Work Text:
An English Rose
"The spirit is willing, but the flesh is weak." Betsy Braddock's voice held an equal measure of disappointment and frustration as she collapsed with a groan into the heated waters that filled the free standing porcelain tub to the brim. Frothy, lavender scented bubbles sloshed over the edges to wet the tiled floor as the English born telepath's tired and aching body displaced it's matching volume in water. Another brutal training session, the fifth in as many days, and still Psylocke knew she was nowhere near the level of physical fighting expertise she longed for.
Oh, she was good, there was no doubt. Against anyone of normal strength and dexterity she was a force to be reckoned with. Trouble was, the foes the X-men ran afoul with were more than normal. "Abby Normal's more like it." Betsy could feel the pout settling on her face, and it only made her scowl more as she tried to relax in the bath water.
So far, cleverness and a ruthlessness that few suspected till it was much too late had saved Psylocke in encounters with adversaries who would seem to be far out of her league. Betsy had felt the surprise and respect of her fellow X-men when she'd managed to get the better of Sabertooth. She'd also caught the underlying thoughts most of them had, that she'd caught a lucky break. With a hidden chagrin she knew they were right. Oh, she had made her luck that day, but it could have so easily have gone horribly wrong. Someday quick wits would not be quick enough, and it would simply come down to who could beat the hell out of whom.
So she pushed herself, every way she could think of, in the mock battles with the other X-men. Pushed herself till her body screamed furious protest. Later, she would placate it's loud and lingering complaints with her one great concession. Here, and now, something she once had taken for granted was such a rare treat she knew she should not waste it moping. Storm had provided the water, and Maddie had rigged up a heating unit out of the debris the Reavers had left behind in their Australian hide out. The X-men hadn't completely explored the vast complex beneath the ghost town that had been the Reavers base, but what they had revealed that the degenerate band of cyborg mutant raiders had not believed in the concept of bathing. Or cleaning of any sort really.
Storm had finally just flooded away most of the accumulated junk left behind in the above ground buildings, and the rest of the X-men had settled in to the rooms they claimed for their own. But it was a while yet till they would have the necessary utilities, like fresh running water, much less the choice of hot and cold that would allow their resident English born telepath her favorite guilty pleasure… a luxurious bubble bath, without having to impose on the team leader's weather witching powers.
Thankfully, Storm didn't seem to mind. The beautiful African woman was gracious and generous with her powers, and had even offered to share her own personal rain showers with her team mates, in that so sincere tone that had left Elisabeth blushing furiously as she realized Ororo simply had no cultural taboos when it came to common nudity. Perhaps... perhaps she should take Storm up on that offer. Elisabeth herself had lived the jet set life of a fashion model, and had believed she had lost her own body modesty in the back stage chaos of couture runway shows. Betsy had thought herself quite sophisticated, even jaded... well until the weather wielding leader of the X-men's innocent offer.
The warm flush that suffused her pale complexion was not from the bath. With a sigh, Betsy sank below the surface, letting the slowly cooling waters soothe her sudden blushes. Oh dear. Here was a complication she hadn't anticipated when she'd chosen to become an X-man. But Ororo was so very beautiful, and her spirit was so strong, everything about silver white maned goddess was so... so... vibrant.
Betsy surfaced with a heaving gasp. How had she not noticed her own developing girl crush before this? Oh hell, she had realized it, but had simply not acknowledged it before. But she wasn't going to let it get the better of her. She'd just have to hold steady till it passed. It would pass, she told herself firmly. Despite the romantic flirtation developing between Dazzler and their newest team mate, the mysterious, memory shorn Longshot, Betsy knew that love affairs between ordinary co-workers was a dicey business, much less between superpowered team mates. Surely anyone with an ounce of sense would know better than to pursue the types of feelings she was having for of all people, the leader of the X-men. It would be utter madness and surely end in tears...
But what if it didn't? Betsy worried her bottom lip as she tried to let the silky, lavender scented water ease away her growing tension. She exhaled in frustration. It was no use, the virtue of her relaxing bath was quite botched up. She was too worked up now, and staying in the cooling water for too long wouldn't ease away the tightness she felt anytime soon. She'd just end up like a prune, and not the least bit refreshed. Well... unless... ?
Elisabeth Braddock let a naughty idea slide through her mind with a shiver of guilty excitement. It was, after all, her own special private time, here in the bubble bath, so briefly away from the turmoil and tribulations of being an X-men... And no one else would ever know...
Slowly... long, elegant fingers trembling slightly, the telepath slid her hands over the gleaming dampness of her half submerged breasts. Stroking gently at her own flesh, she closed her eyes and imagined darker hands cupping the sensitive swells. In her minds eye, it was slender, but strong cafe au lait fingers catching at the rosy nubs tightening as the bubble laden bath water lapped around them. Betsy half sank into the tub again, letting her legs hook over the sides as she rested her head on the sloping base, barely keeping her face above the fragrant bubbles. Below the surface she let one hand wander lower, caressing softly in a lazy trail over ticklish ribs and toned midrift. A long exhalation of breath escaped her parted lips and as her eyes drifted shut, and imagined Ororo's kiss...
***
Storm appeared above the Australian desert in a burst of light, and waved an acknowledgement to the silent old aborigine whose power had opened up teleportation gateways that so aptly named him. The X-men knew so little about him, and it made her worry sometimes, that they all had grown almost blase about using him for transportation between their isolated base and the rest of the world. But this was a problem to ponder another day. For now, Ororo had other pressing concerns to address. And the one to help her with them was their resident telepath. Storm knew Elisabeth would be in her private quarters. Earlier the weather wielding mutant had been prevailed upon to fill up the huge ornate tub that the English woman had claimed as her part of the spoils left over after the X-men had taken back all the returnable loot the Reavers had accumulated in their treasure trove. That had been hours past, and surely Psylocke was done with her ablutions.
A light knock on the telepath's door brought no answer though. Storm frowned, had Betsy gone out? The rest of the X-men had already gotten Gateway to teleport them away for some Friday night decompression, but Betsy had said she was going to stay in. The English telepath was the most reserved member of the team, save for Storm herself, almost aloof when it came to socializing with the others. But perhaps this was the one night Betsy had broken with her usual habit of a hot bath and quiet time alone in her room after the end of the week training session? Storm had been counting on the English woman's steady routine, and was unexpectedly... disconcerted. A sudden, half muffled sound from within Elisabeth's rooms caught Ororo's sensitive hearing. It sounded like her own name being called in a moan of distress!
Storm quickly turned the doorknob and pressed into the room prepared for anything... well... except for what she found. The X-men leader's lips pursed in an "Oh" of surprise, the silver blue of her eyes wide as they met the equally shocked stare of her team telepath. The furious blush that followed had the English woman's entirely bare, and freshly washed body almost glowing as she lay sprawled over the rumpled covers of her bed. Darkly amethyst hair, damp and spread out over one end, long shapely legs spread open wantonly on the other. Fingers glistened with the wet evidence of Psylocke's self pleasure, as they froze in place between the soft exposed paleness of trembling inner thighs.
"oh... um..." Storm stammered, not quite able to tear her eyes away, though she knew she should be looking anywhere but at the secret, intimate folds that lay revealed in their ruddy, excited splendor, "I'm... so sorry! I thought I heard you calling for me... I... uh..."
"Oh blazes... " Psylocke desperately wished the earth would open up and swallow her whole. She had taken her pleasure in her bath till the waters had grown too cool to stand, then removed herself to her bed. The languid satisfaction of her sexual fantasy about Storm had left her pleasantly exhausted. She'd stretched out and lapsed into an almost dreamy state. It had seemed so harmless to continue dallying with her erotic day dreams, creating more complex and adventurous scenarios in her imagination while her fingers had coaxed sweet and sometimes savage release for herself. She'd become quite lost in her last fantasy... right up to the point when Storm had spilled into her room moments after Betsy had moaned out the X-men's name in longing.
What was worse, despite the pure, rending embarrassment that flooded through every pore of her being, Betsy felt an even more intense wave of... arousal. The British born telepath shuddered, and shut her eyes tight, hoping Storm had not read the deviant excitement shining in them. Could she be any more sick? How twisted was she that Storm's shocked stare on her lewdly displayed wetness was sending shivery chills spiking through her. To have the very woman she'd fantasized making love with see her like... like... like this ... Surely it was beyond bearing!
The sudden slam of the bedroom door, as sharp and loud as a gunshot, startled Betsy. Her eyes flew open to see that Storm had taken the better part of valor, and exercised a flighty discretion. Trembling, Betsy closed her eyes again and sent out the butterfly delicate feelers of her psychic gift. She found Storm's chaotic thoughts rushing away towards Gateway's plateau... and then suddenly they were gone.
"Well... this is certainly going to be... awkward." Betsy sighed as she opened her physical eyes to stare up into the shadows of her bedroom ceiling. Storm had no doubt had Gateway 'port her somewhere far away, and Psylocke wouldn't fault the X-men's leader if she never returned. She'd found from the texture of Ororo's fleeing mind that the other woman had been mortified to have intruded upon such a private... exercise... of her team mate. Yet, mixed into the feelings of the wind rider's shock and embarrassment had been an unexpectedly intriguing amount of... interest.
***
Storm chased an updraft that sent her wind tossed form into the chilly upper reaches of some unnamed mountain range. She could see the snow caps so pristine below her, and the plume of her breath on the air let her know that the temperature was arctic despite the burning sensation that still flooded her face. Her mutant powers saw to it that neither heat nor cold of the natural environment would ever discomfort her, but it could do little for emotional sources of the same. She felt too hot, despite the frozen solitude of the rocky peaks that surrounded her. Ororo's hands came up to cover her cheeks as she tried to sort out her thoughts. How could she ever face Psylocke again after barging in during... while the other woman was...
Storm let out a tormented groan. She'd stood there, like a stunned deer caught in an oncoming car's headlights. Stood there and stared at Elisabeth's most intimate flesh till the furiously blushing woman had shut her own eyes against the violation of Ororo's continued gaze. What must the telepath think of her behavior? Slowly the weather wielding leader of the X-men regained a semblance of calm control. No matter how uncomfortable the thought was, she had to go back and speak with Psylocke. This had to be dealt with, and hopefully before the rest of the team returned from their own misadventures and noted anything untoward in the atmosphere.
Storm screwed up her courage and faced the fact that she owed Psylocke a great apology, but it had been an honest accident after all. She wouldn't have gone uninvited into Elizabeth's private quarters save that she thought the other woman was in need... uh… in danger. And it had sounded so much like the telepath had been calling out her name... New heat surged through Ororo's face as realization flooded through her. Elisabeth had been calling out her name.
***
tbc?