13 - Sinister and Jean (current)

[and_intothefire]

After their 'goodbye' in the office, Jean was irritated with the doctor. He was such an ass, and being away from him once more had removed that feeling of being cowed. His mind was too boring to think about trying to enter while he was conscious. She'd done it once before; the human/mutant genome was goddamned tedium

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[verysinister]

Sinister looked up from the charts. "Fine, dear. How do you feel?" It was a professional question, his white jacket hanging neatly on his broad frame. He reached out without smiling and a warm hand settled on her flat stomach.

Jean was brilliant. The way he saw her, it wasn't a projection of desire or love or beauty. The shine that brightened her hair and her eyes, that made her luminious, that was the potential he had ascribed her. Like Mary Magdeline she had a halo of sorts.

A different sort of idealised perfection.

Her timidity, well. Sinister didn't wish that of her in general, did he? Perhaps it was the acidity of her actual attitude that made the dream swing so far wide.

[and_intothefire]

His touch was surprising, but Jean worked on keeping her control of the version of herself within in subconscious working as she should, not expressing her own reactions. At least, not until it was more appropriate. Her hand slid to cover over his. "I'm fine," she said, the smile still on her face.

It felt strange, the influence of his dream construct pressing in on Jean's mind. Very strange.

Jean sat up, letting her legs dangle off the side of the exam table, her hand moving from on top of his. The shift of her hair distracted Jean for a moment, the red of it too bright. "Are we done?"

[verysinister]

Sinister didn't really respond to Jean's returned touch; he really hadn't touched her in the first place for her benefit. There was very little movement to a face general expressive--there was no need to play act here, no need to rise to the expectations of others in order to form bonds enough to direct the pawns.

"Yes. Perhaps the next time." There was no disappointment behind the words but they suggested something like it.

[and_intothefire]

Jean looked at him, smiling softly as she slid from the bed. She tilted her head at him, seeing his eyes shift between colors. Standing a little uncomfortably close, Jean's smile turns a little devious. She was gaining more control of his projection of Jean as she moved in her frame.

"Okay. If we're done, then I wanted to ask you something." She continued to watch him as her fingers flexed at her side, Jean starting to realize the tactile sensation of the dream. She was going to take out her frustrations here, where she could remember every moment and he might hold onto inklings of.

Her hands grasped at his lab coat, and she smiled at him even more broadly.

[verysinister]

In the dream, not even Sinister could answer the question of Faye loving him. He thought so but assuming so would do her a disservice and he had done so many terrible things to her. They'd reconciled in a way but nothing could have ever been the same after what he'd done.

He stroked Faye's face, down her jaw, revealing in the smooth skin. His memory of her didn't shine like his image of Jean--aside from a natural handsome beauty she was, in his mind, absolutely mundane. Sinister pressure forward to meet her shorter body; even on his lap she was shorter than him by just so.

His mouth was absolutely tender.

[and_intothefire]

Jean stared back at him, reveling in the expression on his face. There was obvious care in his eyes, and she leaned into his touch again and again. She couldn't read him as well in this, her mind feeling more muddled in this body than she had been in her own.

'Faye' moved closer to the doctor, her cheek sliding along his as her arms slid around his shoulders. She hugged him tightly, smiling to herself. "I always knew."

[verysinister]

He tangled his long fingers into her soft curls and put his face into the curve of her neck. She smelled like lavender. His lips pressed to her skin, once and again. Faye had been to him what know one else had been since his wife; in the end, both woman had paled next to his work.

But Faye was here. Alive.

Sinister moved, lifting her and rolling them over onto the bed until their legs were tangled and he above her. His finger smoothed her hair out into a halo. Sinister just looked at her; there was nothing weak about his adoration, he was nearly fierce in his love. His eyes were a still, even, almost electric blue.

[and_intothefire]

She let the fingers of her left hand trail through his hair as he kissed her neck, letting out a small moan against his ear. She was pleased that she'd found a chink in his armor. It seemed like more than a chink; it seemed like a rusted plate waiting to crumble away. She nuzzled against him as he shifted them, looking up at him as Sinister looked down at her.

The blue of his eyes was startling to Jean. His eyes had been shifting at random though, and she put it off to that. Her hands came to rest against his chest, the wounds that Jean had made having disappeared while his shirt was still slit down the middle. She kept her eyes on his, smiling warmly. "I missed you."

[verysinister]

His smile for her turn, to Jean, might have been heartwrenching. It was still sad but there was a hope--a hope that Sinister knew, somewhere deep down, would never come true. But there was this.

There was this.

He held out his hand to her.

[and_intothefire]

Her heart pounded harder against her chest at the smile. Maybe it was the fact that she was in another body and he was reacting with something other than contempt, but Jean responded. Her mind was fighting it less and less.

A hand that had less delicate features than her own (the wrists weren't as slight, the fingers wider) reached back for him.

If she was playing a role...

[verysinister]

Sinister's long fingers curled around Faye's and he brought that hand to his mouth to brush his lips against the smooth back. Then he turned her hand over and kissed the pale inside of her wrist. "Please, dearheart," he said, quietly.

[and_intothefire]

Jean moved back to close the space. Her brain was screaming at her to do otherwise, but she kept moving. It was her own doing, nothing he was doing to her, unless she was letting his subconscious drive her a little more than she'd meant to.

Then again, realizing that negated the idea, since she was cognizant of how much control his dream was pulling. She was more than in control.

Confusion swept over her, but she looked at him, the ice blue of his eyes severely disarming. Her fingers tucked a strand of hair behind his ear, and her own eyes flicked to green for the most brief of moments.

[verysinister]

Sinister's fingers dug into Faye's flanks, holding her body up as he sank as far as he could into the tight heat of her with a small, pleased shudder of muscles. He rolled his hips without letting her go as he tried to get deeper. There was an urgency now that hadn't been there before; Sinister's mouth was more forceful against hers, each movement made with a new sharpness.

Forceful, but not forced. Sinister responded to Faye's body, her little noises and moves--he did not overrun them. This was not some mindless fuck. Her pleasure was as much on his mind as his own.

[and_intothefire]

Her legs wrapped around him, the length of them wrong for Faye but right for Jean. She arced into him, breaking away from his mouth as her arms slid around his shoulders, her face burying into his neck. The force behind his thrusts made her cry out, opening her to him, making her feel every inch of him.

She clung to him tighter, whimpering against his shoulder.

[verysinister]

Sinister rocked against Faye, into her, each thrust slow and deep. The motion was a mindless rhythm led by his body. His hands spread across her skin and held her up, held her close; he breathed in the scent of her hair, her sweat.

It wasn't long before the even pace began to break down; Sinister felt like a drawn bow, quivering and tightly strung. The motion of his hips sharpened, quickened, stuttered until he was almost doing nothing but rocking against her, lifting her lower body with each snapping upswing. He panted, open-mouthed against her shoulder.

[and_intothefire]

The blonde hair now spilled halfway down her back, Jean losing more and more control over the strange form as she paid less and less attention to keeping it up. Her head tipped back and she shouted out a near yelp. She turned her head into his neck, lips, teeth, and tongue finding his skin in turn.

Thin fingers ran through his hair again, Jean holding him tightly to her. Moans vibrated against his throat and she writhed with each press of his hips.