Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction done solely for fun, not financial gain. These characters belong to Marvel Entertainment, no copyright infringement intended.

It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and Kitty Pryde was spending it working in the library. Xaviers past had collected books in a rather haphazard manner, taking more pleasure in the acquisition than in possession.

It was her pet project, between homework and missions, to create a cross-referenced computer catalog. It would be more efficient for research, and it would give the Professor a good starting point if he ever wanted to have his library professionally appraised.

It was also a great excuse to hang out in the library and read when she wanted to be alone.

Or to work in quiet companionship with someone else. Kitty looked across the table and sighed to herself, watching Piotr Rasputin bent studiously over an art book.

Kitty silently doubted that book contained any image closer to the ideal of male physical perfection than the young man reading it.

She finished her notes on the volume she was working on, and went to reshelve it.

The library was one of her favorite rooms in the mansion, and this alcove was her favorite part of the library. Shelves ran floor to ceiling, parting for a stained glass window, the vibrant colors dulled today by the gray skies and the constant pouring rain. She could hear the rain and the wind, sheeting against the glass. There was an old blue velvet couch in front of the window, moved into the library from one of the parlors during the periodic rebuilding and redecorating of the mansion, making a cozy place to curl up and read. The air was lightly perfumed with old books, leather and paper, the tang of must and the lemon oil polish the housekeeper used on the shelves.

She climbed the ladder, replacing the book on the shelf, started to reach for the next one, and stopped, hearing footsteps behind her. She looked over her shoulder as Piotr came out of the stacks.

"I am ready to take a break, Katya, I thought I might go to the kitchen and fix a little something to eat. Would you care to join me, or is there something I can fetch back for you?"

"Mn, no, I'm fine, thanks. Peter, could you come here a moment before you go?"

He obediently came closer, standing beside her. Kitty carefully hung onto the ladder, but shifted, turning, and wrapped her free hand around his neck, drawing him closer for a kiss.

Piotr's mouth was slack and still against hers, at first, and then he began to respond. It sent a little quivering thrill through her. Not so long ago he would have stepped back and given her a lecture on proper behavior. Now he was kissing back.

He did pull away, after a moment, and looked amused. "Katya," he sighed her name, gently reproving.

She grinned back at him, unrepentant. "C'mon, Peter," she gestured at the ladder. "how often are we eye to eye? How could I resist?"

Piotr was looking into her eyes with a sudden intensity that made Kitty's breath catch in her throat. "Perhaps I am not hungry after all. And how can I resist?"

His mouth covered hers again, this time he licked at her lips, asking permission to deepen the kiss. His tongue slid smoothly over hers, and she nearly swooned. Rather than falling off the ladder, she stepped off, into Piotr's welcoming arms.

He lifted her easily, gathering her in his arms, as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and her legs around his waist.

He carried her over to the couch, letting her slide down to her feet, and swung her down into his lap. A few strands of curling brown hair had escaped from her loose ponytail, coiling down to frame her face. Piotr gave her a besotted smile, and lightly tugged at one of the stray locks before kissing her again.

When they parted for breath, she hesitantly undid the first button of his red Chino shirt. He didn't protest, so she unfastened a few more, revealing a sleeveless undershirt and sculpted muscular flesh.

He caught her hands and brought them up to his lips, kissing the knuckles of her left hand, then her right, but his blue eyes darkened with a warning. She slid one hand behind his neck when he released them, letting her fingers comb through his wavy jet black hair.

He kissed her lightly on the lips, then nuzzled her cheek, moving to nibble at her earlobe. His lips were like warm silk, and she breathed in the faint sandalwood scent of his aftershave, and wished that this could last forever.


Piotr knew this wasn't a good idea. He had fallen in love with Kitty, with his sweet Ekaterin, and he loved her so fiercely it frightened him.

The age difference bothered him, and Wolverine, who otherwise approved of the match, had taken him aside one day and promised to 'open ya like a can of tuna' if Piotr took advantage of the young girl.

His intentions were honorable, but there was an American saying, the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. Kitty thought him silly and old fashioned, and she had no sense of propriety. He tried to be careful with appearances, only alone with her in public spaces. If she visited him in his bedroom, to see whichever painting he was currently working on, he left the hall door open. And when she kissed him he broke away.

Tried to break away. Tried to balance between spurning her attentions and the awareness that four years was going to be a long time to wait. It was right. It was proper. It would give them time to be sure of their hearts before they made a serious commitment.

He had trouble remembering that when Kitty was kissing him.

Surely a few kisses wouldn't matter. Nothing inappropriate...just a few crumbs to sustain them. She stepped off the ladder into his arms. Holding her so, it felt so right. It sent a warmth through him, down to his toes. His Katya, in his arms. There was a small couch nearby, he carried her there and they sank down into the cushions. He lost himself in her lips, only vaguely aware that she was unbuttoning his shirt until she began to run her hands over his chest.

That was out of bounds, dangerous. He pulled her hands away, but kissed them to soften the unspoken reprimand. He kissed and nuzzled at rosepetal skin, dreamily awash in a sea of sensual desire...

And surfaced, regretfully aware that they must end this innocent tryst.

"Katya," he murmured, "Katya, we must stop."

Her eyes were dark and lustrous, tiger's eye, topaz, smoky quartz. "Why?" she kissed him again, tongues tangling to stall argument.

It took nearly all of his strength to gently grasp her slender shoulders and put her from him.

"Kaaatyaa," he sighed.

She looked down at him tenderly, and cupped his cheek with one hand, gently tracing his lower lip with her thumb. "I'm not scared," she told him earnestly, and phased out of his hands. "I don't want to stop yet, why should we?"

Rematerializing, she shifted on his lap in a way that should have given her the answer. Piotr closed his eyes, swallowed, and allowed himself one more kiss, then gripped her shoulders again, pushing her away. He ignored the look of surprised hurt that passed over her face, and explained.

"Because I am becoming aroused."

Her eyes went wide and horrified, and she scrambled back, out of his lap, and pressed up against the far arm of the couch. Frowning in puzzlement, he sat up a little straighter, licked his lips, and fastened a few buttons of his shirt. He followed her fascinated gaze to the fly of his jeans, and shifted uncomfortably.

"I did not want to stop either, Katya, and that is why we had to," he tried, not understanding her reaction.

"Oh geez, Peter, I'm sorry," she gasped, voice trembling a little. "I didn't...I never thought about...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be a tease."

His brows lifted, comprehending. But she couldn't possibly believe herself to be... "Katya, you're not a..."

She shook her head miserably, shoulders hunched with guilt. "I keep starting stuff with you, when I know we're not gonna finish. There's a name for girls who do that, and it's not very nice."

Piotr considered this carefully. "I think to be a tease requires malicious intent. You were not thinking, 'I will tempt and torment Piotr, it will be fun,' were you?" The corner of his mouth turned up.

She snorted a little, looking up to meet his eyes. "No. I just..."

"Like kissing," Piotr suggested, quietly. "Being cuddled."

She nodded, relaxing a little. "I like kissing you. And when you hold me, I feel safe. You're so strong, and so gentle," she shook her head. "Doesn't change anything. I shouldn't be doing this to you, it isn't fair."

"But I could say no," Piotr countered. "Do I not have the same rights as you? If you wish to kiss me, and I know I would not be satisfied just to kiss, I could say no."

"I guess," Kitty bit her bottom lip, uncertainly. "Does it bother you, Peter? When I grab you and kiss you like this?"

"I...it is complicated."

"Story of our lives, huh?"

"I like kissing you, Katya. And sometimes I think it would be easier to wait if I did not know how much I like to kiss you," he confessed. "But sometimes I think these stolen moments give me the strength to wait."

Kitty gave him a mischievous grin. "And you're sure we have to wait?"

He sighed, and gave her a LOOK. He was glad that she was no longer angry with herself, but...

Her eyes sparkled. "Just checking. So...what are the rules here? I think we need to talk about some rules."

"I think that would be best, da."


Kitty was sprawling on her bed when Illyana came into their room. "Storm lost one of her earrings, I think Lockheed might have it," Illyana knelt and moved the pillow from the small dragon's sleeping basket, sorting through the hoard. Marbles, bottlecaps, a knotted tangle of Christmas tree tinsel, a coin, and there it was, the jagged glint of gold. Illyana put the pillow back and held up the golden lightning bolt in triumph.

"Yep. Silly dragon snagged it for his treasure heap."

Kitty didn't look up. Illyana hesitated, then went over to sit on her own bed. "Kitty, did you have a fight with my brother?"

That finally made her friend look up from the Starlog magazine she was reading. "No, we didn't fight, why?"

Illyana shrugged. "He's chopping firewood. Sometimes he does that when he's upset, but he's also doing it with his shirt off and you always go out to watch. So if you're not mad at Piotr, why aren't you out there making goo-goo eyes at him?"

Kitty flipped a page of her magazine. "We didn't have a fight. We had a discussion."

"A fight without yelling."

Kitty put the magazine down and sat up. "No. Just a discussion. We were in the library and ended up making out."

Illyana blinked. "Okay. Minding my own business now."

"Hyper down, that's the last time I'll be making out with your brother for a while."

"So you did have a fight," Illyana interrupted, then frowned. "or did he...no, Piotr would never..."

"Practically the other way around. I just decided to stop throwing myself at Peter until he's allowed to catch me. It's too immature and kind of trashy to always be crawling all over him. Our relationship is beyond that."

"Wow. We really don't have to worry about firewood this winter if Piotr's gonna be working off all that frustration."

"Brat!" Kitty rolled up her magazine and leaned over, swatting her knee.

Illyana fell back on her bed, and wriggled around to look at Kitty, hanging off upside down over the foot of the bed. "So no more statutory smooching, huh? You sure you can keep that promise til you're eighteen? Because I've seen you when there's chocolate in the house and you're on a diet."

"Well, that's the thing," Kitty explained quietly. "if Peter and I can't keep our hands off each other, it isn't love, it's just hormones. And if we can't wait, and break up to go out with people our own ages, we shouldn't be messing around anyway."

Illyana snorted and sat up again. "And I thought I had trouble figuring out boys and stuff because I was raised in a hell dimension and technically I'm six."

Kitty rolled her eyes and nodded. "Some girls watch weird soap operas. We live in one."

Illyana tossed the earring into the air and caught it. "I'd better give this back to Storm before it gets lost again. Unless you feel like more girl talk?"


Illyana left. Kitty hesitated, looking at the door. Peter. Chopping wood. Shirtless. Sweaty. She usually did go down to help him carry split logs to the woodpile, and clean up loose bark and chips afterward. She closed her eyes, shook her head, and picked up her magazine again, flopping back down on her stomach across the bed.

The End.