Dance With Me
It was ten o'clock, Saturday morning, and she was awake, John was sure of it. Besides if she wasn't they'd just wake her up. Easy. He was right though, for the first time ever. She'd just woken up a few minutes ago. When Bobby and John got there, she was still in her pjs, gloves in her hand, hunting for clothes to wear. John peeked over his 'espionage partner's' shoulder and laughed,
"Nice pajamas, Roguey."
She stood slowly, "Good morning, Johnny."
It never ceased to surprise him when he actually heard her accent. Most of the time he forget she actually had one she hid it so often and so well. This early in the morning, though, it was obvious. He honestly didn't know why she hid it, it didn't sound bad.
He smirked at her, blatantly checking her out. She met his gaze,
"What are you doing here anyway? You normally aren't awake yet, let alone walking around and dressed."
"I was bored. And hungry. And it's too cold to walk around naked. So's Bobby."
"Yep. Starving. It was so exhausting having to be dragged over here." Bobby smiled at her.
"Please? Everyone knows you're the best cook here and I," John glared at the other boy, "am hungry. We might as well celebrate Thanksgiving as much as possible before Storm attempts to cook again."
Rogue rolled her eyes at him but smiled, "Kiss up. Alright, Johnny, I'll be down as soon as I'm dressed."
He stood there, staring blankly.
"Go, John! This," she gestured to herself, "Is not a free show."
He pouted as he followed Bobby out.
Five minutes later, she was dressed and dancing around the kitchen. Storm was a hopeless cook but it was genius of her to put a radio in the kitchen. Rogue loved Christmas music and just couldn't help but dance to it. She loved this time of year more then anything. In between flipping pancakes - chocochip for her, blueberry for Bobby and regular for John - and scrambling eggs, she switched through the stations almost always ending up in the same place. John came barging in after about ten minutes of this pattern and grabbed her hands, swinging her around.
"John!," She yanked her hands back quickly, as if burned, "I'm cooking, you idiot! I'm not wearing gloves."
"I liked you better when you called me Johnny," He pouted and she glared, "Careful, Roguey, or you'll face'll get stuck that way. Relax, I thought about that." He wiggled his black mitten covered fingers at her.
She rolled her eyes at him and turned back to the food,
"I swear, Johnny, you're the one who wanted me to cook so bad and yet, you're the one who's gonna get it burnt 'cuz you're distracting me."
"Come on. Dance with me, just for a minute. The food won't burn that soon. I'm hyper and it's no fun alone. Bobby steps on my toes." Never one to wait, he grabbed her by the waist and spun her around, pulling her into a parody of a waltz. He switched from attempting - and failing - one dance to another like a schizophrenic on acid. She was laughing within seconds and never thought of arguing. He spun her out and back in agin, her back to his chest, both of their arms wrapped around her stomach. John leaned down, as if to whisper something in her ear, but froze when his lips, for a split-second, brushed it. Time froze for what felt like forever but was really only a minute.
"Thanks," He clearly meant to continue but she cut him off, scared off this new territory and stepped forward so that she was out of his reach.
"You're welcome, John. I really should get back to the food now, I think it's burning."
John stepped back, looking hurt but it was gone so fast that she wasn't sure it was ever really there.
"Okay. I'll go set the table."
The End.