Title: What I Think Of

A/N: This is a one-shot written after 2 am... let me know what you think of it and maybe I'll write more like it


I couldn't even count how many times I imagined what kissing him would be like. I'd only kissed one boy, ever, and that moment, which was supposed to cause fireworks to go off in my head and in my heart, instead marked the last time that I would touch anyone innocently. Every touch before that, I took for granted. Every time my mother would kiss me on the head, or someone would laugh and pat my hand- if I had known that those casual touches would be forbidden to me because of the irreversible damage the could cause, I would like to think that I would have savored them somehow, or appreciated them more. How could you predict or anticipate a punishment as cruel as the inability to touch?

We'd been together for longer than the average teenage couple, and the remarkable part was that our relationship wasn't based on the physical aspect that preoccupies most young couples. If my mutation hadn't forbidden touch, I'm sure physicality would have been a large part of our relationship, but who knows if that factor would have changed the relationship's duration. We went through our relationship holding hands through my gloves, with his fingers hovering above my cheek as he stopped himself from brushing back a strand of hair that had fallen in my face. The brief touches that we had shared always left him drained and me shivering, though they were enough to ensure that he was as much a part of me as all of the other people that I had taken energy from over the years. I couldn't even count those moments as touch, because they were not focused on the joy of becoming closer to someone, but on taking a risk, and being afraid of taking it too far.

As I stood there in my room, looking him in the face, I knew that our relationship would change based upon the events of the next few moments. He was a teenage boy, how could he not have wanted to kiss me and touch me for all those moments that we had been close? Maybe I'm bitter about him wanting more, even if I shouldn't be. I wanted more myself, but not with the same desperation I know that he felt. My hand clasped his, and he moved closer to me, and suddenly his face was inches away from mine, and I could feel the coolness of his breath on my face, the rhythm of his breathing quickening as I closed my eyes in anticipation. He brushed his lips gently against the side of my face, as if testing the waters. He whispered my name, and I shivered, for a reason unknown to even myself. Moments later, his lips were covering mine, warm despite the iciness of his breath, and my arms found their way around his neck, and his hands rested on my hips, and then wrapped around my waist, bringing me closer to him.

During this moment, which should have been perfect, my thoughts were far from Bobby Drake, who I thought I loved, and who I was finally kissing after years of denial. Inexplicably, overpoweringly, and against my will, I found myself wondering what kissing Logan would be like.