Story so far: After the dust settles in X-Men: Apocalypse, Jean Grey and Psylocke start meeting, first in their minds and then on the astral plane and then in real life. They go from enemies to friends to, um, whatever you'd call this. In this chapter, they've just gotten back from a ride on Psylocke's motorcycle.
They climbed off the bike, and while Betsy secured it, Jean took off her helmet and shook out her hair, trying to undo the work of her helmet and the wind. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back, combing her fingers through it from top to bottom.
She didn't see Betsy's wide-eyed stare as she finished taking off her own helmet and turned to look at Jean.
But she felt it.
Jean straightened up and opened her eyes. When they met Betsy's, and she saw the raw desire there, a prickle of heat started in her chest, then spread up to her already flushed cheeks and down to the pit of her belly . . . and lower.
Jean swallowed hard. No one had ever looked at her like that before. The closest equivalent she'd seen was maybe the way Hank looked at Raven, but even that was subdued compared to this, tempered by years of friendship and mutual respect. This . . . this was just hunger.
For once, Betsy didn't rein it in and make a sarcastic comment, nor did she make a move. She just stood there, letting Jean see.
Jean took a deep breath, then let it out. She didn't trust her voice at the moment, so she thought (a little haltingly), I…I need to get something out of the car.
Betsy shook her head, trying to clear it. She was largely unsuccessful, and Jean smiled to herself as she turned to the car and grabbed a blanket out of the backseat.
"I thought it would be more comfortable for looking at the stars," she said quietly. Then she took a couple of steps and held out her hand. Betsy took it, and Jean could feel a little tremor. I didn't think you were THAT old, she thought, and Betsy let out a snort of laughter.
"Well played, Red," she said. Jean tugged her gently over to the grass and let go of her hand so she could spread out the blanket.
Jean sat down first, straightening her legs out in front of her with her ankles crossed, leaning back on her hands. She shifted her weight for a second so she could pat the blanket beside her.
Betsy sat down, and Jean felt – was it amusement? nostalgia? – when she took her usual pose from the astral plane, knees bent up in front of her and her arms loosely on top of them.
They sat side-by-side like that for a minute or so, inches apart. Then Jean slowly lay down on her back, looking up at the night sky, and Betsy did the same after hesitating briefly. Jean bumped Betsy's shoulder with her own. "What are you thinking about? You're quiet tonight."
Betsy turned her head to look at her quizzically. "Since when do you have to ask that?" Jean shrugged. "Since I'm trying to keep it in my pants tonight. My mind, that is. Not that my mind is in my . . . pants." Betsy's laugh had her laughing too now. "Shut up! I mean . . . I'm trying to keep my mind to myself."
That got a nod. Then they were quiet for a moment until Betsy said, "Well, I'm trying to keep my hands to myself, so it sounds like we're on the same page."
Now Jean turned on her side and looked at her earnestly. "No. We most assuredly are not on the same page about that."
Then she boldly leaned forward and kissed Betsy.
It wasn't a perfect kiss. They were at kind of an odd angle – Betsy was lying on her back with just her head turned, and Jean was on her side – and Jean wasn't super experienced at this kind of thing, okay at all, so she missed and sort of got the side of Betsy's mouth.
But in an instant, Betsy had rolled onto her side, and tangled their legs together, and now their mouths slotted together so perfectly that Jean let out a breathy sigh, bringing up her free hand to bury it in Betsy's hair. Betsy pulled their lips apart, both of them already panting just from that brief contact. Her eyes were closed as Jean looked at her, their faces millimeters apart.
"What is it?" Jean said gently.
Betsy opened her eyes and rested her free hand almost gingerly on Jean's waist. "Jean Grey," she said raggedly, "you're going to kill me." Jean didn't say anything, just waited for her to go on. Betsy couldn't help herself – she trailed gentle kisses down her jawline, down that sweet creamy throat, and murmured into the spot where Jean's pulse hammered against her lips: "Can't . . . talk right now."
I can think a little better, she said inside Jean's head. Jean sighed and leaned her head back, giving Betsy better access to press little kisses up and down her throat.
See, that's the problem right there, Betsy went on.
"W-what?" Jean whispered. Betsy didn't stop, so she knew she hadn't done anything wrong, but she was still confused.
Now Betsy worked her way back up, holding her hand very carefully still on Jean's waist, kissing up her jawline.
The problem – and now Betsy nuzzled Jean with her nose, urging her to tilt her head forward – the problem is that I am trying to control myself with you, and – they found each other's lips again – those little SOUNDS you keep letting out are making it damn near impossible.
Now Jean understood. And she couldn't help the smirk that came to her face, or the mixed feelings of smug satisfaction and awe that she could take a woman like this apart like this, any more than she could help the rush of arousal that coiled in her belly like a panther about to pounce.
"Well," she said, pulling away a little so she could speak right into Betsy's ear, "if controlling yourself is the issue, then may I humbly suggest you stop trying?"
And she rolled over onto her back, pulling Betsy along with her.
Suddenly Betsy found herself on top of the beautiful redhead who'd been invading her thoughts, often literally, for the past several months. She took a second to fully absorb the sight before her as she lay there, mostly on top of Jean and propped up on her elbows. Jean's hair was fanned out beneath her, and even by moonlight Betsy could appreciate how the auburn of Jean's hair contrasted with the blue of the blanket they lay on. Her fair skin glowed as if it were lit from within, her lips were shiny from Betsy's kisses, and her eyes – god, her eyes were burning into Betsy's, the intensity of her desire so obvious that it took her breath away.
She still didn't trust her voice, but as the intensity of her feelings hit her she knew they had to be clear about where this was going. Betsy cleared her throat and managed to croak out, "Jean–"
It's a good thing I can read your mind, as inarticulate as you are, came the feisty response in her mind. Betsy couldn't help grinning at that, ducking her head a little as Jean threw her own words back at her.
Jean put two fingers under her chin and lifted it up so their eyes could meet again. She bit her bottom lip and looked at Betsy almost shyly, then said, "I just . . . want you. I want this. I have for a really long time."
Betsy's nostrils flared and she felt another jolt of arousal as she realized what Jean was saying. She had to know one thing, though. Jean's hand slipped around from Betsy's chin to the back of her neck as Betsy lowered her head so their foreheads were just touching, lips a breath apart. "Is it–"
"God, I was kidding about the inarticulate thing, but now I'm not so sure," Jean said, and even that close Betsy could see the mischief sparkling in her eyes. Jean took a deep breath and sort of mumbled, "Yesit'llbemyfirsttime."
Betsy pulled back a little and looked at her, a little amused at Jean's embarrassment but mostly nervous of that kind of responsibility. "Um . . . I've never . . . I mean–"
Never fought someone in battle, courted them on the astral plane, and then hooked up with them in real life? Jean thought back at her.
"Ha! I mean, yeah. No, I've never done that. Wait, 'courted?' Who are you, Princess Anna?" Betsy stammered.
Never gone from hating someone to . . . whatever this is?
"I never hated you," Betsy said, her voice a little steadier now but also more quiet. She stroked Jean's cheek with the backs of her fingers, and Jean leaned into the touch.
"Never . . . taken someone's virginity?" Jean whispered. Her words were spoken out loud this time, not in Betsy's head, and as quiet as they were they seemed to shatter the silent darkness around them.
Betsy nodded. Jean slowly, slowly pulled her face back down again, then leaned up slightly so she could press soft, wet kisses to Betsy's lips, punctuating every word as she breathed, "I – want you – to take – mine."
Those gentle yet incredibly erotic kisses, combined with Jean's words, broke the last shred of Betsy's resolve. She let out a small groan and shifted so she was fully on top of Jean, her legs straddling her. Betsy leaned close to Jean's ear, rocked against her slowly, and murmured, "I'm going to make you feel so good." Jean's answering moan was cut off when Betsy gently dragged her lips from Jean's ear, across her cheek, and finally found her mouth hot and waiting.
Betsy was determined to make this last as long as possible – she wanted it to be perfect for Jean. So, even though she was burning to possess every inch of that beautiful body, she took her time, first pressing firm closed-mouth kisses to Jean's lips, feeling her exhale with each one, and then gently sucking on her top lip as Jean naturally sucked Betsy's bottom lip between her own.
She felt Jean stir a bit restlessly beneath her, her hands now gripping Betsy's lower back tightly, and smiled against her mouth. Patience, Betsy thought, her smile widening when Jean sent back an image of a frowny-face emoji.
Betsy angled her head sharply so their mouths were almost perpendicular, then slid her tongue excruciatingly slowly along the seam of Jean's lips, from one corner to the other. At Jean's answering gasp, Betsy moved again so their mouths were only at a slight angle, then flicked her tongue experimentally, barely entering Jean's mouth.
From Jean's response, she might as well have been flicking her tongue against other, more sensitive areas. As soon as Betsy flicked her tongue in, she felt one of Jean's hands grip the back of her neck, pulling her head down and licking hungrily back at Betsy's mouth, while the other holy shit slipped right inside the back of her jeans.
Betsy pulled back slightly, her breathing ragged. "Holy shit, you're going to kill me," she panted out. Jean grinned at her wickedly, gently caressing Betsy's ass, which made her instinctively roll her hips and rub their centers together. They both had to catch their breath for a second, staring into one another's eyes, both equally shocked at the intensity of the contact.
"I'm going to kill you?" Jean said incredulously. She used her one hand to pull at Betsy's hair gently, tilting Betsy's head back so Jean could get her lips on her throat. Betsy felt Jean's warm lips against her pounding pulse, sucking lightly and then harder and harder as Jean's fingers tightened in her hair and her other hand still gently rubbed over Betsy's ass. Meanwhile, she heard Jean's voice in her head: You're the one who's torturing me. I'm about to go off like a rocket here, and all we've done is kiss. And you're not wearing any fucking panties, which good god woman.
The insistent sucking, combined with the dirty word, had Betsy at the edge too. Jean released her roughly, her tongue flicking out against the mark she'd made one last time, and Betsy leaned down again to capture Jean's mouth in a much rougher kiss.
She'd been planning to take her time, exploring Jean's mouth with her tongue slowly and thoroughly, but that plan was quickly thrown out the window as their mouths collided. Their teeth crashed, and Betsy hardly noticed when a cut bloomed on her upper lip because Jean's tongue was suddenly licking against her lips, hot little strokes that became deeper thrusts and turned Betsy into a panting mess above her.
"Are you sure you haven't done this before?" she squeaked out as Jean's lips found her throat once more.
Yep. Maybe you inspire me, came the mental response.
It dawned on Betsy that if this were a battle, she'd be losing, despite the other side's relative inexperience. She felt Jean chuckle a little evilly when she heard that thought, and decided to regain the upper hand.
Betsy had a trick or two up her sleeve, too. She took Jean by surprise when she sat up suddenly, still astride her, and Jean's hands moved automatically to Betsy's hips. Both of their chests were heaving with exertion and arousal – Betsy had never seen anything more gorgeous than Jean Grey spread out beneath her, completely undone by kisses and the promise of what was to come.
If Betsy hadn't already taken out the streetlamp, it would surely have exploded from the heat of their gaze alone. Betsy kept that searing eye contact as she slowly unzipped her leather jacket and peeled it off, one arm at a time, and she probably enjoyed it a little too much when the sight of her in just a tank top made Jean's breath hitch.
Jean propped herself up on her elbows, content for now just to watch. "Still too many clothes," she said hoarsely.
Betsy wasn't sure she could get her boots off in her current position, straddling Jean on her knees, so she hauled Jean up into a sitting position by the front of her shirt and quickly adjusted so that she was sitting in Jean's lap, her legs wrapped around her back. She reached around behind Jean and had just gotten one of her boots unzipped when she felt Jean's hands creeping up beneath the hem of her tank top. Her touch was light at first, but her fingers quickly dug in hard when they met Betsy's skin, and both of them felt an almost electric sensation at the contact.
Betsy managed to get her first boot off and flung it away, harder than she meant to, as Jean's searching hands made their way up to glide along her ribcage. Jean started instinctively thrusting her hips upward as Betsy's tank top rode up along the same path as Jean's hands, uncovering more and more of her torso. She was just leaning over reaching for her second boot when she heard, in that same hoarse voice, "Sit up."
She obeyed without thinking, straightening up and resting her arms loosely on Jean's shoulders. Betsy looked down, expecting another moment of heated eye contact, but Jean's attention was transfixed by the slow upward creep of Betsy's tank top. Jean had stopped sliding her hands up along Betsy's sides to instead grip the hem of her tank, and she ever so slowly dragged it upwards, driving both of them crazy.
When the shirt cleared the very bottom edge of Betsy's black bra, Jean leaned forward slightly and in one motion, uncovered the rest of Betsy's breasts and leaned her face against them, panting hard. And okay, Betsy was no prude, she'd been with lots of people, but she'd never been this wet in her life – because she had never felt anything as erotic as Jean Grey's hot breaths against her bra-clad chest.
That is, until Jean suddenly pulled one of her cups down and licked a stripe right up Betsy's nipple, from bottom to top, before sucking the nipple into her warm, wet mouth and circling it with her tongue.
"Holy shit!" Betsy exclaimed on a single surprised exhale. Jean was still thrusting her hips upward, and Betsy started rocking down against her, faster and faster. Jean had one hand holding Betsy's shirt up to her collarbone, and her other hand moved from the breast that Jean was currently working with her lips and tongue to grab Betsy's ass over her jeans and pull her even closer.
And there was no fucking way, it was too soon, but Betsy's hips were grinding even more desperately and Jean's fingers dug into Betsy's ass so hard and her tongue was so wet and slippery against her nipple and all of a sudden Betsy threw her head back and came, shuddering and silent, shocking them both.
Jean pulled her mouth off Betsy's nipple, teasing it with the tip of her tongue one last time on the way out. "Did – you – just –" she panted.
The older woman looked down and met her eyes, a tiny bit embarrassed but still insanely turned on from the way Jean was looking at her. "Yes?" she said with a little shrug. Then she added, "Are you sure you haven't done this before?"
Jean smirked up at her and said, "Are you sure you have? I mean, I've heard of guys not lasting long their first time, but–"
Betsy smacked her lightly on the arm for that. "I was in the middle of taking off my boots – which was your idea, by the way – and you just – attacked me!"
"Mm," Jean hummed, trailing her fingers back up Betsy's abdomen and lightly grazing the backs of them over her still-exposed nipple, "can you blame me?" She tugged up with the hand that still held Betsy's tank top, indicating that she should take it off the rest of the way, so Betsy shrugged it off and dropped it on the blanket.
Jean gently replaced the bra cup she'd shoved down, then cupped Betsy's breasts reverently with both hands, over her bra. "These . . . are awesome," she said. "Way bigger than mine." Then she looked up at Betsy from below, through her eyelashes, and said wickedly: "Wanna see?"