Fic: Probability
Title: Probability
Author: Musamea
Fandom: Movieverse
Rating: MA
Warnings: Sex. Voyeurism. Combinatorial mathematics.
Disclaimer: Marvel's and Stan Lee's and Fox's. Not mine. The italicized explanation of combinations is Wikipedia's. Also not mine.
Summary: Three can be the loneliest number.
A/N: For the jeannie_x_slim Power of Three challenge. Many thanks to likeadeuce for the beta and handholding.
In combinatorial mathematics, a combination is an unordered collection of unique elements. Given S, the set of all possible unique elements, a combination is a subset of the elements of S. The order of the elements in a combination is not important.
Assume S consists of Jean, Scott, Charles, Erik. A subset of possible threesomes of S would equal five. However, for a subset of possible couples, with a third person observing, the resulting number increases significantly.
Of course, there are only three ways this could actually happen.
------
Problem 1: Jean (Charles, Erik)
When she woke, the fluorescent numbers on her alarm clock glowed 3:30. She'd been dreaming of swimming through dark water, and when the silver fish darting between her fingers changed into a web of white light, she choked on water and surfaced from sleep, gulping for air.
The web lingered on the edges of her mind, until she saw it rather than the glow-in-the-dark constellations stuck to her ceiling. With half of her thinking that it was a remnant of the dream and half of her not thinking at all, she reached out to it with her willpower and telepathy both.
When she saw Professor Xavier and Dr. Lehnsherr in Cerebro, she thought she must be dreaming, because the machine was working (she'd last seen it two months ago, when Dr. Lehnsherr was reconfiguring it once again and the room was a mess of sheetmetal and wires) and her two teachers were kissing.
It wasn't like Disney kisses, like those movies she sometimes still liked to watch, though at thirteen and half, she was beginning to think she might be too old for them. It wasn't like the polite pecks on the cheek or mouth that her father sometimes gave her mother in front of company, either.
Professor Xavier had his fingers wrapped in Dr. Lehnsherr's hair and his mouth pressed up against Dr. Lehnsherr's as if it was the end of the world, or the beginning, or both. She could sense the joy rising off both of them, nearly as palpable as the play of light had been, and when they broke apart from their kiss, they leaned their foreheads together, lips mere inches apart, and laughed.
Jean knew what sex was. She had spent weeks flitting mind to mind before the Professor found her, and she'd tasted many lives in that time. But these were her professors, not unknown strangers whose thoughts she'd dived into with no second thought. And this was love and warmth and friendship and yes, lust, too, all tangled together.
She pulled away from them then, wrenching herself back into her own body. It felt heavy and awkward after letting her mind roam free, like stuffing feathers into a too-small bag. Her fingers fluttered for a moment against the waistband of her pajama bottoms before falling away, frustrated in a way she had no means of solving.
Problem 2: Erik (Jean, Scott)
Erik's flat on his back beneath the Mercedes, working without tools, when the garage door rumbles open and a bright sweep of headlights throws a play of shadows against the underbelly of the car. The engine cuts off and two doors open. He hears Jean giggling; she and Scott should have been back from the movie two hours ago and Erik wonders if it's truancy that makes her so giddy or if the children wandered into a bar on the way home.
He considers rolling out from beneath the car and admonishing them, but decides against it. After the fight earlier with Charles, he's in no mood for contact with anything that won't respond to him as readily as metal.
Jean's voice cuts into his thoughts. "-- the ticket agent thought you had a cute ass."
"A what?" Scott sounds completely aghast, but Erik can almost see the smug grin on his face.
"A cute ass," Jean repeats, lowering her voice. "You know, I think so too." There is a long silence, followed by soft, wet noises that sound suspiciously like kissing.
Charles? Erik asks mentally. Did you put them up to this? He wouldn't put it past his lover to retaliate in this way, but if Xavier is monitoring this situation in any way, he doesn't respond.
Jean moans, and then she's projecting and hasn't Charles taught her to put up shields? And why are his own shields so flimsy against this assault of… and this is really the last thing he'd ever want to witness and, and Scott has one hand where?
Heat blooms beneath her skin and Erik can feel his own cheeks flaming -- and not entirely from embarrassment either, and that just makes everything worse and goddamnit, why won't she use her shields?
Scott's fingers have worked their way beneath her bra and she arches up against him, her belly brushing the erection that he can't quite hide. His entire body goes rigid, and Erik can feel Jean's delight at provoking such a reaction. She slips a hand down the front of Scott's trousers. He groans and braces his hands against the car, leaning down over her, his hips thrusting forward to meet Jean's every stroke.
No, no, no, no, no, Erik thinks. He wonders what evil he has committed or will commit to warrant the punishment of overhearing (overseeing and oversensing, too) one of his students give another a handjob. He closes his eyes and tries to think about molecules and ions.
Scott spends himself with a long sigh, and he sags against Jean, boneless, his weight pinning her to the car. Her telepathy snaps off abruptly, and Erik breathes a sigh of relief.
After a minute or two, Jean says, "Let me up, Mr. Cute Ass. You're crushing me."
"Sorry."
"You can make it up to me."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmhmm."
"Here?" If the whole situation wasn't so absurd, Erik would laugh at the eagerness in Scott's voice.
"I was thinking somewhere a bit more comfortable."
He counts to sixty after their footsteps recede, and then waits another twenty seconds, just to be sure, before slowly easing himself out from beneath the Mercedes. His first thought is to ask Charles if he knows that the children are having sex. His second is to wonder how to explain his discovery. His third is that he will never be able to drive the Aston Martin ever again.
Problem 3: Charles (Jean, Erik)
Charles will drift after them for days and days, unable or unwilling to decide if it's Erik or Jean that he's looking out for. He will watch his old lover muster an army, thinking of their old student like a trump card or a queen held in reserve in a game of chess. He will watch her rebel against such a categorization, until she threatens Erik with a poisonous Cure, with the metal he thinks to control, with her own body and his.
Charles will come upon them in a forest clearing, will watch as Phoenix's lust shreds the clothing from Erik's body.
Isn't this what you've always wanted? she will ask him, as she strokes him with hands and tongue and telekinesis. His fingers will wrap in her red hair and tighten, and Charles will not know if he is trying to pull her closer or push her away.
He will see that she reminds Erik of Raven, all red hair and brazenness, and also a little of himself. And that this recognition shoots a crimson streak of arousal beneath the fear that flares from Erik in hues of silver and violet.
Phoenix will pull Erik to her, wrap her legs around his hips and push him into her, the tree at her back digging roughly into her spine as she scrapes her fingernails against his skin. Charles will see and sense his pupils dilate, his breath burst hot against her neck, their pelvises striking against each other, and he will not know if he is right there with them or if he's still only watching.
She will claw at his shoulders, frenzied, her moans turning into cries like the high-pitched keening of a bird of prey. Give me, give me, giveme giveme givemegiveme…
"What?" Erik will demand aloud, refusing to use her telepathy as a shortcut, as if refusing her entry into the one thing he'd shared with Charles, even as he enters and is entered in every other way.
Everything. And her darkened eyes will glow in her sharp-featured face as she thrusts all that she feels -- the coiling pleasure building between her thighs, the deeper throb of need that even this cannot satiate -- into his mind.
Erik will cry out, unable to distinguish the pleasure from the pain. And Charles will watch, unable to guard Erik's mind, knowing that Phoenix would obliterate him once again, finish the work she started, eat his remains, eat the world, if he tries to intervene. No more chances will be given if she strikes him down now.
When he comes, Erik's body will go rigid with a release more insidious than climax. Charles will see the dark trail of veins crawling up Phoenix's neck.
He will remember that awful moment, only days ago, when another moment of passion had flared bright and intrusive in his mind. Scott and Jean-who-was-not-Jean on the shores of Alkali Lake. A pair of glasses removed, a kiss shared, a man dead.
Jean, Charles will think. And, no, even as some other part of him wonders if it would be better if Erik is taken in this way.
The snapping of twigs will signal an approach and spare him the terrible choice. Phoenix will drop her legs to the ground and push Erik away. She will restore his clothing with a wave of her hand before her eyes grow vacant again, only sparking now and again when she looks at Erik. He will draw his dignity on with his cloak and walk away as if this had not happened.
And the last threads of Charles Xavier will pass on, refusing to feel guilty. For now, Phoenix loves her plaything. If he interferes, she will destroy them all.
Author: Musamea
Fandom: Movieverse
Rating: MA
Warnings: Sex. Voyeurism. Combinatorial mathematics.
Disclaimer: Marvel's and Stan Lee's and Fox's. Not mine. The italicized explanation of combinations is Wikipedia's. Also not mine.
Summary: Three can be the loneliest number.
A/N: For the jeannie_x_slim Power of Three challenge. Many thanks to likeadeuce for the beta and handholding.
In combinatorial mathematics, a combination is an unordered collection of unique elements. Given S, the set of all possible unique elements, a combination is a subset of the elements of S. The order of the elements in a combination is not important.
Assume S consists of Jean, Scott, Charles, Erik. A subset of possible threesomes of S would equal five. However, for a subset of possible couples, with a third person observing, the resulting number increases significantly.
Of course, there are only three ways this could actually happen.
------
Problem 1: Jean (Charles, Erik)
When she woke, the fluorescent numbers on her alarm clock glowed 3:30. She'd been dreaming of swimming through dark water, and when the silver fish darting between her fingers changed into a web of white light, she choked on water and surfaced from sleep, gulping for air.
The web lingered on the edges of her mind, until she saw it rather than the glow-in-the-dark constellations stuck to her ceiling. With half of her thinking that it was a remnant of the dream and half of her not thinking at all, she reached out to it with her willpower and telepathy both.
When she saw Professor Xavier and Dr. Lehnsherr in Cerebro, she thought she must be dreaming, because the machine was working (she'd last seen it two months ago, when Dr. Lehnsherr was reconfiguring it once again and the room was a mess of sheetmetal and wires) and her two teachers were kissing.
It wasn't like Disney kisses, like those movies she sometimes still liked to watch, though at thirteen and half, she was beginning to think she might be too old for them. It wasn't like the polite pecks on the cheek or mouth that her father sometimes gave her mother in front of company, either.
Professor Xavier had his fingers wrapped in Dr. Lehnsherr's hair and his mouth pressed up against Dr. Lehnsherr's as if it was the end of the world, or the beginning, or both. She could sense the joy rising off both of them, nearly as palpable as the play of light had been, and when they broke apart from their kiss, they leaned their foreheads together, lips mere inches apart, and laughed.
Jean knew what sex was. She had spent weeks flitting mind to mind before the Professor found her, and she'd tasted many lives in that time. But these were her professors, not unknown strangers whose thoughts she'd dived into with no second thought. And this was love and warmth and friendship and yes, lust, too, all tangled together.
She pulled away from them then, wrenching herself back into her own body. It felt heavy and awkward after letting her mind roam free, like stuffing feathers into a too-small bag. Her fingers fluttered for a moment against the waistband of her pajama bottoms before falling away, frustrated in a way she had no means of solving.
Problem 2: Erik (Jean, Scott)
Erik's flat on his back beneath the Mercedes, working without tools, when the garage door rumbles open and a bright sweep of headlights throws a play of shadows against the underbelly of the car. The engine cuts off and two doors open. He hears Jean giggling; she and Scott should have been back from the movie two hours ago and Erik wonders if it's truancy that makes her so giddy or if the children wandered into a bar on the way home.
He considers rolling out from beneath the car and admonishing them, but decides against it. After the fight earlier with Charles, he's in no mood for contact with anything that won't respond to him as readily as metal.
Jean's voice cuts into his thoughts. "-- the ticket agent thought you had a cute ass."
"A what?" Scott sounds completely aghast, but Erik can almost see the smug grin on his face.
"A cute ass," Jean repeats, lowering her voice. "You know, I think so too." There is a long silence, followed by soft, wet noises that sound suspiciously like kissing.
Charles? Erik asks mentally. Did you put them up to this? He wouldn't put it past his lover to retaliate in this way, but if Xavier is monitoring this situation in any way, he doesn't respond.
Jean moans, and then she's projecting and hasn't Charles taught her to put up shields? And why are his own shields so flimsy against this assault of… and this is really the last thing he'd ever want to witness and, and Scott has one hand where?
Heat blooms beneath her skin and Erik can feel his own cheeks flaming -- and not entirely from embarrassment either, and that just makes everything worse and goddamnit, why won't she use her shields?
Scott's fingers have worked their way beneath her bra and she arches up against him, her belly brushing the erection that he can't quite hide. His entire body goes rigid, and Erik can feel Jean's delight at provoking such a reaction. She slips a hand down the front of Scott's trousers. He groans and braces his hands against the car, leaning down over her, his hips thrusting forward to meet Jean's every stroke.
No, no, no, no, no, Erik thinks. He wonders what evil he has committed or will commit to warrant the punishment of overhearing (overseeing and oversensing, too) one of his students give another a handjob. He closes his eyes and tries to think about molecules and ions.
Scott spends himself with a long sigh, and he sags against Jean, boneless, his weight pinning her to the car. Her telepathy snaps off abruptly, and Erik breathes a sigh of relief.
After a minute or two, Jean says, "Let me up, Mr. Cute Ass. You're crushing me."
"Sorry."
"You can make it up to me."
"Oh yeah?"
"Mmhmm."
"Here?" If the whole situation wasn't so absurd, Erik would laugh at the eagerness in Scott's voice.
"I was thinking somewhere a bit more comfortable."
He counts to sixty after their footsteps recede, and then waits another twenty seconds, just to be sure, before slowly easing himself out from beneath the Mercedes. His first thought is to ask Charles if he knows that the children are having sex. His second is to wonder how to explain his discovery. His third is that he will never be able to drive the Aston Martin ever again.
Problem 3: Charles (Jean, Erik)
Charles will drift after them for days and days, unable or unwilling to decide if it's Erik or Jean that he's looking out for. He will watch his old lover muster an army, thinking of their old student like a trump card or a queen held in reserve in a game of chess. He will watch her rebel against such a categorization, until she threatens Erik with a poisonous Cure, with the metal he thinks to control, with her own body and his.
Charles will come upon them in a forest clearing, will watch as Phoenix's lust shreds the clothing from Erik's body.
Isn't this what you've always wanted? she will ask him, as she strokes him with hands and tongue and telekinesis. His fingers will wrap in her red hair and tighten, and Charles will not know if he is trying to pull her closer or push her away.
He will see that she reminds Erik of Raven, all red hair and brazenness, and also a little of himself. And that this recognition shoots a crimson streak of arousal beneath the fear that flares from Erik in hues of silver and violet.
Phoenix will pull Erik to her, wrap her legs around his hips and push him into her, the tree at her back digging roughly into her spine as she scrapes her fingernails against his skin. Charles will see and sense his pupils dilate, his breath burst hot against her neck, their pelvises striking against each other, and he will not know if he is right there with them or if he's still only watching.
She will claw at his shoulders, frenzied, her moans turning into cries like the high-pitched keening of a bird of prey. Give me, give me, giveme giveme givemegiveme…
"What?" Erik will demand aloud, refusing to use her telepathy as a shortcut, as if refusing her entry into the one thing he'd shared with Charles, even as he enters and is entered in every other way.
Everything. And her darkened eyes will glow in her sharp-featured face as she thrusts all that she feels -- the coiling pleasure building between her thighs, the deeper throb of need that even this cannot satiate -- into his mind.
Erik will cry out, unable to distinguish the pleasure from the pain. And Charles will watch, unable to guard Erik's mind, knowing that Phoenix would obliterate him once again, finish the work she started, eat his remains, eat the world, if he tries to intervene. No more chances will be given if she strikes him down now.
When he comes, Erik's body will go rigid with a release more insidious than climax. Charles will see the dark trail of veins crawling up Phoenix's neck.
He will remember that awful moment, only days ago, when another moment of passion had flared bright and intrusive in his mind. Scott and Jean-who-was-not-Jean on the shores of Alkali Lake. A pair of glasses removed, a kiss shared, a man dead.
Jean, Charles will think. And, no, even as some other part of him wonders if it would be better if Erik is taken in this way.
The snapping of twigs will signal an approach and spare him the terrible choice. Phoenix will drop her legs to the ground and push Erik away. She will restore his clothing with a wave of her hand before her eyes grow vacant again, only sparking now and again when she looks at Erik. He will draw his dignity on with his cloak and walk away as if this had not happened.
And the last threads of Charles Xavier will pass on, refusing to feel guilty. For now, Phoenix loves her plaything. If he interferes, she will destroy them all.