A/N: To a review submitted by ILauraX23: You know what's dumb? Reading a Hellion-X23 story and expecting it to star another pairing. It works the same way as canned food...you will find the
contents are pretty much what is listed on the label. If the story upsets you, don't read it, is my advice. Also, look up the definition of smut.


-4-

Julian couldn't sleep anymore. His dreams had been bad for almost a year now, full of violence, and dead friends. And Sofia leaving. As well as the odd physics-without-a-cheat-card dream,
which usually surfaced around exam time.

But now, he found he was having trouble sleeping; probably because he'd let his mind stray to the problem he'd started with X.

He had been correct; it was becoming difficult to be around her in training sessions, and the odd times they were called on to help the X-men (as part of their training). He could tell that she
was not happy about the interactions either; but neither could resist them when they came about.

At 4 AM, with a math class at 10 AM, Julian finally sat up in his bed and rubbed his forehead. He roomed alone now, seeing as Brian was dead and buried (another thing that didn't help with
his sleep—he was almost certain his friend was haunting the space), so he didn't need to worry about disturbing anyone else.

Or so he thought. He shuffled to the door, grabbed a t-shirt lying on the boxes by the door (some of Brian's belongings, that had been prepared for shipping) and pulled it on as he entered
the hallway, his bare feet making slapping sounds on the hardwood floor.

He headed down the stairs, towards the kitchen, for a soda, figuring that he might as well watch TV. Maybe he'd stumble on some crazy movie that would give him an idea of how to fix this
fucked up situation, he mused. Failing that, some disgusting imagery to use as a mental 'cold shower'.

Shuffling into the darkened den, he found the TV already on, volume lowered—to a station he hated. He looked around for the remote, then shrugged and sat down—directly on a pair of legs.

"!" The figure sat up; he leapt up quickly and turned to apologize. Then he recognized the pale face in the dim light of the TV.

"…oh, you," he said, sounding exasperated.

X pulled up her legs and stared at him in the dark. "Yes, me," she said.

Julian paused. Now! Apologize! his mind screamed. He cleared his throat.

"What do you want?" X asked apprehensively, her eyes still on him.

"Uh—" Julian put his drink down on the coffee table and turned to look at her again. "Look, I wanted to say that I'm really—"

X's hand was on her shoulder strap, her thumb under it, adjusting slightly as it had misaligned itself in her sleep. The movement was by no means suggestive or rude; however he paused,
mesmerized, his eyes on her breasts as if he had just become aware that she possessed them.

He felt a small jolt of pain and winced.

"…" he trailed off, feeling the odd effect of having his train of thought destroyed.

X's eyes widened, and then her lips parted. His eyes fell down her body, to her…skirt. He could see miles of pale skin.

That seemed to break whatever remained of his restraint. He pounced, sinking her deeper into the couch, his mouth finding hers and his hands travelling up her top to feel the shapes that
had destroyed his concentration.

Again he was held up by the straps on her corset; she reached over his hands and laid her fingers on his. He froze, and his eyes flickered up to hers, something he didn't practice much of
during these interactions: eye contact.

"Allow me," X whispered, probably not wanting another top destroyed. He let go and watched as she deftly undid the ribbons that seemed to act as an unbreakable barrier to his attempts;
seconds later her top was open, and he didn't care anymore. He pushed it out of the way and settled over her, his other hand reaching up her small skirt and feeling.

X made a sound a few moments later. He wondered if he'd managed to hit the right spot. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to find it; he wanted to make her helpless and
quivering. He slid down the couch, pushing her skirt up, and she stared down at him, wondering what he was planning.

He pulled her undergarment down and leaned in.

"!" She snapped her head back, amazed. No one had ever put their tongue there, and she had no clue it would feel so powerful. She stopped wondering about his reasons, her hand finding
the cushion above her head and holding on for support of some kind as he began to work her. She didn't last long under the assault; her grip soon tightened on the cushion as she again
had seizures of some sort.

Rrrip.

They both stopped, and looked towards the source of the noise. X had torn a large strip out of the leather, Julian realized, reaching up and wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.

"I will—" she began, pushing herself up, forgetting that he hadn't finished. He reached out and scooped her off the cushion, sitting down at the same time so she was pulled into his lap.

"My turn," Julian found himself grinding out. She stared at him for a second, then looked down—and flushed slightly.

He took a sharp breath, and his hand moved into the region she was staring at, working on freeing himself. Finally succeeding, he pulled her down roughly from where she was perched,
burying his head in her neck as he did so.

They moved for a while, silently. His eyes travelled over her shoulder to the TV, which was almost muted but showing mutant protests, and Senator Kelly giving some speech or other.
He let his eyes slide shut, not caring about any of that at the moment. In fact, it seemed to make it even better because in this moment he felt so alive. He breathed hard into her neck,
then pulled back and found her mouth again, a little desperately.

He wanted to feel alive. It was a good feeling, something he'd been missing for a while, now that he carried a death sentence in his hand and a target on his back.

He forgot about most of it as they reached the breaking point, and—incredibly—he felt X shudder again, something he hadn't thought would happen. She was breathing hard too.

Julian leaned back against the cushions and stared at her, his eyes half-lidded. Now he felt sleepy, and content. X was kind of slumped, her hair disheveled and her clothing askew, and
she was sprawled on his lap, her skirt spread around her. He reached out and ran his fingers through her hair slowly, wondering: why did he keep seeking her out? His reason was slowly
returning to him, and he realized that someone could walk in on them at any given second.

And that the girl on his lap wasn't that. She was a hardened killer, whom he'd seen in action—taking lives without a second thought.

Also, the girl who was probably pretty pissed at him.

He cleared his throat again, his hand still in her hair. "X…we need to talk."

She opened her eyes, parted her lips, and said…"Someone is coming."

Julian's reaction was quite spectacular. He threw her off his lap, his hands racing to redo buttons he'd mindlessly undone. X blinked from the floor, and then slowly redid the knot on her
top. She stood up, smoothed her skirt, then spoke again.

"I lied." She headed for the doorway, and Julian stared straight ahead, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.