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Mirror, Mirror
By : Nemain
Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > Slash - Male/Male
Views: 5878 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men Evolution, or any of the characters from it. I make no money from from the writing of this story. -
Chapter List
- 1-Mirror, Mirror
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-23
- 24-24
- 25-25
- 26-26
- 27-27
- 28-28
- 29-29
- 30-30
- 31-31
- 32-32
- 33-33
- 34-34
- 35-35
- 36-37
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-43
- 44-44
- 45-45
- 46-48
- 47-49
- 48-50
- 49-51
- 50-52
- 51-53
- 52-54
- 53-55
- 54-56
- 55-57
- Mirror Mirror Chapter Twenty
Disclaimers ApplyA/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST WOMAN ALIVE (TM), Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… You get more like Athene every day. Witness the spinning. ;) InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: A few more before the day is done. Morgan: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!!!!!! Readers/Reviewers: Happy Sukkot to those who celebrate! J I’ll be out of town for a few days but I’ve made arrangements for updates to be sent (I hope).
“Jesus!” Lance gasped, clutching at his chest as if to still his rapidly beating heart.
“No, Amara,” she said slowly, her smile mocking. “Though I hear nice things about this Jesus fellow. Not so nice things about some of his followers though,” she paused, then shrugged. “Why are you sneaking about, Lance?”
He raised a brow, trying to affect a cool, calm pose, and failing miserably. “Just…ya know…couldn’t sleep…”
Amara’s smile did not waver but her posture bespoke great self control as she strolled towards him across the lanai. “So you come out here, where it’s chilly enough to make your teeth chatter? Hardly conducive to a good night’s sleep though I remember the healers speaking highly of therapies involving bracing cold water. It keeps you young, they said. And keeps your blood brisk.” She sat elegantly on one of the wrought iron chairs, her white lawn[1] gown billowing around her legs.
Lance shifted uncomfortably. She was wearing one of her Gowns, the capital letter distinct. She had worn them for ages after first coming from Nova Roma, slowly integrating more sensible and less expensive nightclothes into her wardrobe. Whenever she brought out one of the voluminous Gowns, the white-on-white embroidery and fine detail bespeaking great expense, something fit for a princess, he knew that he was in for it. Whatever it was this time, he thought, torn between nervousness and excitement. “Well, you’re up late too,” he pointed out, wincing inwardly at the inanity of his statement.
“Your observational skills astound me,” she murmured, rotating and counter rotating her ankles delicately. “I want to know why you took it upon yourself to attempt some sort of vengeance on my behalf, Lance.” She leaned forward, her hands clasped around her knees in the very picture of girlish innocence. Her wide, dark eyes pierced his with a look of great scorn, however, and Lance drew back a few steps in response. “Do you think me unable to care for myself?”
Her hard voice stung his ears, making a tiny pang of nervous fear in his stomach twist into something else entirely. _Dude, she’s Amara! She’s not going to kill you! Spank you, maybe, but not kill you! _ Even as he was scolding himself, he knew that it was not physical retribution he feared but the loss of her affection and attention. “I… no. I think you can kick ass if you need to but…” he sighed and gestured towards one of the empty chairs, taking it at her nod and sitting down before continuing. “Amara, I love you and it kills me that some jackass douche bagisn't here a "with" missing? ingrown anal hair did this to you.”
Her features bore an expression of distaste at his creative insult. “That may well be, Lance,” she finally said, “but I will not have you causing problems where there is enough already.” When he opened his mouth to speak, she held up her hand, stemming the flow of words. “Do you want to draw more attention to us, Lance? Do you want to give people an excuse to seek us out, find us in crowds and harm us? Do you want the Professor to be forced to close this place down because we are pariahs, moreso than now?” She stood, gathering her gown to facilitate walking, and looked down at him. “This is an Order, Lance. Understand me? I Order you not to cause any more problems with these people, whomever they may be. I Order you to respect my wishes…” She paused, arching one dark brow. “Though that last one should be automatic by this point.”
Lance gritted his teeth, nervousness transmuting into annoyance as Amara strode to the sliding glass door leading to the kitchen, giving him one last, hard look before disappearing inside. Traces of her perfume lingered, the mixture of amber resin and honey pulling at his senses and worming into his awareness, threatening to dismiss all annoyance he was feeling with her. _Fuck this, _ he thought bitterly. His desire to please her, to obey her, was being nibbled at by the desire to follow his first instinct and eviscerate the people who had hurt her, especially now that he knew they belonged to the Friends of Humanity. _I’ll talk to her tomorrow, _ he sighed inwardly. _When I don’t want to yell… or at least not as loud. _ He glanced up at the sky and frowned. It was the middle of the night and he was wide awake, something Todd no doubt appreciated since Rogue had been lurking outside their room for a few hours now. _At the boardinghouse, at least I had my own space… no one fucked with me… I could do whatever, whenever… _ A sharp, shrill scream snapped his attention back to the fore and he was on his feet, running into the house before he realized it consciously. Another scream sounded, definitely from upstairs, and he joined the rush of bodies heading for the sound.
“That’s Kitty,” Jean said to anyone who was listening. “Shit…” Grabbing at the railing on the stairs, she pressed against it, making way for Lance and Scott to pass.
Scott skidded to a halt, nearly missing a step. “Jean, what is it? You okay?”
“Fine,” she said, waving him off. “Just tired… hit me all of a sudden. Go see what’s wrong with Kitty!” The heat was making it hard to think. _Why do they have the heater on NOW? It’s not that cold out… _ She waved Scott off again, this time starting to trudge slowly up the stairs. This seemed to encourage him and he ran to join the small throng gathered at Kitty’s bedroom door. Jean stopped at the top of the stairs, the sound of yelling and things breaking nothing more than background noise as her head began to pound and her vision blurred. _I swear to God, if I’m having a stroke, I’m killing someone. _
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[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lawn_(fabric) - You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
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