Not Like Bobby . . .
Summary: Rogue/Pyro interlude. So maybe it's been done to death but I adore this ship so who cares?Inspired by in part by deleted scene 'Pyro starts the campfire'.
Disclaimer: I own nothing and I get nothing (but joy) from the writing and sharing of this fic. All hail Marvel and Fox Studios!
It's been a long day. A long twenty four hours- for all of them but especially for Rogue. Forgetting everything that happened at the mansion, she has touched two different people within an hour of each other and her head is echoing with feelings and impressions that aren't her own. Trying to reconcile or at least shut out two other minds is proving difficult, so after a dinner of camp rations during which she hardly speaks Rogue asks Jean if there is something she can help with- anything to distract her. With a wry knowing look, Dr. Grey hands her a chunk out of the jet's console and shows her how to check the connections.
"Mark any loose wires and Storm or I will fix them."
Rogue nods and the doctor slips away to continue the repairs inside. Glad to have something solid to focus on, Rogue settles down on the grass near the jet and goes to work, concentrating deliberately on the snarl in front of her. The work isn't easy with gloves- the tools slide in her fingers but she never takes them off, accept to sleep. The rule is sacred to her and she can't bring herself to break it even now. Besides, it's good that it's hard. It keeps her distracted.
She sits hunched over the part for almost an hour, working meticulously without distraction until John starts up the hill toward her. She watches him come up silently, his face resolving itself in the glowing lights that sit in the grass around her. When he meets her gaze, she looks back down at the part quickly. John has his lighter out and she can hear the sharp singing click as he slaps it open and closed.
Click, click. Click, click. Click, click.
The strongest impressions are coming from him- to Rogue's intense discomfort. She can hardly sense Bobby through the din that is John's emotional state. There is so much more going on underneath his attitude and contempt than she ever guessed- and it confuses and alarms her. The boy stands behind Rogue and observes over her shoulder without speaking. Hovering over her, his attention is a tangible force pressing against her shoulders and neck. They don't speak.
Apparently watching her gets boring though, because he moves away to study the damaged jet.
"Don't offer to help," Rogue says irritably, suddenly annoyed by the sight of his back as he turns away from her.
"I won't." He replies.
"You're such a-" She mutters into the part. He turns.
"Such a what?" John asks, sounding coolly superior and amused.
Looking up at him, she answers deliberately, "An asshole."
John stops moving abruptly, the constant clicking of his lighter going silent. "An asshole." His voice is flat. He takes a step toward her and Rogue stands up, moving to dig through the toolbox sitting on the ground a few feet away.
"Yep." She replies to the wrench under her fingers. She sees herself suddenly, as he must see her as she leans over the box. There is a wave of emotion she doesn't understand and her eyes close briefly, trying to break the connection. When she straightens, she can see him clutching the lighter tightly in one fist, his posture rigid.
"Not like Bobby." He says grimly.
Rogue frowns at him. What is that supposed to mean? But she has to stand up for Bobby. "That's right- Bobby is kind and considerate and- and sweet . . ."
And John is staring at her and there is another voice in her head saying, 'boring and predictable and cold . . .'. Rogue tosses the wrench down and snatches up a pair of pliers.
"Not like Bobby," He repeats, his voice twisting sarcastically, "with his perfect little family in their perfect little house-".
"That's not what I-" Rogue tries to protest but he takes a step closer.
"Not like Bobby, who always does the right thing," he takes another step, "who always does what he's told-" another step.
Since her mutation became active, Rogue has been intensely aware of her personal space. She is careful to keep a certain distance between herself and the rest of the world so that no one gets hurt, even accidentally. She takes a step back away from where John is advancing on her, disturbed by his intensity which she can sense as well as see. Looking toward the camp longingly, she notices the dim light from the cooking fires. John is a campfire, she realizes suddenly; smoldering and full of dangerous potential. Why hadn't she ever seen that before?
Rogue backs up until she is almost standing underneath the jet and there is no where else to go. John is right with her, not touching her but she can feel the heat of his skin through their clothes. He is so warm, almost feverish unlike Bobby whose lips were cool even when he kissed her. Despite the heat John throws off, Rogue is shaking.
"Not like Bobby who waits and waits for you 'cause he's too scared-"
Rogue opens her mouth to say something, anything but-
"I wouldn't have waited." He tells her.
Then John kisses her, full on the mouth- no hesitation and no fear.
When Bobby kissed her, Rogue knew he had seen it as a gamble. One he considered well worth the risk but he had still weighed the potential for disaster. John knows about the danger -he has experienced it first hand- but it means nothing to him. All he knows is what he wants . . . and he wants her. And in that moment- he has her.
Or she has him. Rogue's power is already drawing at him but he doesn't even try to fight. He throws open the gates and welcomes the chance to be plundered. His mouth is sure and soft and hungry. Rogue can feel what he feels- how he is amazed that after all the time he has wanted this it doesn't disappoint- it's better than anything he had imagined. And she knows that he can see into her like she sees into him. She knows he feels her shaking in his arms, dizzy from the things he is giving her not the least of which is his taste and smell and touch. He still wants more. He pulls her forward roughly, his hands sliding beneath her shirt to caress the skin of her back.
This extra contact increases the energy drain. It's happening too fast- Rogue can see the blackness at the edge of John's vision and she begins to panic.
But it's so hard to let him go.
She forces her arms to fall to her sides but John takes her head into his hands, keeping her close. He sways on his feet. Rogue manages to get an arm between them and she shoves back hard. The kiss breaks and the boy falls back onto the grass.
"Are you crazy?" Rogue demands, her voice much more unsteady than she wants it to be. "Are you trying to kill yourself!"
"I'm still breathing." John says, panting, his head leaning back against the ground and the veins under his skin beginning to fade to normal. He pulls himself weakly up onto one elbow to look at her. Rogue bites her bottom lip unconsciously, tasting John, sweet and fiery, in her mouth.
"You could be dead." She whispers.
"It was worth it." He breathes to the stars as he lies back down, one arm thrown wide.
"It'll never happen again." Rogue promises and he laughs weakly. He can feel the lie. Turning, the girl stumbles away. Even when she has moved out of earshot, she can still hear John laughing.