Projections

by jenn

Sequel to "What You Leave Behind"
Disclaimer: They aren't mine, or I'd be considerably more wealthy and a lot less well-adjusted.

*****

She traced the linen of the tablecloth with the tip of one lacquered nail while the speaker droned on about a subject that under normal circumstances would have held some of her attention, if not her actual interest. Listening to him extol the dangers of uncontrolled human mutation in endlessly run-on sentences punctuated with grunts of affirmation, it was vaguely tempting to find him after the dinner and give him the last-known address of the FoH, just on the principle of sharing the pain.

The room was stuffy and hot and no one wanted to be here, with wilted lettuce and overdone steaks drizzled in something reddish-brown and vaguely salty that couldn't possibly qualify as steak sauce. Dipping the tip of her nail into the puddle remaining on her plate, she pushed her plate from the edge of the table and traced a star on the white linen.

At the rate this was going, she could probably finish up a dissertation on the tablecloth before he got finished. Glancing up quickly, she pulled her plate back down to cover the stains and tried to think of something to do that wouldn't bore her into falling asleep over the limply sautéed mushrooms and overdone potatoes au gratin.

His mental jerk was somewhat satisfying and she traced the patterns of startlement and irritation, before he disciplined his mind.

Feeling him open to her, she let her thoughts meander through his--he wasn't easily readable on the best of days, but he was setting himself to project now and she let him immerse her--the background of Dr. Winter's voice became as soothing as her meditation tapes of singing whales.

Logan snorted at her imagery of the overdressed doctor cartwheeling through the ocean.

:::He is. Doesn't make him interesting.::: Expert or not, he needed classes in public speaking or at least an introduction to the shorter is better methodology, because she was almost certain that most of his audience, like herself, had tuned his voice to the subliminal for some serious time to nap. Four tables over, the very correct Dr. Elizabeth Ashley was trying with grim determination not to fall asleep. It was tempting, to give her a mental nudge and send her careening into her half-empty plate with a sigh and a snore.

Yes. Yes, she was. Ashley was a bitch of the first order and it was times like this that Jean missed Scott most, who would have been all false-bright attention and murmured asides in her ear on the possible number of virgins in the room. Faintly, she felt Logan's dissatisfaction--not necessarily directed at her, just in general. He'd hated being restricted to video monitoring and Remy was leading the other two security guards around in some doubtless well-planned pattern outside the room. This was the last conference dinner--if the FoH or someone with too much time on their hands and a sad lack of social life came wondering in to see if they could manage another clear shot at Dr. Grey, this was the time to do it.

Leaning her elbow on the table, Jean smiled to herself.

:::So what did you have for dinner?::: She let him feel the taste of the steak and salad, amused by his surprise and the snort of disgust. Logan liked food--and contrary to popular belief, he *knew* food. Knew good food, and tonight's dinner hadn't qualified by a long shot.

:::Haven't eaten yet.::: Images of rare hamburgers slipped through his mind, and immersed in him as she was, despite the dangers of raw meet any self-respecting doctor would own to, her mouth began to water. She felt Logan's amusement. :::How much longer?:::

Jean straightened, eyes wide, and quickly fixing her gaze back on the doctor at the variety of curious looks tossed her way.

:::Ethics yes, and I think that'd be just a little noticeable.::: And tempting beyond belief. :::You're not a good influence on me.:::

Hints of pseudo-malicious pleasure, teasing her lightly.

As if she could just stand up and walk out--well, conceivably, she could. Conceivably. Lose any possibility of goodwill from half the people present, but she could do it.

:::So what did you have in mind?::: Erasing the temptation.

Deliberately, he projected--

Jean Grey flushed, starting in her seat at the tendrils of raw arousal flickering through her body.

A soft mental chuckle.

"...and I thank you for your time, ladies and gentlemen."

Jean jerked into the here and now with a keen shock, applauding along with everyone else, ignoring the flush burned into her cheeks and the echoes of Logan's laughter in her mind.

Then cut the connection to smile sweetly at Dr. Ashley, who was lifting her head in startlement inches from her overdone potatoes.

*****

She grabbed jeans from her bag and was surprised by the fact she'd brought them at all. Spent several minutes wondering if she anticipated herself, before going through the remains of her clothing--dress shirt, dress, dress, dress shirt, skirt, and while the night before she hadn't felt any particular trepidation about abandoning Donna Karen to the gutters, it had also been her least favorite suit.

There was a stretch of absolutely nothing and then she was pushed out of Logan's mind and found herself sitting in her own, more than a little startled. His shields had always been interestingly good, but she'd never really felt them up close and personal. Reaching outward, she explored them like a wall, looking for breaks and kinks more from curiosity than a need to find a way in.

A few minutes, and he keycarded her door, walking in and stopping on the rug. She titled her head, pulling back and smiling at him genially. Seriously startling him was so hard to do--it was relaxing to try it every once in awhile.

"Borrow a shirt?"

She shrugged, motioning toward the collection of silk and linen piled haphazardly on the neatly-made bed.

"Just wanted to try something different. You always bring t-shirts."

Which he was carrying, tossing to her without comment. She held it up to her chest, glad she was already wearing a white bra, noting how the hem reached past her hips and turning her back to unbutton her shirt, tossing it on the bed and pulling the t-shirt over. It smelled faintly of cigars and his cologne and she breathed it in briefly. Turning around, she caught traces of warm pleasure from him and lifted a brow in conscious mockery. "You ready?"

"Beyond words, baby." The suggestion of a mocking leer, almost spoiled by the warmth in his eyes. "You have someplace in mind?" He opened the door and she tucked her cash in her pocket. Jean thought about the question, turning it over and over in her mind, trying to find the correct response, the answer to this most perplexing equation.

Sliding an arm lightly around his waist, she wondered if he'd noticed she'd taken off her ring.

"Show me something I've never seen before."

*****

This qualified.

It was five streets down from the hotel, roughly the same district she'd played in during her little exploration the night before, but slightly better lighted and not a self-respecting junkie in sight. Almost disappointing, except for the fascinating edges of the minds she could feel hovering on the edges of her consciousness as she passed them by--beautiful and rough edged, thoughts of small vices and petty concerns. Very real, all in unfamiliar colors and patterns. She enjoyed the feel of them when Logan lit her cigarette and smiled down at her, his hand warm on her hip.

The diner was the sort used in horror movies when cannibalism was usually involved, all stained linoleum, perky, gum-chewing waitresses and cracked mugs for coffee. She dropped into a slick sparkly-red booth and blinked when the menu was thrust under her nose, as Logan ordered coffee for them both and the gum-chewing waitress winked and sauntered off.

For some reason, the idea of the woman in roller-skates wouldn't quite work itself out of Jean's thoughts. She'd been watching one too many Frankie Avalon Sonic commercials for her own good.

"I can order my own coffee."

Logan grinned with beautiful unconcern and didn't answer, eyes drawn down to the menu with a level of absorbed interest more appropriate to discovering the formula for eternal youth or the latest White House scandal, and she finally turned her menu over to look at the entrees.

Wiped her fingers on her jeans immediately and wondered if anyone would take offense if she took the menu to the bathroom and gave its slick surface a thorough washing.

"I'm guessing low-fat won't be on the menu." Logan gave her a look of disgust over the plastic edge. "Some of us don't have a high metabolisms, Logan."

A significant glance at her waistline and she picked out a paper napkin from the dispenser and tossed it at him, then searched down the columns. Hamburger she recognized--cheeseburger was even better. Dropped the menu and surreptitiously wiped her hands clean on a napkin as Logan put his down too, the hazel eyes warm and friendly on hers. Their choices were made.

Looking at him, she wondered suddenly if her choice had been made longer ago than she'd thought.

Without thinking, wondering, double checking with her conscience or her good sense, she lifted one heeled foot and braced it on the seat between his legs, opening her mind to catch his edges of startlement, before he sat back, crossing his arms across his chest, giving her a long look and a single word echoing in her mind.

She dropped her foot, letting the expensive heel slip off and fall on the floor, probably forever ruining its exterior with grease and dirt, then lifted her foot back up, finding the fly of his jeans and running the tips of her toes down the length, until she was rested on the cool plastic seat again. A soft growl she never would have heard if she hadn't been looking directly at him, watching the dilation of his eyes, the tightening of his fingers into fists.

:::Playing, Jeanie?::: A thousand tastes to those two words, she wanted to trace them all, everything they meant--but more than that, she wanted to live in this moment and this moment alone, leaning back in her seat and meeting his eyes, before pressing the ball of her foot firmly into his erection.

There was a sharply indrawn breath and her eyes automatically searched the room just as the waitress appeared, larger and louder than life, to take their orders. Leaning forward, Jean pressed more firmly and felt Logan's soft growl through her mind.

"Cheeseburger, rare, no onions, fries." Gave Logan a long look. "How 'bout you, honey?" Lifted her coffee to her mouth, covering her smile as he shook his head sharply, taking a breath as she maneuvered her foot a little higher and pressed in firmly.

"Two, same thing." Slowly reached to pick up her menu, handing both to the waitress, who popped her gum and departed.

Drawing a fingernail down the table, she pressed in hard, once, then let it drop demurely onto the floor, crossing her legs and giving him a slow smile.

"Show me."

Her mind was already open to him, and he knew how to project, directly into her thoughts--

She straightened with a start, seeing their hamburgers before them, drawing in a long, shaky breath. From the corner of her eye, she saw the edges of a wolfish grin before he attacked the food and she turned her eyes downward, rare meat dripping red juices down the side of the greasy bun.

Taking a bite, feeling the reddened grease sliding down her wrist to trace fine lines on her forearm, she thought it was the best hamburger she'd ever eaten.

The End