Temptress
By: drabble-monger
A/N: Woot, my turn. I've freakin' adored Kyro since I watched X3 the second time (the first time was for understanding plot and taking in Xavier's death. D:), so here's a little contribution.
Monger: ...THAT ISN'T A DRABBLE!
Drabble: Yeah! -smmiiilllleee- But uh, I've had this idea for a while and I needed it DOWN. :D
Monger: ...but...but...ITS NOT A DRABBLE! TT
Drabble: ...
Monger: ...
Drabble: Enjoy!
xxx
Flick. Shwick.
There was broken granite, stone, the metal of rails and the steel of structure, bits of sand, dust, shards of glass, all askew, everywhere. There were overturned cars, craters in the street, piles of obliterated brick and tile, the remnants of a concrete jungle, a city falling to shambles. There were people, screaming, crying, surviving, dying, running amuck, dodging fatal falling debris, praying and relinquishing all their hopes in a God, a faith that probably wouldn't save them in the end anyway.
This was the end.
And there was fire. Dark, acrid smoke floating, filling lungs with atmospheric poison, turning the already dark sky into a fallen, all-encompassing shadow. The flames were searing, melting metals liquid and burning away skin and flesh, but every lick of heat shot electricity into his system; every nerve ending was jolted awake by touches of inferno.
It was here, in the midst of destruction, his eyes alit by an adrenaline high unlike any other, that he belonged.
Flick. Shwick.
Then there were the heroes.
Dressed in matching black leather, courage and fear writing paradoxes on their expressions. They fought valiantly almost, for tooth and nail and for a cause that he would never understand. They died valiantly too, falling upon the decrepit streets of a used-to-be city, outnumbered to the point of objective hopelessness.
Stupid fucking martyrs.
Flick. Shwick.
The X-men did not fit in here, just as they hadn't at Alcatraz.
Most of them were children scraping through the masses, still indecisive in their moves, and still unconvinced that their abilities could very well spell the difference between life and death. He could imagine their fears; first, the shock in finding Danger Room training was nothing in comparison to this; then, the initial dread in realizing that they could die tonight. There would be a brief shake of loyalties, then a moment of self-imposed chastising, before they would finally call upon their cause. They would remember their lessons at the Institution, proper ethics, moral conduct, summon whatever hypocritical bullshit they could, in order to find enough drive to move forward.
Humans were good. Even when they had you and the rest of mutant-kind at gunpoint.
Flick. Shwick.
"John!"
Then there was her.
She too was gussied up in that ridiculous suit, hair pinned in a familiar up-swept fashion, bangs falling into wide, brown eyes. There was soot and grime and sweat on her usually clean face, bruises on her jaw, and blood on her cheek, ciphers of war marking her usually clean aura.
At first glance, it would seem she hadn't changed much in the past three years. Her hands still appeared fineboned, even encased in bulky velcrow, and she was still so short, looking especially small amidst the chaos. But there was something in her expression that was heartbreakingly determined, that looked as if she had grown too much in too short time.
"John." She said again, so softly that if he hadn't been unconsciously straining to hear her voice, he wouldn't have caught it. Her eyes were glassy and--
She was beautiful.
Flick. Shwick.
Prettier in black and blue, was his afterthought.
Then, he was wondering why the hell he had responded to that fucking Homo Sapien name in the first place.
"It's Pyro." He muttered coolly, forcing his demeanor to straighten, aiming to intimidate.
She too stiffened, face hardening, stony, seeming almost reproachful of the fact she'd ever called out to him in the first place.
"No, it's dickhead." She bit the insult with no obvious qualms, her hands fisted and back straight. But there was always weakness in her eyes. They made her easy to read, brought her emotions out in the open. He remembered telling her that she'd never survive in the battle field because her eyes always rendered her vulnerable.
And she was hurting. They hadn't seen each other in three entire years and she'd been hoping this impossible hope and he'd become this monster and she was hurting.
He refused to acknowledge that he'd responded to her voice, not his name.
Flick. Schwick.
So he did what he always did in the face of another's desolation.
He laughed.
"Ouch." He tossed her an un-offended, sarcastic look, "Finally ready to play with the big kids, Kitten?"
Flick. Shwick.
A fireball appeared in his open fist, ready to be launched at whatever needed an immediate dose of third degree burn--
Surprisingly, she charged first.
She was quick, much more agile than the clumsy Kitty Pryde he'd known at the Institute all those years ago. He sneered, pelting her with a barrage of fire balls, some, she dodged, others, she phased through. If any had grazed her, she didn't let it show.
When she came within feet of him, he grimaced, his heart in his throat. He stepped back and pushed his arms out, callused hands goring at embers and propelling a steady stream of fire in her direction. Before the flames could even lick her skin, she ducked, hell bent on reaching him as she slid across the cracked ground. He felt her dainty hands grasp around his ankles, and he turned down, horrified as the once sturdy earth melted into nothing beneath his feet. Slowly, she phased him in, up to where his elbows were trapped in solid ground. She rose like a ghost and stood there, huffing, dark orbs boring into him.
It was only then he realized he was rooted and she could kill him on the spot--
Instead, she fell to her knees with a fatigued sigh, her body a broken heap as she settled upon the heels of her boots. They met eyes and brown clashed with hazel clashed with dejected girl clashed with bitter boy clashed with an unjust world.
She slapped him.
"You...asshole." She muttered, voice tight as if something had lodged itself in her esophagus. "Do you know...how many people died because of you?"
He chuckled, voice caustic and harsh. "Are you kidding me? I'm hopelessly fucking immobile as of right now and you have the power to wrench out my beating heart." Something flickered in her expression, and he easily evaded the subconscious thought that it had to do with 'heart'. "And the best you can do is a smack and a lecture?"
There was no bite in her glare. "...Too many."
Scoffing, he decided to ignore the sickening righteousness in her expression. An escape topping his list of priorities, he worked with a pocket of space near his open palm and figured if he could get the fire to the right temperature, he'd be able to melt the ground into something he'd be able to wriggle out of.
"You don't care?" She asked, this sudden sharpness in her voice. "You seriously don't care?"
He looked at her, smirking, "I can at least say this with honesty, Kitten. No."
"You! You fucking jerk!" She yelled, nails scrunching the front of his shirt. "You murderer! You're supposed to care!" Her eyes were wet again, glistening with the fire's reflection.
Fuck. She was so beautiful.
He found he couldn't look at her for long.
"You--You're supposed to care, jerk--" She said again, hissing the insult even when her voice was straining with hurt. "If you care, then you can--"
She rubbed quickly at the moisture in her eyes, "...come back."
He stared at her, "What?" It was not the kind of 'what' that signified he hadn't heard her; it was the 'what' of unadulterated disbelief.
When she looked up at him again, the only remnants of her weakness lay within the pink in her cheeks. "Come back." She repeated, demeanor more resolute than ever.
His breath hitched a little in surprise, but any irregularity was quickly squashed by his indifferent front. "The hell? Have you finally lost your mind, Kitty?" The concrete was finally warming he realized, his hand attaining a wider range of movement. "I'm your enemy. Leave me here to die now."
Her brows furrowed irritated, "You always think like that!"
"Because that's how things work."
Damn it. He needed out now, because her closeness was making him realize a newfound claustrophobia.
"Stupid excuse." She responded, tone distinct. She leaned a little into him, "Do you really think you belong with the Brotherhood?"
He gaped at her, taken aback at first, then furious. Of course.
"Yes." He seethed, indignation further feeding his energies. Finally, his fingers could almost touch the open air.
"What do they have to offer you, John? A metal cot? The chance to live off pillaged food?" She was burning with fury and resentment but then again, he reminded himself, this was Katherine Pryde; righteous little know-it-all who had always had an opinion about everything. He couldn't fathom why the fuck her words cut him deep, "Lessons on how to become a terrorist--"
His right hand tore out of the now soft ground and he threw a fire ball at her. Caught off guard, she gave a little cry, falling backwards in a last-ditch reflex. "Back off, Kitty."
Though the flame had missed her vital parts, it singed through her uniform's sleeve, darkening the pale skin there. She winced, grasping loosely at her wound. Kitty gazed up at him, eyes wide, and John found it almost amusing how surprised she was with the fact that he had blatantly attacked her. She then stood, her soft features swiftly turning narrow with anger.
And she continued.
"Even when we were at school," she breathed, pushing back the urge to cough. "You always played the part of whiny prick." She said, quickly dodging yet another charge of pure heat.
He growled roughly, "Shut up. Fight me."
"And you didn't even have the justification!" She yelled at him.
"Stop fucking talking like you know me--" His knuckles turned white with the sudden desire to throttle her.
"I do. Your childhood may not have been the greatest, John--" For a short moment, empathy took hold and diminished the sting in her eyes, "And the Institute may not have been perfect--" Her hands dropped to her sides, forming fists, "You really don't realize what you had going for you?"
His hazel eyes narrowed, loathe to where the conversation was going. "Shut up, Kitty. I will kill you--"
"You had real friends, no matter what the hell you say. Bobby and Rogue...they really looked out for you, you know?" She said, their names tender on her tongue. "You had potential mentors in all our teachers, potential idols. Everyone at the Institute was so willing to accept..."
His chest hurt, so he hurled a few more fire balls in an attempt to shut her up. "I don't care--"
She phased.
"You had a room and your own stuff. You had free lessons, free food. You had a home, John."
God damn it.
"You even had..." She hesitated. However, the expression on her countenance, the redness in her cheeks, clearly manifested the 'me' she wanted to utter.
She met his eyes, "Don't you realize how lucky you were? Don't you realize that I--"
"It...wasn't enough." He cut in, eyes hard and words intent to hurt. "All that shit you said right now? Friends or a home or whatever the hell you were ranting on about?" The frown was engraved, fixed on him, and he sneered because, try as he might, the circumstances were taking their toll; no matter how well he wreaked havoc, no matter how much he believed in the Brotherhood's cause, she made everything seem almost...irrelevant.
"They don't mean anything." She needed to shut up.
"Why would I give a damn about that? Who the fuck would care about fair livelihood when outside of the 'all-accepting' Xavier Institute, reality's a bitch; we're mistreated because we were born different, Kitty. Born superior, and the fucking Homo Sapiens can't deal." She needed to seal those pretty little lips of hers and run back to those prissy do-gooders.
And considering the pain between his ribs, caught in his throat, pounding in his ears, embedding this tightness in his lungs, he needed to get far away.
"It wasn't enough."
He looked into her eyes a final time, flashes of memories racing through his subconscious.
"Of course, I worry, John." She laughed, placing a chaste kiss on his closed lips, "I kinda like you."
"...You weren't enough."
She stared at him. As she clutched her wound, dirt and smoke marring her usually flawless skin, a backdrop of human eradication and oh god, fire, she looked like the survivor from hell.
His hand warming, he was determined to give her a first taste.
Pyro threw his arms out once more, fire erupting in a violent surge of kinetic energy. He allowed the flames to engulf her and didn't let up.
"All powers have some sort of setback, John." Kitty smiled, watching as he toyed with his lighter, "I can only phase as long as I can hold my breath!"
She walked towards him, the trek proving difficult as even in her phased form, the raw heat bit at her skin and alarmed her every nerve ending. A minute later, his stores of energy were exhausted and she was too. She collapsed a second time, and by clear reflex, he made to catch her. She was covered in soot and ash, the layered waves in her chocolate hair, disheveled and singed at the ends. She'd retained minor injuries, but it was the smoke in her lungs that made her body wrack with coughs and breathless spews. Noiseless tears spilled over the curves of her cheek, as she slipped into unconsciousness.
Fuck, she was too beautiful for her own good.
His defenses collapsed. He gave into temptation.
He kissed her.
And as he raised his head, slowly, prolonging the moment as best he could, he realized that tonight, their open-ended relationship had been officially closed; that once he left her, she would return to her world and he would return to his.
He couldn't help the irrational wish; that there could be a place where they both belonged.
-end-
xxx
Drabble: Yay! What a ride.
Monger: --; coughcoughCHEATERcoughcough, excuse me. You've CHEATED our code of drabble...monger-ing!
Drabble: ...
Monger: ...
Drabble: Uh, shut up. Review please!