… Aidan Quinn
Dangerous.
That's the word that came to mind as I looked at Jean standing in front of me, trying to hold on to a composure that was already gone.
I had planned to spend time with Rogue. To honor what she gave me emotionally, the touch, the agreement between us. It was the least I could do. She deserved care, gentleness. After everything she said, everything she felt, it was the kind of connection that needed nurturing.
But Jean… Jean was waiting for me.
And there was something in her eyes — behind that sharp emerald glow — that screamed louder than any words.
Fire. Not the kind that flares and fades. The kind that burns from the inside out. That consumes. That fragment of the cosmic entity inside Jean… it was waking up.
The Phoenix.
Not in flames — not yet. But it was in her eyes, in the way she pressed her lips together. The way her body seemed to pulse between tension and desire. Like every word she held back was breaking one more mental seal Xavier had carefully built in her.
I could almost hear the cracks. Emotional walls crumbling, one by one.
Jean Grey was an emotional bomb wrapped in discipline. And I was the idiot who decided to light the fuse.
Letting Jean get to this point was dangerous. Not just for her.
For everyone.
I can be a lot of things — a dimensional traveler, a cursed technique user, a full-time waifu enthusiast.
But above all… I'm a Contractor. And sometimes — most of the time — that means using the "D."
"Come with me", I said, firm, not giving her room to question it.
She nodded, silent. But her eyes...
Her eyes said: finally.
We didn't go to her dorm. I brought Jean to my room — more privacy there. She didn't ask why, and I didn't offer an explanation. But when the door closed behind us, I knew exactly what I had to do.
And like every good mission…
It was time to calm her the only way a true Contractor knows: with intensity, with focus, and with the best physical contact the world had to offer.
Her body was already shaking before I even touched her. She needed me, and I was right there. Ready to burn… or to cool the flames.
That would depend on the Phoenix.
…
Standing there, arms at her sides, shoulders tense, eyes locked on me like she'd been trapped inside herself for days and I was the only way out. The soft light from the lamp touched her skin like it was revealing a secret — the shine of sweat on her chest, the dampness between her breasts, the curve of her hips rising and falling with every breath.
Her body trembled — but not out of fear.
Out of restraint.
She was on the edge of snapping. And I knew how to push her there. Jean Grey was a creature sculpted between control and collapse. Every cell in her body remembered how to hold the world together — and the frustration of never being able to let go. And now, standing in the middle of my room, she was begging me with her eyes for a guided breakdown.
I used what I had — my best bait.
Not with arrogance. With purpose.
[Love Spot] glowed softly under my left eye.
Didn't need much. When she looked straight at it, I saw her lashes twitch. Her nostrils flare. Her pupils widen. Like she was staring at something forbidden. She tried to hold it in. But her body didn't know how to lie anymore.
Jean was ready.
I stepped closer. My hands touched her waist — and it was like flipping a switch: her body arched slightly. Her skin was burning. I slid my fingers under her shirt — smooth, warm skin, slick with sweat. She gasped, a small sound.
"Get me out of my head, Aidan", she whispered, voice shaky, almost hoarse. "Make me disappear…"
She didn't want pleasure — she wanted absence. A blackout. And I'd give it to her.
I kissed her — and the world dropped away. Her mouth was pure need. No technique, no teasing. Just raw urgency. Her tongue crashed into mine, her hips grinding against me like she was trying to rip my cock out through my jeans.
I grabbed her hair with one hand and gave it a light pull. She moaned. My other hand slid down to her ass — firm, high, shaped by discipline and years of battle. I squeezed hard. She moaned louder. Her knees gave out, but I caught her. Tore off her shirt. Her bra hit the floor right after.
Jean's tits were perfect — in size, in shape, in how damn tempting they were. Round, heavy, but stubbornly firm, like they refused to give in to gravity. Her nipples were hard, pink, way too sensitive not to be tasted.
I dropped to my knees and sucked them like I meant it. Jean arched her body, grabbing my head, gasping like she was about to come just from that.
And maybe she was. She was wide open, no shame. The warrior, the leader, the telepath — gone. All that was left was Jean. The woman, starving and desperate to be forgotten from the inside out.
My mouth slid down her stomach. I knelt in front of her and yanked her pants and panties off in one rough pull. And there it was. The wettest pussy I'd ever seen. Her lips were swollen, dripping. Clit hard, throbbing. She was completely raw.
I took my tongue to her. One slow lick, bottom to top. Jean moaned loud, gasping like the air had been ripped from her lungs.
"Fuck… Aidan…"
I sucked her hard. Fingers went in right after. One, then two. Right on the spot. [Sticky Fingers] made my touch something else. Every pump made her whole body jolt like she was wired into a power line.
Jean cried from the pleasure.
"More… more… please…"
I sucked her clit, drove my fingers in deep, whispered filthy promises against her skin. And then her body bucked. She came hard. With a raw, real, sweaty scream. Her belly clenched in spasms. Her legs gave out, her whole body trembling.
And right at the peak, she tried. Her mind — hot, intense, powerful — reached out for mine. She wanted to break in, see me. Fuse with me.
But it didn't work. She hit a wall, cold, empty and untouchable. Jean moaned again, louder than her orgasm, shattered by the rejection.
"I… I can't…" she panted, like that drove her crazier than the pleasure.
I climbed over her. My cock throbbed, rock-hard, aching.
"You never will, red", I whispered.
Lined up and slid in. Slow and deeper. All the way. She screamed, back arching like lightning had hit her.
"Fuck…!"
I started fucking. Controlled pace. Long, deep strokes. My hips slammed against her ass, my mouth on her tits, then her neck, then her lips. The room filled with the sound of bodies, wet need, and moans. She clenched around me. Every contraction of her pussy felt like it was trying to suck out my soul.
Jean tried again. Second orgasm. Another mental push. Pure reflex, telepath's instinct: fuse at climax. And again — silence.
She screamed harder than before. Collapsed, crying and coming. Her body limp under me, chest rising and falling fast, skin hot and soaked in sweat, eyes half-open, lost somewhere between pleasure and delirium.
Jean looked sleep-drunk, but her body was still pulsing. Still begging for more. And I was far from done.
I gripped her face, firm. She opened her eyes — red, sparking with that caged fire.
"We're not done yet", I said.
She didn't answer with words. Just spread her legs again. I leaned down, lifted her thighs onto my shoulders. Aligned, drove in. This time, hard. A loud smack echoed off the walls.
"A-AH…!" Jean screamed, eyes rolling back, nails tearing at the sheets.
This angle hit deeper. More pressure. Every thrust slammed my hips into her ass, echoing through her slick, swollen cunt. She was soaking the bed. I leaned in more, folded her tighter. Found her mouth. Kissed her rough, almost biting, and fucked her faster, feeling her open up to me all over again.
She moaned into my mouth, whispering my name like a prayer. "Aidan, Aidan, Aidan…!"
It was music.
I flipped her to her side, grabbed one leg up high, kept driving into her. The new position squeezed even tighter. She screamed with every thrust. I grabbed one tit — sweaty, firm — squeezed hard. Then sucked it, bit her nipple like I was starving while Jean went insane.
When she came again — fourth time — I felt her mind reach for mine again. And once more, blocked. She screamed in my ear, body shaking, spasms wracking her legs.
"Aidan… please… let me feel you… show me who you are… just once…!"
"No. You'll feel just my body. You'll come so hard you forget you have a mind."
She bit her own arm to stop from screaming again. I paused, flipped her onto her stomach. Pulled her hips up, her ass high, red, marked by my grip.
I pressed the tip of my cock to her opening. She moaned from just the touch. And I drove in — brutal. The slick sound of her cunt giving way mixed with her broken, scratched moan.
"Fuck… fuck… fuck…!"
Every thrust bottomed out, making the bed creak, the mattress sink, her muscles twitch.
"Harder…" she begged now. "Break me… ruin me…"
I leaned over her. One hand gripped her neck, firm. Not to hurt — just a reminder of who owned this. And I pounded her, no mercy and no slowing down. She was dripping, undone and way past her limit.
The room reeked of sex, sweat, raw fucking hunger.
She screamed again. Another orgasm. She was crying from pleasure, from frustration. She didn't know where her body ended and mine began anymore.
I pulled out and she nearly collapsed. I picked her up, carried her to the wall, pinned her there, one leg up on my shoulder. Grabbed her waist and thrust in with one hard stroke.
Jean grabbed my hair, face buried in my neck. Every thrust lifted her, had her sobbing, screaming, scratching me.
"You're… a bastard…" she murmured between moans. "I… I want more…"
I kissed her neck, licked the sweat between her breasts.
"You'll come as many times as I want, red."
She'd already lost count.
I held her tight. One last round. Harder, deeper, brutal and then — I came inside her, hard. She moaned one last time and then… collapsed.
We both sank to the floor right there. Panting, soaked, tangled. Jean against my chest, the Phoenix quiet inside her, and her body — completely wrecked.
She didn't say a word, but her eyes said everything: She still hadn't had enough.
…
The first thing I felt was the heat.
The second — suction.
I opened my eyes slowly, still hazy with sleep, and saw what looked like another one of my dreams. Jean Grey, naked in the sheets, kneeling between my legs, her fiery red hair falling over her shoulders, her mouth wrapped deep around my cock.
Her eyes looked up at me — green, hungry, full of this quiet, confident pride. She knew exactly what she was doing and she was damn proud of it.
My breathing got heavier. Her rhythm was slow, but deep. She swallowed everything she could, taking me all the way until her throat closed around the head, then pulled back, lips sealed tight, sucking with this wet, addictive sound.
She was savoring me. I reached down and ran my fingers through her hair, not to guide — she didn't need that — but just to feel it. The texture. A hint of control. The pleasure of watching someone like Jean Grey on her knees, face buried in my shaft.
She switched it up, back and forth between deep sucks and long, filthy licks. Sometimes she just traced her tongue around the base. Other times she licked the veins with slow, focused attention, like she was studying my body with her mouth. The contrast between the heat of her mouth and the cool morning air on my skin was perfect. Kept me awake. Locked into every move she made.
When she started picking up the pace, I realized she wanted to take me all the way. Right there. In that warm bed, with sunlight creeping through the curtains and the wet sound of her sucking filling the room.
"Jean…" I murmured, voice rough. "You're gonna spoil me."
She didn't stop. Just moaned around my cock — and the way it vibrated in her throat made me grip the sheets. I was close. Too close. Jean could tell. She started fucking her throat with purpose now, steady rhythm. Her hands gripped my thighs, holding me right where she wanted.
And then… I came. Let out a low groan, muscles tight, hips lifting on instinct. She held me down. Took everything she could.
But she didn't stop.
Some of it dripped from the corner of her mouth, sliding down her chin and landing between her breasts. She pulled back slowly, licking her lips, breathless… smiling. That look in her eyes? Pure sin. With one finger, she scooped up what had spilled and brought it to her lips. Sucked it clean. Then looked at me like she was tasting something rare.
"Tastes like vanilla", she said, satisfied.
"Lucky you", I answered, still catching my breath.
She crawled up my chest, rested her head on me, tracing circles on my skin with her fingertip.
"First meal of the day's gotta be nutritious", she whispered, wicked.
I laughed, running my fingers through her hair again.
"If you keep that up… I'm never getting out of bed."
"Who said you're getting out?"
She stayed pressed against my chest, her naked body molded to mine, drawing soft lines with her fingers. Her breasts pressed into me with every movement, her legs tangled with mine, making it crystal clear — she didn't want distance.
Jean looked content. But the way her thigh slid against my hip… told another story. I knew her well enough by now. That hunger didn't burn out with one orgasm. It went deeper.
She lifted her face and looked at me. Her mouth still a little swollen from the blowjob. Her eyes lighter, but still intense.
"You're still hard", she whispered, raspy.
"And it's your fault."
She laughed — low, warm. Then, without saying a word, she slid over me and straddled me, slowly lowering herself down.
The feel of her pussy opening, soaking, already ready, taking me inch by inch… pulled a deep groan from my throat.
Jean closed her eyes. Her breath caught. Her body trembled, just a little.
"Fuck…" she whispered.
She started riding. Slowly and deep. Her hips rolling in lazy circles, body lifting and dropping in this deliberate, calculated ballet of lust.
I couldn't take my eyes off her. Jean on top was something else. Her breasts bounced in rhythm, nipples hard, glistening with sweat. Her red hair was wild, stuck to her neck. Her hands on my chest, digging her nails in with every deeper stroke. She moaned without shame now. Low, steady, loaded.
I grabbed her waist, firm. But I let her set the pace. Jean was in control. Not out of power — by choice. She moved with precision. Knew where to squeeze. Knew how to take me to the edge. And when her own pleasure started rising, her hips moved faster.
Faster, wetter and less control. The sound of her pussy slapping against my skin filled the room. Wet and addictive.
Jean moaned louder. Her voice raw, cracked.
"Aidan… I'm coming… don't stop… don't stop…!"
She came with a strangled cry, her whole body shaking, head thrown back.
And right in that exact second — at the peak — she tried again. Her mind reached for mine, wanting. But it failed again. Slammed into the same cold, dark wall.
She arched again — like the frustration fed the orgasm instead of stopping it.
And that was what made me come too. I buried myself deep, feeling the heat spill inside her. Jean moaned just from the sensation. Then collapsed onto me. Breathless, shaking. Drenched in sweat.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was thick. We stayed like that for long minutes, breathing together. Slowly, Jean slid off to the side and pulled the blanket over us. Turned her face toward me. Looked at me and for the first time… she was vulnerable in a different way.
"Can I tell you something?" she asked, softly.
"Always."
She stared at the ceiling for a second, like she was trying to organize thoughts she'd never said out loud.
"You blind me. And I've always needed control. Of the room. The team. The world. Myself."
She paused.
"And you're… the one place where that control disappears. Where I can't access anything. Not your mind. Not your plans. Not where this is going."
She looked at me again.
"And even so… I want to be here. With you. Without understanding why."
I touched her face. Gently and carefully.
"Then don't try to understand, Jean. Just feel it. And when you feel like running… remember I'll still be right here."
She closed her eyes. And smiled. Honest. Almost peaceful. We curled into each other again, sunlight sneaking through the curtains, skin to skin. And for the first time in a long while…
Jean didn't try to escape herself.