Rogue faced the mirror, on her hands and knees, watching as her lover poised to enter her from behind. Remy grasped her hips firmly and entered her, shallow, teasing them both with his swift short pushes. She watched as his eyes darkened, becoming less red, and his face became blank.
Slowly the space separating their bodies decreased as he grew tired of playing, and then he pushed directly into her.
Oh! Something intense happened. It was ... like an orgasm, but not like one. It was almost too much feeling. She never thought she would experience too much pleasure. She tried to call out, to say something to her lover, but he pushed back again fast and hard, and she shrieked instead with every hard thrust. She soon was pushed over the edge by the wild sensations coming from her vaginal channel, and Remy followed, calling her name.
When he was through, when they both were done, she collapsed and cried in reaction, Remy asking her anxiously what was wrong, as she shivered, overcome by the experience.
* * * * *
All of the mansion residents had, naturally, been having a difficult time with the Rogue/Remy bet and had been dealing with it in their characteristic ways. Logan, for example, had been spending a lot of time out of the mansion, pretending neither Rogue nor Remy existed. Hank dealt with it by figuring out pranks with Bobby. Others spent a lot of late nights at clubs, meeting new people and drinking their troubles away.
But the telepaths had been getting the worst of it. Rogue and Remy were not the only ones leaking intense sexual emotions and thoughts. There were currently four telepaths at the mansion, and they were all on edge. Jean and Emma had been more proactive, venting their frustrations on their lovers. Sage had taken to sleeping with telepathic dampers in her room, trusting to the others to keep an "ear" out for trouble at night. She would have taken a lover, but she was currently interested in Warren Worthington, who was away on a two week business trip to Florida. Professor Xavier, too, had found that even his deepest meditations only offered a little relief. All of them had, in their own ways, been praying for the situation to end.
They relaxed when they realized that Rogue and Remy had finally come to terms. That was a mistake. Rogue's intense blasts of feeling when Remy finally hit her G-spot tore through their shields easily. Jean stopped in the middle of her exercise routine and decided to ... relax in the whirlpool early. Emma ran to find Kurt, muttering that at least her lover had a tail. Professor Xavier decided it was time for a walk in the park. Sage, when the Professor contacted her but before he could communicate, said tersely, "Yes," and eagerly left.
*******************************************************************
Jean was lying in the warm whirlpool, teasing herself into greater arousal, slowly swirling one finger around her clit while her left hand inserted two fingers into her grasping pussy, when suddenly the door to the pool room slammed open. She hurriedly pulled her hands from between her legs and used her telekinesis on the water to cause swirls around them, cleaning away the evidence of her actions. She also gave a tentative smile, facing the doorway. The smile disappeared, replaced by shock, as she saw her fiancé enter. HE had thrown open the door?
His face held a wide grin, more appropriate for the ebullient Bobby Drake than her reserved Scott, and his right hand was poised at the rim of his visor. His blue shirt was loose, its collar unbuttoned, and he was wearing black sweat pants. He looked excited and dangerous.
Scott never wore sweat pants. She knew he didn't own any. He must have borrowed them from someone. And Scott, ever precise, had never let his collars be open or his shirts rumpled since she had known him. Was something wrong?
He closed and locked the door, gave a brief scan of the whirlpool room, and turned to her discarded clothes on the floor. With one brief red blast from his eyes, he turned them to ashes.
She roused her sluggish brain to give a brief probe. Could this really be Scott? Her Scott?
He repulsed her weak probe with a mental slap, making her shake her head from the force of his rejection. "Oh, no, you don't," he said, slyly. "No powers, Jean. Just you, and just me."
She raised herself out of the water, dripping onto the tiled floor, and backed away from him. The momentary probe she'd gotten through had revealed that this was indeed her fiancé, her Scott, but an oddly playful Scott. She didn't quite know how to deal with her lover in this mood. "Why?" she asked, buying herself some time while she stood up, explored their emotional bond and tried to bring herself out of her sexual euphoria.
"Do you love me?" He stalked toward her, graceful, with a gait that reminded her of the more feral members of the team.
"Yes," she said, and immersed herself in their link.
She was hit with a wave of almost overwhelming, manic joy ... sexual desire ... love ... determination fueling the rest ... and pulled free before she could be sucked under.
