Scott drabble?
I think I just drabbled? I don't know, it's been so long since I've really written fic that this crept up on me.
Spoilers for Uncanny X-Men #504 ahoy. Scott/various, Emma Frost. 170 words.
Hotel California
Of course there were men in the hotel.
Emma wasn't looking for them, when she searched. Women, her mental command whispered, echoing in the caverns of Scott's gray matter. I know this is about a woman. And there they were, dozens upon dozens of women of literally every shape and size, decked out in their most revealing costumes and formalwear (with the thankful exception of Scott's third grade teacher, who was positively prim in her pencil skirt and high-collared blouse).
But if Emma had bothered to travel just one floor below, she would have found them. Warren Worthington III, chest bare and gleaming, wielding a feather duster. A man named Achmed, nearly piratical in his fishing garb. And of course Logan, cowboy hat pulled low, with boots and a half-buttoned shirt and jeans so tight they left nothing to the imagination. All wandering about, same as the women, with an equal sense of ownership and belonging.
They weren't boxed thoughts. They didn't need to be.
Emma had always been good at seeing what she wanted to see.
Spoilers for Uncanny X-Men #504 ahoy. Scott/various, Emma Frost. 170 words.
Hotel California
Of course there were men in the hotel.
Emma wasn't looking for them, when she searched. Women, her mental command whispered, echoing in the caverns of Scott's gray matter. I know this is about a woman. And there they were, dozens upon dozens of women of literally every shape and size, decked out in their most revealing costumes and formalwear (with the thankful exception of Scott's third grade teacher, who was positively prim in her pencil skirt and high-collared blouse).
But if Emma had bothered to travel just one floor below, she would have found them. Warren Worthington III, chest bare and gleaming, wielding a feather duster. A man named Achmed, nearly piratical in his fishing garb. And of course Logan, cowboy hat pulled low, with boots and a half-buttoned shirt and jeans so tight they left nothing to the imagination. All wandering about, same as the women, with an equal sense of ownership and belonging.
They weren't boxed thoughts. They didn't need to be.
Emma had always been good at seeing what she wanted to see.