John lays flat on his back in bed, hours later, his hands behind his head. His eyes refuse to stay closed in sleep so he gives up trying. He's used to insomnia, but this time it isn't years of shitty memories keeping him up, it's wishing he could stare through his ceiling.
Kitty is in the room above his. He's known this for a while and has rarely given it a passing thought, but tonight he's very aware of the 12 feet of air that separates the two of them. He wonders if she's sleeping already. Probably. She probably sleeps like a baby, curled up with a teddy bear, hand tucked under her chin. She is too, too... adorable, he thinks before he can stop himself.
Just what did she mean about listening to her, "of all people"? She's never said anything like that before. She's never said, "please" either...
He wants to know that's in her head. If he affects her at all. And so even though it's another immature asshole thing to do, he smirks and reaches to open the drawer in his nightstand. A super bouncy ball. He's not even sure where he picked it up from, but it will serve his purpose perfectly. Like rocks against a window, he thinks. All he needs now is some old school boombox playing some sappy song and he'll know he's totally lost his mind.
Bounce.
Bounce.
Bounce.
He waits. Nothing. No doubt she's a heavy sleeper, dreaming of running through fields with her pink unicorn, or puppies or rainbows or some shit like that. Perseverance. That's the key. A few more bounces. Then a few more. He's about to give up and throw the ball through the window. He really needs to fall asleep and wake up not an idiot. He lets out a deep sigh and then a little yelp as a face suddenly appears above him.
"What the hell do you want, John?" she hisses.
His smile grows. He can't help himself. He shrugs as he clutches the bouncy ball in his hand.
"Hi," he says, still smiling.
"Hi? HI?!" she whispers loudly.
She phases her whole body through the ceiling and lands on top of his bed. Her hand is on her hip and she is wearing flannel pajama bottoms, he guesses they are purple, with an oversized grey t-shirt. She looks like she's drowning in it. Her hair is loose and every which way. She is glaring mightily... and he finds the whole picture about as sexy as can be.
He props himself up on his elbows, his sheet falls down his bare chest. She notices, the fury on her face falters for a moment as her eyes travel briefly over his half naked form. The anger quickly returns but even that glimpse that she is aware of him, affected by him makes his stomach twist, just a little.
"Yeah... hi. I may not be wearing any pants either, Kitkat."
She purses her lips and wrinkles her nose.
"You're a jerk. I was almost asleep. I'm leaving. Don't you dare pull this stunt again."
Her feet are already a foot off the bed when he grabs her ankle. His attitude drops like a stone.
"Wait, Kitty, please... I wanted to talk to you." he says with a touch of desperation.
"Why?" she looks down, blinking, genuinely confused.
He sits up fully, folds his legs indian style and gently tugs on her pant leg to have her sit next to him. He takes the fact that he's not grasping at air as an encouraging sign as she cautiously sits down.
"You really weren't sleeping?" he asks instead of answering her question.
"No... I have a hard time getting to sleep most nights," she grudgingly answers.
"How come?" he asks, surprised they have this in common.
"I dunno. Lots of reasons. Homesick, worrying about school, the next Danger Room session, take your pick."
"I never hear you," he responds lamely.
"I'm quiet," she answers... quietly.
"Yeah, I've noticed."
Her frown is back again and she moves away slightly.
"You still haven't answered my question. What's so damn important. What did we have to talk about at midnight, instead of waiting for morning?"
"It's really that late?" he is stalling and he knows it.
She must know it too. She makes herself comfortable on his bed, sitting across from him, indian style like he is, her arms crossed. Her mouth is stubbornly silent.
He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It immediately falls back in his eyes as he ducks his head.
"Why did you say you, 'of all people'? What does that mean?" he asks finally, lamely. He is internally cursing himself. He had no plan of what he would say, if he actually got her to phase into his room.
"That couldn't wait until morning?" she asks tilting her head at him. She doesn't look angry anymore, just confused.
"I guess not."
He wishes he had his lighter in his hand. His fingers feel fidgety without it, but it's over on his desk and he doesn't want to annoy her any more than he already has. He hears her sigh.
"I don't understand you, John."
He likes the way he says his name, that she calls him John and not Pyro... although he never introduces himself as anyone but Pyro. He finds this internal contradiction weird.
"I don't understand myself, most of the time, so join the club."
She frowns and rolls the fabric of her flannel pants between her fingers.
"You really want the answer to that question?" she glances up at him, with her lip between her teeth.
"Ummm, yeah. Bounced a ball a whole bunch of times to ask you, soooo."
She kinda smiles then and licks her lips nervously and suddenly he's imagining just leaning forward and kissing her. She's only two feet away from him now, maybe two and a half. That's not that far at all.
"Cause you're Pyro," she says with a slight eye roll, using air quotes for his preferred name. "You got a chip on your shoulder the size of New York and make sure everyone around you knows you don't give a shit... about what you do... or about what other people think or feel. So why would you give a shit about me, of all people?"
Her words sting a little, but they're mostly true. Or at least that's what he wants everyone to believe anyways, so he shouldn't be surprised that she bought what he was selling. But that last part, she said it again and now it's really starting to bother him.
"What, you think you're less important than everyone else or something?" he asks off handedly. She blinks and looks down again, saying nothing. Her brows furrow together though and he's startled. He's struck a nerve.
"You really believe that shit... about yourself?"
She tosses up her hands and blows her bangs out of her eyes.
"Alright, why the hell not? It's the middle of the night and for some reason you've been acting very un-John-like all evening and have this burning curiosity so... Yeah. I believe that. I try not to, but com'on. You could set a whole city ablaze if you wanted to, Bobby could freeze it, Wolverine, well he's like 'rawwwrrrr'"
She growls and holds her hands out like claws and he can't help but chuckle a little at her mock ferociousness.
"Rogue can kill with a touch, Jean and the professor are crazy strong telepaths. Storm can decide to make it snow in the middle of July and me? I'm the girl who can become Casper."
She winces at the nickname and John does too, realizing he's used it more than once.
"I'm quiet, like you said and just keep my head down and try to live up to all these expectations that people have for me, about being an X-men someday maybe, but really the whole thing scares me to death and so some days, yeah... I wonder if it would be easier to just phase and stay there. Out of the way or something."
John's mouth drops open a little. He's a fucking mess and knows it, but Little Miss Perfect Kitty Pryde feeling sad, lonely, unsure of herself?. He wasn't expecting this. In another time or place he may have been tempted to make her regret ever opening up to him. Say she doesn't know shit about life or pain. He could tell her stories... well, she'd be begging him to stop with her hands over her ears, he's sure of it.
He just doesn't do sympathy, empathy. He doesn't do comfort. It is hard to give what he has rarely received, and yet... and yet.
Kitty is sitting across from him, looking smaller than he's ever seen her. Her eyes are luminous windows into her soul and she can't stop the nervous fidgeting of her hands. He wants to gather her up in his arms, force some comforting words past his lips. He swallows hard. Damn it, where are your balls, dude? Say something to her...
"That's bullshit. All of it," he says with a little more force than he intends. Her eyes fly up to his. They are full of a fiery intensity that he's never seen before and he almost leans away from her before he catches himself.
"Yeah? If that's so true, why is this the first real conversation we've ever had, huh? We've been eating at the same lunch table, going to the same classes, living in this dorm for over a year now."
She falls silent and his mind churns rapidly, trying to think of a good explanation for his supposed indifference, but he doesn't have one... other than the obvious; that he's a blind, ignorant asshole. He's about to reach over and put his hand on her shoulder, when she speaks again, so softly he almost can't hear her.
"I've told myself before that we were friends, but maybe that's just some kind of lie I believed so I'd feel better, since you barely paid attention to me."
John starts to laugh a little, he can't help himself really, and Kitty whips her head up, her spine stiffening. She opens her mouth in an "O", then snaps it closed again.
"You can go to hell... I can't even believe I..."
She begins to float up and John stops laughing as quickly as he started. He reaches out his hand and grabs her wrist, pulling her to himself. She hovers in hesitation but settles a few inches closer to him. He leans in and feels like an exceptional bastard because she has tears in her eyes and he certainly never meant to do that.
"I shouldn't've laughed. You know why I've been acting all, 'un-John-like'? Why I bounced this fucking ball and clicked my lighter in your face just to annoy you? To get your attention, Kitkat. Last few days, I've noticed more and more how you never notice me and it's pissing me off."
He smiles at her, trying to catch her eyes. His voice is uncharacteristically soft and she bites her lip, glancing up at him. The vulnerability he sees there reaches into his chest and squeezes. He takes a deep breath and continues.
"It's like I'm eight again and chasing you around the playground, trying to pull your ponytail... You know why boys do that, don't you, Kitty?"
She frowns at him and then her eyes widen a bit in understanding. He nods his head with a rueful smile.
"I'm noticing you, Kits... and I think you got it all wrong."
"Oh yeah, how?" she asks, her eyes flash in challenge as she leans in further to him.
He feels the anticipation in the air, the electricity. She looks scared, maybe a little flushed too. The tension in her body is a physical thing, washing over him. The moment hangs on an edge, teetering.
He gulps. Do. not. fuck. this. up.
"You're important, to the X-Men, the school, friends, family... Everyone who meets you, likes you. You're smarter than most anyone I know, and you give a shit about so many different things, I'm exhausted just thinking about it, but on top of all that, you have a kick-ass power-"
She scoffs her disbelief, but he nods his head in insistance.
"No, really. You do. You could become to world's greatest cat burglar or spy. I've seen you in the Danger Room, you fight like hell, and if you wanted to? You could rip my heart out right now."
He suddenly grabs her hand and pulls her forward. She doesn't resist. He places her small hand over his rapidly beating heart and then covers it with his own.
"All you'd have to do right now," he whispers, "is phase your hand into my chest and pull. I'd be a goner."
Her hands move slightly over his bare skin and he closes his eyes. He can hear her shallow breathing, feel her exhale against his chest.
"I would never do that, though," she says almost in wonder, she moves her hand out from under his and traces a heart over his heart with her fingers, burning her touch into his skin.
"I know you wouldn't. It's what makes you, you... good, strong..." he wets his lips and clears his throat. He brain has no more words, except one...
"Beautiful." he whispers. He is right against her mouth now. How did he get so close... too close.
"You're bullshiting me," her voice trembles.
"No... don't remember how to, just now."
"Oh... I-"
She doesn't finish because his lips are touching hers, gently. So gently. He doesn't know where the fuck this is coming from, but suddenly she's the most precious, fragile thing he's ever touched and even breathing her air warms him completely.
She kisses him back, a little whimper in the back of her throat. Her hands reach up to touch his face, the side of his neck with the palm of her hand and as she responds, he responds. The energy, the heat building... hotter than anything he's ever held in his hands before.
He pulls her fully into his arms until she is almost in his lap, then twists her light form down, still tight against him. Her head resting on his pillow, her back against his bed, her arms wrapping firmly around his neck and she still kisses him, allowing him to taste her. She is tentative at first, but as he deepens the kiss, she follows his lead, then surpasses it.
She feels so warm, so responsive, sexy as hell under his fingertips. He wants to touch her everywhere. He runs his hand up under her T-shirt, feeling her soft skin shudder under his touch. Over the narrow of her waist, the soft hollow of her stomach, to her ribs. He wants to see her, feel all of her and... shit.
He groans as he pulls away and rests his forehead against hers. She trembles underneath him, but he realizes he's trembling too as his arms shake supporting his weight over her. He tries to catch his breath and feels her shaky exhale against his cheek. It sends tingles straight through him.
"Why'd you stop?" she whispers as her hands slide down the bare skin of his back. He shivers.
"I don't know," he says, somewhat surprised himself. "Maybe I'm not a total asshole."
He raises his head to meet her eyes with a half smile. She frowns and her lips almost pout. She looks thoroughly kissed by him and it only makes him smile wider.
"It's not like you're the first boy I've kissed, you know," she says quietly, almost defensively.
"Am I your second?" he asks as he nuzzles his nose against hers. Where the hell all this tenderness is coming from, he has no idea. It almost makes him uncomfortable, but then he reads the innocence in her eyes... it just stirs up more of the same feeling.
"Maybe, and what am I? Your-."
"Not as many as you'd think," he says before she can throw out a number, "and that's not why I stopped."
"So why did you?" she caresses his cheek with her hand, he leans into her palm and closes his eyes. She's asked him a question. He struggles to remember what it is over the sweetness of her touch, so he can answer. He opens his eyes. She is waiting. Her eyes reflect his own vulnerability.
"So you'll talk to me again without feeling weird. So maybe you'll let me kiss you tomorrow and the day after that and the day after..." he stops himself, realizing what he's implying. His heart hammers in his chest so loud he's sure she can hear it. His clamps his mouth shut, leans away from her abruptly and flops down next to her, eyes to the ceiling. His hand seems to have a mind of his own and seeks out hers.
She squeezes his hand tightly and raises herself up on her elbow. He can feel her eyes on him. He exhales slowly and turns to look at her. She's smiling, her eyes are bright in the darkness and she leans down, kissing him lightly before pulling back.
"Do you want to pass me a note? 'Do you like me, check the box yes or no?'"
She's smiling still, but he frowns, unsure if she's making fun of him. Her smile falters as she quickly continues.
"I'd check the box yes, you know. I probably would've from the first day I met you."
"Really?" his voice raises in surprise.
"Yeah... really. First day I met you, you winked at me. Do you remember that?"
"I do... sorta," he says, the vague memory returning of the first time he ever saw Kitty Pryde, "I remember thinking you were pretty, in a cute sorta way. Probably why I winked... then I remember thinking after a couple days that I'd never be your type."
She gives him a sad smile, then turns her body into his. He opens her arms so she can snuggle against his shoulder. Her hand rests against his heart again. He pulls her in closer, until he has both arms around her. She feels so good there. Like she belongs.
"So you knew my 'type', huh? I thought you were hot, John Allerdyce... and then I spent some time around you and thought you were cocky. Too cocky to give some short, quiet bookworm like me a chance."
She speaks softly against his chest, but he hears every word and squeezes her tightly.
"You think I'm hot, huh?" he smirks and she groans. He chuckles as he tucks her head under his chin.
"Well... you were right about the cocky part, and I was right about the smart part, but after that, I guess we both assumed-"
"You know what happens when you assume, right?" she interrupts. He can hear the smile in her voice, rather than see it. He pinches her arm lightly and she giggles.
"Ass out of you and me? Yeah... now shhhh. I'm trying to ask you a question."
"Sorry," she says as she squeezes him tighter.
He sighs in contentment, but stops. He hasn't earned that feeling yet.
"So... will you give me chance?" he asks quietly, feeling damned vulnerable. The seconds before she answers are eternal.
"You're asking to... be with me, like together? Boyfriend/girlfriend type?"
He pulls away from her so he can look into those big expressive brown eyes of hers and says almost sadly,
"Should I have sent you a note instead? Check the box, yes or no?"
"Yes."
"Like yes, I should've sent you a note, or yes... yes?"
"Oh shut up," she laughs.
His heart skips a beat the moment before she kisses him. Sweet little kisses that make his stomach flip. He resists the urge to take them deeper and enjoys them instead, enjoys the slow pace. She stops and smiles at him, satisfied.
"Can I stay?" she asks suddenly, looking very nervous. His eyebrows shoot up.
"Here?" his mind races with some dirty thoughts, but he shoves them away.
"Yeah, just to... sleep. I'll go back to my room before we have to get ready for school."
"Hell yeah... Com'ere, Kitkat," he says as he pulls the blanket open for her before she can change her mind. She peeks in.
"You're wearing pajama bottoms," she notes as she pulls the covers over her.
"Are you disappointed?" he asks, his old cockiness slipping back into his voice.
"Maybe, just a little," she says as she turns away from him and wiggles herself back against his chest. His arm wraps around her, his hand finds her stomach and he tickles her lightly. She laughs and wiggles a little more. He grits his teeth together and pulls her tight to him to still her.
"You're doing that on purpose, aren't you?"
"Maybe."
"You're killing me, Kitty."
She only murmurs in response. Her breathing has already slowed. He forces his body to relax. Inhale the citrus scent of her hair, feel the warmth of her seeping into him. He's surprised after how worked up he's felt that he's able to enjoy her closeness and relax too.
"Go to sleep, John," she mutters.
"Mmmm. Night, Kitty."
A/N: Two parts down, one more to go! Please read and review! (Please?) :D
