… Aidan Quinn
I was leaning casually against one of the columns in the Danger Room, arms crossed, wearing the relaxed posture of someone who had no idea what was coming next — and couldn't care less.
Next to me was Raven. Always there, even when she felt miles away. Black hoodie, hood down, eyes focused on nothing, but her judgment dialed up to max. As usual.
In front of us, Charles Xavier was assigning teams in that calm, firm voice of his — the kind that assumed everyone would follow instructions without issue. Adorable, really.
"Kitty and Kurt", he said, glancing at the two grinning teens.
Kurt — always hyped — gave Kitty an overly dramatic salute, and she rolled her eyes playfully in return. Those two already had chemistry. Teenage rom-com energy with a dash of interdimensional disaster.
"Evan and Logan."
I choked back a laugh. Logan, across the room, just cracked his knuckles with a dry pop that made half the room go silent.
Evan… smiled. But it was that forced "cool I'm about to die but trying to look chill" kind of smile.
"You guys know you're making me spar with a war legend, right?" Evan said. "Like… Wolverine. Claws. Murder instincts. Claws, professor."
"Consider it a practical lesson", Xavier replied in that same tone he'd use to recommend a book.
"Consider my funeral tomorrow", Evan muttered.
Next to me, I let out a low whistle. "Hey, if anything's left, can I have his sneakers?"
Jean gave a quick smile — her first real one since I arrived. She looked at me, almost relaxed… almost. But looked away again.
Oh, sweetheart. I knew what you overheard last night. And that only made this more fun.
"Scott and Jean", Xavier continued.
Ah, the golden duo. Always the golden duo. Scott adjusted his visor in that same routine motion, and Jean nodded, still avoiding looking directly at me — which, of course, just made me stare more.
"You know each other well. That should help."
"Or backfire, if they start arguing mid-battle…" I muttered. Kitty laughed too loud. Rogue lightly kicked her under the table.
"Kitty, Kurt. Room two. Scott, Jean, you're in three."
And then, as if saving dessert for last, Xavier turned to me.
"Rogue and Aidan. Room four."
Rogue let out a tsk and crossed her arms.
"I don't like sharing space with people who talk too much."
"Lucky you", I said. "I usually prefer sharing sheets."
She rolled her eyes hard. But didn't say no. That's what matters.
"You two will be assessed on short and mid-range combat styles."
"Perfect", I murmured. "I love close combat… especially when there's friction."
Rogue shot me a look that said I'm going to punch you in the face. Which, honestly, made her even hotter.
"You've got thirty minutes", Xavier added.
Jean coughed — subtle, but not subtle. And that look she tossed at Ororo right after? Oh, girl. You're deeper in this than you want to admit.
And speaking of Ororo… she was quiet. Watching. But I felt it. The weight of her gaze when I cracked a joke. The loaded silence when my eyes drifted toward her body. That unspoken language only two people who've seen each other naked could fully read.
"Good luck", she said. Just to me.
I smiled — that smile full of secrets.
"I won't need it. I've got talent."
She looked away — but held it a half-second longer than she should've.
Xavier started to walk off with the rest, and Logan growled at Evan like "come die with me, kid."
Now just the two of us left, I turned to Rogue and offered my hand like a gentleman.
"Darlin', you wanna go first or hit me from behind?"
She slapped my hand away. Gloves on, of course. But the corner of her mouth… twitched upward. Just a little.
… Ororo Munroe (Storm)
The Control Room was quiet. The only background noise came from the occasional sounds of active simulations — muffled combat, energy blasts, controlled explosions. Nothing that bothered ears already used to the space.
Ororo stood with her arms crossed in front of the observation panel, eyes locked on the training fields below with sharp precision. She wasn't just watching. She was absorbing.
Charles stood beside her in silence. Focused, but with the calm posture of someone who believed emotional control should always come before judgment.
Hank was to her left, scribbling quick notes on a tablet, eyes bouncing between graphs and live feeds. With the occasional hum of interest or thought, he stayed absorbed in the performance data.
And finally, seated farther back in the room, half-wrapped in her own shadows, was Raven.
Ororo had noticed her the moment she walked in. Curled up in the chair like a sphinx, hood partially covering her face, legs crossed in a posture far too comfortable for someone who claimed not to care. But her eyes… Raven's eyes were sharp. Cold. She was analyzing every detail with the same silence she brought into battle.
Each pair trained in their own simulation field.
Kitty and Kurt were in an urban scenario. It was almost playful: constant bamfs marked Kurt's teleportation bursts, while Kitty phased through walls, floors, lamp posts — always popping up where he least expected. It was a dance of giggles, speed, and surprise.
"They've got rhythm", Hank commented, not looking up. "Still messy, but the right kind of messy. Creative."
"They're too comfortable with each other", Ororo muttered. "That can be a strength. Or a trap. The wrong kind of hesitation can cost you."
Charles nodded. His gaze shifted to the next screen.
Scott and Jean were sparring. Except… they weren't. It looked more like rehearsal. Jean raised psychic barriers like she had to. Scott fired optic blasts like he was checking a box. It was all performance — no fire, no drive.
"They're holding back", Charles said, mildly disappointed.
"It's not just that", Ororo replied. "Jean's distracted. Since breakfast."
She didn't elaborate. She didn't need to.
From the corner of the room, Raven lifted her eyes. Slowly. Locking onto Ororo.
Long. Steady. Like she was trying to see through skin, through clothes, through pretense.
Ororo held the stare for a beat, then looked away with grace. Still, her breath shifted. A tiny change — but she noticed.
Raven looked back at the screen, but the slight curl at the corner of her lips said it all: she knew.
"Miss Raven", Charles said gently. "How do you read their performance?"
There was a pause. Long.
"Jean's emotionally unstable", she finally answered, clearly choosing to engage. "And Scott knows. But he doesn't confront it. So he pulls back, even when he attacks. It splits them. Literally."
The silence hung for a moment. Hank jotted a note. Ororo kept her eyes on Jean's image — still distracted, still contained. She knew why. She couldn't deny it.
Last night… she'd slept with Aidan. Not just slept. Touched. Released. Given in. A night of storm, both literal and under the sheets, where skin met skin with hunger and power.
And Jean… Jean had heard. Maybe by accident. Maybe by emotional spillover. But she'd felt it. Ororo didn't usually let that happen. But with Aidan… it had.
Now Jean was off-balance. The way she looked at Ororo over breakfast, those hesitations — everything lined up.
"And the next?" Charles asked in that smooth tone of his.
"Logan and Evan", Hank replied. "Just started."
The simulation shifted into a fiery urban war zone. Debris everywhere. Simulated explosions going off in the background. Logan moved like a predator. Evan burst forward with youthful aggression, spikes flying, wild but full of energy.
It was raw. Brutal. Intense. And yet… Logan had total control.
"Evan's testing limits", Ororo observed. "But Logan always pushes him one step further."
"He'll thank him later", Hank mumbled.
"If he doesn't break first", Raven added.
Ororo glanced at her. Raven had her chin resting on her hand, eyes on the screen… but not on Logan or Evan. She was watching the lower corner — where Aidan waited for his turn.
Like a wolf at the gate.
Rogue appeared across the field. Aidan's smile was casual. Disarming. But Ororo knew better — that was the most dangerous smile he had.
"Here we go…" she murmured.
Charles folded his hands in his lap.
"This will be an interesting test."
Raven, unprompted, said: "She'll try to hit him. He'll play with her. And if she loses control… he'll slip in. Not with force. With finesse. And before she knows it… he'll already be inside her guard."
A chill ran down Ororo's spine. Raven's tone was clinical, almost surgical. But there was something underneath it. A double meaning. A mirror of something that had already happened.
And for a second, Raven's words echoed in Ororo's mind:
Before she knows it… he'll already be inside her guard.
Yeah. Aidan was that kind of problem. And now… he was heading straight for Rogue.
Ororo folded her arms tighter against her chest and narrowed her eyes at the screen. The next match was starting in seconds.
And she knew — firsthand — that none of them would walk out the same.
… Aidan Quinn
The simulated arena flickered with that soft blue light. Urban setting, half a dozen obstacles, a subtle post-apocalyptic vibe.
But the real highlight? Rogue.
And it wasn't just the white streak in her brown hair, or how her body fit perfectly in that tight jacket and leather pants screaming trouble ahead. It was the eyes. Those deep green eyes, heavy with something between exhaustion, pain… and curiosity.
She watched me like I was a puzzle with extra pieces. Maybe I was.
"What are you waiting for? Theme music?" she snapped, crossing her arms — black gloves drawing more attention than they probably should. "Or are you gonna prove you're not just a pretty face?"
Ah. So she thought I was pretty.
"I like to take it in before I strike", I said, stretching casually. "Think of it as a compliment… and a warning."
The AI chimed in. Simulation start.
She came in hot. Punch, kick, spin. No hesitation. Rogue fought like someone who'd been knocked down by life and decided never to go down easy again. Every move packed rage and rhythm. And if it weren't for the Six Eyes, I'd probably have a nice shiner by now.
But with them? The world slows down. That micro-flex of muscle before a punch. The shift in her weight. The flicker in her eyes before she moves.
I dodged everything. Gracefully. Smoothly. Smiling, of course.
She pulled back after a missed combo. Studied me more closely.
"I'm curious…" she said, voice dripping with that Southern accent that could make any man lose track of the conversation. "You're not using that invisible shield thing, are you?"
"And if I was?"
"I'd have busted your face trying by now, don't you think?"
I chuckled.
"I'm not. Turned it off before I stepped in. Wanted to feel this for real."
She narrowed her eyes.
"You can shut it off whenever you want?"
I nodded. Simple.
"One of the perks of my ability. Freedom."
The silence that followed was thicker than usual. Something shifted in her expression.
Jealousy? Maybe.
Envy? Probably.
She crossed her arms, looked away for half a second. And when she looked back — there was more fire. Her next attack was fiercer. Sharper. Like she needed me to take it seriously. But still, I didn't strike back. Just blocked. Dodged. A dance I knew far too well.
"Why aren't you hitting back?" she growled, after another failed attempt. "Afraid to touch me?"
"Not afraid. Respectful. You're supposed to drain me with a touch, remember?"
"Maybe I should try it."
Too late for warnings. She lunged. Grabbed my shirt collar and yanked — gloves pulled aside, fingers on my skin.
And I let her. It was almost sensual. The tension. The closeness. The way she was nearly breathless.
But then… nothing. Nothing happened.
She froze. Eyes wide. We stood there — too close. Her body practically pressed to mine. Breaths mingled. Her fingers still pressing against my skin.
"…Nothing?" she whispered.
"Apparently… I'm weird, even to your powers", I murmured, with a slow, confident smile. "I've got firewalls for unwanted access and power theft. Part of my skill package."
She pulled her hands back like she'd been burned. But not before looking at me — really looking. Like she was feeling a hundred things at once — frustration, relief, fear… desire?
She spun away, cheeks flushed even under her bangs. Tried to play it off. But her eyes kept flicking back to me.
"You're a asshole."
"I prefer intriguing challenge."
"Ugh", she groaned, turning again. "You get on my nerves."
"And maybe… your neck. And with permission, a few other places too."
She didn't answer. Just gave me that look. The kind that could either kill you — or dare you to keep trying.
The simulation ended with a beep. And she was still blushing when she walked out of the arena.
Me? I was laughing on the inside.
She touched me. But I was the one who left a mark.
Stage one of the Rogue capture plan: Check.
Now all I had to do was wait.
Because obviously… she'd be back.
… Ororo Munroe (Storm)
Ororo watched in silence, arms crossed neatly over her chest, eyes locked on the control room's main screen.
The display showed every detail of the fight, and even without sound, Aidan's movements played out like a visual symphony. He wasn't using energy blasts, force fields, or any of the esoteric tricks he'd shown off days ago in the Danger Room — when he bent space like an artist molding clay.
Here… he was just fighting. Light on his feet. Perfect center of gravity. Instinctive reading of movement. Rhythm matched with effortless elegance.
It was martial. Almost pure.
"He's holding back", Ororo murmured, almost to herself.
"No unusual energy signals", Hank said, eyes scanning the monitors beside him. "No fluctuations. Nothing resembling the power output we registered before."
Charles leaned forward slightly in his chair, fingers interlaced on his lap.
"And yet, he's in control of the fight. Impressive." His gaze slid toward Raven. "Miss Raven… can you tell us what he's doing?"
There was a pause. Raven seemed to consider the question. Eyes lowered, shoulders relaxed in that almost indifferent way of hers. But the tension was there — a quiet thread of attention that never fully let go.
"He calls it the Six Eyes", she said flatly. "A type of absolute perception. He sees patterns. Movement. The energy in the body. Intentions before they become actions."
Ororo raised an eyebrow, intrigued. Charles, too.
"Is that a mutant ability?"
Raven shrugged, still not looking at anyone directly.
"He says no. But he says a lot of things. Some are true…" Her eyes flicked briefly to the screen, where Aidan smiled. "… others are part of the act."
Ororo kept her focus on the screen. The movements were clear. Aidan wasn't just reacting to Rogue — he was leading her. Guiding. Like a dance. But without force, without dominance. He just… left the opening and filled the space.
It was calculated. Intentional. And then it happened.
Rogue lunged — with fury, with frustration, with something more than just provocation. Her arms moved, glove torn off in a single heated motion, and she touched Aidan. Bare hand to bare skin.
Ororo stepped forward without realizing it. Hank held his breath. Charles stilled, too.
But… nothing happened.
No absorption. No power reaction. Not even the physical collapse that usually came over anyone Rogue touched.
Ororo felt her body stiffen. She glanced at Charles, who also stared in silence. Raven, in the corner, raised a single eyebrow, as if to say, Told you.
Down below, Rogue backed away, eyes wide, lips parted. Shocked. Confused.
Aidan just smiled. Calm. Shameless. Teasing.
"Fascinating…" Charles murmured. "Not even a flicker of power drain?"
Hank responded with a surprised hum. Ororo stayed still, eyes locked forward.
That was what made Aidan so frustrating. It wasn't just what he did — it was what he hid. What he chose to reveal. He was playing the world like a game, piece by piece, choosing exactly when and how to make his next move.
She placed one hand on the control panel, fingers long and steady against the metal. She didn't speak for a few seconds. But her eyes never left the screen.
Down below, Rogue walked off, cheeks flushed. Their eyes…
Ororo knew. Aidan had just left his mark on Rogue.
Another one.