Good Morning

Thirty-third Morning

Jay wakes up to the blaring of his alarm clock, but, even more pressingly, to Nya, still dead asleep with her cheek squished against his chest and her fingers curled around his thumb. Her spine and shoulders are rising and falling to the rhythm of his heartbeat. He lets out a small noise of contentment and with his free hand, paws blindly for the clock, smacking the top button with an audible click, plunging the room back into silence. He closes his eyes again and licks his lips, tasting sleep and the sweet tang of Nya.

There are so many things buzzing around his head, waking thoughts and leftover dreams and calculations and overanalysis and – and just love, and bliss, and there is no greater thrill than this. He is so ready to live a life full of thrills. He scratches his free hand up through his unkempt hair and with a tiny grunt, lifts his head, opening his bleary eyes just enough to see Nya.

Nya, his precious girl, sleeping on top of him, still dreaming. Her nose is wrinkled just barely, lips parted, and her hair all over the place. Jay lets his head flop back against the pillow with a little bounce. Careful not to disturb her, he squeezes her captured hand.

Jay has always loved lightning – loved the smell, the sound, the color, the heat, the speed, the beauty, the danger, the absurdity of it – but, Jay thinks, nuzzling the crown of Nya's head, pressing his lips briefly and affectionately to the black strands, he has never loved it as much as he does in this moment.

Nya is both liquid cool and fiery hot, with just the right amount of dangerous beauty of a lightning strike at sunset on a stormy night. She is electricity in his veins and sparks on his skin. As he drifts back into a comfortable, Nya-flavored sleep, he can only hope that he is, for her, what she is for him – he can only hope that he strikes both unexpectedly and with ethereal gorgeousness, over and over again. He can only hope that he is properly understood: Jay Walker is lightning, and, no matter how far he goes, the speed and the beauty and the warmth will follow.

Nya stirs against him, and Jay opens his eyes one more time, watching her lashes twitch and her nose wrinkle. She murmurs something incoherent against his collarbone in her unconsciousness, then squeezes his thumb again. Jay grins, hugging her tight.

"Is it time to get up?" she whispers as she lets go of his hand and stretches against him.

Jay shakes his head. "Not yet. Go back to sleep, sweetheart. You deserve it after kicking my ass last night at Fist2Face Infinity Arena. Again. And all twenty-six times prior to that. But, y'know. It was the principle of the thing; I can only let a lady win so many times before—whoa, hey, there, what are you doing, that tickles, I – ha ha, Nya, seriously, st – quiiit it, I, hehe, haha, Nyaaa, quit it, quit iiiiit—"

Nya straddles his stomach and tickles him relentlessly. Between her senseless peals of sleepy laughter and his, between the lightning in his heart and on his skin, Jay couldn't ask for anything else.

"Are you suggesting that you let me win so I would sleep with you out of pity?"

"That sounds like too clever of a plan, even for me. Besides, I'm not that pathetic- hey- that tickles!"

Jay sits bolt upright and tackles Nya back against the mattress, his fingers dancing merciless patterns across her ribs. Her forehead knocks against his nose. She squeals in his ear, squirming against him and pushing against his chest, a million words on her breath that Jay hungrily eats up, like a starved lightning bug gorging himself on the nectar of her voice.

Yes— Jay thinks as his alarm clock starts blaring again, and as he rolls over and pummels it with a pillow, and as he turns back to Nya, grinning and flushed and gorgeous— lightning is exactly what Jay Walker is. And, he muses as Nya wrestles him down against the sheets, and as their noses bump together, and as she pushes her breath past his teeth and down his throat, and as his heart fizzes with ecstasy and adoration, and as Nya, his precious girl, his liquid cool and fiery hot strikes him over and over again, lightning follows speed and beauty and warmth wherever it goes. And so, Jay thinks as he opens himself up to the kiss, as he tastes sleep and Nya and lightning on his tongue, he will follow Nya, wherever she may strike, over and over and over again.

Her kisses feel like liquid heat, like fireworks, like thunderstorms, like he just struck a live wire and felt it course through him and electrify every cell in his body.

Nya breaks the kiss and nips his bottom lip, and, through his blood, the shock of it still lingers.

"Come on," she murmurs, "If we don't get up now, the Kai will start plotting your death."

Jay grins and steals a few more quick pecks. His nose is against hers, her hands are squeezing his, making his blood fizz with the spark of her, promising lightning in his veins. Jay has never felt more alive.

"I have a feeling I could take him," Jay says, his voice vibrating against her lips.

Nya snorts and gives him a little push, rolling him off of her. "We'll see about that. Now, c'mon, let's go."

He gets to his feet but before she can walk away, he pulls her in, his hands firm on her waist, and kisses her. And it is, in its own way, a perfect storm, because as his tongue brushes her teeth, and as her fingers squeeze the back of his neck, and as his heart trips over itself, the lightning strikes and strikes and strikes, making Jay wonder if it's possible to die of bliss.

She pushes him away after a minute, laughing, and he is so in love.

"You're a mess," she comments, tugging her hair into a ponytail, her voice warm with affection.

Jay just shrugs and kisses her one more time, because he can.

"And proud," he says, and, as she rolls her eyes, he feels another strike of lightning jump starting his heart.

It's a good morning. A very good morning.

It's the first day of the rest of his life, with the most beautiful and incredible and perfect and fierce and amazing girl in the universe, and Jay is, well, he is pretty sure that lightning has never followed speed and beauty and warmth better than it does today.

Nya looks at him. Her eyebrow is quirked and her expression expectant, making his heart leaps into his throat. He is, in fact, lightning, and it follows his every whim and fancy.

He takes her hand, a dopey smile spreading across his face. He figures he must look like a fool but he just can't bring himself to care. He leads her downstairs, where the others are waiting, where the future is waiting, where the new day is waiting to start.

And, well, as he's already stated, and as Nya is more than proof enough, Jay has always been lightning. It's only fitting that he, and it, and his life should be electric.

Jay Walker is lightning, and, no matter how far he goes, the speed and the beauty and the warmth will follow.

Jay squeezes Nya's hand and his heart skips a beat.

He couldn't have it any other way.