Foreign Correspondence
by Mo

Sequel/Series: This is a 10-part story series, the final series of five in a saga that began with the 7-part "I Know What You Are". These are the series in order:
I Know What You Are - 7 stories We're Not What You Think - 10 stories Canadian Nights - 15 stories Night and Day - 10 stories Foreign Correspondence - 10 stories
The stories in the previous four series are archived in a few places. Among them are:
www.phoenixfyre.net
www.fanfiction.net
www.dymphna.net/xmovieslash/index.html
Scenario: The Movie Universe. I have borrowed concepts and characters from assorted Marvel comic book titles as well but have not tried in any way to make the stories consistent with the comic books (as far as I can tell, Marvel has despaired of making the comic books consistent with each other). Similarly for the novelization of the movie and for other X-Men books. I've looked on all of those resources as fodder for ideas but have felt bound only to be consistent with what is presented in the movie and with the events and characterizations in my previous stories. In addition to movie and comic book characters, I began the introduction of original characters in the third series, "Canadian Nights". Original characters from "Canadian Nights" and "Night and Day" are featured in this series, as well as some new to "Foreign Correspondence".
The action in "Foreign Correspondence" begins the morning after "Night and Day" ends and approximately 2 years after the movie ends. I have worked with a consistent timeline throughout, but this is the first time I have made the timing explicit. This story takes place, as will become clear, in 2008. That seems to me to be consistent with a reasonable, although certainly not the only, interpretation of the movie occurring in "the not too distant future".
Pairing: Logan/Scott, although there are other couples.
Rating: NC17 for sexual situations and violence.
Disclaimer: The X-Men and Alpha Flight belong to Marvel. The movie belongs to Fox. Hotmail belongs to Microsoft. Belarus is an independent country and belongs to its citizens, mutant and otherwise. Bryn Mawr is a private women's college founded in 1885. It belongs to the women, mutant and otherwise, who have lived and learned there for the past 116 years. The Miami Herald is a real newspaper but AFAIK has never had an Adam Greenfield on staff. I do feel like Scott and Logan are a little bit mine since I've been borrowing them for so long.
Notes on literature in the stories: A separate literature guide will be posted after the stories themselves. It contains spoilers so should be read afterwards. Literature guides to the previous series are also posted on the archived sites.
Notes on locations in the stories: Except in the first series, which all takes place at Xavier's school in Westchester, my characters move around a lot. All of the locations, save one, are genuine and described as realistically as I can manage. I have been to some, but not all of them. The one invented location is one I was stuck with by Marvel - there is no town in Westchester County called Salem Center, although there is a North Salem.
Note for those reading the series with Yahoo mail: Yahoo has a strange habit of making certain word substitutions on incoming mail. In particular, it has been known to replace the word "expression" with "statement" (if you see two identical words in quotation marks in the previous sentence, t has happened to you). There are several ways around this annoying practice. One is to hit "reply" - the included text will not have the substitution. Another is to read on the web. A third is to get another address.
Acknowledgements: Much thanks to SW and LS, who served as research team, beta readers, and so much more. They have offered wonderful suggestions to improve the stories; have found out information I despaired of ever finding; have read so many versions and listened to all my contradictory and confused ideas on where the story was going; have inspired many of the scenes and plot elements; have listened to me ramble at length about back stories that never find their way into the plot; and have generally hung out with me and made the whole experience much more fun. The stories are much improved for their input. Any mistakes are mine alone.
Additional note: Who are those mutants and what are they doing in Saskatchewan?
I hope that this story series can stand on its own, although there are many references to events from the previous four series. To make it a little easier for those jumping in, though, here is a brief rundown on dramatis personae introduced previously:
Scott and Logan: I'm assuming anyone reading these stories already knows who they are. It's worth noting, though, that they have had an on-again, off-again sexual relationship in this saga. It's a very complex relationship and I won't try to explain it in a paragraph here. After having broken up some time ago they reconciled at the end of the last series.
Logan is living in a remote part of Saskatchewan, where he is heading up a joint X-Men/Alpha Flight project to build a secret mutant school and residential community. The idea is that there will be a permanent community of mutants in the Saskatchewan outpost but also that the outpost can serve as a refuge in case anti-mutant violence (which has been intensifying for some time) forces the evacuation of the Westchester school. Scott is visiting the outpost to assess how the people working there are doing and whether or not it would be a good idea to send more resident workers at this time.
Wendy, Arthur and April: Wendy and Arthur are a mutant couple who had a home renovation and construction business in a small town in Vermont. They had to flee when they were found out to be mutants and they are working with Logan on the Saskatchewan outpost. They plan to live there indefinitely when it is finished. Wendy is a college friend of Heather Hudson's (co-director of Alpha Flight). Heather and Wendy are part of a network of women friends who first met at Bryn Mawr and refer to themselves as the "Mawrter Mutant Underground". Wendy and Arthur have a young daughter named April.
Jean-Paul Beaubier: Jean-Paul, codename Northstar, is Alpha Flight's representative to the Saskatchewan project. He is also Marvel's first openly gay character.
Warren Worthington: Warren, codename Angel, was one of the original X-Men. He is visiting the Saskatchewan outpost with Scott, who is trying to convince him to rejoin the X-Men after many years away.

I woke up alone. Like deja vu all over again, in the words of the immortal Yogi Berra. Well, this time I was pretty sure he hadn't gone far. He lives here, after all - this time I'm the one who's visiting. Still, I wished he were with me, for practical more than emotional reasons. I couldn't find my glasses.

I always feel for them with my hand when I wake up, just to be absolutely sure that I have glasses or sleep goggles on before I open my eyes. They weren't there. At first I thought they must have just fallen off in the night. Then I remembered taking them off. I'd just put them down next to me on the bed, which is totally unlike me. I'm usually so careful about where I put them and painfully aware of where the glasses or visor are at all times. But it had been kind of a strange night and I'd done a few uncharacteristic things. Logan had, too, I thought with a smile.

Other than the glasses, it had been a good night. Really good. I wasn't sure what I was going to say to everyone I'd told so adamantly that Logan and I were not getting back together. Still, I was awfully glad that it looked like we were. I felt like we had a ways to go to get to a point where we were sure of each other, like I didn't quite know yet what to expect from him. But there was no mistaking his enthusiasm last night. He wanted this every bit as much as I did, was even willing to let me top him. Why had he let me? Did he want to show me I'm special to him, that he lets me do things he doesn't let anybody else do? Maybe that's part of why I'd asked him, to see if he would.

I just lay there for a minute thinking about fucking Logan, remembering what it had felt like. Moving inside him, feeling him under me, pushing hard against me. Hearing him telling me he loved me, telling me to go harder and faster, saying he loved what I was doing to him. It had been fun with Warren, but it was something more with Logan. Was it a one-shot deal, I wondered? Was he regretting it this morning? I shook off that idea, telling myself I should take a page from his book. Stop agonizing over where this was going or whether the relationship had a future. Sometimes it is a good idea to live in the moment, just enjoy what's going on now.

Of course the problem with living in this moment was that I didn't know where my glasses were. I figured they had to be somewhere in the bed. Either that or they must have fallen on the floor. So I started methodically feeling all around the bed, careful not to drop them if they were entwined with the covers. No luck.

I got down on the floor and started feeling around next to and under the bed, getting more frustrated by the minute. Love may be blind, but I prefer it when I'm not. Of course, I could go back to my room and get my spares, but I didn't know where my clothes were, either. I might find it a bit embarrassing to be seen wandering the hall naked, feeling my way to my room. I figured I'd stay in Logan's room and just keep feeling around until I came across either my glasses or my pants.

As it turned out, I didn't have to find either. After a few minutes of fruitless blind searching I heard the door open and Logan saying, "They're on the nightstand. You left them on the bed. I thought they might break."

"Thanks," I said, putting them on, sitting down on the bed. "I don't usually lose track of them like that."

"I know. You got carried away." He was smiling. "I thought of leaving you a note saying where they were, but I didn't think that would help much." He came over to the bed and sat down next to me.

"No, not much," I agreed with a chuckle. "Have you been up long?"

"Hours. We've been working in the basement. I thought it was time for a break. Plus, I heard you waking up."

"From two floors down. I forget sometimes just how acute your hearing is."

"Yeah, don't do anything in this house you don't want me to know about."

He kicked off his shoes and pushed me down onto my back on the bed. Then he got on top of me, pushing his tongue into my mouth, his hand reaching between us to stroke my cock. "I really want to fuck you, Cyclops," he said after a minute. "I've been thinking about it all morning. We still doing that?"

"Yes. Of course we are. Nothing's changed, Logan. Not as far as I'm concerned."

He got off of me, pulled his clothes off quickly. "Turn over," he said.

So much for foreplay. He seemed in kind of a strange mood, or maybe he was just really eager to fuck. Got out the lube, got ready, was on top of me and in me so quickly. And without another word. He took both of my hands in one of his, holding me by the wrists with my hands over my head. I wondered what that was about. His other hand was flat on the bed, sort of anchoring him as he pushed in and out with deep, slow strokes.

I was feeling really hot and started trying to move a little under him, hoping to get some friction against the bedclothes under me. I wasn't very successful. Logan wasn't helping me any. Mostly he was holding me still - pushing down on me, still holding me by the wrists. And still not a word since he'd told me to turn over.

Usually he talks to me when we're having sex. Except when he's blowing me. He's not the most civilized guy I've ever met, but he does know not to talk with his mouth full. The rest of the time, he'll tell me what he's feeling, ask me what I want. That kind of thing. I know he started doing that because I like it; I have always loved the sound of his voice. It makes it more intense for me if I can hear him while we're doing it. But I think after a while he got to like the talking for its own sake. Sometimes he'd say it made him hotter to talk about it, to hear me telling him what I'm feeling, too.

Not this time, though. He was moving faster and harder now but still not saying a word, although he was growling a bit. Still holding me immobile with his body and his hand. And then he was holding onto the back of my neck with his teeth, too. Right at the base of my skull, not hard enough to break the skin but holding my head in place. It was getting pretty uncomfortable like that, my face pushed into the mattress. I tried to move a little, to turn my head and tell him it didn't feel good like that. What I was trying to say got pretty much swallowed by the bed under me. Still, after a while Logan realized what I wanted and released my neck, letting me move. I turned my head to the side and I could feel his breath in my ear. Then his warm, wet tongue, licking all around the outside of my ear and then finally pushing inside as he pushed his dick hard into my ass.

"Hey, Logan. Can I have my hands back, do you think?"

"You don't need your hands, Scott. I'll take care of you." He took his left hand off of the bed and reached under me, pulling on my cock. He wrapped his fingers around me, moving up and down the shaft with his fist, working on the head with his thumb. He has the most amazing hands - so powerful yet such smooth, soft skin. He can't form calluses any more than he can scar. And his heightened senses include a touch sensitivity that gives him a degree of control when he's stroking and rubbing that I don't think anyone else has. Certainly no one else who has ever touched me. His hand on my cock, his body all over me, his dick in my ass, his tongue in my ear - it all felt glorious. I didn't mind being held still. He was taking care of me, just like he said. I found myself wondering how I'd managed without him, how I'd ever thought I could do without feeling like this.

Logan was fucking me hard and fast now, matching the movements inside me with long, hard strokes with his hand. And now he was talking to me, too, right in my ear, stopping to lick round the rim of it every once in a while. "You like a big dick in your ass, Scott?" he was whispering. "You like my hand on you?" I could barely answer, but I think he could tell by the sounds I was making that I liked what he was doing. Finally he set my hands free, using the hand he'd held my wrists with to reach under and across my chest, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger while he kept stroking my dick - harder and faster now - with the other hand. "You gonna come for me now, Scott?" he growled.

"Yes. Oh, yes," I answered, coming even as I said it. Feeling me come seemed to get him humping harder, pushing into me so forcefully that the creaking of the bed sounded alarmingly loud. He had both arms round my chest now, holding his upper body against me as he moved in and out. Pretty soon I could feel him coming inside me, pressed hard against me all over now, panting in my ear. And then just lying there on top of me, the side of his face pressed against my back, saying "God, Scott. That felt good." After a couple of minutes he pulled out of me and lay back on the bed.

"I'm really glad we're back together," I told him. He didn't say anything, but he smiled. "Should I move my stuff in here?" I asked.

"Nah, I don't think so. Stay in Oliver's room. You can come see me here. Or I'll come there. But I don't think we should spend the nights together."

"Why not?"

"I don't think I'm safe. I had a nightmare the other night - woke up with my claws out. I don't think we should sleep together."

"What about last night?"

"I moved after you went to sleep."

"You didn't have to do that. I don't want to kick you out of your bed."

"It's okay. You looked pretty settled."

"Logan, do you have any idea why you had a nightmare? Did something happen to trigger it?"

"Well, I ran out of the sleeping herbs. Didn't realize until I was going to bed and I just thought I'd go a night without them. Maybe that's why or maybe it's just a coincidence. But I can't really tell if it was just a fluke or if it's starting up again."

"I'm sure you'd know it was me if you woke from a nightmare. And I'd be right here to help you afterwards. Let me stay with you, Logan." He just shook his head. "What was the nightmare like?" I asked. "Was it the old stuff again - Weapon X?"

"Some of it. I don't remember all of it, but there was some other stuff, too. Some things I don't remember dreaming before. You know, I'm not sure it's such a good idea to take these herbs. I love being free of the nightmares but dreaming really was helping me remember stuff. Maybe I should lay off that stuff for a while. Or take less or something."

"I guess you could experiment with dosage. Hey, maybe you should write down your dreams when you wake up. Just so you have as complete a record as you can. You could keep a dream diary. And then try to match whatever elements of the dream seem to be based on reality to what you know about your past. Maybe reading them over will help with the whole recall process."

"I'm not much of a writer."

"So tell me all about it and I'll write it down. Maybe I can start trying to reconstruct what we know of your history and then I could fill in the pieces as you remember stuff. I'll be Boswell to your Johnson."

"I don't know what a boswell is but I like what you've been to my johnson so far, Cyclops. So, I'll give it a try." I laughed. He added, grinning, "And you can be my biographer, too, if you really want." Then the grin disappeared and he got a really serious, intense look on his face. "There's some stuff I haven't talked about, Scott. Some of it's hard to say. Maybe starting with dreams would help. But there's one thing. It's got to be just between you and me, okay?" His hand was gripping my arm, his eyes boring into me.

"More than okay, Logan. I can keep your secrets, too, you know. You can trust me. You do know that don't you?" He nodded, slowly. "Do you want to tell me what you remember about the dream from the other night? I could start with that one - write it down and then later we could talk about what parts of it might have been real."

He nodded again. Then didn't say anything for a minute, looking like he was trying to figure out where to begin. Finally, he opened his mouth to answer but we were interrupted by Warren's voice coming from somewhere downstairs. He was yelling in a tone that sounded either very excited or really upset. "Scott! Get down here - right away!" I pulled on my pants and dashed down the stairs, zipping them up as I went. Logan was right behind me.

Scott ran down the stairs. The urgent, excited tone in Warren's voice had left him unconcerned with his somewhat disheveled appearance. Logan was right behind him. When they got to the main floor they found the rest of the inhabitants of the Saskatchewan outpost gathered around the television, tuned to an all-news channel.

"Someone got out," Warren said, excitedly, standing up and coming over to Scott. "A Belarussian mutant. They're saying he escaped from one of the resettlement camps. The story broke just about an hour ago, when his plane landed at JFK. He was supposed to be meeting with United Nations officials. They were planning to hold public hearings. The Belarus delegation to the U.N. is objecting strongly - it's not clear whether they'll get support from Russia or any of the other Security Council members. So, they aren't sure whether the U.N. meetings are even going to happen and they decided to just go public. They're about to have a press conference right in the airport. It's our first chance to find out what's really going on there." He put his arm around Scott's shoulders, ignoring the look Logan was giving him.

"Are we recording this?" Scott asked.

Warren nodded. "Sorry," he said, looking at the television where the news anchor was filling in time by reviewing the history of the "mutant cleansing" in Belarus. "I guess you didn't have to rush." He turned to look at Scott, an amused smile on his face. "You could have taken the time to put on a shirt. You must be freezing." He wrapped a wing around Scott. Then, with a glance at Logan, "Both of you. They said the press conference was starting right away. I don't know what the hold up is."

"They don't seem to know either," said Jean-Paul. "That poor guy is running out of things to say." He gestured at the increasingly flustered-looking news anchor. "I don't think I can stand to hear another run down of the history of the Republic of Belarus. And I'm not sure he can stand to say it again."

"When did all this happen?" Scott asked. "Who is the mutant refugee? What do we know about him?"

"Hardly anything," Wendy chimed in. "They haven't even given his name. They were going to introduce him at the press conference. There was no advance warning that any of this was happening - I've been following the news from Belarus very carefully. When it started, we channel-surfed to see what we could find, but all the news outlets have the same story. Or the same non-story. The whole thing's really frustrating."

"So what do we know?" Scott asked again.

"There's an American reporter who smuggled him out of the country," Warren answered. "See, that's him over there," pointing at the head shot displayed on the screen now. "Adam Greenfield, from the Miami Herald. He apparently got him a counterfeit passport and fake reporter's credentials, passed him off as a colleague. Without the approval of his newspaper, they keep saying. But obviously there's more to it than that. That's just the end of the story. How did he get out of the camp? How did he meet up with Greenfield in the first place? There had to be somebody local helping him, too. Maybe there's even some sort of underground network."

"But underground for how long? Now that the story's out, I wouldn't bet on the survival of any underground mutant escape route." Arthur spoke for the first time. "There's going to be a crackdown in Minsk now that makes what's gone on so far look like child's play. I don't know that going public is going to help the mutants left in those camps at all. The backlash may outweigh any advantage that comes from popular support for the mutants in the camps. If we even see popular support. Americans don't care about violence to mutants at home. Why would they care about mutants in a country most of them have never even heard of? The U.S. isn't going to pressure the U.N. to do something for the mutants in Belarus."

"Oh, I don't know," Wendy said. "Maybe publicity on what's going on will influence public opinion, and then there will be more of an outcry. Maybe some human rights organizations will get involved. It doesn't have to be the U.N. handling this, although I still hope they don't back down. Amnesty International or some group like that could hold the hearings."

Logan snorted at that. "Thanks for the contribution, Pollyanna," he said. "But Amnesty and those other international human rights organizations don't even consider us human. They haven't said a word so far - they didn't even weigh in opposing the Mutant Registration Act."

"Well, not yet," Wendy countered. "It doesn't mean it won't happen. Amnesty International totally discounted human rights violations based on sexual orientation just a few years ago and they came round on that issue. They even have a Gay and Lesbian issues subgroup now. Maybe they'll do the same for us eventually. I don't think I'm being a Pollyanna to hope for that."

The phone rang at that point. Wendy was nearest and picked it up, then handed it to Scott. "Yeah, we're watching it right now," he said. "No, I didn't know anything about this until about five minutes ago. I hadn't heard any news yet today. Most of them have been watching for the last hour. But I gather there haven't been a lot of details released. Do you know anything more? Since it's sort of a local story?" Then, after a pause, "We thought of that. We're recording right now - we'll get the press conference, if they do have it. Wendy's friend is arriving tomorrow. The one I told you about, whose mutant power is languages. If he speaks in Belarussian, we'll ask her to do translation for us. Maybe Laura will pick up some nuances the official translators miss. Oh Charles, it looks like they might be starting. I'll call you later."

The news anchor was looking relieved, announcing that they were switching to the reporter on site at the press conference. Adam Greenfield, the reporter from the Herald, was at a lectern in what looked like a makeshift conference room. He looked younger than he had in the head shot, and a little nervous. Greenfield tested the mike, adjusted his glasses, and then kicked off the press conference by apologizing for the delay. He said that the man he referred to as his colleague was not well and that they had considered calling off the press conference. "He's insisting that we go ahead with it, though. My colleague is the first mutant to escape from the mutant resettlement camps in Belarus and he has an important story to tell. We will both be reading brief prepared statements - mine in English, his in Belarussian. And then we'll take your questions."

Greenfield's statement briefly recounted having met a young Belarussian man during the course of his interviews. The man, to whom he referred only by the initials "N.I.", had asked Greenfield to help him smuggle a close friend out of the country. The friend was a mutant, he confided, and had been active in the nascent mutant rights movement there before the crackdown of the past few weeks. Consequently, his friend was in great peril in Belarus. Greenfield had agreed to help with false identification and transport out of the country. He had assumed that the mutant friend was passing as normal and that he was trying to get out of the country before he was discovered and sent to the camps. When N.I. told Greenfield that he was planning to help his friend escape from a mutant resettlement camp, Greenfield worried they'd both end up in prison or worse. But he hadn't backed down from his commitment and had participated in the rescue effort, which was ultimately successful. The full story of the dramatic rescue, he added, would be available to anyone reading tomorrow's Herald.

After the plug for his upcoming article, Greenfield finished his statement. He said that his colleague would be speaking in Belarussian, and that they had a simultaneous translator available. All the outpost residents watched intently as a haggard-looking man walked, shakily, up to the podium, leaning on the arm of a young woman who was apparently the interpreter. Greenfield introduced the man as the colleague he'd been speaking about, praising the courage and perseverance that had brought him here and that fueled his insistence on going ahead with the press conference. He gave the mutant refugee's name for the first time: Aleksandr Cherevko.

Cherevko's appearance was a dramatic contrast from that of the robust-looking reporter. The mutant looked frail and sickly. Much too thin and with shaking movements, he was wearing ill-fitting clothes. He had a vacant look in his eyes. There was no way to guess his age. He had the appearance of an old man, but an old man who might have been young a few short weeks ago. Scott mused on the sameness of refugee appearance - Cherevko could have stepped out of a photograph from the liberation of World War II concentration camps. "Plus ca change; plus c'est la meme chose," he thought, sadly.

Cherevko hadn't yet begun to speak. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket and put it on the lectern in front of him, smoothing it with jerky movements of his hand, clearing his throat. The weak-looking man tried a couple of times to begin his statement, but no sound came out. All the outpost residents leaned closer in anticipation, hoping they would be able to glean something from his tone in addition to the interpreter's words.

They all leaned in, that is, except Jean-Paul. He was sitting back and shaking his head sadly, looking at the screen with tears in his eyes as Cherevko was still trying vainly to speak. "Mon dieu," Jean-Paul said quietly. "What have they done to you, Sasha?"

"Jean-Paul, you know him?" Wendy whispered, her hand on my arm. I nodded, belatedly realizing I had spoken my thoughts on seeing Sasha aloud. We both looked at the television screen where Sasha was still smoothing his papers, still trying to speak. No sound was coming out, that ravaged face frozen in an expression of intense frustration. The voiceover of the reporter, belaboring the obvious, informed us that "Mr. Cherevko" seemed to be having some difficulties. It was painful to watch. Painful for everyone, I'm sure, but when I think of what he used to look like, how he used to move. Tabernak!

Greenfield took matters into his own hands. He strode angrily back to the podium, hollering to someone off-camera to turn off the microphone. Then his expression turned gentle and concerned. He said something to Sasha, putting an arm protectively around him, then guided him off-camera. The screen returned to the newsroom where the anchor told us that the press conference had been postponed.

Warren turned the sound down. "How do you know him, Jean-Paul?" Logan asked. Scott and Warren looked my way in surprise. I had spoken softly and their attention had been on the drama unfolding on the television screen. Only Wendy, sitting next to me, and Logan with his heightened senses, had heard me talking about Sasha.

"We were in Salt Lake City together," I said. Then, noticing a couple of blank expressions, "In the Olympics. He's a skier, too. Or was. Esti! I could barely recognize him. But it's him; it's Sasha. I haven't seen or heard from him in - I don't know - a couple of years. He called to offer his condolences when Joanne died, so that's two years ago. Last I heard he was a photo-journalist with Svoboda - it's a newspaper in Minsk. Greenfield might have meant it when he called him a colleague. Maybe they worked together previously."

"Did you know him well?" Scott asked. He had been standing throughout the broadcast, but sat down on the couch facing me now. Logan sat down next to him, resting a hand affectionately - or possessively? - on Scott's knee. Hmmm. I'd wondered when they showed up together, half-clothed.

"I would have said I knew him pretty well if you'd asked me before that broadcast. He stayed with me in Montreal for a while. In Cote St. Luc. Remember the house where we met with Heather and Mac when we were starting up the project?" Logan and Scott both nodded. "Well, that's where we were. Alpha Flight wasn't using the place at the time. I had some friends visiting; Mac said we could all stay there. Sasha was there for a few weeks. He was even talking about immigrating to Canada. Yeah, I thought then I knew him well. But now - well, I didn't even know he was a mutant!"

"Did he know about you?" Wendy asked.

I shook my head. "Not then, anyway. He did later. We talked about Alpha Flight that last time he called. But he didn't let on at all that he's a mutant, too."

I closed my eyes for a minute, just picturing the young, strong athlete Sasha had been six years ago. Maybe he'd even been like that six weeks ago. What a contrast with the frail, sickly old man we had just seen on the screen. Old? Sasha and Kolya were both barely five years older than me. I realized with a start that next week would be Kolya's thirty-fourth birthday. Sasha was only a few months older. The man on the screen had looked like he was twice that age.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm just still so shocked to see him like that." April, who had been playing with a wooden windup train on the floor, brought it over to me to wind up for her. But she didn't go back to the floor with it, just climbed into my lap and sat there with the train on top of her. Arthur moved to take April off of me, but she protested. "It's fine. I'm happy to have her here."

"Do you know any other Belarussians?" Wendy asked. Everyone else was obviously wondering the same thing.

I nodded. "I know - it's strange. We've been talking about Belarus for weeks now, ever since this crisis began. I never once mentioned knowing people there. There was a reason. I'm not saying it's a good one. In fact, it seems pretty stupid right at this moment."

"You don't have to tell us anything," Scott interjected. "You don't owe us any explanations." Then, after a pause, "But we are trying to find out as much as we can about what's going on there; what we can do to aid the mutants there. If you do feel comfortable talking about it, anything you can tell us about Belarus could be a help. I'd totally forgotten about the Olympics. Belarus did well that year, didn't they?"

"Yes. They had only been in two previous winter Olympics as an independent country and hadn't won any medals. Then 10 medals in 2002, including two gold. Sasha - Aleksandr Cherevko - was one of the gold medal winners. He got it for the Super G, beating out all the favorites."

"Which event was your medal in?" Wendy asked.

"Downhill. I was shocked to get gold, didn't expect to medal at all. I was careful not to use my powers. I was really cautious through the whole process - I worried I'd get kicked off the team if it came out that I'm a mutant. Or that I'm gay. I didn't think Canada would want me representing the country. I planned on just keeping to myself, laying low. So the surprising thing - well, surprising to me - is that I fell in love at the Olympics. I went to Salt Lake City single and came home with a Belarussian lover."

It suddenly occurred to me that what I'd just said could be misconstrued. Judging by the expressions, it had been. "No, not Sasha! Another athlete. His name's Kolya. He and Sasha had been best friends since they were little boys. They'd been at school together, got into skiing together. I'd met them both at the World Championships the year before but didn't know them very well. Kolya didn't speak much English but he speaks very good French - he and Sasha always trained in Switzerland. So he suggested we hang out together and I could interpret.

"Kolya and I, well it just all happened so quickly. We were together all the time, whenever we could manage it. I got to know Sasha, too, just because he was Kolya's friend. For a while there we had plans for Kolya to emigrate. We wanted to be together; we thought it would be easier to be a gay couple in Canada than in Belarus. Sasha came to visit us and was thinking of trying to become a Landed Immigrant, too. That's the time we were in the house in Cote St. Luc."

"What happened?" This time Arthur voiced the question they were all itching to ask.

"I was going to tell Kolya. Really I was. I just didn't know when to do it, how to do it. I mean, when I met him I didn't want anyone to know I was a mutant. Like I said, I was pretty much closeted on both the gay and mutant fronts. Kolya understood hiding being gay. It seems most everybody in Belarus is closeted - there's no open gay life to speak of. But, I don't know, at first I worried that he might react badly if he knew I was a mutant - I didn't know what kind of knowledge or exposure he'd had. There's strong and deep anti-mutant feeling there - I think some of it's related to things that happened in the aftermath of Chernobyl. It was evident even back then, long before anybody heard of mutant cleansing. So, I was a little frightened to tell him. And then, after a while, well I felt like I couldn't tell him because I hadn't told him. Comprenez? Here we were planning a life together, and I hadn't told him this major thing about myself. So, how do you start?"

"It's always harder to tell something important when you've put it off," Scott concurred. "What did you do?"

"I just decided I had to do something. I mean, I couldn't go on indefinitely like this - being vague about my job, avoiding introducing Kolya to obvious mutants. 'Obvious mutants' is a category including my best friend and my twin sister - it wasn't a tenable position. So, I brought the topic up obliquely. I asked him what he thought of the 'mutant phenomenon' like it was some sort of academic question." I took a deep breath, remembering that day. "He said he'd kill every one of us if he could. 'The only good mutant is a dead mutant.' I felt like he'd kill me with his bare hands right then if he'd known."

Nobody said anything. I put April down, saying, "Go to Daddy now, ma petite" and walked out of the room.

I was sitting on my bed, looking out the window, when I heard a knock on the door. "Not now!" I called out, but April pushed the door open and came in anyway, followed by Wendy, apologizing for her daughter and saying she'd take her out. "No, don't. Stay," I said. "Maybe company's not such a bad idea."

April toddled over and handed me something - a large white feather. "Une plume!" she said as she gave it to me.

"Not again?" I said, laughing.

"Warren said she could have one. I think she thought it would cheer you up." Then, looking at me closely, "Are you okay? I'm worried about you. We all are."

"I'm okay. Don't worry - I'm just a little shaken." I smiled to reassure her.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now."

"Okay. We can talk about something else."

"Bien. So what's the story with Logan and Scott? Are they back together?"

"I was going to ask you that," Wendy said, eagerly. "You know them better. It sure looked like it to me."

"Yeah, the heat's better since you and Arthur revamped it, but still - that wasn't a lot of clothes for winter in Saskatchewan. Plus, I've never seen Scott with his hair mussed except in training or in combat."

"I doubt there was any combat going on, but maybe they were training together?"

"Training? I don't think so. Well, we'll know soon enough. Ask Warren if you're really curious. He has the room next to Logan's. I was next door to them in Cote St. Luc. They're not exactly quiet." She smiled at that. "I hope they're back together, for both their sakes. I think they're pretty miserable apart."

"They're such an odd couple, though, don't you think? Logan's so...I don't know, prickly, I guess. And Scott's so polite and, well, gentle. He teaches English, for God's sake. I just can't see Logan with someone like that."

"There's a lot more to Scott than that, Wendy. You're just seeing one side. I've been in battle with him. He's not always gentle - far from it. He can be truly ferocious, yet at the same time, still so in control. Totally aware of where everyone is, who's wounded, who needs backup. There have been a few times where I wouldn't have gotten out alive if not for Cyclops.

"He's a really complex guy. In so many ways. I happen to think I have pretty good gaydar, but I never spotted him. I would have said he and Jean were the perfect couple. Scott was so deep in the closet he was gathering mothballs. And he's had a rough time coming out. He left it too long and it got harder. Sort of like me with Kolya," I added ruefully.

"I'm sure it was tough for him. And maybe this thing with Logan was the catalyst he needed to come out? I can't pretend I understand the pressures. I guess it's a little like being a mutant, no? Since being gay isn't a visible difference for most. Well, good for Scott that he finally managed to come out, hard as it was. Still, the two of them seem so different to me. Don't get me wrong. I really do like Logan. I like fighting with him," she added with a smile. "But I also do truly respect him. This project would never have gotten off the ground without him. And for all his gruff manner and rough appearance I think he really does care about making this into a safe place for mutants. I think he really cares about us. But Logan and Scott? They're just totally different types."

"I don't know. They are really different, but they've been through a lot together. I think they have more in common than is obvious at first. And, anyway, sometimes opposites do attract." I waited a minute, trying to decide whether or not to talk about Kolya. "Maybe that was part of it for me with Kolya. I was young and scared - hiding two things about myself was wearing on me. And I'd had a pretty chaotic life up until that point. Kolya seemed so confident, so comfortable in his own skin, so settled. Oh, he was closeted but it somehow wasn't part of him. Where he came from it was just the way you got by."

"So, we're going to talk about Kolya and Belarus after all?" I smiled and nodded. "So what happened downstairs? Why did you leave the room, Jean-Paul? What were you feeling?"

"I don't know - confused, I guess. A little ashamed of how I behaved back then, making a fool of myself over someone who would have hated me if he'd known what I am. Do you know Voltaire? 'Love is a canvas furnished by nature and embroidered by imagination.' Well, in my imagination Kolya really loved me, but in real life he didn't even know me. So, I feel like an imbecile for loving him. Plus I was embarrassed that I didn't tell any of you about this before with all the discussions we've had of the mutant crisis in Belarus. And I was just so shaken by seeing Sasha like that." I paused, not sure whether to tell her what was really worrying me. Decided to go for it. "And, Wendy, here's the worst part. How did Sasha get found out? He has been successfully passing as normal forever. He fooled me, remember? He must have been fooling Kolya all their lives. But someone found out and he got sent to that camp. What if the someone was Kolya? What if Sasha told him, thinking he could trust his oldest and best friend?"

"God, Jean-Paul. That would be the worst. Do you think it's possible?" I nodded. "I just can't believe anyone would do that. And there must have been more to Kolya, no? 'On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur.' I can't see you falling in love with someone who was so hateful."

"Well, he was awfully good in bed."

She laughed a little. "That only goes so far. I'm not knocking sex, believe me, but I do think other things are important, too. For example - 'doesn't want to kill me and everyone like me' is a really good trait in a lover."

"I'll remember that if I ever decide to place that personal ad."

She laughed again. "Jean-Paul? Kolya's short for Nikolai, right?"

"You learned something in that Russian dorm at Bryn Mawr, hein? What did you call it? Siberia?"

"Yeah, Siberia. And I was the worst Russian student. I only took one year of Russian and only to give me an excuse to live in Russian House, where all the mutants were. If not for Laura I never would have gotten through that year. But, yes, at least I understand about Russian names and diminutives. What's his family name?"

"Ivankov. Why?"

"N.I. Right? That's how Greenfield referred to his Belarussian confederate. Maybe Kolya didn't turn Sasha in, Jean-Paul. Maybe he got him out."

It was evening in the outpost in Saskatchewan. Wendy, April and Warren had gone to Regina for the day to pick up Wendy's friend at the airport and to buy supplies for the outpost. They had recently returned, van full of people and purchases. Jean-Paul and Wendy were in Jean-Paul's bedroom. April was with them. Arthur was in the garage, taking the day's purchases out of the van and putting them away. Wendy's friend Laura had been taken under Warren's wing, both literally and figuratively, and was right now being shown some of the more impressive features of the new outpost. And where were Scott and Logan?

Scott was in the shower in the bathroom attached to Logan's room. He had spent most of the day working with Logan on the water heater. It was dirty work and he both needed a shower and wanted to enjoy the fruits of his labor. So Scott was in the shower, standing under the plentiful hot water. And Logan? Logan was in Scott.

Scott's hands were against the tile wall, bracing himself as Logan pushed into him again and again, licking the water off of the back of his neck as he did so. Logan had one arm across Scott's chest, holding him close to his body. With the other hand he was holding Scott's cock, rubbing with strenuous strokes as he fucked him hard.

"Christ, Logan! You're going to shove me right into the next room if you keep this up."

"You want me to stop?" In spite of the question, Logan pushed in harder, matching the rhythm of his hand and his cock.

"No! That wasn't. A complaint. An observation. Keep going. Please."

He did. "It's good like this. I like you wet all over." He sucked on Scott's earlobe a little, then nibbled the back of his neck, thrusting in hard and fast all the while, telling him how good it felt. Then he shoved in so hard Scott's face was pressed against the wall. They stood there like that, frozen in place. Scott could feel Logan's cum spurting deep inside him.

Logan pulled out and turned Scott around. They soaped each other and washed off, stroking and rubbing as they did. And then just stood under the water a little longer, holding each other, feeling it hard and hot all over them. "We did a good job, Scott. A nice long shower and it's still hot. We're a good team."

Scott smiled, reaching to turn off the water. "I suppose we should leave some for the rest, though," They dried off and went back to the bedroom.

Logan sat down on the bed. Scott stood in front of him. "What are you looking at?" Logan asked with a smile.

"You." Scott sat down next to him, nuzzled the side of his neck. "I love looking at you naked. 'Bodies unclothed must be to taste whole joys.' I understand why you like me to take off the glasses sometimes, but I like it when I can see you."

"Well, don't just look. Touch me." He took Scott's hand and put it on his dick.

"Hard again? How many times is this? I'm losing track. You're insatiable today, aren't you?"

"Mm hmm. I get like that sometimes. You have that effect on me sometimes. Good thing you're indef- what the fuck is that word?"

"Indefatigable. It's not that hard."

"I don't know, Scott. I just can't wrap my tongue around it."

"Knowing what I do of your tongue, I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Why don't you wrap your tongue around this?"

"A much better idea. Taste whole joys, you say?"

Logan pushed Scott back on the bed and started working on said tongue-wrapping, determined to prove that he understood indefatigability even as he despaired of ever being able to pronounce it.

Jean-Paul and Wendy were on a bed, too, although engaged in quite different pursuits. They were in Jean-Paul's room, both sitting cross-legged on the big sleigh bed while April played on the floor. Wendy had pulled out the receipts from the day's purchases in Regina and they were going over them together, categorizing the expenditures. Arthur walked in and sat down in the armchair by the window.

"I don't usually like my wife hanging out in bed with other men, Jean-Paul," he said.

Jean-Paul smiled. "Wendy's safe with me, copain. Did you get everything in from the van?"

"Yeah, it's all put away. So Wen, where's the mysterious polyglot mutant? You aren't going to introduce Laura to your husband?"

"Or your bedmate?" Jean-Paul added, grinning. "I'm really intrigued to meet someone who can speak every human language. I want to see if she'll speak my kind of French or insist on some Parisian version."

"Hey, you find her, I'll introduce her. Try Warren's room. But not if you blush easily."

"What? Warren and Laura?" She nodded at Arthur. "Already? Man, that guy works fast."

"Oh, it was pretty much instantaneous. And it was her as much as him - totally absorbed in each other. It was like something electric or something. Here I think I'm going to spend the drive back catching up with Laura and suddenly I feel like I'm totally invisible. I swear, if the back of the van hadn't been full of all the stuff we'd bought, they would have climbed back there and gone at it. They were all over each other."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "She tends to exaggerate," he said to Jean-Paul.

"But I'm not. Really! I had nobody to talk to all the way home, except April. And she's a sparkling conversationalist - aren't you, sweetie? - but I ran out of things to say about trains, dogs, and birdies long before we got here. Meanwhile, Warren and Laura were busy getting to know each other. In ways that aren't legal in 17 states." Arthur rolled his eyes again. "Okay, so that part was an exaggeration, but really! You should have seen them. As soon as we're out of town Warren unbound his wings. Well, of course, that's got to be uncomfortable to have them tied so tightly. He didn't have to leave his shirt off, though. And he certainly didn't have to have Laura give him a backrub."

"Oh, I think he does, hon. Tying them up like that is really hard on him. He was telling me about it, when he got back from Prince Albert yesterday. When he was working at Worthington Industries he was passing as normal and had to have the wings tied all day. Maybe he overdid it or something. He gets these muscle pains from having them confined now. So, he asked Scott to rub his back and shoulders after he got back from town. He said it's the only thing that helps."

"I will bet you serious money, Arthur, that Scott never rubbed Warren's shoulders like this. You'd have to see it to understand. I'm telling you - if they aren't in bed right now I'm not a mutant."

Wendy was most assuredly a mutant. A lucky mutant at that. This was a fact of which she was most cognizant. She had supportive, understanding parents who had helped her adjust when she came into her powers, unlike so many who rejected their children. She had gone to a college where she'd been able to meet many mutants and had formed close bonds with others of her kind. She had met and married a man she loved dearly, who could understand all she had gone through because he was a member of the same sub-species. They had managed to live unnoticed for a number of years, working and loving, adding a baby to their family. And when things had gotten untenable for them, they had managed to escape. Yes, there was no doubt that Wendy was a mutant. Yet Laura and Warren were not in bed.

They had been. Anyone who entered Warren's bedroom would see that his too-small bed had that tousled look that recent strenuous lovemaking leaves. And they certainly would be in bed again, most likely some time soon. Right now, though, they were downstairs, on the floor in the living room, sitting by the fire.

Laura was sitting on Warren's lap. He had his arms around her and was nuzzling the back of her neck as they looked into the fire. One wing was folded around them in front, beating gently on top of Laura. She stroked the feathers at the tip and sighed.

"Should we be somewhere now?" she asked. He shook his head. "I haven't even met the rest of the household yet. Or unpacked. I don't think I'm being a very good guest."

"You're being a great guest. You're not burdening your hosts. And you're entertaining me so I'm not at loose ends and burdening my hosts. So you're performing a valuable function."

She smiled. "You're feeling entertained?"

"Yeah. Very entertained. So entertained that I think I might die of entertainment. With a smile on my face."

He kissed her on the ear, reaching under her shirt to hold her breast in his hand. He rubbed the nipple with his thumb. It hardened in his hand, his cock starting to harden as well, pressing against Laura. She moved her ass a little, teasing him. "Hard again already? You want to go back upstairs?"

"No, let's stay here. I don't know why I got stuck with the room with the smallest bed." He kept playing with her breast with one hand, using the other to hike up her skirt, starting to stroke her lips through her panties.

"What if someone comes in?" It wasn't much of a protest. Maybe it was just a question out of general curiosity, judging by how eagerly she was responding to his touch.

"They won't. They're probably all working. They work a lot in this place." He pulled Laura's panties off, then lifted her off of his lap. They knelt on the floor, facing each other. He bent down a little to kiss her, wrapping his arms around her, reaching under the skirt to hold onto her ass. Laura put one hand right on the crest of the curve of each wing, stroking the top feathers gently, then pinching and stroking the flesh underneath while she kissed him strong and deep.

Warren moaned a little, flexing his wings gently as she continued to stroke them. He withdrew from her mouth, putting her head on his shoulder. "God, I love how you do that," he said. "It's like there's some direct connection to my cock or something. You touch them like that and I get so hard." He moaned some more. "How do you know how to do that? How many winged mutants have you had?"

"You're my first." She kissed and licked him on the neck a little, still stroking his wings. "I love them; love the feel of them. It makes me hot to touch them, too. Put your hand on my cunt, Warren. See for yourself."

He reached between her thighs, pulling on her outer lips a little, then sliding a finger close to the opening of her cunt. "You're so wet, Laura," he said, slipping one finger, then two, inside. He held them still, just a little way in, moving his thumb back and forth up higher, teasing her clit. Laura started rocking back and forth a bit, her hands still kneading the muscles in Warren's wings.

"Go deeper," she said. "Fuck me with your fingers."

He did, slipping his fingers in and out of her wet, hot cunt. Stroking her clit with his thumb, holding her close to him with his other hand on her ass. She rocked with him, kissing him on the cheek, on the throat, on the shoulder. Settled her mouth on the side of his neck, right at the place where his shoulder began, sucking hard on the flesh there as she clenched her hot cunt on his willing fingers.

Laura felt wonderful, all thoughts of appropriate guest behavior gone from her mind along with most coherent ideas of any kind. She clutched Warren's wings with her hands, his neck with her mouth, his fingers with her cunt as he stroked and rubbed, his wings beating back and forth to the same rhythm of the fingers moving inside her. The rhythm got faster as her need for it increased, mounting to a crescendo of fucking, beating and stroking. And then she was coming - waves of movement in her cunt, gripping Warren's fingers in ripples; waves of feeling throughout her body, gripping her whole being.

It went on for a long time. When finally the contractions stopped, Warren slipped his fingers out. Laura lay back on the hearth rug, still breathing hard. "Feel good?" he asked, smiling.

"Oh, very," she answered, "but I want more." She patted the space next to her and he lay down, propped on one elbow, looking at her.

"What do you want?" he asked. By way of answer, Laura unzipped his pants and pulled out his hard cock, stroking up and down with her fingers.

"This," she said, grinning broadly. "Now I want your cock inside me." He climbed on top of her, spreading her legs a little. With one hand he pushed her T-shirt up, exposing her breasts. The other hand was on his cock, positioning himself right at the opening. He pushed inside, reaching under Laura to hold her ass again.

Laura gasped a little, feeling him thrust inside. Then she put one leg round Warren's waist, the other on his leg, her foot rubbing his calf through his jeans. He was pressed all the way in now. She could feel his balls pushing against her, the head of his cock pressed hard against her cervix.

They started moving together, slowly at first. His bare chest was against hers. He was keeping one hand under her, cupping her cheek, while the other was on her head, stroking her curly, dark hair. He sucked on her earlobe a bit, then kissed and licked all around her ear. "You're so good," he whispered, in between kisses. "We fit together so well. You're so hot, so wet."

"It's what you do to me," she replied, hands sliding up and down his back, just under the wings. Her legs were holding him in place, controlling the rhythm, keeping it slow.

And then, without warning, she didn't want it slow any more and told him that. Warren started humping her hard, moving his cock in and out faster and faster and faster, the wings beating in an ever-increasing rhythm. Laura could feel the hard bones of his pelvis against her as he rammed in again and again. And then he pushed inside her with such force it took her breath away.

Laura felt herself starting to come again, contracting on Warren's hard cock. Feeling the waves of her orgasm sent Warren over the edge, too. The wings thrust way out and up and he came.

He pulled out and lay by Laura's side again, propped up on his elbow. Neither of them said anything for a minute. "So, feeling entertained?" she said, finally.

"I think I just about died of entertainment, just like I told you," he answered with a happy sigh.

"Liebestod."

"Huh?"

"It's a German expression. 'Love death'. One way to say orgasm."

"Love death? Good phrase."

"Petit mort is a phrase for orgasm in French. It means 'little death'. "

"Somehow I think knowing you is going to prove very educational, Laura," Warren said, happily. "If it doesn't kill me."

From: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
To: Agreenfield@herald.com
Subject: Aleksandr Ivanovich Cherevko

Dear Mr. Greenfield:

I'm writing to you in the hope that you can help me to get in touch with Sasha Cherevko. I know that you must be inundated with people trying to contact him, but I do assure you I am not just some sensation-seeker. I knew Sasha well at one time and, although we have not been in contact for the last couple of years, I do think he would want to hear from me.

My name is Jean-Paul Beaubier and I work with a Canadian government agency called Alpha Flight. I am also an amateur skier. Sasha and I met through skiing and became friends during the 2002 Olympics in Salt Lake City. I am attaching a photograph of the two of us in Salt Lake City, in case you need further proof of my bona fides before telling Sasha that I have contacted you. I don't know if you knew him before his internment. If not, it may be hard to recognize him. The man on the left is Sasha. I am on the right. The man in the middle is Nikolai Grigorovich Ivankov. Perhaps Sasha has spoken of Kolya.

Alpha Flight is a Canadian paramilitary agency staffed by mutants. We would like to offer, within the boundaries set by our government role, whatever succour we can to the mutants of Belarus. James MacDonald Hudson, Director of Alpha Flight, has authorized me to try to make contact with you and Sasha to find out as much as I can about the current situation inside Belarus so that we can then make a determination of what, if anything, we can do to help. In addition, I was personally distressed and shocked to see Sasha looking so unwell. At the same time I was very relieved to know that he managed to escape to safety.

I am sure you are very busy right now, but hope that you will find the time to read this and respond.

Sincerely,

J-P Beaubier

P.S. The news media have been silent on the subject of just where Sasha is living. I'm assuming that his address is being kept quiet for his safety and privacy. I hope he is comfortably settled somewhere. If not, please tell Sasha that I can arrange for secure accommodations for him with Alpha Flight or our collaborating organization in the U.S.: the X-Men. Both organizations have experience housing mutant refugees and can provide some of the services Sasha might need at this point.

From: Agreenfield@herald.com
To: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
Subject: Reply to: Aleksander Ivanovich Cherevko

Jean-Paul -

I'm sorry, but I just can't bring myself to call you "M. Beaubier" to match your "Mr. Greenfield." I have heard so much about you, both from Kolya and from Sasha, that I do feel I know you already. I have also followed your career in the Canadian press. In particular, I read pretty much everything that was published when you came out publicly a couple of years ago. I thought that an act of courage and strength. And, in fact, it is one the factors that led to my deciding to be out at work as well. I am a founder of the Gay and Lesbian Employees Network here at the Herald.

I'm really glad you wrote, Jean-Paul. I did try calling Alpha Flight headquarters but was told that you are away on an extended assignment. I'm hoping that you can take some time off from that and come to New York, where Sasha and I are right now. I think he would find it very helpful to reunite with an old friend.

As to accommodations for Sasha, he and I are currently staying at the Grand Hyatt near Grand Central. Feel free to call him here. The room is registered under the name Mikhael Lermontov, so ask for Mr. Lermontov. As you mentioned, we have been able to keep Sasha's exact location out of the media. OTOH, I will need to go back to Miami shortly and Sasha insists on remaining in New York in anticipation of the on-again, off-again U.N. hearings. Jean-Paul, frankly I'm afraid to leave him. I don't think in his current state he should be alone. Where is the U.S. mutant organization you mentioned located? Is it close enough to New York that he could come back quickly if the hearings are held? I have tried to persuade him to come with me to Florida but he says it is too far. Would you try to convince him? Either to come with me or to go to one of the places you mentioned? I feel sure he would listen to you.

I don't know just what Alpha Flight could do for the mutants in Belarus. The current situation is very bleak but I'm hoping that the publicity Sasha's story is generating will result in a groundswell of protest against their treatment. The response of the United Nations and of private humanitarian groups has so far been disappointing, but I haven't given up hope. I will continue to try to tell, as realistically and vividly as I can, what is going on in Belarus. I can only hope that people of good conscience everywhere will respond. I do look forward to discussing with you what your agency might be able to do to aid in this effort.

Please write back here or call me. If I'm not at the hotel, I can be reached care of the Herald (phone number in sig line). I look forward to meeting you. I've wanted to meet you for a long time. I wish only that the circumstances leading up to this were not so horrific.

Adam

P.S. Thanks for sending the picture although it was, in some respects, difficult to look at. It is indeed shocking to see what Sasha looked like before his internment. No, I hadn't known him before. Kolya looks pretty much as he does now. It's a wonderful portrait of three young, very attractive men. So full of joy and life! And of triumph - I don't think I've ever seen an Olympic medal other than on television and there you and Sasha are both wearing yours. That radiant smile is something else I have never seen on Sasha. We can only hope that he will be able to regain some of what he has lost.

From: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
To: Agreenfield@herald.com
Subject: Reply to: Aleksandr Ivanovich Cherevko

You said, in part:
>I'm sorry, but I just can't bring myself
> to call you "M. Beaubier"
>to match your "Mr. Greenfield."

Don't be sorry :-). I am quite happy to progress to first names! Particularly when you tell me that you have heard about me from Sasha. And from Kolya! Good things, I hope, although I'm afraid that he and I parted badly. I have thought of him during this crisis. Can you tell me: was he the N.I. who helped you to rescue Sasha? And, if so, where is he now? Is he safe?

I'm afraid you have the advantage of me, if you have indeed heard so much about me. I know about you only what I've gleaned from the news reports and your note. So, I know that you are a crusading reporter. I greatly admire your courage in this whole affair. And I admire your courage in being out at work, as well.

I'm afraid I didn't come out until my closeted position became completely untenable. In the wake of my daughter's death from AIDS-related complications, I became somewhat of a public spokesman for AIDS research. It was a good thing to do and I got a lot of publicity for some important initiatives. Unfortunately, some of the press coverage took a turn for the homophobic, identifying my little Joanne as one of the "innocent victims" by contrast with the many gay men who have succumbed to this awful disease. I didn't feel I could counter that vile argument effectively or honestly without coming out.

Now I wish I had done it earlier. I hear from young people who tell me how important it is to them to have openly gay role models. I wish I had had some when I was in my teens. If so, I might have had an easier time all around. I applaud people such as you who are forthright enough to even found gay employee groups. OTOH, if I were to do so at Alpha Flight, I would be the sole member. The meetings might get a little boring. And the annual gay employees' picnic would be a miserable affair. So, perhaps I won't follow your lead.

I don't know if Sasha or Kolya has told you this, but I really had no idea that Sasha was a mutant. And I'm quite sure that Kolya did not know, either, when I first knew them.

I called the Grand Hyatt upon receiving your message. They informed me that Mr. Lermontov was out, as was Mr. Pushkin. LOL! So, Sasha's tastes in literature haven't changed? He and Kolya used to think me quite ignorant for not knowing either Pushkin or Lermontov. I'm afraid that education in Quebec does not stress 19th century Russian poetry. I left a message, but I unfortunately cannot leave the phone number of the place where I am on assignment. I did leave the number of Alpha Flight headquarters. They will get a message to me.

You suggested that it might be helpful for me to come to New York to see Sasha. I think that can be arranged. The X-Men are based in a private boarding school in a New York City suburb, in Westchester County. That's where I usually stay when I come to New York. So, when Sasha and I connect I will arrange things with him. He can come and see the school and decide whether he wants to stay there. I think it would be helpful for him to be in a supportive environment and it is very close to New York City. I will try to convince him to stay in Westchester, although my mutant powers are limited to flight and super-speed. I fear you are crediting me with powers of persuasion beyond my ability.

Jean-Paul

P.S. Perhaps after Sasha is settled in Westchester - if I do manage to persuade him - you and I could have dinner one evening? I don't want to press Sasha for information but there are a lot of gaps in my knowledge. I have read all of your stories but my questions are of a more personal nature. I also know New York quite well and would be glad to show you around if you're interested.

From: Agreenfield@herald.com
To: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
Subject: Reply to: Aleksandr Ivanovich Cherevko

I don't have much time but wanted to dash off an answer to you before I leave.

I'm off to Miami tonight. I will be there for at most a day and then on assignment overseas again. Like the sailor in Lermontov's "The Sail", it's my fate to seek I know not what in foreign lands. So, I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on that dinner. I'd love to have the chance to get to know you in person. As to showing me New York, I grew up in Brooklyn. I imagine I could show you a thing or two, no matter how well you think you know the City.

The school in Westchester sounds perfect. I'm sure you will succeed with Sasha. Don't sell yourself short. You're a very persuasive man - you've already convinced me to have dinner with you, after all.

Kolya was indeed my Belarussian confederate (among other things). He is in hiding, living under an assumed name. We knew that the Minsk government would look first to him when Sasha escaped. I believe he is safe, at least for now. I can't contact him without compromising his safety, though, so I don't really know how he is doing.

I don't know everything that happened between you and Kolya, but I have some sense of why you may have parted badly. I can tell you that he has come a long way since you knew him. The mutant crisis in Belarus has made lots of people rethink assumptions and prejudices. Certainly finding that his best friend is a mutant made Kolya think and grow. I think finding that an ex-lover of his is a mutant also helped him. I know that he has behaved with great courage throughout this crisis and is a leader in the underground rescue movement.

I can access this account from anywhere in the world and hope to hear from you while I'm on assignment. I'm enjoying our correspondence, Jean-Paul. Words are the tools of my trade, but they are also a fine way to get to know someone. I feel like I'm getting to know you, like we are becoming friends, although it seems a strange thing to say of someone I've never met. Write back if you don't think me too strange. You can also leave messages on my voice mail at any time.

Adam

P.S. I'm sure I don't have to tell you that I am entrusting you with information about Kolya that must be kept secret. I figure a man who doesn't even give out his phone number understands the need for discretion.

From: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
To: Agreenfield@herald.com
Subject: Dashed hopes

I was so disappointed to hear that you will not be in New York when I come. Please be careful, wherever you are. I hope you aren't back in Belarus. Given what the government in Minsk now knows of your role in smuggling Sasha out that would be a most dangerous location for you.

I was looking forward to meeting you in person, Adam. I feel, too, like we are fast becoming friends. I felt so drawn to you the first time I saw you on television, at the press conference with Sasha. And then this correspondence has been just a whole new experience for me. I've rarely clicked like this with someone even upon meeting more conventionally. I'm eager to go from being email pen pals to real life acquaintances. I will hold you to that rain check as soon as you return. I'm quite sure you can show me "a thing or two". I look forward with feverish anticipation to being shown such things. My friends in Westchester have only the suburban view, after all. I can only imagine what a real New Yorker might be able to show me.

Sasha and I have agreed to meet in New York tomorrow, so you needn't worry about him being alone for long. We will go straight to the Westchester School. It is Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters in Salem Center. Feel free to call Sasha or me there at 914/555-6745. I do think Sasha will end up staying there. I am flushed with confidence in my powers of persuasion now that you have agreed to have dinner with me. And there are other people there who can also prevail upon Sasha, help him to understand the advantages of being in a supportive mutant community.

I appreciate what you told me about Kolya. I'm intrigued by your comment that he was your confederate "among other things". Am I jumping to conclusions in thinking he may have been your lover as well? And dare I say that I hope, if he was, that that chapter is over? I am finding you a most compelling correspondent and hoping that there is at least the possibility that our friendship might progress to something more. Having said that, I'm not sure I'll have the courage to press "send".

Jean-Paul

P.S. Please, Adam, do take care of yourself. Let me know that you are okay. Call me if you need me. I can be anywhere in the world in a matter of minutes.

"Hello."

"Hi, Scott."

"Oh. Hi, Logan."

"You don't sound very happy to hear from me."

"I just don't feel like having the same argument all over again."

"I didn't call to fight."

"Good. Then I'm happy to hear from you. How are you?"

"Okay. How's everything back in Westchester?

"Not great. Lousy, in fact."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Well, Jean and Charles are spending all their time in between the U.N. and Washington, trying to get some sort of intervention started in Belarus. So far without any luck. I'm trying to hold things together here. The kids are all spooked by what's going on in Belarus and I'm trying to come up with a million different ways to say 'It can't happen here'. I'm doing my best to sound convincing when I don't even know if I believe it myself.

"Oh, and we've got Sasha Cherevko living here now. I'll tell you Logan - I thought the phrase 'a shell of a man' was just a meaningless cliche until I met him. 'Man's inhumanity to man' is another cliche that's developing a whole new meaning for me. Who are these people doing this? I just can't imagine what monsters they must be."

"Oh, I think you'll find most of them don't seem that monstrous in person. When they're not torturing and killing, that is. 'The banality of evil', right? That's the phrase you taught me. It fit the ones who did it to me. Maybe the ones who did it to this Sasha, too."

"God, I'm sorry, Logan. I wasn't thinking. 'Man's inhumanity to man' already has plenty of meaning for you. You didn't need Belarus to know what horrors people are capable of. And I shouldn't either. It was a stupid thing to say."

"Nah, it's okay. Hey, when you say 'a shell of a man' I think that's me. At least me like I was. And if you don't think of me like that, well then I'm glad. It means I'm getting better. You're helping me, Scott."

"I'm trying, Logan. And, truly, I've never thought of you like that. For all that you've been through, for all they did to you, I still see the core of you as something they could never touch. Something good. Good and strong and brave. Really."

"Well, maybe if Cherevko has somebody who sees him that way, he'll have a shot at ending up okay, too."

"One can only hope. He's got a long way to go, though. He's in good hands - Hank is taking care of him. I don't know how much he'll recover, though."

"Well, you never can know right after the trauma, right? Look at Wendy and Arthur. And, I know, what they went through was nothing like this mutant cleansing, but it was pretty traumatic. And they definitely still have scars, but they're managing. They're okay."

"Yeah, I think they're more than okay. And maybe like you said it's at least partly because they have each other. So, how's everything up there in Saskatchewan? How's work on the outpost progressing?"

"It's okay. It's coming along. Better now that Jean-Paul is back. And Wendy and Arthur always pull their weight. Worthington's still a pain in the ass, but he's working, too. Some of the time, anyway. So is Laura - she's a librarian, did you know that? She's cataloguing all the books. There's tons of them here. The house was full of them when we moved in. And Wendy's always out buying more at secondhand shops and garage sales and things. Well, when it's a school they'll come in handy. And whoever's gonna teach here will want to know what we've got. So she's doing something worthwhile. Plus she keeps Worthington out of my hair, which is reason enough to like her."

"What's the story with those two? Still going strong?"

"Oh yeah. I know he said he'd just stay a few days and then join you in Westchester, Scott. But I wouldn't count on it, if I was you."

"Yeah, that was the impression I got when he wouldn't come back with me. So, Logan, why did you call?"

"I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I shouldn't've given you a hard time about leaving like that. I didn't mean to end the visit with a fight. I should've been fucking you one more time, not yelling at you for leaving."

"Thanks, Logan. Thanks for saying that. I felt bad to be fighting with you, but I had to leave. You know that, don't you? I'm committed to my job here, committed to the X-Men. It's always been like that, you know."

"I know. It's a good thing. You're doing something important. I just wanted you to stay with me. And, I don't know, I guess I get pissed off when you don't do what I tell you to."

"Yeah, I noticed. I thought we'd agreed that's just for sex, though."

"Yeah."

"Logan?"

"Yeah, Scott."

"Tell me what to do. Pretend we're together. Tell me. We can pretend I'm doing what you say."

"I can't do that. You're the one with the stories. You're the word guy."

"Come on. Try. I'm hot for you, Logan. It turns me on when you tell me what to do. You tell a story this time."

"I don't even know how to start."

"Tell me where you are."

"I'm in my room. In the armchair by the bed."

"Okay, Logan. I'm there, too. I'm standing in front of you. What do you want me to do?"

"Um. Take your shirt off, Scott. Okay?"

"Okay. It's off."

"Get on your knees. Right in front of me."

"I'm on my knees, Logan. My hands are on your legs. I'm looking up at you."

"Yeah. I can almost see you, almost feel your hands. Okay, unzip me. Take out my cock. "

"Are you hard, Logan?"

"Yeah, I'm hard as a rock. From seeing you like that. From your hands on me. From my hands on your shoulders. I love your shoulders, love looking at them, feeling them. You're holding my cock now, aren't you?"

"Yeah, you're hard alright. I want to take it in my mouth now. Can I do that, Logan? I'm hungry for you. Tell me to do that."

"Yeah. Lick up and down a little. You know how I like it when you do that. Oh Scott, that's good. Okay, now just put the head in your mouth. Oh, yeah. I like that. I love the way you slide your tongue over the top like that. It makes me want to push in farther. So, that's what I want you to do now. Take me in farther. Yeah, up and down. A little more each time. Your mouth is so wet and warm. You're sucking me so good. God, I love the sounds you make when you do that, Scott. I'm using my hand but I'm pretending I'm in your mouth. Remembering being in your mouth. Remembering how you do me. Suck harder, Scott. Yeah, oh that's good. You just graze me a little with your teeth. And I'm moving in and out of your hot mouth. My fingers are in your hair now. Oh, Scott. More... More... Yeah, faster. Harder. Oh, God."

"Feel okay, Logan?"

"Yeah. Real good. It was almost like it was real. Maybe I'm developing an imagination or something. The sound effects helped, though. It sounded just like when you're sucking me. How did you do that?"

"Oh, that. Well, there was this guy walking by my room when you called and I asked him in. Figured he could help with the verisimilitude. Excuse me a minute, Logan - Um, sorry, but I didn't catch your name? What did you say it was? - Logan, I'm kidding! I was sucking on my fingers."

"I knew that."

"Yeah? Then why were you growling?"

"I thought you like it when I growl."

"Oh, I do. I like it a lot. Your voice does something to me. In fact, between listening to you and pretending to suck you off - which I did here all by myself - you've got me all horny now, Logan. Are you going to help me out?"

"Yeah, sure. Seeing as you're all by yourself and all. Umm. Give me a minute to think. Okay: get into bed with me. We're lying down now. I'm pulling your pants off you. I want you naked. I want you under me, your whole body under mine. That's right. I'm on top of you now. I'm reaching between us to grab your cock. It's long and hard and I love the feel of it in my hand. Do you like what I'm doing, Scott?"

"Oh, yes. I can feel your whole body on me. I'm kissing you, sucking on your tongue and my arms are on your back. I can feel the metal in your back. And your hand. Your wonderful hand is just pulling on me, stroking me. Oh, it's good. Tell me more, Logan. I'll do whatever you tell me."

"Okay. I'm getting off of you. Turn on your side. Yeah, that's right. Can you feel me behind you? I'm pushed up tight against you. I've got my hand on your dick again and I'm pulling on it the way you like, rubbing the top with my thumb. And you're pushing your ass against me while I do it. You want it bad, don't you?"

"Yes, Logan. I want it bad. I want you bad. Fuck me Logan. Fuck me while you're working my dick with your hand. Please. I need it. I need you deep inside me."

"I'm going to give you what you need, Cyclops. I'm still rubbing you, still doing you with my hand. But now I've got just the head of my cock in your ass. Oh, yeah. You want more. You're making those sounds that tell me you want it all. Okay, Scott, I'm giving it to you. Deeper. All the way in. And now I'm moving in and out, hitting that good spot with each stroke. My hand is going, too. The same rhythm. I'm gonna make you come, Cyclops. I can hear it in your voice. You're gonna come for me, aren't you? Come for me now."

"Oh, God. Oh yes. "

"You okay?"

"More than okay. I did what you told me to, Logan."

"I know. I like that."

"I know you do. And you can live with me not staying when you tell me to?"

"Yeah. You got obligations. I just wish you weren't so fucking far away."

"I know. Me, too. I'll be back, though. And you'll come here to visit, too, won't you? You were going to interview possible residents, right?"

"Yeah, we'll get to be together some of the time. But we're apart a lot more."

"I've noticed. But, Logan, I think that's how it's always going to be for us, don't you? I mean, I'm committed to staying here. And I can't quite see you settling down in one place. Can you?"

"I don't know. I try not to think too much about the future... I've been working on the past a bit. Do you want to hear about it, Boswell?"

"You know I do. I want to hear anything you want to tell me. Have you been dreaming?"

"Yeah, that same one. Where I'm face down and manacled. And that guy's on me. And beating me. Like in that dream last week. The same thing last night. And I just wanted to kill him but I couldn't move. And this time I was sure it was Sabretooth."

"Was he just beating you, Logan? Or was there more?"

"What do you mean?"

"I'm learning - in spite of myself - something about rape as a tool of torture. It's part of what they did to Sasha. And I know it's something that Sabretooth guy's done before, you know? I was wondering if that was part of the dream... Logan, are you still there? Did I say something I shouldn't have? I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Scott. Yeah, that was part of it. It's just hard to talk about. They did that to Cherevko?"

"Yeah, among other things."

"Poor bastard."

"Logan? Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm alright. Like I said, it's hard to talk about."

"I know. I'm sorry, Logan. I hate them for what they did to you. All of it. Do you think that part - the rape - really happened?"

"I think something did. Scott, I can feel him on top of me - fucking me. It's as real as the injections, as real as the surgery. And we know those happened. But maybe it didn't happen just like that, just like in the dream. Maybe it wasn't him. You know how things get mixed up in dreams? Maybe I dream of him doing it to me because I think he did that to you. Raped you. Did he, Scott? When they kidnapped you? You never told me."

"No, Logan. They were going to do that. Rape me and beat me and kill me. But you stopped them. We stopped them together. I would have told you if he'd raped me. I didn't keep anything from you."

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. It's not something easy to talk about."

"I know. I really appreciate that you trusted me enough to tell me, Logan. It means a lot to me. I won't tell anyone, I swear. "

"I know that."

"What do you think it means that you couldn't cut the manacles, Logan? Would they have been made of adamantium?"

"Well, either that or it was before the surgery, before I had adamantium in me."

"But you have claws in the dream, right? So maybe that part's just dream and not real."

"I had the claws before the surgery. They're part of me. They were just bone, though. There's still bone underneath. "

"I didn't know. But...if it's before the surgery, that's a long time ago. What? 50 or 60 years? Could it have been Sabretooth back then?"

"He's got the same healing factor I do. Who knows how old he is."

"Yeah who knows? Well, one thing I know about that guy."

"What?"

"I wish to God I'd killed him when I had the chance."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I know, but it's true."

"I believe you. Thanks for listening to me, Scott."

"Thanks for trusting me enough to tell me, Logan. Oh, and Logan? Thanks for the story before. It was good. Real good. You can be a word guy, too."

"Good night Scott".

From: Scott@mutant.org
To: clawguy@hotmail.com
Subject: Missing You, Boswell Gets Started and Assorted Business Stuff

I'm glad you called last night. I felt awful leaving on bad terms with you. I didn't know what to do, how to break the impasse. So, thanks for handling that. It was so good to talk to you. Well, mostly. Some of it was pretty awful to hear, awful to know. I'm still glad you told me. I just wish it hadn't happened, all of the things they did to you. I'm in awe of you, Logan, the way you've never given up, really worked at making a life for yourself in the wake of the torture and experimentation. I don't know how you feel about meeting Sasha Cherevko when you're here next time, but I think it would be helpful to him to know you, to know that there are people who survive that kind of treatment. You wouldn't need to go into any details with him, of course. Well, think about it. I'm not looking for an answer now - it's just something that occurred to me.

I'm having this highly distractible day and it's a little embarrassing when people keep telling me things two or three times before they register. But I keep thinking about your voice on the phone. I'd rather be there with you, Logan. I'm always making that journey in my head.

I'm committed to my work here but I'll tell you - you're a hard test of my commitment. I find I'm missing you all the time, day and night:

"But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer,
And night doth nightly make grief's length seem stronger."

I know what he was talking about, what he was feeling. Can you believe there are still people who say he wasn't talking about sex in those poems? Of course the same "scholars" say he suddenly was when he wrote the ones addressed to a woman. But I digress. I want to feel you for real, on me and in me. What's your opinion on coming here to meet prospective residents? Any chance you'd make that visit sometime soon?

I decided to put all this thinking about you to good use and tried to begin my Boswell/Johnson project. I'm starting by just putting together a timeline of your life, or as much of it as I know about. Later on I'll write narratives for different parts, not necessarily going in order. My timeline starts with Weapon X because we haven't talked much about what came before. I don't know how much you remember of your early life, but tell me anything you feel moved to. I'm attaching a file with the draft timeline. Give it a glance if you have a minute. Tell me if you think I've got it right, as far as you know.

On to business stuff: I got some worrisome news today. I received a letter from Pyotr. Remember I told you about him? He has been back in Russia for almost a year now. Or at least that's where I thought he was. The letter, which was written weeks ago, was mailed from Belarus! He was very careful about what he said, but reading between the lines he is passing as normal, for now, and trying to find out what's really going on there. I'm just terrified for him. And the delay in receiving the letter makes me wonder if it had been passed through some official channels before I got it. He said in his letter that he's moving around a bit, but he gave me a couple of phone numbers to call. Only I haven't been able to get hold of anyone who speaks English. So, I'm wondering if I can borrow Laura to make some calls and see what she can find out. Do you think it's okay to have the calls originating from the outpost? Or I can call from here and just conference her in, if you think that's better.

And, while we're talking about phone calls, do you think it would be okay if Jean-Paul gives Adam Greenfield the number at the outpost? Greenfield is overseas now, trying to find out more about the Belarus situation, and he has been keeping in touch with Jean-Paul. I think this is a good thing - he may have information we can use. Jean-Paul gave him the number here and at Alpha Flight headquarters. I've taken messages a couple of times and passed them on to Jean-Paul. But I'd like him to be able to call Jean-Paul directly and not have the time delay of leaving a message and getting called back, particularly if there were some sort of emergency. I know how you feel about giving information about the Saskatchewan location to outsiders, and ordinarily I think that it's wise to keep it quiet. And I'm particularly leery of letting the press get hold of any information about us. But, Logan, this guy Greenfield has really proven he has the judgment and the discretion to handle this kind of information. I've read all his articles - they are wonderful, powerful, moving. But what impressed me almost as much as the writing was what he *didn't* say. There's not a word in there that could endanger mutants still in hiding in Belarus, nothing that could identify informants who are still integrated into Belarussian society. I think we should trust him. What do you say?

Scott

P.S. Oliver asked if he could come up there for spring break and work with you folks for the week. Some wild spring break, huh? What do you think? Maybe even send a few of the other kids? It would be a change of pace for them, get their minds off of this whole Belarus thing.

From: clawguy@hotmail.com
To: Scott@mutant.org
Subject: Reply to: Missing You, Boswell Gets Started and Assorted Business Stuff

I'm glad we talked last night, too, Scott. Sex is lots better than fighting, even if it isn't real. The sex, that is. The fighting was real, but I'm glad it's over. At least for now. I can live with being a test of your commitment. Makes me feel like I'm important to you. And, yes, only a total idiot would think he wasn't fucking that guy.

The timeline looked fine, as far as it went. I'll talk to you about some of the gaps and the time before Weapon X. I remember some stuff. I just don't have the patience to write it down, though. Maybe next time we talk on the phone. If we don't get too distracted, that is.

I think we have to assume that all calls into Belarus are being monitored, so I don't want Laura calling from here and I don't think conferencing her in from Westchester is any better. I talked to her about it. She's going to make the calls from pay phones in Saskatoon - I'm sending her and Worthington there for a couple of days to do some errands. And they'll go with prepaid phone cards so nobody can trace the calls to anyone's account.

About Greenfield - Jean-Paul already asked me if he could give the number and I told him okay. I agree that this guy is one reporter who can keep his mouth shut. And it seemed important to Jean-Paul for this Greenfield to be able to contact him.

I don't know about coming to Westchester to meet more homesteaders. We've got two extras right now, and I don't know how long they're staying. So, it's hard to know how many to try to add, or what kinds of skills to look for. So, maybe we should wait and see what happens with Laura and Worthington? Hey, Scott, I hate to break it to you but I think she's totally driven you out of his mind. Not that he was your boyfriend or anything.

But, anyway, don't get too broken-hearted over that. You're on *my* mind. A lot. I'd like to come see you, anyway. You guys need a progress report? Would you be willing to give me something to do in the night, Scott? I want you bad. I have ever since that first time on the Danger Room floor.

Logan

P.S. A bunch of teenagers? What are you trying to do to me? You know Oliver's always welcome here but just the thought of a bunch of those kids spending Spring Break here gives me a headache. How's this for an idea? Send them here, but you and me go somewhere else for the week. I bet Mac would let us use his cabin. You ever take a vacation, Cyclops? We can leave Wendy and Arthur in charge of the kids. Give them an idea of what's in their future.

From: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
To: Agreenfield@herald.com
Subject: Last night

*So* good talking to you last night, Adam. I'm glad Logan said it was okay to give you the number here. I wanted you to have it mostly so you could get in touch with me quickly in an emergency. But it's great to know you can just pick up the phone and call me. And even better when you do.

Mon dieu! I've had real physical sex that wasn't as good as it is with you on the phone. But it just makes me want more and more to be with you for real. Why won't you let me come see you? We could arrange to meet somewhere. I have to be careful not to be seen landing, but if we worked out a meeting place that was a little bit out of the way it would work. Surely there is some park land or vacant lots or something in Vilnius where a discreet super-fast flying mutant could land. I could spend the whole night with you and be back here by breakfast. Please say you'll let me come there. Please say you'll let me come with you, in you, make you come.

So funny that Kolya told you I like to bottom. I think that's Kolya-speak for "Kolya likes to top." Really, Adam, I wasn't just trying to do what you want - I'm dying to fuck you. I feel like I want to do everything with you. I think about you all the time. People here are starting to ask me what I'm so preoccupied about. I just keep thinking of all the conversations we've had, reading your emails over and over again.

Is this all a little too strange for you, a little overwhelming? It's totally new to me, too, to feel I know someone so well, want him so much, when we've never even met. But Adam, I *do* know you. We've talked more, shared more these past few weeks than I have with people I've known for years. I certainly know you better than I ever knew Kolya. And, no, I wouldn't want to get back together with him. I'm truly joyful to hear what he's doing, what he has become. I worry for him and hope that he will be okay. Yes, we broke up because of his anti-mutant prejudice and I'm glad he has gotten over that. But that chapter in my life is long over. It was years ago. I'm a different person now. He's not right for me. I know what I want. I want you, Adam.

Jean-Paul

P.S. If you won't let me come see you in Lithuania, could we just plan to get together when you get back? You could come out here - I'm sure Logan would let me have you here. You're the only outsider who has been given the phone number and address. Or we could meet in New York and have that dinner we talked about. But not *just* dinner, hein?

From: Agreenfield@herald.com
To: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
Subject: Reply to: Last night

You said, in part:

> Why won't you let me come see you?

Oh, Jean-Paul, I don't even know what to say. Believe me, I want to be with you, but I feel like I can't. Not yet, anyway.

Yes, I'm feeling overwhelmed by all this, but maybe not in the way you think. And I've hesitated to talk about it for fear of being misunderstood. But I do want you to understand where I'm coming from and I hope that my history and my record will be sufficient to make clear that what I'm feeling isn't anti-mutant prejudice.

I have loved getting to know you, Jean-Paul. And I want just as much as you do to have the kind of sex that two people on different continents just can't manage. But I'm scared. Yes, I'm intimidated. Okay, I understand you look at me and see Adam Greenfield, crusading reporter. But inside I'm still just little Adam Greenfield of East Midwood, whose crowning achievements were getting into Stuyvesant High and then getting a scholarship that let him go to Columbia instead of Brooklyn College (but still commuting from home). Who didn't come out to his mother until he was 25 years old and seven states away from her. Who is just a nerdy kind of guy who's good with words and has managed to make a living out of that.

And then I look at you. I'm finding myself falling in love, G-d help me, with a guy who can *fly* and travel at almost the speed of light. And who has a fucking Olympic Gold Medal in his sock drawer. A guy who risks his life to save other people, regularly, and on a civil servant's salary. Who talks about battles he's been in and things he has done that are all totally beyond my ken. Jean-Paul, where I come from the *skiing* is exotic enough. Not to mention the foreskin. I'm just feeling over my depth here.

Can you give me some time to sort of get used to the idea? To try to feel less scared? It's all happening too fast for me.

Adam

P.S. I realize I sort of slipped in the "L" word there. I've thought of taking it out so as not to intimidate *you*. But I mean it and you might as well know it.

From: Northstar@alphaflight.gc.ca
To: Agreenfield@herald.com
Subject: Reply to: Last night

I understand, Adam. Vraiment. I want you. I'll do whatever it takes. If it takes time, I'll wait. I can't promise to wait patiently but as long as we can continue as we have been, I can live with it.

About the job: please try not to be intimidated by it. It's just a job. I don't even think it's half as glamorous or exciting as being a foreign correspondent. And after all, I'm on this extended assignment now where I'm doing home renovations and bookkeeping. What could be less intimidating than that? And, yes, there are major differences in background and experience between us. But we have so much in common, too: what we're interested in, what we care about. I feel like there's enough similarity to have a strong bond between us, but enough difference to keep things interesting. And Adam, for you I'd even give up skiing. The other thing stays, though.

Jean-Paul

P.S. See, you're a much braver man than I am. You said it first. Je t'aime, Adam Greenfield. I want so much to tell you that in person. I want to whisper it in your ear. I want to hold you while I'm saying it, to touch you. I want to say it to your body with mine. I'll wait if that's what you need. Please don't make me wait too long, mon ami.

Scott and Logan were at the meeting table in the outpost's living room. Maps and plane schedules were spread out in front of them. Warren entered the big room and spied Scott. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Warren! You're back. I looked for you when I got in, but Wendy said you had gone into town."

Scott got up to greet him but Warren glared at him. "Why didn't you tell me you're sending Laura to Belarus?" he asked, his voice filled with anger.

"She said she wanted to tell you herself. It's going to be okay. I know you're worried, but - "

"You don't know shit. Worried? I'm more than worried. I'm furious. It's an insane idea. She has no experience doing anything like this. Laura's not like you and me - she didn't spend her teenage years risking her life daily and calling that high school. She's had no combat training of any kind. She's never been to that godforsaken place - doesn't know the first thing about it, even if she can speak the language like a native. And what do you think this is going to accomplish? There are thousands of mutants in those camps. There's no way someone can infiltrate and get them all out. You think Laura's going to be some sort of one-woman liberation force?"

"I'm not sending her to get the mutants out of the camps, Warren. People - our people - in Belarus are suffering unspeakable torture every day. They're dying, and often glad to die after what they've been through. Every day. And there's nothing I can do about it. Don't you think I know that? Don't you think it keeps me up at night? If I could send a team in and liberate those camps, of course I would. But that's not an X-Men mission. It will take an army to do that. Or the equivalent in U.N. peacekeepers.

"We're working on that - through diplomatic channels, through mutant-friendly officials at the State Department. We're trying to get the U.N. involved, Amnesty, the Eastern Orthodox Church. All of that. Jean and Charles are working night and day on it and who knows if they'll have any success? They'll keep doing their damnedest as long as any of the mutants in those camps are still alive. But that's not what this mission is about."

"So what is it about?" Warren's voice was still belligerent, but he seemed to be calming down.

"Kolya Ivankov is missing."

Warren opened his mouth to ask something, then changed his mind. Scott motioned for him to sit down across from him. He continued, "Jean-Paul has kept in touch with the reporter from the Herald: Adam Greenfield. I told him to try to continue their correspondence even after Sasha was settled in Westchester - Greenfield might have information we could use. So, they've been exchanging emails and talking on the phone. Greenfield has been in Lithuania these past few weeks, trying to get more information on what's going on in Belarus. It's as close as he could get. The Minsk government is cracking down on foreign reporters and they certainly weren't going to let Greenfield in. Kolya Ivankov - yes, the same Kolya Jean-Paul talked about - was the one who helped him get Sasha out of Belarus. Kolya stayed in the country. He has been aiding mutants who are passing as normal. Giving them new identity papers, getting some of them out of the country before they're found out - either to Latvia or Lithuania.

"Kolya has really been leading the underground mutant rescue operation. He had been moving from place to place, living under an assumed name. Greenfield wasn't in contact with him for fear of blowing his cover. But then Kolya called Greenfield, asked him to help with mutants who had gotten out of Belarus - arranging for new identities or passage to other countries. They can't really stay in Lithuania indefinitely and there are very few countries willing to take mutant refugees. Canada, by the way, is one of them. So, Greenfield has been helping. He's helped with travel, made arrangements through the Canadian consulate - that kind of stuff. He and Kolya were in regular contact. Kolya called Greenfield every day at the same time. From different locations, sometimes just brief conversations, but every day. Then he stopped. Greenfield hasn't heard from him in three days."

Nobody said anything for a minute, while that sunk in. Then Warren asked, "So how did we get into it?"

"Greenfield told Jean-Paul. I think they have really become friends through all of this and he's terribly worried. Kolya knows the whereabouts of hundreds of passing Belarussian mutants, according to Jean-Paul. If they've captured him it's only a matter of time before they break him. If they haven't captured him, well he's somewhere where he can't contact Greenfield. He's in some kind of trouble. We've got to get him out of there before there are hundreds more people sent off to those camps."

"How do you know it isn't too late?" This time it was Logan asking.

"There's still some news coming out of Belarus. If there had been a massive roundup of seemingly normal people, it wouldn't have gone unnoticed. But each day that goes by makes it more and more likely that they'll capture Kolya. And if they've already got him, well, the Belarussian Anti-Mutant Police have proven themselves totally ruthless. I've heard some of what they did to Sasha. It's not a question of whether Kolya tells them everything he knows. It's just a matter of when. We can't let them get hold of him. Not alive, anyway."

There was another long pause. "Why Laura?" Warren asked, finally.

"Come on, Warren, you know the answer to that. We send anybody else in there they'll be totally at a loss. She speaks the language. The languages: Belarussian and Russian. She can get around; she can understand what others are saying. And she's smart and capable and doesn't look like a mutant. Or a combatant. She's inconspicuous. And she's here, goddammit. I don't have time to find someone else who just happens to speak Russian or Belarussian and has a mutation that doesn't show and is willing to go to the current world hot spot for mutants." Scott put his hand on Warren's arm. "I have to use Laura. I'm sorry, Warren. Look, we've got a good plan - I wouldn't send her if we didn't. We've got things worked out. I've got cover for her, I've got protection. Jean-Paul will be with her. They'll get in and out as fast as they can."

Warren's looked down, wings drooping. "I tried to talk her out of it. She said she has to go. She wouldn't listen to a word I said."

Scott didn't say anything.

After a while Warren looked up. "Well, if she's going, I'm going with her."

"You can't. You wouldn't last a day in Belarus. I'm not going, Warren. I can't - the glasses make me too easy to spot. And you're twice as easy to spot as I am."

"I'll tie them up. Nobody will know."

"Yeah, right." Scott was trying to be patient but the worry was coming out as sarcasm. "Until they strip search you. Or frisk you. Or somebody just pats you on your goddamn back. I'd just as soon send Hank or Kurt as you. It's totally out of the question."

"I can't let Laura go there by herself."

"She's not going by herself. I told you: Jean-Paul's going with her. He can fly her out of there if need be, just like you could. Better, even, because of the super speed component. And nobody can tell by looking at him or Laura that they're mutants. They have a fine cover story. She'll be a Belarussian immigrant to Canada and she's showing her husband the land of her birth."

"You can come up with whatever cover story you want, Scott, but I'm going, too. Don't act like this is going to be easy for her. Or safe. Her mutation doesn't show but that doesn't mean they can't find out what she really is. Particularly if she's snooping around places no tourist would go near. That country is a hell-hole for people like us and you're sending Laura in there. Well, she's not going without me."

"You're telling me it's a hell-hole?" Scott's voice was rising. "I've met Sasha Cherevko. I've seen what's left of him. He was starved. He was beaten. He was raped. He can't sleep, can't eat, can barely function. I can't send obvious mutants into Belarus. I'll lose you if I do, Warren. Look, we're not kids any more. This is for real. You want to be an X-Man, you've got to do what I tell you. You've got to take orders. You are not part of this mission."

"Well, if these are the orders, I don't want to be an X-Man. Okay, Cyclops? I resign, before I even signed up again. Keep the uniform, keep the lapel pin, keep the fucking secret decoder ring. I'm not part of the mission? Fine. But I'm still going with Laura." Warren stalked out of the room, wings flapping angrily.

Scott stood up to follow him, but Logan stopped him, his hand on Scott's shoulder. "Let him go. You're not going to get anywhere arguing with him."

"Stay out of this, Logan. It's between me and Warren. We have a lot of history. I know how to handle him."

"Yeah, you're doing a bang up job so far."

"Look, I know you don't like him. It's fine with you, I'm sure, if he goes off to Belarus just because he's hot for this Laura woman. Fine if he doesn't come back, too. That's what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"No, Scott, it's not." Logan looked very serious. "I'm thinking if it was you going, I'd go, too. I'm thinking if it was me going, you'd go. And you wouldn't stand for anybody telling you that you can't 'cause the glasses make you too obvious. An army of lovers, right? I don't think he's just hot for her, Scott. I think it's a lot more than that."

Scott looked up from the papers on his desk as Jean-Paul and Laura came in. "I'm sorry I haven't been more involved in your preparation and training," he said, after greeting them. "With Charles leaving for Washington pretty much the minute we got back here, I've been up to my ears in school administration and teaching. Well, you know: 'the best-laid schemes of mice and men gang aft agley.' Sorry mine did."

"That's okay," Laura replied. "Hank and Ororo have been taking good care of us."

"They're the best. But I did want to review the mission with you once before you head out tonight. Make sure we're all on the same page and see if you need anything more from me." He glanced at his watch. "Where's Warren?"

"He's in the infirmary," Jean-Paul said. "Hank was adjusting the brace. He'll be here in a minute."

"How is that working?"

Laura answered. "It's uncomfortable but he can stand it longer than just tying them up. And it makes a much better cover story. Hank gave him a very serious official-looking doctor's letter saying it will impede his recovery from the accident if he takes it off. And Hank says it should even work if they X-ray Warren in the airport - the bones of his wings will just blend in with the structure of the brace and they'll have no idea." She paused a moment in thought. "Of course it has no real medical purpose. But I think it's unlikely that any medical professional is going to be questioning him about it - if anything he'll get asked at Airport Security or Customs. And even if a doctor did look at it, a Belarussian doctor wouldn't expect to be familiar with American medical appliances."

Warren walked in right then. He was moving somewhat awkwardly and the metal and padding of the brace showed at the opening of his shirt collar. "Well it sure looks genuine," Scott said. "And genuinely uncomfortable. I, for one, would believe you'd suffered an injury. How long can you tolerate it?"

"I've been wearing it longer each day. I'm up to 10 hours a day now. I should be able to keep it on all the time, except when I'm alone in the hotel."

"Good. Okay, let's go over your identities."

"We've been through this a million times, Scott." Warren sounded weary.

"Not with me, you haven't. I thought we agreed you're doing this as an X-Man. Following orders."

Laura put her hand on Warren's arm. "Of course he is," she said. "We don't have a chance of getting in and out alive unless we do this as a team. We all know that." Warren nodded, a little reluctantly. Laura continued, "I'm Lara Martin, nee Lysenko. I live in Cote St. Luc, western suburb of Montreal, with my darling husband Jean-Paul." Northstar smiled at her. "My family immigrated to Canada from Belarus when I was four. It's my first time back, showing Jean-Paul my homeland and showing him off to the relatives."

"And the relatives? They're the names Adam Greenfield gave you?"

"Yes, he got them from Kolya. They are key contacts in the underground mutant rescue network. Non-mutants who are hiding mutants and helping to get them out of the country. We have a code word so they'll know we're connected with Kolya. But they show up in Lara's address book as distant cousins and so forth."

"Good. Okay, I probably don't have to remind you of this, but I'm going to anyway: those people's lives are worth nothing if they are found out by the Belarussian authorities. If any one of you is captured, whoever's left free must call Adam Greenfield right away. He'll call your contacts and warn them to disappear. And then you abort the mission and the rest of you disappear, too. Out of Belarus as quickly as you can." There was a long pause while they all thought about the implications of leaving one of the team behind.

Scott continued. "Jean-Paul, were you able to get any additional contact names from Sasha?"

Northstar shook his head. "No, he really knows nothing about Kolya's rescue activities. He started the whole operation after Sasha got out. According to Adam, Kolya really wasn't looking further than rescuing Sasha. He'd planned to leave with him, but when he found out what was going on in the camps he felt he just couldn't leave, that he had to do something about it. It still kind of blows my mind - not the Kolya I remember."

"I know. How does Sasha seem to you, Jean-Paul? You hadn't seen him for a few weeks. Do you think he's any better?"

"Vraiment? No, I don't see it. Not yet, anyway. It was nightmarish talking to him. He couldn't concentrate on anything I was saying - I had to ask all my questions several times. And he just kept gripping my arm and asking me again and again to promise we'd get Kolya out safely. Mon dieu! I hope we find him; I hope he'll be willing to come with us. I hate making a promise like that when I don't even know if I can deliver, but he just wouldn't let me go until I did. They've been best friends forever - they're like family to each other. And Kolya risked his life to rescue Sasha. If he doesn't get out safely, I'm afraid Sasha is going to feel like it's his fault. He's in such bad shape now, I can't even imagine what that would do to him."

Scott sighed. "Let's all hope it doesn't come to that." And then, "I assume you're using Alpha Flight's house in Cote St. Luc as your address?"

"Yes, that seemed to be the easiest way to come up with a checkable address. The phone number is listed under 'J-P Martin' and if anyone calls there, they will get a recorded message in Laura's voice saying that Jean-Paul and Lara are unavailable," Jean-Paul answered. "In three languages," he added.

"Let me see your passports." Laura and Jean-Paul passed them over to Scott, who looked at them, ran his fingers over each page and whistled. "Damn these are good!"

"They ought to be," Jean-Paul said, laughing. "They're real." Then, in answer to Scott's questioning look, "I keep telling you - when you're a government agency you get cooperation. The Passport Office was only too willing to work with us."

"That is an advantage. So, what did we do for yours, Warren?"

"Well, mine's real, too," he answered. "It's just not really mine." He handed over a U.S. passport. Scott opened it. It had Warren's smiling face inside and identified him as Stephen Essex. Mr. Essex appeared to be well-traveled; the passport was worn and the pages of entry and departure stamps were almost full. "Bobby doctored it for me."

"He did a good job of putting your picture in. It doesn't look tampered with at all. All those years of forging fake ids to get into bars underage left him with some fungible skills." He looked up at Warren. "So what happens when the real Stephen Essex looks for his passport?"

"He won't. He's a Worthington Industries executive. No overseas trips planned for the next few weeks and he'll be kept much too busy at work to go on any pleasure trips. His passport will be back before he even knows it's gone." Warren pulled out a leather card case and handed a business card to Scott. "I have his cards, too. And made a bunch of appointments by sending letters on his stationery. I'm going to be meeting with Belarussian software companies, discussing plans for Worthington Industries to move software maintenance offshore. If any of them have read up on the company they'll know that Warren Worthington III was revealed to be a mutant. If it comes up I'll just tell them how glad I am that the mutant bastard is out of the firm now and that the stock price is rebounding since he left." He was trying for a light tone, but the bitterness underneath showed through.

Scott knew Warren well enough to realize he wouldn't want an expression of sympathy in front of the others. "And what if any of these Belarussian business people call Stephen Essex's office?"

"They'll get his admin assistant, who's a friend of mine and knows what to say. She's the one who got me his passport in the first place. And, no, she doesn't know what I'm doing in Belarus, although she sure gave me an earful about what a crazy idea it was for me to go there. She thinks I'm visiting Pyotr. Which, of course, I will be if I can. I'm hoping he's going to be able to help us."

"Me, too." Scott turned to Laura. "Any luck getting further information on his whereabouts?"

"No, not really, but that number you had me call? You know - the one in the email you got the other day. Well, they definitely know Pyotr. They weren't willing to say much over the phone but they led me to believe they'd tell us more in person. And then the woman on the phone started in on this seemingly unrelated discussion of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. It took me a few minutes to realize what she was getting at."

"That's good, Laura. Real good. So they know him and they know he's called 'Colossus'. And they aren't saying anything more, so they know to be cautious. It sounds like a promising contact."

"Better than that, Scott. The phone number - it's one of the ones of my 'distant cousins' that Adam gave Jean-Paul. They not only know Pyotr, they know Kolya. There's some connection between the two of them. Maybe if we locate Pyotr he'll even know where Kolya is."

"That would be great." Scott gave Warren back the passport. "Okay, so how are you going to meet up with the Martins here?"

Jean-Paul spoke this time. "We'll be on the same flight. Mr. Important Executive there will be up front in Business Class while my blushing bride and I will suffer in the cheap seats. But we'll meet up at the luggage carousel. Warren, excuse me - Stephen - will be struggling to pick up his suitcase, given his recent injury. I'll offer to help. We'll chat in line for Customs, discover that he doesn't speak Belarussian or Russian, so Lara here will offer to help him get a cab. Then we'll find out we're in the same hotel and we'll share the cab."

"Good. Oh, and Stephen - remember this: Lara here is Jean-Paul's wife. For the whole time you're on this mission. That clear?"

"He'll never appreciate you like I do," Warren said soulfully to Laura, who laughed. And then, seeing Scott's stern look, "Okay, okay. I'll be in character starting from when we head out for the airport tonight. Really."

Scott nodded. "I know you will," he said solemnly. "I know you all will. I don't have to tell you how dangerous this mission is. Or how important. Remember: I'm here to offer any assistance I can. Call any time. We can send in reinforcements if needed, if you think it can be done unnoticed." He looked at the three of them, grim determination on three faces. "Godspeed to you all."

"Cyclops? It's Northstar."

"Jean-Paul? Are you okay? Where are you?

"We're all fine. I couldn't call before. We're in Vilnius now. All three of us. Pyotr, too."

"Is Kolya with you?"

"No, he's still in Belarus. He's okay. We'll get him out, but it's going to take a little doing."

"What was wrong? Why did he stop calling Adam Greenfield?"

"The Belarussian authorities found out about his contact with Adam. He was afraid they were monitoring calls to Adam's room. Kolya's been on the run, Scott. They pretty nearly nabbed him. He and Pyotr were with a family named Sudak. The parents are mutants and there are four kids - the older two have come into their powers already. They were trying to get them out of Belarus. Pyotr had Russian documentation for them. They were this close to all leaving and the parents got picked up."

"What happened to them?"

"Nothing good, that's for sure. Who knows if they're even still alive? But they knew about Adam. That's why Kolya couldn't call there any more. They'll have gotten Adam's name and number from them."

"And the kids?"

"They're here. With us. We'll give you the whole story when we're back - it's long. But we got them all out. We split up and left through different checkpoints.

"Warren brought Seryozha - he's the eldest - under the guise of him being some sort of hot-shot programmer going to work for Worthington temporarily. You should have seen Laura - she was amazing. She convinced the border guards that she and I are adopting the youngest two. We had the flimsiest of documentation but she snowed them totally. Pyotr had some story to go with Natasha but they didn't buy it at the border. He ended up transforming into organic steel and just picking her up and barreling through. They shot at them but he was able to shield her."

"Thank God you all got out. How are the kids?"

"They're a mess. Well, who wouldn't be? Scott, we need to get them out of here. It's too close and there's no long-term arrangements for mutant refugees to stay in Lithuania. Can you pull some sort of strings and get them visas to come to the States? If not, we can make arrangements with the Canadian consulate."

"I don't know. We'll try. I'll talk to Charles. We'll either take them in here or the Saskatchewan outpost. I'll get back to you. Where can I reach you?"

"Centrum Hotel, Vilnius. Ask for Adam Greenfield's room."

"Okay. All of you?"

"Yeah, a little crowded, but there isn't an empty hotel room in the whole city. So, we'll manage."

"Poor Adam. I bet he doesn't know what hit him. Well, just remind Pyotr not to transform in the room."

"Believe me, we thought of that."

"I'll call you back as soon as I know anything. Oh, and Jean-Paul? Good work. I'm so glad you're all okay."

"Moi aussi."

"Hey, tell Adam thanks for me. And tell him we'd love to have him visit - either here or the outpost - when this is all over."

"Thanks, Scott. I'll tell him that."

"Oh, and tell him I promise we'll give him a room to himself."

"I'll pass on the message, copain, but that may not be necessary."

"Si bon, mon coeur." Jean-Paul whispered in Adam's ear, pushing deep inside him.

Adam was underneath, one leg up over Jean-Paul's shoulder, the other round his waist. His hands were holding Jean-Paul's ass and he was pushing up to meet him and pushing down with his hands to pull him deep inside. Jean-Paul rubbed the underside of Adam's leg with his hand, kissing him as he fucked him hard. His breathing became ragged and he was sweating, the tightening in his balls heralding orgasm. He broke off the kiss and put his head down next to Adam's, moving just the lower half of his body now, pumping hard and fast.

"That's it. Almost there. Come, love," Adam whispered in his ear, continuing to pull him deep with his hands, his leg, his voice.

Jean-Paul thrusted in once more and came, feeling the orgasm in waves of sensation. He stayed on Adam and in him for a minute, then pulled out. Jean-Paul kissed Adam on the forehead and said, "Don't go anywhere," getting out of bed to dispose of the condom. He was quickly back, got into bed with Adam and pulled him close.

"Si bon," Jean-Paul said again. "To have you here for real. Your voice but not just your voice - it's so good, Adam. Vraiment, I didn't know it could feel like this."

"Me, neither. I love what you do to me, Jean-Paul." And, after a pause, "I was scared it wouldn't be so good in p