Loading ...
Sorry, an error occurred while loading the content.

Fic - Pyro - Some Kind of Boy 19

Expand Messages
  • Tara Ann
    Title: Kung Fu Alice or Not The Real Bad Guy (Some Kind of Boy – story 19) author: Tara Ann summary: John and Jill continue when the baby is gone . . .
    Message 1 of 1 , Feb 15, 2005
    • 0 Attachment
      Title: Kung Fu Alice or Not The Real Bad Guy (Some Kind of Boy –
      story 19)
      author: Tara Ann
      summary: John and Jill continue when the baby is gone . . .
      Rating/warning & pairing: PG-13. Pyro/Jill
      *Characters do not belong to me except for Jill – she is mine and
      looks like Claire Danes.
      *Lyrics from "Spitfire" and varied from "Phoenix" by Prodigy; the
      second part is mine.
      ** 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.



      fire
      `cause you know that I can
      won't you believe me when I tell you you're the queen of my heart
      can't you heal my love burns?*

      give me your intangible cruelty
      I'll lick it like the wounds in your heart
      relentless and unhealing like hope



      The terror of his fire spread like some kind of disease.
      When he watched her she seemed different, dulled and rejuvenated with
      something he couldn't touch or find. He knew its origin and she
      pretended it never existed. It was easier for her to smile and laugh
      when she didn't remember. When he fucked her it was like he was
      trying to put it back inside her and maybe he even believed he could
      make her remember something different.
      The more people he killed the more he didn't feel the flame
      of conscience. John Allerdyce could control the fire and it was what
      he did; sometimes he still enjoyed it, sometimes it was the only
      thing left for him to do. He no longer smelled the smoke or tasted
      the ashes. The toys he used got bigger and the burning became
      deeper; he still kept his shark-mouthed lighter in his pocket, close
      to him. He had never felt more confident and the only thing he
      regretted was the pain Jill refused to share with him.
      Their bondage games began to reflect their separate and
      joined darkness without determined cruelty. Sometimes he could find
      those tiny happy quiet moments they used to know; they always lasted
      longer than he thought they would and he was truly thankful. They
      used the unspoken strength to survive and Jill never knew it hurt him
      more than it hurt her. The crying and screaming was forgotten and
      there was just them. The ghost of baby Mina Molly was buried beneath
      skin. She was no longer the most uncomfortable silence between them;
      the tears had withered like thorns on the branches of the black olive
      tree.
      She had told him only once that if she ever had a baby it
      wouldn't be with him and she would name the child Molly in its second
      life.
      Now she lay on her back in her simple beige bra and skirt,
      her arm hanging over the bed, allowing the marmalade kitten, Blazie,
      to bite her slender fingers.
      "She bites so hard with such tiny teeth," Jill said, her blue-
      hazel eyes smoked in coppery shadow.
      Like you, he thought. The bite of the sunflower.
      John stood in front of the mirror, staring at her reflection. When
      he turned he saw the upside down burgundy cross-tattooed on her
      ankle; it looked like it was burning into her delicate white skin.
      The earth tones of her cotton bra made him realize what she
      really was to him. He was fire; she was earth, maybe even his earth.
      "This little light of mine," sang Jill. "I'm gonna let it
      shine . . . this little light of mine . . ."
      John rarely heard her sing; he liked to listen to her voice. He
      turned to the mirror and put on his long dark gray leather coat.
      "You look fierce," she said. "Too handsome for my heart."
      "Yeah," John said, his lips pouting pale with indifferent
      discontentment.
      Lying on her side she reached her hand out towards him.
      "You tell the fire what to do and it listens to you."
      She was right – the fire was the only real thing he trusted
      and depended on; its warmth was constant. When he looked into her
      blue hazel eyes he knew her warmth towards him was constant like the
      fire. She had the greatest reason in the world to give up on him,
      but she was still his favorite breathing voice.
      He talked into the mirror. "Why did you do it if you really
      wanted it?"
      Her gaze and pose was nonchalant, something he had never
      witnessed in her personality before; he wondered if it had always
      been there and if he was noticing it for the first time. She looked
      like one of those jaded supermodels and he didn't like it.
      "I really wanted you," she said. "It was just a baby.
      People have babies everyday." Jill lowered her eyes and he knew she
      wasn't completely gone. "Maybe I was scared that you were right. I
      know you really wanted it, just like me . . . you didn't tell me to
      keep it."
      His hair was slicked back like razors, sleek and dark like
      his beautiful eyes.
      "The flame isn't the only thing you feel," said
      Jill. "Should I come out with you tonight?"
      He glanced over his shoulder. "Yeah, we can do something
      later."
      "The Hollow. They have `rooms' in that place. Very deep,
      very dark, very private . . . I made the appointment on my own so the
      guilt would hurt you less." Jill sat up and placed her hand over her
      womb. "She's gone. There's nothing there. I felt like my womb was
      pulled inside out and sometimes I still feel it now."
      John watched her in the mirror, his face soft and silent.
      When she stood up she rested her scarred chin on his shoulder,
      staring at their reflection together.
      "I know your penis has feelings for me. Do you want to fuck
      me?"
      "Yeah, I do," he said.
      "I'm your chick. It's not so easy to get rid of me."
      He turned and kissed her, his fingertips gentle on her shoulders,
      lips, and womb . . .
      "Why are you touching me?" she said. "My voodoo heart isn't
      broken. I'm immune to the poison."
      "I'm not the bad guy," said John Allerdyce, kissing the scar on her
      chin. "Do you want to fuck me?"
      Jill nodded. "Yeah, I do." She took his hand and he wouldn't let
      go; he didn't want to let her go. He needed to see her, to hear her,
      to feel her.
      He followed her to the bed and she said, "Flesh burns don't hurt.
      Will I be seeing you on television?"
      John shook his head and leaning over her he said, "If you get
      pregnant again you can keep it."
      The soft edges of his face were more visible than ever and his voice
      was sad and kind.
      "My wicked John," she said. "You make the mean things sound so
      sweet. It's still the meanest thing you've ever told me."
      Jill kissed him and pushed him away. "Go now. You have too many
      things to do. If you don't do them no one else will and then where
      will we be?"
      "Dominic and I will be going to Paris for a few days."
      "I'm going with you."
      "Fine."
      "When you come home we'll drink vodka and pineapple," she
      said. "I'll try not to cry."
      John said, "I've been told I only cry in my sleep."
    Your message has been successfully submitted and would be delivered to recipients shortly.