“Mmmm, greasy goodness.” Ororo licked her fingertip, splotched with pink from a mixture of mayo and ketchup.
Scott nodded, taking another hearty bite from his burger. “The Professor would have a fit if he knew what we were eating.”
Ororo took a sip from her chocolate shake before asking, “What makes you think he doesn’t? The man is psychic.”
Scott groaned. “Good point.” He rubbed his temples with his fingers. “I see…I see…extra workout sessions in our futures.”
“Probably.” She munched an onion ring with gusto. “But so worth it. Grapes and granola just don’t cut it some days.”
“Most days,” Scott wholeheartedly agreed. Although the meals at Xavier’s were often plentiful and nutritious, very rarely were they “bad for you” foods, like deep fat fried onion rings.
The two sat in companionable silence for a time, the only sound between them being an occasional slurp from a straw. Twice Scott reached over the table with his napkin wiping smudges from Ororo’s lip and chin. The third dollop of ketchup landed just above the neckline of her v-neck tank, on the swell of her right breast. They exchanged laughing glances at his, “That’s all you,“ retreat.
“You don’t want to lick it off?” she inquired teasingly.
“That’s a baited trap if ever there was one,” he replied.
Ororo used her thumb to wipe away the offending condiment, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Your loss.”
“No doubt.” he cleared his throat, pretending to adjust his collar.
They resumed eating, both smiling around their food.
When he was finished Scott folded his napkin back into perfect shape, laying it on the corner of his tray in a neat diagonal from his folded wrapper and empty cup.
Ororo watched the methodical placement of each object with a raised brow. She shook her head, ineffectually hiding the crooked tilt of her lips.
Scott sighed good naturedly. “I know, I know.”
“I can only imagine your medicine cabinet,” Ororo teased, tossing her own crumpled napkin onto her tray.
“From Anbesol to Zyrtec, all alphabetical.”
“There’s a word for that you know.”
“Organized,” he replied with his own grin.
She snickered. “Yeah, that’s one word for it, not the one I was thinking, but it‘ll do.”
They shared another comfortable, quite moment. “You have a great smile,” she said softly.
Surprised, Scott cleared his throat. “Thanks. So do you.”
Ororo purposely folded a slice of pickle over her front teeth then beamed at him, crossing her eyes. “You think?”
Without missing a beat he said gallantly, “Oh, yeah. Definitely. Mmhm. The green brings out your lovely eyes.”
Placing a fresh napkin to her lips she removed the pickle. “I’m stuffed.”
Scott glanced at his watch, as he had done twice in the past hour. “Yeah, it’s been nearly an hour, we should head back.”
Ororo leaned against her elbow, getting comfortable. “Why? Afraid people will talk?”
“People always talk.”
“I meant specific people; person would be more precise.”
“No.”
“Jean doesn’t get jealous?”
“I would never give her reason to be.”
Quite simply one of the most honest and heartbreaking statements Ororo had ever heard and she had to turn away, unable to look into Scott’s handsome, earnest face and know what she knew about the woman he professed such loyalty to.
“So, you ever going to tell me what was going on in the kitchen?” he questioned, deciding a change of subject was in order, not realizing that the events in the kitchen were
directly related to their previous topic and to what was making Ororo scowl.
A rumble of thunder rippled across the clear blue sky. “Nothing important.”
“Uh-huh.” Scott was clearly unconvinced of the non-importance.
Scanning the booths and tables fro a distraction Ororo found herself looking towards a lanky, big eyed teen behind the counter who was busy staring at her like she was the first female he’d ever seen. She lifted her fingers in a small wave. He ducked under the counter; literally.
“Careful, Storm, you may very well give that boy a heart attack.” Scott chuckled.
“You’d think he’d never seen a girl before,” she muttered.
“Not one like you,” Scott confirmed, with some male appreciation of his own.
She eyed him speculatively. “Why, Scott, I do believe you’re a bit of a flirt after all.”
He shrugged easily, giving her yet another glimpse of his hidden laid back side. “Nope, just honest.”
“Ah.” Again Ororo was forced to look at the table as opposed to meeting his ruby shielded eyes.
“Hey.” Scott’s hand covered hers. “What‘s the problem?”
She gave him a wan smile. “You’re a great guy.”
He chuckled. “And that’s a problem?”
“Depends on who you ask,” she answered vaguely. “Some would say that nice guys finish last.”
“And I would say that’s what makes us great in the bedroom.”
Ororo’s startled whoop of laughter drew counter-boy from his hiding spot, his bug eyes peering over the stack of cardboard crowns, darting between Ororo and Scott before his manager came to tap him on the shoulder.
“I never would have pegged you as the type to joke about sex,” Ororo responded breathlessly as her laughter subsided.
“Well, normally, no,” Scott agreed, his face a bit flushed. “Making love is not usually something that I--”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa.” Ororo held up her free hand, the other still beneath Scott’s warm one. “Did you just use the term ‘making love‘? I don’t think I have ever actually heard anyone use that phrase in genuine conversation.”
He coughed, feeling slightly awkward. “That’s a good sign that we shouldn’t continue this conversation.”
“Possibly.” She tilted her head, considering. “Or, it means you don’t discuss it enough if you’re using such archaic terms.”
“Storm,” he began, his tone holding a mild warning that she refused to heed.
“Making love sounds so…romance novel cliché.”
Resigned to his fate, Scott replied, “Well, shouldn’t it be romantic? I mean, I think it should. It should hold meaning and feeling and it should always be special. A woman should be made to feel cherished, respected, and loved.”
“Awww.” Ororo gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. “That’s sweet.”
One brow lifted over the dark rim of his glasses. “Why do I feel there’s a ‘but’ in there?”
Ororo shook her head hastily. “No, no, that really is very sweet.”
“Storm.” He watched her expression carefully. “I can’t believe you’re jaded enough to believe that maki--sex shouldn’t be special?”
She sighed. “Of course it should be special.”
“Buuuuut,” he prompted.
She sighed quietly, almost inwardly. “But, sadly, I don’t think all people feel that way. Sometimes…sometimes, sex isn’t about the feelings.” God, why was this so awkward? She should just come out and say ‘Sometimes it’s about fucking, Scott, just fucking. Y’know, like Jean does with Logan.’ “Sometimes, it’s just about the sex. Pants around your feet, up against the wall, screwing.” She modified her thought before vocalizing it.
Scott’s face was a dull crimson, his jaw set. “I see. So, what? You think that I should also think along the same lines? Give up my romanticized ideals for the club ‘em upside the head and drag ‘em by their hair into a dark corner and have my wicked way with them kind of sex? No thanks, that’s more Wolverine’s thing.” His voice was hard. “When Jean wants that, she knows where to go.”
Ororo choked.
Scott maneuvered around the table whapping her between the shoulder blades when it became clear she truly couldn’t breath. “You okay?”
She shook her head, gasping for air. “No,” she spluttered. She wiped the winded tears from her eyes. A few more wracking coughs and her pipe was clear. She pressed a hand to her chest, clearing her throat. Choking to death on one’s own spit was definitely number 2 on her list of ways not to die.
When she was done, Scott tucked his finger under her chin, lifting her face. “You didn’t think I knew.”
“Obviously.” she muttered.
He moved away from her, returning to his seat across the table. “Is that why you’re spending time with me?” he asked, seemingly more hurt by that than by the fact that his girlfriend was screwing another man. “Because you feel sorry for poor exploited Cyclops?”
She thought about how to answer that question for a moment before responding. “I won‘t say it didn‘t play a part in me spending time with you,” Ororo said honestly. “But the truth of the matter is, I like you. You‘re fun to be with.”
“Thanks.” His tone was detached and reserved.
“Don’t.” Ororo reached for his hand. “Don’t turn into Cyclops. He’s a prick. I prefer Scott.”
His mouth curved ruefully. “So do I.”
“How long have you known about the not so clandestine trysts?” She asked quietly.
“I think I’ve always known,” he replied just as quiet. He met her troubled eyes. “Don’t do that.” He frowned. “Don’t look at me like I’m the one getting the short end of the stick, because I’m not! Jean loves me. She uses him.”
Ororo said nothing for a long minute, studying him intently. Then, “You have hidden fire, Scott.”
He blinked behind ruby lenses, caught off guard by the topic shift. “No, I’m pretty tame, but it’s nice that you think so.”
She smiled knowingly. “Yes, you do. We just need to find a way to unlock it.”
“Good luck with that.”
Ororo leaned back in her seat. “For a pro like me, picking this lock will be a piece of cake.”
“I am who I am,” he said, a bit defensively.
She disagreed. “No, you’re not. You’re who you think you should be, you’re the guy that you think everyone wants you to be: the stoic leader, the perfect boyfriend, the all around good guy, but the one thing that you’re not, is you.”
His expression was quizzical, and slightly amused. “So, I’m none of those other things?”
“To an extent,” she acknowledged with a playful poke. “All of those traits are pieces of you, Scott. But they are not the whole.” After a deliberate pause she added, “You will never be Wolverine for Jean.”
He flinched.
“Nor should you have to be.” She reached across the table, touching his cheek. “You are wonderful just the way you are, and should never, ever make any acquiesce of self to assure the happiness of another.”
Without thinking Scott turned his face, kissing her open palm. “I see now why Henry found your talks so enlightening, as he put it.”
“I’m a plethora of wisdom and guidance,” she agreed with mock snobbery. “Speaking of Hank, you wanna take a run to Boston and check in on ole Blue?”
Cyclops would of course say no, they could always find work to do, training and chores, and of course they should set a good example to the younger students by taking their roles as X-Men seriously.
With the most carefree smile Ororo had ever seen, Scott said, “Sure. Let’s go.”
Logan paced his bedroom floor in stiff, agitated strides, the heels of his boots making sharp clacks against the hardwood. Where the hell were they? He paused in his march, flexing his shoulders, feeling disquietingly restless. Stopped beside his window, he parted the solid navy curtains blocking out the sun so that he could view the driveway. Still no sign of Scott’s blue and silver car. He shot his bedside clock an angry scowl, probably the fifth he‘d given it that afternoon. They’d been gone nearly three hours. What the hell could they be doing that took them three flamin’ hours?
The answer that jumped into his head was immediate, and graphic, and resulted in him popping his claws. He clenched his teeth, grinding them as he recalled Ororo’s taunting statements and the sultry way she had whispered, “Like Scott.” from behind the kitchen door. He tried without success to dismiss the incident and her from his mind. He would have had more success trying to lift the mansion over his head.
He let the curtain fall back into place. If Jeannie wasn’t in with the Professor doing some telepathy training he’d ask her where they were. She always knew where Scott was. Not that she’d ever really needed to wonder before, as he’d most commonly be found under her feet, but ever since Ororo’s return to the team Scott seemed…different.
A rumble of sound reverberated through Logan’s chest, the type of warning growl that usually rose the hackles of those around him. Logically he knew his behavior was irrational and uncalled for. He had no claim over Ororo, and if Scooter wanted to fuck her, and who could blame him if he did, then Logan was in no position to call the guy out on it.
After all, hadn’t he been balls deep in Jean not too long ago? Not liking the guilty turn in his gut at that, Logan shoved his hand through his thick hair, furthering it’s natural inclination for disarray. Why the hell he even bothered with Jean anymore was beyond him. Sure he cared about her; he always would. Jean was the first person he could remember ever treating him like he was valued for more than his killing ability. She would always hold a special niche in his heart for that.
As for the sex, well, it was good, as always, but not satisfying. She hadn’t been satisfying since he’d been in that room with Ororo clad only in her skimpy Egyptian get up, donning his Stetson and riding his lap like a born cowgirl.
Just thinking about it made his cock ache so bad it put him on a violent edge. He just needed to get her out of his system, he mused. She was like forbidden fruit or some shit. Once he had her, he’d be able to wash his hands of it and get back feeling normal instead of being ready to gut someone at the drop of a hat, which, was admittedly, pretty damn close to normal for him anyway, but that was beside the point. At least if he fucked her than maybe his balls would stop throbbing and waking him in the middle of the night leaving him aching in ways that defied the physical.
He returned once more to the window, watching the students still outside enjoying the afternoon sun, completely oblivious to the dangerous man two stories above them. He let out another disgruntled chuff, deciding his time was better served nursing a beer as opposed to watching the clock. They’d be back soon anyway, he figured, as he descended the stairs. It was Scott’s laundry day after all : every Friday, four o’clock sharp.
The Academy of Tomorrow resided atop a small hill on the outskirts of Boston, looking down onto a picturesque colonial little town, with rolling green lawns and quaint homes. The place was often affectionately referred to as Mutie Haven due to the open reception mutants received there. They were not outsiders here, but community members. It was a shame that not more communities adopted that method of thinking.
Scott cut the engine of his Viper, staring out the windshield towards the school that rivaled Xavier’s for opulence. Large marble columns, atop a large stone staircase, rose across the front of the brick building, flanked on either side by Griffin statues, and emblazoned across the front of the school was If it can be Imagined, it can be Achieved. Emma Frost‘s student motto. “Well, here we are.”
Something in Scott’s voice made Ororo glance at him. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He shrugged. “It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Alex goes here.”
“Old girlfriend?”
Scott scoffed. “Hell, no. My brother.”
“Oh.”
“Who’s dating my old girlfriend.”
“Oooooh.” Ororo’s eyes sparkled mischievously. “Scott Summers you’re just chock full of mysteries aren’t you.” She leaned against her door, eyeing him with simulated fear. “You aren’t wanted for murder are you?”
“In four states,” he confirmed.
“Oh, well, if it’s only four states.” She opened her door, stepping out into the warm sunshine, placing her hand over her eyes, ignoring the sunglasses atop her head. “Come on, I want to meet this brother of yours, and find Henry.” She was headed for the front walkway before he could say a word, her long hair swaying behind her.
Students of varying ages littered the quad, some playing, others on their laptops, most of them were talking amongst themselves. Several eyes lifted towards the newcomers warily, but not without welcome. Hesitant smiles and waves were tossed their way. Ororo skimmed the crowd looking for a tuft of blue among the student body. She should have known he’d find her.
“Oh, my stars and garters!”
Ororo whirled, arms wide open in greeting, her delight at hearing an old familiar catch phrase from her former team mate evident in her brilliant smile. “Hank!” She was immediately swallowed up by two thick arms, covered in dark indigo fur and swung about, full circle.
Henry McCoy was a large man with gentle features whose mutant agility and supreme intelligence had made him a wanted commodity. He had been forever altered by the military, taking away his human features they made him animal like in appearance, but try as they might they could not remove his humanity, or humor. As was obvious by his tee shirt that was stamped: [ PETA Protected].
It was that sense of humor that had drawn Ororo to him when she had first joined the X-Men. She had bonded quickly and easily with Henry McCoy and the two had even dated for a time, and it was during the course of that relationship that “Oh my stars and garters” had come to be. Not many people knew of the phrases true origins, and Ororo nor Henry had ever revealed it, but the truth of the matter was that “oh my stars and garters” were the initial words out of Henry’s mouth after he and she had shared their first real kiss. Ever since, it had stuck as a catch phrase for anything that he found astonishing.
Although their relationship had ended, it had not ended badly, and in its wake had left an unshakable friendship between the two.
“Ororo, what on earth are you doing here?” He set her to the ground, still holding her two hands, looking her up and down as people did when they had been apart for a time.
“We came to visit you,” she replied, grinning.
“We?” Henry looked up, his grin broadening further at the sight of Scott.
“Hey, Hank.” Scott held out his hand which Henry shook pulling Scott in for a “man hug”. Two claps against the back. Any more than that was awkward and unwanted by most males, Ororo surmised, watching the exchange.
Henry peered over Scott’s shoulder. “Where is the delightful redhead of whom you hold in the highest regard?”
Scott lifted one shoulder. “The Professor had some sort of tests he wanted her to do with her telepathy and telekinetic ability.”
“Ah.” Being a scientists Henry could well relate to the need to run test after test, and the delicious sense of accomplishment when one figured something intricately tricky out. He motioned them towards one of the many shaded gazebos on the lawn. “I must say this is a pleasant surprise. When did you return to the X-Men?” he asked Ororo.
Ororo crossed her long legs, bouncing the top one across her knee. “I haven’t really been fully brought back onto the team.”
Henry exchanged a look with Scott. “Really? Why not?”
Scott shook his head. “Don’t look at me. Not my call.” He turned towards Ororo.
Henry also returned his attention to her, making her feel rather on the spot. “What is keeping you from wearing the big yellow X?”
She shifted uncomfortably beneath Henry’s too knowing eyes. “Perhaps the same thing that keeps you here at Frost’s Academy as opposed to Xavier’s Institute.”
“Touché.” Henry tipped his imaginary hat.
Before their conversation could continue further a high squeal of feminine delight washed over them. “Oh, my god! Scott!”
A slim, athletic woman jogged towards them, her mint green hair pulled back in a high ponytail out of her face while she ran. She was quite pretty with vivid green eyes, smooth alabaster skin, and oddly tinted lips. Taller than most girls, roughly the same height as Ororo, she still carried a delicate frame.
Scott rose to his feet, greeting the woman rather awkwardly. “Uh, hey, Lorna.”
“It is you!” She threw herself into his arms. “Hey stranger.”
From her seat Ororo lifted a brow, not missing the slight flush to Scott’s face, or the subtle softness that had crept into Lorna’s voice. The two broke away, but held eye contact a moment longer. The ex-girlfriend, Ororo assumed.
“Lorna! Wait up!” Another voice called, this one male, and panting.
Alex Summers was shorter than his brother, but carried the same genetic blessings, Ororo noted. Strong chin, chiseled features and smooth lips. Where Scott had russet brown hair, Alex had been given the truly all-American ideal blond. The younger man’s posture immediately stiffened upon spying his older brother.
Ororo sensed tension emanating from Scott as well. Brotherly rivalry, perhaps?
“What the hell are you doing here?” Alex demanded striding up the gazebo ramp.
“Al--” Lorna began, but Ororo cut her off.
Standing, Ororo gushed, “You must be Alex. Scott speaks so very highly of you.”
That brought both Summers up short. “Huh? He does? Wait, who the heck are you?”
“Ororo Munroe,” she held out her hand, which he shook. Good grip, she jotted into her mental log.
Lorna stepped beside Alex, wrapping her arm around his waist, using her free hand to also shake Ororo’s. “Sorry, how rude of me,” she apologized. Then she grinned approvingly. “So you finally got rid of that pain in the ass Jean.”
Henry guffawed.
“Uhm, no.” Ororo said with a laugh. “Scott and I are just friends.”
Scott rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. Jean and I are still together.”
Lorna rolled her eyes. She let the subject drop however, instead opting to ask, “So, what brings you to the Academy?”
“That’d be him,” Ororo sidled up against Hank, wrapping her arms across his shoulders. “I had a hankering for something blue.”
He rested his cheek on her head companionably. “Hankering?” he teased, knowing she’d used the word intentionally.
“How long are you staying,” came Alex’s question.
“Oooh, you have to come out with us tonight!” Lorna butt in. “Tell them Henry! Tell them they have to come with us.”
Hank laughed. “I am positive they heard the invitation as they are both right here.”
Lorna smiled, blushing. “Sorry. I got a bit excited.”
“Happens.” Scott replied.
“So, what about tonight?” Lorna insisted, her face eager.
Tiny beeps came from Scott’s wrist in reply. Four o’clock, time for the whites.
“That’s a no,” Alex chimed in. “Scott has a schedule to keep.” The way he drew out the word schedule spoke volumes as to how Alex viewed that particular trait.
Scott lifted his wrist, shutting off the reminder alarm. He glanced at Storm, who was watching him without expectation, just watching.
He raised a quizzical brow.
She cocked her head, her eyes glittering with repressed mirth and a hint of challenge.
He undid his leather watchstrap, dropping the timepiece to the floor before stomping on it. “We’ll need some fresh clothes.”
Alex’s jaw dropped, Henry muttered something about the laws of probability, Lorna squeed and Ororo grinned triumphantly.
“Come with me,” Lorna grabbed Ororo’s hand. “I bet I have something you can wear.” She pulled Ororo behind her, racing towards the school. “Be back, guys!”
Ororo, stumbled after Lorna, laughing. She turned and waved at Scott, blowing him and Henry a kiss.
“Fascinating.” Henry said, his studious gaze on Scott’s profile.
“What?” Scott demanded.
“I never would have believed it had I not witnessed the miraculous event myself. Scott Summers being, gasp, spontaneous.” Henry held his hand over his heart.
Alex too seemed stunned by his brother’s uncustomary behavior. “Well, well, well,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest and rocking back on the heels of his sneakers looking a bit smug.
Scott glowered. “Stuff it, little brother.”
Alex held up his hands, but his smile was pure devilment. “Can’t blame you. That chick is smokin’ hot.”
“She’s my friend.” Scott countered with firm conviction.
Henry stood, clasping Scott on the shoulder with one big hand. “Fear not, my friend. I believe your interest in our mutual weather wielding acquaintance is purely platonic.”
“Thank you,” Scott replied.
“Although, she is, as your brother so eloquently put it, smoking hot.”
“I only have eyes for-”
“We know, we know,” Alex cut in. “The patron saint of all that is good and right with the world, the infallible epitome of womanhood, Jean Grey.”
One bushy blue brow shot up. “Very good, Alex. I may have to borrow that line.”
“Feel free.” Alex quipped. “I hope to never have to say it again.”
Despite the good natured intentions behind the ribbing Scott felt his temper flare. “Why don’t you like Jean?” he wanted to know, his voice hard.
“Never said I didn’t.” Alex contradicted. “Lorna can’t stand her, but you know that.”
“She’s a bitch.”
The two women were in Lorna’s spacious bedroom, a room that made the accommodations at Xavier’s seem sparse, rifling through the green haired mutant’s closet.
Ororo gave the massive bookcase one last perusal before turning her attention to the muttering Lorna. “Who?” she asked, her fingertips dancing across the satin fabric of the king size bed’s counterpane as she passed it.
“Jean.” Lorna grunted, pulling out a drawer, revealing lots of skimpy, spaghetti strapped tops. She gave Ororo a once over, she lingered on her more than generous endowments, then shook her head. “Nope, you’d bust right out of these.” She closed the drawer, moving to another.
“I wasn’t aware you knew Jean,” Ororo stated, her curiosity peeked.
Lorna sat back on her haunches, wiping her forehead. “We met once. It was enough.”
“Hm.”
“Awhile back, your Professor Xavier tried to recruit me for his school. As soon as I saw Scott I was set to agree.”
“Was this before or after you two had dated?”
“Oh, after.” Lorna stood, wiping her hands on her shorts. “I was still hung up on him though.”
Ororo blinked. She had gotten the impression that Lorna had left Scott. Granted, Scott had not said that, but that was what she had assumed. This new twist was interesting to say the least. “What happened between you two?”
Lorna sighed softly. “I wanted adventure, action, spontaneity, you know something wild.”
Sounds like Jean, Ororo thought but refrained from saying.
“Scott, well, he didn’t think he could give that to me, so he set me free.”
“Set you free?” That was a disturbing turn of phrase.
Lorna removed the elastic from her thick waves, shaking the curls out. “His words, not mine.”
Another revealing insight to Cyclops. Ororo frowned, her thoughts turned inward. Did he really feel that being with him was like being caged? Was that why he allowed Jean to have her taste of the wild?
“You didn’t try to talk him out of ending it?”
“Oh, of course I did. I practically begged him.” Lorna sat down on the end of her bed. “But he was so convinced that he was doing the right thing, that there was nothing I could say to change his mind. He can be really stubborn when he wants to be.”
“Don’t I know it.” Ororo took the seat beside the vanity, straddling it. “Then what happened?”
Lorna thought for a moment. “Well, I didn’t see him after we broke up for about a year. Not until I toured Xavier’s and saw Scott in the lobby.” She laughed, a bit breathlessly. “My heart damn near jumped out of my chest.”
The way Lorna said Scott’s name told Ororo that the feelings Lorna had once held for her friend weren’t altogether dead and gone.
“He looked at me and it was still there, y’know, the spark. But then she entered the room and I ceased to exist.”
There was no doubt to the identity of the she in which Lorna referred, nor was there any doubt to the level of contempt she had for Jean if her lip sneer was any thing to go by.
“I couldn’t believe how lucky I was when I saw him, and then to see him all goo-goo over her,” she made a sound of disgust. “He looked like a drooling, vacant puppy.” Lorna waved one hand, the metal drawer pulls on her dresser rattling. “To this day I swear she messed with his head.”
Ororo watched the spinning knobs contemplatively. “Sounds more like jealousy as opposed to Jean being a bitch,” she pointed out.
“Wait.” Lorna said. “So, here I am, face to face with the guy I had envisioned myself with for the long haul, and she looks at me, right. I mean looks at me like she can see everything going on in my head, which now I know was probably the case, and then she plants one on him. Right there in the open lobby.” She sneered again. “Marking her territory.”
Ororo’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Still sounds like jealousy.”
Lorna laughed without humor. “Yeah, I suppose it does. It hurt so much back then, and when he looked my way again, I swear, he didn’t see me anymore.” Her gaze and voice were bitter. “No one will ever convince me that that bitch didn’t do something to him.”
Ororo processed all that Lorna was telling her, a niggling sense of misgiving creeping into her head. Was Jean capable of something like manipulating Scott’s mind? Ororo certainly hoped not. Jean was her friend, despite the recent tension between them. “Why didn’t you accept Xavier’s invitation and join the team. Maybe you could have still had something.”
“I couldn’t. I wanted to harm her, bodily, and I knew that feeling wasn’t going to go away any time soon, so I declined. Moved out here, and was recruited by Miss Frost.”
“And Alex?”
“I knew Alex from before, obviously. He came here and we struck a conversation, then starting having lunches together, and before you knew it, l’amore.” Lorna smiled but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She exhaled a shaky breath. “Listen to me jabber on about things best left alone.” She rose quickly and returned to rummaging through her closet.
“So, where are we headed tonight?” Ororo asked, deciding to follow Lorna’s lead and shift the conversation into more neutral conversation.
“To a place called Rebellion. Alex heard it is the place to go.” Lorna said, elbow deep in another drawer, her voice muffled from within the closet. Buried as she was she didn’t see the wide grin that spread across Ororo’s face, or the sparks of electricity that danced in her eyes.
Loud didn’t even begin to describe the music blasting inside of Rebellion. The bottles of alcohol in varying forms behind the marble topped bar rattled in time to the booming bass. Leaning close to Ororo’s ear Scott still had to practically shout, “How about over there?” as he pointed across the room towards a vacant table.
She nodded, turning her face towards his. “Sounds good.” Their lips feathered, drawing startled chuckles from both of them. She jostled his arm playfully. “Relax, Scott.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I’m working on it.”
“Good.” She linked their arms. “Let’s go have some fun!” She grabbed Henry’s hand, pulling him reluctantly through the front doors.
“Ororo, really, I have experiments that --” His voice trailed away as he took in the club, and it’s many, many mutant partiers.
She playfully closed his open mouth. “You were saying?”
“Can wait until morning,” he finished.
“More like late afternoon,” Alex chimed in. He already had two drinks in hand.
The quintet made there way to the back table relatively easily considering the swelling crowd. It was early yet and already the bar was near capacity.
Scott leaned across the table. “How you holding up? Not too crowded for you is it?”
Ororo blinked, touched that he once again remembered her aversion to enclosed spaces and crowds. “I’m good, thanks.”
He nodded, appeased by her assurance.
“Holy fuckeroo, I can’t believe what the cat drug in. Munroe! You sly bitch, where the hell have you been?” If punk had ever been personified it would have been the heavily tattooed woman striding towards their table with a look that bordered on pissed and furious. Black as pitch hair spiked around an oval face. Aquamarine eyes lined with dark liner and thick mascara was the only makeup on an otherwise smooth, flawless face. Multiple piercings graced her upper lip, nose, eyebrows, ears and other unmentionable, hidden, places of her anatomy. A black sleeveless shirt with the word: Nympho across the chest, dark green pocket pants and army boots completed the expressive ensemble.
Ororo tilted her head back over the back of her chair, greeting the fuming newcomer with puckered lips.
Much to Scott and Henry’s surprise and Alex’s delight the dark haired punker leaned down and kissed Ororo full on the mouth.
Ororo sat up, smiling with observable delight. “Around,” she answered the nearly forgotten question.
“Hey I know you!” Alex said. “You’re the lead singer for Dazzler, right?”
“Around where?” The question went ignored.
“Took a trip to Texas, Colorado and Arizona.”
“Missing the desert or something?”
“Funny.”
“I try.”
“Ahem!” Scott broke in, poking Ororo in her bare shoulder.
“Oh, Jesus.” Ororo laughed. “I’m sorry. Scott Summers, Henry McCoy, Alex Summers and Lorna…” A questioning glance brought forth Lorna’s last name.
“Dane.”
“Dane,” Ororo added. “This is Alison Blaire.”
Alison nodded to the others. “Hey.”
Murmured greetings sounded around the table.
“Leave it to you to run into someone you know in a random club in Massachusetts,” Henry joked.
Ali scoffed replying with a statement that brought forth more questions. “Random? She’s part owner.”
“Excuse me?” Scott tilted his head towards Ororo. “You own this place?”
“Jointly.” Ororo nodded. “With Ali here.”
For a moment Scott’s mouth thinned, and Ororo knew the direction his thoughts had taken. “I used my own money to buy this place,” she said with a great deal of pride. “Long before I joined the X-Men.”
“But it just opened,” Alex commented.
It was Ali’s turn to respond with pride. “Took us some years, but finally it all came together.”
“Us, nothing,” Ororo corrected. “All you. I just provided the money.”
“And ideas.” Ali looked over her shoulder, back towards the bar. “But enough ego stroking, I got work to do, and you have a bet to own up to.”
Ororo wrinkled her nose. “I can’t believe you remembered after eight months.”
“Hell yeah. It’s a rare occasion when I get the better of you.” She held up her finger indicating that she would be right back. When she returned she was carrying a tray of five double shot glasses. Ororo screwed up her face in anticipation.
“Here we go.” Ali lowered the tray directly in front of Ororo. “Five double shots of Blue Agave.”
Ororo shook her head, her eyes wide. “You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you?”
“Nope. Get you shit faced, yes. Kill you, nope. Not today.” Ali lifted a glass towards Ororo. “Bottom’s up, chica.”
Clear and crisp it was the most potent tequila on the market. Ororo held the shot glass between her fingers. She looked towards Scott who surprised her for the hundredth time that day by reaching out and tipping the glass towards her lips.
“A bet’s a bet,” he said sternly.
Ali grinned. “Oh, I like him.” She called one of her waitresses over. “Drinks on the house for this table.”
Alex smacked his hands together. “I’m about to break you gals,” he said ordering a bottle of Jack Daniels, which he and Scott matched Shot for shot.
Lorna favored apple margaritas and Henry indulged only a bit in some imported beer. Conversation and drinks flowed as the night wore on. Laughter, jokes, lewd comments and all the rites of passage for a good night out transpired. Scott couldn’t remember ever having so much fun and Ororo couldn’t think of anywhere she’d rather be than with the group of people she was with.
As the crowd dwindled as the night neared closing and the clock neared the 2 am mark Ali changed the music from techno dance to her preferred eclectic variance.
As a particularly well liked song came on Ororo reached for Scott. “Dance with me.”
Lorna and Alex both replied for him with, “Scott can’t dance.”
Ororo was having none of that. “Everyone can dance.”
Scott shook hi head in denial. “Not me. You’d have better luck teaching a fish to fly.”
“Well, then,” Ororo said cheerfully. “How fortunate because as it happens I can make fish fly.” She tugged him to his feet. “You. Me. Dance floor. Now.”
“I would do as the lady says,” Henry advised. “Rarely should one refuse a woman that can electrocute you.”
Prepared to accept his fate Scott followed Ororo onto the sparsely populated dance floor. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he murmured.
Warning acknowledged Ororo stepped close, swaying to the steady rhythm of the music. Scott on the other hand stood stiff and unbending. Ororo took his hands, placing them on her hips. “See, like that,” she suggested.
“Sorry, Storm, I warned you. I cannot dance. I don‘t know any of the steps.”
“Course you can,” she argued. “You’re just thinking about it too much. Dancing isn’t about steps, it’s about moving and feeling.”
He still looked hesitant.
Ororo moved in closer. “Do me a favor, Scott?”
“Sure.”
“Close your eyes.”
“…okay.”
Satisfied that he wasn’t lying, Ororo reached up, pulling his ruby shades from his eyes. Immediately his hands snatched her wrists.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Trust me.”
His grip didn’t budge.
“Scott, trust me.” Ororo repeated.
Slowly his fingers uncurled from around her wrist and she removed the glasses, placing them over her own eyes. “Okay,” she placed his hands once more on her hips. “Now feel.”
The room was quiet save for the music as the couple on the floor began to move.
The nightclub parking lot was near vacant leaving plenty of room for the X-Wing to land. A smaller jet than the Blackbird, designed for speed and maneuverability the Wings were the X-Men’s preferred mode of transportation when not on missions.
The hatch swung open with a hiss, allowing the jet’s two occupants out into the still night.
Jean adjusted her uniform halter top and belt. “They’re close,” she said. It had taken her and Xavier hours to track down Scott. Since it was no use tracking Ororo, with all of her static interference, they had set about trying to locate Scott.
When Jean and the Professor had returned to the Institute from the SHIELD research facility it had been well past ten o’clock in the evening, and both telepaths had been run down. However, upon hearing that Scott and Ororo had not returned to the mansion since earlier that afternoon they had immediately begun trying to locate them.
Cerebro had to be resorted to when it became apparent that Cyclops was unreachable, either by injury or mental inebriation. Neither the Professor or Jean had thought that perhaps their stoic leader was intoxicated.
“This is the place.” Jean said more to herself than to Logan. Her lips thinned, recognizing the area. Emma Frost’s school wasn’t too far away from here. Had Scott gone to visit Alex and fought? And if so, over what? Lorna? Was he inside nursing his wounded pride? Injuries? What?
The not knowing was eating at her. She’d always had an intimate connection with Scott and not being able to establish that link earlier had cause significant alarm for her. Steeling herself to be an emotional support should he need it, Jean pushed through the front doors of the Rebellion and stopped dead in her tracks.
“What the fuck, Red.” Logan grunted, nearly colliding with her.
His question was answered a moment later when he peered over her shoulder and spotted Scott on the dance floor. Scott had one hand under a mystery girl’s curled thigh at his waist, her hips pressed flush to his as she undulated to the music, both very much oblivious to their surroundings. Suddenly, Scott spun the girl away, pulling her back and moving his hips in a shockingly good imitation of hers.
“What the hell is he doing?” Jean hissed.
A slightly amused, husky voice that sent a pulse of raw heat through Logan’s body, answered. “Looks like he’s dancing.”
“Ororo.” Jean turned, her eyes narrowing.
“Hiya, Jean,” Alex greeted drunkenly. “Lookit, Scotty’s dancin’ with Lorna!”
“So I see,” Jean acknowledged, her voice like ice. Her eyes never left Ororo’s self-satisfied face. “This is your doing.”
Ororo gave the dance floor a quick look, her smile widening. “Oh, no. That’s nature’s doing, Jean. I had nothing to do with it.” She stepped closer to the red head, whispering. “Scott is not nearly as tame as you’d like him to be.” She gave Logan a pointed look. “Not all men can be brought to heel so easily.” With that she turned and sauntered back towards her table.
She only made it a couple of steps when a strong hand enclosed over her elbow in a demanding grip that would not be denied. She tossed a white hot look over her shoulder.
Logan’s hard mouth curved, taking on an almost cruel, implacable edge. He jerked her back towards him, right up to his chest. “I don’t heel,” he snarled.
She blinked innocently. “I never said you did.”
He growled.
She leaned towards him involuntarily, as if responding to a call that only the two of them heard. She shook her head, trying to clear away the lingering alcohol and the disturbing effect that Logan had on her. Smug satisfaction glittered in his dark eyes when he felt her chest brush his. His lip curled back in a sinister smile that was so unbearably sexy that Ororo couldn’t for a moment breathe.
He was excruciatingly appealing with his dark hair mussed as though he’d rummaged his hands through it, several locks falling over his wide forehead. His smooth lips were outlined by the deep shadow of his whiskers, making him all the more male. She damn near whimpered with wanting. His nostrils flared, scenting her, and she knew, her arousal.
As if in verification of her sinful thoughts his eyes dilated further. He pulled her closer still, murmuring into her ear, “Gonna fuck you soon.” It was a promise, it was a warning, and it was a threat all rolled into one.
Before Ororo could even formulate the words to reply Logan was jerked back away from her and Scott’s fist smashed into his nose, the one place on his face not protected by adamantium.
“Hands off!”
“Scott!” Jean grabbed his arm.
Logan wiped the bloody spray from his upper lip, his face a mask of fury. -SNIKT- “Wanna know what yer insides look like, Scooter?”
“Enough!” Thunder, loud enough to shake the foundations of the bar, echoed overhead. Immediately Ororo had everyone’s attention. “Obviously there is a reason you’re here.” She directed her comment at Jean.
“Yes. It’s nearly dawn. You two are violating curfew.”
“Last I checked, I wasn’t an X-Man.” Ororo countered, her eyes still glowing white.
“You know the old saying, ‘live under my roof, obey my rules’,” Jean responded. Her green eyes softened. “Don’t make this a big issue. Let’s just go home.” She tugged Scott’s arm. “Please.”
Scott nodded once, his jaw set.
Ororo motioned towards the table. “Thanks for the night out,” she said. “I’ll return your dress as soon as I can,” she told Lorna.
“No worries.” Lorna’s eyes were only for Scott.
To Ali, who was coming back from the pool room at the crack of thunder Ororo told, “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“You mean today.” Ali corrected, hugging her.
“Whatever. I’ll call you.”
Henry, relaxed as ever lifted his beer in salute. “Fare thee well beautiful wind-rider. Fare thee well.”
Unable to resist another beastly bear hug, Ororo opened her arms and laughed when he bounded into them. “Take care, Blue.”
“You too.” He kissed her nose. “Keep Scott out of trouble.”
“I’ll try,” she sighed dramatically. “But you know how those wild boys can be.”
“Don’t I ever.”
Another round of hearty goodbyes and the X-Men were headed out the door.
*What was that all about?* Jean mentally prodded, wondering the logic behind Scott’s attack.
“I don’t like the way he looks at Storm.” Scott didn’t bother to keep his response telepathic, or quite for that matter.
“You’ve never attacked him for looking at me,” she pointed out.
“There’s a difference.”
“How’s that?”
Scott paused in the parking lot. “He looks at you like a man in heat. He looks at her like a man possessed.”
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AN: Next chapter is a steamy one, inspired by Rhaps...So, thanks in advance.
