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even in vegas (thought that counts)

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Even before she opens her eyes, Marie knows she's in trouble.

The room is large, from the sound. She's lying down, on her back, on some sort of raised and padded platform. The pain is gone and all her senses humming, focused on the nearest scent besides her own; an overwhelming funk that clings to her nostrils and invades her pores, raising the hair on her arms, setting every nerve ablaze. The smell is new but not unfamiliar, a recent acquaintance despite the subtle recognition. And the Wolverine's presence is stronger than before, pushing Erik and the rest of her unwanted companions back down into passive observation, as Logan tries to come to grips with his mind being inside the body of a teenage girl. The undercurrent of his thoughts is alternately frightening and fascinating, a bedrock of solidity for the buzz and thrum of sensory input.

An unearthly calm descends upon her. Time slows, to a crawl --

Her eyes fly open at the sound of a scream, choked off before it becomes more than a gasp. Jean stares down with equally huge eyes as both women take in the sight of Marie's bare fingers encircling her wrist.

"Oh my God --" Marie jerks back as though her hand's been scalded, hugging her arms tight to her chest. "I'm so sorry, I didn't --"

"Rogue -- it's all right." Jean holds up both hands, encased in latex. "I'm all right."

Marie doesn't move, unless trembling counts. The torrent of memories flooding back, her own along with so many others, threatens to overwhelm until Logan shoves himself into the foreground, asserting dominance.

"Good." Does she really sound this way? So helpless and frail?

"What about you?" Jean's question is tempered with curiosity. "Your vital signs are normal, but -- what about the rest of you?"

"Noisy." She leaves it at that. The artificial peach bodywash from yesterday's shower makes her nose twitch and her skin itch, and that's before her mounting reaction to the more troubling and potent smell underneath. Jean's hair is pinned up in a bun, a few loose strands curling about her neck, the undone top button of her shirt revealing enough skin to keep drawing Marie's eye to a degree she finds unsettling. Not as though she has any horrible prejudice to overcome; even if she'd chosen to remain silent, she'd always felt bad when her classmates called Nadine Price the biggest dyke in the county. It's just hard to determine right now, precisely where Logan ends and she begins.

I loved you from the moment I saw you. She bites her tongue, realizing she almost said it out loud. A hot blush fills her cheeks at the thought of Logan saying those words, tempered by the certainty they were intended for someone else.

"You about done?" It comes out snippier than she'd like.

"I'm just waiting on a few more test results." Jean's frown isn't directed at her. "Is something wrong?"

"Could use a smoke." Marie coughs and ducks her head. "Sorry. Just slipped out."

"Try not to pick up any bad habits." Jean's amused, at least. "His healing factor wore off while you were sleeping."

"Be nice if I didn't need it again." She sits up, holding herself gingerly on the edge of the table. Trying not to feel as though she'll explode on contact only makes things worse.

"Rogue --" Jean sighs when she doesn't look up. "Marie."

Her gaze remains fixed upon the floor. "Yeah?"

"I know this may be hard to believe, with two telepaths under the same roof. And the Professor -- even without Cerebro, he's far more powerful than I am."

Don't sell yourself short. Thank God she didn't say that out loud, either. Clearly Logan is more than smitten with this woman, or with whatever notions of her he'd conjured in his head, based on limited exposure.

"But you are safe here. Do you understand? No one should ever touch you -- or your mind -- without your permission. And in this house, no one ever will." Jean is resolute as iron. "You have my word."

Marie still finds herself unable to meet the other woman's gaze. "I believe you."

Jean lays a tentative, latex-clad hand on her shoulder.

"I'd feel more confident if you could look at me."

"I'm not tryin' to be rude. It's just -- it's already hard enough." She forces herself to continue. "Y'know -- not bein' hard?"

Jean sounds as though her brow is furrowing in confusion. "I'm not --"

"I mean --" Marie can hear her accent grow thicker, as it tends to under stress; shuddering as her hands grip the table. "I mean I want you somethin' fierce, girl. Wanna eat you up, fuck you 'til you can't walk straight --"

"Marie." But the calm in Jean's voice is betrayed by a hint of tremor.

"Suck you up an' milk you dry, scratch you up so everyone can see --"

She stumbles to a halt, biting her lip and staring down at her scrawny legs, the knobby knees under the unflattering gown; feeling Jean's hand on her shoulder, those slim fingers gripping tight, on the verge of pain. Even Cody's desire for her, crude and sweet in its adolescent simplicity, half-formed by a million fantasies, had quickly faded apart from the occasional whisper. In contrast, Logan is a silent roar that fills the moistening ache at her center, the urge to fuck raging alongside the need to be fucked. It's an irreconcilable contradiction that leaves her trembling, breathless.


"What --" She looks up, momentarily startled out of misery and confusion.

I'm not reading you. Only sharing myself. Jean's grip eases but her hand remains in place, those silent eyes seeking understanding. May I continue?

Marie nods, her thoughts racing despite the attempted reassurance. Now that she's looking Jean in the eye, she finds it impossible to look away. The quality of the other woman's thoughts has an odd solidity her words are lacking, that no human voice can possibly convey.

So you're frustrated can't get it up?

The momentary horror is eclipsed by both of them erupting in a fit of giggles. Marie thinks her cheeks are about to burst into flame, but their laughter has at least defused a little tension. Jean has one hand over her mouth, and her expression is threatening to send Marie off again when the intercom chimes.

Marie stifles a cough. Jean clears her throat, straightening her shirt before pressing the big red button.


"Logan's still out." Scott's clipped, exhausted tone emanates from the tiny speaker. "What about Rogue?"

"I'm up," Marie blurts out, before she can stop herself.

"I should have my results in about twenty minutes." Jean smiles at her by way of apology. It's not enough to completely ease the flare of resentment Marie feels at being so easily overruled, but it's something. "Did you need us?"

"The professor thinks physical proximity might help revive him." Scott sounds only marginally less tense. "Bring her down as soon as you're finished."

"Will do." Jean disengages, but her smile disappears as she busies herself with tidying scattered papers and instruments. Marie watches her for a moment, finally compelled to venture some contribution, however banal.

"We should go."

"Not just yet." Jean continues to fuss, though she doesn't sound overly distracted. "Scott could stand to learn a little patience. I don't appreciate him discussing you like a piece of lab equipment."

"Shouldn't tease a man, darlin'." Marie shuts her eyes again, grimacing at the rubbing together of her thighs as she squirms on the exam table. Even more disturbing is the realization of how weird it feels not to have something more there between her legs.

"Sorry." She manages to at least make eye contact this time. "It'll wear off. Eventually," she concludes with a mutter, under her breath.

"You have nothing to apologize for." Jean's hand is gentle on her forearm. Marie figures she must be adjusting when her first instinct isn't to recoil at top speed.

"If it's any consolation, I don't think..." Marie collects her thoughts, both her own and the others inside of her. "No. I know he wouldn't act like this. Not with you."

"Well, you are sixteen." Jean allows herself a little smile, apparently trying not to sound condescending. "Feeling like a slave to your hormones is perfectly normal."

Marie snorts, but doesn't reply. Normal went out the door the day she nearly killed her first boyfriend.

"If anything," Jean continues, "I'm the one who should be sorry. None of this is your fault."

"I know." Marie forces herself to remain motionless under the other woman's touch, trying to find what enjoyment she can. The reality of human contact, even through layers of cloth and latex, is a pleasure too long denied. "It's not your fault I'm a mutant. Or that I can't..."

"I meant what I said. I haven't read your thoughts. But I can understand how frustrating your power must be. And..." Jean releases her arm. The other woman doesn't look uncomfortable, per se; merely searching for an appropriate turn of phrase. "Having to deal with a grown man's urges."

"I..." Marie opens her eyes, despite the heat in her face. Jean looks and sounds more concerned than embarrassed, giving her the courage to continue. "I wasn't gonna say anything."

"This is why you should." Jean still has that kindly air of authority, but there's something else in her words, something less straightforward Marie can almost taste. "There's no pill or shot I can give you for this. As you said, the only cure is time. But you're not alone," she stresses. "You have people you can talk to. People you can trust."

Marie studies her fingers, twisting together in her lap. "I trust Logan."

"I got that impression." Thankfully, Jean doesn't sound overly amused. "I don't want to push. Or come across like the mom who's trying too hard --"

"I ain't that young," Marie protests, quickly backtracking. "I mean -- you're not old..."

"It's all relative." Jean smiles briefly before returning to the land of serious.

"I can't --" Marie shakes her head, abruptly slamming a clenched fist down on the exam table. "God, Jean! I can't even jack off!"

Jean winces in sympathy. "That...would present a problem."

Marie hugs her arms, trying to rub away the tension. Her biceps are too small underneath her hands, and she can sense Jean's own discomfort, the passing air currents that ripple and dance as they carry the other woman's scent to her greedy, twitching nostrils. The rest of the room is near sterile, unnaturally clean, making Jean stand out even more, a beacon of life. Every stutter and quicken of that beating heart speaks volumes, that Marie herself only lacks the experience to interpret.

"I think I can help."

Caution and confusion war in her mind as Marie raises her head. A lump rises in her throat at the conflict on Jean's face.


She sounds even more pitiful to her ears, but it doesn't seem to embolden the good doctor. Belatedly, she realizes Jean is actually fidgeting, though not on the surface. Only Marie's enhanced perceptions allow her to sense the turmoil within.

"Use your imagination." Another brief smile from Jean, this time tempered with notable gravity. "Literally."

Marie frowns. "You mean --"

"I mean that a telepath can make anything seem real." Jean leans forward in her chair, lowering her voice. "If you want it to be."

Marie's heart does a double take. Vaguely naughty notions are doing their best to coalesce in her mind, not quite getting there.

"How real are we talkin'?" She has a little less trouble believing she's hearing it than saying it. "Wouldn't that be...cheating? On Scott?"

Jean meets her gaze. "Yes."

The single syllable is uttered as a matter of fact, an acknowledgment of simple truth. Marie feels herself torn four ways, a matching pair of angels and devils on each shoulder. The good girl she'd been raised, horrified at the notion of infidelity, of tearing apart her newly adopted family; the noble Wolverine, doing the right thing at all costs regardless of the pain. He would never be so bold, or stupid, as to think he deserved a woman like Jean. On the other side, his mirror image: Growling, emotionally starved; willing to die for the chance to do more than breathe her scent. And Marie's own desire; fired by years of curiosity and frustration, and the heartstopping possibility of such a profound opportunity eluding her timid grasp.

She can't believe she's saying it.

"How...exactly...would that work?"

Jean looks graver still. Marie hadn't realized that was possible.

"I want you to know that no matter what your answer, if the professor decides I've done something wrong -- or if the law becomes involved -- it probably won't make a difference." Jean straightens her cuffs and crosses her legs, prim and proper under the black knee-length skirt.

Marie wrestles her eyes back up. "I know."

"But your consent is still very important to me." Jean's gaze never wavers. "Possibly the most important thing."

Despite herself, Marie swallows.

"I know."

Jean takes a deep breath and slowly exhales. Marie is very proud of herself for keeping her eyes up top.

"Would you like me to show you?"

Jean opens her eyes, staring about with a growing sense of wonder. "What is this?"

Marie slowly turns around. Colorful scarves hang on the walls, along with a collection of postcards adorning a hand-drawn map of the continent. Even if the rest didn't ring a bell, she'd recognize her own handwriting anywhere.

"It's my old room." She can feel the impending shakes threaten to return; hear herself screaming at the sight of Cody lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. His chest barely moving --

"You feel safe here." Jean's voice is low and soft.

"I always did." Her hands tremble. "Until..."

"Old ghosts." Jean's eyes flare white, and Marie feels her tension ease; not forcibly dismissed or swept under the rug, a touch so gentle she almost thinks she imagines it.

"Nothing can hurt you," Jean continues, stressing the first word. "Not in this place."

A shaky laugh escapes Marie as she returns to examining the simulacrum. Hard to believe it's all just a matrix. Keanu would be jealous at the level of detail. Maybe in awe.

"How is this happening?" Marie finds herself enraptured by motes of dust that drift in the air, caught in the light.

"You create this reality." Jean nods toward the far wall. "I'm only facilitating. Sharing a connection."

Her feet feel numb as she approaches the mirror, tongue clumsy in her mouth at the thought of some minor detail out of place that might dash her suspension of disbelief on the rocks. But the only surprise is how normal her reflection appears. The hospital gown has gone the way of the dodo, replaced by white drawstring pants and a matching shirt with long, loose sleeves. Her hands and feet are bare, hair tumbling in a cascade over her shoulders, the shocking streak of white further accentuating her angelic appearance.

"It suits you."

She'd almost forgotten Jean's presence. The other woman is dressed in the same demure, professional outfit Marie remembers. The skirt may be a little shorter.

"Thanks." Marie ducks her head, abruptly shy. The raw, molten aggression is still there, but it feels as though Logan's deliberately pulling back. Trying to shield his higher thoughts.

Jean's hand rises and stops, hovering over Marie's skin. Her voice is equally hesitant. "May I?"

A chill runs through her at the other woman's body heat, barely perceptible through the flimsy fabric of her shirt. Marie nods, unable to take her eyes from their reflection; the sight of Jean's hand as it gently tugs her collar away to expose more of her neck and shoulder. The shock of first contact as the hand comes to rest on her skin has a calming effect, even as that warm touch seems to slowly spread all throughout her body.

Marie watches her own hand rise, come to rest on top of Jean's fingers. "Am I dreamin'?"

Jean smiles at her in the mirror. It's too much, and Marie turns around and hugs with all her might, like she could squeeze herself inside.

"Thank you." She will not cry, she vows. Her entire world is the feel of this wonderful woman, the intoxicating scent, and her sob turns to a shaky laugh. "Oh, thank you..."

Jean returns the embrace, stroking her hair and back, barely brushing the light swell of her hip. The wordless little shushing noises she's making only cause Marie to sniffle harder, trying to regain composure if not her dignity. At this point, that's a lost cause.

"I'm sorry," Jean whispers into her hair. Marie can hear the multitude of meaning in those words. For the curse of her power; for capturing the heart of her beloved without even trying, for this moment not lasting forever. Logan's desire is no less obvious as he simmers in silence, a calming presence keeping the other spirits at bay. Of those, Erik is the strongest, his disapproval plain; of what she can't say.

Logan's still holding back. She reaches out, feeling him shy away.

I need you, she tells him. Not a lot. Just so's I'm not a complete blushing virgin.

It's almost funny, his reaction to those words. She can tell part of it has to do with being inside her, at everything being completely normal yet utterly wrong. He's faced untold dangers, literal armies of men, things he can't even remember yet he still can't quite adjust to his surroundings. Hell, he doesn't even remember growing up. For as long as he can remember, he's always had this incredibly solid sense of his body as a whole and perfect unit, where nothing ever really changed. It makes the situation even stranger for him than regular people who find themselves trapped inside her. Not so much scared; merely unable to reconcile the reality of her with everything he's come to know as himself.

It's not real, she assures him. Now, you gonna help? Or sit there and let me make us both look like a fool?

Jean captures her chin, looking down at her with a tender gaze. Lucky for Marie she doesn't mind feeling shy, because that doesn't appear to be going away any time soon.

She manages a smile. "I feel like I should be givin' you flowers."

"I'm surprised you're not wearing a dress." Jean's smile partially soothes her embarrassment. "Don't worry. You look lovely."

"So do you." Marie looks down at the floor. Or she would, if Jean's cleavage weren't right there at eye level. "'re really tall."

Jean chuckles, and Marie looks up again. She's just thinking they've been standing there an awful long time when Jean is drawing her closer, leaning in and kissing her like every damn Disney princess ever; nothing at all like her fumbling memories of playing doctor, now Marie's got herself a real one and isn't that supposed to be every girl's dream? She can't help a giggle as she returns the kiss, with increasing boldness.

"Have you done this before?" She pulls back, seeing Jean's confusion. "Not the, uh, mind thing --"

"You mean the...girl thing?" Jean raises an index finger and taps her on the tip of the nose. Such a casual gesture, this little chastisement. One more moment of contact.

"A gentleman shouldn't kiss and tell. And neither --" Lips press against the same spot as the finger. "Should a lady."

"Right now?" Marie gazes up through heavy eyelids. "I ain't feelin' like much of either."

"Whatever you want -- or not," Jean quickly clarifies. "Any time you want to stop. All you have to do is tell me."

"I take over, you might be the one beggin' me to stop --" Marie sucks in a quick breath. Jean looks about ready to hug her again, to try and take away the frustration, and Marie shakes her head. "No. You just -- just keep goin', for now. Okay?"

Jean nods as her other hand joins the first, slender fingers tracing the younger woman's cheekbones. Marie's hands flutter over her shoulders, still reluctant to return her touch. The swelling between her legs feels lovely as ever and yet she can't help wondering where this damned wetness seems to be coming from, before remembering which body she's supposed to be in.

"I feel --" Something isn't right; no way to place the rising itch that scurries beneath her skin. "I -- I need to -- ow!"

The metallic sliding sound is by now so familiar to her ears that part of her is amazed at her own surprise. Except Marie finds herself too distracted by the brief and fading sting, the horrible fear of equally painful memories.

She manages to speak. "Don't move...."

Her words appear unnecessary. Jean is likewise frozen, their eyes darting back and forth, taking in the lengths of shining chrome sprouting from her hands. Identical to her memory in every respect, if slightly smaller than Logan's; proportioned to the size of her own body.

She might be immobile, but Jean doesn't look worried, let alone scared. "May I see?"

Marie remains motionless as Jean turns slightly, her rapt expression a study in fascination.

"The two of you are quite a pair." Jean shakes her head, peering closer. Tiny raised ridges of tissue surround each claw where it springs forth from Marie's skin. "He's stronger than I thought."

"How's that?" Marie almost thinks she can breathe again. The prospect of any other movement is still a bit too scary.

"I didn't anticipate him manifesting in your physical form like this." Jean smiles, by way of awkward apology. "I'm sure that makes two of us. Maybe three."

A thought occurs to Marie.

"But what's physical about it? I mean --" She gropes for words, to explain her muddled concepts. "Isn't this...all in our minds?"

Jean's mouth twists in a brief moue of distaste. "Trust me. If you're looking for romance, one of the last things you want to be discussing is the mind-body dichotomy."

Marie hopes she looks contrite. "Gotta admit, I'm kinda curious."

"Really, it's not that complicated." Jean's expression says she's taking a huge leap over the middle section of the textbook. "Remember, I'm only providing the environment. And the connection between us. Your body is shaped by your desires in here, your needs. But with Logan in there as well --"

"Figures." Marie quashes most of her reaction with the skill borne of long practice. "Even my Barbie Dream Date has to go all Elm Street on me."

"How about we cross one hurdle at a time?" Jean cradles her hand, careful as ever. "Try pulling them in."

Marie squints and stares. For a second, nothing; and then they're sucked back inside with a sibilant whisper of steel, little wounds healing in their wake before she can blink.

"Ow." At a more cautious speed, she extends the claws on the hand farthest from Jean, trying to get a better look. "And...ow."

"You shouldn't worry about hurting me." Jean holds up one arm. "You have all the control you need."

"What --" But memory or instinct is there before she can think about it. Marie watches, mesmerized at the sight of her claws running down Jean's forearm, whisking away the wispy, almost invisible hairs.

"Not like I've ever shaved my legs with a straight razor. But the principle's the same." Jean's smiling, but also giving her that look again. "Too weird?"

"I'm startin' to think normal's relative." She lifts her hand, watching as the claws retract again, skin closing over before a single drop of blood can spill. Logan's healing power might have faded from her true body, but his memories would be part of her until the day she died, and thank God for that. Right now they're the only thing giving her the strength to hang on, to resist Erik's vague, implacable umbrage; to know any emotion other than fear and despair. She can feel the metal now that she's aware of it, nestled inside her wrists. Waiting to come out.

Jean is holding her hands again, without a heed for the danger; kissing the spots between her knuckles, trying to ease her tension but the whispers of touch between them are an unending series of shocks to the younger mutant's enhanced senses. The height difference between them shouldn't be significant, but under normal circumstances Logan had a two-inch advantage over the doctor. Yet another weirdness for the man inside her, already weirded out by the incongruity between his mind and her body. It also serves to remind her Jean is nearly fifteen years her senior, emphasize her own inexperience all over again.

Far more than any influence of Logan's, it's this imbalance of power that fires her aggression; stokes the flame enough for Marie to grow brave, stand on her toes and grab the back of Jean's head, pulling her down for a kiss. It's good, even without Logan's passion to fuel her, but the growing jitters are becoming harder to ignore, reminiscent of her first period that came on during a weekend hike. Not as traumatic as it could have been, thanks to Mom's thoughtful preparation. But the pain had started small, like this; gurgling and shifting, her body growing ripe and ready to bear some strange fruit. Jean's mouth is literally sweet, her kisses everything Marie imagined from those full lips she so wants and needs to bite down on, and she wrenches herself free with a gasp.

"Wha--" The sensation isn't so painful that she finds it unpleasant, per se; more scary, surprising, all the more so for not being instantaneous. The space of under two seconds doesn't seem much at all, yet it's enough for fear to rise to near panic as her innards expand, seeming to turn inside out. "Ow -- ow, OW, OW!"

The startled cry turns to a shriek ripped from her throat as Marie claps both hands to her crotch, her instinctive reaction of clamping her legs together having triggered this final outburst. The momentary pain alone is enough to distract her from Jean's hand on her back, guiding her to half-fall, half-sit on the edge of the bed, legs akimbo. Her mouth hangs open, she must look a fright, and while the raging stiffness in her pants has somewhat subsided from the pain, she's even more afraid to move than when the claws were out. The abrupt and awkward presence between her legs is utterly foreign, and wholly familiar.


If only she were as confused as Jean looks. Right now, ignorance would be bliss.

"I..." She can feel the blush threatening to catch fire. "I think we might have a problem."

"What is it?" Jean is nothing but gracious, as ever. Right now it only makes Marie feel like gritting her teeth.

"Just..." She takes a deep breath. "Give me a minute, okay?"

Jean sits beside her without a word, taking hold of her hand. Marie closes her eyes, even as it occurs to her to wonder just how far down this all goes.

Logan! She can easily see herself stomping one foot, glaring up at him. Was this your idea?

Don't look at me, kid. The tinge of embarassment in the gruff reply is more than a little outweighed by evident amusement. At least part of it is nothing more than relief, now that he feels slightly less at odds with the form he's been forced to inhabit. That much is clear, but the bulk of him is still shielded from her mental scrutiny; even more so than Erik, now retreated into stunned silence. No trace of an image accompanies Logan's words, his thoughts hovering on the brink of audible.

"Jean...I'm real sorry, but I gotta ask." Marie glances down, more directing Jean's eyes than her own. Actually, she's trying not to look. "Did you do this?"

"What in --" Jean's expression is undergoing a singular set of changes as she struggles to reconcile the sights before her. "Is...that what I think it is?"

"I..." Marie looks down at the significant tent in her pants. "I think it is."

"Ah." The combination of emotions on Jean's face would be fun to decipher, if Marie wasn't right now contemplating how much worse things can get. Full on freakout wouldn't solve anything, but it might make her feel better.

"That looks very uncomfortable," Jean observes. Only someone with this much class could deliver that line without a seventies horn soundtrack. "May I?"

Marie knows how wary she probably looks, even driven by God knows what kind of mix of metaphysical hormones. The sympathy in Jean's eyes only makes it worse.

"It probably doesn't. But if it makes you feel any better --" Jean pauses, deadpan. "I am a doctor."

Another fresh and welcome outburst of mutual giggles dissolves a bit of tension. Marie shakes her head.

"Okay, that sounded like a porn movie."

"And how many of those have you seen, at your age?" What might have been a taunt from anyone else comes across as a playful tease, welcome at the most serious of moments. With all Jean's doing to put Marie at ease, if she can't get laid under these circumstances --

Okay, she thinks. Just a visit to the doctor. No big deal.

Before she can lose the nerve she stands, shucks the pants in one smooth motion and sits back down, hands on her thighs. The memory of cloth is a whisper compared to the cool air caressing her skin, the sudden freedom a shock to her newly exposed addition.

Jean still isn't touching. "May I?"

Marie allows the older woman to coax her hands aside as together, they examine the state of things. Her penis -- there, she said it, penis -- is well shaped, at least going by the few in her own memory for comparison; uncut, not overly long but good and thick, with a smooth upward angle. Its erect state having briefly flagged from the pain of inadvertently racking herself, between healing factor and Jean's close observance it's back at full mast, rearing its head and raring to go.

Yep. That's mine, all right. Logan gives it a critical once-over. Looks better on you.

Marie's almost flustered enough to say it out loud. Huh?

Logan's chuckle sends a warm tickle throughout her body. Less hair.

That's at least funny, but still weird. You gotta be kidding.

I'm a guy. If a mind can shrug, Logan's does. I'm straight. What'd you expect?

Can't say I was expectin' any of this. Marie continues to stare, the irony only now occuring to her. First one she gets to see in the flesh and it turns out to be her own.

"This is..." Jean shakes her head, momentarily speechless. Some might scoff at Marie's assessment, but the excitement she's seeing is clearly scientific implication rather than erotic possibility. It's enough to trigger an inner groan from Logan, long sick to death of being the subject of experiments.

Guess the honeymoon's over, huh? Marie can't resist the jibe. But Jean is speaking.

"It must be like the claws." Jean frowns in concentration, pondering as she goes. "Your outer form is determined by your inner thoughts."

"And his." Marie regards the blunt instrument with no little trepidation. The reverse selfie angle keeps making her feel like so many of those she's touched must have, like she's in the wrong body. The most disconcerting aspect is how right it feels, despite the seeming mismatch. "Never thought I'd have to deal with one from this end."

"They're pretty straightforward from either direction." Her near smirk aside, Jean's delivery is dry, almost clinical. "On a primal level, male desire is as uncomplicated as it gets. Penetration, ejaculation...impregnation."

Marie gulps.

"Maybe not so straightforward for the owner." Jean frowns again, looking Marie in the eye. "But...this couldn't have happened without you. I'm not saying you did this, or that you subconsciously wanted it. But it wouldn't surprise me if it was your own unconscious response to his feelings. If you...follow me," she concludes.

The overabundance of compassion and understanding would be getting to Marie again. Except she can hardly believe what she's hearing, even as the swollen flesh gently bobs up and down; feels like it weighs a ton, like it's an iron bar and Jean one big soft magnet. The crude imagery evoked by Jean's delicate phrasing only serves as further torment, conjuring visions of the older woman through Logan's approving eyes. Of course he would want her. Not some skinny, inexperienced virgin he could never --

Hey. Logan sounds hurt. Kid. It ain't like that --

"Shut up." She doesn't realize she's spoken aloud until she sees Jean's confusion, trying not to become hurt. "Sorry. Not you."

"I'm sure it must be as disorienting for him." Jean looks down at their joined hands. "I'm sorry. I know this is happening because of him, but...I wanted this to be about you."

"It's okay." Part of her wants to cry: The part still holding on to the insane notion that her first time should be with Logan, dammit, and with him doing the fucking, her the gloriously fucked. Whether romantic or anything but, she'd imagined their coupling a thousand and one ways in the short time since she first laid eyes on this brutal and beautiful man; shed countless tears into her pillows, knowing her fantasy would forever remain exactly that.

Logan is silent.

What? She can hear the taunt in her own inner voice. Nothin' to say?

She regrets it the moment she thinks it, but it's too late now. She's nearly ready to apologize when he doesn't-speak.

Marie -- She's shocked he doesn't call her kid, so much that she almost misses the rest.

Much as I've been dreaming about her? The volume of his thoughts is grown quiet, the tone downright solemn. I'm just gonna try and sit this one out.

Don't leave me, she thinks. Instantly ashamed at the brief panic; unable to not be grateful for his presence.

Where would I go? The core of his calm remains, a firm and steadying hand as his immediate presence recedes into the background. Besides...wouldn't wanna spoil it for you.

She can feel her not-real body frown in confusion. What do you mean?

A faint chuckle.

Half the fun is learnin' as you go.

"Marie?" Jean's leaning down, looking concerned again. Perhaps more unsure. "If you want --"

"What I want --" Her accent is even stronger now, reflecting her stress level. "Oh God, this is so gonna sound like a teenage girl but -- I just wanna be me, okay?"

"You of all people should know." Jean's grace would put Marie to shame if it weren't so bloody supportive. "This body -- well, your actual -- you know."

The momentary fluster serves as a nice reminder that Jean is human. Which, Marie thinks, is a rather outsized level of ironic.

"This --" Jean nods toward her lap while maintaining eye contact. "Is only part of who you are."

Marie snorts. "Least ya didn't say, this is only a small --"

Jean giggles and buries her face in the juncture of Marie's neck and shoulder. The muffled vibration and tickle sends a jolt to every cell, every scrap of nerve and skin, an echo of pleasure remembered. Since leaving home, her few attempts at pleasuring herself had been all too bitter. Still, it didn't reduce the power of those orgasms in the slightest.

"How about..." Jean stands, directing Marie's hands to the buttons on her blouse. "We make this a little more equal."

"Huh." It's almost like watching someone else's hand undoing the buttons. Then she realizes it is, utters a mental growl. The fumbling is enough assurance that Logan has backed down, that it's all her again. So to speak. Her mouth goes dry at the sight of milky skin, the faintest dusting of freckles; at Jean's eagerness as the other woman reaches back to undo her bra.

"And...huh." Marie plants little kisses on the now exposed nipples, admiring their convenient location at eye level. Deciding she can't help herself, she dares a bite of utmost gentility, looking up with modest eyes and a playful growl. The skirt waistband is trickier at first, but a nudge from Logan sends her in the right direction, sliding it down for Jean to step out of with her usual grace, leaving only a pair of white hose and heels to admire and distract.

Jean gives a knowing look, without a hint of lewdness.

"Leave them on?"

Her eyes widen and her nostrils flare.

"No." Marie shakes her head, with a bashful smile. "I wanna feel all of you."

"I'd like that." Jean smiles back, hugging Marie to her chest. One foot finds its way into Marie's lap, narrowly missing her almost-forgotten erection before settling on her thigh. "Give me a hand?"

Marie shakes her head at the improbable and immaculate Manolo Blahniks. Hard enough to keep from being jealous without remembering the shoes must also have come from her own imagination.

"There we go..." Jean hums in satisfaction as Marie peels her stockings down, along with the white satin undergarments beneath. With so many conflicting emotions and personalities, it's far from easy to strike a balance between slow and too slow. But the breathtaking sight of complete and glorious nakedness literally makes her stop and take a breath. Geometry was always her favorite subject, and Jean's body is the near-perfect synthesis of curves and planes and angles; her pubic hair as expected, a carefully trimmed auburn red. Marie swallows as her gaze rises once more.

Slowly, never looking away, Jean reaches up and back. This has the added effect of lifting her breasts, but Marie finds herself transfixed as Jean removes the length of ivory from her hair, letting the bun loosen and uncoil; shaking her head so her hair falls just so over her shoulders and Marie is starting to see what it is that Logan does in this woman.

The kiss starts slow. Romantic. Like Bogart and Bacall she can picture it, almost. Except already it's growing lustful, sloppy, with eager moans and thrusting. Possibly an uncouth amount of drool. Jean's hands are roaming farther, removing Marie's shirt and tossing it aside, touching everywhere but there; sliding over, down, all around and back again, avoiding direct contact with the increasingly frisky organ demanding her attention.

"Hah --" Marie's laugh turns to a shudder as Jean's hip grazes the side of the shaft. "What are you --"

"Relax." Jean kneels, examining the rampant, somehow cute penis before her. She reaches out, placing a single finger on Marie's ankle, trailing it up her leg. Marie's breath hitches as she watches the finger crawling over her calf. Jean looks back and forth from the bobbing flesh at Marie's crotch to its owner's face, slowing as she reaches the indentation behind the knee.

"I know it's hard." Jean's tone is decidedly devilish. Marie's not sure if her groan is more at the pun as the finger travels up her thigh, over the crevice between her leg and those ungodly tender, vulnerable eggs in their sack, now tightly drawn up as the rest of her. The finger continues to slow, cautious but firm as the skin beneath it wrinkles and tightens further, and her cock bobs again, a large drop of clear fluid spurting forth.

With a whimper, Marie daintily collapses to a seated position on the edge of the bed, barely avoiding another painful accident.

Sweet Jesus, she thinks. It's alive.

"Where was I?" Jean licks the tip of her finger, causing Marie to groan as she reaches out again, finding the base of the column. "Oh, yes. There we go..."

Marie can hardly recognize the sound of her own voice. Probably because it's not actual words being pulled from her throat, as Jean's finger drags its way up the lengthening underside of her increasingly twitching cock. Marie leans back on her hands, her face contorting in a rictus of almost-pain; hips pushing up as the foreskin continues to peel back, the head swelling to near dangerous proportion and color and Jean's looking her dead in the eye when the moving finger hits the sensitive bit just below the head.

"Oh mah Gawd --" With all her might she struggles not to twitch, thrust or even move. Jean only pushes harder against that meaty resistance, so gentle back and forth and suddenly Marie's grabbing the edge of the bed, eyes bulging from her head as her cock throbs and gushes, covering a startled Jean's heaving bosom with thick ropes of fluid; her breath coming in short bursts punctuated by long squeals that taper to heavy panting, and finally to deep, slow breaths.

Another wordless groan accompanies a final spurt as they sit there staring in shock at the results and at each other. Marie winces, then relaxes.

"Are you all right?" Jean's other hand is resting on one thigh, with lewdness apparently once more a potential concern. Marie can't help but laugh, even as she finds herself blushing as furiously as Jean ought to be.

"Strangely -- yeah." They share another giggle as Marie looks down at her erection, undiminished. "I know, this is so weird, but -- it hurt. Just for a second."

"Human anatomy is more fragile than people realize." Jean nods. "Even normal vigorous sex can cause abrasions, microtears --"

"So romantic," Marie chuckles.

"And sensitivity is usually high after orgasm. Sometimes painful." Jean's speculative eyebrow is becoming another one of those knowing smiles. "But it looks like you have no refractory period."

Marie blinks. "Come again?"


Jean's mischievous grin is enough for Marie to fill in the blanks. Another growl stirs in her throat, at the sight of the other woman cleaning off her chest with one of the black bedsheets.

"Where'd these come from?" Marie falls back on the bed, writhing at the feel of real silk. "Mmm...I never had anything this nice."

"I have." Jean thinks. "Well -- the sheets, anyway. The one mission we got to stay in a really nice hotel."

"So they're from you?" Marie fights another blush. If only she had a bigger repertoire of reactions. "Thanks, but...I thought --"

"Guess I had to bring something to the party besides myself." Jean smiles as she finishes blotting herself dry, reaching over to brush the strand of white hair from Marie's face. "So now that we've taken the edge off..."

What comes out is more squeak than growl. "Edge?"

Jean raises an eyebrow, Spock-style.

"Ready to give that healing factor a real workout?"

"Oh." The shiver starts from deep inside, below and behind her navel, spreading heat through where her pussy ought to be. Jean is propped up on one elbow, one leg bent at the knee. The enticing, shadowy cleft between those thighs only whets Marie's appetite, further sharpening that strange new thirst. "Oh..."

Jean leans over at an angle to kiss her, running her fingers over the stiffening peaks of Marie's budding breasts; so close it's almost no contact at all.

"You're beautiful."

Marie's eyes widen as she stares up at Jean. The hand continues on, smoothing over the round swell of her belly before coming to rest on the sparse hair of her pubis, nudged up against the base of the stiffness below.

"I know you think he doesn't." Jean's voice is quiet and serious. "But he sees you."

Marie looks down, not quite grimacing at the sight that greets her. "You're just sayin' that."

"Not in here." Jean takes her by the chin, gently lifting to enforce eye contact. "You know it's true."

"You're all curves." Marie's gaze travels down the length of her body, back up to her flushed and questioning face, one hand resting on Jean's hip. "God, you'd look so good. All fat 'n pregnant..."

She stumbles to a halt as Jean simultaneously blushes and raises an eyebrow. Marie knows she must look as mortified as she feels, but Jean only kisses away the burgeoning shame.

"You want to know how I see you?"

Marie fights back a sniffle. "How?"

"The way he does." Jean's conviction is plain. "Like a wolverine. Small...and fierce."

The more she thinks on it, the more emotion threatens to overcome her. Instead she kisses back with growing passion, giving in and gnawing on that oh so tempting lower lip.

"Tell me what you want." Jean's insistence stops just shy of command. Marie can feel Logan inside her, struggling to give voice to his innermost desires.

"You know what I want." Her knees go weak to hear him in those words. "Want this to be special for you. Want to show you...I'm more than that."

And she can feel it like he's talking to her as well as Jean; feel her heart melt all over again, go right up in a cloud of steam and blood. Jean looks genuinely moved, and it's enough to embolden even the shyest of souls.

"But first..." She swallows, mouth watering in anticipation. "I want to taste you."

She can't tell anymore how far Logan's desires are intertwined with her own. But she can feel his hunger for Jean even as she gives in to her own; taking her pleasure in Jean's soft sighs, the arc of undulation under lips and tongue. At the same time, she can't help imagining herself in the older woman's place, with a lover preparing her, aching to take her virginity. Trying to ignore the heavy throb between her legs that screams to push in, now, as she kisses her way down Jean's belly; remembering how she dreamed of someone doing this for her, until --

"You don't have to --" Jean's voice is breathless, trying not to give too much direction.

"Don't say that --" Marie stops, looking up at Jean. "I don't just want you ready for me. I --" She struggles for control; not over Logan or the others, but over herself. "I want this."

She's still glad for Jean's silent assistance, the other woman's legs rising to wrap around her, fingers twining through her hair. It's like a duet, Marie thinks, where an experienced partner can carry a rank amateur. Except her confidence is growing as she explores the outer edges, strange and powerful smells flooding her senses; encouraging her to sink her tongue inside, slow and steady, her eyes never leaving Jean's and things are starting to become less awkward as she finds new and fascinating ways to tease new sounds from this beauty. Her hands knead Jean's thighs, greedy fingers gently tease flesh apart so her exploring tongue can get everywhere and when Jean moans again it's a deep, animal sound that goes straight to the pulsing weight of her cock.

Marie gives another satisfied hum, feeling Jean shiver at the vibrations. Faint psychic tendrils brush the edge of her mind: Jean, sharing her amazement at how the sheer perversity of their pleasure has suddenly come home to her as she stares down at the young girl devouring her, gasping as Marie lifts her up, hands clutching her ass. Marie strains to follow the motion of her shuddering hips, fighting to keep her prey from escaping as she snuffles and growls, a basso undercurrent to Jean's cries of pleasure.

"That's enough." Marie's voice is thick with passion, her cheeks burning, hair disheveled. Jean opens her arms, and Marie looks down in awe, watching her own right hand directing the head of her cock to the slick and spread outer lips.

The gasp that tears from her throat turns to a whine as the head slips in. She freezes, panting heavily before regaining control; eyes rising to Jean's as she resumes an agonizingly slow inward push. An insanity of sensation and situation floods her brain, driving all thought from her mind except the notion of giving her virginity to both Jean and Logan, at the same time, the experience as strong for her as Logan's fantasy of Jean coming true for him. She can't get enough of this soft, warm body yielding to her, enveloping her in boiling oil; only realizing as she comes to rest that she's embedded near to the root. Marie gasps, tries to pull back and it only takes one squeeze and a breathless oh from Jean to send her over the edge, pressing tight against that heaving body as Jean clamps down, endeavoring to milk her dry. The contractions seem to last even longer, the sheer volume of her ejaculation filling that grasping passage, mixing with the copious juices inside. Jean groans, and Marie joins in as her ass clenches and hips involuntarily thrust, feeling fluid leak from the seal of their flesh; oozing over her in a slow, steady stream.

"Hoo..." The shockwaves are still receding, leaving Marie covered in sweat, laying atop Jean, panting in wonder. The slight pain vanishes again as her cock regains what little hardness had been lost, swelling further still inside its delightful prison. Jean responds with unabashed hunger, pulling her down and suckling on her tongue. It's somehow dirtier than she ever expected, and Marie returns her explorations with equal fervor.

"You're sweet." Jean cups her cheek, stroking her hair. "But I won't break that easily."

Marie hesitates but a moment before easing her hips back, at a snail's pace. It's getting easier, sort of; pulling slowly out before thrusting in, hard and just as slow, the whole time staring Jean down, fueled by the growing passion in her eyes. Reaching down, she hooks her hands behind Jean's knees, pulling open her skewered body, ripe for plunder; pushing thighs up and back, spreading that tight, slick cunt as her strokes increase in speed, in power and depth. The look on Jean's face is bordering on astonishment, an echo of Marie's at her own actions. But Logan is the farthest thing from her mind; for each the other their only focus as Marie bends down and kisses hard and deep, continuing to thrust and grind.

Jean gives a startled squeak of surprise as Marie pulls out, flipping her over before the other woman can protest; grabbing and yanking her ass up, giving the closest cheek a good hard smack. The resulting cry and roll of hips, the way her fingers dig into the sheets, is all the encouragement Marie needs to keep going past her amazement at her own audacity. Jean isn't struggling in the least, letting her rough handler take full control as Marie spreads her cheeks with a groan, face pressing into the steaming, drooling treats on offer, nose buried in the twitching ring of muscle directly above; reveling in the taste of their combined fluids, gushing out of Jean in a slow flood. And now it's Jean's turn to groan, louder than ever, thrusting her ass up and back in unmistakable invitation.

Rogue -- for that's very much how Marie thinks of herself right now -- sits up, awkwardly shuffles forward on her knees with one hand cruelly sunk into Jean's left arse cheek, the other gripping the base of her cock. Both of them groan in unison as she sinks in, first the head, then to the hilt in one smooth stroke, her thumb pressing against the older woman's trembling sphincter.

"Please --" Jean gasps. Rogue leans over her, thrusting in hard and deep, voice quivering with strain.

"Please what?"

"Please -- don't --" Jean shrieks as Rogue pulls out and thrusts again, thumb dipping inside the tightness of her ass. "I don't think -- I can take it --"

"Oh, you could take it, darlin'." Rogue leans all the way down, enjoying the contact between them from head to toe; imagining how Jean must feel, all filled with cock, soft teenage tits pressing into her back. "And I'd make you love it."

Jean doesn't reply except to groan and shove back harder, jerking her hips, helping impale herself all the way.

"Oh gawd --" Rogue sounds briefly overwhelmed, almost afraid as she grabs Jean's hips for leverage, slowly pulling out to resume a more easygoing rhythm.

"Don't worry." Rogue sounds hoarse and unnatural in her own ears as she holds Jean open, leaning hard, putting all her weight on her hands. "But you love thinkin' about it...don't ya?"

Jean bucks and wails, clawing the sheets, her insides convulsing around the thrusting length of meat. Rogue bares her teeth, putting all the strength in her tiny body into her thrusts; the squeals wrenched from her throat turning to snarls as she tries to yell fuck --

She loses track of how many times she comes inside Jean in that position. Or how many positions come after that. All she knows is she could do this forever but poor Jean looks exhausted, her belly swollen with come and she's grabbing that damn demanding thing, tugging in encouragement as she lies back on the bed, pulling Rogue on top of her to straddle her chest.

"Are you --" Rogue hisses at the sight of Jean leaning up and staring her down, extending her tongue, laving the twitching, swollen flesh with infinite care. Another gasp teased and torn from her as Jean wraps one firm hand around the base, two fingers pressed between the individual eggs of her scrotum. The slow jerking is unspeakable torment as Jean bestows soft, sloppy kisses all over the head, trying to push her tongue inside the little slit at the tip.

"I know you want this." Jean nibbles her way up one side and down the other, avoiding full enclosure. The cruel glint in her eye is unmistakable as she gives the meaty shaft a firm slap with her free hand.

Rogue's jaw falls open as she leans back, trying to get a better look.

"You don't just want to knock me up," Jean continues with a throaty purr. "You want to make me yours...."

Rogue's groan is louder now, the sound of someone being stabbed. Jean hums and grabs the cheeks of her ass, fingertips prodding her rear entrance without actually pushing in. The teasing is more than enough to encourage the younger girl to move her hips -- whether forward or back, she's not sure -- and the first thrust forward, bumping against Jean's wet and parted lips, nearly makes her come right then and there.

She shudders to a stop. Both her and Logan, torn at the thought of hurting --

"Do it," Jean gasps.

Her mind strains to the snapping point as she leans forward, her knees pinning the redhead's arms to the bed. Easing her aching cock into a slippery inferno; groaning in ecstasy as more of her is surrounded, and swearing in some strange language when the head meets the back of Jean's shuddering throat.

Again that tickle at the edge of awareness, the reassuring presence in her mind.

I have control over my body here. Jean stares up, her face contorting in a grimace of effort. Just like you --

Rogue snarls and gasps, feeling Jean buck underneath, her throat convulsing around the engorged intruder. Hands rise and fingernails dig into the younger girl's back, gouging crimson stripes that heal as fast as they're inflicted; Rogue screams in pain and pleasure as she thrusts once, twice and holds fast. Claws erupt from her hands, penetrating the sheets and mattress and she forces her eyes to remain open, locked on Jean's as her entire being twists and burns and compresses into a line of fire, an endless series of spurting streams that threaten to turn her inside out into the heavenly hell eagerly receiving her. It's too much and she pulls back, hearing Jean inhale a great gasp of air, in time for Rogue to grab her still spurting cock and aim downward; mindlessly, frantically jerking and squeezing herself, covering Jean's face and chest with a thick glaze. Until the stunned teen collapses on top of her victim, shuddering and cradling her face; feeling the quivering erection finally, mercifully subside and shrink back inside her body, along with the claws, leaving her lying atop Jean's soaked and trembling frame. Incoherent moans are all they can manage as their bodies writhe and press and slide together, and Marie ignores Logan's internally raised eyebrow as she kisses Jean through the mask of cum, their dueling tongues spreading the glorious mess all around.

"Aw, geez, kid!"

A startled Rogue grabs a sheet to her chest, turning crimson. Logan stands in the middle of her room, half turned away, one hand shielding his face. Even in her moment of confusion, it almost makes her laugh to realize her own reaction, feeling the old yearning pull and quiver at the sight of his bare feet; burly chest popping out of a white sleeveless top, tight jeans showing every inch of him in the best possible light.

Okay. Maybe not every inch.

"Nothin' you ain't seen before." Her retort is gratifyingly casual. She rises on unsteady legs, wrapping the sheet around her in something like a toga.

"Another product of your subconscious." A low chuckle reminds her of Jean's presence. The redhead nods toward Logan. "The plural you, obviously."

Marie stares him down as she approaches, feeling smaller than ever. Stopping inches away, she takes a moment to bask in the heat of his body, the complexity of his scent. Logan watches her with a guarded expression, like he's afraid she'll sprout claws and run him through.

She manages not to sound too accusatory. "Thought you were just gonna watch."

Logan's only response is a silent shrug, with a slight air of apology. He looks over at the bed. Jean is casually spread out, a sheet artfully draped over her to conceal all but broadcast standards; her skin aglow in the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window, her body coated with streaks and puddles of semen. She smiles, giving him a friendly little wave.

Logan coughs and returns his attention to Marie, a glint of humor in his eye. "So that was all me, huh?"

"Well..." Marie can feel the blush intensifying. "Let's not bicker over who killed who, okay?"

A snort escapes Logan before his expression sobers.

"Marie..." He looks at the floor, scratching the back of his neck, awkward as a freshman on his first date. "I'm sorry you didn't get the life you wanted."

She takes his hand, as she struggles to maintain the integrity of her impromptu toga.

"You're a part of me. So you know..." She forces herself over the speedbump. "How I feel about you."

There. At least it's out in the open.

"And I'm sorry the Logan out there doesn't know it. But hey --" His tone is deceptively casual. "Give it a few years so he doesn't feel like Humbert Humbert, and...well, who knows what could happen?"

"You mean you..." The disbelief must surely be etched into her face, carved in stone. " feel that way?"

Logan's actually blushing. She can sense it, feel the blood in his cheeks.

She lets go his hand, hauls off and smacks him in the shoulder with all her might.


"You...big...jerk!" She can hear Jean's laughter as she pummels him about the head and shoulders, barely able to keep her sheet in place. "Here I am bein' all stupid, feelin' sorry for myself, an' you --"

He grabs her wrists in those strong hands, made more enormous by her frailty. Gentle, not mean, like he's trying to prevent her from hurting herself; holding her close, hugging her to him tight as the devil and she's crying a little as they embrace, without a care in the world for how much skin.

"Thank you..." At least it's a good cry, Marie thinks. Her universe contracted to his arms around her; the thousand and one smells of him flooding her senses, running through her veins.

"Buck up, kid. You're gonna do good."

He wipes her face with a corner of the sheet, giving her a knowing smile before leaning down for a kiss, whiskers tickling her cheek. More than mere affection; barely over the blurry line into romance.

"I know you got it in you."

Even before she opens her eyes, Marie knows that everything has changed. The room is the same yet the smell is simpler, flatter; her senses almost dulled by comparison. But one scent is as strong as ever, and her heart skips a beat for the flutter in her stomach.

She doesn't know who opens their eyes first, so it must be simultaneous. Jean sits in her chair, legs crossed, both hands still clasped over her knee. Only the flush in her cheeks, the look in her eye, speaks to the memory of their secret debauchery.

"Wh..." Marie realizes her tongue is as dry as a desert. She comes to full awareness, finding herself on the edge of the examination table, rock-hard nipples under the paper-thin gown serving as visible evidence of time passed. Which by the clock on the wall, is but a mere few seconds.

"Whoa." The rough timbre of Jean's voice matches the feeling in Marie's mouth. "Um. Water?"

Marie nods, watching Jean rise and smooth her skirt. She doesn't trust herself to speak until latex-clad fingers brush hers, their eyes meeting once more.

"Thank you."

Jean only smiles and gives her hand a squeeze. It's enough to qualify as a moment, until the intercom crackles to life.

"Logan just woke up." Scott sounds overjoyed at the prospect. "Any progress?"

"We'll be down in a few minutes." Jean looks over to Marie, her smile more along the lines of Mona Lisa than Mae West. "I know someone who'll be very glad to see him."

Her heart is beating a little faster as she washes up at the sink. Jean's walking kind of funny herself, and when she helps Marie down from the table, with a gentle kiss on top of her head, maybe there's no actual skin contact. Maybe the electric zing, that song without words, is all in her mind.

And maybe?

It just doesn't matter.