X-Men: "Sibling Revelries" (Cuckoocest, NWS)
Title: Sibling Revelries
Fandom: X-Men comicsverse
Pairing: Celeste/Mindee/Phoebe
Rating: Extremely NWS
Warning/Disclaimer: This fic has artistic value (as I believe all fanfic and fanart does) and is thus, in my opinion, allowed under LJ's TOS. It may, however, be illegal to read in Australia. Read at your own risk.
Timeline/Spoilers: Post-Gifted, pre-Phoenix Endsong. Spoilers for the Morrison run.
Summary: The Three-in-One makes love to itself. PWP.
A/N: Thanks to tacky_tramp for the beta.
Sibling Revelries
After Sophie and Esme died, we knew we would never trust boys again. Not other girls, either, not after a spectacularly failed encounter between Martha and me. Instead we turn our energies inward, the Three-in-One making love to itself, Celeste desiring Mindee desiring me desiring Celeste.
No words are necessary, no permission required, as I reach across the bed and begin to unbutton Mindee's blouse; the Three-in-One knows its own will. Celeste closes the textbooks we were studying--Celeste is responsible for history, Mindee literature, and I mathematics--and removes them from the bed before returning to us, her sisters, and slipping a hand up my skirt, grabbing hold of my panties and pulling them down to my knees, the soft cotton sliding against my thigh.
Each of us has her own needs and drives; we may speak with one voice, move under one will, but each desires in her own way, separate from her sisters. Mindee likes it rough, so once I remove her shirt and bra, I move my mouth over her breasts and neck, covering her in bites, sharp and piercing. Celeste's fingers are already working my clit, and she can feel the pleasure pass over me as my pleasure is Celeste's and Mindee's as well. Celeste stops and my need is Celeste's need is Mindee's need.
Celeste helps me pin down Mindee on the bed. We tie Mindee's wrists to the bedposts, tightly. It's all a play, of course; Celeste and I can feel Mindee's excitement as she playfully struggles against her bonds, and our telepathy eliminates any need for a safeword.
"You've been a bad girl," Celeste says, using words despite not needing them, and the sound of her voice echoing in our dorm room is a tactile sensation in its own way, as substantial as her fingers had been between my legs.
"I know what you want," I say, my hand on Mindee's breast, and we all know her want, feel her want, and the want which cuts against it: the desire for the desire, the need for the need, the thirst for the thirst. She cries out to be punished, denied satisfaction, to be forced to beg for what she wants until at last, exhausted, she is allowed to have it.
We feel so powerfully now, drawn so forcefully, her hunger a grinding ache: Mindee can give us purpose as no one else has ever been able to do--not Miss Frost, not Professor Xavier, and certainly not Mr. Summers or Dr. McCoy or Miss Pryde.
Celeste and I kiss, Mindee's need background pleasure and background pain, as we renew our interest in each other. I smile; she winks at me. My panties are still at my knees, and Celeste lifts up my skirt, putting me her sister on display, exposed and visible to all three of us. She puts me on my back, my head resting upon Mindee's skirted thighs, my legs hanging over the side of the bed, and kneels down, her tongue tracing its way alongside the inside of my thigh.
It is not quite a tickle; one cannot tickle herself, after all. Nor is it quite a caress, as Celeste works her way in. It is from Mindee, still tied to the bed and wet as an aqueous mutant, that the moans of pleasure escape. It doesn't matter. I am as wet as Mindee, just as ready, and the combined need of we two sisters threatens to overwhelm Celeste.
Still, Celeste stands up and, standing where both Mindee and I can see her and seeing herself through our eyes, slowly begins unbuttoning her blouse. When the last button is unfastened, she lets it drop to the floor. She unties her shoes just as slowly and deliberately, then takes one off and then the other, then pulls off the socks, not too fast, an inch at a time. She is in no rush to satisfy our need, for when it is gone we will once again be as we were: drifting, lost and directionless.
She unfastens her bra and lets it fall next to her shirt. She takes off her shirt. Her panties.
We ache; we want one to call out, beg ourself for the pleasure-giving touch, but remain silent save for our breathing, our deep inhalations and exhalations all taking place in unison. Naked, Celeste crawls onto the bed and brings her mouth to Mindee's in what what is more of a bite than a kiss, the sharpness of the sensation piercing our need. She lowers herself onto my waiting mouth. Variety is the spice of life, and every time we Cuckoos make love it is different, but there is always one constant, one rule which is never violated: Celeste gets to come first.
All three of us feel the pleasure, of course, as my tongue does its magic, as Celeste thrusts up and down onto me and Mindee, digs her fingers into Mindee's breasts, bites Mindee's lip, jaw, neck, ear. Mindee's moans become more insistant as Celeste comes nearer and nearer to climax. Then it is time, and Celeste clamps her mouth over Mindee's to stifle our sister's scream of ecstasy.
Celeste's orgasms are like--how to describe it? There are no words, not for that which is just ours, just belonging to the three of us. Celeste's orgasms are not like Mindee's or like mine, though my back arcs and Mindee's toes curl as the waves of her pleasure wash over us. They are an experience all of their own, something which, when we hold all things in common, is distinctly Celeste's, and yet she shares it with all of us. Softer than Mindee's, longer than mine, darker than either of ours. It tastes like Celeste, like our sister, like a kiss.
Then the moment passes, as all moments do, and there is only my need and Mindee's left. Celeste goes over Mindee's body one last time, delivering one last series of bites across her breasts and kisses down to her navel. Then she gets off the bed and kneels in front of me, out of my field of vision and Mindee's.
Celeste presses two fingers into me, and characteristically it is Mindee who gasps. "You like that?" the Three-in-One asks itself with Celeste's voice and answers itself with Mindee's moans. "You're such a slut, Min," Celeste continues as she pushes another finger into me. "A dirty little whore." Is it just Mindee, or all three of us who squirm with pleasure at the accusation?
"Whore," Mindee and I agree at the same time, and we relish the feel of the word on our tongues.
It's not hard for Celeste to bring me to climax, as she feels everything I feel, knows how every movement of her fingers affects us her sisters and herself. She can feel my sensation of her own fingers as they brush over my clit, work the G-spot. My orgasm is quicker than Celeste's, but it cuts deeper; she grabs the foot of the bed with her free hand to steady herself.
This time Mindee is able to swallow the scream. We all feel the sensation of her biting her lip as she does so.
I sit up, turn on the bed. The Three-in-One watches Mindee, stripped to the waist and bound to the bed, through my eyes and Celeste's. We enjoy watching ourself so vulnerable, subject to our whims. "Do you want to come?" we ask using my voice and Celeste's.
"Please," we answer in Mindee's voice, with a shiver. We are pleading, desperate--we cannot last much longer.
"Soon," we promise ourself.
Celeste and I begin to untie Mindee's shoes, pull off them and her socks. Working quickly now, ferociously, almost not even paying attention to ourselves as we allow the need to overtake us, we pull down the skirt and underwear until we lie there naked on the bed, bound to it, vulnerable under our gaze. That's all that is necessary at this point, this tableau, this image of ourself so completely mastered by ourself, and we come, one last time, without even needing to touch ourself.
Fandom: X-Men comicsverse
Pairing: Celeste/Mindee/Phoebe
Rating: Extremely NWS
Warning/Disclaimer: This fic has artistic value (as I believe all fanfic and fanart does) and is thus, in my opinion, allowed under LJ's TOS. It may, however, be illegal to read in Australia. Read at your own risk.
Timeline/Spoilers: Post-Gifted, pre-Phoenix Endsong. Spoilers for the Morrison run.
Summary: The Three-in-One makes love to itself. PWP.
A/N: Thanks to tacky_tramp for the beta.
Sibling Revelries
After Sophie and Esme died, we knew we would never trust boys again. Not other girls, either, not after a spectacularly failed encounter between Martha and me. Instead we turn our energies inward, the Three-in-One making love to itself, Celeste desiring Mindee desiring me desiring Celeste.
No words are necessary, no permission required, as I reach across the bed and begin to unbutton Mindee's blouse; the Three-in-One knows its own will. Celeste closes the textbooks we were studying--Celeste is responsible for history, Mindee literature, and I mathematics--and removes them from the bed before returning to us, her sisters, and slipping a hand up my skirt, grabbing hold of my panties and pulling them down to my knees, the soft cotton sliding against my thigh.
Each of us has her own needs and drives; we may speak with one voice, move under one will, but each desires in her own way, separate from her sisters. Mindee likes it rough, so once I remove her shirt and bra, I move my mouth over her breasts and neck, covering her in bites, sharp and piercing. Celeste's fingers are already working my clit, and she can feel the pleasure pass over me as my pleasure is Celeste's and Mindee's as well. Celeste stops and my need is Celeste's need is Mindee's need.
Celeste helps me pin down Mindee on the bed. We tie Mindee's wrists to the bedposts, tightly. It's all a play, of course; Celeste and I can feel Mindee's excitement as she playfully struggles against her bonds, and our telepathy eliminates any need for a safeword.
"You've been a bad girl," Celeste says, using words despite not needing them, and the sound of her voice echoing in our dorm room is a tactile sensation in its own way, as substantial as her fingers had been between my legs.
"I know what you want," I say, my hand on Mindee's breast, and we all know her want, feel her want, and the want which cuts against it: the desire for the desire, the need for the need, the thirst for the thirst. She cries out to be punished, denied satisfaction, to be forced to beg for what she wants until at last, exhausted, she is allowed to have it.
We feel so powerfully now, drawn so forcefully, her hunger a grinding ache: Mindee can give us purpose as no one else has ever been able to do--not Miss Frost, not Professor Xavier, and certainly not Mr. Summers or Dr. McCoy or Miss Pryde.
Celeste and I kiss, Mindee's need background pleasure and background pain, as we renew our interest in each other. I smile; she winks at me. My panties are still at my knees, and Celeste lifts up my skirt, putting me her sister on display, exposed and visible to all three of us. She puts me on my back, my head resting upon Mindee's skirted thighs, my legs hanging over the side of the bed, and kneels down, her tongue tracing its way alongside the inside of my thigh.
It is not quite a tickle; one cannot tickle herself, after all. Nor is it quite a caress, as Celeste works her way in. It is from Mindee, still tied to the bed and wet as an aqueous mutant, that the moans of pleasure escape. It doesn't matter. I am as wet as Mindee, just as ready, and the combined need of we two sisters threatens to overwhelm Celeste.
Still, Celeste stands up and, standing where both Mindee and I can see her and seeing herself through our eyes, slowly begins unbuttoning her blouse. When the last button is unfastened, she lets it drop to the floor. She unties her shoes just as slowly and deliberately, then takes one off and then the other, then pulls off the socks, not too fast, an inch at a time. She is in no rush to satisfy our need, for when it is gone we will once again be as we were: drifting, lost and directionless.
She unfastens her bra and lets it fall next to her shirt. She takes off her shirt. Her panties.
We ache; we want one to call out, beg ourself for the pleasure-giving touch, but remain silent save for our breathing, our deep inhalations and exhalations all taking place in unison. Naked, Celeste crawls onto the bed and brings her mouth to Mindee's in what what is more of a bite than a kiss, the sharpness of the sensation piercing our need. She lowers herself onto my waiting mouth. Variety is the spice of life, and every time we Cuckoos make love it is different, but there is always one constant, one rule which is never violated: Celeste gets to come first.
All three of us feel the pleasure, of course, as my tongue does its magic, as Celeste thrusts up and down onto me and Mindee, digs her fingers into Mindee's breasts, bites Mindee's lip, jaw, neck, ear. Mindee's moans become more insistant as Celeste comes nearer and nearer to climax. Then it is time, and Celeste clamps her mouth over Mindee's to stifle our sister's scream of ecstasy.
Celeste's orgasms are like--how to describe it? There are no words, not for that which is just ours, just belonging to the three of us. Celeste's orgasms are not like Mindee's or like mine, though my back arcs and Mindee's toes curl as the waves of her pleasure wash over us. They are an experience all of their own, something which, when we hold all things in common, is distinctly Celeste's, and yet she shares it with all of us. Softer than Mindee's, longer than mine, darker than either of ours. It tastes like Celeste, like our sister, like a kiss.
Then the moment passes, as all moments do, and there is only my need and Mindee's left. Celeste goes over Mindee's body one last time, delivering one last series of bites across her breasts and kisses down to her navel. Then she gets off the bed and kneels in front of me, out of my field of vision and Mindee's.
Celeste presses two fingers into me, and characteristically it is Mindee who gasps. "You like that?" the Three-in-One asks itself with Celeste's voice and answers itself with Mindee's moans. "You're such a slut, Min," Celeste continues as she pushes another finger into me. "A dirty little whore." Is it just Mindee, or all three of us who squirm with pleasure at the accusation?
"Whore," Mindee and I agree at the same time, and we relish the feel of the word on our tongues.
It's not hard for Celeste to bring me to climax, as she feels everything I feel, knows how every movement of her fingers affects us her sisters and herself. She can feel my sensation of her own fingers as they brush over my clit, work the G-spot. My orgasm is quicker than Celeste's, but it cuts deeper; she grabs the foot of the bed with her free hand to steady herself.
This time Mindee is able to swallow the scream. We all feel the sensation of her biting her lip as she does so.
I sit up, turn on the bed. The Three-in-One watches Mindee, stripped to the waist and bound to the bed, through my eyes and Celeste's. We enjoy watching ourself so vulnerable, subject to our whims. "Do you want to come?" we ask using my voice and Celeste's.
"Please," we answer in Mindee's voice, with a shiver. We are pleading, desperate--we cannot last much longer.
"Soon," we promise ourself.
Celeste and I begin to untie Mindee's shoes, pull off them and her socks. Working quickly now, ferociously, almost not even paying attention to ourselves as we allow the need to overtake us, we pull down the skirt and underwear until we lie there naked on the bed, bound to it, vulnerable under our gaze. That's all that is necessary at this point, this tableau, this image of ourself so completely mastered by ourself, and we come, one last time, without even needing to touch ourself.