So it was midterms--way too close to finals. Bobby hated finals--hated them even more now than when he had to take them and how ironic was that? Crawling out of bed at six thirty in the morning, check, look at the depressing stack of papers on the desk that made him the object of hate and fear throughout the student population, check, glance back at the nice, warm, comfortable bed where St. John (little bastard, his first class wasn't scheduled until noon) was still sleeping, check.

"I really do hate you, Johnny."

A grunt when the other man buried himself under the covers and nothing could be seen but short brown hair. He had to be smiling smugly into his pillow, and shit, when Scott gave out the class assignments this next semester, Bobby was going to personally assure St. John got the eight o'clock, no question.

It was morning. Fuck mornings--whoever invented the very concept of mornings, the whole idea that the sun rising was some sort of wondrous occurrence (and didn't it happen every fucking day?) to be memorialized by stumbling steps toward the bathroom and throwing himself--almost bodily--into the shower with the vague hope that this was one of the days his control would be in effect and he'd get hot, not cold, water--well, they deserved to die.

Ooh, could remove the sweats first, though. Remove sweatpants and underwear, check. Look at the nozzle vaguely, check. Rethink your position as a teacher here, check. Turn on the water--

Fuck.

Cold, cold, cold, all manly parts shrinking like a slug in salt, and why were mornings the one and only time that he could never, ever completely get his control? Well, he was awake and apparently, by the look of his equipment, wouldn't be having sex again as long as he lived. Well, he didn't want sex--awake or not, he wanted to go to bed and sleep this indecently early morning away.

Water warming. Good thing. Warm water. Good. Good. Sponge, check, shower gel, check, stare blankly when St. John pulled the curtain back, check, and the bastard looked amused.

"You gotta remember to center yourself before you get in the shower."

Bobby seriously considered freezing his smug little lover into a Popsicle to be defrosted later, when the man--who got to sleep until fucking eleven, the bastard--grinned.

"Hey. Hush. You play nice." A slight frown, and the water--tending toward lukewarm because Bobby still wasn't completely centered--flipped up a level and he sighed to himself at heat and steam and defrosted manly parts.

"I knew I liked you for some reason."

"Yeah, you say that now. Get goin'. Summers' wants you for a meeting first, remember. See ya. I'm back to bed." Another grin, a brush of a hand across his shoulders, and he heard St. John crawling back under the comforter and collapsing into utter oblivion within seconds.

Bastard. Warm bastard. In a warm bed. Mmm. Bed.

Shit, he might need the cold after all.

Jump Johnny after class--put that on the list for Things to Do. Right after Meeting with Scott and Teaching of Indecently Early in the Morning Class.

---

So here he was, and it was seven fifteen, and he was walking toward the offices on the other side of the Mansion, awake, aware, and clutching his coffee like it was his one link to sanity. Which it was--people should know one thing about him if nothing else--never get between him and his coffee. Ever. Bad Things happened. Frozen Things occurred. Bad Frozen Things were therefore inevitable, should coffee be separated from Bobby Drake.

Walked by Ororo's office--she was still in bed, damn her. Walked by Jean's office--she was still in bed, odd that, but hey, her first class wasn't until nine. Walked into Scott's office--

--fuck, the world ended. Scott Summers wasn't in his office.

"Logan--"

"Fuck, is there any way we can stop having this discussion?"

Oh, but the two people who made it a religious vocation never to be up before noon--he really should hate them for it, but hating Logan was like hating a force of nature and hating Rogue was hard when she'd snuggle up looking adorable and southern-bellish while pulling the most amazingly outrageous crap.

But still--up before noon. The world had ended--Scott wasn't up. Or maybe he'd just skipped into an alternate universe, because Logan and Rogue were up, and by the clock it was seven eighteen, and Scott wasn't in his office when he was always in his office by seven.

Or maybe this was a dream, and he'd wake up comfortably in bed with Johnny under that nice comforter. Oh, there was a thought. Bed. Warm. Sleep.

Take a drink of coffee, check, have your head examined when your fantasy life doesn't include the new and fun uses of the very versatile whipped cream currently stored in the fridge but relates to the joys of sleep. You need serious help, Bobby-boy.

"Look, I'm not askin' you to do anything you haven't done before. What the hell is the big deal?"

Oh, Rogue wanted something. Hmm. Logan said no. Double hmm. Bobby needed more coffee and noticed that the coffee pot in Scott's office hadn't been started yet. Doing that now. Listened carefully while he did so.

"Just is."

Where were they anyway? Oh, Logan's office--psychotically neat except for some random weaponry that Logan had picked up on his travels. For some reason, it appealed to him to have students who came to visit him sit under a hanging sword.

There was probably a pretty good reason why students tended to avoid getting in trouble. There was something unnerving about facing Logan with an unsheathed blade hanging three and a half feet above your head. And that damned katana behind the desk. The one on the wall. The one that made you seriously wonder exactly what Logan used it for exactly.

"That's not an answer." Rogue stomping foot. Wow. Bobby sat on the edge of Scott's desk and took another drink of coffee. "I'm not seventeen, I'm not eighteen, I'm not nineteen--fuck, sugar, I'm so above the legal age of consent I am moldering. I'm not your student and I'm certainly not blood related, so really, gimme a reason I can work with."

"Darlin'--"

"And is there any fucking way you could explain what the hell the problem is?"

"No casual. Don't do that."

Another stomp--twice. A glance at Scott's coffee pot showed the level was rising as steadily as the level in Bobby's cup dropped. Few more minutes, more coffee. Good times ahead. Maybe Scott would show up. Scott who wasn't here. Damn him.

"You do do that! I've walked in on you doing that! I've been in the same fucking room while you were doing that!"

Doing what?

"You were?" Logan sounded interested. "Any fun to watch?"

Feminine growling--Bobby sighed and stood up, refilling his cup from the almost-full coffee-pot. Rogue growling was cute. He'd always thought so. Like a pissed-off puppy.

"That's not the point." Sheesh, Rogue was into italics today. Put a little cream in his coffee, a little sugar, found a chair and pulled it up close to the wall that separated Scott's office from Logan's.

Hell, entertainment was entertainment, and at seven twenty-three, anything would do.

"Well, you brought it up--"

Bobby would give a lot to find out what the hell they were talking about.

"Logan--lemme make myself clear here. If you don't wanna--"

"Want and will are two different things--Rogue, what the hell are you doin'?"

Logan in shock. Always interesting. Bobby took another drink of his coffee. Sounds of things hitting the floor--Bobby, being the anal type, began to identify by bounce--pencil, pen, that weird little knife that Logan for some reason used as a paperweight or to threaten students--papers, notebook, lamp--

--lamp?

"Rogue, that's my desk. Rogue--"

"Don't you find me attractive, sugar?"

Rogue was purring. Bobby took a breath. After class, jump Johnny. Already on the list. Do it twice. Noted and added. We're good for the morning.

"Yeah, Rogue--"

"Then what could be more natural? You, me, sex. It's nice and inevitable. Deal with it."

Oh. Sex. Rogue wanted to have sex, Logan didn't. That was odd--as far as Bobby knew, Logan liked sex. He had a lot of it. With many different people. Not faculty or students, but many different people.

"Not on your terms, baby. I like that bra."

Bobby hadn't known there were terms to sex. Usually it required some removal of clothing and a few minutes of relative privacy. Of course, Rogue had certain requirements for sex, but sex was sex, and Bobby supposed they could find some leggings and a good supply of condoms somewhere. No, not hard at all--Bobby had some in his room, come to think of it.

"Thought you might."

"Couldn't afford the underwear?"

Whoa doggies. There's some imagery for a nice morning. Bobby was awake now.

"Bodysuit is enough." Shifting sounds, rather reminiscent of silk running over wood--did he really need to be in class on time today? It was seven twenty, he could get upstairs to Johnny and still get back in plenty of time. Okay, not plenty of time. But before the class ended, certainly. "Like what you see, sugar?"

"You have no idea."

"I might." Lowered voice, purring, Rogue purring. God. He could make it back upstairs, have some fun, and be back maybe a few minutes--an hour--late. No problem. Finish the coffee. Good. Get up. Even better. Johnny'd be surprised. Always a good thing.

Walk out the door, check. Walk down the hall--

Growling. Different kind. Not pissed growling, not the cheerful growling of kicking the ass of someone conveniently close by. Different growling--possibly the type utilized when a Rogue in a Bodysuit Without Underwear is doing something particularly fun. Johnny didn't growl. Maybe he could talk to Johnny about that.

"You like that?" Another growl, some interesting noises, and dear God, the office door was open. The sound of a chair being kicked, and Rogue's low, delighted laugh--

"Hey Bobby! Good, you're on time. Sorry I'm late."

The To Do List was revised. No looking in that office door--damn. No jumping of Johnny--double damn. No lateness for the exam--well, maybe that was good. Scott was barreling down the hall with an unnatural perkiness (and that was saying something, Scott was probably the one that invented the concept of early mornings), drinking coffee with folders clutched in hand.

And the sounds from the office stopped and as Scott came up toward the door, Rogue walked out looking just as normal as always. Well, no--flushed, eyes a little dark--shirt buttoned wrong. Hmmm. Skirt wrinkled.

She wasn't wearing underwear and he wondered if knowing that was part of the reason he was staring at her ass.

"See ya Logan." A growl followed from the depths of the office, then silence, and Rogue winked at them before meandering back toward the classrooms--did she have an early class? No, she never had early classes. She taught in the evening. Clever girl. He'd always thought so.

Scott giving them an odd look. Interesting. Scott grinning and putting an arm around Bobby--

--and how odd, Scott smelled like double fudge chocolate ice cream.