-fic-
Title: Watch Me Burn
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13 for bawwing?
Pairings: MegamindxRoxanne
Notes: AAAAAAAAANGST. Also, slightly AU here. What if Megamind hadn't just given up in the rain? The following is an encounter that could have happened if he hadn't just gone home. Instead, he shows up at her apartment, desperate for her to listen.
The shadows encompassed her apartment; swollen, bloated things that mercilessly took up every corner, every crack. They lurked behind chairs, crept through doors and slid seamlessly through her hair, thick tendrils and claw-like fingers raking down to her very soul. She could feel them touching her, pulling on her. Watching her.
She flicked her phone open, checking the time. The shadows retreated with the sudden, dim light momentarily cowed until the phone was shut, dropped lifelessly and without purpose back into her purse. They were waiting for her, waiting to gently caress her skin, their touch cold and unforgiving.
Her keys clattered against the table, a loud crack in the suffocating darkness of the apartment. It felt hard to breathe. He’d been here just yesterday, making tea and suggesting coffee instead. He said he’d buy her his favorite to try - hazelnut, from that diner not far from here, maybe tomorrow afternoon--
“I’m alone,” she said, cutting herself off. She could hear her voice, it sounded wet; filled with gravel. A creak in the floorboards silenced her, and her fingers groped for her keys, her pepper spray. A shuffle, then -
Him. Her lips curled. He’d been in her office. Her hand dropped.
“Not completely.” His voice cracked. It sounded like sandpaper.
“So you’ve stooped so low as common breaking and entering.” Her fingers clenched around her ruined bag. Rain was never kind to suede. “I thought you had more class, Megamind.” Her words were biting, meant to stab. They hit home and he winced.
She felt a pang of guilt.
“Roxanne,please--” He stopped at her face; the expression that was so pointed, angry - full of rage and betrayal.
Hate.
A look that had, up until recently, never been directed at him in full force. It sent a twist through him, a searing, white hot pain. He stared at her, the hard and angry lines of her face shooting daggers into his heart. Such a far cry from her smile, her eyes bright and shiny after she’d been laughing at something he’d said.
He missed her laugh, the dimple in her left cheek.
“Why are you here?” She hissed, pressing a palm flat against her dining room table. The other hand ghosted around her middle, holding the soaked material tightly as if she were trying to hold herself together.
“To explain,” he implored, spreading his hands out in supplication. “Please, let me explain.”
Seconds ticked by. He was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. A gnawing, cold fear pulled at his core as the silence continued. It gripped him, seized his muscles and he thought that perhaps his heart had stopped.
“You have exactly sixty seconds. Then I want you out of here.” He had never heard her sound like that, so quiet, so deadly. It was his fault. His fault that she was standing here, soaked and looking at him with such disgust. He felt sick, but he only had a few moments, just one precious minute--
He scrambled for words. He had to make this count, had to make her see.
“Roxanne, it started as just an out - that night you met Bernard, you almost caught me. I was at the museum too, and…I couldn’t let you catch me, not there, not like that - so I did what I had to, I scanned him, dehydrated him. It was only supposed to be long enough to get you out of the building and to safety, and let me get away without you figuring out who I was. Come on, I was the last person you’d want to see.
“But then-then you started being fantastic, and you inspired me and when you called Bernard’s phone the next day I had to answer - you were so strong, just showing up to my lair like that - finding it to begin with, walking in like you owned the place, talking me into helping you discover my own plans. I started - I started to fall for you, but Roxanne you’d never want me as I truly was, would you? I-I mean, look at me.” He gesticulated wildly, a gloved hand slicing through the air with a trembling finesse. “Just, look - I’m a villain, I’m an alien - you’d never want me as I was so I kept up the charade, banking on you never finding out but I should have known better - you’re too smart to be fooled forever. You were bound to figure me out and now…”
His hands fell limp by his sides.
“Now here I am, begging you to just…” What, accept him? Love him for who he was, despite all his wrongdoings? It was laughable.
“Just…understand, maybe a little.” He took a step towards her, chest aching. He didn’t understand what that meant, that twinge deep within him was so foreign, a concept as alien as himself. It was a harsh, physical ache that scientifically made no sense, but there it was anyway, worsening with each passing second.
He took another tentative step, hands shaking, fingers trembling. His gloves creaked and he went to reach for her, brush her fingertips, touch her in any way but stopped at the hand she held up, palm facing him.
“Stay there. Just…don’t come near me.” Her voice trembled and for the first time he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was something else that had happened that night, before she had come to the restaurant. Her hair - her mention of Titan, she’d known his plans, figured it out, knew it was Hal, she’d been late-
The chill rolled through him like icy water.
She knew. She knew everything. Of course she did - she was brilliant, too smart for just Metro City. That station of hers wasted her talent, her own personal brand of brilliance. He swallowed.
Seconds ticked by.
The silence choked him, and he felt like he was drowning.
“Roxanne--” She held up a finger, silencing him. She was still processing everything, thinking it over, tasting it in her mind. He could almost see her brain working; the woman was almost as analytical as he was himself.
Roxanne had stayed completely silent during his speech, face carefully expressionless as she listened. She’s a reporter at heart - she knows when to smile and nod, when to sympathize, to offer a shoulder and when to get righteously angry. Masking emotions and changing them to fit the situation is a skill she’s acquired over the years - you can’t lose control of yourself on camera, after all.
So, keeping a neutral and relatively placid look on her face during something emotionally charging should be easy.
It’s not and for whatever reason that Roxanne cannot fathom, she still feels distinctly ill, dizzy, as if she’d sustained a considerable head wound. She’s listening, yes - but are these things she wants, needs to be hearing?
No. It further complicates matters substantially - they can’t be together regardless of what she or he might actually want, anyway. This is pointless - why is he trying so hard? It makes it worse and for some inexplicable reason that further conflicts her feelings, she felt like running to him.
She looks away, anywhere but at him and those green eyes that are so full of emotion.
It felt like an eternity before she spoke again.
“Do you know what happened to me, before I met you for dinner?” Her voice was quiet, slow. He shook his head. They hadn’t gotten that far before he’d hurriedly tried to change the subject.
“The reason I know Hal specifically is Titan--” She swallowed, and met his gaze. Acid green eyes, so familiar, warm -- “He showed up at my house.” Megamind’s fingers dug into his palms, the muscle in his jaw pulsed. Roxanne continued, either unaware or uncaring of his agitation.
“He took me off my balcony,” He made a strangled noise and Roxanne kept talking, voice gaining volume. “And he threw me around town like a ragdoll.” She stepped closer, her body shaking. He faced her without flinching. She deserved that much.
“And then he left me on top of Metro Tower when I didn’t return his affections,” she continued, pointedly ignoring his distress, “Leaving me to somehow find a way down.”
How horrifying it had been, sliding over that ledge to locate the ladder that led into the top observatory. Workers used it without fear, window cleaners, repairmen. She remembered the wind biting at her fingertips as she clung to concrete littered with shattered glass. She’d slipped, once, her feet felt nothing below her and she’d dangled for a few terrifying seconds before her stilettos had found the solidity of the ladder once more. She shivered violently at the memory, pressing her fists into her eyes, trying to knuckle away the dizzying and nauseating visions of Metro City flying by her at breakneck speeds.
Then there were arms around her - thin but strong with corded muscle, pulling her in close. She made a noise of protest - it was him, the one who had caused all of this to begin with, lied to her, betrayed her - this wasn’t right, it couldn’t be.
She felt her arms slip around him anyway, pulling his body close to hers, carefully resting her cheek to his, ever mindful of spikes. He smelled of leather and cologne, familiar scents that she should have put together long before now - Bernard always smelled faintly of leather. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breath warm against her cheek, her ear. She shivered.
“Roxanne…” A brief shake of her head stopped him and he fell quiet. Her hair was pressed wetly against his skin, her dress leaving damp streaks on the front of his ensemble. He lifted a hand, hesitating, moving slowly and methodically to cup her face, caress her skin. He was close enough to smell her - lavender, she loved lavender - to see the freckles that dotted her cheeks. He pulled back just enough to take in her face, to drink in her presence and memorize her features. He wants to hold her here, keep her with him, protect her - that someone kidnapped her other than him…
His grip tightens on her a fraction, and he pulls her in until her body is flush against his. She’s warm despite being soaked, and the close proximity is dizzying. She made another noise and he looked down at her hesitantly, questioning. He was being bold, far to assuming in that this is something she wanted. Why on earth would she want him to hold her, touch her, keep her safe? She had so many other options, even without Metro Man. His grip loosens and he flinches a little. She can move, if she likes, but she doesn’t.
She should pull away. She should pull back and shove him away from her, scream at him to leave, get out and never come back.
Instead she looks at him, tilting her face into his hand that’s warm on her face and she’s caught up in the moment, in the looking. So many times she’s seen him before this but she’s never seen him until this moment, seen him as bared to her as he was now. He was so strong, so persistent in his endeavors not only with his attempts to take over the city but also with her. Countless times she’d shot him down, delivered one liners and ringers that stung, wounded, yet he never gave up. Here he was again in his persistence, never giving up, not letting her go even when she’d said…she’d said…
“Did you really think I’d ever be with you?”
Her words rebounded on her and she felt ill, distinctly sick and filled with guilt.
But she couldn’t - they wouldn’t work, not with the circumstances, not with him being who he was and her being the darling of Metro City.
“I never meant to hurt you, Roxanne. Rule Two. I swear it.” He looked at her, imploring with eyes so wide, brow knitted with concern. She blinks at him, eyes rounded and soft, a far cry from the icy hatred that had been radiating from her previously. He felt a sliver of hope and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“Megamind--” Her voice cracks and whatever she was going to say is just a passing thought in the breeze. It’s his eyes that captivate her now, draw her in and she’s lost in them and in his embrace. A shaky breath, and her eyes slip shut and she leans, just so, and then-
Their lips touched and the result, it’s electrifying. White hot fire engulfs them and consumes any and all remaining tendrils of rational, coherent thought. This chain of events was unforeseen, unprecedented. It’s desperate, needy, and he vaguely felt her arms slide around his neck, her fingers splayed out on the back of his head as she pulled him deeper into the moment. His fingers slowly trailed up her spine to push into her hair, threading the longest strands in his fingers. He's euphoric, giddy - he's done it, she forgives him, she--
She's pushing him away. As quickly as the most wonderful thing in his life to have happened thus far started, it's over. His breath came in quick gasps; hers in short, punctuated breathy pants. He ached to reach for her again, draw her in, kiss her until his lips were chapped and aching, but he didn’t dare. Not when this was so fragile, so easily broken.
“Roxanne, I--” He’s silenced by her shaking hand held out to him, fingertips brushing against his lips. The touch tingled, sending sparks through his body. His knees trembled and he prayed fervently to whoever might be listening (however far fetched that concept might be to him) that his legs continued to hold him. He waited.
When she spoke, he shattered.
"No." Her voice was anything but firm. It shook, and there was gravel in it as she visibly struggled to form words.
"No?" He croaked, uncomprehending, unwilling to accept.
"No," she repeated, pressing her palms to her temple. "Get out. Please just--get out."
Confusion and despair rolled through him, and the look on his face made Roxanne feel like she'd been punched in the stomach. She closed her eyes, unable to stare into those eyes of his - eyes filled with pain and confusion.
"If that's what you want," he said slowly. It felt like his throat was closed.
“It’s what you need to do,” Roxanne clarified. The statement, she could see, gave him hope - hope enough to embolden him, cause him to step forward in a whirl of sleek black cape and creaking leather. Before she could protest his lips were against hers again, soft but firm in their stolen moment. She relented into his arms that were surprisingly strong in their embrace and she let the moment sweep her away and into nothingness; a perfect bliss where things weren’t so serious, he wasn’t a villain and it was just the two of them in a plane of existence where this could actually be a possibility. She doesn’t hold back this time, her hands lifted to cup his face and pull him in, helpless in her surrender to him. He made a quiet noise somewhere in the back of his throat - surprise, maybe, at being touched so intimately. His grip tightened around her, his arms firmly settled around her waist and she felt her body curve into his, fitting together as seamlessly as two puzzle pieces.
He wasn’t sure where his boldness had come from - perhaps out of desperation, out of a last ditch attempt to keep her from rejecting him completely. His body had a mind of its own and his lips moved from her mouth - her delicious, perfect, beautiful bow of a mouth - to her neck as he trailed heat down her skin to her collarbone. The noise she made was of appreciation, this he found by the simple fact that her body warmed by several degrees and arched into him both at the same time. He would marvel at that later, the fact that he had elicited such a response from her, such a wondrous and perfect thing that clouded his mind. Slender hands slid up her back, feeling her muscles relax under his hands and he wished fervently, desperately that he hadn’t worn his gloves.
“Roxanne--” He managed, lips still pressed against her skin. His voice reverberated through her mind and she couldn’t focus, think. She made a noise that acknowledged she’d heard him, but a verbal response was significantly lacking. He continued, gathering his courage.
“I…” His kiss found the hollow of her throat. “Roxanne, I--” His hand lifted to catch her face, tip her head back to look at him. Her eyes were glazed, expression liquid.
“I love you,” He whispered roughly, voice stuck somewhere between the back of his throat and his teeth. She didn't pull back and, emboldened, his palm slid down, down past the curves of her waist to grip her, pull her in close. Her grip on him tightened and he felt her lips press against his skin, breath hot as she exhaled.
“Megamind-” Roxanne managed, unable to speak properly. She trembled under his touch, his gaze. She can’t think straight, and the leather is cool on her face. It’s dizzying, being with him like this - and confusing, conflicting. Her body aches for him in ways that are so physical and carnal - a yearning that hasn’t been satisfied for years. Her heart reached for him, wanted him. It was her mind that stopped her, her logical, analytical side that screamed at her to listen to reason and step back from this madness - that this wasn’t a possibility that could ever, ever be entertained. She brushes the back of her hand against his cheek, teasing herself with the touch of his skin.
“I…I can’t,” she whispered hoarsely, fingers moving down his face, his cheeks to carefully grasp his shoulders between spikes. “I…I want to- Oh God…” She wants to tell him, confess that it’s somehow the same for her - but the pain of his betrayal is too deep, Metro Man’s death too fresh, the destruction of the city too unforgivable. “I’m so sorry - I…I can’t.”
She stepped back. It felt like she’d ripped a piece of her soul away.
“I understand.” His voice was quiet, resigned - scratchy, like hers. He was still caught in the moment, his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath.
She wanted to say something else - tell him anything to make that look on his face go away, but she couldn't. The few feet of distance from him gave her a moment to clear her head, and the anger, pain, rage and hurt and being betrayed, lied to came rushing back and she looks away stiffly, eyes on the door.
There was little else to say.
His boots had never felt heavier than they did tonight and it took considerable effort to walk to the door. He had nothing, not her, not Minion. He'd trashed everything he'd ever cared about with his selfishness, his arrogance and self-importance.
This was all his fault. His, and no one else. That might be the worst part.
He paused in the door, a silhouette in the darkness that came from within. He look at her, took her in.
“I will never give up on you, Roxanne.” He said quietly, and she had to choke back a sob. “You would never, ever want for anything with me. I would, and will, do my best to make sure that you are happy.” Even though you will never be mine.
He waited a moment, half hoping she would ask him to stay, or say something, but there's just a thick and unforgiving silence that swallowed him.
He turned, and left. The door clicked quietly shut behind him, and Roxanne finally cried.
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13 for bawwing?
Pairings: MegamindxRoxanne
Notes: AAAAAAAAANGST. Also, slightly AU here. What if Megamind hadn't just given up in the rain? The following is an encounter that could have happened if he hadn't just gone home. Instead, he shows up at her apartment, desperate for her to listen.
The shadows encompassed her apartment; swollen, bloated things that mercilessly took up every corner, every crack. They lurked behind chairs, crept through doors and slid seamlessly through her hair, thick tendrils and claw-like fingers raking down to her very soul. She could feel them touching her, pulling on her. Watching her.
She flicked her phone open, checking the time. The shadows retreated with the sudden, dim light momentarily cowed until the phone was shut, dropped lifelessly and without purpose back into her purse. They were waiting for her, waiting to gently caress her skin, their touch cold and unforgiving.
Her keys clattered against the table, a loud crack in the suffocating darkness of the apartment. It felt hard to breathe. He’d been here just yesterday, making tea and suggesting coffee instead. He said he’d buy her his favorite to try - hazelnut, from that diner not far from here, maybe tomorrow afternoon--
“I’m alone,” she said, cutting herself off. She could hear her voice, it sounded wet; filled with gravel. A creak in the floorboards silenced her, and her fingers groped for her keys, her pepper spray. A shuffle, then -
Him. Her lips curled. He’d been in her office. Her hand dropped.
“Not completely.” His voice cracked. It sounded like sandpaper.
“So you’ve stooped so low as common breaking and entering.” Her fingers clenched around her ruined bag. Rain was never kind to suede. “I thought you had more class, Megamind.” Her words were biting, meant to stab. They hit home and he winced.
She felt a pang of guilt.
“Roxanne,please--” He stopped at her face; the expression that was so pointed, angry - full of rage and betrayal.
Hate.
A look that had, up until recently, never been directed at him in full force. It sent a twist through him, a searing, white hot pain. He stared at her, the hard and angry lines of her face shooting daggers into his heart. Such a far cry from her smile, her eyes bright and shiny after she’d been laughing at something he’d said.
He missed her laugh, the dimple in her left cheek.
“Why are you here?” She hissed, pressing a palm flat against her dining room table. The other hand ghosted around her middle, holding the soaked material tightly as if she were trying to hold herself together.
“To explain,” he implored, spreading his hands out in supplication. “Please, let me explain.”
Seconds ticked by. He was terrified, more terrified than he had ever been in his life. A gnawing, cold fear pulled at his core as the silence continued. It gripped him, seized his muscles and he thought that perhaps his heart had stopped.
“You have exactly sixty seconds. Then I want you out of here.” He had never heard her sound like that, so quiet, so deadly. It was his fault. His fault that she was standing here, soaked and looking at him with such disgust. He felt sick, but he only had a few moments, just one precious minute--
He scrambled for words. He had to make this count, had to make her see.
“Roxanne, it started as just an out - that night you met Bernard, you almost caught me. I was at the museum too, and…I couldn’t let you catch me, not there, not like that - so I did what I had to, I scanned him, dehydrated him. It was only supposed to be long enough to get you out of the building and to safety, and let me get away without you figuring out who I was. Come on, I was the last person you’d want to see.
“But then-then you started being fantastic, and you inspired me and when you called Bernard’s phone the next day I had to answer - you were so strong, just showing up to my lair like that - finding it to begin with, walking in like you owned the place, talking me into helping you discover my own plans. I started - I started to fall for you, but Roxanne you’d never want me as I truly was, would you? I-I mean, look at me.” He gesticulated wildly, a gloved hand slicing through the air with a trembling finesse. “Just, look - I’m a villain, I’m an alien - you’d never want me as I was so I kept up the charade, banking on you never finding out but I should have known better - you’re too smart to be fooled forever. You were bound to figure me out and now…”
His hands fell limp by his sides.
“Now here I am, begging you to just…” What, accept him? Love him for who he was, despite all his wrongdoings? It was laughable.
“Just…understand, maybe a little.” He took a step towards her, chest aching. He didn’t understand what that meant, that twinge deep within him was so foreign, a concept as alien as himself. It was a harsh, physical ache that scientifically made no sense, but there it was anyway, worsening with each passing second.
He took another tentative step, hands shaking, fingers trembling. His gloves creaked and he went to reach for her, brush her fingertips, touch her in any way but stopped at the hand she held up, palm facing him.
“Stay there. Just…don’t come near me.” Her voice trembled and for the first time he realized that maybe, just maybe, there was something else that had happened that night, before she had come to the restaurant. Her hair - her mention of Titan, she’d known his plans, figured it out, knew it was Hal, she’d been late-
The chill rolled through him like icy water.
She knew. She knew everything. Of course she did - she was brilliant, too smart for just Metro City. That station of hers wasted her talent, her own personal brand of brilliance. He swallowed.
Seconds ticked by.
The silence choked him, and he felt like he was drowning.
“Roxanne--” She held up a finger, silencing him. She was still processing everything, thinking it over, tasting it in her mind. He could almost see her brain working; the woman was almost as analytical as he was himself.
Roxanne had stayed completely silent during his speech, face carefully expressionless as she listened. She’s a reporter at heart - she knows when to smile and nod, when to sympathize, to offer a shoulder and when to get righteously angry. Masking emotions and changing them to fit the situation is a skill she’s acquired over the years - you can’t lose control of yourself on camera, after all.
So, keeping a neutral and relatively placid look on her face during something emotionally charging should be easy.
It’s not and for whatever reason that Roxanne cannot fathom, she still feels distinctly ill, dizzy, as if she’d sustained a considerable head wound. She’s listening, yes - but are these things she wants, needs to be hearing?
No. It further complicates matters substantially - they can’t be together regardless of what she or he might actually want, anyway. This is pointless - why is he trying so hard? It makes it worse and for some inexplicable reason that further conflicts her feelings, she felt like running to him.
She looks away, anywhere but at him and those green eyes that are so full of emotion.
It felt like an eternity before she spoke again.
“Do you know what happened to me, before I met you for dinner?” Her voice was quiet, slow. He shook his head. They hadn’t gotten that far before he’d hurriedly tried to change the subject.
“The reason I know Hal specifically is Titan--” She swallowed, and met his gaze. Acid green eyes, so familiar, warm -- “He showed up at my house.” Megamind’s fingers dug into his palms, the muscle in his jaw pulsed. Roxanne continued, either unaware or uncaring of his agitation.
“He took me off my balcony,” He made a strangled noise and Roxanne kept talking, voice gaining volume. “And he threw me around town like a ragdoll.” She stepped closer, her body shaking. He faced her without flinching. She deserved that much.
“And then he left me on top of Metro Tower when I didn’t return his affections,” she continued, pointedly ignoring his distress, “Leaving me to somehow find a way down.”
How horrifying it had been, sliding over that ledge to locate the ladder that led into the top observatory. Workers used it without fear, window cleaners, repairmen. She remembered the wind biting at her fingertips as she clung to concrete littered with shattered glass. She’d slipped, once, her feet felt nothing below her and she’d dangled for a few terrifying seconds before her stilettos had found the solidity of the ladder once more. She shivered violently at the memory, pressing her fists into her eyes, trying to knuckle away the dizzying and nauseating visions of Metro City flying by her at breakneck speeds.
Then there were arms around her - thin but strong with corded muscle, pulling her in close. She made a noise of protest - it was him, the one who had caused all of this to begin with, lied to her, betrayed her - this wasn’t right, it couldn’t be.
She felt her arms slip around him anyway, pulling his body close to hers, carefully resting her cheek to his, ever mindful of spikes. He smelled of leather and cologne, familiar scents that she should have put together long before now - Bernard always smelled faintly of leather. His chest rose and fell steadily, his breath warm against her cheek, her ear. She shivered.
“Roxanne…” A brief shake of her head stopped him and he fell quiet. Her hair was pressed wetly against his skin, her dress leaving damp streaks on the front of his ensemble. He lifted a hand, hesitating, moving slowly and methodically to cup her face, caress her skin. He was close enough to smell her - lavender, she loved lavender - to see the freckles that dotted her cheeks. He pulled back just enough to take in her face, to drink in her presence and memorize her features. He wants to hold her here, keep her with him, protect her - that someone kidnapped her other than him…
His grip tightens on her a fraction, and he pulls her in until her body is flush against his. She’s warm despite being soaked, and the close proximity is dizzying. She made another noise and he looked down at her hesitantly, questioning. He was being bold, far to assuming in that this is something she wanted. Why on earth would she want him to hold her, touch her, keep her safe? She had so many other options, even without Metro Man. His grip loosens and he flinches a little. She can move, if she likes, but she doesn’t.
She should pull away. She should pull back and shove him away from her, scream at him to leave, get out and never come back.
Instead she looks at him, tilting her face into his hand that’s warm on her face and she’s caught up in the moment, in the looking. So many times she’s seen him before this but she’s never seen him until this moment, seen him as bared to her as he was now. He was so strong, so persistent in his endeavors not only with his attempts to take over the city but also with her. Countless times she’d shot him down, delivered one liners and ringers that stung, wounded, yet he never gave up. Here he was again in his persistence, never giving up, not letting her go even when she’d said…she’d said…
“Did you really think I’d ever be with you?”
Her words rebounded on her and she felt ill, distinctly sick and filled with guilt.
But she couldn’t - they wouldn’t work, not with the circumstances, not with him being who he was and her being the darling of Metro City.
“I never meant to hurt you, Roxanne. Rule Two. I swear it.” He looked at her, imploring with eyes so wide, brow knitted with concern. She blinks at him, eyes rounded and soft, a far cry from the icy hatred that had been radiating from her previously. He felt a sliver of hope and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.
“Megamind--” Her voice cracks and whatever she was going to say is just a passing thought in the breeze. It’s his eyes that captivate her now, draw her in and she’s lost in them and in his embrace. A shaky breath, and her eyes slip shut and she leans, just so, and then-
Their lips touched and the result, it’s electrifying. White hot fire engulfs them and consumes any and all remaining tendrils of rational, coherent thought. This chain of events was unforeseen, unprecedented. It’s desperate, needy, and he vaguely felt her arms slide around his neck, her fingers splayed out on the back of his head as she pulled him deeper into the moment. His fingers slowly trailed up her spine to push into her hair, threading the longest strands in his fingers. He's euphoric, giddy - he's done it, she forgives him, she--
She's pushing him away. As quickly as the most wonderful thing in his life to have happened thus far started, it's over. His breath came in quick gasps; hers in short, punctuated breathy pants. He ached to reach for her again, draw her in, kiss her until his lips were chapped and aching, but he didn’t dare. Not when this was so fragile, so easily broken.
“Roxanne, I--” He’s silenced by her shaking hand held out to him, fingertips brushing against his lips. The touch tingled, sending sparks through his body. His knees trembled and he prayed fervently to whoever might be listening (however far fetched that concept might be to him) that his legs continued to hold him. He waited.
When she spoke, he shattered.
"No." Her voice was anything but firm. It shook, and there was gravel in it as she visibly struggled to form words.
"No?" He croaked, uncomprehending, unwilling to accept.
"No," she repeated, pressing her palms to her temple. "Get out. Please just--get out."
Confusion and despair rolled through him, and the look on his face made Roxanne feel like she'd been punched in the stomach. She closed her eyes, unable to stare into those eyes of his - eyes filled with pain and confusion.
"If that's what you want," he said slowly. It felt like his throat was closed.
“It’s what you need to do,” Roxanne clarified. The statement, she could see, gave him hope - hope enough to embolden him, cause him to step forward in a whirl of sleek black cape and creaking leather. Before she could protest his lips were against hers again, soft but firm in their stolen moment. She relented into his arms that were surprisingly strong in their embrace and she let the moment sweep her away and into nothingness; a perfect bliss where things weren’t so serious, he wasn’t a villain and it was just the two of them in a plane of existence where this could actually be a possibility. She doesn’t hold back this time, her hands lifted to cup his face and pull him in, helpless in her surrender to him. He made a quiet noise somewhere in the back of his throat - surprise, maybe, at being touched so intimately. His grip tightened around her, his arms firmly settled around her waist and she felt her body curve into his, fitting together as seamlessly as two puzzle pieces.
He wasn’t sure where his boldness had come from - perhaps out of desperation, out of a last ditch attempt to keep her from rejecting him completely. His body had a mind of its own and his lips moved from her mouth - her delicious, perfect, beautiful bow of a mouth - to her neck as he trailed heat down her skin to her collarbone. The noise she made was of appreciation, this he found by the simple fact that her body warmed by several degrees and arched into him both at the same time. He would marvel at that later, the fact that he had elicited such a response from her, such a wondrous and perfect thing that clouded his mind. Slender hands slid up her back, feeling her muscles relax under his hands and he wished fervently, desperately that he hadn’t worn his gloves.
“Roxanne--” He managed, lips still pressed against her skin. His voice reverberated through her mind and she couldn’t focus, think. She made a noise that acknowledged she’d heard him, but a verbal response was significantly lacking. He continued, gathering his courage.
“I…” His kiss found the hollow of her throat. “Roxanne, I--” His hand lifted to catch her face, tip her head back to look at him. Her eyes were glazed, expression liquid.
“I love you,” He whispered roughly, voice stuck somewhere between the back of his throat and his teeth. She didn't pull back and, emboldened, his palm slid down, down past the curves of her waist to grip her, pull her in close. Her grip on him tightened and he felt her lips press against his skin, breath hot as she exhaled.
“Megamind-” Roxanne managed, unable to speak properly. She trembled under his touch, his gaze. She can’t think straight, and the leather is cool on her face. It’s dizzying, being with him like this - and confusing, conflicting. Her body aches for him in ways that are so physical and carnal - a yearning that hasn’t been satisfied for years. Her heart reached for him, wanted him. It was her mind that stopped her, her logical, analytical side that screamed at her to listen to reason and step back from this madness - that this wasn’t a possibility that could ever, ever be entertained. She brushes the back of her hand against his cheek, teasing herself with the touch of his skin.
“I…I can’t,” she whispered hoarsely, fingers moving down his face, his cheeks to carefully grasp his shoulders between spikes. “I…I want to- Oh God…” She wants to tell him, confess that it’s somehow the same for her - but the pain of his betrayal is too deep, Metro Man’s death too fresh, the destruction of the city too unforgivable. “I’m so sorry - I…I can’t.”
She stepped back. It felt like she’d ripped a piece of her soul away.
“I understand.” His voice was quiet, resigned - scratchy, like hers. He was still caught in the moment, his chest heaving as he attempted to catch his breath.
She wanted to say something else - tell him anything to make that look on his face go away, but she couldn't. The few feet of distance from him gave her a moment to clear her head, and the anger, pain, rage and hurt and being betrayed, lied to came rushing back and she looks away stiffly, eyes on the door.
There was little else to say.
His boots had never felt heavier than they did tonight and it took considerable effort to walk to the door. He had nothing, not her, not Minion. He'd trashed everything he'd ever cared about with his selfishness, his arrogance and self-importance.
This was all his fault. His, and no one else. That might be the worst part.
He paused in the door, a silhouette in the darkness that came from within. He look at her, took her in.
“I will never give up on you, Roxanne.” He said quietly, and she had to choke back a sob. “You would never, ever want for anything with me. I would, and will, do my best to make sure that you are happy.” Even though you will never be mine.
He waited a moment, half hoping she would ask him to stay, or say something, but there's just a thick and unforgiving silence that swallowed him.
He turned, and left. The door clicked quietly shut behind him, and Roxanne finally cried.