Fic: "New Coke", Magneto/Pyro, for Lonelywalker.
Title: New Coke
Author: Sionnain
Character/Pairing: Magneto/Pyro
Recipient: lonelywalker
Word count: 1990
Rating: Adult, for themes.
Request: A history lesson. Bonus points if it's Pyro teaching Magneto something. Smut would be shiny, but not necessary.
AN: I do hope you like this, Lonelywalker! I didn't make up either of those conspiracy theories, I promise! The one about New Coke is totally my favorite conspiracy of all time. *G* Thanks to Inlovewithnight for the beta!
New Coke
They're in Dallas, because Magneto is recruiting some mutant who can bend time with their mind, or something. Pyro thought that when they did this, recruiting for the Brotherhood, it would be all shady back-ally meetings and sleeping in motels next to the highway, eating in all-night diners and using cryptic codewords. It's nothing like that, though; Magneto and Mystique stay in mid-level hotels like the Hampton Inn, and no one seems to suspect they are anything more than a nice couple with a teenage son (grandson, sometimes), and Pyro is given his own room and money for food. There are usually restaurants across the street and he eats alone, reading a magazine, listening to his new MP3 player. Sometimes they all eat together, and Pyro stays quiet and listens, because if they get rid of him he has nowhere else to go.
Everything he has is new. New clothes, new duffel bag, new comic trades. It's weird to think of his stuff back at the Institute, in the room he shared with Bobby Drake; Dr. Pepper cans under the bed and dirty clothes still in the hamper.
There's a lot more downtime to being a mutant liberator (Magneto rolls his eyes at the word terrorist) than Pyro thought there would be. He's really tired of watching lame cable shows and reading Maxim and jerking off to scrambled porn on the television in his room. Which is why today, while Mystique is out doing whatever it is she does, Pyro is standing with Magneto in Dealy Plaza, where John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Magneto talks to him in his smooth, deep voice, that strange accent Pyro can't place a soft undertone beneath clipped syllables.
"They say, you know, that Oswald acted alone." Magneto points up to the Texas School Book Depository building across the street, now a county building with a museum on the sixth floor. "Though there is a theory that the CIA orchestrated his assassination to force the United States into a war with Cuba." Magneto's mouth twists into a sneer, and his chill eyes narrow a fraction. He looks more like Magneto, Pyro thinks, than he has since Pyro first saw him dressed in civilian clothes instead of the cape and the helmet. "Never underestimate the depths to which humans will sink to have their wars," he mutters, staring at the plaza. "When they want something destroyed, they will stop at nothing to see it done. Nothing is sacred to them. Never forget that, Pyro."
He does this a lot, Magneto. Says something about humans--flatscans, as Mystique refers to them in her atonal voice--and their duplicity, their hatred towards those who are different, the lengths to which they will go to protect the normal people. Really, it's the sort of thing you'd expect Magneto to say. Pyro usually just nods--he's still sufficiently awed by Magneto's reputation (the man did just try to kill every human on the planet) to be respectful, even if he thinks the little lectures about the Evil Of All Humanity are kind of pointless. But he wants to say something, to prove that he's listening, that he understands Magneto is a teacher like the Professor; a teacher of different things, things that matter more than poetry or literature or ethics.
"Like New Coke," Pyro says, hands shoved in the pocket of his jeans, squinting in the sunlight and wishing he had some sunglasses. He's never thought much about the Kennedy assassination. It just seems dumb to him that a President would ride around in a convertible. Stupid, just asking to be shot in the head. His wife was kind of hot, though, before she got old and wrinkly. Is she dead? Pyro can't remember, but he thinks she probably is. He wonders if she ever came here, in those huge sunglasses, staring at the spot where her husband's head got blown off. He wonders if Magneto will go back to Alkali, where Dr. Grey died. When Magneto found out about it he went into his room and didn't come out for two days. Mystique took Pyro out to dinner and ordered him a beer and said it was for the best, that Magneto didn't need ties to the past. The way she said it sounded like a threat.
Mystique's a teacher, too. The kind who breaks your neck with her thighs if you piss her off.
"I beg your pardon?" Magneto's voice, slightly confused, startles Pyro out of his thoughts.
Pyro looks up, shrugging. "You know." Pyro waves his hands, aware he sounds sort of dumb, but he explains anyway. "Um. I saw it on one of those Conspiracy shows, you know? About Roswell, and JFK. Anyway, they made this new formula for Coke, right, but everyone hated it? So they brought back the old formula and called it Coca-Cola Classic, and their sales shot up and they finally started outselling Pepsi. So like, people thought they did it on purpose, to trick the masses because people are dumb." Magneto is looking at him strangely, and Pyro feels his face flush, a little embarrassed.
"And how do you think this is similar to the United States backing the assassination of its own figurehead?" Magneto asks, resting his hand on Pyro's shoulder.
Pyro thinks about it, his heart racing, unsure if he's nervous because of Magneto's actually touching him or because he feels like he's just been called on in class. "What you said, about the conspiracy? That if some dude shot the President because the communists were backing him, that it would make us go to war with Cuba. That seems like it's playing to the lowest common denominator. Like New Coke. That people are so stupid to buy shit just because the media or whatever tells them to." Pyro looks up at Magneto. He has no idea if that made any sense, or if he just sounds retarded, or if he's going to get in trouble for cussing.
Magneto just smiles, which makes Pyro's stomach twist in a way that is strange but not entirely unpleasant. "Yes. People are easily fooled, Pyro, into believing what they want to justify their actions. Would you like to go to the museum?"
"Sure," Pyro says, a bit startled by the suggestion. "Isn't it like, a government building, though?"
"Yes. Come now, Pyro, have you no sense of danger?" Magneto is smiling now, and there is something about it that is captivating, like watching a hawk enjoy circling prey. Pyro's mouth is suddenly dry, but he doesn't know why. "You have your lighter, yes?"
Pyro nods, hand sliding into his pocket. He feels the slick metal against his fingers, a little cold, and relaxes a bit. The only thing he has that was his, from before. Magneto has promised something better for him to use, when they get back home, wherever that is. "Yeah."
"Then, if there is a problem, we just burn it down," Magneto says, calmly, as if he isn't talking about burning down a government building. A museum. A piece of history that everyone will go apeshit over if it's suddenly gone.
"That'd piss some people off," Pyro says wisely, walking towards the building. He wonders how it would look, the fire reaching up towards the cloudless sky, orange flame bright against the blue. It'd make the news, for sure. He wonders if they would see it, back at the Institute. Bobby Drake and Rogue, they'd probably be horrified. It makes him smile to think about it. He could send them the clipping in the mail, maybe, nothing but that, a piece of newsprint in a blank white envelope.
"Indeed it would. But Pyro, we are going to make a new history," Magneto said, and his voice is as clear as the sky, strong and resonant. "A history of our own. And theirs will no longer matter."
Pyro's fingers twitch. He feels terribly excited, and scared, and he feels blood rush to his groin, feels himself getting hard. He swallows thickly and nods. "Yeah."
"But I do not think there will be a problem," Magneto continues, walking with long, purposeful strides towards the building. "They will see an old man and a young teenager, because that is all they want to see. Not two dangerous mutants who could kill them in seconds. New Coke, remember. They are terribly easy to manipulate, homo sapiens."
Two dangerous mutants, Pyro thinks, and smiles slowly. He gives Magneto a look, feeling brave. "I'm not that young," he says gruffly, and his face is hot again, but not with embarrassment, not now. He feels different, somehow, as if he's not the same as the humans walking by him on the street, as if he's something else, something better. Because I am. Homo Superior.
Magneto smiles back, a slow curve of his mouth, eyes gleaming with sudden, sharp interest. Pyro's fingers slide over the metal of his lighter in his pocket again, the metal warm now from his hot skin. Magneto's eyes flicker down, as if he's watching Pyro touch the lighter in his pocket, and Pyro licks his lips and thinks about other things he could touch.
"No. I suppose you're not, are you?" Magneto takes out his wallet and pulls out some cash. They tour the building, which Pyro thinks is pretty boring except for the promise that maybe he might get to burn it down if something goes wrong. He's careful to call Magneto Erik, careful not to play with his lighter or talk too loudly about things that might get them in trouble, even if maybe he secretly wants to. All he can think while he's walking through the building is that he wishes someone would recognize them. He wants to do it. He wishes Magneto would let him. He almost asks, a few times, but he forces himself to stay quiet.
He wants to show off, wants to show Magneto what he can do. Wants to go back to the hotel and follow Magneto to his room, to do something about the tension and the erection pressing hard against his jeans. When they walk back outside, Pyro blinks in the sudden bright light, and thinks he's leaving John Allerdyce in the museum with the humans and their stupid, boring lives.
We are going to make a new history. And theirs will no longer matter.
When they are back in the hotel, Pyro goes back to his room and burns newspapers and magazines in the bathtub. He's excited watching the fire, watching the paper devoured and turning to ash, washing the black words as they fade and crumble beneath the flames. Magneto finds him there, standing naked and grinning in the cold light of the bathroom, and he laughs. "I guess we'll use the shower in my room, since you've made a mess," he says, a bit indulgently, and holds out his hand. Pyro extinguishes the fire with a thought, and takes Magneto's hand. He wonders if he tastes like ashes, when Magneto kisses him, because he feels like he's burning. And Pyro really can't seem to care.
Author: Sionnain
Character/Pairing: Magneto/Pyro
Recipient: lonelywalker
Word count: 1990
Rating: Adult, for themes.
Request: A history lesson. Bonus points if it's Pyro teaching Magneto something. Smut would be shiny, but not necessary.
AN: I do hope you like this, Lonelywalker! I didn't make up either of those conspiracy theories, I promise! The one about New Coke is totally my favorite conspiracy of all time. *G* Thanks to Inlovewithnight for the beta!
New Coke
They're in Dallas, because Magneto is recruiting some mutant who can bend time with their mind, or something. Pyro thought that when they did this, recruiting for the Brotherhood, it would be all shady back-ally meetings and sleeping in motels next to the highway, eating in all-night diners and using cryptic codewords. It's nothing like that, though; Magneto and Mystique stay in mid-level hotels like the Hampton Inn, and no one seems to suspect they are anything more than a nice couple with a teenage son (grandson, sometimes), and Pyro is given his own room and money for food. There are usually restaurants across the street and he eats alone, reading a magazine, listening to his new MP3 player. Sometimes they all eat together, and Pyro stays quiet and listens, because if they get rid of him he has nowhere else to go.
Everything he has is new. New clothes, new duffel bag, new comic trades. It's weird to think of his stuff back at the Institute, in the room he shared with Bobby Drake; Dr. Pepper cans under the bed and dirty clothes still in the hamper.
There's a lot more downtime to being a mutant liberator (Magneto rolls his eyes at the word terrorist) than Pyro thought there would be. He's really tired of watching lame cable shows and reading Maxim and jerking off to scrambled porn on the television in his room. Which is why today, while Mystique is out doing whatever it is she does, Pyro is standing with Magneto in Dealy Plaza, where John F. Kennedy was assassinated. Magneto talks to him in his smooth, deep voice, that strange accent Pyro can't place a soft undertone beneath clipped syllables.
"They say, you know, that Oswald acted alone." Magneto points up to the Texas School Book Depository building across the street, now a county building with a museum on the sixth floor. "Though there is a theory that the CIA orchestrated his assassination to force the United States into a war with Cuba." Magneto's mouth twists into a sneer, and his chill eyes narrow a fraction. He looks more like Magneto, Pyro thinks, than he has since Pyro first saw him dressed in civilian clothes instead of the cape and the helmet. "Never underestimate the depths to which humans will sink to have their wars," he mutters, staring at the plaza. "When they want something destroyed, they will stop at nothing to see it done. Nothing is sacred to them. Never forget that, Pyro."
He does this a lot, Magneto. Says something about humans--flatscans, as Mystique refers to them in her atonal voice--and their duplicity, their hatred towards those who are different, the lengths to which they will go to protect the normal people. Really, it's the sort of thing you'd expect Magneto to say. Pyro usually just nods--he's still sufficiently awed by Magneto's reputation (the man did just try to kill every human on the planet) to be respectful, even if he thinks the little lectures about the Evil Of All Humanity are kind of pointless. But he wants to say something, to prove that he's listening, that he understands Magneto is a teacher like the Professor; a teacher of different things, things that matter more than poetry or literature or ethics.
"Like New Coke," Pyro says, hands shoved in the pocket of his jeans, squinting in the sunlight and wishing he had some sunglasses. He's never thought much about the Kennedy assassination. It just seems dumb to him that a President would ride around in a convertible. Stupid, just asking to be shot in the head. His wife was kind of hot, though, before she got old and wrinkly. Is she dead? Pyro can't remember, but he thinks she probably is. He wonders if she ever came here, in those huge sunglasses, staring at the spot where her husband's head got blown off. He wonders if Magneto will go back to Alkali, where Dr. Grey died. When Magneto found out about it he went into his room and didn't come out for two days. Mystique took Pyro out to dinner and ordered him a beer and said it was for the best, that Magneto didn't need ties to the past. The way she said it sounded like a threat.
Mystique's a teacher, too. The kind who breaks your neck with her thighs if you piss her off.
"I beg your pardon?" Magneto's voice, slightly confused, startles Pyro out of his thoughts.
Pyro looks up, shrugging. "You know." Pyro waves his hands, aware he sounds sort of dumb, but he explains anyway. "Um. I saw it on one of those Conspiracy shows, you know? About Roswell, and JFK. Anyway, they made this new formula for Coke, right, but everyone hated it? So they brought back the old formula and called it Coca-Cola Classic, and their sales shot up and they finally started outselling Pepsi. So like, people thought they did it on purpose, to trick the masses because people are dumb." Magneto is looking at him strangely, and Pyro feels his face flush, a little embarrassed.
"And how do you think this is similar to the United States backing the assassination of its own figurehead?" Magneto asks, resting his hand on Pyro's shoulder.
Pyro thinks about it, his heart racing, unsure if he's nervous because of Magneto's actually touching him or because he feels like he's just been called on in class. "What you said, about the conspiracy? That if some dude shot the President because the communists were backing him, that it would make us go to war with Cuba. That seems like it's playing to the lowest common denominator. Like New Coke. That people are so stupid to buy shit just because the media or whatever tells them to." Pyro looks up at Magneto. He has no idea if that made any sense, or if he just sounds retarded, or if he's going to get in trouble for cussing.
Magneto just smiles, which makes Pyro's stomach twist in a way that is strange but not entirely unpleasant. "Yes. People are easily fooled, Pyro, into believing what they want to justify their actions. Would you like to go to the museum?"
"Sure," Pyro says, a bit startled by the suggestion. "Isn't it like, a government building, though?"
"Yes. Come now, Pyro, have you no sense of danger?" Magneto is smiling now, and there is something about it that is captivating, like watching a hawk enjoy circling prey. Pyro's mouth is suddenly dry, but he doesn't know why. "You have your lighter, yes?"
Pyro nods, hand sliding into his pocket. He feels the slick metal against his fingers, a little cold, and relaxes a bit. The only thing he has that was his, from before. Magneto has promised something better for him to use, when they get back home, wherever that is. "Yeah."
"Then, if there is a problem, we just burn it down," Magneto says, calmly, as if he isn't talking about burning down a government building. A museum. A piece of history that everyone will go apeshit over if it's suddenly gone.
"That'd piss some people off," Pyro says wisely, walking towards the building. He wonders how it would look, the fire reaching up towards the cloudless sky, orange flame bright against the blue. It'd make the news, for sure. He wonders if they would see it, back at the Institute. Bobby Drake and Rogue, they'd probably be horrified. It makes him smile to think about it. He could send them the clipping in the mail, maybe, nothing but that, a piece of newsprint in a blank white envelope.
"Indeed it would. But Pyro, we are going to make a new history," Magneto said, and his voice is as clear as the sky, strong and resonant. "A history of our own. And theirs will no longer matter."
Pyro's fingers twitch. He feels terribly excited, and scared, and he feels blood rush to his groin, feels himself getting hard. He swallows thickly and nods. "Yeah."
"But I do not think there will be a problem," Magneto continues, walking with long, purposeful strides towards the building. "They will see an old man and a young teenager, because that is all they want to see. Not two dangerous mutants who could kill them in seconds. New Coke, remember. They are terribly easy to manipulate, homo sapiens."
Two dangerous mutants, Pyro thinks, and smiles slowly. He gives Magneto a look, feeling brave. "I'm not that young," he says gruffly, and his face is hot again, but not with embarrassment, not now. He feels different, somehow, as if he's not the same as the humans walking by him on the street, as if he's something else, something better. Because I am. Homo Superior.
Magneto smiles back, a slow curve of his mouth, eyes gleaming with sudden, sharp interest. Pyro's fingers slide over the metal of his lighter in his pocket again, the metal warm now from his hot skin. Magneto's eyes flicker down, as if he's watching Pyro touch the lighter in his pocket, and Pyro licks his lips and thinks about other things he could touch.
"No. I suppose you're not, are you?" Magneto takes out his wallet and pulls out some cash. They tour the building, which Pyro thinks is pretty boring except for the promise that maybe he might get to burn it down if something goes wrong. He's careful to call Magneto Erik, careful not to play with his lighter or talk too loudly about things that might get them in trouble, even if maybe he secretly wants to. All he can think while he's walking through the building is that he wishes someone would recognize them. He wants to do it. He wishes Magneto would let him. He almost asks, a few times, but he forces himself to stay quiet.
He wants to show off, wants to show Magneto what he can do. Wants to go back to the hotel and follow Magneto to his room, to do something about the tension and the erection pressing hard against his jeans. When they walk back outside, Pyro blinks in the sudden bright light, and thinks he's leaving John Allerdyce in the museum with the humans and their stupid, boring lives.
We are going to make a new history. And theirs will no longer matter.
When they are back in the hotel, Pyro goes back to his room and burns newspapers and magazines in the bathtub. He's excited watching the fire, watching the paper devoured and turning to ash, washing the black words as they fade and crumble beneath the flames. Magneto finds him there, standing naked and grinning in the cold light of the bathroom, and he laughs. "I guess we'll use the shower in my room, since you've made a mess," he says, a bit indulgently, and holds out his hand. Pyro extinguishes the fire with a thought, and takes Magneto's hand. He wonders if he tastes like ashes, when Magneto kisses him, because he feels like he's burning. And Pyro really can't seem to care.