Okay, so this is the somewhat odd result of my thinking about the 
friendship challenge on OTL, and what friendship is like among 
villains...

***Friendship and Killer Whales, by Alex SisterWolf.  Rated R for 
sex, violence and general mayhem.  Written in response to the 
friendship challenge.  All recognizable characters belong to 
Marvel Comics and no copyright infringement is intended. Archive 
story with permission.  Send feedback to 
Alexsisterwolf@netscape.net. Pretty please, with sugar on top, 
darlin'.***

Mystique stomped into the television room of Magneto's fortress, 
frowning.  Mort, who'd been peacefully watching the Discovery 
Channel (a special on orcas-his favorite animal), eyed her warily.  
Mystique in a bad mood was something to fear.

Mystique paced back and forth, obviously stewing over something.  
Mort considered telling her she was blocking his view of the 
telly, but decided she'd probably break his nose for it.  Instead, 
he waited quietly for the outburst.  He'd seen her this way 
before.  She'd yell and break things, then she'd start crying on 
his shoulder, tell him all her problems, then as soon as she felt 
better, it'd be back to normal, with Mystique treating him like 
some sort of lesser lifeform.

Oh well, he shrugged philosophically.  He was used to it.

"That bastard!" Mystique yelled.

"Wot's wrong, Mystique?"  Mort muted the sound of the announcer 
discussing orca hunting tactics and patted the sofa cushion next 
to him.  "Tell me all about it."

She sneered at him and continued pacing around the room, 
occasionally picking up small objects and weighing them in her 
hands absently.

"I hate men," she muttered, tossing a small vase from hand to 
hand.

"Wot 'appened?" Mort asked, watching an orca beach itself in order 
to nab a seal.   He kept half an eye on her, in case there was any 
need to duck.

Suddenly, Mystique whirled around and flung the vase against a 
wall.  It exploded in a shower of clay fragments.  "He called me a 
freak!"

She burst into tears, covering her face with her hands.

"C'mere, sweet'eart, c'mere," Mort murmured soothingly.  She 
plopped down on the sofa next to him, sobbing.  He rubbed his hand 
over her back.  Funny, you'd think that the scales would be hard, 
scratchy, but instead they were soft and yielding under his hand.  
Mystique leaned her head against his shoulder.

Between sobs, she told him what had happened.  "I was bored, so I 
changed into the form of that bitch, Jean Grey, and I went out… to 
a bar… in Georgetown… and I met this guy… I really liked him!" she 
wailed.

"There, there," Mort soothed, keeping an eye on the telly.  Ooh, a 
pack of orcas herding a school of fish by confusing them with 
sonar pings.  Now that's something you don't see every day.

"So we went back to his apartment… and we started having sex… and 
he was really good, and I was getting really into it…"

With great difficulty, Mort tried not to picture any of this in 
his mind.  Mystique would skin him alive if she ever got the idea 
that he found her sexy.  He figured the only reason she even 
talked to him was that she thought of him as some kind of sexless 
amphibian.  Not that he really ever wanted to have sex with her, 
it would be about as dangerous as bedding a pit viper, but hey, he 
was male, he couldn't help but notice her.

"… and I guess I lost control of the form when I orgasmed… and 
suddenly he was staring at me and screaming that I was a freak…"  
She sobbed into Mort's shoulder, her tears soaking his shirt.

"That bastard," Mort murmured, stroking her hair.

"I really liked him, too…"  Mystique sniffled.  "So I crushed his 
windpipe and let him suffocate on his living room floor…  Men are 
such bastards!"

"I know, sweet'eart, I know."  He grabbed a tissue and handed it 
to her.  She wiped the tears away from her glowing yellow eyes. 

"You think I'm sexy, don't you?"

Mort froze and thought fast.  He could tell her the truth, and 
she'd kill him, or he could lie… and she'd kill him.  Either way, 
he was screwed.  He might as well tell the truth.  "Yeah, 
Mystique, I think you're sexy."

"You're not just saying that, are you?"

"Trust me, sweet'eart, if it wasn't for my fear of emasculation, 
I'd be hitting on you all the time."

Mystique smiled, her eyes watery.  "Thanks, Toad.  That's sweet."  
She eased herself away from his shoulder, putting distance between 
them.  "So what are you watching?"

"Special on orcas."  Mort grabbed the remote and turned the sound 
back on.

"Oh, cool."

They settled back comfortably on the sofa, watching the television 
in companionable silence, a small island of light in Magneto's 
dark, dreary fortress.

end

--
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