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Bobby was very annoyed that he was going to have to admit that Kitty was right. Again.
“You don’t need to go to Long Island for Thanksgiving,” she’d said in his cabin on the Marauder. “There’s going to be a whole big thing at the Green Lagoon. Doug said Krakoa’s already growing the turkey trees for it.”
“See, there was a time that would have sounded gross to me,” Bobby said, holding up a tie to his reflection in the mirror. “Tie or no tie?”
“No tie,” she said. He could see her wrinkling her nose over his shoulder. “No suit. You could wear ice on Krakoa.”
If he was being honest with himself, it did feel weird to be wearing a suit. He spent so much time iced up these days, since he was almost exclusively around other mutants now, whether he was on the Marauder or on Krakoa. When he wasn’t in ice, he just wore whatever. No one cared.
His parents…cared very much.
“No tie,” he agreed, tossing it onto the bed. “Is Kurt taking you ashore?”
She crossed her arms as he turned to face her. “Do you really think you’re going to enjoy Thanksgiving with your parents?”
“It’s been known to happen,” he said. Sure, the last time had been when he was about twelve, but still. “And I think they’re really going to try this time.”
“Bobby.” Her face softened. “No, they’re not.”
That had been an hour ago. Bobby had stepped through the gate on the Marauder’s deck onto Krakoa, and then through the gate to Nassau County. The cab to his parents’ place had only taken ten minutes.
It had taken less time than that for him to regret not listening to Kitty.
“Bobby, you’re here!” his mother said as he stepped through the door. “You couldn’t have put on a tie?”
Bobby forced a smile and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “Hi, Mom. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“No tie, and you’re late,” his dad said. “What do you even have those plants for on that cockamanie island that can take you all over the world if you can’t even be on time?”
Great-Aunt Gladys gave a little shriek. “You mean one of those horrible gates is outside?”
“No, I took a cab from the g—the station,” Bobby said. “It was a little slow. Sorry.” He was nine minutes late, and they wouldn’t sit down at the table for another hour, but he could pick his battles. He could.
“So, Robert, your father tells me you’re gay all of a sudden,” Cousin Joel said. “What, was being a mutant not enough attention for you?”
Bobby closed his eyes and counted to ten. Dammit, Kitty.
“Happy Thanksgiving to you, too, Joel,” he said, opening his eyes again. “And yeah, I guess I just wanted a double helping of invasive questions this year. So greedy of me!”
“Robert Louis Drake. Don’t be rude,” his mother said sternly. “And go bring the extra folding chairs up from the basement before your father tries to do it, you know his heart can’t take it.”
Bobby’s dad had already disappeared down the stairs. Bobby caught him with two chairs under each arm. “Hey, Dad, come on. Let me do that.”
“They don’t need to be carried up on an ice coaster or whatever.”
“Ice slide,” Bobby corrected before he could help himself, then held out his hands. “No. Just regular, warm hands. Promise.”
His dad gave him a narrow look, but begrudgingly handed two of the chairs over. Bobby left him to the other two, knowing he wouldn’t win that argument.
“Now, listen,” his dad said. “I don’t want you going on and on about oppression and, and disco dancing or whatever it is you do on that island, okay? No mutant stuff, no…that other stuff. Your mom worked hard on this meal and she deserves a nice Thanksgiving.”
“Literally all I’ve said so far is ‘happy Thanksgiving!’” Bobby protested. “It’s everyone else who keeps bringing it up, not me!”
“Because you flaunt it! With that island, rubbing it in everyone’s faces, showing up via flower…”
“I took a cab!” Bobby shook his head and stalked towards the stairs. “Next time I’ll get a receipt from the driver, would that make you happy?”
“Don’t you take that tone with me in my house!”
Bobby stomped up the stairs, knowing he was now actually making a spectacle and unable to stop himself. His mom had disappeared into the kitchen, and the rest of the family was thankfully talking amongst themselves. His cousin Mary, his only tolerable relative, spotted him and waved.
“Bobby, hi!” she said, then took in the look on his face. “Yikes. That bad already, huh?”
“I’m not saying coming here was a mistake, but is there any chance you might want to escape via a magical floral-based portal to a combination Thanksgiving potluck and karaoke night at a tiki bar?”
“Um, yes, that sounds amazing?”
The doorbell rang. Bobby frowned at Mary. “Who isn’t here yet?”
She shrugged. “No one, unless your parents invited a neighbor or something.”
Bobby’s mom leaned out of the kitchen, her hands swaddled in pot holders. “Now who could that be? Bobby, don’t just stand there, answer the door!”
With a rueful look at Mary, Bobby shrugged and did as he’d been bidden. With any luck, it was a Sentinel here to put him out of his misery.
It wasn’t a Sentinel, but his guess wasn’t far off. Standing on the front steps of his parents’ house was Daken Akihiro.
“Um.” Bobby blinked at him. “Are you lost?”
“I must be, to be on Long Island,” Daken drawled. “No, Magneto asked me to scope out a nearby suspected Orchis facility.”
“On Thanksgiving?”
Daken shrugged. He looked, as usual, absurdly good, in distractingly well-fitted brocade trousers and a crisp white shirt. Characteristically, he’d tucked it in but left every single button unbuttoned, and also rolled up the sleeves, just in case there was a chance that someone, somewhere, anywhere, hadn’t seen his tattoo. Which was unlikely, because the shirt was also somewhat sheer. Bobby could definitely make out both nipples.
“I’m Japanese and Canadian,” Daken said. “If I was going to celebrate Colonizer Day, I would have done it a month ago.”
Bobby blinked and made himself stop looking at Daken’s nipples. “So you’re here because…you need directions?”
Daken rolled his eyes. “It’s a two-part job. Pick up whatever information I can at the facility…” he tapped his nose “...then destroy it. I can destroy a building, but it’ll take me all night. Lorna’s busy, and Boom Boom told me to go fuck myself. So.”
Good old Boom Boom. Bobby had always liked that kid. Then he realized the implication. “Wait. I’m supposed to go destroy this building?”
Daken shrugged again. “It’s the next town over, and Sage told me you were already on this side of the gate. Look, snowflake, it’ll take half an hour, and then you can get back to drinking gravy with the extended snowflake family.”
“You have a very confused handle on what a Thanksgiving meal is,” Bobby said. “Anyway, I can’t just leave! And besides, since when are we team-up buddies?”
Daken’s eyebrows lifted, just slightly, and Bobby felt himself flush, remembering the few interactions they had had. Mostly fighting, back in Daken’s bad old days. Plots for world domination (Daken’s). Giant stabby snowflakes made out of ice (Bobby’s). A lot of flirtatious comments that were also kind of mean. (Daken’s.) (All right, and sometimes Bobby’s, too.)
Oh, and there was that time Bobby had kissed him.
Now Daken was allegedly reformed—he and Logan were even getting along these days. Lorna and Jean-Paul seemed to like him just fine. And of course, Krakoa was for all mutants. But Bobby had mostly steered clear of Daken on the island. He told himself it was just because he was pissed that Daken had made his very first boyfriend break up with him, and not embarrassment.
(Well, first boyfriend as an adult. Time travel got confusing.)
“If you want to have the ‘what are we’ conversation, it’s gonna take a lot longer than a half an hour, Otter Pop,” Daken said.
“Oh, you don’t know what people do with gravy on Thanksgiving, but now you’re dropping American food references.”
“Look, let’s just get this done and you can go back to avoiding me on Krakoa and pretending you’re not picturing me naked—”
Bobby opened his mouth for what was sure to be a clever and withering retort, when his dad’s voice behind him made him jump.
“Bobby, what’s the hold up? Who are you talking to?”
Bobby froze, and not in the way he preferred. He managed to turn his head just enough to take in his father’s appalled expression. William Drake didn’t pay enough attention to the news to know of any of Daken’s past shenanigans, so Bobby knew he was just reacting to Daken’s appearance: the manbun. The buzzed sides and back of his head. The multiple earrings that Bobby still couldn’t figure out how they didn’t get healed right out of Daken’s ears. The five o’ clock shadow. The very unbuttoned shirt. The tattoo. The nipples.
God, Bobby hoped his dad wasn’t looking at Daken’s nipples.
It was also entirely possible that his dad had heard Daken say “Krakoa” and deduced that Daken was a mutant. In which case he had also heard Daken talking about Bobby picturing him naked. Bobby reconsidered his decision to stop turning into vapor.
“Oh good lord. Please tell me this isn’t your latest boyfriend,” Bobby’s dad said, as if Bobby was running through a string of men every week.
Bobby’s mouth was still open, preparing itself for his indignant retort to Daken, and it must have had too much momentum to stop entirely, because instead it said, with absolutely zero permission from Bobby himself: “Actually, he is.”
“What,” Bobby’s dad said.
“What,” Daken said.
Bobby looked back and forth between them, at the way an apoplectic flush was creeping up his dad’s neck, and made a terrible decision. “Dad, could you excuse us for a second?”
“Absolutely n—”
“Bye!” Bobby stepped out of the house and closed the door in his dad’s face.
“Well,” Daken said into the abrupt quiet. “This is all so sudden, snowflake.”
“That Orchis facility. Is it active?” Bobby asked. “Like, are they doing evil things right this very moment?”
“Magneto’s intel didn’t say so, but—”
“Right. So here’s the deal. I’ll go with you to tear that place apart.” Bobby took a deep breath. “But first you’re going to have Thanksgiving dinner with my extended family while pretending to be my boyfriend.”
Daken stared at him. “Did you take a blow to the head recently or something? I don’t think I’m exactly the guy your dad wants for his precious baby boy.”
“He doesn’t want any guy for me. Especially not a mutant.”
“Ah.”
Bobby didn’t like the sudden look of—not sympathy, exactly, but comprehension—in Daken’s eyes. “Don’t read too much into it, okay? My family just wants me to settle down on a street exactly like this one with a nice girl and put my accounting degree to good use.”
“You have an accounting degree? Jesus, and to think I actually tried to seduce you.”
He had really been trying? Bobby fought back a flush and tried to ignore it. “You are going to give every single one of them conniptions. Except my cousin Mary, she’s cool. But the rest of them are going to freak out.”
“Because they’re racist?” Daken asked wryly.
“What? No!” Bobby said, then remembered a few choice comments from his father back when he was dating Opal. “Well…okay, yeah, my dad, a bit, but I’ll run interference there. No, it’s all the…” He waved a hand at Daken’s general everything. “...hot, tattooed mutant flirting with everything that moves. Also your terrible personality.”
Daken’s canines flashed. “You think I’m hot?”
“Everyone thinks you’re hot. Focus.”
“So let me get this straight.” Daken folded his arms, making his shirt gape open wider. “You are asking me to spend…what, two hours? Three? With a group of white suburbanites who will hate me. Why would I do that?”
“Oh, do you not enjoy deliberately antagonizing entire rooms full of people for no reason? I must have you confused with one of Logan’s other kids. Look, just do me this favor, all right?” Bobby crossed his arms, too, aware that the gesture was less impressive on him. “You already cost me one boyfriend. You owe me a replacement.”
“If you’re looking for a boyfriend…”
“No,” Bobby said, irritated by Daken’s obvious lack of remorse over stabbing Judah that one time, and his own willingness to pretend to date him despite the fact that he’d stabbed Judah that one time. “You: mortify my parents in front of the rest of the family by being…you. Me: make an ice kaiju and smash a building. That’s all this is.”
Daken made a theatrically thoughtful face. It could not have been more obvious that he’d already made his decision, but was letting Bobby dangle on purpose.
“I’ll do it,” he said finally. “On three conditions.”
“Three?!”
“Oh, unclench, you already know one of them. One: like you said, after the pecan pie, you come with me to deal with the Orchis facility.”
“It’ll be pumpkin pie, but okay.”
“Gross. Two.” Daken held up two fingers. “I get to say whatever I want to your shitty dad.”
“Hey,” Bobby protested half-heartedly.
“Fair’s fair. You can say whatever you want to my shitty dad.”
“Your shitty dad is my friend!”
“I know, but I’m willing to accept your flaws to make this relationship work,” Daken said with an air of magnanimity.
Bobby sighed. “Fine. What’s the third condition?”
Daken smirked, and suddenly Bobby realized just what a bad decision he’d made. “I’m going method.”
“What the hell is that supposed to—”
But Daken was already opening the door and ushering Bobby inside. Bobby’s parents were standing in the foyer, talking urgently in hushed tones, but they both went silent when they saw Bobby and Daken.
“Um. Mom, Dad, this is…” Bobby faltered. Was he really going to go through with this? He could just explain that he’d been joking before, that Daken was a fellow X-Man—stretching the truth a little, but close enough—and that he had to go handle a mission. They’d be disappointed in him, and would tell him so at great length, but it wasn’t anything he couldn’t deal with. He’d done it before.
Daken took the decision out of his hands. “Akihiro,” he said, stepping forward and thrusting his hand at Bobby’s dad, smiling like the apex predator he was. “You must be Mr. and Mrs. Drake.”
“William and Madeline,” Bobby managed.
“Uh,” Bobby’s dad said, and then winced as Daken shook his hand forcefully. Bobby frowned and moved closer—he wasn’t actually going to let Daken hurt his parents—but Daken was already letting go and picking up Bobby’s mom’s hand.
“Madeline. I see where Bobby gets his looks,” he murmured, and kissed her knuckles. Slowly. With prolonged eye contact. Bobby’s mom went bright red.
“Okay, that’s enough,” Bobby snapped, tugging on Daken’s belt loop to pull him backwards. “Uh, yeah, Mom, Dad, I thought I told you I was bringing a plus one. I must have forgotten. Sorry.”
“I don’t remember saying you could bring a plus one,” his dad muttered. Bobby did, but it had been years ago, before Bobby had come out.
“I’m not sure we have enough chairs…” his mom said hesitantly.
“Oh, that’s all right,” Daken said, putting an arm around Bobby’s waist and tugging him in close. Bobby startled and then tried to pretend he hadn’t. “I’ll just sit on Bobby’s lap. Wouldn’t be the first time, right, snowflake?”
“Ha,” Bobby said. “Ha ha.”
“We’ll find an extra chair,” his dad gritted out.
“Right,” his mom said helplessly. “Well, um…Bobby, why don’t you go introduce…”
“Akihiro,” Daken said.
“Akihiro…to everyone. I need to do. Something.” She turned abruptly and disappeared into the kitchen. Bobby’s dad gave Daken one last disapproving look, then followed.
“I think this is going well,” Daken said. Bobby had never seen him look more pleased with himself. “Shall we?”
“Uh. Fine,” Bobby said, and started for the living room. Daken followed, unnecessarily close, and after a few steps Bobby felt Daken’s hand slip into his back pocket. He jumped. “Um, hello? Handsy!”
“Thought I was supposed to be your inappropriate boyfriend.” Daken’s breath was warm near Bobby’s ear, his hand an unignorable pressure between only two thin layers of cotton and wool. “Remember, this was your idea.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bobby managed,
And then they were in the living room, and the whole family was turning to look at them: Mary, Joel, Uncle Ted who was in his seventies, Great-Aunt Gladys who was even older, oh god, what had he been thinking?
“Um, hi…everyone,” he managed. “This is my boyfriend, Dak—uh, Akihiro. I’m dating him. And he’s also dating me. At the same time.”
Daken squeezed his ass.
They went around the room, Bobby introducing various aunts and uncles and cousins by name. Thankfully, Daken released his death grip on Bobby’s right butt cheek to shake more hands, and also didn’t do anything worse than give every relative his absolute sharkiest smile as he did so.
“And this is my cousin Mary,” Bobby said.
Daken’s eyes flickered to him. “Right. You mentioned her,” he said, and the smile toned down to something normal as he shook Mary’s hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” she said, eyes round, her hand still clinging to his. “You are…absurdly hot.”
Bobby put his hands on his hips. “I think I should be a little offended by how incredulous you are about this. I can get a hot guy!”
“I mean. I am really hot,” Daken said.
“He is really hot,” Mary agreed.
Daken’s smile went sharp again as he looked at Bobby. “You didn’t seem to disagree last night when we were—”
“Mom!” Bobby called in a panic. “Should we all sit down now?”
His mom poked his head out of the kitchen, looking flustered. “Uh…yeah. Yes. Everyone can sit. Um, Akihiro, we’re, uh, we’re still looking for another chair.”
They eventually wheeled Bobby’s dad’s hideous ergonomic chair out of the office. Daken looked ridiculous leaning against the cushioned headrest, with Bobby and Uncle Ted on folding chairs on either side of him, but they managed to squeeze another place setting into the tablescape and make it work.
“Well!” Bobby’s mom said with obviously false cheer. “Before we eat, should we go around the table and all say what we’re thankful for?”
There was an awkward silence. No one looked at Bobby or Daken.
“I’m thankful for the delicious meal you cooked, Aunt Madeline,” Mary said, and Bobby shot her a grateful look.
Cousin Joel was next to her. “Well, I suppose I shouldn’t say I’m thankful for my stock portfolio, but…” he joked. There was some weak laughter. Daken let out a contemptuous huff just loud enough to be heard over it.
They went around the table, with various relatives saying they were thankful for family, good health, all the usual. When it got to Bobby’s mom, she opened her mouth, then shut it again hastily as her eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t,” she said, glancing at Bobby and then away. “I just…just skip me, I need a minute…”
Bobby wasn’t sure if it was hurt or anger making his stomach feel like that. His own mother looked at him and couldn’t think of anything to be thankful for? His dad, too, was glaring at him, rubbing her back comfortingly.
“I…” Bobby started.
There was a firm hand on his knee, under the table. “I’m thankful for Krakoa,” Daken said, very loudly.
“Oh, are you a mutie too, Mr. Akihiro?” Great-Aunt Gladys asked.
He smiled at her, showing his canines. “What do you think?”
“You know what, why don’t we eat?” Bobby said, reaching for the salad bowl in front of him. “I think everyone’s just hungry. In fact, I’m thankful for salad. Love a good salad. Love some…leaves.”
He filled his salad plate, then handed the bowl to Daken. Daken squeezed his knee once, then let go and took the bowl.
It broke some of the tension, and people started talking amongst themselves as they ate, although Bobby’s parents remained subdued up at the head of the table. Joel leaned across the table. “So, Akihiro, where did you go to school?”
Daken took a bite of salad. “Well, Joel, you could say that I’ve been to the school of life.”
“So you don’t have a degree?” Joel asked. “Bobby’s an accountant, you know.”
“Bobby’s a first responder, educator, and activist who also happens to know how to file your taxes,” Daken said mildly. “I mostly just kill people. Well, I used to. Now I track down dead people instead. Are those dried cranberries in the salad? Delicious.”
Joel stared at him. So did Bobby. He knew about the dead people—in both categories—but he never would have expected Daken to describe him that way.
Daken took another bite. “Oh, and I was a drug addict for a while. Have you ever tried Heat? It’s amazing.”
That pretty much killed the conversation for the rest of the salad course.
Or at least, it did until Mary reached for the nearest bottle of red wine and refilled her glass. “Can I top anyone off?” she asked. “Bobby?”
“God, yes,” he said, pushing the glass he’d already drained once towards her. He didn’t even like wine, but desperate measures.
She gave him a generous pour. “Anyone else? Akihiro?”
“Thanks, but I’m not really a wine guy,” Daken said.
“No, just hard drugs,” Joel muttered.
Daken winked at him, then tilted his head back slightly and sniffed the air. “That’s a very good Scotch you have in the liquor cabinet, though, Willie. Don’t mind if I do.”
He pushed his chair back and walked over to the liquor cabinet while Bobby’s dad spluttered. “That is not…the wine is for the meal, not…excuse me!”
But Daken was already opening the bottle and sloshing it into, absurdly, his wine glass. He brought both glass and bottle back to the table, leaving the liquor cabinet hanging open. “Call me a philistine, but I do prefer my Scotch chilled,” he said, holding the glass out to Bobby. “Help me out?”
Bobby glanced around the table. His father was glaring openly. His mother shook her head, just the tiniest bit.
Daken didn’t move the glass. His eyes dared Bobby to do it.
Bobby touched the glass and lightly chilled it.
“Thanks, babe,” Daken said, and kissed him on the cheek before downing the entire glass like he was in a Gatorade commercial.
“That is a three hundred dollar bottle!” Bobby’s dad thundered.
“I think it’s time for the main course,” Bobby’s mom said quickly, and stood up to collect the salad plates. Bobby stood with her, half out of habit and half out of a guilty instinct to help her after what he was putting her through tonight.
But what was he putting her through? The irritated question in his head sounded half like Kitty and half like Daken, which was a weird combination. He hadn’t iced up or filled the house with ice golems. He’d chilled a glass. Yes, it was Scotch, and in a wine glass, and somewhere Sebastian Shaw was probably writhing in agony over the breach in etiquette, but they were eating at a table with a New York Jets tablecloth. It wasn’t exactly a Michelin-starred restaurant.
Really, what Bobby had put his mother through was having a son who happened to be born both gay and a mutant. He’d say neither of those things was his fault, but he had chosen to embrace at least his mutant side early on, and he’d like to think he’d done a pretty good job of it. A lot of people were alive right now because Bobby was a mutant, including his parents and, oh, the entire world.
He wasn’t sure if he was doing such a good job with the gay side. Not least because he was still extremely conscious of how attractive Daken was no matter how obnoxious he was being.
But he’d tried, he really had. He’d stayed in the closet well into adulthood largely because he’d known deep down how his parents would react. He’d tried to downplay the gay thing around them the way he’d always downplayed the mutant thing. If he couldn’t be the son his parents wanted, at least he could let them pretend. Even if he wasn’t always sure they deserved to pretend.
Now Daken had him wondering how much fun it would be to stop letting them. Or at least, how much less work he’d have to do.
He and his mom and Aunt Ruth stacked the salad plates in the sink. Then his mother opened the oven, where the side dishes were keeping warm. “Bobby, bring the mashed potatoes out to the table and then come back for the stuffing,” she said, offering him a pair of oven mitts.
Last Thanksgiving, he would have taken them. Hell, half an hour ago he would have taken them.
“I don’t need those, remember?”
Her face twisted up. “Fine,” she said. “Fine! I’m only your mother! I’m only trying to take care of you!”
Bobby bit back a sigh and reached for the potatoes. The casserole dish was hot, but it didn’t bother him in the slightest.
“And those potatoes had better not be cold by the time they reach the table!” she called after him as he carried them out to the dining room.
“Are you upsetting your mother?” Bobby’s dad demanded as Bobby placed the casserole dish on a trivet in front of Uncle Ted.
“Yeah, I just fought a Sentinel in the kitchen,” Bobby snapped, and went back for the stuffing.
When he finally flopped back down into his stupid folding chair, Daken’s hand found his knee under the table again. “Feeling thankful yet, snowflake?” he murmured in Bobby’s ear.
“Are you sure we don’t have to go destroy that Orchis facility right now?” Bobby murmured back. “Or actually, do you have any of that Heat on you?”
Daken chuckled, his hand slipping up Bobby’s thigh a few inches. “If you want to see stars, I can give you something better than drugs.”
Bobby gave him a light shove, making Daken laugh harder and let go. He was aware that it was a more flirtatious shove than he probably should be giving someone who’d once attempted to fight him to the death. On the other hand, Daken was his fake boyfriend right now, not to mention one of his only two allies in this house. Maybe Bobby should be touching him more.
His mother reemerged from the kitchen, slamming the green bean casserole down on the final trivet. The turkey was already in pride of place in the center of the table.
“There,” Bobby’s mom said. “Dinner is served. Eat.”
They ate. Conversation dropped to practically nothing, and it wasn’t the quiet satisfaction of hungry people finally getting to tuck into a meal; there was a distinct awkwardness in the air and no one would look at Bobby. He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to flip the table or be smug about how thoroughly he’d ruined their Thanksgiving. His own was going to be ruined no matter what, after all. Wasn’t turnabout fair play?
“So, Will, what do you think of the Jets’ chances this year?” Uncle Ted said finally.
That sparked a subdued, desultory conversation about football. Daken took the opportunity to lean in again. His lips actually brushed Bobby’s ear this time, and Bobby shuddered.
“One more course to go, and we can bail,” he said. His hand was on Bobby’s thigh again. “Unless you feel like showing me your childhood bedroom…”
Bobby huffed, amused despite himself. “Nice try. They moved in last year. I don’t even have a bedroom here, so you can forget whatever fantasies you have of getting fresh with me on a twin bed.”
“I can get a twin bed to Krakoa. Hell, I could probably grow a twin bed on Krakoa.”
Bobby rolled his eyes, but this time he didn’t bother to push Daken away. Which might have been a mistake. As his family chattered stiffly about the Jets’ defense and last week’s thunderstorm and something someone said to Aunt Ruth at the post office, Daken’s hand gradually started creeping higher.
Bobby turned and looked at Daken, his eyebrows lifting. Daken was seemingly concentrating on his green bean casserole, fork in one hand. Beneath the tablecloth, his finger traced along Bobby’s inseam. He was decidedly above the halfway point now, thigh-wise.
There were probably less ideal places and times to get a boner than at the dinner table at the world’s worst Thanksgiving while a (reformed?) supervillain groped him under the table, but Bobby was having a hard time thinking of any right now.
On the other hand, Daken had had his back all night. Bobby had asked him to torment his family, and Daken had delivered.
On the other other hand (and Bobby knew several mutants who were perfectly capable of such a thing), Bobby had not asked Daken to torment him, too. And behind the seemingly innocent expression on Daken’s perfect face, he could see the barest hint of a smile that told him that Daken knew exactly what effect he was having on Bobby.
Well, of course he could. He could smell it.
Bobby could smack Daken’s hand away. He should smack Daken’s hand away. Even if they had actually been dating, this would have been totally inappropriate. And they weren’t dating, because Daken was an untrustworthy killer, and just because Bobby had dated a couple of those before was no reason to do it again. Even if all Daken’s jokes about having sex with Bobby weren’t just jokes, which they probably were. Even if Mary was right and Daken was absurdly, implausibly, unbelievably hot.
But if Bobby made Daken stop, then everyone else might notice that he’d been doing it in the first place, and Bobby told himself that was why he just sat there cutting his turkey into smaller and smaller pieces and praying that no one picked up on how red his face was getting.
“...told her she only had six months to live,” Aunt Ruth was saying. “But now she’s hiking to Machu Picchu, all because of those…uh. Krakoan medicines,” she ended awkwardly, glancing at Bobby and then away.
There was another uncomfortable silence. Bobby didn’t bother to hide his eyeroll this time. Did they expect him to feel guilty that some lady Aunt Ruth knew had been gifted a miracle cure?
“You know, I think Krakoa is a good thing,” Great-Aunt Gladys said firmly.
Everyone looked at her. “You do?” Bobby said, surprised to find an ally in his eighty-seven-year-old great aunt.
“Yes. Now, your…friend here is very handsome, of course, and you are…well, you look fine,” she said. Bobby could feel Daken shaking with silent laughter beside him. “But so many of these muties are just…ugh. Unpleasant to look at. Why not put them on an island where we don’t have to see all the scales and tentacles and whatever else?”
Daken stopped laughing. He took his hand off Bobby’s leg.
“Wow, Great-Aunt Gladys,” Bobby said. “Impressively racist. I think you’ve managed the most offensive comment of the night. Well done.”
“Bobby, don’t be disrespectful to your aunt,” his father snapped.
“I’m not going to sit here and respect hateful comments about people I care about—”
“No, Bobby, she has a point,” Daken said. “After all, why should we make these good, decent, normal people think about mutants all the time? So much better to lull them into a false sense of security. Is anyone going to eat that drumstick, by the way?”
While everyone was still blinking over the subject change, Daken popped the claws on the back of his hand. Uncle Ted swore, Bobby’s mom gave a little scream, and even Mary startled a bit.
Daken reached across the table and skewered the drumstick in question, then took a hearty bite while it was still impaled on his claws. “Babe, you want a bite?”
Bobby’s dad stood up so fast he knocked his chair over. “Robert Louis Drake,” he thundered. “What is this…this thing you’ve brought into my house?”
“My boyfriend,” Bobby snapped, so indignant he nearly forgot it was a lie. Frost crept up the sides of everyone’s glasses.
“Daddy, I love him!” Daken said quietly beside him, then took another bite of his drumstick. Bobby kicked him under the table.
“Don’t you take that tone with me! You’re always off on that island, we never see you, and then you come in here acting like you’re better than us—” Bobby’s dad started.
“He is, though,” Daken said.
“Excuse me?”
Daken retracted his claws. The half-eaten drumstick thumped onto the Jets tablecloth. “Better than you,” he said. “I mean, obviously. Without the X-Men, none of you would even be here. The New York metro area would be a smoking crater several times over.”
“Do you expect us to think you’re some kind of hero?” Bobby’s mom managed, sniffling a little. “Coming in here and treating us like this? Taking our boy away from us?”
“Oh, no, not me. I’m not an X-Man,” Daken said with a little laugh. His breath plumed in the air. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t be saving any of your useless asses once, let alone however many times Bobby’s done it. And ‘taking your boy away from you’? Lady, you don’t need any help with that. Christ, my own father drowned me in a puddle and I still think he’s a better parent than you two.”
“Uh, sorry. Drowned you?” Mary asked.
Daken shrugged. “I got better. It’s a habit of mine.” He met Bobby’s eyes. “I can get better.”
Bobby’s throat clicked, speechless.
“Anyway, I don’t know shit about families, obviously, but the way I see it you should all be down on your knees thanking god that Bobby bothers to protect humans at all, let alone come all the way out to Nassau fucking County to eat your dry-ass turkey.” Daken gestured at the drumstick, which had frozen to the tablecloth.
There was a moment of stunned silence.
“Also, football should be illegal.”
The table burst into furious yelling, both of Bobby’s parents and Uncle Ted and Joel and Aunt Ruth all shouting, Great-Aunt Gladys shaking her head in despair, and Mary giggling helplessly behind her hands. Daken reached for the bottle of Scotch he’d left on the table, which sloshed thickly as he picked it up, the contents visibly turned to alcoholic slush behind the glass. He raised an amused eyebrow at Bobby.
One of the legs of Bobby’s parents’ antique dining table, inherited from Bobby’s Great-Grandma Drake, snapped suddenly, gone hopelessly brittle from the cold.
The entire table lurched. Dishes went sliding, glasses toppled, and Bobby’s refilled glass of red wine splashed all over Daken’s white, still extremely unbuttoned shirt.
“Oh no,” Bobby said, standing. He felt strangely removed from what was happening, like it was someone else who had lost their temper, had snapped at his father and frozen the dining room. “Here, we should clean that up before it stains.”
“It’s Merlot, snowflake, it’s not gonna come out with a Tide Stick,” Daken said, but he got up agreeably enough and followed Bobby out of the dining room. Everyone else was too busy cleaning up the other things that had spilled to pay much attention.
“If you were trying for a distraction, I think you nailed it,” Daken said as he followed Bobby through the living room and into the guest half-bath under the stairs. “We could just take off and—mmph!”
Because Bobby had shut the door, slammed Daken up against it, and was now kissing him like his life depended on it.
For all of Daken’s faults—and Bobby had an itemized list—he knew how to seize the moment. Daken didn’t stop to ask questions, just wrapped his arms around Bobby and kissed him back, his lips parting willingly under Bobby’s desperate advance.
The last time Bobby had kissed Daken, it had been in the middle of a fight to the death. Bobby had been furious, and terrified for Judah, and trying to concentrate on freezing the stupid Apocalypse seed. He hadn’t really been thinking about the kiss itself, which was barely more than a peck on the lips anyway.
Infuriatingly but unsurprisingly, it turned out that when Daken wasn’t half out of his mind on Apocalypse seed, the asshole could kiss.
Still, Daken was breathing hard when he came up for air, Bobby noticed with satisfaction. “So is this just to piss off your dad, or what?”
Bobby raised his eyebrows. “And if it is…?”
Daken grinned. “Baby, as long as I get a taste, I don’t care what the reason is,” he said, and pulled Bobby back in.
It was, and it wasn’t. Yes, the thrill Bobby had felt introducing a man who was everything his parents would hate as his boyfriend was nothing compared to the feeling of slipping his hands inside that man’s shirt in his parents’ chintzy half-bath with the little crocheted hat on the extra toilet paper roll. He’d always tried to be what his parents wanted, as much as he could manage; it was a heady rush to deliberately be the opposite.
But it wasn’t just that. It was the fact that Daken had put up with an evening full of offensive comments and contemptuous looks and hadn’t bailed. It was the way Bobby had asked him for an absurd favor, and Daken had delivered like his secondary mutation was committing to the bit. It was the things he’d said about Bobby, about what Bobby did with the X-Men, the way he’d defended Bobby…
And yeah, fuck it, it was the fact that one of the hottest men Bobby had ever seen had been taking every excuse to cop a feel all night. Sue him.
Speaking of which, Daken wasted no time in moving his hands to Bobby’s ass. Bobby didn’t protest this time, pushing Daken’s shirt open as he kissed his way down Daken’s throat. His own shirt was nearly as badly stained as Daken’s by now, both of them damp and sticky with red wine.
The boner Bobby had been fighting back at the table was back with a vengeance, and he could feel Daken getting hard against his hip. That was a rush of its own. For all the leers and double entendres Daken had thrown his way since they’d met, it was still hard for Bobby to wrap his head around the idea that this beautiful man wanted him.
He didn’t stop to think, just slipped a hand between them to grope Daken through those perfectly tailored trousers. The way Daken jolted was immensely satisfying.
“Not that I’m complaining, but—in your parents’ bathroom?” Daken asked.
Bobby met his eyes, deep brown and getting darker as his pupils expanded. With his free hand, he reached behind Daken and locked the door.
The little growl Daken let out went straight to Bobby’s dick. “Fuck, I knew you were more fun than you were letting on,” he said, and kissed Bobby again.
Bobby had the vague sense he should be insulted, but right now he didn’t really care about anything except Daken’s mouth on his and the feeling of Daken getting even harder under his hand. Daken groaned and squeezed his ass tighter, so tight Bobby wondered if he’d find fingerprint bruises there when he looked over his shoulder in the mirror later. The mental image made his dick twitch in his pants.
He fumbled at Daken’s fly, got the button open and the zipper down so he could shove Daken’s shirt the rest of the way open. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Daken with his shirt off before—it seemed like the man was shirtless every time Bobby glimpsed him at a distance on the island, every time Bobby tried to convince himself he wasn’t looking—but holy shit.
“Holy shit,” Bobby said out loud, his eyes darting between Daken’s pecs, his unbelievable abs, the dark swirls of his tattoo drawing Bobby’s gaze to the tempting lines of his Adonis belt.
Daken laughed. “Drink it in, snowflake.”
Bobby pushed Daken’s pants down further. “You weren’t wearing underwear?” he demanded, barely remembering to keep his voice low.
“Just gets in the way,” Daken said. “Anyway, you’re one to talk, running around in your little panties all the time. Flaunting this cute little ass everywhere.”
“It’s not panties, it’s a uniform,” Bobby hissed, a hiss that turned into a moan as Daken’s fingers dug in again. He glared at the smug look on Daken’s face and wrapped his hand around Daken’s dick to teach him a lesson.
Daken’s head thunked back against the door, definitely too loud, but at least he wasn’t smirking anymore. “Fuck,” he said. “Yeah, baby, just like that.”
Speaking of “like that”...if Daken kept talking like that while looking like that, Bobby was going to combust before he even got his own pants open, and that would be too mortifying to survive, so he leaned in to kiss Daken again, hard. Daken let out another little growl into his mouth and let go of his ass to work his fly open.
Then there was a warm, callused hand on his dick, and Bobby had known it was coming but he still jerked and bit Daken’s lip hard enough to draw blood. “Shit, sorry!”
Daken’s tongue darted out, red and wet. He was smiling the way a cartoon cat might smile at the cartoon mouse it was about to devour. The actual cut was already gone.
“Way more fun than you let on,” he said. “If you’re not careful, I might decide not to let you go.”
There was no reason for that to send a rush of heat to Bobby’s belly, but it did, his dick pulsing precome over Daken’s fingers. Daken’s grin widened, sharp canines on full display, and Bobby hurriedly kissed him again. To shut him up. To not have to look at that smile. Not because he desperately needed Daken’s mouth on his.
And then there was nothing but heat and friction, panting raggedly into Daken’s mouth between kisses as they chased their pleasure. Daken’s free hand was on Bobby’s ass again, shoved down the back of his pants and holding on like he owned it. Bobby had fisted his hand in Daken’s wine-soaked shirt like he thought the other man might run away.
His belly tightened, and he knew he was close. Embarrassing, to be so on edge so soon, and when he’d been the one to touch Daken first. Somehow the embarrassment made it worse, or maybe better, rushing blood to his cheeks and his dick at the same time.
“I’m—I’m gonna…” he managed.
Daken looked exactly as smug as he would have expected. He pulled his free hand out of Bobby’s pants and shoved his shirt up and out of the way, working him harder, faster. “Fuck yeah. Show me.”
Bobby had exactly one second to spare on mortified indignation before his orgasm hit him like a freight truck.
When he could think again, he was sagging into Daken on legs like jelly. Daken was still touching him, just playing with him now, and Bobby hissed as pleasure edged into oversensitivity. Daken gave him one last stroke, probably just to be an asshole, and then met Bobby’s eyes as he lifted his hand to lick the come off his knuckles.
“Feeling thankful yet?” he asked.
“You’re the worst,” Bobby managed, hauling him down for another kiss, tasting himself. He tightened his fingers, which had gone slack around Daken’s dick, and swallowed the low noise Daken let out. Another minute and Daken was gone, too, pulsing hot in Bobby’s hand, and Bobby enjoyed a thrill of vicious satisfaction as he stroked Daken through his climax.
Daken let his head loll back against the door, breathing hard and heavy-lidded, the picture of hedonistic satiety. “Well,” he said, “you sure worked through your teenage rebellion tonight.”
“I’m thirty-one.”
“So you’re a late bloomer.” Daken gave him a lazy smile. “Being bad looks good on you.”
Bobby glanced in the mirror over the sink. He was a wreck—hair wild, face flushed and blotchy, lips kiss-swollen, his softening dick hanging out of his pants. There were splotches of wine all over his shirt, and also definitely some come, despite Daken’s best efforts.
“Oh god. I can’t go back out there,” he moaned, then stiffened. “How long have we been in here? Do you think they know what we were doing?”
“That’s a question for people who aren’t going to take an ice slide out the window,” Daken said, nodding to the window behind Bobby. “I’ll even take a pass on that pumpkin pie you promised me. Because pumpkin pie is gross.”
Daken turned on the sink and rinsed his hands, then tucked himself away and buttoned his fly while Bobby took his turn at the sink. Bobby was startled when Daken reached over and smoothed down Bobby’s shirt, too, tucking it in and straightening his collar.
“Two choices, snowflake,” he said. “You go back out there looking as deliciously well-fucked as you do right now and rub their homophobic faces in it, or we run out on your family on Thanksgiving and get this Orchis shit dealt with so that I can take you back to my room at the Boneyard and really give you something to be thankful for.”
It was ridiculous that such a cheesy line could have an effect on Bobby so soon after an orgasm. And very annoying that, from the look on Daken’s face, he could definitely smell it.
Bobby scrubbed his hands over his face and groaned. “I should try to fix this…”
Daken waited.
But what kind of fixing was possible if Bobby walked out of this bathroom looking as thoroughly ravished as he felt?
And more to the point, did he want to fix it? Were his parents out there on the other side of the door, worrying about how they were going to fix things with him?
He thought about being scolded the minute he walked in the door; his mother unable to name anything she was thankful for while looking at him; his father calling Daken a thing. A lifetime of pushing down everything he was in a desperate, futile attempt to someday be small enough for them.
He thought about Daken meeting his eyes at the table. I can get better.
He thought about how the bathroom window was big enough to fit Daken’s shoulders, which meant ice sliding out would be a breeze.
He was definitely going to regret this.
Bobby snagged a fistful of Daken’s shirt, relishing in the look of surprise on his face before Bobby kissed him. “All right,” he said, letting go and icing up. “But pumpkin pie is my favorite, so you better show me a Boneyard worth missing out on Thanksgiving at the Green Lagoon.”
Daken grinned and opened the window. “Baby, before I’m done with you, you’ll be begging me to keep you there ‘til New Year’s.”
Rather than answer, Bobby scooped Daken up on an ice slide and chucked him out the window, then followed. It was dark on his parents’ suburban street, everyone inside with their families eating turkey and watching football, cozy and warm and safe.
And Bobby was standing outside with a dangerous man, ready to take on a threat against mutantkind and then probably go have marathon sex on a living island.
Yeah, he was thankful.
“Come on,” he said, grabbing Daken’s hand even though he didn’t need to to keep him on the slide. “Let’s go save the world again.”