[The victory of being right is so short lived that she barely blinks and he’s calmly disarming her, which is something she’s decided he’s far too effective at for his own good. Or rather, for her own sanity. His words shut her right the hell up, her lips parting briefly only to close shortly thereafter. Again, his directness with his feelings throws her completely off balance, but it’s also comforting. He’s also comforting. There’s no doubt or lie in his words or in anything from the bond. And if she’s being honest with herself, she’s happy when she’s with him too. He has a grounding energy to him, and he’s been nothing but good to her, which is probably why she keeps expecting the other shoe to drop. Or, in this case, she’s over here whacking at a tree trying to force that proverbial shoe to show itself.
Mixed metaphors aside, Rogue’s so used to constant interpersonal and professional drama that this sort of direct communication and steadiness seems almost suspicious. Unlike Cobb, the younger woman had fully expected to just continue existing without any specific labels and just cross bridges as they came to obstacles. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the pleasant arrangement they quickly developed once they’d returned to the ship.
Usually her mutation’s more than enough to keep interested parties at emotional arm’s length, but that seems to have failed her miserably here. Even her admitting that she’s a damn mess in this department doesn’t seem to budge him.
When he speaks again, she’s not sure what she expects exactly, but it’s not a story about his ex. She knows him well enough at this stage to understand there’s a reason for this particular story, something he wanted to emphasize and for her to know. So, Rogue provides him the same attention and respect he did her and quietly listens.
The thought of navigating a romantic relationship in such a complicated situation hits far too close to home. She shouldn’t, but the mutant can’t help but think of Remy and how she leaned into her mutation as a reason they couldn’t be together. Except when push came to shove and she (briefly) had control of her powers, she still backed away from that commitment. It’s something to consider in more depth later, but it puts this situation in better perspective.
Rogue can’t even imagine the trust issues that Issa might have had growing up an exotic, female slave, and yet she trusted Cobb. The mention of having that freedom releases tension she’s not aware she’d been holding, though she’s still not certain how she feels about him with others, especially when the smallest slip can shove her into a first person seat of those memories. She’d never be able to escape them then.
Thankfully, the warmth and sureness of his hand around hers plucks her from that spiral of thoughts before it can grow damaging and take root, and she watches him press it to his chest, feeling the warmth of him. A warmth washes over her as her chest tightens. She doesn’t know if he intends this to be a romantic gesture, but it resonates deeply as one, even when he starts speaking about sleeping with others.
Through the reality of their situation, his words and the sentiment behind them strikes home. Her fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, wanting nothing more than to react emotionally and pull him into a deep kiss. She doesn’t do that, nor does she reach to touch his face with her free bare hand even though she craves the contact.]
Even when ah’m a mess, drivin’ you up a wall? [Her voice betrays her emotion regardless of her efforts, and while she attempts to make that question have a bit of light tease, it’s far weightier with truth, that she’s a mess compared to him.] Because that’s liable to happen again.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2021-03-18 06:50 am (UTC)Mixed metaphors aside, Rogue’s so used to constant interpersonal and professional drama that this sort of direct communication and steadiness seems almost suspicious. Unlike Cobb, the younger woman had fully expected to just continue existing without any specific labels and just cross bridges as they came to obstacles. She hadn’t wanted to ruin the pleasant arrangement they quickly developed once they’d returned to the ship.
Usually her mutation’s more than enough to keep interested parties at emotional arm’s length, but that seems to have failed her miserably here. Even her admitting that she’s a damn mess in this department doesn’t seem to budge him.
When he speaks again, she’s not sure what she expects exactly, but it’s not a story about his ex. She knows him well enough at this stage to understand there’s a reason for this particular story, something he wanted to emphasize and for her to know. So, Rogue provides him the same attention and respect he did her and quietly listens.
The thought of navigating a romantic relationship in such a complicated situation hits far too close to home. She shouldn’t, but the mutant can’t help but think of Remy and how she leaned into her mutation as a reason they couldn’t be together. Except when push came to shove and she (briefly) had control of her powers, she still backed away from that commitment. It’s something to consider in more depth later, but it puts this situation in better perspective.
Rogue can’t even imagine the trust issues that Issa might have had growing up an exotic, female slave, and yet she trusted Cobb. The mention of having that freedom releases tension she’s not aware she’d been holding, though she’s still not certain how she feels about him with others, especially when the smallest slip can shove her into a first person seat of those memories. She’d never be able to escape them then.
Thankfully, the warmth and sureness of his hand around hers plucks her from that spiral of thoughts before it can grow damaging and take root, and she watches him press it to his chest, feeling the warmth of him. A warmth washes over her as her chest tightens. She doesn’t know if he intends this to be a romantic gesture, but it resonates deeply as one, even when he starts speaking about sleeping with others.
Through the reality of their situation, his words and the sentiment behind them strikes home. Her fingers grip the fabric of his shirt, tugging him closer, wanting nothing more than to react emotionally and pull him into a deep kiss. She doesn’t do that, nor does she reach to touch his face with her free bare hand even though she craves the contact.]
Even when ah’m a mess, drivin’ you up a wall? [Her voice betrays her emotion regardless of her efforts, and while she attempts to make that question have a bit of light tease, it’s far weightier with truth, that she’s a mess compared to him.] Because that’s liable to happen again.