It would be easy to blame stress. Or blame any number of things for what had happened. Jean only needed to close her eyes to remember Emma's lips on hers, hungry kisses and bruises left in pale skin. She only needed the weight of the fabric to remember the turtleneck she was wearing, hear the whisper of a memory of Emma's voice screaming her name, her own throat raw with Emma's echoing off the walls.

She'd needed to blow off steam. What had started with an exercise in the Danger Room had turned into… something else. Something she couldn't get her mind off of. Someone she couldn't get her mind off of. Jean hadn't noticed when Emma had entered the simulation until she'd made an acerbic comment on Jean's form.

Even now, Jean couldn't figure out how they'd gone from verbal sparring, to actual sparring, to tongue sparring. She was pretty sure she was missing a step in the middle of that.

Even worse, Jean couldn't figure out how she felt about it. She didn't hate Emma, not the way a lot of people expected her to.

Dwelling overly much, darling?

The firm touch of Emma's mind against hers made Jean reassess that whole not hating her thing.

I'm not dwelling on anything.

Emma's laughter rippled across her mind. It was pleasant, like music. Do you want to talk about it?

Jean continued with her lecture, outwardly calm and composed despite the conversation going on in her head. Their psychic chat took on the appearance of the kitchen, Emma sitting at the table in nothing but a partly open robe and sipping at tea. Jean leaned against the counter and eyed her warily, "Whatever happened last night stays between us."

"I would hope so," Emma replied, scoffing. "Could you imagine the inane gossip we'd be subjected to?" She took a sip, and over the edge of her mug asked, "You did remember to scrub the Danger Room's history, did you not?"

Feeling her face burn (which wasn't actually possible in the mental landscape), Jean waved her hand, "Recordings deleted, the only evidence is the log that we entered and left."

She tried not to watch the way Emma's lips curved upward, "Very good then. Pity, though. That would have been something worth preserving. Art, truly."

They were back in the Danger Room again, Jean bent backwards against the rubble of a Sentinel's foot, Emma's fingers dancing between her legs and her teeth at her throat.

"Ms. Grey?"

Jean realized she'd gasped out loud, blinking her eyes as the classroom came into focus.

That was a dirty trick! "I'm … fine. Why don't we call it an early day today."

She was going to kill Emma.

Chuckling to herself, Emma returned her focus to the papers she was reading. Honestly, some of these students' ideas of what constituted grammar left much to be desired. "That is not how you spell that."

Really, it was a good thing she liked her job. Returning to teaching had been the best decision she'd made in recent years.

Teasing Jean Grey being a close second.

Her office door opened, and she didn't look up, "I'm afraid you'll have to come back later, I'm quite busy."

"I didn't appreciate that."

Emma sighed, and lifted her eyes. Jean was leaning with both hands on her desk, and Emma couldn't help but linger on her decolletage. "I wouldn't go that far. You certainly enjoyed it while it was happening."

And Emma had. Much more than she'd ever expected. She'd just wanted to get a rise out of Jean. They'd argued, then Emma had 'offered' to show Jean a thing or two about fighting. At some point as they sparred with each other and also a sentinel they'd ended up half naked on top of the wreckage and Emma wasn't sure how. While she was never one to feel shame, she was still annoyed because of who it was.

She'd almost rather kiss Kitty. God, no. Take that back.

"That was one time. A one time thing," Jean said, holding up a finger.

"You're working too hard," Emma pointed out. "You need to relax. Do you want to go back to the Danger Room?" She couldn't help the dangerous lilt to her voice. "Relieve the tension? I'll be honest, I needed the release too."

Emma's tone nearly set Jean off, but the last part of what she said registered, "You could have anyone you want. Why me?"

Standing, Emma came around the desk, "It takes two to tango, darling."

"I know that, but if you wanted to get laid there are a thousand people to choose from."

"You don't think that you're lacking in choice?" Emma shook her head and regarded Jean with cold amusement. "The X-men's sacred cow, the entire staff and three quarters of the student body would trade a kidney to have your attentions."

Jean was seething, and Emma idly wondered if she'd pushed too far. So she pushed harder, "Come to think of it, have you been with anyone since you returned? Since before Scott died?"

Even saying his name felt like an ice pick in her chest, and Emma almost went diamond. It had been a year and… damn, she was having an emotion.

So was Jean, who balled her hands into fists, her hair nearly catching flame. "There are lines Emma. Be careful not to cross them."

Keeping her eyes on Jean's, Emma ran a hand up her arm. "Did I hit a nerve?"

She felt Jean's thoughts touch the surface of hers, her pain familiar. Damn, she almost felt bad, and not just because she'd managed to hurt herself in the process.

And oh, that was it. That was why. That was the missing step. Why actually talk about their shared grief, when they could do this. Emma's hand slid to the back of Jean's neck, and she pulled her into a kiss. Hot and cold, ice and fire, diamond and ruby.

Jean let out a sound in protest, but didn't pull away. You're cheating.

Emma smiled into the kiss, You can stop any time you want.

Instead, the door swung shut and locked itself. Before Emma could laugh, Jean had lifted her up onto the desk, nails digging into the underside of her thighs.

"Don't say a word," Jean whispered, and Emma watched in fascination as the buttons on her blouse slowly came undone on their own.

"Technically, I'd be the one getting more trouble than you," Emma pointed out. Jean was, after all, the golden child who could do no wrong, and Emma the Jezebel who'd nearly destroyed everything.

Jean pulled her sweater off and tossed it aside, "You're just asking for punishment, aren't you."

"Jean. I would never dream of such a thing."

The image she gave Jean was so vivid that the redhead nearly stumbled as her knees threatened to give out. "Emma."

The golden child had a dark side. Emma filed that thought away for later. She sat up, reaching over and pulling Jean to the desk and wrapped her legs around her. She'd always enjoyed being taken on her desk.

Jean leaned her head down, catching Emma's lips with her own and running her hand down her arms and then across her chest. Emma groaned, Jean's fingers like, ironically, fire on her skin.

Thumbs flicking across each of Emma's nipples, Jean whispered against her throat, "Just one more time."

"Yes…" Emma tangled her fingers in Jean's hair and pushed her head down. "Just this once more."