Um. More porn.
Now that I've written this, I realize that it's almost a squick for me. However, Pyro/Magneto remains my current OTP of doom.
Unedited, so if there are any garish errors please let me know. And now I give you: Pyro/Magento, with a slew of other pairings thrown in. Reviews most kindly appreciated.
Ad Delo Yada
Like something out of a children’s novel, St. John has been seduced by evil. And seduced is such a lovely word. From the Latin suducere; meaning to lead, or more accurately: to lead away. John has indeed been led away, and his path is unclear in the most appealing manner. He is the unhappy young man, the easily swayed, the seeker of greatness.
Magneto will offer him what he can. He will play the powerful elder, for that is what he is. He will play the sculptor; and unlike his dear friend Charles, he will complete his artwork, perfect it and refine it. He will make St. John something to be proud of.
+
Finer tastes dictate a liking of older things. Leather bound books, aged scotch, suits tailored to fit one’s body, and perfect felt fedoras-grey, black and brown ones with matching silk ribbons adorning the sides. As an adult, Erik Lensherr liked his fedoras best of all. He had several of them, some purchased just after the War with easily lifted marks. He had been a brilliant pickpocket then, and at 17, in a war torn country rife with prejudice, he had needed to be.
Erik’s past was like a quilt ripped down the center-one side his childhood, the other his adult life, and the giant tear of the Holocaust separating the two. When the Allies had invaded Germany, and the work camps had been disbanded with the Nazis fleeing into the sunset, Erik had taken to the road with Israel as his destination, rags on his body, and anger growing steadily in his heart.
+
“You cannot always be bitter, St. John,” Magneto told him over dinner.
John sipped futilely at his glass of red wine. He did not like it very much. Mystique, who actually gave him the willies, looked at him slyly through her yellow eyes. Sometimes she was too reptilian for John.
“Yes I can,” he said. “Haven’t I earned the right?”
“No more than I, or Mystique here,” Magneto said placidly.
Mystique morphed into Rogue and winked at him. She was keen on doing things like that. Subtle bits of torture. Tests. Would he stay? Or would he cave and go running back to Professor Xavier? She only had to push him far enough.
“I hate it when she does that,” John said and scowled at her.
“She is only teasing you.” Magneto smirked.
“Only teasing you,” Mystique said with Magneto’s voice and then snickered lowly in her own.
Magneto reached out and stroked her hand. John took another sip of his wine. He had been living with Magneto and Mystique for three weeks, and yes, he was learning new things-how to control his fire in a different way, how to call the flames from farther away, how to channel his feelings into his power-but there was something about them that threw him off. Something about Magneto’s cool sense of humor and the way he always looked vaguely amused at the whole world that made John feel uncomfortable. As if just under the surface Magneto was laughing at him and Mystique was sharing in the joke. He took another sip of wine and felt a booted foot brush against his leg.
That was the other thing that made him wonder.
“Leave us for the remainder of the evening, will you my dear?” Magneto addressed Mystique and she obeyed. She always obeyed.
When she had slithered (because that is what she did, she did not walk) out of the room, Magneto faced John directly, and the booted foot against John’s leg dropped away.
“So young friend, tell me: why exactly did you join us?”
“You’ve already asked,” John answered guardedly.
“Ah, but I’d like to know if your reasons have changed,” Magneto said. He refilled his wine glass.
“Should they have?” John asked.
“That is entirely of your deciding.”
“Well, I-”
“I cannot give you reasons for your actions,” Magneto said slowly, “but I can give you reasons to be happy for them.”
“Oh?”
“Here you sit with me, and here we have a goal- a goal of power and supremacy. Isn’t that a reason to be happy?”
John gulped. “Sure it is,” he said. Although he wasn’t sure he believed himself.
“And there are other things as well,” Magneto continued. “I am old and you, you are a young man, and yet-“
“What?”
“I see myself in you.”
“Somehow I knew that was coming,” John said.
Magneto laughed. “I figured you would. It is a common thing to say, is it not? Often I find myself thinking of you and then I wonder: what are you to me, St. John? What would you like to be?”
“I’d like to be your.” Pause. “Ally? Friend?”
“What of son? Or lover?” Magneto raised an eyebrow.
“What is Mystique then?”
“She is like a daughter to me, a lover as well. A marvelous creature above all else.”
“Oh,” John said.
“You are marvelous as well, dear boy.”
“I’m not a boy.”
“Compared to me, you are entirely a boy.” Magneto smiled. “But tell, what are you to me?”
“I’m all four, I guess.”
“Friend, ally, son, and dare I say, lover?”
John shrugged. It was so strange to him. Magneto spoke and it felt like a part of him came alive. Like the fire he couldn’t form within him was suddenly there. Magneto made him feel revolutionary. Like he could accomplish things, like he was powerful, like he meant something and wasn’t just the sidekick to a clean-cut boy and his beautiful girlfriend. Magneto made him want to agree to anything at all.
“Yes,” John said.
“Very well then,” Magneto said thoughtfully. “Then you will stay in my rooms tonight and in the morning you may remain here with Mystique and me, or you may return to Charles’ school. I will give you this choice only once. Remember that.”
Magneto stood and left the dining room. They were living in an apartment. It had a metal décor. John downed the rest of his wine and after a minute, followed.
+
A metal framed bed, with a high mattress wrapped in black sheets. Grey comforter. It didn’t strike John as odd until he realized that Magneto’s bedroom was metal plated. In the darkness, the walls winked at him, catching slivers of light on their surfaces. Outside the window, New York City honked and clunked and kept living into the night. He pulled his lighter from his pocket and flipped it open. The tiny flame flickered and John brought a bit of it into his hand, held in his palm like a torch and looked around the room. Then he closed his hand onto the flame.
He was in the bedroom of a super villain and that super villain was in the bathroom. John could hear the water running.
Sighing, he sat down in a deep chair by the window. His bottom sank into the cushions and he rested his elbows on the wide, chrome armrests. It was a very cold sort of chair. John flicked his lighter open and closed a few more times. Nervous habit. He wasn’t nervous-he wasn’t. He wasn’t even a virgin. Well. He flicked the lighter closed, put it back into his pocket.
The bathroom door opened and light pooled from room into the bedroom. John blinked at the figure silhouetted in the doorframe.
“Your real name is Erik, right?” He blurted.
Magneto nodded and stepped into the room. He was dressed in a terrycloth rob. It was gunmetal gray.
“Since I was born,” Magneto said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and for a moment looked like a very tired elderly man.
John closed his eyes to rid himself of the image. He would not have scruples. He couldn’t. Not when so much teetered on the outcome of this night.
“Come and sit with me St. John, let us play at acquiesce for a moment.”
John complied. He stood and then moved to sit nervously next to Magneto. The older man brought a hand to the back of John’s neck and stroked the skin there.
“This is weird,” John said.
“That’s okay, but try and get used to it. One day you may not have the luxury of expressing such a sentiment.”
John gulped.
“Do not tell you’re a virgin,” Magneto said and slid his hand down John’s back.
“I’m not.”
“It’s all right to lie to me, John. Unlike your Professor, I cannot read your mind.”
“I’m not lie-“
Magneto shushed him. “Look at me, boy.”
John turned to face him. The planes of Magneto’s face were matured but smooth. He had no predominant wrinkles or telling spots of age. His hair rippled back thickly from his forehead, elegant in gray and black.
Much about Magneto-Erik-was gray.
“Were you-“ John was about to ask if Charles had been one of his lovers as well, but Magneto moved forward and kissed his lips.
Warm, when John had expected cool. Bobby’s lips had always been cool, his tongue cold against John’s. But Magneto’s mouth was warm and his thin lips were soft and slightly open against John’s own. John kept the kiss going, willed himself to enjoy it and find a place here. He turned further toward Magneto and wrapped his hands around the older man’s upper arms.
Magneto pressed him backward and onto the pillows at the head of the bed. John wrapped a leg about Magneto’s waist and let Magneto strip him of his shirt.
For the moment their lips were apart, John said breathlessly: “This isn’t why you took me with you, is it?”
Magneto shrugged from above him. “Partially,” he said. “But also because you are powerful, and because together…”
“We could be great,” John finished.
“Yes,” Magneto said, and then half smiled. “I can be trite.”
“I’m learning.”
“It comes with being the villain.”
John kissed him.
+
In the morning, wrapped in the black sheets of Magneto’s bed, with the man’s arm around his chest, John thought he might stay for a while.
He looked at Magneto’s forearm- tattooed with a serial number, one reminder of horrid imprisonment- and shivered. So much hate and death because of a government that had feared and hated those it was meant to protect. John could fight to prevent that from happening again. He really could. And if staying here with Magneto and his morphing beauty was the only way to do so, he would stay. And if Bobby and Rogue, or even the Professor wanted him back, they would have to come and get him.
On the nightstand he saw his lighter, somehow taken from his discarded pants during the night. Magneto must have put it there for him, he realized. John took in his hand and the old man stirred in his sleep.
He flipped the lid open and closed, open and closed. He watched the flame catch in the early sunlight.
End.
The title is once again Hebrew. It means "until he does not know".
Unedited, so if there are any garish errors please let me know. And now I give you: Pyro/Magento, with a slew of other pairings thrown in. Reviews most kindly appreciated.
Ad Delo Yada
Like something out of a children’s novel, St. John has been seduced by evil. And seduced is such a lovely word. From the Latin suducere; meaning to lead, or more accurately: to lead away. John has indeed been led away, and his path is unclear in the most appealing manner. He is the unhappy young man, the easily swayed, the seeker of greatness.
Magneto will offer him what he can. He will play the powerful elder, for that is what he is. He will play the sculptor; and unlike his dear friend Charles, he will complete his artwork, perfect it and refine it. He will make St. John something to be proud of.
+
Finer tastes dictate a liking of older things. Leather bound books, aged scotch, suits tailored to fit one’s body, and perfect felt fedoras-grey, black and brown ones with matching silk ribbons adorning the sides. As an adult, Erik Lensherr liked his fedoras best of all. He had several of them, some purchased just after the War with easily lifted marks. He had been a brilliant pickpocket then, and at 17, in a war torn country rife with prejudice, he had needed to be.
Erik’s past was like a quilt ripped down the center-one side his childhood, the other his adult life, and the giant tear of the Holocaust separating the two. When the Allies had invaded Germany, and the work camps had been disbanded with the Nazis fleeing into the sunset, Erik had taken to the road with Israel as his destination, rags on his body, and anger growing steadily in his heart.
+
“You cannot always be bitter, St. John,” Magneto told him over dinner.
John sipped futilely at his glass of red wine. He did not like it very much. Mystique, who actually gave him the willies, looked at him slyly through her yellow eyes. Sometimes she was too reptilian for John.
“Yes I can,” he said. “Haven’t I earned the right?”
“No more than I, or Mystique here,” Magneto said placidly.
Mystique morphed into Rogue and winked at him. She was keen on doing things like that. Subtle bits of torture. Tests. Would he stay? Or would he cave and go running back to Professor Xavier? She only had to push him far enough.
“I hate it when she does that,” John said and scowled at her.
“She is only teasing you.” Magneto smirked.
“Only teasing you,” Mystique said with Magneto’s voice and then snickered lowly in her own.
Magneto reached out and stroked her hand. John took another sip of his wine. He had been living with Magneto and Mystique for three weeks, and yes, he was learning new things-how to control his fire in a different way, how to call the flames from farther away, how to channel his feelings into his power-but there was something about them that threw him off. Something about Magneto’s cool sense of humor and the way he always looked vaguely amused at the whole world that made John feel uncomfortable. As if just under the surface Magneto was laughing at him and Mystique was sharing in the joke. He took another sip of wine and felt a booted foot brush against his leg.
That was the other thing that made him wonder.
“Leave us for the remainder of the evening, will you my dear?” Magneto addressed Mystique and she obeyed. She always obeyed.
When she had slithered (because that is what she did, she did not walk) out of the room, Magneto faced John directly, and the booted foot against John’s leg dropped away.
“So young friend, tell me: why exactly did you join us?”
“You’ve already asked,” John answered guardedly.
“Ah, but I’d like to know if your reasons have changed,” Magneto said. He refilled his wine glass.
“Should they have?” John asked.
“That is entirely of your deciding.”
“Well, I-”
“I cannot give you reasons for your actions,” Magneto said slowly, “but I can give you reasons to be happy for them.”
“Oh?”
“Here you sit with me, and here we have a goal- a goal of power and supremacy. Isn’t that a reason to be happy?”
John gulped. “Sure it is,” he said. Although he wasn’t sure he believed himself.
“And there are other things as well,” Magneto continued. “I am old and you, you are a young man, and yet-“
“What?”
“I see myself in you.”
“Somehow I knew that was coming,” John said.
Magneto laughed. “I figured you would. It is a common thing to say, is it not? Often I find myself thinking of you and then I wonder: what are you to me, St. John? What would you like to be?”
“I’d like to be your.” Pause. “Ally? Friend?”
“What of son? Or lover?” Magneto raised an eyebrow.
“What is Mystique then?”
“She is like a daughter to me, a lover as well. A marvelous creature above all else.”
“Oh,” John said.
“You are marvelous as well, dear boy.”
“I’m not a boy.”
“Compared to me, you are entirely a boy.” Magneto smiled. “But tell, what are you to me?”
“I’m all four, I guess.”
“Friend, ally, son, and dare I say, lover?”
John shrugged. It was so strange to him. Magneto spoke and it felt like a part of him came alive. Like the fire he couldn’t form within him was suddenly there. Magneto made him feel revolutionary. Like he could accomplish things, like he was powerful, like he meant something and wasn’t just the sidekick to a clean-cut boy and his beautiful girlfriend. Magneto made him want to agree to anything at all.
“Yes,” John said.
“Very well then,” Magneto said thoughtfully. “Then you will stay in my rooms tonight and in the morning you may remain here with Mystique and me, or you may return to Charles’ school. I will give you this choice only once. Remember that.”
Magneto stood and left the dining room. They were living in an apartment. It had a metal décor. John downed the rest of his wine and after a minute, followed.
+
A metal framed bed, with a high mattress wrapped in black sheets. Grey comforter. It didn’t strike John as odd until he realized that Magneto’s bedroom was metal plated. In the darkness, the walls winked at him, catching slivers of light on their surfaces. Outside the window, New York City honked and clunked and kept living into the night. He pulled his lighter from his pocket and flipped it open. The tiny flame flickered and John brought a bit of it into his hand, held in his palm like a torch and looked around the room. Then he closed his hand onto the flame.
He was in the bedroom of a super villain and that super villain was in the bathroom. John could hear the water running.
Sighing, he sat down in a deep chair by the window. His bottom sank into the cushions and he rested his elbows on the wide, chrome armrests. It was a very cold sort of chair. John flicked his lighter open and closed a few more times. Nervous habit. He wasn’t nervous-he wasn’t. He wasn’t even a virgin. Well. He flicked the lighter closed, put it back into his pocket.
The bathroom door opened and light pooled from room into the bedroom. John blinked at the figure silhouetted in the doorframe.
“Your real name is Erik, right?” He blurted.
Magneto nodded and stepped into the room. He was dressed in a terrycloth rob. It was gunmetal gray.
“Since I was born,” Magneto said. He sat down on the edge of the bed and for a moment looked like a very tired elderly man.
John closed his eyes to rid himself of the image. He would not have scruples. He couldn’t. Not when so much teetered on the outcome of this night.
“Come and sit with me St. John, let us play at acquiesce for a moment.”
John complied. He stood and then moved to sit nervously next to Magneto. The older man brought a hand to the back of John’s neck and stroked the skin there.
“This is weird,” John said.
“That’s okay, but try and get used to it. One day you may not have the luxury of expressing such a sentiment.”
John gulped.
“Do not tell you’re a virgin,” Magneto said and slid his hand down John’s back.
“I’m not.”
“It’s all right to lie to me, John. Unlike your Professor, I cannot read your mind.”
“I’m not lie-“
Magneto shushed him. “Look at me, boy.”
John turned to face him. The planes of Magneto’s face were matured but smooth. He had no predominant wrinkles or telling spots of age. His hair rippled back thickly from his forehead, elegant in gray and black.
Much about Magneto-Erik-was gray.
“Were you-“ John was about to ask if Charles had been one of his lovers as well, but Magneto moved forward and kissed his lips.
Warm, when John had expected cool. Bobby’s lips had always been cool, his tongue cold against John’s. But Magneto’s mouth was warm and his thin lips were soft and slightly open against John’s own. John kept the kiss going, willed himself to enjoy it and find a place here. He turned further toward Magneto and wrapped his hands around the older man’s upper arms.
Magneto pressed him backward and onto the pillows at the head of the bed. John wrapped a leg about Magneto’s waist and let Magneto strip him of his shirt.
For the moment their lips were apart, John said breathlessly: “This isn’t why you took me with you, is it?”
Magneto shrugged from above him. “Partially,” he said. “But also because you are powerful, and because together…”
“We could be great,” John finished.
“Yes,” Magneto said, and then half smiled. “I can be trite.”
“I’m learning.”
“It comes with being the villain.”
John kissed him.
+
In the morning, wrapped in the black sheets of Magneto’s bed, with the man’s arm around his chest, John thought he might stay for a while.
He looked at Magneto’s forearm- tattooed with a serial number, one reminder of horrid imprisonment- and shivered. So much hate and death because of a government that had feared and hated those it was meant to protect. John could fight to prevent that from happening again. He really could. And if staying here with Magneto and his morphing beauty was the only way to do so, he would stay. And if Bobby and Rogue, or even the Professor wanted him back, they would have to come and get him.
On the nightstand he saw his lighter, somehow taken from his discarded pants during the night. Magneto must have put it there for him, he realized. John took in his hand and the old man stirred in his sleep.
He flipped the lid open and closed, open and closed. He watched the flame catch in the early sunlight.
End.
The title is once again Hebrew. It means "until he does not know".