ana | Asgard all-powers threesomeverse (connor, sophie, pyro)

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Asgard all-powers threesomeverse (connor, sophie, pyro)

The war was over but Asgard was incredibly loud all of a sudden. Connor cracked a bleary eye to check the clock… it was still dark as if it was the middle of the night, and sure enough, 2:41 in the morning. What the hell. He didn’t think much of it at that moment, just rolled over to crush the pillow over his ears or burrow into Sophie’s neck or something that would allow him to get back to sleep.

But Sophie wasn’t there.

That itself would not have been cause for alarm; maybe she went to the bathroom, she was allowed to urinate. What was alarming, and thus caused Connor to bolt upright and stumble out of bed in terror, was the fact that Sophie was a black amorphous lump that was flopping off the other side of the bed. He’d seen it before, in the other world and in nightmares since, but this wasn’t a nightmare. He knew because falling off the bed hurt, and the thump of his side on the floor was so incredibly loud he felt like it would blow out his eardrums. He cried out in shock and pain, and that only made both worse.

Pressing both hands over his ears Connor struggled to his feet, speaking as loud as he could manage. “Sophie? Sophie?!” Fuck, it was so loud. So loud he could hear his heartbeat through his hands and see every thread of their sheets even in the near pitch black of their room and was what he thought was happening actually happening? Desperate now he lowered a hand to the blob, grimacing as it squished down under his hand, and shook. “Sophie! John! John!!!”

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He doesn't appear to know where to look, but he's taken in the appearance of her face, and has to admit his mind will likely wander to Mystique for awhile after what he saw. Her base form was still largely humanoid, but Sophie's - was that blob hers? Does she have one? They've talked about it before, but his thoughts are a bit of a mess right now. He can't remember.

At the request and then the statement, he finally looks her in the eye more firmly. "I don't need 'em," he says, and he sounds quite clear about that. "You did what you had to do. I get that. But if you wanna say anything else, that's fine."

He moves to sit on the edge of his bed, indicating with a little wave of his hand that she can do the same.

That blob was in fact not Sophie's natural form; the glimpses of pale skin, prominent ribs, dark veins and scars was much closer. Really, she had just been lucky. Showing her true form isn't something she does readily. She sits on the bed, less distant than she would usually sit from him but not touching.

"I didn't mean that I feel the need to justify myself. We both know why I did what I did, because in some ways we are not so different, you and I. Connor is so much better at being good." She looks a little wistful, and there's a weight to that word, good, like she doesn't simply mean the idea of not making trouble.

"I'm glad you came home." It seems an incongruous thing to say, but it makes perfect sense to Sophie.

Not so different. It's true, and it's what makes him nervous even as he feels drawn closer. He and Connor met because Connor took him on as a total stranger and calmed him from either committing murder or being killed himself - no idea who he was, but he offered John an outlet for his blind and impotent rage at this place. Not to fix him, but to ease and release some of the pressure so that he could function.

"Good?" He's leaned forward, elbows on his knees, twirling his lighter between his hands instead of flicking it this time. "Good people never did much for me back home. They didn't have a lotta time for anyone who wouldn't bend over backwards to be like them. Anyone like us. I think Connor's a hell of a lot better than good."

He snaps out of his brood quite quickly when Sophie speaks again, and he feels like a smile is due here, but can't manage it. "Yeah," he murmurs instead, quietly. "Me too."

There's a soft scoff from Sophie. "There is a vast chasm of difference between saying one is a thing and being it." Little snakes of shadow move between her fingers. It's a nervous habit. The complex intertwining pattern of it helps calm her, stops some of the conflict in her mind.

"Good." That's all she says for a moment, because it is good, that John wanted to come home, that John chose Connor over his orgy of rage. It has not yet really occurred to Sophie that he might also have chosen her.

"Connor is terrified, right now." Her mouth goes wry. "We've both given him reason to be, and he has plenty to adapt to himself. I thought he might feel better if we all stayed close for a little while. He suggested moving our mattresses to the living room." She meets his eyes then, and it's hard to tell from her face what she's really thinking. "That was the favor I came to ask of you."

Now he's grinning to himself, and even nodding a little. He knows the black and white rules of his world didn't work perfectly well, but hearing that word - good - just brought him back there so quickly that he had to confirm what Sophie meant. "Good" was behaving, hiding, bowing to the pressure on them until it let up of its own accord; and even before that, "good" was destroyed by the simple fact of what he was, so completely that his parents broke family ties and left him to his own devices. Her definition, if it lines up with what Connor shows to them, is a much better one.

Her favour causes a momentary defensive flash across his features - do they still not trust him, even after he agreed to come back? - but the fact that she divided the responsibility so evenly between them helps to calm and smooth that away into thoughtfulness. They're not keeping a hawk eye on him to make sure he doesn't run away again, or light up the house. It's just closeness, as she said: the thing he's worked on here, but is still so unused to when the entirety of his life is taken into account.

"I can do that. Shit, I can sleep anywhere." He used to sleep with Euri directly on top of him, of all things, a thought that makes his mouth twist downward with a lingering flicker of pain. This is just another time when he wishes he had her here, to give the kind of comfort he only really found with her. Connor and Sophie help, endlessly, but there's still something missing. "Right now?"

He stands up again, all ready to drag his mattress out if she says so.

"I don't think he'd mind."

There's a definite smile in her voice, more distinct than the one on her face. Her expressions seem just a touch muted now that she has perfect control over her face once more. It's no less genuine for that, though. Connor may doubt what Sophie sees plainly, but she does not.

"It's been quite the day already, we may as well spend the rest of it lounging about. Are you hungry?"

"Yeah, and it started at three in the fucking morning," he adds in a grumbly undertone. Now that the excitement is over, he's definitely feeling a good deal of exhaustion, so lying around in the living room has a lot of appeal. And there is an odd sort of comfort in the fact that they'll all be together with so much going on.

He circles around his bed a couple of times, trying to come up with the best way to do this. Bedding on, or first? Then Sophie's question distracts him and he glances up curiously.

"More tired than hungry. Won't say no to anything you're offering after some sleep, though." She is an amazing cook, and he's shown just how much he appreciates it many times over.

"Did it? I don't think I was in a state to notice." The actual truth is that Sophie is still bad with timepieces, just like she is bad with dates. Everything is still judged by seasons and the sun or moon in the sky.

"Would you like me to take the blankets?" The mattress is nothing to her anymore, but it's hardly the time to remind him so. "Then you only have to mind one thing."

That gets a little laugh out of him. "Just caught the time before I went to see what Connor was screaming about. I sure as hell couldn't tell you what time it is now."

After one more quick glance at his bed, he nods. An offer to take the mattress definitely would've stung his pride, but this isn't so bad. He balls up his bedding and tosses it her way, then gets the mattress worked off of the boxspring and onto its side before starting the arduous process of dragging it through the doorway and down the hall.

Where they will likely meet up with Connor again?

The answer to what time it is: not bedtime yet, but dark enough that they can settle down for now and not feel like old people. They'll meet up with Connor in the living room, but they'll get there first... in fact, they'll be able to get John's bed re-made in the interim, because Connor dressed after his shower and went to pull the comforter off his and Sophie's bed and froze, trapped back in the conversation that had only just ended. He winds up sitting on the bed, staring at his hands. They look the same, just like the rest of him -- some things change, some stayed, and he has no reason to believe that anything has changed between him and John. Which could be good or bad. Sophie's rarely wrong about these things, broken rib incidents notwithstanding.

He can't go back out there.

He has to go back out there. Or it'll be weird.

But it'll be really weird if he does go back out there now that he realizes.

"Shit." Connor runs his hands through his damp hair and sighs, shoulders heaving. "Come on, out." He grabs the comforter and pillows and heads into the living room, pointedly not dragging the mattress behind him with shadows. Both rooms in the apartment came with king sizes; one is enough. Because. Yeah.

Sophie is just standing up after tucking the sheets beneath the mattress when Connor emerges, and she turns to him, reaching out silent hands to take the pillows and pile them at the 'head' of the mattress as though this is nothing unusual. A pale slip of shadow squeezes his hand, attempting to be reassuring.

"Jo-- Py--" Sophie tries to start twice, realizes she has no idea what to call John, and then gives a little shrug. "He thought it was a good idea to stick together too. I think we're all due a nap."

"John."

He says it quietly, and without explanation. He'll correct anyone else in Asgard who sticks to the name he used to prefer as well. It's not conferring a privilege anymore; he's just digested what Sophie said about who he wanted to be and who others wanted him to be, and decided that his decision to stay here means that he isn't the mutant terrorist warrior who demanded the use of that name. Magneto said it was his real name, yes, but Magneto has come and gone many times over and John didn't choose to follow him. He makes his own choices now.

With a brisk flick of his arms, he spreads out his own comforter, then simply sprawls on top of it instead of climbing beneath. "No shit. I've never been this tired in my life." Not too tired to read the weird energy in the room, though, and his eyes are flicking back and forth between Connor and Sophie as he rolls onto his back. What's up?

A good deal of Connor's awkwardness disappears behind a broad smile when John quietly affirms his name... only to return when his friend flops onto the mattress and looks up at them. He knows... well of course he knows something, you're acting like a total freak.

"Yeah, that was a rough transition and you used a lot of energy," he chooses to address the tired factor and not the unspoken question. But then he folds and tosses their comforter down beside John, making it fairly clear that they intend to use his bed as well. And he sits in the 'middle' spot. "Nap?"

"John," Sophie agrees quietly, before Connor starts his spree of awkward. John may catch half an eyeroll before she settles down on Connor's other side, draping herself against his side and pulling the comforter up around herself. One of her arms slides around his middle, but it only rests there, palm stretched but not holding.

I'm right here, is what she means, but you two are going to have to figure this out.

"A nap would be nice."

"And you woke me up at 3 in the damn -"

He stops speaking rather abruptly, watches Connor climb onto his mattress and then Sophie follow. Okay, so they're sharing the bed, apparently? Not like it isn't big, but Connor's pretty close. And if John doesn't get off his own comforter and climb under it, they'll all be sharing one of those as well.

Never mind. Never mind the whole thing. Apparently it really is bonding time, and it's not like they're going to do anything but sleep. As long as Connor's not a sleep-cuddler.

"- morning. Yeah, a nap's fine, but don't wake me up if I sleep right through." He watches them for a moment longer, a wistful sort of look on his face as he thinks about how long it's been since someone held him like that, then settles more comfortably onto his back.

His eyes aren't closing yet.

Yes, Connor is pretty close. And settling down on his side with his back to Sophie -- neither of them seem to think it's odd that they're spooning with the little one on the outside. Similarly neither of them seem to think it's odd when Connor reaches across John, draping an arm around him.

His hand is shaking a bit, and he's watching John's face carefully. It's sort of an 'I hope I did this right' expression where you're not sure if an experiment is going to succeed or blow up in your face.

He can feel them settling along with him, shifting into place - and then Connor's arm is around his waist and his stomach rises as he sucks in a sharp breath. His head doesn't move at all, because they are so close, but he rolls his eyes over to look at Connor with what aspires to be disdain and is closer to raw panic.

"I didn't sign up for group cuddles when I said I'd come back," he mutters, but it's not angry or threatening. It's not even the kind of light but still warning tease that Connor sometimes gets out of his affectionate gestures. It's just a quiet statement, a bit questioning.

Raw panic is not encouraging, but at least he isn't totally flipping out and fleeing. Connor holds perfectly still. "....I know you didn't. You can, though."

Sophie's hand snakes across Connor's body to overlap his on John's stomach, fingers fitting loosely into the places between his larger ones. Her fingertips are cooler than Connor's palm. It's a silent agreement.

I don't want to, he thinks, and also thinks it should be pretty obvious. But physical contact came into his life unexpectedly and carved out a place there, first with Oswin and then with Euri, and love carved out another, and now they're hollows in him that he wishes he'd never allowed in the first place. He can almost hear wind whistling through them some days, and can definitely hear how the whistling has diminished with those hands on his stomach.

It's rising and falling rapidly as he tries to decide what to say, how to deal with this, his body rigid with confused tension.

"Why. What's it mean. Just - just this?" He doesn't honestly think there's any more - they're a couple, deeply in love, and Connor is touchy to the point of being uncomfortable but not actually into him. He couldn't be. John just needs to make sure.

"Honestly, I didn't think you'd let it be this much." He didn't mean to say it, it just came out. Connor was ready to tell Sophie 'told you so,' that John would never be interested in anything like this at all, let alone more. Is that actually an option? "Uh..."

Sophie's fingers squeeze around Connor's hand for a moment, stroking John's stomach in the process. Her pulse is a slow, steady beat against Connor's back, and she kisses the nape of his neck before nestling her chin into his shoulder to be able to see John. She knows that confusion, the rabbit-breath and mouse-heart under their hands, and she knows it because she's been there. No one had ever wanted her, not like this, not until this impossible someone did.

"Just tell him, love."

Connor's words make him stiffen up even more, but then Sophie's fingertips brush his stomach over his t-shirt and he can't hold back a shiver. Oh, how long has it been since he's been touched like that? Aside from some very basic physical needs, it also fills those same hollows he was thinking about earlier. Affection.

But there is still Connor to deal with. John can't tell if he's sad or hopeful, and Sophie's words suggest that they've talked about this before - does Connor really have feelings for him? How long has this been going on? And how does John begin to figure out how he feels about it? He's not - he's never been into a guy. Ever. Not in that way, even with the closest friends he's had. Connor is a whole level above even Bobby, so profoundly close and important that he can't put a name to it, but that doesn't mean he's ready to make it physical. Or that he wants to. Why would he suddenly want to?

"Tell me what." He's still so, so very on his guard. But he's yet to turn anything down verbally, which actually says a good deal more than words could.

Still no 'told you so' material, which has given Connor a ridiculous case of nerves. He was truly expecting to be told to keep his hands to himself, and that would be that... but it isn't that, and he feels his guard going up as well as he waits for the rejection to hit. And then Sophie squeezes his hand and brushes John's stomach and that shiver, and Connor is wondering exactly how he could have been such an idiot. He strokes his thumb over John's t-shirt and then the side of Sophie's hand, both thanking her and wanting to see if it'll happen again for him.

He's yet to spit anything out, and he can't meet John's eyes anymore, looking down at their hands. "That I just got my ribs cracked," he mutters, taking a shaky breath. "I'm in love with you. So yeah, more than this."

There. Done. And Connor waits, feeling almost sick with the certainty he's going to get a disgusted response. Sophie's presence at his back is comforting but not enough to keep his jaw from working anxiously.

Oh god.

Connor's caress, so like Sophie's and coming not long after it, doesn't exactly disgust him. He shifts a little bit when he feels it, not away or into the touch but obviously surprised, and then Connor says the last thing he ever would've expected to hear. I'm in love with you. Somehow, them going for a friends with threesome benefits was more believable than this, and John's not sure that ever actually happens outside of porno.

He finally turns to look at Connor, and the abject misery on his face makes him feel a bit sick. However he feels, he didn't want to make Connor feel anything like this.

"I - I don't -" How often is he genuinely speechless? But he knows he has to say more, when he ended on a negative. "- I don't know what I'm supposed to - I didn't -"

Fuck. He scrubs a hand over his face and tries again. "Connor, you're the most important person in my life right now, but I don't know if I can - if I do - fuck." The last word comes out as a long, shaky exhale.

Asgard all-powers threesomeverse (connor, sophie, pyro)

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