DISCLAIMER: All characters contained herein are the property and creation of Marvel Comics.
TITLE: A Chance Encounter
RATING: R, for language and sexual situations
FEEDBACK: SpeakThyMind@aol.com
NOTES: This is my first attempt at fanfic. I love the character of Emma Frost and have decided to try my hand at this. Please read and review. Any and all comments and criticism are very welcome. Let me know if you want to see more of this, or if I'm just wasting my time.
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Scott.
He stirred. His arm hanging to the side of the bed suddenly jerked up to touch his forehead with his hand, and returned to its previous position. Then he turned, once to his left, once to his right, and finally flat on his back. Being comfortable was not something Scott Summers knew much about. His life was an advertisement for misery, always feeling as if one thing or another was out to get him. He was a poster-child for paranoia.
Scott. Don't fight it.
He moved again, this time almost breaking out of his deep sleep. "Jean? Is that you?" He muttered the words under his breath, despite the fact that he didn't have to. The moment he thought them, Jean would know. Their connection was too great, too strong for her not to. Nonetheless he shuffled and sat up, looking around the room groggily, surveying it for his love.
I'm right here, Scott. All you have to do is admit it. Admit that you want me.
"Jean. You're back already? You just left five hours ago. And admit what? You know that I love you. You know that I want you."
Scott. There's something I need to tell you. Why don't you turn on the light?
He shook his head, obviously debating something in his mind. Then it hit him, he knew that voice. He realized now that it was inside his mind. When he was asleep it was hard to discern telepathy from a true voice, but now... now he could tell.
And it wasn't Jean's voice.
Slowly he reached over to the bedside stand, pulling the covers over his legs simultaneously, and flipped the lamp switch to illuminate his small bedroom.
"Well good morning, sunshine." There she was, standing at the foot of his bed wearing a devilish smirk and a shiny, silver silk dress that screamed her intentions. Scott had dealt with this from her before, but never such a forward gesture. His hands crossed in his lap as he laid his back against the headboard of the bed. He tilted his head a little to the left, not quite letting a smile escape and sighing. "Miss Emma Frost. Why am I not surprised?"