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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Chapter 9: The Mind Makes It Real
- Warnings: M/F, Oral, Angst
Kneeling in the lotus position atop her bed in the X-Mansion, wearing only a sheer nightie, Betsy Braddock – ‘Psylocke’ to her foes and ‘Bess’ to her closest friends – focused on the candle on her nightstand. The meditative technique she was initiating had once belonged to Kwannon, the Japanese bint who’d stolen Betsy’s body at the behest of the Hand, a shadowy mob spread throughout East Asia. This technique for sharpening memory, when enhanced by Betsy’s psionic abilities, allowed her to relive any memory she chose.

Within her mindscape, Betsy brushed aside the lingering fragments of Kwannon’s memories; she’d relived the few that still existed – primarily training for various ninjitsu maneuvers, but also some of the other ‘uses’ the Hand had subjected her to – and had no wish to do so again. She shuddered at the thought of a woman so thoroughly broken she would equate servitude with pleasure. At that moment, right on cue, she also passed her graduate studies and readings, manifested as an enormous bookcase overflowing with all sorts of tomes, most of them on feminist theory.

Next came her memories of her modeling days, represented by a wardrobe and full-length mirror. Betsy paused to look in that mirror, wondering about its connection with readings in feminism, until she decided on irony. In the mirror she saw herself as she had been in those days: exuberant, optimistic, probably naïve; tall, blonde, buxom, a natural Brit beauty but for her less-than-perfect smile. Her younger self waved at her; her heart leapt into her throat, and she fled, lest she wallow in self-pity over the irrevocable changes she’d endured.

Why are you crying? asked Scorn, in the form of a fork-tongued Mystique but using Betsy’s own voice. Weakling, you ought not miss those days of making yourself an object to be ogled.

Betsy wiped her eyes and refocused. I will not become distracted, she resolved. All the other images shuffled and agglutinated into one giant lump; to the top rose the original object of her search: last night’s dream, which she could remember having, but not the details. Her hand reached out to touch it. Immediately it drew her in.

*************************************************************************

Betsy found herself lying on an unfamiliar bed, but the design of the windows indicated that she was in the Mansion. Next she noticed that she hadn’t a stitch of clothing on her body. The creak of an opening door sent her scrambling to pull a sheet over herself.

At least, that’s how she would react in the real world. Here, she rolled toward the sound, lounging in a pose worthy of Playboy. ‘There you are,’ Betsy heard herself purr. ‘I’d grown worried you’d forgotten about me.’ Shocked internally at her forwardness, she nonetheless put on her sauciest smirk, which widened into a grin when she saw Scott Summers entering the room.

Without preamble he joined her on the bed, kissing her the way she’d always wanted him to, and Betsy responded in kind. I certainly like the direction this dream is headed, she decided while her tongue ran along Scott’s lips. She started when she felt his fingertips running along the undersides of her breasts, tracing the faint scars there. Kwannon, Betsy knew, had received the implants as part of her Hand ‘training’ to improve her ‘usefulness’ to the organization. Betsy fought down a wave of disgust and focused on the man at hand.

Upon breaking the kiss, she discovered that Scott had joined her in nudity. Her eyes roamed his toned musculature, a familiar yearning hunger swiftly making itself known. Like the other two members of Charlie’s Angels – an unofficial nickname among the others for her, Emma Frost, and Jean Grey, the team’s most competent telepaths – Betsy found Scott quite the hunk. She supposed that it stemmed from the aura of confidence the team leader emanated; whatever it was, it drew telepaths like bees to honey.

Scott tugged gently on her stiffened nipples, eliciting a gasp from Betsy’s lips. Her hands trailed down his firm chest and washboard abs. Moisture began to coat her nether regions. Betsy clenched her thighs, rubbing them together in a vain attempt to contain her arousal.

A terrifying thought flashed into her head, one which she vocalized: ‘What about Jean?’

“Let’s just worry about the two of us for right now, Bess,” Scott murmured, nibbling her ear. One of his hands wandered along the curve of her waist before ducking inward to her smooth mound. His fingers stroked her nether lips expertly, sending shocks of pleasure throughout her body. Her back arched when he started to massage her clit.

‘Oh my,’ Betsy moaned, ‘I’ve had naught but wanking since… since before…’ She tossed her head to indicate her purple hair and nodded at the rest of her body.

Scott placed a finger to her lips. “Just relax, Bess, and let me make you feel good.”

Scott proceeded to do just that, his hands and lips exploring nearly every square inch of her. So inundated with pleasure was Betsy that she rather lost track of how she was being touched, of what she was doing, of what was happening around her. In fact, her awareness only recrystallized when she found herself licking the swollen tip of Scott’s sizable erection.

“Eager, aren’t we?” he teased, caressing her chin. Betsy’s reply consisted of a saucy glance upward while her lips wrapped around his prick. Limiting herself to the head because she was unsure about this body’s gag reflex, she worked her mouth up and down in a shallow pattern.

Scott uttered a soft noise of enjoyment as Betsy fellated. He gathered her hair away from her face into a loose ponytail. Confidence increasing geometrically, she bobbed her head in fuller strokes, which necessitated a shift in position, from lying on her side to up on her knees. Proud that she never broke her rhythm, Betsy reveled in the rivulets of arousal trickling down her thighs. Scott kneaded the back of her neck.

Pleasure surged suddenly throughout her body, so intense she had to release Scott’s prick to cry out. Betsy felt her pussy’s ecstatic spasm in response to the unexpected stimulation. ‘Oh yes! Yes! That’s good… that feels so… bloody… good!’ she groaned while the agent of her pleasure continued relentlessly. Through the haze of climax she finally identified the texture and movements on her nether regions: rough and lithe, it could only be a tongue pleasing her.

Once the orgasmic aftershocks subsided, Betsy turned her head to see who was licking her. A head crowned with red hair – in a ‘pixie cut’ no less – disengaged to peek around her thigh, and a single emerald-green eye winked at her. The visible half of her mouth curled in a mischievous smirk.

‘Jean!’ cried Betsy in shock. ‘You… you’re… licking…’

“Licking your fanny, yes,” finished the redhead. “Don’t deny that you enjoyed it.”

Betsy flushed, both from Jean’s word choice and from the truth they contained. ‘Well, yes, but… that was before…’

“You taste delicious: a bit sweet, a bit sour,” Jean continued, ignoring her. “Perhaps you’d like to taste me?” she purred as an addition.

Scott spoke up at this point. “Once she’s finished with me, you mean.”

The couple descended into squabbling over her, with Betsy in the middle, panting with arousal. Unwilling to remain silent, to have the choice to be taken away from her, the choice made for her, she announced, ‘Jean, I’ll go ahead and lick you… if Scott can fuck me.’

Both seemed taken aback by her request. Betsy took a deep breath, waiting. Finally, Jean nodded, and the trio rearranged themselves on the bed accordingly. Jean lay back, legs spread to display her bare pussy; Betsy knelt on all fours again, her head near Jean’s cunt and her cunt near Scott’s head; Scott parted her labia and made ready for ramming. Betsy noted that Jean’s breasts were no bigger than hers, though they lacked scars.

Betsy’s first lick of another woman, tentative yet gamely curious, drew a murmur from Jean’s lips. Her second, longer and more thorough, caused the redhead to cry, “Ahh, Bess!” Jean’s flavor on her lips reminded the Brit of fresh raspberries. She leaned down for more.

Meanwhile, Scott entered her with one unfaltering push until he was buried inside her to the hilt. Betsy moaned in mid-stroke, but Scott wasted no time, immediately rocking back and forth, building up speed. She willed her tongue to resume its ministrations.

*************************************************************************

At that point, the dream dissolved into a chaotic jumble. Betsy found herself, not in her mind, but back in her room, on her bed, in the lotus position. Before she could collect her thoughts, however, her head lolled backward, her hands gripped her knees, and her whole body trembled. She tried to speak, but could do no more than emit sharp, high-pitched cries of ecstasy.

Thirty seconds later, she slumped forward. Triggered by the dream, her climax had run its course.

Exhausted, Betsy processed what happened. What a dream… I’ve never dreamt of other women before. I’d certainly never enjoy another woman sexually.

The English mutant pondered further, scanning her mind for external influences. As she suspected, her scan came up clean. It’s just not Jean’s manner to implant dreams and fantasies into others, Betsy assured herself. I suppose that means this dream is… all me.

Sighing aloud, she rolled to one side and removed her sodden panties, the aroma of her own arousal conjuring images from the dream. I usually don’t get this wet unless I’m around Warren, she mused as she tossed the underwear into her laundry basket. Betsy arranged herself on her bed and fell quickly asleep.

No dreams disturbed her slumber; in the morning, Betsy had decided to file the dream away, in the mental folder with all her other erotically-strange, strangely-erotic dreams.
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A/N: Sorry for the wait on this chapter, everyone. End of semester blues and holiday craziness are often creativity sinks. That said, I've no clue when the next chapter will be up; early January seems like the safest prediction. Also, at some point, I'm considering expanding the first chapter a bit, but I'll let y'all know when it's up. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter, as it was another first for me: a MFF threesome. Reviews, as usual, are more than welcome.
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Solo Shots