Pyrokinetic Manipulator - Chapter five
Author: Sj-snugglebug
Title: Pyrokinetic Manipulator
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: PG-13 (R at the most…but that’s pushing it)
Pairings: Distinct John/Bobby in this chapter.
Warnings: I’m not sure ‘slash’ would be a warning here. =)
Disclaimer: Not mine; never was, never will be. =(
Summary: Before he was Pyro, he was John; and before he was John, he was St. John. John was strong, but Pyro was stronger. John would fight, but Pyro would die trying; but John had Bobby, and Pyro didn’t.
~
Chapter: Five
Chapter title: Reflection
Chapter Summary: John watches - Bobby turns fifteen and flirts. John and Professor Xavier visit John’s childhood - he reflects.
~
Previous Chapters: Chapter one (Yesteryear), Chapter two (Learning Games), Chapter three (Ice Burn), Chapter four (Changes).
Author’s notes: *Deep breath* I’m back from schoolies with a brand new chapter five! Yay! It’s done! This was easier to write than the last chapter (Which I am not happy with). Tell me what you think! =D
REFLECTIONS (CHAPTER FIVE)
~
When John was nine he liked to watch his father light the fireplace. If he was good he was allowed to toast marshmallows in the flickering flames. If he was very good, he was allowed to try toasting other things. His father would sit in the chair next to the fireplace and read a newspaper every night. To John, it was always rather old fashioned. He knew because he had read about it in books and they told him that fireplaces and chairs and newspapers were old fashioned.
“My father would always ask me,” John whispered “- How do you know that you’re alive? And I was always stumped. I couldn’t think of the answer. I never could.”
John rolled over on the grass and looked at Bobby who was playing ‘connect the dots’ with the stars above them.
“My father knew the answer. He was a military man. A Colonel the last time I saw him. He said he knew because he had stared death in the face countless times and lived.” John looked over at Bobby who was smiling at him. He checked his watch which read 02:02am. Another minute ticked by, and John whispered. “Do you know? Do you know how you know you’re alive?”
Bobby shrugged against the moist grass. “I don’t know, but I guess it’s different to how you know that you’re alive. - Other people, I guess.” Bobby said. “Other people tell me.”
“Other people lie.” Said John; he checked his watch again. It said ’02:04am’. John turned his head to face Bobby’s. “Happy Birthday Freeze-beam; you’re fifteen now” He said.
Bobby grinned. “Do I get a present?” he asked, and John grinned back.
“You get to wait another year.”
“I want a present!” Bobby declared, and John leaned over to the youth and kissed his lips briefly. Bobby rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “Oh yay.”
John merely grinned and thought about that bottle of scotch lying at the back of Bobby’s t-shirt drawer with a tag around the neck reading ‘to open when eighteen - from John’. He looked back up towards the night-sky littered with millions of little shining dots; his father used to drink scotch-whiskey at night - in his chair - by the fireplace - with the newspaper.
~~
It was midnight and John was still awake. He looked at the boy leaning against the wall next to him - black hair shining from the moonlight that beamed through the glass window. John reached down and zipped up his pants. There was something oddly appealing about receiving sexual favours and not having to pay for it; just as there was something unappealing about giving sexual favours and not getting paid for it.
The mutant youth was smiling at him - ‘annoyingly, at that’ John thought - still leaning against the wall. John straightened his clothes out and began to leave.
“What about me?” The mutant asked and John couldn’t quite recall his name - Pat or Matt…maybe it was Max. He was sure Bobby would know it.
“God gave you hands,” John snapped. “Use them well.”
He made his way back to his dorm. Bobby was probably asleep in John’s bed.
~~
John counted his cash that was hidden under his bottom drawer (even though he figured it was useless since he lived in a mansion run by the world’s most powerful telepath).
Six-hundred and fifty-five dollars
Bobby lay on his bed, blowing wisps of cool air towards the ceiling. “What do you think of Kitty?” He said.
John turned around and looked at him. “What, you mean the new chick?”
“She’s been here for almost five months. She’s hardly new.”
John snorted and went back to counting.
Six-hundred and seventy dollars
“She’ll keep the stigma of being new until another new mutant comes here.” He said.
“Well, then what do you think of her? I think she’s pretty.” Bobby said, and John snorted again.
“You think everybody is pretty.”
Bobby blew another wisp of ice into the air and sniffed indignantly. “I don’t think you’re pretty.” He said.
John placed another bill into the box.
Seven-hundred and five dollars
“Thank-you” John snickered, and Bobby frowned at him.
“That wasn’t a compliment.” Bobby said, and John shrugged uncaringly.
“I’d rather not be pretty, thank you very much.” He said, and placed the last note in the box.
Eight-hundred and fifty-five dollars
“Do I suspect a crush?” John laughed, mockingly.
“I only think she’s pretty. I think Jubilee is pretty too.”
“Like I said, you think everybody is pretty.”
“I do not!” Bobby protested, and John laughed again - closing the box and placing it under his bottom drawer for hiding.
“Fine then, you think every girl is pretty.”
Bobby blushed and sat up, biting his bottom lip in the way that made John smile.
“I do not.” He said in a wavering and unconvincing tone, then “Okay, maybe I like her a little. - what do I do?”
John went over to the bed and sat down next to Bobby, laying a comforting hand on his knee. “Easy. Seduce her, kiss her, and then screw her.” He said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
Bobby didn’t reply.
“Oh, I apologise, you’ve done none of those.” John laughed, removing his hand from Bobby’s knee. “You haven’t kissed any girls, have you? No, you haven’t, or I would have heard about it by now.”
Bobby blinked, and then said “I’ve kissed you…”
“I’m not a girl”
Bobby laughed, and lay down on his stomach. “Can I ask you something?” He said, and when John didn’t reply, he continued. “Where exactly are you getting all that money? I’ve wondered for almost a year - or do I not want to know?”
John just grinned wickedly, said “I have my ways. There are plenty of rich kids in this school, you know - of course you know…you’re one of them.” And left it at that; standing up and leaving before Bobby would further pursue his investigation on the matter.
~~
The Professor leaned back in his wheelchair and crossed his arms over his chest. To John’s surprise, he didn’t have that disturbing feeling of his mind being intruded on, but merely felt that he was under a microscope with his exterior being examined carefully. The feeling was almost as disturbing.
“Your lack of control over your powers, and your midnight exploits are beginning to worry me.” The professor said. John froze in his seat, frowning slightly and turning his gaze away from the single candle that flickered in the middle of the desk. Before he could say anything to oppose The Professor, he was stopped.
“No, St. John, I have not been spying on you, but reports from other residents of this Mansion have informed me of your excursions. Contrary to your belief, I do respect my students’ privacy.”
John ignored this statement, and mimicked The Professors actions by leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
“I do have control over my ability, thank-you-very-much.” John said.
“Consciously, maybe; from what I hear from your teachers, your ability to control fire has exceeded to the point where manipulate fire to take different forms. But it isn’t your conscious control that worries me, St. John; it’s your unconscious influence over fire that worries me. You almost injured another student from the smallest spark the other day. Like I have said many times, your abilities are influenced by your emotions - your emotions are influenced by your past.” The Professor said, and began to wheel his chair towards John who backed up instinctively. “Remain calm, St. John. This will not take long; it is a simple procedure. We have done this many times.”
The Professors chair stopped behind John’s, and he raised a hand on either side of the teen’s head.
John bit his lip and focused. He felt prodding in his mind - the memories bubbling at the surface like at night when he would dream bad dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut, and felt his pupils burning beneath his eyelids; and gasped as images flashed before his eyes at an alarming rate.
He pulled back and gasped.
He saw his father sitting with him, reading him the newspaper. He was four.
He saw his mother; he saw himself in a small black suit - black bow tie - white shirt. He saw himself tugging at his collar, and pondered the strangeness of watching himself in third-person.
He saw a girl; spinning, spinning, spinning.
He saw flames; he saw fire; he saw smoke - he began to choke.
He couldn’t breathe.
Asphyxiation.
He couldn’t see.
Fire.
Flames.
Fear.
No! Saint John Allerdyce doesn’t do fear.
~~
John sat on the couch, Wuthering Heights in one hand, his lighter in the other. Bobby sat on the floor; between John’s legs, one dangling over each shoulder. The girls sat opposite them. As John read he noticed small, brief, and but intense looks from the boy sitting in front of him. The looks screamed sheer boredom and Bobby began to try and steal his Zippo from his nimble fingers.
“I’m bored.” Bobby declared, and John didn’t spare him a glance.
Kitty grinned at Bobby from the other side of the seats and said; “Let’s play a game then!” - grinned again.
Bobby smiled back and tried a move he’d seen John use; he smirked at Kitty then efficiently winked - causing Kitty to giggle and blush and whisper to Jubilee in that girlish way. He heard John whisper softly, ‘our own homely Casanova, eh?’
John looked up from his book again and saw Jubilee whispering back furiously. Kitty stood up and straightened her t-shirt.
“C’mon Bobby, these people are too boring for my liking” she said, and offered Bobby a single manicured hand. Bobby quickly looked up at John who spared the boy a single raised eyebrow, then took the hand.
“Well, Miss Pryde, where are we going?” He asked in a slightly nervous and wavering tone.
~~
Bobby left for Christmas holidays - Easter, New Year, end-of-school-year, and any other holiday his parents could pull him out of school for. Bobby’s parents seemed nice, John would acknowledge; and they tried. But John had felt a sense of fake ever since he had met them, and they stared at him with an indistinct sense of disapproval and criticism. Like the reality was veiled by the pretence of perfection - families - children - homely - all that bullshit about the American dream and families and happiness…
Or it was his criticism of families in general…
Or it may have been just his family. He didn’t know.
When Bobby was gone he would write letters because letters were so much classier than emails; so much nicer than phone calls.
When Bobby was gone the room was warm with a distinct emptiness that churned his stomach. He would lay at night and think of Bobby and families; and if he concentrated hard enough he would smell the scent of charred wood.
Burnt lace, burnt carpets…
Burnt flesh…
And he would close his eyes and curl up and think about all the bullshit that The Professor said about confronting pasts and remembering and control; and he would hate that he was right.
~~
Bobby’s parents raised him a gentleman, and Bobby co-operated on the matter. He carried around a handkerchief; a habit John thought to be revolting. He stood up to let girls sit; an action John thought to be stupid, and an action John knew feminists would go nuts over.
Bobby had perfected the art of the death stare; a glance he used often, and often in context with John. Bobby was quite often happy, sunshine, smiles, and silliness; he was delicate, but he was also strong in a way that John wasn’t. He was also often cold with cold death stares, cold repressed emotions, and possessed a certain cold disposition towards society that John didn’t; and that was where they were different.
John was emotion, John was vicious, John was controlling - he was passion, obsession, and violent, but most of all - John was deep burning desire, and that was where they were different. He possessed a certain brutal hatred for society that Bobby didn’t; and John would wonder if it was because of their abilities or because of their upbringing.
They were only similar on one certain characteristic. Neither forgot or forgave very easily.
~~
John pinned him to the bed - felt cold and burn and ice.
John kissed with lips and wet and felt around - heard ‘no, no, no’ and ‘stop’.
John’s hand moved down, down, and down, and kissed with teeth and tongues and tasted cold metallic blood.
Johns’ hands felt hardness and flesh - heard whimpers and ‘no’ and ‘stop’ then silence.
John felt hatred and cold glares - felt struggles and sweat - tasted blood, tasted anger and hatred and possession - felt control, control, and control - heard ‘no, no, no, no, no…’
Felt tears
Felt hands
Clinging
Heard ‘don’t let go’
Tasted blood
Need
Hate
Desire
John closed his eyes and breathed cold air.
~~
- Side note:
Chapter one: John - ages 4, 10, 11, 13
Chapter two: John - age 13 + Bobby - age 13
Chapter three: John - age 14 + Bobby - age 14
Chapter four: John - age 14, 15 + Bobby - age 14 (John exaggerates)
Chapter five: John - age 15 + Bobby - age 14, 15
Title: Pyrokinetic Manipulator
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: PG-13 (R at the most…but that’s pushing it)
Pairings: Distinct John/Bobby in this chapter.
Warnings: I’m not sure ‘slash’ would be a warning here. =)
Disclaimer: Not mine; never was, never will be. =(
Summary: Before he was Pyro, he was John; and before he was John, he was St. John. John was strong, but Pyro was stronger. John would fight, but Pyro would die trying; but John had Bobby, and Pyro didn’t.
~
Chapter: Five
Chapter title: Reflection
Chapter Summary: John watches - Bobby turns fifteen and flirts. John and Professor Xavier visit John’s childhood - he reflects.
~
Previous Chapters: Chapter one (Yesteryear), Chapter two (Learning Games), Chapter three (Ice Burn), Chapter four (Changes).
Author’s notes: *Deep breath* I’m back from schoolies with a brand new chapter five! Yay! It’s done! This was easier to write than the last chapter (Which I am not happy with). Tell me what you think! =D
REFLECTIONS (CHAPTER FIVE)
~
When John was nine he liked to watch his father light the fireplace. If he was good he was allowed to toast marshmallows in the flickering flames. If he was very good, he was allowed to try toasting other things. His father would sit in the chair next to the fireplace and read a newspaper every night. To John, it was always rather old fashioned. He knew because he had read about it in books and they told him that fireplaces and chairs and newspapers were old fashioned.
“My father would always ask me,” John whispered “- How do you know that you’re alive? And I was always stumped. I couldn’t think of the answer. I never could.”
John rolled over on the grass and looked at Bobby who was playing ‘connect the dots’ with the stars above them.
“My father knew the answer. He was a military man. A Colonel the last time I saw him. He said he knew because he had stared death in the face countless times and lived.” John looked over at Bobby who was smiling at him. He checked his watch which read 02:02am. Another minute ticked by, and John whispered. “Do you know? Do you know how you know you’re alive?”
Bobby shrugged against the moist grass. “I don’t know, but I guess it’s different to how you know that you’re alive. - Other people, I guess.” Bobby said. “Other people tell me.”
“Other people lie.” Said John; he checked his watch again. It said ’02:04am’. John turned his head to face Bobby’s. “Happy Birthday Freeze-beam; you’re fifteen now” He said.
Bobby grinned. “Do I get a present?” he asked, and John grinned back.
“You get to wait another year.”
“I want a present!” Bobby declared, and John leaned over to the youth and kissed his lips briefly. Bobby rolled his eyes and said sarcastically, “Oh yay.”
John merely grinned and thought about that bottle of scotch lying at the back of Bobby’s t-shirt drawer with a tag around the neck reading ‘to open when eighteen - from John’. He looked back up towards the night-sky littered with millions of little shining dots; his father used to drink scotch-whiskey at night - in his chair - by the fireplace - with the newspaper.
~~
It was midnight and John was still awake. He looked at the boy leaning against the wall next to him - black hair shining from the moonlight that beamed through the glass window. John reached down and zipped up his pants. There was something oddly appealing about receiving sexual favours and not having to pay for it; just as there was something unappealing about giving sexual favours and not getting paid for it.
The mutant youth was smiling at him - ‘annoyingly, at that’ John thought - still leaning against the wall. John straightened his clothes out and began to leave.
“What about me?” The mutant asked and John couldn’t quite recall his name - Pat or Matt…maybe it was Max. He was sure Bobby would know it.
“God gave you hands,” John snapped. “Use them well.”
He made his way back to his dorm. Bobby was probably asleep in John’s bed.
~~
John counted his cash that was hidden under his bottom drawer (even though he figured it was useless since he lived in a mansion run by the world’s most powerful telepath).
Six-hundred and fifty-five dollars
Bobby lay on his bed, blowing wisps of cool air towards the ceiling. “What do you think of Kitty?” He said.
John turned around and looked at him. “What, you mean the new chick?”
“She’s been here for almost five months. She’s hardly new.”
John snorted and went back to counting.
Six-hundred and seventy dollars
“She’ll keep the stigma of being new until another new mutant comes here.” He said.
“Well, then what do you think of her? I think she’s pretty.” Bobby said, and John snorted again.
“You think everybody is pretty.”
Bobby blew another wisp of ice into the air and sniffed indignantly. “I don’t think you’re pretty.” He said.
John placed another bill into the box.
Seven-hundred and five dollars
“Thank-you” John snickered, and Bobby frowned at him.
“That wasn’t a compliment.” Bobby said, and John shrugged uncaringly.
“I’d rather not be pretty, thank you very much.” He said, and placed the last note in the box.
Eight-hundred and fifty-five dollars
“Do I suspect a crush?” John laughed, mockingly.
“I only think she’s pretty. I think Jubilee is pretty too.”
“Like I said, you think everybody is pretty.”
“I do not!” Bobby protested, and John laughed again - closing the box and placing it under his bottom drawer for hiding.
“Fine then, you think every girl is pretty.”
Bobby blushed and sat up, biting his bottom lip in the way that made John smile.
“I do not.” He said in a wavering and unconvincing tone, then “Okay, maybe I like her a little. - what do I do?”
John went over to the bed and sat down next to Bobby, laying a comforting hand on his knee. “Easy. Seduce her, kiss her, and then screw her.” He said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world.
Bobby didn’t reply.
“Oh, I apologise, you’ve done none of those.” John laughed, removing his hand from Bobby’s knee. “You haven’t kissed any girls, have you? No, you haven’t, or I would have heard about it by now.”
Bobby blinked, and then said “I’ve kissed you…”
“I’m not a girl”
Bobby laughed, and lay down on his stomach. “Can I ask you something?” He said, and when John didn’t reply, he continued. “Where exactly are you getting all that money? I’ve wondered for almost a year - or do I not want to know?”
John just grinned wickedly, said “I have my ways. There are plenty of rich kids in this school, you know - of course you know…you’re one of them.” And left it at that; standing up and leaving before Bobby would further pursue his investigation on the matter.
~~
The Professor leaned back in his wheelchair and crossed his arms over his chest. To John’s surprise, he didn’t have that disturbing feeling of his mind being intruded on, but merely felt that he was under a microscope with his exterior being examined carefully. The feeling was almost as disturbing.
“Your lack of control over your powers, and your midnight exploits are beginning to worry me.” The professor said. John froze in his seat, frowning slightly and turning his gaze away from the single candle that flickered in the middle of the desk. Before he could say anything to oppose The Professor, he was stopped.
“No, St. John, I have not been spying on you, but reports from other residents of this Mansion have informed me of your excursions. Contrary to your belief, I do respect my students’ privacy.”
John ignored this statement, and mimicked The Professors actions by leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest.
“I do have control over my ability, thank-you-very-much.” John said.
“Consciously, maybe; from what I hear from your teachers, your ability to control fire has exceeded to the point where manipulate fire to take different forms. But it isn’t your conscious control that worries me, St. John; it’s your unconscious influence over fire that worries me. You almost injured another student from the smallest spark the other day. Like I have said many times, your abilities are influenced by your emotions - your emotions are influenced by your past.” The Professor said, and began to wheel his chair towards John who backed up instinctively. “Remain calm, St. John. This will not take long; it is a simple procedure. We have done this many times.”
The Professors chair stopped behind John’s, and he raised a hand on either side of the teen’s head.
John bit his lip and focused. He felt prodding in his mind - the memories bubbling at the surface like at night when he would dream bad dreams. He squeezed his eyes shut, and felt his pupils burning beneath his eyelids; and gasped as images flashed before his eyes at an alarming rate.
He pulled back and gasped.
He saw his father sitting with him, reading him the newspaper. He was four.
He saw his mother; he saw himself in a small black suit - black bow tie - white shirt. He saw himself tugging at his collar, and pondered the strangeness of watching himself in third-person.
He saw a girl; spinning, spinning, spinning.
He saw flames; he saw fire; he saw smoke - he began to choke.
He couldn’t breathe.
Asphyxiation.
He couldn’t see.
Fire.
Flames.
Fear.
No! Saint John Allerdyce doesn’t do fear.
~~
John sat on the couch, Wuthering Heights in one hand, his lighter in the other. Bobby sat on the floor; between John’s legs, one dangling over each shoulder. The girls sat opposite them. As John read he noticed small, brief, and but intense looks from the boy sitting in front of him. The looks screamed sheer boredom and Bobby began to try and steal his Zippo from his nimble fingers.
“I’m bored.” Bobby declared, and John didn’t spare him a glance.
Kitty grinned at Bobby from the other side of the seats and said; “Let’s play a game then!” - grinned again.
Bobby smiled back and tried a move he’d seen John use; he smirked at Kitty then efficiently winked - causing Kitty to giggle and blush and whisper to Jubilee in that girlish way. He heard John whisper softly, ‘our own homely Casanova, eh?’
John looked up from his book again and saw Jubilee whispering back furiously. Kitty stood up and straightened her t-shirt.
“C’mon Bobby, these people are too boring for my liking” she said, and offered Bobby a single manicured hand. Bobby quickly looked up at John who spared the boy a single raised eyebrow, then took the hand.
“Well, Miss Pryde, where are we going?” He asked in a slightly nervous and wavering tone.
~~
Bobby left for Christmas holidays - Easter, New Year, end-of-school-year, and any other holiday his parents could pull him out of school for. Bobby’s parents seemed nice, John would acknowledge; and they tried. But John had felt a sense of fake ever since he had met them, and they stared at him with an indistinct sense of disapproval and criticism. Like the reality was veiled by the pretence of perfection - families - children - homely - all that bullshit about the American dream and families and happiness…
Or it was his criticism of families in general…
Or it may have been just his family. He didn’t know.
When Bobby was gone he would write letters because letters were so much classier than emails; so much nicer than phone calls.
When Bobby was gone the room was warm with a distinct emptiness that churned his stomach. He would lay at night and think of Bobby and families; and if he concentrated hard enough he would smell the scent of charred wood.
Burnt lace, burnt carpets…
Burnt flesh…
And he would close his eyes and curl up and think about all the bullshit that The Professor said about confronting pasts and remembering and control; and he would hate that he was right.
~~
Bobby’s parents raised him a gentleman, and Bobby co-operated on the matter. He carried around a handkerchief; a habit John thought to be revolting. He stood up to let girls sit; an action John thought to be stupid, and an action John knew feminists would go nuts over.
Bobby had perfected the art of the death stare; a glance he used often, and often in context with John. Bobby was quite often happy, sunshine, smiles, and silliness; he was delicate, but he was also strong in a way that John wasn’t. He was also often cold with cold death stares, cold repressed emotions, and possessed a certain cold disposition towards society that John didn’t; and that was where they were different.
John was emotion, John was vicious, John was controlling - he was passion, obsession, and violent, but most of all - John was deep burning desire, and that was where they were different. He possessed a certain brutal hatred for society that Bobby didn’t; and John would wonder if it was because of their abilities or because of their upbringing.
They were only similar on one certain characteristic. Neither forgot or forgave very easily.
~~
John pinned him to the bed - felt cold and burn and ice.
John kissed with lips and wet and felt around - heard ‘no, no, no’ and ‘stop’.
John’s hand moved down, down, and down, and kissed with teeth and tongues and tasted cold metallic blood.
Johns’ hands felt hardness and flesh - heard whimpers and ‘no’ and ‘stop’ then silence.
John felt hatred and cold glares - felt struggles and sweat - tasted blood, tasted anger and hatred and possession - felt control, control, and control - heard ‘no, no, no, no, no…’
Felt tears
Felt hands
Clinging
Heard ‘don’t let go’
Tasted blood
Need
Hate
Desire
John closed his eyes and breathed cold air.
~~
- Side note:
Chapter one: John - ages 4, 10, 11, 13
Chapter two: John - age 13 + Bobby - age 13
Chapter three: John - age 14 + Bobby - age 14
Chapter four: John - age 14, 15 + Bobby - age 14 (John exaggerates)
Chapter five: John - age 15 + Bobby - age 14, 15