hackthis_archive (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-05-05 12:06 pm
hackthis_archive) wrote2003-05-05 12:06 pm
Entry tags:
This is the self-preservation so-sigh-eh-tee….
-Nine days until Reloaded. Bless early release.
-They’re remaking The Italian Job. They can’t improve on the original! Stupidassmotherfuckers. Ruining a perfectly good movie for those no-talent, liposuctioned inane underwear models! [goes incoherent] Someone call Mr. Bridger.
So.Where can I get me some Iceman/Pyro slash?
Movieverse: X2
Thermal I: Freeze Out
Click.
Fwoosh.
Click.
Fwoosh.
All day long it never seems to change: in the bathroom, waiting to use the showers; at breakfast, eating cereal one-handed; on the way to classes, on the way back from classes, during classes. Just once, Bobby wishes St. John would do something else with his hands besides playing with that fucking lighter.
Anything has to be better than the constant ‘click fwoosh.’
Okay, maybe not anything. Bobby has no interest in seeing Johnny picking his nose, or biting his nails, or any of those less than sanitary things that people do when they can’t keep their hands busy.
Still, there have to be other things that St. John could do to keep himself occupied.
He could always come to Bobby for suggestions.
*
St. John has long fingers, not quite as long as Bobby’s, but long enough that it’s easy for him to manipulate the lighter. Probably long enough for other things that Bobby is not going to think about while they’re getting ready to go into class with the Professor, because that would be wrong. And then the Professor would sense it, and possibly Jean, and dear god wouldn’t that just suck like a thing that really sucks?
Bad train of thought.
Honestly, it’s not Bobby’s fault, because Johnny’s always drawing attention to himself, and is it Bobby’s fault that he’s got excellent vision? It’s only natural that he notice the short nails and calloused fingers, and please don’t let the Professor be reading his thoughts, even though they’re loud enough to be heard the next county over. Bobby can just imagine the lectures if anyone caught wind of his less than platonic ideas.
Hello, talks about burgeoning mutant sexuality. Oh. Hell. No.
Bobby can’t take this sort of stress. He can feel his body temp dropping, but still Johnny. Shit. Bobby’s mind is going to come oozing out his ears because he won’t be able to freeze it in time.
He’s experiencing major overload of the hormonal kind, and it’s just so much easier for Bobby to concentrate on Rogue because she’s pretty and feisty, and she doesn’t have a talisman that might try and set him on fire. No, instead she’ll probably just suck him dry.
What a vast improvement.
*
‘Click fwoosh’ signals St. John’s arrival long before his chair is scraping the hardwood floors and disturbing the silence. A lighter in a library? Because Johnny just can’t get enough of that dangerous living already? He should know better, so should Bobby.
This can only end badly; at least at boarding schools attractions like this are laughed off, and Bobby doesn’t feel the frown on his face as much as he sees it mirrored three tables over by Piotr, and okay.
Piotr’s very... large.
St. John is more streamlined. Midget-sized in comparison, really, but whatever. He’s actually more sleek than anything else, a lot like that silver lighter that Bobby finds his eye hypnotically drawn to. He’s always liked warm, burning things. Must have something to do with his body chemistry.
“--ake? Drake?”
“Yeah?” Bobby’s not as distracted as he sounds. Really. Even if his eyes follow the orange flame of their own accord.
He blinks when the lighter is suddenly right between St. John’s eyes.
“It’s called fire, man, never seen it before?”
*
Click and fwoosh
Click and fwoosh.
It’s three o’clock in the morning.
Bobby was sleeping. At least he thinks he was.
It doesn’t matter now, because St. John is in the next bed over, and that fucking idiot is playing with fire. In bed.
“What the hell are you doing? Trying to burn the school down?” Bobby's voice is dry and raspy, and he snaps more from exhaustion than real concern. He hopes.
“Relax.” St. John’s voice sounds wide-awake, and Bobby honestly does not want to think about what St. John’s doing that alert at this hour. Or yeah, he really does, but not now. No, definitely not now. Later, in the shower, with soap, would a much better time.
“Relax this,” and he doesn’t even have to try hard. Doesn’t really have to try at all. Just one small breath and --
“You froze my fire. I can’t believe you froze my fucking fire.”
“Believe it.”
*
There’s no ‘click fwoosh’ to warn Bobby that St. John is around the corner.
One minute he’s walking along, thinking about ice cream, and the next his back is getting intimate with the wood paneling on the second floor. There are hands fisting his shirt, and St. John’s face is right there. His body is also right there, and he’s emitting a lot of heat.
Maybe St. John just uses his hands to control his powers because it’s easier. Maybe he could set Bobby on fire with his eyes, and talk about ridiculous ideas.
Bobby’s thinking in cheesy song lyrics now?
He’s so infatuated. Shit.
“You put out my fire,” St. John says by way of explanation.
“I was trying to sleep, and you were keeping me up.”
“All you had to do was ask nicely.”
St. John’s eyes dart all over Bobby’s face, but they keep locking on his mouth, which is something Bobby’s noticing because of all his hyper-awareness of the situation. Plus, St. John’s hold isn’t quite as tight as it would be if he were really angry, but he’s still pressed right against Bobby.
Only boys could be so obvious.
“Would you have stopped?” Bobby could easily get out of St. John’s hold if he wanted to and they both know it.
“Only if you really wanted me to.”
Only if Bobby wanted him to, and then Bobby blinks. Reaching down, he scrabbles for the front of St. John’s jeans.
There’s a long second and the hitching of breath before Bobby’s fingers find what they’re looking for.
He pulls the lighter out and holds it up between then. Flipping the top, he lights it one-handed.
“Happy now?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
-finis-
Notes: Probably sucks, I blame Kassie for knowing me well enough to realize I can’t resist an anvil.
Note #2: Edited and beta’d on 5/6 for posting purposes.
-They’re remaking The Italian Job. They can’t improve on the original! Stupidassmotherfuckers. Ruining a perfectly good movie for those no-talent, liposuctioned inane underwear models! [goes incoherent] Someone call Mr. Bridger.
So.
Movieverse: X2
Thermal I: Freeze Out
Click.
Fwoosh.
Click.
Fwoosh.
All day long it never seems to change: in the bathroom, waiting to use the showers; at breakfast, eating cereal one-handed; on the way to classes, on the way back from classes, during classes. Just once, Bobby wishes St. John would do something else with his hands besides playing with that fucking lighter.
Anything has to be better than the constant ‘click fwoosh.’
Okay, maybe not anything. Bobby has no interest in seeing Johnny picking his nose, or biting his nails, or any of those less than sanitary things that people do when they can’t keep their hands busy.
Still, there have to be other things that St. John could do to keep himself occupied.
He could always come to Bobby for suggestions.
*
St. John has long fingers, not quite as long as Bobby’s, but long enough that it’s easy for him to manipulate the lighter. Probably long enough for other things that Bobby is not going to think about while they’re getting ready to go into class with the Professor, because that would be wrong. And then the Professor would sense it, and possibly Jean, and dear god wouldn’t that just suck like a thing that really sucks?
Bad train of thought.
Honestly, it’s not Bobby’s fault, because Johnny’s always drawing attention to himself, and is it Bobby’s fault that he’s got excellent vision? It’s only natural that he notice the short nails and calloused fingers, and please don’t let the Professor be reading his thoughts, even though they’re loud enough to be heard the next county over. Bobby can just imagine the lectures if anyone caught wind of his less than platonic ideas.
Hello, talks about burgeoning mutant sexuality. Oh. Hell. No.
Bobby can’t take this sort of stress. He can feel his body temp dropping, but still Johnny. Shit. Bobby’s mind is going to come oozing out his ears because he won’t be able to freeze it in time.
He’s experiencing major overload of the hormonal kind, and it’s just so much easier for Bobby to concentrate on Rogue because she’s pretty and feisty, and she doesn’t have a talisman that might try and set him on fire. No, instead she’ll probably just suck him dry.
What a vast improvement.
*
‘Click fwoosh’ signals St. John’s arrival long before his chair is scraping the hardwood floors and disturbing the silence. A lighter in a library? Because Johnny just can’t get enough of that dangerous living already? He should know better, so should Bobby.
This can only end badly; at least at boarding schools attractions like this are laughed off, and Bobby doesn’t feel the frown on his face as much as he sees it mirrored three tables over by Piotr, and okay.
Piotr’s very... large.
St. John is more streamlined. Midget-sized in comparison, really, but whatever. He’s actually more sleek than anything else, a lot like that silver lighter that Bobby finds his eye hypnotically drawn to. He’s always liked warm, burning things. Must have something to do with his body chemistry.
“--ake? Drake?”
“Yeah?” Bobby’s not as distracted as he sounds. Really. Even if his eyes follow the orange flame of their own accord.
He blinks when the lighter is suddenly right between St. John’s eyes.
“It’s called fire, man, never seen it before?”
*
Click and fwoosh
Click and fwoosh.
It’s three o’clock in the morning.
Bobby was sleeping. At least he thinks he was.
It doesn’t matter now, because St. John is in the next bed over, and that fucking idiot is playing with fire. In bed.
“What the hell are you doing? Trying to burn the school down?” Bobby's voice is dry and raspy, and he snaps more from exhaustion than real concern. He hopes.
“Relax.” St. John’s voice sounds wide-awake, and Bobby honestly does not want to think about what St. John’s doing that alert at this hour. Or yeah, he really does, but not now. No, definitely not now. Later, in the shower, with soap, would a much better time.
“Relax this,” and he doesn’t even have to try hard. Doesn’t really have to try at all. Just one small breath and --
“You froze my fire. I can’t believe you froze my fucking fire.”
“Believe it.”
*
There’s no ‘click fwoosh’ to warn Bobby that St. John is around the corner.
One minute he’s walking along, thinking about ice cream, and the next his back is getting intimate with the wood paneling on the second floor. There are hands fisting his shirt, and St. John’s face is right there. His body is also right there, and he’s emitting a lot of heat.
Maybe St. John just uses his hands to control his powers because it’s easier. Maybe he could set Bobby on fire with his eyes, and talk about ridiculous ideas.
Bobby’s thinking in cheesy song lyrics now?
He’s so infatuated. Shit.
“You put out my fire,” St. John says by way of explanation.
“I was trying to sleep, and you were keeping me up.”
“All you had to do was ask nicely.”
St. John’s eyes dart all over Bobby’s face, but they keep locking on his mouth, which is something Bobby’s noticing because of all his hyper-awareness of the situation. Plus, St. John’s hold isn’t quite as tight as it would be if he were really angry, but he’s still pressed right against Bobby.
Only boys could be so obvious.
“Would you have stopped?” Bobby could easily get out of St. John’s hold if he wanted to and they both know it.
“Only if you really wanted me to.”
Only if Bobby wanted him to, and then Bobby blinks. Reaching down, he scrabbles for the front of St. John’s jeans.
There’s a long second and the hitching of breath before Bobby’s fingers find what they’re looking for.
He pulls the lighter out and holds it up between then. Flipping the top, he lights it one-handed.
“Happy now?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
-finis-
Notes: Probably sucks, I blame Kassie for knowing me well enough to realize I can’t resist an anvil.
Note #2: Edited and beta’d on 5/6 for posting purposes.
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And did you hear that Ed Norton tried his damndest to get out of the contract, and couldn't? They were going to sue him for insane bucks, so he did the film.
Doesn't bode so well, don't ya think?
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Mmm, I want to see that so damn bad. *fidgets impatiently*
They’re remaking The Italian Job. They can’t improve on the original! Stupidassmotherfuckers. Ruining a perfectly good movie for those no-talent, liposuctioned inane underwear models! [goes incoherent] Someone call Mr. Bridger.
Erm. *looks shifty* Well, I was thinking that preview looked really cool. But I haven't seen the original--actually I didn't know it was a remake. *feels stupid*
*makes note to see original*
And eeee! X2 goodness!
Click.
Fwoosh.
Click.
Fwoosh.
All day long it never seems to change: in the bathroom waiting to use the showers, at breakfast eating cereal one-handed, on the way to classes, on the way back from classes. Just once, Bobby wishes John would do something else with his hands besides playing with that fucking lighter.
Hee! He was *such* a twitchy obsessive compulsive brat. Which is why I <3 him.
It’s much easier for Bobby to concentrate on Rogue because she’s pretty and feisty, and she doesn’t have a talisman that might try and set him on fire. No, instead she’ll probably just suck him dry.
What a vast improvement.
Awww. Poor Bobby. The perils of mutant romance.
Man, this was so cute. Am very much feeling the Bobby/John love right now.
You know, if you were to, say, I don't know, write Kurt I would love you so. Damn. Much. Which would probably make my brain explode, because I'm already addicted to your fic. But oh, it would be worth it. Ahem. *looks innocent*
There is no spoon.
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“Believe it.”
That is a great line, the believe it. I loved that. V Bobby, too.
What about this were you worried about? It made me blush! It's v v sexy.
Good trick at the end with the reaching in the pants thing. You're evil.
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I've been on a X-Men porn search like whoa. Thanks for the supply.
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Very, very good.
me providing iceman/pyro slash? nah. (http://www.fanfiction.net/read.php?storyid=1330588)
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What I am responding to is the plea for Bobby/John fic. Jenn has an awesome, awesome, awesome movieverse series called On Love and Lust at Mutant High. I have it saved to disk, which I almost never do.
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heh
Ahem.
Piotr’s very... large.
Yeah he is...
*drifts off into fantasy*
Re: heh
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*cackles*
I love you for this, and many many other things, but today most especially for this!
Iceman/Pyro are my new OTP. I am SO going to wind up writing them. But until then, squeee! You wrote it!
*dances*
I hope they bug you as much as Lex. *runs away*
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As for remaking classics, even though Albert Brooks is the God in my world of Neurotic Snark, I'm spitting mad that they remade The In-Laws.
And after seeing the previews for the Italian Job I think I can skip it and not be any worse of because of it -- even though I'll miss Statham. Dammit. Now I just have to see the original.
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“Believe it.”
Since you mentioned your Matrix-love, I can so see where "Believe it" came from. *g*
There's a sore lack of Pyro slash anywhere in fandom, so this was much appreciated. Thanks for sharing.
Rhysenn
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Please...!
(Anonymous) 2003-05-06 04:50 am (UTC)(link)That one was great, so you could possibly, probably write some more, yes? Because that would make me very, very happy.
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I stay away for a few days and you write X2 fic and a sequel to Ripple! The reaching into the pants thing? So. Hot. *dies*
The wait for Reloaded is killing me - seeing the trailer and X2 in one sitting about melted my brain.
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*cracks up*
This piece was perfect for the relationship.
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Really, that's all. *g*
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loved the ending.
:)
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TEASE!!!