Title: None of the Above

by: Satine16

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me, they are all property of Marvel comics. I do not own anything and am not making any money off this, so please don't sue me! Thanks!

Chapter 1: At First Glance

"Grande. Skim. No Foam. Extra Caramel. Carmel Macchiatto. Thanks," she smiled her radiant white smile, great teeth, even if they were a little tightly spaced. She never had braces.

"Jus' a cup o' Joe for me. Black," he threw the money down on the counter and walked over to meet her where she was waiting for her drink. Every time he looked at her he just couldn't believe it. She was wearing shiny black, stiletto boots with black slacks that rode low on her hips; a thick, black leather, silver studded, belt holding the wide waist on her round hipbones. Her denim jacket hid the spring green form-fitting little t-shirt she was wearing. A small amount of skin peered out of the bottom, just about two inches of skin. Nevertheless it was two inches of skin he kept sneaking glances at all day long. Her chestnut hair fell down around her shoulders in thick waves, and she constantly blew the white streak from her eyes. She wasn't wearing much make-up: just some lip-gloss and eyeliner. The green in her t-shirt made her eyes pop. He couldn't help but notice the way every guy always turned to look at her. He was the luckiest bastard in the world.

He was watching her again. She could always feel it when he was watching her. She let him do it anyway. She enjoyed it on some level. Loved to know that she caught his eye just as often, if not more, than those bimbos he'd find at the bars and well…anywhere. They thought he was so great. Rogue flipped her hair and glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He really was very nice looking. Strong jaw line, and a sharp nose. Great, dark auburn hair that constantly fell into his eyes. Those eyes scared people. She loved them. There was something about them. Something inside them. She had never quite put her finger on it. As usual he was wearing his trench coat, but underneath he wore a pair of torn jeans and a black t-shirt. The t-shirt didn't leave much to the imagination about his torso, but she hated that when he wore that stupid trench coat she couldn't get a good look at his butt. He had a great butt. He was lankier than Scott, and a little bit shorter, but only by an inch or so. He came over with his coffee as her drink was handed to her.

"Chere, Ah don' know how ya drink all that crap in there?"

"Just 'cause some of us don' like it black," she stuck her tongue out at him.

"Dat an offer?" he asked raising one eyebrow at her.

"You are insufferable sometimes, ya know that?"

"Then why you still here? Let's go, Chere," he tapped her lightly on the butt as he began to walk by. He turned back when he noticed she wasn't walking next to him. Instead she was standing with her left hip jutted out, her hand dug firmly on the ledge it provided. "Don' gimme that. Like ya don' jus' love the attention. Let's go."

Glaring at him for a minute more, she decided to call it quits. She did like the attention; she just didn't want him to know that. Remy would always push, and she would always stand still. There was nowhere for her to go. Nowhere for them to go. It was a standstill. Flirtation sans satisfaction. She took the two steps towards him and he wrapped his arms around her. She was his girl; there was no denying that.

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"What about the khaki and the navy?" her voice was like soft bells tinkling with excitement as they approached the next set up.

"I love you. You know that I love you, right?"

"Right."

"Then please don't make me stay here any longer."

"Come on, baby. We're moving in together. It's a big deal. I just want everything to be perfect."

Scott Summers and Jean Grey had been dating for years, and they were finally going to move into the same space. The consolidation and merging of assets. In all honesty, Jean was terrified, just really good at hiding it. Where were all of her shoes going to go? They had been at the Pottery Barn for about three hours because Jean didn't want to make any rash decisions about color schematics. Scott really didn't care. This was going to be his first new set of sheets in about ten or eleven years. His old ones were frankly kind of disgusting at this point.

"Jean, this is your thing, not mine."

"But we need a good theme. My stuff is all too pink, and yours is college frat boy chic. Not good. Very not good. Plus, I thought that you'd care what our bed looked like."

"I care," Scott stood over six feet, with a well-built frame. He towered over her small figure. Ruby red glasses sat on top of a perfect profile and clean shaved jaw line, complete with great, thick brown hair and full pink lips. Sporting khakis and a blue, Tommy polo he fit right in with the girl of his dreams.

Her red hair cascaded around her shoulders in perfectly smooth strands that curled at the ends. She had just the right amount of make-up on, from the new Bobbi Brown collection. All very natural. A strapless, lilac top hugged her small figure just right, and the short, black, pleated skirt sat perfectly below it. Her strappy sandals elongated her legs and accented her figure even more.

"I'm just tired Jean."

"How about this…we pick a color scheme and I will go find something else to help christen the new room. Betsy told me about this great little store…" she leaned in and finished her sentence in his ear.

"Let's get those sheets picked!" he said a smile forming on his face for the first time that day.

A smirk came across Jean's lips, pulling her towards him, he kissed her gently.

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Teeming masses had come out for the book signing. The book basically contained everything the Professor had ever stood for. He was elated that the launch had been as successful as it had. He had signed upwards of six hundred copies between all his scheduled appointments and appearances. It was a great feeling. Knowing that people supported his work.

"Dude…Peter…" Bobby whispered to Peter as they perused the books in the store, "that girl's totally checkin' you out!"

"Excuse me?" Peter was indeed attractive. He stood six foot eight inches, towering over his companions. His excessive height was complimented by the abundance of muscles. He wore acid washed jeans and a simple gray t-shirt through which you could see the multitude of formed ripples in his flesh. Two firmly set, deep brown eyes accentuated the square lines of his jaw and sharp bridge of his nose. A navy blue tattoo laced its way around his left bicep in a ring that at first glance resembled barbed wire. His jet-black hair was trimmed short, and he would put gel in it each morning to make it just a little bit spiky. In fact his presence and size could seem rather intimidating at first, until really getting to know him and finding out that he was generally as fierce as a bunny slipper. (Unless, of course, the occasion called for otherwise.)

"She's right, my friend, that young lady has not stopped looking over here since we arrived," Henry McCoy looked up from his copy of Tolstoy to address his friend.

"She's at least cute," Bobby Drake was eighteen years old and had just gotten up enough courage to ask Jubilee out. They had perfect timing actually. She had just realized that Remy was never going to confess his eternal and unrelenting desire for her at the same time that Bobby realized his head would not spontaneously combust when he asked her on a date. He was just a little smaller than most, and thinner. He wore his light brown hair spiked straight up, and had just recently dyed the tips an icy blue color. The perfect crossover of Hollister and skater his wardrobe was exactly what an eighteen year old boy's should be, not quite punk, but not quite prep. The girls helped him out a little.

"I'm not interested, Bobby."

"So? It'd give you something to do! All you do is lift weights! Here she comes!"

Hank rolled his eyes and kept his eyes buried in the book.

"Excuse me?" her voice was soft and sweet.

"I'm sorry…"

"No, not you," with a flick of her wrist she dismissed Peter and Bobby chuckled to himself. "Excuse me, Dr. Henry McCoy, right?" Hank looked up from his book.

"Yes?"

"God! I read all your stuff when I was in school. You were the basis of my senior thesis. What you've done with the genome is fantastic. Not to mention your development of the new artificial pH for that transplantation. How did you manage to alter the equilibrium constant at that temperature?"

"She speaks Hank," Bobby whispered to Peter.

"Well my dear, I'm flattered. Thank you. It was all very simple."

"I don't want to sound too forward…but do you think that we could have coffee sometime? Discuss my thesis and research? Two years ago I just never thought I'd have the chance to actually meet you."

"His number is this," Peter wrote the number in the book she was carrying. "Extension 431."

"Oh, great. Thanks so much. I'll call you. We'll set something up."

"Peter, why did you do that?"

"Because I know you think she's cute. And she's smart. And she likes you."

"She's about seven years old."

"Don't be such an old fart, Henry. Moira was eighteen when she agreed to marry me."

"Hello, Charles. And you got divorced when she was twenty-two."

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"I need a boyfriend," Kitty whined as Jubilee popped the popcorn.

"You need to get laid."

"Thanks for that."

"I'm serious. Have you ever considered the friends with benefits thing?"

"Just because you're dating Bobby does not make you better than me, alright already? You have a boyfriend and I don't!"

"That's just because I'm more of a sex bomb than you," she teased as she popped a kernel of corn in her mouth.

Jubilee stood at about five foot four. She had been in gymnastics for the better part of her young life, and her frame reflected it. She was small, and tightly compacted, with little to show in the ways of a voluptuous, womanly figure. Her skin was a rich olive brown and her hair a deep black. Since she was fifteen she had kept her hair in a short, pixie cut, spiked with mousse and hair wax. At the same time she had grown accustomed to wearing gobs of smoky grey eyeliner and mascara. Her standard pink bubble gum could always be found in her purse, and she had found a new fashion religion in retro '80's punk gear. Needless to say she was about as feisty as her wardrobe was fluorescent.

Kitty on the other hand was about five foot ten, with pale skin and chestnut brown hair that she straightened with a flat iron each morning. The freckles that speckled her round cheeks and small nose made her insane, and she did al she could to get rid of them. There was no hope. She wore little to no make-up: just some shiny pink lip-gloss, mascara and bronzer, but she could easily turn heads as she walked down the street. Her figure was lanky and thin, with small breasts and tiny hips, but her waistline was still distinct. Her wardrobe was very simple, consisting of fuzzy sweaters, t-shirts and jeans. But she loved shoes. She would splurge on shoes. She didn't care if they made her over six feet tall. Apparently plenty of boys did. That was the problem.

"Seriously, Jubes," she looked sadly at her friend. "Oh just hand over the damn popcorn!"

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"What time is it?"

"Two in the afternoon, love."

"Do you realize that we've spent twelve hours in-between these sheets?"

"I know. Personally, I'm ready for another twelve."

"I'm getting hungry. But my bra is over there, and I really don't want to get up."

The 1400 thread count sheets were a pale blue color, and draped gently over the bodies of Betsy Braddock and Warren Worthington. She was nestled in the crook of his right arm and her right leg was carelessly thrown over his middle.

Warren was stunningly handsome. His hair was the color of pure gold; he let it fall to the nape of his neck, and his eyes were a gleaming oceanic blue. The bone structure of his face was the kind movie star hopefuls would purchase at all too high a cost. The high cheekbones were offset by a strong nose and chin. His brilliant smile and full lips alone were worth more than money could buy.

Betsy's beauty was a little darker. Her lips were plump and dark like wine and her eyes were even deeper: the color of violets in the middle of summer. Her complexion was like porcelain, flawless against the deeper features of her face. She left her hair long, and it ran in iridescent black cascades down to her butt. Her shape was not round and it wasn't thin. It lie somewhere in the middle. Muscular and strong, but possessing the supple curves that made her so tangible. Since they had gotten together he couldn't take his hands off of her.

"So, when are we joining the rest of the world?"

"Why, are you on a schedule Ms. Braddock?"

"No. I didn't mean to ruffle your feathers," she let her fingers play with the large wings that had earned him his name.

He leaned in and gently kissed her collarbone, and shifting her under him kissed her softly as he slipped underneath the sheets.

A small smirk came across her face as his head slipped out of sight and she cooed, "Well, no one's rushing, I mean…Oh…" she smiled and inhaled deeply, "I'm in no hurry."

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"Oh please, like you don't remember what it's like?"

"What what's like, babe?"

Logan nursed his beer. His old jeans and t-shirt had begun to show their age, as much as their owner had not. His hair was still just as thick and just as dark as it always had been; his eyes had just as much sparkle. And he still gave off the overwhelming aroma of sex, adrenaline and cigars. Smaller, and sturdier than most of his teammates, his build was solid as a brick wall. His nose had broken once, although it was before he could remember. All he had was the marks to show for it. He had a strong, set jaw and cheekbones. In the right light his eyes could be either cold as steel, or dancing playfully. Depended on his mood. The two made for interesting companions at the bar.

Emma sat beside him, her many layered, thick, platinum blonde hair pulled up in a slick twist. Her long, flawless legs were bared underneath her tight, black leather miniskirt ending in two strappy, black pumps. Two crystal earrings dangled down, adding a little sparkle to her outfit. A silver blouse was loosely hung over her shoulders, the top buttons left undone, and the black lace of her bra poking out ever so slightly. Her make-up was very creative: subtle, natural lip-gloss and smoky eyes. It was a very attractive look. The fact was that she was a very attractive woman. Full breasts and a round butt fit perfectly with her carefully shaped eyebrows, full lips and amazing bone structure. Being the most beautiful woman in the room was nothing new for Emma, and she loved the attention that it awarded her. Sipping her a vodka martini and laughing with Logan. She knew that the other men watched her. She felt their eyes as they wandered their way up her legs and down her chest. The bar had been his choice. Not her usual scene. She was enjoying it anyway. Had decided ten minutes ago that the cute, young boy from Texas would be going home with her that night.

"What it's like to be head over heels for someone when you're young. To be madly obsessed with someone."

"Can't say I do."

"You need to get laid more often. It would soften up your personality. I mean, even Ororo can loosen up sometimes."

They turned their heads to their friend as she played pool with a handful of handsome young men. Her laugh was a breath of fresh air inside the musty bar, and her presence changed the aroma around her. Her silvery hair was tied back in a braid that ran down the center of her back. Her blue chains were faded and rode low on the hips and her lavender t-shirt had been shrunk a little bit in the laundry. It fit her just a little more snugly and the men around her took note of it. Her blue eyes pierced the smoke in the air, and she sipped a long-necked beer as she won money from the infatuated boys. Her skin was clean, and she wore no make-up.

"And who do you suppose I should screw this week?"

"Anyone. I'm taking the cute boy in the cowboy hat with me tonight. He just doesn't know it yet."

"Emma, you have some ridiculous ideas about…"

"About what? It's just sex. When it's just sex no one gets hurt."

"Ok, babe. Whatever toots your horn."

"Night, Logan," she slipped off the barstool next to him and sauntered over to work some of her irresistible charms.

"Hundred and fifty dollars total."

Ororo sat on the stool that Emma had freed.

"Good for you."

"The next round is on me."

She smiled warmly and topped off her drink. He smiled back at her and watched as each of her pool-playing companions gave up on the hope that she'd be going home with them tonight.