Saturdays

SATURDAYS CHAPTER FOUR (NC-17)
Disclaimers Apply

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies and BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (tm), I think some of the bunnies are marauding this side of the ocean...my muses are suddenly hyper! InterNutter, TC and Maxwell Pink are fanfreakingtastic for archiving! :) Readers/Reviewers: Ducks, armadillos, Killer Kitties (tm) and their Minions (tm)...I'm beginning to think the ASPCA is going to come after me! Urban warfare being waged on your front lawn is Hell on the begonias...

Lance/Amara



Lance sat on the floor of the upstairs hallway, resting his head against the cool wood of the door, listening to Amara move on the other side. Slight rustling noises, drawers opening and closing, the occasional whispered oath were the only signs he had received from her imostmost an hour, since she had said "be right back," and locked him out in the hallway. "Amara?" he finally chanced. "You okay?"
"Fine," she said shortly, not convincing at all. She sounded close to the door and there was a slight thud, which made him think that maybe she was leaning against the other side. "I'll be out in a minute."
"You've been in there a long time." All sorts of unpleasant images danced through Lance's head, the scars on her arms and legs and belly flashing past at lightening speed, with new pictures of fresh blood and her tiny copper knife severing flesh being provided by her admittedly overactive imagination. "Amara..."
She sighed, definitely close to the door, and said patiently, "I'm not cutting myself again. I told you I wouldn't do that anymore and I haven't."
Lance closed his eyes and stretched his legs out in front of him. He could hear the other teenagers coming and going downstairs, the beautiful late spring day giving rise to a sudden urge to go swimming in the lake in even the reticent mutants. He wanted to be out there with them if only to get away from the burning, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach. This isn't really happening. It can't be... A sound on the other side of the door made him open his eyes. "You coming out?"
"Not yet. Foot just fell asleep is all..."
"Do you want me to come in there? I mean, I'm not going to bite you or anything..."
She snorted. "Sure. That mark on my breast is nothing, then."
"Princess," he said, almost sharply, "this isn't the best time to joke."
"When is, then? This isn't the end of the world. Just...a rest stop on the way through the Universe."1
Lance digested this statement for a moment. "You've been talking to Jubilee again, haven't you?"
"How can you tell?"
"That was a very Jubilee thing to say..."
"I'm going to be quiet now, okay? Just...give me a few minutes and I'll be out."
Lance nodded even though he knew that she could not see him and sighed inwardly, sliding further down the wall, stretching his feet to touch the opposite baseboard in an almost childish attempt to distract himself from his train of thought. It was futile, though. His mind went true and straight back to the afternoon, several Saturdays agf thf the sudden and torrential downpour that had stranded them both in the boathouse until it was over. They had gone out to the house with Rogue and Todd though they couples had been quick to divide, Lance and Amara deciding that they wanted to sit on the pier as Rogue dragged on Todd's arm subtly, trying to lead him to the small bedroom at the back of the house. They had ignored the very faint cries and moans coming from the room that overlooked the lake and just sat, staring at nothing and everything. After what seemed like forever, she turned to him and a tiny line furrowed her brows. Before he could ask her what was wrong, she slapped him. Hard. "Fuck!" he shouted, jerking away from her and nearly oversetting himself into the lake. "What the Hell was that for?"
She held up her hand, palm out. "Bee." Indeed, there was a smear on the palm of her hand, riddled with insect parts, that made Lance utter a noise of disgust. "I didn't mean to kill it, just...brush it away." She seemed a little sad about the dead bug, staring at the blot on her hand with mild disgust.
"You don't slap something to brush it away," he said, rubbing his hand over his cheek, feeling the slight smear left on his skin. "This is gross..."
"Sorry," she mumbled. "The bee is sacred to Mellonia..."2 she sighed, already trying to determine her penance.
"It was an accident," he offered, getting to his feet. "I'm sure Mellonia," he paused, tasting the strangeness of the name and the idea that Amara was not only actively polytheistic but he seemed to be agnostic at best, "will forgive you."
"It doesn't work like that," shid, id, accepting his hand up and dusting the smattering of dirt from the pier off her jeans. "Great...rain." The first large drops were falling, black clouds rolling on top of each other at an amazing rate. A loud clap of thunder made her jump and clutch at his hand. "And thunder!"
Lance almost laughed but managed to stop himself. The very notion that Amara was afraid of something as simple as a thunderstorm struck him as funny, but her wide eyes and suddenly rapid breathing were sure signs that she did not find the situation as amusing as he did. "Come on...Rogue and Todd can just shut up. We'll hang out in the boat house until the storm lets up."
Once inside, they found themselves alone. Rogue and Todd had disappeared who knew where while Lance and Amara had been outside, leaving the light on in the kitchenette and the bedroom door standing open. "My hair's wet," Amara said in the eerie quiet of the small house. The sound of rain hitting the wooden shingled roof was loud despite the insulation and intervening second floor between them and the weather. They had been outside just long enough for the rain to spatter their clothes and make them damp, for Amara's hair to start curling and hanging at random intervals and make her look disturbingly wanton to Lance's eyes. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something but he just shrugged. She rolled her eyes and moved past him to the bathroom near the bedroom, muttering about finding a towel.
Lance closed his eyes as she past, the slight dampness from the rain making her scent stronger somehow,id aid and close and not at all cloying as he suspected it had the tendency to be when she was over indulgent with it. He could hear her opening and shutting cabinet doors in her search for a towel and it occurred to him that there were none, that the boathouse was not set up for visitors or even just passing through; "Amara," he called, shaking the rather lustful thoughts from his mind as he headed towards the bathroom, "I don't think there's any...oh."
"Don't look so surprised. You've seen them before..." She had found a towel and was standing in the middle of the bathroom topless, roughly drying her hair and shoulders as if the small bit of rain on her skin burned her.
He wondered briefly, vaguely, if her mutation ever caused her to have problems with water or vice versa, but that wondering was lost when she raised an eyebrow at him as if in challenge. "Rogue and Todd are gone."
"Astute observation. Now, can you tell me my name?"
"Just...shut up for a second," he said, pulling her to him. He kissed her hard, feeling her tense in consideration of lashing out, maybe wanting to slap him again but knowing he would welcome it in their strange perversity of violent affection, never enough to truly harm but playing at pain. She relaxed suddenly, though, and Lance nearly pitched forward as he weight sagged against him, her lips parting under his as he crushed her to his chest.
Amara considered fighting him but decided that they were pressed for time as it was. With no idea where Rogue and Todd had gone and no idea when and if they were coming back, she did not want to waste a second. She gave into his kiss and his bruising grip on her arms and then her back, barely registering their slow descent to the thick rug before the sink, the cold tile biting against her shoulders where the rug did not cover. She closed her eyes and sighed as he unbuttoned her jeans, tugging them roughly off her hips and down her legs. She was not usually so submissive but she honestly did not feel like doing more than letting him have his way with her that moment. He fumbled for a moment with his own zipper but was visibly relieved when he managed to shove his own pants down to somewhere in the vicinity of his knees. She smiled then, twining her arms around his neck and pulling him down to meet her lips for another kiss, this time biting him sharply on his lower lip before laving the pinpricks of blood, seeking entry into his mouth and finding it as his fingers parted her slick folds. She arched against his fingers and seeking mouth as he broke the kiss, hungrily kissing and licking first one breast, then the other, drawing each dark peak into his mouth before moving to the next. He found the center of her desire and stroked her until she was begging for him to do more, to do it then and there.
Lance replaced his fingers with his arousal, pressing into her and hissing in almost-pain as she squeezed her inner muscles against him, making her passage nearly impossibly tight as he strove to complete the union. He was on the verge of asking her to relax, begging her, if the truth be told, when she released a pent up breath and opened entirely for him. Lance sighed audibly, very close to falling against her when he caught his weight on his forearms, pausing for a moment before moving within her. He noticed that she smelled like cinnamon-sugar, not perfume as he had thought earlier and for some reason, that made him grin stupidly against her neck. She felt his smile on her skin and laughed softly, barely a breath but still a laugh. When he began moving within her, she met his movements with equal fervor, relishing the feel of his hard length within her soft heat, mewling small cries of pleasure and entreaties, slowly building to louder and longer moans of his name, begging him in English and her own native tongue.
He felt his own shuddering release before she was even close to completion. He did not know or really care how long they had been on the floor, but he noticed it was long enough for the tile to loose it's chill beneath her, feeling nearly body temperature under his knuckles when he slid his hand beneath her neck, raising her up to kiss her parted lips. She was breathing raggedly, close but not close enough as he groaned into her mouth, feeling his release torn from him, filling her. Amara moaned in frustration and tightened her legs around his waist, not letting him withdraw as she reached between them, seeking the small bud of nerves and sighing brokenly as she found and rubbed it, bringing herself to completion around his softening length. She seemed to loose all of her bones, melting against and away from Lance as she let him free of her, though he just moved to lay by her side, staring at the light fixture that did not seem as bright as it had when he first found her in the bathroom.

Lance snapped back to the present when the bathroom door behind him opened, his support gone. He struggled for a moment before his head hit the bathroom floor and he found himself staring up at Amara in a mix of pain, anxiety and nervous humor. "You're out."
She nodded and knelt next to him, staring down at him. "Want to see for yourself?"
"I wouldn't know what I was looking for," he said as she pressed a piece of plastic into his hand. Lance sat up slowly and stared at the thin rectangle. "What does this mean?"
A door slammed downstairs and several voices laughing echoed up to them, underscoring her relief as she said, "It's negative."
1 I think I'm having a Douglas Adams moment. I'm not sure...
2 Presiding goddess of beekeeping and one of the Roman agrarian deities which were not related to the main pantheon. They were "airy" deities in that they existed outside the pervasive body of gods and dealt solely with agriculture and related situations.