The Anti-Eros
Takes place in the near future.
Bear in mind that just because one is an outcast doesn't mean one is tolerant of other outcasts.
And yes, you can use 'handsome' to describe a woman.
There were few who could agitate Kitty's vanity as effortlessly or as gracefully as the handsome Jean Grey. A brief phrase or glance in her direction would have Kitty an observer of Jean's beauty for a few shameless minutes, staring uninterrupted as if her mutant power was that of absorption of physical appearance through sight alone. Simply thinking of the woman made Kitty warm with appreciation and crestfallen with petty, adolescent conceit: her silken, luscious red mane framing her angular, all-American face; her eyes an honest green, her chin minute, but firm, and her mouth small with a flattering, larger lower lip. Fit but not hourglass, her breasts were of ample size, her hips slim and her waist nonexistent. It awoke in Kitty an unfamiliar form of worship that drew her to the woman by the day…She did not understand it, nor did she wish to. She simply sought.
It evolved to the point where their meetings had become more than happenstance. The girl did not suddenly develop a love for reading in the library or eating outside in the orange-gray setting of autumn—but they were Jean's habits, and so Kitty followed, perfectly content with admiring the woman from afar. She did not hesitate to do so now, sitting a few tables down from the telepath under the guise of having a voracious appetite for pineapple-pizza (by Kurt's suggestion). Chilly and troubled by the calm, natural colors of her least favorite season, she found comfort in her best friend, who kept her company as she outlined Jean's figure and marveled at the charm that could be found in her quiet demeanor. Kitty did not think herself homosexual, but her persistence and unwillingness to let her go had Kitty convinced that she was, in fact, in love with Jean Grey.
"Any girl who stares that long is bound to be in love," Kurt commented, as if possessing telepathic abilities of his own.
Kitty lowered her head, using her temporarily blue companion to shield herself from Jean's view. "Oh my god, she's looking over here."
"Look at you. You have the twinkle in your eyes and the flushed face and everything you probably learned from reading too much teen fiction."
"Kurt, she'll know we're talking about her!"
"If Meyer had any sense, I'd say she already knew. You know, being the redheaded telepath and all. Like what's-his-name—Edwin Cullen."
He responded to her glare with a bite of his pizza.
"You know, lowering your head like an abused kitten doesn't make you appear any less suspicious. Especially when you look around the room all frantically like that."
"I'm just watching out for people who might be interested." A hint of frustration, "because of your big mouth. At least I'm trying to be inconspicuous."
Kurt choked on his food. "Yeah, you're a ninja."
She almost laughed, but did not feel it appropriate.
"And you're totally a funny guy," Kitty replied dryly, her head still lowered.
Kurt laughed himself, amused by his own wit. "I'm only as funny as the material. You know you're acting funny, right?"
She didn't respond, suddenly embarrassed to have caught the attention of Jean's companion, Scott Summers, who chewed his food slowly, suspiciously, as he returned her stare forthright. As usual, he was difficult to read, his sunglasses deflecting emotion at the most inopportune times. Did he know? Or, she thought grimly, did he think she was looking at him?
Kurt didn't notice. Fittingly, he changed the direction of the conversation, picking at his food as his next words came out awkwardly, as if uncomfortable or at least unused to the subject:
"Come to think of it Kitty…if you're really, uh, into chicks now, why not just, you know, man up and tell her how you feel?"
The comment wasn't enough to bring her attention away from Scott, whose gaze she had quickly averted, but slowly, hypnotically, returned to. She responded, her tone robotic, "I don't know."
"I mean," he continued, with a little more resolve, "I don't want you one day turn up with steel six-pack abs and a sergeant haircut. Butch doesn't suit you."
The word butch had gotten through. "I'm not a lesbian, Kurt." Her response was so brusque it had nearly knocked him off his guard.
"I know, I know. What I mean is—m-my point is—I don't want you to be anything other than who you are now. Just...do something other than look, maybe."
Kitty finally tore her eyes away from Jean's table, trying to understand what Kurt could not properly convey.
"You think I'm being a stalker."
"No! No, that's not what I'm saying." He broke out into a toothy grin. "You're creepy, but you're no stalker," he tried.
But to no avail. "Then you have a problem with my sexuality, is that it?"
"Now you're just picking a fight."
"What the hell's your point, then?"
Kurt paused.
Carefully, deliberately, he chose not to answer, instead motioning for Kitty to stand.
"Boy, it sure is nice out. Nice enough for a walk."
Kitty did not comply, crossing her arms as all defenses went up. "So this is gonna upset me?"
"Phew—I'd sure like to stretch right about now! You hear those bones pop?"
"Go run a few laps around the mansion."
"Oh I will—you can bet on it. But first, I'd really like that walk."
She arched a brow, annoyed, but vaguely curious. She stood, preparing herself for what was bound to be the most unpleasant walk of her life.