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Ororo draws the blinds to her room in the X-Mansion. It’s already dark outside, and no one will be flying past at this time, but it feels more private to close them.
She turns, looking at the table beside her bed. There’s a row of candles, lavender-scented, and a dark red lipstick that contrasts even her shaded skin.
She applies it gently, twirling up the stick, pressing the flat end to her bottom lip, rubbing it in with the top.
She turns again to the other side of her window, where her floor-length mirror is propped up. In it, she can almost see her entire body, though it cuts off at her ankles, her legs too long to accommodate for the mirror’s height.
Once more, she reaches up, her hands empty this time. She uses it to push down the strap of her nightdress, the silken fabric falling easily. It isn’t hard to pull the other down with it, exposing her chest to herself in the mirror.
She gasps lightly, her fingers rubbing over her nipples, which harden under her touch. It isn’t her fingers, however, that she imagines as she does this.
She steps out of her nightdress, now bare in front of her mirror, her body exhibited for her conjured lover.
She imagines what he, Logan, would do to her in this moment. Would he cup her breasts, kneading them with his fingers, or would his fingers move lower, into the wetness between her legs?
She shivers at the idea, her own hands mirroring her thoughts, one remaining at her chest, whilst the other parts her thighs.
She thinks of Logan’s hunger, keeping her eyes trained on the mirror as her lips fall open in a gasp, her fingers circling her clit. Would he take her nipple in his mouth? Would he drop to his knees before her to taste her? Would he want to?
She tries to convince herself that he would, but something, or many things, stop her from believing it. Her mouth falls too wide, she’s too tall to fit the mirror, her arms are too muscly. She isn’t delicate, she’s strong. She isn’t dainty, lithe and fragile. Would Logan want her to be fragile?
Her fingers pick up their pace, Ororo finally closing her eyes as she leans in to kiss the mirror. The sensation of Logan’s soft lips distracts her, though the coldness of the mirror glass makes it hard to fall into this fantasy.
She leans down to press a kiss to where her shoulder is reflected. “Logan thinks I’m beautiful,” she tells herself, even if it isn’t true.
She doubts it is. Sure, he calls her ‘beautiful’, but that’s only ever in front of Jean, in an attempt to make her jealous. Ororo hates that she revels in it.
”Logan thinks I’m beautiful,” she tells herself again, pressing a kiss to where her cheek is.
Her kisses cover the mirror, lipstick stains showing her all of the places that Logan loves on her body. He loves everything about her. In this reality, at least: the one she has created for herself.
She whimpers as her fingers slip between her folds, moving easily, coated in slick.
“Logan…”
Her fingers piston faster, the slapping sounds of her juices even louder than her moans. “Oh, Logan!”
”Logan!”
She cums with his name on her lips, legs stuttering as she grips the mirror frame for support.
She pants heavily, naked chest heaving. Her eyes meet her own in the mirror and a tear rolls down her cheek.
Kissing mirrors is cold, touching herself is lonely, and Logan is so, so warm.