prompt fill; scream
title; so lost in the moment
word count; 593
rating; PG
prompt; scream, for write off
The glass shatters as it hits the wall, a scream of rage following it just as the door slams shut and the windows rattle.
It's the same fight, over and over again. Too much work, not enough time, his charm, her powers, their friends, the battles, the trials, family getting in the way. They'd been so utterly caught up in it at first, she'd been swept off her feet, he'd been attentive and flirtatious and so fucking smooth he could glide. They were still that explosive way in the beginning, still full of passion and possessiveness and lust.
Three years down the line and she was trying to figure out why they were still together. Why they kept going back. It made sense to start with, they clicked, they had that attraction and devotion. The thrill of them had pushed her to test her boundaries, he'd come up with ways around the issues, he'd shown her that it wasn't just the physical though, and she'd tumbled headlong in love with him, regardless of the warnings.
But her temper was just as bad as her Mama's, and he was always defensive, always secretive. He didn't trust her, she couldn't push him because he'd just get angry and then she'd get angry. Property damage was fairly normal for them. She can't push through some of the voices, she takes swings in her moods, she lashes out without reason, she's scared of hurting him about as much as she's scared of him hurting her.
She spends an unknown number of hours sitting on the bottom of the stairs in the house they bought together, in the house that was supposed to be the start of things for them and is slowly turning into the crypt of their relationship. The door opens and shuts, the click of the lock quiet in the silence of the house, his feet scuffing on the mat as he approaches.
She stands up, arms heavy by her sides, standing on the bottom stair, giving her five inches of height over him but still making her feel tiny.
"We're gettin' worse, cher." And he's right, they are. He blew up the vase in the kitchen and she threw another one at his head. It's a matter of time before they really explode and Rogue is terrified of what could happen then.
"What'd'ya wanna do?" She feels like a child, she's scared and knows that there's no real good outcome here. They aren't what they used to be, they don't have as many good days as bad days anymore, they fight more than they talk, they hate each other more than they love each other.
"Dunno, m'ybe we should take some time?" She feels herself nodding, even as her face fall and her heartaches. "Ah cher," he's across the floor in seconds, arms around her waist as she folds over him, arms around his neck as he leans into her shoulder. She's got the height, but he's the one holding her up. "I don't wanna, petite, I don't. We can make it work, we can."
Her gloved fingers stroke through his hair, her body shaking with repressed sobs, even as heat from him bleeds into her body. "Ah love ya, sugah, Ah'll get control, Ah will." Like if she promises enough it'll happen.
They both know that they're heading towards a burn out, that they'll blow up before they ever cool off. But they're just far too in love with each other to back off, to step back or call it off and leave.
word count; 593
rating; PG
prompt; scream, for write off
The glass shatters as it hits the wall, a scream of rage following it just as the door slams shut and the windows rattle.
It's the same fight, over and over again. Too much work, not enough time, his charm, her powers, their friends, the battles, the trials, family getting in the way. They'd been so utterly caught up in it at first, she'd been swept off her feet, he'd been attentive and flirtatious and so fucking smooth he could glide. They were still that explosive way in the beginning, still full of passion and possessiveness and lust.
Three years down the line and she was trying to figure out why they were still together. Why they kept going back. It made sense to start with, they clicked, they had that attraction and devotion. The thrill of them had pushed her to test her boundaries, he'd come up with ways around the issues, he'd shown her that it wasn't just the physical though, and she'd tumbled headlong in love with him, regardless of the warnings.
But her temper was just as bad as her Mama's, and he was always defensive, always secretive. He didn't trust her, she couldn't push him because he'd just get angry and then she'd get angry. Property damage was fairly normal for them. She can't push through some of the voices, she takes swings in her moods, she lashes out without reason, she's scared of hurting him about as much as she's scared of him hurting her.
She spends an unknown number of hours sitting on the bottom of the stairs in the house they bought together, in the house that was supposed to be the start of things for them and is slowly turning into the crypt of their relationship. The door opens and shuts, the click of the lock quiet in the silence of the house, his feet scuffing on the mat as he approaches.
She stands up, arms heavy by her sides, standing on the bottom stair, giving her five inches of height over him but still making her feel tiny.
"We're gettin' worse, cher." And he's right, they are. He blew up the vase in the kitchen and she threw another one at his head. It's a matter of time before they really explode and Rogue is terrified of what could happen then.
"What'd'ya wanna do?" She feels like a child, she's scared and knows that there's no real good outcome here. They aren't what they used to be, they don't have as many good days as bad days anymore, they fight more than they talk, they hate each other more than they love each other.
"Dunno, m'ybe we should take some time?" She feels herself nodding, even as her face fall and her heartaches. "Ah cher," he's across the floor in seconds, arms around her waist as she folds over him, arms around his neck as he leans into her shoulder. She's got the height, but he's the one holding her up. "I don't wanna, petite, I don't. We can make it work, we can."
Her gloved fingers stroke through his hair, her body shaking with repressed sobs, even as heat from him bleeds into her body. "Ah love ya, sugah, Ah'll get control, Ah will." Like if she promises enough it'll happen.
They both know that they're heading towards a burn out, that they'll blow up before they ever cool off. But they're just far too in love with each other to back off, to step back or call it off and leave.