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Le Mouton

Title: Le Mouton
Pairing: John/Bobby
Prompt: Argument, smile, ice.
Warnings: A bit of sap and fluff.

-

Bobby stared resolutely at his French homework, even if he can’t remember what the word 'mouton' meant or even if he was reading it right. He doesn’t remember what started the fight, though he can guess it was Rogue. John was always picking fights using her since she and Bobby had started dating. One thing led to another and then Bobby was glaring holes into his desk and John was sitting at the window on his fifth cigarette. Bobby could gage John’s anger by the number of cigarettes he’d had since a fight. John chain smoking was never a good thing, he was really freaking pissed.

John was on his sixth cigarette. God was he fucking pissed. He knew exactly what had started their fight, Bobby was being pussy whipped and cancelled plans to go out with John in order to stay in and watch movies with his untouchable girlfriend. He was always blowing John off for Rogue, or so it seemed to John. He continued to stare out the window, like Bobby wasn’t there. Some of the new mutants were playing Mutant Ball. John watched Anole’s amazingly long tongue flick out and nail Skids with the ball. Out of the corner of his eye he looked at Bobby, doing his French homework. He’d been sitting there for a good fifteen minutes, staring at the sheet, unmoving. John knew he was upset.

Bobby opened his mouth to apologize then stopped. He doesn’t want John yelling at him again. He doesn’t think the people they share walls with can stand another fight so soon. Instead he just looks back down to his French homework. Le mouton. The sheep. Bobby grinned sardonically at himself, how fitting. He was acting like a scared sheep, not even looking at John or trying to resolve this. Sometimes, John just scared him so freaking much that Bobby lost all of his speech capabilities. He just lost the ability to form coherent thoughts and put them into words verbally. He just couldn’t talk to John.

John sighed, letting out a lung full of toxic smoke, looking to Bobby then back out the window. He wanted to end this silence, but he just couldn’t. Blame pride or just plain old stubbornness, but either way John still held his tongue and remained tense and silent. He couldn’t be the one to say sorry first, he never was. He could never be the one to forgive; he could never admit out loud that Bobby meant so much to him. His tongue just swelled up in his mouth and made him choke on his words. They just wouldn’t come out. So, he sat at the window and smoked his seventh cigarette and feigned indifference.

Bobby glanced cautiously up in John’s direction again, looking through his blond bangs. Oh so carefully he moved his left hand under his desk, so the movement wouldn’t alert John to anything suspicious. He might not be able to tell John he was sorry, but he could make the other boy smile. He exerted all the control he’d been learning on in the danger room for the last couple of months to keep the cold away from John as he worked. It took him what seemed like hours, each part had to be perfect and stay frozen in the sunlight without giving off its tell-tale cold. He finally finished and just watched John, letting the cold go out and brush along his skin.

John continued smoking, ignoring the light kiss of cold that Bobby couldn’t hide from him because he was a pyrokinetic. Bobby was doing something with ice to his left and John fought not to look. It was a game of theirs, John ignored until Bobby was done and Bobby acted like he’d never done anything to begin with. A more substantial blast of cold hit John causing him to look to his left. He couldn’t help it, he smiled.

Bobby had trouble sculpting the ice, he hadn’t want to do something girly that’d make John laugh him or something stereotypical that’d make John angrier than he already was. When he finally decided upon an image he let go of the cold, letting John feel it. He knew John knew that he was doing something with ice and appreciated that he had the dignity not to look until Bobby made it obvious. When he saw John look and smile he couldn’t help it, he smiled too.

A/N: And this was done upon the request of my lovely Le Mouton because she asked. I left the object Bobby made for John unnamed because neither of us (LM or I) could decide what Bobby should make for John. Flames? Roses? Whatever it is you think Bobby made, share! And of course thanks goes to my wonderful beta, Screamyourmind.

Jan. 31st, 2008

Title: Phone Calls
Prompt: Calm, orange, phone - Prompt thanks to the physical embodiment of my muse, the wonderful le_mouton.
Pairing: Bobby/John
Warnings: Smut alert, nothing hugely detailed, but its still there.

-

The phone calls were always after a battle, no matter whether Bobby or John were even at them, it was just an excuse. The phone calls were always there and always noticed, but never talked about. The boys would hide themselves in their rooms, holding on for dear life to the small pieces of plastic and metal in the hands just as desperately as they clung to the whispers of “I’m alright I promise. I swear I’m alright.”

The phone calls were never talked about because, frankly, no one knew what to say. There was no easy way to break into a conversation about them. “Hey, did you see that Patriot’s game? Oh and as long as we’re talking about seeing things, can you quit calling the enemy after every battle? You’re not friends anymore.” Yeah, no one, not even Mystique or Magneto were willing to approach the volatile pyrokinetic about ending his relationship with Bobby, the calls were monitored at first, they never brought up the Brotherhood or the X-Men, so they were left alone. One of the many secrets that the X-Men and the Brotherhood shared.

One of the conversations went as follows. It was just after John had gone with Magneto to recruit the Morlocks to fight for them.

“You should have seen some of these kids, Bobby. I mean it looks like they’d just got out of ‘Punks R Us’ training school or something. One chick had orange skin, not like Hollywood tanner kind of skin, but orange - you know the fruit? - kind of orange.”

A pause and both parties laugh softly, then there’s a lull in the conversation. Finally, Bobby asks. “Where are you?” He doesn’t mean the location of the Brotherhood base. These mental images always helped settle their minds after a fight.

“In my bunk, laying on my back with my head hanging off the side. Remy’s gone, some mission for Magneto so I’ve got the place to myself for a week.” Stretching could be heard, the hollow pop of bones. “How ‘bout you?”

“I’m in my,” The one time ‘our’ had slipped out John hadn’t contacted Bobby for three weeks, so Bobby had learned to be careful. “room. Sitting on my bed, leaning against my headboard. What are you wearing?”

“Jeans and my black boxers.”

“Is it that hot there?”

“In my room it is. I swear Remy’s gotta keep it sweltering. ‘Dit iz like dat in my home homme.’” Sarcasm is evident in the bad French impression, but it causes Bobby to chuckle none-the-less. “So, what are you wearing?”

“Undershirt, the blue button down you gave me, and jeans.” There was a curious lack of underwear present and both boys caught it.

“Oh, really?” John’s voice grew more interested as he moved from one spot to another.

“Yeah.” Bobby’s voice is slightly breathless and embarrassed.

“Bobby,” The slightly stern voice that was more curious than anything else. “What are you doing?”

This always embarrassed Bobby, even though it was John, it was still something he was told was dirty and to be done in private, even if it turned John on. “Playing with myself.”

John chuckled, voice growing huskier. “Mmm. How?” He enjoyed these moments, where he knew Bobby wasn’t as innocent as he pretended to be.

Bobby had gotten used to going through the details with John, but he still felt a little strange doing it over the phone. “My pants are unzipped, my other hand’s in them, running up and down my dick slowly.” It had only taken John laughing at him and saying ‘We’re not in health class, Bobby.‘ once when he said penis to break Bobby of the habit. Besides (not that he’d tell anyone) he kind of liked saying it, made him feel dirty, but in a good way. “What are you doing?”

“Got the lube out of my drawer,” a slight grunt interrupted him. “Damn that’s cold.”

“I thought you like the cold.” Bobby’s voice was teasing.

“I do, but its not like your mouth’s on my cock.” The casual mention of blowjobs turned both on more. “Got the lube, grabbed a washcloth, pulled my pants off, poured some on my hand, and started jerking off.” A shifting could be heard as one or the other moved. “What are you doing now?”

“Uh. I’ve got the cell balanced on my ear,” There was a slight exhale. “One hand on my shaft, and the other one playing with my head. Uh, you?”

 

“Pumping harder on my cock,” The shift in weight on the bed could be heard as John arched his hips. “Thinking about trying to balance the phone so I can play with my balls.” John’s voice always got deeper, huskier, in sex, but he never had the little noises like Bobby did. “You close, baby?”

“Yeah,” It was breathless and John wished the beds Xavier gave them weren’t so good. He wished they’d betray some movement of Bobby’s. “Rubbing up and down right under my head, uhh, in the sensitive spot. Johnny, I‘m really close.”

“That’s fine baby.” John’s voice was getting as labored as Bobby’s and his movements were betrayed on the creaking of the bed. “That’s fine. I’m,” A slight hitch of breath. “Balancing the phone now. Both hands on my dick, God I wish it was your mouth.”

“Mmm,” Bobby agreed. “I want you here, I wish you were fucking me through my bed again.” Breath was coming fast now, noises leaking out in words instead of between. “Remember when you tied me to the bed?”

Bobby earned a chuckle. “God, yeah. You had to ice the wall so the banging on the headboard wouldn’t wake Sam and Piotr.” His breath hissed out between his breath. “God, baby, I’m so close.”

“Mmm.” Bobby was reduced to small noises and mindless shifty on the bed. “Joh-Johnny!” And a strangled cry then Bobby was cumming.

“Yeah, baby I’m-” he grunted, the noises on the mattress going quiet as he still completely as he came.

The phone line was quiet for a few moments, then suddenly rang. “Sorry, John, I dropped the phone.” Bobby’s voice was still slightly breathless.

John chuckled. “Its fine.” Then he groaned.

“What?” Bobby’s voice was worried.

“I missed the washcloth.”

 

 A/N: Alright, I am a lesbian, thus female, and have never slept with a guy (nor do I plan to), so I have no idea how well I did on the whole masturbating thing, any feedback will be appreciated. Anyone else remember being a teenager on the phone in the middle of the night with your significant other and having phone sex? Or am I the only one willing to admit to the fact that I did it? And this was also one of my first pieces written purely for smut, how’d I do on that?

Die, Dye, and Die

Title: Die, Dye, and Die
Prompt: Bored, bottle and blue
Pairing: Bobby/John
Warnings: Stole this from verde_speaks well I guess it would be le_mouton technically because they put this up to Verde’s prompt seeking.

-

“I promise it’ll wash out in three weeks.” John could finally say that without laughing as Bobby glared down at him, having pinned him to his own bed as soon as he’d looked in the mirror.

What had happened to make Bobby so upset with John you might ask? Well, it all started with John getting bored and Bobby sleeping in. Theoretically, (John had to point out) it was Bobby fault because Bobby had slept late on a Saturday after promising to go to the arcade with John. That theory was denied when Bobby put his frozen fist into John’s stomach.

But still, Bobby slept in so John had some fun at his expense. What had John done Well, he’d taken turns rolling dice with Jubilee, they were betting on the last bottle of temporary hair dye left over from her last prank. Jubilee wanted to use it against Kitty’s pink shirts and John was betting on Rogue’s white streak not being so white after he was through. John had won the bet and was sitting in bed tossing his prize into the air and catching it, waiting on Bobby to wake up.

That’s when it came to him. How would he EVER get into Rogue’s room when she was asleep and dye her hair without touching her and keeping her asleep? Well, he knew a couple mutants who could have pulled it off, but he wasn’t one of them. Bobby however was known to sleep through Theresa’s screams without even rolling over. Bobby was there, Bobby was dead to the world, John was bored, John had means. So, John had managed to (somehow) dye Bobby’s hair a nice shade of blue while he slept.

It was a lovely shade of blue too, if unique. It was not the dark blue of Beast, or the more violet hued color or Kurt, or even the blue of Bobby’s eyes. Oh no, nothing so normal. It was a nice shade between lilac and periwinkle. Another side effect that, while the dye was washable, it was ‘guaranteed to retain perfect color for three weeks or your money back!’ or so claimed the bottle anyway.

John slept in his bed, alone and frozen for the next six weeks.

Bobby suffered the jibs of his schoolmates for the next year.

John still thinks he got the raw end of the deal.

Bobby still wishes he could have denied sex with John for longer as punishment.

A/N: Yay for more happiness and nonsense from me at the ungodly hour of 1:49 in the morning! Like I said I stole this from verde_speaks request on Dry_Ice and it was le_mouton who wrote the three word prompt and I thank them both for that and apologize to from verde_speaks for stealing her prompt. I say blame the plot bunnies not the author!

Someday Will Be Our Day

Title: Someday Will Be Our Day
Prompt: Aiden’s The Opening Departure
Words: 750
Pairings: Bobby/John
Warning: None

-

Close your eyes
The rain won't wash away
Close your eyes
The rain won't wash away

The car pulled up and you walked out into the rain without a care in the world. We’d already said goodbye, we’d argued about you leaving for months, but you still did it. I looked up at the dark sky and wondered if Storm was behind this, you were always her favorite student, always were good in literature. You turned back when you opened the door to the black sedan, looking back, looking to our room. You locked your eyes with me and nodded, flashing me a smile and mouthing ‘Be strong’ before you swung yourself into the car and were gone, I didn’t close my eyes once, just watched you waltz out of my life.


This time our sins are complete
The rush to defeat
But I'll stay, if you promise
Always, someday will be our day

When they’d found out about us, their reactions varied. Of course no one said a word about it to my face, not even the Professor, I couldn’t do any wrong. That first week you got into twelve fights and earned more detentions and extra Danger Room sessions with Wolverine than you had since that first month you were here. That’s when you started talking about leaving, you said being a X-Man just wasn’t for you, you couldn’t handle the want for normalcy that everyone seemed to have (even me), you didn’t think we should be protecting the people that tried to hurt us. I offered to leave with you, I could get along without the X-Men, but I couldn’t get along without you. You made me stay, I made you promise that someday, when we met again, there would be no more leaving, we’d be stuck with each other forever. With that smirk of your’s you agreed.


Close your eyes
The rain won't wash away
Close your eyes
The rain won't wash away

You always liked the rain. You didn’t like being wet, but you did like the rain which I always thought was the funniest thing in the world. Rain meant you couldn’t use your powers, I pointed out once, as we sat on the roof and watched the lightening storm. Yes, you’d said, but then I couldn’t use them either. We were equal then, no powers, no defenses, just two teenagers. You kissed me then, for the first time and before I knew it my eyes were closed and from then on I loved the rain too.


This time we have to believe
And so beautifully we'll sing "Stay
if you promise, someday will be our day"
Someday will be our day
I said now, someday will be our day

You did come back, eight years later, as soon as you walked in the door Rogue was yelling at you, like you were Wolverine or something, so I didn’t go running to the door like the younger kids. When I heard your chuckle, it always conveyed that you were just humoring someone not that something was funny, I was up and out of my chair in a second. I skidded into the front hall and there you were. Same beat-up leatherjacket, same knapsack, same smirk. When you saw me you just dropped your bag and opened your arms. With a running jump I sent us both sprawling on the ground, neither of us cared, just kissed and whispered hello and touched. Eight years was a long time after all, we had a lot of catching up to do.

“Today’s our day.” You whispered with a grin, forehead touching mine. Yes, today was our day. The polls were in (having been recounted at least a dozen times) Charles Xavier was president and Erik Lehnsherr was vice-president. Mutants were finally in the Whitehouse, we were finally equal with humans, we were in charge. Today was our day and it couldn’t get any better.

A/N: Well, see I can write happy stories, it just takes a while for me to do it. Not really sure what the inspiration for this was other than
ayumie (once again) and _profiterole_ talking about how sad the last story was. So I wanted to do something happier. Unfortunately, I was food poisoned by the evil Dairy Queen and their stake finger baskets so I have no idea how well I did on this one.

 

 

 

 

Balance

Title: Balance
Pairing: John/Bobby, Bobby/Rogue, Mystique/Pyro
Words: 1022
Prompt: Three Day’s Grace -(I hate) Everything About You
Warnings: none

-

Every time we lie awake
After every hit we take
Every feeling that I get
But I haven’t missed you yet

The first time she’d come to him he hadn’t uttered a word, just lit his Zippo and tried to burn her flesh from her bones. But a few third degree burns didn’t stop Mystique, she came again and again and again, then finally he gave in. Things he could later blame were alcohol, pot, Mystique’s constant reappearances, a million other things. He would not think about how cold she had been. How hard, how like Bobby she was, except her eyes, instead of the winter sky blue he would receive a flash of yellow and be reminded this was Mystique, not Bobby he was fucking, and so he hated Bobby a little more, hated the power the cyrokinetic didn’t even know he had over him.

Every roommate kept awake
By every sigh and scream we make
All the feelings that I get
But I still don’t miss you yet

A friendly fuck is what John called it the first time, a drunken fuck, nothing more. It didn’t mean anything, that’s what he tried to tell Bobby anyway. By the forth time they’d ended up in bed together with the pipes below them frozen and the room above them sweltering in heat their room was moved to the end of the hall, away from any potential roommates or fellow students discomfort. No matter what John whispered in the middle of sex it was just mindless whispers made because of the way he was feeling then, not what he felt all the time. Reminding himself of that helped him hate his ex-roomie a little more every day, helped him not miss him, miss them.

Only when I stop to think about it
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you

Bobby’s room was always stifling, always a dry hot that left sweat gathering at the nape of your neck, in every crease and fold of skin, soaking shirts in the midst of summer. Some of the newer kids tried to take John’s old bed in Bobby’s room, hearing stories about the awesome upper-classman and poster child for the X-Men. Then one of the older students would take them aside and explain that bed wasn’t allowed ot be used, it had something to do with a friend of Bobby’s dying. So by the next day that new student was always gone. Whenever he’d get too hot he’d freeze his skin, only to have it melt in the night and create a soaking wet bed, it was an excuse to move bed’s to sleep in John’s once more. He never could bring himself to change the sheets, he couldn’t give up that last bit of John.


Every time we lie awake
After every hit we take
Every feeling that I get
But I haven’t missed you yet

The first time she had come to him Bobby didn’t say anything. He threw a fit about Rogue touching him and stormed out of the room them didn’t speak to her for a good three days. It was too soon after John was gone, only a week. One temper tantrum didn’t stop Rogue (after all it didn’t stop her mother either), she came again and again and again. Soon the whispers started, why didn’t Bobby move on, why didn’t he touch his girlfriend now that he could? So, he put a stop to the rumors. She was almost as cold as John if she was too soft, smelt too different. It was still good, it was normal, Bobby reminded himself over and over again. John wasn’t normal, wasn’t even healthy and he was the enemy, he betrayed them. It helped him hate his ex-roomie a little bit more.


Only when I stop to think about it
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you

John’s room was always artic and whenever someone would try and take the empty cot on the opposite side of his room they’d find their things in a pile of ash in front of their once-room. No one roomed with John, no one else could stand the cold. He’d wake up every once in a while, in the middle of the night, shivering from the cold. He’d forget then, that there was no Bobby making it cold and that all he had to do was get up and turn the thermostat up. He would stare across the dark of his room to the small beige box and not move. He couldn’t bring himself to loose that last bit of illusion, even the mighty Pyro needed comfort at night.


Only when I stop to think
About you, I know
Only when you stop to think
About me, do you know
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you
You hate everything about me
Why do you love me

I hate
You hate
I hate
You love me
I hate everything about you
Why do I love you

Fire and ice are evenly matched, no matter what, they are perfectly balanced. That is, they’re perfect if the human heart doesn’t get in the way. One side could finch and that would be all it took for the other to gain the upper hand. The fire sputtered for a second and that was enough for Bobby to take advantage and change fully. Then he was grabbing John’s wrists, freezing them and his lighters.

Hatred and lust (or love) are two very strong emotions that are separated by a thin line. Some times that line is burned to ash, other times its frozen until it cracks and shatters. Either way that line is broken and blurred so often it might as well not exist, emotions are strong things that can throw everything out of balance.

A/N: couldn’t sleep so I drilled out that other song fic I needed to do. I’m not quite sure how I feel about this one, I didn’t have the song on file so couldn’t loop it as I wrote. I didn’t want to end it sad since Ayumie asked me not to. The end came out of no where, really I’m still wondering were it came from. Personally I blame a trip to Cindie’s, alcohol, and the smokes Gino gave me.

Will You Come To Me?

 Title: Will You Come To Me?
Pairing: John/Bobby, mentions Bobby/Rogue, Rogue/John is you squint.
Words: 1,068
Prompt: Aiden’s She Will Love You
Warning: Mentions character death, not sure who it could be.

-

You say you're in love,
Well cursive wrote this sonnet to the end
You say you're in love but this heart still can't pretend
Everything dressed in picturesque
So perfectly aligned, will you come to me?
Will you come to me?

“Come on Bobby.” John was smirking, staring at him, Zippo held in one hand, a note in the other. “You can’t be serious.”

Bobby opened his mouth to say something then just closed it and shrugged. There was so much left to be said, but he couldn’t find the words for it. Finally, he managed. “I love her.”

They were at Bobby’s house in Boston, the night after Stryker’s attack on the mansion. John didn’t set the note on fire, instead he just dropped it, plopping down on Bobby’s bed as if to consider what he’d just been told. “You love her, huh?” Mocking disdain was in John’s tone and voice.

“John-” Bobby began, taking a step forward, arms out to try and do something, anything, to make this easier for his friend.

“Whatever man.” Then John was standing, pushing past Bobby and out of the room, down the stairs, into the living room. As he hurried down the stairs he noticed all the pictures on the wall. Mom, Dad, two perfect kids, a cat named Inootz (sure its name wasn't normal but it was big and white and fluffy, so that made up for it), and a white picked fence. Everything was so middle America, so normal, so not Bobby. Bobby wanted this, John realized with a start. Bobby wanted the normalcy or it all, wanted to be like everyone else, wanted to fit in. To fit in he’d have to leave John, give up his powers, give up everything. John wondered if Bobby would ever come to his bed again.


Kiss me quick I'm losing, well can we live forever?

You say you're in love, well beauty slides this silhouette to screen
Will you come to me?
Will you come to me?

Kiss me quick I'm losing, well can we live forever?
Kiss me quick I'm losing but I'm miserable still

A quick text, the first communication between them in three months. John stared at the black on white words for hours before finally replying. ‘I’ll come to you.’ Could they meet? Hell yes. Should they? That was another question entirely and John was thanking every deity he’d ever heard of that Bobby had only asked him the first one.

An hour later found John standing in their old room with Bobby, slightly disturbed that none of his things had been moved. “Hey.” He didn’t know what was between Bobby and Rogue, didn’t care anymore, he was there, not her. Then he was kissing Bobby, the pair were on Bobby’s bed.

“I was miserable without you.” John wasn’t sure who said it.


She will love you through all the lies
She will love you through your disguise
She will love you through your demise
And sing our lives forever
Sing our lives together won't you?

Rogue was always there, always faithful. Maybe that’s why John was jealous, of her and of Bobby. He wanted Bobby to act with him in public as he did with Rogue, he wanted the kind of blind faithfulness that Rogue showered on Bobby. She had to know about their lies, she had pieces of him and Bobby running through her mind after all.

Then they’d been caught. Wolverine had come home, really no one had expected him for another two weeks, but since when had he done what anyone expected of him? John was halfway out the window, one arm wrapped around Bobby, their lips locked, and then the door had been busted in and Wolverine had him against a wall by his throat with Bobby on the other side of the room.

An incense had been left burning, to try and cover John’s smell, the fire suddenly roared to life, Wolverine’s claws slid through his skin. Then Bobby was shoving John out of the way, shouting at him to get out of there.

Spike had only been living at the mansion a few weeks, he didn’t know John as anything other than Pyro and he didn’t think. He acted as he’d been trained to act. Too bad for him John and Bobby did the same.

Can you take me back so far away?
Can you take me back so far away?
There's something left...
There's something left to say
There's something left...
You got something left to say

“I love you.”

He’d never said it, out loud. Ever. Staring down at the polished granite gravestone he said it for the first and last time. His hand was linked in Rogue’s leather covered one, and she squeezed his hand back, always faithful. They hadn’t given him the X-Men symbol, he’d been dishonored, he betrayed them, he wasn‘t an X-Man anymore.


She will love you through all the lies
She will love you through your disguise
She will love you through your demise
And sing our lives forever
Sing our lives together won't you?

That night Rogue, swallowing her own tears, had written a song for the modern-day mutant Romeo and Juliet. The older kids helped her with it: Kitty, Theresa, Jubilee, Piotr, the original X-Students. But they said that she had to be the one to sing it, even if Theresa’s voice would have been better. She was the only one who knew them both, she was the only one who had never questioned her feelings for either of them. She was the only one who could do it, she still loved them both.


She will love you through all the lies
She will love you through your disguise
She will love you through your demise
And sing our lives forever
Sing our lives together won't you?

A/N: Why did I write this when I should have been working on that other song fic to Three Days Grace’s (I Hate) Everything About You? I have no idea, I started this one at about 6 this morning because my friend’s little sister (who sleeps in the room next to the bedroom I was in) decided she was going to tear through her closet. So, I turned my music up, was reading Bobby/John fics and this came into my head.

 

The Price of Information

Title: The Price of Information 

Pairing: Sheik/(surprise)

Prompt: Second picture here 

 Words: 1666

 -

 

Information always comes with a price.

This is one of the few Truths still living completely whole in the world. Even the dead have their price and one has to pay it to get the information one needs.

-

Sheik sighed, casting ruby red eyes around the graveyard once more. He still did not know where to go, Impa had merely said to “seek the Hero who will save a Time that does not Exist”, she would give him no more than that and refused to even see him until he fulfilled the Duty she had given him. So, he had come to Karako’s graveyard, looking for answers among the dead, who Saw everything that was, would be, and could be.

The dead could be bought.

Sheik just had to be willing to pay the price that the dead wished to claim, and short of his life he would give anything to find the Hero of Time. Playing the Lullaby that Impa had taught him as a child on his harp he summoned the rain and lightening. Lightening struck the great stone grave of Hyrule’s Sheikah at the far end of the graveyard. Sheik had all the divine intervention he knew he could get for a wile and hopped down the dark hole, unafraid. After all, the Goddesses would never lead of their Children of Shadow into danger so intently, would they?

The grave was dark and empty, with eyes that could see the Truth Sheik had little problems seeing, pausing only to light the torches as a formality to unlock the door at the opposite end of the chamber. The four bats were shot down at their resting places where dark stone wall met black stone ceiling. Finally the Sheikah crept across the room and into the next one. He saw the redead with their hollow eyes, mouths permanently open in a soundless scream, dark brown skin curled around their forms. He managed to avoid the lot of them as he crossed the room, narrowly avoiding the acid-like river that flowed through the room. Better to be burned than touched by one of the Redead, or so Sheik thought.

At the end of the second room was another door, this one lead to the throne room. The supposed “king” of the Redead, The creature was once a Sheikah as well and that was why Sheik came to this one instead of one of the others, a Poe, or a Statue of Truth. This one was not mindless, this one was more human than the others. “Your highness,” A half bow that allowed Sheik to keep his eyes on the creature, while Sheik knew that the Redead had once been a Sheikah he was not foolish enough to believe that being of the same race would save him from this creature’s Price.

“What is it you would ask of me Child of the Shadows?” His voice was dry, not the harsh crackling of autumn leaves under foot, but something softer an old piece of parchment protesting as it was opened for the first time in ages perhaps.

Sheik made himself stare at the creature in its black, bottomless eyes. Why? To prove that he did not fear death or being bound to is body after death, Sheikah did not fear. “I wish to know where the Hero of Time will be once Awoken, Ruler of Those Who Forsake Death.” Ancient words that brought up walls between the creature in front of him and the Eye of Truth that it still carried on it’s arm. Sheik was not like this creature nor would he ever be.

“And what Price are you are you willing to Pay, Red Eyed Child?” The voice was darker now as the Redead tilted his head to the side, hands gripping the sides of his bone chair tighter in anticipation of gain. The green glow from the acid-like river was the only like making this creature look more sinister than before.

“Anything that is mine to give.” A clever answer, for Sheik had bound his life to his princess’s, he could not give that to the King of the Redead for it was not his to give, nor the harp at his side for that was a gift from Impa, nor the clothing of the Sheikah because that belonged to the Sheikah and not himself.

“I claim your body then, Young Sheikah for this information. Only until sunrise, that is not too high of a Price for such information, now is it?” The Redead King stretched his hand out, dark brown skin drawn tight over bone, lacking muscle and sinew required to move the appendage during life. “Are you willing to pay that Price, Sheik of the Sheikah?” The name and race were mocking coming from his lips, he had won indeed, more than the boy knew.

“I do.” Sheik reached out a bandaged hand, wishing there was more physically separating himself from the creature in front of him, though no fear showed on his face. The Sheikah did not fear, after all, even the Redead were nothing for them. When he grasped the Redead King’s hand he was suddenly jerked forward and onto the creature. Will only kept him from crying out. “What are you-”He stopped as the dried hand that was not clamped tightly around one of his reached up and stroked his cheek, pulling his face mask down.

“I am merely claiming my Price, as I am entitled to, Child of Shadow.” And then the Redead’s dried lips descended upon Sheiks’s. Trained under Impa herself Sheik did not resist, he did not want to jepardize his Payment to the Redead King, but Din damn him if he was going to act like some whore and spred his legs willingly. “I can feel the life within you.” It was whispered mocking a lover’s usual words of tender care and the Redead King’s mouth traveled from Sheik’s lips down his neck, staying on his pulse point for far too long, just feeling the life underneath the fragile skin, wanting to take it for his own, wanting too feel the warmth of life pulse within him once again.

Sheik’s clothing was lost all too soon for the living one’s liking and all too slow for the dead one’s. The complicated garb of the Sheikah was nothing for one who had worn it for half a century or more. Force of will continued to keep Sheik’s body from moving, reacting to the touches of the Redead King. The only thing he could not control was the flow of blood and his heartbeat, both of which the creature relished in.

“Sheikah control, especially of one so young is never perfect.” The Once-Sheikah purred, hands sliding lower and lower along Sheik’s body, touching things that should have best been left alone even by one living and especially by one dead. “I can feel your life and I want it for my own.” Sheik began to feel fear in that moment, would the actions against his body lead to his death at the hands of this creature as well as this humiliation?

“Oh no, Little Sheikah.” The Redead King seemed to read his mind as he shifted Sheik on his lap, suddenly seating the boy in his throne and sliding down, forcing open his legs. There was a bit of resistance in the movement, but how much could be allowed before the Redead King said the Deal was broken and Sheik suffered this for nothing? “I cannot drink your blood, Survivor of the Sheikah, but I can claim your essence in another fashion.” A dark chuckle then Sheik could not hold back all of the tears.

-

“Your Hero will be in the Temple of Time, a moon’s time from now at midday, freshly Awoken from his Seven Year Slumber, ready to do battle against the likes of evil and Ganondorf’s reign.” Sheik was freshly clothed and looked as if nothing had transpired between himself and the Redead King. The empty eyes regarded him with a different light. “You are quite the Sheikah, Sheik,” No more titles, no more barriers between the pair on the Redead King‘s behalf anyway. “Almost perfect, almost.” It was said with mocking admiration, adding salt to Sheik’s wounds. The Redead King wanted to see Sheik break again, wanted those tears of shame, fear, and hatred. He reached a hand out and tried to stroke a finger down Sheik’s cheek, tried to move the face mask away.

A hook sword through his middle stopped him.

“It is well after sunrise, Redead King.” Sheik’s voice was matter-of-fact as he twisted the hooked blade then jerked it back out of his once ancestor. “You no longer own my body.” He stepped away as the creature fell off his throne of death, watched with a smirk on his bruised lips, hatred burning in his red eyes, as the creature turned to dust and a purple grinning Poe-spirit. A quick jerk and suddenly he was caught in a jar. “And now I own you for eternity.” Sheik told the Redead King, letting him contemplate that thought before he threw the jar into the acid river. Absolute destruction was best for a corrupted one such as him, he was far too like Ganondorf for Sheik’s liking to want to allow the creature continued existence, his personal grievances aside. Each Redead in the crypt was killed as viciously and violently as their King, nothing was left living or otherwise in the grave when Sheik climbed back out of it.

A/N: So, what do you think? I got it from the second picture on

Klena's pictures she wanted to see a story for it so I thought I’d oblige her. The Redead King and everything about him is mine, the art is Klena’s and Sheik is whomever made Zelda, maybe Nintendo, I dunno, either way its not mine.

Changes

Changes

Pairing: Link/Sheik past

Words: 239

Prompt: None

God, he hadn’t changed.

Of course, neither had she.

The only one who had changed beyond recognition was Sheik, the one “immortal” of the three. Link and Zelda even held their names, Sheik held nothing, but his eyes. Blood red eyes that ever Sheikah (and every demon it seemed) held.

There was nothing unique or remarkable about Sheik, he was not the one destined to save Hyrule, nor the one destined to rule it, he was a messenger, a stepping stone of history, the teacher to the hero.

He was not bitter about being forgotten by history, he was bitter about being forgotten by the hero, Link, the one who swore he would never forget. Instead he was left with the princess, bound to her hand and foot, sworn to teach Link what he must and speak nothing of past lives.

Sheik had changed.

They hadn’t.

Yet he was the only one who remembered unaided.

So, why was he the one who was truly forgotten?

A/N: Came to me out of nowhere, probably because its 7:22 AM and I haven’t slept yet. I was looking up Link/Sheik slash then remembered something my sister said about the gold furred, red eyed wolf in Twilight Princess looking like the gold haired red eyed boy in Ocarina of Time. I haven’t finished the game yet, so I don’t know if this is even right or not.

My Daemon

Argument

 

Argument

Fandom = X-Men
Rating = PG
Paring(s) = Surprise
Summary = An age old argument with no winners, no matter who backs down.
Prompt = A love triangle is resolved by unconventional means.

-

“No way!”

The yell way loud enough to wake the dead.

“No fucking way in Hell!”

As St. John Allerdyce, better known as the mutant terrorist Pyro, yelled this he came storming down the hallway, presumably from his room to the kitchen.

“Listen, bitch, you can’t even fuck-” The line went dead and St. John let out a strangled scream. He threw his cell phone at the wall and began tearing through drawers, looking for the spare cash tin.

“What was all that about. Yo?” Toad asked, St. John’s cell in his hand as he tried to see who the last call was from only to have the thing ask him for a password. Giving up he went back to eating great globs of peanut butter from the container in his lap.

“Girl shit.” St. John grunted finding the spare cash box and opening it.

“She ain’t worth it, Yo.” Toad had seen the pyromaniac after his bi-monthly trips to see his girlfriend, it wasn’t pretty. Bite marks, long scratches, bruises, and even skin rubbed raw would cover the young mutant’s skin for weeks afterward.

“I never said she was.” St. John answeed, counting out a grand before closing the metal lid and throwing it carelessly back into the cabinet with the pots and pans. E turned on his heel and left, without saying goodbye, not that Toad expected one.

“If she ain’t worth it, why do you keep going, fool?” Toad asked Pyro’s ghost before going back to his peanut butter.

-

“Where are we meeting?” Fire practically spat out of his mouth as he asked the question.

“I’m not telling you.” As calm, cool, and collected as ever, The only time she was ever angered was when she found the marks that he left, making her remember that she couldn’t.

“Look you little whore,” A fireball appeared in his hand as he took a threatening step towards her.

“Ah, ah, ah.” She took a step back, wagging a finger at him as if he were a small child to be reprimanded. “Touch me and I’ll blow the whistle on your little. . . meetings.” She threatened with a calculating smirk that he knew all to well. That smirk didn’t belong on her face, no yellow eyes or blue scaled skin, but it was just as disturbing.

“Neither of us would ever forgive you if you did.” He shot back, though the fire in his hand disappeared as he fought for control of his anger, voice tight.

“Like I care about your forgiveness, you betrayed us, remember?” She shot back arms crossing over her chest.

“Whatever.” They had, had this argument a million times and would have it a million more. The only reason they shared the same space any longer was to keep their secret.

After a long pause she finally spoke. “He’s at the Holiday Inn, room two-oh-five.” She bowed her head, giving in.

St. John made it to the motel door before looking back. “Thanks. . .” A long pause. “Anna Marie.” ‘then he was gone, out the door to the hotel and room two-oh-five.

-

“What took you so long?” Talking only happened after fucking, one of the few rules St. John had. Talking before fucking meant he’d walk out and then they’d both be frustrated more than before they‘d met.

“Nothing.” St. John lied, just like every other time he had gotten held up. He shifted closer on the bed.

“Rogue again?” Another old argument, one that St. John had no patience for tonight.

“Look,” He started to defend himself, his actions, and Rogue, sitting up on the bed, sheet pooling low on his hips, revealing he was wearing nothing underneath.

“Don’t.” His lover said, standing and getting out of the bed, gathering clothing, intent on leaving. Back turned to St. John, stiff, controlled steps led him to the door. “You’ll never leave her.”

“Fuck you Bobby! You’re the one who’ll never leave her!” St. John shot back, voice loud and angry.

“I can’t.” The cyrokinetic pleaded, hand on the doorknob, pausing, trying for the millionth time to work this mess out.

“Well, I did.” And with that the general of Magneto’s mutant army shoved past Bobby and fled into the hallway. Bobby vaguely noted that St. John must have put his clothing on while he had his back turned.

Twenty calls and just as many voice messages, Bobby realized any pleas would fall on deaf ears, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the hotel room, just in case St. John came back.

The argument had never ended this way before.

No one was supposed to choose.


A/N = Yeah, it was supposed to be funny. About Rogue and John arguing over which holidays they’d get Bobby, not sure how it turned into this. Of course writing it at 6:23 in the morning after no sleep might have an effect on my writing. Remember reviews are loved! And I might actually continue this if anyone is interested.

For those of you who don’t want to be totally depressed here‘s a bit
more =

 -

Back at Magneto’s base, Toad was sitting in the living room, watching TV when he heard the melody of Pink’s ‘Who Knew’ all of the sudden and felt a vibration in his pocket. It was Pyro’s cell phone. He flipped it open only to have it say:

‘Incoming call from NAMECI

914-990-3309

Please Unlock phone’

And it continued. Toad counted twenty calls before it stopped. Whoever Nameci was they sure as Hell wanted to get in touch with Pyro. Toad wondered what it was about and if he should try calling Nameci and telling them that he had Pyro’s phone. Then he remembered Pyro had gone to see his psycho girlfriend and decided not to. Who knew what she might do to him after what he’d seen on Pyro. He decided he was just going to dog Pyro about his choice in ring tones as soon as the teen came home. Really, PINK of all singers on his phone. He’d always figured Pyro as a Black Sabbath, Eminem, Slayer’s kinda guy.

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