WARNING:
THERE WILL BE EXPLICIT SEX IN THIS STORY. I will mark those parts clearly in the header. The sex is graphic, but all loving and consensual (and not that much worse than a typical romance novel). If reading sex scenes like that would offend you, please don't read this.

If you want to comment, send email to luba@lubakmetyk.net

Part 3

"Thanks, Polly." Amanda Sefton tossed a smile over her shoulder at Alistaire's secretary, who'd been told off to guide her to Betsy's new office. Closing the door firmly behind her, the lush blonde glanced around the small room appraisingly, noting the institutional beige walls (which did *nothing* for the current inhabitant's complexion except make her look sallow and ill), the worn carpet in a practical brownish-grey selected to match and blend with dirt, the standard government-issue desk, filing cabinet and small bookcase under the only window -- and promptly bet herself that redecorating would be high on her companion's to-do list... if she (or Brian) didn't insist on better quarters first.

"I thought you were going to spend the day shopping." Her friend had come down to stay at the Braddock manor for the remainder of Betsy's pregnancy, the sorceress offering to take her teammate to and from her new job, saying gaily that she wouldn't mind spending the new employee's (currently curtailed) working hours shopping in London -- which had made both Kurt and Brian shudder.

"I did." Amanda collapsed into the office's one small visitor's chair, groaning theatrically, then reached down to pull off a shoe and massage her foot. "I got oodles and boodles of neat stuff, including some cute baby things -- Meggan told me to buy *anything* I found that looked like it might be something you or Marianne would want -- and I 'ported it all to the manor when my arms started feeling like they were going to fall off." She'd switched to massaging the other foot during her speech. Straightening back up, Amanda eyed the desktop -- already covered with an avalanche of papers -- a bit dubiously. "How about you? Having fun yet?"

Elegant Asian features twisted into a scowl. "These" -- she waved a slender hand at one stack, about an inch high -- "are my employment forms for Alistaire. These" -- a finger aimed its long violet-tinted nail at another, even higher stack -- "are applications for university admission. *Neither* are particularly relevant to former blue-blood fashion model mutant telepath STRIKE agents with Otherworld blood in them rebodied as Oriental ninja Hand assassins."

"Remember all those 'how to get into the school/job of your choice' self-help books? It's all in how you phrase it," Amanda grinned.

Her perky cheerfulness earned a sneer from the other woman worthy of Wisdom himself. "Oh, *really*? 'Previous experience: member in good standing of mutant terrorist group;' 'Reason for application: breakup with lover about potential children's genetic heritage due to magical body swap'?"

"How about 'Excalibur liaison to overseas superhero group -- who must remain nameless due to security restrictions -- relocated back home to Britain due to family considerations?" The stewardess-cum-sorceress suggested practically.

It wasn't often at all that anyone saw the cool, collected Psylocke so completely flummoxed. "But... I can't... I wasn't..."

The voluptuous strawberry blonde shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, you sort of were... Brian and Meggan both certainly usually contacted you, and Kitty probably did too, considering how upset she and Kurt both were with Ororo and Logan for quite a while there, for not letting them know they were alive, so that makes three out of the original five members -- and I'd say that's close enough for government work, wouldn't you? And besides, who's to know any different, anyway? Except Alistaire, of course -- and he already knows exactly what you are, that's exactly why he wants you." Taking advantage of the other woman's slightly stunned state, Amanda briskly tugged her up out of her chair. "C'mon -- I think I've got this cubbyhole of yours memorized enough I can 'port us directly here tomorrow morning. And I promised Brian I wouldn't let you overdo, so let's head for home."

"Let us *not*." As her magical transportation looked back at her in surprise, Betsy sighed and explained. "Bri and Meg both *hover* so, and it's driving me quite mad." Then, calculatingly, "Let's go to the Ritz and have tea -- Marianne and I are both *starving*."

"Where *are* they?! Stuart's girl said they left an hour ago!" Braddock paced the tiled floor like a caged lion, pausing frequently to peer out the small, mullioned windows flanking the thick carved oak door. The entry hall was part of the original structure, carefully preserved from Tudor times even as the manor house had been rebuilt and expanded until it was now mostly Georgian, with a few later additions; for one, the large kitchen was a recent project, redone by the senior Braddocks at Emma Collins' insistence. "Amanda *promised* she'd take care of Betsy... I knew I should have gone along to keep an eye on them!"

"Brian, stop fussing!" Meggan had been in that quite modern kitchen making tea until her husband's unease had grown too much for her comfort. "I'm sure they're fine, they're probably talking or something. I *know* you want to take good care of Betsy, especially now. But I also know she sees your care as smothering, not coddling. So why don't you just calm down, and try to relax?"

"I can't help it, Meg! I can't stop thinking about her, worrying about her..."

"I know, love..." And his wife did -- she could feel the concern he couldn't show any better way in every fiber of her being. Others might see only the lion lording it over his pride of females, but she and Betsy both knew it was the lionesses who really ran things -- it had just taken her longer to learn what Betsy had known from birth. Brian's currently smothering care of his twin was just his love, the hidden big heart that she'd first fallen for, years ago. "She'll be back soon... and, until she is--" She punched her husband on the arm lightly. "Tag, you're it!"

She flew out the front door, giggling, a flash of bare toes flirting at him from under the long blonde hair streaming behind her. Braddock stood there gaping for a moment, then grinned happily and kicked his own shoes off, before flying off out the still open door after her.

"So, I have to ask -- were you really serious?" Amanda reached out, to refill her teacup from the small pot of Earl Grey waiting at her side.

"Of course I was." Betsy took a large bite out of a freshly baked scone liberally covered with apricot preserve, and moaned in appreciation. "I told you, we were both starving."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it!" Amanda waggled a finger at her companion. "Kurt said you wanted Brian to run for office?!"

Betsy nodded calmly then, as soon as she'd washed down the last bite of pastry with a sip of her Hoji Cha -- she'd selected that Japanese green tea because it was low in caffeine -- said "Yes. Really, he's just a *perfect* candidate." She studied the cakes, sandwiches and other goodies laid out with a connoisseur's eye, then loaded up her willow pattern plate with two each of the small sardine, cucumber, red salmon, poached egg, roast beef and foie gras-and-cress sandwiches, all on very thin, crustless slices of wheat and white and brown bread, with butter.

The Gypsy sorceress eyed her table companion's selections dubiously, hiding a shudder at the eclectic taste of pregnant women. She picked up a sponge sandwich filled with rose-petal jam for herself, but set it down to wait while she asked, "Because he's Captain Britain?"

"Of course," the rebodied Englishwoman paused in-between wolfing sandwiches down -- fastidiously, of course -- to nod serenely. "Heroic blond beefcake, a living symbol of our island nation... as I said, he's absolutely perfect."

"You'd really use your own brother?"

"To protect my baby? Of course," coolly. "To guarantee Marianne's safety and welfare -- and that of other mutants and metahumans -- I'll use whatever necessary, including Brian and the rest of Excalibur too... Moira the famed Nobel Prize winner who not only found the solution to Legacy for mutants and humans alike but heroically tested it on herself, the sweet but never saccharine Meggan 'le Fay' going out with her husband on heroic rescues--"

Blue-green eyes the color of sea mist narrowed in sudden suspicion. "You didn't set that up, did you?"

Dark violet eyes gazed back steadily. "Of course not. That's what Excalibur does, and that's why Excalibur is popular and accepted while the X-Men are feared and hunted. I'm simply taking advantage of the material already available -- such as Kurt being voted 'the sexiest man in Britain' in the Sun--"

"But you did set *that* up, didn't you, Betsy?" Amanda exclaimed. "I don't whether to congratulate you or strangle you -- Kurt blushed so bad he turned an absolutely *icky* shade of purple!"

"Not exactly." Lithe shoulders shrugged nonchalantly under violet silk. "I just *happened* to run into an old journalist friend from my modelling days, and suggested they might think a bit beyond the standard football player/rock star stereotype for candidates -- but Kurt did the rest all by his adorable, debonair, furry blue self..." A blandly innocent smile flitted across the exotically beautiful features.

Brian could never have caught his wife in a serious chase, of course -- Meggan's empathic sense warned her handily of any approach, while her shapeshifting let her easily hide out in plain sight. But she was always very careful to keep their games of 'Chase Tag' even, making sure she was tapped as often as she got her mate. They didn't take strict turns, as in the classic version; instead, either could tag the other if they could chase down or sneak up on the other, to gain a point. It was easy to keep track, after all, since they were playing a 'Strip' version -- having to pause and remove some article of clothing usually took just about the right amount of time to give the tagger a comfortable head start for the next round of the game, so all she needed to do was make sure they both got undressed at about the same pace.

Their private rules required the loser (if either participant could *actually* be considered so) to pleasure the winner, which made it easy for Meggan to let her husband know by the outcome when she was content to indulge him, and when she needed some special attention paid to herself -- something the delicate fay still occasionally felt reluctant demanding as her just due.

She'd gradually -- albeit painfully -- come to terms with the fact that Brian's ideal woman figure was a hormonally-driven teen's fantasy exaggeration of Courtney Ross' seductive blonde beauty dusted with a hint of Roma's Otherworldly ethereal delicacy. As Meg had become better able to control her initially instinctive morphing -- and to preserve her own feelings and personality rather than being overwhelmed by her companions' wants and needs, conscious and subconscious -- she'd willingly retained his ideal female as her preferred shape, learning to relax and accept and even enjoy her mate's enjoyment.

Rather than always rely only on taking her satisfaction through his, she'd also finally grown self-confident enough to insist on the same thoughtful consideration of his partner's needs that Brian would feel owed the elegant, aristocratic Courtney herself. But Meggan preferred to signal that gently, subtly -- as in this case, through controlling the outcome of their game of tag -- rather than in any blunter exchange with the attendant risk of hurtful confrontation so painful to an empath.

She could easily understand -- and share -- her husband's concern about his twin and her pregnancy, but Betsy's arrival *had* taken over her family's lives almost full-time during the past several weeks, and right now the blonde elemental wanted his attention distracted from his sister and concentrated on herself and her needs, for a much needed respite for them both.

Betsy resumed her determined inroads into the rapidly shrinking pile of wildly assorted sandwiches on her plate. Amanda waited for a moment, nibbling at her own meal, then sighed, and asked a bit worriedly, "All right, then, that's Brian and Moira and Meggan and Kurt, so far -- what do you have in mind for the rest of us?"

"Oh, nothing... Nothing, except taking advantage of the material at hand, as I said..." The purple-haired woman paused to summon a passing waiter, indicating she needed a refill of their teapots, then continued, "We have Rahne, our own Little Red Riding Wolf and quite possibly the next J. K. Rowling... Kitty, the cute Yank genius who prefers life and love in Britain (and has a pet dragon! -- this *is* St George and the Dragon country, you know) with London's own real-life James Bond, the spy who turned on -- and turned in -- Black Air and brought them down... Then, of course, there's you yourself, the part-time stewardess/part-time sorceress, the good witch who fought her own evil witchmother's demon to save London--"

The 'good witch' had been sitting there with her mouth hanging open during most of Betsy's rather smug recital, until the last bit finally made her interrupt, sputtering, "You know perfectly well, Betsy, it was Constantine who got rid of that demon, not me. And who knows any of that anyway -- about me, *or* about Pete?"

"Everybody will, once Kitty -- and Pete's friends at the Crown -- get through spreading the story around the pubs. Pete can square things with John later, if he has to... although I gather our mysterious magus prefers to stay in the background anyway. In fact, I'll wager he might be persuaded to help spread my 'slightly edited' version of the tale around the pubs -- John *does* seem to enjoy embarrassing Pete."

Brian let his sweatpants -- the last article of clothing either had left -- drop, oblivious to where they would end up, as he stared hungrily at the bare blonde beauty hovering so tantalizingly just a few feet away.

Meggan didn't say anything, she just let her eyes glitter with the promise of familiar delights. Her husband flew into her open arms with eager purpose. She could smell the musky scent of large, sweaty male that was uniquely his, overlaid with her own more delicate scent on his skin. To the blonde fay's enhanced senses it was unbearably erotic, that unique scent of 'them'. She inhaled it, taking it deep into her lungs, then placed a light kiss just over his right nipple. Feeling his skin and muscles twitch slightly, she licked the skin she'd just kissed, He groaned softly, a deep rumble underneath her hungry lips that turned to an indrawn gasp of air as she gently bit down in silent invitation.

He slid down her body just far enough to bury his head in the crook of her neck, kissing, brushing his lips across the hollow of her throat, his teeth raking gently across her collarbone. His hands began to rove over her nude body, stroking and caressing the velvet-soft skin of her ribcage, pinching in at her hourglass waist, then gliding back out and down along swelling hips and thighs before retracing a path upward to large, out-thrust breasts.

He rolled both them over in the air currents supporting their weight so effortlessly yet securely until she was sprawled across his chest, looking down at him through a floating curtain of long, pale blonde hair drifting loosely, weightlessly, around her face. Large-knuckled hands kneaded and caressed soft pillows of flesh, feeding the fire growing in her center and spreading through her veins. As the tension betwen them kept building, he could feel her body unfurling against his, beginning its quest for release as her hips automatically rocked against him.

Brian shifted position, bending his head to drag his tongue around and across first one crinkled, engorged nipple and then the other, then lingered to trail kisses up her chest, until his face was buried in her neck again. Meanwhile, one hand slipped down to the delicate blonde curls at her apex, and began gently stroking her core, hearing her tiny gasp as his fingers slid into her, testing, teasing, then with more purpose, a steady in and out rhythm that matched her breathing, forcing it harder, shallower, as he drove her toward the edge.

Carefully, he rolled them both upright again, his knees nudging hers apart to spread her legs, his erection brushing her entrance, and then sliding home. He began to thrust, long and deep, slow and hard, Meggan quivering as she moved to meet him, rocking, their rhythm not too steady as the sexual tension built ever higher. Brian's rhythm grew more and more ragged, spasms driven by his desire and need for release. His wife's jerks and gasps were hard and uneven, too, perfectly mirroring his. Suddenly he surged forward, burying himself to the hilt. Meggan sank her empathic senses into his mind and heart just as deeply as he was lodged in her body, letting his ecstatic release merge with her own response to sweep her over the edge into another orgasm.

The waiter had brought fresh tea, and removed their plates and brought clean ones. Amanda watched in considerable awe as Betsy took her fresh plate and filled it to overflowing with home-made crumpets and muffins jostling up against rock, Bath and Chelsea Buns, slices of a rich chocolate cake and a bun loaf, orange cake, rout cake, plum cake and madeira cake, topped with petits fours. The strawberry blonde looked down at her own selection, ripe red strawberries in rich clotted cream, scooped up a small mouthful, and rolled her eyes in gourmet delight, then asked, "What makes you think everybody will co-operate? Besides mutant rights, you haven't told us anything about Brian's -- *your* -- agenda, like which party do you belong to?! Moira's guaranteed to be a member of the Scottish National Party, and Pete probably would say a plague on *all* parties and politicians..."

"I haven't decided yet which party -- if any -- Brian will support. He's an unmitigated Tory, of course, but I believe Labour might be more sympathetic to my agenda. What I *am* sure of, regardless of political philosophy, is that a candidate with our substantial financial resources and positive public image will be welcomed with open arms by *any* party. I'm still debating whether to choose a party first and then look for a safe seat and set up Brian's run, or look for a likely seat first and then negotiate with the relevant party..."

While Betsy refilled her teacup, "How are you going to get rid of the current holder?" Amanda was almost afraid to ask.

"That'll depend on the actual situation," the telepath shrugged. "Offer them a great job somewhere in the Braddock enterprises, leak a scandal to the press--"

The lush strawberry blonde's cup rattled on its plate. "Betsy, you can't *do* that, that's unethical!"

"I suppose you're right..." Then, just as her companion had relaxed again, and lifted her teacup to take a swallow -- "Very well then, I'll simply ask Emma to do it -- I'm sure she won't mind." While Amanda choked and sputtered, her companion smiled more warmly. "By the way, have I mentioned I appreciate the care you're all taking of me?"

Still coughing, Amanda cleared her throat. "No problem," she replied, gratefully accepting the deliberate change of subject. The sorceress was beginning to think the less she knew about her companion's plans, the better.

"I also appreciate how little you all have fussed about my rather... 'unusual' relationship with Logan, especially after how Warren and most of the other X-Men carried on about us..."

Now it was the other woman's turn to shrug dismissively. "What's to fuss about? I'm sleeping with my brother, *your* brother's sleeping with a fairy, Kitty's sleeping with a mass murderer, Peter's sleeping with the ghost of his dead sister... Ok, so Rahne's too straight to be sleeping with an alien robot reincarnation of her dead love, she'd rather endlessly moon from afar over her first crush -- just like Sam moons over *her* -- but that's *their* loss... Anyway, seems to me you fit in just fine."

Continued in Part 4...