(no subject)
=XS= Jean's Room - Staff Wing - Lv 3
There are at least a few people hunting for Wesley Flynn, possibly as we speak. It is not yet decided whether he will live when they find him. And what better place to hide than right under their noses. Not that Wesley is hiding. No, he has slipped into the mansion unseen by way of the treehouse entrance, down the attic steps into the faculty wing and the bedroom of one Jean Grey. And there he waits, stretched spread eagle across her bed. Naked. There are handcuffs.
Jean will certainly be rueing her neglect of using door locks, by the time this day is done. Certainly, they let wolverines in, but as a result they can't keep floods out. But at the moment, all Jean is currently rueing is the effects of high heels on thirty-something feet. Thus it is that she's barefoot as she steps out of the elevator, padding down the hall with shoes and stockings off to display fine boned ankles and the flex of lithe muscle as long legs eat up the distance between the elevator and that blessed promised land of her bedroom and peace. A long sigh as she turns the corner, and her free hand reaches upwards to pull free bobby pins and leave her hair in a charmingly en deshabile tumble, before the collar and top two buttons of her blouse go next. Her business jacket joins shoes and stockings in a neat clutch of one hand.
Thus it is that the Jean Grey who enters her room is rather more underdressed than students past or present have seen. A terrible bit of misinterpretable evidence, as she turns the corner of the screens hiding her bed. Thump, go the shoes on the floor, dropped from hands startled wide open at the sight of... of... of... "Wesley!"
'Shriek' is a good word for it.
"Hullo, /Doctor/ Grey," is Wesley's throaty response. "I've been a bad, /bad/ boy."
"Wesley," Jean chokes, eyes wide and horrified as she promptly scoops up a folded blanket kicked off the foot of the bed and throws it across him. "Have you lost a bet, or have you gone -insane-???!?"
"Under the covers," A slow smile creeps across his face, and he begins to shift his weight, sending the blanket slipping and sliding across him. "Okay, I can get used to that. You going to come join me? I've been waiting /such/ a long time."
Jean's wince is a tangible as well as a visible thing: pulses of pure, unadulterated horrified shock rise from her mind, untouched by even the slightest amusement. A glance around the room looks hopefully for signs of her cat, Logan, Nate-- no, scratch that one, but something, anything, to cling to. The business jacket is a poor substitute, but soon crinkles under the clutch of her fingers. "-No-!" she manages to get out. "This had better be a practical joke, Wesley Aiden Flynn!"
"Joke about my undying passion?! C'mon, don't play hard to get /now/," Wesley says, hint of taunt in his voice. "You know you want this as much as I do. The notes, the looks, the -book-."
Jean looks mildly nauseated at the evidence listed off. The fact that the blanket is not, in fact, lying flat on top of him isn't helping. Doctor Grey may well have seen most of the school naked, but this is not a physical exam! Swalloing hard, she focuses firmly on his face, and attempts an almost audible scrabbling for poise and control. "Wesley," she informs him, voice cracking before firming up as she forces her shoulders to squareness and her chin to holding high. (She belatedly remembers the blouse. The buttons are re-done. A fourth is added for good measure.) "If I want sex, it's going to be with Logan. If not him, then with Scott. -You- are dating Jubilee, you are my former student, and your sanity is questionable. Now go put your clothes on." The 'young man' to close it is implied in the tone.
"I'm kinda...tied up here," Wesley smirks, unconvinced by the obvious (to him, at least) games. "You'll have to, y'know, /help/ me a bit."
Jean's eyes blaze and her hair, left loose, now crackles with static charge and false flame. The poor jacket's seams are in grave danger! The handcuffs twist sharply, and, with a painful screech of metal, separate at a weak link of the chain to form trendy bracelets. "Clothing. -Now-."
"You are so damn hot when you get like that," Wesley says, sliding up against the headboard, blanket falling to his waist, as he stares at her, with hungry eager eyes.
"Wesley," Jean informs him, trying another tack even as she scoots backwards towards the other side of the screens. "Given the information that I am Logan's girlfriend, and you are dating a young woman he thinks of as a sister, answer me two questions: One, how fast can you run, and two, how attached are you to your genitals?"
"But then you'd have to explain how you led me on," Wesley says, sliding to the edge of the bed, at least with the grace now to keep the blanket loosely wrapped around him as he heads toward the screen. "Nothing wrong with a bit of fun. I'm /not/ your student now. And you /know/ you like what you see," he says, popping his head past the screen, a crooked smile across his face.
The flame and the flare have completely disippated now, leaving only a wary Jean making sure she's got a safe exit in case of any nakedly lunging loving embraces. "I'll take my chances," she replies, now to the lacquer and silk screens and dropping her jacket to clutch at the edge of one instead. "And frankly, what I'm seeing is making me worried, not aroused."
"S'ok, babe, I'm aroused enough for both of us," Wesley says, stepping around and letting the blanket fall to the floor. He holds out an open palm. "What do you like. I can show you things you've never imagined." Outstretched fingers take on a bluish tint, and he curls them slowly, beckoning.
The blanket resists falling, and instead hovers to screen Wesley from the chest down. Jean scoots backwards a little more. "It takes two, Wesley Flynn. And I doubt that." Tone full of asperity despite the body language that fails to support it, she delivers an ultimatum of "I'm going to give you the count of three to go put some clothing on, or I'll see you sedated in the medbay until I can get a look at what the hell is in your brain."
Blue creeps up the fingers, past the palm, and Wesley takes a step closer, pushing against the blanket. "Go on. Touch it. You're dying to."
"No, actually," Jean replies. "I'm pretty firmly alive over here. You stay over there." To encourage this notion, a telekinetic forcefield is thrown up. "How long has this been going on for?"
Wesley pushes and shoves against what he cannot see. "Invisible bondage," he growls at her. "I liiike. You /do/ have a kinky side."
"Answer my question." The forcefield remains as it is. Secure that he's going no farther, Jean unclings from her screen and forces her spine straight.
"Since the day I met you," he crows back at her. "Even back then you came seeking me out, wanting me."
There's a rippling shudder, and not of the enticing variety. "Wesley, you were -seventeen-. I was your -teacher-." Jean reiterates. "I'm thirty six years old. I'm not your girlfriend And right now, you're -delusional-. Now, are you willing to allow me to see your thoughts? I'd prefer not to have to do this without your consent."
"You've got access to anything you want, babe. I'm all yours."
"Christ..." Jean sinks heavily into her desk chair after a quick scuttle across the room and safely on the other side of screens from him. Cautiously, she moves the forcefield back and out of contact with him, a prelude to see if it's safe to drop it.
Safe? What is safe? Wesley's eyes light up as the force vanishes. In his mind, at least. Victory! He launches himself at her. Striking the wall instead.
Jean sighs. "I'm not going to do this while you're still conscious if you're going to try and molest me the second I drop the barrier." It seems that with Wesley out of immediate sight and a firm chair supporting her, the weary, blackened, exasperated humour that's been keeping Jean going these past few months of weirdness has seeped in to fill the gap left by the initial horror.
"You make it sound so...dirty," he calls back at her. "Which I can do, if that's what you want," he adds eagerly.
"-NO-!" The answer is predictable to anyone but Wesley. And immediate. "Clothing," she returns to her initial plan. "Now. One... Two..."
Last ditch attempt, a stream of water flies from Wesley's open palm to the sound of Jean's voice. Maybe hitting the shirt.
"Oh, for the love of..." Abruptly out of patience, Jean drops the telekinetic barrier in favour of bringing other powers to bear. Wesley's mind is not that of Rogue's, but the lower functions are similar. There's a sense of deja vu clinging to the mental pressure against the centres of consciousness. Good night, noble prince.
TP Finale: Wesley finally loses it, with Jean bearing the brunt of it. And Jubilee, Bobby and Rogue thought /they/ had it bad. PG 13, at least, for (im)mature content.