X-Men fic: Hard Times (Jean-Paul/Kyle)
Kyle found Jean-Paul sitting alone in the dark, hunched over on the couch, face buried in his hands and looking like the weight of the world might just crush him. He’d already seen the blue and white uniform crumpled on the bathroom floor, along with the bloody fingerprints decorating the sink and faucet. He’d been mildly surprised that the mirror hadn’t been broken, but sometimes Jean-Paul hurt so much that he just couldn’t let it out.
Despite his quick-tempered reputation, Jean-Paul held back so much, bottled in all his pain until he broke. It had scared Kyle the first time, in their early months of dating, when Jean-Paul came home and punched a hole in the wall because he hadn’t been fast enough to save a little girl’s life. After, Jean-Paul had told him exactly how fucked up in the head he was and that Kyle needed someone stable, someone who didn’t have to see how ugly humanity could be. Someone who didn’t drag that ugliness back home.
Shaken, Kyle had agreed to separate for a while, but only after he made sure Jean-Paul knew he was just going to think things over. He’d never forget the hopelessness that Jean-Paul hadn’t covered up fast enough, so sure that Kyle wouldn’t be back.
A week later, Kyle was back in Jean-Paul’s apartment and declaring in no uncertain terms that he was there to stay. Jean-Paul had tried to argue with him, even thought it was obviously tearing him up to do it and the two of them ended up in a screaming match over it all until Kyle simply asked if Jean-Paul was going to hit him.
That had sucked the wind right out of Jean-Paul’s sails. His horrified, “Never” was all the answer Kyle needed. He trusted his instincts, and his instincts trusted Jean-Paul.
After that, Jean-Paul tended to go to the gym or out flying after hard missions, taking his frustration out on bags and weights and pushing himself so hard he didn’t have the energy to be angry. Then, when the anger was gone, he’d come home and let Kyle comfort him. Tonight wasn’t a gym night though, this was worse. When Jean-Paul was more guilty than mad he tended to his masochistic habit of replaying what he believed to be his failures over and over again.
Everyone who knew him associated Jean-Paul with arrogance and his absolute refusal to accept anything but first place. What most didn’t know was that the first didn’t create the second. It wasn’t out of pride that Jean-Paul hated to lose-though it certainly played a damn big role sometimes-he hated to lose because he associated every major turning point in his life with loss, and he’d do everything it took to avoid it.
Those were the tricky nights, because it was always hard to tell exactly what Jean-Paul needed. Tonight, it looked like he needed a damn hug, and Kyle nodded to himself. He left the bright ceiling lights off and turned on the corner lamp with its softer glow, enough so that he could see without having to squint in the dark.
Then he walked around the couch until he was standing right in front of Jean-Paul, still sitting in the same position. Now that he was closer, Kyle could see that he was so tense his whole body was trembling, white-knuckled fingers gripping his hair far too tightly.
He laid his hands gently over Jean-Paul’s, stroking softly over his fingers until they loosened and he slid his own into the soft strands to sooth the ache Jean-Paul’s punishing grip must have left behind. The trembling stopped, and Kyle could see the muscles in Jean-Paul’s shoulders and back beginning to relax slightly. “You want to talk about it?”
He whispered the words, not wanting to break the calm surrounding them, and the head under his hands shook once in answer. Jean-Paul’s hands fell from his face and came to rest on Kyle’s hips, tugging slightly. Kyle smiled slightly, because it was just like Jean-Paul to be pushy, even when silent, and knee walked his way to straddle Jean-Paul’s lap. He rested his weight on Jean-Paul’s thighs and settled in for the long haul as Jean-Paul leaned his forehead to Kyle’s collarbone, warm hands splayed across his back.
Resting his cheek against Jean-Paul’s hair, Kyle held him tightly. He was-would always be-Jean-Paul’s anchor, just like Jean-Paul was his, and the rest of the world could leave them the hell alone, if just for tonight.
Despite his quick-tempered reputation, Jean-Paul held back so much, bottled in all his pain until he broke. It had scared Kyle the first time, in their early months of dating, when Jean-Paul came home and punched a hole in the wall because he hadn’t been fast enough to save a little girl’s life. After, Jean-Paul had told him exactly how fucked up in the head he was and that Kyle needed someone stable, someone who didn’t have to see how ugly humanity could be. Someone who didn’t drag that ugliness back home.
Shaken, Kyle had agreed to separate for a while, but only after he made sure Jean-Paul knew he was just going to think things over. He’d never forget the hopelessness that Jean-Paul hadn’t covered up fast enough, so sure that Kyle wouldn’t be back.
A week later, Kyle was back in Jean-Paul’s apartment and declaring in no uncertain terms that he was there to stay. Jean-Paul had tried to argue with him, even thought it was obviously tearing him up to do it and the two of them ended up in a screaming match over it all until Kyle simply asked if Jean-Paul was going to hit him.
That had sucked the wind right out of Jean-Paul’s sails. His horrified, “Never” was all the answer Kyle needed. He trusted his instincts, and his instincts trusted Jean-Paul.
After that, Jean-Paul tended to go to the gym or out flying after hard missions, taking his frustration out on bags and weights and pushing himself so hard he didn’t have the energy to be angry. Then, when the anger was gone, he’d come home and let Kyle comfort him. Tonight wasn’t a gym night though, this was worse. When Jean-Paul was more guilty than mad he tended to his masochistic habit of replaying what he believed to be his failures over and over again.
Everyone who knew him associated Jean-Paul with arrogance and his absolute refusal to accept anything but first place. What most didn’t know was that the first didn’t create the second. It wasn’t out of pride that Jean-Paul hated to lose-though it certainly played a damn big role sometimes-he hated to lose because he associated every major turning point in his life with loss, and he’d do everything it took to avoid it.
Those were the tricky nights, because it was always hard to tell exactly what Jean-Paul needed. Tonight, it looked like he needed a damn hug, and Kyle nodded to himself. He left the bright ceiling lights off and turned on the corner lamp with its softer glow, enough so that he could see without having to squint in the dark.
Then he walked around the couch until he was standing right in front of Jean-Paul, still sitting in the same position. Now that he was closer, Kyle could see that he was so tense his whole body was trembling, white-knuckled fingers gripping his hair far too tightly.
He laid his hands gently over Jean-Paul’s, stroking softly over his fingers until they loosened and he slid his own into the soft strands to sooth the ache Jean-Paul’s punishing grip must have left behind. The trembling stopped, and Kyle could see the muscles in Jean-Paul’s shoulders and back beginning to relax slightly. “You want to talk about it?”
He whispered the words, not wanting to break the calm surrounding them, and the head under his hands shook once in answer. Jean-Paul’s hands fell from his face and came to rest on Kyle’s hips, tugging slightly. Kyle smiled slightly, because it was just like Jean-Paul to be pushy, even when silent, and knee walked his way to straddle Jean-Paul’s lap. He rested his weight on Jean-Paul’s thighs and settled in for the long haul as Jean-Paul leaned his forehead to Kyle’s collarbone, warm hands splayed across his back.
Resting his cheek against Jean-Paul’s hair, Kyle held him tightly. He was-would always be-Jean-Paul’s anchor, just like Jean-Paul was his, and the rest of the world could leave them the hell alone, if just for tonight.