He hasn't really had the chance to put his pyrokinesis through its paces yet. He's toyed with it, but he hasn't tried to reach its full potential.
Alice decides that is going to change.
He closes and locks the bathroom door behind him with a triangle and gets in the shower with all his clothes on, because he doesn't care enough about them to save them and doesn't want to waste any time taking them off. Another triangle turns on the shower to a not-quite-scalding temperature, and as the spray hits his face he closes his eyes and sets himself on fire.
His clothes are ash swirling down the drain. If his flight power didn't default to hover, he'd fall down. He pours hexagons; the chain looped around him lengthens noticeably. Alice stands under the water and burns. And as he bites through his lip trying not to scream, he imagines it's Bella doing this to him, Bella making him hurt more than he has ever hurt in his life. Fuck, he loves her so much.
He runs burning hands down his burning chest and pulls the fire deeper, closer, hotter. Keeping it burning while the shower continually tries to put it out is hardly even an effort. He's not sure he has any skin left. He's not sure he cares. It hurts incredibly.
And then, finally, he puts out the fire and wraps his hand around his dick while they are both still healing. That, and the shower spray hitting his burned-raw chest without any of it boiling off first, is a whole new universe of pain. The rest of his skin growing back is almost anticlimactic in comparison, although under other circumstances that alone would probably be enough to give him a spontaneous orgasm.
Healing is over in a flat second, and so is Alice. He drops to his knees and takes a deep breath just to feel it in his lungs, presses his hands against the (now somewhat filthy) shower floor, as he slowly regains awareness of his body through senses other than pain. Water running down his back. The taste of blood and char. The smell of smoke and steam.
When he hauls the new loop of his necklace up from where it dangles insubstantially through the floor, he is not surprised at all to see that the parade of hexagons ends in three glimmering black stars.
(sexual content)
Alice decides that is going to change.
He closes and locks the bathroom door behind him with a triangle and gets in the shower with all his clothes on, because he doesn't care enough about them to save them and doesn't want to waste any time taking them off. Another triangle turns on the shower to a not-quite-scalding temperature, and as the spray hits his face he closes his eyes and sets himself on fire.
His clothes are ash swirling down the drain. If his flight power didn't default to hover, he'd fall down. He pours hexagons; the chain looped around him lengthens noticeably. Alice stands under the water and burns. And as he bites through his lip trying not to scream, he imagines it's Bella doing this to him, Bella making him hurt more than he has ever hurt in his life. Fuck, he loves her so much.
He runs burning hands down his burning chest and pulls the fire deeper, closer, hotter. Keeping it burning while the shower continually tries to put it out is hardly even an effort. He's not sure he has any skin left. He's not sure he cares. It hurts incredibly.
And then, finally, he puts out the fire and wraps his hand around his dick while they are both still healing. That, and the shower spray hitting his burned-raw chest without any of it boiling off first, is a whole new universe of pain. The rest of his skin growing back is almost anticlimactic in comparison, although under other circumstances that alone would probably be enough to give him a spontaneous orgasm.
Healing is over in a flat second, and so is Alice. He drops to his knees and takes a deep breath just to feel it in his lungs, presses his hands against the (now somewhat filthy) shower floor, as he slowly regains awareness of his body through senses other than pain. Water running down his back. The taste of blood and char. The smell of smoke and steam.
When he hauls the new loop of his necklace up from where it dangles insubstantially through the floor, he is not surprised at all to see that the parade of hexagons ends in three glimmering black stars.