Cry No More
by Mac Xavier
Disclaimer: I don't own anybody.
Summary: Jean's dead. Scott's broken. And Bobby isn't a little kid anymore. (Comicverse)
Note: Some one ask for good Scott/Bobby slash? Oh, and Cry No More is a song I wrote and preform.
Rating: NC-17
She was like a sister to Hank.
She was Warren's object of unrequited lust.
She was Logan's Goddess of Peace.
She was the Professor's dream given form and substance.
She was my confidant. One of my best friends. The only one who knew at least part of the reason why none of my relationships work out.
But he loved her. She was his life, the reason HE kept fighting for Xavier's dream.
We all grieved for Jean's death. But Scott? Scott's shattered. Broken into a million pieces. Because this time she's not coming back.
The Pheonix is dead and the fire has been put out.
He was Hank's Leader.
He was Warren's friend.
He was Logan's worthy rival.
He was the Professor's son. His hope for the world and the dream.
He's still the only man I've ever loved.
I still remember the first time I saw him. I was too young, too scared to admit what I knew I was. No, not that I was a mutant. That didn't scare me half as much as the truth did. But I couldn't help but think that he had the most beautiful lips I had ever seen.
I didn't agree to come to Xavier's to learn how to use my mutant power. Nope. I came be cause he was there. Scott.
Now Scott's broken and can't, or won't, move on with his life.
Want to know what Jean's last words to me were? As she laid there dying in my arms when there was nothing I could do to save her from a bullet in the back?
She said, "Keep loving him. He'll need you."
The one think I never told her, and she knew. She probably knew for years.
Which is what I'm doing standing outside his bedroom (not the one he'd shared with Jean) door one year later with my hand on the knob and my head leaning against the frame as I work up the guts to open it.
A year and Scott is still walking around like a ghost.
It's almost like he's the one who died.
So I open the door and walk across the room, ignoring Scott for the moment to throw back the heavy drapes. "Rise and shine, O Fearless Leader."
"Go to hell," comes the mumbled response from the bed.
"And good morning to you, too," I chirp back. I cross to the bed in two steps and jerk away the blanket he's hiding under.
I'm going to do this. I'm going to bring back the man I love, the man we all need, even if he kills me for it.
"You look like shit," I tell him bluntly. I'll make up for being an asshole later. "Get out of bed. Take a shower. Shave, damnit. Then put some clothes on."
"No."
The others think he needs more time. The others think he just needs to work past this in his own way. The others are too fucking blind to see that he *isn't* working past anything. He's wallowing in it.
"Yes," I snap. Suddenly he's scrambling out of the bed, shaking and glaring at me. After knowing him for as long as I have, trust me, I know when he's glaring at me from behind those red goggles/visor/glasses, besides, I'd iced the bed under the sheets. "Or God help me, Slim, I'm going to strip you down and throw you in the shower, then dress you myself."
I wait, then nod my aproval when he comes out, clean, shaven, and wearing jeans and a sweater.
"Much better," I inform him as I toss a pair of socks at him and point at his running shoes. "Now put those on. We're going out."
"Why?" he sighs at me as he drops onto the bed (not the one he'd shared with Jean) to pull on his socks and shoes.
"Because," I explain calmly, "the world did not end with Jean's death, and it's time you learned that."
I drag him out of the mansion and bully him into one of the cars. Not my old hunk of junk, but one of the classic sports car two seaters. One of the ones made to eat the road alive.
He doesn't speak again. Doesn't respond to the sights around us or even the speed I'm driving.
Finally I sigh and pull over near a deserted streach of the coast. I push up so I'm sitting on the back of the car with my feet still in the front seat.
I rest my elbows on my knees and lock my hands together as I stare out over the water. "I guess she was wrong."
A flicker of interest at last, even if it is only a slight tilt of his head.
"Jean said you'd need me," I continue as if I don't notice that he's actually listening. "But you don't need me. The others were right. I should have just left you alone. You never wanted me around anyway. Hey, maybe if you and the Professor had just left me to the mob back in Rhode Island Jean would still be alive right now."
"Don't say that," Scott snarls. "Don't you ever say that."
"Why not?" I demand. "Warren and Cable have said it enough times. If I was more than a half-assed joker of an X-man then Jeanie wouldn't be dead. They blame me for letting her die, you might as well join the party. At least then you'd be *doing* something instead of wallowing around in your own misery. Come on, *Cyclops*, yell at me. Hit me. Hate me. Just don't lock yourself away and hide in the past!"
Next thing I know I'm slammed flat on my back across the trunk and Scott is over me, knees on either side of my hips. One of his hands is tangling in my shirt, the other is back ready to slam into my face.
"B-b-bobby?" he whispers harshly after a long moment where I wonder if my face will ever be the same. "Oh, God. Bobby. I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."
"Shhh, it's okay," I murmur as I slide out from under him. I pull him down beside me to sit in the grass. "I was pushing for a reaction. You know me, always have to have everyone's attention...."
"That's... That's not why you did it," He says after a long moment. "Why did you do it?"
"Because I love you," I say without thinking about it. "And because watching you kill yourself slowly, was killing me, too."
He doesn't say any thing for a while, just looks out toward the water. Or maybe his eyes are closed, but I know he's thinking about something from the way his lips are pressed together. "It.. It wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done."
"I know that," I sigh. "I knew that then. But Warren and Nathan needed some one to blame. And I was there. I was the one who was with her."
"I was the one who sent both of you." He's still looking out toward the ocean. "Maybe if I had gone with you, or if I had sent Psylock instead of Jean."
"Some one would still be dead," I point out. "You or me or Psylock. Some one still would have gotten killed. They weren't even shooting at *us*, Scott. It was a drive by in front of a fast food joint. Nothing would be different except who died." I reach over and turn his chin so that I can look at his face. "You couldn't have done anything either."
That's what finally does it. That's what finally breaks through to him.
And he cries. He sobs with his arms around me and his face burried against my chest, and I hold him and mutter nonsense into his hair until he cries himself to sleep. And I keep holding him until he wakes back up hours later.
Six months and he starts to live again. Starts to lead the X-Men again.
The others are glad to see him smile again, glad that he's back in the field giving the orders again. But they still see him as half of a whole. They see him as the surviving half of Scott and Jean.
They've forgotten that there was a Scott without a Jean years ago. The Professor hasn't forgotten.
So he's the only one who notices that when Scott goes to the movies he goes with me. When Scott goes to Harry's he goes with me.
But the Professor only smiles, glad that Scott is starting to be happy again.
I don't push. I never push because half of me hopes that he took my admission of love on the beach to be brotherly. That's not the part of me that wants to hold him in my arms again, smiling instead of crying.
That's not the part of me that rejoices when he kisses me for the first time.
Another year has past since Jean died in my arms outside a New York coffee shop.
Six months since Scott Summers kissed me.
Two months since Scott asked me if I wanted to move my things into his room.
Four months since the other X-Men finally figured out what was starting to happen between us.
Two weeks since we moved into a room that's ours. Not Scott's and Jean's, not Scott's with out Jean. Ours. Scott's and Bobby's room.
"Bobby?" Scott whispers into my hair. "What's going on in that head of yours?"
"Mmmm," is my only reply from a sleep and sex muddled brain. "That you taste really, really good."
It gets him hard every time I say that and this is no exception. I grin up at him and wiggle my eyebrows.
"You're a little monster, you know that, babe?" he chuckles.
"Yeah, but you love me anyway," I tell him as I slide up his body to taste those lips I fell in love with when I was thirteen.
Our tongues duel for a moment as his hands slide down my back, cupping my ass and starting a slow rocking motion that makes my errection press and slide against his.
I moan into his mouth and grip the sheets. I break away to breath.
Scott is panting under me. The red light behind his sleeping goggles brightens so I know his eyes are open and he's looking at me when he says: "In me. I want... you inside me."
"Are you sure?" I ask gently running my hand along his jaw. He's taken me lots of times, and I was fine if he always wanted to be on top, but he's never asked me to take him before. And I've never asked him to let me.
He turns his head to brush a kiss against my palm. "I'm sure, lover. Please."
I press a kiss against his throat as I reach for the lube, still out on the nightstand from our little adventures earlier, then suck, lick and bite my way down that perfect body.
One thing I will say about being a Superhero, it keeps you in shape. You just cannot be comfortable wearing spandex for a living if you're in less than top physical form.
Have I mentioned that I love the way he whimpers when I suck on his cock?
It also gets him to relax so I can start to slide one lube slicked finger into him. I go slowly for two reasons. One, I want him to enjoy this as much as I do. And two, because if I try and speed anything up I'm going to cum all over the sheets before I ever get inside him.
At two fingers I give them a little twist and...
Jackpot.
He starts to alternate between thrusting into my more than happy to oblige throat and thrusting back on my fingers.
At three he begs me to hurry up and get inside him.
I pull my mouth off of him. "Hands and knees. Easier, your first time. Roll... Roll over, Scott."
And he does and I start a slow carefull press into his body after slicking yet more lube onto my own cock.
I would die if I ever hurt him.
Then I'm inside him and it's heaven. Hot and tight and I'm the first one to ever have him like this.
I start a slow thrust, but Scott rocks back against me with a moan.
"Won't break," he groans. "Harder."
So I thrust again until I'm pounding into him as he shoves back over and over. I'm close, too close to cuming without him, so I reach around and start stroking him in time with my thrusting.
One touch sets him off with a howl that might even be my name, and he clamps down on me. I follow him over.
Trembling and shaking from the aftershocks I pull out of him carefully and roll us onto our sides, away from the newest wet spot.
After a few mindnumbed minutes I notice he's chuckling.
"What's so funny, Slim?" I ask with my forehead still pressed against his shoulder.
"Now I know why you like that so much," he answers before laughing out right. He rolls over in my arms and grins at me. "I love you."
I laugh quietly and pull him closer. "I love you, too, Slim."
Our radio is still playing softly and a song that I've never heard comes on just as I start to follow Scott into dream-land.
Cry no more
My sad-eyed angel.
Cry no more
You're breaking my heart.
Your old love has flown
But I'm still here
With you, For you
Cry no more
My sad-eyed angel
Cry no more
My lonely boy because
I know you better than
You think I do, I do.
I know you.
Cry no more
My sad-eyed angel
Cry no more
Because I'm here for you......The End