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24 November 2007 @ 12:23 pm
Fic: "Demeter's Daughter", Chapter 3. Sinister/Rachel, Rated MA  
Title: Demeter's Daughter, Chapter 3.
Authors: sionnain and resolute
Fandom: 616-verse X-Men, ends up AU
Pairing: Nathaniel Essex, aka Mister Sinister, and Rachel Grey
Rating: dear heavens, NC-17
Warnings, Notes, etc: Contains graphic sex and graphic violence. Dub-con. Makes references to non-con. In addition, Resolute thinks the X-Men treat Rachel pretty poorly, and her biases show.
Summary: Rachel Grey is the only scion of the Summers-Grey line that Sinister has so far ignored. When Rachel returns from space, scarred and broken again, she is in no position to defend herself from him.

AN: The title is from the Grace Griffith song Demeter's Daughter.This is Chapter 3 of a multi-chapter fic, co-written by sionnain and resolute. Please be advised of the warnings.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2



It was true. Rachel could get used to anything.

She sometimes thought that very adaptability -- the thing that let her survive so much -- was also what broke her down. She'd been here for a week or so, she guessed. Unless Sinister was messing with the time, or her sense of what day it was. She doubted that. It didn't seem like he'd bother. It's not like he has to work very hard to get things from me.

The routine was already comforting. Rachel hated that it was, but she couldn't fight the sense of safety that an imposed order gave her. Too much free time, too many decisions, and her mind started chasing itself. The daily schedule Sinister kept, it brought her a certain amount of ease.

Like today. Breakfast at 7:30. He let her sleep in until then, still insisting that she needed more rest. The man had strong opinions about her health. He frequently discussed her failure to provide for her basic needs. Always in cool, distant tones. But he did keep harping on it. Rachel was getting the distinct impression that her behavior very nearly irritated him.

So, breakfast. In the kitchen, at the table. The sorts of meals Hank was always insisting she needed to eat. Whatever Sinister's crimes, it appeared he actually was some sort of physician. He sounded just like Dr. McCoy sometimes. Then Rachel returned to her room to bathe and dress.

Rachel liked the clothes he had for her. Soft. Bright colors. She'd cut the collars out of some of the sweatshirts and wore them almost like lounging robes. She didn't like the shoes -- low walking shoes, not the sort of boots she preferred. So she mostly went barefoot. The place -- compound, fortress, whatever it was -- was clean. Always clean, except when she made a mess. It was really the nicest prison she'd been in.

In the mornings Sinister asked her to work out. He monitored her. Wireless devices taped to her body in different locations. She'd asked him what he was looking for, and he'd told her, but Rachel honestly couldn't be bothered to care. The running was the best. He had a treadmill with holographic projectors around it. After she'd complained that running through the woods was boring, he'd entered in a few new programs. Rachel had asked for things based on running or chase scenes from movies she liked. Sometimes it made her giggle, but it wasn't boring.

Lunch. Again, absolutely balanced and healthy. But Sinister really could cook. Rachel began to realize she was looking forward to how the food tasted. She tried to remember when she'd noticed food being good. Weeks ago. Maybe months? She'd mentioned she liked the darker roast of coffee a little better. Sinister had interviewed her for fifteen minutes as to why she liked the darker, more bitter roast, then filled the cup with sugar and cream. He seemed to think it was indicative of a deep psychological trauma. Rachel had finally laughed at him, obsessing over her coffee preferences when she so obviously had far more urgent and pressing mental problems.

After lunch -- after, she realized, she was tired and relaxed and fed and clean and comfortable -- they went to the medical lab. Some of the tests were a little painful. A little invasive. He didn't lie about that. Tissue samples, some from deep inside her body. Testing nerve pathways, once, which involved inducing feelings of intense heat and cold and measuring how badly it hurt.

Rachel had a lot of trouble with the lab. Almost every day had resulted in him, eventually, tying her to the table. Half the days had resulted in both of them bleeding. Sinister had shown her the recordings, a few times, asking why she said or did some particular thing. He had to show her the recordings because she didn't remember most of it. When she saw herself crawl to him, promising to be good, trying -- again, he assured her -- to unfasten his pants, Rachel had needed to put her head down between her legs. Dizzy and sick at the sight.

But today had gone well. Today was the first day with no restraints. Rachel was proud of that.

At dinner Sinister had asked her if she wanted dessert. She'd said yes, and, later, when she was in her room, he'd brought in a plate of cookies. Rachel had thanked him. He merely said goodnight.

Rachel glanced at the clock. Nearly 10:00. If she stayed up too late he came back and forced her to sleep. He was polite about it. Offered her her choice of drugs or a telepathic suggestion. Rachel refused to pick, when it happened. Fought him. Made him knock her out, for her own good. But she didn't feel like fighting him tonight.

She turned off the movie and got ready for bed. Rachel undressed and got back under the covers. Turned out the light. She sighed a little. Almost pleased.

Rachel stretched out, laying on her back. She stared up at the dark ceiling. She wasn't quite tired. Not crazed, not racing. Not upset. Just, very slightly restless. She turned, trying to get comfortable. It didn't work.

Oh. It took her a moment to realize how she felt. It had been a long time. Perhaps as long as it had been since food tasted good, or she could enjoy a hot shower and soft clothes. There was an itch, an ache, a twisting feeling low in her stomach. Between her legs. Rachel rolled onto her back. Wondering what this made her, that she was going to masturbate in her prison cell.

Things were going, for the most part, rather well. Sinister was in his laboratory, studying his various notes and findings. Rachel was, physically, very healthy. The rest and proper nutrition had improved her overall physical well-being dramatically. The test results showed a strong, healthy young woman in the prime of her life. Rachel had low blood pressure and a rather low body temperature, but nothing that would endanger her.

Her powers had the ability to be impressive. She had phenomenal telepathic range and very powerful telekinesis. At her most controlled, he placed her in the top tier of telepaths the world over, and very highly ranked within that tier. The few times when she actually could control her abilities, he had almost been impressed by her skill.

Mentally, however, he concluded that she was quite deranged and severely hampered by the things which had occurred in her past.

Subject has an inability to function when feeling threatened, forced to make decisions (often simple ones--see report, 11 November), paranoia regarding the motives of others, fear of confinement or restraint, and significant post traumatic stress disorder. Subject will behave irrationally and disassociate to the point of no longer recalling incidents or events which occur during this state. Subject reverts back to a captive "Hound" and will become weak and easy to manipulate, often attempting to please the Investigator sexually in order to show proper gratitude. Mostly this occurs after some sort of physical fight with the Investigator, which is initiated by the Subject. Subject is kept docile with small comforts and constant order and routine, likely a coping mechanism from her childhood. Deviation results in significant mental distress, which in turn leaves the Subject completely at the mercy of her emotions and unable to control her powers beyond the most basic level.

Sinister had ascertained that the Phoenix was basically keeping Rachel sane, but only just. The girl's heightened emotions served as some sort of draw to the being, which fed off of intense emotional output. Therefore, while the being expressed an interest in Rachel controlling her powers, it was not willing to allow her mental peace in order to achieve it.

A symbiote with a mind of its own.

He had instilled a very proper routine for the girl, hoping that would work to lull her into security. It appeared to be working, for the most part. He still had to subdue her on occasion, and she often required encouragement to sleep at night.

Speaking of, he realized it was nearly five past ten, and scowled. Sinister prided himself on being punctual, on being orderly. He was also loathe to interrupt their routine, considering how well she had done today. He concentrated and was pleased to see that the lights were off in her room and that she was indeed in bed. He nearly withdrew his awareness from her, but he paused, sensing an odd and unusual tension in her which he had not previously noted.

He sat in the darkness of his lab, pen poised to take notes.

Rachel licked her lips. Enjoying the anticipation. She drew her fingers up her sides. Across her stomach. She grazed lightly across her breasts, her nipples, and gasped. It felt good. Very good.

She forced herself to put her hands back at her sides. Counted to five, slowly. Then did it again. Hands over her stomach. Under her breasts. Then the nipples. It felt wonderful, jolting her body, making her wiggle on the bed. She put her hands to her sides again and counted.

It took him a moment to realize what she was doing. Teasing herself, sexually. Subject is aroused by denial, by waiting. He made careful notations about the rise and fall of her breath, the way she touched the most sensitive parts of her body last. There were elements of force involved, though only by her will. Subject has not demonstrated any sexual arousal since her arrival. Investigator speculates that her relative physical well-being and today's high-functioning level of emotional stability is instrumental for her feelings of arousal.

He was watching her very carefully. Her body beneath the covers was naked. Slightly sheened in sweat. He realized he was leaning forward, a bit, in his chair. Shaking his head, he tried to concentrate. Her fingers skirted across her breasts. Sinister realized he was tapping his pen in an arrhythmic fashion against the table. He forced himself to quit.

Rachel was breathing heavily now. Arching with every touch. "Please," she whispered in her dark room. "May I?" She was never sure who she asked, when she asked. Sometimes the guards. Sometimes Magneto, from her childhood. Scott, more often than she would ever tell anyone. Rachel didn't talk about these things. She knew it was wrong. One more thing wrong with her.

In her room, in the dark and the quiet, this time Rachel lay panting on her bed until she was sure Sinister would have said yes.

She put her fingers between her legs. Breath faster now. She forced herself to touch lightly. Circling her clit, barely touching it. She was whimpering a little, aloud. "May I have more?" she whispered. Forcing herself to wait until she thought Sinister would let her touch herself harder.

Subject requires permission for things that are pleasurable. During masturbation, she speaks audibly, seeking said permission from those in authority.

It took him far longer to write the sentence than it should have. It was very warm in the lab. It took him a few moments to realize he was holding his breath. Narrowing his eyes, he forced himself to breathe evenly. This was an investigation. He was very good at remaining collected, impassive.

He was watching her, her fingers. Between her legs. His presence was veiled from her, he knew that. She had no notion he was watching her, she never did. He sat the pen down and leaned back in his chair.

"Yes," Sinister said, in the darkness of the lab. There was no way she could hear him. It was illogical to speak it out loud. But he did it anyway.

Rachel waited until it felt right. After a moment it did. Some sense of permission, of approval. "Thank you," she whispered. Rachel pushed her fingers inside herself, forcing them in roughly. With her palm on her clit she moved her hand fast. Oh god.

She was nearly there, immediately. It had been so long, her body was ready. Taut. Rachel moaned, not trying to be quiet. There was no one to hear her. She was nearly there. Nearly. So close.

Rachel pulled her hand away. Stopped. She lay on her bed, jerking slightly in reaction. Counting.

There was no way to deny, now, that he was breathing a bit harder watching her. It occurred to him that it had been quite a while since he had indulged himself in any sort of sexual play. Sinister had no emotions, but he was not immune to physical needs. Watching as her hand moved, roughly touching herself and pressing her fingers hard inside of her, he felt the surest stirrings of arousal.

Such things displeased him. Emotions were a weakness, which was why he had been stripped of his by Apocalypse. Sinister hated Apocalypse, but he did not fault the man for that particular modification. Emotions were the very thing that kept Rachel from being as powerful as she could be.

Irrationally, he wanted her to finish. Wanted her to come, so that he could finish his notes. What is it you are waiting for, girl?

Rachel moved her hand slowly back between her legs. This was the worst part. The shameful part. But without it, she never felt done. "Please don't," she whispered. She pushed her fingers inside herself, fast. Rough. "No," she whispered, eyes squeezed shut. "I don't want to. Don't make me do this. Please." Her hands began moving fast. Rubbing her clit hard, fucking herself. It almost hurt. Not quite.

She dug the fingers of her free hand into her thigh. Hard. Jabbing with her short nails, leaving marks that would show in the morning. It hurt. Rachel pretended to force her legs apart. The pain felt intense. She kept on grabbing, hard. Trying to bruise. Her other hand kept going, faster. "No, don't," she whispered. "I'll be good. I'll do the tests. I won't fight."

She was waiting, it appeared to him, for someone to force her. Waiting to come, until someone threatened and hurt her--

Me. She is thinking of me. Touching and hurting her. That is what will make her come.

His hands clenched and unclenched, and he was breathing far too quickly. Sinister was thinking of touching her. Of putting his fingers between her legs, forcing her to come. His hands were cold--his skin was always cold. When he would find a woman to take care of his physical need for sex, he would alter his body temperature along with his appearance. He would not do that with Rachel. Her skin would be hot. Her sex would be swollen, wet against his cold fingers.

He realized that he was opening the link to her, just a little. Giving the suggestion, perhaps, of cold fingers against her clit, inside of her. His face, impassive and unmoved above her. His free hand squeezed around her throat, tightening in warning. Sinister was not entirely sure he was giving that particular image or receiving it. There was sweat on his brow and his body was tight with lust. He wanted to watch her finish, he realized. Not for research.

For him.

Rachel cried out, loudly. She could almost feel his disregard. His cold touch on her burning skin. It pushed her over the edge. She clenched her teeth, held her breath. Came hard on her hand.

Oh my god. Rachel fell back against her mattress, against her pillow. Gasping loudly. She'd thrown the covers off at some point, and grabbed for them now, telekinetically. Rachel rolled onto her stomach, hugging her pillow.

Warm. Relaxed. Safe.

He watched her come. He felt her release,saw what she had wanted while she came. He was pressing his hand against his cock, through his trousers, rubbing his palm against his erection. He stopped when he realized what he was doing. Eyes narrowed, Sinister stood up fast, the chair clattering loudly to the floor behind him.

He felt...predatory. He wanted to go to her room and finish it. He could force her. She had wanted that, hadn't she? From him? For him to force her to have pleasure? He could make her come again, around his cock this time. Not just on his fingers.

Sinister did not go to her. He went to his room, far away from hers, the one room into which she would not ever be permitted. He went to the large bathroom and turned on the shower. Beneath the spray, he allowed himself to finish the fantasy of what he would have done to her. It did not mean anything. He was a man, a healthy man, and she was beautiful and writhing beneath his phantom touch. He told himself, as he fisted his cock beneath the pounding hot spray of the water, that he could have restrained himself if he had wanted. Continued working. The urge would have passed.

He came thinking about her. Whispering No, don't, beneath him, his hand on her throat, her eyes wide and helpless. When he was finished, he was too distracted to work. He had a piano in yet another room of the complex. He played that instead, unsettled and slightly annoyed at what had happened. Perhaps it wouldn't happen again, and he could consider it an aberration. All good experiments had a few of those.

Chapter 4
 
 
touring: : home
always been so: : bouncybouncy
rock and roll is: : the giant claw
 
 
 
Jess: rachelwillowaus on November 24th, 2007 09:11 pm (UTC)
Oh Sinny Sinny Sinny. And Rachel Rachel Rachel.

:hearts them both:

Sinny is growing on me again.
inathunderstorm on November 24th, 2007 09:13 pm (UTC)
He will be most glad to hear that :D
galamb_borong: Eccentricgalamb_borong on November 25th, 2007 04:10 am (UTC)
Mr. Sinister is Magic Fingers!
Always good to see this messed-up pair in action.
Slightly obsessed: x-menrachelsinisterpsychoresolute on November 26th, 2007 01:20 am (UTC)
hee, thanks!
aka bloodnfire: blood kisssendthewolves on November 25th, 2007 11:25 am (UTC)
Holy shit.

*slows down breathing*

That was fucking hot! Christ.

*is now a puddle of goo*
Slightly obsessed: x-menrachelsinisterpsychoresolute on November 26th, 2007 01:21 am (UTC)
YAY. That is a lovely comment, thank you!