Scott Summers walked through the Xavier Mansion lost in thought. The science was conclusive; everyone from Reed Richards to Bruce Banner agreed. The biggest threat facing mutants wasn't Sentinels or Inhumans, it was falling birth rates.
That was true across the board, of course, but while flatscan humans could survive going without middle children, such a decrease would be catastrophic for mutants. The X-gene, once so resilient, so inevitable, would be starved out of existence like a flame without air.
What could be done about it? All the arguments against child-rearing that applied to humans applied to mutants: climate change, economic downturn—a world that seemed to become less suitable for humanity the more they changed it to suit them. And then there were the mutant arguments. Countless doomed futures lying in wait. Government pogroms. Uncaring superheroes and hateful supervillains. It wasn't a world Scott would choose to bring a child into. But that was the irony. To get the better world they hoped for, they would have to have faith the world would get better... instead of acknowledging that it wasn't.
Such were the dark thoughts he was grappling with—whether having children was an act of survival or a curse handed down—that he didn't notice his quarters were occupied as he came into them. While usually he would've registered another's presence immediately, possibly even sensed it with well-honed instincts before his hand touched the doorknob, now it was not until the door was firmly shut behind him that he realized Emma was inside.
She was in the bedroom, a little off from the foyer immediately through his front door, and he felt her in his thoughts, the psychic equivalent of a tap on the shoulder.
Time for bed,
she cast to him, and Scott felt his groin answering with growing hardness. He walked into the bedroom and saw that she was dressed down, for her, wearing a white jacket with an ermine fur collar and nothing underneath, a pair of those ironically virginal white panties, and then nothing for her miles of long legs except her high heels at the end. She sat in an armchair in the corner.
Tessa was on the bed, wearing not her usual uniform, but a black corset, black panties, stockings and hose. The neutral expression on her computerized face made her trim, sleek body paradoxically more arousing, the thought that she was dressed like that, offered up like that, and yet blithe, challenging anyone who viewed her to replace her stony expression with one more lustful—Scott knew it should've killed his arousal to find a third party in his bed, but it only grew, seeing Tessa kneeling there, awaiting his orders. Or perhaps Emma's.
"Emma?" he asked. "What's going on? Did Tessa spill something on her own bed?"
He'd never been much of a joker and Emma overlooked his attempt now.
"I'm being
practical,"
Emma trilled, making it sound like a sexual position. The obvious irony: however practical Emma was, it was only to please herself. "You're looked upon quite highly in the community, you know. Xavier's a hypocrite. Magneto's a maniac. Wolverine's a killer. You're the only real hero we have."
"So?" Scott asked, biting back a reflexive need to argue. He was no hero. He had a job.
"If you start making babies, others will catch on. And you would make a very good babymaker—so to speak. Isn't that right, Sage?"
Tessa spoke her, her voice slightly rough with electronic undertones. "The villain Mr. Sinister is right to be so obsessed with your genes, Scott Summers. Your variant of the X-gene is significantly more advanced than the usual chromosome. It has the potential to create vastly powerful mutants. In laboratory tests, it counteracts several debilitating birth defects. With even slight gene therapy, it could make any of your descendants immune to the Legacy Virus, the Terrigen Mist, and various other genetic threats to mutantkind. Theoretically, the Summers X-gene could've been bolstered by contact with the Eternals or experimentation by the Celestials..."
"Yes, Sage, that's enough," Emma interrupted. "You get the point, Scott. Not only would you knocking a woman up inspire other mutants to start families, but your children would be all quite the Second Coming. As frustrating as Rachel and Cable can be at times, I'd rather have more X-Men like them than, oh, say Beak."
"This is your way of telling me you want to have kids?" Scott asked.
"Me? Oh, God no." Emma ran a hand over her bare belly. "Imagine ruining this figure with a pregnancy. I went to an Ivy League school; I think not. But Sage here... we became quite good friends in the Hellfire Club. Yes, she was only there to spy for Xavier, but while she may have been an X-Man in her mind, her body was another matter."
"You want me to fuck her?" Scott asked, hardly able to believe it.
"For starters," Emma said. "I know a great deal many women who could do with breeding—top-quality women, you understand. Impeccable references, so to speak. Not bad-looking, either. If we're to do this, after all, we can't have you go around thrusting into just anyone. You're not Gambit, after all."
"Thanks," Scott said laconically.
"You're welcome," Emma said sincerely. "I do this only thinking of you, of course. But I will help out where I can. That's the way you like to do it, isn't it? As a team? Sage, enough posing. Present yourself."
Turning around, Sage dropped onto all fours, showing Scott her ass. The panties were thin enough not to conceal a single pubic hair through their nylon mesh. Not that there were many of those on Tessa's shorn sex. Emma had clearly prepared Tessa for him as eloquently as she would an arrangement of flowers, a three-course meal, or an exhibition at an art gallery. He had no doubt that Tessa would prove as scintillating a sexual partner as Emma herself.
But despite all he and Emma had been through, and the steadiness with which he regarded the constant push and pull of their relationship, he wondered how smart it was to give into her here. Her reasoning was entirely sound, Emma once more voicing the thoughts he was still turning over unspoken in his head, but was it wise to let her call the shots? He thought he caught a sparkle in her eyes, an ironic gleam, as if she were daring him to dispute her decision-making... or perhaps asking him to.
He knew how powerful a Summers child could be, but both times, that child had essentially come from him and Jean. It was that kind of inevitability that fostered such inadequacy in Emma, made her lash out at times, feeling that she was inherently unlovable and that he was destined for Jean. Perhaps, despite her chilly words, having a child with her would show her how much he cared for her... and Emma only wanted him to insist on her being his mate.
Scott could've laughed. He'd been called upon to make a seemingly infinite number of tactical decisions in his time: why should having a child prove any different?
A. Show her who's in charge. Mate the White Queen
"Oh,
Emma,"
Scott chuckled, his voice rich with irony. "Surely you don't think little Tessa here can compare with
you.
The
White Queen."
Emma froze, brows knitted in confusion. "Whatever do you mean, my love?"
"I mean why would I want Tessa when I can have you? Fuck you? Come inside you? Make you pregnant?"
Emma shook her head, laughing nervously, for once flustered. "But Scott... I told you... my figure..."
"It'll make those tits of yours even bigger," Scott said, reaching out to haul her to her feet. "I thought you'd go in for that."
"But I
told you
to fuck
her,"
Emma insisted, looking a little desperately at Tessa.
"I'm leader of the X-Men, 'my love'. You don't tell me what to do."
Just like that, Scott was pulling Emma through their suite, her tiny efforts to resist utterly futile. Helpless, she was dragged into the bathroom with him. He threw open the medicine cabinet. Its mirrored door swung out to show Tessa, still kneeling on the bed.
"Your birth control," Scott said. "Throw it out. You won't need it anymore."
Ironically for the ice queen, Emma was all fired up on the outside, but warm as a summer day on the inside. Scott could see it in her eyes—a delighted gleam that he could discern no matter how hard she tried to keep up her act of smug superiority. As he'd surmised and, indeed, hoped, Emma wanted him to choose her, wanted him to make her his mate in the most certain terms imaginable, and most of all, she wanted him to do it this way,
her way,
not with candles and flowers, but rough, hard, fast.
Diamonds couldn't be broken, it was said. Scott would put that to the test.
"Make me," Emma challenged.
Scott grabbed her by the throat, all while Tessa watched, her computerized eyes recording every detail. Scott wondered if that exhibitionism—a combination of voyeurism and sex tape—was the real point of Emma inviting Tessa here. He didn't care much either way. As long as he was onboard with Emma's plan, he'd have to get comfortable with other women in the bedroom sooner or later.
He squeezed Emma hard, not enough to truly hurt her, but letting her know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't kidding around. This game was being played to win. "If you're too scared to be fucked yourself, then safe word already."
Despite the game, despite the pain, Emma grinned. This was more than what she wanted—it was what she needed. To open herself up and be truly vulnerable, she needed the freedom only a mask offered. It was no wonder she had become a superhero. It was the only way her fetish could get any kinkier.
"If you want to play rough, I can play rough." And that was the last acknowledgment she gave that this was anything but him taking what he wanted from her.
I love you,
she teeped into his head.
