Pride
Title: Fake Empire Side Story: Emily's Notebooks volume II (pt 13): Pride
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the poem The State of Virginia After Southampton: 1831, by Geoffrey Brock.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.
Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.
Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks I: The Christmas Revolution
Whore,
Touch, Pain, Fear, Death
Emily's Notebooks II: Nights Spent Listening to Noises
Want, Jealousy, Loyalty, Torture, Hygiene
Original Fake Empire Stories
I'm putting this up instead of the prompt fic rather than alongside it, because the next prompt is too long to live in tandem.
She didn’t remember it, I think. She didn’t seem to notice me. In fact she looked in my direction less than she had before. I thought for a moment that she might be trying to avoid my gaze, but I never caught her turning away.
I don’t know whether Jessica said something, or my meditation lessons with Kurt had become an issue, but I felt that the mutants were treating me with more reserve than they used to. The humans weren’t shunning me like they had, but there was an uneasy feeling in the downstairs. Even my relationship with Jennifer was becoming strained. She wouldn’t come with me if I mentioned I was going to spend time with Kurt. She was still afraid of him, and beginning to resent me for my disappointment. She had other friends whom she was spending more time with, and although they didn’t reject me, there was a slight hesitance in the way they treated me, as if they were unsure of what my reactions would be to certain things they said.
Aaron sometimes sent his orders to me through an intermediary, but he was professional, and didn’t hold my ill-considered outburst against me in our working relationship. But I no longer felt that I had to fend off his attempts at friendship. I did not expect to be as unhappy about that as I was. But it was always difficult when a little bit of what you were comfortable with was taken away. Even if he had continued trying, it wouldn’t have been the same, now that I knew he was not merely interested in a friendly interaction.
The alienation was not as bad as it had been, but I was still so used to being ignored, that when I was tidying the parlor, and someone spoke, it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that the comment was about me. The content also did not assist me.
“She’s pretty,” said the woman, round and blonde. I remembered her from the party, tartan and electric pink feathers. Today she was more conservatively attired in florals, drinking tea with my mistress. The words registered with me, but it took a long moment before I realized that there was no one she could be speaking about aside from me. I looked up, and saw Emma’s eyes flinch away from me. The woman was also peering at me through her glasses, over her cup of tea, but she was just examining my body, not interested in meeting my eyes.
“You think so?” asked Emma boredly. “Do you want her?”
I flinched. The woman noticed. Her expression turned curious and considering. She looked over to my mistress.
“I’m not the one who’s always complaining about my inability to get laid.”
Emma glanced over at me again, but her eyes were hard. They seemed to shove me towards the door. “I had her a few times,” my mistress said flatly. “It got boring. I wanted to be with a real person.”
I walked out and shut the door a little too forcefully. I couldn’t listen to that. I couldn’t hear her lie about me, if it had been a lie. I slumped back against the door.
“A real person? Did you seriously-“
“Shut up, Garcia.” Emma snapped at her. “I’m listening to your shit but that doesn’t mean I’m going to drink the fucking kool-aid.”
“Just tell me. When you say boring, did you mean you felt guilty? Did you hate yourself for taking something from someone who couldn’t tell you no?”
“No. I’m not Scott. I didn’t force her to do anything.” There was a short pause. “Maybe it’s boring not because slaves can’t tell you no, but because they can’t tell you yes. They can’t give you anything, because you already own everything worth having. And they don’t have the strength to take anything away.”
“They need protection.”
My mistress’s response was derisive. “You can’t protect a piece of property from its owner. You get annoyed with me for saying that they aren’t real people, but anyone you have to protect isn’t a real person. When you make choices for someone else, they can never be real.”
“That’s why the children are different?”
“No one’s saying idiotic things about them not needing protection.”
“They just vote that way.” I flinched at that remark. How would Emma respond to a reminder of that indignity?
Emma sounded tired. “Our best argument is still that some of them could be mutants. If we can find just one that tests positive, it's rape, kidnapping, and procurement. We can use that to start shutting the rings down, while they’re still arguing about legislation.”
“I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“I’m not. I told you. Children are different.”
“Children grow up to become adults.”
“Human children grow up to be human adults. The purges are over. They get to live. What more should they want out of life? Freedom? It means nothing. None of us are free.”
* * *
It was a lot of information to absorb at once. But it matched with what JJ had told me. How long had she been fighting for this? Since she was thirteen, fourteen? It was uncharitable, but I wondered what must have happened for her to be drawn out of her natural tendency towards selfishness.
But what would happen to a telepath during a massacre?
It was inadvertent, but I ended up alone with her for a moment. She was reading in the library, draped over the couch, the book shading her eyes, and I was taking out the trash. She heard me come in, and lifted the book, shooting me a tense glare. I ignored her and went about my business. She dropped the book back over her eyes and ignored me in turn.
I was about to step out the door, when I thought of something, and stopped.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I said.
The book thumped on the floor. I dared a glance and met an ugly snarl. “Who the fuck are you?” she spat.
I didn’t react, just shouldered my burden and walked away.
Three days later she called for me again.
* * *
It was different this time, knowing she had been with someone else, knowing that I had basically asked for this. We were both more stiff and awkward than the first time.
“I’m willing to give you another chance,” she said, blandly, like I had somehow failed a trial period for my employment. I supposed I must have, at least according to the marchioness. But it made me want to laugh, and it took all I had to keep it down.
I stopped wanting to laugh when she flinched away from my touch.
She had been hesitant before, embarrassed, but she had never been afraid. Was this what Elizabeth had done to her? I bent my head.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I murmured into her chest, meaning more than physically. Her eyes slid over me. I had settled on my knees, straddling her lap, and she seemed to be inching away. She closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. “You promise?” she whispered, nearly inaudibly.
I gently kissed the line of her collarbone. “I promise.”
Afterwards she didn’t seem to want me to stay, but I made no motions towards leaving. I was waiting for her to send me away, but she didn’t seem to want to do that either. She lay still and tense on the other side of the bed, and then she spoke.
“You heard us, didn’t you? About the children. You listened.”
“I already knew,” I told her.
She looked at me, confusion written on her face.
“Jennifer told me. About how you knocked the guards unconscious and took them away from there.”
Emma’s body was stiff and unyielding. She lay silently. I worried I had said too much and was about to be thrown out again. But then she spoke to the ceiling.
“I didn’t knock them unconscious. I killed them, easily. I just wanted their minds to stop.” I turned to watch her. Her eyes were closed and her face seemed strained. “My father was the one who had set it up. I found his files. I had to pretend I had just stumbled upon it. That was the only house I could get to. They were the only ones… It didn’t matter what I did. They just ended up working for one person, rather than anyone who came through the door.”
“It’s better. At least for her, it’s better.”
Emma rolled on her side and looked at me, frowning slightly. “Tell me your name again. I’ve forgotten.”
I couldn’t do anything but laugh.
* * *
The downstairs seemed to intuit the change before I even made it back the next morning. No one questioned me when I wasn’t around for the earliest shifts. I didn’t miss them often though. Even when I stayed, I would wake up at my usual time and slip out unnoticed. I preferred that to having my mistress awake to find me still there.
The news seemed to spread among the mutants just as quickly. A few would give me tips. If she was in a certain mood they knew she would call for me, and the footmen would give me a heads up so I could prepare. Some did it with a laugh. Jessica derisively, Kurt earnestly.
Sometimes I wore the dress her father had brought me in when I went to her room at night. No one ever stopped me then, it being patently obvious what my purpose and destination were. I wore nothing underneath it. As Emma grew more comfortable with what we were doing, she would let herself touch me, her hands sliding up the backs of my thighs, grasping for purchase, fingers digging into my shoulders or back. When we lay together afterwards her arms would brush against my breasts, making it even harder to stay still.
Often it was torture to be kept there, pressed against her sweaty sated body, and keep my hand from sliding down between my legs and providing some relief. If she fell asleep on top of me, sometimes I would, moving slowly and staying quiet so as not to wake her. It was almost easier to finish trapped there, encased in her warmth and her scent, than it was to bring myself off alone in my own narrow bed. I had to be just as quiet there, because I shared my room with JJ, and was not interested in explaining what I was doing if she woke up and noticed.
One night I wore that dress she managed to tangle our legs together so her knee was between mine. She was speaking, complaining about court or something, but I could not focus on what she was saying because her hand was stroking down my stomach, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my dress, which had ridden up over my hips. Then, unexpectedly, her hand slipped between my legs. We both stiffened at the touch, but she did not remove her hand.
“Is this…” she asked, her fingers brushing against me again. I closed my eyes.
“Please.”
Her fingers touched me with a gentle curiosity, stroking over hot, swollen flesh, slipping inside, thick wetness clinging to them. Sliding back and forth, they found my clit and rubbed circles around it. I buried my face into the pillow, trying not to cry out. But her touch grew more insistent and I panted, rocking my hips against her hand until I came.
She settled into a self-satisfied quiet after that, and I lay still and wide-awake. I was unbelievably ashamed of myself. When I was certain she was asleep, I left. I went up onto the roof and sat by the edge, next to the cabbages, and wallowed in it.
I wanted to tell myself that it was all right. The marchioness had said as much, it was part of my job to teach her how to do what I did for her. But that sounded more and more hollow as I repeated it. I wasn’t working. I was taking advantage. Sleeping in her bed, encouraging her to touch me, it was taking advantage of my position and it felt wrong.
It would have been difficult to explain to Jennifer, trying to state the difference between the gardeners swiping a few choice vegetables and myself begging my mistress to fuck me. But that was the difference right there. I wasn’t taking anything from her, I was giving her power over one of the few things I had left, my pleasure, and she knew it. That was the worst part. I had begged for it. I had given up whatever last remnant of self-respect I had, for sex.
Now that I had I given her that as well, what did I have left?
* * *
The next time she called for me, I didn't want her to touch me. I pushed down on her wrists, pinning them to the bed, and kept on pushing them away if she tried to hold on to my shoulder, or slip her hand into my hair. I was doing my job and didn’t need the distraction.
It was harder.
I suppose I just hadn’t noticed how much I already had to give to her to do this job. Not hating her wasn’t quite enough. I had to want her, at least a little bit.
I felt her get frustrated with my not allowing her to touch me. Finally she had had enough, pulled me up, and pushed me back onto the bed. I didn’t resist, just went limp. And she left me alone.
I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. She stopped me when I tried to leave, and curled absently into my back. I was tense, almost terrified, that she was going to try to touch me. I had decided not to react. If she wanted it, I would let her, but I wouldn’t beg, I wouldn’t even give her permission. If she wanted this, she would have to take it.
She didn’t.
One of her arms pressed against my breasts and I could feel her even breathing against my neck. It was calm and regular and finally I was sure she was asleep. I started to move my hand, but her fingers slid around my wrist and held me still. They drifted teasingly over my palm and tangled with mine.
She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted me to beg. I wasn’t going to.
The stalemate lasted until we both fell asleep.
Author: Alsike
Rating: R
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds
Pairing: Other Emma Frost/Other Emily Prentiss
Disclaimer: I do not own X-Men or Criminal Minds. I owe wizened_cynic for the concept of quantum babies. She does it much better than me. Title stolen from the poem The State of Virginia After Southampton: 1831, by Geoffrey Brock.
Apologies: And now for something a little bit different.
Summary: In a different world, Erik Magnus overthrew the US government when Emily Prentiss was only twelve years old. On that day the course of her life changed irrevocably. This is her story.
Fake Empire Side Stories:
Emily's Notebooks I: The Christmas Revolution
Whore,
Touch, Pain, Fear, Death
Emily's Notebooks II: Nights Spent Listening to Noises
Want, Jealousy, Loyalty, Torture, Hygiene
Original Fake Empire Stories
I'm putting this up instead of the prompt fic rather than alongside it, because the next prompt is too long to live in tandem.
She didn’t remember it, I think. She didn’t seem to notice me. In fact she looked in my direction less than she had before. I thought for a moment that she might be trying to avoid my gaze, but I never caught her turning away.
I don’t know whether Jessica said something, or my meditation lessons with Kurt had become an issue, but I felt that the mutants were treating me with more reserve than they used to. The humans weren’t shunning me like they had, but there was an uneasy feeling in the downstairs. Even my relationship with Jennifer was becoming strained. She wouldn’t come with me if I mentioned I was going to spend time with Kurt. She was still afraid of him, and beginning to resent me for my disappointment. She had other friends whom she was spending more time with, and although they didn’t reject me, there was a slight hesitance in the way they treated me, as if they were unsure of what my reactions would be to certain things they said.
Aaron sometimes sent his orders to me through an intermediary, but he was professional, and didn’t hold my ill-considered outburst against me in our working relationship. But I no longer felt that I had to fend off his attempts at friendship. I did not expect to be as unhappy about that as I was. But it was always difficult when a little bit of what you were comfortable with was taken away. Even if he had continued trying, it wouldn’t have been the same, now that I knew he was not merely interested in a friendly interaction.
The alienation was not as bad as it had been, but I was still so used to being ignored, that when I was tidying the parlor, and someone spoke, it took me an embarrassingly long time to realize that the comment was about me. The content also did not assist me.
“She’s pretty,” said the woman, round and blonde. I remembered her from the party, tartan and electric pink feathers. Today she was more conservatively attired in florals, drinking tea with my mistress. The words registered with me, but it took a long moment before I realized that there was no one she could be speaking about aside from me. I looked up, and saw Emma’s eyes flinch away from me. The woman was also peering at me through her glasses, over her cup of tea, but she was just examining my body, not interested in meeting my eyes.
“You think so?” asked Emma boredly. “Do you want her?”
I flinched. The woman noticed. Her expression turned curious and considering. She looked over to my mistress.
“I’m not the one who’s always complaining about my inability to get laid.”
Emma glanced over at me again, but her eyes were hard. They seemed to shove me towards the door. “I had her a few times,” my mistress said flatly. “It got boring. I wanted to be with a real person.”
I walked out and shut the door a little too forcefully. I couldn’t listen to that. I couldn’t hear her lie about me, if it had been a lie. I slumped back against the door.
“A real person? Did you seriously-“
“Shut up, Garcia.” Emma snapped at her. “I’m listening to your shit but that doesn’t mean I’m going to drink the fucking kool-aid.”
“Just tell me. When you say boring, did you mean you felt guilty? Did you hate yourself for taking something from someone who couldn’t tell you no?”
“No. I’m not Scott. I didn’t force her to do anything.” There was a short pause. “Maybe it’s boring not because slaves can’t tell you no, but because they can’t tell you yes. They can’t give you anything, because you already own everything worth having. And they don’t have the strength to take anything away.”
“They need protection.”
My mistress’s response was derisive. “You can’t protect a piece of property from its owner. You get annoyed with me for saying that they aren’t real people, but anyone you have to protect isn’t a real person. When you make choices for someone else, they can never be real.”
“That’s why the children are different?”
“No one’s saying idiotic things about them not needing protection.”
“They just vote that way.” I flinched at that remark. How would Emma respond to a reminder of that indignity?
Emma sounded tired. “Our best argument is still that some of them could be mutants. If we can find just one that tests positive, it's rape, kidnapping, and procurement. We can use that to start shutting the rings down, while they’re still arguing about legislation.”
“I’m glad you’re on our side.”
“I’m not. I told you. Children are different.”
“Children grow up to become adults.”
“Human children grow up to be human adults. The purges are over. They get to live. What more should they want out of life? Freedom? It means nothing. None of us are free.”
* * *
It was a lot of information to absorb at once. But it matched with what JJ had told me. How long had she been fighting for this? Since she was thirteen, fourteen? It was uncharitable, but I wondered what must have happened for her to be drawn out of her natural tendency towards selfishness.
But what would happen to a telepath during a massacre?
It was inadvertent, but I ended up alone with her for a moment. She was reading in the library, draped over the couch, the book shading her eyes, and I was taking out the trash. She heard me come in, and lifted the book, shooting me a tense glare. I ignored her and went about my business. She dropped the book back over her eyes and ignored me in turn.
I was about to step out the door, when I thought of something, and stopped.
“I’m not afraid of you anymore,” I said.
The book thumped on the floor. I dared a glance and met an ugly snarl. “Who the fuck are you?” she spat.
I didn’t react, just shouldered my burden and walked away.
Three days later she called for me again.
* * *
It was different this time, knowing she had been with someone else, knowing that I had basically asked for this. We were both more stiff and awkward than the first time.
“I’m willing to give you another chance,” she said, blandly, like I had somehow failed a trial period for my employment. I supposed I must have, at least according to the marchioness. But it made me want to laugh, and it took all I had to keep it down.
I stopped wanting to laugh when she flinched away from my touch.
She had been hesitant before, embarrassed, but she had never been afraid. Was this what Elizabeth had done to her? I bent my head.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I murmured into her chest, meaning more than physically. Her eyes slid over me. I had settled on my knees, straddling her lap, and she seemed to be inching away. She closed her eyes, biting her lower lip. “You promise?” she whispered, nearly inaudibly.
I gently kissed the line of her collarbone. “I promise.”
Afterwards she didn’t seem to want me to stay, but I made no motions towards leaving. I was waiting for her to send me away, but she didn’t seem to want to do that either. She lay still and tense on the other side of the bed, and then she spoke.
“You heard us, didn’t you? About the children. You listened.”
“I already knew,” I told her.
She looked at me, confusion written on her face.
“Jennifer told me. About how you knocked the guards unconscious and took them away from there.”
Emma’s body was stiff and unyielding. She lay silently. I worried I had said too much and was about to be thrown out again. But then she spoke to the ceiling.
“I didn’t knock them unconscious. I killed them, easily. I just wanted their minds to stop.” I turned to watch her. Her eyes were closed and her face seemed strained. “My father was the one who had set it up. I found his files. I had to pretend I had just stumbled upon it. That was the only house I could get to. They were the only ones… It didn’t matter what I did. They just ended up working for one person, rather than anyone who came through the door.”
“It’s better. At least for her, it’s better.”
Emma rolled on her side and looked at me, frowning slightly. “Tell me your name again. I’ve forgotten.”
I couldn’t do anything but laugh.
* * *
The downstairs seemed to intuit the change before I even made it back the next morning. No one questioned me when I wasn’t around for the earliest shifts. I didn’t miss them often though. Even when I stayed, I would wake up at my usual time and slip out unnoticed. I preferred that to having my mistress awake to find me still there.
The news seemed to spread among the mutants just as quickly. A few would give me tips. If she was in a certain mood they knew she would call for me, and the footmen would give me a heads up so I could prepare. Some did it with a laugh. Jessica derisively, Kurt earnestly.
Sometimes I wore the dress her father had brought me in when I went to her room at night. No one ever stopped me then, it being patently obvious what my purpose and destination were. I wore nothing underneath it. As Emma grew more comfortable with what we were doing, she would let herself touch me, her hands sliding up the backs of my thighs, grasping for purchase, fingers digging into my shoulders or back. When we lay together afterwards her arms would brush against my breasts, making it even harder to stay still.
Often it was torture to be kept there, pressed against her sweaty sated body, and keep my hand from sliding down between my legs and providing some relief. If she fell asleep on top of me, sometimes I would, moving slowly and staying quiet so as not to wake her. It was almost easier to finish trapped there, encased in her warmth and her scent, than it was to bring myself off alone in my own narrow bed. I had to be just as quiet there, because I shared my room with JJ, and was not interested in explaining what I was doing if she woke up and noticed.
One night I wore that dress she managed to tangle our legs together so her knee was between mine. She was speaking, complaining about court or something, but I could not focus on what she was saying because her hand was stroking down my stomach, trying to smooth out the wrinkles in my dress, which had ridden up over my hips. Then, unexpectedly, her hand slipped between my legs. We both stiffened at the touch, but she did not remove her hand.
“Is this…” she asked, her fingers brushing against me again. I closed my eyes.
“Please.”
Her fingers touched me with a gentle curiosity, stroking over hot, swollen flesh, slipping inside, thick wetness clinging to them. Sliding back and forth, they found my clit and rubbed circles around it. I buried my face into the pillow, trying not to cry out. But her touch grew more insistent and I panted, rocking my hips against her hand until I came.
She settled into a self-satisfied quiet after that, and I lay still and wide-awake. I was unbelievably ashamed of myself. When I was certain she was asleep, I left. I went up onto the roof and sat by the edge, next to the cabbages, and wallowed in it.
I wanted to tell myself that it was all right. The marchioness had said as much, it was part of my job to teach her how to do what I did for her. But that sounded more and more hollow as I repeated it. I wasn’t working. I was taking advantage. Sleeping in her bed, encouraging her to touch me, it was taking advantage of my position and it felt wrong.
It would have been difficult to explain to Jennifer, trying to state the difference between the gardeners swiping a few choice vegetables and myself begging my mistress to fuck me. But that was the difference right there. I wasn’t taking anything from her, I was giving her power over one of the few things I had left, my pleasure, and she knew it. That was the worst part. I had begged for it. I had given up whatever last remnant of self-respect I had, for sex.
Now that I had I given her that as well, what did I have left?
* * *
The next time she called for me, I didn't want her to touch me. I pushed down on her wrists, pinning them to the bed, and kept on pushing them away if she tried to hold on to my shoulder, or slip her hand into my hair. I was doing my job and didn’t need the distraction.
It was harder.
I suppose I just hadn’t noticed how much I already had to give to her to do this job. Not hating her wasn’t quite enough. I had to want her, at least a little bit.
I felt her get frustrated with my not allowing her to touch me. Finally she had had enough, pulled me up, and pushed me back onto the bed. I didn’t resist, just went limp. And she left me alone.
I wasn’t sure what she wanted from me. She stopped me when I tried to leave, and curled absently into my back. I was tense, almost terrified, that she was going to try to touch me. I had decided not to react. If she wanted it, I would let her, but I wouldn’t beg, I wouldn’t even give her permission. If she wanted this, she would have to take it.
She didn’t.
One of her arms pressed against my breasts and I could feel her even breathing against my neck. It was calm and regular and finally I was sure she was asleep. I started to move my hand, but her fingers slid around my wrist and held me still. They drifted teasingly over my palm and tangled with mine.
She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted me to beg. I wasn’t going to.
The stalemate lasted until we both fell asleep.