I Close My Eyes

By: Tangerine

Fandom: X-Men

Pairing: Cyclops/Angel

All characters are trademarked and copyrighted to Marvel Comics. They are used without permission and no money is being made on this work.

I never thought I'd stop hating Scott long enough to write anything about him but I did. This story is set right after Jean died on the moon during the Dark Phoenix Saga. I've gone retro. :)

This story was first posted sometime last year, but it's the only pure X-Men fic I remember writing. It's good to go on the archiving angle.

Feedback would be adored (tangherine@hotmail.com). If anyone is reading this but has only seen the movie, Angel is an X-Men, just one excluded from the film (though his wings would have looked lovely, I think:). This takes place in the comic book world.

NC-17 rating for graphic m/m sex.

I Close My Eyes
By: Tangerine

A cruel dream, I've realised, this is all a cruel nightmare. It couldn't have happened. Jean couldn't have died, but I saw her, I saw her in red when she died on the moon, and now I'm all alone. Alone. God. Alone used to be so easy.

I've been sitting out here for hours, days maybe, I can't remember. All that matters is my grief right now, I'll go back to leading the team later, but right now, I have to mourn Jean, I have to say goodbye because I didn't have a chance then and saying goodbye at the funeral terrifies me. I have to say the words now.

I feel him behind me before I hear him. Warren will never be able to sneak up on me, not with those wings, not with the racket they make, not with the gush of air that follows them whenever they move. I look over my shoulder, catching the concerned look. I wonder if he lost the bet, if they were deciding who would talk to me and he got stuck with recovery duty, but he looks sincere, sad, as sad as I feel. He loved Jean, too.

"Hey," he says quietly and sit down next to me, smiling crookedly, a real smile. I haven't seen one of those from him in years. "Um, I brought you a sandwich. I thought, maybe, you might be hungry. I made it myself. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't– "

"Thank you, Warren," I reply quietly, taking the sloppy looking sandwich and unwrapping the plastic, biting into the bread, swallowing without tasting. I feel the tears in my eyes again and I immerse myself in the food, not wanting him to see me like this. We've never really been friends, him and I, not really.

"Just so you know, I came here because I wanted to. I know you probably think I was coerced but I wasn't. I was just," Warren's voice catches and he takes a deep breath. "Sorry, Slim, I'm coming off as a fool. I'm not good at this. I just ... I really miss her, too."

I nod my head. "You don't have to stay."

"Is it okay if I do? I don't want to go back there. They keep talking about you, about Jean, about the funeral, and I just ... can't listen to that. I don't want to believe that she's gone, Slim, I don't want to believe it, but I know I have to believe it, too. I just want to close my eyes and pretend this never happened."

Warren doesn't say anything more and I finish the sandwich without ever being aware that I ate it. I know I did, the plastic is still twined in my fingers, the crumbs are on my lips, there's a sugary taste on my tongue.

But it's like it didn't really happen to me.

It's like Jean really didn't die.

"I love her, Warren, I love her so much and I know I'll never love anyone like that again, never be loved like that again," I mutter, watching him nod gently, watching his eyes fall and rise. "I'm terrified to be alone again, without her."

"I know," he replies softly. "I wish I could help somehow, but I'm not very good at ... helping. I don't know ..."

"It's okay," I assure him, watching him bite his lip in frustration, watching the perfection falter, watching Warren become human to me. I alway understood why people didn't like him, why they found him false and self-righteous, generally unlikeable and because he wanted it that way, but I didn't understand until then why Jean loves him, why she considers him her best friend. He tries so hard to be better than himself, and he never is, never completely.

"I want to help, Scott."

"You can't make this emptiness go away. You can't bring back her love."

Warren's gaze drops and he nods briefly, picking at the grass.

I close my eyes.

And he kisses me. He shouldn't but he kisses me.

And I kiss him back.

Warren touches my face and I open my eyes, seeing him and wondering what he really looks like without the red, if it would somehow lessen his harsh features, if it would somehow make those pale eyes seem more human.

"I can't give you her love," he says quietly, "but I can give you mine."

"Warren ..."

He shakes his head. "Not that love, I don't know how to give anybody that love, but I can give you," he bites his lips again, looking uncharacteristically naive and young, "I can give you me. You can close your eyes. You don't have to know it's not Jean."

It takes me a minute to realise what he's attempting to do, what he's really offering, and I find myself nodding, still in the dream, still not understanding this is real. Warren smiles and leans over to kiss me again, pressing those warm lips to mine.

I stop him. "The others might – "

He nods, understanding we're too close to the house, and I'm in his arms before I know it, flying with mighty wings beating above my head, cutting the air with an angry hiss. I close my eyes. I can't believe this is not a dream.

When we land, he kisses me again and I trust that we're far from curious eyes, trust him because he trusts me. I'm lax in his grip, too numb to respond yet, but he holds my face in his hands, kissing deeper, rubbing his tongue against my lips. I relax my jaw and reach out to touch my tongue to his, to taste the warmth and remember Jean.

I can suddenly understand why woman flock to him, why they'd want to feel his kiss. He has this way of pouring all of his desire into the receiver, of filling them completely with his need and his want and, in a way, his love.

Warren pulls back slightly and looks at me, his face flushed and his lips wet, parted slightly as they gasp in breath. He smiles and puts his fingers to my shirt, undoing the buttons and pushing the silk off my skin. I just stand there.

I close my eyes.

I feel the kiss press to my neck then slide along my skin to my chest, a hot tongue darting out to touch my pointed nipple. I can't help but gasp as the teeth slightly graze the nub of flesh, fingers splayed on my back and holding me to the mouth. For a brief second, I think it's Jean.

I look at him, watching the eyes slowly drift up to meet mine, and he lowers to the ground, arms wrapped around me still, his feathers brushing my bare feet. I don't know if that's what he wants, but I sink, sitting down upon the grass to face him.

Strong arms reach over and unclasp his shirt from around his wings, pulling it from his chest and dropping it to the ground. He smiles slightly, conscious of himself and how I view him, if I can even be attracted to him. I am, in a strange way, I see him and I think he's beautiful. I touch my fingers to his chest and he smiles again, understanding my meaning. I never stop to wonder if he finds me attractive. The way he looks at me, the way the eyes are braver than the hands when they stare, I know he does. It doesn't surprise me. I never thought Warren would settle for one gender when he could have both.

Warren kisses me again, his fingers undoing my belt and pulling it from the loops. I watch him as he deftly unclasps my pants and pulls down the zipper, his hands pushing under the waistband of my khakis and drawing the cloth down my legs. Cautiously, his hands slide up my legs to my groin, palming my genitals. I'm only semi-erect, still not quite here, still not quite believing.

I close my eyes.

My briefs slide off my hips, and I feel the hot breath first before I feel the touch of the mouth, the hot warmth enveloping me as I shiver, feeling myself harden, feeling my erection begin to take form. The tongue moves like silk from the vee of my legs up the stiff length of my need, knowing the pleasure points, knowing what will make me feel the most, and my legs flex when I find myself completely taken in, a strong nose pressed against my belly for seconds before it retreats back. Again and again this movement is repeated, and I find myself within a breath of heaven, reaching out for release and gasping when it comes.

It's not Jean, I know that, but it could have been.

I stare at the sky, watching the sun begin to set and realise I'm still hard, pointed desperately to the cosmos, and Warren looks at me, need in his eyes, a need to heal me, a need to heal himself. I feel sadness for him when I realise this is the only way he knows to make me feel better, to convince me that I'm still loved.

But without him, without him here, I don't know what I'd do.

I touch his shoulder and he moves, waiting for me to decide if I want to take this further, waiting for me to accept that I need him just as much as he needs me, so I kiss him to tell him I want him to go on, that I need this gift completely.

Warren begins to unbutton his pants but I stop him, pressing my hands to his fingers and pulling them away. I undo the fly of his jeans slowly, touching his arousal, feeling the heat and the desire and the steel. He lifts his hips and I pull the jeans down his legs, smiling gently when I realise he is nude underneath. He laughs lightly and shrugs, convincing me he planned this, telling me that this was thoughtful, wanted, desired.

He takes the jeans from me and pulls a condom from the pocket, laying the pants on the dampening ground before opening the package. He touches my erection then rolls the condom out, his fingers creating sparks beneath my eyelids.

"I've done this before," he murmurs, "you don't need to think you'll hurt me."

I nod, watching that elegant body turn as the lean buttocks come into view. The wings are cast over his head and he looks back at me, waiting for me to move. Slowly, I press myself to him, into him, nearly knocked over by the heat and the strength of the grip as I sink into oblivion.

I close my eyes.

The body beneath me pushes back, the back arches under my hands, and I lay my chest again the ribs, turning my face to feel the soft touch of feathers. An angel is moving beneath me, my Angel, my Jean. They've become the same person.

I thrust my hips against the shaking body, slowly at first as the need starts to build, so warm and loving, I'm desperate and I can't slow down. I touch my fingers to the smooth chest then slide one hand down the muscled plane of the abdomen, feeling the skin shift and arch into my palm.

A moan, not mine, and I touch my fingers to his erection, stroking the steel with my fingers, pressing my thumb along the underbelly of his shaft. He drops to his elbows, sweet sounds escaping his lips, and I cling to him, thrusting with a need so strong I think the world has stopped around us.

Warren cries out, the wings straightening then hissing past my ears, grabbing for the sky then crashing down onto the grass, reacting to the man they serve. Another thrust, and I'm where Warren is, tumbling towards ecstasy and finding I cannot even groan. It overwhelms me completely.

Afterward, he takes me in his arms and holds me as I sob like a child into his chest, stroking my hair with gentle fingers, kissing my head so I know I'm not alone. I miss Jean so much. I love her so much. And he understands that. He understands that I let him play her role, and he's here for me when I finally realise I can't close my eyes.

My eyes are open.

fin.