Best Frenemies

Summary: The chapter title’s self-explanatory. Emma shares her toys.


Ororo didn’t know why she came there.

No. That wasn’t right. She knew.

She hesitated outside the door, pausing to listen to the soft strains of classical music. It seemed to fit Emma, or what Ororo knew of her.

How much did she really know of Emma?

She knocked. A voice in the back of her mind scoffed that the mind-witch knew she was coming, anyway.

“Come in, Ororo.”

See?

The minx sounded calm and smug. Ororo mustered a breath and opened the door.

Emma was seated at her vanity, brushing her hair. It was late; the children were already in bed, observing the school’s stringent curfew.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” Emma murmured, eyeing Ororo’s reflection behind her as she continued running the brush through her mass of blonde waves.

“Don’t play games.”

“Why did you come here, then, if it wasn’t to play games? I told you what I needed from you, Ororo.”

“You were vague.”

“No, I was crystal clear.”

“What…what is it Scott isn’t giving you?” Emma turned from her mirror then. Relief swamped her features, something Ororo never saw before.

“Oh, God, Ororo! You don’t know what it’s like for a man to never have a clue-“

“Please. Just give me the highlights, all right?”

“Right. Fine,” she said, recovering herself. “Sit.” She nodded to her generous king-sized bed. Ororo snorted. “Or there, if you wish.” Ororo sniffed and took the proffered arm chair in the corner. Emma looked satisfied; Ororo looked striking against the white leather upholstery, it’s lighter tone setting off her dark cinnamon skin.

“Scott,” she began, “holds back. He’s tender, don’t get me wrong. He’s open. I love him more than my life.”

“But,” Ororo retorted dryly.

“But,” she agreed, “he coddles me. He won’t just…let go. He’s protective of me. And I sense that this has a lot to do with how he treated Jean. Like she was breakable. Fragile. That’s not me.”

“No,” Ororo shook her head, agreeing with her completely. “Definitely not.”

“Sometimes he’s afraid to try new things. He doesn’t hold back his affection, or his…enthusiasm. But sometimes…I know how to describe it…I want more. I want him to assert himself. To take control of the encounter. Of me. I want to belong to him. I want him to want me, to crave me enough to want to dominate me completely. I want him to make me beg.”

Ororo was silent. Emma was impressed to see that her eyes didn’t judge or fill with revulsion.

“I want him to use me up and wear me out. I’m unbreakable. Solid, unflappable Emma. His Emma. I want him to break me. I want him to enjoy it. I want him to take the pleasure from me that he deserves because I love him, and I belong to him, but I don’t want him to put me on the same pedestal that he gave Jean. I don’t want to fall.” She turned away and brushed her hair again, more roughly as she tugged her fingers through it. Ororo saw the change in her, perhaps a shift in her resolve.

She knew Emma’s vulnerability came at a cost. In that way and that way alone, they were alike.

“I’m a real woman. Not a fantasy of what he could have had, I’m what he has now. I don’t want him to pander to me. I want someone with a backbone. I thought he had one when we got together, but he’s still a work in progress. So that’s what I need. From him.” She took a breath. “From you.”

Ororo rose from her seat. She’d heard enough. Emma looked frantic and spun around to face her.

“Ororo…please. Will you?”

Ororo licked her lips and tucked the ends of her long bangs behind her ear. She stalked toward the vanity, lean and graceful as a jungle cat. Emma’s eyes traveled over her body, up to her face as she hovered over her, towering over her.

“Give that to me.” She held out her hand impatiently. Her voice was imperious.

Emma was turned on.

“Give you what?”

“That.” She gestured to the hairbrush. Emma looked confused, but gave it to her. “Turn.”

“All right.” She obeyed, facing the mirror. Ororo wasn’t looking into her face. She watched her as she stared at her scalp thoughtfully. Her slender hands gathered up Emma’s hair neatly, one lock at a time, until she held it in one thick hank. Her fingertips whispered over Emma’s cool nape. Emma swallowed and her heart beat sped up, even tripped. She felt the change in Ororo’s body, standing so close. She heard her breathing and felt – or imagined she felt – the soft hills of Ororo’s breasts barely brush her crown. Emma closed her eyes and waited.

The brush pulled through her hair briskly, its bristles massaging her scalp firmly. The sound of each stroke was underscored by the music lilting through the suite. Emma shivered. Ororo didn’t use the brush in the hesitant “oh, am I hurting you?” manner of Emma’s stylist. Ororo hit a snag toward the ends and managed it with a few careful yanks. The pull of her hair evoked an image of her tugging it back…of Scott tugging it back to raise her face to his…

“If we do this, Emma, if I do this for you, we do it my way.”

“Of course. I stipulated that.”

“No. I’m stipulating that. I like control, remember?”

“That’s fine. Suggest an arrangement.”

“We won’t do this in my room. What we do doesn’t leave this room. Unless you’re worried about Scott finding any sign of what happened?”

“He’s oblivious enough. All he cares about are being able to find his socks.”

“That’s unimportant. I want to set the mood. I’m not comfortable bringing this where I live, understand?” Up until then, Emma had never crossed the threshold of Ororo’s loft, and she knew she probably never would. It was Ororo’s sanctuary.

“I have one request.”

“What might that be?”

“I have some things I would like you to use. Toys. Special ones.” Ororo paused and held her hair in her fist, tightening her grip.

“Emma…”

“If you don’t feel ‘comfortable’ with it, then fine. Forget it,” she said flatly, attempting to pull away.

Ororo abruptly jerked her hair, pinning her back against her body. Emma gasped at the sudden burst of pain at her scalp, but it tingled.

“I’ll tell you this once,” she said. Her words were sibilant and measured. “You won’t force me to hurt you any more than I feel is conscionable. You won’t make me mark you or threaten your life or safety.”

“Admit it…you’ve wanted to.”

“That’s my fantasy, not yours,” Ororo said coolly. “But I’m not you.” She tipped Emma’s head back so she could stare fully into her face.

Emma’s nipples grew hard.

“Silly whore,” Ororo murmured, amused. Emma felt her muscles clench around a knot of arousal. Her breathing deepened and sped up as Ororo released her hair, moving on to her throat. She gripped the scruff of her neck, not gently, while her other hand traced the contour of her face. Her fingertips descended to her collarbones, trailing down the flesh exposed by the low neckline of her blouse. “This is what you want?”

“Yes!” she whispered.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Please.” Emma felt the sweet prick of tears behind her eyes as Ororo pried open the buttons of her blouse, one, two, three…

She scraped aside the fabric and slid her palm over the mound of her breast, giving it a rough squeeze. “You want me to be rough with you?” She tangled her fingers in her hair again. “Hurt you? Break you? Hmm?” She found the tiny clasp between the cups of Emma’s blue satin bra and tugged, making the elastic snap back sharply. The cups fell open, bursting apart and releasing her impressive breasts.

Oh, yes. They were beautiful.

“Whore. You like being bare,” she tsked. “Leave a bit to the imagination, Emma.”

“I could be buttoned up like Jean,” she mocked, but Ororo was toying with her breast, swiveling her index fingertip around the nipple.

“You’ll never be like Jean. Don’t flatter yourself.” She rolled her finger around it, then dipped her digit in Emma’s waiting mouth. “Get it wet. Suck it, whore.” She obeyed. She longed to obey. She pulled on it, swirling her tongue around Ororo’s flesh. She pulled them from Emma’s lips and worked her nipple again, this time hard. Rough. She abraded it, turning the tourmaline pink fruit rosy red. She pinched it.

“Ah!” Emma gasped.

“You like that,” Ororo demanded.

“Yes!”

“I can’t hear you, whore.”

“YES!” She gave Emma’s cheek a light slap, then dipped her fingers into her mouth again. This time, Emma’s voice vibrated through Ororo’s flesh as she moaned in need.

“I don’t like you. I don’t respect you,” Ororo told her, peeling aside the other side of Emma’s blouse and subjecting her other breast to the same punishment. She clamped it hard between finger and thumb, pulling it until Emma cried out.

“I…don’t want you to. Just…please…I need you. I need this.”

“How badly? Will you do what I say? Anything, Emma?”

“Anything. Name it. Show me what you want.”

“No. You’ll show me.” She released her. “Turn around.” Emma cooperated, facing her. Her hair was disheveled and her breasts were still bare. She made no attempt to cover them, craving more of Ororo’s treatment. “Open them.” Emma stared into her face as she spread her thighs wide.

“Pull those down.” Emma made a sound of need. “Now,” Ororo snapped. Emma dutifully unzipped her tiny white denim shorts and tugged them out from beneath her rump. “OFF!” She hastily let them fall. They were around her ankles and her knees were still splayed wide

“Look at you. You’re a mess already.” She shook her head. “You’re all wet.” Her satin panties were darkened from her juices. The smell of her ripeness already crept through the room, wrapping around them. “I don’t think you can handle me…”

“Please!” Emma leaned back and skimmed her palm over the slope of her belly, covering her mound. “See how much I need it. I’m begging you. I’m desperate.” Her eyes glistened and her voice shook.

After one endless moment, Ororo cooed “Tomorrow. Noon.”

“But…what will we do about the kids, how will we-“

“Figure out the details. That’s up to you. Be creative.”

“Fine. I can arrange it. Ororo?”

“Yes?”

“I…have a present for you.” She adjusted herself, stepping back into her panties and crossing the room. She opened her spacious walk-in closet and took down a pink gift box tied with a black ribbon.

She presented it to her humbly. “I was hoping you’d wear it.” She eyed her covetously. “It would look nice against your skin.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“Noon, then.”