X-Men Fic: Home Movies (Jean/Emma/Scott)
Oct. 12th, 2008 09:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Home Movies
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,990
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Jean, Emma/Scott,
Acknowledgments: Thank you,![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aimeeish, for betaing this.
Summary: It was boredom that drove Emma to watch Jean’s wedding video on a long, lonely evening. It was something else that kept her watching as Scott and Jean consummated the marriage.
It was time Emma admitted it to herself. There was a certain… chic appeal to being an outcast among outcasts, a bit of martyrdom in being persecuted for crimes she had long since redeemed herself for, and actually being accepted was—well, it was annoying. With both Rachel and Kitty out in space, there was no one to spar with. And there were precious few like-minded to commiserate with. Scott had depths none of his teammates dreamed of, but there were times when he was off with Wolverine in the Savage Land, not even doing anything as interesting as carrying on a homosexual love affair, and she was alone. Headmistress of the Academy, respected, admired, with the tales of her brazen past discarded. Tidbits for a gossip column and locker room talk. Just as she’d gotten what she wanted, she missed what she’d had. As truly inspiring and lovely as it was to foster understanding and illuminate young minds, it could also get dreadfully boring without some action once in a while.
She was one sick kitten, she admitted that, but she couldn’t operate in a vacuum.
So she peeked through Scott’s belongings. It was hardly the worst of transgressions: He didn’t keep a diary and even if he did, she could page through his mind at will (the damnably trusting man). But there were Jean’s things…
Jean’s things, still moist with the memory of Scott taking them down, packing them away, leaving them in the back of the closet like dust swept under a rug. Delicious.
She missed Jean. Jean and Kitty and all her other detractors, who at least gave her something to challenge and strive against. Perhaps it was that she’d never truly managed to win their acceptance. That probably tied back in with all manner of familial issues which were too boring to go into even as they pertained to her. Emma sufficed with the knowledge that she was a sick kitten and that she was very happy being so. She rolled with the punches.
For such an unfashionable figure, Jean had had an awful lot of costumes. Emma tried them on. She pictured Scott taking pictures of her in them, undressing her, ripping her clothes off in an outraged, aroused fury. But even that was a bit passé. How many times could she tongue his Phoenix kink before it got old-hat?
Then she saw the box: cardboard, striped, with a lid on top. God only knew what it had originally held, but now it had video tapes. Shocking that Scott hadn’t updated them to digital yet. Poor planning on his part. She dug through them, gracelessly kneeling down to do so. There was proof that the X-Men had always been playing baseball, and damn Scott for pulling her into that grand tradition. Thankfully, she was having the younger X-Men play croquet
She wouldn’t know why that video caught her eye. It simply said “wedding” on the piece of masking tape covering the end sticking out from the box. And being reminded of the fact that Jean had had a wedding while Emma wallowed in perpetual un-wedlock… not that she wanted to be married, particularly, but damnit, a wedding… still, something drew her to it.
Emma literally dusted off the old VCR snuggled under the Tivo, DVD player, and Scott’s Wii. Once it was gleaming and she’d disposed of the paper towels, she did the necessary hook-ups, sat down in Scott’s favorite chair and sprawled out lazily. Sometimes, Scott not being home had its advantages.
She pressed play.
The first few minutes were positively Gus Van Sant in their boredom. She leaned on the fast-forward button, making the happy couple dance jerkily to her music. They got into a Corvette, no doubt the Holy Grail of Scott’s automobile obsession, and the video showed their friends waving goodbye as they took off…
Just so far as the airfield, where the jet took them to Alaska for the honeymoon. Romantic. Scott flew. Jean taped him. She had a good taste for shot composition, framing him perfectly against the cockpit, making the light of the setting sun reflect heroically against his chiseled jaw. Emma could just picture Jean as a film student, putting together a little short film, dragging all of the original class into a fun family project. It made her turn the remote control over and over in her hand.
Then they arrived and for fuck’s sake, did that camera ever run out of tape? Even with gravity tugging Emma’s finger toward the fast-forward, the length was downright Warholian. Scott carried their luggage into a nice little cabin among all the forests and the leaves and the caribou… and of course Scott had never taken her there. Emma kept a stiff upper lip: maybe it had burned down. Maybe Mr. Sinister had wrecked it, attacked just as Scott and Jean were getting down to their marital bliss. That was a happy thought.
They’d been touching, talking, laughing since they had gotten out of the Corvette, but now they got down to kissing. Emma didn’t gag so much as wince. It was night and they had to navigate the forest trail by flashlights.
“Let me get those,” Jean said, oh-so-considerate. Like magic the luggage floated in front of the camera lenses and out of Scott’s way. Up ahead was the house. It was perfect, of course. Quaint, rustic, but still luxurious enough for Jean’s discerning taste. Jean had changed into hiking clothes in the back of the jet – boots, jeans, flannel. She took the jacket off, leaving her in a tanktop. Dropped the jacket to the trail.
“Aren’t you going to…?”
“Later,” Jean said, stripping off the tanktop as well. Her bra was boring white, but enough to attract the beam of Scott’s flashlight like a magnet. Emma bit her lip. It wasn’t envy that pervaded her thoughts of Jean – she had the best body money could buy, and she saw no difference between an exercise regiment and extremely creative mutant body-sculpting. But Jean, Jean just looked like that when she stepped out of the shower. She’d grown up into that. There was a strong core of authenticity to her that was just plain repellent to Emma. Jean had never had to work at being good, being liked, being Scott’s.
Jean continued walking up the path, stripping away her clothes, the flashlight beam traipsing across her. It actually shook, as if lust were beating back Scott’s all-consuming discipline. Traveled over every inch of Jean’s skin as if it were precious silk, something to be weighted, hoarded, valued, loved. Emma leaned closer. Jean left her belt hanging on a tree branch. Scott’s breathing was audible. Jean’s pants fell and she kicked them off, having to lean against a tree to get them past her hiking boots. They laughed. Emma simmered.
They went inside, turned on the lights, revealing Jean in her splendor and her panties and her boots with the socks sagging down her calves. Woman couldn’t even strip right, though her ineptitude had a quixotic endearment to it. Girl next door. Except Emma had seen the Phoenix, seen what was behind the girl’s door, and it put her own hunger to shame.
Scott set aside his flashlight, his clothes, the camera—no, Jean stopped him. Just a little telepathic nudge, hehe. Then she got down on her knees and…
Oh, oh that was interesting. The yummy little sounds Jean made after her mouth had rounded, the satisfied but slightly tense “ah!” that emerged from him when she tongued Scott’s balls, the precum that slid down onto her waiting tongue…
Emma kept watching, as Jean left Scott red and stiff, then wiggled out of her panties and peeled the clothes from him in a flurry of telekinetic excess. They made their way to the bedroom, lingering on each other as they set up the camera on a tripod. They must’ve planned that. Jean’s idea or Scott’s… Jean’s, of course. And people thought she was so innocent. But the planning would’ve been Scott’s. He would’ve wanted everything to be perfect. Perfect for Jean.
Emma kept watching, smugly, calculatedly, enjoying the smooth strokes that Scott employed to make Jean moan breathily (those little caresses had never been enough for Emma, or Scott either when it came right down to it). Enjoying the weird nostalgia of Jean with the Phoenix still locked up tight, all surface, no shadow. It distracted from how happy Scott was back then.
It was after she rewound it to the flashlight striptease that her hand wandered below her waistband and she parted the familiar contours of her own entrance, legs parted to savor it all the more. Soon enough, her other hand was fetching a hardened nipple out from under her bra and blouse.
The third time she watched Jean take Scott into her mouth, Emma came like she would never stop.
***
Jean and Scott laid together, spent, happy, cuddling and kissing and touching. Emma didn’t mind. In fact, she wished them well. As Jean’s slow caresses of Scott’s cock became more earnest pumps, she wished them both the best sex ever. Because no matter how good it was, Scott would eventually choose Emma. Enjoy it while it lasts, Jean.
Scott started to respond with soft groans as he kissed Jean’s hair, but Jean stopped him with a hand on his chest. Emma took advantage of the pause to strip. Her clothes rasped across her clit with unbearable friction, littering the floor quickly. Her blood was positively on fire and if she widened her nostrils she could smell herself, overheated, animalistic. She briefly brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked at them. She couldn’t pretend it was Jean she tasted like. Far too bitter.
“I want to be yours, Scott,” Jean was saying, bedsheet coyly wrapped around her as she retrieved something from her overnight bag. Emma didn’t mind. Scott was laid out on the bed like a human sacrifice, a flush blooming across his broad chest and muscles tense with yearning. The thought of him waiting like that for her made her fingers quicken. “I want to be yours, mind, body, and soul.”
“I couldn’t ask for more than you’ve already given,” Scott said. “You’ve completed me.”
“Oh, lay it on a little thicker,” Emma said, her eyes nonetheless enlarging at how hard and ready he was.
“You’re not asking. I am. There’s something I’ve never done, not with any man.” Jean held out a white tub, the kind ointment came in. She blushed, the kind of blush that was a come-on all its own. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
Scott acquiesced. Of course he did. Jean squeezed the lube onto her palm and applied it to his manhood. Her small white hands tapering up and down it made Emma’s vision darken every time her own two stroking fingers sparked off her clit. Then Jean got down on all fours, facing the camera, a dog, a bitch in heat. Emma slurped her fingers, knowing that despite its bitterness, the taste would be one Scott came to crave. And with her fingers wet, she could fit another one inside…
Jean’s wide smile, her turn-the-world-on-with-a-smile, went sour as Scott started on her. He would know how it worked. His fingers shone with lubricant before he fingered Jean, slowly circling her asshole, his other hand rubbing at her cunt. Jean’s pained scowl flickered to an excited grin. Bitch.
Emma added another finger. She pinched her nipple hard with her other hand, letting the pain tint the pleasure. The effect made a satisfied hiss emerge from her lips, her feral grin. She could see Scott’s cock when he moved, when he shifted his hips. The smudges of lipstick Jean had left there were hard to see when it was so inflamed. It was beautiful. Jean didn’t deserve it. Emma did. She wanted to taste it, taste Jean on it, let the bitch watch like Emma was watching.
Jean rocked back and forth, impatiently, her face screwing up when Scott added another finger. He wouldn’t take any chances, not with Jean. Not with precious, pure Jean. Emma squeezed her thighs together on her hand at the thought of seeing Jean’s despoilment. Maybe if she watched close enough, she could see the Phoenix.
An idea came to Scott; his face lit up with it. He kept fingering Jean’s ass, his other hand steeled on her asscheek, but he lowered his face down so he could lick her cunt. Jean moaned like a wanton whore, the kind of sound Emma had heard a million times at the Hellfire Club’s orgies. She reached back to wrench Scott’s hair with her hand.
“Fuck me! I’m Mrs. Scott Summers, so treat me like it! Make me your wife!”
When she turned back to the camera, her grin might as well have held up a mirror to Emma’s own. The mother-goddess of the X-Men loved cock. I love you she mouthed to the camera. “I love you too, you sweet bitch, you practically gift-wrapped him for me.” It was becoming clear. Jean had awoken appetites in Scott that she’d never been equal to. Not as she was, with her Phoenix locked away safe and snug. A pity she’d never had a chance to live with it before Magneto killed her. It would’ve been quite fascinating. And maybe Emma could’ve figured out how she tasted.
“Jean, it’ll hurt.” Scott was slow, virginal in entering her. “It’s okay if you want to - want to stop.”
“No, it won’t hurt him a bit,” Emma quipped.
The room shook a little as Jean forced him with telepathy, driving them together. Every one of Jean’s girlish little muscles strained as she took him inside her. She screamed, Scott screamed, some kind of psychic link… Jean frantically began to touch herself as Scott moved inside her. Emma increased her tempo to match.
From the way Scott became more confident, faster with his thrusts, Emma could tell Jean was loosening up. There were no lightning strikes of agony to screw up her face now, just an adorable chewing of the lip as she endured and enjoyed it. Scott circled the side of Jean’s cute little waist with one hand and reached down with the other to… Emma strained her eyes to see… while Jean was penetrating herself, he was fondling her clitoris. Emma smiled. The man had always loved the clit.
“Jean, I love you!” Scott said. Emma hastened to think of all the things he left unsaid. There were plenty.
“Mrs. Summers,” Jean corrected, laughing triumphantly after she’d sucked in breath.
Emma sarcastically added a little giggle as she came herself. Scott and Jean raced past her, a perpetual motion machine of love and secrets, fucking and fucking and fucking until Scott was all the way in. Emma watched the hardened flesh that joined them, its motion, with an entirely unempirical fascination.
It lasted forever. Every time Emma thought they were ebbing, they would get their second or third or fourth wind and climb to new heights. It had reached comedic status by the time Scott finally came, at the same time as Jean of course. He cuddled with her like a lovesick puppy. Neither of them thought to remember that the fireplace was going though they’d never lit it.
Emma watched them sleep. The rise and fall of their chests. The sprawling interlacing of their physiques. She loved them. She hated them. And, worst of all, she understood them a little bit.
***
When Scott got home, his weight machine was occupied by Emma. She’d skimmed some of the plates off, but wore a functional exercise outfit and had worked up a decent sweat. She did one last rep before she sat up to look at him. Her hair had partially escaped the ponytail she’d tied it into, traipsing down her damp forehead. He got her a bottled water from the refrigerator and felt a thankful hum in the corner of his mind from her.
“It’s rather silly, isn’t it? Having a grudge against a dead woman,” Emma stated, her voice void of her usual quasi-English accent, as if it were some silly mishap she’d committed during her morning rush.
Scott stiffly brought back the water and took a hard look at Emma before he answered. There was nothing sarcastic about her, about the way she wiped her brow and moved a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You loved her.”
“I tried to,” Scott said blankly, trying hard to stay in the here and now with Emma instead of being sucked back into the past.
“She loved you.”
Scott fell silent. Belatedly, he undid his bootlaces, pulled down his cowl.
“It’s okay if you want to talk about it… sometime.” Emma took the bottle from him and had a long drink. “It’s just another thing about you I’d be happy to uncover.”
“Maybe some other time.” He stood, cracked his neck. “But yes. We did love each other.”
Emma’s smile was startlingly genuine. ”Good.”
Scott tentatively reached for her. He touched her where she sweat in a way where his hand slid right across her flesh. “I’m going to get in a shower before I hit the hay. Unless you need it first…”
“No, I think I’ll kill some more calories. My tailor is merciless and we’re due for some new costumes.”
He kissed his middle and fore finger before pressing them to the side of her neck, then went to start the shower.
It was only a few minutes before she reappeared in the bathroom doorway, a long bare leg and a curled arm, both gleaming with sweat to reflect her hooded eyes and up-turned smirk. “And Scott? If you should ever want to spice up our love life, I have a porno we could watch. I think you’d find it… illuminating.”
Fandom: X-Men
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,990
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Jean, Emma/Scott,
Acknowledgments: Thank you,
aimeeish, for betaing this.Summary: It was boredom that drove Emma to watch Jean’s wedding video on a long, lonely evening. It was something else that kept her watching as Scott and Jean consummated the marriage.
It was time Emma admitted it to herself. There was a certain… chic appeal to being an outcast among outcasts, a bit of martyrdom in being persecuted for crimes she had long since redeemed herself for, and actually being accepted was—well, it was annoying. With both Rachel and Kitty out in space, there was no one to spar with. And there were precious few like-minded to commiserate with. Scott had depths none of his teammates dreamed of, but there were times when he was off with Wolverine in the Savage Land, not even doing anything as interesting as carrying on a homosexual love affair, and she was alone. Headmistress of the Academy, respected, admired, with the tales of her brazen past discarded. Tidbits for a gossip column and locker room talk. Just as she’d gotten what she wanted, she missed what she’d had. As truly inspiring and lovely as it was to foster understanding and illuminate young minds, it could also get dreadfully boring without some action once in a while.
She was one sick kitten, she admitted that, but she couldn’t operate in a vacuum.
So she peeked through Scott’s belongings. It was hardly the worst of transgressions: He didn’t keep a diary and even if he did, she could page through his mind at will (the damnably trusting man). But there were Jean’s things…
Jean’s things, still moist with the memory of Scott taking them down, packing them away, leaving them in the back of the closet like dust swept under a rug. Delicious.
She missed Jean. Jean and Kitty and all her other detractors, who at least gave her something to challenge and strive against. Perhaps it was that she’d never truly managed to win their acceptance. That probably tied back in with all manner of familial issues which were too boring to go into even as they pertained to her. Emma sufficed with the knowledge that she was a sick kitten and that she was very happy being so. She rolled with the punches.
For such an unfashionable figure, Jean had had an awful lot of costumes. Emma tried them on. She pictured Scott taking pictures of her in them, undressing her, ripping her clothes off in an outraged, aroused fury. But even that was a bit passé. How many times could she tongue his Phoenix kink before it got old-hat?
Then she saw the box: cardboard, striped, with a lid on top. God only knew what it had originally held, but now it had video tapes. Shocking that Scott hadn’t updated them to digital yet. Poor planning on his part. She dug through them, gracelessly kneeling down to do so. There was proof that the X-Men had always been playing baseball, and damn Scott for pulling her into that grand tradition. Thankfully, she was having the younger X-Men play croquet
She wouldn’t know why that video caught her eye. It simply said “wedding” on the piece of masking tape covering the end sticking out from the box. And being reminded of the fact that Jean had had a wedding while Emma wallowed in perpetual un-wedlock… not that she wanted to be married, particularly, but damnit, a wedding… still, something drew her to it.
Emma literally dusted off the old VCR snuggled under the Tivo, DVD player, and Scott’s Wii. Once it was gleaming and she’d disposed of the paper towels, she did the necessary hook-ups, sat down in Scott’s favorite chair and sprawled out lazily. Sometimes, Scott not being home had its advantages.
She pressed play.
The first few minutes were positively Gus Van Sant in their boredom. She leaned on the fast-forward button, making the happy couple dance jerkily to her music. They got into a Corvette, no doubt the Holy Grail of Scott’s automobile obsession, and the video showed their friends waving goodbye as they took off…
Just so far as the airfield, where the jet took them to Alaska for the honeymoon. Romantic. Scott flew. Jean taped him. She had a good taste for shot composition, framing him perfectly against the cockpit, making the light of the setting sun reflect heroically against his chiseled jaw. Emma could just picture Jean as a film student, putting together a little short film, dragging all of the original class into a fun family project. It made her turn the remote control over and over in her hand.
Then they arrived and for fuck’s sake, did that camera ever run out of tape? Even with gravity tugging Emma’s finger toward the fast-forward, the length was downright Warholian. Scott carried their luggage into a nice little cabin among all the forests and the leaves and the caribou… and of course Scott had never taken her there. Emma kept a stiff upper lip: maybe it had burned down. Maybe Mr. Sinister had wrecked it, attacked just as Scott and Jean were getting down to their marital bliss. That was a happy thought.
They’d been touching, talking, laughing since they had gotten out of the Corvette, but now they got down to kissing. Emma didn’t gag so much as wince. It was night and they had to navigate the forest trail by flashlights.
“Let me get those,” Jean said, oh-so-considerate. Like magic the luggage floated in front of the camera lenses and out of Scott’s way. Up ahead was the house. It was perfect, of course. Quaint, rustic, but still luxurious enough for Jean’s discerning taste. Jean had changed into hiking clothes in the back of the jet – boots, jeans, flannel. She took the jacket off, leaving her in a tanktop. Dropped the jacket to the trail.
“Aren’t you going to…?”
“Later,” Jean said, stripping off the tanktop as well. Her bra was boring white, but enough to attract the beam of Scott’s flashlight like a magnet. Emma bit her lip. It wasn’t envy that pervaded her thoughts of Jean – she had the best body money could buy, and she saw no difference between an exercise regiment and extremely creative mutant body-sculpting. But Jean, Jean just looked like that when she stepped out of the shower. She’d grown up into that. There was a strong core of authenticity to her that was just plain repellent to Emma. Jean had never had to work at being good, being liked, being Scott’s.
Jean continued walking up the path, stripping away her clothes, the flashlight beam traipsing across her. It actually shook, as if lust were beating back Scott’s all-consuming discipline. Traveled over every inch of Jean’s skin as if it were precious silk, something to be weighted, hoarded, valued, loved. Emma leaned closer. Jean left her belt hanging on a tree branch. Scott’s breathing was audible. Jean’s pants fell and she kicked them off, having to lean against a tree to get them past her hiking boots. They laughed. Emma simmered.
They went inside, turned on the lights, revealing Jean in her splendor and her panties and her boots with the socks sagging down her calves. Woman couldn’t even strip right, though her ineptitude had a quixotic endearment to it. Girl next door. Except Emma had seen the Phoenix, seen what was behind the girl’s door, and it put her own hunger to shame.
Scott set aside his flashlight, his clothes, the camera—no, Jean stopped him. Just a little telepathic nudge, hehe. Then she got down on her knees and…
Oh, oh that was interesting. The yummy little sounds Jean made after her mouth had rounded, the satisfied but slightly tense “ah!” that emerged from him when she tongued Scott’s balls, the precum that slid down onto her waiting tongue…
Emma kept watching, as Jean left Scott red and stiff, then wiggled out of her panties and peeled the clothes from him in a flurry of telekinetic excess. They made their way to the bedroom, lingering on each other as they set up the camera on a tripod. They must’ve planned that. Jean’s idea or Scott’s… Jean’s, of course. And people thought she was so innocent. But the planning would’ve been Scott’s. He would’ve wanted everything to be perfect. Perfect for Jean.
Emma kept watching, smugly, calculatedly, enjoying the smooth strokes that Scott employed to make Jean moan breathily (those little caresses had never been enough for Emma, or Scott either when it came right down to it). Enjoying the weird nostalgia of Jean with the Phoenix still locked up tight, all surface, no shadow. It distracted from how happy Scott was back then.
It was after she rewound it to the flashlight striptease that her hand wandered below her waistband and she parted the familiar contours of her own entrance, legs parted to savor it all the more. Soon enough, her other hand was fetching a hardened nipple out from under her bra and blouse.
The third time she watched Jean take Scott into her mouth, Emma came like she would never stop.
***
Jean and Scott laid together, spent, happy, cuddling and kissing and touching. Emma didn’t mind. In fact, she wished them well. As Jean’s slow caresses of Scott’s cock became more earnest pumps, she wished them both the best sex ever. Because no matter how good it was, Scott would eventually choose Emma. Enjoy it while it lasts, Jean.
Scott started to respond with soft groans as he kissed Jean’s hair, but Jean stopped him with a hand on his chest. Emma took advantage of the pause to strip. Her clothes rasped across her clit with unbearable friction, littering the floor quickly. Her blood was positively on fire and if she widened her nostrils she could smell herself, overheated, animalistic. She briefly brought her fingers to her mouth and sucked at them. She couldn’t pretend it was Jean she tasted like. Far too bitter.
“I want to be yours, Scott,” Jean was saying, bedsheet coyly wrapped around her as she retrieved something from her overnight bag. Emma didn’t mind. Scott was laid out on the bed like a human sacrifice, a flush blooming across his broad chest and muscles tense with yearning. The thought of him waiting like that for her made her fingers quicken. “I want to be yours, mind, body, and soul.”
“I couldn’t ask for more than you’ve already given,” Scott said. “You’ve completed me.”
“Oh, lay it on a little thicker,” Emma said, her eyes nonetheless enlarging at how hard and ready he was.
“You’re not asking. I am. There’s something I’ve never done, not with any man.” Jean held out a white tub, the kind ointment came in. She blushed, the kind of blush that was a come-on all its own. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while.”
Scott acquiesced. Of course he did. Jean squeezed the lube onto her palm and applied it to his manhood. Her small white hands tapering up and down it made Emma’s vision darken every time her own two stroking fingers sparked off her clit. Then Jean got down on all fours, facing the camera, a dog, a bitch in heat. Emma slurped her fingers, knowing that despite its bitterness, the taste would be one Scott came to crave. And with her fingers wet, she could fit another one inside…
Jean’s wide smile, her turn-the-world-on-with-a-smile, went sour as Scott started on her. He would know how it worked. His fingers shone with lubricant before he fingered Jean, slowly circling her asshole, his other hand rubbing at her cunt. Jean’s pained scowl flickered to an excited grin. Bitch.
Emma added another finger. She pinched her nipple hard with her other hand, letting the pain tint the pleasure. The effect made a satisfied hiss emerge from her lips, her feral grin. She could see Scott’s cock when he moved, when he shifted his hips. The smudges of lipstick Jean had left there were hard to see when it was so inflamed. It was beautiful. Jean didn’t deserve it. Emma did. She wanted to taste it, taste Jean on it, let the bitch watch like Emma was watching.
Jean rocked back and forth, impatiently, her face screwing up when Scott added another finger. He wouldn’t take any chances, not with Jean. Not with precious, pure Jean. Emma squeezed her thighs together on her hand at the thought of seeing Jean’s despoilment. Maybe if she watched close enough, she could see the Phoenix.
An idea came to Scott; his face lit up with it. He kept fingering Jean’s ass, his other hand steeled on her asscheek, but he lowered his face down so he could lick her cunt. Jean moaned like a wanton whore, the kind of sound Emma had heard a million times at the Hellfire Club’s orgies. She reached back to wrench Scott’s hair with her hand.
“Fuck me! I’m Mrs. Scott Summers, so treat me like it! Make me your wife!”
When she turned back to the camera, her grin might as well have held up a mirror to Emma’s own. The mother-goddess of the X-Men loved cock. I love you she mouthed to the camera. “I love you too, you sweet bitch, you practically gift-wrapped him for me.” It was becoming clear. Jean had awoken appetites in Scott that she’d never been equal to. Not as she was, with her Phoenix locked away safe and snug. A pity she’d never had a chance to live with it before Magneto killed her. It would’ve been quite fascinating. And maybe Emma could’ve figured out how she tasted.
“Jean, it’ll hurt.” Scott was slow, virginal in entering her. “It’s okay if you want to - want to stop.”
“No, it won’t hurt him a bit,” Emma quipped.
The room shook a little as Jean forced him with telepathy, driving them together. Every one of Jean’s girlish little muscles strained as she took him inside her. She screamed, Scott screamed, some kind of psychic link… Jean frantically began to touch herself as Scott moved inside her. Emma increased her tempo to match.
From the way Scott became more confident, faster with his thrusts, Emma could tell Jean was loosening up. There were no lightning strikes of agony to screw up her face now, just an adorable chewing of the lip as she endured and enjoyed it. Scott circled the side of Jean’s cute little waist with one hand and reached down with the other to… Emma strained her eyes to see… while Jean was penetrating herself, he was fondling her clitoris. Emma smiled. The man had always loved the clit.
“Jean, I love you!” Scott said. Emma hastened to think of all the things he left unsaid. There were plenty.
“Mrs. Summers,” Jean corrected, laughing triumphantly after she’d sucked in breath.
Emma sarcastically added a little giggle as she came herself. Scott and Jean raced past her, a perpetual motion machine of love and secrets, fucking and fucking and fucking until Scott was all the way in. Emma watched the hardened flesh that joined them, its motion, with an entirely unempirical fascination.
It lasted forever. Every time Emma thought they were ebbing, they would get their second or third or fourth wind and climb to new heights. It had reached comedic status by the time Scott finally came, at the same time as Jean of course. He cuddled with her like a lovesick puppy. Neither of them thought to remember that the fireplace was going though they’d never lit it.
Emma watched them sleep. The rise and fall of their chests. The sprawling interlacing of their physiques. She loved them. She hated them. And, worst of all, she understood them a little bit.
***
When Scott got home, his weight machine was occupied by Emma. She’d skimmed some of the plates off, but wore a functional exercise outfit and had worked up a decent sweat. She did one last rep before she sat up to look at him. Her hair had partially escaped the ponytail she’d tied it into, traipsing down her damp forehead. He got her a bottled water from the refrigerator and felt a thankful hum in the corner of his mind from her.
“It’s rather silly, isn’t it? Having a grudge against a dead woman,” Emma stated, her voice void of her usual quasi-English accent, as if it were some silly mishap she’d committed during her morning rush.
Scott stiffly brought back the water and took a hard look at Emma before he answered. There was nothing sarcastic about her, about the way she wiped her brow and moved a lock of hair out of her eyes.
“Yes.”
“You loved her.”
“I tried to,” Scott said blankly, trying hard to stay in the here and now with Emma instead of being sucked back into the past.
“She loved you.”
Scott fell silent. Belatedly, he undid his bootlaces, pulled down his cowl.
“It’s okay if you want to talk about it… sometime.” Emma took the bottle from him and had a long drink. “It’s just another thing about you I’d be happy to uncover.”
“Maybe some other time.” He stood, cracked his neck. “But yes. We did love each other.”
Emma’s smile was startlingly genuine. ”Good.”
Scott tentatively reached for her. He touched her where she sweat in a way where his hand slid right across her flesh. “I’m going to get in a shower before I hit the hay. Unless you need it first…”
“No, I think I’ll kill some more calories. My tailor is merciless and we’re due for some new costumes.”
He kissed his middle and fore finger before pressing them to the side of her neck, then went to start the shower.
It was only a few minutes before she reappeared in the bathroom doorway, a long bare leg and a curled arm, both gleaming with sweat to reflect her hooded eyes and up-turned smirk. “And Scott? If you should ever want to spice up our love life, I have a porno we could watch. I think you’d find it… illuminating.”
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no subject
Date: 2008-10-12 03:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 04:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-12 03:38 pm (UTC)There was a certain… chic appeal to being an outcast among outcasts, a bit of martyrdom in being persecuted for crimes she had long since redeemed herself for, and actually being accepted was—well, it was annoying
That was great.
no subject
Date: 2008-10-12 03:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-12 04:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-13 04:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-12 06:52 pm (UTC)Because no matter how good it was, Scott would eventually choose Emma. Enjoy it while it lasts, Jean.
“She loved you.”
I love those lines!!
no subject
Date: 2008-10-12 11:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-06-03 08:46 pm (UTC)