Limits
Limits
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Sunlight poured
offensively in, prying him from foggy sleep to unpleasantly sharp
wakefulness. The sunlight looked
alarmingly afternoonish. He blinked and gazed at the unfamiliar ceiling. An
ornate ceiling fan circled overhead, one blade graced with a pair of black lace
panties. The owner of the airborne underwear groaned softly in her sleep. The
smell of sex, sweat, and incense hung heavily in the air. He could hear people
in the rest of the apartment, could smell cigarette smoke...Roommates. Models
always had roommates. If her roommates were awake, it had to be
himself from....from....Scheisse...he
couldn’t remember her name. It had a floral quality to it; Orchid or
Daisy...something like that. He padded towards the bathroom to piss and rinse
his mouth. God, his mouth tasted like hamsters had made a nest. Petunia (?) had
some sort of overpriced high-end mouthwash that boasted of its pure botanical
ingredients and earth friendliness. He hadn’t realized that Dior made
mouthwash. It tasted weirdly like slightly floral lime Kool-Aid mixed with
weasel pee. Admittedly, he’d never actually tasted weasel pee, but if he could
imagine the flavor...that would be it. Her watch was on the counter. 1:44 PM.
worse now, he was three hours late for a mission.
Carnation (?) was
sitting up, lighting a cigarette, when he came out of the bathroom. “Good morning.”
She said, blowing smoke through the slightly opened window behind the bed.
onto the bed and over to her. He took the cigarette from her lips, took a quick
drag and crushed it out in the ashtray on the headboard. “Those will kill you.”
He whispered playfully.
“I thought you
didn’t smoke.” She teased, pulling him down to her, stroking the soft indigo
fur of his back. Iris, her name was Iris.
“I
don’t...anymore.” He caught her mouth in a kiss. Actually, he just desperately
wanted to get rid of the taste of the horrid mouthwash that he suspected might very well be liquid Satan. The
cigarette did the trick and it wasn’t like he was unused to his lungs full of
smoke...although it did amuse him that brimstone wasn’t as harsh to the lungs
as cigarette smoke.
“What time is it?”
She whispered, settling herself underneath him and reaching up to touch the
tangle of blue-black hair that hung in his eyes, his golden pupil-less eyes.
“Late,” He
murmured, “Almost two.” His tail wrapped lazily around her thigh, pulling her
leg up around his hip. He reached for one of the foil packets that scattered
the shelf of the headboard. He could feel the desire building in her, waiting
to be coaxed out...released into him. He always got such a rush from making
someone cum. It was better then any of the many drugs he’d tried.
He ripped open the
packet with his teeth as he rocked against her, smiling at the appreciative
noises that elicited from the girl beneath him. He caught her wrist with his
hand, bringing it to his mouth. He teased the delicate flesh with his tongue,
toying with her pressure points that dwelled there. She hissed and bucked
against him. His cell phone, set to vibrate, began to buzz.
“Fuck...
quaking. He wouldn’t let her climax yet, of course...far too soon. He hadn’t
even put the condom on yet. “How the Holy fuck do you do that?” He laughed and
continued his assault on her wrists. His cell phone vibrated itself off the
nightstand. He ignored it. He lightly scraped his fangs along her skin as he
nuzzled her pulse points, sheathing himself in latex. Sweat beaded along Iris’s
brow, her damp brown hair clung to her forehead. She panted and gazed up at him
through eyes narrowed into slits. Her hands curled in his hair as he lowered
himself...
KURT! A
telepathic yell thundered through his mind. Scott’s mental message, patched
through by Jean, was laced with anger.
Yeah?
from his thoughts. He kept his body
moving, kept the energy flowing, so much for finesse...
Where the Hell are you? You have a mission. You were
supposed to be here three hours ago.
Sorry...sorry.
I overslept. I’m on my... He was cut off by another telepathic invasion
from Scott.
Just get here.
Now. Scott broke contact as abruptly as he had established it.
Kurt gritted his
teeth in annoyance, hiding his expression by burying his face in Iris’s neck.
He slid himself inside her, letting his tail work against her clit as he moved.
He let her build quickly before forcing her to cum, allowing himself to be
toppled by the sudden contraction of her sex around him. He let himself fall
into his own orgasm. His lips brushed hers, savoring as he shuddered slightly,
riding out her aftershocks. He hated to be rushed. She stared at him, resting
the back of her hand across her sweat-streaked forehead. “Sweet Jesus.” she
breathed, trembling. Kurt grinned impishly at her. “I have to go.” He pecked
her forehead and slid out of the bed, snatching up his shirt and pants. He
dressed hurriedly and made his way towards the door.
Scott leaned
against the wall in the War Room, glancing at his watch. He looked up when
Bobby shuffled in, clad resplendently in an Iron Chef t-shirt, Ren & Stimpy
boxer shorts, and piggy slippers that oinked with each step. He carried a file,
a bowl of cereal, and had a pink feather boa around his neck. Scott didn’t ask.
“Stuff for Kurt’s mission...and he’s wishing...for someone to cure his lonely
condition. He’s looking around in all the wrong places, no fine girls just ugly
faces.” Bobby tossed the file onto the table and settled into an empty chair to
finish his Golden Grahams. “Bust a move, Scott.”
“What?” Scott
looked over at him. “Oh, yeah, Bobby how’s your work on the Cerebro vocal
interface coming?”
“Peachy Keen,
Jelly Bean,” Bobby said, rolling his eyes and continuing to munch his cereal.
“Cerebro: Holo-screen. Station...uh...” He lifted his be-slippered feet that he
had propped up on the war table’s surface. “Station 12.”
appeared above the table. He danced his fingers across screen, bringing up the
week’s mission itinerary.
“Nightcrawler,
Nightcrawler, Nightcrawler, Cyclops AND Nightcrawler, Cyclops & the Prof,
and of course, Nightcrawler. The Training Schedule looks kinda similar.” Bobby
read aloud between mouthfuls of grahamy goodness. “Am I the only one who senses
a disturbance in the Force?”
Scott sighed and
plopped into a chair. “I know...I know.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “With Warren in Law School, Hank in Med
School, you doing all the Sys Admin and coding and other “you” related Computer
things, me handling everything else X-Men related, The Prof running around
doing his thing, Remy, ‘Ro, and Rogue
are still on their missions. It’s falling on Kurt for a lot of the mission
field work this week.”
“Superchicken’s breabreak, you know.”
“
parked himself on the sofa in the Rec Room. He’s declared it his own sovereign
nation. Named it Warrentopia and says that “Laziness is the only rule.”” Scott
was starting to get one of those headaches that throb right behind his eyes.
“He says he’s not doing anything other then watch TV and attend to his basic
bodily functions.”
“Hmmm, intriguing.
Perhaps if I bring him an offering of Cheetos he’ll make me Viceroy. What about
Jean? Her Mutant-Fu is strong.” Bobby closed down the holo-screen, and flipped
open the mission file. “It’s a Mutant Meet & Greet. Looking for some guy in
“The Professor
says The Hand is following this guy.” Scott thumbed through the documents. “A
little out of Jean’s league. We need Kurt’s fighting skills and ability to get
the fuck out of Dodge.”
“Ninjas, I hate
these guys.” Bobby smiled and tossed his boa over his shoulder. “You know what
we need to fight? Faux-Nazis. Faux-Nazis with a secret Arctic base. Ninjas are
cool and all, but you haven’t arrived as superheroes until you’ve had
Faux-Nazis.”
“Your life would
be complete if we ever went up against Faux-Nazis?”
thing that could be better would be Faux-Nazi Ninjas. Vampire Faux-Nazi
Ninjas...from Outer Space.”
Scott scooped up
the file. “Ninjas, I can’t believe we’re dealing with Ninjas. They can’t be real
Ninjas, it’s too corny. There really will be Faux-Nazis next, I swear to God,
or giant robots or...or...”
“Sharks with
fricking laser beams on their heads? I think Corny Mock Ninjas would be right
up Jean’s alley, she’d completely dig on the cheese factor.” Bobby brought up
another holo-screen. “Besides, Jean’s got the Jedi Mind Trick.” He touched his
fingers to his temple, “One hearty “These are not the droids you’re looking
for” and all Ninjsistsistance will be futile.”
“Yeah,
well...these are the same Mock-Ninjas that fucked up Betsy Braddock so very
nastily.” Scott reached over Bobby’s shoulder and brought up what Cerebro had
on Betsy and The Hand. “And she’s a telepath, too.”
“Charming.” Bobby
muttered as he read. His cell phone tweeted. “Incoming Fuzzy Blue German, he’s
driving home. He’ll be here in 40 minutes or so.” He announced, reading Kurt’s
text message.
“Why doesn’t he
just ‘port?” Scott asked peevishly.
“Probably doesn’t
want to leave his car.” Bobby slurped the last bit of milk from his Dexter’s
Lab cereal bowl. “Does he know he’s being signed up for a Ninja Def Jam?”
“It’s in the
file. If he read it, then he knows. I’ll brief him whenever he decides to grace
us with his presence.” Scott gathered the hardcopy file and headed towards the
door. “Cerebro.”
“Yes, Cyclops?”
droned a pleasant female voice.
“Send me an alert
when Nightcrawler arrives.”
“Affirmative.”
Scott stalked out,
file under his arm.
“Cerebro?” Bobby
called, picking himself up out of the chair. His slippers squealed in a porcine
deluge of oinks.
“Yes, Iceman?”
“Do I make you
horny?”
“Yes, Iceman. You
are one sexy bitch. You rock the Kasbah.” Cerebro answered coolly.
“Thank you,
Cerebro.”
“You are welcome,
Iceman.”
Bobby blew a kiss
towards the computer’s holographic interface. “And to think, all this talent
could have been wasted at MIT.” He wandered out.