Fic - Pyro - Some Kind of Boy 12
- Title: Someone's Favorite Possession (Some Kind of Boy story 12)
author: Tara Ann
summary: John doesn't want to give Jill up. X2
Rating/warning & pairing: NC-17 for sexual content. Pyro/Jill
*Characters do not belong to me except for Jill she is mine and
looks like Claire Danes.
*Lyrics taken from "Offend in Every Way" by The White Stripes.
***Line belongs to me.
** 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.
the fire burning inside is breaking me***
I'll wait another day before I turn away
but know this much is true
no matter what I do
offend in every way
I don't know what to say
but how much can I fake
I'll speak until I break
with every word I say
offend in every way*
Something was eating John Allerdyce from the inside out; it was too
angry to be empty. He sat on the bed staring into the flame from his
metal shark-mouthed lighter. Then he flicked it closed, open,
closed, open, closed . . . his fingers itched quietly when he wasn't
holding it. John had very few possessions he felt connected to his
lighter being the most important. He liked his brown leather jacket,
too; he felt it gave him presence. He also put a lot of effort into
his hair, slicking it back into the perfect rebel handsome bad boy
style, but he would shrug it off if confronted. When Jill entered
the room he didn't look up at her even though she made his fingers
"Practicing," she said.
"Practicing what?" said John. The expanded curling of the flame
reflected like burning gold in his dark eyes. It moved towards Jill
like ocean waves and coiled loosely around her tiny wrist.
Blazie, the orange furball kitten with the bright yellow eyes watched
the flame roll and meowed, rubbing up against Jill's ankle. The baby
cat purred loudly and Jill stroked its small ear.
She looked at him, her blue-hazel eyes innocent. That was when John
noticed she wasn't wearing her signature smoky green eye shadow.
Jill looked different in a rose-colored lady hat and matching
corduroy pants. She unwrapped the blue and white stripped fleece
scarf from around her delicate neck, the fire bracelet glowing around
her pale wrist in tiny ripples.
John Allerdyce believed he owned fire, but he could feel it consuming
him and he was starting to lose his sense of self outside his mutant
talent. Jill's girl flesh was his safety net. He was connected to
his lighter, to the fire he manipulated with rigorous and sleek
skill, and he hoped he was connected to Jill.
"It's getting chilly willy outside," she said.
"Did you cut your hair?" John said, flicking his lighter closed. It
was six in the evening and he was wearing navy blue pajama pants and
a gray tee shirt.
"No," she said. "It's under the hat."
He studied the peculiar shape of her face, the scar on her chin
unmistakable. She stretched the scarf out and said, "I'm going to
tie you up and tickle you until you can't stop laughing."
John placed his lighter beside his thigh, his dark-brown eyes
lighting up with new interest. "Where are you gonna tickle me?"
Jill smiled. "I'm not a nasty girl."
John nodded and smiled, the slithering twinkle in his eyes less than
casual. "I think you are."
"Maybe I'll blindfold you."
His eyes glazed over the fire bracelet and when she walked to the
foot of the bed he clasped his hand over it, his fingers tenderly
tight against her skin.
"I like your hair," he said. "I don't want you to hide it."
"I know," she said. She reached her hands up above her head and
slowly removed her hat.
John held her small hips, his hands pulling up her shirt, his lips
whispering over her jasmine milk skin. Her dirty blonde hair
cascaded around her like the sea. He rubbed his cut cheek against
Logan had punched him the day before; then Rogue had slapped him.
Logan felt bad about hitting the kid, but limits were being pushed.
The truth was that John couldn't suavely avoid all the punches that
would surely be coming his way; maybe the first one could change his
Jill looked down at the wicked cut on his left cheek and brushed her
fingers gently upon his skin just below it.
"It hurts more than I thought it would," he said. Then he smiled
faintly, his eyes gleaming dully in silent confusion.
He knew he irritated people enough to make them want to hit him, but
he'd never expected it from Logan. It heightened his secret fear
that he wasn't good enough for them, for Jill, and that maybe he
deserved the badness he could feel creeping through his blood and
searing his skin.
It also reminded him of how he couldn't fight back without fire.
Maybe his father had been right about him being weak; he wondered if
his mother had ever thought the same. The fire he manipulated had
been his only true confidant for so long; he could tell Jill things,
but she couldn't ever really understand what it was like for him.
She wasn't like him and even those who were like him didn't know;
maybe he just didn't talk to them enough. Maybe Logan knew; he was
different from everyone else. John related to him more than the
others at the mansion and despite the punching incident the guy was
still letting the boy crash at his apartment.
John didn't fight with his fists; he fought with fire and he didn't
fight fair. Why should he? The simple fact that he could fight back
with a single flame made him want to lash out at everyone and
everything; the destruction he caused was invigorating and it was
pointless to regret even one moment of it. Sometimes he felt he was
loosing his mind and his sense of self only seemed centered when he
was wreaking mass destruction with fireballs and elaborate wicked
shapes; it was the only time he felt invincible. John didn't like
uncomfortable silences and he didn't like feeling vulnerable. People
who messed with him deserved to get burned. When he wasn't sparking
fire tricks, thrills, and treats he could sense something wasn't
right inside himself. The sensitivity inside him burned in eternal
embers waiting too long to be rekindled and the more darkness he
swallowed the more distant he felt himself becoming. Sometimes he
wanted to watch the world fall apart without him through dark eyes
screaming in silent longing, but the fire inside him wouldn't let him.
Sometimes he thought about returning to Xavier's school and
pretending his disaffection and discontentment didn't exist, but he
was tired of pretending. He knew if he did return he didn't want to
become one of the X-Men. He had thought about it, but there was
something about the whole idea of it that didn't settle in his
stomach the way he wished it would. Maybe he could find some sort of
happy life writing and turning his cheek to the fire he enjoyed
unleashing on to everyone and the world. He didn't believe in
hiding, but it seemed like the only solution to soothing his soul,
body, and mind. He was confident enough, but sometimes even his self-
confidence wasn't real. The fire was real, his fire . . .
"John," said Jill, and he realized her voice wasn't enough. It was
supposed to be, but it wasn't.
He looked up at her, his face silent, his eyes like black glass.
She wrinkled her eyebrows, searching him and tears began to flood her
"Are you starting to feel dead?" she said, towering over him in
softness and grace. "It comes and goes. When it comes you feel it
hard and when it goes you still can't breathe because you know it
won't be long before it comes back and if it's gone for too long you
start to wonder where it is. You become dependent on feeling so
empty and lonely and when you don't feel it, anymore, you become lost
so you start to fabricate more of it because you don't feel real
without it. The twist is you don't feel real with it, either.
"You've felt the one way for too long so that when you do feel
something different and something good you know you have to ruin it
any way you can because you decided that you like the misery and the
pathetic pain. It's the only real thing you know, smiling and
laughing become intangible ideals.
"Once it wasn't your fault, but there was one moment where it left
and you decided to hold it close, that's when it became your fault.
You know it's your own fault, but you still continue to blame
everyone else because they failed you. They won't understand this,
and you could explain it to them, but they still won't understand.
"You feel it burning. I feel it cutting. Sometimes I fantasized
about slashing my face into nothing but thorn scratches and blood.
Sometimes when I'm happy I remember that it goes against the image I
tried so hard to maintain for too long, the identity I forced upon
myself, the me I slipped into. You can't let yourself become too
comfortable or you'll never try to leave it behind. I told myself I
wanted to, but I was too lazy. It's still inside me."
"You don't cut, anymore," said John.
"No," she said, "but sometimes I hear it breathing in my skin and I
feel like I have to just because I used to."
He didn't think he'd ever heard her talk so much in one breath before
and he realized he could probably share more conversation with her.
Jill kneeled in front of him, her hands on his thighs.
"The world seems boring to people like us. I still don't really feel
like the me I'd thought I'd be, but I'm me and it's good," she said
and shrugged. "I've decided that I'm going to play out every side I
ever wanted to. I kept waiting for the day I would kill myself, but
I know it will never happen so I content myself with the little
things like jack-o'-lanterns and squirrels and Oriental babies."
John smiled. "Why Oriental babies?"
"They're cute," said Jill. "I helped with Bible School once, not
because I cared about teaching God stuff, I couldn't be less
interested in that, I just wanted to be with the little kids. They
"You want kids?"
Jill tilted her head to the side and smiled strangely. "With you?"
"No," said John. "Not with me. I can't have kids."
"You don't like them?"
"I just can't have them," he said. "They might come out . . . like
"That shouldn't matter," Jill said.
John nodded. "It shouldn't, but it will."
He told himself he never wanted to have kids, but he imagined it
would be more than nice to have a perfect little girl.
Jill leaned towards him and kissed his lips. "I love you John
Allerdyce. I don't know in what way I love you, but I know I do."
"Do you wanna go get something to eat?"
"No," Jill said, shaking her head. "Your skin smells like coconut."
"Do I give you more than casual thrills?"
"Yes you do." She smiled and nodded. "My hands are cold. Could you
"I'll keep you warm until you say so," said John. He flicked his
lighter open, let the flame caress his palm and fingers. Jill held
her hands above his. Then he closed his hands over the fire and took
her hands, wrapping them in his tee shirt.
She nodded and smiled lolly pop lopsided. "Yep."
Jill pushed him down on to the bed, her hands sliding underneath his
shirt and over his skin.
"I didn't want to touch you with cold hands," she said. "I kind of
have bad circulation."
"It's okay," he said.
She climbed up on the bed beside him and slipped her hand down his
pants, holding him, petting him, her fingertips tickling him slow.
He closed his eyes and she laid her cheek upon his stomach.
"I bet you're glad you warmed me up," she said.
He moaned softly and decided to surrender to her. She delighted in
playing dominant for once; she wondered how submissive he could be
for her. The casual dominance during sex that John Allerdyce exuded
so effortlessly was really just another pretense he felt he was
expected to maintain; it was the only way he could control the
situation and he needed to be in control to feel safe. He didn't
lack complete self-confidence, but having someone else in control
made him feel more relaxed and connected to himself and to the
someone else. He used sex to release everything inside him he didn't
like; he took the obvious pleasure in it, but once it was over he
never felt any different and sometimes he thought it was pointless.
Most of the sexual encounters in his young life had been meaningless;
the complete opposite of what he wanted.
Every time he made love with Jill he felt he was getting closer and
closer to what he wanted; he was afraid that once he found it he
wouldn't want it anymore or that it would be sadly disappointing.
Still, he believed Jillian La Boy was the one girl he would love
forever; the type of love that if ever lost would haunt him for the
rest of his life in soft colors and vibrant scars. He believed if he
loved her too much he would lose her. He also believed the world was
against him and Jill would be the precious sacrifice.
He wanted to open his eyes and make certain she was really there,
that her hand was really where it was, but he was afraid if he
glanced at her the wrong way she would vanish. His pants were pulled
off his hips to his knees, her hand caressing between his thighs, her
gentle knuckles nudging his balls. Her kisses stung him like warm
whiskey with honey, her tender lips offering him delusional
contentment. Sometimes he felt she wanted to devour him up as much
as he wanted to let himself be devoured.
John pretended he didn't need the photos of his family. Maybe he
just wanted to be someone's favorite possession.
If he returned to Xavier's school he knew he could hold on to Jill
for a little while longer. He knew he couldn't stay there; the
burning itch under his skin wouldn't allow it. He could persevere
for Jill because it was the only way.
He listened to the sounds of ecstasy his own voice made when she took
him in her mouth; the tiny gasps and huffy moans sounded almost as
unfamiliar as hers sometimes did. His hand clasped around his shark-
mouthed lighter, the metal warm from the rising heat of his body.
She licked him, kissed him, and he released his hold on his lighter,
his fingers interlaced within the soft strands of her jasmine honey
John didn't think he could ever feel harder; he no longer felt the
throbbing cut on his cheek. He wanted Jill to swallow everything up
he didn't like and he realized she was right; he was afraid that her
being with him would make her dirty and she couldn't be dirty. It
was why he wanted her and needed her; she made him feel good. She
made the edges softer and easier to find. Jill wasn't just his
girlfriend; she was his fairytale.
The little match girl. His little match girl. Goddess, princess,
queen. He could taste her smile in his sleep. There was just one
problem. The little match girl burned herself to death.
"I don't think I can swallow this," she said, looking up at
him. "It's not because I don't like you."
John opened his eyes, dazed, his breathing constant and ready; the
ceiling seemed higher than usual. He sat up halfway, resting his
weight on his elbows, his mouth slightly open and his eyes gleaming
with interrupted fever.
She was still there, still with him, and for one moment it was like
time halted too suddenly. The intensity of the moment had been
startled by her innocent uncertainty. He smiled slightly and took
off his shirt, tossing it to her.
"It's okay," he said, his cheeks glowing softly like lush
embers. "Just spit it out."
"In your shirt?"
"Yes. Please," he said, his voice casually potent, and laid back
again, except he couldn't close his eyes and he was forced to realize
that everything was real.
Not for too long, though, because several seconds after she took him
in her mouth he came. John closed his eyes and licked his lips, his
eager breathing easing into complete sedation.
Jill watched him quietly, her finger stroking his hipbone. She
stared down at his exhausted penis, waiting for him to say something.
"You're uncomfortable with being comfortable," she said. "Pretty
little possession. There's no such thing."
He reached for his pants, his eyes still closed, and pulled them up
halfway. Then he looked at her and she smiled half-heartedly. He
took his shirt from her hands and tossed it on the floor.
"Did it suck?"
Her voice sounded unusually sad and he ignored it.
"In all the right places," he said. "When I started having wet
dreams I made my bed so my mother wouldn't know, but she knew. They
just know. She tussled my hair and said, `My little spitfire.'"
"Can you be my little spitfire?"
"Sure," he said. "She really liked movies. She always made me watch
them with her or she'd take me to see them."
"We could go to the movies tomorrow," said Jill. She paused and
pressed her lips together, licking them quickly. "I did try to kill
myself once. I walked into the sailboat lake."
"In Central Park? Near Alice?"
"Yeah," she said. "I closed my eyes and floated. The water doesn't
have to be that deep to drown in it. It wasn't for Ophelia."
He stared at her, fascinated by her darling idiosyncrasies. "What
"I held my breath, squeezed my eyes shut really tight, and decided it
was stupid. For me, not for Ophelia."
"Oh," he said.
"I'm not the crazy little chica that could," said Jill.
She smiled and combed her slender fingers through his slicked back
dark hair. His eyes gazed at her sexy sleepy.
John memorized her smile. She was saved. She could never get dirty.