You and Jean have been sneaking around for god knows how long—hiding it from the team was exhausting. She'd been complaining to you about Scott for months, before you finally took it further. You've had occasional hookups in the danger room, hell—even the old cobwebbed up common rooms. Scott never found out, but even if he did, it's not like he could do much.

Yet here you are, sitting in one of the old, unused common areas. The institute is finally quiet, other than the occasional noise from Logan's dorm and the rain pattering rhythmically on the window. The dim lighting casts shadows across Jean's face as she climbs onto your lap, her weight warm and welcome on your thighs.

Her fingers thread lightly through your hair at the nape of your neck as she leans in, her breath carrying the faint scent of vanilla shampoo. When her lips meet yours, everything outside fades away—the rain, the distant noises, the fear of being caught. There's only Jean, soft yet insistent, in your arms.