Disclaimer: not mine.
Rating: 18+ sex, language Fandoms: X-Men comics/Farscape Pairing(s): Alex Summers/Chiana, referenced: Alex Summers/Madelyne Pryor Set: ...god. Er, X-Men, right after Mutant X? Before the Mary Sue Nurse? Farscape: er... Terra Firma.
Notes: This was actually written... god. Probably three years ago. Never posted, as it really only has an audience of, like, two. However, in re-reading it, I realized it wasn't all that bad. Hence. Posting it. (I posted it once to deadjournal, but without edits or a title)

Puttin' on the Ritz by ALC Punk!

He didn't know why she was so attractive to him. Not until later when she had him screaming under her capable hands, lips and tongue. But, first, it was drinks and dancing. A chance meeting in yet another nameless bar. They blended, now. All the same, different people, same attitudes. Boredom, sexual tension, drunkenness.

Alex Summers found it numbing, a way of pushing the world away and pretending it all didn't exist. That Lorna, Scott, Xavier, Madelyne... And there he flinches. Because Madelyne, HIS Madelyne had never existed. Not in this world.

Maybe not in any world. And it hurts almost too much to contemplate.

Hence, the whiskey sours he steadily drowns before she comes into the bar.

There's something about her. Every male in the place notices her, every woman is suddenly loathing her. She moves strangely, seductively. Almost-brushing here, half-smiling at him. And some of the women want to look like her. One or two want to be her. Alex can't help but smile as she passes him, and raise his glass. "To you."

"To me?" Her voice is a soft seductive purr, and she leans into him, hips arching slightly. "How sweet. Buy a girl a drink?"

"What'll ya have?" He's amenable, because she so easily could be his, and it's been so long--besides. There's no one else to go back to.


He wrinkles his nose slightly, "Why don't you try something different?"

"What're you drinking?"

"Whiskey sour."

She grabs the glass and downs the rest in one, smacking her lips and smiling in appreciation. "Oh, that's drad. Sure. I'll have one."

He admires the way her white hair catches the lights in the bar as she downs several more in succession. Or maybe they're both downing them. Because he's all light-headed with something that might be euphoria when she slides an arm around his waist and nibbles on his ear delicately.

There's not much talking after that. Merely whispered comments, a few giggles, and then a staggering walk back towards the motel he's booked into for the night.

It takes four tries to get the key in the door properly, and he finally figures why it won't work after the occupant opens the door and yells at them both. An older woman, he thinks, as his companion tells her off in a sharp tone. Then she's moving them both firmly down until he realizes they're standing in front of his door.

"Here. Give me that." The key passes to her without a mutter from Alex.

He's feeling no pain, at this point, the stars aren't even shining on him anymore. Or is that because he's being shoved into the motel room?

Some scrap of chivalry, left over from countless years of rivalry with Scott the Perfect surfaces, then, and he catches her arm. "I don't even know your name."

A soft giggle that might have been a sob in another life escapes her, and she leans in and kisses him gently. "It's Chiana."

"Mm. Nice name."

"Thank you. Don't wear it out."

The mood changes, then, her hands sliding along his arms. And he's reciprocating, suddenly eager to taste her, touch her, feel her. She's different from any other woman. Pale everywhere except the hollows, and he licks along her collarbone, drinking in the taste of her skin as she tugs his shirt out of his pants.

He stops her and pulls it over his head himself, then leans in again to nip along the side of her neck. She arches against him, pelvis thrusting rhythmically, and then she pulls back. "Not--not yet. C'mon. Clothes. Off."

No more words, then, and he falls over in his haste to remove his pants. She giggles softly, but follows him to the floor, pale hands dancing along his chest as he rolls onto his back under her.

Where did her clothes go? He's not sure anymore, though maybe her shirt is under his head. And it doesn't matter, because she's already slick and ready for him, distracting him from thought. He thrusts in and her head goes back, a soft ululating cry echoing into the room.

Groaning at the need suddenly bursting along his skin, he moves with her, quicker and then slower, and then quicker again when she rakes her nails down his chest commandingly.

His own hands caress her velvety skin, and he suddenly wonders if she's an albino, but it's far too late to ask. Fingers close around her nipples and she echoes his groan, thrusting her breasts forward into his palms. Answering her need, he carefully rolls a nipple between thumb and forefinger, then the other, then both at once.

And she comes, screaming her pleasure up into the air. Her whole body spasms, and he admires the effect even as his own body strains to follow her. The sweat on her skin makes it pearlescent, and again he wonders about her coloring.

But then he really can't think, and she's half-smiling as she arches harder against him.

He cries out, back arching, body trying for one last thrust.

And then it's all over, and she's lowering her chest to his, whispering soft nonsensical things.

"Th-thank you." He manages.

She stops, and looks at him. "This wasn't charity."

"I should hope not." He grazes her cheek with his lips, then wraps both arms around her.

"Mmm. In fact, lover-boy, I'm really hoping you'll be ready to go again." Her eyes are oddly flat, but her voice is teasing. "Do you think you have the stamina?"

The challenge sends a soft shiver down his spine, but he slides a hand down her back. "Let's find out." His back twinges, "But, first, the bed might be a good idea. This time."

"Perfect." She kisses his chin, then bounces up and moves to the bed.

In the light, he can see the pattern of her skin. Pale and dark, a faint blue tinge in some places. It's remarkable, really beautiful. And the way she moves makes him think of big cats lazing their way into killing something.

Getting to his feet, he moves towards her. Chiana looks over her shoulder at him. "What're you waiting for, loverboy?"

Answering the challenge, he wraps her in his arms and kisses her hungrily, tongue sliding in to tangle with hers. She kisses back, her arms twining around his neck. This time, they're falling onto the bed, and he's on top.

Different pace, slower than before. Their first hunger satiated, he's taking his time. Stopping to pay lavish tribute at her breasts while running light fingers over her arms and shoulders and neck. She tucks her head and nips at his fingers, and he chuckles. She growls softly, and he takes the hint, moving further down to kiss her stomach and then her thighs.

Her legs part even wider, and he pauses to look down at her, taking in the half-slits of her eyes, the vulnerable way she's laying. "Mmm. I could eat you up."


Alex moves, mouth closing on her, tongue sliding out to lick along one side of her labia, then the other. Her taste is different, exotic. Like a spice he hasn't ever noticed before in food, but wants more of. He can taste himself, too, and the mixture tantalizes him further. He finds himself feasting on her as he'd said he would.

Her orgasm is fast and fierce, her hands clutching the headboard. There's a slight creaking sound, but he puts it down to the bedsprings as she spasms.

Then she sighs softly, and releases it, reaching down to stroke his cheek, pull at his hair. "Come up here."

Obeying, he slides up her body, licking and nibbling until he gets to her lips. He stops and kisses them gently and her arms slide around him again. There's an odd childishness to her, now, and he pushes it away, ignoring it.

"Mm. Definitely your turn."

He flips over, bringing her with him. "If you're sure."

"Very." The breathlessness is back in her voice, and she ducks to nip at his chin. "Definitely very."

She kisses her way down to his toes, then back up, careful not to touch him. He's hard again, throbbing in time with his own heartbeats. And when she stops on the way back up, he groans softly, hoping--but she merely chuckles, kisses the tip, and moves up the rest of him.

Her hands are dancing along him, playing sensation into his blood. And it's hard to think again as she slides down to wrap her lips and tongue around him.

The crest of the wave of pleasure slams into him, and he rides it for a while, arching up, into her mouth. But she stops right before he can break on the shore, switches to her hands, then stops completely and moves up to suck on his nipples.

"Chiana," he whimpers, body straining to get relief.

"Not yet," she mumbles, mouth full of his left nipple.

But her hand slides down to caress him, and he moans, arching into it.

She giggles softly, "Mm. So strained."

"It's been a while," he manages.

"Hang onto something, then."

Barely having time to do more than reach up and grab a firm hold on the headboard, he cries out in pleasure as she descends upon him, riding up and down with hard, quick movements of her pelvis against his. The muscles of her legs bunch and clench. The release is dancing, there on the edge of his perception. But she doesn't quite ride him hard enough to reach it. And its painful, waiting.

His grip tightens on the headboard.

Then she seems to give in, her hands sliding up his chest, her mouth sucking at a nipple, and the orgasm slams through him. It's as if there are suddenly more colors in the world. He rides it out, hears her own soft cry echoing his louder one.

And something else.

The sound of the headboard giving up the ghost and detaching itself from the wall.


Morning finds them still tangled in each other. He's breathing in her hair, tickling the roof of his mouth. "Oof."

Chiana stirs against him, then yawns. "Mornin', loverboy."


"Mm. Alex." A smirk crosses her lips. "You awake?"

Her hand drifts down his chest, and he groans softly, "Oh, yeah."


"Just," he manages as she bites gently at the side of his neck, "don't break anymore furniture."

"I can't promise anything."