John's mind was already running through possible replies before Bobby finished. (Yes. He war-gamed his conversations. He still listened at the same time. Fuck you.) Still, the idea that Bobby felt the same way both surprised him for a moment, showing with a brief eyebrow raise, and then made perfect sense. Why shouldn't he be the only crazily sex-obsessed mutant in the household? Not that there was anything, per se, wrong with that, but John's hangups were easier to accept when they were shared. And yet the pesky question of 'why me?' lay still unanswered, even if it was quieter than it had been before.
"I even get turned on by that fucking hat of yours!" John exclaimed with a bit of a chuckle, because who the fuck in their right mind had a goddamn fantasy about what a slick fucking potentially sharply dressed boyfriend they had. That hat was goddamn old-fashioned like Bobby's taste in music and it was everything he loved about the doofus rolled up into one simple statement.
He leaned in a little as Bobby kept talking, settling companionably against the back of the couch, arm reaching to gently play with Bobby's hair. And then Bobby said that word. John let out a subconscious rumble of pleasure in response, and then leaned in even closer so he could eyeball Bobby, mouth set in a line, grey eyes looking into blue. "...What did you call me?" he asked, soft, but demanding, and then shifted over further to loom a bit, instinctively trying to press Bobby back against the other end of the couch, and moving with him to ensure there wasn't much chance for escape. "Because you know, 'baby' sounds like the kind of thing you hear in movies and stuff, with the perfect couples, and you know....I want it." He murmured against Bobby's mouth, all but on top of him, on all fours. He breathed a little quicker at the admission, kissing Bobby's lips, voice shaking with anxiety and need as he continued: "And I want to be this normal, fucking, sappy-ass cliched boyfriend, with a gentle, wonderful guy like you who has a god-awful sense of humour and makes me laugh and lets me find out who I am when I'm not being tough. You're doing just fine."
He brushed his lips over Bobby's forehead, and looked down at him, awaiting his response.
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"I even get turned on by that fucking hat of yours!" John exclaimed with a bit of a chuckle, because who the fuck in their right mind had a goddamn fantasy about what a slick fucking potentially sharply dressed boyfriend they had. That hat was goddamn old-fashioned like Bobby's taste in music and it was everything he loved about the doofus rolled up into one simple statement.
He leaned in a little as Bobby kept talking, settling companionably against the back of the couch, arm reaching to gently play with Bobby's hair. And then Bobby said that word. John let out a subconscious rumble of pleasure in response, and then leaned in even closer so he could eyeball Bobby, mouth set in a line, grey eyes looking into blue. "...What did you call me?" he asked, soft, but demanding, and then shifted over further to loom a bit, instinctively trying to press Bobby back against the other end of the couch, and moving with him to ensure there wasn't much chance for escape. "Because you know, 'baby' sounds like the kind of thing you hear in movies and stuff, with the perfect couples, and you know....I want it." He murmured against Bobby's mouth, all but on top of him, on all fours. He breathed a little quicker at the admission, kissing Bobby's lips, voice shaking with anxiety and need as he continued: "And I want to be this normal, fucking, sappy-ass cliched boyfriend, with a gentle, wonderful guy like you who has a god-awful sense of humour and makes me laugh and lets me find out who I am when I'm not being tough. You're doing just fine."
He brushed his lips over Bobby's forehead, and looked down at him, awaiting his response.