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seriousficTitle: Ways To Fall
Fandom: X-Men movieverse
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,773
Characters/Pairings: Jean/Emma/Scott
Author’s Note: Takes place after X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Summary: Emma and Jean are in a competition. Scott is the prize.
They’re all a little high the first time they fuck. Hank brought home some weed in his last adventure with a driver’s license, and while he’d hogged most of it for himself, he was willing to part with it for Jean. It’s just enough for two, but Emma’s the only one who knows how to roll a joint and even Jean can’t con Scott into joining in on her own, so the three of them end up together in one of the greenhouses that only Ororo uses, and she’s no narc.
After Jean nearly coughs her lungs out, Emma takes the second hit. She smoothly takes the smoke into her lungs, lets it fill her body, then softly exhales. The sight of her lips parting and letting smoke undulate out starts a signal fire of lust in Scott’s brain. That’s what Emma smiles about, not the anemic potency of the weed.
It’s common knowledge that she and Jean have been in competition since they first came to the Mansion. The oldest girls, the only telepaths, it was inevitable. They tend to collide in near-victories and narrow defeats. Jean’s a telekinetic, but Emma’s the more subtle telepath. Jean is Xavier’s favorite, but Emma is the one who always plays chess with Erik. Their grades are both top of the class, their clothes are both expensive enough to put a drain on Charles’ fortune, and they both know that an easy conversation starter in the boy’s locker room is to ask which of them is more beautiful.
Emma thinks the consensus is that Jean is prettier, but they’d all rather have sex with her. She can live with that.
And now it’s Scott, Scott who’s grown out of his gawky adolescence and into the unspoken leader of the student body, the guy who can talk to the professors about any problems you might have, the guy who’ll help you study or talk to that girl or drive that car. He’s older brother to the entire school, and it makes Emma feel wonderfully incestuous. Jean probably wants him just because she wants him, deserves him, a Christmas present she’ll play with a while and then shove in the attic. Emma wants him because they belong together, the best and brightest, prince and princess. It’s so obvious.
Scott finally takes a hit, with Jean hanging off his arm making puppy dog eyes and Emma giving him the challenging stare that once made Hank streak the Mutant-Human Relations Conference to impress her. It’s a shame Henry had to grow all that unsightly hair. Emma was getting to like him.
Scott coughs, cutely, and smiles. “Whoa. That’s a little weird.”
Jean snuggles up to him in that way she has, always squirming up to anyone, resting her head on Hank’s lap or leaning against Charles. The only one she doesn’t do it with is Emma. Jean takes another hit. This one goes down easier.
Emma is at the other end of the bench and she puts her feet up on Scott’s thigh, letting her skirt fall down to mid-thigh. She’s the only one besides Scott who wears the recommended school uniform, which nets her Erik’s consistent praise as a proper young woman.
Scott’s blazer is off, folded on the back of the bench, and his tie is undone. Jean is wearing a spaghetti-strap camisole top and jeans and looking like a million dollars. They all smoke and watch each other, wondering what the other is thinking, complimenting themselves on their transgression.
Then Jean smiles that Jean smile of hers and she’s on Scott’s lap, her lips mashing against his in a slightly ridiculous way, but from the guttural moan being made she’s enjoying herself. Emma watches, all too aware of the slight heat gathering between her own legs.
Scott and Jean keep kissing until the joint in Scott’s hand burns down to his knuckles, singeing him. Jean rears back, smiling that secret little smile, and she keeps smiling even when Emma leans between them and finds Scott’s lips with her own, soft and warm. Emma reaches down for Scott’s crotch and her hand brushes against Jean’s, the zipper of his fly already locked between her fingers.
Emma can only watch, hating how uncertain and clumsy she feels, as Jean slides a hand to Scott’s groin, kisses him again. This time the neck, a stupid schoolgirl hickey, and when Emma kisses the other side of Scott’s neck she doesn’t think that Jean’s making room.
“This is…” Scott blinks, tries to clear his thoughts to say exactly what this is. Emma pushes her joint into his mouth.
“Happening,” she finishes.
This time Scott doesn’t cough. Jean kisses him, her tongue stroking Scott’s for an eternity of moments, and then she lulls back again, still straddling him, his face lost between her neck and shoulder, slowly exhaling the smoke that’s passed from Emma to Scott to her. Watching them, Emma feels warm and slick and ready. She strips off her blouse, then the tanktop beneath. Her breasts are smaller than Jean’s, and sometimes she looks up surgical procedures on the internet. (Erik tells her she’s beautiful just the way she is, but she doesn’t believe him.)
Scott’s attention wanders to the rose-pink nipples. Emma brushes them against his arm, gently takes hold of his hair, and leads him to her breasts. He begins to kiss them while Jean sits there on his lap, watching, no smile. Emma smiles for her. If she looked closely enough, she could see Jean’s innocence flash away to eyes boiling with flame and lust and rapture.
Her hand flies to Emma’s breast, the one Scott wasn’t nibbling at, and her fingernails cut into the flesh like talons. Emma doesn’t give the satisfaction of a scream, just grins fiercely. What she doesn’t expect is for Jean’s fingers to close on her nipple, tweak it, twist it, play with it. It hurts, but it hurts good. Emma feels wetness seeping into her panties. With Jean watching, with Scott there, she pushes her skirt down and then kicks it the rest of the way off.
Like a record skipping, Emma finds herself on her back. There’s Scott crushing her to the final and most unforgiving point of pressure, where his mouth came down on her right breast. There’s Jean straddling her legs, Indian-sitting on top of them, one strap on her gauzy cami hanging down her side.
The little Emma sees of her cleavage is golden and full, succulent, a feast. Emma feels like a cheap fraud, intruding on cosmic events where she has no place. She hates that feeling, hates Jean, hates Scott a little. Why does she have any less of a claim on him than Jean? She saw him first, after all. She wants him more.
Jean pulls down Emma’s panties slowly, like a heatwave breaking. Scott’s teeth get rougher on Emma’s breast, as if he senses the desire rising in her, and then her panties are off and she’s completely naked and high with her most hated rival and the object of their affections in a greenhouse that smells of dying flowers.
Jean rises off the bench as Scott switches to Emma’s other breast, his tongue nervously moving around her areola, making the nipple pucker and grow. Emma’s eyes don’t leave Jean’s for one second as the redhead wiggles out of her jeans, her panties. She leaves the cami hanging off one shoulder in a bizarrely appealing kind of modesty.
Emma can see the curls of her pubic hair, red as burnished bronze, glimmering with wetness. She can see Jean take Scott’s hand, clenched on the bench, stroke it into relaxation and then guide it between her legs. She can feel the warmth of Jean’s cunt jump to the forefront of Scott’s mind.
“And me,” she whispers into Scott’s ear in her most sultry voice, jamming his other hand between her legs. It feels all wrong, nowhere near the almost artistic way Jean did it, but then Scott’s fingers go inside…
Deep, curling, then slowly sliding out, almost all the way, back in, deeper, her thighs clenching, her entire body quaking, better than her own fingers, better than she’d imagined. A sweet, sweet scent fills the air and Emma recognizes it as the smoke drifting out from between Jean’s slightly parted lips.
“Take it,” Jean says, holding a joint out to Emma, the ashes falling and hitting Emma’s cleavage, a little pinprick of pain as Emma takes another hit…
And then they’re side by side, sitting on the bench, arms wrapped around each other to stay upright. Emma can feel Jean trembling; it’s a revelation. Scott’s fingers are inside both of them and his head is arched back, luxuriating in Jean’s hand around his cock. Emma is glad she’s the one getting him off; right now she just wants to enjoy this moment, this place, these people. Jean and Emma’s hips thrust in jerky almost-symphony, their breasts heave, their mouths open, their eyes close.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” Jean admits, and Emma realizes she’s never heard the woman curse before. It sounds good. Fuuuuuck.
Emma feels Jean’s mind flare up, light racing down every nerve ending, her body suddenly overwhelming, the sight and smell and feel and taste of her overpowering. Emma is suffused in Jean, drowning in her orgasm.
“I’m coming,” Jean breathes, with a very human whimper at the end.
Emma shudders until she realizes Jean’s orgasm was hers as well, picking up where Jean’s left off, wringing the last bit of awareness out of her. “Me too.”
They hit the bench at the same time, Scott at their feet, arms and shoulders stretched out along their laps. Emma doesn’t remember him coming, but she can feel something sticky and warm making its way down her leg. She rubs it off on Jean’s leg and they let Scott, grinning sleepily, slide down onto the soft grass.
“I should get dressed,” Emma says, embarrassed, not quite able to say why.
Jean sinks down beside Scott, peeling her cami off to lie naked on the grass. “No, c’mon, stay a while.” Jean has a smile and Emma can’t detect a hint of duplicity about her. That’s what she doesn’t trust.
“This is a school, not a nudist colony. I have work to do.”
“We can do that later,” Scott says, ridiculously comfortable for a man wearing nothing but his sunglasses. “Between the three of us, we’ll make up for lost time.”
“That’s alright.” Emma dresses, quickly, horribly aware of their eyes on her.
She’d thought of love before.
She’d never realized how terrifying it could be.
Fandom: X-Men movieverse
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,773
Characters/Pairings: Jean/Emma/Scott
Author’s Note: Takes place after X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Summary: Emma and Jean are in a competition. Scott is the prize.
They’re all a little high the first time they fuck. Hank brought home some weed in his last adventure with a driver’s license, and while he’d hogged most of it for himself, he was willing to part with it for Jean. It’s just enough for two, but Emma’s the only one who knows how to roll a joint and even Jean can’t con Scott into joining in on her own, so the three of them end up together in one of the greenhouses that only Ororo uses, and she’s no narc.
After Jean nearly coughs her lungs out, Emma takes the second hit. She smoothly takes the smoke into her lungs, lets it fill her body, then softly exhales. The sight of her lips parting and letting smoke undulate out starts a signal fire of lust in Scott’s brain. That’s what Emma smiles about, not the anemic potency of the weed.
It’s common knowledge that she and Jean have been in competition since they first came to the Mansion. The oldest girls, the only telepaths, it was inevitable. They tend to collide in near-victories and narrow defeats. Jean’s a telekinetic, but Emma’s the more subtle telepath. Jean is Xavier’s favorite, but Emma is the one who always plays chess with Erik. Their grades are both top of the class, their clothes are both expensive enough to put a drain on Charles’ fortune, and they both know that an easy conversation starter in the boy’s locker room is to ask which of them is more beautiful.
Emma thinks the consensus is that Jean is prettier, but they’d all rather have sex with her. She can live with that.
And now it’s Scott, Scott who’s grown out of his gawky adolescence and into the unspoken leader of the student body, the guy who can talk to the professors about any problems you might have, the guy who’ll help you study or talk to that girl or drive that car. He’s older brother to the entire school, and it makes Emma feel wonderfully incestuous. Jean probably wants him just because she wants him, deserves him, a Christmas present she’ll play with a while and then shove in the attic. Emma wants him because they belong together, the best and brightest, prince and princess. It’s so obvious.
Scott finally takes a hit, with Jean hanging off his arm making puppy dog eyes and Emma giving him the challenging stare that once made Hank streak the Mutant-Human Relations Conference to impress her. It’s a shame Henry had to grow all that unsightly hair. Emma was getting to like him.
Scott coughs, cutely, and smiles. “Whoa. That’s a little weird.”
Jean snuggles up to him in that way she has, always squirming up to anyone, resting her head on Hank’s lap or leaning against Charles. The only one she doesn’t do it with is Emma. Jean takes another hit. This one goes down easier.
Emma is at the other end of the bench and she puts her feet up on Scott’s thigh, letting her skirt fall down to mid-thigh. She’s the only one besides Scott who wears the recommended school uniform, which nets her Erik’s consistent praise as a proper young woman.
Scott’s blazer is off, folded on the back of the bench, and his tie is undone. Jean is wearing a spaghetti-strap camisole top and jeans and looking like a million dollars. They all smoke and watch each other, wondering what the other is thinking, complimenting themselves on their transgression.
Then Jean smiles that Jean smile of hers and she’s on Scott’s lap, her lips mashing against his in a slightly ridiculous way, but from the guttural moan being made she’s enjoying herself. Emma watches, all too aware of the slight heat gathering between her own legs.
Scott and Jean keep kissing until the joint in Scott’s hand burns down to his knuckles, singeing him. Jean rears back, smiling that secret little smile, and she keeps smiling even when Emma leans between them and finds Scott’s lips with her own, soft and warm. Emma reaches down for Scott’s crotch and her hand brushes against Jean’s, the zipper of his fly already locked between her fingers.
Emma can only watch, hating how uncertain and clumsy she feels, as Jean slides a hand to Scott’s groin, kisses him again. This time the neck, a stupid schoolgirl hickey, and when Emma kisses the other side of Scott’s neck she doesn’t think that Jean’s making room.
“This is…” Scott blinks, tries to clear his thoughts to say exactly what this is. Emma pushes her joint into his mouth.
“Happening,” she finishes.
This time Scott doesn’t cough. Jean kisses him, her tongue stroking Scott’s for an eternity of moments, and then she lulls back again, still straddling him, his face lost between her neck and shoulder, slowly exhaling the smoke that’s passed from Emma to Scott to her. Watching them, Emma feels warm and slick and ready. She strips off her blouse, then the tanktop beneath. Her breasts are smaller than Jean’s, and sometimes she looks up surgical procedures on the internet. (Erik tells her she’s beautiful just the way she is, but she doesn’t believe him.)
Scott’s attention wanders to the rose-pink nipples. Emma brushes them against his arm, gently takes hold of his hair, and leads him to her breasts. He begins to kiss them while Jean sits there on his lap, watching, no smile. Emma smiles for her. If she looked closely enough, she could see Jean’s innocence flash away to eyes boiling with flame and lust and rapture.
Her hand flies to Emma’s breast, the one Scott wasn’t nibbling at, and her fingernails cut into the flesh like talons. Emma doesn’t give the satisfaction of a scream, just grins fiercely. What she doesn’t expect is for Jean’s fingers to close on her nipple, tweak it, twist it, play with it. It hurts, but it hurts good. Emma feels wetness seeping into her panties. With Jean watching, with Scott there, she pushes her skirt down and then kicks it the rest of the way off.
Like a record skipping, Emma finds herself on her back. There’s Scott crushing her to the final and most unforgiving point of pressure, where his mouth came down on her right breast. There’s Jean straddling her legs, Indian-sitting on top of them, one strap on her gauzy cami hanging down her side.
The little Emma sees of her cleavage is golden and full, succulent, a feast. Emma feels like a cheap fraud, intruding on cosmic events where she has no place. She hates that feeling, hates Jean, hates Scott a little. Why does she have any less of a claim on him than Jean? She saw him first, after all. She wants him more.
Jean pulls down Emma’s panties slowly, like a heatwave breaking. Scott’s teeth get rougher on Emma’s breast, as if he senses the desire rising in her, and then her panties are off and she’s completely naked and high with her most hated rival and the object of their affections in a greenhouse that smells of dying flowers.
Jean rises off the bench as Scott switches to Emma’s other breast, his tongue nervously moving around her areola, making the nipple pucker and grow. Emma’s eyes don’t leave Jean’s for one second as the redhead wiggles out of her jeans, her panties. She leaves the cami hanging off one shoulder in a bizarrely appealing kind of modesty.
Emma can see the curls of her pubic hair, red as burnished bronze, glimmering with wetness. She can see Jean take Scott’s hand, clenched on the bench, stroke it into relaxation and then guide it between her legs. She can feel the warmth of Jean’s cunt jump to the forefront of Scott’s mind.
“And me,” she whispers into Scott’s ear in her most sultry voice, jamming his other hand between her legs. It feels all wrong, nowhere near the almost artistic way Jean did it, but then Scott’s fingers go inside…
Deep, curling, then slowly sliding out, almost all the way, back in, deeper, her thighs clenching, her entire body quaking, better than her own fingers, better than she’d imagined. A sweet, sweet scent fills the air and Emma recognizes it as the smoke drifting out from between Jean’s slightly parted lips.
“Take it,” Jean says, holding a joint out to Emma, the ashes falling and hitting Emma’s cleavage, a little pinprick of pain as Emma takes another hit…
And then they’re side by side, sitting on the bench, arms wrapped around each other to stay upright. Emma can feel Jean trembling; it’s a revelation. Scott’s fingers are inside both of them and his head is arched back, luxuriating in Jean’s hand around his cock. Emma is glad she’s the one getting him off; right now she just wants to enjoy this moment, this place, these people. Jean and Emma’s hips thrust in jerky almost-symphony, their breasts heave, their mouths open, their eyes close.
“Fuck, I’m so close,” Jean admits, and Emma realizes she’s never heard the woman curse before. It sounds good. Fuuuuuck.
Emma feels Jean’s mind flare up, light racing down every nerve ending, her body suddenly overwhelming, the sight and smell and feel and taste of her overpowering. Emma is suffused in Jean, drowning in her orgasm.
“I’m coming,” Jean breathes, with a very human whimper at the end.
Emma shudders until she realizes Jean’s orgasm was hers as well, picking up where Jean’s left off, wringing the last bit of awareness out of her. “Me too.”
They hit the bench at the same time, Scott at their feet, arms and shoulders stretched out along their laps. Emma doesn’t remember him coming, but she can feel something sticky and warm making its way down her leg. She rubs it off on Jean’s leg and they let Scott, grinning sleepily, slide down onto the soft grass.
“I should get dressed,” Emma says, embarrassed, not quite able to say why.
Jean sinks down beside Scott, peeling her cami off to lie naked on the grass. “No, c’mon, stay a while.” Jean has a smile and Emma can’t detect a hint of duplicity about her. That’s what she doesn’t trust.
“This is a school, not a nudist colony. I have work to do.”
“We can do that later,” Scott says, ridiculously comfortable for a man wearing nothing but his sunglasses. “Between the three of us, we’ll make up for lost time.”
“That’s alright.” Emma dresses, quickly, horribly aware of their eyes on her.
She’d thought of love before.
She’d never realized how terrifying it could be.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-06 11:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 04:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 12:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 04:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 12:48 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 08:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-11 04:41 am (UTC)She’d never realized how terrifying it could be.
YES!! That's a perfect reason why she leaves the school! <3 <3 <3
Gah, I need to renew my account so I can get my Emma/Scott icons back.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 03:36 pm (UTC)In inclusion, zomgosh I think I need a joint right now, too. *L*
no subject
Date: 2009-05-07 08:07 pm (UTC)