Xavier's School
September, 2006
Cassandra's eyes read through every line on the brochure carefully. It was the third one she'd received in the last week. The second arrived yesterday, the third arrived this morning—and, each time, Charles handed them to her with a certain joy she couldn't place. She'd never seen it before, but something about it was infectious, and she couldn't help the bubble of excitement in her chest.
"How are you to choose a school if you haven't decided your future?" Kurt's voice was a mixture of confusion and curiosity as he lay on the edge of her twin bed, holding up another brochure to examine. "Don't you need to know what you're studying for?"
Her eyes shifted from the laminated pages in her hands to the golden irises of the mutant beside her. Though, they were difficult to see at the opposite end of the mattress. "Not necessarily. Sometimes you decide that once you have a little experience. You know, once you know what you're good at," she answered.
He sat upright, eyes still scrutinizing the pictures in the brochure, "You're good at a lot of things, though."
"I am not," she reached out a hand and snatched the pamphlet from his grasp, forcing his gaze to find her face. Her lips curled into a small but sweet smile as she continued, "Thank you, though."
There was just something about being around Kurt that brought out the best parts of Cassandra. The parts typically buried by hurt and anger and grief. They'd been tucked safely behind her walls for most of her youth—then she met him. He was kind, sweet, and paid attention to her in ways others didn't take the time to.
It put a warmth in her chest to feel so appreciated, so important. He returned her smile, a look that went straight to her gut. She exhaled slowly through her nose, every muscle in her torso fighting to keep it steady, to maneuver around detection. But it was all over her face—the way her eyelids absentmindedly fluttered, a gentle rosy hue along her cheekbones. Who did she think she was fooling, truly?
"You underestimate yourself, Cassie."
Only Kurt Wagner could get away with using that nickname. It had negative memories attached to it, therefore forcing her to bury it. But she didn't have the heart to correct him the first time he used it to address her and she didn't have the heart now. Now, it was something she'd given only to him. It had a place, safe in his hands.
Cassandra found herself tilting her head, skepticism coloring her features as her eyes drifted toward the bedspread. "Oh, I have something for you," he said, in a sudden epiphany. Her eyebrows knitted but, when her eyes lifted, he was gone. Then, in less than a second, he reappeared. This time he sat directly beside her, mirroring her position at the head of the bed. He lifted a small box in his hand, holding it out for her to take. "Happy birthday."
"Kurt, you-" she stopped herself, staring at the neatly wrapped gift. Briefly, she wondered just which of the senior X-Men members told him. Only Charles, Storm, Scott, and Jean would know. Jean had been gone for two years. Scott was held up in his room, barely coming out for necessities even still. Charles would never, knowing how birthdays made her feel truly. It had to be Storm.
But, Cassandra exhaled and smiled up at him, carefully taking the present from his hand with her fingers. After all, it was Kurt. There was no way he meant anything bad by the gesture. "You don't have to give me anything," she said, with a small shake of her head.
"No, but I want to."
The sentiment was sickeningly sweet. She couldn't stop the cheek-bruising smile that forced its way onto her lips as she peeled away the wrapping. Beneath it was a velvet box—for jewelry, she knew—and a breath caught in her throat. There was a slight shake to her hands as she pried it open, revealing a gold locket.
It contrasted the black backdrop, the intricately engraved pattern on the front of the oval-shaped pendant reflecting any light it received. "Look inside," Kurt eagerly prodded her, eyeing her closely for a reaction. She did as instructed and set the box on her lap, before taking the locket between her fingers.
Her thumbnail opened it with ease, and she gasped as it fell open against her palm. Both halves of the inside held pictures. On the left, an older photo of Clint. On the right, an even older photo of Barney. What remained of her family fit inside so neatly, so perfectly.
"Kurt…" she turned her head, eyes meeting his, but words would not come.
There were none to express how the gift made her feel. Or, just how appreciated and thoughtful it was. "Do you like it?" he asked the question timidly, unsure of her response. "This way, they are with you always. Kitty helped me find the pictures. It was not easy, but somehow she managed to get them."
Her hands slack, the locket fell into her lap, and she threw her arms around his shoulders. "Thank you so much, Kurt, I love it."
I love you, she thought. It was on the tip of her tongue with the swell in her chest, the lump in her throat, and the warmth of his arms around her torso only encouraged it. The silence around them was nauseatingly comfortable as she buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent.
This was far too close, he knew. The lack of space between them too tempting, too intoxicating. But he couldn't force himself to move away. He was stuck in her gravitational field, the magnetic aura pulling him in with no remorse. Though, she surprised him by sitting back. Her arms still around him, she simply looked into his eyes, searching them for something undefinable.
His heart beat faster in his chest and his golden irises darted down—her lips were so close, so delicate, so soft. He couldn't. Painfully, he remained still, his eyes moving back up to hers as quickly as they'd fallen. She could see the indecision of his features. It was the same thing she felt, his blue skin close enough to touch.
They couldn't. Could they? It wouldn't have to be something more—anything more—than a simple kiss, she told herself. At the same time, she told herself just how ridiculous that was. Of course it would be more. She knew better than anyone just how hard she tended to fall. But was the idea of falling now really so bad?
Fuck it. She tilted her head, leaning in—somehow she was so close. Had she been leaning? Had he? It was impossible to tell, and she didn't care. Their lips touched carefully, cautiously. The skin of both their sets of arms erupted in bumps as Cassandra's stomach sloshed into a drain, emptying into her toes.
The rush left them lightheaded, delirious, drunk. Kurt's inhibitions all but melted as the pads of her fingers brushed his cheekbone, warm palms settling against the skin of his face—a touch he hadn't felt before. Heart rate spiking, his lips parted, kissing her back more deeply than she anticipated. Though, she didn't shy away.
Cassandra opened her mouth fully as their lips melded together, picking up an ounce of speed in the midst of their passion. His hand fell to the top of her left hip and she felt a twinge in her lower gut. They'd both thought of this. On their own, in separate thoughts, they had wondered what it might be like to touch the other. But it had been filed away as something unattainable.
Yet, here it was, in front of them and perfectly reachable. It wasn't so much a height anymore. It was a depth. Cassandra pushed up on her knees and slid one leg over Kurt's, lowering herself to straddle his lap as their tongues began to tangle, her fingers sliding back through his hair. An involuntary sound escaped him from somewhere in his chest.
Pressure was building in his groin, heat funneling from the pit of his stomach—it was something she did to him quite often. Though, given the situation, it was an entirely different context. The pressure built faster, pushing against the confines of his pants with a newfound vigor. She could feel it beneath her, a hardened mass against the seam of her pajama shorts, and it only encouraged her.
Cassandra moved her hips, rocking against him. Heat rocketed up her spine and again the sound she swallowed from him was involuntary, but this time it was clear—it was a moan. Kurt's hands clamped down on her hips, bracing himself as she ground against him once more. It was too hard to hold so still.
Every thought he had was of her. Touching her, kissing her, pleasing her. He needed to do something, anything more than this. So, his arms encircled her torso before rolling to the left, pressing her back to the mattress beneath him. Their lips traded deep, lustful kisses as their hips continued to move against each other—holding a rhythm now—and sounds escaped them both.
Cassandra's hands moved to his jacket, pushing to peel the sleeves down his arms and he leaned back enough to shake the article of clothing off. It was thrown aside, off the edge of the bed to crumple on the floor. Then, his shirt, clawing at the hem and pulling it over his chest until he took it from her, leaning back again to bring it up over his head.
She sat up beneath him as he dropped it over the side of the bed, attaching her lips to his neck as her fingers slid gently over the ridges of his torso. In the back of her mind, the ridges created symbols. Symbols for sins, she knew—and she wondered, what symbol would he feel compelled to mar his skin with after today? Where would he carve it? Would he blame her for forcing his hand?
Though the thoughts were being blocked out by a veil of desire, they were there, like sunshine against the backs of the drapes. She reached down to the hem of her tank top, gripping the fabric before tugging it up, over her head as she sat back. Kurt's eyes swept hungrily over the newly exposed skin, from her waist to the hills of her bare breasts.
It hit him suddenly—a crushing self awareness, the knowledge of how new each sight and action was. Heat spread across her cheekbones and his gaze dropped, shifting nervously between her knees, and Cassandra's eyebrows knitted with worry. "Are you okay?" she asked, laboring for a breath. "Do you want to stop?"
"I...I must confess, I've never made love before."
Her head absentmindedly tilted, expression softening. It was something she assumed but never confirmed, his virginity, and hearing him say it out loud only brought the thoughts out from behind the veil. They swirled around her mind like a small yet vicious storm. "We don't have to do this," she shook her head.
Kurt's golden irises flitted up, meeting hers and refusing to leave—despite the deep-seated urge to fall lower. "I know. But I want to. Do you?"
"Yes, I do."
"Perhaps we just do it slowly, then?"
"Of course," Cassandra nodded, sitting upright. "Tell me if you need to stop, okay? We don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable."
He nodded, hands careful as they cupped her face, "And you will do the same? Tell me if I hurt you?"
"You won't hurt me," her fingers encircled his wrist and gave a tug, moving his hand from her cheek to the center of her chest, splaying his palm against her skin. His eyes followed as she slowly trailed their hands down, swallowing hard. "Touch me. I won't break."
She guided his hand to her right breast before letting go, bracing her palms against the bed to help stay upright. He slid a finger over her erect nipple and she sucked in a sharp breath. Her skin broke out in bumps as he moved his other hand to cup her left breast and gave them both an experimental squeeze.
He watched her carefully, gauging her reactions both cautiously and curiously, desperate to hear her sounds again but fearful of doing too much. Slowly, gently his hands kneaded her breasts and her eyes fluttered closed as waves of warmth pulsed within her.
Then, he leaned forward and began peppering the side of her neck with kisses, and she tilted her head to allow him better access. Jaw slacked, a soft moan rolled off her tongue as his teeth grazed the skin above her collar bone. It was difficult not to take control, to do what she wanted and ravish him at her own pace, but she didn't dare move.
Cassandra let him experiment and take his time, running his fingers—and lips—over every inch of her already exposed skin. With every bit lower he moved, she leaned back to make space, until she lay flat on her back and he'd reached her waist.
Kurt lifted his head as his eyes traveled back up the path he'd carved, reaching her half-lidded irises. "May I remove these?"
She nodded, breathless, "Yeah."
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her shorts, sliding beneath the elastic of her underwear, and pulled them past her knees. She lifted her hips to better slide them off—and they were tossed aside just as their shirts. Once they were gone, his lips were on her skin, working their way up her leg from her ankle.
Every inch was showered in adoration, in care, in love. Her hands trembled even as they wound themselves tightly in the bedspread, knees jittering as he reached her inner thigh. His hands massaged her hips, kissing the front of her pelvis, just inches from her throbbing core.
He repositioned himself, chest against the mattress, and she instinctively spread her legs as she bent her knees. Then, it happened. His tongue darted out, licking a stripe between her folds and she gasped, back arching off the bed as her hips bucked. Pleasure crawled up her body agonizingly slow.
It was processed by a rush of heat to her chest, lungs heaving to catch up with her rapid heartbeat. Hands gently massaging her thighs, he continued caressing her center with his tongue, taking the almost ethereal moans she made as a sign to keep going. Every moan, gasp, whimper went straight to his gut, his erection straining against the painful restriction of his pants—but it sounded like she was close.
Her breathing was shallow, hips bucking against his mouth with desperation, the rope in her stomach so close to snapping. Although the high was close and sinfully tempting, this wasn't the one she needed. Her hand trembled as it moved to his hair, softly tugging at the curls. "Kurt…" she panted heavily. "Stop. Not yet."
Hearing her words was enough to stop him immediately, pushing himself up on his elbows to search her face. "Why not?"
"I want to come with you."
She pushed herself up, sitting upright as she reached down to cup his face. Her palms guided him toward her, and he followed without hesitation until their lips collided. Leaning back, she guided him along with her, crawling forward until he hovered over her naked body.
Once he was there, she moved her hands to his pants, fumbling with the buttons before giving the waistband a push. "Is this okay?" she asked, parting enough to speak.
"Yes," he nodded, hands joining hers at his waist to push down the trousers, along with his undergarments. They slid past his hips and down his legs, and he adjusted to remove them completely, kicking them off at his ankles. His erection sprang free, nudging her thigh as he resumed his previous position.
Cassandra's hand fell to his chest, tracing a lone with her index finger all the way to his waist—then her hand wrapped around his hardened member. Her thumb swiped the bead of precum oozing out of the swollen tip and Kurt's whole body shuddered. Palms against the mattress, he braced himself, hissing through clenched teeth at the warmth of her hand. "Are you ready?" Cassandra whispered.
He nodded again, exhaling, "Yes."
Though he adjusted himself between her thighs, it was her hand that guided him through her folds. The descent was slow, easing his way inside her, and moans filled the room with every inch. Then, it was a plunge into the darkness, not stopping until there was nothing left to give.
Cassandra gasped in a breath, her back arching a little harder this time. Kurt didn't dare move, his body flooding with heat and cold at the same time, the rush of temperatures and drop of his stomach leaving his head dizzy. His eyes were screwed shut as he took deep breaths.
She reached up a hand, gently sliding palm onto his cheek. "Are you okay?" her voice was quiet, strained. "We can take a minute if you need to."
Instinctively, he leaned into her touch, muscles relaxing enough to muster a response. "I'm alright. Are you?"
She nodded, "Yeah, I'm okay."
"Slowly?"
"Slowly."
He retracted his hips, hissing against the sensitive nerves, and repeated his first entrance. Taking deep, focused breaths, Cassandra's fingers tangled once more in the sheets, legs sliding up over his hips to wrap around his waist—the new positioning allowing for deeper strides. The mixture of endorphins was intoxicating, heightening with every movement made.
The act of sex was nothing new for Cassandra. Though, something about this time was different. She couldn't place it, the answer on the tip of her tongue, lost just out of her reach—but the difference was staggering. Of course, she did wonder if her recent breakup, or maybe even Jean's death, had anything to do with her emotions right then. Surely they did. How much, however, was unknown.
Together, the pair set a pace that suited them both. It was slow and calculated, yet driven by passion and desire. He reached places within her she wasn't aware existed. A spot in the center of her chest burned, lower gut tightening with every thrust, and she allowed her body to respond with whatever sounds it desired. She slung her arms around his neck and shoulders as he leaned down, lips devouring hers in a warm kiss.
It sparked a rush along his spine that pulled at that invisible rope, the tightrope of pleasure strung between them. Suddenly the ecstacy was denser, clouding his senses, and his thrusts were shallow. Cassandra knew what it meant—he was close. Given the twist in the pit of her stomach, it was safe to say she was, too. She rocked her hips a little more, breaking from the kiss to instead move her lips to his jaw, kissing her way to his ear.
"You're doing so good," she whispered, lungs burning. "Just relax, okay? Breathe."
The sentiment behind her words, the gentle nature of her voice, added an extra blade to the knives that cut into the rope. One, two—three thrusts more and it snapped. A guttural moan clawed its way out of his throat as his hips shuddered against hers, stopping only for the sheer force of the rush through his veins. It was the heat that cut through hers, triggering the blissful release she'd craved.
She clung to him a little tighter, his name on her tongue like a mantra, spilling past her lips over and over until the pounding in her ears subsided. Then, their ragged breathing filled the small room that was once abnormally loud. It was hard to catch her breath, forcing herself to swallow against the constriction of her dry throat. After a moment, she leaned back enough to see his still-shut eyes, before touching a careful palm to his cheekbone.
"Hey...are you...okay?"
"Yes…" his eyelids fluttered, opening to reveal the thin ring of gold around his blown pupils. "More than okay. Did you...enjoy it?"
She nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips, "Very much."
It was then a jolt shot through them both at the familiar whine of a hinge, the click of a doorknob. "Hey, Cass, have you lo-"
Yellow and blue irises alike fixed on the door, heads turning far too fast to be comfortable. Kitty's feet stopped cold in their tracks two steps inside the door. All she saw was a speck of skin before it all disappeared in a sudden wisp of dark blue, leaving the bed ruffled but empty in front of her. Her eyes rounded, heart in her throat from the shock of it all—what did she just see?
Kurt's back thudded against the wood flooring beside the bed, Cassandra's chest heaving against his as she now perched above him, their bodies hidden behind the height of the bed frame. Slowly, she pushed herself up to move her eyes above the mattress. Kitty stood deathly still just inside the door. Her eyes locked on Cassandra's as they became visible, her features conveying both curiosity and disgust.
"Hey, Kitty," she fought to control her breathing, gripping the sheets to hold herself upright. "Do you mind stepping outside for just a sec?"
Kitty's lips drooped as the disgust won, her suspicion confirmed with the crushing realization. She knew exactly what she walked in on and, odds were, she would never be able to get that knowledge back out of her head. There was a bitter sting creeping up in her throat, but she swallowed it. "Don't have to ask me twice," she mumbled, as she turned on her heels, doorknob still clutched in her left hand.
She pulled the door closed as she left, exiting rather quickly. It shut with a soft thud and a deep exhalation escaped Cassandra. "Fuck. It's gonna get back to Charles. I just know it."
Kurt groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position beneath her. "Let them find out," he spoke with a shake of his head that matched a tremble in his voice, rattled from the exertion, gaining her attention. "What is the worst that could happen?"
"Well, for one, I really don't want to be dragged into the office for a 'safe sex' talk—the amount of secondhand embarrassment from watching Pete and Lori go through it was more than enough. I've never seen that giant so red."
Cassandra reached up a hand, combing her fingers through his dark blue curls in an attempt to settle the rat's nest they'd become. Though, it didn't do much to help. "Maybe she won't tell anyone?" Kurt proposed the idea optimistically. "After all, you are very close. Regardless...I hope we can spend more time together."
He smiled beneath her, a toothy but sweet expression that caused the space in her chest to fill. It was infectious, forcing the corners of her mouth upward, bruising her rose-dusted cheeks. She couldn't help but lean down to kiss his lips, cupping his cheeks with ginger palms. His arms encircled her, hands splayed over her shoulder blades, and they laid there like that for a minute—wrapped up in each other in every way two people could be.
The intimacy was warm and sweet and genuine, and it breathed naturally through their lungs like nicotine. Cassandra had spent weeks, months mourning the loss of John, his departure a kind of death to the boy she once knew, on top of genuinely losing Jean. She swore off love and it felt like such a foolish thing to do as it was, being so young. She had all her life left to live—surely, she would find someone else. Someone that would treat her right, love her unconditionally, and—most importantly—they would stay.
But she'd made the declaration to herself anyway, deep into a night spent on the bathroom floor, crying quiet sobs into the dark in the hopes no one would be awakened. Now, feeling the familiar warmth of falling kindling within her chest, that night felt like a much too distant memory to adhere to. Almost as though it had been made by someone else entirely. Maybe it had? Maybe the version of her that cried for a boy that didn't care, and the version that felt loved and appreciated wholeheartedly were two separate people?
Oftentimes, those emotions warred inside of her regardless. The positives and the negatives, anger and joy, two polar opposites of her personality swirling around with a constant threat of storming. Somehow, certain people managed to find her in the middle. The version of her that most rang true. Jean, Scott for a time, Logan, Lori, Bobby, Kitty, and now Kurt. John loved her, but he never quite made the list. But Kurt—Kurt didn't just know her, love her, adore her. He understood her.
