The Education of Anna-Marie 2 (Patreon)

Emma awoke earlier than usual that Saturday. She might’ve been driven, but she was too much of a sensualist not to sleep in when routine allowed.

But she was too excited to sleep over much. Going from her naked slumber to a sheer robe, she had breakfast and then got out her photography equipment, making sure she still had everything after her move to Xavier’s school.

There was a full roll of thirty-six exposures in her camera. She set it up on its tripod in the middle of her living room. Then she plugged in her flash unit to charge it. The Institute had its own fully equipped darkroom, as it seemed to have everything the X-Men might require, though Emma doubted Charles had foreseen her using it to develop the kind of photos she intended to take.

Pangs of exhalation began sounding inside her, making her wish she could skip to this most voluptuous part of her plan. But no: carefully, slowly, painstakingly. Scott was a man of strategy and forethought. She couldn’t bum-rush him into the position she wished him to be in. She would have to slowly work him onto her side. The care she’d taken to get her foot in the door had required exquisite patience and persuasion. She would have to stick to that ethos, at least while their relationship was in its initial stages.

But who knew how it would develop, as they got comfortable with each other? She remembered how she’d brushed against the beast in Scott: his protectiveness of his teammates. Was there more there? Could he only let the tiger out in the heat of battle, when his family was threatened, or could he be that ferocious when it came to his own pleasure?

She was making a list of further supplies she would need to start a photography class, share her love of the arts with the student body, when the doorbell rang. It startled her, both from the calculation she was going by rote and the deeper, nearly subconscious contemplation she was giving the problem of Scott Summers.

It was actually the first time anyone had rung that particular chime for her and Emma froze as though needing to consider her defense against an attack. Should she play possum? Go on the offensive herself? Tempt the enemy with her seductive body? Her options fluttered before her like moves in a Chess match after the opening gambit had been played.

Then she realized what it was. She hopped up to answer the door, her heart still thrilling with alarm.

“Hello Scott,” she said, holding the door open for him.

Her heart was pounding, the little pitch of its pulsations visible on her creamy skin as a faint stirring, and she could not pretend she’d expected him. She had, but she’d lost track of time in her plotting and he’d managed to surprise her.

“I reserved the Danger Room,” Scott said in a soft, nervous voice—not at all the ramrod he’d been with her the other day. Emma couldn’t imagine why he was acting so modestly; he certainly had reason to be arrogant, considering both his position and his anatomy.

Then she remembered that she hadn’t exactly dressed. In fact, she had to clutch her diaphanous robe closed at the neck to keep from revealing too much of her cleavage.

Emma decided to compensate with a feint: she would act perfectly apologetic, making Scott feel like an ogre if he pressed the issue. “I’m sorry, Scott, I lost track of time. I should be ready right now, shouldn’t I? Not much of a first impression I’m making, I fear. Give me a minute; I’ll get into costume or uniform or whatever you wish to call it.”

“Yes, Ms. Frost, of course,” Scott mumbled, shifting weight nervously from his left to his right.

The man was simply too much of a paladin for his own good.

Despite the delay, they managed to begin training at twelve o’clock sharp. It helped that Emma’s costume wasn’t exactly the type that took a long time to put on.

Emma considered herself to be in superb physical condition, with no small amount of willpower backing her body. She appreciated having the strength and stamina to deal with whatever her psionics couldn’t handle; that she could keep up with her students to the limits of human biology.

Scott, though, seemed all but superhuman—a power level Emma knew he was not at, save for his eyes. Running drill after drill, he showed no sign of slowing, stopping, staggering. He even took it easy on her, calling frequent breaks to allow Emma to recover from a hard hit or drink endless amounts of cooling water. Emma would’ve been incensed by that mercy, only she did need it. She couldn’t keep up with the pace Scott set except for short intervals.

After four hours, Scott judged that she would do more damage to herself if they continued than she would improve her conditioning. “After all, we might really need to go into action. Can’t have you asleep on your feet.”

They decamped to her suite for drinks and a meal. Once they were inside, the door shut behind them, Emma gestured for Scott to have a seat, but he stayed upright, his head bowed. Emma guessed that, outside the tactical setting of their workout, he was back to remembering how scantily clad she’d been.

Emma bustled about making lunch for the two of them. It was horribly feminine of her, she knew, but what woman could consider herself a seductress without knowing the way to a man’s heart was through his stomach? She couldn’t always be a ballbuster; sometimes she had to project a certain, appealing kind of weakness rather than strength.

“I sense something’s bothering you,” she said as she grilled cheese sandwiches for the both of them on an iron skillet. “Would you care to discuss it? I can hardly see fit to judge you after you’ve seen me dropped on my ass a dozen times…”

Scott smiled nervously, then bit his lip. “I couldn’t sleep last night.”

A myriad of ways to help him get to sleep occurred to Emma, but she held her tongue for now. “I take it there’s a little more than insomnia at work.”

“It was what you said, about someone on the team other than Jean being in love with me. I didn’t—I don’t know how to deal with that. Or Jean. What if she gets jealous? What if this other person feels hurt because I don’t feel the same way? A short time ago, I never could’ve believed that Jean would feel about me the way she does… now it might be two women? I don’t know—it all seems so unreal!”

Emma wanted to laugh, but controlled herself. Scott was very sensitive at the moment, almost virginal. She felt herself tingling. It was natural to have a preference for experienced men, but Emma thought she might’ve had her fill of them. Now she wanted to try someone fresh.

“To be perfectly honest,” she said, “I have a hard time believing that you’re so innocent.”

“Innocent?” Scott fired back.

“You really think you’re so unappealing? At a very young age, Scott Summers, you’ve risen to leadership of the X-Men. Even Wolverine and Storm respect your judgment. As does the Professor. As do I. Power, skill, authority. Those are strong aphrodisiacs. And you’re quite sensitive, in your own way. Your emotions run deep. Women appreciate that. And then there’s your body…”

“What about my body?” Scott asked, and Emma had a flash of psychic insight—him comparing his slender, chiseled body at present to the massive, superhuman specimen he’d been on Asteroid M, after Magneto had used the Genetic Enhancer.

“Scott, you’re thinking quite loudly. Anyone who’s been dating a telepath should know how hard it is not to, well, overhear. Do you want me to respect your privacy or should we discuss what’s clearly on your mind?”

Scott’s face colored. He looked away. Then picked himself up and paced the floor, clearly trying to work away the turmoil he felt inside.

“I’ve worked with enough young people to know about body dysmorphia, Scott,” Emma said gently. “Comparing yourself to some bodybuilder you were after participating in a mad scientist’s experiment…”

“That was what I was supposed to look like when I was an adult, when I was a man!” Scott snapped. “Look at me! I work and I work but I’m just—”

“What? One percent body fat? Six foot three? Washboard abs?” Emma stopped herself before she got to his dick. That would come up soon enough—so she hoped. “Look at yourself, Scott. Take it from a connoisseur of the human body. You’re perfect. A sculpture. What more do you think you can do? Take steroids? Shoot yourself up with testosterone?”

“No… I don’t know. It’s ridiculous, I know, but Jean, she liked the way I looked so much… I felt like, when I got older, maybe… and then a few months later, we got together anyway… I’m still not the guy she signed up for.”

“You honestly believe that?” Emma asked. “Then I’ll just have to prove you wrong.”

“How?” Scott asked, giving her a dumbstruck look as she turned off the burner and left the sandwiches to cool.

“If you won’t see yourself as you really are through your own eyes, then you’ll just have to see through mine. Take off your costume,” she ordered, unbuckling his utility harnesses for him. “Come now, don’t be so straitlaced. This is exactly the sort of psych issue I was brought onto the X-Men to solve.”

“Hey! I don’t know about this,” Scott said, though Emma was so forceful that he was passive, doll-like in the face of her advances.

“Just do as you’re told. You’ve spent too long ruminating about what a disappointment you are. Let me get a word in edgewise. Besides, I certainly haven’t hidden my body from you…”

It sounded reasonable enough to Scott as she pulled him out of his bodysuit, leaving him in his undershirt as she shucked the costume down his legs, off his boxers. She looked expectantly at his underwear and he hesitated, instead making a production of taking off his gloves.