Hanging Out With Wasp

Jonathan rubbed the back of his neck and finally looked around, blinking against the sunlight streaming through the big windows. The place was bright, really bright, like one of those apartments you only see in magazines. Clean lines, glass and chrome, but still warm somehow. Half a dozen framed photos laughed down at him: Janet at charity galas, Janet with Tony Stark, Janet with Captain freakin’ America. She had the kind of life you saw on magazine covers: golden girl of the hero set, equal parts beauty, brains, and chaos.

Everything looked expensive. Shiny floors you could probably eat off of, some big colorful painting on the wall that he couldn’t make sense of, and furniture that didn’t look like it was ever meant to be sat on. There was a glass table covered in papers, a few pens, and what looked like little mechanical parts or jewelry pieces, tiny stuff he couldn’t imagine anyone bothering to make by hand.

He turned toward the kitchen area, clean counters, some weird coffee machine that looked more like a robot, and a bowl of fruit. The whole place smelled faintly sweet, like perfume mixed with soap and flowers.

He ran a hand through his hair and tried not to look toward the hallway. Tried not to imagine her naked behind a frosted glass door, water sliding over those curves he’d been pressed against earlier. His cock didn’t care about restraint; it throbbed just thinking about her humming in there, that effortless confidence dripping off her like perfume.

But it wasn’t just lust chewing at him.

Jean Grey. The name alone made his stomach twist. Telepath. Storm had said she wanted to meet him to “read the boy’s mind.”

He didn’t even know what that meant. Read his mind? Like a book? Like word for word, thought for thought? If so, he was screwed. Utterly, completely screwed.

He paced to the window, watching the tiny cars trapped in traffic far down below.

Still, a part of him whispered: maybe not.

He didn’t really know what a telepath’s limits were. He’d done his homework over the last few weeks, scanning every article, forum, or conspiracy doc about mutant powers that touched on the mind. The consensus? Telepaths read, they reached into existing thoughts, pulled them apart, sifted through. His power didn’t work like that. He couldn’t hear anyone. Couldn’t feel anyone.

He could only push.

That’s what it felt like inside his head when he used it: a push, like his own thought suddenly had a twin, one that lived outside him for a moment. A second version of his idea that just landed somewhere else. He never saw where it went. Never heard a voice, or felt a presence, or got feedback. The only proof came later, when someone behaved like the thought was their own.

That’s how he knew it worked.

So maybe, maaybe, Jean’s power wouldn’t see it. Maybe it wasn’t even in the same category. Like comparing light to sound. She could read thoughts; he made new ones.

That should make him invisible to her. Right? Wrong. Even if she didn’t sense his powers, she could read his thoughts and know what he thought he’d done.

He laughed silently, the soundless shake of his shoulders half-hysterical. The truth was he had no idea.

Maybe she’d step into his head and see everything: Ms. Roberts prancing around class with her ass and tits out letting him feel her up, Maria as his pliant minder, sexter, and personal phone sex operator, Mystique lap-dancing and sucking him off. And Janet… well, he hadn’t done anything too bad yet…

He pressed his palms together, trying to breathe.

Maybe he had a day left before the whole house of cards fell apart.

So what the hell was he supposed to do with that day?

Sit quietly, wait for the psychic to fry his brain? Or, he glanced at the hallway again, to a fogged glass door where Janet’s shadow moved behind the steam, just stop pretending and enjoy it while he could?

His throat worked in a hard swallow.

She’d step out soon. Wrapped in a towel, hair damp, eyes bright, smiling at him like nothing in the world was wrong.

He rubbed the back of his neck, cock twitching at it pushed his sweats out, the thought creeping in before he could stop it:

If tomorrow meant exposure, maybe tonight could mean freedom.

Maybe he should stop worrying about what came next and push his luck one more time.

Jonathan exhaled hard, scrubbing his palms over his face. No. Enough. He wouldn’t do this, especially with Jean Grey coming tomorrow. Wasp wasn’t some random stranger or supervillain terrorist; she was a hero, one of the good ones.

He stared at his reflection in the window, city light gleaming over his faint, guilty grin. You’re not a monster. You’re not gonna be that guy.

He’d keep it together. No nudges. No pushes. No messing with her head, no matter how easy it would be.

He crossed his arms, nodded once, firm. Decision made. He’d play it straight.

Janet padded soft as a cat across the polished floor in a t-shirt skimming her hips and a pair of cotton panties. The apartment was drenched in sun; the glass wall threw back the whole city and him like a mirror.

Jonathan stood at the windows with his arms folded, jaw tight, profile cut in light. Pensive. Broody. Adorable. He looked like a kid trying to talk himself out of raiding the cookie jar, which would’ve been cute even without the other thing happening in front of the glass.

Janet slowed, grin already tugging. Oh my.

Tent. Capital T. Practically a flagpole.

She edged up to his side, committing to a stealthy “boo” and then caught a better angle and nearly snorted. The waistband of his sweats and boxers was pulled forward away from his pelvis enough that she could see down-right to a fat, veiny base thrusting out of a thick thatch of dark curls.

Janet blinked, lips parting, a quick fizz of laughter caught in her chest.

She’d never really thought about “MMC” beyond eye-rolls at the internet’s dumbest threads. Locker-room bravado. Insecure guys turning mutants into monsters. Honestly? Not her field. Every guy she’d actually been with- fun dates, a couple of steady boyfriends, even Hank, had hovered around the same human normal: call it sixish, give or take enthusiasm and lighting. Perfectly fine. Pleasant. Manageable.

This, though? First mutant hard-on she’d ever seen in person and it was huge. Not an angle, not a filter, not bragging. Just right there, tugging his waistline into a bow and about to tap her window like it wanted to get someone’s attention out there.

Okay, she thought, a wicked, delighted smile tugging at her mouth. So maybe the MMC “myth” wasn’t a myth after all.

Janet let herself look. Just for a heartbeat. Scientist’s curiosity, big sister’s concern, shameless performer’s grin. All of her lit up at once. Because yes, that was a lot of cock; but more importantly, that was a lot of feeling in one skinny, silent, worried boy’s body. The combo hit her heart dead center.

Janet almost went with the “boo.” Almost. But the way he was braced at the window made her dial it down to sunshine instead of jump-scare.

She drifted to his side, hip brushing his. “Hey, tall, dark, and existential,” she said, voice soft and bright. “You okay?”

He kept his eyes on the city. His hands rose, a little shaky. “worried about tomorrow”

“Jean,” she said, nodding. “Yeah. Big brain, bigger reputation. We are going to be fine. I’m with you the whole time. We’ll ask for ground rules, breaks, all of it. You are not going in there alone.”

His throat worked; his fingers answered smaller. “thank you”

“Always,” she said, squeezing his side. Then she tipped her head, mischief sneaking through the concern. “Also and I’m just the messenger here, your, uh, MMC is flashing a very strong suggestion about how I can help you relax before the telepathic meet-and-greet.”

He made a strangled, soundless noise and tried to turn away but she caught his arms and rose on her toes and pecked his jaw.

“Hey. Look at me.” He did, awkward, sheepish, but present. She tapped his sternum. “I adore you. You are safe. And when my favorite person is this balled up, big sister deploys… **** cuddles.”

She kissed his cheek quick and cheerfully. “Sit,” she said, nodding toward the couch. “Doctor Jan’s pre-appointment anxiety clinic is open.”

He nodded a big grin breaking out and turned away to go. She stepped with him and then, with the gleeful precision of an older sister stealing the last donut, she hooked two fingers in his waistband and yoinked his sweats and underwear down in one smooth tug.

He grabbed for fabric, face blazing.

And the view hit her like sunlight.

His cock dropped free and just… kept going. Thick, heavy, it popped up and then settled into a low forward hang, too much weight to stay pointing out. Stupid-wide, veiny, the head glossy and flushed; her hands wouldn’t even meet around it. Underneath, that hairy sack had its own center of gravity, big and low. When he took a step, the whole package had momentum; bounce, jiggle, and plapping. Even the nuts moved like a separate unit. Okay, wow.

Janet’s eyes went wide, then bright, a delighted, reverent laugh bubbling out before she could help it. “Okay,” she breathed, equal parts tease and awe, “MMC has entered the chat.”

He half-turned back toward her in shock, and that only made it worse, better his cock swung across and slapped his thigh, bobbing under its own heft while the sack lagged a beat like its own weight class. Veins stood out, the head shiny, and the whole package just… kept moving. Her grin went feral as he tried to keep his pants but she slipped them out from under his feet with a sharp tug.

“Evasive maneuvers denied,” she sang, swatting his cute butt to get his feet moving. “C’mon, couch. Scoot.”

Flustered, he did, dropping onto the cushions like someone had unplugged his spine. Janet flowed after him and settled between his knees on the rug, palms warm on his thighs, blue eyes bright and steady as she looked up at him.

“Hey,” she said, dialing the playfulness down to pure reassurance. “Look at me.”

He did. The worry was still there, but so was the trust.

“Good. Breathe with me.” Her thumbs drew slow circles into his legs. “You’re gorgeous, every inch.” Her smile tipped wicked. “Ridiculously unfair, actually. Consider my MMC skepticism officially retired.”

His hands signed, ”Are you sure?”

Janet’s answer was immediate and bright. “One hundred percent. This is what we do: we take care of each other. I’m going to help you relax and take your mind off of it. You’re going to let me. And for the next little while, there is no tomorrow, just you and me and the ‘everything is going to be okay’ part.”

The look on his face was excitement, bewilderment, and that same kid caught in the cookie jar expression for some reason.

“Deep breath,” she coached, squeezing once more. “Good. Now let big sister handle the pre-Jean jitters.”

Five minutes ago he’d sworn to play it straight. No nudges, no cheats, hands off the steering wheel. Then Janet happened. One smile, two kisses, three sentences about “**** cuddles,” and he was pantsless on her couch with her kneeling between his knees like it was a public service.

He hadn’t slipped a single thought into her head; he hadn’t asked for this. Yeah, he knew he’d wired her to read sex as affection and to adore him like family but he’d pictured maybe easing into it, him trying things.

Not her going straight to blowjob city with a smile.

She pulls off with a wet breath and keeps stroking. “Okay, easy one. Favorite food.”

Uh… what?

Janet grins, “I can multi-task silly. I want to know ALL about you! How weird is it that I don’t-”

A slight frown appeared and an instant frantic thought slipped into her head ”Don’t ever worry about that.” and it smoothed back out and she watched his hands sign, “Hamburger”

Predictably she didn’t get the smushing a burger pattie pantomime even as she adorably watched with licking his tip like a lolly-pop.

He hesitated, then made a call. This was going to be an awkward blowjob if she had to keep looking up and with the way Maria was fine with it after he made her trust him completely, he figured Janet was in the same boat. Not to mention she didn’t seem anywhere near as suspicious and hard-minded as the tough as nails secret agent. ”I can talk in your head” he sent, clean and simple. ”No changing your thoughts, just communication”

Her eyes lit. “Brain Bluetooth?” She gasped and clapped once. “Yes, please. Do it. Pair me.”

”Paired” he sent.

She beamed and went right back down on him.

And that’s how he had a conversation while an Avenger gave him a blowjob.

She asked in quick bursts when she came up for air, favorite movie, worst class, stuff he liked; and when her mouth was busy he just kept going in her head and she nodded along, pumping him with both hands like she was keeping time.

Eventually, she becomes fixated on getting to ‘real stuff’. He found it hard to say no to the cute irrepressible superheroine sucking his cock and he relented but it felt absurd to basically be going all hallmark moment while she was gargling his balls.

He explained his family situation. His father died, and the advice that stayed with him was: do not let the world decide who you are. After that, the apartment stopped feeling like a home and became something he managed. His mother is alive, but she is mostly absent. She works long hours, sleeps during the day, and communicates with him through short notes and small amounts of cash. He makes sure the rent is paid and the place doesn’t slide into chaos. They don’t fight, but they also don’t sit down and talk. They move around each other politely and keep going.

He clarified how his voice works. He was born mute and learned sign language like any other kid in his situation. His power arrived at puberty. It gave him a second way to speak by projecting his thoughts. He’s hoping more people will trust him like Janet and Maria.

He told her about money without dressing it up. He receives a small survivor benefit, a disability payment for his muteness, and what is left of a life insurance policy. That covers the basic apartment, low-cost food, and school. When it comes up short, he walks instead of paying for a ride. On some days he cheats with his power for small things; free food, line jumps, attention; and then pulls himself back.

Janet would respond throughout, “That’s a good dad,” she said and then planted a slow kiss on the dickhead before taking it halfway, cheeks hollowing as her tongue pressed the underside. Later she’d slide off with a wet pop, a shine of spit stringing to her lips, and kept him steady with a twisting double-stroke. “Gosh, I’m so sorry you grew up that way” she added, tipping her head to lap the bead at the tip before sealing her mouth again and bobbing in tight, noisy pulls that had her nose brushing his skin.

When he reached the part about bills and food, she broke the surface long enough to lay it out:

“Okay. Money? Done. That’s over. You and your mom; rent, food, bills; mine now. Nonnegotiable.” Each promise landed with a firm stroke -rent-and a messy suck -food-and a knuckle-deep swallow-bills -and a lewd long lick up the side.

He blinked. Not quite believing that she was just offering that and feeling a bit bad because of what he was doing. ”Janet-”

“Shh,” she said, smiling, and his discomfort vanishes into intense pleasure and sheer delight as she just seals her mouth around the head and stays there, double-fisting the length, bobbing with short, ruthless strokes. Slurpy. Obscene. Her cute, sporty face goes ridiculous; eyes half-lidded, spit stringing, lips stretched into that exact hentai-blowjob shape he’s only ever seen on screens; and she doesn’t even notice because she’s happy and working.

Honestly feeling like he could tell her anything and brain distracted by her blowjob he eventually actually admitted he had used his power for sexual thrills before.

She popped off, kept him steady with a lazy pump, and flashed that bright, no-nonsense grin. “Okay, here’s the deal, handsome, if nobody’s scared and nobody’s hurt, that’s not ‘bad,’ that’s fun. Naked is great.” She punctuated her statement by pulling back and whipping off her shirt allowing her very pretty tits to pop into view with a buoyant, athletic bounce. They were big for her size, sitting high and perky on her petite frame, smooth and firm with quarter-sized pink areolas with those neat little eraser nipples already tight and pointing. “Pleasure is great. Actual wrong is, like, **** and harm. Keep your dial on ‘don’t hurt people,’ and you get guilt-free sexy fun all you want!”

It was so reassuring hearing her say that! Okay… he may have let a couple of thoughts slip over. Hard not to, with her tongue doing that ridiculous swirl under the ridge and the totally wrong pinky tease at his butthole that fried his concentration. But he clamped down before anything too bad got out.

Right?

He wanted more, to see her. He tapped her shoulder, breath hitching. ”I want to see the rest of you”

“Yep! Naked is great afterall!”, she popped up to her feet with that bright, goofy grin and did a little hip-wiggling shimmy. Her tits bounced with perfect, happy physics and she spun, bent at the waist, and gave him a playful ass shake that made his brain short out. Then she hooked her thumbs in her panties and peeled them down slow, stepping out one foot at a time, tossing them onto the glass table like a victory flag.

She didn’t just stand there. Hands laced behind her head, she did a slow, playful sway that made her breasts bounce just enough to taunt, then turned her hips toward him and slid one knee in front of the other like she was stepping onto a runway. Up close, everything was neat and stupidly pretty: a tight little landing strip just above smooth folds, the soft outer lips full enough to kiss together with a hint of pink peeking when she rolled her hips. A glint of wet caught the light, undeniable, inviting.

“Approved?” she teased, biting her smile, and gave him a side profile before spinning to show the back. The view was lethal. Her ass was fuller at the bottom, that perfect shelf that sat high and then rounded down heavy, meeting a narrow, wicked little waist so the whole thing made a heart when she arched. She bent at the waist and shook it once, laughing, the jiggle obscene and happy. One hand slipped back to lift a cheek and then let it drop, just to watch his eyes go wide. Then she turned and reached between her thighs, parted herself with two fingers for a half-second -slick, pink, ready- and shot him a grin over her shoulder that said you’re welcome.

“Okay,” she chirped, already turning and padding back to him with that bright, bossy bounce, “visuals delivered. Back to work.”

“Lay back,” she chirped, palms on his chest, guiding him. “Longways. Get comfy.”

He stretched out along the couch, head on the armrest, hips close to the edge. Janet sprawled on her stomach between his legs, naked and casual like a beach day, kicked her feet up behind her and crossed her ankles, then settled her chin on the base of his shaft for a second like she was saying hi to an old friend.

Then she got busy.

She took the head into her mouth, sealed tight, and started those short, ruthless bobs he liked, both hands stroking the slick length in sync. Wet, greedy pulls; the kind that made the air fill with obscene, happy slurps and his vision buzz at the edges. When she wanted to change up, her tongue flattened and slid along the underside, slow and deliberate, up and down the sides, then back to that tight seal on the cockhead, cheeks hollowing as her fists pumped.

He couldn’t stop watching her. The line of her back. The curve of her ass, high and firm, flexing when she adjusted her grip. Her legs kicked and swayed idly, toes pointed, like she was listening to a song only she could hear while she worked him. Every time his hips twitched, she slid a hand up to his stomach and pressed him back down, pilot-calm, never breaking rhythm.

She moaned around him when he throbbed, and the vibration shot right through his spine. She’d pull off for a breath, spit-slick and smiling, and drag a long, lewd stripe up the side before swallowing him again, deeper, nose brushing his skin. He told himself not to lose it just from the look on her face, cheeks flushed, eyes happy, lips stretched wide around the head; and immediately failed.

“Good?” she asked lightly between strokes.

He nodded, fingers fisted in the cushion, breath jerking. She answered by going filthier: mouth locked at the tip, both hands twisting opposite directions down the shaft, quick little bobs that wrung him out from the top while her tongue teased the spot that fried his brain. He groaned, still silent, all chest; and she giggled, then sealed tighter and bobbed faster, feet kicking behind her in giddy little flutters.

Heat gathered fast, bright and heavy. He felt it stack low, then start to climb; his stomach tightened; his thighs flexed. Janet lit up, like his pulse was a green light. She dug in, sucking harder, hands sliding quick and snug, and every time his hips tried to rise she flattened him back with a firm palm and a delighted, muffled sound that said mine, I’ve got you.

It hit him quick after that. He grunted, hips starting to pulse, the first surge rolling up from deep. She pulled off at the last split-second with a huge, wicked smile and kept stroking. Fast, tight, right on the edge of too much as his cockhead erupted.

The first spurt hit her cheek and streaked into her hairline; she laughed, open-mouthed and thrilled, and the next shot painted across her nose and lips. She kept pumping and leaned into it, mouth open in delighted shock as another rope arced high and fell across her tongue and chin. More spilled, splattering her jaw, her lashes, glossy lines webbing through her bangs; her hand never slowed, milking him for every last throb until the pulses faded to dribbles and he sagged boneless into the cushions.

Janet wiped a streak from her cheek with her thumb, looked at it like she’d just won a prize, and then licked her thumb clean, eyes sparkling. “I made you cum SOOO much!” she crowed, laughing, still stroking him lazily as the last drops beaded and rolled. She leaned up to kiss his hip, all smiling, messy, and proud; then flopped her chin back on his thigh, feet kicking in the air, the happiest menace on Earth.