5 Times
Title: 5 3 (of the) times Emma and Emily have sex are inappropriately affectionate in public
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over + random cameos
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Prompt: 047. In Public
Word Count: 1605
Apologies: I don't know. This is all very frivolous. Random cameo crossovers into the main Diamond Universe, none of them used particularly effectively, but if I quality control more than this, you will never get anything again. Some are scraps that have been sitting around for a while. I'd like to do 5 though, I am hoping to eventually get a good one, but I need more ideas for shows.
(Scrubs)
Emma can’t deal with this anymore. She can’t. She just wants this to be over, to stop feeling. Christ, if she had known it would be this bad she would have tipped Emily off the building herself. She walks through people, not caring, nurses, doctors. She shoves an inhabited wheelchair to the side, ignoring the scream as it thunders down a ramp. A few official-looking people with clipboards try to stop her, but she just looks at them, doesn’t even have to touch their minds and they gape, mouths moving uselessly, and give up.
As she reaches the last staircase she starts to move quicker, breaking into jog, almost running down the hall. She can feel her now, happily sedated, and it’s making her angry. She shoves open the door, ignoring the bang as it slams against the wall.
“Emma!” She smiles, she’s pleased and happy. Emma is furious.
“Do you remember anything that I told you?”
Emily blinks. “No?”
Emma grabs the front of the flimsy little hospital gown she’s wearing. “Things about me not having to visit you in the hospital?”
“You’re hot when you’re mad.”
Fuck it. And Emma is on her, kissing her pliant mouth, jerking down the covers to bury her fingers in the heat between her legs. Emily is kissing her back, making pleased little sounds and tangling her fingers in her hair. The warm wet velvet of her tongue dips into her mouth, her fingers slippery, pressing against her, moving in time with the little jerks of Emily’s hips. Emily comes, back arching, and then dropping limply back onto the elevated pillows, her mouth drawing into an easy blatantly sexy smile.
Emma lets out an involuntary chuckle and glances back at the wide-eyed blonde in turquoise scrubs standing in the door.
“Can I help you?”
The blonde drops her clipboard and yelps. Bending down to pick it up she trips over her own feet, ending up face first on the floor.
“Barbie!” someone snaps. “You cleaning the floor with your tongue again?”
Emma shakes her head, glancing back at Emily. “Christ, she’s worse than you.” But Emily was already asleep, a pleased smile still bright on her face.
(She’s the Man)
“I’m bored,” Emma whined, coming up behind Emily and looping her arms around her waist.
“You’re the one that dragged me here. You said you had business.”
Emma pouted. “I did. But I really just wanted to see you in that dress again.”
Emily glanced down at herself. It was the red velvet one that her mother had bought her not too long before she had gone to Genosha. “It’s a classic,” she had said. “That means no one will give a damn if it's the only thing you ever wear.” It didn’t look good with either her shoulder carry or her thigh holster so she saved if for nonviolent occasions. That probably was why it didn’t have a bullet hole or a bloodstain in it.
“I didn’t realize you liked it.”
“You didn’t?” Emma arched an eyebrow, and Emily flushed. So that was the reason she had been pushed up against the wall and molested thoroughly. She was never entirely certain of the reason, or the excuse, as it was probably more accurately described.
Emily was kind of sure she was smiling like an idiot. She could usually tell when it looked like Emma was trying not to laugh. (She only tried not to in public, in private she would mock her incessantly.)
“Oh! Ms. Frost, Ms. Prentiss.”
Emma turned to nod coolly to the hostess of the party, an eager brainless woman who was slightly unnervingly obsessed with her estranged husband. Emily tried to school her expression into something her mother would have approved of.
“I wanted you to meet my daughter, Viola.” The woman made a knowing smile. “She plays soccer.”
The girl was of medium height, round-faced, and entirely ill-at-ease with her excessively foamy dress. Her eyes skittered away from them towards the wall.
Emma’s eyes met Emily’s in a look of suspicion. << Are we supposed to be role models? >>
“So, you play soccer?” Emily attempted.
The girl eyed them suspiciously. “Um. Yes.”
Emily glanced desperately at Emma. Emma shrugged. She had done dressage as her main athletic endeavor in high school.
“It’s not a euphemism,” the girl suddenly interjected. “I really do play soccer. I love soccer. I love it more than anything. The cross-dressing was because I loved soccer, not because of anything else.”
Emma and Emily exchanged another long slow glance and the girl turned red. Her eyes slipped, and Emma started to grin. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” the girl squeaked.
“Really.” Emma, still smiling, turned to Emily. “Well that’s nice isn’t it?” She brushed her thumb lightly down Emily’s jaw. “It’s always lovely to hear about someone willing to do anything for something they adore.”
Emily tried to suppress her amusement at Emma’s tone. “Oh yes. I couldn’t agree more,” she said, tipping her head to the side and looking up into her eyes. And Emma bent in, capturing her lips and letting her tongue slide obviously into Emily’s mouth. Emily pushed up against her, pressing back with her tongue, her fingers digging deeply into the flesh of Emma’s arm. The hot bolt of arousal that split her belly almost made her forget that it was a show. Emma’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of her back, and she couldn’t help lazily biting at Emma’s lower lip.
Emma was suddenly laughing in her head. << She can’t stop looking. Soccer. >> she snorted. Emily glanced over. The girl’s face was bright red, her jaw hanging open.
“Sorry,” Emily said, trying to restrain her grin. “You were telling us about how much you loved cross-dressi- er…” She flushed. “Soccer?”
The girl swallowed hard. “I- uh, I need to go and um… ducks… made of ice, now.”
<< And another beautiful sexual identity crisis has been inspired. >>
<< Emma. >>
Emma grinned at her. “You were the one with the cross-dressing crack.”
“It wasn’t a crack!”
“Mhm.” Emma glanced over her shoulder and her grin broadened. “Oh look, curtains.”
“Emma!”
(Law and Order SVU)
When Emily, stunned and blood-spattered, and a little triumphant, gets back to the precinct, she pauses in the door. Emma’s there, sitting on one of the officers’ desks, legs crossed in a too short skirt, and talking to Munch. She has a very serious expression on as she nods understandingly at inside information about a dangerous mutant conspiracy, but it’s clear she’s trying not to laugh.
She’s cut her hair recently, to her shoulders, and the white scoop-necked top dips low enough to show off the tops of her breasts. The short sleeves flare, making her silhouette soft, almost feminine, even in her laced boots and ingrained dance-academy posture.
She knows when Emily arrives, and she turns, her hair swishing out behind her, smiling. It’s wide and open for an unexpected second before it composes itself into lips-together slyness, complementing her mischievous eyes.
Fin glances up from where he and Morgan were hovered over his radio, and laughs, half at a disgruntled Elliot slouching in behind her. “Hey, look at the hero! Kneecaps to boot!”
But Emily isn’t listening, she’s moving, swinging up onto the desk and threading her fingers through Emma’s hair, cupping her head to pull her close and kiss her. Emma lets her, gives into it like a princess, sucking hot and wet and lushly on Emily’s tongue (and if princesses ever did that they’d get more action than whores). Emily breaks it.
“Hey,” Emma says, low and impossibly sultry, as if they’ve been in bed together all day and night and her voice is sleep and sex rough.
“Hey,” Emily says back, unable to keep the stupid grin off her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Besides getting bloodstains on my outfit?” Emily winces, pulling away to try and see where she’s left spots, but Emma catches the backs of her arms, keeping her from moving away. “I came to see you.”
“Yeah?” and the hopefulness in her tone is heartbreaking. Emma slides a hand into the back pocket of her jeans and squeezes.
“You look good in Kevlar. Why would I want to miss out on that?”
Emily grins, lopsided, her head cocked to the side, and Emma wonders, for a faint moment, if she fell for Emily in Africa, scuffed and muddy and a little broken, but still able to laugh about life, even if it was gone.
“Good,” Emily says, allowing herself to be a little proud, a little happy. “I deserve it. I am a hero after all.”
Emma leans back on her elbows, tipping her head up and giving her a seductive grin. “Then take your reward.”
Emily moves over her quickly, ignoring the catcall, bending down to stroke Emma’s lower lip with her tongue before letting their mouths meet. She tastes drunk on success. Her hand slides up her skirt. Emma can’t help but reach out to her and looses her balance, dropping down onto the desk on her back, Emily on top of her, still kissing her, her hand inappropriately high.
“Oh my god!” JJ’s shrill tones interrupt. “We’re guests here!”
Emily pulls back, flushing. Emma feels a little stunned and vulnerable, like she never is. She gets over it.
“I’m not complaining,” Fin added helpfully, attracting JJ’s attention to him, and the companion beside him.
JJ yelped and lunged towards her teammate. “Stop taking pictures, Derek!”
Morgan flipped his phone shut and skittered back, laughing. “I wasn’t! I was filming!”
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over + random cameos
Pairing: Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: R
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Prompt: 047. In Public
Word Count: 1605
Apologies: I don't know. This is all very frivolous. Random cameo crossovers into the main Diamond Universe, none of them used particularly effectively, but if I quality control more than this, you will never get anything again. Some are scraps that have been sitting around for a while. I'd like to do 5 though, I am hoping to eventually get a good one, but I need more ideas for shows.
(Scrubs)
Emma can’t deal with this anymore. She can’t. She just wants this to be over, to stop feeling. Christ, if she had known it would be this bad she would have tipped Emily off the building herself. She walks through people, not caring, nurses, doctors. She shoves an inhabited wheelchair to the side, ignoring the scream as it thunders down a ramp. A few official-looking people with clipboards try to stop her, but she just looks at them, doesn’t even have to touch their minds and they gape, mouths moving uselessly, and give up.
As she reaches the last staircase she starts to move quicker, breaking into jog, almost running down the hall. She can feel her now, happily sedated, and it’s making her angry. She shoves open the door, ignoring the bang as it slams against the wall.
“Emma!” She smiles, she’s pleased and happy. Emma is furious.
“Do you remember anything that I told you?”
Emily blinks. “No?”
Emma grabs the front of the flimsy little hospital gown she’s wearing. “Things about me not having to visit you in the hospital?”
“You’re hot when you’re mad.”
Fuck it. And Emma is on her, kissing her pliant mouth, jerking down the covers to bury her fingers in the heat between her legs. Emily is kissing her back, making pleased little sounds and tangling her fingers in her hair. The warm wet velvet of her tongue dips into her mouth, her fingers slippery, pressing against her, moving in time with the little jerks of Emily’s hips. Emily comes, back arching, and then dropping limply back onto the elevated pillows, her mouth drawing into an easy blatantly sexy smile.
Emma lets out an involuntary chuckle and glances back at the wide-eyed blonde in turquoise scrubs standing in the door.
“Can I help you?”
The blonde drops her clipboard and yelps. Bending down to pick it up she trips over her own feet, ending up face first on the floor.
“Barbie!” someone snaps. “You cleaning the floor with your tongue again?”
Emma shakes her head, glancing back at Emily. “Christ, she’s worse than you.” But Emily was already asleep, a pleased smile still bright on her face.
(She’s the Man)
“I’m bored,” Emma whined, coming up behind Emily and looping her arms around her waist.
“You’re the one that dragged me here. You said you had business.”
Emma pouted. “I did. But I really just wanted to see you in that dress again.”
Emily glanced down at herself. It was the red velvet one that her mother had bought her not too long before she had gone to Genosha. “It’s a classic,” she had said. “That means no one will give a damn if it's the only thing you ever wear.” It didn’t look good with either her shoulder carry or her thigh holster so she saved if for nonviolent occasions. That probably was why it didn’t have a bullet hole or a bloodstain in it.
“I didn’t realize you liked it.”
“You didn’t?” Emma arched an eyebrow, and Emily flushed. So that was the reason she had been pushed up against the wall and molested thoroughly. She was never entirely certain of the reason, or the excuse, as it was probably more accurately described.
Emily was kind of sure she was smiling like an idiot. She could usually tell when it looked like Emma was trying not to laugh. (She only tried not to in public, in private she would mock her incessantly.)
“Oh! Ms. Frost, Ms. Prentiss.”
Emma turned to nod coolly to the hostess of the party, an eager brainless woman who was slightly unnervingly obsessed with her estranged husband. Emily tried to school her expression into something her mother would have approved of.
“I wanted you to meet my daughter, Viola.” The woman made a knowing smile. “She plays soccer.”
The girl was of medium height, round-faced, and entirely ill-at-ease with her excessively foamy dress. Her eyes skittered away from them towards the wall.
Emma’s eyes met Emily’s in a look of suspicion. << Are we supposed to be role models? >>
“So, you play soccer?” Emily attempted.
The girl eyed them suspiciously. “Um. Yes.”
Emily glanced desperately at Emma. Emma shrugged. She had done dressage as her main athletic endeavor in high school.
“It’s not a euphemism,” the girl suddenly interjected. “I really do play soccer. I love soccer. I love it more than anything. The cross-dressing was because I loved soccer, not because of anything else.”
Emma and Emily exchanged another long slow glance and the girl turned red. Her eyes slipped, and Emma started to grin. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” the girl squeaked.
“Really.” Emma, still smiling, turned to Emily. “Well that’s nice isn’t it?” She brushed her thumb lightly down Emily’s jaw. “It’s always lovely to hear about someone willing to do anything for something they adore.”
Emily tried to suppress her amusement at Emma’s tone. “Oh yes. I couldn’t agree more,” she said, tipping her head to the side and looking up into her eyes. And Emma bent in, capturing her lips and letting her tongue slide obviously into Emily’s mouth. Emily pushed up against her, pressing back with her tongue, her fingers digging deeply into the flesh of Emma’s arm. The hot bolt of arousal that split her belly almost made her forget that it was a show. Emma’s fingers brushed against the bare skin of her back, and she couldn’t help lazily biting at Emma’s lower lip.
Emma was suddenly laughing in her head. << She can’t stop looking. Soccer. >> she snorted. Emily glanced over. The girl’s face was bright red, her jaw hanging open.
“Sorry,” Emily said, trying to restrain her grin. “You were telling us about how much you loved cross-dressi- er…” She flushed. “Soccer?”
The girl swallowed hard. “I- uh, I need to go and um… ducks… made of ice, now.”
<< And another beautiful sexual identity crisis has been inspired. >>
<< Emma. >>
Emma grinned at her. “You were the one with the cross-dressing crack.”
“It wasn’t a crack!”
“Mhm.” Emma glanced over her shoulder and her grin broadened. “Oh look, curtains.”
“Emma!”
(Law and Order SVU)
When Emily, stunned and blood-spattered, and a little triumphant, gets back to the precinct, she pauses in the door. Emma’s there, sitting on one of the officers’ desks, legs crossed in a too short skirt, and talking to Munch. She has a very serious expression on as she nods understandingly at inside information about a dangerous mutant conspiracy, but it’s clear she’s trying not to laugh.
She’s cut her hair recently, to her shoulders, and the white scoop-necked top dips low enough to show off the tops of her breasts. The short sleeves flare, making her silhouette soft, almost feminine, even in her laced boots and ingrained dance-academy posture.
She knows when Emily arrives, and she turns, her hair swishing out behind her, smiling. It’s wide and open for an unexpected second before it composes itself into lips-together slyness, complementing her mischievous eyes.
Fin glances up from where he and Morgan were hovered over his radio, and laughs, half at a disgruntled Elliot slouching in behind her. “Hey, look at the hero! Kneecaps to boot!”
But Emily isn’t listening, she’s moving, swinging up onto the desk and threading her fingers through Emma’s hair, cupping her head to pull her close and kiss her. Emma lets her, gives into it like a princess, sucking hot and wet and lushly on Emily’s tongue (and if princesses ever did that they’d get more action than whores). Emily breaks it.
“Hey,” Emma says, low and impossibly sultry, as if they’ve been in bed together all day and night and her voice is sleep and sex rough.
“Hey,” Emily says back, unable to keep the stupid grin off her face. “What are you doing here?”
“Besides getting bloodstains on my outfit?” Emily winces, pulling away to try and see where she’s left spots, but Emma catches the backs of her arms, keeping her from moving away. “I came to see you.”
“Yeah?” and the hopefulness in her tone is heartbreaking. Emma slides a hand into the back pocket of her jeans and squeezes.
“You look good in Kevlar. Why would I want to miss out on that?”
Emily grins, lopsided, her head cocked to the side, and Emma wonders, for a faint moment, if she fell for Emily in Africa, scuffed and muddy and a little broken, but still able to laugh about life, even if it was gone.
“Good,” Emily says, allowing herself to be a little proud, a little happy. “I deserve it. I am a hero after all.”
Emma leans back on her elbows, tipping her head up and giving her a seductive grin. “Then take your reward.”
Emily moves over her quickly, ignoring the catcall, bending down to stroke Emma’s lower lip with her tongue before letting their mouths meet. She tastes drunk on success. Her hand slides up her skirt. Emma can’t help but reach out to her and looses her balance, dropping down onto the desk on her back, Emily on top of her, still kissing her, her hand inappropriately high.
“Oh my god!” JJ’s shrill tones interrupt. “We’re guests here!”
Emily pulls back, flushing. Emma feels a little stunned and vulnerable, like she never is. She gets over it.
“I’m not complaining,” Fin added helpfully, attracting JJ’s attention to him, and the companion beside him.
JJ yelped and lunged towards her teammate. “Stop taking pictures, Derek!”
Morgan flipped his phone shut and skittered back, laughing. “I wasn’t! I was filming!”