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"Devil's in the Details" Pyro, R, X2

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  • serial_karma
    Title: Devil s in the Details Author: Serial Karma (serial_karma@yahoo.com) Summary: It s all about the details Rating: R Disclaimer: St. John and all the
    Message 1 of 1 , May 16, 2003
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      Title: Devil's in the Details
      Author: Serial Karma (serial_karma@...)
      Summary: It's all about the details
      Rating: R
      Disclaimer: St. John and all the others belong to Marvel, not me.
      Archive: Sure, just let me know.
      Feedback: always welcome
      Notes: thanks to Jess and Heatherly for the read-throughs, but
      especially for the encouragement.



      It was the little details, always, that drew him back.

      Strawberry ice cream, Bobby's favorite.

      A pair of long white gloves in the window of a fancy women's dress
      store, pearl buttons at the wrist just like the pair Rogue was
      wearing that day.

      The click of heels on polished wood floors, a quick cadence like Dr.
      Grey's purposeful stride.

      A flash of lightning on an otherwise still night, or a sudden
      cloudburst on a sunny day.

      The swirl of smoke from his cigarette that mimicked the icy breath
      Bobby would breathe out to cool their contraband beer, warm from its
      hiding place under a floorboard...

      These are the things that jolt his memory, slam into him with no
      warning, no time to prepare. Sometimes (only sometimes) he misses
      them all so much he can't stand it. Then he goes out to the concrete
      bunker at the back of the compound and lets the fireballs fly. The
      others never ask him what triggers his fits of temper. He doesn't
      even know if they care. Mystique sometimes glances at him with her
      weird animal eyes half-closed, an almost-smirk curling her upper lip.
      She knows. Of course she does. He doesn't know if she's told anyone
      else. He suspects Magneto knows, because what Mystique knows, Magneto
      does too.

      Which means that Magneto knows about St. John and Mystique's little
      game. The nights she comes to him wearing one of their faces.
      Sometimes she's Ms. Munroe--Storm. John always thought she was hot,
      especially when she was annoyed at him, and her eyes would frost over
      just that little bit. He could sometimes feel the spark of
      electricity in the air around him. A sensitivity to the movement of
      molecules, he suspected. Once she was Dr. Grey, to satisfy his
      curiosity about what fucking a woman who looked that model-gorgeous
      was like. Not bad, he decided, but nothing special--kind of a
      disappointment, actually. Several times she's been Rogue, naked
      except for the gloves, leather ones usually, and he thinks he's
      developed a serious kink for the feel of leather wrapped around his
      dick.

      He avoids thinking about the other times she's come to him, icy blue
      eyes sparkling mischievously, mouth cool with the taste of strawberry
      ice cream. If he wasn't ready to deal with those feelings before,
      before everything got even more complicated (not that it could ever
      be simple, not when your name is Pyro and your best friend can freeze
      a cup of coffee with a touch and make ice roses bloom in his hand),
      he certainly isn't prepared to try and figure it out now. Besides, it
      doesn't matter anymore. He's made his choice, and he's sure of his
      path. There isn't anything left for him with them.

      Except for the details.
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