Disclaimer: The X-men and their world belong to Mavel/Fox. No profit or copyright infringement is intended. This is an X-men Shared Universe, orignally imagined by Tarchannon, Dark Legends is a dark future where the next generation of the Legacy virus has triggered disturbing changes in the X-men. For further stories by a variety of authors and poets, go here.


Tease the Dog

Scott wasn't going to die. Jean wanted to be relived - she *was* relived - but it was so hard to pay attention. She was mostly glad that he was asleep and silent. But not everyone was asleep. There was hank/bobby/jubilee/krystal/jean/kurt/dillon/jean/hank/john/charles - touching his mind was like putting her hand in a fire - Jean shuddered, struggling to close down. And failed. Again.

She was cold and stiff and sore when she found her way back to herself. The room was in a shambles, the food she'd brought for Scott splattered on the windows, papers and books thrown off the desk and the chair tipped over, the closet doors flung wide and the clothes inside scattered and torn. It looked like a tornado had hit the room. Even the clothes on her body were shredded. Only the bed where Scott still slept - deeply drugged - was untouched. Jean stared at her clenched fists. She was just barely hanging on. It was so hard to focus, so easy to get lost.

"Scott -?" She whispered, desperately. But her husband didn't stir. Jean screamed, the mirror over her dresser shattered, and he still didn't stir. Wept and he slept, drugged and dreamless. She had no anchor. No one to see *her*, know her. Love her. Most of the thoughts in her head had nothing to do with her. She needed someone else to be thinking of her. Only her.

Feeling like she was walking a tightrope, Jean went to find some whole clothes. All her conservative wool suits were shredded. She found, pushed in back and forgotten, the leather mini-skirt and low cut leather vest Jubilee had bought her for her first wedding anniversary. 'You'll get some attention in that, teach!' The girl had said. Attention.

Jean threw off her sweater and jeans and tugged the tight leather skirt on, it came barely to mid thigh. The vest clung like a second skin, baring the rise of her breasts. It felt cool and different and Jean ran her hands down the snug black leather. She could feel herself in these clothes, feel the pull of the leather against her naked skin. Feel the rub of it like a hand on her body, her breasts, her ass, the small of her back. It gave her something to hang onto amid the rattle of thoughts in her mind. Jean looked at her broken reflection in the mirror and smiled.


Jean walked down the fourth floor hallway, heels clicking in the silence. It was very late, almost everyone was asleep, but their thoughts still whispered in the back of her mind. Wet dreams, nightmares, fantasies. Charles was awake, he never slept anymore, but he was occupied with the Goddess. Logan was awake and hunting something outside. Jean paused, mind skipping momentarily in to the panicked thoughts of the young deer springing through the woods above the mansion; it knew the predator was close but was unable to sense where. She fled the animal's mind before Logan's final pounce but lingered in Logan's. She couldn't read his thoughts - Jean wasn't sure Logan had any thoughts right now - but she savored the intensity of his focus, his ferocious, intimate attention to the struggling animal under his hands. The shock of pleasure as his claws sank deep. The hot, sweet taste of blood and raw flesh.

Jean shook her head and ran a hand across her stomach, bare between the low band of her skirt and the cropped leather vest cupping her breasts. Her hand moved up, thumb stroking across her nipple until it hardened. She shivered and walked to Logan's room.

The man's mind might be gone but he still made his bed. Jean wondered, briefly, if he'd been conditioned to do it by the monsters who'd put the metal in his body then shrugged. Several pairs of very dirty jeans were piled in one corner. On the empty dresser top, a stuffed wolf toy lay abandoned on its side. Jean picked it up, grief struggling through the withdrawn expression on her face. It had been Marie's, from Logan. The only gift she'd ever seen the man get. There was a lot of grief in the air - hank/bobby/jubilee/ororo/logan/hank - Jean shook her head and dropped the toy. She was tired of grief. Things were going to change.

She lay down on Logan's bed. The pillow smelled like him and she closed her eyes with a small, unkind smile. Unbuckling the vest, she trailed two fingers down from her collarbone to her navel. Her nipples tightened with a ticklish little rush and Jean cupped her breasts, rubbing her thumbs across the puckered nipples until they swelled and ached pleasantly. Licking her lips, Jean squeezed - harder - arching up, then sighed and relaxed. The throb was echoed in her clit. She pulled her knees up and spread her legs. Tugged the leather skirt up so her ass was against Logan's blanket. The air was cool on her hot pussy, and strange. She'd shaved herself there on impulse. Under her clothes, she was very, very naked. It was something to think about when Hank's mental despair bled into her mind like someone sobbing in a closet.

Her fingers went directly to her clit, stroking the delicate flesh, then dipping lower to the wet labia. She spread herself open, biting her lip and arching her hips, opening herself up. She pinched a nipple again, dipped a finger insider herself to feel the clench and shudder. Teased herself with light touches across her clit, stroking the plump lips of her labia. One hand squeezing her nipples, teeth sunk into her lower lip, Jean began an firm insistent stroke across her clit. Down between the wet labia, back to rub the silkiness across her swollen clit.

The warm rise of anticipation was almost enough to drown out other thoughts. Jean rubbed harder, faster, breathing in short pants. The ache in low in her belly rose, sweet, tense, growing stronger. The pressure of her fingers throbbing in her clit, up through her body, spreading wider and wider - so good. She pinched her nipple and arched up with a soft cry, two fingers buried deep inside her pussy as she clenched and pulsed and climaxed. Sank back down on the bed and blinked at the ceiling, listening to her blood pound in her ears.

After a moment, she rolled off the bed. She rebuckled her vest, tugged down her skirt and carefully straightened the blanket. Turning at the door, she looked back and smiled. Everything looked the same but for a man who depended more on his nose than his eyes - nothing at all was the same.

Jean paced the hallways downstairs, crossing patches of moonlight and shadow, listening to her heels and waiting. She knew when Logan returned to his room. The territorial rage and abrupt lust was unmistakable. Hard footsteps pounded down the hallway, down the stairs. He was following her scent. Closer - closer but Jean was no deer. She turned at the end of the hallway and watched the stairs, waiting.

Logan whipped around the hallway then froze, staring at her. He wasn't wearing a shirt and his jeans were grass stained and soggy. Jean was pleased to see he'd washed off most of the blood - not that it would have stopped her. His head lifted, scenting her, and he bared his teeth. Wild and wordless, savage as an animal.

"Come on then, dog." Jean said softly. The pictures on the walls, the vase on the hall table, rattled as her power rose. A picture by her shoulder, an old one of the professor, Scott and herself fell to the floor, glass shattering. Logan flinched and snarled, slipping to a wary crouch and moving towards her. Stalking her. Jean smiled. She wasn't afraid. Not of him. Not of anyone. Her power ghosted across his body, making the man shudder and cringe.

She could feel his hunger. His lust. He was blind to anything else; smelling her, smelling her sex in is room. Smelling her now, still wet. Still exited. More exited as he came closer and he smiled, more confident, moving faster. Jean let him get in almost in arms reach, then threw him to his knees.

"Dog!" She snapped. Logan howled and thrashed, struggling in her power, unable to rise, unable to fight. His claws snapped free, stabbing the floor, then retracted. He stared at her, chest heaving, eyes wide and bewildered and desperate. His erection was tenting up his jeans. There was nothing in his world, right now, but her. Nothing but her. Jean's breathing quickened.

Logan panted. Jean didn't think he even understood what she was saying. That made it even better. Carefully, because she'd never tried to do something so delicate, Jean squeezed his cock with her telekinesis. Logan bucked and howled, thrashed wildly. When she stopped, he arched forward and groaned pitifully.

"You're my dog, aren't you?" Jean whispered, touching him with her power again. Logan whimpered and writhed, sweat beading on his forehead. Jean leaned against the wall and ran a hand up her thigh, pushing her skirt up. Logan's eyes fixed on her and he began to pant. Jean curled her hand between her legs, stroking herself lazily, watching Logan's nostrils flare as he breathed in the scent of her excitement. She spread her legs wider, making sure he could see what she was doing. He whined and tried to lunge forward. She could see his desperation, feel how focused he was on her. See herself through his eyes, know where she was, who she was.

"Come here, dog, and be good." She murmured, easing her grip on him but not letting him rise.

Logan crawled to her feet.

"Good dog." She said. He stared up at her, eyes dark with a mixture of terror and lust. Jean brushed his cock with her telekinesis, the lust was winning. But the fear was sweet. It gave an edge to his attention that Jean had never known before. His need for her cut him like a knife.

He leaned forward with a whine and licked her knee. Jean shuddered, legs shifting wider, inviting him. She felt his hands curl around her ankles and the whisper of betrayal.

"Bad dog!" She hissed, wrenching his arms behind him, pinning them there and slapping him. Logan shouted and fought, subsided finally, gasping. Whimpered like a wounded animal and leaned forward - very carefully - and licked her leg again. Jean permitted it and Logan lapped his way up her leg, moaning low in his throat. She felt his breath on her labia and shuddered. The touch of his tongue on her made her moan.

He nuzzled her, lapping at her slick skin. Tongued her clit, licking strongly, steadily - eager to please her. Jean curled her hands in his tangled hair and rocked against his face. "Yes. Good dog. G - ood dog."

He thrust his tongue hard into her opening, growling. Jean could feel how he wanted her, ached to fuck her. He pushed at her bare pussy, scraped his teeth lightly across her clit. Sucked at her and Jean arched, ground hard against him and climaxed. She held him to her until the last spasms were done, then pushed him away.

She stared coolly into his eyes until Logan sank down to lick her shoes, making wordless begging noises. He rocked on his knees, thrusting uncontrollably. He needed her so badly and he had been a good dog, after all.

She let him rise and eased the grip of her power on him. Wide eyed and wary, Logan leaned against her, nuzzling her neck. His shaking hands pushed her skirt higher, bunching it around her hips. She heard him unzip, whimper as he freed his desperate cock the his hands came back to her hips. He shifted her, denim clad legs brushing her thighs. Jean shivered, her pussy giving a startling strong clench of anticipation. When she felt the tip of his cock brush her skin, she locked him in place. He howled in betrayal and Jean laughed.

"Ssh, my dog. Shh." Jean murmured, stroking his face. She lifted the collar where he could see it and his eyes went wide and he shook his head frantically. Jean drew back slightly, losing contact with his cock and he whimpered. She shook the collar, making the tags on it jingle. "Be a good dog."

Logan groaned and shut his eyes in defeat. Jean smiled and slid the collar on. As she pulled it tight around Logan's throat and snapped the buckle in place she arched her back and sank onto his cock. Her dog howled and slammed forward, hands slapping the wall on either side of her shoulders.

"Ah! God!" Jean yelled, clutching him. She wrapped her legs around Logan's waist and dug her heels into his ass. He cried out in pain and thrust hard into her. God, he was thick. Full to overflowing, Jean ground against him, feeling the dull ache that was almost pleasurable as his cock stretched her wide open. Logan moaned, humping desperately, rhythm already going ragged as he approached orgasm. He slammed into her and into her and into her - panting, Jean let her head fall back against the wall. Shuddering harder and harder, tight, slick, thrusting heat.

"God - god, yes! Yes!" Jean wailed, losing her grip on Logan as she clenched around the shaft pounding into her. Logan threw his head back and howled, arching like a bow and exploding into her in a violent, pulsing spasm. Jean screamed, grinding uncontrollably, climaxing hard around Logan's cock. They slid to the floor, Logan buried his face in her neck and wept. Jean, to relaxed to move, tolerated it for a moment before pushing him away.

She struggled to her feet, and looked down at Logan who remained on his knees. She reached down and ran a fingertip lightly along the dog collar around his throat. The tags jingled and Logan winced, dropping his eyes. "That's right. You know who's dog you are now."