Scott and Jean, Monday morning

[x-cyclops.livejournal.com]

And the cognitive dissonance just keeps on coming.


She had most definitely not changed back overnight. Damn. Scott raked rumpled hair out of her eyes and blinked at the light streaming through the window. There was a cat sitting on the back of the armchair, peering at her. "Hi, Des."

Des promptly jumped down to the floor and bolted into the living room. Scott groaned and flung an arm over her eyes. "My cat hates me," she said to no one in particular.

The shifting and talking, as usual, were not quite enough to wake Jean up. Still mostly asleep, he rolled closer to Scott, sliding an arm around her waist and breathing deeply. Nice. Comfortable. Possibly too comfortable...

Scott's eyes flew open. "Jean," she said, her voice even more high-pitched than its changed self should be. "Um... coffee? I could make coffee..." She set about detaching herself without being too obvious about it.

Jean really didn't want to let go at first, but the shifting about suddenly made it clear to him why Scott so much wanted out of the bed and he was awake in a second and practically on the other side of the room, and now it was his turn to hunch his posture awkwardly. "Fuck. Sorry. Sorry." On the plus side, he blushed less easily than as a girl.

Scott covered her face, trying futilely to hold back laughter. "Oh God. One of those other guy things I didn't mention..." Ridiculous, this was absolutely ridiculous. And one of those moments the concept of breaking one's brain had been invented to cover.

"Ah, yes. No. I mean, knew about it. Obviously. Little... little different on this end." And Scott was sitting in the bed, looking tousled and oh-so-very kissable. And other-things-able. And he was keeping those thoughts well away from the link, yes he was.

The problem-solving part of her brain was still hiding under a bed somewhere. Because she knew very well what the solution would be if she'd been himself and Jean had been herself, and oh, not going there... right? Scott opened her mouth and then closed it again. "Showers are good?" she finally ventured, lamely.

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm just... shower." Cold one. "Coffee?" He'd run out of verbs, and syntax entirely.

"Right. Coffee." Scott stood, still trying to get her hair out of her eyes. "I ought to cut it," she muttered, heading towards the kitchen. "This is ridiculous..."

Oh, wow, the view as Scott walked out of the bedroom, nightshirt falling just low enough to conceal but well in the 'teasingly nice view of very lovely legs' range... Oh, yeah. Long cold shower. "Don't cut it," he managed after a few seconds of admiring. "It's... I like it." Particularly all rumpled like that. So this is where the mussing fixation came from.

Scott looked back at her with a very familiar crooked grin, slightly tinged with incredulity, and then vanished in the direction of the kitchen. The thoughts dancing up the link were oddly pleased, however.

Oh yeah, very other-things-able. Shaking his head, but grinning, Jean turned and headed into the bathroom.