fateandfortune

He is already close with how much charge he's built, voltage sizzling under his plating and humming along his lines, and it doesn't take long to bring his capacitors back to full amplitude. He rocks a little in her hold, the movement mindless and instinctual, the variety of sensations she's helping create letting him drown out whatever had so distressed him just moments earlier.

But oh, her voice is right there in his audial and maybe it's the words and maybe it's the tone, and maybe he doesn't care either way but it's enough to tip him over that critical point.

His overload hits him harder than expected, his processor whiting out with its intensity. Knock Out just barely retains the presence of mind to jerk back from her touch at the last second so Rogue doesn't inadvertently become a grounding rod as electricity snaps from his frame, crackles of it striking the floor and the walls. Beneath his armor, his terminals chatter frantically as they unload, turning the air heavy with ozone, like ground zero of a lightning strike.

There are definitely some human parallels, as his frame goes rigid as his neural net erupts with pleasurable feedback. Knock Out arches, convulsive, his claws leaving thin striations in the floor, tiny curls of metal peeled back from the surface. The sound he makes is somewhere between a wail and what might have been an epithet in his own language, both too thick with static to be properly understood.

And then it passes, and his frame loosens again, letting him slump forward and only just managing to catch himself. He doesn't pant, but the blast of his cooling fans is unsteady. At some point his optics had shorted — they come back on now, noticeably dimmer, but clear as he looks to Rogue.

"Thank you," he murmurs, sounding exhausted.

It's a shock when Knock Out jerks away from her, though in the next moment she's grateful he did so she didn't get a different kind of shock. She pulls her knees to her chest and presses back against the wall, never more grateful than now that the mansion had been designed so that students with electricity powers wouldn't fry their classmates on a weekly basis. The charges that arc off him are absorbed by the wall and floor and she's spared the joy of being electrocuted.

But... wow. The sight of him really and truly losing control is unlike anything she's ever seen before. It's one thing to know the power he possesses and another to witness it... and it's something else entirely to know she played a part in bringing him to this state. It makes her feel settled, confident, even at peace with herself.

When he finally seems to calm, she stands and walks to him, pressing a hand to the side of his face to gently guide his head back to where he'd rested it before. Her arms wrap around him as much as she's able and she presses a kiss to one of those crests. "Any time you need, sugar."

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.

Something in her aches when he withdraws, already missing the comfort of being able to embrace someone without fear. It's time though, he's right about that. So Rogue gathers her clothes up, pulling on most save her bra and socks — she needs a shower.

psl.

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