prodigalflame: (Default)
[personal profile] prodigalflame
John had woken early in his own bed, alone, and found that this whole 'sleeping together once or twice in the past week' thing was getting to be annoyingly habit-forming. Alone was starting to feel...odd.

Still, he made them a pot of coffee, leaving a mug out on the counter for Bobby, and took his own to settle on the couch with his thoughts and look out at the wintry landscape, little more than some paving and a few dreary shrubs and bushes, windows edged with frost.

The fire was warm, so he let his robe fall open, and simply cradled the mug in his hands. Underneath the tree he'd left a present in matte silver wrapping paper with a snowflake design and a small gift card with Bobby's name on it. Inside was a copy of Math Jokes 4 Mathy Folks, although that wasn't the real gift. The real gift was the Sinatra app John had bought and sneakily installed on Bobby's phone after his boyfriend - god, boyfriend - had gone to bed that evening.

Tucked up inside the book was another present, although John wasn't entirely sure of the impulse that led him to place it in the front cover. It was an old photo, taken on the grounds of the Xavier Institute, with two teenage boys sitting on one of those benches they had dotted around. Bobby was leaning forward, smiling at the camera, either looking happy or clever enough to fake it; and John was sitting next to him, but at a distance, leaning back with arms stretched out along the back of the bench, one leg crossed over the other at the ankle, and looking anywhere but the camera, a picture in studied, deliberate angry-cool. It had been taken a couple of months after Rogue had arrived at the Mansion and everything had changed, but to John it was still a worthy memory, at least some of the time.

Date: 2015-02-01 10:30 am (UTC)
cold_blueeyes: (boy next door)
From: [personal profile] cold_blueeyes
"Well, good." Bobby sighed and relaxed against him, closing his eyes in contentment. Things had changed so fast, but he was happier than he ever could have believed he would be when he'd gotten on that plane in Boston two weeks ago. "Merry Christmas, John-boy," he murmured, smiling to himself as he set his phone on the couch next to him so he could rest his hand on John's chest.

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prodigalflame: (Default)
'John'. Just 'John.'

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