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Wash Away Your Sins

by Zeelee

[Story Headers]

It all started because Emma Frost wanted to get drunk with someone, and Kurt Wagner was the only male available. Kurt wasn't sure what had caused her sudden need to get so thoroughly smashed, but he suspected it had something to do with Scott's absence--specifically, Scott's current location at the nearest bar, drowning his sorrows and memories of Jean in alcohol.

They were, by the strange coincidences of school vacations and various team missions, completely alone in the mansion. She swaggered into the common room where he was reading and trying not to feel sorry for himself and promptly deposited several bottles of extremely expensive alcoholic liquids onto his lap. "If a man has to drown himself in alcohol to forget the other woman, then I haven't done my job right," she said, pouring five inches of bourbon into a glass which she quickly drained.

"Um," he said, as it seemed the smartest thing to say at the moment. As an afterthought, he added, "Emma, what are all these bottles for?"

She smiled sweetly at him--or as sweet as it was possible for her too look, anyway. "What do you think they're for, darling? We're going to get shitfaced."

".... excuse me?"

Emma lounged on the sofa beside him, obviously quite tipsy to begin with, and handed him her bottle of bourbon. "Inebriated. Sloshed. Wasted. Intoxicated. Soused. Shmammered, even, if you wish. Say you're at least somewhat familiar with this practice, dear."

He'd taken the bottle, afraid she might drop it otherwise. "Well, yes, but-"

"Oh please Kurt, do tell me that Catholicism hasn't made you completely boring."

He flushed. "I hope not. But that doesn't mean-" that I think getting drunk with a nearly naked telepath who used to be our deadliest enemy is the best idea- "that I approve of this."

She snorted. "Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn whether you approve. I just want someone to get trashed with, and who better than the resident blue-furred catholic demon?"

He frowned, deciding to ignore that `demon' crack. "Regardless, do you really think that getting drunk like this is going to help whatever problems you're having with Scott?"

"No offense, Father Wagner, but you aren't my priest and this isn't a fucking confessional--at least, not until we've gone through at least two of these bottles."

"Emma, you have class tomorrow, I'll probably have to assist in saving the world--I doubt hangovers would be all that beneficial for either of us, nein?"

She pretended to pout. "I'll bet you get trashed with Logan all the time. If I dye my hair black, shape it into points and get myself some adamantium claws, then will you get hammered with me?"

Despite himself, Kurt snorted with laughter at the mental image. "Well, I guess it would be impolite to refuse one drink."

"And heaven forbid we be impolite," said Emma with mock seriousness, shoving a beer into his hand.

One drink. It was supposed to be just one drink, to humor her. Kurt wasn't quite clear how that had evolved into two, and then three, and then several bottles shared between them; that part of the evening was fuzzy and hard to remember, like the bit of a movie you missed because you went to the bathroom.

He remembered laughing at Emma's drunken reenactment of the school riot a few months ago, and telling Emma a few of Bobby's most tasteless, unfunny jokes, which she seemed to think were the most hilarious things--

Wait a minute. He was telling Emma Frost jokes that Bobby Drake made up?

Kurt didn't want to think about how plastered that meant he was. Luckily, Emma was distracting him from thinking quite well.

When he wasn't paying attention, Emma had somehow draped herself over him. Her arms were flung over his shoulders, her entire body leaning on him.

"Let's take a bath, Kurt dear. Wouldn't that be lovely? Oh, I haven't had a good long soak in ages, it sounds splendid," she gushed, speaking into his neck.

Kurt blinked, trying to wrap his brain around the concept. A bath. That meant... water. And... skin. And he was really having a hard time thinking with Emma pressing up against him like that...

She leaned away from him suddenly, her eyes bright and excited. "The jacuzzis, Kurt," she said. "They're such a recent addition to the mansion, I haven't had a chance to try them out yet. No one's around, it's the perfect time for it!"

He managed an incoherent, "Wha?"

She was pulling him towards the stairs now, smiling wickedly. "Don't just stand there, Kurt, let's go!"

It was big, for a jacuzzi; or at least, Kurt thought so--it had been a while since he'd set foot in anything other than a cramped shower. Emma was adjusting dials on the side while taking swigs out of a bottle of wine.

"I think this one adjusts the bubbles. Does this adjust the bubbles, Kurt?" Her fiddling resulted in a sudden burst of water in the hot tub. "Oop! Guess so!" she said, giggling uncharacteristically, causing Kurt to stare at her for a moment.

"Emma," Kurt said, then stopped, gulping. Her suggestion of a bath had just dawned upon him. "I don't have my swimsuit," he blurted.

Her smile was the most wicked thing he'd ever seen, topping even Mystique's most malicious looks. "We won't be needing swimsuits," she purred.

Kurt gulped again.

She was teetering over to him now, holding a bottle of champagne in one hand while the other made swaying motions, attempting to keep her balanced. "Don't know what you're so afraid of, Nightmauler," she slurred. "I don't bite--much." She hiccuped and stared down at her breasts, contemplating her costume. "Besides," she added as an afterthought. "It's not like I'm not practically naked anyway."

She had a point. All the same, bathing naked with Emma Frost didn't seem like the most Properly Catholic thing to do. And even though he technically hadn't been a priest, he sort of had--hadn't he? Did getting manipulated into thinking you were a priest mean you still had to go through the same guilt trips? Kurt wasn't quite sure, and didn't think it was a question he could ask his local bishop.

Besides, doing anything with Emma Frost probably wasn't the most Catholic thing to do. Being within ten feet of her without praying frantically for her immortal soul was probably bad enough, why not go the whole way?

She was smirking at him now, sloppily undressing and not bothering to look away. Kurt blushed fiercely but didn't actually avert his eyes; for a moment, he admonished himself for not being a gentlemen, but then remembered he was drunk. Besides, he was going to be naked as well, in a minute. And Emma certainly was a sight for sore eyes--sore other body parts, as well, he realized.

She slipped into the water, raising her eyebrow at him. "Well? Come on in, the water's delicious," she said. "We'll wash away our sins: aren't you Catholics into that?" she said, smirking.

Kurt doubted the Pope would approve. He was having a few second thoughts as well, now that Emma was actually in the water, and not naked in front of him. "Emma, I don't know if-" he started to say, turning away from her.

And didn't finish. Because before he could, Emma grabbed his tail and yanked him into the jacuzzi, still in his leather uniform, splashing water about the entire room and out into the hallway.

Kurt didn't know which shocked him more: the sudden fact that he was in the water, or Emma grabbing his tail.

She'd actually grabbed his tail. More than that: she was now leaning over him, tail still firmly in hand, as if it were her own personal leash. It seemed to be acting of its own accord, the end of it wrapping affectionately around her wrist.

"Sorry about that dear, but you were just too slow," she said. "I'll simply have to undress you in here."

Before Kurt could stop her (although he wasn't exactly trying his hardest), she had unzipped his leather costume and peeled it off his shoulders, exposing his wet, blue furred chest. She leaned down and ran her tongue quickly over his collarbone, making him jump.

"Emma, nein!" he cried, though his body was sending quite a different signal.

"Mmm," Emma replied, now focusing her attention on the sensitive fur at his neck. "Don't speak German, Kurt."

"I... you and Scott, we shouldn't be..." He gasped and completely lost his train of thought, as Emma was now focusing on removing the bottom half of his costume, her hands brushing and teasing his thighs and hips, eliciting an involuntary moan.

He vaguely noticed that his tail was clinging even tighter to her, now curled around her upper arm, the tip of it caressing her cheek. She seemed to like using it as a leash, and yanked it hard, pulling him closer to her. Kurt yelped in protest, but she cut him off by covering his mouth with hers.

Kissing Emma was like getting drunk all over again. She tasted like at least five different variations of alcohol; her tongue snaked inside his mouth immediately, flicking over his fangs and teasing his own tongue until he was practically whimpering. When she finally let go, Kurt was gasping for breath, lightheaded, any reservations gone along with his costume. He lunged forward, returning the kiss and burying his hands in her hair.

Emma broke the kiss first, gasping with surprise. "Oh! Kurt, I didn't know your tail could do that!"

He hadn't known, either. Apparently it had a mind of its own tonight.

Looking around, he realized that the rest of the X-men could, theoretically, be back any minute. And they were technically in a public place. Which meant... "Emma," he said, gasping, as she was now focusing her attention--or her teeth, rather--on his nipples. "We should... we shouldn't do this here."

"Mmm," she replied, much more interested in his chest. "Your room or mine?"

"Isn't your room also Scott's room?"

She paused, blinking as if the thought had just occurred to her. "True," she said. "Yours, then."

They didn't bother with towels or bathrobes, though Emma did remember to grab the vodka.


Kurt woke up the next morning and immediately regretted it. His head felt like Colossus, Rogue, Juggernaut and the Hulk had all used it as a punching bag--at the same time. He groaned and squinted his eyes from the glare, throwing an arm over his face to block out the sunlight.

"Aw, poor baby. Hangover?" he heard a voice say. He groaned again in reply.

He could practically see Emma smirking, even with his eyes closed. "You might as well get up now. I believe you have a Danger Room exercise with Wolverine in, what, ten minutes?"

Swearing vividly in German, Kurt reluctantly opened his eyes and threw off the blankets. He glared across the room at Emma Frost, who was slipping back into her costume. "And why are you so chipper?" he snapped. "You should be in just as much pain as I am, if not more."

"Diamond form," she said gleefully. "Dulls most physical sensations, including hangovers." She grinned at him, tossing her hair over shoulder and casting reflections all about the room.

Kurt realized that Xavier had obviously been wrong in trusting Ms. Emma Frost. Obviously, she was still quite evil.

Studying him for a moment, Emma took pity on Kurt. Sighing dramatically, she said, "Fine, if you're going to pout and be miserable like that, I suppose I can make an effort to eradicate your pain."

Kurt felt a cool hand against his forehead, and then the hangover was... pretty much gone, save for a vague tickling sensation at the back of his head. He blinked. "I didn't know telepaths could do that."

"Well. Now you know."

Their eyes met, and Emma went quiet, studying Kurt. Then she smiled, saying, "Well, darling Nightcrawler, it's been a grand time but I've got a class to teach and teammates to aggravate. Should you ever need a female drinking buddy again, feel free to ring me up." She smirked at him one last time, then walked out the door.

Kurt blinked and shook his head to clear it. Glancing at the calendar hanging above his bed, he realized it was Sunday. He threw his head back and guffawed, his entire body shaking with laughter.

His confession today would certainly be most interesting.

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Fandom:  X-Men
Title:  Wash Away Your Sins
Author:  Zeelee   [email]
Details:  Standalone  |  PG-13  |  11k  |  08/11/04
Pairings:  Emma/Kurt
Summary:  Emma Frost and Kurt Wagner. Jacuzzis. Alcohol. Tail abuse.
Notes:  Written for the Behind Every Good Woman rarehet challenge.

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