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Banishing Shadows	By : Jenskott Category: X-men Comics > Het - Male/Female > Scott/Jean Views: 3701 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men comics, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Banishing Shadows
- 2-Part Two. After Apocalypse
- 1
- 2
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Banishing Shadows

Author: Jenskott
Summary: When your soul is sunken in shadows... Who can haul it out?
Notes: This chapter happens roughly twelve years after the first part. Since
Jean didn't pass away, the X-Men's history has changed significately. Based on
New X-Men 115.
Thanks Lil Jean, Alrischa, Wen1, Slickboy and CykePhoenixSummers for
reviewing the first chapter. You rock!
If someone wants reading more of my stories can consult my profile in
FF.Net. And if he or she loves Scott and Jean, can log in Jott forum
(http://jott.1.forumer.com)
Disclaimer: Stan Lee and Jack Kirby created these characters. Marvel
sadly owns them.
Rating: NC-17 for mutually consensual sex between two persons in love.
Feedback: To jorgisimox@hotmail.com. Please, I need reviews! English
isn't my primary language, so I need much advice.

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Part Two. After Apocalypse-

Darkness.

A blanket of darkness enveloped him. Black and icy to suit his blackened
and chilled soul. It smothered him. Invaded him. With a sense of violation. A
taint of evil he couldn't wash off.

He could feel the fetid miasma crawling over his skin and dripping in
him like putrid scum. It corroded his soul. Haunted his sleep. Plagued theirs
dreams with remembrances weren't quite his; maddening images and fake memories
emerged out of the morass of silt and slime mudding his mind for torturing him.

Glowing sun. Burning dunes of saffron sand. Stretching endlessly
everywhere.

Blood drenched the soil. Corpses littered it. Dozens of them.

A battle raging. Soldiers fighting everywhere. The air burning with
blood and chaos.

He standing amidst the mayhem, fighting with exhilaration fueled by the
savage carnage. His meaty fists snapped necks, crushed skulls, ripped limbs and
splint bones. His thick lips curled up with disgust when he read fright on his
victims' eyes and twisted in a parody of smile when he slew them.

He felt so joyous, so alive spreading Death.

A soldier pounced on him of sudden, his hand brandishing a long, pointed
javelin. With blinding speed he grasped his wrists and hoisted him up. His
hands squeezed the joints with rock-crushing strength, crunching the fragile
bones. Still the soldier didn't scream or plead; he just gnawed his lower lip
and glared fiercely.

He grinned. That man was a true warrior. Still he was weak; and weakness
entails a prize. His hands yanked his forearms, pulling him apart slowly.
Bloodcurdling sounds of flesh ripping and bones creaking followed. Pain
exploded out of the soldier's throat.

A shadow drew his attention, the figure of another adversary leaping
towards him and swinging one double-edged sword. He tossed aside his prey and
stood contemptuously still. The broad blade sliced through the thick air,
struck his midsection and shattered in shining shards of iron.

As the bearded soldier stared at his broken weapon in disbelief, his
right hand morphed into a curvy, razor-sharp scimitar and traced a rapid arc.

The cleaved head was plunging into the golden sand when a third warrior
lunged at him. His left fist grew swiftly into a large, heavy mace and hammered
brutally his foe's chest. The man landed awkwardly on the sand and writhed in
excruciating pain. He regarded him quietly, knowing his ribcage was crunched
and the splinters had stabbed his lungs. That man would perish after a long,
slow agony. The thought displeased him. He was a warrior and deserved an
honorable demise.

He raised his hammer-shaped limb. Sharp spikes protruded from the square
tip. His arm swung downwards like a whip and smashed the head.

Bone shards, marrow fragments and flesh chunks burst outwards and
splattered the bloodied dirt.

And he laughed.

He laughed.

Perhaps it wasn't him. But it didn't matter. The deep, deafening
laughter echoed in his skull, louder than a rumbling thunder. The shrill sound
stabbed him like thousand razor-sharp daggers. And the visions of bloodshed and
cruelty and horror repeated over and over until he wished gouging his eyes to
not see them and ripping his ears off to not hear them. He had no shelter,
prisoner in his own mind.

Of sudden, a faint voice sounded. A lonely whisper.

"Dad?"

The raging thunder tearing apart his sanity ceased instantly.

Scott Summers awoke with a start. Beads of cold perspiration soaked his
skin and his heart raced madly as his eyes noticed and tried piercing the dense
blackness surrounding him. A wave of dizziness and confusion swept over him.

Where was he?

A dim luminescence dissolved slightly the darkness and Scott finally
recognized his house's foyer. He lifted up himself groggily and unsteadily from
the sweat-soaked couch.

In front of him a short figure stood in the shadows of the lightless
space. One of his mismatched eyes shimmered with a golden flare, illuminating a
troubled expression.

"Chris?"

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Darkness.

Murky darkness filled the bedroom despite of the flickering glow burning
in the lamp. Light and shadow slithered over the walls and warped the space,
making the place seemed huge. Dark. Hollow. Silent. Lonely.

Right like her soul felt nowadays, she reflected glumly as her eyes
glanced expressionlessly at the empty, warmless spot in her bed. Jean
Grey-Summers folded her legs underneath the covers, ensconced on the mattress
and tried reading her novel.

The splitting migraine pounding into her skull didn't let her.

Jean groaned and rubbed her temples smoothly. Her head reeled still from
the psychic blast she had received. That day had been nightmarish.

Who the hell was the woman Logan and Scott had found in that Sentinel
hive camouflaged in Amazonian Jungle? And why had she activated that new
Sentinels' breed? If the Professor hadn't warned Magneto with telepathic speed,
Genosha would have been razed to rubble.

She remembered with a shudder how the battle had flattened half island
anyway, prompting the X-Men to soar towards that country and help to rescue
people buried under the mountains of debris. And she remembered with disgust
how she'd found Emma Frost trapped beneath tons of jagged rock boulders... and
encased in a translucent, hardest shell.

That woman flew with them back to the mansion, was checked by Hank, and
after using their aid and resources, she left them, muttering some foolishness
about 'X-liberalism'.

And her friends wondered because she wasn't fond of the selfish, haughty
mindwitch.

Good riddance as far as Jean was concerned. Still she could have been
helpful when woke up the woman had sown destruction and reaped death.

She recalled the brutal shockwave had rocked the entire mansion and
shattered all the windows. The battle the X-Men waged. The vicious fury that
witch displayed, wounding them badly and then filtering through a wall so
easily like sunlight would pierce glass.

Shivers traveled up her spine when she recalled her malignant,
triumphant grin.

Feeling dread gripping them, they bolted -or limped- hastily in the
Cerebra Chamber. The scenery shocked them in speechless horror. The floor was
littered; carpeted with fragments of molten and brutally shredded metal. The
bald woman was a gibberish wretch lying limply on the filthy titles, no longer
dangerous or threatening. A figure hovered over her body; her arms frontally
crossed remarking the inhuman sternness hardened her countenance.

Her eldest daughter.

Rachel's aqua eyes stopped glaring down on the woman and swiveled at
them. In the instant theirs stares met a stream of bright images flowed in her
mind. And she knew.

She saw that witch phasing into the room for finding the mainframe
wrecked. Rachel stood over the remnants, her arms akimbo and her glare defiant.
The shock distorting her face evolved in fury -realizing a teenager has
anticipated and thwarted your cunning scheme gets that effect- and she attacked
Rachel like an enraged, maddened tiger.

Still her young child remained unafraid. Impassive. Unyielding and
unassailable like a towering mountain. And Jean knew that fight was doomed -so
doomed as the battle between Achilles and Hector at the foot of Illion- long
before her daughter crushed her adversary with a massive burst of telekinetic
flames.

The images vanished abruptly and she stared aghast at her child, a gasp
and a question blossoming in her lips. But then Rachel passed out. And when she
came around in the infirmary, she had no recollection of the fight... she had
just sensed an urgent fear alarming her -a desperate rush-, and her mind
blacked out.

Jean suspected Rachel had got a vague precognition. A foreshadowing
didn't give her a plan of action; only an urge for acting before it was too
late. So she unleashed her power and let her instinct guided her.

It didn't bode her well at all.

She was still dwelling on it when the door banged open brusquely. Jean
jerked swiftly her head around to see her husband shoved rudely into the room
and her son slamming the wood leaf shut.

Her dazed stare drifted from the closed door to Scott. He was scratching
the back of his head in awkwardness.

"Scott..."

"Jean..."

Pregnant silence ensued.

Jean was the first in breaking it. "I suppose Chris has decided you
weren't restful or comfortable in the couch, and taken measures." Her tone
was flat, emotionless. Nonetheless, sheer concern tainted it. "He's very
worried, just like his sister."

Scott sighed. "He... blames himself. I've told him over and again
he isn't responsible for anything. And he nods, but he doesn't listen. Nor he
believes me."

"What did you expect? He's a Summers. I bet your grandfather blamed
himself for not having stopped single-handily the Second World War." Jean
laughed mirthlessly before exhaling a sigh.

Christopher Charles Summers. Theirs little boy. When they were raising
Rachel Anne, Scott used to tell they had survived Magneto, Juggernaut, the
Sentinels, Krakoa and Hellfire Club, but they wouldn't survive theirs daughter.
Apparently they didn't learn their lesson, since three years later they
fathered Chris.

And right like his sister he had inherited from his parents an immense,
terrible power. A power he was too young for wielding. A power had brought him
nothing but pain.

Apocalypse kidnapped him when he was a newborn and infected him with an
techno-organic virus, an experiment for testing if that tiny baby was strong
and fit and deserved living. X-Factor -her brother-in-law Alex, his wife Lorna,
Bobby, Hank, Warren, Scott and herself- defeated Apocalypse right then, but
Chris had perished that day if his telekinesis hadn't bloomed abruptly and held
back the virus, allowing Polaris purging it with her magnetic powers.

Unfortunately Apocalypse had tasted his power. And he wouldn't forget
that flavor. Years later he kidnapped the twelve mightiest mutants in the
world. He intended stealing theirs powers, but he needed a new vessel, a body
capable to bear and master huge amounts of power. Chris. He was about of
possessing her son, when...

Scott...

Leapt between them.

Her heart got stuck in her throat every time she recalled it.

Her son collapsing on the floor. Her husband uttering bloodcurdling
screams as a red haze wrapped him and his beloved body morphed into a hideous,
one-eyed shape. Nur easily tearing through the X-Men and fleeing.

Technically they won. They wrecked Apocalypse's plans; they saved the
world. But how could they count that battle as a victory? How could she, when
her heart was shattered and her soul had been split in two halves and robbed of
one of them?

Months later they'd found Scott. Her telepathy ripped Apocalypse from
his body and Chris slashed and blew his astral shape to smithereens with mindless
fury. En Sabah Nur dissolved in thin air like if he'd never existed, like a
mist fades with the sunrise. Like a bad dream dies with the dawn.

As she kneeled on the sand and embraced Scott, she believed the
nightmare was over at last. Apocalypse was dead. Her husband was alive. She was
whole again.

Wrong. Nur kept on torturing them from his grave. Torturing Scott. And
she couldn't prevent it.

Jean breathed in deeply, squashing downwards her mortification and
bitterness, and glanced uneasily at Scott. "Why will you not sleep with
me, Scott? I miss you. Our bed is cold and hollow without you."

Scott remained silent as his mind waged an inner war. Fear and despair
dueled. Fear won. "You... don't want hearing about it." He muttered,
ignoring his punishing conscience.

"No. What I don't want to hear is someone telling me what I want or
don't want." Her voice rose perceptibly, sharper than a blade. Pressing.
Demanding. "I've asked you a question, Scott. Answer or don't. But don't
treat me like a delicate flower or a little girl must be protected from the
truth at all costs."

Scott squirmed and sighed with heaviness. And elation. Deep down he was
grateful for she was pushing him at last. "I'm frightened. Of myself. I
suffer nightmares. My body turns and twists when I dream. And I'm frightened of
what I may do if someone wakes me up during a fit."

Jean stared at him attentively as he shuffled towards a drawer and
contemplated something invisible from her viewpoint. He had his back to her but
the telltale slumping of his shoulders betrayed his mood. Gradually her frown
softened in a grieving, compassionate gaze. "Scott, please... talk to
me."

"I... can't, Jean. I just can't." He stammered miserably.

"Please, honey. You're driving me crazy. Stop being so cold with
me." She implored.

He didn't reply. His eyes were contemplating mutely a framed picture. He
was hugging Jean's waist from behind, his arms pulling her closer. Both bore
huge, happy smiles. His thumb brushed the glossy glass, tracing one clear
streak on the dusty surface. "I... can't make the things are like
before." He muttered.

His wife shook her head as laid her book on her lap. "Scott, look
to me. NOTHING will break EVER the bond that links us. And both of us know
that. But... we haven't hugged for months. And our marriage feels now very
strange and cold."

"Jean..." Scott sighed, cringing inwardly with the pain exuded
her words. He placed the photo back on the ledge and turned lightly sideways. "When
En Sabah Nur was in my head, he spent a lot of his time stripping away a few of
my illusions about life and about myself..."

Jean felt a stab of icy dread freezing her blood. He couldn't mean...
"Like what? Our love? Our marriage? Do you believe it's a lie?"

"No!" He screamed, scandalized. Then his outrage evolved in
fury. He exploded. "Do you see why I can't talk to you? You're always
jumping to conclusions or screaming instead of listening!"

He spun around angrily and stomped towards the door. His fingertips had
barely brushed the doorknob when he was hauled off the floor, rotated
hundred-eighty degrees and slammed harshly on the cold wall.

His wife was sitting on the mattress, enshrouded in a red halo of power.
Her spread-open palm was raised to eye-level, her long flaming strands
fluttered silently and her glaring eyes emitted a terrific golden light. A
light frightened the shadows away and heated up the atmosphere.

"Do. Not. Leave. Don't dare to run off. Don't even think about
it." She grated, absolutely furious. And pained. "You've always run
away from emotional troubles you couldn't deal with, and I've accepted it. You've
spent months avoiding me and I've allowed it because I'm also guilty of it. No
anymore. We can't run away from this, Scott. The bridge is burning and the only
exit is in front of us. We can't step back, around, over or below it. We have
to walk through it for surviving."

Scott remained silent. Finally he looked away. "After losing my
parents and brother I tried being a good guy in the orphanage so some family
would adopt me. Since then I've always tried pleasing everyone so someone would
love me. I've tried being a good son to the Professor, a good leader to the
X-Men, a good husband to you, a good father to our children. I've tried being a
good person... making the right thing for the right reasons, never giving up or
faltering. I've tried it so... goddamn hard for so long I make it out of habit
now. Apocalypse peeled off the layers of self-preserving lies I'd fabricated
for deceiving myself and showed the ugly reality to me. I'm not nice or good or
a hero. I'm only a man."

The fire burning in her green eyes flickered out and her unyielding
glare softened. "You don't say. My entire life I'd been convinced I'd
married to Doctor Doom in disguise. Or a woman."

"Jean..."

Brusquely her invisible grip loosened and he slipped down the wall. He
stared dumbfounded at Jean as she closed firmly her book and laid it on the
nightstand. "I didn't fall in love with a super-hero. Nor an X-Man."

Silence. "Then who did you fall in love with?"

She breathed in deeply. "With the boy offered me a chair instead of
hitting on me. With the boy always gave thanks and never took anything for
granted. With the boy caught a cold when he ran in the rain to buy Bobby's
birthday present. With the boy always stared at me from afar with quiet
adoration while I worked out in the Danger Room. With the wonderful man gave me
a backrub, baked a batch of chocolate cookies or filled the bathtub with hot
water whenever he noticed I was feeling lousy, without pestering me with
annoying questions. With the prettiest man I've ever known, whose smile makes
butterflies flutter around in my stomach. With a fine man is generous and brave
and loyal and every day battles living nightmares for protecting his family,
his friends and innocent people he doesn't even know. With the man has taken
care of me when I wanted lying down and dying and has raised my children with
all his love... Must I go on?"

Scott sighed and shook his head. "So you think."

"So I KNOW because I love you. And who do you believe is better
qualified for making judgements about your character? The woman has lived,
worked and fought alongside you for YEARS and has shared her mind with you? Or
yours worst enemy?" She rebuked seriously. "He hated you. He
belittled the ones fight for the sake of these can't fend for themselves. He
despised emotions such like love, friendship, selflessness and compassion. What
wisdom do you think you can gain from his skewed philosophy? If you think he
was right about you, you can also consider he was right about everything. Do
you think might gives right, strength is synonym with cruelty and
bloodthirstiness, and altruism and honor are diseases ail the soul? Do you
think he was meant to rule this planet and cull those he labeled unfit,
weakling, unworthy?"

Her voice paused and her green eyes regarded Scott in intense silence. Slowly
her legs slid underneath the sheets and she sat onto the bed. Her hand patted
the mattress meaningfully.

Scott stood motionless for a long instant. Finally he approached mutely
and ensconced beside her.

Jean rolled a red curl around her finger and bit her lip thoughtfully. "You
tell Apocalypse showed you truths you refused acknowledging, but... how do you
know that's true? How do you know those thoughts are yours and not his biased
judgement, smirching and festering your mind?"

"Uh?"

"Do you remember my words after we freed the Professor from
Onslaught? I told he'd be unable to distinguish between his thoughts and the
monster's ones for a long time. Onslaught would spew lies and twist facts and
question motivations and would do whatever it took for weakening the
Professor's grip on his sanity. And he wasn't above of using any unpleasant
memory, dark emotion and negative thought lay entombed into Charles' mind. I
suppose it was inevitable he slipped and snapped."

He frowned warily as he pondered her words. "Do you mean Nur was
just twisting facts? But he sounded so convincing... Like the time he called me
a mindless, lifeless puppet has been always under someone else's control. And I
couldn't deny it in my heart."

A sharp glint of steel gleamed frostily on her pupils. "You're
nobody's dog. Your parents didn't control your life beyond the limits and
boundaries a father and mother must set upon their child. Sinister tried
enslaving you and failed. Jack tried using you and you broke out. And the
Professor has never forced us to agree with him. Honey, I know the burdens and
obligations of leadership smother you, and I don't doubt Nur used your inner
frustrations for breaking you, but you can't trust his words. He was a jackass,
and jackasses bray."

"And how can I know when he was lying and when he was digging up
feelings have been nestled within me?" Scott cried miserably.

His wife placed one hand on his chest and felt his heart's soft
thumping. "Talk. Sob. Yell. Vent your emotions. Do whatever you need. I'll
listen and I'll talk or remain silent. But please, talk to me. You can trust
me. I love you."

His shoulders slumped. "He... he... he told..." He became
progressively more agitated. His body began to shudder and he hugged himself,
feeling terribly cold "he told it wasn't real but an illusion..."

She frowned skeptically. "Did I come back from Death for you and he
calls our love an illusion?"

He nodded glumly. "That's what I said. I told if that wasn't love,
then it didn't exist. And he laughed. He told we were together because we knew
nothing better, and that wasn't love but need and fear."

Jean rolled up her eyes in disgust. "Figures he'd tell something so
foolish. Like if that black-hearted bastard had the vaguest notion of what love
is." Her hand drifted slightly towards his cheek. Scott stiffened.

And she grieved, just imagining what torture he had endured, trapped in
his own body, listening during months to someone mocking his life, questioning
his ideals and twisting his motivations until they were unrecognizable, hurting
and flaying and stabbing his sanity until he broke down.

And she had permitted it.

"He was right about one matter, though. I don't know someone
better. And you could have got any woman you wished, but you chose me. You were
always my firm ground. And you always dropped your guard down with me. We complement
at each other. Life is a struggle and we got married for fighting
together."

Jean paused. Scott kept downcast and grief-stricken, but his stance
seemed less rigid, more... relaxed. Talking about it eased him, whether he
realized or not. "You haven't to suffer this burden in silence and
loneliness. I want helping, Scott. Why won't you let me? Why won't you talk or
touch me?"

His hands gripped tightly his knees. "Because Nur stripped away my
hopes, my dreams, my happiness, and only left me nightmares and pain. And it's
not a lie. He's broken me, Jean. There's something dark and filthy and foul
inside me, chilling my bones and burning my guts and poisoning my mind. Deep
down I'm terrified of he's still alive inside me, waiting for breaking through
and hurting you. Darkness dwells within me now, and I'm frightened of soiling
you. I-I wouldn't be able to bear it."

Jean sighed. He was frightened of soiling her -her!- and hurting her, so
he pushed her away. And realizing he was hurting her anyway, he felt more
miserable and guiltier, and he pushed her further away. Why was she not
shocked? "Do you think I don't know the feeling? The sensation of being
eaten away by darkness and falling in evil as my mind winds down a spiral of
madness?"

He looked away. "I'm sorry. I don't mean that. I just..."

She sealed his lips with a finger. "Back then you pleaded me not
shut you out. I gave you the key to my pain and grief and I allowed you to heal
me. Don't lock me away now, please."

Scott chewed his lower lip in chagrin. "It's always easier said
than done, right?"

"Yes. It's." She stated tonelessly.

"I-I just feel so strange and different... I just can't help it... I...
I..."

Scott trembled in helplessness, bending down his head and bringing his
hands up to his face.

Jean stared in wary silence, blinking hard as her hands clutched the
snow-white sheet. Deep, grim bleakness overwhelmed her. She wanted helping him
desperately. But she didn't know how. He was so shattered in pieces, torn
between needing closure and wishing loneliness, and the razor edges cut him. And
all of her power couldn't pick up and glue back the shards. But she was just so
broken long ago, and he didn't need mutant powers for reaching out to her.

A plan formed in her mind.

Of sudden her hand swiped his glasses with a swift movement and she
sprang off the bed.

Automatically Scott shut tightly his eyelids and covered his face with
one hand as a stretched arm palpated frantically and uselessly the air. He was
blind now. "Jean... What are you doing? Give me back my glasses!"

He heard a mirthful laughter. "Oh, don't be fool, honey. Come
here." Smooth fingers grasped his hand and hauled him on his feet. Her
soft body leaned slightly on him and her feathery breath tickled his rugged
face.

"Jean? My shades?" He asked, slightly enervated.

"Look for them. They're hidden in my body."

"Jean, you know I can't 'look' for anything right now! And I'm not
in the mood for jokes..."

"Too bad." Jean interrupted him harshly. Scott sighed in
resignation.

She grabbed his hands and guided them gently towards her luscious red
mane. Gingerly his fingers threaded through her long strands and trailed
downwards. His hands brushed her eyelids, her perky nose, her dimpled cheeks, her
swan-like neck and palpated nervously her cotton-covered breasts. His eyebrows
arched when he felt something hard and sharp between the soft flesh globes.

Again his hands roamed downwards, along the sinuous path of her abdomen,
underbelly and hips. He couldn't help to recall she was still a gorgeous,
breath-taking woman despite her age and two pregnancies. He grabbed handfuls of
fabric and yanked up the undergarment, rolling it atop her perky breasts.

Suddenly her arms draped around his neck and she kissed him with mad,
fervent passion.

Jean felt Scott stiffening. His body felt rigid and cold. So lifeless as
a stone column. And his lips were dry and unresponsive. But she held him
firmly. Gradually his body relaxed and heat flowed in his limbs.

Scott sensed pleasuring hotness enfolding him and tried resisting. His
shaky hands were grabbing feebly her upper arms when her telekinesis massaged
his muscles and fondled gently his groin. At once her telepathy pinched his
nerves. Sparks crackled along his spine and warmth thawed his resolution. His
mind fogged, his hands loosened their grip and he let out a groan, muffled by a
set of ravenous lips.

Jean laid his shades onto a nightstand with a tendril of telekinesis and
she pushed him backwards. They stumbled clumsily, kissing heatedly all along,
until Scott's back collided noisily with the wall.

His willpower returned partially. "Jean... Don't-"

Her palm pressed slightly his crotch and rubbed up and down the warm
bulge growing underneath his leather pants. He moaned, and she sneaked quickly
her tongue into his mouth.

"P-please, d-don't..." He mumbled; but she could feel the lust
and the arousal churning beneath his mask. While she stroked firmly his head's
back, her right hand unbuckled with extreme slowness his belt and unzipped his
pants. As the trousers slipped noiselessly down onto the floor she kneaded his
pelvis before sliding her hand underneath the boxers.

His skin felt hot like a furnace and his penis quivered with her touch.

He moaned again. She pecked his left cheek with soft tenderness and
crouched down. Her fingertips kneaded in circles his inner thighs, dissolving
the knobs hardening his muscles. Then she grabbed his underwear and tugged
downwards.

His erect, quivering shaft swayed in front of her eyes. It was long and
broad, with its rose skin crossed by bulged veins up to the reddish head. Jean
licked her red lips in hungry anticipation and blew a warm gust of breath over
the sensitive tip before kissing it. Scott trembled tenuously.

A smile tilted upwards her corners' lips. She rubbed and stroked gently
the smooth, burning erection. Her husband shivered, grinding his jaws to
repress uncontrolled groans of pleasure. But when her tongue brushed the tip of
his cock he let out finally a throaty growl.

Jean glanced upwards and beamed wickedly at him. "Do you want me to
stop now?"

Scott's chest heaved with deep intakes of breathing. Hundreds of
thoughts swarmed in his mind. Part of him wanted to stop her, shove her away,
reject her. But it felt so good... so wonderfully good...

He shook his head.

His wife grinned victoriously and attacked mercilessly the throbbing,
hard penis. Her red tongue flickered over the glans, lubricating it with
glistening saliva, and danced over the erection, licking it with thorough, slow
brushes. Her husband emitted shuddering groans aroused her immensely. She
enveloped the head in her lips, sucked hard and swallowed the entire length.

She paused for a moment, relishing its soft warmth. Then she began to
thrust the stiffened cock into and out her ravenous mouth as her left hand
cupped and massaged Scott's testicles. She felt a surge of hot-red, blazing
desire pulsating through the dormant link and sped up her ministrations. Her
lips sucked anxiously the quivering cock. Her hands fondled his genitals. Her
mind sent to him relentlessly sensations of love and pleasure and reassurance.

I love you. Trust me.

A familiar hand stroked tenderly her nape's neck. She hummed in delight
and bit him accidentally. He uttered a cry and Jean felt an abrupt surge of
emotion -a mixture of pain and pleasure- drilling the mindshields separating
theirs minds. His emotions seeped uncontrollably through that breach and she
heard them again. Love, lust, need, arousal vibrated in the link like a
mesmerizing music.

Feeling bolder, Jean slid her hands around his hips and groped his tight
buttocks. She shut placidly her eyes and kept on sucking, licking and nibbling
his rigid cock as her hands fondled his yummy butt. Finally his penis shuddered
and fired a fountain of whitish semen in her mouth. Jean repressed a gag and
swallowed the viscous fluid instead of spitting it. She disliked the flavor,
but she wanted showing him total acceptance.

Scott fell back upon the wall, squeezing firmly his eyelids. His body
shook and shivered despite the heat emanated from his skin. Then Jean embraced
him. Her strong arms held him and rocked him with the tenderness and warmth he
needed. She kissed him as her mind sent him relentlessly soothing thoughts.

I love you. Trust me.

He didn't resist or protest as she led him carefully towards the bed,
removing in the path his shoes, pants, thick shirt and underwear. Jean pulled
back the covers with a brief thought and laid him gently down on the soft
mattress. Then she peeled her own garments off and hopped resolutely on the
bed. Meanwhile her mantra resounded endlessly in his head.

I love you. Trust me.

She straddled his body, sparing a moment for admiring fondly his physique.
He was in his late thirties, but years of tough training had built an athletic
frame. His pectorals were broad and flat and his skin gleamed underneath the
dim light with a golden hue. Honey-like. Her hands massaged his naked torso,
gliding like oil over that surface smooth like silk.

"You're so gorgeous, honey. You can give wet dreams only with your
smile." She purred huskily, a wanton smirk perking up her lips. "Not
that you needed it when you were sixteen. You shielded fiercely your thoughts when
you were awake, but you broadcast accidentally your fantasies when you were
sleeping. And my, what LIVELY fantasies they were."

Scott just panted quietly, aroused by her lurid whispers. His thorax
swelled and shivered with every ragged, deep breath. His rigid fingers wrung
compulsorily the sheets underneath his body. He was helpless. Paralyzed as her
fingers massaged deftly his muscles and soothed his nerves. His body was clay
for being molded by her. She knew how sharp his senses were. How extremely
sensible was his skin. And how driving him crazy. Once she had slid an ice cube
over the grid-like scars the burning parachute had branded on his back while he
penetrated her.

Jean chuckled as she worked her magic over him. Her fingertips brushed
expertly and tenderly his eyelids, her teeth grazed his collarbone and nibbled
his nipples, her lips kissed his armpits and her tongue rolled in his navel.
That body was her playground and she knew how playing.

Smiling fondly she sat onto his smooth stomach. Her hands fondled her
breasts and pinched her tits. Her hardened nipples quivered, aching for more
intense strokes.

Her right hand wandered towards her nether regions, stroking her
vagina's folds before inserting two fingers into it. Her digits fingered her
slit furiously and quickly, soaking in the smelly juices leaked out of it. She
moaned enraptured as she coated her fingers in gluey honey and slipped them
into Scott's mouth. Her husband licked the sugary fluid with relish.

She crawled forward and sat on his face. "Your turn." She
purred sultrily.

Scott felt a haze of intense sensations clouding his mind. The feathery
touch of her thighs brushing his cheeks. The musky scent of her sex
intoxicating his nostrils. He could visualize the reddened flesh, oozing
pungent juices, and the aching, stiff clitoris. Dazedly his thumbs explored her
quivering mound, stroking her moist vulva's rim. His heated and rough wheezes
blew over the sensitive slit. Jean shivered.

Feeling more confident, Scott placed his hands on her tight buttocks and
pressed his bare face on her pelvis. His red tongue stroked the slick, damp
folds with gentle upward brushes, sneaked in the channel and rolled into it.
Meanwhile his hands wandered over her gorgeous body, sliding upwards along her
back, her sides and her abdomen, until reaching her firm, creamy breasts. He
cupped the huge mounds and kneaded them in wide circles, nipping and tweaking
mercilessly her pebble-hard, dark nipples.

His wife arched her head backwards and groaned hoarsely. Scott massaged
relentlessly her soft bosoms as her body stirred thousand dormant memories in
his mind. Images of bright days and searing nights, of long kisses and loving
hugs and intense passion wore out theirs bodies until they lay breathlessly in
a tangle of sweaty, numb limbs over a bed of drenched covers.

Aching arousal overcame him. His lips kissed with fervor her damp mound,
his teeth nibbled playfully the labia, his tongue fluttered into her tunnel.
Jean felt the thick muscle wriggling in her opening like a coiling serpent and
trembled with a surge of convulsions. Her lustful moans filled the darkened and
cold room, and turned Scott on powerfully.

His tongue licked thoroughly her slit, ascending upwards slowly, and
flickered over her swollen clitoris. Scott coated the erect, rocky nub with
gleaming saliva and enfolded it with his lips. He nibbled and sucked the
engorged button with delight as his right hand inserted two digits into the
itching slit. His fingers gyrated quickly into the crevasse, hitting and
slamming every sensitive spot at every turn.

Jean was in the nirvana; assaulted for exhilaration she hadn't felt in
months. Flames of unfulfilled passion burnt into her. She quivered and humped
Scott's face frantically, yearning and craving for more pleasure.

"Oh... Oh... Oh, yes! Fuck, yes! God, Scott! Fuck me harder! Come
on!"

Scott smiled. Her screams were incredibly arousing. He kept on teasing
her tits, sucking her clitoris, fingering her vagina. Jean panted as a crimson
haze filtered in her vision and her body shuddered and swayed unsteadily with
the warning of an incoming orgasm.

"OH, FUCK!" She howled as an electrical jolt exploded in her
spine's end, coursed through its vertebral column and struck her neurons. Raw
fire scorched her nerves and a stream of milky, sugary honey splashed Scott's
face. She bounced up and down wildly, uttering groans of pleasure till her
climax subsided.

Finally Jean slumped down sluggishly on her husband and lay quietly on
his torso. Her head rested on his chest as her breath quieted down. She could
feel the laborious heaves of his moist thorax and hear the loud, frantic
heartbeats drumming into his ribcage. The soft sound lulled her.

Her eyes glanced regretfully at his cum-drenched face. Tenderly she
licked the droplets of sticky cream smearing his mouth, cheeks and eyelids.

"I'm sorry." She mumbled apologetically. She hadn't intended
to squash him or smother him. However his hand stroked her cheek and brought
her face closer. Their mouths merged and their tongues clashed.

"Don't... Don't apologize." Scott mused, dazed. His fingers
combed numbly her tangled, damp, bright-red tresses. "It's my fault for
not having given you a good fuck in months."

"True." Jean muttered warily. Gradually a broad, roguish smile
drew up her glossy-red lips. Her tongue brushed wantonly his cheek. "Then
you must make up to me for it, don't you believe?"

She kneeled astride on his waist and slid her firm butt backwards, until
his penis brushed the cleft parting her buttocks. It was again stiff and erect
as a pike. Jean rose slightly, supporting her weight on her shins, and grasped
the rigid shaft with one hand.

Scott just knew what she was going to do. "Do... you need a
condom?"

"No." She stated shortly. She could use a control birth pill
later. Now, she didn't want barriers between them. Never again. She craved for
feeling his warm erection throbbing between her flesh walls.

Jean lowered her body slowly, until the glans brushed delicately her
sore vulva. She shuddered. Her damp folds opened like a bud's petals and the
long penis slid deeply into her. She hummed with the familiar, yearned
sensation of the huge, quivering cock sheathed in her vagina and radiating heat
into her body.

Scott groaned with the sensation of her muscles clenching his cock like
a crushing clamp. Then he felt her breasts squashing against his sweaty chest
before her smooth body sprawled across his muscled torso. Slender upper limbs
circled his taut neck and strawberry-flavored lips claimed his mouth. They
kissed ferociously as theirs bodies ground together in eagerness, and the
delightful sensations washing over them intensified. Scott embraced her tightly
and she started to ride him.

Jean's slams turned gradually quicker, rougher, more frenzied. God, she
had missed this. That delicious, agonizing lust. She quickened up her pace,
yearning for burning to ashes in an orgasm's blazes.

Scott trashed helplessly. Dimly he could feel the frayed chords of their
psychic rapport intertwining together and mending seamlessly. And through that
channel their souls streamed at each other, exploding out from the dam caging
in loneliness theirs minds, and swirled together in a whirlpool. He could sense
her feelings... her blazing emotions cascading in him like a lava torrent...
her spirit chasing away the shadows like a light.

His light.

He panted roughly. "God, Jean... Slow down... Or we'll be done too
soon..."

"Don't worry". She gasped. Her moist, green eyes glowed with
an inner golden fire, and Scott felt her presence slithering in his mind and
locking part of his brain. "Now you can't come unless I let you."

He didn't reply. His soils planted firmly on the mattress and his legs
bucked upwards, ramming deeply his penis in her narrow vagina's depths. His
hands roamed over her entire body, fondling her breasts, caressing her
backside, groping her buttocks, massaging her belly. His fingertips tugged and
tweaked her nipples and fingered her slit mercilessly.

Rough, unsteady Jean's groans echoed loudly in the half-lit room. His
intense massages loosened her hardened, stiff muscles, and his delicious touch
aroused her with a searing sensation. A heat warmed up her heart. A fire
streamed along her veins. A flame swallowed her body.

She arched her back and yelled in the throes of a powerful orgasm. Scott
sensed the echoes of her climax through the psilink and groaned in pent-up
frustration. Fire burnt in his loins, but he couldn't release it.

"God, Jean. Don't make this to me." He wheezed out shakily.
"I need to come. I want to come."

Jean opened her mouth. Then her expression changed. A mischievous spark
twinkled in her pupils. "Beg."

"Please, honey." he obeyed. His body lurched wildly like a
skittish stallion, but Jean rode him effortlessly. "Let me come. Please,
sweetheart, allow me to come."

Jean forced out a fatigued, wicked grin. "Make me."

Scott frowned. Rapidly he flipped Jean over and pinned her on the bed.
His legs wrapped around her slim waist and his penis sank deeply into her
burrow. He impaled and jammed her tunnel with rough, potent thrusts, while his
hands massaged her tender breasts and stimulated her swollen clitoris. Jean
whimpered, feeling his steamy breath brushing her neck as his mouth trailed up
her collarbone, searching for her lips.

Ragged gasps escaped from her lips. She could feel raw and unbridled
pleasure boiling again in her and fogging slowly her thoughts. She couldn't
endure it more. She released her grasp.

Her husband exploded in orgasm, drenching her womb with hot, sticky
sperm. She felt his release flaring and overflowing the psilink and triggering
still another mind-numbing climax in her. She screamed as her body writhed
shakily and her vision blurred with tears.

Dimly she noticed Scott embracing her and rolling both over until
placing her body atop him. Jean sprawled languidly and dazedly across her
husband, too exhausted for moving. He stroked silently her long, red strands,
his closed eyes facing serenely the ceiling rafts.

Worn off their arousal and stamina, a powerful languor benumbed their
bodies and minds. For a while they rested motionlessly on the bed. Their
breaths were uneven and their bodies were damp with hot perspiration.

This time Scott broke the long silence. "That was...
brutal..." He muttered. His wife nodded wearily.

"Can we make it again?" He asked hopefully, eliciting a light
chuckle from her.

"Now do YOU want more?"

He averted his face. His lips murmured an inaudible whisper.

Jean arched her brows in curiosity. "Yes?" She pressed.

"When you were fucking me... for first time in months I felt...
Protected. Sheltered. In home."

She gazed at him. Emotion sparkled moistly on her bright eyes. Her arms
embraced tightly his neck and she buried her face in his soaked, flat chest.

She had seen now what lay beneath the blind shutters wrapped his mind.
She had got a glimpse of the weight nestled into him.

She'd heal him. She'd make all better.

"Welcome back, Scott." She whispered softly. "Welcome
back."

<><><><>

Darkness.

Shadows flooded the room with a raven, thick blackness. The silence was
dense, unfathomable, only disrupted by two soft, steady breaths.

Two figures sat each on two beds. Listening attentively in the silence.
The shadows enshrouded theirs expressions, pale and slightly queasy.

"I told you kicking him into their bedroom would work."

"Yes, you told that." The young girl growled, her cerulean
eyes sparkling in annoy. A frown replaced her sickened and upset expression.
"Are you wrong ever?"

Her brown-haired brother smiled obnoxiously, combing with his fingers
the fringe of white bangs falling upon his forehead. "Once I thought I
did."

Her lips let out a huff and curled upwards for blowing away a crimson
strand stuck to her cheek. Secretly she was grateful by the distraction; the
argument steered her thoughts away the psychic waves emanating from her
parents' bedroom. But she wasn't going to confess that to him.
"Manipulative brat."

"Oh, look who's talking! I didn't tell Aunt Betsy the bathroom was
free as Uncle Warren was showering."

"I was saving her life!" Rachel protested. "If she
insisted on leering at dad like if he wasn't married or committed, mom was
going to... have 'words' with her. And you know what happens when mom has words
with someone." Rachel shuddered, recalling the dire fates of the Brood,
the Phalanx or Onslaught.

Her brother shuddered, pondering on what happened too when his sister
had 'words' with some member from the X-Teens... usually cousin Gailyn. Or
Luna. Ray came to blows with Mr. Pietro's daughter every time she beamed at
Franklin 'he-isn't-my-boyfriend' Richards. Luckily Cousin Joe, Cousin Scottie,
'Cousin' Talya or even May were always around for playing control damage.

"And I wasn't" Chris pressed, a mischievous smirk forming on
his lips "the one commented Aunt Rogue the Danger Room can be programmed
for nullifying powers... in front of Uncle Remy."

"Not, you were the one got Uncle Logan and Aunt Ro together after
he was widowed from Lady Yoshida and the bast... Mr. Forge broke up with her. A
masterpiece of the art of manipulation, little brother." She rebuked with
a dry, deceitfully nonchalant voice. She was about of talking further when a
flaring jolt of emotions slammed her shields. Her hands covered her grieving,
wincing expression. "Oh, no, they're getting on it again!"

"Look on the bright side. They'll no be glancing warily at each
other in the breakfast." He joked uneasily. "I don't know how they
survived so long without us. Sometimes we -we!- seem more mature than
them."

The redhead girl shrugged. "Mom used to tell me they worked
together for living through my babyhood. And that need for survival brought
them closer. I'm tired and restless, Chris. I'm going to sleep."

Both siblings lay back on theirs beds and tucked the warm blankets
around them. Very soon only theirs steady breaths pervaded the bedroom.

<><><><>

-I've just thought: in 'E is for Extinction' Arc, Xavier sent only TWO X-Men
to search for survivors in a whole island. Why? The logical action had been
sending the entire team. And I don't buy they needed someone for watching over
Cassandra Nova while Kurt, Warren and Bobby were in a mission. They had more
than enough members in reserve. And why did Jean and Hank leave straight after
finding Emma? Were they helping people there or rescuing Emma in a convenient
plot device served for dragging The White Queen in the mansion? Unless I'm
missing many clues, that history was full with inconsistencies... that should
have been a warning of the incoming horror.

-If someone wonders why Scott was sleeping with his pants on... let's
say he was being very untidy and unkempt those days. In a nutshell, his outward
aspect reflected that inwardly he was a mess.

-Teen X-Men: My tribute to DC. The name just ringed fine. The mentioned
members exist in canon: Rachel Summers (Chris is too young still), Scottie
Summers (Alex and Lorna's son in this universe), Franklin Richards (Mr.
Fantastic and Invisible Woman's son) Luna Maximoff (Quicksilver and Crystal's
daughter), Talya Wagner (Kurt and Amanda's daughter in this timeline) Joseph
and Gailyn Bailey (Jean's nephew and niece) and May Parker (Peter and Mary
Jane's daughter).
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Banishing Shadows