Scott jerked upright in bed like he'd woken from a nightmare. But the nightmare was just his life: powerless, reviled, and accountable for everything. This was the cold light of day, washing away dark fears. This was freedom from all the worries that chased him awake and asleep. This was the Phoenix Force.

It was back. Reborn.

The Phoenix Effect was an extension of his body, flames winging up off him to lick at the ceiling. The noise of dreams filtered through the back of his skull. Every thought on the Eastern Seaboard getting a pinprick of notice. Further out, he could detect waking concerns, foreign languages.

But most of all he was aware of his own power. Every molecule in the room, everything he could do with each and every one of them. He was spoilt for choice, his strategic mind gridlocked. There was no need for tactics now, no limited resources to manage. He could do anything—everything. No team, just him.

This time it'd be different. Splitting the power, that had been his biggest handicap. People he couldn't trust throwing a wrench in the works. With friends like Namor, who needed enemies?

No. That was the fire talking. He hadn't been any better than them—just as out of control and myopic, control, he needed control…

He rolled onto all fours, directing his gaze at the ground as he ripped away his glasses. The optic blast didn't come. He wasn't cured, he could still feel it, but it was simmering inside red eyes instead of spilling out of him. A step further—he reached into his own mind, his flesh, now simply some cap atop all this power, and resolved the old scar tissue. Gave himself control.

The optic blast had been a switch flicked to On for his entire adult life. Now he could shut it off like anyone else's power. He relaxed, letting the world twist and swirl into focus, color. White. All he could see was white. Was that just what the world looked like after a lifetime of red?

No. No, he could still see red. Flickering red hair, spilling all the way down a white body.

"Jean."

She was so her. He barely even recognized the sheer herness of Jean. Ruby quartz or not, she was the only thing he looked at through rose-colored glasses, and after so many false visions, false starts, false hopes, nostalgia he could diagnose but not treat, now here was the real thing!

It seemed like centuries since the Poles had flipped and New York had trembled and Magneto had killed her, or Xorn, or Sublime… it hardly mattered now. Her hair had grown, a Medusan mass that fell all over her white Phoenix costume. Like it'd kept growing after she ascended. He heard that happened with dead people.

"What is this place?" he asked her, and she responded with a fond smile and that little psychic flare in her words, teasing at his mindscape, making sure she wasn't misunderstood but intruding no further.

"It is what it has to be. The White Hot Room."

Still, he burned with the raptor. The whiteness slammed outward in all directions, his flames flickering almost as distantly, their heat and their light cast out to the far corners of this extant universe, but there was room. No, he couldn't burn too hot here.

"And I…?"

"You're the new host of the Phoenix," Jean said. "It—and I—will live on in you. Revitalize the galaxy. Burn away the decrepitude."

Scott shook his head, trying to resist the rush of adrenaline at those words. Decrepitude—all the old humans who saw them as an infection, a perversion, who would never learn and never change, he could burn them all up. Just be free of them, finally, like he was free of everything else.

"No… no more burning… we've been burned enough."

"The Phoenix needs to spawn, Scott. It's all tangled up in me—it wants a family, just like I did." She was closer to him. He was remembering more and more of her all the time—all the things he'd made himself forget. The smell of her, God, her scent… "There can only be one, but we have to satisfy the urge, Scott. Satiate it vicariously. Give in…"

"I don't understand." Scott shook his head. "Another Phoenix?"

"Not if we stop it. Together. Contain it, like you've always helped me do. Only this time, I'll help you."

She flickered for a moment. Scott recognized his perceptions flowing away from him—time and physics undulating as the universe frayed at the edges, the Phoenix taking hold, its enormity clawing at the fabric that held it all together. There was so much of her. So much.

"I was scattered, Scott. In every heart I befriended, in everyone I love—fragmented while the heart of me rested. Help me find them all, Scott. Help me find me. And I'll help you. All the love you were robbed of because you thought it was mine; the Phoenix will get it back."

"I don't understand," Scott insisted. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to love me," Jean said, but there were more of her. Marvel Girl and Phoenix and Dark Phoenix and White… "I want your love for me to burn as hot as it can, then for it to burn hotter. I want the flame of your desire to consume me, and Emma… everyone you've ever wanted, Scott. Everyone who's ever wanted you. I'm not jealous. I'm beyond jealousy. I'll be there with you, feeling what you feel… through me, the Phoenix will know you, know itself… because I love you, Scott. Because I want you to be happy."

"How do I even know this is you?" Scott insisted, desperately denying everything in him screaming that it was. "What am I supposed to think?"

"Don't think. Feel." Her lips were the hottest red of all, the teeth behind them white-hot. "Feel everything."

Beside him was Marvel Girl, her green minidress riding high above yellow go-go boots, short sleeves exposing more golden skin leading to her yellow gloves, a yellow mask trying to disguise her while her red hair made her identity all too apparent. And there was another him, drawing the hem of her dress over her pantyless loins, pushing her against an invisible wall (it occurred to Scott that Jean was using her power to hold herself in place, and the thought was shockingly arousing).

He watched himself, felt himself as Jean's slot spread open to receive him, thrust after thrust, to greater and greater depths, far beyond the soft cinnamon of her wispy pubic hairs.

Scott felt the sensation double—a second set of feelings, as when he'd been inside Jean's head, feeling the very passion he was bringing out in her. But now it was not heat, not pressure, but suction, need made physical. He looked right. Jean Grey—in her first uniform, the yellow and blue, all of her covered but none of her contained because her ripe teenage curves were too much for the slack bodysuit.

She was on her knees before him, a third him, only her mouth exposed by the cumbersome uniform but that was enough, because his cock was deep inside it, his hands on her cowl, pulling it further and further off-center as he tried to hold onto her while her head bobbed back and forth.

He could taste her thoughts. She wanted him to come in her mouth, yearned to swallow every molten drop from him. Since she'd joined the school a year ago, she'd given over a hundred passionate blowjobs to her doting admirers in the student body, savoring every cock imaginable—even the Professor's! But each one had only taken place in her mind.

Those endless fantasies had given her more than enough ideas to try, nibbling and licking and sucking feverishly at Scott's burning cock. She'd thought of how much he would come: a spoonful? A shotglass? And nothing seemed like enough. She longed for him to give her his flood until she gagged with joy on it. The anticipation made her suck him fiercely, and Scott gasped with wild pleasure.

It was like being in a house of mirrors—a hundred reflections arrayed all around him, reflecting him into infinity, but in every one, another him, another Jean, a new fantasy, a new pleasure.

"I'm yours, Scott," they said, panting, moaning, screaming, sighing, coming. "All of me is yours."

He looked forward again. The White Phoenix was gone. He saw the green and gold of his Phoenix, stretched taut and tight over that perfect body, golden sash almost playfully outlining her hips, making a peek-a-boo ribbon over where the costume covered her pubis so tightly that he could see the swelling lips of her labia. If it were a little lower, she'd be hidden. But it wasn't.

And he saw the red and black, the Dark Phoenix, sash knotted on the other side, but otherwise just as tight, just as beautiful. Like the woman he'd been talking to had split, right down the middle. As one, their hands gently ran down their body, moving at the same terse speed to their sexes. Scott could sense either of their impatience, but somehow it was modulated—Jean's endearing nervousness off-set, balanced by the Dark Phoenix's willingness, her desire.

Their long nails daintily scratched at the smooth skin beneath smoother costumes, and like a whiff of perfume, Scott could feel the tingles of pleasure that extended from one body to the other. When their hands reached their centers, the crotches of their uniforms were gone. Jean twirled her auburn hair with her fingers; Dark Phoenix inserted a long-nailed finger into herself. Gently teasing her inner walls. They smiled as they watched their twins, fondling their pussies, looking for their clits.

Scott realized he was naked with a dream-like acceptance. Why shouldn't he be? He had wanted to be. Now he was. Another Jean pushed past the two masturbating Phoenixes, dressed in the yellow bodysuit she had worn for so long, with blue vest, bracers, headpiece. The one that made her look like she was naked, the blue between her breasts and over her crotch the only thing she had on. It had been the costume she'd worn for so much of their married life—somewhere in him, he thought of this as his Jean.

"And you're mine," Jean replied. She stared boldly at his hard cock—falling to her knees before it almost in a daze. He could hear her thoughts and they were of nothing but his long, throbbing erection.

He pushed his hands behind her head. Jean's hands shook with excitement as she wrapped both hands tightly around his member, sending a tremor through him. She gripped it like a baseball bat, squeezing, tightening, staring intently at the precum jutting out for her. Moaning, she began rolling her hands over his manhood. More precum dribbled out and she flicked her tongue out to lap it away.

"I want some too," another Jean said, kneeling beside the first. She was wearing her wedding dress—a mermaid fishtail gown, with a layer of sequined tulle covering it to make it even more striking, hugging and shaping her body to make it not just perfect, but untouchable.

But he wasn't touching her. She was touching him.

The other Jean lifted her veil over her face, and then she took hold of his prick, moving in a corkscrew motion all the way to the base, kneading and squeezing tightly. Hands and mouth and breasts and cunt fought over his cock, the sensations everywhere and everything. Even gravity lost meaning: he was falling-floating-flying, and when he looked down—whichever direction that was—he saw Jean straddling his loins, simply naked. The look he liked best of all.

On and on she raved, her body shuddering atop his cock. She came hard, her cunt gushing powerfully against his manhood, her hips pistoning up and down. He could see her wedding ring shine on her hand as her palms slammed down on his chest.

"Come for me too, Scott!" she said, as excited as he'd ever heard her. "Be my Phoenix!"

He glared up at her with a wild light in his eyes. He gripped her round the waist and thrust into her primally, watching her bare breasts dancing in front of him. The huge mounds were wet and shiny with saliva—he wondered if he had already done that or if he was going to do that. Time had no meaning in this place, death no dominion. He didn't have to worry.

He felt his orgasm gathering behind his cock, returning or already happening, it made no difference, all that mattered was how hot her pussy was, how tight. Her naked ass was squirming passionately in his hands with every jolt of their bodies together—he could see, feel every beautiful inch of her in celestial motion—and the sight of her tiny puckered asshole flashed a deviant thought into his mind. But he didn't dare, this wasn't Emma—

"I could be," Jean smiled. She was kissing him and he'd missed that so much, just that and nothing more would've been enough, too much, her lips. "I said all of me, remember? Not just the parts you were comfy with…"

She spun them around in mid-air, or maybe they landed, but he was lying on the glass now, or whatever this was, her on the other side. He pounded on it and she just smiled. He fired his optic blast—even that felt good, great, clearing out what little remained of his tension—and when the red cleared, he saw the Black Queens.

One was sitting on nothingness, the other was splayed across her lap. Both wore the same thing, the costume that had been seared into Scott's memory. Black corset, sewn together in front by a thousand laces to reveal a broad swath of flesh between her breasts and down her belly. Choker, studded, leather. Skimpy panties that barely sat on her hips before her flesh was consumed by thigh-high boots.

The dom growled as she spanked her double's nearly naked ass with open palm, heat erupting across the sub's asscheeks where she'd been slapped. It felt scalded, red and holding the shape of her own hand. Again, she jerked harshly across her dom's knee as her heavy hand crashed down on her ass, jiggling her left asscheek with its force, making the flesh explode with pain.

Scott watched, spellbound, as Jean's hand fell again and again, slapping the other's ass. As she did, every inch of her own hips were flushed a bright scarlet, the marks running clear down to the tops of her thighs. Even the crevice of her ass was abused, burning with an evil fire.

"Hurts me as much as it does her," the Black Queen said, standing. Her costume wasn't skintight like some of the others, but somehow it made her bust seem to stand out more, her hips to sway more, her whole sexual body more imposing, more wanton. She walked to him with her bottom still furiously burning, drawing her hands along the mirrors on either side of her. "Fuck me, Scott. Have my ass. You're the Phoenix. All this is yours…"

He was more than willing to oblige. So were the Scotts in the mirrors, the ones on his right and left. All three of them were upon the Black Queen, Scott kissing her as Scott dropped to his knees behind her as Scott kissed her neck. He thrust his face right into her scorched ass, boring his nose into her anus, jabbing his tongue into her pussy.

Jean whinnied through her nostrils, her whole body shuddering as the tongue surged into her sex. Her nails raked over Scott's embracing arms, but none of them would dare release her. Scott's tongue darted down her throat, up her pussy, the man an animal, sucking as well as thrusting, devouring her open pussy with a ravenous hunger. Every wild sucking stab of his tongue sent excitement shooting up her body. She could feel her cunt stretching, yielding to the insistent tonguing, readying itself for the much deeper penetration to come.

Soon her pussy was not pink, not tight-lipped and prim, but heavy and swollen like the petals of a freshly watered orchid, sucked and licked to a flagrant, ruddy red. Cock pushed at her sex, at her mouth, at her anus. She tightened her sphincter muscles, just to feel them be overwhelmed, and Scott's plodding cockhead probed into her ass, filling it with male power.

Hands pulled away her scant clothing, mouths tasted every bead of sweat on her body—Scott snapped his hips, victoriously cramming the full length of himself into the depths of her bowels, holding it there, wallowing in the frantic grip of her anus and the squeaky tight feel of the rectum beyond.

Then he twisted her body to give himself a better angle at her tits, exposed by the ripped apart corset that hung on by only a few frayed strings. Seeing it hanging off her flushed flesh was even more arousing than seeing her bare. With both heaving tits in view, he placed his hands at the sides of her cleavage and squeezed until the erect nipples buzzed together. Jean's hands covered his, encouraging him to squeeze harder. He replied by jerking his body forward, punching his cock savagely into her stuffed anus.

Whatever grand distance separated them, the walls of the White Hot Room shook with Jean's pained enjoyment as Scott violated her incredibly tight anus, surging thrusts that would've brought an admiring gleam to the eye of anyone Jean had known in the Hellfire Club. Grinding and twisting her bright red buttocks in a savage dance of pain and delight, Jean gave herself an intensely masochistic climax as Scott's red-hot cock gave white-hot seed to her deepest depths.

When he pulled away, Scott realized there were no other hims, no other Jeans, just them.

Jean laughed as she finally kicked off the panties that had clung to her ankle as she was ravaged. "The Phoenix really enjoyed that, Scott. Didn't you?"

Scott laid down beside her, on the softness of nothing, and helped her let her hair down and brush the red rose out of it, stripping away the Marvel Girl and the Phoenix and the Black Queen until there was just her. He wondered if anyone could do the same for him. If you ripped all the Cyclops out of him, would there be anything left?

"Is that it?" Scott asked, watching the echoes of their sex continue to coalesce through the boundless room like the light of a dead star. "We have some… wet dream… and no more Phoenixes?"

"Don't be so cynical, Scott. It'll take more than that. Feelings of love and companionship and, yes, passion. But not just with me. I am the Phoenix, after all. That makes this… masturbation. More or less. Not the kind of thing the Phoenix can subside on when she's in heat."

"So what do you want me to do? Get back together with Emma? Screw Quentin?"

Jean rolled her eyes. "Let's not worry about Quentin. I can't stand that guy. But if you want to make things right with Emma—"

"I ripped her powers out and told her I wouldn't touch her with Namor's trident. It's over."

"Well…" Jean patted him intimately. Very intimately. "We have something bigger than Namor's trident. Don't we?"