Forever

CHAPTER ELEVEN (NC-17)

 

A/N Mille grazie again to Internutter and Foxfeather, the
most kick ass feedback givers I’ve ever had!
Yeah, the story is getting long, but if you don’t like it, read
something else. I’ve diverged a little from
the original intent of the story but hopefully it’ll get back on track now…

 

 

 

 

 

“Can they
do this? I thought they gave up all
rights to her!” Logan’s claws were
fully extended and he was still gesturing wildly, making Storm duck and Hank
blanch under his fur.

“It’s not a
suit from the Prydes. It’s from the State of New York. Charging the Xavier Institute and all named
entities with contributing to the delinquency of a minor and allow illegal
fornication on school premises.[1]” Hank was flipping through the thick packet
of papers Logan had unwittingly accepted a few hours earlier, looking for any
loophole in the charges. “It seems the
Prydes reported the…incident…to the state.
I’m no lawyer, but this document seems airtight. I think we should get this to one of your
friends, Charles.”

“I
agree. Do Kitty and Kurt know about
this yet?” The Professor turned the
papers over in his hands, staring at the words crawling like black ants across
the pages of legalese.

“I haven’t said
anything…” Logan stared at each face in turn.
“I don’t think they know. Should
we say something?”

“I think we
need to have this looked at first an ascertain it’s legality. Words are not always truth and these words
may be no more than a smokescreen to hide a bad decision.” Charles Xavier tossed the papers onto his
desk and rolled around to join the three other mutants in the room. “I have gathered that the two have a date
this evening, if what Kitty accidentally told me is true…” Professor
Xavier tapped his forehead in a gesture common to the Institute, a short hand
developed by the students to indicate a telepathic event, either accidental or
on purpose.

“Who’s the
chaperone?” Logan had retracted his
claws but was still highly irritated, pacing and growling under his breath when
he was not speaking.

“I suggest
Jean and Scott. They’re two of the more
responsible students here.” Storm
failed to add that Kitty and Kurt were the next most responsible and they all
knew what they had been up to.

“I’ll talk
to them in a little bit. I want them to
be fully apprised of the situation and realize the gravity of their duties.
Amara and Evan were, while not necessarily inappropriate choices, they were
lacking in their devotion to proper execution of their duty.” The Professor rolled himself towards the
door, effectively dismissing the group.

Logan was the last to leave, staring out the window at the slowly
descending sun. Kitty has always been a daughter to me and now it’s a legal
fact. I don’t know how to protect her
from hate like this, from malicious intent.
Things are so much easier when I can just beat the Hell out of people. With a final growl at the absent Prydes,
Logan stomped upstairs to explain to Kurt just what was expected of a young man
who wanted to date the Wolverine’s “daughter.”


 

“And what’s in this pot?” Scott poked at a floating ball of dough.

“Knaidlach[2]
soup. Quit poking it—you’ll make it
angry.” Kitty smacked the back of
Scott’s hand and covered the boiling soup.
“It’s for dinner, for me and Kurt.”
Friday night was usually a catch-as-catch-can day as far as food went in
the mansion and if she did not mark her territory, as it were, all the food she
was cooking would be gone by the time they returned. Knowing Kurt’s insane need for high-calorie food was at odds with
her vegetarian ideals, Kitty had agonized over what to prepare. She had begged Rogue to take her into town
for dinner supplies but wound up having to drive herself, a fearsome feat in
and of itself, given that Kitty had barely passed driver’s ed and once
destroyed a shed in her attempts to learn a standard transmission. In the end, she had made it easy on herself
and easy on Kurt’s tentative grasp of Jewish food and prepared the soup,
spinach Bureka[3], and had
picked up a loaf of challah and some blintzes[4]
from a Jewish bakery in town along with some supplies for the other two meals
that would occur during the Sabbath.
Kitty smacked Scott’s hand away from the soup again and shook a spoon at
him, “I will phase through your DVD player if you don’t leave it alone!”

“Sorry! Sorry! “ He nursed his
hand, still red from where Kitty had slapped it. “You know the Professor wants Jean and me to chaperone you two
tonight.”

“I didn’t know. Well, if you want to come to services with
us, better get dressed ASAP. We’re leaving in half an hour.” Every Friday Kitty raced against the setting
sun and this night was no exception.
She was half-dressed as it was, a dark skirt, hose and sensible shoes on
her bottom half but an old pink t-shirt emblazoned with the Canadian flag and
her hair in a loose ponytail on her top half.


“I have to ask Jean if she wants to
go….” Scott trailed off, not sure how
to politely decline Kitty’s invitation.


“Talking again? Good—I was worried about you two.” Scott decided not to explain the newly
complicated dynamics of his and Jean’s relationship to Kitty just yet, opting
instead for a noncommittal noise that could be interpreted as thanks for her
concern. “I have got to go finish getting
ready. If you see Kurt, remind him
about the shoes!” Kitty eyed the clock
on the wall and, with a curse Scott was not quite sure he believed came from
Kitty’s mouth, she hurried from the room.
That girl is getting downright maternal. Peeking guiltily at the soup again, Scott
decided that he had indeed made it angry and slipped the lid over the pot,
backing away from the rapidly swelling matzo ball.

“Vas ist wrong?” Kurt had never seen Scott—anyone, for that
matter—jump so high before.

“Shit! Don’t sneak up on people like that, man!” Scott put his hand over his heart and puffed
out a harsh breath. “I’m too young to
die!”

“Sorry, mein freund!” Kurt’s grin belied his apology. “Why are you backing out of the kitchen?”

“I think I made Kitty’s dinner
angry….oh, and she says to remind you about the shoes.” Scott watched warily as Kurt moved over to
the stove and peeked inside the pot.
“Does it look…virulent?”

“It looks very swollen. Is it supposed to look swollen?” Kurt poked at the doughy mass with the
wooden spoon Kitty had abandoned, watching it spring back each time he dented
it in. “Maybe I should just take her to
a restaurant…”

Scott joined him, looking over his
shoulder into the pot. “Hmmm. Maybe it’s supposed to look like that. She said it was knaidlach soup—have you ever
had it?”

“Nein. I think it’s going to be an experience, though.” Kurt handed the spoon to Scott and watched him
poke at the matzo ball for a moment before Jean’s voice startled them
both.

“This is why you’re not allowed in
the kitchen unsupervised.” She was
wearing a dress, something she rarely did, and had a touch of makeup on. “Are you guys about ready? Kitty is anxious.”

“I take it you told her we were
joining them?” Scott’s brows quirked
behind ruby glasses.

“Vas? I thought this was a date, not a field trip!” Kurt was more than a little irritated—sure,
it was unconventional, but it was their first real date.

“Um, the Professor wanted Jean and
me to chaperone…Sorry, man.” Scott did
seem honestly contrite so Kurt decided just to file it away under the heading
“Favors Scott Owes Me” in his mental file cabinet.

“You two had better get dressed—you
have ten minutes. And Kurt, Kitty wants
me to tell you—sh” J” Jean cast a
quick glance at Scott and, an uncharacteristic blush suffusing her face, walked
coolly from the room.

“What’s with the shoes?” Scott looked Kurt over—the blue mutant was
wearing his one suit, a brown jacked and pants combination, over a white shirt
with the collar unbuttoned, no tie and no belt. He had not turned on his holo so he looked a little like a
corporate demon, causing Scott to smirk at the image of Hell as an office.

“You’ll see…” With a weary sigh,
Kurt trudged out of the kitchen and headed to his room. When he finally emerged, he found the other
three teenagers waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. “I look like a Miami pimp.” Kitty had persuaded him to wear a pair of
sandals to spare his feet the indignity of “special” shoes. The effect was actually quite appealing to
Kitty and, to a lesser extent, Jean.

“You look great, honey. I promise.”

“Yeah. Jerusalem Cruisers[5]
to a synagogue. Appropriate.” This remark earned Scott a swift whap
on the side of the head from both Kitty and Jean.

“Thank you, Katzchen. Who’s driving?” Scott drove them into town to the tiny synagogue that Kitty
described as “progressive”. On the way,
the Jewish girl explained the difference between Orthodox and “progressive”
Jews and what was going to be expected of them during services. Congregation Beth Israel[6]
was a small, brown brick structure with a Star of David on the front of the
building. The tiny parking lot was
almost full, creating the necessity of a short walk from the street to the
building for the mutants. Once inside,
they paused for their eyes to adjust to the sudden shift in light. The inside of the building bore no
resemblance to the late-fifties architecture on the outside. Dark wood graced the walls and pews (Are
they pews in a Synagogue? Scott wondered) and ornate scrollwork formed a
shield across the balcony above and behind the entrance.

“In an Orthodox synagogue, the
women would sit up there and the men down here…” Kitty led the group to seats
in the back of the congregation, partially to lessen the nervous factor for her
friends and partially for a quick getaway if Kurt’s holo went out. “Just follow my lead and we’ll all be
fine.” Services started shortly and
Kitty was soon immersed in the words of the Rabbi, reveling in the feeling of
being part of something that had been around for longer than recorded history;
human faith had always fascinated her and reconnecting herself to her family’s
religious roots made her feel infinite.


Kurt was fascinated by the ritual
of a Sabbath service. He had never been
to a synagogue before and absorbed all the details to ask Kitty about
later. He noticed Scott staring
slightly open-mouthed at the female Rabbi and knew that they shared the same
thought—Aren’t rabbis always men?
Jean, for her part, was very well behaved. She mimicked Kitty exactly and sat out the parts where it would
be inappropriate for a non-Jew to participate.
Kitty practically glowed after the service and dragged Kurt (and by
proxy, Jean and Scott) to speak with Rabbi Gould. “Shabbat Shalom, Revi[7].” The
middle aged woman turned at Kitty’s words and a smile spread across her soft
face.

“Ah! Our youngest member!” The
rabbi beamed at Kitty and her friends, taking in t obv obvious ill ease. “I love it when the young people come!”
Looking around, Kurt realized that, aside from the Rabbi and themselves,
everyone in the congregation appeared to be sixty or older. Following his gaze, the rabbi sighed and
noted, “Lately, the young people don’t seem to come to temple here. They go to town, to the large synagogues. Some, though, don’t even do that much.” She looked at Kitty fondly and the smile
returned. “Not like Kitty here. She’s a good girl!” The rabbi’s attention was caught by an
elderly couple waving from across the way so she missed the brief look of
disgust that crossed the girl’s face.
The older woman bid a fond goodbye the teenagers and Kitty led her
friends on a brief tour of the synagogue and then out to the parking lot.

“Good girl. Is that all people think I am?” Kitty slouched in her seat, her arms crossed
under the seatbelt.

“Katzchen, she didn’t mean anything
by it…” Kurt found his hand shrugged
off of Kitty’s shoulder; Scott did not miss the wounded look on the younger
man’s face.

“Kitty, I think you’re taking it a little
hard.” Jean’s cool voice seemed to calm
Kitty down, but Kurt had a feeling the real trouble was simmering just below
the surface.

The rest of the trip home was
mostly quiet, broken every once in a while by Scott commenting on the services
or Jean singing a snatch of whatever song was on the radio. Kurt was torn between hurt, anger, and
concern for Kitty. On one hand, he
understood her need to be seen as an adult, and on the other hand he was upset
that she refused his comfort. On another
hand, Kurt was worried that Kitty was hiding her feelings from him. That leaves me with no more hands. Huh.
Maybe I should count my tail as a hand… They had pulled behind the mansion’s gates and Kurt ended the
holo’s imagery.

Kitty paused at the kitchen door
and bit her lip, staring at her friends while trying to determine the best way
to explain dinner. She had explained
the importance of the three meals eaten at Sabbath to them on the way to the
synagogue but now that it was down to the wire, Kitty was ashamed that she was
feeling embarrassed. Taking a deep
breath, she just blurted out, “Don’t laugh at me, okay?” before she pivoted on her heel and marched
into the kitchen, her ramrod straight back belying her shaking hands. Kurt, Scott and Jean angeanged confused looks
before following Kitty. Earlier in the
day, she had set up the table in the breakfast nook with a white table cloth
and some plain white china that she had Kurt get from her boxes in the basement
(“A gift from Yaya” she had told him).
Two loaves of bread, one at either end of the table, were set off by
some white taper candles and, due to Storm’s thoughtfulness, the food Kitty had
prepared earlier. A silence descended
over the four teenagers as they took their places around the table, Kitty on
the end with the tapers, Jean on her left, Scott on her right, and Kurt at the
opposite end of the table. “Um,
traditionally, the mother would light the candles and start the Sabbath but
since I….” A small cough covered what
seemed to be a sob, “Well, the Sabbath is very family oriented and like, for
better or worse, you guys are my family now and forever.” Kitty ducked her head as she lit the candles
and covered her eyes with her hands.
Kurt started forward, worried that she was on the verge of a crying jag,
but Jean’s hand stopped him. Kitty
began singing in foreign language, rocking gently back and forth. Scott’s eyes were round behind his glasses
and Jean looked on the verge of crying herself. Kurt merely looked stunned.
This was a side of Kitty no one had really seen at the Institute,
something she had kept hidden, like a small piece of a home she never really
had that she could always escape to when things got bad[8]. Dinner moved slowly but no one seemed to
really notice. Kitty explained how,
even though the dishes were vegetarian, some of the items were usually made
with meat and she went on to detail the koshering process[9]. Jean’s suddenly green-around-the-gills
expression though caused a rapid subject change to Kitty’s rather liberal
Jewish faith as opposed to the more strict Orthodox practices. By the time dinner came around to the
blintzes, all four were comfortable with the occasion, Kitty’s embarrassment
forgotten and Kurt immersed in fantasy of raising little pointy-eared mutants
in both their faiths. None of
them noticed Professor Xavier and Hank McCoy lurking near the doorway, amused
and proud expressions on their faces.

“I think the revelation can wait
until tomorrow night; don’t you, Charles?”
The man otherwise known as Beast kept his baritone low so as not to
disturb the moment.

“I don’t want to wait that long,
but in view of the circumstances, I think it’s best. Kitty is tying herself to her past for a sense of continuity and
by opening up to her closest friends, she’s also linking herself to her
future.” Charles Xavier motioned for
Hank to follow him and they made their way to the Professor’s inner sanctum,
murmuring about the pending suit and the possibility of keeping the case quiet.


 

Lance’s mouth hung open in absolute
shock. Amara stood on the doorstep,
naked. Well, naked except for a long
coat. “I think your plan is moving too
slow. It’s time for me to take
over.” She shoved past him and headed
up the stairs. “Which room is
yours?” Lance was still staring out the
door, at the spot where she had flashed him.
“Hel-LO?”

“Oh, uh, huh?” Lance shook his head, fully expecting to see
Tabitha calling him from the stairs but was not disappointed when it turned out
that it was Amara after all.

‘Your room?” Amara crossed her arms, pushing her breasts
up rather enticingly beneath the tan coat.
Something bulged in her coat pocket but Lance did not have enough blood
left in his brain to worry about what it was.
“Um, I’ll show you.” He took the stairs three at a time and led
her to a rather grungy bedroom at the end of the hall. Hastily, he kicked some of the more
offensive piles of clothes under the bed and shoved rather abused porno
magazine under his dresser. “Mi bedroom
es su bedroom…” Lance was smiling so
hard his face hurt. If I stop
smiling, I’ll scream. Amara cast an
extremely critical eye around the room and moved to the bed, carefully testing
the springs before striking a pose on the mattress; she leaned back on her
elbows, drawing one knee up to allow the coat to fall open but not reveal everything. There was an audible gulp from Lance’s
direction as he moved within touching distance.

“I know that you can’t sit around
and wait for Kitty to see the light and I sure as Hell am not going to hold my
breath and wait for Scott to lavish attention on me. Until we get them to see things our way, though, I think we can
be a great help to each other.” Amara
untied the belt to her coat and let it fall away from her bare flesh. Please don’t drool. I’d hate to have to kill you.

“You think so, huh?” Lance’s arousal was obvious. Kitty who?

“Definitely. In more ways than one.” Amara rose to her knees, shedding the coat
and procuring a pair of handcuffs from the bulging pocket. Lance’s eyes lit with predatory interest. Another reach into the coat brought out a
small tape recorder, the sort used to make tapes of lectures and meetings. “First we have our fun and then we work on my
plan. Savvy?”

“Sure. Hand over the cuffs, Princess.”
Lance was out of his shirt and working on his pants, not even looking at
Amara by this point.

“I don’t think so.” She grabbed him by his wrist and neatly
flipped him onto the bed, pinning his arms and fastening them securely to the
headboard. “I’m in charge here. From now on, it’s ‘Yes Ma’am ‘ from
you. Got it?”

Lance’s smile looked downright
feral. “What about No Ma’am?” Amara tightened the cuffs as far as they
would go. Lance only laughed, a low,
throaty chuckle. “I think I am going to
like this.”

“Did I give you permission to
speak?” Amara finished divesting him of
his pants and reached on last time into the coat pocket, bringing out a
half-burned red taper. “Lighter?”

“Don’t got one.” He tried and failed to shrug with his arms
pinned above his head.

“Lance, we’re not at school and I’m not a
teacher. That’s a game for
later…Where’s a lighter or matches? My
power would be overkill.”

“Top drawer, under the, um,
video.” Lance felt the faint blush rise
up his chest and neck. Amara merely
raised an eyebrow when she saw the graphic picture gracing the video
cover.

“At least I know where you stand in
terms of group sex.” She returned to
straddle Lance’s stomach, lighting the candle.
“Be still.” She could feel his
arousal pushing against her bottom and raised herself slightly so that he was
not touching her. “Uh-uh-uh! Not until I’m ready.” She arched her back just slightly, bringing
causing Lance’s eyes to widen at the sight she presented: bare olive flesh
shadowed in the evening light, the candle’s golden glow dancing across well
toned muscles and small, pert breasts.

“I want to fuck you so hard…” His words were somewhere between a growl and
a gasp.

“How crude!” Amara stood, still straddling him and
holding the candle. “I’m insulted. In fact, I should leave now!” Amara stepped lightly off the bed and placed
the candle in the neck of a convenient beer bottle. She grabbed the coat and made it to the door before Lance called
out to her.

“Please don’t go!” I sound like Freak Show now. Weak.

“Beg me.” Amara turned to face her prey, eyes dark with hidden lust.

“Please, Amara. I want you so bad. I want you to…to take me.
Here. Now.” Lance’s eyes were closed, unable to meet
Amara’s gaze.

Good. He knows who’s in charge around here. “I’ll stay, but I don’t think you’re quite
ready yet.” She disrobed yet again and
crawled onto the bed, careful not to touch his purpling member. He’s more than ready. This is going to be fun. “You know, I think I’m very
ready.” Rising up on her knees near
Lance’s head, Amara leaned forward just slightly to better enjoy the hopeful
gleam enter Lance’s eyes. “Too bad that
you won’t be for another, oh…five or ten minutes?” Lance groaned, but not in pleasure. He had bent his knees and was trying to push himself a little
further up the headboard to get closer to Amara’s swaying breasts. “No, no Lance.” She scooted backwards and gave him a hard slap on the cheek. I think he liked that. She pinched her nipples with one hand while
bracing herself on the headboard with the other. “If you’re a good boy, I may let you help me with this.” Lance had clammed up and was watching
avidly, his ego taking a back seat to his libido rather than sharing the duties. Amara moved astride Lance’s ribs, careful
not to let any part of her touch any part of him. “Stop squirming. If
you’re bad, I stop now and leave and you’re on your own.” In more ways than
one. The candle still the only
light in the room, Amara let her other hand join the first on her breasts,
teasing her turgid, dusky peaks. She
could not help the low moan that rose from her throat and the involuntary
flutter of her eyelids. Got to stay
in control. Don’t let him see how much
I want this right now. Lance seemed
to be in some sort of trance, his eyes following every movement of her fingers
across her skin. Drawing her nails
sharply across one breast, Amara hissed as much from pleasure as from pain,
striving to stay aloof despite her desperate need to have Lance drive himself
into her hard and fast. Lance tried to
buck his hips beneath her only to earn a glare and another slap, this one
harder than the first. “Lance, I mean
it—I’m out of here if you try that again without my permission.”

He allowed his back to relax into
the mattress and tried not to think of the warmth coming from her center, right
over that slight notch at the bottom of his ribs. WarmwethotsweetohgodIwonderifKittyislikethis?Kitty’stoosweetvirginalAmara’sawomannotagirlIwanthersobad…
“Amara, please!” He was throbbing in
pain now, both in his arms and his erection.


“You’re talking again.” Amara slid her right hand to her navel and
traced it’s indentation, biting her lower lip in a manner that would seem coy
on anyone else but looked something akin to animalistic on her. “Talking distracts me.” A small drop of moisture was running down
her thigh, belying her cool demeanor.
Lance shuddered as he watched it’s progress down her leg, wishing like
Hell he could catch it on his tongue.
Amara’s hand was slowly traversing the distance between her navel and
her opening, drawing Lance’s eyes away from her legs in a snapping movement
that could almost be heard in the stillness of the room. Leaning back and using her free hand to hold
onto her own ankle as a way of bracing herself, Amara allowed her fingers to
toy idly with the damp curls covering her mound, inwardly laughing at the puppy
dog look on Lance’s face. She caressed
her clitoris, moaning in pleasure and arching back even further, spreading
herself open to Lance’s lustful gaze.
Unable to stop herself, she plunged her fingers into her wet sex and
began pumping in earnest. Lance’s hot
breath against her sensitive flesh drove her over the edge and she let out an
incoherent yell as she came against her hand, her hips thrusting so close to
Lance’s mouth that she was sure she felt his tongue against her for a brief
moment. Comio heo her senses again,
Amara sat up, her hand still pressed against her throbbing center. “You were such a good boy, Lance. I think you deserve a reward…” She held her dripping fingers up to his
mouth and he lapped eagerly at her juices, sending a new thrill down her
spine. She noticed he had stopped
suckling her fingers and was gazing steadily at her, eyes begging her to let
him speak. “Okay. You can taow.”ow.”

“What about me?” He thrust his hips upwards and Amara turned
to look over her shoulder at the source of his discomfort.

“Oh. Well, want to play a game?”
She held the keys to the handcuffs in his line of sight.

“Yes!” So long as I get some tonight, I’ll do whatever she asks!

“Okay. Listen to me carefully. I think that we can use this to our
advantage…” Amara told him her idea,
letting her breasts brush against his chest as she murmured in his ear. Lance eagerly agreed and soon found himself
unbound but still obeying Amara’s every command.

 

“But you don’t look like
her. Even with the ponytail.” The tape player was set to record and Amara
was laying beneath Lance, her eyes closed in frustration.

“I don’t have to look like
her, you just have to call me Kitty!”

“Does that turn you on or
something?”

“Idiot! Move.” Lance scrambled
back and Amara rolled onto her stomach before rising onto all fours. “How’s this? You can fuck yourself silly and you don’t have to look at my
face.” Even though mine is better
than hers.

“Perfect!” Lance wasted no time in pressing against
Amara’s entrance. “Have you done this
before?” Sudden caution wheedled into
Lance’s mind. Never fucked a virgin
before… There’s no way she can be a
virgin, though. No prude knows shit
like she does!

“Wait!” Avoiding answering Lance’s question, she hit “record” on the tape
player and nodded in silent order for him to start. With a hard, single thrust Lance soon found out the truth.

“Damn, baby! Why didn’t you tell
me?”

Did he just call me baby? In her best breathy, Valley Girl voice,
Amara said, “Fuck me, Lance. I want you
so bad!” Lance readily complied, his
shock over her virginity forgotten. This
doesn’t hurt at all. Must be all the
practice with my…toys… She may have
been a virgin but Amara had no fairy floss fantasies about sex. She expected pain, in fact, she rather
enjoyed it. She used to get in fights
back home with the servants just for the thrill getting slapped or pinched gave
her. She lived for spankings, too. In fact, her first orgasm was from a rather
lengthy and rough spanking by her own maid.
Just the thought of that evening where she got caught wearing her
mother’s earrings without permission and the subsequent lashing she received
was enough to make Amara writhe against Lance in renewed vigor. She heard him calling her Kitty over and
over and a strange little part of her wanted to hear him say her name as
he thrust into her, not Kitty’s. The
whir of the tape recorder, though, made her get back on track and she began
moaning and saying Lance’s name over and over.
Because he had been to the point of painful arousal before they even
started, the session did not last long.
Within five minutes, Lance pulled out of Amara and ejaculated onto her
lower back.

“Didn’t know about birth control,”
he muttered. She reached over and shut
off the tape player and was surprised to feel his weight leave the bed. Bastard. Oh. Or not.
He was drying her back with a towel—one Amara was not wont to consider
the cleanliness of—and apologizing under his breath.

“What are you sorry about?” She rolled over, capturing his wrist in her
strong grip.

“The whole virgin thing…and, well,
calling you Kitty.”

Amara made a dismissive
gesture. “I asked you to call me Kitty. It’s all for our plan.”

“Our plan? I don’t remember being part of this
committee!” Lance threw the towel
across the room and pushed himself off the bed, feeling disturbingly used.

“Damn it, Lance. Your little stalking plan was getting
nowhere. This,” she waved the tape
player at him, “will at least put things into motion. Maybe even split Kurt and Kitty up.” Amara slid off the bed and padded over to where he stood, back
to her, at the window. Why do I feel
so guilty?

“Fine, Amara. If it works, I’ll do whatever you want me to
to help you get Scott.”

Amara smiled, but could not help
feeling that Scott’s image in her mind was just a little faded at the
moment.

 

Lance drove
her home to save her from the long walk in nothing but an overcoat. When they reached the gates of the mansion,
she leapt out and tapped the tape against the window. “Sou aou at school.” He
waited until she vanished into the darkness within the gates before allowing
himself to sigh. Maybe this Kitty
thing is really over. Even if it is,
she still has to learn that no one makes an ass of Lance Alvers.

 

Kurt and
Kitty had spent an uneventful night under Scott and Jean’s watchful eyes. Kitty taught Kurt some words in Ladino and
Yiddish as well as a few songs usually sung on the Sabbath while Jean and Scott
watched a movie in the rec room. After
a long while, Kurt and Kitty joined them, snuggling together at the far end of
the couch while Jean and Scott sat, next to each other but not touching, at the
opposite end. Scott’s eyes kept
apologizing to Kurt for having to chaperone but Kurt merely smiled and pulled
Kitty to his chest, happy at least that they could be together in any
sense. After midnight, they had all
gone to bed, narrowly missing Amara slipping in the front door and up the
stairs.

Kitty and
Kurt had breakfast before everyone else the next morning, Kitty letting her
explanations of the significance of the items on the table slide out of fear of
Kurt’s boredom. Amara slipped by
looking worse for wear. “Wonder what
she’s been up to?” Kitty gestured with
her forkful of eggs at the bedraggled looking Nova Roman.

“Jubilee
says that Amara’s been sneaking out late.
I think she has a boyfriend…” Kurt downed the last of his bagel with a
gulp of orange juice.

“To borrow
a phrase from you, unglaublich.” Kurt’s
sudden snort triggered an all out giggle-fit from Kitty.

“Would you
to shut up?” Amara stomped past,
flinging a rude gesture their way as she chugged black coffeWherWhere the Hell can I hide that tape?

 

 

Storm
fingered the small cassette tape with some suspicion. I don’t remember putting a tape in the cassette deck last time
I was in the car. She sat behind
the wheel of the Institute’s jeep, mildly curious as to the origins of the
cassette. Probably some of Rogue’s
thrash metal. I think she drove this
last. Giving in to morbid interest,
Storm started the Jeep and popped the tape in as she back out of the
garage.

 

“What the
Hell was that?” Scott, Evan and Kurt
bolted from the pool table and ran towards the sound of the crash.

“Oh my God!
Aunt ‘Ro!”

 

TBC

A/N Kurtty smut to
come (no pun intended). Just had to get
the Lance/Amara stuff out of the way for now—they’ve been haras me me about
their lack of sex scenes. Next chapter,
more angst. More of Kitty’s parents and
Angry!Logan and Angry!Storm. And a
mildly perturbed!Professor

 

 

 



[1] Eesh. Sounds illegal, right? I’m winging this one…

[2] Yiddish word
for Matzo balls.

[3] A type of pastry
filled with eggplant or spinach or cheese or something similar. It’s mainly eaten by Jews of Spanish origin
or those displaced into the diaspora by the Inquisition into other parts of
Europe. Really easy to make—would Kitty
make something difficult, even for Kurt?
I think not…. :P

[4] Challah is
an egg-bread that is made in a braid-shape for the Sabbath and as a circle for
the Jewish New Year. Blintzes are a
like crepes and filled with cheese or fruit, rolled into a tube-shape. All the food that Kitty made is traditl
fl
for the Sabbath. In fact, her Sabbath
dinner is a lot smaller than most—Sabbath dinners tend to get rather large
sometimes.

[5] A slang term
for sandals (not flip flops) that vaguely resembled styles worn in the Middle
East.

[6] Lots of
synagogues are named this. However,
this particular house of worship is not modeled on any particular place so if
it seems familiar, it’s a flaming coincidence.

[7] Another way
of saying Rabbi. Kinda.

[8] I so did not
mean to rhyme there. But you know
what? I just don’t care…. :P (Dr Seuss lives!)

[9] Not really a
good thing to talk about at a meal if you’re with squeamish people. Trust me.