The Sweetest Thing

Betsy Braddock grinned wickedly as Warren Worthington poured the last drops of Moet and Chandon into her champagne flute. Casting a side-long glance at her, he returned her grin as he asked playfully, "What? What is it?"

Betsy held the glass to her lips and spoke as she cradled the flute carelessly against her mouth. "You."

Placing his now empty glass on a nearby coffee table, he smiled. "Me what?"

Giggling, she tipped the glass back and swallowed half its contents, letting the liquid bubble happily down her throat. She watched him as he looked at her in bewilderment, no doubt thrilled with seeing this side of her after months with no laughter and even less joy. Sitting in the room's large couch, Betsy tucked her knees against her chest and laughed heartily. She felt almost like a young woman again. Everything seemed so right and she promised herself not to spoil it with thinking too much.

She closed her eyes and tilted her head toward the ceiling as she said casually, "You. You're too much."

He placed the empty bottle in his lap and said flatly to her, "And you're drunk."

Rolling her eyes, Betsy gaped, "Am not!"

Warren pried her glass from her hands and said casually, "Oh, I wouldn't say you were sober by any means."

Staring at the glass, Betsy said, "Well not completely sober, I'll admit."

He grinned and raised her glass to his lips, pausing for a moment before he pressed it against his mouth and tipped it back slowly as he gazed steadily at her, letting the bubbly contents slip down his throat. She watched him in fascination, half aghast that he would steal her drink so callously, half drawn to his almost seductive actions. For a moment she wished she was the glass, the champagne, so she could flow over his lips and tongue smooth as silk.

Once the reality of his actions sunk in, she slapped him hard on the arm and declared, "You bastard! I can't believe you!"

Crossing his arms over his chest and smiling as his eyes danced in amusement, he said, "Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't know that was yours."

She glared at him and grabbed the bottle, staring almost forlornly into its emptiness. Looking back at him, she heard a hearty laugh escape his lips. It seemed to hang briefly in the air as he said, "Sorry. All gone, sweet."

Bold from both the alcohol and her jovial spirits, Betsy said, "Oh, I think there's at least a little left," as she placed the empty bottle on the table and leaned in closer to him. For a brief second, she felt him tense beneath her touch before he relaxed, letting her press her hand against his chest as her face neared his. She saw his eyes flutter closed as she pressed her lips against his warm mouth and then ran her tongue over his lips, tasting the sweetness of the champagne mingled with the musky taste of him. She could feel his heart quicken under her palm as she sucked gently on his lower lip. Her pulse raced, guessing the intoxicating effect she was having on him.

Dizzy, she pushed herself away from him and sat back on her half of the sofa. Her heart pounded in her ears as she collected herself and watched him do the same. She couldn't help but smile at the grin creeping across his face, though she felt a pang of guilt for how cold she had been as of late.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Betsy blurted out, hoping to keep herself from dwelling on the months she had spent alone in her mind away from the warm arms of her lover, away from the comfort such relationships were supposed to give, "So what are we celebrating again?"

Warren sat quietly, staring unfocused eyes across the room as he raised a hand to his lips. Dear lord, she thought. Had it been so long since she kissed him like that... like he was a man she loved, like a man who could stir things deep inside her soul? God, she missed him. She missed them.

"Warren?"

He blinked once, then twice and said almost absently, "Um. Spring. Yes... Spring."

It had been an unusually warm day in New York and even though it was still technically winter, it had felt like April. The grass was green in the parks and even the air was crisp and fresh like it was only in the spring months. It had put the two of them into a wonderful mood and they had decided to celebrate. It had seemed a perfect plan at the time, though now as she thought more of it, it began to seem a little silly.

She stopped herself from thinking anymore on the subject. Thinking too much only seemed to cause her pain as of late. And at the moment she felt good. Something she hadn't felt in a long time. She released a heavy sigh and leaned back on the over stuffed cushions of the couch as she breathed, "Yes. To Spring and new life. What a dreary winter it's been."

She lolled her head back and looked over at Warren, whose white wings stretched out from his back. He looked through her as he said, "Yes. I hope it stays away."

Suddenly realizing there was no longer music coming from the stereo, Betsy stood, her long, velveteen skirt trailing behind her bare feet as she walked toward room's entertainment center. She removed an album from its case and cued it up on the CD player. The Miles Davis Quintet. She always loved Davis. Other music genres had come and gone out of fashion with her over the years... but Miles's deep, pure Jazz had always been there. It had been months since she listened to the pulsing rhythms and melodies of the cool master and she closed her eyes as she swayed slowly in the middle of the room, suddenly forgetting herself and getting lost in the music.

A few feet away, she heard the distinct sound of feathers on leather as Warren stirred on the couch. Her eyes still closed, she held out her arms and asked, "Isn't it wonderful? Come and dance with me?"

Soon she felt him grasping her fingers, twining his own gently through hers. Eyes still closed, she rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed easily with the soft, breathy melody. She smiled to herself when the music crescendoed as John Coltrane added his harmonious saxophone to Davis's low, sultry trumpet. She giggled as Warren's movements adjusted to the change in tempo. She opened her eyes and squealed in delight as he picked her up in the air and spun her in circles. He set her down and spun her once again in his arms and she was breathless from laughter.

She loved seeing him like this. The wide open spaces of his apartment permitted such antics, let him move with the nimble grace that had always thrilled her. After a few more turns and spins, Warren dipped her low to the floor and his large wings hovered over her like the roof of heaven itself. Kicking one bare foot in the air and giggling madly, she held tightly onto his shoulders. He smirked at her and bounced her in his arms, as she squealed in mock-terror and delight.

He pulled her back to a standing position as the music slowed again and she glared at him as she brushed a few strands of purple hair from her face. "That wasn't very nice."

Wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her close, he grinned and said, "No, it wasn't. Was it?"

Tilting her face slightly, she looked into his eyes which sparkled brightly with mischief. This was too easy, she thought. This was too good to be true. After all these months of anger and self-blame, they were simply falling back into one another's arms like a pair of love-sick teenagers?

"You could have dropped me."

She felt his warm breath on her face, his lips only inches away from her own as he whispered, "But I didn't."

With barely a thought, she reached up and held his face in her hands as she kissed him, passionately, desperately, religiously. His tongue eagerly met hers as they held one another tightly. As their bodies pressed together, each contour fitting perfectly against the other, a shiver ran up her spine and washed over her thoughts until all she cared about in the world was him: touching him, feeling him, knowing him.

As she closed her eyes and let the closeness of him penetrate her senses, the urge to reach out and embrace his mind with her telepathy crept steadily into her conscious thoughts. It was an instinct she still had to check herself on almost every day since her battle with Shadow King on the Astral Plane, since she salvaged her sanity, her very existence, and trapped him in a shadowy snare as she sacrificed her psionic powers to hold him. Before that day, her telepathy was like another set of eyes and the suppression of her former world-view was a difficult task, one she was constantly reminding herself of. It was especially difficult with Warren. She longed to feel him in her thoughts like she used to, to really comprehend his emotions, his love. With out her telepathy, he felt so incredibly far away. And what she wanted, what she needed, was to be close to him, to feel a little less isolated in a world she no longer found comfort in.

As she collected her thoughts, she pulled her face away from his and staggered out of his arms. She could feel his blue eyes on her as she slowly backed away and her breath caught in her throat.

She rasped, "I'm sorry.. I just got lost for a moment. I'm so sorry."

She watched him as he opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again, stuffing his hands awkwardly into the pockets of his slacks. She knew he wouldn't pressure her, wouldn't compromise their feelings for one another just to suit his desires. He wouldn't, couldn't, do that to her. But for a brief moment she wished he would be a little more persistent... at least act like he wanted her, at least put up a fight. And then in a flash of panic, she began to think that he resented her, that he hated her, that she was driving him away. They hadn't been intimate since she lost her telepathy and it suddenly dawned on her that he might lose interest in her because of it. What was her love for him if she couldn't express it?

Disappointment creeping across his features, Warren closed his eyes briefly and sighed before he said quietly, "It's okay, Betts. I understand, really."

He turned away from her and went to gather the bottle and glasses and she watched him intently... how his muscles moved elegantly under his thin shirt, how his hair hung irresistibly over his eyes and occasionally brushed against his full lips, how his wings would rise and fall with his gestures and expressions. Why was she fighting her feelings, her love, the electricity she knew still existed between them? She was sick of doubting herself. She was only making them both miserable.

She took a deep breath and said, "Warren. Come here."

Looking over his shoulder at her, he stared blankly at her and said, "Why?"

She grinned as she unzipped her shirt partially, exposing the long line of her neck and the supple curves of her breast, inviting him with her eyes and fighting for him, for them both, with her heart. "Because."

He slowly put down the empty champagne flutes and walked toward her, despondency fading from his features. When he was within arms reach, she pulled him quickly to her, catching his lips firmly in her own and digging her fingers into his shoulders as she stood near the far wall of the room. She felt her heart quicken as he slid a hand up her side and then to her face and through her hair. It then skipped a beat as he pulled away from her, his face filled with mirth and mischief.

Brushing a few loose strands of hair out of her face, he smirked as he asked, "Because why, darling?"

Rolling her eyes, she exclaimed in exasperation, "Warren!"

He loosened himself from her grip and stepped away from her as he said, "Tell me why. I want to hear it."

Laughing, she ran a finger down his chest. He batted it away, his eyes flashing as he said, "Why?"

She shut her eyes and leaned back into the wall as she said flatly, "Because I want you."

Planting his palms on either side of her, he bought his face close to hers and spoke, his lips only centimeters away from her own, "You want me to what?"

The scent of him made her giddy and she moistened her lips before she whispered, "I want you to make love to me. I want you to make me feel like a woman."

He slowly kissed her forehead and then whispered in her ear, his breath heavy and electric against her skin, "Your wish is my command."

He trailed his finger tips along her lips and chin and she kissed them, her tongue reaching out to meet them zealously. Briefly, she watched him watching her and her heart pounded in her throat as he parted his lips and crushed his mouth against hers, kissing her with all the intensity and passion she knew he possessed. He had always known how to pull her strings and her knees were weak from his nearly torturous teasing.

As he pressed himself against her, her back arcing against the hard, cold wall of the living room, she felt as if she were sinking into forever. She would gladly slip into the shadow world of nothing, if only she could take him with her. Then they could be nothing together like this, forever.

Then nothing could take this feeling away. Not the cold light of tomorrow. Not the warm glow of a sober morning. No, she enjoyed being as desperate as a last breath. She loved the dance between this life and the next. It made her feel so... alive. And she needed to know she was alive. She needed him, she needed this, now more than ever before.

She clutched at the buttons of Warren's shirt, clumsily attempting to touch his warm skin underneath. Giggling nervously, she nibbled on his earlobe and whispered breathily into his ear, "I love you."

Trailing kisses down his jaw line to the hollow of his neck, Betsy's tongue glided over his soft, blue skin. Underneath her mouth, Warren's hands worked quickly at his shirt, but not quickly enough for her. She smiled at him before she tugged at the fabric of the shirt and the fine, silken threads gave way as the few still-fastened buttons tinkled to the floor. Warren smiled at her in amusement as he freed his wings from the confining shirt and Betsy helped him slip them through the slits in the back.

The shirt fell unheeded to the floor and she ran a hand down his chest. Though they had done this dozens of times before, this time there was an urgency to their actions, a realness that pressed at every motion, every breath. As she fumbled with his belt buckle, her fingers felt as anxious as the first time and he raced his hands over her back and to her waist, pulling her tightly to him as he whispered, "I love you more."

His belt now unfastened, it hung idly from his pants as he slowly unzipped her velour shirt. After a few not so graceful tugs and pulls, the both of them were standing intertwined in the living room in nothing but their underwear. Betsy pressed herself against his bare chest as he encircled her with his white wings and nibbled playfully on her bottom lip.

As he slowly trailed a finger across her still slightly concealed breasts, she grinned and said, "I think it's too late to back out now."

He looked at her almost drunkenly as he mumbled distractedly, "Um, yes."

She twisted in his arms and ducked free of his wings and he stood gaping, half naked in his living room, their clothes littering the fine Persian rug. She couldn't help but laugh at his expression before she declared, "Catch me if you can!" and darted for their dimly lit bedroom.

As she raced down the hallway, she felt currents of air shift and move past her bare shoulders. She didn't need to look behind her to know that he was using his wings to maneuver down the extra- wide corridor. As their large bedroom came into view, Betsy could almost feel his breath on her back as she dove for the bed.

As she landed, Warren fell on her and the two of them collapsed into a pile of giggles and kisses. Betsy sat up and gasped for air, momentarily breathless from laughter. Warren sat next to her in much the same condition, his wings rising and falling with his chuckles. Finally, she turned to him and brushed a few locks of blond hair from his eyes as she declared, "I won."

He shook his head and smiled, "Oh, did you?"

Nodding, she took his hand and began to lick his fingers seductively, closing her eyes and exaggerating her motions for his benefit. She felt him shiver briefly before he said, "Then you must have your reward."

She smiled and then gasped in surprise as he grabbed both her wrists and swiftly pinned her to the bed. His face hovered inches above hers as he leaned into her and she could feel from the pressure on her hip that he was already aroused. He held her there for a moment and smiled at her until she said, "What are you looking at?"

Suddenly serious, he gazed almost sadly at her and said, "You. It's always been you."

Studying the expression on his face and almost forgetting herself in his eyes, she responded, "I know."

For a few brief seconds, they remained frozen like that. It was as if neither one wanted to spoil that one true thing, an expression of understanding that separated love from lust, an absolute moment of clarity and happiness. But they both knew a moment in time was just that, a passing moment. Betsy wished she still had the power to capture it forever.

She looked up at him and said quietly, "So are you going to kiss me or what?"

Lowering himself, he breathed, "Or what." Still holding tightly onto her wrists, he kissed her neck and shoulders and then ran his tongue down the line of her collar bone. He let go his hold on her arms, letting his fingers glide down to the front clasp of her bra. The hook gave way under his touch, and Betsy eagerly slipped out of the garment. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand and blew a gentle breath across it as Betsy giggled in delight. He then took it into his mouth and she moaned quietly her approval as her back arched slightly, pressing her shoulders into the downy cotton of the bed.

Warren continued to kiss and caress her as she dragged her manicured nails down his back. He had always been slightly ticklish because of the sensitivity of his wings and she thrilled as he gasped and arched his back when she stroked the base of his wings. She smiled as he forgot himself and let his head fall gently on her chest and began to devote all of her attention to his winged appendages. She shifted positions and sat behind him on the bed, running her tongue down the nape of his neck and between his shoulder blades and softly massaging the muscles of his wings with her finger tips. She loved catching glimpses of his face as it contorted in pleasure and she hoped she would always have this effect on him.

Time began to pass quickly for both of them as their limbs tangled in the bed sheets and splayed happily across the bed. Betsy made sure she visited every inch of him, taking in the scent, the taste, the feel of every part of him. As she pulled him free of the last vestiges of clothing and smiled at his nakedness, she wondered why she had waited so long, why she had forgotten how free being with him made her feel. She wriggled free of her silk thong and wrapped her legs around him, pulling him deep inside her.

As their hips rocked rhythmically, slowly at first then faster and faster, every inch of Betsy seemed to throb with joy and excitement. They fit so perfectly together, as if they were made for it. It was almost enough to have him inside her, to share a connection with him. She watched Warren's face as his hips bobbed up and down, his lips slightly parted and eyes shut tightly, and a quiet moan escaped her lips. It seemed as if the edge of her world was tingling with electricity and she gave herself to the sensation fully, blood pounding quickly in her ears and his breath hot on her cheek. Flashes of memory sparked here and there: a glimpse of the first time she and Warren made love fumbling and urgent as virgins in his room at the Xavier school, brilliant tendrils of visual recollections... a stolen kiss in the hallway, a midnight flight over the city, a wickedly lost afternoon in the Colorado mountains. Suddenly it felt like all the times they had ever been intimate and the closeness of the memories taunted her sweetly.

She kissed him hard, her tongue flashing over his teeth and deep into his throat. Her teeth clicked jarringly against his as she ground her mouth into his and she felt him suppress a gag as his pelvis thrust against hers and she silently relented, gently caressing her lips against his. He then scooped her in his arms and sat up, pulling her into his lap without breaking their connection and she coiled tightly around him, wishing for more, wanting every inch of her body to be in contact with him. She pressed her breasts tightly against his chest as she rocked quickly against him and she heard a gasp escape his lips.

She longed to flow through his veins, to be a part of the air he breathed, to fully possess him and be possessed by him. She wanted more than the act, more than fleeting pleasure, she wanted to be a part of him.

The room spun around her as their love-making grew more feverish. She felt herself quickly approaching climax and heard him calling out her name as he dug his fingers into the small of her back. She began losing herself in the sensations pounding in her mind. Scent, sound, vision, thought and even fantasy melted together in a kaleidoscope of explosive fury and she drifted obliviously in their wake as a moan escaped her lips. As her orgasm pulsed through every cell of her body, she could not tell where her body ended and Warren's began. Nothing else mattered to her as her back arched and she fell to the bed with Warren next to her. As he lay quietly with her, she felt absolutely loved and unafraid. It was a sensation that made all of her troubles fade away, made her feel as if tomorrow could bring only joy and possibility instead of failure and doubt.

A smile crept across her lips as she nuzzled against one of Warren's downy wings and she placed a bare thigh over the back of his unmoving legs as she quickly joined her lover in a deep and untroubled sleep.

* * *

Betsy blinked herself awake as early morning sunlight streamed into the bedroom window. The glare was almost blinding from under Warren's wing, the sunlight filtered brightly through the white tent of feathers covering most of her body. She felt warm and protected and she shut her eyes once more to protect her them from the white light and linger just a bit longer in the unique embrace of her lover. As she lay there, serenely appreciating the soft comfort of their bed, she felt a quiet whispering at the back of her mind, scurrying across her thoughts like a tiny insect.

She snapped open her eyes and slid out from under Warren's wing. Sitting up frantically, Betsy nearly screamed as she felt the voices and desires of the building's other tenants murmur at the edge of her own thoughts. Automatically, she filtered them out as she repeated to herself, "Oh God. Oh God."

She buried her face in her hands and groaned as she realized that at some point in the night she had used her telepathy, she had turned back on the power she promised herself she would never use again, the power that she now hated more than the being she had entrapped with it. Quickly, she slipped into the astral plane to survey the damage. The thin tendrils of consciousness and subconsciousness that pulsed through the layer of reality were warped and ripped in places, psionic pockets throbbed painfully. The worse case scenario had happened. The Shadow King had escaped. And for what? A passing moment of ecstasy. She would never forgive herself.

Stumbling back into her physical form, she clenched her fists in anger and spoke loudly over her back to Warren who still lay quietly in the bed, "Wake up. We've got a serious problem."

"Warren," she spoke again as what felt like a howl of laughter passed though her thoughts. Looking over to her lover, she saw him spread awkwardly on the bed, his legs tangled in the sheets, his face turned away from her and half-covered by his arm.

She walked over to his side of the bed and shook his shoulder as she called his name again. He was silent as death, though his chest still rose and fell with every breath. Damn him, she thought. This was no time to play games.

"Warren!" she shouted as she pushed him over onto his side. She gasped in horror at the expression on his face. His eyes were vacant and wide open, his mouth slack. His entire face was devoid of any form of consciousness.

Her breath caught in her throat as she reached out to him with her cursed telepathy and realized that there was no sign of him left. His mind had been completely erased. He was a vegetable, breathing and functioning without meaning or thought. Warren Kenneth Worthington III was gone. All that remained was an abandoned shell.

Betsy's face contorted with grief. She collapsed to her knees and buried her face in the sheets as she heard the telepathic voice she knew could only belong to the Shadow King boom in her thoughts, "My parting gift to you, Mind Witch. Consider it my payment to you for your hospitality."

And then he was gone.

None of the minds of the city that surrounded her could bring her comfort, none of them but the one that had been stolen, the one she wanted to touch so much it had made her loose the devil himself once again upon the world. She curled herself into a tiny ball against the chest of the man who would never be Warren again and wailed with the misery of it.