Title: Between Recollection and Reality
Author: M. Edison
Archive: Please ask first.
Rating: PG
Category: Post- X2 Scottfic
Spoilers: X2
Disclaimer: X-men, Stan Lee's. I'm not Stan.
Summary: Ghosts of the past never let go.
Can't believe I wrote Scott/Jean. G
This is unbeta'd.
"Between Recollection and Reality"
By M.
It takes little concentration to summon the memory of her hands on him, skimming lightly up his chest to push his shirt from his shoulders. Even easier to feel her mouth on his, body half- leaning/half-falling against him as they walk backward to the bed.
He feels the tickle of her soft hair brushing over his skin as her mouth traces downword and his body tenses at the ghost of a memory, moving up into the tantalizing touch.
He looks, seeing those eyes on him, alive with a wicked gleam and he remembers what that look means.
She always did revel in her ability to usurp his control, leaving him completely at her mercy, and the ease with which she did it. In truth, he loved it as much as she. Revelling in the rare opportunity to tryly relax, to let someone else be 'in charge', and get lost in the moment, get lost in her, he found he craved it.
The feeling of her nails running ghostlike over his upper thighs coaxed her name from him in a low, heated groan. It was a sound of pleasure tempered with the bitter taste of grief.
Memories of heated nights, of moments like these, overlapped and intermingled, blurring until they were indistinguishable - his mind bringing them back with near painful clarity before blending them into one another.
Whispering her name, he reaches out, pulling her back to him. Everything pent up within him releasing in one fumbling, passion-hazed blur of movement and sensation. Memories and events jumbling together until the line between recollection and reality faded into nothing as sensation overcame reason.
But...reason will not remain vanquished and, again, it returns to remind him of the awful truth.
He is alone, lover to a ghost, a phantom created by memory.
Jean is gone. Jean is dead.
The reality is a cold, hard, inescapable truth and Scott rolls over, turning away from the picture of them sitting on the night table, trying again to seek solitude in his dreams even as a soft whisper permeates the room.
"I'm still here..."
Finis