Title: TRASH

Author: BlackDiamond

Rating: Umm, let's be careful here and say heavy R with NC-17
aspects thrown into the mix.

Summary: Why has Jean been acting so strange since Logan's return?

Disclaimer: *grumble grumble* I ALWAYS say it . . . What!? . . . You
wouldn't dare, Stan . . . You would? . . . And you would call Marvel
and Bryan? . . . *grumble grumble* They're not mine. Happy? *very
queit and very sarcastic* Why don't you use a gun . . . Nothing!
Nothing at all. *innocent grin*

'Ship: Scott/Jean, Jean/Logan in a way, though not like you think.
Well, maybe not. Whatever, just read it. *G*

Archive: ANYWHERE!!!!! Wow, I would absolutely DIE if someone wanted
to archive one of my stories, so could you drop me a line and make my
millenium? *G* Thanx! ; )

WARNING: This is dark. This is really really really really really
(I'm sure you get the point) dark. So if someone on this list reads
it and doesn't like it and gets disturbed by the concept, or the
imagery, or whatever, this is my waiver. I warned you, so please
don't flame me.

Author's Note: Umm, I have nothing to say, I've just always wanted
to have an authors note Hehehehe . . . Oh wait! I thought of
something. This is my first posted X-Men fic, so be gentle. And, just
so you know, this is not like me at all. I'm usually a die-hard
Scott/Jean shipper. As in the captain that goes down with the ship
type thing.

Disclaimer - The Sequel: The title of this is taken from a KoRn
song, and all the lyrics in this thing are from that, off the
'Issues' album. I don't own that either.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

Trash

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

How did it start?

Well I don't know

I just feel the craving

I see the flesh and it smells fresh

and it's just there for the taking

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

You're back and everything's gone to hell.

I don't even know why. Well, I do, but not the motive behind the
reason, and that's the thing that really bothers me. I'm a telepath.
I'm trained to know my own and other people's emtions.

Well, other people's emotions right now are pretty clear. It's just
mine no one can figure out, including me.

You're feelings are the clearest, and they're the ones that hurt the
most. I'm taking advantage of you and we both know it, but because of
your feelings it's never going to stop, because I need them now. Need
them like I need air, like I need water.

Like I need cancer.

From the moment you got back from your unsuccessful quest you were
right there, standing too close behind my shoulder, sitting a little
near on the couch, always invading my personal space.

And I didn't care.

I wanted it, in some primal, basic, instinctual corner of my mind. I
wanted it.

I wanted you.

It didn't take you long to figure that out, either. You never
touched me, but still, my heart would pound, my face would get hot
and I just knew I was flushed, and everything dropped south. After a
minute or so in my personal bubble you would start sniffing the air,
subtly, and no matter what the conversation, you would always quirk
an eyebrow.

The thing you don't understand is that it was always just purely
sexual.

I never wanted more than a good, hard fuck from you. And you loved
me, still love me.

So, knowing that plainly, I took complete advantage of that at the
first opportunity.

Okay, allow me to correct myself. I took advantage of that the first
time I felt like no one loved me. Felt like I was alone and floating
along in a relationship because it was comfortable and familiar, not
because when he said 'I love you' I felt that twisting pleasure in my
stomach.

Hearing you scream my name as you came, pounding into me well past
the threshold of pain and into something totally indescribable, that
gave me the twisting pleasure.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

I tell my lies

and I despise every second I'm with you

So I run away and you still stay

So what the fuck is with you?

He has to know what I've been doing with you. There's no way he
couldn't. And yet he hasn't said anything.

At night he holds me a little tighter. If and when we make love he
ignores the large finger shaped bruises that you always leave on my
thighs, my back, my stomach and arms. He must see them, or at least
see me wince when he touches one too hard, but he never says a word.

He asks me what's going on with me. He asks why I've been acting
different. Once in a while he'll even begin to say 'since Lo-', but
he always breaks off, not willing to speak your name, like if he did
all his silent suspicions would be confirmed.

It has become almost a game between us now, but is in acutallity
closer to a deadly routine. He asks, I say 'Nothing, I'm fine.'

So we never talk about you. Ever. It's like you're still gone, still
on your quest for your past.

We never talk.

I hate spending time with you now, and you can feel it.

Somehow, unspoken, a pattern has developed between us. Undiscussed,
we'll just spontaneously meet, always outside, usually in the woods,
always in the middle of the night. Without speaking we'll tear each
others clothes off and have at it in the forest.

I never talk to you at all, even during our meetings.

I've actually found myself resenting you.

I can't stand not being able to talk to someone, and though that's
what started this whole thing, now I can't talk to either of you
about anything even approaching important. With him it's just trivial
matters to do with work, and with you it's just nothing but grunts
and moans.

Have you noticed that I don't say your name anymore?

The only time I ever speak to you, period, about anything, is when
it's all over and you're just pulling out of me, groaning at the
seperation. And it's always the same.

'We have to stop this. I hate what this is doing to him. We have to
stop.'

And you always give me this look, this look that says you know I
won't be able to hold out for long, maybe a week at most, but that
I'll be back to you.

And so far you've been right.

I'm addicted to the way that I don't care when I'm with you.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

Your feelings

I can't help but rape them

I'm sorry, I don't feel the same

My heart inside is constantly hating

I'm sorry, I just throw you away

I don't know why I'm so fucking cold

I don't know why it hurts me

All I wanna do is get with you

and make the pain go away

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

The next day I'm so riddled with guilt that I won't talk to anyone
at all, except the student of course, but even that draws everything
left in me and drains me of all energy.

It's doubly bad as it should be, because to make adultery even
worse, it's with you, and I don't love you.

I don't even like you.

You're irresponsible, unreliable, unreasonable, unruly,
unpredictable, dangerous. Everything opposite of him, which is
probably why I wanted you in the first place, but that's all it's
ever been.

Want.

Lust.

I wouldn't even be fucking you if you weren't the only thing that
makes me feel alive.

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

Why do I have a conscience?

All it does is fuck with me

Why do I have this torment?

All I wanna do is fuck it away

~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~x~

FIN