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Fic - Pyro - Some Kind of Boy 8

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  • Tara Ann
    Title: What s Your Mutation? (Some Kind of Boy – story 8) author: Tara Ann summary: Jill knows what she wants and takes him. Rating/warning & pairing: R
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 14, 2005
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      Title: What's Your Mutation? (Some Kind of Boy – story 8)
      author: Tara Ann
      summary: Jill knows what she wants and takes him.
      Rating/warning & pairing: R for non-graphic sexual content.
      Pyro/Jill
      *Characters do not belong to me except for Jill – she is mine and
      looks like Claire Danes.
      *lyrics taken from "I'm The Only One" by Melissa Etheridge.
      ** I've liked Pyro from the first moment I saw him in X2. He's
      complex with confidence and vulnerability. I only hope I give St.
      John Allerdyce the respect and understanding he deserves. He is the
      boy with the soft edges and the palest pout.



      please baby can't you see
      my mind's a burnin' hell
      I got razors a rippin' and tearin' and strippin'
      my heart apart as well
      tonight you told me
      that you ache for something new*



      "So, what's your mutation?" Jillian Ann LaBoy said, the words
      whispering into his skin like a ticklish prickle.
      John turned and stared into her hazel-blue eyes, wide and
      innocent eyes. He recognized her as the little match girl from the
      courthouse demonstration. He didn't smile for her.
      "You don't have to be so touchy," she said. "I'm not gonna
      shout it out for the whole wide world to hear."
      "I don't mind if you shout it out," he said.
      She sighed, kicking his boot with her blue converse
      sneaker. "It was you, wasn't it? The fire and everything dicey
      spicy."
      "Just the fire," he said.
      "It was cool."
      "People got hurt," he said.
      "It was still cool. I didn't get hurt."
      "That's good."
      Jill sighed. "How do you do it? Make the fire come?"
      "I don't make it come. I control it," John said.
      "Oh," she said. "How? Magic words?"
      "No."
      "How? Show me?"
      "Not here," he said.
      He had been standing in line for what seemed like eternity;
      the service at Taco Bell was always so slow.
      "Where?" She bit her lower lip.
      "Why?"
      "I'm curious," she said. "I'm scared of fire."
      His dark eyes gleamed over her and there seemed to be some
      kind of smile within them. "You should be."
      "You're not," said Jill. "You're lucky."
      She wore yellow fishnet stockings and a satin camisole top
      that kept falling off one shoulder; after several attempts at fixing
      it she gave up and let it hang off her shoulder.
      Her dirty blonde hair cascaded over her other shoulder in sea-
      swept waves. She possessed a quirky, slightly off-balance beauty, a
      cross between Ophelia and the little match girl. When John looked
      into her hazel-blue eyes he sensed some sort of damage seeking refuge
      inside her. Maybe she was just some crazy little chica with a
      fabricated crush.
      "Are you always so suave and sullen. It's a good match. It
      works for you. Do you remember my name? It's okay if you don't."
      He did and it surprised him.
      "Jillian," he said. He noticed she was wearing the same
      smoky green eye shadow she wore that day in front of the courthouse.
      "Just Jill," she said. "And you're John Allerdyce."
      She remembered his last name; he only remembered her first
      name. He considered asking her, but decided it wasn't important.
      John stared at the tiny freckle on her bare shoulder, her
      skin white like jasmine pineapple porcelain. She smelled like
      honeyed jasmine. Her lips were pink and pale; she didn't wear
      gloss. The strong softness of her cheeks were highlighted in pink
      dandelion blush. Her favorite beauty choice was definitely the eye
      shadow and mascara.
      "Do you know what time it is?"
      "No," said John.
      "I don't think I really care what time it is," Jill said,
      wrapping her yellow silk scarf around her hand. "There's this
      song, `There's a fire burning deep inside, deep inside where I cannot
      find it, it clings to me inside out, I can't deny, you never tried
      it.' It's one of my favorite songs. It made me think of you."
      He looked at her and didn't know what to say. She didn't
      know him; why was she thinking of him? John most definitely had not
      thought of her. If she wasn't standing in front of him, more
      accurately, behind him in line, he knew he would have forgotten her
      and her name. Her hair looked soft and he wanted to touch it.
      Her eyes were full of some sort of longing or mental design
      he didn't comprehend when she looked at him. The strangeness she
      exuded was pretty, but she made him feel awkward, like she was
      expecting something from him.
      "Do you wanna come to my place," she said. "I have left-over
      ice cream cake in the fridge."
      "Was it your birthday?"
      "No."
      "What kind of ice cream?"
      "Chocolate."
      "Okay," he said.
      Jill smiled like a broken butterfly. "Marie-Antoinette
      said, `Let them eat cake.'"
      John didn't know why he agreed to go with her, but once he
      decided something he didn't believe it was right to snatch it back.

      xo

      They ate the frozen ice cream cake in between interludes of
      seemingly pointless conversation. She dropped out of college, liked
      whiskey and cherries, worshipped Winona Ryder, listened to Dashboard
      Confessional and Cowboy Junkies, and was classically trained in
      opera; her favorite movies were Moulin Rouge and Alien Resurrection,
      and her favorite literary character was none other than the
      tragically doomed Ophelia – patron saint of premature drowning death
      and romantic suicide muse. John offered little information in return
      and Jill seemed content with him.
      Her apartment consisted of one room with large curtain-less
      windows, a bed, a yellow and black radio/CD player, a refrigerator, a
      stove, a bathroom area with a porcelain tub, and a television. On
      the walls were water color paintings she created herself; flowers
      with red thorns, black tulips, violet stitched up stems. She didn't
      have a job, but she clearly had someone handling he financial well
      being.
      "There's this deli around the corner if you're still hungry.
      I go there and usually get a ham and American cheese sandwich with a
      pickle," she said.
      "I'm okay," he said.
      She threw the paper plate in the garbage and John did the
      same. She licked the remaining frozen frosting off the plastic fork.
      "Ice cream cake frosting is different from regular cake
      frosting," said Jill. "On Halloween I'm getting a big pumpkin one."
      "You're gonna eat it all by yourself?" he said.
      "Yep," she said. "I don't like to share my jack-o'-
      lanterns. They're my babies in every form – scary ones, happy ones,
      sad ones. I have popcorn, with butter, if you want that?"
      "Nope."
      "This piece of popcorn got stuck in my gum once and they had
      to cut it out. It was really traumatizing."
      "I hate the dentist," said John.
      "You're stuck with your mouth open and they just stick their
      fingers in with their stupid x-rays . . . I probably have so many
      cavities. Where do you go to school?"
      "I don't," said John.
      "Oh, I was thinking of getting a cat or something. Something
      to love, something that will sit in my lap or sleep under the covers,
      but I have like no responsibility so the poor thing would probably
      starve to death." She laughed slightly. "Do you wanna have sex with
      me?"
      She stared at him and he thought maybe he had heard her
      wrong, but he wasn't hearing impaired. He'd just never been
      propositioned in such a way.
      "No strings, I promise," she said. "No attachments, no
      Hallmark cards, do you wanna have something to drink first? I have
      some whiskey under the bed."
      "Maybe I should go," said John.
      "You don't want to," she said. "If I got drunk would you
      have sex with me?"
      "No."
      "Why not?"
      "It would be boring," he said.
      "You wouldn't take advantage of me because it would be
      boring, not because it would be wrong?" said Jill, wrapping her
      yellow silk scarf around her shoulders like a tiny shawl.
      "Do you do this a lot?"
      She shook her head. "I do this never. This is the first
      time. We could have sex or you can go home and I can do my laundry,
      but I don't really want to do my laundry. In a past life I worked as
      a laundry mistress at the Charenton Asylum."
      "Where's that?"
      "In France. It's where they housed the Marquis De Sade, the
      writer who indulged in chocolate and theater."
      "And hardcore sex?" John said.
      "That too," she said.
      "Are you into that?"
      "Not the way you think," said Jill. "At least, I don't think
      I am, I'm not really sure. But I wouldn't be tonight. You can kiss
      me now."
      He approached her and she seemed to shrink away from him
      while still maintaining uncertain eye contact.
      "I don't usually kiss guys," she said. "I mean, they want to
      kiss me, but I never want to kiss them, but I'm gonna try and kiss
      you."
      He kissed her, nothing too intricate, then he kissed her a
      second time and she was more responsive. John rested one hand on her
      small hip and his other hand held her face gently. Her fingers
      touched her lips and she resisted the urge to wipe the kiss from her
      skin. Jill reached under her skit and started to pull off her ripped
      purple stockings, his eyes gleaming like dark silver saucers. The
      beating of her heart was throbbing hard inside her body and she was
      suddenly nervous.
      "I'm probably gonna suck," she said, pulling her stockings to
      her knees.
      His hand glided down her leg and over her pale cold knee.
      Then he brought his hand up between her thighs and she decided it was
      best if she didn't look at him. Instead she stared past him, holding
      his shoulder, the brown leather beneath her hand familiar. It could
      be worse, she thought, it could be in the backseat of some car. She
      would have sex in a car one day, hopefully a 1963 Black Lincoln
      Continental and Mercedes Benz, but not today and not tomorrow. She
      wondered if John had a car; she didn't even know how to drive; she
      didn't really know if she wanted to learn.
      She let this boy named John touch her, not because she really
      wanted him to, but because she decided it was her time.

      xo

      When he came and lay beside her she looked at him, her cheeks newly
      flushed.
      "That wasn't as scary as I thought it would be," she said.
      "Scary?" he said.
      "I never did it before."
      Her words froze in his mind and his nerves tingled with release and
      he sighed "fuck" silently to himself.
      "This was your first . . . why didn't you say something before we did
      it?"
      Jill stared up at the ceiling and pulled the blankets up over her
      shoulders; she could still feel his hands gently caressing her
      breasts and squeezing them.
      "If I told you it would have been weird," she said.
      He quickly replayed the encounter in his head and hoped that he
      hadn't been too rough. John licked his lips and looked at her, his
      eyes soft and his face tender.
      "You can go now, if you want to," she said. "I don't expect you to
      be my boyfriend or anything like that." She rolled her eyes upward
      and smiled. "I just wanted to do it and get it done with."
      John laughed. "Get it done with? You make it sound like you never
      plan on doing it again?"
      "I don't really need to," she said.
      He suddenly feared that maybe he had disappointed her, but it wasn't
      his fault. He didn't know the details of the game. He couldn't read
      minds; it wasn't his talent.
      "Why not? Don't you want to?"
      She smiled at him. "With you? I don't know. You seem sweet."
      "Sweet?" said John. "Why'd you have sex with me? Why didn't you
      just wait until you got a boyfriend?"
      "Because I don't find boyfriends," she said, "and I'm tired of always
      thinking about sex and never doing it. I liked your jacket and I
      thought you were pretty handsome hot."
      John smirked.
      "And then I saw what you did in front of the courthouse," she
      said. "It was pretty impressive. You make it seem sexy."
      If she continued talking he knew he'd want to fuck her again, but
      even though she seemed nonchalant about the whole sex thing between
      them he felt he couldn't just fuck this girl. It didn't seem fair to
      her and the wide innocence in her eyes made him feel kind of guilty
      for the whole thing. John didn't do guilt; it wasn't his style.
      "I guess I can call you," he said. "If you want me to."
      "I don't have a phone."
      That was easy, he thought.
      "Let's just go to sleep," she said. "If I go back to sleep maybe
      I'll never wake up. That would be good."
      Jill closed her eyes and he was puzzled by her words. She didn't try
      to hug him or cuddle; she seemed content to snuggle with herself
      under the covers. She didn't kick him out of her bed so he figured
      he could stay a little longer.

      xo

      Jill watched him while he slept and thought about how soft his lips
      had been when he kissed her. When he saw the fading scars on her
      inner arms he didn't question their existence; it was nice. Her
      fingers crept slowly to his head and fingered his dark hair. She
      thought of the places she let him touch her, places she had only
      touched herself before. For the longest time she told herself that
      being a virgin made her unique, that it was her special way of
      holding on to something pure and untouched within her tainted self.
      Her creativity and her virginity – the two things she had that really
      defined her. Now she only had one left. She had believed that once
      she had sex with a boy she would be able to figure out some of the
      stuff in her life. She thought that sex would be like a step forward
      into the world of the living and a huge step out of the world of the
      dreaming despair that had become a doubled-edged knife – wondrous,
      safe, and depressing; she called it her Netherworld, the boiler room
      of childhood that she couldn't seem to give up or more truthfully,
      didn't want to; there was no real reason she could find to become
      involved in life. Looking at John she doubted she could ever become
      involved with him. She didn't really love anything or anyone,
      nothing real, anyway. The sex they had the night before – it was
      real, but it was over and nothing had changed like she thought it
      would. She still felt the same; she realized she would always feel
      the same.
      He hugged the blankets close to his body and Jill wanted to lift them
      up and catch a glimpse of him. Instead she closed her eyes and
      sighed.
      When John opened his eyes the sun was shining and he guessed that it
      was noon.
      "I like to sleep late," said Jill, her eyes closed. "Later than
      this."
      Hs eyes lingered over her delicate fingers resting daintily on the
      pillow.
      "Maybe we can be friends," she said. "Maybe not. I'm not really
      good with the whole people thing. I mean I could be, but I don't
      want to be."
      "Me neither," he said, getting out of bed and searching the floor for
      his clothes.
      His pants were on the floor beside her pale pink GAP panties. He
      closed his eyes and thought about what had happened; stuff like this
      probably happened all the time, it was no big deal.
      When he pulled on his shirt he turned to her and realized she had
      been watching him get dressed.
      She held up her slender hand and waved, "Bye John. Thanks."

      xo

      John stood outside her apartment and glanced up at her
      windows. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and gripped his
      shark-mouthed metal lighter. Everything was good. He inhaled deeply
      and slowly exhaled. Something felt different; maybe not for her, but
      for him, something had started to change.
      He felt like a thief of the metaphysical. Then it didn't
      matter what he felt. The whole virginity thing was over-rated;
      losing things was just part of life. He hadn't stolen anything that
      hadn't been given to him. He realized she had seduced him,
      manipulated him into getting what she wanted and he didn't really
      mind. Everyone had an edge they needed to explore. He wished he had
      something pure to hold on to; if he did, no one told him. The only
      thing he had was the fire, the fire that burned deep and raw inside
      him. It was the one thing he would never give up.
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