Personal Challenge: Poker Faces

Author's Note: My husband issued me this challenge: Write an X-men threesome story, M/F/F, with love between all of the parties involved. Does not have to be explicit. In fact, he dared to say he thought I couldn't do it. Now, I don't find F/F stuff at all erotic. (I know, I know. I'm sorry I'm so freaking vanilla. I can't help it. I was born this way.) But I'm writing it anyway, just to show him. Here's the first chapter. /end Author's Note

Five months ago, Bobby Drake had been lounging around the X-mansion, plotting his next prank and idly watching an old episode of the Simpsons. That was how he got into this mess. He was there when the call came in.

The hotline rang and he picked it up. "X-Mansion."

"Who is this?" The voice was young and female.

"Drake. Bobby Drake." He waggled his eyebrows and smoothed his non-existent lapels. Absently, he noted that the silk screened image of Obi-Wan was wearing thin on his T-shirt.

"This is Wanda Maximoff. Bobby, we need some help. The rest of the Avengers are away, and a crisis has come up."

He turned off the Bond impression and grimaced. "Is it something that would be enough for only three of us to handle? Betsy and I are the only X-men here right now. The others are off on missions or unavailable no matter what, this means you, Drake." He smiled as he repeated Logan's warning.

"I think so. It's an infiltration job. There's a corporation here in Milwaukee that needs a light touch."

So he'd called in Betsy, they'd talked with Wanda, and ended up flying to Wisconsin.

He groaned and slapped his hand to his head. He should have pulled a Logan and told Wanda to fuck off. The mission had been a success, no problem there. Within three months, they discovered Sinister was involved with one branch of the corp., and it only took one more to figure out what he was doing with it. The Professor called in Warren, he made some phone calls, did some rich guy stuff, and boom! Sinister was gone. From the corporation, anyway. The bastard was probably still around somewhere.

His problem was that, having worked so closely with both women for so long, he was in love … with both of them. Betsy's cold shell, amazingly, sheltered a warm, loving, passionate and caring soul that was easily hurt. Wanda was a kindred spirit, someone who desired a stable and secure home with those she could love and trust. Now, he couldn't imagine living without the two of them, Betsy's sarcastic humor and Wanda's sweetness. But she was going to go back to the Avengers, and Betsy would probably go back to hiding from him once they reached the mansion. Already, she had been more closed off, refusing to laugh at his jokes and retreating to her hotel room rather than having dinner with the others at Jardin des Reves. Wanda had been very quiet too, only really lightening up when her brother arrived.

Now he was alone in his room, staring at the cold white ceiling, wishing he could say or do something, be someone other than himself. Scott would have cut himself off from both women by now. He could see Warren proposing to Betsy, while Hank most likely would retreat in confusion or choose Wanda as his mate. Logan would already probably have fucked both of them (lovemaking and Logan did not go together, in his mind, anyhow). So would Remy.

He got up and went into the bathroom. His Mickey Mouse boxers flapped around his legs as he walked. He stared soberly into the mirror, noticing his white undershirt, the circles under his eyes, and the messy brown hair. He laughed. "Robert Drake, you've been in some stupid situations before, but this takes the cake. Falling for Wanda's bad enough, but then going for Betsy, too? Yeah, you're one smooth talker, Drake. Neither of them are interested in you. Hell, they're probably more interested in each other."

He considered that for a moment. Wow. That was hot, the lovely slender redhead wrapped in that sensual Asian body, their legs entwined, hands stroking each others' breasts, tongues flickering in and out of each others' mouths, moaning in lust for each other … wow. Hey, if he could only watch, he'd die a happy man. (I wouldn't mind sharing, no, not at all, as long as I got in on the action sometimes.)

Mickey was happy. Very happy. Of course, just then there was a knock at the door. He closed his eyes. (Professor X in a thong. Mom in a bikini. Chris Farley trying to do a Chippendales routine.) "Just a minute!" he shouted, furiously concentrating on the most un-erotic images he could think of. He slowly walked to the door. By the time he opened it, Mickey was bored out of his skull. Good.

Wanda stood there, uncertain, holding a champagne bottle and three wine glasses. "Hi, Bobby," she said, glancing at his boxers and blushing a little.

He cleared his throat. (Cool it, Mickey.) "Hey there." (Smooth, very Bond of you. Bondage. Oh, crap. Calm down. Remember Chris Farley.)

"Um, I missed Betsy at dinner, and we really didn't get to connect there or anything, you know?" Her clear blue eyes were fixed on his face, that little blush making her even cuter than usual. "So I thought maybe we should go to her room and celebrate. We won, hurrah, and all that."

(Oh, great. God does exist, and his sense of humor is crueler than mine.) "Sure. Sounds great. Just let me put something on, unless you like me better this way." He struck a vain pose, thrusting his chest forward aggressively and giving an Elvis suggestive swivel to his hips.

Her face turned as red as her hair and she gulped a few times. "Why not come as you are? It's not like we haven't seen it all before."

She was trying to sound casual, but she wasn't up to the task. Inwardly, Bobby smiled. Maybe he wouldn't be alone tonight. He decided to go easy on the alcohol.

"Well, if I'm that boring, okay." He pouted a little. "I'd think Mickey would get a little more respect from you, though."

Her blush started fading and she laughed. "Bobby, you know exactly the right thing to say sometimes. Let's go."