The Better One (One Shot: Emma's POV, Scott/Logan slash)
Title: The Better One
Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: Scott/Logan, Emma/Scott
Rating: PG-13/R (Nothing really explicit with this one, brief language, sexual situations)
Word Count: 1797
Summary: Emma ponders the intricacies of Scott and Logan's 'relationship' with one another and rationalizes why she's far better suited for Scott than Jean ever was. This is a one shot story told from Emma's point of view in analyzing what really goes on behind closed doors with Scott and Logan.
He’d say she was the great love of his life, but I’d have to argue that point. Even in all her flawless perfection she was far from being what he needed. She thought she was his world, but she was a fool despite all the praise and worship she received. God, the very thought makes me want to roll my eyes in even thinking it. When it gets down to it well, the truth is she never saw him as he truly was. The sainted Jean Grey could never truly accept Scott for the man he really is. Yes, he might be hard to love, terrible to fall for in so many ways, but with my cold heart I’ve found a warmth for him. He tries too hard, pushes himself to be superior because it’s what he was bred for, but I know the truth. I see the raw, gritty, ball of emotions that he pretends he isn’t. I see beyond the calculating, stoic leader of the X-Men to reveal his true nature. Sure, Jean read his deepest, darkest thoughts as well, but aside from my invasion she chose to ignore them. She lived in denial, but I don’t. I never have. I still don’t. I hold no illusions about Scott’s heart or the fact that I merely can’t have it.
“Then again,” I mouth with an ironic laugh, “in all of her glorified perfection neither could she.”
It’s in that knowledge that I feel empowerment. It’s that simple detail that makes me essentially the better woman. It’s because of that truth that I can stand by his side embracing and accepting him for all that he is because unlike Jean’s sanctimonious, righteous, over the top condescending behavior, I’m willing to take what I can get. I know I can never have all of Scott, but part of him suits me just fine. He’s not perfect, but neither am I. I know he doesn’t love me like I’d often thought he should. He never will, but surprisingly I’m ok with that. I never thought I’d settle into anything halfway, but pushing him to give everything would be abandoning the truth of who Scott Summers really is. To force that kind of commitment from him would essentially destroy him, which would make me no better than Jean.
“Jean,” I laugh again thinking about her need for adoration, her desire to be the center of attention. Little did she know that the boys were merely biding their time, seeking out an excuse to be in one another’s lives long before she was out of it. First it was a rivalry, then it was grief, then bickering, but now they no longer feel the need to hide it. Scott may still try, but he knows that I know. He sees that I’ve seen what’s in his mind. I’ve read his intentions loud and clear and unlike his fear of it with Jean, now he embraces it. He no longer shields that part of himself from his dreams. He readily envelops himself in it and I’m intrigued.
“Logan,” I mouth to myself thinking about the deliciously wicked dream Scott had last night about the both of them together. It started off as them bickering as usual, doing that same song and dance they keep going when everyone else is around, but this time it followed them behind closed doors. It took them to where they go each night after Scott thinks I’m sleeping. They both pretend it’s about practice, about proving themselves to one another and keeping up with their game, but I know better. I’ve always known. Hell, it’s part of what made Summers so damned interesting to begin with. His subconscious is so deliciously tortured, so full of dark, erotic secrets that Jean was too afraid to explore, but not me. I embrace them, welcome them readily as they show my all too vanilla boyfriend has a thirst and a passion for the mighty Wolverine.
It’s poetic really to think about them together, making love, devouring each other as if nothing else mattered, as if they weren’t doing their best to conceal what was happening. Hell, they really thought that they had outsmarted Jean given her prudish nature, but deep down they realize they aren’t that slick about things. I can read them like a book--like a hot and heavy hardcore romance novel and it only serves to heighten the thrill.
Licking my lips I lean back against the pillows knowing that tonight I’m invading their privacy, stepping into their secret little world knowing what I’ll witness, but it excites me. The very thought of Scott and Logan together, immersed in one another is the ultimate fantasy. To see Scott so out of control, so wrapped up in Logan is enough to make me question this overwhelming need to hold back with Scott in questioning it. A great many times I’ve felt the request burning on the tip of my tongue when Scott is near me. Time and time again I have pondered laying it out on the line and suggesting it to Scott about bringing Logan into our bed--to somehow amp up our time together if the mood ever struck for them to share. Hell, I’d be contented to just sit back and watch them immersed in each other, clawing, biting and tearing at one another until finally they both lose themselves to madness--to the aftermath of explosive, rage fueled pleasure beyond their wildest fantasies.
My the things I could do for them, I laugh knowing only too well that channeling into their minds would be well worth the price of invasion. To experience their thoughts, to feel them when they are tearing one another to pieces sexually would be titillating, wild beyond anything imaginable, but for now I simply observe from a distance. I see them begin their dance, moving about as if only anger exists between them. It’s easier for Scott this way I’ve realized as Logan throws him into a wall. Probably due to his upbringing, I’ve deduced after what I’ve seen inside of Scott. It’s hard for him to channel his emotions, to express what he’s feeling, but then again to the best of us it’s the way we’re wired. Vulnerability leads to pain and suffering, suffering leads to misery and the results are brutally upsetting. Tonight, however, he and Logan waste no time getting to tearing one another to pieces. Their dance begins with flailing fists and punches, accompanied by the program they’d put on as a mere alibi to cover their true intentions. My pulse races when Logan takes Scott down, slamming him to the floor, covering his body with animalistic movements. Licking my lips I reach for my drink taking a sip as Logan climbs in over Scott, not censoring himself when he takes a thick chunk of Scott’s hair in his grasp. He wrenches Scott’s head up tasting the fire and madness upon his lips. My drink burns at my lips, sliding down my throat in time with Logan’s tongue, probing Scott’s mouth again and again, silently begging for sweet surrender. Scott puts up a fight, just as I suspect he always does, but it’s minimal. His arms soon surround Logan, attempting to pin him down to the floor in a struggle for dominance. It’s thrilling really watching them tear at one another, ripping at one another’s clothing, unable to take the other fast enough. Tonight they’re frenzied, rushed and eager when their dance escalates to tongues and teeth, biting and scratching, pants and grunts, both struggling to remember what guides them on, to immerse themselves in the truth they’ve been denying for so very long. The passion causes me to flush, leaves me breathless and when it’s over, I condemn myself for not slipping into one of their minds and experiencing it first hand.
“Maybe next time,” I mouth to myself, finishing off my drink and finding my way into bed. I know the ritual that follows, the quiet departures Scott and Logan will make, both pretending as if nothing has changed, as if they hadn’t tasted, touched, consumed one another. Tomorrow they will argue, will pretend to despise one another with Logan’s sarcastic grumbles, followed by Scott’s agitated quips. It’s all a part of the game, a prelude to their nocturnal dance with one another. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten tired of it in pretending for this long. Surely, I would’ve anticipated they’d want more, but for now it appears to be enough.
Settling into the blankets I await Scott’s return knowing he’ll shower before he joins me. He’ll be desperate to try to pull Logan’s scent from his muscled contours, but deep down we’ll both know it‘s useless. Logan‘s embedded in his system, imprinted too deep to ever truly erase. He’s never been good at hiding and unlike Jean, I don’t mind. He’ll tiptoe into bed, slide in beneath the blankets reaching out to hold me. I let him. Sometimes I even find a way to make the most of the situation in allowing him to make love to me. Tonight, however, when he slips into bed, I stay still awaiting his embrace.
“You awake?” he asks when he’s settled in on the pillow beside me. I contemplate my response opting to say nothing when he kisses my bare shoulder, causing another set of sensations to rush through me. His arm slides around my waist, causing me to lean back into him, melting into his touch. A few seconds later I hear him whisper in the back of my ear with exhaustion heavy in his words, “Sweet dreams.”
“You too,” I think to myself knowing that tonight Scott will undoubtedly be lost in thoughts of Logan. He’ll replay their latest encounter, think about the ways that they bring out the beast in one another, wild and inhibited in every way imaginable. His subconscious will be filled with fantasy after fantasy of passion, pleasure and discipline much like every one of their exchanges. Each night his dreams grow more vivid, more consuming, which leads me to realize that perhaps tonight will be the night I insert myself into his dreams and offer up that suggestion after all about bringing Logan into our bed. Just the idea excites me, leaving me motivation to wait for him to fall asleep so that I can immerse myself in notions of the man I love and his dream lover. To some it might be sick and twisted, but for me, it’s one of the perks of being in love with Scott Summers. It’s what sets me apart from his former lovers. It’s what makes me right for him in ways that Jean Grey could never be. It’s why I’m truly the better woman.
The End
Fandom: X-Men
Pairing: Scott/Logan, Emma/Scott
Rating: PG-13/R (Nothing really explicit with this one, brief language, sexual situations)
Word Count: 1797
Summary: Emma ponders the intricacies of Scott and Logan's 'relationship' with one another and rationalizes why she's far better suited for Scott than Jean ever was. This is a one shot story told from Emma's point of view in analyzing what really goes on behind closed doors with Scott and Logan.
He’d say she was the great love of his life, but I’d have to argue that point. Even in all her flawless perfection she was far from being what he needed. She thought she was his world, but she was a fool despite all the praise and worship she received. God, the very thought makes me want to roll my eyes in even thinking it. When it gets down to it well, the truth is she never saw him as he truly was. The sainted Jean Grey could never truly accept Scott for the man he really is. Yes, he might be hard to love, terrible to fall for in so many ways, but with my cold heart I’ve found a warmth for him. He tries too hard, pushes himself to be superior because it’s what he was bred for, but I know the truth. I see the raw, gritty, ball of emotions that he pretends he isn’t. I see beyond the calculating, stoic leader of the X-Men to reveal his true nature. Sure, Jean read his deepest, darkest thoughts as well, but aside from my invasion she chose to ignore them. She lived in denial, but I don’t. I never have. I still don’t. I hold no illusions about Scott’s heart or the fact that I merely can’t have it.
“Then again,” I mouth with an ironic laugh, “in all of her glorified perfection neither could she.”
It’s in that knowledge that I feel empowerment. It’s that simple detail that makes me essentially the better woman. It’s because of that truth that I can stand by his side embracing and accepting him for all that he is because unlike Jean’s sanctimonious, righteous, over the top condescending behavior, I’m willing to take what I can get. I know I can never have all of Scott, but part of him suits me just fine. He’s not perfect, but neither am I. I know he doesn’t love me like I’d often thought he should. He never will, but surprisingly I’m ok with that. I never thought I’d settle into anything halfway, but pushing him to give everything would be abandoning the truth of who Scott Summers really is. To force that kind of commitment from him would essentially destroy him, which would make me no better than Jean.
“Jean,” I laugh again thinking about her need for adoration, her desire to be the center of attention. Little did she know that the boys were merely biding their time, seeking out an excuse to be in one another’s lives long before she was out of it. First it was a rivalry, then it was grief, then bickering, but now they no longer feel the need to hide it. Scott may still try, but he knows that I know. He sees that I’ve seen what’s in his mind. I’ve read his intentions loud and clear and unlike his fear of it with Jean, now he embraces it. He no longer shields that part of himself from his dreams. He readily envelops himself in it and I’m intrigued.
“Logan,” I mouth to myself thinking about the deliciously wicked dream Scott had last night about the both of them together. It started off as them bickering as usual, doing that same song and dance they keep going when everyone else is around, but this time it followed them behind closed doors. It took them to where they go each night after Scott thinks I’m sleeping. They both pretend it’s about practice, about proving themselves to one another and keeping up with their game, but I know better. I’ve always known. Hell, it’s part of what made Summers so damned interesting to begin with. His subconscious is so deliciously tortured, so full of dark, erotic secrets that Jean was too afraid to explore, but not me. I embrace them, welcome them readily as they show my all too vanilla boyfriend has a thirst and a passion for the mighty Wolverine.
It’s poetic really to think about them together, making love, devouring each other as if nothing else mattered, as if they weren’t doing their best to conceal what was happening. Hell, they really thought that they had outsmarted Jean given her prudish nature, but deep down they realize they aren’t that slick about things. I can read them like a book--like a hot and heavy hardcore romance novel and it only serves to heighten the thrill.
Licking my lips I lean back against the pillows knowing that tonight I’m invading their privacy, stepping into their secret little world knowing what I’ll witness, but it excites me. The very thought of Scott and Logan together, immersed in one another is the ultimate fantasy. To see Scott so out of control, so wrapped up in Logan is enough to make me question this overwhelming need to hold back with Scott in questioning it. A great many times I’ve felt the request burning on the tip of my tongue when Scott is near me. Time and time again I have pondered laying it out on the line and suggesting it to Scott about bringing Logan into our bed--to somehow amp up our time together if the mood ever struck for them to share. Hell, I’d be contented to just sit back and watch them immersed in each other, clawing, biting and tearing at one another until finally they both lose themselves to madness--to the aftermath of explosive, rage fueled pleasure beyond their wildest fantasies.
My the things I could do for them, I laugh knowing only too well that channeling into their minds would be well worth the price of invasion. To experience their thoughts, to feel them when they are tearing one another to pieces sexually would be titillating, wild beyond anything imaginable, but for now I simply observe from a distance. I see them begin their dance, moving about as if only anger exists between them. It’s easier for Scott this way I’ve realized as Logan throws him into a wall. Probably due to his upbringing, I’ve deduced after what I’ve seen inside of Scott. It’s hard for him to channel his emotions, to express what he’s feeling, but then again to the best of us it’s the way we’re wired. Vulnerability leads to pain and suffering, suffering leads to misery and the results are brutally upsetting. Tonight, however, he and Logan waste no time getting to tearing one another to pieces. Their dance begins with flailing fists and punches, accompanied by the program they’d put on as a mere alibi to cover their true intentions. My pulse races when Logan takes Scott down, slamming him to the floor, covering his body with animalistic movements. Licking my lips I reach for my drink taking a sip as Logan climbs in over Scott, not censoring himself when he takes a thick chunk of Scott’s hair in his grasp. He wrenches Scott’s head up tasting the fire and madness upon his lips. My drink burns at my lips, sliding down my throat in time with Logan’s tongue, probing Scott’s mouth again and again, silently begging for sweet surrender. Scott puts up a fight, just as I suspect he always does, but it’s minimal. His arms soon surround Logan, attempting to pin him down to the floor in a struggle for dominance. It’s thrilling really watching them tear at one another, ripping at one another’s clothing, unable to take the other fast enough. Tonight they’re frenzied, rushed and eager when their dance escalates to tongues and teeth, biting and scratching, pants and grunts, both struggling to remember what guides them on, to immerse themselves in the truth they’ve been denying for so very long. The passion causes me to flush, leaves me breathless and when it’s over, I condemn myself for not slipping into one of their minds and experiencing it first hand.
“Maybe next time,” I mouth to myself, finishing off my drink and finding my way into bed. I know the ritual that follows, the quiet departures Scott and Logan will make, both pretending as if nothing has changed, as if they hadn’t tasted, touched, consumed one another. Tomorrow they will argue, will pretend to despise one another with Logan’s sarcastic grumbles, followed by Scott’s agitated quips. It’s all a part of the game, a prelude to their nocturnal dance with one another. I’m surprised they haven’t gotten tired of it in pretending for this long. Surely, I would’ve anticipated they’d want more, but for now it appears to be enough.
Settling into the blankets I await Scott’s return knowing he’ll shower before he joins me. He’ll be desperate to try to pull Logan’s scent from his muscled contours, but deep down we’ll both know it‘s useless. Logan‘s embedded in his system, imprinted too deep to ever truly erase. He’s never been good at hiding and unlike Jean, I don’t mind. He’ll tiptoe into bed, slide in beneath the blankets reaching out to hold me. I let him. Sometimes I even find a way to make the most of the situation in allowing him to make love to me. Tonight, however, when he slips into bed, I stay still awaiting his embrace.
“You awake?” he asks when he’s settled in on the pillow beside me. I contemplate my response opting to say nothing when he kisses my bare shoulder, causing another set of sensations to rush through me. His arm slides around my waist, causing me to lean back into him, melting into his touch. A few seconds later I hear him whisper in the back of my ear with exhaustion heavy in his words, “Sweet dreams.”
“You too,” I think to myself knowing that tonight Scott will undoubtedly be lost in thoughts of Logan. He’ll replay their latest encounter, think about the ways that they bring out the beast in one another, wild and inhibited in every way imaginable. His subconscious will be filled with fantasy after fantasy of passion, pleasure and discipline much like every one of their exchanges. Each night his dreams grow more vivid, more consuming, which leads me to realize that perhaps tonight will be the night I insert myself into his dreams and offer up that suggestion after all about bringing Logan into our bed. Just the idea excites me, leaving me motivation to wait for him to fall asleep so that I can immerse myself in notions of the man I love and his dream lover. To some it might be sick and twisted, but for me, it’s one of the perks of being in love with Scott Summers. It’s what sets me apart from his former lovers. It’s what makes me right for him in ways that Jean Grey could never be. It’s why I’m truly the better woman.
The End