Disclaimer: Not mine! Darn!

A/N: This was originally a scrap for an original story, but with a few tweaks –voila! X Men, Bobby/Jean Paul.

Denial

I'm not gay. I like girls.

So I guess it was really fucking messed up that my heart beat always went NASCAR whenever Jean Paul Beaubier was around these days.

Which was a lot, considering that we've become fast friends.

Like I said: fucked up.

I'm not gay. I like girls. But I also liked Jean Paul. There was no denying it. He was the only exception, though.

I started trying to avoid him when I realized my feelings toward him. Maybe he weird feeling would pass in time. Unfortunately, Jean Paul noticed I was avoiding him. And he was pissed.

"Why the fuck do you act like you do not know me whenever I see you, Bobby?" Jean Paul demands one day after hunting me down and cornering me in my room, where I was indulging myself in a beer.

"What do you mean?" I say curtly.

"Don't try that shit with me," Jean Paul snaps, "Answer the fucking question,"

"I don't act like I don't know you," I say, attempting to push Jean Paul out.

"You ignore me!" Jean Paul says, unmoving.

I give up on trying to make him leave, and start towards the door myself.

Jean Paul grabs my arm, "Robert, look at me!" He twists me around, forcing me to meet his eyes. I gaze into the angry blue eyes and he glares back.

I look away, "I gotta go," I mutter, turning.

"Robert," Jean Paul says simply. His voice holds no anger. It is just an innocent statement. It could mean anything.

I didn't drink a lot of beer. I had two sips, I swear. Maybe that was all it took to make all my good sense fly out the window.

I turn around and kiss him. Just one, intense, short one. When I pull away, Jean Paul's just staring, expressionless. I turn around and flee my room.

There's only one place I can think of to hide.

When I open the large storage freezer, cold air spills out and frosts in the air around me. I ice up and step inside. I haven't been here since my secondary mutation started up. No one will think I would come back here –they would all figure poor Bobby Drake wouldn't want to relive the painful memories, et cetera, et cetera.

The freezer door closes and I'm surrounded in darkness. I curl up in the furthest back corner of the room, next to a forgotten bag of frozen beef-patties, and I let the coldness take me.

I'm not gay. I like girls.

So why did I kiss Jean Paul?

A/N: … Yeah, short little fic. I'm wondering if I should add a sequel, but for now this is just a one-shot. Reviews are deeply appreciated [hint, hint]!