Part 1: Adoring Fan

Stepping into the house, a casually formal dressed man cleared his throat.

"Coffee's here." He beckoned to a guy behind him with a twist of the neck. A stubble chinned flat faced companion emerged soon after, more coffee holders in hand.

The crew members lounging in the dining room turned. The next second, they were impatiently tapping toes, checking watches, and making last minute spreadsheets on their phones around the table, as the two set down the caffeine filled receptacles and the even distribution of an 8-to-5er's inherent life source began. Lo, behold, capably functioning adults they were once more.

"Ahh."

"Ooh."

"Oh yeah."

Hiss. "Fuck!"

"Rob!"

"Sorry!"

"Rob, what are you -- what is --" Sigh. "Rob."

"Sorry, sorry," deferred Rob. "Let me... I'll go clean that up."

"You know what I don't get," came the inquisitive voice of a cap-wearing lady, pen in hand, as she watched the cast for the day's scene mingle in the living room, a blurry Rob whisking past. "Why couldn't we just, you know, hire... actors?"

The crewhand looked at the assistant quizzically. "How do you mean?"

"Dave," she lobbed an arm in front of her, "we have the actual real life X-Men on our set!"

Dave cradled his chin with a duo of knuckles. Then he shrugged. "Don't worry about it." His bespectacled acquaintance stared at him narrowly. He sighed and patted her shoulder. "Hey. The kid's got insurance."

A menage of laughter erupted from the living room.

"And you must be Mark!"

All eyes shifted, to a figure just in front of the sofa.

Scraggly hair, slim stature. Inconspicuous, wide-eyed. True young buck and bronco. A boy of less years than most of the cars parked outside and, had it not been clear already, the one, the only, and central star of this feature length blockbuster in progress.

Currently, he was looking straight into Storm's cleavage.

"Uh... Mark?" Behind him, his mother shook his shoulders encouragingly. "Mark, honey, I think they're talking to you."

The real Storm, and her real cleavage. Before his humble eyes.

"Did I... say something?" Looking around, Cyclops was only met with shrugs and 'eh's'.

"He seems entranced," nodded Storm, hands on hips. Mmm.

"You did inform him that today was the day of the first shoot?" piped a bald, pointed-lipped man, phone in hand.

"Yes," Mark's mother replied breathlessly, "why, it was the only thing he could seem to talk about the whole month." As she spoke, the man conducted listless taps against his phone.

"Only within this household, of course?" he sharply looked up.

The matron answered with a blatant affirmative. Considering the multitude of legal paperwork in the precedent to filming this, there was no other choice. She even had her son delete his social media accounts, in case he squeaked.

"I see." Tap. Tap tap tap. Then finally, "Well, he seems a little lethargic. Jenny!" With a snap of a finger, a young brown-haired assistant donning an X-Men-branded baseball cap banally walked over. "Get the boy something to fill his stomach. Preferably with sugar."

"He just finished breakfast an hour ago," remarked Mark's mother in a disbelieving puff while Jenny, now relegated to the background, rolled her eyes and vanished into the kitchen.

Pursed lips, the diminutive man assured, "Consider this brunch."

"It's 8 o'clock." Shaking her head, the mother continued with a flail of the hand, "And -- just who are you anyway?"

"Me?"

A passing silence. A quiet fart. Somewhere, Jenny, opening a cupboard.

The bald phone holder smirked. "I'm... Leonard."

"What you do, smartass," Cyclops clarified helpfully.

"He's one of the assistant directors," chimed the bespectacled woman from earlier.

"Hello, Leonard." Through gritted teeth, Mark's mom returned the favor. "As your probably know, I'm Lauren Williams, Mark's mother. And while you may have the stage when it comes to this movie business, I still have the bottom line when it comes to my son. And..." Suddenly, her eyes fluttered as she looked down at her empty hands. "Mark?" Her head moved up to cast a futile look around the living room. "Where'd he go?"

"He went to use the restroom." As if on cue, Jenny appeared, the bubble of crewhands around her splitting to give her the wiggle room. "Also, donuts."

A noticeable array of perked ears rippled through the house as two boxes were placed on the glass table.

"Dibs on the maple."

"It's always two chocolate bars. Why is it always two?"

"Hey, single-file line!"

As the crew crowded round to snag their share of sugary filling, a sudden cry paddled through the air.

"THIS," it boomed, "THIS IS THE BEST DAY OF MY FUCKING LIIIIIFEEEEEEEEE!!!!"

and,

"...I WANT TO FUCK STORM'S BOOBS AND NIPPLES AND ASS ALL AT ONCE!!!"

and finally,

"...HER BOOBS, HER FUCKING BOOOOOOBS!"

"Rob," drawled a voice from the dining room, "did you leave the mic in the bathroom upstairs?"

Rob furrowed his brow, napkins clutched firmly as he looked down at an ambiguous spot of carpet. "Shit."

"Just wait 'til Jean gets here," Cyclops murmured into Storm's ear in the living room, numerous donuts halfway into many an awkwardly opened mouth. "Also, I just skimmed the final draft of the script. I don't know how the hell this got approved, but we're going to talk to the professor after all this blows over. There's definitely something weird going on."

"Oh, relax," waved Storm, "after the truce negotiations, there shouldn't be anything to worry about. Besides, the kid may be a bit... over-excited, I admit." The dark skinned mutant shrugged a shoulder. "But it's nothing we can't handle."

"You suck his cock in Scene 3."

Storm's smile faded. "Say what now?"

Less than a minute later, Leonard's donut fell right out of his fingers as his collar was grasped by a white-eyed, slightly agitated Storm.

"LEONARD, WHAT KIND OF MOVIES DID YOU SAY YOU DID AGAIN?"

Leonard chuckled, just enough for a crack of nervousness to emerge. "Experimental indie... arthouse.... with some liberties."

"WITH SOME LIBERTIES?"

"And how did you acquire information on our identites?" Cyclops, a donut of his own between two fingers, found his way to Storm's side. "Talk!"

"We..." Leonard glared at Storm. She, however, did not loosen her grip. "...we used a pitch by an anonymous party, okay? The screenwriter goes by an alias, I don't know who they are! We're just filming the movie as written. That's all! If you have problems with it, talk to the brass!"

"How did this even get past conception stage." Biting into his donut, Cyclops moved it around in the air in suggestive motions. "Or whatever you guys call it."

The front door opened. Stepping inside, a casually formal dressed man cleared his throat.

"Jean's here."

Behind him, the red-haired psychokinetic waltzed in, setting down a bag as she surveyed the interior. Spotting Scott, she waved, then shifted her gaze to Storm. Sportily, the latter let go of Leonard's collar. Leonard hadn't even realized he was lifted off the floor as he fell to his knees, rubbing the bottom of his chin with a disdainful cough.

"We're so fucked. Dave," exhaled the capped woman, "we are so fucked!"

Dave, licking his crumb laced lips, gave her what he probably thought was a comforting expression. "Now now, Phoebe. It's not us who's going to be doing the fucking. It's them," he gestured, then pointed to the mouth of the hallway, "and him right there."

There stood Mark, jaw pulled down by gravity and a few relocated surges of blood as his eyes were close to bugging out of their lids. "JEAN FUCKING GREY?"

"Phoebe," Dave insisted as the anxious woman nibbled on a finger, "we've done this before. Remember 'May I?'"

A second in, Phoebe was nibbling on five.