FIC: X-Men Origins: Wolverine: Diamonds Are A Boy's Best Friend, Too 1/1
Title: Diamonds Are A Boy's Best Friend, Too
Fandom: X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Author: Ghani Skywalker
Rating: NC-17 (strong sexual content)
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, alas!
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Emma
Prompt: Written for Porn Battle VIII - mutants, interesting
All Scott had was his sense of touch. His glasses were long gone and, though the professor promised a replacement--indeed, an improvement--soon, it would be too late. Emma was leaving in the morning. She wouldn’t be dissuaded, and he had tried. This past week, following their daring escape from Three Mile Island, had gone far too quickly, and all the while he’d been aware that Emma stubbornly intended to depart as soon as she was able to do so.
“I don’t belong here, Scott,” she said once more in that tone that he knew would brook no argument, almost bored, daring the listener to challenge her.
“But we do belong here,” he persisted. “That’s the whole point, what the professor’s trying to do! This is someplace for people like us to belong!”
She sighed tersely, and he could guess that her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. “I’m not looking to belong anywhere,” she asserted. She was obstinate, and he knew her thoughts would be turning to what she’d lost again, the passion of her anger, the lust for retribution, flaring in her once more. He reached out and tugged her ponytail playfully, familiar with reading the cues in her voice to identify her body language and used to the nearness of her position beside him under the old oak they’d claimed as their picnicking spot. “Stop that!” she snapped, but he could hear the smile curling up the corners of her mouth.
His hand lingered against her shoulder as he leaned in a bit closer, feeling the brush of her warm breath sweep across his cheek as she turned her face toward his. “I’ll miss you,” he said simply.
“You’ll meet someone else,” she replied dismissively, and her voice had taken on that odd, flat tone it sometimes wandered upon which always put a thoughtful frown on his face. He had questioned her about it and she had laughed it off in that silkily guileful way she had about her, the one which was also becoming recognizable to him as Emma’s way of concealing the rawer parts of her. “There was that sweet little redheaded girl we met when we first came here, she was cute.” There was a slyness in her voice and Scott couldn’t help but feel as if he were the butt of some joke he had no way of understanding.
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied pointedly. “And you’re being evasive,” he accused.
He could tell she was rolling her eyes by the beat of her silence. “And you’re being over serious,” she chuckled, an exaggerated, pouting earnestness to her words, like a naughty school girl. “Here, let me give you my going away present and cheer you up!” she told him and before he could protest, he felt a small gust of a breeze caress his ear and the temporary, solid visor he wore was whisked from his face, ruffling his hair; the surprise of her accomplishment as well as her feline grace in doing so left him reeling.
“Emma, don’t!” he warned, his voice a growl edged in panic. “This isn’t a game! Do you know what could happen if I slipped, even just a bit? If I opened one of my eyes even a fraction, do you know what I could do to you?”
She laughed her blithely superior laugh. “I’d be the world’s brightest and flashiest disco ball!” she teased, but he was too concerned with the loss of his visor to read into the meaning of her words.
He felt something brush his leg and realized it was her thigh settling over his lap, that she was no straddling him. He put out a hand to stay her, more a reflex of confusion than an actual attempt to stop her; his fingers brushed her bare arm and he finally understood what her glib comment had meant. His eyebrows shot up across his forehead but he did not withdraw his touch. “You’re hard,” he mumbled.
“You could talk,” she giggled, wriggling her hips back and forth, and he could feel the heat rise so violently and so rapidly in his face that he felt as if his cheeks were on fire. It was an instinctive reaction, he told himself as he cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind, to her closeness, her scent and her radiance, which cast an even deeper shade of red against his closed eyelids. She laughed at him again and that heat intensified, this time as much from irritation as embarrassment. “Do you like the way it feels?” she asked him, wrapping slender fingers about his wrist and guiding his hand along her skin.
“Yes.” And he did. She was sleek to the touch and her sinew moved like liquid; there was no softness, not in the conventional sense, but a seductive fluidity. It wasn’t like the shifting of stone, it was too smooth for that, too natural. He wished he could see her glittering in the sunlight, and for a moment was sorely tempted to open his eyes. Without giving the action much thought, he reached up and loosed her hair, feeling it tumble against her shoulders. It was like floss through his fingers, glossy silver thread. Her breathing quickened audibly as he leaned forward to brush his lips against her full mouth.
“Is this your first time?” she asked, her face so close to his that her warm breath dampened his mouth, and for the first time he could hear none of her kittenish taunting in her words. The uneven hitch in his respiration gave her the answer she was looking for.
His hand moved up her arm, across her shoulder and down to her sculpted breast; she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her thin cotton t-shirt, the chill, crisp air already affecting her in obvious ways. His thumb circled her puckering nipple, the pad of his finger nudging at the taut nub. He heard her gasp and, emboldened, found the hem of her t-shirt and tugged; she raised her arms above her head, making it easier for him to pull the garment off of her, her hair falling like silk against his hands once he’d discarded the tee. He cupped her bare breasts, firm and full, and felt her surge into his body, her back arching as her stomach pressed up against his chest. The action was spontaneously intuitive, as was the bow of his head as he swept his tongue across the nipple before settling his hot lips against it.
She cried out softly and her sweetness was almost more than he could bear, her fingers tangling in his hair as her hips pushed insistently into his, the hard-on in his jeans nudging into the yielding cradle of her thighs. Her skin was cool against the almost feverish heat of his mouth, her taste sweet; her flesh was not supple and the wetness of his ravening lips was slick upon it. His hands grasped the slender curve of her waist, playing along the waistline of her pants as her own fingers fumbled with the button fly of his jeans, jerking the denim down his sturdy hips. He hesitated and she perused and interpreted his reluctance.
“There are other things we can do,” she assured him in a tender coo, her lips plucking at his, “if you’re not sure.”
No, he was sure. Emma was the one, as unlikely as he would have believed that only just a week ago; he would have thought her nothing more than a princess had he met her in school, just another of the spoiled sheep. But she was brave, he knew that, and selfless when others were in need. And in pain. And she was leaving tomorrow. It made his heart ache. Did she feel the same? Sometimes he thought he knew but he couldn’t tell. His hands framed her face, his fingertips brushing her brow. “I want to,” he assured her. And he wanted her to be his first, something that even time could not take from them. He burned for her, from the tips of his shivering limbs to the coiling sensation tightening his groin until he throbbed with his desire. He might never see her again, but she would always be his first.
His fingers slid into her panties, surprised to find her smooth there as he played at her cleft; no silken strands of hair to modestly ornament the wellspring within her petals. Hooking his thumbs into her pants, he drew them down. She was cool and smooth inside as well as out, his rigid shaft sliding against those maddeningly snug walls, creating friction he knew he would never experience again, not with another girl. “You’re so soft,” he murmured in her ear, his hand caressing the nape of her neck, the other resting on her hip. Her answering moan sent a shiver throughout him.
“I’m watching it, Scott,” she told him with wonder emanating from her voice; undulating against him, she leaned back, bracing her palms in the grass on either side of them. “I wish you could see it, too, the way you look when you come into me.” Letting loose a savage growl, he bucked wildly, his cock burrowing its swollen head deep within those fluid, glossy muscles. They both called out and Emma whimpered his name. He had been curious, when the bullets had hit her body, if she had felt anything, if she diamond skin was capable of sensation; now he knew, it was very if one knew where to touch.
The way her body was reclined, how they were both grinding frantically against one another, gave him the perfect chance to angle his hips in a new way, so that he felt all of her spread against his groin when he pushed in to the hilt, caressing her engorged clitoris.
She clenched him as she came, sucking him into her depths as the most melodious sounds known to made flew from her lips; gritting his teeth, he withdrew and followed her, flushed with the swagger and all-consuming pleasure that youth brings. Craning his neck as far back as the tree behind him would allow, he opened his eyes, incinerating the canopy above, allowing himself one release after the other.
His seed rolled over her thighs in surges, white and sticky; he couldn’t resist touching her there, rubbing it against her polished skin, and her fingers joined his. He heard the smack of her lips and somehow knew that she had raised those fingers to her mouth for a taste. They lay against one another for some time, until they became less giddy and their breathing steadied. At some point, he became aware that she was no longer in her diamond husk, though he knew now that it went much further than merely skin deep.
“But you’re still leaving tomorrow,” he said sullenly as she replaced his visor with a kiss. She kissed his lips again tenderly but said nothing. He touched her cheek, running his fingers along her cheek, hoping to understand her mood.
He felt her shrug and the silk-like smugness had returned to her voice; he yearned instantly for that sincerity she had bared to him but knew that she was burying it deeply once more, locking it away in a secret compartment within her heart. Along with him too, maybe. She gave his mouth a quick peck and then stood, bouncing to her feet as she collected her clothes. “Mutants are such interesting creature, don’t you think?” she inquired lightly. “You never can guess what will happen in the future.” There was an almost forceful smirk to the statement, perplexing him once more. He didn’t think he’d ever understand Emma completely. He wished he’d be given the chance to again.
Fandom: X-Men Origins: Wolverine
Author: Ghani Skywalker
Rating: NC-17 (strong sexual content)
Disclaimer: I make no profit from this, alas!
Characters/Pairings: Scott/Emma
Prompt: Written for Porn Battle VIII - mutants, interesting
All Scott had was his sense of touch. His glasses were long gone and, though the professor promised a replacement--indeed, an improvement--soon, it would be too late. Emma was leaving in the morning. She wouldn’t be dissuaded, and he had tried. This past week, following their daring escape from Three Mile Island, had gone far too quickly, and all the while he’d been aware that Emma stubbornly intended to depart as soon as she was able to do so.
“I don’t belong here, Scott,” she said once more in that tone that he knew would brook no argument, almost bored, daring the listener to challenge her.
“But we do belong here,” he persisted. “That’s the whole point, what the professor’s trying to do! This is someplace for people like us to belong!”
She sighed tersely, and he could guess that her arms were crossed tightly over her chest. “I’m not looking to belong anywhere,” she asserted. She was obstinate, and he knew her thoughts would be turning to what she’d lost again, the passion of her anger, the lust for retribution, flaring in her once more. He reached out and tugged her ponytail playfully, familiar with reading the cues in her voice to identify her body language and used to the nearness of her position beside him under the old oak they’d claimed as their picnicking spot. “Stop that!” she snapped, but he could hear the smile curling up the corners of her mouth.
His hand lingered against her shoulder as he leaned in a bit closer, feeling the brush of her warm breath sweep across his cheek as she turned her face toward his. “I’ll miss you,” he said simply.
“You’ll meet someone else,” she replied dismissively, and her voice had taken on that odd, flat tone it sometimes wandered upon which always put a thoughtful frown on his face. He had questioned her about it and she had laughed it off in that silkily guileful way she had about her, the one which was also becoming recognizable to him as Emma’s way of concealing the rawer parts of her. “There was that sweet little redheaded girl we met when we first came here, she was cute.” There was a slyness in her voice and Scott couldn’t help but feel as if he were the butt of some joke he had no way of understanding.
“I wouldn’t know,” he replied pointedly. “And you’re being evasive,” he accused.
He could tell she was rolling her eyes by the beat of her silence. “And you’re being over serious,” she chuckled, an exaggerated, pouting earnestness to her words, like a naughty school girl. “Here, let me give you my going away present and cheer you up!” she told him and before he could protest, he felt a small gust of a breeze caress his ear and the temporary, solid visor he wore was whisked from his face, ruffling his hair; the surprise of her accomplishment as well as her feline grace in doing so left him reeling.
“Emma, don’t!” he warned, his voice a growl edged in panic. “This isn’t a game! Do you know what could happen if I slipped, even just a bit? If I opened one of my eyes even a fraction, do you know what I could do to you?”
She laughed her blithely superior laugh. “I’d be the world’s brightest and flashiest disco ball!” she teased, but he was too concerned with the loss of his visor to read into the meaning of her words.
He felt something brush his leg and realized it was her thigh settling over his lap, that she was no straddling him. He put out a hand to stay her, more a reflex of confusion than an actual attempt to stop her; his fingers brushed her bare arm and he finally understood what her glib comment had meant. His eyebrows shot up across his forehead but he did not withdraw his touch. “You’re hard,” he mumbled.
“You could talk,” she giggled, wriggling her hips back and forth, and he could feel the heat rise so violently and so rapidly in his face that he felt as if his cheeks were on fire. It was an instinctive reaction, he told himself as he cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind, to her closeness, her scent and her radiance, which cast an even deeper shade of red against his closed eyelids. She laughed at him again and that heat intensified, this time as much from irritation as embarrassment. “Do you like the way it feels?” she asked him, wrapping slender fingers about his wrist and guiding his hand along her skin.
“Yes.” And he did. She was sleek to the touch and her sinew moved like liquid; there was no softness, not in the conventional sense, but a seductive fluidity. It wasn’t like the shifting of stone, it was too smooth for that, too natural. He wished he could see her glittering in the sunlight, and for a moment was sorely tempted to open his eyes. Without giving the action much thought, he reached up and loosed her hair, feeling it tumble against her shoulders. It was like floss through his fingers, glossy silver thread. Her breathing quickened audibly as he leaned forward to brush his lips against her full mouth.
“Is this your first time?” she asked, her face so close to his that her warm breath dampened his mouth, and for the first time he could hear none of her kittenish taunting in her words. The uneven hitch in his respiration gave her the answer she was looking for.
His hand moved up her arm, across her shoulder and down to her sculpted breast; she wasn’t wearing a bra beneath her thin cotton t-shirt, the chill, crisp air already affecting her in obvious ways. His thumb circled her puckering nipple, the pad of his finger nudging at the taut nub. He heard her gasp and, emboldened, found the hem of her t-shirt and tugged; she raised her arms above her head, making it easier for him to pull the garment off of her, her hair falling like silk against his hands once he’d discarded the tee. He cupped her bare breasts, firm and full, and felt her surge into his body, her back arching as her stomach pressed up against his chest. The action was spontaneously intuitive, as was the bow of his head as he swept his tongue across the nipple before settling his hot lips against it.
She cried out softly and her sweetness was almost more than he could bear, her fingers tangling in his hair as her hips pushed insistently into his, the hard-on in his jeans nudging into the yielding cradle of her thighs. Her skin was cool against the almost feverish heat of his mouth, her taste sweet; her flesh was not supple and the wetness of his ravening lips was slick upon it. His hands grasped the slender curve of her waist, playing along the waistline of her pants as her own fingers fumbled with the button fly of his jeans, jerking the denim down his sturdy hips. He hesitated and she perused and interpreted his reluctance.
“There are other things we can do,” she assured him in a tender coo, her lips plucking at his, “if you’re not sure.”
No, he was sure. Emma was the one, as unlikely as he would have believed that only just a week ago; he would have thought her nothing more than a princess had he met her in school, just another of the spoiled sheep. But she was brave, he knew that, and selfless when others were in need. And in pain. And she was leaving tomorrow. It made his heart ache. Did she feel the same? Sometimes he thought he knew but he couldn’t tell. His hands framed her face, his fingertips brushing her brow. “I want to,” he assured her. And he wanted her to be his first, something that even time could not take from them. He burned for her, from the tips of his shivering limbs to the coiling sensation tightening his groin until he throbbed with his desire. He might never see her again, but she would always be his first.
His fingers slid into her panties, surprised to find her smooth there as he played at her cleft; no silken strands of hair to modestly ornament the wellspring within her petals. Hooking his thumbs into her pants, he drew them down. She was cool and smooth inside as well as out, his rigid shaft sliding against those maddeningly snug walls, creating friction he knew he would never experience again, not with another girl. “You’re so soft,” he murmured in her ear, his hand caressing the nape of her neck, the other resting on her hip. Her answering moan sent a shiver throughout him.
“I’m watching it, Scott,” she told him with wonder emanating from her voice; undulating against him, she leaned back, bracing her palms in the grass on either side of them. “I wish you could see it, too, the way you look when you come into me.” Letting loose a savage growl, he bucked wildly, his cock burrowing its swollen head deep within those fluid, glossy muscles. They both called out and Emma whimpered his name. He had been curious, when the bullets had hit her body, if she had felt anything, if she diamond skin was capable of sensation; now he knew, it was very if one knew where to touch.
The way her body was reclined, how they were both grinding frantically against one another, gave him the perfect chance to angle his hips in a new way, so that he felt all of her spread against his groin when he pushed in to the hilt, caressing her engorged clitoris.
She clenched him as she came, sucking him into her depths as the most melodious sounds known to made flew from her lips; gritting his teeth, he withdrew and followed her, flushed with the swagger and all-consuming pleasure that youth brings. Craning his neck as far back as the tree behind him would allow, he opened his eyes, incinerating the canopy above, allowing himself one release after the other.
His seed rolled over her thighs in surges, white and sticky; he couldn’t resist touching her there, rubbing it against her polished skin, and her fingers joined his. He heard the smack of her lips and somehow knew that she had raised those fingers to her mouth for a taste. They lay against one another for some time, until they became less giddy and their breathing steadied. At some point, he became aware that she was no longer in her diamond husk, though he knew now that it went much further than merely skin deep.
“But you’re still leaving tomorrow,” he said sullenly as she replaced his visor with a kiss. She kissed his lips again tenderly but said nothing. He touched her cheek, running his fingers along her cheek, hoping to understand her mood.
He felt her shrug and the silk-like smugness had returned to her voice; he yearned instantly for that sincerity she had bared to him but knew that she was burying it deeply once more, locking it away in a secret compartment within her heart. Along with him too, maybe. She gave his mouth a quick peck and then stood, bouncing to her feet as she collected her clothes. “Mutants are such interesting creature, don’t you think?” she inquired lightly. “You never can guess what will happen in the future.” There was an almost forceful smirk to the statement, perplexing him once more. He didn’t think he’d ever understand Emma completely. He wished he’d be given the chance to again.