Scott was bored. Perfect. Well, perhaps not bored, per se, but the man was finally taking a rest from all that toil and strife. Seriously, he never sat down. He was probably watching educational videos while he graded papers, hogging prime real estate on the couch in the lounge area... No, Emma realized. She prodded a bit deeper. He was thinking about cars. She fought against herself to keep from getting excited at the thought of Scott Summer's mind being vacant of worry or wife. She pulled on an outfit she hadn't worn in quite some time (12-year-olds didn't seem to appreciate Elizabeth Charles designs). In record time, Miss Frost was slinking casually into the recreation room, which was (for once) vacant of students, staff or Brotherhood. It couldn't have been better had she planned it... Alright. Maybe she'd had a hand in clearing the room. "Professor Summers," she greeted him with an unusual warmth and circled the coffee table before him, making sure he saw the whole package, then sat beside him with unceremonious grace.
"Hello Emma," Scott glanced to the side once, having already inspected her form before she sat beside him. It was what she'd intended, no doubt. He raised his eyebrows, almost expectantly. "What's happening?" His feet remained crossed on the coffee table, but he drew his arms down from behind his head and rested them so his fingers were laced across his abdomen. Armor up.
Emma mirrored his expression. "Nothing. That's just the trouble." Genuine smile. "I was hoping to stir up a little-"
"Trouble?"
"Conversation." She finished, choosing to ignore Cyclops' accusation. "In the mood to deliberate?"
Scott sighed and shifted his weight so he was better angled to view his company. Despite her wasteful, zealous approaches, she was someone he didn't mind looking at from time to time. "Sure."
Goody! He was going to play. Emma shifted positions then, as well. She leaned forward with her elbows resting delicately on her knees. Her ankles were crossed above her white stilettos. Her chin fell into the cradle her hands made, sitting atop the pillar that her forearms now formed, and her icy blue eyes scanned the red lenses that covered Scott's. "So why the sudden stop in action? You aren't resting up for not-yet-rivaled burst of productive energy, are you?"
He smirked. "I guess you," Emma, Jean, Betsy, the Professor, "can go on for longer than the rest of us. I just needed to do something frivolous for a while." Sitting on his ass seemed the least asinine. He could've actually turned the TV on. That would've been worse. "What're you doing wandering around at this hour? Aren't you usually grading papers or kicking off happy hour?"
Hahaha! "Well, Professor," she batted her lashes, "my homework is all done." She adjusted to make a 'cross my heart' gesture, then returned to resting on her hands. "But if you're up for a drink, Scott, I'd love to join you." Her back straightened, and Emma's hands fell to her lap. She quirked an eyebrow, hopefully.
"I did all of my drinking at the prom." And a lot of it. "Speaking of that," grin, "how's your wine aficionado boyfriend?"
"I'm not sure how you mean?"
"Dominic?"
Oh. "Oh." She smiled politely, as if excusing herself for having forgotten the fellow so soon. "I can't say, I suppose. I haven't spoken to the man much, since."
"Neither have I." She was a trip...
Emma eased her back into the corner of the couch and her exposed calves shifted upward and gently rested against the top of Scott's shins. "That makes the two of us." Her arms spread across the back and arm of the seat and she gazed across to Cyclops for several moments until he spoke again.
"You never give up, do you?" His eyes glanced down at his legs that now supported a pair of smooth, shapely calves.
"Why surrender when you've already won the battle, Scott?" She was dead serious, with little sarcasm or irony in her tone. Her manicured fingers fell from the couch's back down to rest on Scott's left shoulder. "You can't keep the facade up with her forever, you know. She's not an idiot." You're afraid of her. You hate her. You should. Her fingers squeezed sympathetically where they laid.