It's the times like these when John knows why he doesn't kill his roommate. It's not because he likes the company, or because the teen gives good head. It's because Bobby is warm. Plain and simple, Bobby radiates a heat that evens John out.
See, John's body temperature is always in flux. His standard temperature is 101. It's only a degree higher then the highest of normals, but Dr. Grey seems to take it as a clear sign of mutation. He doesn't think it's that off. It's like the difference between writing "an octopus" and "a octopus". Sure one is better then the other, and sure the super picky would notice, but for the most part, who cares?
When he's actually shaping and playing with his fire, it shoots up even higher. Apparently people in marathons and others that press their bodies into extreme exercise can have temporary temperatures of as much as 107. When he plays, he can reach 110. Having a fever that extreme is supposed to cause brain damage, kidney damage and circulatory failure leading to death. But he's been sculpting and controlling the flame for years, and his body is still in perfect condition. He's not sure if that means he has a secondary ability of healing himself, or if his body has just adapted to the heat. It doesn't really matter to him why his body works, just that it does. John's sixteen, he doesn't care about his insides.
When he's done playing with fire, when his exhaustion overcomes him, it can go as low as 93. That is supposed to, and for him actually does cause dazed consciousness, slurred speech and irrational behaviour. Human temperature can go as low as 85, humans die before they reach 80. John thinks he'd probably die a lot before 80, and Dr. Grey agrees with him. His body can't handle cold well.
The whole thing has to do with his mutant powers, obviously. It must, because human reactions to hyperthermia and hypothermia don't work to regulate him. Antipyretics don't do a thing, no matter how many he swallows. Heated blankets also don't work, and it hasn't come to the point where they use lavage to fix him.
The nice thing though, is that his roommate/boyfriend/best friend/everything seems to have a normal core temperature. One of the suggestions for hypothermia is use close body contact to warm the body. It's not just that Bobby warms him, though not being ill is nice. It's that after he has a loss of control followed by an extreme dip in body temperature, he's scared. He'll never get used to shivering and not being able to clench his hands. It's scary. It feels like he's dying. To have Bobby to hold him is like having parents that love him.
He's just created a solid wall of fire for Cyclops. It's supposed to test his endurance, to see how long he can form a barrier of fire. Apparently he's doing it to most students, Bobby has to make a wall of ice and Jubilee an electric field. He isn't able to look at his watch to see how long he's lasted when the fire finally dies, it's like his entire system collapses with the collapse of the flame. His legs are jelly, and he can only croak out a warning before he falls to the ground. He's so cold, all he wants is to be warm again.
Bobby's there. It's the one clear thought in his fuzzy brain. Bobby's here, Bobby stood by because he knew that John would need his help. He knows that John's comedown is harsher than many of the students, and Bobby would help any student that he felt needed it. But his help for John is somehow purer, because he loves John.
He feels a heat source behind him. Not a fire source, all of it extinguished as he fell to the ground. Only a source of warmth, and he can barely move to get closer to it, but that doesn't matter because the source has taken it upon itself to move closer. John feels himself being lifted up by the armpits and struggles to arch his hips to help the source. He gets dragged half onto the source, legs on either side of his hips, his entire back against a chest, a chin on the top of his head. Arms wrap themselves around his sides and hands rub themselves down his chest.
The source speaks. It takes a moment before the words make themselves understood to his fuzzy brain. "You'll be okay. You've done this before. " The words make sense, they're reassuring. And of course the heat source is Bobby. Bobby is saving him, it's not just untested faith in his boyfriend, it's truth.
He trembles as he puts all his weight against the warm chest behind him. The hands on John's chest pause, and Bobby whispers "Do you want me to...?"
When John finally realises what Bobby is asking, he nods his head dramatically. He doesn't feel capable of talking yet, his teeth would clamp down on his lips if he opened his mouth. And he's shaking enough that it looks like he's agreeing to questions not asked. The only way to get his message across is by overexaggeration.
Bobby's fingers struggle with his zipper; it's an awkward angle and he can't see what he's doing. However, right now John's hands are no more capable, so he continues on. Finally it's open, and there's not a chance that one hand can undo a button so Bobby leaves it done up. His hand manoeuvres and pulls, getting between underwear and skin.
There are no words to explain how warm Bobby's fingers and palm feel. John is beginning to get feeling back in his extremities, but ignores the itchy prickles of pain for the delight commencing on his cock. There are so many logistic questions that John would have worried about in a normal situation; where's the lube, we need to make sure no one is listening, how do we not get caught, who's doing what to who? But now he doesn't have to think. John isn't even sure that Scott's out of the room, he can't concentrate enough to check. But he trusts Bobby to take care of him. It's the trust as much as the palm on his dick that sends arousal coursing through him.
"It's okay, you're okay. It's okay to come." The words are whispered in his ear gently, a sharp contrast to the hard quaking and shivering of his body. John listens and understands that it's time to let go. It will be okay, he'll be safe because Bobby promises it. He arcs, pressing his body harshly against Bobby's. His come shoots erratically as his muscles continue to contract and expand in a desperate measure to gain heat.
When he's better, he'll thank Bobby. He won't say for what, and Bobby won't acknowledge him saying it. But no answer is better than letting Bobby think he doesn't appreciate this. Thank you lets people know how desperately you needed what they've done for you.