Holiday

Title: Holiday
Author: SmuttyKitty
Pairing: Iceman/Northstar
Rating: NC-17 for the ass fucking ;)
Author's Notes: Uh, this story is a response to Abydos "holiday" challenge on the Speedsicle LJ community. I wanted this to be a sex comedy, then it got sort of serious, then it lightened back up. Sort of like a real fight between two people I guess. I would also like to announce I wrote this story entirely at work, which I just think is great. I have the best job ever! I proofed this a couple of times, but I had to get up very early so there could be mistakes. Sorry in advance. (Shame shame Ms. Kitty, really). Anyway, Happy Easter.
Disclaimer: JP and Bobby belong to Marvel. Don't get no monies. St. Tropez belongs to all of us.


Sometimes Jean-Paul didn't know exactly how they could tolerate each other, they were like night and day. Where he was surly, Bobby was sunny. Where he was methodical, Bobby was hare-brained. Where Jean-Paul was driven, Bobby coasted along. Then again maybe that was why they were having so much fun together. However at this moment in time, Jean-Paul did not find Bobby to be charming, whimsical, or cute. At this moment he thought he was annoying and childish.

After much finagling for time off from his numerous commitments, Jean-Paul had invited Bobby on holiday to St. Tropez, for some swimming and sailing. He thought it would be simple, after all he didn't need Bobby to do anything except come. He didn't need to pay for anything, or plan anything. He literally just needed to have his passport and suitcase, and Jean-Paul was more than willing to take care of the rest. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

First off, with a mere month until they left until departure, Bobby finally saw fit to inform Jean-Paul he didn't have a passport. So a whole day was wasted, zooming around NY, getting instant photos and pleading and bribing passport office officials to see if they could quickly process his request. Jean-Paul didn't understand how you could be an X-man without a passport, but then again they didn't really do things "by the book" all that often. Even though he really liked Bobby, shit like this sort of dampened his regard for the younger man. It made him remember why he always dated older men, and why for years and years he didn't "date" anyone. There was alot to be said for fuck buddies and hot, sweaty, anonymous sex. Namely that they couldn't wreck your vacation by not...having...passports.

Then came packing. Jean-Paul knew that Bobby didn't have much in the way of a wardrobe, and he didn't really care stateside. But, you don't vacation at posh four-star hotels and eat at Michelin restaurants in Levi's and a hawaiian shirt. Even when Bobby was in what he thought was dressed up he looked like a bedragled kid at Sunday school. He wasn't trying to get Bobby to go haute couture by any means, but he needed some decent slacks and dress shirts. Trying to explain to him why he might not want to look like he escaped from the tour bus was an uphill battle. Bobby asserted that he was a tourist so what difference did it make, and refused to discuss the topic further. Seething with irritation, Jean-Paul, in what he thought was a tremendous act of affection, did indeed let it lie, and simply bought a few clothes he thought would work for Bobby and decided to pack them in his suitcase.

However the breaking point was imminent when Bobby came into Jean-Paul's bedroom the night before departure with nothing more than a duffle bag for a 6 night vacation, and then decided to stay and needle him while he finished with his own suitcase.

"I thought this was a beach town, what do you need all that stuff for? Sheesh. You are such a girl sometimes."

No reply, but the subtle sound of clenching teeth.

"Bobby is there something I can actually do for you at the moment or did you just come here to try and make me reconsider this at the last moment?"

"Whoa, killer! I thought you were psyched for this. You know, hot, nekkid sex on the beach. Frog people for you to talk to."

"I was." Jean-Paul answered tersely.

Bobby was many things, but not stupid, and certainly not stupid to the volumes his boyfriend communicated through silence and scowls. He suddenly realized Jean-Paul was pissed. Actually, not just pissed, but fucking, hella, super, mega, Godzilla pissed. The hard part was he could be pissed about any myriad of things, a large fraction of which could be stemming from Bobby. It was difficult to narrow it down to what thing was irritating him right now. Then stop doing it.

"Well, you know, I'm looking forward to this too. It's been a long time since I went on vacation, and even longer since I went with someone who would have sex with me." Bobby tried to put on cow eyes, but their intended recipient was busy folding things and rearranging them on the bed top.

"Yes, well. Nothing like being compared to women who don't put out. Thank you."

"That wasn't how I meant it. Asshole. Like, it will be romantic. Maybe, if you don't wreck it." Bobby felt the first snakes of intense irritation rearing up. It was starting to feel like too much work to tweeze out why Jean-Paul was so unhappy. He was always unhappy, and lately Bobby had begun to understand that there something inside of him that was always weighing on him. It sort of freaked Bobby out. He had heard of issues (and certainly had some himself) but they definitely didn't feel as pervasive as the ever inscrutable Jean-Paul's did. On a good day Bobby tried to avoid these invisible hot spots, and on a bad day he felt like he was walking on egg shells. Today, was definitely a bad day, and Bobby really didn't want to know what guy when had jilted JP for some frigid woman. If that was even what it was, which it probably wasn't but....

"Maybe I should just leave, and... maybe you should go by yourself. Just give yourself a break." Bobby just didn't know what to say to him sometimes.

Bobby saw his arrow struck as Jean-Paul stood up straight, his shoulders suddenly filled with tension. He didn't know whether to feel pleased or fearful. Jean-Paul wasn't someone to bait lightly, all to often he took it and ran in completely the wrong direction.

"Bobby. I am trying, as hard as I know how to. I hope you get that. Because it is taking all of my willpower to not fucking tear your fucking head off and then dump you to fuck some hot guy on the beach. Why are you making this so.. FUCKING DIFFICULT! WHY, WHY, WHY!?" He spun on his heel so he could scream head on at the other man, with the final why being punctuated with a flung t-shirt.

"What the fuck is your problem? Seriously. Why are you so bent out of shape? Because I dare to tease you about your luggage. Get a grip!" They stared at each other for a few breaths.

"You're afraid you are going to be embarrassed, aren't you? 'Oh look at Jean-Paul's unsophisticated boyfriend, he can't even speak French. Ha ha ha.' That's it isn't it. Why you are trying to dress me, why you want to pack for me, and why you are upset!"

"Robert, I am not embarrassed of you. I have never been embarassed of you. I may make fun of you for all of those things, but I don't feel ashamed of you." The shorter man bent to pick his shirt up off the floor. "We can fight all you want, but I don't want you to think that. Okay?"

Bobby was about to die of shock from the conciliatory tone he was being offered. "Okay. But really, why are wigging out?" He walked up behind him and snaked his arms around the lean frame, then stuck his chin on top of dark head. He took some pleasure in the warmth that rolled of Jean-Paul, his hyper metabolism generating excess heat. When the tense body leaned back into him, he knew he was getting somewhere.

"I don't know. I guess I am just tired."

"And..."

"There is no 'and'. I don't know."

"Yes, there is. I can take it. I already know I'm making you mad, so out with it already."

A beat passed, then in an absurdly even tone, like he was speaking to a very stupid child, Jean-Paul asked,"Why didn't you tell me you didn't have a passport when I suggested we go to France on vacation?" He craned his neck slightly to look at Bobby.

"You mean St. Tropez is in France? I didn't know."

"Shut up." With an almost chuckle after it.

"I just didn't think about it. That's a shitty excuse I know. Thank you for wheedling with those passport control people for me." He kissed a pointy ear affectionately.

"And why didn't you let me help you pick out some clothes? I don't care how you dress. Truthfully. But I know where I want to take you, and you have to dress a certain way to go to those places. Is that really so hard to understand?" Jean-Paul started to turn in the hoop of Bobby's arms, but Bobby held him tighter and wouldn't let him.

"I suppose not. Why do you want to go to stuffy places, anyway?"

"What is wrong with some finer experiences in life? There is more to cuisine than Taco Bell and frozen pizza. Though you wouldn't know it from you." Even without looking Bobby could hear that eyebrow arching.

"Alright, I give up. Dress me up and take me out. Will that make you happy? Or happier, at any rate?" He didn't mean for the silent accusation to be stuck in there.

"I am sorry." Jean-Paul said softly. He had only seen this side of Jean-Paul a few times, and everytime it made him uncomfortable. The exposure of some softer core.

"For what?"

"For being so difficult. It isn't your fault. Any of it. It isn't a fucking crisis that you didn't have a passport, and I suppose I should have taken the hint with the clothes. I don't know why I am this way. Actually, I do. But I don't think it is going to change, Robert. Consider that your warning." And like a breath Jean-Paul slipped out of his arms and turned his back to him again, fussing with the suitcase.

Bobby wished he was a brilliant shrink, or maybe just more of a man, so that he could better understand what he was being warned about. Maybe with time, they would know each other better and then he would tell him so he didn't have to look from the outside in, trying to magically divine his inner workings. Instead, tonight, he was going to fuck Jean-Paul until both their brains dissolved so they could forget about all this shit for awhile and enjoy their vacation.

He closed in on the taut figure by the bed, and molded his crotch against his ass. Wrapped his arm around the slim frame, so he could run the flat of his palm across the hard belly. He reveled in the little sigh he heard on contact. And responded with his own when Jean-Paul rocked his body harder against him. Bobby smiled to himself, it was almost too easy to manipulate the other man's feelings via his crotch. Some good sex always improved his mood.

Bobby slipped his hand down the front of Jean-Paul's trousers and gripped the hardness there. Jean-Paul arched back, tilting his head so the taller man could bend down and kiss him. It was a sloppy, hot kiss. Breath mingling, leaving stripes of wetness across their mouths. When they separated, Bobby yanked Jean-Paul's shirt over his head and peeled his pants off.

"And why am I the naked one?" Jean-Paul asked playfully.

"You wait and see, Mister." Bobby replied while he unbuttoned his ugly purple and blue shirt.

"I am. Impatiently, in case you were wondering." The dark haired man shoved the suitcase off the bed, and crawled seductively up towards the pillows.

Bobby climbed on the bed quickly, and was on top of Jean-Paul, mauling every inch of skin he could get his hands on. All too often, regardless of whether he was on top or bottom, Jean-Paul would control their encounters but this time Bobby was determined to drive. Jean-Paul was still on his hands and knees, which Bobby thought was a provocative position. He licked his way down the spine and kissed the exposed ass. Handily, there were supplies right next to the bed and so he fished them out.

Bobby lubricated a finger and slid it into Jean-Paul. The sound of his breath coming a little quicker made Bobby's blood surge. He added a second finger and watched the other body tremble and move with desire.

"Do you want it?" Bobby questioned.

"Oh, yes." A breathless croon.

"Do you want me to fuck you?"

"Bobby..." Now an almost growl.

Bobby settled in behind him, and pushed himself into Jean-Paul's hot ass. The other man started to slam himself vigorously onto Bobby's cock.

"Not so fast." And he pulled Jean-Paul up so their torsos where pressed together and took ahold of the man's hard sex. Jean-Paul's hands grasped hotly on Bobby's forearms, then one roamed up to the back of Bobby's neck, pulling his head down to his own exposed throat. Bobby let his free hand caress the flesh under him and started to move gently in and out.

"Please." That was not begging in Bobby's opinion, and it certainly wasn't going to pass muster now.

"Mmm mmm. Try again." He kept moving gently within him, still lightly stroking his penis.

"Pretty please."

"You are bad at this. Haven't you ever had to ask for something?"

"Oh, pretty please, with sugar and cum on top."

"That is a little better."

"Fuck me, you horrible, American boy!" Jean-Paul demanded.

"Four years age difference and you call me boy." Bobby smirked against Jean-Paul's neck, which was starting to get moist with perspiration. He loved the feeling of their flesh getting tacky and sticking together with sweat.

"Shsh. Please, please please..." The repetition petering off into French muttering, when Bobby curled Jean-Paul over and started fucking him in earnest. Jean-Paul responded with gutteral vocalizations of his enjoyment that spurred Bobby on to pound him harder. He could feel a bone-shattering climax building in him.

"Cum with me." Bobby whispered to his partner, and he took Jean-Paul's hand in his so they could finish him together. Bobby tensed and let the wave wash over him, Jean-Paul's orgasmic spasms increasing the intensity. They rocked together in their joint pleasure.

Utterly spent, they slumped over into a sticky pile. This was the best part to Bobby, watching Jean-Paul unfurl into a relaxed state of glow. They nestled together, still coupled. Bobby sighed his contentment.

"You didn't finish packing, babe. "

Jean-Paul pulled Bobby's arm tighter around him. "I can just throw something together in the morning. I don't want to get up."

It took all of Bobby's willpower not to laugh at loud at the sudden turnabout, even though he knew perfectly damn well Jean-Paul could pack and be IN France in less time than it would take for him to point it out.

"So we're going to have a good time?"

"If I get into a bad mood you can just do that again."

"Roger that, Monsieur." He mock saluted behind the other's back.

"I saw that." Jean-Paul peeled out from their spoon to flop all the way on his back. "You know, if you really loved me you would get me a glass of water."

"Oh my God, the L word from you." Bobby retorted with mock amazement.

"I talk about dykes all the time, dickhead." The Canadian half bared his teeth, half smiled at him.

Bobby got up and lobbed a wayward pillow at the prone figure. He filled a glass from the bathroom tap and brought it back to the bed.

"Aww, merci beaucoup." And a real smile this time as he accepted the glass, then offered it back when he was done.

"What are we going to do when we get there?" Bobby was starting to get excited to go.

"Do you have any idea where we are going?" Jean-Paul's left eyebrow was hiking up.

"France, apparently."

"Chrisse, Bobby, sérieusement. We are going to Cote d'Azure, like in the movies. The Mediterranean, hot French chicks sunbathing topless, yachts." He was waiting for signs of life in Bobby's perpetually pubescent brain.

"Dude, really?" The younger man looked at Jean-Paul with out a trace of goofiness.

"Dude, yes."

"That's pretty fucking cool."

"Indeed." Jean-Paul was too pleased at the moment to be actually put off by this sorry display of geo-cultural ignorance.

They rested for a few minutes in amicable silence together.

"Robert?" Jean-Paul asked.

"Uh, oui?"

"Please let me pack your suitcase for you."

Bobby let out a sigh. "Will you promise to not talk about this again for the rest of this trip?"

"Yes."

"Alright then."

"Thank you, otter-pop."

Bobby just reclined on the bed and rolled his eyes.

Finis!