Hang Fire for Kynical (NC-17)

Author: anneline
Title: Hang Fire
Rating: NC-17 (for man/boy loving).
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Marvel etc., I'm just a girl in desperate need of a life, I really have no right to play with them.
Summary: Magneto and Pyro prepare for the next movie and have sex.
Written for: kynical (hope ya dig it)
Pairing/scenario requested: Erik/John (That was it, no parameters, nothing off limits, I really should have done something more strange and perverted in retrospect.)
Warnings (if any): Terrorism, underage sex (Pyro's 17), rather tame bondage.
Thanks: All sorts of huge thanks to penknife for beta and for throwing this ficathon party. You rock the fandom.




Erik holds John's hipbones like you would some delicate chalice. Magneto's gentle, but still he grinds in a bit making John gasp, "God." He means God in heaven and he means Magneto, he means a lot of different things. Magneto's the gentlest mass-murderer John knows. It's scary to think how many murderers John's met in his short seventeen years, some quite mad and spectacular, most just boring, the ordinary human kind.

The first time Magneto kissed him he was leaning against a wall in some New York alley. They were meeting a guy in order to pick up -- something, John didn't know what, something illegal, something dangerous. There had been a lot of meetings with shady characters, mutant and otherwise since Alkali Lake and John was bored. This guy had a foreign accent, maybe Russian. He was short and dressed all in black and pretty unremarkable except for the extra hazel eye that stared out intently from the center of his forehead. John didn't know his name and all Magneto would say was that he was an associate. John grew tired of trying to understand what they were talking about since they’d switched to Polish or Russian or something almost immediately after the pleasantries. He just leaned against the wall and flicked the lighter open and shut, thinking about fire and Bobby and all the kind of crap you think about when you don’t have anything to do.

Eventually, after handing over a briefcase, the "associate" took off, stopping briefly first, to give John a thorough look up and down. John was surprised; he hadn't realized the conversation had stopped. Magneto was staring at him strangely. Then he closed the distance between them quite suddenly. The kiss was deep and not surprising. He'd been waiting for it for weeks. He surrendered to it, imagining that he could feel Magneto binding him to him.

John felt very aware, suddenly, of the opening and closing of his eyes. Magneto faded in and out of darkness, strangely beautiful and very powerful, in and out. He was still playing with the lighter absent-mindedly. Erik grasped John’s cock through his jeans and stopped the kiss to watch his face. The lighter opened and flames flared across the wall catching and burning peeling posters.

Magneto wears tailored shirts, dark red, pressed and shiny. His eyes are blue. Outside, he always wears the helmet and the cape too, sometimes, for drama. The helmet's necessary, since Xavier's looking for him. They have to stay underground, in abandoned subway stations or caves and tunnels. If they're deep enough Xavier can't penetrate even with Cerebro. Everything about him is perfect; he never breaks a sweat in a fight. It’s all precision and planning. He's always calm. John rests his head against Magneto's chest and listens while his other hand is wrapped around his cock, jerking him off; Magneto’s heart never skips a beat.

The first time Magneto took him, John was scared to touch him too much. He was worried that maybe Magneto was breakable, which was just stupid, and he was also afraid to reveal his own ignorance, his own incompetence. He was actually relieved when Magneto bound him, twisting the iron bedposts into manacles. Surrendering is its own kind of freedom, and he’d given into Magneto the minute he’d heard him say “Pyro.”

John was still and Magneto was thorough. Magneto started soft and finished hard. There were soft kisses on his neck and down to the collar of his tee shirt. Magneto pushed the shirt up from the waist to the shoulder with a steady hand. John was trembling. Erik kissed the ellipse of flesh he’d just revealed. John sighed, but he couldn’t move or even speak. Nothing stopped him from speaking, really, he just didn't want to say anything and ruin what was perfect.

The headboard kept twisting with this loud metallic sound, it had been quite ordinary but Magneto elongated it. He twisted it round into a double helix, DNA, the building blocks of destiny. Magneto's kisses left a cold wet trail from his nipple to his belly button. Magneto grabbed his waistband, pulled it down, John started shivering so hard he thought he might shatter. He stared at the top of Magneto's head, every iron-grey hair in place while he mouthed and sucked John’s cock. Magneto started sucking and swallowing in earnest and John couldn't help squirming, one shoulder then another off the bed, his long waist twisting, like the headboard, back and forth. Magneto could warp him too, as easy as steel.

Magneto prepared him with large strong hands, stretching and lubricating. He noticed that Magneto's hands were aged, but he didn't seem old. John didn't know that a man could take a boy like that, face to face. He liked it, though, seeing Magneto's lined face, watching his intense expression, a thin smile that faded into a sneer. John thought it was good he hadn't known Magneto when he was young. He must have been too devastatingly beautiful. He's flawed now; it makes things easier.

He's there with Magneto all the time. Magneto takes him with him to all the meetings. John’s the muscle. He likes to think that he’s the smart muscle. Not like Creed, Creed’s the dumb muscle. Magneto doesn’t tell him anything, though. All he ever says when John asks is that he’s preparing something special for Charles. Mystique must be in on it; she's always smirking and sharing knowing looks with Magneto. Still, he’ll tell John when the time’s right. Mystique needs to know more things, she’s the inside man (woman, whatever). He’ll tell John everything soon.

The first time John went down on Magneto, he tried to remember everything he’d seen, felt Magneto do. It wasn’t as hard as he thought it would be. Magneto had told John he had something for him to do. A job at last, not just standing around like an idiot. They were underground, caverns in West Virginia. Everything Magneto said echoed, everything was resonant. They were walking alone, while Magneto explained the job. John was showing off, sending fire snakes slithering from one stalactite to another, lighting their way.

He was exited about the job and by the way Magneto touched his hair. He pushed Magneto, gently, against the wet, curved wall and went down on his knees. Magneto was so perfect, John felt clumsy and amateurish, he lost concentration and the flames went out. He found Magneto’s cock in total darkness. Magneto’s cries bounced over every surface and through John. After, he told Magneto that it was stupid to expect him to carry a briefcase, it would have looked suspicious, a kid like John, in jeans and a tee shirt carrying a briefcase. He told Magneto that and Magneto transferred whatever had been it the briefcase into a backpack, so he listened to John. John’s not just dumb muscle.

John loves fire. He’s loved it for as long as he can remember. Even when he was very small, before he changed and all, thinking about it would stiffen his dick, he’d do it in the bathtub to make his sister laugh. “You just think about fire,” he told her. Later, when he started masturbating all the time he’d think about explosions, like the one’s he’d seen on TV, “A-team” re-runs, documentaries about WWII. He had to make sure there weren’t lit candles around or anything particularly flammable, he’d had a lot of accidents. When he got more control he always had to have candles burning and the lighter nearby too. “Blown Away” had basically been porn for him.

So how can people expect him to understand the fear of fire. It doesn’t burn him, how’s he supposed to empathize with people whose skin cracks and withers at its kiss. He just did what Magneto told him, left the bag in some unobtrusive spot at the subway station; he figured somebody would be by to pick it up eventually. What happened later, that thing he saw on the news, was probably not even related.

It wasn't the first time Magneto had praised him. "Well done, my boy" he said, leaving tiny bite marks down John's spine. Still, every time, it felt like the first time, thrilling as anything, better than blowing up butane tanks, which is what John had been doing all day. They were holed up in an abandoned factory town somewhere in western Pennsylvania. He had been practicing this trick Magneto told him to try. He made a flame as small as possible, barely visible. He could push it along the ground past guards or anyone. He'd push it under the door of these old storage sheds stocked with all sorts of flammable crap and try to ignite what was inside. It wasn't easy but by afternoon he'd blown a shed or two sky-high. Magneto seemed unconcerned about attracting attention. They were moving soon anyway, east, closer to some military base. “I’ll have another job for you soon, Pyro,” Magneto says as John lies there underneath him, his stomach wet and sticky. John is happy; why should he be otherwise?