Knock Out accepts the gentle guidance, quivering at the softness of the kiss. They stay like that for a while, bodies pressed together, riding down the shared high of their intimacy. The hallway is still too warm, but quiet save for the sounds of Rogue's breathing, the slowly descending whirr of Knock Out's fans, and the plink of cooling metal.

Eventually he stirs; they're both kind of a mess (physically and emotionally), Rogue's still undressed, and they now both need a wash. And he doesn't know about her, but his damaged shoulder it starting to twinge painfully at being kept in this position for so long.

"Let's go back," he says, withdrawing from the comfortable embrace with regret. Frankly if he never saw the doorway to Cerebro again, it would be too soon.