She didn't know how it had happened.
People used that excuse all the time: I have no idea how this happened. It translated to Don't Blame Me, capitals a must. Still, when she thought it, she meant it.
She wasn't sure how she'd gotten into the situation in the first place, much less how she'd lost all advantages or when exactly she'd given in completely. Just a moment ago, it seemed, she had been ready to face him down, ignoring his strange cruelty mixed with flirtation and prepping herself for the end. Now, pressed between his body and the wall, her hands held tightly above her head as his mouth moved over hers, the only emotion she could pinpoint was utter confusion.
How had he moved fast enough to pin her here? How had he managed to find a place on the broken, heaving wall that was clear enough for him to press her clean against it, their bodies so close she could feel his every inhalation? How had he gotten close enough to touch her so intimately, without her permission? And, most worrying of all, how had he kept her from phasing?
Kitty felt the brick against her back through the torn leather of her uniform. She felt the ground beneath her feet. She felt his hands, warm and strong holding her wrists. She felt his mouth, clever and dangerous and hot. Why was she still letting him kiss her? Was she kissing him back? Why the HELL was she kissing him back?
They'd been fighting. A battle. It was always a battle these days. And she'd been alone, separated, cut off from the group. From the line. And then there had been him, the enemy, the lost boy, the traitor. Standing so arrogantly, so nonchalantly bloody and covered with grime. The whole left side of his face was red, red that mixed with soot and dust and should have blinded him but instead left those blazing eyes clear and devilish, as she remembered.
There was even a split second, looking at him, when she actually worried. Residual feeling from when he'd been a schoolmate. Then, the worry vanished and was replaced with a sequence of fear, resolve and resignation.
"Hey, babe," he said through his partial mask of blood. "Got your claws out?"
"I don't want to fight you, Johnny," she offered. It wasn't something she did with every member of the opposition she came across, of course, but… she knew him. He'd slept in the room below hers. One time, he'd poured her coffee.
"Oh, really? Right, then. Back to bed, everyone," he said with a yawn that cut off in the middle. Suddenly, the light, amiable expression that had played on his face was gone, wiped away into a sneer. "Get real, Kitten. This isn't playtime. You sure you're ready to tussle with the big boys? 'Cause I can tell you, I'm gonna rip your cute little heart out."
"Then try it," she replied coldly. "You aren't the only one in a war."
"Ooh," he mocked, stepping forward. Prowling. "I'm so scared. Is tiny Kitty Pryde gonna scratch me up? I dunno if you've noticed, sweetheart, but I've already been up against some nasties. I really don't think you can present all that much of a problem." He wiped a hand down his face, bringing it away red and wet. In a gesture that was awful both because of its blatant threat and its sickening familiarity, he thrust the bloody hand towards her and wiggled the fingers like a schoolboy trying to gross out his crush with a hand covered in snail mucus. "Careful," he laughed, as she cringed involuntarily away. "I might infect you. I hear evilness is catching these days."
Kitty stiffened.
"Come on," she snapped, her patience gone. "Grow up. Or has being a lackey for Metalhead done nothing for your maturity? I'm not surprised."
"Oh, good one," he chuckled. She was a bit surprised by his lack of fury at her taunt. "Bet it took you a while to think that up."
"God, are you just gonna talk me to death? Come on and fight, already," Kitty hissed, bracing herself.
"Oh, I plan on it," he replied darkly, and there was something arching in his tone, some nameless threat that made her shudder. There was fire in his hand then, fire that bit and leapt like a live animal, tame or wild at his touch. Kitty went intangible, stalking towards him resolutely. He dodged her lunge, still playing with the flames.
"Bastard," she bit out as he sent a lick of fire to scorch her cheek before darting away again. He was playing, not with the flames, but with her.
"Kind of in the job description, darling."
"Stop calling me pet names!"
"I'll make you a deal," Pyro stated thoughtfully, easily sidestepping her. He had to leap backwards when she turned the punch into a kick, but that didn't stop his cool voice. "When you're dead, I'll stop calling you pet names. Don't worry; that won't be long." She got in a hit, phasing through his blocking arm and sending him reeling back, choking. He rallied, sending ropes of flame to twine around her. Kitty smelled burning flesh, and phased quickly through the fire. She caught him in the stomach, and then again in the head. He fell to his knees, but surprised her with a sudden agonizing heat to the back of her legs that sent her sprawling. The fire he'd maneuvered behind her crawled up to catch at the leather of her uniform, and she shrieked and beat at it instinctively before ghosting through the ground and coming up a few feet away. Pyro was on his feet again, looking just as smug as before he'd gone down.
"Fuck you," she snarled.
"If you insist," he said with gentility, the mocking smile on his dirty face a sharp contrast to his tone.
He took a step towards her, not sending his fire. Just walking. Slowly. Threateningly. Kitty backed up out of principle, not wanting to engage if she didn't have to. She'd already split his lip, drawn first blood. (The injuries he'd caused her didn't count. They cauterized instantly, leaving no blood.) Another step. She was against the wall. Another step.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"You'll find out," he said, not even seeming to consider the idea that she might phase through the wall and disappear. And, perhaps because of this, she didn't.
"Back off!" Suddenly, her hands were above her head, their chests were pressed together, his hard, lean body close against hers, and his bloody, deranged face leaning in. His eyes, so sharp, so fiery, so beautiful in their crimson mask, held some foreign feeling she could not define: lust? Fear? Anger?
And then-
So she really did not know how it had happened. When she'd lost all control. Now, though, with his mouth so hot and demanding on her own, she found that she no longer needed control. She needed his hands, one still wet with blood, to find their way beneath the top of her uniform. She needed his kiss to continue as they stood against that wall, the sound of explosions, sirens and screams all around. She needed his grip on her wrists to loosen so her hands could streak beneath his torn jacket and gray shirt, slip beneath the waistband of his jeans, trace the muscles of his wartime body and let him trace hers. She needed his tongue in her mouth, his blood a coppery metallic flavor mixed with smoke and cinnamon.
In a blur, her uniform trousers were undone, her legs bared, her hands free to hold his face close to hers and smear a small handprint in the blood on his cheek as he undid what had to be undone and moved what had to be moved and then- then- oh, then-
She cried out, and he caught her cry with his lips and pressed her more firmly against the wall. Kitty ran her hands through his hair, tangling them in the mussed, once-gelled strands. From beyond the wall, she heard shouts and the roar of flames followed by the earsplitting crack of one of Iceman's supports breaking in two.
They ignored it, their own cries mingling with the shrieks of the dying and the angry yells of those still alive and unwounded enough to fight.
When it was over, Kitty stared at him. She redid her pants and pulled down her top in silence as he did the same, tugging his jacket back on gingerly. His hair was a mess, sticking out everywhere. The blood on his face was mostly dry, a smeared print barely recognizable beneath his left eye. Above the eye, blood still dripped from the gash that had caused the rest.
She could not speak.
Voices were sounding behind the wall, coming closer. She froze, deer-like. Pyro glanced towards the sounds, then back at Kitty. She looked too. When she looked back, he was gone.
There was a light touch on the back of her neck from the shadows where the wall broke off, and a husky, dangerous voice whispered,
"See you around, Kitty Cat."
When Logan came around the corner, out of breath and wild, Kitty did not say a word. She followed him back to where they were regrouping for the next fight, her heart pounding in her ears.
"See you around, Kitty Cat."
Slowly, uncertainly, she smiled.