Persistence of Memory
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X-Men - Animated Series (all) › General
Rating:
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Category:
X-Men - Animated Series (all) › General
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
57
Views:
7,917
Reviews:
68
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.
13
Persistence of Memory Chapter Thirteen (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta, have you seen my
muse? She’s missing…*sniffle * InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink are groovy
for archiving. J ProPhile may not know what curvaceous really
is but he’s a good smutmuse. ;) Readers/Reviewers: I adore you people for
reading and reviewing when you get the chance.
Thousands of muse-kisses for each of you. ;)
“What’s
your problem?”
“Surly,
aren’t we?”
“We?”
“What’s
wrong? That time of the month or
something?”
“Why can’t
a woman have valid emotions and moods without men thinking it’s purely
dependent on the sloughing of superfluous blood and tissue from our uterus?”
“Eeeeeeeew.”
Amara
raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’ve
been talking to Jean. You never talk
about health stuff unless you’ve been talking to her.” Lance propped his feet on the coffee table
next to Amara’s geometry textbook. “So
what’re you doing?”
“Trying to
take over the world[1],” she said
with a tinge of boredom. She flipped
her pencil onto the tabletop and sat back with a sigh. “Math is stupid.”
“Way to be
feminist, Barbie.”[2]
“Barbie?” Amara seemed to be accessing some mental
files for a moment. “Ah. Blonde, plastic, impossible proportions…
When I was a child, my toys were much more realistic.”
“When you
were a child, didn’t you have slaves?”
“Well,
yes…” She frowned as if the idea of not
having such a thing was odd. “What’s brought you here to bother me?”
“My undying
love affeaffection?” He smiled as
winningly as he could, Amara returning quite the opposite of the
expressing. “Or maybe my desire to
kvetch?”
“Kvetch?”
“Complain,”
he said airily. “I thought maybe I’d
bitch and you’d listen.”
“What’s my
motivation?”
“Foot rub?”
Amara
shifted on the and and dropped her feet onto Lance’s lap. “Go to it, slave boy.”
“That’s not
till later.”
“If you’re
lucky.”
He snorted,
tossing Amara’s shoes to land somewhere in the vicinity of the television. She wiggled her toes happily as he began
rubbing the arch of her left foot. “So
this new principal moved me from my nice, normal classes to the geek ones. I’m in A.P. English, Chemistry,
Trigonometry, Spanish, CompuScieScience and friggin’ theatre, of all
things! The one class she didn’t fuck
up was P.E.!”
“Theatre?”
Amara tried not to sigh out loud as he rubbed further towards her ankle. “That’s…so unlike you.”
“A.P. is
unlike me! Hell, I’m barely passing
remedial Spanish!”
Amara
frowned. “I didn’t get a new
schedule. Kitty said Kurt did, though.”
“Todd
did. So did Jamie and it’s only his
first semester at Bayville. Usually
they don’t start the fucking around until the second semester of freshman
year.” Lance frowned, pressing a little
too hard on the sole of Amara’s foot, warned of his transgression by the sudden
flare of heat against the palm of his hand.
“Sorry!” He hissed as he waved
his hand, trying to cool the singed flesh.
“You could just say something.”
“What fun
would that be?” she teased, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry,” she murmured against his tender palm, kissing it
lightly.”
“Okay
then,” he said, licking his lips in vague anticipation.
“You know,”
Amara said suddenly, sitting up straight, “I think there’s a pattern here.”
“Huh?”
“You, Kurt,
Todd and Jamie all got your schedules changed, right?”
“Yeah,
so? It’s probably just a fuck up in the
system. I’ll bitch to the registrar
tomorrow about getting my dummy classes back.”
“No,
wait…” She frowned thoughtfully,
wiggling her toes again against his thigh, a little too close to certain areas
for him to maintain blood flow to his brain.
“I love you, Lance, so don’t get all mopey when I say this…all of you
aren’t exactly geniuses.”
He favored
her with an incredulous look.
“Damn. Ruin my hopes for the
Nobel Prize.”
“Taciturnitas,”[3]she
murmured, obviously distracted. Lance obeyed for all of a minute before he grew
bored enough to try to distract her.
Amara had closed her eyes and was idly chewing on a thumbnail while she
turned things over in her mind, barely pausing to brush at his hand when he
walked his fingers from her ankle to her knee.
Lance
smirked to himself as she batted at him, making no real effort to stop him as
he moved further up her leg, glad that she eschewed jeans in favor of a skirt,
as was her wont. Amara made a muted
noise of annoyance and tried to pull her legs from his lap only to find herself
impeded. “Don’t mind me,” he said
innocently
“You’re
weird,” she surmised before returning to her thinking. Lance waited a moment before slipping his
hand up her skirt again. This time
Amara did not protest but flashed a quick, heated glance in his direction
before returning to her alleged considerations. She let one knee fall to the side, seemingly unconsciously. “There’s a pattern here…”
“Oh?” He
traced the elastic edge of her cotton underwear along the crease of her thigh
before brushing his fingers across the cloth covering her center. “What would that be?”
She seemed
to debate several answers before settling on calm detachment as she replied,
“All the…less academically gifted students…are being transferred to higher
classes. I’m wondering if, tomorrow,
the students in the higher classes will find themselves in lower ones?”
“Why?” He skimmed his hand along the smooth skin on
the inside of her thigh before sliding a finger between her underclothes and
her heated center. “What good would
that do?”
“No idea,”
she responded, only slightly breathless.
“It can’t
be a pattern unless it’s for a reason,” he said, stroking the seam of her flesh
and feeling it part for him as she adjusted on the sofa, sliding further down
with seeming nonchalance. He spread the
moisture growing between her thighs along the folds of flesh, her nearly silent
sigh making him hide a smile in the semi-dim room. “What would the pattern be?”
“I don’t
know…” she admitted after several moments had passed. “Why does there have to be a reason?”
“If a
pattern doesn’t have a reason,” he said quietly, “it’s a mistake.”
She jumped
slightly as he slid his finger inside her.
She took several deep breaths and moved gently against him as she spoke
as if nothing was happening. “No, it
just means we don’t know the reason.”
“Then
technically, the pattern does have a reason then,” he pointed out,
pressing his thumb against the pearl of her desire. “I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m never
wrong,” she protested. “Just less
right.” Amara sighed as Lance teased
her flesh, making her want to squirm in pleasure. She did not give into the urge, however, but did murmur a pleased
request for more.
Lance
frowned slightly. He would much rather
have had her more vocal, more demanding, even more domineering but he had an
idea this was part of her need for control, her need to trust herself and him
anew. “Well, I think you’re less right
this time.”
“We’ll see
tomorrow,” she breathed, her eyes squeezing tightly shut.
Lance could
feel her contract around his finger, feel her shiver with release, but still
she made no outcry, not even a stifled one, and that disappointed him more than
he wanted her to know. “Want to go up
to my room? Todd’s outside with Rogue
doing some weird bio thing…”
Amara
slowly set herself to rights, smoothing her skirt over her knees and making
sure her hair lay flat before responding.
“I still have homework to finish.
And you have some studying to do.”
“Studying?”
he sounded the word out in exaggeration.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Smiling
slightly, she scooped up her A.P. Spanish book from the coffee table and tossed
it to him. “You will.”
“I just
don’t see why you’re gonna take the F.”
“Because I don’t
want to do the damned project, okay?”
Todd
sighed. He and Rogue had made a
tentative peace, neither mentioning their earlier argument. “But it’s an F!”
“Did you
get a new schedule today?” she asked, apropos of nothing.
“Yeah…you?”
“Kinda. It got a note saying that the principal
needed to speak with Professor Xavier about changing my work-study schedule to
‘accommodate an increased workload.’
Bunch of B.S. if you ask me.”
She flopped onto her back on the wet grass and gestured vaguely towards
their abandoned book bags. “Are we done
with the biology project?”
“Yeah,” he
sighed. “Okay, don’t bitch at me or
nothin’, but I’ve got an idea…we could make up a family tree for you.”
“What?”
“Seriously. She didn’t say it had to be true, did she?”
“No, but…”
“All the
sheet said was that you had to hand in a family tree by Friday, right?”
“Riiiiiight…”
“Did it say
it had to be yours?”
“No,” she
said, smiling slowly.
“So we can
make one up.”
“We?”
“My family
blows, too, so we can both do it.” He
shrugged. “And I promise I won’t be a
pissy little jealous bitch.”
Rogue’s
smile fell. “Yeah, about that…”
“I don’t
want to talk about it.”
“Todd, we
kinda have to.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s
apparently a problem…”
“There’s no
problem if you don’t go around with other guys,” he said philosophically.
“Todd, most
of my friends are guys. I get along
better with guys. There have been guys
in my past and I will know more guys in the future. Get over it.”
“Don’t want
to,” he groused.
“Pietro
never got to have sex with me.”
“He got to
see you naked.”
“So? Beast’s seen me naked. And Logan.
And the Professor. And, now that
I think of it, Scott’s seen me, too.”
At his startled, open-mouthed expression, she continued, “Accidents
happen in training or even around the Institute and…well, people get seen
naked.”
“Scott?”
“So? Not like he hasn’t seen a naked woman
before,” she shrugged.
“I have to
go now,” he muttered, rising to his feet.
“I’m having issues.”
“You’re not
jealous, are you?”
“I don’t
know what I am,” he said sharply, wandering back towards the mansion.
“Shit,”
Rogue spat at the lake. “Shit fuck
goddamn sonofabitch.”[4]
“Huh?”
“Someone’s
on the phone for you,” Bobby repeated, rolling his eyes. “You do know what a phone is, don’t
you?”
“Shut up,
man…” Evan took the portable phone from
Bobby. “Yeah?”
“Evan? Evan Daniels?”
e Bre British accent surprised
him. “ Uh…yeah?”
“This is Risty. Rogue’s friend?”
“Oh…yeah. Um…hi?”
“I found your English book in
the hall today and it has your assignments stuck in it. Unfinished.
I don’t stay far from where you are…would you like me to bring it by?”
“Uh…uh…okay.”
“I’ll see
you in an hour!”
Evan hung
up the phone and stared at it for a long moment. “Huh.”[5]
[1] Pinky and
the Brain, the best cartoon ever. Well, one of ‘em anyway.
[2] Some years
back, there was a “talking Barbie” that came out and created a big brouhaha
because one of her phrases was “Math is hard!” which made feminists and
concerned parents protest that it reinforced the image that girls were bad at
math and/or could perform well in math.
[3] According to
my handy dandy Latin dictionary, it means “silence,” but it doesn’t feel right
somehow…
[4] We slur that
together down here, LOL.
[5] There ya go,
ProPhile. ;) And in this universe, Rogue doesn’t know about Risty yet…
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta, have you seen my
muse? She’s missing…*sniffle * InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink are groovy
for archiving. J ProPhile may not know what curvaceous really
is but he’s a good smutmuse. ;) Readers/Reviewers: I adore you people for
reading and reviewing when you get the chance.
Thousands of muse-kisses for each of you. ;)
“What’s
your problem?”
“Surly,
aren’t we?”
“We?”
“What’s
wrong? That time of the month or
something?”
“Why can’t
a woman have valid emotions and moods without men thinking it’s purely
dependent on the sloughing of superfluous blood and tissue from our uterus?”
“Eeeeeeeew.”
Amara
raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’ve
been talking to Jean. You never talk
about health stuff unless you’ve been talking to her.” Lance propped his feet on the coffee table
next to Amara’s geometry textbook. “So
what’re you doing?”
“Trying to
take over the world[1],” she said
with a tinge of boredom. She flipped
her pencil onto the tabletop and sat back with a sigh. “Math is stupid.”
“Way to be
feminist, Barbie.”[2]
“Barbie?” Amara seemed to be accessing some mental
files for a moment. “Ah. Blonde, plastic, impossible proportions…
When I was a child, my toys were much more realistic.”
“When you
were a child, didn’t you have slaves?”
“Well,
yes…” She frowned as if the idea of not
having such a thing was odd. “What’s brought you here to bother me?”
“My undying
love affeaffection?” He smiled as
winningly as he could, Amara returning quite the opposite of the
expressing. “Or maybe my desire to
kvetch?”
“Kvetch?”
“Complain,”
he said airily. “I thought maybe I’d
bitch and you’d listen.”
“What’s my
motivation?”
“Foot rub?”
Amara
shifted on the and and dropped her feet onto Lance’s lap. “Go to it, slave boy.”
“That’s not
till later.”
“If you’re
lucky.”
He snorted,
tossing Amara’s shoes to land somewhere in the vicinity of the television. She wiggled her toes happily as he began
rubbing the arch of her left foot. “So
this new principal moved me from my nice, normal classes to the geek ones. I’m in A.P. English, Chemistry,
Trigonometry, Spanish, CompuScieScience and friggin’ theatre, of all
things! The one class she didn’t fuck
up was P.E.!”
“Theatre?”
Amara tried not to sigh out loud as he rubbed further towards her ankle. “That’s…so unlike you.”
“A.P. is
unlike me! Hell, I’m barely passing
remedial Spanish!”
Amara
frowned. “I didn’t get a new
schedule. Kitty said Kurt did, though.”
“Todd
did. So did Jamie and it’s only his
first semester at Bayville. Usually
they don’t start the fucking around until the second semester of freshman
year.” Lance frowned, pressing a little
too hard on the sole of Amara’s foot, warned of his transgression by the sudden
flare of heat against the palm of his hand.
“Sorry!” He hissed as he waved
his hand, trying to cool the singed flesh.
“You could just say something.”
“What fun
would that be?” she teased, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry,” she murmured against his tender palm, kissing it
lightly.”
“Okay
then,” he said, licking his lips in vague anticipation.
“You know,”
Amara said suddenly, sitting up straight, “I think there’s a pattern here.”
“Huh?”
“You, Kurt,
Todd and Jamie all got your schedules changed, right?”
“Yeah,
so? It’s probably just a fuck up in the
system. I’ll bitch to the registrar
tomorrow about getting my dummy classes back.”
“No,
wait…” She frowned thoughtfully,
wiggling her toes again against his thigh, a little too close to certain areas
for him to maintain blood flow to his brain.
“I love you, Lance, so don’t get all mopey when I say this…all of you
aren’t exactly geniuses.”
He favored
her with an incredulous look.
“Damn. Ruin my hopes for the
Nobel Prize.”
“Taciturnitas,”[3]she
murmured, obviously distracted. Lance obeyed for all of a minute before he grew
bored enough to try to distract her.
Amara had closed her eyes and was idly chewing on a thumbnail while she
turned things over in her mind, barely pausing to brush at his hand when he
walked his fingers from her ankle to her knee.
Lance
smirked to himself as she batted at him, making no real effort to stop him as
he moved further up her leg, glad that she eschewed jeans in favor of a skirt,
as was her wont. Amara made a muted
noise of annoyance and tried to pull her legs from his lap only to find herself
impeded. “Don’t mind me,” he said
innocently
“You’re
weird,” she surmised before returning to her thinking. Lance waited a moment before slipping his
hand up her skirt again. This time
Amara did not protest but flashed a quick, heated glance in his direction
before returning to her alleged considerations. She let one knee fall to the side, seemingly unconsciously. “There’s a pattern here…”
“Oh?” He
traced the elastic edge of her cotton underwear along the crease of her thigh
before brushing his fingers across the cloth covering her center. “What would that be?”
She seemed
to debate several answers before settling on calm detachment as she replied,
“All the…less academically gifted students…are being transferred to higher
classes. I’m wondering if, tomorrow,
the students in the higher classes will find themselves in lower ones?”
“Why?” He skimmed his hand along the smooth skin on
the inside of her thigh before sliding a finger between her underclothes and
her heated center. “What good would
that do?”
“No idea,”
she responded, only slightly breathless.
“It can’t
be a pattern unless it’s for a reason,” he said, stroking the seam of her flesh
and feeling it part for him as she adjusted on the sofa, sliding further down
with seeming nonchalance. He spread the
moisture growing between her thighs along the folds of flesh, her nearly silent
sigh making him hide a smile in the semi-dim room. “What would the pattern be?”
“I don’t
know…” she admitted after several moments had passed. “Why does there have to be a reason?”
“If a
pattern doesn’t have a reason,” he said quietly, “it’s a mistake.”
She jumped
slightly as he slid his finger inside her.
She took several deep breaths and moved gently against him as she spoke
as if nothing was happening. “No, it
just means we don’t know the reason.”
“Then
technically, the pattern does have a reason then,” he pointed out,
pressing his thumb against the pearl of her desire. “I think you’re wrong.”
“I’m never
wrong,” she protested. “Just less
right.” Amara sighed as Lance teased
her flesh, making her want to squirm in pleasure. She did not give into the urge, however, but did murmur a pleased
request for more.
Lance
frowned slightly. He would much rather
have had her more vocal, more demanding, even more domineering but he had an
idea this was part of her need for control, her need to trust herself and him
anew. “Well, I think you’re less right
this time.”
“We’ll see
tomorrow,” she breathed, her eyes squeezing tightly shut.
Lance could
feel her contract around his finger, feel her shiver with release, but still
she made no outcry, not even a stifled one, and that disappointed him more than
he wanted her to know. “Want to go up
to my room? Todd’s outside with Rogue
doing some weird bio thing…”
Amara
slowly set herself to rights, smoothing her skirt over her knees and making
sure her hair lay flat before responding.
“I still have homework to finish.
And you have some studying to do.”
“Studying?”
he sounded the word out in exaggeration.
“I don’t know what that means.”
Smiling
slightly, she scooped up her A.P. Spanish book from the coffee table and tossed
it to him. “You will.”
“I just
don’t see why you’re gonna take the F.”
“Because I don’t
want to do the damned project, okay?”
Todd
sighed. He and Rogue had made a
tentative peace, neither mentioning their earlier argument. “But it’s an F!”
“Did you
get a new schedule today?” she asked, apropos of nothing.
“Yeah…you?”
“Kinda. It got a note saying that the principal
needed to speak with Professor Xavier about changing my work-study schedule to
‘accommodate an increased workload.’
Bunch of B.S. if you ask me.”
She flopped onto her back on the wet grass and gestured vaguely towards
their abandoned book bags. “Are we done
with the biology project?”
“Yeah,” he
sighed. “Okay, don’t bitch at me or
nothin’, but I’ve got an idea…we could make up a family tree for you.”
“What?”
“Seriously. She didn’t say it had to be true, did she?”
“No, but…”
“All the
sheet said was that you had to hand in a family tree by Friday, right?”
“Riiiiiight…”
“Did it say
it had to be yours?”
“No,” she
said, smiling slowly.
“So we can
make one up.”
“We?”
“My family
blows, too, so we can both do it.” He
shrugged. “And I promise I won’t be a
pissy little jealous bitch.”
Rogue’s
smile fell. “Yeah, about that…”
“I don’t
want to talk about it.”
“Todd, we
kinda have to.”
“Why?”
“Well, it’s
apparently a problem…”
“There’s no
problem if you don’t go around with other guys,” he said philosophically.
“Todd, most
of my friends are guys. I get along
better with guys. There have been guys
in my past and I will know more guys in the future. Get over it.”
“Don’t want
to,” he groused.
“Pietro
never got to have sex with me.”
“He got to
see you naked.”
“So? Beast’s seen me naked. And Logan.
And the Professor. And, now that
I think of it, Scott’s seen me, too.”
At his startled, open-mouthed expression, she continued, “Accidents
happen in training or even around the Institute and…well, people get seen
naked.”
“Scott?”
“So? Not like he hasn’t seen a naked woman
before,” she shrugged.
“I have to
go now,” he muttered, rising to his feet.
“I’m having issues.”
“You’re not
jealous, are you?”
“I don’t
know what I am,” he said sharply, wandering back towards the mansion.
“Shit,”
Rogue spat at the lake. “Shit fuck
goddamn sonofabitch.”[4]
“Huh?”
“Someone’s
on the phone for you,” Bobby repeated, rolling his eyes. “You do know what a phone is, don’t
you?”
“Shut up,
man…” Evan took the portable phone from
Bobby. “Yeah?”
“Evan? Evan Daniels?”
e Bre British accent surprised
him. “ Uh…yeah?”
“This is Risty. Rogue’s friend?”
“Oh…yeah. Um…hi?”
“I found your English book in
the hall today and it has your assignments stuck in it. Unfinished.
I don’t stay far from where you are…would you like me to bring it by?”
“Uh…uh…okay.”
“I’ll see
you in an hour!”
Evan hung
up the phone and stared at it for a long moment. “Huh.”[5]
[1] Pinky and
the Brain, the best cartoon ever. Well, one of ‘em anyway.
[2] Some years
back, there was a “talking Barbie” that came out and created a big brouhaha
because one of her phrases was “Math is hard!” which made feminists and
concerned parents protest that it reinforced the image that girls were bad at
math and/or could perform well in math.
[3] According to
my handy dandy Latin dictionary, it means “silence,” but it doesn’t feel right
somehow…
[4] We slur that
together down here, LOL.
[5] There ya go,
ProPhile. ;) And in this universe, Rogue doesn’t know about Risty yet…