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uc_xmen2007-12-04 01:14 am
dreadpiratekurt.livejournal.com) wrote in uc_xmen2007-12-04 01:14 am
Entry tags:
Frostbitten
Title: Frostbitten
Genre: Comic Verse AU
Rating: PG-13 (hasn't hit R or NC-17...yet)
Pairing: Bobby/Kurt
Summary: Nightcrawler finds himself trapped in a dark world, seeking to rescue and bring home a much changed Iceman.
Frostbitten - on Fanfiction.net
Chapters: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten
Bobby's grip on his wrists was like iron, and he moved like a warrior, knowing how to exactly to keep someone flat on their back, prone and helpless. The man who once wore the “X” and was called Iceman, even had Kurt's legs firmly pinned, using his greater weight and positioning of his thighs to keep the smaller mutant from kicking free.
Plus, he was still very weak from the teleportation.
He'd never met Bobby, at least that he could lucidly remember, and while he knew that he was trained in the way that all X-Men were, no one had ever bragged about the bad assery of Robert Drake's fighting skills.
It seems that in his eighty-five years of exile to this hellish world, he'd picked some up.
But, he'd never personally witnessed Iceman in battle.
And, of course, Bobby had never witnessed him.
The haze of madness in Bobby's eyes only barely tempered the rising rage that started to twist in his gut.
His injuries had been ...intimate.
“Bobby, please...” Kurt pleaded, his accent thickening and his tone bordering on a whimper, “Please...”
“Please? Please what? Tell me...” Bobby's lips brushed Kurt's, his blue eyes almost feral, “You think I don't know you...”
“Don't...don't...” Kurt's lips trembled and he feebly struggled beneath Bobby's weight.
“Don't what?” Bobby's smile was darkening, “Don't wha--”
Bobby gasped...just before his eyes rolled back. He collapsed in a convulsing heap on top of Kurt, who quickly rolled out from beneath him, as the taser pressed against the back of Bobby's neck rendered him unconscious.
“Don't notice my tail.” Kurt said, pushing himself up and holding out his hand. His spade dropped the taser into his palm, which he tucked back into the slot on his belt.
Aaand just to make sure that Bobby didn't wake up cranky and wanting to turn Kurt into a permanent icy lawn ornament, he opened up his small med-kit and pulled out a tiny pressure syringe.
“Sorry about this.” Kurt pressed the syringe against Bobby's throat. It hissed as the tranquilizer injected his content, a Hank McCoy designed drug that would keep him sedated, but relatively lucid, upon revival. And with a nice side effect of repressing mutant powers for a few hours.
“Don't worry,” Kurt said, arranging Bobby's body – and handcuffing his wrists behind his back -- and resting his head on his folded camp blanket. “This isn't my first time with an Omega who's gone mad. Let's see if we can avoid some of that nastiness, ja?”
While Bobby was otherwise occupied studying the inside of his eyelid, Kurt searched through his things. He found unmarked bottles of assorted potions and elixirs, a goodly amount of gold coins, and a single key.
Kurt frowned as he turned it over in his hand. It looked as if it was craft from blue-black crystal, speckled with gold and purple flecks, it felt heavy, much heavier than it looked. But what disturbed him was the lock of hair tied to it with a black velvet ribbon.
It was a single curl of black hair. Or hair that looked black until he shined his flashlight on it, revealing the true color of very dark blue.
His hair.
He looked back over his shoulder at Bobby.
The key glowed in his palm...and he remembered.
The ice...the ice stole his senses, and when he awoke, he was somewhere else, somewhere dark.
He'd been staggering through an empty street, exhausted...lost. Water pooled in the broken cobblestone beneath dark street lamps, and the legs of his trousers were soaked as from the splashing as he ran from unseen pursuers, too tired and too disoriented to teleport.
He could only run, and then stumble along.
The wet stone bit sharply into his knees before rushing up to bruise his cheek.
And then nothing but black.
Somewhere, a fire popped and crackled.
He could feel the warmth, it was the first thing he felt, leeching the chill from his flesh, bringing back sensation, and...
His arms ached.
The soothing warmth was becoming too warm, making him sweat. He could feel the perspiration trickling down his back and legs.
His bare legs.
His arms were above him, and as awareness returned, so did the realization of being chained, nude, his toes barely touching the floor beneath him as he twisted slowly from his shackles.
Kurt's throat went dry with rising panic.
Even his tail was weighted.
He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, afraid of what sight would reveal. He could hear the crackling fire. Sudden visions of every movie and book he'd ever read about the Inquisition and torture involving hot irons flashed through his mind.
He steadied his breath, as soon as he could rest a bit, he could teleport away, he just needed to buy time.
Kurt opened his eyes.
A man with fine white blond hair tied back with velvet ribbon, stood with his back to Kurt, facing the fire, a crystal chalice of dark wine in his hand. The man's shirt was of fine lawn, torn in places, dampened with sweat. Only part of his face was visible, a pale cheek spotted with -- Sweet Jesu, was that blood? -- something dark and smeared, the rest of his face was hidden in the shadows cast by the fire.
Kurt flexed what muscles he could, he felt uninjured, save sore shoulders and an aching in his arms and legs from the uncomfortable position. The blood on that man's cheek, it wasn't his...was it?
“I didn't rape you.” Bobby's voice, weak and dry, snapped Kurt from his reverie.
“I know.” Kurt said quietly. “We were lovers.”
“Yes.”
“After you used your magic to read my thoughts, and remembered who you were.” Kurt didn't turn around, just stood there, turning the key over and over in his hands. “But you did beat me, before.”
And after. But that was ...
He couldn't afford to think about anything but getting them both home right now.
“Yes...but, after I hid that piece of me that was me, inside you...and I sent you back. I've been getting worse.”
Kurt finally looked back at him, face void of expression, “I don't remember everything...just, some.”
“I knew you'd come back, and I've spent the past decade trying to get ready. It wasn't safe then, and I had to get you away from here, before anyone knew you were here. And I had to protect what little sanity you gave back to me.” Bobby closed his eyes and swallowed hard, “I forgot about your tail.”
“Everyone does.” Kurt allowed a smile to tug at th corner of his mouth. “Lucky for me.”
“And me. I didn't want to hurt you...in that way. In any way.”
“We both know that's not entirely true, jah?” Kurt knelt next to Bobby and looked down at him, expression finally softening.
“yeah, we both know.”
Crack.
Kurt's head snapped up. “Someone's coming.”
Genre: Comic Verse AU
Rating: PG-13 (hasn't hit R or NC-17...yet)
Pairing: Bobby/Kurt
Summary: Nightcrawler finds himself trapped in a dark world, seeking to rescue and bring home a much changed Iceman.
Frostbitten - on Fanfiction.net
Chapters: one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten
Bobby's grip on his wrists was like iron, and he moved like a warrior, knowing how to exactly to keep someone flat on their back, prone and helpless. The man who once wore the “X” and was called Iceman, even had Kurt's legs firmly pinned, using his greater weight and positioning of his thighs to keep the smaller mutant from kicking free.
Plus, he was still very weak from the teleportation.
He'd never met Bobby, at least that he could lucidly remember, and while he knew that he was trained in the way that all X-Men were, no one had ever bragged about the bad assery of Robert Drake's fighting skills.
It seems that in his eighty-five years of exile to this hellish world, he'd picked some up.
But, he'd never personally witnessed Iceman in battle.
And, of course, Bobby had never witnessed him.
The haze of madness in Bobby's eyes only barely tempered the rising rage that started to twist in his gut.
His injuries had been ...intimate.
“Bobby, please...” Kurt pleaded, his accent thickening and his tone bordering on a whimper, “Please...”
“Please? Please what? Tell me...” Bobby's lips brushed Kurt's, his blue eyes almost feral, “You think I don't know you...”
“Don't...don't...” Kurt's lips trembled and he feebly struggled beneath Bobby's weight.
“Don't what?” Bobby's smile was darkening, “Don't wha--”
Bobby gasped...just before his eyes rolled back. He collapsed in a convulsing heap on top of Kurt, who quickly rolled out from beneath him, as the taser pressed against the back of Bobby's neck rendered him unconscious.
“Don't notice my tail.” Kurt said, pushing himself up and holding out his hand. His spade dropped the taser into his palm, which he tucked back into the slot on his belt.
Aaand just to make sure that Bobby didn't wake up cranky and wanting to turn Kurt into a permanent icy lawn ornament, he opened up his small med-kit and pulled out a tiny pressure syringe.
“Sorry about this.” Kurt pressed the syringe against Bobby's throat. It hissed as the tranquilizer injected his content, a Hank McCoy designed drug that would keep him sedated, but relatively lucid, upon revival. And with a nice side effect of repressing mutant powers for a few hours.
“Don't worry,” Kurt said, arranging Bobby's body – and handcuffing his wrists behind his back -- and resting his head on his folded camp blanket. “This isn't my first time with an Omega who's gone mad. Let's see if we can avoid some of that nastiness, ja?”
While Bobby was otherwise occupied studying the inside of his eyelid, Kurt searched through his things. He found unmarked bottles of assorted potions and elixirs, a goodly amount of gold coins, and a single key.
Kurt frowned as he turned it over in his hand. It looked as if it was craft from blue-black crystal, speckled with gold and purple flecks, it felt heavy, much heavier than it looked. But what disturbed him was the lock of hair tied to it with a black velvet ribbon.
It was a single curl of black hair. Or hair that looked black until he shined his flashlight on it, revealing the true color of very dark blue.
His hair.
He looked back over his shoulder at Bobby.
The key glowed in his palm...and he remembered.
The ice...the ice stole his senses, and when he awoke, he was somewhere else, somewhere dark.
He'd been staggering through an empty street, exhausted...lost. Water pooled in the broken cobblestone beneath dark street lamps, and the legs of his trousers were soaked as from the splashing as he ran from unseen pursuers, too tired and too disoriented to teleport.
He could only run, and then stumble along.
The wet stone bit sharply into his knees before rushing up to bruise his cheek.
And then nothing but black.
Somewhere, a fire popped and crackled.
He could feel the warmth, it was the first thing he felt, leeching the chill from his flesh, bringing back sensation, and...
His arms ached.
The soothing warmth was becoming too warm, making him sweat. He could feel the perspiration trickling down his back and legs.
His bare legs.
His arms were above him, and as awareness returned, so did the realization of being chained, nude, his toes barely touching the floor beneath him as he twisted slowly from his shackles.
Kurt's throat went dry with rising panic.
Even his tail was weighted.
He squeezed his eyes even more tightly shut, afraid of what sight would reveal. He could hear the crackling fire. Sudden visions of every movie and book he'd ever read about the Inquisition and torture involving hot irons flashed through his mind.
He steadied his breath, as soon as he could rest a bit, he could teleport away, he just needed to buy time.
Kurt opened his eyes.
A man with fine white blond hair tied back with velvet ribbon, stood with his back to Kurt, facing the fire, a crystal chalice of dark wine in his hand. The man's shirt was of fine lawn, torn in places, dampened with sweat. Only part of his face was visible, a pale cheek spotted with -- Sweet Jesu, was that blood? -- something dark and smeared, the rest of his face was hidden in the shadows cast by the fire.
Kurt flexed what muscles he could, he felt uninjured, save sore shoulders and an aching in his arms and legs from the uncomfortable position. The blood on that man's cheek, it wasn't his...was it?
“I didn't rape you.” Bobby's voice, weak and dry, snapped Kurt from his reverie.
“I know.” Kurt said quietly. “We were lovers.”
“Yes.”
“After you used your magic to read my thoughts, and remembered who you were.” Kurt didn't turn around, just stood there, turning the key over and over in his hands. “But you did beat me, before.”
And after. But that was ...
He couldn't afford to think about anything but getting them both home right now.
“Yes...but, after I hid that piece of me that was me, inside you...and I sent you back. I've been getting worse.”
Kurt finally looked back at him, face void of expression, “I don't remember everything...just, some.”
“I knew you'd come back, and I've spent the past decade trying to get ready. It wasn't safe then, and I had to get you away from here, before anyone knew you were here. And I had to protect what little sanity you gave back to me.” Bobby closed his eyes and swallowed hard, “I forgot about your tail.”
“Everyone does.” Kurt allowed a smile to tug at th corner of his mouth. “Lucky for me.”
“And me. I didn't want to hurt you...in that way. In any way.”
“We both know that's not entirely true, jah?” Kurt knelt next to Bobby and looked down at him, expression finally softening.
“yeah, we both know.”
Crack.
Kurt's head snapped up. “Someone's coming.”