Fic: Spark, Chapter 6/?
Title: Spark, Chapter Six
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Pairing: Rogue/John
Spoilers: Post X3
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
Special thanks to Psychosomatic17 for the beta!
Previous chapters here.
Spark
Chapter Six
“You didn’t have to follow me all the way up here, you know. You’re not my fucking jailor.”
Rogue just sighed, closing the door softly behind them. John hadn’t spoken to her once since they had left Bobby and Logan in the shambles of the Common Room. It just figured that his first words to her would be rude as hell.
“No, I’m not. But Logan is, and he told me to bring you up here. So shut up and sit down.”
As she spoke, she was crossing the room towards John’s bathroom-but not before taking the time to disable the visual recording devices positioned over the dresser and off to the side of the chest-of-drawers. Logan really was the best guy in the world, for all of his grumbling and growling. She doubtless would have found the tiny cameras for herself, knowing that they were in the room somewhere. But he had saved her a lot of time by letting her know their exact locations.
Not hearing a response, she began to sift through the compact linen closet. She was so preoccupied with her task that she didn’t become aware of John’s presence until she felt his hand on her wrist, spinning her around. The angry retort on her lips died at his furious expression.
“You’ve got some nerve, ordering me around like that,” he bit out. His hand tightened, painfully, pressing her back against the wall. “Do you even know who I am now? Do you know the things that I’ve done, while you’ve been prancing around this pathetic little school like a fucking sheep, wasting your abilities on goddamn math and science classes?” He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, and Rogue could feel his breath on her face. “I’m not going to let some ignorant little traitor tell me what to do.”
She closed her eyes, clamping down hard on the fury rising inside of her. Then she opened them, and, sending a disdainful glare in his direction, shook off his grip. The closet door was still open, and, this time giving little attention to color or size, she pulled out a handful of towels and shoved them against John’s chest. He automatically took hold of them before they could fall to the floor.
“Go lie down on the bed, on your stomach,” she said, tone deceptively tranquil. “I still need to get a few things.”
John just looked at her for a moment, mouth agape. Then he flung the towels against the wall, lips curling back into a fierce sneer. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
Rogue ignored him, pushing past him to open the medicine cabinet. “Yeah, I heard you-you’re still all rough and tough, and you’re taking the fact that Logan treated you like a child out on me. Was that just about all of it, or did I miss something?” She glanced over her shoulder, brown eyes narrowing. “Now, did you hear me? Take your ass into the bedroom. You’re getting in my way.”
His reflection in the mirror scowled hotly at her, and then he spun around. The door slammed behind him, causing half of the items in the cupboard to immediately fall into the sink. Rogue cursed under her breath, bemoaning the fact that half of the cotton balls she had been planning to make use of had escaped the bag, becoming instantly unusable. Unless, of course, she wanted to give John an infection.
Then again...
God, he was such a fucking prick. Standing there, sneering down at her… it had been all she could do not to throw a punch at his arrogant jaw. The only thing holding her back had been the fact that it just would have given her one more bruise to see to.
Using a towel as a make-shift bag, Rogue gathered her supplies together. The medicine cabinet was surprisingly well-equipped, and she was able to find just about everything she needed. It was a big relief; she had been afraid that she would have to return to her room for a few things. Where she would most definitely run into her roommate.
At the moment, Kitty was the last possible person she wanted to see.
Thinking of Kitty and Bobby only intensified her anger-still flying high from John’s earlier comments-and Rogue found that she was almost thankful for it. It just made it that much easier to leave the bathroom and face him. Supplies in hand and spare towels balanced on her hip, she pushed the door open.
Honestly, she had half expected to find him gone. He was still there, though, standing at the window with his back to her. The patches of blood staining his shirt cooled her temper a bit, reminding her of why she was still there. Why she hadn’t stormed out the moment he opened his big mouth.
“I told you to lie down.”
He didn’t answer-didn’t even look up.
Frankly, it was a better response than she had expected.
Rogue carefully laid out the supplies on the nightstand, and then began to line the bed with several of the loose towels she had carried under her arm. “Really,” she commented over her shoulder, just because she knew it would irritate him, “it’s just as well that you didn’t. You’re going to bleed like crazy when I dig that glass out.”
He snorted disdainfully, and she considered telling him that he was reminding her of a sullen adolescent. Instead, she chose to ignore him. “It’s a good thing that I don’t mind the sight of blood, you know? Otherwise, I’d probably end up on the floor.”
There was no response at all this time, and she continued to prepare the bed. She’d found a set of tweezers in the cabinet, and it only took a moment to sterilize them with rubbing alcohol.
Finally, there was nothing left for her to do.
Damn it.
Rogue took a deep breath. “John, I need you to come over here now. I’m ready.”
He cast a disbelieving look over his shoulder, and then turned back without a word.
She sighed, crossing the room to stand beside him. The view out the window was rather disheartening; it was raining like crazy, and the sky was much darker than it had any right to be at this time in the afternoon. The strange weather was something that she had become accustomed to recently, though, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to be irritated by it. Considering the loss of Dr. Grey, Ms. Munroe had more than enough reason to project.
Tiring of the dismal view, Rogue turned her attention back to the situation at hand. “John,” she said softly. “Come on. You know that you can’t leave that glass in your back, and you can’t just go to the Med Bay later. There’s...” she swallowed. “There’s nobody down there. So I’m pretty much your only option.”
His only sign of acknowledgement was a loose shrug. The gesture clearly put pressure on all of the wrong places; despite his best efforts, he was unable to restrain a grimace.
Rogue lay a gentle hand on his arm, and was encouraged when he didn’t push her away. “Please John. Let me help you.”
He finally looked at her, and she was hard-pressed to interpret his enigmatic expression. Then he nodded abruptly, and she smiled. “Great. Just take your shirt off, and it’ll be over before you know it.”
“Turn around.”
That definitely caught her by surprise-it was just about the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Since when are you shy, Johnny?”
He just scowled at her. “Turn around, or get the hell out.”
She wrinkled her brow-still vaguely perplexed-but turned around nonetheless. The sound of rustling clothing let her know that John was in the process of removing his shirt, and she tapped her foot impatiently. The bed squeaked slightly, and she turned. “All done?”
“Like it matters. You’re already looking.”
Rogue just rolled her eyes. “Shut up, John.” She crossed the room, lingering by the nightstand just long enough to remove her dark cotton gloves. The fabric caught on a silver banded ring on her left hand, and she stared at it for a long moment.
A gift from Bobby.
She slipped it from her finger, tucking it into her pocket to deal with later. Maybe she’d do something grandiose and dramatic, like throw it into the lake. Or maybe she’d even go with petty and childish-leave it on Kitty’s nightstand or something.
Or, more likely, she’d just put it in an envelope and leave it in Bobby’s mail-slot.
Sometimes she really wished that she could be more of a bitch. It would definitely be more gratifying; she had no doubt of that.
But, no. Not her. Never her. She would just give a sad little smile, find a way to justify Bobby and Kitty’s actions, and give them her blessings. That was who she was, wasn’t it? The good little girl who always wore her seatbelt. Always budgeted her chocolate. Said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and never, ever placed her elbows on the dinner table.
Her powers, for all that she had hated them, had been the only thing that really set her apart. And now... her bare fingers told the story. She was nothing.
“So, are you going to get this done or what?”
Rogue startled violently, shooting a dirty look at him. It was true that she wasn’t a bitch by nature, but John-more than just about anyone else she could think of-was most definitely capable of bringing it out in her.
Always had been.
“You know, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you-this is going to hurt like hell.”
He thankfully broached no response to that, and, gripping the tweezers tightly, Rogue began the arduous process of removing the glass lodged in his back.
A good deal of time passed before she realized that, apart from a noticeable tightening of his shoulders, John wasn’t showing any sign of discomfort. Slightly perplexed, she took a quick break to kneel beside the bed and examine his face closely. He quirked a brow at her, and she frowned. “John, shouldn’t you be yelling or something? I’m drawing inch-long pieces of glass out of your back, and you’re bleeding like a stuck pig. I would think an ‘ouch’ or two would be in order.”
He just looked at her for a moment, and it suddenly occurred to her; anything that she was doing to him right now was a lot less painful than what he was accustomed to. Biting her lip, she rose wordlessly and went back to work-vaguely ashamed of herself for not catching on sooner. As usual, she had been too concerned with her own problems to even notice anyone else’s. Rogue was so occupied with silently berating herself, it took her a moment to realize that John had begun to speak.
“So, that ring? I’m guessing it was from Iceman.”
She paused, hands trembling faintly as fresh batch of heartache hit her. “Yeah. Bobby gave it to me for our six month anniversary. It’s got a real emerald and everything.” She smiled softly at the memory, even as pain knotted her gut. “Not a big one, that’s for sure-but a real one.”
“He’s really fucking around on you, huh?”
She winced. “Yeah. He’s really fucking around on me.”
Silence stretched on for a few long moments, making it officially the perfect moment to go for fresh towels. Rogue hurriedly crossed the room to the bathroom, where she wet a few loose rags and rinsed her tweezers. They had gone so slick with blood that it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold them steadily.
Returning to the bedroom, she found John in the exact position she’d left him. Leaning against the wall, she took a moment to simply take him in. And, God, was he a pitiful sight. Blood oozed from the gaping tears in his back, leaving the upper portion of his sweatpants and the towels beneath him stained irreparably crimson. Despite her best efforts to protect them, she held little doubt that the sheets would be ruined. Not that they seemed the slightest bit significant in the face of John’s bleeding and beaten body.
And he hadn’t cried out once.
A sudden thickness formed in her throat as she observed him. Rogue traversed the space between them swiftly, placing the damp rags on the bottom corner of the bed before once again kneeling on the floor next to his head. John’s eyes had closed in her absence, but they opened abruptly as she began to trace her hand along his cheek. His skin was cool, and surprisingly soft. She smiled fondly down at him before abandoning his face to tenderly comb through his hair with her gloveless hand. “You know, Allerdyce-I’m going to have to find you a pretty big lollypop after this is all over with. You’ve got to be the best patient in the history of unlicensed, painfully awkward medical care.”
He just looked at her, expression blank, and she realized that she had, for once, managed to take him by surprise. Then he smirked weakly. “Yeah, well-just remember that the next time you feel like playing doctor.”
Rogue grinned, pulling back after one final ruffle of his dyed hair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She busied herself with putting the wet rags to use, stroking them over his skin as delicately as possible in an attempt to clean up the bloodied mess that was his back. Making her task all the more difficult was the fact that she was no sooner able to press one cloth to his flesh before it became soaked to the point of uselessness with blood and disinfectant.
It took some doing, but she finally managed to get him relatively clean. Without the blood blocking her view, close scrutiny revealed one or two tiny pieces of glass that she had apparently missed in her first pass over his body. Frowning, she crossed over to the nightstand to retrieve her tweezers. John’s hand on her wrist caught her by surprise, and she glanced down inquiringly. His grip tightened, and Rogue felt the rug once again dig into her knees as he tugged her down to his level.
“You know, I meant what I said earlier. Drake’s a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve you.” His expression surprisingly solemn, John shifted on the bed. “He’s better off with somebody normal, like that short girl. She’ll follow him around like a puppy for as long as he wants her to, and it won’t really matter-she’s not wasting herself on him because it’s the most she’ll ever be capable of. And he’ll deserve her because, being a fucking idiot, he’ll never even know what he’s missing.”
Rogue winced, not sure whether to feel more flattered or insulted. “John, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to say. I really do. But...next time you want to make me feel better, don’t start out by telling me that I’m abnormal, alright?”
He snorted. “There you go again-trying to be something you’re not. So the hell what if you’re not normal? You’re better than normal. You’re better than Bobby or the bitch that he’s fucking around with will ever be.” John sat up on his elbows, waving off her attempts to get him to lay still. He looked at her, face dangerously close to hers. “Stop fighting it, Rogue. You’ll always be different than them. Better than them. No matter what you do-you can’t change it. It’s in your blood. No fucking ‘cure’ is going to change that.”
Rogue felt a twisting sensation in her gut at his words, and knew that her eyes were wide with astonishment-her generous lips softly parted.
He really thought that.
Something within her came alive at the knowledge, and she realized that this was what she had always wanted to hear from Bobby. But Bobby never could have said it like John had just said it. And even if he could have, he never would have been able to make her believe it.
John made her believe it.
Rogue leaned forward, centimeter by excruciating centimeter, unable to stop the descent as something deep inside of her pushed her inexplicably towards him. Her cheeks flushed, hands trembling as she rested them upon the mattress. She covered the final distance to his face, lips pressing gently-hesitantly-against his.
He didn’t move at first. Rare surprise had been evident in his features from the moment she began to lean into him, and then his expression had abruptly altered, turning enigmatic. His blue eyes followed her movements keenly, and then closed with the second brush of her lips against his. One hand came up to caress her shoulder before drifting higher to entwine in her hair-pulling her closer, despite the awkwardness of their position.
Rogue opened her mouth under his, sighing with pleasure as John’s tongue brushed boldly against hers before delving more deeply into her mouth. Both hands came up to stroke his jaw-line, and then changed direction to playfully trace over his ears before entangling in the softness of his hair.
It really was nothing at all like kissing Bobby. Bobby had been so smooth and practiced, constantly giving her the impression that he was counting down the seconds in his head-dreading the moment that her mutation would kick in, even when it was long gone from her. With John, there was absolutely no chance that his mind was elsewhere, or that he was fearful of her suddenly turning toxic in his arms. His attention was focused squarely and solely and unmistakably upon her, to the exclusion of anything else. She found that the feeling was contagious. There was no room to think of anything at all when John was kissing her, with the exception of the next brush of his lips or stroke of his hand.
Rogue was the first to pull away, breathing heavily. John looked at her, expression disconcertingly intent, and she felt herself begin to flush yet again. She looked away, chewing on her lip-discreetly savoring the lingering taste of him on her flesh. “You know, this is the part where I would usually run out of the room. But I can’t-you’ve still got glass in your back, and I need to change the sheets.”
John quirked a brow. “If you need to run out of the room, I can stand a few bloodstains. And I don’t mind a couple of pieces of glass-I’ve had worse, you know.”
Frowning, Rogue pushed a loose strand of hair out of his face. “That’s the problem with you, you know-you’ve got no idea of how to take care of yourself. You don’t eat right. You live like a pig-don’t think I’ve forgotten the hellhole that was your room when you lived here. You’re a mess, Allerdyce.”
John made a face at her. “I take care of myself just fine. I always have. And I don’t need some snooty Southern girl sticking her big nose in my business.”
She looked him over. The pallor of his skin shone white against the blood-drenched material beneath him, and his disheveled hair stuck out in a hundred different directions-though, admittedly, that was mostly due to her hands running through it. He was painfully thin, and when he’d first leaned up to look at her she had become aware of the multitude of angry scars crisscrossing his upper body-no doubt the reason for his reluctance to take his shirt off in front of her.
And he said he wasn’t a mess.
Rogue moved back slightly, crossing her arms on the mattress and resting her chin against them. “Yes, you do. And if you ever insult my nose again, I’ll break your jaw.”
John’s lips twitched, even as he sneered at her. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be. But...” her eyes clouded over as she once again took her lower lip between her teeth. “John-”
He cut her off, expression blank. “Let me guess.” Affecting an exaggerated Mississippi drawl, he continued, “that kiss was a mistake, Ah don’t know what got into me, but it’ll nevah happen again...”
Rogue just shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, pretty much. Except for the accent-that was absolutely God-awful. Now, shut up and put your arms down. I’ve got to finish digging this glass out of your back.”
.
All Comments and Critiques Welcome, as always!
Fandom: X-Men (movie)
Pairing: Rogue/John
Spoilers: Post X3
Rating: PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: Nothing is mine.
Special thanks to Psychosomatic17 for the beta!
Previous chapters here.
Spark
Chapter Six
“You didn’t have to follow me all the way up here, you know. You’re not my fucking jailor.”
Rogue just sighed, closing the door softly behind them. John hadn’t spoken to her once since they had left Bobby and Logan in the shambles of the Common Room. It just figured that his first words to her would be rude as hell.
“No, I’m not. But Logan is, and he told me to bring you up here. So shut up and sit down.”
As she spoke, she was crossing the room towards John’s bathroom-but not before taking the time to disable the visual recording devices positioned over the dresser and off to the side of the chest-of-drawers. Logan really was the best guy in the world, for all of his grumbling and growling. She doubtless would have found the tiny cameras for herself, knowing that they were in the room somewhere. But he had saved her a lot of time by letting her know their exact locations.
Not hearing a response, she began to sift through the compact linen closet. She was so preoccupied with her task that she didn’t become aware of John’s presence until she felt his hand on her wrist, spinning her around. The angry retort on her lips died at his furious expression.
“You’ve got some nerve, ordering me around like that,” he bit out. His hand tightened, painfully, pressing her back against the wall. “Do you even know who I am now? Do you know the things that I’ve done, while you’ve been prancing around this pathetic little school like a fucking sheep, wasting your abilities on goddamn math and science classes?” He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, and Rogue could feel his breath on her face. “I’m not going to let some ignorant little traitor tell me what to do.”
She closed her eyes, clamping down hard on the fury rising inside of her. Then she opened them, and, sending a disdainful glare in his direction, shook off his grip. The closet door was still open, and, this time giving little attention to color or size, she pulled out a handful of towels and shoved them against John’s chest. He automatically took hold of them before they could fall to the floor.
“Go lie down on the bed, on your stomach,” she said, tone deceptively tranquil. “I still need to get a few things.”
John just looked at her for a moment, mouth agape. Then he flung the towels against the wall, lips curling back into a fierce sneer. “Did you hear anything I just said?”
Rogue ignored him, pushing past him to open the medicine cabinet. “Yeah, I heard you-you’re still all rough and tough, and you’re taking the fact that Logan treated you like a child out on me. Was that just about all of it, or did I miss something?” She glanced over her shoulder, brown eyes narrowing. “Now, did you hear me? Take your ass into the bedroom. You’re getting in my way.”
His reflection in the mirror scowled hotly at her, and then he spun around. The door slammed behind him, causing half of the items in the cupboard to immediately fall into the sink. Rogue cursed under her breath, bemoaning the fact that half of the cotton balls she had been planning to make use of had escaped the bag, becoming instantly unusable. Unless, of course, she wanted to give John an infection.
Then again...
God, he was such a fucking prick. Standing there, sneering down at her… it had been all she could do not to throw a punch at his arrogant jaw. The only thing holding her back had been the fact that it just would have given her one more bruise to see to.
Using a towel as a make-shift bag, Rogue gathered her supplies together. The medicine cabinet was surprisingly well-equipped, and she was able to find just about everything she needed. It was a big relief; she had been afraid that she would have to return to her room for a few things. Where she would most definitely run into her roommate.
At the moment, Kitty was the last possible person she wanted to see.
Thinking of Kitty and Bobby only intensified her anger-still flying high from John’s earlier comments-and Rogue found that she was almost thankful for it. It just made it that much easier to leave the bathroom and face him. Supplies in hand and spare towels balanced on her hip, she pushed the door open.
Honestly, she had half expected to find him gone. He was still there, though, standing at the window with his back to her. The patches of blood staining his shirt cooled her temper a bit, reminding her of why she was still there. Why she hadn’t stormed out the moment he opened his big mouth.
“I told you to lie down.”
He didn’t answer-didn’t even look up.
Frankly, it was a better response than she had expected.
Rogue carefully laid out the supplies on the nightstand, and then began to line the bed with several of the loose towels she had carried under her arm. “Really,” she commented over her shoulder, just because she knew it would irritate him, “it’s just as well that you didn’t. You’re going to bleed like crazy when I dig that glass out.”
He snorted disdainfully, and she considered telling him that he was reminding her of a sullen adolescent. Instead, she chose to ignore him. “It’s a good thing that I don’t mind the sight of blood, you know? Otherwise, I’d probably end up on the floor.”
There was no response at all this time, and she continued to prepare the bed. She’d found a set of tweezers in the cabinet, and it only took a moment to sterilize them with rubbing alcohol.
Finally, there was nothing left for her to do.
Damn it.
Rogue took a deep breath. “John, I need you to come over here now. I’m ready.”
He cast a disbelieving look over his shoulder, and then turned back without a word.
She sighed, crossing the room to stand beside him. The view out the window was rather disheartening; it was raining like crazy, and the sky was much darker than it had any right to be at this time in the afternoon. The strange weather was something that she had become accustomed to recently, though, and she couldn’t quite bring herself to be irritated by it. Considering the loss of Dr. Grey, Ms. Munroe had more than enough reason to project.
Tiring of the dismal view, Rogue turned her attention back to the situation at hand. “John,” she said softly. “Come on. You know that you can’t leave that glass in your back, and you can’t just go to the Med Bay later. There’s...” she swallowed. “There’s nobody down there. So I’m pretty much your only option.”
His only sign of acknowledgement was a loose shrug. The gesture clearly put pressure on all of the wrong places; despite his best efforts, he was unable to restrain a grimace.
Rogue lay a gentle hand on his arm, and was encouraged when he didn’t push her away. “Please John. Let me help you.”
He finally looked at her, and she was hard-pressed to interpret his enigmatic expression. Then he nodded abruptly, and she smiled. “Great. Just take your shirt off, and it’ll be over before you know it.”
“Turn around.”
That definitely caught her by surprise-it was just about the last thing she’d expected him to say. “Since when are you shy, Johnny?”
He just scowled at her. “Turn around, or get the hell out.”
She wrinkled her brow-still vaguely perplexed-but turned around nonetheless. The sound of rustling clothing let her know that John was in the process of removing his shirt, and she tapped her foot impatiently. The bed squeaked slightly, and she turned. “All done?”
“Like it matters. You’re already looking.”
Rogue just rolled her eyes. “Shut up, John.” She crossed the room, lingering by the nightstand just long enough to remove her dark cotton gloves. The fabric caught on a silver banded ring on her left hand, and she stared at it for a long moment.
A gift from Bobby.
She slipped it from her finger, tucking it into her pocket to deal with later. Maybe she’d do something grandiose and dramatic, like throw it into the lake. Or maybe she’d even go with petty and childish-leave it on Kitty’s nightstand or something.
Or, more likely, she’d just put it in an envelope and leave it in Bobby’s mail-slot.
Sometimes she really wished that she could be more of a bitch. It would definitely be more gratifying; she had no doubt of that.
But, no. Not her. Never her. She would just give a sad little smile, find a way to justify Bobby and Kitty’s actions, and give them her blessings. That was who she was, wasn’t it? The good little girl who always wore her seatbelt. Always budgeted her chocolate. Said ‘please’ and ‘thank you’, and never, ever placed her elbows on the dinner table.
Her powers, for all that she had hated them, had been the only thing that really set her apart. And now... her bare fingers told the story. She was nothing.
“So, are you going to get this done or what?”
Rogue startled violently, shooting a dirty look at him. It was true that she wasn’t a bitch by nature, but John-more than just about anyone else she could think of-was most definitely capable of bringing it out in her.
Always had been.
“You know, I wouldn’t be in such a hurry if I were you-this is going to hurt like hell.”
He thankfully broached no response to that, and, gripping the tweezers tightly, Rogue began the arduous process of removing the glass lodged in his back.
A good deal of time passed before she realized that, apart from a noticeable tightening of his shoulders, John wasn’t showing any sign of discomfort. Slightly perplexed, she took a quick break to kneel beside the bed and examine his face closely. He quirked a brow at her, and she frowned. “John, shouldn’t you be yelling or something? I’m drawing inch-long pieces of glass out of your back, and you’re bleeding like a stuck pig. I would think an ‘ouch’ or two would be in order.”
He just looked at her for a moment, and it suddenly occurred to her; anything that she was doing to him right now was a lot less painful than what he was accustomed to. Biting her lip, she rose wordlessly and went back to work-vaguely ashamed of herself for not catching on sooner. As usual, she had been too concerned with her own problems to even notice anyone else’s. Rogue was so occupied with silently berating herself, it took her a moment to realize that John had begun to speak.
“So, that ring? I’m guessing it was from Iceman.”
She paused, hands trembling faintly as fresh batch of heartache hit her. “Yeah. Bobby gave it to me for our six month anniversary. It’s got a real emerald and everything.” She smiled softly at the memory, even as pain knotted her gut. “Not a big one, that’s for sure-but a real one.”
“He’s really fucking around on you, huh?”
She winced. “Yeah. He’s really fucking around on me.”
Silence stretched on for a few long moments, making it officially the perfect moment to go for fresh towels. Rogue hurriedly crossed the room to the bathroom, where she wet a few loose rags and rinsed her tweezers. They had gone so slick with blood that it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold them steadily.
Returning to the bedroom, she found John in the exact position she’d left him. Leaning against the wall, she took a moment to simply take him in. And, God, was he a pitiful sight. Blood oozed from the gaping tears in his back, leaving the upper portion of his sweatpants and the towels beneath him stained irreparably crimson. Despite her best efforts to protect them, she held little doubt that the sheets would be ruined. Not that they seemed the slightest bit significant in the face of John’s bleeding and beaten body.
And he hadn’t cried out once.
A sudden thickness formed in her throat as she observed him. Rogue traversed the space between them swiftly, placing the damp rags on the bottom corner of the bed before once again kneeling on the floor next to his head. John’s eyes had closed in her absence, but they opened abruptly as she began to trace her hand along his cheek. His skin was cool, and surprisingly soft. She smiled fondly down at him before abandoning his face to tenderly comb through his hair with her gloveless hand. “You know, Allerdyce-I’m going to have to find you a pretty big lollypop after this is all over with. You’ve got to be the best patient in the history of unlicensed, painfully awkward medical care.”
He just looked at her, expression blank, and she realized that she had, for once, managed to take him by surprise. Then he smirked weakly. “Yeah, well-just remember that the next time you feel like playing doctor.”
Rogue grinned, pulling back after one final ruffle of his dyed hair. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She busied herself with putting the wet rags to use, stroking them over his skin as delicately as possible in an attempt to clean up the bloodied mess that was his back. Making her task all the more difficult was the fact that she was no sooner able to press one cloth to his flesh before it became soaked to the point of uselessness with blood and disinfectant.
It took some doing, but she finally managed to get him relatively clean. Without the blood blocking her view, close scrutiny revealed one or two tiny pieces of glass that she had apparently missed in her first pass over his body. Frowning, she crossed over to the nightstand to retrieve her tweezers. John’s hand on her wrist caught her by surprise, and she glanced down inquiringly. His grip tightened, and Rogue felt the rug once again dig into her knees as he tugged her down to his level.
“You know, I meant what I said earlier. Drake’s a fucking idiot. He doesn’t deserve you.” His expression surprisingly solemn, John shifted on the bed. “He’s better off with somebody normal, like that short girl. She’ll follow him around like a puppy for as long as he wants her to, and it won’t really matter-she’s not wasting herself on him because it’s the most she’ll ever be capable of. And he’ll deserve her because, being a fucking idiot, he’ll never even know what he’s missing.”
Rogue winced, not sure whether to feel more flattered or insulted. “John, it’s not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to say. I really do. But...next time you want to make me feel better, don’t start out by telling me that I’m abnormal, alright?”
He snorted. “There you go again-trying to be something you’re not. So the hell what if you’re not normal? You’re better than normal. You’re better than Bobby or the bitch that he’s fucking around with will ever be.” John sat up on his elbows, waving off her attempts to get him to lay still. He looked at her, face dangerously close to hers. “Stop fighting it, Rogue. You’ll always be different than them. Better than them. No matter what you do-you can’t change it. It’s in your blood. No fucking ‘cure’ is going to change that.”
Rogue felt a twisting sensation in her gut at his words, and knew that her eyes were wide with astonishment-her generous lips softly parted.
He really thought that.
Something within her came alive at the knowledge, and she realized that this was what she had always wanted to hear from Bobby. But Bobby never could have said it like John had just said it. And even if he could have, he never would have been able to make her believe it.
John made her believe it.
Rogue leaned forward, centimeter by excruciating centimeter, unable to stop the descent as something deep inside of her pushed her inexplicably towards him. Her cheeks flushed, hands trembling as she rested them upon the mattress. She covered the final distance to his face, lips pressing gently-hesitantly-against his.
He didn’t move at first. Rare surprise had been evident in his features from the moment she began to lean into him, and then his expression had abruptly altered, turning enigmatic. His blue eyes followed her movements keenly, and then closed with the second brush of her lips against his. One hand came up to caress her shoulder before drifting higher to entwine in her hair-pulling her closer, despite the awkwardness of their position.
Rogue opened her mouth under his, sighing with pleasure as John’s tongue brushed boldly against hers before delving more deeply into her mouth. Both hands came up to stroke his jaw-line, and then changed direction to playfully trace over his ears before entangling in the softness of his hair.
It really was nothing at all like kissing Bobby. Bobby had been so smooth and practiced, constantly giving her the impression that he was counting down the seconds in his head-dreading the moment that her mutation would kick in, even when it was long gone from her. With John, there was absolutely no chance that his mind was elsewhere, or that he was fearful of her suddenly turning toxic in his arms. His attention was focused squarely and solely and unmistakably upon her, to the exclusion of anything else. She found that the feeling was contagious. There was no room to think of anything at all when John was kissing her, with the exception of the next brush of his lips or stroke of his hand.
Rogue was the first to pull away, breathing heavily. John looked at her, expression disconcertingly intent, and she felt herself begin to flush yet again. She looked away, chewing on her lip-discreetly savoring the lingering taste of him on her flesh. “You know, this is the part where I would usually run out of the room. But I can’t-you’ve still got glass in your back, and I need to change the sheets.”
John quirked a brow. “If you need to run out of the room, I can stand a few bloodstains. And I don’t mind a couple of pieces of glass-I’ve had worse, you know.”
Frowning, Rogue pushed a loose strand of hair out of his face. “That’s the problem with you, you know-you’ve got no idea of how to take care of yourself. You don’t eat right. You live like a pig-don’t think I’ve forgotten the hellhole that was your room when you lived here. You’re a mess, Allerdyce.”
John made a face at her. “I take care of myself just fine. I always have. And I don’t need some snooty Southern girl sticking her big nose in my business.”
She looked him over. The pallor of his skin shone white against the blood-drenched material beneath him, and his disheveled hair stuck out in a hundred different directions-though, admittedly, that was mostly due to her hands running through it. He was painfully thin, and when he’d first leaned up to look at her she had become aware of the multitude of angry scars crisscrossing his upper body-no doubt the reason for his reluctance to take his shirt off in front of her.
And he said he wasn’t a mess.
Rogue moved back slightly, crossing her arms on the mattress and resting her chin against them. “Yes, you do. And if you ever insult my nose again, I’ll break your jaw.”
John’s lips twitched, even as he sneered at her. “I’m terrified.”
“You should be. But...” her eyes clouded over as she once again took her lower lip between her teeth. “John-”
He cut her off, expression blank. “Let me guess.” Affecting an exaggerated Mississippi drawl, he continued, “that kiss was a mistake, Ah don’t know what got into me, but it’ll nevah happen again...”
Rogue just shook her head, a smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, pretty much. Except for the accent-that was absolutely God-awful. Now, shut up and put your arms down. I’ve got to finish digging this glass out of your back.”
.
All Comments and Critiques Welcome, as always!