It’s downright creepy. This is what I tell myself as I walk in the opposite direction, feeling her/his eyes on me. Creepy, but yet this nucleus of friction is warming inside me, warming to the thought.

So, now we have on our hands an almost-seventeen, cursing, cigar-smoking, liquor filching, horndog teenage girl. And she/he wants me.

I first realized it in biology class. I was lecturing about cellular division or some such thing and I felt eyes on me. Intense, feral eyes, like his. A gaze that I felt in my clit. But he left. He’d been gone for days. And the gaze was coming from Rogue.

Rogue. Little slip of a thing, innocent wide eyes that can burn with anger, pale skin like mine, and a mouth that … oh. Her mouth.

Anyway, I looked up, expecting to see one of the boys on the other end of that heavy, wanting stare, but it wasn’t. It was Rogue.

Her hair was down, falling around her face, chin in her gloved palm, leaning forward with interest. She was watching me. Her tongue came out and licked her bottom lip. It wasn’t conscious, or at least deliberate. She quickly looked away.

She’d only been with us a few weeks. She hadn’t yet learned to shield her thoughts.

-Want to lick that mouth, those little blowjob lips, wanna kiss you hard, hear your heartbeat quicken underneath, make you writhe-

I swallowed and looked down at my notes. Bobby and Jubilee were whispering at the back of the class. Perfect excuse.

“Mr. Drake, Ms. Lee, have something you’d like to share with the class?”

Bobby composed himself first. “No Miss Grey.”

I put down my chalk, gave them my best eyebrow-raised look. “Open your books to page 76. Jubilation, start reading the section on osmosis.”

Jubilee was a drama queen, her normal voice a rising-falling-shrieking charicature of a teen girl voice, but she had the worst reading voice I’ve ever heard. She read the words atonally, as if they were from a list, not strung in a sentence, so that understanding her took work. I pinched the top of my nose and leaned on the podium. Bad choice for out-loud reading. I couldn't even concentrate.

Rogue was sucking on her pencil eraser. She was staring into nowhere, obviously not aware that she’s doing it. The suckling is rhythmic, firm. She is looking out the window. I watched her covertly for a few seconds and realize with horror that I was totally turned on.

Did that make me a lesbian, a creep, a pedophile?

Definitely not teacher of the year.

I didn’t enter her mind, just sort of lowered my shields in her direction. When I do that it’s not quite entering someone’s mind. It’s just catching projections.

This is what I told myself, anyway.

-Want to spread you apart, spread your legs and suck on your clit, I bet it’s so pretty, I bet you’re a natural readhead, aren’t you Jeannie, I bet those red curls smell so nice-

Logan's voice, through the filter of Rogue's consciousness.

I swallowed. Darted a glance her way. She was flicking her tongue over the eraser. It was barely visible. I would never have noticed had I not been clued in to her thoughts.

Her eyes met mine. They widened almost cartoonishly for just a split second, and she looked away. I have never seen someone blush so red. I felt the blush myself, because I have been invading her thoughts.

The bell rang, and I was saved for the day.

She’s got much better controls in class now. She doesn’t meet my eyes and she stares directly at her book. She counts to one hundred again and again. I feel bad for the poor girl. At this rate she'll flunk her midterm.

I had a dream last night. She was all grown up and we were walking through the woods. Two friends going hiking. She turned around, and I had this armful of young girl. She was so soft, nothing like a man, no hardness, just curves and softness everywhere. She kissed me, and I moaned. Then I woke up.

This has really got to stop. Not her thoughts, after all they are harmless, but my reaction to it has got to stop. This is turning me on way too much. The Logan-in-Rogue’s-head hybrid is turning me on more than Logan ever did.

“Coming to bed, hon?” Scott says. I’m at the desk in our suite, grading papers. I feel his hand on my neck, moving slowly.

“In a few minutes.” His hands are on my back, moving aimlessly, the way you do when you have been with someone for years. A soft moan rises from the back of my throat and my eyes open wide.

It was the same sound I made in my dream.

“Feels good, honey.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmmm.”

“Come to bed soon.”

“Just two more.”

Scott walks away.


His touching has turned me on and I had every intention of making love to him but when I turn out the lamp I see him, fast asleep in a pool of moonlight, still wearing his shades. Quietly, I remove them from his face, and slide on his visor. I crawl in next to him.

Again, I am dreaming.

She is warm, soft, sticky. Our lips are warm and fevered, kissing and kissing and kissing. Her hair is like dark chocolate silk in my fingers. I feel her thin body against mine, so pliant and eager and as into this as I am. This excites me. I feel her nails gentle on my neck. “Rogue,” I whisper lustfully.

“Yes?” She asks, teasing me, with wide-open not-so-innocent eyes. My hand on her shoulder is touching bare flesh and I realize that her shirt has suddenly disappeared. She is wearing a dark green bra and I hook my finger in the front clasp, pulling her closer. She smiles, then she is kissing me again. Our arms are all tangled up in hair and in each other.

“He wants you,” she whispers hotly in my ear. I can tell by the sound of her voice that she is smiling.

“Yeah. What does he want?” I feel so wet and full on the inside.

“He wants to kiss you like this.” We kiss, slow and heavy. She pulls back and in the moonlight she touches my chest with one finger, drawing a line from my shoulder to my nipple, then circling.

“He wants to touch you,” she says. I shiver involuntarily.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What else does he want,” I beg.

“He wants to slam into you, fuck you for hours. Fuck you hard, and fast, then slow and gentle.”

“Hmm.”

“You’re so pretty, Jean. And I want you too.” Her voice is sweet like honey. She is from the South.

“I want you, Rogue.” I pull her to me and kiss her again. Her bra has disappeared. Her breasts are pressed to mine. I shift to keep my balance and her nipple brushes mine. Warm friction radiates.

She is wearing jeans and I worm my fingers down the front, pressing into the groove between her legs. She breathes loud and slow. I curl my fingers, keep moving, moving, rubbing. She makes a high keening moan.

“Oh yeah, you like that honey?”


“Ohgodyeah Jean.”

“Hmm. Good. I wanna make you come.”

She moans again.

Her eyes open wide and she grabs my wrist, hard. The message is implicit. Don’t stop.

Her pretty lips part. “Oh!”

“You’re so ready.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re so wet and ready.”

“Yeah. Oh, Jean… I’m gonna...”

“Yeah, I’m gonna rub you til you come, Rogue.”

“Ohyeah! Ohgod! Oh!”

Rogue screams in my ear. Scott shifts abruptly beside me, sitting upright. Something is different. Down the hall, there is screaming.

“Jean? D'you hear that?”

“Hmm?” I am in bed. With Scott. I blink. “Huh?”

But he has already bolted up. “Sounds like Rogue had a nightmare. Go back to sleep hon,” he mumbles, pulling on a tee-shirt.

---

Rogue.

I lie back in bed, wipe the sweat from the back of my neck.

The dream. In the dream, we were-

I don’t dare come with him to check on Rogue. My own heart is pounding too wildly. If I look at her, I will come.

Oh my god.

She was just about to-

It was real.

She screamed not because of a nightmare, but because she was coming in her dream.

We were dreaming the same dream.

Is that really possible? Was she projecting or was I?

It’s perverse, but I have to test it. I reach, past sleeping half-psyches, past Scott who is concerned, down to the room down the hall.

“You wanna talk about it?” Scott’s voice is calm and supportive. I love that about him. I see what she sees. She is staring at her bare hands.

“No!” She shakes her head violently.

“Allright. We’re right down the hall if you need us,” he says.

“Okay,” she whispers, staring a hole in her quilt. Need us, she thinks. Need. I need Jean. I need her to finish what she started.

I pull away. It seems too intrusive. Shields back up, and it’s just me in our bedroom. A matter of seconds before Scott will be back.

I want to rip off my nightgown. My panties. But I lie still while he pads back to bed.

“She okay?” I mumble, feigning sleepiness. I am wide awake, alert, my heart pounding.

“Yeah, she didn’t want to talk. I think she was embarrassed to have me in her room.”

“Hmm. Come to bed.”

No sooner does he settle the sheets over him, then I straddle him. “Jeannie?”

“I want you,” is all I say.

“Oh?” He arches his hips and I feel that he is already starting to harden. “What did I do to deserve this?”

“You look hot. Take off the visor.”

He does. I like it this way. Even if I can’t look into his eyes, I can see his face when he comes. Beautiful.

I grind on him and his mouth opens. Pretty mouth. I kiss him. In the dream hers was softer. He looks soft but up close he has the grain of stubble on his chin. I lick him and he makes a high moaning sound that ratchets my heat up another notch. I clumsily pull his pajama pants off. Boxers too. Leave them halfway down around his knees and forget them.

I pull my panties to one side and sink down on him, just like that. Every inch fills me.
If he could open his eyes, they would be wide with surprise.

“You’re so ready," he says, when he is finally able to speak.

“Yeah.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Hmm,” I am already halfway there, moving on him. “Scott...”

“He wants to slam into you, fuck you for hours...”

A sharp moan comes out of me, as if from nowhere. I look down at him. Imagine him shorter, broader, hairier. Wonder what Logan’s cock feels like? I whimper and grind myself down on him all the way. He gasps. I feel him pulsating inside me.

Scott’s fingers flutter over my clit. “I’m gonna rub you ‘til you come,” I’d said.

And then it is all just a jumble of flesh, writhing, striving flesh, me and Scott and Rogue and Logan and me, all together.

“Scott.”

“Ohyeah.” He starts rubbing my clit in precise circles with his middle finger.

“Hmm!” I bite my lip. Anyone passing in the hall would hear us.

Ohgod, I’m so tempted.

What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

I reach.

She is awake. Fingers moving hard, rubbing down hard, stopping to tease, gentle as air, then rubbing again. She whimpers, so quiet, just a vibration in her throat. She is seeing me. And Logan. Thrusting in her. In me. She is kissing him. He kisses me. She is me and he is her and he is fucking me so hard-

“OhJean. Oh, honey, I’m so close.”

“Wait for me, babe.”

“Yeah. Come for me.” Impossibly dextrous, he manages to rub me just right all while I’m rising up and down on him. No one else has ever done me that good. “Sogood, Scott, oh, don’t stop.”

“Don’t stop.” Her hand like a vise on my wrist.

Then she is moaning and wiggling and thrusting and rubbing and she is flying, thinking of kissing my lips, my swollen red lips...

And I am flying with her; I pull out of her mind so I don’t harm her as I come, and it resounds in me, a throbbing wave that starts at my clitoris and radiates outward. I’m riding Scott, riding the waves, and I know that he feels me clench rhythmically around him.

“Oh Jean. Feel so good.”

I dig a foot under his leg and in one quick movement I am on my back, with him on top of me. He keeps his eyes closed.

“Do it,” I hiss.

He is slamming in me. Somehow I don’t think Logan could do me this hard. He feels so good, hitting me deep with every thrust, ass plunging him into me. I flutter and hover close to coming again. Frantically rub myself. Friction there catches, oh yeah. I’m gonna go again.

“Wait!”

“Oh, god, you’re hot.”

“Hmm. Mmmmm…” I’m making all nonsense words, rising, rubbing, closer, higher.

"...rub you ‘til you come..."

And the rhythm inside me coalesces and becomes more linear, faster and faster, and I am moving up, and up, and...

Then there is nothing but me, flying over the edge.

Scott is coming into me. He is straining and making those pretty little moaning noises that inflame me and his legs are spasming. Then he stays in me all the way, and I feel him pulse.

Later we lie tangled and sweaty. He is lazily stroking my arm.

"Damn."

"Hmm."

"I want you again."

"We should sleep. We both have early classes."

Rogue. Oh, I don't know how I'll face her in the morning.

But every muscle in me is relaxing, warming, sleepy.

And again I'm dreaming.

---

Three years later

He returns in the middle of the night, during a snowstorm. The gates open just as he is about to press the intercom. It is quiet as he steps into the warmly-lit foyer. Charles Xavier is there in an Oxford sweatshirt, a blanket thrown over his lap.

“Welcome back, Logan.”

Logan’s right eyebrow reaches toward the rotund ceiling. He finds it creepy that Xavier is just there waiting.

“I wasn’t waiting for you. I’ve had bad insomnia of late and I happened to hear the bell.” The mutant registration is close to becoming a reality, and he is frequently up at night.

Logan nods. “’S good to see you, Wheels.”

“You as well. Are you hungry?”

“No. Do you have a room I could crash in?”

“Always. You are always welcome here.”

Xavier motions toward a set of elevators. They go up to the third floor and down a long hallway. As he walks beside him Logan notices the smells of wood polish, cleaning products, and familiar people. Xavier enters a code into a brass keypad and the mahogany doors open.

“You may stay in room 334. The door is open. This is the teachers’ wing.”

“Thanks.”

“Come see me after breakfast. I have a job offer for you.”

“Thanks.” He nods appreciatively and walks on down the hall. The smell of new wood and varnish is strong. Also, there are more scents of people he has not seen in three years. Storm. Rogue. He lingers outside her door, wanting to knock and let her know he has returned, but he sniffs again, and smells the sour-sweet scent of sweat and arousal.

He blinks, and turns back toward where Charles left him. He is gone.

She’s just a kid! But it’s been a few years, and that is the smell of a woman in heat, not a kid. He is hard in his jeans. Little Marie. But he keeps moving. Probably a bad time.

He continues walking, past another room. This one smells like Jean. He inhales deeply and catches the mingled scent of Scott, less strong. He wrinkles his nose and keeps walking. Then something else stops him. A soft moan. Coming from Jeannie and Scooter’s room. He knows it is wrong but he stops, listens. Only it is just Jean. Scott is not there. He listens for the sound of another man, or even another woman, but it is just her.

He stands so still he can hear his own heart beat and sniffs again. Jean is also aroused. His cock, hard from days of not getting laid and Marie’s hot scent, throbs more.

He raises his eyebrows, shakes his head, and keeps walking to room 334. He pisses, and shucks his clothes, and sleeps.

---

Voices behind the door. Soft, female voices. He opens his eyes and it is morning. It’s Rogue. She’s laughing. He slips his jeans on and walks through the door. But instead of opening into the hall, it opens into a room that is a mirror image of his. The only difference is that the bed is occupied by a tangle of pale flesh and that instead of the shirts on the floor, there are various bras and panties and women’s clothes.

A woman is on the bed with her back to him. Her skin is white and her hair is long and dark, obscuring the face of the person under her. He sees thin, curvy legs, and as she rises and falls, the side of a breast. Two women. All the blood in his body rushes south.

The brunette makes a throaty moan and tosses her hair back. He recognizes the voice before he sees the white streak amid the dark, and he feels a shocked hum deep inside himself that is not altogether unpleasant.

He adjusts himself in his jeans and when he looks up, the two are staring at him. Rogue is turned so that he can see one of her breasts in profile, a perfect white arc with a pointed pink nipple. A half-smile is on her lips which seem red and wet.

Jean Grey lies under her, head back on a pillow, cheeks and lips flushed, red hair spread all around. Her hand is on Rogue’s hip, bare flesh on bare flesh, and her fingers are pressing in. He inhales. Jean is positively in heat. They both are, but Jean in particular is dripping with arousal. He can’t see it, but he can smell it.

“He’s looking at us,” Rogue says to her lover, falling next to her on the bed. Their hands and legs are entwined and Rogue’s hand moves on Jean’s breast.

“Yeah, he is.”

“Do ya think he likes what he sees?”

Jean whispers something into Rogue’s ear, so quietly that even he can’t hear it. Then they stare at him again.

“He’s very hard,” Jean notes. “Look how tight his jeans are over his cock.”

Logan inhales sharply, watching as Jean’s hands move idly on Rogue’s shoulder.

“He must like it.”

“Logan, do you like it?” Jean asks. There is a quality to her voice that he has never heard before.

“Fuck yeah, I like it.” His voice excites them both.

“Maybe we should let him watch,” Rogue says innocently. How she can look innocent when her hand has traveled between Jean’s legs, idly cupping her, he can’t understand.

“Logan. Sit.” Jean says. He is shoved backward and there is suddenly a chair behind him.

He sits and watches the two women, but they are merely watching him.

“I want to see your cock,” Rogue tells him. His eyes widen. This is the little girl who pouted and said she didn’t want him to go. Who took his tags. All grown up.

“Take off your jeans, Logan.” Jean adds.

He stands up, for the first time feeling some sort of power. They watch him and he knows he has something they want, throbbing between his legs. They can surely see the outline of the hardness that veers to the left.

He is very slow in undoing the button at the top, slow in pulling down the zipper. Rogue makes a throaty noise of appreciation and nuzzles Jean’s neck, all the while caressing Jean’s nipple with the back of her hand. Jean whispers something in Rogue’s ear. He is not sure, but he thinks it is “I wanna see him fuck you.”

He meets Rogue’s eyes and sees that she wants it. This is not necessarily news to him, but the desire in those eyes is more intense than anything he’s seen.

He parts the fly of his jeans and takes his cock out. He kicks the jeans away and it sways with his movement. He can feel their eyes on him even before he even looks up to see them staring.

He gently grazes his palm up the length of himself, hovering at the tip where he is leaking. He thumbs the wetness there and swirls it. Rogue is touching Jean again and when he does this Jean shoves her lips upward into her hand. His lips part and they hear him breathe.

“Yeah, touch it.” He has never dreamed of Rogue being like this, wide innocent eyes, but dictatorial voice. It excites him and he obliges her, slowly spreading his fingers over the length of his cock.

“Now sit down and watch.”

He does. He is sitting on a chair at the bottom of the bed, facing them. Rogue maneuvers Jean so that she is lying sideways across the bed. This way Logan can see as she tosses her hair toward the pillows and then leans down to kiss Jean. Jean’s lips part and he sees a flash of tongue as they kiss a few feet from where they are. His cock surges, the animal in him close to the surface, wanting.

“You like seeing me kiss her?”

“Hmm hmm,” he moans, a surprisingly high sound like a whimper.

Rogue hovers above Jean with her lips barely touching. She turns to look at Logan. “What about it turns you on?”

“Dunno. It’s just hot.” He watches stupidly while Jean rakes her nails up the side of Rogue’s pretty flesh, leaving pink marks. Rogue is kissing her again. Jean moans and tangles her fingers in Rogue’s hair.

“Wonder what else he would think is hot,” Rogue mumbles into Jean’s ear. Jean wraps her legs around Rogue and pulls her close. They don’t look at Logan but they hear him breathing loudly.

The women kiss again, and he squeezes himself.

They turn to him and say in unison: “Hands at your sides, Logan.”

He obeys. He is naked and his erection is sticking up into the cool air. The lack of stimulation is like torture. He squirms on the chair and Rogue gives him a look.

Then she moves down so that she is kneeling at the foot of the bed. “Spread,” she tells Jean. Jean obediently spreads her legs as wide as they will go, revealing a little mound with red curls spilling over it. Rogue leans in and blows gently over the curls, not touching. Jean moans and arches her hips up, making the outer lips spread to reveal her inner folds. Logan sniffs audibly.

“I can smell you,” he says. His voice is roughened and sexy and Rogue feels herself wetten a bit more. He aches to rub his cock.

“He can smell you honey. I can too. You smell... hmm, so good.” Rogue nips Jean’s inner thigh and is rewarded with a moan. She hovers there, then on the other side, ignoring the swollen red flesh that wants her touch. She presses feathery kisses there, then slowly moves in toward the center.

“Yeah,” Jean whispers. “Please.”

“You want it?”

“Hmm.”

Rogue spreads Jean’s lips apart and blows on the fleshy hood at the top. Jean shrieks. “Please, Rogue. Now.”

“You’re ready,” Rogue notes.

She dabbles her fingers in the wetness and then pushes two fingers inside Jean, who keens appreciatively. “Please.”

Logan feels dizzy. He sees the tendons in Rogue’s forearm move in a rhythm and he knows that she is curling her fingers deep inside Jean. Jean is suddenly moving around like liquid from one side to the next. Rogue lowers her mouth to her.

She lazily flickers her tongue in concentric circles around Jean’s red clit. Jean moans in frustration and violently bucks up. “Shhhh,” Rogue whispers, and continues her teasing. The circles tighten and tighten, moving ever closer to their target. Logan feels something dripping down the head of his cock. He still sits with his hands to his side.

“Should I suck at her clit, Logan?”

Jean thrashes below her.

“Yeah. Do it.”

“If you say so.” Rogue begins lapping like a kitten at the taut pink bundle. Jean starts keening.

“Oh, Rogue, you’ve got me so close already. Don’t stop. Make me come.”

Rogue stops. She looks at Logan. Her lips and chin are wet. “Should I make her come?”

“Yeah.” The way his voice sounds, so harsh and needful, makes her wetten. She turns back to Jean and begins to suckle. Inside, her fingers are fluttering. Jean is moving and roiling in waves like the ocean, bucking up closer into Rogue’s mouth.

“She’s so wet,” Rogue murmurs.

“Enough with the fucking commentary already!” Jean hisses. “Make me come!”

Logan feels his scrotum tighten and he breathes in sharply. The two women before him are going to kill him, he thinks.

Rogue is done playing. She is fondling Jean’s breast with her left hand, penetrating her with her right, all the while flicking her tongue lightning-fast over her hard red clit. Jean’s eyes are rolled back in her head and she is writhing and twisting and keening. She doesn’t say a word but the sound coming out of her has a life of its own. Rogue doubles her speed and she screeches and she feels the explosion begin in her clit and radiate outward.

Jean moans weakly and goes limp. Rogue gets up, her hair falling down around her shoulders, and walks to Logan. She straddles him and the chair on which he sits. They are face to face. His cock is pressed into the groove between her legs and it throbs there.

She touches his earlobe gently and he shudders. “Did you like that?”

He nods, threading his hands roughly in her hair. He yanks and her eyes widen. She likes It.

“I have something for you,” she whispers.

“Yeah?” Hhe asks, his eyes searching hers.

She nods. “Later. Something special.”

She kisses him and he tastes Jean. Precum leaks from the slit of his cock and smears her skin. Jean slowly stands up and stands behind Rogue, touching her hair softly.

“You know when I first wanted to fuck you?”

He is too stupefied to speak. He shakes his head no.

“The very first time I saw you.” she says, and stands up. She takes Jean’s hand and presses it to her cleft. She tugs Jean back toward the bed, and they fall.

Jean reaches toward the nightstand and pulls out a large purple dildo. Logan’s eyes widen and Rogue moans at the sight. Jean lays the dildo beside Rogue and lies next to her. She leisurely moves her hand down over her body.

“Spread for him. Let him see you.”

Logan closes his eyes and thinks he might just come. Rogue looks at Jean, not at him, as she spreads her legs to either side of the bed.

“Do you like her pussy, Logan?”

He nods. He can smell her distinct sweet funk. It excites him more than Jean’s, more than anything he has ever smelled.

Rogue is pleased with his approval, and spreads just a bit wider. Jean starts rubbing her with her middle finger. Rogue’s eyes flutter shut and she begins undulating, pushing rhythmically upward. Logan can see the opening of her vagina. He licks his lips and when he looks at Rogue’s face he sees that she is staring at him.

“Fuck me, Jean.”

Jean does not share her lover’s predilection for teasing. She picks up the dildo and screws it into Rogue’s hole, twisting it deeper. Rogue shakes and her breasts jiggle. Logan feels soaked. He has wrapped his legs around the legs of the chair and he is now pumping his hips slightly.

Rogue pushes Jean’s hand away and begins rubbing herself. Jean moves down and takes hold of the dildo and starts slowly churning it back and forth. Rogue makes a noise halfway between a shriek and a moan and her fingers flatten and rub herself harder, back and forth. Her knees are bent and she is humping up toward the ceiling.

“I can’t take much more of this,” Logan hisses.

“Yeah?” Rogue asks.

“Yeah.”

“What do you want?”

“Everything. I wanna fuck you both. Want you to suck me. Want you…” This excites Rogue and he can smell the new wetness that surges out around the shaft of the dildo.

“Yeah. Oh yeah. Jeannie. Do me. Twist it…” Jean starts twisting the dildo as she pushes it in and out and Rogue goes crazy.

“Faster! Do it faster!” she whispers. Logan thinks he has never heard anything so beautiful and he watches mesmerized as Jean pistons the member in and out of Rogue and Rogue rubs herself. “Oh yeah. Just a little more... Fast!”

Jean obliges, and Rogue arches from head to toe. “Just a little... oh god...” and she screams. Jean bites her lip and keeps going. Rogue bucks down hard, thrusting herself even further on the dildo, then upward toward her own fingers that press and rub. Then she stops, hand falling limply to her side. Jean pulls the wet cock from her.

“Now?” Logan asks. Rogue opens her eyes and looks at him. He is naked, sunlight on his beautiful perfect scarless body, cock rigid and red and glistening. Rogue scoots down to the end of the bed, legs still spread.

“Now.”

He is on her instantly, but he doesn’t take her. They stare into each other’s eyes. They can feel each other’s breath on their faces.

“Do you wanna come inside?“ she whispers.

“Oh god yeahhh."

He sees tears in Rogue’s eyes and doesn’t have a chance to wonder why because she sits up and kisses him. She tastes so good.

He can’t stand it.

“I’m gonna lose control,” he warns.

“Do it,” she says, head tossed back defiantly.

He does. In a half-second he is in her to the hilt and she is hissing and writhing like a cat. He can feel her orgasm still undulating through her, and the rhythm that slows in its wake. She is so tight.

“Not gonna last. You tortured me. Oh Marie.”

At the sound of a name no one has called her in years she moans. She is moving in circles, her hips moving around and around him. This last bit he can’t bear and then he feels Jean’s hands on his back and he loses it. He bangs into her violently. He feels her nails on his shoulders and god help him, but she is squeezing herself around him, tightening, trying to make it that much better for him.

He comes. Jean watches him convulse, a perfect masculine specimen, back arched, head thrown back against her breasts, his ass clenched tight as he shudders forward into Rogue. She feels every pulse of it inside of her.

They all three lie on the bed spent, a pile of tangled flesh. Rogue looks at Jean. “It’s been a while.”

“Yeah.”

“You know what this means, right?” Jean says.

“What?”

“He’s really here.”

Logan lays in a stupor, his spent penis lying limp between his legs, his lips open in disbelief, eyes heavy.

“Yes, he is,” Rogue said, kissing his face, but not really understanding. Then they are all gone.

---

Rogue is yawning and pulling her hair into a ponytail as she approaches the buffet. She pulls a muffin, some fruit, and a piece of bacon on to her plate. “Morning” she mutters to Hank as she pours milk into a glass.

This is what he sees when he walks in to the room. Her thin silhouette, hair back in a ponytail, freshly brushed, marbled with white. She has showered but he can smell the wetness inside her. Just like...

The dream has not been far from his mind for one second this morning. He woke with his sheets damn and crusted and he had to get himself off twice before even coming down for breakfast. He stands in the doorway, some kid pushing past him, watching her. She turns to the side, says hello to some big blue dude, pours herself a glass of milk. She is beautiful, so ripe and beautiful, older, ready, his Marie. He is hard again.

“Hey,” she smiles at a guy and girl who pass her. She is then walking back toward the tables, walking toward him. She hasn’t seen him yet. He sees every aspect of her as she approaches, her confident stride, the light in her eyes, her cute gait as she scouts out a table.

Then her gaze shifts to the doorway. To him.

And it comes flooding back.

Jean. Logan. Oh.

The glass hits the tile floor and shatters, bluish milk spreading in every direction. She feels it soak wetly into her shoes, cooling her toes, and is only peripherally aware what is causing that sensation.

She woke up wet but that wasn’t unusual. The dreams have decreased in frequency, but every once and a while she has one with Jean in it, a dream more vivid than reality. But never, ever, has Logan been there.

She swallows, steps around the milk, and walks to him.

“Hi.”

---

My toes are cold. Milk is seeping through my sneakers.

I’d forgotten all about the dream until that moment. My dreams are usually pretty erotic, compensating for touch I couldn’t, or wouldn’t have, so the dream in and of itself wasn’t unusual.

But this was one of the ones with Jean and they are always more vivid, more real than real. Never, ever, has a third party been in one of the dreams.

Logan is still standing in the doorway, staring at me. His hair is longer, shaggy and shoulder-length, his face is covered in stubble. Did I dream him that way? I think I did. How could I have, when he had that stupid duck’s ass do when I last saw him?

“Spread for him. Let him see you.” My cheeks burn as I remember the dream.

The expression on his face is odd. It’s recognition, shock. Then he smiles, and I realize how much he has missed me. I feel a burning warmth radiate from my chest.

I walk around the spilled milk, over to him. I’ve grown taller, almost as tall as him. “Looky what the cat dragged in.” I stop a few feet from him and just stare.

“That’s me. You look great.”

“Do you like her pussy, Logan?” I remember. I will not blush. I will not... damn.

“You too.”

“Well give me a hug, dammit.” He says with mock exasperation.

I set my plate on the nearest table and wrap my arms around him. Every intention I had about being aloof goes out the window as I feel his arms strong around me. Im am smiling and I can smell the soap he used and the leather of his jacket, can feel the pulse at his throat. I know that everyone in the dining hall is staring. He must know also, but he just holds me.

“I missed you,” I whisper. Damn. I’ve envisioned this scene a million times. I did not mean to say that. Even worse, the way he is holding me, breathing in my scent, makes it okay. He missed me too.

I pull away and tilt my head toward the table. “Join me for breakfast.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” I repeat stupidly.

“I’ll be right back,” he grins.

The maid has already come to clean up the milk on the floor. “Don’t,” I say. “Candace, let me do it. I made the mess.”

“I’d have dropped my glass too, Miss Rogue,” she says with a wink. She is eighty two, a dirty old woman. She has been working for Charles for fifty years, cleaning the huge mansion, but now she has the good end of the stick because no one lets her do any actual work.

“It’s not like that.”

“It should be. Because boy is he happy to see you.”

I shoo her away and mop up the milk myself. He is walking back toward me and I can feel him watching me. The fucking milk has run everywhere and it takes me a while to get all of it.

“Let me help you.”

“No. Sit. I’m almost done.” This is true. I squat to get one last splash of milk and someone walks in to the room. Jean.

I am conscious of myself as I look up at her, my flushed face, my wide eyes. I can still remember her taste. She doesn’t look one bit out of the ordinary. I’m sure her dreams are nothing like mine. “Morning, Rogue,” she smiles glibly.

“Hey,” I say. I put the mop and bucket back where they belong, get myself another glass of milk, and finally sit down opposite Logan. He has amassed three biscuits, a muffin, two eggs over easy, an apple, a huge cup of coffee, and a pile of bacon.

His eyes follow me as I sit. Were his eyes ever that beautiful? I’d forgotten exactly what he looks like in the last few years and now it all comes back. The sensual shape of his mouth, the wide set of his eyes. Something about his hands turns me on.

“So. How was it?”

“Strange. I was in Japan.”

“So that’s where you went after Alkali?”

“You didn’t get my postcard?”

“What postcard?”

“I sent you a postcard from Hokkaido.”

“When?”

“Dunno. A few months ago.”

“Hmm. I never got it. So what did you do in Japan?”

“Found out some things about myself. Got chased out of the country. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Okay.” I bite into my strawberry and look up at him. He is watching me intently. If I’m not mistaken, he is blushing this time.

I raise my eyebrow.

“Is that an indestructible metal alloy in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?”

It rolls perfectly off my tongue and for a second I feel like a glib character in a movie, not at all like my normal bumbling self.

He puts down his coffee cup and laughs so loud the entire room turns to stare.

After that he high-tails it out of there pretty quickly. I don’t mind though, because something crucial has shifted between us, in my favor. I know I’ll see him soon.

---

Now it’s afternoon. Warren and I are sparring in the DR. He is new to physical combat, and he still has a hard time keeping his wings out of the way. He knows they are his one vulnerability, and he hasn't yet learned to exploit their strength, so we work on that. Warren is my friend. He is filthy rich and devastatingly handsome. But I like him because me makes me laugh.

“Marie.”

I abort my kick to Warren’s solar plexus and turn. Logan is in the doorway, all jeans and tight tee shirt and bristly skin, intense eyes and leather jacket held slack in his hands.

“Hey, Logan. Come meet Warren.”

Logan is gawking at Warren’s wings. “Holy shit,” he mutters, actually walking around behind Warren to look. He doesn’t mean to be rude, just in awe.

“Warren, Logan, the Wolverine. Logan, Warren Worthington.”

Warren turns to face Logan and grins. He furls his wings wide so fast the breeze ruffles my hair. He holds his hand out. “Good to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Don’t hold it against me.” Logan says gruffly, returning the handshake. “Can you fly with those things?”

Warren pushes off with a mighty whoosh and hovers near the ceiling. “I’ll take you for a ride sometime,” he says.

That is Warren, open and friendly to everyone. Logan, jaded as he is, raises a wary eyebrow and lets this pass.

“How long are you gonna be busy?” he asks me.

I glance at the clock. “Um, maybe another half hour.”

“I have to leave in fifteen minutes,” Warren says.

“Can I watch?” Logan asks.

I stand there dumbly, feeling my heart pound in my ears.

Logan, naked on a chair as Jean reams me.

I turn to him with wide eyes, memory strong in me.

There is something in his own gaze, some sort of recognition, and embarrassment, but I chalk it up to him reacting to my expression. “Sure,” I say, and Warren and I resume what we are doing.

Later, we are walking out on the grounds. The show is nine inches deep so it’s quite a workout.

“So are you and Wingboy an item?”

“No. We’ve gone out once or twice, but that’s it.”

“Why nothing more?”

“I’m interested in someone else, mostly. What about you? Got any geisha girl action in Japan?”

He looks at me. Clearly he was not expecting me to interrogate him. “Not really. No.”

Not really? What the hell kinda answer is that?

“So when did you get in?”

“Like four in the morning. It was really weird, I got inside and Chuck was there waiting for me.”

“He’s got bad insomnia. He’s always up at night.”

“That’s what he said.”

“Yeah.” We walk down through the woods, where the snow is not so thick.

“So who’s the lucky guy?”

“Huh?”

“You said you were interested in someone other than wings.” Oh shit. I’m not coming out with this now.

“Who says it’s a guy?” I say. If he reacted well to the sight of Jean and I in the dream, what would he think in real life? Would it excite him? I want to excite him.

He turns around and stares at me. For a long time. It is impossible to tell what he is thinking.

“It’s a woman?” he finally says.

“No. But that’s not impossible, you know.” I say with a smirk.

“Oh, I know.”

He does?

“It’s your fault I’m bisexual, you know. I absorbed a lot of choice thoughts from you.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“So have you ever been with another woman?”

“Well, no.” Jean is so real. I can still smell her. But I’ve never been with another anybody. First because I couldn’t, and then, in the last year and a half, because I wouldn’t.

“Why not? You can now, right?” He sits on a felled tree that obscures our path and I sit next to him. I have my uniform boots on and my feet are toasty. The sun comes out and sparkles violently through the trees. It is beautiful here in light and shadow.

“Oh yeah.”

“I’d want to get busy.”

“I do want to get busy.”

“So why don’t you just jump the guy you want?”

“It’s complicated. Can we not talk about him now?”

“Sorry.”

“No, it’s cool.”

We are quiet for a while. “Are you cold?” I ask.

“No.”

“I never understood how you could not be susceptible to hypothermia, with all that metal.”

“Yeah. Somehow I’m not. I think they built me that way.”

“You never found them, did you?”

“Two of them. I didn’t learn much.”

“Have you remembered anything new?”

“No. But lately my nightmares aren’t as bad.” He laughs, and I wonder why.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing.”

“Okay.”

“Can I ask you something?”

I look at him. His eyes are hazel-brown and so beautiful the way they capture the snow-light.

“Sure.”

“Did you have a dream last night?”

I feel like Heath Ledger in that scene from A Knight’s Tale when they knock him on his armor-clad ass with one blunt hit to the torso.

“I dream every night.” I know he can hear my defensiveness.

He is looking at me and I feel like a very small mouse in front of a very large cat. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I don’t know why you’re asking it.”

“I think you know why.”

“Logan, you’re really pissing me off.” I get up and walk back toward the house, cheeks burning.

---

They avoid each other until late afternoon.

Later, Logan is in his room, unpacking. There is a knock on the door.

It’s Jean. Not the one he wants to see, but he is still happy to see her. “C’min Jeannie.”

Jean comes in. She is pretty in black jeans and a red sweater.

“How did you know it was me?” she asks.

“I can smell you,” he says. He tosses some books on the dresser, then realizes she is staring at him. Her face is even redder than Rogue’s was this morning, confirming his suspicions.

“Well, I just wanted to welcome you back.”

“Thanks. How’ve you been?”

“I’ve been good. Got hitched.” She holds up her hand. Platinum shines on her ring finger.

“Where is old One-Eye?”

“He’s in Alaska.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve been keeping busy in his absence.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Tell me what the hell happened last night.” He turned around and sat in the window seat.

“Logan, what are you talking about?”

“I was having a dream. But the thing is, I think it was more than a dream. It was real, wasn’t it?” His tone is accusatory because he is afraid he has been duped. Neither one of them senses Rogue, who is peering through a crack in the door.

Jean sighs and sits down on the overstuffed chair near the window. “Yes and no.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, yes and no?”

“I’ll tell you Logan, if you shut the hell up so I can talk.”

“Talk.”

Yeah, talk, Rogue thinks.

Jean blushes and tries to decide how to proceed. “Okay. It’s possible that when a telepath is living with other people that when two people are asleep that they… well the technical term would be a psionic nexus, but people of the same mind about something can dream the same dream of it.”

Rogue’s eyebrows knit together and she feels rage rise in her chest.

“The thing about it is that it’s not deliberate. It just happens.”

“You and Rogue?”

“Have never been more than friends. But in the past few years we have had a dozen or more shared dreams. At least I think they were.”

“And how exactly did I get invited to this little party?”

“You didn’t. That’s the thing. There’s no ringleader, not even the telepath. It’s all unconscious.”

“Have you talked to Marie about this?”

“No.”

“Why?” His tone is accusatory.

The door slams open. “Yeah, why?” Rogue asks.

Jean jumps, then calms immediately.

“Shut the door.” Jean says. She does. Rogue stands there with her arms crossed over her chest. Logan has never seen her like this before, standing so tall and angry.

Having the three of them in a room identitical to this one makes all of them think about the dream.

Jean looks at Rogue. “Exactly what the hell am I supposed to say? ‘Hey, I dreamt I was eating you out last night, and you liked it?’ There’s not exactly etiquette for this, you know!”

“I can’t believe you knew this was real all these years and you didn’t tell me!” Rogue is screaming and they are both a little afraid of her.

“What if I had?” Jean stands up. “Would it have made it any easier for you, or would it just have made things embarrassing and awkward?”

Rogue is quiet. She knows Jean is right but she feels foolish.

“If you’re the damn telepath, why can’t you just control it?” Logan says. Jean's guts twist. She feels as if she is being interrogated and at the moment all the hostility in the room is directed at her.

“Believe me, if I could I would. I’m a married woman! You think that, hot as this stuff is, that it doesn’t complicate things for me?”

She thinks it’s hot? Logan and Marie think simultaneously.

“But that’s the nature of sleep. The unconscious mind comes to the surface and does whatever it damn well pleases. Sometimes it helps to not think of sex before bed, but that’s about all you can do.”

“Sex before bed?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I know how this happened,” Logan says. “I came down the hall, and passed your room…” he points to Rogue, “and I was gonna knock and tell you I was home but your scent was...well, you smelled... occupied. And then I go down the hall more, past your room,” he points to Jean, “and I hear this little moan. You guys were getting it on before I even came into the picture, weren’t you?”

“Well, duh? You’re the one who walked in the door’” Rogue says.

“You saw it!” Jean says. She is angry. She didn't ask to be in this triangle and the need to defend herself is frustrating her.

Then she deflates visibly, she breathes, and tries to get the anger out of her. “Look, this is why I didn’t say anything. These things are okay as dreams but if they spill out into real life they can get ugly. None of this is my fault, or your fault, or his fault. It just happened. Rogue, I love you like a sister, and I would never intentionally embarrass you or make you uncomfortable.”

“That didn’t feel real sisterly,” Rogue says, thinking of kissing Jean and tasting her own juices.

Jean faces her with narrowed eyes. “Make no mistake about it, Rogue, I do, and I also want to do those things to you. When you left, Logan, you left a lot of your own thoughts in her head and it excited me that she wanted me and you wanted me and when you were both in her head wanting me… I came to want her as much as I wanted you.”

Jean swallows and knits her fingers together nervously. “But I want a lot of things, and that doesn’t make them real. I want to win the lottery and have wings like Warren, that doesn’t mean it’s going to happen. It’s fantasy.”

They are quiet for a long time. The late-day sun catches dust motes.

“Look, I’m going to leave, but I want to make this clear to you both. I care about you both and I know you care about each other tremendously, so don’t let this make us hate each other. It happens, and it’s in the realm of fantasy, but... We all have too much to lose. Especially you two.”

They are quiet.

“Does Scott know about this?” Logan asks, accusation in his tone.

“Yes’” Jean says simply.

“You told him?!” Rogue yells.

“He walked in on us one night.”

Rogue gapes at the indignity of Scott knowing all her fantasies about his pretty wife. “That’s just fucking great,” she spits.

“Rogue, what else would you have me do? I’m not going to apologize for wanting you. Or you. I tried to handle it the best way I knew.“

They are all quiet. “Be good to each other.” And she shuts the door and walks away.

Rogue feels rage wash over her. “So when exactly did you figure this out? I’m such a fucking idiot. All these years and I didn’t know.”

“How could you know? And you’re not an idiot.”

“Fuck you!”

“Why are you yelling at me?”

“I don’t know!” Rogue is pacing back and forth. There is a paperweight on the shelf, left over from the previous resident. She takes it and hurls it into a corner. It makes a dent in the paneling before shattering and falling.

“Marie, listen to me.”

“When did you know?”

“When I asked her, just before you came in!”

“I’m so stupid.”

“Marie!” She paces to the window and turns to pace back. He takes her hands in one of his. “Listen.”

“What?” she screams. He is disturbed by what he sees in her eyes. Tears.

He pulls her close and they hold each other. “Listen to me. The only reason I knew it was real was because I smelled you and heard her, and that alone didn’t tell me anything, just got me excited enough to enter the dream myself. But this morning when you saw me, and when you blushed, and then I saw her blush, it all came together. But I didn’t know either. That’s why I asked her.”

“That excited you?”

“What?”

“Passing... my door and... smelling...”

“Yeah.” She looks at him. She has never let herself believe that he might desire her. Her cheeks flush and her heart beats faster. Then she pushes him away with surprising strength and turns toward the window.

“Marie? Why can’t you look at me?”

“Because.” It is all she can say. Humiliated tears are rising to her eyes.

He stands close behind her, so close that she can feel his heat, but he doesn’t touch her.

“Because why?”

“Because I feel like a huge fucking idiot. I’m a virgin, and boy do I not want to be. I thought I’d save myself for the one I really wanted, and I find out all the while I’m rug munching with my biology teacher and I don‘t even know it‘s really happening?!”

He hopes for her sake that no one is in the adjoining rooms or the hall outside. He prays that he is the one she wants.

“Well you weren’t exactly inclined to ask her about it either.”

“I know! I know I can’t blame her! I just feel so-” so young, so naïve, so stupid. She doesn’t finish the list of things in her head, just swallows and lets her tears fall.

“You’re not the only one who’s embarrassed, you know.”

She turns around. “Oh?”

Seeing tears on her face does something to him high inside his chest. He swallows. “Yeah. I felt pretty pissed at first too.”

“I’m just... frustrated. Sexually and otherwise.”

He looks out the window, jaw clenching, then back down at her. “I wanna... I wanna hold you now and make you feel better, but that might make you more embarrassed, so I don’t know what to do here. I don’t wanna make things worse.”

She looks up at him and many things flash in her eyes. “Hold me,” she says, so vulnerable, barely audibly, and he does.

He holds her close and rubs his strong hands up and down her back. He inhales her scent and keeps holding her. He presses a kiss to the hair above her ear and whispers “It’s okay. It’s not like you’re gonna die tomorrow. You’re how old?”

“Nineteen.” She swallows.

“So you’re frustrated so far. But you could get what you want any time. You‘ll probably be getting nookie until you‘re old as Chuck.”

She laughs, then wipes at her tears.

“Just, for so long everyone could be touched but me.” It is easier to say the words into the soft fabric of his tee shirt. He is stroking her hair. She holds him tighter. It feels so good.

He is hard, and she feels it. Arousal flares through her, and danger, and fear and he can smell all three.

“What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking… is that an indestructible metal alloy...” it is as far as she can get before they both burst into laughter.

She feels him shake as he laughs. She decides she likes the feeling. “I’m sorry darlin’. I can’t help it. If it bothers you I’ll leave.”

She looks up at him. “You really want me?”

“More and more every second. Say the word and I’ll leave.”

“This is your room.”

“Yeah. It is.”

She doesn’t move away. She is standing so close that he can see the pores on her skin.

“I don’t want you to be weird around me. And I want you to pursue this guy, whoever he is, because you deserve it.”

The look on her face is strange. She laughs incredulously, then smacks him upside the head.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You are such a dumbass,” she grins, and shoves him to the bed.

“Okay, I know you weren’t that strong when I left, what the hell-” She is on top of him, grinning. “Oh. Hey there.”

“Hey,” she says softly. He can feel the weight of her body and smell the skin between her breasts and the perfume in her hair and the blood pulsing below her skin.

“Hey,” he mumbles dumbly.

“It’s you,” she whispers, eyes so full of light, fingers gently touching his face.

“Thank fucking god!” he hisses, and she laughs.

Then, her laughing face becomes very serious.

“Logan?” she asks. Her face is so close to his. He smells so good.

“Marie?”

At the same instant, they lean to each other. Her lips are so soft. He closes his eyes and feels a peace he hasn’t felt ever, and at the same time a roaring intensity that rivals the worst nightmares. His hand touches hers, and he tangles his fingers there.

“Marie.”

“Hmmm,” she drags her fingers down the length of his side.

“Hmm,” he mumbles and rolls so that he is over her. It is him. He can tell from the light in her eyes.

They make love, tense, go limp, waken again, move fast, call out the other’s name, rush, slow, miss dinner, exchange words and confessions, again and again until late that night until they know each other fully, bodies exhausted and minds saturated. Then they sleep.

Jean wakes and the room is dark. Dim light is cast from the door that is ajar. She gets up and goes to it, white nightgown pooling at her knees. She peers inside and smiles. The room is dim and a candle is burning. They are naked and entwined on the bed, half-awake, open eyes on each other, busy in a silent communion.

In dreams one can do anything, and in this one she tosses a cloud of light out and over them. It hovers in the air above them, sparkling a million colors, lighting their tangled bodies. Her blessing, and her well wishes. She closes the door and goes back to bed.

The End