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Fic - Pyro - Some Kind of Boy 15

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  • Tara Ann
    Title: The Rape of Young John Allerdyce (Some Kind of Boy – story 15) author: Tara Ann summary: Mystique plays with John and he doesn t like it. X2
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 14, 2005
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      Title: The Rape of Young John Allerdyce (Some Kind of Boy – story
      15)
      author: Tara Ann
      summary: Mystique plays with John and he doesn't like it. X2
      Rating/warning & pairing: NC-17 for sexual content. Pyro/Mystique,
      Pyro/Jill
      *Characters do not belong to me except for Jill – she is mine and
      looks like Claire Danes.
      *Lyrics taken from the song "Packin' .25" by Porno for Pyros.
      ** 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.



      no one there to serve you
      why not be the hero?
      why not be your own?*



      She had told herself, decided, that she would never touch him, but
      she changed her mind. He was young, beautiful, and made it so easy.
      It would be fun – for her.
      The clock read eleven and Jill smiled into John Allerdyce's
      morning sleepy eyes. He didn't feel like getting out of bed and he
      didn't protest when she pulled his navy blue pajama pants off his
      hips and took him in her mouth.
      Everything was perfect until he looked down and watched her dirty
      blonde cascading hair glide into white streaked brunette.
      He sighed "fuck" within one soft murmur and rubbed his cheek.
      Rogue looked up at him, her brown eyes familiar and misplaced.
      "I'm not gonna hurt you, John," she said, her southern accent
      faint.
      For one single moment he wanted to believe she was real, but
      he didn't like cruel games – not the kind that could really hurt and
      not the kind that could hurt him.
      "Where's Jill?" He tried to shrug Rogue off him, but she
      didn't move.
      "She's not here."
      "What did you do to her?"
      "Nothing sugar-pie."
      "No," he said. "If you wanted to suck my dick all you had to
      do was ask."
      He smiled, his face smooth, his dark eyes sleek.
      "Now get the fuck off me."
      "Why?"
      Rogue looked at him, her eyes full of tender hurt.
      "I mean it Raven," John said. "Now I know why Logan hates
      you so much."
      Her eyes flashed yellow with the mention of Wolverine's
      name. Then she started to lick him. He was going to push her off,
      but the vision of white streaks and brunette tickling over his thighs
      rekindled forgotten fantasies. To say Mystique was skilled was an
      understatement. Her tongue touched him every right way in every
      right spot and she even invented new ways. John was in love with
      someone, but during these delicate moments he could only feel the
      extreme of unintentional ecstasy.
      His breathing was too much, even for him, and when he came
      Mystique's true form revealed itself; she spit his cum on to his
      thigh. His eyelashes were pretty and the soft edges of his cheeks
      flickered pink. John licked his lips and Mystique decided he had the
      perfect mouth, lips lush and pouty; his prized potential may have
      been his sublime manipulation of fire, but she could think of other
      things worth training him for. She smiled to herself.
      "Young Pyro," she said. "Erik may like you, but you're just
      a valuable resource. I think you're trouble in the making.
      "Then there's your little non-mutant girlfriend. How did you manage
      to tangle yourself up with something like her? Why do you keep
      fooling yourself?"
      John opened his eyes; he didn't like people telling him how
      to feel and what to do.
      "You're just lonely," he said.
      He gasped silently when Mystique held the tip of his penis
      between her teeth, her yellow eyes glowing and glaring, and she shook
      her dark blue index finger at him. Her red slicked back hair seemed
      as sleekly poisoned as her eyes and wicked smile.
      John groaned, distressed, and didn't dare to move.
      His eyes dulled and he said, "Don't touch me."
      He didn't like feeling uncomfortable and her teeth pressed
      hard against him. Then she let go, slapped his cheek, and laughed in
      his face.
      The single slap was something he would forever resent her
      for; it reminded him too much of when his father hit him right before
      he left him and his mother. There was no metal colliding into his
      cheek, but there was something else . . .
      The sting on his cheek lingered; the struggle was quick and
      unexpected. He wanted to slap her, punch her in her dark blue mouth,
      but he restrained himself. Somehow she managed to get him on his
      stomach, twisting his arm too deeply. When he reached for his shark-
      mouthed lighter she bruised his hand and it dropped to the floor.
      "No nasty little tricks," she said.
      "Get the fuck off me!"
      She was still laughing. "You're so very precious to us, but
      you need to learn where you belong."
      He refused to stay still and he felt her rub what he guessed
      was his own cum on and around his anus. John didn't see her change,
      but he felt her thrust into him. He grunted and winced and she
      grabbed at his tee shirt, his arm still twisted behind him and his
      other hand in her grip, until finally he ceased to fight her and just
      let her fuck him.
      John Allerdyce had some muscle, but it was eye candy compared
      to Mystique's undeniable strength and combat technique. Maybe if he
      had bothered to really try to learn how to fight with his fists
      instead of just fire he could have won her over. He supposed it was
      never too late to return to The Danger Room . . .
      When she came and he glanced towards her he was looking into
      himself.
      "I didn't make you bleed," she said, but it was his casual, nothing-
      ever-hurts-me voice he heard.
      His dark eyes burned at her, glistening like razors.
      Mystique returned to her own shape and said, "That's what I like to
      see. We thought we were losing you."
      She reached out to touch his cheek, but he turned his face
      from her. John closed his eyes and waited for her to leave. The
      only thing he could see was himself. The burning inside him was
      deceivingly numb and resentment stirred in eternal embers.

      xo

      Jill kissed his cheek and rubbed his shoulder. He realized
      he had fallen asleep; he was relieved to see her.
      "Where were you?" he said, maybe even blaming her for what
      had just recently happened.
      "I met my sister for breakfast," she said. She started
      fingering his hair. "She's always trying to make me model. I burned
      my wedding dress. I took the veil. They can't make me get married.
      You're snuggled sweetly."
      Her lips brushed against his arm and he shrugged.
      "My pretty Pyro," she said. "Did you miss me?"
      "Yes."
      She thought she sensed slight flatness in his voice. Then
      she noticed his lighter on the floor and picked it up.
      "You must have been twisting in your sleep," she said. He
      snatched it from her and held it tightly. Sudden bitterness flashed
      within his solemnly smooth cheeks.
      He flicked it on and Jill blew out the flame with a tiny
      smile. It was something simple she had done many times before and it
      always made him smile, but this time he didn't smile.
      "John, what's wrong?"
      "Wrong? Everything. Nothing is ever going to be right."
      He was getting ready to go to college, he had Jill, and
      everything was still uncertain in his mind and body. He didn't want
      to be part of the X-Men, yet he felt pulled between them and
      Magneto. He believed if he could just kind of ignore the both of
      them for a little while longer he could have some kind of normal life.
      When John looked at her he noticed her eyelids were smoked
      with black eye shadow; he wasn't certain if he liked it. He didn't
      want her to be dark, not even in tiny innocent ways.
      Jill lifted up the blankets and snuggled in close beside him,
      her arms wrapped around him.
      "I got you and I'm never going to let go," she said.
      He never realized how warm he felt when she held him; he was
      as soft and warm to her as she was to him. Jill kissed his neck and
      her presence behind him was the best thing he could feel.
      "You always smell like coconut. In tiny kitten bites. Sometimes I
      imagine what it's like to be you. Do you ever imagine what it's like
      to be someone else?"
      Maybe Bobby, he thought. Or Logan. Even Rogue.
      "Why do you imagine being me?"
      "I want your devil handsome confidence and casual sexuality," she
      said.
      "It's not real."
      "Yes it is. You wouldn't be able to project it so well if you didn't
      believe in it. You wanna go get some Chinese food?"
      "I thought you just ate breakfast," he said.
      "I'm still hungry."
      "Okay. I guess it's real sometimes. Only sometimes." He untangled
      himself from her embrace and sat up. He pulled off his shirt and she
      watched him get dressed, her fingers fiddling with the loose strand
      in the blanket.
      "I know that, too. When I was a little girl I had this stuffed toy
      froggy, he had these unmistakable pouty lips and my sister told me if
      I kissed him enough he would turn into some kind of prince. I never
      wanted to kiss him."
      "I wish I was never the same boy twice," said John.
      "I wish I had him. My sister keeps him. She used to say I was the
      only living girl in New York."
      "What does she say now?"
      "She says I'm pretty as a picture," said Jill.
      He looked at her and thought she was beautiful, quirky crazy and
      gracefully offbeat.
      "John, what would you do if I was pregnant?"
      He glanced at his reflection in the mirror and zipped up his pants.
      "I would go with you when you got the abortion."
      Jill couldn't think of what to say; she watched him and observed how
      he avoided looking at her. Every sigh she could have sang was dead.
      "Oh," she said, her voice soft.
      "You're not pregnant, are you?"
      She sat up and said, "No."
      The soft edges of his face seemed hollow, but his eyes were glazed
      with something undefined, something she hadn't seen before, something
      she didn't want to memorize.
      "I guess I wouldn't want to have a filthy little mutie baby."
      John stared down at the button in his shirt and though he knew she
      was trying to bite him with falseness, her voice echoing such a
      similar thought in his own mind penetrated the protective layers of
      his sensitivity.
      "It would be the best thing for you," he said.
      She watched him closely, his eyes still not looking for her, and the
      sullen wounds she had opened within him made her endlessly sad. Jill
      didn't think she had ever seen him look so openly hurt and she didn't
      want it to be because of her.
      He sat on the edge of the bed and she went to him, squeezing his
      shoulders.
      "If I ever got pregnant I would want to keep it," she said.
      John was silent; it was something he would want her to do – keep it –
      he just didn't believe it was possible.
      "Why?"
      "I love you," she said. "In ways that aren't fair to me and to you."
      He turned to her, his dark eyes kind, their glaze hiding unnecessary
      compromises.
      "I promise I would never do that to you."
      "Get me pregnant?"
      "Make you choose."
      "If I burn myself it's going to be because I want to," Jill
      said. "Something seems different."
      "With me?" said John.
      "You just seemed kind of pissed and I know I didn't do anything
      wrong. Maybe you're angry with too many people and they're sneaking
      up on you."
      "Like those two dildos in the food court," he said and laughed with
      the thought of them.
      "Real loathing is a waste if time," said Jill, "especially towards
      yourself. You miss everything you're looking for."
      "Do you think I'm weak?"
      She looked at him and didn't hesitate. "No."
      "Do you think I would ever hurt you?" His dark gaze was steady and
      deep, her answer to his question maybe the most defining moment in
      their relationship.
      "You're my pretty Pyro," said Jill with a small smile. "My very
      dangerous Pyro. If ever you did hurt me I know I wouldn't have
      deserved it and I know you would wish you had never done it."
      He leaned against the dresser and said, "I thought you weren't scared
      of me."
      "I'm not," said Jill. "I know that I could be and I know that you
      don't want that and I don't want to be . . ."
      "Now?"
      Jill shook her head. "No. I think more than anything I'm sick with
      what you seem to believe is so inevitable . . . I'm scared of not
      being with you and I'm scared of no longer being able to understand
      you."
      "Maybe we could play pool tonight," he said.
      "Maybe."
      His mother had liked to play pool, but she had liked the movies
      more. When he sat in the dark theater with her, with his parents, or
      by himself he had always imagined what it would be like to never move
      from his seat and just continue to watch the flickering images in the
      darkness. His mother loved the images on the screen and he enjoyed
      them, but he had always wanted to touch them.
      He decided he'd let himself burn before he let his little match girl
      burn herself to death. His confidence and insecurities were vivid to
      himself. How many other people knew they existed? He hated feeling
      vulnerable; he wished he could hide his own feelings from himself and
      maintain every pretense he could design for himself and for others,
      except he could no longer deny what was real and he didn't really
      want to. John stroked Jill's ankle through her pale peach thigh-high
      stockings. He looked into her blue hazel eyes and kissed the scar on
      her chin.
      "I meant what I told you," Jill said. "You can think whatever you
      want to think and do whatever you want to do, but I am never going to
      let you go, John Allerdyce."
      He smiled faintly. "I don't really want you to."
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