Title: Wounds and Kisses

Author: Ushbeti (ushbeti@aol.com)

Website: no site

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Wounds and Kisses

By Ushbeti

 

Chapter Fourteen

Rogue smiled to herself; Ororo tried to exemplify the ideal of goddess-like serenity and detachment, but she was really only flesh and blood--and that flesh hadn't been touched intimately in quite a while. She pressed against Storm's breasts a little more closely; the older woman started breathing faster.
"It's all jus' so awful, Storm, Ah feel jus' so--lonely, so alone sometimes. Ah jus' want somebody ta hold me an' make me feel safe lahk Ah was a couple a' times when Ah was a little girl. 'Course, Ah didn't have a real good chilehood lahk you--yo' mama an' daddy loved ya. Ah wish Ah'd had that kinda love. Ah have jus' always felt so apart from all that family stuff. Even po' Destiny an' Mystique, well, they did their bes' , but ya know, Ah jus' nevah knew what a good man was lahk. Ah'm jus' not good at pickin' 'em," Rogue added. with the appropriate self-deprecatory laugh.
"Oh, my poor child," Storm said quickly, putting her physical response under iron control (*this poor, dear girl needs my emotional support, not an improper display of sexual attraction! She's been so ill-used*), "love is always fraught with difficulties."
Rogue gave another girlish, trilling laugh. "Scott an' Jean seem ta have it down pat!"
"Well, of course they have their link," Storm replied; Rogue's seeming change of focus helped Storm calm her own emotional response to Rogue's physical closeness.
"It ain't jus' that--Scotty's a good man, ain't he? He'd nevah hurt Jean in a thousan' years. But then, Scott would nevah get mixed up with the kinda people who--oh, Ah'm sorry, Storm." Storm started; she hadn't been expecting another reference to Remy's partnership with the Marauders. Storm chided herself silently; why did every careless comment about the massacre twinge at the scar in her soul--the scar composed of equal amounts of sorrow and culpability?
Then Rogue twisted around so that she faced Storm; their eyes, lips, only separated by a couple of inches, close enough so that Storm could feel Rogue's breath come from the girl's full, parted lips--her breath was sweet, like candy. Rogue's green eyes, large and bright with unshed tears, sparkled; Storm knew her own blue eyes were wider, Rogue's emerald eyes the sudden center of her own heart. Rogue leaned in a trifle closer, her mouth opening--then she pulled away, her heart-breaking smile knifing through Storm.
"Ah'm a fool, Storm, Ah know Ah can't touch ya the way Ah'd like. Ah'd best leave ya, dear," and Rogue straightened and flew up out of the open skylight. Ororo, shaken, fell back on the bed.
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Meanwhile, Ric was groaning with pain and ecstasy; he loved it when Star fucked him roughly, making his ass almost too painfully sore, thrusting and twisting his cock on the in-strokes, ordering Ric in a pretend-fierce voice to squeeze hard on each out-thrust.. Ad had sucked him to cumming once, and was sucking his too-tender cock again; Ric had protested (as they'd known he would) so Ad had pulled Ric's hands down and together and had looped Star's hair-covering around Ric's wrists and held his wrists tightly as Ad continued to suck and lick, driving Ric almost insane with sensual agony.
Star had long ago decided that he'd do anything to make Ric happy, and Ric, while pleased with tenderness, really preferred to be overtaken, overpowered, and Ad had caught on to their way of love-making quickly; the love Star and Ric had was genuine and deep, so Ad knew that this kind of play was an integral part of their bond. The added attraction was that, while Ric was in truth in charge of almost every aspect of their alliance, Star and Ad could play out their dominant fantasies.
Ric, covered in a sheen of sweat and writhing in seeming helplessness on the bed, was the core of their sexual expression. "Dios, oh, Star, oh Star, oh Star, I love you, you're killing me, ah God," Ric moaned, and Star could tell this was the moment, this was when Ric wanted it, and he pumped savagely, slamming against Ric's ass as Ad gulped Ric's cock down his throat while holding on to Ric's wrists with one hand and squeezing his balls with the other and Ric screamed his orgasm as Star gushed into him. Ad came without touching himself--these wild moments always drove him over the edge.
Star, seeing his beloved was panting and sated, pulled out gently as Ad pulled his mouth off Ric's cock carefully. Star slid up and pressed his lips to Ric's, kissing him with tenderness, and looked into Ric's eyes and murmured, "I love you, my beautiful warrior, my comrade, brother of my soul," and then slid down a little to rest his head on Ric's chest, listening as that galloping heartbeat slowed to the rhythm he liked. Ric stroked Star's hair; Star put a protective hand over Ric's cock. Ad, satisfied and relaxed, lay next to Ric and handed him _Skin_. Ric smiled and opened the book. There was a knock at the door.

 

Chapter Fifteen

"Yeah?" Ric said loudly in response to the knock.
"It's just us, are you decent?" Kitty asked.
"Just a sec," and the three pulled on jeans and Star pulled his hair back into a ponytail. "Ok, come in."
Kitty opened the door and she and Sarah walked in. Sarah perched on the window sill and Kitty sat on the chair facing the bed. "Dunno why you guys bother puttin' on pants," Sarah commented in her husky voice, "Wouldn't bother me or the pussycat ta see ya nekkid."
"You hush," said Kitty. She turned her attention to Ric. "You guys still not talking to Sammy or 'Berto?" Ric shook his head.
"There ain't no way we're talking to them until they get their heads out of their butts and say they're sorry for pullin' that crap."
"Well, me an' the pussycat went an' talked ta them," Sarah said, "and they're pretty much both hostile an' confused. It's like they're mad at ya, but they can't quite explain why, even though Kitty lawyered at 'em without mercy."
Ric raised his eyebrows. "I thought they were fuckin' clear on what their problem is--me and Rahne, Ad and 'Chelle--and how we're s'posed to be complete assholes to people."
"Yes, well, I can't accept that," said Kitty, her brow furrowing slightly, "Sam has always been fair, and for him to over-react to what is essentially a non-issue is out of character. Yet neither he nor Roberto could offer me a coherent explanation for that contentious scene this morning."
"Wouldn' ya love it if she spoke English?" Sarah interrupted.
"You hush," said Kitty. Ric smiled; Kitty was as in charge of Sarah as he himself was of Star and Ad.
Star leaned his head on Ric's shoulder and put his arm around Ric's waist; he felt very comfortable expressing affection in front of the two girls. He and Ad enjoyed working out with Sarah--she was as gung-ho, as Ric called it, as they were, and Ric and Kitty relished talking about books they'd read. "I, too, do not understand Samuel's words. It does not befit him as a leader to behave in such a manner. Cable always had good reasons when he yelled at Ric and me."
"Well, I've been thinking about this," Kitty began, "I'm not always on the inner circles when it comes to gossip--"
"That's cuz you always walk away," Sarah interrupted.
"Hush, Bonehead. As I said, people don't usually talk about relationships around me, but I have noticed quite a bit of dissension lately among certain of the more frictive elements in the mansion. Warren has been more...(*Careful--Sarah worships him*) edgy of late; Storm's quite irritable; the professor has been, er, um, more sanctimonious in his attitude toward the rest of us; Remy (*Sarah adores him, too--how difficult all this interpersonal stuff is!*) has been extremely remote--why, even Bobby has been touchy. And that scene from this morning seems to fit in with the rest of these factors. I don't yet know what exactly is exacerbating any previous points of disputation, but I am certain there's a common source. And I want to find out where it is before any physical violence results. Sarah may delight in mayhem, but I prefer a more peaceful environment when possible."
"She thinks she's Nancy Drew," Sarah added with a grin that took the sting out of the comment.
"So, wait, you think you can be some kind of emotional detective or something?" Ric asked.
"Mmm-hmm. I think we can all work on this; you guys aren't as emotionally locked-down as some of the older guys around here, and Sarah's awfully good at, er, sneaking around and eavesdropping, and I can integrate information into various psychcological frames until the pieces fit together in a recognizable, logical pattern."
"Are not emotions opposed to logic?" murmured Star.
"You might think so, but most people react in predictable patterns to emotional manipulation. It's the conditioning we learn as we grow up. My theory is that some person or people are manipulating emotional information because he, she, or they can count on consistent reactions."
"That sounds like a blueprint for evil. By 'Za's vid, Kitty, I hope that this is not so," said Star.
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Meanwhile, back in Johnny's room in NYC, Remy opened his eyes. He hadn't felt so peaceful in years. He listened to the soft breathing of Bobby and Johnny; Bobby had cuddled up to him and had his hand on Remy's hip. Remy was amused that he had his own hand on Johnny's butt, his fingers resting in the crack. That emotional coupling--or was it tripling?--on the roof deck had cleansed his soul--at least for a little while.
They'd stayed out there until Remy'd shivered; Bobby had immediately dragged them inside, in spite of the obvious fact that Johnny was like unto a personal, portable furnace. Then, they'd gone into the living room and had teased Ben until the older man had threatened to kick their butts all the way to Hoboken, New Jersey. Then they'd shut themselves in Johnny's room, stripped, and hopped into bed. Remy thought about their subsequent talk and sex...
"Frere, why's it Ben's still up? Y' told us he was a sports junkie, but wasn' that a rerun of a football game?"
"Yeah, well, Reed's still up and I bet Sis is, too. We all are kinda insomniacs around here. Hell, I get about three hours of sleep sometimes--I lie in bed most every mornin' 'cause I' m hoping I fall back asleep."
"Geez, Jon, how long this been going on?" Johnny had looked serious for a moment. "Well, basically since we changed. I mean, we all have nightmares about it--it's practically the only dream we have--I mean, we all have different variations on it, but we keep dreaming about it. It's pretty horrible, but we're pretty used to it by now. I used to dream I was burning to death, but I hardly ever dream that bad anymore. I 'member, though, back when we first changed, I couldn't hardly sleep at all--none of us could. After not sleeping a couple nights or so, even though I was kinda scared of the way Ben had changed, I finally went in his room one night. He was awake, of course, smoking a cigar and brooding like he does, 'cept he was scarily gloomy back then--Reed later told me Benjy was suicidal, which was awful. But anyway, so I walked in an' asked if I could sit on his lap for a while--I did that sometimes when I felt sad about my dad an' all--and he said ok after about an eternity of minutes, and I did and finally I fell asleep. So after that, I could sleep a little."
Remy blinked. "You guys a'w'ys made it look so easy," he breathed.
Johnny had ducked his head slightly. "I didn't mean to get ya down," he said, blushing slightly. "It's just, you know, I figure we can be truthful with each other and all. Um, anyways, Bob, tell a joke or somethin', 'kay?"
Bobby'd blinked; then, as he so often did to break up a tense or somber mood, he'd come up with a joke--something about Flaming Buicks and City Hall. It had made little sense but was very funny in spite of, or maybe because of, its very silliness. The laughter had led to cuddling and snuggling and tickling and then kissing. Kisses had led to Bobby holding Johnny very tightly, looking into his eyes, as Remy'd fucked Johnny with exquisite tendresse, sliding his cock in and out of Johnny's ass while murmuring "Frere, y'feel so good. Cher, y'are so beautiful," as Bobby'd embraced and kissed Johnny as if he were trying to kiss bad dreams away.

 

Chapter Sixteen

Remy opened his eyes. Damn! He'd slept soundly; it was after 10 am. Bobby, still curled around him, had his hand on Remy's cock. Remy still had his hand on Johnny's ass. (*Both dese pretty boys still sleepin'. Wonder should I wake 'em up. My hand on frere's fesse...maybe I see if Johnny's a man a' his word*) And with that thought, Remy raised his hand high and brought it down fast, smacking Johnny's ass smartly. Johnny jumped, then turned his head and grinned sleepily. Bobby raised his head.
"Wha?"
"Time f'you lazy boys t'be gettin' up, I'm thinkin', cher," Remy grinned. "Or did I wear de two a' you out? Y' both too tired to have some fun?"
Johnny's blue eyes glinted with mischief. "You better watch out, Cajun. Me and Bob'll work you 'til you're bowlegged!" Johnny rolled up quickly and grabbed Remy around the chest. "You grab his legs, Bob, and let's teach this bad boy not to wake up sleeping beauties!"
Bobby laughed and pulled Remy's legs up. Together, they carried the protesting Cajun into the bathroom. Johnny reached out with one hand and turned the shower on, holding Remy still by pinching one nipple with the other. "Get in there, you ruffian, disturbin' the peace first thing in the morning!" Johnny commanded, laughingly.
"Hey, you guys, you bein' de bad ones here," Remy smiled as Bobby pushed him under the water.
"And we're gonna get badder, baby. Bobby, I bet you know what to do!" Bobby grinned at Remy, his eyes dancing, as he put his fingers between Remy's legs and cupped his balls.
"Oh, cher," Remy said, eyes closing a little. "Dat's so good." Johnny reached around Remy and began stroking his pecs, rubbing in smaller and smaller circles until his fingers were on Remy's nipples. Remy's nipples were wide and flat; Johnny teased them until the tips were hard, almost painfully erect. Remy spread his legs; Bobby's hands moved over his muscled thighs, always stopping just before he touched Remy's cock, which was becoming stiff, bloated, and red from the teasing and the hot water pouring over the three of them. Then Bobby moved one hand between Remy's cheeks, running his fingers up Remy's perineum, and slid two fingers into Remy's ass.
"Ah, Dieu, dat's good," Remy murmured.
"Gonna get better as we get badder," Johnny purred, as he ran his hands up and down Remy's muscled belly, almost touching the soft hairs on Remy's groin. Bobby looked up at Remy's face; his eyes were shut and he was smiling. Bobby thought about how much he usually felt like just worshipping Remy; now, though, he just wanted to drive him nuts (*Speaking of nuts, Rem's are rollin'*) and make him cum like crazy. A pearl of precum glistened for a moment on the tip of Remy's cock before washing away in the hot water.
Remy reached up and began pinching his own nipples. Johnny laughed low in his throat; it was great making the sophisticated Cajun act like a lustful teen. "Whaddaya want, Remy?" he growled.
"Want ya t'fuck me an' cher to suck me."
"Sounds like a reasonable request," Johnny chuckled. "What you think, Bob?"
Bobby's answer was to suck on Remy's cockhead and then take the shaft down his throat as he pulled his fingers out of Remy's ass; Johnny quickly replaced the fingers with his throbbing cock and gave Remy ass-stretching cockstrokes. Remy shoved his hips back in answer as Bobby followed with his mouth and throat and busy, busy hands--one on Remy's balls, the other jacking himself off. Remy's asshole shuddered as Johnny came; Remy's own cum flooded Bobby's mouth as Bobby shot streams of come on Remy's legs.

 

Remy LeBeau was an intergalactic and inter-dimensional adventurer, an ex-communicant of the ancient Thieves' Guild, a suave and sexually-experienced romantic. The activity he was presently engaged in, however, would have caused a scandal amongst almost anyone who'd ever met him.
"You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out--"
Sue had asked them to play with Franklin while she "whipped up" apple-butter pancakes and Temple of Heaven tea, and Franklin wanted to dance the Hokey-Pokey. So, amid much laughter and mild insults, Remy, Johnny, and Bobby were dancing the Hokey-Pokey, to Franklin's avid delight. The feel of gentle chaos was abetted by Ben, who bellowed out dance hints and clapped his hands loudly and off the beat. Sue laughed merrily and finally called them to the table. Franklin raced off to watch "VeggieTales"; he'd been up "for hours!" and had already eaten. Ben had already eaten, too, but was more than happy to have a second breakfast.
Remy regarded the pancakes before him with mild surprise; Sue had made them in the shapes of different leaves, and had put powdered sugar on the top pancake in the shape of an acorn. "I have real maple syrup, and blueberry syrup, and strawberries if you like them; there's white sugar in the blue pot and turbinado raw sugar in the green pot. Do you like milk in your tea?" Remy shook his head and smiled, "Dis all perfect, merci," and set to. The pancakes were delicious; Bobby was eating his with lip-smacking gusto. "I can make as many as you guys can eat," Sue smiled; it was a real pleasure to watch people enjoy her culinary talents. "Mmm, thanks, Sis, relax and sit with us."
"So, whatcha clowns gonna do today?" Ben rumbled.
"Oh, we gotta go home--you know how Scotty is--we miss working out and he takes it that he hasta jump down our throats."
"Haw! You tell Skinny I said hey," Ben chuckled. "He's a real pistol, that boy."
Bobby grinned to himself; Ben Grimm was probably the only guy on the planet who still thought of Scott Summers as a skinny little kid.
"So, whatcha like ta do, 'sides playin' poker, there, Gumbo?"
Remy swallowed a mouthful of pancakes and said, "Oh, me an' Bobby, we like to ride my bike, an' we like watchin' movies when we can."
"What's your favorite movie, Remy," Johnny asked, and sipped his tea.
"'De Fisher King' is my favorite," Remy smiled at Bobby.
"That's 'cause I'm your Fool," Bobby smiled back and leaned over and kissed Remy with maple-syrupy lips. Ben chuckled; it sounded like a load of gravel being spread.
"Johnnyboy likes all kinds a' movies--that's 'cuz the boy went ta public school an' that's about all them teachers did--show movies."
"Hey, Brickface, that ain't completely true--just in my English class. Oh, an' in health, but those were creepy movies--either you were gonna die from sex, drugs, or careless driving."
"What movies you watch in y'English class, frere?"
Johnny thought a moment. "Well, we watched the Italian 'Romeo & Juliet'--that's the one where they're both naked, and Polanski's 'MacBeth,' where Lady MacBeth's naked, and, um--"
"Great, you watched nekkid people in school and called it eddication. Those were my tax dollars!"
"Shaddup, you big oaf. We also watched 'Citizen Kane' and 'Cool Hand Luke' and 'Robin Hood'--the Errol Flynn one. We hadda write papers to show why movies were like literature. 'Cool Hand Luke' was easy 'cause I wrote about symbolism. 'Robin Hood' was practically impossible, so I wrote about how Maid Marian was a feminist. 'Robin Hood' is one of my faves, though."
Remy nodded; he wished Bobby hadn't mentioned they had to go home. It was so nice here--Bobby had felt comfortable enough to kiss him on the lips in front of Sue and Ben. At home Bobby would be alternately defensive and nervous and he, Remy, would have to face those suspicious eyes again. Remy looked up; Sue had asked him a question. "Pardon, Sue?"
"You were looking at your empty plate. More pancakes?"
"Ah, non," Strange he hadn't fully noticed before how alike Sue and Johnny looked; without thinking, Remy said, "Vos yeux sont aussi bleus que l'ocean, Sue," and then, startled, blushed.
Sue smiled luminously. "I think that was a compliment?"
"Uh, oui, your eyes are as blue as de ocean, um, I was thinkin' how you and frere look so like." Sue and Johnny laughed; Ben roared; Bobby threw his arms around Remy and kissed him hard, muffling his laughter against Remy's lips.
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Earlier than meanwhile, back at the manse, Sam stood in the kitchen near the coffee, his lanky body showing unhappiness. Sam had the unfortunate feeling that he'd behaved pretty much like a big jerk to Ric, Star, and Adam X the day before. Cable stalked into the kitchen and went straight to the coffee machine and poured himself a mugful. Sammy knew better than to talk to Cable before the older man had ingested his first caffeine hit of the day.
Star and Ad walked into the kitchen and pulled up short; they were dressed in muscle shirts and cut-off sweats. Star smoothed his hair-covering with economic movement; Ad's cap was pulled tight down over his hair.
"Oh, gee, um, good mornin' guys, um, Ric with you?" Sammy asked, face flushing.
Star regarded him expressionlessly; in a monotone he replied, "Rictor is sleeping. X-Treme and I are going to work out." (*Oh, great, Sam thought, *Star's really miffed at me*) Ad, also expressionless, said, "We're wasting time, Shatterstar," and both men walked outside.
"Oh, great, now they're full-naming me," Sammy mumbled. He sighed, then looked up at Cable, who was regarding him with detached amusment. "Hey, Cable, um, what do ya do when you done something wrong?"
Cable's lips twitched. "First of all, Sam, I'm never wrong. But if I were, I'd probably apologize to whomever I'd wronged, and talk it out. Before Star burdens us with any more of that monotone act."

 

Chapter Seventeen

There was a knock at the door. "Hijos de--!" muttered Ric as he rolled onto his stomach and pulled a pillow over his head. What manner of fucking moron would knock on his door at this ungodly hour? If it was Cable, Ric would tell the old bastard to go fuck himself--he didn't take orders from the old man anymore.
The knock was repeated more loudly. "Fucking hell," Ric snarled. "Who the fuck is it?" he yelled.
"Um, it's me, Sam, can I come in?"
Fuck! What the hell did that hillbilly want--another fight? Dios, who needs this shit! "Star, you are gonna have ta fuck me good an' hard to make up for us comin' back to this hellhole," Ric muttered. He was uncovered, lying on his stomach. Screw it. If yokelboy wanted to talk, then he could talk to Ric just as he was--naked, obviously just-been-banged. "Come in, dammit."
Sam entered and shut the door behind him. (*Aw, gee whiz, Ric ain't gonna make this easy. Oh, gosh, he's _nude_! Geez, ain't like I never saw Ric nude before or nothin', but--oh, gosh, his butt--! Aw, man!*) Sam shuffled his feet for a moment, then asked, "You mind if I siddown?" Ric, regarding him with one baleful eye, shrugged. Sam sat. Ric glared at him, still lying flat on his belly.
"Uh, Ric, I just wanna apologize for the things I said yesterday. I was completely outta line. I'm real sorry, 'cause I know I hurt you guys' feelings." Ric stared at Sam a moment, then sat up, smiled, and held out his hand. Sam leaned forward and shook it. Ric sat back, seemingly unconscious of his nudity; Sam forced himself to look at Ric straight on (*If I look away or anythin', Ric's so bristley he'll get all mad again.*).
Ric, settled, asked, "So why'd ya jump all over us, Sammy? That ain't like you to snap on people like that."
Sam leaned back, tilting the chair on its back legs. "The heck if I know. Me an' Bobby were talking about stuff, like Tabby, ya know, an' all that, and Rahne and stuff, and how confusin' it all is, and ya know, or maybe ya don't, I thought there was kinda somethin' between Sarah and me, but I kinda let her down by leavin' and then not comin' back, and she's oh-I-don't-know somethin' or other with Kitty, and y'know." Ric nodded; romance could be difficult. "So anyways," Sam continued, "We were walkin' around and talkin' and we kinda ran inta Rogue--well, she was sittin' outside on a bench, crying like anything. Ric, I'd rather face Galactus single-handed than deal with a crying lady."
"Yeah, I'd rather do 'bout anything than figure out how to comfort a girl. I always say the wrong thing, or something."
Sam nodded vigorously. "Yeah, but I figgered me an' Bobby better do something to help--woulda been unkind otherwise." Ric nodded again; Sammy was the kind of guy who helped kittens out of trees and fed stray dogs.
"So anyways, so Rogue is just cryin' and cryin' "(*and her haltertop had been carelessly buttoned--she must have been upset when she'd dressed--whenever she leaned forward, most of her large breasts were revealed. Sammy'd tried to look away; it was the gentlemanly thing to do. Roberto had stolen peeks as often as possible*) "and I thought she was gonna cry herself sick, ya know, so I was trying ta comfort her without actually touchin' her, ya know" (*which had been difficult because all she was wearing was a loose red haltertop and tiny Daisy Dukes*) "so I pulled off my t-shirt and wrapped it around my arm and kinda hugged her a little--and then she started cryin' even harder! I almost felt like runnin' away!" (*'Berto had actually looked a little panicked*) "So I pulled my arm away an' she said it wasn't that exactly, bein' touched even a little bit made her feel less lonely, and then she started talkin' about how sad she was an' stuff and how difficult love is, which it is, I guess," (*and what she said dovetailed, after a couple of minutes, perfectly with how he and 'Berto felt--it had been amazing. Sam had never felt so close to Rogue before. She seemed to understand exactly how he and 'Berto felt, because it was the same way she did. Neat!*) "so, anyway, I prob'ly took out on you guys how much of a big jerk I've been to girls before, 'cause I haven't always been so nice to the girls I've gone with." Ric looked at Sam; Sam was serious. Ric smiled inwardly; Sammy was about the nicest guy around, and he didn't even see it.
"Hey, man, s'okay. You wanna hand me those cut-offs?" Ric asked, getting off the bed and bending to pick up his wristlets. Sam blushed, grateful that Ric had his back turned. He picked up the cut-offs and a muscle shirt and handed them to Ric.
"Um, so, what ya wanna do, man?" Sam asked.
"Well, I think you an' me should give Star and Ad seizures by my coming to work out with them at practically the crack of dawn. We can show them everything's cool between us, and then we'll shower up an' eat lots of cereal. Sound like a plan?"
Sam nodded, then blushed. "When you say we'll shower..."
Ric laughed. "I promise we'll keep it clean, Sammy!"
And they did keep it clean, throwing ribald remarks around rather than groping one another, and Sammy only blushed a few times, which he tried to hide by putting his face directly into the stream of water from the faucet over his head.

 

Chapter Eighteen

Remy's mood turned somber as they drove up to the mansion. Bobby still appeared happy; he clutched the bag of chocolate-chocolate chip cookies Sue had given him for Scott as if the bag were a precious thing. Bobby patted Remy's thigh with his left hand.
"Remy, darling, it's totally ok. You don't know how we are about the FF." Remy nodded slightly; he knew the "we" were the original X-Men, who were, after himself, the most important people in Bobby's life. Remy wished, distantly, that Bobby weren't so close to Warren; that relationship, he was certain, was going to be tested even more severely than usual today.
As the two men walked through the front door, Remy's belly seemed to fill with cold lead. He was glad he'd left his sunglasses on. Wonderful. Just about everyone seemed to be here, in the hall. Wonderful. Had somebody been _watching_ for them all morning? Jean and Scott had slight frowns; Hank, out of his lab for once, was polishing his glasses with alarming vigor; Warren looked enraged. And there were Storm and Rogue on the stairs. Just wonderful. (*Je hais les gens qui jamais fichez-nous la paix.*)
Then, Remy noticed Scott's small frown twist up into a smaller smile. "Are those cookies for me?" Scott asked. Jean grinned, Hank chuckled warmly, and Warren relaxed--slightly. "Yup, Scotty, Sue remembered," Bobby crowed, tossing the bag at his Fearless Leader. Scott smiled a little more as he opened the bag; it was so like Susan to send his favorite cookies along home with Bobby. And Remy.
Scott took out a cookie and bit into it. Ah. The miracle of a beautiful, kind, sweet-smelling woman who'd taken the time and effort to _notice_ what kind of cookies a skinny, awkward, overly-serious teenager preferred still pleased him. He remembered, happily, that every time the X-Men had gone to FF hq there'd always been chocolate-chocolate chip cookies, freshly-baked. Jeannie grinned more widely; the delectation Scott felt eating the cookie that she felt through him was _almost_ as good as eating a cookie herself. "So, guys, I take it you ran into the FF?"
"Yeah," Bobby smiled, "Well, we ran into Johnny actually, at Borders, and he took us home for dinner and Sue made jambalaya, and Remy said it was really good, and it was and, anyway, us and Johnny are boyfriends now, and we ate ice cream with Reed (*better not mention the rats--if Reed puts wings on them, and if he lets me borrow some to play a joke on Blue--anyway*) "and we had pancakes for breakfast. Sue made 'em in the shapes of leaves this time."
"Ah, so you dined with the lovely Susan," Hank said in a reverential tone. "The perfect first crush for any growing boy. Beautiful, kind, and forever unattainable." Scott nodded, mouth full of cookie.
"Wait a moment," Rogue said in sweetened tones, descending the staris, "Bobby, sugah, y'all tellin' us that the both a' ya are...havin'..."(*No one's jumping in here! Dammit!*) "sexual relations with Johnny Storm?" (*Come on, Warren!*)
"Well, gee, Rogue, we've known the FF and Johnny forever!" Jean laughed lightly. "Johnny's just like that. It's probably that Bobby didn't used to feel gay that Johnny hadn't nabbed him before now!'"
"Yeah, it's just the Matchstick," Warren said, shrugging his shoulders.
(*A _shrug?_ "Just the Matchstick" and a _shrug?_ Where the--what the--Warren was _supposed_ to be kicking the swamp rat's ass right now! "Just the Matchstick"?*)
"So, you guys having Johnny down soon?" Scott asked, or rather mumbled, through another cookie. "Yeah, we figure it'd be neat to have him down this weekend. I know we got like every mutant possible under this roof right now, but he'll be sharin' with me and Remy and Sue's gonna send down croissants with him, and we could work out with him and stuff."
"That would be most gratifying--it has been a protracted synchronism since we've descried the physiognomy, the lineaments, of our flamboyant conflagrating compeer; and the lovely Susan's provender has always proved...toothsome," Hank commented. Scott picked up the hint and handed him a cookie. Before biting into it, Hank asked, "Will our fidus Achates, the redoubtable azure-orbed Ben Grimm, be affiliating with us as well?"
Bobby and Remy exchanged glances; Ben had sent verbal greetings--which Bobby hadn't even gotten around to yet--to almost everyone, but _not_ Professor Xavier. Bobby had asked in a whisper, "Wassup, Jon?" and Johnny'd whispered back, "He's still pissed Xavier read his mind without permission a little while back." Bobby'd grimaced; he knew the FF tended to regard that as trespassing, invasion of privacy--you name it, it was a really serious violation.
"Um, no, Benjy's kinda busy and all," Bobby said. Both Hank and Scott raised a brow--the same one, the right one--and Remy nearly laughed. Bobby was the worst liar on the planet. "Um, anyways," Bobby stumbled on, "Ben says hey to you Skinny, and hello Featherhead, and how ya doing, ya overgrown walking Thesaurus, and," Bobby walked up to Jean and gave her a big smacking kiss, "and we gotta find Logan and say hey, Sawed-off and then run really fast, and like that."
"Sounds like a busy schedule. Can you two possibly find the time to practice?" Scott asked, closing his cookie-bag (*Now where can I hide these?*).
"Oh, yeah, sure, right, Rem?"
"Sure t'ing, Scott."
As Remy and Bobby walked up the stairs, and the others dispersed--Rogue smiling as though she were nothing but happy for them--Remy felt almost the greatest sense of relief he'd ever felt in his life.

 

Chapter Nineteen

Remy, seeing no one else around, decided what the hell, and slid backwards down the bannister. (*Heh. 'M acting like a kid or somethin'*) He flipped off the end neatly and--landed in front of Warren. The two men, each startled, looked one another in the eye. Remy looked away first. "Excusez-moi, Wings. Didn't mean to..." (*To what? To act like I c'n enjoy myself 'round de house?*)
Warren was silent for a moment; then he said, "Look, Gambit. I wanted to have a word with you--"
"Oh! My two favorite men!"
Remy and Warren turned. Sarah ran to them, arms open, and both men instantly entered 'Sarah-mode,' their unspoken agreement to always present smiling amiability whenever the girl for whom they'd both suffered so much was around . "I've been lookin' for ya everywhere! Look what Kitty got me! D'ya like it?" Sarah twirled in a most feminine and unlikely manner; she behaved like a "girl," as she would put it, only around these two men, whom she hero-worshipped with characteristic abandon.
"Yeh, m'petite, s'nice."
"Oh, Sarah, you look lovely." Neither man knew what the hell she was showing off.
"It's the absolute greatest t-shirt ever! I saw a picture on-line and I went crazy and I just hadda have it an' even though Kitty disapproves, she got it for me! I don't know how! I mean, the _real _ Guns 'n Roses been broke up for years, and this is from like their first tour! I fuckin'--I mean, freakin'-- love "Appetite for Destruction," and Kitty got this for me!" And Sarah twirled again. Remy and Warren both blinked; on the back of the shirt, along with the tour dates, was the image of a blindfolded, pretty-obviously-raped woman. (*Kitty mus' be 'ead over heels to get Sarah dat!*) (*Good Lord! What was Katherine thinking?*)
"Oh, yes, chile, dat certainly some shirt! You look very pretty in it."
"Sarah, you look stunning."
"Oh, thank you! I knew you'd both tell me the truth! Ric saw me in this and bust out laughin', but he's a real goof sometimes. Star thought it was real interestin', he said," Sarah said as she intertwined her arms through theirs and started walking them toward the lower level access. "Kitty said that one a' these days she was gonna make me read "Intercourse," but I already know about all that stuff." Remy and Warren both blinked. "Ric said I gotta get all feminist-theory down, like the other chyx in this dump, but screw it! I'm fuck--I'm freakin' tough! I don't need no theories!"
Warren decided to pull the conversation in a somewhat less-peculiar direction. "Why do you keep trying to refrain from vulgarity lately?"
"Oh, Kitty's civilizin' me, an' she penalizes me money from my allowance every time I cuss. The F word's fifty cents, the C word's a dollar, the B word's a quarter, and so on. An' she makes me give her the cash, for real. But she always ends up buyin' stuff we both like anyways, but I figger I'll try to clean up my mouth. The C word actually makes her cringe!"
Remy thought about asking exactly which C word that was, but decided not to. "Well, maybe y'ought to read dem books a' hers anyway, petite. Dey prob'ly civilize ya some more fer her."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah, words, words, words. I read plenty. I just finished a Bertrice Small I ain't read before. In this one the one guy was a rich English lord and the other guy was a dashin' pirate, an' I immediately put you guys in the parts! The heroine was so totally cool--she, like, escaped a vicious slave master an' all. That book was over 400 pages, and fulla historical facts, too!"
Warren thought about increasing his secret contribution to Sarah's allowance. The poor girl ought to be able to be whatever silly books she wanted, if it made her happy. "Sarah, what other authors do you like?" he asked, thinking there had to be some kind of set, or something, he could purchase for her and present her with on some made-up special occasion--like one of Bobby's unbirthday parties.
"Oh, I like Elizabeth Peters and Kathleen Woodiwiss and Bertrice Small, an' a whole bunch of others! Harlequin's even got an adventure line with like mysteries and spies, and I love Victoria Holt! She's the best! I read _The Shivering Sands_ like a dozen times! Do you guys know there's a part of the English coast where the sand actually shivers? I learn a lot from those books!"
Remy and Warren both laughed agreeably. "Sure soun's like ya do, cherie!"
"Those books sound very enlivening, Sarah!' Sarah pulled her arms out of theirs, turned, and beamed with that special adoration that she reserved only for them. "I'd be glad ta lend ya any of my books! They're really good! And I'm so glad you guys like my shirt! I gotta go--Ad and Star are waitin' for me ta work out with 'em! Ad says I wear well! What a nut, huh?" And with that, Sarah ran full-tilt down the stairs.
Alone, together, Remy and Warren were silent again. Remy swallowed--(*May as well get dis over with*) and turned toward Warren, not looking directly at him. "So, Wings, y'got somet'ing t'say t'me?"
Warren said nothing for an eternal moment; then, "I'm gonna go lift weights. I'll talk to you later." He turned and walked away.

 

Chapter Twenty

Warren pushed himself, increasing both weights and reps, but he couldn't stop thinking, and that was _definitely_ something he wanted to quit doing for a while. Thinking alone led to... thinking about himself and that led to...self-knowledge, and Warren had decided long ago that the unexamined life was bliss. The examined life led him, every time, to the inescapable conclusion that he'd never be the man Scott was.
Some days before, Warren had overheard Sarah tell Ric, Star, and Ad exactly why she'd come back to the Mansion with Bobby after that mess with Bastion. "I mean, Cool's just like this scrawny little guy, I'm bigger an' tougher than he is, but he goes to this creep Bastion that he ain't gonna kill him or nothin' because that ain't the X-Man way, that Bobby had like these ideals he wasn't gonna compromise for revenge or nothin', an' I thought wow, this is a whole new kinda' tough, an' I wanted ta find out more, 'cause Bobby really _was_ ten times tougher than Bastion ever coulda been!"
Warren's heart had swelled with pride on Bobby's behalf; Bobby was committed to the Dream, even more than Charles himself was at times. Then, later that same day, Warren had passed LeBeau in the upper hall and, angry that Bobby was contaminating himself with the thief, had hissed, "Murderer." Bobby came right out of the door at that moment; he'd overheard that vicious hiss and he gave Warren a look that Warren had never wanted to see directed at him. It was not hatred, not fury, not resentment. It was disappointment; and Warren knew what Bobby was thinking and what he'd never said. Warren was a murderer.
Warren sweated and pushed, but the thoughts kept piecing, turning, fitting together. His wings had been sacrificed for the Morlocks. That pain-filled, horrifying sacrifice had, he'd thought, destroyed him utterly, and he'd convinced himself that his old teammates were to blame for not saving his beautiful wings. He'd wanted to die even though his suicide would have shown them he'd considered their love for him worthless. When Apocalypse had given him his killing metal wings, Warren had lusted for revenge--not against the Marauders, but against the four people he'd believed had let him down. He'd gloried, darkly, in his role as one of Apocalypse's butchers.
Bobby had outsmarted him, had set him up with an ice-copy, and Warren had destroyed it. That shock, that anguished moment when he'd really believed he'd slashed Bobby to pieces, had thrown him out of his self-obsessive bloodthirsty lust and his mind had cleared. None of them had spoken about it (except when Scott had praised Bobby's strategy) but they all knew it: Warren would have murdered Scott. Warren would have murdered Hank. Warren would have...murdered Jean. Deliberately. And with great malice aforethought.
"One hundred eight, one hundred nine--" Thoughts turning and turning; Warren had hated Logan on sight because he'd instinctively realized he was more like the little killer than he'd ever be like Scott. That hatred had almost led to Logan's death in Hodge's arena; Warren had claimed he had no control over his killer wings, but the...truth was that he'd _wanted_ to kill Logan. Wanted to _murder_ the little psycho who dared love Jean. Just as Warren did.
"One fifty, one fifty-one--" The...truth was, Warren resented the new people; he wanted it to be just the five of them again. Then he'd understood how things were _supposed_ to work. Sometimes, God help him, he even saw Betsy as an intruder, and she was his lover. And Warren was so _good_ at love, right? He hadn't told Candy that he'd loved her until she'd died again, a tortured creation of the madman Hodge. Hodge...Warren really knew how to pick 'em, didn't he? Fucking madman put Ric through agony when he was a little kid; fucking madman had kidnapped Warren's teammates and lured the rest of them to that hellhole, Genosha. Fucking madman knew so much about the X-Men because _Warren_ had been stupid enough to fall for his line of crap, and because Warren's personal resentment of the new people led to detailed complaints--information Hodge used to try his damndest to destroy as many mutants as he could.
"Two hundred. Two hundred one--" Dammit, why couldn't it be just the five of them again? That was when Bobby looked up to him; Warren had taken great pleasure in playing the sophisticate for Bobby, introducing the younger man to cognac, caviar, oysters, and the like. He'd taken Bobby to dazzlingly expensive restaurants and had been happy to show him how the rich live--Bobby had been open-mouth impressed by it all. He'd told Bobby different ways to go down on a woman (*Guess he won't be using that info any time soon*), how to shop for good clothes, how to wear a tux. Warren had enjoyed big-brothering Bobby that way. Hell, even when they were the Champions, Bobby'd still let Warren make all the decisions. It wasn't like that anymore.
Now it was all a jumble; Bobby didn't need him at all anymore--he had the suave, worldly Cajun to teach him how to drink wine, or order food, or whatever. Fuck that. (*Johnny Storm's irritated voice: "Warren, you are such an _alpha male_!" and then his laughter at Warren's expression: "Geez, Reed told me about alpha males--they're always fightin' for their rank in a group. Reed thinks it's a waste of time, and anyway, the biggest, strongest guy has always been sittin' in my living room, drinkin' beer and cussing out the Bo-Sox. I don't gotta figure out my place!"*) What the hell _was_ his place?
Last night, after Rogue had collared him and mentioned in that treacly voice of hers how pleased she'd been that he wasn't angry at Remy and Bobby sleeping with Johnny Storm, Warren had wondered why the prospect of all three together hadn't bothered him, while the thought of Remy and Bobby as a couple made him sick. Obvious answer: they'd all known how Johnny was about friendship and sex as long as they'd known him. And, they all knew that Sue was fanatically over-protective of her baby brother; she reacted like a wildcat at any threat to him, real or perceived. Reed, of course, was the type of guy who'd know all about whatever people Johnny was with--and the five originals trusted his judgment (*Maybe even more than I trust Charles'...*). Ben was the same way, and just going in with Johnny a person had to know Ben would pound anyone who screwed with the man who was probably the only "son" he'd ever have. So was that it? If Remy was ok by them, then maybe he really _was_ ok? And then maybe Warren Kenneth Worthington the Third had been a...jackass...for a hell of a long time?
Maybe Remy had just been a young, inexperienced idiot who'd had no idea the Marauders were going to slaughter the Morlocks. Maybe Warren had been laying blame on the only available scapegoat because every thought of his crucifixion in those bloody tunnels still made his delicate wings shiver with remembered pain. Maybe Warren had better start acting more like Scott would, and straighten things out, rather than continue to embrace his own martyrdom. Scott--if Scott had had something horrible like that happen to him, he would have shed not a word of complaint--he'd have been a man. An honorable man. The kind of man Warren wanted to be. The kind of man to whom Bobby would _never_ direct a look of disappointment.
(*All right, how can I get things straight? Challenge LeBeau--fuck, I'd better start calling him Remy--to a feet-on-the-floor no-powers fistfight? We both get in a few hits and Scotty keeps it from getting out of hand? Maybe that's it--clear the air, Bobby can fuss over his...boyfriend, sigh, I'd better start getting my mind clear on that, too--*) An unwanted, syrupy-sweet voice jarred Warren from his reverie. "Warren, sugah, Ah need ta know a couple things, and y'all the man Ah want ta ask, if it ain't no trouble."
(*Dammit, what the hell kind of karmic retribution was this? He was going to make things better, so now he's punished with a conversation with the Dixie Chicken? Fuck!*) "I'm lifting weights, Rogue."
"Ah can see that, Angel, but Ah really need to talk to yah."
"...Oh, fine, what do you want?"

 

Chapter Twenty-One

Warren continued to lift weights, ostentatiously, as Rogue spoke. "Warren, sugah, Ah jus' am so puzzled about the male attitude ta sex. Y'all wanna have a woman be faithful, but y'all don't seem ta mind sharin' with othah men."

(*I'm already visualizing the duct tape over your mouth*) "Not being gay, Rogue, I've never 'shared' with another guy or three. Some guys just aren't possessive or whatever," (*Like Scott's attitude about Jeannie and Logan*) "and other guys are," (*Like me about anybody*) "men are different, just like women, about sex. You can't lump us all together," (*Like I hear you whining way too often*) "and if you want to know why Bobby and Remy are sharing with Johnny, ask them. Not me."

(*'Remy?' Not 'Gambit' or 'The Thief?' What the hell? Warren _had_ to be on her side*) "Well, sugah, Ah wouldn't wanna pry. Ah jus' ain't quite clear on the attitude y'all have 'bout Johnny Storm. Ah mean, he has quite a reputation..."

Warren sighed loudly. If she wanted to know so goddam much about the early years, why didn't she haul her ass to Records and look it up? "Look, the FF accepted us when nobody else did. Hell, they didn't even want much to fight us when we first ran into them. Sue and Reed invited us to the engagement party and their wedding, even before they knew our true identities. Johnny flew out here to help us when the Juggernaut first attacked" (*Shit. The prof had fucked up on that one--mind-wiping Johnny after he'd saved their butts. Reed had flipped when that little brain-invasion had been discovered*) "and he was always ready to kid and have fun" (*Even back when he'd been a teen and it was really easy to piss him off--but Johnny's temper was way better now*) "and Benjy's been playing poker with Hank and whomever else for years. Johnny's had a lot of lovers, and he's always stood by them" (*Hell, if his old high school girlfriend--the one he was always breaking up and making up with--oh, yeah, Dorrie Evans--called Johnny today and said, 'There's an emergency! I can't get this mayonnaise jar open!', Johnny'd fly right over and _open that jar_.*) "which is why I ain't worried about it."

"When yah say that, Warren..."

(*Shit. I'll try being nicer if you'll try being smarter. How's that?*) "I mean Johnny's always chosen his lovers well, male or female, and they all are on pretty good terms to this day," (*Except the one who became a Herald of Galactus. Nothing like that desire for power*) "and Johnny just happens to be a generous, solid kind of guy. That's what I mean."

Rogue was silent. This was not going well. Still, since Johnny did have a reputation..."What othah men has Johnny been with, sugah? Ah'm jus' concerned, in this day an' age an' all."

(*Sounds like English but I can't understand a fucking word you're saying. I wonder if _you_ know where you're going*) Warren sighed louder. Nope. She was still there, looking at him with those big friggin' eyes. Sometimes he thought Rogue looked like one of those children painted on black velvet--except for her big tits. Each one looked bigger than her head. Maybe it was some kind of mutant side-effect. He supposed her ability to fly gave her the power to keep those things up. Hank had assured him they were real, but..."Hell, Rogue, it's probably in the Records." (*Go to the Records, wench, and leave me alone*)

He lifted. She waited. Warren sighed again; she'd wait all damned day, he knew that..."Well, there was his college roommate, Wyatt. Um, the Sub-Mariner. Geez, Rick Jones," (*Spidey? That was taken for granted, but screw telling Miss Mississippi*) "and I don't know anyone else for sure. That'd probably be in _the Records_." (*Leave, o Empty-headed woman!*) Warren pumped weights; Rogue regarded him thoughtfully. If Warren had known what plan had started to shape itself in her mind, he'd have been worried, rather than relieved, when she finally turned and left.

__________________________________

Meanwhile (sort of), Ad and Star were trading combat passes with Sarah. A touch-cut of sword, a sting of blade, a bite of bone--the three worked out in near-silence, each focussed on proving her- or himself the better of the other two. Ric, training with Cable, was very vocal in his criticisms of the older man, who merely smiled and and said, "I like you, Ric. You remind me of when I was young and stupid," at which Ric, pissed, screwed up a move and was flipped onto his back and pinned. Cable stared down into Ric's face for a moment, then let the younger man up.

"I quit," Ric announced. Ad and Star stopped fighting instantly; Cable noted, as he had these past few days, how the two hastened to respond to any order, direct or implied, of Ric's. "Later, Sarah, we're gonna go shower up," Ric continued, as the three walked out of the room. Sarah shrugged; she'd run up and bug the pussycat for a while. No one saw Cable grin to himself, baring his teeth.

Ric, Star, and Ad were alone in the group shower, and they had every intention of enjoying the opportunity. Star began soaping Ric's chest, washing his pecs, as Ric poured shampoo in his hands and began lathering Star's long blond hair. Ric loved to wash both Star's and Ad's long hair, playing with the wet, soapy, golden tendrils. Ad washed Star's back, feeling the interplay of muscle and tendon as Star lowered his arms to wash Ric's muscled belly. "Having fun, boys?"

The three looked up. Cable was stripped and smiling. Ric's lips twitched impatiently; the old man seemed determined to piss Ric off every chance he got. "Listen, Cable, we ain't boys--we're men." Cable's smile widened. "Yeah. I noticed."

Ric rinsed Star's hair, then said in a casual tone, "Look, Cable--"

"I'm looking, Ric."

Ric considered (*Hell, the old man has all the important parts, and obviously in working order*); then, deliberately, he turned his back. Star knew what that meant. He grabbed a towel and Ad grabbed both Ric's wrists. Ad pulled Ric's wrists up to the showerhead and Star tied his wrists securely (but not too tightly) with the towel. Then both men put an arm under Ric's abdomen and pulled him up so his body was bent at an angle and his ass was raised up to the level of Cable's crotch. Star and Ad used their other arms to pull Ric's legs widely apart. Cable murmured, "I've always prided myself on being a man of action," as he poured shower gel over his jutting cock. He then thrust it hard and fast into Ric's exposed asshole. Ric cried out at the sudden invasion; Star and Ad tightened their grips on his legs and pulled them wider.

Cable's groin pounded against Ric's ass as he fucked the younger man, plunging his cock into Ric's squeezing hole again and again. Ric groaned and sighed; Cable's cock throbbed deep inside him, plowed into him, as the older man gripped his asscheeks tightly enough to leave bruises. "Ric, baby," Cable growled, "I like the way my dick feels inside your hot hole."

Ric moaned, "Fuck me harder, man!" Cable rammed his cock deeply into Ric's asshole, his balls slapped against Ric's ass. Ric's body was screaming with the hot and heavy pain of a good, hard fuck. Ric arched his back--and Cable came, cum spurting into Ric's hot ass as Ric's cum splattered on the floor, and Star's and Ad's cum spurted onto Ric's legs.

After a few moments, Cable pulled out slowly and Ad and Star lowered Ric's legs to the shower floor. Star untied Ric's wrists. Ric turned to look at Cable with an inquiring expression. Cable chuckled. "Why the hell did you think I asked you guys to come back here, Ric? Now you're all over eighteen!" Ric burst out laughing.

 

Chapter Twenty-Two

Rogue stretched and considered; the hours spent looking over the Records had been well-spent. She now had a great deal of insight, she believed, into Johnny Storm's character--and she'd refreshed her memory about certain present inhabitants of the mansion.

Johnny's mother had been killed in a car crash when he'd been quite young--a car crash wherein his father, a notable surgeon, had been at the wheel. Doctor Storm had gone downhill fast, ending up serving ten to 20 for killing a bookie in a bar. He'd been assassinated in front of the FF by Skrulls. Now that was some good material to work with--mommy dead, daddy a jailbird, daddy dead...probably accounted for that family-fixation the FF seemed to have. Rogue could certainly work with the guilt angle Johnny probably felt...funny he'd married a Skrull. Nobody was _that_ forgiving. Probably some guilt there...guilt was a productive emotion, easy to use. Just look at the swamp rat and 'roro.

Had to be some kind of mother-fixation, too--dead mommy, over-attachment to big sister Sue. Rogue's large breasts would come in handy, again, there...Johnny picked assertive girls, girls who weren't afraid of power. High-school sweetheart had had a quite a little temper. Crystal was a heavy-hitter as far as power goes...hmm...he'd really seemed in love with her, according to the notations...Pietro was coming to the mansion--some sort of blow-up with Magnus again...Rogue could use that.

Two members of the Inhuman royal family--someone had noted Inhuman sexual customs differed significantly from human, but Rogue had a better term: "Sluts," she breathed. Some princess from another dimension, an empty-headed actress/model, the She-Hulk--who'd apparently enjoyed picking Johnny up and carrying him around like her own personal Ken doll...hmm...Rogue could do that, too. Humph. Johnny seemed to acquire girls with astonishing ease. The Skrull seemed to have really loved him. Abandonment issue there--good material to work with...and there was Johnny's chronicled determination to fly in and rescue any woman in trouble...that was very promising.

As far as men went, there was Spider-man--with a question mark...hell, that was probably Hank's question--he was sure of it, but had no proof, but being the gossip he was...Wyatt Wingfoot, just an ordinary human, but he and Johnny had gallivanted all over the Negative Zone and other dimensions together for a long time. Seemed the FF considered Wingfoot another honorary member. Rogue wondered what good a flatscan would do in a fight. He and Johnny had been very much in love, the notation read, but had both decided to live up to their responsibilities. Rogue's lips curled. Responsibilities...she didn't like the sound of that. Too much like Scott--who was immune to her wiles and charms. Then again, Scott didn't have a temper, and he stuck like glue to whatever version of Jean was around.

The Sub-Mariner? Looks like the Storm siblings had pretty well worked over the King of Atlantis. Johnny seemed to have some kind of quasi-official standing under the water, just as his sister did. Odd. The Rick Jones thing was obvious--the Jones kid had a thing for powerful men. Hmmm. Stephen Strange--with another question mark. Hank knowing again, but having no absolute proof. Right...right...the FF had a history of dealing with magic. Gotta be something there Rogue could use. Nate Grey, with another question mark. Why the hell did Hank do that? Why didn't he just find out? Rogue would have dug and dug until she knew all the details. There was power in the details.

One thing for certain, Rogue thought, as she stretched again. She couldn't use the quivering lips/big tears routine.

 

Chapter Twenty-TwoA

Rogue sat back, thinking. Johnny'd had a lot--A LOT--of sex, with a lot of interesting people. What would that be like? She'd only had the swamp rat and Joseph/Magnus. That really only counted as two, she supposed. Her lips curled into a nasty smile as she remembered stealing "sex" from the unconscious Belle, Remy's poor Sleeping Beauty of a wife. It had been fun to "feel" Remy kissing, caressing, going down on, and fucking Belle--almost as fun as the real thing--except, of course, Remy's lovemaking in that damned cave had been the stuff of passion and desperation.

It was fun stealing memories--she had quite a lot of "sex" from Danvers' slutty mind. It was so easy to fool these idiots around here--"Oh, Remy, sugah, Ah didn't mean ta touch po' Belle, it was an accident, lovah, ya know Ah wouldn't hurt anyone ya love--ya still love her, don't ya? Ah'm jus' a substitute. Oh, Remy, how can ya hurt me like this?"--and Remy'd just about fallen over himself _not_ telling anyone else about that supposed "accident."

"Oh, Longshot, Ah love ya, Ah know Ah can nevah have ya, but when Ah see you lookin' at Dazzler like that, it jus' pains me so!" and Longshot, naive dimwit, reassuring her that of course he cared for her, of course she meant something to him, and Dazzler crying...Bitch.

"Oh, Remy, why are ya so jealous of po' Joseph? It's so cruel to me, mah feelin's hurt when ya do that," and anyone within earshot blaming Remy for being mean to poor little Rogue, poor untouchable flower. (*Maybe Ah can 'trip' and fall against Johnny for a moment and steal some memories...just a few...it would be an accident...*)

Rogue tapped her fingers on the computer table. Tap. Tap. Her clothes worked on almost any man--those two kids the other day, Sammy and Roberto--boy, that had been some fun. She'd overheard them talking about their pathetic little love lives and set them up with her weeping and especially her bountiful flesh. Hah. It had been simple to direct their own sexual confusion into an attack on two of those young fags--nothing like keeping as many people at odds with one another in order to further her own ends--ends that now included Sarah...

Damn it. She wouldn't have wasted all that time setting Bobby up on their road-trip--pretending to be hopelessly bewildered and in pain from Remy's kiss--if she had known he was a fag. Damn! She'd dressed in the skimpiest outfits possible, walked into bars shaking everything she could, hoping to make him at least touch her so she could have some of his memories, considering he'd had a number of girlfriends, or at least get him into a fight to protect her "honor." No, the little wimp had been boringly understanding of her alleged plight. Hell, once Remy had shown up--and hadn't she had fun, knocking him around and getting away with it--the little wimp had let her fight Remy alone. Why hadn't Bobby risen to her bait more? One would think even a faggot would protect a lady in distress. Bet Johnny Storm would...hmm.

Why didn't the other originals fall for her act? Scott, that wearying man, only looked at her as a teammate with a function, and Rogue had enough sense not to rock that boat. Jeannie, that cloying bitch--why did so many guys want the little red-haired whore--never seemed to have much time for her. Warren, damn him anyway--she needed him to hate the swamp rat--what the fuck was in his head these past couple of days--regarded her with disdain. That slant-eyed bitch of his...(*Bet I could snap her neck like a twig*) Hank was useless. Except for Antarctica, he was...maybe just a little too smart for her games, so Rogue generally steered clear of the furball.

Lucky she had Danvers in her head. Two minds in one caused pain to any telepath, so Rogue could count on her privacy. And Danvers had her uses. Rogue had natural cunning and a complete lack of conscience, but Danvers had military strategy and an ability to connect and empathize with people. Rogue used Danvers in order to appear sympathetic and to organize her plans. Rogue smiled. It was not a nice smile.

______________________________

Up in Kitty's room, Ric was laughing as he told Kitty and Sarah a slightly expurgated version of their showertime tryst with Cable. "An' he goes, 'You're all over eighteen now!' and it was the most bizarre thing! Me and Star had no clue whatsoever Cabes wanted to have sex with us! Man, he got a poker face, that guy!" Star had his head in Ric's lap; Ric played with his hair. Ad sat next to Ric.

Kitty and Sarah both giggled. "So, you don't think he's such an ancient guy no more, do ya?" Sarah asked. "Dios, yeah, he's old--but the guy's in shape an' he's real big! I mean," Ric laughed along with the others, "I meant to say, he's really built pretty good--not that! Although 'that' is pretty big, too!"

Star smiled slightly. He enjoyed sharing his adored warrior, Julio, with other worthy warriors. He thought back to when he and Julio had first begun their love. That first kiss, so tentative at first, then so perfect--that moment when Julio had parted his lips and Star had first tasted Julio's tongue--Arize, it had been the best moment of Star's life up to then. No battle was ever better. Julio's arms around his back, his arms holding Julio tighter, tighter, as their bodies pressed together. Julio's mouth had tasted so wonderful. Then Star and Julio stopped kissing for a moment and Julio had said, "Oh, Star, you're so beautiful and strong and brave." Star's response had been to lick Julio's lips, then his cheeks. Julio had moaned...Star tilted his head and licked Julio's throat slowly, savoring the taste of Julio's flesh.

They hadn't made love that night; they'd "made out," as Julio called it, for hours, tasting, touching, caressing, treasuring the anticipation. Julio had read to Star, as he'd laid his head on Julio's bare chest for the first time, about the Theban Band, Alexander and Hephaistion, Julius Caesar. It pleased them both that they were the latest in a line of great soldier/lovers...They had committed themselves to one another, completely, after Julio had returned to him and the rest of X-Force, after Star had been...killed and reborn. He and Julio were bound for life now, and good fighting men like Ad and Cable were welcomed into sharing the wonder of their love, if they wished. Star wanted nothing more than what Julio had read to him one night--to see in his beloved's face the "lineaments of gratified desire."

 

Chapter Twenty-Three

Notes: The "lineaments of gratified desire" was from Blake.

Scott and Nathan sat on a bench a certain distance from the mansion. They'd begun to come out here and sit together a little while at the end of each day, talking or not talking. Today they were talking, quietly, in very Summers-like tones.

"Nathan, are you certain that becoming...sexually involved with Rictor, Shatterstar, and X-Treme is for the best?"

"Scott. I've thought about this. You've shown me, time and again, a man cares for his family. A man provides for his family. He gives them himself to lean on when they need it, even if they don't know how to ask for help. A man gives his people a place to go when they're cold, sad, sick, or in trouble--or if they just want to share their happiness with him. Those three young men, as capable as they are of taking care of themselves, need to know they have someone who will come to them no matter what. I want that man to be me. I watched Rictor and Shatterstar grow from impulsive, wild kids into men who want to make the world a bit better--and I think ridding Mexico of a certain number of gun-runners is as important as fighting the Brood. I worried when Ric left X-Force, both about him going back to Mexico and his criminal family, and about Star, who was so...bereft, emotionally, without Ric. I worried more about Star, in fact. He's a great fighter, few fighters are as tough and fearless as he, but--he was so alone in this world, so disconnected. I knew there had been some attachment between them, but they'd kept it to themselves. When Ric returned at my request to help Star, I could see, hell, anyone could've seen, they were...meant...to be together--all right, Scott, I know how cliched that sounds."

Scott shook his head, still chuckling. "Please, Nathan, I've been there."

Nathan smiled slightly; his father and Jean were the poster-children for fated love. He continued, "Scott, I admired how devoted Ric and Star were, and are. They're good for one another--Ric's helped Star adapt to this world, to human emotion, to interaction and empathy. Star's steadied Ric, helped him govern his anger and regain his confidence in a world where he's been painfully tested and exploited in his past. I watched them grow into solid, decent men, and I am proud of them. When Ric and Star proclaimed their independence and their determination to fight gun-runners, I could not have been happier--they were adults, responsible men, at last, and I was privileged to have helped get them to that point. Now..." Nathan's voice trailed off.

Scott turned an inquiring brow Nathan's way. Nathan shrugged slightly. "They've developed their own little family, having no other. They welcomed X-Treme, another orphan, into their family, freely and lovingly. I want them to have another person upon whom they can count. I know, from observing them, that Ric and Star have modeled themselves upon the men in the Theban Band. I also...Scott, while I am not enraptured with them, as they are among themselves, I am attracted to them. I never acted upon this attraction before now. Now they're adults, not my students, equal to me in every way but in experience, free to accept or reject me. I want them to accept me willingly, and I want them to know they can depend on me for anything. If they call, I want them to know I'll come with every ounce of firepower I have."

Scott smiled; the image of Nathan to the rescue, big guns blazing, leapt into his mind unbidden. Then he sobered. Nathan was a continual source of pride to him--not all men were as...careful...about the emotions of his students as was his son. He remembered with biting clarity how the professor had used Scott's unvoiced love for Jean against him--remembered the cutting comments, the half-heard insults, about an awkward teenager's foolishness and inadequacy. It was much later that he and Jean had found out--for certain--that Charles had...desired Jean, his student, during those early years. While Scott had gotten beyond that initial feeling of betrayal--Charles was his rescuer, his teacher, his father, the man who'd given him purpose and the Dream--he'd never forgotten that sharp pang of discovering...weakness in the man who was supposed to be his template for idealism. That first wound had been pricked open again by the discovery of Legion--Charles' illegitimate son by...another former student.

"Scott?"

Scott looked up. "Nathan, I'm sorry, I was wandering around in my brain again." Both men smiled; Scott liked to tease himself about his mythical absentmindedness. "Nathan, I think that giving those guys a 'home' they can fall back on is a good idea." Father and son sat comfortably in the twilight.

______________________________________

Meanwhile, at Pier Four, Reed Richards was talking to his blond rats. "All right, Mnemosyne, try to press the disks in sequence. Remember the pattern--up, left, two down, left, two right--that's a girl. Here's a macrobiotic snack. Crius, turn the valve two and a half times--good boy, here's a macrobiotic snack." Hmmm. The rats--why the Old English name--certainly the Sumerians had rats--were assimilating the requisite proficiency in operating the controls of this particular apparatus. Of course, they'd lucubrated even more than he'd required--his anticipations of their development were on the upper laterality of evolution. Reed was pleased; he'd anticipated that cockroaches and rats would be the last sentient beings on Earth, and his calculated experimentation with the two--

"Reed!"

"Hmmm. Johnny? What is it, son?" Johnny was irritated; Reed could see that. He hoped it was merely some sort of--

"Reed! I've always known the X-Men were kinda off, but what the fuck's been goin' on over there, anyways? Is that place turnin' into some kind of asylum, or something?"

Reed was pleased. Johnny had been poring over his meticulous records of the X-Men in hopes of being aware of everything Remy had experienced, so that his conversations and actions were as tactful as possible--not that Johnny was ever terribly tactful, even at the best of times. Obviously, Johnny had studied far and beyond the files about Remy, and wanted to know even more. These times when Johnny actually applied himself to the acquisition of knowledge, rather than letting himself merely...experience his own emotional reactions, made Reed quite proud of the younger man.

 

Chapter Twenty-Four

Notes: Where's my naked Torch, Soulspinner? This is for you.

Reed handed Johnny Mnemosyne; the younger man put her on his shoulder. (*Nice hair,* she thought, *Almost as soft as mine.*) The blond rat began grooming Johnny's hair, little pink hands combing busily.

"Reed, I been reading over your files and I just _cannot_ believe what the hell I've been reading! I mean, like, they left Remy to freeze to death because he was suicidal? That's so fuckin' wack!"

Reed nodded; Crius scuttled down into his lab pocket, as Reed kept macrobiotic snacks there for the rats. (*Looks like he'll be talking to the kid for awhile,* Crius thought, *I'll just snack a bit and think about the next stage of the process.*) "Hmm, yes, lad, I was taken aback considerably when I discovered that particular act. Such a...lamentable lack of judgment seemed entirely out of character for any X-Man--I was sorely disappointed in Henry."

Johnny scowled; Mnemosyne redoubled her efforts at grooming, hoping to soothe him. "Yeah, I can't freakin' believe Blue would act like such a fuckin' moron. I mean, that's when you gotta hang in there the hardest--when a guy wants to kill himself! I mean, not that I can think of a way Benjy could kill himself, but he's been suicidal lots, an' we always hung in there--that's what people do!"

Reed nodded. "That's what most reasonable people would do, son," he said. "I don't have absolute certitude in what Charles has been...indoctrinating into his people of late." Reed paused; Johnny knew he was thinking of Onslaught, and frowned. Reed continued, "I had invariably had unequivocal faith that Charles had the same conviction in the sanctity of all sentient life as do we; however, divers decisions made by both he and the X-Men seem incomprehensible by that standard. Charles' continual loyalty to Magneto" ("That rascist mass-murderer," Johnny hissed.) "confounds me, and sundry infractions of telepathy on his and certain of his students' parts are indisputable transgressions of the privacy of others."

Reed paused again; Ben's anger toward Xavier's mind-trespass was still almost palpable when Charles' name was mentioned; yet, when Reed had endeavored to communicate the extent of Ben's ire, Charles had fobbed it off with his usual defense--the safety of the world was threatened, so what mattered a temporary telepathic violation?

Johnny's frown deepened. Any mention of mind-rape made him think of the fiery disaster in Genosha, when he, Sue, and Ben had been mind-napped; when his body-thief had ignited, thousands had burned. Mnemosyne, sensing his distress, began stroking his ear with her delicate pink fingers. "Reedy, I just don't know if I can go down there this weekend and not take a few swings at a couple of those assholes. I mean, some I trust but some are just such--well, you wouldn't tolerate some of that crap--hell, I mean, Remy didn't mean to kill anyone, and he personally didn't, either, but like, Wolverine, I know Ben likes him, but he was a serious killer, and hell, they had Sabretooth stay with them and such. I mean, hell!" Mnemosyne began stroking Johnny's ear again.

Reed reached out and patted Johnny's shoulder. "Son, Susan, Ben, and I have brought you up to value life--never to kill, even though your power is far more immediately dangerous than ours'. You've worked hard to learn self-control and we're proud of you. Be a good friend to Remy, just as you are to Bobby."

"Humph. I dunno, Reed, the place seems like the Jello hotel, what with psychopaths here, split Ninja personalities there, an' the buncha manias, fixations, and phobias some of them are walkin' around with. I'll be surprised if no one's got rabies." Reed chuckled; Mnemosyne wondered why Johnny was so tactless as to bring up the word "rabies" around Crius and her; usually he was more sensitive to her feelings. She supposed she could let it go; humans and their odd mating rituals generally amused her.

Later

Bobby sat on Remy's lap or, more properly, Remy's cock. Both men were naked; Remy's hands stroked Bobby's chest and abdomen, lingering at his nipples, his navel, his groin. "Don' move, mon amour," Remy murmured, "Jus' type." Bobby moaned quietly, tightening his asshole around Remy's cock.

Cool: Remy won't let me move. His dick feels so good up my ass.

Matchstick: Is he pinching your nipples?

Johnny was grateful he could type one-handed. He was naked at his desk, stroking his cock as Bobby and Remy had demanded.

Remy pinched Bobby's nipples. Bobby moaned a little louder; the pinches seemed to send a path of heat down to his balls.

Cool: He just did. He wants you to pinch yours.

Johnny did; oh, God, it felt so good.

Matchstick: I did. I wish you guys were doing it to me.

Cool: Whose cock do you want in your mouth?

Matchstick: I want to suck your cock like a rocketpop, Bobby. Lick it base to tip and suck it in.

Bobby sighed; Remy murmured, "Cher, dat sounds good," and slid one hand down to fondle Bobby's tight balls.

Cool: Remy's good with that. He's rolling my balls with his fingers.

Matchstick: Pretend they're my fingers.

Cool: Pretend Remy's cock's up your ass.

Johnny shut his eyes for a moment, remembering how good Remy was at fucking. Then he put lube on two of his fingers, and inserted them in his ass.

Matchstick: I put two fingers up my ass. Not as good as the real thing, but!

Bobby and Remy chuckled. Remy murmured, "Tell 'im to fuck himself hard an' say how it feels."

Cool: Fuck yourself with your fingers real hard and tell us how it feels, Jon.

Johnny shoved his fingers in and out of his asshole hard--he needed more. Third finger. Ah.

Matchstick: Feels good. Three fingers. I want Remy's dick up my ass.

Cool: Keep fucking yourself.

Johnny rocked on his own fingers. Jesus, he was close.

Matchstick: I'm close to the edge!

Bobby leaned back into Remy, impaling himself even more somehow. Remy's hand circled around Bobby's cock. At last. "Tell frere to take himself over," Remy murmured softly as he felt his own cockhead begin to swell inside Bobby's ass.

Cool: Come with us now!

Remy shoved his cock deeply into Bobby's ass, cum jetting into Bobby, as Bobby's cum spurted onto the keyboard and monitor. Johnny, fingers twisting and pushing deep inside his own ass and hand jacking his cock, came all over his desktop.

Cool: Wow. Glad I didn't short anything out! How are you, Jon?

Matchstick: Great! What a mess.

Cool: Can't wait for you to get the fuck down here so we can fuck!

Matchstick: Me either. I'm kissing you both now.

Cool: Us too. To you.

Matchstick: As soon as we get off--haha Bobby--call me up!

Cool: OK! Talk to you in ten seconds!

 

Chapter Twenty-Five

Ric yawned. Kitty poked his side with her foot. "Get with it, pal--get back to work!" she ordered. Ric glared at her. Anyone familiar with _Little Women_, and Ric was, as he read everything he could find, would know just by looking at her that Kitty was in serious "Jo March" mode: hair pulled up and back and held in a twist, glasses firmly perched on the end of her nose, pen stuck behind her right ear.

"Hijos de la chingada," Ric muttered.

"I understand Spanish, pal, now quit complainin' and keep readin'," said Kitty, underlining her comment with another poke.

Ric yawned again.

"What _is_ your major malfunction, Ric?"

"_Don't_ poke me again! I hate bein' up this early, dammit!"

"You're up every morning for sex with Star and Ad, so don't complain to me about how early it is. Besides, it's only 6:45 am."

"I _know_ what time it is and I _know_ Star and Ad get me up at the friggin' crack of dawn to make love, but then they _leave_ and I go _back_ to _sleep_. Sleep is a wonderful thing--you should try it. Like right now."

"Read."

Ric grumbled. It was so fucking _early_ and he was sleepy and his head hurt--a little--well, maybe he could con Star into giving him a headrub later--dammit! (*I should be asleep right now, not straining my fucking eyes looking at this computer shit!*) "Tell me again why you dragged me from my warm an' comfortable bed when only lunatics like your girlfriend and my boyfriends are happy about bein' awake at this ungodly hour?"

Kitty looked up at him through her glasses. Ric glared back. Kitty made a face. "Ric, you and I read a heckuva lot, right? So you and I can spot an unreliable narrator a mile off, right? Star still doesn't understand terrans very well, Ad's the same way--the Shi'ar act more like birds or reptiles than people--and Sarah's still adjusting to life topside. You and I not only know how regular people are s'posed to act, we can discern when information doesn't fit, and we can construe motivations when people don't give us the whole story. You've read all of Dickens and Eliot and Poe, so you know when people reveal themselves in their stories. I do the post-moderns, so I can comprehend psychological influences and cultural expectations. We're looking for a person or a couple of people who are terran, were brought up in the western tradition, who know what cultural models most people recognize and can calculate how to develop desired emotional reactions, and whose backgrounds have gaps in the manner of expected information."

Ric muttered; Kitty was right, but that didn't mean he had to like it. Being an "emotional detective" was a pain in the ass first thing in the morning. "Yeah, well, I've looked at Cyke, Phoenix, Angel, Icecube, the Furball, an' Psylocke. All the info's there, in place, or least as much of it as possible. Weird how Cyke still has some memory loss." Ric rapped his knuckles against the screen. Cyke's early trauma and apparent orphaning didn't lead to the conclusions he and Kitty were looking for--not that either believed for one moment that Cyclops, number-one good guy, would ever screw with other people's emotional perceptions.

Phoenix's childhood had been pretty normal, except for the part when she'd gotten fucked up over her friend getting hit by a car--but that wasn't the indicator he and Kitty were looking for, either. Angel was one fucking spoiled brat, but he was also too outspoken and hotheaded to concoct bizarre schemes. Bobby's old man had been an abusive jerk, but Bobby was one of those horribly nice guys who turn out decent no matter what. And Henry's childhood was...perfect. Ric had been aware of envy reading Hank's file; why couldn't every kid be loved by his parents like that? So, not Hank.

Anyway, the originals' childhood experiences had been backed up by independent corroboration: Cyke's mom _had_ thrown him and his brother out of a plane, and Cyke _had_ been diagnosed with brain injury, and he surely _had_ been imprisoned in a dreadful _Oliver Twist_ian orphanage in the middle of Cowfuck, Nebraska, and he had indeed run away and hung with a criminal until Xavier saved him. Same with Jean--school records, parental recollections; same with Angel, Bobby, and Hank. Permanent records out the ass.

Betsy had looked more promising. She'd bartered the X-Men's privacy in return for mechanical eyes so that Mojo could show the X-Men's lives to his audience (*Star'd be pissed as hell about that*), she'd been split, turned into a ninja by the Hand, had another consciousness implanted in her, and her own mucked about with, and had been marked by the Mandarin, the Crimson Dawn--and she sure had acted strangely after each alteration. Still, her base personality didn't please either Kitty or Ric--too straightforward, too adaptable to be the manipulator--he and Kitty had decided their prey must be inherently rigid, almost stagnant, emotionally--unable to express growth or real empathy--and it was screamingly evident Betsy loved Angel as much as she was capable.

Ric mumbled to himself. Colossus' file. Maybe he could flip--

"What are you looking at now, Ric?"

(*Just this puto, Peter.*) "Uh, just Colossus' stuff. Nothing interesting here." (*Ric, you are full of shit. Star and Ad would beat your ass for lyin' like a rug.*) Ric stared at the screen; he could almost feel Kitty's dark eyes pulling his face up to look at her.

"Ric. Don't try to spare my feelings. What do you see?" Her eyes were almost pleading.

Ric cleared his throat. "Kitty, you're too close to this, ok?" She continued to look at him. Ric sighed. "Kitty, face it: The guy betrayed us to Maggie twice, um, he's got an illegitimate kid in the Savage Land he don't even try to see, um, he fooled around on you, I mean, kind of, with Callisto, well...he did punch out your guy when you were with Excaliber, Kitty. Not to mention his brother Mikael was one of the worst bastards ever--I mean, Mikael's the guy who fucked up Sarah so bad and them other Morlock-terrorists in the first place. And as far as Peter goes, when his sister died, he acted real fucked-up. Um, and anyway, what's a guy doin' makin' out with a thirteen-year-old anyway? I'm sorry, but Storm noted that, and well, I'm sorry, but he was older than you by a ways."

Ric and Kitty looked at one another silently.

___________________________________

Somewhat meanwhile, Hank and Logan were watching the morning run-through in the Danger Room from the Crow's Nest; most of the people in the mansion were there (Kitty had collared Scott earlier and "lawyered" herself out of drills--no one even tried to get Ric up for a.m. practice) and Storm, Cable, and Scott were running opposing tests. Cable's team had Star, Ad, Psylocke and Sarah; Cyclops had Phoenix, Iceman, and Angel; and Storm's team consisted of Rogue, Colossus, Nightcrawler and Gambit.

Hank turned to Logan. "Cable's team is holding their own surprisingly well, wouldn't you concur, my confrere?"

Logan grunted.

Beast waited a beat. "I must concede, your voluntary nonpresence in the ante merdian trials of combat amazes me; your wont is to enact the role of the zouave more than the house."

Logan grunted.

Beast waited another beat. "My Pylades, my Pollux, my Pythias to mine own character as Damon is excelling today: Bobby's gelid, rimed cocoon encoffins Colossus cap-a-pie, wouldn't you say?"

Logan grunted. Hank gave up.

Logan had meant to work out as usual, but the scent on Cable had poleaxed him. "The old son of a bitch's gettin' it on with them young bucks," he'd thought, and then he'd felt an unaccustomed sensation: jealousy. "Every damn bastard in this dump's gettin' laid but me," he'd thought. So then Logan had decided to watch his teammates in action.

(*Goddam, One-Eye's got a great ass,* thought Logan, *Bet Jeannie wouldn't mind me thinkin' that. Bet Jeannie wouldn't mind me fuckin' that. Long as she got to feel it through that link of theirs. I'd ball him good,* Logan thought, watching the muscles in Scott's lean body flex as he ducked away from Nathan. *Huh. Nathan's bangin' them pretty young things. That Star's got one hell of a cock--damn surprised to see it was so big in the shower the other day. Boy's got some moves,* as Logan watched Star jump above Sarah.

*Man, Betsy's got some good shit goin' on. Wonder how she and the Flyboy do it. Bet they screw flyin'. Wonder what that's like? Bird's got too much attitude--I could fuck some of that outta him. Good lookin' bastard--like to shut his mouth with my dick sometime,* Logan thought as he watched Angel pass by Storm's reach with a flick of his feathers. *Gambit's got some moves, too. Bet he's taught the Icecube a few nasty tricks. Been a long time since I copped a cherry. Wonder if Gambit 'preciates his luck. So them and the Firefly are menagin' it up. Bet that's good to look at,* Logan thought as he watched Gambit roll and jump, bo staff ready.

*Rogue, girl, you got one killer body. Too bad you can't be fucked. I'd do ya hard--you could take it,* Logan thought as he watched Rogue barrel down on Phoenix, who blasted her back. *Atta girl, Jeannie, you hot bitch,* Logan thought. *Like to do you and yer hubby, how 'bout that?*)

Logan was snapped rudely out of his pleasant reverie by a shout from Hank. Angel had dropped to the floor and then punched Remy on the chin. Remy had rolled with the punch and countered--seemingly without thought--with a jab to Angel's abdomen. Angel stayed on the ground, feet planted, and shot back with a cross to Remy's face. Remy moved quickly, so the punch grazed him, and threw his bo away. The bo clattered as the two men threw a flurry of punches and jabs. Each strike, each hit, was expertly countered, but both men took some hard knocks.

Bobby moved forward; Scott held up his hand slightly. Bobby stayed put. The rest of the X-Men stilled to watch Angel and Gambit's fight; then, calculating he was right, Scott barked, "All right, you two, stand down, that's an order!" Angel and Gambit stopped fighting. Angel had a split lip and an incipient black eye; Gambit had a bloody nose and a darkening bruise on his jaw. Their uniform-armor had absorbed most of the damage from the body blows. Angel and Gambit stared at one another, breathing hard, then, Angel held out his right hand. Gambit shook it briefly. Angel turned and walked out of the room.

Bobby ice-slid down to Remy. He put his arm around Remy's shoulders. "Man, that is the biggest apology I ever saw Warren give anybody," he said.

 

TBC in Part 26

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