There was definitely some good points about being destructive and immature.
St. John, who really did generally try to follow the rules, had worked with Kitty to get this little shindig together, and from his comfortable position spread across Jubes' lap, he couldn't even say it was a bad thing. Yes, they were dangerous, and not just because they were adolescents in the middle of hormone-induced insanity (aka puberty). But--again, they were adolescents and something would have to be *really* wrong with them if they didn't pull this once in awhile.
Hence, a party for no good reason.
He and Bobby had been the ones to drag the mattresses onto the floor of their room to make everything a little more comfortable. It'd been Kitty's idea to get the whiskey from the liquor cabinet downstairs, and Jubes who found the bottle of vodka. No huge surprise, Remy had brought the bourbon--somewhere in the house, and St. John would have taken kitchen-duty for a month to find out where, Remy kept a cache of cigarettes, alcohol, and a shitload of money. And probably some other things that he just hadn't needed yet--extra decks of cards? Probably. He used his as missiles too often during training. But some cool stuff, definitely. And St. John, who prided himself on knowing everything that went on at mutant high, wanted to know.
If someone had asked him what had set them off, he really wouldn't have been able to answer. Finals were looming at less than two weeks away, which, given, could be considered a great excuse to indulge in some serious infractions of the student conduct code, but it really hadn't been that. Rogue had finally been passed up to their level in training, so part of it was definitely a celebration, not least because she didn't have to call up Wolverine to get her through it. A definite relief to all of them--she was stable, finally.
Most of it, though, was just general, all-pervading boredom, and St. John was willing to vouch for the fact that *nothing* was going on. It was rainy, which meant no decent outside time unless you were into mud-wrestling. The charms of that particular sport, despite seeing all the girls of the mansion in clinging, muddy t-shirts, had quickly palled at five days running, that and the lack of hot water when everyone wanted to get clean at the same time. An incident with a pile of kinetically-charged spitballs, plasma charges, and duct tape had gotten them all confined to campus for a month (though in all honesty, St. John regretted the fact that they hadn't been allowed to finish up the project more than the grounding), and combat training, while it definitely sped the hours by, was getting just a little dangerous. Especially when Remy and Jubes faced off. You got the distinct impression that maybe, just maybe, they sort of forgot they were supposed to be on the same side. It was getting really old, really fast--Rogue had finally commented, after watching a particularly bitter match, that handcuffing them to one bed was a steadily more attractive alternative to putting up with their constant bickering.
She had handcuffs too, and St. John had given that a long thought and filed it away for future reference.
Speaking of things getting old fast--St. John glanced at Bobby, whose eyes were fixed very clearly on Rogue's cleavage with that kicked-puppy expression because she was currently draped across Remy's lap and not his--head neatly against Remy's shoulder with her hair buffering for any accidents, one of his arms around her waist.
Now that development, St. John admitted, at least to himself, had been totally unexpected. It wasn't like Rogue to do a turn-about like that in her opinions, and he knew for a fact her inner-Wolverine had some serious issues with Remy. Somehow, Jubes and Kitty had gotten her out of her sweats and the transparent red shirt (long-sleeved, of course) over a tiny sports bra and endlessly long legs encased in leather--well, he supposed that at a gathering of her friends, she felt they understood the risks well enough to not try anything that would land them in the infirmary and her with another personality to screw up her head. Trust, and he appreciated it. Black leather gloves--mmm, he couldn't say he hadn't fantasized just a little on what those things would feel like running up and down his body. He suspected, in fact, that there was no one in the room who *hadn't* gotten a thought or two in that direction--as she grew into herself and her personalities, not to mention a regular diet jump-starting her physical development in ways that were quite distracting during training in spandex, she had a definite intensely sexual thing going for her. Everyone was affected by it--even the teachers. And she used it, no question.
And Remy was slathering over her like a dog in heat. He'd have to get her off alone one day and ask her about that--because watching her accept Remy's not-too-subtle feel-ups, she didn't look like she was in the throes of teenage infatuation. In fact, if he was gonna put a word to it, he would have to say she looked on Remy the same way she looked at a new weapon--something to learn on and learn from. Experience, and Rogue was someone who was always searching for new experiences, bringing the memories in her head into synch with the reality she lived.
"Shit," Kitty muttered, and he warily turned his head to see her carefully pouring her next shot. Pushing out his hand--in which he was still clutching his shot glass, didn't wanna lose that--he motioned for her to fill it.
"Me too, Kittycat."
Kitty gave him a speculating look and glanced at the bottle before she put it down, grinning--mmm, wonder what was goin' on in her head--before climbing on her knees, full shot glass in hand, and crossing the center of the circle the six of them made. With better balance than he'd suspected, she climbed on top of him, settling herself comfortably over parts of his anatomy that alcohol had made remarkably more interested in the entire proceedings than he'd suspected, and braced her free hand beside his head.
"Hold still," she ordered, and he nodded enthusiastically. Kitty took the shot with a toss of her head, then lowered herself down to his mouth--they'd done this before in slightly more private circumstances, so he knew exactly how to open his mouth and seal it against hers--and Kitty-flavored whiskey was delicious. Completely unnecessarily, he braced his hands on her thighs, getting a feel of silky pale skin just under the edge of her indecently short skirt. They stayed in position for a little longer than was really necessary and he felt the dart of her tongue between his lips and run quickly over his teeth before she pulled back, licking her lips with a grin.
"Fuck me," Jubes breathed just above him. "How the fuck did you do that?"
"It's all in the lips, baby," Kitty said smugly. "And some serious practice, boys and girls. Don't try this with anyone but an expert."
"Remy be wantin' to try that, chere." So predictable--Kitty hadn't given Remy the time of day so far, and St. John strangled a laugh. He glanced at Rogue briefly as she slid neatly and efficiently off Remy's lap and curled herself like a cat on the mattress between him and Bobby, watching Kitty debate. "Come on, Kittycat, play nice wit' Remy."
"Only once, Cajun," she finally decided, and he handed her the bourbon and leaned back on his elbows. Slowly, Kitty crawled into his lap and took the bourbon straight from the bottle. Then leaned down, one hand on his face, and in as neat and efficient a trick as St. John had ever seen, managed to get the alcohol into Remy and was leaned back with a triumphant grin as they all applauded. "Shit, I'm cool. He had no fucking clue what he was doin'."
"You're the champ, Kittycat," Jubes said. "St. John, baby, maybe you show me this trick now, huh?"
And damn, it woulda been fine to see Kitty and Jubes in this little exercise. Another opportunity lost. With a sigh, he levered himself up and picked up the vodka, twisting lithely so Jubes was spread across his lap. Throw back (not too much, she was inexperienced), hold the vodka, and he slid his mouth onto hers--and Jubes' got it right in one. And a kiss that he really shouldn't have indulged in, before he lifted his head and the room burst into applause again. Rogue shook her head, dark hair trailing across his face, and alcohol was a good thing, maybe, it gave him some serious ideas now.
"Me thinks--" St. John said carefully, trying to make sure he said it right--"that our Miss Rogue shouldn't be left out." Bobby never drank, unfortunately--again, all that Summersness in him. Rogue, who'd been watching them all with an interested expression, sat straight up, staring at him with wide eyes.
"St. John, sugar--we don't wanna end up in the infirmary for your coma and me tryin' to start the Mansion on fire."
St. John had to agree with her there--he didn't want to be in a coma and he didn't want the relative peace Rogue had finally gotten to be screwed up. Thinking, thinking, thinking...
"Hold it." Jubes sat up, frowning a little in concentration. Bless her, Jubes was one of those rare souls who alcohol never seemed to affect their ability to innovate. "Kitty, where's your lipstick?"
"In my pocket." Ah, Kitty, who was ready for any and all fashion emergencies. She flicked it out and handed it over, and Jubilee cautiously applied it to the tip of one finger.
Now, St. John knew a few things about alcohol--one, it lowered inhibitions, or no way in hell he'd have been making out with Kitty and Jubes right in front of the boy he was pretty sure he was in love with. Two, it promoted recklessness--he'd noticed that Rogue was drinking at a much slower pace than the rest of them, for obvious reasons. Recklessness for any mutant was probably not the brightest idea in the world--recklessness for She Who Can Kill With A Touch was probably a whole new and unexciting level of Bad Things. If she screwed up, she got 1.) a person in a coma and 2.) a new personality to fuck her over.
St. John, however, knew as long as he was relatively sober (and he was) and she was relatively sober (she was), they'd be okay in this little experiment, and got to his knees, stalking her across the mattresses. Eyes wide, she scrambled backward until Remy got behind her, catching both her wrists--not to restrain so much as comfort. Leaning against him, her eyes went over the circle of people a little desperately as Bobby shifted closer and Kitty moved in beside him.
"S'okay." He watched Jubes cover the entire tip of her finger in heavy red and then turn to Rogue. "Okay. Got an idea--it takes, what, a second or two for the connection to open?"
"One point three six five," Rogue answered automatically, staring around her. "You guys--"
It was a sign of her trust in them that she didn't go into utter panic right then and there--St. John appreciated the effort she was making and smile, running a quick hand through her hair. The dark eyes flickered to him briefly before back to Jubes, who dropped the open lipstick in her lap and leaned forward.
"Okay. Lemme try this--I'll pull back if I feel anything if this doesn't work. Promise--two seconds tops, okay? Promise." Before Rogue could do anything but gape, Jubes set the lipstick covered finger against Rogue's face and waited. And waited. And they all breathed out when Jubilee grinned and pulled her finger back, leaving a deep red smear on Rogue's cheek. "Nothing!" Brandished the finger in triumph before grinning down at the dazed Rogue. "We're good. Look at me, honey--this stuff is thick, we'll be fine. St. John, get ready. This gonna take all your skill."
St. John liked to think he was good with his mouth. Nothing loathe, he found the bottle of whiskey--she had a thing for Jack Daniels, probably another Wolverine characteristic--and crouched in front of her while Jubilee applied the lipstick to her mouth.
"What about the skin around her lips?" Bobby asked practically. Jubilee frowned a little, then turned to scramble in Bobby's bedside table, coming out with some chapstick. "You think that'll work?"
"Not probably as well, but enough to get through this--it takes about three seconds to make the trade, so to speak. St. John, be quick about it, 'kay?" St. John watched her apply it to the skin around Rogue's mouth and got a kick out of the dazed expression on her face--under normal circumstances, she'd be fighting this every direction from Sunday. Taking the chapstick, he quickly put on a little himself, then watched Rogue reposition herself so she was semi-reclined against Remy's body. Carefully, he shifted until he had a knee on either side of her hips and slid a hand around the back of her neck, carefully over her shirt's collar and her hair.
"You've kissed before right?" he asked, and a slightly twisted smile turned up her mouth. "Hmm...let's not do it that way then. Just follow my lead." Deciding the best angle to approach this, he checked carefully where the lipstick covered her mouth--Jubes had deliberately made it thicker near the corners of her lips and he rethought it--Rogue looked thoroughly scared and the last thing he wanted to do is screw with her trust or her head. And considering this was probably going to be the only time any of them got Rogue in this kind of position (besides Remy, and damn, he didn't want Remy to get first crack, she'd been his and Bobby's and Jubes' and Kitty's first, Remy-come-lately could just watch)--well, he wanted to enjoy it. "Fuck it--put some of that crap on me, Jubes--and you ever tell anyone I put lipstick on, I swear I'll boil your pet fish in its own water."
He had no idea how to do girl-crap like that, closed his eyes and prayed that no one would ever mention this again, at least outside themselves. Giggling, Jubes raised herself on her knees and he felt the thick stuff slide over his mouth--then she leaned back and nodded, smiling a little wickedly.
"Don't move, Rogue. Trust me, 'kay?" A slow nod of agreement and St. John grinned, thanking God no one had brought a camera. Taking the shot, he tilted Rogue's face and covered her mouth with his, sealing them together quickly and with ease. She didn't fight him at all, which was an actual possibility if she snapped out of her shock--even relaxed a little, and--
--wow, delicious, even with lipstick. As she swallowed, he felt her take a breath against his mouth and fought to keep control, her mouth open conveniently and he pressed his tongue carefully against her front teeth, feeling her startled surprise and sudden interest. Then pulled back, grinning, flourishing the bottle he still held in his hand and a little dazed by the fact he'd kissed the untouchable girl. Shit, he was drunk. Damn, it was worth it.
Fuck, Bobby was gonna be pissed.
"That, kiddos, is how to take a shot,." he said, and the murmurs seemed to agree. Jubilee handed him a napkin to wipe the lipstick away and he quickly slid it across Rogue first, picking up most of the lipstick, then himself. Remy ran his gloved hands gently over her arms and St. John watched as she raised a surprised hand to her mouth. Automatically, her tongue darted out and he wondered if she could taste him. "Nice job, Roguey baby. You'll be a pro in no time."
"Not bad yourself, Johnny," she said, and he saw something flash in her eyes--gratitude?--and a wicked smile curving up her mouth. "Now, Bobby sugar, you gotta play." Her eyes went to Kitty, who, drunk or not, was quick on the uptake and grinned--and St. John really believed he'd never, ever liked Rogue more than at that moment. "Go for it."
Bobby, wide-eyed and shocked, didn't even move when Rogue sat up, pulling herself out of Remy's arms and sliding deliberately against Bobby with a grin--and St. John knew exactly what she was doing and laughed at least to himself. Taking the bottle of vodka, she handed it to St. John and ran a deliberate hand across Bobby's chest. "Come on, join the dark side or whatever. You ready, Johnny?"
"Sure." Sure he was, sure he was gonna give Bobby the shot of his life, and no one in the room really reacted when he dropped in Bobby's lap and Rogue slid a gloved hand down the side of Bobby's neck--shit, she had an effect on men that was just on this side of creepy. Creepy when she was doing it for any other reason, that is, than relaxing Bobby enough to kiss his best friend surrounded by four very interested witnesses. Not that Bobby would think it was that big a deal on one hand--on the other, he could very well freak out; St. John still wasn't sure on Bobby's view on flexible sexuality outside their room and the convenient backseat of a car or shower. But Rogue talking him down and St. John carefully and deliberately resting his weight on the parts of Bobby that would best facilitate a good response--he took the bottle, taking a considerable amount out, and slid his hands onto Bobby's shoulders--the skin was already cooling down fast.
Bobby was ready the second he was, mouth opening quite naturally and latching on with a strength that couldn't have all to do with Rogue, who he felt backing off already, and the slim fingers buried themselves in his hair. Leaning into the kiss, he released the vodka, feeling the movement of Bobby's throat as he swallowed it, then the feel of Bobby's tongue sliding over his lips, exploring with slowly increasing expertise. Tilting his head, he pushed even deeper, and cool hands skimmed down his back through his t-shirt and massaging gently at the base of his spine. Pushing a little, Bobby easily slid down onto his back under him and the long legs against his, one sliding out and around, locking around the back of St. John's knee and pressing closer. Taking a breath, St. John lifted his head and realized they were alone.
He owed Rogue and Kitty, no question.
"Shh. Close your eyes." Another kiss on those cool lips, and he slid his hand from shoulders down to t-shirted chest, then to the edge of his jeans, pulling the shirt out and up, ducking his head to lick at the exposed throat that Bobby arched for him almost immediately, sucking carefully before slipping down into his shoulder, all the while working the t-shirt up until it was settled just below Bobby's arms. Without missing a beat, the younger boy lifted up, letting St. John pull it off and pulling his own off as well, arms going tight around him and pulling him back down.
Bobby was *definitely* in the mood, no question.
"God, yes, Johnny," Bobby whispered. "Oh yeah--" something else mumbled too low for St. John to hear, and then Bobby rolled him on his back--very fast, damn, he might beat St. John for speed too soon---and straddled him, sitting up and supporting himself on his hands to stare down at him. St. John didn't move, barely breathed, unable to read the expression on his best friend's face, before the mouth was fixed on his throat and he felt a careful bite on his collar. And St, John felt his body temperature jump big-time and knew Bobby felt it, running curious almost cold hands down his chest. "You warm like this all over?"
"Yeah--happens--sometimes," St. John whispered.
"Cool." The lips rested briefly on his collar, then a tongue that was equally cool slid down, tracing a line to the center of his chest, running down his stomach and lingering there, pulling at the skin with his teeth, sucking gently, generally doing all kinds of fun things in a zone that St. John hadn't even known was *that* erogenous. St. John stared up at the ceiling and buried his hands in Bobby's hair and made a vague mental note to get Bobby and vodka more closely acquainted from now on.
"Still a little warm," Bobby murmured, lifting his head, a brilliant smile settling on his face. "How hot do you get, Johnny?" A pause, and the cool slim fingers skimmed under the edge of his jeans, absently tracing the line of his boxers, then shaking his head as St. John tried to think of a way to answer that. "I wanna find out."
There were a *lot* of things St. John wanted to find out--where this mood was from and when Bobby started growing his hair out (he noticed now that the blonde was almost falling in the clear blue eyes) and exactly when Bobby started noticing the temperature jump he did, but all those questions disappeared when Bobby efficiently unbuttoned his jeans and slid a curious hand into his boxers--
"Fuck, Bobby," he gasped, and Bobby's mouth covered his instantly, a lunge that didn't stop the careful exploration of his cock--dear God, Bobby's tongue halfway down his throat and doing its level best to see just how much interior territory it could cover, Bobby's wonderfully callused, cool hand doing everything so damned good it was just amazing. Delicately circling the head, skimming down the sensitive vein, curling around the balls briefly and squeezing with that perfect amount of pressure that was edging on the best kind of pain in the world. He coiled his arms around Bobby's shoulders, pressing him close, almost unable to breathe through the pleasure--and he wasn't going to last long, not like this, felt his entire body tense and he gasped as he came, hearing Bobby's pleased rumble.
His body temperature had to be edging into the upper fever range and he came down sharply, palms burning hot and hard briefly and Bobby hissed but didn't pull away. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and stared into the clear blue.
"Shit, Johnny, didn't know you could get that hot." Softly stroking the now limp member and then efficiently pulling the jeans and boxers off, tossing them aside. Without another word, Bobby clambered onto his knees and pulled the pillows from where once Kitty and Jubes had been sitting, grabbed a blanket, and spooned up behind him, wrapping a cool arm around his waist.
"Go to sleep. You're gonna have one hell of a hangover, you know." A brushed kiss against the back of his neck and St. John, quite replete, felt his eyes close of their own accord, lacing his fingers through Bobby's and relaxing back against the cooling presence behind him.