*BACK TO PRESENT TIME*
Remy flipped through channels half-heartedly, the remote control pointed in the basic direction of the Rec. Room's big screen television. He immediately sank back against the couch cushions to assume a flippant pose, his empathy having sensed an approaching intruder on his late night T.V. indulgence.
A curvaceous silhouette blocked the flooding light from the hall between the doorway. Faintly amused, he noted her hands planted on her round hips, a perfect contrast, he decided, to her tiny waist. Remy could not deny the seemingly endless supply of drop-dead women that sauntered into his life after coming to this Xavier joint. Every single one of them had a body that could make a man beg, and probably best of all- as Remy was always one for variety- they came in assorted flavors: vanilla, strawberry, and this sexy lil brunette made chocolate. Remy knew his main reason for even accepting Charles' offer in the first place was to reform himself, but holy God if the Ragin' Cajun didn't love his sex. Best to take it one step at a time, he'd decided after seeing the school's fabulous selection.
She stepped into the dark Rec. Room, the only source of light coming from the eerie white glow of the flashing television scenes, and crossed her arms.
"What're you doing up so late, Cajun?" She tilted her head inquisitively to the side.
He shrugged, his lips turning up into a devastating grin. "Kind of watching some T.V."
"Kind of?" She circled the couch. Appearing casual, she glanced at her watch. She had precisely three minutes to get this pretty boy's ass out of there. Logan was always on time. Instinctively, she slipped into sweet Southern bell mode in hopes of persuading this fellow out of the room.
"Yeah. Why don't you take a load off, chere?" He patted the vacant patch of couch beside him.
"Chere," she repeated, scrunching her eyebrows and tucking her feet under her as she settled beside him, close enough to tempt but far enough to tease. "Isn't that French? Love?" Her eyes idly found their way to her watch again.
He nodded, her action not going unnoticed. "Dat's right. Beautiful and smart." He flashed another smile and she only shook her head in response.
"Is this the part where I fall..."
"Desperately in love, yes." He finished for her. She doubled her chin and widened her pretty green eyes in mock shock. He recovered quickly but spoke his words slowly, fluidly. "But not yet, I don't think." He pinned her eyes with his own scorching ambers and spoke ever the more slowly. "No, not yet."
An easy hush settled over the room like stardust. Unbeknownst to her, Rogue's blood rushed in a raging storm through her veins and to her ears. She was suddenly unaware which way was up. What the fuck was this boy playin' at? His voice rang languid again. "No; I don't think you're looking to fall hard and fast right now." She pursed her lips together. He was this close to crossing a dangerous line. Watch it playboy. "Why so..." the pause hung long and taunting, "hurt?"
Rogue shot from the couch. Remy slapped himself mentally for toying with her limits. What could he say? He was born cocky and when he sensed the sensitiveness of the subject for her, he could hardly resist. He caught her wrist in one swift gesture.
Rogue resisted the urge to pop his joint and instead glared down at the man she'd only spoken to maybe once or twice the entire two months she'd resided at Xavier's Mansion. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "It was out of line. Don't go." He rose. "I'll leave. I wouldn't want you to cancel whatever previous engagement you clearly have planned for this room." And then he was gone.
Rogue contemplated following the arrogant bastard and opening his lip with her knuckles, but was halted in her pursuits by Logan's hulking form appearing in the door. She turned the television off.
"He ain't even worth it, darlin'." He said, clearly assuming where her thoughts dwelled. Rogue huffed a shiny strand of hair from her face and smoothed it back with her hand, inhaling deeply in the process. Who did that swamp rat think he was, prying into her love life like that?
"Ah know." She replaced Remy's spot and Logan sat beside her. "What have we got?"
Logan lit a cigar and settled back, blowing a perfect 'o' into the open air above his head. "It could be any one of 'em." He said finally, and she nodded in agreement.
"There are the brothers, what're their names?"
"Warren..."
"And Bobby," she said, suddenly remembering. "Confused rich kids get tangled in the mob all the time." Logan nodded and the partners continued to shoot ideas at each other. They were equally at a loss of leads by the time one a.m. rolled around. They decided to call it a night.
**
Scott woke with a start. His wife's warm body snuggled closer against him and he bowed to kiss her hair. She grumbled something he couldn't quite make out. He glanced at the blaring red numbers from the clock on his bed-stand: one-thirty. Deciding he needed a drink, he climbed from bed and tugged a pair of plaid pajama pants Wanda had given him one year for Christmas on. He stumbled through the dimly lit corridor and into the kitchen, flipping the switch and engulfing the room in a blaring yellow light. He downed a glass of water in seconds flat and was just refilling his cup when the kitchen French doors opened, sending forth a gust of cool air and a tall blonde man. Scott squinted, eventually recognizing him as Warren. "Hello," he managed a bit uncomfortably.
Warren leaned back against the cool glass and sighed. "Hey, man." He said, a lazy smile at the tip of his mouth.
Scott turned to regard him fully and assess the situation. He'd been smoking, judging by the smell of him, and probably drinking if the slightly slurred speech was any consolation. Scott chose to keep quiet despite the fact that alcohol was prohibited on school grounds. It was a rule Xavier was rather lenient with. Scott and Wanda even owned a few bottles of champagne for special occasions, so it wasn't a major deal, so long as it didn't become a habit.
"Go for a walk?" He inquired innocently.
Warren nodded slowly with half-lidded eyes. "Oh yeah. And I saw something..." His voice trailed off and he heaved to stand upright.
Scott was interested. "Saw something? Saw what?"
Warren shook his head. "Nothing, it was... Never mind." He paused and bore into Scott intensely before holding up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright." He stifled a boyish giggle and threw a cursory glance behind him through the glass doors. "I was walking around, right, just getting a little buzz or whatever. I'm around the pool and I hear this splashing around. I'm like, 'what the hell?' So I head over, all ready to perform my first superhero ass-kicking, right, and what do I see?"
Scott, slightly intrigued now by Warren's remarkable storytelling, asked a little breathlessly, "What?"
Warren stopped, his shoulders sagging and suddenly feeling very guilty for exploiting the knowledge of what he just saw like it was a hot tabloid. From the midst of his liquor-fogged brain, his conscience came in to play. "Nothing, man. Don't worry about it. Let's just say I need to go take a cold shower."
Scott slumped against the counter, thoroughly perplexed. "What? No way, what did you see?" A pause. "Come on, what?"
Warren released a deep breath, the air escaping him with his better judgment. Oh well, he thought. He could always blame it on the alcohol the next morning. "She was in the water, man. Naked as Eve herself and fucking gorgeous as all hell, there she was." Warren smiled at the recent but brief memory. He'd seen her slipping through the crystal blue water and drank the sight in for only a moment before turning respectfully.
"Wait a minute, who? Who was in the pool?" Scott asked.
"Jean." Warren replied. "I'll tell you what," he whistled appreciatively and without another word, disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.
Scott washed out his glass and set it in the drainer, his movements mechanical and his mind obviously absent. He fought to replace the incredibly erotic image of Jean Grey in the pool with his own stunning wife. He let his mind present an enticing reel of him catching his wife in the pool naked and making love to her in the cool, clear water. The thought of the woman currently occupying the pool kept forcing its way into his fantasy though, so he finally gave up and indulged in a fleeting second of daydream in which he plunged just once and hard into the telepath, shaking the thought right when she would gasp under his thrust.
He glowered at the French doors, daring them to open and let him onto the pool grounds. They did not call his bluff, and so he escaped up the mansion stairs and climbed back into bed beside his sleeping beauty. He watched the steady rise and fall of her breasts and the small, adorable pout her red lips made when she dreamed, no doubt of him. He didn't think that because he was narcissistic, it was just a mutual fact: they only dreamed of each other; that was all they *had* to dream about.
Already slightly aroused from the incident downstairs, Scott felt himself becoming excited at the sight of his sleeping wife, clad in a tight purple tank top and white cotton undies, her body silhouetted marvelously by the thin sheet draping across her beautiful body. Before he knew it, a hand had slipped under her shirt and was fondling a plump breast until it puckered under his sensual fingers. Slowly, she woke and smiled up at him. She brought a hand behind his head and pulled him to her, engaging them in a slow kiss.
Idly, he wondered if the pool was still harboring the sinful body of a sexy telekinetic, her skin wet with pool water.
**
Ororo, Warren, and Remy sat at a small round table positioned in the center of a large patch of the mansion's green estate after the morning's Danger Room session. A late summer wind sent individual gold and red leaves scurrying under hulking oaks and bitterly weeping willows.
Wanda appeared with a tray holding three tall glasses. "I thought we might be thirsty so I brought us some ice tea."
"Thank you," Ororo said coolly and retrieved a glass from the platter, sipping it slowly as a random bundle of leaves swirled at her bare feet and eddied in a blur of russet and brown behind her. Warren followed suit. Remy accepted his glass with a smile but didn't drink.
"It's lovely here," Ororo said, leaning back into the intricate designs of her iron garden chair. "I'll bet it's simply breath-taking in the spring."
Wanda inhaled slowly. "Oh, it is. There's so many roses- yellow, red, pink; you'll be sick of them."
Ororo raised a thin, delicate eyebrow over her glass. Remy alone noticed the incredulous look on her face.
"Assuming we're here in de spring." He voiced his assumptions.
Ororo caught his eyes. "And just where do you plan on running off to, Mr. LeBeau?"
Remy shrugged. "I just never plan dat far ahead into de future. I mean, that's almost a whole year." He paused. "And I'm willing to bet you don't either, eh?"
Warren cleared his throat. "So how long have you lived here, Wanda?"
"Oh, about three years now. My father is good friends with Charles, so when I was sixteen and my mutation manifested, he knew exactly where to bring me."
"What about Shades?" Remy asked, swirling his untouched drink in his hand.
She smiled weakly. "Scott already lived here on account of Xavier having adopted him when he was twelve." Her company performed a collective nod of understanding. "And the rest, as they say..." She trailed off, instead swallowing from her own glass of ice tea.
A quick wind whipped by them and Wanda hugged her small frame, suddenly wishing she were wearing something warmer than her short, sleeveless, pastel summer dress to shield her from the unseasonably cool weather. "Oooh," she cooed, "It's chilly. I'm going to go inside and grab my sweater."
"Don't bother," Ororo said, the sun peeking from a cloud as she spoke. Instantly, a pale, orange glow fell across the estate and the wind subsided to a pacifying breeze. Wanda's shoulders immediately relaxed and her wide dark eyes shone with admiration.
"Wow." She gasped. "Hey, that's really neat."
Remy nearly scoffed at the woman. Bright-eyed kids were a lot of fun. "Yeah, that is pretty impressive, Stormy."
Ororo's teeth clenched under the perfect outline of her firm jaw. "Thank you, Gambit. And I do believe I've asked you not to refer to me as Stormy. Storm will suffice, thank you." She said simply, but could not smother the smile curling at her lips in response to his own incorrigible grin.
"So where you from?" Remy asked. "Your accent- it sounds..."
"African." Warren interrupted. Remy turned his face to regard him. So, he finally decides to speak. "Nigerian, even, if I'm not mistaken."
Storm nodded. "That's right. You ever been?"
He nodded and recounted a time he and his brother visited the plains for a safari. "It's truly beautiful there."
Wanda sat back in her chair, trying to imagine anywhere outside of New York or her sheltered, Ivy League life.
"So what brings you here?" Remy pried, reaching into his coat.
"To Westchester?" She threw back, her voice a liquid blue caressing the still summer day.
"To America."
She straightened and he took in her tense pose with mild intrigue. "I don't know if that's any of your business."
"I thought you might say that." A deck of cards appeared from Remy's pockets. "Tell you what," he fanned the deck and held it out to Wanda, who suddenly became interested. "If I can guess this pretty little lady's card, you tell me why you left Africa. Deal?" Before an answer was given, he gestured for Scott's wife to pick a card. She tentatively pulled one form the direct center. Ororo rolled her eyes and Warren swallowed some more of his ice tea, trying hard to look indifferent.
Wanda held the card to her chest after glancing at it and looked to Remy expectantly. Ororo placed her palms on the table. "My father had just promised me to a man that I had only met once in my lifetime. I was not fond of the idea of marrying a man simply because he paid the highest bride price." Remy's interest stirred. "I was angry and vengeful against my father, so on the eve of my wedding, I found Kain by the lazy Ello stream- he was prince of my village, young, handsome, and at the wrong place at the wrong time. Contemptuous toward my father for selling my body to another man, I seduced the youthful prince and gave myself to him on the grassy shore. I knew that no man would pay for me now that I was not pure." Ororo swallowed a gulp of her tea. "But of course, it backfired. The boy fell in love with me, naïve fool, and begged me to stay with him. He said we could run away or some such nonsense, but I refused. I did not love him; I'd merely used him for my own selfish purposes. That night, before my father even received the chance to discover my sin, I ran. And just ran, and ran, and now I'm here."
The three others were silent; birds cawed behind them and the wind commenced to whip their hair about. Ororo stood. "Queen of Spades," she said, and walked away. Wanda, breathless, bowed to look at the card between her trembling fingers, a sad-eyed beauty staring up at her with a looming spade above her heavy crowned head.
Remy's eyebrows raised and he chuckled humorlessly. Wanda stumbled to her feet and mumbled something about washing out the glasses and carried the platter of ice tea back into the house, an embarrassed flush creeping across her high, sweet cheekbones.
Warren peered after Ororo before rising and trotting after her. "Storm, Ororo wait!" He called. She slowed and turned to regard him as he fell into step beside her.
"Yes," she said, smiling with her sapphire deep eyes.
"Are you okay? I mean do you need anything?" He could have kicked himself for his suave wit, or lack thereof.
She devoured the wealthy man with her heart-stoppingly beautiful eyes and slowly brought her hand to cup his cheek.
"What could you do?" She said softly and smiled. "It's alright." She turned and walked off toward the direction of the dusky forest. Warren tore his eyes from her and turned to start in the direction of the mansion.
Remy, still sitting but strangely going unnoticed, watched with dark red eyes. Ororo wasn't telling the whole entire truth. He didn't care terribly, though. Everyone was entitled to their fair share of secrets. But hers interested him for some reason, as if it connected to his own dark past. He intended to find out what it was, in the subtlest manner possible of course.
**
A smack accompanied the cue ramming into the cherry red ball and then sinking into a corner pocket. He rose from his hunched position over the billiard table and fetched his whiskey glass from the mini bar behind him. A light blared from above the pool table with various colored balls scattered across the green felt top.
"Nice shot," Jean said, sauntering into the room in a yellow little number that Logan decided belonged in a forties detective movie. It was cute, in a curvy, showy kind of way.
"You're home late, missy." He took another shot: 12 ball, side pocket.
She shrugged and stepped behind the bar to fix herself a drink. "Oh, I don't know if midnight is exactly late. I doubt you ever come home before dawn peeps open her pretty little eyes when you paint the town." They shared a short smile.
"Are you drunk?" Nine ball, corner pocket.
"Not really, just a little bit of a buzz, you know? Anyways, he was an egotistical jerk so I decided to feign headache and have him drop me off."
"In that nice and tiny silver car of his, I see." Logan threw over his shoulder before bending over to shoot again.
"Nice view," she smiled. He shot wordlessly before coming back up.
"I know." He grounded the blue chalk against his cue tip. "You know how to play, darlin'?" What was he doing? Flirtin' on the job? Ah well. He always did love to live dangerously. Damn it.
"Kind of," she replied, setting her martini down and crossing to where he stood.
"Well let's see what you got," he taunted.
She relieved him of his cue and held it in her own small hands while circling the table, eyes roaming the ball's positions decisively.
"So tell me somethin' about yourself, gorgeous." He said, pulling another cue stick from the rack in the corner.
Jean shook her head. "Nuh-uh-uh." She chastised. "Don't you know it's become an unwritten rule in this household that one must never reveal information concerning their past?"
"Can't we break the rules... just this once," he added low and husky.
She shifted the cue in her hand. "My daddy taught me how to shoot a long time ago. I used to be a pretty clean aim. Let's see if that's still true, hmm? Tell you what- I make it and you answer one of my questions. I miss, and you can ask me any question you want."
Logan watched her line her cue up with the bald white ball and prepare aim. Her back arm wasn't stiff, her elbow was lagging, and her slow strokes were crooked each time. "It's a deal." He said.
She shot, too hard, Logan noted, and the ball bounced off three out of the four sides but didn't sink into any of the six pockets. He snorted. "Beautiful."
"Alright," she said.
He scrunched his mouth in thought. "Hmm, let's see. Oh, I don't know if I have to even ask. I think I've already got you pretty much figured out, Ms. Grey."
"Oh really?" She sipped her drink.
"Yep. Let's see," she let his eyes roam across her body, just once, "You were no doubt born into a well-to-do household: Ma, yer old man, maybe even an older brother- a letter-jacket man." She nodded slowly.
"Two actually: Frankie and Beau. Go on."
"Straight A student," he continued. "Had a crush on your English teacher?"
She shook her head. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. My English teacher was Sister Clare."
"Ohhh! Even better. An all-American Catholic schoolgirl. You're killin' me, Red. But no crush on a teacher, huh? Damn." He winked.
"I never said that. Maybe not a teacher, but definitely an older guy."
Logan leaned against his pool stick. "Tell me about it."
She leaned over the table again and looked up at him from across the billiard balls, her thick red waves falling down against her creamy cheeks. "Is that your question?"
He nodded. "Yeah, that's it. Tell me about this older guy."
She shot, and a vibrant blue ball rolled dangerously close to a pocket, but slowed considerably and finally came to a complete stop at the towering edge of a side pocket. Jean considered blowing it a nudge, just to drop it into the black hole.
"Don't even think about it," Logan said, rising from his seat at the mini-bar.
She grimaced, still hunched over the damned blue ball. "You don't have to, if you really don't want to," Logan said, realizing the magnitude of the subject, especially for a woman.
She stood, smiling. "No, it's alright. A deal's a deal." She laid the cue down flat on the billiard table and fiddled half-heartedly with a ball. "He was my best friend's father."
Logan nearly dropped the cigar he'd just lit from his mouth. "No."
She nodded, a blush invading her cheeks and nose. "He was older, you know, thirty-eight maybe. But he was so handsome and he wasn't at all the kind of guy you'd think would do that. He was really sweet, and funny, just a nice guy. He wasn't gross or anything." Jean rolled the ball at her fingertips. "After I broke up with my boyfriend of two years, I spent the night at Nicollette's house to get over him with mint-chocolate-chip and Marilyn Monroe. That was her name: Nicollette."
"W... Was he married?" Logan sputtered, incredulous.
"Oh yeah, he was married. She was really pretty, too, but I don't think they were happy. They just kind of stuck together for Nikki. So anyways, Nikki and I had already fallen asleep when I woke up around two a.m. and went downstairs to get a drink. His room was downstairs and his wife was away for the weekend; she was a businesswoman for AT&T." Logan listened intently, watching as Jean spoke slowly and precisely, her eyes obtaining a faraway look as she recalled more and more. "I dropped the glass and he must have heard it because he came into the kitchen all hot and bothered that something was wrong. I apologized and moved to head back up when I noticed my foot was bleeding. I winced. He told me to follow him into his bathroom where he bandaged it up for me. I think that's when I just started crying. I felt like everything was going wrong at once and I really missed Perry."
"That'd be the jerk that had just broken up with you." Logan inquired.
"Right," Jean nodded once in affirmation. "And then, one thing lead to another, before I knew it, he was sliding his hand up my thighs and under my nightshirt and we were kissing, right there, me perched on his sink and his hands all over me at once. I don't remember it all too clearly, but his hands were just all over: undoing my ponytail, fumbling with my bra, tugging my panties, stroking me. After that, there's not much to say. He popped my cherry." Jean stopped, a wicked smile painting her generous peach lips. Logan was sufficiently enthralled.
He straightened immediately. "I see."
She laughed out loud. "I'll bet."
"Any recent encounters between the sheets, you know, with men your own age?" He asked.
"My turn to ask something. What do you do for a living?"
"Huh?"
"You know," she smiled sweetly. "Your job occupation, what is it? And what's the deal with you and Rogue? Are you 'just friends,' long lost siblings," a taunting pause, "lovers?"
"You'll have to shoot for it." He said shortly, jerking a finger toward the cue between her hands. "And my question is the same thing to you. You have to tell me a lil about the skeletons in your closet."
Jean bent immediately and positioned her cue perfectly, jabbing it with one professional stroke and causing the eight ball to spin off at an eighty-degree angle and crash into two more balls hiding in the corner before all three went sinking into a side pocket with a satisfying clink, clink, clink.
Logan nearly choked on his drink. "Fuck me!" He laughed, watching her chuck her cue stick onto the table and make her way out the door, knowing full well that Logan wasn't about to tell her anything, and she wasn't a hundred-percent sure she was prepared to discover his truth or past just yet. His mystique had kept her fascinated thus far; why ruin a good thing?
"Oh and by the way," she stopped at the doorway. "That whole thing about my little seventeen-year-old hormone rush: a complete lie."
He nodded, un-phased and smirking. "Can't say I'm surprised." They exchanged daring grins and she parted, leaving him to engage in a solitary game of nine-ball.
**
Rogue shifted through C.D.s, a long cigarette poised between her slim fingers and a tongue of smoke coiling up beside her in a tendril of hazy gray. The room she stood in currently had no definite purpose, but it was obviously for some "down time," when the others just got to be a little much and someone just needed to sit back and put their feet up. She could just picture this particular crevice of the mansion being Scott and Wanda's personal make-out room when they were kids, sneaking in to steal a few precious moments of all the desperate, clumsy passion a sixteen and seventeen year old could muster. Rogue had taken the liberty of lighting a few candles and scattering them in various corners of the large room, creating the surreal, peaceful glow she'd been hoping to accomplish.
"Aw, you shouldn't have, Belle." Rogue clenched her eyes shut and tried to pretend that she hadn't heard the voice that cut through air like steel. It was ridiculous, she knew, his faintest whisper could be heard through a mass hysteria of screaming. He just possessed that effect, and damn if he didn't know it.
Rogue truly wished he wasn't behind her, though, no doubt leaning casually against the door jam, arms crossed carelessly across his broad chest, trademark cocky grin plastered across his face just under his truly bewitching eyes. She couldn't stand his overwhelming arrogance, and what's worse, she didn't like the flip-flops her stomach did when he spoke in that low, perfect tone glazed in wine-red emotion.
"Can I help you?" She forced through a tight smile.
"I'm beyond help." She nearly jumped at the feel of his breath tickling her neck close from behind. He chuckled and she noticed he'd taken a few steps back. Smart guy. "Step aside," he placed a hand on her hipbone and nudged her a few feet to the right to gain himself access to the stereo. His touch burned an electrifying hole in her soft skin and she nearly bit her lip in repulsion, or anticipation, or raw want; she wasn't sure.
"What're you doin'?" She asked brusquely, clutching her voluptuous hips in defiance. "You do know that if you plan on trying anything, mistah, with one switch of a thought Ah could have you lying on the ground convulsing in short spasms?"
He slammed a C.D. into the player and pressed Play. Yes, he did know that. When he somehow managed to find himself in Xavier's office one day, and the bolted file cabinets somehow popped open when Remy accidentally knocked into them, and when Remy mistakenly scanned everyone's files, he happened to remember that this particular Southern angel had some sort of power that allowed her to absorb others memories, emotions, etc. as well as the ability to fly and, of course, the infamous super strength. She had it all.
He brought his index finger to her full lips and pressed, her eyes becoming menacing for the briefest of moments before he pulled away. "Shhh, just creating a mood."
"A mood?" She repeated incredulously, but responded to his arms encircling her tiny waist by snaking her hands behind his neck.
"Yeah," his voice low and hypnotic again, "a mood." And they danced.
She wasn't sure how they began moving or even how she'd ended up in his arms in the first place, but there they were, gliding across the hardwood floors with subtle twirls and two bodies pressing a bit closer to each other than innocent dancing required, and under their connecting touch, their blood raced hot and thick through their defenseless veins.
"I just wanted to tell you, chere, dat I didn't mean to press any buttons or claw open any wounds last night. And I'm sorry if I did." He whirled her under his arm once to give her time to decide how she wanted to respond.
When she pressed back against his chest she still didn't know what to say. "It's... alright. Don't worry about it." Weary of life, and with a strong support standing right before her, Rogue buried her head in his chest and inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance of his natural musk and remnants of Eternity in her lungs until she had to exhale for air. His hands raking across her back, his fingertips leaving a trail of blue liquid flame up and down her spine, made her feel dizzy and nearly weak with... desire? No, she wasn't thinking correctly. Three months without Caleb had made her wild-eyed and her body depraved for touch. The fact that the man deciding to touch her now was in a word, beautiful, didn't help much.
Remy didn't dare breathe. What the hell? He was certainly not prepared for this. Sure, she was gorgeous, and Lord knew he'd always had a weak spot for Southern belles, but the farthest he'd ever gotten in thinking about this sweet little creature was a sporadic wet dream and a second glance at her long, creamy limbs when she decided to don a short pair of shorts every once in a while. But now, crooning to the maudlin opera concerto and no witnesses but the candles engaged in their own reserved dances, he didn't know what to make of the brunette in his arms, complete with streak of snow-white running down the center. Adorable, he decided absently. When he wandered into the room with a half-hearted apology on his lips and less than pure thoughts running through his head, he had no idea things would get this far. How far, Remy? He thought. You're just dancing for Christ sakes. But the feel of his fingertips against the soft skin of her back, separated by nothing but the flimsy silk top she wore, sent a different kind of sparks cackling within him. Why is this one different? Why is SHE different? Get the hell out of here, Remy, before you get burned.
But before he could pry himself from her she was taking cautious steps from him, smiling shyly and reddening an alluring shade of rose, he thought, in the face. "Ah'm gonna call it a night," she said quietly, and left. He watched her go, waiting until she was from sight to take a few pacing breaths and glance around the room, as if he expected to find the underlying mystery of that moment somewhere in the plush, butterscotch-colored cushions. The C.D. played on and he unconsciously swayed to the rhythm, trying to slow his heart from its heavy thumps against his breast.
"Was that almost human emotion I saw back there?" Logan asked Rogue as they strolled aimlessly through the long, tall corridors.
"How much did you see, exactly, Mr. Peeping Tom?"
"Not much, actually. Just the very end, really, and before I even made a move to turn and mosy along on my business, you were already pushing him away and fleeing from the crime scene." He said.
"Crime? Since when is dancing-"
"Dancing isn't, but breaking a guy's heart sure as hell should be."
Rogue stopped and slapped his arm. "Ugh. First of all, I doubt Remy has a clear conscience when it comes to breaking women's hearts. Ten bucks says that he's got a list of doe-eyed girls waiting up by the phone every night and a trail of irate father's looking for his blood. Second, there was nothing even slightly romantic back there, it was purely physical. He's attractive- I'm a woman, it added up at the time. And you know I would never betray Caleb's memory like that." She stopped and muttered. "It's too soon."
**
Wanda scraped at the cookie sheet with unbridled fervor, her spatula screeching across the metal like Wolverine's claws against the Danger Room walls. She cringed briefly and resumed her progress.
She smiled at the feel of strong arms from behind her accompanied by a gentle but firm squeeze. She sucked in a breath and turned her head to half face him. "Hey stranger," she purred.
Scott buried his face into the crook of her frail neck and inhaled her sweet scent while his hands explored her supple hips and flat abdomen. "Whatchya' doin'?"
"I'm finishing up with some cookies." She grabbed one from the cooling plate and offered it up to his mouth, to which he plunged his teeth into. Chuckling softly, he released his hold on her to grasp the cookie and eat it properly.
"Aww, dat's really heart-warming." Neither of the lovers had noticed Remy enter and make his way to the fridge. He leaned in and fished out a small carton of whole milk, bought specially for him- he being the only one that preferred whole- and tipped it to his lips and swallowed several gulps. He brought it back down and swiped the mustache with the back of his hand, spying the cookies. His dark eyes lit up.
"Hey, chere. You make dose delectable little pieces of heaven?" He asked, turning toward Scott's wife who beamed with pride at the blatant flattery.
Oh God, Scott thought. This should be interesting.
He and Remy switched positions so Scott could dig through the refrigerator for his own carton of milk.
"Yes I did. Would you like one?" She asked, offering the platter. Remy grinned and accepted one with a smile.
"Why t'ank you, chere." He bit into the soft, chewy cookie, smiling as he chomped.
Wanda shifted her weight nervously. Here it comes, Scott thought. His wife was getting into what she called subtle flirting mode. She thought she was faint and tactful, but every man knew when she was playing a little back-and-forth game. Scott mostly found it charming, but still pretended to be a little irritated so she would have to make it up to him later in their bed. Now, with this slick Cajun, it DID irritate him.
"So," she began, playing with imaginary loose threads of her tight fitting apron. A little too tight, Scott suddenly decided. "What exactly does 'chere' mean?"
Remy immediately sensed the delightful undercurrents her tone possessed and resolved to play along at once, purely for the benefit of that twitch in Scott's jaw and because this little girl would just be all too easy. Besides, after his little encounter with Ms. Scarlet O'Hara a little while ago, he needed to prove to himself that his uncanny ability to make the opposite sex swoon still resided prominently in him. "It's French. It means love." He said simply enough, but his voice gaining a certain quality he knew he controlled that made women grow a little bit weak. She blushed furiously and looked down quickly.
"Oh."
Scott clutched his glass of milk and swallowed the remaining contents. Remy continued, pleased with his results. "I don't believe it, you're blushing. Well aren't you a living doll?" He clasped his hands against the carton still in his hands. "Just a little doll." She giggled like a schoolgirl and Remy strolled from the kitchen, shoving his carton into Scott's chest. Scott snatched it.
"Night!" Remy called behind him. He turned and bore into Wanda's glittering innocent eyes with his own devilish glare. "And a very good night to you, love." He annunciated the last word in English and nearly laughed out loud at Scott's firm jaw. Walking away, though, he was forced to give his field leader some points. Any man that could keep his cool under that kind of patent flirtation between another man and his wife, especially if that other man is as charming and suave and devastatingly handsome as himself, deserved a little credit.
Just a little.
**
Scott patrolled the grounds dutifully. No nook or cranny went overlooked, not on his watch. He wasn't paranoid, just careful. He had a wife, and hopefully someday a family here, he wanted to be sure his home was as safe as possible.
Then why are you avoiding the pool? A voice sneered behind his eyes.
Scott gritted his teeth. Why was he? He knew why. Who knows what lurked in or around the pool? A fleet of Magneto's warriors- he could handle it. An army of F.O.H.- bring the bastards on. A tall redhead with magnificent blue-gray eyes... naked- gulp.
He'd only seen her once in the Danger Room since last night's encounter resulting in Warren sharing a startling piece of knowledge with the twenty-nine year old X-Man. Did he have the courage to graze the pool grounds and make sure nothing was amiss, risking the chance of seeing her in all her fleshy glory. God, Summers, pull yourself together. It's not against the rules or anything- he knew, he checked- and it's certainly not against nature's rules to get aroused at a sight like that. But there was a difference from letting yourself be caught off-guard in a presence as such and finding yourself thinking about it a couple times that day when your mind wandered off during the Danger Room session, afternoon grocery distribution, or even, yes, when making love to your wonderful wife that morning.
"Fuck it," Scott muttered and crept to the pool. He made as much noise as possible without being overly obvious, but when he arrived he realized it had been in vain. She'd taken that precise time to delve deep underwater and slip from one side of the pool to the other. He took the briefest of seconds to watch the water spill over her sleek, downy skin. Fortunately enough, he was able to control his reaction and not become aroused to a point of notice to anyone who should happen to do just that. But he would not give her the chance. Silently, he turned and retreated from whence he came.
"Scott?" Her satin orange voice called from behind him after emerging from the water. He paused a second before turning, hoping she'd take the few seconds to become decent so he could remain faithful to his wedding vows, if even in mind and heart. He turned and caught just a hint of the gleaming bare flesh of her shapely thigh before her towel cloaked her completely from mid-thigh to her white, milky shoulders. "I thought I sensed you," she smiled, unbothered by the absurd humiliation of the entire situation.
He coughed nervously. "Yeah, well, just patrolling, you know." He held up his flashlight as if it were his defense evidence.
She nodded and positioned herself at the edge of the pool, her back to him and long legs swishing through the water. "Take a seat," she called over her shoulder.
Don't even think about it, Scott. "Okay." He moved to a nearby deck chair and sat at the foot, careful to maintain the chair's balance as it supported his weight. "So..."
"I'm sorry," she began, "if it's against the rules to, you know, skinny dip." She giggled and Scott managed his own nervous laugh.
"Oh," he waved a hand as if to dismiss the situation entirely, "don't worry about it."
She smiled brightly. "Yeah, I figured it couldn't be a very big deal. I mean it's not like this pool has never seen a naked woman."
Scott stammered weakly, "Oh, well, I don't, well." Her eyes got big and Scott was suddenly enchanted by his little pool nymphet.
"Someone HAS had sex in this pool, right?" Her voice was achingly nonchalant as far as Scott was concerned for dealing with such a taboo subject.
"I... couldn't tell you, to be totally honest."
"You mean to tell me that all these years you and Wanda have lived here, you've never... you know, in this pool?" She grabbed his arm in mock disbelief and Scott pleaded with God to make her let it go before he shattered into a trillion pieces.
"Nope, not once." He smiled shyly and Jean's heart did a funny twist.
This guy isn't half bad, she thought. Jean took that moment to examine his features a little more closely: a bronze tint to his skin, extremely well built, cute, in that soft-spoken yet confident sort of way, caramel colored hair and God only knew what colored eyes. Ooh, mysterious. She finally determined that he was indeed a very handsome man.
Oh no! Stop it, Jean. This gentleman already has a lady. The thought piqued her now more than it ever had before, especially when his face melted into that adorable lopsided grin, or when he held his breath whenever Gambit flirted harmlessly with Wanda...
"But don't worry," he continued. "It's not against the rules or anything."
"I know but I feel bad. It's just that, gosh, I've tainted a virgin pool!"
He guffawed uproariously and she swatted his arm. "Don't laugh! I feel horrible."
"You're too much, kid." He said, chuckling now. It dawned on him that even from the very beginning, it hadn't always been purely physical. She did something to him, something that made his groin as well as his heart leap. Among other things, for instance, she was funny.
"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure this is a virgin pool, anyway. Besides, with men like Remy living here it's sure to have seen some action."
Scott's shoulders stiffened at the mention of the sniveling Cajun that had played coy with his wife. "What?" Jean implored, wringing her long crimson tresses of excess pool water.
"Oh, nothing really." He snickered. "It's just Remy. He can be a trip, that guy."
She faced the sky and half-laughed, half-sighed. "Yes indeed. He is certainly something else- a gorgeous flirt for one."
"Flirt indeed," came Scott's mumbled reply.
"Aw, been playing with Wanda?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Scott brushed off politely.
Don't want to talk about Remy or don't want to talk about Wanda, Jean pondered silently. She shook her head slightly, banishing such selfish thoughts. She'd done some bad things in her life, but she could never shred a marriage in two. Jean burnt silence by splashing her legs around and smoothing the water droplets onto her thighs and calves with her hands. Soon deciding that wasn't the wisest course of action to take when trying to dissuade a man, she stopped shortly. Stealing a glance at Cyclops, she noticed he had not been paying her attention anyways, his face turned away and staring curiously into the black forest.
Scott wanted to dive into the cold, crisp water and let the cool liquid submerge him and ice his boiling nerves. He looked away when she began running small hands up and down her toned limbs, her legs becoming slick and moist with each stroke. His tongue nearly tripled inside his mouth. This was too much. He needed to escape before the sight of her damp curls plastered against her neck possessed him and the heady perfume of her coconut skin overwhelmed him.
Shooting from his deck chair, he staggered to the French doors leading into the kitchen. Jean jumped at his abrupt rising and unconsciously clutched the white towel tighter under her arms. "Good night!" She sputtered behind him and he threw a brusque wave good-bye behind him, mumbling something to the effect of "you too."
What the hell? Jean sighed and leaned back on her hands. "Don't think about him," she told herself. "Just don't think."
A/N
Alrighty! Lovin' the long chapters? Me too! I just started typing and couldn't stop. AHH! I hope you wunnerful people dig this story as much as I am going to dig writing it. It's you typical, smutty soap opera theme, and oyu know the one rule with soaps: there are no rules.
You wanna make my day? NO? REVIEW anyway!
Remy flipped through channels half-heartedly, the remote control pointed in the basic direction of the Rec. Room's big screen television. He immediately sank back against the couch cushions to assume a flippant pose, his empathy having sensed an approaching intruder on his late night T.V. indulgence.
A curvaceous silhouette blocked the flooding light from the hall between the doorway. Faintly amused, he noted her hands planted on her round hips, a perfect contrast, he decided, to her tiny waist. Remy could not deny the seemingly endless supply of drop-dead women that sauntered into his life after coming to this Xavier joint. Every single one of them had a body that could make a man beg, and probably best of all- as Remy was always one for variety- they came in assorted flavors: vanilla, strawberry, and this sexy lil brunette made chocolate. Remy knew his main reason for even accepting Charles' offer in the first place was to reform himself, but holy God if the Ragin' Cajun didn't love his sex. Best to take it one step at a time, he'd decided after seeing the school's fabulous selection.
She stepped into the dark Rec. Room, the only source of light coming from the eerie white glow of the flashing television scenes, and crossed her arms.
"What're you doing up so late, Cajun?" She tilted her head inquisitively to the side.
He shrugged, his lips turning up into a devastating grin. "Kind of watching some T.V."
"Kind of?" She circled the couch. Appearing casual, she glanced at her watch. She had precisely three minutes to get this pretty boy's ass out of there. Logan was always on time. Instinctively, she slipped into sweet Southern bell mode in hopes of persuading this fellow out of the room.
"Yeah. Why don't you take a load off, chere?" He patted the vacant patch of couch beside him.
"Chere," she repeated, scrunching her eyebrows and tucking her feet under her as she settled beside him, close enough to tempt but far enough to tease. "Isn't that French? Love?" Her eyes idly found their way to her watch again.
He nodded, her action not going unnoticed. "Dat's right. Beautiful and smart." He flashed another smile and she only shook her head in response.
"Is this the part where I fall..."
"Desperately in love, yes." He finished for her. She doubled her chin and widened her pretty green eyes in mock shock. He recovered quickly but spoke his words slowly, fluidly. "But not yet, I don't think." He pinned her eyes with his own scorching ambers and spoke ever the more slowly. "No, not yet."
An easy hush settled over the room like stardust. Unbeknownst to her, Rogue's blood rushed in a raging storm through her veins and to her ears. She was suddenly unaware which way was up. What the fuck was this boy playin' at? His voice rang languid again. "No; I don't think you're looking to fall hard and fast right now." She pursed her lips together. He was this close to crossing a dangerous line. Watch it playboy. "Why so..." the pause hung long and taunting, "hurt?"
Rogue shot from the couch. Remy slapped himself mentally for toying with her limits. What could he say? He was born cocky and when he sensed the sensitiveness of the subject for her, he could hardly resist. He caught her wrist in one swift gesture.
Rogue resisted the urge to pop his joint and instead glared down at the man she'd only spoken to maybe once or twice the entire two months she'd resided at Xavier's Mansion. "I'm sorry," he said simply. "It was out of line. Don't go." He rose. "I'll leave. I wouldn't want you to cancel whatever previous engagement you clearly have planned for this room." And then he was gone.
Rogue contemplated following the arrogant bastard and opening his lip with her knuckles, but was halted in her pursuits by Logan's hulking form appearing in the door. She turned the television off.
"He ain't even worth it, darlin'." He said, clearly assuming where her thoughts dwelled. Rogue huffed a shiny strand of hair from her face and smoothed it back with her hand, inhaling deeply in the process. Who did that swamp rat think he was, prying into her love life like that?
"Ah know." She replaced Remy's spot and Logan sat beside her. "What have we got?"
Logan lit a cigar and settled back, blowing a perfect 'o' into the open air above his head. "It could be any one of 'em." He said finally, and she nodded in agreement.
"There are the brothers, what're their names?"
"Warren..."
"And Bobby," she said, suddenly remembering. "Confused rich kids get tangled in the mob all the time." Logan nodded and the partners continued to shoot ideas at each other. They were equally at a loss of leads by the time one a.m. rolled around. They decided to call it a night.
**
Scott woke with a start. His wife's warm body snuggled closer against him and he bowed to kiss her hair. She grumbled something he couldn't quite make out. He glanced at the blaring red numbers from the clock on his bed-stand: one-thirty. Deciding he needed a drink, he climbed from bed and tugged a pair of plaid pajama pants Wanda had given him one year for Christmas on. He stumbled through the dimly lit corridor and into the kitchen, flipping the switch and engulfing the room in a blaring yellow light. He downed a glass of water in seconds flat and was just refilling his cup when the kitchen French doors opened, sending forth a gust of cool air and a tall blonde man. Scott squinted, eventually recognizing him as Warren. "Hello," he managed a bit uncomfortably.
Warren leaned back against the cool glass and sighed. "Hey, man." He said, a lazy smile at the tip of his mouth.
Scott turned to regard him fully and assess the situation. He'd been smoking, judging by the smell of him, and probably drinking if the slightly slurred speech was any consolation. Scott chose to keep quiet despite the fact that alcohol was prohibited on school grounds. It was a rule Xavier was rather lenient with. Scott and Wanda even owned a few bottles of champagne for special occasions, so it wasn't a major deal, so long as it didn't become a habit.
"Go for a walk?" He inquired innocently.
Warren nodded slowly with half-lidded eyes. "Oh yeah. And I saw something..." His voice trailed off and he heaved to stand upright.
Scott was interested. "Saw something? Saw what?"
Warren shook his head. "Nothing, it was... Never mind." He paused and bore into Scott intensely before holding up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright." He stifled a boyish giggle and threw a cursory glance behind him through the glass doors. "I was walking around, right, just getting a little buzz or whatever. I'm around the pool and I hear this splashing around. I'm like, 'what the hell?' So I head over, all ready to perform my first superhero ass-kicking, right, and what do I see?"
Scott, slightly intrigued now by Warren's remarkable storytelling, asked a little breathlessly, "What?"
Warren stopped, his shoulders sagging and suddenly feeling very guilty for exploiting the knowledge of what he just saw like it was a hot tabloid. From the midst of his liquor-fogged brain, his conscience came in to play. "Nothing, man. Don't worry about it. Let's just say I need to go take a cold shower."
Scott slumped against the counter, thoroughly perplexed. "What? No way, what did you see?" A pause. "Come on, what?"
Warren released a deep breath, the air escaping him with his better judgment. Oh well, he thought. He could always blame it on the alcohol the next morning. "She was in the water, man. Naked as Eve herself and fucking gorgeous as all hell, there she was." Warren smiled at the recent but brief memory. He'd seen her slipping through the crystal blue water and drank the sight in for only a moment before turning respectfully.
"Wait a minute, who? Who was in the pool?" Scott asked.
"Jean." Warren replied. "I'll tell you what," he whistled appreciatively and without another word, disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.
Scott washed out his glass and set it in the drainer, his movements mechanical and his mind obviously absent. He fought to replace the incredibly erotic image of Jean Grey in the pool with his own stunning wife. He let his mind present an enticing reel of him catching his wife in the pool naked and making love to her in the cool, clear water. The thought of the woman currently occupying the pool kept forcing its way into his fantasy though, so he finally gave up and indulged in a fleeting second of daydream in which he plunged just once and hard into the telepath, shaking the thought right when she would gasp under his thrust.
He glowered at the French doors, daring them to open and let him onto the pool grounds. They did not call his bluff, and so he escaped up the mansion stairs and climbed back into bed beside his sleeping beauty. He watched the steady rise and fall of her breasts and the small, adorable pout her red lips made when she dreamed, no doubt of him. He didn't think that because he was narcissistic, it was just a mutual fact: they only dreamed of each other; that was all they *had* to dream about.
Already slightly aroused from the incident downstairs, Scott felt himself becoming excited at the sight of his sleeping wife, clad in a tight purple tank top and white cotton undies, her body silhouetted marvelously by the thin sheet draping across her beautiful body. Before he knew it, a hand had slipped under her shirt and was fondling a plump breast until it puckered under his sensual fingers. Slowly, she woke and smiled up at him. She brought a hand behind his head and pulled him to her, engaging them in a slow kiss.
Idly, he wondered if the pool was still harboring the sinful body of a sexy telekinetic, her skin wet with pool water.
**
Ororo, Warren, and Remy sat at a small round table positioned in the center of a large patch of the mansion's green estate after the morning's Danger Room session. A late summer wind sent individual gold and red leaves scurrying under hulking oaks and bitterly weeping willows.
Wanda appeared with a tray holding three tall glasses. "I thought we might be thirsty so I brought us some ice tea."
"Thank you," Ororo said coolly and retrieved a glass from the platter, sipping it slowly as a random bundle of leaves swirled at her bare feet and eddied in a blur of russet and brown behind her. Warren followed suit. Remy accepted his glass with a smile but didn't drink.
"It's lovely here," Ororo said, leaning back into the intricate designs of her iron garden chair. "I'll bet it's simply breath-taking in the spring."
Wanda inhaled slowly. "Oh, it is. There's so many roses- yellow, red, pink; you'll be sick of them."
Ororo raised a thin, delicate eyebrow over her glass. Remy alone noticed the incredulous look on her face.
"Assuming we're here in de spring." He voiced his assumptions.
Ororo caught his eyes. "And just where do you plan on running off to, Mr. LeBeau?"
Remy shrugged. "I just never plan dat far ahead into de future. I mean, that's almost a whole year." He paused. "And I'm willing to bet you don't either, eh?"
Warren cleared his throat. "So how long have you lived here, Wanda?"
"Oh, about three years now. My father is good friends with Charles, so when I was sixteen and my mutation manifested, he knew exactly where to bring me."
"What about Shades?" Remy asked, swirling his untouched drink in his hand.
She smiled weakly. "Scott already lived here on account of Xavier having adopted him when he was twelve." Her company performed a collective nod of understanding. "And the rest, as they say..." She trailed off, instead swallowing from her own glass of ice tea.
A quick wind whipped by them and Wanda hugged her small frame, suddenly wishing she were wearing something warmer than her short, sleeveless, pastel summer dress to shield her from the unseasonably cool weather. "Oooh," she cooed, "It's chilly. I'm going to go inside and grab my sweater."
"Don't bother," Ororo said, the sun peeking from a cloud as she spoke. Instantly, a pale, orange glow fell across the estate and the wind subsided to a pacifying breeze. Wanda's shoulders immediately relaxed and her wide dark eyes shone with admiration.
"Wow." She gasped. "Hey, that's really neat."
Remy nearly scoffed at the woman. Bright-eyed kids were a lot of fun. "Yeah, that is pretty impressive, Stormy."
Ororo's teeth clenched under the perfect outline of her firm jaw. "Thank you, Gambit. And I do believe I've asked you not to refer to me as Stormy. Storm will suffice, thank you." She said simply, but could not smother the smile curling at her lips in response to his own incorrigible grin.
"So where you from?" Remy asked. "Your accent- it sounds..."
"African." Warren interrupted. Remy turned his face to regard him. So, he finally decides to speak. "Nigerian, even, if I'm not mistaken."
Storm nodded. "That's right. You ever been?"
He nodded and recounted a time he and his brother visited the plains for a safari. "It's truly beautiful there."
Wanda sat back in her chair, trying to imagine anywhere outside of New York or her sheltered, Ivy League life.
"So what brings you here?" Remy pried, reaching into his coat.
"To Westchester?" She threw back, her voice a liquid blue caressing the still summer day.
"To America."
She straightened and he took in her tense pose with mild intrigue. "I don't know if that's any of your business."
"I thought you might say that." A deck of cards appeared from Remy's pockets. "Tell you what," he fanned the deck and held it out to Wanda, who suddenly became interested. "If I can guess this pretty little lady's card, you tell me why you left Africa. Deal?" Before an answer was given, he gestured for Scott's wife to pick a card. She tentatively pulled one form the direct center. Ororo rolled her eyes and Warren swallowed some more of his ice tea, trying hard to look indifferent.
Wanda held the card to her chest after glancing at it and looked to Remy expectantly. Ororo placed her palms on the table. "My father had just promised me to a man that I had only met once in my lifetime. I was not fond of the idea of marrying a man simply because he paid the highest bride price." Remy's interest stirred. "I was angry and vengeful against my father, so on the eve of my wedding, I found Kain by the lazy Ello stream- he was prince of my village, young, handsome, and at the wrong place at the wrong time. Contemptuous toward my father for selling my body to another man, I seduced the youthful prince and gave myself to him on the grassy shore. I knew that no man would pay for me now that I was not pure." Ororo swallowed a gulp of her tea. "But of course, it backfired. The boy fell in love with me, naïve fool, and begged me to stay with him. He said we could run away or some such nonsense, but I refused. I did not love him; I'd merely used him for my own selfish purposes. That night, before my father even received the chance to discover my sin, I ran. And just ran, and ran, and now I'm here."
The three others were silent; birds cawed behind them and the wind commenced to whip their hair about. Ororo stood. "Queen of Spades," she said, and walked away. Wanda, breathless, bowed to look at the card between her trembling fingers, a sad-eyed beauty staring up at her with a looming spade above her heavy crowned head.
Remy's eyebrows raised and he chuckled humorlessly. Wanda stumbled to her feet and mumbled something about washing out the glasses and carried the platter of ice tea back into the house, an embarrassed flush creeping across her high, sweet cheekbones.
Warren peered after Ororo before rising and trotting after her. "Storm, Ororo wait!" He called. She slowed and turned to regard him as he fell into step beside her.
"Yes," she said, smiling with her sapphire deep eyes.
"Are you okay? I mean do you need anything?" He could have kicked himself for his suave wit, or lack thereof.
She devoured the wealthy man with her heart-stoppingly beautiful eyes and slowly brought her hand to cup his cheek.
"What could you do?" She said softly and smiled. "It's alright." She turned and walked off toward the direction of the dusky forest. Warren tore his eyes from her and turned to start in the direction of the mansion.
Remy, still sitting but strangely going unnoticed, watched with dark red eyes. Ororo wasn't telling the whole entire truth. He didn't care terribly, though. Everyone was entitled to their fair share of secrets. But hers interested him for some reason, as if it connected to his own dark past. He intended to find out what it was, in the subtlest manner possible of course.
**
A smack accompanied the cue ramming into the cherry red ball and then sinking into a corner pocket. He rose from his hunched position over the billiard table and fetched his whiskey glass from the mini bar behind him. A light blared from above the pool table with various colored balls scattered across the green felt top.
"Nice shot," Jean said, sauntering into the room in a yellow little number that Logan decided belonged in a forties detective movie. It was cute, in a curvy, showy kind of way.
"You're home late, missy." He took another shot: 12 ball, side pocket.
She shrugged and stepped behind the bar to fix herself a drink. "Oh, I don't know if midnight is exactly late. I doubt you ever come home before dawn peeps open her pretty little eyes when you paint the town." They shared a short smile.
"Are you drunk?" Nine ball, corner pocket.
"Not really, just a little bit of a buzz, you know? Anyways, he was an egotistical jerk so I decided to feign headache and have him drop me off."
"In that nice and tiny silver car of his, I see." Logan threw over his shoulder before bending over to shoot again.
"Nice view," she smiled. He shot wordlessly before coming back up.
"I know." He grounded the blue chalk against his cue tip. "You know how to play, darlin'?" What was he doing? Flirtin' on the job? Ah well. He always did love to live dangerously. Damn it.
"Kind of," she replied, setting her martini down and crossing to where he stood.
"Well let's see what you got," he taunted.
She relieved him of his cue and held it in her own small hands while circling the table, eyes roaming the ball's positions decisively.
"So tell me somethin' about yourself, gorgeous." He said, pulling another cue stick from the rack in the corner.
Jean shook her head. "Nuh-uh-uh." She chastised. "Don't you know it's become an unwritten rule in this household that one must never reveal information concerning their past?"
"Can't we break the rules... just this once," he added low and husky.
She shifted the cue in her hand. "My daddy taught me how to shoot a long time ago. I used to be a pretty clean aim. Let's see if that's still true, hmm? Tell you what- I make it and you answer one of my questions. I miss, and you can ask me any question you want."
Logan watched her line her cue up with the bald white ball and prepare aim. Her back arm wasn't stiff, her elbow was lagging, and her slow strokes were crooked each time. "It's a deal." He said.
She shot, too hard, Logan noted, and the ball bounced off three out of the four sides but didn't sink into any of the six pockets. He snorted. "Beautiful."
"Alright," she said.
He scrunched his mouth in thought. "Hmm, let's see. Oh, I don't know if I have to even ask. I think I've already got you pretty much figured out, Ms. Grey."
"Oh really?" She sipped her drink.
"Yep. Let's see," she let his eyes roam across her body, just once, "You were no doubt born into a well-to-do household: Ma, yer old man, maybe even an older brother- a letter-jacket man." She nodded slowly.
"Two actually: Frankie and Beau. Go on."
"Straight A student," he continued. "Had a crush on your English teacher?"
She shook her head. "Wrong, wrong, wrong. My English teacher was Sister Clare."
"Ohhh! Even better. An all-American Catholic schoolgirl. You're killin' me, Red. But no crush on a teacher, huh? Damn." He winked.
"I never said that. Maybe not a teacher, but definitely an older guy."
Logan leaned against his pool stick. "Tell me about it."
She leaned over the table again and looked up at him from across the billiard balls, her thick red waves falling down against her creamy cheeks. "Is that your question?"
He nodded. "Yeah, that's it. Tell me about this older guy."
She shot, and a vibrant blue ball rolled dangerously close to a pocket, but slowed considerably and finally came to a complete stop at the towering edge of a side pocket. Jean considered blowing it a nudge, just to drop it into the black hole.
"Don't even think about it," Logan said, rising from his seat at the mini-bar.
She grimaced, still hunched over the damned blue ball. "You don't have to, if you really don't want to," Logan said, realizing the magnitude of the subject, especially for a woman.
She stood, smiling. "No, it's alright. A deal's a deal." She laid the cue down flat on the billiard table and fiddled half-heartedly with a ball. "He was my best friend's father."
Logan nearly dropped the cigar he'd just lit from his mouth. "No."
She nodded, a blush invading her cheeks and nose. "He was older, you know, thirty-eight maybe. But he was so handsome and he wasn't at all the kind of guy you'd think would do that. He was really sweet, and funny, just a nice guy. He wasn't gross or anything." Jean rolled the ball at her fingertips. "After I broke up with my boyfriend of two years, I spent the night at Nicollette's house to get over him with mint-chocolate-chip and Marilyn Monroe. That was her name: Nicollette."
"W... Was he married?" Logan sputtered, incredulous.
"Oh yeah, he was married. She was really pretty, too, but I don't think they were happy. They just kind of stuck together for Nikki. So anyways, Nikki and I had already fallen asleep when I woke up around two a.m. and went downstairs to get a drink. His room was downstairs and his wife was away for the weekend; she was a businesswoman for AT&T." Logan listened intently, watching as Jean spoke slowly and precisely, her eyes obtaining a faraway look as she recalled more and more. "I dropped the glass and he must have heard it because he came into the kitchen all hot and bothered that something was wrong. I apologized and moved to head back up when I noticed my foot was bleeding. I winced. He told me to follow him into his bathroom where he bandaged it up for me. I think that's when I just started crying. I felt like everything was going wrong at once and I really missed Perry."
"That'd be the jerk that had just broken up with you." Logan inquired.
"Right," Jean nodded once in affirmation. "And then, one thing lead to another, before I knew it, he was sliding his hand up my thighs and under my nightshirt and we were kissing, right there, me perched on his sink and his hands all over me at once. I don't remember it all too clearly, but his hands were just all over: undoing my ponytail, fumbling with my bra, tugging my panties, stroking me. After that, there's not much to say. He popped my cherry." Jean stopped, a wicked smile painting her generous peach lips. Logan was sufficiently enthralled.
He straightened immediately. "I see."
She laughed out loud. "I'll bet."
"Any recent encounters between the sheets, you know, with men your own age?" He asked.
"My turn to ask something. What do you do for a living?"
"Huh?"
"You know," she smiled sweetly. "Your job occupation, what is it? And what's the deal with you and Rogue? Are you 'just friends,' long lost siblings," a taunting pause, "lovers?"
"You'll have to shoot for it." He said shortly, jerking a finger toward the cue between her hands. "And my question is the same thing to you. You have to tell me a lil about the skeletons in your closet."
Jean bent immediately and positioned her cue perfectly, jabbing it with one professional stroke and causing the eight ball to spin off at an eighty-degree angle and crash into two more balls hiding in the corner before all three went sinking into a side pocket with a satisfying clink, clink, clink.
Logan nearly choked on his drink. "Fuck me!" He laughed, watching her chuck her cue stick onto the table and make her way out the door, knowing full well that Logan wasn't about to tell her anything, and she wasn't a hundred-percent sure she was prepared to discover his truth or past just yet. His mystique had kept her fascinated thus far; why ruin a good thing?
"Oh and by the way," she stopped at the doorway. "That whole thing about my little seventeen-year-old hormone rush: a complete lie."
He nodded, un-phased and smirking. "Can't say I'm surprised." They exchanged daring grins and she parted, leaving him to engage in a solitary game of nine-ball.
**
Rogue shifted through C.D.s, a long cigarette poised between her slim fingers and a tongue of smoke coiling up beside her in a tendril of hazy gray. The room she stood in currently had no definite purpose, but it was obviously for some "down time," when the others just got to be a little much and someone just needed to sit back and put their feet up. She could just picture this particular crevice of the mansion being Scott and Wanda's personal make-out room when they were kids, sneaking in to steal a few precious moments of all the desperate, clumsy passion a sixteen and seventeen year old could muster. Rogue had taken the liberty of lighting a few candles and scattering them in various corners of the large room, creating the surreal, peaceful glow she'd been hoping to accomplish.
"Aw, you shouldn't have, Belle." Rogue clenched her eyes shut and tried to pretend that she hadn't heard the voice that cut through air like steel. It was ridiculous, she knew, his faintest whisper could be heard through a mass hysteria of screaming. He just possessed that effect, and damn if he didn't know it.
Rogue truly wished he wasn't behind her, though, no doubt leaning casually against the door jam, arms crossed carelessly across his broad chest, trademark cocky grin plastered across his face just under his truly bewitching eyes. She couldn't stand his overwhelming arrogance, and what's worse, she didn't like the flip-flops her stomach did when he spoke in that low, perfect tone glazed in wine-red emotion.
"Can I help you?" She forced through a tight smile.
"I'm beyond help." She nearly jumped at the feel of his breath tickling her neck close from behind. He chuckled and she noticed he'd taken a few steps back. Smart guy. "Step aside," he placed a hand on her hipbone and nudged her a few feet to the right to gain himself access to the stereo. His touch burned an electrifying hole in her soft skin and she nearly bit her lip in repulsion, or anticipation, or raw want; she wasn't sure.
"What're you doin'?" She asked brusquely, clutching her voluptuous hips in defiance. "You do know that if you plan on trying anything, mistah, with one switch of a thought Ah could have you lying on the ground convulsing in short spasms?"
He slammed a C.D. into the player and pressed Play. Yes, he did know that. When he somehow managed to find himself in Xavier's office one day, and the bolted file cabinets somehow popped open when Remy accidentally knocked into them, and when Remy mistakenly scanned everyone's files, he happened to remember that this particular Southern angel had some sort of power that allowed her to absorb others memories, emotions, etc. as well as the ability to fly and, of course, the infamous super strength. She had it all.
He brought his index finger to her full lips and pressed, her eyes becoming menacing for the briefest of moments before he pulled away. "Shhh, just creating a mood."
"A mood?" She repeated incredulously, but responded to his arms encircling her tiny waist by snaking her hands behind his neck.
"Yeah," his voice low and hypnotic again, "a mood." And they danced.
She wasn't sure how they began moving or even how she'd ended up in his arms in the first place, but there they were, gliding across the hardwood floors with subtle twirls and two bodies pressing a bit closer to each other than innocent dancing required, and under their connecting touch, their blood raced hot and thick through their defenseless veins.
"I just wanted to tell you, chere, dat I didn't mean to press any buttons or claw open any wounds last night. And I'm sorry if I did." He whirled her under his arm once to give her time to decide how she wanted to respond.
When she pressed back against his chest she still didn't know what to say. "It's... alright. Don't worry about it." Weary of life, and with a strong support standing right before her, Rogue buried her head in his chest and inhaled deeply, savoring the fragrance of his natural musk and remnants of Eternity in her lungs until she had to exhale for air. His hands raking across her back, his fingertips leaving a trail of blue liquid flame up and down her spine, made her feel dizzy and nearly weak with... desire? No, she wasn't thinking correctly. Three months without Caleb had made her wild-eyed and her body depraved for touch. The fact that the man deciding to touch her now was in a word, beautiful, didn't help much.
Remy didn't dare breathe. What the hell? He was certainly not prepared for this. Sure, she was gorgeous, and Lord knew he'd always had a weak spot for Southern belles, but the farthest he'd ever gotten in thinking about this sweet little creature was a sporadic wet dream and a second glance at her long, creamy limbs when she decided to don a short pair of shorts every once in a while. But now, crooning to the maudlin opera concerto and no witnesses but the candles engaged in their own reserved dances, he didn't know what to make of the brunette in his arms, complete with streak of snow-white running down the center. Adorable, he decided absently. When he wandered into the room with a half-hearted apology on his lips and less than pure thoughts running through his head, he had no idea things would get this far. How far, Remy? He thought. You're just dancing for Christ sakes. But the feel of his fingertips against the soft skin of her back, separated by nothing but the flimsy silk top she wore, sent a different kind of sparks cackling within him. Why is this one different? Why is SHE different? Get the hell out of here, Remy, before you get burned.
But before he could pry himself from her she was taking cautious steps from him, smiling shyly and reddening an alluring shade of rose, he thought, in the face. "Ah'm gonna call it a night," she said quietly, and left. He watched her go, waiting until she was from sight to take a few pacing breaths and glance around the room, as if he expected to find the underlying mystery of that moment somewhere in the plush, butterscotch-colored cushions. The C.D. played on and he unconsciously swayed to the rhythm, trying to slow his heart from its heavy thumps against his breast.
"Was that almost human emotion I saw back there?" Logan asked Rogue as they strolled aimlessly through the long, tall corridors.
"How much did you see, exactly, Mr. Peeping Tom?"
"Not much, actually. Just the very end, really, and before I even made a move to turn and mosy along on my business, you were already pushing him away and fleeing from the crime scene." He said.
"Crime? Since when is dancing-"
"Dancing isn't, but breaking a guy's heart sure as hell should be."
Rogue stopped and slapped his arm. "Ugh. First of all, I doubt Remy has a clear conscience when it comes to breaking women's hearts. Ten bucks says that he's got a list of doe-eyed girls waiting up by the phone every night and a trail of irate father's looking for his blood. Second, there was nothing even slightly romantic back there, it was purely physical. He's attractive- I'm a woman, it added up at the time. And you know I would never betray Caleb's memory like that." She stopped and muttered. "It's too soon."
**
Wanda scraped at the cookie sheet with unbridled fervor, her spatula screeching across the metal like Wolverine's claws against the Danger Room walls. She cringed briefly and resumed her progress.
She smiled at the feel of strong arms from behind her accompanied by a gentle but firm squeeze. She sucked in a breath and turned her head to half face him. "Hey stranger," she purred.
Scott buried his face into the crook of her frail neck and inhaled her sweet scent while his hands explored her supple hips and flat abdomen. "Whatchya' doin'?"
"I'm finishing up with some cookies." She grabbed one from the cooling plate and offered it up to his mouth, to which he plunged his teeth into. Chuckling softly, he released his hold on her to grasp the cookie and eat it properly.
"Aww, dat's really heart-warming." Neither of the lovers had noticed Remy enter and make his way to the fridge. He leaned in and fished out a small carton of whole milk, bought specially for him- he being the only one that preferred whole- and tipped it to his lips and swallowed several gulps. He brought it back down and swiped the mustache with the back of his hand, spying the cookies. His dark eyes lit up.
"Hey, chere. You make dose delectable little pieces of heaven?" He asked, turning toward Scott's wife who beamed with pride at the blatant flattery.
Oh God, Scott thought. This should be interesting.
He and Remy switched positions so Scott could dig through the refrigerator for his own carton of milk.
"Yes I did. Would you like one?" She asked, offering the platter. Remy grinned and accepted one with a smile.
"Why t'ank you, chere." He bit into the soft, chewy cookie, smiling as he chomped.
Wanda shifted her weight nervously. Here it comes, Scott thought. His wife was getting into what she called subtle flirting mode. She thought she was faint and tactful, but every man knew when she was playing a little back-and-forth game. Scott mostly found it charming, but still pretended to be a little irritated so she would have to make it up to him later in their bed. Now, with this slick Cajun, it DID irritate him.
"So," she began, playing with imaginary loose threads of her tight fitting apron. A little too tight, Scott suddenly decided. "What exactly does 'chere' mean?"
Remy immediately sensed the delightful undercurrents her tone possessed and resolved to play along at once, purely for the benefit of that twitch in Scott's jaw and because this little girl would just be all too easy. Besides, after his little encounter with Ms. Scarlet O'Hara a little while ago, he needed to prove to himself that his uncanny ability to make the opposite sex swoon still resided prominently in him. "It's French. It means love." He said simply enough, but his voice gaining a certain quality he knew he controlled that made women grow a little bit weak. She blushed furiously and looked down quickly.
"Oh."
Scott clutched his glass of milk and swallowed the remaining contents. Remy continued, pleased with his results. "I don't believe it, you're blushing. Well aren't you a living doll?" He clasped his hands against the carton still in his hands. "Just a little doll." She giggled like a schoolgirl and Remy strolled from the kitchen, shoving his carton into Scott's chest. Scott snatched it.
"Night!" Remy called behind him. He turned and bore into Wanda's glittering innocent eyes with his own devilish glare. "And a very good night to you, love." He annunciated the last word in English and nearly laughed out loud at Scott's firm jaw. Walking away, though, he was forced to give his field leader some points. Any man that could keep his cool under that kind of patent flirtation between another man and his wife, especially if that other man is as charming and suave and devastatingly handsome as himself, deserved a little credit.
Just a little.
**
Scott patrolled the grounds dutifully. No nook or cranny went overlooked, not on his watch. He wasn't paranoid, just careful. He had a wife, and hopefully someday a family here, he wanted to be sure his home was as safe as possible.
Then why are you avoiding the pool? A voice sneered behind his eyes.
Scott gritted his teeth. Why was he? He knew why. Who knows what lurked in or around the pool? A fleet of Magneto's warriors- he could handle it. An army of F.O.H.- bring the bastards on. A tall redhead with magnificent blue-gray eyes... naked- gulp.
He'd only seen her once in the Danger Room since last night's encounter resulting in Warren sharing a startling piece of knowledge with the twenty-nine year old X-Man. Did he have the courage to graze the pool grounds and make sure nothing was amiss, risking the chance of seeing her in all her fleshy glory. God, Summers, pull yourself together. It's not against the rules or anything- he knew, he checked- and it's certainly not against nature's rules to get aroused at a sight like that. But there was a difference from letting yourself be caught off-guard in a presence as such and finding yourself thinking about it a couple times that day when your mind wandered off during the Danger Room session, afternoon grocery distribution, or even, yes, when making love to your wonderful wife that morning.
"Fuck it," Scott muttered and crept to the pool. He made as much noise as possible without being overly obvious, but when he arrived he realized it had been in vain. She'd taken that precise time to delve deep underwater and slip from one side of the pool to the other. He took the briefest of seconds to watch the water spill over her sleek, downy skin. Fortunately enough, he was able to control his reaction and not become aroused to a point of notice to anyone who should happen to do just that. But he would not give her the chance. Silently, he turned and retreated from whence he came.
"Scott?" Her satin orange voice called from behind him after emerging from the water. He paused a second before turning, hoping she'd take the few seconds to become decent so he could remain faithful to his wedding vows, if even in mind and heart. He turned and caught just a hint of the gleaming bare flesh of her shapely thigh before her towel cloaked her completely from mid-thigh to her white, milky shoulders. "I thought I sensed you," she smiled, unbothered by the absurd humiliation of the entire situation.
He coughed nervously. "Yeah, well, just patrolling, you know." He held up his flashlight as if it were his defense evidence.
She nodded and positioned herself at the edge of the pool, her back to him and long legs swishing through the water. "Take a seat," she called over her shoulder.
Don't even think about it, Scott. "Okay." He moved to a nearby deck chair and sat at the foot, careful to maintain the chair's balance as it supported his weight. "So..."
"I'm sorry," she began, "if it's against the rules to, you know, skinny dip." She giggled and Scott managed his own nervous laugh.
"Oh," he waved a hand as if to dismiss the situation entirely, "don't worry about it."
She smiled brightly. "Yeah, I figured it couldn't be a very big deal. I mean it's not like this pool has never seen a naked woman."
Scott stammered weakly, "Oh, well, I don't, well." Her eyes got big and Scott was suddenly enchanted by his little pool nymphet.
"Someone HAS had sex in this pool, right?" Her voice was achingly nonchalant as far as Scott was concerned for dealing with such a taboo subject.
"I... couldn't tell you, to be totally honest."
"You mean to tell me that all these years you and Wanda have lived here, you've never... you know, in this pool?" She grabbed his arm in mock disbelief and Scott pleaded with God to make her let it go before he shattered into a trillion pieces.
"Nope, not once." He smiled shyly and Jean's heart did a funny twist.
This guy isn't half bad, she thought. Jean took that moment to examine his features a little more closely: a bronze tint to his skin, extremely well built, cute, in that soft-spoken yet confident sort of way, caramel colored hair and God only knew what colored eyes. Ooh, mysterious. She finally determined that he was indeed a very handsome man.
Oh no! Stop it, Jean. This gentleman already has a lady. The thought piqued her now more than it ever had before, especially when his face melted into that adorable lopsided grin, or when he held his breath whenever Gambit flirted harmlessly with Wanda...
"But don't worry," he continued. "It's not against the rules or anything."
"I know but I feel bad. It's just that, gosh, I've tainted a virgin pool!"
He guffawed uproariously and she swatted his arm. "Don't laugh! I feel horrible."
"You're too much, kid." He said, chuckling now. It dawned on him that even from the very beginning, it hadn't always been purely physical. She did something to him, something that made his groin as well as his heart leap. Among other things, for instance, she was funny.
"Yeah, well, I'm not so sure this is a virgin pool, anyway. Besides, with men like Remy living here it's sure to have seen some action."
Scott's shoulders stiffened at the mention of the sniveling Cajun that had played coy with his wife. "What?" Jean implored, wringing her long crimson tresses of excess pool water.
"Oh, nothing really." He snickered. "It's just Remy. He can be a trip, that guy."
She faced the sky and half-laughed, half-sighed. "Yes indeed. He is certainly something else- a gorgeous flirt for one."
"Flirt indeed," came Scott's mumbled reply.
"Aw, been playing with Wanda?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Scott brushed off politely.
Don't want to talk about Remy or don't want to talk about Wanda, Jean pondered silently. She shook her head slightly, banishing such selfish thoughts. She'd done some bad things in her life, but she could never shred a marriage in two. Jean burnt silence by splashing her legs around and smoothing the water droplets onto her thighs and calves with her hands. Soon deciding that wasn't the wisest course of action to take when trying to dissuade a man, she stopped shortly. Stealing a glance at Cyclops, she noticed he had not been paying her attention anyways, his face turned away and staring curiously into the black forest.
Scott wanted to dive into the cold, crisp water and let the cool liquid submerge him and ice his boiling nerves. He looked away when she began running small hands up and down her toned limbs, her legs becoming slick and moist with each stroke. His tongue nearly tripled inside his mouth. This was too much. He needed to escape before the sight of her damp curls plastered against her neck possessed him and the heady perfume of her coconut skin overwhelmed him.
Shooting from his deck chair, he staggered to the French doors leading into the kitchen. Jean jumped at his abrupt rising and unconsciously clutched the white towel tighter under her arms. "Good night!" She sputtered behind him and he threw a brusque wave good-bye behind him, mumbling something to the effect of "you too."
What the hell? Jean sighed and leaned back on her hands. "Don't think about him," she told herself. "Just don't think."
A/N
Alrighty! Lovin' the long chapters? Me too! I just started typing and couldn't stop. AHH! I hope you wunnerful people dig this story as much as I am going to dig writing it. It's you typical, smutty soap opera theme, and oyu know the one rule with soaps: there are no rules.
You wanna make my day? NO? REVIEW anyway!