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Bellwether
By : Nemain
Category: X-Men - Animated Series (all) > General
Views: 4549 -:- 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-Bellwether
- 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
- 34-35
- 35-36
- 36-36
- 37-37
- 38-38
- 39-39
- 40-40
- 41-41
- 42-42
- 43-44
- 44-45
- 45-46
- 46-47
- 47-48
- 48-49
- 49-50
- 50-51
- 51-52
- 52-53
- 53-54
- 54-Epilogue
- 55-Epilogue
Bellwether Chapter Three
Disclaimers Apply
A/N Goddess Foxfeather, Queen of Mad Plotbunnies, BUSIEST
WOMAN ALIVE ™, Prophetic Muse, Hamster Witch and Uberbeta… *happy weekend dance * InterNutter, TC, Maxwell Pink, Dracena and
Greywolf are loverly and wondermous for archiving/hosting. J ProPhile: Seriously, I
have lighting issues…blah. Morgan:
*gloke of happy * Readers/Reviewers: Thank you for reading and reviewing as you
can! Happy early Mother’s Day to everyone on this side of the world who
celebrates it (just in case I’m not updating on Sunday and forget to say it
then, lol).Lance
closed his eyes and exhaled harshly as the damp smoothness of Amara’s skin
moved against him, her leg dragging along his own as she stretched languorously
in the bed. Reflexively, his fingers
curled around her arms and held her still, keeping her from moving away. She laughed softly under her breath and he
hissed in mild surprise as her teeth grazed the sensitive skin at his
collarbone. “You’re taking your time
this evening,” he commented idly, counting breaths as she lay atop him,
unmoving. He could feel her around him,
slick and wet and tight, sheathing his length within her body. Her stillness was maddening, the urge to move
verging on painful as she sighed, her breasts rubbing against his chest as she
exhaled. He inhaled the scent of her
hair, a faint almond aroma that he could never quite place, and the
incense-laden smell of her skin as she moved her hand to his neck, his
face. On another sigh, she sat up,
trailing her fingers down his throat to his chest, letting his hands fall to
her hips and hold her there loosely, not gripping the firm curve of her flesh
as she steadied herself against his knees.
She did not reply aloud to him but cast hooded eyes on his chest. Wordlessly, she traced a pale scar below his
nipple, an accident of overenthusiasm, moving her touch to a newer, redder
circle on his stomach. It was new, still
warm, the candle that led it it’s creation still burning on the
nightstand. It would not scar, they both
knew, but the red mark would last for another hour or so. He had several such marks on him at that
moment, reddened circles and lines left by candle wax and fingernails, marks
that were temporary scars, things that would fade physically but he could feel
long after, a sort of ghost scar then, days later. All Amara had to do was look at him the right
way and the sensation of the wax spreading on his skin, the heat of it, the
warmth of her body against his, the burning look that she gave him as he gasped
and arched beneath her, all would come flooding back and seize his thoughts
with the memory of feeling, the knowledge that she could bring him to the point
of being a quivering, incoherent bundle of need with her calm, exacting motions
and commands.“This one,”
she said quietly, her fingernail outlining the scar on his hip, the one that
she had given him mere weeks before, “is permanent.” She looked up at him, pinning him with her
gaze. “Do you know what this is?”“A scar,”
he replied simply, one brow quirking. “You
cut me there.” His hands did tighten on
her then, squeezing the firm flesh beneath his hands in an odd sort of embrace,
his sex still hard within her, aching with the need for release. She did not tell him to move, though, did not
let him release, so he stayed still, counting to keep his composure.“It is my
sigil. This was the mark on all of my
rings in Nova Roma. It is the symbol for
Bellona[1]. I did not wear the official seal of my father’s
position—I was no ruler then. Just in
training.” Unexpectedly, she flexed her
hips, her internal muscles squeezing, drawing a gasp and groan from Lance. She traced the mark with her nail again, her
lips quirking into a smile. “You’re
marked now, everfixed. You are not
Bellona’s. You are mine. I am her priestess. Or I would have been had I not died.” She leaned forward, pressing her hands
against his chest as she began moving then in earnest.Lance
groaned and closed his eyes, grasping her hips more tightly. He was lost for a long moment in the feeling
of her, the silken heat of her sex around his, the soft noises she was making low
in her throat. He could not peak yet,
not matter how much he wanted to, not until she said he could. He ached with the need to, the desperation
to, but he held on, gritting his teeth so tightly that his jaw throbbed in
pain. Amara sat up suddenly, tossing her
hair back over her shoulders, arching her own back as release washed over
her. She breathed the word, his
permission, not a request but a command, and he fell into it gladly, his body
shuddering with relief as he filled her, her muted cry a counterpoint to his
long, low groan. After several panting
moments, she carefully moved off of him, laying beside him in the rapidly
cooling room, both of them shivering as the heat dissipated from their
bodies. “I thought,” he finally asked,
voice thick, “that this lock thing was a mark.”
He fingered the small lock he wore on a chain around his neck, under his
shirt, the counterpart to the key she wore around hers.“It is,”
she sighed, yawning. “But it is not
enough. It can be removed. You are marked now, in your flesh. I am always in you now, part of you. No matter where you go.” She pushed herself up onto her elbow and
looked him in the eyes, her expression inscrutable. “Things won’t be the same soon. It’s all moving quickly, towards something
new and different.” She frowned and
shook her head, her hair falling into her face as she exhaled noisily. “Too much has changed already. You can feel the drift…”“What are
you talking about, Princess?” He pushed
her hair back and peered into her narrowed eyes. “Nothing’s changed…”“It has,”
she insisted, laying her head down and closing her eyes. “Everything has changed. It will never be the same again.”[1] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bellona_(goddess)
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