Rating: R for slashy overtones and a few naughty words.
Notes: Thanks to people at #KJCorner for encouragement, especially Crantz for just being Crantz and Sash for giving me evil ideas. And extrathanks to Thren for the beta. Feedback would be loved and worshipped at cosmic1982@hotmail.com
I still dreamed of her. Brown curls and hazel eyes. Her touch on my skin,
her sparkling laughter, her soft lips pressed against mine. Her smile and
the tears glistening in her bright eyes.
I missed her, but I no longer yearned. I knew where I stood, no longer
looking back in anger. No anger, nor rage, just regret. It hurt. It hurt to
breathe without her, but I no longer needed her. I had found another way to
save my soul. She was no longer my salvation, my sanctuary. The woman I
loved, yes, but I no longer yearned for.
I had a cause now, a reason beyond her to get up in the morning. I had a
dream, though it wasn't quite the same as hers. I had him now.
Him, the man curled up to my side, snuggled under three blankets. God, he
was gorgeous. With that hair, that face, that body. He could charm anyone he
wanted, but he chose me. Or I chose him. We chose each other in our
desperate need to find somebody to take away the cold. His cold was solid, a
phantom pain of something that happened to him. I never asked what, I just
gave him the extra blankets he asked for, to stop his shivering, to chase
away the cold.
Mine, that was something that had happened to me, as well; her breaking my
heart. Her and many other reasons that made my blood run cold again. I had
become the fucking bastard I was before I had met her, after she had left.
He made me change, this time. And I thought the change he caused would stay,
whether or not he left me; whether or not I left him.
It wasn't love that we felt. Not yet, at least, but maybe...sooner, later.
If we stayed together.
With us, it was passion, need and comfort. And to chase the cold that
threatened to swallow us whole and bury us in its great hollowness. We just
needed somebody to hold on to in the dead of night. In the world we lived
in, comfort was enough. Enough to chase some of the demons away at least for
a while. At least for now.
I sighed. I needed a smoke. And something to drink, something with enough
venom to make me forget all about my dreams of her. Those fucking dreams I
didn't bloody well need right now. This was enough, his warm body pressed
into mine. It was enough.
I looked at him, finally asleep. Long lashes, black hair framing his head
like a halo. A dark angel. My angel. When he would open his eyes of steel
and ice, there'd be despair again. There always was. Haunting pain that
never stopped. That was one of the reasons I was with, *could* be with him.
I had the same despair as he did. His eyes were like a mirror to mine.
I threw my arm over his body, protectively. This was the only time I could
be protective of him, to keep him safe from the evils of the world. I needed
that. When he slept I guarded over him and his dreams, holding him if he
cried.
He did the same for me, when he thought I wasn't looking, when he thought I
wasn't awake. He tucked me in tighter with those extra blankets, mumbling
soothing things if I tossed and turned. He was my guardian angel from the
early hours of the morning till the wee hours when we both should have been
sleeping.
I loved him in the hours before dawn broke. When the sun came up it always
meant the end of my love, with the golden rays lighting up our lives, as we
untangled and woke up, to face the day. And face each other.
I hated mornings. The desolate gloom of a new day or worse: sunlight,
cascading in waves, making my hangover too much to bear. Groaning at the
cheery rays of sun, I dug deeper to his chest. I didn't have to wake up yet.
I didn't have to, I didn't want to. Waking up meant facing the world, facing
my sorry excuse of a life and more than anything, facing him.
He still slept, oblivious to my peril. Glancing at the alarm, I grumbled.
Not even bloody nine o'clock. What could I do? Get up and make breakfast or
ignore the grumbling in my stomach or nestle closer to him, enjoying his
warmth and forget all about everything. For but a few minutes - hours, days,
it made no difference - more.
I could stay here till the end of time. I could, but I wouldn't. Life would
go on whether I – we – wanted it or not. Things would change, people would
change. He'd eventually run off with some bimbo from S.H.I.E.L.D. like they
all did. But for now, I would stay. It had nothing to do with the funny
feeling in the pit of my stomach. The feeling that simply wasn't there.
I closed my eyes, hoping not to dream.
He wanted me to leave. He never said the words, but he did. That I figured
out from the cold looks he gave me when he thought I didn't notice. He
wanted me gone.
I was another hindrance in his life now. It was almost back on track. The
kids from X-Force had called, he hadn't said why, but he smiled a lot more
now. He had found a new purpose for living, a new dream to chase.
I was a thing, an obligation, holding him back, so I would go. I loved him,
but for him I would go. If you love someone you have to let them go no
matter how much it hurt. And he... I loved him, but he wasn't mine to keep.
He never was mine to begin with.
He didn't have his heart invested in this, not yet at least. He wanted me,
he needed me, but he didn't, couldn't, wouldn't, love me. Not now, not ever.
Some of the wounds in his heart were too severe to ever heal completely. I
didn't think he was capable of loving anyone else again.
Coming from me, that's a laugh. A riot. I had loved many people in my life
but just four came to mind now. Genevieve, Belladonna and Rogue. All
beautiful and all got hurt because of me.
And the fourth, now, who could that be? The beautiful stranger that never
opened his heart to me. That beautiful stranger who was as much a stranger
to me as I was to him. And as he was to himself. He was a good man, but he
couldn't feel.
I held back a strained sob. I was losing my mind. I wasn't supposed to feel.
Not after Rogue, not after everything.
I sighed, easing myself out of his embrace, cringing at the cold without
him. I hated the cold, but that was my destiny. The cold, the loneliness.
Looking at him, I pressed my lips to his. “Sleep well, Pete. Dream of happy
things,” I whispered to his ear, hearing his mumbled reply. I smoothed back
shiny black hair, losing hope.
I still dreamed. Now I dreamed of him. Shaggy auburn hair, twinkling
red-on-black eyes. Always unshaven but still so gorgeous. He smelled of
cigarettes and liqueur, of musk and raw vanilla from his cologne and of his
own smell. Just him. No girl with chestnut curls. Just him. I missed him.
The man I never quite loved but still yearned for.
He made my heart bleed again. Worse than she ever did, because he *knew*. He
knew I wanted him. He knew I needed him. He knew what I felt for him.
But he knew.
He knew I still wished it wasn't his arms around me but hers. He heard me
whisper her name in my sleep. He heard me. That's what his note said when I
woke up to find him gone one morning. When I woke up in a cold bed without
him.