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Solo Shots	By : DrunkenScotsman Category: X-men Comics > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 5554 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own the X-Men, nor do I own the rights to either X-Men: Legends or X-Men Legends 2: The Rise of Apocalypse. I'm affiliated with neither Marvel nor Activision. I make no money writing this entry.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter 7: Mind’s Eye
- Warnings: M/F, SoloF, WAFF

When Scott and I make love, we literally couple; our minds link together into one. We share every sensation, every emotion, every perceptual nuance – for instance, I know what I look like to him, all in shades of red and tinted with such emotional contexts as “protect” and “cherish.” I never feel more beautiful than when we’re coupling, for that very reason.
The first time this phenomenon occurred was our first time together, and it scared the hell out of me. Neither of us had any idea, any warning, that we were pioneering new frontiers of intimacy, with every veil, every barrier between us shorn away as we dissolved into one another, neither of us knowing where one ended and the other began. It still scares me, sometimes, such complete fusion of two minds – or, dare I say, souls? – though we have always (thus far) been able to cleanly extract ourselves afterward.
Needless to say, we always climax together. This morning’s brief intercourse was no exception.
I’m lying on my back, legs wrapped around Scott’s waist while he thrusts his deliciously erect penis into me. My hands roam his well-muscled back and broad shoulders. Knowing how much I love having my nipples pinched – a constant since I started masturbating at 13 – Scott obliges me, rolling the light-pink little buds between his fingers.
As per usual when we know we’re getting close, we lock lips, pulling us as physically close as possible. The surge of pleasure resonates between us, building, echoing until it overwhelms. I can never tell for sure how long the orgasm lasts, but it always seems both too long and too short.
The psychic link fades into the background to its normal level; we separate into Scott and Jean once more. I can feel his love for me as if it were a tangible blanket into which I could curl up and fall asleep. Drowsy, I suggest as much.
“Sorry, Jean,” he answers, kissing my forehead, “not this morning. I’m helping the Professor in the Danger Room with the tests for the new girl.” He stands, headed for our bathroom.
The one from Central Park yesterday? I ask telepathically, so as not to detract from his getting ready. The shower turns on, and I soon smell the scent of Scott’s tea-tree-oil shampoo, an aroma that never fails to invigorate me. I had to inform her that her dashing hero was already spoken for.
Scott doesn’t answer right away. I can see the water running deliciously down his body, but I sense he’s in a rush. He knows I’d join him otherwise. I find myself growing aroused again; apparently my libido wasn’t fully satisfied with a quickie. Though not a unique occurrence, it’s rather unusual for my body to require a second round of stimulation.
I see. In that case, I’ll be sure not to encourage her, he assures me while rinsing his hair. I won’t push her too hard, either, he assures himself, though Wolverine might. His confidence emanates from his consciousness like pheromones, having the expected effect on my already-aroused state – that is, intensifying it immensely.
My left hand slips between my legs, which part eagerly; my fingers brush the narrow strip of dark red hair before skimming along my labia slick with arousal. Near the opening they encounter Scott’s semen as it oozes out. I smear it all over my vulva, reveling in the pure pleasure it brings, pleasure that continues to surge with each stroke of my clit.
My right hand kneads my right breast, squeezing and massaging the sizable lump of tissue. Though they don’t quite measure up to Rogue’s – I almost qualify for a D-cup, but she almost qualifies for the next size up, double-D or E depending on the store – I’m proud of my handful-and-a-half breasts. My palm rubs against the swollen tip of my nipple, amplifying my pleasure fivefold and drawing a long moan from my mouth.
I switch breasts, now pinching and tugging the nipple on the left breast. Another moan escapes me, and I flash back to that first bewildered attempt at self-pleasure: lying in bed, struggling to keep quiet, terrified that someone would walk in and catch me rubbing my breasts with their puffy nipples. I call them “breasts,” but at that point there was only a minimal difference between my thirteen-year-old body and my body the previous year. Looking back on it now, it’s funny how, at that time, I thought the sudden, uncontrollable bucking of my hips and kicking of my legs meant I’d somehow broken something in my brain, that I’d just turned myself into some kind of pervert.
I dip a finger into my well-lubricated vagina to gather some of Scott’s semen. When I pull the fingertip out, it glistens with a blend of our essences, his and mine inextricably mixed – a physical representation of what happens, metaphysically, when we couple. The erotic cocktail tantalizes; I succumb to curiosity.
The flavor proves glorious, a combination of my own tangy flavor and Scott’s salty one, with just a hint of smoky aftertaste that tells me he’s been eating more red meat lately. My tongue eagerly collects every droplet from my finger, but it’s not enough. My questing digits return to the site of the divine nectar, delving deeper to obtain more of the precious substance. They probe a second time, a third, a fourth. By the fifth expedition I feel like I’m about to explode.
Unfortunately, by the fifth attempt, I notice that there just isn’t any more left to excavate. Curling my fingers, I try to scrape along the anterior wall of my vagina. I’m halted when they reach a spongy spot that launches a bolt of raw pleasure straight to my core. From previous exploration, I know it’s my G-spot, though for various reasons I’ve never quite gotten around to using it to climax.
There’s no time like the present.
My back arches as I stroke my G-spot. Groans, deeper and more guttural than any other noise I’ve ever made, erupt from my throat, powered by my diaphragm. I’m delighted that even after years of sexual activity with Scott and better than a decade of masturbation, I still learn new avenues for my physical pleasure. Pressure starts to build deep inside, signaling that orgasm approaches. I can tell that it’s going to be intense.
Applying more pressure to my internal nerve cluster triggers grunting – grunting! – and gasping for air. I’m almost positive my beloved can hear my noises, not that I mind; in fact, it gives me an added thrill to think he knows just how wanton I can get. On impulse, I use my free hand to press down on my groin from the outside, further compressing my G-spot. My eyes squeeze shut. The walls of my vagina throb around my fingers.
Comparing this orgasm to a freight train would constitute a gross understatement. This climax defies any metaphor, any euphemism. Only while wielding the power of the Phoenix have I experienced such a rush of intense sensations, and I find myself begging that I’m not becoming the Phoenix again.
I open my eyes languidly. My head lolls to one side. When I see the clock, I realize that I had lain insensate for about half an hour. I couldn’t move right now for any reason whatsoever. My left hand seems to be drenched in some sort of fluid.
Beside the clock there’s a note I didn’t notice before. Somehow I muster the focus to float it to me so I can read it. I can’t help but giggle at its contents:

Jean, you seem to have gotten fluids all over the sheets while I was in the shower. Would you mind laundering them this afternoon? Much love, Scott.

PS Since when do you have squirting orgasms? I thought they were a myth.
Naughtily, I telepathically replied, hoping that my response would distract him for the rest of the day: Apparently they aren’t. We’ll just have to do a little more research on the subject later this evening. Sensing Scott quiver in anticipation all the way from the sub-basement lets me know he got the message.
Suddenly, I’m really looking forward to tonight.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Solo Shots