Lycanthropy 1
Title: Lycanthropy (Part 1)
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Peter Parker, Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: NC-17, WARNING: contains het, eww.
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 3624
Prompt: 034. Animalistic
Apologies: Yeah, I spent like ten minutes writing about how much this fic irritates me, but LJ lost it, so I will take the hint and stop whining. I do not like it. But as I have not posted anything because i've been fighting it for the past two weeks, i will give in and put it up. It is trashy and mildly vile, and shoots off in too many directions. But whatever. At least this will give me a chance to see if my sticky post sticks.
It was a disease, people said, blowing through towns, bubbling up in the waters, touching you and changing you, inside. No one was quite sure what the carriers could be, ticks, mosquitoes, mouse droppings, animal bites, but some people were affected, and some escaped unharmed.
The statisticians say that around twelve percent of the population has been exposed to the disease, more in urban areas. It’s a time bomb, the doctors say, existing undetected, unsuspected, and then one day the cells are triggered.
It’s a bit like encephalitis, or a head injury, nausea and vomiting, hallucinations, night sweats, paranoia, rage. It’s called Sinclair’s Disease, for the first subject of study. The tabloids call it lycanthropy.
* * *
Even with all of her planning, research and training, Emily had never even imagined that as a guidance counselor she would have to deal with this.
“You were masturbating in class?”
The round-faced freckled boy gave her a half ashamed look. “I’m really sorry, Ms Prentiss.” His face was red and Emily pitied him a little. “I couldn’t help it.”
“You need to be able to control yourself. Everyone gets… aroused, sometimes, but that’s no excuse.”
Jay blinked at her curiously. “You do too?”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“I heard it wasn’t the same for girls.”
Emily supposed she would have to appreciate being called a girl. “It’s… pretty much the same. Just the physical, uh, reactions are a little less obvious.” She really wished she hadn’t said that. Jay was giving her a rather guarded considering look.
He pursed his lips. “I really don’t think it was my fault. It was just after history.”
“Um,” Emily said. “Does history…” she really didn’t want to say the words that had popped into her mind. ‘Excite you’ was somehow the worst. “Affect you?” she tried instead.
“Ms Frost moved me to the front because I was talking. And we were writing essays. And she bent down to check my work, and…” he sighed, and pressed his palm into the crotch of his pants, trying to hold down the reaction.
Well, he was a healthy young heterosexual boy, Emily thought. She hadn’t met Ms Frost yet, although she had made her schedule and sent her a copy of her introductory note. But it was a big school. There were quite a few teachers she hadn’t met yet. Still, she had heard a few comments made about her in the teacher’s lounge, mostly tasteless remarks by some of the older male teachers.
“She was wearing a red bra.”
Emily blinked. OMG.
“I see.”
“It was so hot!” Jay was on a roll now. “I could barely wait until Ms Grey’s class!”
“Wait.” Emily was confused. “You waited until the next class?”
Jay seemed surprised by the question. “Of course, I couldn’t get it up with Ms Frost watching me.”
“Oh,” said Emily, completely bewildered by the idea of a woman who could inspire both arousal and impotence at the same time. “You shouldn’t really do it with anyone watching you. Try to get a bathroom pass next time.”
“Okay,” said Jay, pleased by the response. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Ms Prentiss. Is that all?”
Emily looked at him. What had she just said? “Yeah,” she covered. “Go back to class.”
Jay left and Emily cringed. Had she actually told him to go jack off in the bathroom? Christ, she really did suck at this job.
* * *
Fucking kids. Emma wrung her hand and then squeezed pensively at the bite. She had chosen middle school so the brats wouldn’t be as likely to savage her with their teeth. She’d have to disinfect it soon. Bites always got infected.
Oh well, at least she could tell Peter about it. He’d be entertained.
* * *
Emily peeked her head out of her office and caught the attention of the administration secretary. “Hey,” she said. Miss Hartley eyed her stiffly over the rims of her glasses.
“Ms Prentiss.”
Secretaries always made her nervous. Emily swallowed. “Um, you’ve met Ms Frost, right? The history teacher?”
“Yes, Ms Prentiss.” She managed to not make it sound very insulting.
“Would you say…” Emily cringed. “Would you say she dresses appropriately for the classroom?”
Miss Hartley arched an eyebrow. “Do you believe I would say otherwise?”
“Um.” Emily considered this response. “Probably not. Have there ever been comments to… that effect, though?”
The secretary gave her a long disapproving look. “Never by any of the fathers.”
Oh. She had turned back to her computer, and it was clear that the interview was over. Emily slipped back into her office. She was probably going to have to make an effort to meet this Ms Frost. She wasn’t at all sure whether that was a good idea.
Basically, the data wasn’t good. Ms Frost’s file was stuffed full of all sorts of contradictory reports, some official complaints about her outfits or using her sexuality to get her way, but the authors all sounded a bit shrill and overwrought. Others were letters surprisingly rich with praise, parents and students thanking her for her work that led to educational success, or, just survival through difficult periods. Emily found her eyes wet after a particularly heartfelt one that described how Ms Frost had helped a boy after the death of his father when he was about to fail her class. She had come to his house, it seemed, talked him through his homework, and got him back on track, emotionally as well as academically. Emily felt a little threatened by this. It was good that she was so helpful, but she was a history teacher. The counseling was supposed to be Emily’s job.
Emily decided to wander into the teacher’s lounge during the first lunch and make her inquiries in person. She also needed more coffee for her meds. Kitty, one of the teacher’s assistants, still completing her degree, gave her a tense unhappy look on hearing her question. “Ms Frost, she’s… You know I was assigned to her first, right? She’s an excellent teacher, just, we don’t really see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
That was unhelpfully noncommittal. “Thanks,” Emily said anyways.
“You want to know about Emma?” Mr. Shaw, the economics teacher, sidled up to her and smiled in a discomfiting manner. Her skin bristled as he came near, and she had to breathe deeply to calm herself down.
“Emma?” Emily blinked, and then recalled the first name included in the files. “You mean Ms Frost?”
Mr. Shaw gave her a repulsively appraising look from her shoes to her neck, pausing on her breasts for a few moments too long. She didn’t snarl at him, though it was a close one. “You really should… make her acquaintance.” He flashed a toothy insincere smile. “You’d appreciate her.”
Emily frowned.
Mr. Summers, the shop teacher, turned towards them scowling. “She’s a slut,” he snapped. “I’d stay away from her if I were you,” he told Emily, and narrowed his eyes in Mr. Shaw’s direction. “Not that he’s any better.” He frowned then and looked at Emily with a little more intensity than she was comfortable with. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to show just how the way he smelled revolted her. “Have there been complaints? Are you trying to get her fired?” He actually smiled at that. Emily nearly gaped. That hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I wouldn’t trust her with students. I could tell you things…” He shook his head, and slipped away, leaving Emily unnerved and puzzled. She wasn’t about to assume that Ms Frost would even consider crossing a line with a student, not based on rumor and dislike, although after the incident with Jay, Emily doubted that anyone would turn her down if asked.
She went for the coffee machine, intending on bringing her mug back to her office. Not being a teacher, she found being in the teacher’s lounge slightly awkward, and being around so many people in rooms that smelled strongly of them made her tense. The pot was empty and she put on a new one, leaning impatiently against the counter, waiting for it to start to drip. The bell rang and the lunching teachers filed out, grumbling. Eventually the pot was nearly full and Emily poured out quickly, only missing the last few drops.
“So you’re the one who’s been asking nosy questions about me.”
Emily turned too quickly, in surprise, and saw the woman standing behind her. Well, she saw her breasts as they were nearly at eyelevel for her, and visible, since the crisp white shirt the woman was wearing only started to button below her rather impressive cleavage, and she couldn’t look away. She took in the four-inch heels, the perfectly modeled French twist, that one escaped strand of hair falling over her face. It was so utterly wrong, that hair, and Emily knew this, and panicked. There was an ugly twist of pain through her limbs, hot needles jabbing into her palms and through the marrow of her bones.
And that was when her coffee sloshed in a predestined arc out of the pot towards the white shirt. Ms Frost leapt back, but too late. The dark liquid soaked into the crisp linen, spattered over her chest and burnt the skin underneath. She cursed loudly, snatching up a napkin and pulling out her shirt to get at the coffee. “Fuck! You! You stupid klutz!”
There was something uncomfortably high about her tone and she kept glancing from her shirt to Emily’s horrified and mortified expression and back, eyes wide and panicked. She was bristling like a cat that had just had a bucket of water dumped over it. Emily desperately tried to think of something to help, and to tear her eyes away from where the coffee was making her shirt cling to her breasts and stomach.
The pot hit the carpet with a thump, and Emily lurched forward attempting to add another napkin. Emma jerked back, scowling. “Don’t come near me!”
“What? I’m sorry! I didn’t-“
“Sorry for assaulting me with coffee or for trying to destroy my reputation?”
An unexpected flame of anger rose through Emily, making her face hot and her nails cut into her palms. “What is your problem?” She hissed. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Your job is to elicit slander and gossip from my enemies, and tell me I’m inappropriate? Fuck you.”
“You think pushing your breasts in my face and flouncing around in those fuck-me heels are going to make me think the rumors are lies?”
Ms Frost slapped her, a harsh crack across the face, and Emily was stunned into stillness. Emma spun and strode out of the room, and Emily had one momentary impression of how confidently she moved in those impossible heels and the way the pencil skirt hugged the curves of her ass before she came back to herself and drooped, still stunned. She leaned weakly against the counter and stared down at her bloody palms.
“What was that?”
* * *
This was bad; this was very bad indeed. Emma hurriedly stripped out of her ruined shirt and pressed the dry bits against the stinging red burns. What was that? How could she have been so angry, so out of control? It was clear that the woman was some sort of vigilante, and prudish besides, trying to criticize her clothes, accusing her of coming onto her.
Scott had done the same thing, made assumptions, thought far too highly of himself, and when she finally made it clear to him that no, she wasn’t interested at all, he had attempted to wreck her reputation entirely. The counselor then hadn’t been an idiot who agreed with everything Scott said, and she had survived it, though Scott still grumbled. He was mainly jealous of Seb, she thought. Emma had slept with him once during her first year, before she had met Peter, and although it had probably been a mistake at least he never actively tried to use it against her.
She pulled her spare shirt over her head and glanced at herself in the small mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t coffee-colored at least, and Peter was forgiving. All she had to do was survive three more classes and running a Model UN session, and then she could have her Friday night off, and have sex.
She really, really wanted to have sex right now. Arguing often made her hot, but she was particularly turned on after that. She had wanted to hurt that woman, more than just slapping her, throw her against the wall, dig her fingers into her arms until she cringed in panicked submission. But then the nosy counselor would have a good argument for firing her, and Emma was not willing to give her the upper hand. She called Emma a whore and Emma slapped her and walked away, like a sane person. One point to her. The woman had looked though, and riding down on her face would have been more than a moral victory. Emma frowned, reapplying her lipgloss. She really needed this day to be over soon. Really.
* * *
Emily shook the Epipen. Fuck. She never used them and the one day she needed to she was out of meds. She leaned her head on her desk, gripping the surface with her nails, and wishing the horrible sick feeling in her stomach would go away. When she looked up there were four tiny splintered grooves in the desk.
Shit.
She threw her shoes off and dug her running shoes out of the bottom drawer of the desk. Maybe it was skipping out of work early, but it was better than the alternative. She laced up and stripped off her jacket. She needed to get out of here.
She tore through the halls and hit the sidewalk in seconds, and then she just ran. She ran until her heart rate was only pounding from the exertion, until the sweat was from the heat, and the nausea was entirely dehydration.
She didn’t notice the blonde teacher glancing towards the window and stopping in mid-sentence at the sight of her fleeing like the hounds of hell were chasing after.
When Emily could touch herself with her fingernails and not have blood well up instantly she stopped and asked where she was at the nearest gas station. Then she asked for the nearest bus stop since she had ended up ten miles away from the school.
* * *
Peter smiled at her as they reached her door. The band of metal was hot and present on her finger, and Emma was still riding the effects of her earlier confrontation. She caught Peter’s tie and tugged him forward by it. “You’re coming inside tonight. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“You really think I’d say no?”
Emma grinned and kissed him, enjoying the hard press of his mouth. He didn’t believe in tongue on the sidewalk. It was… refreshing. It didn’t stop her from groping him through his pants. He protested and she laughed, unlocking the door.
“You want a drink?”
“Coffee?” Emma cringed; the splash was a little too recent. “Okay, rum and hot orange juice?” Peter tried again.
“I can do that. Now go get naked and lie on the bed. I’m not in the mood to wait around.” She gave him a grin with a bit more tooth in it than usual, and Peter blinked.
“You are in a mood.” He disappeared down the hall.
Emma made his drink and a shot of vodka for herself, hoping that she could relax a little, and not scare him with how much she wanted this. Still, he’d assume it was the engagement, and it was, mostly, that and the moonlight shining through the windows, and the fact that her underwear had been soaked since lunchtime. She stripped down, pulling a chemise over her head, and taking some of the pins out of her hair. She brought his drink into the bedroom.
Peter was naked, lounging on the mass of pillows, hands behind his head. He took the drink and took a sip, making a pleased sound. “Mmm, better than coffee.”
“I couldn’t make it,” Emma explained. “After being drenched in it today, sacrificing to the gods of the bean was a bit much.”
“Drenched in it?” Peter laughed. “You didn’t tell me about this.”
She hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to for some reason. “I startled the new counselor and she spilt hers all over my clean shirt. It was most unpleasant.”
She smiled though, moving onto the bed, kneeling over him, and bending down to pass her tongue over his nipple. He shivered a little and set his drink down. She nipped at his jawline and he moved his hands, soft pale scientist hands, over her back and around the curve of her ass. His interest was making itself visible. He stroked his fingers between her legs and made a little noise of surprise at how wet she was, and then picked up the condom from the side table, unwrapped it, and passed it to her. She licked a long stroke across her palm and touched herself with it. She gave him a few strokes with her wetness before rolling on the condom.
This wasn’t really what she wanted tonight. She felt too tense and riled up for an easy fuck with her on top. But Peter wasn’t the sort to take control, and if she started a fight he’d apologize, not fuck her against the wall. She moved over him, teasing, but not letting him touch her.
“Hey!” he complained easily.
“Shush!” She raked her fingernails over his chest. “You’re mine now, so you do what I say. Fingers.”
Obediently he slid two fingers inside her and started fucking her with them. She purred a little and nuzzled his neck. For a moment she imagined them thinner, with nails, and the body under her shaking, smooth and pale, the new counselor truly submitting to her, against her will, biting down on her lower lip to not cry out, squinching her eyes shut, and soaking from the shame. That thought turned her on, and she clasped the base of Peter’s cock, letting him slip out and catch her hip with wet fingers, and then she lowered herself onto it, settling onto her hands and knees and pinning his arms down. Her hair was loose and falling over her face and she swallowed, a little artfully, enjoying how he whimpered at it.
“Emma,” he said, his voice soft. He tried to move his arms, take hold of her, but she pinned him more tightly. He wriggled his hips pathetically.
“No.” She leaned down and licked up his face. “I want you to beg.”
“Pweeese.” She traced a fingernail down his throat and circled it on his chest. Then she flicked his nipples. He gasped a little. “Please?” he finally tried, more seriously, and Emma deigned to start fucking him.
It wasn’t enough. When he noticed she hadn’t come even after riding him until he was limp, he buried his face in her pussy. Eventually, she faked it. She didn’t usually have this problem. If anything she was easy. But there was something different about tonight, maybe the moonlight shining on the bed while Peter snored next to her, something that made her itch and open, want to spread her knees and push her hips up, letting in whoever came for her, want to hurt, hurt her lover and be hurt herself.
Peter couldn’t do that, and she didn’t want to make him, so she spread her legs and traced her fingers along her inner thigh, and as she touched herself, she dug deep scratches into her shoulder and neck with her fingernails. Finally she came, and finally she could sleep.
* * *
Emily woke up, sweaty and aching, and looked at her palms. She had made such tight fists in the dream that she had dug bloody half moons into her hands with her nails. They hurt. It had been an awful dream though, a woman, her woman, as she had somehow known in the dream, sliding down some man’s body, biting at his neck and collarbone, making little sounds as she thrust herself onto his stiff prick, moaning and grinding into him as if she got points for showmanship, and Emily had wanted to tear his throat out.
She felt disgusting, stinking of sweat, her thighs sticky. She thought she had even drooled or something and that was why her face felt sore when she tried to move it from the pillow. She dragged herself out of bed, unable to sleep in the sweaty sheets, and into the shower. Her fingers strayed between her legs, mainly for cleaning purposes, and then stayed, as she leaned back against the shower wall. If that woman had been riding her… her hair mussed and falling in her face, the swell of her breasts half popping out of that scrap of cloth she was wearing, holding Emily down, leaving bite marks as she moved up her body. Emily pushed her fingers harder into herself, nearing the edge. The woman would leave a last bite on her throat, and look up at her… with Ms Frost’s cool challenging glare.
Emily instantly spun the shower to ice cold and nearly leapt out when it started freezing. She forced herself to stay in for a few moments, trying to wash the uncomfortable fantasy off her skin, and then retreated quietly to the living room where she spent a sleepless night on the couch with a book instead.
Part 2
* * *
Author: Alsike
Fandom: X-Men/Criminal Minds x-over
Pairing: Emma Frost/Peter Parker, Emma Frost/Emily Prentiss
Rating: NC-17, WARNING: contains het, eww.
AN/Disclaimer: Not my girls.
Word Count: 3624
Prompt: 034. Animalistic
Apologies: Yeah, I spent like ten minutes writing about how much this fic irritates me, but LJ lost it, so I will take the hint and stop whining. I do not like it. But as I have not posted anything because i've been fighting it for the past two weeks, i will give in and put it up. It is trashy and mildly vile, and shoots off in too many directions. But whatever. At least this will give me a chance to see if my sticky post sticks.
It was a disease, people said, blowing through towns, bubbling up in the waters, touching you and changing you, inside. No one was quite sure what the carriers could be, ticks, mosquitoes, mouse droppings, animal bites, but some people were affected, and some escaped unharmed.
The statisticians say that around twelve percent of the population has been exposed to the disease, more in urban areas. It’s a time bomb, the doctors say, existing undetected, unsuspected, and then one day the cells are triggered.
It’s a bit like encephalitis, or a head injury, nausea and vomiting, hallucinations, night sweats, paranoia, rage. It’s called Sinclair’s Disease, for the first subject of study. The tabloids call it lycanthropy.
* * *
Even with all of her planning, research and training, Emily had never even imagined that as a guidance counselor she would have to deal with this.
“You were masturbating in class?”
The round-faced freckled boy gave her a half ashamed look. “I’m really sorry, Ms Prentiss.” His face was red and Emily pitied him a little. “I couldn’t help it.”
“You need to be able to control yourself. Everyone gets… aroused, sometimes, but that’s no excuse.”
Jay blinked at her curiously. “You do too?”
Emily blinked. “What?”
“I heard it wasn’t the same for girls.”
Emily supposed she would have to appreciate being called a girl. “It’s… pretty much the same. Just the physical, uh, reactions are a little less obvious.” She really wished she hadn’t said that. Jay was giving her a rather guarded considering look.
He pursed his lips. “I really don’t think it was my fault. It was just after history.”
“Um,” Emily said. “Does history…” she really didn’t want to say the words that had popped into her mind. ‘Excite you’ was somehow the worst. “Affect you?” she tried instead.
“Ms Frost moved me to the front because I was talking. And we were writing essays. And she bent down to check my work, and…” he sighed, and pressed his palm into the crotch of his pants, trying to hold down the reaction.
Well, he was a healthy young heterosexual boy, Emily thought. She hadn’t met Ms Frost yet, although she had made her schedule and sent her a copy of her introductory note. But it was a big school. There were quite a few teachers she hadn’t met yet. Still, she had heard a few comments made about her in the teacher’s lounge, mostly tasteless remarks by some of the older male teachers.
“She was wearing a red bra.”
Emily blinked. OMG.
“I see.”
“It was so hot!” Jay was on a roll now. “I could barely wait until Ms Grey’s class!”
“Wait.” Emily was confused. “You waited until the next class?”
Jay seemed surprised by the question. “Of course, I couldn’t get it up with Ms Frost watching me.”
“Oh,” said Emily, completely bewildered by the idea of a woman who could inspire both arousal and impotence at the same time. “You shouldn’t really do it with anyone watching you. Try to get a bathroom pass next time.”
“Okay,” said Jay, pleased by the response. “I’ll do that. Thanks, Ms Prentiss. Is that all?”
Emily looked at him. What had she just said? “Yeah,” she covered. “Go back to class.”
Jay left and Emily cringed. Had she actually told him to go jack off in the bathroom? Christ, she really did suck at this job.
* * *
Fucking kids. Emma wrung her hand and then squeezed pensively at the bite. She had chosen middle school so the brats wouldn’t be as likely to savage her with their teeth. She’d have to disinfect it soon. Bites always got infected.
Oh well, at least she could tell Peter about it. He’d be entertained.
* * *
Emily peeked her head out of her office and caught the attention of the administration secretary. “Hey,” she said. Miss Hartley eyed her stiffly over the rims of her glasses.
“Ms Prentiss.”
Secretaries always made her nervous. Emily swallowed. “Um, you’ve met Ms Frost, right? The history teacher?”
“Yes, Ms Prentiss.” She managed to not make it sound very insulting.
“Would you say…” Emily cringed. “Would you say she dresses appropriately for the classroom?”
Miss Hartley arched an eyebrow. “Do you believe I would say otherwise?”
“Um.” Emily considered this response. “Probably not. Have there ever been comments to… that effect, though?”
The secretary gave her a long disapproving look. “Never by any of the fathers.”
Oh. She had turned back to her computer, and it was clear that the interview was over. Emily slipped back into her office. She was probably going to have to make an effort to meet this Ms Frost. She wasn’t at all sure whether that was a good idea.
Basically, the data wasn’t good. Ms Frost’s file was stuffed full of all sorts of contradictory reports, some official complaints about her outfits or using her sexuality to get her way, but the authors all sounded a bit shrill and overwrought. Others were letters surprisingly rich with praise, parents and students thanking her for her work that led to educational success, or, just survival through difficult periods. Emily found her eyes wet after a particularly heartfelt one that described how Ms Frost had helped a boy after the death of his father when he was about to fail her class. She had come to his house, it seemed, talked him through his homework, and got him back on track, emotionally as well as academically. Emily felt a little threatened by this. It was good that she was so helpful, but she was a history teacher. The counseling was supposed to be Emily’s job.
Emily decided to wander into the teacher’s lounge during the first lunch and make her inquiries in person. She also needed more coffee for her meds. Kitty, one of the teacher’s assistants, still completing her degree, gave her a tense unhappy look on hearing her question. “Ms Frost, she’s… You know I was assigned to her first, right? She’s an excellent teacher, just, we don’t really see eye to eye on a lot of things.”
That was unhelpfully noncommittal. “Thanks,” Emily said anyways.
“You want to know about Emma?” Mr. Shaw, the economics teacher, sidled up to her and smiled in a discomfiting manner. Her skin bristled as he came near, and she had to breathe deeply to calm herself down.
“Emma?” Emily blinked, and then recalled the first name included in the files. “You mean Ms Frost?”
Mr. Shaw gave her a repulsively appraising look from her shoes to her neck, pausing on her breasts for a few moments too long. She didn’t snarl at him, though it was a close one. “You really should… make her acquaintance.” He flashed a toothy insincere smile. “You’d appreciate her.”
Emily frowned.
Mr. Summers, the shop teacher, turned towards them scowling. “She’s a slut,” he snapped. “I’d stay away from her if I were you,” he told Emily, and narrowed his eyes in Mr. Shaw’s direction. “Not that he’s any better.” He frowned then and looked at Emily with a little more intensity than she was comfortable with. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to show just how the way he smelled revolted her. “Have there been complaints? Are you trying to get her fired?” He actually smiled at that. Emily nearly gaped. That hadn’t even crossed her mind. “I wouldn’t trust her with students. I could tell you things…” He shook his head, and slipped away, leaving Emily unnerved and puzzled. She wasn’t about to assume that Ms Frost would even consider crossing a line with a student, not based on rumor and dislike, although after the incident with Jay, Emily doubted that anyone would turn her down if asked.
She went for the coffee machine, intending on bringing her mug back to her office. Not being a teacher, she found being in the teacher’s lounge slightly awkward, and being around so many people in rooms that smelled strongly of them made her tense. The pot was empty and she put on a new one, leaning impatiently against the counter, waiting for it to start to drip. The bell rang and the lunching teachers filed out, grumbling. Eventually the pot was nearly full and Emily poured out quickly, only missing the last few drops.
“So you’re the one who’s been asking nosy questions about me.”
Emily turned too quickly, in surprise, and saw the woman standing behind her. Well, she saw her breasts as they were nearly at eyelevel for her, and visible, since the crisp white shirt the woman was wearing only started to button below her rather impressive cleavage, and she couldn’t look away. She took in the four-inch heels, the perfectly modeled French twist, that one escaped strand of hair falling over her face. It was so utterly wrong, that hair, and Emily knew this, and panicked. There was an ugly twist of pain through her limbs, hot needles jabbing into her palms and through the marrow of her bones.
And that was when her coffee sloshed in a predestined arc out of the pot towards the white shirt. Ms Frost leapt back, but too late. The dark liquid soaked into the crisp linen, spattered over her chest and burnt the skin underneath. She cursed loudly, snatching up a napkin and pulling out her shirt to get at the coffee. “Fuck! You! You stupid klutz!”
There was something uncomfortably high about her tone and she kept glancing from her shirt to Emily’s horrified and mortified expression and back, eyes wide and panicked. She was bristling like a cat that had just had a bucket of water dumped over it. Emily desperately tried to think of something to help, and to tear her eyes away from where the coffee was making her shirt cling to her breasts and stomach.
The pot hit the carpet with a thump, and Emily lurched forward attempting to add another napkin. Emma jerked back, scowling. “Don’t come near me!”
“What? I’m sorry! I didn’t-“
“Sorry for assaulting me with coffee or for trying to destroy my reputation?”
An unexpected flame of anger rose through Emily, making her face hot and her nails cut into her palms. “What is your problem?” She hissed. “I’m just doing my job.”
“Your job is to elicit slander and gossip from my enemies, and tell me I’m inappropriate? Fuck you.”
“You think pushing your breasts in my face and flouncing around in those fuck-me heels are going to make me think the rumors are lies?”
Ms Frost slapped her, a harsh crack across the face, and Emily was stunned into stillness. Emma spun and strode out of the room, and Emily had one momentary impression of how confidently she moved in those impossible heels and the way the pencil skirt hugged the curves of her ass before she came back to herself and drooped, still stunned. She leaned weakly against the counter and stared down at her bloody palms.
“What was that?”
* * *
This was bad; this was very bad indeed. Emma hurriedly stripped out of her ruined shirt and pressed the dry bits against the stinging red burns. What was that? How could she have been so angry, so out of control? It was clear that the woman was some sort of vigilante, and prudish besides, trying to criticize her clothes, accusing her of coming onto her.
Scott had done the same thing, made assumptions, thought far too highly of himself, and when she finally made it clear to him that no, she wasn’t interested at all, he had attempted to wreck her reputation entirely. The counselor then hadn’t been an idiot who agreed with everything Scott said, and she had survived it, though Scott still grumbled. He was mainly jealous of Seb, she thought. Emma had slept with him once during her first year, before she had met Peter, and although it had probably been a mistake at least he never actively tried to use it against her.
She pulled her spare shirt over her head and glanced at herself in the small mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t coffee-colored at least, and Peter was forgiving. All she had to do was survive three more classes and running a Model UN session, and then she could have her Friday night off, and have sex.
She really, really wanted to have sex right now. Arguing often made her hot, but she was particularly turned on after that. She had wanted to hurt that woman, more than just slapping her, throw her against the wall, dig her fingers into her arms until she cringed in panicked submission. But then the nosy counselor would have a good argument for firing her, and Emma was not willing to give her the upper hand. She called Emma a whore and Emma slapped her and walked away, like a sane person. One point to her. The woman had looked though, and riding down on her face would have been more than a moral victory. Emma frowned, reapplying her lipgloss. She really needed this day to be over soon. Really.
* * *
Emily shook the Epipen. Fuck. She never used them and the one day she needed to she was out of meds. She leaned her head on her desk, gripping the surface with her nails, and wishing the horrible sick feeling in her stomach would go away. When she looked up there were four tiny splintered grooves in the desk.
Shit.
She threw her shoes off and dug her running shoes out of the bottom drawer of the desk. Maybe it was skipping out of work early, but it was better than the alternative. She laced up and stripped off her jacket. She needed to get out of here.
She tore through the halls and hit the sidewalk in seconds, and then she just ran. She ran until her heart rate was only pounding from the exertion, until the sweat was from the heat, and the nausea was entirely dehydration.
She didn’t notice the blonde teacher glancing towards the window and stopping in mid-sentence at the sight of her fleeing like the hounds of hell were chasing after.
When Emily could touch herself with her fingernails and not have blood well up instantly she stopped and asked where she was at the nearest gas station. Then she asked for the nearest bus stop since she had ended up ten miles away from the school.
* * *
Peter smiled at her as they reached her door. The band of metal was hot and present on her finger, and Emma was still riding the effects of her earlier confrontation. She caught Peter’s tie and tugged him forward by it. “You’re coming inside tonight. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
“You really think I’d say no?”
Emma grinned and kissed him, enjoying the hard press of his mouth. He didn’t believe in tongue on the sidewalk. It was… refreshing. It didn’t stop her from groping him through his pants. He protested and she laughed, unlocking the door.
“You want a drink?”
“Coffee?” Emma cringed; the splash was a little too recent. “Okay, rum and hot orange juice?” Peter tried again.
“I can do that. Now go get naked and lie on the bed. I’m not in the mood to wait around.” She gave him a grin with a bit more tooth in it than usual, and Peter blinked.
“You are in a mood.” He disappeared down the hall.
Emma made his drink and a shot of vodka for herself, hoping that she could relax a little, and not scare him with how much she wanted this. Still, he’d assume it was the engagement, and it was, mostly, that and the moonlight shining through the windows, and the fact that her underwear had been soaked since lunchtime. She stripped down, pulling a chemise over her head, and taking some of the pins out of her hair. She brought his drink into the bedroom.
Peter was naked, lounging on the mass of pillows, hands behind his head. He took the drink and took a sip, making a pleased sound. “Mmm, better than coffee.”
“I couldn’t make it,” Emma explained. “After being drenched in it today, sacrificing to the gods of the bean was a bit much.”
“Drenched in it?” Peter laughed. “You didn’t tell me about this.”
She hadn’t. She hadn’t wanted to for some reason. “I startled the new counselor and she spilt hers all over my clean shirt. It was most unpleasant.”
She smiled though, moving onto the bed, kneeling over him, and bending down to pass her tongue over his nipple. He shivered a little and set his drink down. She nipped at his jawline and he moved his hands, soft pale scientist hands, over her back and around the curve of her ass. His interest was making itself visible. He stroked his fingers between her legs and made a little noise of surprise at how wet she was, and then picked up the condom from the side table, unwrapped it, and passed it to her. She licked a long stroke across her palm and touched herself with it. She gave him a few strokes with her wetness before rolling on the condom.
This wasn’t really what she wanted tonight. She felt too tense and riled up for an easy fuck with her on top. But Peter wasn’t the sort to take control, and if she started a fight he’d apologize, not fuck her against the wall. She moved over him, teasing, but not letting him touch her.
“Hey!” he complained easily.
“Shush!” She raked her fingernails over his chest. “You’re mine now, so you do what I say. Fingers.”
Obediently he slid two fingers inside her and started fucking her with them. She purred a little and nuzzled his neck. For a moment she imagined them thinner, with nails, and the body under her shaking, smooth and pale, the new counselor truly submitting to her, against her will, biting down on her lower lip to not cry out, squinching her eyes shut, and soaking from the shame. That thought turned her on, and she clasped the base of Peter’s cock, letting him slip out and catch her hip with wet fingers, and then she lowered herself onto it, settling onto her hands and knees and pinning his arms down. Her hair was loose and falling over her face and she swallowed, a little artfully, enjoying how he whimpered at it.
“Emma,” he said, his voice soft. He tried to move his arms, take hold of her, but she pinned him more tightly. He wriggled his hips pathetically.
“No.” She leaned down and licked up his face. “I want you to beg.”
“Pweeese.” She traced a fingernail down his throat and circled it on his chest. Then she flicked his nipples. He gasped a little. “Please?” he finally tried, more seriously, and Emma deigned to start fucking him.
It wasn’t enough. When he noticed she hadn’t come even after riding him until he was limp, he buried his face in her pussy. Eventually, she faked it. She didn’t usually have this problem. If anything she was easy. But there was something different about tonight, maybe the moonlight shining on the bed while Peter snored next to her, something that made her itch and open, want to spread her knees and push her hips up, letting in whoever came for her, want to hurt, hurt her lover and be hurt herself.
Peter couldn’t do that, and she didn’t want to make him, so she spread her legs and traced her fingers along her inner thigh, and as she touched herself, she dug deep scratches into her shoulder and neck with her fingernails. Finally she came, and finally she could sleep.
* * *
Emily woke up, sweaty and aching, and looked at her palms. She had made such tight fists in the dream that she had dug bloody half moons into her hands with her nails. They hurt. It had been an awful dream though, a woman, her woman, as she had somehow known in the dream, sliding down some man’s body, biting at his neck and collarbone, making little sounds as she thrust herself onto his stiff prick, moaning and grinding into him as if she got points for showmanship, and Emily had wanted to tear his throat out.
She felt disgusting, stinking of sweat, her thighs sticky. She thought she had even drooled or something and that was why her face felt sore when she tried to move it from the pillow. She dragged herself out of bed, unable to sleep in the sweaty sheets, and into the shower. Her fingers strayed between her legs, mainly for cleaning purposes, and then stayed, as she leaned back against the shower wall. If that woman had been riding her… her hair mussed and falling in her face, the swell of her breasts half popping out of that scrap of cloth she was wearing, holding Emily down, leaving bite marks as she moved up her body. Emily pushed her fingers harder into herself, nearing the edge. The woman would leave a last bite on her throat, and look up at her… with Ms Frost’s cool challenging glare.
Emily instantly spun the shower to ice cold and nearly leapt out when it started freezing. She forced herself to stay in for a few moments, trying to wash the uncomfortable fantasy off her skin, and then retreated quietly to the living room where she spent a sleepless night on the couch with a book instead.
Part 2
* * *