TM Prompt #158: Unexpected Holiday Kiss
[Locked to summers_Grey]
Sinister returns to his house after his unexpected meeting with Rachel Grey, and goes directly to the sideboard in his dining room. Upon it sits a tarnished silver tray and a bottle of cognac which hasn't been opened since before the Russian Revolution and has a corresponding amount of dust covering the bottle. He pours himself a liberal amount and goes into his library, a comfortable room with a great many books and a piano.
And a fireplace, in which he starts a fire using his powers. Finished, he sits in one of the high-backed chairs and sips at his drink, feeling the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat.
The taste of it is hot, sharp, and it reminds him of her.
Sinister scowls. He is not a man given to such ruminations, but that little incident with Rachel today is playing over and over, like a filmstrip, in his mind.
His eyes stray towards the flames in the fireplace as they brighten and dance, leaping upwards. He narrows his gaze and tosses back more of his cognac. Why on earth did he do that to her today? He'd intended to murmur something inane and only vaguely threatening in her ear, but the scent of her and the temptation to do more had become too great. He had wanted to see how she reacted, and curiosity...ah, well. That has always been his downfall, has it not?
He certainly had not intended to kiss her, to press his mouth to the curve of her neck where he could feel her blood racing beneath the skin. Though it is gratifying to know that he affects her so strongly, and that whatever this strange thing is between them, she is not immune to it. It is only that he is not entirely pleased that he is not immune to it, either.
Sinister is immortal, but he is not dead. He'd understand his attraction (because how can he, in good conscience, lie about what it is, after today?) to her if all he wants is some physical satiation of his needs, but oh, that is not all that he wants from her. Earlier on the street he had wanted to see her eyes sharpen in fear, wanted...a struggle, some type of fight. To overpower, to subdue. The details remain elusive, dancing in the back of his mind like something he'd forgotten, like the delicate curve of fire and flame in his hearth.
He finishes his drink and watches the fire. His fingers tighten around his glass so hard that it shatters into pieces, jagged and sharp. One digs cruelly into his hands and it hurts, and he's bleeding, crimson blood stark against the fair whiteness of his skin. Sinister's mouth curves upwards into a smile.
Fandom: X-Men, Comics
Muse: Mr. Sinister/Nathaniel Essex
Word Count: 473
Sinister returns to his house after his unexpected meeting with Rachel Grey, and goes directly to the sideboard in his dining room. Upon it sits a tarnished silver tray and a bottle of cognac which hasn't been opened since before the Russian Revolution and has a corresponding amount of dust covering the bottle. He pours himself a liberal amount and goes into his library, a comfortable room with a great many books and a piano.
And a fireplace, in which he starts a fire using his powers. Finished, he sits in one of the high-backed chairs and sips at his drink, feeling the burn of the liquor as it slides down his throat.
The taste of it is hot, sharp, and it reminds him of her.
Sinister scowls. He is not a man given to such ruminations, but that little incident with Rachel today is playing over and over, like a filmstrip, in his mind.
His eyes stray towards the flames in the fireplace as they brighten and dance, leaping upwards. He narrows his gaze and tosses back more of his cognac. Why on earth did he do that to her today? He'd intended to murmur something inane and only vaguely threatening in her ear, but the scent of her and the temptation to do more had become too great. He had wanted to see how she reacted, and curiosity...ah, well. That has always been his downfall, has it not?
He certainly had not intended to kiss her, to press his mouth to the curve of her neck where he could feel her blood racing beneath the skin. Though it is gratifying to know that he affects her so strongly, and that whatever this strange thing is between them, she is not immune to it. It is only that he is not entirely pleased that he is not immune to it, either.
Sinister is immortal, but he is not dead. He'd understand his attraction (because how can he, in good conscience, lie about what it is, after today?) to her if all he wants is some physical satiation of his needs, but oh, that is not all that he wants from her. Earlier on the street he had wanted to see her eyes sharpen in fear, wanted...a struggle, some type of fight. To overpower, to subdue. The details remain elusive, dancing in the back of his mind like something he'd forgotten, like the delicate curve of fire and flame in his hearth.
He finishes his drink and watches the fire. His fingers tighten around his glass so hard that it shatters into pieces, jagged and sharp. One digs cruelly into his hands and it hurts, and he's bleeding, crimson blood stark against the fair whiteness of his skin. Sinister's mouth curves upwards into a smile.
Fandom: X-Men, Comics
Muse: Mr. Sinister/Nathaniel Essex
Word Count: 473