X-Men: Gay Paree

Kitty dropped her ass onto a park bench and stared up at the church spire. The tour guide had said it was pure neo-Romanesque architecture, with ornate gargoyles on the four corners of the steeple. Then something about there being a core of paganism in the religious artwork. The guide’s voice was still droning on; Kitty was trying to take salient pictures, but it was an effort to focus the camera.

Not that Paris was boring. Far from it. She loved the majestic churches, with their awe-inspiring domes and steeples and spires. The problem was that with their brutal, uncompromising grandeur—their punishing solidness—their funereal air—they tended to remind her of Piotr.

And Piotr she couldn’t think of. It’d killed her to see him so depressed by the end of their relationship, as still and lifeless as these great stone structures. Kitty had sworn off men until she got her bearings, but that seemed to make her catnip for the menfolk of Paris. They were all suave, cosmopolitan, and spoke smoothly. And their asses looked great in their tight French-cut pants as they walked through the boulevards or sipped café au lait with anisette at an outdoor café.

Kitty tried to keep her eyes to herself, knowing her attention could result in some attention of theirs… and it was getting harder and harder to turn down the attempts at seduction… when her gaze helplessly wandered to a tall, well-built man at a bistro. His chic sunglasses were aimed right at her.

Instinctively, Kitty turned her attention to the cobblestone at her feet. The last thing she needed was to flirt. Because any amount of flirting might lead to fucking and then she might well be in a relationship and she honestly didn’t know how good a girlfriend she was at the moment.

She envied the other girls on the tour. They were carefree and careless, doing whatever came naturally to them. One sat beside her, clearly favoring a little girl-talk over the tour guide’s ongoing spiel about the cathedral.

“Hey Yana,” Kitty said, tossing some of her wavy hair over her shoulder. She’d had no idea from all the movies that Paris could get so hot.

“Hi,” Illyana said, looking around the cathedral’s exterior from Kitty’s comfortable vantage point. “Does it get any better or should I just look at the guy at the bistro?”

Kitty returned a knowing smile from the blonde. Somehow, the girl just seemed to know how to break the tension. “Is there a guy at the bistro? I wouldn’t know.”

“And he wouldn’t know there’s a girl over here. All he seems to see is a big juicy steak—and he hasn’t eaten all day.”

The two giggled for a bit until Rachel joined the party. She sat down on Kitty’s other side.

“I see you two are taking in the sights.”

“I think they’d prefer to take us in,” Illyana said, nodding the dark, handsome stranger. “What do you think? Should we tell him Kitty is all his, free to a good home?”

“I don’t think he’s my type,” Kitty said demurely.

Illyana fixed her with a stare. “It’s Paris. It doesn’t matter if someone is your type, only that you’re theirs.”

Kitty was her type. And Illyana thought it was well past time that she be Kitty’s type.