Title: Solitaire
Author: Terri
Rating: NC-17
Archive: Peep Hut – everyone else, please ask ;)
Disclaimer: None of 'em belong to me, bub.
Feedback: I'm almost afraid to ask, but the usual still goes for this one – good, bad, and ugly welcome……
Summary: It's a busy night at the X-Mansion, what with all that unrelieved sexual frustration keeping (some of) our favorite mutants awake…….
Comments: OK, this is one of those ones that I just *know* will be trouble. It got mixed reaction in the beta process (not usually a good sign) and I knew from typing word one that this would not be everyone's favorite. But, it was the result of a very tenacious bunny prompted by a bit of fb from Heather about an upcoming chapter of Portraits. I won't spoil that fic by going into more detail, but suffice it to say, this bunny wouldn't let go until the fic was written. Since *I'm* not even sure this fic is a good idea, it'll only get inflicted on my own list ;) Oh, and – there was one part of this inspired by the infamous Seinfeld episode, The Contest……if you've seen that show, you can probably guess which bit it is ;)


Hank lies in bed, turning in early for once, and let his thoughts drift. His hands also begin to drift - south, to his burgeoning erection. Sometimes he wonders if his friends and teammates realize that he has sexual thoughts, sexual urges, or if to them he is just some team mascot, some non-sexual *thing*. He isn't, and his daily (and sometimes twice daily) adventures in self-satisfaction can certainly attest to that.

He has quite a high sex drive, actually, and that makes it seem all the more cruel that his appearance seems to prohibit fulfillment of those desires. Some nights, when he masturbates, he thinks about that, and about other things of a far more philosophical bent than one would normally associate with onanistic pleasures, but tonight is one of the nights that he wants to simply lose himself in fantasy.

He is already alighting through one of his favorites – Marie. He has long desired her but, if asked at virtually any other time than when his own hands were on himself, Hank would honestly say that he was more than content with just her friendship. He knows her heart belongs to Logan and, now that the man has finally removed his head from his posterior and has begun to pursue her, her body will soon belong to him as well. Sometimes it seems unfair to Hank, and more than a little illogical – after all, he is the only one she could safely touch. Shouldn't that mean at least something? Shouldn't that hold some allure for her, no matter how small? Still, he understands why she loves Logan – they are so plainly perfectly suited to one another that it would be hard for even a blind man to miss, and Hank's keenly observant mind is blind to nothing.

But in his fantasies, there is no Logan, only a willing Marie. Hank imagines her hands on him, slowly at first, then rougher, faster. In his fantasy, she is confident and experienced, and knows exactly how he likes to be touched. As he strokes himself harder, Hank imagines Marie giving up manual stimulation for oral; he imagines her full lips encircling his blue member and sucking greedily. His hips begin to buck as the pleasure intensifies, both in fantasy and in reality.

As his excitement grows, the fantasy suddenly shifts and Marie is replaced by a naked, wanton image of a colleague of his – this has happened lately, and the woman in question, while pleasant and friendly towards him, is a human. In Hank's mind, this means that there is no possibility of a romantic relationship; when he thinks about it, he wonders if this is why she asserts herself so strongly in his fantasy life. But now, he isn't thinking. Now, he's stroking himself roughly, frantically. He lets his mind's eye run free, imagining the woman's large breasts bouncing and swaying as she feverishly licks and sucks at him. As his orgasm nears, he switches the scene to imagine her laid out beneath him, legs spread wide and moaning for him to fuck her.

No one would ever think that the very proper Hank could entertain thoughts like this about a friend, a respected colleague, but he does. He does, and even when he is not furiously pumping his hand over a swollen, aching erection, he thinks about touching her ample breasts or running his clawed hands up the back of her thighs. He thinks about bending her over his desk, about burying his head between her legs, about her riding him uninhibitedly. Now, as his orgasm begins to become inevitable, he thinks about what her tight, wet body would feel like as her muscles squeezed around him. He thinks about seeing uncontrollable desire – desire for *him* - written across her face. As his release comes over him, and he begins to shake and spurt the fluid that is just as damnably blue as the rest of him, he thinks about what it would feel like to empty into her warm body, and imagines her satiated, overjoyed to receive his come.

With a few last strokes, it is over, and Hank slumps into the soft mattress. The fantasy doesn't end here, though – this is perhaps his favorite part. For just a few moments before sleep comes, he imagines himself loved, imagines that someone has given him this pleasure, and imagines that his lover is just in the bathroom cleaning up or getting a post-coital snack, that she will be back to hold him, to cuddle around him as he sleeps. The fact that he knows he will always wake alone doesn't detract from the fantasy, at least not when he is in the moment.

Marie lay in bed, body and mind humming toward overload. He'd kissed her tonight, and there had been touching too. Oh, not skin-to-skin touching, that was impossible, but he'd let his gloved hands roam her body and he hadn't even been embarrassed that they'd seemed to focus on her breasts of their own volition. Maybe he was finally realizing that his desire for her wasn't bad or wrong. Maybe he was finally getting comfortable with doing sexual things together.

It was about time, in Marie's estimation. Three years she'd spent giving him love, affection, companionship, trust, honesty, openness – everything but the sexual things a man and woman do together. She wanted him to be able to take his time, to be sure she was what he wanted in the long run. He moved incredibly slowly, in Marie's estimation, but this month, *finally*, he'd asked her on a date and then begun kissing her. Tonight was their thirty-fifth kiss and the first time he'd caressed her body. She knew that gave him one heck of a hard-on and she knew that *he* knew she wanted him as well, but Logan hadn't wanted to go too far all in one night, and she'd said that was OK. They'd stopped, kissed some more, and then he'd made some joke about a long shower tonight. Marie giggled at the joke all over again as she relaxed herself with the memories, touching her breasts just like he had, reliving it all.

She knew she'd masturbate tonight. She couldn't stand not having a release when she'd been around Logan. Mostly, she just used her fingers, but sometimes she ached to be filled too, and so, with Jubes' help, she'd mail-ordered a sex toy. When Jubes asked, Marie blushed and told her she'd never worked up the nerve to use it, but in actuality, she and her toy were quite well-acquainted.

That's what she needed tonight, so she stopped touching herself for the few minutes it took her to get the toy from the bottom of her sock drawer. Sliding it beneath the covers with her, she wondered if Logan would be bigger or smaller, thicker or thinner. She hadn't been a virgin since shortly after leaving home, but those experiences were abuse, not sex, and she certainly hadn't been interested in looking at any of those condom-sheathed things that had ripped into her small body until it had bled. Logan was different, much different. She didn't think she could ever get enough of looking at him anywhere, and she was especially curious about his private parts.

Consciously relaxing her legs and splaying them apart, she begins working the toy inside her body, imagining it was Logan's heated flesh, not some molded piece of plastic. She goes slowly, gently, as she imagines that he would. When she is filled to the hilt, she turns the little switch that began the vibrations, and lets her mind wander to pleasures with Logan that were (hopefully) soon to come.

Logan likes jerking off in the shower best. There's something about the warm water falling all over him that makes it seem like something a little better than merely sexual pleasure – there is a certain sensuality to doing it this way.

And Lord knows, I'll be here a while tonight, he thinks. Marie is going to be the death of him, he's sure. She's already been the death of his urges to wander, to fight, to fuck as many women as he could. Hell, she's even purged him of the desire to nail Jean – all it had taken was one sad, rejected look on her face when she'd caught him flirting with the red-headed doctor. Jean didn't even appear in his fantasy life any more. Well, not much. She is a gorgeous woman, after all. But it's Marie that is a regular fixture during his showers.

Slowly, Logan reaches down to grasp himself, and begins easing the ache that Marie has created in him tonight. God, how he wanted to be inside her. He barely stopped before tugging down her pants, he barely stopped at ravishing her naked breasts. Maybe next time, he thinks, maybe next time we won't stop. Maybe next time it'll be the right time.

He's spent years waiting for it to be the right time for Marie, and in his heart, he knows he probably should wait longer. She still has some growing up to do. He wishes sometimes that he could've given her that time, that distance – time to get her feet under herself, to find her own way. But ever since she'd climbed in his trailer, the reality was that there could be no way for them to go forward except together. He won't ever admit it, not even to Marie (and he hopes like hell she never got these thoughts when they've touched) but he's wanted her since he saw her at that dive bar, and the fact that she was seventeen and still a kid at heart despite all she'd been through didn't really matter to him then.

It started mattering when he almost lost her – seeing her lifeless body in that trap of Magneto's was horrific, and it jolted him into realizing that he couldn't just take what he wanted from her, that he had to give to her too. And what she needed, what he owed her, was time, as much as he could bear to give. In the end, it had turned out to be three years, barely enough to get her out of her teens. He doesn't know now whether to be proud or ashamed of that.

But as his hand moves over his hot, stiffening flesh, he puts aside all of those thoughts. He can worry tomorrow, but he needs to get off now, and it needs to be good and hard. Instinctively, he knows exactly what will do the trick – tonight, when he'd had his hands all over Marie's breasts, she'd done something that was more arousing than anything she'd done so far.

He'd been squeezing her, groping her, really, and getting a little carried away. Her throaty moans and whispers of 'yes, please' didn't help his control, and before he knew it, he'd let a loud, low growl slip out.

He bites down on his lip and pumps his hand harder as he recalls the scene in detail, replaying it in slow motion in his memory. He'd been certain he'd ruined everything by letting the animal claw its way out to issue that growl, even if it was only for a moment. But Marie didn't startle or even smell afraid. No, she'd done the one thing that made him harder than he'd probably ever been in his life. She met his growl with a gentle smile and a tender caress; she'd run her gloved fingers through his hair as though it had been an endearment, not a snarl, that had fallen from his lips.

"Fuck." The word tumbles from his pleasure-twisted mouth with all the heat that it did when it had happened for real. Logan thrusts his hips in concert with the motion of his hand and he lets his mind linger on Marie's caresses, her full breasts, her little moans. As he climbs the peak, he imagines Marie accepting him completely, and not just into her body – in his fantasy, he is on top, furiously claiming her, and with the claws out, planted in the bed on either side of her head. That image sends him over the edge, and he shoots his seed so powerfully that it splatters against the far tile wall of the shower. He pants until his breath evens out, and then he begins touching himself all over again. He won't be out of the shower anytime soon.

Jean slowly comes back to herself after the orgasm. It was a mediocre one, but enough to give her body some peace, if not her mind. She curls onto her side, and reaches an elegant, long-fingered hand toward Scott's empty pillow. He's been gone three weeks now, and she still isn't used to sleeping alone – or having to get herself off, for that matter.

It wasn't Logan that drove Scott away – although Jean knows that's what everyone thinks. But she knows that she never really wanted Logan, and the only infidelities she ever committed against Scott were within the confines of her own mind. She doesn't feel guilty about that – everyone fantasizes, everyone thinks about people other than the one they are committed to. It is only natural, and she was very careful never to project those thoughts around Scott. If she occasionally imagined Logan's large, strong hands gripping her shoulders or ass, that was nobody's business but hers.

No, it wasn't Logan that had driven Scott off; she'd done an excellent job of that all on her own. The last straw had come when she'd decided on going to a conference on mutant rights in Spokane instead of meeting some of Scott's cousins for a family reunion. In hindsight, she should've known that his family, what there was left of it, would've been crucially important to him. But she'd blown off his concerns, and his pleas for her to change her mind. After all, it was her career, and it was important to her – shouldn't he understand that?

Jean rolls to her back, rubbing one hand across her stomach. She flashes back to the conversation they'd had when he moved out – and that's what it had been, a conversation, not an argument. Scott, in his controlled, deliberate way, simply laid out the reasons he couldn't stay with her – he needed to be important too; he needed a partner, not someone who was there only when it was convenient; he needed someone who put him first some of the time – him, not Congress, not patients, not research. Jean hadn't done that, and she knew it. More than that – she didn't know if she could fix it, or if she wanted to. She didn't say much as he packed and left.

But in the days since then, she'd done a lot of thinking. Now, she thinks to herself, maybe she could tell him that he would be first with her. Maybe she could change things. Her hand wanders up towards her collarbone, always one of Scott's favorite spots, and brushes her breast along the way. Maybe if she did change things, he'd come back, and it would be like it was before. He'd love her, caress her, satisfy her. Slim fingers dance across her neck and move to her breast, gently pinching her nipple. God, how he used to satisfy her. Her own touch was a poor substitute.

Yes, she would talk to him tomorrow, she would tell him she'd been thinking and that things would change. But now, she slides her hand lower, eager to reenact their last really good time together. It's a poor substitute, yes, but for now it's all she has.

Scott masturbates as efficiently as he does everything else. He knows what fantasies get him off the quickest, or in the way he most desires, and he pulls them out, makes use of them, and finishes. For him, it is all sexual; there is nothing sensual in the touch that gives his own body release. It makes sense, in his mind – making love with someone else is radically different; that is the place for sensuality, for reveling in the pleasures of the flesh. This – this is not about love. It is only about physical release, and Scott doesn't like to confuse the two. He likes things simple wherever possible, and since that was so rarely attainable in his life thus far, he is scrupulous about making it so when he can.

Still, the fantasies are not entirely simple – most revolve around Jean, but several don't. Ororo, Kitty, Marie, and even occasionally Jubilee have helped him achieve relief. Sometimes in various combinations. Tonight, as he takes his semi-erect penis out of his boxers, he thinks about which fantasy will serve best. He discards Jubilee for tonight – his fantasies of her are always about domination. Some part of him knows it is his way of controlling her in his imagination to make up for the lack of control he has over her on the team. When he's feeling vulnerable, those fantasies are a comfort. At least in his own mind, his authority can be unquestioned; he can be omnipotent there.

He isn't after that tonight, though – he's feeling less vulnerable than lonely at the moment. Lonely – that usually means Kitty. She is the one he associates with affection, unconditional admiration, and warmth. In his imagination, Ororo is by turns regally goddess-like or a wild child of nature – useful when he's feeling either submissive or just plain horny. Marie is for when he's feeling jealous, or wanting the thrill of the illicit. His brotherly feelings for her, and the potential for pissing off Logan, make her appealing when he's in those moods. But it's definitely lonely tonight, and he settles on Kitty.

In his fantasy, she comes to his room, knowing somehow that he needs her. She also knows what he needs – she enters the room, closes the door behind herself, and immediately gets on her knees. There's something about the position beyond the dominance implicit in it that arouses Scott. Visualizing Kitty like that makes him feel…………cherished. Wanted. He likes that.

Soon, the scene changes, and Kitty takes him out of her mouth and begins stroking him with one persistent hand. He warns her that he's going to come; she strokes harder. This is his first orgasm in the fantasy – he groans and splashes warm come all over her face – but he holds out a little longer in reality. Savoring the warm feelings that 'christening' Kitty, as he thinks of it, bring, he gives himself over to the fantasy completely.

Kitty, naked now, stands before him, awaiting instruction. He circles her, making sure he sees her body from every angle, making sure he considers every possible option before he tells her what he wants.   She is patient, and doesn't try to rush his decision. Finally, he reaches out one hand to grasp her small breast and he tells her – this time, he wants her on her back. He wants it missionary. She doesn't resist or imply that it's too boring or conventional. She doesn't say that she doesn't have time for this or that she has more important things to do. She just does as he asks. That makes him harder.

He lowers himself on top of her and suddenly, her hands are all over him, pulling him closer, positioning him at her entrance, running her hands through his hair. He begins to really go at it now, stroking himself roughly. In the fantasy, he enters her, pushing her legs apart all the way, going after his own pleasure. Moans and grunts fill his small bedroom as he brings himself closer to completion. Imagining Kitty's tightness, her willingness, her warmth, it is not long before he comes, thrusting forward with his hips at the end as if he really were pushing deep inside her.

After it's over, he lies on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Kitty's room is directly above. Jean's room is directly below. He sighs, resolving to put it all out of his mind for now. For now, his body is spent, and that's enough.

Kitty squirms beneath the covers, wondering if she should just go ahead and get herself off. At least it might bring her a little closer to sleeping.

Today had been a difficult day – lots of work on the mansion computer network, lots of debriefing with the team, and lots of time spent with Scott. He isn't the difficult part – her unrequited desires for him are. She tries to just stop thinking about it all - the implications of his breakup with Jean, his subtle change in demeanor toward her – they were all buzzing around in her mind far too much, keeping her up into the wee hours.

She could fantasize about Scott – and he is definitely a regular – but she chooses someone else instead, someone who won't lead to more thought, only satisfaction. Tonight, she chooses Jubilee.

Kitty's always known she's bi – there's always been an attraction to men and women. She's never told anyone, though, and she's never made a move toward Jubes. Kitty knows her ex-roomie is strictly hetero, but that's exactly what fantasy is for – something you'd never get in real life. Maybe that's another reason she's been keeping Scott out of it lately – because now she holds out some hope for having him in her bed instead of only in her nightly fantasies.

In any case, she pushes all the troubling thoughts out of her mind and focuses on Jubes' compact gymnast's body, her taut stomach and firm thighs. For Kitty, Jubes' beauty was in her muscles and strength, not her curves. Ororo was the woman she fantasized about when she wanted large breasts to fondle or full hips to explore. Jubes was the tight-bodied, rigorous fuck.

Kitty's hands move directly to the soft curls between her legs, and she wastes no time imagining Jubes naked and wet for her. Kitty's fingers delve into her own slick folds as she fantasizes about going down on her old roomie – what would she taste like? Would she be a screamer? Would her legs shake uncontrollably afterward? Kitty's already decided for Jubes that she wants it fast and hard – no foreplay, no detours. Kitty imagines using fingers and tongue expertly and effortlessly, bringing Jubes to a wrenching climax. As Kitty's own excitement builds, she changes the scene so that now Jubes is pleasuring her. It is tentative, not as sure as Kitty was, but Jubes' attentions arouse her nonetheless. Again, foreplay is not an option. Kitty begins sliding fingers over her sensitive spot, knowing that the culmination of the fantasy is near. She imagines Jubes licking and fingering her desperately, frantic to give her an orgasm. Just a little more, and she will have it.

Kitty suddenly cries out, muffling it belatedly with her pillow. In the fantasy, she is pressing Jubes' face to her, keeping her warm lips and tongue where they are needed as she rides out the sensation. In reality, she rubs herself gently, spreading some of her wetness over her belly and thighs. She feels much better now, and her mind has been quieted. Lazily, she rolls over onto her side, imagining herself giving Jubes soft thank-you kisses as they both fall off to sleep.

Jubilee sleeps soundly. So does St. John. And Bobby.

Ororo's already run through Scott, Logan, and even Bobby by the time she's ready for sleep tonight. Her fantasy lovers change like the winds, and she feels no guilt at imagining friends and teammates between her legs or engulfed by her mouth. There is one teammate, however, that she never fantasizes about – Hank.

The plain truth is that she does not find him sexually desirable, but she feels a great compassion toward him and often wishes he could find someone to love. She's thought about offering him a night of sex, just as a comfort, but she quite rightly thinks that this would probably destroy their friendship and only wind up embarrassing Hank. So, she doesn't offer, doesn't fantasize. She keeps a look out for potential partners for him instead.

She thinks she might've found one suitable – one of his colleagues, one she can tell that he is attracted to. The woman is a human, and that gives Ororo some pause, but the way her eyes warm when Hank enters a room goes a long way toward quieting those doubts. Perhaps the next time she visits the mansion, Ororo will contrive to have them spend some time alone together. Perhaps she can initiate some 'girl talk' and suss out this new prospect. Perhaps it will work out for her friend. She desperately hopes so – Hank is so lonely, and Ororo would not wish that on her worst enemy.

She knows that some think she is lonely too. In a way, she supposes that she is. She often lacks male companionship and an actual relationship has been near-impossible to sustain. Still, she has the fantasies. Her bed is filled with a different man each night, and one who unfailingly not only gets her off, but treats her like a goddess in the process. Where, she wonders, could you find that in real life? Yes, fantasy has its drawbacks, but it has its benefits too.

Sighing and shifting her position, she mulls over the implications of her thoughts for a while before letting sleep claim her. She is the last one awake, and with her slumber, the whole of the mansion is finally at peace.

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