The first thing Emma did upon hearing the news was take a shower. She usually preferred to then take a bath after and fully relax her limber body, but a simplified version of her beauty routine and dressing in fresh clothes were enough to keep her sharp and in control. Half an hour later, dried off and with Jean and Betsy for back-up, she arrived at the high-class bar Mystique had ordered her to.

It was some consolation that she looked too good even for this place, with its leather and oak furnishings, classy shadows, stock of IPAs and foreign beers. The hem of her clinging white dress licked at her knees as she walked to a booth, not even exchanging words with the barman, just giving him a telepathic compulsion to bring her a tumbler of vodka.

Betsy and Jean were more about the chit-chat. Emma tried to ignore them. Her sun hat and sunglasses hid her mostly from view while still cutting a striking figure on her behalf.

Jean wore slacks, a black blouse, and tennis shoes. Downplayed as all the time. She probably would’ve come to the meeting in flip-flops if she could’ve. “What are the odds this is a trap?”

“That doesn’t feel like Mystique.” Betsy was in her costume, ready for fast movement, fast action. She wore a closed trench coat over it, with only her long, booted legs emerging from its London Fog burgundy. That and the swell of her cleavage.

Emma had to admit, she was appealing, in a stripper kind of way. She looked like she was about to flash someone–and that it would be a pleasant experience.

“I don’t trust her as far as I can tomoe nage her,” Betsy continued, “but she at least values having a good working relationship with us. And she must know we have enough raw power here that it really wouldn’t matter if this were one of Arcade’s set-ups or something.”

“But blackmail?” Jean asked. Her eyes flickered to Emma. “We all know Scott. He doesn’t have any deep, dark secrets in him.”

“There’s us,” Emma replied, gulping the potent vodka that had finally come her way. It burned its way to her belly, spreading its heat throughout her body.

“What about us?” Betsy asked, almond eyes slanting from Jean to Emma, wondering why she would be included in anything the trendy rivals had going on.

Emma took another gulp. It helped. “Don’t be childish, ‘Betts’. We all know the X-Men have become rather laissez-faire about the sleeping arrangements of late. And I think it’s safe to say we’ve all taken advantage of that?”

Betsy blushed. “That wasn’t me. That was Kwannon…”

“Of course it was, dear.”

Jean straightened her spine. “It’s not very laissez-faire if we go blabbing about it, now is it?” she asked primly.

“Don’t ask, don’t tell, eh?” Emma toasted her.

Betsy leaned across the table. “You would have a problem with that. Do you even care about Scott or do you just want everyone to know you’re the alpha male’s woman?”

“Alpha male?” Emma laughed. “I’m the alpha female, certainly, but he’s my man–I’m not his woman.”

“If you say so,” Jean said with a smirk.

Emma fixed Jean with a stare and a psychic whisper: What is that meant to imply?

Jean responded in kind: Just that as someone on intimate terms with Scott, he doesn’t seem the type to submit. But if you like the kind of thing he does to me…

“Living vicariously through me?” Emma snapped out loud. “Even when you can get him into bed?”

Betsy took Jean’s hand before she could respond, silencing her. “I hate to admit it, but Queenie has a point. I never would’ve done this if I thought we were doing to… kiss and tell.”

“Oh please,” Emma sneered. “Like anything would keep you away other than a locked and bolted door. Once you knew Scott was on the market, how long did it take you to make your play?”

“As long as it took you,” Betsy retorted.

“I didn’t have to make a play. He was always mine.”

Jean tittered. “That’s rich.”

“That’s right, Jeannie, remind everyone he’s obsessed with you.” Emma crossed her arms. “He made a beeline for me once there was more than one skirt on the premises.”

“Really?” Betsy asked. “Because I was with Scott then and I recall you were busy feuding with Jubilee. That little twelve-year-old gave you so much trouble…”

“You were never with Scott,” Jean cut in.

And the next thing Emma knew, the barman was scooting in beside her, joining in on the conversation so suddenly that none of them had seen him coming. “My, my, such scintillating discourse you ladies get into when there aren’t any men around. What’s next? Debating the works of François Truffaut?”

Emma picked up her vodka again. “Mystique.”

The barman’s eyes flashed yellow before his drab clothes shifted into blue skin and a white dress, which still seemed to disappear into the shadows under the dimly humming lightbulb overhead. “Ladies. Thank you for agreeing to be blackmailed by me.”

“Is that the game?” Betsy asked, rubbing at her eyes tiredly. “You leak a sex tape or two to the press unless we dry-hump a Sentinel or whatever it is you’re on about this week?”

“You misunderstand me,” Raven protested, holding a hand to her breast. “I’m not the one who wrote a tell-all. I’m just giving you a heads-up.”

“A tell-all? You mean a book?” Jean asked.

“Yes, Jean dear, those are the ones with lots of words and not so many pictures,” Emma said. “And Raven, much as I flatter myself that the three of us being in Scott’s harem is ever-so-scandalous, I hardly think many people would care in this day and age.”

“It might make us more popular,” Betsy opined.

“Oh?” Raven cooed. “You’re all such free-love hippies that you’re fine with your sordid secrets getting out? Like you, Emma, and what happened in that hospital bed after your little accident? I wonder how many people would still fear the White Queen if they knew what got her off then.“

Emma froze with her tumbler halfway to her lips.

“Or you, Jean?” Raven continued. “I know Scott and you are happily married, but still–while wearing your daughter’s costume? And Betsy: are you still telling them that nothing happened between you and Scott before Jean and Emma agreed on an open relationship?”

Jean cleared her throat. “You’re… your usual half-truths and insinuations, Mystique. Maybe you got hold of one or two bits of juicy gossip, but that doesn’t mean–“

“Yeah,” Betsy interrupted. “Nothing happened between me and Scott while he was married.”

Emma finished her drink. “I suppose I shouldn’t waste my time bothering to deny anything. Still, I would hardly want John Q. Public… let alone Northstar… discussing my private life.”

Raven hummed with approval. “Very good, Emma. That’s what I always liked about you. Your honesty.”

“And you’re a lying bitch, but I do appreciate that. Jean has a point. Who’s to say you’re not wrapping a con-job around some guesswork and hacked phones?”

Raven leaned back in her seat. “It so happens I have a copy of the manuscript that’s going to tell the whole world what sordid lives you X-Men lead. Meet my terms, it’s yours. You can head it off however you see fit.”

Emma, Betsy, and Jean all looked from one to another. There was no need of psi-talk to convey that they would all prefer such a book never see publication.

“And what are your terms?” Betsy asked.

Raven steepled her fingers on the table. “Simple. I don’t even want you to do anything against your squeaky-clean X-Men ethos. I simply want you to share. Scott seems to keep all of you coming back for more… I wouldn’t mind sampling him myself.”

“Out of the question,” Betsy said.

“You’re not getting your hooks into him,” Jean agreed.

“You couldn’t handle him anyway,” Emma put in.

“So possessive!” Mystique laughed. “And yet none of you mind sharing him with each other. Why is that?” She lowered her voice with a smirk. “Does it make it more exciting? Because I have to tell you, I quite like the thought that I’ll be riding the man who keeps half the X-Men’s telepaths entertained…”

“Not. Happening,” Emma stated flatly.

“We’ll see. I always come to the table with a back-up offer. If you want Scott–or what you can get of him–to yourselves, that’s fine by me. There’s something else you can do…”

“Which is?” Jean asked. Emma and Betsy had already guessed.

Mystique pulled apart the skirt of her dress to show a huge erection looming up from her groin, a vivid azure compared to the rest of her blue skin. She’d made it substantially thick and extremely long–the sort of thing that would give a woman as much horror as it did ecstasy.

In fact, each woman there compared the shapeshifter’s phallus to what Scott had been born with. It seemed to perfectly suit Raven’s sick sense of humor that she’d managed a fair approximation of his manhood; proof that she’d gotten at least some legitimate dirt on their shared sex lives.

“According to my sources, Scott’s got you all well-trained in how to show a cock like this a good time. You give me a double blowjob and the manuscript is yours.”

Jean hiccupped a laugh. “Double? Why not ask for all three of us while you’re at it?”

Raven shrugged. “I think it would make for good drama if one of you sits this out. You X-Men are getting a little boring now that all your love triangles end up in an orgy. I’d like to see some catfights get going by the next time I’m in town.”

Emma sighed. There was a third option–telling Raven to hit the road, fuck her and her manuscript. But it was clear to all of them they wouldn’t be doing that. Either Mystique was getting her double blowjob or she was getting Scott.

She didn’t think she’d gotten enough vodka to say which it was gonna be.