fic: Pryde & Wisdom: Destiny Can be so Hard, so Kick it in the Balls, PG13/R
disclaimer: not mine
rating: er, Rish? sexual situations, language, but nothing explicit
pairing: Kitty Pryde/Pete Wisdom
set: semi-current canon, not long after the Wisdom LS.
length: barely 1000 (I was trying for a drabble...)
notes: for ladielazarus. All mistakes are my own. For those eying the title and going "wut", I loathe titles.
Destiny Can be so Hard, so Kick it in the Balls
by ALC Punk!
Pete's mouth tastes like whiskey.
Not a surprise, she caught him two-thirds of the way through a bottle. Shoved at him until she could lean down. Kitty thinks he might be more surprised than she is, and she's pretty damned certain she should not be here.
But she is, and he isn't pushing her away. He makes a sound low in his throat and his fingers close on her hips, digging in. It's something she remembers, from before, and she instinctively shifts closer, almost straddling his legs for a moment before the awkward angle causes them to knock the chair over.
Pete goes down, dragging her with him and her forehead collides with his nose.
She's laughing before they land, the sound odd in the cluttered apartment. Another sound from Wisdom and his hands drag at her shoulders, then catch at the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his.
This kiss is desperate, demanding, dragging her down and under with the sense that she won't ever make it back to the surface.
Kitty's not sure she wants to, as she shoves upwards, away from him, so her hands can yank her shirt over her head. She's not thinking anymore, and she should be. Having sex with her ex is a pointless exercise in self-destruction. Except that he needs it--
After his phone call, after the things he'd confessed to her, she couldn't help but think he needed to see her, in person. Sex hadn't come into it, but that doesn't matter now. Not when his hands slide up her sides, re-learning her curves and she gasps at the spark that flares deep.
She thinks, as he pulls her back down, mouth trailing hot down her shoulder to her breasts that maybe she needs it, too.
This isn't about just him. Her fingers drag at his hair, and she kisses him again, fierce and angry.
He keeps calling, keeps interrupting her world. And for what? So she can be his best friend and listen to him catalogue his lovers?
Pete's hands slide her pants off her hips, and then he pauses, panting and gasping, pulling his mouth free. "Kit--?"
Rolling off of him, she stands, suddenly uncertain--not that he wants her, because she could feel him half-hard against her belly two seconds ago. But about what she's doing, why she's doing it.
Climbing to his feet with the aid of the downed chair, Pete isn't exactly steady as he faces her, his eyes curiously blank. "Why?" Almost as though he doesn't want to know. As though any answer she can give will destroy some inner peace he'd achieved.
A laugh tears free of her throat and she turns to pick up the whiskey bottle, studying its depths for a moment before looking back at him, "I'm better company than this."
"I don't want your pity." The words are torn almost unwillingly from him.
Kitty laughs, and this time it's an ugly sound, "Like you give a shit where it comes from?"
The shot goes wide, and he shakes his head, then looks away. "Only with you."
Damn. Her hand tightens on the bottle and she downs a shot without thinking, coughing as it burns its way down to her stomach. Her fingers are shaking as she sets it back down and turns to look for her shirt, "I should go then."
It's like an algebra problem. She gave it all the variables she thought it needed, and it's still come out wrong. This had been a mistake. Even kissing him was a mistake. She isn't eighteen anymore, but he can still twist her up and wreck her peace of mind. If she let him. A rueful grin crosses her lips as she scoops up her shirt, pulling it on quickly.
Physics was easier.
Kitty's at the door, hand reaching for the knob when he stops her. "Fuck. Pryde."
"Don't--" she turns and looks at him, meeting his eyes. "Don't make this into something it isn't."
"And what is it?"
Like he wants the truth.
It would help if Kitty knew the truth. She swallows and shakes her head, "I don't know. But it's not just friendship, and I'm not here to fuck you out of pity. I--"
She's the one who looks away, the reality crashing into her. There's been too much change and loss recently. Jean Grey, the mess with the Twelve, Excalibur before that (the real Excalibur, not the farce Xavier threw together for shits and giggles), University and falling to Earth forever and ever.
His hand is on her arm, the only point of connection between them and she can almost feel how good it would be to step back into him, to taste the whiskey on his mouth again and strip them both naked until she can't think of anything but the feel of him against her.
Kitty wonders if he can feel it, too. The pull that dragged them together in the first place, the way they rubbed each other the wrong way from the first. She almost laughs again, remembering offering to stub his cigarette out on him. Once upon a time, she'd loathed the smell and taste of tobacco. Now, she finds herself smelling it and remembering him--not always sex, sometimes it's the little things, like leaning against each other in the window seat on Muir, or laughing as they run down a block to catch last call at The Crown.
"We all need to connect to someone, Wisdom," she murmurs and meets his eyes again. She wonders where the hell she got that bit of shit. From the back of a box of Cracker Jacks?
A breath comes out, too harsh, and Kitty's not sure which of them moves first.
There aren't words to fix things, but they can touch. His hands slide up under her shirt, almost reverent until she makes an impatient sound and turns them, slamming him up against the door.
"Always loved ninjas--"
It's the last thing either of them says for a very long time.
-f
rating: er, Rish? sexual situations, language, but nothing explicit
pairing: Kitty Pryde/Pete Wisdom
set: semi-current canon, not long after the Wisdom LS.
length: barely 1000 (I was trying for a drabble...)
notes: for ladielazarus. All mistakes are my own. For those eying the title and going "wut", I loathe titles.
Destiny Can be so Hard, so Kick it in the Balls
by ALC Punk!
Pete's mouth tastes like whiskey.
Not a surprise, she caught him two-thirds of the way through a bottle. Shoved at him until she could lean down. Kitty thinks he might be more surprised than she is, and she's pretty damned certain she should not be here.
But she is, and he isn't pushing her away. He makes a sound low in his throat and his fingers close on her hips, digging in. It's something she remembers, from before, and she instinctively shifts closer, almost straddling his legs for a moment before the awkward angle causes them to knock the chair over.
Pete goes down, dragging her with him and her forehead collides with his nose.
She's laughing before they land, the sound odd in the cluttered apartment. Another sound from Wisdom and his hands drag at her shoulders, then catch at the back of her head, pulling her mouth to his.
This kiss is desperate, demanding, dragging her down and under with the sense that she won't ever make it back to the surface.
Kitty's not sure she wants to, as she shoves upwards, away from him, so her hands can yank her shirt over her head. She's not thinking anymore, and she should be. Having sex with her ex is a pointless exercise in self-destruction. Except that he needs it--
After his phone call, after the things he'd confessed to her, she couldn't help but think he needed to see her, in person. Sex hadn't come into it, but that doesn't matter now. Not when his hands slide up her sides, re-learning her curves and she gasps at the spark that flares deep.
She thinks, as he pulls her back down, mouth trailing hot down her shoulder to her breasts that maybe she needs it, too.
This isn't about just him. Her fingers drag at his hair, and she kisses him again, fierce and angry.
He keeps calling, keeps interrupting her world. And for what? So she can be his best friend and listen to him catalogue his lovers?
Pete's hands slide her pants off her hips, and then he pauses, panting and gasping, pulling his mouth free. "Kit--?"
Rolling off of him, she stands, suddenly uncertain--not that he wants her, because she could feel him half-hard against her belly two seconds ago. But about what she's doing, why she's doing it.
Climbing to his feet with the aid of the downed chair, Pete isn't exactly steady as he faces her, his eyes curiously blank. "Why?" Almost as though he doesn't want to know. As though any answer she can give will destroy some inner peace he'd achieved.
A laugh tears free of her throat and she turns to pick up the whiskey bottle, studying its depths for a moment before looking back at him, "I'm better company than this."
"I don't want your pity." The words are torn almost unwillingly from him.
Kitty laughs, and this time it's an ugly sound, "Like you give a shit where it comes from?"
The shot goes wide, and he shakes his head, then looks away. "Only with you."
Damn. Her hand tightens on the bottle and she downs a shot without thinking, coughing as it burns its way down to her stomach. Her fingers are shaking as she sets it back down and turns to look for her shirt, "I should go then."
It's like an algebra problem. She gave it all the variables she thought it needed, and it's still come out wrong. This had been a mistake. Even kissing him was a mistake. She isn't eighteen anymore, but he can still twist her up and wreck her peace of mind. If she let him. A rueful grin crosses her lips as she scoops up her shirt, pulling it on quickly.
Physics was easier.
Kitty's at the door, hand reaching for the knob when he stops her. "Fuck. Pryde."
"Don't--" she turns and looks at him, meeting his eyes. "Don't make this into something it isn't."
"And what is it?"
Like he wants the truth.
It would help if Kitty knew the truth. She swallows and shakes her head, "I don't know. But it's not just friendship, and I'm not here to fuck you out of pity. I--"
She's the one who looks away, the reality crashing into her. There's been too much change and loss recently. Jean Grey, the mess with the Twelve, Excalibur before that (the real Excalibur, not the farce Xavier threw together for shits and giggles), University and falling to Earth forever and ever.
His hand is on her arm, the only point of connection between them and she can almost feel how good it would be to step back into him, to taste the whiskey on his mouth again and strip them both naked until she can't think of anything but the feel of him against her.
Kitty wonders if he can feel it, too. The pull that dragged them together in the first place, the way they rubbed each other the wrong way from the first. She almost laughs again, remembering offering to stub his cigarette out on him. Once upon a time, she'd loathed the smell and taste of tobacco. Now, she finds herself smelling it and remembering him--not always sex, sometimes it's the little things, like leaning against each other in the window seat on Muir, or laughing as they run down a block to catch last call at The Crown.
"We all need to connect to someone, Wisdom," she murmurs and meets his eyes again. She wonders where the hell she got that bit of shit. From the back of a box of Cracker Jacks?
A breath comes out, too harsh, and Kitty's not sure which of them moves first.
There aren't words to fix things, but they can touch. His hands slide up under her shirt, almost reverent until she makes an impatient sound and turns them, slamming him up against the door.
"Always loved ninjas--"
It's the last thing either of them says for a very long time.
-f