British Airways

AN: Someone asked what’s with Wisdom and his penchant for young women. Honestly, do you think he could handle a woman his age? The man’s in his mid-thirties. It’s tough, first of all, to find a single woman at that age, and secondly, she’ll have a lot more tying her down. That, and he’s not exactly a proper grown-up himself.

This pairing snuck up on me over a period of years. I’ve liked a lot of different ships over the years, most of them involving Jubilee. I’ve liked Jubilee/Wolverine, Jubilee/Gambit, Jubilee/Chamber (still one of my favourites), and, more bizarrely, Jubilee/Sabretooth. That having been said, don’t underestimate Pete and Jubilee. They’ve both been through the wringer and they have nothing to lose. As for other pairings, I probably won’t explore too many of them.

As for Betsy’s powers, she has her standard powers, and only the Captain Britain title.

‘First you need ter find said randy bloke,’ Wisdom begins, a twinkle in his summer-sky eyes, ‘whose humble part, I will tonight, be masquerading.’

‘Oh, indeed?’

‘Yes. An’ if, at any moment, you find a randy bloke better to yer liking, I will do my best to shunt meself out of the picture, an’ I’ll pick yer up in th’ morning.’ There it is. My escape route. But it’s highly unlikely that I’ll find another bloke so completely to my liking, or one whom I’ve fantasized about quite as much as this near-stranger who was presenting me with the opportunity for a great one-off. I glance down at his hands. Yes, I have a thing for hands. Gotta problem with that? Wisdom’s are nice. Bigger and more solid than I’d have expected from him, square knuckled, with slightly spatulate finger-tips. The palms are wide, probably calloused, and the fingers rather long, thick. Workman’s hands. I imagine hotknives spiking out of the fingertips, born of the fiery light of the sun. A coil of lust ignites in my belly, and when I shift my thighs against one another, the moisture at my core makes them slip a little.

‘No,’ I hear myself saying. ‘No, you’ll do quite nicely.’

‘Well, then,’ he produces a wallet, slaps down a tenner, ‘we’ve got some frustrations ter unravel.’ I rise to follow him, and instead of putting a hand on me, he turns and leads me out of the Crown, into the parking lot behind. Meandering through the parked cars, he comes to a black Lexus. ‘Company car,’ he shrugs, opening my door for me. I slide in, buckle up as he starts the engine and turns on the heat.

‘Wisdom,’ I murmur, as he turns onto the main road, ‘how long is the drive between here and HQ?’

‘It’s quick,’ he replies, ‘twenty minutes err summat, in this lack of traffic.’ A pause, and he doesn’t look at me. ‘Why?’

‘No reason.’ I smile, reach over to run my fingers along his thigh, and he catches a breath, but steadies himself. ‘I hope you’re a good driver.’ My hand slides down to his knee, teasingly back up to cup his groin. Well, hello indeed. Little Wisdom doesn’t seem to be too little. He’s not reacting too much, and I expect this man has the kind of control others can only think longingly or deprecatingly of. My fingers fumble over the buttons of his trousers, taking down the zipper carefully, insinuating into his boxers and finally circling the raging erection he’s suddenly developed. Wonder when that happened. He’s hot and throbbing in my palm, and I stroke him firmly for a moment, listening to the changes in his breathing, the shallowing of his pulse.

‘Bloody hell, woman, you can’t—’ I cut him off by unbuckling myself and sliding my mouth down over him in a single, smooth movement. ‘Fuck!’ he hisses, as my tongue flicks round under his head. My palms skitter over his legs, cupping his sac, my tongue running the length of his shaft before sinking him four inches deep, suckling lightly, hand pumping slowly, and his voice cracks on his moan, a whispered obscenity like a prayer. I revel in the flavour of hot flesh between my lips, a faint hint of precum seeping from the tip as I run my lips up and down, taking him deeper, relaxing my throat and sliding all the way down his cock. His fingers tangle almost painfully in my short, black hair, but he makes no movement to direct me. The knowledge of his submission to my will is like liquor to the flame of my desire. I’ve been wet and ready for him for some time now, and this is as much a tease for me as it is for him. My pace remains slow, languid, up and down, deeper and deeper, and suddenly, he gasps, ‘Lee, please. Stop. Fuck, you’re going to finish me. Can’t have that.’

‘Why not?’ I murmur against his stomach, nipping at his navel.

‘Because. I want ter fuck yer senseless, that’s why, an’ I’m not exactly as young as I used ter be. Now get out of my trousers and wait yer turn.’

‘My turn?’

‘Yeh. Yer turn. Cause believe you me, it is fucking going to blow yer mind.’

I settle back into my seat, rebuckling my safety belt, and watch him curse softly as he tucks himself back into his trousers and fasten them. The ride seems like forever, the tension so palpable I could lick it. Finally, he pulls up into an ornate gate, and stops at a guard post, rolls down the window. Holy fuck, it’s Buckingham Palace.

‘Identification, please.’ The guard says.

‘It’s me, Wisdom.’ He barks, pressing his thumb into the small security scanner the guard holds up. ‘Bringin’ in Agent Lee as per th’ schedule.’

‘You’re late back, sir.’

‘You know me, Jensen. Hadda few with th’ new girl at th’ Crown. Go ahead an’ ask round there if yer must, but I’m tired an’ grouchy, an’ if yer detain me a second longer, it’s yer job.’

‘Sir, go to hell, sir.’ The friendly banter between the two would make me laugh under other circumstances, but I’m so sexually charged right now that I’d strange this Jensen wanker if he…oh, yes, the gate is opening. Time goes by in a blur as Wisdom drives down into an underground parking garage and takes my luggage from the boot of the car, leads me to an elevator. The second the doors swing closed, he’s got me against the wall, mouth inches from mine, arms caging me. He isn’t touching me yet, but oh, God, I wish he would.

‘So, Lee, thought yer’d have a little fun on th’ drive back?’ his voice is so low and husky I know I’ve cracked his control. I’m not sure whether to do a victory dance or pull out my best ninja-killing moves. ‘Let me tell yer something, little girl,’ I look into his eyes, and I know he’s playing with me, like a cat with a mouse, ‘I fucking loved it.’ Then his mouth is on mine, hot and sweet and tasting of Coca Cola and whiskey, tongue snagging mine, hot and wet and violent, and my hands fist in his hair as he grasps at my bum and pulls me, hard, against his cock, chafing me against him, and I moan at the sensations leaping up my nerves. The elevator beeps, and he lets go suddenly, hefts my bags, and as the doors slide open, he steps out, not sparing a backward glance to find out whether I’m following or not.

I do, and rush to keep up with his long strides. He stops at a door, fumbles with a key, and unlocks it, shoves it open, and dumps my bags in. He turns, and I have half a second to wonder what the hell he thinks he’s doing before he sweeps me up into his arms, carrying me like a child, over the threshold. For a single, bizarre moment, the romanticism of the gesture pierces through me before I squash it. This man is dangerous. He’s a heartless bastard who wouldn’t hesitate to kill you half as much as he hesitated before propositioning you. When he sets me back down, it’s on my feet, beside the vague outline of a bed.

My hands come up to his collar, loosening his tie, slipping the knot undone, and breaking open his shirt. He stands still, like a dormant volcano, and allows me to undress him. I push the shirt back over his shoulders, and he shrugs it off. His chest gleams palely in the dim light, and my hands come over it, finger-tips ghosting over the rangy muscles of his body, the ridges of his abdomen, the black curls leading from his navel into his waist band. Suddenly, he shoves me backward, hard, and before I can react, I’m on my back on the bed, and there’s a hot, orange flare from his fingertips, slicing down my shirt, parting the threads. A scent of burning cloth chokes me momentarily, then the hotknife is gone, and he pushes the tatters of my clothes away till I lie before him like a banquet, naked and waiting. I hear my own breath like a ragged plea, my pulse roaring in my ears.

When finally, he touches me, it’s gentle, so gentle, his eyes gleaming into mine. There is only just enough light to see the outline of him, just enough to watch his mouth tighten in concentration as he disposes of his trousers, sinks down beside me. His hands move over my skin, strong, sandpapery palms rasping over me the only sound in the room. I’ve stopped breathing, and he is so quiet, teasing me, sliding flattened hands across my shins and cupping my calves, testing their texture, activating a new, slower burn of wanting. He comes to my hips, measuring them, tapering to my waist, my rib cage, and has his finger-tips slide onto the underside of my breasts, his mouth descends, hot and languid, not on mine, but on the curve of my side, where a lighter touch might tickle, but this—this only hastens my descent as I open to him, heat coiling, mouth going dry.

His hands are doing merciless things to my breasts, then, as his mouth slides up my neck, I remember myself, and my hands slide up, one closing round the back of his head, bringing him closer, the other skittering down the hard ridges in his back, dragging his flesh against me, the satin glide of skin on me wrings a sigh from my lips, and then his are there to catch it.

When he kisses me, I forget how lovely it was last time, and drown in the sensual luxury of his tongue stroking mine. Any anxiety I might have had drips away, spinning into the storage crates of my mind for later unpacking. Minutes ago, our kisses were so urgent that our teeth clashed, but now his tongue dances lazily over my lips, outlining them, as I slowly turn, taking him under me, causing his muscles to relax against the mattress. My mouth detours, tracing his jaw, my lips giving nibbling kisses, playful, slow, chafing against the unshaven stubble on his jaw, across his face, to breathe gently into his ear, taking the sensitive lobe in my mouth.

He gasps, hands fisting suddenly, hard on my hips, catching a handful of my hair. I moan to hear the reaction, feel it, hot and alive, against my thigh, velvet-cased in the finest skin. I detour round his throat, nipping at his pulse, as it rabbits nervously against my lips, hands smoothing a path across the smooth expanse of his collarbones, the sparse hair on his pectorals, and his naked, pink nipples, stiff with anticipation. My mouth follows my fingers, blazing down to his navel, teeth dragging over his hip-bones as his breath stammers, and he pulls me back up to kiss me.

‘Lee,’ he whispers, and his voice is frantic, ‘protection.’

‘Oh.’ His hand snakes sideways, and I hear him fumbling through an end-table drawer, withdrawing a foil packet, which he opens and slides the contents quickly down over himself. He rolls over me, taking both my hands in one of his, pinning them above my head.

‘D’yer want this, Jubilee?’ he murmurs against my neck, tongue flicking out over my jugular.

‘Please, Wisdom, don’t be a damned tease.’

‘Tell me.’

‘I want you. I want you, please.’

‘My name.’ he demands.

‘Pete. Wisdom. Please!’

Oh. God. He buries himself inside me in a single, hard thrust, and I almost come on the spot. His breath exhales in a slow rush, and there is a strangled cry of pleasure that I know was mine. We’re still for barely a moment as we both adjust to one another, and then my legs lift, one hooking round his waist, the other hoisted over his shoulder, and he rocks into me with the same maddening pace as I was using on him in the car. Sensation explodes inside me, and I can’t withhold the moan that tears from me.

He smiles, just a little, and as he thrusts into me, he kisses my face, my eye-lids, my forehead, my mouth. No part of me is neglected, as his hands worship my breasts, filling his palms greedily and chafing his thumbs over my nipples. It builds, the pressure, the impending disaster of my crisis, and I stifle the whimpers, though I know he revels in the sounds he’s forcing from me, wrenching my iron-clad will away with the movement of his body in mine.

The power in him is so tangible, as his fingers flex into mine, hands weaving together, as he pins me down again, brings me to the edge, sending me careening over, wailing my satisfaction, my face pressed into his neck, and he follows me, the warmth of his breath in my ear, what might be my name ripping from you, bodies still sliding sluggishly against one another.

Slowly, we descend, my leg slides from his shoulder bonelessly, and he sinks down beside me, arms forcing me to his side, legs wrapping round his thighs. His ministrations, however, are not over. Even as I tremble in the wake of the masterful symphony he has caused my nerves to sing, he plucks notes from still-quivering strings, kissing the tips of my fingers, my eye-lids, hands gently roving, unwilling to allow me to so easily descend the peak of desire, and as my eyes drift closed, I hear the whispered reverence in his voice, ‘So beautiful.’

~