He was a crystal rose amidst a sea of rubble and mud. Warren lifted a wheat-colored eyebrow and combed the bar with a fastidious eye. Burly men sat in small booths, most crowded around the jukebox or at the pool tables. A honky-tonk favorite bounced off of the bar walls, Lynyrd Skynrd, Creedence Clearwater Revival, Rolling Stones or the like.
Some men turned to notice Warren. "Well ain't he just the shit, Bud?"
But most didn't bother, being too occupied with stuffing problems down their long-necked bottles or hitting on the red lip-sticked, teased blonde banged women lining the barstools.
The drive over gave the billionaire playboy a lot of time to ponder his current predicament. He felt something for Ororo that ran deeper than he'd like to admit, that was certain, but Warren was a businessman; he didn't rush head on into anything without weighing every pro and con. So all right, pros: she's intelligent, enthralling, sophisticated, spirited, and oh-God-so-beautiful. Cons: She'd break his heart without a second thought. Damn.
Was she here? He highly doubted it, but she was certainly in this particular town and process of elimination demanded she be here.
And there she certainly was, sitting in the corner booth, sipping cherry cola and warding off the few and the brave that dared trespass her territory to ask if she perhaps wanted a drink, dinner and a movie, a man to worship her for the rest of her life. She politely dismissed them all.
Warren slid into the seat across from her and immediately flagged down a waitress and ordered a gin and tonic to avoid meeting her eyes for a few transitory seconds. She stabbed her straw into her cola before taking a long sip. "Can I help you?"
He glanced around the bar again. "You're the one that chose to spend her Saturday evening in this rat hole. Can I help YOU?"
She snorted, delicately even, Warren noted. "Alright." An amused pause. "So what are YOU doing here?"
He leaned forward. "I don't know." He chuckled sourly. "I really don't. I don't think I'm in love with you, but I don't know anything except numbers, profits, and what red and black coded stock market tips are."
Ororo grinned.
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm here to offer you the chance of a lifetime. I'm good at making offers."
She lifted a platinum eyebrow. "I'm listening."
"Come back. The X-Men really need you. And I'm beginning to grow quite fond of the way your corridor always smells like vanilla and storms, and the way there's always vegetarian burgers in the freezer, and your clothes billowing on the clothesline because you're the only woman I know that refuses to use a dryer, opting instead for the fresh spring air--even in the middle of February."
Ororo laughed. "True, true." Warren snaked his hand over hers on the table.
"We all know I'm Warren Worthington III, boy billionaire." She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "I get whatever I want. And right now I want to see if there's anything going on here," he gestured at the air between them. "I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth until I find an answer to that question that satisfies me." Ororo's eyes brightened to an alluring shade of azure. "I won't beg... because you don't want a man that will fall at your feet, you want one that will stand by your side."
"Do you think you can do that?" She finally said, her voice masking the emotion running thick in her throat.
"I'd sure as hell love to give it a shot." He smiled impishly. "It doesn't have to be fairy tale romance; we're not going to fall in each other's arms and ride off in a white carriage. We'll take it a few steps at a time. If we like it we'll move forward. If we don't we'll leave things whatever." He shrugged, keeping his movements casual and flippant.
She was silent for a moment, stirring her soda with her straw. Now here was a proposition she could live with. This guy wouldn't snap a ball and chain on her the minute she agreed to a date. " 'Whatever' sounds perfect, Mr. Worthington." She sighed. "What the hell. Besides, I left a fabulous pair of Manganno boots back at the mansion that I just can't live without."
**
"Well I'll be damned," Rogue muttered. "She came back."
Ororo looked up from her book of poetry. "Hello Rogue."
The southern pistol sauntered into the weather-witch's room, pausing to stare into her fireplace. "So what brings you back to our humble abode?"
"Nothing in particular, necessarily." Ororo set her book down on the bed.
"Alraght, who brought you back? No wait; don't tell me. Warren. Am Ah raght or am Ah raght?"
"You're... incorrigible." Ororo smiled.
Rogue's face became solemn and she took a seat at Ororo's cherry wood vanity. "Why'd you run, girl?"
Ororo sighed. "Nothing worth psychoanalyzing."
"Honey, Ah'm from Mississippi. We don't psychoanalyze shit."
"Your close with Remy, are you not?" Ororo leaned back on one hand on her bed.
"Yeah, but that has nothing to do with what we discuss. If you want to talk, talk. I won't rush right off to Remy and 'spill', is that's what you think."
"You're right, friend, I'm sorry. Please don't think I was trying to be disrespectful."
Rogue flipped her hand. "Fohget about it!"
"I think it's pretty obvious why I left. I find it nearly impossible to live with a man I have no respect for and I certainly no longer respect Remy." Ororo traced a pattern sewn onto her comforter with a manicured fingernail.
"Yes, but why?" Rogue asked, tentatively trying her best not to seem too nosy.
Ororo shook her head, errant cloudy strands obscuring her eyes. "Let's just say that his business was similar to my business before I found... respectable means of making ends meet, except I was on the other end of the bargain."
Rogue clasped a hand over her mouth and moved to sit beside Storm, wrapping a comforting arm around her slim shoulders. "Ah'm sorry, hon. Ah... am sorry."
"It is alright. I don't wish to discuss the topic deeply, but I feel that I can trust you with this portion of my past, as I know you will not relay it to others and I thank you for that. However, I ask that you particularly never inform Remy of this, despite how you may think it will 'mend' our relationship. I need no one's pity and certainly not his," she finished in a dignified tone.
Rogue nodded. "Whatevah you say, sugah."
**
Remy jotted a note in the margin, the deep red ink bleeding into the vanilla paper. The paperback was folded back in his hands and he sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a glass of vodka-laced orange juice sitting abandoned at his elbow. He muttered his train of thought over in his head, mentally elaborating on the theme. 'God-damned Hemingway always makes you second guess.'
He sipped his drink and promptly made a face concerning the warm, milky texture that soon followed. He stood and emptied the juice in the sink, setting the glass down and spinning to lean against the counter, his novel still clutched between two large hands.
He clicked the pen with his thumb. Theme. Click. Desire. Click. Man's meaning. Click. Foreshadowing. Click. Flashback. Click. Click. Cli-
"Jesus, can you give it a rest?"
Remy's eyes rose to meet with Bobby's solid blue ones. "Problem, homme?"
"Not really, but can you quit clicking?"
Remy looked at the ballpoint as if it were the first time he'd seen it in his life. "Sorry. Didn't know you were in here." Click.
Bobby clenched his teeth. "Whatever."
Remy smirked. Click. "Sorry, it's a habit. I do it when I t'ink."
"Then it can't be a habit you struggle with frequently."
Remy whistled low. "Score one for Bobby. What are you waiting for? A prize or somet'ing?"
Bobby turned from the sink to regard him fully now. "The only victory I'd be satisfied with is smearing that cocky grin of yours across the wall... homme." He spat the last word like venom.
Remy straightened, his mind having long deserted the novel. "Anytime, kid."
"Hello sugahs!" Both men melted considerably and plastered a smile on their faces for the approval of the intruding belle.
"Hey chere."
"Hi Rogue."
"You wouldn't believe it, boys! There Ah was, just mindin' my own business, watchin' T.V. in my room when what should hit me? The munchies! Ah sweah, they're monstahs!" She giggled and neither man could refuse its particular charm.
"Want me to fix you a li'l somet'ing?" Remy offered. Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Um, no thanks, Ah think Chex Mix will get the job done foh now. Thanks boys!" And with that, she was gone.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the two remaining men until Bobby coughed an excuse and disappeared the way Rogue had.
Remy shifted against the corner. Too bad, boy. First come; first serve. He proceeded to Rogue's room.
"Knock, knock." He poked his head around her door. She sat up on her bed and rolled the family-sized bag of Chex Mix and set it at her bedside. "Hey!" She said, brushing crumbs from her bare thighs and over her chest. "Come on in."
Remy took in the sight of her long toned legs, barely covered with a pair of small white night-shorts and a matching tank complete with a tiny bow centered on the chest, her beautiful endowments nearly spilling from the bodice. His mouth nearly ran dry.
He entered as she turned her television off, replacing it with a random C.D. in her stereo. She watched him take a seat at the foot of her bed with all the grace of a cat intertwined with the beauty of a sweet Adonis. A loose gray button-up with only few buttons fastened and the shirttail carelessly tugged from the waistband of dusty jeans fit him perfectly. Rogue shifted in her bed, her position suddenly transforming from friendly-comfortable to sensual-sexy.
"What're you doing heuh, boy?"
He lied across the length of the foot of her bed, his head propped in a hand supported by his elbow. "Did you talk to Stormy?"
Rogue sighed. "Ah did. Things aren't looking too great for you at the moment, but Ah don't think it's entiahly hopeless. Just give her time."
"She told you why she's so upset, didn't she?" He grabbed Rogue's foot and began performing slow ministrations on it.
"So what if she did? Doesn't mean Ah'm gonna tell you a damned thing, so fohget about it. Augh, that feels good." She leaned back into her headboard.
Remy smiled, pleased with his efforts. He worked his way to her ankle with both hands, loosening every possible muscle as she cooed and sighed in response to his fingers' dance.
"Alright, I guess dat's fair. We don't have to talk about dat if you don't want to."
"Thank you. Mah Gawd, Remy. This is positively sinful." She pressed her lips together when she felt his hands slide ever further up her leg, roaming across her calf and settling behind her knee. Her breath was low and staggered.
He peered into her eyes. "You like dat, chere?" His voice was husky as she nodded. He ventured up a creamy thigh until one hand was brushing against the fabric over her crotch. His fingers manipulated the area until he felt the warmth and wetness radiating from between her legs. He looked up to see her head tipped back, elated silent gasps escaping her strawberry round mouth. Remy licked his lips in anticipation.
Rogue could barely believe the affect he was gaining from her with a little playful pawing over her shorts. Her stomach knotted in wild expectancy at all he was capable of under her panties. She ran slim hands through his auburn tresses, sending spills down the Louisiana native's back. His other hand managed its way to her hip while his lips planted slow kisses on her neck.
She curled a slender leg around him and urged him closer, which he happily obliged. Finally, their lips met, hungry and aching. He pressed her into the headboard with a flooding ardor that churned right at the pit of him. Her guttural moans and sparked cries devoured his senses, impelling him further.
**
Jeannie rolled over, the hard plastic of the booth-seat shifting under her 88 pounds. Her head lied situated on her father's thigh while he twirled spaghetti on his fork. The restaurant was dark, overwhelmingly dark, frighteningly dark. Things lurked in this kind of dark. Demons. Robbers.
Her father hummed to her between mouthfuls, patting her head often and brushing blazing hair from her forehead. It was a sweet Italian tune complemented nicely with the shrieking violins not seven feet from Bugsy Malone's booth. He knew it was late; he should really get back and tuck his little girl in. He at least should have let Julius take her on home when he left, but he was starving and he wanted to spend a little bit of time with his baby.
He looked down at her sleeping form, his lips twisting into a short smile. Hold-ups, employees, money handling-- he rarely had time to really appreciate his most precious ware. She looks just like her mother. Mother Mary, my little girl's going to be such a little heartbreaker when she grows up.
His eleven-year-old redheaded girl blinked open bleary eyes and rubbed across the freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Hey punkin," Bugsy Malone said. And then he was shot twice in the chest.
Jean went stiff, her eyes doubling in size while her heart pounded violently in her chest. Blood splattered onto her face and she looked up at her father's lifeless open eyes, his head lolled to one side and his body slumped.
Jean bolted upright and swiped frantic hands over her face, her covers long cast onto the floor in a crumpled pile. She gasped once but immediately regained composure. She rushed to the bathroom, splashing ice-cool water onto her face to rid herself of invisible blood that wouldn't clean. Blood on her face.
And blood on her hands.
A sudden voice bellowed in her head and Jean yelped, jumping in front of the mirror.
~Jean, it's Xavier~ He assured her, his voice taking a noticeably gentler tone.
~I'm... I'm sorry Professor. I had a bad dream~
~About your father?~
Jean froze. Wait a minute- Xavier? Wasn't he away for a conference or something? She panicked. Oh God! He's home! He knows I'm the killer! He's prying in my head! Oh God!
~Jean. Jean! Please keep calm. You have nothing to fear concerning anything, child. Please come see me in my office immediately~ A pause. ~And I assure you, you have no reason to run, but that's certainly a decision left in your capable hands~
Jean was in his office within minutes of slipping on a pair of jeans and a cardigan. If she ran, she had an elite team of superheroes to track her. The odds were stacked, to say the least.
"Please, come in." He wheeled form his position by the window to behind his desk. "We have much to discuss, so you may take a seat if you'd like."
Jean accepted the offer and sat in one of the plush vacant seats, crossing her legs primly and keeping her head high and professional. She didn't know why, but she was very willing to listen to Xavier- perhaps because he made it an offer, not a command, and Jean was a businesswoman. She was all for offers.
He stirred his tea but did not drink. Instead he sat, eyebrows furrowed in deep contemplation. "I've been running this institute to better the lives of mutants for nearly thirty years now. Only just recently did I make it a school, but nonetheless, it's been around for quite some time." She nodded, unsure what else to do. "And never, in all thirty years, have I ever broken rules or supported illegal doings for my own selfish purposes, except just this once." He extended a long index finger to color his point.
"Let us say now that I am a telepath of the highest order and I would never allow anyone in my home without a thorough interrogation of their mind to assure that they are no harm to either me but especially my students." Jean braced herself and it smacked her right on the forehead. "I know you murdered Caleb Gestessi. Indeed, I have known but I feared that by telling you during your beginning months here, you would become afraid and flee without giving my school a chance. You are undoubtedly an alpha-class mutant and I want nothing more than for you to learn how to control your mutation in my household under my provision."
"I understand," she said slowly, sensing there was more to be revealed.
"I don't know if you knew this or not, Jean, but during their brief time in the mafia, Caleb and his four brothers were involved in the murder twenty-seven men, mostly in the neighborhoods of Harlem but some in the state of New Jersey, three in Chicago, even Los Angeles."
Jean nodded, surely this time. "I know; I'm very familiar with their work. As are you, I see." She left her tone questioning. Xavier straightened in his wheelchair.
"Jean, I..." he sighed and began again. "When you were four, your father brought you to me. He knew there was something... phenomenal about you. He insisted I perform a blood test." Xavier's eyes were wistful for a fleeting second. "You cried and cried. God, you hated needles, young lady."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"The test only confirmed what we both knew: you were a mutant. He made me swear to look after you should anything ever happen to him. I assure you, had I known he'd died I would have dragged you out of that life in an instant. An underground hit man is no life for an eleven year old." Xavier shook his head. "But I had no idea. No one ever notified me of his death. But when I saw you enter through my mansion's doors two months ago, I knew then that it had been an act of God Himself to bring you back under my roof. And when I scanned you, you can imagine the shock I received upon learning that you had killed a man, prompting me to research the Gestessi family which is why I am so knowledgeable of their doings." He sipped slowly. "Since I know very well their chances of getting punished for their horrendous crimes, I allowed you in my home though I knew you had taken a life."
"Four," Jean corrected.
"Precisely, excuse me." He bowed his head. "I am hopeful that in my school you will learn the value of life and when the opportunity next presents itself, you will think twice about killing another."
"Mmm," Jean smoothed back a coil of red that had tumbled before her eyes. "Let me get this straight, Professor Xavier. When I was just a kid, my dad brought me here and you determined that I was a mutant. He tells you to 'take me under your little wing' after he dies, which he does, when I'm eleven, but no one told you so I'm stuck with the velvet underground and my uncle Julius." Xavier nodded, confirming so far. "Then, by some 'miracle', I waltz through your door when you're assembling this team and you scan my head, discover that I've killed Caleb and his brothers, but accept my actions due to the fact that they themselves have killed several more than I in their careers as hit men." Jean took a deep breath, confusion burning behind her eyes.
"So tell me this," she continued, "why'd you let Rogue into this place if you knew her killer was here?"
"Besides the fact that Rogue herself is also an extremely powerful mutant with emotional turmoil, which is exactly what this school is dedicated to act as a haven for, I thought she could perhaps find some closure through confronting his killer."
"Closure? She'll go ballistic when she finds out! She'll certainly try to kill me."
Xavier nodded. "I know now that perhaps my intentions were a tad idealistic and naïve. I was unaware of how deep her hate ran for Caleb's killer." Jean flinched at the word as if it were a sharp blade running right under her breast. "Hate is not necessarily a thought, but more an emotion, which is why I could not detect it so predominantly as, say, an empath would."
Jean released a frustrated sigh, dozens of emotions fighting for her conscious attention. Finally she mumbled, "I really am sorry about it, now. When I killed those people, I had one thing in mind: cold, steely revenge. Now that I see," she swallowed hard, "see everything and everyone that it affects. Now that I've met his fiancée and actually LIKE her, I feel... guilty." The last word echoed off the walls and in her head. Guilt was never an emotion she gave the time of day until now, now when it was a twisted knot in her stomach that threatened to travel to her throat and spill out in something worse than guilt: confession. "I think if I could go back, I don't know if I'd do it or not anymore. I just... don't know."
Xavier tilted his head. "Perhaps not the right time, but I am very glad to hear you say that, Jean. I was hoping you would come to realize the precious worth of human life and it seems that you've learned, albeit the hard way."
Jean stood and began pacing. "I am regretful! God, I don't know which is worse: hate or regret. What should I do? Should I leave?" She turned to Charles, her eyes wide and questioning.
"No, I do not feel that running will solve anyone's problems, though it is, of course, your decision and still an option. Do not stay for Rogue; stay because you wish to learn and flourish here as an X-Man."
"I do want to stay as an X-Man, but how can I look at her everyday?" Jean fell back into her chair, defeated.
"Confront her when YOU feel the time is right. If you wish, I will be present to relay both your feelings of remorse and the certain information concerning Caleb's own bloody past."
Jean bit her bottom lip. "Why do I have to tell her at all?"
"You just said so yourself that you are regretful. Do you not feel she deserves this much? As I said: closure."
Jean nodded slowly. "Yeah great. Closure," she added glumly.
**
Remy's eyes blinked open against a mass of auburn tangles. He moaned throatily and inhaled deeply. "Mornin'."
Rogue smiled, clearly having been watching him sleep. "It's still about three a.m."
He nodded, turning anyway to stare into the blaring blue digital numbers at his bedside. His head promptly fell back on his pillow, accompanied with a heaving sigh. "Gawd, chere. That was... somet'in' amazing."
Rogue nibbled her lip. "Puh-leeze, Cajun. You were the one wearing me out, Ah sweah!" She leaned down from beside him to plant a sensual kiss on his chest. "But it was wondahful."
He wrapped an arm around her and pressed her against him, kissing the top of her head and stroking her bare, silky shoulders down to her lower back where the sheet began at her hips. She loved what his fingers were doing against her spine and skin. "Mmm," was her satisfied response.
Rogue was happy. She'd come a ways to achieve this elated emotion, but it swam through her tonight. As corny as it sounded to her own ears, Caleb definitely would have wanted her to be happy, and that's precisely how Remy made her feel. And oddly enough, the twinge of guilt she felt was not spawned from memories or worries concerning Caleb, but Bobby.
Poah thing, she thought. She wished she'd never accepted that first date with him and wished even more it had never been interrupted. It simply left her confused. Was he expecting her to go out with him again to pick up where they left off? Was she obligated to give him another chance? Did she want to give him another chance? In a way- yes, she did, because she prided herself on being fair and she had led him on earlier when there was nothing concrete between her and Gambit. But in another way- no; she was happy with Gambit and why look a gift horse in the mouth, or ruin a good thing, or whatever? She didn't need to deal with the emotional mess that dating Bobby and Remy at the same time would boil.
"Earth to Rogue." Remy waved a hand across her face and she swatted it away.
"I was thinking, mah Gawd!" She laughed.
"About what?"
She shrugged but decided to be honest with him. "Bobby, actually."
He rolled his eyes. "T'anks."
She pressed her forehead to his chest, her curls splaying across his skin. "You know what Ah mean. Ah don't know how to let him down."
"I'll do it." Remy offered.
She shook her head against him. "Ah'll just bet you would. No, stay away from him. Ah'll do it mahself, thank you."
He shrugged. "If you insist, chere."
She leaped up and straddled him. He smiled up at her with mischievous eyes and placed each hand on a creamy thigh. "But Ah don't want to talk about that." She grinned and bowed to kiss his lips.
His hands inched their way up her legs. "We don't have to talk at all, chere."
She applied slight pressure on his groin with her own and kissed him again. "What would you rathah do?"
He nuzzled against her soft neck as one hand crept up to a perfect breast. "Somet'in' amazing."
**
Ororo stepped from the locker room shower and toweled her long, snowy strands. She pulled on a pair of fitting white capris and a red, spaghetti-strapped tank. Approaching her room, she immediately noticed her open door. She slipped inside and her eyes pinpointed Warren sitting in her plush sitting chair near the window.
He stood upon her arrival and flashed a dazzling grin. "Hello," he said simply.
She nodded her response and commenced to run a comb through her hair.
"I've come to kidnap you," he said from behind her but meeting her eyes in the mirror. "The thing is, I'm not very good at it, so if you'd be so kind as to just come quietly."
She smiled. "What kind of weakling do you think I am?" But she slipped on a pair of red flip-flops just the same.
He cocked his head and led her out the door. "You're not scared are ya'? Don't think I'm this elusive Heartbreaker?"
She laughed out loud to the ceiling. "You? A Heartbreaker? Besides, I let no one control my destiny. Especially not some cold-blooded killer." They piled into his Ferrari. "Where are you whisking me away to, anyway?"
He pulled out. "It's a surprise, darling."
**
Scott eyed his wife from where she brushed her locks in long even strokes at her vanity. She was unsure if he was looking at her behind his dark shades, so she sat straighter and held her head high just to be safe. When she was finished, she crawled onto the bed and up to his sprawled form. Her elbows bent to kiss the left corner of his mouth, then the right, and finally full on his lips.
He was only slightly responsive, of which she took notice and pouted. "Don't be like that, Scott."
He wanted to scream. She was angry with him, he was sure of it, but every now and again, when she was 'in the mood,' she confronted him like this with smoky eyes and a dangerously sexy pout playing on her full lips and he became weak. Two nights ago, he gave in. Even though they were mad at each other, they had had sex. Scott felt horrible about it; she used him for the frank purpose of fulfilling her and they went right back to being angry at each other the next morning. Never again, he swore, and he meant it. When he had sex with his wife, it would be out of lust AND love, not pure desire desperation like a couple of hormone-driven teenagers.
She used the same tactic as she had last time. "Scott, why are we even fighting, do you know? I've forgotten."
"Gee, maybe because neither you nor your father has apologized for the way you treated Ororo, or perhaps because you accused me of having an affair with Jean and then saying some nasty things about her, which might I add you still haven't apologized for either, or because to get BACK at me for my supposed relationship with Jean you flirted like some sort of high school slut with both Remy and Logan!" He breathed sharply. "The list goes on and on, Wanda, so don't pull this adorable innocent shit with me tonight. I'm not in the-"
"In the mood?" She finished for him, slithering against him to clutch at the waistband of his boxers. "Are you sure, baby?" She groped in his shorts but he nudged her away.
"Positive."
She humphed, defeated, and fell into bed beside him. "Fine, Scott. Pathetic."
He shook his head and swung his legs over the side of his bed. "I'm thirsty."
**
"We gotta stop meeting like this, Red." Logan fished into the fridge for a beer.
Jean sat perched on the counter's edge, crossed legged and picking through a pint of ice cream with her spoon. She laughed at the comment. "Heh, I like that. We gotta stop meeting like this," she repeated.
He shook his head. "What are you doing up so late?" He opened the beer and tossed the bottle cap into the garbage.
"I couldn't sleep so I decided to make sure the ice cream supply wasn't contaminated." She shoveled a heaping teaspoon of Rocky Road into her mouth. "Nope."
"Good to know." He toasted his beer bottle against her ice cream container. "To uncontaminated ice cream."
"To uncontaminated ice cream," she chimed. "So, have you and Rogue discovered this mysterious Heartbreaker yet?" She casually continued piling spoonfuls of chocolate into her mouth.
"Yea, actually." He stood at the counter and leaned into her, his chest pressing against her pint of ice cream. "I know it's you, so just surrender."
She giggled but could feel the hot rush of blood invading her cheeks: a dead giveaway. He smiled too and opened his mouth wide for her to feed him a spoonful of her treat. She did so and he swallowed slowly, holding her gaze for an extra second. Jean carefully uncrossed her legs and let them dangle down over the counter on either side of him, his own body taking a tiny step forward to nestle between her knees. She felt the rough calloused texture of his large hand on her right knee and it sparked through her like lightening. Doubts screamed at her as he leaned in, undoubtedly to meet his mouth with hers. This wasn't fair to Logan. She was just broken-hearted over Scott's brutal rebuff and she'd just be using him. And Logan would never forgive her when he found out about what she REALLY was. So why couldn't she turn her head from his approaching lips.
They immediately parted when she sensed him approaching and Logan heard his footsteps or smelt him, Jean wasn't sure.
Either way, by the time Scott appeared at the doorway Logan was across the kitchen and heading out, Jean placing the lid back onto her ice cream container.
Scott stood awkwardly, sensing the sexual tension thick in the air but choosing to ignore it. Logan passed him on his way out and Scott remained facing Jean.
"We gotta stop meeting like this!" She recited proudly. Scott chuckled.
"I suppose."
"What's wrong?"
His head shot up. "Huh? Oh nothing, really. It's just... I can't seem to find Warren or Ororo."
"Well that's wonderful!" Jean said. "They're finally swallowing their stupid pride and getting it on!"
"Yeah I guess, but they didn't leave a note or anything. The rules are-"
"Oh give them a break. I have a gut feeling neither of them are the anonymous Heartbreaker- though I'd sure love to know just who the hell is!" She hopped down, threw her ice cream into the freezer and proceeded out the door. "Are you coming?"
"I think it's wonderful that you've been with Xavier for so long. I'm really thrilled to be a part of what he's doing."
Scott shrugged. "I guess he's always just been like a second father to me. I really appreciate all he's done."
They half-strolled, half-patrolled the grounds under a giant pale moon. Jean noticed illuminating lights just ahead and rushed to her once-familiar night hideout. "The pool!" She exclaimed, spinning to face Scott as he caught up beside her at the edge. "Oh my God! I'll bet the water's wonderful."
He shook his head. "No way." She leaped in without warning, squealing in delight when she resurfaced, her clothes matted to her skin and her hair sopping. Scott inwardly mused on how beautiful she was.
"Oh it's wonderful! Come on in, Scott, the water's fine."
He sat on the edge, his legs submerged form the knees down. "No way," he repeated, this time chuckling despite himself as she twirled in the pool.
Silently, she treaded to where he sat and stood between his thighs, her arms resting on his knees. He wanted to pull her away, but he knew there was no chance in hell he would. "Please come in," she asked sweetly.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't friggin' believe this." He hopped into the water and sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of the liquid surrounding his boxer-clad body from the waist down. She telekinetically tripped him and dunked him, holding him under the water's surface until he plowed back up, she clinging to his back. He splashed her with a big sweep of the hand. "Vixen," he laughed.
She stopped splashing and peered into his red glasses. Water dripped from her eyelids and droplets from the tips of her hair. Her voice croaked. "Kiss me, Scott Summers," she whispered, afraid that if the moon heard her she'd tell Wanda. If anyone heard her.
Scott blinked and ran a hand through his rich brown hair. "I... I want to." His voice betrayed his conscience.
"If you don't kiss me tonight, I'll leave the mansion and never turn back." It was cruel and it certainly wasn't fair, but she was raised with mafia morals and conniving hit men. Fair? Besides, Jean doubted she'd ever be able face him again if he refused after such a frank request.
He wore a pained expression. "I don't think..." his voice trailed off.
She closed the space between them and their bodies pressed together; she felt his thighs against her thighs, his stomach against her stomach, his heartbeat against her heartbeat. She ran hands through his hair. "You don't have to think."
Scott kissed her, hard. He put everything he had into it. He wanted it to last forever. What was one kiss?
It was incredible, that's what it was. Scott wanted more. So much more than the tantalizing fire that radiated from their bodies with this woman, this heart-stoppingly beautiful woman, in his arms. Not his wife- so much more.
Jean melted deep into his embrace as he crushed her against his body, whimpering and moaning against his mouth. She wrapped her long legs around his hips and he held her easily in the water, kissing her with fervent passion.
It was everything he wanted in the cool pool on a hot summer night. She surrounded him like heaven.
A/N
Hmmm, I think that's about it for this chapter. LOVING the reviews so keep 'em coming good, wonderful, God-sent people. Things are going to get a mite, er, steamier in the next chapter and oh remember! It's a soapy-type feel I'm goin' for so you NEVER know what'll happen. (Evil laughter ensues but no one's listening so I stop and chuckle nervously.)
LOVE you guys soooooooo much. Please and please and please: REVIEW!
Some men turned to notice Warren. "Well ain't he just the shit, Bud?"
But most didn't bother, being too occupied with stuffing problems down their long-necked bottles or hitting on the red lip-sticked, teased blonde banged women lining the barstools.
The drive over gave the billionaire playboy a lot of time to ponder his current predicament. He felt something for Ororo that ran deeper than he'd like to admit, that was certain, but Warren was a businessman; he didn't rush head on into anything without weighing every pro and con. So all right, pros: she's intelligent, enthralling, sophisticated, spirited, and oh-God-so-beautiful. Cons: She'd break his heart without a second thought. Damn.
Was she here? He highly doubted it, but she was certainly in this particular town and process of elimination demanded she be here.
And there she certainly was, sitting in the corner booth, sipping cherry cola and warding off the few and the brave that dared trespass her territory to ask if she perhaps wanted a drink, dinner and a movie, a man to worship her for the rest of her life. She politely dismissed them all.
Warren slid into the seat across from her and immediately flagged down a waitress and ordered a gin and tonic to avoid meeting her eyes for a few transitory seconds. She stabbed her straw into her cola before taking a long sip. "Can I help you?"
He glanced around the bar again. "You're the one that chose to spend her Saturday evening in this rat hole. Can I help YOU?"
She snorted, delicately even, Warren noted. "Alright." An amused pause. "So what are YOU doing here?"
He leaned forward. "I don't know." He chuckled sourly. "I really don't. I don't think I'm in love with you, but I don't know anything except numbers, profits, and what red and black coded stock market tips are."
Ororo grinned.
"Anyway," he continued, "I'm here to offer you the chance of a lifetime. I'm good at making offers."
She lifted a platinum eyebrow. "I'm listening."
"Come back. The X-Men really need you. And I'm beginning to grow quite fond of the way your corridor always smells like vanilla and storms, and the way there's always vegetarian burgers in the freezer, and your clothes billowing on the clothesline because you're the only woman I know that refuses to use a dryer, opting instead for the fresh spring air--even in the middle of February."
Ororo laughed. "True, true." Warren snaked his hand over hers on the table.
"We all know I'm Warren Worthington III, boy billionaire." She rolled her eyes and he grinned. "I get whatever I want. And right now I want to see if there's anything going on here," he gestured at the air between them. "I'll hunt you down to the ends of the earth until I find an answer to that question that satisfies me." Ororo's eyes brightened to an alluring shade of azure. "I won't beg... because you don't want a man that will fall at your feet, you want one that will stand by your side."
"Do you think you can do that?" She finally said, her voice masking the emotion running thick in her throat.
"I'd sure as hell love to give it a shot." He smiled impishly. "It doesn't have to be fairy tale romance; we're not going to fall in each other's arms and ride off in a white carriage. We'll take it a few steps at a time. If we like it we'll move forward. If we don't we'll leave things whatever." He shrugged, keeping his movements casual and flippant.
She was silent for a moment, stirring her soda with her straw. Now here was a proposition she could live with. This guy wouldn't snap a ball and chain on her the minute she agreed to a date. " 'Whatever' sounds perfect, Mr. Worthington." She sighed. "What the hell. Besides, I left a fabulous pair of Manganno boots back at the mansion that I just can't live without."
**
"Well I'll be damned," Rogue muttered. "She came back."
Ororo looked up from her book of poetry. "Hello Rogue."
The southern pistol sauntered into the weather-witch's room, pausing to stare into her fireplace. "So what brings you back to our humble abode?"
"Nothing in particular, necessarily." Ororo set her book down on the bed.
"Alraght, who brought you back? No wait; don't tell me. Warren. Am Ah raght or am Ah raght?"
"You're... incorrigible." Ororo smiled.
Rogue's face became solemn and she took a seat at Ororo's cherry wood vanity. "Why'd you run, girl?"
Ororo sighed. "Nothing worth psychoanalyzing."
"Honey, Ah'm from Mississippi. We don't psychoanalyze shit."
"Your close with Remy, are you not?" Ororo leaned back on one hand on her bed.
"Yeah, but that has nothing to do with what we discuss. If you want to talk, talk. I won't rush right off to Remy and 'spill', is that's what you think."
"You're right, friend, I'm sorry. Please don't think I was trying to be disrespectful."
Rogue flipped her hand. "Fohget about it!"
"I think it's pretty obvious why I left. I find it nearly impossible to live with a man I have no respect for and I certainly no longer respect Remy." Ororo traced a pattern sewn onto her comforter with a manicured fingernail.
"Yes, but why?" Rogue asked, tentatively trying her best not to seem too nosy.
Ororo shook her head, errant cloudy strands obscuring her eyes. "Let's just say that his business was similar to my business before I found... respectable means of making ends meet, except I was on the other end of the bargain."
Rogue clasped a hand over her mouth and moved to sit beside Storm, wrapping a comforting arm around her slim shoulders. "Ah'm sorry, hon. Ah... am sorry."
"It is alright. I don't wish to discuss the topic deeply, but I feel that I can trust you with this portion of my past, as I know you will not relay it to others and I thank you for that. However, I ask that you particularly never inform Remy of this, despite how you may think it will 'mend' our relationship. I need no one's pity and certainly not his," she finished in a dignified tone.
Rogue nodded. "Whatevah you say, sugah."
**
Remy jotted a note in the margin, the deep red ink bleeding into the vanilla paper. The paperback was folded back in his hands and he sat at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, a glass of vodka-laced orange juice sitting abandoned at his elbow. He muttered his train of thought over in his head, mentally elaborating on the theme. 'God-damned Hemingway always makes you second guess.'
He sipped his drink and promptly made a face concerning the warm, milky texture that soon followed. He stood and emptied the juice in the sink, setting the glass down and spinning to lean against the counter, his novel still clutched between two large hands.
He clicked the pen with his thumb. Theme. Click. Desire. Click. Man's meaning. Click. Foreshadowing. Click. Flashback. Click. Click. Cli-
"Jesus, can you give it a rest?"
Remy's eyes rose to meet with Bobby's solid blue ones. "Problem, homme?"
"Not really, but can you quit clicking?"
Remy looked at the ballpoint as if it were the first time he'd seen it in his life. "Sorry. Didn't know you were in here." Click.
Bobby clenched his teeth. "Whatever."
Remy smirked. Click. "Sorry, it's a habit. I do it when I t'ink."
"Then it can't be a habit you struggle with frequently."
Remy whistled low. "Score one for Bobby. What are you waiting for? A prize or somet'ing?"
Bobby turned from the sink to regard him fully now. "The only victory I'd be satisfied with is smearing that cocky grin of yours across the wall... homme." He spat the last word like venom.
Remy straightened, his mind having long deserted the novel. "Anytime, kid."
"Hello sugahs!" Both men melted considerably and plastered a smile on their faces for the approval of the intruding belle.
"Hey chere."
"Hi Rogue."
"You wouldn't believe it, boys! There Ah was, just mindin' my own business, watchin' T.V. in my room when what should hit me? The munchies! Ah sweah, they're monstahs!" She giggled and neither man could refuse its particular charm.
"Want me to fix you a li'l somet'ing?" Remy offered. Bobby rolled his eyes.
"Um, no thanks, Ah think Chex Mix will get the job done foh now. Thanks boys!" And with that, she was gone.
An uncomfortable silence settled over the two remaining men until Bobby coughed an excuse and disappeared the way Rogue had.
Remy shifted against the corner. Too bad, boy. First come; first serve. He proceeded to Rogue's room.
"Knock, knock." He poked his head around her door. She sat up on her bed and rolled the family-sized bag of Chex Mix and set it at her bedside. "Hey!" She said, brushing crumbs from her bare thighs and over her chest. "Come on in."
Remy took in the sight of her long toned legs, barely covered with a pair of small white night-shorts and a matching tank complete with a tiny bow centered on the chest, her beautiful endowments nearly spilling from the bodice. His mouth nearly ran dry.
He entered as she turned her television off, replacing it with a random C.D. in her stereo. She watched him take a seat at the foot of her bed with all the grace of a cat intertwined with the beauty of a sweet Adonis. A loose gray button-up with only few buttons fastened and the shirttail carelessly tugged from the waistband of dusty jeans fit him perfectly. Rogue shifted in her bed, her position suddenly transforming from friendly-comfortable to sensual-sexy.
"What're you doing heuh, boy?"
He lied across the length of the foot of her bed, his head propped in a hand supported by his elbow. "Did you talk to Stormy?"
Rogue sighed. "Ah did. Things aren't looking too great for you at the moment, but Ah don't think it's entiahly hopeless. Just give her time."
"She told you why she's so upset, didn't she?" He grabbed Rogue's foot and began performing slow ministrations on it.
"So what if she did? Doesn't mean Ah'm gonna tell you a damned thing, so fohget about it. Augh, that feels good." She leaned back into her headboard.
Remy smiled, pleased with his efforts. He worked his way to her ankle with both hands, loosening every possible muscle as she cooed and sighed in response to his fingers' dance.
"Alright, I guess dat's fair. We don't have to talk about dat if you don't want to."
"Thank you. Mah Gawd, Remy. This is positively sinful." She pressed her lips together when she felt his hands slide ever further up her leg, roaming across her calf and settling behind her knee. Her breath was low and staggered.
He peered into her eyes. "You like dat, chere?" His voice was husky as she nodded. He ventured up a creamy thigh until one hand was brushing against the fabric over her crotch. His fingers manipulated the area until he felt the warmth and wetness radiating from between her legs. He looked up to see her head tipped back, elated silent gasps escaping her strawberry round mouth. Remy licked his lips in anticipation.
Rogue could barely believe the affect he was gaining from her with a little playful pawing over her shorts. Her stomach knotted in wild expectancy at all he was capable of under her panties. She ran slim hands through his auburn tresses, sending spills down the Louisiana native's back. His other hand managed its way to her hip while his lips planted slow kisses on her neck.
She curled a slender leg around him and urged him closer, which he happily obliged. Finally, their lips met, hungry and aching. He pressed her into the headboard with a flooding ardor that churned right at the pit of him. Her guttural moans and sparked cries devoured his senses, impelling him further.
**
Jeannie rolled over, the hard plastic of the booth-seat shifting under her 88 pounds. Her head lied situated on her father's thigh while he twirled spaghetti on his fork. The restaurant was dark, overwhelmingly dark, frighteningly dark. Things lurked in this kind of dark. Demons. Robbers.
Her father hummed to her between mouthfuls, patting her head often and brushing blazing hair from her forehead. It was a sweet Italian tune complemented nicely with the shrieking violins not seven feet from Bugsy Malone's booth. He knew it was late; he should really get back and tuck his little girl in. He at least should have let Julius take her on home when he left, but he was starving and he wanted to spend a little bit of time with his baby.
He looked down at her sleeping form, his lips twisting into a short smile. Hold-ups, employees, money handling-- he rarely had time to really appreciate his most precious ware. She looks just like her mother. Mother Mary, my little girl's going to be such a little heartbreaker when she grows up.
His eleven-year-old redheaded girl blinked open bleary eyes and rubbed across the freckles on the bridge of her nose. "Hey punkin," Bugsy Malone said. And then he was shot twice in the chest.
Jean went stiff, her eyes doubling in size while her heart pounded violently in her chest. Blood splattered onto her face and she looked up at her father's lifeless open eyes, his head lolled to one side and his body slumped.
Jean bolted upright and swiped frantic hands over her face, her covers long cast onto the floor in a crumpled pile. She gasped once but immediately regained composure. She rushed to the bathroom, splashing ice-cool water onto her face to rid herself of invisible blood that wouldn't clean. Blood on her face.
And blood on her hands.
A sudden voice bellowed in her head and Jean yelped, jumping in front of the mirror.
~Jean, it's Xavier~ He assured her, his voice taking a noticeably gentler tone.
~I'm... I'm sorry Professor. I had a bad dream~
~About your father?~
Jean froze. Wait a minute- Xavier? Wasn't he away for a conference or something? She panicked. Oh God! He's home! He knows I'm the killer! He's prying in my head! Oh God!
~Jean. Jean! Please keep calm. You have nothing to fear concerning anything, child. Please come see me in my office immediately~ A pause. ~And I assure you, you have no reason to run, but that's certainly a decision left in your capable hands~
Jean was in his office within minutes of slipping on a pair of jeans and a cardigan. If she ran, she had an elite team of superheroes to track her. The odds were stacked, to say the least.
"Please, come in." He wheeled form his position by the window to behind his desk. "We have much to discuss, so you may take a seat if you'd like."
Jean accepted the offer and sat in one of the plush vacant seats, crossing her legs primly and keeping her head high and professional. She didn't know why, but she was very willing to listen to Xavier- perhaps because he made it an offer, not a command, and Jean was a businesswoman. She was all for offers.
He stirred his tea but did not drink. Instead he sat, eyebrows furrowed in deep contemplation. "I've been running this institute to better the lives of mutants for nearly thirty years now. Only just recently did I make it a school, but nonetheless, it's been around for quite some time." She nodded, unsure what else to do. "And never, in all thirty years, have I ever broken rules or supported illegal doings for my own selfish purposes, except just this once." He extended a long index finger to color his point.
"Let us say now that I am a telepath of the highest order and I would never allow anyone in my home without a thorough interrogation of their mind to assure that they are no harm to either me but especially my students." Jean braced herself and it smacked her right on the forehead. "I know you murdered Caleb Gestessi. Indeed, I have known but I feared that by telling you during your beginning months here, you would become afraid and flee without giving my school a chance. You are undoubtedly an alpha-class mutant and I want nothing more than for you to learn how to control your mutation in my household under my provision."
"I understand," she said slowly, sensing there was more to be revealed.
"I don't know if you knew this or not, Jean, but during their brief time in the mafia, Caleb and his four brothers were involved in the murder twenty-seven men, mostly in the neighborhoods of Harlem but some in the state of New Jersey, three in Chicago, even Los Angeles."
Jean nodded, surely this time. "I know; I'm very familiar with their work. As are you, I see." She left her tone questioning. Xavier straightened in his wheelchair.
"Jean, I..." he sighed and began again. "When you were four, your father brought you to me. He knew there was something... phenomenal about you. He insisted I perform a blood test." Xavier's eyes were wistful for a fleeting second. "You cried and cried. God, you hated needles, young lady."
Jean narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"The test only confirmed what we both knew: you were a mutant. He made me swear to look after you should anything ever happen to him. I assure you, had I known he'd died I would have dragged you out of that life in an instant. An underground hit man is no life for an eleven year old." Xavier shook his head. "But I had no idea. No one ever notified me of his death. But when I saw you enter through my mansion's doors two months ago, I knew then that it had been an act of God Himself to bring you back under my roof. And when I scanned you, you can imagine the shock I received upon learning that you had killed a man, prompting me to research the Gestessi family which is why I am so knowledgeable of their doings." He sipped slowly. "Since I know very well their chances of getting punished for their horrendous crimes, I allowed you in my home though I knew you had taken a life."
"Four," Jean corrected.
"Precisely, excuse me." He bowed his head. "I am hopeful that in my school you will learn the value of life and when the opportunity next presents itself, you will think twice about killing another."
"Mmm," Jean smoothed back a coil of red that had tumbled before her eyes. "Let me get this straight, Professor Xavier. When I was just a kid, my dad brought me here and you determined that I was a mutant. He tells you to 'take me under your little wing' after he dies, which he does, when I'm eleven, but no one told you so I'm stuck with the velvet underground and my uncle Julius." Xavier nodded, confirming so far. "Then, by some 'miracle', I waltz through your door when you're assembling this team and you scan my head, discover that I've killed Caleb and his brothers, but accept my actions due to the fact that they themselves have killed several more than I in their careers as hit men." Jean took a deep breath, confusion burning behind her eyes.
"So tell me this," she continued, "why'd you let Rogue into this place if you knew her killer was here?"
"Besides the fact that Rogue herself is also an extremely powerful mutant with emotional turmoil, which is exactly what this school is dedicated to act as a haven for, I thought she could perhaps find some closure through confronting his killer."
"Closure? She'll go ballistic when she finds out! She'll certainly try to kill me."
Xavier nodded. "I know now that perhaps my intentions were a tad idealistic and naïve. I was unaware of how deep her hate ran for Caleb's killer." Jean flinched at the word as if it were a sharp blade running right under her breast. "Hate is not necessarily a thought, but more an emotion, which is why I could not detect it so predominantly as, say, an empath would."
Jean released a frustrated sigh, dozens of emotions fighting for her conscious attention. Finally she mumbled, "I really am sorry about it, now. When I killed those people, I had one thing in mind: cold, steely revenge. Now that I see," she swallowed hard, "see everything and everyone that it affects. Now that I've met his fiancée and actually LIKE her, I feel... guilty." The last word echoed off the walls and in her head. Guilt was never an emotion she gave the time of day until now, now when it was a twisted knot in her stomach that threatened to travel to her throat and spill out in something worse than guilt: confession. "I think if I could go back, I don't know if I'd do it or not anymore. I just... don't know."
Xavier tilted his head. "Perhaps not the right time, but I am very glad to hear you say that, Jean. I was hoping you would come to realize the precious worth of human life and it seems that you've learned, albeit the hard way."
Jean stood and began pacing. "I am regretful! God, I don't know which is worse: hate or regret. What should I do? Should I leave?" She turned to Charles, her eyes wide and questioning.
"No, I do not feel that running will solve anyone's problems, though it is, of course, your decision and still an option. Do not stay for Rogue; stay because you wish to learn and flourish here as an X-Man."
"I do want to stay as an X-Man, but how can I look at her everyday?" Jean fell back into her chair, defeated.
"Confront her when YOU feel the time is right. If you wish, I will be present to relay both your feelings of remorse and the certain information concerning Caleb's own bloody past."
Jean bit her bottom lip. "Why do I have to tell her at all?"
"You just said so yourself that you are regretful. Do you not feel she deserves this much? As I said: closure."
Jean nodded slowly. "Yeah great. Closure," she added glumly.
**
Remy's eyes blinked open against a mass of auburn tangles. He moaned throatily and inhaled deeply. "Mornin'."
Rogue smiled, clearly having been watching him sleep. "It's still about three a.m."
He nodded, turning anyway to stare into the blaring blue digital numbers at his bedside. His head promptly fell back on his pillow, accompanied with a heaving sigh. "Gawd, chere. That was... somet'in' amazing."
Rogue nibbled her lip. "Puh-leeze, Cajun. You were the one wearing me out, Ah sweah!" She leaned down from beside him to plant a sensual kiss on his chest. "But it was wondahful."
He wrapped an arm around her and pressed her against him, kissing the top of her head and stroking her bare, silky shoulders down to her lower back where the sheet began at her hips. She loved what his fingers were doing against her spine and skin. "Mmm," was her satisfied response.
Rogue was happy. She'd come a ways to achieve this elated emotion, but it swam through her tonight. As corny as it sounded to her own ears, Caleb definitely would have wanted her to be happy, and that's precisely how Remy made her feel. And oddly enough, the twinge of guilt she felt was not spawned from memories or worries concerning Caleb, but Bobby.
Poah thing, she thought. She wished she'd never accepted that first date with him and wished even more it had never been interrupted. It simply left her confused. Was he expecting her to go out with him again to pick up where they left off? Was she obligated to give him another chance? Did she want to give him another chance? In a way- yes, she did, because she prided herself on being fair and she had led him on earlier when there was nothing concrete between her and Gambit. But in another way- no; she was happy with Gambit and why look a gift horse in the mouth, or ruin a good thing, or whatever? She didn't need to deal with the emotional mess that dating Bobby and Remy at the same time would boil.
"Earth to Rogue." Remy waved a hand across her face and she swatted it away.
"I was thinking, mah Gawd!" She laughed.
"About what?"
She shrugged but decided to be honest with him. "Bobby, actually."
He rolled his eyes. "T'anks."
She pressed her forehead to his chest, her curls splaying across his skin. "You know what Ah mean. Ah don't know how to let him down."
"I'll do it." Remy offered.
She shook her head against him. "Ah'll just bet you would. No, stay away from him. Ah'll do it mahself, thank you."
He shrugged. "If you insist, chere."
She leaped up and straddled him. He smiled up at her with mischievous eyes and placed each hand on a creamy thigh. "But Ah don't want to talk about that." She grinned and bowed to kiss his lips.
His hands inched their way up her legs. "We don't have to talk at all, chere."
She applied slight pressure on his groin with her own and kissed him again. "What would you rathah do?"
He nuzzled against her soft neck as one hand crept up to a perfect breast. "Somet'in' amazing."
**
Ororo stepped from the locker room shower and toweled her long, snowy strands. She pulled on a pair of fitting white capris and a red, spaghetti-strapped tank. Approaching her room, she immediately noticed her open door. She slipped inside and her eyes pinpointed Warren sitting in her plush sitting chair near the window.
He stood upon her arrival and flashed a dazzling grin. "Hello," he said simply.
She nodded her response and commenced to run a comb through her hair.
"I've come to kidnap you," he said from behind her but meeting her eyes in the mirror. "The thing is, I'm not very good at it, so if you'd be so kind as to just come quietly."
She smiled. "What kind of weakling do you think I am?" But she slipped on a pair of red flip-flops just the same.
He cocked his head and led her out the door. "You're not scared are ya'? Don't think I'm this elusive Heartbreaker?"
She laughed out loud to the ceiling. "You? A Heartbreaker? Besides, I let no one control my destiny. Especially not some cold-blooded killer." They piled into his Ferrari. "Where are you whisking me away to, anyway?"
He pulled out. "It's a surprise, darling."
**
Scott eyed his wife from where she brushed her locks in long even strokes at her vanity. She was unsure if he was looking at her behind his dark shades, so she sat straighter and held her head high just to be safe. When she was finished, she crawled onto the bed and up to his sprawled form. Her elbows bent to kiss the left corner of his mouth, then the right, and finally full on his lips.
He was only slightly responsive, of which she took notice and pouted. "Don't be like that, Scott."
He wanted to scream. She was angry with him, he was sure of it, but every now and again, when she was 'in the mood,' she confronted him like this with smoky eyes and a dangerously sexy pout playing on her full lips and he became weak. Two nights ago, he gave in. Even though they were mad at each other, they had had sex. Scott felt horrible about it; she used him for the frank purpose of fulfilling her and they went right back to being angry at each other the next morning. Never again, he swore, and he meant it. When he had sex with his wife, it would be out of lust AND love, not pure desire desperation like a couple of hormone-driven teenagers.
She used the same tactic as she had last time. "Scott, why are we even fighting, do you know? I've forgotten."
"Gee, maybe because neither you nor your father has apologized for the way you treated Ororo, or perhaps because you accused me of having an affair with Jean and then saying some nasty things about her, which might I add you still haven't apologized for either, or because to get BACK at me for my supposed relationship with Jean you flirted like some sort of high school slut with both Remy and Logan!" He breathed sharply. "The list goes on and on, Wanda, so don't pull this adorable innocent shit with me tonight. I'm not in the-"
"In the mood?" She finished for him, slithering against him to clutch at the waistband of his boxers. "Are you sure, baby?" She groped in his shorts but he nudged her away.
"Positive."
She humphed, defeated, and fell into bed beside him. "Fine, Scott. Pathetic."
He shook his head and swung his legs over the side of his bed. "I'm thirsty."
**
"We gotta stop meeting like this, Red." Logan fished into the fridge for a beer.
Jean sat perched on the counter's edge, crossed legged and picking through a pint of ice cream with her spoon. She laughed at the comment. "Heh, I like that. We gotta stop meeting like this," she repeated.
He shook his head. "What are you doing up so late?" He opened the beer and tossed the bottle cap into the garbage.
"I couldn't sleep so I decided to make sure the ice cream supply wasn't contaminated." She shoveled a heaping teaspoon of Rocky Road into her mouth. "Nope."
"Good to know." He toasted his beer bottle against her ice cream container. "To uncontaminated ice cream."
"To uncontaminated ice cream," she chimed. "So, have you and Rogue discovered this mysterious Heartbreaker yet?" She casually continued piling spoonfuls of chocolate into her mouth.
"Yea, actually." He stood at the counter and leaned into her, his chest pressing against her pint of ice cream. "I know it's you, so just surrender."
She giggled but could feel the hot rush of blood invading her cheeks: a dead giveaway. He smiled too and opened his mouth wide for her to feed him a spoonful of her treat. She did so and he swallowed slowly, holding her gaze for an extra second. Jean carefully uncrossed her legs and let them dangle down over the counter on either side of him, his own body taking a tiny step forward to nestle between her knees. She felt the rough calloused texture of his large hand on her right knee and it sparked through her like lightening. Doubts screamed at her as he leaned in, undoubtedly to meet his mouth with hers. This wasn't fair to Logan. She was just broken-hearted over Scott's brutal rebuff and she'd just be using him. And Logan would never forgive her when he found out about what she REALLY was. So why couldn't she turn her head from his approaching lips.
They immediately parted when she sensed him approaching and Logan heard his footsteps or smelt him, Jean wasn't sure.
Either way, by the time Scott appeared at the doorway Logan was across the kitchen and heading out, Jean placing the lid back onto her ice cream container.
Scott stood awkwardly, sensing the sexual tension thick in the air but choosing to ignore it. Logan passed him on his way out and Scott remained facing Jean.
"We gotta stop meeting like this!" She recited proudly. Scott chuckled.
"I suppose."
"What's wrong?"
His head shot up. "Huh? Oh nothing, really. It's just... I can't seem to find Warren or Ororo."
"Well that's wonderful!" Jean said. "They're finally swallowing their stupid pride and getting it on!"
"Yeah I guess, but they didn't leave a note or anything. The rules are-"
"Oh give them a break. I have a gut feeling neither of them are the anonymous Heartbreaker- though I'd sure love to know just who the hell is!" She hopped down, threw her ice cream into the freezer and proceeded out the door. "Are you coming?"
"I think it's wonderful that you've been with Xavier for so long. I'm really thrilled to be a part of what he's doing."
Scott shrugged. "I guess he's always just been like a second father to me. I really appreciate all he's done."
They half-strolled, half-patrolled the grounds under a giant pale moon. Jean noticed illuminating lights just ahead and rushed to her once-familiar night hideout. "The pool!" She exclaimed, spinning to face Scott as he caught up beside her at the edge. "Oh my God! I'll bet the water's wonderful."
He shook his head. "No way." She leaped in without warning, squealing in delight when she resurfaced, her clothes matted to her skin and her hair sopping. Scott inwardly mused on how beautiful she was.
"Oh it's wonderful! Come on in, Scott, the water's fine."
He sat on the edge, his legs submerged form the knees down. "No way," he repeated, this time chuckling despite himself as she twirled in the pool.
Silently, she treaded to where he sat and stood between his thighs, her arms resting on his knees. He wanted to pull her away, but he knew there was no chance in hell he would. "Please come in," she asked sweetly.
He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't friggin' believe this." He hopped into the water and sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of the liquid surrounding his boxer-clad body from the waist down. She telekinetically tripped him and dunked him, holding him under the water's surface until he plowed back up, she clinging to his back. He splashed her with a big sweep of the hand. "Vixen," he laughed.
She stopped splashing and peered into his red glasses. Water dripped from her eyelids and droplets from the tips of her hair. Her voice croaked. "Kiss me, Scott Summers," she whispered, afraid that if the moon heard her she'd tell Wanda. If anyone heard her.
Scott blinked and ran a hand through his rich brown hair. "I... I want to." His voice betrayed his conscience.
"If you don't kiss me tonight, I'll leave the mansion and never turn back." It was cruel and it certainly wasn't fair, but she was raised with mafia morals and conniving hit men. Fair? Besides, Jean doubted she'd ever be able face him again if he refused after such a frank request.
He wore a pained expression. "I don't think..." his voice trailed off.
She closed the space between them and their bodies pressed together; she felt his thighs against her thighs, his stomach against her stomach, his heartbeat against her heartbeat. She ran hands through his hair. "You don't have to think."
Scott kissed her, hard. He put everything he had into it. He wanted it to last forever. What was one kiss?
It was incredible, that's what it was. Scott wanted more. So much more than the tantalizing fire that radiated from their bodies with this woman, this heart-stoppingly beautiful woman, in his arms. Not his wife- so much more.
Jean melted deep into his embrace as he crushed her against his body, whimpering and moaning against his mouth. She wrapped her long legs around his hips and he held her easily in the water, kissing her with fervent passion.
It was everything he wanted in the cool pool on a hot summer night. She surrounded him like heaven.
A/N
Hmmm, I think that's about it for this chapter. LOVING the reviews so keep 'em coming good, wonderful, God-sent people. Things are going to get a mite, er, steamier in the next chapter and oh remember! It's a soapy-type feel I'm goin' for so you NEVER know what'll happen. (Evil laughter ensues but no one's listening so I stop and chuckle nervously.)
LOVE you guys soooooooo much. Please and please and please: REVIEW!