Parting Gift

BY : DrunkenScotsman
Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Het - Male/Female
Dragon prints: 372
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men characters in this story; Marvel does. I make no money from the writing of this piece.

Chapter 1: Giving and Receiving

-Angst, Oral

 

Stop me if you’ve heard this story before.

Boy meets girl. Boy and girl are on opposite sides of a feud. Boy and girl become friends. Girl switches sides.

Girl can’t touch anyone because of her mutant powers. Boy has to wear special glasses because of his. Boy and girl are both orphans. Boy and girl bond over all of this.

Boy and girl develop feelings for each other. Boy and girl are alone for the holidays and go on a date.

Boy and girl get creative. Boy and girl fool around. Boy and girl have sex.

Sex is hollow and unsatisfying. Boy and girl drift apart.

Star-crossed lovers. It was always Shakespeare for me and Rogue.

Two and a half years have passed since that wonderful, disastrous Christmas break. By the next one, I was dating Jean, so I spent the holidays with her family. The following year, too.

Rogue had to stay at the Mansion alone, much as I had when I was younger. I was so focused on my girlfriend, though, that I didn’t really spare Rogue a moment’s thought.

I’m a bad friend like that sometimes.

During those years, a lot changed. Magneto revealed mutants’ existence to the world. The Mansion exploded. We defeated an ancient mutant named Apocalypse who wanted to set the world ablaze and see who would prove strong enough to survive. The Prof turned the big Five-Oh.

I… I lost Jean. Forever.

During our Apocalyptic battle, Jean apparently tapped into something called the Phoenix Force. The way the Professor explained it to us, hand in hand in his office, the Phoenix Force is a primal form of energy, the one responsible for spontaneous combustion and other weird psychic phenomena. According to him, most psychics can feel its existence, but only the most powerful psychics can tap into it. As powerful as he is, even he can’t.

His explanation, and warning, are etched into my memory with laser precision: “It’s an engine of creation, and of destruction. Life and death and what lies between. If you aren’t’ careful, Jean, it can and will consume you.”

Maybe Jean wasn’t careful enough. Or maybe no mere mortal can hope to control something so…

… ineffable.

It’s been six months since my love imploded. I can still see it in my mind’s eye, as clear as crystal. For some reason, it’s even in color, so I don’t miss a single detail.

First, Jean’s already-red hair transmutes into living flame. Her eyes become as bright as twin suns, like the beloved in a Renaissance poem. The air around her whips and crackles like an inferno, scalding any who come too close. Flames seem to erupt from small fissures in her skin.

She stares at me for a long moment before murmuring in a voice felt in the mind more than heard with the ear: Goodbye, Scott. I wish we’d savored the time we had more. I’m sorry it turned out like this, my love.

I can’t stop her. None of us can.

She soars far into the night sky above the Mansion, like a comet, but in reverse. Just high enough that we can still see her form, she hovers for a long moment, the flames pouring forth into the shape of a giant fiery raptor – from Latin rapere, “to snatch (away).”

With a flash so bright that night momentarily became day, the Phoenix Force snatches away the woman I love. Her final, agonized shriek echoes in everyone’s minds. The blinding glow fades, and she’s… gone.

Every few nights, I wake up, screaming and covered in a cold sweat, from the memory. I know it’s a memory, not a dream, because it’s too crystal clear. HD 1080p has nothing on this.

Tonight is one of those nights. I turn to look, hoping against hope that this time, this time, she’ll be there. The empty space on the other half of the bed we shared mirrors the empty space in my heart.

Funny, it doesn’t hurt quite as much as usual. Does that mean I’m starting to move on, or that I’ve gone numb from depression? I can’t even tell.

I toss and turn for a bit, trying desperately to get back to sleep. Unsuccessful in that, I head downstairs, softly as I can since it’s the wee hours of the morning. Maybe a glass of cold water will help me get back to sleep.

Moonlight illuminates the kitchen faintly, just enough for me to fill a water glass. In the darkness, I can just make out a silhouette seated at the dining room table, a small glass in front of them, along with a squat bottle. “Who’s there?” I call, my hand moving to the ruby-quartz visor I wear while sleeping.

“Scott? Whah the hell are you up at this hour?” came the reply, in a husky feminine twang I’d recognize anywhere.

“I could ask you the same thing, Rogue,” I reply as I sit down. I choose a seat at the head of the table, cattycorner to her – close, but not quite as romantic as sitting across from her or intimate as sitting beside her. I sip my water.

“Ah asked first, sugah,” she counters in a playful tone.

I catch the faint, unmistakable scent of what she’s drinking. “Is that Logan’s whiskey?”

“Ah asked first,” she repeats, more testily this time at the deflection.

I sigh. I’m not sure at first if I want to talk about it. But then I remember: This is Rogue. She’s always been a good friend, to say nothing of the intimacy we shared during that short-lived Christmas romance. We haven’t been that close since then, though.

Isn’t that understandable, though, after the way things ended between us?

I sigh again. “I’ve been having nightmares, of sorts,” I explain, “of the night Jean…” I can’t even say it around the lump in my throat. “Of that night.”

Rogue hummed in response. “Ah still can’t believe she’s gone,” she agrees before taking a sip of her drink. “Do you have nahts lahk this often?”

I drink some water to buy time for my answer. I feel like I owe her the truth, so I croak out a hoarse “Yeah. Every few nights.”

Now that my vision has adjusted better to the darkness, I can see the details of Rogue’s face more clearly. She’s regarding me with a sad, sympathetic expression. “You… you really loved her, huh?”

I stare at the whiskey bottle for a long moment, pondering whether I should get a glass of that instead. I don’t. Yet. “We’d started looking at rings,” I finally answer.

“Oh mah Gawd,” Rogue gasps, her accent thickening slightly. “Ah’m so sorry, Scott.”

“I feel like I can’t even mourn her properly,” I add, surprising myself at the admission. I haven’t really been able to talk about this with anyone else, but I guess I still feel this connection between me and Rogue, one where I feel like I can talk to her about anything. “Did you know that, with my powers always on, I can’t cry?”

Rogue’s brow furrows for a moment, but understanding soon dawns. “The beams destroy your tears,” she surmises. “Ah didn’t know that, no. Ah can’t imagine how frustrating that is.”

I snort. “You could absorb me and find out.” Morbid humor isn’t something often deploy, but I do have it in my repertoire.

“Ah’ll pass, thanks.” She takes a long drink. “Can Ah ask you something… real personal?”

I shrug. “Go ahead.”

“You and Jean…” She fidgets. “Were y’all… intimate?”

I drink some more water to try to erode the lump in my throat. “Once,” I finally reply, “just before that whole Phoenix business started.”

Unbidden, the memories and emotions surge forth from where I’d buried them, precious and beautiful and stained now with grief…

I’d taken Jean out for sushi for her twentieth birthday. She’d worn the sexiest little black dress that night, strapless and daringly short, with a string of pearls gracing her neck while dangling low enough to draw the eye towards her ample bust. A pair of crimson heels completed the breathtaking ensemble.

Jean had been making eyes at me all night, but I still expected the night to end the way our dates typically did, with a goodnight kiss at her door. At most, a particularly passionate one, after the way she’d been looking at me.

Imagine my surprise, then, when she tugged me into her room by my tie. We’d explored each other a little on previous occasions – above the waist and everything over the clothes. Jean’s needy kisses that night suggested she wouldn’t be satisfied with just that.

Once naked, Jen had presented an incredible, enticing sight: long, lean legs; toned abs and rear from her various athletic pursuits; large breasts with small, almost dainty nipples; smooth, unblemished skin all over; and a patch of well-maintained curls right above her pussy, the lips of which formed a rather interesting-looking pout. She had displayed herself with utmost confidence. I couldn’t look away until she kissed me and started to undress me as well.

As amazing as she’d looked, she’d felt even better, even through the condom she’d insisted on using. We fell into a rhythm together almost by instinct, like the ebb and flow of the tides. I’ll never forget the way Jean gasped my name as she peaked, or her soft, satisfied sigh in the afterglow.

Less than a month later, she was gone forever.

Back in the present, I sigh for what feels like the hundredth time. My head falls into my hands. This emptiness I feel inside seems like it’ll never end, a bottomless chasm threatening to swallow me whole; but in a way, that bears a certain allure, of comforting numbness if I choose to simply let go…

Rogue’s voice, like a life preserver thrown to a drowning man, pulls me from the brink of the abyss. “Scott, Ah know you well enough to guess what you’re thinking,” she begins, slowly, as if choosing her words carefully. “It ain’t your fault, sugah.”

A surprisingly bitter snort escapes me. “How do you know that?”

“First of all, it’s pretty arrogant to think you’re so good in bed, you literally drove a gal crazy.”

She makes such an outrageous statement, in such a deadpan way, that I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. Rogue’s eyes glitter with mischief. “Jean seemed satisfied,” I defend myself, more out of a need to salve my wounded pride than anything else.

Rogue hums in a tone that suggests skepticism on her part. “More importantly, if it had been your fault, Ah don’t think she’d have said what she said at the end,” she adds more seriously.

“Makes sense,” I reply before finishing my glass. “You don’t apologize to the person at fault.”

Rogue’s brow furrows, and she looks at me as if I’d developed “multiple heads” as a secondary mutation. “Ah… don’t follow.”

“You don’t remember? Or maybe she only told me…” I sigh once again, fighting the surge of unpleasant emotions at the memory. “Jean told me, telepathically, ‘Goodbye, Scott. I wish we’d savored the time we had more. I’m sorry it turned out this way, my love.’”

I can barely get the words out, but now they’re out. I’ve never spoken of what Jean said until now. Not to Kurt, my best friend. Not to the Professor, my father figure.

I wonder why I’m telling Rogue.

“Ah heard something completely different,” Rogue replies, her eyes seemingly focused on nothing in particular. “‘Marie, please look after Scott for me.’”

I can’t formulate a response to that. In fact, it barely registers. Jean asked Rogue to “look after” me? I didn’t think they were that close…

Another thought crashes into my head with the force of the Juggernaut: If she’s also up right now, and she got such a telepathic message, does that mean she’s also having nightmares?

When I can find my voice, I wonder aloud, “If we heard different farewells, did everyone else too?”

Rogue shifts in her seat. “Ah wonder if everyone else’s havin’ nahtmares too.”

“Not that I’ve heard,” I reassure her. “So far, you’re the only other one.”

“Lucky me.” Rogue downs what’s left of her whiskey, but she doesn’t pour herself more, for which I’m thankful. She fixes me with an earnest, desperate expression, and my heart breaks a little to see her so forlorn. “Did she know about… about us?”

I should’ve expected this to come up. With some reluctance, I nod. “I told her about it shortly after we started dating. Better to tell the truth sooner, than have it come out later, right?”

“Can’t hahd much from telepaths, either, once they’re of a notion to fahnd somethin’ out,” agrees Rogue.

I nod again. “Jean sulked about it for a few weeks, but she made her peace with it. She said that, at that time, I was free to see whoever I wanted, since she was dating, and I quote, ‘that Duncan Matthews prick.’”

We both chuckle at that, because of its truth and because of Jean’s unusual bluntness on the matter alike. A revelation occurs to me about why Rogue might’ve asked about this. “You don’t think it’s your fault, do you?” I inquire, watching her reaction carefully.

The way she bites her lip and stares down at her glass answers the question for me.

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. We’re content to sit in silence, in darkness except for the moonlight, together, almost like old times. The silvery light – at least, from what I remember of the light on nights like this, before my vision became permanently swathed in shades of red – cascades over Rogue’s features, highlighting her cheekbones and jawline.

I’d forgotten just how beautiful she is.

Rogue runs a fingertip around the rim of her glass. With a sigh of her own, she breaks the silence. “Ah reckon Ah wondered if Jean won’t punishing us for what happened.”

My brow furrows. “Punishing us? What do you mean?”

Rogue purses her lips, still not looking up. “Ah’ve been having the same nahtmares,” she whispers.

I don’t know how to respond to that, but at least I have confirmation of my earlier question. “I’m sorry” sounds so lame when I manage to say it. “Like I said, Jean got over any jealousy a long time ago.”

Chewing her lip, Rogue looks up at me with a somewhat guilty expression. “It’s whah Ah kept mah distance this whole tahm,” she explains. “Ah’m sorry for that.”

I don’t know how to respond to that, either. “It’s okay” sounds so lame when I manage to say it, especially when I’m just as much at fault.

Before I can devise anything more eloquent, Rogue scratches the backs of her forearms. “Mah skin’s felt tingly when Ah first wake up, lahk a whole mess of ants crawlin’ all over me,” she grumbles.

“Do you need to go to the infirmary?”

Rogue shakes her head. “Ah already went. Dr. McCoy can’t fahnd nothin’ wrong.”

“Weird.” I gingerly place my arm on her shoulder, momentarily appreciating the soft fabric of her nightshirt. Old memories and half-forgotten feelings bubble up from the depths of my consciousness, of bare pale skin and stolen caresses and mewls of pleasure.

Rogue inhales sharply. I pull my hand away. “Uh, sorry.”

Rogue doesn’t answer for a long moment. I’m afraid I’ve upset her, with the way she immediately looked down at the table when I touched her. “You’re doing it again,” she finally whispers.

“Giving you hope?” I recall, from the haze of memory. “I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Ah’ve been a terrible friend,” she murmurs, her voice shaking. “Ah shouldn’t have shut you out back then. Ah’ve regretted it every day since then, especially after you… moved on.” She blinks hard, and I can see the unshed tears in her eyes gleaming in the moonlight. “Even here lately, Ah haven’t been there for you.”

“We’re all grieving right now,” I offer diplomatically. It also happens to be true.

“Still. Ah’m screwin’ up Jean’s last request of me.”

I scratch the back of my head. “Maybe up to this point, sure. You can’t go back and fix the past,” I muse. A moment later, what I said sinks in, with no small amount of irony as I try to apply my own advice to myself. I start to feel a little better.

Maybe it’s true that sometimes, all it takes to help yourself is to focus on someone else.

“Ah’ll trah to be a better friend movin’ forward,” Rogue promises. With a rueful sigh, she adds, “You’re too sweet, sugah. That’s whah Ah fell for you in the first place.”

I’m almost certain the red of my face just now matches the intensity of my optic blast.

Rogue turns to face me, looking nervous. “Ah reckon Ah should get back to bed. Would you, um, walk me back to mah room?”

I smile, stand, and gallantly offer my arm. “Why, miss, I would be simply delighted.”

Rogue laughs at my absurd, terrible attempt at an antebellum Southern gentleman, but she slips her arm through mine all the same. I try not to think too much about the soft flesh of her breast, braless beneath her pajama top, brushing my arm with every step. Our trip upstairs is otherwise amiably quiet.

Walking arm-in-arm with Rogue feels… soothing. Comfortable. Familiar, like we’re picking up right where we left off. Like that strange, magical Christmas break never ended.

I realize now that my feelings for her never went away, just onto the back burner after our disastrous attempt at sex. I can’t help but wonder if it’s the same for her.

I find myself hoping that’s the case.

All too soon, we arrive at the door to Rogue’s room, cloaked in such darkness that neither of us can really see the other. She pulls away from me, but with such agonizing reticence that I’m sure she enjoyed our little stroll as much as I did. With a small smile, she bids me goodnight and opens her door.

She pauses in her doorway, fidgeting. “Ah’d lahk to kiss your cheek, if that’s okay.”

My thoughts flicker back to that brief kiss on the lips she gave me at midnight that New Year’s Eve. I couldn’t stop the grin from spreading across my face if I tried, but I don’t particularly want to try just now. “Go right ahead, Rogue. I trust you,” I reassure her.

Rogue rises onto her tiptoes, since I’m a head taller than her, and rests her hands on my shoulders for guidance. I brace myself and try unsuccessfully to ignore the softness of her breasts against my chest as she closes range. She darts in for her kiss, the briefest contact of her lips against my cheek. It’s not what I’d like, but it’ll have to suffice for now.

Wait… I don’t feel even a little lightheaded.

“What in tarnation?” Rogue murmurs, sounding as confused as I feel. “Ah didn’t drain you.”

She kisses my cheek again, lingering a tad longer this time. Nothing.

“Do you think… that’s why your skin’s been tingling?” I wonder aloud.

Rogue bites her lip and tugs off her gloves. A moment later, I feel the gentlest brush of her fingertips against my hands. Still nothing.

“Oh mah Gawd,” she breathes. “Mah powers… Ah can still feel they’re there, but…” She sniffles, and I imagine unheralded tears running down her cheeks. “Jean must’ve… before she…”

I swallow a lump in my throat. “She always thought of you as a good friend,” I remind her as I wipe the tears from her cheeks, savoring just this little bit of contact and all the intimacy it implies to wipe Rogue’s tears. “Giving you control over your powers seems like just the kind of parting gift Jean would give you.”

Rogue looks up at me, and I wish I could see the expression in her eyes. “Would give us,” she declares, as if she’s realized some profound truth.

Before I can inquire further, she pulls me in close by the pajama shirt and kisses me, hard. Her lips crashing against mine feel warm and deliciously soft. At first, she’s so passionately desperate, I can’t hope to keep up. As she calms down a bit, though, I find myself kissing her back, savoring her unique flavor along with the leftover smoky notes of Logan’s whiskey.

Kissing Rogue – finally, after all this time and all the heartache we’ve both endured, individually and as a couple – feels utterly, gloriously right.

Did I just refer to us as “a couple”?

I can’t say I hate the idea, but…

My ruminations are interrupted by the sound of a door shutting behind me. Rogue’s lips and tongue still wrestle with mine, but now we’re inside her room. Moonlight streaming through the windows again provides the only illumination.

Part of me wonders where this is going.

A different part of me knows where this is going, and can hardly wait.

Rogue has typically been the bolder of us two, readier to push the envelope of our relationship, particularly the physical aspects. Tonight proves no different, as she’s the first to let her hands wander. I start a bit when I feel them dip beneath my shirt to caress my abs, not least because they’re much warmer than I expected. I respond in kind, savoring the softness of her skin and the taut muscle underneath.

The moan into my mouth she rewards me with sends shivers of excitement all through me. I finish stiffening in time for Rogue to grind her hips against me, eliciting another moan, one that compels her to break the kiss. We’ve barely touched each other, and I can already feel her trembling with desire.

I’m pretty sure she wants more than just some passionate kissing. I know I do.

Grinning, Rogue removes her hands from me. Before I can ask, she whips her pajama top upward over her head, exposing her breathtaking breasts, which bounce enticingly from the motion. I’d somehow forgotten just how magnificent they are: large, teardrop-shaped, and almost impossibly pale, with large, expressive nipples. They almost seem to stare back at me as I remove my own shirt, much more cautiously because of the visor I sleep in. Nothing would kill the mood faster than accidentally blowing a hole in the side of the Mansion.

Rogue takes my hands and peppers them with small kisses. Flashing me a sultry look, she even slips my index finger between her plush lips, giving it some suggestive suckling and teasing tongue action. I can’t stop the groan from escaping me as my mind swirls with the implications.

My free hand cups one of Rogue’s impressive breasts, eliciting a moan, one that’d be louder if not muffled by my finger in her mouth. I toy with the nipple, exploring its pebbly texture, and watch Rogue’s eyes roll back with pleasure. I can feel the edge of her bed against the backs of my legs, but I manage to keep my balance for the moment.

Rogue slips my finger from her mouth with a wet pop and maneuvers my hands to my sides, near the waistband of my pajama pants. Biting her lip, she presses flush against me, letting out a sharp gasp when her breasts make contact with my chest. They feel pillowy-soft and surprisingly warm.

I can’t suppress the groan, but I throttle it so it won’t be heard down the corridors.

I hope.

I’m so distracted by the sensation of Rogue’s bare body against mine that I don’t notice what her hands are doing until she tugs my pants down. Her warm hands wrap around my shaft and stroke slowly, while she plants kisses all over my chest. As her lips trail downward, she slips my pants to my ankles. Overwhelmed with anticipation, I lower myself to sit on Rogue’s bed.

Rogue slides her pajama bottoms and panties down next and kicks them aside. Mere inches from my face, her bush looks thicker and more unkempt than I remembered from that night in my room, or the night we first had sex in here. It occurs to me she must’ve kept the area trimmed during that time because she knew or suspected I’d see; whereas tonight’s visit’s much more spontaneous.

Just as I start to look up, expecting my partner to straddle me, I’m instead treated to one of the most erotic sights I’ve ever seen: Rogue, naked as the day she was born, dropping to her knees in front of me. Free of any restraining clothing, her breasts jiggle on impact and sway mesmerizingly as she leans down…

Her hand wraps around my dick once more, and I hear her take a steadying breath. I feel how warm her breath is when she exhales. My dick twitches excitedly in her grasp.

“Are you sure about this?” I ask, hoping my voice doesn’t shatter the spell of the silence we’ve shared for some time now.

Rogue doesn’t answer with words, but she uses her lips and tongue nonetheless.

At first, I feel the rough, wet warmth of her tongue to circle lazily around the sensitive tip of my dick. Just as I’m getting used to that sensation, Rogue’s head dips a little lower, wrapping her plush lips around the circumference, enveloping the head completely. When she starts bobbing her head slowly, her lips glide up and down my shaft, a little farther with each cycle, thanks to her saliva starting to coat me.

My head lolls back at the overwhelming rush of novel sensations. Rogue’s movements are exploratory yet enthusiastic, arrhythmic but nevertheless enjoyable. Whatever her tongue is doing feels incredible. Dimly I wonder if she’s a natural, or if she studied up on blowjobs, or if she’s drawing on something she absorbed from someone.

A muffled moan from my partner keeps my mind from wandering too far down that track. I risk looking down at her.

Her right hand holds me steady around the base while her head bobs. I can’t see where her left hand is, but the rhythmic contractions of her forearm muscles and a soft, repetitive squishing noise I just now notice give me enough clues. The thought of Rogue masturbating while doing this makes me twitch in her mouth.

I reach down to scoop her hair out of her face. She looks up at me, and the eye contact is electric, tightening everything in my groin. She waggles her eyebrows and moans again. I can see her full lips wrapped around me so intimately, and they feel orders of magnitude better than I’d ever imagined. The only thing that could make this tableau sexier would be if she were wearing her trademark dark lipstick.

Maybe next time.

That’s my last thought before I fall over the edge.

When my consciousness finally returns, I find myself on my back, staring up at Rogue. We’re both still naked, and she’s cradling my head in her lap. Any worries I might have about her worrying she drained me melt away when I see her beaming ear to ear.

I feel light as a feather on seeing Rogue smile like that. “Hi,” is all I can think to say. Lame, I know.

“Hey, sugah,” she purrs in return. “Ah been wantin’ to do that to ya for ages now,” she admits in a sheepish tone. Her fingers ruffle through my hair. “Ah reckon Ah did okay?”

“Okay?” I echo incredulously, still catching my breath a bit. “That was amazing!”

“Dick-suckin’ lips?” she asks in a wry tone.

I laugh at the old joke. “Something like that.” I keep grinning as an idea occurs. “Want me to, y’know, return the favor?” I offer.

I feel the shiver of excitement that convulses my companion at the suggestion. She shifts under my head, so I sit up fully.  Even through the crimson lens of my visor, Rogue looks stunningly sexy.

“Dang, you’re serious,” she breathes, sounding like she thought, or hoped, I was joking. “Ah would love to have you eat me out, Scott, but…” She fidgets and covers her groin with her hands. “Another tahm, once Ah’ve had a chance to ‘tahdy up for company’ down there. Raht now, you’ll damn near need a machete.”

I can’t help but laugh at the mental image of putting on a safari hat and hacking my way through her underbrush, searching for her hidden entrance. “You know,” I suggest as an idea occurs, “if I set my visor to narrow-beam and minimum intensity, I think I can manage to clear a path.”

Rogue stares at me for a long moment, probably trying to figure out if I’ve gone insane. “Scott Summers, Ah am not about to let you shoot optic beams at mah pussy,” she states flatly, though her voice carries an audible edge.

I shrug. I was mostly joking, trying to be a little more spontaneous. “You handled me just fine,” I argue, dropping the subject. “I… want to try.”

“Ah didn’t ‘handle you just fahn,’” Rogue protests, though she also lies back, as if her desire has overruled her objections. “If Ah hadn’t had… someone’s… technique rattlin’ around in mah head, Ah’d probably still be gaggin’ and sputterin’.”

“You handled it, though,” I remind her. “I can handle this.” I stroke Rogue’s firm calves and thighs, coaxing them apart. “It’s my job as leader to ensure all my team members are well taken care of, and I can’t expect them to do anything I won’t do myself,” I quip as I kiss her fair skin right above each knee. “So… let… me… do… my… job.” I punctuate each word with another kiss, climbing her legs and alternating between them.

“Fahn… Shut up and eat me out,” pleads Rogue. She’s already panting, practically beside herself, and I haven’t even touched her pussy.

Delightful.

I spread Rogue open with my fingers – and the mewl she makes when I touch her most sacred area for the first time is simply divine – gathering as much of her hair out of the way as possible. Even in the dim light, her labia glisten with arousal. Suddenly, all the descriptions of “weeping petals” and “dripping flowers” from the couple of romance novels I’ve read make much more sense, since the whole area does resemble a flower of some sort.

“Please, Scott. Don’t keep a lady waitin’,” Rogue begs, and I decide I’ve had enough botany for now.

A musky scent hits my nose moments before my tongue makes contact, sampling the substance that created it. I’m not sure what I’d expected, but this wasn’t it. The taste is denser than sweat, less acrid and more… savory, in a way. I trail my tongue along the delicate inner folds, just grazing them, avoiding the poles of her clit and her opening.

I’d expected her to make more noise, but instead she’s silent. I glance up to see Rogue’s mouth hanging open soundlessly, her head lolled to one side, eyes squeezed shut, hands gripping the sheets. Her breath comes in irregular, ragged gasps. I get my first moan when my tongue encounters her clit, a stiffened nub looking for all the world like a pencil eraser.

Eager to hear more such noises, I flick the bud up and down. Rogue emits a strangled cry, and her legs bend at the knee.

Next, I orbit the stiffened bud with the tip of the tongue, clockwise. Rogue clenches her teeth, yielding a strained keening sound. I like that one.

Now, the other direction. My name erupts from her lips as if unbidden. She grips the back of my head, her fingers tangling in my hair. I can feel her quivering, like a bowstring at full draw.

When I dip my tongue downward near her opening, then return up in a long, languid lick, Rogue cries my name again as all her tension releases. Knowing I made her feel this good would have had me achingly hard, if I hadn’t recently received similar treatment. Instead, I keep licking, haphazardly but enthusiastically, trying to count my partner’s orgasms.

Unfortunately, I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins, but it’s fun to have such a beautiful woman writhing and moaning my name all the same.

Once my mouth gets tired, I sit up, proud of the pleasure I’d given Rogue, and just as proud I hadn’t gotten any hair in my mouth. A sheen of sweat covers her pale skin and gleams in the moonlight. Panting in post-orgasmic euphoria, ample breasts heaving with every breath, she looks nothing short of angelic.

Rogue cracks an eyelid, and a bashful smile spreads across her lips. “Did Ah taste okay?”

I smile back and lick the last of her essence from my lips. “Delicious,” I reply in a husky voice. “I can’t wait to do that again.”

A shy giggle is Rogue’s only response at first. Her eyelids start to droop, and I feel exhaustion creeping up on me as well. Her hand finds mine as she rolls onto one side. “Please, Scott… stay?”

I scoot into place behind her as the “big spoon.” Her request wasn’t “stay for tonight”; nor was it “stay forever,” which I doubt, after what happened with Jean, either of us would feel comfortable promising. Just “stay,” an open-ended request.

As sleep, claims me, I can’t help but think that tonight was a good night. A strange one, to be sure, but a good one.

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A/N: I've been kicking around the idea of writing a sequel to "Season of Giving" for some time, but could never quite figure out just how Rogue would be able to have control over her powers. I came up with what I thought was a unique and clever idea - that, empowered by the Phoenix but on the verge of dying, Jean grants Rogue that last boon - only to discover that Wyzeguy's "Christmas Gift" already used that approach. That story was an inspiration for "Season of Giving," but it wasn't until I reread "Christmas Gift" after finishing this that I realized what happened. Ah well - there's nothing new under the sun.

Please leave a review to let me know what you think of this piece, both in and of itself and as a sequel to my earlier work.



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