The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea

The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea Chapter Twenty Two (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply


A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch, Uberbeta, and EMPRESS OF MULTITASKING… Werewolf? There, wolf… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink and Dracena are extra loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting! ProPhile gets extra sparkles in his muse kibble. ;) Morgan: *poke * Readers/Reviewers: Thank you thank you thank you thank you!!!!!!!!


“Hello, my freaky darlings…”1 Amara yawned and trudged past Todd and Lance as they glowered into their mushy cereal. “Why are the two of you awake?”
“Because Boy Blunder there kept me up all night fucking talking,” Lance snarled, pointing at Todd with his spoon.
Todd glared from under a stringy fringe. “Shut the fuck up, dickhead.”
Amara jerked back as an orange went flying past her nose, hitting Todd’s forehead with a definite thud. “Lance, be nice,” she ordered.
Lance snorted. “Fuck that noise. Todd, just grow some balls and go apologize to her. There’s no way to backpedal out of this one this late in the game.”
“Who’re you to give me relationship advice, yo?” Todd retorted, adding a whip cracking noise, punctuated by his tongue snapping out and grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl by the microwave. “Fuck you.”
Amara raised her eyebrows as Todd strode from the kitchen. “Well. That was tense.”
“Why the fucks are you in such a good fucking mood?” he snapped, dumping the remains of his breakfast into the disposal. “It’s six a fucking m.”
“Say fuck a few more times,” she murmured, reaching for a bowl. “I think there’s still some space between the words.”
Lance glowered as he put his dishes into the dishwasher, slamming the door for good measure. “Fuck,” he said succinctly, towering over her and glaring. “Fuck fuck fuckity fuck fuck fuck.”
“Down, boy,” she said tartly, sweeping past him with a cup of yogurt and some juice. “I am allowed to be in a good mood.”
Lance frowned uncertainly and took a seat next to her. After several minutes of tense silence in which she finished most of her yogurt, he blurted out, “So what the fuck is up with Ozzy and Harriet?”2
“Who?”
“Never mind,” he sighed. “What’s the deal with Jean moving back in?” He took her juice bottle and opened it absently, handing it back with a shake of his head. “That’s just not right, like seeing a butterfly kill a dog or something.”
Amara raised her brows at the analogy. “From what I understand, they’re having issues. She feels…” she paused, searching for the word. “Smothered,” she finally shrugged. “She lost the power in that relationship some time ago. Her own fault.”
“You know,” Lance complained, “just when I think you’re gonna say something nice, you twist it into a control thing.” Lance folded his arms across his chest and glared at nothing, some spot on the wall over her head. “I may not be a huge fan of the Wonder Twins,3 but it’s still a marriage, you now.”
Amara pushed her carton of yogurt aside and turned to look more fully at Lance. “One where there was a change in the balance of power,” she said patiently. “Jean and Scott changed dynamics and she can’t handle that.” She took up the bottle of juice and sipped carefully. “And I never thought you were such a proponent of state-mandated unions.”
Lance stared at her in blank disbelief for several seconds. “You can talk about relationship dynamics and the politics of marriage, but you have no idea how a microwave works.”
“Oh, like you do,” she replied tartly. “And I don’t like this accusing tone you’ve taken on. On your knees.”
“Huh?” Lance jerked back reflexively, his brows snapping together in mild confusion at the change in her tone and the direction of the conversation.
“I said,” she repeated slowly and more authoritatively, “On. Your. Knees.” She shifted in the chair so that she faced him and spread her knees slightly, not enough to be vulgar but enough to make her point. She raised a brow as Lance began to smile slowly. “It’s six thirty. No one else is up yet. Now do as you’re told or I’ll have to make sure the punishment for disobedience is not a pleasant one… something involving a boy band, perhaps.”
Lance bit back a snicker and slid to his knees on thed fld floor, wincing slightly. Amara sat patiently, not moving from her original position as he rested his hands on her knees. “Um, Princess, if we sort of move a little…”
She nodded. “Right… “ Less chance of getting seen in case Todd came back down for some reason.
She shifted again and Lance moved so that he was kneeling, bent over, under the table. It was not the most comfortable position in the world but he was closer, he smiled to himself. He slid his hands up her thighs, pushing her nightgown out of the way as he went, his fingers tracing along her warm skin and raising gooseflesh in their wake. Amara parted her legs a little further, exposing her femininity to his seeking fingers.
She shivered as he brushed against her core, delving into her wet folds. She closed her eyes briefly, her fingers clutching convulsively on the bottle in her hand as she felt the teasing of his breath against her sex. She felt normal today and she did not want to question why. She wanted to feel loved today, too, and took it as a sign when she saw Lance in the kitchen first thing in the morning, even though Todd was with him. Briefly, she felt a pang of worry for her friends’ troubles, but all of that faded rapidly when Lance pressed a feather-light kiss against her sex. She sighed and opened her eyes, trying not to fall too easily into the lack of control that was so tempting during times like this. Lance’s fingers stroked the velvet folds of her center as his kiss on her sensitive flesh became something more. She could not help the gasp that came at the first touch of his tongue on the bud of flesh at the apex of her sex, teasing her into a response as he did not linger but instead began trailing and tracing intricate, random patterns on her folds, avoiding that which she wanted most because he knew that she did. Amara made a mental note to return the favor later, preferably with something involving handcuffs, and sighed again as his fingers began to move within her.
“Hey,” Scott groused as he stomped into the kitchen, looking like Hell and focused only on the instant coffee in the cabinet across from the table.
Lance froze, his tongue and fingers still against her and within her. Amara bit back a whimper and instead squeezed him slightly with her thighs, a silent order to continue. After the briefest pause, he did, trying to keep quiet as she grew even more wet against his tongue. “You’re up early,” she observed blandly, sipping her juice again. “Long night?”
Scott glared. “You would know. You helped her move!”
“I did no such thing. I held Lucas while Rogue helped her move.” She bit her lip to keep from moaning as Lance began suckling on the source of her arousal. She could feel his tongue flicking over the nub of flesh even as he drew on her, his fingers still teasing her from within.
Scott glanced back at her from his preparations. “You could’ve said something to her, done something…”
“And since when has Jean listened to anyone but the Professor? Or you?” Amara finished her juice and was unable to bite back the sigh that rose from her throat as she the the first tinge of orgasm begin. She tried not to shift again as Lance began to increase the intensity of his attentions, lapping harder at her sex as he turned his fingers within her, sending trills of sensation up her spine and through her limbs.
Scott paused, staring at the open cabinet. “You’re right… damn it. I was too busy freaking out to think clearly…”
“What’re you doing in here anyway?” she asked a shade breathlessly. She could not help it—the feeling of melting from the inside out was too great. She shivered and swallowed a cry as her climax cascaded into a nearly painful release, her body demanding that she move, arch against Lance, and grab him, something, anything… He continued to lick and nibble at her folds, purposefully teasing her even as she shuddered against her will.
“No “No coffee,” Scott muttered, not wanting to admit that he spent the entire night in the basement with Jono, who never had to sleep himself, trying to articulate his feelings without bursting into un-Fearless Leader-like tears. “What’s wrong with you, anyway?”
“Good juice,” she murmured, her eyes fluttering closed. She tightened her thighs around Lance again, making him jerk back in surprise and his head on the underside of the table. “Ow,” she added blandly.
Scott shook his head and grabbed his coffee. “If you see Jean, tell her I need to talk to her. Desperately. She’s avoiding me…” He glanced at her one more time and headed out of the kitchen, tossing over his shoulder, “Lance, your sneakers are showing.”

1 That’s from the movie League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. I love that line, lol.
2 Old t.v. show reference of a happy couple.
3 Shape of… Form of… you get the idea…