Inferno

Summary: Jono goes out to do his broody thing at a club and runs into an old adversary of the x-men enjoying the benefits of his secondary mutation.

Notes: A few minor changes in the timeline for the sake of the story, but just go with it. Same goes for some powers, but trust me, this idea was too good to pass over! This one goes out to all the fans of a certain under-appreciated psycho Brotherhood member (not telling yet, it’s a surprise!) and the gothic jawless wonder that is Chamber.

Warnings: m/m, rape, and mildly disturbing things… and a random-ass pairing. Oh, and some spoilers involving recent events in the Uncanny X-men title. You have been warned…

Disclaimer: Stan the Man and all his loyal minions take the credit for characters and such, I only imagined this particular plot. I’m not getting any money for this, just a sick sort of satisfaction.


Jonothon Starsmore was having a bad day. No, scratch that, a bad week. Well, more like a bad… however long it had been since he and Paige split. He couldn’t understand why she had gotten so upset over the whole Candy thing. It meant nothing to him. It certainly meant less than Angel meant to her at least.

‘Bloody Yanks. Blowin’ one good shag entirely out of proportion…’

But then again, he knew it would upset Paige. He knew it and went ahead anyways. Deep down inside, he wanted to push her away. He wanted to scare her off. Because… because he loved her. Loved her so much that he knew that she deserved better than a freak like him. She deserved someone better looking. Someone capable of protecting her. Someone who wouldn’t be a danger to her. Someone like Warren…

Jonothon clenched his hands into fists as he continued walking down the street, the leather of his fingerless gloves creaking slightly. Warren was perfect. Too damn perfect. It hurt him that Paige had forgotten him so quickly and was now enjoying a veritable heaven with her own personal angel. As for good ol’ Jono, he was left alone to the blazing inferno that was always raging inside him, both literally and figuratively.

‘An it’s all your own fault, mate. You know that, right?’

‘Sod off. I don’t want to hear it.’

‘Fine, but you know it’s true.’

Fuming silently as always, Jono continued his way down the street, his thoughts in as much turmoil as the blaze of psionic energy hidden under his leather wrap. The collar of his black leather trench coat was up in hopes of making his unusual fashion statement seem nothing more than just that. Combined with leather pants and boots, each decked out with chains, buckles, and straps, along with a fishnet shirt between the coat and wrap, he made for an unusual sight on the whole. He stalked towards the lighted sign of his favorite club to brood in, trying to ignore how people moved all too quickly out of his path. He took little comfort in knowing it was more because of his dress than his mutation.

Typically he would have stayed in his room at the mansion and talked things over with his close friend Angelo. But there was reason number two why things weren’t so peachy keen at the moment. Angelo was dead. Crucified on the front lawn of the mansion by anti-mutant religious radicals. He was one of a group of younger students who had suffered this fate, but he was the only one that didn’t pull through. Angel’s blood just couldn’t save them all… Damnit, it saved Jubilee just fine! Why not Angelo? He knew it wasn’t Angel’s fault, but it only doubled his resentment of him.

The sidewalk pulsed with the low thump of a loud techno beat as he approached the door. He nodded to the large bouncer standing at the door, walking on in to the darkened room beyond. Black lights and flashes of strobes were the only illumination beyond the doorway. Everyone inside was dressed in some sort of leather or PVC or fishnet, most with spikes or collars somewhere or another. Bodies writhed about on the dance floor, emanating a veil of heat from the mass of humans and mutants alike. This place was all about emotions, be it anger, lust, agony or pleasure. Though he didn’t like to admit it, Jono still felt as much as anyone else. Just because he technically had no heart dt met mean he was heartless.

People clustered about circular tables around the perimeter of the room, each set dispersed by more formal booths. Various sex acts were taking place at most, but no one really took any notice one way or the other. This club was a release to its patrons, be it in dancing or in fucking. Jono made his way through the crowd to the booth in the back corner, the darkest place available. It was almost an unspoken understanding here that this was his booth. He shrugged off his coat, feeling a bit too warm in the club. Leaning upon one hand, he gazed out at the thrashing throng before him, caught up still in his own thoughts. That was when he heard the voice by his ear.

“Come ‘ere often, mate?”

Jono started, whipping around to face the source of the unexpected sound. He hadn’t bothered to even look if anyone had been sitting in his booth, but it seems perhaps he should have. The man was reclining back against the cushions of the curved bench, his hands tucked confidently behind his head. His feet, each encased in large black combat boots, rested atop the table. He wore a pair of tight black leather pants, a large wallet chain hanging from one side, and a silk button-up shirt with flames emblazoned across the front, the top three or four buttons left open. Wild blond hair was swept back, though just barely, into a ponytail. From beneath a fscapscaped strands were two intense blue eyes boring into him, coupled with a disjointed smile that sent shivers down his spine.

“Can’t ya talk, mate? Wha’s wrong? Mutation got your tongue?”

The grin widened, obviously amused at his own joke. The man’s accent was similar to his own, but with slightly different inflections marking it as distinctly Australian. There was also a dangerous edge to his words, however mocking. Jono stiffened, crossing his arms over his chest as he answered the gleeful stranger with an irritated glare.

‘Who in the blazes are you?’ he thought towards the man, refusing to back down.

“Who am I? Bloody ‘ell, a bloke goes and fakes his own death an’ suddenly no one remembers him!” He slipped his feet off the table, leaning forward to extend a hand. “Th’ names Saint John Allerdyce, but those who know me best call me… Pyro.” The man paused for effect, hand still outstretched. Jono raised an eyebrow.

‘Never ‘eard of ya.’

It was a bit of a lie. He had heard the name batted around the mansion as some of the X-Men alumni reminisced about past battles with the Brotherhood. Bobby had even spoken of him as a friend a few times. But this man in front of him didn’t seem to be the type to make friends, especially not with him. Jono just wanted him to get lost as quickly as possible.

“Haven’t heard of me? Well… that’s a shame. ‘Cause I’ve heard plenty ‘bout you. Chamber, right? S’it true ya got that psionic fire energy stuff ‘stead of any insides?”

Jono held his glare in silence, raising a hand to pull his wrap down just enough for a flare of energy to crackle up from under the leather.

“Well fuck me! Now that’s interestin’ mate. Very interestin’ indeed.” He stood, looming over Jonothon, one hand supporting himself on the wall above his head. A wave of fear suddenly rushed through him, though he was unsure as to why. From what he had heard, Pyro wasn’t anything compared to some of the characters he’d been put up against lately.

“So tell me, that stuff inside ya… it burn much?”

Jono rolled his eyes. ‘Yes. It’s quite unpleasant. Remind me to demonstrate for you some time. Now kindly sod off.’

“No… don’t think I will. I think you an’ I should really get more acquainted… we have so much in common, after all.”

‘Fuck you, ya bloody wanker.’

Jono stood up, grabbing his coat as he took a step towards the exit… and promptly froze. He strained, trying to will his limbs to move, but nothing happened. On the contrary, he felt himself turn back to face Pyro as he slid back into his seat against his will. Panic flared up inside him, along with another feeling, something more painful. It was a moment before he realized what it was. His psionic energy was straining against his body, threatening to rip him to pieces.

Pyro ran a hand over Jono’s wrap, up the side of his face to his hair, fingers lacing through the longish brown strands. He grabbed it in a fist, twisting his victim’s head up to look him in the eye with an unsettling leer.

“Now then, luv, let’s you an’ I have a little talk. I’m sure you’re dyin’ ta know more about my powers now… more specifically, how they’ve changed by way of my secondary mutation.” He jerked Jono’s head back further, causing him to cringe in silent pain. “Dun worry, luv! You an’ me, we’re gonna have a great time.”