* DISCLAIMER * This is a non-profit work of fan-fiction involving characters created and owned by Marvel Comics Group. /Forever Young/ written and performed by Alphaville. This story contains EXPLICIT SEX (m/f, oral, anal, NONCONSENTUAL, MINDCONTROL) If ANY of the above bothers you, please do not read this story. * WRITTEN BY * Samy Merchi * ARCHIVED AT * http://mash.yok.utu.fi/corona.html * INSPIRED BY, AND DEDICATED TO * Mandy "HARLEQUIN" Lever * STARRING * Monet Yvette Clarisse Maria Therese "M / BLACK ROOK" St Croix in ***************** * A LITTLE PAIN * ***************** * CO-STARRING * Manuel Alfonso Rodrigo "EMPATH / WHITE ROOK" de la Rocha * AND STARRING * Mario Van Peebles as Roberto "BLACK KING" Da Costa * CONTINUITY * This story takes place * in my Shadows of the Future timeline http://mash.yok.utu.fi/corona/xforce/index.html * in year +4 (four years in the future) * unspecified time during first half of the year * some weeks/months after WHO DARES WINS * some weeks/months before BLACK WEDDING * LAST WARNING * EXPLICIT SEX AHEAD NASTY, KINKY EXPLICIT SEX IN PARTS READ *ONLY* IF YOU TRULY WANT TO *** *************** * CHAPTER ONE * *************** *** Spending time among other people is often refreshing. It never fails to remind me how far above them I am. I am, after all, Monet St Croix. Not only heiress to one of the largest fortunes in Europe, but also a mutant with incredible powers proving my superiority over the masses. Anything they can do, I can do better. It's a busy night at the restaurant. But fortunately, the staff is intelligent enough to realize my and Manuel's importance, always rushing to attend us whenever we need it. Perhaps he has used his powers to ensure that, perhaps not. It is of no consequence. As long as I am served properly, I am content. I put a piece of venison in my mouth and chew on it thoughtfully as my eyes watch past Manuel's shoulder, lingering on the couple seated at one of the other window tables. The man stands up, kneels before the woman, and takes a small box from his pocket. He looks up at the woman and says something, doubtless a marriage proposal. A tense hush falls over the restaurant and a lot of heads turn towards the couple in question. "Wakanda", I say to Manuel, returning my eyes onto him and picking up my glass of the Abadia Retuerta he had picked, taking a slow sip of the red to compliment the taste of the meat. The crowd around us erupts into cheers and applause -- apparently the proposal met up with a positive reply. I patiently wait for them to stop interrupting my conversation with their inconsequential affairs. This restaurant isn't a playground for their juvenile and bourgeois courting games, their faux class and attempts to elevate themselves. True class is not about vain attempts to call attention to oneself. We do not need the adulation of the masses, their pathetic gasps and looks of awe. Just for them to leave us to our better life, and not be underfoot. And that man is risking his his physical well-being by interrupting my conversation with this display of his. "Wakanda?" Manuel asks when the crowd finally has the good sense to quiet down and return to the purpose of this estabilishment -- eating. "Isn't the political situation still a bit unstable in that region, my love?" "You seem to be under the impression that I care, Manuel", I reply to his useless question. Does he seriously think that the humans' situation concerns us? "That is their problem, not mine. I want to see the waterfalls -- hence, I *will* see them." "Of course", he sighs and returns his attention to the food, picking at it slowly. He worries far too much. It isn't as if we have anything to worry about. We don't live in the same world as the Wakandans, except geographically. I only wish to see their nature, they can keep to themselves while I do so. And if they do not, they will wish they had. *** An hour or so later, we're ready to leave. Manuel finishes his Armagnac with a few last sips before accepting back his credit card from the waiter and putting it back in his wallet. We stand up, and I put my arm around his, as we walk over to one of the two elevators leading back down from this lavish skyscraper restaurant. He pushes the call button, and we patiently wait for the elevator to arrive. My eyes go to an elderly couple who evidently are also leaving, as they are coming towards us. I smile and squeeze Manuel's arm just a minute fraction tighter, but it is enough for him to notice it. He follows my eyes to the couple. They stop. We turn our eyes back to the elevator, waiting for it to arrive, and not having to look at the couple to know that they have turned around and are heading towards the other elevator. We have no desire to share a cramped space with doddering old fools. The doors slide open. We step into the car, turn around to face back towards the restaurant, and Manuel pushes the button for the ground floor, the doors swishing promptly closed in front of us. Smoothly, the car starts descending. It has been well serviced. I can tell from the lack of sound, the tidiness, the fact that the control panel is in pristine condition and all the lights on it are working, mentally comparing the speed of acceleration to the statistics of this model -- "Mm?" I murmur as Manuel's lips caress the skin behind my ear, sending little shivers through me as my attention shifts from the elevator to my man. "You were about to have an episode", he says softly, blowing air lightly into my ear and then sliding his tongue slowly, teasingly, along the edge of that ear. "Oh", I whisper almost soundlessly. My episodes. My cursed episodes. The only -- well, almost only -- thing suggesting that I might in some way be inferior to other people. They don't have to suffer from spontaneously shutting out the world every now and then, why do I have to? I'm better than them. This illness should have befallen someone who was already imperfect, not me! "Oh!" I gasp softly as Manuel's hand, slipped around my waist, moves a bit higher, and touches the swell of my breast. My back arches just a little bit, my body wanting to press itself against his hand, but I won't let it. "I love you, Manuel", I whisper almost apologetically, nuzzling my face against the side of his neck and giving a few light kisses. "I love you too", he whispers in return, and brings his lips to mine, giving a few light closed-mouth kisses before our lips part and the kiss deepens, our tongues sliding against each other as his hold on my breast also becomes firmer, kneading my soft flesh affectionately and stroking my nipple through the thin fabric of my black gown, causing it to harden. "Manuel", I whisper against his lips, breaking the kiss and finding myself breathing a bit heavier. I take a deep breath, and repeat his name, whispering it into his ear before my hand brushes against the bulge in his pants, discovering -- no, verifying -- his desire for me. "I want you, Monet", he says, half-pleading, half-commanding. He gives my breast a squeeze, before suddenly, pulling me against him, snuggling our chests against each other as his arms wrap around my back and he gives my lips several heated kisses. "I'll take care of you", I say softly, my fingers unerringly remembering where the control panel is without looking at it, and finding the 'stop' button. With a push of my fingers, the car comes to an abrupt stop. "Just lean back and relax." I lay soft kisses onto his throat, then slowly descend downwards, coming into a crouch before him, nuzzling my face against the bulge in his pants. "Monet..." he pleads, hands coming to caress my cheeks and trying to lift me back up, but I stay at my post, not budging an inch. My fingers caress him through his pants, and then slowly undo the zipper before reaching inside and finding him well erect within his briefs. "Just relax", I whisper, and let my fingers dig him up from his briefs, and pull him out for my eyes to feast on. Five inches is roughly average for men, and I'm content with it. I gently pull back the foreskin, fully exposing the swollen purple head, and touch my lips lightly to it, giving it a tender kiss. "Oh", he gasps and the erection visibly strains before my eyes. He might want something else, but he can't deny the fact that he is enjoying this, and that I am pleasuring him. My fingers start slowly stroking the foreskin up and down the throbbing shaft even as my tongue comes out and takes a few teasing flicks over the underside of the head. His entire body goes rigid and his back arches slightly as his hands grip the sides of my head tighter. I pull the foreskin all the way back, and lick my lips briefly, moistening them before taking the head between them. My cheeks hollow slightly as I suckle on him softly for a moment, my free hand going around his hip to his buttock and starting to squeeze to the same rhythm as I tighten and relax my suckles on him. After a few moments, I change my approach. Instead of suckling on the head, I start moving my head up and down the hot flesh, sliding back and forth over him, keeping my lips tight around him as I try to apply a bit of suction while stroking him with my mouth. "Ahh!" he gasps, his back starting to give occasional spasms, arching very slightly and trying to push him deeper into my mouth. I accept his entry for a moment, then as I keep moving over him, I gradually withdraw by the same amount that he had given me. I can sense the tension building up within him, and I accelerate my motions, wanting to bring him to climax. "Don't stop", he moans quietly. As if I had any intention to. This is about him. His orgasm. Bringing him pleasure. Not about me. I don't want it or need it. His body goes rigid before me, and I prepare for his release. I keep my lips tight around him as I move faster, and press my tongue against the underside of his shaft, stroking that surface with my wet flesh. He jerks once in silence. I feel his warm semen splash into my mouth and stop moving, concentrating only on keeping my lips tight around him and sucking on him hard. More viscous liquid erupts out of him as his body shivers and shudders silently before me, pulsing between my lips. I swallow all of it calmly, letting him unload as much of it as he needs to in me and drinking it all down. After a few moments, he's done, and I swallow the last remnants left in my mouth, before sliding slowly off him. I stroke the gradually softening shaft with my fingers, milking out the last droplets of sperm, and licking them off him, cleaning him up before placing him back in his pants and zipping him up. "Thank you", he whispers as I stand back up. I don't answer. My attention is on the mirror-covered back wall of the elevator as I look myself over and make certain that I look exactly the same as before the little tryst. After I am satisfied that there are no traces of him on me, I turn around to face the doors, and my fingers go again to the control panel, pressing a button. The car starts moving again. A few moments later, it stops once more, and the doors slide open, showing us the lobby. I put my arm around his, and we walk out of the elevator silently. A woman looks up from the reception desk and her eyes linger on us. Likely she was informed of the silent alarm that goes off when the 'stop' button of an elevator of that model is pushed. Even more likely, some poor handyman is up on the eighth floor right now, prying open the doors to the elevator shaft to try and find out why the elevator had stopped and if anyone needs help. I don't care. Those are their problems, not mine. I just leave with Manuel and go on with my life. We leave the building, and I force away the hardness of my nipples, the wetness within me. *** We drop by all the most expensive night clubs in the Upper East Side. The kind where you find the young rebels of rich families flaunting around their money and pretending that they can have anything in the world that they desire, playing their little boy games and trying to desperately drink and do drugs and have sex so much that their minds will not have time to realize how shallow their lives are. Manuel and I don't dance. We watch the people on the dance floor, swaying this way and that, jumping about in the feverish illumination of stroboscopic lights, gold chains around their necks jumping to the heavy disco beats, sweat glistening on foreheads and running down to eyes enhanced with black L'Oreal and silver sprinkles. They're animals. Acting on their desires, getting high on heroin and adrenaline, burning their energy foolishly by sweating on the dance floor so they can feel like they are releasing their frustrations, forgetting their pains for one night. The mark of high class is enduring with grace, not this -- this -- My nose wrinkles in disdain as my fingers absently play with my purse. The fools! How much better I am -- how much more control I have over my desires, over my needs -- I would never disgrace myself in that fashion -- I am superior, and I know it. I can control myself. I am not subject to the needs and cravings of the body. That is what makes me who I am. That is the single thing I am most proud of about myself. I have true class. I am someone. I am Monet St Croix, and proud of it. *** A few hours later, we are home, in our apartment on the Upper West Side. Manuel puts his jacket away, and then turns towards me, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me close. "I love you", I whisper, and lean my lips over to his ear, kissing it softly, licking over it and giving the earlobe minute nips. I can feel him be aroused already, his hardness pressing against me through our clothings. I will give him what he needs. I always do. But a bit later. "Why don't you go get the champagne from the fridge?" I murmur into his ear, before slipping out of his arms and heading into the living room. I pick up the remote control from the couch and turn the big screen on, switching to CNN to see if any new wars have broken out while we were out. As a reporter drones on about the peace negotiations in former China, I walk over to the CD tower in the corner of the room and let my eyes go through it for a few moments before my fingers reach for Alphaville's /Forever Young/ album. CNN moves on to cover the growing ozone depletion over Antarctica and I switch the television off with a click of the remote before moving over to the stereo and inserting the CD, setting it onto the title track. "Anything interesting?" Manuel asks as he enters the living room with two glasses of champagne, handing me the other one as he joins me at the stereo. I shake my head in silent reply as the speakers start out with a soft synthesizer slide and Marian Gold's echo-enhanced voice rings out with the first lines of the song, bathing the living room with an empty hollow feeling resonating with my heart. Let's dance in style Let's dance for a while Heaven can wait We're only watching the skies Hoping for the best But expecting the worst Are you gonna drop the bomb or not? We take small sips from our glasses before I put mine onto the bookshelf and stand closer to him, lightly touching my lips to his as my hands slide to his shoulders. My eyes close, and I rest my head on his chest as I listen to the song, feeling my heart ache with the soft ambient synthesizer sounds. Let us die young or let us live forever We don't have the power But we never say never Sitting in a sandpit Life is a short trip The music's for the sad men Can you imagine when this race is won? Turn our golden faces into the sun Praising our leaders We're getting in tune The music's played by the The madmen Forever young I want to be Forever young Do you really want to live forever Forever -- and ever Forever young I want to be Forever young Do you really want to live forever Forever young He puts his glass away too, and puts his arms around my waist, holding me loosely as we start slowly moving across the floor, dancing to the gentle music. Graceful, delicate. Classy. This is how it should be. Perfect. Light. Airy. Ethereal. Like the veil of a wedding gown cascading in a tender summer breeze. This is living proof that you don't have to be out of control, wild and animalistic to find pleasure and be happy. Some are like water Some are like the heat Some are a melody and some are the beat Sooner or later, they all will be gone Why don't they stay young? It's so hard to get old without a cause I don't want to perish like a fading horse Youth's like diamonds in the sun And diamonds are forever So many adventures couldn't happen today So many songs we forgot to play So many dreams swinging out of the blue We'll let 'em come true Forever young I want to be Forever young Do you really want to live forever Forever -- and ever Forever young I want to be Forever young Do you really want to live forever Forever -- and ever Forever young I want to be Forever young Do you really want to live forever Forever young The lyrics end, the strong voice of Marian Gold leaving the song and letting the synthesizer melodies drift towards the finish line. As the last echoes of the song fade out, we just stand there in the middle of the living room, his arms around me as I lean into his chest. "Thank you", I whisper, though I wonder if my words come out as anything more than a mumble to him. We stay silent for a long while, before I finally raise my head, and kiss his lips tenderly. His lips part, and the kiss deepens for a very brief moment before we break it off. He lays a hand onto my cheek, caressing slowly, running his hand down to my neck and shoulder, then all the way down my arm to my hand. He takes my hands in his, and whispers, "Please?" I give a little nod, and slip away from him. I lightly brush my fingers over his chest, before walking off and into the bedroom. I reach for the light switch inside the doorway, and flick it, turning on the bedroom light before going over to my desk, removing my earrings and putting them away with the other ones while inspecting myself in the mirror. Then, I undo my dress, and let the silky material fall down my body to my ankles. I step out of it, and pick it up, smoothing it over before laying it over the back of my chair. Sliding my hand underneath a bra strap, I prepare to remove it. "No", Manuel calls out. I glance towards the bed where he is already waiting, and hesitate a moment. Then, I nod, and leave the bra on, as well as my panties and stockings. I move over to the bed and sit down on the edge of it. He slides over the silken sheets to me, putting an arm around me and starting to lay kisses where my neck meets shoulder. My eyes close from the sensations, and I notice a slightly heavier breath escaping my nose. I pull away from him, and instead place my hands onto his chest, pushing him down onto his back. The other hand moves gradually downwards in circular caresses until finding his hard erection and wrapping gently around the hot, rigid flesh. A moan escapes his lips as I stroke him slowly, lovingly. I lean down and smother the moans by pressing my lips against his. We share a deep, long kiss while I stroke him. One of his hands comes to fondle and knead my breast, while the other slides down my back until reaching my buttocks. His name escapes my lips in a gasp of breath as he squeezes a nipple through the bra, and I come atop him, pressing my chest tightly against his. Unable to keep touching the nipple, the hand journeys down my body to join his other hand on my buttocks, squeezing and stroking slowly, before they hook onto the sides of my panties, and start pulling them off. I roll onto my back, and lift my legs in the air slightly, letting him easily remove the garment and expose me. He leans over me, giving light kisses onto my stomach, and moving gradually downwards. His hands, having laid aside the panties, come to my hips, holding me in place, as he nuzzles my curly black pubic bush for a moment before his tongue flicks against my clitoris, sending a shudder through me. "Manuel", I gasp, my hands coming to the sides of his head, holding his face tenderly as I make him look up at me. "I'm ready for you... Come inside me", I say in a soft plead. "I --" he hesitates, his motions stopping as he looks up into my eyes. "Please, Manuel?" I whisper, and pull his face up, bringing his lips to mine as I kiss him heatedly, sliding my tongue into his mouth. "Just take me", I murmur against his lips, spreading my thighs and exposing myself for his entry. "Monet, I --" he starts, but I quickly silence him by pressing my lips against his and suckling on his mouth, not letting him go. I feel his resistance ebb away as his desire grows, and finally I feel his throbbing erection press against me. He pushes his hips against mine, and I feel him enter my tunnel and slide smoothly into me, letting out a little whimper into my mouth as he feels me around him. My arms wrap around his back to embrace him, and I slide a hand up into his short hair, ruffling it gently as I keep his head close to mine. He breaks the kiss, and starts kissing and nibbling the side of my neck, moving slowly upwards, along my jawbone, then behind my ear, then licking along the edge of my ear. "Don't mess my hair..." I say softly into his ear as he starts moving inside me. He stops giving me kisses, instead concentrating on his pleasure. His hips start moving a bit heavier against me, pumping his pulsing shaft into me as I close my eyes and try to ignore the sensations his motions try to awaken within me. His body quickly grows more tense as he pushes against me again and again, a faint sheen of sweat coming to coat his skin, and I hold him a bit tighter against me as I sense his orgasm approaching. He gives little moans into my ear, and then suddenly goes quiet, his motions stopping. An eyeblink later, he jerks strongly, reaching his climax. He drives himself all the way in, and I feel him pulse within me as his seed shoots into my womb, one spurt after another. I stroke the back of his head as he reaches his satisfaction, gasping my name into my ear breathlessly. When he's finished, he lays atop me, slowly softening within me, his eyes closed in exhaustion. "I love you", I whisper into his ear as I hold him. He pulls out of me and slides off my body. "I love you too", he whispers, laying a hand onto my still bra-covered breast, and stroking it for a moment, before his head comes over and starts giving the skin above the breasts light kisses. I smile a bit sadly, and kiss the top of his head. "It's all right, Manuel", I say into his ear and lean over to kiss his lips a few times, avoiding looking into his eyes. "Let's go to sleep. I'm tired." He opens his mouth to voice a little protest, but I place a finger onto his lips, silencing him with tenderness. Then, I just snuggle against his warm body and close my eyes, resting my head on the pillows. For a few moments, I can feel him watching me, before he wordlessly resigns to the situation, and with a sigh, lies down as well, fitting his body comfortably against mine. I nuzzle my face into his chest, and rest. Some minutes later, he is asleep, and I open my eyes. His breathing is even, regular, like always when he sleeps. I sit up in the bed, and lay a hand onto his cheek, watching him for long minutes as a desperate burning rages within me, soaking my thighs. My hand slowly creeps down to between my legs, and brushes against my clitoris. I shudder, gritting my teeth as my whole body goes tense and I almost cry out with the withheld frustration. My fingers, strong enough to crush steel, clench spastically as I wage a battle with myself, fighting my animalistic desires. I will not touch myself! I will not! I am Monet St Croix! The waves of need roll over me, trying to drown my self and drag me to the level of the average person in heat. I am stronger than that! Where they fail to fight their urges, I will not! I will not debase and disgrace myself! My breathing is quick and shallow, as I quickly get out of bed, hoping that walking around a bit would help me. I leave the bedroom, and go over to the balcony, hoping the cold spring night air will wash away the heat trying to conquer me. Someone might see me from another building, but I don't care. I take deep, sharp breaths of the cold air, wrenching it into my lungs almost violently, my face contorting in a slight snarl strengthening my resolve. I feel the urges mount their forces for one last assault against me, and I brace myself, preparing to gut them and triumph over that which no other people even bother to fight against. With a minute gasp of breath fleeing my lungs, it's over, and though I am still hot and wet, I know I have won for the moment, as my mind starts clearing up. I glance around, wondering if anyone has seen me, but seeing no one, I head back inside, closing the balcony glass doors and the curtains behind me. I love you, Manuel. I truly do. I wish you'd never doubt that, but I know you do. I try to be a good woman to you, but my autism isn't the only flaw striking a chink onto a perfect statue. I walk into the bathroom and look at myself in the mirror. I'm a beautiful woman. I'm intelligent. I'm powerful. I'm rich. I'm strong. I'm perfect. I'm everything a man could ever want out of a woman. Why is this so difficult? And why am I applying dark red lipstick to my lips? ***