Match

St. John Allerdyce was, for the most part, happy about having left Xavier’s school. One thing he did miss, however, were the company of people his own age. John was a 17 year old boy, and being forced to hang around stodgy adults all day was hardly his idea of a good time. Fortunately for John, the aforementioned adults essentially let him do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Which is how he had been able to drive to New York in a car that no 17 year old should ever be allowed to drive, and saunter up to one of the nicest clubs in town looking for action of some sort. Violent action, sexual action, John wasn’t picky as long as it was something. The club was very nice indeed; the cars parked around it were a dead giveaway. John’s eyes were especially drawn to a red Toyota Supra. Supras were outrageously expensive, and the fastest car that could be legally imported without any modification.
“Sorry kid, you’ll have to leave,” the bouncer told a now very pissed off John upon seeing that he was only 17 years old, instead of the requisite 21. John’s hand involuntarily reached for the Zippo in his pocket, not too happy that his I-am-an-invincible-teenager bubble had been shattered.
“Seriously. You need to let me in here,” John continued, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. There was no way in hell he was going to be taking orders from some stupid, weak human.
“Like hell I am, kid. Now get lost.”
“Let him in,” a new voice floated silkily from behind the bouncer, who turned around in alarm.
“But he’s underage,” the bouncer argued.
Chuckling. “Does it sound like I care? Now move,” the voice continued irreverently.
The owner of the voice stepped out from behind the bouncer and regarded John smoothly. The other boy looked a few years older, and John was keenly aware of the feel of his eyes as they looked him over.
“Are you the owner?” John asked.
“No,” the other boy responded, “But I’m an honored guest. They’ll do whatever I say. Now go in.”
John locked eyes with him for a second, and sensed… something. The other boy’s eyes were brown, with strong undercurrents of red. His hair had the same tone to it, and was long enough to just brush his shoulders. John looked at his clothes; a tight wife beater and drawstring pants that sat so low on his hips John wondered how they didn’t fall off. They were red, and a white flame pattern snaked up each leg.
John was definitely wondering at this point.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“You really don’t know?” came the incredulous response.
John shook his head impatiently.
“Heat.”
“I’m John!” he called, grateful to Heat for letting him in. Heat didn’t seem to care, as he was already walking away, and was soon lost in the sea of people.
John had planned to spend the evening unwinding and getting drunk, but had spent all of it so far looking for Heat. There was something about him that seemed so… familiar. John couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there. And John had to admit to himself that Heat wasn’t too hard on the eyes, either.
John’s search came to a rather dramatic end when the raised stage at one end of the club lit up brightly, and everyone turned to face it, screaming. Heat swaggered onto the stage. Heat extended his arms and the metal poles on each side of the stage burst into flame. That was either an impossibly well-timed special effect or John’s suspicions were true.
Heat began to dance, at first simple movements, but still incredibly fluid. The movements quickly became more dramatic and complex, until they broke in a crescendo of floor acrobatics. John had never seen live break dancing before, and found himself quite enthralled. Also, John had totally failed to notice how, well… really fucking nice Heat’s body was earlier. His body was showcased rather well at the moment; muscle stretching and flexing with every move he executed. Heat twisted upward into a one-handed handstand and his shirt slid up, exposing a large section of his abdomen. John sucked in his breath as he felt an erection starting to form, and realized that he was suddenly noticing all sorts of other little details about Heat; such as how nice his ass was, and well shaped his lips were. John was also keenly aware of the fire on the stage, and how perfectly controlled it was. It never left the two poles to which it clung, and seemed to sway and almost mimic Heat’s movements. John concentrated on the fire, trying to make it grow, to make it step out of rhythm. It disobeyed him. John flicked his lighter on, and at his command the flame stretched out tall and thin. That was fucked up. Were his gifts starting to wear off? What fuckfuck ever. As Heat grabbed one of the poles and slid down, arching his back until his hair dusted the floor, John’s cock throbbed almost painfully and he decided that figuring out what the deal was with the fire could wait.
Heat’s show ended sooner than John would have liked, and John caught a glimpse of him heading for the back door. John followed, lighter still in hand.
Heat had seen John watching him; and now, just as he wanted, John was following him. Heat rather doubted that John was the boy’s true name, but he’d play along for now. From the moment he saw John, Heat just knew that he had a gift of some sort, and when he saw the lighter he conjectured that it had something to do with fire. Heat was curious; other people who shared his gift were fairly rare. Through the partially open door, Heat could see the flames on the stage flaring crazily, no longer under his control. He’d felt John trying to manipulate them earlier, and that irritated Heat a little. Nobody fucked with him while he was performing, even if it was one of his own kind. One of his own kind with such a beautiful face, and a mouth that made Heat’s cock throb at the mere sight of it.
Heat noticed the way John held his lighter; clutched it like a lifeline. Heat almost laughed out loud as he realized that John was probably one of those poor souls who could only manipulate fire, but not create it. Hence his dependence on the lighter. Heat smirked a bit, feeling exceptionally thankful that he was a full-blown pyrokinetic, as opposed to the half-assed version of the fire-controlling power that this John had gotten.
“So, what’s with the lighter?” Heat taunted, deciding to have a bit of fun at John’s expense, “You look too young to buy cigarettes.”
John had had quite enough of Heat’s holier-than-thou attitude. Who the fuck did he think he was, anyway? Sure, watching him dance had given John the hard-on of a lifetime, but that was no excuse. He was probably just some bratty, self-absorbed human. An insect.
“How’s about I show you,” John said, smirking right back. Oh, this was going to feel so good. John flicked the Zippo on, pausing and allowing his opponent to see the flame. Then, with an elaborate gesture of his hand that ended with a raised middle finger, he sent a powerful wave of fire straight forward.
Heat’s hand shot out, and the fire slowed until it crept into his hand, totally docile. He stood there holding it for a minute before closing his fist and extinguishing it. The look of astonished rage on John’s face was worth a thousand words. John’s worst suspicions were confirmed, and he wasn’t happy about it.
Okay, so maybe Heat wasn’t just some human with a poser nickname. But he was still a fucking asshole.
“Good game,” Heat sneered. In one smooth movement, he lunged forward, grabbed the lighter and then gracefully danced backward.
“You fucking prick! Gimme that!” John roared.
Heat laughed. The other boy was so… enticing when he was angry. Face flushed, eyes gleaming, and his lips forming the prettiest little pout. “Wow, it must really suck being only a half-assed pyrokinetic,” Heat chuckled. Just to add insult to injury, Heat clenched his fist, and when he opened it a ball of fire was dancing in the palm of his hand.
John was literally shaking with rage. He had never felt so angry and humiliated in his life. Getting his lighter back and then strangling Heat were the only thoughts in his mind. John had a few inches on Heat, and halarglarger build. That was all it took for John to make up his mind. He charged at Heat, slamming into him at full force. They tumbled to the ground in a heap. The lighter flew out of Heat’s hand when he hit the ground, and John bolted after it, making sure to step on Heat in the process. Once his lighter was safely back in his hand, John felt some of his rage dissipate. At least until he looked up again and saw Heat lounging smugly against the wall, toying with little flames hovering over his fingertips.
“So you’ve got your little toy back. Now what? Hmm?” Heat asked, slithering closer.
“Just. Fuck. Off. Before I kick your ass,” John hissed. Heat was standing far too close for John’s liking. John could smell him. A bit of sweat, a bit of smoke, and charcoal. You You really think you could? I don’t,” Heat replied, grinning in a way that John was trying to convince himself was not lecherous. John briefly reconsidered his threat; Heat was awfully strong, as was clearly evidenced by how well he danced. Those floor acrobatics required a tremendous amount of both upper body and leg strength, not to mention flexibility. John wished he hadn’t just thought about that in such detail. Thoughts of Heat slowly arching up from a backbend or grinding down into the splits were not the kinds of mental pictures John wanted right now.
“Tell me your name,” Heat whispered. John jumped; when had Heat moved closer? Close enough for John to feel the warmth radiating off his body. Close enough for his lips to bruser Jer John’s earlobe when he spoke.
“I… already told you,” John whispered back, not at all happy with how he was responding to this. He should be pushing Heat away and pounding him into a bloody mess for insulting him and taking his lighter.
“No you didn’t,” Heat insisted. John jumped again as he felt little slivers of flame slide from between Heat’s lips and onto his ear and jawline.
John swallowed hard, and finally gave up trying to sound angry and/or threatening. Heat was standing so close there was no way he could miss how turned on John was.
“Pyro,” he answered, a little more confidently. Heat was pressing against him now, and John immediately noticed how turned on he was by all of this.
“Don’t you ever lie about who you are. Especially not to your own kind,” Heat said roughly, more fire slipping out of his mouth as he bit John’s neck. Hard. John yelped. The fire didn’t cause him pain, but Heat’s teeth did. John grabbed Heat’s shoulders to push him away, but then he felt Heat’s lips and tongue smoothing over the bite mark. John shivered and felt both his heart rate and body temperature jump. He allowed his hands to slide down Heat’s bare arms, feeling the firm tone of the muscles there. Heat was still sucking on John’s neck, working his way upward. The temptation was finally too much and John shifted to kiss Heat, but Heat jerked back.
“Not in an alleyway behind a club. I’m too good for that,” Heat said. He was panting slightly as he ran his fingertips over John’s lips.
“So, Pyro,” Heat continued, taking another step back, “You can either come with me right now, scamper off home, or… I suppose you could try and kick my ass.” Laughter.
John loved the way Heat said his name… his real name. “You’re such an asshole,” John panted as he grabbed Heat and kissed him almost violently, sexualizing some of his lingering anger.
The force of the kiss made Heat crazy, and so did the feel of John’s lips. They were incredibly hot, yet so soft. Once again, Heat pulled back. This time slowly, allowing their tongues to slide together even after their lips were separated.
“Pyro,” Heat insisted breathlessly, “We’re leaving.”
“Fine. But hurry the fuck up,” John demanded, equally breathless.
John followed Heat to his car. It was the red Supra he’d been eyeing earlier.
Heat yanked the passenger door open. “Get in,” he snapped. John complied, and as soon as he was seated Heat slid over him into the driver’s seat, making sure to grind his ass against John’s erection in the process. John bit his lip to keep from making a sound.
Heat turned the key and throbbing trance music loud enough to make the mirrors shake poured out of the speakers. He smashed the pedal down and tore out of the parking lot. John was momentarily distracted from his lust as he admired the car. The interior was entirely black leather, the sound system played MP3s instead of CDs, and he could hear the turbo charger in the engine.
“Nice car,” John commented.
“Thanks,” was the terse response.
“How did you, uh, get the money for it?” John inquired. He knew he was being nosy, but he didn’t really give a shit if Heat got pissed off or not. As long they got to fuck at some point, it was all good with John.
“I’m the best break dancer in the world. So of course, people want to see me. Clubs, concerts, music videos.. it’s good money. And I do street racing. I’ve never lost a race, so I’ve made a lot of money that way, too,” Heat explained without a trace of modesty. John was about to make some comment about Heat being too arrogant and full of himself, but then realized he really had no room to talk. Modesty was overrated, anyway.
The initial awe of the car wearing off, John went back to staring at Heat. Or, more accurately, at how Heat’s lips were parted and tiny, barely-visible traces of flame would escape them with every breath out, how fast his breathing was, and how his erection pressed noticeably against his pants. John reached over and slid a hand down Heat’s thigh, drawing a slight gasp.
“How much longer til we’re there?” John was practically whining, his own erection rather painful. He had been hoping that focusing on tar war would help calm him down, until he noticed that the car smelled like leather and fire, which only served to enflame his arousal further.
“You’re so fucking impatient, aren’t you?” Heat chuckled. Only this time the tone wasn’t malicious, more cajoling. Friendly, almost. Heat’s moods apparently changed at record speed; one moment he was a merciless, taunting bastard, and the next he was a reasonably polite, almost-agreeable semi-bastard. Maybe the whole thing with the lighter had been some sort of test? Heat hadn’t made any mention of it since, nor the slight yet oh so infuriating difference between their gifts.
Finally, finally, the car slowed down in front of large stone building.
“I live in a flat on the top floor,” Heat said. As soon as John got out of the car, Heat grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him inside, into the elevator. As soon as the elevator door closed, Heat was on him again. John moaned as Heat’s hand palmed over his erection, but the sound was muffled as Heat was kissing him again, slow and wet. John’s hands crept down onto Heat’s ass, that tight firm ass that John had been admiring earlier. He loved the way it fit so perfectly into his hands.
As Heat opened the door of his flat for John, he wondered what happened to his usual rule of never bringing anyone home from the clubs he performed at. Oh well, Pyro was a worthy exception. So very like himself; arrogant and fearless. He’d proven that he had quite a spine back there in the alley. And of course, there were the issues of his lips, and his eyes, and his ass, and pretty much everything else about his appearance. The fact that he was a fellow (albeit slightly lesser in Heat’s mind) pyrokinetic was a nice bonus; Heat wouldn’t have to worry about burning him to death in the throes of his passion.
The door slammed loudly, and snapped Heat’s mind back into the current situation. Heat’s mind almost shut down entirely moments later when he felt John’s hands on his ass again, and John’s mouth working the pressure point under his ear. Never separating, Heat maneuvered John across the room until he hit the bed and tumbled back onto it. Heat remained standing, smirking down at him. Oh, how lovely Pyro looked sprawled out on Heat’s bed, lips wet and swollen from kissing, hair all disheveled.
Heat peeled off the tight wife beater, giving John a nice view of his well-conditioned chest. John’s eyes went almost immediately to the piercing in Heat’s left nipple. The only thing holding Heat’s pants up was the drawstring (tied rather loosely). John leapt off the bed and made a grab for it, but was stopped dead in his tracks by Heat’s hands between his legs; one hand cupping his balls and the other pulling his zipper down.
“Take your shirt off,” Heat ordered huskily. John eagerly complied, and as soon as the shirt was on the floor, Heat began to kiss and lick down his chest, stopping at his nipples. John moaned loudly, and took at double handful of Heat’s dark red hair. Heat pried John’s hands out of his hair and sank fluidly to the floor, legs spreading until he was almost in the splits. He balanced in that position as he slid John’s pants and boxers down, then rolled his body forward and swallowed John’s cock with one swift stroke.
John yelled out a sharp cry that may or may not have been Heat’s name. John’s hands were in Heat’s hair again, and he watched raptly as Heat slid his head up and down the shaft, tongue sliding along the underside. John was making incoherent sounds as Heat continued to work. As he grew louder, Heat arched his back at a seemingly impossible angle and pressed his tongue behind John’s balls. The site of Heat’s body twisted under him combined with the feeling and hotness of his mouth was more than enough to send John screaming into orgasm. Moments before he came, though, one of Heat’s hands grabbed the base of his cock in painfully tight grip, stopping his orgasm. John was embarrassed by the sounds he was making; he was whimpering, and quite possibly begging as well. Heat slid out from under John and back up his body, still holding his cock.
“Heat…” John gasped, trying to sound commanding, “Get back down there, you little fucker.”
“No,” Heat responded simply, tracing John’s lips with his tongue. He slowly let go of John’s cock. “Get on the bed.”
John had never been good with taking orders, and decided it was time that he gave some.
“You get on the bed,” John snarled, and once again tackled Heat. They landed on the bed, Heat trapped underneath John, writhing. John pinned his wrists beside his head, before sliding down to tongue his nipple ring. Heat squirmed and moaat tat the touch, urging John on. John continued down, hell-bent on paying Heat back for tormenting him earlier. Undoing the flimsy drawstring knot and yanking Heat’s pants down, John ran his tongue slowly up the length of Heat’s cock, tonguing pre-cum out of the slit before sucking on the head. Heat was moaning long and loud, and John loved the sound of it. He wanted Heat to come screaming his name (his true name), begging him for more.
Heat, however, had no intention of submittihat hat easily. He grabbed John by the hair and yanked his head away. John hissed from the pain of having his hair pulled, but had no time to recover as he felt Heat dragging him upwards and flipping him over. Yep, Heat was definitely strong, and was now on top of him.
John didn’t complain, though, as Heat ground his hips downward. John hands stroked Heat’s ass, squeezing in time with the rhythm of his hips. One of Heat’s hands reached back to cover John’s, guiding his fingers inside. John eagerly complied and slipped a finger inside Heat, causing him to arch and thrust back onto John’s hand. John added a second and then a third finger as Heat continued to fuck himself against his hand
“Pyro…” Heat gasped, his voice shaky, “… stop.”
“And why should I?” John shot back, driving his fingers into Heat again. John decided that there was no way in hell that Heat was a virgin. It didn’t really matter; it’s not like John was, either.
Heat reached back again, grabbed John’s wrist again and yanked his hand away.
“Because I said so,” Heat purred, tonguing John’s ear as he took hold of his cock again. John’s eyes widened as he watched Heat sit back, guiding the head of John’s cock inside himself. The feeling was incredible; Heat’s body was impossible tight, and would have been painfully hot had John not been immune to the effects of high temperatures. He watched as inch by inch of his cock disappeared slowly inside Heat’s body, until Heat’s ass rested on his thighs. Heat’s breathing was ragged as he arched his back until his hands rested on John’s leg. He began a slow, grinding rhythm with his hips and John thrust up to meet him. The pace was rapidly escalating, and Heat pulled himself forward until he was nearly laying on top of John.
“You wanted this all along, didn’t you, you little slut,” Heat moaned in John’s ear, moving his hips faster and harder. John grabbed Heat’s hips and pounded into him.
Heat continued, “You wanted to be under me like this, didn’t you. Wanted to be inside me. How does it feel?”
John had lost all coherency some time ago, but manage to groan out something about how good it felt, how tight Heat was and how he wanted more. Heat sat back up again, and his left hand burst into flames at his mental command. He wrapped his burning hand around his erection and stroked himself, his other hand toying with his nipple ring.
John was so close to coming, the sight of Heat touching himself almost too much. He reached out to take over stroking Heat’s cock; he pulled the fire from Heat’s hand to his and continued the rhythm hard and fast. The feeling of John both inside and out, combined with the feeling of the fire, sent Heat over the edge and he threw his head back, lips parted, coating John’s hand and his own chest with his semen. Heat was moaning John’s true name and riding out his orgasm, and that was enough to make John come as well. He came violently, and Heat’s name ripped from his throat as a scream as he dug his fingers into Heat’s hips with bruising force.
Heat slumped forward onto John’s chest, oblivious to the sticky mess between them. John turned onto his side, arms loosely draped around Heat. Neither said anything as their breathing slowly returned to normal. Right as John started to feel awkward, wondering if he should leave or not, Heat spoke.
“There’s no way in fu’m d’m driving anywhere right now. I think I could barely stand, much less walk to my car,” he said.
Oooh, score one for Pyro. John smirked hugely and responded, “It’s not my fault if my cock was too much for you.”
“Don’t you wish, you little shit,” Heat shot back, “I’m pretty sure you were the one who was begging me to suck you off.”
John didn’t have a witty retort for that on; he had been begging. “Whatever. Just shut the hell up and go to sleep.”
Heat grunted in response and shifted until he was spooned comfortably against John. Later on, both boys hovered on the edge of sleep, and John was thinking. About Heat. John couldn’t help but wonder who Heat really was, what his past was like. He couldn’t even make a guess about Heat’s ethnicity. Definitely not fully Caucasian, maybe part Asian? Who knew. And what his name?
John brushed Heat’s hair away from his ear and whispered, “Heat?”
“Hmmm…?” was the drowsy response.
“What’s your… you know… birth name?”
There was a long pause. For a moment John worried that he had seriously pissed Heat off and would spend the rest of the night on the street. When Heat’s response came, however, it was barely audible: “I don’t remember.”