Jean's palms were slick against the steering wheel as she navigated the road a little after midnight.
She'd "borrowed" the same car that the four teens had taken on their joyride, what seemed like years ago but was what, a couple of months? The top was down, and Jean was glad her hair was in a long ponytail so she wouldn't look too ruffled by the drive.
She drove for about an hour, never seeing another car. Their meeting location was far enough away and secluded enough that they shouldn't run into anyone, but close enough that Jean could make it there and back in the middle of the night.
Jean smiled, remembering how casually Betsy had suggested the location. Wait…that's only an hour from the school. How do you know where it is? Did you get that from my mind? Jean had asked.
Betsy just smirked and said, Calm down, Red. I found it on Google Maps.
Sure enough, when Jean had checked the next day the school was on Google Maps. So much for being a super-secret mutant school.
Jean turned off onto a side road that led to a small park enclosed by trees. She pulled into a parking space and sat there, letting the engine idle. She could feel Betsy's presence but didn't see her anywhere. The park was lit by a solitary streetlamp, and the dim light it cast didn't reach the circle of trees.
Where are you?
She heard Betsy's reply in her mind: Look harder.
And then Betsy suddenly appeared in the headlights, fading out of the darkness, startling Jean so that she jumped even though she knew to expect her, had felt the mischief bubbling up inside her.
Betsy laughed out loud – the first time Jean had ever heard her laugh. It was a little gravelly and a lot sexy and – Dammit! Jean thought. Betsy chuckled again. "Shields up, kid," she said out loud. She took a couple of steps closer. "Get out of the car so I can see you."
Jean gulped, fully aware that Betsy could feel how that little command made her temperature rise and her breath quicken. This time, she let it slide without comment, but Jean saw her smirk. She cut the engine, and now there was only the light of that one streetlamp.
Jean opened her door and got out, a little nervously. She shut the door gently and stood beside it, not sure what to do with her arms. Betsy just stood there in front of the car, and they looked at each other for a long moment, trying desperately not to pry too much into the other's thoughts. "You look taller," Betsy said finally. The redhead shrugged. "Guess the astral plane was trying to level the playing field." Betsy snorted at that.
Come here, Jean thought. She saw the other woman's nostrils flare slightly at that, both at the intimacy of hearing someone's voice inside her mind and at the implication.
"You trying to get me to make out with you in the car or something?"
Maybe, Jean thought with a smirk of her own. Then she said out loud, "I am a fucking teenager, after all."
She saw Betsy try to place the reference and felt her amusement when she realized Jean was echoing her own words back to her from one of their first meetings.
"Oh, fine," sighed Betsy, and she slowly walked over to where Jean stood beside the car. Jean had to bite her lip, she was so tingly with anticipation.
Tingly? Really?
Ugh, Psylocke, stop doing that!
"Well, stop wearing your hormones on your sleeve then."
Betsy was right in front of her now. They stood face to face, a step apart. "Nice outfit," Betsy smirked.
"Um – it's my new X-Men suit," Jean said, a little shyly. "I figured," said Betsy.
"You're wearing your suit too."
"Yes, that's also true," Betsy smiled.
Jean shook her head and laughed a little to herself, looking down. "I'm sorry, I – I don't know what to say."
"Well, we've covered our outfits pretty thoroughly," Betsy said. "Speaking of which, your outfit covers you very thoroughly." Jean looked back up, confused. Now Betsy was the one who was embarrassed, which surprised Jean a little.
The older woman took a deep breath and collected her thoughts (Jean could almost feel them slipping into orderly rows). "Okay. Real talk," she said. "I…have been thinking for a long time about what it would be like to…to touch you. In real life."
At those words, Jean's heart stuttered and she felt the throbbing attraction that had consumed her thoughts recently.
Betsy continued, "And standing here in front of you, I feel this annoyingly out of control need to be close to you. I shouldn't – but I don't care about "shouldn't" with you – but also, I just can't because your stupid suit covers 95% of your skin."
"Well," said Jean, taking half a step closer, "it's a good thing your suit only covers 40% of yours then. And–" they were so close now that she swore she could feel Betsy's breath on her neck, the heat of her thighs – "some parts of mine are very easy to take off."
Jean raised her hand in front of her chest and slowly unzipped her glove, then pulled it off and tossed it in the car. She saw Betsy's eyes darken and repeated the motion with her other glove.
Your turn, she hummed.
Betsy cocked her head to one side. I'm impressed, kid, but you knew that already. Jean quirked an eyebrow at her, and finally Betsy pulled at the fingertips of first one long glove, then the other until both slid free. She tossed them in the back seat with Jean's gloves.
Jean held out her hands in front of her, palms up. She looked the other woman in the eye. "You can touch me now," she said, almost in a whisper.
Betsy swallowed heavily and reached out with her own hands. She hovered them just above Jean's, then ever so lightly stroked her fingers against Jean's palms and up to the tips of her fingers, then laced their fingers together.
They both shivered at the sensation, looking into each other's eyes, each knowing the other felt it too. This connection between them had been building for weeks, months even without any true physical contact, and the anticipation had been overwhelming.
Betsy brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed over Jean's knuckles. "You smell good," she whispered. Then she laughed lightly as Jean's mind raced – was it her lotion Betsy was smelling? Was it weird that she had a moisturizing regimen at the tender age of 17? "I think it's just your smell," Betsy said, moving their hands so that the back of Jean's hand was against Betsy's cheek.
She let go of Jean's hands, and Jean kept that one pressed to Betsy's cheek, stroking it gently with her fingertips now, while Betsy moved her hands down to Jean's waist. She leaned in closer and stood on her tiptoes, and for a second Jean thought she was about to kiss her until she felt Betsy nuzzle at her throat. "Yep…it's definitely just how you smell," Betsy murmured against her. Jean let out a tiny gasp at that and blurted out, "Let's get in the car."
Betsy pulled back and looked at her, trying to get a read on where this was going. "I mean – there's something I want to do in the car," Jean tried to explain.
"Well, how could I pass up such a tempting offer?" Betsy said, nuzzling against Jean's throat one last time before releasing her and sauntering around to the passenger's side.
They climbed in and shut the doors. Jean faced ahead for a minute, her hands on the steering wheel, her heart racing. Then she turned to Betsy. "Lean your seat back," she said.
And Betsy did.
Next chapter: What does Jean have in mind? It might not be what you think…