Bobby kissed her once, just once. It was sweet, soft, and a little wet. He held on as long as he could, digging into her hips to help with the pain. The kiss was so intoxicating, she forgot how the veins must have been rising out from under his skin, marking his facing while its color sunk away. It wasn't until he fell, tired from the hurt of it all, that she remembered. With the thud of his body against the floor, her eyes flicked open. His skin was ashy, though the veins had receded.
Seeing him weak, breathing hard, looking next to dead, she never wanted to kiss him again, and he never wanted too either. But Rogue, she still wanted to kiss, just not him, because she loved him too much. Bobby too, just not her, because he didn't love her enough.
John was perfect, though. He was the enemy; he worked for the man who had tried to kill her. He believed in the "sacrifice" Magneto would have made of her. He'd never said it, but she knew it was true. He didn't believe in anything other than Magento's cause. It was his identity now. And for his part, John could never quite forgive her for seeking the cure, often referring to the return of her powers as "a second chance". When he saw her, he saw cowardice and failure. Though, she thought, maybe he forgave her more than he ever said aloud. Maybe beneath his declarations of disgust, he saw a little of himself. Maybe that's why he was here now, doing this, again.
"Do you need a break?" she asked him, pulling her hands away and reaching for her gloves.
"Don't." he tried to stop her. "You don't need to wear those with me."
"It's okay. I'm used to it." Her smile was slight, with only a little arc in one corner, and her eyes flickered to the ground.
He was tired, but watching her tug her gloves at the wrist, he became overwhelmed by secondhand pathetic, and he reached over. He let his fingertips trail over the cheek and into her hair, and then grabbed her, pulling her lips toward him as he lunged forward to meet her body halfway. He could feel the pull of her powers immediately. First, it was a soreness in his hand and lips, then a searing pain all over, like his blood was burning him from within, then, fatigue, like heat stroke, then fainting. He fell. His head smacked the wood flooring of his third floor walkup like a drum, and unlike Bobby, ashy looked good on him. She could feel her pulse between her legs, and her mind was foggy with passion. His lips were swollen, and parted, and shining with spit. And she wanted more, but he was unconscious now. He should have taken a break.