Write off: battle one
WRITE OFF: Battle one
It’s one of those afternoons were the hours drag past as slow as molasses and there isn’t a way to escape the heat of the sun as it beats down onto the olive green tarpaulin of the tents in their camp. It’s hot enough that the ground looks liquid, shimmering sharp sand yellow as the team linger in the shade of their tent canopy’s. Well most people are that is. Victor and Logan have gone off to stalk the wildlife, sent by Stryker who had grown quickly bored with the sniping remarks between the ferals and Wade. The Mexican is sprawled half in and half out of the sun, occasionally being reprimanded by Rogue who is trying to clear up their tent. Bradley and Fred are seeking solace in the tent of the techno-geek who has a bank of fans set up to keep them cool and Stryker is nowhere to be found.
John on the other hand has taken refuge down by the waterhole, shirt long discarded and hat too for that matter; he’s got his trousers rolled up into shorts as he swings his legs back and forth in the cool, clear water. He’s not alone either, in the shade of the overhang, where the waterfall cascades down from above sits Emma. Delicate pale skin kept out of the harsh direct sunlight as she reads a book, the page turning occasionally punctuating the sound.
Their friendship is an odd one, came out of nowhere really and just kept on blossoming like a desert tumbleweed; it has no real roots, just grew out of need and kept on rolling.
They don’t need to talk, to flirt or exchange banter. John is more than content to spend his time just sat with Emma, watching the day roll by and occasionally talk. She might well be one of the strongest telepathic mutants out there and could easily rendered most (if not all) of the camp useless but she’s his friend. John has a lot of time and respect for Emma, even if what she see is not always what you get.
“Next time he better find us a destination with better scenery.” Emma glances at John over her sunglasses as she hears him chuckle, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at him. “And what’s so humorous?”
“Nothin’. Just I ain’t surprised to hear you complainin’ about the choice of location. Is it the lack of shops that irks you or just the accommodation?”
“Watch what you say John, unless you want me to project images you’d rather not see for the rest of the week? Hmmm.” Emma smacks her book against John’s arm, it doesn’t hurt but he rubs the abused flesh anyway, casting Emma a hurt look as she settles back down, feet propped up against John’s thigh as she reclines in the shade. At first the level of physical contact between them was limited; John was always too polite and didn’t want to over step boundaries or let others get the wrong impression about his relationship with Emma. It was platonic. Honest to god, a platonic friendship because he found her interesting, she held a scintillating conversation, laughed without care and could hold her own ground.
John hums to himself as he listens to the steady rumble of the water that rushes into the pool just a few feet away, spray keeping them cool whilst casting rainbows in the mist that shimmer and shine.
“What’s that you’re singing?” John suddenly has a book in his lap, Emma stood beside his sat self and using his shoulder to help keep her balance as she tugs her skin tight clothing off her body revealing her skimpy and barely in existence underwear. Emma is most certainly, nobody’s fool, body lithe, flawless and beautiful; perfection in many ways. It’s not like John hasn’t noticed or even appreciated her body he just... he has no urge to act upon it. Well alright maybe he would if there was more of a spark between them but really John enjoys her company more than her body.
Sometimes he wonders if maybe he is a fool. Especially with the likes of Emma Frost gracing someone like him with her presence out of her own choice.
“Just somethin’ my Grand-momma used to sing to me.” John doesn’t give away much more than that as Emma sets her clothing into a neat pile and twists her hair up into a knot before she stretches out the kinks in her back and legs.
“Oh.” She studies him for a moment, gaze calculating, thoughtful but unthreatening. John opens his mind up, letting her see what she needs to see if there is any doubt in his answer. Seeming to be satisfied with what she sees Emma stretches her arms up above her head and casts John a small smile. “Coming swimming?”
And with that Emma dives into the crisp clear water, feet kicking up a spray of water that really answers John’s question. Leaving his shorts on, because John really doesn’t want to get caught with his trousers round his ankles by any of the members of the team he ditches the book Emma had discarded onto the pile of her clothes and dives into the water to join her.
He does however, as he swims past, sneak a cheeky and playful pat of Emma’s ass. Knowing she’ll take the gesture as harmless... hopefully.
It’s one of those afternoons were the hours drag past as slow as molasses and there isn’t a way to escape the heat of the sun as it beats down onto the olive green tarpaulin of the tents in their camp. It’s hot enough that the ground looks liquid, shimmering sharp sand yellow as the team linger in the shade of their tent canopy’s. Well most people are that is. Victor and Logan have gone off to stalk the wildlife, sent by Stryker who had grown quickly bored with the sniping remarks between the ferals and Wade. The Mexican is sprawled half in and half out of the sun, occasionally being reprimanded by Rogue who is trying to clear up their tent. Bradley and Fred are seeking solace in the tent of the techno-geek who has a bank of fans set up to keep them cool and Stryker is nowhere to be found.
John on the other hand has taken refuge down by the waterhole, shirt long discarded and hat too for that matter; he’s got his trousers rolled up into shorts as he swings his legs back and forth in the cool, clear water. He’s not alone either, in the shade of the overhang, where the waterfall cascades down from above sits Emma. Delicate pale skin kept out of the harsh direct sunlight as she reads a book, the page turning occasionally punctuating the sound.
Their friendship is an odd one, came out of nowhere really and just kept on blossoming like a desert tumbleweed; it has no real roots, just grew out of need and kept on rolling.
They don’t need to talk, to flirt or exchange banter. John is more than content to spend his time just sat with Emma, watching the day roll by and occasionally talk. She might well be one of the strongest telepathic mutants out there and could easily rendered most (if not all) of the camp useless but she’s his friend. John has a lot of time and respect for Emma, even if what she see is not always what you get.
“Next time he better find us a destination with better scenery.” Emma glances at John over her sunglasses as she hears him chuckle, one perfectly shaped eyebrow arched at him. “And what’s so humorous?”
“Nothin’. Just I ain’t surprised to hear you complainin’ about the choice of location. Is it the lack of shops that irks you or just the accommodation?”
“Watch what you say John, unless you want me to project images you’d rather not see for the rest of the week? Hmmm.” Emma smacks her book against John’s arm, it doesn’t hurt but he rubs the abused flesh anyway, casting Emma a hurt look as she settles back down, feet propped up against John’s thigh as she reclines in the shade. At first the level of physical contact between them was limited; John was always too polite and didn’t want to over step boundaries or let others get the wrong impression about his relationship with Emma. It was platonic. Honest to god, a platonic friendship because he found her interesting, she held a scintillating conversation, laughed without care and could hold her own ground.
John hums to himself as he listens to the steady rumble of the water that rushes into the pool just a few feet away, spray keeping them cool whilst casting rainbows in the mist that shimmer and shine.
“What’s that you’re singing?” John suddenly has a book in his lap, Emma stood beside his sat self and using his shoulder to help keep her balance as she tugs her skin tight clothing off her body revealing her skimpy and barely in existence underwear. Emma is most certainly, nobody’s fool, body lithe, flawless and beautiful; perfection in many ways. It’s not like John hasn’t noticed or even appreciated her body he just... he has no urge to act upon it. Well alright maybe he would if there was more of a spark between them but really John enjoys her company more than her body.
Sometimes he wonders if maybe he is a fool. Especially with the likes of Emma Frost gracing someone like him with her presence out of her own choice.
“Just somethin’ my Grand-momma used to sing to me.” John doesn’t give away much more than that as Emma sets her clothing into a neat pile and twists her hair up into a knot before she stretches out the kinks in her back and legs.
“Oh.” She studies him for a moment, gaze calculating, thoughtful but unthreatening. John opens his mind up, letting her see what she needs to see if there is any doubt in his answer. Seeming to be satisfied with what she sees Emma stretches her arms up above her head and casts John a small smile. “Coming swimming?”
And with that Emma dives into the crisp clear water, feet kicking up a spray of water that really answers John’s question. Leaving his shorts on, because John really doesn’t want to get caught with his trousers round his ankles by any of the members of the team he ditches the book Emma had discarded onto the pile of her clothes and dives into the water to join her.
He does however, as he swims past, sneak a cheeky and playful pat of Emma’s ass. Knowing she’ll take the gesture as harmless... hopefully.