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What Jimmy Smelled

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Summary: There are some things that brothers just shouldn't know.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Marvel Universe > X-Men > Non-BtVS/AtS StoriesamusewithaviewFR131540051,3415 Jun 095 Jun 09Yes
Disclaimer: I own nothing except for the Marvel poster on my wall. The characters depicted on it are, sadly, someone else's.

A/N: This is based off the movie and a CRACKISH whim I had last night. Because angry banter always hides sexual tension, right?

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The first time he smelled it, he almost blew it off. Fluke. Or maybe some commercial featuring a hot chick that he'd missed. On their off-time the X-team had several mini "bases" where they could relax and eat and (for some, at least) get laid. These little "houses" were always near a military base and one or more large cities, with well-stocked fridges and enough room for them to keep from killing each other.

James grabbed a couple of beers and made his way out into the spacious living area that housed their three televisions. For the most part they would drift their separate ways, but one thing almost always drew a crowd: hockey night.

John was slouched low in an easy chair; Dukes sprawled on the floor – several bags of chips surrounding him in various states of consumption. Zero was out doing whatever it was he did in his downtime; he rarely socialized with any of them, except during training (being, in his own way, even more antisocial than Victor). Bolt sat on one of the couches, leaning his feet on a short table and idly spinning one finger around in time with a few of the myriad of electronic doodads he always seemed to have about.

It was the final two that drew James's real interest. There was a certain order to the ways in which they sat that a more primitive (feral) part of his brain attributed to a sort of pecking order in the team (pack). For the most part, the different houses were set up identically, Stryker tried to keep things on as an even a keel as possible, a good plan with such a testosterone-laden group, and that included making each of their "houses" as uniform as possible. So the furniture was the same from house to house, as was its configuration. John, Dukes and Bolt were in their usual places but Wade and Victor…

Bolt glanced up at him with an odd little smile playing at the corners of his lips and James stiffened as an odd scent wafted towards him. Not odd as in unfamiliar, in the many years he'd spent at Victor's side it was bound to come up eventually but they had – as with many other topics best left unverbalized – instituted a sort of "don't speak unless spoken to" rule when it came to sex. To smell his brother's arousal here and now?

What the fuck?

There weren't any hot chicks on the television, and Dukes wasn't sharing (yet another) tale of one of his "dancers." Victor wasn't doing anything particularly odd, just sitting there, next to Wade who was polishing one of his swords and being exceptionally quiet.

James's eyes widened as he looked to Bolt for some sort of denial.

The technopath smirked, a minute expression, but one that was definitely there.

James pinched the bridge of his nose and grit his teeth before heading back to the kitchen and replacing the beer in the fridge. Leaning down, he grabbed one of the bottles of vodka that Dukes always had stashed in the freezer.

He couldn't get drunk, per se, but beer wasn't going to cut it. Not today.

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A/N: Soooo... miss me?

The End

You have reached the end of "What Jimmy Smelled". This story is complete.

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