Categories > Movies > X-Men: The Movie > A Not-So-Peaceful Morning
The training area was eerily quiet, save for the occasional grunt or laugh as Bobby and John rolled across the padded floor. What had started as a serious sparring session had quickly devolved into a mess of tangled limbs, laughter, and increasingly playful jabs. Neither of them could deny that they had been having more fun than actual training—especially as they each vied for dominance in their ongoing prank war.
John grunted as he tried to flip Bobby over, but Bobby anticipated the move, countering it with a twist of his hips. The two toppled sideways, laughing as they scrambled to gain the upper hand. Bobby’s strength came from his agility, and John’s from his stubborn tenacity, which made every match between them an unpredictable battle of wits and reflexes.
Finally, Bobby managed to pin John’s shoulders to the ground, leaning over him with a triumphant grin. “Gotcha!” Bobby declared breathlessly, his chest heaving from exertion.
“Not so fast, Drake,” John growled, his voice a mixture of defiance and amusement. He wriggled beneath Bobby, trying to free himself, but Bobby was quick to shift his weight, locking John’s legs with his own in a tangled hold.
It was then that Bobby realized the peculiar position they were in. Their legs were intertwined, their feet pressed together in a strange, almost comical way. As Bobby tried to steady himself, his toes brushed against the sensitive sole of John’s foot.
“Hehehey!” John yelped, jerking his foot back instinctively as laughter bubbled up from his throat. His cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and surprise.
Bobby froze for a split second, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased, wiggling his own toes against John’s again. “Is Pyro ticklish? Down here, of all places?”
“Bobby, don’t you—hahahahaha!” John burst into laughter as Bobby’s toes lightly traced the arch of his foot, sending ticklish jolts up his leg. “Quit it! I swear—hahaha—I’ll burn you to a crisp!”
“Uh-huh, sure you will,” Bobby replied, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. He leaned forward slightly, locking John’s legs more securely as he continued his impromptu tickle attack with his feet. The sensation was bizarre but effective—Bobby’s toes wiggling against John’s arches while John’s squirming only made the tickling worse.
“Drake, I mean it—HAHAHA—stop!” John gasped, his face now bright red as he tried to twist away. His attempts to retaliate with his own feet were clumsy at best, his laughter making it impossible to concentrate. “I’m—I’m serious!”
“Oh, I know you’re serious,” Bobby said, chuckling as he upped the ante. His feet pressed more firmly against John’s, his toes expertly finding every sensitive spot. “But you’re also losing. Big time.”
John’s laughter filled the room, loud and unrestrained, as Bobby continued the playful assault. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he tried and failed to wriggle free. “Alright, alright!” he cried, breathless. “You win—just stop, for the love of—HAHAHA—stop!”
Bobby finally relented, sitting back slightly to give John a moment to catch his breath. But before John could fully recover, Bobby’s fingers darted toward his ribs, lightly tickling along his sides.
“Seriously, Drake?!” John howled, his voice breaking as he dissolved into another fit of uncontrollable laughter. Bobby’s hands were quick and merciless, poking and prodding at his ribs and sides with the precision of someone who knew exactly where to target.
“You didn’t say ‘please,’” Bobby teased, his grin widening as he watched John squirm beneath him. “C’mon, admit it—I’m the champ.”
“Never!” John managed between gasps of laughter, his body twisting and arching beneath Bobby’s grip. “You’re—hahaha—you’re so dead!”
“Well, you’re the one losing,” Bobby pointed out, his fingers finding a particularly sensitive spot just below John’s ribs. “Maybe next time you’ll take training more seriously.”
“Okay, okay!” John finally cried, his laughter reaching a desperate pitch. “I give up! You win! Just stop—hahaha—please!”
Satisfied, Bobby sat back on his heels, releasing John’s wrists and giving him room to breathe. John lay sprawled on the mat, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his feet still tingled from the earlier tickling.
“You... are the worst,” John muttered, his voice hoarse from laughter as he glared up at Bobby. His cheeks were flushed, his breath still coming in short gasps. He tried to summon some of his usual sharp retorts, but the lingering ticklish sensation in his ribs and the warmth in his cheeks made it hard to focus.
Bobby, still perched on his heels, grinned down at him with a smug sense of triumph. “Aw, come on, admit it—you had fun,” he said, his tone light and teasing. Before John could reply, Bobby leaned over slightly and began to run his fingers through John’s hair, ruffling it playfully.
“Hey! Cut that out!” John growled, though the faintest trace of a smile flickered across his face. He tried to swat Bobby’s hand away, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, the aftermath of their sparring leaving him feeling a little too drained to put up a real fight.
“Relax, Pyro,” Bobby said, laughing softly as he continued to muss up John’s already messy hair. “You’ve got this whole brooding thing going on, but I think it’s good for you to lighten up once in a while. You know, let yourself have some fun.”
John huffed, rolling his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Fun? Is that what you call this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the disheveled state of his hair and clothes, not to mention the faint ache in his ribs from all the tickling.
Bobby shrugged, his grin widening as he gave John’s hair one final tousle before pulling his hand back. “Well, yeah. I mean, look at you—you’re smiling, kinda. That’s gotta count for something.”
“I am not smiling,” John snapped, though the slight upturn of his lips betrayed him. He quickly tried to school his expression into something more serious, but the effort only made Bobby laugh.
“Sure you’re not,” Bobby said, clearly not convinced. “And here I thought you didn’t have a soft side.”
John groaned, flopping back onto the mat with a dramatic sigh. “If I ever had a soft side, you’ve completely destroyed it.”
“Good,” Bobby quipped, sitting cross-legged beside him now. “It was probably overrated anyway.”
The two of them sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the echoes of their laughter still lingering in the air. Despite John’s initial protests, there was something oddly soothing about Bobby’s presence—his easygoing nature, his playful energy. It was hard to stay annoyed at someone who could turn even the most mundane training session into something so ridiculous and memorable.
Finally, John let out a heavy sigh, tilting his head to glance over at Bobby. “You’re lucky, you know,” he muttered, his tone begrudging but not without a hint of fondness. “Anyone else tried to pull this crap with me, and they’d have been burned to a crisp.”
Bobby smirked, leaning back on his hands as he looked down at his friend. “Yeah, but I’m not just anyone, am I?”
“No, you’re definitely not,” John admitted, though his voice was tinged with mock exasperation. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, running a hand through his now thoroughly disheveled hair. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“And you’re a sore loser,” Bobby shot back, though there was no malice in his tone. “But hey, that’s why we make such a great team, right?”
John rolled his eyes again, but this time, he couldn’t quite hide the small, reluctant smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Iceman.”
As they got to their feet and headed for the exit, Bobby couldn’t resist one last playful jab, reaching over to ruffle John’s hair again.
“Seriously, man!” John swatted at him half-heartedly, his laughter bubbling up despite himself. “You’re pushing your luck.”
Bobby just grinned, throwing an arm around John’s shoulders as they walked. “What are friends for?” he said with a chuckle.
For all his grumbling, John found himself leaning slightly into the gesture, the warmth of their camaraderie making the sting of defeat just a little more bearable. After all, if he was going to lose, at least it was to someone like Bobby.
John grunted as he tried to flip Bobby over, but Bobby anticipated the move, countering it with a twist of his hips. The two toppled sideways, laughing as they scrambled to gain the upper hand. Bobby’s strength came from his agility, and John’s from his stubborn tenacity, which made every match between them an unpredictable battle of wits and reflexes.
Finally, Bobby managed to pin John’s shoulders to the ground, leaning over him with a triumphant grin. “Gotcha!” Bobby declared breathlessly, his chest heaving from exertion.
“Not so fast, Drake,” John growled, his voice a mixture of defiance and amusement. He wriggled beneath Bobby, trying to free himself, but Bobby was quick to shift his weight, locking John’s legs with his own in a tangled hold.
It was then that Bobby realized the peculiar position they were in. Their legs were intertwined, their feet pressed together in a strange, almost comical way. As Bobby tried to steady himself, his toes brushed against the sensitive sole of John’s foot.
“Hehehey!” John yelped, jerking his foot back instinctively as laughter bubbled up from his throat. His cheeks flushed with a mix of embarrassment and surprise.
Bobby froze for a split second, then a mischievous grin spread across his face. “Oh, what’s this?” he teased, wiggling his own toes against John’s again. “Is Pyro ticklish? Down here, of all places?”
“Bobby, don’t you—hahahahaha!” John burst into laughter as Bobby’s toes lightly traced the arch of his foot, sending ticklish jolts up his leg. “Quit it! I swear—hahaha—I’ll burn you to a crisp!”
“Uh-huh, sure you will,” Bobby replied, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. He leaned forward slightly, locking John’s legs more securely as he continued his impromptu tickle attack with his feet. The sensation was bizarre but effective—Bobby’s toes wiggling against John’s arches while John’s squirming only made the tickling worse.
“Drake, I mean it—HAHAHA—stop!” John gasped, his face now bright red as he tried to twist away. His attempts to retaliate with his own feet were clumsy at best, his laughter making it impossible to concentrate. “I’m—I’m serious!”
“Oh, I know you’re serious,” Bobby said, chuckling as he upped the ante. His feet pressed more firmly against John’s, his toes expertly finding every sensitive spot. “But you’re also losing. Big time.”
John’s laughter filled the room, loud and unrestrained, as Bobby continued the playful assault. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he tried and failed to wriggle free. “Alright, alright!” he cried, breathless. “You win—just stop, for the love of—HAHAHA—stop!”
Bobby finally relented, sitting back slightly to give John a moment to catch his breath. But before John could fully recover, Bobby’s fingers darted toward his ribs, lightly tickling along his sides.
“Seriously, Drake?!” John howled, his voice breaking as he dissolved into another fit of uncontrollable laughter. Bobby’s hands were quick and merciless, poking and prodding at his ribs and sides with the precision of someone who knew exactly where to target.
“You didn’t say ‘please,’” Bobby teased, his grin widening as he watched John squirm beneath him. “C’mon, admit it—I’m the champ.”
“Never!” John managed between gasps of laughter, his body twisting and arching beneath Bobby’s grip. “You’re—hahaha—you’re so dead!”
“Well, you’re the one losing,” Bobby pointed out, his fingers finding a particularly sensitive spot just below John’s ribs. “Maybe next time you’ll take training more seriously.”
“Okay, okay!” John finally cried, his laughter reaching a desperate pitch. “I give up! You win! Just stop—hahaha—please!”
Satisfied, Bobby sat back on his heels, releasing John’s wrists and giving him room to breathe. John lay sprawled on the mat, his chest heaving as he tried to regain his composure. His face was flushed, his hair sticking to his forehead, and his feet still tingled from the earlier tickling.
“You... are the worst,” John muttered, his voice hoarse from laughter as he glared up at Bobby. His cheeks were flushed, his breath still coming in short gasps. He tried to summon some of his usual sharp retorts, but the lingering ticklish sensation in his ribs and the warmth in his cheeks made it hard to focus.
Bobby, still perched on his heels, grinned down at him with a smug sense of triumph. “Aw, come on, admit it—you had fun,” he said, his tone light and teasing. Before John could reply, Bobby leaned over slightly and began to run his fingers through John’s hair, ruffling it playfully.
“Hey! Cut that out!” John growled, though the faintest trace of a smile flickered across his face. He tried to swat Bobby’s hand away, but his movements were sluggish and uncoordinated, the aftermath of their sparring leaving him feeling a little too drained to put up a real fight.
“Relax, Pyro,” Bobby said, laughing softly as he continued to muss up John’s already messy hair. “You’ve got this whole brooding thing going on, but I think it’s good for you to lighten up once in a while. You know, let yourself have some fun.”
John huffed, rolling his eyes as he propped himself up on his elbows. “Fun? Is that what you call this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at the disheveled state of his hair and clothes, not to mention the faint ache in his ribs from all the tickling.
Bobby shrugged, his grin widening as he gave John’s hair one final tousle before pulling his hand back. “Well, yeah. I mean, look at you—you’re smiling, kinda. That’s gotta count for something.”
“I am not smiling,” John snapped, though the slight upturn of his lips betrayed him. He quickly tried to school his expression into something more serious, but the effort only made Bobby laugh.
“Sure you’re not,” Bobby said, clearly not convinced. “And here I thought you didn’t have a soft side.”
John groaned, flopping back onto the mat with a dramatic sigh. “If I ever had a soft side, you’ve completely destroyed it.”
“Good,” Bobby quipped, sitting cross-legged beside him now. “It was probably overrated anyway.”
The two of them sat there in comfortable silence for a moment, the echoes of their laughter still lingering in the air. Despite John’s initial protests, there was something oddly soothing about Bobby’s presence—his easygoing nature, his playful energy. It was hard to stay annoyed at someone who could turn even the most mundane training session into something so ridiculous and memorable.
Finally, John let out a heavy sigh, tilting his head to glance over at Bobby. “You’re lucky, you know,” he muttered, his tone begrudging but not without a hint of fondness. “Anyone else tried to pull this crap with me, and they’d have been burned to a crisp.”
Bobby smirked, leaning back on his hands as he looked down at his friend. “Yeah, but I’m not just anyone, am I?”
“No, you’re definitely not,” John admitted, though his voice was tinged with mock exasperation. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, running a hand through his now thoroughly disheveled hair. “You’re a pain in the ass.”
“And you’re a sore loser,” Bobby shot back, though there was no malice in his tone. “But hey, that’s why we make such a great team, right?”
John rolled his eyes again, but this time, he couldn’t quite hide the small, reluctant smile that tugged at his lips. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Iceman.”
As they got to their feet and headed for the exit, Bobby couldn’t resist one last playful jab, reaching over to ruffle John’s hair again.
“Seriously, man!” John swatted at him half-heartedly, his laughter bubbling up despite himself. “You’re pushing your luck.”
Bobby just grinned, throwing an arm around John’s shoulders as they walked. “What are friends for?” he said with a chuckle.
For all his grumbling, John found himself leaning slightly into the gesture, the warmth of their camaraderie making the sting of defeat just a little more bearable. After all, if he was going to lose, at least it was to someone like Bobby.
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