Magical Mutations (Ch. 5)

( Every character in this story is a legal adult over the age of 18 )

Magical Mutations

Chapter 5

Jean lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. She had been doing this for at least two hours straight. The digital clock read 2:14 a.m. Every five minutes, she checked it again. Her pillow was causing her a great deal of annoyance. It was too hot on one side and too cold on the other. She just couldn’t catch a break. The rest of her body fared no better. She’d tried curling up with her knees under her chin, flopping on her stomach, rolling over to the right, and then to the left. Nothing seemed to work. Each time she shifted, the sheet bunched and twisted around her legs until it felt like she was being strangled. Outside her bedroom, she could hear the fountain trickling in a never-ending waterfall that only made Jean need to pee.

She threw the covers off and rolled onto her back. She folded her hands over her chest and squeezed her eyes shut. Her thoughts rebelled for the thousandth time since she’d crawled into bed. The scene in her head played on a continuous loop. She saw Harry’s green eyes, the lopsided smile that she found particularly attractive, and the way his hair wildly stuck up in the morning. She remembered wanting to jump into the changing room with him while they were shopping for clothes. That wasn’t exactly normal behavior … at least for her. 

Jean ran her tongue over her lips and felt a flush creep up her neck. This was not her first crush. She knew the symptoms, and she was experiencing them all. The obsessive thoughts, fluttering stomach, and the deep ache behind her thighs all pointed to one thing. Unfortunately, she already had a boyfriend. Duncan was a nice enough guy, but he’d never once made her this crazy. With Duncan, everything was a straight line. She said yes or no and got exactly what she expected in return. With Harry, she just couldn’t seem to control herself. 

She tried to rationalize it all. Maybe it was because he was the new guy, or maybe it was the fact that Harry was a complete mystery. One day, he was lost and unsure of himself, and the next day, he was doing magic tricks with pencils and teleporting across the lake like it was nothing. Maybe it was the way his eyes lingered on her body when he thought she wasn’t looking. It made her feel both exposed and excited. It made her want to do something stupid.

Jean squeezed her thighs together. The heat was back, and it was worse than ever. It started as a subtle tingling in her belly, then radiated lower until it pooled between her legs. Every time she thought about Harry’s hands, his smile, or his voice, it got worse. The first time she’d noticed it, she thought maybe she was getting sick. Now that she knew the truth of it, she just felt perverted. Funnily enough, the thought of her being perverted didn’t really bother her. The only problem was the physical discomfort that came with it all. She’d started wearing her oldest, rattiest pajama shorts to bed because the good ones kept getting ruined. Every morning, she would wake up with large wet spots.

She shifted again, sliding her hand down to her thigh. There was no relief. Her panties were already damp, and Jean groaned and threw her arm over her eyes. “Good god, get a grip, woman,” she whispered to herself. She didn’t dare say it louder, in case someone overheard.

She knew if she let herself, she could think about Harry’s mouth for five minutes and cum so hard she’d wake up everyone on her floor. She’d already tried that earlier in the week. It had been embarrassingly easy. It barely took three strokes, and she was seeing stars. It helped in the moment, but the relief never lasted more than an hour. After that, it came back worse. The cycle was annoyingly relentless.

Tonight, Jean tried to resist. She tried to do the responsible thing. She pictured the periodic table, and when that didn’t work, she went over the numbers of pi. When that failed, she pictured the molecular diagram of table salt. ‘Sodium chloride,’ she thought. ‘NaCl.’ She pictured herself taking a big spoonful and shoving it in her mouth, and the image was so stupid she almost laughed out loud.

Unfortunately, her mind slipped. ‘Sodium chloride … Salt … Sweat.’ Jean immediately imagined Harry’s sweat running down the curve of his bicep and down his chiseled abs. Jean thought about dragging her tongue up and down his sweaty body. She wondered if he tasted sweet or bitter. She wanted to find out.

Jean pressed her thighs together harder. She could feel every tingle and throb of her body. Her nipples strained beneath the thin tank top. They were rock hard and very sensitive. She wanted to rip the tank off, squeeze her own tits, and let her other hand do what she’d been denying all night. The need was so strong it almost made her angry. She was going insane. She was certain of it. She had no idea why she was suddenly acting this way. It was like a switch had been flipped on the moment Harry walked into her life. 

She let her hand wander up her leg, over her stomach, and it paused at the waistband of her shorts. She hesitated, fighting herself. She’d promised she wouldn’t do this again, but she already knew it was hopeless. She slid her hand under the elastic, and her fingers grazed the soft, damp cotton of her panties. The throbbing need was almost painful now. 

She waited and held her breath, letting the feeling wash over her. She pictured Harry in the darkness of her room, crouched at the edge of her bed while watching her with those hungry green eyes. In her mind, he reached out and pulled her hand away, replacing it with his own. His fingers would be rough and perhaps a little clumsy. He’d tease her until she was shaking, and he’d make her say his name. Jean bit down on her lip. She could almost hear him whisper it in her ear.

She rocked her hips a little, and the first touch made her gasp loudly. She pressed her hand over her mouth and froze, waiting to see if anyone had heard her. Thankfully, the only sound she heard was the annoying trickling of water coming from the stone fountain. 

She pressed her palm flat against her wet folds and gently stroked herself. She pictured Harry manhandling her body into any position he desired. She imagined the feeling of his hot, wet tongue exploring her folds. She moved her fingers faster, and she was mortified to hear how wet she was. Her breathing went ragged, and the orgasm built faster than she could ever imagine. She arched her back, and her knees knocked together. When it hit, she had to smother the scream with her other hand. She bit the heel of her palm and shook through the amazing pleasure.

When she was done, she lay perfectly still, waiting for her heart to calm down. The relief was brief, replaced almost immediately by a strange, gnawing emptiness. The pleasure had been great, but somehow she knew that it would be even better with Harry. She suddenly felt stupid and slightly humiliated. 

She rolled over, yanked the pillow over her head, and groaned. “I really need to figure this out,” she muttered. “Or I’ll never get a good night’s sleep again.”

The alarm clock said 2:33 a.m. She shut her eyes and tried not to dream of Harry at all. She utterly failed. 

Magical Mutations

Harry woke to the sound of a beeping alarm. He groaned, rolled over, and blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. For a moment, he couldn’t remember where he was. Then he saw the pile of empty shopping bags and remembered. He was in the mansion, and he had a full day of school waiting to swallow him whole.

Down in the kitchen, Scott poured a mountain of cereal, added a lake of milk, and proceeded to devour it. Harry joined him at the counter and reached for a banana. He found himself missing a classic English breakfast, even though he wasn’t sure if he’d ever eaten one.

“The first day’s always rough,” Scott said, not looking up from his cereal. His sunglasses glinted in the overhead lights.

“I’ll survive,” Harry said. His voice sounded more awake than his brain felt.

Jean arrived a minute later, wearing a pair of cargo jeans and a light purple shirt. Her hair was braided, and her eyelids drooped like she’d been up until dawn. She flopped onto a stool and rested her forehead against her arms.

Harry poked her in the ribs. “Are you alright?” he asked. 

She grunted, then rolled her head to the side and peered up at him with a sleepy smile. “I’m just tired. I didn’t get much sleep.” Her voice was low and a little bit rough. 

Scott passed her a mug of coffee, which she cradled with both hands and inhaled as if it were the cure for death. “You want breakfast?” he asked.

Jean shook her head. “Too tired,” she simply stated.

Scott finished his cereal and stood up, stretching his arms overhead. “We should probably get going. Do you want to ride up front, or do you want to take a nap in the back?”

“The back is fine,” Jean said, then yawned. “But if either of you sings along to the radio, I’ll scramble both of your brains.”

Scott chuckled. “Enough said.” He tossed his bowl into the sink and shouldered his backpack. Harry followed suit, only to realize he had no backpack, pens, or notebooks. Jean solved the problem by tossing him a new Jansport that was sitting by the door.

“Take this,” she yawned. “Storm went out and got everything you’ll need.” Harry inspected the contents and found notebooks, pens, pencils, folders, and a calculator. He shrugged and slung it over his shoulder. He made a mental note to thank Storm later. 

They piled into Scott’s red convertible, which Harry thought was pretty cool. The morning air was already warm. Harry easily slid into the front seat, while Jean curled up in the back and pulled her knees to her chest. Scott cranked the engine, and they roared out of the garage, tearing down the driveway. 

Harry braced himself as Scott took the curves of the private driveway like a lunatic. Every bump in the road rattled his teeth. Harry had never been in a car like this, and he was pretty sure he might become addicted to it. The wind caught Jean’s hair and whipped it across her face, but she just closed her eyes and tried to catch a few winks before they arrived.

They hit the main road and joined the parade of cars streaming toward Bayville High. The building looked more like an old mansion than a school. The parking lot was full of jocks, skaters, preppies, and nerds, all vying for attention. Most of them sported backpacks slung over one shoulder, as if they were too cool to carry them properly. Harry saw that a fight had broken out before they even parked.

Scott wedged the convertible into a spot and turned off the engine. Jean rolled out of the backseat and smoothed her shirt. “First, you need to go to the main office. They’ll give you your schedule.”

Scott added, “After that, try to find me or Jean, and try not to make eye contact with the principal.”

“Why not?” Harry asked.

“You’ll find out,” Jean said with a sly grin.

Harry nodded, swung his bag over his shoulder, and walked toward the entrance. Jean caught up and tugged at his sleeve. “Hold on a second.” She reached up and smoothed his hair, then straightened the collar of his shirt. Her fingers brushed the side of his neck, and they lingered just a second too long.

She pulled away, her cheeks a little pink. “There. Now you look like you didn’t get dressed in the dark.” She grinned and nudged him toward the doors.

Inside, the school was filled with a cacophony of sounds. There were lockers slamming, bells ringing, and a surge of students all laughing and shouting. Jean pointed at the main office and then vanished into the crowd. Harry walked in, smiled politely at the woman behind the desk, and explained he was new.

“Potter,” she read from the computer, her fingers clacking at the keys. “Welcome to Bayville High. See Principal Darkholme first, please.” She handed him a piece of paper and waved him toward an office door with a smoked-glass window.

Harry knocked, and a sharp voice inside said, “Enter.”

He entered and found Principal Darkholme sitting stiffly behind her desk. She wore a gray skirt suit and thick-rimmed glasses. Her brown hair barely reached past her chin, and it was slightly slicked back. Her skin was pale, and her smile, if it could be called that, was thin and humorless.

She stared at Harry for a long time. “Mr. Potter,” she said finally. “You have transferred from …” She checked the paper. “England. Is that correct?”

“Yes,” Harry answered.

She raised a brow. “We do things differently here, I assume. I expect you to adapt quickly. We do not tolerate disruptions at Bayville High.”

Harry smiled, matching her icy stare. “Of course, ma’am.”

Darkholme slid a copy of the school code across the desk. “Read it and learn it. If you have questions, refer to your student mentor. You have been assigned to Jean Grey.”

Harry’s smile was genuine when he heard that. “I’ll do that.”

Darkholme regarded him with the predatory gaze of a snake getting ready to strike. “Dismissed, Mr. Potter. Try not to get lost.”

Harry took the schedule and code, thanked her, and closed the door behind him. In the hall, he scanned the sheet. He saw that he had English first, then history. Those were followed by math, gym, and various others in the afternoon. Harry knew it was going to be a long day. 

He made his way through the school, dodging the moving obstacles of Bayville’s student body. At the corner, he saw Jean again, standing with a guy who looked a bit like a meathead. He wore a letterman jacket and had the glassy, slow-witted gaze of someone who probably cheated on all of his tests. His eyes locked onto Harry.

Jean smiled and waved him over. “Harry, this is Duncan Matthews.”

Duncan extended a massive hand. “Jean’s boyfriend,” he clarified. 

Harry shook his hand, and Duncan squeezed tighter than Harry thought necessary. “So, you’re the lucky man?” Harry obviously already knew that Jean had a boyfriend, and Scott had warned him that Duncan was a bit of an idiot. Now that he had seen him, Harry tended to agree. 

Duncan smirked. “Damn right … So hands off.”

“And if I don’t?” Harry asked with a smirk of his own. 

Duncan’s eyes narrowed. “Then you and I are going to have problems.”

Jean stepped between them, worried that a fight was about to break out. “I can take care of myself, Duncan,” she told him in no uncertain terms. 

Duncan grunted. “Don’t get too cocky, Brit, or I’ll make your life here a living hell,” he warned. He put an arm around Jean’s waist, pulling her close. Jean rolled her eyes and gently pushed him away.

Harry noticed the little things, like how Jean stiffened when Duncan touched her, and how she looked at him when Duncan wasn’t watching. He let the moment pass. As Jean had stated, she was more than capable of taking care of herself. The moment she couldn’t, only then would he step in. 

“Did you get your schedule?” Jean asked.

Harry handed it over. She looked at it and brightened. “We have first, second, third, and last period together! And lunch, too. Yes!” She flashed a triumphant grin at Duncan, who just frowned harder.

Jean patted Duncan on the shoulder and turned to Harry. “We gotta get to class,” she said, grabbing Harry’s arm and dragging him down the hall.

Duncan watched them go, his glare burning holes in the back of Harry’s head. Harry looked over his shoulder, caught Duncan’s scowl, and gave him a lazy little salute. Jean noticed and laughed. “You’re going to get punched before the day is over.”

Harry smiled cheekily. “If I do, will you back me up?”

Jean pressed against his side, close enough that her hip bumped his every step. “Maybe … If you’re nice.”

He slipped an arm around her waist, squeezing her hip. “I can be very nice,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows. She giggled, smacked his chest, and said, “Pervert.” But she didn’t move away. They walked like that the rest of the way to class.

Duncan was still watching as they moved all the way down the hall. Harry made sure to keep his hand firmly on Jean’s hip the whole time. Duncan’s hands clenched into trembling fists. 

Magical Mutations

As soon as the final bell rang, he felt all tension leave his shoulders. The day had been a mixed bag. English was tolerable, math was dreadful, and every other period was somewhere in the middle. Jean had been attached to his hip whenever Duncan wasn’t around, but the instant her boyfriend appeared, she would keep a little bit of distance between them. He wasn’t stupid. He knew how it looked, and he was pretty sure Duncan knew exactly what it was, too.

At the last bell, the halls swelled with a sea of students. Harry made his way to his locker. He was three steps away when someone slammed a heavy shoulder into his back. Harry staggered, caught the edge of the locker, and turned, ready to return the favor. Duncan and two of his football goons grinned at him. Duncan had a smirk stretched across his face. “Excuse you, Potter,” Duncan said with a shit-eating grin.

The jocks burst out laughing. The sound was loud and annoying. Harry wasn’t laughing. He just stood there and looked at Duncan, the way a predator watches its prey. Duncan’s smirk faltered, but he recovered. He did the finger gun at Harry and walked off. The goons trailed after him, making comments that annoyed Harry even more.

Harry was about to follow, but Scott intercepted him. “Don’t,” he said in a quiet voice. “It’s not worth it. He’ll get bored eventually.”

Harry thought about it for a second. He wanted to flatten Duncan and his stupid friends. Instead, he exhaled and nodded. “Fine. Let’s just get out of here before I do something stupid.”

Scott clapped him on the back. “That’s the spirit. Come on, we can get out before the parking lot turns into a zoo.”

They made it outside into the hot afternoon sun. The student lot was crammed with cars, weaving around pedestrians as they tried to be the first out of the lot. As they walked, Harry kept an eye out for Jean. “Should we wait for Jean?” he asked. “I thought she was going to ride with us.”

Scott shook his head. “Duncan usually drops her off after soccer practice. That’s his car over there,” Scott said, pointing to a white convertible. 

They reached Scott’s car, and Harry dropped his bag on the hood, thinking about Duncan and his endless parade of insults. He let the anger build for a moment, then let it go with a deep exhale. He knew what he had to do. “Hey, Scott, do me a favor?”

Scott was fishing for his keys. “What’s up?”

“Watch my back,” Harry said, already turning away.

Scott barely had time to say, “Wait, what are you …” before Harry was moving.

Harry wove through the traffic with purpose, ignoring a honking Jeep and a shout from a passing cheerleader. He spotted Duncan’s car easily. It was a gleaming white Mustang convertible. The top was down, and the black leather seats glinted in the sunlight. Duncan and his minions were still standing by the gym, oblivious to everything not involving themselves. 

Harry walked up to the car and, without hesitation, unzipped his fly. The first second of relief was divine. The next few were a blur of satisfaction and utter pettiness. He kept going until the seat was soaked, the shifter and steering wheel gleamed with runoff, and the dashboard dripped. It was so beautiful that Harry’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. He zipped up, jogged back to Scott, and couldn’t wipe the grin from his face.

Scott stared at him while his jaw nearly touched the ground. “Did you just …?”

Harry nodded. “Filled it to the brim, mate.”

Scott started laughing. “You’re insane. Do you know how much trouble you’ll be in if he finds out?”

Harry shrugged. “He started it.”

Scott looked over his shoulder, then back at Harry. “I kind of wish I’d thought of that,” he admitted.

They got into Scott’s car and waited. Harry could barely contain himself. A few minutes later, Duncan swaggered over with Jean trailing just behind him. Duncan threw his gym bag in the back seat, then slid into the driver’s seat. He froze. His hands came away wet, and he looked down at the spreading stain with growing confusion. He sniffed once, then recoiled so hard he nearly punched himself in the nose.

“What the fuck!” Duncan exploded, leaping out of the car. He stared at his hands, and then he angled his body so he could look at his wet ass. Duncan then looked down at the seat.

Jean blinked in confusion. “Did a cat get in there or something?”

“Someone pissed in my car!” Duncan bellowed.

His goons doubled over in laughter. Jean looked at the wet seat before looking up at Duncan’s face. She pressed her lips together, fighting to keep from laughing. “Maybe you left the top down too long? I might have rained,” she said, looking up at the sky.

“IT’S PISS!” Duncan screamed. He spun in a circle, his arms flailing. His face was turning purple.

Scott and Harry watched from a distance, silent for the first few seconds before they both lost it. They howled with laughter. The tears were streaming down Scott’s face.

Duncan stormed around, looking for the culprit. Harry had to give him credit. Duncan was very thorough. He sniffed the air like a bloodhound, bellowed at his goons, and then marched back to the car. “I’ll kill whoever did this!” he shouted, his voice cracking.

Harry sat up straight and proud, half hoping that Duncan would see him and come over. After another long tantrum, Duncan stormed into the gym. Jean shrugged and made her way over to Scott’s car. She rapped on the window, and Scott rolled it down. “Are you two heading out?” she asked, giving Harry a quick once-over.

“Yep,” Scott said. “Are you riding with us?”

She shook her head. “I still have soccer practice, but can you come back and pick me up at five? I don’t think Duncan’s in the mood to drive anyone home right now.”

Scott nodded. “Sure thing,” he said with a smile. Jean smiled back and said her goodbyes before walking away. 

“Ugg! I can smell Duncan’s car from here!” they heard her say before she was out of earshot. 

Scott started the car, pulled out of the lot, and they didn’t stop laughing until they were halfway down the road.