In The Dark Of Night
Summary: Yes, I'm aware it's fluffy. If you don't like fluff go read about something else, lol. Leave my rose-colored glasses alone! Heehee. *wink* Anyways, Nightcrawler catches Storm once more in need of comfort, and he happens to be the right man for the job. The two share a peaceful quiet, and Storm introduces Kurt to one of the most wonderful experiences of his life for the first time. (No, not THAT! Lol. Read and see.)
A/N: Yes, I'm aware that Ororo and Kurt may seem out of character. I thought the occasion warranted it. I'm taking advantage of artistic license here, lol. If it sucks, I apologize. It was a midnight inspiration, so I went with it. You might read "Summer Storm, Twilight Prince" if you like this one!!! Thanks!
Enjoy!
In The Dark Of The Night
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It was one a.m. in the mansion when Ororo finally swung her feet down to the ground and sighed. She ran her fingers through her long locks and grumbled as she got up, tying the belt on her short grass green robe. Normally, she would have been deep in slumber, dreaming of tranquil things. Instead, she was fretting over a three-fingered blue mutant with self- inflicted tattoos!
"What's so special about him anyway?" she grumbled to herself, staring at her own reflection in the wall mirror.
'Well,' her inner consciousness began, 'he's sensitive, gentle, funny, caring, and quite frankly, he's hot.'
"Oh, and thank you SO much for that little insight," she said to herself, tossing a glare in the mirror as she stalked out of her bedroom.Her thick froggy slippers cushioned the sound of her feet on the oak floors.. Yes, she wore frog slippers. Of course, none of the other X- men knew about them. They were kept shut up in the closet, and no one ever came into her room.
"Except for Gambit," she muttered, "to steal something that I'll spend a week trying to find."
It was true. The Cajun had always thought the best way to get his jollies was ruffling Storm's feathers. A few times he had gotten quite a nasty ruffling back, as she recalled, smiling. Still, it was all out of affection, and in the end he always snuck back whatever it was he'd stolen, so she didn't mind too much.
Eventually, she found herself in the kitchen. The freezer stared her straight in the face, and its challenge was answered head-on. Storm jerked the door open, reached in, and pulled out the first carton she came to. She looked at it. "Peanut butter chocolate. Ugh," she groaned. "Jubilee's."
She stuck that one back and pulled out another, her arm buried nearly to the shoulder. "Hmm.chocolate chip mint. Bobby's, but.oh well."
From a drawer to her right she pulled a large spoon and exited the room, flicking off the lights and traveling the hallway by memory. Eventually she wandered into the rec. room. She was grateful to see that no one else was having trouble sleeping.
Flopping down on the couch, sitting cross-legged, she pulled the lid off the carton and stuck the spoon inside. Ice cold, creamy mint and chocolate touched her tongue, and she all but moaned with the pleasure. There was something about ice cream at one o'clock in the morning that felt so deliciously.naughty. And while she realized that being thrilled at having ice cream in the middle of the night implied that she had several issues that needed dealing with, such as getting out more often, she refused to acknowledge that fact. Now, at any rate.
It took her several moments to find the remote control, then she turned on the elaborate entertainment system, scrolled through the satellite programming until she came to a nature show about Africa and the Sahara desert. Robotically she turned to that channel, and a large close-up of a gazelle filled the screen. It was chewing grass, slowly, its head raised and alert, but so relaxed. This creature could bound ten feet into the air at the slightest provocation, easily out-flee any predator, but it looked as relaxed as a newborn kitten.
But she knew how this scene would end. On these channels, they rarely showed the gazelle getting away. Ninety percent of the time, he was killed and eaten by a lion, or a crocodile. He would seem to be getting away, but then he would stumble, or be cut off, and eventually he would die. She had seen it many times, up close and in person, as a young woman growing up in the wilds of Africa.
That had been among the hardest lessons she had learned, to allow nature to take its course, not to fight the natural flow of things and risk unbalancing a system that had worked perfectly for millions of years. The child inside her railed at such cruel fates, such seemingly useless deaths; the part of her that was the Weather Goddess watched with a stoic façade, unblinking in the face of harsh reality. She would not prevent what nature intended. To do so was a misuse of her gifts, and she would not abuse them.
Many times, the tribes of the plains would become angry with her, blame her if their crops went bad or didn't do as well as they had planned. They did not understand the balance of nature as she did. Protect them she would, but she could not change the natural order of things. It had become a mantra for her. "I cannot change the natural balance of nature." And many times it had been achingly tempting to do so.
She had watched tribes starve to death before her eyes, watched children waste away. She had seen poor tribesmen scavenge to survive, while their families ate what meager food they could harvest, eating whatever they could to stay alive. They had died of dehydration, undernourishment, and her heart broke again and again as she looked on each of their faces in her mind. Those faces would never leave her. Until the end of her days she would bear the blame for their demise, even unto their afterlife.
So lost in thought, she missed the telltale imploding air that marked Kurt Wagner's arrival. Instead, she sat silently, watching the show go on.
The gazelle was dead now, but the lion's belly was filled. Some had to die so that others might live. It was funny that, in all her years spent in the desert, wandering, she had heard the laws of nature in the desert described so succinctly in a Disney movie.
Artie and the younger students had wanted to watch the Lion King one night, and so Storm had stayed awake with him to do so, since she could not sleep either. Simba's father had told him that even though they ate the antelope, they must respect them, because the antelope ate grass to live, and when lions died, their bodies fed the ground beneath and become the grass. He told him that everything was connected in a great circle of life, and though it was just a cartoon, Storm had never heard a truer statement.
But anger stirred within her once again. 'Whose belly is Jean filling tonight?' she thought bitterly.
Kurt, ensconced in shadow, watched Ororo. To someone who had not spent as much time observing the weather-controlling mutant as he had she appeared to be watching some sort of nature program. Only those closest to her would register the line of tension between her shoulder blades, the faint crackle of energy in the air around her. When she stumbled on a particularly angry thought the television's image would flicker. This brought her back some measure of emotional control as she fought her own personal demons, whatever they might be.
Suddenly, she went stock-still, her back rigid, a spoonful of the mint ice cream halfway to her mouth. Tensing, Nightcrawler's first instinct was to flee. Already he could feel his indigo cheeks heat to flaming with the knowledge that he'd been caught spying on her. Again. He cleared his throat softly, his German lilt cutting through the shadows to sway around her in a welcome invasion.
"I did not mean to sneak."
She did not turn around. The line of tension around her shoulder blades grew more taut. He froze, ready to teleport out of the room and leave her to her thoughts.
"Wait."
He waited.
Storm rose, regal and poised as the goddess she had once been worshipped as, and crossed the darkened room to him. Even from this distance he could see the tears glistening in her large crystalline eyes. Her cheeks were dry. Even in her grief she maintained rigid control of her emotions. To show even such a small amount as this was proof of the grief-stricken woman inside herself; the woman who raged and wailed and screamed at the injustices of the world around them.
"I'm glad you came. I.I hoped you would come," she spoke, her voice so low he almost could not hear her. The blush on his cheeks deepened.
"You are thinking again," he accused, trying to keep his voice light.
"Remembering, yes," she admitted, coming to a stop in front of him. She simply looked at him, made no move to touch him.
Emotions roiled inside Nightcrawler's heart, emotions he had never felt before. There was a nervous feeling in his stomach, not unlike how he had felt in his first circus show. His heart began to pound, and his every sense seemed painfully attuned to the woman before him. He could smell her, a soft combination of wildflowers and cedar. She smelled of the purity of nature, and his very soul seemed to drink in her essence. He would remember her scent even after he had passed out of this world. The soft movement of her hair as she breathed seemed to him as gentle as the rolling of waves on the beach, or the sway of a blade of grass in the breeze. She enveloped his senses, and it scared him to death; yet the danger only drew him in, a drug to his already intoxicated senses.
She was so filled with sorrow and pain. There was no joy behind her eyes, no source of comfort. Except him. He wanted to comfort her in any way he knew how. Knowledge as old as time moved him, and his lips claimed hers seconds before he wrapped his arms and tail about her body.
He shocked himself, and Storm as well, but neither fought the attraction they held for one another. After a moment's hesitation, she allowed herself full measure in enjoying his lips' caresses upon her own. Her arms linked about his neck, and she moved as close to him as she could. When he made to pull back she moved even closer, spanning the miniscule distance between them. He hesitated no more.
A long-leashed passion found its outlet, and he poured his soul into her with that kiss. Gentle, and full of an emotion so close to love that she felt humbled by it, his kisses made her knees buckle. A strong arm slipped beneath her, and she found herself lifted into Kurt's strong and capable arms. Moments later he settled himself on the couch, still keeping her against him.
Forced to finally breathe, he broke the connection of lips and souls, his breath coming in soft puffs. Ororo was in just as bad a shape. Tipping her forehead against his shoulder, which she only now realized was covered in a light black cotton tee shirt, she sucked in mouthfuls of precious air. Her body trembled with emotion, and her cheeks were wet.
She had been crying?
"Shh..." he whispered to her, stroking her hair. His thick fingers trailed softly through the snowy locks and brushed against the nape of her neck. "It's alright, liebchen."
He felt her body shake as the tears continued to flow. He sighed, and pressed her close. At last, she gave in to the process that would ease her grief.
Holding her close, his mind had time to process what had just taken place between them. Guilt was not long in coming. As a religious man, he should not have kissed her. But, another part of his mind argued, as a religious man, perhaps it was God's guiding hand that made him act. Perhaps this was the woman He intended.
"We always end up meeting like this," she finally spoke, startling him from his intense thoughts. Her voice was a bit hoarse from her sobbing, her nose a bit red and her eyes puffy, but it made her no less beautiful to him.
"Perhaps we should begin meeting on happier terms," he suggested gently.
Storm nodded, doing her best to work up a strong winning smile. She settled for a soft upturn of the corners of her mouth. It was all she could manage at the moment. It made her feel better to know that Kurt would ask no more of her than that. "Why do you keep watching me?"
Kurt went still. He felt awkward now, uncomfortable in his own skin, knowing it was because he had kissed her. He didn't know what to say. "I....I don't know why. Sometimes, sometimes I get the feeling that you might...." He trailed off.
"I might what?"
"That you might....need someone."
Ororo went silent for a long while, content to just sit and soak up his presence. The only man she had ever come close to having such feelings for was Logan, and even then it had been a passion. It hadn't been this comfortable, gentle warmth. So different, she mused to herself. Logan with his take-charge, debonaire attitude; Kurt with his quiet and patient understanding. How she could feel such undeniable attraction toward two so very different men baffled her.
She could liken it only to the age-old adage that 'opposites attract.' Like lightning. A pull of forces between earth and sky, resulting in violent reactions. Her attraction for Logan had not ended violently, but rather died down. The storm there subsided when she realized his love for Jean. But with Kurt, there was no storm. Was that a good thing? A bad thing? All the questions were too jumbled up in her head to answer them all at once. These things would take time, and much patience.
"You're right, you know," she said.
"How is that?" Kurt gazed straight ahead, his eyes absently focused on a new program on the television. Every bit of his hearing was trained sharply on the woman sitting with him.
"Your feeling. It's been right so far."
"So I have noticed," he said, and Storm jerked back at the slight sarcasm in his voice.
"You're making fun of me!" she accused, the beginnings of a bright smile on her face.
Shocked at himself, he decided that if humor was what she needed, he would give it to her. "No more than usual, liebchen," he teased, allowing a smile for himself.
"Why, you--" Pretending anger, she bounded off the couch, grabbing a pillow and whacking him over the head with it as she retreated back down the hall and into the kitchen. Laughing, Kurt allowed her a second's head start before teleporting into a chair at the table, his feet propped up and hands clasped behind his head. His cheeky grin only made her laugh harder.
"Using your powers is not fair," she tried to state firmly, glaring through the beginnings of laughter.
He shrugged, hands still behind his head, watching her with those golden lupine eyes. The grin was still there, his brilliant white teeth almost blinding in contrast to his blue-black skin. Their brightness cut through the darkness in the kitchen as easily as Logan's adamantium claws through butter. Aside from that she could see only the vaguest outline of his body.
"Alright, then," she said, turning and reaching blindly back into the freezer, "since you've managed to interrupt my midnight snacking, you can snack with me." She slid a carton of ice cream across the table at him, reached into the drawer and tossed him a spoon as well. "Stay there," she commanded, with all the authority of the weather goddess she was, and went to retrieve her own ice cream from the living room.
Seconds later she slipped into the chair opposite Kurt, elegant as a swan, and dove into her carton of ice cream.
She looked up at him seconds later and huffed. "You are supposed to eat it. Not commit it to memory."
"I have never eaten this....ice cream, before."
Ororo's mouth closed suddenly. "Oh. You mean, you've never eaten ice cream before, ever?"
He shook his head.
"Not once."
Another shake.
Storm sighed and set her spoon down. "You're missing out. Let me see that," she said, indicating his carton of ice cream. Silently he handed it to her, and she squinted to read the print on it. "Hmm. It's Jubilee's peanut butter and chocolate. Not bad for a starter, though you might rather start out with strawberry or chocolate.... Okay, take your spoon, and dig in." She pushed the carton back at him.
He just stared at it, as if it were a live snake.
"What?" she demanded, exasperated.
"It's frozen. Shouldn't we let it thaw out?"
Dumbfounded, Storm could only stare at him. Then, so suddenly that it startled him, she began laughing.
"Storm, what's wrong? Are you alright?" he asked, sitting up and leaning toward her across the table.
It only got worse. Soon she was doubled up in her chair, tears streaming down her face, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Long minutes passed before she could pull it together enough to speak clearly. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I wasn't making fun of you. Here, just trust me. Take your spoon and scoop out a big bite of it. Put it in your mouth. Let it melt a little, kind of swish it around with your tongue so you taste it. Go on, try it. It's quite good."
Skeptically, but not bold enough to chance hurting her feelings by not trying this 'ice cream,' though it didn't look anything remotely like iced cream with its brown coloring, he picked up his spoon and did as she instructed.
Storm watched the different reactions flicker across Kurt's face. Uncertainty, disbelief, then pure bliss as his brain registered temperature, texture, and flavor respectively. He turned wide eyes to her and she laughed. He reminded her of a child seeing his first elephant or getting a puppy for Christmas. Her joy in sharing this with him was unbridled, something she had not experienced in all her life.
"This is....I have no words. I have never tasted anything so wonderful!" he managed between bites. One after the other passed his lips as Storm watched Jubilee's carton whittled away to nothing.
"Oh, Kurt, wait, I forgot to tell you--"
Suddenly he clutched at his temples, eyes squeezed tight against the pain.
"Brain freeze," she finished.
"What was that?!" he cried, shaking his head as if to clear it.
"I forgot to warn you. Too much cold at once causes sudden shrinking of the blood vessels in the brain, resulting in the sharp pains you just experienced. We call it a 'brain freeze.' Just don't eat it all so fast, and you won't get one."
Nodding, Kurt eyed the carton, mentally weighing the pros and cons of risking another such 'brain freeze.' In the end, his tastebuds won out, and he resumed eating until he'd polished off the entire carton of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Jubilee would understand, Storm hoped. If not, there would be trouble in the morning.
"Good?" she prompted once he set his spoon down.
"Heavenly."
"Good. Well, I believe we should try and get some sleep. Morning always comes early for those who don't want it to." She put her own carton of ice cream back in the fridge and closed the door, turning back around to face him.
Kurt nodded and stood, stretching his arms high above his head and swishing his tail gently. "Yes, you are right. Then I will see you in the morning, Ororo."
"Of course."
"Then....goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He smiled softly once more, and then was gone in a poof of imploding air.
She was halfway up the stairs before he appeared before her again.He grinned cheekily, leaning against the banister not three feet in front of her.
"What?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Ororo, I just wanted to say...." He leaned in close to her until his lips were mere inches from her ear.
"Nice slippers."
He was gone before she could push him down the stairs.
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Next Morning
Storm smiled as she slipped into the kitchen for her morning coffee. The rest she had gotten during the remainder of her night had been ultimately peaceful and nightmare-free. There were no uncertainties in her mind as to why. Kurt's presence before her sleep had settled over her psyche like a warm blanket, protecting her from the cruelties her nights usually brought. No memories of dying children, of Jean.
There was a smile on her face this morning that had not been there in a very long time. Even the children shot her curious glances as they had passed her in the hallway. But it was alright. They had their reasons as well, she knew. Understanding and kind teacher and mentor that she was, they were not blind to her inner struggles. She had always believed that children were the most open, the most perceptive to the feelings and struggles of others.
She settled in at a table next to Rogue, smiling as the young girl bobbed her head to some song on her headphones. Beside her, Bobby looked pained, getting nowhere with talking to her this morning and clearly not happy about it. His French toast paid the price as he half-heartedly jabbed at it with his fork. Logan sat in a chair off to himself, reading the morning newspaper. Kurt, she had not seen yet, though she was certain that he would be up by now.
Suddenly, a frustrated scream rent the air that made everyone jump.
Storm slunk down in her chair as Jubilee stomped into the dining room, waving an empty carton of peanut butter ice cream.
Perhaps today wouldn't be so bad after all, she thought to herself, smiling as Jubilee turned her wrath on Bobby who, for once, was innocent.
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Summary: Yes, I'm aware it's fluffy. If you don't like fluff go read about something else, lol. Leave my rose-colored glasses alone! Heehee. *wink* Anyways, Nightcrawler catches Storm once more in need of comfort, and he happens to be the right man for the job. The two share a peaceful quiet, and Storm introduces Kurt to one of the most wonderful experiences of his life for the first time. (No, not THAT! Lol. Read and see.)
A/N: Yes, I'm aware that Ororo and Kurt may seem out of character. I thought the occasion warranted it. I'm taking advantage of artistic license here, lol. If it sucks, I apologize. It was a midnight inspiration, so I went with it. You might read "Summer Storm, Twilight Prince" if you like this one!!! Thanks!
Enjoy!
In The Dark Of The Night
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It was one a.m. in the mansion when Ororo finally swung her feet down to the ground and sighed. She ran her fingers through her long locks and grumbled as she got up, tying the belt on her short grass green robe. Normally, she would have been deep in slumber, dreaming of tranquil things. Instead, she was fretting over a three-fingered blue mutant with self- inflicted tattoos!
"What's so special about him anyway?" she grumbled to herself, staring at her own reflection in the wall mirror.
'Well,' her inner consciousness began, 'he's sensitive, gentle, funny, caring, and quite frankly, he's hot.'
"Oh, and thank you SO much for that little insight," she said to herself, tossing a glare in the mirror as she stalked out of her bedroom.Her thick froggy slippers cushioned the sound of her feet on the oak floors.. Yes, she wore frog slippers. Of course, none of the other X- men knew about them. They were kept shut up in the closet, and no one ever came into her room.
"Except for Gambit," she muttered, "to steal something that I'll spend a week trying to find."
It was true. The Cajun had always thought the best way to get his jollies was ruffling Storm's feathers. A few times he had gotten quite a nasty ruffling back, as she recalled, smiling. Still, it was all out of affection, and in the end he always snuck back whatever it was he'd stolen, so she didn't mind too much.
Eventually, she found herself in the kitchen. The freezer stared her straight in the face, and its challenge was answered head-on. Storm jerked the door open, reached in, and pulled out the first carton she came to. She looked at it. "Peanut butter chocolate. Ugh," she groaned. "Jubilee's."
She stuck that one back and pulled out another, her arm buried nearly to the shoulder. "Hmm.chocolate chip mint. Bobby's, but.oh well."
From a drawer to her right she pulled a large spoon and exited the room, flicking off the lights and traveling the hallway by memory. Eventually she wandered into the rec. room. She was grateful to see that no one else was having trouble sleeping.
Flopping down on the couch, sitting cross-legged, she pulled the lid off the carton and stuck the spoon inside. Ice cold, creamy mint and chocolate touched her tongue, and she all but moaned with the pleasure. There was something about ice cream at one o'clock in the morning that felt so deliciously.naughty. And while she realized that being thrilled at having ice cream in the middle of the night implied that she had several issues that needed dealing with, such as getting out more often, she refused to acknowledge that fact. Now, at any rate.
It took her several moments to find the remote control, then she turned on the elaborate entertainment system, scrolled through the satellite programming until she came to a nature show about Africa and the Sahara desert. Robotically she turned to that channel, and a large close-up of a gazelle filled the screen. It was chewing grass, slowly, its head raised and alert, but so relaxed. This creature could bound ten feet into the air at the slightest provocation, easily out-flee any predator, but it looked as relaxed as a newborn kitten.
But she knew how this scene would end. On these channels, they rarely showed the gazelle getting away. Ninety percent of the time, he was killed and eaten by a lion, or a crocodile. He would seem to be getting away, but then he would stumble, or be cut off, and eventually he would die. She had seen it many times, up close and in person, as a young woman growing up in the wilds of Africa.
That had been among the hardest lessons she had learned, to allow nature to take its course, not to fight the natural flow of things and risk unbalancing a system that had worked perfectly for millions of years. The child inside her railed at such cruel fates, such seemingly useless deaths; the part of her that was the Weather Goddess watched with a stoic façade, unblinking in the face of harsh reality. She would not prevent what nature intended. To do so was a misuse of her gifts, and she would not abuse them.
Many times, the tribes of the plains would become angry with her, blame her if their crops went bad or didn't do as well as they had planned. They did not understand the balance of nature as she did. Protect them she would, but she could not change the natural order of things. It had become a mantra for her. "I cannot change the natural balance of nature." And many times it had been achingly tempting to do so.
She had watched tribes starve to death before her eyes, watched children waste away. She had seen poor tribesmen scavenge to survive, while their families ate what meager food they could harvest, eating whatever they could to stay alive. They had died of dehydration, undernourishment, and her heart broke again and again as she looked on each of their faces in her mind. Those faces would never leave her. Until the end of her days she would bear the blame for their demise, even unto their afterlife.
So lost in thought, she missed the telltale imploding air that marked Kurt Wagner's arrival. Instead, she sat silently, watching the show go on.
The gazelle was dead now, but the lion's belly was filled. Some had to die so that others might live. It was funny that, in all her years spent in the desert, wandering, she had heard the laws of nature in the desert described so succinctly in a Disney movie.
Artie and the younger students had wanted to watch the Lion King one night, and so Storm had stayed awake with him to do so, since she could not sleep either. Simba's father had told him that even though they ate the antelope, they must respect them, because the antelope ate grass to live, and when lions died, their bodies fed the ground beneath and become the grass. He told him that everything was connected in a great circle of life, and though it was just a cartoon, Storm had never heard a truer statement.
But anger stirred within her once again. 'Whose belly is Jean filling tonight?' she thought bitterly.
Kurt, ensconced in shadow, watched Ororo. To someone who had not spent as much time observing the weather-controlling mutant as he had she appeared to be watching some sort of nature program. Only those closest to her would register the line of tension between her shoulder blades, the faint crackle of energy in the air around her. When she stumbled on a particularly angry thought the television's image would flicker. This brought her back some measure of emotional control as she fought her own personal demons, whatever they might be.
Suddenly, she went stock-still, her back rigid, a spoonful of the mint ice cream halfway to her mouth. Tensing, Nightcrawler's first instinct was to flee. Already he could feel his indigo cheeks heat to flaming with the knowledge that he'd been caught spying on her. Again. He cleared his throat softly, his German lilt cutting through the shadows to sway around her in a welcome invasion.
"I did not mean to sneak."
She did not turn around. The line of tension around her shoulder blades grew more taut. He froze, ready to teleport out of the room and leave her to her thoughts.
"Wait."
He waited.
Storm rose, regal and poised as the goddess she had once been worshipped as, and crossed the darkened room to him. Even from this distance he could see the tears glistening in her large crystalline eyes. Her cheeks were dry. Even in her grief she maintained rigid control of her emotions. To show even such a small amount as this was proof of the grief-stricken woman inside herself; the woman who raged and wailed and screamed at the injustices of the world around them.
"I'm glad you came. I.I hoped you would come," she spoke, her voice so low he almost could not hear her. The blush on his cheeks deepened.
"You are thinking again," he accused, trying to keep his voice light.
"Remembering, yes," she admitted, coming to a stop in front of him. She simply looked at him, made no move to touch him.
Emotions roiled inside Nightcrawler's heart, emotions he had never felt before. There was a nervous feeling in his stomach, not unlike how he had felt in his first circus show. His heart began to pound, and his every sense seemed painfully attuned to the woman before him. He could smell her, a soft combination of wildflowers and cedar. She smelled of the purity of nature, and his very soul seemed to drink in her essence. He would remember her scent even after he had passed out of this world. The soft movement of her hair as she breathed seemed to him as gentle as the rolling of waves on the beach, or the sway of a blade of grass in the breeze. She enveloped his senses, and it scared him to death; yet the danger only drew him in, a drug to his already intoxicated senses.
She was so filled with sorrow and pain. There was no joy behind her eyes, no source of comfort. Except him. He wanted to comfort her in any way he knew how. Knowledge as old as time moved him, and his lips claimed hers seconds before he wrapped his arms and tail about her body.
He shocked himself, and Storm as well, but neither fought the attraction they held for one another. After a moment's hesitation, she allowed herself full measure in enjoying his lips' caresses upon her own. Her arms linked about his neck, and she moved as close to him as she could. When he made to pull back she moved even closer, spanning the miniscule distance between them. He hesitated no more.
A long-leashed passion found its outlet, and he poured his soul into her with that kiss. Gentle, and full of an emotion so close to love that she felt humbled by it, his kisses made her knees buckle. A strong arm slipped beneath her, and she found herself lifted into Kurt's strong and capable arms. Moments later he settled himself on the couch, still keeping her against him.
Forced to finally breathe, he broke the connection of lips and souls, his breath coming in soft puffs. Ororo was in just as bad a shape. Tipping her forehead against his shoulder, which she only now realized was covered in a light black cotton tee shirt, she sucked in mouthfuls of precious air. Her body trembled with emotion, and her cheeks were wet.
She had been crying?
"Shh..." he whispered to her, stroking her hair. His thick fingers trailed softly through the snowy locks and brushed against the nape of her neck. "It's alright, liebchen."
He felt her body shake as the tears continued to flow. He sighed, and pressed her close. At last, she gave in to the process that would ease her grief.
Holding her close, his mind had time to process what had just taken place between them. Guilt was not long in coming. As a religious man, he should not have kissed her. But, another part of his mind argued, as a religious man, perhaps it was God's guiding hand that made him act. Perhaps this was the woman He intended.
"We always end up meeting like this," she finally spoke, startling him from his intense thoughts. Her voice was a bit hoarse from her sobbing, her nose a bit red and her eyes puffy, but it made her no less beautiful to him.
"Perhaps we should begin meeting on happier terms," he suggested gently.
Storm nodded, doing her best to work up a strong winning smile. She settled for a soft upturn of the corners of her mouth. It was all she could manage at the moment. It made her feel better to know that Kurt would ask no more of her than that. "Why do you keep watching me?"
Kurt went still. He felt awkward now, uncomfortable in his own skin, knowing it was because he had kissed her. He didn't know what to say. "I....I don't know why. Sometimes, sometimes I get the feeling that you might...." He trailed off.
"I might what?"
"That you might....need someone."
Ororo went silent for a long while, content to just sit and soak up his presence. The only man she had ever come close to having such feelings for was Logan, and even then it had been a passion. It hadn't been this comfortable, gentle warmth. So different, she mused to herself. Logan with his take-charge, debonaire attitude; Kurt with his quiet and patient understanding. How she could feel such undeniable attraction toward two so very different men baffled her.
She could liken it only to the age-old adage that 'opposites attract.' Like lightning. A pull of forces between earth and sky, resulting in violent reactions. Her attraction for Logan had not ended violently, but rather died down. The storm there subsided when she realized his love for Jean. But with Kurt, there was no storm. Was that a good thing? A bad thing? All the questions were too jumbled up in her head to answer them all at once. These things would take time, and much patience.
"You're right, you know," she said.
"How is that?" Kurt gazed straight ahead, his eyes absently focused on a new program on the television. Every bit of his hearing was trained sharply on the woman sitting with him.
"Your feeling. It's been right so far."
"So I have noticed," he said, and Storm jerked back at the slight sarcasm in his voice.
"You're making fun of me!" she accused, the beginnings of a bright smile on her face.
Shocked at himself, he decided that if humor was what she needed, he would give it to her. "No more than usual, liebchen," he teased, allowing a smile for himself.
"Why, you--" Pretending anger, she bounded off the couch, grabbing a pillow and whacking him over the head with it as she retreated back down the hall and into the kitchen. Laughing, Kurt allowed her a second's head start before teleporting into a chair at the table, his feet propped up and hands clasped behind his head. His cheeky grin only made her laugh harder.
"Using your powers is not fair," she tried to state firmly, glaring through the beginnings of laughter.
He shrugged, hands still behind his head, watching her with those golden lupine eyes. The grin was still there, his brilliant white teeth almost blinding in contrast to his blue-black skin. Their brightness cut through the darkness in the kitchen as easily as Logan's adamantium claws through butter. Aside from that she could see only the vaguest outline of his body.
"Alright, then," she said, turning and reaching blindly back into the freezer, "since you've managed to interrupt my midnight snacking, you can snack with me." She slid a carton of ice cream across the table at him, reached into the drawer and tossed him a spoon as well. "Stay there," she commanded, with all the authority of the weather goddess she was, and went to retrieve her own ice cream from the living room.
Seconds later she slipped into the chair opposite Kurt, elegant as a swan, and dove into her carton of ice cream.
She looked up at him seconds later and huffed. "You are supposed to eat it. Not commit it to memory."
"I have never eaten this....ice cream, before."
Ororo's mouth closed suddenly. "Oh. You mean, you've never eaten ice cream before, ever?"
He shook his head.
"Not once."
Another shake.
Storm sighed and set her spoon down. "You're missing out. Let me see that," she said, indicating his carton of ice cream. Silently he handed it to her, and she squinted to read the print on it. "Hmm. It's Jubilee's peanut butter and chocolate. Not bad for a starter, though you might rather start out with strawberry or chocolate.... Okay, take your spoon, and dig in." She pushed the carton back at him.
He just stared at it, as if it were a live snake.
"What?" she demanded, exasperated.
"It's frozen. Shouldn't we let it thaw out?"
Dumbfounded, Storm could only stare at him. Then, so suddenly that it startled him, she began laughing.
"Storm, what's wrong? Are you alright?" he asked, sitting up and leaning toward her across the table.
It only got worse. Soon she was doubled up in her chair, tears streaming down her face, laughing so hard she could barely catch her breath. Long minutes passed before she could pull it together enough to speak clearly. "I'm sorry, Kurt. I wasn't making fun of you. Here, just trust me. Take your spoon and scoop out a big bite of it. Put it in your mouth. Let it melt a little, kind of swish it around with your tongue so you taste it. Go on, try it. It's quite good."
Skeptically, but not bold enough to chance hurting her feelings by not trying this 'ice cream,' though it didn't look anything remotely like iced cream with its brown coloring, he picked up his spoon and did as she instructed.
Storm watched the different reactions flicker across Kurt's face. Uncertainty, disbelief, then pure bliss as his brain registered temperature, texture, and flavor respectively. He turned wide eyes to her and she laughed. He reminded her of a child seeing his first elephant or getting a puppy for Christmas. Her joy in sharing this with him was unbridled, something she had not experienced in all her life.
"This is....I have no words. I have never tasted anything so wonderful!" he managed between bites. One after the other passed his lips as Storm watched Jubilee's carton whittled away to nothing.
"Oh, Kurt, wait, I forgot to tell you--"
Suddenly he clutched at his temples, eyes squeezed tight against the pain.
"Brain freeze," she finished.
"What was that?!" he cried, shaking his head as if to clear it.
"I forgot to warn you. Too much cold at once causes sudden shrinking of the blood vessels in the brain, resulting in the sharp pains you just experienced. We call it a 'brain freeze.' Just don't eat it all so fast, and you won't get one."
Nodding, Kurt eyed the carton, mentally weighing the pros and cons of risking another such 'brain freeze.' In the end, his tastebuds won out, and he resumed eating until he'd polished off the entire carton of chocolate peanut butter ice cream. Jubilee would understand, Storm hoped. If not, there would be trouble in the morning.
"Good?" she prompted once he set his spoon down.
"Heavenly."
"Good. Well, I believe we should try and get some sleep. Morning always comes early for those who don't want it to." She put her own carton of ice cream back in the fridge and closed the door, turning back around to face him.
Kurt nodded and stood, stretching his arms high above his head and swishing his tail gently. "Yes, you are right. Then I will see you in the morning, Ororo."
"Of course."
"Then....goodnight."
"Goodnight."
He smiled softly once more, and then was gone in a poof of imploding air.
She was halfway up the stairs before he appeared before her again.He grinned cheekily, leaning against the banister not three feet in front of her.
"What?" she said, raising an eyebrow.
"Ororo, I just wanted to say...." He leaned in close to her until his lips were mere inches from her ear.
"Nice slippers."
He was gone before she could push him down the stairs.
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Next Morning
Storm smiled as she slipped into the kitchen for her morning coffee. The rest she had gotten during the remainder of her night had been ultimately peaceful and nightmare-free. There were no uncertainties in her mind as to why. Kurt's presence before her sleep had settled over her psyche like a warm blanket, protecting her from the cruelties her nights usually brought. No memories of dying children, of Jean.
There was a smile on her face this morning that had not been there in a very long time. Even the children shot her curious glances as they had passed her in the hallway. But it was alright. They had their reasons as well, she knew. Understanding and kind teacher and mentor that she was, they were not blind to her inner struggles. She had always believed that children were the most open, the most perceptive to the feelings and struggles of others.
She settled in at a table next to Rogue, smiling as the young girl bobbed her head to some song on her headphones. Beside her, Bobby looked pained, getting nowhere with talking to her this morning and clearly not happy about it. His French toast paid the price as he half-heartedly jabbed at it with his fork. Logan sat in a chair off to himself, reading the morning newspaper. Kurt, she had not seen yet, though she was certain that he would be up by now.
Suddenly, a frustrated scream rent the air that made everyone jump.
Storm slunk down in her chair as Jubilee stomped into the dining room, waving an empty carton of peanut butter ice cream.
Perhaps today wouldn't be so bad after all, she thought to herself, smiling as Jubilee turned her wrath on Bobby who, for once, was innocent.
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