cold coffee [jean grey]

aiexsummers:

word count: 1,019
warnings: implications of sexy times
[a/n: dedicated to all my jean hoes out there. we’re thirsting together. this is lightly inspired by this song. i only revised this once, so please forgive me for any mistakes!! this took almost seven hours (including bathroom and brain breaks lol) and it’s almost six in the morning; i’ll proofread again later. and requests are open so hIT MY INBOX UP, YALL]

---

Jean sat
between your legs as you pressed feather-light kisses to her face over and over.
The warm sunlight illuminated your face in all the right places, making you
look so fucking ethereal she couldn’t
believe it was real. You gently pushed her down onto the grass, your giggle
music to her ears.

You kissed
her harder and needier and pushed your fingers onto her hips. Suddenly, she took
you by your shoulders, flipping the two of you over so that you were on the
bottom. She took her eyes off of you for a second, surveying the surroundings. “Why
the hell are we in a field?” You opened your mouth to answer, but all that came
out was a shrill ringing. Jean looked at you, confused, “Wha —”

Jean woke up
to her head pulsing in time with the loud shrieking of the alarm clock. “Fucking hell.”

She used her
powers to hit snooze, mentally writing herself a reminder to levitate Peter and
Scott over the pond for constantly slinging glasses of whiskey and Coca-Cola
into her hands. She turned to face the opposite way, expecting to roll onto
you, but instead came in contact with cool sheets and an empty bed. It was
almost eleven in the morning; she guessed that you had gotten up a while ago.

“Baby?” she
yelled, wincing at the throbbing pain in her head. When there was no reply, she
clumsily tumbled out of bed and walked to the kitchen. With her brows furrowed,
she rubbed circles onto her forehead with her fingertips in attempt to
alleviate her headache.

Similar to
your side of the bed, the kitchen was cold and only thing she cared about was
that you weren’t in it. She huffed (and shamelessly pouted like a child) when
she didn’t spot you, and rummaged through the medicine drawer. Gulping down two
Advil with a glass of water, she went to make herself a cup of coffee —

“J?” she heard you call, along with the front door closing. “Are
you awake, baby?”

“Kitchen,” Jean replied.

“Morning,” you chuckled, shaking the snow out of your hair. You
handed her a cup of what she assumed was coffee and a white paper bag. You
scanned your girlfriend up and down, smiling softly at her and laughing at how
disgruntled she looked with her orange hair messily tied up, still wearing the
undershirt from the night before and a pair of boxer shorts. “Have you been up long?”

Jean shook her head and set the cup down without taking a
sip. “No,” she said quietly, fearing that talking too loudly would spark
another headache. She pushed herself up to sit on the counter behind her. “I just
got up.”

You nodded, shrugging out of your large coat and tossing it
on a chair. “It’s tea — decaf, two packets of sugar — ‘cause I know how caffeine
makes you feel like imploding when you’re hung over, and that,” you pointed to the bag, which was still warm and smelled
like heaven to Jean, “is an onion bagel, straight out of the oven. Wait, are
bagels made in ovens?”

Jean sighed, a content smile forming on her face. She took a
bite of the bagel you bought her and said with a full mouth, “You are so good
to me.”

You moved to scoot her as close to you as she could without
falling off the counter, situating yourself between her legs. With both hands
on her bare thighs, fingertips gripping her skin lightly, you leaned in close
enough to touch the tip of your nose to hers. “Only because I love you.”

You tilted your head, capturing her lips with yours. She
kissed you in a way that was hard and slow, in a way she knew drove you crazy,
lips never parting for your tongue and legs hooking themselves together behind
you. Your fingers worked their way under her shirt, resting on her tummy, thumb
rubbing the soft skin. Your hand slid down, further and further until you were
nearly where you wanted to be.

Suddenly, Jean pulled away from you, grabbing your hand from
under her waistband. She entwined your fingers together and held the side of your
face with her other hand. She smirked at you; your bottom lip was pouted and
she thought you looked so good, with
your hair tucked behind your ears and your cheeks pink and your eyes big and
bright. Everything, just everything,
about you, about how you knew her better than she knew herself, how you always
had your loving hand extended for her to grab onto, how you could make her shiver
in hundred degree weather without warning, how you made her laugh even if she wasn’t
in on the joke.

“I love you, too,” she said.

You swiped your tongue over your bottom lip and smiled. You
tipped your head up to kiss her again. “Well, I’d hope so. This would be really
awkward if you didn’t.”

Jean giggled, pecking you quickly before pulling away again.
She took the hand she had on your face away, moving so she could firmly grip
your ass. “I had a dream about you.”

You cocked an eyebrow at your girlfriend. “What kind of
dream?”

“I think you know,” Jean whispered sultrily into your ear, nibbling
on your earlobe. “But I could reenact it for you, if you need help figuring it
out.”

“Oh, yeah?” you asked as you shut your eyes. “Right here,
right now?”

“Well, in a field, actually,” she shrugged, “but seeing as that’s
kind of gross and a little dirty – the
bad kind of dirty – right here will have
to do.”

“You are so good to me,” you nearly moaned, repeating her
words from earlier. You brought her face down so that it was level with yours, practically
attacking her mouth with your lips. Your hand quickly found its way back to her
waistband.

With the legs she still had hooked around your waist, she
yanked you even closer than before. Against your lips, hurried and breathless,
she said, “Only because I love you.”