Quixotic

Quixotic Chapter Three (NC-17)

Disclaimers Apply

 

A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta…This elf thing has
gone to my head. I think my ears are
pointy now… InterNutter, TC, Maxwell
Pink and Dracena are superwonderful for hosting/archiving. (And I’m almost done w/that fic,
Dracena!) ProPhile is a cold smutmuse… Readers/Reviewers: *dances around throwing leaves in the air—we’re out of flowers
down here * Thank you!

 

 

 



Amara
waited a full two minutes after Storm left before folding the gardening gloves
neatly, tucking them into her apron pocket, taking the whole kit off and
placing it on the potting bench she had been working at for the past hour and a
half. Quickly and as unobtrusively as
possible, she slipped out of the greenhouse, not even sparing a glance for St
John as he passed her, heading for his assigned duty with the plants. Instead of going to the house, as one might
expect, she bundled her jacket tighter around her and headed towards the shed
behind the house, where the larger garden equipment and sharp pointy things
that she was not allowed to touch were stored.
The door was shut tightly against the cold air swirling around outside
but a thin strip of light showed beneath the frame. Good, she thought.
This should be easy.
Opening the door just enough to slip in, she managed to avoid letting
most of the heat out of the small space.
“Working hard or hardly working?” she asked mildly, hoping her nose was
not as red as she thought it was.

Lance
glanced up from some piece of oily machine bit he had been assigned to fix and
blinked. “Aren’t you potting or
something?”

“It’s dirty
and gross. I left it for St John to
finish.”

Lance
smirked. “Storm’s gonna kill you.”

“Not if
we’re quick.”

“You know,
Princess, quick isn’t something most guys aspire to be…”

“You want
to have sex or not?”

“Quick it
is.” He tossed the bit onto a growing
pile of similar objects and wiped his hands on his jeans as he wove around the
bench and piles of machinery.

Amara shed her jacket and began
unbuttoning her pants as she leaned back against the shed wall. “Your hands are filthy. Keep them to yourself.”

“How the Hell…”

“Deal with it.” She raised a brow and smirked, a challenge
to his vague sense of pride in the matter.
With nary a new word, she pushed her pants down and off, letting her
skin warm with her powers just enough to stave off incipient chill.

“Deal with it,” Lance
muttered. “Okay.” He dropped to his knees in front of her, her
parted thighs offering an enticing promise.
She gasped softly at the first touch of his tongue to her body, her
fingers twining into his hair to bring him closer against her. He teased her folds with sureness born of
practice and devotion, her responses brokenly muffled and loud.

She arched her hips to offer better
access to her secrets, her dewy desire evident long before she had even come to
the shed. Amara closed her eyes and
willed her knees not to go weak as Lance teased and licked and brought her ever
closer to shuddering release. His
tongue flitted over the burgeoning nub of her arousal, swollen to the point of
near pain as he drew on it gently before tasting her further, his own moans of
appreciate muffled against her. She
could feel warm and sweet release building in her limbs, spreading through her
stomach and threatening her peace of mind as he made love to her with this lips
and teeth and tongue. She could feel it
starting, her body tightening and quivering and the blood rushing in her ears
as she pushed against him involuntarily, her mind whirling with plans of what
she wanted to do to him as soon as she recovered her breath enough to engage in
physical activity; her lovely thoughts were cut short by a tremendous crash
which sent Lance reeling to his feet, slightly disoriented, as she scrambled
for her pants. “What in the name of
Mars was that?” she spat, irritated more than afraid.

“Hell if I know,” he grunted. “Get your clothes on. I’m going to go check…”

Frowning, she pulled her jeans up,
hopping up and down to hide behind the door as Lance stormed out into the yard.
I swear, if that was someone fucking up, I’m going to kill them if they’re
not dead already…

 

“What the…”

“Kurt!” Kitty dashed past Logan and the assembling group to stand next to
Jamie, who, like everyone else, was staring up at Kurt on the roof. “Jamie, what is he doing?”

“He said he had to vanquish the
giant…Kit, is he on drugs or something?”


Beast lumbered up next to him,
slightly out of breath. “Is he…”

Kitty groaned, everything becoming
clear. “I think he’s tilting at
windmills[1].”

“That’s a satellite dish,”[2]
Jamie responded, still staring.

“He thinks,” Kitty sighed, “that
he’s Don Quixote. He called me Dulcinea
this morning and…oy.”

Beast grimaced, waving Logan
down. “I was afraid of this.”

“You knew?” Kitty
cried. Kurt was starting to come down
from the roof by conventional means, apparently not realizing that he could
teleport. Kitty ignored Beast’s
response and hurried to meet Kurt at the bottom of the ladder. “What is going on in your fuzzy blue mind?”
she demanded. “We were just playing a
game last night! Snap out of it!”

Kurt, panting slightly and holding
a rather long, heavy stick, frowned. “I
have destroyed the giant, milady, what more do you ask of me?”

“It wasn’t a giant,” she
sighed. “Kurt, you’re not well.”

He smiled sadly. “I see…another quest…” Straightening, he snapped his fingers. “Come, Sancho!”

Jamie groaned. “I’d better go with him…”

Kitty made a flustered noise of
dismay. “No…Jamie!” It was too late. He was trotting after Kurt, who was galloping down the lawn
towards the gazebo.[3] She whirled to face Beast and found herself
staring at most of the residents of the Institute, all of which had heard the
crash. “You knew!” she repeated
accusingly.

Beast sighed, nodding. “Let’s go inside and discuss this,
Kitty.” He shot a wary glance in
Logan’s direction. “All of us.”

Logan nodded curtly. “Lance, Todd, Scott…go after the elf. Bring ‘em back and take ‘em to his room and keep
him there!”

With a concerned backwards glance
in the direction Kurt had disappeared towards, Kitty allowed herself to be led
inside.

 

Beast looked properly
contrite. “I should have said something
when I first got the idea, but it seemed so impossible. Logically, you can’t change personalities
from a blow to the head. Not like that,
anyway. However, it occurred to me that
the blow to the head was merely an impetus, a trigger for his subconscious to
tell him it was okay to act different.
To act,” he said gently, trying not to make Kurt seem pathetic, “as if
he were the person he always wanted to be.”

Kitty frowned. “I don’t think so. If anything, Kurt would want to be Errol Flynn, not Don
Quixote. He isn’t even Spanish…”

The Professor sighed inwardly. “Kitty, for most of his life, Kurt has
wished he was someone else on some level.
He wished he were this hero he saw in movies and read about in
books…it’s only been in the past few years where he’s been able to accept
himself as good and…”

“And not some hideous monster,” she
finished. “But I thought…”

“It isn’t anything you did that
triggered this, though I do have questions about the sim Logan had to clear out
of the system this morning. This is
Kurt’s subconscious acting out. The
blow to the head was, as Beast said, merely an impetus for these actions.”

“How long will this take to heal?”
she asked numbly, picturing a life stretching ahead of her with a crazy
partner, trying to make the stock boy walk the plank at the grocery store. “I mean…is there something I can do to
help? Anything?”

The Professor smiled as kindly as
possible and replied, “He just needs time.
He’s been under a lot of stress lately, as we all have, and his mind
chose this opportunity to take a little vacation.”

“Are you saying he’s crazy?”
Instead of sounding appalled, she sounded angry. “Kurt is not crazy!”

Logan caught her before she could
reach the door. “He’s not saying any
such thing, Half-Pint. Kurt’ll be fine
soon, right?”

Beast fought the urge to cower
under Logan’s fierce glare. Instead, he
responded as befit a man of his age and position, by fibbing. “He should be fine in a few days.” I hope.

Kitty seemed to deflate at
this. “Can I go see him? Maybe talk some sense into him?”

Professor Xavier nodded. “We’re going to spread the word to just
humor Kurt for the next few days, until this passes. Keep in mind that we’re not sure how deep these delusions go and
if they’re static. He might think he’s
Don Quixote now, but in ten minutes he could be Kurt again and tomorrow
morning, back to being the Man of La Mancha.”

Kitty frowned. “That sounds worse
than before.”

“He’ll be fine, Half-Pint,” Logan
assured her, glaring over her head at Beast.
“We’ll make sure of it.”

 

Kitty chased Kurt’s guards out of
his room with a withering glare. Lance
lingered a moment too long, though. “You
know, my dad’s cousin was crackers like this…”

“Amara’s waiting downstairs. She said she had something for you,” Kitty
cut in through gritted teeth. In
actuality, Amara was indeed downstairs, but she was in a snit after being
scolded by Storm for abandoning her duties early.

Lance wavered for a moment before
deciding. “Look, I know we ain’t been
tight for a while, but if you want to talk about this…”

She sighed. “I appreciate it, Lance. Maybe tonight, okay? If he doesn’t get any better by then.”

“Right,” he said, nodding
dubiously. “Maybe tonight…”

Kitty heaved a grateful sigh once
the door closed, leaving her and Kurt alone.
He was dozing lightly, his tail twitching with some dream he would
probably forget on waking. “Hey, Fuzzy,”
she whispered. “It’s just me.” He responded by murmuring something
unintelligible and rolling onto one side.
He hasn’t eaten anything, I bet.
Or not enough. Whoever’s in his
head doesn’t know about how much he needs to eat to keep going. She rummaged in his desk drawer and found
his stash of jelly beans for when he woke up.
That’ll do till I can get him some lunch, after Jean’s done in the
kitchen with the new kids. She
patted his hand lightly and sighed wistfully.
She really wanted to climb into bed next to him but she was not sure if
that would cause any more problems. I
don’t think Don Quixote ever got to sleep with Dulcinea…Might blow his mind a
little bit extra there.[4]
She cast about for something to keep her occupied while she waited for him
to wake up and seized on the television.
No harm in that…Lessee…sports, sports, sports, sucks, sucks, sucks…ah. Movie.
She paused, glancing at Kurt then back at the movie playing—an old
version of Robin Hood. I’ll keep the
volume down. When he wakes up, I’ll
turn it off. Kitty carefully meshed
her fingers with his and settled back to watch the movie while he slept.

 



[1] Don Quixote
tilted at windmills because he thought them to be giants and he “vanquished”
them for Dulcinea.

[2] ProPhile’s
idea

[3] I have this
mental picture of the coconut toting guy from Monty Python trotting after King
Arthur.

[4] In Stir
of Echoes, the Illyana Douglas character is stoned and trying to hypnotize
Kevin Bacon’s character and says “This is blowing my mind just a little bit
extra right now…”