Mo (mofic) wrote,

Tangled Web (What’s Past is Prologue 15/18)

“I’m glad you came,” Rick said, kissing Jean-Paul briefly and ushering him in.

“Moi aussi.”

“Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

Jean-Paul shook his head. “I used to live not far from here. I know places to land around here.”

They sat down together in the living room. “I’m still kind of struggling to assimilate that information.”

“What information?”

“That you can fly.”

Jean-Paul shrugged. “You saw me flying. When I was being ‘menacing,’ remember?” Rick opened his mouth to say something, but Jean-Paul stopped him. “I know, I know. You didn’t mean anything personal by it.” He touched Rick on the arm. “I believe you, copain. And I understand it is hard to assimilate, as you say. Lots of people feel that way at first. Particularly those who haven’t been around mutants much.”

“You’re the first mutant I ever met. Well, as far as I know. I wouldn’t have known you’re one if you hadn’t told me.”

“I figured if you’re sucking mutant cock, you ought to know it. It scares some off, but I’d rather they be scared off, hein? And for others it counts for me. Exotic, I guess. Sort of like you liking uncut men.” Neither of them said anything for a minute. “Can I ask you something?” he added.


“What’s it like, where you work? A place like that? I can’t imagine working there.”

“It’s not like everybody’s Moonies, if that’s what you think. Or homophobic or anti-mutant.”

“So, what are they like? Your colleagues?”

“I don’t know. Just regular people. I don’t know what to say. What are yours like?”

Jean-Paul thought for a minute before answering. “Committed, strong, capable. Lots of different personalities. Some clash, but never while we’re on a mission. A motley crew in a lot of ways, but some are among my closest friends. And every one of them I trust, completely. It was like that at Alpha Flight, but even more so with the X-Men. We live together as well as work together. We depend on one another for our lives. It’s not just a job.”

“It’s not like that with my colleagues, obviously. Mine is just a job, like any other. It’s a tough field to get a job and keep it. I’m glad to have a good one. I just try to find things out, tell the public what’s going on. I’m not responsible for the editorial content of the paper. It’s just a regular place.”

“Do your colleagues know you have a date with a mutant this weekend?”

“I don’t talk about things like that at work. I try to keep my personal and professional lives separate.”

“They don’t know you’re gay?”

“It’s none of their business.”

There was an uncomfortable silence. Jean-Paul broke it by saying, “Maybe we shouldn’t talk about work at all. I’ve said as much as I can about mine; you don’t need to tell me about yours.”

“I think I should say something else, and then we can just drop the work talk. I know it’s an uncomfortable subject for both of us. But I need to make one thing clear first.” And then he stopped again, as if not sure how to proceed. Finally, he said, “I’m not done writing about the X-Men.”

“Rick. I can’t tell you anything. I thought you understood that.”

“I do understand. I’m not looking for information from you. I just... well, it sounded from what you said on the phone like you thought the memorial service piece was all I was writing. I didn’t want you feeling... deceived, or surprised even, if you hear I wrote something else.”

“I appreciate that.” They looked at each other. “This is awkward, hein?”

“Yes. Very.”

“Can you tell me what you’re working on, beyond the memorial service?” Seeing Rick’s expression, he quickly added. “I’ll understand if you can’t. I won’t talk to you about my work, so I can’t fault you if you won’t tell me about yours.”

“I don’t mind telling you. I don’t want you to be blindsided.” He didn’t say anything for a few minutes. “I’ve got nothing against mutants, really.”

“You’ve said that a few times.”

“I know. I’m saying it too much, I realize that. It’s just... well, there are some real issues here. They’re worth writing about, worth thinking about. I am thinking about them, and writing about them, and it’s not because of anti-mutant prejudice. Issues like the power – the covert power – that someone like Charles Xavier was able to wield. Some of it coming from his mutation, some from his wealth. The influence a man like that had on our government, on our president – these are things the public has a right to know.”

“He was a good man, Rick. I knew him, you didn’t. His influence was not from his powers, not from his wealth. Or not mostly from those things. He had a vision, one of tolerance and peace. He was truly charismatic and truly caring. There are good people in the world. He was one of them.”

“I don’t doubt his charisma. He clearly had a powerful personality. But I’m finding things out about him...” He looked like he might say more, but then changed the subject abruptly. “Not all mutants have powers like yours, you know. Some of them really are dangerous. Lots don’t mean to be, but when mutants start manifesting, all sorts of things can happen. People have been hurt, killed even.”

“Oui. I know it. My friends, Wendy and Arthur – Wendy’s the one you thought I was married to, hein? Well, their little girl has already come into her powers. She’s a telekinetic. She manifested very early, at age four. Telekinesis – particularly uncontrolled telekinesis – can be dangerous. But, Rick. Making people frightened of children is not the answer. Understanding, helping kids learn to control their powers, that’s the answer.”

“Your friends with the mutant daughter – they’re mutants, too?”


“Well, maybe it’s easier for them then.”

“C’est vrai. They knew more of what to do, weren’t frightened of the possibility of having a mutant child. Most mutants are born into normal families, to normal parents, many of whom can’t handle it when kids come into their powers. It’s a little like being gay, n’est-ce pas? Not what parents expect from their kids. Different, frightening. But the answer isn’t to intensify the fear and the suspicion. The answer is more tolerance, more acceptance, more support. The answer is more people like Charles Xavier, who provide a home and an education to kids who don’t have either one.”

“He didn’t provide a home for his own son.”

“What do you mean?”

“Xavier wasn’t the saint you make him out to be.”

“I don’t think he was a saint, just a good person, vraiment.”

“Scott Summers is his illegitimate son. Did you know that? By some maid working at one of his many homes. And your Professor Xavier had nothing to do with him for most of his childhood. Xavier’s name’s on the birth certificate as father, but he wouldn’t give him his last name, wouldn’t marry her. And beyond acknowledging paternity at birth – nothing, as far as I can tell. I haven’t found the mother yet, but it looks like she raised him all by herself. He probably sent her money, but he never acknowledged Scott Summers as his son, not when he was a child, not before he became a mutant. And it looks like Maria Summers was one of those ones who couldn’t handle a mutant son. Either that or Scott Summers couldn’t handle being one. He ran away when he came into his powers. And you know what he did then?”


“He was a prostitute. Sucking cock for money for over a year. Not quite the image he presents to the public now, huh? And then all of a sudden once Xavier finds out his kid's a mutant, he gets interested in him. Takes him to his mansion, dresses him up, sends him to Columbia. Tries to turn him into somebody respectable. Field Leader of the X-Men. Teaching English to high school kids. And now, since his father's death, hobnobbing with world leaders. But he's still the same guy who was giving blow jobs in back alleys for ten bucks.”

“For a guy who was sucking my cock five minutes after we met, you’re sounding awfully judgmental about Scott Summers.”

“I wasn’t doing it for money.” Disgust in his voice.

“Maybe you never had to.”

They looked at each other, neither saying anything. “I’m sorry,” Rick said, after a while. “This is just not something we’re likely to see eye-to-eye on.”

“D’accord. Let’s drop the topic, hein?”


“Can we go to the bedroom?”

“Yes. Please.”


Rick’s bed was a large brass-framed four poster. The two men were on it soon, legs entwined, kissing, pulling off each other’s clothing. Their disagreement seemed forgotten. “I’ve wanted this, wanted you,” Rick whispered in Jean-Paul’s ear, stroking Jean-Paul’s hard cock slowly.

“Moi aussi.” After a few minutes, Jean-Paul said, “I want to try something different.”


Jean-Paul kissed him deeply, rubbing their cocks together with his hand. “You’ll see,” he said. “Wait here.” And he got up from the bed, heading out to the living room.

He came back quickly, hanging his shoulder bag over one of the brass posts and pulling something out of it. Bright chrome handcuffs, shining in the lamplight. “What do you say, copain?” he asked. “Would you let me?”

Rick nodded. “Where? How?”

“Put your hands up here.” Jean-Paul secured his wrists around one of the posts of the bed. “Ah, you look good like that,” he said, and reached back into his bag. He came out with a camera and began to snap pictures of Rick, laid out on the bed, naked, handcuffed to it, erection sticking up from his reclining body.

“Jean-Paul! I don’t... please don’t...”

“Come on. Don’t you trust me? Who’s going to see them but me? It’s a digital camera.” And then he was straddling Rick’s chest, camera still in hand. “Open your mouth,” he said, pushing his hard cock in when Rick complied with the request, taking pictures as he fucked Rick’s mouth. “This is what I want to remember, how you look with your mouth full of my cock.” Rick sucked hard, his objections seemingly forgotten.

And then Jean-Paul was pulling out of his mouth, eliciting disappointed sounds from the man under him. “Lift your legs, Rick,” he said, getting off of Rick, standing by the side of the bed, snapping more pictures.

“Are you going to fuck me now? There’s lube in the nightstand.”

Jean-Paul shook his head. “No. You can put your legs down. I’m not going to fuck you. Not now, not ever.” The smile had vanished from his face. “I’m not going to fuck a self-hating, sneaky hypocrite like you. Kissing you, touching you, pretending to like you was bad enough.”

“What’s going on?”

“I only came here to take these pictures and to tell you what to do,” Jean-Paul said, pulling his pants on, reaching for his shirt. “So, listen carefully. I’m going to tell you now what you will and will not do, and those pictures are my insurance. They’re how I know you’ll do exactly what I tell you to.” He took the camera over to where Rick could see the pictures, as he flipped through the ones he’d just taken. “Some nice ones, hein? Good close-up there. Oh, nice big smile in that one. And here you are licking the head of my cock. Here you are sucking it in. You’re very photogenic.”

Rick was sputtering, cursing and demanding to be released. Jean-Paul didn’t answer any of that. “Shut up,” he said. “And listen to me. I’m about to tell you what you’re going to do. You’re not going to talk to Cyclops’s mother. You’re leaving that poor woman alone. You’re not going to investigate Scott Summers at all. Not his personal life. He's one of the colleagues I was telling you about, one of the ones I owe my life to. I'm not letting you humiliate him. So go ahead and write whatever alarmist, paranoid conspiracy stories about the X-Men and our mission that you want. Give your bloodsucking employer whatever they want from you that way. But you write one personal word about Scott Summers or any of the X-Men - you reveal one secret Scott’s mother wouldn’t want to read in a newspaper - and nice big glossy prints of the pictures in here get sent out right away. To your editor who doesn’t even know you’re gay, much less that you like it when a man handcuffs you to your bed and shoves his cock down your throat. To your just-regular-folks colleagues, who might be amused to see these. And to your parents, who probably won’t be. In Bethesda, n’est-ce pas? I bet they’d love to see some new pictures of their son. Got some good ones. You sure looked happy...”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Oui. I would. And since I would, you’d better not.” He’d finished dressing and started putting the camera away. He held up a key. “I’ll leave this on the dining room table.”

“You’re going to leave me like this?”

“Here.” He took the phone from its cradle and put it down by Rick’s head. “It might take a little doing, but you should be able to dial. I’ll leave the door open. That way you don’t have to call the fire department or a locksmith. Call a friend to come get you out. If you have any.”
Tags: what's past is prologue, x1 fic
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