Title: None of the Above
By: Satine16
Disclaimer: None of the characters in this story belong to me, they are all property of MARVEL comics. I'm not doing this to make any money so please don't sue me.
Chapter 3: Perchance to Dream
Hank entered the coffee house and his eyes scanned to find Charles. Rather than finding his friend, however, his eyes fell upon a young girl sitting alone at a table for two. She was beautiful. Her dark brown curls were parted to the side and fell over her shoulders in sleek rings. Running a fingernail over the top of her cup, her perfectly lined, blue eyes were cast towards the floor in a fringe of black eyelashes. Her outfit was a simple pink blouse and skirt, but they hugged her young curves nicely. Hank found himself glued to the floor, unable to glance away from her or duck out before she noticed him.
"Dr. McCoy?" she waved her manicured hand and Hank slowly ambled over to her table.
"Good evening, Ms. Price."
"Sit down. You're right on time. I'm so happy Dr. Grey got the message to you. I was afraid you might not have come."
Muttering through the smile in which he had clenched his teeth, "Dr. Grey is good at what she sets her mind to."
A slightly puzzled expression crossed Carly's face as Hank sat down opposite her. The waitress came over and Hank ordered a latte, and another tea for Carly.
"Now, you mentioned that you wanted to discuss my research."
"I lied a little bit," she whispered biting her bottom lip.
Bewildered Hank shook his head and asked, "Excuse me?"
"I mean…yes, you were the topic of my senior thesis. And yes, I do find your research fascinating. Thank you," she politely thanked the waitress for her new drink, and the removal of her old cup. "But I wanted…to know…you." Her face had become mildly timid and ultimately rather coy. "Please don't think me a silly little girl. I'm not. I've just never done this before, and I knew that you would never ask me out. You could have any girl you want. And you're a busy guy. I understand that. I've suddenly realized how long I've been talking, so I'm going to just stop. Now."
"Ms. Price. Carly. I don't think you fully comprehend…you're a lovely girl. Any man your own age..."
"Is painfully dull," she added a smirk on her face.
"I just don't think it's possible…"
"I dwell in possibility," she interrupted again.
"Emily Dickinson," Hank added a smile on his face.
"The last man, my own age, that I said that to, thought it was a Gertrude Stein quote."
"Gertrude Stein," a smile spread wide across his face, "How completely…"
"Ridiculous. I know…Dr. McCoy…may I call you Henry?"
"Call me Hank," he smiled and took her hand in his own and a broad smile spread across his face.
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The shower had stopped running and the bathroom was a little foggy. They had forty minutes left to leave the house and get to the dinner reservations.
"Can we please not discuss this?" Betsy sat at her vanity mirror and twisted her hair into an intricate bun; allowing the ends to fan out beyond the simple, neat, knot.
Warren wrapped a towel firmly around his waist and headed towards his clothing, which was laid out at the other end of the long bathroom counter. His tanned muscles gleamed with water and his golden hair lay damp on his head.
"I just worry, love."
"I'm a big girl, Warren," there was a snide tone in her voice, which emphasized her accent and made her tone haughty and unkind. "I took care of myself long before you waltzed in three months ago." The unspoken end to her sentence seemed to hang unpleasantly in the air. Betsy began to shade in her eyes with a thin, delicate eye shadow brush, highlighting the creases and rims of her eyes with a smoky, charcoal shimmer.
"Elizabeth…" Warren slipped his long muscular legs into a pair of black trousers.
"Listen," she brushed off the note of concern in his voice, "I used to black out when my powers first developed. They must be expanding or surging or something. I'll see hank in the morning. Nothing to worry about. Stop fretting."
"But..." his words were cut short. Both by Betsy and by the effort of having to bind his wings for the evening.
"But nothing. Drop it," her last words were so finite that there was almost a note of cruelty in them. Betsy applied her mascara and lip liner and Warren buttoned the sleeves of his white dress shirt. The tails of the shirt hung in front of the slacks, he had not yet buttoned up the front, and the white beater tee was still clinging to his skin underneath.
Slowly Warren's eyes searched for hers in the mirror. She was avoiding him, concentrating more than necessary on the intricacies of her makeup.
"I worry because…Elizabeth…" his tone became softer, "Betsy…I'm not going anywhere," he caught her gaze in the silver glass, "I love you."
She ceased moving as his words hung desperately in the air. Slowly she came back to earth, her eyes never leaving the mirror or his gaze. "You what?"
"I'm in love with you."
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Remy paced back and forth in his room, smoking a cigarette and he found himself worrying about something which couldn't even bother to make itself clear.
"Yeah," the knock at the door was impatient. His tone was frustrated.
"Open up, Bright Eyes," her syrupy but sexy voice oozed from behind the oak.
Remy opened his door and found her standing seductively on the other side. Her right shoulder was pressed against the doorframe and her left hand was on her hip. Her hair was down and relaxed, just shampooed and she wore no makeup. Four days ago she had left on a recovery mission, and she had just returned moments ago. The feeling was odd for him, but he missed her sorely while she was gone. The empath in him sensed a shift in her and in their relationship. Taking her into his arms he held her tightly to his solid frame, hugging her as close as possible. She held him just as tightly, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest and his scent. Having her back in his arms was a relief, and Remy breathed deeply, absorbing and lingering in the comfortable scent.
"Ya stayin' here tonight, Chere?"
Rogue smiled sweetly, "Do you have food, Swamp Rat?"
Two hours later the voice of David Letterman buzzed through the Top Ten list for the evening, something about the President again, while Remy and Rogue lay in bed. Rogue had propped herself up on two pillows, having changed into one of Remy's old shirts and sweatpants, allowing herself to see the T.V. and Remy had thrown himself over her legs, his head resting in-between her hips.
The glow of the T.V. seemed to accent the dark freckles and deep lip color of her natural face. Her white teeth poked through as she chuckled about some lame political joke.
"Remy?"
"Hmm."
"You're starin'."
"And?"
"It bothers me."
"Ya look amazing, Cherie."
"Ya promise that ya haven't been drinkin'?" Rogue pushed herself up on her forearms to stare at him.
With strong, educated hands Remy shifted her legs apart and pulled himself into the newly created space. Slowly he sank into her lips, kissing her, pressing his body firmly into hers. Their kiss was brief but deep, Remy pulling away just before her bite kicked in. Bringing his eyes up to meet her gaze, Gambit saw the green flash briefly in the dark. Rogue sat wide-eyed, studying his face and hands.
The thin, threadbare fabric of the t-shirt lined space between his hands and her torso, as he stroked and kissed her firm abdomen and her soft, responsive breasts. Rogue closed her eyes and let her head fall back as she relished the heat of his touch, his breath and his saliva. Silently, she thanked him for wearing his God forsaken t-shirts 'til they completely fell apart. Slowly, she ran her hands, and nails over the muscles in his shoulders, arms, back and chest. She felt the warmth of his mouth against her lower abdomen, and his hands as they inched up her inner thighs, and he felt her shiver against his touch. His eyes once again looked up to meet hers, and he saw that small flash of green. He moved and lightly touched his lips to hers again, letting the small spark of contact between them ignite.
Carefully and playfully he pried her compliant lips apart with his tongue and played with her own, finally deepening it into powerful kiss and shifting her beneath him on the bed. Remy hovered above her, pressing most of his weight onto his elbows, but leaving just enough pressure on her body to have her wanting more.
They continued to explore each other's mouths and taste, until she began to feel him slow down. His weight was becoming heavier on her body. She pulled away from the kiss and rolled him away from her, letting his body shake softly on the mattress. He wasn't that out of it. She took the long gloves and socks off the foot of the bed and, climbing under the sheets, put them on. Taking his unconscious hand in her own, she stared at the bumps in the white ceiling. Twenty minutes later Remy was back to being himself.
"Now, don' tell me you're done wit' me," he pulled her towards him as she rolled away, to which he responded by holding her closer to his chest. She refused to look at him.
Rogue broke free from his grasp, and wiggled towards the end of the bed. He tried to pull her back into the spoon position, and she broke away from him again.
"Goodnight, Remy."
"G'Night, Chere," he rolled back to his side of the bed and shut off the annoying chatter of the television.
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A teenager's dorm room at the institution was still a dorm room. The adults and instructors received the proper rooms (with bathrooms). The teenagers like those before them, still shared rooms and needed to coexist with one another completely on a regular basis.
"Do you wanna make out?"
"No."
"NO? You're my boyfriend! You're supposed to want to make out with me!"
Jubilee sat on Bobby's bed with her history book. Her eyes were lined with blue liner in a very Debbie Harry-esque manner. The orange tank top she wore ended two inches above her brown belt and retro, spray painted jeans, revealing flat, smooth skin. She wore a pair of cheap tortoise shell sunglasses, with a yellow lens, on top of her head.
"I have math homework. My roommates are coming back soon anyway, and they don't need to see that."
Bobby sat opposite her with his Calculus book propped open on his pillow. Donning an AC/DC t-shirt and a pair of Abercrombie khakis, he looked like the ideal cross of hard rock and sun streaked. That last few days had proved difficult for him. He couldn't focus and he couldn't seem to find himself. Worst of all, he was choosing to ignore the reason for it all.
"What flew up your butt and died?" Jubilee continued to prod in her typical manner.
"Fuck you," he spat
"Bobby, I was attracted to you because you were fun. You flirted with all the girls and got attention because it was a blast being around you. You made girls feel good about themselves. Where did that guy go?"
"He went to Calculus class and failed his last test."
"You got a C."
"Can we not…?" his tone was getting angry again.
"Kitty and Peter are getting back together," she quickly changed the subject.
"I know. Why?"
"I don't know. Wanna make out?"
"Ok," Bobby's radiant white smile poked through his grimace, and he pulled his giggling girlfriend to him.
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The small lights set around the diminutive restaurant gave the diners the feeling that the glimmering stars were visible around them, even when the real fires were camouflaged by the multitude of lights and pollution of the big city.
Scott and Jean sat at a corner table for two on the veranda, amongst a pack of glimmering lights and other couples. Scott wore a pair of black slacks and the deep blue, PRADA dress shirt Jean had bought him. He had just gotten a haircut, and while he had combed his hair away from his face, the front pieces continued to fall over his forehead. Jean wore her hair back in a neat twist, and donned an elegant blue sheath dress and strappy sandals to match Scott's attire.
The table linen was a nice crisp white, and their wine was a deep, savory red. They ordered red wine quite often. It was their little joke, seeing as even if they had ordered white wine, it would be red to Scott.
"Jean?" he took her hand in his own.
"What's on your mind, Scott?"
"Be honest with me. Are you happy?"
"Yes. I love you, Scott," Jean took his hand between her own and brought it to her lips. Everyone, while in a serious relationship, had doubts. That was normal. Jean had her doubts as she and Scott started their new chapter, but she had overcome them. Rejected both the doubts and their silliness.
"I don't remember my parents. I barely remember Alex. To be brutally honest, I never thought I could have what we have now with anyone. I was always alone. I thought I'd always be alone."
"Scott…"
"I
know. I sound like a fool from a soap opera. It's just that…God
damn it, Jean, I love you so much," Scott held her palm to his
lips, letting them linger.
"I love you, too, Scott. And there is no one I would rather be with," as the words left Jean's lips she knew that they were the truth.
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The knock on Kitty's door came exactly at eight o'clock.
"Since when do you pick me up on time, and not just walk in?" Kitty opened the door wide to see Peter standing there.
He wore a tight pair of dark washed blue jeans, which hugged his legs and butt perfectly and added to his fantastic form. A tight, long sleeved, steel grey t-shirt squeezed his large, strong upper body. His dark hair complemented his shining, fantastic blue eyes and completed his handsome picture. The moment Kitty laid eyes on his extraordinary form, and warm smile she remembered the way it felt to be with him. Recalled the way that he doted over her, and the good times in their relationship, and she began to fall in love again.
"Since you want to take this slow Katya, and I want everything to be perfect this time."
The dress she wore was lavender eyelet, and it was synched at the waist, accentuating her small curves. It had a full skirt and heart shaped neckline making her look distinguished and yet classic. Her brown hair was tied back in a sleek, straight ponytail and she wore very little makeup. Peter had missed her desperately in the months that they had been apart, and was overjoyed to see her again tonight. Something about the situation and being with her made him feel right. On some level, he felt whole again.
"Just let me grab my purse."
"Of course," he stepped inside the door and closed it behind him.
Moments later she came back with her small, lavender and white Kate Spade purse. It was new and she was excited to take it with her. On some level it completed the façade of perfection in her eyes. When she got back he stood in front of the large oak door smiling.
"Are you ready to go?"
"Yep," Kitty smiled. "Oh, and Peter?"
"Yes, Katya?" he turned from opening the door and she pulled him to her and kissed him. Wrapping her arms around his neck she deepened the kiss, and allowed him to envelop her small frame with his large arms. Euphoria erupted between the two of them as they shared their kiss. Peter straightened slightly and pulled her with him, lifting her toes inches from the ground and holding her tightly to him.
Once the kiss broke he was the first to speak, "Our movie starts in forty five minutes."
"Let's go."
After Kitty had locked her door they turned to go. Peter offered his arm to her as they approached the stairs, but she didn't take it. Instead, she slipped her slender hand into his large one and held it firmly. He beamed, and she smiled warmly right back.
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Logan threw the sweat soaked black t-shirt to the floor as he made his way to the bathroom. How badly he had wanted to fight in the woods back there, track his enemy, make a kill. But there was Rogue to worry about, and the kid. The blood coursed through his veins in longing for a release.
The bathroom began to fill with a thick white steam as the scalding hot water left the spicket. The mirror rapidly fogged up and the room became white and opaque. Logan climbed into the shower and let the hot jets blast against his skin. Smirking, he turned back to the faucet, lowered the temperature, and waited.
Moments later, he felt her presence behind him. The heat of her body resonated with the warmth of the water and the ache in his bones.
"You're back," she wrapped her arms around his abdomen, running her short, well kept nails over the muscles in his chest and stomach and pressing her soft skin against his back. Logan and Ororo had begun a very blatantly sexual relationship since that night on the stairs.
"You just love playin' with fire, doncha Darlin'?" he turned to face her
"I like a challenge."
"I said it before and I'm gonna say it again. I'm not makin' any promises."
"And I'll tell you what I've already told you: I'm not asking for anything."
He pulled her to him and began kissing her neck. Letting her torso go limp, she allowed for his arms to brace her upper body and pull her closer to him still. Languidly tangling her fingers in his hair, she let him kiss and bite at her flesh, reveling in the sensations he brought to her. Whenever she was with Logan it felt as if a new part of Ororo had come to life. All the sensations that had died inside of her, resulting from the years of control and hardhearted determination it took to master her abilities, rekindled themselves. For the first time in years, she felt alive.
Ororo was sensual. She lost herself in the moment, in him and in his touch. There was something irresistible about the slow, corporeal way she experienced everything. Logan knew she was just as instinctual, and primal as he was and that with the right cue, she could tear him apart. Logan smiled to himself at the thought.
With one shove he pressed her against the wall of the shower and she gave in easily. That was her style: she would give in to him until she got what she needed. Then it was a different story. He began to trail his tongue over her chest and abdomen, loving the feel of her reaction as it acknowledged the difference between the water and his saliva as he trailed his way down. Her hands pressed feverishly against the tile as her body began to respond to him, clawing at the grout as the muscles in her body contracted against him. He knew what he was doing and he loved doing it.
A small smile formed on her face as he rose to meet her and kissed her. It was her turn to tease him. Gently touching and licking his ears, neck, chest, stomach and thighs. Never going where he wanted her, forcing him to take what he was after. Making her relinquish against the warming tile of the shower stall. His relief came to him, and her, as the warm water ran out, and the only heat left was the small patch of tile to which he had pressed her.
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"Emma, I thank you again for coming with me. Those philanthropists are dreadfully dull."
"They're fun. Did you see that old bat's eyes when I told her I was your date."
"Why was that so shocking? I feel like I should take offense."
"No. The shocking part came when I told her your paralyzed parts don't hinder everything."
"You didn't?"
"I did."
"Emma you are…"
"Fantastic. I know."
The two sat in the kitchen sipping tea and laughing about the ridiculous events of the evening. As Charles had assumed, the benefit was full over overly cocky, self indulgent and self-impressed philanthropists. Part of the reason he brought Emma with him was to spice up the otherwise ridiculous evening.
"Well, I will say that you were the most fantastic woman to look at and to talk to at the entire benefit."
"You're too kind, Charles."
All night Charles' blue eyes sparkled. He wore a standard black tuxedo, with a shawl collar and a single red rose in the buttonhole of the coat. Simply being able to escort Emma for the evening had proven fun and rewarding. He almost hated himself for liking it as much as he did. (Even if she did ruin his social reputation.)
For the evening Emma had decided to style herself in the old likeness of Veronica Lake circa Sullivan's Travels. Her dress was silver silk, and free flowing, like many of the starlet's dresses from the 1930's. The dress was one piece, backless and held to her like a second skin. The evening made her look flawless as a portrait.
"I mean it, Emma, when I say that you are a stunning woman," the moonlight filtered in from the window and cast a glow over her incredible form.
"You're too sweet, Charles. And I mean it when I say, that you are the most kind hearted man I've ever known," she turned to face his smiling form. He was staring at her. She felt it.
Something overcame Emma in that instant. She rose from her seat at the window and waltzed over to where Charles was sitting. Leaning down she kissed him softly on the lips, and to somewhat her surprise, he kissed her back. It was a proper kiss and a sweet kiss, but nonetheless there was something more than friendship behind it. Slowly the two parted ways, and for a moment they locked eyes.
"Good night, Charles."
"Sweet dreams, Emma."
She sauntered from the room, and he watched her go. She was the most fantastic creature. Mentally, emotionally and physically captivating, as well as mature and able to play games with him that eluded his previous companions. Slowly he licked his lips and tasted the remnants of her lipstick and her mouth.
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The fluorescent lights of the basement glowed eerily as Rogue made her way through. Each of her steps echoed recklessly against the hard, metallic walls and floor. The entire area was cold tonight and the metal seemed to resonate with a new chill. At the end of the hallway stood the large door to the hospital wing.
Rogue carefully made her way over to the round door, and allowed herself in. The decompression sound at the door's opening seemed to disrupt the lifeless peace around her. Stepping into the wing sheepishly, she made her way over to the private room. The small viewing window into the hospital bed glowed with a supernatural radiance, casting a pale blue light across her face.
When they found four days ago him he looked as if a bear had mauled him. The skin was ragged on his bones and blood coated every inch of his inert form. To Wolverine the attack had meant only one thing…Sabretooth. It was that very presence that had extended their trip by an entire day, in order to avoid a predictable trail and cover their scent. It was supposed to be an easy pick up. Something was wrong. The Brotherhood new something. At the scene he had seemed to be lifeless, like a rag doll, and now all he seemed was helpless. The small grey ventilator was helping him breathe from the corner of the room. The many wounds on his body were bandaged and sewn, and Hank had meticulously sealed the gashes on his face with surgical glue. All that remained now were the remnants of his pain. Lines engraved deep in his ivory blue complexion. His upper lip was thin and frail, but his bottom lip was full and round and gave way to a strong jaw and square chin. His cheekbones were high and overly defined, making his sleeping eyes look almost sunken. His hair was long, and silver blonde. So much so that it seemed to shine with a blue grey luster. His nose had been broken, and there was now a large bump in the center of the bridge, which interrupted the other wise flat, straight line it created.
She had left Remy sleeping in bed. Part of her body ached to be against the rhythmic breathing of his strong chest, while another division of her being pulled her towards the window. Taking a deep breath in, she searched the room for anyone else. Her eyes fell on the window once again. Cautiously, she took another step forward, and stood inches away from the windowpane. Checking again for any sign of an intrusion, Rogue warily lifted her right arm, and firmly pressed her palm against the glass.
