#emmascott

Some time ago, I found myself in some sort of quarter-life crisis or something, and I ended up binge-watching all the Mostar High movies and probably every episode of the First Gen series. I might check out the third gen too, but it doesn’t have the same nostalgic vibe for me, especially since they split Cleo and Deuce… But Frankie’s new concept looks amazing.

Anyway, during this nostalgia trip, my thoughts wandered to the X-Men and what kinds of creatures they might be in a monster reality.

And forgive me, Emma, but you would 100% be a Twilight vampire. You’re gorgeous, you can read minds, and you can sparkle – not only in the sunlight. I can totally picture a twisted version of Twilight where Scott drives to, well, I don’t even remember the name of the town, and all the vampires fight over him because his mind is just so “readable.”

As for Scott, he was the first one I assigned a monster form. Sure, Cyclops would’ve been the obvious choice, but it doesn’t feel quite right – a Scott who can’t hurt anyone with eye contact? Yes, I read an interesting story some time ago that explored why Scott’s codename made sense, but Scott’s fear of hurting people is a pretty important part of his personality. So there is Scott, the son of Medusa. I think the fear of turning someone to stone is kind of similar to the fear of shooting someone with your powers.

About picture:

Scott and Emma are sitting together in the morning. Don’t ask me why Emma is awake, and they’re playing cards—a version of gin rummy, maybe—and it would never occur to Emma to cheat... Emma is wearing Scott’s shirt, her skin sparkling in the morning rays.

She has golden eyes. I also have a version with red ones, but let’s imagine that she and Scott have been together for some time now, so Emma has switched from human to animal blood (her favorite is horses...), and her eyes have turned gold.

“Flattery generally gets people nowhere with me, but for you, I’ll make the exception.” He grins and hands her a single white rose. He’s learning her tastes, and she feels an odd surge of happiness that he remembers so much about her without constantly having to ask what pleases her anymore. 

Emma doesn’t go in for huge, extravagant flower arrangements unless she’s organizing a social event. Minimal elegance goes a long way in her book. 

Scott’s next words leave her at a momentary loss. “Happy anniversary, Em.” 

Which anniversary is it?

They’ve already acknowledged the four-year anniversary of their first date. And she hasn’t quite shared his room for three years. 

So she cheats, takes a glimpse into his thoughts, realizes — has it really been FIVE years since she arrived to teach here? 

“That makes me feel old,” she remarks. 

She knows him well enough to tell he’s rolling his eyes at her behind his opaque glasses. “Let’s not be gloomy, shall we? This is the day we first officially met, five years ago, Em. It’s cause for a…less negative outlook, don’t you think?” 

I didn’t know it at the time, but your arrival was the start of the happiest years of my life…. 

Emma pulls out the thread of what he doesn’t say and smiles. “Aw, you’re such a shameless romantic, Scott.” 

That flusters him for a second, and she could almost swear she sees his face flush. “I didn’t say anything,” he defends himself, though he sounds unsure of that fact. 

“You didn’t have to. Your thoughts are very loud sometimes.” She smirks at him and points to the drink carrier in his right hand. “Please tell me one of those coffees is for me.” 

“No, you’ve rubbed off on me too much. I bought two just so I could rub it in your face that I didn’t get you any.” He hands over one of the cups. 

“How I adore it when you get sarcastic, Lover. I always knew you were just pretending to be such a boy scout.” She takes a sip of the hot drink, noting with uncharacteristic softness that he remembered her current favorite — white chocolate hazelnut latte with almond milk, two shots of espresso, and whipped cream. He’s too good for her. She comes up with ridiculously complicated combinations every other month to see if it throws him off, and yet he cares so much and his memory is so unfairly perfect that he caters to her whims and she can’t even complain about a mistaken order. “Thank you.” 

“My pleasure.” He tastes his own — strong and black, she knows from the smell of it. Hasn’t changed his own preference since long before she came into his life. She’d never drink black coffee, much as the others might think she’s suited for such a bitter drink. She loves that about him, though. It rounds out his masculine and no-nonsense personality, and she can’t deny that she likes to taste the hint of it lingering in his mouth after he drinks it. 

“What does the rest of your day look like?” she asks, pressing her body up to his. He shifts automatically to avoid spilling his drink on her immaculate white jacket. 

“I cleared my schedule. Wanted to spend the evening with you.” Scott glances out the window. “The weather’s nice, and the pool is empty. I don’t know about you, but that sounds like providence to me.” 

“I have a new bikini and no other excuse to wear it. You’re good at formulating plans even when we’re off duty.” She pulls away from him and starts down the hallway. 

“Am I watching your transformation, or are you holding out on me until we get there?” 

Emma flashes him a naughty grin over her shoulder. “I’m holding out on you this time, Lover Boy. After all, if you always get the privilege of seeing me in a state of undress, what power do I have to hold over you anymore?” 

He leans against the wall with a disappointed sigh. “You’re cruel, Emma.” 

“Darling, I wrote the definition of the word.” She sashays off, fiercely delighted that she can feel the heat of his gaze fixed on her swinging hips. 

If only the others knew what dirty thoughts sometimes cross their straight-laced leader’s mind. 

He was right, the weather is perfect for this.

She watches him swim laps as she lounges in a deck chair, admiring his toned muscles and relishing the reality that she can check him out as obviously as she likes. He’s hers now, so she doesn’t have to pretend to disguise the fact that she undresses him with her eyes whenever they’re in a room together. 

Emma has always had a deep appreciation for beauty, and the male form in motion is no exception. Scott Summers moves with an efficient grace no matter what he does. With his ample physical strength, he could be explosive, unfettered, but she finds it much more interesting that he restrains himself, not a motion wasted, every execution clean and sharp. 

Then he’s suddenly still, leaning over the side of the pool. “Somehow when I pictured this, I thought you were going to swim with me,” he complains. 

She leans further back, crossing her arms beneath her head. “What’s the point of a bathing suit as small as mine unless it’s for a good tan? You didn’t actually think this was made for swimming, did you?” 

“You’re not tanning,” he points out, with an infuriating grin. 

It’s true. She’s protected from the late afternoon sunlight by a meticulously placed umbrella, as well as a wide-brimmed hat and a pair of sunglasses that probably cost no less than five hundred dollars. The sun has never been too friendly to Emma’s creamy porcelain complexion. 

She scowls down at Scott, whose more bronze tones always manage to tan gorgeously. 

He pulls himself out of the water. “Come on, I’ll put sunscreen on you if you’ll get in the water with me.” 

“Don’t get me all wet,” she tosses at him, handing him the bottle of lotion. 

“Don’t tempt me.” 

Removing her hat, she pulls her hair up and slides forward so he can sit behind her on the lounge and start working on her back. She relaxes into the familiar touch of his hands as he massages the sunscreen into her skin, firm but gentle, just the way she likes it. Can she really be faulted for demanding he give her back rubs so often?

The man is the god of back rubs. 

“Has it really been five years?” she murmurs. 

“The time has sure flown by.” His thumbs are higher than they need to be, working the knots out of her neck, and she sighs with relief as the tightness of the day finally releases. “I still remember,” he stifles a slight laugh, “how shocked I was when the Professor introduced you to me.” 

“Whatever do you mean?” 

“Well, the way he talked about you, ‘former headmistress of the Massachusetts Academy’, I thought you were…much older, for one thing.” 

And much less sexy, is what he doesn’t say aloud. 

He catches her knowing smile and this time, she’s CERTAIN he reddens slightly. “And then you walked in, and all the puzzle pieces finally fell together. I definitely wasn’t expecting the Professor to hire the White Queen on the faculty, that’s for sure.” 

“How did you feel about that?” She’s not usually one for fond reminiscence, but the way he’s talking has her feeling strangely sentimental. 

“Confused. I think I was equal parts outraged and still trying to be welcoming. Not to mention your wardrobe is very provocative, which wasn’t helpful to my composure.” 

Emma laughs softly at his honesty. “I knew you were secretly more affected than you let on.” 

His hands move lower, and she arches her back against the delicious pressure, letting his knuckles knead into her tired muscles. “I wonder sometimes what your first impression of me was.” 

“You’re so bad at hinting.” She falls quiet for a moment, considering. “I remember seeing you there, in your tight black t-shirt and those dark-wash jeans, and I think the first coherent thought I ever devoted to you was, ‘Hmm…this Scott Summers has a nice butt’.” 

“You didn’t.” He can’t seem to make up his mind whether to be flattered, embarrassed, or downright horrified. 

“No, you called my bluff. I was much more taken by your massive —” 

“EMMA!” 

“— Thighs, Sweetheart. I was going to say thighs.” 

“Somehow I don't believe you.” 

“Pectorals?” she tries, turning to run her fingers across the muscles in question and seeing his jaw twitch at the suggestive contact. “Biceps? Or maybe it was your glorious hair — I’ve always thought you had the softest hair, even when you had it cut so short.” 

He raises one eyebrow, lips stern. He says nothing, but she can tell he knows it’s a load of bull.

She looks away again. 

“Truthfully, I noticed your mental imprint before I ever saw you. It stood out among the legions of others. Your thoughts were focused, intense, raw, even. I felt how you held yourself to crushing standards, kept up a façade, and in the midst of so many sharp and chilly thoughts directed at me, yours were like flames. The only taste of heat I could find.” 

She knows he’s staring at her, that she’s surprised him with so human a confession. 

“I held onto that as I walked past rows of judgmental eyes, wanting to meet whoever was such a brilliant flash of light in the midst of an admittedly dark time in my life. I think you felt the brush of my consciousness against yours, because that’s when you turned, and we made eye contact. At first I didn’t think it could possibly be you, since you were so well-groomed, so aloof. But then I saw that same intensity reflected on your face, just for a moment, and I….” 

She trails off, suddenly feeling like she’s peeled back one too many layers, and all of her childhood conditioning kicks in. Don’t ever open up, it makes you seem weak. 

He stops his work with the sunscreen, resting his chin on her shoulder as his arms encircle her, pulling her back against his body. “And then what happened?” he asks, barely above a whisper, and his lips are smiling into her neck, and she’s reminded all over again that Scott already knows her weaknesses, and he would never even dream of taking advantage of them. 

She’s not delicate, even if she looks it, and she’ll crush anyone who calls her so. But Scott keeps all of her weak moments and her softness cradled somewhere deep inside him, where he’ll never allow any harm to come of them. And she is hit all over again with his sweetness, and his caring, and she finds now that she does want him to know exactly what she thought of him that day, five years ago. 

“…And so I thought, ‘Maybe I’m not alone. Maybe there’s someone here who understands what I’ve been through, and I won’t be completely on my own in the world anymore’.” She lets out the breath she’s been holding, amazed at the lightness in her chest now that she’s said it.

“And THEN I started thinking about your butt.” 

He’s laughing as he kisses her collarbone. “Thank you,” he tells her sincerely, as he moves on to slather sunscreen down her legs. “That means a lot.” 

She can tell that it really does, and it makes her happy, to know that. 

“Do you want me to help you with your front?” he asks, nodding at the sheer amount of skin her risqué top leaves exposed. 

“I think I had better handle that area myself, if you want me to ever actually end up in the water with you,” she retorts.

His self-control may be better than most, but even his isn’t THAT good. 

“Suit yourself.” He shrugs. 

“I will, thank you. You can, however, aid me in un-suiting myself later, if you so wish.” 

When they finally complete their task and he at last coaxes her into the water, she remembers what he was thinking earlier.