Title: Kinda I Want To
Author: Askani'daughter / Eruntalince (newloverboys@yahoo.com)
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Kinda I Want To 9 - Through Scott's Eyes
By Askani'daughter
Excerpt from Scott Summer's private journal, dated May 7th:
I woke up with a splitting headache and mashed potatoes in my hair.
Rogue was going to be pissed.
At first, I didn't know what happened. I thought maybe Rogue had finally had it with me and she upended my plate of food on my head for being difficult, but she hit me too hard, which would explain the memory lapse and my groggy return to consciousness. The last thing I remembered was reaching across my plate to take the salt from Warren's hand and...
Warren.
It was like a Mac truck hit me.
I have got to put this down, more so I *can* understand it. Empathy is like this for me: Imagine that everyone's emotions are a radio. Now put a bunch of radios in one room together (one for every person in a mile radius, maybe more). And turn them all the way up, each playing a different song. Pretty noisy, right? And then imagine you're trapped inside this room full of hundreds of radios and there's no way out.
It's enough to drive someone insane. Trust me on this.
And then Warren happened.
It was like this. Take all those other radios and turn their volume all the way down. Now if you ever want to hear the song, all you have to do is reach over and adjust the dial. But there's this one radio, and one radio only that's still blaring. And the scary thing is that it's playing the companion song to your own song.
And the problem is that you didn't want to hear that radio anymore, because the song makes hidden stanzas of your own song be played whether you want it to or not.
Wow. I'm getting almost as good at analogies as Rogue. Maybe one day when I come back and read this, I'll understand what the fuck I'm talking about, too.
I groaned and sat up, slowly opening my eyes.
Everything was a little blurry, mostly due to my glasses lying somewhere on the floor, shattered. I rubbed my face, and wound up spreading some more of Rogue's mashed potatoes on my face. I dropped my hand and looked around at the carnage in what used to be the dining room.
Did I do that?
Jean was staring at me. I take that back, she was gaping at me. On the other side of the room, the Professor was gaping at me, too. Everyone else was either unconscious or busy peeling themselves off the wall or floor, depending on their luck.
"I guess this means I'm not getting dessert?" I asked, falling back on one of Rogue's old standbys for bad situations. Smart-ass remarks. They make you feel better. I see now why she does it.
"How...the *hell*... did you... *d*o that???" Jean finally asked.
"Well, admittedly, humor is not my strong point, but once in a while, I can get a good line in," I shrugged. Contrary to popular belief, I *do* have a sense of humor.
"Scott, don't you even fucking dare be flippant with me after what just happened. Now what the fuck just happened?" Jean asked me, narrowing her green eyes at me.
"Jean, please watch your language," the Professor said in a tired voice.
Maybe it was the maternal tone in her voice. Maybe it was the way she'd been acting since she just suddenly popped up and decided she didn't want us to be married anymore. "Fuck off, Jean. You're not my mother. My mother died in a plane crash when I was ten years old. So why don't you stop acting like you know what's best for me and just leave me the fuck alone. And I don't want to hear it, Professor. I'll curse if I feel like it," I hissed at her. I wasn't really angry with her. Okay, so maybe I was.
Jean blinked and looked taken aback. I felt instantly guilty about what I just said. No matter what, I love Jean, I always will, but...she was getting on my damn nerves.
I noticed Rogue standing up a few feet away. She gave me another green-eyed gaze, full of reproach.
"Sorry about your dinner, Rogue. I know it meant a lot to both you and Remy," I sighed.
"Ya'll mean more to me than any dinner, Scott. Now tell Jeanie yo' sorry, 'fore I knock yo' teeth out fo' bein' a dick to her," Rogue said in one of those tones that we all know better to argue with.
I sighed and looked over at Jean. "I'm sorry, Jean. I really am, I just..." I sighed and trailed off. So many people to overhear what I wanted to say.
//I know, Scott. It's okay. I guess I have been acting like I know what best for you. I have been acting like your mother, and I'm sorry,// she told me mentally, her eyes sad.
//Why, Jean? Why won't you talk to me, be with me? Why do you hate me now?// I asked her.
//Scott... I guess I took the easy way out. I saw things in you, things in Warren that neither of you saw. I love you, but I think we grew out of each other. So instead of working things out with you, I just left. But at the same time, I might have stayed if you didn't love him back, if even only a little. I felt it was for the best, but I should have talked to you. For that, I'm sorry, Scott,// she finally admitted.
//I guess being able to read your husband's mind can lead to communication problems with him, eh?// I said wryly.
//I think so... But I think it's a little late for us to fix our problems and start over, isn't it Scott?//
//Jean, it's not too late for-//
//Scott stop being so damn stubborn and look inside your own head for once. You think it was an accident this happened? Look inside your heart, Scott. Without me in your life, you've changed. Not drastically, but enough that something that almost was, can be again. Warren needs you now.//
Jean closed off the mental pathways and purposefully looked over at the sleeping angel beside me. I turned away from her, full of mixed feelings. At the time, I resented her, loved her, wanted her, hated her, and just plain wanted her to go away.
I looked over and stared at Warren, hearing the other X-Men around me starting to recover. He was crumpled up next to me, the side of his face covered in gumbo. His pure white wings were slightly green from where collard greens had been pressed into his feathers. His hair was a mess, and there was a piece of Rogue's fried chicken in his hair. And the bastard still managed to look good.
I pulled the chicken out of his hair, which left crumbs of the fried skin in his hair. It felt like for a moment there was no one else in the world but us. I could feel him waking up. I just stroked my dirty hands over his equally dirty hair. He stirred gently underneath my fingertips, confusion emanating from his very being.
I realized people were staring at me and I quickly took my hands away from his hair. The bad thing about this connection between us is that it's two-way. He felt my embarrassment and mental chagrin for touching him. I risked a glance down at him and found wide blue eyes staring up at me, filled with hurt. I looked away.
I found myself staring at Logan, who was staring back at me. And he was frowning. I saw his eyes drifting over to Warren, who was starting to sit up, and then back at me. Warren and Logan had formed a tentative friendship ever since he took Warren to find the Crimson Dawn. Then Logan looked back at me in such a way that caused my cheeks to flame red.
He knew. All the fucking time, the bastard knew.
I felt my head swimming with Warren's emotions. This was a million times more intense than anything I ever shared with Jean. But then again, I was an active empath now. Warren drew away from me, hurt, angry, confused, and bitter.
I made him feel that way. Me.
Hank was in front of me all of a sudden, and I felt light-headed, strange, out of sorts. "Scott?" he asked me gently and I felt his huge hands rest on either side of my arms.
I felt strong arms lifting me up, and I realized it was Rogue. And then it dawned on me that I couldn't move. I couldn't blink. I was there, but not.
"They're suffering from an acute psychic rapport dysfunction, which is causing their reality perception and interaction to be impaired," I heard Hank's voice, and realized that I was being carried down hallways. I couldn't speak. I didn't want to.
Pain. Hurt. Hate. Love. Longing. Desire. Rejection. Jealousy. Confusion. Anger. Shame. Self-loathing. I was responsible. I caused some of those emotions.
"What the fuck does that mean, McCoy?" Rogue asked, exasperated.
"It means, Rogue, that Scott's new mental bond with Warren is causing them both to be overwhelmed with the other's emotions. That's why we're carrying two limp dolls," Kurt said magnanimously.
//Why, Scott, why?// I heard it over and over and over again. //Why do you pull me in closer, just so you can push me away farther?//
"Scott was okay until Warren woke up," Rogue said, and the scenery changed and I was inside the med lab.
"Of course he was. It's conscious thought that is overwhelming, Rogue," the Professor patiently explained as Rogue put me on sort of examining table. I saw her pretty face peering into mine, looking concerned.
"Where do you want me to put Warren?" I heard Logan's gruff voice.
"Beside Scott will be fine. Now, Hank, can you please explain what the hell just happened in my dining room?" the Professor asked. He must be pretty exasperated by now to use such harsh language.
"It was a psychokinetic discharge of repressed emotional and sexual tension, as a result of their mental resistance to the empathic bonding process. The intense emotions created by the psychic union, as well as those left dormant since adolescence, caused unreleased psychic energy to mount within Scott's empathic reservoirs. The bonding process emptied his reserves in an unforeseen development of destructive psychokinetic shockwaves."
Silence.
"Do you speak English, McCoy?" Logan growled.
"Basically what he's saying is that Scott empathically absorbed all the tension and emotional conflict between himself and Warren, and then while they were fighting their mind-link, it all burst out in a shockwave created from their psychic energy," Kurt explained patiently.
"So we can expect a lot of this in the future?" Rogue asked.
"I doubt it," the Professor said. "These were special circumstances. Scott's not normally psychokinetic. It was created due solely to the enormous energies produced by the psychic bonding process."
"You *knew*, McCoy?" Kurt asked incredulously.
"Contrary to popular belief, I am not so absorbed in my research and studies that I don't notice that two of my best friends have a sexual and emotional attraction to each other. Give me some credit, Kurt. I was there from the day they met onwards. I was hoping they'd just fuck each other and get it over with, but alas, Scott is far too repressed. Shame they're bisexual, too, otherwise I could have had Jeanie all to myself," Hank said. If I had access to my faculties, I think I would have blushed. Did *everyone* know?
"Tell me about it," Logan agreed.
"So what do we do to fix them?" Rogue asked, exasperated with everyone.
"Nothing, I'm afraid, my dear. We simply wait it out. I just wanted to put them in here, where we can easily help them out if necessary," the Professor said gently.
"So now we have to leave? I was hoping I could smash their skulls together," Logan sighed.
"That may become necessary at a later time, Logan. For now, we'll just let Hank and Kurt monitor their health, and leave," I heard the Professor say, and then heard him wheel himself out. His wheelchair sounded a little rickety, thanks to my "psychokinetic discharge of repressed emotional and sexual tension".
After a few minutes, they all left, after Kurt and Hank hooked Warren and I up to some machines, to make sure we were alive. I felt empty for the lack of their presence, because then I had nothing but Warren to focus on.
Hours passed.
Warren.
My Warren.
Why? Why did it have to be like this? Why did things have to be so difficult? Was it really all my fault?
Why did I have to feel this way?
I want Warren. I love him. Maybe even part of me needs him. I couldn't deny it anymore. Old memories and buried feelings were running around in my head now.
Why? Why him? Why another man?
Why did I have to be like this? Why couldn't I be a normal person?
Why did I have to be mutant? Why did I have to be bisexual?
Why did I let myself feel this way?
I felt him stir beside me, the conflict in my mind, the emotions causing him to respond. I felt hope flicker into his mind, where before there was only despair. He knew now how I felt for him, but he also knew I didn't want to feel anything for him. Conflict and contradiction.
I was sinking.
Sinking into what?
I just wanted it all to stop. I just wanted to forget about him and go back to my happy, comfortable, stagnant relationship with Jean. I didn't want to want, love, need Warren.
No, I wanted him, and just like the time in the shower, I wanted to reach out and touch him. I wanted to go to the boathouse and sink into the deepest pit of sin with him. I wanted to wrap my arms around him and make him feel better, to make him feel human again, because I love him.
Now everyone's going to hate me. I don't want to be anymore of a freak than I have to be. I can't have feelings for another man. It's wrong, it's abnormal, it's something for people to laugh at. I'm not supposed to feel this way.
I wanted to kiss him, long and hard, to stroke his silky blond hair, and caress his soft, smooth skin. I wanted to feel his wings around me, shielding me from the world. I wanted to be with him, I wanted to talk to him about everything. I wanted to know he was real.
Because nothing else felt real at the moment.
And finally I could speak.
"I love you, Warren."
A whisper, nothing more. I barely got it past my lips before I choked on it. How could I let myself feel this way? How could I let this happen?
I sat up, feeling reality rush back in on me like a tsunami. I wobbled a bit, not entirely happy with being in control of my body once again. I ripped the electrodes attached to my head off, knowing Hank and Kurt would be in soon.
Warren sat up as well, and I reached out to steady him, knowing he was feeling the same way I did. We were connected now. Tied to each other by a cord that could never be broken.
One of his wings batted my hand away. I felt his pain, and I withdrew, staring at his back. He was angry with me. Because I loved him, yes, but because I hated loving him.
"I'm sorry, Scott. I'm sorry I make you feel that way," he said quietly, and I knew how deeply I hurt him. How deeply I always hurt him.
"How can you accept it? How can you not be bothered by wanting other men?" I blurted out, staring at his back and his fluttering wings. So beautiful. An angel of sufferance.
"Because I don't care what anyone else thinks. Only you..." he said in the same quiet, sad voice.
"I..." I trailed off and fell silent.
"Aren't me. You want people to accept you, respect you. You always do what you think you're supposed to do. It's one of the reasons why I love you. But you feel you aren't supposed to love me. It's okay, Scott. At least now I know that you do care. It's more than I had," he shrugged and came to his feet, his back to me. I felt him tighten his mind, trying to keep his emotions from me.
Footsteps. Hank and Kurt came in, smiling to see us both awake and lucid. I turned to them, with a guilty look in my face. Neither judgment or reproach was in their faces. I reached out with my empathy, and felt only concern.
"Are you guys okay?" Hank asked.
"Fine," was all Warren said, and he pushed his way out the door, carefully angling both wings and head to keep me from seeing his face. I stared after him.
Hank shook his head, but Kurt came closer to me. "Mein freund, you know I have the utmost respect for you. But if you don't settle things with Warren, and face your emotions for him, I think I'm going to teleport you to the top of Empire State building and dangle you off the edge for a few hours," he sighed, looking me dead in the eye.
I just stared at him in shock. Kurt was *Catholic*. You'd think he, of everyone, would hate what was between me and Warren.
"After I let Wolverine bounce your head off the pavement for a couple days," Kurt continued to threaten.
"But I-"
"People say being a mutant is wrong, but you, of all of us, fight hardest to prove them wrong. Why do you give up so easily on something as inconsequential as sexual orientation?"
"My professional recommendation is for the two of you to just fuck each other and get it over with. You'll feel much better. And the Professor might be able to get some sleep," Hank piped up, handing me a new pair of glasses for my myopia.
"But Warren-"
"So he's a guy. I like to have sex with the lights on. Kurt likes to do it in hot tubs. Logan likes to do it in the classical missionary position, and Bobby prefers doggie style. Remy's bi, and he likes it both from the front and the back. Sam likes to be ridden, and Bishop likes to ride. Last I checked, how and who you have sex with doesn't matter, as long as it means something and it's consensual," Hank said evenly.
"Please tell me I don't have to translate that," Kurt smirked.
I put my glasses on, hating them, but grateful for the clarity of sight. I eyed my friends with what I hoped was a reproving look.
"Does everyone know, then?" I asked a little angrily.
"Everyone," Kurt nodded.
"Even Sam?" I asked incredulously. Sam was just a kid...
"Please, Scott. He was in *X-Force*. With *Shatterstar* and *Rictor*. It took him a little while to notice, but he eventually did," Hank snorted.
"They really are gay?" I asked, my eyebrows shooting up my forehead. I'd always wondered about those two...
"You should hear your son's stories about avoiding the showers after they're done in them," Hank grinned.
"But that's not what's important, Scott," Kurt admonished, nudging Hank to silence.
I sighed and closed my eyes. "No one...no one minds...?" I asked after a minute.
"It shouldn't matter whether they do or don't, Scott."
"I guess I should go talk to Warren, huh?" I swallowed nervously.
"Among other things," Hank said before Kurt elbowed him.
I smiled weakly at my friends. "Thanks, guys. Not quite the pep talk I ever expected to get, but you have a point," I said, getting off the table.
"Of course we do. Are you going to talk to him?" Kurt pressed.
"I don't know. Maybe," I shrugged and then left. I didn't want them to know whether I was or wasn't. I had to a lot to chew on at the moment. I wanted to talk to him, but...
I didn't know what to say.
And I didn't know how to say it.I thought about it most of the night.
And like a coward, I decided I could write Warren a note. I wrote it too, trying to explain to him that I couldn't deal with this, and couldn't we just be friends? The usual bullshit.
I was far from tired, so I left my room with my note in hand, the nice, polite note packed with every cowardly rejection I could come up with. I found myself in front of his room, knowing he was sleeping inside. I can deal with sleeping Warren. I wanted to go inside, to see him.
The door wasn't locked, so I slowly, carefully opened it, peering inside. Warren was lying on his side, his wings spread out behind him. One of his wings kept twitching occasionally, and his feathers were slightly ruffled. He'd cleaned himself up rather well, even getting the green stains off his wings.
I crept inside, my hands slightly shaking, wanting to see him, and hating it. I dropped the note more than once as I shuffled up to his bed, and had to pick it up. I absently laid it on the bed beside him, staring down at the sleeping angel.
His skin looked to be an almost electric blue in the dark, as deep as his eyes. It was weird how the darkness and the muted moonlight made everything to appear dark gray or blue. Only Warren stood out, refusing to be darkened, like everything else. His hair was still the perfect golden blond, and I imagined if his eyes were open, I'd see his ocean blue eyes as bright as ever. Warren was naked, but for his sheets, which tangled up just past his waistline, leaving the expanse of his sculptured chest for me to admire. He was so beautiful it made my heart ache not to be touching him at the moment. Beautiful and sad. Sad because of me.
He'd suffered so much, and I was making him suffer more. He wanted me to make him feel better, but I only made him feel worse. He went to me for comfort, for compassion, for affection, and I gave him nothing but coldness, rejection, and denial. I felt guilty. Guilty and torn.
He stirred and I realized with horror, that my emotions were waking him up. I stepped back, prepared to turn and flee from the room, but his eyes fluttered open. His eyes were as electric as ever, fixated on me. I didn't even get past his bed. His eyes froze me, entranced me.
Christ, my life would be so much *easier* if he was just a little uglier. I wouldn't have to deal with sexual desire, on top of emotional desire.
He smirked.
I narrowed my eyes. I *hate* it when he smirks at me like that. Warren's eyes widened and the smirk faded, as he realized why I was irritated. He cocked his head at me, and I felt his curiosity, even his hope, at why I was here, in his room, staring at him sleep. His hand moved and he noticed the note I left him.
Warren glanced at me, and then picked up the note, unfolding it. I swallowed, wondering why I hadn't left yet. I wanted to be here, I realized.
"Don't read it," I finally said, breaking the silence, my voice almost deafening.
"Why?" he asked, raising his eyes to meet mine.
"Because I don't mean it," I choked. He stared at me and set the letter aside, letting it flutter to the ground.
"Are you sure? You never seem to know what you want when it concerns me," he said coolly.
"Of course I'm not sure," I sighed, swallowing again, staring at him.
"Why are you here, Scott?" he asked me, and I caught the tremble in his voice. He was trying so hard to hide his hope, his fear at my presence, but it slipped through the cracks of his mental block.
"I don't know," I admitted. But I did know. I wanted to be with him, near him. He was making my head feel so clear, even if he put my emotions through the wringer.
Warren suddenly leaned over and grabbed my shirt, pulling me onto his wide bed. I gasped, blinking rapidly and struggling back, but I realized he wasn't doing anything else. He just wanted me sitting on the bed, so we were on the same level. I went still, staring at him.
"What do you want from me, Scott? Do you want me to leave you alone? Or do you want me to just be your friend? Or do you just want me?" he asked bluntly. That was so Warren. He was only smooth and charming when he wanted to be. I liked him blunt and honest better.
"I don't know," I repeated. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring at him like a child. He leaned closer to me, so our faces were only inches apart. His blue eyes were searching mine.
Warren plucked my glasses off, and set them aside on his night stand. "You have to decide, Scott. You have to tell me what you want. I'll do whatever you want, but you have to decide," he whispered, leaning into my face closer.
"Can I decide tomorrow?" I whispered, leaning back despite myself, fascinated by his eyes, his lips. Maybe I could just forget, for one night...
I kissed him, wondering why Warren made me sexually manic depressive. One minute I wanted him, the next I wanted him to go away. He kissed me back, and I felt his hands on my face, cupping my cheeks as we kissed. God, he tasted good, felt good.
I lifted my hands to cup his face, the analytical part of my brain that refused to run off noting that I couldn't even feel stubble on his face. He was capable of growing facial hair, but it was fine, silky, and grew slowly. I could taste some sort of tea in his mouth, and the mint of his toothpaste. I felt the smooth, soft skin of his face, sliding back to run my fingers through his short hair, lost in silk.
I wondered what the hell I was doing.
It was Warren who pulled back from our most recent attempt to devour each other's lips, sensing my hesitation before I could react, now that we had a psychic link and all. Those come in handy, actually.
"Do you want to or not, Scott?" he whispered, and I felt a shiver of horrible anticipation at the realization that Warren wanted more than just tongue hockey.
"Kinda...I want to," I whispered, unsure, but my body was very demanding, and just touching Warren was like electricity coursing through my veins. It had been a few months since I'd had any close physical contact with anyone. But I couldn't blame it on desperation, though I wanted to.
I felt smooth, cool hands slide underneath my t-shirt, running against my chest. I shivered, my hands gripping Warren's biceps tightly. He didn't react, except to pull my t-shirt up, bunching the cloth against my throat. I felt a slight tremor of fear again until he leaned down and flicked a tongue against one of my nipples.
"G-gah! Warren..." I moaned, the part of me that wanted him to stop pausing to consider that delicious sensation. The flesh beneath his tongue hardened, and I dug my fingernails into his arms.
He continued to ignore me, and I felt lips engulf my nipple, his tongue playing against it lightly. I made some sort of strangled noise, my body going limp. Something so simple, but so pleasurable... Women don't really appreciate men's nipples. They assume since we don't have breasts that they aren't really sensitive. I'd never been with anyone that appreciated my nipples as erogenous zones before.
I never knew I could get so aroused from someone playing with my nipples. But Warren obviously knew what he was doing. He started to suck on my right nipple, and fondled the left, causing more delicious sensations to erupt from my chest and my pants grew very tight.
"Warren..." I breathed, whispering his name, my hands reaching around to stroke the soft, white feathers on his wings. How many years had I just wanted to run my hands over his wings, to stroke the impossibly soft down on his back?
The soft, pliant mouth on my chest moved, blowing softly on my wet nipple as it departed. I shuddered, groaning softly. I wanted desperately for Warren to return to what he was doing, when his mouth reached the other nipple and he switched sides, granting my wish. I stared down at him, kneeling on his bed with his head nestled against my chest, sucking my nipple like a hungry baby. I stroked down his feathers, reaching the base of wings, where man met mutation, and I got a shiver from him. I rubbed against the flesh there, causing another flash of pleasure in him.
Warren departed from my chest again, much to my disappointment, but his lips met mine again so it was okay. I kissed him back, annoyed that in less than five minutes, Warren already had my body playing a tune for him like a well-strung guitar. I rubbed gently on the fleshy base of his wings in revenge, causing him to shudder in my arms.
"Feels so good, Scott," he whispered, arching against me. I never knew his wings had erogenous zones, but then again, why would I?
I was startled when he pushed me back into his bed, and I struggled half-heartedly against the silk sheets. Warren and his silk sheets. I felt his legs press against mine and I stilled when his tongue returned to licking my nipples. I moaned appreciatively for him, rewarding him with long, firm strokes on the base of his wings.
And then his mouth was traveling downwards, across my stomach, his tongue flicking out to taste my flesh, and his hands were unbuttoning my pants and-
I'd never been more terrified in my life. I pushed him away roughly, hearing him gasp as he landed back on the mattress. I sat up, staring at him wide-eyed, breathing hard, and not entirely from our make-out session.
He wouldn't meet my eyes and I saw his hand come up and wipe his mouth. We were silent a long time, with nothing but the sound of our breathing to fill the void.
"You see, Scott? You never know what you want," Warren finally said, sounding sad.
I felt guilty, but that blinding flash of utter terror at the thought of doing anything with another man below the waist refused to leave me. I wanted him, but the thought terrified me. But there was something I was comfortable with, something I wanted from Warren that I could let him give me.
I reached out and pulled his body against mine, crushing his nude form against my naked chest. I leaned my face into his hair, smelling his shampoo. "I know I want this. Just this," I whispered, holding Warren in my arms.
His body relaxed and stretched to fit against mine. I pulled us down, back into the tangle of his silk sheets, against his soft pillows. I could feel his warm breath hitting my collar bone, his arms around me, so we lay wrapped around each other.
"It's more than you ever gave me before," Warren said after a while.
He was right. Layers of my fear and repression had been peeled away. I could guess why, but I didn't really want to. I spent too much time thinking, and for once, it was nice to feel. My own emotions were as refreshing as the sensation of his.
But despite my fear, now a new emotion haunted me. A feeling of guilt.
I wondered idly, as I closed my eyes, what tomorrow would bring.