked away he didn't open his eyes, startled and confused, didn't cry out when a cool mouth replaced it. He most certainly didn't need to close his eyes for fear that the slight of the naked boy kneeling at his feet would make him come, would end it too soon.
His hand didn't curl into the wet hair, and the feel of it clinging to his hand did nothing for him. He didn't mean to push that mouth away only to find he couldn't. His hips weren't lifting away from the tile, seeking to bury himself deeper into that unbelievable suction because the mouth wasn't there to begin with. Because this Was. Not. Happening.
Because it wasn't happening it didn't matter when his hand tightened and pulled as he thrust into the wet and gentle warmth and tightness. He didn't feel a gag because there was no gag and he didn't use one thumb to traced over a high cheekbone, to gentle and soothe as he pulled back and nudged forward again more gently this time.
He wasn't aware of the inexperience and desperate desire to please and to do this. He didn't remember doing this himself, blind on the street. He didn't feel sympathy and the moment of connection and understanding to this kid. He most certainly did not find the control and power of the position, of being here and having someone at his feet as erotic as the mouth and tongue that were playing over his cock.
He didn't continue to thrust, gentle but incessant. He wasn't holding Bobby there until he learned to accept, figured out how to get his tongue and teeth out of the way. He didn't notice when the throat opened to him, finally. He wasn't aware of the tight constriction of the reflexive swallow and it sure as hell wasn't his groan he didn't hear.
He wasn't aware of the hands that lifted to his hips, to hold on and to balance. He wasn't aware of how small they were. He didn't notice when they tried to push away, and didn't have a clue that it might have been because the kid had a cock down his throat and water pouring over them both. He didn't find that slight struggle and then the acceptance of loss of air, the submission the most intensely gratifying thing he had ever felt. That struggle and submission, the soft whimper isn't what made him hold on tighter.
His hand wasn't fisted in Bobby's hair and he was not fucking a 16 year old's throat, pulling and twisting and near brutal. There was nothing he needed and if there was it wasn't this. It wasn't the almost gentle nuzzle against his stomach and the way Bobby was still trying to please him. It wasn't Bobby on his knees.
His eyes didn't open again, and they most certainly didn't focus on Bobby. The boy kneeling in front of him and the absolute focus and adoration and trust in his eyes, in spite of the way he was being used isn't what sent him over. His balls didn't tighten and draw up and he didn't bite his lip as he spilled down the willing throat. He didn't taste the copper of his own blood and wonder what Bobby's tasted like.
The choke, the surprise, weren't what made his loosen his grip on Bobby's hair. His hand didn't turn gentle, petting carefully through the dark hair and the back of Bobby's neck. Bobby wasn't leaning his forehead against his hip, with soft brush of too fast breath against his damp skin. He didn't hear himself say "Thank you" with honest gratitude and awe.
He didn't mean thank you for trusting me, he didn't mean thank you for doing this, he didn't mean thank you for following me. He didn't mean thank you for giving this to me and he sure as hell didn't mean thank you for giving me, us, your life. He really didn't mean "I'm sorry" when he said "Thank you."
He closed his eyes again, reaching to turn off the shower. He didn't feel the loss of Bobby's presence when he stood and moved away. He didn't go to get his towel and dry off. He wasn't keeping himself busy so he didn't have to look at the him, and he wasn't keeping his back turned so Bobby could retreat if he wanted.
He sure as fuck wasn't disappointed when he finally turned back, dried and dressed, and realized he was alone. He wasn't disappointed that he hadn't stayed. He didn't really want to follow Bobby, and explain, because he didn't feel guilty.
Nothing had changed. He was still the King of Denial.
And while he was at it; his dreams weren't haunted by the kid, and the kid was just a kid. It didn't mean anything.