Title: Melt My Heart

Rating: FRT
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Just the idea.
Spoilers: None
Summary: One man froze my heart. Another helped melt it. Ryro. X2/X3 spoilers.

This is my first attempt at writing X Men, so please be gentle with any mistakes regarding powers.

They didn't know I was watching.

I saw him freeze the ice with one touch of the finger, like he's done so often with me.

I saw him take her hand as he pulled her along, then grab her around the waist as she almost falls.

I saw him bow his head as she lifted hers up and him not attempting to pull away.

I know why…

We've been dating for roughly a year and I've almost killed him a few times. We can't hold hands without a glove in-between. I can't feel the warmth of his touch. I can't even give him a real kiss without fear of sucking the life out of him.

Lack of physical contact makes it very difficult to have a relationship. Sure, the occasional peck on the lips or cheek doesn't hurt, but what good is that?

He wants to kiss me without putting his life in danger. He wants skin on skin contact, but I don't want to hurt him. I'm too dangerous, and he wants to be safe. He wants passion, and I can't give him that.

And she can.

But why am I making up excuses for him? He kissed another girl! I shouldn't understand his reasoning behind it. I shouldn't allow him to kiss whoever he likes, then at the end of the day, say that I'm his girlfriend.

Now as I start to think of the reasoning's behind it, my sadness, disappointment, and hurt gradually become clouded by anger.

As difficult as our relationship sometimes is, he still has no right to do what he's doing.

I tear my years from the scene in front of me when a single tear falls. I quickly wipe it away on my way down the hall. I refuse to cry over him. I'm stronger than this. I knew this would eventually come.

I pass the lounge where Bobby and I almost had our first kiss, the hidden passageway where we escaped Stryker's men, the hallway that Bobby, myself and John ran down not that long ago.

Ten minutes later I stop dead in my tracks, my eyes adjusting to the dimly lit hallway. Why did I come this way? Why did I stop at this door? Why am I here?

I don't have time to ponder it when my arm shoots up and I knock three times on the door in front of me.

After a few seconds, the door slowly opens to reveal a sleepy looking John. Dressed in a black wife beater and track pants, his look of irritation quickly changes to that of surprise.

He says my name in the form of a question. I don't answer because I really don't know why I'm here. I just stare blankly at his chest. Toned muscles that will gradually develop into chiseled pecs, and better than average biceps, but still greatly lacking when it comes to Logan.

He doesn't say anything more as he moves to the side and gestures me into his room. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I know I shouldn't go in, but my feet move on their own accord. Before I know it, I'm standing in the middle of a deathly black room with only the haunting moonlight and the flicker of an opening, closing, then re-opening lighter to light my surroundings.

It's one of his habits that I've come to rather enjoy. The frequency of the lighter opening and closing can create a rhythmical beat when opened at the right moment, and the flicker of red, orange, and blue flame I find oddly comforting. Each new combination of gas, air and tiny spark producing a new fiery goddess that sways back and forth to an unheard beat.

It takes me a few minutes to realize he's been staring at me. The light from the moon cast an eerie while highlight on the hardwood floor, half of his bed and the back of his head. The flicker of his lighter brings momentary elimination of his face. Shadows on his cheeks and eyes vanish into the darkness when he re-closes the little metal case.

His eyes have been locked on me for what seems like and eternity. He's waiting for me to explain why I'm visiting him. I don't often do, so there must be a purpose to this visit… Too bad I can't figure out what that is.

Not knowing what to say, I turn from him and head towards his window. I lean against the frame as I am bathed in a while silvery glow.

The chilly night air of March causes frost to form on the windows. It's funny…even in John's…Pyro's room, I can't escape Bobby…Iceman. I trace my fingers over the window, but fail to melt the ice on the other side of the glass. It's too thick.

Moments late my gloved hand is covered by another. John has risen from the bed and walked up behind me. I jump slightly at his touch, but I find my body reacting.

A tingle starts at my toes and works its way through my whole nerves system. My mouth opens slightly as my lungs search for the oxygen that they were robbed of by his touch. If he hadn't of been holding my hand, he would be able to see it shake.

I hear his even, deep breaths that swirl around my ear, then dance across my cheek and down my neck.

I should have left a while ago…actually, I shouldn't even be here. But I don't move.

He forms our hands so my index finger is against the frosty glass, and his is used as the guide.

Ever so slowly, he starts to move our hands. Like magic, the heat from his hand goes through mine and instantly melts the frost on the opposite side.

I can't feel his other hand bit I know it's in his pocket, gripping his lighter to allow its energy to course through him.

As the frost is melted, the trial that we've created gradually re-freezes, leaving a thin layer of freshly solidified ice.

Our hands go ever which way. Up. Down. Left. Right. Around in an arc. Erratic in a zigzag. Swirly in a loop.

I've never felt anything so strong before. Not even my own mutation. My body is flooded with heat. Even the finger against the glass pane feels like it's ablaze.

The heat is so blissfully overwhelming that I hardly notice him move until his chest is flush against my back. The rise and fall of his chest reminds me that I'm still alive, as I feel as if I've died and floating on a cloud.

He continues to guide my hand across the glass as if unseen markers are signaling his next move. The scenery of the school grounds have long become a blur as the trail lengthens and shapes begin to emerge. An eye…and eyebrow…part of a nose.

More moments pass as what were squiggles, now developed into a drawing. I'm too close to see what it is, yet I know it's a person.

The drawing is finished when he removes my hand and presses my entire palm to the glass. I barely notice the sharp coldness of the glass when his hand fully covers mine. Seconds later he pulls our hands away and holds them in the air roughly waist high.

His long forgotten right arm, with lighter in hand, snakes around my waist to join the other. Without realizing it, my breathing has become heavier…and I think his has too.

With one hand, he opens the lighter and the fiery goddess r-emerges.

The moments following, the most remarkable feeling I've ever felt engulfs me.

All the heat from my body rushes to my hand. It feels like it's going to light on fire…sure enough…it does.

A small flame erupts from my hand.

The glove on my hand has no evidence of being set aflame. You'd think the fire coming from my hand would be painful, yet I feel nothing, but pure adrenaline.

John moves our hands from side to side, back and forth. Widening our finger span and constricting it to manipulate the flame. Growing or shrinking it however he wants.

I'm mesmerized. Never have I seen such beauty. I've watched him numerous times play with fire, but to have it coming from my hand is breathtaking.

The sound of him inhaling from his nose buried in my hair distracts me for a moment…but only a moment.

He moves our joined hands to the side then towards us slightly when the flame encircles our wrists and dances up our arms.

Oddly enough, I'm not afraid. I'm actually more captivated by the tameness of the flame. Usually when one thinks of fire, they think anger and destruction. Never have I see it used to gently. John normally uses it for intimidation and vengeance, but beauty and delicacy are far from normal.

The flame swirls around our waists, travels down to our feet, then back up again. To the ends of our fingertips on the other hand, then retraces its path.

To my astonishment, the flame slithers around our necks. Involuntarily, my head leans back to rest on his shoulder as the small blaze tiptoes its way around our heads. Surfacing on the other side, it travels under my chin then back to the hand where it was birthed.

I remove my head from his shoulder, as he moves to stand in front o me. Our eyes lock for the first time tonight. Trust, sincerity and raw emotion are evident. I know mine mirror his.

Still with his hand guiding mine, he moves it to my chest. Gently he coils our fingers into a fist, extinguishing the flame. With one final push, our clenched hands are placed over my heart.

I don't know what my intentions were when I knocked on his door some time ago, but the reason why I came has completely slipped my mind. As has the frost on the glass, when he leans towards me. He sees my hesitation, and knows it's not because of my relationship with Bobby, but of my power.

He comforts me when he speaks the first words since I've entered his room.

Mere millimeters from my lips he gives a barley audible whisper.

"You won't hurt me."

The kiss is short as both he and I know my strength.

As short as it is, it is the most powerful kiss I' have ever experienced.

Short, but sweet. New, and inviting. Tempered, yet hungry.

A sigh escapes my lips as we part.

A cautious smirk lines his lips as a shy grin forms on mine.

Removing our joined hands from over my heart, he leads me to his bed.

He gestures for me to lie down. My mind doesn't wonder if I should or not, when I do as asked.

Within seconds I feel him climb in behind me, pulling the blankets over us.

He makes no attempt to do anything more as he's exhausted from controlling his power so delicately.

Moments pass as his breaths become deep and shallow with slumber. I soon allow sleep to overtake me.

I completely forget about the drawing we've done on the window pane. I wonder what it was.

As the pair slept, a March rain washed a melted ice drawing away.

Only John knew that the subject of the drawing was lying beside him.

The End

Author's Note: Again, this is my first attempt at writing X Men, so please be gentle with any mistakes regarding powers.