On Guilt, Lust and Repressing Emotions
by
Eiluned
Archive: Yes to list archives. All others please ask first.
Disclaimer: They belong to Marvel. If I owned them, they'd do more of those interesting things. The lyrics are copyright to Jason Wade & Dreamworks Music.
Notes: Spoilers for UXM #4. This is an AU because it doesn't follow Millar's storyline. I'm a bit behind in my issues ::glares at local bookstore:: There is a brief section of the story told from Wolvie's point of view. It's labeled. :) The song really caught the mood I was going for with this story.
Thanks to Meg and Gariel for the help with ish #4, Kristy for sending me the ish, suggesting the series title, and being my best bud, Mara for catching my typos, Alex for her fantastic edits, KA for thudding a couple of times ;) and her great suggestions, and Meg again for her edit. :)
"I can't be losing sleep over this, no, I can't
And I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind would just stop racing. . . "
Lifehouse, "Somewhere in Between"
I wake up in the middle of the night, and for a moment I can't remember where I am. I don't normally wake up naked, pressed against another naked body.
Wolverine. . . I blush when the memory of what happened a few hours ago comes flooding back to me. Jesus Christ, I think to myself. I've had sex a few times, but those were just clumsy, fumbling attempts. With Wolverine. . . god. I've never felt anything like that in my life.
I slowly slip out from under his arm and crawl out of bed. There's just too much to process right now. I have to go somewhere to think, and I certainly can't think rationally in bed with him.
He shifts and mumbles something in his sleep, rolling onto the warm spot that I just abandoned, and I feel a little guilty for just leaving. Out of curiosity, I touch his mind.
Primitive thoughts dominate: hunger, fatigue, mild irritation at the loss of warmth (from me, I think) and. . . guilt? Surprised, I try to probe deeper, but come up against a brick wall.
The fact that he can shield his thoughts so well disturbs me. I can't help wondering what he's hiding behind those shields. I resolve to talk to the professor about it in the morning.
The scrubs I had on last night are on the floor, but I can't find my ruined bra or my panties. I quietly slip into the scrubs, abandoning the search for my underwear.
He mumbles something again, and I decide that I should get out of here before he wakes up. Grabbing a scrap of paper and a pen from the desk, I scribble something about needing some air and that I'll see him in the morning. I leave the note on the nightstand and, taking one last, long look at him, slip out of the room.
-----
The halls are dark and quiet, typical considering it's 1 am, but I'm surprised to find a light on in the kitchen. Professor Xavier is there, drinking tea and staring out of the dark window. "You're up late," I say, opening the refrigerator.
"So are you," he replies lightly. "I was just checking on Henry."
I take out a bottle of water and close the fridge, my heart sinking. "How is he?" I ask quietly.
He turns his chair to face me. "Stable, but not out of the woods yet. I'm hopeful, though," he says. "You did a good job with him, Jean. If times were different, I'd suggest you go right into medical school."
I snort. "Yeah, well. . . " I say, taking a drink. "No respectable university would accept a mutant. They'd get burned to the ground."
"There are ways of getting around the genetic tests, Jean."
I rub my eyes. "I know. But sometimes. . . I feel like a Jew in Nazi Germany."
He frowns in agreement. "I only wish the people with authority would see that analogy," he says sadly.
"The problem with it is, there are Nazis on both sides this time," I say, pulling myself up to sit on the counter. "The government uses Sentinels to wipe out mutants, but Magneto's methods aren't any less violent. I can understand why some mutants follow him, but I don't want to see innocent people die. I don't want to see anyone die. I mean, my family. . . they're just normal humans. . . "
I'm getting upset, so I stop talking, but I sense discomfort from Professor Xavier. When I look up at him, he quickly looks back out the window.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He sighs heavily, looking like the weight of the world just fallen on his shoulders. "Scott is gone. He has taken the Blackbird, and I fear he has defected to Magneto," he says quietly.
I feel like the floor just dropped out from under me. "What?" I exclaim, anger welling up inside of me. "How could he?"
"A combination of circumstances, I imagine. We both know that Scott was never very forthcoming about his emotions."
"You're hiding something, Professor."
He sighs again, a guilty look passing over his face. "Yes, I am. He saw you and Wolverine in the garden."
My throat clenches with fear and shame, but mostly anger. "He left because of that. I never realized how immature he was," I say, keeping my tone even with an effort; I'm afraid that if I let go of my self-control, I'll scream.
Professor Xavier wheels over to me, covering my hands with his. "It isn't your fault, Jean," he tells me quietly. "I'm afraid the blame lies more with me. I've been using Scott, and you, and that's unfair."
I look at him in surprise. "I made my decision to fight for you, Professor, and I thought Scott did, too."
"But the fact remains that I have been using the two of you for my own purposes, and that is inexcusable."
I give him an incredulous look. "And it doesn't matter at all that I agree with your goals. Pardon my language, Professor, but that's bullshit. I *choose* to fight for your cause, and I will never abandon it for petty reasons.
"I just finished this book. . . one of the characters in it said that sometimes you have to use people for the greater good. If you want to believe that you're using us, that's your own business, but know that you aren't doing it out of greed, Professor."
The kitchen is quiet for a long moment, and then he whispers, "From the mouths of babes, Jean," and doesn't say anything else about Scott.
We're both quiet for a long time, lost in our own thoughts. I'm having a hard time accepting that Scott - my best friend, for god's sake - has betrayed us. Being upset is weakening my mental shields, and I'm starting to 'hear' everyone else's dreams and thoughts. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and reach for my inner calm, focusing on it until I'm alone in my head again. Strangely enough, thoughts of Wolverine immediately surface when I've reached a calmer state. I blush when a mental image of him at the brink of orgasm pops into my mind, and actively shield that memory.
"You're thinking about him," Professor Xavier says, and I know exactly who he's talking about.
"I can't help it," I say honestly.
He gives me a look that's both embarrassed and concerned. "You did take. . . precautions?" he asks, his cheeks turning red, and I stifle a laugh.
"Professor, I've been on birth control since I was fourteen, and we used a condom," I tell him.
He nods, still embarrassed. "I just worry about you, Jean."
"I understand," I say. "Professor? When I try to read his thoughts. . . it's like I'm running into a wall. He's so tightly shielded that unless he's projecting a thought directly at me or asleep, I can't get anything from him."
"And this worries you."
"Of course it worries me. He's obviously hiding something."
Professor Xavier steeples his hands. "Everyone hides something, Jean--"
I interrupt him. "Of course, but he's. . . I don't know. Dangerous. You saw what he did in that Danger Room simulation. He ripped through all of us like we were made out of paper, even Piotr."
"And, despite seeing him 'kill' you and your teammates, you still slept with him."
The professor's words freeze me. "I don't even know if I like him," I say weakly.
"You don't have to like someone to lust for them, Jean," he says, "but I don't think that lust is all you're feeling. Perhaps you can sense something else in him that the rest of us cannot."
"I don't know. . . "
"Subconsciously, I mean. I don't trust him either, Jean, but I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt."
I finish off my bottle of water and use my teke to toss it in the recycle bin. "I don't know what I feel for him. I don't think I've ever been this confused in my life."
He squeezes my hand again and smiles. "Things will make themselves clear in time. We just have to be patient," he says. "Why don't you go check on Henry? A familiar presence might help his recovery."
I nod and slide off of the counter, squeezing his shoulder in silent thanks.
-----
The Medlab is cool and dark, and I turn on just one of the lamps to be able to see. Hank's hulking form is nearly dwarfed by the medical equipment surrounding his bed. Someone's sitting in one of the chairs. . . Bobby. He looks really uncomfortable, his legs pulled up against his chest.
"Bobby," I whisper, not wanting to startle him.
His eyes open and he sits up in the chair. "Jean," he says, blinking rapidly, "I was just sitting down here with him. . . "
"S'okay. Let me show you a trick," I tell him.
I reach under the arm of the chair and push a hidden button. The chair gently reclines. "I'm sure you'll sleep better stretched out," I say.
"Thanks," he mumbles sleepily. "D'ya hear about Scott?"
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. Thank god Bobby's perceptive; he drops the subject.
"I'm going to check on Hank. If you want, you can go back to sleep," I say, glancing at the monitors.
"Professor Xavier was here about an hour ago," he says. "Do you think Hank's gonna be okay?"
I wish that I could give Bobby a definite answer, but I can't. "He's a tough guy. He'll pull through."
Bobby's already falling back asleep, so I pull his blanket over him and step back over to Hank's side. His bruises are darkening terribly, leaving lurid marks all over him. Hopefully, the treatment we used will work. I check the machines one last time and head back upstairs to my room.
-----
Interlude: Wolverine
-----
When I wake up, Jean's gone. I bury my face in the pillow and breathe in her scent. The sheets smell like sex. Something deep inside of me aches at the thought of her, and no matter how hard I try to push it away, the feeling stays.
I look around the dark room and really appreciate it for the first time. I can't remember ever having a room of my own, or anything remotely like a home. The ache in my chest gets stronger.
My eyes fall on a scrap of paper on the nightstand. I reach over and pick it up, smelling Jean's scent on it. I can read it easily, even in the dim light.
"Wolverine-
I'm sorry to leave, but I need some air. I'll see you in the morning.
-Jean"
I remember the way she moved underneath me and feel myself get hard. She's been gone barely an hour and I already miss her. What the hell is wrong with me?
Sex. That's all this is. I'm not going to let myself get distracted by worrying about this. It's just sex.
The soft sound of bare feet on the carpet catches my ear. I sit up in bed and sniff the air. Jean. I can smell her, my scent still clinging to her.
I get up, pull on some shorts and follow her to her room.
-----
End Interlude
-----
2:04 am. I should be tired, but my mind is racing too quickly to sleep. I'm too wound up to meditate, so I grab a few candles and head into my bathroom. A hot shower and a little aromatherapy should relax me. Maybe I'll actually get some sleep tonight.
I light the candles and toss the match into the toilet. Cranking the water temperature up, I turn the shower on and let steam fill the room. I resolve not to think for the rest of the night and strip off my scrubs, stretching out sore muscles.
"Do you know how much I want you right now?"
The deep voice behind me frightens me out of at least five years of life, and I whirl around. "Jesus effin' Christ, Wolverine!" I exclaim. "Are you trying to give me a heart attack?"
"Logan."
I blink. "What?"
He smiles faintly. "My name's Logan. You don't have to call me Wolverine all the time."
I smirk. "Nice of you to tell me."
His dark eyes roam hungrily over my body, and I'm suddenly very conscious of my nudity. The front of his shorts is tented, and I'm not sure if I'm embarrassed or aroused. Maybe a little of both.
He's on me before I can even register the movement, his hands running greedily over my body, tongue in my mouth.
I moan and sink my hands into his thick hair, pulling him closer, rubbing myself against him. I won't be thinking tonight, but I don't think I'm going to get any relaxing done. He nips at my bottom lip and I mimic him, then slide my mouth down to bite his chin. He purrs deep in his throat, so I slide my teeth up his scruffy jaw and latch onto his little sweet spot right below his ear.
The purr changes into a throaty moan when I flicker my tongue over the spot. Telepathy really has its uses during sex. It comes in very handy when you're mapping out erogenous zones.
I arch against him, sucking hard on his neck, when his fingers ghost over my back. That's one of my big erogenous zones, and he can sense this somehow. He runs his hands up and down my back over and over, until I'm whimpering, riding the thigh he's thrust between mine. "God," he growls. "You smell so good. . . "
I switch spots on his neck, moving to where I can feel his pulse against my tongue. He moans and pushes his shorts over his hips. I grab the waistband and shove them the rest of the way down, and he kicks them to the side. I step backwards and pull him into the shower with me.
The hot water washes over us, making our skin slide together easily. Logan (how strange it is to think of him as something other than Wolverine!) pushes me against the wall, squeezing my breasts with both hands, his big cock rubbing against my belly. That's another thing that sets him apart from the other guys I've slept with. He is big; his cock is long and thick, and he knows how to use it.
I run my hands over his chest, my mouth trailing my fingers. I suck his nipples, tongue his navel and lick my way down his flat, hard stomach, dropping to my knees in front of him.
I glance up and all of my breath leaves me in a whoosh. He's gorgeous, like some kind of god. I rest my hands on his powerful thighs, my eyes traveling over the wide expanses of bulging muscles. His hands are spread flat on the shower wall and his biceps are straining. His teeth are bared and I can hear a low growl forming in his throat. But his eyes. . . his dark, slitted eyes are practically glowing, gleaming like a predator's.
"Suck me," he orders hoarsely, and I waste no time in complying.
Licking the drop of precum from out of the slit, I run my tongue from base to top, letting the taste blend with that of his skin. I suck the head into my mouth, letting my tongue play in the slit, then slowly work my way down his shaft. . . When I've taken in all that I can, I swallow around him, listening to him moan.
His hands come off of the wall and rest on my shoulders, one moving up to cup the back of my head, and I suddenly miss having long hair. I wish that it was long enough for him to wrap his fingers in.
He slowly pulls back, sliding his cock out of my mouth, then pushes forward, sliding back in. I look up and him, and he's watching me with this intense expression on his face. He slides out and in again, and again, slowly and carefully, but I can see every muscle in his body straining.
God, what is he doing to me? It's like every time he touches me, hell, even looks at me, I burst into flames. I slip one of my hands between my legs, fingering myself, still staring up at him. His breathing gets heavier and his thrusts begin to speed up.
I press his cock against the roof of my mouth with my tongue on every outstroke. The taste of his precum is much stronger now, and his thighs are trembling. He's gonna come. I'm a little scared at the thought of letting him come in my mouth, but I want it. God, I'm getting close too, so I rub my clit harder.
He thrusts a few more times and then goes stock still. 'Don't wanna come yet. . . ' he thinks (and I can actually hear it), but I'm almost there. Hell if I'm going to come without him.
I flicker my tongue right on his frenulum -- the spot he's hoping I won't touch -- and move my hand from his thigh to the base of his cock. He throbs against my palm, his grip tightening on my shoulder, and then he comes.
He's growling, pumping in and out of my mouth, the first jets of semen sliding down my throat. He pulls out suddenly, leaving a trail of come on my tongue. I get a mental image from him of what he wants me to do, so I lean back on my heels against the shower wall and let go of his cock, sliding my now free hand under my breasts, holding them up.
He takes hold of his cock and starts jerking himself off. Hot semen splashes onto my breasts, and I roll the taste of it around on my tongue. Oh, god. . . the sight of him standing over me, moaning, coming all over me, is enough to set me off. My head jerks back, bumping into the shower wall, when I arch back, shuddering.
My orgasm is just a quick one that leaves me wanting more. Logan collapses to his knees in front of me, running his fingers over my face. I catch the first two fingers of his right hand with my teeth and suckle, licking the last drops of semen from his skin. He moans and pulls my mouth to his, sucking on my tongue. I know he's tasting himself in my mouth, and I can tell from the waves of pleasure pouring off of him that he likes it.
He rises and pulls me to my feet with him, still kissing me. I finally pull myself away, gasping for breath. "You're insatiable!" I laugh, ducking under the spray and reaching for my shampoo bottle.
"Hey," he growls, grabbing me from behind and pulling me against him. "What makes you think I'm finished with you?"
He's hard again, his cock pressed against my lower back. I shift a little, letting it rub against me. "You're hard already?" I ask breathlessly, more than a little surprised; it's only been about twenty seconds since he'd stopped coming.
He chuckles, a low, rough sound that makes me shiver. "You're gonna love this, darlin'. It's part of my healing factor," he purrs, sliding his tongue into my ear.
"Instant recovery?" I whimper as his hands slide up to cup my breasts. "I'm. . . impressed. . . "
He reaches around me and shuts off the water, then turns around and pulls me out of the shower.
-----
God, he looks so good in my bed. He's stretched out on the sheets, running his hands over his cock and balls. I practically dump my nightstand drawer on the floor looking for a box of condoms.
He laughs when I finally come up with them. "What, do you guys have an endless supply of rubbers at this place?" he teases.
I smirk at him and rip the box open, condoms spilling all over the bed. "Well, we don't exactly need little mutants running around here, do we?" I retort, grabbing one of the little packages and tearing it open.
I put the condom on him, and I'm about to straddle him when he sits up. "Hands and knees," he whispers, and trembling, I obey.
He moves behind me and I wait to feel the press of his cock against me. It doesn't come, though, and instead I feel the heat of his breath just before his tongue slides into my pussy.
I cry out and collapse down onto my elbows, pushing myself back against his face. He grabs my hips with both hands and holds me up, slipping his tongue in deeper, fucking me with his mouth.
He thrusts his tongue in and out a few times, then slides down to flicker against my clit rhythmically. God, it's so good. . . I can hardly think straight. My clit starts throbbing and all of my muscles tense in anticipation.
As soon as I start coming, he moves up and pushes his cock inside of me, slipping a hand around my waist to finger my clit. My legs buckle, and I collapse onto my stomach, Logan following me down. I buck against his hips, my sex clenching wildly around him.
He stops teasing my clit for a moment when my cries die down to pants and gasps. He pulls back slowly and then suddenly slams into me, his wet fingers rubbing frantic circles on my clit. Oh, my god, I'm coming again, and I bite back a scream. He's making me lose my mind. . . I push myself up onto my elbows and knees and shove myself back on his cock.
He starts growling, a low, primal sound welling up from deep in his chest. He grabs my hips with bruising strength and rides me hard, prolonging my orgasm until I feel like I'm going to pass out.
His growls get throatier, melting into desperate moans. He thrusts hard one more time, pushing himself in as deep as he can go, and comes. His hips jerk erratically and his cock throbs inside of me. He pumps in and out a few more times, then pulls out.
I fall onto the bed, exhausted and ready to sleep, but he quickly pulls me back up and slides underneath me, a new condom in place.
"Again?" I laugh, putting my hands on his chest.
The big muscles tense under my touch. "Again," he replies, guiding me onto his erection.
I ride him this time, starting slowly and gradually pumping myself faster and harder on him. He cups my breasts, teasing my nipples until I'm ready to scream. I can't quite believe it, but I'm almost at another orgasm. I just might pass out on him if I come again.
He pinches both of my nipples hard, his hips bucking up underneath me, and I do come again, my fingernails digging into his pectorals. He snarls at me and grabs my hips, hammering up into me until he comes again.
I slump over him, ready to collapse. The marks where my fingernails dug into his skin have healed already, leaving just drops of blood where the cuts should have been. He gently shifts me off of him and gets up, tossing the condom away.
I start to ask him if he's going to stay, but he answers my question by sliding into bed beside me and pulling the covers over both of us. He wraps his arms around me, and I curl up around him, wrapping my arm around his waist and my leg over one of his. He rests his chin on top of my head, nuzzling my hair for a second.
"Good night, Jean," he whispers so quietly that I almost don't hear it.
I press my lips against his shoulder. "Good night."
-----
I try to sleep, but as exhausted as I am, it won't come.
So, I lie awake in his arms, fighting with my emotions. The thing that scares me the most is that I can hear some of his thoughts now. They're just as conflicted as mine, and that really frightens me.
I don't know what I'm feeling for him, but I'm scared. I press my face against his neck, listening to his deep breathing and will myself to sleep. I can think about it in the morning.
End
-----
"Somewhere In Between"
Lifehouse (from the album, 'No Name Face')
I can't be losing sleep over this, no, I can't
And I cannot stop pacing
Give me a few hours and I'll have this all sorted out
If my mind you just stop racing I cannot stand still
I can't be this unsturdy This cannot be happening
This is over my head but underneath my feet
Because by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat
And everything will be back to the way it was
I wish that it was just that easy
I am waiting for tonight Then waiting for tomorrow
Am I somewhere in between what is real and just a dream
Would you catch me if I fall out of what I fell in
Don't be surprised if I collapse down at your feet again
I don't want to run away from this
I know that I just don't need this
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