The black cloak I wore over my black velvet dress was pulled around me as I walked up to the address I had been given. I didn't really need the address, but for the sake of the cute Cajun and also for the sake of Pete not having to tell everyone how I knew where the mansion was I took it. A huge brick mansion that I had often visited in the past stood tall before me, making me feel small and weak. The winter snows had not yet graced the land with its chilly touch, but the icy winds were making their entrance now. With a sigh I slowly advanced to the massive doors in front of me. I had been here before, a year ago, and I knew the mansion and the grounds accompanying it by heart. I knew I looked wonderful. My lips were sultry red, my eyes were lightly lined and shadowed, a soft blush lay upon my cheeks, and my eyes were in their normal state, one blue and one green. My long blonde hair was gently flowing down my face, covering my green eye, my shoulders, back and hips. I raised a hand from under the cloak and knocked on the large mahogany door, holding my breath. I heard a pan crash and a harsh word in Russian just before the door opened to show a tall Russian with black hair and beautiful blue eyes.
"Hi." I said, extending my right hand to shake his. We shook hands and his grip was strong and powerful, but nothing like Logan's or Pete's. "I'm Dest... Delilah"
He cleared his throat and responded, "Ilya.... Hello, I'm Peter. Welcome. Please, come inside." We stopped shaking hands and he held the door open as I walked in. He shut the door behind me and turned to take off my cloak. Peter carefully unclasped it and gently lifted the cloak off my shoulders and onto a coat rack. The purse I was holding underneath contained all the weapons I'd need if anything were to go wrong. My precious little was strapped to my thigh and there was a 9mm inside my purse with extra ammo for both guns. I waited for Peter to show me to the kitchen, even though I knew every inch of this mansion. Once he was in front of me I followed him, watching as he somehow moved gracefully. He led me to the sunroom where a small table was set for two. The stars outside were the only lights until Peter lit the two candles at the table. I walked over to the table and he pulled out a chair for me. I sat, placing the purse in my lap and smiling at Peter. The black silk shirt he wore felt soft as he pushed me up to the table, his arm brushing against my shoulder.
I watched and waited as he served us Chicken Kiev, mashed potatoes, a salad, and white wine. While his back was turned, I switched our glasses, an old trick to hopefully avoid from getting drugged... again. We ate our meal, talking about art, New York, the weather and basically anything that wasn't personal. Smiling, and in Russian, I asked before desert, "So, Peter, Pete's told me some rather mean things about you... something about a fight? Are any of them true?" He didn't seem surprised to hear me speak Russian, but he did tense at my question.
"Um... He and I had a bit of a... well... fight. It was a long time ago though and we're both alive to tell the tale, but I uhh... well... nearly killed him. I was drunk and I didn't have a clue as to what was going on." He answered, quite unhappily. He looked as if it was a soft spot, but I knew better. This guy nearly KILLED Pete Wisdom, one of my ex-lovers, and LIVED??? I pulled my gun out of the purse and made sure it was loaded, still holding it under the table.
He sighed, and, in Russian, said, "That was a misunderstanding, I am sorry I did it, but I was drunk at the time, and I was also having personal problems. It was just one of those 'wrong place at the wrong time' things... but I am sorry I did it." I looked him in the eye, and seeing he was actually sorry, placed the gun back into my purse. I'd keep the gun there, for now anyway. Peter got up from the table, took our plates and went back into the kitchen.
Realizing I had the chance to observe the mansion's remodeling and new pictures than were covering the walls of the room; I stood from my seat and walked across the room to the wall filled with older pictures. As I walked around the room I heard another crash in the kitchen and what I thought was "Storm's gonna kill me!" in Russian, of course. I smiled and looked at a picture of Logan and the young American-Oriental girl I had read about, Jubilee. They looked so sweet together. She looked maybe thirteen in the picture, but you know how oriental women seem to have the gift of eternal youth. There was another picture of Remy and Rogue, apparently having a rather personal conversation. They looked sweet together too. A picture of a picnic grabbed my attention, then lost it. There were so many pictures, none of me, of course, but still a lot of pictures.
I sat back down and waited for Peter to join me. The pictures still were as amazing to look at sitting down. There were pictures of Peter in his mutant form, still rather cute. I had to admit it, he was quite a good piece of Russian flesh. Pity to waste it... An idea started forming in my head, a rather evil idea...
"Peter?" I asked as I walked over to the doors to the kitchen, opening them. He was bending over looking in the fridge for something. Nice view.
"Yes?" he said, still moving things around in the fridge, still bending over. I was getting to really like the view...
"What're you making for desert?"
"Not making. I'm looking for the cheesecake. I think Jubilee ate it. It would be like her. Why?"
"Well, I was just going to say, my mother taught me how to make a delicious vanilla sauce, you can pour it on muffins or short cake or anything and it'll make them taste wondrous... If you want, I could make it. I'm not that bad of a cook..." Maybe he could bend over while I cooked, it'd make everything perfect.
Peter banged his head on the shelf of the fridge, and slammed the door. "Delilah, I invited you here for a date, it is not proper for you to have to cook-"
"But I want to, besides, it isn't that hard to make..."
He looked down at me with his pretty blue eyes. Why do all the men I ever dated have blue eyes? Logan, Pete, now Peter, great. "Are you sure, dorogoj?"
"Of course, sladkoya, of course. If you could direct me to the spices, I believe I know where the fridge is..."
* * *
"Et vkusno!" He said after tasting my sauce, not knowing I'd drugged it. Just a little bit to make him cooperate. Ok, maybe for a NORMAL man it'd be a little bit, but I'd read his file, and, well, I added well.. enough...
"Thank you. It's my mother's recipe." I said, smiling. Me smiling is always a bad sign, he just hadn't known me long enough to learn that. Good.
"What would you live to do now?"
"I don't know, this mansion is just so big, could you show me?"
"Like a tour?"
"Please?" I said, giving him my kitten eyes -- girls give kitten eyes and guys give puppy eyes, it's just a rule. He offered an arm to me, and I took it, being proper, as he would have put it.
We toured most of the mansion, all except the floors where the danger room was, or where any of the team's important stuff was, basically he only showed me what a 'normal' human was meant to see. But that's ok, I've seen it all, including the Blackbird. Besides, I'm not what people would call 'normal.' I know Pete, Remy and Logan hadn't told him about me being in the espionage business, but still, I wondered exactly WHAT they had told him...
* * *
The light was perfect outside, if I could only just find my sketchbook. The downstairs was so messed up, we really should have cleaned it by now.
"Mon ami!" A Cajun accented voice said from behind, as my sketchbook appeared in the voice's owner's hand.
"Much thanks, Remy." I said as I took my book, and started heading outside, only to be held in place by a hand. I turned around to see Remy smiling.
"Actually, mon ami, could we talk for a bit?"
"Sure, comrade, what do you wish to speak to me about?"
"Nothing in particular, how ya doin'?"
"Well. You?"
"Gambit be fine, ami, but umm.. when was the last time you were in London?"
"When I was in Excalibur, why?"
"Umm.. well.. How's your love life doin'?" Remy said as he winced.
"Excuse me?"
"When-I-was-in-London-I-sorta-set-you-up-on-a-date." The only time I have ever heard him being this nervous was when we were fighting Sinister.
"WHAT!"
I heard chuckling as Logan and Pete entered the room. I was quite surprised to see Wisdom since he and Katya seem to be... attached at the hip these days. Jubilee's phrasing, not mine. I'm not quite sure that I approve.
"Ya told him about the date with Des, then, Cajun?" Logan drawled at Remy.
"Des?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer.
"Delilah. Nice girl." Wisdom managed to be smug and threatening within three words.
Logan coughed and began searching for a cigar, while Remy had already taken out a cig and was puffing away. Why was I getting the idea that this was a group effort?
"Delilah? Who is this Delilah? I have never heard of her before..."
Logan lit up a cigar, "Nice Russian girl, I've known her family for a long time."
"She's really... artistic, and very pretty, that's an understatement by the way, and... umm.." Remy had said, breathing smoke.
"Artistic?" I asked.
Pete answered, "Yes, she's very... exact and perceptive about her art. She's in a severely under appreciated field of it though." He was lighting a cigarette, and the expression on his face was one I never had seen on him before. I think it was a smirk, though, behind that cigarette, I'm not sure.
"What field? Visual art? Performing art? Musical art?"
Logan exchanged a glance with both Remy and Pete, and in unison, Pete and Logan said, "Performing."
Remy answered, "Well.. visual too, mes amis."
"Musical also, if you've ever heard her voice..." Logan muttered.
The trio again exchanged glanced and Remy let out a harsh breath as he deeply inhaled another drag off of his cigarette. What were these three up to?
Pete looked over at Remy, "Rogue'll kill you."
"But-but-but she's not a telepath and-"
"No, Remy no." Pete said as he sat in a chair, still smoking his cigarette.
"Her voice?" I asked, maybe she was a singer.
"Umm.. yea, Petey, would you like to date the girl or not?" Logan asked.
"Sure, she sounds.. interesting. When would the date be?"
"Umm.. tomorrow..." Remy chimed in.
"Tomorrow? So soon?"
They stood and began to slowly encircle me. "Yeah, tomorrow, she's flying in from London," Logan said as his claws began to slowly extend.
They now were threatening me randomly, "'If you hurt her, I'll torture you, not kill you, I can do so much worse than kill you.' 'You're dead if you even try anything that she doesn't like, you hear me? I'll cut your dick off and feed it to you.' 'She's a goddess, treat her as such, as you should treat all women.' 'One touch, one single touch that makes her feel afraid, and you'll never be seen again.' 'You ever make her cry, and we'll ALL torture you slowly, by shoving hot pokers up your arse.'"
Finally, after watching the red hot knives nearly fly from Pete's fingers, the deadly sharp claws nearly touch my body and seeing more than fifty two cards almost fanned at me, I felt rather impressed, and afraid. I was in deep shit.
* * *
He led me through the normal tour, quite impressive still, for they had re-modeled while I'd been gone over the past year. The drug was starting to set in by the time he showed me to the guest bedrooms, the 'normal' above bedrooms, and the media room. He was getting drowsy, and I suddenly realized that if he passed out I couldn't carry him. Shit. Oh well, the touch of a woman comes in many ways.
"Peter? Are you awake?"
"Da, I'm just feeling tired, sluggish. I've got this headache..."
"Oh? Tell me about it, I'm a paramedic." I switched over to Russian, apparently he was better at being drunk and communicating in his native language.
"I feel as if my head is in a mist, drowsy." He switched over to his native tongue too.
"You should lie down Peter, where's your room?" I asked, thanking whatever God there was that I had had that specific drug. It made him loosen up, though physically he was quite turned on -- trust me, a gal can tell. It lowered his reaction time, made him easier to play with.
"Below." He was walking towards a hidden control panel. When he reached it he asked me to turn around, even though I already knew the code, but it was the thought of his devotion to his team that made me smile instead of be angry. I heard the automatic opening of the hidden elevator door, and he invited me in.
We rode down in relative silence, until he spoke, "You know you're a very beautiful woman, Delilah." He looked down at me and raised a hand to my cheek, nearing his face to mine. He was going to kiss me! "You're smart, funny... though I still don't understand what you do for a living..." Confusion flashed across his face before it was replaced by a look of lust, desire and... attraction. Very odd. He meant what he was saying, I had expected him to lie to me.
"Thank you." I said, blushing. I kinda felt bad that I had drugged him. I mean, the look in his eyes was like the looks I got from Pete and Logan when I first met them -- yes, the lust was there (wasn't it always), but there was that attraction too.
While I was busy thinking, he bent closer, which I hadn't realized until his lips gently brushed mine. My eyes opened fully and then I noticed my body's reactions to the kiss, it wasn't a bad kiss -- no, in fact it was a great kiss... I quite enjoyed it. Somehow my eyes fell and I felt his arm wrap around me.
"Bing." The sound startled me and I reached for my waist in a paranoid movement. It was a rather quick reach, and I found myself laughing at my own actions when the doors to the elevator opened to reveal the bedrooms. Peter stepped away from me, and still with one hand around my waist and with the other massaging his temples, we walked to his room. His new room I should say, the room's last occupant had certainly not been Peter, but he didn't know that I knew that Logan had taken his room. That would be a long story that I never would be forced to tell, ever again.
Once in his room he sat on the bed, and I offered to get him some water from the adjoining bathroom. There was a glass in the bathroom and I filled it almost to the top before returning to his side, then he took the glass and drank it all down. The water might wash through his system and clear out the drug faster than I had expected, but then again he was already metabolizing it faster than calculated, so I'd only have a few hours before it wore off completely. From the dosage I'd given him, he should have passed out, but he didn't -- just my luck, now we can play some games.
"Peter?" I asked, kneeling on the floor, with a look of concern on my face.
"Yes?"
I blushed, I'd forgotten to bring extra clothes, I normally did. "Do you have a.... a shirt I could get into? This dress may look nice, but it's terribly hot."
He sat up in bed, put the now empty glass down, and gestured towards a drawer. I opened it and found not a shirt or any clothes, but rather it was full of art supplies. "I'd like to paint you while you're in your dress... you... remind me of a.... friend. Please, may I paint you?" I turned around to see him standing behind me, arms reaching for my waist.
"Paint me?" I thought about it for a minute. God, all I wanted was a good screw, and now he wants to paint me... interesting, I've never had that approach... "Sure."
* * *
He'd painted me for an hour before finishing. It was hard to hold the same position for an hour, but I managed. In the painting I looked... amazing... He was truly a great artist. "Peter, this is wonderful, it's beautiful."
His arms wrapped around me for a second before he released me, walking back to clean his paintbrushes. Without even looking me in the eye he asked, "What kind of art are you in? Logan and Pete said performing, Remy said visual and Logan also said musical. From the three opinions I admit I was quite confused..."
I blushed, my normal reactions were showing through. Performing art? Me? Acting is a hobby, a necessity for my job, but an actor? Moi? Musical? I was not an opera singer -- I could sing a little, but sing for a living? No. Visual... that I might actually let by, I was after all, the seductress. I need to talk with those boys... What stories are they telling him while I'm not here? I stammered, "Well... umm... performing, I guess, it does require a lot of... acting, movements and skill... also visual and musical. I sing a little here and there and well..."
He finished rinsing his paintbrushes and returned to embracing me. It was a warm embrace, comforting, and strong. Held in his arms, I again asked for a shirt to wear. This time he stepped away from me and started going through his drawers, finally pulling out a large black tank top and tossing it to me. I caught it and immediately turned around, unzipping my dress. Warm hands startled me as they too began to aid in my quest to get the heavy dress off. We unzipped it and he carefully lifted the dress off of me. Quickly I hid the precious little that had been strapped to my thigh.
With the dress off, I had little on, well... in fact... nothing on. So I quickly pulled the black tank top on over my head, but met resistance. Peter's resistance. This was going to be an interesting night...
* * *