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The Summers Drive: Do Jean Now
🕑 Added 2019-07-03 00:00:01 +0000 UTC
Scott spared one last look at Jean. She was the Phoenix—not just Death but Life, Destroyer as well as Creator—and appropriately enough, she struck him as the polar opposite to Emma. Emma flaunted her power, her sexuality, her beauty, everything in her arsenal. Jean tried to downplay it, as though she could be modest about coming back from the dead. As beautiful as ever, she wore a wool cardigan over a white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, her blazing hair in a bun that actually managed to be demure, a tartan skirt coming down to her knees, her pearly white stockings, reminding Scott of the schoolgirl who had grown up alongside him. He’d loved her then. He loved her now. Even dressed like a librarian, repudiating all the fire of the Dark Phoenix, she tempted him as strongly as Emma ever had. Scott had no choice. He could either be traded between the two women, fought over like a poker chip, or he could come up with a plan to satisfy everyone.
He’d come up with a plan to defeat Dracula once.
Scott charged into Jean’s classroom, each foot falling with its own heavy import. On the one hand, there was the famous drive he was known for—the leader of the X-Men, the crusader, the heir to Xavier and the point of the spear for all mutantkind. He may have been amoral, he may have been ruthless, but there was an efficiency to him that couldn’t be denied. He only had to decide on the best course of action and he took that route like floodwaters raging downstream.
But as if that weren’t enough, there was the man himself. The blue eyes long since buried under his ruby quartz visor, guarded by his mutant power. Even with the force that constantly smoldered in them, ready to be released into destruction, they still looked lovingly at Jean.
For months since her return, they had been on the outs. She was unsure of what to make of his relationship with Emma, while feeling adrift herself. Unsure who she was, how much of her was the Phoenix and how much was Jean, how she felt about Scott and who it was that was even feeling whatever it was she felt.
Emotion, frustration, friction—it all added up to a passion that was rarely seen in Scott and Jean responded to the telepathic vibe coming off him like the tingle of ozone before a storm.
“Scott,” Jean greeted, irritated by the intrusion but also bemused. It seemed like her wry eyes could never be truly angry with him. The Dark Phoenix and her very real wrath seemed like something that had happened a million years ago. “You kinda caught me in the middle of something.”
Scott glanced sidelong at the students: heads down, scrawling on their test papers, but obviously straining to catch what was being said. The Stepford Cuckoos weren’t even hiding it. Emma’s little monsters had, of course, finished their test early.
“Let’s talk privately,” Scott said.
Jean sighed. “And they say I get you into trouble.” She looked out at the students and when she spoke, her voice seemed to echo—both inside their heads and out. “Class, you’re to focus on your work and pay no attention to Scott. He’s not even here.”
And like that, the classroom forgot all about Scott. As far as their young minds were concerned, he wasn’t there.
Scott half-grinned. It was funny. Jean and Emma were so different, but they were hardly the Madonna and whore so many of the X-Men liked to see them have. Jean was as willing to be ruthless as Emma, she just coated it in moral rectitude—telling herself it was for the greater good. Scott supposed Emma did too… but Frost made it abundantly clear that she considered herself a very large part of that greater good. Jean was either less self-aware or more, but she was definitely on a different level than Emma.
“I don’t recall putting in an application for your harem,” Jean said, still amused, but her eyes now flashing dangerously. It was possible Scott had made a misstep in hiding this conversation from the students. Jean had no reason to censor herself. “Are you here headhunting?”
“More or less,” Scott admitted.
“I can taste them on you,” Jean said. “Emma… Betsy… you do have a type. Do you really need three of a kind?”
“They have a type in me too,” Scott told her. “Why do you think that is?”
“A strong jawline and an excuse to wear sunglasses at night,” Jean teased.
“You think it’s a coincidence that all the psychics on the team seem to have a thing for me?”
“I think you must be the first person in history to fish for compliments telling you you have a great personality.”
“I wouldn’t say I have a great personality,” Scott said darkly.
Jean tsked. “Typical. Every guy on this team secretly wants to be emo. Guess that visor hides a lot of eyeliner.”
“It’s not that,” Scott insisted. “You, Emma, Betsy—you have something else in common. You’re all ruthless.”
“And you are too?” Jean asked. She looked out at the classroom. “Eyes on your own paper, Jerome.”
“I’m cynical, and I act accordingly. It seems like that puts us in the same boat. Maybe it’s because you can see how many times people are operating in good faith and how many times they aren’t.”
Jean smiled ruefully—a little dazzled by Scott’s insight into her. As awkward as he had been as a teen, the moment he’d gotten those ruby quartz shades, he’d never stopped looking through them. Never stopped seeing. “You should hear a person’s thoughts when they find out I’m a mutant. And being a beautiful woman doesn’t help either.”
“I can imagine.”
“You can’t,” Jean said simply. Her weak smile finally gave up and became a scowl. “What point are you trying to get to? You’re a good leader, Scott, but inspiring speeches have never been your forte.”
“No,” Scott agreed. “But as I said, the three of you have a lot in common. You’re strong, both physically and mentally. Almost unbelievably powerful, in fact. With good hearts, good morals. Even Emma,” he headed her off, watching with some satisfaction as Jean closed her parted lips without getting a word in edgewise. “But you’re ruthless, you have to be—you know the kind of thinking we’re going up against, better than anyone.”
“Maybe not better than a man who had Apocalypse in his head,” Jean allowed, meeting Scott’s eyes. She could almost make them out in their semi-translucent prison.
“He fit in better than I would like,” Scott admitted in turn. “We all have the power, we have the will—we worry constantly both about going too far and what would happen if we don’t go far enough, while having so much power that there’s precious few others the responsibility can land on. That’s a lot of pressure to be under.” He smiled confidently at Jean. “Maybe that’s why you like being treated like cock-hungry whores. And I love fucking each and every one of you like the bitches you are.”
Jean colored, flushing so hard that Scott could tell even in his little ruby-quartz world, but he had known her too long to think it was embarrassment. Jean was aroused—the mindless background noise of shuffling papers and scratching pencils reminding her that she was being watched, if not seen. Hearing Scott talk dirty to her under those circumstances was a touch right to her clit. She relished the possibility of being naughty, being bad, while worrying she’d go fully Dark Phoenix. It was still more pressure on her—pressure that demanded release no matter what Jean’s overcompensating prudishness insisted upon.
“So that’s what you propose? Fucking me like a cock-hungry whore? Making me your little bitch?” Jean asked. Her voice was deathly even—trying too hard to stay level. Like a flame burning blue instead of red. It only seemed cooler.
Scott grinned wider. Normally, he wouldn’t let himself seem so brash, but Jean could read his thoughts… knew he was exactly as confident as he presented himself. “You may not know this, but to the outside world, Emma isn’t such a slut. In fact, she’s considered a humanitarian.”
“I think we’re discovering another reason for me to be a cynic.”
“But when she lets her hair down, takes off the glasses, takes off everything, she’s all woman. She’s under a lot of pressure, being headmistress of the Institute, owner of Frost Industries, second-in-command of the X-Men. When I’m telling her what to do, how to fuck, everything she worries about just goes away. You’ve probably noticed her thinking changing. Last week, she had a vote go against her at a shareholder meeting. Afterward, two solid hours of sucking and fucking, then she was walking on sunshine.”
“You don’t have to sell me on fucking you,” Jean said with a wary smile. “I remember how good it was. I can even tell how much you want to. With the way you want me, there’s no way it wouldn’t be… a lot. Maybe even too much…”
“You like too much,” Scott reminded her pointedly.
“So does the Phoenix. Are you going to dom the Phoenix?”
“For you? It’d be worth it.”
Jean grinned with the smitten smile of the schoolgirl he’d first met. “And children? You really want to bring kids into this world? Not just Sentinels and the Brotherhood, but with you keeping a harem? God—Emma Frost as a mother.”
“She is good with kids,” Scott pointed out. “And you’ve seen Nathan, Rachel. We have a good track record for people who technically don’t have kids.”
Jean’s shoulders shook as she suppressed a laugh. “You’ve got me there… maybe it’s the Phoenix talking, but I could stand to be in a harem if you’re the one I’m feeding grapes to. It sounds fun. Maybe that’s how I get around all this—flame. Instead of being jealous of other women, just relish the… experience of it all. Shit, I’ve wanted Betsy’s ass for years… not like that…”
“A little like that.” Scott grinned, showing his approval of the idea. Given Emma and Betsy were already in his little harem, Jean could well imagine he’d gotten a taste for it.
She’d never been that liberal herself—a schoolgirl dalliance with the Scarlet Witch aside, and crushing hard on Storm, but everyone had done that. She imagined it’d be a great deal of fun to finally dive in. Emma had relished having power over her as the White Queen, back when Mastermind had been controlling her, and the only thing that assuaged Jean’s resentment over that was the knowledge that, with some little-used feminist leanings, Emma had forbade anyone from taking advantage of Jean’s brainwashed state beyond using her for her power. Under Scott’s watchful eye, she’d pay Emma back for that twice over. Getting revenge and, if Emma were the bottom that Scott suggested, letting Frost enjoy it too.
She wasn’t the only one imagining the possibilities. Looking down at Scott’s trousers, Jean saw that his manhood was erect now, ready to thrust into anything that wanted it. A fiery voice whispered what to do and Jean gave it free rein for a moment, grabbing Scott, licking his face as she felt his bulge, as hard as battleship steel beneath his khakis.
“I love how hard it feels,” she whispered. “It’s… delicious.”
He kissed her, but not with the lust she might’ve expected. There was real love there, a true affection that Jean could not believe would be in a kiss with anyone else—at least, not the same way. In the same way that she loved Scott differently from her parents, her friends, the team, she had to believe his love for her was special, uniquely warm with all their years together, how he’d come to think of her as his other half, everything, absolutely everything in their lives that led them together and kept them in love and could not break them apart.
But the old doubts were there, as insidious as the Phoenix had ever been. She had changed so much from the girl next door that Scott had fallen in love with, now having more in common with the cosmic entities that sat above them in judgment than the petty human concerns she dwarfed. Was she only pretending to still feel them? And Scott had changed as well. Even if the old him could still be in a relationship with her, could this new man—the one openly in a relationship with Emma Frost while asking her to resume their marriage, and with Betsy Braddock as a lover on top of it! He’d talked of ruthlessness, of the darkness inside both of them that they could fight together, but that was one thing… sharing him, sharing herself with other women… Jean remembered the freeing, corrupting influence of the Hellfire Club, when she eagerly would’ve participated in orgy after orgy with Emma. That was still a part of her, but how far did it run and where would it end?
As excited as they both were by the prospect of a threesome with Betsy, would Scott be as excited to watch his darling wife be fucked by Wolverine? More than that, double-teaming her alongside Logan. The thought of having both their cocks in her at once made Jean’s sex run liquid, and she telekinetically rubbed her juice-damp panties against her hard, hot clit. She couldn’t believe how ready she was.
Then Scott brought his mouth against hers again.
She didn’t know if she’d call it a kiss. It wasn’t like that. It was more like an attack, but that word wasn’t right either. An attack couldn’t be welcomed. But it was certainly as violent as an attack, him forcibly kissing her, violent to the point that it was almost against her will, because how could she consent to being dominated so firmly? And yet, she did.
It was as pleasurable as a kiss, but far more intense. His lips—still as soft and loving, at least in form, as when he’d kissed her the first time—stayed demandingly against hers, and his tongue moved deep into her mouth, running against her own with an unmistakable note of conquest. Instinctively, she was struggling against him, not reluctant, not resisting, but trying to assert her own dominance—and being unable to. Scott was simply too masterful to deny. She didn’t need her telepathy to know that. She could feel it in her soul. Talk about change: whatever awkwardness or fear of harming her that he’d once had was now long gone, burned away by the Phoenix’s flames. He knew how much she could take as well as she did, if not better.
Finally, he released her, allowing her to breathe. Jean felt grateful relief, but also a perverse heat. He had decided when she’d had enough, when it was time for her to breathe and time for her to service him. Even that little detail had been his purview, not hers. All she had to choose was to submit or not to. The Phoenix was actually silent—savoring this new sensation, this delight that Jean could not, would not interfere with.
It had been true before, it was true once more: even when Jean couldn’t trust herself, she could trust Scott. She stared into the visor, not able to see into his eyes, yet able to see into his soul—something that for once made her grateful for her powers. Even as he topped her, she knew his love for her ran infinitely deep. Far more than his own urges, he wanted to please her. He knew this would do it.
Maybe that was why he seemed to be catnip to psychics. It was a heady sensation, realizing she was about to be fucked out of her mind for her own damn good.
“Make me your bitch,” Jean breathed.
Scott smiled. He’d always had a nice smile, but the utter self-confidence she saw was new. And exciting. “I have Emma tied up in our room. I wonder how you’ll sort out the pecking order…”
“Fuck the pecking order.”
Jean swept her mind over her desk, casting every single item on it down to the floor. Flattened by another telepathic wave, the students saw nothing amiss, coughing and shifting in their sheets as they continued to fill out their tests.
“Right here. Right now,” she continued. She grabbed his cock again. It felt even bigger now. Jean imagined herself dressed as the Black Queen again, her wrists shackled, twisting at Scott’s feet, a slave to the cock overflowing her hand right now. “This can’t wait.”
It certainly couldn’t—not with the way she was squeezing it. Scott pressed his hands against the austere, unthreatening pattern of Jean’s schoolmarmish blouse. As conservative as it was, it couldn’t even blunt the attraction of Jean’s full breasts, which filled his hands and diligently sprung up as he squeezed. “All these years and you get me just as hot as the day I married you…”
Scott might not’ve had the Phoenix, but he did have his own little voice whispering to him: responsibility. “What if your control slips? They’ll see us.”
Jean smirked, her lips so red, they could’ve been aflame. “Then they’ll know what a cock-hungry whore I am… and how lucky I am to have you fucking me like your little bitch.”
She threw her arms around his neck and forced her lips to his, trying once more to overtake him in dominance and pleasurably failing. She groaned in lust as their tongues met.
Out of the corner of his eye, his gaze safely hidden by the visor, Scott noticed a flash. Mindee Cuckoo was not like her sisters in the Three-In-One, sitting politely quiet like some good little girl in a Victorian storybook. Trying to be surreptitious, she had taken her cell phone out and now had the camera aimed at him and Jean. No doubt it was recording. Unless she was in the habit of recording her teachers in idle moments—and with kids these days, who knew?—she had been able to break free of Jean’s mental dictates and now had noticed something amiss. It was probably the fact that she and her sisters tripled up their power. Jean’s telepathy wouldn’t be as effective on a gestalt consciousness as it would be against a single mind.
Scott wondered what to do. If he pointed it out to Jean, it was possible she could compensate for Mindee’s psychic strength and properly put her down—and it was also possible that such a thing would ruin the moment altogether and kill his chances with Jean.
“Scott,” Jean purred, taking off her glasses and shaking her hair loose. It only took a moment for her red locks to become as unruly as a lion’s mane. “Your bitch needs you.” Her tone blended sincerity with irony until the two were interchangeable. More than anything else, the Phoenix seemed amused to be a bottom.
Scott’s cock throbbed harder than ever. It certainly didn’t mind the change-up. But could he really fuck Jean in front of the Stepford Cuckoos? It was his decision to make; Jean had enthusiastically placed herself in his hands. He doubted they could be planning anything too nefarious. They were Emma’s creatures, and as her fan club, they might have some mischief planned, but nothing truly harmful. Then again, with Emma—with three Emmas—why take the chance? Hell, they were eighteen, likely candidates for Emma’s breeding program once the White Queen had proven herself the trendsetter. This could end up being the kind of guileful manipulation that Emma approved of so strongly.
Did he dare try it?
A. Go through with it. Put On A Show For The Three-In-One.
B. No flash photography. Tell Jean.
Comments
Shendude
Glorious.
