(no subject)
Title: Origins [2/3]
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Bobby Drake x John Allerdyce (IcemanxPyro)
Length: 1,508 words
Rating: PG-15 for Johnny's dirty mouth.
Status: In progress.
Part 1
A/N
Just one this time - I couldn’t find any info on Johnny’s birthday, so I just made up my own. Sorry if it’s something different.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Wednesday sucks.
His mom had left on a Wednesday. Rogue had come on a Wednesday. Ironically, he’d arrived in New York on a Wednesday. He had broken up with Bobby on a Wednesday - well, technically Bobby broke up with him, but he’d never admit to that.
He left on a Thursday, which, in retrospect, explains a lot. It wasn’t the Thursday after they broke up; he wasn’t that pathetic. No; Johnny fled the Thursday after Bobby kissed Rogue, which arguably is just as bad.
Call it woman’s intuition, but he didn’t like Rogue the second he saw her. More noticeably, he didn’t like the way Bobby smiled at her in that way which Johnny always smacked him for. He supposed that it was more than just intuition, really; she’d sort of failed to make a good first impression.
They’d met in class, he guessed, though he’d not exactly been able to leave the best impression. Asshole behind him putting out his fire with such ease. He knew that if he’d been concentrating he could have easily beaten the bastard (or so he told himself). Yeah. It was just he liked Storm. He didn’t want to get into trouble.
This is what this fucking place had turned him into. He didn’t want to get into trouble.
Anyway.
It was after, when they met on the field, that he decided he hated Marie, or Rogue, or whatever the fuck she wanted to call herself. She had this fringe-thing that Bobby would always insist on pushing out of her eyes, but at this time she did it herself. His leg was jigging at his side; he would always find it difficult to be still near her - nervous disposition? Whatever. His lighter was in his hand, and that should have told Bobby he was fucking scared, should have meant Bobby had let him fucking burn her to a crisp. She was watching the way he was flipping it open, something which was almost awed curiosity in her eyes, and till she opened her mouth Johnny felt a thrill from the superiority of it.
“So,” she turned to him, cutting off Bobby, whose eyes drew taut in that pathetic way that Johnny couldn’t stand because he should be looking at him like that. “Do you smoke?”
Johnny’s stomach filled with revulsion; echoes of dingy rooms, cloying smoke, the beating on the door, screaming from the other side - and a voice whispering in the back of his head, telling him he could make it all go away, each time a cigarette went out a punch to his gut, his every nerve on fire, burning, burning - “Don’t be fucking disgusting,” he snarled, and the memories hurt more than he remembered, but most of all the guilt - the fucking guilt -
He had to get out of this place. It was killing him.
The fire was a sanctuary; it always was. Only fucking dependable thing. He pushed open the lid again, revelling in the shikkk, the carefully oiled hinges, and he had so much power just with a flick of his thumb - orange illumination dancing across his hand, dancing as so many shapes, so much potential, it was incredible - enthralling - consuming -
C’mon. It’ll all be gone. Just in a second. Just let me free.
And the offer was so fucking tempting -
[John, my office, please.]
He stood and left without another word.
After that, Xavier wouldn’t get off his fucking ass. He was always doing something wrong, being tempted, and was therefore always being watched -
He knew the truth. He was getting strong, and the old man was getting scared.
The next Wednesday was ‘breaking up with Bobby’ Wednesday, or at least that’s how he’d refer to it. To everyone else, it was October 1st, six months till his birthday, intolerable months stretching before Christmas. The trees were on fire all around him; this time of year always made him happy.
He was sitting on the roof, looking at the burning trees, remarking on the irony of how close they were to everyone else - just those trees keeping them apart from normality - when he spotted Bobby and Rogue walking into the gardens; they stopped beneath the biggest, oldest climbing tree; a couple of the younger kids were jumping around the top. One fell and landed as a cat; just another day at mutant high. It licked a paw, waved at the kids above and sauntered off. Rogue laughed, Bobby smiled, and she put her arm through his -
And Johnny knew, and it fucking burnt so bad.
He kinda lost track of himself for a while - set alight to his memories, pushed them away to burn and smoulder into ashes - until he was walking through the trees again, leaves drifting around him, crackling under his feet like fire, and who was he to resist? Lighter open, first, each leaf, each falling leaf, gone so fast so bright, then traced up and down - the leaves around, the trees themselves - then the mansion, then Bobby, then Rogue, then his Dad, then him, burning and free - but he couldn’t burn, he couldn’t, he was trapped in the centre of this helix of fire, this overwhelming sphere of agony and crackling and so many beautiful colours, all whispering and shouting his name just like the bastard used to - and parched, crackled lips, muttering his back, “BobbyBobbyBobby,” and this is why he doesn’t let himself get attached because everything burns in the end.
Bobby was waiting for John when he left the danger room but he simply shoved past him, and it was nine more Wednesdays before he could speak to him again.
The old guy knew him.
He wasn’t like the other one. Xavier. Sure, he was a mutant, but John mentioned the things - in his head - and Magneto understood, which is ironic, seeing as Xavier was supposed to be a telepath and John had never even thought he could tell him.
“It’s just power, Pyro,” he’d said to him, and John had smiled because, you know what? It actually made sense. Just power. He was powerful, and he could kill the fucking universe if he wanted to, and now…
Now he wanted to. Now, there was no fucking Iceman to hold him back, to look at him so fucking pitiably, then to just - leave - for her -
Nonono. Bobby left Johnny for Rogue. Nobody left Pyro because Pyro never let it happen, not ever, he was never that fucking stupid.
John only ever missed Bobby once, and the other destroyed everything in the end anyway. They did this attack - thing - breaking out this mutant, she was hiding somewhere, being moved or whatever - but anyway, they were in this place, a building, a hospital - yeah, the sanitized smell reminded him of his mom, and for once he was glad Magneto hadn’t got any telepaths. They were in this hospital and he was on his own, marching through, and he was angry - Mystique had been going round as Bobby to fool some X Men thing, and it fucking made him sick to realise he still wanted him, wantwantwanted him, so he was walking through this corridor and he was already fucking pissed. Then this kid, she was screaming for something or other - it must have been something superficial, because he got even more annoyed, and his fingers idly, automatically flicked open at his wrists, catching his igniters by accident in the process…
And the fire was whispering to him, whisperwhisperwhisper, c’mon, do it, doitdoitdoit, make a mark, Johnny, make a mark on the world, let them see you, so he thought well fuck it and burnt the place to the ground.
Later, Johnny crept back into his mind, screaming why, why, why?! His eyes crept over his phone, and he hated himself for it, he fucking hated himself for it, but he missed him so much in that second -
And they were on this hill, watching leaves, just watching them, because Bobby always asked to do stupid fucking things like that, and Johnny had got bored and started using them as target practice - Bobby joined in, shooting down those further away, and it turned into a fucking romance movie, rolling down a hill tangled in a mess their hearts beating badum, badum, and in that moment, everything just made sense when he leant down and kissed him -
John was crying and he didn’t know why.
His fingers had curled round the metal, flicked to the phonebook, dialled the familiar number -
“Bobby?” he whispered desperately.
The softest of gasps, before static-drenched silence. “What do you want, John?”
“I just… wanted to hear you.” The line went dead.
He hung up.
He hung up.
John screamed and threw the phone at the wall.
Bobby’s fingers snapped the phone closed, his eyes wide at the TV.
Burning, burning, so much burning, and in the middle of it one man, just one, an avenging angel, fire kissing and licking his skin…
His heart stopped beating.
What have I done?
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairing: Bobby Drake x John Allerdyce (IcemanxPyro)
Length: 1,508 words
Rating: PG-15 for Johnny's dirty mouth.
Status: In progress.
Part 1
A/N
Just one this time - I couldn’t find any info on Johnny’s birthday, so I just made up my own. Sorry if it’s something different.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that Wednesday sucks.
His mom had left on a Wednesday. Rogue had come on a Wednesday. Ironically, he’d arrived in New York on a Wednesday. He had broken up with Bobby on a Wednesday - well, technically Bobby broke up with him, but he’d never admit to that.
He left on a Thursday, which, in retrospect, explains a lot. It wasn’t the Thursday after they broke up; he wasn’t that pathetic. No; Johnny fled the Thursday after Bobby kissed Rogue, which arguably is just as bad.
Call it woman’s intuition, but he didn’t like Rogue the second he saw her. More noticeably, he didn’t like the way Bobby smiled at her in that way which Johnny always smacked him for. He supposed that it was more than just intuition, really; she’d sort of failed to make a good first impression.
They’d met in class, he guessed, though he’d not exactly been able to leave the best impression. Asshole behind him putting out his fire with such ease. He knew that if he’d been concentrating he could have easily beaten the bastard (or so he told himself). Yeah. It was just he liked Storm. He didn’t want to get into trouble.
This is what this fucking place had turned him into. He didn’t want to get into trouble.
Anyway.
It was after, when they met on the field, that he decided he hated Marie, or Rogue, or whatever the fuck she wanted to call herself. She had this fringe-thing that Bobby would always insist on pushing out of her eyes, but at this time she did it herself. His leg was jigging at his side; he would always find it difficult to be still near her - nervous disposition? Whatever. His lighter was in his hand, and that should have told Bobby he was fucking scared, should have meant Bobby had let him fucking burn her to a crisp. She was watching the way he was flipping it open, something which was almost awed curiosity in her eyes, and till she opened her mouth Johnny felt a thrill from the superiority of it.
“So,” she turned to him, cutting off Bobby, whose eyes drew taut in that pathetic way that Johnny couldn’t stand because he should be looking at him like that. “Do you smoke?”
Johnny’s stomach filled with revulsion; echoes of dingy rooms, cloying smoke, the beating on the door, screaming from the other side - and a voice whispering in the back of his head, telling him he could make it all go away, each time a cigarette went out a punch to his gut, his every nerve on fire, burning, burning - “Don’t be fucking disgusting,” he snarled, and the memories hurt more than he remembered, but most of all the guilt - the fucking guilt -
He had to get out of this place. It was killing him.
The fire was a sanctuary; it always was. Only fucking dependable thing. He pushed open the lid again, revelling in the shikkk, the carefully oiled hinges, and he had so much power just with a flick of his thumb - orange illumination dancing across his hand, dancing as so many shapes, so much potential, it was incredible - enthralling - consuming -
C’mon. It’ll all be gone. Just in a second. Just let me free.
And the offer was so fucking tempting -
[John, my office, please.]
He stood and left without another word.
After that, Xavier wouldn’t get off his fucking ass. He was always doing something wrong, being tempted, and was therefore always being watched -
He knew the truth. He was getting strong, and the old man was getting scared.
The next Wednesday was ‘breaking up with Bobby’ Wednesday, or at least that’s how he’d refer to it. To everyone else, it was October 1st, six months till his birthday, intolerable months stretching before Christmas. The trees were on fire all around him; this time of year always made him happy.
He was sitting on the roof, looking at the burning trees, remarking on the irony of how close they were to everyone else - just those trees keeping them apart from normality - when he spotted Bobby and Rogue walking into the gardens; they stopped beneath the biggest, oldest climbing tree; a couple of the younger kids were jumping around the top. One fell and landed as a cat; just another day at mutant high. It licked a paw, waved at the kids above and sauntered off. Rogue laughed, Bobby smiled, and she put her arm through his -
And Johnny knew, and it fucking burnt so bad.
He kinda lost track of himself for a while - set alight to his memories, pushed them away to burn and smoulder into ashes - until he was walking through the trees again, leaves drifting around him, crackling under his feet like fire, and who was he to resist? Lighter open, first, each leaf, each falling leaf, gone so fast so bright, then traced up and down - the leaves around, the trees themselves - then the mansion, then Bobby, then Rogue, then his Dad, then him, burning and free - but he couldn’t burn, he couldn’t, he was trapped in the centre of this helix of fire, this overwhelming sphere of agony and crackling and so many beautiful colours, all whispering and shouting his name just like the bastard used to - and parched, crackled lips, muttering his back, “BobbyBobbyBobby,” and this is why he doesn’t let himself get attached because everything burns in the end.
Bobby was waiting for John when he left the danger room but he simply shoved past him, and it was nine more Wednesdays before he could speak to him again.
The old guy knew him.
He wasn’t like the other one. Xavier. Sure, he was a mutant, but John mentioned the things - in his head - and Magneto understood, which is ironic, seeing as Xavier was supposed to be a telepath and John had never even thought he could tell him.
“It’s just power, Pyro,” he’d said to him, and John had smiled because, you know what? It actually made sense. Just power. He was powerful, and he could kill the fucking universe if he wanted to, and now…
Now he wanted to. Now, there was no fucking Iceman to hold him back, to look at him so fucking pitiably, then to just - leave - for her -
Nonono. Bobby left Johnny for Rogue. Nobody left Pyro because Pyro never let it happen, not ever, he was never that fucking stupid.
John only ever missed Bobby once, and the other destroyed everything in the end anyway. They did this attack - thing - breaking out this mutant, she was hiding somewhere, being moved or whatever - but anyway, they were in this place, a building, a hospital - yeah, the sanitized smell reminded him of his mom, and for once he was glad Magneto hadn’t got any telepaths. They were in this hospital and he was on his own, marching through, and he was angry - Mystique had been going round as Bobby to fool some X Men thing, and it fucking made him sick to realise he still wanted him, wantwantwanted him, so he was walking through this corridor and he was already fucking pissed. Then this kid, she was screaming for something or other - it must have been something superficial, because he got even more annoyed, and his fingers idly, automatically flicked open at his wrists, catching his igniters by accident in the process…
And the fire was whispering to him, whisperwhisperwhisper, c’mon, do it, doitdoitdoit, make a mark, Johnny, make a mark on the world, let them see you, so he thought well fuck it and burnt the place to the ground.
Later, Johnny crept back into his mind, screaming why, why, why?! His eyes crept over his phone, and he hated himself for it, he fucking hated himself for it, but he missed him so much in that second -
And they were on this hill, watching leaves, just watching them, because Bobby always asked to do stupid fucking things like that, and Johnny had got bored and started using them as target practice - Bobby joined in, shooting down those further away, and it turned into a fucking romance movie, rolling down a hill tangled in a mess their hearts beating badum, badum, and in that moment, everything just made sense when he leant down and kissed him -
John was crying and he didn’t know why.
His fingers had curled round the metal, flicked to the phonebook, dialled the familiar number -
“Bobby?” he whispered desperately.
The softest of gasps, before static-drenched silence. “What do you want, John?”
“I just… wanted to hear you.” The line went dead.
He hung up.
He hung up.
John screamed and threw the phone at the wall.
Bobby’s fingers snapped the phone closed, his eyes wide at the TV.
Burning, burning, so much burning, and in the middle of it one man, just one, an avenging angel, fire kissing and licking his skin…
His heart stopped beating.
What have I done?