Rehab for SuperVillains (18+)-Chapter 5: What’s this, therapy?

The Haven was a tomb of gray concrete, dawn bleeding through the boarded-up windows like a dying flame. Kael shoved Rhea's door open, hinges screaming in the silence. He strolled in—dark tee hugging his frame, a silver coin flipping between his fingers. His hazel eyes too sharp for his lazy grin.

Rhea sprawled on the cot, a wild mess of crimson hair streaked with ash, her charred leather jacket crumpled like a second skin. The blue blanket was a heap at her feet, and the collar around her neck glinted—dull, cold, locking her pyrokinesis tight. She glared up at him, amber eyes smoldering with raw defiance. "What's this, therapy hour?" she snarled, voice gravelly from a night of restless fury.

Kael smirked, dragging a chair over—not too close, keeping the line professional... for now. "Call it what you want," he said, dropping into the seat, the coin still dancing. He leaned forward, elbows on knees, sizing her up—clenched fists, scars twitching along her arms. "Morning, Rhea. Sleep well?"

"Fuck off," she spat, bolting upright, her wiry frame a coiled spring. "You lock me in this shithole, and now we're buddies? What's your angle, asshole?"

"No angle," he said, voice low, steady—like he'd done this dance before. "Just a question. What lit the fuse? Why'd you burn it all down?"

Her laugh was a jagged blade, cutting the air. "None of your damn business. You think I'll crack 'cause you've got a chair and a pretty face?"

Kael didn't blink, didn't push. The coin froze mid-flip as he studied her—the collar choking her fire, leaving only rage to simmer. "Fair," he said, standing. "You don't talk yet. But you're here to figure out why you burn. And I'm not going anywhere." He spun the coin once more, heading for the door. "Think about it, Rhea. Why're you really pissed?"

The door clicked shut, locking her in. She scowled, fists slamming the cot, but his words stuck—like ash clogging her throat. Who the hell did he think he was?

Next morning, Kael was back—same steady stride, same damn chair, but closer now, shrinking the gap. Rhea sat rigid, arms crossed over her jacket, boredom gnawing at her edges. The gray walls and stale air had dulled her spark overnight. She eyed the tray he set beside her—water, notepad, pen—like it was a trap.

"Day two," he said, settling in, coin tucked away. His hazel eyes locked on hers, calm but piercing. "Let's try this: describe the fire. Not why. Just what it felt like."

Her brow creased, suspicion flaring. "What's that supposed to do?"

"Humor me," he said, voice a quiet hook. "Close your eyes."

She glared, searching for the catch. Then, grudgingly, her lids shut, scarred hands resting on her knees. "Hot," she muttered, voice tight. "Alive. Mine."

Kael nodded, leaning closer. "Good. More. Feel it—the heat, the rush."

Her breathing deepened, shoulders loosening as she sank into it. "Like... rushing," she said, softer now. "Through my hands, my chest. It wanted out."

Then he moved—slow, deliberate—fingers brushing her wrist below the collar. "Focus," he said, and his Empathic Resonance hit. For him, it was cold, clinical. For her? A flood. The memory of heat roared back—not pain, just raw intensity. Her skin warmed, scars tingling, pulse racing as the fire's echo blazed in her mind.

Her eyes snapped open, yanking her wrist free. "What the hell was that?" she barked, voice shaky, amber eyes wide—furious, but hooked.

Kael smirked, leaning back. "You tell me. What'd you feel?"

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She rubbed her wrist, breath uneven. "Stronger. Like it was there again, but—" She stopped, scowling. "You did that."

"Yeah," he said, hands in pockets. "I amplify what's in you. No fire, thanks to the collar, but I can make you feel it. Helps us dig into why you crave it." He stood, chair scraping. "Tomorrow, we go deeper."

She didn't snap back, just stared, amber eyes tracking him as he left. Her fingers lingered on her wrist, the heat's ghost pulsing under her skin. What the hell was he doing to her?

Next morning.

The Haven pulsed with tension as Kael pushed Rhea's door open, morning light dim and suffocating. No chair today—he leaned against the wall, arms crossed, all casual menace in his dark tee. His hazel eyes pinned her, unreadable.

Rhea paced like a caged beast, crimson hair a wild tangle, ash dusting her jacket. The collar hummed, her fire locked tight, but her amber eyes flickered—less rage, more unease. She stopped, glaring. "You're playing me," she said, voice rough, curiosity bleeding through.

Kael shrugged, a smirk tugging his lips. "Not playing. Unlocking." He stepped closer, voice dropping. "You're clinging to something, Rhea. Grief? Betrayal? Spill it, or I'll drag it out."

Her eyes flashed, scars flexing as she snarled, "Try it, bastard."

He didn't flinch. His hand shot out—slow, deliberate—fingers gripping her jaw, thumb tracing a jagged scar. She froze, breath hitching. Then his Resonance kicked in—not heat this time, but pleasure, a slow burn blooming from his touch.

Rhea gasped, lips parting as it spread—warmth curling down her neck, scars tingling, a shiver racing through her. Her body leaned in, betraying her, amber eyes darkening. "Stop," she rasped, but her hand grabbed his wrist, nails digging in—not pushing, holding.

He didn't stop. His fingers slid to her throat, past the collar, dialing the pleasure higher—sharp, electric, a pulse igniting low. Her knees buckled, a soft moan slipping free before she bit it back. "Kael..." she breathed, raw, unguarded, her scarred cheek flushed.

He pulled back, abrupt, leaving her reeling—panting, flushed, the aftershocks humming. "That's what's in you," he said, voice rough. "We're just starting." He turned, pausing at the door. "Think about it—what you're holding onto. Tomorrow, we dig deeper."

The lock clicked. Rhea sank onto the cot, trembling, fingers brushing where he'd been. The pleasure lingered, a dangerous ache she couldn't kill. Grief, rage—he'd twisted it into something else. And damn him, she wanted more.