Behold the fishnet slut tonight: hustle rose goes to limb to limb.

Finger tip to painted lip, she sways her way up to him.


Emma Frost had an afternoon to spend how she would, having declined brunch saying she needed to 'watch her girlish figure', she managed to slip away from business long enough to have some time away from the institute, away from modeling, away from anything that would keep her from her own thoughts. It was almost funny that a psychic was having problems wrapping her mind around her own thoughts, even without the intrusions of others, it was just the hectic lifestyle of running a school, she supposed.

Though, seeing as she was a liar to everyone save herself, she knew it wasn't the school.

It was something bubbling within her deviant nature.

Emma Frost was always known for her actions. Even being a psychic sitting back, mulling things over and letting thoughts slide had never been her style. Of course, the contemplation she placed into those numerous plots was extensive; however, she wasn't reflective with remorse when her plotting fell around her feet in decay. Nor was she one to mope that things had become unbearably against her will. Oh no, despite her model-esque lifestyle, she'd been to islands that exiled her variety; she'd smelt the smoldering, blackened flesh of their babies burning, the sobs of the mothers' had cursed her ears. If something didn't work Emma's way, she knew things could be worse.

Though, she'd have you believing you were a mongrel pup before you thought she was optimistic.

Point being, as soon as Emma had been welcomed into Xavier's school with less than open arms, her mind had already started whirring and calculating, placing people into equations that would both benefit the White Queen and cause the most damage among the team. It wasn't that Emma was still working for the Hellfire club, nor was she still the leader of the Hellions anymore, she was merely the White Queen; her delight in rested in the plight of women and horrid relationship ends that she could cause.

It wasn't hard to pick apart relationships she could infiltrate then slowly wrench the cracks her own presence had splintered wide open. Originally, Emma had started with her long standing rival and her husband. Jean Grey and Scott Summers.

Frost had quite the knack for starting with the largest mountains first.

Though, as of recently it seemed her dear employer, whether knowledgeable or not, had taken her game to far off reaches that eluded the contact of even the White Queen. Unless of course she used Cerebra, but was she desperate enough to destroy that single relationship when she could easily find new 'prey' within the institute that has a much more physical appeal?

Of course she wasn't.

A month had passed since the departure of the happy couple along with their team. It seemed to have depleted the institute of most its inhabitants. The building was strangely empty, with perhaps five permanent residents that the blonde would ever actually give a second thought to. Every once in a while a venturing X-man would come and go, but never were they either coupled, or romantically involved even if there was more than a solitary visitor.

Seeing as Storm had been stripped of her inhabitance of the X-mansion for a series of months due to her 'mission' with Xavier's precious core students, going after her Hank would have been simple. Admittedly fruitless though; Hank was worse than a lapdog when it came to loyalty to the weather witch.

Betsy, better known as Codename: Psylocke was never seen with any companion.

Ever.

The possibilities were narrowing rapidly. Iceman and his wavering dedication to girls like Shadowcat would have been far too easy to shatter, not to mention he was a bit young for her tastes. It wasn't to say Emma Frost couldn't do it. She had yet to find a man she couldn't attract, but it was Hellfire class that kept her standards somewhat existent.

Colossus was similar to Betsy: his relationships were far and few between. The last Emma heard the Ruskie had been with Kitty, but that was far before her time in the X-men, seemed to her that the flamboyant brunette had moved to 'cooler' companionship. This left Emma to opt for a straight chance for a relationship; to feel the thrill of the dating hunt.

But it was playing the other woman was her first love.

It was more exhilarating to be the bad girl all the guys wanted.

Or, used to want to kill, in her case.
[Emma was positive there were a few that still wanted that very much, though.

The answer had come to the model like a slap in the face one evening. A verbal banter evolved into a vocal brawl of words, accents heavy and opposing. It was two members who Emma had clearly overlooked for the challenge of compromising Scott's loyalty.

Rogue and Gambit: the great untouchable and the unwavering lady killer.

It was a wonder they were still together, really.

That night, long after the argument and its participants had retired for the evening, Emma sat alone within her own room. A very secure smirk handled by her features professionally. She had her targets. All she needed now was a way into their relationship. After all, Rogue had done well keeping the relationship with Remy to herself, it was to the point the rest of the team assumed that Gambit was still barking up the wrong tree with all his flirting. It wasn't until 1 o'clock that night that she was finally able to invent a way into not only their relationship, but their minds too.

The next morning she had approached Rogue, setting her plan into motion without so much as a suspicion from the southern brunette. As the White Queen recalled, she had advanced on the woman in green pajamas, still wearing her own daring, ivory silk, night gown. Her tone had been idle of any sinister intentions; it remained soft as summer rain, falling somewhere between sympathetic and sincere, proving the model would have made a fine actress as well.

"Is everything alright, Rogue? I heard you and Gambit arguing last night." Emma had asked with perfectly executed faux-concern. She was sure it was hardly the 'good morning' that the brunette wanted to hear, and the blond was proven correct as Rogue scowled and tucked an aged lock behind her ear. If it were a scowl at Emma or the memory of the night before, the White Queen would have to probe her mind to find out. For, as soon as the streak of ivory-age fell within its cage her expression turned to one of embarrassment.

"So, ya heard that, huh?"

"Kind of hard to miss," Emma confided with a small laugh, which in turn, coaxed one from Rogue's own un-painted, morning, lips. "Anything you want to talk about?" The question was calm and none pressing for Rogue, if the woman didn't want to open up, Emma was positive she could get to Gambit. Rogue had shrugged of her question lightly, remaining silent as she waged a mental war with herself, the model assumed. Finally, one side won out over the other and it seemed in favor to Emma Frost, seeing as she was one of the only women Rogue's age with emotions to show—no, Betsy did not count; she hadn't ever since her personality had taken a 'Wolverine' spin. Maybe being an assassin just did that to people, not like Emma would know.

"Just Gambit being his us'al self, ya know?" The question was asked in earnest, much to the blonde's surprise. She truthfully hadn't expected Rogue to confide. Though, she supposed that the Southern Belle hadn't been with the X-men when they had seen the worst of Emma Frost. What Rogue had fought against, although still terrible, was considerably tame and well-mannered compared her and Sebastian Shaw's combined scheme's pitted against the X-men in a time of brittleness due to the rise [and fall of the Dark Phoenix. In short, it was only natural that someone with the shallowest wounds would heal first.

"I guess it's hard, I mean, I can see why he'd want to."

Emma distinctly remembered the look Rogue had shot in her direction; it was priceless, to say the least. It seemed the woman didn't know what to make of the comment. At first she had taken it to be a stab at Gambit's fidelity and libido. The second thought seemed to be one of much more shock; she eyed the blonde model carefully with an emerald eye. It was obvious to Emma she was trying to place the White Queen according to what 'team' she 'cheered for'. Rolling her icicle orbs she snorted disbelievingly, "It was a compliment, Rouge."

"Oh."

And just to clear the record, Emma added in slyly, keeping the explanation shy of I'm not a dyke: "I'm surprised you haven't crumbled for him yet. Lord knows, he's quite a catch." Her eyes gleamed mischievously with the delight of gossip and a catch all in the same conversation. Perhaps Rogue had sensed what sort of woman Emma was; she'd plunged within the kind of conversation run that would fall within the model's element. In some uncharacteristic purr that nearly betrayed her heavy accent, Rogue commented just as smugly:

"Oh, you've got no idea, Sugah."

There was a grin on Rogue's face, which Emma remembered reminding her of a cat that had gotten into the crème. In reality, if this was just what the thought of that man did, Emma almost wished Rogue to be able to touch him, just to see her melt with contact and become addicted with lust. With the southerner living the life of depravity she had, Emma could almost taste she was emotionally near where the blonde needed her to be. She mocked the smile, turning hers into slightly more angelic version.

"So what was his argument this time?"

"That he wasn't like other men, that he could take pain," There was a snort in between her sentences that had shown she was clearly none too impressed with the man's arrogance. "Ah've seen what mah power does t'people like him, an' that ain't pain. That is dern near shatterin'." The blonde remained silent as she listen to Rogue spill out before her, her words wouldn't stop now that they'd started. "An' sure, he's gotten lucky before 'n' all, but, Ah don't wanna hurt him, Emma. Evah since Logan did that stupid stunt o' his, Remy's been more protective than Gawd only knows what. Pressin' thin's he knows he shouldn't beh."

Emma had raised a slender eyebrow with curiosity, figuring this was something that had happened before her time at the institute; the White Queen had yet to see the animalistic brute, and even to the present day that held up true. For that, Emma relished in her luck, but she knew it couldn't last forever. "What did he do?" She questioned casually, seeing as Rogue was on rant now, it wouldn't be as if she'd stop short of telling Emma.

"Ugh, the man pulled off someway t'kiss me, right in front o' Remy too. Ain't have no clue how he walked away fine, leavin' fer some trip up t'Canada." It was evident the displeasure on Rogue's face, but at the time there was something in those eyes that Emma had later deciphered to be longing. Not for the man, but the touch he miraculously seemed to grace upon her cursed skin. It was no surprise to Emma; it was probably what the southern woman longed for since the manifestation of her mutant X-gene.

Emma let a small laugh fall into the silence that had fortified, "Well, aren't you getting men left, right and center?" Her joke was met with a dark gaze that bordered on glaring. The White Queen may have earned a place in Rogue's confidence, but she hardly seemed to hold the right to joke about Rogue at her expense yet. Seeing as there was no longer words that could solace the southern brunette, embellishing the comfort for the X-femme to relieve more information to the blonde. However, it seemed the perfect time for Emma to drop her bombshell.

"Rogue, I may have a way to help you..."

---

After that morning, Rogue had easily played into everything Emma set up for her. One mention of telepathic assistance by strengthening their relationship through a psionic bond that would allow the two of them to produce a scene in their heads, but more importantly, allowed them to touch, and Rogue had been hooked. Gambit seemed to have warmed up to the idea considerably slower than Emma expected. It appeared that he was none too fond of letting an ex-enemy into his mind.

Nevertheless, he folded.

Emma knew he would, even without telepathy and mind reading.

She was offering him a chance to touch his untouchable lover, after all. Even if it was all in their mind's, their bodies' nerve system was responsive enough to the mental stimulation in the sessions that it gave the feel they were indeed making physical contact with one another. It was a short term solution that honestly held no solution once Emma resorted to relieving the couple of her 'therapy'. But nonetheless, it served her intended purpose.

Emma Frost had gained their trust.