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FIC: Having Writ, Moves On

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  • Mo
    This was written for the livejournal xmmmficathon. It s a one-shot, post-X2. Characters: Pyro, Magneto, Mystique Rating: Adult, for discussion of disturbing
    Message 1 of 1 , Jul 1, 2005
      This was written for the livejournal xmmmficathon.
      It's a one-shot, post-X2.

      Characters: Pyro, Magneto, Mystique

      Rating: Adult, for discussion of disturbing real-life
      historical events, brief descriptions of sexual
      activity, and swearing

      Story Request: What happened to Pyro after he left
      with Mystique and Magneto? Does he ever think of what
      he left behind?

      Having Writ, Moves On

      Being a bad guy isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. That
      was the main thing Pyro had concluded, six months into
      his membership in the Brotherhood. He did what Magneto
      told him to do and he thought he was pretty good at
      it, but he wasn’t sure he’d made the right choice. He
      wasn’t so sure he was better off as Pyro than he’d
      been as Johnny.

      He wasn’t sure why he’d gone out and done it, either.
      Maybe he was trying to convince himself he really was
      Pyro. Or maybe he was just bored.

      Sometimes it was messy work, taking over the world.
      Sometimes you got hurt doing what you got told to do.
      Lots of times you hurt other people, because that’s
      what you got told to do. If you fucked up and
      disappointed Magneto, you were the one who got hurt
      after you got back. He knew how to hurt. You can hurt
      people lots of ways with metal.

      Pyro didn’t mind messes and he didn’t mind cruelty. He
      didn’t even mind getting hurt himself, not so much
      anyway. You spend your life playing with fire and you
      get used to pain. What he hated was the godawful
      boredom. And there was a lot more of that than
      anything else.

      There were days stretching into weeks when Magneto was
      doing whatever it was Magneto did when he locked
      himself up alone. No one saw him but Mystique those
      times. The rest of them would wait around hoping for
      something to do – intelligence to gather, a crime to
      commit, something. If Mystique came out of the boss’s
      room and left the door open, well then they’d know it
      was time to go in and get their assignments. If she
      closed the door, that meant the waiting – and the
      boredom – would continue.

      Pyro sometimes wondered exactly what was going on in
      there when she’d disappear into the boss’s room for
      hours. Wondered with his hand on his dick more often
      than not. He wasn’t just guessing, either. He wouldn’t
      have even thought of him doing it with her, an old man
      like that, not on his own.

      He knew because when Magneto didn’t call for Mystique,
      she made do with Pyro. Yeah, made do. He knew that’s
      what it was to her, because that’s what she’d told him
      the first time. “The boss doesn’t need me now. You’ll
      do.” And then taken him by the hand and led him into
      an empty bedroom.

      It was a little disconcerting when she changed shape
      while they were doing it, particularly that first time
      when she turned into Bobby while she was sucking his
      cock. “Do you really think I want Bobby to blow me?”
      he’d said, afterwards.

      “It didn’t stop you, did it? You like thinking about
      doing it with a guy sometimes?”

      “A mouth is a mouth and a cock is a cock.” He
      shrugged, affecting indifference. “You like being a
      guy sometimes?”

      He felt more confused by the Mystique/Bobby
      transformation than he’d let on. She was right, it
      hadn’t stopped him. If anything it had made his cock
      harder, made him want to push into her/his mouth
      deeper. That didn’t mean he’d want Bobby to do that,
      he told himself. Still, it was kind of exciting, just
      knowing she was really Mystique but she could be
      anybody. If Pyro was boss instead of Magneto, she’d
      change into what he wanted, he bet. So, then he’d
      think about who he’d want her to be, which would lead
      him to wonder who Magneto wanted her to be.

      “Who does he make you become?” he asked her, but she’d
      never tell him.

      “Ask him,” she’d say, confident that Pyro didn’t have
      the guts. Speculating about who she was when she was
      in Magneto’s bed helped pass some time. Not enough.

      When he abandoned Xavier’s mutant salvation army to
      follow Magneto, he’d counted on being part of a grand
      plan, and living in grand surroundings to match.
      Somewhere befitting the gods Magneto had said they
      were. Mystique had told him that their lair was a
      fortress, a palace. Only what did she know, or
      Magneto. He’d been in prison and she’d been
      impersonating a dead man in the Senate. The fortress
      had been discovered and destroyed while they weren’t

      So they moved from place to place, some better than
      others. Some more private than others. Magneto always
      had his own room, but the rest of them usually had to
      share. It was like being back at Xavier’s, back in the
      dorms. Only his roommate was seven feet tall and hairy
      as an animal. And snored. And didn’t even bother to
      wash the blood off of his claws and his fur when he
      got back from one of Magneto’s assignments.

      Pyro kept occupied sometimes by playing with his
      powers a bit. That is, he did if they were somewhere
      nobody could see him, somewhere he could burn stuff
      without anyone knowing. He was working on ways to
      control it better, ways to go for slow burns and giant
      conflagrations and all the different flames and heat
      in between. That kept him going for a while. Only they
      never stayed anywhere long enough for him to really
      have the time he needed. And then most of the places
      they ended up were not the kind of spot where you
      could burn things without people noticing. They were
      the kind of places where you had to be inconspicuous
      and stay hidden. That’s why they call them hideouts,
      he thought wryly. But if he couldn’t play with – no,
      work at – being Pyro, there really was nothing to do.
      And that’s when he started thinking he might as well
      have just stayed Johnny.

      It was during one of those really long stretches of
      nothing to do that he did it. Really, just for
      something to do. He’d gone out looking for something.
      Looking for trouble, maybe, but not too much trouble.
      And then he’d thought of doing it, and thought why
      not? So he’d gone ahead. It hurt more than he’d
      thought it would, but he didn’t mind pain. It looked
      great. But he hadn’t told any of them, hadn’t shown
      any of them. And then Magneto had come out of his room
      and said he had a job for them all to do. So, the
      boredom had been over for a while again. Most of the
      time, Pyro almost forgot what he’d done. He looked at
      it in the shower, though. And touched it at night just
      before he went to sleep and again first thing when he
      got up. But none of them knew.

      Well, not until the next time Mystique ended up in his
      bed. She’d looked at his arm and said, “When did you
      get that?”

      He shrugged. “I guess since the last time I fucked
      you. Do you like it?”

      It was his name. Pyro, tattooed in orange and red
      flames. On his upper arm.

      “Yeah,” she’d said, “Mystique” appearing on her own
      arm in the same style. In green. “Just don’t let the
      boss see it.” Fear flashed briefly in those glowing
      eyes. That’s what happened sometimes when she talked
      about Magneto. The letters disappeared from her arm.

      “Why not?”

      “He doesn’t like tattoos.”

      But of course that made him want to show it to
      Magneto. He hadn’t shown any of them before because he
      wanted it to be his secret for a while. Now that had
      all changed. He wore it like a badge of honor,
      displaying it all the time – wearing wife-beaters or
      rolling up his sleeve high enough to reveal it. And
      the next time Magneto said he wanted to see him, Pyro
      made sure it showed.

      Magneto didn’t say anything about it. He’d been
      sitting at his desk, writing, when Pyro had come in.
      He told Pyro to sit down and then gave him his
      assignment, checking his name off the list after
      explaining what needed to be done.

      Pyro was disappointed. He’d wanted to hear him say he
      doesn’t like tattoos, argue with him. Or hear that he
      did like this one. “What do you think?” Pyro finally
      said when Magneto clearly wasn’t going to bring it up.
      He pointed to his arm, just to make sure it was clear
      what he was asking.

      “I don’t like tattoos.”

      “Well, I like mine. I’m glad I got it.” I’m so fucking
      bored around here, what else am I supposed to do? He
      thought but didn’t say it.

      Magneto shrugged. “I was glad of mine, too, when I got
      it. I don’t like it so much now, though.”

      “You have a tattoo? Where?”

      Lehnsherr pointed at the number on his arm. “How do
      you think they did it?” he asked. “Magic Marker?”

      “I didn’t realize. I guess I didn’t think.” He thought
      now, about what Magneto had said. “Why were you glad?”

      “It meant I was going to live, at least a little
      longer. They didn’t tattoo you if they were going to
      kill you right away. Waste of time. Waste of ink.
      Living longer seemed a good thing then.”

      That’s all he said, no more talk about tattoos. And
      there was work there, for a while, so Pyro was keeping
      occupied. It wasn’t until the next long dry spell that
      he got itchy again, started wondering stuff. Knowing a
      little about Magneto made him want to know more. What
      did they do to him? Did they know he was a mutant? How
      did he get out?

      But more than anything: who did he want Mystique to be
      when she was with him? He asked her all the time now.
      She kept teasing him, acting like she’d say and then
      deciding against it. “Ask him,” she’d say. “Tell him
      to show you her picture.”

      So he knew it was a her, at least. “Did he show you
      her picture?”

      She nodded. “I had to know what she looked like.”

      “You never met her?”

      She shook her head. “She’s been dead a long time.”

      That was creepy. Here she was, turning into a dead
      woman. Creepy, but kind of fascinating, too. He
      started asking her to do that for him. He got pictures
      of Marilyn Monroe, Mata Hari, Ingrid Bergman. When she
      was in a good mood she did it for him. When she was in
      a bad mood, no telling who she’d turn into. And still
      he’d press her and still she wouldn’t tell him. But
      she did tell him one thing. “She had a tattoo.”

      “Like his? A number?”

      “No, something else.”

      “Could you see it in her picture?”

      “No, it didn’t show in clothes.”

      “So how do you know?”

      “He told me. He showed me a picture of another woman
      with one, so I could get it right. A picture in a
      book.” She didn’t say anything for a minute. Then,
      “It’s words, but it’s not in a language I know.”

      “Can I see it? Would you turn into her for me?”

      She shook her head. “I only do that for him.”

      Two months earlier – even two weeks earlier – he
      wouldn’t have dared ask Magneto. But boredom and
      curiosity are a powerful combination. “Who was she?”
      he found himself asking.

      “Who was who?”

      “The woman you have Mystique turn into for you. What
      was her name?”

      Magneto looked behind Pyro at Mystique, standing there
      in the doorway. The door was wood but the doorknob
      metal. He didn’t say a word to her before it slammed
      in her face.

      “It’s none of your business,” he said to Pyro. “Her
      name was Rivka.”

      “She’s dead.”

      “Long ago.” That’s all Pyro thought he would say, but
      after a moment he started talking. Not looking at
      Pyro, kind of staring into the distance. Talking as if
      he was talking to himself. “I met her in Cyprus. DP


      “Displaced persons,” he answered, suddenly aware again
      of Pyro’s presence. “She was beautiful. And damaged.
      We were all damaged, but few were beautiful.” He
      looked away again, maybe at a beautiful and damaged
      woman who moved in his memory. “I wanted her to marry
      me. I thought she would. She let me make love to her.
      Only in the dark, though. Or with her clothes on. She
      didn’t want me to see it.”

      “Her tattoo?”

      He nodded, not seeming surprised that Pyro knew. “I
      forced the issue, finally. I told her it didn’t matter
      to me. I told her I wanted to see all of her.” He took
      out a book from the middle drawer of his desk. It was
      a book of photographs. It fell open to a page in the
      middle. “That’s not her,” he said, turning it around
      to show Pyro. “It’s just like hers, though.”

      “What do the words mean?”

      “Field Whore for the German Army.” Neither of them
      said anything for a while. “I don’t like tattoos,”
      Magneto said, finally. “You can have yours removed,
      you know. Laser surgery. It will hurt more than it
      hurt getting it, but it will be gone.”

      “Are you getting yours removed?”

      Magneto shook his head. “I’ll keep mine. And Rivka’s.”
      He looked the young man right in the eyes and said,
      “Have it removed. That’s not your name. I misjudged.
      You’re John after all. Go back to Charles Xavier, if
      he still wants you.”

      “You firing me?”

      “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m doing. Pack your things.
      I want you out of here by dawn.”

      “Thanks a lot. Thanks for nothing.” He thought of
      saying more, but he thought his voice might shake. And
      he’d die before he’d let that happen in front of

      “Good bye.” Complete dismissal. Johnny got up and
      walked out of the room. Just before he left, though,
      he turned profile to Magneto, showing off the flaming
      letters on his arm. “That’s my name,” he said, voice
      strong and sure. “That’s who I am. You didn’t name me
      and you didn’t make me. I’m Pyro, whether I’m here or
      not, old man.”

      He turned his back and walked out of the room. He
      heard Magneto say, “I don’t like tattoos.” Johnny
      turned back to look at him. Magneto was slowly closing
      the book as the door sighed closed.

      The End

      Author’s note: The picture Magneto shows Pyro can be
      seen at: http://mo.fandomnation.com/fic/images/ficathon.bmp

      Mofic Website: www.angelfire.com/comics/mo

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