Title: The Morning After

Author: Askani'daughter / Eruntalince (newloverboys@yahoo.com)

Website

Rating: NC-17

Pairing/main characters: Cyclops/Angel

Series/Sequel: complete

Summary: What comes after a PWP? What do you do after you just slept with your best friend? How are you supposed to feel? Where do you go from there? Scott reflects in bed the morning after.

Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox. Brought my own bucket and everything.

Date: June 2002

Archive/distribution: If you want it, you can have it, but you have to ask first!

Warning: Movieverse. Slash warning. Graphic gay male sex contained within. Angst is present. So is sappiness. Go ahead and flame me if you like, it doesn't matter. Iceman is my friend.

Notes: I just can't help characterization through sex, and reflection of sex. I think sex is a highly underrated way to get inside someone's head, pun not intended. But honestly, I've always wondered what happens after the PWP. How do these people feel after sex, and what do they do? My own pitiful attempt at realism in fiction. This version of Angel fits into the movieverse, based strongly on his comic take. Oh, and it has *nothing* to do with "Freak on a Leash", my other movieverse Cyclops/Angel WIP... And this was written for Lady Tempest, in exchange for her beautious drawing of Tasuki and Nakago for me. Been long in coming, but I hope you enjoy it, LT!

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The Morning After

By Askani'daughter

 

What exactly is the proper reaction to waking up beside your best friend, naked, and tangled up in his arms, legs, and wings? What are you supposed to say when you recall drunkenly falling into bed with him? What do you do when you realize you just slept with your best friend?

Where to go from here?

Scott Summers lay quietly in bed, one hand under his head, watching the sunrise glint off of Warren's golden hair, wondering what he was going to do next. Warren was still asleep, his head resting comfortably on Scott's chest, as if he had wanted to listen to
Scott's heartbeat while he slept. Scott idly ran his fingers through the silky blond strands of Warren's hair, mentally reviewing his actions the night before.

Jean had finally left him for Logan. Scott had seen it coming, had prepared himself for the blow, but it still hurt. He loved her, but she was in love with Logan. It had been a month since she left him, but Scott was still depressed. When he realized he was depressed more because he was lonely, rather than just the fact that Jean was gone, he sought company.

Scott had finally gone to talk to Warren, his best friend. Scott had comforted Warren through many break-ups and emotional turbulence, but Scott never sought comfort for himself. But he finally wanted to pour his heart out, to tell someone how he really felt
about everything. Not just about Jean, but about his entire life, his purpose, everything. And talking to Warren seemed right.

They talked over a bottle of scotch. They talked for a long time, until they were both so tired they could barely sit up straight. They were in Warren's room, so Warren let Scott sleep in his queen-size bed with him. It wasn't a big deal. They had grown up together,
showered together, and even shared the same sleeping bag when they had gone camping before. Warren was his best friend, the only person he had left.

Warren had been rescued by Professor Xavier when he was only sixteen, and the discovery of his wings had caused him to be chased by a terrified mob, including his own parents. Warren discovered his new wings actually worked, and flew away to safety. Professor Xavier found him curled up in a mountain cave a few days later, nearly frozen to death. Like Scott, Warren had nothing left. His wealthy parents disowned him, so living with Professor Xavier seemed a good idea. And even though Warren wasn't an active part of the X-Men, he stayed at the mansion, teaching students, and supporting the team. Scott was seventeen when Warren arrived to the mansion, and they had become fast friends. Despite the differences in their upbringing, Warren and Scott got along perfectly. There was no one else Scott trusted as much, could talk too so easily, and just be himself with. They were each other's support system, the people that reminded each other they were human, not mutant freaks. Warren was the man who reminded Scott he was a twenty-six-year-old young man with a life to live. Scott had needed Warren last
night. He didn't think anything of falling into bed beside Warren. Why should he?

Scott couldn't be sure who started it. He was half-asleep when he realized he was tugging Warren's pants off, and that Warren was pulling his jeans off. It took him a minute to realize he was even kissing Warren, with an urgency Scott hadn't felt since he was in high school. Their clothes just went flying off, while hands explored the other's body excitedly.

Scott used the term "sex" loosely. It was more like mutual masturbation. There was just Warren's hand wrapped around his throbbing cock, while Scott worked over Warren's own hard cock. There was no urge to take things further. They kissed the entire time, and a little after, making out like two teenagers in the backseat of a car. And then they both dropped off to sleep. Scott had never done anything like that before, and he wondered what possessed him to do such a thing.

Warren stirred a little, sliding his bare leg against Scott's and the arm that was draped over Scott's chest tightened a bit. Scott stopped playing with Warren's short blond hair, instead reaching to brush his finger over the soft white feathers of Warren's wings. Warren felt remarkably comfortable to hold in the morning, his body curving perfectly against Scott's.

Scott knew he couldn't blame the scotch, because neither man had drank that much. He couldn't blame his break-up with Jean. He might be able to blame his loneliness, but for the most part Scott admitted he had wanted it. He wanted Warren, still did. He wanted
to touch Warren, and to have Warren touch him. He wanted to feel Warren's lean body shudder against him when he came, and listen to Warren gasp in pleasure. He wanted kiss Warren, to taste every inch of Warren's mouth while their tongues wrestled for dominance.

It wasn't spur of the moment. Scott wasn't an actively sexual man, and he, until recently, had a girlfriend. He reflected he wasn't completely heterosexual, but the term bisexual grated on his nerves. He was attracted to people, not their genders. He was attracted to Warren, to Warren's quickly changing moods, dry sarcasm, sharp wit, and competitive nature. He was attracted to Warren's shrewd intelligence, his intense emotions, his warped sense of humor. And the fact that Warren was drop-dead gorgeous by anyone's
standards surely didn't impede the attraction. No, what Scott felt wasn't spur of the moment.

Warren finally awoke, looking up at Scott slowly, his chin still resting on Scott's shirt, his electric blue eyes staring intently at Scott, as if waiting for the answer to an unspoken question. He offered Scott a small smile, almost shy. His arm was still around Scott's chest, his body pressed against Scott's side. Scott's hand moved from Warren's wing, and slid down to rest on Warren's shoulder.

Did he love Warren? It was an inevitable question, but one he didn't have an answer for. He was attracted to him, liked him, enjoyed his company. But he wasn't too sure about love. It opened up new possibilities for Scott to be hurt, and Scott didn't want to be hurt
anymore.

Warren closed his eyes in thought, the small smile still on his full lips. Scott gently ran a finger across those lips, wondering what Warren thought of all this. It was hard to read Warren sometimes, and this was one of those times.

Warren suddenly slid down Scott's body, without warning. Scott half sat up, wondering what was going on, when he felt Warren press his hips into the bed. Warren's sinewy body insinuated itself between his legs. Scott's mouth opened, as if to speak, but the
sight of Warren bending over his lower body, and the marvelous and always welcome feeling of a warm mouth engulfing his cock stole words from his mouth before they were even uttered.

Scott lay back down, his head pressing back against a pillow that smelled of Warren. He closed his eyes, wondering why Warren would just suddenly want to give him a blow job. Not that he was complaining. Warren was proving to be remarkably skilled at this sort of thing. His mouth was pleasantly warm, and he knew just how to suck another man off. He didn't hold back, and was sucking as hard as he could, like you would if you
were trying to drink a really thick milkshake through a straw. A strange sound filled the room, and it took Scott a minute to realize it was him moaning. It was incredible, to say the least.

The feeling of Warren's tongue wriggling against the underside of his cock finally sent Scott over the edge. He came with such force, he was surprise he didn't buck Warren off of him. Scott lay still after it was done, feeling dizzy. Warren slid back up along him, his head resting comfortably on Scott's chest again. He said nothing.

A vague memory of Scott once complaining to Warren about how women never put enough force into oral sex surfaced in Scott's mind. He idly wondered if Warren had been storing up that sort of information. He obviously had done that sort of thing before, or at
least put some thought into it.

What were they going to do now? Base a relationship off handjobs and cock-sucking? Scott wasn't too good with relationships to begin with, but the basis of sex seemed a poor building block for anything. Sure, it felt nice, but what was it, really? A surge of testosterone in the middle of the night, induced by loneliness, alcohol, and proximity?

Scott could feel Warren's lips pressed against his ear, gently kissing his lobe. Scott closed his eyes again, shivering when the beautiful blond blew on his ear softly. "You're going to think yourself to death," Warren whispered softly.

Scott sighed. Apparently, Warren wanted to talk now. "Why'd you do that?" he asked, unable to think of anything better to say.

"What, blow on your ear, suck your dick, or jack you off?"

"How about 'D', all of the above?"

"I was trying to think of a way to say 'I love you' and 'I hope you're not mad about what happened last night', but it came out sounding way too fucking Lifetime channel for me," Warren said blithely.

Scott was silent for a while, absently fondling Warren's blond hair. Warren said nothing after that, tracing a finger around Scott's nipple. Warren's blunt honesty was always one of the things Scott had loved about him.

Loved?

Well, that answered that question.

"How long?" Scott asked.

"Since I was a teenager. Why do you ask?" Warren asked, doing a nice job of masking his hurt at his profession not being reciprocated.

"I was trying to say 'I love you, too', but it sounded way too daytime soap opera."

"So I'm guessing you're not mad about last night?"

"Not in the least."

They both fell quiet again, resting comfortably against each other. Scott played with Warren's hair and wings, and Warren fondled Scott's chest.

"Sex doesn't make a relationship, though," Scott said after a while, unable to keep his concerns to himself.

"We already have a relationship. But now we get to have sex after the football game, and make-out during half-time. Strip poker is now acceptable, and drinking games involving sexual favors are a must. Nothing else changes."

Scott smiled, and pulled Warren off his chest to kiss him. He hadn't thought of it that way.

"Does this mean I have to put a rainbow sticker on my bike?" Scott frowned.

"Please don't. Otherwise, I'll be forced to wear shiny pants three sizes too small and talk funny. Nothing changes between us or about us, other than sex. We already have everything else it takes," Warren laughed.

"One more question."

"What?"

"Who's on top?"

"Does it matter? We can switch off, if you like. I like it both ways, myself," Warren shrugged.

Scott frowned again, but then flashed a grin suddenly. "You're ruining my stereotypes," he sighed dramatically.

"Sorry about that. I'll buy you a new stereo," Warren snickered.

Scott grinned. "I call top first," he said.

The morning after didn't seem so bad anymore.

 

END