Chapter 2 - A Little Bit of X: Chapter 2


                                                    A Little Bit of X
                                                        by Volpone

                                                         Chapter 2

          The stranger was parked outside the main gate of the newly-renovated mansion for
only a few moments before he was seen on the surveillance cameras and Hank began to
watch with growing interest. After about fifteen minutes of inactivity, it was decided that
someone should go and investigate exactly what the stranger wanted.
          Gambit was at loose ends when Beast asked if he would mind going down to the
main gate to see what might be going on. The Cajun sauntered down the drive and took in
as much as he could before he reached the gate. Well, whoever it was, he was making no
attempt at concealment. He was parked right in the middle of the drive, leaning against the
driver's door of his sleek new roadster in an unthreatening manner, waiting patiently as if
he had all eternity to do nothing else.
          "Can I help you, mon ami?"
          The newcomer smiled. "Bon jour, mon ami. Would it be possible for me to speak
with Professor Xavier?" Once he dropped out of French, he had no discernible accent, his
English clean but not stilted.
          Looking at the stranger with narrowed eyes, Gambit drawled, "Maybe so... maybe
not. Dat all depend. You reporter? Police? Friend of Humanity?"
          The stranger was amused. "Okay... maybe I look like I could be a reporter. Maybe I
could even be an undercover cop. But if you think I look like I might be one of those
walking arguments in favor of birth control, then I definitely gotta change my look."
          Remy looked him over again and decided that if he was an FOH or any of the antimutant
splinter groups, he looked different from any he had ever seen. The man was
probably late-twenties or early-thirties, stood almost his own height with maybe a few
pounds more, fit, longer than shoulder-length light brown to dark blondish hair, light eyes
with definite smile lines, and an easy-going likable manner that put others at ease without
trying.
          "Okay. You come on up to de house and we see if de Professor got time to see
you."
          "Fair enough. Shall I leave the car, or do you want a ride up?"
          Gambit nodded. If he was willing to be separated from his car, he wasn't driving a
car bomb (nobody would use an expensive import like this one just to blow it up anyway)
and he didn't plan on needing a quick get-away.
          "Bes' get it out o' de driveway. Le's go."
          As he climbed inside the comfortable, low-slung vehicle, Gambit noticed that there
were several things in the minimal back seat, including a couple of pieces of soft-sided
luggage, a guitar case, as well as a transport tube attached to the ski rack on the roof.
          As the car got into gear and smoothly accelerated off, he tried to discover more
about this character in the few seconds afforded and inquired, "You been on de road?" He
nodded to the luggage in the back.
          Again that easy-going smile answered him. "Yeah. You could say I've come a fair
way."
          "By de way, de name's Gambit."
          "I'm called Harlequin."
          Remy's eyebrows went up slightly. A name like that sounded like a name that might
be taken by a mutant. That might explain why he wanted to see the Professor.
          "Can't say I heard o' you."
          The smile didn't slip. "I'd be very surprised if you had. I'm not from around here."
          They pulled up out front of the main entrance and got out.
          As they entered the foyer of the mansion, the smell of fresh paint still hung about
the building. The final reconstruction had only been completed days before, and the scent
of construction still was thick in the air.
          They were quickly greeted by Beast.
          "So this is our mysterious visitor. And how might we be of assistance to you?" If the
visitor was surprised by the educated delivery coming from the hulking, hairy blue form, he
showed not the slightest indication.
          Gambit answered, "Dis Harlequin. He want to see de Professor. Seems okay."
          McCoy nodded. "I believe that might be arranged. If you wouldn't mind, Professor
Xavier is right this way." Gambit fell in behind at Beast's subtle signal. As the three walked
along, he asked, "Might I inquire why you wish to see the Professor?"
          Harlequin responded with, "I have an important favor to ask him," and volunteered
no more.
          In moments, they entered the study where the Professor was in his powered chair.
          He had been speaking with Scott and Storm, both of whom were dressed in civies, about
the Renegade situation which had brought mutant/human relations to such a state. They
both took on more alert stances as the unknown man entered.
          Xavier looked over as they entered. "Ah, yes. I'm Charles Xavier. I understand you
wish to speak with me. How might I be of assistance?"
          "I think I can save us a great deal of time," was the enigmatic response. "Would you
mind?", and he reached out as if to shake hands.
          With a slightly puzzled look, the Professor returned the gesture. As their hands
clasped, rather than shaking in greeting, Harlequin's expression changed ever so slightly,
becoming less focused, and the Professor's eyebrows went up in an expression of
surprise, but not alarm. They stood there for about three seconds, then their hands
dropped and Xavier let out the breath he didn't know he had been holding.
          "Well, I must admit that saved time." He gave a smile of mild amusement before
continuing. The others relaxed back into more casual stances, Gambit sitting on the edge
of the Professor's desk. "But allow me to introduce you to my colleagues.
          "Dr. Henry McCoy, known as The Beast...", Beast's huge blue hand engulfed the
newcomer's, "Scott Summers, known as Cyclops...", an brief handshake and nod were
exchanged, "Ororo Munro, known as Storm..."
          Harlequin took her hand, but instead of shaking it as she expected, he bowed low
over it and said, "My pleasure", as he brought his lips to kiss her hand.
          As his lips met her hand, Storm felt a flash of excitement and sexual tension from
the contact. She was glad she was wearing a sports bra under her tank-top or she might
have been rather embarrassed by the tightening of her nipples. As it was, her reaction
wasn't too apparent. Almost involuntarily, she gave his hand a gentle answering squeeze.
Gallantry was almost dead in the world, so it was quite refreshing... and rather intriguing.
          The Professor continued the introductions. "... and I believe you met Remy LeBeau,
known as Gambit.
          "This gentleman is Harlequin. He's a visitor here, and will be staying with us an
indefinite period of time."
          "Please call me Quinn." His smile included all the room's occupants.
Xavier asked, "Do you wish to explain, or shall I?"
          "Please feel free," was the stranger's response, and at the Professor's gesture, they
all took seats.
          "As I understand it, Harlequin is not a mutant, as you may have assumed. He is
actually what would best be described as an 'augmented' human. His talents and
capabilities arise from intentional alterations rather than from evolutionary mutation. He is
a low-level psychic with several other useful abilities as well."
          He paused for a moment, then...
          "He is also from another universe."
          Of course, this didn't have quite the impact it might have if they had not all known
other inter-universal travelers such as Shatterstar and Longshot, and had even visited
alternate universes themselves.
          "He is here to learn and to hone his skills as well as interact with all of us. In return
for our hospitality, he offers to aid us in whatever capacity we feel would be appropriate.
          Quinn interjected, "I am at your service," and placed one hand flamboyantly over his
heart and bowed in a highly dramatic and self-mocking gesture.
          At Quinn's suggestion and the Professor's concurrence, Henry led the newcomer to
his labs where he performed quite a number of tests, all intended to both quantify
Harlequin's mental and physical abilities and to partially confirm the story he had told the
Professor in their brief psychic exchange.
          About two hours later, Harlequin was off in the mansion's foyer chatting with some
of the team members, and McCoy was sitting back in Xavier's study with those team
leaders in residence at the moment, giving a briefing on his findings.
          "A most remarkable specimen of humanity, I must admit. His genetic structure is
completely human in all respects, but his DNA has been, in his own words, 'maximized' to
utilize the most desirable configuration possible. Had I found this under ordinary
circumstances, I would have assumed the bearer to be genetically engineered from
conception, but Quinn assures me that the process was performed well into his adulthood,
a feat which is to our current technology bordering on the miraculous.
          "His neural impulse propagation rate is well over ten-times normal... his senses all
test far in excess of human norm, both in acuity and in range... his reaction time is
vanishingly small... his physical strength is many times what one would expect from
looking at him, though not on the order of Rogue or Colossus... his eye-hand coordination
is superlative... and his cellular regeneration may be equal to Logan's. I would venture to
guess that he could heal from any injury short of one causing instant death."
          Beast sat forward excitedly, much of his scientific detachment slipping away.
          "But the most remarkable thing concerns his neurological and cerebral activity.
Although he is only a low-level telepath and projective empath, requiring direct physical
contact to initiate psychic communication, he can also project both emotional and neural
stimulus by the same means. And while most people only use ten-percent of their brain,
Harlequin's readings indicate over eighty-three percent utilization! Needless to say, he is
far into the high genius range, far in excess of what standard testing can accurately
indicate. He has apparently perfect recall, including of things he does not consciously
register until needed.
          "Furthermore, he has almost complete voluntary control over his neural and
autonomic systems. He can reduce heart rate, respiration, neural input, anything. And he
can literally shut off his pain receptors at need. Combined with his ability to project neural
impulses into others he is in contact with, I can only assume that he may be able do this for
someone he touches as well. However, this is speculation on my part. He did not
volunteer any information on this, and I forbore to ask.
          "He also has a sense which, for lack of a more appropriate term, he calls
'perception', which is independent of all other sensory input, and enables him to identify
objects in a three-hundred-sixty degree radius simultaneously, registering relative
temperature, surface texture, density, solidity, even around corners and through walls. His
maximum range for this seems to be about fifty feet in a full circle, with a corresponding
reduction in accuracy at the outer edges, but with concentration he can register up to twohundred
feet in a single direction. He successfully described Jubilee and Husk by height,
weight, and general facial characteristics well enough for me to recognize them while they
were standing outside by his vehicle. However, he could not tell me the color of their hair
or tell what they might be saying, so he does have distinct limitations to this ability.
          "He states, and I can find no evidence to contradict him, that all of his neural and
cerebral abnormalities were actually activated intentionally by a person he calls 'the
Teacher', a being of great age and capability who he considers his greatest benefactor...
again further details are lacking. The activation, or 'Quickening' as he prefers to call it, was
done by psychic manipulation, and Quinn states that the process was much like this
'Teacher' reached into his mind and simply turned on a switch, or more likely, removed
some innate blockage. He also feels that with sufficient practice and patience, he will learn
how to perform the process with others."
          He paused, shifted his position, and turned to the next page of notes on his
clipboard.
          "In addition to all of this, he has been technologically enhanced by two notable
features.
          "One, he has a micro-miniaturized computer interface implant connected to the
cerebral cortex which allows him to communicate directly with any computer equipped with
a similar transceiver. This is currently limited to the computer on his craft, but can, with the
interface of his craft's computer with satellite communication, tie into most computer
systems which utilize wireless data transmission.
          "Secondly, and most importantly, he had been outfitted with a sub-cutaneous matrix
of interconnected micro-filaments which he refers to as his 'p.a. web'. This 'web' is of some
non-metallic substance of phenomenal strength and energy-dispersive qualities. It lies just
below the very surface of his skin and acts like a form of armor, preventing both projectile
and many forms of energy attack. It seems to be composed of some form of monomolecular
crystalline superconductor, since is dissipates electricity, heat, cold, excessive
photonic, and most forms of hard radiation. When I tried to draw a blood sample, I was
unable to get a needle to penetrate even the tender skin at the inside of his elbow. While
he assures me that it is equally effective against most electromagnetic, electrical and
plasma energy, I did not feel comfortable in testing his assertion.
          "In addition, this web had three distinct settings. One is a passive setting, taking no
energy whatever to maintain and acting as I have described. The second is an active
setting of low level which seems to cause almost complete environmental isolation, running
purely off of his own bio-electrical energy. He claims that keeping the field active requires
virtually no effort and minimal energy, even being able to sleep with it active.
          "Remarkably, when he switched it to its active phase, though he appeared
completely normal in all respects, I was no longer able to get any form of reading on him.
We could speak normally and shake hands, since it seems that the field being generated
allows the passage of normal spectrum light, and follows the contours of his skin on the
order of several microns thickness, allowing muscular feedback and audio capability, but it
leaves him entirely isolated from his environment both chemically and by most forms of
energy, including, I believe but was unable to confirm, the psychic. He became completely
opaque to x-rays, and all other forms of detection simply failed to register.
          "The third setting generates a field as thin as the second and moveable, but almost
all of the flexibility of the field is gone, acting as an suit of armor. He states that while he
has never tested the upper limits of the third setting, it should withstand many tons per
square inch of force and solar temperatures. His observation was that it was designed to
withstand being at ground zero during a nuclear strike, something I cannot comprehend on
my best day.
          "One thing I feel is worthy of noting is that when his web is engaged, Harlequin
apparently loses his senses of perception, smell and taste due to the isolation imposed by
the field, which explains why he chooses to leave the web in its inactive state at most
times. The third setting also prevents much tactile input, but not motor feedback.
          "In conclusion, judging from my observations, it is my considered opinion that he is
who he claims to be, and all technological indications support his contention of being from
another continua."
          The Professor inquired, "And after getting to know him better, what is your personal
impression of him?"
          Beast considered only briefly. "I found him to be very forthcoming... an open,
friendly, and humorous individual. He seems completely at home with others, and is
unimpressed by his own capabilities and accomplishments."
          He summed up by simply saying, "I find that I enjoy his company."
          Xavier went on. "I felt the same thing while we were in telepathic contact, but I
feared I might be letting my hopes influence my judgment."
          After a brief discussion with the team leaders, it was decided that Harlequin's offer
be accepted on a probationary basis for the moment, but that he be kept under loose
watch until they got to know him better. It was further suggested that Bishop might be a
proper member to see to this.
          "Good. Then that's decided," finished Charles. "Let's allow him several days to get
to know the other team members and see how he fits in. If things go well, we may find that
his talents may be useful to us in our endeavors."
          Turning to Hank, he said, "Would you and Remy arrange to try Quinn out in the
Danger Room? We need to determine his potential as a working member of a team.
Warn him of exactly what we intend, but do not give him any specifics about what to
expect. See if Bishop is available to observe as well.
          "If that is all, I will inform our guest of our decision." He closed his eyes and sent out
a psychic summons to the new-comer. After a second of concentration, the corners of his
mouth crooked up in a partial smile.
          "Yes. Our new friend does have something of a sense of humor." At the
questioning look he received from the others, he clarified. "I projected the request to him,
and while he is not a distance telepath, his sub-vocalized reply seemed to be along the
lines of 'Coming, Mother!'"

                                        ************

          While the briefing was going on, Gambit and Harlequin arrived back at his car to
retrieve his possessions only to find two of the Gen-Xers examining his car. The ladies
were trying to appear nonchalant while waiting to meet the handsome visitor and were
making a remarkably poor job of it.
          Both young women tried to get a really good look as he approached without staring.
          He was tall and trim, his long hair, trimmed mustache and goatee, and easy gait putting
both in mind of someone who might look at home as one of King Arthur's Companions.
          Jubilee said, "We saw you drive up. Nice ride!"
          Quinn smiled and commented, "It seems to get me there."
          She extended a hand. "I'm Jubilee."
          "Harlequin, but call me Quinn. My pleasure." He surprised her by gently kissing her
hand.
          She giggled in response, and was immediately mortified by her behavior.
          Covering quickly, she indicated her companion, the other young woman he had
perceived earlier for Henry.
          "This is Paige."
          She smiled in a slightly self-conscious manner, as if unsure how she might be
judged.
          "Hi," she said in her Kentucky drawl, and after deliberating, she offered him her
hand as well.
          He grinned and both young women were pleasantly surprised that he had dimples
and smile-lines at the corners of his light eyes.
          "Charming." Again the hand kiss, and Husk felt her knees go slightly weak. He
upbringing had in no way prepared her in how to deal with a chivalrous gentleman.
          "'Scuse me," and she beat a hasty retreat inside, leaving Jubilee to fend for herself.
          Gambit had been standing by, amused by the two ladies' reactions.
          "Le's get your t'ings, mon ami."
          "Oh," chimed in Jubilee, "you'll be staying here a while?"
          "Provided the rest of you can put up with my company."
          He had been removing objects from the back of his car, which Jubilee quickly
moved to help with, including the guitar case, a couple of pieces of parachute luggage, and
two scabbarded swords, one of an old medieval cross-hilted design and the other a
exceptionally fine looking tai-chi style blade. At the sight of these last objects, Gambit
raised his eyebrows in question.
          "You use a sword?"
          Quinn gestured deprecatingly.
          "I carry them with me as security blankets, but I don't expect to use them while here
other than to keep in practice.
          "Actually, I expect to get much more use out of... this," and from the carrying tube
atop his rig, he produced a quarterstaff of unique appearance. He tossed it to Gambit, who
caught it by the center grip.
          Remy examined it with care. It weighed like a good hardwood staff, but a series of
fine golden wires criss-crossed the black grip in the center, and another series of inlaid
silver wires ran parallel from the grip to the ends.
          "You mind?" he asked, gesturing with the staff he had been examining.
          "Feel free."
          Gambit dropped back a safe distance and moved in a series of quick strikes and
parries, finally ending with a flourish of the double-moulenets which look so impressive to
the uninitiate and make quarterstaff look graceful.
          "She is sweet," he observed, returning it to Quinn. "Her balance is perfect."
          "Her name is Slap-stick, and she has other talents as well," and so saying, he
pointed one end at his larger parachute bag.
          "Alley-oop!"
          Suddenly, without a sound, the luggage indicated promptly leaped to Quinn as if
pulled on a string. He snagged it on the fly, settled it over his shoulder by the carrying
strap, and rested the staff point-down, looking as if he were prepared to hike the Alps. He
wiggled his eyebrows comically at the surprised duo of observers.
          "Closest thing to a magic wand you're likely to run across. Tractor beam... pressor...
plasma energy bolt... contact electrical discharge... even recharges herself by absorbing
ambient energy. I count on her to keep me alive here."
          Jubilee asked, "Why Slap-stick?"
          He explained matter-of-factly, "In theatre history, Harlequin was a stock comic
character from the Renaissance, and one thing he always carried was...", he gestured with
the staff, "... a slap-stick. It's where the phrase originated."
          "Okay, I understand that. But why do you call it 'she'?"
          He grinned broadly. "Because she has to be female. No matter how much I may
love her, she still never comes when I call."
          Suddenly, his eyebrows went up and he looked as if he were hearing something far
away. Then he nodded, and started inside.
          "I better get a move on. I have been summoned into the royal presence."
          And with that, he headed inside.
          After dropping his belongings inside, being introduced briefly in passing to several
other members of the affiliated clans (they had arrived to Xavier's emergency call over the
Renegade crisis, which was reaching critical proportions in the press), he reached the
study where Xavier waited and was told of what had been decided.
          "Since you have come to us and volunteered your assistance, I can only assume
you must be aware of our purpose. You must also be aware that there are many
occasions where team members are required to enter situations of physical danger,
including direct combat with enemy forces. If we are to make use of your talents, we must
first gauge your capabilities.
          "If you have no objection, would you be willing to go through a series of combat
simulations to help us in this?"
          Harlequin nodded.
          "Of course. I'm at your disposal. Shall we get started?" He indicated his
willingness to begin immediately, but the Professor demurred.
          "Please, take time to rest from your trip. The simulations will be quite rigorous, and
you will need your strength."
          "Oh, that's okay. I won't be any more ready later. I'd just as soon get it done. I
mean, how often do your emergencies occur promptly after breakfast?"
          With a thoughtful look, the Professor had to agree with his observation.
          "Very well. Gambit, would you and Beast please see to the simulations. I will gather
Cyclops and Storm and join you in the control room."
          Quinn gave another of his infectious grins.
          "Good. That'll give me just enough time to get my glad-rags on. About ten
minutes?"
          "Certainly. Ask Jubilee to show you the way."

                                        ************

          At about the same time, Scott groaned in pleasure as velvet lips slowly glided down
his erection. His companion held him deep within her mouth for several moments, moving
her head ever so slightly and applying gentle suction to his tool as she did, keeping up the
stimulation she knew he enjoyed so well. He flexed his hips forward, impaling her face,
and she happily took a deep breath and took him down until her lips met with the hairy
base. He moaned again as she throated him for several more moments, then slid her
mouth sensuously, slowly up until the crown emerged from her lips with an audible pop.
          Storm looked up with a sexy smile and said, "I must admit that ever since our
encounter with Renegade, things have been much more interesting around here." He
lovingly stroked Scott's rampant member. "Where is Jean now?"
          Having some trouble concentrating on the words, he replied, "I think... she had...
arrangements with Logan... for this afternoon. If not, I'm sure she'll... keep herself
amused."
          Ever since the kaleidoscopic events brought on by Renegade's sexual pheromone,
Jean had become much more sexually liberated and adventurous, as well as opening up
their relationship to Wolverine and Storm. Scott still felt rage over how it was done, and
how his wife was used, but he was forced to admit that their romantic lives had been much
more active and creative of late. Even Storm and Jean had been known to sneak off by
themselves, to their mutual pleasure.
          Storm, too, had benefited from the episode. She had been purged of her fear of
losing control, and had discovered that she had a very broad streak of hedonism that she
had been suppressing for many years. Now that she had decided it wouldn't effect her
duties as team leader, she was trying to make up for lost time, stealing frequent
opportunities to enjoy herself and bring joy to her lovers, who were limited to Scott and
Logan (and occasionally Forge) at present, but she had begun speculating about the
possibility of expanding her circle of intimates.
          Scott's thoughts were brought back to the present as Storm took the crown of his
penis in her loving lips and concentrated on the head, stroking him with her hand to
increase his passion.
          "God, but that feels good. But if you keep... going... oh... you're gonna... finish...
me..."
          Taking him at his word, his fellow team leader slid him from her mouth and led him
over to her bed.
          She lay back, opened her thighs to him, and held out her arms.
          "Then come here."
          Scott smiled and shook his head.
          "Uh-uh." He gently slapped the outside on one of her firm thighs. "Over."
          Her lovely face broke into a wider smile and she said, "You are becoming
predictable, love." However, she gladly rolled over onto her hands and knees,
presenting him with her marvelous backside.
          He didn't need any more encouragement from her. Kneeling behind her, he
positioned himself and in one easy motion buried himself in her very ready pussy. A
mutual moan escaped them as they both enjoyed the sensation of their union, then she
began to move very slowly, swiveling her hips and starting the rocking motion that would
begin to take them towards the edge.
          Reaching around, he took one of Storm's phenomenal breasts in each hand and
began squeezing, bringing another groan of delight from her. His hands added fire to their
passion as they hopelessly tried to contain her chest.
          Suddenly, a summons from the Professor broke in on them, asking for Storm to
meet him in the study.
          "Damn", swore Cyclops. "Of all the... rotten... timing."
          "We can take just... unh... a moment more... before arriving... ahh...", and she
began to pick up the pace, her head dropping to the mattress as she positioned herself for
greater penetration.
          In moments, they were driving together, trying to come as rapidly as they could, as
he grabbed her hips and thrust in earnest.
          Within a matter of seconds, Storm slowed, hunched hard, and with a cry of victory,
flashed into orgasm, shaking and bucking as she came, her long white hair flying around
her head in sympathy.
          That was all it took to push Scott over the edge, and he gasped as he shot his load
into Storm's grasping vagina. Several more strokes, and their mutual (and quite
satisfactory) climax had subsided.
          As he was walking back to his room, Quinn passed Scott going in the opposite
direction, obviously responding to the Professor's request. He looked slightly put-out, as if
he had been interrupted at something...
          As he passed, Quinn smiled and nodded greeting, but his heightened sense of smell
caught something unexpected.
          Scott had the unmistakable odor of feminine sexual rut... and the female smell was
one he knew... that of Storm.
          Sooooo... that's the way the wind sets, is it?
          Quinn strode down the hall, whistling the unmistakable tune of "If You Knew Susie
Like I Know Susie..."

                                        ************

          Ten minutes later, the required X-Men were assembled in the control room to
observe Harlequin's first Danger Room experience.
          The new-comer was on the floor of the simulator, awaiting things to begin.
          When he had first entered, Beast and the Professor had both smiled at Harlequin's
uniform of choice. Though untraditional in color, his body-suit was skin-tight motley in
diamonds of alternating black and tourmaline green, his leggings being solid black and
green respectively. He wore a comical black mask with exaggerated features which
covered his face from the upper lip to his forehead. He also wore a ridiculous-looking
monstrosity of a broad-brimmed floppy hat that looked as if it had seen better days. In his
right hand was the staff he had called Slap-stick.
          "I'm ready for my close-up, Mr. DeMille!", he called in an artificially feminine voice
from the floor of the chamber.
          Scott muttered to the Professor, "If he's going to work as a team member, he's going
to have to lose the attitude. And who ever saw a get-up like that?"
          The Professor, who had been inside Quinn's mind, came to his defense. "I can't be
positive, but I don't believe it is attitude, Scott. I think it's a defense he has learned to avoid
intimidating those around him. His abilities make him as threatening to normal humans as
our mutations make us. The humor makes him more human. Without it, he would likely be
shunned by others. Even his costume is selected to put others at ease."
          Gambit asked, "What you t'ink we should start with?"
          "Begin slowly, then add more difficult challenges. Stretch him until we can gauge
his limitations."
          They began with Ruckus. The loud-mouthed simulant faced off against his flesh-and-
blood opponent, took a deep breath and let out his stunning bellow, but after a brief
flinch, Harlequin simply appeared to ignore the blast. He dropped Slap-stick, sauntered up
the the bellowing mutant, took his hat in one hand and began whacking Ruckus over the
head with the floppy cudgel!
          "WILL YOU SHUT UP?! Jeez! And buy some mouthwash!"
          Taken aback by this completely unexpected action, the simulation fell back on it's
only other course, which was to grab at the comedian. Mistake.
          Regardless of how comical he might appear, there was nothing humorous about the
resounding crack that resulted as Ruckus flew about twenty feet before landing.
          Suddenly, Scott was paying more attention. So was Bishop. Attitude or not, the
joker was good.
          "Nice throw," was his only comment. Several others nodded agreement.
          Jubilee, who had managed to sneak into the background, smiled and had to resist
the urge to applaud as she silently cheered Harlequin on.
          "Next!", was the call from the masked character, dusting off his hat and placing it
back on his head and picking up his staff.
          They sent various villains against him, each presenting a different challenge, and in
each case the opponent had been dispatched rapidly in some non-fatal manner, either by
martial arts or quarterstaff.
          "Okay," Cyclops suggested, "let's try him on a Sentinal."
          As Gambit entered the proper routine, he commented, "You gonna be su'prised,
mon frere." He had some idea of a few of the powers Quinn had at his disposal that he
had not shown yet.
          The giant mechanical figure appeared in front of Harlequin, completely dwarfing the
human. Without pause, beams of ruby energy lanced from what passed for its eyes.
          Quinn brought up his staff to intercept the beams, which seemed to be absorbed
rather than deflected.
          "Whoa! They grow 'em big around here, huh?", was the jesters only comment.
          Swinging the staff around like a gun, he aimed it at the automaton's neck-joint. A
bright flash and report as a bolt of energy sheared into the weak point of the armor. The
following explosion removed the colossus' head completely, and Quinn leaped nimbly
aside to avoid the crashing bulk of the mechanical body.
          "Impressive," was Xavier's only comment.
          "Well done," was Storm's reply.
          "What was that?", was what Scott wanted to know.
          Gambit leaned back in his chair and drawled out, "Plasma bolt." He loved having
knowledge that the big-heads didn't.
          By this time, several other team members were crowded into the control room to see
how the "rookie" acquitted himself. Among them were Psylocke, Rogue, Iceman, Banshee
and White Queen.
          "Hear we got us a new stud on the farm," said Rogue. "How's he doin'?"
          "Rather well, thus far," observed Xavier, "but we still need to see how this 'web' he
told us of holds up. Let's try him on multiple opponents."
          Remy gave a knowing smile.
          "Lemme."
          Suddenly, a dozen figures appeared wearing identical berets, sunglasses and Tshirts
bearing the familiar FOH logo. They were also all armed with pulse rifles.
          "A li'l somet'ing Ah cook up on mah own," was Gambit's smug comment.
          "You have a twisted sense of humor, Gambit," said Iceman. "I like it."
          Beast observed, "Don't you think this might be a trifle extreme?"
          "De Professor say he want to check his web. Dis check it."
          Harlequin glanced around and exclaimed, "Holy guacamole, Batman! It's the Take-
A-Moron-To-Lunch Bunch!"
          By the time he had finished speaking, he had whipped his hat into the face of the
nearest opponent, spoiling his aim, and next went the mask, then he was rolling under the
crossfire into a tuck, and coming out at maximum acceleration.
          He hit the ground and fired off his first shot before his feet were even under him, a
narrow-focused pressor beam that knocked the wind out of one opponent. Then he felled
two more by springing behind then and rapping each at the base of the skull before they
could react.
          Soon, he had seven down, two from his causing 'friendly fire' accidents, giving an
amazing display of acrobatics, gymnastics and speed before the first beam caught him in
the shoulder and spoiled his landing. Several in the control room flinched involuntarily at
the sight.
          Harlequin had eliminated two more before the next shot caught him full in the chest.
          Before he could even avoid it, he had been hit at least four more times.
          In the end, he took out the last three, but only after being peppered another half dozen
times.
          Remy had been slapping at the Abort button several times before it took, but by then
all the FOH henchmen were out for the count.
          Harlequin stood, swaying slightly in the center of the room, breathing deeply,
battered but not bowed. By all outward appearance, he was unharmed other than his hair
being in complete disarray. He looked as if smoke should have been rising off his skin,
despite him showing so much as a scratch or bruise. It seemed his web had protected him
extremely well.
          Unfortunately, his costume had not fared as well. He stood virtually naked, a few
scraps of tattered green and black hanging from his left shoulder and ankles only. Other
than that, what remained of his uniform looked like emerald and jet confetti decorating the
floor of the Danger Room.
          Several of the women in the control room couldn't help but take a good look at what
his lack of costume revealed, and Jubilee furthered her education considerably.
          Into the embarrassed silence, Rogue said softly, "Damn," (her Southern belle
pronunciation made it come out as two syllables), "what you tryin' t' do, Remy? If ya'll don'
lahk his taste in clothes, jus' say so."
          Several of those in the control room began to laugh, the ludicrousness of the
situation finally overcoming their natural manners.
          Quinn's voice carried up from the chamber below, his delivery dead-pan.
          "I guess I should've worn the heavy-duty suit." (More laughter.)
          Rogue leaned over and triggered the microphone.
          "Say, sugah, when you're done here, how 'bout if you let me buy ya'll a drink?"
          Harlequin shaded his eyes and peered up at the control booth.
          "Sure thing, darlin'. Just let me grab my hat."
          He walked over, picked up the abused topper (which was the only piece of clothing
left large enough to provide him with a fig-leaf), and very deliberately put it... on his head.
          "Okay. Now how 'bout that drink?"

                                        ************

          Most of the members currently in residence were gathered later in the common
room, joking about the events of the day. Quinn sat easily in their midst, dressed now in
an emerald green poet's shirt and black pants. Bishop again took his spot in the back,
listening but not commenting.
          "I t'ought you were gonna scare dem all off wit' dat las' weapon you show dem, mon
frere."
          "What were you planning on running me through next, Remy? Putting antlers on me
and shoving me in with a hundred drunk red-necks with shotguns and pick-ups?"
          Once it had been established that Quinn was actually unhurt, the incident had
become one of the great X-Men jokes, and Harlequin had become something of an
honorary X-Man by acclamation.
          "Style, my friend... it was done with style," said Beast as he raised his cup in salute.
          Gambit was the first to observe, "De funny t'ing is dat you was still de las' man
standin'."
          "No," corrected Rogue, "considerin' how he was dressed, if he'd been standin', he'd
be even more popular with the ladies." She nodded to Jubilee, Husk, and Meltdown, all
clustered near the hero of the moment.
          "What do you have planned next, Gambit?", asked Bobby.
          Quinn suggested, "How 'bout if I put one foot in a bucket, tie on a blindfold, strap
Hank to my back, and sprint through a good old-fashioned carpet bombing?"
          "I fear not, friend Quinn." McCoy shook his shaggy head. "I believe I shall be
unavailable for such duty until sometime in the next century. However, you might ask
Logan. He heals much faster."
          Logan had been in the background, glowering at Jubilee's unabashed look of
adoration for Harlequin.
          The surly Canuck growled, "Uh-uh. Don't weigh enough. How 'bout we see if
Colossus is available?"
          Harlequin gave him his best "Et tu, Logan?" look.
          Slightly apart from the rest, Jean and Charles were chatting.
          "I hope that today was an omen, Jean." When she gave him a questioning look, he
explained. "Did you notice that in all of his simulation runs, Harlequin never once resorted
to what might have been deadly force?"
          "What about the Sentinel? Don't you consider that 'deadly force'?"
          He shook his head. "An unliving machine."
          He looked across to where most were gathered, his eye drawn to the sound of
merriment.
          "I think we may have been extremely fortunate today. It has been far too long since
we have had a cause for laughter. Occasionally, we need something like this for morale."
          Back in the main group, Gambit asked, "What you mean, 'tomorrow's run'?"
          "I mean," explained Harlequin, "that we didn't finish. This is just intermission, mon
frere. I came here to train, and I need to go until I lose, or we don't know my limits." He
paused. "Although, I definitely will bring a spare suit if you're going to be at the controls."
          "Oh, no!", exclaimed the Cajun. "Dey put me on probation after today's run. I got to
leave any more up to friend Hank here."
          Banshee added, "All I have to say is there's no fool like a damned fool."
          Rogue piped up.
          "Jus' drop a bus on him an' be done with it."
          Quinn fixed her with a malevolent look.
          "One more comment like that, and I may have to paddle you."
          "You're welcome to try, sugah." She smiled.
          "Quit while you're ahead, joker." It was Logan who spoke. "Rogue could fold you
up like a cot." From his tone, it was more a wish than a friendly warning.
          Without looking away from Rogue, Quinn responded, "There are always suitable
punishments open to the imaginative. Ice cubes come to mind."
          "You wouldn't dare," she challenged, but spoiled the threat by laughing.
          "Keep telling yourself that." And he looked away, but there was a definite feeling of
unfinished business about the exchange.
          Emma deigned to comment in her droll manner, "After today's little escapade, you
might consider taking a new name. Something like 'Flash' seems apropos." It seemed that
          Quinn's humor was contagious.
          "I think that's been taken," injected Jubilee.
          "What about 'Buck'?", asked Meltdown.
          "You mean as in 'Buck Nekkid'?", giggled Husk.
          "Oh, yeah," gibed Quinn ironically. "Just what I need." He declaimed in his best
1940s radio announcer voice. "It's Buck Nekkid Man! Protector of the weak and violator of
decency laws throughout the cosmos. In this week's episode, Buck has an unfortunate
encounter with a giant Venus fly-trap."
          At this point, the Professor interrupted.
          "I'm afraid that, as much as I dislike to break up the festivities, we still have a crisis
facing us, and many of us will need to be up early."
          With some grumbles, the assembly dissolved.

                                        ************

          As he was approaching his room, Quinn sensed Logan coming up from behind.
          "Hey, joker! Wait up."
          Quinn stopped and waited, relaxed.
          "You an' me gotta have a few words."
          Harlequin's eyebrows rose and he took on a "Who? Moi?" kind of expression.
          The picture might have been comical, Quinn standing about nine inches taller than
the belligerent Canadian, except Logan probably outweighed the taller man by twenty
pounds of pure muscle, and he was obviously not in a laughing mood.
          Logan got right up into Quinn's face before continuing.
          "You're gonna get in big trouble if you keep playin' up to Jubilee like that, laughing
boy. She's like my kid sister, and I feel kinda protective about her, so if you know what's
good for ya, yer gonna steer clear. Got it?"
          The response he got was unexpected. Without warning, Quinn broke into a full
blown laugh.
          Before his laughter had completely faded, he began, "Dialog courtesy of Dashell
Hammett! Oh, come on, Logan! Give me a break."
          He stopped chuckling, but the smile remained.
          "There are a few things you've got to know.
          "First... I don't intimidate worth a damn. If you want me to stay clear, ask me. I'll at
least give you the courtesy of listening."
          Logan tensed at his words, but kept quiet. He could always rip his head off later.
          "Second... if Jubilee decides she's gonna give it away, all the threats in the world
won't do any good, because she'll find a willing partner somewhere. If not me, then
someone else. Maybe someone who wouldn't care about her feelings, or her safety.
          "Next... I don't go about trying to seduce anyone, least of all teenage teammates.
She's not a child... she's got to be, what, sixteen by now? She's a sexually mature young
woman who's got a crush, that's all. But I'm going treat her as any other female
teammate... no more, no less. If you want her to be hurt, I'll just treat her like a kid while I
treat the others like women. That'll make her feel really special." His voice dripped irony.
          "She's growing up, Logan. Time to stop being a parent and become a friend."
          What he said was true, but Logan couldn't allow himself to just let it drop.
          "Don't preach at me, bub. I don't like it." He looked Quinn up and down. "And I
don't thing I like you much, either."
          Quinn dropped into a broad shuck-n-jive dialect.
          "Oh, don' gimme dat shit, Logan. You don' like much o' anybody!" And he got right
into Logan's face... and promptly mugged comically.
          Somehow, he managed to hit on the right combination. Wolverine relaxed and
miraculously cracked a smile. It was so damn hard not to like the punk. The last joker who
could make Logan smile had been Morph, and he still missed the little wacko's sense of
humor.
          "Yer right. I don't. So just remember that my nose'll tell me if you're lyin' to me."
          Quinn leaned in close, put an arm conspiratorially around Logan's shoulder (a
familiarity that might have cost someone else at least a broken arm), and whispered,
"Logan, I've got a secret to tell you. My nose is almost as good as yours, so if you want to
keep this thing between you and Jean a secret, you need to shower a little more thoroughly
afterwords."
          He walked away, leaving a rather bothered Logan behind.
          Wolverine couldn't help thinking that the whole interview hadn't gone as he'd
expected.
          As he walked back down the hallway, Logan said to one particularly deep shadow in
passing, "You get all that, rookie?", before continuing on his way.
          Bishop had gotten much of it, but he would have liked to know just what Quinn had
said to Logan in parting.

                                        ************

          It was close to midnight when the door to Quinn's room quietly opened.
          The door had been slightly ajar, and he was sitting on the edge of his bed, wearing a
kimono, softly singing and playing his classic Martin guitar. He had started out with a little
Bach to begin, then moved on to a couple of classicals he recalled from a Julian Breen
recording he had heard years before, but now he was in the mood for a little more modern
style.
          He had just finished Clapton's acoustic version of "Layla" and started in of Peter
Gabriel's "Mercy Street" when the door was pushed open and Tabitha tentatively peeked
in.
          Without interrupting his playing, he smiled and indicated that she should come in
and have a seat.
          Closing the door behind her, Quinn could see her put on her Meltdown persona like
a second layer of clothing. Her shoulders squared, her movements took on a slight
swagger, and her expression had a "so what?" kind of quality.
          Rather than sit, she wandered around the room, looking over the few personal
possessions he had brought with him. A few c.d.s (an old school kinda guy, huh?.. mostly
classical, Celtic, and classic rock) and a small but nice player, a few books, a couple of
small but beautifully colored glass sculptures. She noted the absence of any photos of
girlfriends or other significant females. She was running one finger along the curve of a
graceful carving of a mermaid made from some translucent light blue-green glassy material
(it was jadeite, but she didn't recognize it as such... to her, jade was supposed to be
green,) when he finished his song.
          One of the things at which Quinn had become very good during his life was reading
people, especially women, largely because he was so very interested in them. And from
the moment Tabitha had come into the room, he had become aware of several things.
          First, despite her outward appearance, she was nervous, and even a little afraid.
There was a scent most humans give off under stress, and he could smell it clearly. Her
respiration was considerably higher than circumstances warranted, also. Then there were
the surreptitious glances under the cover of other actions, all while trying to appear cool.
          During the process of the evening, at least six of the ladies he had met had, by one
means or another, given him hints that they would not have objected to an invitation to
share his bed. It was something that wasn't uncommon in Quinn's experience, and
something which he was hesitant to analyze too closely. He never truly got used to the
reaction women had to him... he wasn't phenomenally handsome or anything, and he had
always been rather self-deprecating. Yet for some reason he had yet to put his finger on,
he had more women come on to him more often than any other man of his acquaintance.
On several occasions he could recall, he had been in the company of a woman quite
obviously his date, and some strange female had come up, ignoring his companion
completely, and made a point-blank offer. He didn't really see it, but he felt strongly that "if
it ain't broke, don't fix it." That evening's gathering had been no exception.
          Of all the women, Tabitha had been the most aggressive, seeking reasons to brush
against him, making double-entendre comments. She had even found one opportunity to
press one breast quite definitely against his arm while laughing as some quip of his, a
move which had not gone unnoticed by Jubilee and had earned her a seriously venomous
look.
          Also, the way she had chosen to dress was a red flag. She had changed her outfit
since earlier, and the cut-off jeans she was now wearing might have been tighter, but only
if they had been painted on, and there was obviously nothing under her thin tank top but
Tabitha, which was certainly more than enough.
          Finally, Quinn's sensitive nose told him that she was sexually excited now. She
must have been building herself up to it all evening, and had finally worked up the nerve to
see what kind of response her presence might bring. Her fear must have fed her
excitement, because both scents carried through her perfume like a bugle call.
          He draped one hand over his guitar and looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but
said nothing.
          Looking away, she asked, supposedly referring to his playing, "Is there anything you
don't do well?"
          He gave a slight bow from his seated position, acknowledging her implied
compliment.
          "Now, that is what is known as a ve-ry leading question. But to answer... sure, there
are lots of things that I don't have any interest in. But those things that do interest me, I try
to do well."
          "So.. do I interest you?" She finally looked at him, and there was a hint of challenge
to her tone.
          "And you want to know if I will 'do you' well?"
          So, it was going to be game playing. He could do that, too. He set aside the guitar
and moved closer. The next moment would tell him exactly what she was secretly hoping
for, what kind of fantasy she had concocted that had gotten her so excited, and what role
he was going to have to play to try to make it come true.
          He moved up until he was almost against her. If she tilted her head back and
invited the kiss, it was the romantic gallant stranger she wanted. Gentleness was easy to
ask for.
          She dropped her head as if she were ashamed. She was ashamed of what she
wanted... ashamed of herself.
          "Yes", came the barely audible answer.
          That was all he needed to know.
          (Though few of her teammates were aware, after fleeing her abusive home for a life
on the streets, she had briefly been a hooker before she had found a home with X-Force.
It had been a matter of survival for her, and she had become very good at her job. Quite
surprisingly, in spite of her circumstances, she had a sex-drive that was well-above normal.
Yet despite a couple of relationships since joining X-Force, none of her sexual experiences
had been more than barely adequate. It had put a quiet strain on each relationship that
had made their ending that much easier.)
          Secretly, she wanted to feel possessed... even used. Despite her armor and her
protestations about never being used again, it was secretly what she desired. It was one of
the things that had drawn her to Sabretooth... the roughness and force that was there.
          Quinn knew that some women needed their illusions to be able to simply let go. He
was willing to bet that this was something she hadn't been able to ask from her other
partners.
          Despite her slightly rough exterior, Tabitha was funny, at times rather sweet and
much more vulnerable than she wished to let on. And he deeply wanted to make her
happy.
          So, to make her happy, he had to become what he was not. He'd done the same
for more than one of his wave's back home on Tertius. God alone understood why, but for
some unexplained reason, women wanted him to play out the fantasies they couldn't admit
to others. It was something that he had resigned himself to long before this. Most of the
time, he just wanted to have a nice, quiet, romantic session of love-making, and most of
the time he ended up satisfying someone's serious swerve. If he were so inclined, he
might get a complex.
          "So, you came here to play games, eh?" He crossed to the door and locked it. The
gentle jester was gone. Gentleness would not be appreciated here... not now... not yet.
Later.
          Moving back to her, he reached up and slid one hand into her short blonde hair and
grasped her tight enough to bring some slight pain to her. He pulled her head back until
she was forced to look into his eyes.
          He read the slight fear in her eyes, but it was drowned by the hope he saw there.
          "We can play games," he growled, and he mashed his mouth to hers, taking the kiss
that she didn't offer but wanted just the same.
          She whimpered as his tongue found its way into her mouth, kissing her with a
strength she needed. God, she thought, was he someone who could actually read her
desires?
          When he finally broke the kiss, her breath was coming in short gasps, and the scent
of her desire filled his nostrils. Her eyes were closed, waiting for whatever was to come.
          He pulled her back from him by the hair, and looked her up and down.
          "You've been shoving this body at me all night. Now, I think I'll just take it."
          So saying, he brought his hands up to her ample breasts and mashed them cruelly
in his grip.
          Meltdown's knees almost gave out and he stopped her from falling by his handholds
as the bones went out of her. She whimpered again as he supplied her fantasy in
full.
          "You did everything but a striptease out there to get my attention. Is this the kind of
attention you hoped for?", and again his hands clenched, giving her the treatment she so
clearly welcomed.
          Her head was back and she bit her full lower lip, eyes closed, her face mirroring the
passionate state of her turbulent emotions.
          He released one breast and brought his hand behind her head again, bringing her
mouth back to his and kissing her deeply, forcefully, as his other hand continued to grope
her mercilessly.
          Quinn had played out similar scenes with other women he knew quite well back in
his own universe, women who were well-balanced, intelligent, strong-willed, competent.
They simply liked to give in to illusion upon occasion... no harm, no foul. He didn't need to
remind himself to be careful, not to let his full strength come into play or he could do some
real damage rather than the play-acting he was doing now.
          Pulling her away again, he released her breast and took her tank-top in one hand,
skinning it off over her head in one quick motion. (Had he been at home, he would have
simply ripped it off her, but that was only for those who knew him well enough. Tabitha
was just learning.) Her wonderful breasts sprang free, rising and falling rapidly with her
rapid breathing, her nipples almost painfully tight and erect in excitement. She stood silent,
her eyes heavily lidded, a look of lust on her face as she waited for what was to come next.
          He moved closer again, opened her cut-offs, and slid a hand slowly down the front,
over her soft pubic hair and gentle swelling of her pubis, wiggling in until his fingers found
her labia and slid along their length, parting the lips as best they could in the confines of
her jeans, her wetness aiding him as he slipped his middle finger down the slick flesh,
across her clitoris and into the opening of her pussy. He pulled up strongly, mashing her
sex against his hand, sliding his finger deeply into her, and her quick intake of breath
showed how well he had gauged her desires.
          He fingered her as he said, "You're ready right now, aren't you?" He moved his
finger in her to indicate exactly what he was taking about. "You want me to take you?
Hmm?" And he pulled up strongly, putting even more pressure on her mound, almost
lifting her off the ground.
          Her eyes closed and she said nothing as she almost came from his treatment.
          "Well, not yet." And he removed his hand from her pants as she moaned in
disappointment. Damn, but she had been close!
          "Stand there," he ordered, and he leaned down just far enough to roughly strip off
her cut-offs. She gladly stepped out of them, standing before him vulnerable and naked in
all her glory.
          Though his face didn't betray his thoughts, she was glorious. Her skin was smooth
and sweet to the touch, her body a work of art, her face a mask of passion. Her scent was
almost enough to send him over the edge. He had to restrain the impulse to gently kiss the
wisp of blonde hair nestled between her thighs. But that would be out of character at this
moment. She wouldn't enjoy his breaking the illusion... not yet.
          He stood and again slid his hand roughly into her hair, and her eyes opened in
anticipation. With the other hand, he pulled away the tie of his kimono. The silk fell back
to reveal his erection.
          "I've got something for you, Tabby-cat," Quinn purred in a quietly dangerous
manner. "Here." The hand behind her head pressed her to her knees and guided her face
to his waiting prick.
          With an enthusiasm which took him by surprise, she licked her lips and, putting one
hand around the base of his erection, eagerly went to work sucking his cock.
          There was no sign of tentativeness in her, no false game of shyness. She didn't
build up to anything. She simple took him into her mouth and began to slide her lips down
his shaft, bobbing up and down with a steady motion, her cheeks hollowed as she tried to
please this man that seemed to know her so well.
          When he tried to remove his hand from her head, she let out a disappointed moan
and broke the rhythm of her sucking, keeping him in her mouth but losing her enthusiasm.
          She moaned expressively and tossed her head strongly.
          He chuckled and ran both hands into her short blonde hair, pulling her forward and
pushing himself further into her loving mouth. Tabitha moaned appreciatively and began to
suck again in earnest. Taking her hand from the base of his penis, she pulled in a deep
breath, opened her throat and took him in until the head passed the constriction at the
back of her mouth, only stopping when her lips met where his erection joined his hips, and
he moaned in appreciation in return. She throated him for several moments, doing her
very best to swallow his cock until she was forced to come up for air, giving a slight gag as
she did but that just seemed to make it more exciting for her.
          Quinn decided to change tactics slightly and, taking one hand from her hair, cupped
it around one of her breasts and squeezed strongly.
          She responded by gasping around his erection, a high sound of pleasure coming
from her, and she responded with even greater enthusiasm.
          He did the same with his other hand, then ordered her to get her hands busy. She
brought one up to take him under the balls, and slid the other behind him, grasping his ass
to pull him forward more strongly.
          He removed her second hand and said, "That's not for me. It's for you."
          Not sure what he meant, she dropped her hand slowly, tentatively, until he said,
"Lower... lower...", and when her hand reached the swelling between her thighs, he said,
"There."
          Still, she hesitated.
          Quinn was not a talker in bed. Though he was highly responsive with sounds and
actions, he was usually non-verbal during sex.
          He realized he was going to have to break that habit.
          "Go on. Feel how wet you are. There... that's better. Slide that up there as far as
you can."
          She shifted her position to allow her greater access to herself and began to stroke
herself in earnest, excited even more by being made to please herself as she pleased him.
          "Good," he said as she sighed and began to slide her fingers in time with the
clinging lips which she joyfully wrapped around his hard cock.
          He mashed her breasts hard and she responded avidly, starting to moan in time with
her bobbing head and stroking hand. She was getting close to a major orgasm before he
stopped her.
          "Not yet." He pulled her away from his crotch, which she relinquished with the
greatest reluctance. She gave a slight whimper of disappointment. She would have been
more than happy to have him come in her mouth. She was ready to come any moment!
          He shrugged out of the kimono which had been draped from his shoulders and
steered her towards the bed.
          Positioning her at the edge of the bed on her back, he placed the head of his cock
at the entrance to her extremely wet pussy and, after teasing her by running the head up
and down her slit several times, getting the end of his tool slick with her juices, he abruptly
pushed forward and buried himself in her.
          Several pre-verbal sounds were all Tabitha managed before she gasped and the
first shock of her orgasm coursed through her. He held still for a moment, just letting her
come, before he began to stroke into her slowly. He brought his hands up and grasped her
breasts, indenting her tender flesh with his fingers, and she gasped again, her hands
clutching at the blankets under her as she bucked and came again.
          Knowing she was as ready as he was likely to get her, Quinn began to set up the
pace which would let himself finish, driving deeply into Tabitha's fantastic pussy and, just
as he was about to climax, he squeezed her breasts... hard.
          With a cry, she arched up off the mattress involuntarily, and shuddered as a final
massive climax made her thrash uncontrollably, and he cried out in unison as he emptied
himself into her, hunching and shaking as they shared their glorious release.
          As they slowly came back down to earth, Tabitha couldn't help but smile over what
had happened.
          Tentatively, she reached up to Quinn, and when he didn't resist, she pulled him
down onto the bed and happily wrapped her arms and legs around him, hugging him
tightly, but not saying anything. Saying something would somehow diminish what they had
shared.
          She wanted to tell him how amazing it had been, how wonderful she felt, but
whatever his response was, she feared deep down that it would only make her unhappy
somehow. If he said he cared for her, (for unlike Quinn, she could not bring herself even to
think of the word "love"), it would ruin the illusion that had worked so well for her, and she
wasn't sure she wanted to risk that. Then again, if he said nothing in response, or
something non-committal, she would probably feel hurt and rejected, as she had been so
many times before in her life. It was a war between the emotional and the sexual. She
didn't know what she wanted him to say, and so she simply said nothing, and just held him.
          He shifted positions and pulled her head into the hollow of his shoulder, laying back
so that she could relax, pillowed against him, and she could hear the strong, steady
beating of his heart.
          With a joy she hadn't felt in she didn't know how long, Tabitha slept, and as she
drifted off, Quinn gently turned his head and ever so softly kissed the top of her blonde
head.

                                        ************

          A short while later, Meltdown groggily awakened in a strange room, next to a
strange man, and felt a brief stab of panic. Then, as she looked in the dim light at the
sleeping features of Quinn on the pillow next to her, the events of the night came back to
her, and she smiled.
          At first, she was very tempted to creep down and gently begin sucking his cock to
wake him up, to see if they could repeat the spectacular success they had earlier. God,
she couldn't remember the last time she had come like that!
          But what if things didn't go as well? What if he just let her blow him and then went
back to sleep? Well... that really wouldn't be so bad. She really would like to suck him off
some time, just to show him just how good she was right through to the finish. No... not
now. Things had been perfect, and she didn't want to spoil that.
          Ever so softly, careful not to wake him, she slowly oozed out from under the covers,
gathered her clothes and slipped them on. Then, as she was about to open the door, she
had a stab of doubt.
          What would he think when she was gone in the morning? Would he think it was
only a one night stand? Did she want him to think it might be anything more? Did she
want to try for some kind of relationship with him after only one night, however wonderful it
might have been? Would he reject her if she suggested it? She was so confused. She
wasn't any good at this kind of thing.
          What did she want?
          Well, she definitely wanted to be able to try this again. If it never became anything
more, it was still a hell of a lot of fun.
          Suddenly, she decided that she needed to keep things open to the possibilities.
          Dammit, she was Meltdown! Her persona asserted itself, and then she knew what
to do.
          Searching out a pen and paper, she scrawled a hasty note:
          "Thanks for the fun. Maybe later." She didn't bother to sign it.
          There, that should do it. It had the proper "attitude" for her image. If he wanted, he
knew where he could find her.
          As she slipped out into the hallway, she had the final thought, God, I hope he wants
to find me!
          As the latch clicked home, Quinn rolled over, a smile on his lips.
          It was going to be an interesting stay.

