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Anonymous "Out of this World" One-Shot Crossover Contest

Title: A Lesson in Manners

Movie Title, TV Show or Book and Author: X-Men Movies/Comics

Recognizable Character(s) from other world: Emma Frost, Jean Grey, and mentions of other mutants.

Rating: M

Disclaimer: The characters of Jean Grey and Emma Frost are the property of Marvel; all Twilight characters are the property of Stephanie Meyers

Summary: Edward Cullen was not aware that there are several agreed upon protocols that all telepaths follow. Any behavior that deviates from one of these, are grounds for swift punishment. Ignorance is never an excuse.

Boston Gazette-- Boston, Massachusetts

Frost International announced today the acquisition of the Seattle-based company GENOSHA, Inc. GENOSHA is the developer of the controversial technology that purportedly suppresses the mutant x-gene.

"Frost International has long been a supporter of the technology that companies such as GENOSHA represent," said Emma Frost, Chairman of the Board and CEO of Frost International, "Frost International plans to continue R&D on mutant suppression technology and anticipates a product release as early as next year."

Since this was the first time that Jean Grey had flown on a private corporate jet, she was quite surprised that infuriating travel delays can even happen to the rich and privileged. Who knew that inclement weather could have the audacity to inconvenience people like Emma Frost?

Emma Frost. The CEO of Frost International. An alpha level telepathic mutant, who, in Jean's opinion, frequently engages in unethical and amoral activities. She was once known as the White Queen, leader of the Hellfire Club, an organization whose known activities include an agenda of mutant world domination. Her name could be synonymous with any infamous femme fatale in history. She is the seductress, a harlot, the Jezebel, a sexual Machiavellian, and in Jean's opinion: a conniving whore who possibly may have set her sights on her husband, Scott.

Even though it pained Jean to agree, she understood that Emma wore as little clothing as possible because it gave her the upper hand in most situations- that is to say, if men were involved. She did understand, but the reality was, that being forced to look at most of Emma's tits for hours on end set Jean on edge.

Jean surreptitiously glanced down at her watch, while softly tapping her short unpainted nails against the side of her coffee cup. Only five minutes had passed, since the last time she checked. She quietly sighed, picked her cup up, and drank the last few bitter swallows of cold coffee. Time crawls so incredibly when you are stuck in an airport at two in the morning with this woman.

Jean couldn't help but notice that Emma had strategically positioned herself so that every time she crossed her perfect thighs, the entire waiting room would be subjected to a view of her white garters and stockings. Fourteen sets of masculine eyes were now hungrily feasting on those six inches of forbidding flesh. How fucking typical.

Jealous, much? Emma's low telepathic voice invaded into her mind, like an insidious cancer.

Hardly. Correct me if I am wrong, but were you invited in? Her eyebrows rose in silent question, annoyed, that once again, Emma was able to get by her mental shields undetected.

How quaint, an invitation from Jean Grey. I bet that doesn't happen often.

Jean said nothing as she began searching for the holes in her shields. She was in no mood to continue this conversation with Emma. It was a stupidly childish tête-à-tête that started a long time ago, designed to piss her off and wear her down. There were times, Jean thought that Emma's only reason for existing was to annoy her and make sexual passes at her husband, Scott.

Emma quirked an eyebrow at her before letting out an exaggerated sigh. She smiled nastily at Jean before raising her arms and stretching her back, which caused her breasts to jut out invitingly. The rush of primal male mental urges, lustful suggestions, and crude commentary flooded into Jean's mind. Normally, she would block all of this inane mental chatter since her mental shielding was instinctual but maintaining them at full strength when exhausted was not easy. Jean rolled her eyes and tried not to glare at the men staring at Emma's calculated display.

"You know, having a cocktail once in a while won't kill you, you might actually enjoy yourself." Emma said, sipping her own drink.

In the seven years that she has known Emma Frost, Jean could not actually recall a single enjoyable moment spent with her. Except that time, when the entity within her called the Phoenix almost roasted Emma Frost alive. Jean had overreacted to a simple misunderstanding about a racy telepathic conversation that Emma had had with Scott. It was the type of conversation that any wife would deem inappropriate and possibly act out in a fit of anger. Some women might confront the other woman, or key her car, Jean reacted in her own way by almost burning Emma alive. She still couldn't help but smile at the idea of Emma Frost spitted and roasting with an apple in her mouth over an open flame.

"I heard that," Emma replied surly. A single, small Botox defying wrinkle appeared between Emma's eyes. Jean smiled at her for the first time today, reveling with the thought that she might have just caused that tiny imperfection to appear on Emma's face.

"I already am aware that you don't enjoy yourself around me, but you could at least try to amuse me by being a decent conversationalist."

"Amuse you? Why does that not surprise me? Do you really believe that I care one bit about your childish need for amusement?" Jean whispered hotly back. She could feel something searing and big pulsating behind her eyes that wanted to lash out at Emma, take her down, and beat her into submission.

Relax Jean. I really don't believe that any of these nice people of Seattle need to witness the awesome power of the Phoenix. Why don't you excuse yourself to the ladies room, call Scott, and get a hold of yourself?

"Um…excuse me," Emma waved her impeccably manicured hand in the air, to get the bartender's attention, "I would like another one of these and perhaps a Cosmo for my friend here."

Emma turned towards an overweight middle aged man in a blue Brooks Brothers business suit sporting a rather bad comb over, who had suddenly appeared to her right, "and thank you, but no, I will not allow you to pay for our drinks."

He gaped at her with an open mouth, resembling one of those fish that the Pacific North West is famous for. The appearance of Fish-man was Jean's cue to grab her purse and head to the back of the room for some Emma-free time, and to make a quick call to her husband. When she returned, she saw that Emma was the still holding court in the tiny bar, but was in a much better mood to deal with the annoyance.

"Better?" Emma asked smirking at her. Jean nodded minutely.

"Harold, my pilot, said that we now have departure clearance, and should be able to start boarding in about fifteen minutes. Can you stomach my presence until then?"

"I'll do my best," Jean replied sourly, "oh and thank you for this," she gestured to her cocktail before picking it up, and taking a sip, "and Scott sends his regards."

"I'm sure that he does," the corners of Emma's mouth turned up and she softly chuckled, before turning her head so that she could take another peek at the trio of eye candy seated at the end of the bar.

"So, I was wondering, what do you unofficially plan to do with Genosha?" Jean asked quietly.

Ah, civilized conversation. Knew you had it in you.

Jean smirked at Emma before huffing in annoyance.

"Charles and I have been in contact with Warren, and we have a meeting scheduled in about a week to discuss strategy. It is imperative that I keep my shareholders happy by attempting to turn a profit with the acquisition of Genosha, but obviously, that will not be in the arena of the production of anti-mutant devices. So my actual plans for that atrocious company is not concrete, as of yet."

Jean nodded her head, lost in her own ideas of what she'd like to do with Genosha. Fleeting images of casting the cage of flesh and bone aside, taking flight, and engulfing the building in flames saturated her thoughts. The Phoenix wanted to destroy the technology that would have enslaved its host, Jean Grey, and the other mutants of the world. A small sigh from Emma brought her out of these dark thoughts.

"What?" Jean asked, but only out of habit, because quite honestly, she didn't actually give a rat's ass what was on Emma's mind.

"You know, I've never have been to Seattle and…hmm…whenever I find myself in a new city, I always hope that I might meet someone interesting." Emma replied, as her fingers moved to smooth a nonexistent wrinkle out of the fabric of her immaculately white skirt.

"A man, you mean?"

"Of course, I mean a man," she snapped, "take a look around, here is a room filled with very well to do men. Apparently, Seattle's finest."

"Seattle's finest at two o'clock in morning, stuck in an airport's bar, you mean," Jean chuckled.

"Alright, I'll give you that one…so anyways, as I take a look around I see only three potential candidates to pursue- and that of course would be in a purely physical sense."

"Of course."

Jean followed Emma's line of sight to three extremely pale men at the end of the bar. They each had an untouched drink next to them and they were engaged in a very quiet, albeit animated discussion.

The first one was a young man, who appeared to be about the same age as Bobby Drake, probably about seventeen. Jean was surprised that the bar staff allowed him in here, being that he was obviously underage. He was of medium build, with reddish brown hair that caught the light in the most unusual way. His posture was stiff, demeanor was serious and he never smiled.

Sitting in the middle, was another young man, who looked to be in his early twenties. It was apparent that he spent countless hours in the gym; his physique was flawless with heavy packed muscle that strained against his tailored dress shirt. He smiled often; causing deep dimples to form in his cheeks and his laugh was joyful.

Jean couldn't tell if the third man was biologically older than muscular one, but he held himself in such a way that spoke of volumes of experience, so she thought he might be. His short golden hair gleamed in the artificial light, and when he looked across the bar and caught Jean staring, he smiled warmly at her.

Of the three, the only one whose eyes occasionally darted their way with the intent to catch a glimpse of Emma's exposed thigh was the muscular one.

"I can immediately rule out the boy, for he is obviously too young for my sophisticated tastes."

As if he heard Emma speaking about him from across the loud and raucous bar, the young man looked up and shot a glance in their direction. Jean had a feeling that he was much older than he appeared by what she saw in his guileless golden eyes. She felt a soft flutter across her shields, but thought nothing of it.

Jean quickly looked away but not before catching the equally golden eyes of the big one with the cute dimples, he suggestively arched his brow before boldly winking at her. They all share such an unusual eye color they must all be related, she thought to herself. She smiled shyly back at him, "The big one seems to be quite interested."

"Oh you mean, the one who has been eye fucking me for the last hour and a half?" Emma asked, before she licked her lips, and tossed her platinum blond hair over her shoulder, so that she could stare unobstructed and unabashed back at him.

"So classy, and you wonder why you spend more time with your battery operated rabbit instead of a real man." Jean quietly murmured.

Touché, Jean. Love it when you get all bitchy.

"The big one, apparently, is quite happily married to a woman who I resemble. So he is more thinking of her."

"Ah…that's so sweet. And the other? The blond one? Tell me that you do see the striking similarity between that man and Warren Worthington."

"I do, and that is probably what caught my eye in the first place. Angel is a mighty fine specimen."

"Yeah…because men always like to be referred to as specimens. Do you remember my comment about your rabbit? That there is another reason," she remarked drolly.

"Oh funny," Emma sarcastically replied, before she smiled brightly, and raised her chin up, indicating that she had more to say about the blond man, "that one there, projects such kind thoughts of everyone around him. And he is very happily married. Obsessively thinks of his wife with so much passion, it's quite refreshing actually..."

"These were all his projected thoughts, were they? Not over there snooping are you?" Jean asked, raising her left eyebrow.

"For once, I wasn't. He is a lot like Scott; he projects most of his thoughts outwardly. It is as if he is accustomed to being around a people like us. So the last hour I have heard so many thoughts about Esme, and how wonderful Esme is, how beautiful Esme is…"

The two telepaths failed to notice how all three of the men tensed up, and became hyper vigilant when they heard the name 'Esme' spoken out loud. What the two telepaths did notice was a simultaneous attack on their mental shields.

I'm sure that you felt that? Jean asked, her eyes moving slowly from person to person, trying to ascertain which of the bar's inhabitants was a mutant.

How could I not? Which one? Emma replied. Her blue eyes sparkled with excitement for this was far more entertaining than talking to Jean.

I will do the honors, you watch for a reaction. Jean said as she prepared to use her powerful gift of telepathy to 'slap' everyone in the room. A telepathic slap can only be felt by other telepaths, and it is commonly used within the community as a stiff reminder to not overstep boundaries and be respectful of other telepath's private mind space.

Emma was quite surprised to see that it was the young man with the golden eyes who had trespassed.

Interesting. Emma voiced her slight surprise. She would have never guessed that it was the boy who was the telepath; he just didn't seem the type. Jean said nothing as she ignored the three men now staring at them from the end of the bar.

"Ms. Frost?" said Harold, the pilot for the Frost International Corporation, who was standing to her right.

"Are we cleared for take off, Harold?" Emma asked.

There was a steady stream of verbal and nonverbal conversation that was taking place between the three men. The blond man, whose name is Carlisle, was quite sure that it was either Emma or Jean that had said Esme's name. The big one named Emmett, wanted to take the direct approach, come over and simply ask them. Edward, the telepath, was extremely wary of the entire situation, felt that he should ignore whatever that sharp pain was inside of his head and search everyone's minds again.

That wouldn't be too wise, my young friend. Jean warned before she chuckled aloud, Emma's eyes narrowed at her.

"Yes ma'am," Harold replied before turning on his heel to make his way back to the jet, to finish the last of his checklist for departure.

Jean and Emma gathered their few belongings, made their way towards the exit, which thankfully was in the opposite direction of where those men were sitting. Jean thought that this was for the best. Emma's pissy mood had pushed the Phoenix on to a dangerous edge, and this situation could easily blow up in everyone's faces.

They were in the process of storing their carryon luggage under their seats, when they felt the young telepath launch another attack on them.

He is so fucking dead! That little bastard! How dare he? Emma mentally screamed, as she calmly clicked her seat belt closed. Jean sighed, genuinely feeling sad for the kid. She knew what was going to happen next. He was about to be subjected to Emma's method of teaching wayward and rude telepaths a lesson. Jean shrugged her shoulders as she washed her hands of the situation completely. Edward had made his bed and now he was going to have to lie in it.

Emma smiled as she slipped effortlessly and undetected into Edward's mind and collected what information she needed to transport his whole psyche into the astral plane. Most trained telepaths could free their minds enough to get there, but there were few that could alter the environment and the perceptions of others like she could. From what she grabbed from him, she already knew that this was going to beyond entertaining for herself and a harsh lesson for this telepath named, Edward Cullen. Emma smiled in such a way that even an all powerful omega level mutant would cringe in fear and leave the room post haste. She started planning as she mulled over some fascinating facts from this rude little trespassing fuck:

He wasn't a teenager like her appeared to be.

He was roughly 107 years old.

A vampire.

But not like any vampire Emma had ever encountered.

His memory is eidetic.

He exhibits enormous amount of self control, but that hadn't always been the case.

Mentally anguished.

Completely sexually repressed.

For the last ninety years, Edward Cullen lived in state of complete sound overload. There are no creatures on Earth that can even come close to recreating the clamor that humans do- they can do nothing quietly. From the sound of their technology and transportation to the cacophony of noise that their very bodies made- thumping, gurgling, and whooshing- there is never any total silence. As if this wasn't enough for his senses to process, Edward also was subjected to each and every one of their inane and uninteresting thoughts that relentlessly bombarded his brain.

Silence had not existed for him for almost a century.

Until now.

It was the total silence that he first noticed. No sounds came from the nearby road, no breathless sighs or fervent moans from any of his adoptive family's nightly coupling, there were no thoughts, no words…just silence… nothingness.

He opened his eyes to discover that he was in total darkness, he could see black, and that was it. The emptiness of inky dark stirred remote wispy human memories of childhood fears of the unknown, of the possibility that creatures might be silently lurking under his bed. A touch of this long forgotten childish fear flickered across his brain. He took a deep shuddering breath in, before it caught in his throat, it was right then that Edward realized that there was no scent of anything. There was no warm organic scent of lumber or the cloyingly sweet smell of paint; it was as if this room was not made of anything. He glanced down and realized that he was seated in a chair with a high back and wide armrests. His fingers were splayed apart on the armrests, and he could feel the lines of the wood grain, but it too emitted no scent. Edward made a move to stand when he realized that he couldn't. He couldn't move at all. It was as if there was a physical disconnect between his brain and his body, even though he could still feel the pressure of the wood beneath his legs and under his fingers. His mind rebelled at the thought that he was completely vulnerable with immobility, that his senses that he used every second of the day were effectively shut down, and there wasn't a rational explanation for any of this. The minutes ticked by slowly as several possible scenarios that might explain what had happened and where he might be, endlessly looped through his head.

Edward startled when he heard a soft clicking sound from behind him, coupled with the scent of vanilla, jasmine, and sandalwood, just before a blinding white light flashed painfully into his eyes.

"Oh good, you are awake," a throaty feminine voice said, her mouth was mere inches from his right ear. He took a deep breath in surprise; he had no idea that she was that close to him. Even though, he could hear no thoughts from her, the move was too calculated to not be intentional. She was trying to unnerve him. It was working.

"I don't sleep-ever," he answered rudely. He tried not to cringe when he felt her fingertips twisting through his hair, her nails scraping softly across his scalp- the gesture was gentle and surprisingly pleasurable.

"I am well aware of that particular fact, Mister Cullen," she barked, now painfully fisting a handful of his hair before pulling his head back. He was expecting to finally see the face of his captor but the light flashed again in his eyes, momentarily blinding him. He hissed through his teeth, partially in anger but mostly in pain. Edward hadn't felt any type of physical pain in over fifty years, and that was when he and Carlisle had to deal with Emmett as a newborn. What kind of creature is she? How can she cause me any type of pain? Another vampire? No, that doesn't explain any of this. These thoughts rocketed through his brain in quick succession.

"Mind your manners, boy, or things could get down right ugly for you," she whispered sharply into his ear, her breath felt hot against the sensitive flesh, before she released his head with a rough shove forward.

"Where am I?" Edward demanded his voice was laced with the sharp edges of anger. He knew that he had to keep himself in check, under control, if he was expecting some definitive answers. So he changed the tone of his voice to a frequency that caused most humans confusion, and to bend to his will, "Who are you?"

She barked out a laugh as if she knew what he just attempted to do.

"The first questions that they always ask." She replied, her voice sounded tinny and hollow as she walked away from him. He heard that strange clicking sound again and he realized that it was the sound of her high heels touching the floor as she walked.

"As in other vampires?" he probed, thinking that if he acknowledged her understanding of what he was it might give him some leverage in this situation.

"No, you are the first vampire to grace my chair," she murmured as she ghosted her hand across the cool skin of his neck, "aren't you at all interested in why you are here?"

"Of course I am," he whispered under his breath. He knew now that his powerful and lethal abilities as a predator were useless to him; he had to rely on his superior intelligence and cunning alone. He wished that there was something he could fight against, some force that he could push off from, something concrete to use against her. Edward was beginning to think that there was nothing tangible about this place at all. No scent, no sound, no thoughts. It was as if it didn't really exist.

"Perhaps it really doesn't," she softly replied, her hands were tangled up in his hair again, pulling softly on the strands. He bit back a moan and forced himself not to react to her physical touch.

"You can read minds," he stated as a matter of fact.

"As can you, Edward," she paused, he could hear the amusement in her voice, "except for mine." Her hands slipped down from his hair onto his naked shoulders, he saw that her sharp nails were leaving tracks on his flesh. He hadn't even realized that he wasn't wearing a shirt. When did that happen? He couldn't remember if he was wearing one, when he realized that he wasn't in his bedroom any more? His forehead wrinkled up in confusion as he thought about the fact that her nails were actually leaving marks on his skin.

"I find you to be a very interesting study in the art of self control. Your thirst for human blood is such an overwhelming desire in you, and yet you deny yourself. You drink blood from animals; denying your very nature, thinking that this proves that you are not a monster."

"I know what I am," he replied tersely through clenched teeth, "why don't you show me who or what you are? Why do you hide your face? Why am I here?" She chuckled.

"But that hasn't always been the case has it? You haven't always denied your nature? Eighty three kills. So impressive." She replied, ignoring his questions about her identity.

"Why does any of this matter to you? Who are you? What do you want?" He asked, trying in vain, to move his shoulders away from her hands, as her fingers continued to inch lower on his chest, caressing his skin all along the way, "and stop touching me."

She laughed again, "Does this not feel nice, Edward?" He felt something warm and wet sliding up the skin of his neck. He swallowed his venom back thickly, as he tried to will these unwanted desires away.

"No," he lied.

Yes. He thought.

Denying yourself again?

His breath caught in his throat when he realized that he heard her voice from inside of his head. She laughed again in a mocking tone.

"Just who I am is not important at this time," she whispered.

"I think it's very important!" He replied, voiced raised. His body arched up in a rictus of agony, as something sharp and jagged pierced through his brain. He was unable to keep the scream from escaping his lips. It ended as quickly as it began as he slumped forward in the chair and his breath came out in fast pants.

"Best be minding your manners there."

Edward said nothing for several minutes as the reality of his situation fully saturate his psyche. Her hands were touching him again, this time they were rubbing small comforting circles into the back of his neck. Unconsciously, he straightened his back and neck, giving her better access to his flesh. She chuckled as she kissed his skin, sucking at his flesh. He was angered by the fact that she knew exactly how to touch him that awoke feeling within that he kept under tight control at all times.

"So, let's see… you deny yourself now but the fact of the matter is: you've killed eighty three people to feed your desire for blood and death. You've murdered to feed."

"They were all murderers or rapists, the scourge of society," he explained quietly.

"That is quite a justification for your acts of monstrosity."

"I am not trying to justify what I did. I was merely stating a fact. Like I said before, I know what I am. I know what the nature of my existence is," he snarled.

"So you still justify your actions but yet you feel remorse for them as well. Interesting."

"Remorse? I feel no remorse for ending their lives."

You cannot lie to me, Edward Cullen. I can see the thick blanket of remorse that completely covers every single remembrance of each of those kills. It's all there tucked away in that beautifully exquisite memory of yours.

He bit back a scream as she forcefully pulled one of these memories out of his brain and played it for him like a movie before his eyes.

It is January 16, 1924 and Edward had just left his hotel room in the city of Waterloo in New York, a room that he had paid for with the money he had taken from his last victim. It was reported that a serial child molester/killer was back on the prowl. The newspapers had dubbed him the Brooklyn Vampire, he had admitted to the actual cannibalization of some of his young victims. Due to some asinine technicality, Albert Fisher was able to beat the rap and was now again on the streets hunting for his next young victim.

Edward attacked him that later evening, and he killed this monster painfully slow, drawing out this man's suffering for hours. He drank slowly, shattering his bones one by one, before pulling his limbs off. He then he bled the man completely dry. Several years later, when Edward spoke to Carlisle about this kill, he was quite surprised that he felt remorseful about killing someone for strictly moral reasons and not just for sustenance. They spoke of for several hours about morality, and Machiavellian concept of the end justifying the means.

"Why did you make me live through that again? What is your reasoning?" Edward asked roughly, swallowing thick mouthfuls of venom down his throat as the last remnants of this memory cleared from his vision. The images of consuming that man's blood triggered his powerful thirst; he hadn't felt so out of control in years.

"No reason, I just wanted to watch you squirm," she replied, he could hear the amusement in her voice, "I regret to say this, but our time is up, but don't fret- I will be seeing you tomorrow night. You won't remember a damn thing until you are here again."

She slowly ran her tongue up the cold flesh of his neck, before placing wet kisses on the edge of his hairline. He shuddered at the sensation before everything went back to blackness.

Emma Frost kept her word. Night after night for a week, he would awaken in that chair as the memories poured into his brain from all of the previous nights. Hours of painful memories, hours of raging thirst, hours of immobilization, hours of teasing, taunting, mocking, and hours of caresses that were mentally unwanted but caused him to physically crave more.

__

The icy coldness of steel circled his wrists.

Edward opened his eyes once again to the pitch blackness of the room. He could feel the hardness of the chair and the cloying sweetness of her perfume. He groaned aloud as past memories of this place flooded like a deluge into his brain. Reminiscences of drinking vast founts of human blood caused his venom to pool in his mouth before dripping down from his lips on to his bare chest. He fought for control of himself, just as he had to do every night for a week. He could hear her heels snap sharply against the floor as she walked towards him.

"I think that I find that moment there as the most enjoyable, I so love to watch you fight against your demons, Edward." She said, running her fingers down the venom-slick wetness of his chest. He sighed in utter frustration. It was then he noticed that the cold metal that he felt earlier were a pair of simple police issued metal handcuffs. He rattled them nosily against the chair, attempted to pull his hands up, and then growled in frustration as they held.

"This is fucking insulting," he mumbled softly, jiggling the metal again, his hands balled up in tight fists of aggravation.

"Hmm…I thought they might be," she chuckled, "just a nice reminder that you have no physical strength here, as weak as a pathetic flatscan." The lights of the room began to brighten up, illuminating the room in a soft glow. This was a much different light from the harshness of the previous nights; it was low, subtle and sexy. The very thought of being subjected to the full force of this woman's sexual charms made Edward's skin crawl. She had been subtle about it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was now going to force him. She laughed; her breath was hot against the flesh of his neck.

"Force you?" She walked into his line of sight for the first time since this whole ordeal had begun. She was astoundingly beautiful, his own personal nightmare in thigh high, white leather boots and extremely small scraps of white lace, that barely covered her at all. His eyes flew open in shock of recognition when he saw her face.

"You…you were in that airport bar," he stated as a matter of fact.

"I knew that you would remember me, once you saw my face. But then again how could any man forget me?" She asked, sliding a heeled boot across his thigh before fully straddling him. When he locked eyes with hers, Edward finally asked the one question that had been on his mind since this whole ordeal had begun.

"Why?"

"Why have I brought you here? Why have I tortured you? Or why does you body react to me favorable while your mind rebels?" She asked, running her fingertips up his chest before wrapping them around his neck. She then leaned in and kissed him fully on the lips, slipping her warm tongue into his mouth.

Edward was panting heavily when she pulled back. She smiled at him, her eyes sparking dangerously. She rolled her hips against his, drinking in the sounds of his low growl when he grew hard against her.

"Your body reacts so strongly to mine because you are so fucking sexually repressed by your archaic and absurd ideals of physical conduct. You really need to allow yourself some kind of release," she explained as she continued to grind her pelvis into his. He hissed through his teeth at the sensation, cursing himself for his lack of control. Her fingers were tangled in his hair again, tugging his face into the soft flesh of her breasts.

"And for your other questions, I was hoping that you could actually figure that one out yourself, Edward."

She reached down between them and began to undo the buttons of his trousers; she spread the two sides of the fly open like a Christmas present, her fingers moved with absolute deliberate movements.

"I don't want this," he panted. She smiled cruelly, before leaning in to suck on his bottom lip. Her fingers reached in and brushed against the sensitive head of his cock, causing him to buck up into her hand, leaking venom onto her fingers. She collected some of it and swirled it softly on his icy flesh. He growled at her lowly in his chest.

"I've been looking forward to this from the moment that your punishment had started. I have never wanted to fuck a virgin before, but you, my beautiful vampire, you will be my first. Hmmm…Edward you are so fucking hard for me…Edward? Edward!" Her voice had lowered in tone, becoming more masculine and slightly accented with a Texas twang.

"Edward!"

His eyes drifted closed, as something sharp pierced in his brain before fading away. He could feel his immense strength returning to his limbs and the comforting voices of his family were once again reverberating inside his brain. When his eyes snapped open, they were met by the honeyed golden eyes of his brother, Jasper. It took a few glances around, to verify that he was back in his bedroom in Forks, Washington.

Lust, worry, concern, and a sense of fleeting hot anger filled the room.

"What the hell is going on here?" Jasper demanded, before rising to his full height, his eyes quickly darted around the room searching for something or someone. He couldn't pick up the actual scent of a woman but her emotional state created a definite empathic signature, which still shimmered against his formidable gift. There was no doubt in Jasper's mind that somehow a woman had been with Edward. "Who is she?"

Edward swallowed hard a few times, to clear the large amount of venom from his mouth. "I really don't know," he said as he took a deep steadying breath. He sighed in absolute relief when Jasper began using his empathic gift to force the unbridled lust from his body. Jasper said nothing; he knew that Edward needed a few moments to collect his thoughts and compose himself.

"Thank you," he whispered, slumping further down onto the floor, relieved that the torment was over. He quickly cataloged every single memory of this week long ordeal; his brain processed the information at lightening fast speed. He looked up at Jasper and saw the look of utter concern on his face, but the skin around his eyes was crinkled up slightly in amusement. He and Jasper had had some rather long conversations about Edward's lack of physical escapades and Jasper was amused that his first one was with a feminine phantom. Edward smiled weakly at him, reveling in the fact that for the first time in eighty years he felt mentally exhausted. Jasper extended a hand down for Edward and yanked him to his feet.

"Come on, I think we need to call a family meeting," Jasper murmured, pulling him to the door.

__

"So let me get this straight," Emmett began, not bothering to hide the sizable grin that taken over his entire face, "that smoking hottie from the bar, has been mentally kidnapping you every night for a week, taking you to a room somewhere, she then ties you to a chair, punishes you for being a bad boy, and then tries to have sex with you? Did I miss anything? Because… dude…. that's fucking hot! You have to pay a shit load of cash for that type of service."

"Emmett," Carlisle warned, but not before trying to conceal a small smile of his own, "Edward, you really have no idea as to why she did this? Or perhaps how?"

"I don't know! I've gone over every aspect of my ordeal," Emmett snorted and rolled his eyes at Edward's word 'ordeal' before reaching down below the dining room table, pulling his laptop out, booting it up, and began checking his email.

What about something that she said? Were there any words or terms that you weren't familiar with? Did she have an accent? Perhaps you have seen her before but with a different hair color. Why didn't Alice see any of this?

Edward turned towards Rosalie; his eyes wide with astonishment because these were actually very helpful questions and astutely keen observations. She raised her eyebrow at him when Edward suddenly took a sharp breath in as he remembered something.

"Flatscan," he whispered aloud, he tugged his bottom lip through his teeth in thought. "That was a term that I had never heard before. She said it with so much contempt, I wasn't able to think about it at the time because but when she crawled into my lap…," Edward's explanation faded away when he noticed the amused expression of every member of his family staring back at him, he flashed a quick smile of chagrin.

"Ah…never mind about that…so what she said was: "a nice reminder that you have no physical strength here, as weak as a pathetic flatscan."

Emmett chuckled softly, while staring intently at his computer screen. All eyes were back on him.

"Wow, you just gotta love Wikipedia! So a flatscan is a derogatory term for non-mutants used by mutants. Makes sense, right? Telepathic mutant. So let's see…,"

His fingers flew in a blur over his keyboard; Jasper leaned over Emmett's shoulder, his eyes moving as quickly as he typed. He abruptly stopped and glanced up at Jasper, and they both grinned. Edward took a deep lungful of air in when Emmett turned the laptop's screen towards him.

"That's her!"

"Yeah, I know that it is. How could anyone forget her? So, according to this website called , she's Emma Frost, a high level telepath who happens to be the CEO of Frost International. Some of the mutants on this site, refer to her as the White Queen, and are very careful when discussing anything about her on these boards. Whoa dude, you pissed off one hot-tempered chick."

"Hmmm…let's see according to a blog written by a very helpful telepathic mutant who goes by the codename of Chamber, there's an etiquette that all telepaths have agreed to. Did you know this?" he asked.

"No, since I am not a mutant, how would I?" Edward replied nastily, glaring at him. He began to get quick little snippets of thoughts and images from Alice, who had been surprisingly absent from today's family 'meeting'. He knew that she was upstairs, on her own computer from the sound of her fingers tapping on the keyboard. Alice was currently thinking about and softly singing some very specific lyrics from the Leonard Cohen's song "Hallelujah".

She tied you to a kitchen chair. She broke your throne, and she cut your hair.
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah…

Edward grimaced at her choice of lyrics just before he saw Alice's thoughts of Jasper and himself on a plane that was destined for Boston. He was then talking to a woman seated at enormous desk in front of a closed door.

"You are a telepath, Edward. So this applies to you! That sharp little pain that you felt in your head at the airport is called a telepathic slap, just a little reminder that you should ask before reading the thoughts of other telepaths. So one of them slapped you for trespassing, and then you trespassed again. Didn't you mention that she said that she was punishing you?"

"That's what she said. All of that was because I tried to read their minds?"

"Yup, you apparently offended her," Jasper replied softly.

"What do I do now?" Edward asked. Every member of his family looked over at him simultaneously and yelled 'apologize!' in unison. Alice suddenly appeared in front of Edward holding out a piece of paper.

"I have you and Jasper booked on a flight to Boston. I didn't see any of this because she was blocking my sight. I really don't know how, but that doesn't really matter." She turned to Jasper, "Apparently, you are going with him, Jasper."

__

Edward and Jasper were informed by Emma's unfortunately named but exceptionally efficient executive assistant, Pepper Potts, that her two o'clock meeting was running over but she was expecting them. Pepper pointed them over to a couple of chairs off to her left, and politely told them to take one and wait. Edward tried not to roll his eyes, when Jasper picked up a copy of the Wall Street Journal and began to calmly read.

Five minutes later, the door of the office opened and two men walked out. The first man was tall, muscular, wearing an odd metal contraption that completely covered his eyes, and a black leather suit with an 'X' insignia on it. He was scowling in irritation as he quickly strode through the waiting room.

He was followed by a man of a similar build, he had tousled reddish brown hair, and was wearing sunglasses. He was dressed in an identical black leather suit but covered it with a long tan jacket. He was smiling and laughing as he playfully slapped the irritated one on the back.

"Y' shouldn't let her get in y'r head, hommes. Why do y' drop y'r shields around her, Scotty? Y' know she projects pictures of herself naked in y'r head just to piss Jeannie off."

"Shut it, Remy. I don't even want to think what Jean is going to do, when she sees this!" he pointed angrily at his forehead. Edward instantly saw Emma Frost and this man, Scott Summers naked in bed together; it was as if she carved it into his brain.

"Bye Pepper. T'anks for getting us in to see her. We'll get back to y' on Genosha."

"My pleasure, Mister LeBeau," Frost's assistant replied, smiling at him, she then turned toward Edward and Jasper; "Ms. Frost will see you now, gentlemen, if you will follow me."

Emma Frost was standing in front of her desk when they both walked in. Edward recognized the floral scent of her perfume immediately, but it now was coupled with the intoxicating scent of her all too human blood. Thoughts of swift and ruthless revenge filled his thoughts, as he began to feel the predator within him recognize that she physically inferior to his species. His mind began calculating the amount of time it would take to close the distance and remove her head. One eighth of a second.

We are going to be civil, aren't we Mister Cullen?

He visibly shuddered as he nodded minutely at her, pushing all his murderous thoughts away. She was definitely still holding all the cards.

"And you are?" Emma asked, raising her eyebrows at Jasper.

"Jasper Whitlock, ma'am," he replied, before smiling widely and extending a cold hand in courtesy. She grasped it without hesitation, and stared intently into his eyes. He felt a strange wispy sensation throughout his brain, as she delved into his mind.

"Empath." She murmured appreciatively, before letting his hand drop.

"Yes, ma'am."

"I just love the south. They do train their boys so well down there. Such manners," Emma chuckled before turning her eyes back towards Edward, her mouth immediately thinned to a grim line. She said nothing as she waited.

"Manners…yes, about that, Ms. Frost. I wanted to apologize for my breach of telepathic etiquette last week in Seattle. At the time, I was not aware of such courtesies towards other telepaths. If I was, I would have never committed such a transgression."

Emma waited a moment before nodding her head in a gesture of acceptance. She then extended her hand towards Edward. As they clasped hands, his thoughts turned towards a certain familiar chair, a beautiful woman straddling his body, the feeling of her hands, slicked up with his venom, wrapped around his cock- he shook his head to clear these away. She smirked at him before replying in a singsong tone, "I figured that you were guiltier of ignorance than anything else, Edward. That was why I went so softly on you."

"Oh." Edward murmured weakly, not wanting to even think of what more she was capable of. He started to edge his way towards the door, hoping to escape before inadvertently offending her in some other way.

"I must say, I am quiet astonished that neither of you employ the use of mental shields. It must be maddening to hear every inane thought and feel every petty emotion all of the time. Is there no training for those of you who happen to be gifted?"

"Not really, ma'am. Gifts such as ours are quite rare, and many of us, in the beginning struggled to merely survive. There wasn't time for any specialized training." Jasper replied, for the both of them, he could feel Edward's apprehension. He knew that he wanted to leave as soon as possible.

"Hmmm," she glanced at them, before walking around her desk. The vampires watched her white leather clad shapely rear as she moved. She looked up, winked, and smiled knowingly at them as she grabbed a business card from inside her desk.

"I wish that I had the time, because I would so enjoy training the two of you."

I do enjoy my special way of training.

Images of being strapped into chairs, slow seduction, carnal depravity and raw unbridled animalistic sex filled both of their heads. She chuckled as she watched them both struggle to regain their composure.

I don't really train anyone like that, but I sure enjoy watching men battle their monsters.

She sighed heavily, glancing at her wristwatch.

"I'm late for my next meeting. This is the card of someone who has time and infinitely more patience than I. Please do contact him. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to help with mental shields."

Emma handed Edward a white embossed card. He glanced down at it, before handing it to Jasper. It read:

Charles Francis Xavier, PhD

Xavier Institute for Higher Learning

1407 Graymalkin Lane,

Salem Center, New York 10560