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sammysdewysensitiveeyes · 4 years

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@thecorteztwins

Hello, once again I got a scene idea for your alt-Marauders stuck in my head and couldn’t rest until I wrote it, this time with Pyro and Shinobi making fun of Sebastian for being a wine snob. Starts out light and funny, takes a sharp left turn into angst, then lightens up again at the end. Sorry if I write Sebastian as too much of a villain here; I have a lot more sympathy for Shinobi and Pyro than I do for him, but I don’t want to straw-man the guy.

It had been Sebastian, Shinobi, Madelyne and Claudine participating in the wine-tasting competition. Haven had demurred that she didn’t know enough to participate, although Pyro wondered how true that was – she’d grown up surrounded by luxury, hadn’t she? She must have had plenty of the good stuff. Pyro had also admitted that he could barely tell red from white in a blind taste-test, much less differentiate between a Pinot Noir and Merlot. Besides, he’d added, ignoring Shaw’s backhanded comment about how “it was sensible of him to know his limitations,” he’d rather drink wine than spit it into a bucket. And someone had to help Haven pour.

Of course, drinking the wine meant that he was more than a little soused as the contest wound towards its conclusion. Claudine had approached each wine with a detached, scientific analysis, speculating on fermentation techniques and breeds of fruit. Madelyne was surprisingly knowledgeable for someone who hadn’t grown up filthy rich, and seemed to think the whole thing was great fun. Shinobi, true to his background, had a refined palate, although he kept slowing things down by reminiscing about exactly where (and with whom) he’d first tried the various wines. He’d missed a Château Leblanc because apparently “it tasted different when drunk out of a super-model’s high heels.” It didn’t help that he’d also been drinking the wine, because “spitting is disgusting.” Of course, Sebastian had dominated the game, correctly guessing every wine, making a show of sniffing the aroma, then rolling it around in his mouth with great relish, giving extended lectures on the flavor notes of each wine, the grapes, the vineyard, what foods to best pair it with, and generally just being a pretentious dickhead. Unfortunately, Haven had turned down Pyro’s suggestion to have Sebastian drink out of the spit bucket, despite Pyro’s insistence that it would just be a hilarious, harmless prank.

And it would take Shaw down a peg or two. The man was puffed up like a soufflé, and Pyro was dying to see, just once, the famous Shaw pride collapse into a soggy mess. It didn’t even really matter. Wine-tasting was a useless skill, as far as Pyro was concerned, and exactly the kind of spoiled over-indulgent nonsense he’d expect from the wealthy. He just hated to see that smug fucker win at something again. Why did he have to be so damned good at things?

But when the competition ended with Sebastian’s inevitable victory (Claudine in a surprising second place, apparently the scientific method worked), the group had broken up to various parts of the ship. Haven was headed back to her cabin to read for a bit before bed. Claudine and Madelyne went up top to look at the local constellations. Pyro liked the mythology behind constellations, he was a sucker for a good story, but the stars themselves couldn’t hold his attention longer than about ten minutes. Sebastian had fucked off somewhere, probably back to his own cabin to reflect on what a very smart and important businessman he was. Pyro hadn’t been paying attention.

Which left Shinobi and Pyro back in Shinobi’s room, where the contest had taken place, rather tipsy, and both a bit horny from all the “wine and sex” stories that Shinobi had been telling. Slumped together on Shinobi’s spacious designer couch, Pyro rested his head against Shinobi’s shoulder, and let one hand drift down to the other man’s thigh, and things took their natural course.

Some very pleasant time later, they were both slipping back into their clothing, sweaty and still floating on the post-orgasm endorphin high.

“Well, that was fun,” Pyro laughed, pouring a glass of something dark and red. He didn’t read the label, because he didn’t fucking well care. “More fun than some kind of wine-tasting bullshit where you don’t even get to actually drink the wine.”

“Certainly more fun than watching Father dominate the contest,” Shinobi sighed. He picked up several bottles and peered at the labels before finally pouring something that was, Pyro discerned with all of his expertise and skill, white wine.

“Who cares?” Pyro said. “Let him win the silly rich person contest. What’s the point in being able to taste all the flavors in wine, anyway? It’s not like it’s a big secret, it’s written right on the label.”

“It’s actually very important when you’re moving in high society,” Shinobi said, looking pensive. “I know it seems silly, but the kind of people that the Hellfire Club deals with will have no respect for someone who doesn’t know wine.” He paused for a moment. “I wish I’d done a bit better, it’s not like I don’t have experience.”

“Aww, fuck it, Shin. Third place isn’t half-bad, and it was just for fun, wasn’t it? Trust me, I know how very skilled your tongue is.” He tossed back his glass, and re-filled it, picking up a bottle at random.

“Nothing is ever ‘just for fun,’ with my father,” Shinobi said, holding up his own glass to look closely at it. “There’s always some kind of test. He always has to win, and I am always found wanting, no matter what I do.”

“C’mon, Shinobi, don’t let him make you feel bad. It’s all stupid. He’s not special just because he can sip wine and make-up a lot of bullshit. Anyone can do that.” Pyro took a gulp of wine and held it in his mouth contemplatively, swirling the remainder around in his glass. “Hmmm..a ’58 Bordeaux, brewed in a cask made from planks from the wreck of the HMS Endeavour. Notes of Honeycrisp Apple, Trifle, Lavender soap and Black Cherry, offset by the delicate tang of diesel fuel.”

Shinobi flopped back onto the couch, laughing, and splashing some of his own wine onto his shirt.

“You know wine is fermented, not brewed, right?” He chuckled.

“I’m just gonna say that I know that to spare us further discussion about wine making,” Pyro shrugged. “Brewed, fermented, made in a prison toilet, who cares?”

“It’s a good impression, but you have to make it a bit more accurate. More like-” Shinobi took a sip of his own wine. “-Montrachet Grand Cru 1981, from Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. A bold, elegant Chardonnay, with a nose of winter apricots, Mutsu apples, distressed orange peel and hints of funeral bouquet. On the palate, white peach and badgered lemon, with a smidge of mango, smattering of sun-kissed pineapple, and the faintest tinge of the arsenic that my son has snuck into the glass. Bottled by a beautiful French woman named Amelie that I impregnated. I gave another bottle to my good friend Sir Elton John.”

“The only thing wrong there is that your father isn’t nearly cool enough to know Elton John,” Pyro laughed. “Also, he doesn’t have any actual friends.”

“I’ll concede that point.”

“Here, let me try again.’ Pyro took another gulp. “Lascivious pear marmalade, with pomegranate, chocolate, lightly-spanked peaches and a naughty little hint of strawberry. Sensual mouthfeel, like giving a blow job to a fruit stand. I shoved the entire bottle up my arse this morning, and found it most satisfying.”

Shinobi howled with laughter, spilling most of the rest of his wine. He poured again from a different bottle.

“Okay, my turn. A 1947 Chateau Cheval Blanc, from Saint-Emilion Grand Cru, France. A rich, taste and firm structure. Midnight black currant, eccentric cranberry and depressed plums, with twinkles of Madagascar Vanilla, cayenne pepper and wasabi. Floral notes of crushed apple blossom and – “ he paused to take a sniff, “-discarded Valentine’s roses. Bottle personally kissed by Winston Churchill.”

“Okay, okay, here’s –“ Pyro took a swig from a new glass, “Blackberry, quince and persimmon, gathered at midnight under the full moon, fermented in a cask taken from a woman hung for witch-craft. Hints of lamb’s blood and children’s tears, with just a touch of grave dirt bringing out the earthy tones. Nice, floral scent, light and airy on the tongue, pairs well with fish. A refreshing summer wine.”

“Screaming Eagle Sauvignon Blanc. Grapes gently cuddled by professional masseuses. Aroma of spring grass and wet cement. Lashings of nectarine and little daubs of passionfruit, with a suggestion of yoga sweat. Like licking coconut-butter and hibiscus-pear puree off a beautiful woman at the beach-”

“Are the two of you going to be finished anytime soon?” A dry voice interrupted, and both turned to see Sebastian standing in the doorway. Shinobi, clutching his glass against his chest, looked chagrinned, while Pryo simply stared back at Shaw, unimpressed.

“I was hoping to retrieve one of the unopened wine bottles, assuming that the two of you haven’t wasted it all with your childish games.” Sebastian sniffed, grimacing. “And judging by the smell in here, I’m glad that I came by after the two of you finished fornicating, not during.”

“Fornicating?” Pyro snorted. “Why don’t you peddle off on your giant Victorian bicycle and snatch some lemon drops away from poor children?”

“Why do you care anyway, Father? You have sex all the time, much as I’d like to forget it,” Shinobi put in.

“I do not grudge you seeking your pleasures, Shinobi, but pleasure is meant to be a reward after a long day’s hard work, not something to wallow in day after day, entirely unearned. And I do wish you were a bit more discerning in your partners. That ‘giant Victorian bicycle’ was called a ‘penny-farthing,’ Mr. Allerdyce.”

“I know what it’s called, Shaw,” Pyro grumbled, annoyed despite himself. He’d run across the term while researching one of his novels, but of course Shaw would treat him like a moron because he hadn’t used the “proper term” when tossing off a cheap insult.

“At any rate, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. Inferiors will always mock their betters, out of jealousy and lack of understanding. But I had hoped that you, at least, would show more dignity, Shinobi. Did I not raise you to be better than this?”

“You barely raised me at all!” Shinobi snapped, although he did not meet Sebastian’s eyes.

“It’s not jealousy or lack of understanding,” Pyro said, arms folded. “We mock you because you’re a snobby arse that thinks you’re better than everyone else. Simple as that.”

“And am I not better? I worked my way up from nothing to create a business empire. I have amassed wealth and power that most people can only dream of, all from my own intelligence and hard work. And compared to, what? A stupid, intensely lazy son who would happily drink and fuck his way through life. And a failed author who turned to terrorism and petty crime. I think I can objectively say that I am, indeed, better.”

“Failed author?!” Pyro was incensed. “My books sold millions of copies, you wanker. Maybe it wasn’t Shakespeare, but it was fucking well successful.”

“Fine, a mediocre author who enjoyed some small measure of popular success,” Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t know why people published your tripe, but they did. I’ll give you that. From that perspective, I suppose my own son is even more disappointing. At least you had some semblance of a career.”

“Why don’t you take your wine and fuck off? There’s plenty left, if it’s good enough to satisfy your oh-so-refined palate. We’re trying to have a fun evening here, and I’m sure you’re very busy plotting to steal Christmas.”

“No, I think the sight of my son’s debauchery has quite put me off wine for the moment. I suppose I should really stop being surprised and disappointed at this point, but every time I think you’ve fallen as far as you can, Shinobi, you manage to find a new bottom.” Shinobi did not respond, only clutched at the glass harder, a flush spreading over his face.

“Oh no, you can’t leave without a drink, Shaw. We’ve prepared a special blend for you, all the fanciest brands.” And before he could second-guess himself, Pyro picked up the spit bucket and hurled it across the room at Sebastian.

Sebastian dodged to the side, far faster than Pyro would expect from a man of his size, and the mixture of wine and spit splattered against the wall and floor. Shaw gave him a cold, fixed smile as he calmly pulled out a handkerchief and wiped a few errant drops off his polished leather shoes. It was the kind of smile Pyro would have imagined on a wicked count in one of his books, as he locked the poor governess in the manor tower and informed her that the handsome stableboy would be hung for murder. Of course, in Pyro’s books, the plucky heroine would climb down the ivy and rush to the courthouse in the nick of time with evidence of the stableboy’s innocence. Real life was never so satisfying.

Well, at least he’d made the bastard jump. Without moving or looking up, Shinobi reached out and clamped a hand over Pyro’s arm, as if anchoring him in place.

“You know, I’m not even angry, Allerdyce,” Sebastian said, dispassionate, as if discussing ocean currents or famine death tolls. He straightened his suit, which was still infuriatingly spotless. “I don’t get angry when an ill-trained dog shits on the floor. It cannot help doing what comes naturally. Of course, I will still wring the mongrel’s neck.” The smile stretched a bit wider, showing more teeth. “I have little patience for ill-trained beasts, and I like a good, clean floor.”

“That a threat, mate?” Pyro snapped. Shinobi’s grip on his arm tightened, and he felt tingly all over, vaguely light-headed. The wine was certainly making itself known.

“You’re not important enough for threats. I assume you will clean this up after you and my idiot son sleep off your intoxication. And Shinobi and I will have a discussion about his behavior, when he is actually sober enough to listen to reason.” Sebastian addressed the last sentence directly to his son, who still stood quietly, head bowed. Pyro could feel tremors running up his arm, and realized that Shinobi was shaking. Fury boiled up inside him, hot and quick.

“No, you bloody well won’t!” He snarled. “Your son is a grown man who can make his own fucking choices, yeah, and you’re not going to lecture him like a child, or….or anything else. Anything else.” There were words caught in his throat. Things that Shinobi had only whispered, that were not meant to be said aloud. “I won’t let you. No one on this ship will let you!” Pyro groped for his lighter on the table, planning to send a few fireballs at Shaw’s smug face, at least singe his eyebrows a bit. He gaped for a moment as his hand passed directly through the table – fuckin’ hell I’m a ghost! – before he realized that Shinobi had phased both of them.

Sebastian smirked. “You’re very chivalrous towards the people you want to fuck, aren’t you, Allerdyce? Does that help you to believe that you’re more than just a crass, violent thug?”

“Fuck off, Shaw!”

“Let’s avoid any more poor choices tonight, shall we?” Sebastian leaned forward, and Shinobi actually flinched slightly, leaning back. But Shaw just scooped up the lighter and pocketed it. “I don’t think you’re in any condition to use this responsibly, Allerdyce. Remember, your precious Ms. Dastoor wouldn’t come back if you torched the boat, even if the rest of us would. And Shinobi – “

Letting go of Pyro’s arm, Shinobi finally raised his head, gazing up at his father through the mess of hair that had fallen across his face.

“There’s really nothing to say, is there? Nothing you haven’t heard before. You’ve disappointed me time and time again. I won’t waste my breath any further tonight. Enjoy wallowing in filth. Come see me when you’re ready to act like a man again.”

“Yeah, no need to waste any more time here, I’m sure you’ve got loads of kitten murder videos to wank off to.” Sebastian didn’t react, as he was already striding from the room, door swinging shut. “Why don’t you go kick Tiny Tim’s crutch out from under him, that’ll get you nice and hard, won’t it?” Pyro yelled after him.

He sat fuming for a moment, wanting more than anything to rush down the corridor and rip out handfuls of Sebastian’s hair. Gouge his eyes out with his fingers and shove the bloody mess down his throat. To torch the man until his skin cracked and bubbled. To make him hurt. But that wasn’t a battle he was likely to win, so instead he grabbed the table and flipped it over, the wine glasses shattering in every direction.

He could imagine Shaw pausing in the hall, smirking in satisfaction at the sound of Pyro throwing a tantrum, acting like the animal that he really was. He hurled an empty bottle at the door, but it must have been sturdily made, as it simply bounced and rolled. Then he sat with his arms wrapped tight around himself, taking deep, slow breaths. He could never quite believe that his power didn’t include creating fire, because he got so impossibly hot when enraged like this. It would be so satisfying to burn something – something old and huge and valuable, just to stand in the center of the inferno and let it all turn to ash around him.

Either that, or a good, hard fuck. That’d do the trick, too.

Perhaps it really was for the best that Shaw had taken his lighter. Of course, he had at least two more on him, but he left them in his pockets, and instead took deep breaths. Just like Haven had taught him, hands on his shoulders, to find a calm, cool place that existed somewhere inside him. This is how we put the fire out.

He heard a small sound, and realized as he opened his eyes that Shinobi was no longer standing next to him. Instead, he was wobbling his way over towards the spilled wine (thrown wine, actually) with one of the bathroom towels. He dropped to his knees and began to mop up the puddle.

“Shin, no, don’t do that,” Pyro stumbled over to him, none too steady himself. He pulled the towel away. It was his own mess to take care of, but more importantly, interrupting their evening to clean up a stupid wine splatter felt very much like letting Sebastian win.

“It’ll stain,” Shinobi mumbled, looking down at the floor, not meeting Pyro’s eyes.

“Who gives a shit? I’ll clean it up tomorrow, okay? I’m the one who threw it, I’ll take care of it. I’ll give the whole floor a good scrubbing in a sexy maid costume.” He winked half-heartedly.

Shinobi scowled down at the floor, and then gave Pyro an abrupt shove, knocking him off balance.

“Why did you have to act like such an asshole? Father already thinks the worst of you, but you always make it worse!”

“Me?” Pyro blinked in disbelief. “He’s the one barging in here swinging his dick around. You want me to just stand there like a kid getting lectured? Fuck that!”

“I mean, you could just….you could at least try…” Shinobi mumbled, wringing his hands.

“Try what? Try to be a little more sophisticated, is that it? You think your Dad is right about me? Am I too trashy for you, Shinobi? I wasn’t too trashy to suck your dick twenty minutes ago, was I?”

“No! No, I don’t mean, that!” Shinobi stammered. “I don’t mean….I just…..he always…..he….”

Suddenly Shinobi sucked in a sharp, hard breath, and wrapped his arms around Pyro’s torso, burying his face against his side. Pyro fell silent as Shinobi squeezed him tight, breathing in harsh, ragged gasps that Pyro would politely not acknowledge as sobs.

It wasn’t something that he was exactly used to, despite all the soppy romantic bullshit he wrote. He’d spent half his life in terrorist and quasi-legit military groups full of dudes with powers who treated every single interaction as a dick-measuring contest. Not to mention their fearless leader, who would probably jump off a cliff before she showed enough vulnerability to shed a tear.

But sometimes it happened. Sometimes guys broke. It had happened to Dominic once when the divorce was official. He and Helen been separated long before Dominic became “Avalanche,” but somehow seeing it in writing had left the usually stoic man sobbing. It had happened to Pyro right after they got back from a fruitless quest in the Savage Land for a Legacy Virus cure that had never existed in the first place. He’d been able to hold it together while they were fighting their way out, but once he was back at his apartment – sick, hurting and so fucking exhausted, back in the place where he was now definitely going to die – he’d broken down completely. Both times, they’d just held each other and said nothing, and that was enough. Later they’d pretended nothing had happened, to spare the other man’s pride.

He didn’t think silence would work with Shinobi. Shinobi was a talker (and frankly, if Pyro was honest, so was he.) Gingerly, he reached his arms down to encircle Shinobi in an awkward hug.

“There, there,” he tried. God, couldn’t he do any better than that? He was a writer, for fuck’s sake. He’d just had sex with the man less than an hour ago. What would one of his heroes say?

Not to worry, darling, I’ve discovered the Marquis’s dreadful secret. Your marriage was never legal in the first place, and we can have it annulled on the morrow.

There is no ghost, my love. It is merely a trick of the light and your own flighty imagination. I swear to you, there is nothing out on those moors except the odd rabbit. Pay no attention to servants’ gossip.

To hell with your damned father! I swear he shall not keep us apart another second, and you need never fear him again.

Well, that last one was awfully tempting. But probably not quite right.

“Hey,” he tried again. “It’s okay. I know….I know it don’t exactly seem okay right now. But it is. You’re not a kid anymore, right? And you’re not alone here. You’ve got a boatful of people with you, and we’re all willing to get between you and that moldy old nutsack you call a father, yeah? We’re not gonna let him do anything to you, okay?” At least, Pyro knew that he, Madelyne and Haven would all be willing to step between father and son, if necessary. He wasn’t totally sure about Claudine, she could be a bit of a cold fish, but she seemed decent enough.

Shinobi’s harsh breathing that was not quite sobs was starting to slow a little bit, so Pyro figured he was probably doing something right.

“And fuck him, anyway. You’re not any of the things he said. He spends your whole life either ignoring you or beating you up, but he thinks he can step in and start judging you now? He sets you up with all his money, then blames you for growing up rich? What an absolute cunt. He’s just completely wrapped up in himself, Shin. He’s the king of the fucking universe and anyone who isn’t him is just a peasant. That’s why he’s so hard on you, because you’re not exactly like him. Which believe me, is a good thing.”

“I just wish……I wish I was better sometimes,” Shinobi gasped.

“Well, fuck man, me too,” Pyro said. “I wish I was better, I mean. Not the way your old man means it, just…you know, generally better. I’ve killed people, I’ve stolen, and I really don’t feel all that bad about a lot of it. Compared to that, being a trust-fund kid who likes to party really isn’t all that bad.”

Shinobi huffed slightly, nearly a laugh.

“And hey, you almost managed to kill your Dad.”

“Almost.”

“Still, quite an accomplishment. And Shaw’s full of bullshit talking about you never working, anyway. We’re all part of the crew here, we all go on missions. You contribute just like everyone else. So he can shut the fuck up.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Shinobi drew back, rubbing at his face, and sniffing. “Hey, did you say ‘there, there’ when I first started, um, you know…..crying?”

“Yeah,” Pyro rubbed the back of his neck. “I ain’t exactly a great therapist, I’m afraid. It was that, or start reading to you from The Ghost of Briarcliffe Manor. At least the sex scenes would have perked you right up.”

Shinobi cracked a smile.

“Maybe your Dad could use a bit of that. Maybe he’d be less of a sour old bastard if he got laid more often.”

“No, unfortunately, he gets laid plenty,” Shinobi said, combing his hair back with his fingers. “He just hates fun.”

“Fun?” Pyro assumed a sour expression, sticking his jaw out. “We didn’t have fun when I was a boy. In my day we worked a twelve-hour shift at the cannery and got a five-minute break to chew on a sassafras stick, and we liked that just fine!”

Shinobi actually giggled, and Pyro went on, encouraged.

“Fun is a disease that has infested the younger generations! All of this dancing and moving pictures, and gramophone music! What’s wrong with eating a bowl of plain oatmeal and staring at a brick wall? That’s how I used to let my hair down on Friday night!”

Shinobi got up and returned with sofa pillows.

“Here. Your chest is too narrow for the part.”

“Oh yes, mustn’t forget the massive tits.” Pyro unbuttoned his shirt to shove the pillows in.

There was wine and saliva seeping into his trouser legs as he knelt on the floor. In the morning, he’d get up and clean up all the mess in a hung-over daze, and he’d probably step on broken glass in the dark and hop around swearing. Then he’d have to wait for the headache and nausea to lift while Sebastian gloated at their state.

But it didn’t really matter. At the moment, Pyro was pleasantly drunk and Shinobi was laughing, and that was good enough.

#shinobi shaw #sebastian shaw #pyro #st. john allerdyce #alt-marauders #thecorteztwins cinematic universe

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