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Fic - Pyro - Some Kind of Boy 11

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  • Tara Ann
    Title: Diving Down Into Hell (Some Kind of Boy – story 11) author: Tara Ann summary: John disrespects Magneto in his own way. X2 Rating/warning &
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 14, 2005
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      Title: Diving Down Into Hell (Some Kind of Boy – story 11)
      author: Tara Ann
      summary: John disrespects Magneto in his own way. X2
      Rating/warning & pairing: NC-17. Pyro/Jill
      *Characters do not belong to me except for Jill – she is mine and
      looks like Claire Danes.
      *Lyrics taken from "The Same Boy You've Always Known" by The White
      Stripes.
      ** 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.



      I thought this is just today
      and soon you'd be returning
      the coldest blue ocean water
      cannot stop my heart and mind from burning
      everyone who's in the know says
      that's exactly how it goes
      and if there's anything good about me
      I'm the only one who knows*



      John Allerdyce didn't want to admit it, but he liked sleeping with
      Jill. Sleeping next to someone was new to him and she was everything
      soft and beautiful like he had always wanted. There was just one
      problem; he was uncertain how far he was willing to go for her.
      Joining The Brotherhood meant there was no time for him to have
      a "normal" life, but when he was with Jill it was all he wanted. She
      was getting in the way and it wasn't even her fault.
      He stroked her dirty blonde cascading hair and she slipped
      her hand under the pillow.
      "You wanna do it again?" she said and smiled.
      His dark eyes glanced at the condemn she held in her delicate
      fingers. She kept at least a dozen under the pillow for convenience;
      it was one of her many quirks that he found endearing.
      He didn't lie to her. "I want to fuck you forever."
      It was the only way he could tell her he loved her and she
      knew it.
      "When can I read one of your stories?" she said.
      He clasped his fingers over her hand and said, "Soon. I
      promise."
      "I'm not gonna laugh at them," she said, her scarred chin
      resting on his shoulder.
      His little match girl – sexy, innocent, non-judgmental, kind,
      and everything good. If only the world could be like her, he thought.
      "Could you write me into one of them?" she said. "I want to
      be a laundry mistress."
      "Wouldn't you rather be queen of some distant exotic land?"
      She shook her head. "Nope."
      "Why would you want to do laundry for crazy people?" he said.
      "It's the world I like best," she said, her blue-hazel eyes
      vibrant with smoky green eye shadow. "I guess I could be queen. I
      want to be called Lady Charenton."
      "Fine," said John.
      "Or an exotic courtesan."
      "Why would you want to be a hooker?"
      "Prostitute," said Jill. "It seems exciting."
      "I think you'd change your mind if you were one," John
      said. "You'd have to have sex with too many people, most of them
      ugly and old."
      "Then I'll be a private courtesan, my services rendered for
      one man and one man only," she said, her lips pale and her cheeks
      soft with dandelion pink. She looked down at his chest, her
      fingertips rubbing his skin like she was searching for something
      underneath it. "I never asked you this before and I'm not trying to
      sound all girlfriend possessive or anything, but how many people have
      you slept with in your lifetime?"
      "My lifetime?" he said, with a little laugh. "I'm not even
      twenty-one." He paused. "Not that many and most of them were only
      one time. You wanna have sex with other guys?"
      He smiled and watched her carefully.
      "No," she said, her voice serious, too serious. "I don't
      need to have sex with anyone else."
      She didn't look at him when she said it and his smiled faded
      because the implication of her statement was suddenly frightening.
      John's mother had named him John because she believed a
      simple name would guarantee her son life without complexity. John
      Allerdyce had believed that Jill was his sanctuary from the
      complexities he had to deal with, but it had proven to be as
      miscalculated as his "simple" name. Jillian Ann La Boy was a rich
      city girl masquerading as a pretty bohemian pauper. John had been
      confronted twice by her so-called pre-arranged suitor, some wimpy
      clean-cut money brat, and somehow the guy had figured John for a
      mutant, which made things even more complicated. The boy told her
      somewhat estranged parents and though they couldn't have cared less
      for their daughter's well-being while she roamed the streets
      endlessly for the past several years, they still had it in their head
      that she would eventually come home to them, marry into the other
      trophy family, and be their good little girl again; that she would
      forget all her selfish-angst, melancholy role-play, and become the
      shiny happy daughter they needed for their own self-promotion.
      Naturally, they weren't big supporters of mutant freedom. The only
      person on Jill's side was her older sister Catherine Marie La Boy,
      singer, lesbian, and disowned by her parents for choosing her own
      life. If Jill wanted him to he would burn her family to the ground
      with a wink. Sometimes he believed if he had asked her she would
      have told him definitely to do it.
      He didn't know if it scared him or turned him on.
      "I like having sex with you," she said, laying her head on
      his chest. "I do. I know maybe I don't seem like I do. You think
      I'm fuckable enough?"
      The one thing John didn't understand about Jill was why she
      believed that sex was constantly expected when two people were in a
      relationship. He wasn't going to deny that he didn't expect to have
      sex with her, but it seemed to preoccupy her thoughts, like if she
      said no once in a while that he would break up with her.
      "I think you're extremely fuckable," he said. The truth was
      he wanted to fuck her harder than he did, but she seemed so fragile;
      she was the one good thing in his life and he wanted to keep her that
      way.
      "You could fuck me more," she said. "I'm not gonna break."
      She glanced at him and smiled. "I'm not a virgin, anymore."
      John knew that better than anyone since he had been her first
      time.
      "I know," he said, his devil handsome smile intoxicating her.
      "What are you so scared of, John Allerdyce?" Her fingertips
      touched his soft lips.
      "Feeling too much," he said.
      "I watch you, your face, when you come. Are you even
      thinking about me? Sometimes I think you don't remember you're
      inside me, I mean, me. It's okay, I don't mind. I like to watch you
      and I know sometimes I take a long time to get . . . into it . . . do
      you want me to give you a blowjob?"
      "Now?"
      "No," said Jill. "I mean, like, ever. You've never asked me
      for one. I know you've thought about it."
      "You don't have to do that," he said.
      She didn't seem impressed. "I don't believe you. You're my
      boyfriend, I'm your girlfriend, right? I could do it if you want me
      to. You do it to me." Jill shrugged. "I think about doing it, when
      I'm touching you, maybe I'd even like it, I know you would."
      John closed his eyes. "I know I would, too."
      She tapped his lower lip. "You don't have to be afraid to
      get me dirty. Just because I was a virgin when you met me doesn't
      mean I was completely naïve when it came to sex. I've been
      masturbating since kindergarten."
      "What? Really? Why?"
      "I liked the way it felt," she said.
      John smiled to himself.
      "I know I'm kind of shy, but I'm not really," said Jill. "I
      think you're more shy than I am, I really do believe you are." She
      smiled sweetly. "Are you this shy with all the girls you've ever
      loved or just me."
      "I didn't love the other girls," he said.
      Jill sat up and wrapped the sheet around her body like a
      shawl.
      "Oh," she said. Then she stared at him and his dark brown
      eyes looked into her. "You know that day you came and saved me from
      the fire in my apartment?"
      "Yeah," he said.
      Her eyes didn't look away from him when she said, "I
      deliberately tried to burn my own house down."
      He had to admit he was strangely stunned. "Why would you do
      that?"
      "I didn't think it would catch that fast," she said, as if it
      explained everything. "I just wanted to live someplace else."
      Her gaze was relentless and John sat up, his face evident
      with slightly weirded out concern. Then he decided it didn't
      matter. She was beautiful with every single quirk she possessed and
      her offbeat grace was incomparable to anyone he'd ever known.
      "Okay," he said.
      "You don't think I'm a freak, do you?"
      "You? Maybe just a tiny bite of freak show," he said,
      pressing his thumb and index finger together. "Tiny."
      "Tell me you wanna fuck me," she said.
      "I wanna fuck you forever," he said.
      For the brief while they had been together she had been
      hesitant to touch him unless she asked him first, but the more time
      they spent together the more comfortable she became with him, with
      herself, and with them. Her becoming more comfortable made him feel
      more comfortable and what they had together never seemed to stop
      turning.
      "We can ride the carousel tomorrow," said Jill.
      "I can't," he said and sighed. "I got to be somewhere."
      "Somewhere important?" she said.
      "Yeah," said John.
      "Like the courthouse?"
      "Yes."
      "Like the police station?"
      "Double yes."
      "Is it going to be something wicked?"
      "Most definitely."
      "Don't get hurt tomorrow," she said and kissed him on the
      cheek.
      "I won't."
      The week before she had gotten arrested for no good reason.
      She had been sitting in some bar and voiced her opinion and obvious
      support on the issue of mutant freedom; the local jerks in the bar
      took the liberty of harassing her until she physically had no choice
      but to fight back and the bigot cops booked her, denied her the one
      phone call, and sexually threatened her. So she spent the night in
      jail, endured derogatory name calling like "mutie fucker"
      and "mutant whore," praying that she would survive the night without
      getting raped by men who could get away with it simply because they
      wore blue. When she casually told John about her escapade he went
      down to the police station and set it blazing until there was nothing
      left but coffee, doughnuts and ash. She hadn't hid the fact that his
      twisted chivalry had excited her, impressed her, and even delighted
      her rosy.
      Jill never told him that burning up buildings was wrong or
      not the way. She didn't want to change him. She never touched his
      shark-mouthed lighter and it was strange because his lighter was the
      one secure element he kept in his life, but when he was with Jill he
      didn't feel he needed it.
      "I want to watch you," she said.
      "No," said John. "It's dangerous."
      She frowned slightly.
      "I like watching you," she said. "You won't let me get hurt."
      "No, I won't."
      "Do you wanna swing dance with me?"
      "I don't know how?" John said.
      "I don't know, either," she said. "We'll take classes and
      learn. Where's Blazie?"
      Jill looked around the room for the orange furball kitten
      with the bright yellow-brown eyes.
      "She's under the bed," said John.

      xo

      I know the boy with the beautiful face and soft edges
      he burns my flesh with the palest pout
      silent eyes are screaming fire


      When John walked into the condemned church a.k.a The Brotherhood
      headquarters he saw Jill sitting in one of the splintered pews.
      "Are you praying?" he said.
      She glanced over her shoulder and said, "No."
      "You shouldn't be here," he said, standing next to the
      pew. "Toad has a crush on you and Sabertooth's a rapist or
      something."
      Her blue-hazel eyes looked up at him, his finger stroking her
      cheek and tracing along her lips. His body was blazing from the job
      he'd just pulled off, the adrenaline rush still burning through his
      skin, his dark eyes gleaming their ignited glaze at her, into her
      very center.
      She knew his shark-mouthed lighter was safe inside the pocket
      of his brown leather jacket.
      "Was it very dangerous?" she said, looking up at him.
      "Very," he said, his voice sleek like crystal flame.
      She smiled faintly.
      "Magneto hates non-mutants?"
      "Pretty much, yeah," said John.
      "Do you hate me?"
      His finger stroked the scar on her chin. "I could never hate
      you."
      "I'm not a mutant," she said, her shoulders slumped
      slightly. "Maybe I'm not good enough for you."
      John felt like she was slapping him in the face. His whole
      life he had believed he wasn't good enough for anyone and now his
      little match girl was telling him she didn't think she was good
      enough for him.
      "You're too good for me, babe," he said. "Too good."
      Jill looked into his eyes and noticed the silent predatory
      glaze possessing their usually casual-somber darkness. She stood and
      firmly cupped his crotch in her delicate hand; she squeezed him once.
      "What's it feel like?"
      Her lulling voice breathed into his tender cheek.
      "What's what feel like?" he said.
      "What's it feel like when you manipulate the fire?"
      He wrapped his arm around her, bringing her in close to him.
      The long strands of her hair tickled his hand. His lips were warm
      when he kissed her.
      "It feels like I'm touching the sun," he said, "but the sun
      isn't touching me."
      His voice whispered wicked into her skin.
      "I can destroy everyone in the world and the whole world
      itself. It's the best fucking feeling in the world. I never feel
      the cold, my fingertips are burning, my blood is blistering, my skin
      is never numb . . . I am the fire, the heat keeps my heart beating
      like a deep dark consuming itch. I'd be lost without it. Fire is
      the only way I know how to fight without getting burned."
      Her hand still held his crotch and he stroked her pale white
      skin. The closer she stood to him the more she could smell the soft
      coconut on his skin.
      "I think I can feel it sometimes," said Jill. "The warmth
      inside you. Sometimes when you touch me it feels like a tiny
      lingering flame is spreading into the center of my body."
      "Do you like it?"
      "Yes."
      "Why do you like it?" he said with the palest pout. The
      casual sexuality he exuded cut quietly through the air in blistering
      waves.
      "It makes me feel dirty in a good way," she said.
      His lips flickered an intrigued smile and he took her hand.
      "We should go upstairs," he said.
      Her eyes glanced towards the table by the alter.
      "I wouldn't ask you this because I know how you feel," she
      said. "Can I borrow your lighter?"
      He looked into her deeply, every second of emotion hidden
      from her.
      "It's in my jacket pocket," said John.
      "I know," she said and slipped her hand inside the pocket of
      his brown leather jacket. Her slender fingers grasped the metal
      shark-mouthed lighter. She licked her lips and went to the table; he
      watched her light several blue candles.
      "I believe candles should be lit in churches," said Jill,
      glancing over her shoulder at him. "Even if no one is around to blow
      them out when the sun goes down."
      "They should keep burning through the night," John said.
      She closed the lighter and closed her eyes, memorizing the
      smooth feel of the silver metal in her hands. Then she opened her
      eyes and slipped the lighter back inside his pocket, her fingers
      hooking on to the brown leather.
      "Tell me something about your childhood," she said.
      "Why?"
      "I'm giving myself a new one because I can't really remember
      the first one."
      "Okay. When I was little I decided lunch boxes were for
      dorks so I threw mine down the incinerator."
      She laughed. "I had a red plastic Beetlejuice lunchbox. It
      was my favorite. Then I slipped on the ice and it cracked. It's not
      fair."
      Jill shook her head and frowned.
      "Where did you get your lighter?" she said.
      "I pawned my mother's gold cross of Mary," said John.
      "Your mother is very pretty," Jill said, biting her lower
      lip. "I found the pictures of your family under the mattress. Don't
      be mad with me. Why do you keep them there?"
      She didn't comment on the fact that every photograph she
      found was burned around the edges; some were even partially destroyed
      and smudged with smoke. It was the only way fire slapped him in the
      face.
      "I didn't burn my own house down," John said.
      Her fingertips gently touched his cheek. "I didn't think you
      did. I'm sorry."
      John shrugged. Then he said what he had been thinking since
      the day he met her.
      "I don't know what to do with you."
      She tilted her head to the side, her face glowing like
      everything good and perfect.
      "Do whatever you want," she said, as if that answer solved
      everything and was utterly obvious.
      "Do you love me?"
      Her eyed brightened. "I thought I was destined to be
      terminally sad. I pretend I'm not, but I kind of am. Do you want me
      to tell you I love you? I do. I guess it will last for as long as
      it's supposed to. Do you still wanna go upstairs?"
      His gaze was as silent as the impenetrable smoothness of his
      handsome face.
      "Yes," he said.
      "Tell me why?" she said. "I want you to tell me."
      John didn't hesitate. "I want to fuck you."

      xo

      there's a fire burning deep
      so deep inside I cannot find it
      it burns my fingertips, soul, and lips
      creeping in my blood
      destroying everything I want to love
      nothing I do can stop it from rising
      everyone I look at seems to deserve it


      He led her to Magneto's room and the flames in the fireplace
      burned quicker and higher at Pyro's silent command. Jill sat on the
      huge bed, the metallic burgundy sheets like cotton silk beneath her
      fingertips; she pulled her skirt up over her knees and pale thighs
      which John had already spread and was eagerly caressing. He kissed
      the scar on her chin and pulled off his brown leather jacket; her
      hands glided under his shirt and her fingers circled his navel.
      John kissed her mouth in dedicated rushes and she ravished
      his lips just as deeply.
      "Something wicked this way comes," he said in between their candy
      kisses.
      Jill didn't waste time and helped him pull off her cotton candy blue
      panties. Lying beside her, his chest against her breasts, his shirt
      half-unbuttoned, he began to play with her clit. Every few seconds
      his fingers would feel her slit and when she still wasn't responding
      the way he wished she would he didn't become discouraged.
      His prick was screaming and burning with ready anticipation;
      sometimes he just wanted to plunge into her without the eternal
      foreplay, but he never did. There was no doubt that John Allerdyce
      coveted a sadistic nature, but he was also faintly masochistic,
      especially since the prolonging seemed to make their lovemaking that
      much more sweeter to the tongue. Longing was also something John was
      familiar with and with Jill it didn't feel that empty.
      She made a tiny moan and when she started to writhe kindly
      beneath his touch he smiled. Jill was fucking beautiful and her skin
      was white like warm jasmine milk and honey. When he fingered her he
      tried not to break eye contact unless she closed her eyes first. It
      was before he penetrated her that the dark gleam of his eyes was the
      most powerful and she liked to maintain it for as long as she could;
      she also liked the pleasant way his fingertips seemed to burn into
      her sacred skin. Jill didn't know if it was psychological or if it
      was real, but she didn't care; the only thing that mattered was that
      she felt it.
      She didn't think she could become more inspired with his
      fingers inside her, but she was wetter than she ever thought was
      possible. Her rational mind told her they didn't have protection,
      but for just this once she decided she really wanted to feel his skin
      collide with hers. John loathed condoms like he loathed being told
      what to do, and since she didn't protest he didn't bother mentioning
      it.
      He unzipped his pants and she grasped his hard flesh in her
      hand, her thumb rubbing the head of his penis in a circular motion.
      He had revealed to her how much he liked to be touched in that way
      and his body quivered; he moaned within a gasp, his eyes closed for
      two seconds.
      "Are you the most dangerous?" she said.
      He looked down at her and said, "Yes I am."
      Then he was inside her. His favorite part of sex was the
      moment of penetration. Once he was inside he seemed unable to
      emotionally connect completely with her even though she was more than
      just skin to him. His hands cradled her head, her dirty-blonde hair
      like cascading silk around his fingers. The only way she ever really
      knew he was still with her was because he'd sometimes focus on her
      eyes until he was ready to come. Sometimes she felt staring into
      each other's eyes was too intimidating, though, and she closed her
      own eyes as if she had to remind herself that she was having sex with
      someone she really liked and loved, that everything about him was
      real and not created in her mind. His breathing seemed fiercely
      lulling with every thrust he gave to her and the jasmine-rosemary
      scent of her flesh made him contentedly dizzy.
      Her fingers explored his face – his pretty lashes, his soft-
      edged cheeks, his kissable lips, his untouched neck and when he came
      he looked right into her. The dark brown glazy ember of his eyes
      warmed her body and her sense of self. It was cliché and cornball,
      but he really did feel more complete when he was with her. Jill
      didn't know if she'd ever experienced an orgasm with him and he never
      asked until two nights later. He figured if she didn't she'd tell
      him, but all she really knew was what felt good and what felt really
      good. It wasn't very feminist of her, but she liked to be fucked.
      The voyeur in her enjoyed watching him while he made love to her; it
      was like watching him from outside her body except she felt every
      inch of him next to her, beside her, inside her.
      She stroked his neck and he pulled out; she felt between her
      thighs for everything he left behind. She wiped her fingers on her
      skirt. Then she wiped herself with her skirt; John just used the
      sheets. She thought she saw him smile when he did it. Then he
      licked his lips in the subtle way she had become familiar with; she
      had thought it was just one of his casual ticks, but she learned that
      he did it when he was contemplating something grand and something not
      always harmless. She didn't know that tonight he was putting every
      thought into her and the idea of her. Everything he wanted in life
      or thought he wanted in life had always seemed intangible to him, but
      Jill was always there for him. She didn't smile when he was frowning
      and she didn't frown when he smiled. She didn't tell him what was
      right and wrong; she didn't tell him what to do.
      John sighed and Jill touched the scar on her chin; she
      couldn't really feel it, but she knew it was there; sometimes she
      forgot.
      They looked up at the ceiling and Jill hoped it wouldn't
      collapse on top of them, though she figured with Magneto being the
      leader he would pick the most secure room in the condemned church.
      "Why are you so sexy?" she said.
      "You think I'm sexy?" said John, not hiding his smile from
      her.
      She turned her head to look at him. "Yeah. You're the most
      dangerous. I tell everyone my boyfriend has the palest pout and the
      devil handsome smile."
      The glaze of his dark eyes was constant, never empty to those who
      truly looked deep enough within them.
      "Everyone?"
      "The people I meet," Jill said.
      His face was flawless, every edge glowing softly with threatening
      bitterness and insatiable anger. John Allerdyce was mad at everyone,
      even those who didn't deserve it, except Jill; he realized she made
      everything hurt less and he hoped he offered her some sort of similar
      comfort.
      He wanted to be respected, appreciated, wanted, needed, and loved;
      Jill gave him everything and more. John didn't know if he was giving
      enough back.
      "Why are you with me?" he said, his voice calm and quiet.
      The question seemed impossibly silly to Jill.
      She said, "Why are you with me?"
      "Do you ever feel like you're going crazy?"
      "Less when I'm with you," Jill said.
      "I feel like I'm being consumed by something I can't control," said
      John.
      He manipulated fire into any shape and size he dreamed of; it did
      what he wanted when he wanted. The fire inside him seemed harder to
      understand and he was tired of trying . . . he was good at two
      things – fireplay and writing; writing was just as pleasurable to him
      as conducting violent fiery symphonies. John didn't believe he could
      have both. Loving Jill and being her boyfriend didn't seem possible,
      but he decided he would try a little harder. He would fight himself
      just to keep her. He didn't want to give her up.
      "You make the silence less uncomfortable," he said.
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