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NOTE
FROM THE AUTHOR: I'm of course, open to constructive criticism, but I don't want flame. Like I said my take on the situation. No, I am not a pervert, for your information. I am a romantic spiel writer! Thhhbbb! This is a very unlikely version, but ya know... All of the characters are property of Marvel Comics. I have no permission to use them, and no money is being made. If I were making money, so you think I would still be using a five year old Macintosh? Hmmm? I thought not! The Led Zeppelin song, What is and What Should Never Be, is © to it's respective owner. I also can not take all of the credit for the idea of this story, I had some help from my beta-reader, Stephanie. Thax, Steph, luv ya, Babes! Danell Lites is the author of Nightmares, and that story gave me the ider for this here one. |
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What is and What Should Never Beby Dimera Marka |
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I never meant for this to happen. Never in my life... Charles jerks suddenly and his arms flail about. Another nightmare. He is mumbling something to someone. "Stay out of my mind," is what he says. He still believes so strongly that the Scrulls were in our minds. I move so that I am leaning over him. "Charles." I shake his shoulders lightly. "Charles, wake up. It is a dream." His eyes open and he looks up at me. "Ororo, I didn't mean to wake you. I..." I kiss him once lightly on the temple. "Hush, Charles. You did not wake me." I had rarely slept in the past few days, and this was not a new occurrence. "It was only a dream. Try and sleep now," I whisper in his ear; I pull him close and into the circle of my arms. He is tense. I can feel the muscles in his shoulders and neck. He responds with his arms enclosing around my middle. Gently, I begin to stroke the back of his head with my hand, a gentle, menial sign of in timacy. He relaxes a bit, he is not as tense. I tighten my grip; his head resting on my breast. He is asleep within moments, he has not sleep much lately, he is always up with Cerebro, trying to find out what is going on, who, if anyone, was in his - our - minds. The others have gone. He did not tell them to leave, but he was so... erratic in his actions, that they could not help but go. I do not blame them. Sometimes I think I should have, and should still, go. Remy had urged me to come with him, back to New Orleans for a time, to see Tante Maddie and Henri. But, I could not leave him like this. The others do not understand what he is going through, and to be quite frank, neither do I. He is in his own personal hell. If I were to leave him now, I would fe ar the worst for him, for his mind. I never meant for us to be like this, sleeping together, being lovers! We are not meant to be this, were are to be as we were before, Student and Teacher. He my mentor, and I his prot`eg`e. But we share a bed, we share th is home as man and wife at times. He treats me like I am his wife, or live-in girlfriend at the least. It does not feel right. I feel dirty by the way I act with him. It is not that I do not love the professor, he is like a father to me, and that is why I feel so strange. He is a father figure to me, not a lover. Does not he understand this? He must, he must if we are to end this insanity that is our "relationship"! It can not continue! By the Goddess it can not. Clues, prehaps, may lie in how this all started. It started in his study some time ago. He had been so worked up over everything that was and had happened. I was knelt next to his chair, one hand on his shoulder and the other resting on my leg. His head was in his hands. I was telling him he needed to think of the good of the team, and not to get caught up in these fantasies of a race tampering with our minds; it was not possible. He looked up at me, he was hurt, I had hurt him. I quickly apologized. He then mumbled something about Gabrielle. I squeezed his shoulder and he looked back to me. I can not understand what it was that happened next, except I found myself kissing him! The professor, of all people! Our lips locked in a passion. It had been so long since I had kissed anyone, and it felt amazing . Our arms were in tangles within moments and our bodies were pulled close. I pulled back after a moment, his eyes, and mine, were alive. "Professor, I did not..." I began to say. "Ororo, I didn't mean to..." he said at the same time. "I have to go," I said and quickly left the room. Outside I was questioned by the other X-Men. The, they all left the mansion when I would not tell them what they wanted to hear. I decied we needed to call Jean Grey. I returned to the study, and no matter how we tried, I know for sure I had tried, we feel into this relationship. And now, here I am. In his bed, in his arms. Charles stirs again, his arms flail and hit me. I sieze them and shake him awake. He is like a child who will not behave. I am tired, and I want to sleep. Being here will not let me. "Ororo, I'm sorry," he begins to say. "No, no, Charles, it is not your fault. It is only a dream," I reply, my mindset changing from angry to sympathy. I pull him into a close embrace. "We all have nightmares." O, nightmares, scourge of the mind. I have had to many. Of my near death under that building in the Cairo earthq uake as a child, of Sebastian Shaw violating mind. Ones of all of the battles when my teammates were nearly killed; and when some of them have been, where I play I my head, tormenting myself, thinking of what I could have done different to save them. He has had too many as well, after all of the time we have spent together, I know that for sure. Nightmares of his brother, Cain and the torment at his hands, his mother -- and father's death alike. His time in Bastion's hands; his transformation into Onslaught... the poor man! No wonder he is this way. How can I think of hurting him? He needs me terribly! He returns the embrace and we lie for a long time, the feeling of being next to him, in his arms, it is wonderful. This is one of the reasons I can not end it , because it is at these times when I feel more needed, more loved, more accepted then I ever had before. Like a moth drawn to a flame, I always return to him. It can be a good and a terrible thing. "Try and sleep, Charles," I say. I kiss his forehead. "Ororo, I must tell you something," Charles said softly and demanding. I sigh and whisper, "Yes, what is it?" He draws in a deep breath and nuzzles my neck; I sighed. "I love you," he whispers. I must have stopped breathing, and I didn't speak. After a moment, which seemed like an eternity, I shifted a bit so that I wasn't anywhere where I could see his face. "I love you, too, Charles," I said quietly. I lied! How could have I lie to him? I do not love him as he loves me , as a lover. I love him as a great friend, a saviour ot Mutantkind, not as a lover! He relaxes in my arms a bit and draws my face to his. My eyes are closed. He puts his lips to my own and again I find myself in a passionate embrace with my mentor. I feel like an animal not being able to resist the urges of the flesh, giving in to the feelings and not having the control I should as a leader. Yet, even as I think this, I return his kiss. O, it feels wonderful, but the thoughts are still imbedded in the bac k of my mind. It feels so right, and it feels so wrong. After a moment he ends the kiss, our arms are tangled together, still. "Is something wrong?" he asks me. The concern is painted all across his beautiful face. His eyes, the colour of hazelnut, stare at me. "I am just tired," I reply and look back at him. "I'm sorry, I have waken you up too much, I will try and stop," Charles says and kisses my nose. He releases me and pushes me back to the pillow softly. I comply and close my eyes. "Everything will be better in the morning," he says and lies back down. "Goodnight, Ororo." He is asleep within moments, again, and I lie here, still and silent. I wish it were that easy, I think to myself. Some time we both know it will end, but until then what should never be, is. |
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