Author Notes:
I just feel slashy today. Dedicated to Nacey for introing the pairing well enough for me to get a feel for Bobby and partially in response to Shade's challenge to write something that isn't L/R.
Archiving: Go ahead

*****

It was a regular mutant hangout, so anything went--probably because it was owned by Marian, who didn't give a good shit what went down as long as the customers paid for the damage, and St. John had vivid memories of six weeks working off his debt (and custom installing her fire detectors and sprinkler system) after an incident with a girl, some paper, and some serious showing-off.

He'd been an insecure teenager and she'd been hit on by a guy who manipulated plant life and made roses grown on her bed. The things you do for love, ya know?

Smoking a cigarette just inside the wide remodeled warehouse doors, St. John contemplated the possibilities of what would happen. Jubilee was living it up on the dance floor with Bobby, and Rogue was off to the side, watching them all with that steady, unnerving gaze that heralded a brief return of Eric Lensherr to check out what the defense side of the war was up to during downtime. She dressed like she wanted to disappear into the shadows, and he didn't even want to imagine what it had taken Bobby and Kitty to pry her out of her room.

After a few minutes, she approached him with all the wariness of a frightened animal toward a viable supply of food and he blew out the smoke in some surprise. Their acquaintanceship was based on proximity more than any kind of actual conversation or meeting of minds--and yes, he had been avoiding her. Bobby doing the puppy routine was getting oh-so-old, oh-so-fast.

"You got another?" She motioned vaguely toward the cigarette and he shrugged, getting one out and lighting it with a reflexive burst of flame that made her eyes widen in appreciation. Taking it, she smoked with a rather cute combination of knowledge and utter inexperience--reminded him of Bobby in a way--that told him that her will wasn't entirely involved with the smoking idea. Seeing his eyebrow, she shrugged. "Logan."

"Got it." He took another drag before taking in the black gauze shirt that Jubilee might have very well forced on her over a black tank top, but gloves and jeans were standard-issue Rogue. Loose hair and shit, she looked young. Hot as hell and dangerous as sticking your hand in a furnace, but young. "Having fun?"

"Sure." A drag, a frown as she took in the correct way to do it from watching him, then letting the smoke out, a little smile turning up her lips in triumph when she got it right. "It's--different."

"Not like home?" And where was she from anyway? Accent screamed south of the Mason-Dixon line, so he placed her Alabama/Mississippi. Glancing at the dance floor, where Bobby was starting to relax enough to enjoy himself, he had to wonder if Bobby and Rogue's friendship had gone to another level that he didn't know about. He hadn't seen anything to make him suspect anything was going on other than unrequited infatuation, but he was the roommate and would probably be the last to know, the way things were going.

He took another drag on the cigarette to dispel the unpleasant thought.

"If you want him, get his ass away from her." A slight cocking of her head as she glanced out at Bobby and Jubilee, and he choked on a lungful of smoke. A strong gloved hand smacked him between the shoulder blades and she took another pull on the cigarette while he looked for sufficient air to breathe. A little grin turned up her mouth and he gave her a speculating look as they stood in a more comfortable silence in front of the warehouse doors.

"You and Bobby are pretty tight," he commented, and one eyebrow arched a little before a flash of teeth in a grin that didn't belong on a girl's face.

"He's a sweet kid. But you know that, right?" She finished her cigarette, dropping it in the ashtray by the door. "You two do everything together."

"Not everything." Fuck himself for the double entendre on that one, all unmeaning, and she gave him a slightly narrowed look before watching him grind out his cigarette and turning a little to survey the room. It unnerved her, he could see that--the number of people alone must make her jumpy as hell, even with everything from the collar down a perfectly safe zone. Absently, he began to reach for another cigarette, but when Bobby stepped between Jubilee's oh-so-willingly parted legs to do some serious grinding to probably the single most suggestive song St. John had ever heard, all bets were off.

St. John wasn't the jealous type, but he did like to make his point, and he had a hand closed over Rogue's wrist and her halfway across the floor before she even knew she was being pulled. He heard a low warning growl that made the hair on the back of his neck rise--that explained why Bobby wasn't getting anywhere with her, he ducked at the sight of spiders and would have no idea what to do with a living predator--but he ignored her until he could spin her around and into his arms.

Another growl and the slightest feel of something pulling at his earring--metal, ah, Magneto. Hell of a guy to wake up.

"Don't worry--I don't wanna be in your head any more than you want me there." Small waist, she felt unnaturally light, as if eating regularly was still an experience she was getting used to. Her body didn't know quite how to move with the beat--he'd guess her childhood hadn't included clubs and neither of the men in her head as far as St. John could tell were the type to hang out and dance. And even if they were, they wouldn't know how a female body was supposed to move, and he slid a hand to her ass and pressed gently, meeting her eyes. "Shit, relax, will ya? I'm not gonna molest you in front of half the fucking room."

She frowned a little, something crossing her face briefly before she lifted her arms and one slid tentatively over his shoulders. Pressing against him in all the right ways--there might be something to be said for having men in your head that know *exactly* how the female body feels best against a guy's--and she slid a little, dragging a low gasp out of him (he was male, she was hot, no question), before she smiled.

"This okay?" Her other arm loose at her side until she got a look at what everyone else was doing--what Jubilee was doing, he suspected--and locked it around his shoulder, gloved hands dangling against his back. Up close under the twisting lights, he could see the glitter around her eyes (Jubilee) and the extremely subtle make-up (Kitty, definitely). She smelled nice too--and all against his better instincts, he leaned in a little closer to take a breath. Her instinctive jerk was all the warning he needed and he used the hand on her ass to hold her before she broke away.

"Fuck, Rogue, chill. Go with it. I'm not gonna get anywhere near that skin. Now relax. Enjoy the moment." Over her head, he could see Bobby's eyes on them--definitely fixed on the position of St. John's hands, so there was no good way to tell which one of them he was fixating on. Rogue chuckled low in her throat.

"Which one of us is he watchin'?" One jean-covered leg was working its way between his, not at all against his will either, and he grinned when she got herself comfortable in her new position and ground down tentatively.

"No fucking clue. Mostly your ass I think. No surprise." She nodded a little, tilting her head forward and St. John ran a finger through the silver line of hair that she still hadn't dyed out--it worked on her, he had to admit. Then she shimmied just a little--and that was far too nice a distraction from Bobby's gaze to ignore--and on the strength of his hold on her she bent back a little, exposing some serious cleavage under her gauze shirt. When she leaned forward again, he slid his arm around her shoulders and felt her rest her head safely against him.

"Thanks," she whispered, and he shrugged, knowing she could feel it.

"No problem. You don't scare me, Rogue." Few things really scared him--psychology gave adolescents a certain sense of immortality he really didn't feel like losing yet. And it was something of an adrenaline rush to hold someone that could kill you without even trying in less time than it took to microwave popcorn.

"If the skin doesn't, the mind might," she answered.

"S'okay." She shifted even closer and he could feel the pressure of her breasts against his chest. "Worse things to be. Could be Toad and have that tongue thing goin'. Not nearly as attractive."

She giggled--he didn't even know she could and it was a cute sound, less annoying than most girls. Over her head, Bobby's eyes were fixed on them and Jubilee was starting to get gripey. Not necessarily a bad thing, until Kitty emerged--and where the hell had she been, anyway?--to slide her body behind Bobby and--

"Wow," Rogue whispered, her head twisted around to watch at his suggestion. "I didn't know Kitty could bend like that."

"Yeah," St. John breathed, a little surprised himself. "I don't think Bobby did either."

She grinned up at him and ground down. Better this time, definitely.

"You wanna give your Bobby a real show, sugar?"

Thinking on the possibilities inherent in that and St. John considered them all before nodding in interest.

"What can you do?"

"You have any idea how many strippers have put on a private show for Logan?" she murmured, and she snapped into action, twisting around him with what had to be a lack of anything resembling bones and a good idea of where all the major erogenous zones were, because damn if she didn't hit them all with those gloved fingers. A leather hand slid slowly down his chest and he braced himself as he felt her move her feet, his arm around her waist to steady her as she bent slowly backward, long hair pooling darkly liquid on the floor. And no, she didn't have a single bone in her back if she could bend like that and all admiration, he slid a hand along her stomach, aware that every eye in the room was on the untouchable girl doing her level best to bring the male population to its knees--

--and doing a damn fine job, all things considered, if Bobby's reaction was anything to go by. Not being any more immune than anyone else to an armful of extremely beautiful woman, he had to admit that he was among the number.

Straightening in the same smooth, languorous movement, face flushed, she looped a casual arm around his shoulders while the other did some heavy-duty exploring of his back just under his shirt, and he had no idea just how amazing pure, butter-soft leather could feel against bare skin.

"Who's he lookin' at?" she whispered in his ear.

"You, probably like every guy in here." He ran both hands down her back, along her spine, resting lightly on her ass and she grinned then, utterly herself (St. John had to suppose both the men in her head had abandoned ship for the moment when they saw where this was going), and ground against him with such perfect precision that he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Too bad we can't drink a little--Bobby's as inhibited as they come."

Oh yeah. St. John had to wonder if it was a Midwestern upbringing or Bobby's own brand of Summersesqueness (inherited from Mr. Summers) that kept him on the straight and narrow of life. Which might explain the fact that since the Devirginizing Incident, he hadn't so much as kissed another girl.

Well, he made out with St. John himself, though, so maybe it was cracking.

"Okay, looks like Kitty and Jubes are ready to run." She stepped backward, catching one of his hands from around her waist. "You and Bobby take the Eclipse--I'll get Jubes and Kitty in the Taurus. Have some fun. And thanks again." A grin before she turned on her heel, meeting with Jubilee and Kitty and the three walked out with the eyes of most of the club on them.

St. John, still breathing a little unsteadily, realized that young Rogue probably had no real idea that she'd more or less stopped all activity in the room with her little performance. Seeing Bobby walking over with that peculiar stride that heralded some definite arousal, he pulled out the keys and threw a companionable arm over the slim shoulders.

"Have a good time?"

Bobby grunted something that could have been an affirmative answer or just a clearing of his throat, and as they got outside, St. John lit another cigarette and handed it over. Bobby, true to Midwestern (and was it Midwestern?) values, frowned at first but took it and took a drag before handing it back with a sigh and a small release of tension.

"She's hot."

"Which one?" Though for Bobby, there was really only one She, and that was Rogue.

"Stupid question. You ready to roll?"

St. John sighed and flipped the keys in one hand before nodding. They found the car with ease (he had a good memory, did Bobby-boy) and the ride back to the Mansion was remarkable only in Bobby's utter silence on the entire dancing issue, which St. John sort of expected to at least be hinted at. They stopped in the garage with Bobby still in his sulk and St. John finished his cigarette and ground it out before turning and looking at him.

"Bobby, what's up?" A flicker that meant he was listening at least. "I haven't seen you this quiet since the day you had to give a speech on the known natural resources of the Amazon. Which, granted, was cool to watch you squirm, but not the issue here. You wanna talk about it?"

Bobby might or might not. He tended toward the circular, and it was with surprise that St. John felt the hand on his thigh, tracing an absent pattern--which made him wonder for a second if getting it on the dance floor with Rogue had put Bobby in a mood that Rogue wouldn't satisfy.

It was definitely something to file away for future reference.

Well, St. John took what he could get, and Bobby literally jumped into the backseat the second St. John got his own ass back there. St. John discovered that the seats on an Eclipse were very comfortable when you're on your back and better than one hundred eighty pounds of enthusiastic mutant ice-maker was on top of you.

And he had to say, thwarted lust with Rogue or not being the reason, Bobby was becoming a damn fine kisser.