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Disclaimer: Marvel owns one of them, Henson owns the other. Neither are being used with permission. No money is being made from this work of fiction.
Rating: R. Suggested sex, lesbianism, drinking, other things.
Intermingled Colours She didn't used to go for women. "Hi." "Hi." "Is that paint?" "No." "Mm. You're lovely." "You think?" "Yes." Eyeing each other with wariness and something else that might have been lust. There is desperation there, digging into both of their skins. Marking their eyes and showing in the way hands shake as they pay the bar tab. Chiana dances strangely, her shoulders and back bent as if she has a spinal condition. Or maybe it's her own version of a mating dance. Ororo finds it oddly alluring, and brushes a hand through her own hair before reaching out to play at the other woman's. White hair, grey skin with her hollows darkly outlined. It's a study in contrasts, Ororo thinks as her hand brushes down the other woman's arm. She's dark, Chiana's light. There's a desperate gaiety in both of them, a need unfulfilled that could be realisation of a never-ending madness. Or perhaps they've both seen and done too much, and there's no going back. It's later, when Chiana's sliding down her, white strands of hair tickling across her belly that she wonders what she could be thinking. But it's too late to stop. Too late, except she slides a hand into that tangled hair and pulls. "Don't get impatient, 'Ro." "I--" A finger distracts her, sliding in and out and she suddenly can't remember what she was going to say. "Please." "Of course." Dark eyes turn darker, pupils widening as a pink tongue slips out to dampen grey lips. "You're very beautiful, you know." She stops talking, then, her head dipping down and that tongue sliding along Ororo's belly, leaving a trail of damp that's made almost painful with intensity by the strands of hair that drag through it. Lips, tongue, fingers, and Ororo is now riding that fast train that slams through her system and pulls her up to the top of the ride. "Oh, Goddess..." Crystal-clear moment, then. And the moon is above the skylight in her loft, the mellow light spilling down on them. Only it's not Chiana between her thighs, it's Mystique. Or maybe it's Remy. And she shudders away from either prospect, clinging to the image of a grey girl with a winsome smile. Back on earth, Chiana is sliding up her body, stopping to lick a nipple and tickle a rib before she tucks her head under Ororo's chin. "Sleepy." "You don't--" "No." Lips press against neck, teeth nipping for a moment, then she sighs. "Thank you, but no." And in the morning, the sun wakes her, shining down into her eyes. She stretches for a moment, luxuriating in the warmth. And then realizes that the grey girl is gone as if she never was. Getting out of bed is almost hard, then. But the different angle shows her the small black glove sitting on her dresser. Almost a thank-you. Or maybe a promise of things to come. But she's not going to get her hopes up. -finis-
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