Your Weakness
Title: Your Weakness
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: NC-17 (I mean it! And not in a good way!)
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 2076
Prompt: 019. Knife Play
Apologies: The second part of Feral. What's going on in Emma's trapped consciousness is not very happy, so be warned.
Someone had found Emily a shirt that didn’t display her assets to the assembled superheroes, and by default she had been charged with keeping Emma calm. She sat on the bed with Emma sprawled over her lap, watching the other inhabitants of the room warily. Emily didn’t think she was doing a particularly good job. Even when she was stroking Emma’s hair, she still snarled at Henry when he tried to get close enough to put an electrode on her temple.
“This is very troubling,” Hank said, after dodging Emma’s clawed nails. “I have no idea what’s going on in her mind. Jean can’t get in, and I’ll have to sedate her to get anywhere near.”
“I might be able to tell you,” Emily said, worried that she was interrupting a rhetorical monologue. Hank froze and looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she knows she’s not totally in control, so she checks to see if everything is okay. She likes to reach out and tug me inside.”
---
“So, do you know anything about mind mapping?” asked Jean, in her cheerful teaching persona.
Emily frowned. “Most of my psych background is pretty traditional. You know: external evidence plus intuition.”
“It’s not hard.” Jean waved away her hesitance. “Basically, when this sort of split happens, the pre-oedipal impulse stage breaks off from the symbolic realm. Symbol based functions, like language goes with it.”
“Wait-“ Emily frowned. “You mean Freud was right?”
Jean grimaced. “It’s not really that simple, but, you know, all the terminology was already there, so we just appropriated it.” Then she paused and seemed to consider. “You know Jung? Displacement, representation and symbolism?”
Emily nodded.
“Good. That’s important. He did get that exactly right.”
---
“I don’t want to have to hide anything from you,” said Emma as she offered the handle to Emily. “If you’re not willing to do it, that’s fine. But I won’t pretend I don’t want it.”
Emily cupped the knife in her hands like it was a baby kitten. She stroked the curve of the blade, and then her fingers slipped around the handle. She didn’t hold it like a novice, but lay the blade alongside her finger, her thumb on the back, until it became a part of her hand.
“If you want it…” Emily traced the tip up her bare spine. She lifted it and her grip changed. She brought it down in one smooth backhand stroke. The tip pierced her skin, and the blade followed. It cut through her muscle, split open her bone, and severed her heart in two. Then she twisted, and Emma’s body cracked, opening up. The cavity led deep inside her, deeper still than the breadth of her body. And she felt Emily’s hand delve inside of it, long fingers and bony knuckles pushing through the flesh, parting it, even as it pushed back, and closed around her arm in bulging blood-filled sacs of flesh.
She was in so deep, past her elbow, up to her shoulder. Emma, wondered why she hadn’t reached it yet, and why she wasn’t dead. Then her fingers found it, and closed around the small hard stone. They tightened, and it finally hurt. Emma screamed, and it burst, a black viscous liquid gushing between her already bloody fingers.
---
The next time Emma opened her eyes, she was suspended in midair on something like a spit. Her arms and legs were spread apart, held in place by loops that jutted from a bar that ran from ankle to ankle or wrist to wrist. Two more bars ran from each ankle to the corresponding wrist, and another broke the quadrilateral into two, settling into the curve of her back. The belt that ran around her waist was attached to that bar. She could see the pivot points in the center of the bars that spread her wrists and ankles, so it made sense. Her back wouldn’t arch when she was turned over. Other than the bonds on her wrists, ankles and waist, she was entirely naked.
From beyond her feet there was a laugh that she recognized. Belasco. His clawed fingers brushed over her calf, and then pushed down hard on her ankle, sending the frame spinning, and Emma turning over and over again until she vomited.
Hadn’t they defeated him? She had held him in place in Limbo until Kurt had managed to control his soulsword and run him through. He had burst into hot light and spattering debris. But he was here, and she was alone.
Something thick and slimy was crawling along the inside of her leg. She swallowed the bile in her throat, and gasped when it pushed inside of her.
“What is that?”
Belasco laughed. “What do you think it is?”
A second one was pushing deep into her ass.
“But how-“
“It’s your mind, princess. You tell me.” His fingers ran over her ass cheek and then pushed the cock deeper inside. Both of them swelled, stretching her painfully, and she gave a small cry. “None of that now.”
A third one crawled along her chest, inching like a slug and leaving a trail of slime behind. It slid between her breasts and curled up around her neck. She clenched her teeth tightly, but Balesco’s hand cupped the back of her head. His claws dug into her cheeks and wedged open her jaw.
She could see the slimy cock this time. It was brown and lumpy with a tiny mouth in the tip that made various grotesque expressions. It slid over her cheek and into her mouth. It curled around her tongue and pushed down her throat. The end swelled up until it filled her mouth and pressed against the backs of her teeth. It kept her mouth wedged open and Belasco’s claws traced around the exposed back of it. When he touched it, all three twitched excitedly. Emma struggled against her bonds, but the metal loops just cut into her wrists and ankles.
Belasco’s hands ran down her sides, and then he turned her over. His long tongue ran over her belly and breasts, leaving thick mucus behind. He cupped his hands around his cock and then spread the fluid from that over her body.
Then he brought out the knife.
Emma tensed, waiting for the cut, waiting for him to begin to carve her apart.
“You don’t want this to be me,” he said, as the serrated blade cut deeply into her shoulder.
She didn’t understand.
“Oh, Emma. Don’t you know that this is all your desire?”
He made two more cuts, crosswise, like half a tic-tac-toe board on her back. Then he laid the cool metal blade along her cheek, pressing the serrations into the place her shoulder joined with her neck.
“You just wish it were her. But she’d never do this to you. She’d never hurt you like you need to be hurt.”
It didn’t sound like Balesco anymore. It sounded like herself, like Cassandra Nova, like Professor Xavier, like everyone who had ever violated her mind.
It didn’t look like Balesco anymore. It looked like Emily, with glowing eyes and a long forked tongue. Her hand grasped the slug that was buried in her ass and wrenched it out. Emma nearly cried with the pain as it ripped out of her, still bloated and swollen, but the one in her mouth had filled her larynx with its thick body, its mucus dripping down her glottis and into her lungs, and she couldn’t even expel air.
The Emily who wasn’t Emily filled the space left by the swollen cock with the knife. She didn’t bother to try to follow the path, just thrust in, cutting through skin and intestine, all the way through to the other cock, which wriggled when the point of the blade brushed against it.
“You want her to rip you apart, to cut out all your rot, to kill you. She is so good at cutting out the rot, isn’t she? That’s her job. And if she could only see what you’ve done, she’d know that it is her duty to destroy you.”
Blood was gushing from her body, bathing this not-Emily’s arm, and pouring over her pants, staining her shoes.
“You just want her to put you out of your misery.”
The blade was pointed at her temple, she could feel the pinprick against her skin. Emma gave in. She’d bleed out anyway.
When you died in your sleep, you just never woke up.
“Stop.”
The blade pulled away from her temple and she dared to look over. There was another Emily, sweaty and dirty, in hiking boots, a grappling hook on a rope hanging from her hand. Emma hadn’t noticed the mountains in the distance before, but it looked like Emily had been struggling along that path for a long time.
“You need to leave.”
Emily wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the not-Emily, who now took on Balesco’s shape again. “Make me,” he growled and pointed the blood-slick knife at her.
“They defeated you. They got rid of you.”
“And yet I’m still here.”
Emily started spinning the grappling hook above her head. “You can’t hide here. She doesn’t need you anymore.” She let the rope go and it headed straight for Balesco. He dodged easily and laughed, but the rope made an odd bend in mid air and was heading for him again. He saw it and his eyes widened, but couldn’t respond as it looped around and the grapple dug its hooks into his eyes. Emily jerked on the rope and the top of his head ripped off. He exploded into light and specks of empty darkness. “I’m here now.”
His knife clattered to the dirt, and Emily bent over to pick it up. Finally she looked at Emma.
“Sometimes you make me sick,” she said flatly. Emma couldn’t respond. “Is this how you really feel about yourself?”
The cuts on her back and in her gut opened up even more at those words and bled profusely.
“Hey! Hey,” Emily walked up to her and touched her face, one hand on each cheek. “I don’t want to make it worse, but I can, can’t I?”
Emma couldn’t speak, and finally Emily seemed to notice. “That’s disgusting,” she said, and drew the slug out of her mouth. Emma’s throat was raw, her soft palate swollen, and she swallowed roughly a few time. “But I suppose he had the right idea.” She held the slug in her hand and it changed into a clean red bandanna. She wiped Emma’s face with it and then fixed it in her mouth, tying it around her head like a gag. Her fingers traced over the scrapes that Belasco’s claws had left, and they healed.
She walked around to the back and made a disapproving sound at what she saw. Emma felt her hands rest on her ass and she started to heal. Her fingers plucked the slug from her cunt and dropped it on the ground. Then Emily crushed it under her boot. She slipped two fingers back inside and Emma groaned into the gag. Emily kept working her until she had flushed out everything from before with her arousal. Then she pressed her mouth to it and drank.
There was a stirrup that Emma hadn’t noticed before, and Emily stuck her foot into it and swung her leg over, mounting Emma’s ass. She sat with her knees tucked over the central pole, Emma’s wounded back in front of her. She ran her hand over it and the gashes closed, stitching themselves together. Emma whimpered at the cessation of pain. But then she felt a warm blade pressing against her skin. Emily still had the knife.
“I know why you need this,” she said quietly. “You need to keep your memories of violation alive, because your anger is what gives you strength.”
Emma felt a kiss pressed between her shoulder blades, and then the knife traced a stinging line in her skin, but the cut was only skin deep.
“It's just too bad you always have to be angry with yourself.” She felt hair brush across her back as if Emily was shaking her head. “Your weakness is beautiful.” And then she felt the hot wet brush of a tongue run over the thin laceration on her back. “And you’re so strong, so strong even without the hate.”
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: NC-17 (I mean it! And not in a good way!)
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 2076
Prompt: 019. Knife Play
Apologies: The second part of Feral. What's going on in Emma's trapped consciousness is not very happy, so be warned.
Someone had found Emily a shirt that didn’t display her assets to the assembled superheroes, and by default she had been charged with keeping Emma calm. She sat on the bed with Emma sprawled over her lap, watching the other inhabitants of the room warily. Emily didn’t think she was doing a particularly good job. Even when she was stroking Emma’s hair, she still snarled at Henry when he tried to get close enough to put an electrode on her temple.
“This is very troubling,” Hank said, after dodging Emma’s clawed nails. “I have no idea what’s going on in her mind. Jean can’t get in, and I’ll have to sedate her to get anywhere near.”
“I might be able to tell you,” Emily said, worried that she was interrupting a rhetorical monologue. Hank froze and looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“I think she knows she’s not totally in control, so she checks to see if everything is okay. She likes to reach out and tug me inside.”
---
“So, do you know anything about mind mapping?” asked Jean, in her cheerful teaching persona.
Emily frowned. “Most of my psych background is pretty traditional. You know: external evidence plus intuition.”
“It’s not hard.” Jean waved away her hesitance. “Basically, when this sort of split happens, the pre-oedipal impulse stage breaks off from the symbolic realm. Symbol based functions, like language goes with it.”
“Wait-“ Emily frowned. “You mean Freud was right?”
Jean grimaced. “It’s not really that simple, but, you know, all the terminology was already there, so we just appropriated it.” Then she paused and seemed to consider. “You know Jung? Displacement, representation and symbolism?”
Emily nodded.
“Good. That’s important. He did get that exactly right.”
---
“I don’t want to have to hide anything from you,” said Emma as she offered the handle to Emily. “If you’re not willing to do it, that’s fine. But I won’t pretend I don’t want it.”
Emily cupped the knife in her hands like it was a baby kitten. She stroked the curve of the blade, and then her fingers slipped around the handle. She didn’t hold it like a novice, but lay the blade alongside her finger, her thumb on the back, until it became a part of her hand.
“If you want it…” Emily traced the tip up her bare spine. She lifted it and her grip changed. She brought it down in one smooth backhand stroke. The tip pierced her skin, and the blade followed. It cut through her muscle, split open her bone, and severed her heart in two. Then she twisted, and Emma’s body cracked, opening up. The cavity led deep inside her, deeper still than the breadth of her body. And she felt Emily’s hand delve inside of it, long fingers and bony knuckles pushing through the flesh, parting it, even as it pushed back, and closed around her arm in bulging blood-filled sacs of flesh.
She was in so deep, past her elbow, up to her shoulder. Emma, wondered why she hadn’t reached it yet, and why she wasn’t dead. Then her fingers found it, and closed around the small hard stone. They tightened, and it finally hurt. Emma screamed, and it burst, a black viscous liquid gushing between her already bloody fingers.
---
The next time Emma opened her eyes, she was suspended in midair on something like a spit. Her arms and legs were spread apart, held in place by loops that jutted from a bar that ran from ankle to ankle or wrist to wrist. Two more bars ran from each ankle to the corresponding wrist, and another broke the quadrilateral into two, settling into the curve of her back. The belt that ran around her waist was attached to that bar. She could see the pivot points in the center of the bars that spread her wrists and ankles, so it made sense. Her back wouldn’t arch when she was turned over. Other than the bonds on her wrists, ankles and waist, she was entirely naked.
From beyond her feet there was a laugh that she recognized. Belasco. His clawed fingers brushed over her calf, and then pushed down hard on her ankle, sending the frame spinning, and Emma turning over and over again until she vomited.
Hadn’t they defeated him? She had held him in place in Limbo until Kurt had managed to control his soulsword and run him through. He had burst into hot light and spattering debris. But he was here, and she was alone.
Something thick and slimy was crawling along the inside of her leg. She swallowed the bile in her throat, and gasped when it pushed inside of her.
“What is that?”
Belasco laughed. “What do you think it is?”
A second one was pushing deep into her ass.
“But how-“
“It’s your mind, princess. You tell me.” His fingers ran over her ass cheek and then pushed the cock deeper inside. Both of them swelled, stretching her painfully, and she gave a small cry. “None of that now.”
A third one crawled along her chest, inching like a slug and leaving a trail of slime behind. It slid between her breasts and curled up around her neck. She clenched her teeth tightly, but Balesco’s hand cupped the back of her head. His claws dug into her cheeks and wedged open her jaw.
She could see the slimy cock this time. It was brown and lumpy with a tiny mouth in the tip that made various grotesque expressions. It slid over her cheek and into her mouth. It curled around her tongue and pushed down her throat. The end swelled up until it filled her mouth and pressed against the backs of her teeth. It kept her mouth wedged open and Belasco’s claws traced around the exposed back of it. When he touched it, all three twitched excitedly. Emma struggled against her bonds, but the metal loops just cut into her wrists and ankles.
Belasco’s hands ran down her sides, and then he turned her over. His long tongue ran over her belly and breasts, leaving thick mucus behind. He cupped his hands around his cock and then spread the fluid from that over her body.
Then he brought out the knife.
Emma tensed, waiting for the cut, waiting for him to begin to carve her apart.
“You don’t want this to be me,” he said, as the serrated blade cut deeply into her shoulder.
She didn’t understand.
“Oh, Emma. Don’t you know that this is all your desire?”
He made two more cuts, crosswise, like half a tic-tac-toe board on her back. Then he laid the cool metal blade along her cheek, pressing the serrations into the place her shoulder joined with her neck.
“You just wish it were her. But she’d never do this to you. She’d never hurt you like you need to be hurt.”
It didn’t sound like Balesco anymore. It sounded like herself, like Cassandra Nova, like Professor Xavier, like everyone who had ever violated her mind.
It didn’t look like Balesco anymore. It looked like Emily, with glowing eyes and a long forked tongue. Her hand grasped the slug that was buried in her ass and wrenched it out. Emma nearly cried with the pain as it ripped out of her, still bloated and swollen, but the one in her mouth had filled her larynx with its thick body, its mucus dripping down her glottis and into her lungs, and she couldn’t even expel air.
The Emily who wasn’t Emily filled the space left by the swollen cock with the knife. She didn’t bother to try to follow the path, just thrust in, cutting through skin and intestine, all the way through to the other cock, which wriggled when the point of the blade brushed against it.
“You want her to rip you apart, to cut out all your rot, to kill you. She is so good at cutting out the rot, isn’t she? That’s her job. And if she could only see what you’ve done, she’d know that it is her duty to destroy you.”
Blood was gushing from her body, bathing this not-Emily’s arm, and pouring over her pants, staining her shoes.
“You just want her to put you out of your misery.”
The blade was pointed at her temple, she could feel the pinprick against her skin. Emma gave in. She’d bleed out anyway.
When you died in your sleep, you just never woke up.
“Stop.”
The blade pulled away from her temple and she dared to look over. There was another Emily, sweaty and dirty, in hiking boots, a grappling hook on a rope hanging from her hand. Emma hadn’t noticed the mountains in the distance before, but it looked like Emily had been struggling along that path for a long time.
“You need to leave.”
Emily wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at the not-Emily, who now took on Balesco’s shape again. “Make me,” he growled and pointed the blood-slick knife at her.
“They defeated you. They got rid of you.”
“And yet I’m still here.”
Emily started spinning the grappling hook above her head. “You can’t hide here. She doesn’t need you anymore.” She let the rope go and it headed straight for Balesco. He dodged easily and laughed, but the rope made an odd bend in mid air and was heading for him again. He saw it and his eyes widened, but couldn’t respond as it looped around and the grapple dug its hooks into his eyes. Emily jerked on the rope and the top of his head ripped off. He exploded into light and specks of empty darkness. “I’m here now.”
His knife clattered to the dirt, and Emily bent over to pick it up. Finally she looked at Emma.
“Sometimes you make me sick,” she said flatly. Emma couldn’t respond. “Is this how you really feel about yourself?”
The cuts on her back and in her gut opened up even more at those words and bled profusely.
“Hey! Hey,” Emily walked up to her and touched her face, one hand on each cheek. “I don’t want to make it worse, but I can, can’t I?”
Emma couldn’t speak, and finally Emily seemed to notice. “That’s disgusting,” she said, and drew the slug out of her mouth. Emma’s throat was raw, her soft palate swollen, and she swallowed roughly a few time. “But I suppose he had the right idea.” She held the slug in her hand and it changed into a clean red bandanna. She wiped Emma’s face with it and then fixed it in her mouth, tying it around her head like a gag. Her fingers traced over the scrapes that Belasco’s claws had left, and they healed.
She walked around to the back and made a disapproving sound at what she saw. Emma felt her hands rest on her ass and she started to heal. Her fingers plucked the slug from her cunt and dropped it on the ground. Then Emily crushed it under her boot. She slipped two fingers back inside and Emma groaned into the gag. Emily kept working her until she had flushed out everything from before with her arousal. Then she pressed her mouth to it and drank.
There was a stirrup that Emma hadn’t noticed before, and Emily stuck her foot into it and swung her leg over, mounting Emma’s ass. She sat with her knees tucked over the central pole, Emma’s wounded back in front of her. She ran her hand over it and the gashes closed, stitching themselves together. Emma whimpered at the cessation of pain. But then she felt a warm blade pressing against her skin. Emily still had the knife.
“I know why you need this,” she said quietly. “You need to keep your memories of violation alive, because your anger is what gives you strength.”
Emma felt a kiss pressed between her shoulder blades, and then the knife traced a stinging line in her skin, but the cut was only skin deep.
“It's just too bad you always have to be angry with yourself.” She felt hair brush across her back as if Emily was shaking her head. “Your weakness is beautiful.” And then she felt the hot wet brush of a tongue run over the thin laceration on her back. “And you’re so strong, so strong even without the hate.”