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fic: Tribology

Title: Tribology
Author: fengirl88
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing/Characters: Emma Frost, Raven Darkholme
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: none
Wordcount: 1115
Disclaimer: These characters are not mine.
Summary: If there's one thing Raven can't stand, it's living at close quarters with a telepath.
A/N: written as a fill for the "Emma and Raven" square on my xmfc_bingo card. This one is for [personal profile] thimpressionist. Tribology is defined in the Oxford Dictionary as: "The study of friction, wear and lubrication; the science of interacting surfaces in relative motion".

If there's one thing Raven can't stand, it's living at close quarters with a telepath. At least Charles had promised to stay out of her head, a promise he'd mostly kept. But Emma Frost obviously wouldn't think twice about reading your mind if she feels like it, and with much less reason than Charles ever had.

Whatever Emma thinks, she's not going to take Charles's place. Not with Erik, for all his talk of filling a gap in his life; and certainly not with Raven.

“You need to train more,” Emma tells her.

Less than a week after they rescued her from that prison and she's already throwing her weight about. Raven scowls. She doesn't need Emma Frost telling her what to do. She's doing fine just the way she is.

“Charles didn't work with you enough,” Emma says. “Always too busy with the others.”

That's true, though it's none of Emma's damn business.

“It's so easy for a woman to be passed over,” Emma says meditatively. “Men don't think you really count. Even Charles didn't, did he?”

Raven thinks about Erik, who told her she was only using half her strength because she was hiding her true self. He'd been the only one who cared enough to pay attention to her, but now he's disappeared into being Magneto and they don't talk, they don't touch – She cuts off that thought, uncomfortably aware of Emma's presence in her mind.

“But I think you'd like to be noticed,” Emma says. “To be seen for what you are, what you can do.”

It's seductive, and Raven knows she's doing it on purpose, baiting the trap with Raven's own desires. The memory of Erik looking at her and saying Perfection, saying she was like a tiger, kissing her... Damn the woman.

You can't teach me anything,” she says, knowing she sounds like a sulky schoolgirl.

“No?” Emma says, raising an eyebrow. “Of course, if you're too scared to try...”

Raven's not going to let that pass. “Who's scared?”

“Well then,” Emma says, with that bland little smile that makes Raven want to slap her, hard. “Since you insist.”

And that's it; the sound of the trap springing shut with Raven inside it.


Emma puts her through her paces in the lounge. It's stupid and embarrassing but at least the rest of them are out recruiting, so there's no-one to see, or to hear Emma's critical running commentary on shade, texture, tone of voice...

Raven runs the gamut from President Kennedy to the man behind the counter at the local drugstore, Emma herself, Elvis Presley, Colonel Stryker, Eartha Kitt, the Queen, Azazel, Albert Einstein, Mrs Hennessey the librarian, Hedy Lamarr, Ronald Reagan, and finally Tony Curtis doing his Cary Grant impersonation in Some Like It Hot.

“Oh look,” Emma says flatly, “you have a sense of humour.”

Apparently that's something Emma missed out on.

“Now do Charles,” she says.

Raven balks at that, not because she can't do it but because it feels – wrong.

“Do it,” Emma says, her voice hard. “You may have to, sooner or later.”

Raven's almost choking, but she does it. “You're awfully concerned with your looks lately,” she says in Charles's voice, and hates herself for the flicker of interest she sees in Emma's eyes.

“He tried to fence you in,” Emma says. “You're better off without him.”

“I don't need you to tell me that!” Raven snaps, and this time the voice is her own.

Emma lets the silence hang between them, then says coldly “Did I tell you you could stop?”

Raven looks at her with hatred. “No.”

“So,” Emma says, “First lesson. Taking a shape is no use unless you can control it. Which means not letting yourself get distracted.”

The fact that Raven knows she's right only makes it worse.

“Here,” Emma says, picking up a magazine from the glass-topped table. “Try this one.”

It's an ad for holidays in California, a tanned fit young blond man wearing a skimpy pair of bathing-trunks. Raven feels her face heat, but she does as she's told.

“Take them off,” Emma says, gesturing to the trunks.

She's doing it on purpose, trying to throw Raven by embarrassing her. Raven strips off and stares defiantly back at her.

The last thing she expects is for Emma to burst out laughing.

“What?” Raven demands, furious.

“Haven't you ever seen a man naked?” Emma says.

Raven's spent years passing as a nice girl, so no, actually, she hasn't. She's seen sculptures, but she's never been quite sure how that bit of a man is meant to look when it's not covered by a marble figleaf.

Emma is laughing again. Raven wants to strangle her.

“Here, I'll show you,” Emma says, and Raven feels the push inside her head.

Image after image, medical and artistic, improbable and pornographic, limp and erect, varied in length, colour, thickness, hardness... Does anyone find this sort of thing beautiful? They seem grotesque to her, unbelievable. She picks an image almost at random and concentrates on filling out the shape.

“Very nice,” Emma says coolly, inspecting Raven's new appendage. She takes it in her hand and lets it lie in her palm as if she's weighing it.

The sensation is strange enough, but then Emma closes her fingers around it and squeezes, and Raven shouts in surprise. It sounds like a man's shout, though, so score one to Raven. She tries to keep the shape as Emma moves her hand to and fro, but the thing has a mind of its own, filling out and growing under Emma's touch. Raven breathes hard and clenches her fists tight. She feels dizzy, as if all the blood in her body is rushing to that one part that's both her and not her.

“Not bad,” Emma says, giving a twist of her wrist that makes Raven gasp. She slides her hand up and down, and Raven feels that maddening friction at the tip grow slicker, smoother with the wetness Emma's making there.

Raven's thighs are trembling, and she thinks she might faint or explode any minute, she's dying with pleasure, so close, so close now –

“Ah,” Emma says with satisfaction, and takes her hand away.

Raven cries out in protest as her hips jerk forwards, but it's her own voice she hears again; she looks down at the ripple of blue that's sweeping across her body.

“Still think I can't teach you anything?” Emma says. She turns away and walks out of the room, leaving Raven confused and angry and frustrated as hell.

Fuck you, Raven thinks. Fuck you, Emma Frost.

In your dreams, sweetie, Emma's mocking voice says in her head. In your dreams.


This fic isn't a remix of Cesare's excellent Mystique/Angel fic Stretching, but is definitely influenced by it.

Also posted at http://fengirl88.dreamwidth.org/110557.html with comment count unavailable comments.


( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
(Deleted comment)
Mar. 30th, 2013 03:50 pm (UTC)
*beams* thank you very much - I'm glad you liked it! I was slightly surprised to get this plotbunny, but I found it very easy to imagine them being like this.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )


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