X-Men: The Thought of It (Patreon)

So there it was. She was back. Jean Grey had come back to life and no doubt she would expect her husband back from Emma.

Jean could settle for Logan, she could be happy with that brute, but no, she had to go for the occupied male in her love triangle.

Emma had known all this. That Jean would be back, that she’d want Scott. Why then had she seduced Scott in the first place? Built a life with him while his wife was in the ground?

Was it just her churlishness at work? Seeing the shiny forever love of Scott and Jean, had she simply felt the need to interpose herself on it?

Or maybe it was just her luxurious taste. Scott was the alpha male of the X-Men—Logan might snap and bite, but no real he-man spent years as the team’s number two. So Emma wanted him and she never, ever settled for less.

Regardless, she didn’t intend to give Scott up. It’d taken her a lot to admit she cared for Scott, whatever the reason, and she didn’t intend to either go through that with another male or do without it. Jean would just have to realize that possession was nine-tenths of the law.

She’d come to Scott’s room, but it, like the man himself, was Emma’s now. The blonde fixed the redhead with a look.

“Come for a rematch?” she asked, knowing that foremost on both their minds was one of their last encounters before the end—Jean’s psionic violation of Emma in retaliation for how Emma had violated her wedding vows.

“You’re awfully smug for the person on the losing end,” Jean observed.

“You had the Phoenix then.” Emma, self-satisfied, drew closer. Making a psychic linkage between them even easier. “I should thank you, though. For a long time, I relied on my natural superiority to carry me through the odd bits of drama we face in this life. You motivated me to really improve myself. I am never going to be put on my back again—unless it’s by Scott.”

“There’s nothing natural about you, Emma. Even your bitchiness is all a response to your sadly traumatic life.”

“At least I’m interesting. You can only manage that when an alien bird’s in your head.”

“Then why is Scott losing interest in you?”

“He’s not.”

“Yet you’re so worried. It’s obvious. Just brimming with confrontation…”

“Yes, I’ve been looking forward to you getting back. Now I get to shut you up myself. Unless you’d like to die again, of course. Isn’t that how you end most of your arguments?”

“Don’t most of yours end with a blowjob?”

“Only when they’re with your husband.”

“Slut.”

“Hag.”

“Bimbo.”

“Prude.”

“Cunt.”

“Scott’s cunt.” Emma’s eyebrows flickered with self-amusement. “You know, it’s funny. You’ve known him since you were teenagers, but I’m pretty sure I’ve slept with him more.”

“He doesn’t love you.”

“He doesn’t want to fuck you.”

“You’re just a hole to him.”

“He’d rather have me as a hole than you as a wife.”

Jean set her teeth. Emma knitted her brows.

“I hope you’ve gotten some closure on your childhood issues,” Jean said. “You’re about to revisit them.”

“So unoriginal. No wonder Scott was so appreciative when I let him leave the lights on.”

Psychic force leapt between the two women. Jean confronted Emma with the depth of her friendship and affection for Scott, the lifelong memories they shared, all the firsts that were theirs alone. And Emma showed Jean the fire of Scott’s passion for her. How their sex has gone from simple fucking to all-consuming orgies, feasts of decadent sexuality and experimentation that shocked and satiated even Emma.

He’d told Jean he loved her.

He’d told Emma he loved her.

They flung those experiences at each other like javelins, trying to trump one another, anything to avoid admitting that their most hated rival was equal with them in Scott’s eyes.

Absently, they both noticed happenings on the material plane, but the most cursory attention told them it was a trusted X-Man mentality in the room with them, no cause for concern. They didn’t let up their combat. Jean scorched Emma with how fervently she loved Scott. Emma blasted Jean with her own ardor for him. Long nights of concern for his safety. A feverish urge to spoil him when it was in her power to do so. Even allowing others to join in and sharing Scott with them, something that so shocked Jean that she reeled out of their psychic duel.

“Betsy? Fucking Betsy? My God, you whore!”

Emma laughed. “That’s how much I love him, Jean-Very-Grey. I would never deny my man anything.”

“Ha! You’re so desperate to hold onto him that you’ll even bring in ringers to make up for how your vaunted lovemaking falls short of the mark!”

“My vaunted lovemaking! Your most devoted admirer is Wolverine, a man who’s never gotten anything from you, you tease! What’s the matter? Afraid to give in and let him know how little he’s missing?”

“How dare you call me a cheater! You fucked Psylocke!”

“Scott wanted me to.”

“Scott doesn’t know what he wants! That’s why he’s with you!”

“Actually, what I want is some peace and quiet in my own apartment.”

Both women stopped short at the brisk baritone of Scott’s masculine voice invading their conflict. At the same time, they realized what that needling interruption in their psychic battle had been. Scott had undressed both of them.

Emma was as voluptuous as her consistently skimpy costumes showed. Her musculature was toned and firmed by exercise and yoga, but her thighs were still thick, supporting well-rounded hips. Her plump ass matched her full breasts, giving her an hourglass figure

Jean was lither, sylphlike in comparison. Her tall, slender body was still well-endowed with proud, prominent cleavage, but her tits were modest when stacked against Emma’s, her curvy hips boyish when compared to Emma’s overflowing femininity. Still, her height made her elegant—Emma had to feel a bit neurotic about how lean and graceful Jean looked.

The flush of being revealed to each other made even her modest. She covered herself with her hands while Jean telekinetically pulled in a blanket. The redhead held it over herself, too overwrought from the battle and these shocking new circumstances to actually get dressed.

Scott sat on the foot of the bed—the bed that’d been so central to both women’s weaponized recollections—and looked at his two brides. Each with an equal claim on him. Jean’s long history and the distinction of being the first. Emma’s newness and current intimacy.

“I had hoped that enough time had passed that we could be civil when this day came,” Scott said. “But I suppose it’s only had time to fester. And since neither of you can help but indulge in all your worst tendencies towards each other, I guess it’s my job to remind you of one simple fact. Since you both want me, I’m going to be the one that chooses which of you gets what you want.”

Emma spotted where Scott had moved her shed clothing. Thinking caustically that Jean didn’t deserve to share in the perfection she so happily gave to Scott, she went to get them.

“Don’t move!” Scott barked. “I took your clothes off for a reason.”

“You’ve never needed a reason before,” Emma cooed.

“I think he does now,” Jean snapped. “Scott, I know how sweet you can be, but this is a time for ruthless efficiency. Let Emma know it’s over. There’s no need to drag things out.”

“Says the girl—“

“Enough!” Scott snapped. “You two seem to love this rivalry of yours more than you do me. So fine. Let’s have it out. You both want my cock so bad—let’s see which one of you can get it. I’m going to pick whichever one of you is the better lay.”

Jean paled. Emma, for once, was shocked. Then she burst out laughing.

“Oh, splendid, fearless leader! What a way to let her down easy!”

“Shut up, Emma. You’re all talk—“

“I can get Scott off by talking, certainly—“

“I was his first—“

“And I’m what he traded up for!”

Jean turned, fuming, to Scott. “This is ridiculous! You can’t seriously expect—“

“What? For you to resolve your differences peacefully, without leaving one of you in an astral plane coma, to pick up with me right where you left off without me having any say in that matter?”

“I am not going to compete to get you to choose me!”

“But you will mind-rape Emma over the thought that I might choose her?”

“Unhh!” Jean groaned, heading for the door, heedless of the fact that she still wasn’t dressed—her tight ass swaying behind her as she moved with her blanket huddled in front of her.

“I graciously accept your concession,” Emma called after her, now happily dropping her arms to uncover herself. “Well-played, Mr. Summers. Jean, of course, knew she couldn’t hold a candle to me as a lover—letting her back out in a haze of moral indignation…! Brilliant, brilliant!”

Jean stopped at the door, hand on the knob—she turned the lock. “Frost, I have been learning Scott’s body longer than you’ve been a blonde… or a D-cup.”

“And you still don’t know how to make him come, come so hard that you’re covered in it, come so hard that it drips out of you for days… a little taste of him that you can snitch whenever you want? Just put your hand between your legs and—” Emma shuddered. “Finger-licking good.”

Jean’s hand tightened on the doorknob and like somehow she’d mangled it, the door flew open. Jean stumbled with the support suddenly lost, nearly falling on Psylocke as she swept into the room.

Betsy was wearing her customary leotard, but it hardly looked out of place there—skimpy, scanty material stretched thin over her abundant chest and hard-muscled ass, her long lean torso and her towering legs encased in thigh-high stockings of the same scintillating shade of violet. Her dark hair was shot through with a streak of purple, matching her costume, and elbow-length gloves kinkily outlined her arms.

Betsy appraisingly looked over both Jean and Emma, then turned her attention to Scott as though he were already hers.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Jean demanded.

“Waiting. Not waiting anymore. I thought things would come to a head eventually. Now that they have—don’t bother denying it, I felt the psychic maelstrom from across the mansion—I thought I’d remind Scott that he has other options than settling for one of you two.”

“Settling?” Emma and Jean demanded in one voice.

“You’re not even an option!” Emma continued. “You’re a one-night stand, a fling, you’re my fucking unicorn!”

“Is this because you had a threesome?” Jean asked at the same time. “Oh, way to go, Emma, well done! You whine and moan about Scott’s feelings for me, and then what do you do? Bring in yet another woman!”

“It’s not entirely her fault,” Betsy told Jean gently. “Emma really is quite insecure and she liked the thought that I could be, well, the Emma to her Jean. Obsessed with Scott, but not able to ever fully have him because Emma had her hooks in him. She just overestimated her hold on the man—and underestimated me.”

“You? You’re a second-rate psychic!” Emma spat at her. “No true telepath would prance around in that ninja whore outfit… I can just shut down an enemy’s mind, no need to go flipping about and throwing… throwing stars…” She turned her head to Jean. “It’s so obvious she does it for attention, isn’t it?”

“And how much more do you wear than you have on right now?” Jean asked her, amused despite herself with Emma’s hypocritical stand on principles.

“That’s the point! I can afford to dress as I want! My psychic powers—”

“Seem not to get as much of a work-out since you started turning into a diamond,” Jean reminded her with an icy smile. “Odd how often you need to pull that one…”

“I won’t hear this from the woman who needs a flaming bird in her head to keep from getting a nosebleed every time—”

Betsy let out a giggle at Jean’s expense. The two other women whirled on her.

“Scott!” They again spoke as one.

“You can’t really think—”

“Since when do you have the slightest affinity—”

“Betsy’s a very lovely girl,” Scott informed them. “Any man would be lucky to have her. Emma, I recall you being enthusiastic about allowing her to join in that night. I asked if it wouldn’t make you jealous. I said that I was perfectly content with just you, but you insisted—”

“We used her as a cocksleeve!” Emma said, aghast, while Jean covered her eyes with her hand. “You yourself called her a fuckdoll! We… both of us… she was just a cum dumpster, that’s it!”

“And I loved it,” Betsy said, advancing on Scott to wrap an arm around his sculpted shoulders. “Every moment of it. I adored being Scott’s fuckdoll. And if the contest is to be who’s better at pleasing Scott, I’m willing to bet that I can submit to him in a way the two of you never could. Because I want to be his bitch. I want it more than anything in the world. I’ve thought about that night over and over again, reliving it countless times in my memory. The only problem was Emma, trying so… humorously… to be the dominant in that scenario. But it was only ever Scott.”

“You stupid bitch!” Jean growled, though she was looking at Emma. She drew her hand back to strike her. “You just had to be sex on heels—”

Emma caught the slap at the wrist. “Maybe if you had let Scott have the occasional threesome, you wouldn’t still need to compete for him, Mrs. Summers.”

Betsy kissed Scott on the cheek and whispered in his ear. “Let me tell them, master—it makes me cringe to see them not respecting your authority.” She looked at the other women, clearing her throat before Jean could wiggle her hand free and try again to hit Emma. “If you want to fight, that’s fine. But I doubt you’ll be in much condition to seduce Scott after. Which means I’ll be the winner by default.”

Emma scowled, hating to admit that Betsy had a point. “Then why not just let us have it out?”

“Oh, I could never do something as underhanded as that to my beloved master,” Betsy said, now leaning against Scott’s athletic body. “I love the thought of him getting to enjoy all three of us—he obviously deserves it—and in the end, he’s going to choose me, of course. Nothing you two do or say can change that.”

Emma let go of Jean’s wrist. Jean pulled her hand back without trying for another attack.

“I am showing this little bint whatfor,” Emma declaimed.

“One of us is,” Jean said, equally serious.

“It’s funny that you keep referring to each other as bitches and whores,” Scott said, Betsy beaming at the command in his voice. “Because your first challenge is just that.”

“Just what?”

“I want you to dress as whores. Jean, I’ve seen you naked. Betsy, I’ve seen you in your…” He grinned sardonically. “Elektra cosplay. And Emma, I’ve seen you in that fashionable fetishwear that you get off on dressing in. Now I want all of you to dress for me. Something sleazy. Naughty. Something that will please me.”

“You really think you can tell us to do whatever you want,” Jean mused unhappily.

But looking at Emma and Betsy, she knew they would accept their assignments. She couldn’t do any less. And afterward, once she’d won Scott… well, she’d enjoy being his lover enough to forget how she’d compromised her dignity.

Not that Emma and Betsy were thinking of it in those terms. Jean could tell they were relishing the thought of getting to whore themselves out to Scott. She wouldn’t—she wouldn’t—but she did like the idea of putting them in their place.

There was a reason Scott had stayed faithful to her in the face of Betsy’s temptation. And the only reason he’d ended up with Emma was because Jean’d had to die at the time. She would show them that in a fair fight, with no inopportune dying, that Scott was hers and always would be…