Conduction
Title: Conduction
Author: possibly_thrice
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Emma Frost/Sebastian Shaw
Warnings: Shaw's a creep. So is Emma, a little.
Challenge: Heat
"How much can you feel?" he asks her, once. "Like this."
His hand on her stomach, the light through her breasts refracted and watery on his knuckles. His palm is inhumanly warm. Inhumanly heavy, too. Emma would like to think that physics plays a part in that-- Sebastian certainly seems to be moving fast enough, these days, to turn pure power into the kind of weight that warps history around itself--, but his hand is only a hand.
The answer to his question is: nothing, in the sense he means it. There is no network of transparent nerves stretching across her interior vertices to speak to her of pleasure. She feels what she presumes diamonds might feel if they had minds clinging to their clear hearts, that is: light, bending in coy counterpoint to the still architecture of this still form; and heat, which moves through her too rapidly to dance. His hand is a hand but it might as well be a fire.
His mind is old and cool.
Do you remember, he is wondering, how it was when you first-
She takes the thought, without hesitating. Closes the hole it leaves behind.
"Enough, sugar," she answers.
He smiles.
Author: possibly_thrice
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Pairing: Emma Frost/Sebastian Shaw
Warnings: Shaw's a creep. So is Emma, a little.
Challenge: Heat
"How much can you feel?" he asks her, once. "Like this."
His hand on her stomach, the light through her breasts refracted and watery on his knuckles. His palm is inhumanly warm. Inhumanly heavy, too. Emma would like to think that physics plays a part in that-- Sebastian certainly seems to be moving fast enough, these days, to turn pure power into the kind of weight that warps history around itself--, but his hand is only a hand.
The answer to his question is: nothing, in the sense he means it. There is no network of transparent nerves stretching across her interior vertices to speak to her of pleasure. She feels what she presumes diamonds might feel if they had minds clinging to their clear hearts, that is: light, bending in coy counterpoint to the still architecture of this still form; and heat, which moves through her too rapidly to dance. His hand is a hand but it might as well be a fire.
His mind is old and cool.
Do you remember, he is wondering, how it was when you first-
She takes the thought, without hesitating. Closes the hole it leaves behind.
"Enough, sugar," she answers.
He smiles.