X-Men: Striking the Balance

'Come on,' Milo says, pushing me into the toilet where there's a shelf and a seat for girlfriends getting eaten out. Milo, what does dry ice smell of? But he's kissing me so sweetly, oh I love you baby you're so good to me. I stroke his face and his skin is so soft, he's got these deep knowing eyes, so clever and such a nice ass I swear I watch him when he works out and all that knotted tension in his lower back it all just dissipates when he comes in my mouth, this is so naughty, I shout!

'Oh, baby, you ain't seen nothing yet,' he whispers.

I can't hear proper though because the bass really shakes the toilets like an earthquake, number 10 on the Richter and I can hear it suddenly, that faint guitar work getting louder and I'm sneaking out of my panties while his hands are floundering trying to rest the drinks on the ledge and be real quiet because we don't want to be found out because of course this is a solo sex toilet -- male and female separated -- but we want to be together and it's not solo sex right now although it is at this moment because I've got a finger past the elastic and oh my god it feels so good, the sweat and heat radiating out of my pussy like steam from a kettle, fuck, get your jacket off, get your jacket off and down on your knees!

And with each thump of the bass in the adjacent cabin, Nate's got his fingers stroking harder and harder against my thighs and his head is going lower toward me -- I restrain myself one hand on the window making a big condensation imprint and the other tightening on his metal shoulder. I cannot wait for the moment. I cannot wait for the rush and the pull of the kinetics of the train to shunt him up into me. 'Put it in me, Nate...' I breathe. His hot exhalation hits my centre with precision, I'm wet with anticipation.

Milo's fumbling around again, I put my fingers on his lips -- stop the shit, Milo and take care of me baby, me first dammit -- and he grins stupidly, my god I'd no idea I could be so selfish on E but then all that melts away as his face lowers to my cunt and licks at my red wet little hot clit. Pants round my ankles, I stifle a yell and see my legs spasm. He holds me down and his dreadlocks flop into my lap, and Nick Warren is spilling Offshore onto the crowd that tune was so amazing when it came out, just before the birth of dance which I hate so much it's such shit, and oh shit, that feels dirty... oh fuck, I swoon, keep up, don't stop Milo...

But Nate feeds in a finger, I hold back a yelp, my legs spread like mountains of white about his head, and the couch that I'm sitting on is really actually quite uncomfortable and all the while this consistent thump right next to my ears and we can even hear the synths, his fingers tapping my vein, his tongue forking the apple and my folds parting to let him in further, quivering, my mouth open and eyes clenched just like my tummy and a yell out of my throat to combat the assholes next door.

'You like that? You like that?'

'Milo...! Milo...! Oh, I'm gonna come...!' Keep your voice down he hisses, and I feel his tongue riveting over my clit repeatedly, a nail-gun, a rail-gun, get wet like an angel, derailed, me bracing myself so delicately on the porcelain and imitation marble that glitters in the strong white light of the cubicle. 'Oh, oh, oh' sticking his fingers in, I'm so easy when I'm horny, oh god, I'm coming, and I feel the sudden stoppage of time, the sudden clarity, but the drug is acting in new and exciting ways and then it swirls my eyes and I see these little flowers opening their heads and out pops tiny little waterborne creatures, skating and surfing on the surface and all of it radiating and so piping hot and moist and oh jesus the clench in my belly and 'Nate! Nate! Holy fuck...! Ah...' and the snare rush is ending next door and my legs are clamping round his head, and then suddenly relax and loll.

To one side, flicking my pants and trousers off, and Nate gets up wiping his mouth, that taste I know he'll kiss me with because I want him to and I'm the one that initiates it. 'You dirty bastard...' I say to him, grinning, and the train lists, knocking him to one side and into my reach and I'm fumbling with his buckle, I cannot wait to get his cock. He wiggles free of the jeans which go down to the floor joining mine, and I stare at his proud erection, wobbling hard and straight, desperate for me and my mouth and I keep him suspended raising an eyebrow, he's in for it, the beat getting louder and so I grip his shaft and pull and jerk and fucking tear him apart. He grits and bears it. I spit into my hand, lubing him up and fooling him until he's begging to be swallowed whole.

Train wheels revolving. Menacing bass; time to take a dive Cable!

I move forward and engulf him, sucking all the strength and pressure and strain onto my tongue. He tastes of iron and blood. I'll suck that out of him too.

'Use your teeth,' he whispers, the first signs of snowfall in the window. So on the updrag I close deftly around him, and lick the head -- he likes it a little rough -- and all I remember without giving up on the jerking is that he dances badly but fucks like a bull. I add a twist to each stroke. He's mine.

'Dom,' the knowing look 'finish me off...'

I pump my head, bobbing up and down, pulling and twisting, hand at his balls grabbing and then not in time with the beat and he's almost there, his toes curling in the poor space of the cabin and I've almost got him, he tremors once, twice, three times, I squeeze the base of his shaft, pumping hard and I see the veins just in focus when I put my eyes together going up and down and he shouts and then the squirt hitting the back of my throat, swallowing and swallowing, the thick salt coating my tongue and I pull off and a few final jets hit my neck.

'Ah, fuck!' He says, the come running down my top. I whisk it off. I'm betting my luck will hold out. Stay hard, Nate. I love your come, but I love it even more in my cunt than in my belly.

The look on his face is priceless, he's obsessed with my breasts -- good, he should be, I'm proud of them -- and while he's prone on his back I curl up to him, my lips nuzzling his ear lobe, and pulling him in for a salty kiss. I pass some of his taste back to him. He grins and strokes my tits, smoothing his release into my flesh. I whisper in his ear. 'Fuck me.'

The mass of him rests on top of me, a welcome weight and in the bliss of the music thumping through the wall I open my legs, all a flutter and mentally the doctor is OUT. Instinct taking form. Instinct and nature pressing into the space inside. The thickness of him digging into me, I curl my legs about his ass, crossing the ankles, deep penetration and wet and slippery from his cuntlashing. I love fucking to music. I love the spacey effect, the miasma of emotion and the welling up of all this muscular tension until it bursts like a dam. 'Fuck me, Nate.'

The train rattles on its wheels.

He jabs up inside me, a kiss on my lips, hugging my arms and restricting my movements until I'm trapped; being fucked and manhandled and hard and thorough and really very deep and I become that slaughtered chick again in Belgrade in 1995, fucking in the toilets with her husband and screaming like a whore above Chicane and Humanoid and System F and Ferry Corsten and ATB and Robert Miles and all those other beautiful people. All the bass thump and Nate's powerful thrusts spearing into me, taking me higher and higher and I'm tingling all over, my mind attuned to the love of the universe, never losing stride and then -- ahaaahh -- this sudden splash of liquid at my anus, where his balls meet my pussy and what the hell? Have I come again, I don't know, my head is spinning the stress in my belly rioting like the kids back in the 90s all on Es and whiz and all those ridiculously named drinks that in European countries they give you about three fingers worth before any mixer and that's what Nate is doing, three fingers fooling with me, the clench and the tingle and wiggle and pump in and out and he's grunting, grunting Domino, Domino

Nathan.

The music and the thump.

The train and its rails.

The power line and the electricity.

I feel the surge inside. Oh god, all the trembling travelling in alternating current up and down the length of my body, alighting the synapses and firing the neurons I feel so alive and I love what he's doing to me, I miss Milo so much but I love you too Nate, please, I want you to know how much you mean to me, I know I can be hard sometimes, I'm hard work and I know I can be mysterious and enigmatic and all that rubbish but a lot of the time I like to keep people at a distance but some people like you and Milo you break through and you bring the light in and shine it inside on all the dark places in the depths of my soul, and when you say that you love me and I know you do and please baby, please please please!

Higher and higher and I don't know if I can stay conscious much longer, the synths next door so loud and happy and like an elevator that never gets to the floor you're going to because you don't know what floor you actually want it goes higher and higher, an elevator to the stars! and then he's pushing me further into the couch that we're on, I'm going to be bruised tomorrow, the plush of the material soft on my wet backside I watch his face, growling and groaning and with my name comes the completion of the act and the knowledge that I've had him and I wanted him so bad and he's still with me, thank you Nate, thank you for being there, you bring the light in, you bring light in, cool wind following, following after you, rising for you, your skin beautiful, everything comes natural, rocking rocking floating.

***

(Cable)

After the Morlock Ceremony of Light, when once a year they let the upworld ambience filter through the cracks of the pavement to illuminate the sewers, I came back to the sunken church.

Crumbling gothic architecture and lack of light imbued the place of worship in permanent cold, no moss could take hold. The insects scurried but there was little to eat but one another.

Did you know a cathedral is only a cathedral if there is a seat for a Bishop? A place where he can reside and preach. The chair itself is the symbol of teaching and authority, much like Xavier's wheelchair. It designates him as governor of his diocese. I had named this place a cathedral in the past, telling Storm that her ceremony would start here, but I was wrong. I didn't know that we had been standing in an abandoned building, foundations too dangerous for the council to demolish. Most of the neighbourhood had forgotten its existence; all but the Morlocks who came up from the subway lines and sewage ports to bask in spirituality none of them believed in but nonetheless respected.

I came here before with Domino and Feral's sister Thornn. We used mirrors to reflect the shafts of light into the church and it was lit up with such magnificence you could forget for an instant that we were beneath smoggy Manhattan in the dust and stone and had been transported to this wonderful kaleidoscope world of colour. Pipes and steam became leaves, branches and waterfalls, the trickle of waste water a river of light; all reflections that were the Morlock's way of seeing beauty in an underground of darkness.

A bird whistling startles me. I delve deeper into the darkness, telepathy reaching out. Maybe I'll get a signal off the creature, maybe not. I don't think I've tried before, but if it's successful then perhaps through the bird's eyes I might better navigate the pitch-black.

I should have brought a flashlight.

Tewit te woo.

I sense no language from the animal, no discernable thought processes, as I pick over rubble and fallen masonry. I stumble into mud and am aware of the presence of water trickles, feeding spots of vegetation all alone down here. The place smells of damp. I get a chill because there is no wind. Footsteps I make don't echo. I must be in a very close space.

The images I receive are panicked, my mind picking out the pertinent from the indistinguishable nonsense of birdbrain. It takes some getting used to, but the animal sees further in the lowlight than I do and it helps me find him, huddled in a ball on a stone ledge, limping. It's as if we are attuned via sonar. Him aware of my presence and me aware of the proximity of his, through my limited telepathy.

I get the feeling the bird is a swallow?

Swallows like to build nests up high, away from predators, so I'm guessing he fell from the nest or tried to evade a stalker on the way home and flew into the church. Getting in was hard enough for me, I don't expect the bird to survive without my help.

But as I reach out my gloved hands he hobbles away -- I can hear his heart beating! -- and then at the edge he hops straight off and I know it would be cute to see him bounce because it's only a two foot drop but that's just cruel so I stretch out and quickly very quickly open my palm and there he falls in, our link so precise in the confined space I could find him blindfolded.

He trembles in my hand. He is like a newborn: reluctant and terrified to do anything but lie in a heap but strangely curious as to what comes next. I feel his pulse radiating through to my core. Retracing my steps, I back peddle until I'm in the grey loneliness of the pews, gossamer-thin lines of dusk penetrating the slopes of roofing. Feathers black from dust and dirt, this fellow needs a bath. I wonder how long he has been down here alone. I wonder whether his family miss him. He's still got life left inside otherwise he wouldn't have called me.

'I'll get you out.' I tell him, making a loose fist and his beady black eyes and beak poking out between my thumb and forefinger.

He trembles some more. My voice must be thunder.

Carefully treading rubble and imprinting sole on mud clods I make my way up the church steps to where the lectern resides. The Morlocks had collapsed part of the west wall to allow passage in from the back alleys -- a contradiction of sorts because some were so adamant about their isolation -- but I don't complain, it makes an easy egress.

Soon enough I feel a breeze on my face. The cobwebs blown off. The Swallow chirps. He must like the warmth of my hand.

I go under the yellow tape and in an enclosed space, boarding and chalk to keep the neighbours away, I fling my hand out, loosing the bird. It is like sleight of hand, he disappears immediately, a solitary flap the only sign he was ever a part of me. I look to the stars. It's difficult to see much up there; pollution and nightlife make the skyline opaque.

I wonder what I wanted to find down in the Morlock church. It's good the Swallow will get back home though; his loved ones will be waiting.