Unlikely Bedfellows, Unholy Alliance – Chapter 3
Jean woke just as the first bright rays of daylight were slipping between the blood red velour curtains that covered her bedroom windows. Lying on her back, she lifted her arms above her head and pointed her toes, stretching her well-toned nude body to its ultimate length. She held it there to a count of three and then relaxed again, a thoroughly satisfied smile on her face as she rested amid the pile of plump pillows with their lavish champagne-colored Egyptian cotton pillowcases.
Another stretch had her clamping her thighs together, which created a delicious pressure at her core, awakening her clit and making it throb. Oh, yes, a little morning stimulation would be a marvelous way to start the day.
She ran her left hand down the taut, flat surface of her belly and slid it over her mound. Her fingers delicately parted her moist flesh as her mind sorted through her catalog of favorite fantasies she used to heighten the pleasure and guarantee a volcanic orgasm. Hmm. Last night's doggie-style with Logan was still ultra fresh in her mind, but would that be better than the scrumptious sixty-nine she'd shared with Remy last week? Or maybe the time Warren fucked her in flight…
…her arms around his neck holding on for dear life… his hands guiding her hips up and down, up and down, as she rode his hot shaft…his majestic wings pumping back and forth carrying them aloft… nothing but the cool night wind under her naked back…
Oooh, yea—Ouch!
As soon as her two fingers invaded her entrance, she felt an unfamiliar sting of pain. She backed off and rubbed her swollen bud rapidly with her fingers for a few seconds until the emptiness between her folds ached to be filled. She tried again.
Ouch. Again.
Annoyed at having to either bear the discomfort of her tender pussy or settle for the less explosive external orgasm, Jean chose the latter, but her disappointment ruined the moment and instead of a bang, her climax was more like a whimper.
Climbing out of bed produced another twinge of pain at the apex of her thighs. Now she was past annoyed; she was pissed off.
She was no inexperienced innocent. Why should the 'morning after' make her feel like one? As she entered the bathroom and turned on the shower, she laid all the blame at Bobby's feet.
Damn that Bobby Drake and his super-sized manhood. If he's going to be that big and thick, he needs to learn a little control. He fucks with all the finesse of a Tasmanian devil. I'm going to have to teach him a thing or two…
Then, as an afterthought…
…as soon as Logan hits the road again.
Logan. Come to think of it, he'd had his part in torturing her poor privates last night, too. True, there was a lot of magic in his ten-inch wand, and usually he wielded it with unparalleled wizardry, but this time he left her hurting. He could have just let her suck him off and not insisted on fucking her, too, she reasoned as she gingerly washed her raw spots.
I mean, it's not like I hadn't already been fucked to hell and back right before he got here. Didn't he know—?
The irony of her internal rant struck her as hilarious and she laughed out loud at her own expense.
"Of course, Logan didn't know, silly! If he did, Bobby would be in Med Lab right now having Hank sew his dick back on."
In truth, none of her bed partners knew about the others. One tiny little psychic suggestion and each of them believed he was her one and only, would have sworn to it in court on a stack of Bibles.
Well, everyone except Logan. His mental pathways were so convoluted and full of booby traps—and boobies *tee-hee*--that she hadn't risked planting any ideas in his head. With him, she couldn't predict how he might interpret her suggestion after it had gone through the tavern puzzle that was his psyche. Instead, she covered that base by planting another suggestion with all her other lovers that guaranteed they were scared shitless of ever letting the Wolverine find out they were playing in his sandbox.
Still chuckling to herself, she stepped out of the shower, grabbed a thick, white towel off the heated rack next to the shower and wrapped it around her freshly scrubbed body. The warm cocoon of the plush towel reminded her of how Logan had held her close last night, his strong arms pulling her against the heat of his body, cradling her in his embrace.
He'd said such sweet things to her about how she was the only woman he wanted and how easy it was to resist other women because he had her waiting for him at home. It was hard to believe; the Wolverine so thoroughly smitten with one woman. But she'd seen it with her own mind while they snuggled in her bed, him turning down several women—very, very beautiful women—out of fidelity to her.
She didn't go traipsing around in his head too much—so little of what she saw in there made any real sense to her anyway—but now and then she took a peek just to make sure she was still uppermost in his mind. It was a habit she got into after she'd caught him looking a tad too deeply into Rogue's eyes –and staring a bit too long at Rogue's blossoming body—at last year's Winter Festival. She hadn't made a point of keeping Logan's libido aimed in her direction for all this time just to let some jail bait parasite steal him away from her.
Oh, it hadn't been difficult, a word here, a touch there, a lingering look across the dinner table when Scott wasn't paying attention—and when had Scott ever paid her enough attention?
Hell, she probably could have been screwing Logan right from the start for all Scott would have noticed. He was too busy following the professor all over creation to be any kind of attentive to her needs. He'd claimed to love her, but he was always distracted by some mission or other.
Even in bed, his focus often drifted and she had to coax him back to the task at hand—pleasuring her—by giving him a taste of what she would do for him once she'd had her moment in the sun. Sometimes, though, he'd come a little too soon and then she would have to pull out all the stops to get him hard again—sucking his cock, squeezing his balls, playing with herself while he watched, changing the names of all the men in her fuck fantasies to 'Scott' when she talked dirty to him—so he could finally give her an orgasm, which she was damn well not going to miss out on just because he had such inconsistent control.
Just one of the many differences between Scott and Logan. Oh, yes, Logan…and his fascination with Rogue…that's what she'd been thinking about when her mind wandered.
Reaching for her hairdryer, Jean turned her thoughts to Rogue. The little pest. Always trailing after Logan, hanging on his every word, making a general nuisance of herself. It was embarrassing, or it should have been, but instead of rejecting the girl outright, Logan seemed to actually enjoy the hero worship.
He'd always been quite protective of her, right from the first, even after her mutation nearly killed him—twice. He was kind to her, more so than Jean would have thought him capable of, being the beast that he was. Then again, the moppet from Mississippi seemed to inspire that in people, even Scott had grown fond of her in a big brother sort of way.
"And the professor positively gushes over her," she lamented to her reflection in the bathroom mirror, "almost as much as he did over me when I was her age."
Well, if the old man wanted to dote on young Rogue, that was just fine, but when Logan's interest in the willowy mutant began to shift from platonic to something more, uh, primal, Jean knew she had to put a stop to it.
At the Winter Festival, she'd seen something in Logan's demeanor that set her teeth on edge. He wasn't just humoring Rogue by dancing with her; he was enjoying it, not in an I-can-stand-this-for-one-song way, but in an I-never-want-this-to-end way.
She'd decided right then and there to do whatever it took to keep her hold on Logan, even if it meant finally giving in and letting Logan have her, married or not. She would not play second fiddle to that little leech!
For a week after that dance, Jean found every excuse to be where Logan was while at the same time making sure Rogue was busy elsewhere. Being a teacher had its advantages when it came to creating extra chores for students. She made sure to include other students in the additional duties—everything from cleaning and organizing the classroom supply closets to updating the library's card catalog—so it wouldn't look like she was singling the girl out. She couldn't have her complaining to the professor that mean Dr. Grey was picking on her.
On what turned out to be the day before Scott's last mission, she recalled, she found Logan alone in the gym, cleaning up after his last self-defense class. He was shirtless, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that showed off his finely sculpted ass to perfection. She had half a mind to just walk up and cup his butt cheeks with both hands and damn the consequences, but decided to stick to her original plan instead…
Standing just outside the door, out of his sight, she reached out to his mind with her own. To her everlasting satisfaction, one of the very first images she bumped into was her own face. Well, actually it was her entire body, clad in the bikini she'd worn on a teachers' day out at a local lake the previous summer, and stuck to it like a tattoo was a feeling of barely-tethered desire. So far, so good.
She waited in the women's locker room until she heard the shower turn on in the men's locker room across the hall. After stripping off all her clothes, she turned on one of the showers and stood under it until her hair and skin were thoroughly soaked. She then applied a handful of shampoo and worked it into a frothy lather all over her head. Then she turned off the shower, grabbed a towel and, after making sure the shampoo had dripped a bit down into her eyes, dove into the men's locker room.
She heard the shower cut off as she stumbled toward the stalls, her eyes squeezed shut. She dropped the towel and groped blindly for the faucet. Her hand landed squarely on Logan's wet, naked butt.
A split second later, she found herself slammed against the tile wall at the back of the stall, held in place by a large feral paw.
"Jesus Christ, Jean! I nearly skewered you!" a rather flustered Logan shouted.
Jean didn't have to open her eyes to know that three adamantium blades were aimed at her throat.
"What the fuck are you doing in here?" he asked incredulously as he pulled back the claws and released his hold on her.
"The shower cut off while I was rinsing my hair. I couldn't get it back on, so I came over here. I'm sorry, Logan, I had no idea you were in here. I couldn't see for the suds in my eyes," she replied shakily.
She heard Logan inhale deeply just before the shower came on again.
"Oh, OK, well, here, let me help you."
Jean thought she detected a mischievous undertone in his offer, but she ignored it. Big mistake.
She felt Logan take her by the shoulders and direct her under the spray of the shower. He then placed one hand on her neck, keeping her from tilting her head back, which meant the shampoo was now flowing down over her face, forcing her to keep her eyes closed. His other hand went straight for the cookies.
Three calloused fingers parted her lower lips, felt her readiness and rubbed her folds with slow, deliberate strokes. It took less than two seconds for all her carefully laid plans to come undone. She'd only meant to let him get a good look at her with no clothes on, to take the game up a notch, to reach him in a way that a girl with poisonous skin never could.
Once Logan realized he could see her, but she couldn't see him, he was supposed to look his fill but then sneak out before she got her eyes open so she wouldn't catch him looking. It wasn't supposed to go this far, dammit!
"Logan, stop…" she protested weakly as she squirmed in his hold. Even she didn't know if it was from the desire to escape or just plain desire.
"Why? Smells to me like this is just what you came in here for," he taunted as he continued to ply her moist flesh with ever increasing pressure.
"No!" she bit off, trying to turn her head to avoid the running water.
He slid his hand up the back of her head and yanked it back by her hair. As soon as she no longer felt the spray on her face, she opened her eyes to see him staring down at her, his eyes almost black with lust and fury.
"Really? Well, here's a little lie detector test for ya."
With that, his lips slammed down on hers in a kiss blazing with raw need. Her hands flew to his chest, pushed against him for one tiny instant and then slid around his neck as she kissed him back feverishly.
The fingers in her crotch zeroed in on her clit, working it in the same rhythm his tongue was keeping as it danced with hers. Her whole body tensed in anticipation of her climax—one more stroke, one more—
--and then he let go with his lips and his hands and she fell right on her pretty little ass.
"Ow! Logan!" she yelped, her voice coated with indignation as her orgasm fizzled like a spent sparkler at a Fourth of July picnic.
"If you can't run with the big dogs, honey, stay on the porch," he growled at her. "You either intend to cheat on your husband or you don't. You can't have that both ways. As for me, I know better than to shit where I eat. If you want me, say so and leave him. Otherwise—"
He paused, took a deep breath, let it out slowly. When he spoke again, he sounded weary, almost pained.
"Otherwise, let's quit this stupid game, Jean. I can't take it anymore."
He didn't even help her up off the floor before he threw a towel around his waist and left. Her only consolation was the raging hard-on she saw jutting against the white terry cloth as he walked out…
Less than an hour later, she'd heard him leave on Scott's motorcycle. Barely twelve hours after that, she was a widow.
As she left the bathroom and opened her double-tiered, walk-in closet, the widow Summers reassured herself once more that Scott's death was a well-planned assassination and there was nothing she or anyone else could have done to stop it. For the millionth time, she told herself that even if she had tried to scan the minds of those waiting at the FoH base, it was unlikely that she'd have learned anything useful. The attack was meticulous in every detail. Chances are they had anticipated a possible use of telepathic powers—they knew who they were dealing with—and had taken measures to hide their true intentions from 'inquiring minds'.
Still, for weeks afterward, she was tortured by the memory of Scott's final moments. She'd spent them comparing the sweet, brief kiss he gave her as the jet's gangway opened to the torrid liplock Logan had laid on her earlier. There was no doubt about which she'd preferred. So, as she watched her husband's body being all but torn to pieces by machine gun fire, in addition to the shock and horror and pain she felt, a measure of guilt was there, too.
The doctor in her knew it was hopeless, but as his wife, she refused to accept that he was gone, that there was nothing her medical knowledge and training could do for him. All the way home, she battled the blood loss and tried to wrestle his heartbeat back into his chest, but the fight was over before it even began.
Logan had come back the next day, but other than a brief offer of condolences, he barely spoke to her. She suspected that he, too, felt guilty about the shower incident and couldn't face her. The silent treatment had lasted for a week and then he left the mansion again and stayed gone for almost a month. She'd known it was killing him to keep his distance once she was free, but he'd done it out of respect for her, to give her time to grieve the way a loving wife should.
So, even after they had become lovers, they had remained discreet. There were never any public displays of affection, no open endearments, no romantic dinners or nights on the town. Rumors abounded, of course, but neither she nor Logan ever confirmed or denied anything. Charles' particular gifts made it impossible to keep the truth from him, but he made it clear that so long as they behaved 'like adults', he wouldn't stand in their way.
Jean remembered the first few weeks of their relationship as a blur of almost constant hot, sweaty sex. The kind of sex she wouldn't be having tonight, not with her sore bottom. Logan was going to be so disappointed, especially if he intended to be here only a few days. Wouldn't it be great if she could borrow a little of his healing factor to speed things along?
But only one person had that ability, Jean thought darkly, the same sneaky little snitch that could ruin everything if she ever told Logan what she saw.
Jean's blood boiled as she recalled the moment several weeks ago when Rogue had walked into the laundry room to find her, naked from the waist down, perched atop one of the washing machines, her fingers wound in Warren's blond hair as he knelt in front of her, his face buried in her pussy. The kid had turned three shades of purple and run out of there like a scared rabbit. If only Warren had remembered to lock the damn door! But he hadn't, so after he'd licked and sucked her to a spectacular climax, she punished him by denying him 'equal time' while she went in search of Rogue to do some damage control.
Her performance as a guilt-ridden girlfriend, begging Rogue to keep the secret of 'the one and only time' she'd ever done anything like this, was truly Oscar-worthy. And it likely would have sufficed to keep the girl quiet, had it not been for the similar incident three nights later when Rogue caught St. John bending his teacher over the pool table in the rec room while he ground his dick into her from behind. What the fuck? Did the chick have some kind of illicit sex radar?
Jean had no idea how much Rogue knew about the true nature of her relationship with Logan, but she knew Logan considered the girl a friend, someone he could trust. While she doubted Rogue could get past her own mortification long enough to tell Logan anything, Jean just couldn't take that chance. What she needed was a way to keep Rogue and Logan apart and what she came up with was pure genius, if she did say so herself.
It had taken a few days to do the unpleasant but necessary 'research', but the final effect had been breathtaking. Jean doubted Rogue would ever speak to Logan again, let alone be in the same room with him—at least, not voluntarily and certainly not by herself. Her secrets were definitely safe now.
Still, perhaps a little 'touch up' was in order since Logan was back in the mansion, Jean thought as she stepped into a pair of low-heeled navy blue pumps that matched her navy mini skirt and white silk blouse perfectly. After all, she thought as she left her room and headed downstairs, there was no sense risking Rogue letting her guard down around Logan—not when all Jean had to do was reach out with her mind to the girl still dozing quietly in her room down the hall…
As the blood-curdling screams echoed through the mansion, Jean smiled to herself and pondered what to have for breakfast.
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Remy reached her first. He was just on his way to bed after an all-night poker game when he heard screams coming from Rogue's room across the hall. In two seconds flat, he was through her door, red eyes flaring, ace of spades at the ready to blast whoever was threatening his young friend. But she was sitting alone in the bed, her eyes wild and rolling, her chest heaving like an Olympic sprinter.
"Oh, mon p'tite, what happened?" he asked gently as he let the card fall harmlessly to the floor and carefully approached the bed.
Rogue looked up at him, tears of fright running down her face, but when she recognized him a look of utter relief washed over her. She flung her arms open and he gathered her to him, sitting on the edge of the bed and rubbing her back through her long-sleeved cotton nightgown.
"Now, now, pet, you be OK. It's all over," he soothed, "Remy's here, chère. Remy's here."
Rogue held on to him like her life depended on it, her heart thudding against his chest. He held her and stroked her hair until he felt her breathing even out. Taking her by the shoulders, he held her out from him and looked into brown eyes overflowing with bitter misery.
"You tell Remy what make da Rogue so scared, non?" he offered.
She tensed, gave a half-hearted effort at pulling away from him. He held firm and hugged her again.
"Dey say if you tell a bad dream it lose all its power over you. You ever hear dat, pet?"
"Yeah, Ah heard it," Rogue replied softly. "It didn't feel like a dream…it felt…like him…like he was—"
She fought down the lump in her throat and looked up at Remy. To his surprise, she smiled at him.
"But that's silly, isn't it? He's not even in the mansion, so it couldn't have been him, could it?" she asked rhetorically.
"Who you referrin' to, chère?" Remy inquired, reflecting her smile back at her.
"Logan. He's been gone for weeks, so—"
Remy shook his head, cutting her off.
"Non, p'tite, da Wolverine is here," he corrected her. "I saw him in da kitchen last night…" His voice trailed off as he watched the horror return to her eyes.
"No! Oh, no, not again!" Rogue cried as she clung to him once more. "Don't leave me, Remy! Don't let him hurt me again!"
Remy had no idea what Rogue was talking about, but he was damn sure going to find out—as soon as she released her death grip on him, that was. For now, all he could do was hold the trembling girl and murmur sweet Cajun comfort against her hair.
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Rogue and Remy were too lost in their own thoughts to notice the hulking shadow just outside her door. Logan stood there, his heart ripped open by the pain in Rogue's voice. He could feel the fear emanating from her like heat from a fire and it was killing him.
He didn't know which was worse, her being afraid of him, or her finding comfort in the arms of that red-eyed Cajun card shark. Just the thought of both made his knuckles itch.
He thought about gutting Gambit just on general principles, but he knew the Cajun wasn't his real problem. With one last look at Rogue's tear-streaked face, Logan and his shattered heart headed downstairs.
Five minutes later, Logan burst through the door of Xavier's office like a hurricane from hell. "In case you ain't heard yet," he snarled, "That bitch is at it again, and this time, old man, the claws are comin' out!"
End Chapter 3.
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Author's Chapter Notes:
Since I didn't mention it in the a/n for the first chapter, I need to say here that I do not own any of these characters, but their shenanigans are all mine. The folks at Marvel and Fox would be appalled, I'm sure, especially at the Jean portrayed in this chapter...and the next, but let's not get ahead of ourselves...I stand to make no financial profit from this work, but the emotional wealth I have derived from the amazing reviews I've received is beyond measure.
Chapter End Notes:
Next time: Xavier calms the savage beast...and things get very, very DARK as we find out just exactly what Jean did to Rogue...