icecoldfrost | Emma's New York, 27 Vandam Street, Monday Afternoon.

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Emma's New York, 27 Vandam Street, Monday Afternoon.

Most people who knew Emma Frost would not expect her home to be quite so... rambunctious. If it wasn't Emma and Candy hollering at each other from all corners of the house, it was Kennendy's Slayer Squad constantly going back-and-forth from their jobs or various adventures around town, or training downstairs in the Rumpus Room. It was a constant hub of light and noise and people, and thank god the residents of Soho just chalked it up to socialites of ill-repute, or Emma would have had a lot more mind-wiping to do to get the neighbors out of her hair.

For the next twenty-four hours, however, Candy was off with Warren and the vast majority of the Slayer Squad were off playing body-guard for various political figures or were in their classes at ESU, or were out at the Massachusetts Academy. There were strict orders that third floor of the house was Off Limits to anyone who came home, yes, even the jacuzzi, and that Emma would not be held responsible for anything anyone walked in on. Thankfully, everyone seemed to have taken the hint, leaving just Jack and Emma in residence for the evening.

"It's no studio in Brooklyn," Emma joked, kicking off her heels to pad barefoot into the kitchen, "--but welcome home, darling."

[OOC: For That Guy, Please!]

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"We're definitely moving down in the world," Jack agreed, following along like an agreeable puppy. "Honestly, I don't know how you put up with it."

He loved Emma's house -- their house, he supposed, though he hadn't gotten used to thinking of it that way yet.

"With the infinite patience and good-will for which I am so well known," Emma said cheerfully. It would be more convincing if you weren't smirking, Emma. "I do believe I'm a candidate for sainthood."

Emma, no.

"You just want people on their knees before you," Jack smirked back easily as he padded over to the wine cabinet and scanned its contents. "Hmm. What goes well with thanking God we have the place to ourselves?"

"Can you blame me?" Emma asked, fluttering her lashes at him outrageously. "Especially when I have such pretty worshipers."

For her part, she pulled open the fridge to rummage around. "For once, the girls stayed out of my stash of nice cheeses, and it looks like there's some prosciutto left. Maybe a red?"

They were being ridiculously domestic, and Emma was adoring every moment of it.

"That'd be nice," Jack agreed, and snagged a 2007 zinfandel. "I think there are some of those little seedy crackers, too."

They were united in relishing the domesticity.

"What witchcraft did you work to keep the girls out of your cheeses?"

"No witchcraft, just the reminder that I'm a telepath, and if my cheese went mysteriously 'missing' I would know who did it, and that person would be paying the grocery bills for the next month because Kennedy would let me dock their pay directly," Emma said, utterly unrepentant. "I'm running a training house for girls with powers, not a home for lost waifs."

"I don't think this would be a good neighborhood for a home for lost waifs," Jack told her. "Think about the property values."

"It would be rude of me to drive the neighborhood to ruin, after I just moved in," Emma decided. "Besides, Soho has a reputation for bohemian decadence that I should help maintain."

With cheese, of course. And maybe rummaging around in the drawer to find a lighter and actually use some of the candles around the house.

"Two of my favorite things," Jack grinned. "Bohemians, and decadence. It's like you chose the house just for me."

He found some wine glasses and a tray, and put himself to work arranging their snack upon it.

"I was keeping you in mind while shopping," Emma admitted, bringing him the cheese. "Private yard, bohemians, jacuzzi, bedroom that goes on for days, wine cellar..."

Nice big basement that now had a trap-door and a private room for Jack's monthly needs. Because sometimes romance had to meet practical.

"Nice room close to the wine cellar with a nice thick door," Jack -- who never believed in talking around things -- added. "Which must have cost a small fortune to put in, darling, thank you."

He was less irritated by the wolf days lately, but it still was a headache to plan around.

"Discretion always costs," Emma said simply, "Though you'd be surprised how many homes around here have 'panic rooms;' they've become quite popular with how many super-powered battles are always happening in New York."

"Really, I think the contractor was more surprised at how 'utilitarian' I went in the design. He was showing me pictures of places with entire luxury homes underground."

"And you didn't go for it?" Jack asked, mock-pouting. "You could have told the builders you had a Saint Bernard that needed to live in the lap of luxury."

"We would have had to reroute the utilities and there'd be permits upon permits, and I was trying to keep our first home renovation project simple," Emma sighed, giving him a kiss on his forehead to try and smooth away those pouts. "--I love you, darling, but you don't need a full-size Olympic swimming pool in your hideaway."

Though, really, it would give the wolf something to do.

Jack shuddered theatrically. "Wolf's not much for swimming," he said. "I think you made the right choice."

He tilted his head to return the kiss, trying to catch Emma's lips.

[OOC: Sorry, could have sworn I tagged you back last night.]

Emma was about to retort that of course she'd made the right choice, she was Emma Frost, but shockingly, Jack was very good at making her stop talking.

Mostly because she was now quite busy kissing him, and this was why she'd made the residents of Emma's House for Willful Girls go find other entertainment for the night.

She did not promise to keep the kissing (or anything else) to just third floor.

Jack had intended it to be just a quick peck, but such intentions tended to fall by the wayside when Emma was kissing him back. He cornered her against the kitchen counter, hands ruching up her shirt to rest on the skin of her abdomen.

Emma made a happy sound and nipped at his lower lip, sliding her fingers into the waist of his pants to tug him closer.

They could have nice cheeses any time; dealing with a long-distance relationship meant that kisses were much harder to come by.

Jack kissed her again, more hungrily, and buried his nose against her shoulder for a happy sniff. "I missed you," he said softly. "I missed this, but I mostly missed you."

"If you didn't miss me, I'd be most put-out," Emma murmured, turning her head to tease with her lips (and teeth) along the line of his neck. "I might even cry."

"Then I'd have to kiss away your tears," Jack told her, after a little happy sigh at her teasing. "Mmmm. Keep that up, and we won't get around to our snack."

"Promise?" Emma purred, before deliberately nipping harder right above the pulse-point in his neck.

Sorry, Jack, it was possible your girlfriend was incorrigible.

[FFS, self, press post!]

Jack groaned.

"You have my word," he whispered, and slid his hands around to grasp at her bare back.

The nice part about having been cornered up against the counter was that Emma could pry her hands off Jack for a moment to boost herself up on to the counter and wrap her legs around his waist to tug him closer, only needing the smallest of breaks in kissing and teasing.

"Snack later," she breathed, leaning over to pull him into another kiss. "Dessert now."

"Excellent idea," Jack exhaled, and rose on his toes to kiss her neck. His hands found their way to the clasp of her bra, clever fingers working them undone.

He hoped all the baby slayers had the good sense to just stay away.

If they didn't, so help them, Emma was going to reach in and give them a telepathic slap if they got within three blocks of the house.

But if Jack was going to be so kind as to deal with her bra, Emma's fingers were going to set to work ridding him of his shirt.

Jack's shirt was on the floor half a blink later, and her bra soon followed suit. Strange how fast people who didn't get to see each other very often could undress each other.

"Are we doing this right here?" Jack asked, voice unsteady. "... not that I don't want to."

"The girls are not coming home or I will kill them myself, and we have a whole house to break in," Emma said, running her fingers through his curls. "We can do whatever, wherever, you like."

"As long as we do it now."

"I like the way you think," Jack told her, mouth curving into a smile as his hands curved over her breasts. "And if we've got the whole house to christen, we'd better get to it now."

Oh that was nice, and Emma sighed happily, arching her back into his touch. "The Jewish werewolf and the Atheistic mutant are 'christening' a house in Soho," she said, biting her lip as she regarded him with amusement from under lowered eyelashes. "This demands champagne. Later."

"Much later," Jack agreed. "After we've christened enough of the rooms to need a break."

He lowered his mouth, clasping it against one of her nipples.

Emma swore under her breath, fingers tightening in his hair reflexively for a moment, before she decided that getting her shirt the rest of the way off was far more important, and she sent it sailing over to join his on the floor.

Mission accomplished, she ran her hands up-and-down his arms and over his back, nails digging in for a moment every time he did something that made her gasp or squirm.

Jack let out a tiny sigh against Emma's skin, pressing back against her nails as they roamed over his body. He pulled back slightly and sank to his knees, smirking at Emma as he sank to the floor.

There was an initial whine of disappointment as he pulled back, Emma looking flushed and sulky at the sudden absence of Jack's affections.

Then it registered where he was going, and a matching smirk dawned on her face. "Aren't you pretty like that?" she sighed, licking her lips. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"I can think of a few ideas," Jack said, kissing her knee. "But maybe you should tell me how to serve you."

Emma smiled like the cat that just caught the canary.

"I don't think you missed me enough," she said. "Prove me wrong."

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Emma's New York, 27 Vandam Street, Monday Afternoon.

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