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I still cannot believe he’s with me. He is so beautiful and I, well I am barely human looking. Paige is glaring at me with something very close to hatred. He chose me over her and I think it is more insulting to her that he is with someone who is less attractive than he is than that he is with a man. She is not the only one who seems to have a problem with the relationship.
Warren tries hard to shield me from the snickers and the crude little comments that have abounded since the whispers began, but I have not bothered to tell him that I hear almost everything that goes on in the mansion. I may lack Wolverine’s sense of smell and his animal instinct, but I can hear just as well as he can. I simply choose not to let it upset me. Most of the time anyway, there was that little incident with Cable in the danger room.
His bruised ribs are healing nicely and Bobby and Kitty wrote some new safety features into the scenario and of that, I heartily approve. I am fairly sure the only one who even suspects that I lost my temper, tore through the robotic enemy, and tackled him on purpose is Wolverine. Later that evening, Logan brought me a beer and slapped me on the back. All he said when I queried him about is was, ‘Proud of you, Blue.’
I admit, I was rather pleased, we do not often see eye to eye. He knows very well that the rumors about us are true. His sense of smell is utterly astounding. If he chose to descend to the level of blackmail, he would be rich and powerful enough to put my lover to shame. He knows who did what with whom, when, and for how long, and no doubt how much they enjoyed it. He can tell from scent changes alone when he is being lied to or misdirected. I have seen him throw his head back and scent the air around us when we have been stealing a little time alone between classes. He does not curl his nose or sneer the way he does whenever Emma gets near him so I suppose we do not stink to him. I am rather glad I do not have that kind of acuity. I am not at all sure if that sensitivity would be a blessing or a curse, especially in a house with an average of fifty-four to sixty adolescents in the midst of hormonal changes at any given time.
Other than Wolverine, Robert knows for certain because he came sneaking into my quarters in the middle of the night looking for sweets and found more than he bargained. He had stood there in silence holding the refrigerator door open for quite a while watching his two best friends scramble to get their dignity and their clothes. I was just beginning to get worried when he spoke in such a typically Bobby voice that I knew there was nothing to worry about.
"Wow, you’ve got a great ass War, are you doing aerobics? Sorry to crash the party. Is there any chocolate cake left? Emma’s on a diet so we all have to starve. I want all the hot details by the way. Who was on top? Does your fur stick to his feathers? Ooh, Can I have a Mountain Dew! Those are like so banned from the kitchen! Can I watch some time? It sucks being a bachelor when everyone else is getting some. You’re almost out of ice cream too. Mind if I eat the last, little bit?”
Warren and I laughed until we cried. Then my darling proceeded to feed junk food to our young friend until he was bouncing in place and frosting up my countertops as he recited the plot of the latest Alien Versus Predator movie line for line. Apparently, it is some kind of ritual they perform rather often. If I remark that it is not an overly healthy hobby, they just smile and hug me. I knew that they had been buddies since we formed the original team, now I know that Warren thinks of him as the brother he never had, and I believe that Warren has stepped into the role that Bobby’s brother abandoned when he began showing his mutant ability to freeze things.
His family had been so perfectly ordinary, middle class, white collar, American Pie, suburbanites. Warren’s were old money, powerful, wealthy, high society, and both had been ostracized because of a genetic misfire that was no one’s fault. Both became embarrassments to be hidden away. They must have been so lonely, so lost. I feel a little ashamed when I think about how many times I have cursed my appearance and taken for granted the love of my huge family. My mother and father adored me and supported me every step of the way. My grandmother hovered over me like a mother hen. My brothers and sisters teased but never hurtfully. I realize now how lucky I was.
Emma also knows about us because she uses her psychic abilities to keep tabs on everyone in the mansion. That is one of the things that Warren dislikes about her, one of many things. She certainly seems to lack the ethics of Jean, or Betsy. Those dear ladies had very strict personal codes against prying in people’s heads. Charles would have been appalled. His psychic abilities were astounding, his morals written in stone. Emma considers using her powers her right and privilege. Warren thinks she is the one who told Paige and that she did so just out of spite.
He insists that she has a personal vendetta against him. Apparently there is a very old rivalry between their families over some long forgotton slight. In addition to that, he thinks she feels threatened by him because he and Scott had been best friends for a long time. Even though I believe in giving everyone the benefit of the doubt, I have seen her isolate Scott from his friends one by one, myself included. From the way she throws the worst missions at Warren and dresses him down in front of others including the children, one could easily conclude that she really is trying to harm him or drive him away. That is really beginning to grate on my nerves and I am a patient man. My Angel is many things, but patient is not one of them. Their screaming matches edge closer to physical blows each week.
"What are you thinking about?”
The low voice at my ear startles me. Warm arms slip around me, almost but not quite meeting on my belly. They are strong, muscled, very masculine, with golden tanned skin, long graceful hands, and perfectly manicured fingernails. His Rolex sparkles in the late evening light. He says he feels naked until he puts it on in the morning. Of course, he usually is naked in the morning until fifteen minutes until time for him to leave. He is such an exhibitionist, not that I would ever complain about it.
"Oh, just a few of my favorite things,” I answer glibly.
"As long as I am one of them," comes the answering purr.
My breathless affirmative earns me a shower of hot, demanding kisses and before I really know it we are making love again. I wonder if my poor old heart will survive my fiery mate. Our lips clash together and he owns my mouth. He loves to kiss and he is so good at it. His tongue dances over mine and his taste floods my senses like strong liquor. He strokes my fangs and growls his hunger and that is all it takes to have me up and aching for him. His hand strays down and grips me firmly as my robe slides to the floor around my feet. My hands and feet were disproportionately large even before I turned blue and yes, the old saying is true. I am long and thick and heavily veined and hard as a rock when his talented hands start working their magic.
He drives me insane, literally. I can feel my control slipping away with each touch, each taste. My animal nature gets stronger, more dominant. I am a feral mutant, as much as I refuse to give in to it but he makes it so hard to remain above the Beast. I hear myself growl as I push him back and lift him up onto the table. His gorgeous wings flare out framing him beautifully and sending mail, magazines, books, and papers raining down onto the floor unheeded. His hands find me again and this time they are slick with lubricant.
"Now, Henry, I need you, Baby!”
He does not need to ask twice any more than I ever do. We make love often, never less than twice a day when we are together in normal times and more often when we are worried or angry or grief-stricken. His arms and mouth and body are my shelter and my anchor in the storms of this world. As long as I have him, I will not fall. He will not let me.
His body is so tight even with the oil, that it is hard to believe I am not going to rip him to pieces. I actually worry less when he is the one thrusting into me with his own rather impressive tool. Once the head is past the ring of muscles, I slide him closer to the edge of the edge of the table lifting his firm cheeks and pushing slowly forward deeper into the heavenly heat. He grips my upper arms and begs me to take him, but I will not risk hurting him, ever. Besides, I love to hear that deep, rich voice careen back and forth between commanding and begging.
I cut off his words with a kiss and his arms trail up to wrap around my neck. He pulls himself up and I feel his body open further pulling me in deeper as his legs slide around my waist and his feet brace his light, supple body against my rear. With a supporting hand in the small of his back, I lift him up off the table and his weight and the motion drives him down on the last few inches of my shaft. I swallow down his cry of pleasure and pain.
When I let him come up for air, he grins at me wickedly and catches my ear between his teeth sending shooting stars of sensation through my body. He knows what that does to me. I growl into his neck and suckle the delicate skin there as I begin to thrust up in earnest. He says he loves to lie powerless and exposed in my grip, that he can forget everything when I take him this way. On a whim, I jump up pounding into his body harder than I mean to as my I catch the ceiling with my hands first then my feet.
“Oh, yes, oh please yes!” he half sobs and drives his body back down my length.
I wrap my arms around him and hang on with my feet. Some people think I defy gravity, others think I use my claws, but the truth of the matter is that I just happen to stick to most surfaces. The hair on my hands and feet is entirely different than anything I have seen before in nature. I can explain in detail why it is physiologically possible that Warren and I can both hang upside down without becoming disoriented or dizzy, but not why I can hold us in that position and fuck my lover until he screams my name. One hand holds him against me while the other grips his strong thigh helping him to ride the rigid intruder filling him so completely.
The sweat of his body sharpens with his rising pheromones as he reaches his own point of release and I do not resist the urge to lick his neck and shoulders. My tongue identifies the taste that is uniquely his, and the myriad components that make it up. I scrape my fangs along his sexy neck feeling the pulse of the carotid artery and suck the hollow beneath his ear. He almost always has a bruise there, but only I ever see it. He keeps it hidden by his golden hair which he wears long now to my delight. I see him sometimes when he is dealing with others reach up under his hair and rub that spot. He says it keeps him calm and grounded. Knowing that warms me in ways I cannot explain.
He throws his head back bearing his throat to me and crying out as he reaches climax and his essence pulses out between us into my fur. He does not care if anyone else hears us and holds nothing in. I am not so uninhibited. I spent a great deal of time coming up with excuses to Scott to justify sound proofing the med lab and then subtly altering the plans to cover my personal rooms as well. The celebrating was well worth the work though. He is kissing me again, showering my face with little butterfly kisses. I bury my face in his shoulder and hold him tight, just short of crushing as I crash over the edge and fill him with my seed. I drop to the ground and tumble onto the bed.
I hold him close kissing him softly as the tremors slowly reside and our breathing levels out. This is the only time we are actually silent. I am a talker by nature, always was, and he is a born socialite. We talk about everything from medicine and science to music and entertainment. Most people see Warren as something of a brainless pretty boy, or a rich, spoiled brat. He is a bit spoiled, granted, but he has a whole alphabet of letters after his name just like I do. He attended the finest private schools money can buy. I did work study and moonlighted as everything from an auto mechanic to an electronics repairman to put myself through State until my professors took note of me and Langley called asking if they could sit down and discuss my future with me. Maybe his IQ is not quite off the charts like mine is, but it is still quite impressive.
"Thank you. I needed that.”
"Is something bothering you, my love?”
He chuckled into my chest, “just restless. It’s been raining for a week now.”
"I have come to enjoy rainy days since it seems to bring you into my arms.”
"That’s a good point.” His fingers comb through my fur smoothing it down. “Though, I don’t actually need a reason.”
I kiss him warmly and look over at the window where the rain is running in streams that cast shadows on the wall behind us and on his wings stretched out behind him. I stroke the edge of one and it immediately arches up into my touch curving around until the primaries brush over my hips and legs. I have touched these wings many times, and the two sets that came before them as well. They had grown back over night from gaping wounds that refused to heal even though I had tried every trick I knew from cauterization to herbal poultices. Empty and damaged sockets had righted themselves and wings had emerged perfect and full grown.
It had been raining that day as well, a warm summer rain, and my friend had stood there naked letting the water wash down his magnificent body and pour off the great wings. I was more than a little awestruck at that moment, I can tell you. Then Angel flung himself into my arms and pressed so close and I stopped breathing at the force of the emotions sweeping through me. I froze at first, then reflex kicked in and I returned the embrace. I had held him many times, but I knew then, before Warren asked me to dinner, before the rainy day by the sea, that something had changed between us and that this new thing was stronger than either one of us alone.
"You’re zoning again.”
I smile into sky blue eyes that are looking back at me with amusement. “It must be the weather, or maybe love getting into me.”
"Good answer.”
He kisses me firmly then taps my hip until I roll obediently on my back. This feels so good it cannot be right. His mouth moves over my chest and neck as if oblivious to the fur everywhere, Thank God it is back to its old length again and not as long and thick as it used to be in the cat-like form. Still though, no one else has ever braved the fur to kiss and bite me the way he does, He finds my nipple and suckles it taking his own sweet time, scraping lightly with his teeth then teasing me into a growl with his hot tongue. His left hand pinches its twin unexpectedly drawing a gasp from me.
"You are cruel, my Angel,” I gasp and he immediately moves his wet mouth to the injured nub soothing it with his oh so talented tongue.
He is hard again and I can feel his shaft rub against my belly. I want to taste it, the bitter saltiness at the tip, feel the hot silk of the head, nestle my nose into the darker honey colored curls around the base, “I want to taste you,” I confess and he kisses me hard on the lips crawls up my body until the heated flesh is just brushing my chin.
My tongue flicks out dancing over the slit catching the stickiness from his earlier release. His taste explodes through my senses like a gunshot. His hiss of pleasure is gratifying, the awed imprecation as I swallow his full length down deep into the back of my throat is even more so. If you had told me even a year before the Archangel merrily turned my world upside down that I would be using my knowledge of anatomy to perfect my skills at fellatio, I would have laughed at you then nabbed you for a full psychological profile just to be sure you were not delusional. I stroke the hot flesh with my tongue and the inside of my cheeks, carefully let my teeth but never my fangs just scrape the edge of the plump crown. He is panting heavily and as I caress his taut sac feeling him draw close to release.
I let go of his shaft with a loud pop and then lick it clean. “Not yet my most lovely of creatures.” His narrow hips fit so perfectly in my big hands as I slide him down my body and sit up. This sensual touching is what just floors me sometimes about our relationship. Feathers and fur, hair and skin, tongues and teeth and every touch an electric burning, nerves singing like high tension wires overloading our senses reducing us to sweating, panting, needy parts seeking to be whole trying to crawl deeper and deeper into each other until the lines between us cease to exist and we are one. I guide him into me wrapping my legs around him and holding him close in a way few could. When we lie with each other this way, we are no more mutant than we are human. We use our unique bodies with an abandon that defies definition.
He seals our mouths again as he thrusts into me in short hard jerks. His body is pressed hard to mine, only his mouth and his hips moving and of course his wings. The beat the air in time to his thrusts sending a welcome breeze to stir my sweat and sex damp fur. I love those wings, seeing them arching out over me protectively or possessively, the way they dip down without warning anytime day or night just to brush over me as if to make sure I am still there. The shudder that racks my body wrings a hungry moan from his throat. We are both too wound up to last long at this pace and his wings snap back hard as his pounding grows violent and arrhythmic then he throws his head back with a near silent cry and fills me with the physical proof of his love.
He collapses down into my arms as sleep drags at us. The rain falls heavier now against the window and though no sound gets through the multiple layers of glass and plastic, it is still soothing. His breathing evens out and he snuggles close to me. I hold him with my entire body and let it pull us down into oblivion. Yes, I love the rain, the rain that blurred the line between friendship and love so this pair of fools stumbled and fell across it into each others hearts.