Title: In Flagrante Delecto
Author: lachlanrose
Disclaimer: Not mine. Never were. Never will be. Damn.
Feedback: Sure, why not? I'm feeling lucky today. ;)
Summary: The after effects of a difficult mission have some unanticipated repercussions. S/J, L/M
Notes: This fic was inspired by Terri's 'Good Girl'. (Specifically, this part: "Scott must realize exactly how mortified I am. There was that story about him and Jean being caught a few years ago – the one that has him with his pants down around his ankles and moaning like crazy with Jean in front of him on her knees – maybe he empathizes…..") At which point, I was besieged by bunnies who demanded I explain the circumstances leading up to, and surrounding, that particular incident and how Scott, ever the tactician, eventually found a way to gain a little leverage over the offending party. Oh, one last thing… this darn bunny mutated on me. (Why am I not surprised?!) The end result is a tad darker than I intended, but hey, that's what the bunny wanted. ::shrug:: It's mainly Scott/Jean but the Logan/Marie portion picks up as we move along...

In Flagrante Delecto

In the Dark

[Four months prior to the rescue of Logan and Marie]

Scott stared at the pile of ungraded history essays on his desk and pushed the empty beer bottle before him with the tip of his pen. It skated over the edge to join its three fellows in the trash with a sharp clank. The smooth brown glass of the fifth bottle touched his lips and he took a long, deep swallow.

How the hell did Charles expect them to be able to do this?

They didn't have the necessary training, the experience, to be mercenaries at night and teachers by day. Even their own government, flawed though it was, knew better than to put soldiers fresh from the battlefield in a classroom situation. They needed time to decompress. He needed time.

Especially after what they'd seen tonight.

They'd heard rumors, of course, but nothing to prepare themselves for what they'd found in that remote lab. It would have turned even the most seasoned soldier's stomach. What it did to their green team was infinitely worse. Acrid bile burned the back of his throat and he was torn between trashing his office and crying himself sick.

Who would have believed the rumors were true? Testing, no, experimenting on mutants? He'd thought humanity beyond such barbarism, thought that places like Auschwitz and Sobibor were a part of their history, not their present. It was almost more than he could process. It wasn't so much the people they'd found there that had shaken him so profoundly, but that the partial records they'd recovered went back nearly thirty years. Thirty years. And they were catalogued by number. Not names, numbers. Like animals. Like things. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Perhaps Magneto's fears were not so farfetched after all.

396-48-273… 573-45-392… 458-25-243

There were times he wished he didn't have such an affinity for numbers. Page after page, burned into his memory. So many numbers. So very many. Who were they? More to the point, where were they now? And what the hell had happened to them?

He kept turning it over and over in his head. To solve a problem, one must understand the problem. His mind couldn't help but put himself in their place. What horrors would have been visited upon him? How would he deal with it? He had no illusions about what his eyes could do. He still had nightmares about what would happen if his naked gaze touched the world… or touched those he loved. And he didn't know if he'd be strong enough to take his own eyes to prevent his 'gift' from being used as a weapon. He could deal with being blind. He had before. But to purposefully take his sight? His gift? The thing that made him 'Cyclops'? He just didn't know…

Though the thought terrified him, it wasn't what turned his blood to ice. It wasn't what made his hands shake and kept him up, drinking beer in his office at three in the morning instead of being upstairs with Jean.

God, Jean.

It was the thought of those butchers getting a hold of her that tore him up inside. The thought of her suffering at their hands. The thought of her looking out of one of those cells with haunted eyes and a swollen belly. The thought of them touching her both enraged him and terrified him beyond the ability to think rationally. A rarity for the man who was calmness itself under pressure. The thought of being helpless, of being unable to do nothing but watch while they experimented on the woman he loved, impacted him at the most base level.

And now he understood what demons drove men to Erik's cause.

Men.

How he hated his own gender at times. Women did not start wars or build labs or lock other women away to be raped and tortured for 'the good of science'. Only men did that. He might never do such things, but he recognized that he, too, carried a piece of that darkness inside him. It raged at him even now, clawing at him with the desire to go and find Jean so he could fuck her hard and deep. Not for his pleasure – or hers, but to prove to her, and to himself, that she belonged to him and no other. A physical demonstration of something intangible. Something to wipe away the terrible thoughts of other men touching her. Hurting her. And how he hated that one small piece of himself that wanted to take her roughly when he knew she needed nothing but tenderness after what she'd seen tonight.

The stack of essays caught his eye. He snorted in disbelief. After what he'd just been through, he was supposed to be able to simply push it all aside and find it within himself to calmly grade a class worth of exams? Christ, what a joke.

He didn't give a tinker's damn about the essays. Caesar, Hannibal, Pyrrhus. None of that knowledge would have done any of the poor souls they'd rescued tonight one bit of good. So many bloodthirsty men. So many needless deaths. So terribly much these children needed to be taught about the world. Things that had nothing to do with reading and writing and everything to do with survival.

His fingers toyed with the neck of the bottle and he took another swallow of the bitter, yeasty liquid. The kids. He sighed heavily. He knew they all thought what Xavier's X-Men did was glamorous, and that every mission ended with wild, mind-blowing sex. It made great gossip, and yes, it had happened a time or two. He had to admit, there was something about zipping themselves into that black leather and breaking the sound barrier in an unauthorized aircraft that lent a certain… excitement to post-mission sex, but certainly not every time and especially not tonight. They were all too shaken up. This was the first time he'd ever truly doubted that what they were doing could make a real difference, and also the first time that Jean had come back and cried herself to sleep after a mission.

He wasn't much better off. He was afraid to go upstairs. Afraid to touch her tonight. Afraid he wouldn't be able to keep that dark part of himself in check. Afraid to remind her that some parts of him were not gentle. No, it was better he remain here. Even the infamous Summers' control had limits. Yes, better to stay here and get drunk than to remind Jean, in the most intimate way possible, that there were some parts of him no better than the men running that lab.

He was halfway into the sixth beer when Jean's sleepy mental voice interrupted his thoughts.

{Come to bed, Scott.} The voice paused and grew softer. {I need to feel your arms around me.}

Despite the dark nature of his thoughts, he smiled. The others never got to see this softer, vulnerable side of her. To them she was always the poised, and somewhat aloof, Dr. Grey. He knew she did her damnedest to appear that way. Jean was very aware that nobody wanted to think of their doctor as anything less than infallible. It weakened their faith that she could heal them. She wore that mask for them, but not for him. At least not all the time.

And to be honest, a part of him liked the idea there were times she needed his strength. As stupid and cliché as it was, a part of him got off on the fact that such a strong woman turned to him for solace and comfort, even though she was several years his senior. That, more than anything, made him feel they were on even footing, that the power between them was equal – if not tipped in his favor, however slightly. Most men liked to feel they were in charge and he was no exception.

The fact that he was a pilot only made that worse. They were notorious for being control freaks, or rather; they prided themselves on the fact that they could affect what went on around them well enough to be able to manipulate a positive outcome when one might not otherwise occur. It was the knowledge that they could, in essence, tempt fate and escape unscathed that made them so self-assured, so cocky – and so damn good at what they did. That part of his nature might not be overt in his everyday dealings with Jean, but at night, behind closed doors… well, that was something altogether different.

{Scott?}

He knew she wouldn't push him if he refused to answer. Respecting mental boundaries was one of the first things a well-trained telepath learned. Those rules were a bit more lax between them due to the intimate nature of their relationship, but she understood him and his occasional need for space, both physical and mental.

He might want to be alone, but he wasn't a total asshole. He could at least make the effort to tell the woman he loved 'goodnight' before she fell asleep, especially after the day they'd had. {Go to bed, sweetheart. I'll be up in a while.} And he would, but only after he'd gotten a handle on himself. He was still too wound up and Jean needed softness after the things she'd seen tonight… and at the moment, he was feeling anything but tender.

{Scott-}

{Leave it alone, Jean.} There was no anger in his words, just a weary finality. {Trust me, you don't want me around you with the way I'm feeling right now.} He ignored the tingle of arousal he could feel from her through the link as her body reacted to the heat he couldn't quite keep from his mental voice. {Just go to bed, ok?}

She was silent a moment. {You think I don't know what you want?}

Typical Jean, she always cut right to the heart of the matter. {No. I think tonight what I want isn't what you need.}

There was a mental huff of female frustration. {And I think you should come to bed.}

Scott was very aware of the fact that her answer did not deny the truth in his words. And he loved her all the more for it – both because she was willing to give him what he wanted, and because she wouldn't pretend what he wanted was what she wanted just to make him feel better. He knew it wasn't rough, wild sex she craved, but simply to be held. That she was willing to give him that, to be strong for him when he needed it, was part of what made them 'fit' so well together. True give and take. Tonight, however, he had no intentions of taking a damn thing from her.

{Stubborn woman.}

Upstairs in their bed, Jean smiled at the touch of amusement in his words. She knew he wouldn't be joining her – at least not for sex, but she was aware their brief exchange had considerably lightened his black mood. And for now, that was enough.

{I'll be up later.} He could feel Jean begin to relax now that she knew he was ok. {And I promise I'll cuddle you all you want when I get there.}

{You better, mister.}

Scott chuckled in spite of himself. {To bed, woman. Let me brood in peace.} And then more softly, {I love you.}

{I love you too, Scott.}

He knew she did, could feel it warm and comforting through the link they shared, soothing the demons the mission had stirred within him. She was quiet, but he could feel her lingering along the edges of his consciousness. He sighed heavily. He should have known she wouldn't give up so easily. She was as stubborn as he was.

{You're not like them, you know – those men in the lab.}

{Not exactly like them, no.} Not exactly, but enough.

{Not anything like them.}

God, how he wished that were true. {Enough that we both know you're better off if I stay down here-}

{Like hell, I am!}

{Christ, Jean. Just leave it alone!} Despite what everyone said about the infamous Summers' control, he did have a temper and he was rapidly losing it.

{No. Not until you get it through that thick flyboy skull of yours that wanting me that way doesn't make you like them.}

Something inside him snapped. {Yeah?} It was more a snarl than a word. {'Wanting you that way'. Call a spade, a spade, for christsake. I want to fuck you. Not making love. Not sex. Fucking.} He wanted to shock her, to show her he did have a little of that darkness in him, regardless of what she thought. He wasn't a saint; he was just a man – with all of a man's failings.

His next words were deliberately vulgar. {And maybe I want more than that. Maybe I want to see you on your knees in front of me. Maybe I want to watch you suck me off with that pretty red mouth of yours. Maybe the dark part of me you don't want to acknowledge gets off on the fact that I'm stronger than you and that I like seeing you in that traditionally subservient position - that I like knowing you only do that for me. Maybe-}

{Well, maybe I like it, too!} She could tell from his abrupt silence, her heated comment had caught him off guard. Good.

{What the hell are you talking about?} She wasn't making sense. He knew Jean had an intense dislike for men who used sex to subjugate their partners. It was, in part, why he hadn't shared this side of himself with her in all the time they'd been together, but then again, it hadn't always been as prominent as it was now that he'd found himself on the front lines of a battle that had suddenly hit a little too close to home.

{This isn't about sex, Scott. It's about power.}

{Semantics.} His mental voice held the arrogant tone of a man who felt confidant he'd proved his point.

God, she hated arguing with him. Intelligent men could be incredibly frustrating. But then again, so could intelligent women. {You're deliberately being obtuse. I meant what I said.}

{Bullshit. I don't believe for a minute that you'd enjoy what I just described.}

{Well, you'd be wrong.}

{Excuse me?} His tone was clearly disbelieving.

{Did you ever consider that sometimes I want to feel you being that way with me? That I need it just as much as you do?}

{What in God's name for?}

Jean took a moment to gather her thoughts. {Maybe a part of me needs to feel you out of control, needs to feel your strength, needs to feel possessed. Maybe I need that raw physical expression to feel like I'm completely yours. To really feel your power and know that the man I chose is strong enough to protect what's his.}

{Jesus, Jean.}

She could feel his shock ripple outward through their link. It was always so whenever something she said made him see things from an entirely new perspective. It was another variable for him to consider. Another angle he needed to take some time to study so he could understand it from all sides. So he could see how it could affect him and how he could affect it in turn. Scott was nothing, if not predictable – at least when it came to processing new information, and Jean had long since gotten used to being subjected to Scott's tactical analysis.

Jean shrugged. Hell, in for a penny, in for a pound. {The truth is, what I saw tonight scared me. Not just as a doctor, but as a woman. And I know as selfish as it sounds, I felt safer because of you. Because I know how strong you are and I know you'd do everything you could to protect me from them.}

She could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain as he processed that. Sensing he was wavering, she decided to put all her cards on the table, and this time it was Jean's words that were deliberately vulgar. {I'm not saying that it's all I ever want, but there are times – not tonight – but times that I just want to feel taken. To feel fucked. To be totally in your power.} She was a strong woman in her own right, but she liked the way being on her knees in front of him felt, and a part of that had nothing to do with sex, and everything to do with power. Both his and hers. {There's a part of it that's not about sex or about making each other come. It's about taking you inside my body or inside my mouth to reaffirm a connection with you I can't make any other way.}

Her words had him reeling. {God, Jean. Why didn't you ever tell me any of this before?}

{Because you never refused to come to bed before, and I guess I never really felt like I needed - or wanted - a man to protect me before.}

{Never?} He could think of a few times, even before they'd started going out on missions, where Jean had relied on him that way. Little things, like moving closer to him when they walked a dark, unfamiliar street or casually taking his hand or touching him with that vibe that all women seemed to be able to give off when they wanted to. The one that said to other men, 'hey you can look, but he'll keep you from touching'.

{Well, ok, not never, but since we started going on missions… It's just more-}

{Prominent?}

{Exactly.}

Scott was quiet a long time. {Do you really think it's that simple? What you described sounds an awful lot like basic animal behavior to me.}

It was, but she wanted to hear his thoughts on it. {What do you think?}

{It sounds to me like the male felt his female was in danger of being taken away from him so he wanted to reestablish his claim on her in the most elemental way he could, and the female felt threatened so she wanted to reaffirm the virility of the male she'd chosen.} He paused. {How am I doing so far?}

{Pretty good for a guy who has his head in the clouds every chance he gets.}

{Hey, I do look down every once in a while.} His teasing tone grew more serious. {It doesn't bother you? The – hell, I don't know – the more… animalistic… qualities inherent in our relationship?}

{Not really.} She was a doctor. The nature of biological things was something she understood at the most basic level. {Why should it? We are animals after all, thinking animals, but animals just the same. We may be able to reason, but we're still creatures driven by instinct and basic male/female behaviors hardwired into us.} Her next words were tinged with wry amusement. {I guess we're just not as far out of the cave as we thought.}

His laughter was rich and warm. {Me Tarzan, you Jean.}

{Only if you wear a loincloth, flyboy.}

{Funny… but I'll pass, thanks. Clashes with the visor, you know.} He laughed aloud and a little heat crept back into his voice. {But I could probably manage to find some sort of 'vine' for you to wrap your hands around-}

{Just my hands?}

Her silvery laughter skittered through his mind, but her teasing words roused a dangerous heat inside him. {You're a menace.} He was silent a moment. {Now take yourself, and that dirty mind I love so much, and go to bed, sweetheart.}

She could tell that although his tone was light, he still wasn't ready to join her. {Still want to brood a bit?} She figured he would. She'd given him a lot to think about tonight.

{Yeah, I just…} He just wanted some time to think. To wrap his mind around everything they'd talked about tonight – and some time to just decompress.

{I know. It's ok, really. But next time...}

{Next time?} The way she'd said that piqued his interest, as he was sure she'd intended.

{Uh-huh. Next time you feel like this, no brooding all night in your office. Next time, come to bed or I'll track you down myself.}

He didn't know exactly what to say to that comment. He wasn't going to promise her anything he wasn't sure he could keep, but thankfully, she seemed to understand that and in the way of countless established relationships, they fell into a comfortable silence.

Her last words had been teasing, but he could sense the seriousness underneath, and he knew next time this happened the results would be very different indeed. He couldn't quite say he was looking forward to it, but he realized it was something they were both going to have to deal with if they wanted their relationship to survive being part of the X-Men. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as his fingers peeled the label from the bottle in his hands.

For a time, they were simply content to enjoy the shared mental silence, but eventually two wry, sleepy words echoed in his mind. {'Night, Tarzan.}

He reached for another beer and smiled. {'Night, Jean.}