#fire-elemental!Tom

[lettalady]

Alphabet Soup Challenge - H is for Heat

[ from Once Burned, Twice Shy - a Tom Hiddleston AU (fire-elemental!Tom) ]

    "Terms have been stated." He's losing his patience, but the casual observer might not realize it. He has his hands clasped together in his lap, carefully keeping them away from the desk he is half sitting on, or the paperwork now spread across the surface. How he's holding his body might have been a relaxed pose in other circumstances. You can see the veins in his arms, his muscles rigid as a result of his attempt at control.

"No."

The receptionist evidently hasn't seen someone stand against him in such a way. She's got damp splotches showing on her silk shirt now and a visible sheen of sweat developing to dampen the fine hairs at the nape of her neck. It isn't just the result of nerves. Tom has been raising the temperature of the room.

Always with the theatrics.

It's gone beyond the feeling of a mild-summer-heat. You're waiting to hear the rumble and pop of the poor AC units. The result of the battle between machine and his will is that the room more closely resembles a sauna than the inside of an oven, but only just. Once the units give out the moisture provided by them will quickly evaporate.

"Tell him!" She says, pleading for you to stop making the scary man angry.

But he isn't a man. He's a fire elemental.

And an asshat.

Even as powerful as he is it takes him a few days of preparation to create a proper guise every time he destroys the previous one. Less time than that if it is just a throw-away – something he plans on destroying and never needing again. The price of him knowing how to find a form that he wouldn't burn through – how to stay earthbound without forsaking his powers, actually being able to do everything he is capable of without fear of burn out?

Unlocking that door for a fire elemental was dangerous enough. There are far worse beings out there that would love to know the secret. It would travel through the preternatural community faster than a wind-whipped forest fire during a drought.

No. You maintain your resolve. He'll play mind games and tantrum until he wears his form out and then what? Reveal himself further to the vanilla mortal also stuck in this room with the pair of you? She'll probably pass out upon viewing his true self. Given her current state, he's never gone so far to get what he wants while in her presence. What a thrill to be the person to pull such a reaction from him.

The condensation that has been building up on the windows is now burning off, the double panes at his back are starting to warp with the heat Tom is emitting. The glass will melt down soon if he keeps it up. Clean up, 17th floor. The warmer the room gets the more his form starts to crackle and change to more closely match the being beneath.

Damn it all if you can't look away. Moth. Flame. Etc. Etc.

Just like before...

A trail of perspiration meanders down your back. Your hair is curling wildly as a result of the steam bath you're getting. The wall behind him is taking the brunt of his focus as he tries to frighten words out of you with a show of power. He has turned it from the blah beige to splotchy oaken brown. As you watch the color deepens, the splotch darkening, creating a burn outline in the shape of his form. The desk is probably suffering a similar fate, but the stained finish is so dark it is hard to tell.

Such antics might have loosened your tongue before but you've had a few years in the field. It may be uncomfortable in this office but you've experienced far worse out on your own, from things willing to allow you to be the thing becoming charred rather than the wall.

The receptionist? She's gone rigid, white showing around her irises as she stares at the charred spot on the wall. People must have come to him expecting to have to hand over a great deal of money only to end up trading in things far more valuable. Favors. Secrets. She works with him. Surely she has seen just how determined he can be in getting what he wants. But a show this blatant? Judging from the way she's reacting this is the first time she's ever really gotten a taste of what he is capable of. It seems her luck has run out.

Surprise lady, preternatural beings are real!

The receptionist takes a few steps away from your side, extending the distance between the pair of you. Some compatriot she is – but then she's loyal to him, not you. Or rather, she's loyal to the firm.

This is quite the way to be introduced to the preternatural. He's probably fiddled within her head a time or two to glean needed details. He should come with a label: Attention, if you inexplicably feel a headache starting at your temples, popping an aspirin will do you no good. Despite yourself and your current predicament, you feel a bit sorry for her.

After you knew the warning signs it was easy to spot the moments he would skip the asking and just try to pluck information from your head. At least, in the years since, you've gotten better at psychic defenses. Maybe you'll thank him for leaving, assuming you survive the meeting and come out of the encounter with tickets in hand. And then the thanks will only be delivered via phone after you're a long ways away.

Tom hasn't looked away from you once. While you've been flittering your focus around the room and over to check on the receptionist he's kept his eyes locked on you – or, more accurately, focused on his task: prying that bit of information you're trying to keep from him out of your skull.

"Finish the transaction little mage. Tell me what I want to know and the tickets are yours." He says, pushing himself up off the desk and taking a step towards you. The air in the room shifts as he moves, a change of pressure indicating he's changing tactics. Heat isn't getting you to do what he wants. His approach occurs just about the same time you hear the distant groan of the AC units finally giving up the battle. The steam will leave the room quickly, now.

Other than his nasty habit of rifling through your brain the only time he'd ever used his powers on you was at your request. Little mage wanting to test herself against an elemental. Other pains have occurred since but that first taste of malevolent force had stolen your breath. From the look on his face at the moment his intent is clear: you're about to get a lovely reminder of that first brush with elemental fire.

He's already expelled so much energy that the guise he's wearing is almost translucent to your Sight and crackling nearly constantly. You check the receptionist – she's shifted her attention from the charred mark on the wall to his form and is transfixed. If she wasn't so afraid she'd probably be salivating.

You flinch as he reaches out but don't step away. Perspiration hisses from your skin where he drags his finger over your jawline toward the tip of your chin. Upon reaching the apex of your jaw his fingers stutter momentarily in the air before wrapping around your neck, his hand flush underneath your jawbone.

The physical connection enhances his ability to psychically push through the last-ditch barriers you've thrown up against him. Now all you can do is shove things into his path to prevent him from finding the little black box he's searching for.

"Stop this and tell me."

You expect more anger behind his words.

He isn't applying so much pressure with his hand to cut off your airway entirely but the heat searing into your skin from his thumb and index finger is alarming. He's burning through his guise to the point that soon he won't be able to maintain the protective barrier between his true form and the outside world. If he's still pushing you for information when his guise fails...

Rather than think about that you concentrate on those piercing blue eyes now almost entirely visible through his rapidly deteriorating shell you wonder if his receptionist here has ever seen Tom's true form. His annoyingly beautiful true self.

Perks of whatever fraction of preternatural blood you had running through your veins include being able to see through every guise worn by preternatural beings while they fiddled about with mortals. The day you spotted Tom you'd considered it a perk.

You've learned better since.

He's digging through your mind with more force now, chasing the little black box of information. You have to keep bouncing it around to keep it beyond his reach. You flinch when he causes another wall of protection to crumble and gains access to more of your memories. You try to push some of them aside to keep them away from his raking fingers and instead push it straight at him. You see it in his eyes exactly when the memory hits him. The next mentor you'd sourced out and his hard knocks lessons on how exactly to deal with irate pixies – by unleashing a swarm of them on you and watching as they broke through your simplistic attempts at shielding yourself before tearing at your clothes and skin.