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seriousficTitle: Shots
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,304
Characters/Pairings: Emma/Kitty, mention of Emma/Scott and Kitty/Rachel.
Summary: Emma and Kitty play a drinking game. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
marveloustales.
The knock at the door came as a surprise; it being Emma doing the knocking more so. Kitty had been just about to masturbate, with a gay porn gag gift in her DVD player. No wonder Emma had come buzzing around like a vulture to carrion.
“This the meeting of the lonely hearts club?” Emma asked, lifting a bottle of brandy.
Kitty didn’t mean to let her in, but when Emma charged, she phased instinctively and Emma walked right through her. “How can you be lonely? You have Scott.”
“Yes, that’s the problem with love. Once you’re in it, it becomes dreadfully dreary.”
“To you, maybe.” Kitty looked over at the framed picture of Piotr on her desk and signed. Emma nastily slammed the picture down.
“Close the door, Katherine. You’re letting in a draft.”
“Yes, but it’ll be easier for you to leave with the door open. Unless you’d like me to throw you through the window.” Kitty gestured to it with false cheer.
“This is a cognac.”
“And you’re a Frost. Bearing gifts. Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”
Emma once more pushed past Kitty, this time to close the door. Her glove sleekly brushed the skin of Kitty’s upper arm before giving way to Emma’s skin, cool and lizard-like in its lack of sweat.
“I hate drinking alone,” Emma said, holding up two brandy sniffers. “Join me in a drink?”
“I don’t think you, me, and your boobs will fit.”
“Usually, no, but given your lack of ‘décolletage’, I think we’ll make it.” She wrapped Kitty’s hand around one of the sniffers, spinning Kitty’s rings with her fingers as she raised the empty cup to her lips. Her eyes had a lot in common with the glass. “Don’t let its scent go to waste.”
“I’m not getting drunk with you. I get drunk with my friends.”
Emma stepped in close, the buckle of her strapped shoes brushing against Kitty’s calf. “And you don’t want to be friends with me? I’m wounded.”
Kitty phased through her again, only realizing when she arrived on Emma’s other side that she was still holding the sniffer.
“We’ll play a drinking game,” Emma said, clinking their glasses together. “Do it for the bragging rights.”
“I’ll do anything that involves kicking your ass without having to actually touch you.”
“That’s the spirit.” Emma swirled her sniffer under her nose, taking a healthy whiff. “Let’s start with self-knowledge. You list every kink and fetish your sexy little mind has. I’ll take a drink for every one you get, and you’ll take a drink for every one you miss.”
“Do you always have to harp on sexuality? It gets a little one-note. Like you’re a better person than me just because you’re a great big slut.”
“Like you’re a better person than me just because you’ve never had an orgasm with another person.”
“If you’ve been snooping in my head, Frost, I will end you!”
“I haven’t been peeking, you’re just easy. To read, that is. Maybe you hate me so much because I enjoy sex and you’ve been missing out.”
“I’m sure the fact that you’re an amoral psycho who broke up my best friends’ marriage has nothing to do with it.”
“You’ve been friends with people who’ve done far worse. Gambit, Logan, and what is it you called old Mr. Lensharr? Joseph, wasn’t it? Speaking of Logan, I don’t suppose you ever wanted that. The beast caged within, yet so dedicated to preventing it from bursting loose and devouring you. You wanted the man at the same time you wanted the animal. Am I right?”
Kitty laughed heartily as she plunked herself down in a recliner. “You really can’t see anything other than sex and power. No relationship makes sense to you without one of those two things. Your family life must’ve been hell.”
Emma’s mental intrusion hit Kitty like an open-palmed slap, but she ferreted out nothing on Wolverine. Emma bitterly took a sip.
“Tasty?” Kitty inquired.
“You’ll find out soon.” Emma paced in front of Kitty, thinking, her abbreviated cape matching the swivel of her hips to a tee. Kitty watched her. Men might find it attractive, the way her breasts swayed with gravity, the way her hips had been wagging provocatively for so long that it was as natural to Emma as breathing. But Kitty enjoyed the flush of anger in Emma’s pale skin, the little sparks of frustration she didn’t need to be psychic to see. It made Emma’s eyes crinkle at the sides. Not such a diamond after all.
“Scott, then. Did you ever think of losing it to him? He is quite handsome. Perhaps he would take you outside, naked except for the moon and the stars’ light, and lie back on the lawn so the grass prickled his bare back.” Emma stared into her glass like it was a witch’s cauldron, rattling it so the ice cubes collided and broadsided each other. “You’d ride him until he came and then you’d rip off his glasses as you phased, letting his cum and his deadly vision pass through you, so he could see your spectre with his own eyes. See the red of your broken hymen without the red of his ruby-quartz.”
“You have a vivid imagination.” The mental intrusion was harder, more volatile. Kitty made a brief, shocked sound at the violation, but smiled in satisfaction when Emma’s face fell in disappointment.
Emma took another swig. “You must’ve had a crush on one of your teachers. It’s human nature to be attracted to a combination of authority and hardbodies in skintight spandex.”
“Not everyone’s like you, your highness.” Kitty loved needling Emma with references to the past at times like these. It helped her remember that she was a villain, while Kitty was a true-blue hero. And that was the way things were.
Emma paused, finished off her drink, and shut her eyes with deathly seriousness. “Yes, they are. Deep down, everyone… even you… either is me or deeply wants to be me. You, you’re just too afraid.”
“To be a conniving bitch?”
“To have everything you ever wanted.” Emma refilled her glass with forced nonchalance and resumed her predatory stride, as if searching the room for scents.
“Could I drink sometime this century? We’re going to get a mutant in the White House before you win this game.”
Emma stopped, in front of a picture of Kitty and Rachel that they’d liked so much they’d blown it up into a poster, a vaguely fifties-ish sci-fi poster with Kitty as the screaming damsel and Rachel as a square-jawed hero. Kitty had insisted on that. It had cost fifty bucks to Photoshop, which Kitty had known was a rip-off, but she paid anyway.
Seeing Emma staring at it arose a fierce protectiveness in Kitty, like Emma was intruding on something private though it was right there on the wall for everyone to see. And now Emma squared her shoulders and thrust out her chest, as if taking a deep breath, then turned to the bed like she was on a catwalk. She kept watching it, not Kitty.
“Was she very glamorous, Jean? I never got a chance to meet her, not for real, not when she wasn’t half the Phoenix and half Scott’s and half…”
“She was never half yours,” Kitty said.
“No. She wasn’t. And never any of yours. But she must’ve been so… intriguing to you. So much more skilled and powerful than the others, like Storm, and yet so much more vibrant than Scott and the Professor. But unattainable. A fantasy.” Emma sipped, even though she hadn’t said a false word yet. “I can only imagine the impact her daughter must’ve had.”
“Rachel’s my friend.”
“Attainable. Close enough to touch, close enough to savor.” Now Emma approached, all sashaying hips and smoothed lines, grinning as she planted a knee-length boot on Kitty’s chair, right between her legs. “She was the first girl you kissed, but not the first girl you wanted to do more than kiss.”
Kitty didn’t dare break eye contact. It was just like staring down a wild animal. You couldn’t show an ounce of fear.
She drank, never looking away from Emma’s eyes. Up close, her eyes weren’t like ice or cold or however the metaphor went. Her eyes were terribly, frighteningly alive.
“That drink you’re holding cost two hundred dollars. Don’t chug it down like cherry cola.”
“What’s wrong with cherry cola?” Kitty took another shot, way too fast, just to fuck with her. She ended up on a coughing jag while Emma calmly refilled her glass.
“I apologize, Katherine. You’re more interesting than I gave you credit for. What an absolutely incestuous cycle. You transfer your crush on the mother onto the daughter, while she adores you as an adult only to go back in time and fall in love with you as a child. It’s almost like a Greek tragedy, only stupid.”
“You talk too much, Frost.”
Emma still hadn’t taken her hitched leg down from the recliner and now she leaned forward on it, resting her elbow across a creamy thigh, letting her hair fall in front of Kitty. “Did you like Rachel’s power, Katherine? Did it make you wet, seeing all that strength and all that force? More than Colossus, more than Wisdom, seeing her with the Phoenix Force… it’s okay, Katherine, I’m not judging you. I’m the only one who won’t judge you.”
“Just because you have some weird fixation on the Phoenix…”
“And the woman wielding it. Can you imagine how bored I would be if it were… oh… let’s say Bobby with fantastical cosmic power?” Emma drank, again without it being her turn. The game was over. She exhaled smoothly, in contrast to Kitty’s burnt throat, letting her warm breath dance a loose strand of Kitty’s hair across her brow. “Did you ever fantasize about when I had you chained up?”
“You’re sick.” Kitty didn’t move. Emma took hold of her hand, the hand holding the brandy, and the leather of her gloves was so damned cool that Kitty hated it, hated her. Emma raised the glass to Kitty’s lips and made her drink, watched with arch satisfaction as the brandy trickled down Kitty’s throat.
“It’s okay, you were supposed to. Did you think I wore that costume because I didn’t want to be a sex object? No. I wanted people to look at me and want me, need me, make me their slave in their minds so they could be my slave in real life.” The fucking white leather glove put a finger on her forehead, right between the eyes. Kitty didn’t bother going cross-eyed trying to follow it. “I put a mark on that delicate little psyche of yours. It wasn’t just Rachel after that, was it? But you were so scared of being a dyke that you kept after worthless men like that Wisdom fellow.”
“Pete is…”
“And you threw yourself into bed with Rasputin like you were a little girl again, a little girl with a crush.”
“He was very kind, a very…”
“But you want me. That’s what you want. You want to know what it would be like for me to do to you what I did to Jean… and Scott… and Rachel, perhaps?”
“You’re lying!” Kitty hissed, trying to stand up but a cold weight hit her shoulder and pressed her back down. It wasn’t the leather. It was diamond, cold even through the opera glove. Emma was made out of diamonds, but she wasn’t a freak. She was a goddess. Kitty couldn’t be blamed for wanting to worship when there were so many goddesses around, Storm and Jean and so many others, it just wasn’t fair, no woman could be a hundred percent straight with women like that hanging around!
“Maybe. Maybe I haven’t spoken so much as two words to her in ages. Maybe I’m going to go to her after I finish here. Maybe I’ll do to her what I’m doing to you.”
“Don’t you dare.” Kitty wished she could phase, wish she could hurt Emma like she used to, but her mind was far too sluggish and that diamond hand felt far too good as it held her down, hard enough to bruise…
“Stop me.”
Kissing a girl made out of diamonds wasn’t anything like kissing a man made out of steel. Emma overpowered her, flesh and spirit, and it was only the second time that Emma was soft instead of hard, flesh overriding Kitty’s flesh, and the third time it was inside her head, and that was the worst one, because she came hardest.
The weird part was, Kitty didn’t cry. When it was over, and Emma let herself sag to the sheets and watch Kitty like an artist looked over a finished painting, Kitty just helped herself to some more brandy. Straight from the bottle.
It dulled the pain, a bit. Emma liked causing pain, and Kitty would’ve resented that if she hadn’t sensed Emma pulling it from her mind as it happened, experiencing it for herself as she punished them both for doing this.
“How long have you wanted to fuck a flat-chested little peasant?” Kitty asked her.
Emma took the bottle from her and then took a very unladylike swig. “Maybe since this morning. Maybe since you were Sprite. Shameful, isn’t it?”
“This won’t happen again.”
“Keep thinking that. It’ll make the next time more satisfying.” Emma rose and dressed, still flaunting her body to eyes that couldn’t help but enjoy the spectacle. The goddess. “Scott will be wondering where I am. Enjoy the brandy.”
Kitty was still trying to figure out what Emma meant when she noticed the brandy, half-full on her pristine little writing desk.
Conquerors always had to plant their flags.
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: R
Word Count: 2,304
Characters/Pairings: Emma/Kitty, mention of Emma/Scott and Kitty/Rachel.
Summary: Emma and Kitty play a drinking game. Written for
marveloustales.The knock at the door came as a surprise; it being Emma doing the knocking more so. Kitty had been just about to masturbate, with a gay porn gag gift in her DVD player. No wonder Emma had come buzzing around like a vulture to carrion.
“This the meeting of the lonely hearts club?” Emma asked, lifting a bottle of brandy.
Kitty didn’t mean to let her in, but when Emma charged, she phased instinctively and Emma walked right through her. “How can you be lonely? You have Scott.”
“Yes, that’s the problem with love. Once you’re in it, it becomes dreadfully dreary.”
“To you, maybe.” Kitty looked over at the framed picture of Piotr on her desk and signed. Emma nastily slammed the picture down.
“Close the door, Katherine. You’re letting in a draft.”
“Yes, but it’ll be easier for you to leave with the door open. Unless you’d like me to throw you through the window.” Kitty gestured to it with false cheer.
“This is a cognac.”
“And you’re a Frost. Bearing gifts. Danger, Will Robinson, danger!”
Emma once more pushed past Kitty, this time to close the door. Her glove sleekly brushed the skin of Kitty’s upper arm before giving way to Emma’s skin, cool and lizard-like in its lack of sweat.
“I hate drinking alone,” Emma said, holding up two brandy sniffers. “Join me in a drink?”
“I don’t think you, me, and your boobs will fit.”
“Usually, no, but given your lack of ‘décolletage’, I think we’ll make it.” She wrapped Kitty’s hand around one of the sniffers, spinning Kitty’s rings with her fingers as she raised the empty cup to her lips. Her eyes had a lot in common with the glass. “Don’t let its scent go to waste.”
“I’m not getting drunk with you. I get drunk with my friends.”
Emma stepped in close, the buckle of her strapped shoes brushing against Kitty’s calf. “And you don’t want to be friends with me? I’m wounded.”
Kitty phased through her again, only realizing when she arrived on Emma’s other side that she was still holding the sniffer.
“We’ll play a drinking game,” Emma said, clinking their glasses together. “Do it for the bragging rights.”
“I’ll do anything that involves kicking your ass without having to actually touch you.”
“That’s the spirit.” Emma swirled her sniffer under her nose, taking a healthy whiff. “Let’s start with self-knowledge. You list every kink and fetish your sexy little mind has. I’ll take a drink for every one you get, and you’ll take a drink for every one you miss.”
“Do you always have to harp on sexuality? It gets a little one-note. Like you’re a better person than me just because you’re a great big slut.”
“Like you’re a better person than me just because you’ve never had an orgasm with another person.”
“If you’ve been snooping in my head, Frost, I will end you!”
“I haven’t been peeking, you’re just easy. To read, that is. Maybe you hate me so much because I enjoy sex and you’ve been missing out.”
“I’m sure the fact that you’re an amoral psycho who broke up my best friends’ marriage has nothing to do with it.”
“You’ve been friends with people who’ve done far worse. Gambit, Logan, and what is it you called old Mr. Lensharr? Joseph, wasn’t it? Speaking of Logan, I don’t suppose you ever wanted that. The beast caged within, yet so dedicated to preventing it from bursting loose and devouring you. You wanted the man at the same time you wanted the animal. Am I right?”
Kitty laughed heartily as she plunked herself down in a recliner. “You really can’t see anything other than sex and power. No relationship makes sense to you without one of those two things. Your family life must’ve been hell.”
Emma’s mental intrusion hit Kitty like an open-palmed slap, but she ferreted out nothing on Wolverine. Emma bitterly took a sip.
“Tasty?” Kitty inquired.
“You’ll find out soon.” Emma paced in front of Kitty, thinking, her abbreviated cape matching the swivel of her hips to a tee. Kitty watched her. Men might find it attractive, the way her breasts swayed with gravity, the way her hips had been wagging provocatively for so long that it was as natural to Emma as breathing. But Kitty enjoyed the flush of anger in Emma’s pale skin, the little sparks of frustration she didn’t need to be psychic to see. It made Emma’s eyes crinkle at the sides. Not such a diamond after all.
“Scott, then. Did you ever think of losing it to him? He is quite handsome. Perhaps he would take you outside, naked except for the moon and the stars’ light, and lie back on the lawn so the grass prickled his bare back.” Emma stared into her glass like it was a witch’s cauldron, rattling it so the ice cubes collided and broadsided each other. “You’d ride him until he came and then you’d rip off his glasses as you phased, letting his cum and his deadly vision pass through you, so he could see your spectre with his own eyes. See the red of your broken hymen without the red of his ruby-quartz.”
“You have a vivid imagination.” The mental intrusion was harder, more volatile. Kitty made a brief, shocked sound at the violation, but smiled in satisfaction when Emma’s face fell in disappointment.
Emma took another swig. “You must’ve had a crush on one of your teachers. It’s human nature to be attracted to a combination of authority and hardbodies in skintight spandex.”
“Not everyone’s like you, your highness.” Kitty loved needling Emma with references to the past at times like these. It helped her remember that she was a villain, while Kitty was a true-blue hero. And that was the way things were.
Emma paused, finished off her drink, and shut her eyes with deathly seriousness. “Yes, they are. Deep down, everyone… even you… either is me or deeply wants to be me. You, you’re just too afraid.”
“To be a conniving bitch?”
“To have everything you ever wanted.” Emma refilled her glass with forced nonchalance and resumed her predatory stride, as if searching the room for scents.
“Could I drink sometime this century? We’re going to get a mutant in the White House before you win this game.”
Emma stopped, in front of a picture of Kitty and Rachel that they’d liked so much they’d blown it up into a poster, a vaguely fifties-ish sci-fi poster with Kitty as the screaming damsel and Rachel as a square-jawed hero. Kitty had insisted on that. It had cost fifty bucks to Photoshop, which Kitty had known was a rip-off, but she paid anyway.
Seeing Emma staring at it arose a fierce protectiveness in Kitty, like Emma was intruding on something private though it was right there on the wall for everyone to see. And now Emma squared her shoulders and thrust out her chest, as if taking a deep breath, then turned to the bed like she was on a catwalk. She kept watching it, not Kitty.
“Was she very glamorous, Jean? I never got a chance to meet her, not for real, not when she wasn’t half the Phoenix and half Scott’s and half…”
“She was never half yours,” Kitty said.
“No. She wasn’t. And never any of yours. But she must’ve been so… intriguing to you. So much more skilled and powerful than the others, like Storm, and yet so much more vibrant than Scott and the Professor. But unattainable. A fantasy.” Emma sipped, even though she hadn’t said a false word yet. “I can only imagine the impact her daughter must’ve had.”
“Rachel’s my friend.”
“Attainable. Close enough to touch, close enough to savor.” Now Emma approached, all sashaying hips and smoothed lines, grinning as she planted a knee-length boot on Kitty’s chair, right between her legs. “She was the first girl you kissed, but not the first girl you wanted to do more than kiss.”
Kitty didn’t dare break eye contact. It was just like staring down a wild animal. You couldn’t show an ounce of fear.
She drank, never looking away from Emma’s eyes. Up close, her eyes weren’t like ice or cold or however the metaphor went. Her eyes were terribly, frighteningly alive.
“That drink you’re holding cost two hundred dollars. Don’t chug it down like cherry cola.”
“What’s wrong with cherry cola?” Kitty took another shot, way too fast, just to fuck with her. She ended up on a coughing jag while Emma calmly refilled her glass.
“I apologize, Katherine. You’re more interesting than I gave you credit for. What an absolutely incestuous cycle. You transfer your crush on the mother onto the daughter, while she adores you as an adult only to go back in time and fall in love with you as a child. It’s almost like a Greek tragedy, only stupid.”
“You talk too much, Frost.”
Emma still hadn’t taken her hitched leg down from the recliner and now she leaned forward on it, resting her elbow across a creamy thigh, letting her hair fall in front of Kitty. “Did you like Rachel’s power, Katherine? Did it make you wet, seeing all that strength and all that force? More than Colossus, more than Wisdom, seeing her with the Phoenix Force… it’s okay, Katherine, I’m not judging you. I’m the only one who won’t judge you.”
“Just because you have some weird fixation on the Phoenix…”
“And the woman wielding it. Can you imagine how bored I would be if it were… oh… let’s say Bobby with fantastical cosmic power?” Emma drank, again without it being her turn. The game was over. She exhaled smoothly, in contrast to Kitty’s burnt throat, letting her warm breath dance a loose strand of Kitty’s hair across her brow. “Did you ever fantasize about when I had you chained up?”
“You’re sick.” Kitty didn’t move. Emma took hold of her hand, the hand holding the brandy, and the leather of her gloves was so damned cool that Kitty hated it, hated her. Emma raised the glass to Kitty’s lips and made her drink, watched with arch satisfaction as the brandy trickled down Kitty’s throat.
“It’s okay, you were supposed to. Did you think I wore that costume because I didn’t want to be a sex object? No. I wanted people to look at me and want me, need me, make me their slave in their minds so they could be my slave in real life.” The fucking white leather glove put a finger on her forehead, right between the eyes. Kitty didn’t bother going cross-eyed trying to follow it. “I put a mark on that delicate little psyche of yours. It wasn’t just Rachel after that, was it? But you were so scared of being a dyke that you kept after worthless men like that Wisdom fellow.”
“Pete is…”
“And you threw yourself into bed with Rasputin like you were a little girl again, a little girl with a crush.”
“He was very kind, a very…”
“But you want me. That’s what you want. You want to know what it would be like for me to do to you what I did to Jean… and Scott… and Rachel, perhaps?”
“You’re lying!” Kitty hissed, trying to stand up but a cold weight hit her shoulder and pressed her back down. It wasn’t the leather. It was diamond, cold even through the opera glove. Emma was made out of diamonds, but she wasn’t a freak. She was a goddess. Kitty couldn’t be blamed for wanting to worship when there were so many goddesses around, Storm and Jean and so many others, it just wasn’t fair, no woman could be a hundred percent straight with women like that hanging around!
“Maybe. Maybe I haven’t spoken so much as two words to her in ages. Maybe I’m going to go to her after I finish here. Maybe I’ll do to her what I’m doing to you.”
“Don’t you dare.” Kitty wished she could phase, wish she could hurt Emma like she used to, but her mind was far too sluggish and that diamond hand felt far too good as it held her down, hard enough to bruise…
“Stop me.”
Kissing a girl made out of diamonds wasn’t anything like kissing a man made out of steel. Emma overpowered her, flesh and spirit, and it was only the second time that Emma was soft instead of hard, flesh overriding Kitty’s flesh, and the third time it was inside her head, and that was the worst one, because she came hardest.
The weird part was, Kitty didn’t cry. When it was over, and Emma let herself sag to the sheets and watch Kitty like an artist looked over a finished painting, Kitty just helped herself to some more brandy. Straight from the bottle.
It dulled the pain, a bit. Emma liked causing pain, and Kitty would’ve resented that if she hadn’t sensed Emma pulling it from her mind as it happened, experiencing it for herself as she punished them both for doing this.
“How long have you wanted to fuck a flat-chested little peasant?” Kitty asked her.
Emma took the bottle from her and then took a very unladylike swig. “Maybe since this morning. Maybe since you were Sprite. Shameful, isn’t it?”
“This won’t happen again.”
“Keep thinking that. It’ll make the next time more satisfying.” Emma rose and dressed, still flaunting her body to eyes that couldn’t help but enjoy the spectacle. The goddess. “Scott will be wondering where I am. Enjoy the brandy.”
Kitty was still trying to figure out what Emma meant when she noticed the brandy, half-full on her pristine little writing desk.
Conquerors always had to plant their flags.
