Jean Grey sat in sullen fury as she wondered whether it was possible to think someone to death. She was a telepath and a telekinetic so it was no idle puzzle. And as she regarded Emma Frost's smug self-satisfied smile she was sorely tempted.
"Jean? Let's try again and this time concentrate on staying in sync with Emma."
"Yes, Hank. Sorry. I don't know what's got me so distracted."
Jean wanted to shout the worst insults she could think of at Emma or at least grind her teeth in outrage. But Emma would regard that as a victory and Jean wasn't about to give the blonde... the blonde... the blonde BITCH the satisfaction. (There, she'd thought the word!) So instead she kept her voice calm and even enthusiastic and feigned a cheery smile.
"Perhaps we should start with a less challenging astral space, darling?" Emma asked with mock concern.
"No! I mean, I can handle whatever she can."
Beast regarded Jean with concern for a moment, before a reading on a screen distracted him. The two women, younger red-head and older blonde, looked at one another a moment longer. Like two tigers at the edges of their territories deciding whether to fight or ignore one another. Then they each put a large polished Cerebro helmet on their heads and settled back into their padded chairs.
"Now remember, this is an exercise in coordinating your powers. Emma, you will build an imaginary space in the astral plane and, Jean, you will reinforce and enhance it. As your minds move into sync your powers should be enhanced in a cascade effect by Cerebro and the M'Krann fragment."
Jean had lost count of the number of times that Beast had given them the same explanation. She barely heard it as she closed her eyes, relaxed into her chair and reached out with her mind to Emma's.
Between the two reclining women the M'Krann fragment floating in its glass containment vessel began to pulse gently with a pink light as the two telepaths joined their thoughts through Cerebro.
* * *
Jean opened her eyes to a room of outlandish opulence. Everywhere she could see was plush leather, expensive silk or satin, or rich polished tropical woods. The floor seemed to be made of marble, at least what wasn't covered by antique Persian rugs, and the high ceiling was painted in exquisitely detailed oils. The colors were dominated by crimsons and gold and imperial purples. A girl from the tiny village of Annandale-on-Hudson could barely have imagined such ostentatious wealth or luxury.
Emma Frost lounged in an armchair of rich black leather like all this was hers by right. She regarded Jean with an undisguised smirk.
Jean's hold on this astral realm once again trembled. She thought the previous visits to Emma's imagination had prepared her. But she was shocked once more.
Everything seemed to be pornographic!
The wonderfully proportioned ornamental statues were performing the lewdest of acts, the arched legs supporting the tables were shaped like naked acrobatics twisting their crotches into one another, and even the painting on the ceiling was of an orgy.
But worst of all were the servants.
A half-dozen women all dressed in skimpy maid outfits. Or rather as fetish French maids. That theme was all their black outfits with white aprons and amply displayed flesh had in common. An Asian woman was clad in latex so tight it seemed almost like oil. It showed plainly the shape of the nipples of her small but high breasts and of the lips of her... womanhood. Another with sharp Slavic features was dressed entirely in black leather belts with golden buckles, her enormous breasts squeezing out above and below the wide belt that crossed them. One finger-width belt revealed by the inverted v-cut in her apron passed between her legs instead of sensible panties to tenuously preserve her modesty. A third Arabian with long black hair and sinuous curves wore a painfully tight corset and a flared black micro skirt, both edged with copious white lace. The skirt was so short it only covered half her ass and, as the sexy maid bent at the waist to place a glass of champagne by Emma, Jean discovered she was not wearing panties at all but was very obviously aroused.
It was the final straw. Jean wanted to flee. Her concentration wavered as did the scene before her.
"Leaving so soon?" Emma asked with apparent concern.
Anger flared through Jean, so powerful and primal that it almost tasted coppery like blood in her mouth. The wavering astral space firmed as she seized hold of it. As she did the scene around her somehow became more real, more vibrant, as she added her own strength and imagination to Emma's. It might be an illusion but Emma was not. She wouldn't let Emma win.
"Jean, darling, do you think I chose this place just to anger you?"
"Yes!"
"Well, it's a factor, I'll be honest. But it's not the main-- it's not the only reason. Do you know where Scott is right now?"
Jean's anger still burned bright, but she was confused. This wasn't how she had expected this confrontation to go. How had she expected it to go?
"Scott? He's on a mission. The Sisterhood of Evil Mutants--"
"Yes, the Sisterhood of Evil Mutants," Emma interrupted. "What a name! Led by Madelyne Pryor, which I suppose explains the gauche naming even if it doesn't excuse it. Led one might suggest by you."
"What?!" Jean realised Emma was trying to provoke her. Maybe a new strategy now that the mere appearance of this place (don't look at the women) was no longer enough to drive her off. "I'm not-- I'm not this Madelyne Pryor."
"Maybe, but you're certainly a liability, Jean. You've succumbed to the darkness inside you twice. First, right here in the Hellfire Club. Transformed into the Black Queen and then the Dark Phoenix. And then your clone gets to fulfil your dream and marry Scott. But she's barely out of the bridal bed before she's consorting with demons and trying to turn New York into her own personal circle of hell. Maybe you should blame bad genes?"
"You-- Scott. This is about Scott. You want him for yourself. You're trying to frighten me away from him."
Emma laughed. No, she guffawed. Their minds were synchronized enough now that Jean found it hard to imagine it was anything other than genuine amusement. And then images pushed into her mind. No, memories. Emma's memories. Of the psychic affair Emma had conducted with Scott behind Jean's future self's back.
"Jean, darling, if I wanted Scott I could take him from you as easily now as I did before. And you're already too frightened to attempt to claim him for yourself. Besides, your time-bomb unconscious seems to be taking a certain interest in Chantal here."
"Chantal? Who is Cha--"
And suddenly Jean realised that she had been avoiding looking at Emma ever since she had realised the horrible blonde was trying to provoke her. That somehow while she had been concentrating on holding to the astral space, synchronizing her thoughts with Emma, and her verbal duel with the other telepath her gaze had strayed to the swaying exposed butt of the Arabian woman.
"Oui, mademoiselle. I am Chantal."
"I confess I cheated a bit with Chantal. She might not have been named Chantal, but I'm sure it began with a 'C'. And she certainly didn't speak with this amusing French accent but you did know her. Or you will have known her. Time-travel makes for such tiresome grammar. She was the Black Queen's personal maid for a while. Selene and I used to joke that you'd wear her nose away you sat on her face so often."
"No! No, this isn't real. I'm not-- I'm not a lesbian."
Jean wasn't sure whether to be proud or horrified that the astral scene wavered not at all this time. That her connection with Emma if anything deepened as she searched the other psychic's mind for the truth even as she denied it.
"Oh, oui, mademoiselle. I am, how you say? I am wet for you."
With a small gesture Emma silenced the maid before she could say anything more. But Chantal found something that urgently needed cleaning on the ground and bent to see to it. Turning to look back and wink at Jean as she flashed her ass and more at the disoriented redhead.
"Jean, I never said you were a lesbian. I myself have slept with dozens of women and I wouldn't describe myself as a lesbian. Unless it was fashionable. But I digress. If you were not a member of our paramilitary family of X-Men you would be at university. It's not uncommon to experiment... Perhaps it would just be a phase for you. Perhaps you'd find a nice girl. But you're not at university and you are not a nice girl. You are just waiting for the trigger to become the Black Queen or the Goblin Queen or perhaps some new and diabolically wicked type of queen."
"And you want me to go, to vanish, before that can happen?"
The scene was wavering now, but not because of a lack of synchronisation between the two telepaths. Jean blinked away the tears beginning to blur her vision.
"We both know that won't solve anything. Someone or something will find you. And you will come back in corset and thong. Which would be a delightful improvement in costume. But with a much worse attitude and that would not be delightful at all. At best your exile would only delay the inevitable."
Emma rose from her chair and with surprising tenderness wiped the tears from Jean's eyes.
"All this," Emma gestured to the Hellfire room and its expensive pornography and scantily-clad servants, "was simply to force you to face the truth. Beast's experiment an opportunity I knew wouldn't allow you to simply run and find solace in denial. I came from here and part of me still belongs here. Here I indulged my every whim and vice, became a monster, and chose to leave it all behind.
"No, I don't want to drive you away. I want to teach you. To inoculate you. You need a measured dose of depravity if you're to become immune to real temptation."
"How? How would I do that?"
"Well, you can start by putting your hands on this slut's ass and squeezing. Like you know you want to."
"Oui, oui, mademoiselle! My titties are très bien also. Très ripe for le groping."
The bent over Chantal began to play with her breasts with enthusiastic vigor as if to demonstrate. Hesitantly Jean reached out a hand and made contact with the soft smooth flesh of the woman's ass. Her expression was a strange mixture of fascination, self-disgust and unfamiliar lust as her trembling fingers brushed over the maid's dusky skin.
Emma settled back down in her armchair, lightly running a finger along her slit hidden for now beneath her white thong. She always enjoying teaching - especially ethics - and this private lesson promised to be singularly pleasurable.
* * *
Beast stole a final concerned glance at Jean and then pinched the bridge of his nose tiredly.
The two telepaths' minds seemed to be occupied on their collaborative construction in astral space. The atmosphere in the Cerebro chamber crowded with wires and test equipment was already noticeably less tense as a result. Beast relaxed a little and allowed himself to wish that the experiment could have worked with the Stepford Cuckoos. They had seemed the ideal candidates until it turned out their minds were too well-synchronized already and simply bypassed Cerebro and the amplifying M'Krann fragment.
And matters had become pressing with Madelyne Pryor's ability to create a psychic shield strong enough to mask her from Cerebro and its scans. Beast had never expected his little research project to become so important.
Beast focused his attention back on his monitors. There had been a brief dip in the synch reading, exactly the same as had presaged the collapse of the astral space previously, but this time Jean had corrected whatever the problem was. Beast's ability to interpret what was happening in the telepath's mind space was extremely limited. All he could do was monitor their brainwaves and vital signs.
A number of additional dips in synchronisation, all originating from Jean once more, but none as deep as the first appeared on his monitor. In the shared astral space time moved at the speed of thought. From the decreasing gap between the dips and increased speed of recovery of the telepath's synchronization, Beast estimated that perceived time in the astral space must be at least ten times that in the physical world. And that difference in pace was only increasing.
Beast allowed himself a relieved smile as the pattern of the two women's brainwaves became steadily more similar. It was fascinating, scientifically speaking.
The M'Krann fragment pulsed faster and brighter