X-Men: Sluts of the Savage Lands (Patreon)

Emma Frost sat in an inflatable Zodiac boat, propelled by an inconsequential outboard motor. Her long blonde hair was straight and stringy, beginning to be more sweaty than it was clean. Her skin was beginning to show what would become a coffee tan. She wore boots, breeches, and the kind of utility belt Scott would insist on her carrying. Her blouse was of heavy khaki—the short sleeves were raggedly torn to the nub.

She sat in the middle of the boat, eyes glazing over as she went over some maps. To her they were infuriatingly imprecise, practically drawn in crayon, but Ororo acted as if they were their only chance at surviving more than a day. The weather witch was at the back of the boat, manning the small motor. Another boat, this one pulled along by a rope tied to theirs, held all the supplies it could fit without sinking.

Emma set down the maps and held her face up to the sun for a moment. She squinted at the blazing sun, then lifted her voice to overcome the whirr of the outboard.

“Do you think they miss us back at the mansion?”

“I would expect our absence has been noted,” Ororo said noncommittally.

Emma grinned to herself. It didn’t take a mind-reader to know Ororo was trying not to say that she doubted Emma was missed as much as herself—which was good, because ever since they’d crashed, neither of them had been able to so much as turn a pinky crystalline or make a cloudburst.

“And I should think the place is in utter disarray without me,” Emma said wryly. “No. Don’t tell me not to blame myself. I don’t. I work myself to the bone for the X-Men. But, since we have crash-landed, I must admit this is the closest thing I’ve had to a vacation in years.”

Ororo glanced at Emma’s beaming face and did what was as close to a grunt as a woman like her could emit. “The Savage Land is no place for a vacation—particularly without our powers.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt that’s some nefarious scheme afoot and we’ll most likely need to foil it. But otherwise, this is most relaxing. When was the last time you savored a gentle boat ride?”

Ororo lifted her eyes to look ahead. “The rivers can be murderous. I only agreed to use the rafts because I’m gambling that whatever brought us down sent a search party after us; chances are they would go overland rather than on the rivers. You might as well steel yourself for the journey ahead. In a few days, you’ll wonder how you could ever see this place as a paradise.”

“Ororo, is that hint of disdain I’m picking up?” Emma smirked, raking fingers through her long, golden hair. “I thought your Savage Land expeditions were always an excuse to dress up in not much clothing and hook up with nubile natives. Yet you imply they were so traumatizing. You can’t be that much of a prude; Jean’s recollections of your naked gardening still loom large in her memories. I think she and Scott would’ve asked you to play around with them if she hadn’t—”

“Died? Thanks to you?”

“Storm, darling, if there’s anything that shouldn’t be held against someone, it’s killing Jean Grey. You might as well flagellate me for stealing Xavier’s comb or letting Jubilee eat junk food.”

“No need to flagellate you,” Ororo said with a harsh laugh. “Braving this jungle will be punishment enough.”

“Oh, Storm, if all punishments were this light, my sex life would hardly be as entertaining. I know the scenery leaves something to be desired—just green and more green and then some green for a change of pace—but as long as the Evinrude does all the work and we find some nice beaches to rest on, I won’t have any complaints. You forget how hard I had to push myself to become the White Queen in the first place. This little challenge is only getting my blood flowing!”

Ororo snorted. “That’s just your body showing its gratitude for going without booze and cigarettes for a few hours. The midday heat will get to you soon. So will the bugs. And a few brushes with death will further ruin your mood…”

“You sound optimistic. Looking forward to seeing the Savage Land have its way with me?”

“It might prove an interesting argument for karma.”

Emma smiled, razor-sharp. “It’s almost as if you hold a grudge against me. Most unbecoming for Homo Superior. And I don’t recall any such misgivings about Magnus—I played mind games, he played war games. But perhaps body counts aren’t what bothers you. No, no, this isn’t about the past. It’s about spending years with dowdy little Jean as the other woman on the team and suddenly having a queen to deal with.”

“You would boil it all down to schoolgirl jealousy,” Ororo retorted. “You broke up my friends’ marriage, you stole my body—”

“Quite a laundry list of offenses you have stored in that white-haired head of yours!” Emma interrupted. “Do you keep track of Logan’s indiscretions the same way? Well, it hardly matters. You’re stuck with me and your own holier-than-thou attitude means you’ll have to get used to it and act civilly.”

“Believe me,” Ororo said, no longer looking away from the river ahead. “I have been trying.”

Emma fumed. “For the record, you’re not my first choice to be stranded with either. If you weren’t team leader this month, I’d be here with Scott.”

Ororo maintained a rigid poker face. “One day I’ll remind him how much he owes me.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Her mouth formed a sneer. “Best hope I forget that slight before I have my powers back, witch.”

The rancor left Ororo’s voice and her words grew quiet. “I… apologize, Miss Frost. That was beneath me. But you must admit you’re hardly suited to an endeavor like this. Without your powers, you’re a liability—”

“And you’re not?”

“I’ve braved the Savage Lands before. But if it’s any consolation, I know that however prepared or unprepared you may be—you’re not so weak-willed as to be demoralized by a place like this.”

Emma sighed. She knew this peace offering on Ororo’s part demanded a reciprocation of her own. “And you have braved the Savage Lands before,” she said flatly. “Better I be paired with your… expertise… than someone more compatible.”

Ororo’s lips turned upward at one corner. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “And you should be well-suited to dressing up in not much clothes and hooking up with nubile natives.”

Emma laughed richly. “Perhaps if I get bored. Though at the moment, I find boredom quite agreeable.”

Ororo adjusted their course slightly to avoid a rock in the river. “Boredom isn’t much of a possibility in the Savage Lands.”

“Or with the two of us,” Emma added.

“Indeed not,” Ororo said dryly.

***

That night they camped on top of the river bank, barely outside the jungle. With dusk came quiet. Instead of the cacophony of noise in the day, like the blazing sun was working everything and anything into sound, the music of the jungle was scattered, hidden in the vastness of the green. An occasional bird loosed a musical note and was mocked by a screeching monkey. The monkey might be silenced by the cough of a deep-voiced jaguar. It all flowed into each other instead of flooding the senses.

They set up a small fire for their campsite and Emma made coffee to go with the canned food they ate fresh off the fire.

Smarting from her decision not to bring luggage on the flight, Ororo had refused Emma’s offer of some spare clothes, keeping to her costume. Only it had been damaged in the crash and was deteriorating further in the acidly moist air.

The ring that held the halter of her costume to its bottoms had been giving all day, with each tiny movement of Ororo’s body, and now it could no longer do the job. Ororo’s bottoms were coming away from the rest of her costume, sliding down her legs countless times as the ring slipped free again and again.

There was nothing to be done for it. Ororo ripped the pants away in the back and improvised instead with a well-sized leaf and a length of vine… doubling the leaf over so it ran over her ass, between her legs, and up over her pubis, then belting it in place with the vine. It would do until some animal hide presented itself.

She did not try to hide what she was doing from Emma. She knew modesty could be deadly in the Savage Lands. Neither did Emma look away. She saw Ororo’s long legs in full, skin like hot chocolate, her pubic hair the spun-sugar marshmallows. Ororo’s hips were slender and nubile, her ass just a trace excessive—she had hints of an hourglass figure, but overall, she was svelte and naturalistic in a way, reminding Emma of an elk or an antelope, some graceful animal configured by evolution to have every movement be so powerful, it was a thing of beauty.

Going without a cape, and with the scant little ‘thong’ that the leaf made of itself in trying to preserve Ororo’s modesty, ended up very becoming.

Emma hoped she herself was as appealing to Ororo.

It was only fair.