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The Evils of Necessity	By : Ksennin Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 13050 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Ultimate X-Men or any of the characters associated with the franchise. I make no money from publishing this.

Chapter List
- 15
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- 17
Scott laid in bed, half-awake. A world away, it was primetime in America. His TV lit up the dark room, a news program with its kaleidoscope of news tickers, graphics, split-screens. On one side, Jean Gray, the new headmistress of the Xavier Institute, was giving an interview. The other showed streaming footage of the relief efforts coordinated between the Ultimates and the X-Men. The devastation of New York was mostly contained—now they were helping with the clean-up. Their mutant gifts, their evolutionary advantages; gone to make garbagemen.
Still, he was relieved to see them. These people he had considered friends so long ago, it felt like he’d known them as a different man. They were alright. For now, at least. It was foolish for Jean to put herself out there so soon after the tragedy. The mob would be riled. They wouldn’t care whether it was one unstable individual, the Brotherhood—just that it was mutants. Jean was giving them a target. Foolish, foolish girl.
The interview droned on. Some of the X-Men had left the school—the unspoken subtext, that they had feared reprisal—the rest were getting ready for Xavier’s funeral, as soon as New York was no longer a disaster area. What really surprised Scott was how little he cared. He was concerned about the X-Men, of course, especially now, without the Professor… but Jean? He didn’t think he could care less. Where had it gone, the overwhelming need to keep her safe, to be with her, to be hers… worthy of her? Had Raven drained it out of him. Replaced it, bit by bit, kiss by kiss, fuck by fuck, with herself? No. He didn’t feel for her what he had felt for Jean.
He still remembered it, almost warningly. The sting of a hot stove, forever reminding you not to touch it. His love for Jean had burned. It’d been pure. Sweet. Light. It’d filled him.
He was full with Mystique too, but it wasn’t all love. Not that puppy dog affection, that need, he’d had with Jean. No, there was resentment, frustration, mistrust, compromise. He wondered if what Charles had put in his head—if Charles had put anything there, if Erik wasn’t lying—was some idealized thing. Maybe what he had with Raven was real love. Flawed. Tinged. Unreliable.
It made him wonder. He’d wanted to visit Xavier’s grave before. Pay his respects. Should he thank him for giving him this thing with Jean, whatever it was? Or should he hate him for cursing him to know what it was like to have something you could never keep?
A knock hit the door. Scott muted the television. “Come.”
Door opened. Head poked in. White streak through chestnut hair. Raven. Scott nodded to her in welcome. She stepped inside, glancing at the glaring TV screen, eyes narrowing at the sight of the caption. Jean Grey. “Is that your old girlfriend? She’s pretty.”
“Yes. Yes, she was.”
Rogue stared. Scott had showered before bed—his hair was still wet. He laid atop the covers of the bed with the terrycloth towel still wrapped around his waist. It was all that covered his tanned, well-muscled body. She could see scars that she didn’t remember him having. She wondered if they were new or if she just hadn’t noticed them before.
Scott shifted, sitting up. His towel unsnapped from its binding, exposing a region of his hip and groin. Rogue saw where his pelvic bone dipped toward his groin.
“Can I help you with something?” Scott asked impatiently.
Rogue remembered, and tightly clutched the papers in her hand before holding them up. “Raven finished your documentation.” Before she could think better of it, she walked it over to him, setting the papers down on the bed. This close, she could see the bulge of his cock under the towel. It was large, but flaccid. She felt disappointed at the lack of response.
Scott uncrossed his arms to shift through the papers. “Mr. and Mrs. William Dickson Boyce. Founder of the Boy Scouts of America. Cute.” He tucked his arms back together, relaxing against the headboard. Rogue stared at the muscular arms—not enough to cover the thick growth of dark hair over his chest. She seated herself on the bed, feet pulled up, torso still aloft.
“Raven didn’t think you would sleep.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. She thought I should tell you a bedtime story.”
Scott was far better at reacting to these kinds of things when he had ruby-quartz to cover the look in his eyes. “And you’re going with her not being sarcastic there?”
Rogue stretched out, laying her head on his damp chest. Looking down, she could see a ways under his towel, some of the crisply curling hairs of his groin. Scott almost pulled away, but relaxed when he felt her porcelain skin strike against his with no sparks.
“How is this—“
“A micro-magnetic field,” Rogue explained. “Bioelectric shield surrounding my body. If you really focus, you can feel the tingle of the electricity. It’s just a few molecules apart, but I can—I can touch you.”
“Magneto,” Scott realized.
“Hush. Let me tell my story. Once upon a time, there was a handsome prince. He was the son of a wise old king, and everyone looked forward to the day when he would take the crown, to continue the happy kingdom’s peace and prosperity.”
Scott put his hand on Rogue’s shoulder, bare between her shirt and her gloves. It was amazing. No matter how hard he pressed, nothing of his would go into her ravenous body. He felt a flicker of static, like the buzz of electricity from a high-voltage wire. That was all. “If the king was so great, why was everyone looking forward to the son taking the crown? Wouldn’t they be the same either way?”
“It’s a fairy tale, Scott, go with it.” She kissed his chest. Her lips crackled. “Unfortunately, a wicked witch, despising the good kingdom and the happiness of the people, kidnapped the handsome prince and took him to her castle, where she enchanted him to fall into a deep slumber.”
“Hate it when that happens.”
“Shush,” Rogue insisted emphatically. “Many years passed and the good kingdom fell into disarray. The crops wilted, the summer grew short, and the winter grew long. Though all the king’s men searched and searched, none could find the handsome prince. Until finally, one day, a beautiful knight set out on a quest for him, vowing not to return until she had found the prince.”
“A female knight?” Scott asked.
“Oh, the witch and the magic sleeping is okay, but girls can’t be knights?”
“Just didn’t know we were doing a politically correct thing.”
“Can you prove right now there were never any female knights? No? Then shut up. God, you’re cute, but at what price?”
“You say things like that, then you tell me you and Raven aren’t related…”
“The female knight,” Rogue interjected, quite loud, “rode for many days, searching tirelessly for the slightest trace of a clue, going where no man would dare to tread. Until finally, she found a castle deep within the darkest woods. She scaled its great walls, fought her way through the many enemies that sought to slay her—“
“Of course they’re trying to slay her, she’s invading their castle for no reason.”
“The prince is there, you know.”
“How does she know that?”
“Women’s intuition.”
“Oh, please.”
“After she had killed all the enemies—absolutely all the enemies—she searched the castle, evading its many traps and mazes, until finally, in the highest room of the highest tower, she found the sleeping prince. She tried to wake him, but the enchantment was too strong. She knew she’d have to be creative.”
Here, Rogue carefully pulled away the remainder of the cloth covering Scott’s groin. She was quite gratified to find that her continued presence had had an effect. A very noticeable effect.
“You know,” Scott said, “the prince really hasn’t consented to this. Your knight’s kinda a rapist.”
“Too bad for him,” Rogue shot back, and kissed him hard, letting her lips play lovingly over his. “Good story, huh?”
“Yeah, but you forgot one bit.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Scott dragged her atop himself. “The ride back.”
Rogue tugged at her gloves. “Was it a fast ride?”
“Yes. Very, very fast.”
He ripped at the yellow-green bodystocking she wore as a last line of defense against her powers. It tore reluctantly, but quickly once he put his muscles into it, ripping almost the whole thing away in one go. Now there was nothing left but her cropped brown jacket, tattered shreds of yellow and green, and a pair of army boots. He cupped her naked ass, wondering for a moment how many men had wished to be able to do what he was doing as he squeezed it roughly, then he pulled her to his quiveringly erect cock. Rogue’s eyes bulged at the feel of his hardness against her snatch, his hands on her ass.
“This what they call a happy ending?” she asked sassily. Her body stingingly excited, Rogue lowered herself until she felt him press into her entrance. She wasn’t Mystique. She’d only done this once before, and her memories were hazy. She acted on instinct more than thought, wiggling her hips until he was inside her, in her burning place, and it felt so good that she kept going down until he was enveloped in her cunt. Scott encouraged her, his hands coming up under her jacket to cup her breasts. She loved the feel of his callused hands on her swollen, sensitive flesh.
“Ride that cock,” he told her, the commanding tone coming easily to him—Rogue’s eager submissiveness practically begging for it. “Ride it until you get my cum.”
Obedient to a fault, she bounced up and down enthusiastically, impatiently on his cock. The feeling filled her mind, exorcising memories of her doubles being so similarly filled. She wasn’t sure if what she was feeling was real or remembrance, but for the first time, she didn’t care. Rogue only needed to know that her juices were boiling in her cunt, right alongside his cock.
“That’s it, that’s it,” she chanted as each bounce layered a new flush of heat atop her body. She could feel the singing expansion of his cockhead inside her body. He was on the cusp, right beside her. “Oh, gawd—my cunt is just made for your cock!”
His hands slid off her breasts, leading to a groan of dismay, but then they were holding her face, fingers cunningly kneading her brow, and she felt a sudden sense of peace through all his pleasure. He forced her to look into his eyes. His perfect brown eyes. “Come,” he told her, and she simply had to follow orders. She let her body go and it orbited hotly around the male presence deep inside her. For a moment, her pleasure was blindingly, overwhelmingly real. Not a memory. Hers alone.
Then it was all Scott’s. He’d been tied up in knots, stiff, blocked up, suffused with an unclear ache. Stress and guilt and lack of sleep. Now it all fell away. He thrilled to a sudden height, felt pure delight wash out his body. He went taut, a good stretch, every muscle snapping to limberness, every bone clicking into place, as an orgasm pulled him tight at his belly, his thighs, his asshole and groin. Paralyzed, with a wounded grunt, he poured himself up into Rogue. Dizzy with spinning, exalting pleasure. Spurting in limitless, ever-lasting shots that poured straight out from every congestion and knot in his agonized body, each more delicious than the last. The relief he felt afterward was almost better than his climax.
“Oh yes, oh yeah!” Rogue moaned into his cupped hands. “Oh-oh-oh—!” He got his hand over her mouth before she screamed louder than she had ever screamed before, a blisteringly hot exhalation into his strong fingers. Then he took his palm away and her old moan continued, almost uninterrupted. “Gawd—I love your hot cum inside. I came too! I came, just like you said!”
She fell into him as he rutted into her one last time, the last of his jism draining into her.
“Thank fuck,” she whimpered, “I needed that.”
“Same here,” he whispered back, pulling her up beside him so her lips were level with his. They met quickly and lengthily. Then she curled into him like the afterglow was a physical thing, spreading between them like body heat. She felt so elaborately satisfied that she didn’t know what to credit it too, besides his presence. It never felt this good by herself.
She heard him open up the nightstand, rustle around, then felt him bring something to his face. A rush of gas told her it was Banshee. So did the feel of his cock rising against her buttocks. He pulled her close. She felt her serene afterglow torn apart, replaced with urgent, heated need.
“I forgot to mention,” he said. “It was a long ride, too. A long, hard ride.”
- 15
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- 17
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The Evils of Necessity