[written by the victors] x-men (movieverse) ; john, rogue, & bobby
(You could probably take this as a sequel to this, if you wanted. This is pretty much for denrito because she encouraged me shamelessly.)
written by the victors
“I made a mistake.” Rogue sits heavily on the bed as John realizes just how few confidantes she must have to come to him.
“Wait. Wait, wait.” He laughs incredulously. “You ended it? God. You’re kind of retarded, you know that?”
She pulls a face but her eyes say, I know. “Just tell him I stopped by, ‘kay?”
“Sure,” he says, even as he plans not to.
She moves to stand, then sinks into the bed again, curling one leg under her, making herself small. “You ever wish you never got your powers?” He gives her a look, spins the wheel of his lighter pointedly. She rolls her eyes. “Never mind.” She rubs one gloved hand against her cheek tiredly, hair pushed back to reveal that deadly skin, pale and looking so harmless. He wonders what it’s like to wield that kind of power without even thinking.
He slides one hand behind her neck, hair tangled between skin and skin, pulls.
“You got some kinda death wish?” she murmurs as she doesn’t move away. Her breath isn’t as cool as Bobby’s.
“No,” he says, mostly meaning it.
Their lips touch not really accidentally.
It kicks in slowly, or maybe he just didn’t notice it in the midst of feeling everything else, and then she’s gasping and he’s feeling a little - and then a lot - nauseous, but he kisses harder, taking, making her take. Power.
She tears away with fresh strength. He’s panting, still holding onto her because he’s pretty sure that the second he lets go he’s going to slide to the floor and retch or maybe just have a seizure and die. Instead, he flips open his Zippo, the rasp of the lighter’s wheel reassuring, and holds it out to Rogue.
She takes the fire in the easy way somebody might take a pencil or a cigarette, knowledge it won’t hurt her already in her bones. It grows in her hand organically, blooming, and takes the shapes of flowers and faceless people. One shape starts to look like maybe it has spiky hair and, from the way the fire flickers in her eyes when they lock with his and what the next question she asks is, the shape probably has soulful eyes and a weakness for untouchable girls, too.
She asks it so quietly that he barely catches it. “You ever do that with Bobby?” He hazards a guess that she isn’t talking about making fun shapes with fire.
“Have you?” he asks casually, since they’re apparently asking questions they both already know the answers to. He knows it stings, and doesn’t much care.
The fire snaps out of shape and has one last finale of sparks before it’s reduced to a wisp of smoke floating out of her empty hand. “I’ll see ya around,” she says sharply as she heads for the door.
“It’s not like it matters, anyway,” he says to her. She stops at the door but he doesn’t look up. He’s coaxing fire from the lighter into his own hand. He’s still almost too weak to keep it going. “You’re the one who won.”
She keeps looking at him. “See ya around,” John drawls pointedly, in Rogue’s Southern accent, so she goes.
She and Bobby are back together by the next afternoon, he hears.
written by the victors
“I made a mistake.” Rogue sits heavily on the bed as John realizes just how few confidantes she must have to come to him.
“Wait. Wait, wait.” He laughs incredulously. “You ended it? God. You’re kind of retarded, you know that?”
She pulls a face but her eyes say, I know. “Just tell him I stopped by, ‘kay?”
“Sure,” he says, even as he plans not to.
She moves to stand, then sinks into the bed again, curling one leg under her, making herself small. “You ever wish you never got your powers?” He gives her a look, spins the wheel of his lighter pointedly. She rolls her eyes. “Never mind.” She rubs one gloved hand against her cheek tiredly, hair pushed back to reveal that deadly skin, pale and looking so harmless. He wonders what it’s like to wield that kind of power without even thinking.
He slides one hand behind her neck, hair tangled between skin and skin, pulls.
“You got some kinda death wish?” she murmurs as she doesn’t move away. Her breath isn’t as cool as Bobby’s.
“No,” he says, mostly meaning it.
Their lips touch not really accidentally.
It kicks in slowly, or maybe he just didn’t notice it in the midst of feeling everything else, and then she’s gasping and he’s feeling a little - and then a lot - nauseous, but he kisses harder, taking, making her take. Power.
She tears away with fresh strength. He’s panting, still holding onto her because he’s pretty sure that the second he lets go he’s going to slide to the floor and retch or maybe just have a seizure and die. Instead, he flips open his Zippo, the rasp of the lighter’s wheel reassuring, and holds it out to Rogue.
She takes the fire in the easy way somebody might take a pencil or a cigarette, knowledge it won’t hurt her already in her bones. It grows in her hand organically, blooming, and takes the shapes of flowers and faceless people. One shape starts to look like maybe it has spiky hair and, from the way the fire flickers in her eyes when they lock with his and what the next question she asks is, the shape probably has soulful eyes and a weakness for untouchable girls, too.
She asks it so quietly that he barely catches it. “You ever do that with Bobby?” He hazards a guess that she isn’t talking about making fun shapes with fire.
“Have you?” he asks casually, since they’re apparently asking questions they both already know the answers to. He knows it stings, and doesn’t much care.
The fire snaps out of shape and has one last finale of sparks before it’s reduced to a wisp of smoke floating out of her empty hand. “I’ll see ya around,” she says sharply as she heads for the door.
“It’s not like it matters, anyway,” he says to her. She stops at the door but he doesn’t look up. He’s coaxing fire from the lighter into his own hand. He’s still almost too weak to keep it going. “You’re the one who won.”
She keeps looking at him. “See ya around,” John drawls pointedly, in Rogue’s Southern accent, so she goes.
She and Bobby are back together by the next afternoon, he hears.