Domination

Jean and Scott were in bed. Scott was reading a science fiction novel, and Jean was lying on her side, sneering discontentedly at a lamp.

“I never liked that thing,” she finally said.

Scott put down his book. “What’s that, angel?”

“That lamp,” she continued. “ I don’t like it. Remind me again why we keep it?”

Scott sighed. “My sister gave it to me, remember?”

Jean rolled over, looking surly. “It’s not very pretty.”

There was a long silence while Scott tried to think of a response. Finally, he just picked up his book and began reading again. Beside him, Jean wondered why he never paid attention to her anymore.

Mystique waited until it was dark to return to the school. She felt the urge to go back to Logan—a bizarre need to simply lie with him had overwhelmed the all-consuming lust she’d felt before. But Erik was what was important tonight, she reminded herself. She scaled the fence as quick as a cat, sprinted across the lawn, and shimmied up a drainage pipe to the roof. From there she swung down to a third floor balcony and leapt to the sill that she knew led to the window of Jean Grey and Scott Summers.

It was a narrow sill—about a foot total in width, but it posed no problem for the acrobatic grace of its current tenant. Balanced on her toes, Mystique crouched with her arms up against the wall for balance, timing her progress. One minute passed while she steadied her breath, and then, removing a small wire she’d been carrying in her mouth, she began working the screws on the window.

In the next room, Logan lay on his bed, staring out the window at the many silhouettes of the night. Though his sense of smell was superior to that of other humans, his vision was only average, and the night appeared as mysterious to him as anyone else. His thoughts turned to Mystique and he groaned, remembering the ridiculous debacle of that morning. Jean could be such a bitch sometimes, but he had to respect her sense of loyalty to the X-Men. When she had come in and seen him in bed with Mystique, he remembered, she hadn’t paused before marching into the room and screeching. His lover had barely enough time to remove her hand from his cock, which she had been idly stroking before the door flew open, and though she clearly wasn’t embarrassed, Logan had been. He really wanted to see her again—Mystique, that is, not Jean—and talk to her about what had happened. She had become fascinating in her own right.

It seemed to have become uncomfortably warm in what was previously a chilly room. Stripping himself of his shirt, Logan went to the window and cracked it open. A soft breeze entered the room, ruffling his hair. It felt good, and it smelled like Mystique.

“You must be really cracking up, old man,” Logan mumbled to himself. It was hard enough seeing her face whenever he closed his eyes—now he had to deal with the illusion of her scent too? He walked back to his bed and threw himself down. “Really cracking up.”

He tried to distract himself, but the scent was just as strong as ever. It was a sweet, heavy aroma, the smell of clean sweat and earthy hard work and woman. He was drifting off when he became aware of a nearly inaudible clicking noise.

No, not clicking, he realized, getting up and walking back to the window. More like scratching. The delicate hairs in his ears prickled. Now he was sure he could hear something…something coming from outside. In one movement he pushed up the screen and leaned out into the night.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?”

Upon seeing Logan, Mystique nearly lost her balance. She had a collection of small screws in her mouth and she spat them out angrily. Gazing at him with her luminous yellow eyes, the shapeshifter smiled coldly. “I’m still part of the Brotherhood, Logan.”

“So you come here in the middle of the night to do what?” he hissed, attempting to keep his voice low enough so as not to wake anyone.

Mystique couldn’t think of anything to say. Finally she slid to the end of the sill and leapt into Logan’s window. “I’m coming in.”

“Clearly.” Logan stepped back several feet, attempting to create some distance between them. Whatever you do, he told himself, do not let her get you on that bed. “We need to talk.”

Mystique began to laugh. “Do we, Logan? Do we really?” Her voice dropped, became sultry, and she sauntered closer to press against him. “Is that what you really want?” she purred.

“Yes,” said Logan. Without thinking he put his hands on her waist, intending to push her away. The sudden contact with her skin burned like fire, and he recoiled only to grab her again. There it was—that nearly violent, lightheaded lust he felt whenever they were together now. He pushed her against the wall and forced his tongue into her mouth. His hands traveled the length of her torso, stopping to cup her soft breasts in his palms. He lowered his head to one nipple, pulling it into his mouth and suckling at it so that Mystique gasped at the sudden sensation and bucked her hips.

Without speaking, she pulled him upright and undid his pants with nimble fingers. She was smiling triumphantly as they fell to the floor. It was true that she had come to rebuild her relationship with Erik, but the heady thrill of conquest was too good to abandon. Leaning against the wall and lifting one leg, she grabbed Logan’s ass and pulled him towards her.

She was very wet and her juices had begun to spill out, coating her inner thighs, and when Logan rushed at her, he pushed completely inside her body in one swift movement, eliciting a groan of pleasure from his lover. While thrusting he lifted her up and braced her against the wall, his hands on her ass as she bounced up and down. Her legs flailed in midair. Logan grunted as he thrust harder and harder as if attempting to reach her very center. Sweat poured down their writhing figures and they slid against each other, a tangle of passionate, grinding sex. When Mystique began moaning, he pressed his lips to hers and muffled the sounds until they filled his whole head.

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You tell me--should I even bother to finish this thing? I think it sucks. Thanks.