Bobby made his way back into the room he shared with John, dropping his bookbag next to his desk. The room smelled like smoke, but...it always did. Making a face, since John was there to bear witness to it, he opened one of the windows. "I wish you'd do that outside."

"If wishes were whores, we'd all have free rides."

Bobby sort of stared at him, then shook his head. Why did he always have to be so goddamn difficult? "Could you please not smoke in the room?"

"Gonna make me?" John laughed. The lighter was taken out (Bobby was surprised it hadn't already been in his hand), and the rhythmic click-fwoosh-snap started. "So, how's the girlfriend? Any progress there?"

Bobby gripped the back of the chair at his desk. Why, why, why did John always have to bring her up? "No. No progress yet. Why don't you go take a crack at her, see how you do?"

"I'd rather take a crack at you, Bob-o."

Bobby froze. Almost literally. "What?"

"C'mon." Click-fwoosh-snap. "You talk in your sleep you know. It's not her name you're screaming when you cum."

"I don't ...scream." Oh, Jesus. He didn't know he talked in his sleep. Or that John heard. He wanted, very badly, to know what else he said, what else John knew, but he was terrified of asking.

"Yeah, Bob-o, you do." Click-fwoosh-snap. He slid off the bed, moving behind Bobby, pressing his body against his roommate's. "Lookit me, Iceman."

His nostrils flared, but he released the chair, ice snapping off between his hands and the wood, and he turned to face his roommate.

"You tell me you love me, in your sleep. S'it true?"

"No." His eyes flicked guiltily away.

"Yeah, it is." He shoved at Bobby's shoulder. "You can forget it, you fuckin' homo. I don't love you. I hardly like you."

Bobby turned his head away, eyes downcast. "Fuckin' homo? I felt you, John. Pot, kettle, black." He shifted icy blue eyes to John's smoldering gaze. "You might not love me, but you'd fuck me."

For a moment, they simply stared at one another, and John nodded. "Yeah. I'd fuck you. But I don't love you."

Bobby grinned despite himself, and shook his head. "You're a piece of work, Allerdyce."

"You gonna talk, or are we gonna fuck?" He slid his hands beneath Bobby's shirt.

"Fuck." John might not love him, but there was a spark. Where there was a spark, surely a fire could grow.