Let me sink my teeth into you.

𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑹𝑴𝑰𝑻𝒀 𝑶𝑭 𝑴𝒀 𝑫𝑬𝑺𝑰𝑹𝑬

❛ carnal . to [ scratch / bite ] my muse during intimacy.

The groan that vibrated through Brody's throat was deep and certainly pleasure filled as London dragged her nails roughly against the back of his neck and shoulders. “Fuck,” he cursed, against her mouth before he bit her bottom lip with a growl. His cock twitched harder with arousal.

With one arm around her waist to hoist her up and his other yanking hastily at his pants Brody nearly stumbled in the intensity of both their eagerness. He needed them off with the rest of her clothes but the way she left marks on his skin made Brody impossibly impatient.

God, his scent was intoxicating.

Fuck, everything about him was intoxicating, honestly... His taste, the timbre of his voice when he growled in kind, the way he seemed to mirror her hunger at every corner?

She needed him. In every way there was to possibly need someone, intimately, carnally... Wholly.

Ohhh yeah, she was well and truly screwed when it came to him. But she couldn't bring herself to regret a single thing. How could she? Especially as he hauled her up into one arm with such a practiced ease, as if they had been doing this for years...

Thighs tightening firmly about his waist, she gave an impatient shift of her hips at his words.

❝Fuck.❞

Yeah, yep... She needed that too.

Like immediately.

And as he pleaded with her, the feline mutant couldn't help the rumbling growl, loud and full of approval. ❝Fuck,❞ she repeated the curse once more, panting it against his lips as she slipped one hand down in the scant space between them. Then, hooking her fingers in against the soaking fabric of her panties, she pulled them swiftly to the side to expose her aching center.

princess ♥

It was easy to be righteous, but that was something that Scott fought against constantly, always. A private battle warred because it was important, so important, that as they were, who they were, representing the whole entire mutant species, they couldn’t fall for that.

And yet, he had.

Half way through from texting out one angry, bitter, hurt reply to the next, Scott realized that’s what he was being.

Righteous.

That he was lecturing London about why she should trust him and this and she shouldn’t ever make any mistakes and she couldn’t just up and fucking leave him and yet …

How many of his own insecurities had Scott had? How many times had he questioned? And - this was the kicker - how many times had London combed her fingers through his hair, or smiled that adorable fanged smile, or just loved him through it?

So he put the phone down. She was still messaging. She was allowed to do that. But he wasn’t about to continue this conversation over text.

He shouldn’t have run away to begin with.

He shouldn’t have been a coward.

But he wasn’t going to be. Not anymore. He wasn’t going to let anything fuck this up.

Not even him.

So he flew home. Not literally, he hadn’t taken a bird into the city. All he had was the Porsche. But he floored it, ripping through traffic lights, demolishing speed limits. Knowing that he could get pulled over. And that if he did he’d deal with it.

But he didn’t.

He just got home.

Fast.

Left the car parked catty corner in the drive (and the keys in it in case anyone needed to move it) before he was taking the steps two at a time, racing through the mansion, up and up the stairs to their room.

Theirs.

Their home.

His stuff. Her stuff. Pictures on the wall. Theirs.

Christ he was an idiot.

An idiot who slowed his steps only long enough to open the door. To open in it softly, her name, there, on his lips.

It was left unspoken, though, hanging there, caught in his throat.

She was on his side of the bed. Curled up as tiny as could be, tucked under the covers.

Immediately his chest ached, heart breaking.

“Lon,” he breathed, shutting the door behind himself quickly, struggling out of his boots and dropping his leather jacket on the floor.

(On the floor)

Their bed sagged lightly under the weight of him as he crawled onto it, as he crawled into their sheets, as he pushed his way into her space, between her arms, between her legs, curling around her and he encouraged her to curl around him.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” A kiss pressed against each tear, a kiss dropped light on her eyelashes. “I’m such a jackass, I love you so much, I’m so sorry.”

Logan had come back to Scott, had told him he wanted things to go back to how they were before... Before her. They had been together for years, and everything had been fine, until she'd gotten involved. At least... That's how she'd felt.

So, in some screwed up attempt to try and save herself the heartbreak, she'd left him. Left him before he could choose to leave her...

Because that's really what it came down to... What she was so terrified of.

That Scott would realize he had chosen wrong, that he hadn't wanted her after all... And instead of just talking to him about it, she had let her fear of losing him rule her.

That's how she'd ended up curled up on his side of the bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, brokenhearted and sobbing; convinced she had screwed up the best thing that had ever happened to her beyond any possible repair.

And when he didn't respond to her last message, that seemed to just cement all of her fears. So this was it? She was just never going to feel his arms wrapped around her ever again?

A broken sob escaped her as she burrowed deeper into the covers, surrounded by the remnants of his scent.

She had been crying so much, she hadn't even heard his footsteps approaching. Didn't even notice when the door opened.

But when the door shut behind him, she startled, head lifting from the covers.

Golden eyes blurred with tears, she didn't really have time to react before he was crawling onto their bed. The second he pushed into her space, between her arms and legs, she wrapped her arms tightly about him.

She wanted to tell him so many things.

Starting with just how sorry she was, followed by how she loved him so much that being without him physically hurt.

Her tears had other plans, however. Because as soon as he pressed the feather light kiss to her lashes, she started bawling. She had been so sure this wasn't something she was ever going to feel again. So, honestly, it was all she could really do, to bury her face into his neck, the sobbing coming harder at the warmth of his skin against her face.

One. One that was the precursor to many to follow. One that lead to … well, just too much. Too much truth, too much vulnerability.

Things which shouldn’t have been said over text.

That shouldn’t have been said, but only because he wasn’t brave enough to stand there in front of her and say them, shouldn’t have been said, but only because he owed it to her for those words to come from his lips, spoken in his voice.

Scott hated it, wanted to hate it, wanted to push away the truth of it because it was complicated and inconvenient, because it would hurt.

Eventually.

Hurt more than it did now.

But now, for now, he was just grateful, heavy with the weight of that gratitude as he approached her room, water still evaporating from his skin, lounge pants hanging low on his hips, feet bare.

He hadn’t even taken the time to put a shirt on.

The condoms, though, they burned a hole in his pocket and he hated them because he needed them because he needed her.

Needed to be buried in her. To be surrounded by her. To be held, to be wanted, to be loved.

And oh how he did, how he had, how those feelings had changed and grown over the years, how they had evolved.

All those things that made her a foundational part of the mansion, all those things that made her an indispensable part of the team, they were reasons to love her.

Reasons he did love her.

But still that fear held him at bay, that self-hatred, that ever present denial. She was there, she was waiting for him, wanted him, even.

Loved him, maybe.

All he had to do was knock. All he had to do was cross the threshold, but still he hesitated.

Waited.

But he didn’t have to, wouldn’t have to, because the door opened and there she was. Golden eyed glory, wearing next to nothing but Scott could care less about that, couldn’t pay attention to that, because the sheer beauty of her face, a face he loved and loved and loved tore a sob from his throat.

How could he have thought that he’d be able to fight this, that he’d just be able to shut it off, ignore it.

Ignore her?

His fingers itched to touch her, to reach out, but he didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how, and as her question floated soft into the hall, Scott knew he had borne the truth of it too long.

He fell, a man on his knees, in front of the woman he loved, hands scrubbing over his face before dragging through his hair.

“So much,” he said to his palms, to the wooden floor, before he risked to look up at her. “So much,” he all but breathed, crawling closer to her, reaching for her hips, pulling her to him.

Immediately stepping towards him, one hand reached out to hover over his shoulder, suddenly unsure. Were his feelings for her truly causing him this much anguish?

❝Scott...❞ her voice was uncharacteristically quiet as he grasped her hips, but not because she didn't feel the same... Because she did. And she didn't know how to express just how much, or where to even begin to try.

I love you, London.

Her breath caught in her throat as he held her gaze, the conviction behind his words causing tears to blur her vision.

When her feelings for him had first started, it was easy for her to brush them aside as just a typical schoolgirl crush. But as the years passed, it became harder and harder to try and convince herself...

Until one day, as they were catching their breath after one of their weekly runs, it hit her.

She was in love with him.

Absolutely head over heels.

And she didn't say a thing. Because he was with Logan. And because there was no possible way he could ever see her the same way... Right?

Oh, she had never been happier to be proven so incredibly wrong.

Her hands moved to gently hold his face, tilting his chin up so she could speak the words right to him. ❝I love you,❞ she responded fervently, ❝I love you, Scott Summers.❞

Not that Remy had expected change, not that things ever moved as fast as he’d thought they would. Especially not there, not at the mansion.

But everything was as it had been, as it always would be. There. But not with him, because he was different. He was marked and marred, some scars obvious and others not, but still there, still a part of him.

It lightened his heart, pulled it from the darkness of deeds completed, to see the school, the children, to watch them at the pool. They were carefree. It may only be for a moment, for a snatch of time, but if anything he had done, been forced to do, offered to do had been for these moments, then it was worthwhile.

So Remy let himself enjoy the moment, too. He felt the comfort of home as the sun beat onto his skin and the water moved cool around him. He dodged children and played with others, gentle waves of water launched as means of attack and defense.

They were a lot of work, those little ones, and grinning lopsided, Remy retreated to the poured concrete, holding up his hands in surrender as he laughed.

That’s when he felt it, that moment that you knew that someone was looking at you, that genetic alert system that let you know a predator was onto.

Except, turning, his smile only serving to grow, Remy saw that it wasn’t a predator. It was just her.

They’d known of one another for years, almost a decade he’d reckon, but only stolen in snatches before he was off again, sent to do Cyke’s bidding. Remy wasn’t bitter, he didn’t regret it. But he did wonder how things would have been. If it would have been different.

But for all that everything was the same and the same and the same, she wasn’t.

At all.

“London, non?” He asked, approaching, dripping into the heat. “I’d say I knew for sure, but you didn’ look nothing like that last time.” He let out a low whistle. “You look good enough to wound a man, chere.”

She gave a soft laugh, sharp fangs flashing as she smiled up at him, ❝I don't think I look that different, do I?❞

She had always been confident in who she was, sure of her beauty. But it was only recently that she'd finally stopped trying to shrink herself down for everyone else's comfort. She'd started dressing how she wanted, wearing the makeup she wanted, just... Being who she wanted to be. And if she was too much for someone, then so be it... It was their loss.

Apparently that had done a lot to change the way she came across to people.

Tilting her head to the side, she made a point of trailing her golden gaze down from the top of his head, all the way down to his feet, and then back up to lock eyes with him.

All chiseled abs, and dripping wet from the pool... Oh, he looked good enough to eat.

❝This, coming from you?❞ she slipped her tongue out to wet her lips, taking a step closer to him, ❝Have you looked in a mirror lately?❞

Her fingers itched to reach out and touch him. And with every passing second, the urge to lean up onto her toes and lick the water droplets from the line of his jaw, was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. But considering this was the first time they'd seen each other in at least a year, combined with the fact that this very well may have been the most they'd ever spoken to each other?

She would do her best to refrain.

Scott wasn’t really surprised, he was far from shocked, and in truth that was what he wanted, too. He liked the challenge, he liked the change of location, he liked the ability to be somewhere that he wasn’t just Scott Summers: professor, boss, leader of a not-so-small revolutionary team.

In the woods he could just run. And run. And worry about the pumping of his legs and the movement of his arms. He could worry about keeping up with her, all legs and grace and feral ability.

Because she’d decided that they do this, that they come here, that they take the thirty or so minute drive to ride further upstate. To turn down a backroad and then a fire road and park, there in the absolute middle of nowhere.

Logan would have loved this. Logan would be jealous, later, when he smelled the spruce and pine and oak clinging to Scott’s skin, mixed there with sweat and, yeah, Scott was okay admitting it to himself. Logan would be jealous that there’d be her, too.

And maybe Scott was okay with that. Because maybe Logan had driven him insane on a number of occasions telling him about London. Questioning him about London.

He might not be a telepath, but he sure as hell seemed to always know what was going on in Scott’s mind.

And then Scott had walked in on them…

Taking a steadying breath, Scott centered himself again. The only thing he could hear was the sound of their footfalls, she was near to him, a little to the left, they were both running full tilt and he was pushing his limits.

She was just so much faster than him, as she should be, and even though they’d both agreed to keep heading out even with the threat of rain, Scott had assumed it would be a sprinkle.

Instead it was a downpour.

As rain sluiced down over his skin, running in rivulets past his hair, around his glasses, making his shirt stick to his skin as mud flung with each footfall, Scott considered seeing if she wanted to turn back.

It was awkward, they were more than halfway through the route which meant they really had to keep going, but he neither wanted this to be over nor did he want them to stop.

Being back at the Jeep meant going home, which would mean Logan, but Scott didn’t want Logan right then.

And stopping meant talking or spending some time together taking deep breaths and calmly drinking water while trying to make small talk.

And it wasn’t just him who had clothing sticking to his skin.

He could do this though, he could slow and stop and offer. He could spend moments with her in the rain and not look half as hungry as he felt. He was a grown man and she was a very grown woman and really this had been the worst idea.

Still.

“You,” Scott began, turning just a little, slowing in his steps, but he hadn’t given her any warning and she had been right behind him and then in a flash when he changed the patterns of it all she was running full tilt into him.

He caught her, grabbed her by the shoulders, but the momentum sent them both turning, and even in his shoes against the wetness and the leaves and the dirt, there was no chance. All he could do was to his best to protect her. To make sure he took the brunt of the fall, rolling so it was him that hit the ground first, back against roots and stone as they slid.

It was only seconds, not long of a span at all, but he was dirty and sore as he clung to her, grip bruising as he looked up and searched her face urgently. “Are you okay?”

And the harder it was, the better.

So when Scott suggested trail running, instead of their usual laps, she was immediately all for it.

The bonus was that he had suggested somewhere further upstate, which meant spending more time with him. Both on the drive there and whenever they decided to make their way back.

Aside from their runs together, Scott was notoriously difficult to get alone. Which wasn't surprising, considering all of his responsibilities. But sometimes? She wondered if he wasn't avoiding her on purpose.

She didn't have proof, exactly. It was more just a general feeling... But she wasn't about to ask him about it on the drive there, because that would have made for an incredibly awkward run. So she just left it.

When they'd first arrived, the feline mutant had felt a bit like a tightly coiled spring, almost overflowing with energy just begging to be expended. But now? She was much more at ease, the slightest whispers of tiredness only just beginning to creep in.

Scott was probably closer to his limit, but he had been the one to suggest they see how far they could get before collapsing. So she was absolutely taking those words to heart.

The threat of rain hadn't been a deterrent to her... Although the most she'd expected was maybe a light shower. Not a torrential downpour.

That was okay though. Because with the rain pouring down on them, it meant she had to focus more closely on the way she used her muscles, had to counter her weight as the ground gave beneath her shoes. It was just a few more obstacles to overcome.

Considering her mutation, her friends used to jokingly tease her with remarks like 'If you're a cat, that means you hate water, right?'

Wrong.

She loved it.

She could feel her t-shirt had soaked right through, clinging to her curves in a way that probably left little to the imagination. And her shorts felt much the same. But right now, more than anything, she just relished the soothing cool of it against her heated skin.

She chanced a glance to her right, to check in on Scott, and... Jesus Christ.

He was drenched down to the bone, and he still looked so disgustingly, devastatingly handsome. How was that fair?! And oh... The way his shirt clung to his skin... It was downright fucking cruel.

It was also entirely the reason she hadn't caught the way he had turned, the way he'd slowed just a little...

The collision wasn't gentle, she had been running full tilt.

The momentum, the rain, the mud... It was the perfect storm, and London braced herself for the impact. But it wasn't nearly as rough as she'd expected... Scott had rolled to take the brunt of the fall.

Laying atop him, her hands were bunched up into the soaked fabric of his shirt, dark brows knit together with worry, ❝Am I okay?!❞