X-Men: Cold War Gone Hot (Patreon)

Scott stifled a yawn; curious considering he was thinking once more of his relationship with Emma Frost and Jean Gray. Relationship, singular. But then, his team of X-Men had taken on the Juggernaut. After that battle, Scott was lucky enough not to need medical attention. He ached all over, his only consolation that he was too exhausted to be as really sore as his strained body demanded.

He chuckled wearily to himself. He knew the jokes that were told about him and there was a measure of truth to them—part of his reaction to being shared by one lovely redhead and one beautiful blonde was to ponder how it would impact the roster. But it was that kind of thoughtfulness that made him who he was; Emma and Jean were girls who could have any man they wanted. If they were interested in him, it was as much for his oddities as anything else.

Scott lifted up his visor and carefully—very carefully—rubbed at his tired eyes. It wasn’t like he could put in eyedrops. After pouring a river of optic blasts into Juggernaut, the feeling was probably the equivalent of that guy in A Clockwork Orange who’d had his eyelids held open to stare at screens for hour after hour. His head was swimming. He tried to order his thoughts. It calmed him down, would relax him enough to get some sleep. He wasn’t a man who got keyed up easily, but, Christ, the Juggernaut…

Scott caught sight of the door to his quarters. He took off his cowl, careful not to disturb the visor it nestled against, and detached it from the rest of his costume. Tucking it under his arm, he pulled down the zipper at the base of his throat, letting out a pained but relieved sigh as he aired out his sweaty chest. He opened the door—thankful the mansion’s computer system automatically recognized him and unlocked the door for him without him having to fiddle with some locking mechanism—and let himself in.

The cowl he tossed aside, then he stepped out of his boots. He thought of fully undressing, maybe grabbing a quick shower so he wouldn’t feel quite so sweat-soaked when he laid down, but the temptation of the soft pillow was too real. He didn’t want to chase away his sleepiness into that gray, twilight mediocrity of being somehow too tired to sleep. He wanted to lie down and let it be the work of a few moments to lapse into unconsciousness. He’d change the soiled sheets when he woke up. In a relationship with both Jean and Emma, the sheets could always use changing anyway.

“Scott, my love, you’re back.” Emma’s droll voice, somehow charged with an erotic frisson, a lascivious hunger for his body—a sensual charge at having him in her clutches. It was enough to send a twinge through Scott’s sexual appetite, even while the rest of him was more or less numb. “We’ve prepared for you a hero’s welcome. We’re two women much in need of a hero.”

“Hail the conquering hero,” Jean cooed, sounding a little more sincere, less ironic, in her praise. He knew they both meant it, just as they were both a bit too mean not to tease him a little. “Emma was worried sick about you. She was totally inconsolable.” Like that.

Scott took in their appearances—even in his exhausted state, there was no way he couldn’t. Emma wore white stockings up to a white garter belt, which was almost of a piece with her skimpy white panties. It was a measure of how tiny they were—nestled to the curve of her pubic mound, disappearing between her supple buttocks—that he could see any of the skin of her groin framed within the garter belt.

Aside from those white stockings and panties, she was totally bare. Her plump, teardrop-shaped breasts were unadorned, proudly on display, scintillatingly heaving with even the slightest breath she took. Her long golden hair hung down over her breasts, but since she wasn’t Medusa, it didn’t do much to cover her. But Scott had to give it to her. The mix of clothed and unclothed, naked and clad, got to something in his primordial mind. He could see her bare body without seeing it, was tempted by her beauty while still wanting more of it. No matter how many times he’d seen her bare tits, seeing them hiding behind the curtain of her blonde hair made him want to brush it aside and memorize their softness all over again.

There was no comparing Jean and Emma, of course. Not because Jean was in any way lacking, but because her own beauty was so great—just as Emma’s was—that trying to find a way either of them outdid the other… or a flaw that detracted from one’s perfection but not the other… was a fool’s errand. They were different, though. Emma’s luxurious lingerie was an entirely different kind of sexy from what Jean wore: simply a pair of black panties underneath one of his buttondown shirts. It hung open, none of the buttons done up, showing Scott Jean’s own luscious cleavage. She wasn’t as endowed as Emma, but was taller and more slender, like some coltish supermodel—buxom curves such as Emma’s would appear… unartistic on Jean, and that was one thing the redhead never was.

With the cutely mischievous look on her face, her tousled hair, and even the slumping knee socks she wore on her long, slender legs, Jean was a girl to cuddle with, to kiss and hug… whereas Emma was an unattainable goddess, the sensuous spark in her eye a challenge, daring a man to drag her down to Earth, master and please her if he had the strength to do it. She dared Scott to satisfy her, while Jean’s siren-song plied him, cooed to him, asking with girlish lightness to be pleasured.

Scott peeled his way out of the upper half of his uniform, grateful it wasn’t the leather it looked like, but a more breathable synthetic material of Hank’s design. Underneath it, the cotton undershirt he wore was soaked through with sweat, still plastered to his body, while his hands were taped from knuckles to elbow. He popped open his belt, opening with it the seam between the top of his uniform and the bottom, and shrugged off the last of his jacket ‘before he finally sank down onto his bed.

“I’ve never seen him this tired,” Jean said, a note of worry now in her voice.

“I have,” Emma said, her own voice less concerned. Either confidence in his abilities or just her running cold as usual. “But I’d taken a full blast from that Pheromone Morlock and… well, as the name implies…”

“And Scott helped you out. Charitable, isn’t he?”

“Oh, it wasn’t charity. I let him do whatever he wanted to me, so long as he did it to me.” Even with his eyes closed, Scott could picture Emma tossing her hair just so. “A Frost always pays her debts.”

Jean turned her head to Scott so fast that he could hear her own hair whip through the air. “Scott, did you hear that? Did you hear what she did? She stole that line.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It was a famous line from Game of Thrones.”

“From what?”

“Game of Thrones. It was a pop culture phenomenon.”

“Oh yes? One of your geeky interests? Well, I’ll take your word for it.”

“It was huge! People named their babies…”

“Ladies,” Scott groaned. “I’ve been knocked through a wall today. Two, if you count floor-to-ceiling windows. Can you please just continue this telepathically? I’m almost asleep…”

“Asleep?” Emma’s voice crackled with taut amusement. “You want to sleep now? We’ve been waiting all day for you.”

“Then you can wait one night. We’ll do something in the morning. Whatever you want.”

Jean tittered with her own amusement. “Well, Emma, I guess you can always hope a Summers pays his debts…”

Emma’s voice dropped down to the basement. “He’s going to sleep on you too, Jean.”

“He needs his rest. Just look at him. His poor, bruised body…” Scott felt Jean’s lips come down on his chest, compassionately kissing a softly yellow bruise. “Go to sleep, my love. You know we’d do anything to make your life easier.”

“Oh, please,” Emma muttered, but Scott felt her weight on the mattress as she lay down beside him.

Emma and Jean got along surprisingly well, made for a lovely double-act, now that they’d agreed to share him. Scott was barely sure how it had come about. Some off-hand comment of his over their rivalry—“Would it make it easier if I just fucked both of you?”—and then, somehow, their own weird rivalry and friendship had become invested in seeing if they could both be his mate.

There was still a tension there; a certain spice that he thought they all liked on some level. Emma and Jean actually had a lot in common, good and bad, they just expressed it in different ways. They both wanted to protect him, please him, and enjoy his returned attentions.

But both counting him theirs made for a fraught triangle. Emma had a healthy amount of ego—maybe more than was healthy—and Jean had a bit of a god complex that could only have come from having been a god for a while. So no matter how much they trusted him, how sure they were in his love for both of them, even how much they liked each other… there was still this low-burning feud. Much as they tried not to, they sought out slights in how he treated one over the other, even while trying to get more of his ministrations themselves.

Scott had known that he didn’t need two telepaths on the same team. And if he took one instead of the other, that would be too much for the fragile peace of their relationship. So he’d taken neither. Assigned Cable to his own team, while putting both Jean and Emma on another. Of course, that’d meant he’d had to find someone who they both could take orders from, someone even he couldn’t claim with total honesty. Luckily, Storm was no longer playing Jackie Kennedy in Wakanda. If anyone could keep the former Dark Phoenix and a woman with an ego the size of the Dark Phoenix in line, it was her.

Jean laid down on the other side of him, the mattress groaning again. If it was that reticent to take the weight of all three, Scott couldn’t imagine it standing up to their more nocturnal activities for long. He’d have to shop for a new one. Needed to get one of the girls to remind him in the morning.

“Jean, could you… uhuuuu… don’t let me forget… zzzzzz…”

He could feel himself floating softly downward, the aches and pains in his fraught body falling away, left behind to heal as he was soaked up in pure relaxation…

“You’d do anything to make our lives easier too, wouldn’t you?” Jean’s voice. Jerking him to a stop. Jolting Scott so hard that his eyes blinked open, replacing the alluring darkness of sleep with the harsh red through his ruby quartz.

“Wha… what? Yes, Jean, of course,” Scott mumbled thickly.

“And we’re really keyed up.”

“Yes, Scott,” Emma piped up. “Very tense.”

“Ororo, she’s…”

“She is!” Emma agreed.

“I’m not being critical of her…”

“I am.”

“But she works us very hard.”

“I should be leader.”

“She doesn’t understand our needs.”

“I was headmistress of the whole bloody school, you know.”

“Not like you do, Scott.”

“And remember I pretty much ran the Hellfire Club.”

“She’s still a good leader, of course, but she’s just not you.”

“Do you think those supervillain reprobates get along anywhere near as well as trained X-Men?”

“But you assigned us to work under her and of course we respect your wishes. But shouldn’t you do something to… accommodate us…”

“Not to mention trying to get along with the Cabal. I should get leadership points just for restraining myself from burying a diamond fist in that Hood boy’s face…”

“Emma, don’t be racist.”

“What?”

“What?”

“What are you two even talking about?” Scott asked.

Jean changed the subject with her usual verbal jujitsu. “Emma, help me with his shirt. He’s going to give himself a rash if he keeps wearing that dirty thing.”

Scott felt himself being manipulated by a doll, lifted up by Emma so that Jean could pull his shirt over his head. He supposed he should be glad they were getting along. He should be.

“Now, where were we?” Jean said pleasantly.

“Emma was having an ego trip, you were complaining that Ororo was mean to you,” Scott said flatly.

“Not mean,” Jean stressed. “Just not as totally aware of our needs as you are, Scott.” She laid a hand down on his now-bare chest.

“Yes, Scott,” Emma groped his other pec, twining one of his chest hairs around her forefinger. “We get so tense. We need to relax. And we’re so used to you relaxing us…”

“Yes,” Jean nodded. “It’s like I said. We’d do anything to help you sleep. Won’t you do something to help us sleep?”

“You want me to fuck you to sleep?” Scott asked, voice bleary with sleepy confusion.

“See?” Emma cooed. “So much more understanding than Storm.”

“It’ll take ten minutes, tops.”

“Five,” Emma countered. “Jean doesn’t need much. She was interested in Wolverine, after all…”

“I’ve spat up blood today,” Scott moaned. “I need sleep.”

Jean petted his chest hair. “And just imagine how you’ll sleep after you’ve fucked these two needy bitches to completion.”

“Two cum-drunk cunts collapsed on top of you, their brains fucked out by your big cock, the only thing left in their heads the knowledge that they’re your personal whores,” Emma cooed.

Jean coughed. “I’m, uhh… I wouldn’t go that far. You can just come inside me.”

“He’s coming inside me. I’m the one getting him hard.”

“He’s getting hard?” Jean let out a delighted sigh. “Let’s get him out of these pants.”

“Wait, wait…” Scott grabbed at his lowering pants. “I thought I was your dom.”

“Yes, Scott, you absolutely are,” Emma said, coming off the bed to circle around to the foot of it and pull off his socks. Her submission was as matter-of-fact as if she were discussing it over cocktails. “We’re two cum-hungry sluts addicted to your cock and we need you to dominate us.”

“Okay. I order you cock-happy bitches to leave me alone and get some sleep.”

“Cock-happy?” Emma repeated direly. “There’s no need to be vulgar. Jean, have you ever been called cock-happy?”

“Yes. By you.”

“Are you sure I wasn’t talking to a clone? A cock-happy clone?”

Scott groaned. He could feel his proximity to sleep—that nice, snoozy feeling, like he’d woken up in the middle of the night perfectly comfortable with nothing to do but go back to sleep—slipping away. He really needed to get better at this dom stuff if he was going to date two former members of the Hellfire Club. “Stop pulling down my pants or I’m punishing both of you.”

“Yes, Scott, punish us! Ravish us! Teach us to respect your manly authority!” Now both Jean and Emma were at his pantlegs, each pulling down one. Even his skintight costume had to give way. Scott let go of his waistband for fear it’d rip.

Scott let out a weary sigh. He almost would give into them. Obviously, fucking Jean and Emma couldn’t be described as a chore, and afterward, he could have his shower, maybe a small snack to calm his stomach, and he’d get to sleep in, what, half an hour? That was nothing. He’d pushed himself harder than that grading papers. Why not for the women he loved?

But he was the team leader. He had command authority. And if he let Jean and Emma get into the habit of disregarding orders, just because they were intimate with him, there was no telling where it would end up. He had to put his foot down.

Scott took off his visor and threw it across the room.

“Scott!” There was no sound of impact, letting Scott know that Jean had caught it with her telekinesis. “Be careful with those! You know—”

“I’m going to sleep,” Scott interrupted her, his voice firm. “You can undress me all you want, do whatever you like with my body, but try not to wake me or you’re waking up my optic blast too.”

Then, folding his arms, he went to sleep to the feeling of Emma and Jean hauling his pants off.