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Blah dee blah blah, all you evil RotK viewers need to STOP MAKING ME JEALOUS! *sobs*
Today was largely deeply and intensely boring. I went to Civic but Tim didn't show (gasp! shock!) so largely today was all about finishing the fic I posted earlier (wrote more than 1000 words today), fixing up the fic you'll see below, and finishing reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for the billionth time. I've noticed some inconsistencies and queries which I shall bring up in another post.
Title: The Laya
Pairing: Bobby (Iceman)/St. John (Pyro)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Made it all up.
Summary: Bobby and John find new addictions to replace each other.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
etsu_88, my beta. Title is from the final step of Hatha yoga, called laya, “absorption or dissolution.” The quote “Again and again they promise the moon” is from Blazing Saddles. For the Intoxication Challenge.
It was ironic, Bobby thought, to watch John walk out of the jet into the snow and ice. The cold had been Bobby’s life, cool and logical and all-consuming ice that he could never be rid of. John was temperamental, unpredictable and beautiful, so beautiful, yet terrifying. Somehow Bobby knew where John was going. It wasn’t anything he’d said so much as his actions over the past four days that had tipped him off, but now, as John turned to grin at them, he knew. He breathed a sigh of mingled relief and regret as John disappeared into the forest and out of sight. Rogue slipped her gloved hand into his and he wished, not for the first time, that her fatal hand was bare, a soft touch of skin on skin before the cold and the memories were sucked out of him forever.
Then again, that lingering hope was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. John wouldn’t have left if not for Rogue. Bobby had found Rogue, sexy damned Rogue with her coy smiles and untouchable beauty and that morbidly fascinating skin, and had become instantly infatuated. That night, with John’s breath like fire on his neck, he imagined it was Rogue’s tongue inching down his chest, her mouth wrapped around his cock, stealing the ice away rather than melting it, replacing it with the intense heat, a blessing rarely afforded to Bobby. When she was there, he could barely see anything else. She clouded his mind so that he pulled away from his studies, from John, and John knew. He hated Rogue for it, but the brief moments of heat John afforded Bobby couldn’t replace the mere intoxicating thought of having the cold sucked away from him forever, no matter how impractical it might have been.
“Bobby, what should we do?” Rogue asked from her place beside him, shaking him from his reverie. Her slow Southern drawl drew him to her and he forgot for a moment about John, about the boy with whom he’d shared so much, whose life had taken a turn so dark Bobby could barely imagine what it was going to be like. He attempted an encouraging smile for Rogue, and after a moment she was satisfied enough to wander around looking for some way to help, leaving Bobby to think about John and the life he’d just been driven to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Again and again they promise the moon,” the blue, tattooed German muttered, curling into himself as he turned away from John.
“At least they promise something,” John responded bitterly, eying the stranger. “Who are you again?”
“My name is Kurt Wagner, but in the Munich Circus they called me the Amazing Nightcrawler,” Kurt replied, his accent thick and his enthusiasm palpable.
“They turned you into a circus freak and you liked it?” John asked, disgusted. The first person who’d called him a freak had a scar on his left temple where his hair had caught on fire after a reignited smouldering match had flared. His stepfather had learned better than to comment on John’s unusual talents from then on, though. John had been unable to control his power back then; now, he could aim better, really teach the bastard a lesson.
“The other performers treated me better than anyone else I’ve met. They—respected my talent. I felt happy there,” Kurt said wistfully. John turned to ignore him, but Kurt hadn’t finished with what he was trying to say. “Do not throw away compassion for power, St. John. You will only be—sad, and lonely,” Kurt warned with sincerity.
John pretended to turn his back on him, unsettled by the use of his full first name, visions of fire and non-mutants begging forgiveness filling his mind.
John loved the way power tasted in his mouth, and the cool and exacting feeling it gave him when he threw fire, watching as some inanimate object sprung to life with a flick of his hand, the fire lighting it up. He felt it when the boy stole his lighter, when his stepfather had screamed at him, when Logan had fallen before him. The fury ignited inside him and he could only stop it by forcing it outwards, in fits of revenge and control that cooled his insides. He knew Magneto felt it too. He’d heard about Rogue’s abduction, about the power Magneto had held over every gun, every car, every filling in the cops’ teeth. Frankly, anyone who could take Rogue out of their lives for even the briefest moment earned John’s respect, although the idea of sacrificing her for the cause still worried him. Respect mingled with fear he would never show when he regarded his new leader.
“You’re a god among insects,” Magneto had told him. He could move the fire any way he wanted, but Bobby could create the ice. Bobby was always the god to John, the cool, calm protector. John was always the insect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once when they were fifteen, John and Bobby had seen a movie about a superhero. Bobby had watched the screen, enthralled, while John watched Bobby’s neck, aching to feel that cold, tight muscle under his tongue. Never one to deny impulses, he went for it.
Bobby leaned into him but kept his eyes on the screen, intent on understanding the story. John slipped his hand under the armrest, snaking it into Bobby’s lap, sliding it beneath the waist of his boxers.
Bobby hissed, feeling the unfamiliar heat of lust that had first hit him only a week earlier, when John had grabbed and kissed him in a deserted classroom and he’d cast furtive glances over his shoulder hopping that Kitty didn’t appear suddenly through the back wall.
John was giving him the same kind of hand-job now as he had then, quick and quiet, slick and hot.
John had always insisted that he couldn’t produce fire, but Bobby could’ve sworn that he would ignite from the friction between his dick and John’s warm hand at times like these.
“Johnny, please,” he breathed, “don’t stop.” On the screen the hero feigned with the left and punched with the right—an obvious move, John thought absently before moving his other hand into Bobby’s pants with a handkerchief. Bobby’s eyes glazed over and his mind exploded into a thousand stars as a simultaneous explosion diverted John’s attention back to the movie. Bobby slumped against him, his teenage body desperate for another hit of heat, but John was done. He looked around and kissed Bobby quickly, then turned back to the film Bobby had completely forgotten.
They waited until the end of the credits so that John could see the legendary final scene, which he loudly proclaimed to be a let-down, and so that Bobby could regain some composure. When they finally emerged, the short hallway in the small cinema was almost empty.
“Hey queers.” John spun around, in spite of Bobby’s attempts to get him to ignore it. “Fucking freaks. Aren’t you weirdos supposed to stay hidden away in your freak school?” The guy was only a few years older than them, built like a trucker with a haircut that his mom had probably given him.
Bobby rolled his eyes, but John swelled up with anger.
“Fuck off, bitch,” John hissed between clenched teeth, glaring daggers at the older boy while Bobby stood uncertainly by the sidelines.
“Freaks like you should be locked up.” John ignored the warning, calming hand on his arm as he removed his lighter from his pocket and began toying with it casually. The other boy eyed it suspiciously.
Faster than he could blink he found his boots on fire. He hopped madly from foot to foot, yelling, trying desperately to put it out, somehow managing to set the rug on fire instead. Beyond him at the other end of the hallway one of the ticket-takers screamed; Bobby called for her to phone the fire department, desperate for her to leave.
“Oh shit,” John mumbled , trying to keep calm. “Bobby, please. You gotta do something, man.” Bobby nodded and focused, preparing his immature powers to battle John’s. He sent out a stream of ice that engulfed first the rug, then the boy’s shoes and then, slowly, himself. John’s eyes went wide as he saw Bobby turn steadily bluer. Finally Bobby’s focus broke and he sucked a panicked breath into his half-frozen lungs.
“Easy man, hold on.” John said, pulling Bobby out of the cinema to a grass field across the road, where a small crowd gathered some distance away, watching with curiosity and unease. John lit a small fire, kept it contained, and threw Bobby down beside it, rubbing his friend’s arms frantically to keep him warm. “Jesus, fuck, man. I thought you were gonna get fucking frostbite or something,” he said, grabbing Bobby in a brief but hopefully manly hug, wishing he could absorb Bobby’s ice-cold into his own body to calm the fire that raged within him. Bobby smiled, his teeth chattering.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m always there to help.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John smiled out the window as the helicopter pulled away, feeling the cold power surge and swell within him, consuming him totally. He forgot the cold that Bobby offered so willingly, savouring the power Magneto was willing to offer for a price. Bobby would pay that price, Bobby and Rogue, for freezing John’s heart and shattering it. They’d pay together.
“Pyro, come here,” purred the naked blue chick (Mystical? Misty?) in her weird, non-specific voice. “I want to show you something.” He allowed her to pull him into the back room where she transformed into Rogue, then into Bobby. “I can give you anything you want,” she whispered in Bobby’s voice, and Pyro smiled coldly.
Bobby watched Rogue in awe as she pulled the jet down to a horribly bumpy landing, terrified and screaming but determined, making sure she did what was needed. No one would know it was his idea from the absolute strength she’d shown in flying the damn thing. She looked to him for support and he smiled, genuinely this time. She nodded back and John slipped from his mind.
OC Slash Fanlisting, Link of the Day. Also, Once You Pop (You Can't Stop) is updated. I need a new layout for that soon.
Pics of the Day, the boys (and girl) on TRL.
Sex Dom. HELL YES.
Hee, Dom's between Billy's legs.
Sean is so cute. Billy and Liv are holding hands. Bet you anything she's a fag hag.
Heh.
Oh, the gay.
Sean. Over here.
Okay, old. But still cute.
Run and tell the angels that everything's alright
Green Queen
Today was largely deeply and intensely boring. I went to Civic but Tim didn't show (gasp! shock!) so largely today was all about finishing the fic I posted earlier (wrote more than 1000 words today), fixing up the fic you'll see below, and finishing reading Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban for the billionth time. I've noticed some inconsistencies and queries which I shall bring up in another post.
Title: The Laya
Pairing: Bobby (Iceman)/St. John (Pyro)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Made it all up.
Summary: Bobby and John find new addictions to replace each other.
Author’s Notes: Thanks to
etsu_88, my beta. Title is from the final step of Hatha yoga, called laya, “absorption or dissolution.” The quote “Again and again they promise the moon” is from Blazing Saddles. For the Intoxication Challenge.It was ironic, Bobby thought, to watch John walk out of the jet into the snow and ice. The cold had been Bobby’s life, cool and logical and all-consuming ice that he could never be rid of. John was temperamental, unpredictable and beautiful, so beautiful, yet terrifying. Somehow Bobby knew where John was going. It wasn’t anything he’d said so much as his actions over the past four days that had tipped him off, but now, as John turned to grin at them, he knew. He breathed a sigh of mingled relief and regret as John disappeared into the forest and out of sight. Rogue slipped her gloved hand into his and he wished, not for the first time, that her fatal hand was bare, a soft touch of skin on skin before the cold and the memories were sucked out of him forever.
Then again, that lingering hope was what had gotten him into this situation in the first place. John wouldn’t have left if not for Rogue. Bobby had found Rogue, sexy damned Rogue with her coy smiles and untouchable beauty and that morbidly fascinating skin, and had become instantly infatuated. That night, with John’s breath like fire on his neck, he imagined it was Rogue’s tongue inching down his chest, her mouth wrapped around his cock, stealing the ice away rather than melting it, replacing it with the intense heat, a blessing rarely afforded to Bobby. When she was there, he could barely see anything else. She clouded his mind so that he pulled away from his studies, from John, and John knew. He hated Rogue for it, but the brief moments of heat John afforded Bobby couldn’t replace the mere intoxicating thought of having the cold sucked away from him forever, no matter how impractical it might have been.
“Bobby, what should we do?” Rogue asked from her place beside him, shaking him from his reverie. Her slow Southern drawl drew him to her and he forgot for a moment about John, about the boy with whom he’d shared so much, whose life had taken a turn so dark Bobby could barely imagine what it was going to be like. He attempted an encouraging smile for Rogue, and after a moment she was satisfied enough to wander around looking for some way to help, leaving Bobby to think about John and the life he’d just been driven to.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Again and again they promise the moon,” the blue, tattooed German muttered, curling into himself as he turned away from John.
“At least they promise something,” John responded bitterly, eying the stranger. “Who are you again?”
“My name is Kurt Wagner, but in the Munich Circus they called me the Amazing Nightcrawler,” Kurt replied, his accent thick and his enthusiasm palpable.
“They turned you into a circus freak and you liked it?” John asked, disgusted. The first person who’d called him a freak had a scar on his left temple where his hair had caught on fire after a reignited smouldering match had flared. His stepfather had learned better than to comment on John’s unusual talents from then on, though. John had been unable to control his power back then; now, he could aim better, really teach the bastard a lesson.
“The other performers treated me better than anyone else I’ve met. They—respected my talent. I felt happy there,” Kurt said wistfully. John turned to ignore him, but Kurt hadn’t finished with what he was trying to say. “Do not throw away compassion for power, St. John. You will only be—sad, and lonely,” Kurt warned with sincerity.
John pretended to turn his back on him, unsettled by the use of his full first name, visions of fire and non-mutants begging forgiveness filling his mind.
John loved the way power tasted in his mouth, and the cool and exacting feeling it gave him when he threw fire, watching as some inanimate object sprung to life with a flick of his hand, the fire lighting it up. He felt it when the boy stole his lighter, when his stepfather had screamed at him, when Logan had fallen before him. The fury ignited inside him and he could only stop it by forcing it outwards, in fits of revenge and control that cooled his insides. He knew Magneto felt it too. He’d heard about Rogue’s abduction, about the power Magneto had held over every gun, every car, every filling in the cops’ teeth. Frankly, anyone who could take Rogue out of their lives for even the briefest moment earned John’s respect, although the idea of sacrificing her for the cause still worried him. Respect mingled with fear he would never show when he regarded his new leader.
“You’re a god among insects,” Magneto had told him. He could move the fire any way he wanted, but Bobby could create the ice. Bobby was always the god to John, the cool, calm protector. John was always the insect.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Once when they were fifteen, John and Bobby had seen a movie about a superhero. Bobby had watched the screen, enthralled, while John watched Bobby’s neck, aching to feel that cold, tight muscle under his tongue. Never one to deny impulses, he went for it.
Bobby leaned into him but kept his eyes on the screen, intent on understanding the story. John slipped his hand under the armrest, snaking it into Bobby’s lap, sliding it beneath the waist of his boxers.
Bobby hissed, feeling the unfamiliar heat of lust that had first hit him only a week earlier, when John had grabbed and kissed him in a deserted classroom and he’d cast furtive glances over his shoulder hopping that Kitty didn’t appear suddenly through the back wall.
John was giving him the same kind of hand-job now as he had then, quick and quiet, slick and hot.
John had always insisted that he couldn’t produce fire, but Bobby could’ve sworn that he would ignite from the friction between his dick and John’s warm hand at times like these.
“Johnny, please,” he breathed, “don’t stop.” On the screen the hero feigned with the left and punched with the right—an obvious move, John thought absently before moving his other hand into Bobby’s pants with a handkerchief. Bobby’s eyes glazed over and his mind exploded into a thousand stars as a simultaneous explosion diverted John’s attention back to the movie. Bobby slumped against him, his teenage body desperate for another hit of heat, but John was done. He looked around and kissed Bobby quickly, then turned back to the film Bobby had completely forgotten.
They waited until the end of the credits so that John could see the legendary final scene, which he loudly proclaimed to be a let-down, and so that Bobby could regain some composure. When they finally emerged, the short hallway in the small cinema was almost empty.
“Hey queers.” John spun around, in spite of Bobby’s attempts to get him to ignore it. “Fucking freaks. Aren’t you weirdos supposed to stay hidden away in your freak school?” The guy was only a few years older than them, built like a trucker with a haircut that his mom had probably given him.
Bobby rolled his eyes, but John swelled up with anger.
“Fuck off, bitch,” John hissed between clenched teeth, glaring daggers at the older boy while Bobby stood uncertainly by the sidelines.
“Freaks like you should be locked up.” John ignored the warning, calming hand on his arm as he removed his lighter from his pocket and began toying with it casually. The other boy eyed it suspiciously.
Faster than he could blink he found his boots on fire. He hopped madly from foot to foot, yelling, trying desperately to put it out, somehow managing to set the rug on fire instead. Beyond him at the other end of the hallway one of the ticket-takers screamed; Bobby called for her to phone the fire department, desperate for her to leave.
“Oh shit,” John mumbled , trying to keep calm. “Bobby, please. You gotta do something, man.” Bobby nodded and focused, preparing his immature powers to battle John’s. He sent out a stream of ice that engulfed first the rug, then the boy’s shoes and then, slowly, himself. John’s eyes went wide as he saw Bobby turn steadily bluer. Finally Bobby’s focus broke and he sucked a panicked breath into his half-frozen lungs.
“Easy man, hold on.” John said, pulling Bobby out of the cinema to a grass field across the road, where a small crowd gathered some distance away, watching with curiosity and unease. John lit a small fire, kept it contained, and threw Bobby down beside it, rubbing his friend’s arms frantically to keep him warm. “Jesus, fuck, man. I thought you were gonna get fucking frostbite or something,” he said, grabbing Bobby in a brief but hopefully manly hug, wishing he could absorb Bobby’s ice-cold into his own body to calm the fire that raged within him. Bobby smiled, his teeth chattering.
“Don’t worry about me. I’m always there to help.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
John smiled out the window as the helicopter pulled away, feeling the cold power surge and swell within him, consuming him totally. He forgot the cold that Bobby offered so willingly, savouring the power Magneto was willing to offer for a price. Bobby would pay that price, Bobby and Rogue, for freezing John’s heart and shattering it. They’d pay together.
“Pyro, come here,” purred the naked blue chick (Mystical? Misty?) in her weird, non-specific voice. “I want to show you something.” He allowed her to pull him into the back room where she transformed into Rogue, then into Bobby. “I can give you anything you want,” she whispered in Bobby’s voice, and Pyro smiled coldly.
Bobby watched Rogue in awe as she pulled the jet down to a horribly bumpy landing, terrified and screaming but determined, making sure she did what was needed. No one would know it was his idea from the absolute strength she’d shown in flying the damn thing. She looked to him for support and he smiled, genuinely this time. She nodded back and John slipped from his mind.
OC Slash Fanlisting, Link of the Day. Also, Once You Pop (You Can't Stop) is updated. I need a new layout for that soon.
Pics of the Day, the boys (and girl) on TRL.
Sex Dom. HELL YES.
Hee, Dom's between Billy's legs.
Sean is so cute. Billy and Liv are holding hands. Bet you anything she's a fag hag.
Heh.
Oh, the gay.
Sean. Over here.
Okay, old. But still cute.
Run and tell the angels that everything's alright
Green Queen
