Title: Reunion

Fandom: X-men

Pairings: Pryde/Wisdom

Rating: M—naughty bits, don’tchaknow

Summary: See Rating

Disclaimer: I don’t own them, but wouldn’t it be fun if I did?

She just appeared. As if he summoned her by thinking about her. She showed up on his doorstep—well, his office-step—sad and tired and he decided that all of his work that so despereately needed done before she showed up is suddenly not so important.

He is not sure how they ended up at the coffee shop, but they did and she’s telling him all about how she slowly began to put the pieces together and realized that her relationship was slowly going to fail until was nothing more than a sham. She’s almost crying as she recounts the break-up, and it’s everything he can do not to pat her hands and tell her that it’ll be okay. He doesn’t. He has to find out what she wants first. Why she’s really here.

It’s much, much later. They’ve been out all night by this point. She’s had about seven Jack and Cokes as far as he can figure and he’s stopped counting the shots of whiskey he’s slammed. They’re at some club. She said she wanted to go dancing. Something about catharsis. He decides that it might be cathartic to watch her dance, at that.

The music in the club is not his usual taste. Although he quickly decides that anything that leads her to do what she’s doing right now can’t be all bad.

She’s pulled him onto the dance floor and is dancing. He’s only seen her actually dance a handful of times and he’s not going to miss this, by God.

She is facing away from him right now but her ass, which looks fantastic in that skirt, is slowly grinding its way over his crotch. He cringes and groans, bringing his hands to hold her hips to him. He can feel his body, desperate for so long for some evidence that Pryde wasn’t simply a fantastic dream, respond a little faster than he would generally admit to. It doesn’t take much for him to ultimately decide that she is truly evil and is torturing him on purpose as she rotates in his arms, brushing her breasts up against his chest.

When she pivots again and undulates so slowly and sweetly to the music, Pete begins to wonder how much more of this he can actually take.

He finds that, after a while, he’s ended up pinning her to a wall. He vaguely remembers that it was her that dragged him to this corner about a song and a half ago, and when she loops her arms around his neck and starts kissing him, he really didn’t stop to question.

However, when her hand falls to his belt, he stops and pulls back a bit. He needs to know. Needs to hear her say it.

“Why?” His voice is hoarse from whiskey and passion and staying up entirely too late just dreaming about this exact scenerio, but then distrusting it when it was direcly in front of him. If he was any less of a spy, he could have just simply accepted that she was here and she wanted him. Damn his training.

“I need you, Pete. I can’t explain it, I just do.” Well why didn’t she just say so in the first bloody place? Growling, Pete pushes her back against the wall again and assaults her neck with teasing, biting kisses that have her gasping and, once again, tugging at his belt.

Not content to allow her to move so quickly when he’s gone so long with only memories of her and someone else’s willing body, he moves her hands away. Deftly and smoothly, he picks up one of her legs and wraps it around his hip, continuing to kiss her. Silently thanking whatever deity might possibly be watching him from above that she had altered her seemingly constant wardrobe, he darts his hand inside to gain access to her knickers.

His blindly groping, yet incredibly skilled, hand finds the incredibly damp fabric and barely gives her a moment to adjust before it slips inside. She drops her head back against the wall and gasps, crying out in a sound that would have drawn attention if they weren’t in such a noisy club.

He still remembers exactly what she likes and at what pace, and has her panting and grasping at his shoulders. He has to wonder how long it’s been for her because it doesn’t seem to take long before his teasing and purposeful fingers result in her tensing against him for a moment before going gloriously slack. He wants to kiss her, but he waits a minute until she looks him in the eyes.

Her eyes are dilated and her lips are completely swollen and her hair is a total mess. She looks fantastic. Like nothing he’s ever seen before just like it has been everytime.

He takes her hand, with sudden determination, and leads her to the restroom. It’s miraculously vacant, and he pulls her inside, locking the door behind them. He barely gets them both inside before he’s got her up against the door and has pulled her soaking knickers completely off and her hands are, once again, at his belt but he’s not stopping her this time. She unbuckles it and unzips him and has his trousers and pants down his legs and he’s inside her before he ever really realizes that he’s doing it.

Once he’s there they both freeze for a moment. They’re both completely aware of what’s just happened. There is no going back now. They’re completely invested now. They both come to the same silent, instantaneous realization that there is no way to pretend this didn’t happen. Not now. She leans forward and captures his mouth in a kiss that he feels all the way down to the soles of his feet.

He starts to move and she shivers with the intensity of the emotion. He sets a pace that’s a little faster than he would have liked had he thought about it beforehand, but she’s here after so long and he’s really not thinking about much at the moment except for the look that always comes across that magnificent face when she falls apart for him.

She’s moving, too. She’s pushing back against him with everything she’s got and she knows that she’s going to have bruises on her hips in the morning, but she realizes that she needs this and hasn’t had it in far too long and just can’t be bothered to care about anything else.

It seems to go on forever for them. The only breaks in the quiet are their gasps and grunts and sighs, and him whispering in her ear everything that he’s missed about this and about her for so long and she’s not getting away this time so he hopes she knows what she’s come back to, and before he knows it, she spasms around him and he knows that she’s so close. He leans forward and takes her earlobe in his teeth and that’s all it takes.

She actually screams when she comes and he has to brace himself against the door with a hand to keep from falling to the floor as that mere fact pushes him over the edge of his own orgasm. He simply stands there, pushing her to the door, shuddering with the force of what has just happened.

After a few minutes, he lets her go and her legs drop to the floor. He bends over to pick up her underwear, and she steps into them with grace that belies and shyness or awkardness she’s feeling.

He fears intensly for a moment that that may be it. He wonders if he can deal with going back to only seeing her in dreams and on PG rated video chat from the other side of the pond and he almost cries with the force of this fear. He can’t even bring himself to admit that it exists because it’s simply so terrifying that he suddenly wants to drink a lot more than he already has.

And then, something wonderful happens. She closes the distance between them and, fastening his belt for him, she kisses him. Then, she smiles and it’s all he can do not to cry for completely different reasons.

She takes his hand and pulls him from the bathroom and he knows they’re headed back to his flat. He vaguely thinks of the sleep he’s going to lose, and wonders how on Earth he’s going to convince his funding agencies that all MI-13 really needs is a hacker. An American one that he feels is suddenly going to have to be very careful around a certain fairy with a temper.

Pete Wisdom is happy. He hopes it’s not a sick, sick joke. And when he awakes the next morning next to a sleeping and very satisfied Kitty Pryde, he rolls over and goes back to sleep because part of him knows that, this time, it’s for real.