Archive of Our Own ^beta

The morning after a mission is slow. Everyone is stiff and sore and it usually takes until early afternoon for the team to make their way into the common rooms. 

Battery is thankful for these mornings after. His healing factor keeps him from feeling much of anything but the soft warmth, heavy in his chest, as his partners lay beside him. 

After missions, he is the one who wakes up first. He spends the first few moments of the day watching them sleep, their breathing steady. They are breathing, they are alive. They are alive and they are next to him and they are everything he could ever ask for, certainly more than he has ever—and will ever—deserve. 

Rogue is wrapped up in a blanket on his right, hair sprawled everywhere, her brunette curls covering the pillow. 

Remy is on his left, his face pressing into his shoulder. Battery can feel his breath on his bare skin, hot.

There is nowhere else he would rather be than here, he thinks, as Rogue rolls over, not yet awake but still aware enough to not touch him.

Her eyes open, green and half-lidded. Her eyelashes flutter lazily as she wakes, eyebrows furrowing together then smoothing out as she adjusts to the streams of sunlight filtering across Battery’s face. 

“Mornin’,” she slurs, sleepy. 

Battery smiles, his fangs pop over his bottom lip as his mouth curves. “Morning.” 

“What time is it?” she asks, moving her hair out of her face.

“Uh, I dunno,” he admits. He looks to his left, Remy’s hair tickling his chin as he reads the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. “Seven thirty.” 

Rogue groans softly. “I should probably get up.” 

“Probably,” Battery echos, feline eyes scanning her face, trying to remember every little detail before he has to be a functioning member of the world once again. 

Remy murmurs from beside him, pushing himself up instinctively before he sinks back down gently, nose first into Battery’s shoulder once more. 

“Hey you,” Battery greets, studying how the light bounces off of Remy’s eyes. His eyes draw everyone to him, like blood to sharks. His face is perfect, sharp jawline and a charming smile, but it’s his eyes that intrigues everyone.

Remy gazes up at him, then at Rogue. He presses a kiss to Battery’s shoulder, and it makes heat spread across Battery’s body, as if he had spent all day out in the sun. 

“Mornin’, mon cher,” Remy mumbles, groggy. His Adam’s apple bobs against the back of Battery’s shoulder. He reaches over and rubs the blanket covering Rogue’s arm. 

Battery yawns, blinking. “It’s way to late for me to be this tired.” 

“Same here,” Rogue says as she settles back down. 

“I don’t wanna go back to sleep. I just wanna stay here for a bit,” Battery says. He often explains what he wants to do, even if it doesn’t really matter. 

“You can,” Remy says, wrapping an arm around him, thumb lightly tracing the outlines of the side of his torso, then his pecs, then his abs. He doesn’t go near the hem of his boxers, just hovers over it for a second. 

“Will you two stay?” Battery questions, hopeful.  

“‘Course we will,” Rogue reassures. Battery knows that if she had her gloves on she would touch him. He doesn’t touch her, he knows she’s scared of hurting him. He isn’t scared of being hurt by her. 

“Good.” Battery’s smile grows wide with glee. He forgets to breathe for a few seconds. “Fuck. That’s great. Okay.” His voice comes out as breathy, his lungs trying to keep up with the beating of his heart against his ribs and the swirling of butterflies in his gut and the heat rushing across his body. 

Remy kisses his neck, Battery can feel him relaxing against his back.

 Battery is more than thankful the mornings after a mission.

He will never get sick of them, even after fifty mornings, even after a hundred mornings.