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salmon_pinkTitle: Private Lesson
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairings: Mystique/John, Erik/John
Rating: NC-17
Words: 961
Timeline: Post-X2
Notes: For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_smutlets, prompt "school".
Summary: Not the most compassionate of teachers.
John’s bored. Somehow, he’d thought being on the side of terrorism and destruction would be a little more interesting. He’s made his peace with the fact that he’s changed his allegiance, and he knows he’ll be hated for it, and he doesn’t care.
Let the X-Men have their idealism and their delusions, and let them pretend that the persecution doesn’t exist, and let them forget the way they were tortured and ridiculed growing up. It’s a joke, really, pathetic, locked up in their little mansion, pretending the outside world could ever accept them, while hiding their faces from the very people they expect to embrace them.
John hasn’t forgotten the thrown rocks and the shouted words and never having a home. He hasn’t forgotten the hostility and the hatred, and he can’t believe he listened to the Professor for so long, can’t believe he could be so childish as to honestly expect the world could change.
Fear never changes, anger never goes away, and John feels like his eyes have been open the whole time, but he’s just learning to see.
So, John’s picked the right side, and nobody will ever look down on him again.
Only he’s not really doing anything. Just waiting. All they ever seem to do is wait.
Magneto locks himself away to pour over his plans, and Mystique disappears for days at a time on reconnaissance, and John waits. And is bored.
John’s frustrated, because he’s stuck alone all day and he’s running out of things to set on fire.
And he knows Magneto’s frustrated, because every so often something very large, very metal and very misshapen will crash across the room, and John’s gotten pretty skilled at ducking and diving out of the way at less than a moment’s notice.
Mystique’s frustrated, and it appears to be for no more reason than the fact that Magneto’s frustrated. She pushes herself harder for him, and she puts herself in danger for him, and John’s noticed that she’s been limping slightly since she last reappeared with a file of stolen discs in hand. And John would think her devotion almost pathetic if she didn’t scare him so much, if she wasn’t so damn powerful with it, head held high and a look in her eye that makes John feel useless.
So, they’re all frustrated, and Magneto’s emerging from his chambers less and less, and Mystique is preparing for her next mission and she’s still limping, and John lies in his bed and tries to sleep, but his mind won’t shut up.
Except it’s difficult to sleep when his door creaks open like that, and he can tell it’s Mystique by the fact that he can’t hear her footsteps.
The way she moves always fascinates him, so fluid, one long movement like water and waves, and it’s never more captivating than when she slides onto his bed and swings one leg over his thighs to straddle him.
Her lips are insistent against his own, almost fierce, and he’d always imagined they would be, and John knows he’s in trouble when he realises that he can’t shake her grip on his wrists.
Not that he really wants to, of course. He’s been bored and frustrated for weeks, and suddenly he has a ridiculously attractive woman pinning him to the bed. A ridiculously attractive woman with the kind of powers that make her a walking wet dream. A ridiculously attractive woman who knows she’s a walking wet dream, and knows how to reduce everyone around her to shivering, moaning slaves.
He always knew she’d be aggressive, so it’s no surprise to feel her teeth at his neck. And he always knew she’d be forward, so it’s no surprise when she wastes no time shoving his sheet aside and wrapping her hand around him, and he’s already embarrassingly hard and he can imagine that’s no surprise to her.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, of course, and the way her hand moves over him is skilful to the point of painful, no nonsense twists and pressure that unravels him and draws him along far too quickly, and it’s too much, too fast, and he can’t even make a noise, can only pant and stare at her through wide eyes.
“I don’t like the way you watch me,” she purrs against his throat, and he hears the words but he can’t find the significance in them. Can only taste the threat, but it has no effect on his body, and he needs to arch his hips into her touch, but her weight keeps him pinned.
“You need to be taught a lesson,” Mystique hisses, and her voice echoes around him and he isn’t sure if he’s nodding or shaking his head or completely still, because the room’s lurching and spinning in front of him and he’s so close.
And then there’s a shift above him, and the grip never lessens, the rhythm never falters, but the hand wrapped around him is suddenly bigger.
“Good little soldier,” Magneto’s voice whispers in his ear, and John knows he’s screwed.
He yelps, and Magneto only laughs and stares back at him with amber eyes. A little rougher in the way he moves, the way she moves, and John’s too far gone, his body needs it, and he’s just staring and doing nothing to fight it, and Magneto smirks and licks his lips. Squeezes at him a little more tightly, and John’s lost to it, the shock of it surging through him, mixing with the sensation of the constant stroking, and he feels himself seize and shudder, hears himself cry out, and Magneto’s laughing at him, and John has no idea what he’s supposed to have learnt, beyond humiliation, and Mystique scares him more than ever.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairings: Mystique/John, Erik/John
Rating: NC-17
Words: 961
Timeline: Post-X2
Notes: For
50_smutlets, prompt "school".Summary: Not the most compassionate of teachers.
John’s bored. Somehow, he’d thought being on the side of terrorism and destruction would be a little more interesting. He’s made his peace with the fact that he’s changed his allegiance, and he knows he’ll be hated for it, and he doesn’t care.
Let the X-Men have their idealism and their delusions, and let them pretend that the persecution doesn’t exist, and let them forget the way they were tortured and ridiculed growing up. It’s a joke, really, pathetic, locked up in their little mansion, pretending the outside world could ever accept them, while hiding their faces from the very people they expect to embrace them.
John hasn’t forgotten the thrown rocks and the shouted words and never having a home. He hasn’t forgotten the hostility and the hatred, and he can’t believe he listened to the Professor for so long, can’t believe he could be so childish as to honestly expect the world could change.
Fear never changes, anger never goes away, and John feels like his eyes have been open the whole time, but he’s just learning to see.
So, John’s picked the right side, and nobody will ever look down on him again.
Only he’s not really doing anything. Just waiting. All they ever seem to do is wait.
Magneto locks himself away to pour over his plans, and Mystique disappears for days at a time on reconnaissance, and John waits. And is bored.
John’s frustrated, because he’s stuck alone all day and he’s running out of things to set on fire.
And he knows Magneto’s frustrated, because every so often something very large, very metal and very misshapen will crash across the room, and John’s gotten pretty skilled at ducking and diving out of the way at less than a moment’s notice.
Mystique’s frustrated, and it appears to be for no more reason than the fact that Magneto’s frustrated. She pushes herself harder for him, and she puts herself in danger for him, and John’s noticed that she’s been limping slightly since she last reappeared with a file of stolen discs in hand. And John would think her devotion almost pathetic if she didn’t scare him so much, if she wasn’t so damn powerful with it, head held high and a look in her eye that makes John feel useless.
So, they’re all frustrated, and Magneto’s emerging from his chambers less and less, and Mystique is preparing for her next mission and she’s still limping, and John lies in his bed and tries to sleep, but his mind won’t shut up.
Except it’s difficult to sleep when his door creaks open like that, and he can tell it’s Mystique by the fact that he can’t hear her footsteps.
The way she moves always fascinates him, so fluid, one long movement like water and waves, and it’s never more captivating than when she slides onto his bed and swings one leg over his thighs to straddle him.
Her lips are insistent against his own, almost fierce, and he’d always imagined they would be, and John knows he’s in trouble when he realises that he can’t shake her grip on his wrists.
Not that he really wants to, of course. He’s been bored and frustrated for weeks, and suddenly he has a ridiculously attractive woman pinning him to the bed. A ridiculously attractive woman with the kind of powers that make her a walking wet dream. A ridiculously attractive woman who knows she’s a walking wet dream, and knows how to reduce everyone around her to shivering, moaning slaves.
He always knew she’d be aggressive, so it’s no surprise to feel her teeth at his neck. And he always knew she’d be forward, so it’s no surprise when she wastes no time shoving his sheet aside and wrapping her hand around him, and he’s already embarrassingly hard and he can imagine that’s no surprise to her.
She knows exactly what she’s doing, of course, and the way her hand moves over him is skilful to the point of painful, no nonsense twists and pressure that unravels him and draws him along far too quickly, and it’s too much, too fast, and he can’t even make a noise, can only pant and stare at her through wide eyes.
“I don’t like the way you watch me,” she purrs against his throat, and he hears the words but he can’t find the significance in them. Can only taste the threat, but it has no effect on his body, and he needs to arch his hips into her touch, but her weight keeps him pinned.
“You need to be taught a lesson,” Mystique hisses, and her voice echoes around him and he isn’t sure if he’s nodding or shaking his head or completely still, because the room’s lurching and spinning in front of him and he’s so close.
And then there’s a shift above him, and the grip never lessens, the rhythm never falters, but the hand wrapped around him is suddenly bigger.
“Good little soldier,” Magneto’s voice whispers in his ear, and John knows he’s screwed.
He yelps, and Magneto only laughs and stares back at him with amber eyes. A little rougher in the way he moves, the way she moves, and John’s too far gone, his body needs it, and he’s just staring and doing nothing to fight it, and Magneto smirks and licks his lips. Squeezes at him a little more tightly, and John’s lost to it, the shock of it surging through him, mixing with the sensation of the constant stroking, and he feels himself seize and shudder, hears himself cry out, and Magneto’s laughing at him, and John has no idea what he’s supposed to have learnt, beyond humiliation, and Mystique scares him more than ever.
no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 04:10 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 04:35 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 05:33 (UTC)Thank YOU for writing^.^
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Date: 07/12/2007 06:32 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 06:24 (UTC)Youre writing is V.powerful.
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Date: 07/12/2007 06:33 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 08:05 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 19:09 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 08:56 (UTC)no subject
Date: 07/12/2007 19:10 (UTC)no subject
Date: 24/02/2008 19:56 (UTC)