Psylocke flirting with Cyclops, supposed to be

A rigid, ruby-visored commander figurine stood sentinel atop the high-voltage relay box, caught in the crimson wash of a nearby neon sign. Hand raised to his temple in an iconic firing stance, his painted scowl dared anyone to contest the crossing. You thought a familiar leader would break my discipline. Sprinting along the suspension conduit, I dropped right before his boots on the cold sheet metal. Our eyes locked in a silent, unyielding standoff. Leaning close, I pressed two gloved fingers to my lips and planted a crisp, mocking kiss across his translucent red visor. No sentimental distractions pierce my armor. The perimeter remains strictly under my command.