Flashback: Barter
[January 3, 1999]
I shouldn't have said yes to her. I should have made her go - as a point of pride. Once you start giving into them... still. Perhaps there is something to being more pleasant when snow is about - and I got something for it. It was still on my terms.
=NYC= Black King's Quarters - Second Floor - Hellfire Clubhouse
It is Sunday, January 3, 1999, and snow falls thick and heavy on the roof and walls of the Hellfire Club. Midmorning, and in the Black King's quarters a fire burns in the fireplace and the drapes have been thrown open to reveal snowscaped gardens outside and the chill of the East River beyond. The television is on - a movie, chosen from the Club's library - but it's only Emma who watches it, as Shaw rose from bed a few moments ago to brush his teeth.
It's background noise, as Emma is concentrating more on the scene outside the window than the television. Turned head to foot and on her stomach on the Black King's bed, she's pulled a throw over her thin nightgown, and is resting her cheek on arms folded. One foot is stuck under a pillow, and the other traces patterns in the air. "I love winter," she suddenly announces.
Shaw leans out of the bathroom in a black silk robe, brush in his mouth. There are flecks of foam on his lips and he smiles a little, radiating an attitude of subdued pleasure. "Mmm?" he says, his mind filling in the blanks of a muffled 'Why'?
Emma waves her foot in the direction of the window and smiles drowsily, though the expression is hid from him at this angle. "Everything is clean and fresh and white. At least away from the cities. And people..." She stops and burrows down into her arms, embarrassed by the cliche sentimentality that had been about to escape. She sticks her foot underneath the pillow.
Sebastian spits, and then takes a glass of mouthwash to rise. It, too, is left in the sink as he steps out of the bathroom, crossing to the bed. It depresses as he kneels, smiling at Emma. "...and people what?" he inquires, bass voice a pleasant rumble.
"People are pleasanter," she murmurs into the crook of her arm.
Dry humor rises in Sebastian Shaw, and he meanders over the rest of the bed to touch Emma's hair. "Do you really think so?" he says. "I suspect," he remarks, "that people are bastards all the time, pet."
"Mmm, yes..." she agrees, scooting backwards closer to him and his heat. "But at least for a few months, they attempt to hide it."
He takes Emma in his arms and sort of manuevers so she can settle in his lap as he moves to a sitting position. "Not me, pet," Sebastian murmurs cheerfully, starting to comb Emma's hair out down her back with his fingers. "I'm a bastard all the time."
"Of course you are. I was talking about people," Emma laughs, tipping her head back and looking up at him as she wraps slender fingers around his arm. "I'd never accuse you of being a person."
"Good," Sebastian responds in a note of fond pride. He doubles over so he can bring his head down, planting a brief kiss on Emma's lips. "I'm /better/ than a person, kitten." He smiles. "So are you."
"You're a King," Emma drones on cue, using his arm to pull herself up and squirm into a better position in his arms. "And of course I am."
The King is, in fact, helpful in that endeavor - tugging Emma up so that she sits on his lap, and then scooting back so that both of them settle amongst pillows against the headboard. "There's another party tomorrow night," he says. "Not here at the Club - charity benefit, a Bloomberg affair. Care to be my pretty young thing?"
Emma hesitates, then looks up at him. "I would rather not, Sebastian," she admits slowly, searching his face for evidence of renewed displeasure at her independence.
It's a flicker of upset and a tiny frown on Sebastian's face - but perhaps it is true, what Emma says about winter. "Why not?" he inquires.
Emma glances down to where her fingers start to walk across his chest. "If I'm seen on your arm, I will never be accepted on my own," she says quietly, then looks back up as she rolls his nipple underneath her fingertip. "It is important to me. If I ever wish to show my father, then I /have/ to be taken seriously."
A freeze from Sebastian, one where his mind is split between a noticable pleasure and contemplation of Emma's words. Eyes close, and there an inward breath as the first overcomes the second for a moment, one of his own hands sliding down Emma's chest to gently cup a breast in response. It is a soft squeeze, and then, "I will make you a promise."
Emma ticks her fingers upward and her palm falls to lie flat in their place. "What?"
"You are beautiful, kitten," Shaw murmurs. He smiles. "After your appointment next month," he says. "I'll find you some vapid young man, and you won't need to be on my arm again." He smiles, lips pressed to golden hair. "And I'll start to establish you," he promises, "as your own woman."
Emma presses against his chest and sits up, hair brushing her shoulders as it swings forward. "After I'm established, I would be delighted to be on your arm, Sebastian," she carefully replies, coating the sting of her continued refusal in honey. She straightens her fingers and they dive into a mat of curly, dark chest hair.
"I want you in two days," Sebastian murmurs. "Then you'll be established," he whispers to her. "A tiny price to pay - they'll all forget about, forget it quite soon." He watches her play with his chest hair, smiling. "Not so hard a price to pay."
Emma narrows her eyes and considers. "How large a party?"
"A couple hundred people," Sebastian murmurs as he strokes out Emma's hair. "Not much." The cream of New York, his mind whispers, but there is a sense - somewhere - that he can dissuaded from this path, distracted away with sufficient... effort.
Too large. Too many people. The figure chases away wisps of plots, and draws the corners of her mouth down. She blinks, and a tiny pout forms as she shifts and faces him, pulling up the hem of her nightgown and throwing a leg across his lap. "Don't you think you should start looking ahead? To..." An inhalation and quick, silent plea for patience. "the unvieling? Just another blonde after a string of blondes? Tsk. I thought you had more of a sense of drama than that." She tucks her hair behind her ear and lifts a brow. The chill in the air is evidenced right before his eyes until she bends close and kisses his clavicle. "Take a brunette. Take a redhead. It's only for a few months, and won't they stare afterwards?"
"I am," Sebastian murmurs, lust stirring in lazy coils, "exceedingly fond of you, Emma Frost." Hands find Emma's back, slide down with kneading fingers. "Why can't I show off the best thing I own?" His smile curves in predatory possession.
Emma laughs, infusing the sound with the delighted fondness of a caretaker for a child. "Why not wait until she's the best she can be?" she murmurs against his skin, her breath raising goosebumps as it moves. "Then instead of a flash of envy that's easily dismissed, it'll be a message they'll not so easily forget. They will see the power and charm of a King."
"A king who can't charm his own plaything," Sebastian murmurs, lust receding just a little as he looks down at Emma. "This is not a negotiation, my dear." It clearly is. "I want you there."
"Oh, I'll be thoroughly receptive to your charms, darling." She straighten and shifts again, hips tilting forward to grind against his lap. "/I/ give /you/ that promise." SHE SEDUCES HIM ALREADY.
I shouldn't have said yes to her. I should have made her go - as a point of pride. Once you start giving into them... still. Perhaps there is something to being more pleasant when snow is about - and I got something for it. It was still on my terms.
=NYC= Black King's Quarters - Second Floor - Hellfire Clubhouse
It is Sunday, January 3, 1999, and snow falls thick and heavy on the roof and walls of the Hellfire Club. Midmorning, and in the Black King's quarters a fire burns in the fireplace and the drapes have been thrown open to reveal snowscaped gardens outside and the chill of the East River beyond. The television is on - a movie, chosen from the Club's library - but it's only Emma who watches it, as Shaw rose from bed a few moments ago to brush his teeth.
It's background noise, as Emma is concentrating more on the scene outside the window than the television. Turned head to foot and on her stomach on the Black King's bed, she's pulled a throw over her thin nightgown, and is resting her cheek on arms folded. One foot is stuck under a pillow, and the other traces patterns in the air. "I love winter," she suddenly announces.
Shaw leans out of the bathroom in a black silk robe, brush in his mouth. There are flecks of foam on his lips and he smiles a little, radiating an attitude of subdued pleasure. "Mmm?" he says, his mind filling in the blanks of a muffled 'Why'?
Emma waves her foot in the direction of the window and smiles drowsily, though the expression is hid from him at this angle. "Everything is clean and fresh and white. At least away from the cities. And people..." She stops and burrows down into her arms, embarrassed by the cliche sentimentality that had been about to escape. She sticks her foot underneath the pillow.
Sebastian spits, and then takes a glass of mouthwash to rise. It, too, is left in the sink as he steps out of the bathroom, crossing to the bed. It depresses as he kneels, smiling at Emma. "...and people what?" he inquires, bass voice a pleasant rumble.
"People are pleasanter," she murmurs into the crook of her arm.
Dry humor rises in Sebastian Shaw, and he meanders over the rest of the bed to touch Emma's hair. "Do you really think so?" he says. "I suspect," he remarks, "that people are bastards all the time, pet."
"Mmm, yes..." she agrees, scooting backwards closer to him and his heat. "But at least for a few months, they attempt to hide it."
He takes Emma in his arms and sort of manuevers so she can settle in his lap as he moves to a sitting position. "Not me, pet," Sebastian murmurs cheerfully, starting to comb Emma's hair out down her back with his fingers. "I'm a bastard all the time."
"Of course you are. I was talking about people," Emma laughs, tipping her head back and looking up at him as she wraps slender fingers around his arm. "I'd never accuse you of being a person."
"Good," Sebastian responds in a note of fond pride. He doubles over so he can bring his head down, planting a brief kiss on Emma's lips. "I'm /better/ than a person, kitten." He smiles. "So are you."
"You're a King," Emma drones on cue, using his arm to pull herself up and squirm into a better position in his arms. "And of course I am."
The King is, in fact, helpful in that endeavor - tugging Emma up so that she sits on his lap, and then scooting back so that both of them settle amongst pillows against the headboard. "There's another party tomorrow night," he says. "Not here at the Club - charity benefit, a Bloomberg affair. Care to be my pretty young thing?"
Emma hesitates, then looks up at him. "I would rather not, Sebastian," she admits slowly, searching his face for evidence of renewed displeasure at her independence.
It's a flicker of upset and a tiny frown on Sebastian's face - but perhaps it is true, what Emma says about winter. "Why not?" he inquires.
Emma glances down to where her fingers start to walk across his chest. "If I'm seen on your arm, I will never be accepted on my own," she says quietly, then looks back up as she rolls his nipple underneath her fingertip. "It is important to me. If I ever wish to show my father, then I /have/ to be taken seriously."
A freeze from Sebastian, one where his mind is split between a noticable pleasure and contemplation of Emma's words. Eyes close, and there an inward breath as the first overcomes the second for a moment, one of his own hands sliding down Emma's chest to gently cup a breast in response. It is a soft squeeze, and then, "I will make you a promise."
Emma ticks her fingers upward and her palm falls to lie flat in their place. "What?"
"You are beautiful, kitten," Shaw murmurs. He smiles. "After your appointment next month," he says. "I'll find you some vapid young man, and you won't need to be on my arm again." He smiles, lips pressed to golden hair. "And I'll start to establish you," he promises, "as your own woman."
Emma presses against his chest and sits up, hair brushing her shoulders as it swings forward. "After I'm established, I would be delighted to be on your arm, Sebastian," she carefully replies, coating the sting of her continued refusal in honey. She straightens her fingers and they dive into a mat of curly, dark chest hair.
"I want you in two days," Sebastian murmurs. "Then you'll be established," he whispers to her. "A tiny price to pay - they'll all forget about, forget it quite soon." He watches her play with his chest hair, smiling. "Not so hard a price to pay."
Emma narrows her eyes and considers. "How large a party?"
"A couple hundred people," Sebastian murmurs as he strokes out Emma's hair. "Not much." The cream of New York, his mind whispers, but there is a sense - somewhere - that he can dissuaded from this path, distracted away with sufficient... effort.
Too large. Too many people. The figure chases away wisps of plots, and draws the corners of her mouth down. She blinks, and a tiny pout forms as she shifts and faces him, pulling up the hem of her nightgown and throwing a leg across his lap. "Don't you think you should start looking ahead? To..." An inhalation and quick, silent plea for patience. "the unvieling? Just another blonde after a string of blondes? Tsk. I thought you had more of a sense of drama than that." She tucks her hair behind her ear and lifts a brow. The chill in the air is evidenced right before his eyes until she bends close and kisses his clavicle. "Take a brunette. Take a redhead. It's only for a few months, and won't they stare afterwards?"
"I am," Sebastian murmurs, lust stirring in lazy coils, "exceedingly fond of you, Emma Frost." Hands find Emma's back, slide down with kneading fingers. "Why can't I show off the best thing I own?" His smile curves in predatory possession.
Emma laughs, infusing the sound with the delighted fondness of a caretaker for a child. "Why not wait until she's the best she can be?" she murmurs against his skin, her breath raising goosebumps as it moves. "Then instead of a flash of envy that's easily dismissed, it'll be a message they'll not so easily forget. They will see the power and charm of a King."
"A king who can't charm his own plaything," Sebastian murmurs, lust receding just a little as he looks down at Emma. "This is not a negotiation, my dear." It clearly is. "I want you there."
"Oh, I'll be thoroughly receptive to your charms, darling." She straighten and shifts again, hips tilting forward to grind against his lap. "/I/ give /you/ that promise." SHE SEDUCES HIM ALREADY.