Kazoo is a sadist of the worst kind. Kazoo doesn't own X Men or John Mayer or anything that belongs to John Mayer or any mercy. I, by extension, am the same, save for sadistic tendencies and mercy: I am not, and it depends.

Young and full of running
tell me where is that taking me
just a great figure eight
or a tiny infinite

He's always felt the need to move. The restlessness of youth or the human motivation to see what's over there. Never content with the here. Perhaps adventure and being somewhere else than here is a compelling force. Whatever it is, he never fails to feel its pull at some point and never ignores it.

But where does it get him? Great fun on that heist, adrenaline pumped highs, the satisfaction of a job well done and being awesome. The carnal desires of being with a woman, the pleasure of a well-turned card winning him the game, fast rides that get him farther to somewhere else. Just not here.

So where does it get him? Well, where it got him was a New York dock one day. Not long after that, England, New York again, Tibet, then his old stomping grounds. All coming full circle.

He hadn't been alone on this little adventure. The girl, Rogue, had been with him. She had a compelling force all her own, pulled at him. Drew him into her center of gravity and took him under. A fascinating experience. Yet in truth, he knew little of her.

Her stand-offish mask to get people to back off; she didn't want to hurt anyone. She blasted death-metal music whenever she pleased; every last one of Billie Holiday's albums was on her ipod. Walking in high heels was an impossibility. She played guitar. She hated vanilla ice cream with a passion; mint chocolate chip was her favorite. She loved the music of Brooke Fraser. She thought the Twilight series was hilarious. She didn't think she was beautiful, a puzzle at its own. She could take down three Assassins on her own without breaking a sweat…

Always surprising him with the little things.

Little things about her that made him want to find out more. Little things that made him wonder. Little things that pulled him to his old stomping grounds, New York. It was an old adventure, but incomplete in his mind. Because in the same location, there are different daring escapades to be ventured.

And loving Rogue would be his greatest feat yet. Especially when she seemed to have every intention of fighting his affections, tooth and nail. When she seemed to hate him at times, cursing and yelling. Empty threats and idle words, all. She'd never really hurt him, because she lied.

But his girl was afraid of great undertakings such as this, despite the irony. Among all of the many other things, he'd have to teach her to live a little. It was okay to get crazy now and again. It was acceptable to push the limits. It was fun to steal a kiss.

It was a little painful, but fun. Thrilling. And she'd yell idle threats and turned red once he was conscious again. He couldn't help but smile, living dangerously on the edge of excitement as he was now.

Love…what a wonderful bit of a dream he'd found. Sleeping and waking to it each day. How wonderfully contenting.

Getting to her, making her finally see it. There is no comprehension of the trials he'd had to go through to get to such a point. Never had he had the guarantee that she'd love him back. Never had he felt such terror.

Never had he felt such pleasure from any woman's touch more than hearing those words spill from her lips. He wondered if she realized she was never getting rid of him now. She seemed to think so at times, seemed to think her powers were an issue. Not for him.

For her, yes. Touch. Or rather, the lack thereof. That had been her main slogan to push him away. He'll get bored without it, so he might as well go somewhere else. Which confused the living daylights out of him.

Had she never met herself before? Bored? With her? His girl had such a sense of humor.

Love is not sex neither does it define it. Therefore, he can love her without having sex. Yes, it'd be nice - it would be incredible - but it's certainly not a necessity to any relationship. Leastwise, theirs.

They'd had hours and hours of this same conversation. Over and over and over. Again and again and once more.

While he was not a virgin, he finds nothing wrong with the idea of waiting until marriage to do the things man and wife should do. His girl was traditional, a ring for each finger but her left ring finger. She wanted to wait. If she woke up one morning, touchable and willing, he'd marry her on the spot. He might do it tomorrow anyway.

Stony silences come after harsh words and leave him exhausted. Removing his clothes for sleep is too much of a task. Walking all the way to the bed, unthinkable. Collapsing on the floor seems much more appealing.

And then he doesn't know how, but he finds himself walking through her door. It seems natural to sink onto the edge of her bed and wait for her permission.

He never knows if she lets him stay because of pity, or she feels the same he does. The same need to be with the other. The same at ease upon the realization.

For now, for tonight, they won't say a word. They never do at the beginning of the end of fights, too many to remember at this point. The risk of discovery is a good thrill as he lies with her in her bed. Yet the feel of her in his arms, her scent around him, makes his inside burn with wanting. And Lord, they're not even doing anything.

Sex isn't everything, true. But this woman is addictive. It's a struggle to calm himself, his breathing, ignore the silent screaming, saying

'I have to have you now'.

For now, he'd have her this way. In his heart, down to his soul. And if this is the only way he can have her, it is enough. Until the day he dies, as long as she has love for him, it's enough.

Some who knew him before in passing would think he's given up on his grand quests for anything other than here, to search out the more. On the contrary. The man's in love. That's the greatest adventure of them all.

A/N: This is not a work through the block fics. This is an actual attempt. One shot. Done. Complete. Not continuing so no need to alert to the one shot. 'Cause it's over.

Songfic set to John Mayer's Edge of Desire

As you can see, I went with the almost, sorta 'eh, it'll do' ideal type of love rather than the painful, angst, 'I hate you I want you kill yourself and kill me too' love. These two have enough of that.