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Fic - Pyro - Some Kind of Boy 1

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  • Tara Ann
    I ve written these stories over the past couple of months. The John and Jill ones are my favorite and I don t know how many stories there will be; I m in the
    Message 1 of 1 , Jan 14, 2005
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      I've written these stories over the past couple of months. The John
      and Jill ones are my favorite and I don't know how many stories there
      will be; I'm in the middle of writing a new one. For now I'm posting
      the ones I have and I hope they go through all right.

      Title: John Pyro and The Vampire Slayer (Some Kind of Boy – story
      1)
      author: Tara Ann
      summary: John meets "rogue slayer" Faith. X2/Buffy/Angel/Tru
      Calling crossover – one doesn't need to know Faith to read the story.
      Rating/warning & pairing: NC-17 for brief sexual content. Pyro/Faith
      *Characters do not belong 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.



      John Allerdyce had made the choice and it seemed like the right one.
      Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters was supposed to be home to
      people like him, but it seemed like one giant restriction. Everyone
      around him seemed to fit into his or her mutant power, they could
      find the good in it, but he had trouble settling into his, unless it
      was for the strict purpose of trickster thrills. The ability to
      manipulate fire into any shape, any direction, his only exception was
      that he couldn't create it and he could get burned if he wasn't
      careful. He didn't really see what good his power could bring or to
      be more exact what good he could bring to the X-Men as a member of
      their team. There was only one real purpose for fire – to destroy.
      Destruction was the farthest thing from their tolerant agenda for
      mutant acceptance among mankind.
      When he had first seen Rogue Marie (it's what he sometimes called her
      instead of just Rogue) he thought she was beautiful and he believed
      there was something in her that became thrilled by tricks and kicks.
      It was in her smile, the brown flicker of her eyes, brown that
      matched his leather jacket, and her soft Southern accent. Her mutant
      power was the ability to absorb other mutants' powers and like his
      own power he didn't really see the traditional use for it. He
      sometimes wondered if she felt the same. Her limitations were by far
      the worst – her touch could turn you comatose and she wore long
      gloves for precaution. She couldn't touch, she couldn't kiss, it
      really kind of sucked, but he dreamed anyway.
      He had tried to impress her on numerous occasions, but she
      had fallen for Bobby Drake a.k.a Iceman. Fire and ice – in any other
      situation it would seem like the "normal" world's perfect publicity
      for some designer perfume, silly melodrama, or new reality show, but
      it was the world they lived in. For weeks John contemplated the idea
      that she would tire of Bobby's goody, Cyclops in the making, straight-
      boy persona, but she didn't. At least he could take solace in the
      fact that they weren't having sex.
      People like them. It was the one phrase he loathed and it
      was all he ever heard on both sides. Mutants were either "people
      like them" or "people like us." The X-Men believed in patience,
      tolerance, and pacifism, like Ghandi with a lot more edge, but John
      a.k.a Pyro (his real name) was tired of waiting and feeling second
      rate. So he deiced to join Magneto and Mystique a.k.a "The Bad
      Guys." No one was there to stop him, no one even noticed until it
      was too late.
      Magneto had told him he was "a god among insects." Professor
      Xavier had never said anything like that. John liked the way it
      sounded, like he was invincible. He had never truly been proud of
      his mutant power and he had never despised it; it was part of him and
      that was it, but for the one time in his life he felt like there was
      something to be proud of. As far as he was concerned non-mutants
      were asking for reasons to be afraid of mutants.
      With Magneto and Mystique, John had his own room and more
      freedom than he felt he had at Xavier's school. No one told him not
      to play with fire. Magneto was old, but he was wise, calm, and his
      plans were calculated to win. It was all very classical. Mystique
      was intriguing, intelligent, loyal, and sexually fascinating, though
      he pretended not to notice. It had been his decision, his choice, to
      live with them; they weren't keeping him there, but he liked it with
      them. Magneto saw the potential in his power; it was an amber gem
      waiting to be polished into greatness and unleashed on to those
      ignorant, stupid, and simply unfortunate to come across it.
      Sometimes John wondered if they missed him and he missed Wolverine,
      but for the first time in his life he felt like he belonged.

      xo

      John sat at the table in the coffee shop, flicking his
      favorite lighter and staring at the salt shake. With his dark hair
      slicked back and brown leather jacket he exuded dangerous cool.
      He told himself too many times to stop thinking about Rogue,
      but the white streaks in her hair burned into his eyes like the full
      moon. He had fantasies about her, of course, her satin-gloved hands
      touching him in places . . . and he always reached climax when she
      took them off. She had touched him once, his ankle, and truthfully
      it didn't feel so exhilarating, but it was a moment of force and in
      her eyes, needed violation. It freaked him out, but he got over it.
      He wondered if she got a rush from absorbing other mutants.
      "He now, could I get a light?"
      He closed the lighter and looked up. Standing by his table
      was a woman, twenty-two, with long brunette waves, brown horizontal
      tear-dropped eyes, and lush glossed lips. She was wicked hot in a
      red tank top and she was talking to him; she wanted something from
      him. He had once engaged in conversation with a hooker once for an
      entire hour, but he had been too drunk to remember f anything had
      happened with her. John smiled faintly, glanced at the onyx circle
      around her neck, and flicked the lighter open, clicked, the lonely
      flame glowing bright.
      She smiled and sad, "Can I bum a smoke?"
      "I don't smoke," he said.
      "Oh," she said. "I just assumed." Her eyes focused on the
      silver lighter with what looked like a shark mouth painted on it,
      reminiscent of a World War II plane. "Cool lighter."
      "Thanks," said John, the fire still burning.
      Then she sat down and he closed it.
      "I'm Faith," she said.
      "John."
      He noticed the healing scar on the left side of her neck. It
      was nasty looking, but he wasn't that squeamish.
      "Get in a fight?" he said.
      Faith frowned. "No, not this time. It was this bastard dog,
      bit me. Tricked me into petting it, sleeping with it, then it
      fucking bit me and I was clean out of Orpheus. It's evil, but it's
      not bringing me down. That's definitely not the way my candle's
      being blown out."
      Faith was hungry and horny; she had taken care of the food
      part – French Fries and chocolate milk shake, and even though she
      told herself she wouldn't have one night stands, anymore, or liaisons
      with complete strangers, she couldn't help herself and that familiar
      low down tingle. She may not have been the same girl twice, the girl
      she used to be, and she tried real hard to be the girl she was
      supposed to be, but really she was just her and some things didn't
      fade away.
      John stared at her and thought maybe she was slightly crazy or
      possibly drunk.
      "Guess you prefer cats."
      "Yeah, I guess I do now," she said, looking at the clean yet
      spicy muffin sitting in front of her; she could almost taste
      him. "What do you like?"
      "Me?" He shrugged. "There was this kitten once. It wasn't
      mine, but I pretended it was, named him Vinnie, orange and white."
      "What happened?"
      "He died. Some punk set him on fire."
      John hadn't thought about that kitten in so long and he
      hadn't told anyone about it, either. he didn't mean to set it on
      fire. His powers had started to emerge and he didn't know how to
      control them. The kitten had been the causality. He never went near
      any animals since then, not even goldfish.
      "I had a spotless white Dalmatian puppy named Xander, but I gave him
      to a friend," said Faith.
      "Not the same one who bit you?" John said.
      "Most definitely not."
      "You might have rabies," he said, then thought that must have
      been really stupid.
      "You going anywhere tonight?" said Faith. "Just for the
      record I only smoke when I'm feeling stressed. My hair is nicotine
      free."
      Her eyes sparkled like her lips and he realized he was being
      picked up. Did he have anywhere to go? It's not like he had a
      curfew to break; he had the entire night to do whatever he wanted and
      if this girl named Faith wanted to do something with him then he
      wouldn't say, "No."

      xo

      John sat on his bed holding the flame in his hand. That girl Faith
      felt like the fire he manipulated. Two days passed since the night
      he went home with her. He didn't call her; she didn't call him. He
      had only had sex with two other women before Faith, but neither of
      them had been a huge commitment – mostly just need, desire, and
      common interests. Faith was kind of different; he knew he wanted
      more. He didn't know her very well, but she was like living fire
      trapped in lushly sculpted flesh. There seemed to be something
      different about her. it didn't seem like she bruised or bled too
      easily.
      Mystique walked past his room and he barley flinched. She
      peered in, watching him stare into the flame with new untouched
      desire and she smiled. When she left he closed his hand over the
      flame, letting the fire sting his skin just a little bit. He closed
      his eyes. Mystique's body always made him shamelessly curious. He
      supposed technically she was naked in blue and scales, but he
      couldn't really find her parts and he tried not to stare too long in
      one place. Mystique and Magneto were close; he wondered if they were
      lovers. He wondered if she ever took someone else's form when she
      was with herself, maybe Wolverine, she liked him.
      John stood up and with his lighter in his jacket pocket he went to
      see Faith.
      The only thing he really knew about Faith was that she had
      one gambling brother named Harrison and she worked in the morgue.
      Being a mutant seemed much more appealing. John had no brothers or
      sisters, but he used to wish he had. He didn't have much of a
      family, either. His dad left him and his mom when he was eleven and
      every memory he had seemed to be fragmented or not a very good one.
      The first time his power revealed itself his mother was
      cooking dinner, grilled cheese, vegetable soup, and hot dogs, and
      somehow a fire started. She panicked and he couldn't find the fire
      extinguisher. He remembered just staring at the fire, waiting for it
      to become bigger until he wished it would go away. The fire seemed
      to leap off the stove and dishtowel, breaking through the window and
      disappearing into the street. His mother looked at him weird and
      suggested they get chicken from the Chinese restaurant down the
      street. Then she told him to be careful and not step in the glass.
      It was Professor Xavier, Jean Grey, and Storm, who found him
      and told him that he was a mutant. It was the one thing he blamed
      his father for. He hadn't really wanted to go to their school, but
      his mother believed it would be good for him even though she would
      miss him. "Don't turn my son into a freak," she told them before he
      left to learn more about his power. Six months later she died.
      There was a fire in the apartment building, but it was really the
      smoke that had killed her. Still, John believed had he been there he
      could have saved her. His mother's secret fear had been fire and he
      wondered if she let him go to the school because she was afraid of
      him. He had never asked her.
      Now he knew if you didn't ask questions you didn't find
      answers. He had always wanted to ask Rogue, "Why don't you `like'
      me?", but he didn't. He was going to ask Faith, though.
      There he was standing in her kitchen, her smiling at him. He
      wasn't going to be her stray kitten, her puppy, or whatever else she
      wanted him to be.
      "You think you're my boyfriend?" she said.
      "No," he said.
      "Are you looking for a girlfriend?"
      "I don't know," he said.
      He replayed the lack of intimacy between then when they had
      sex. One moment she was touching him, the next she was watching him
      put on the condom while he watched her get naked from the waist down,
      and right when she was going to penetrate herself on to him she
      decided she didn't want to be on top. She ripped the condom off
      him. Then he was on top, gently banging her into the couch for forty-
      four seconds. He didn't ask her if she came because he wouldn't
      really know what to do if she didn't except fuck her again after some
      down time. He also figured if she didn't she would tell him or laugh
      or do it herself. Suddenly she was telling him she'd been practicing
      on not kicking boys out after she got some, but that she thought it
      was best if he left. Two days later he realized he didn't want to.
      "Was I your first?" Faith said, searching his body for clues.
      "No," he said.
      "You're not blushing," she said. "Yeah, I didn't really have
      to steer you around the curves. You just seemed ready to crash.
      Here's the deal. You don't look like the pretty mutt type. I'm not
      the heart and flowers type of girl. I used to believe in, `Get some,
      get gone,' but I've changed my mind. I used to believe `all men are
      beasts,' but I've changed my mind. I used to believe in `Want.
      Take. Have,' and actually, my prerogative is pretty much the same on
      that one but with less violence, but I try not to break the law since
      I've already done that.
      "To be honest nothing makes me wet like a good, old-fashioned slay,
      yum, fight, I mean. I like kicking ass, I'm good at it, and though I
      haven't done much of it lately, I'm kind of reformed, it still gets
      me buzzing more than you'll believe."
      "Why are you telling me his? You like to get into fights?
      I'm not fighting you," said John.
      "Are you listening?"
      "Yeah."
      "You don't fight girls?"
      "I don't fight fair. Fair for me. Not so fair for you," he
      said.
      He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and started
      playing with his lighter.
      Faith leaned her elbow on the sink. "Do you have secrets, John,
      because I do."
      "What kind of secrets?"
      "These are my rules. One – I'm always on top. It's the way
      I like it. I say I slay."
      "You weren't when we-"
      "Shut up," she said. "Two – I don't give head, not even to the
      prettiest of pricks. Three – you better know how to manipulate my
      clit or I'll kick your ass raw. Lick it, rub it, suck it-"
      "You don't do oral but you expect to get oral?" said John.
      "Bingo baby, you don't like that?"
      He shrugged.
      "You never went down on a girl, have you?"
      "Why are you so condescending?" said John. "Why do you have
      so many stupid rules? It's just sex."
      "That's right. It's just sex, but it's gonna be super hot
      sex, understand? I've wasted too much time on sex that wasn't in the
      past."
      "You don't believe in love?" he said.
      Faith hesitated, hurt drowning in her brown glistening eyes.
      She licked her lips. "I do, but you don't love me and I don't love
      you."
      "I've never been in love," John said. "I have secrets, too.
      I'm not the hearts and flowers type of guy and I'm very dangerous."
      Faith's eyebrow raised in charmed disbelief. "Dangerous,
      huh? You look squeaky clean to me with a hint of something I'm not
      ready to trust."
      "Do you like fire?" he said.
      "Fire? It's my element," said Faith.
      He looked confused.
      "I have this gift and I'm fire. Nevermind," she said. "Are
      we gonna keep chit-chatting or are you gonna show me some tricks?"
      "You want to see tricks?" said John.
      He knew he should be cautious around non-mutants, but he took
      his lighter out of his jacket pocket and within seconds he cradled
      the flame in his hand.
      "Are you a witch?" Faith said.
      "No, I'm a mutant," he said, slightly irritated, maybe even
      insulted.
      "I heard about you guys," she said.
      "'Guys?'"
      "You make fire?"
      "I manipulate fire," he said.
      Faith stared at the flame. "Fire is kind of pretty when you
      look at it."
      He looked at her and wanted to tell her he thought she was
      pretty, but it sounded too cornball.
      She folded her arms across her chest. "How do you manipulate
      fire?"
      "I just do," he said. "Concentration, meditation, I can make
      it go where I want it to go, do what I want it to do. Control the
      size of the flame."
      "So it's a control thing?" she said, nodding. "I hear you."
      The flame glided from his hand towards her in a gentle wave,
      then stopped in front of her.
      "You get burned?"
      "I could," he said, "but I don't."
      "Make it do something else," said Faith.
      "Like what?"
      "Make a heart."
      He looked at her funny and she glared at him, but the fire heart
      formed before her.
      "I like it," said Faith, "and if you ever tell anyone I
      wanted you to make a heart I'll break your fingers."
      The fire heart floated towards him and he caught it and it
      was gone.
      "If you ever tell anyone I made a heart I'll burn your house
      down." He smiled.
      "So you could be a firefighter," said Faith.
      "I guess," he said, "but I'm not going to."
      "Well fire boy, you've impressed me. I'm not gonna lie to
      you, it's pretty cool."
      "Pyro," said John. "It's my real name."
      "Your real name? I'm Faith the Vampire Slayer." She didn't
      let him question her. "Vampires, demons, icky creeper things,
      they're real, I kill them. I'm The Chosen One, though, there are
      quite a few of us these days. I also relive days so I can stop
      people from dying, but that's a different story I'm currently in the
      process of working through."
      John paused, uncertain whether she was playing with him or
      telling the truth.
      "So I guess a vampire bit you," he said.
      She touched the wound in her neck, uncomfortable by the
      thought.
      "Let's not talk about that," she said.
      "What about werewolves? Do you kill them?"
      "Depends," she said, thinking of her past boyfriend Oz. He
      was a werewolf, they broke up, but she had loved him and he had loved
      her, still did love her. "Do you hurt people? I used to. It felt
      good and empty all in one punch."
      "I only hurt those who deserve it," said John.
      "People who don't understand. People who don't like you.
      People you're jealous of in the tiniest way. People who try to help
      you. Even those people don't understand," said Faith. "You start to
      sink, get stuck, then climb you way out of the grave you kicked
      yourself into. What's it all about, John?"
      "Power and acceptance," he said.
      "Maybe even dominance?" she said. "Try not to drown in the
      lust of the kill."
      "I'm not drowning," he said. "And I'm not a killer. You
      don't know me. You don't know what it's like to have people hate you
      for something that's not even your fault."
      "You're right, I don't, but I now what it's like to have
      people hate you for everything that is your fault. I'm just saying
      you don't need to become the bad guy. I used to be the bad guy."
      "Maybe the bad guy isn't that `bad,'" John said. "What makes
      you think I'm going to become the bad guy? What happened to you?"
      "It's those eyes, sometimes blank, sometimes more alive than
      ever. I'm a reformed bad girl, but I still like to play with fire,"
      she said. "Some choices have consequences."
      "Maybe you just made the wrong choice. Maybe you didn't
      belong."
      "I did belong, I just didn't realize it," she said. "That
      and I don't like to take orders, I like to give them."
      "I kind of noticed that," he said, his dark eyes
      gleaming. "Power is a beautiful thing to possess."
      She winked at him and said, "Starburst central. Now get over
      here, I want you on your knees."
      "I don't have to listen to you," he said, flicking his
      lighter.
      "No, but you want to," Faith said. "I'm super human, you're
      not. Don't make me twist your arm unless you're into pain."
      Faith couldn't believe she was talking so much; she wanted to rip his
      clothes off, leave scratches on his skin, and she was still making
      conversation. Had she reformed that much? He seemed to be a good
      listener, but he was a guy; he was most likely bored.
      She smiled. "Get over here now."
      "Are you my girlfriend?" he said; the opening and closing of
      the lighter was a constant with him. Faith decided it was sexy, but
      she didn't tell him she thought so.
      "I guess that depends on if you want to be my boyfriend," she
      said, tilting her head slightly to the side. "Unless you're scared."
      "Of you?"
      "I suppose you're gonna tell me you're not a slut, just
      remember either am I," Faith said.
      "I know. I wasn't thinking you were," he said.
      "You said you don't play fair, niether do I," said Faith.
      John walked towards her, slipping his lighter into his jacket
      pocket. Faith noticed him lick his lips with the subtlest movement.
      Then he kissed her.
      "I like your jacket," she whispered, tightly grabbing the
      brown leather.
      When The Mayor had been alive he had given her plenty of
      possessions, one of them being a really great black leather jacket.
      She no longer had the jacket, but she did have the truly wicked knife
      he had given her; she had reclaimed it when she returned to Sunnydale
      for the final battle. Now she kept it in the cabinet over the sink.
      It reminded her of her wild bad girl days.
      John didn't know her favorite color was blue when she was little, but
      now she liked black. He didn't know she loved strawberry Twizzlers.
      He didn't know she listened to the Beastie Boys and Harvey Danger.
      He didn't know about her crazy "want, take, have" crush on E.T. kid
      Henry Thomas, or that once involved with her he'd be forced to view
      the movie, her favorite movie, more than several times. He didn't
      know she was raped by a vampire when she was fifteen or that she
      witnessed her Watcher get murdered or that she recently lost another
      Watcher or that she was a murderer herself and had literally jumped
      free from prison for more hands on redemption and soul rescuing or
      that she was in love with a self-righteous hypocrite, but didn't see
      the truth, her one fatal weakness.
      Faith didn't know his twists and turns either so they were
      even; neither one of them seemed eager to confess in immaculate
      details.
      His kiss was intimate and sweet, but she didn't want to trust
      it, not yet. Faith unbuckled her jeans and pushed him to his knees.
      "Don't put your fingers where I don't want them, unless I
      tell you to," said Faith.
      She thought about Darla's son Connor, and how he had
      surprised her with tongue tricks and intricate finger play. The boy,
      very much like his mother, was unpredictable. Faith had her own
      tricks involving very personal muscles; it was one of the precious
      perks of being a slayer. She couldn't wait until she pulled them on
      John; she was hungry and he was outside her usual circle of freakshow
      fucks. Faith supposed she was kind of a mutant herself, every slayer
      was, though the origin of the slayer was demon descended, but she and
      John lived in separate worlds. It was kind f refreshing, but they
      still shared the fire.
      "Are you going to kick me out after this?" he said, looking
      up at her.
      "I promise I'll try not to," said Faith.

      xo

      John didn't fuck the way he kissed. When he kissed her there
      was something soft and quiet and deep. When they had sex he became
      more instinctual, he either held back or he let go, depending on his
      mood. Slow or fast, they were connecting on an untouched level of
      understanding. It was skin sharing and if he wanted something more
      he didn't say so and either did she. Faith often found herself on
      the bottom, but in just as much control as he was, and when she did
      call top she noticed he seemed more relaxed and less anxious, more
      connected to himself, more comfortable. For some reason they seemed
      to settle on the "from behind" position which ticked her five by five
      and gave him the illusion of power. Maybe she was tired of playing
      predator and John was learning to become one and like it. Faith
      liked it, too.
      They did things like "normal" couples – watch movies, throw
      popcorn at each other, go clubbing (without working the damage
      factor), go to restaurants, they even went to the zoo, but they
      didn't share the details of their daily life happenings – it wasn't
      important. Faith didn't mention him to her friends in lavish detail
      and she knew he didn't mention her to his friends in lavish detail.
      They didn't even meet each other's social alliances. When she woke
      up on Tuesday morning she decided her new boyfriend was more like a
      lover and what she really wanted was a boyfriend. She didn't even
      know where he lived or what he did when they weren't together.
      She looked at her Buttercup clock and read 7:32 A.M. Davis,
      her boss, had insisted on her taking the day off so she had the whole
      day ahead of her and nothing to do. She glanced at John and touched
      his bare shoulder. Then she reached over him and took his lighter
      from the night table. Faith tripped it on and watched the flame
      glow. Suddenly the flame spiraled upwards and John snatched the
      lighter from her.
      "Don't touch that," he said.
      "Possessive, aren't you?" she said. She stared up at the
      fire still twirling and smiled when it spelled out her name.
      "I was bored," he said. The fire disappeared and John picked
      up the stuffed TY purple platypus super beanie baby. Faith grabbed
      it from him and hugged it.
      "Don't touch Purple Platty," she said. The stuffed toy had
      been a gift from The Mayor and she still treasured it. Instead she
      picked the little black penguin, Badtz Maru, off the floor and threw
      it at him. "Here, hold this one."
      He looked at it and said, "It looks like you. You have the
      same pout."
      "Can you make fireworks?" Faith said.
      "I never tried. It's not like I sit around and play with
      fire all day," he said.
      "What do you play with?"
      "I don't play."
      "Liar, liar, pants on fire," said Faith, leaning forward to
      catch his handsome devil smile with a kiss, her long brunette waves
      tickling his shoulder. "I used to have this nickname, `Little
      Firecracker.' Maybe it's time to bring it back into commission."
      "Little Miss Firecracker," said John.
      Faith punched Badtz Maru across the room.
      "Do you know how to make love?"
      John looked into her eyes and said, "Do you?"
      She couldn't think of a spicy comeback and decided to go the
      serious route. "Snap, crackle, pop. You're lucky I didn't strangle
      you. Sometimes I forget. Sometimes I choose not to. You wanna try
      it?"
      John nodded. "I didn't know if you wanted it that way with
      the guidelines you shoved down my pants."
      "Those `guidelines' are for protection," said Faith. "My
      protection."
      "The number I gave you, you can't use it, anymore."
      "Why not?"
      "I wasn't supposed to give it out. I kind of got in
      trouble," said John.
      "Wait, are you breaking up with me?" Faith said.
      John looked confused. "No." He stared at the burning flame
      he ignited. "I really think . . . you're cool."
      "I wanna meet your friends. I want you to meet my friends.
      I told them you were the good boy with the bad edge bordering on the
      bad boy with secret good intentions."
      "I thought you wanted to make love," he said. "I'd rather do
      that."
      "I'm taking a trip to Las Vegas, half business, half kicks,
      with some of my friends, I want you to come with me."
      "I don't know if I can," said John. "I like to play cards,
      but I don't really have any money. Do you really want to meet my
      friends?"
      "Hi def," said Faith.
      John looked at her and thought about his friends at
      Xavier's. They had been friends, hadn't they? They were
      just "people like him," but Faith's request gave him a reason to go
      back. Maybe they could give him a reason to stay. Maybe he was
      looking for a reason, maybe he wasn't and liked where he was for now.
      "I have one question," said John. "You really don't give
      blowjobs?"
      "Shame on you," she said, pinching his shoulder. Then she
      kissed his cheek. "I really don't."
      John knew he wasn't in love with Faith, but he knew he could
      be and he knew he was starting to feel close to her. He saw the
      black tribal tattoo on her upper right arm in his dreams.
      He flicked the flame once, then closed the lighter, and slid
      it under the pillow.
      "Let's do it," he said.
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