[XMM fic] Pyretic, written for reblog in the xmmficathon
Author: Carla
Title: Pyretic
Rating: 18+ for language and sexually explicit content
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, though with the amount of angst they received, you'd think I did.
Written for: reblog
Pairing/scenario requested: Bobby/John. Angst would be nice. Must include at least subtext. Something that deals with their friendship-turned-breakup once John defected, or just their friendship, or just their breakup John's defection, or just the aftermath. Something somewhere about that whole relationship.
Warnings (if any): Slash. Sex. Language.
Author's Note: reblog I am sorry it is so short and possibly not quite what you were looking to read. I have no attention span these days and everything I write is super short. I wanted to do more and I'm sorry I wasn't able to pull it off.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to thestalkycop for the quick read through beta.
Summary: He'll miss his memories and daydreaming about how the world will end.
He’s burning alive, entrails boiling, lungs flash-fried, lips cracked from searing steam. His skin is fire woven through cells and welded together on a molecular level. He’s baking inside his own flesh. It is taut and thin; he expects to burst like an overcooked potato.
Nights are the worst. He sweats through his sheets, soaks the mattress. In the morning, he peels fabric off of his skin and throws it directly into the washing machine. He can’t keep up with the stains and stops wearing boxers to bed.
At night, when Mystique saunters into Magneto’s room, always wearing her real face-the one she wears when they’re the only ones who can see her, the one she calls her own though she changes form a dozen times a day-he piles bags of ice on the floor and stretches out across them.
During the day he’s Pyro and into the night, when he plays with his lighter, flick and swish the background to Magneto’s plans. At least the plans Pyro’s allowed to hear, because he’s just a kid in their eyes and if he deserted his whole life because of a thirty second conversation with Magneto, why should he be loyal to them, when he wasn’t before, or so they’ve asked.
While he listens and fumes, he teases the flame into geometric shapes at first and then creates complicated friezes, scenes from the past. Fire-Bobby appears the most often in the palm of his hand, but if Magneto or Mystique start to look too close, Pyro makes him explode.
During the day he’s Pyro, and into the evening, but late at night, when the house shuts down and he can hear the sounds of Magneto and Mystique fucking and blocking him out of just one more plan they share, he’s John, alone and boiling.
Sometimes, when Mystique is really loud, he lies in the ice and wants to get hard, because it’s hot, listening to her moans and Magneto’s grunts. He doesn’t feel dirty or perverted, just frustrated when his dick stays soft.
John stays naked at night and puts his pile of blankets and ice directly in front of the air conditioner. He turns it on full blast, but can barely feel it and the ice melts too fast, but from those two things combined, he’s cooled for entire seconds at a time.
When it gets bad, the heat and the horniness, he cups ice in his hand and runs it down his body. It’s relaxing until he reaches his stomach and then, with wet, ice-cooled fingers on his skin, he’s immediately, reflexively hard.
He grabs more ice and wraps his hand around his dick. This is what he needs, this is good. It’s awkward, difficult to keep everything together in his hand, but it’s worth it. He closes his eyes and strokes, slow as the ice melts and drips down his hips, leaving everything slick.
Another handful of ice and he can rub himself faster. All the sounds of the house, even the good ones, fade in the background and he can see images in his mind, his room back with the goody two shoes club, and Bobby.
This is Bobby before the mansion was attacked, before Rogue showed up all untouchable and woe-is-me, back when the only thing John had to care about was whether he could control a fireball and if he’d get laid or if Bobby would freak out again because they were both guys. Hit or miss some days, but by the beginning of the end, Bobby slid into his bed every night after lights out, cool to the touch.
In the middle of it, while fucking or jerking or whatever the hell they wanted to do that John can’t do now because he’s alone, Bobby went cold, solid ice to the touch. It was the goddamned sexiest thing John’d ever felt, cold fingers in his mouth, cold dick.
John fills his hand with ice again and jerks fast and hard. His hand is going numb, it’s so cold, but the rest of his body burns and drinks up the chill. Bobby would have stretched out along him, a living, breathing ice pack to ease the heat.
One time, when John was sick and feverish, but not with mutant heat, just ill, Bobby did exactly that, cooled him down. They lay together, and Bobby didn’t move even when Dr. Gray came in to check on John. Only time Bobby ever did anything in public which might give away their dirty little secret. Except they lived with two of the most powerful telepaths in the world, so how the hell could anything be a secret?
John loses the rhythm of his strokes and makes himself remember better times in bed, Bobby naked and arched, perfect blond-hair, blue-eye ice god. Bobby’s hands on him, his mouth, cold and wet and wrapped around his dick. Bobby’s eyes wide as he knelt and sucked and looked up at him.
He swallows his scream and comes hard, hips jerking. All the ice melts on contact now, leaving John drained and slumped in a giant puddle. Immediately the water starts to evaporate and his skin feels like it’s going to crack.
John is wet all over, messy and hot. He feels like Greek fire; Magneto makes him learn all about fire and flames and how to use it in war. He can recite the facts in his brain even in his sleep - Greek fire, incendiary composition the Byzantine Greeks used in warfare, said to have burst into flame on wetting.
He spreads his arms out, breathes hard, and wishes he could burst into flame, spontaneously combust and create fire instead of being stuck with manipulating flames stolen from an outside source.
John wants to create, not just destroy, and Pyro wants more power. And if both of them don’t find a way to cool off, they really are going to melt into a goddamn puddle of mutant goo.
Pyro keeps his lighter next to him even when he sleeps, just far enough away from the pile of wet blankets it won’t get soaked in water. He grabs it, flicks it open, and lights it in a woosh of flame and the faint smell of lighter fluid. He’s good enough he can hit a target he can’t actually see; all he has to do is picture it in his mind, throw the fire, and wait for it to strike.
Someday he’ll be good enough to do it across a large distance with a giant ball of fire. Then he’ll attack his old school, follow Magneto’s plans to a “T”, and teach a lesson to all mutants who side with the stupid, messy humans.
Pyro thinks then, maybe, he’ll stop being John at all. There’s only one thing he’ll mourn, not the remnants of his conscious or the end of his humanity. He looks forward to being only mutant, firestarter, Pyro.
He’ll miss his memories, fire and ice and daydreaming about how the world will end.
Title: Pyretic
Rating: 18+ for language and sexually explicit content
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, though with the amount of angst they received, you'd think I did.
Written for: reblog
Pairing/scenario requested: Bobby/John. Angst would be nice. Must include at least subtext. Something that deals with their friendship-turned-breakup once John defected, or just their friendship, or just their breakup John's defection, or just the aftermath. Something somewhere about that whole relationship.
Warnings (if any): Slash. Sex. Language.
Author's Note: reblog I am sorry it is so short and possibly not quite what you were looking to read. I have no attention span these days and everything I write is super short. I wanted to do more and I'm sorry I wasn't able to pull it off.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to thestalkycop for the quick read through beta.
Summary: He'll miss his memories and daydreaming about how the world will end.
He’s burning alive, entrails boiling, lungs flash-fried, lips cracked from searing steam. His skin is fire woven through cells and welded together on a molecular level. He’s baking inside his own flesh. It is taut and thin; he expects to burst like an overcooked potato.
Nights are the worst. He sweats through his sheets, soaks the mattress. In the morning, he peels fabric off of his skin and throws it directly into the washing machine. He can’t keep up with the stains and stops wearing boxers to bed.
At night, when Mystique saunters into Magneto’s room, always wearing her real face-the one she wears when they’re the only ones who can see her, the one she calls her own though she changes form a dozen times a day-he piles bags of ice on the floor and stretches out across them.
During the day he’s Pyro and into the night, when he plays with his lighter, flick and swish the background to Magneto’s plans. At least the plans Pyro’s allowed to hear, because he’s just a kid in their eyes and if he deserted his whole life because of a thirty second conversation with Magneto, why should he be loyal to them, when he wasn’t before, or so they’ve asked.
While he listens and fumes, he teases the flame into geometric shapes at first and then creates complicated friezes, scenes from the past. Fire-Bobby appears the most often in the palm of his hand, but if Magneto or Mystique start to look too close, Pyro makes him explode.
During the day he’s Pyro, and into the evening, but late at night, when the house shuts down and he can hear the sounds of Magneto and Mystique fucking and blocking him out of just one more plan they share, he’s John, alone and boiling.
Sometimes, when Mystique is really loud, he lies in the ice and wants to get hard, because it’s hot, listening to her moans and Magneto’s grunts. He doesn’t feel dirty or perverted, just frustrated when his dick stays soft.
John stays naked at night and puts his pile of blankets and ice directly in front of the air conditioner. He turns it on full blast, but can barely feel it and the ice melts too fast, but from those two things combined, he’s cooled for entire seconds at a time.
When it gets bad, the heat and the horniness, he cups ice in his hand and runs it down his body. It’s relaxing until he reaches his stomach and then, with wet, ice-cooled fingers on his skin, he’s immediately, reflexively hard.
He grabs more ice and wraps his hand around his dick. This is what he needs, this is good. It’s awkward, difficult to keep everything together in his hand, but it’s worth it. He closes his eyes and strokes, slow as the ice melts and drips down his hips, leaving everything slick.
Another handful of ice and he can rub himself faster. All the sounds of the house, even the good ones, fade in the background and he can see images in his mind, his room back with the goody two shoes club, and Bobby.
This is Bobby before the mansion was attacked, before Rogue showed up all untouchable and woe-is-me, back when the only thing John had to care about was whether he could control a fireball and if he’d get laid or if Bobby would freak out again because they were both guys. Hit or miss some days, but by the beginning of the end, Bobby slid into his bed every night after lights out, cool to the touch.
In the middle of it, while fucking or jerking or whatever the hell they wanted to do that John can’t do now because he’s alone, Bobby went cold, solid ice to the touch. It was the goddamned sexiest thing John’d ever felt, cold fingers in his mouth, cold dick.
John fills his hand with ice again and jerks fast and hard. His hand is going numb, it’s so cold, but the rest of his body burns and drinks up the chill. Bobby would have stretched out along him, a living, breathing ice pack to ease the heat.
One time, when John was sick and feverish, but not with mutant heat, just ill, Bobby did exactly that, cooled him down. They lay together, and Bobby didn’t move even when Dr. Gray came in to check on John. Only time Bobby ever did anything in public which might give away their dirty little secret. Except they lived with two of the most powerful telepaths in the world, so how the hell could anything be a secret?
John loses the rhythm of his strokes and makes himself remember better times in bed, Bobby naked and arched, perfect blond-hair, blue-eye ice god. Bobby’s hands on him, his mouth, cold and wet and wrapped around his dick. Bobby’s eyes wide as he knelt and sucked and looked up at him.
He swallows his scream and comes hard, hips jerking. All the ice melts on contact now, leaving John drained and slumped in a giant puddle. Immediately the water starts to evaporate and his skin feels like it’s going to crack.
John is wet all over, messy and hot. He feels like Greek fire; Magneto makes him learn all about fire and flames and how to use it in war. He can recite the facts in his brain even in his sleep - Greek fire, incendiary composition the Byzantine Greeks used in warfare, said to have burst into flame on wetting.
He spreads his arms out, breathes hard, and wishes he could burst into flame, spontaneously combust and create fire instead of being stuck with manipulating flames stolen from an outside source.
John wants to create, not just destroy, and Pyro wants more power. And if both of them don’t find a way to cool off, they really are going to melt into a goddamn puddle of mutant goo.
Pyro keeps his lighter next to him even when he sleeps, just far enough away from the pile of wet blankets it won’t get soaked in water. He grabs it, flicks it open, and lights it in a woosh of flame and the faint smell of lighter fluid. He’s good enough he can hit a target he can’t actually see; all he has to do is picture it in his mind, throw the fire, and wait for it to strike.
Someday he’ll be good enough to do it across a large distance with a giant ball of fire. Then he’ll attack his old school, follow Magneto’s plans to a “T”, and teach a lesson to all mutants who side with the stupid, messy humans.
Pyro thinks then, maybe, he’ll stop being John at all. There’s only one thing he’ll mourn, not the remnants of his conscious or the end of his humanity. He looks forward to being only mutant, firestarter, Pyro.
He’ll miss his memories, fire and ice and daydreaming about how the world will end.