( #001 ) LOVE MARKED

[chatona]

(inspired by this tumblr post. )

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John "Pyro" Allerdyce | X-Men Movieverse | With options!

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[XAVIERS/CANON: How strange that such a troublesome, anti-social boy should have a red mark. Go ahead, ask him about it. Potential for real hilarity if pulled from his time in the Brotherhood instead. (Open to timeshift AUs from the prequelverse)

TRIGGERPHRASE: One red, one as black as black can be but showing signs of scarring around the edges.

FIFTH CURRICULUM: Only a scar. Everything else is too uncertain.

ANYTHING ELSE: Well, it'll depend, but let's try it!

surprise motherfucker

[broil]

[He's on his bed again. Time to read some book because class dictated he should, and - well, would you look at that, he's actually complying.

Boredom quickly takes him, though. The thing is flapped shut just before he drops it on the mattress and leans back to run a hand through honey-gold hair. He thinks about going into the bathroom to make sure his roots aren't showing yet, but then he just decides he doesn't care. He's just bored.

Where's John?]

timeline is whotf knows.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He's coming back from class, that's where he is. He pushes the door open, slings his bag onto his bed, then looks up at Petre with a very "oh. you." expression.]

Do you ever do anything? Or just laze around in here all day like you're - laying in wait or something.

[Really. It's creepy.]

welcome to the real au world

[broil]

Roomie.

[Finally. an oasis in this wasteland

He's lying on his back with his eyes on the ceiling, but his head rolls to the side to look at John.]

They gave me homework, Johnny. And I was actually trying.

i think this one is early-ish. it feels that way.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

The hero this school deserves.

[His eyeroll is truly epic as he pulls off his hoodie and hangs in on one of the two coathooks on the door, leaving behind a plain white t-shirt that he has to tug and smooth down a bit. A lot of the older students here wear long sleeves even in the heat of summer because of what they might or might not reveal, but John and Petre are two that have no secrets - Petre because he's never loved anyone, as far as John would guess and his arm reveals, and John because he's simply got a pale white scar that immediately shuts up anyone who might want to ask.

He doesn't know if Petre's ever noticed his scar. Sometimes Petre looks at him quite closely, more closely than he likes - it's better than the touching, anyway, if by a slim margin - but not usually at an odd spot like his wrist.]

How bad's the damage, anyway? [He walks over, trying to get a look at the book. What class?]

[broil]

[True. Usually Petre has no difficulty spotting details about people, especially if that means they'll leave them flustered. Humiliated, if that's what he's going for instead. In John's case he's managed to escape with that mark because it's pale on his skin. It doesn't take a lot for it to blend in, so he leaves it be. Until now.]

History.

[A bored remark as he frowns. He sits up, reaches for John's wrist and pulls it towards him. Forces him to turn it up and traces the scar with his finger.]

That's new.

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[This touch, more than any other, feels like an invasion, because the mark may be open for anyone to see but not to touch. That mark is a person. And it's someone Petre has nothing to do with.]

You're just blind. [He tugs hard against the grip, trying to pull his hand away.]

[broil]

[He lets John go, shows him both hands like he's totally overreacting when Petre obviously means no harm.]

Guess so. How old is it?

[ex_outofcontrol435]

Three years. [He purses his lips irritably at Petre's display of surrender, then turns away to walk to his own bed and stretch out on it.] Like you even know what love is when you're fourteen. The thing's defective.

[Like he has any idea now.]

[broil]

Only as defective as you are.

[He pulls up his own sleeves, wiggles his fingers to show John his own wrists. Nothing on either one. He's squeaky clean, even from his past.]

How about those who've got nothing?

[ex_outofcontrol435]

You're smart. [Very, very dry, and immediately followed with:] Or a sociopath. And I hate having to compliment you.

[His hand is over his wrist now, almost protective after having Petre touch it.]

[broil]

[There's a little laugh, and he lowers his arms again.]

And apparently I had no childhood. But we all knew that.

Think there's hope for me yet?

[ex_outofcontrol435]

If there is, I pity the target already.

[Hahaha. Foreshadowing.]

I mean, I dunno. Ever been close? Had a near-miss, a maybe?

fifth :>

[mediumatlarge]

[Ryan's been a little scarce in the few days since it showed up.

Sure, he knew he had some sort of feelings for John, but he hadn't thought they would start to show. Not when things are still uncertain, not when he's trying not to push anything or make him uncomfortable (or scare him off), and especially not when Ryan can't even be sure whether those feelings are reciprocated at all. It's not red yet but undeniably there, a visible pink line-- and while it makes him curious, he's not sure he wants to know whether John's skin shows anything but that scar he's seen before.

He's pretty sure it won't, is the thing. Ryan's always sort of had the feeling he's destined for that pale stretch of skin to be covered in nothing but shades of pink and red and the occasional scar, nothing darker.

So when he finally does feel up to facing John, he makes sure his sleeves are long enough to pull all the way down to his hands, leaving nothing exposed. The room he shares with Petre definitely isn't a safe spot, so he's wandering the grounds to see if he's outside instead, listening carefully for any sign of his thoughts.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[It'll take Ryan awhile, but just beyond the gardens and the small graveyard, there's a large tree with a canopy of sprawling, leafy branches beneath which John likes to lie when he really needs to relax. Not just avoid something or cool his head, but suppress murderous urges.

Petre pressing and pressing about his scar left him in a horrible state, anger boiling over everywhere to cover the pain that lingered beneath. Scar? It might as well be an open wound now. And it wasn't even much of anything, which just reminds him of how pathetically little it took to make him feel loved. How easily he can weaken.

He's tucked between two of the protruding roots like some kind of forest creature, except for the leather jacket bundled up under his head as a pillow. Eyes closed, but eyeballs moving restlessly behind them. With the sunlight constantly shifting and slanting through the canopy of leaves, it's hard to get a read on his expression.]

[mediumatlarge]

--John?

[It's a quiet, tentative thought, and he's hanging back several feet for the moment; Ryan isn't sure if he's asleep, if he should just leave him alone. If this is a bad time after all.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He slits his eyes open, shades them with a hand, but that's not necessary - the manner of communication was as unmistakable as the silhouette is now that he's looking.]

Hey. [He makes no move to sit up, but there's nothing unwelcoming about his posture or tone.] You know now that you found this place, I'll have to kill you.

[There we go. There's a practically visible black cloud of angry thoughts around him, but he can still joke.]

[mediumatlarge]

You know I'd just haunt you, right?

[There's some amusement in his tone, though it's faint. Those angry thoughts are easy enough to pick up on, and the appearance of that mark has just made Ryan more self-conscious about showing any affection even after it's been okay so far; when he moves closer and sits next to John, it's all a little hesitant.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He seems to think about that for a moment, then tips his head toward Ryan.]

I'm down with it, as long as you scare the fuck outta Petre.

[He's in short sleeves again with the jacket off, and he starts to massage his wrist, just feeling the slight ridge of the scar. It never hurt, not for a second, but he could swear it does now.]

[mediumatlarge]

[Petre. It always comes around to him, doesn't it-- and that gets the last of the lightness to fade from his mental tone, a faint little frown tugging down the corners of his mouth.]

...yeah, okay. Deal.

[He can't help but glance down, eyes drawn to the movement as John massages his wrist; Ryan's immediately grateful his hand covers it, that he didn't actually get a good look, and he quickly looks away again.

Asking if he's okay would just be a stupid question. He stays quiet, then, letting John bring up (or avoid) whatever he wants.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[It comes out in images: brilliant red hair swinging back and forth as a figure walks in front of him, an almost dancing walk; pale skin, smattered with freckles, and the kind of smile that would melt any heart at a thousand paces; tiny wrists, brittle-looking, leading up to dangerously slender arms and knobby shoulders revealed by an oversized tanktop, the armholes large enough that John gets a view of one tiny breast tipped by a rosy nipple; the same face, closer, a sort of puppy-dog pleading expression with that same smile; finally, that red hair completely obscuring his vision, until his own hand brushes it away and reveals her face flushed deeply red and twisted with ecstasy.

Except that isn't the last image. The last image is of his own arm, the black mark there slowly scarring over as he watches.]

Just out for the weather, or do you have something to say? [It's brusque, almost cold, but clearly because of the thoughts he's wallowing in at the moment.]

[mediumatlarge]

...I just wanted to find you.

[It falters slightly; sure, he knows why he sounds the way he does, but that doesn't always make it easy to ignore. He's still distracted by those thoughts himself, honestly-- Ryan's never gotten any hint of this in John's thoughts, nothing to explain who that scar came from. It's too personal a subject for him ever to have asked or prodded, but now that he's seeing? There's a certain ache in him at that last image, both from knowing it must have hurt to watch and from knowing now who it represented.

Ryan doesn't comment on it, or say he's sorry, but the feeling's almost tangible.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[Despite the scar, John managed not to think about her terribly often or deeply until Petre pushed the issue. It was the kind of door better left closed, in his opinion. Now he's got no choice - he's locked inside the room with no way out.]

You found me. [Then he opens his eyes more fully, stretches his arms over his head lazily as he gives Ryan a proper glance for the first time since he arrived.] Not a great time, but I guess you know some of why.

[He never knows how much, but those floods of sympathy also never pass him by.]

[mediumatlarge]

-yeah. Enough of it, anyway.

[That frown's still there, though it's less an anxious thing, now. Words never have been his strong suit, and so for another moment all John gets out of him is another wash of sympathy.]

...d'you want me to leave you alone.

[It's not the uncertain question that it sometimes can be; Ryan wants to be here, wants to stay with him, but this is the kind of hurt he knows John might not want company for.]

[ex_outofcontrol435]

[He looks away, which may not seem like a good sign, but then the answer comes.]

Nah.

[He's chewing hard on his lip when he sends another thought.]

Y'know what's funny? I wouldn't have minded telling you. He can get anything he wants out of me so I've got no choice but to tell him, and you get it all by accident when I'd tell you anyway.

[Well, somehow that unflattering comparison makes Ryan come out looking pretty good. There's a measure of trust between them, anyway, which is a big step.]