If you think that a kiss is on the lips,
C'mon, you've got it all wrong, man.
Emma had not been able to drag herself from the kitchen; there was something about the kitchen that when her head was pounding and stomach flipping that was just comforting. Perhaps it was the fact a sink was just to her right. Of course, the White Queen hadn't dared look in the least bit hung-over: It was against her religion. She'd taken the time to perfect her hair, hide the bags and sickly pale of her skin under makeup, and had before showered several times to rid herself of the alcoholic stench. Whatever remained was masked by a small touch of telepathy, projecting her perfection into the minds of Rogue and Wolverine.
Speaking of the beast, he'd stayed for exactly two minutes and 39 seconds before leaving after Rogue. That was fine; the silence suited Emma like a dream. Though, it hadn't lasted long, the remnants of the institute, mainly Kitty and Kurt came barreling in and out of the kitchen a whirlwind of noise and mutant powers. The bamf sounded enough times to make Emma believe she'd grown up with the noise. After those two, there were a few unnamed students that remained in the Institution, flitting in and out of the kitchen noisily causing Emma's dulling headache to flare-up more viciously. Once the hurricane of students had evaporated, the White Queen tried to settle herself once more. Since then the woman had managed to drain her mug of coffee and pour herself a new one, then half-drained that one nearly right away. The throbbing of her head that came from tossing it forward and backward with the motions of guzzling served as a reminder to never go drinking with a Cajun again.
Just as peace was beginning to wash over the blonde's head, a pair of harsh footsteps plowed into the kitchen, the footfalls shattering whatever sanctuary the psychic had managed to build in her twenty minutes of 'alone time'. Looking to both new arrivals she rolled her icicle eyes exasperatedly, the same continuous thought crossing her mind. They all come here, how do they find me?
Remy was the first to demolish whatever haven Emma had clung dearly to. "Fros' we need y' to mind-link us." The woman's lips fell into an early scowl at the demand, her throbbing mind in no mood to dish out any favors, especially not to the man who, in Emma's claims, had gotten her drunk. Finishing the coffee, she slapped the mug ruthlessly down on the granite countertop.
"You know, that is exactly the first thing I want to do when I'm nursing a hang over, Gambit." The sneer was cruel, directed solely to the Cajun, Rogue seemingly forgotten. "Maybe when my head stops spinning, I'll give it a whirl," Though her compromise was set into open light, her tone made it even less of an inviting option.
Remy shrugged off the cruelty of the blonde's tone, "If y' do, we won' ask fer anot'er one in a whole week. 'Sides, somet'ings are more importan' than whinin' 'bout a hangover." Sentence finished, the Cajun winked.
Emma rolled her eyes once more. That was officially the worst bargain she had ever heard and her splitting mind agreed with her. Though, there was still the dark side of ambition that needed Emma to stay on Remy's good side. "Fine, but I'm going to grab a Vogue first, I don't need to overhear you two mind-fucking." At the answer Remy tipped his head and saluted the blonde patriotically. When he said she was the best, he meant it. Forgotten Rogue on the other hand, was currently as red as a tomato for Emma's blatant knowledge of what Gambit had planned for the two of them inside of Emma's psychic setting.
---
Rogue fidgeted, her hands clasped between her thighs, the couch creaked strenuously below the southerner's squirming. Emma eyed the southern brunette wearily; she was mirroring the way she had been the first session, and the second, the third, and the forth and so on right until this one. Apparently Rogue just didn't like psychics, even if they were attempting to help her…
Sort of.
Gambit on the other hand, sat still and silent as the dead, the only hint that he was looking forward to the moment was the unfading, wolfish grin that fit his personality as well as his well-chiseled jaw. His hands were clasped together, fingers interlacing themselves between each other, the finger-clasp resting upon one knee. The man's crimson gaze lay heavily upon Emma who threatened to smack him with a considerably large issue of Vogue; there was one of Cosmo not too far off as well. Just in case.
Finally, the blonde spoke up, "Alright, we've done this before, if you'd please remain in a comfortable position for when you go astral, this'll go quite easily. Remy, seeing as this is your idea: I'm giving scene control to you. Imaging will duplicate what is in your mind's eye, blah, blah, blah. I'm getting tired of explaining this for the umpteenth time. Now! If you please, I'm going to read my Vogue."
As soon as her words finished the world around out the couple blacked out completely, there was a feeling of weightlessness growing in the pits of both their stomachs'. Slowly, a scene began to materialize from the darkness. Luscious crimsons and scarlets were the first of the colors to appear. Large drapes of the deep red framed the room which was quite dark in comparison to the drapes and sheets. From the floor, there was only a bed, surrounded by unseen, but sturdy flooring. The bed itself was dressed in satin and velvet to the very brim. Warm, lustful colors dropped onto the seats dousing them with large doses of crimsons. In the unseen corners of the room was just a black abyss, unthought-of details that were left unfilled by Emma's psychic imaging.
Rogue, as she stepped into the room of Remy's creation, was reminded of her lover's eyes. The contrast of red on black was both intoxicating and exhilarating. Her eyes wandered to the man beside her, his familiar stubble-crested jaw-line was the first to come into view followed by his bare chest and jean-clad bottom. The woman, submersed in curiosity looked down upon herself, her eyes widening with both amusement and horror. There, she stood in the fantasy room, in a black and green reciprocation of the lingerie she'd worn today; the black swallowing all colour but the jade lacing of the corset sides, the bows, and straps of the bra. And, if she was not mistaken, the bra added a bit more padding than the one in reality…
About to cry out with ersatz frustration, Rogue found herself with the Cajun's lips pressed firmly against hers, his chest sparing no closure against her breast. Breaking away from the dominated kiss, Rogue gasped quietly. "An' why do ya git clothes and Ah don't?"
Kissing her again, Remy let his answer slide flawlessly into the action, "Cause dis is Remy's fantasy." As the words sprawled from his maw, his hand wrapped around the flesh of her lower-backside, instinctively, Rogue arched away from the touch, causing her stomach to hit Gambit's gently. The Louisiana gentleman took to response as an indication to further the passion of the kiss. Almost roughly he advanced, triggering his lover to take an intuitive step backward toward the velveteen bed of the man's design.
Purring lightly, Rogue let her own hands slip around the Cajun's neck and shoulders. In truth, Rogue never let Gambit go through with one of these fantasies while under Emma's watch, be it modesty or paranoia the southerner had just never felt comfortable with the idea. Today, the difference was the southerner needed more-so than usual, to touch Gambit, to solidify the knowledge that he was hers, moreover, that she was Remy's, and only his. With a quiet thump the back of Rogue's legs had been led into the side of the bed, which by act of the imagination was leveled perfectly to the back of her knees, causing the woman to fall back-first into the downy divan. As the woman's back made contact with the covers, they seemed to envelop her comfortingly, almost like a second lover. The fabric beneath her rode softly up around her arms, feeling softer than any velveteen ever could. The hand from underneath her back slid outwards bracing the Cajun as he followed his lover in the descent. Remy's weight caused the bed to wheeze quietly under both their bodies. Balanced gained with his knees on either side of Rogue's hips, his mouth rejoined hers in a frenzied kiss. Passion enveloped the two as if there were nothing to live for beyond those moments. They lived in that moment as if there were nothing more to life than the ability to just hold the one who was the world, nothing more than to just exist within that world.
---
Emma sat adjacent to Remy and his lady, at this point; she didn't even bother going their fantasy. She knew that would be happening, it was the same thing that always happened when two people were put under the urgency and passion that the Cajun has obviously displayed. On days when the sessions had been less physical, so to speak, Emma might have eavesdropped, just to see what kind of juicy secrets were flowing between the two. After the first three sessions, she stopped, because in reality, the two were just not that interesting of a couple. Perhaps it was a cruel thing to think or say, but it was damned true. Besides from the demons that Rogue held in her head and Gambit always trying to eat them until there was nothing left, there was no pizzazz that made their relationship sitcom-worthy. Hell, it wasn't even worthy of day time television, as far as the White Queen was concerned.
Her crystalline eyes scattered from the Vogue she held between her fingers, her eyes would flicker up every time she thought she heard the slightest bit of noise. Her eyebrows rose in an accusatory glare every time a hint of passion slipped between the still-life bodies. Finding it more difficult each time to go back to her magazine, the woman stood from her chair, stretched, and strode over to the side of the couch which Gambit inhabited. In this state of mind, he still held the lecherous and wolf-like gaze of a hunter who deserved more than Miss Frigid. The more Emma allowed her attention to slip over Remy, the more she glanced occasionally over to Rogue with a viperous look to her eye.
Even to the woman who claimed herself an Ice Queen when it came to her emotions, she found them emanating nothing but dislike for the southern belle. In her own moment of self-gratifying reprisal, Emma slid closer to the Cajun, leaning down over his body. Dragging out her languid motions, she pressed her own lips against the warm counterpart of the Cajun's. Certainly, she found it low to be kissing another man as he thought of his woman, but somehow, the knowledge of what the man's kiss, even one sided felt like was a small victory she could claim over Rogue. It was a victory she would relish in above all others.
Who knew, perhaps that the moment of unlinked passion could lead to something more, certainly, had Emma wanted she probably could have greatly influenced Remy to go over to the White side, but somehow, everything would be so much sweeter if he came over willingly. Besides, it wasn't as if Rogue didn't have options, from what Emma had come to understand, there were other's whose eyes went wanting for the southerner.