* 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 THREE * ***************** *** "Please remain calm, this is a skyjacking." The cabin erupts in chaotic commotion at the sight of the four skimasked people streaming in thru the doorway at the front of the business class passenger section. It isn't until the would-be terrorists brandish their rifles and raise their voices, shouting for the sheep to shut up, that they do sit back down and stare in silence. In terror. In whatever muddled emotions may go thru their minds in this time of their distress. I am glad I am not an empath. But the man I love is. I am Monet St Croix. He is Manuel de la Rocha. "Excuse us", I say, tapping one of the armed men on the shoulder from behind, as Manuel and I emerge from the plane's restroom after joining the Mile High Club. The terrorists are in the doorway, blocking the way back into the passenger section. "You are preventing us from getting back to our seats." I am Monet St Croix. I am special. I am the best. I am perfection. I have patience. That is why I give them one chance to move before I rip their heads off. "What --?" the terrorists look around, startled by our appearance. "You -- we -- uh, yes", one of them manages to gather his meager wits enough to nod and move aside to make way. I head down the aisle to our seats, Manuel following behind me. We sit down. "Anyway", the terrorist clears his throat while I tune him out like the human he is, take out my coloring book and start filling it in with the crayons in my purse. "We are here as...representatives of the rebel alliance of our country!" he pathetically tries to get out an authoritative tone. "For years, the United Nations have ignored our pleas, turned a blind eye to the genocide by starvation of ethnic minorities in our country, because our official president is too valuable a pawn for them to lose! With our actions today, we will force them to see the horrors of our country and move to help us if they are ever to get you back!" The herd whimpers, cries, sobs, sniffles, murmurs. The terrorist hesitates a moment, then goes on. "None of you will be harmed, I promise you. We will do our best to treat you well. But you must be held until our demands are acceded to! The pilot has been instructed to change course. We will be landing in Imaya in two --" "Manuel", I say without looking up from my coloring work. "Yes, my love?" he looks up from the novel he had resumed reading. "I don't want to go to Imaya. I want to go to Wakanda." It is a clear enough statement, no? "All right", he nods and resumes reading. Irritation. "HEY!" one of the terrorists snaps to another. "You shoved me!" "You wish", the other one snorts back. "I wouldn't shove your ugly self into water if you were on fire." Anger. POW! The second one crashes to the floor from a haymaker fist the first one threw. "You little --" the first one snarls with burning eyes as he comes on top of the second one, hammering his victim's face with his fist repeatedly. Desperation. "Stop it!" a third terrorist, a female one, cries out as she sees the two men crash down fighting. "Stop it!" she screams again, swinging the butt of her rifle to the second one's head while sobbing. "Please stop it!" Rage. Fury. "UNGH!" the first one gasps, knocked back off the second one, and glares up at the woman furiously. "You dare stop me?" he hisses. "You little bitch, you need a lesson!" he shouts, pulling a dagger from his belt and thrusting it forward. "GKK!" the woman's eyes widen as the dagger embeds itself in her chest. She clutches at it, weakly, helplessly. Then, she crashes to the floor and doesn't move. "You killed her!" the fourth and final one growls and kicks the first one in the jaw. "She just wanted to stop you and you killed her! You're crazy, you're a crazy bastard --!" he yells as he rushes towards his target. "She was worthless anyway", the first one snorts as he gets up and slams his fist into the attacker's charge, a knee to the gut, and finishes off grabbing the fourth one's throat as he crashes atop the smaller man. "A little whore everyone used..." his fingers tighten, crushing, choking. The fourth one wheezes, struggles, desperately tries to gasp for air without success underneath his attacker. His eyes are wide, scared behind his skimask as he stares into the burning, maniacal eyes of his comrade in arms. He tries. Tries really hard. But he's weaker. His head hurts. His lungs hurt. His vision starts turning blacker and blacker... "That'll teach you", the first one snaps atop the unmoving body of his strangled victim. His fist beats across the dead face for a few times in anger, breaking the jaw, breaking facial bones underneath the skimask, shattering and bloodying the hidden but formerly pretty face. "AGH!" he gasps out as the butt of a rifle smashes to the back of his head, sending him crashing to the floor, stunned, as the second would-be terrorist stands behind him, barely recovered from the earlier beating. The rifle butt hits again. The first one wheezes, things starting to black out for him. Again. Again. Again. Skull cracks. Wet snaps. Smash. Smash. Smash. Smoosh. Skull in pieces. Blood and gray ooze stains the carpeting of the aisle. Rifle butt rises and falls repeatedly like a factory machine. Until finally, it falls, clanging to the floor from the final terrorist's hands. Hopelessness. Self-loathing. Panic. "We failed", he cries softly, tears staining his skimask as he collapses onto his knees. "I'm sorry, Maria... I'm sorry, everyone..." he weeps, and then pulls out a small pistol from his belt, putting it in his mouth and squeezing the trigger. BAM! Calm. The other passengers watch the whole spectacle in their seats the whole way thru without batting an eyelash, with relaxed, unbothered expressions. Everything is fine. It's quiet. Peaceful again. Four corpses littering the aisle. "Manuel?" I ask. "Yes, my love?" he turns a page in his book. "I want a Coke." "All right." *** Warrior Falls, Wakanda. A river roars up above until it reaches the edge of the cliff, pouring down in a waterfall, crashing to the pool below until continuing on its way at a much lazier pace than before the fall. The jungle surrounds us. I lie on my back, savoring the hot sun with my beautiful body, on a towel embroidered with my full name in gold. My small bikini is still wet from the swim, leaving little to Manuel's imagination as he steals a glance at me every now and then, thinking I don't notice it. I notice everything. I notice thru his still-wet swimming trunks that looking at me arouses him. As usual. I can't really blame him, but I do wish he had a little less drive. Either that, or a lot more. "Are you enjoying yourself?" I ask as I adjust my large-framed, green-tinted sunglasses, a hint of a smile forcing its way onto my lips as I picture him doing just that, in another way than he'll probably take my question. "Of course", he answers in that bored, neutral tone he uses whenever he's small-talking about a subject he couldn't care less about. He's sitting on one of the rocks near the river, eyes moving between me and the falls as he seems thoughtful. "What are you thinking about?" I close my eyes underneath the glasses, letting the sun warm up my dark skin, feeling the tingling pleasure of heat...which then reminds me of my brief tryst with Roberto weeks ago, and shoots an arrow of guilt through my heart. "Us", he says. My body tenses a bit at the word. "Oh?" I query hesitantly, a creeping feeling starting to rise up my spine, my skin starting to get goosebumps despite the warmth of the day. "What about us, Manuel?" I clear my throat and keep my voice steady, trying to ignore the knotting of my stomach. "Something about this relationship is not right, Monet", he states in a very matter-of-fact tone. "Either you are not happy, or I am not happy. Or neither of us is happy. I can't quite figure out which one it is." "I'm happy", I hear myself saying. And why not? I am happy. Most of the time. Just...happy. Content. They're the same thing, no? What else should I be striving at? Why wouldn't that be enough? "Not when we make love you aren't", he points out. I'm quiet for a moment. Birds chirp in the jungle around us. The waterfall makes a sound not much unlike radio static. "I'm happy when we make love", I say and sit up a bit, propping myself up on my hands. "Is that what this is about? Do you need an orgasm, Manuel?" "No", he snaps angrily and slips off the rock to face me fully. "This isn't about me", he grits his teeth and jabs a finger at me. "This is about *you*, Monet!" "I don't know what you're talking about", my chin rises. "But I suppose that shouldn't surprise me. Men often protect their egos by inaccurately projecting their inadequacies on others. Perhaps you should take a long look at yourself, Manuel, before blaming me of anything." "You think I haven't been doing that?" he growls. "For months -- over a *year* -- I have been wondering, 'What is it I'm doing wrong? What am I missing?' I have thought this over, Monet", he clenches his hands into fists, shaking his head. "It isn't me. It's *you*." "Nonsense. There is nothing wrong with me. I am perfectly happy", I start lying back on the towel again. "No you're not!" he shouts, grabbing my shoulders, yanking me up and slamming me hard against a thick mangrove tree trunk. My sunglasses fly off from the force of the slam and clatter to the dirt. My eyes widen in surprise. "I'M AN EMPATH, MONET!" he yells in my face. "DON'T YOU THINK I KNOW WHAT YOU FEEL?" A few heartbeats pass as I steady myself. Steel up my face with a wrench requiring all my mental exertion. "Then you know *wrong*", I bare my teeth as I spit those words out, then continue more levelly. "I am happy. Let me go." I could easily break free. It wouldn't be the same thing. "You're settling for a miserable life", he narrows his eyes. "Constantly tense. You keep so much in, restrain yourself so much that you're constantly as tight as a piano wire, mentally. You're *torturing* yourself. You never give yourself any relief. You never give yourself a *break*. If you keep this up, you'll have a complete breakdown." "I will not", a growl rises in my throat. "Anyone else would, but I will *not*! I am not anyone else!" I snap at him. "Stop judging me as you would anyone else! I don't go by those standards! I'm better than anyone!" my voice rises. "I can take anything! I can withstand anything!" I yell at his face. "I can endure pressures anyone else couldn't!" Gritting my teeth, I restore my voice to its normal level as I glare at him. Control. Control. I must have control. "I am Monet St Croix. I will never have relief." "I could give you relief", he says sharply, "if you just let me. But you always drive me away." "I don't want relief", my eyes narrow. "It is beneath me. I will not sweat, pant, squirm and scream like a normal person", I say, spitting the last words out like a venomous curse. "I deny orgasm, because I am above everyone else. I am *perfect*. I don't need *anything*. And I *definitely* don't need orgasms. I don't need or want wild lovemakings. I'm perfectly happy with how things are now." "No, you *endure* how things are now", he hisses. "That is the *same thing*", I reply angrily. "If I *couldn't* endure, and had to be just a normal person, *then* I would be unhappy. I'm not. I'm not weak. I'm *strong*. I excel. I am *perfect*. I'm not an *animal*." "And I am?" he snarls. "Yes", I spit out at him. WHACK! I stagger back several steps, wide-eyed in surprise, gasping for breath as he slaps me hard, right across my face. My mouth hangs wide open. It takes several gasps for me to steady myself on my feet. "Don't hit me", I breathe out, still stunned and wide-eyed, more from the act itself than the actual physical pain -- little to someone who can withstand bullets. "I could do far worse to you than merely hit you, Monet", he threatens as he takes a step closer. "I could make you loathe yourself so much that you would commit suicide. I could have you dead within the hour and no one could ever prove I had anything to do with it. But I won't", he wrinkles his nose, "because as sick and twisted as all this is, I still love you. And I want to help you. You're not perfect, none of us is perfect." "I *am*!" I screech. "I am *too*!" "Then why", his face turns stormy as he takes a step back, "was all the tension gone from you for several days a few weeks ago? What happened that night, Monet?" he hisses. "What happened while I was sleeping?" My heart stops beating. I stumble back a step, like I'd been physically hit again. "You --" my heart thumps arhythmically, out of beat for a few moments, before settling to a quick pounding at my chest. "You -- you knew?" "What happened?" he snarls. "I -- I --" My mouth is dry. Breathing quick. In and out. Can't control it. Losing control. I can't lose control. I can't! Force... breathing to slow down -- Lungs tense! My eyes start filling with tears as I feel a bit dizzy -- "I'm so sorry, Manuel", tears stream down my face as I look away from him. "I cheated on you." Icy voice. "Who was it?" My face twists in agony, my eyes squeezing shut. My heart feels like someone is crushing it in their hand. Cheeks drenched with tears. "Roberto." "DAMN YOU!" he shouts furiously, his eyes igniting with a blaze of crimson light as he screams his throat raw. "DAMN YOU, MONET!" his arm swings out at me. POW! Fear. Terror. Submission. "I'm so sorry, Manuel!" I scream, the fist sending me crashing onto my back as I continue weeping. "I swear, I've never been more sorry about anything in my life! I'll do anything to make it up to you! I swear! Please, Manuel! I love you!" Tearing off my bikini top and bottom, I toss them away, exposing myself to him. "I'll make love to you, any way you want, I'll do whatever you want! I'm so sorry!" He stops, clenches his fists, grits his teeth as he glares down at me, towering over my downed form. His eyes seethe with the pink blaze of light. My heart thumps rapidly, tearing at my chest. My nose is runny with crying. "Get up", he says. So I do. Slowly, shakily. He looks like he's going to ask something. I tremble a bit. But he seems to change his mind, and just says, softly, "Kiss me." So I do. Passion. Lust. Desire. Heat. Want. Need. Wild. Frenzy. My arms wrap around his back and I crush and hug him against me, pressing my lips against his as I suckle his mouth heatedly, lashing my tongue against his and dizzily breathing in and out of his lungs. I rub my naked body eagerly against his, letting him feel every curve, every secret spot of me and I purr in bliss, panting and gasping as his hands move over my skin. "You're so beautiful, Manuel", I moan into his ear before biting it hungrily. "I've always wanted you so much. You're my everything. I want you in every way possible!" His hand wanders between my legs as I kiss him for long moments, stimulating me, causing my body to shudder as his fingertips find my clitoris, squeeze and twist it half-roughly, bringing out a whimper as I devour his ear with hungry kisses. "Oh... Manuel... Manuel..." I pant, frantically rubbing myself against his fingers. "Faster... I'm going to... to... UNNGHH!" The world goes black for me as the orgasm crashes through my body, one powerful spasm after another rocking me, making my muscles weak, I feel my knees buckle, but Manuel's arms are around me, keeping me up, caressing me, holding, loving, being my everything, and I never want him to let me go. I'm lying on the ground. I don't know how I got here from Manuel's arms but I don't really care either. Just like I don't care that his eyes are still glowing. His mouth feels so wonderful around my nipple, making my back arch, making the nipples hard as he sucks and licks them with a loving tenderness. Purring happily, I run my hand down his body over to his swimming trunks, gently sliding in and taking hold of his erection. "So hard..." I smile, stroking my fingers up and down the shaft. He starts coming atop me but I stop him, putting one hand onto his chest as I pull his swimming trunks off with my other hand. "Lie down", I whisper, pushing him onto his back and coming astride him. Fondling the hard flesh lovingly a few times, I bring the head over to the entrance of my sex. "I hope you'll like this..." I smile at him as I lower my hips to his, taking him within me, groaning softly as he fills me. His body tightens underneath me, his head arcing back against the ground, low grunts coming from his throat as I start riding him. "Watch", I murmur to him, caressing my hands up and down his scantly haired chest. I wait for him to look at me, and then spread my legs nicely, giving him a full view of the point of our coupling as I stroke up and down on him, shivering in pleasure. Sliding a hand up my thigh, I bring my fingers to my clitoris, pressing against the nub and starting to knead roughly. My face winces in bliss, my riding becoming harder and faster as I start stimulating myself, my body and breasts bouncing up and down on him. "Monet..." he clutches my buttocks tightly as we make love hard and fast, grunting, panting, gasping, groaning. My lungs clench and spasm with the shivering of my body. My clitoris throbs, aches and I rub it even harder, desperately moving quicker over it and over the man I love. "Yes..." my body grows tighter, tighter, my free hand going to knead my breast as I grow ever more aroused by the feel of Manuel's glowing eyes watching every small action my hands do. The sensation builds towards eruption within us, my mouth drawing open as whimpers of lust escape my throat. "Harder! Deeper!" I cry out. "I can't..." he grunts as he slams up into me, hips crashing repeatedly into mine as we satisfy each other, "can't...hold back..." His fingers clench and tighten on me, digging into the flesh of my hips as his body thrusts upwards spasmodically. "Gnnn..." I shake and shiver, reaching for the threshold of bliss as I frantically touch myself and move over him. "Don't... hold back... I'm... I'm going to..." And then I scream. Harder than I've ever screamed before. My muscles spasm all over. My fingers will probably leave bruises on my breast. I jerk hard, time and again, atop Manuel and feel him join me in the climax. Panting hard, I lean down, grabbing him and kissing him roughly on the mouth while we orgasm, his seed filling me in warm, soft bursts. We collapse. Breathless. I lie atop him. Exhausted. Our eyes closed. Weary, sleepy satisfaction as our sweaty bodies, aching from exertion, are warmed by the rays of the afternoon sun. His eyes have stopped glowing. My eyes widen. "You used your power on me..." I murmur, my gaze drilling into his brown eyes. He runs a hand through my hair. "Did you like it?" "No", I stand up, walking away from him, crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't enjoy being debased and made common." It is a matter of principle. "You enjoy pleasure", he snaps, getting up as well. "You enjoy being happy. Don't try to deny it! I can see it as clear as I can see the color of your hair -- you are happier now than you were thirty minutes ago!" "How *dare* you", I snarl, whirling around to face him. "How dare you tell me what I feel, Manuel? You haven't lived my life! Do you presume to think you can tell me when I'm happy and when I'm not?!" "Yes", he says harshly, and stares straight into my eyes. "I can tell that about *anyone*, *anywhere*, *anytime*. That is my gift -- and my curse, when I love a woman who is never happy with anything!" "You're interpreting your powers wrong, Manuel", I spit out. "I have always been perfectly happy with you!" "Don't give me that garbage, Monet", he grabs my wrist, twisting it slightly. "What about da Costa?" his eyes burn with smoldering fury. "If you were happy with me, you would never have given yourself to him!" "That isn't fair", I cry out with a face twisted in agony, a lump rising in my throat. "Was it fair to do that to me?" he narrows his eyes. "It wasn't my fault, Manuel..." I sniffle and wipe my eyes. "I... I didn't do it... he forced me." "He forced you", Manuel wrinkles his nose as he stares bitingly into my eyes. "You aren't weak, Monet. If he had tried, half the Club would have been destroyed." He snorts and lets go of my wrist, throwing it away like used garbage. "You were only too glad to acquiesce." SLAP! We stare at each other quietly as he holds his cheek, reddened by my strike. "No! I -- I didn't..." I try to get up a firm expression but fail pathetically, then with a sob fall to my knees, burying my face in my hands. "It's you I love, Manuel. You and only you..." "Then make love to me", he gives an ultimatum. "I want you to orgasm with me, of your own free will this time." It isn't fair. It isn't *fair*! Why do I have to choose between the man I love -- the only man I have ever loved -- and myself? "I... Manuel, you don't understand", I weep softly, looking up at him with pleading eyes. "Monet St Croix is who I've been all my life. I can't give that up... I can't become someone else... I can't become some orgasm-craving little tramp for you... I can't change who I am..." His eyes light up with a pink blaze. "I can." "No!" I cry out in anguish from my knees. "Manuel, please! You have no right to change what I am!" "Then maybe I shouldn't try to change what I am either", he raises his chin, glaring down at me. "I am Manuel de la Rocha. I am *Empath*. I do not *ask*. I *take* what I want. And what I want -- is for you to be happy. Whether you like it -- or not." I stand up and summon my strength, raising my telepathic shields. "I'll *fight* you if I have to, Manuel --" "If it makes you feel better", he answers as his eyes grow brighter. "It won't make a difference." And his psychic onslaught begins. He is like a huge tidal wave. Such immense power, filling the astral plane, burning, roaring through it, bulldozing down anything in its path. He is Manuel de la Rocha. Nothing can stand in his way. Except me. I am Monet St Croix. I marshal my strength. I prepare for the onslaught. One moment, I stand on the beach, staring out at the water, waiting for the tidal wave to hit. The next moment, the wave grows before me, taller and taller. My armor has chinks in it. My sword is dull. One moment, three stories high. The next, thirty stories. It hits. I scream. I fight. I slash left and right with my sword as the waters swallow me up. Token efforts, unaimed, unfocused. My armor is blasted off in large chunks. I don't try to hold it together. He obliterates me. My scream echoes over and over again in the astral plane, which is drenched pink, dripping with his raw power. Then, in the gentle embrace of the sea, he remakes my pieces in his own image. And we're back in the real world a split second later, our mouths clinging to each other as I kiss him as passionately as I did five minutes ago, moaning at his caresses as I did then, begging for more. He pushes me down onto my back, and with an eager smile, I spread my thighs for him, welcoming him to my most secret place with a whispered, "I love you, Manuel." And he comes down to lick me. Lick me, suck me, stimulate me in every way possible with his mouth, making me a mindless collage of flesh and bones as I shake and tremble from his touches to my sex, inside me, along my labia, over and around my clitoris, everywhere. My throat dries up with the quick breathing, my lips crack. I cry out in delight and bliss as he continues working on me, minute after minute, until I finally explode in a wild climax. He comes atop me, rock hard from only pleasuring me and receiving no pleasure of his own for so long. We moan as he plunges into me, our arms wrapping around each others' bodies. Slowly, gently, we move, making tender love. The sun caresses our skins. The waterfall, our ears. My love's beauty, my eyes. It is close to an hour of gentle rocking against each other, when we finally reach our mutual culmination. He whispers tender words in my ear. I do the same to him as he empties himself into my womb. We lie together on the towel, my head resting on his beautiful chest. He strokes my hair, caressing my back and shoulders. We're both completely worn out. His eyes no longer glow. The effect of his powers wore off. I'm back to normal, except for a little pain throbbing in my temples from his hostile takeover of me. "Will you still fight next time?" he whispers quietly, kissing my ear. "Yes", I answer. A little pain never hurt anyone. ***