Cyclops was right and he wishes he wasn't (cyclopswasright) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-05-05 23:56:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, emma frost (white queen), scott summers (cyclops) |
"Want to go for a walk?"
Who: Scott Summers and Emma Frost
What: An encounter in a bar, some heavy flirting and getting to know each other beyond the flirting, and then setting boundries
When: Day Emma quit her job, I believe!
Where: The Swamp (bar) and then the Marriott.
Rating: R For sexual situations! (and because I get to use this icon!)
Status: Complete!
Emma had done the unthinkable. Quitting her job on a whim was so thoroughly unlike her that once she’d left the HR office, she’d headed straight to her car, taken a very deep breath, and gone off driving with no end in mind. She drove for hours, stopping only to fill her low tank, to eat when her stomach growled, and stretch once when it got too unbearable to sit in the same seat. It was getting quite dark when she realized that she’d need to stop eventually, but the thought of going home and finding out how many messages her various family members had left on her machine seemed unpleasant. And, so uncomfortable in her own skin for what was quite possibly the first time in her life, Emma couldn’t bring herself to head to her usual restaurants or clubs. Even going to Jean’s didn’t seem so savory an idea.
So Emma drove in darkness for a little while longer, hoping to find someplace that called to her.
She didn’t make a conscious decision to get drunk, but when she turned and parked in the lot of an unfamiliar bar, Emma figured she’d made as good a choice as any. It took her just a minute to park, shut the car door behind her, and enter. Emma realized quite quickly that this wasn’t the sort of bar she typically visited, but it’d been an odd enough day that she didn’t mind slumming it. And so, in dark heels, a pencil skirt, and a white blouse was one button away from being distastefully open, Emma picked a seat at the bar and ordered herself a martini. “Three olives, extra dirty,” she told the older, male bartender who looked at her with a confused sort of look on his face. “I’ll tip if you make it right.” She was aware of eyes on her, but utterly undisturbed. Today was the sort of day for bad decisions, after all. And there was a small but fierce part of Emma that was all but ready for a fight.
Scott had recieved a call earlier in the evening, from a Marine he'd known in Afghanistan. It turns out the man who'd built the 'swamp' had decided to make a real bar.
He was in truth slightly disappointed - it was a little too ordinary looking to be named the Swamp, but of course, ammo crates didn't make for civilian decor. The pool tables were good and he'd already made quite a bit of money before other patrons got wise.
His eyebrows rose straight into his head. That woman didn't belong here - and there was something vaguely familiar about her.
A man at the bar leaned towards her, eyes anywhere but her face, "Hey doll. You can have whatever you want, I'll buy."
Had the stranger been handsome, Emma might have considered. But the sad state of his face and body, alongside his use of the word doll put him on Emma's bad side. "No, you won't." Emma looked up at him long enough to give him an impressive sort of withering stare. Quickly turning her attention away from the stranger and back to the bartender, she said, "No free drinks tonight for me, dear. I can afford to pay and don't really think I want any of the natives deluding themselves into thinking I owe them something." Her voice was smooth and cool and loud enough for people who were paying attention to her to listen. Emma played the part of stuck-up
bitch like a professional.
The man obviously wouldn't take no for an answer. He placed a hand on Emma's arm, as if this had somehow worked in the past with other, less classy women. Her withering stare certainly had no effect on his inebriated state, "You walk in here, you automatically owe me something."
Something hard and round cracked into the back of his head, "Ow!"
Scott leaned on his pool stick, "Oops. I scratched."
It was a strange sort of bravado that filled Emma. To the point that when she felt a hand on her arm, she almost considered how she might best twist it to break it. It was probably for the best that the man got a distracting crack on the skull. As mean as Emma could be, and even though she'd taken self defense classes, she couldn't be sure that she could handle a large, drunk man all on her own.
"How clumsy," Emma said to the man who'd scratched. Her lips curled into a smirk. The one who'd harassed her was pressing a hand to the back of his head.
"I don't know how I managed to bounce the ball that far. Must have been a fluke." Scott's face was perfectly even, except for the slight upturn of one lip.
The man got up from the bar. Because apparently hitting cue ball at someone's head was fighting words. Scott didn't look that impressed.
The humor on her face faded slightly as she realized the drunk was in fight mode and heading toward her white knight. Torn between getting out of her seat and staying safe, Emma remained seated because the bartender mouthed, "It's alright," to her as he set her drink in front of her. She almost wanted to apologize to the kind stranger who'd saved her a physical confrontation in advance, but saved it because her didn't seem frightened of the confrontation.
Emma sighed at the bartender, "I can't even have a drink in peace. Isn't it just a shame?"
The man took a swing at Scott, who dodged to the side, swinging the pool stick and snapping it over the back of his head. He tossed the snapped stick aside as the man spun around to attack again.
Scott grabbed his fist, twisting his arm back and behind his back, slamming his head down against the pool table. The man groaned and didn't bother trying to get up.
He walked up to the bar and planted a 20 on the bar, "For the pool stick."
Emma cringed right until the drunk crumpled, fearing the stranger might take a hit. Only when it was over did she take a sip of her drink and let out a breath she'd been holding. "I'll buy you a drink for that," she said, turning from the man to the bartender. "Whatever he wants. And we'd ever so appreciative if you didn't kick us out for a drunk's bad behavior." She batted her lashes at the older man, who didn't really seem that perturbed by the scene that had unfolded. Emma supposed this might be an at least somewhat common occurrence.
Scott actually cracked a grin, "Rum and coke is fine, thank you. All that over a missed shot. Go figure."
He watched her work the bartender. She was good, he was impressed, and wondered if he'd be able to resist. He figured he would, as long as he kept himself...something.
He needed to figure that something out. Which was increasingly difficult. What perfume was she wearing?
He grinned wider, "I wasn't trying to impress you. Just to clarify."
Emma raised a brow. "I didn't say I was impressed, did I?" She quite liked playing games, even in the middle of strange, restless moods. There was a hint of playfulness in her eyes, but only just so.
He was a handsome man and Emma wasn't feeling so down that she didn't notice. She motioned to the seat that was now empty beside her, offering it but not trying to seem too interested.
He took the seat after a few moments, giving her a smile. He could sense the playfulness, but he could also sense a general underlying restlessness. Either way, he was game for playing her game. He picked up his drink, taking a sip, "I'm Scott Summers. I have to ask, you're obviously slumming it. What brings you here?"
She was surprised and it showed on her face. "Scott Summers?" Emma let out a small laugh. "You're Scott." There couldn't have been that many Scott Summers in southern California, and Emma found herself laughing at how small and strange the world was.
She held out her hand delicately. "Emma Frost," a pause. "I think we've met."
Well, he managed to surprise her. He'll take that as a small victory. His eyebrow rose, "Emma Frost? I believe you're right."
He took her hand, his pulse spiking slightly. It felt cornyappropriate, so he kissed it. Grinning, Scott added, "That's an unusual coincidence." She was the last person he ever expected to run into, especially here. He didn't believe in fate, but it was a welcomed coincidence.
She scoffed quietly as he kissed her hand, allowing him to get away with that unscathed only because he'd gotten into a fight for her. Scott struck her as something of a boy scout, innocent and wonderfully corruptible. In person he seemed only slightly less so. He was too solid, perhaps, but there was something incredibly earnest and almost innocent in how he held himself.
"It's been that sort of day," Emma said. "I just kept driving and ended up... here." She looked around, noticing that there were quite a few eyes still on her and now on Scott but wasn't especially bothered by that. There was a toothpick in her glass on which three olives had been speared. She ate one and rested the toothpick back in the glass.
"What are you doing here?"
Boy scout he was used to. Innocent and ernest? Well he'd been called worse. And maybe there was some truth to it. He still prefered optimistic and idealistic. He leaned on one arm on the bar, ignoring the looks as well. Let them look. He was the one talking to a beautiful woman that none of them (himself included) had a chance with.
That didn't mean he wasn't interested in talking to her. He gestured at the pool table, "A friend called me up, said he'd opened this place. I figured I'd check it out. Ended up making some money on the side."
"You play pool for money?" She laughed, supposing he must have been good if he could shoot a ball straight across the room and hit someone on the back of the head on purpose. It seemed a strange hobby to Emma, something out of a bad movie or television show. "Do you lure innocents in by shooting badly and then, once hooked, take them for all they've got?"
"Yes," He replied, amusedly. "I have to make up for the pitiful excuse for a pension they gave me."
He leaned down, and picked up the cue ball, setting it on the bar, "Pool is just math and angles. Once you understand that, it's easy."
All that stuff you learn in school totally had relevance in pool sharking real life.
Emma lived in a world where money was never an option. Or she had. Now there wasn't a large paycheck coming in every other week. But she had plenty saved and she was hardly desperate enough to play games to live. For a moment, she almost felt bad, but it passed quickly.
"Not that easy," she responded, "Or everyone would be doing it." She stopped to drink. "How good are you?"
He watched her drink, and it made him thirsty.
"Very good," He responded, confidently. Not arrogantly, but matter-of-fact confidence. "I've always been good at forming plans, and reacting to changes in those plans."
As long as he had enough money to live by, he was content. He'd never known any different and he'd never really needed any more. But a part of him wished he could show her a proper good time. He definitely could never afford a date that would impress Emma Frost.
"One more, please," Emma spoke to the bartender once his attention turned her way. "Thank you." She didn't let him take her glass until it was empty and the last two olives were gone.
When she turned her full attention back to Scott, she was smirking. "Show me."
"Lets hope I don't have performance anxiety." He got off the stool, and walked towards one of the tables, getting out some balls and a pool stick, "Why don't you rack up for me?"
He gestured at the table, and leaned on his pool stick, smiling at her.
"Let's hope." Emma smirked, taking her glass with her and leaving a small wad of money behind. It was payment for the drinks and a rather nice tip. Her heels clicked with each step, only slightly drowned out by the bad music that played in the background.
She set her drink down at the edge of the pool table and leaned down, searching with her hands for the spot where the rack might have been. She arranged the balls quickly and set them up like someone who'd done so before. "My father has a pool table," she said it with a strange sort of look on her face. The playfulness was temporarily gone and she looked sober. "I'm hardly an expert, though." When she looked back up at him, the look was gone and she seemed herself again. "You first, I insist."
Scott was impressed, and not just by the view. His estimation and appreciation of this woman went up several notches. That sense from earlier returned, and a dozen questions formed in his mind and threatened to spill out of his mouth, but he kept silent.
"That's good. I'm impressed, you did that without a rack."
He picked up the cue ball, positioning it in the usual spot, and sent it down to break up the gathered together balls. Nothing went in, but that wasn't really the point of breaking.
She drank quickly and set the glass aside before walking over to Scott. There were pool cues around the room, but she decided to take Scott's. "I have quite a number of hidden talents," she teased, gently resting a hand on his arm. She met his eyes and got close, her free hand taking the cue probably before he even realized what she was doing.
She was out of his reach just as quickly as she'd approached him. Giving him her back, she bent down a bit and hit a ball. Emma was keenly aware of her body and held herself in what was clearly an attention grabbing pose. Especially in her pencil skirt.
"Damn," she said when she hit but nothing went in. "I suppose it's been a while." She offered him the cue.
Shit.
Scott knew he wasn't going to be at his best the moment she put a hand on his arm, but he really didn't care.
He wished he still had a drink when she bent over, because his mouth dried out immediately. The cheater. He coughed, throat constricted "I suppose it has been."
Okay, how do you play again? Right. He studied the table for the moment, steadfastly not looking in her direction, for fear of revealing his fluster. Then he took aim, and sunk a solid. He missed the second.
Which was her fault. That's his story and he's sticking to it.
It was fun to watch a man react to obvious seduction. Emma was smiling. "You're solids, then." She took his cue again, this time not trying too hard to fluster him. Before striking a pose, she scanned the table for obvious shots. She took one, a striped ball that was at just the right angle and smirked when it went in.
Her next shot wasn't so impressive, but she did at least block an easy shot he might have taken.
Scott studied the shots open to him, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. He was getting more into the game, not for money or sport but because it was fun. She wasn't bad, even without the use of certain well cared for assets.
"I love the shots you left for me, Emma." He knocked the cue ball so it was lined up for a perfect shot at the 8-ball and little else. He couldn't help it, and grinned at her, "Only fair."
"It's alright," she said. When she came up to take the cue, she leaned close to him and spoke softly, "It's not fun if you go easy on me." This was a lovely distraction and Emma, for her part, felt the cloud that the day had left hanging over her head dissipate if just a bit. She'd have to get back to reality eventually, but she planned to drag this out.
She brushed against him and walked around to the other side of the table. Her next shot wasn't quite so good. Nothing went in, but she wasn't taking the game seriously enough to be upset.
"Well if you insist, I'll have to try harder."
Try as he might, Scott eventually found himself actively checking her out. He couldn't actually tell if she'd had work done, and, well, he's male. It was a biological imperative to look! Uh huh, sure.
Her brushing against him served to distract him enough to miss the next shot, "That doesn't count as trying harder."
"I'm starting to think you're not as good as you've led me to believe," Emma teased. Had she not been interested, she would have grown annoyed by the looks. But it didn't really bother Emma. She was drawing attention to herself and he was taking the bait.
With her next shot, she got one striped in. After that, she accidentally set Scott up.
It was a wonderful set-up. He got three in a row before lining up a halfway decent shot for her. He hoped it was a worthy sacrifice, "You were saying, Miss Frost?"
He folded his arms, leaning against the wall to watch her take her next shot or shots. He was finding her as intriguing in person as she was on the valarnet, and thirty times sexier. He understood more how text could make one so hot, when a woman like that was at the keyboard.
"Well," she smirked, "I suppose you're not terrible."
Emma didn't put enough power into her next shot and so it hung, an inch from the corner pocket. She made a face, unable to think of a cute excuse for that. "Oh well," she said, half to herself.
While he lined up his next shot, Emma sat at the pool table's edge, away from where he was planning to shoot. She watched him concentrate, noticing the way his brow creased. She talked before he shot, not trying to distract him, but just finding herself wanting to speak. "Do you practice a lot?"
"I get more chances to than I used to," He replied, carefully trying to avoid accidentally knocking her ball in, and sinking two more of his. He studied the table for his third shot, leaning on the stick again.
She made a wonderful picture, sitting on the table like that. He rewarded her by knocking the cue ball in front of the eight ball again.
“Once I sort some things out I’ll probably have less time.”
Emma's turn was quick. She hit the ball to try and make shots difficult for him, deciding it was more fun to frustrate him than to try to win a clearly losing game. "What do you mean? What are you sorting out?"
He didn’t mind her frustrating him. She was doing that in one way or another on the net, anyway.
"What to do with my life. Without the military. I've done volunteer work but I don't want to travel as much anymore. And I need a regular paycheck, besides."
He chuckled, bouncing the cue ball over the eight ball and knocking in another of his. Unfortunately the cueball followed it into the pocket.
It seemed that they were in similar situations. The playful teasing disappeared and was replaced by a genuine curiosity. "How long have you been out? And what do you want to do with your life?" She took her shot, simply trying to get in his way, clearly not as invested in the game as she had been.
"A couple of years. I spent some time with aid groups overseas. It was better than a desk job."
He felt like he might have made the conversation too serious, but it was a little too late to back out of it now. He cleared the rest of his balls, but couldn't get a clear shot at the eight ball, so tried to position it badly for her.
He leveled a teasing grin at her, "I'd tell you what I want to do, but then I'd have to get optimist on you."
She shot quickly and returned the cue to Scott. It was just a matter of time before he won and she was losing interest even in making it difficult for him.
Her lip curled when he spoke and she had the feeling that the sexual implication of what he'd said went over his head. What a boy scout. "Be optimistic, then." She smirked, "Tell me what you want to do." There was clear innuendo in her tone, but she found herself at least somewhat curious about what his ambitions were. Emma just couldn't help herself when it came to teasing him.
"Well.. Ah.." Take a cold shower, he thought. He really wanted to take a cold shower. With her. In the shower. It wouldn't be so cold then, which ruins the point, but his mind wasn't really clear on that at the moment. Clearing his throat, he continued, "Civil rights, human rights. Equality all around. It just feels important to me."
"That is optimistic." Emma smiled, but there was little malice in it. She didn't fault good people for wanting to be good, though she sometimes found them to be frustrating and, on some occasions, annoying.
"All I've ever wanted to do was be wealthy." She joked, but it wasn't untrue. Turning to the table, Emma said, "You should finish up and let me be properly embarrassed by a poor show. Or let me win by default."
"Any flashbacks?" He joked. He looked at the table, "Probably a good thing you didn't bet anything. Its really easy to lose it all at this game. Side pocket." And in went the eight ball! In a game that long ago had ceased to be anything but an excuse to talk with her. And be teased by her.
He felt like there were numerous layers to this woman and he had yet to get very far past the surface.
"Well done," Emma said, cheerfully. She found his arrogant remark amusing, but didn't let it slide past without comment. "I'm not much of a betting woman, but you'd be deluding yourself if you didn't think that I could have the shirt off your back if I really wanted it." Emma had the market cornered on arrogance.
"You say that like its a bad thing," He retorted, laughing. "I think it would be worth it to lose the shirt."
"Maybe," she chuckled, mischief in her eyes. Emma leaned into him to take the cue away, invading his space and then moving away before he could really get a good sense of her body against his. She set the cue back against the wall, beside some others.
She turned back to him, tempted to ask him to leave with her, but just barely holding back. "Good game."
He didn't get a sense of anything other than warmth that was taken away, cruelly. He watched her put the cue away, "Good game."
He could feel the tension in the air, and held her eyes with his, "Want to go for a walk?"
"A walk?" She moved closer, sitting at the edge of the pool table for a moment. "Where are we walking to?" Emma liked his company, liked how he looked at her. But she felt strange tonight and thought it a little mean to wind him up when she had no real intentions beyond maybe some casual sex. She watched his face closely. "Where would you take me?"
Scott's lips quirked up at the corners and he got a sly gleam in his eyes. He leaned forward, both arms on either side of her, "I can think of a few places, but I wouldn't want to break the pool table."
To her credit, she didn't seem outwardly flustered. Her pulse might have quickened, but her face didn't betray her. She leaned in so that she could whisper in his ear. "I don't know, it seems sturdy enough to me," her tone was warm.
"I'm not sure I'm so partial about an audience," He replied, shivering at the warmth of her breath. "So I may have to take you someplace just as sturdy, but a little more private."
She rested her hands on his forearms and felt comfortable, even with an audience around. Emma was ready to leave and end the day on a good note, but found her conscience was too loud for her to do just that without giving him some kind of warning. "We could get a room," she suggested, still close enough that she could speak quietly and not be overheard by nosy drunks. She was looking into his eyes, "We could celebrate your victory."
Her eyes fell down to his chest. "But I feel I should be honest before that. I don't date. I don't appreciate jealous lovers. And I'm only interested so long as it's fun." Her right hand slid up his arm, fingers brushing his elbow and further. She liked the closeness. "I'd understand if you weren't interested." She sighed. "I'd also be horribly disappointed, of course."
He was interested. He was horribly, irrecoverably interested. He couldn't hide that from his eyes, or tenseness in his body. Scott chuckled, "I don't normally get associated with 'fun' but this has been..fun. You don't have to be disappointed, Emma. I'm not going to assume anything more than what this is, or what you want it to be.”
"Alright then." She felt a small rush of relief. "Good. We should go then." Loathe to disentangle herself from him, she waited for him to pull away before getting back on her feet. "I really could stand to get out of these clothes. And take a shower." Emma had a small purse that hung from her shoulder, she got out her cell phone and searched for the nearest hotel. She looked up at Scott, "I don't think it'd be a good idea for me to drive. Should I call a car?"
Scott was pretty sure everyone in that bar wanted her out of those clothes. She filled them out so perfectly, it was maddening. The woman was maddening. He was feeling a nice little fog settle in his head. He was reluctant to pull away, but he did.
"I probably shouldn't drive either." He stepped closer and resting his hands on her hips. He had been itching to touch her all night.
They needed to get outside. The tension was just too much and Emma feared they might act foolishly because of a mutual attraction and alcohol. She called the car without hesitating, laughing when she realized she didn't even know the bar's address. She disentangled herself once more from Scott's touch and headed to the bar.
"Dearest," Emma made eye contact with the bartender, "Would you tell me the address of this fine establishment?" When he told her, she gave it to the person at the end of the other line. "It's been lovely," she said to the bartender. "Do have a goodnight."
With that, she hung up her phone and took Scott's hand, pulling him outside with her. There wasn't much outside except for the parking lot and street. It was late enough that there weren't many people walking around. Emma pulled Scott toward her, leaving the smallest of gaps between their bodies. "It shouldn't be very long." She kissed him then with all the hunger and desperation that they day had brought upon her.
Scott saluted the bartender as he was dragged out. He thought he heard applause.
He might have to avoid that bar for a couple of nights. Or maybe not. He was probably guaranteed free drinks for a week, and then Emma was against him and he was kissing her. He could feel that desperation and hunger, and returned the latter in equal or greater measure. He wanted to alleviate that desperation and give her some measure of peace, at least for a few hours.
She continued to kiss him there, with utter disregard for how she might have looked, until the car rolled around. It was quite unlike Emma to behave in such a way and a small voice in the back of her head was wondering aloud what it was that had happened to her, asking what the dream had done. It was an easy enough thing to ignore, though, and though she reluctantly pulled away when the cab honked, she took comfort in the knowledge that the night was going to end with her wrapped around him.
When they were in the cab, she let her hand wander up and down his thigh. She told the driver to take them to the address of what her iPhone had told her was the nearest hotel. In a quiet voice, she spoke to Scott, "Do you like Marriott hotels?"
Scott took the moment to catch his breath, before he got into the cab after her. His hand rubbed at her knee, seemingly of its own accord. He murmured into her ear, "I can't say that I have a preference if the bed is comfortable and the shower meets your needs."
He smirked, and added, "We might need a late wake-up call."
The cab took a little too long for his taste but they got there, and they got to the room. Scott was grateful for keycards - his hands were otherwise occupied.
They hadn't even bothered to turn on the light, bursting into the room together, barely aware of the world around them. Emma was pushing Scott toward the bed while she kissed him deeply. When they fell backwards together, she kicked her shoes off and straddled him.
She pulled herself up and momentarily broke their kiss, hands on his chest. Smirking, she asked, "Do you have condoms?"
Scott was sliding his hands down Emma's back when she broke the kiss. His eyes widened, "Shit. I'd meant to pick some up on the way. You're really distracting,"
Yes. It was her fault. Totally. He had no desire to move, but, being boy scout and all, moving would be the right thing to do, "I think I saw a Walgreens..."
"It's alright," Emma laughed at his frustration. She was entirely cruel and knew that there was a spot in hell being kept warm for her just for things like this. "I have some in my bag."
Scott's face broke into a relieved grin. He wasn't sure he'd be able to walk any time soon. Stroking a finger down her throat, he replied, "You're a special sort of evil."
"So I've been told," she smirked, still straddling him. "So." Her hands moving up to the buttons on her shirt. "Do you have any special requests for the night?" She unbuttoned the first button she found to reveal a white lace bra.
Scott's eyes followed the movement of her fingers, and he decided he'd sleep when he was dead, "Why don't we play it by ear."
"Let's."
She discarded her shirt, letting it fall to the floor and then leaned down. Her mouth trailed up his neck to his ear. Not-too-gently, she would take time to bite and nuzzle. She savored the feel of his hands on her body and brushed her body against his to get a reaction of out him. She was pleased by the erection that was digging into her thigh and murmured as much into his ear.
Emma teased him for as long as they would both allow her to, before finally giving in to desire. The sex was far from gentle and Emma found it thoroughly enjoyable. When they finished, Emma asked him to join her in the shower. She had him there, water pouring down on the pair of them. And it was only after they came out, toweling off wet hair that Emma really felt satiated.
Droplets of water still clung to her skin as she walked back to the bed. Her hair was damp and she felt utterly languid. Emma wasn't in a modest enough mood to cover her body. Stretching on the mattress, she waited for Scott to come out of the bathroom so she could have one last look of him while completely naked. "That was fun," she said.
The way she felt, the way she sounded and looked. A part of him wanted to trip and fall off that cliff of no attachments. He took a moment in the bathroom after she'd walked out to gather himself and make sure his legs still functioned normally. He'd forgotten how good sex could be. Or maybe Emma was just that good.
He walked out of the bathroom and gave her a lopsided grin, "Fun is not a strong enough word for that. And sexy is not a strong enough word to describe you right now."
Scott slipped his arms around her, wanting to feel the slickness of her wet skin against his again.
Emma smiled and planted stray kisses on Scott's shoulder and neck. She licked where he was still wet and let her teeth sink into spots she thought most likely to get a reaction.
Before she worked herself up again, though, she stopped. "I should... probably get ready to go home." Now was for the awkward part of the night/early morning.
Scott hissed at the biting, jerking a little against her. He stroked her arms, then down her breasts and over her stomach, to give him a time to create a response. It might have hurt a little bit, irrationally so.
He set his jaw, and nodded, "No chance of a good morning wake-up?"
The bed was too large to sleep in alone.
"I don't think so, darling." She tried to be gentle, but Emma wasn't one to mince words. Before they'd left the bar, she'd tried to convey how she played things. Emma wasn't a bad enough person that she wanted to lead him on and make him feel bad.
Slowly, she sat up and crossed her legs. She looked down at Scott, waiting for a response from him.
"I didn't say the good morning would be mine," He replied, smirking at her. He propped himself up on his elbow. He tried to keep his face unreadable, which was proving more difficult than he'd expected it to, "Thank you for a wonderful time."
"Thank you." She smiled, but it wasn't as happy a gesture as it could have been. "I was having a bad day." She felt something was off more than she could see it in his face and for a moment, she just looked at him thoughtfully and said nothing.
"You aren't the sort of person who can just have sex, are you?"
"Not entirely," He admitted. He wasn't sure that had felt like 'just sex', but it was probably entirely one-sided, "I'd be kicking myself if I'd turned you down, but I wasn't expecting anything more. "
He gave her contented smile, "You can't fault a man for finding a woman as attractive up here as down here." He tapped her forehead, then one breast, as demonstration.
"Well, yes," Emma said, amused, "But you know nothing else about me. I might be horrid in any number of other ways." A pause. For all her arrogance, she knew she had faults. "We could keep this going..." Emma said quietly, again watching his face for a reaction. "But I'm not quite a fan of breaking hearts-" she stopped herself, "Not most of the time, at least."
"You do care enough to want to soften the blow," He pointed out, his face shifting slightly. Perhaps he was feeling a little stubborn. He certainly enjoyed the intimacy. Sitting up, he crossed his own legs and shook his head, "If we keep this going, I'd like to try to be friends too."
He wasn't sure he wanted to be some kind of dirty little secret.
"But I don't care enough to want to date. And if I had to, I could cut you out of my life with little problem." If he was going to be stubborn, she could throw it right back at him. She sighed. "I wouldn't mind being friends with you." Honestly, though, Emma wasn't certain he could keep himself as detached as she could. But that was his problem, wasn't it? "I'd enjoy having sex with you again. But only if you're sure you want to do this my way." She met his eyes and almost seemed apologetic.
"Where's your phone?" She asked, glancing around the room. There was clothing everywhere.
"Somewhere over there," He pointed to where he thought his pants were, and then sat on the edge of the bed, pulling on a pair of boxers.
He fixed on her with a look, "I'm not asking you to date. I want to have sex with you again, too."
He gestured with his hand, "So we'll do it your way. I kind of like it when you lead."
"I'm aware," Emma said, smirking. She leaned over him, reaching for his pants. His phone was easy enough to find. "Unlock it, please?"
Scott was momentarily distracted, then nodded and unlocked the phone. He had a 16 digit passcode, "There."
She typed her phone number into his cell and let the phone ring twice before hanging it up. "So you have my number and I have yours," Emma said, straightening. She sat on her feet and stretched, feeling more than a little tired. "My rules are as follows: We owe each other nothing. The moment it isn't fun, we can end things. No ugly, jealous shows. And you can call or text whenever you're interested. I'll return the favor." She sounded not unlike a businesswoman. "No obligations, no expectations. Just two adults enjoying one another."
Emma leaned over the bed and gathered her clothing. "Any rules for me?"
Scott pulled his pants on, nodding his head along to Emma's rules, "That all sounds fair enough."
He put a hand on her shoulder, "My only rule is I don't break confidences, and you don't break confidences. Anything we say or share in privacy remains that, private."
And if it was something life-threatening, well he'd just make up a lie.
Because Scott Summers prepares for any eventuality. Thats how he rolls.
"I'm okay with that." Emma knew how to keep secrets. She smiled at him, in spite of a feeling that this thing probably wouldn't end well. Elegantly, she began to dress, slipping into her underwear and tights, then getting on her blouse and skirt. She stepped into her shoes last.
"It's been nice," she smiled at him. She wished him goodbye with a kiss and was gone before he had a chance to leave. "See you." With that, Emma was out the door and on her way home, tired enough that she'd collapse into bed once she got home.