Fic: Spark, Chapter Eight
Fic: Spark, 8/?
Title: Spark, Chapter Eight
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Pairing: Rogue/John
Spoilers: Post X3
Rating: PG-13 for language
Thanks to Psychosomatic17 for the beta!
Previous chapters here.
Spark
Chapter Eight
All but panting, Rogue leaned desolately against the kitchen sink. Her heart was still pounding disconcertingly loudly, the echo combined with the rushing in her ears leaving her even more unsettled than before.
It didn't make sense that John should effect her this way. Even now heat was pulsing beneath her skin, concentrated in all of those areas that had so recently felt his touch.
It wasn't that it was an unfamiliar sensation. She had experienced the same effect three weeks ago, when she had kissed him. But, a kiss she could ignore. Kisses were meant to make your heart pound and your blood rush. And, even if Bobby's lips had never elicited such a heady response from her, she could easily attribute that to disparate chemistry.
But, that was a kiss. This was a soft look and a few strokes of her leg. Nothing that should leave her breathless. Nothing that should make her body sing and her skin tingle.
Nothing at all, really. And that was what worried her.
A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her, and she did her best to quash it immediately. But to no avail.
She didn't... No. Not John. No, surely even she couldn't be that stupid. Not stupid enough to become enamored of a person who, mere months ago, had been serving faithfully under the thumb of the man who had sucked all but the last drops of life from her body.
John knew what she had suffered at the hands of that maniac; knew that she rarely passed a night without at least one nightmare at his hands. He had stayed up with her countless times, sitting on the couch and pretending that it was because they both wanted to see a late movie. He was one of the few that she'd trusted with the entire story.
His leaving had been a personal betrayal, and not merely of the Mansion versus Brotherhood variety.
That first night, she had told him that she was content to ignore his time with the Brotherhood, should he repay her in kind regarding the cure. No forgiving, no forgetting...just blissful denial. And that was true, as far as a tacit friendship went. But, should she actually acknowledge that she desired something more from him--which she certainly was not doing...well, there was no way it could work. No way at all.
A sigh escaped her lips as she straightened, squaring her shoulders. So, she was back to square one. Denial. And, if nothing else, at least that emotion was familiar.
Occupied as she was, she didn't sense the presence of another in the room at first. Not until he was almost on top of her, as it were.
John--and, of course it was John. She was an idiot to think he would let her run away that easily. He stood behind her, solid chest pressing flush against her ever-stiffening back even as she gasped softly. A leanly muscled arm came around her body, and she tried to think of how to best approach pushing him away. Just as quickly, though, the contact had ended. Rather than attempting to pull her to him, he had instead set something in front of her on the counter.
Fighting down an unwelcome surge of disappointment, Rogue glanced down. A bottle of water.
Still disconcertingly close, John's breath danced off of her ear when he spoke. "Wasn't that what you came after?"
Licking suddenly dry lips, Rogue spun around--almost immediately realizing her error. He had her at the disadvantage, backed into a corner as she was. He made no move to step back. Moistening her lips again, she gathered her resolve. "Thanks. I was just..."
His sudden step forward caught her by surprise, and she steadied herself with the flats of her hands against the counter behind her. His body pressed her uncomfortably against the surface, even as his hands came around to rest just outside of hers on the counter-top.
"You know," John murmured, and his tone sounded conversational. Knowing him as well as she did, however, she could recognize the difference, and the husky undertone as his eyes fixated on her mouth. "That's what almost got you into trouble out there."
Hands shaking slightly, Rogue clenched them tighter on the edge of the counter. "What?" Her voice trembled to match her hands, and she suppressed a wince.
"That." A calloused thumb drifted up, ghosting lightly over the delicate curve of her mouth. The breath left her lips in a shuddering exhalation, and his hand drifted, sliding down to rest on her throat. Just over her traitorously fluttering pulse point.
Rogue fought to tear her gaze from his, but found that it took far too much effort. She felt sluggish, and reluctant to move an inch. Much like she had minutes ago, on the couch. Looking into John's eyes and waiting for him to kiss her.
Was that what she was doing now?
The thought was enough to stir her, and she broke free from the loose prison his arms had constructed, crossing over to one of the cabinets and retrieving a clean glass. She had brought the water with her, and she fought to steady her hands enough to loosen the cap. Even such a mundane task as removing the lid from a bottle had always been complicated by her gloves, though, and under the circumstances--hands still trembling like leaves in a windstorm--twisting the top at the right angle felt like attempting to solve a complex geometric equation. And she had never been very good at math.
Snorting disparagingly, John yanked the bottle back, opening it easily. He set it down beside her forcefully and water splashed over the rim. His hand reached out to tilt her chin up, and Rogue met his gaze reluctantly. Surprised at the anger she saw reflected there, she attempted to look away. His harsh grip held her motionless, though, and his lips pulled back into a familiar sneer.
"Not very thoughtful of me, was it? Coming in here and bothering you. Guess you probably would have liked it a lot better if I'd sent Iceman after you."
She pushed back, knocking his hand away. "Shut up, John. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, no? That what you think?"
She started to turn away, but his grip on her arm stopped her.
"Trust me, Roguey, I know exactly what I'm talking about. Down to the last sickening, lovey-dovey look. And it's enough to make a person want to sandpaper his fucking eyes."
"Stop it, John." She tried to free her arm, but his fingers just sank deeper into her flesh. Frustrated, she scowled up at him. "You bastard. You know how I feel about Bobby, and you just have to throw him in my face anyway, don't you?"
He let go with a grimace, eyes rolling in a gesture of overt disgust. "Christ, spare me..."
"No, damn it." Angered, she moved closer. "I'm so sick of this. Walking around on eggshells all month, ignoring every despicable comment you level at me just to keep you happy. Putting up with your moping and your raging and your slamming around, and not saying a single word about it."
"Oh, yeah? Is that right? Well, who the hell asked you to?"
Rogue looked down, allowing the breath to leave her lungs in some obscene semblance of laughter. When she looked up, her eyes were bright and flashing. "Nobody asked me to. I asked me to. Because you used to be someone I could trust. Now...I don't know what the hell you are. You don't talk to me. All you do is scowl and stomp and growl like some idiotic overgrown bobcat. You don't even act like yourself, John. You were always a bastard, but never like this. I never thought that you actually enjoyed hurting me. Now, I'm not so sure. All I've got to do is look at you the wrong way, and you go for my throat."
He didn't say a word. Just glared at her with those horrible eyes of his. Drawing a hand over her face briefly, Rogue cursed the impulse that had incited her to let so much break free. A month of holding her tongue had worn at her defenses. It was like an avalanche; all it had taken was one rock to bring the majority of the others crashing to the ground. Now she stood bare, emotions out in the open, and no way to cover them back up. Removing her hand and squaring her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his impassive gaze, she returned to square one. "Even before you left, you never even attempted to hide the fact that you thought Bobby and I were a mistake, John."
"Because you were."
"You see? Just like that! You did everything you possibly could to screw up our relationship."
He pushed a hand through his hair, blue eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and frustration. "What? I was supposed to just sit back and play along with something so fucking stupid?"
"Yes!" She exhaled roughly, eyes closing in consternation. He started to reply, no doubt with another scathing barb, and she held up a hand. "Please, John, just stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore."
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling sardonically. "So stop talking."
And then he kissed her.
Stunned into inactivity for a moment, it didn't take her long to gather herself enough to push at his chest, albeit ineffectively. But, even as she did so, a part of her was resigned to the fact that she wouldn't succeed. For the simple reason that she didn't really want to. This was the very definition of a 'token struggle.' And, like most token struggles, it ended almost as soon as it had began. In no time at all, her hands were pulling instead of pushing, drawing him closer instead of shoving him away. Gloved hands fisted in his shirt, lips parting to allow him greater access.
When he eventually pulled away, mouth dancing across her cheek and jaw-line as they both drew in much-needed oxygen, she considered resuming her quasi-struggle. But that same sluggishness had returned, dragging her down and pushing her up at the same time. And, frankly, it just required too much effort.
Lips gentled considerably, John's mouth descended once again to hers in a series of light, playful caresses even as his hands moved restlessly down her sides, finding purchase in the small of her back as gloriously nimble fingers tangled in the belt loops of her jeans. Between the lush, teasing brushes of his lips, Rogue found herself speaking almost against her will.
"John, stop."
"Shut up.” His breath was warm over her mouth, glancing pleasantly off of her skin. “If you ruin this, I'll kill you."
Allowing herself to drift for a moment, luxuriating in the pleasant sensation of soft lips dancing over hers and strong arms encompassing her waist, it was with a feeling of intense self-abhorrence that she once again protested. "John, stop it. I can't concentrate."
Blowing out an exasperated breath and glaring mightily, he practically snarled as he pushed her away. "What the hell is it? What, Rogue?"
Gathering the remaining fragments of her self-control, she desperately fought the urge to fling herself towards him and plead with him to ignore her rebuttal. "I can't do this John. I still care about Bobby. It's not right."
Smoothing a hand over his face, he appeared utterly disgusted. Then he scowled. "Tell me something, Rogue; what's Drake’s favorite color?"
She shook her head, at first convinced she had heard him wrong. He motioned for her to hurry her answer, and she sighed. "I have no idea, John. What does this have to do with anything?"
"Okay. Favorite holiday?"
Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. "I don't know. Christmas."
"It's Halloween. Favorite band?"
"I..." she scowled, not liking where this was heading. "He likes all the same music I like. You know that."
"The hell he does, Rogue. He hates your music. Only pretended to like it to impress you. Which you would know, if you actually paid attention to anything he said."
In the back of her mind, she recalled with clarity the slight wince that Bobby would wear every time she put on an album. It had always been there, but had never really registered with her until now. The realization didn't sit well. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as she shook her head. "What are you trying to say, John? That I was a terrible girlfriend?"
"That may be true, but it's not what I'm trying to say. What I am trying to say is, you don't give two damns about Bobby. The only thing you ever bothered to find out about him was that he was a nice, normal, boring guy, and--oh my God!--he actually wanted a psychotic bitch like you--and, before you get all pissy, believe me; I mean that as the deepest sort of compliment. So stop using your inane little defense mechanism-slash-former lapdog against me. Cause it's really starting to get under my fucking skin."
Though aware that she still stood firm, Rogue couldn't push back the feeling that the ground had just been jerked from beneath her feet. Mouth slightly agape, she found herself at a loss for words. A multitude of denials ran through her mind, but she couldn't force any of them to leave her mouth. None of them rang true, no matter how hard she tried to make them.
John sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders and examining her face closely. "Look, I know how much you like to pretend that you're happy being like all of the rest of these idiots. But you've got to get the hell over it, before it fucks you up anymore than it already has."
That certainly snapped her free of shock-imposed silence, if nothing else. Eyes flashing up at him, she all but growled. "What exactly makes you think that you can psychoanalyze me, Pyro?"
His jaw clenched, and one hand came up to tangle unforgivingly in her hair. "Get this straight, Rogue. I'll do whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want."
When his lips descended this time, she was right there waiting for him. Lips turned up anxiously, her hands knotted in his hair as her body pressed eagerly into his. Returning his kiss forcefully, heart pounding out a steady rhythm in her ears, she wound her arms tightly around his neck.
There was no thought of Bobby holding her back. No residual fear of ruining the tacit friendship that they had formed. Only anger, and resentment, and the insanely violent urges to both slap him and hold him tighter doing battle within her. She found herself going with the second option, and her breath left her in a steady hiss against his lips as he backed her, again, against the counter. Using the slick surface for leverage, she pushed herself still tighter against John's chest, desperate to have him even closer.
Mouth grinding almost painfully against hers, John's hands descended to her waist. She yelped softly as her feet abruptly left the ground, shocked to find herself suddenly resting precariously against the counter. But the thought fled her mind as John utilized the new position to shift her against him, hips pressing impatiently into her, and her lips left his in a startled gasp. Murmuring resentfully, John’s left hand immediately returned to her hair to pull her back in place. The other remained at her waist, tracing the curve of her hip, before shifting to explore the exposed skin between the hem of her shirt and her jeans.
Rogue exhaled harshly, lost in the unfamiliar sensations overtaking her mind and body. The small section of her brain still consciously open to thought was completely overwhelmed. However far she may have gotten with Bobby, she had never felt anything remotely like this.
Grinding his body against her again, John’s lips descended to her throat, ghosting fleetingly over her collarbone. The feel of his stubble scraping over flesh was quite literally breathtaking. She gasped, nails scraping gently over his shoulders as her hands easily worked their way up the loose sleeves of his shirt in search of more exposed skin.
He pushed her away abruptly, and Rogue let out a sharp protest. Bereft, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him back. Then she caught sight of Kitty standing in the doorway, and she practically whimpered.
John’s hand settled on her back, smoothing over her shoulders soothingly even as the other hand curved over hip, helping her down from the counter. She attempted to step away, but his hand remained locked at her side in a grip that could only be described as possessive. Rogue ignored it, but only because she had more important things to worry about. Namely, straightening her shirt.
Even as her mind formed the words--it couldn’t possibly get any worse than this--she was already trying to bite them back. But the spell was already cast, the punishment in motion. Bobby appeared beside Kitty, and John’s whole body seemed to tense. And, alternately cursing and praying under her breath, Rogue took the opportunity to thank Heaven for at least allowing her to have her clothing back in place in time.
Title: Spark, Chapter Eight
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Pairing: Rogue/John
Spoilers: Post X3
Rating: PG-13 for language
Thanks to Psychosomatic17 for the beta!
Previous chapters here.
Spark
Chapter Eight
All but panting, Rogue leaned desolately against the kitchen sink. Her heart was still pounding disconcertingly loudly, the echo combined with the rushing in her ears leaving her even more unsettled than before.
It didn't make sense that John should effect her this way. Even now heat was pulsing beneath her skin, concentrated in all of those areas that had so recently felt his touch.
It wasn't that it was an unfamiliar sensation. She had experienced the same effect three weeks ago, when she had kissed him. But, a kiss she could ignore. Kisses were meant to make your heart pound and your blood rush. And, even if Bobby's lips had never elicited such a heady response from her, she could easily attribute that to disparate chemistry.
But, that was a kiss. This was a soft look and a few strokes of her leg. Nothing that should leave her breathless. Nothing that should make her body sing and her skin tingle.
Nothing at all, really. And that was what worried her.
A horrible thought suddenly occurred to her, and she did her best to quash it immediately. But to no avail.
She didn't... No. Not John. No, surely even she couldn't be that stupid. Not stupid enough to become enamored of a person who, mere months ago, had been serving faithfully under the thumb of the man who had sucked all but the last drops of life from her body.
John knew what she had suffered at the hands of that maniac; knew that she rarely passed a night without at least one nightmare at his hands. He had stayed up with her countless times, sitting on the couch and pretending that it was because they both wanted to see a late movie. He was one of the few that she'd trusted with the entire story.
His leaving had been a personal betrayal, and not merely of the Mansion versus Brotherhood variety.
That first night, she had told him that she was content to ignore his time with the Brotherhood, should he repay her in kind regarding the cure. No forgiving, no forgetting...just blissful denial. And that was true, as far as a tacit friendship went. But, should she actually acknowledge that she desired something more from him--which she certainly was not doing...well, there was no way it could work. No way at all.
A sigh escaped her lips as she straightened, squaring her shoulders. So, she was back to square one. Denial. And, if nothing else, at least that emotion was familiar.
Occupied as she was, she didn't sense the presence of another in the room at first. Not until he was almost on top of her, as it were.
John--and, of course it was John. She was an idiot to think he would let her run away that easily. He stood behind her, solid chest pressing flush against her ever-stiffening back even as she gasped softly. A leanly muscled arm came around her body, and she tried to think of how to best approach pushing him away. Just as quickly, though, the contact had ended. Rather than attempting to pull her to him, he had instead set something in front of her on the counter.
Fighting down an unwelcome surge of disappointment, Rogue glanced down. A bottle of water.
Still disconcertingly close, John's breath danced off of her ear when he spoke. "Wasn't that what you came after?"
Licking suddenly dry lips, Rogue spun around--almost immediately realizing her error. He had her at the disadvantage, backed into a corner as she was. He made no move to step back. Moistening her lips again, she gathered her resolve. "Thanks. I was just..."
His sudden step forward caught her by surprise, and she steadied herself with the flats of her hands against the counter behind her. His body pressed her uncomfortably against the surface, even as his hands came around to rest just outside of hers on the counter-top.
"You know," John murmured, and his tone sounded conversational. Knowing him as well as she did, however, she could recognize the difference, and the husky undertone as his eyes fixated on her mouth. "That's what almost got you into trouble out there."
Hands shaking slightly, Rogue clenched them tighter on the edge of the counter. "What?" Her voice trembled to match her hands, and she suppressed a wince.
"That." A calloused thumb drifted up, ghosting lightly over the delicate curve of her mouth. The breath left her lips in a shuddering exhalation, and his hand drifted, sliding down to rest on her throat. Just over her traitorously fluttering pulse point.
Rogue fought to tear her gaze from his, but found that it took far too much effort. She felt sluggish, and reluctant to move an inch. Much like she had minutes ago, on the couch. Looking into John's eyes and waiting for him to kiss her.
Was that what she was doing now?
The thought was enough to stir her, and she broke free from the loose prison his arms had constructed, crossing over to one of the cabinets and retrieving a clean glass. She had brought the water with her, and she fought to steady her hands enough to loosen the cap. Even such a mundane task as removing the lid from a bottle had always been complicated by her gloves, though, and under the circumstances--hands still trembling like leaves in a windstorm--twisting the top at the right angle felt like attempting to solve a complex geometric equation. And she had never been very good at math.
Snorting disparagingly, John yanked the bottle back, opening it easily. He set it down beside her forcefully and water splashed over the rim. His hand reached out to tilt her chin up, and Rogue met his gaze reluctantly. Surprised at the anger she saw reflected there, she attempted to look away. His harsh grip held her motionless, though, and his lips pulled back into a familiar sneer.
"Not very thoughtful of me, was it? Coming in here and bothering you. Guess you probably would have liked it a lot better if I'd sent Iceman after you."
She pushed back, knocking his hand away. "Shut up, John. You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, no? That what you think?"
She started to turn away, but his grip on her arm stopped her.
"Trust me, Roguey, I know exactly what I'm talking about. Down to the last sickening, lovey-dovey look. And it's enough to make a person want to sandpaper his fucking eyes."
"Stop it, John." She tried to free her arm, but his fingers just sank deeper into her flesh. Frustrated, she scowled up at him. "You bastard. You know how I feel about Bobby, and you just have to throw him in my face anyway, don't you?"
He let go with a grimace, eyes rolling in a gesture of overt disgust. "Christ, spare me..."
"No, damn it." Angered, she moved closer. "I'm so sick of this. Walking around on eggshells all month, ignoring every despicable comment you level at me just to keep you happy. Putting up with your moping and your raging and your slamming around, and not saying a single word about it."
"Oh, yeah? Is that right? Well, who the hell asked you to?"
Rogue looked down, allowing the breath to leave her lungs in some obscene semblance of laughter. When she looked up, her eyes were bright and flashing. "Nobody asked me to. I asked me to. Because you used to be someone I could trust. Now...I don't know what the hell you are. You don't talk to me. All you do is scowl and stomp and growl like some idiotic overgrown bobcat. You don't even act like yourself, John. You were always a bastard, but never like this. I never thought that you actually enjoyed hurting me. Now, I'm not so sure. All I've got to do is look at you the wrong way, and you go for my throat."
He didn't say a word. Just glared at her with those horrible eyes of his. Drawing a hand over her face briefly, Rogue cursed the impulse that had incited her to let so much break free. A month of holding her tongue had worn at her defenses. It was like an avalanche; all it had taken was one rock to bring the majority of the others crashing to the ground. Now she stood bare, emotions out in the open, and no way to cover them back up. Removing her hand and squaring her shoulders, forcing herself to meet his impassive gaze, she returned to square one. "Even before you left, you never even attempted to hide the fact that you thought Bobby and I were a mistake, John."
"Because you were."
"You see? Just like that! You did everything you possibly could to screw up our relationship."
He pushed a hand through his hair, blue eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger and frustration. "What? I was supposed to just sit back and play along with something so fucking stupid?"
"Yes!" She exhaled roughly, eyes closing in consternation. He started to reply, no doubt with another scathing barb, and she held up a hand. "Please, John, just stop. I don't want to talk about this anymore."
When she opened her eyes, he was smiling sardonically. "So stop talking."
And then he kissed her.
Stunned into inactivity for a moment, it didn't take her long to gather herself enough to push at his chest, albeit ineffectively. But, even as she did so, a part of her was resigned to the fact that she wouldn't succeed. For the simple reason that she didn't really want to. This was the very definition of a 'token struggle.' And, like most token struggles, it ended almost as soon as it had began. In no time at all, her hands were pulling instead of pushing, drawing him closer instead of shoving him away. Gloved hands fisted in his shirt, lips parting to allow him greater access.
When he eventually pulled away, mouth dancing across her cheek and jaw-line as they both drew in much-needed oxygen, she considered resuming her quasi-struggle. But that same sluggishness had returned, dragging her down and pushing her up at the same time. And, frankly, it just required too much effort.
Lips gentled considerably, John's mouth descended once again to hers in a series of light, playful caresses even as his hands moved restlessly down her sides, finding purchase in the small of her back as gloriously nimble fingers tangled in the belt loops of her jeans. Between the lush, teasing brushes of his lips, Rogue found herself speaking almost against her will.
"John, stop."
"Shut up.” His breath was warm over her mouth, glancing pleasantly off of her skin. “If you ruin this, I'll kill you."
Allowing herself to drift for a moment, luxuriating in the pleasant sensation of soft lips dancing over hers and strong arms encompassing her waist, it was with a feeling of intense self-abhorrence that she once again protested. "John, stop it. I can't concentrate."
Blowing out an exasperated breath and glaring mightily, he practically snarled as he pushed her away. "What the hell is it? What, Rogue?"
Gathering the remaining fragments of her self-control, she desperately fought the urge to fling herself towards him and plead with him to ignore her rebuttal. "I can't do this John. I still care about Bobby. It's not right."
Smoothing a hand over his face, he appeared utterly disgusted. Then he scowled. "Tell me something, Rogue; what's Drake’s favorite color?"
She shook her head, at first convinced she had heard him wrong. He motioned for her to hurry her answer, and she sighed. "I have no idea, John. What does this have to do with anything?"
"Okay. Favorite holiday?"
Rolling her eyes, she shrugged. "I don't know. Christmas."
"It's Halloween. Favorite band?"
"I..." she scowled, not liking where this was heading. "He likes all the same music I like. You know that."
"The hell he does, Rogue. He hates your music. Only pretended to like it to impress you. Which you would know, if you actually paid attention to anything he said."
In the back of her mind, she recalled with clarity the slight wince that Bobby would wear every time she put on an album. It had always been there, but had never really registered with her until now. The realization didn't sit well. Her brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as she shook her head. "What are you trying to say, John? That I was a terrible girlfriend?"
"That may be true, but it's not what I'm trying to say. What I am trying to say is, you don't give two damns about Bobby. The only thing you ever bothered to find out about him was that he was a nice, normal, boring guy, and--oh my God!--he actually wanted a psychotic bitch like you--and, before you get all pissy, believe me; I mean that as the deepest sort of compliment. So stop using your inane little defense mechanism-slash-former lapdog against me. Cause it's really starting to get under my fucking skin."
Though aware that she still stood firm, Rogue couldn't push back the feeling that the ground had just been jerked from beneath her feet. Mouth slightly agape, she found herself at a loss for words. A multitude of denials ran through her mind, but she couldn't force any of them to leave her mouth. None of them rang true, no matter how hard she tried to make them.
John sighed, putting his hands on her shoulders and examining her face closely. "Look, I know how much you like to pretend that you're happy being like all of the rest of these idiots. But you've got to get the hell over it, before it fucks you up anymore than it already has."
That certainly snapped her free of shock-imposed silence, if nothing else. Eyes flashing up at him, she all but growled. "What exactly makes you think that you can psychoanalyze me, Pyro?"
His jaw clenched, and one hand came up to tangle unforgivingly in her hair. "Get this straight, Rogue. I'll do whatever the hell I want, whenever the hell I want."
When his lips descended this time, she was right there waiting for him. Lips turned up anxiously, her hands knotted in his hair as her body pressed eagerly into his. Returning his kiss forcefully, heart pounding out a steady rhythm in her ears, she wound her arms tightly around his neck.
There was no thought of Bobby holding her back. No residual fear of ruining the tacit friendship that they had formed. Only anger, and resentment, and the insanely violent urges to both slap him and hold him tighter doing battle within her. She found herself going with the second option, and her breath left her in a steady hiss against his lips as he backed her, again, against the counter. Using the slick surface for leverage, she pushed herself still tighter against John's chest, desperate to have him even closer.
Mouth grinding almost painfully against hers, John's hands descended to her waist. She yelped softly as her feet abruptly left the ground, shocked to find herself suddenly resting precariously against the counter. But the thought fled her mind as John utilized the new position to shift her against him, hips pressing impatiently into her, and her lips left his in a startled gasp. Murmuring resentfully, John’s left hand immediately returned to her hair to pull her back in place. The other remained at her waist, tracing the curve of her hip, before shifting to explore the exposed skin between the hem of her shirt and her jeans.
Rogue exhaled harshly, lost in the unfamiliar sensations overtaking her mind and body. The small section of her brain still consciously open to thought was completely overwhelmed. However far she may have gotten with Bobby, she had never felt anything remotely like this.
Grinding his body against her again, John’s lips descended to her throat, ghosting fleetingly over her collarbone. The feel of his stubble scraping over flesh was quite literally breathtaking. She gasped, nails scraping gently over his shoulders as her hands easily worked their way up the loose sleeves of his shirt in search of more exposed skin.
He pushed her away abruptly, and Rogue let out a sharp protest. Bereft, her hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt in an attempt to pull him back. Then she caught sight of Kitty standing in the doorway, and she practically whimpered.
John’s hand settled on her back, smoothing over her shoulders soothingly even as the other hand curved over hip, helping her down from the counter. She attempted to step away, but his hand remained locked at her side in a grip that could only be described as possessive. Rogue ignored it, but only because she had more important things to worry about. Namely, straightening her shirt.
Even as her mind formed the words--it couldn’t possibly get any worse than this--she was already trying to bite them back. But the spell was already cast, the punishment in motion. Bobby appeared beside Kitty, and John’s whole body seemed to tense. And, alternately cursing and praying under her breath, Rogue took the opportunity to thank Heaven for at least allowing her to have her clothing back in place in time.