JM: Young tilted head closeup

cyndrarae

Rebelling against Reality since 2003

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JM: Young tilted head closeup
cyndrarae

Fic: To Love.. (X-Men)

Summary: Jean POV. She is drunk, she is depressed and she is angry… and she’s about to take it out on someone.
Warnings: Spanking and Slash.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: All X-Men people belong to Marvel and 20th Century Fox. Nothing’s mine here except the convoluted plot. Not for money, only for fun… kind of fun the X-Men movies will never provide.
Author's Notes: This is how I see Jean Grey, I don’t think she can hear everyone’s feelings and emotions all the time. Its only so with Scott because they have been together for the longest time in which they have kind of forged a mental link of sorts. But to listen to other people, she would have to actually make an effort the way she did with Logan in the first movie. Of course with time I would assume, she would unintentionally, start picking up on vibes from people she has been in close contact with.
I’ve also assumed that when Scott came to the mansion, he wasn’t entirely blind. So Jean has seen his eyes before they completely mutated. And they’re blue:) Also, he looks younger to Jean in the movies, and I’m gonna run with that. Maybe 5-6 years.

** / ** / **


Ever get the feeling you found what you wanted, but lost what you were really looking for?

Like your lover’s gone for good… when he’s standing right next to you? Like when he’s kissing you, you know he’s not who you kissed that first night under the endless stars? And no one else sees what you see, not even Professor Xavier. And you keep kissing, when all you want to do is push him away and scream to get his fucking hands off of you?

Yep. No doubt about it.


  1. He’s a shapeshifter.

  2. He’s a genetic clone.

  3. I’m paranoid schizophrenic.

  4. All of the above.

Ignore me. I’m rambling. I do that when I’m drunk, as I’m currently in the process of realizing. I’ve never poured so much alcohol down my throat before. And it's bringing to surface all the stuff I’ve suppressed and denied… my treasure trove of angst and pain and suicidal tendencies.

I am Jean Grey. MD Neurology. Telekinetic, telepathic, neurotic. And can you blame me? For the longest time I’ve held on by fragile strands of unconditional love that once bound my sanity together. But I can't anymore. The strands are unraveling, and I’m losing my grip.

I’m falling. Slowly but surely. Everything’s wrong. And dank. And dark. And depressing. Everything fucking sucks.

Too quiet… as a graveyard. It was never so quiet for so long, been four months now. They say it gets better with time. Wrong, it only gets worse.

Music died. All that’s left is noise, and screeching, ugly drawling. Empty promises, meaningless words. And hello - slow motion? Like a really bad movie that knows no end. All black and no white. Some dull and lifeless greys. Patches of fucking red.

I need another drink.

“Jean?”

Logan.

Somehow, he fits. Logan in black and grey and no white, makes perfect sense. No overt displays of concern. No surprise on his stone face to see my, what – eleventh vodka with lime? Just.

He slides in next to me, faces the bar, eye contact comfortably minimal. The question I think I should be asking is how he found me but frankly I don’t much care.

“Nice joint.”

The bartender tries his luck again, with Logan this time.

“Sir, it's late and we need to close. If you could please take the lady home?”

“Scotch. Rocks.”

I always did like Logan.

He doesn’t try to fill the silent void in me; knows he can't. He’s not going to probe my psyche like Charles would, nor does he know squat to try and pep-talk me out of it like Ro or Hank would.

And he’s definitely not him. He ain't no Cyclops.

What are you doing in this seedy bar this late all by yourself, Jean?

Why didn’t you report in, Jean?

What if something happened, Jean?

How can you be so irresponsible, Jean?

Nope. None of that.

He’ll wait till I’m done drowning myself in alcohol, or pass out, whichever comes first, then take me back home. To my boyfriend. Cyclops.

Field Commander Cyclops. Fearless leader of the X-Men Cyclops.

Pain in the fucking ass Cyclops.

And he won't do it out of the pure goodness of his heart. No.

He won't do it because he wants to bed the good doctor he’s had his eyes on, ever since he opened them on my table that first night Scott and Ro brought him to the mansion. He might do it partly because he cares. Okay fine, maybe he more than just cares. But I know he’s definitely doing it to catch but a moment of that delicious look of envy and rage on Cyclops’ proud face, when he learns that it was Logan who found me. Logan who brought me home from my wild night out.

Logan. And not him.

For all his years of wisdom and brooding seriousness, Logan sure can be a total meathead when he wants to. He would do most anything to get a rise from his arch rival. Apparently I’m not the only one in need to see that apathetic android with a joystick up his ass be human now and then.

We concentrate on our drinks. No need to say anything, be anyplace different. Comfortable silence.


** / ** / **


“Jean!!!”

Mumble of the devil.

I sigh and turn around to look into those mesmerizing two beautiful blue… yeah right.

“What the hell are you doing?”

You know, this kid used to be the sweetest thing back when… let’s just say a long time ago. Right now he’s fuming and fractious because he sees who I’m with. Pure hatred, jealousy, suspicion smeared all over his… smooth, utterly blank face.

Oh alright, so I have no idea what he’s thinking. I know, some fucking telepath I am.

Like it wasn’t enough I can't see his eyes, he had to go systematically erasing all his facial expressions as well. No expressions, no lines. No wonder he looks eight years younger to me and that number is too damn high!

Bastard.

And the silence… did I mention it's driving me insane?

I sense the heat from Logan as he stares back at the man he loves to hate. His face is blank too. No scowl, no anger, nothing. I’m getting like a mental smirk off him. I dig a bit deeper – great, he’d taken off on Cyclops’ bike again. Guess this silent face-off isn't just about little ol’ Jeannie after all. Why am I not surprised?

“What are you doing here?”

“What’s it look like?”

“I didn’t ask you.”

“Then don’t look at me.”

How does Logan know who he’s looking at from behind his visor?

“Jean, let's go home.”

I wave him off. “Later.”

So not in the mood to give you another glorious moment of triumph, great commander.

“Everyone is worried about you. Why did you block Charles out?”

// Look who’s talking. //

That silences him. But not for long. Almighty Cyclops who must always get the last word in, decides to go rhetoric instead.

“Jean, you know how alcohol messes with your powers. What the hell is wrong with you?”

Everything’s wrong. Nothing’s the way it should be. The way it was. And like hell you don’t know that already. But I don’t say that.

“Jean look at me. Come home with me, please.”

I smirk my sarcastic best at him and continue to nurse my double vodka with lime. Such passion in his imploring, such emotion… seems like the only thing that evokes any kind of emotions in him anymore is - Threat.

Threat to his school. Threat to his mentor slash adoptive father. Threat to his status as field leader of the X-Men. And surprisingly enough, threat to his position in my life too… threat that goes by the name of Wolverine.

Or Logan, as I like to call him, affectionately.

“Go on home. I’ll come later with Logan.”

“What?”

“You heard her.”

“Stay out of this, Wolverine.”

“You’re the one not needed here, Cyclops.”

Enough stress is given to the comic book names to make me smile. Am I drunk? Hell no. Maybe a little. Funny thing this mutation of the mind – way too many grey cells to kill if you want to get really inebriated.

“Another double vodka with lime, Angelo.”

Logan showed off his Adamantium assets a while ago and was rewarded a scotch on the house for his pain. Angelo doesn’t argue anymore. Bo-oring.

“Jean stop it. You’re coming with me right now.”

And he grabs my arm.

“Let go, Cyclops. This is not your mission to command and I am not some stupid foot soldier in one of your war games that you can order around. This is my life and I’ll do with it as I please, you understand?”

He looks suitably hurt. “I’m not ordering you around. And is this not our life? Together?”

“Apparently not.”

Logan said that. Not me! I was just about to sway in. As usual. But his remark makes me giggle. Don’t ask me why. I don’t know why. It wasn’t even funny. Was it?

I know at least one person who doesn’t think so. He is pretty obvious, really. Really, he is obviously pretty.

I am drunk, remember.

By this time Cyclops seems to have decided an intoxicated girlfriend isn't the priority. Proving his alpha-ness is. He dumps my aching arm and turns to Logan.

“Which part of 'stay away from my girl' did you not understand?”

“Which part of 'go on home I’ll come later with Logan' did you not understand?”

“Wolverine, I’m warning you…”

“Bite me.”

“Oh extremely glib! So that’s your secret with the ladies.”

Okay at this point, I have to tell you how loud the volume of this confrontation is: not at all.

Logan and Cyclops are obviously from the same school of steel-cold, smart-ass whispering creeps when it comes to arguing (of which Charles would be principal might I add). I’m afraid abusive language and swear words are soon to follow. Good thing Angelo had the civic sense to sneak out and away.

“What gives you the right to interfere in our lives?”

“Hey, I’m just respecting the lady’s wishes, you should give it a try sometime yourself.”

“Jean is my girl, Logan.”

“No she’s not.”

Oh I bet his thoughts are totally scrambled now. He gives Logan a sharply accusing look.

“Jean’s a woman. You’re a kid. Too much of a kid to keep her happy and too much of a kid to do the grown-up’s job Chuck’s given to you on account of being under-staffed around here. Face it, One-eye. You’re way out of your league, again.”

Okay that must have hurt.

But one thing Cyclops is really, really good at, it’s the art of hiding. Masking. Cyclops has his walls built up so high, no mere mutant can bring them down with words, spiteful or otherwise. Truthful or otherwise.

“You’re jealous, aren't you, old man?”

Logan's still calm as Canada. Relatively speaking of course. “Jealous of what? She wants to be with me not you, or didn’t you get it the first time?”

"I should've let you get incinerated in Alberta."

Subtle whiff of growing lust… my air is heavy with it.

“Look, Jeannie needs her space right now. So why don’t you be a good boy and leave her the hell alone.”

“No way am I leaving her alone with a mongrel like you.”

“Jean you want to go home with this dick?”

“Nope.”

“There you go. Dickhead.”

“No you go, you ancient jackass. I’m here to take Jean home and I am not leaving without her.”

“God Jeannie, you really know how to pick ‘em don’t ya?”

“Oh is that why you’re so hot and bothered? Because but she did pick me, not you.”

“And we’re back to that again, are we? Kids today - so one-dimensional.”

“Sucks to be taking orders from someone less than half your age, I'd be disgusted with myself too.”

“How do you control this young'un, Doc? A good whipping’s long overdue don’t you think?”

Control? Good question.

“Go fuck yourself Logan 'cause no one else here will, I promise you that.”

“Seriously Doc, granted I’ve been away from civilization awhile but seeing you… I’d have thought you liked real men, not hairless little children playing G.I Joe…”

And this is the last I hear before I tune out. Men and their macho complexes. So over it.

I’m still stuck pondering the 'control' thing. Once upon a time, sure, maybe I had some control in this relationship, some semblance of a fucking say, so to speak.

Once upon a time, I had this sweet, loving, devoted boyfriend who couldn’t sleep if he wasn’t in my arms, who would seek my counsel with every decision he made no matter how big or small. He had me choosing the color of socks for him even, mainly because he can't really see any colors besides red but that's not the point. The point is, he needed me. A lot.

And I loved it.

And I miss it.

There was a time I’d never be by myself. In the bathroom, in the Cerebro, on the moon… I was the voice in his head just like he was in mine, eternally connected by telepathic strands of unconditional love. But now…

Now I am all alone, while he’s obviously found something else to occupy his big stupid head with.

And this is when I realize the noises behind me are more than two men squabbling over me and a bike. They’re fighting.

Oh brother.

I turn around to see the love of my ex-life kicking the legs out from under Logan and the latter going down, only to have his opponent pounce on him a second time. But Logan’s ready this time and quickly jumps to his feet before grabbing hold of Cyclops, lifting him and flinging him clear over himself. The fearless leader crashes into the wall opposite and brings it down in splinters. Furniture here has seen its last night. I’m just glad they aren't using their mutant powers.

Yet.

Telepathy might open doors to people’s minds, but I still gotta walk through them. Don’t do that often, mankind is way too complex, their emotions way too overwhelming. I still shudder thinking back to that time of my life when I couldn't control whose thoughts I eavesdropped on.

With the people I’m close to, like Hank and Ro, I can pick up vibes without using my powers like a regular person, I just happen to be more accurate than them. But my association with Logan is fairly new. His mind is such a jumbled mess of pain and trauma that I avoid stumbling in there as far as I can. And despite my curiosity, I can get by without knowing what’s going on in his head. Cyclops on the other hand…

I never realized how much I’d come to rely on the seeming permanence of our mind-link, once bonded so perfectly you couldn’t tell Scott’s thoughts apart from mine. Now that I’m without it, I’d like to think that after seven years of being together, I can recognize most, if not all his sounds and twitches.

Anger, yes - For Logan.

Hatred, hell yes - For Logan.

Passion, sure - For the fight.

Determination, yes - To win.

Cause? Love? Jean who?

He doesn’t even know what he’s fighting for anymore. He's slipped back into automation, functioning only to execute, and strategize, meet deadlines, to win. To please his master.

Could you possibly hurt me more, Cyclops? Could you if you tried?

I remember how nonchalant he sounded asking me about the shields and how dumb I was to not understand something was wrong there and then. Imagine my surprise when once in the middle of a routine patrol, I reached out to caress my boyfriend's mind, and rammed into a solid brick wall.

“Oh that. I was just experimenting, baby. It really works, huh?”

I had smiled awkwardly and accepted his distracting embrace, feeling him holding something back all the while, and ever since.

So then I tried the old-fashioned way: I tried talking to him.

“It's nothing, Jean," he'd brushed me off again. "I just need a little time alone, by myself. Surely you can understand that?”

Okay. Sure. Absolutely. A little time that turned into four months of deafening silence.

I tried talking to him again.

“Jean, aren’t you being a little childish about this? I mean what is this compulsion to always be connected? Don’t you trust me?”

“No, I… I trust you…”

“Good. I’m right here, sweetheart.”

Oh Yeah. Right here. Miles apart, even when he’s right here.

So maybe I am being childish. Maybe I am being unfair wishing to invade his mind. No guy in his senses would want a girlfriend who could read his every thought, every waking minute of every day. That's just creepy. I know.

Except, he knew what he was signing up for when he asked a telepath to be his girlfriend. And how come he never rejected the bond before? He’s the one who suggested it in the first place.

What the hell happened four months ago?

Of late there have been simply too many missions he goes off to, and stays away for days on end. First I thought maybe there’s someone else. But I found no lipstick marks, no strange perfumes. Hell, Scott never so much as looks at anyone else, not even when I’m not around. God knows he’s too much of his father’s son to be cheating on me.

So maybe he’s just fallen out of love. But why does he hold on if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore? Why does he get possessive when Logan flirts with me? He still makes love like he really means it, his kisses tremble with the same intensity as before. But not being able to touch his mind makes me wonder what he’s hiding.

I showed him how to put up the shields and now they’re up all the time. Don’t want to invade his privacy. All I want is to… to… damn it.

I want to stop crying myself to sleep each night. I want to not feel my sanity slipping away again, I know it is. I want my boyfriend back. That’s what I want.

And the bar is completely destroyed now.

“Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Logan nearly crashes into me and spills my drink. Then apologizes to me telepathically.

// Tell him to stop Jean. Or your boyfriend’s gonna get really hurt. //

It's quite a fight and Logan’s definitely the one with a huge advantage, what with his regenerative mutation and all. Cyclops is tiring himself out but he still isn't using his optic blasts. Something tells me he doesn’t plan to. Always the loyalist. Always the leader.

Always in control.

// No. //

Cyclops gets past the bigger guy’s defenses as Logan’s distracted by what I said.

// Ugh! No what? //

// Don’t stop. //

Okay he’s surprised. And so is Cyclops. Did I mention I’m cc’ing him on all this correspondence?

// I'm sick of him calling the shots all the time, aren't you? Maybe it's time we turn the tables on him. //

This time Cyclops is the distracted one. A punch plows straight into his chiseled jaw and he’s spun.

// And how do you propose we do that? By beating the shit out of him? //

// No. I want you to spank him. //

// WHAT?? //

“WHAT??”

They both halt their fighting and stare at me, not sure they heard what they heard. I so hate it when I have to spell things out for people too slow on the uptake.

// You heard me Logan. I want to see him break down and, cry… Yes. Make him cry. Do it Logan. For me. //

There. Doesn’t get any clearer than that. Did I mention I'm drunk?

And now he’s laughing. Cyclops is laughing.

“Knock it off, Grey.”

“I’m serious.”

“You’re serious?”

“No she’s not serious, you moron! She’s angry, is all. I… I understand Jean… just… just… ”

“Oh very glib, One-eye. Is that your secret with the ladies?”

“Jean, stop it, you’re too drunk to make jokes right now.”

“Who said she’s jokin'? At least I hope you’re not jokin'!”

“And you should just fuck off, you canine! This is between her and me! ”

“Here’s your chance Logan.” Something in my tone makes them fidget; I got the gift you see.

“WHA-WHAT THE FUCK? WHA-H??”

“Do you want it or not?”

“Oh, like I’m just gonna let him…”

“Hell I want it! Never wanted anything more all m’ah life!”

“In your dreams!”

“That are about to come true, bub.”

Sweet Jesus. I roll my eyes in frustration. “Don’t you get it? I am dead serious!”

I have their attention now.

“Cyclops, I’m drunk and you’re right I’m pissed, and I have no idea what I’m doing. So LEAVE, if you want to spare yourself, just leave.”

….

….

“You're serious?”

….

For a moment there, I feel like he’s breaking already, but no. All is silence still. His expressions are gone again. His spine is rigid, stance defensive. He’s not leaving.

My baby, so predictable.

// Go ahead Logan. Show me what a MAN you are, and what a kid he is. //

Logan is staring at me with an expression of both shock and amusement. Unlike his face though, his body is coiled up tight with a strange tension and… anticipation maybe? When he looks back at Cyclops, it’s just in time to see him going for his visor…

“Shit!”

The red blast of fury zips across the room and Logan barely manages to dive out of harm’s way. Then he’s charging towards Cyclops, and the two men are locked into a hand-to-hand combat that’s too fast and too furious for me to follow.

Logan is pissed. Healing powers or not, Wolverine does not take kindly to being shot at. And Cyclops has now literally just asked for it. Yay?

The next few seconds are a blur, as they continue to scramble for dominance and insult each other a bit more. The claws don't come out but at such close range Cyclops doesn't have a chance to use his blasts either. Or maybe he chooses not to. Eventually, he is too exhausted or distracted or whatever, and no match for a ruthless and enraged Logan. The feral mutant knocks him to the floor on his stomach, then holds him down with his entire body weight, before roughly twisting his arms behind him. Despite himself, Cyclops grunts in pain.

That's victory number one.

Logan yanks his belt out and uses it to tightly secure the younger man's wrists as Cyclops struggles.

“Get off me you bastard! Jeannie, please call him off!!”

Oh it's Jeannie now, is it? Well, I could, but I don't want to. And that's when he turns to look back at me.

// Is this what you really want, Grey? Does this make you happy? Seeing me like this? //

Bastard. How you play me Cyclops. You let me in when you want to, when it suits your own purposes?

"Take his visor."

“What? No way!”

“Take it off, Logan. He won't open his eyes, I promise you.”

I know he won't. Without his visor, he cannot control the intensity of the deadly blasts. And the first thing on his mind would be how valuable Wolverine is to the X-Men and to the professor. Nothing comes ahead of the professor and his cause.

I hate the damn thing anyway. Why does he get to see into my soul if I can't see into his? I throw my scarf to Logan, which ironically is red too.

“Use this if it’ll make you feel better.”

// Better? Jeez, Doc better or worse is not how I’d describe this… this, whatever it is we’re doing here… //

Now that Logan’s opened a channel into his mind for me, I can also hear him thinking how he never imagined Dr. Vanilla-in-a-very-committed-relationship-Grey to be so kinky. Logan is not sure what’s gotten into me, but he isn't minding the proceedings too much anyway. Hell, I think he’s enjoying himself.

Sexually charged excitement. Power-induced high. And he's drunk on it.

But his motivations are none of my concern. Only a means. To an end.

When the visor comes off, Cyclops cringes and lets out a protesting gasp. That face… I once knew the man behind the rose glasses. Damn it, I need another drink.

He squeezes his eyes shut, lowers his face as far down into his chest as it would go. Logan doesn’t need to, but wraps the scarf tightly over the closed eyes anyway. Cyclops doesn’t fight it. Too quiet. Again.

// Let me in Cyclops… //

Silence.

// Let me in and this will all be over before it begins… //

More silence. Did I mention it's driving me insane?

“So Logan, what are you waiting for?”

** / ** / **


Logan raises himself from where he’d been sitting, straddling Cyclops into the glossy floor. Grabs him by the collar of his thin black jacket to get him back on his feet, and then drags his flailing form across the bar over to a low table not far from me.

He looks at me for a reaction, and gets none.

So he sits down on the table and hurls his growling victim across his strong legs. Face down, blind as a bat, butt perfectly placed in his assaulter’s lap, legs splayed strategically so they can't reach anything useful, hands tied behind his back and completely prone. It'd be such a sweet victory number two if only Cyclops would protest in some way. Maybe scream, curse, or negotiate… anything.

Cyclops rallies against the impossible bonds and the equally impossible man restraining him, without a single sound that’d matter. His jaw is clenched, determined not to give his oppressors the satisfaction of hearing him lose control.

Logan is still searching me for second thoughts. I levitate a bottle of whiskey, whatever, into my right hand, take a long swig, and stare him back down. Without once looking away, he pops a single claw. I think I jump like two feet in the air, just as Cyclops does. I feel the tremors of anger and shock coursing through him that he's too occupied with, to shield.

Then Logan heaves the boy’s middle up with just his other arm. I never realized he was so slight compared to Wolverine’s bulk. Flicks the blade in a movement that has me panicking for a moment because it looked like he just sliced open my boyfriend’s guts without sterilization. Nah, just the buttons, and the jeans come undone.

// What are you doing? // I demand from Logan, a little alarmed.

// If we’re doing this, we’re doing it my way. // Logan throws back at me and smirks.

Cyclops goes red with humiliation and also fear of what's to follow, I guess. Logan withdraws the claw screechingly while Cyclops holds stark still, panting silent negatives to nobody. The black jeans and white boxers are pulled down, his ass exposed to the punishment Logan is about to impart on my behalf.

I take in all the beautiful, bared flesh, skin only slightly paler than the rest of his body’s gold. I feel a sharp pang of jealousy, which brings a smile to Logan’s face. Bastard. Of course he’s still watching me keenly, reading my face like I read minds. In one seemingly nonchalant move, he places a palm flat on Scott’s… Cyclops’ ass, presses it there. My boyfriend flinches and trembles, and we both moan deep in our throats with hopeless misery. And shame.

So this is what it's come to. Logan licks his lips, enjoying the squirms in his lap, and raises an eyebrow at me.

“You sure?”

I nod, almost dizzy with the effort. I’m sure. I’m drunk, I’m bonkers but I’m sure.

And it begins. The first fall of the heavy hand stuns Cyclops out of his silence and he lets out an unintended ‘ahhh.’ The second one takes its time, letting Cyclops truly absorb the impact of the first one, before doubling it. The third one follows sooner than the second, and then the fourth and fifth…

Logan smacks my boyfriend's ass over and over again. My boyfriend tries to get away over and over again too, with no success. He writhes and kicks and struggles; lets out the occasional cut-short gasps, all in silent agony. He can't see me but keeps craning back towards me as if wanting to say something. But he doesn’t. He fucking doesn’t.

And the smacks come raining down like they'd never stop.

// Are you keeping count, Logan? //

// Eleven, twelve, thirteen… //

Must be the whiskey. Scott keeps telling me not to mix my drinks but hell, he stopped listening so why should I? I force out a deep, throaty, empty laugh. And that's when it rises up at me, the first wave. My heart starts to race.

I hear him.

I hear Cyclops inside my head for the first time in months. I hear him without him consciously projecting a thought towards me. He's fighting to keep his dignity through silence. The pain he can take, but not the humiliation, the helplessness… he can't take my jeering, my enjoying this.

I laugh harder.

// Twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six… //

He twists from side to side as much as Logan’s restraining arm around his waist allows, in vain because Logan is not stopping. He is spanking the guy who’s been a thorn in his side ever since they first laid eyes on each other in the professor’s study. His skirmishes with Cyclops are no secret. They are always at opposite ends of everything. Charles is convinced they’ll get over it eventually, that they’ll work it out. But work what out? Weekly schedule of who gets to sleep with me which day and night?

Nah I’m kidding myself. It's not always about me. Sometimes it's about the bike, about Bobby and Marie, about war and peace, chain of command.

Sometimes, it's just about the two of them.

The punishment gets harsher. Logan is obviously swept away in his whirlwind emotions of hate and envy, and that little incongruous something I’ve always read in his thoughts for Cyclops. Power sure is an aphrodisiac. And he is still counting.

// Thirty-six, thirty-seven, thirty-eight… //

Does he realize how wide his eyes are blown, how loud his open-mouthed breathing gets with every slap echoing around the room? Does he hear the furious beating of his own heart along with that of his victim’s?

// Forty-two, forty-three, forty-four… //

It’s a sight to behold and never forget. Cyclops, illustrious, adopted son of Professor Charles Xavier, field leader of the X-Men, draped helplessly over the lap of some obscure Canadian thug, in the biggest and hardest bare-assed whupping of his career. Oh this is just too magnificent. It's so beautiful I could weep!

Of course I’m telling Cyclops all this, and promptly get the response I crave.

“Fuck you, Jean!”

Okay not exactly. It’s the mention of dear daddy that does the trick. But he isn't giving up yet. He bites his lower lip until it bleeds just so no scream escapes him. But I know it has begun. I can practically taste the salt of his unfallen tears. It shouldn’t be long now.

The shields are starting to shake.

// Fifty. Fifty-one, fifty-two… //

// Scott. //

//… five, fifty-six, fifty-seven. //

// I miss you… //

And the first crack opens. Cyclops renews his struggles with twice the desperation and Logan is forced to use more, well, force. He gasps breathlessly, kicks out at whatever he can reach, bites his lips more viciously and grunts.

// I’m tired of waiting for you, darling, but I'm still waiting… //

He writhes like a crazed animal, and then he opens his mouth and lets out his first true expression of pain. The sound of his groans makes Logan jump and look to me for a sign.

// My brave darling…//

The fire burning his ass he could ignore forever. But he can't ignore the fact that both Logan and I are here, right here, watching him…

// Sixty-one, sixty-two, sixty-three… //

// I know it hurts… I know you’re scared… //

….

// You don’t have to hide from me anymore, Scott. Don’t shut me out… let me in… //

….

// Trust me baby. It's okay, it's okay to be vulnerable once in a while… //

// Scott please… what is wrong? Talk to me, your silence is killing me. //

“You are one stubborn sonofabitch, aren't you?”

One of his shoes had come off during his kicking spree. I let it soar and whack his head with it.

I'm barely keeping from bawling myself. Asshole.

Another bottle of liquor finds its way into my hands. I almost don't catch it, can't see too well with all the water blurring my vision. I stand up. I tear my eyes away from the man I love, as he continues to suffer but refuses to accept any relief from me. His fucking girlfriend! His Jean!

I pace. I curse. I cry some more.

I give up.

// Seventy-nine, eighty… //

His face is as blooming red as his beautiful, tiny ass. He’s angry with me. Obviously. He will never forgive me after this.

It was a huge gamble this… whatever… and I lost. I want to sink to the floor and wail. Instead I lean on the bar and mourn for what I’ve lost, what we’ve lost… the preciousness we once had and will never have again.

Then once more, in his own weird, totally unintended way, Logan comes to my aide.

// Jean, we need to stop… //

His hands have mellowed over the trembling form in his arms. The cruelly prolonged agony we've put Scott through is enough to shake even Logan’s resolve. The spanks are fewer and gentler, relatively speaking of course.

But I didn’t get Cyclops to break, even when I ended up crying myself. I lost, and I should just give in now. I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

// Keep going. //

Very reluctantly, Logan resumes the punishment. But this time, he does it to the desired effect…

“No…”

I frown and look up from my bottle of whiskey. A breathless rasp of a voice, heavy with pain…

“No, no, don’t.”

He’s been stoic all through as I spoke to him, pleaded with him, and as Logan whaled away at him. But now he’s getting restless with every passing moment. And I don’t know why.

“Stop! Logan please, d-don’t do that!”

Logan smells the tears but I feel them first. I feel my boyfriend's defenses shattering all around him. And then he is screaming.

“Ugh, no!! Sonofabitch! Please don’t!”

It’s a while before I realize what Logan was doing to him to make him react like that. Logan was… Logan was soothing him.

// God, Jean, I can't do this anymore, we have got to stop… //

Logan is… there is no way to describe this… the Canadian’s mind is suddenly brimming over with emotions he’s reluctantly but surely harbored for a while now. He is resting his spanking hand on the reddened cheeks in between slaps, the resting gradually turning to caressing, caressing turning to gentle rubbing.

His other hand isn't planted in the center of Scott's back to hold it down. Instead it's gently moving up and down the length of the boy's spine. Squeezing the nape in unadulterated affection on his way up, before stroking back down to squeeze Scott's fingers at his tailbone.

Logan is not punishing anymore. He is no more an unfeeling conduit of my wrath. He’s holding Scott, I mean really holding Scott. Mingling comfort with hurt, pain with pleasure, pain courtesy me obviously, and pleasure…?

I can hear Cyclops weeping quietly. Like a child.

“Stop it. Stop it… don't.”

The more he protests, the more Logan rubs and caresses and soothes. It’s not sexual though, what he’s doing. No. It’s just plain old comforting.

Up until now, Cyclops felt our anger, our annoyance… our hate. And he dealt with it like he was taught to, facing an enemy in the battlefield. Frigid. Defensive. Brave. But when Logan mixed that hate with love… well, that’s just completely against protocol, isn't it? Cyclops is not trained for this eventuality. He isn't equipped to handle an assault of love.

Wait a minute, love?

Surely not. Unwanted stimulation at best, of course. Right?

Whatever it is, it's wearing Scott’s resistance down. I stride back to his side fast as I can. Part of me wants to snatch him away from Logan’s hands holding him, touching him so intimately… that's so not what I asked Logan to do. But another part, a resigned one, knows those hands are the key. Those hands might just salvage what I have managed to destroy here tonight.

Logan sees me approaching and something in his face hardens. He holds my struggling boyfriend down and continues with the careful ministrations that are causing more distress than his smacks did.

“Please, enough, n-no…”

I kneel by Logan’s side, just where Scott hangs his head in surrender. I take his face in both hands and raise it to level with mine, cursing his mutation for a zillionth time. I’d give anything to look into his eyes, eyes I remember so vividly like it was yesterday. Twelve long years and still feels like yesterday…

He'd fixed his gaze on me the moment I stepped onto the school grounds. I was sixteen and scared of everything and everyone including myself. Especially myself. God knows how Charles and Erik convinced me to give them a chance. Nervous and unsure, I’d gripped my trunk in one hand, hat with another, as I strode against a hard iced wind towards the beautiful but intimidating mansion.

I swear I would have bolted. I was just about to turn and run, but before I could do it, I felt a psychic sensation, like someone palming my shoulder or tugging at my coat sleeve, only not really. Not forceful, just insistent. Enough to make me turn around and look up.

A not so high window, with partly drawn, soft white curtains, held a child… barely twelve. He had the most exquisite, heartbreakingly blue eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that called out to me, assured me, told me not to go, to stay, and play…

But you changed the game Cyclops. This is not what I stayed for. This is not what you offered me six years later, on our first night together under the endless stars.

// Logan, you're right. But I need you to hang in for just a few more minutes, okay? //

I don't wait for a confirmation and just press on.

"Scott…"

He can hardly utter a word through all his sobs. The scarf is soaked, his angelic features warped in discomfort and mortification. He leans into my hands holding his face, mouthing my palm, muffling the sounds he doesn't like making.

"Jean, p-please… please n-no more."

"Why do you hide from me darling? You know there is nothing I wouldn't understand…”

Silence.

// Now. //

And Logan's hand comes down like a whip. Scott yelps, taken aback by the sudden returning intensity of the blow.

"Shh… I’m sorry it hurts baby, but I promise it will go away. Just let me in."

He bites his lip, but it's too late for that. "J-Jean…"

"Yes, my darling."

He mewls as Logan resumes the soft massaging of his buttocks.

"Please t-tell Logan n-not to… not to do that."

I feign innocence. "Do what?"

"Jean please, goddamn you both!!"

"You can make him stop, Scott. You know what to do."

I can feel his stubborn streak crumbling, his resolve melting.

"Jean please, I-I d-don't want to hurt you."

"You hurt me with your silence Scott. You knew I was a telepath when you asked me to be yours. You know I depend on our mental bond more than a normal person would."

He sobs tiredly. Logan is not hitting him anymore, and I think he's finally submitting to the comfort his adversary is offering, because he’s not struggling either. I pull the wet scarf off his eyes. He cringes and tries to turn away, just in case, but I don’t let him.

"Scott, please, darling. I know there is something wrong but you wouldn’t talk to me about it. What did I do wrong? Please, I'm just so used to having you here with me all the time. And now you're not and I am losing my mind! Don’t you… don't you love me anymore?"

He lets out a strangled gasp. “Of course I do, always.”

“Then why?”

The gasp again, the broken sob again, and something else. Like a series of… moans… in rhythm, I realize, with Logan’s hand fondling his bare butt. And then I smell it too.

….

“Scott?”

….

Lower than a whisper, so low I barely hear it myself, a familiar sound he makes… my Scott is aroused.

As is Logan. And not just mindless aroused.

They're both fucking rock hard.

Scott’s erection is pressed painfully in between Logan’s thighs, who in turn is unable to keep his own erection from pressing into the boy in his lap… that stench of lust I vainly ignored? It now pervades the room, and my head, and my lungs and my veins.

When did this happen? How did this happen? And where the fuck was I?

I look at Logan and my suspicions are confirmed. He knows. He’s known for a while now. Chemistry they call it, and I was too blind to see it. He’s seen the growing tension between the happy couple and cheered not so silently. But not for me as I assumed in my arrogance.

For Scott!

God, so much arrogance.

I can be angry, I should be angry. Maybe throw a tantrum or two, and walk out on Scott like he's obviously afraid I'm going to.

Or I could consider the fact that neither man has acted on their feelings yet. Instead, they've been disguising their attraction towards each other with loathing, competitiveness, and envy. They're the fucking epitome of pulling pigtails for God's sake.

I sit back on my haunches, reeling. Vibrating.

Now that I'm keenly tuned into the two of them, I can feel Logan radiating boatloads of sympathy and… want. This started as a joke for him, maybe an erotic game because, hell, why not? But it's gone on longer than he wanted it to. His face is contorted with emotions he's clearly been in denial about, longer than he’d care to admit. Emotions he didn’t want exposed but now lie bare to the last pair of eyes they should… mine.

Yes! Go ahead! Say it! Some fucking telepath I am!

Scott has always relied on his sense of touch more than anything else. My hands holding his face are trembling and he can tell why.

“Damn it, Logan let me go!”

He tries to set himself straight, struggling to escape Logan’s hold on him, but the older man is waiting for instruction from me to let him go but I… I have no idea. Zip. Nada. Finally Scott goes limp, my silence disturbing him more and more with every passing moment.

“Jean please, I… I’m sorry. God knows I love you, I can't live without you.”

….

“When… when he came, I d-don’t know, I don’t know what happened. I was too ashamed, scared if you f-found out… if you read it in m-my thoughts…”

….

“Jean, I swear, I have never, ever… nothing happened! I thought it would pass, that it was just a stupid crush. And that one day I-I’d be able to rejoin our link again.”

….

“I miss it too, Jean. I miss you so much. I-I didn’t wanna l-lose you.”

….

“Jean p-please t-talk to me. I’m so sorry. J-Jeannie p-please…”

His tears drench my hands and his words heal the cracks in my heart but… FUCK.

I’m up with a jolt and across the room in two strides, away from Scott’s sobs and Logan’s guilty expression but they follow me around. To say that I am dazed would be an understatement. The alcohol’s slowing me down. I don’t even know where to begin processing this.

Meanwhile, Logan takes care of my boyfriend like I should have.

He pulls up the boxers and jeans, then turns Scott around and raises him up in his arms. Shushes him when the searing pain leads to a fresh bout of heart-wrenching whimpers. Logan holds him up, cradles his head against one shoulder. I am too far, at the other end of the empty bar. And I can do nothing but stand there uselessly, staring, holding my breath.

“Logan?”

“Yes, Scott.”

I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard Wolverine actually use his given name.

“Is she gone?”

There is panic in his voice, and I feel somewhat reassured.

“She’s still here.”

Scott sighs and rests his head on the broad chest, boneless.

He huddles like a child in a guardian’s lap, too exhausted to support his own weight yet staunchly squeezing his lethal eyes shut. Logan unties the boy's wrists fully expecting Scott to break free and punch him or something. But to both our surprise, it doesn't happen. Logan pulls the limp arms up to fold them in the front instead of hanging behind him awkwardly, rubs them up and down to alleviate the strain.

Minutes go by, maybe decades, as I watch the two men curled around each other. Like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, meant to fit together.

I swallow my pride, and push past the anger for being left out in the dark because really, wouldn't I have done the same thing in Scott's place? So I move on… onto worry, and envy, and insecurity. Guilt.

“Jean…”

God, how he says my name! And my face is wet again.

In his misery, he gives me what I needed. Floodgates thrown open and waves after waves of pure Scott Summers hit me at his desperate best. Four months of misery and loneliness mirroring my own. Four months of self-loathing and confusion I only knew half of, if even that.

And love. So much love.

All his life he’s only ever been with me, and then in walks Logan with his mysteriousness, and exoticism, and strength… and manhood… making Scott question his choices, his identity, the very meaning of his life…

I curse myself. I broke him, he was on the edge and I pushed him over. I’m a bitch. And since this indulgent self-deprecation is not really getting me anywhere, I should just get busy. My baby needs fixing, and I need to be the one to put him back together again.

The blue shirt I gifted him three years ago hangs untidily over his jeans, Logan sees it and smooths it down Scott’s heaving chest. And of course he's still holding him, rocking him, refusing to let him go. Scott is clinging to the older man just as fiercely, his hands fisted into Logan's flannel and already starting to rend it apart. The older man tongues his tears, strokes his silken hair. Glares at me, daring me to do something about it.

I don’t think I want to.

Logan and Scott, Wolverine and Cyclops… they’re all here, inside my head, drowning out the silence. After all this time, I am not alone anymore.

I dry my face, puff out my inadequate chest and walk back to where they are. I pull a chair and fit myself on the open side of Scott Summers, wedging a long leg under his thighs so he partly rests on me. He feels me close and holds his breath. Logan also has a question mark on his face. He was nearly ready to pop his claws when I touched Scott. Oddly enough it makes me smile.

I caress the protector’s mind as a gentle breeze, trying to reassure him. Of course he doesn’t buy it.

I sigh and decide to use words instead. “Logan…”

Scott snivels and curls up further into himself, fully expecting to hear the string of expletives he taught me.

“Don’t you want to do something about that?”

Logan follows my gaze down into Scott’s lap and starts. The look on his face is hilarious, but I resist the urge to laugh. Obviously he can't believe what he’s hearing. I grab his hand in mine, place it on the aroused but steadily receding mound between the two of us. Scott jumps even as he’s petrified in his spot, and gasps his heart out. One of his fists leaves Logan’s shirt and entangles itself in mine. He doesn’t realize he’s touching my heart (no really, his hand is on my left boob.) And his voice is nothing more than a tiny, hoarse whisper.

“Jean, have mercy on me, p-please…”

He thinks I’m still playing with him, punishing him for feelings he has absolutely no control over.

// Shh baby, you're okay. We're here. We're both here. //

I lean in and kiss his closed eyes, his hollowed cheeks, blood-reddened lips. Then I look up at Logan, who doesn't need to be asked twice. Two hands – one long and soft and feminine, the other big and coarse and beastly – come together to slowly strip down a common object of obsession. Scott quivers violently and spreads his legs apart, not intending to but he can't really stop himself.

Once again, Cyclops is out of control.

A cool draft hits organs that feel like velvet on fire in my grasp. Scott is sweating profusely, as am I. It's difficult to breathe, the junction of my legs feeling wetter by the second. Logan is completely fixated on the look on Scott’s face. He smiles tenderly at the boy's eyes clamped shut, and the open lush lips panting against mine.

// He has a mouth like yours. //

I know.

Our two entwined hands start to move together up and down Scott's shaft. I swallow his moans, while assuring him mentally that he’s safe, that he can trust this. Logan runs his other hand through Scott’s hair, scratching his scalp adoringly. Meanwhile ten fingers indulge his swollen cock, bringing him close to the edge before slowing back down over and over again, to make it last as long as it possibly can. Scott writhes like a snake away from and into the slow, relentless teasing, mewling his heart out.

Logan is so pleased with himself for making Cyclops lose control. Makes me chuckle… guess we’ll always have that in common with each other. I see it now, the way his brandy eyes practically glisten when he looks at Scott. Oh, he is definitely in love.

I remember now what happened four months ago: we found Logan.

“Come for us, baby.”

A fervent two-handed squeeze and he does, hard and uninhibited. Scott arches up into the three-way embrace, bridging across us for good. His climax draws from him his loudest scream yet. And when he simmers down from his bliss, we’re there for him, Logan and me.

I look up at Logan in question, and his solemn nod assures me I am not alone in this. I'm not the only one here completely, out-of-my-mind crazy in love.

The two of us remain unfulfilled, but it’s a small price to pay, seeing Scott smile shyly, blushing, as he lies between us with careless abandon. Trusting blindly, no pun intended.

I whisper in his ear, “I will always love you, Scott. No ancient jackass will ever change that.”

Logan is beautiful when he smiles. He buys it now.

“I’ll kill him myself if he ever gets in the way, bub,” he whispers, pressing a kiss on the damp forehead under sweat-soaked fringes. I don’t know what I would do if tomorrow he goes back on his words.

Scott’s voice is tinged with hope and hesitation. “Are you guys sure? This is… you don’t have… I-I don’t want to lose any of you.”

“You won't.”

And that’s the closest these boys will get to, to confessing their love for each other.

I button Scott up, well, with whatever buttons remain. Logan finds the visor and tries putting it back on his face. Scott straightens up with renewed, if kind of embarrassed, vigor, not needing us to support him any longer.

“Hey easy, old man,” an unsure jibe, “you want to get fried or something?”

Logan smirks and hands him the visor instead. Scott dons it carefully, then stands up ever so slowly. He must really hurt, but has gone back to holding his tongue about it. That visor does that to him.

He turns away from us before opening his eyes. No beams of mass destruction. Good. And then he turns back to look at us, frowning deeply as if to confirm we were really real, that it wasn’t all just a dream.

How could it be when his ass is on fire?

// Duh! //

The shields are gone, and I can feel his love without him needing to verbalize it. Which shouldn’t be a problem for Logan because men don’t need verbal expressions of sentiments anyway, right?

“Don’t worry about me, One-eye. You couldn’t hit me if I was sitting on your face.”

“Fantasizing already, Wolverine?”

Logan stretches and cracks his arms. Great. Here we go again.

“Get your sweet ass home, kid. And I’ll show you what else I’m fantasizing about.”

“The name is Cyclops. And you better show me some respect, I’m still your commander.”

Well, at least I don’t feel my sanity slipping anymore. My anchor is back, safe and sound and bickering with his new boyfriend. I think I’m getting a headache.

“Or you’ll do what, kid?”

“I’ll… have you take art class.”

“Wow! I’m scared shitless.”

“Have you heard about the tenth graders this year?”

Logan blinks.

“Okay here’s the deal. You keep those brats away from me and I’ll restrict your next spanking to an even fifty.”

“Jesus! Go to hell, Wolverine!”

“Of course, it will also depend on how much you’ve pissed Jean off.”

“You are never getting your filthy hands on me again, asshole.”

“Wanna bet your ass?”

I take it back. If this is their expression of love I’m perfectly happy to be a woman after all.

How can I be okay with this - you ask? It's simple really. Call me a hypocrite if you will, but I've been keeping a little secret from Scott too. For as long as I can remember, I've had these recurring visions… of my death. Charles keeps telling me they're just dreams. But I know he's lying, and he knows I know it too.

I guess I'm just seeing the silver lining in all of this - Logan heals. Logan is practically immortal. Logan will be here to look after my Scott when I’m gone.

“You leave my bike out of this!”

“It's worth leaving in a ditch somewhere, bub. I’d be happy to do the honors for ya.”

“Oh and I suppose the reason you steal it every chance you get is so you can hump the seat I grace?”

Oh God. Where the hell did that bottle of vodka go? Or was it whiskey? I need that bartender, whatshisname - Angelo? Where are you, honey?

“You little piece of…”

“Watch your language, Professor Logan.”

“Bite me.”

“I think I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Fine then let me…”

End of “To Love..”

Sequel "Honor.." in Logan's POV is here >>

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OMG, soooooo good! I seriously need to go to bed now, but I'm so reading the second chapter tomorrow!!! =)

Thanks sweetie :D Again :D

You write an awesome drunk Jean.

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