tagCelebrities & Fan FictionMating Call of the Phoenix Ch. 05

Mating Call of the Phoenix Ch. 05


Scott recognized instantly where he was now. The suite Warren had rented in the Waldorf-Astoria. The whole thing was burnt into his memory. The first time Jean had come back to him. It was almost disturbing how much he remembered. He let himself be led to the room, let himself go into it, and there she was. As sweet and innocent as she'd been before the Phoenix, like that was just a mistake, a mirage. She went to him, she kissed him, and he let himself be kissed.

It wasn't hard to play along now. Jean expected him to be numb; he had been the first time around. And she couldn't sense his thoughts... Some psychosomatic result of her time as the Phoenix, pretending that hadn't been her. She blamed it on the pod she'd supposedly been in. They all blamed so many things on...

This was the moment, the tempting moment when he'd thought it could all be got back, or no, that all the mistakes could be washed away. His failure as team leader, his crumbling marriage, none of it seemed to matter when he had Jean. God, they really were in a vicious cycle. He remembered the sickening recurrence of that feeling when Hank had brought the teenage Jean forward in time. Like tasting an old meal as you vomited.

He tried to see if he could go along with it this time. Be the team leader again, be Jean's man again. It'd been so tempting to take it, that first time. And he had. He was only human.

But he'd been trained to be more.

"Jean," he said, feeling the train track of the past being ripped up, the old lies derailing. "There's something I have to tell you."


No X-Factor, at least not yet. He knew Rusty was in trouble, but Beast and Iceman and Angel could handle that. And he had to get back. He had to play something out, settle some question... it was almost ghoulish, the desire to see what would happen if he'd been honest.

Jean was silent. Of course she'd wanted to come with him. Despite everything, they were friends. More than that. He thought there was a kind of symbiosis between them, at this point. Whether they loved each other, hated each other, they were soulmates.

She just didn't say anything.

He hoped the way she looked at him was enough for her.

The Phoenix, on the other hand, was anything but silent. "You were supposed to be fuck her."

Scott ignored the other Jean, older but not wiser. He kept his plane in good condition, but he still didn't quite trust it, not after his parents. He attended to it fixatedly as he made the flight to Anchorage.

"She would've let you. She was gagging for it. It would've been great!"

"I'm married," Scott replied plainly.

Phoenix looked like she wanted to slap her forehead. "To me! Us!"

"Not right now."

"Oh, to my clone?"

"She doesn't know she's a clone yet..."

"Well, as long as you plan to fuck one of us—" Phoenix said sarcastically.

"She was never bad. Just a pawn in Sinister's schemes. And if I had treated her better..."

"This isn't old home week. You have a mission, hubby."

"This is the way I'm doing things."

Phoenix banged her head against the hull, such as she could while being intangible. "You can't just hit do-over on the timeline, it doesn't work like that..."

"Really? I thought that's exactly what we were doing."

"Little changes! Into big changes! For important things!"

"Madelyne's important to me."

"Could've fooled me."

"I know. So I'll show you."

"And you really think me—any me—is going to be happy about you coming home with your old dead girlfriend in tow?"

"She's the mother of my child," Scott insisted. "If I had just been better then, maybe... you have to let me have this. I already told Jean I was married, I didn't do that before. Now I'll go back to Madelyne and tell her about Jean..."

"And what? You'll lead X-Factor with Madelyne as a happy homemaker? Let Jean get together with Logan?"

"I don't know. I don't care. No more planning. I'm just going to be a good husband."

The Phoenix turned almost sympathetic. Almost Jean. "You can't stay."

"Give me one day. Let me see what happens. Please."

The Phoenix darkened, leaning back in her seat. She was right next to Jean, the other Jean. She'd fallen asleep.

Scott wondered if she was dreaming of who she'd turn into.

"You're not the only player in the game, Scott," the Phoenix said. "Just because I like you doesn't mean I can protect you."


The old melancholy. It was almost sweet.

Scott stood on the patio, leaning on the wooden handrail he'd built with his own two hands, staring out at the Alaskan mountains, the waters of the lake where he'd landed the seaplane. He wondered if some of that water had once been in the Gulf of Mexico where the Arcadia had fished, or Jamaica Bay where Jean had died and been reborn and been born again.

Madelyne had taken it well. Or she had taken it, at least, which he didn't think many women could. After he'd explained everything, she'd understood why Jean was there. Understood that he was Jean's bedrock, as much as she was his, and that whether friends or lovers, Jean was having a rough time coming back to life and would be better off with someone she was used to. And at the end of the day, that seemed to be her and Scott's relationship. They were as used to each other as two people could be.

Madelyne had gotten Jean situated, not Scott. Probably wanted to feel her out. Probably didn't want Scott around her more than necessary. So Scott leaned and thought about water. Thought of the dark clouds cresting the mountains, coming their way. It would rain tonight.

Maybe some of that water would be familiar.

He heard the patio door slide open behind him. "She likes the guest room," Madelyne said. "Told you we did a good job furnishing it... Is she why you've been acting so distant lately?"

"No. I just found out. I've been acting distant because... you're right. I lost the X-Men to Storm and felt like I settled for this. I'm sorry. I forgot how lucky I am." Scott turned around and looked at her. He wished she didn't remind him of Jean. He wished she didn't remind him of the Goblyn Queen, wished he could look at her and just see his first wife, the mother of his child, someone who loved him. "I'm not going to leave you," he said, wishing it were a promise.

"I'm not worried about that. I'm worried about my husband and I want to know you're okay." She went to him. "I can't imagine what you're going through... wounds haven't even healed and they're being ripped open again—"

"I am healed. You healed me. This is just..." Scott shook his head.

"You don't have to reassure me, Scott. I trust you. You're a good man. You're not going to leave a woman who loves you as much as I do."

Scott held onto her like it would kill him to let go.


It was a big storm that night. Rain that remembered being glaciers, sleet, pressing down on the house in peaks and crests, like a giant hand pressing down, then letting up. Lightning lit the windows bright blue, and thunder rattled the walls, stirring the shutters and curtains into little aftershocks. In bed, Madelyne instinctively curled closer to Scott, then grinned at her own fright. Scott grinned back. She dropped her jaw in a smile that wasn't afraid to be foolish.

"Baby's asleep still," she said, glancing at the baby monitor, something beautiful in her strong profile, her prettiness in the distracted moment, the gracious way she wore something as simple as one of his old shirts, the holey hem falling almost to her knees.

"We're raising a coma patient," Scott agreed.

"Nah. Just the strong, silent type. He gets it from his old man."

Still, Scott couldn't stop thinking. How long would it last? How long?

Lightning crashed again, the thunder close, grinding into the sound of hinges as the door opened. Jean was there, gray in the dead light, but her hair a flaming red, pushing out against the darkness. Scott looked over at her and Madelyne looked over at her and she suddenly didn't seem a saint or a goddess or a martyr, but scared and embarrassed.

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't thinking... I was just, the lightning, and I always used to talk to Scott when I was scared..."

She started to go, flee, and Madelyne stopped her, sitting up over Scott's body. "From what he told me, you didn't seem like the type to get scared."

Jean paused, listening as Scott explained. "It was the nighttime. Jean's psychic conditioning wasn't as strong then." He hated how fond he sounded, how that was just the shape his mouth took around her name. "When people have nightmares, it's more intense than good dreams, so if a lot of people have nightmares, she would pick up on them. Like radio signals. And she knew I'd always be up..."

"That was a long time ago," Jean said suddenly, a decisive end to the conversation. "I shouldn't expect—"

"What?" Madelyne interrupted herself, so alike to Jean in that moment that it could've burnt Scott. "To get some sympathy when you're scared and traumatized? To have an old friend care about you? Or an old friend's wife?"

Jean laughed, a little hysterical, and Scott could hear the Phoenix laughing too. And she, it, had been so quiet... "I was going to crawl into bed with him, Maddie. Just because that's what I always did..."

"What's changed?"

Scott looked at Madelyne, surprised, not shocked. All the things he remembered and he'd forgotten how caring she was.

"It's a big bed," Madelyne said. "And if you don't want to be alone..."

"A little old for sleepovers, aren't we?"

"Scott, tell her," Madelyne said. "I'll show you two I'm not jealous and you can show me I don't have anything to be worried about."

Lighting dropped again, thunder like an explosion. Jean jumped a little. Madelyne clutched Scott tighter.

"Just for tonight," Jean said, not taking off her housecoat. Her feet padded toward the bed. "And because otherwise I'll have nightmares, and a telekinetic having nightmares is no good..."

It was a big bed. They'd bought it planning for the nights when little Nathan would climb into bed with them, or maybe his sisters, or his brothers.

Jean went to the left side of the bed, pulled back the covers, eased her legs up onto the mattress one at a time, something quaint and even marital about how she did it, like something an Amish woman would do. Scott laid in the middle of the bed, Maddie on the right, scooped up by Scott's body, her head on his chest.

Jean laid on her side, facing the two of them. It must've been like staring into a mirror.

"We really do look alike," Madelyne said. "And I'm very attractive."

"Thanks," Jean said. "I've always wondered what my hair would look like if I wore it like that..."

Scott shut his eyes, more weirded out than anything else. "If you don't mind, I just made a round trip flight to New York. I'm just going to sleep."

Madelyne considered this, then looked at Jean. "He does it so fast, too. Watch this..."

Scott ignored her, laying his head back, centering his breath, counting, counting, one, two, three, four—

Madelyne prodded his chin with her finger. He was out.

"That's crazy, right?" she asked.

"Always had more trouble sleeping... back in the X-Men." Madelyne could hear Jean awkwardly trying to avoid mentioning what they'd been to each other. "Stayed up studying, training, practicing—a real insomnia. He slept good, when he did sleep, but he always had to get properly tired first."

"He doesn't do that with me," Madelyne said. "Less to worry about since he left the X-Men, I guess."

"No," Jean said. "He's just not worrying about it."

Madelyne wasn't sure if it was a compliment or a slight. "Well, your way must've been a pretty good excuse for sex." Take that, Band-Aid. Right off!

"It wasn't a bad excuse," Jean agreed. "Nothing on trying to get pregnant..."

"Would you come here already?"

Jean blinked. "What?"

"You look like an ASPCA commercial or something, lying there. It's fine. Cuddle up to him. It's not like I'm worried about you fucking him when I'm lying right here."

Jean blinked again. It seemed difficult. "I know you're trying to show that you're okay with some things that are pretty far from okay, but you really don't have to be that okay..."

"Okay," Madelyne retorted. "But if the worst thing my husband ever does is let an old friend spoon with him because she's feeling vulnerable, I'll be a very lucky woman."

Her eyes nearly closed, Jean put her hands on the mattress, padding across it, her housecoat falling open to the nightie beneath as she pulled up to Scott's unoccupied left side and nestled herself against it.

It was astonishing how much more comfortable she felt, being in contact with him. Like the bed was softer, the sheets warmer. Touching the flow of blood in his veins and the pump of his heart and the smell of his sweat and the rise of his chest... like revisiting a childhood home. She let out a breath that'd been coiled inside her since she'd died and was, to Madelyne, incredibly, incurably grateful.

She laid her head on Scott's chest, just across from Madelyne. She stopped glancing down at the sheet where it covered his groin.

On her last look, she'd noticed the thick outline as his cock moved down his left leg, the side closest to her, until it reached the end of his shorts. The thick head pushed ponderously against the hemming of that leg, and now and then, as he moved in his sleep, Jean could tell the tip of his prick had slipped out and traipsed, bare, against the sheet that covered him. She could see the curve of the helmet, make out the dusky coloring through the thin sheet—once she could make out the shape of the collar, the protuberance of the glans...

"Must be weird," Madelyne said, "not being able to get into his head anymore." Under the sheet, she rested her hand on the crisply-haired flesh of Scott's thigh. Jean could just barely hear her running her hand up and down Scott's upper leg.

"It was weird being in there in the first place." Jean could see Scott's blush. She wondered if Madelyne's little massage was turning him on. She wondered if his cock was getting bigger.

"Oh? Any weird fetishes I have coming my way?" Madelyne would brush the back of her hand against Scott's bulge, smiling privately as the head of his cock swelled and elongated down out of his shorts, the entire head winking out. She touched the head, felt it throb under the pad of her finger with the growing, forceful beat of Scott's heart. She was doing that to him. As she had before, as she'd do again, and again, and again.

"No, nothing like that. Just odd to be dating someone and have this perception of them and even an idea of how they see you... then you look into their head and it's so much more than you could've imagined."

"More complicated?"

"Yes. And simpler, too. You know he was so worried that he was a freak for the things he wanted to do to me? Like with the whipped cream—" Jean suddenly stopped, eyes widening at her thoughtlessness.

"We've done the whipped cream," Madelyne said. "It was nice."

Jean decided to make her move. She put her small hand on Scott's left leg, lightly tickling the fine dark hairs above his knee. Out of the corner of his eyes, she could see his massive cock giving a little jerk, more of it pushing out of his shorts with every little scratch. She was doing that to him. "I know, right? It wasn't like he wanted to slap me in the face with his dick or anything—"

"We've tried that," Madelyne put in. "Not bad."

"But he thought 'maybe I'm the only one who thinks about this stuff.' Kinda sad, in a way, having to worry about your own desires... now, LEGOs, he thinks about those a lot more than just about anyone."

"They are pretty neat," Madelyne reasoned. She put her hand on Scott's cock and couldn't take it away. Nearly three inches stuck out of his shorts, the skin of the shaft taut, the head red and warm.

Scott must have been getting slightly uncomfortable with his arousal, because he ground his hips back and forth in his sleep, jostling his hardened cock against the covering sheet. Jean looked down automatically. She caught a glimpse of almost his entire dick outlined to the head.

"Have you seen his family albums? He put together this reproduction of the Statue of Liberty when he was like six. It was taller than he was, it was so big!"

As she said this, Jean ran her hand up Scott's leg, telling herself she should stop, she should definitely stop, she would stop after one more inch—her hand gently brushed against the bloated cockhead. As if in response, it jerked dramatically, the thick shaft of his prick pulsing hard in Madelyne's hand. Her eyes bulged; she felt warm precum touch her hand. Nearly half of Scott's cock was exposed, laying practically out in the open, the sheet barely seeming more than smoke rising from Scott's body.

"Emma," Scott moaned gently.

Both women started. "Who's Emma?" Madelyne asked.

"Hopefully not another redhead," Jean replied.

"Think we should wake him up and ask him?"

"Why? The important part's already up..."

Madelyne had been touching him before. Now she stroked him. One hand covered his cock, the other explored the thick growth of his hair, Madelyne gently dragging her long fingernails over his tender groin, down to his sensitive scrotum.

It felt good to have him in her hands. He was long and stiff and hers. She thought about how he felt, sliding inside her, and wanted him all over again, like she'd never had him before. Had she ever had him, this him, Jean's him? Right in front of her? Madelyne let out a groan of passion and anticipation.

"Harder," Jean moaned. "He likes it harder..." She could see Scott's cock swelling up big and hot in Madelyne's pumping fist.

Madelyne's voice came fast and breathless, as quick as her hand glided over his hard-on. "He's my husband... it belongs to me... I can do whatever I want with it... I'm gracious, but he's still mine, he's mine..."

And half-awake, half-aware, Scott reached for Jean. She didn't think it was hunger, or need... she was just where he reached. Groaning himself out of sleep, he took hold of her and kissed her, lips demanding hers, tongue tangling with hers, Jean moaned as she was his again.

Madelyne didn't want Scott to wake up, didn't want him to apologize, didn't want him to back away from Jean because of some proprietary rule. She wanted his pleasure. She wanted him to choose her because no one made him come like she did, because she blew away any thought of Jean from his mind, because even if Jean felt right, she felt good.

He was so firm in her hand. So real.

She dropped down his body, pulled down his shorts in a flash, took his whole pounding prick into her hungry mouth.

Scott moaned at her eagerness, and though Jean tried to summon him back, planting kiss after kiss on his gasping lips, he was insensate to anything but Madelyne. His hands spooled off Jean, taking Madelyne's head instead, resting comfortably on it as she worked herself up and down like an oil derrick.

She couldn't remember the last time she had sucked him. She didn't remember it being so... lustful. She knew how she was behaving, knew she was throwing herself into the blowjob like a starving animal, and in front of Jean too, in front of another woman. But she didn't care. It tasted good and it felt better.

Scott's eyes were blinking open now, the red glow in his glasses fading into view. He was greeted by the sight of Jean's magnificent breasts as she pulled the straps of her nightgown from her shoulders. For a moment, he just started, taking in the whole sight of them as he gaped with pleasure. The thin lines of shadow under each breast where they sagged in the slightest possible deference to gravity, resting on her chest. The white undersides, creamy and inviting. The large nipples standing out proudly from their areolas, making his mouth water with the thought of sucking on them.

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