Blindfold

“That beer’s been sitting there long enough to stare back, my friend.”

“Huh?” He jerked up from his slump against the kitchen table at the sound of her voice. It was tinged with amusement at his expense. Scott whipped his head around to face the doorway. Ororo’s silhouette was a long, slender S-shape, tilted gracefully as she leaned against the frame. Scott groaned and scrubbed at his face. He closed his eyes and reached beneath them to grind away the grit.

“Why are you up?”

“Thirsty.” His unfinished beer mocked him with the lie. Condensation dribbled down the brown glass neck and made the label soggy. The last of the bubbles rose to the surface of the amber liquid, pronouncing it stale and flat.

The microwave oven’s clock blinked midnight at him; the glowing red numbers nearly matched the pulse of his eyes beneath the glasses. Ororo reached for the wall switch.

“No. Don’t.” His voice was blunt and slightly hoarse. He rose from the wooden seat and stretched his long limbs, letting the joints in his neck crack. “I’m headed up anyway.”

Ororo watched him thoughtfully. “You’re not usually a night owl.”

“I’ve had a lot on my mind. Hey,” he realized as he dumped his beer in the sink, “what’re you doing up? Thought you were a ‘crack of dawn,’ early riser.”

“I am. Something was keeping me awake.”

“Came down for some hot milk? Or the Professor keeps some chamomile stashed in the cupboard?” He automatically began rummaging for it, pulling open the cabinet and fetching a mug. Ororo watched the broad, clean lines of his back and the flex of wide, sculpted shoulders as he puttered around, making her tea that he didn’t intend to drink himself.

“You don’t have to do that, Scott,” she advised softly. A calm smile graced her lips. She tucked an errant lock of hair behind her ear; the rest of her long, thick mane was loosely tied back in a ponytail for bed.

“Might help you sleep.”

“So why aren’t you drinking any?” she asked pointedly.

“I’m fine.” He opened the silverware drawer, fished out a spoon, and closed it with a clatter. She listened to the low beeps of the microwave and the thunk of him slamming the door.

“No, dear Scott, you are not fine.” He looked up from the bowl of sugar as he lifted off the lid.

“I feel fine,” he insisted. “Nothing’s on my mind.”

“All right.” Ororo sighed, patently unconvinced. He busied himself with the small task of pulling out her chair and wiping away the ring on the table left from his beer. “Then tell me something?”

“Yeah, Ororo?”

“What’s in here?” She had silently crept close to him while she watched his movements. He felt strangely at east with her warm presence behind him, but when he turned next, she stood before him.

Long, slender fingers brushed his chest, stroking the warm flesh shielding his heart. Scott licked dry lips.

“Nothing.” He let out a gusty breath.

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“You’ve worried me these past few weeks.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he scoffed.

“It’s what I do,” she scoffed back. The buzzer sounded on the microwave. She fetched the steaming cup herself. Scott lingered close and was already waiting with a spoonful of sugar. At her nod, he dumped in two and gave her the spoon.

“I’m headed up. Good night, Ororo. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

“Stop!” Her tone was imperious. Logan professed hatred for being on the wrong end of any of her lectures when she used her “bossy” voice. Scott’s teeth clacked together as he froze in his tracks.

“What? Ororo, I’m going to bed!”

“Not to sleep. You’re on edge, uptight and clearly plan to lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling tiles.”

“I already lost count, Storm. I’ve moved on to counting sheep.” Irritation was etched around the corners of his mouth.

“Talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You say you love Jean.”

“I do love her.”

“Yet you have doubts.”

“I’m human. Everyone has doubts sometimes, during difficult circumstances like we’ve had…” Scott tugged at his short, thick brown hair. Frustration leaked through his calm façade.

“Scott. You don’t doubt love. Then it doesn’t exist.”

“Geez! Then how do you explain years of thinking about nothing but her? About only remembering to breathe when she walks out of the room because she makes it catch in my throat when I look at her? I dream of her voice. I see her eyes watching me when I sleep at night. I don’t have any doubts about how much I love her.”

“Is it really her that you love?”

“What!” His jaw fell open as Ororo blew on the contents of her cup. Her turquoise eyes probed his face.

“Do you love Jean…or the Phoenix?”

“What kind of question is that? That’s none of your business. What are you trying to say, Ororo?”

“She’s my best friend, Scott.”

“That still doesn’t make it any of your affair.”

“I want her to be happy. I want her to be happy with you. But lately, all I see if both of you acting very unhappy. She’s so lost in thought and so pensive lately, Sometimes when she and I talk, she’s a million miles away. And you’ve been equally distracted. Tell me, Scott.”

“Tell you what, Ororo?” he griped.

“How do you feel about the Phoenix?”

“I…I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel. And it scared him. “She’s different. One moment she’s picking out my socks. The next, I’m wearing an outfit I didn’t even put on. She rearranges the molecules, and presto. And she’s so blithe about it. She gives me Jean’s smile, but she’s not Jean.”

“And yet she is. That’s the woman I call sister, despite the new and shiny gloss.”

“Your sister,” he muttered. “I hope you’re giving her a pep talking like this one, too.”

“I should spank you both,” she told him impatiently.

“You’re not my mother,” he snorted.

“No. I’m just your family. Until I came here I didn’t have one, Scott. Then I met Jean. And you.” A heated flush swept slowly over his face. Scott folded his arms around his ribcage, making him look like a lost little boy.

“I want a family with Jean. I thought she did, too. Now, I’m not so sure.” He turned from her, brooding. “I don’t think I even know how to have one. I remember that my parents were happy before I lost them. But I was young. They were just Mom and Dad to me. I look back, and I don’t know what it was like for them to just be ‘Chris and Kathy.’ I don’t know how they made it work as two married, committed people.”

“This is the time to find out.” Scott listened to the idle clink of her spoon as she stirred the tea.

“I don’t know if I can do that. It’s not just the Phoenix. I might not be enough for her. I was afraid til now that ‘we’ might not be enough.”

“Scott…what are you saying?”

“She kissed another man in New York.” Ororo abandoned her drink and let her hand drop. Cold dread sank like a stone in her gut.

“Oh, Scott! No,” she insisted. “She couldn’t do that, not when she loves you so much.”

“Ororo, I saw her. And I think there might have been more.” The words curdled like sour milk.

“Why?”

“White spaces. Black spots in our rapport. She’s always inside me, Ororo. You knew that, didn’t you?”

“Yes. I do.” Ororo was the only other person Jean shared a soul with. Both women enjoyed the intimacy of being mentally synched.

Only lately, Ororo felt the emptiness there, like something had been hidden away. “Cold spots,” or shadows, if she had to describe them.

“You feel it, too.” His tone was accusing, dissolving her reverie.

“I can’t be hasty about what I’m feeling. I won’t make a snap judgment.”

“Snap judgment,” he repeated. His lips flattened and he dragged his hand through his hair. The motion rumpled it hopelessly. “You just don’t get it. You’re not hearing me, Storm!” Ororo flinched.

“What does she want from me, that she has to go looking for it from someone else?” His hands took it out on his hair again as he leaned back against the wall.

“Is it my eyes? Tell me, Ororo.” He touched the rim of his glasses. “Can she really, tru;y give herself to a freak?”

“Scott Summers!” Ororo’s mouth dropped open. “Never, ever say that. I won’t abide that word under this roof.”

“I get plenty of it outside the house. I hate it. I have having…” his words died. Scott’s lips were a thin line. He threw up his hands and let them slap his thighs.

“What?” His frustration bit her.

“I hate having to control it. Having to control myself. I’m a prisoner in these things, because of the damage I could cause anyone I look at. It’s all about control. I even sleep in my goggles. I can’t remember the last time I just closed my eyes, laid down and didn’t worry about the consequences.

And Jean! When we met, she couldn’t tune out people’s thoughts. She could lift a bowling ball without laying a finger on it, but that was it. No flying, no crumpling a car like a tin can, and never making me feel like an ant. She’s like a god.”

“It’s a dirty job, but someone has to do it, brother.”

He wasn’t expecting her slow, casual smile or the twinkle in her eye. “That’s not funny.”

“I know something about control, Scott. I can’t afford to lose it.” He heard the low rumble of thunder in the distance and felt the hairs on his nape rise. Her liquid, crystal blue eyes glowed, changing to luminous white. He’d known her long enough to recognize the charged atmosphere as a sign that Ororo was powering up. Ironic didn’t begin to sum up how such potentially destructive power was contained in this serene, graceful woman.

“A part of me wants to fear Jean. Yet I cannot. We can only fear what we do not understand.”

“Then right now, I fear her.”

“No. You envy her.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” He was dumbstruck. She wasn’t making a lick of sense.

“The Phoenix goes wherever the road takes her. When we lost her, and when she believed us dead, she moved on because she had to. She wanted to die without you. But while she was gone, she saw the world. You, brother, jumped back into work and school, more than ever before. You never took off your uniform, Scott, not just those.” Ororo tapped her own temple.

“You never allowed yourself to just ‘be.’ You’ve been Cyclops, not Scott Summers.” She rose, approaching him. Ororo’s hands crept into his. Her skin was warm and satiny; her thumbs stroked his knuckles. Scott’s cheeks flushed and he looked away, but he didn’t pull back. “Look at me.”

“You were right. It’s late.”

“I was wrong. There’s plenty of time to discuss this. Bottling this up will consume you. The harder you try to hold it back, Scott, makes it more painful when it consumes you.”

Her scent tickled his nostrils. He smelled sunshine in her hair and warm flesh. Her breath held a hint of chamomile and mint. She was close enough that it seemed to fan his face. Unlike Jean, Ororo could literally see eye to eye with him, standing nearly six feet tall without shoes. She enjoyed the luxury of the cool kitchen tile beneath her bare soles.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. She cocked her head slightly, measuring him. “You’re afraid of not being able to control yourself. But you’re also afraid to give up control to Jean. You don’t know how to trust her completely.”

“I’m going to bed.” She sighed, shaking her head.

“Run away, then.”

“Please,” he scoffed. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“Aren’t you?” Almost imperceptibly her body closed the gap between them. Her robe’s sash grazed his waistband.

“Ororo, what…mmmph!”

She kissed him. Not a hug, or a friendly squeeze of his arm or the kind of pat that she’d offer a dog.

She’d given enough of those to Piotr, squelching his crush on her. Poor bastard…

Her lips were full and soft, but her kiss was firm, snaring him. She was actually kissing him. Shock gave way to crashing guilt; Scott was enjoying the scent and feel of her twining herself around him, tangible and sultry.

His knees buckled.

Hastily, Scott disengaged himself from her. His traitorous body screamed at him to pull her back to complete him, to fill all the gaps.

“What did you just do?”

“I gave up control and self-restraint. Liberating, isn’t it, my friend?” Her lips curled slightly.

If he lingered too long, he’d taste them again.

“No. It’s insane. This isn’t like you, Ororo. Not at all.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve been telling me about Jean?” His mouth worked to form a reply. She raised a finger to her lips. “Hush. Let me finish. Just once, give up control. Even if you rein yourself in and never bend, never step out of line again for the rest of your life, just once, feel. If there’s one thing you already know, Scott, it’s that the Phoenix is a force of passion. Share in it, however you choose. But never deny it.” She drew back, and her smile grew sad. “Thank you for the tea, Scott. Good night.”

She drifted from the room. Scott felt hollow and shaken. His lips still burned.

She was right, damn her. Scott laid awake staring at the ceiling, listening to the clock tick.

Just once, give up control.

An endless night yawned ahead of him. The blank space in his mind where Jean left him behind taunted him. She was out with Lorna in New Mexico for a girl’s weekend. Fine.

The floorboards were still chilly beneath his feet on his way up to the loft; his steps creaked on the stairs. Scott’s sleeping goggles tinged the moonlight pink as it filtered through the skylight. Ororo’s hair stole that light, falling in ripples with the slow stroke of her brush.

“You’re still awake.” She ceased and caught his reflection behind her.

“Scott.” Her heartbeat quickened, given away by the now rapid rise and fall of her chest. Longing in her eyes ruined the serenity of her face.

“Why?”

“Why not?” His hand gripped the doorknob so hard his palm began to sweat.

“Don’t. You’re steady. Sane. I depend on you to be a voice of reason…”

“Then please don’t. Not now. Not tonight.” Her voice was hurt, wavering in a way he’d never heard. “You came to me. Show me why.”

He came undone. “Or you can go back down-Mmmmmnn!” He crossed the loft in four steps and snatched her against him. His hands craved the narrow nook of her waist, scorching him as they pressed into her flesh through the thin robe. He needed to taste her. Instead, he devoured her.

When her mouth dropped open in astonishment, his mouth slid over her shin, her throat, mapping them out and painting them in heat. Her hands roamed over him, trembling as they first covered his knuckles. She skimmed her palms up his arms, caressing firm, toned muscle until she finally cupped his face. She drank eagerly from Scott’s mouth, moaning and whimpering into it with need.

They stumbled back into her vanity, nearly toppling the mirror.

“Wait. Please.”

“Wait…what?”

“Please.” She was panting, and Ororo pointed to her broad, lonely queen-sized bed. “Give me a moment. Sit.”

He obeyed, crestfallen and confused.

Ororo rummaged in her dresser drawer in the dark, her back turned to him. She removed something lone and filmy. More than one.

“Scott.”

“Yes, Ororo.” His voice held need and discomfort; he had a massive hard-on.

“Trust me.”

She came to him and laid down the three scarves, one made of sturdy, fringed rayon, and the others of sheer chiffon.

“I…I’ve always trusted you. With my life.”

“With your joy this time. I’m going to make love to you. You’ll give up control to me, fully.” Ororo’s knees were scraping his, she was so close. Slowly she untied her robe.

“Oh, God,” he said, before he could no longer speak.

Beautiful. She was so beautiful. Her curves were ripe and womanly and begging to be enjoyed. Her hair flowed down her back and – almost – shielded the stiff, dark tips of her breasts. Moonlight bathed her skin, throwing breasts, cheeks, eyes, thighs and the soft, faint swell of her belly into relief.

“I’m going to undress you. Don’t help me.” Her voice was imperious and matter-of-fact, but he heard the need in her tone. Dutifully he allowed her slender fingers to trail over his bare shoulder and tug the arm loop of his undershirt. She worked it up, bunching it up in her fist before he raised his arms to accommodate her when the yanked it off. Excitement percolated in him the more she touched him. He wanted Ororo. Badly.

Scott was handsomely sculpted, his body’s lean muscles rivaled a Michelangelo. Smooth, fair skin felt warm and firm under her hands.

She angled his head up, kissing a path from his forehead down his fine nose, landing sweetly on his lips. His hands drifted back to her waist; she backed away, smiling.

“Lie back.” The sheets felt cool at his back and held his scent. He scooted further toward the head of the bed. She studied him. Desire and lust crept into her gaze.

“You’re a handsome man, Scott Summers.”

He swallowed. She traced his Adam’s apple. He shivered. It tickled.

“Close your eyes, Scott.”

“Why?”

“I’ll show you in a minute.”

He jerked in surprise as her fingers grazed his face, lifting off his sunglasses. Panic seized him, roaring through his gut. He scrambled up, batting at her hand before clutching her wrist.

“Are you out of your mind? Don’t pull a stunt like that, Ororo, I could hurt you!” His jaw was set. She couldn’t see the full effect of his glare.

“Scott. I said close your eyes. I can help you with that,” she promised. He slowly released her hand. She caressed his lips, then kissed him long and deep. He gradually settled back with a contented sigh.

“Please.” He hesitated. She accepted his earnest nod.

“Okay.” He braced himself, clenching his eyes shut. He felt the weight of his spectacles lift from his face, leaving behind the faint indentations on the bridge of his nose. She kissed each one before something slick and smooth slithered across his lids. “What…?”

“Relax them. Don’t clench them.” She was practically asking him to fly. It was almost impossible not to squinch them tightly shut.

She lifted his head tenderly, bringing it close enough to nuzzle her blindly, nipping wherever his mouth met skin. She tied the scarf in a neat knot, not tight enough to make him uncomfortable.

She was right. The light pressure against his lids discouraged them from opening, just like a sleeping mask.

Something filmy and feather light grazed his chest, making him break out in goosebumps. It aroused him, barely flicking his nipples. They hardened into tight little brown beads. The flight and drop of the scarf as Ororo fanned it over him sent puffs of air to kiss his flesh, stirring crisp hairs that ran down his belly.

She bent over him; he couldn’t see her soft smile or the mischief in her eyes, but he could feel them. The scarf floated up, down; up, down; up, down. His cock jerked as the chiffon barely kissed it. He felt his sac begin to draw up between his legs with want. He craved her heat.

It dragged over him as she shifted the movement, letting it tickle his lips. He mourned the loss of her mouth then. It descended, sweeping down his chest, belly, and then his throbbing cock. His hips jerked off the mattress.

“Ororo! Quit teasing me!” he scolded, but she giggled.

“But I’m enjoying it!” The mattress shifted as she moved over him. He felt the faint press of her breast as she reached toward the head board. “Raise your arms.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Please?”

“Ororo…”

“I won’t hurt you.” She took one of his searching hands as he attempted to stroke whichever parts of her that were closest, tickling her hip. She raised it to her lips and drew him inside.

“Ororo…oh, good Lord.” She telegraphed how good he tasted with a low moan, sliding his digit slowly in and out. “Now will you put your hands up?” His erection bobbed, rising another notch. His skin was suffused with color, silky and taut.

“Yes.” Cords of muscle trained in his throat. “Just don’t stop touching me. Please.”

She looped the rayon scarf around his wrists, winding the ends around the headboard’s posts. The sight of him spread out like that, thighs slightly parted, enticed and aroused her. The folds of her sex already felt damp.

The chiffon fluttered over him again, but this time it laid over his chest. Hot wetness suddenly engulfed his nipple through the slick cloth. Blunt, even teeth drew on it as she suckled, then gave it swift, feline licks. Her breath steamed him through the airy fiber of the cloth, drawing tingling sensations through his body. He gasped and smothered a curse.

“Don’t hold your tongue. I don’t mind. Let me hear you.” He was always mindful of Ororo’s annoyance with profanity. Logan seldom held himself in check, even for Jean’s sake, but Ororo rode him frequently…

…suddenly the vision of Ororo literally riding the stocky Canadian made him grimace.

“You have a very nice penis, Scott.”

“Geez…” It sounded so clinical.

“Very nice.” She settled herself between his legs and continued to torment him through the scarf. She flicked and flattened her tongue over him, darkening the chiffon. She worked a path down the ridges and bumps of muscle, counting each can of his six-pack with light nips. Sinuously the tip of her tongue probed his navel, swiveling itself in the shallow cavity.

He was bucking and hissing out how good it felt through his teeth.

She commenced to show him how nice she thought his penis was, draping the chiffon over it, tenting it. She lay in the ‘V’ of his thighs and pressed her chest against him, sandwiching his member between her breasts. She was bringing him to the edge, and she’d hardly kissed him yet.

She opened her mouth and steamed the plump head through the chiffon. His sac was now drawn up stiff and round as a tennis ball, the flesh ruched and leathery. She darted her tongue around it, savoring it.

“Ororo! Oh, God! Damn it. So. Good. So…good.” She was trying to give him a heart attack. He never knew where she would touch him next. She teased him, caressing him with the tips of her nails and greedily exploring the contours of his body.

“Do you like it like this?” She swirled him lightly between her lips. “Or like this?”

“Eeerrgh!” She made sounds of contentment and approval around him as she descended over his cock. Every nerve in his body zeroed in on the suction she created. She buffeted him in the walls of her cheeks and against the roof of her mouth.

Ororo slid off of him and removed the scarf, letting it float to the floor. Then she resumed her perch, squeezed her breasts around him more firmly, and milked him long and slow.

Being with him like this excited her. He began to meet her, thrusting up into her heat. His head pressed the ledge of her throat, nearly grazing her tonsils. The tips of her breasts tingled as she rubbed and squeezed them; his dark, crisp thatch of hair abraded her skin, making it more sensitive.

“I want you. Oh, God, please, Ororo. I want you so bad.”

She started to shift and rise, mouth still gathering him close while she raised up her hips, kneeling on all fours. She dipped her head more aggressively, speeding up and tightening the suction of her lips.

“Nnngh!”

“Mmmmm…mmmph.

He was close, at fever pitch when she let him slip free of her mouth.

“Don’t do this to me. Please.” He longed to grab her, and to crush her to him. He needed to mount. He needed to thrust. Scott needed to fuck, and fuck hard.

“I can no longer wait, either, Scott. I need you. Badly.” She positioned herself over him and dipped her hips, following the long slope of his cock with the weeping seam of her pussy. She stimulated herself, nearly riding him but never letting him fully penetrate her. Her ass clenched with how good it felt. Her clit became flush and sensitive with increased circulation and friction. Ororo’s womb squeezed and spasmed slightly with anticipation and continued drags of her pussy. She was already coating him with the sheen of her juices, making them both slick and ready. His heart hammered beneath her palms.

Before he could beg her any further, she sheathed him. Ororo felt stretched and full as he pulsed inside her.

She rode Scott. Frantic cries erupted from her throat as she shunted over him firmly. His pelvis pushed up hard as Scott attempted to quicken her pace, nearly bucking her off. She held fast, fastening her hands around his firm, lean waist.

She slammed into him hard, making the mattress bounced beneath them. Scott nearly bit his tongue, but she was rocking him, pounding him into her, swelling him within her, and it felt so right. She was uninhibited, and it was only as he neared his peak that he smelled the rain outside.

The shutters of her bay window banged almost in time with the headboard against the wall. It overloaded his senses that remained unimpeded by the blindfold. Her musk. The creak of mattress springs and the squeeze of her dripping pussy.

Ororo tightened, feeling her climax approaching in her lower spine and pelvis. “Scott! I’m. Letting. You. Go.”

He could barely speak. “Why?”

“Hold me,” she whimpered. Her voice was raspy and strained as she reached over him mid-thrust and tugged the bond loose.

He obeyed, even though it was nearly painful to reposition himself when he was so close. His arms were screaming with the return of blood flow to his muscles, but he didn’t care. He clamped Ororo’s upper arms in his iron grip and gave in, grinding her more deeply into his thrusts this time.

“Want you. Need you. Need you,” she chanted mindlessly. “Hold me. Oh, Scott, hold me.” He pushed himself upright and knelt, pinning her atop his lap. His mouth searched for her pulse and breast blindly as he plunged up into her.

Pleasure washed over her as she came, convulsing around him. He wished he could see her, but she was pliant in his arms. Her moans rose in pitch, drawn out into hoarse screams as she embraced him.

She was nearly spent. Her lips roamed over his temple, then down his face as she mustered the last of her energy. Lightning crackled overhead, throwing arcs of blue light over them through the skylight. She drove home, pushing him to his climax.

He jerked, bouncing her against him in harsh, short spasms as he emptied his seed. His arms tightened around her waist while his blunt nails scored her back.

They held and rocked each other slowly, reverently. Their panting breath mingled as their hands kneaded and smoothed over sweat-kissed skin. He clung to her in the dark, allowing her to see the way for both of them.

Moments later, they lay tangled in the blankets. Scott’s goggles were fastened safely in place, holding his power in check.

“I’d like to say Jean doesn’t have to know…” Ororo began. Scott hushed her with a finger over her kiss-swollen mouth.

“She’ll know only if she chooses to know.”

“Oh, Scott.” Ororo’s voice was mournful. She embraced him more tightly. He buried his lips in her hair. She heard truth in his words and realized, sadly, that her own rapport with Jean knew the same risks.

Drumming rain on the roof was their lullaby. Ororo’s prophesy of Scott failing to sleep that night was proven false as she lay awake, listening to his long, even breathing. During her vigil, the irony hit her sharp and hard.

She’d lectured him about control, but she was the one who’d lost it, in more ways than one.