The Peninsula

The Fiction and Poetry Archive of Liana Mir and scribblemyname

Charges

Mar
12
This entry is part 4 of 4 in the series Whispers

She should be afraid of him and what he can do.

With a cocky grin, he charges his cards and brings down his enemies in flashes of light. With a casual word, he charges a room with tension of one kind or another. He charges relationships, conversations, tempers.

He charges her.

With his skillful fingers, he sets her glowing and sparks in her stomach, her arms, her sides. The air grows hot with what’s going to be.

They won’t get the gloves off. They’re going to burn.

She should be afraid of him and what he can do.

She isn’t.

Touches

Mar
12
This entry is part 3 of 4 in the series Whispers

They seemed innocent at first.

Touching her on the shoulder to get her attention. Brushing past her in a crowded room. Making contact while training in the Danger Room. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

They progressed.

Tracing her contours before she even noticed his closeness. Brushing a kiss across her knuckles while whispering, “You’re belle.” Pulling back her hair into a ponytail for her before a training session. (How could anything in that room be innocent?)

She’d catch the brightening of crimson eyes and catch her breath in anticipation.

Touches turned to whispers. Whispers turned to touch.

Glances

Mar
12
This entry is part 2 of 4 in the series Whispers

It started with glances.

The first time Rogue saw Remy LeBeau, he was leaning on the banister staring at Kitty with a cocky smirk. His red eyes drank in the smaller girl, almost undressing her, but not quite so brazen.

Rogue had been uninterested, but Remy glanced at her and blinked in surprise before continuing his conversation.

Since then, whenever she walks into the same room with him, he glances over, then returns to what he was doing.

If he would stare, she could brush him off. If he would leer, she could ignore him. But he doesn’t.

He glances.