The Roof

The roof. It was where all the cool mutants hung out; to brood, to chill, to hide out from the kids. Jono could have been up there for any of those three reasons, or for all of them, which was more likely. For many people, squatting near the edge of a roof, even as gently sloped and relatively safe as the area near Ororo's roost was, was not a form of relaxation. For Jonothan Starsmore, 21 year old wanna-be rockstar and newest active X-Man, it was a great place to play gargoyle and watch.

Speaking of watching...

It wasn't like he hadn't already memorized which window belonged to Paige Guthrie. Hell, he'd had that one figured out within three days. But he was surely not expecting to see the young blonde stretched out on her bed. Whatever she was doing, it looked innocent... she was writing. That was it; he knew she kept a journal, and there she was, stretched out and... and those short running shorts and... all that exposed thigh.

The early evening sun had settled in the west, affording him an internally lit view of the girl in her bedroom window. He hadn't come up there to watch her, even though he knew she was there and he was perched on the side of the roof that so conveniently looked down on her room and...

'God dammit, Starsmore, get a bloody grip.'

He knew he should get up, but he didn’t want to. He couldn't; not just yet. What circulation he had had begun to settle firmly in his lap, and he feared his bloodless legs might tip him over right off the pitch onto lawn and wouldn't that be a sight?

Jonothan Starsmore, 21, dead after falling from a roof, three stories up, while perving through a bedroom window.

The idea was enough to make him laugh at himself, and his chiding thoughts helped him focus on other, non-sexy-blonde-jailbait-but-not-anymore-Paige-Guthrie things. Like escaping from this roof without drawing any attention to himself, or at least moving over to the other side. Letting out his approximation of a sigh, he slid down the forgiving angle of the roof, long calloused fingers finding the latch on one of the attic windows and lifting it slowly. The room was empty, thank the Lord; he needed a quick escape. One black-and-metal boot on the floor, the other halfway out the window, he happened to glance back out across the lawn one last time and into Paige's window.

'....the hell?'

He squinted. She wasn't writing anymore. She seemed to be... rubbing her stomach? And bending her leg. Ah, fuck. Eyes transfixed on the window, he drew his leg inside, but other than that, he couldn't bring himself to pull away. Maybe it was the fact that he was trying to keep hidden, maybe it was the fact that he was pretty sure she wouldn't be able to see him now should she look out the window. Maybe it was the fact that... oh jesus... she was caressing her long, bare, shapely leg while her other had just slipped beneath her t-shirt. His heart leapt in his throat, which was funny because he had neither.

She was... oh fuck, she was. She was doing it so fucking slowly that he wondered if she wasn't trying to put on a show. His brow furrowed, and the front of his suddenly too-tight jeans became that much tighter. He took another look around into the dark of the attic storage room. No one there. He jerked his head back around and squinted into the window across the way. The hand under her t-shirt was moving more rhythmically now; she was caressing her breasts. Jono made a sound halfway between a grunt and a bitten back moan. And when her other hand pressed and rubbed against her sex through her shorts, his own hand followed suit, skirting down his stomach and cupping his near painful erection through the material of his jeans. He couldn't help pressing his hips lightly into his hand as he massaged himself, stimulating the sensitive underside of his shaft between his thumb and the second knuckle of his index finger. A shudder ran through him, sitting heavily in the pit of his stomach, and he continued to watch, now fully aware of each and every move the woman made.

From what he could see, she was rubbing herself harder now. Then she reached up, under her shirt, and pulled off both her bra and... a bit of her skin, it looked like. That was interesting. Knowing her as long as he did, her powers had ceased to gross him out years ago; not like he had any room to talk. At least she had a mouth.

He began rubbing himself with more purpose, hips arching again uncontrollably into his hand, the friction of the denim against his hardened shaft maddening. Paige seemed to slow down, and then...

'Fuck me'

... she slid her hand into her shorts and she started bucking lightly against her hand. That was all he could take. With shaking hands, he unbuckled the belt that held his jeans together, and then he snapped the fly open, button by button. The relief he felt at the loss of pressure was blissful. She was grinding harder now. His calloused hand slid into his pants, cupping his erect member, now without the separation of his jeans, and he groaned softly. Squeezing and massaging himself, his left hand slid under his shirt, nails scraping lightly through the trail of dark hair extended down the sensitive patch of skin below his navel. He wasn't wearing underwear, he often didn't. It was against code for Brit rock-boys such as himself. His sense of touch was spiked; his keen attention to his surroundings, his fear of being caught... it made the entire act, both of them, even more erotic. But he wouldn't give in for a full on wank just yet. He wanted to see how much farther this would go.

Moments later, his patience paid off. She shucked first her shorts, and then her top, leaving her naked save a pair of white cotton panties. Every Catholic schoolgirl fetish in his lust-wrecked mind shot to the forefront. He let his eyes roam her body in heated assessment. Her general shape, he was familiar with, but her forms tended to have 'barbie-doll' nudity. Seeing her nipples, erect and yearning for attention made him wish for the millionth time that he had a mouth.

With another groan, he pulled his achingly hard shaft from his pants. He was hot. Suddenly so hot that he shrugged out of the leather jacket he was wearing, leaving him with a short sleeved black t-shirt, equally black jeans, and a pale, uncut cock jutting out obscenely from the space between them. Wrapping long fingers around himself, fingers touching but barely, a fleeting thought of lubrication ran through his mind. He'd deal without it; he would have plenty of chances, in the privacy of his room and his shower to replay the fantasy with a bottle of lotion or some soap. He needed this, suddenly and urgently. He needed it now.

Pushing his jeans down his hips a little more for room, he began to slide his hand up and down his rampant erection, pausing every few strokes to massage the head with his thumb. He watched her with growing intensity as she reached down and ripped a layer of skin from her pelvis, taking her panties along with it. Jono whimpered. Able to make out the lack of pubic hair on her mound as she arched from the bed to peel everything away, he suddenly wished her bed was pointed at the window. The lewd porno director in his mind told her to turn this way, baby, and show me what you got...

His left hand was back to rubbing at his lower abdomen, while his right sped up a little. Paige arched and her head fell on the pillow, turning his way. He froze. No... her eyes were closed. Oh fuck, she's so hot. Lips parted like that, he wondered what the would feel like on his stomach, on his cock.

Oh yeah, that was the image he needed. Him sitting in an armchair, legs sprawled, naked from the waist down. Paige on her knees between his thighs, head in his lap. Her lips wrapped around his organ, sliding back and forth, leaving him wet with her saliva. He wondered if she was experienced at all... if she would be eager to learn if she wasn't... if she would be nervous. He'd tell her to go faster, take him deeper, to suck on the head.

Her hand was moving faster between her legs now, and he could see that she was no longer just rubbing herself, that she was slipping those fingers inside; she was finger-fucking herself. He could do that for her if she wanted. His fingers were so much longer than hers... he'd do that for her anytime she needed it. Even if she didn't want to shag. He'd make her come until she screamed.

Paige had her hips parted even further; her squirms and grinds becoming more insistent, more urgent. Jono's hand slid faster up and down his shaft. His left hand slid down from his stomach, cupping his sac, rolling the skin lightly between his fingers, putting pressure on that sensitive spot just behind. His hips bucked lightly, and finally he had to take his hand away to brace himself against the window frame. The sensations were curling deep in the base of his spine; his thighs were straining, his knees felt weak. He felt like he was going to fucking collapse, and Paige just looked so god damn sexy with that look of sheer concentration on her face and her hand down between her thighs.

Arching his hips and bending his knees slightly, he tightened his fist around his erection, changing the angle so that he could slide his fist faster up and down it's length. Paige was really grinding now; she looked so close to coming, and his own fingers were becoming slick with his fluids as his urgent, needy strokes brought him ever nearer to climax.

Suddenly, she started to tense. He could see it in her abdomen, and she was playing with her nipples again, twisting them, teasing them as she worked to bring herself off. And then, with the finality of a broken violin string, she came, her body undulating and twisting the sheets.

Jono couldn't take it anymore. Legs no longer able to support him, he turned and leaned against the wall next to the window, out of view. He pushed his tight jeans all the way down his legs, and he sunk to the floor, sitting against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him. If anyone came into the attic now, he'd be beyond busted, but he was so bloody horny. He'd just watched a long-harbored fantasy of his play out right in front of him, and he was so hard he knew he'd die if he didn't find some form of release.

Pants wrapped around his ankles because it would take to long to get them and his boots off properly, knees bent, his fingers wrapped around his erection once more, and he began pumping his fist in earnest. He pushed his t-shirt up a bit, his free hand gliding along his stomach and inner thigh as his fist slid up and down along his length. He was close now, the sensations coiling ever tighter in his stomach as his head dipped back to bump against the wall and his eyes closed. Focused on the scene that had just played out, watching it over and over in his mind, he was back to caressing his sac, no longer in fear of losing his balance.

The muscles of his arm flexed as his pace became frantic, and his brow knitted together in intense concentration as he felt his body tighten. His pale skin was flushed, and the muscles of his thighs and stomach began to clench, raising his hips from the floor, the sensations emanating from his cock beginning to overwhelm his poor lust-addled brain. Swiftly spiraling out of control, his peak hit him like a sledgehammer. Bucking his hips into his hand, he came, head tossed back and muscles trembling. He made a sound that might have been a gasp as he spasmed, body rocked with tremors as that coil of tension finally broke and he covered his still pumping hand in white, sticky fluid.

'Oh fuck...'

When Jono finally opened his eyes, he looked down at the mess he'd made of himself. Still stroking himself slowly, he reached out with a lethargic hand to grab an old dust rag, figuring that was better than walking downstairs a mess. He wiped himself off, followed by his stomach and finally his hands. Dragging his jeans up his thighs, he lifted them from the floor to yank them up his hips and then stood to fasten the fly. He cast another look out the window while buckling his belt. Paige was slipping on a fresh pair of panties. Good God. He'd just blown his load and he wanted a second go, maybe this time with a hot young blond instead of his own bony hand.

Stooping to the floor, he picked up his jacket and the rag, stuffing the latter in his pocket. He pulled the window closed softly, locking it with a click. He'd dispose of the evidence later; for now he just had to get out of here and back to his room without bumping into any of the multitude of telepaths, or worse, Logan.

Who knows; maybe this time he’d get lucky.