Disclaimer: not mine. Rating: 18+ there is porn here. And alcohol.
Pairing: Kitty Pryde/Pete Wisdom
Setting: not-quite current Excalibur. I mean, this is after issues, um... 1, 2, and 3? Something like that.
Notes: This was written for one of the prompts of Medie's porn battle, unfortunately, it got a little long.
Prompt: Kitty/Pete, Whiskey
In Vino Veritas
by ALC Punk!
Kitty doesn't remember why she wandered out onto the balcony. Only that the company inside was barely tolerable, and the whiskey would keep her warm.
She's halfway through the bottle when Wisdom wanders out behind her. Or maybe after her. She's never going to ask.
"Whiskey?" His tone is mocking.
Kitty shrugs, holds the bottle his way, negligently, "When in Britain..."
"Stars're nice," he notes as he takes the bottle.
"You can't see the stars, Wisdom."
"I can if I'm drunk, Pryde."
She snorts, it might almost be laughter. "You always were a drunken ass."
"But it's a nice ass," He's leering. She can tell from the tone of his voice and the way he hasn't given the bottle back.
She hears him take a large swallow, then cough, "C'mon, Pryde, you always thought me arse was nice."
"Perhaps I was lying."
Now that seems to prick at him, or perhaps just piss him off. He drinks again and then stands at her back. "When did you become such a bitch, Pryde?"
She reaches back and grabs the bottle from his grip, taking a long swig before replying, "About the same time you became alive again."
"Hey, y'know, I 'splained all that," he defends, reaching around her for the bottle.
Kitty keeps a firm grip on it, and he steps into her, front hitting her back from shoulders to hips. "I'd forgotten whiskey made you horny."
There is a stillness to the air as he stands there, feeling her against him, her grip still holding his arm around her. Kitty can feel his surprise before she tilts her head back. It's an angle she remembers well, and it leaves her neck exposed and vulnerable. She thinks she should be thinking about Piotr Rasputin, but this has little to do with him, anyway.
"You said--" He starts, fumbling for something to explain her behavior.
"I'm drunk, Pete. And you left me, remember?"
A swallow that she can feel, then he releases the bottle and his hand comes to rest on her stomach. "I'm not the only one," he mumbles, turning his head to find her neck with his mouth.
She can smell the whiskey on his breath, but the sensation distracts her too much to ask what he meant. His hand slides up, brushing the bottom of one of her breasts and she inhales sharply. "Pete."
Teeth graze her neck.
Heat flashes through her. She remembers this. Remembers exactly how good he was at this--once he'd learned, once she'd learned, the sex had been fantastic. How hard it was to keep their hands off each other. Even falling through the floor and into the kitchen hadn't stopped them.
Kitty has the presence of mind--just--to set the whiskey down on the ledge, then grabs onto the rail when he unbuttons her pants, hand slipping inside easily.
The mouth on her neck moves to a different location and he sucks, teeth pinching slightly, and she would object to what he's doing but his hand is too distracting. And some part of her wonders what they'll say back in Westchester when she returns with a hickey on her neck.
His fingers don't bother teasing, he remembers that much at least. Her underwear presents them no problem and one slides into her a moment later. She moans, shuddering with the need that suddenly engulfs her.
It's been years since she saw him. Years, and the only thing she's had are her own fingers and the occasional vibrator--but the Mansion's walls aren't thick enough for that, and one student asking her about the noise was more than enough. She tries to tell herself she didn't come over here hoping for sex. She came to help, she came to be the X-Man she was supposed to be.
But Pete Wisdom, the bastard, was just too tempting.
His thumb presses against her clit and she pushes back against him, feeling the hardness of him against her ass. "Pete."
But he's suddenly a man on a mission, and his fingers move faster, sending her over the edge into orgasm before she's ready. She cries out, glad of her hold on the railing as her legs threaten to give way. Her body pulses, and for a moment, there's nothing but the scent of fog and whiskey and Pete.
Sound cuts back in along with clarity. His fingers are still against her, one still inside of her. "Pete."
It seems like it's been a long time since she abused her powers for this exact need, but she knows how. With precision, she phases out of her pants and underwear. The chill slaps against her skin, but she ignores it. Grabbing Pete's wrist, she turns, and the rail is cold on her ass, but the ledge is almost the right height.
His eyes are wide, pupils dark as he looks at her. He takes one shaky breath before stepping forward. "You always did like it kinky, Pryde."
"Shut up and lose the pants, Wisdom."
"Not gonna help me out?" he asks, tone sardonic. But he complies, unbuckling them and then pausing as he gets his legs tangled in them. "Damnit."
Kitty snickers, unable to help herself, "You're definitely not going to win any ballet competitions."
"Fuck ballet." He kicks his feet free. "Happy?"
"Yeah." She considers for a moment, then wriggles upwards and gets the railing under her ass. Her feet are now swinging free. "Knock me over and I come back and haunt you."
He catches her waist and moves easily between her legs. It's natural to wrap them around his hips. "Pryde, maybe--"
"I'm not drunk, you're not a knight in shining armor, and I'm not a fucking heroine," she growls, "So if you stop, I will garotte you with your belt."
That seems to seal it for him and he reaches down to position himself before pushing forwards with his hips.
They both gasp with the sensation as moves, pushing in and pulling out until he's buried as deep as he can be, eyes closed and breath coming in pants. "Pryde..."
"I know." He's too close. She doesn't care. He already made her come, and she's still feeling the buzz from that. Not to mention that the idea that she still has this sort of power over him thrills her.
One arm tight around her waist, he yanks at her collar to get at her shoulder and nips, teeth hard. The sensation spikes through her, makes her clench around him. He does it again, but she's ready, and she moans instead, rocking her hips forward. "Bitch," he manages before hoisting her up.
It always gave her a thrill that Pete could lift her.
The fact that she is now half-leaning out into space doesn't seem to matter.
"Don't move, Pryde."
Her hand closes on the rail as he tugs her shirt up and bends at an angle that has to hurt to kiss her breasts. One, then the other. Then he's cursing at her bra and getting it up before his lips can close on a nipple. It's hard from the cold air and the sensation of his warm mouth sucking at it makes her cry out.
Distantly, she wonders if someone is keeping the others from noticing her current activities. She's not being precisely quiet, after all.
Then she stops thinking at all.
He's smug as he thrusts into her, mouth on her breasts, hands on her back. She's stopped noticing the cold and the railing, and even the damp.
The second orgasm is almost as good as the first, better in some ways. The sensations aren't so sharp, and they're drawn out by the feel of Pete, slick against her and inside of her. Skin contact, and she has a moment of clarity where she realizes she is storing this up for the future.
It's his turn, then, and he barely says a word as he sags backwards, hands bringing her with him as he goes to his knees on the balcony. The ledge is cold at her back, and she wonders if his knees will be bruised later.
He breathes in a shuddering breath, mouth against her throat again.
They stay like that. She doesn't know for how long, she only knows that her ass is numb and her arms are numb where they're not touching Pete's skin.
And like that, the mood is broken. It all hits her. What's she's done, and a sudden loathing for herself fills her. "I--I should..." She disengages, pulls away, and he lets her go.
She's standing, pulling on her underwear, trying to block out the horrible feeling that she's used him when he holds out the bottle, "Wanna get drunk, Pryde?"
There is no answer she can make to that, and she dodges around him for her pants and pulls them on, hands shaking.
"Yeah." He takes a swallow and doesn't cover himself as he turns and puts his back against the ledge, "Yeah, I wouldn't want to get drunk with me, either."
"Pete--" She has to say something, but she doesn't know what.
"Remember, Pryde," his tone is brutal as he cuts her off. "You're an X-Man, and X-Men don't have liaisons with evil men who kill children."
"Don't be stupid." The self-loathing is now mutual. Kitty kicks his pants at him and then drops down next to him. "Give me that, you stupid ass."
He glares, then relinquishes the bottle.
She takes a long drink and then sighs, "It would never have worked anyway."
"Yeah." He agrees.
They're both lying.