Title: Sonechka and Tea in America
Author: kljoyce on LJ
Pairing: Piotr/St John (Colossus/Pyro)
Rating: R





Title: Sonechka and Tea in America

Author: kljoyce on LJ
Pairing: Piotr/St John
Summary: "Art is not a handicraft, it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced."
Suggestion for soundtrack: Prokofiev's Dance of the girls with the lilies', Romeo & Juliet ballet, Alexandre Desplat's 'Vermeer's Studio', and Josie & the Pussycats' 'You Don't See Me'






Everyone has something to say about it. Peter fields endless questions on his knowledge of St. John's history, his conservative religious attitudes, his current position contra Bobby, his perceived status as the rebellious white trash to Bobby's obedient preppy metrosexuality. But these people, Peter thinks, they do not know St. John. Or himself. They speak like they do, but they see them both in the light of their powers, their political allegiances, their images. They all want information, but Peter enjoys giving them nothing at all. And St. John is even more impossible, in their opinion. A long time ago Peter didn't understand him. When he gave him gifts he either apathetically rejected them or accepted with forced politeness. They ended up in his closet. Peter had never been the recepient of either of those reactions to presents that were quite nice, actually. But now he knows him.

It's halfway through December, and Peter is making hot chocolate (home style) for John and himself. He only adds a little alcohol to John's, and goes to Bobby's room. John has so much stuff in it, (apart from everything he left when he went to Magneto), it's like he practically lives there. He's only mildly jealous that John doesn't keep things in his room. John is perfect to sit with; he lets himself be moved around a little, is gratifyingly affectionate in physical gestures, but the most perfect thing about it is that he talks much more when half asleep than when awake. He strokes his neck, and draws his hand up into his hair. Caressing his scalp always soothes John to sleep.

John wakeful is so laconic that Peter ends up trying to keep a conversation going. It certainly improves his English. He often sleeps over in Bobby's room in his old bed. In the morning Peter goes to him one of these days, on a whim, at 8 to see if he wants to eat breakfast with him. Even getting in the room proves difficult, however. He almost laughs--it's a perfect metaphor for their relationship. He knocks until he grasps that Bobby's inarticulate mumble actually means 'who is it'. He says it's him, and comes in the room. They are both totally missing beneath sheets and comforters. He can only see John's bright blonde hair on the pillow. It's incredibly cute. He sits on the edge of John's bed and says hey. He strokes his hair; typical, and also nothing else is available. Strangely enough, even with the lack of talking, and all around boring nature of their time together, John always comes. All they do is hang out, but it makes Peter feel special, important. Loved.

He draws him often, hiding these pieces away; his face has elegant lines. It's just convienent, to use people around you as models. He could be an actor in a Dostoevsky tragedy. John always comes to see him. He's often in his room when he's not, to his surprise. Sometimes the heating gauge is turned up to unbearable levels, like 100 degrees. And even then John has on multiple layers of clothing, under every blanket he has in the room. The first time he was afraid he was terribly ill, and then wondered if he should just go ask Bobby about it, but when he sits down by John, he wakes up. And starts taking off both of their clothes while kissing him. It's only later, naked in 100 degree heat that he asks him if he's ok. He mhmms and finally says, "Just cold" into his chest, his forehead pressed against his collarbone.

Later on he gives him a massage. He likes to do the routine stuff and then do his wrists and hands. He often uses them to control fire, Peter has noticed, so they are more strained than the rest of him. Being a full time terrorist seems to be hard for the body to handle. John is always, without exception, compliant to whatever he does. He likes to get that possessive thrill, of his soft skin, and shoulders, and lax, blissed out face only because of Peter. No one else touches him like this, and sees him all defenceless. He can't believe how controlling he is--he's never felt this way before, but it feels natural. He arranges John the way he wants, or rubs his back, or pushes him back against the wall and pins him there, and John does it. There is no question of him not being pliant to what Peter does with him. Just the idea of someone else touching John, or smoothing down his hair or stroking his neck makes him flip out. The one time a man did try to pick up John, he was set on fire by him. Which is much less than Peter would have done; when he found out from overhearing hallway gossip at the mansion, he saw red. He calmly and unobtrusively found out who exactly the man was, and went to see him. He picked him up by the throat and threatened to rip his limbs off if he ever came within miles of John again, and threw him against the wall. It's not like he hurt him or anything. It was totally justified.

On Valentine's Day he's going to find him (he's half certain he'll be by Bobby's room, since he's often there) and bring him down to New York for a seriously unromantic walk through the Russian area (to John's relief, Peter is sure; it will win him major points for resisting the Valentine smaltchz and understanding what John wants), but that afternoon he gets a package from him. It's a clear box of hundreds of pressed flowers and John taped an envelope to it. It has 'Peter' on it, in that mild cursive John uses when he's writing writing, not his usual handwriting. St. John writes all the time; Bobby told him once that early on he had to do special writing assignments for the Professor. He always got perfect marks on any English assignment; of course, being John, no one knew of this but Bobby and Kitty. Peter knew little about him, and his efforts to befriend him were always failures. Apparently John was exempted from having to take other classes so he could pursue it, but Bobby wanted him to stay with him in class. So he did, but he didn't do the homework, and the tests didn't count. Peter knows a little about his Australian background, but it seems like he came from a good family. Bobby told him once that John had tutors and learned quickly, so he didn't need to pass high school level stuff again.

So the note (it's a folded piece of thick printer paper) says, in heavy black marker,


Peter, I love you.


Well, he thinks. He always surprises him. St. John is a very 'cut to the chase' person, honest, direct. This bluntness is also often very unexpectedly romantic. Especially when he shows his knowledge of aesthetics and cultures. No one expects what John is really like; sometimes, not even Peter. The rebel James Dean who left Xavier's to defect to become a 'terrorist' under Lensherr. And who is still best friends with Bobby! John's power is not scary to him, he never uses it in front of him anyway. He's told him, it is not that he is using fire it is that he's using energy. But John does not speak to him about it. But John can do incredible things with his power now; he tutors Bobby and Kitty apart from their typical team power practice sessions (and John's rebel ones). All his time spent practicing, meditating, thinking, analyzing. Now he's very good at his power. Peter is proud he's so dedicated.

The little flower box surprises Peter. Completely classic as a heterosexual rebel in Bobby's pantheon of evil 'acceptable' mutants, he is feared and respected. And he's with him, not apparently caring about what people say, and think and how he'll be treated. How he is treated; Pietro and Wanda are sure both of them are trying to convince the other to switch sides. They are so obnoxious. If it weren't for their relationship, he would never think John would even consider, ever, going out with a boy. But here's the present from him. So naked in its truth. It's beautiful. And kind of artsy, for John.

When Peter finally catches up with him, he just says "Let's go for a walk, in the city". He can tell John appreciates his neutral reaction to his Valentine's Day present. He doesn't usually smile so much. He sometimes seems uncomfortable when Peter says kind things to him; action he takes better than words--strange for a writer, Peter thinks. He's never read any of his work, and doesn't want to, privately, because what if he sees himself there? Or if it seems like John prefers this, or mocks that. That would affect them and the simplicity. Peter likes simple things, like slow physical contact, soft and smooth. It took a long time for them to get to that stage. Of course technically his skin is actually warm, but it isn't a real fever, it's like Bobby's naturally cool skin. John can heat up the air, can manipulate energy--even in objects, people too. He has done it a few times to him, 'heated' him up by raising his body temperature. The first time Peter collapased and existed slowly, incoherently in foggy, heavy pleasure for what felt like forever. Then he passed out. When he woke up, St. John protested that he totally didn't need to warn him before he did that, what?, in the face of Peter's vigorous (ok, more like languid) complaints. "It's like", John said, "like a sauna. Relaxing."

His euphemism gets a please look from Peter. John looks away with a façade of innocence. John is much more of a sensitive artiste than his quiet nature implies. He's also funny. Sometimes he emails him pictures of cute animals adorably snuggling--and he'll only write in the subject line 'I'm the one on the right'; the littler one. They email a lot. John likes to write more than emote, and so sends him these beautiful, poetic descriptions of how he thought of him this morning when Sally stirred a brown sugar cube into her coffee. When he sees him, though, he is more monosyllabic than with people he doesn't care for.

He's always touching him, or they're all smushed together, John often almost completely in his lap with his head on his chest. He finds John handsome, but his face is sad. When he smiles at Peter, or laughs, it's beautiful almost because it's so rare. John can be incredibly funny, in a deadpan way--he teases Peter mercilessly. Even about their relationship, how John 'likes closets', and asking him if he's going to give him detention. Peter's sure he's never flushed so throughly and so often in his life. He has, without telling John of course, read some books on that type of thing. Since it seems like what they're doing. One horrifically embarrassing day John walked into his room randomly and asked what he was reading. He was pretty close to paralyzed in shock for a few seconds. There was no way he could tell him the real title--Peter would rather eat his shoes than have John know he's reading a self-help book about their romantic thing. When John looks at him inquisitively, after he's put away the things he's brought up--he's always bringing Peter little presents. It's the sweetest thing anyone's ever done for Peter; even moreso because John isn't the type to do something like that, to use flowery words or express himself out loud.

Everyone treats him like a macho cliche, like the Russian mafia enforcer that he isn't; it hurts his feelings. But John is much more silent, it is obviously much harder for him to express himself. He likes to provide things, give gifts, show emotion through action or objects. Peter enjoys being the more communicative one for once! Sometimes it's little cakes and exotic foods and things that the kids at evil headquarters are making and eating, or books, or clothes, or a pillow to replace the one John actually stole from him. He insisted that Lensherr wouldn't buy him a pillow, and he needed one.

The unnamed unfortunate fate of his missing one? He refused to discuss. Uh huh--that millionaire Lensherr won't get him one--and for him, the favorite! He's sure that John could ask for and receive anything from a Ferrari to a castle in Europe. Lensherr is known to be practically falling all over himself to please John and Sally--who of course don't want anything, and are already pleased, while his own children are totally impossible to deal with. It's like he's desperate to keep the 'children' who actually like him, with him. He doesn't get that that's it--respect and loyalty can't be bought, not really. Lensherr's afraid they'll take it back, their love--that they'll leave him; he knows them very well, but is too frantic and emotionally invested in his relationship with those two to stop. But anyway, Peter totally fantasizes about John and the pillow.

He finally gets his brain to work again, and puts the book under the bed. To placate John he gives him a book from his desk that is much more appropriate for him (and not so embarrassing): A Philosophical explanation of Sadomachism. John looks surprised at it, but says "Well, I'll read it too and tell you what I think". And he leaves with it. Thankfully, the issue is not brought up again (not in words, more like action) until he comes upstairs for a moment before he goes down to lunch and finds that Philosophical book on his desk, right on top. There's a stack of sheets of paper sticking out of it, and it's from John. It's his review, almost, of the book. It's also quite thick--John talks about the book first, and then goes through what he thinks: about this kind of thing, why Peter likes to be in charge, why John likes that.

It's almost disturbing, how long it is. It's all there, in black and white, what John thinks about him. About their crazy, intense, obsessive, quiet, private relationship. John apparently feels that Peter and himself are natural opposites in personality, and their differences in height, weight, size and power only exacerbate this. He discusses his feelings, why he loves him in particular, at length. Peter gets a little misty reading about how virtuous and good John thinks he is. After referring to their last naked time as 'almost as much of a high as using my power' and 'the best sex I will ever have, it's all downhill from there', he suggests that they do other things--in detail.

Peter misses lunch, his afternoon classes, and dinner. He stays in his room even after he finishes reading the enormous letter, trying to: one, deal with this new information, two, calm down enough to not have to take another cold shower, three, figure out what to say to John. This is more than twice the amount of words he's ever said to him. And most of those earlier ones were on topics like 'hello', and 'how's the weather'. John actually talks about the weather often; he and Bobby have a great interest in anything temperature related. He's really having trouble focusing. On anything. And when he sees him, he doesn't know how it'll go--because at this point he is going to tie him to the bed and tell him to beg him. In the clinical light of the book, the idea of 'ordering' John to do anything sounded ridiculous. He's only the second in command and favorite 'son' of one of the most feared and dangerous terrorists in the world. And John's pretty irascible and powerful himself.

Now? He can see exactly what to say, and that John will like it. Now he realizes how focused John has to be at all times, with the kids at Lensherr's, with his power, with Bobby's power, with the tragedies in his life. He never relaxes, or is 'off'. All he does is work. Except with him, when he almost gives up his own identity and play acts being weak, almost powerless. John writes, "People think they get turned on by beauty, but they're wrong. What is hot is putting yourself at the mercy of someone else and saying, you can use me like an object. I love you enough to be an object that you use. It is voluntary slavery, because of love. You can't buy it, you have to know it has been freely given to enjoy it. It is just as hot to have someone obsess over you to the point that they constantly want to control you, and fixate on owning you like a prize. Or to have someone become so possessive that freely given consent becomes more erotic than nudity." He's never thought of it this way. It's disturbing; in practice, it just seems natural, and hot.

Peter just stares at the ceiling blankly, laying on his bed. He's getting a tension headache from being so overwhelmed. But when John finally does come and ends his interminable hell, he smiles, and says hey, and sits in his lap and kisses him. Sooner than later Peter finds himself teasing John to death as he holds him down on the mattress. He's always pushing up, squirming and moving under him--John is such an excruciating tease, in his own way. How is he supposed to concentrate with him writhing like that, and bucking his hips, not that they're moving. Peter is much heavier; the fact that John's movement is in vain makes it twenty times more unbearable. John has excellent stamina. Peter likes waking up next to someone.

Peter's found out lots of things over time about John. He overhears a lot. He knows that John routinely says he 'smothers him with sugary love'--does that mean he should try to act differently, or does John enjoy faux complaining about it? He does choose to say it himself, after all. No one knows about their relationship, in the real sense of it. They have never kissed or snuggled up together in public. Or even exchanged loving words. Peter likes that it's private. He doesn't think John would act out his personal feeling before an audience, especially people he either doesn't like or is a mentor to. And ok, maybe he doesn't want anyone to see him like that, soft, vulnerable. People either fear John or respect him; it seems wrong, that anyone would see his private life. Peter wants it all to himself alone.

Peter likes that John seems to turn off with him almost, to relax. He is extremely possessive of him; of their time together. Their contrast in height and weight has never been brought up. John treats him like he's normal. He's so small against him, and he always lays against him, or is held by him. He's realized lately that sometimes he even sleeps with him without telling. Peter woke up one night to find him, who hadn't been there when he went to sleep, nestled against him under the covers; his little body curled up against his side, laying over his back, with his head in the middle. Like Peter's a pillow or something, he thinks, amused and blushing to himself, in the dark at 4 a.m. Most people wouldn't think of him that way--he's too muscular and hard and of course the metal possibility, obviously. People have even poked and tapped him before, trying to touch something odd. Someone. John always touches him like he's soft, though. Sometimes he runs his callused hands down his arm, across his shoulder. He's wondered what it would be like if it were reversed, their heights. No one has ever smoothed his hair and neck probably just because no one's been tall enough. There is also the fact that his list of lovers has one person on it, and it was a childhood flirtation only (Kitty, of course). Thankfully John has never seemed underwhelmed by his lack of sexual prowess.

He snuggles against him; he never says he's not comfortable or something. Sometimes it hurts Peter, the way everyone assumes so much about him, and treats him differently because he is strong and tall. He never asked for his power. That's the nice thing about John, paradoxically. He never treats him like anything special. He's never even once ever mentioned his power. Or even seen it, up close. Of course, John is gone in the morning. Peter lets him have his secret.

His relationship with him is a huge part of his life, and the more time he spends with him without even remembering his power exists, the more he realizes that he likes not using it. He likes being the Peter he was before his skin turned a strange silver color and was hard, and he left his life for America. For a noble cause, forgetting about having a life of his own. Now he wants a life, a partner in it. And normal things, like vacations and waking up with someone and buying Valentine's Day presents to embarrass the hell out of that particular someone. He's finding that Peter more and more now. Sometimes, when John's not there and he's going to sleep alone, he thinks: I'm worth something without my power, what do you know. It doesn't even matter.

The only time John is ever a hint of unfaithful to him is with Kitty of all people, in public, in a ridiculous scenario. Peter can't believe John had it in him to quote that Katy Perry song to Kitty, who replied with the part about girls being irresistible. It was really funny. Bobby flipped out in horror at seeing his 'sister' and 'brother' implying interest in incest.




__________________________



Erik makes tea and spends a lot of time talking with John. He's covering the powers exercise already. When he sends him and Sally on their first mission, he goes out and sits in his study reading and waits. Doug sends him the 'went off perfectly, all children rescued' message, and he gets up and makes himself tea again. The kids love them. John practices with them, talks to them. He already knows them personally, and they look up to him. It's never been difficult for Erik to express how he feels--he was the more volatile, passionate one to Charles' calm, reassuring presence. But John is even more quiet and serious than Charles ever was. He never wants anything, which disturbs Erik. Everyone wants something, but John seems to enjoy his life of studying, talking to Erik, helping the other children, conducting Bible study group and of course, the important stuff. Practicing using his power, fighting practice with Raven and Sally, mission planning and exercises with Doug, and the real thing. Rescuing the innocent, destroying enemies, obtaining information.

What they don't talk about, though, is legion. Their pasts are never discussed or referenced, and Erik does not want to bring up the question of Piotr Rasputin. Apparently, he has quite the obsession with John, whose reaction is hotly debated. Some feel their lack of public interaction means John spurns or ignores him, while others feel they are 100% together. John doesn't ever mention him. Erik doesn't mention Charles in this type of context either. John is too extremely religious for it to be a good idea, but then he is always spending so much time with Robert Drake. And he chose him. He is buoyed by John's obedience, respect and society. He chose him anyway.

Peter and John spend lots of time together. John's giant wall calendar has him pencilled in all over the place. He never has him come to their headquarters, however. Erik doesn't know what that means.

Erik was worried at first, about how the three of them would mesh: John, Sally and Doug. Their different temperaments could have clashed. But they all took to each other. He doesn't know that Doug, for example, was afraid to meet him. Everyone knows how serious meeting him is; he's Lensherr's protege. But days before he's set to, a spark goes off in his electrical octopus of plugged in appliances and the smoke alarm goes off. He shrieks in shock when he realizes what this really means--an inconsequential bit of smoke on an already fizzed out flash of fire will spark the in case of fire sprinklers. Ruining all his equipment. But it doesn't happen, they don't turn on. He never noticed them before.

He later finds out from Erik that John stopped the water from destroying everything. Doug is open-mouthed in shock as Erik explains that after sensing the fire, and that it was out, not spreading etc, John evaporated the water as it left the pipes. Doing it before the water hit the open air in the room would have made the pipes explode. But soon he realizes that St. John is always nice to him. He doesn't treat him like some weak techie nerd with zero social skills and relatability, not that he isn't. And he listens to him, and apologizes for asking questions about his computer that Doug can easily solve in minutes. Nobody's ever apologized to him before.

When John is gone, usually training because during most missions he's online with them, able to directly speak with them or just sending info on pdas or phones--he misses him. John asked him once if he'd had lunch, and even he could see he was inviting him to eat with him. Back then he was so surprised, he was sure he needed to tell him some specs or feedback about mission stuff. But he realized that it wasn't about that. John just wanted to eat with him at lunch. He was elated. He never eats with everyone else. Or anyone. Who would want to hang out and talk with him anyway? And John is the favorite, very powerful. The sweet taste of social success makes him happy--and people treat him with more respect now, and are nicer.

But when John is gone he starts to miss him. He has no one to discuss the new system flaws with, and music, and no one to watch him play the latest computer games. He can't listen as John plays his guitar. There's no one to hang out with who writes while he works on computer problems or schedules. St. John is very religious, and the kids they rescue love him in gratitude, but also because he walks the walk and doesn't even talk the talk. He never talks about, well, anything. Not about his power, or his training, or the people he's rescued, or killed. He has a lot of power, over Lensherr, over fire, over anybody he could beat in a fight. But he has no selfishness, like Sally. Other children ask for things and receive them from Lensherr as gifts, but John gets almost nothing. Only because he doesn't ask for anything. Sally refuses expensive presents and shrieks in happiness when John gives her a pair of sneakers for Christmas. Dr. Lensherr and his kids look on in confusion, but Doug decides to let them work out the problem in their mantra 'money equals loyalty' on their own.

This new alliance, of John and Bobby, is a source of hope for everyone. They're still best friends, even though John chose Erik's side. They work together, compromise, care about each other. Slowly he begins to love John as his older brother. When he realizes he's going out with that Russian mansion boy, he's surprised. But if this is the thing John wants, then Doug won't tolerate anyone saying anything--and he knows Sal and Dr. Lensherr won't either.

Erik, for his part, takes it as a gesture of peace when Charles sends him a note by post, to his heretofore hidden location. He's surprised but the promise of a protege gets him there immediately. Charles seems pleased to see him sans helmet. He gives him all the information. He seems almost hesitant to tell him most of it--he's best friends with Charles' favorite even though they disagree, they have no problem with the difference. He skips classes to read in the library alone. He's a writer, who could have already completed college based on writing ability. He writes Bobby's papers for him, and can imitate his voice perfectly, with just a touch of intelligence that Bobby could have reached by himself. The perfect lie--Bobby plays the popular prep with John as his James Dean opposite. Their friendship reassures the other children, and allows for both conversations about powers: both the cheerful and the cynical. Bobby hates his power, John believes God gave them out as a test and is extremely pro-mutant. But most of all they love each other, and see the political stuff as unimportant compared to their friendship. John goes to a psychiatrist and gets drugs for severe bipolar disorder--but Bobby takes them. He can't bear to speak about how he feels himself, so he writes it out for John, who memorizes it and then 'plays' him in the therapy.

Everyone sees them as classic opposites. And they are, Charles says, but not in the way everyone thinks. John's mental control is disturbingly strong; probably the result of trauma in youth. Neither of them say anything about how this mirrors their own lives. Erik thinks, as he walks out of Charles' study, I don't want to jinx this new beginning. He thinks Charles was listening.


____________________________________




In the winter months John gets depressed by the lack of sun. He also hates the snow, cold, rain, ice and wind. Passionately. He is alternately more attentive in the winter and more distant. He'll want to hang out, but can be totally silent and unmoving--unresponsive--for weeks at a time. He doesn't tell him, but it really disconcerts Peter. Before they were together, John barely ever spoke to him. He practically ignored all of his attempts to be friends, or to talk; he was usually writing or sitting doing nothing. Peter now knows that he was practicing his power and his concentration. And when he writes, he does not tolerate any distraction or conversation. If he had only known it then, he would have felt much less lonely. Peter just wasn't even on John's radar: never mind the fact that they were roommates, or that Peter was still there for years after John and Bobby moved out of their shared room. He's never going to tell either of them how much that upset him. He knows now that it wasn't personal, but back then he felt even more useless than usual. Only needed to reach high shelves and help people move things. Even as an x-man, it was pretty rare for someone to include him in strategy discussions or political debates. John and Bobby were real friends, and had no use for an extra person getting in the way.

John usually doesn't have him come over to his room, so that makes his text message even more surprising-- lonely come & visit me. But it is wintertime, which makes John a little unpredictable sometimes. So he calls Alpha Flight, unsure of really what to expect. Bobby and Kitty have been to evil headquarters, but not him. He does not begrudge John this though--he is, after all, an elite soldier, and among his military equals the atmosphere is particular--there is no place for their relationship there, except in his absence, so the others can rag John for it. He doesn't want him to change; to be romantic, to say emotional bruhaha--it would be unnatural for him and altogether disturbing for Peter. He is instead a man of action. His constant visits, the gifts he will only secretly give him, and never takes credit for, or even tells him about; and of course his causal and serious body language, which is totally submissive and loving. Despite his extreme schedule, they spend a lot of time together. It means a lot to Peter. And even his taciturn nature he finds no fault with--no one ever accused he himself of being talkative, so he's coming from nowhere anyway on that one. He can tell how special he is without superfluous words that would be difficult for John to say. To extract them would take a demand, and while he's sure John would comply, he's also sure it would be painful for him, privately. What isn't natural isn't quotidian for a reason.

John's room materializes around him. It is a plain bedroom with a table covered in Catholic things. The extra bright lights are on, and John is lying on the bed, comatose, in his pyjamas. The temperature is disconcerting, but Peter is used to abnormally high heat by now. He takes off the sweater he's already sweating in. He doesn't really know what to do for John when he's like this, but he has read about the light box therapy, and knows that social interaction is a good way to try to stop him from disconnecting from the world entirely. He talks to him, and takes his hand, and after an hour or two, tells him he'll see him tomorrow. When AF puts him back in his room, John hasn't once moved since he came. Lensherr built him a sauna when they realized how much John needed it; Peter misses taking John to one (back when he was still living at the mansion). Peter is not an active x-man; he left a while ago, and only returned as an instructor when Bobby asked him to teach Russian in Westchester.

He came to him in New York, where he was working in a Russian store and painting the rest of the time. He left the mansion when he realized that he had really known all along--he finally understood. Why he had been so hurt to be rebuffed as a potential friend to John, why he had made sure to be with Bobby when he knew John was visiting (after he left the good side), why he had been emotionally crushed when the two of them requested and got a room of their own, leaving Peter alone in a room big enough for three people. Why he always asked Bobby if John was doing well at Lensherr's. And especially why he never stopped trying to spend time with them when it was clear they were exclusive best friends--when it was clear John wouldn't even bother speaking to, much less be friendly, to anyone on the good side except Bobby. And Kitty.

Finally he realized it. And thought, this is what love has done to me, have I no self-respect? Am I going to live here indefinitely, looking forward to the next time John comes by to say hello, disinterested, to me as he goes to talk to Bobby with the door shut? I can't do this to myself. And I can't stay here; regardless. Of what I pathetically want to do despite all this. So he leaves, all at once. Now that he's sure, he doesn't want to be swayed by seeing John again, or having anyone try to talk him out of it. He also doesn't want to lose his extremely tenuous resolve. A few weeks afterwards, in New York, Bobby shows up unannounced. He asks him seeming lists of questions--many of which are pretty uncharacteristic for him. More high culture and some almost existential than Bobby's more casual, practical ones. But he doesn't, can't, get his hopes up, or even take the emotional reverberations, so he doesn't ask about the discrepency between questions like "Do you only eat Russian food here?" and "Do you think you're going to do any Pollock type paintings?" He still can't believe Bobby actually asked that. Bobby. Whose favorite subject is accounting and hasn't found a painting he doesn't find blah. (Peter would know--most people, when they speak to him about something other than athletics and his power talk about art. So he knows most of the mansion's opinion.) But he can believe someone else would--not that he's thinking that. Because he's not. No.

No. Eventually Bobby gets to what he realizes is that actual point--John and Sally will be around here maybe in a while, could they deliver stuff from the mansion to him? He agrees, with "Yes, of course", immediately. Ugh. Now he'll be totally anxious until after it. And maybe after, too. So he tries to clean everything up and starts dressing nicely. And goes totally paranoid. He wants to kill Bobby for this. He left to escape this feeling. When John comes, of course it has to be cold out, in mid-December--so he's all adorably smothered in winter clothes. He can't take any temperature below 75 in good humor. He actually turns blue; Peter's seen it, and he can't move his hands. He's always been worried John would get frostbite. He comes alone, and steps in, looking at everything. He asks questions that are clearly some of Bobby's memorized ones. He wonders if Bobby had notecards in his pocket when he came. He avoids having tea with him when Peter suggests it, and is out the door--it seems like minutes after he came in. So Peter decides to say something, and fortunately has the excuse of asking after the package. He adds that he would be happy for him to come down at any time, he could even stay. He always likes to see him. He doesn't think that was too much--the lack of Sally Skids and a package make this seem like a personal visit, but really, it could have been instigated by Bobby or Kitty. There is no way for him to know. He hates the emotional limbo John always makes him feel.

John seems pleased by this, because of the lack of cynical reply, and kind of barely gestures with his head to the side--and what does that mean?--and leaves. Peter sits down on his couch and puts his head in his hands to calm down. When this doesn't work, he works on one of his paintings in progress. Pollock style painting doesn't seem so unappealing to him anymore. Eventually Bobby comes again--unannounced, which makes his mind treacherously wonder if they ever come by when he's not home (he wouldn't put it past them to look through all his stuff just for informational purposes, to keep tabs on him for safety)--and has more of John's questions. He finally says, in his own words and diction, "John totally misses you". Peter doesn't know why he didn't move further away. Like back to Siberia. But he also is incredibly excited by such a bland statement, he chides himself at the same time. He is looking forward to something, (who knows what--but John's behavior implied, that he will come by again--or at least not that he won't), for the first time since he left. It's been pretty dull, routine, quiet. The days blur by; meaninglessly, he doesn't want to admit. He watches the news every day for news of terrorist action or x-men missions. He wonders if Bobby's hesitant delivery of that line meant that he's taking it upon himself to try to make Peter feel like he's missed (by what, the mansion's least friendly terrorist who barely spoke to him?) or if John told him to say it. He wants Bobby to suffer before he kills him now.

There are at least a few positive ramifications: he dresses much better, and keeps everything very neat and presentable. When John comes by the next time, he can look through the door lens, go to the kitchen and say 'coming', and start the tea. Then a minute after John comes in, it is ready and he can practically coerce him into having tea with him--so he has to take off all his defenses against the cold, blustery spring weather. Peter tries to keep them conversing, but it's almost impossible. He can't ask about his terrorist day life, and doesn't want to ask about the mansion and its people--who John didn't like anyway and of course left. He asks after Bobby and Kitty. The only downside to John's clear honesty is his succinct responses. Perfect for mission control reports, terrible for Peter's attempt to be his friend. And far from anything else.

He tries to push the issue (or really, their many issues) by saying, "You must come next week, and have tea with me. You're free on the same day?" John's slow blink and soft surprise give way to hesitancy. He studies the teacup and says, "Alright". They are Peter's best teacups. He's gratified that he decided to use his best ones, as they are under much more scrutiny that anything else he owns.

Peter knows they're just starting to be friends, but it feels strangely like--more. Or something. It's not like he's asking him out, but when they're together it never seems like they're friends. It always seems much more serious. Peter doesn't think either of them act causal enough for friendship. To keep John from rescinding from his agreement to come the next week, Peter decides to just talk. Conversation clearly isn't working--so he talks about anything he wants. He doubts John would just walk out on him. From New York and Russian food to the fire he saw last week, he tells John all about everything. His paintings, the news, what books he's been reading. John doesn't say much back--but. It's more that he's not interjecting into Peter's report, or his little stories. He sits there and listens and sometimes his eyes leave the teacup or the plant across the room to meet Peter's, and he nods, almost to show he's paying attention. He's clearly freezing without all his layers. Peter tells him to "Wait" and goes to his dresser and gets him a sweater. John takes it with "Thanks". It is large enough to reach his knees but thankfully does not fall off his shoulders. But even so, John doesn't indicate he has a problem with it. He wraps it all around himself, all the extra fabric, and turns sideways in his chair, putting his knees up under the chair arm. Peter wants to smooth the hair that's fallen across his forehead, in his eyes away from his face; he doesn't, as they're not that far along yet. He looks so sweet, all tucked into his chair.

They do this every week. John wears the sweater every time--well, everything is the same. The tea, John's chair, where they sit, Peter monologuing. Intellectually he knows John is very, very dangerous, but he never seems it. He's not almost haughty like Logan, or prissy like Scott, out of control like Ms. Grey, extremist like Magneto or as over self confident as the Professor. He's different--more hesitant, like he's just watching Peter, or unable to get across the emotional gap between them, that gap being John's non-existent interpersonal communication. And Peter thought he wasn't very good at socializing!--well, he's always tried, but he's never made serious friends. He's probably just boring or something. It means a lot to Peter that he's only ever been this strange, or different, really--with him. With Sally, Bobby and everyone he's practically siblings with, he's casual, obliging, loyal, with a wicked, witty tongue. With the rescued mutants at the rebel base he's their confidant, father and older brother. With Lensherr he is quiet, respectful, obedient; like a son, but a soldier, too. With everyone he doesn't like--everyone else--he's dismissive, blasé, or totally ignores them. And then there's Peter.


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That was a long time ago. Today he's in Sydney with John, showing some of his paintings at a gallery--which he is 200% sure was either happy to fawn on John, the famous writer, or happy to receive a generous donation to secure this. Either way, he did it for Peter, and he was rather insistent, for him, that he do it. He's never suggested he do anything before. So he's in sunny, very very hot Australia. John's mood usually moves with the temperature--he's never seen him smile this much.

It reminds him of the times he would take John to the sauna in the winter. He goes very still and catatonic without the sun, and without warmth. Bobby figured it out, that it might be seasonal depressive disorder, and got giant bright lights for their room, and had the heat always set at over 100 degrees, and even slept in Peter's room so he wouldn't lower the temperature unawares in his sleep. Eventually John came out of his deathly coma-like state. The first time he spoke after two months was to Bobby, in Peter's presence, after he took him home from the first sauna visit. Bobby was waiting right near the door, and immediately came out it to help John upstairs. He went inside and turned to him and took his arms and said, shockingly, "Bobby. You were right. It's the light. You saved my life." And hugged a speechlessly relieved Bobby right there inside the door, still in his many, many layers of winter clothes. Bobby cried right there and hugged him back, as Peter stood unmoving, fixed with disbelief on many levels. Of course they both ignored him, but they ignored everyone else when they were together, so. Back then he was more of a spectator of John's life than someone in it. It did not help at all that John was almost naked in the sauna. As if he needed to be even more attractive to Peter, jesus. Although it was pretty heavily tempered by John's practical coma and the fact that Peter had to physically move him around. John would have just laid down and died. So he had to fetch him, put him in the car, undress him at the sauna, set him inside, on and on. He tried to get him to drink some water while there; unsuccessful. After that first few times, as John majorly recovered from his general malaise, Peter would say something to him while in the sauna, once in a while.

He only ever got a mhmm in response. He at least had lots of time before leaving the hot room to get over his disappointment. Or hurt. You'd think he would have gotten over it by then, but no, he often mentally sighed. It's strange, how totally different it is now. It's like the on/off switch has been pushed. Before and after: after is very nice. John is extremely physically affectionate, even in typical (private) interaction. And in passionate moments he is totally focused on him. People unfortunately seem to think they're a strange, wrong, or unbelievably terrible match. Some even seem afraid that John is using him somehow. When Peter overhears this, he wants to say, for what? I give him so many things, seeing as I have so much money. And you see me so often go on missions with him--like that would ever happen. John would never allow it--it's too dangerous, he won't put him in danger. As if he cares about himself; also, Peter wouldn't want him to be distracted. Oh and clearly I have so many people fighting for my unrelatable, foreign, not an x-man anymore, apparently physically intimidating, plain, totally ignored attention. And John? Why would anyone be interested in the dangerously handsome (literally!) de facto number one of one of the most powerful, wealthy men alive? After all, who would want that kind of unreal level of money, influence, and power--military and political?

He doesn't ever act like he resents his height, which Peter feared would be a difficult thing. It does not mesh with John's demeanor, life and power to be short. At all. And John is not someone who would take well to jokes about being the girl in their relationship. Peter wishes they weren't so visibly extremes; it would be easier for John, he thinks, and people wouldn't comment on them so much. God only knows what they say to John. But every day that goes by and they are still together, and John hangs out with him in his extremely limited spare time, and lets him handcuff him to the bed and sometimes actually grounds out please, please, totally flushed and his hands shake erratically, oddly--he is even happier. If everyone and then some's comments haven't jarred or insulted him enough to get out of this then it is less and less likely to happen.


__________________________



Sometimes Erik has nightmares, and he tries to put them from his mind quickly. He goes off in his dressing gown to get tea, and John is in the kitchen, with ice cream. Strange indeed, as he just finished a mission--and usually eats very healthy food. Mostly vegetables or sandwiches, something that surprised him. Don't teenagers only eat junk food? (Sally eats such strange combinations of food that he tries not to look). Erik watches from the doorway as John writes on one of his legal pads. One of the children comes in, and is surprised at John as well. John tells him he himself had a nightmare. Pretty soon the kid is spilling what has him up at 2 am, and eating the ice cream. John gives him some of his hot milk when he goes off to bed, and Erik waits for a bit and goes out. He makes tea, and smiles at John, and sits with him, silently.

He asks him what he's writing about. John shocks him with, "A love story". At his incredulous look, he adds, "A tragedy". Erik just sits there; he's having trouble absorbing this--and John adds amused and wry, "Don't tell Peter", to his surprise. John and Sally are his most pugnacious, determined, serious fighters. They have an extremely high success rate, and they are never prideful, they never boast, demand things. He actually gets upset, privately, that they don't ask him for anything. His own children spurn him. His adopted ones prefer to live like clergy, or paupers when he has millions of pounds and euros and dollars to spend on them. It startles him, over time, to realize that John is much more emotionally calm, almost unmovable, than him. John forgives him without words when he gets upset, or short. He never takes advantage of his special status; neither does Sally. In front of others he never contradicts him. Sometimes, when he's alone thinking, he decides that John is his son, regardless of biology. He is the son he wants. He is the son who loves him. Who respects him.

He is very pleased about Peter, about the idea that John is doing something for himself, something fun. Of course he never mentions it. He remembers the highs of love with Charles, but he was always afraid. Weak, back then; damaged. John, he thinks, can embrace love without that type of baggage, and be comforted by Peter's attention and billets doux. John also doesn't seem to care about political differences in his adopted mutant family; Erik can't fathom how he can stand to speak with Drake and Pryde, or even Peter. He chooses not to think about how important it is to him that John and Sally be happy. Mystique loves them like an older sister. She and John are always working on her garden, and John reads carpentry books and about laying out gardens. The children are a blessing to them. (Unlike his own children).