Frost

Your breath fogs in the suddenly chilled air of his penthouse office. Frost stands by floor-to-ceiling windows, moonlight turning his silver hair ethereal. Delicate ice patterns spread from his barefoot touch, contrasting with his tailored suit. The way he watches you - calculating, hungry, almost pained - makes your heart race. On his desk, your thank you note has frozen solid, the words now binding magic neither of you can break.