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04 May 2011 @ 07:16 pm
Pyro scrubbed a hand over his face before he squinted up into the afternoon sun. He had never been a pale kid, his skin always a little darker but looking at himself now he was definitely pale. He hadn't seen daylight for who knew how many days. He'd been locked up, he'd been in the med lab and he'd been in Warren's room. He wasn't complaining about the last part. He really wasn't complaining about the last part. Now that he and Warren were on the mend, there'd been some more kissing, a little fooling around. His dick wasn't so broken anymore and there were ways around Warren squishing his wing. John was getting used to living with him, and he was getting used to being... gay.

He still caught himself staring at Sage's breasts when she wasn't looking. He couldn't help himself. He was bisexual, that much he knew. Just right now he'd found himself in a relationship with a guy and he wasn't going to change that. He was happy. He made his way over to the bench near one of the large trees in the grounds of Xavier's and dropped down on it with a sigh.

He'd just rubbed his hand over the back of his neck when he heard footsteps behind him and then Warren was perched up on the back of the bench so he could keep his wings free.Collapse )
 
 
Warren was quite proud of his foresight to give Hank the spare key to his room for John. One, it meant if Hank needed to see him, he could without Warren needing to move too much, and two, he could screen any knocks at the door and not answer if he didn't want to because he knew John could just please himself if Hank ever released him from the confines of the medical bay. Warren, on the other hand, had just wanted to sleep the past few days away. He didn't even feel like jerking off, which was saying something, but he was sure he couldn't even find a comfortable position for it if he tried, anyway. He was now in bed again, his sore wing laying draped across the length of the bed while his other was wrapped around him, sort of like a cross between a hug and a blanket as he lay on his side.

He was dozing when he heard a noise, and only opened his eyes a little.Collapse )
 
 
There had been a lot of disapproving looks from Hank and some kicked puppy looks from John, but Warren finally lost his cool and told them both he was going back to his room so he actually fit on a bed. If he didn't lie down, he was going to fall down. Maybe there did need to be some time spent between him and John, but Warren wanted to be in his room away from prying eyes and evil eyeballs for being an irresponsible shit. If the team acted when they should have, though, Warren would never had a need to go out looking himself and get slammed into a brick wall by an angry biker. He took a long shower, which was mostly just him leaning slumped against the wall of the shower cubicle while the water ran over him and his wings. All the cuts were stinging and he didn't have a lot of energy to move. He did feel better after it, though, and by then the strong painkillers Hank had supplied him with were starting to kick in. Now he was just left looking like a mess, but the aches and pains were subsiding. Hank told him to take it easy and stay still, medical advice Warren had no issues following at that point.

He pulled on an old pair of track pants and a wifebeater, and was stiffly wiping his hair with a towel and trying to ruffle his feathers back into more comfortable positions when he heard a knock at his bedroom door.Collapse )
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
[Before THIS and THIS]

He felt like shit. John knew he had to look like shit too. He couldn't move without grunting in pain, so that meant he just lay in the bed Hank had set up for him down in the infirmary and didn't actually protest anything. He didn't argue when tests were done, or when bandages were changed or applied. His voice came out husky, and low like he hadn't used it for a long time, but it was mostly from damage to his throat. Underneath all the pain, all the helplessness though, there was just a sheer sense of relief. He had never been scared of the Brotherhood until they'd taken him. He would have happily fought any of them one on one, but to be locked up and tortured, it had just been too much.

And to be left with nothing but thoughts of Warren, and the fight...

John's brain broke. How could it not? Something that he'd invested in so quickly, something that had taken him by surprise was over before it had even started. He'd tried to go to that club to wash the other mutant from his mind and body, and all it had done was to land him in trouble. He didn't even remember much of how he'd actually been rescued. He could remember hearing Emma's refined tones echoing in his mind, and he could remember the smell of scorched metal from where Cyclops must have blasted holes in the cell John was being kept in. And unfortunately there was a memory of Wolverine carrying him like he was some goddman damsel in distress, but he assumed that Logan would be just as willing to pretend it didn't happen as John was. Denial really was his best friend sometimes.

But still, under it all, there was Warren...Collapse )


Word Count | 8,239