Author: Meesh
Disclaimer: Not mines.
Summary: not thinking can be a good thing.
A / N: eh, minor edit.
There are many nights when Jean and Rogue can't sleep. Nights when it's too hot or too cold, or the nightmares are too much to handle. Before they were awkward, tossing uncertain glances at each other, fumbling around the kitchen. But that changed. Now it's just Jean and Rogue and two cups of whatever is suitable enough to drink.
Sometimes they talk. Rogue always listens when Jean speaks. Watching Jean speak alone fascinates Rogue. She watches the way her hands gesture, her lips move, she listens to every word. Rogue thinks every word Jean uses is perfect. Not just in context, but the way they sound coming from Jean. The words fit differently in her mouth, they're textured and familiar, they come alive. Rogue is convinced that the English language was made for Jean and Jean only. And though people everywhere may use it, butchered and bent, only one person is able to truly speak it.
Sometimes they don't talk. They sit there, shoulder to shoulder, silent. Rogue will stare out at the small strip of sky, peering over the bushes that grow around the building, and wonder. Jean's body so close to hers, she begins to wonder what it'd be like to touch her. What Jean would feel like. What she would taste like. Rogue would wonder what it'd be like, hovering over Jean, tracing every turn on her body. Imagine how her muscles would move beneath her skin. How Jean's breathing would hitch when Rogue slipped a hand underneath her clothes, traveling along her hip. Rogue wonders how her name would sound spilling out of Jean's mouth. If she'd say the name she's had to take. The name that came like a curse...with a curse. If Jean could take that name and smooth it out. Make it more than just a name but a creation that would only belong to Jean. Or If she'd say the name Rogue's mother gave her. Say it in such a way that Rogue knows her mother would pale at the notion. She'd glance over, Jean sipping from her cup, unaware. Rogue sits there and wonders and watches the stars gleaming, winking at her.
Sometimes that is the last thing Rogue can think about. Instead, they are simpler thoughts. Where Jean used to live. If she had a pet. What was its name. If she used to take the bus to school. They're little things that Rogue wants to know because sometimes, those are the important things. What kind of gifts she'd prefer for her birthday or for Christmas. If Jean used to think Santa was real. If she used to stay up at night and wait for him to come. What her favorite movie is. If maybe one day, she can rent it and they can watch it together. Jean could shush her and tell her which parts to watch. But really she'll just sit there, smile, and watch the shimmer of excitement in Jean's eyes. Rogue would look over and notice maybe a small scratch on her arm, a new robe she has on, or how her hair is put up. But Jean is always looking somewhere else.
But one night is different. One night Rogue is unsure and can't seem to keep still. She taps on the counter, shifts on her stool, moves her mug from one side of the table top to another. She stares at Jean and tries to think. Rogue wonders if Jean notices that she's staring. If Jean cares. What Jean thinks about when she is thinking about her. Would she even want to know.
Rogue wants to know if Jean knows how beautiful she thinks she is. But she's too afraid to tell her. Afraid because she is positive that the moment she says it, the dam will be broken and she'll tell her what else she thinks. And exactly how she feels. Rogue looks at Jean and sees everything she wants. She wants to have, wants to know, wants to be able to touch. Rogue wonders if that's what it's supposed to be. If that's what it's like to fall in love. And her train of thought is about to speed off, to wonder if this is real...but she can't. Rogue stops breathing because Jean is looking directly at her. She's smirking and Rogue thinks, it's not so unlikely. Soon their shoulders are touching, then their elbows, and Jean is leaning in at an angle. Hearts are beating and Rogue is pretty sure hers might just stop. Partly because she's still not breathing, mostly because Jean's lips are centimeters away from hers.
Perfectly shaped words fall out of Jean's mouth as she whispers, "Deep breath."
Rogue inhales sharply and Jean closes the gap. Slow and warm and dripping with honey and tea along her tongue. Then it's gone. It's gone when Jean manages to back away, leaving Rogue's mouth suddenly cold...naked. Her vision is blurred for a moment when she refocuses and sees Jean smiling at her.
Rogue keeps on staring and finally she smiles and says, "You know, I think you're beautiful."