The Warrior with No Name
By: The Odd Little Turtle Named Froggie
(Still don't own. Well, David's mine, but that really doesn't count. And I think it's really dumb that the X-men only have one jet with so many different teams. Of course I really haven't researched that statement as I've been out of the X-loop. Anyway, I gave 'em a helicopter. Why shouldn't they have one? Everyone needs one. Magneto stole two in the movies. And mine has Shi'ar technology. All Airwolf-y and Blue Thunder-ish. Woo! So much fun to blow up.
Aaaand I have no idea if Forge is still alive in the canon stuff, so I called it even by depowering him. heh. M-day was good for something after all. Serves him right for what his weapon did to Storm waaaay back anyway.
Thanks go to everyone who have been following. Extra cookies go to those who gave me some ideas! Also special thanks to Author376 who gave me a direction to take this.
Here's the kissing scene. Oo Hope it's enjoyable. Input welcomed and appreciated.)
#
Logan opened the hangar door. As it yawned open above him, he climbed into the cockpit of the Blackhawk, a specially modified Sikorsky UH-60 Black Hawk, flipping various switches. This Hawk was painted black had been modified with Shi'ar technology by Forge before he lost his powers to M-Day. It was undetectable on the radar. He brought the bird online and took her into the air, engaging stealth mode almost immediately.
Hold on, kid. I'm comin'.
#
Piotr was powerful. He held her small form tightly against him, like he could do anything and get away with it. Kitty was beyond angry. Just you wait, Rasputin. Leaning her head back, she peered up at his handsome face. His smile was wide, his teeth strikingly white against the pale pink of his lips. His blue eyes sparkled with an arrogant mirth that set Kitty's teeth on edge. She seethed with a fury the likes of which very few people had ever seen.
Piotr was laughing at her. Laughing! First the big buffoon knocked her on her ass while she was trying to teach his sister a few pointers, and then he had the audacity to hold her in a way that was not only erotic but effective in keeping her from moving. Her arms were pinned to her sides, her leg tucked against his side under one of his hard, thick arms. His other arm held her pressed against him in a most intimate way. A tight, sensual bear hug from the Bear King. She couldn't even jump and kick him in the vitals. And he was too damn tall to head butt.
"Can't move, little one. Da?" He looked worried. Should she get free—
Furious and never one to back down from a challenge, Kitty was determined to get free of him without using her powers. It would be oh, so simple to phase out of his grip. But where would the satisfaction be? Oh, no, Bear King, you're going down, she thought.
If the bathroom "incident"—it was not so much an accident, now—was any indication, she figured he would let her go when he realized exactly how he was holding her. Didn't he feel anything? Illyana had said that he had had girlfriends. And he'd been so reluctant to even be friends. Now he was holding her like he wanted to forego the friendship and join them together in a primal way. And he was laughing about it!
It was all fun and games until sex got involved. Then someone could lose an eye—or their heart. Well, she'd already lost her heart, please and thank you. Twice. Both were dead. Three strikes and you're out, she thought grimly. She narrowed her eyes and struggled against his possessive hold, bouncing slightly on her toes, getting perverse satisfaction when she ground herself against him and he sucked in air, pink tinting his cheeks. Kitty thought he would let her go now. When he did, she was going to kick him in the head. Hard. Yeah. Kick that blush right off his face. Kick him until he saw stars and begged for forgiveness.
Oh, yeah.
But he didn't let go. His grip tightened, and he became serious, no longer smug. Damn him for not looking as flustered as she felt. His breath ruffled her messy hair, fanned her face. The smoldering flame she saw in his eyes startled her. Those crystal-blue eyes lingered on her mouth and then traced a path up her face to her brown eyes. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. Taking a quick sharp breath, Kitty realized that Piotr was going to kiss her. God help her.
"No," she whispered, to answer his question, to warn him off, to keep her tears at bay. Any day but today. No. Please, no.
"I think the fight is over," Piotr said his voice a murmur of silken steel, his big square hand fisting the strands of hair that had fallen out of the bun at the back of her head.
She blinked up at him. She wasn't aware she'd wet her lips until his blue eyes zeroed in on her tongue with such longing. Yeah. He was going to kiss her all right. No one, not Doug Ramsey, not Wally the Worm, not even Pete Wisdom—the man for whom she had been willing to go to the ends of the earth, the man she would have married—had ever looked at her like Piotr was looking at her. Like he could see all her desires, all her fears, all of her. Like he could see her for who she was, who she had been, and who she would be. Like he wanted all of her—mind, body and soul. Like she was the most precious thing on earth. Like he would be there forever, if she let him.
It petrified her. The fury she felt fled and she was consumed with fear. Of this man, what he represented. Of her past, her losses. And then she really couldn't move then, even if she wanted to. She couldn't swallow the cold lump in her throat. All she could do was wait and watch. Watch as his head eased closer. Watch as his eyes drifted closed. Watch as his firm lips parted.
His mouth pressed against hers so softly that she knew if he kept it up she would lose control and weep like a baby, weep for all she'd lost and missed, weep for what she could have with this man. Didn't he know what she was going through? He let go of her leg, rubbed her back with both hands, massaging in circles. She wanted to melt. She wanted to cry. She didn't know what she wanted. It was just the gentle assault on her lips and the tender warmth of his hands as his lips feather-touched hers with tantalizing persuasion. She wanted him.
He pulled away slightly, not opening his eyes, and then pressed his lips more firmly to hers, nipped her bottom lip, sending a thrill of sensation through her. All she could think of was his lips and that they were both crazy. This was insane. They were supposed to be friends. He had acted like he didn't want to be anything more. She was supposed to be in mourning. She didn't want to be anything more. He knew…he knew and still he kissed her. Oh, God… she wasn't going to… going to… A tear trickled down her face. She was going to… She was crying.
She could kick him in the head now. She should kick him in the head now, just for making her cry. It would serve the jerk right. But she wouldn't, couldn't… not because of the all the tender kisses he was gently pressing to her lips, her cheek, her nose, the corner of her mouth, her chin, his feather kisses mixing with her tears. The world seemed to drop out from under her. It crashed around her shoulders and the only thing holding her up was Piotr's strong arms.
God, give me strength.
What was he thinking? What was she thinking?
"Prastite, Ekaterina," he said quietly, kissed her forehead. What did that mean? Like she was supposed to know what that meant. She wasn't Russian. Horror filled his face, blue eyes wide. He wiped tears from her face with the large calloused pad of his thumb. "Katya, I'm so sorry."
Kitty phased right through him, out of his grasp, through the bar and into the kitchen, grabbing Pete's candle as she went.
#
Piotr checked himself before kissing her very hard, like he wanted to. The wariness in her haunted eyes made him think twice, but still he kissed her. What was it about this woman who made him act stupidly, act insanely? This was not him. It couldn't be. His mouth glided over hers sending a shockwave of pure feeling through his body, straight down to his groin. He let go of her leg and massaged her back, pulling her as close to him as he could get. White Wolf. The feel of her. She was so soft, so wonderfully supple. With her breasts pressed against his ribs, his hands on her back, in her hair, he drew back and then kissed her a little firmer, a tender caress, mouth against mouth. If he were to believe in heaven, he knew in his heart that this was as close to it as it came on earth. He planted kisses on her nose, her lips, her chin, her wet cheek.
Wet? Tears. She was crying?
"I'm sorry, Ekaterina," he said as he kissed her brow. And opened his eyes when he realized he'd spoken in Russian and Kitty really did have tears in her eyes. She looked so lost. His heart caught in throat. What have I done? Mentally, he cursed himself in his native tongue and hers. In English he told her, "Katya, I'm so sorry." And meant it.
And then she was gone, walking right through him, taking her warmth with her. Surprised, he was greeted by a leering grin from Illyana. He felt his face grow hot with embarrassment. He'd never kissed any woman other than Anya in front of her before. Before she could give him any lip, he spun around and looked right into Kitty's haunted odd-colored eyes, gold and green reflecting in the overhead light. The fringe of her lashes cast shadows on her cheeks, made her eyes look hollow. She held one of the candles. He closed his eyes, his blush fading. She juggled the candle in her hands before striking a match and lighting all four candles. She said something in Hebrew, tears welling up in her eyes, flowing freely down her face now.
Piotr clasp his large hand on her shoulder. "Kitty, I—"
"I have to get ready. Don't wanna be late." She wiped at her tears, obviously embarrassed at showing such emotion in front of him. Then she smiled brightly at him, batting away his hand. "We need to work on your technique a little." And she flushed bright red, her eyes darting to the Cat's Laughing refrigerator magnet with a tiny picture of her and a woman with green hair. They were waving at the camera and standing in front of an Egyptian sphinx. "I mean, your Karate needs work. I was just taking it easy on you." She flushed more and then she was gone again, walking through the wall, disappearing from sight. Down the hall, her bedroom door closed.
"And I thought the Russian judge was supposed to be harsh," Illyana quipped with a wry grin.
A cold, congested expression took over his face as he leveled an angry glare at her. His baby sister's toothy grin only widened. "What? Your dismount was terrible!"
#
The drive to Paradise Garden in Kitty's Beetle was cramped. Piotr was practically breathing through his knees even with the seat all the way back and all the way to the floor, and Illyana was beginning to think that Kitty turned right corners purposely so that when the inertia forced Illyana's head to keep going, it would hit the low ceiling. Even the bumps—Illyana's head hit the black plastic with a solid thunk!
Piotr was quiet, wondering what to say to the woman sitting next to him besides asking her to slow down. She was driving like a bat out of hell. If they got into a wreck, his armored form would protect him, her wraith-like form would protect her, but nothing could protect Illyana. He cast a glance back at his sister who was rubbing her head irritably, having just hit her head again.
"D'ya think you could slow it down a bit?" she asked. "Your car keeps attacking me."
"Hm? Oh, sorry, kiddo." Kitty slowed down considerably.
When she finally found a place to park, Piotr was the first out of the car. He jogged around and helped Kitty out and then his sister who grumbled that he could have let her out on his side.
"With this traffic?" He shook his head, still regretting the decision to go to dinner at five o'clock. In New York City. What was he thinking?
Kitty. He'd been focused on Kitty. He was still focused on Kitty, and took her hand in his as they walked into the restaurant.
#
"Logan, are you sure?" Her voice sounded tinny in the headsets, not like herself at all.
Logan was pretty sure he was yelling. The headsets pretty much drowned out everything in the cockpit. "Would I be breakin' your self-imposed radio silence, Roro?"
"I suppose not."
"When can ya get here?"
"At the least eight hours, my friend."
Logan almost spit out his cigar. "Where the hell—?" Wasn't she supposed to be in Chicago?
"It is a long story. Twas one of Blindfold's final visions about the Lightchilde before M-Day. We thought it best to investigate."
Logan grumbled obscenities, and Ororo, the mutant weather-manipulating witch, the X-men leader of Alpha Squadron, laughed, clearly amused with the feral man.
"Get back when you can," he told her and reached over to turn the knob to the radio back to the weather.
It was at that moment that the back rotor of the Blackhawk came through the cockpit. Wolverine howled as the alarms went off sending up sparks from all directions and the nearest building seemed to reach out and claim him. The last thing that Logan knew was incredible pain. And then darkness.
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(Input welcomed. To be continued. I would like to announce that this is officially the longest story I have ever written. Someone be proud of me. Over 42 thousand words, not including author notes, if Word is to be believed. My other current, non-fanfiction, work is at 33 thousand--and I've been working on it for eight months. Go figure.)