The White Queen

The morning light filtering through the windows of their shared home felt almost too ordinary for what was unfolding inside. Merely 30 minutes after Emma had entered the shared home of Raven and Irene, Emma Frost had left the house a changed woman. Already drunk on the possibilities now humming through her veins as she took to the street towards the Krakoan city proper. She moved through the streets of Krakoa with a new perspective. Her eyes were sharper, her hearing more alert, and the scents that filled the air made her breathing hitch.

First, she walked about the mutant population as herself. The White Queen. She appeared to wear the same clothing she did when she first visited Raven and Irene’s home that morning. Admiring the stares she got from some of the men and the near-jealous leers of the women who knew her from reputation alone. The usual she was used to, even enjoyed, as she strolled down the path deeper into the city. When the crowds thinned, she slipped into an alleyway and made sure she wasn’t watched when she decided to make a change of appearance with her new powers.

When she stepped out of the alley, she was a stranger.

She wore the face and body of a nondescript mutant gardener — plain features, earth-stained overalls, easily ignored by everyone she passed. She let her hips sway a little more than necessary to feel the fabric brush her thighs, testing how far the illusion could go. No one glanced twice. The sensation of being invisible to the crowd made her heart pound; she never knew how intoxicating it was to hide unknown and unseen. The thrill was intoxicating.

As she travelled, she ducked away to change her appearance again.

Stepping out of a washroom to a café, she took on the appearance of her daughter’s husband, Remy Lebeau — dark-haired, tall, with black eyes and red irises, the exact Cajun smarm the man was known for as he winked to a pair of women there and took her leave with no one the wiser that the man was Emma Frost in disguise. She strolled past a group of young trainees and felt their stares linger on her shoulders and back. Making her chuckle with a grin as she read their thoughts. She could be anyone. She could be anyone.

But she wanted something sharper. Something crueller.

She found a quiet alcove near the training grounds and let the gambit disguise melt away. In its place rose Jean Grey — the real Jean Grey, down to the exact shade of flame-red hair, the soft curve of her lips, the subtle psychic warmth that made people instinctively trust and desire her. Emma studied her reflection in a polished metal panel, turning slowly, admiring how the serum had perfected every detail. She even replicated the faint scent of Jean’s favourite shampoo.

“Magnificent,” she whispered, voice now velvet and familiar. “Let’s see if you can pass the ultimate test.”

Logan Howlett, the Wolverine, stood alone at the edge of the holographic training field, wiping his face with a towel and reviewing the latest numbers from his training session. His shoulders were tense, jaw set in that familiar, gruff line. Emma-as-Jean approached with the exact cadence Jean used when she wanted his full attention.

“Logan?”

He turned instantly. The tension in his posture softened the moment he saw her — or rather, the woman he believed was Jean Grey smiling back at him.

“Jean? I thought you were with the Five this morning.”

Emma stepped closer, letting one hand trail lightly down his arm the way Jean always did when she wanted to approach the man in a soothing manner. “Plans changed. I needed to see you.” She leaned in, voice dropping to that intimate murmur Jean reserved only for him. “Just for a little while.”

Leaning up against the man, Logan was stunned silent when Jean seemed to press up against him and kept him close, combing her fingers through his hair as she pulled him in for a passionate kiss that made his eyes nearly bug out in shock. Logan’s breath hitched when she finally leaned back with a smile and began fumbling for his belt.

“Here?”

“Here,” she confirmed, guiding him backward into the shaded alcove hidden by flowering vines. The moment they were out of sight, she pressed him against the wall, kissing him again with Jean’s mouth — hungry, familiar, perfect. Logan groaned into it, hands sliding down to grip her hips exactly the way Emma knew he would.

She made sure to moan in Jean’s exact pitch when his fingers dug in. She let her body arch the way Jean arched. She even whispered the little endearments Jean used to with the man — “my love,” “my anchor,” “harder, Logan” — each one making him shudder harder.

Clothes came off in a rush. Emma rode him right there against the wall, legs wrapped around his waist, red hair spilling over his shoulders. She used every trick she knew Jean liked — the slow roll of her hips, the way she clenched around him, the soft psychic brush against his mind that felt exactly like Jean’s gentle telepathic caress. Wolverine thrust up into her with ****, grateful ****, eyes squinting, muttering her name like a prayer.

Emma drank it all in. The thrill of wearing another woman’s face while her best friend fucked her senseless. Tricking Scott would have been too easy… And she had already conquered that Boy Scout years ago. But Logan? With his enhanced senses? If he couldn’t tell the real her from the red-haired hussy, it was the REAL challenge. The delicious knowledge that every moan, every clench, every drop of sweat was stolen. When he finally came inside her with a broken groan of “Jean—”, Emma let herself tip over the edge too, riding the orgasm with a wicked, triumphant smile hidden against his neck.

She stayed just long enough for him to catch his breath, stroking his hair the way Jean would. Then she kissed him once more — slow, lingering, almost tender.

“I love you,” she whispered in Jean’s voice.

Logan smiled, dazed and sated. “Love you too.”

Emma slipped away before he could open his eyes fully. The Jean Grey disguise melted off her the moment she was out of sight, reforming into her preferred blue-skinned, crimson-haired form — taller now, curvier, every inch the predator she was always meant to be.

She licked her lips, tasting Logan’s on them, and laughed softly to herself.