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The Mind Is Virgin Territory	By : Ksennin Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 18393 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or any characters in the X-Men franchise. I make no money from publishing this.

Chapter List
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A/N: This story takes place early on in Bendis’s All-New X-Men. After Scott Summers’s possession by the Phoenix Force, he has started a mutant revolution with a splinter faction of X-Men. In a stated attempt to dissuade him from this, Beast has gone back in time and brought back the original X-Men—himself, Marvel Girl, Cyclops, Angel, and Iceman—from their days as teenage students of Professor X. The ‘O5’ are now living in the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning under the care of Headmistress Kitty Pryde.

Jean crept through the halls of the school, wishing she could fly so the floorboards didn’t creak under her. It was the dead of night and at least some things hadn’t changed—curfew was strict. No roaming the halls. Not unless you were a time-traveling teenage member of the original X-men. God, she was in the Jean Grey School. A school named after her. Because everyone loved her. Because everyone missed her. Because she was dead.
Jean found the door she wanted. She cast her mind inside, trying to find if the occupant was sleeping, but she hadn’t counted on years of psi-training. The consciousness she felt detected her and slammed into wakefulness. Jean backed away, hearing her name dimly voiced inside the room. She turned to run for it, certain she could get away before the door opened, but of course, Kitty Pryde just phased right through it.
“Jean Grey?” Kitty asked. “Now what the heck are you doing out of bed?”
Jean turned to her, blurting out “How old are you when I’m me?”
“Huh?”
“I mean—in my timeline—my time period—how old are you?”
Kitty shrugged it off. “God—I’m too much of a girly girl to wanna think about that stuff. When you were—are—are a teenager, I must still be in grade school. Years away from developing my mutant power. But c’mon. You didn’t come all the way down here in your PJs to talk temporal physics.”
Jean felt a sudden, intense urge to cover herself with her hands. Her pajamas were actually a little more modest than her uniform—a simple billowy set of top and bottoms that covered all but her hands and feet, made her feel a little like Peter Pan would be stopping by. And wasn’t that what had happened? She’d been taken to Never-Never Land, where she never had to grow up? Never would grow up?
“I, uh… I had a nightmare.”
Jean tried very, very hard to keep her power in check now. She knew what Kitty was thinking, she just didn’t want to know it. She didn’t want to hear Shadowcat’s beautiful mind filled with thoughts of what a baby she was, a scaredy-cat, a disappointment after all the legends built up around her…
Whatever Kitty thought, she kept a tight lid on it. Her face was a look of simple concern as she got the door for Jean. “Come on in. I’ll fix you something.”
Kitty’s room was adult in a way Jean had a hard time contextualizing. It didn’t have the hard austereness of the Professor, but it was no dorm room either. It was clean and well-designed, but with a few nerdy posters, pin-ups for rock bands, even a little dirty clothes—including one singed spare uniform. Kitty tidied up quickly before going to her mini-fridge for a jug of milk and some Hershey’s syrup. “How’s hot chocolate sound to you?”
“Sounds… sounds fine.” Jean looked away. She couldn’t have hoped for a better reaction from Kitty, more understanding or more accepting, but that just made it worse. Here she was, supposed to be some great hero, and she needed Kitty Pryde, a prepubescent girl in her own time, to hold her hand and—God! So stupid!
“Hey.” Kitty sensed Jean’s recrimination as surely as if she were a psychic herself, setting down the ingredients in the room’s little kitchenette to go to her. “Hey, hey, hey. This isn’t the Avengers or the Fantastic Four. We’re not commandoes. This is a school and a refuge. People come here to learn and to be safe. So you never ever have to feel bad about being scared. Okay?”
“I’m not—I’m not scared,” Jean insisted. To prove it, she called up her power, telekinetically pulling a pot to the stovetop on the counter, filling it with milk as she tripped the flame, stirring the chocolate sauce in with no spoon…
“Wow, you’re getting good.” Kitty put her hand on Jean’s arm, rubbing it through her pajamas. She herself wore a silky little kimono that looked so good on her that Jean wanted to cry. It was perfectly modest, but at the same time, so becoming… “But this isn’t TP 101. So I’ll stir the pot, you tell me what’s wrong.”
Jean waited as Kitty went to get a spoon, passing through her rather than asking her to move. She didn’t start until Kitty was at the pot, actually stirring the dark milk, waiting for it to come to a boil. “It’s Scott.”
Kitty darkened. Jean had been afraid of that. “Has he done something?”
“No, no, not—well, he has, but not to me. Don’t get mad at him, please.”
“I’m not mad, Jean. I’m… concerned.” Kitty had stopped stirring. She started again. “Go on. Please. I’m not mad.”
“Okay, it’s… I’ve read Hank. I know what’s happened. He got the Phoenix Force and he hurt a lot of people and the Professor…” Jean suddenly felt very cold. She stood closer to the stove’s blue flame, and to Kitty. It helped a little. So did holding herself. “Everyone’s so mad at him. I can hear them. Some of them—they would kill him. They’re thinking of reasons not to kill him.”
Kitty looked at the milk, swirling even now that her spoon had stopped. “I’m sorry. I know how much he means to you—but I can’t control how people think.”
“He wasn’t in control of his actions. The Phoenix was. It made him do those things, so why is it everyone’s so…” Jean felt tears start in her eyes. It made her so frustrated. It wasn’t just her anger—it was how it fed into her, into itself. She was frustrated with how frustrated she was, angry with how angry it made her. Why did she have to be so damn young? Why did she have to feel useless when she was supposed to be some great hero, someone who everyone loved enough to get along for?
Hank had said he wanted Scott to see his future, his past, but Hank also wanted him to see her. He wanted them all to see her. She’d seen it, just not in his conscious mind. Deep down. Underneath. He wanted her to make things right.
“Even I… I’ve yelled at him and he hasn’t even done anything yet!”
Kitty gave her a moment to gather herself, turning her back to pour the chocolate milk into two ceramic mugs. She added little marshmallows too. Jean smiled despite herself at how thoughtful Kitty was.
“I know it’s hard to understand. In a lot of ways, it’d be easier if it were Mr. Sinister or Apocalypse—“
“Who?”
Kitty waved her hand. “Bad guys. We feel okay hating them, but there’s a limit to the hate because—it’s who they are. It’s what they do. Bad guys.” She pressed one of the mugs into Jean’s hands and just holding it was so good. Jean was able to breathe again. “And someone like Scott—someone we love and trust—when he hurts us, it’s hard to understand. Hard to accept without blaming ourselves or thinking maybe it’s our fault… we’ve all looked up to Scott, followed him, but he’s just a guy. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. We’re all just… guys.”
Kitty took a sip from her own mug, somewhat regretting that turn of phrase. Little Jeannie was most definitely not a guy.
“But because he’s the leader, we hold him to this standard. And a lot of the time, he’s actually so good at what he does that we… believe it’s not a standard. It’s just who he is. Then we turn around and he’s just as flawed and fallible as the rest of us. And it hurts more because we believed in him. So we take out that anger on him. But people will get over it. We’ve forgiven Emma Frost, Magneto, Mystique, Sabretooth… we won’t stay mad forever.”
“So you don’t think they’re right to be mad.”
Kitty grinded her teeth. “Errr… you mind drinking that cocoa there, kid?”
Jean didn’t know what difference it made, but she obediently drank.
Sighing, Kitty turned to walk out the kitchenette—through a counter. “You’re kinda bumping up against the limits of my wise old headmistress act, here. I’d never tell someone not to be angry after they’ve been hurt, or suffered a loss. But, uh, there’s a right way to express that and a wrong way—“
Jean followed her out into her apartment’s living room. “Wolverine said he wanted to kill Scott. My Scott. Stop the whole thing right there.”
“Oy vey… Jean, I love that man, but he is not a role model. He doesn’t even drink very good beer… come here.”
Kitty sat down on the bed and Jean joined her, sipping her chocolate milk. She still could feel the warmth of Kitty’s slumber underneath her. She bounced a little.
“Big bed.”
“I had a big boyfriend… listen, I have two things to tell you, and I honestly don’t know if they’ll make you feel better. But they’re the truth, as far as I can tell, and I owe you that much. So, you ready?”
Jean tried for a brave smile. “Nice Jewish girl like you… what’s the worst you could say to me?”
“First off: the things Scott’s done? All the hurt? Everyone’s capable of that. Warren was one of the Four Horsemen. So was Wolverine. Beast was—we actually called him Dark Beast. Iceman… okay, Bobby’s pretty alright. But I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’s the bride of Ultron in some crappy alternate future twenty years down the line. Life pokes and prods us and because people are scared, because they’re hurt, because they’re angry, they jump to places that—that we have to pull them back from. Scott isn’t a bad person. Not all the time. It’s just that there was so much pressure on him that, that we put there and none of us like to admit that. But honestly? If I were in his shoes? If, from the day I got my powers, I was in the hot seat? I can’t promise that I’d be half as good a leader, as good a person as Scott. It’s not my place to judge. Ryktʻr nyt kdy yy wwʻrn gʻm�pt.”
“What’s the second thing?” Jean asked, feeling a constriction in her heart. It wasn’t breaking—it’d broken a while ago. She still felt the jagged bits embedded in her. No, it felt like a little of those edges were being pulled out.
“Just that, Scott’s done a lot of good. And everyone—everyone—is capable of that, too. I know a girl; she’s had a life that would make you weep. Literal tears. Her very conception, it was without love. An act of violation. She was born as a science experiment. Abused. Experimented on. Forced to kill and see anyone who showed her kindness die—some at her own hand. Until she ended up here. And now she listens to music and helps people with their homework. All that evil done to her, and she rinsed it off. You’ve met her: Laura Kinney. She doesn’t have to be what was done to her.”
“Yeah, but… she gets a choice.”
“Who doesn’t have a choice?”
“People—some people.” Jean turned to Kitty suddenly, pinching her hands so tight around the mug Kitty was worried it would shatter. “Can I stay here tonight?”
“Yeahbuhwhat?”
“It’s just—when I had nightmares at the school, the old school, I went to Scott.” Not like that, she added psychically. “I went to his room and we’d talk, play board games. Even hold each other. The Professor knew, but he was okay with it. We all knew Scott would never… not for a long time. I guess. Not yet, anyway. Only now…” Jean looked down. Kitty’s nice, clean carpet. No stains. I’m such a bad person.
“No you’re not, Jean, c’mon…”
Jean couldn’t even say the words aloud. I don’t trust him! It’s not even… the Phoenix. It’s a million different things. Emma Frost, Madeline Pryor, kids—we have kids in the future! Or we don’t or… Everyone makes mistakes, but it’s like I’m getting uploaded all his mistakes at once and, and…
“And I wouldn’t feel safe around him.” When Jean heard those words in her own voice, she hated herself. “I’m such a fucking bitch.”
“Jean, no—“
“I am! Hard as this is on him, and I’m making it about me. Who cares about me? I get to come back to life. I get to be some sort of Virgin Mary! But the man I love… and I don’t even care about him.”
“Jean, it is okay to think about yourself first.”
“That’s what I’ve been doing!”
Jean threw herself down on the bed. It wasn’t hers. Neither was the one in her room. She wanted her old one, her real one—not even the one back at Xavier’s, but her own bed in her own room in her own house. The pillows with the floral pattern, the blue comforter with the red patch where her nana had sewn it up, Mr. Biggles the Bear who she was just barely too old for…
She was curled up in a fetal position now, but Kitty was there, petting her back, combing her hair with her fingers, working some magic that made the fierce weight on her feel a little lighter.
“The nightmare wasn’t about him. It was about me. About how I’ll get the Phoenix…” Jean began to sniffle. “And I’ll hurt all those people… and what if everyone hates me like they do Scott?”
“Ssh… ssh…” Kitty’s comforting had gone beyond words now—it was just the warm pressure of her hands on Jean’s skin, her closeness, the cooing sound she put in Jean’s ear. “Shhhh…”
“They’re all my friends—my family—what if they went away? What if they wanted to kill me?”
Kitty was even closer now—holding Jean, pulling Jean just a little ways out of the trap she’d made of her own body and into the older woman’s embrace. Jean felt herself restrained by Kitty’s tight grip, but in a good way. Like without it, she would fly off, explode.
“No one’s going to kill you. No one’s going to hurt you. As long as you’re here, you’re under my protection. Me and all the X-Men. And you are always going to be my friend.” Kitty kissed Jean at the top of her head. “Trust me, I was there when you died. We were still friends.”
Jean found herself laughing and sobbing at the same time. She loved how Kitty understood her—not with the overwhelming, needful affection of Scott, or the cold, clinical diagnosis of the Professor… but with a kind of nostalgia, memory. Like Kitty had been through everything she had, and now had only fondness for all of Jean’s horrors.
Kitty reached over to the nightstand, pulled a Kleenex from its box, and brought it to Jean’s nose. “Blow,” she said. Jean should’ve felt mortified, being told to blow her nose like a small child, but instead she felt touched at Kitty’s unjudging thoughtfulness. She blew. Kitty wiped her nose and tossed the Kleenex away. Now Jean had stopped crying—just a sniffle or two as she rattled out what was left of her fears and sorrow.
And suddenly, Kitty phased them under the covers. The bed was a little womb of cool sheets and a warm comforter against the night chill. And Kitty. Kitty still holding her, keeping her warm, her stroking touch a constant reminder that she was loved and protected.
“You can stay with me tonight,” Kitty told her. “And in the morning, we can talk more about it. Or we can not. But I want you to get a good night’s rest. And I want you to not be afraid, because I’ll be here all night.”
“Okay,” Jean said, finding it easy, soothing, to give into Kitty. To trust her guidance. “I… I promise I’ll really try not to have an accident.” With a mortified flush, she remembered her first night in this time, when Kitty had let her sleep in her room. A nightmare had played upon her telekinesis, putting Kitty’s room in ruins.
“Don’t worry about that. It’s only stuff. You could break everything in here—who cares? A Sentinel’s probably going to step on it next week anyway. That’s why I keep all my movies on the cloud.”
“What cloud?”
“Forget it.” Kitty patted her, and Jean nearly purred at the contact. It felt so good, having Kitty all around her. Saving her. “Just focus on getting your rest. We’ll talk more in the morning, okay?”
“Yes Ms. Pryde.”
“Please…” Kitty gave her one last caress before pulling Jean to her chest, to settle in for a good night’s sleep. “Call me Kitty.”
***
“We’re going to get married.”
Kitty opened one eye. It was too early in the morning for this. She didn’t even know what time it was, and it was too early for this.
“Scott and I.” Jean was still in her bed, but on the opposite side of the king-sized mattress. Curled up on herself, a little looser than she’d been when she’d collapsed inward last night, but still balled up. Like a fist. “He showed me the wedding invitation. And yes, there is coffee.”
Freaking psychics. Kitty raised her head to see, in the kitchen, the coffeemaker was bubbling with milk, cream, and sugar hovering nearby. Wonderful freaking psychics.
“I realize now isn’t the best time for this,” Kitty said, “but trust me, that is—it’s going to be a very good day. Even with what comes after. And before. You have to take the good days.”
“How many bad days is a good day worth? When I know all the mistakes that go with it—how can I be sure me and Scott are even good for each other? We just seem to find people we’re happier with and—steal each other from those people. Is that what we are? Some toxic, addictive thing?”
“Okay, Jean, first off, bring me coffee.” Kitty raised herself up to sit against the headboard. “This is a coffee conversation.”
“It’s on its way.”
“Second—last night you’re having nightmares about the Phoenix, now you’re having relationship issues? I know this place is a high school with so much drama you’d think we had a distribution deal with Bravo—“
“The Inside The Actors’ Studio people?”
“—isn’t there usually a little more breathing room between angst? C’mon. We snuggled.”
Jean floated a steaming cup of coffee over to Kitty. “It’s just… he’s obsessed with me, I’m obsessed with him… how much of that makes us better people? Maybe if we just called the stupid thing off—he got together with whatever a Psylocke is and I started dating Warren—maybe we’d be happier? But then, what if he’s my destiny?”
Kitty drank. Kid could make a mean cup of joe. She wondered if Jean had gotten coffee for all the boys back at the old school. They were pretty sexist in those days. Made Jean wear a minidress. “Jean, trust me, if people were destined to be together, there’d be a big Russian dude where you’re sitting right now.” Or, ya know, your daughter. Awkward. “If you don’t want to be with Scott, then you don’t have to be. You don’t owe him anything. And you can absolutely find someone else.”
“Like you? All anyone can talk about is this—epic love story with me and Scott. If I’m not with him… who am I, even?”
“Oh, honey—you are still such a teenager, aren’t you? Obsessed with your love story. I’m not judging, really, at least he’s… American. C’mere.” Kitty patted her lap, not knowing exactly what the gesture meant, but Jean seemed to. She came over and laid down with her head on Kitty’s leg. The proximity was nerve-wracking. They could either freak out or… not freak out. Not freaking out was also pretty freaky, though.
They didn’t freak out. Jean smiled up at Kitty. ‘See how comfortable I am?’
Kitty patted her shoulder. “Listen. On your Wikipedia page—err, your Encyclopedia Britannica entry… under the header on sexual partners, it does not read ‘see Summers, Scott.’”
“I… I sleep with other people?”
“Yeah, you and Scott, you have an on-again, off-again, thing. Don’t hold it against him, you’re dead for a lot of that.”
“Not all?” Jean wound an arm under Kitty’s knee. “No, don’t tell me that, I don’t want to know any more than I… know. Just—think you can tell me who I bang without breaking the space-time continuum?”
“You’re kidding me? You really wanna know—“
“Well, it does make me feel better about all the pining after Scott to know I will get to tap that, eventually. And this is probably all gonna get wiped out of mind anyway so; what harm can it do?”
That struck Kitty as something she herself had tended to say right before a lot of harm occurred. But how could she say no to green eyes and red hair all over her lap? “Well, uh, you know about Logan. I’m pretty sure you’ve given him at least a handjob.”
“He better have showered for it.”
“And, uh, Warren—I’m gonna say there was some necking there. You two have—had—have that vibe.”
“Something to look forward to. Oh, hey—am I bisexual?”
If only Kitty had been drinking her coffee. She would’ve done a classic spit-take. Like, right out of Animaniacs. “What the helllll—“ she droned.
“It’s just, I’ve always had this—“ Jean made the air-quotes she’d adopted for using future speak, “’girl crush’ on Sue Storm, and then when I came here, I met Ororo, and she—“
“Yeah, she has that effect on people. Are you sure you’re talking to the right person? I have terrible gaydar. Once I ran into my boyfriend in an alternate universe and he had to like, mount a dude before I realized that my alternate bf had an alternate lifestyle.”
Jean snuggled herself against Kitty’s thigh, using it as a full-on teddy bear. “If you can’t gossip about yourself, who can you gossip about?”
“Okay, you know Wanda Maximoff?”
“Scarlet Witch? Yes. For a terrorist, she seems nice.”
“Yeah, she is. You’re going to be friends. Friends with tongue.”
“My word,” Jean enunciated, eyes wide. “I mean, I’ve always loved her costume, but who knew—“
“And there’s this black chick, Misty Knight? You’re gonna be roommates with her. I’m not saying anything happened, but she’s been hanging out with this chick Colleen Wing for the last ten years, and I’m like, yeah, you two are such good ‘partners’.”
“You think she and I--?” Jean put her forefinger through a circle of her thumb and other forefinger, before realizing the unsuitability of the gesture.
“Well, heck, maybe all three of you—“
Jean’s eyes seemed to grow out of her skull. “I… I’m open-minded, but…”
“Hey, they’re both ninjas, no judging. Do you want me to keep going?”
“Yeah, this is a little addictive. These are all attractive women, after all—nice to know if I do go gay, I’ll be a stud.”
“Oh.” Kitty was suddenly dismal. “There’s this blonde chick, super-hot, pure evil. I’m pretty sure you two hook up, but I have to admit, the sex is probably amazing. I still hate her, though, I think you do too.”
“Then why do we—“
“I don’t wanna think about it.”
“Two villainesses and a ninja. I guess I have a thing for bad girls.”
“I guess.”
“Don’t I ever date someone—a girl—who’s just… sweet?”
“Well… not date.”
“Something?”
“Not date,” Kitty repeated.
“Who?”
“This… girl.”
“Uh-huh.” Jean propped her chin on Kitty’s leg, listening intently as she stared up at her.
“Younger than you. Legal. But, like, naughty legal. Very… inexperienced.”
“Oh… I’m her first.”
“In a lot of ways.”
“And does she like it? Her first?”
“She loves it.”
“This younger woman… I think she’s pretty.”
“Well…”
“Very, very pretty. Very compassionate. Very funny, and sweet.”
Kitty was blushing. “Jean, technically you’re my student, and I think that—“
“If I were with a younger woman, I would want to be good to her. Show her how good it can be.”
“This is… bordering on the inappropriate.”
“No one’s ever shown me how good it can be. Kitty.” And Jean kissed her leg.
It struck Kitty suddenly how wrong this was… lying her, in bed with this girl, this student, having slept with her, cuddled with her—and now, touching her, letting her kiss her body. She should stop this. She should absolutely stop this, be the adult, put an end to it. Only… Jean was drawing the hem of her kimono up Kitty’s legs. Her eyes were burning into Kitty’s skin. Kitty felt her legs part, and when Jean looked, she could’ve sworn she felt that hungry gaze sizzling on her cunt.
Jean crawled forward, stopping only to kiss at Kitty’s legs as she climbed them—sometimes the bare skin, sometimes through the gauzy material. Until she was between Kitty’s legs, her head at Kitty’s crotch—and she blew on Kitty. Her breath may have been warm, but Kitty was so hot that it felt cool.
“Is this how we’ll do it last time?” Jean asked, and Kitty closed her eyes. No more thinking. Fuck now, guilt later.
With a little crackle of power, Kitty felt her body lifted. Jean slid the kimono out from under her, up around her waist. Now Kitty’s lower body was exposed to her panties, a pale feast for Jean. The redhead dipped her tongue into Kitty’s belly button before lapping and licking all around it. Kitty found herself petting Jean’s hair as the girl kissed her belly, the soft little layer of fat that hid her muscles proving perfectly tender for her loving.
“That’s it—“ Kitty said, almost whimpering. “You have to tease a little before you get started—let them know how much you care about them.”
“I wanna eat your cunt,” Jean said, her little voice saying such a filthy word almost ruining Kitty. “When can I?” God, so polite—why was that turning her on so much?
“Now,” Kitty groaned, pushing down on her head, gently but firmly, down to her wide-spread thighs—and between. Jean kissed her—so lovingly—right through her white panties. Right on her sex.
Kitty felt herself come a little. It just whet her appetite.
Jean looked up at her again, those big green eyes full of apprehension, lust, sin. “Can I take your panties off, miss?”
“No,” Kitty said firmly. “I’ll do it.”
She phased to wiggle out of them, so she didn’t kick Jean in the face as she did so. Then she was back, Jean facing her bare cunt. Even as turned on as the girl was, her eyes were widened at the sight. Kitty guessed they didn’t have Brazilians back then. Lucky devils. The things they didn’t have to do to get with Bobby Drake.
“Blow on it,” Kitty ordered Jean—requested of her—Christ, she didn’t know what this was. “Just a little.”
Jean pursed her lips, looking up at Kitty for confirmation that it looked as sexy as it felt. It looked plenty sexy. And she blew on Kitty’s slit, making it run over with even more of its juices. Jean saw it, so wet, so open, and she had to have it. She moved in, wanting to clamp her mouth to that delicious pussy and suck for days—but she found herself phasing right through Kitty’s groin.
When she raised her head, Kitty was smiling sardonically at her. Keeping herself intangible, she drew open the belt on her kimono. Opened it until it barely stayed on her shoulders, and Jean saw she wasn’t wearing a bra. Wasn’t wearing anything. Not that her breasts needed it. Small as they were, they thrust out perkily like they were held up by the sheer stiffness of her nipples.
Becoming corporeal once more, Kitty crooked her finger. Jean went to her breasts as she had her belly, peppering them with kisses, sucking desperately on each nipple when she found it between her lips, but unable to stop herself from then letting go and continuing her campaign of tasting every inch of Kitty’s cleavage.
“Good girl,” Kitty found herself saying of Jean’s enthusiastic but unskilled efforts. She was heated enough for it to be effective. Still, this was the X-Men. Good enough was never Good Enough.
Kitty pushed Jean back, both of them now upright on the bed. She ran her hands down Jean’s torso, flattening her silk blouse to her breasts before she began to unbutton it. Jean fidgeted nervously, for all her earlier aggression, rolling her lips inside her mouth, staring at Kitty as if looking for any sign the woman would stop.
“Have you done this before—a lot—before?” she asked hesitantly.
“A few times,” Kitty answered—more than she cared to remember. She wasn’t a slut or anything—no Emma Frost—but everyone knew girls didn’t count the same as boys, right? You could eat a girl out and it was just messing around; not like giving a blowjob.
Kitty groaned inwardly. Why did she have to have such lousy self-justifications in front of a psychic? And she’d messed up on one of Jean’s buttons, had to go back to it. As she now recalled, after her thing with the other Jean (the real Jean?), she’d followed her advice and found herself dating Rachel for a prolonged, if ill-fated, relationship. Who the hell slept with two members of the same family, much less two generations?
That’s how wrong this was—the girl she was currently seducing (slash being seduced by) was going to grow up to give birth to a time traveler who Kitty was going to do things with. Lots of things. Yikes—she’d never even had a finger up her ass before dating Rachel.
Maybe she was a bit of a slut, but hey, what was wrong with being a slut? The sex was good. Girls were cute. And the knowledge that she was going to fuck this woman’s daughter when she was the same age as Jean was now—actually turned her on. She ripped Jean’s blouse open. Jean gasped like she’d never known such lust; in herself or Kitty. She continued gasping—small, keening sounds of need—as Kitty cupped her breasts. Young as Jean was, they were still bigger than hers. Big as Rachel’s. Fuck, she was some kind of pervert. She needed to be on a government watchlist.
But then, she was a mutant and an X-Men. She probably already was on all the watchlists.
“Like this,” Kitty said, lowering her head to Jean’s exquisite breasts. “Remember: slow and steady wins the race.” With practically a purr, Kitty took one stiff nipple in her lip and sucked it with all the relish in the world.
Jean sighed explosively, her nipple seeming to turn to stone between Kitty’s lips. Kitty drew on it with almost painful force; she wanted it down her throat. She nursed, gnawed, whipped it with her tongue. She never let Jean get used to the stimulation. Always something new. Always something that felt good. And just when it felt so good that the sensation could only go downhill, Kitty went to the other and bit down. Jean whined like an animal in pain.
Kitty lowered her to the mattress, continuing to suckle at her big, bountiful breasts. The thought entered her that Rachel had done much the same—for both of them. It sent a lightning bolt of delight through her cunt, into her clit. She needed to fuck this woman. And just like that, her hand was in Jean’s pajama bottoms and she had Marvel Girl’s cunt in the palm of her hand.
“Oh yes! Oh Kitty!” Jean’s eyes were screwed shut, her voice thin and reedy. “Oh please, oh please, oh please!”
Kitty was going out of her mind with need. It didn’t matter how much experience she had—she felt like a schoolgirl again, full of new lust. Had to experiment, had to explore. She levered herself off Jean and slammed her hands to Jean’s tits—they filled her hands, so full and warm and soft and perfect, Jean was perfect, and Kitty was going to be her first.
Jean seemed to feel the wellspring of desire in Kitty—how could she not?—and it triggered something in her. She rose up, crashing into Kitty’s body, and kissed her full on the lips.
Kitty was surprised for a moment—she’d taken to thinking of this as something almost sordid, too perverse for such a tender, affectionate feeling to pass between them. But her surprise faded quickly. This was just as arousing for Jean, obviously, but it was romantic as well. As she’d learned with Rachel—there it was again—perversion and intimacy were not mutually exclusive.
Obligingly, Kitty tilted her head back so that Jean’s face hovered over hers. Their lips brushed together again, lightly, wet with each other. Then, both sets parted. Kitty’s tongue met Jean’s, moving around in firm exploration. They continued to kiss as Kitty rolled them down to the mattress, Jean below her. When they broke, Kitty ran her hand over Jean’s face. It was so hot, so flushed, that Kitty didn’t know how much more the girl could take.
One thing more. At least. She moved down Jean’s body, ignoring her open shirt and heaving breasts, to find her sex damp inside her disheveled pants. Kitty was quick to pull those down. She had cupped and rubbed Jean’s sex, but not yet penetrated it. Or tasted it.
“Are you gonna eat me out now?” Jean asked, almost fearfully.
“Yes, princess, I am.”
“And it’s going to feel good, right?”
“Yes, Jean. Oh yes.” Taste good too.
She kissed Jean’s soft little belly first, just over her pussy, where she could feel the velveteen brush of her pubic hair on her lips. It was an assurance, and a promise, of what was to come. Jean laid there, waiting, perfectly willing.
“Say it,” Kitty ordered in a low whisper.
Jean gasped as if Kitty had just touched her. “Eat me out—eat my pussy—make me come—“
Kitty kissed the smooth inner thigh just under Jean’s groin, licking at it, her tongue a mere inch from the heat of Jean’s sex. “Am I the… second person to do that?”
“No!” Jean was nearly hyperventilating. “You’re the first, my first. Be my first, Kitty. Take my virginity—make me a woman!”
Kitty vined her arms around Jean’s thighs, sleek and firm with Danger Room training. She breathed the hot juices tantalizing her taste buds. She kissed the satin flesh to either side of her, trembling and clenching in need. She stared at Jean’s clit as it bulged beautifully outward, a flower in bloom. “How?”
Jean bit her lip. “Lick my cunt!” she gasped out, her voice barely audible.
The first lash of her tongue hit the little morsel of flesh protruding from its hood. Jean cried out, her lust suddenly set on fire. At that one stroke of Kitty’s tongue, Jean’s clit swelled, and Kitty returned to it almost sadistically. She swabbed it with slow laps, bending it from side to side, pushing it around with the tip of her tongue. She wanted no second thoughts from Jean. No backing out. No recriminations that could stand for an instant in the shadow of her pleasure.
Then Kitty bowed her head with almost religious fervor. Left Jean’s clit pouting in all its need and slithered her tongue inside Jean, first tasting the rim, the exterior, then sending her tongue deeper, and deeper, sucking Jean’s labia into her mouth as she fucked with her tongue. Jean went wild for it. She thrashed around, her hips jerking so hard that Kitty almost phased through them reflexively. Although almost unwilling to take her eyes off what she was inflicting on Jean’s sex, Kitty looked up. Saw Jean grabbing her own heated breasts and wrenching them around, mauling them with her own two hands.
Kitty slapped her hands to Jean’s ass, groping them as she touched her tongue to that spot inside every woman. With Jean, it was right where Rachel’s had been. Kitty stroked it just three times and Jean was spilling down her throat, writhing and crying her way through the first orgasm she hadn’t had with her own hands, possibly her first one ever.
Kitty swelled with pride. She knew it was a bit aggressive, but she did it anyway; pressed her puckered lips to that needy little nub atop Jean’s pussy, sucked it inside her mouth, and tortured it with her tongue. Jean shrieked like a banshee as she experienced multiple orgasms; and Kitty knew that was for the first time. She almost drowned Kitty in the juices pouring from her.
Then she was lying flat on her back, trembling with what was left of her sanity, her eyes glossy and wide. Kitty laid down beside her, pulling Jean to her and stroking the girl, not sexually, but just as she had the other night to comfort her. It was only fair. Jean had done the same to her when she took Kitty’s virginity—held her as she dreamed, in her dream. Kitty hoped she’d given Jean the same satisfaction Jean had (would?) give her. As impossible as that seemed.
Jean’s stunned face gave way to a happy smile, her eyes bright with fulfillment. “That was amazing, Ms. Pryde. You were amazing.”
“I told you. Call me Kitty.” She kissed Jean, only realizing afterward that she’d shared Jean’s taste with the girl. Jean didn’t seem to mind. “I’m glad you liked it as much as I did. I loved doing it for you. And I wouldn’t mind—I’d love—to do that again.” Kitty’s inner rabbi screamed at her that once was a one-night stand, twice was an affair, but she didn’t care. The pleasure she’d taken had deadened her guilt.
Jean’s lips pinched, the girl visibly restraining the ‘uhhh’ all teenagers defaulted to, so she could say quite plainly “I’d like that.”
“Good.” Kitty put her hand on Jean’s thigh, as familiarly as could be. “Do you want me to eat you out again, or should I use my fingers this time? Or something else?”
Jean squeezed her legs together before Kitty could get her hand in-between them. “No.” Kitty felt a sudden rush of remorse. What was wrong with her? How could she do this with a woman little more than half her age, a woman—“It’s your turn,” Jean finished.
“Oh,” Kitty said in a small voice as Jean rolled her over, ducking between her legs.
“Just tell me what to do,” Jean said, looking up at her, and Kitty had no idea where to start.
***
Emma Frost licked her fingers clean, having gotten each of them quite wet. She’d only thought to take a quick peek in her rival’s subconscious while her teenage self’s defenses were still unconstructed. She’d had no idea she’d find her asleep in that little brat Kitty’s bed—or what the two of them would do to each other, with a little push. They’d certainly enjoyed themselves.
But then, so had she, Emma thought as she sucked her thumb clean.
Now there was just the question of what to do with this scintillating new information. She was sure the two girls would hate for their little shenanigans to be found out. Imagine Rachel knowing. Or Scott. Emma could see them doing almost anything to avoid their secret getting out.
Who knew? With a little luck, she might never have to compete with that little ginger bint again.
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The Mind Is Virgin Territory