Disclaimer: see below (contains spoilers…)
It all began as a simple idea, one that was toyed with, pushed aside and thrown away but it slowly grew and grew, until eventually it was pinned down like a butterfly, to be examined and scrutinised.
His colours are certainly that of a butterfly, the beautiful blue of the Adonis, those golden eyes as sharp as the monarch's colours. And that fur, like the scales of a butterfly, it dares you to touch, but to do so you would destroy it.
It was that unnatural beauty that forced me to take notice of him, to draw me to him, to make me want him. And I always get what I want, but he disarms me with that simple smile that fools the others whilst inside, in the depths of those burning eyes, I can see his pain.
In a house full of telepaths, why am I the only one who sees it?
Every touch makes him recoil, as though he is afraid we will lose interest and throw him away, like a puppy that's now a dog, waiting for the moment we cast him aside, bored and excited with a new toy. How I loathe his constant motions of fear, that continuous state of fight or flight, can't he see that I want to know him? I can see past that fur, can't he see past my human skin?
What untold horrors have sculpted him, filled his past and haunts his sleep? I want to know, I want to hold him and listen and let him know that together, our future would be free of pain.
But aren't demons afraid of the light?
Surely he is no demon, I can see the pureness in his heart as he plays with his cross, or murmuring prayers to his rosary beads, all when he thinks no one else can see – but I see him, why wont he see me?
But that fool Poitr, he's scared him away with his clumsy words, and so Kurt comes to me, seeking distraction, not knowing that I ache to steal him away, has my one sided love become a confused and twisted triangle? But surely it is more than that, I see Kurt looking at the women, the way he smiles at their attention, the way he wants them as I want him.
And yet he hesitates, a moth that has been burned once too often by that flame, perhaps?
Perhaps, I know nothing of that mysterious cat, and I am just a bird he toys with unknowingly. Or does he know? This innocence a game of his?
No, what a foolish thought – he loves the time we spend together, creating wild fantasies and acting them in the danger room, he loves the danger that we might get caught - I wish we could be caught doing something more than his silly folly.
I wonder how his imagination came to be so wild, and how wild it could become in
the bedroom – I wonder of his tastes in such games.
A demon they call him, for his strange looks and mysterious nature, but surely I am the demon for suffering this lust? I, the angel, no, a devil.
How quaint, perhaps I am a fallen angel to that holy demon.
Disclaimer: I don't own the x-men. This idea was originally going to be a little 100 word drabble, but it grew. I'm surprised that there isn't any warrenxkurt out there; it is such an obvious pairing.