SCARLET, SONJA, SPIRAL, SILVER: Chapter 3

A childhood of making tea in villages and hamlets where electricity was often a luxury proved good preparation for her current role of cook—or rather, bartender. Betsy lit the stove, mixed bottled water and powdered milk into something that was almost recognizably from a cow, then added chocolate sauce and dollops from a bottle of Schnapps. If that didn’t cover up for any deficiencies in taste, nothing would.

Finally, she had two mugs of steaming hot cocoa to share with Scott. They sat on the bearskin rug and watched the flickering flames that gave the room its own light. She wondered if Scott’s body would be so hot. She’d so long associated him with the vibrant optic blasts that issued from his blazing visor that it was hard not to imagine a feverish heat in him—his tongue burning as it slowly licked her sex. 

Already aroused merely from being so close to naked, and so close to Scott, Betsy felt a few drops of her own private nectar running down from her groin. She caught the droplets on her fingertips and tasted them. Tart and sugary, like a spicy honey. She imagined it would pair well with how Scott’s seed would eventually taste. It would probably be like the rest of him. Strong, overpowering, but surprisingly sweet. She washed her little appetizer down with a long sip from her mug.

Scott was equally aware of how there was nothing under his robe, nothing under Betsy’s—barely anything to stop him from sweeping both sets of cloth aside, snaking his cock inside of Betsy as they both wanted so much. He saw Betsy licking her fingers clean, but assumed she was just cleaning up an errant drop of cocoa. Otherwise, he tried to look straight ahead—trusting his visor to hide that out of the corner of his eye, he was stealing glances at how Betsy’s long hair glinted in the firelight, at the curious intimacy of her bare feet, at the exotic beauty of her profile with her full, sensual lips on full display. He tried to remind himself of the taste of Jean’s mouth, but could only think of how Betsy’s tongue would be even sweeter.

Betsy took a long draw from her mug and then moaned, as if the cocoa were warming her from within, pleasuring her as Scott longed to. She wiggled her toes and tossed her hair, pouring flirtatious gazes into Scott’s visor and wondering how long he could resist the perfection she saw reflected in the ruby quartz. Scott’s robe was open at the neck and she could see his bare chest, a downy layer of body hair running down his swimmer’s body to where the robe finally closed, hiding his manhood from her so well that it could only serve as a target. She brushed her toes against his foot.

“Curious, isn’t it?” Betsy said coquettishly. “If not for the storm, we’d probably be in a hotel by now. Sleeping in separate rooms. Instead, we’re sharing this cabin. It’s almost like fate, don’t you think?”

Scott downed the last of his cocoa like he was knocking back a shot of whiskey. “I’d hope fate has better things to do than worry about two people’s sleeping arrangements.”

Betsy refilled his mug. “Maybe. But is that all we’re going to do here? Sleep?”

Scott looked away from her, staring into the fire. She’s not trying to seduce you, Scott told himself. She can’t be. She’s just being friendly. Teasing. Making herself feel sexy by telling herself she can have any man she wants. Emma Frost is the same way and she certainly doesn’t want to sleep with you.

“Is something wrong, Scott? Don’t you like the hot chocolate?”

“It’s delicious,” Scott assured her. “I just… don’t like being sidelined this way. Having the mission go awry. Having to sit out the relief efforts. It makes me feel useless.”

Betsy put down her mug. Moving behind Scott, she settled on her knees to massage his neck. “You’ve done everything you could. You can’t be at ground zero of every single mission the X-Men do. You need some time to yourself—to relax—to have a little fun—even if it doesn’t fit into your busy schedule.”

Scott could feel himself melting. His head drooped forward. So this was what Betsy wanted… just to get him to unwind some. A natural goal for a telepath. With the way he’d tensed up, she’d probably picked up a little on it herself. A massage would be good for both of them. “That feels good,” he sighed.

“It certainly does,” Betsy said, running her hand along his upper back. Scott’s shoulders were impeccable. “But you’re so tense. I think we need to go deeper.”

Before Scott could answer, she pulled his robe off his shoulders, easing it down until it was puddled at his waist. Scott sat there bare-chested, with Betsy’s soft, warm hands caressing the firm muscles of his back.

“You certainly take good care of yourself,” Betsy commented. “If only you did as much for your psyche as you did for your body.”

“What do you mean?” Scott asked. “Meditation? I’ve tried that.”

“And?”

“Too much to think about.”

“Is your life really that complicated? Aren’t some things nice and simple?”

“Not enough things.”

“Then we should make things simple. Do or don’t. Yes or no. Right or wrong.” 

Betsy leaned close to him, pressing her breasts against his muscular back, letting him feel her erect nipples even though the robe she still wore. Her chin landed on his shoulder as she reached around him to rub his chest and the hardened six-pack of his abdomen—even a part of herself found it hard to believe how daring she had become. The more she touched Scott’s bare flesh, the more aroused she became. Her fingers flowed down Scott’s rigid belly to where his body hair became hard and wiry, and she could see his cock showing its hardness through the insubstantial barrier of his robe. 

“Man or woman. You’re most certainly a man, Scott. Now let me be a woman.”

Scott was on the edge of losing his mind. Betsy had draped herself all over him, her fingers caressing him from his nipples to the hairs of his groin, her every touch sending a new shiver through him, while her breath on his neck sent hardness down into his crotch until he didn’t think he could swell anymore without bursting. He could smell the sweet perfume of her bare body, something intangibly her mixed with the fury of the storm outside, while her breasts pressed warmly against his back, letting him feel her racing heartbeat through her firm cleavage. 

“Betsy,” he groaned. “Stop.”

“Alright, Scott. I’ll stop.”

Betsy pulled away from him, leaving Scott feeling insufferably cold, even with the fire going. But that only lasted until she walked in front of him. She’d taken off the robe and the fire silhouetted her body, its shadows the only thing she wore, the only blunting there was for the perfection of her naked flesh, her creamy skin, the absolute artistry of her proportions, with supple muscle, full breasts, and womanly hips all balanced with no margin of error. No, everything about her was sleek and lithe and well-formed, like she had honed her body to sculpted perfection in just the same way that she’d trained her mind to be even more disciplined and ordered than his own.

And capping it all off was a flower bud of purple pubic hair at her groin, almost punkish, representative of the mischievous will that Betsy cultivated right alongside all her honor and training. It drew Scott’s eye. It pulled at the rest of him. Her sex was the ultimate perfection, the zenith of her beautiful body, the final temptation in a physique that was entirely seduction. Scott actually fell to his hands and knees before her, trying to hold himself back, even as he was helpless not to stare. 

“There, Scott,” Betsy said, her voice devilishly even, not trying to be seductive except in how sultry her British accent was at all times. She was either certain he was seduced or did not care in the slightest if he spurned her: perhaps both. “I’m not touching you anymore. But would you like to touch me?”

Scott went mad, if it could be said to be madness to give in when faced with such nakedness in both form and proposition. He rose to his knees and shoved his face between Betsy’s thighs, licking at her sex as his cock throbbed wildly away, oozing precum with each pulse that ran through it. His tongue thrust between Betsy’s labia and into her cunt, but even at his wildest, Scott still drew upon his experience, pleasuring Betsy as he had learned to from Jean, from Madelaine, and all the others. 

“Yes, Scott, eat me!” Betsy exclaimed, writhing like a butterfly stuck on a collector’s pin, though no insect had ever been so eagerly impaled. She ground herself against the handsome face she had admired so many times, fucking herself on his licking tongue. And her own thoughts were going in the opposite direction. 

She wasn’t being collected by him, oh no. He was in her collection—he was her collection. In one fell swoop, she had taken possession of his talented tongue, his potent cock, his strong muscles. Everything she had ever admired or fantasized about in Scott Summers was now hers, a sex toy for her decadent enjoyment. She would give all of herself to him; it was the only way she could revel in all he had to offer. 

Scott was delirious with hunger, his appetite growing with every sweet taste he got of Betsy’s sex. Her honey-tart juices ran freely from her pussy, swept away by the constant vigilance of his tongue as he licked and sucked and slurped, filling his consciousness with the taste of her. He wrapped his lips around her squirming clit and sucked it hard, as more of her nectar poured down his chin, marking him as hers.

“Lick me!” Betsy moaned. “Oh, suck me, go deep— you’re driving me fucking crazy!”

Reaching back to hold herself up on the fireplace’s mantel, Betsy leapt up and wrapped her legs around Scott’s head, rocking her hips against his tongue as he lashed it at her. Scott could hardly breathe, but he didn’t care. He would gladly asphyxiate as long as he did it between Betsy’s smooth thighs. He’d drown in her cream if he could. 

His tongue twisted inside her, its tip probing her innermost folds, finding her depths seething and clenching around it. As he licked and sucked, he slid his hands up her taut belly, reaching her breasts. Betsy cried out, wishing she could let go of the mantel and instead hold his hands to her breasts, to make sure they kept squeezing and rolling and caressing her tits as he was doing so well. She never wanted him to stop. 

“Oh Scott, Scott, YESSS!”

Scott rubbed his mouth against Betsy’s throbbing lips, twisting his tongue inside her cunt as if riding its spasms and contractions. Her hot juices flowed into his mouth in reward for his darting tongue and he sucked and swallowed all of it, unable to get enough of her taste.

“SCOTT—SCOTT—SCOTT!” Betsy gibbered, out of her mind with pleasure. She tightened her legs so hard around his head that she could’ve been trying to crack his skull. Each flick of his tongue stoked the fire inside her. As his lips covered her clit and his tongue swept through her pussy, the tension proved too great to sustain. Betsy exploded with one jubilant cry: “I’M COMING!”

Scott moaned as Betsy’s juices filled his mouth, their flavor irresistible. He gripped her by the hips to hold her safely in place as her loins jerked wildly, their twitching the smallest physical trace of the rapture Betsy was feeling. As he held her still, her frustrated spasms ripped through her, jiggling her breasts, flailing her hair, as if in one last celebration of the physique that had provoked such lust in Scott and led to such bliss for Betsy. He felt the muscles of her slender waist flex against his fingers. Her clit, hard as stone, twitched so vibrantly it might be humming.

“OH GOD, GOD, YOUR TONGUE—!” Betsy’s eyes rolled. Her flesh shuddered. Her bare legs kicked and her toes clutched air as the intensity of her orgasm ran through her again and again, until the echo of it had finally become an afterglow more satisfying than many sexual encounters Betsy could recall. Relaxing to the point of bonelessness, Betsy’s clenched fingers lost their tension and she released the mantel, falling into Scott’s arms and allowing him to lower her onto her back upon the bearskin rug.

Then Scott knelt over her. His right hand went to his prick. He pumped his foreskin back and forth. The hardness of his erection demanded to be used. Whether because of her telepathy or simply her womanhood, Betsy knew it as strongly as he did. With a satisfied smile on her face, yet a wanting look in her eyes, Betsy spread her legs. 

After how Scott had overwhelmed her with his normally taciturn tongue, she wondered if she truly had any idea what she was getting into.

She hoped not.