Title: Yellow Spandex (couldn't resist)
Fandom: X-men
Pairing: Pryde/Wisdom
Rating: PG-13/R (for mention of boobies)
Prompt: 013 Yellow
Summary: It's just fabric...
Set during Dream Nails, directly before the mission to Black Air.
It's just yellow fabric. On some level, Pete Wisdom knows this. He knows that it's simply some form of cording that's meant to give subtle highlight. And yet, he can't stop staring at the yellow bits that diverge all over Kitty Pryde's new costume.
Granted, he hadn't gotten too good a look at her old one. He'd only seen it in pictures. But he knew it was new because she'd said as much before they'd gotten on the plane. Something about not being quite used to it.
Pete hoped that she'd get used to it soon. Then, perhaps, she'd stop that fidgeting and he'd be able to focus on something other than the way that her twitching brought the fabric into a frame work around her breasts.
Pete Wisdom always has been, and always will be, a breast man. He likes breasts. In fact, he loves them. He's never apologized for this proclivity, and has generally found that, as far as his lovers are concerned, an apology for his enthusiasm on the subject is rarely required.
However, Pete is different from most of the blokes he knows in that, while they are fine with over-inflated, over-silliconed breasts of porn stars and strippers, Pete has never found them that attractive. Oh, he'll look all right. He's a bloke, after all. But, he never looks with intent to touch.
No, Pete prefers reality. Truth is generally better than fiction, and he's found this to be true with sex as well as most everything else. And Kitty Pryde happens to be in possession of one of the most truly perfect sets he's ever seen.
Never mind the fact that the rest of the costume does a brilliant job of displaying all of her various assets. Pete wonders what those lithe, dancers legs would look like when not encased in that traitorous spandex. Especially since, the other morning, his alarm had awakened him from a dream that featured those legs very prominently. And, they definitely hadn't been encased in anything at the time.
Oh. My. God. She's stretching now. Moving about the cockpit and twisting and turning, and suddenly, Pete Wisdom finds himself an avid supporter of dance instruction. Let all girls take dance classes so that they can learn to get their leg up in the air like that, by all means.
Finally, apparently content with her limberness, she moves to the cabin, saying something about a mask in her bag. Pete wishes he was paying attention. In fact, the moment she's passed into the cabin, he mentally shakes himself.
Pull it together, Wisdom! She's ten years younger than you and you're acting like a dirty old man. It won't do to have you killed during this mission because you're gawping at her. Just because you haven't been with a woman in-- Dear God, man. By all means, gawp away. Clearly you've been depr-- Shut up, brain!
She moves back into the cockpit then, mask in hand and straps herself back into the pilot's chair.
Pete is pleased to find his brain restored, more or less, to working order and they begin the final briefing. He's even able, to his pleasant surprise, to swtich into total mission mode and stop thinking about her as a woman, at all. Instead, his brain automatically drops her squarely into the partner category.
At least, until she mentions flashing any guards that they can't simply knock out the old fashioned way. But then, to be fair, it's her fault. She's started it, after all.