smalldarkandsullen | The Real World

The Real World - for quitethecharmer

"There's no way we're ready for this."

Rogue felt for the girl, she really did. For all Kitty Pryde was the All-American Girl Next Door... she'd been pretty cool about everything. Never quite mean in school, even before all this, and she'd taken a cautiously friendly tone toward her when they saw each other in the halls after Rogue and Scott started dating. Since she'd been here, Kitty had been one of the most outwardly welcoming. Having Lance here too probably helped with that a bit. But, still, overall? Rogue knew she'd tried to make her feel a little more comfortable.

Right now, though, that remark irritated her.

It had nothing to do with the fact that Scott was absent from the room, comforting Jean after the (apparent) death of Professor Xavier. He might be back in a couple minutes; he might be back in a couple hours. She was mature enough to not be jealous. There wasn't anything to be jealous of, after all. Scott was still Jean's friend, and he was a very good friend. He'd held her after Magneto's death, promised her she had a home with him. And he'd meant it. But that didn't stop the paranoid little thoughts from creeping into her mind. The idea of her boyfriend with his ex, emotions high. Maybe he'd decide having to brace himself for every kiss, having to always watch where he touched when, having the ever-present threat of getting hurt because she lost her focus was too much to deal with.

So, jealousy might have sharpened her voice as she replied, "Too bad."

"Sis--" Nightcrawler insisted on reminding her that they were both Mystique's children. He was so desperate to cling to family he'd never known. She gave him a glare. "Look, there's no need to say--"

"Yes, there is," Rogue snapped, rising from where she'd been sitting with Pietro and Wanda. "Look, this is the real world. I know you X-Men aren't very used t' it, so let me explain. Out here? No one cares what you're ready for. What you've been trained for. There's no code word or panic button to end a sim 'cause it's too dangerous. 'Cause there ain' a sim goin' on. Your professor's gone. Mystique's gone. Magento's gone. They can' help us anymore."

This wasn't her place, and she knew it. Pep talks and rallying speeches, especially to this team, were Scott's domain. These were his people. The Brotherhood and Colossus? They'd follow her. But she had no right to speak to Scott's team like this. Not that it stopped her.

"It's time for us t' help them. If you don' think you're ready? Fine. I don' care. Stay. Do nothin'. That's on you. Me an' my team? We're goin'."

She'd spent two weeks here, getting to know everyone and meeting with the professor. She knew the strengths and weaknesses of her team, the X-Men, and the two put together. She'd walked the grounds with the professor in his chair at her side several times, talking in low tones that died whenever anyone came around. She, Professor Xavier, and Scott had stayed up late so many nights, sometimes joined by Jean, planning. But there was always something held back; Scott had remarked on it a couple times.

Rogue knew she'd have to tell him now. There weren't any other options.

"If you ain' in, you ain' in. But for the professor's plan t' work," she was going to need Scott's help, "I'm gonna need everyone I can get."

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It had nothing to do with the fact that they had once been boyfriend and girlfriend. Scott and Jean had been the Professor's first students. They had been his first X-Men, and she'd been his first real friend. First crush, yes, but their friendship had always come first. Jean had even come to view Rogue in a much more positive life... as she'd put it, Rogue made him happy. She couldn't hate her for that.

And now, Jean needed a friend. Her oldest friend. They'd been a little distant ever since their breakup, but there was no denying that they still cared about one another, and he was in the best position to know how he was feeling.

He wanted time to grieve, to lash out in anger at losing the man who had been his mentor and father figure. He was hurting as deeply inside as he could ever remember hurting. In fact, the heavy feeling in his chest made him realize that when people talked about a "broken heart," they weren't just talking literally.

But he didn't give himself time for that. Logan had impressed upon him the need for the X-Men to have someone to look up to, someone to lead them. And it had to be him. As much grief as he was feeling, he had to be strong for the X-Men. For Rogue, for Jean, for Kurt... even for the Brotherhood.

"Scott, I know you're trying to be strong for all of us. But you're hurting. You can't do this all on your own."

Jean had spoken the truth. He'd thought that she needed someone to talk to, but instead, it was her that had been trying to reach out to him. Not as his ex-girlfriend, but as his friend. But as much as he appreciated her concern, he still had work to do.

He'd left her without a word, going back to join the others. They didn't really need words between them. She knew him well enough to know that he was going to continue ahead. Then, maybe when he had the time, he'd let himself properly grieve. She could only watch with concern before following him.

He entered the room just in time to hear Rogue trying to rally the rest of their thrown-together alliance, perhaps a bit sooner than anyone would have expected. Once upon a time, Scott was probably the only X-Man who would have listened to anything Rogue had to say. Now, though, things were different. They recognized her leadership, and they had seen the trust the Professor had placed in her despite their past. And Scott was glad to have her to share his burden.

"You heard her," he said, taking his place next to her and folding his arms over his chest. For once, he wasn't next to her because she was his girlfriend. This time, they were both taking their place as the leaders of their own teams. And if Rogue needed the X-Men's help, he wasn't about to not set the right example. "This is about a lot more than the X-Men or the Brotherhood."

He didn't feel ready for this. He still felt like there was a lot of planning and preparation to do, and the team still had a lot of work to do when it came to working with the Brotherhood. In addition, he was having a good bit of trouble filling the Professor's shoes. Even as the leader of the X-Men, how could he ever match Charles Xavier? Now, when the X-Men needed the Professor more than ever, he was gone. And Scott wasn't sure he had what it took to keep them together.

Chances were that Rogue could feel that unease just as easily as Jean had, but as always, he was putting on a strong front for the sake of his team... and for her.

"It ain' gonna be easy," Rogue said, glancing at Scott and giving a bit of a nod. They had to stand together. Not as boyfriend and girlfriend but as leaders. All of those gathered here would be looking at both of them, looking for signs of weakness. Looking for who was really in charge. So, they had to stand on even footing. Her eyes went back to the X-Men, then nodded toward the Brotherhood. "We know 'bout that. 'Bout not bein' ready. But guess what? The world ain' gonna wait. Apocalypse ain' gonna wait. We're done trainin'. It's time t' fight."

It was Wanda who spoke first. "We're with you."

And the X-Men wouldn't back down and just let the Brotherhood play heroes. She was sure of that. At the very least, spite and a desire to prove their worth would compel them to help them.

But first--

Rogue turned to look at Scott and took a deep breath. "You and I need to talk. Privately." There wasn't any hint of a joke lingering in the air, not even from Pietro, but she wanted to make it clear. "Team lead to team lead." This was bigger than both of them. They had to be on the same page, and she wasn't looking forward to that.

But it'd do them both good to get out of the Institute, she thought. Go for a drive, maybe. Somewhere they could be alone and really talk things out until they were on the same page.

A hush seemed to fall across the X-Men and the Brotherhood both as Rogue spoke to Scott, just when the X-Men were finally starting to show their resolve. And Scott was taken by surprise by her direct approach, too. Not that she'd ever been evasive or vague with him, but it was still unexpected.

And if she felt it was important enough to leave their teams to themselves for the time being, then it had to be something big. The look of surprise left his face after a moment, and he nodded before turning to his teammates.

"If any of you still need to think about this, now's the time," he told them sternly. "Jean, keep an eye on them while I'm gone."

Jean nodded her assent quietly, and Scott left the room with Rogue, his heart aching a little apprehensively at whatever information she needed to share with him. On the plus side, however, maybe the talk would get his mind off of the Professor for the time being.

"Lead the way," he told her as they left their teammates and friends behind for the time being. Whatever she needed to share, it was probably best she do it on her own terms... and not that he try to get answers when the others were still well within earshot.

"The professor an' I were talkin'," she said. Her voice stayed low, but she was still careful. Never trust the walls. There were ears everywhere. A bit of distance would be necessary to contain things until they could actually talk to the teams. Until they knew what to tell them and what not. Because like Xavier, Rogue understood the importance of secrets. "Even after you'd go. Or 'fore you'd come. Figure it's time t' bring you up t' speed."

Which sounded bad. And, well, really. It was.

She led the way without a bit of hesitation. They needed to get out. She needed to get out. To somewhere that felt like neutral territory. A short pause at the door to grab Scott's keys, and she tossed them back to him. Then, she let herself into the garage and hopped over the side of his car to the passenger seat.

"Wherever you wanna go. You drive, I'll talk."

He caught the keys with one hand, his eyebrows still raised in concern. He'd seen Rogue walking with the Professor before he came and joined them, but he'd assumed it was just the Professor wanting to make sure she was settled in or perhaps telling her about his old friendship with Magneto. It had been surprising that he would share something with her but not with him, but it said a lot about how ready he was to trust her.

"Alright," he said quietly before opening the door and climbing in. The car revved to life as he turned the key in the ignition, and the garage door opened to let them out. Scott had driven Rogue around many times before, but this time, the drive was a little more tense. Still, the drive gave him something to focus on, to keep his mind off of the various doubts and concerns nagging at him.

There were a lot of secluded little spots near the Institute that were perfect for having private talks, and he remembered the way to all of them. In more carefree times, he probably would have been taking Rogue to them for many other reasons. But right now, she was all business, and so was he.

"What else did the Professor tell you?" he asked as they pulled through the front gate, trying his best not to seem too worried. He was ever the picture of calm, but the hesitation in his voice and the way he kept his eyes firmly on the road made it clear he wasn't entirely at ease.

If her powers worked both ways, they wouldn't have to have this talk. She could just touch his hand -- clutch it -- or kiss him hard. And say everything she needed to say. They'd played at that kind of exchange of information, passing knowledge he'd long since committed to memory to her, laying the lessons deeper than she could have on her own, even if she was a careful student when they just talked tactics and such. It had been fun. Now, when it would be so much easier to not have to say anything... That trick was useless.

As they drove, she shut her eyes. Let the wind rush against her face for a moment. One gloved hand flexed, momentarily starting to reach for his on the gearshift, but then it folded with her other one, fingers knitting together tightly. She took a deep breath, opened her eyes, and spoke.

"We talked a lot about acceptable losses." Those seven words were hard to force out, and she swallowed after them, like her throat ached from the effort. "Apocalypse is powerful. Strong enough to kill Magneto without even trying." And, now, to kill Professor Xavier and Storm. It was the basest of truths, but that didn't make it easy to say to someone like Scott. Someone who wanted to save everyone. "We're probably not going to all survive this, Scott."

Better to prepare for it now. To make him face it.

"So. How many?" She took a shaky breath again. "I want the honest truth. Don't worry about offending me if the lives of the X-Men are more valuable to you than the Brotherhood. How many can we each lose before, to you, defeating Apocalypse isn't worth the price?"

It was a difficult question for him to answer. The truth was, he didn't think it was acceptable to lose anyone. They'd already lost too many. And even though he was closest with his own teammates -- and with Rogue -- he didn't feel any better about the idea of any of the Brotherhood dying in the stead of the X-Men, either.

He might not have wanted to ever hang out with Lance, Todd, or Pietro. But their lives had come to mean just as much to him as those of the X-Men. If any of them died, it would be under his leadership. And that was a responsibility he wouldn't take lightly just because of personal issues.

The tactician in him had run the numbers. It was true that they weren't likely to come out of this unscathed. Magneto, Storm, and the Professor had all fallen to him, after all, and now, they were without three of the most powerful mutants on earth in trying to stop an ageless evil. The plan would have to be perfect... each of the X-Men and the Brotherhood would need to be at their absolute best. He would have to push them farther than they'd ever been pushed, farther than any of them felt they could go.

"...We all have to be ready to do whatever it takes," he said quietly. "If we don't stop Apocalypse, there won't be a world left for us to save. X-Men or Brotherhood. It doesn't make a difference."

He slowed down to take a curve into the clearing, which had a scenic view of the New York wilderness. He was fully aware that his outlook was grim, but he also refused to think that it would come to that. Rogue, Kurt, Jean, Kitty, Lance... he wanted all of them to make it. If he had the choice, he wouldn't hesitate to be the one to fall so that the others could live.

Which didn't mean he wasn't going to put up one hell of a fight if it came to that.

The car slowed to a halt, and he threw the gear shift into park before turning off the car. "...But if there's a way we can win without that happening, then I'm going to go for it. No matter what it takes."

"Then we're agreed, good." That was the easy part, though. Because she'd expected him not to want to lose anyone but to know that whatever sacrifice had to be made had to be made. Because this wasn't about them. Any of them. This was about the world. "Whatever it takes, but hopefully it won't come to that."

Now. For the hard part.

The really hard part. The part she'd needed to get him alone for. Because she could have talked about the brutal reality of acceptable losses in front of the teams, driven home how dangerous this was. The fear of death, after all, kept people alive. It would drive them to do things they thought they couldn't, be things they thought they weren't. But there was time enough for that.

With the car stopped, there wasn't hardly a sound. Just her own thoughts.

So, Rogue took another deep breath.

"The professor and I talked about what would give us the best odds against Apocalypse." She could almost recite those talks, remember the view from the gazebo, the long way down the cliff. It had been an interesting thing to look at as they'd talked. "I think... he and I both knew it. The very first time we talked. But he wanted me to say it. To let it seem like I had a choice. But... it's Apocalypse. There's no choice other than 'win.'" Besides, what was she to Xavier? One of Magneto's Acolytes, yes. An ally, yes. But she wasn't a student. She didn't expect to really matter to him. "Our best chance is to get me close enough. He used me to get those powers, I think I can take them away, too. Or at least weaken him a bit. Give the rest of you an opening."

She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to show fear.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn't a death sentence. She might succeed. She might be able to get away from him again quick enough. All of that was very true. But so was the reverse. It was a gamble with very high stakes that weren't necessarily mutually exclusive. The world and her life would both be on the line, and either or both could be saved or lost.

Those were the words he was most afraid to hear. Or rather, the meaning behind them. And Scott knew that it was true. Rogue's powers were unique in that they could actually weaken someone, even someone as powerful as Apocalypse. But it placed her at the greatest risk, and she needed to get close to her opponent to use her powers. Even if she succeeded, that much power might be too much for her to hold, and...

"...Then the rest of us have to make sure you get there," he said plainly, an almost inaudible tremble the only thing betraying his anxiety. "And buy you the time you need."

The battle plan was simple, really. The heavy hitters up front, drawing Apocalypse's attention. The ones with the flashiest, most destructive powers, hitting him from every angle to keep him from focusing on Rogue. Kurt could teleport her in close, and Jean could make sure they were kept safe until the gloves came off.

Simple. But that didn't make it easy. And if anything went wrong...

Just thinking about it made tears well up behind Scott's eyes, running down his cheeks from beneath his glasses. He didn't want to lose her. There was still so much they hadn't been able to accomplish together. The time they had spent together felt so short, and while they'd known from the start that it might not last, he'd gotten used to it.

It was selfish and greedy of him, but he didn't want to let her go.

"...That's our last resort," he said firmly, trying to keep his emotions in check. "And if we have to go that way... then there's no way I'm letting you go without some way to defend yourself."

"I've contacted Pyro and Gambit." A distraction? Kind of. Because she could hear in his voice the same thing she heard in hers. The temptation to cry, to scream, to refuse. She'd never thought she'd be afraid of death. She'd spent so long hating her powers that this... would have been a kind of absolution. To use them for something good. But, now? She had something to live for. Something to fight to live for. Something that she didn't want to lose. Maybe that would help. But for now? It just scared her. "Can' promise either of 'em'll show... but they're strong an' fast, and they can draw a lot of attention."

And Gambit wasn't afraid to die. He had that same reckless sensibility she knew she'd had. Nothing to live for but no actual suicidal inclinations. Just a lack of fear. And that? Might buy them all time against Apocalypse. Of course, Gambit's presence depended on whether the promised sum was high enough. Pyro? The price she'd offered and whether he felt like it came into play. And once those two were on the field? They were wildcards. Gambit might listen to her if she tried to issue orders; Pyro definitely wouldn't.

But they'd stack the odds a little more in their favor.

"I've made it damn clear to Lance and the others." Because with her team, she could talk about the likelihood of any or all of them dying. Not the actual plan, no. She'd saved that for Scott. He needed to hear it first. But the Brotherhood understood the possibility of causalities. "If anything does happen to me, they take their orders from you. No questions asked."

But it might not come to that. She might be able to get close enough, weaken Apocalypse, and then get away. Leave the others to finish him. Maybe even help, depending. Probably not, though. With as powerful as he was and as long as he'd lived -- trapped inside the Eye of Ages, especially -- she had a feeling that his powers and mind would be too much for her. Not necessarily to kill her. She had to believe she'd survive. That she wouldn't have to leave Scott. But she didn't expect to be conscious after that.

"I--" No. No tears. She couldn't cry. Even if her voice shook. "It's our best chance, and I can process a lot more than I used to be able to." It couldn't be their last resort. "But I need you to not panic. I'm probably going to go down if I get my hands on him. Because all of that? Is basically going to overload my senses." But not kill her. That was what she needed Scott to know. Or at least believe. That if she went down against Apocalypse, that she'd probably wake up. "I'll need Jean's help when I wake up, but... I'll probably be out cold for awhile."

Hope. They both had to hold onto hope. She had to talk about the possibility of survival, not the possibility of death. She had to make them both believe it was the more likely outcome. Because if they believed it, they'd fight for it. She'd fight for it.

Scott had no doubt that, after everything they'd been through together, all of the X-Men and the Brotherhood would give their all to keep one another safe. And if anyone could help Rogue break free from Apocalypse's psyche, from his endless power, Jean could do it. And he'd be there every step of the way.

It was optimistic, though, and he knew it. There was no telling what would happen. The best they could hope for was that it would be enough to take out Apocalypse once and for all.

He wasn't going to pretend that everything was going to be alright, that what they had together would definitely last forever. One or both of them might not make it through this battle, even if they won. Which meant that this might be the last chance they ever have.

"There's... something I've been wanting to do for a while now," he admitted quietly, turning in his seat toward her. His hand reached up, almost reaching her cheek, but stopped just short, instead brushing aside some strands of her hair. "But I want you to be ready."

That probably made it sound a lot more heavy than it actually was. But throughout their entire relationship, she'd always been the one to start kissing him. When it came to lips touching skin, anyway. Just this once, he wanted it to be the other way. He wanted to show her how much he loved her, how much she meant to him, and not need her powers to do the talking for him.

Whatever tension had been present between her and Jean (mostly her own fauult, Rogue knew, imaginging things were worse than they were), it was gone. Mostly. There'd always be a bit of doubt, a little insecurity. But they'd worked together in the Danger Room, fought side-by-side and come to their own, unspoken agreements. She trusted Jean to go into her head, sort out her mind from Apocalypse's. Either get him out or lock him away.

She looked over at him, her head vaguely turning to go toward his hand. Not closing the distance, no, but a kind of reflex. An imitation, in a way, of the gesture. For all she wanted to hope, she kne they might not have more time. This could be one of the last times they had. Itt was time to make the most of that.

"I'm ready," she whispered, meeting his eyes behind his glasses.

She was ready. And so was he. If she took too much, then... well, at least she'd get a refresher on all of his strategies and tactics, not to mention enough of his powers to hold her own even against enemies she couldn't get close to.

Not that that was exactly Plan A.

He didn't so much as throw caution to the wind as simply set it aside for a moment. His hand moved to the back of her neck, just below where the bare skin ended and the fabric began, and he closed his eyes before taking off his glasses and setting them in the car's cup holder entirely by muscle memory. They would just be getting in the way at this point.

And then, once they were both ready, he pressed his lips to hers hard, canting his head to the side and putting everything he had into this kiss. His lips opened slightly against hers, inviting her to make the most of it while it lasted.

It wouldn't last forever. It couldn't. But he was willing to let it last for as long as it possibly could.

He kissed her. Rogue had known it was coming, of course, but that didn't take away from the sensation. The memories and emotions hummed through her almost seamlessly. She'd learned not how to ignore it but how to integrate it. How to let it -- him -- flow through her veins. To hold onto himself while not fighting the influence. It felt good. Warm. Everything she wanted.

Maybe it was his willingness to set aside worry. Maybe it was her own desperation. Maybe it was an utter rejection of every fear she'd gotten used to and every new one. Maybe it was the merging of personalities. Maybe it was being a teenager.

Whatever it was, she kissed him back hard. Her lips opened against his. As she let her tongue slide into his mouth, unpracticed and hardly as sure and bold as she wanted, she moved. It might be too much. But she'd rather risk that than pass up the opportunity. Without breaking the kiss, she slipped over the console with all the grace her gymnastics' training offered. She settled with a leg on either side of his, still kissing him as she straddled him.

Just a few more moments, she promised herself. Then she'd stop. Before she did more than make his head spin. She had to focus. Had to remember what she was capable of doing. And she'd stop. In just a little longer.

For someone who hadn't exactly done a lot of kissing, Rogue sure was good at it. At least, as far as Scott was concerned, anyway. He'd learned to recognize the difference between her power putting a strain on his body and his own euphoric lightheadedness, and this was definitely a case of the latter, at least for the moment.

His tongue deftly swirled around hers, his hands instinctively moving to caress along her shoulders and back as she settled onto his lap. All the while, he steeled himself against the draining sensation that tended to slowly build up while they did kiss, hoping against hope that sheer willpower would be enough to keep the two of them from having to break apart any time soon.

OF course, that didn't stop the flow of memories, thoughts, and desires. Every nerve in his body stood on edge for her, his heart pounding with a dizzying mix of emotions. Anxiety, both for the battle ahead and the uncharted territory they were plowing straight ahead into. Excitement and relief, to finally share this moment with her. Concern, that he might cross some boundary he shouldn't.

But most of all, it was love. Love and admiration. For someone who didn't consider herself heroic in any sense of the word, she sure had done a good job of showing him what being a real hero was all about. She was the bravest, most selfless person he knew, affiliations with Magneto or Mystique be damned.

She deserved so much more than having to limit her physical contact, to have to worry about whether simple displays of affection might put her partner in a coma or worse.

It took a few moments for the familiar numbness to start to creep in. Compared to how long they had usually been able to maintain it, the kiss had lasted far longer than it had any right to. And aware that keeping it uninterrupted any longer would be pushing his luck, Scott reluctantly pulled back, his eyes still closed.

He wanted to see her face so much in that very moment, without the red hues from his glasses or his visor painting her a different color than she should be. He wanted to see the redness on her cheeks, the fluttering of her eyelashes, the way her chest rose and fell with every heavy breath...

And yet, he was also loathe to stay away from too long. His hands continued to roam along her back, taking advantage of every inch of fabric she was wearing to feel each curve, plane, and contour. His breathing was slow and heavy, the air hot with a desire he'd never really given himself the chance to feel before.

"...You doing alright?" he managed to ask, hopefully making it clear that he had every intention of kissing her again, and not after waiting for an hour this time.

"God," Rogue muttered, almost panting. Her heart was pounding and her hands were trembling. Which wasn't to say she wasn't pleased. Oh, no. She was grinning wide. Concern and fear could be pushed away right now. Because what she held onto were the feelings of excitement, relief, and love. She focused on them. It was all she could do, what she needed right now. There'd be plenty of time to worry and plan later. For now, she could cling to this. "Scott."

Her mind was trying to catch up. To process the powers and thoughts and feelings flooding through her -- both her own and his. All she wanted was to kiss him again. Keep kissing him and not ever let go. Just to keep him close. To keep this private world, just the two of them.

"Scott--"

She put two of her gloved fingers against his lips. There'd be no waiting an hour. She couldn't stand that herself. But she could tell from her own sensations that if she didn't force a little bit of time to process, she might knock him out. And that? Was a kind of awkward she didn't want to deal with just yet.

But she couldn't just keep still. She had to do something. Because she felt like she was going to crawl out of her skin if she tried to just do nothing for a few moments. Her head ducks. Her lips pass not against his neck, as much as she'd like to do that, but against his shoulder, pressing kisses to the fabric. Her free hand -- two fingers on the other staying against his lips -- went up. They pressed under his ear and trailed down his neck. She could have laughed at herself, probably would later, but it was what she could think to do. Ways to offer contact despite the limitations present.

She might have put some thought into this. Just maybe.

She wasn't the only one who'd put thought into it. In fact, he'd had similar ideas himself. She just happened to beat him to the punch this time.

The light touches, the ones he couldn't predict because of his tightly shut eyes, sent shivers down his spine, and his lips parted slightly for a breathless, almost silent sound of pleasure to escape. The fingers of one hand curled into the fabric of her shirt by reflex, gripping it, while the other moved down to clasp on her hip. It wasn't a particularly gentle touch, but it wasn't rough, either. It was somewhere in the middle, a hungry gesture that let her know that everything she was doing was completely fine by him.

But what was really driving him crazy was the way she murmured out his name. He was pretty certain he'd never get sick of that.

He wasn't quite sure what struck him to do so -- perhaps an urge to try something new -- but he closed his teeth gently around the very tips of her two gloved fingers. It was a light nibble, a hint at what he fully intended to do with her neck as soon as she gave him the opportunity.

This was all as new to him as it was to her. But of all the urges he was feeling, some of which he was barely managing to restrain, none of them were the urge to laugh.

Rogue's eyes went wide, and she let out a quiet gasp at the feel of those teeth. It wasn't at all a pained sound, no. It was as delighted as it was surprised, and she shifted with the hold on her hip, pressing into him. These were new waters, and she didn't care. She was happy to dive in. For now. Hesitation would come later, inexperience lending itself to uncertainty. But for now? She felt bold, felt like nothing in the world could touch either of them.

In response, she put her other hand on the back of his neck and dragged it forward. This time, though, there was some pressure. Enough to let her press her fingernails against the thin fabric of her gloves. Nothing that would leave a mark, especially not with the gloves, but a good indication as to how much she appreciated that feeling.

"I love you."

The whispered words were usually sweet and gentle. Affirmation of the quiet moments and strong emotions bestowed upon her by his kiss. This time, though, they came out hoarse and lower than they usually did. There was a heat and push behind them. And she followed them with the withdrawal of her fingers -- only to replace them with her lips, pressed hard to his.

It wasn't a question. It wasn't searching for something. It wasn't cautious.

It was just a teenage girl kissing her boyfriend for all she was worth.

It was interesting, in a way, how his mind's eye seemed to fill in all the details for him. He couldn't be certain of her every facial expression and subtle movement, of course, but there was no way he was going to open his eyes and check. His glasses were within arms' reach, anyway, safely stowed away where they wouldn't get crunched up by an errant limb. For now, he wanted as few things separating them as possible.

He had been just about to respond to her when she pressed her lips to his, and he let out a soft, muffled gasp of surprise before almost immediately kissing her back with every bit of passion he could muster. The hint of her fingernails raking along the back of his neck made his shoulders hunch upward and twitch ticklishly, and though she had little way of knowing, his eyes rolled backward in his head.

Once he recovered, his teeth found her lower lip, gently closing around it just as they had around her fingertips, and he began to nibble lovingly. It could only last for a short moment, of course... but by keeping the contact relatively short, it felt like -- to Scott, anyway -- they could just keep initiating it over and over again, so long as they had a few seconds to collect themselves.

When he did release her lip, giving it one last, gentle tug, he finally answered, as if she wouldn't have been able to pick it up from his every conscious thought and desire:

"I love you too."

His voice is low and raspy, as if something were caught in his throat. But perhaps the most telling sign of his desire is the way his hands slip toward her sides, wandering along her as if she were clay and he were molding her.

Not that she needed to be molded, of course. He wouldn't change a damn thing.

If they kept the contact light, Rogue found herself thinking, they might just be able to get away with more of it. Or maybe that was partly the fault of hormones and adrenaline giving them more energy, more she could, essentially, feed off until either of them really noticed the shift. Whatever it was? She liked it. She welcomed it. It made her feel almost normal. Gave her something akin to real physical intimacy.

Which was why one of her hands moved to rest over one of his. She led it down, to her hip, then back up. This time, though, it was over the bottom layer of her clothes. The crop-top, rather than the loose, sheer shirt she wore over it. Without him wearing some sort of gloves too, it was the most they could manage, but it was one less layer of fabric, and she was sure she could feel the heat radiating from his hand.

"Scott," she murmured again. It was the only word she could say. Or breathe. Or pant. She could hardly see, herself. So she just closed her eyes.

Her hand moved, pressing against his chest and dragging her fingers down his shirt. She felt the skin under the fabric, especially when she got near his stomach, examining the muscles there in her own way. He was strong, built like a runner. An athlete, really, just not a jock like the assholes at Bayville. Firm muscles, trim from training.

Next time, he was bringing gloves of his own. There were far too many places his hands wanted to roam that they couldn't necessarily go, at least not without at least one layer of fabric getting in the way. Not that the gloves wouldn't have had a similar problem, but at least she could feel everything he was doing that way.

That being said, his hand was eager to explore beneath her shirt, even daring to brush against curves not yet explored... but often appreciated, if he was being honest with himself.

There was still a modicum of restraint to his actions, as if he was worried he might vault over some line she wasn't ready to cross. But that restraint wasn't to be confused for tentativeness... in fact, he was being downright bold, especially when she gave him a little bit of encouragement. Each new touch was light at first, but when it became clear she was enjoying it, it grew more confident, more full of intent.

As for her own touches... well, they were making his cheeks tingle and his breath quicken, that much was for sure. Even through his shirt, her hand threatened to make him melt. He found himself leaning into it just ever so slightly, encouraging her to touch him however she wanted.

It was amazing what such a simple sensation could do.

"Yes?" he murmured softly against her lips in response. He knew she was just saying his name, of course, and not trying to get any sort of coherent thought out... but it was fun to tease her, just a little bit.

His other hand moved into her hair, close to her scalp but not quite touching it, and he leaned in to almost kiss the nape of her neck. Instead of his lips or his teeth making contact with her smooth, tantalizing skin, though, she would feel his heated breath raking across the surface, perhaps even along the rim of her ear.

He could only hold back for so long, of course. In fact, after a few, short seconds, he was already making good on his silent promise to lavish her neck with attention, leaving a series of fleeting love bites and teasing kisses along her skin. The contact was too brief with each ministration for her power to do much, so long as he didn't linger to long.

But he wasn't just keeping it light and fleeting to keep her power from draining him empty. It was also because he wanted to see just how crazy he could drive her, to see how much more intensely she would call out his name.

"Don'--" The word was dripping with a deep Southern accent, a lot thicker than she usually spoke in. She couldn't manage the bite in her words she'd like or the raised eyebrow to show that he wasn't nearly as funny as he thought he was. But the way she breathed the words was probably a good indication she wasn't insulted; just trying to kind of tease him back. "--be a jackass."

Her attempts to keep her language clean (which had never been an issue with the Brotherhood or Acolytes but came with trying her best to follow the house rules of the Institute) were thrown out the window. For this? She wasn't going to worry about swearing. She could hardly form words in her own mind; she wasn't going to stuggle to amend her choice in them.

She thought the same thing as him long before his lips and teeth began peppering her neck: he needed gloves. Not the utility-based gloves of his uniform, no. She knew exactly what to get him and where to buy them. Thin, silk gloves. They were impractical for basically anything else, but they'd do wonders here. She'd buy herself a pair, too. Though at least the cloth gloves her wore as basic clothing were pretty soft to the touch by now, thoroughly broken in.

As he put her through amazing torture, she let her hand slip down and under his shirt. Then, it made its way up, feeling the definition of the muscles there. Across his abs, up to the pecs, over, then down his side. Her other hand went behind his head, threading in his hair. But that provided too great a temptation to try and coax him to do more against her neck. Which could result in a dangerous combintion. So, she moved her hand.

Down it went -- across his neck, over his shirt... and it came to rest at his waist, two fingers hooking in the belt loop.

For the time being -- perhaps out of a playful bit of spite for his remark -- she'd stopped saying his name. But that didn't keep the heavy breaths at bay or stop the quiet groans that every touch and nip and kiss seemed determined to pull from her. She'd get hers though, see just how much he could take before he was the one saying her name.

Which brought something to mind.

"Anna," she muttered in his ear, dragging her gloved nails against his bare side.

Anna. That was a name he'd be committing to memory, that much was for sure. Rogue had always been a bit guarded, which had made the intimate details of her life that she shared with him even more valuable and meaningful. She'd always just gone by "Rogue," at least as far as any of the mutants were concerned. Codenames were efficient and conveyed a certain image... and she was always independent, a little rebellious, and more than a little mysterious. "Rogue" had fit.

He shivered and twitched as her hand moved down his bare skin, his breath hitching in his throat and preventing the wonderfully tortured moan from fully escaping his lips. His hips unconsciously rolled upward, his body desperate for as much bodily contact as they could muster,

The heady, dizzy feeling he was experiencing was unlike anything he'd ever felt before. But it had absolutely nothing to do with her powers. No, it was a desire he couldn't even put into words.

"Anna," he managed to murmur breathily against the rim of her ear before his teeth found her earlobe and tugged lightly, just a couple of times before he resorted to almost kissing her neck again. It felt nice to say... not that everything else wasn't already feeling plenty nice.

With what little concentration he could muster, he willed his hand beneath her shirt to slide down along her stomach, over taut muscles, before letting it venture back upward. His fingers traced the curves of her breast much more boldly, careful not to venture beyond the edge of the fabric... at least, not for more than a second.

It was as if many months' worth of pent-up tension and desire were being released all at once, with only what was left of his self-control and restraint to temper it.

Annamarie Adler was a twelve-year-old girl in Mississippi. That was how she'd always thought of it. That girl wasn't her. Their lives were completely different, changed the moment her powers had manifested. Irene had called her 'Rogue' for... a long time, and she'd never known why. It had become a nickname. And, when she ran away, a name unto itself. Even at school, she'd been Rogue. There were stranger names in the world.

But for the first time in a long time, she actually felt like Anna. Like the girl who'd snuck out to enjoy cheap beer in a graveyard or drive the sheriff's son's motorcycle off-road. The tomboy-punk-goth Southern girl who found ways to have fun despite her skin condition.

Straddling a boy in his car, being kissed and touched by him? She felt like that girl again. Normal. Sure, there was no escaping what she was and what she could do, but she could put it aside for a little while. And it felt good. Good to do it and great to hear him say her name. It had been over a year since anyone had called her that.

"Scott," she groaned. Her throat felt parched, but it was a welcome feeling. Raw and hungry. Years of training herself for denial meant this sensation rose like a flood at being proven wrong. "God." She let go of his belt loop and put that hand back behind his head, twisting it just a bit in his hair to tug back and free her neck. She waited only a second before dropping her head to kiss him again with one word muttered before she did it. "Scott."

And when his hips rolled up, she shifted down to meet the movement. Her breath hitched in her throat, and her head swam. She couldn't help the groan that left her, straight into his mouth.

Scott had it easy compared to her, and he knew it. Seeing everything in shades of red was nothing compared to not being able to touch anyone. Yet he understood, at least to an extent, how frustrating it must have been for her to have to look from afar awhile everyone around her could find a happiness she'd never know. He knew that if he had to deal with something like that, if he had a shot at even a brief moment, he would cling to whatever happiness he could find, to experience as much as he could while he had the chance.

He fully intended on making sure she had the same opportunity.

His lips almost immediately parted, and this time, it was his tongue that slid outward, its tip hungrily tracing along her bottom lip. The hand beneath her shirt caressed and fondled, a soft moan leaving his throat in response to hers.

His other hand moved down along her lower back, taking a moment to appreciate the well-toned muscles there, before slipping a bit lower, his fingers tucking themselves into the back pocket of her jeans. His heart was beating so quickly that, if her power didn't knock him out, his own excitement very well might finish the job.

He pulled back from the kiss, just ever so slightly, to catch his breath and buy them some more time. His eyelashes fluttered a bit, not enough for his eyes to open, but enough that she could tell he was having one hell of a head rush.

But it wasn't from her power, at least as far as he could tell.

"You can tell me to stop," he assured her, worried that he might be getting too handsy for her comfort zone. This was all very sudden, after all... they'd never pushed this far, nor this fast. "If you need me to."

The Real World - for quitethecharmer

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I really wish there was a picture of these two kissing right now!

That would come in handy, wouldn't it? SOME OF US WANT TO DO THINGS WITH NON CANON SHIPS

Exactly. This would be one of those times they would come in handy.

So in handy. Damn rare-pairs.

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