Title: 2012 and Counting

Rating: PG

Pairings: Sylar/Claire

Summary: Years pass and Claire gets to know who Sylar really is.

Warnings: Spoilers for Season 3 finale and Season 4 finale.

Author: bindictive

Author’s Note: Trying something new. Hope it worked out. Unbeta'd.

Word count: 838

2012

Two years after what the media labeled The Big Reveal, he told her Angela had said he was her son. Claire didn’t blink an eye, didn’t gasp, didn’t laugh. She looked at him sympathetically, with just a tinge of loathing.

Things hadn’t changed much, but still, things had changed.

2035

He had been a constant thorn, a constant ally, and, admittedly, a constant rock. No deep revelations had occurred since his first, nothing personal, just light dinners, maybe a movie. Hardly any talk and if that, business related, ‘how was your day’ related. Nothing more, nothing less.

2090

He had been off on a mission. Austria something or other. She hadn’t been listening, too busy ignoring him because he had accidentally maimed her boyfriend. She’d snorted, “Accidentally, my seventy-fifth left foot!”

He’d missed his check in by 93 hours. She wasn’t ready, yet, to admit she missed the warmth that had been beside her since the day she’d jumped off that carousel. What she could admit was that she was worried.

2091

The stars twinkled above them as they lounged in the bluegrass, wind rustling gently. Here is the first time she allowed him to touch her. His large, now gentle, hand crept over the ground to tentatively grasp her, fingers entwining. She twitched once, settling her hand into his more comfortably as he told her about Gabriel’s first girlfriend Elle.

And how that breakup started and ended. This time, she felt a glimmer, just the slightest little kernel, grow in her heart. She may understand his mind but she still wasn’t ready to understand his soul.

2092

Another year, another place. They’d migrated to Paris, rented a flat in Rue de Grenelle. She had a view of the Eiffel Tower right outside her bedroom window. The maimed boyfriend was long gone, unable to stand her flawlessly unwrinkled face, like so many others before him. Sylar offered to maim him again. Claire was only slightly appalled that she almost accepted.

This was the year that Sylar chose to tell her about his mother. How she refused to acknowledge that A’s were good enough. How she insisted that he could do better, could get A+’s. How she made him wash his hands six times four times a day. How she slapped him one, hard enough to make his ears ring, when he was fifteen and she’d walked in on him when he tried masturbating for the first time.  

There were other things too. Things she didn’t want to think about. Things that made her think, “Yeah, I would try to kill the world too.”

2093

Europe, still Paris, still Rue de Grenelle. They owned it now. There was no more need for them to move on. The missions had been dwindling, as more and more governments wrote in official protection laws for specials, giving them equal rights to all.

They lived a quiet life together. Currently, they were eating breakfast outside on their balcony and she was gazing off at the Tower. Curiously, they’d never been up to it since they’d moved there.

“I saw my father, my real father, murder my real mother when I was six. Right after he sold me to his brother and wife, Virginia.”

Claire turned her eyes to his face, looked into his eyes. She knew enough of his story to finally admit that he, combined with his ability, almost had no choice. She also knew enough of him now to know that he truly regretted that he allowed himself the luxury of believing he ‘had no choice’.

Silence enveloped them as he dropped his eyes to his meal, ashamed. Silence stayed put as she allowed herself to assimilate the emotion in his eyes that she’d spent almost a century pretending not to recognize. Silence accompanied her hand as she lifted it to Sylar’s, entangling them both together tightly.

“Let’s go up on the Eiffal Tower today. It’s Paris. It’s Valentine’s Day. It’s a total cliché for lovers, but, as we’re together for eternity and a walking cliché ourselves, I think it fits.”

Sylar’s eyes shot to hers. That night, there was no sleep. The next morning, they bought the rooms on either side of them, so their neighbors would no longer complain of the noise level.

2098

Claire gazed at their four year old daughter, Giselle, as she slept on her sleeping father’s chest. Their life wasn’t perfect, Sylar still had his unstable moments -as the man in the hospital could attest – but it was sweet in all its imperfectness.

She laughed to herself as she made her way to the kitchen, pausing to glance out at the Eiffel Tower once. She rubbed her full belly, feeling the kick, as she remembered what she’d told Sylar all those years ago: she’d spend eternity hating and hunting him. She hadn’t even lasted 89 years. 

A blissful smile graced her face as she heard Sylar awaken and address their little girl. Sometimes, it was entirely worth it, giving a man a second chance.

“Just like Sylar, you don’t want to be alone. He may have done some awful things but it’s obvious he’s trying to change. He’s the only one in the world who can stand by your side and never grow old.”

Claire knew this was true; didn’t mean she had to like it. Still, she started in with, “Peter-”

“Can’t hold a charge long enough to have more than one ability at a time. Eventually, somewhere along your eternity, he’ll rub against the wrong person, accidentally steal their ability, and then promptly crumble into dust. And do you really want to have someone by your side forever that you can’t take… pleasure in?”

Claire sighed. Thumping her head on the ground, she tried to avoid answering but by this time she knew Lydia. The woman was like a dog with a very juicy, very big bone. “No.”

She turned her head and caught a smug smile spreading across Lydia’s face. Rolling her eyes, Claire continued, “But I really don’t want to be attached to a psycho, reformed or not, for eternity. I mean, maybe if I’d met him when he was Gabriel Gray, but not Sylar.”

Lydia absorbed what Claire had said, her eyes taking on that sheen that Claire knew all too well. She was scheming. Claire could only groan.

“So, you’re saying that if you got a chance to try out Gabriel, then you could make an informed choice?”

Claire glanced at Lydia in confusion. The way Lydia had worded that made it sound like she knew something of Gabriel… and that Claire might prefer Sylar. Intrigued despite herself, Claire sat up slowly and drawled, “Go oooon.”

Lydia smirked, always insanely delighted in herself when she managed to snag Claire’s attention as she’d just done. It irritated Claire to no end.

“There’s an old woman here who has an ability that can recreate an exact replica of someone inside of dreams.” She paused for dramatic effect but Claire merely raised an eyebrow. Lydia scowled and tossed a raspberry the blonde’s way before continuing. “Would it kill you to at least look properly impressed? Anyway, everything that they are is manifested in the dream. Everything is true to form, all the reactions that the real version would have, the dream version has.”

Claire took that all in as Lydia fell silent. She pondered for a few minutes before saying, “I take it that you had a little glimpse of Gabriel Gray?”

The older woman nodded. “I was curious to see what kind of man could turn into Sylar. Frankly, as scared of Sylar as I am, I prefer him to the poor soul he used to be. Seriously Claire, you’d be alternately bored to tears and freaked out. Sylar, on the other hand…” She winked.

Claire rolled her eyes and sighed, “Don’t be sly, Lydia. It doesn’t become you.”

Lydia snorted and threw a clump of grass at Claire. Claire refused to dignify that with a reaction.

[]

Claire had told Lydia that some thought would have to be put into the other woman’s suggestion, but they both knew that Claire would go for it. It was all a part of Claire’s new ‘take the serial killer by the balls’ attitude that she’d started forming when she’d swiped that compass from her dad. It was all quite liberating, if she didn’t say so herself.

Still, a few minutes alone wouldn’t go amiss, so Claire grabbed Pride and Prejudice and headed to a secluded, and decently quiet, corner of the carnival. As she passed through the throngs of people, she waved to some of the more delightful denizens of the outdoor freak-show and accepted a box of popcorn from Horace. Still others glared at her as she walked by, but Claire didn’t mind. She wasn’t going to ‘do her share’ when she was being held there against her wishes.

Once she settled against the trunk of a tree, content beneath the rays of the molasses sun, Claire opened her book to the marked page and tried to read. It was slow going, with the warmth of the sun and the beauty of the day, but the most distracting thing was the pair of eyes watching her every move. After a few minutes of trying to ignore it, to appear absorbed and oblivious, Claire finally released an explosive sigh and slammed her book to the ground.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him, eager and swift across the ground. The sun haloing Claire was blocked out as Sylar’s large, dark clad body stopped to loom over her. They looked at each other, Claire haughtily and Sylar with amusement. Finally, he plopped down next to her, leaning his shoulder against her own as he stretched his obscenely long legs out in front of him.

His head flopped to the side, hair falling over his face and obscuring his eyes. A small smile graced his full lips. It was a potent image and, not for the first time, Claire thanked her lucky stars that Sylar couldn’t read minds. Reforming killer though he was, Sylar was not the man for her. Shockingly, the fact that he had molested her brain and killed off her biological parents didn’t factor into the equation.

“I’ve been a very good boy. Remember, you even gave me a cardboard medal for not killing Parkman and wife when he tried to lock me inside my head, instead of making me powerless.”

Claire rolled her eyes and shook her head exasperatedly. “Are you ever going to give up?”

Sylar snorted and Claire turned to stare at him. He looked offended. “Claire! When have I ever shown myself to give up? I’m nothing if not tenacious. You should know that by now.”

Claire didn’t say anything, just turned her head away from the (endearing; damn it, it’s so not!) smirk and gazed at the Carnival, watching as all the little ant-people scampered about having fun or running booths. She really didn’t want to acknowledge that last thought because that would be admitting that he was a weakness. And she was tired of allowing him to be her weakness, whether she was terrified of him or enamored of him.

He mercifully kept silent, knowing the boundaries; when he could push, when he could pull, and when he should reign in. They’d spent weeks learning and teaching each other, so Claire didn’t flinch when, as was his wont, Sylar intertwined his fingers with Claire’s smaller ones, his palm rubbing gently over the back of her hand.

* Sylar wouldn’t say why he came back to the Carnival, but the way Samuel was always smirking when he looked between her former stalker and Claire, she was fairly certain it was because of her. That and the fact that she now knew how Lydia’s power worked; Claire’s own face etched into Sylar’s skin meant something entirely different than what he’d said it did. She thought Sylar knew what his latest ability did, though, unlike Lydia. After all, the bastard always showed equal or superior talent and understanding of someone’s abilities after stealing them. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to scare her off.

Granted, Claire probably wouldn’t have been as… understanding in that closet if he’d said that he wanted her with a soul-deep burning of a thousand fiery suns. As it was, he seemed to gravitate toward her and, at first, Claire had thought it was quite awkward. He had terrorized and stalked her, killed friends and family, and played Chopin on her brain, after all. Things had changed, though, after that talk. Her animosity had decreased somewhat, as everything he’d ever told her came back to her.

Finally, after Sylar had spent a few days seeking her out and forcing them into awkward sit-ins, she’s succumbed to him; encouraged him to speak. He revealed all his hurts, his guilt at the first kill he’d ever made, how Elle, her dad, and the Company had driven him to more until finally he had to cease caring or live in self-loathing for eternity.

Claire had come to the uncomfortable conclusion that if he’d been left alone, he probably would have been harmless, guilt from the first kill preventing him from doing so ever again.

It was quite the revelation and Claire couldn’t resist allowing her animosity towards him, already shaken from the talk in the lecture hall/closet, to fade to a general feeling of apathy. But he still wouldn’t leave her alone. Every meal, every free time he had, he was near her. Sitting with her or lounging near her feet and eventually, he snuck in finger twining. She got used to it and, as the weeks passed, eventually started to crave it. *

And damn it, with Lydia’s ability, Sylar knew she liked holding his hand. It made it difficult for her to be snarky and rude. She wiggled her fingers, tightening the tangle and allowed herself to imagine what her family’s reaction to this would be. And then she wondered how weird it probably should be that he’d turned from repugnant monster, to actual human, to friend.

Her eye was caught by Lydia waving excitedly from the side of her trailer, gesturing that Claire join her. A sigh from Sylar reminded Claire of a mournful coyote howl she’d heard once when she’d gone camping in the desert. Her fingers were released and he said, “She’s the agent of the devil, you know.”

Claire stood and brushed off the seat of her pants, bits of dry grass and chips of rock falling in her hand’s wake, laughter bursting forth at his put-out tone. She started towards Lydia but then stopped and turned her torso back to cast a crafty glance down at Sylar.

“You’re just cross because she impugned your manhood.” Sylar allowed his murder-scowl out, glaring with all his impotent rage at Claire. She merely lifted a brow and turned back, continuing towards Lydia. She knew Sylar’s lips were twitching in a suppressed attempt to smile and she knew the mock-scowl turned real when she tossed over her shoulder, “A belief that was only enhanced when I told her about our ‘magical’ night.”

A growl echoed from behind her and Claire unleashed all her mirth, cackling like a loon off her meds. Her laughter, however, turned into half-shrieks when a forceful telekinetic slap connected with her ass. Before Sylar could get another one in, she picked up speed and ran down the hill, her laughter floating on the breeze to Sylar, soothing his soul – or so he’d told her the first time he’d made her laugh.

As she approached Lydia, the look on the other woman’s face came into sharp focus; raised eyebrow, smirking lips, knowing eyes. They came into indoor voice range but Claire beat her to the punch. “Not a word. He’s merely a curiosity. I’ll get over it.”

Lydia inclined her head but the smirk never left, even as she linked arms with Claire and pulled her to whatever freak she wanted Claire to get more acquainted with next.

[]

Claire sighed as she reclined back onto her bed in her trailer, the old woman, Grunehilda from Frankfurt meine Liebste, sitting in the armchair crowded next to the bed. Lydia stood at the foot, smiling encouragingly. Claire took a deep breath, settled in more comfortably, and closed her eyes. Seconds later, a cool, dry hand descended onto her forehead and the other positioned itself against the right side of her face.

Claire wasn’t sure when it happened but one moment she was awake, lying on her fluffy bedspread, and the next she was standing in a very Norman Bates-esque apartment. There was one side-chair, still covered in its original plastic cover sitting in the corner next to a TV tray cum side table. The entire place was covered floor to ceiling in books and behind one shelf, Claire could see a full bed.

There was no couch or coffee table, no television or computer. There was an old fashioned radio in one corner, next to a display counter that looked like something out of a jewelry store. In the kitchen was one table flush with the wall, with two plain chairs. The entire place looked a little lonely.

She turned swiftly as she heard a key turn in the lock. Then the door sung open, revealing Sylar’s former identity. Claire’s brows inched up. She never thought the former killer actually looked all that different but here he was, something out of Leave It To Beaver. Thick black glasses sat on his nose, obscuring his very prominent eyebrows and his hair was parted from the left and smoothed over. His clothes consisted of khakis, checkered button down, and sweater vest.

To say Claire was surprised would be an understatement. Gabriel glanced up as he entered, caught her look, and smiled. She hesitantly smiled back, watching as he set his bags onto the counter. For a moment, she had thought they were full of groceries but then she caught a glimpse of something that resembled handcuffs. Curious, she took a step forward and was about to ask Gabriel what he’d bought when the man swooped in like a vulture and captured her lips.

A squeak of surprise escaped Claire before she caught on and started kissing back. He was voracious, sucking and nipping and licking inside her mouth. As her arms went around the watchmaker’s neck, Claire recalled what she’d forgotten when she’d been examining the lonely apartment. Grunhilda was sending her into a fantasy where Claire and Gabriel had been dating long enough that they had moved in together. Before she lost all coherency, Claire had the stray thought that Grunhilda’s ability was really quite fantastic and that maybe she wouldn’t mind giving Claire Hugh Jackman for the night. But then Gabriel did something incredible with his tongue and Claire lost the ability to think.

As they kissed, Gabriel hoisted Claire into the air and she took the opening to wrap her legs around the man’s waist. He walked them both through the door from the front hall/kitchen into the living room, around the bookcase and then gently tossed her onto the bed. Claire released a surprised ‘oof!’ as she looked up at Gabriel from under her lashes.

He smiled sweetly before saying, “Stay there. I’ll be back.”

She watched as he shuffled swiftly into the kitchen and fiddled with the bags on the counter, pulling things out, ripping packaging open, and then gathering it all to bring back to the pseudo-bedroom. As he came closer and laid all the apparent sex paraphernalia onto the bed, Claire’s eyes widened in amazement. There were all kinds of freaky things: handcuffs (real ones, not the pansy fluffy kind), leather whips, butt plugs, a dildo, a blindfold, nipple clamps, and a… strap-on?

Claire lifted her eyes to look upon the deceptively docile Gabriel Gray in bemusement. This was not what she had anticipated at all. Sylar, now he was one she thought would have been kinky, but this mousy yet handsome creature? Totally unexpected. He was a kinky freak and, completely unpredictably, Claire was excited. As she sat up and started fondling all the equipment, she thought that if Lydia was freaked out by all this stuff than the empath had to be severely vanilla.

As Gabriel started to disrobe, Claire once again focused on the here and now. This dream was supposed to give her insight or something, she wasn’t quite sure how a pornographic dream should go about doing that, but she wasn’t complaining. She smiled in delight as Gabriel’s shirt was tossed to the side, revealing his slightly rounded stomach. Another difference between Sylar and who he used to be; Sylar was quite toned. Incredibly, Claire found his round belly adorable. She chanced a glace back up at her fantasy lover’s face and caught a shy yet delighted smile in return. It was the same smile Sylar had given her. It affected her in the same way.

While she’d been thinking, Gabriel had managed to unclothe himself entirely, settling on the bed, doggy-style. Claire’s pupils dilated and her heart rate kicked up. She glanced at the sex toys and then back at Gabriel, who had turned his face to look over his shoulder and meet Claire’s eyes. His smile, at once sweet and devious, encouraged Claire on. She grinned, grabbed the cuffs, and quickly snapped them onto Gabriel’s wrists, then the headboard. His breathing picked up, as did hers, as she ran her hands from the back of his neck, along his sides, and over his pale rounded buttocks.

Based on the kinky things Gabriel had bought, Claire figured he wouldn’t mind if she just leaned down and placed a kiss square in the middle of his right ass cheek, before she released a quick, hard bite that had the man yelping in surprise and pushing into her mouth. Claire stored that away for later, quite surprised that Sylar had resisted all efforts on her part to make things a little more… exciting their one night together. Intriguing.

She giggled into his skin, running her hands down his flanks and then in between his legs, her small hands filling with his heavy sac. A loud moan was released as she fondled him gently in one hand, while the other slid up and over his hard-on, pushing it into his stomach and massaging teasingly. Breathing in deeply, Claire savored the sharp musk Gabriel was emitting; it only served to heighten animalistic lust. She had a vague thought that she should be worried that her body had apparently become a slut for sex, but then one of her nails slid slightly into the slit of Gabriel’s penis and his yell drew her back to the proceedings.

Gabriel was getting eager, shoving his ass back into Claire’s lower abdomen and thighs, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. A smirk crossed Claire’s face as she pulled back, completely abandoning Gabriel as he whined in protest, attempting to Houdini himself out of the cuffs to get closer to Claire. It was an intoxicating sight, seeing Gabriel so helpless, so desperate for her loving.

She picked up the whip and tapped him hard enough for a light smack to resound throughout the room and Gabriel jerked, a slightly pained cry falling from his lips. Claire then ran the leather over the abused area softly, across the angry stripes left in the whip’s wake, and then down between Gabriel’s ass cheeks. A whimper of encouragement was heard as Claire slowly swirled the leather fringe over Gabriel’s secret pucker, twisting it over and over.

“You like that, slut? You want more?”

Gabriel keened, shoving his ass backwards onto the end of the whip as he nodded vigorously. Claire’s smile widened and she dropped the whip in favor of scrounging around for the cock-ring. She gently, with intermittent rough jerks, slid the ring onto Gabriel’s cock and secured it in place.  

Sweat poured off Gabriel’s body effusively, the heat steaming up his glasses as he cast a desperate glance back at Claire. She smiled wolfishly, briefly wondering where such appetites came from, as she quickly stripped and strapped on the dildo. Gabriel’s ass clenched in anticipation and he braced himself as best he could, with his hands at such an awkward angle.

Claire slathered her new appendage with lube and then used what was left on her fingers on Gabriel. She held Gabriel open with one hand while her lubed index finger circled his anus slowly. He twitched again, an action that Claire took to mean that she should enter him. One finger went in no problem, slicked and sliding easily. Gabriel breathed a deep moan, his back dipping as he strained to fill himself more.

Without ceremony, Claire almost immediately followed the first with a second, pounding her fingers into Gabriel and scissoring them. He was loosening, so Claire shoved a third and final finger inside, Gabriel releasing a hiss. He pushed backwards eagerly once more however, so she knew that the burn was pleasurable.

Claire positioned herself at his entrance, sitting the tip of the toy right at the tight bundle of ring, rubbing in a teasing circle. Before she breached him, however, she leaned down and whispered into his ear, “I’m going to pound so hard and so fast into you, Gabriel.” He gasped, his ass clenching and his hands fisting. His breath responded in extremes, which only served to push his hole back against the strap-on.

A smirk crossed Claire’s face and she was beginning to understand that she had apparently been a closet dominatrix. Having this power over a man, over this man, was intoxicating. She released a growl and nipped his earlobe, then soothed it with her tongue, suckling and licking. Pulling back, she continued, “You’re going to be so thoroughly fucked that every time you sit, every time you clench, every single fucking time you shit for the next week, you’ll know just exactly who you belong to.”

“Oh, God, yes!” Gabriel released his plea like a prayer to the heavens, his body shivering in anticipation. His breath was so erratic that he was on the verge of hyperventilation and Claire found that extremely erotic. Once she’d gotten another taste of his ear, sticking her tongue languidly into the shell this time, she pulled back and simultaneously pushed her hips forward with no preamble.

“Ugh! Burns so good…” It was a wavering whisper, not meant for Claire’s ears but she heard it anyway and smiled as she called it right. She went slowly, devastating every nerve ending in Gabriel’s body as he shook nearly to pieces. Looking down, it was one of the most powerful images she’d ever seen, her cock entering into that beautiful place. She had a flash, of a different but still entirely same man, in this exact position, smirk permanently wiped off his face, voice saying Claire’s name in worship.

When Claire was in to the hilt, her front flush against Gabriel’s flanks, she paused to lie fully down onto Gabriel’s back, bringing the dildo into a whole new angle and eliciting a strangled whimper from her lover’s throat. Seconds passed and Gabriel shifted, bringing his flushed cock partially to Claire’s view. It looked like it had sprung a leak, wet as if it had been drowned in water, but it pulsed angrily. She reached her hand down and delicately ran one finger lightly along the bottom curve and Gabriel bucked, releasing a pained sob.

“Please…”

His whispered begging was enough to please her, so Claire pulled back as far as she could in her position, and then slammed forward. A loud cry fell from Gabriel’s lips, one to be repeated as Claire continued to ream him from that angle. Sobs continuously fell from his lips, interspersed with ‘Claire’ and ‘please’. She levered herself up and watched as her cock disappeared into Gabriel, watched as his thighs shook.  

As the cool settled over Gabriel’s overheated back, he turned his head to gaze at her. His full lips were bitten red and puffy, slightly slack and drooling just a little. His eyes were unfocused, high. Claire couldn’t have adored him more in that moment. Her eyes caught a glance of Gabriel’s cock once more, seeing it engorged and bulging now over the restraint and she decided to take pity.

Pulling out resulted in protesting cries, but as Claire released Gabriel from the cuffs and turned him over, reaching for the cock ring, relief flooded his face. She made quick work of the device, before unceremoniously encasing the inflamed organ inside of her. She rocked once, twice, clenched her muscles and it was all Gabriel could stand. He went of like the fourth of July, his come shooting inside of her in hot, furious waves.

Gabriel’s face clenched in pleasure, little ‘ugh, ugh, ugh’ sounds falling from his lips. Claire reached for her clit, rubbed through the impressively wet cleft only a few times before she, too, came. Collapsing, Claire wrapped her arms around Gabriel, intent on resting before speaking, when suddenly, she was no longer there.

Jerking upright, she searched the room, finding the familiar bookcase with all her favorite books, her emerald green duvet and Lydia at the end of the bed. Grunhilda was gone. Claire’s eyes captured Lydia’s and the older woman smiled.

“Have fun?”

Glaring was all the reaction Claire could give. She sincerely hoped that the old German woman had not seen any of the dream. Lydia smiled and put her fear to rest.

“Now that you’re back, I’ll just… leave you to your thoughts.” The empath winked, smirked, and then left. Claire would have protested if she hadn’t recalled her thoughts in the dream. When in the middle of their coitus, she had referred to what they’d been doing as ‘loving’, not ‘fucking’. To Claire, that’s a pretty damn big distinction. It also hadn’t escaped her notice that she’d compared Gabriel to Sylar more than once.

Groaning and flopping around in the bed, Claire came to one uneasy conclusion. Apparently sly did look good on Lydia. And now she was addicted. Hot for Sylar’s bod, no doubt just as the old witch had intended. A growl and a few head-bashes later and Claire decided, fine, time to get up and go snag her some man. Purely for sexual purposed of course.

Claire stood and looked at her resolved face in the mirror, punctuating her decision with a firm nod. She shifted a little, and her clothes rubbed against her crotch, sticky and gross. Yeah, shower, change, and then Sylar.

[]

It wasn’t hard to find the bastard. He was camped outside of her trailer, flowers and big smile on hand. Claire narrowed her eyes and decided Sylar could just go hang. She turned on her heel and marched right passed the man, ignoring him completely. Of course, she thought semi-bitterly as she heard his footsteps behind her, that had never stopped him before.

He kept silent, didn’t even attempt to shove the flowers her way. And she did some thinking, totally and unequivocally not induced by the adorable smile he’d had on. She added the facts, charted the pies, crossed the T’s, and came up with an answer she wasn’t entirely pleased with but loved all the same. Damn, I’m a freaking basket case.

Abruptly she halted, her momentum being carried forward though, when a huge, warmly familiar body collided with her own. Once more, Claire turned sharply on her heel and then barked at a pleasantly surprised Sylar, “You were damn kinky when you were a mousy little watchmaker, you know.”

Sylar, it seemed, ceased to breath for a few seconds, before his body’s survival instincts kicked in and dragged in a few huge gulps of air. She wasn’t sure, it could have been the sun or the flashy carnival lights, her imagination or even Sylar’s own body, but Claire was almost compeletly 100%, Grade A sure that Sylar blushed. Weird. Her glare did not let up.

Sylar stared her down, silence descending. She narrowed her eyes even further, so far that she endangered her ability to even see the other man’s silhouette. Finally, Sylar sighed and said, “Magic word, Claire, is used to be.” His voice was soft, hesitant… vulnerable. Unlike any tone she’d ever heard from him. Her glare relented completely, but she still waited.

Sylar rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head before continuing, “I… was worthless, to most everybody. I knew that, my mother knew it, everyone knew it. Whenever I got too… cocky, I guess, I would seek out… the sex. The women would… they’d degrade me. Tell me I was worthless, ugly, stupid.”

Claire gasped softly and approached her very damaged man, gripping his arm and holding on. He continued, “I needed it, I guess, to remind myself that I wasn’t anybody special and that I should stop thinking I was. I… never wanted you to see that and I’ve changed. Slightly.” A self –deprecating chuckle resounded around them and it just sounded – wrong.

“It was the only sex I ever seemed to be able to get. I didn’t go looking for it, not really. But every time I got home with one of them and they turned out to be that kind… I figured it was fate, telling me my place.”

Claire rested her head against Sylar’s bicep, her eyes not at all filled with tears. This man did not deserve her sympathy. And who the hell was she trying to fool anyway? Once you ceased being able to fool yourself was when you had to give up on doing it with everyone else. Sure; not that she had to let Sylar know that there was… caring in her stupid heart. One decisive nod and Claire looked into his eyes.

“You already know Grunie’s ability so I’ll just cut to the chase. We were very kinky yes, but none of it, none of it, was in anyway degrading. It was all clean fun.”

It was Sylar’s turn to narrow his eyes. He studied her, head to toes, eyeballs to entrails, neurons to synapses, and then quirked his lips. “I should have known you’d have a thing for black leather and gag-balls.” It was his way of acknowledging the truth he saw in that statement, so Claire didn’t deny it. Sylar didn’t even give her a chance to as he continued on, “But we don’t do that stuff Claire. Nope, every time we’re together, it will be soft and gentle love making. That’s final.”

“Don’t give me ultimatums, mister! And I will get kink out of you. It’s the only reason I’m doing this you know. You have presented me with a challenge, and I have accepted. It’s no taksies-backsies with the glove, Sylar!”

He merely quirked a brow and Claire growled. “I don’t know why I even bother with you!”

“It’s because you so totally dig my groove, baby.”

Claire glared and threw over her shoulder as she stomped off, “I do not love you! I never will!” Sylar merely followed her, his silence more than saying, ‘Yes, you do. Nya-nya-na-na-na.’

As Claire sailed down the breezeways full of carnival-goers, she could hear continual huffs and pants of annoyance. Finally, whatever Sylar wanted to say, he did. In a very unfortunate place. She knew Samuel was going to have words with the both of them for Sylar shouting the discontented words, “Fine! But I refuse to go around wearing butt plugs!” in front of the tweens. As she continued to wend her way through a stunned crowd, Sylar hot on her heels, Claire smiled delightedly.  

Part One

Title: Revelations

Rating: NC-17

Pairings/Characters: Sylar/Claire, Gabriel/Claire, very slight Samuel/Claire, Lydia

Summary/Prompt: Claire finds out that Gabriel Gray is actually kinkier than Sylar, who prefers to make love.

Warnings: Some spoilers for Let it Bleed, Pass/Fail, and vague references to The Art of Deception. Kind of serious, if that can be taken as a warning. Dub-con if you take it that way. Also, non-brutal whipping, anal play (male), and dirty talk. Deals with mature themes.

Author: bindictive (freaky_anomaly)

Beta: kathrynthegr8

Author’s Note: Ok, I don’t know what happened. This was supposed to be a short 1000 word PWP for the ficathon but it turned into some kind of EPIC… thing with plot. A TWP, if you will.

Author’s Note II: The long chunks in italics are flashbacks. Also, the use of the word ‘spunning’ was deliberate. In two parts because apparently 9800 words is too much woman for this LJ to handle in one go.

Word count: 9,835

Disclaimer: Heroes characters do not belong to me. I am only playing with them for no monetary gain and I promise they will be returned to their proper NBC/Kring owners in semi-mint condition.

[]

She didn’t know how she got into these things. Really. She didn’t. She’d stolen Gretchen’s car while the other girl was in Trig and then burned rubber all the way to The Sullivan Brother’s Carnival, bent on ascertaining Lydia’s well-being. She hadn’t had much hope, after seeing her power displayed by Sylar but she couldn’t help but check. She liked the older lady, despite the trickery and deceit behind the scenes. She’d gotten her answer, one that surprised her.

* “He doesn’t have to kill to take powers Claire. He can do it by transfer, leaving the other person unharmed… he just likes to kill. But he can’t now, for some reason. He’s impotent.”

Claire had flashed back to Sylar in that classroom, his eyes, now that she thought about it, had been quite sincere. Maybe that insight, when he’d admitted it to Lydia, had shaken him. She didn’t know and anyway, she wasn’t going to dwell. Nodding her head, Claire made to leave, to head back to Virginia, but Lydia’s next words stopped her cold.

“His deepest desire is you Claire.” Whipping around, Claire gazed into sympathetic eyes. “He either doesn’t want to admit that he wants you, or he doesn’t truly understand his new ability, but the reason he went to you is because his heart told him to.”

Claire breathed in quickly, too quickly, and started coughing loudly. Lydia patiently waited until Claire finally calmed before she continued. “Samuel told me about the look on Sylar’s face when he saw you tattooed on his arm. He said it was like a man seeing hope for the first time.”

Claire wasn’t aware of anything other than the beating of her heart in her ears. So when she came back to the real world, she was surprised to notice that she had sunk to the ground with her knees digging into the dirt. Lydia smiled lightly and knelt as well.

“You know what he said in response to Samuel’s claim that he belongs at the Carnival and to the face on his arm?” Claire could only shake her head, her thoughts reviewing her most recent encounter with Sylar, picking up on things she hadn’t noticed before because she had been too consumed by hate and anger. She wasn’t ready to examine them just yet.

“He said, ‘I guess you were wrong. I don’t belong here.’ And then he rushed off; excited to go see you.”

Claire shivered as the implications of what Lydia was saying sank in. Sylar had been a little… docile in their confrontation, not to mention not actually harming Gretchen. And then the kiss. Claire shivered again, this time it was part induced by pleasure. She hated to admit it and she’d never do so even under torture (mostly because she’d never feel anything) but he was a damn fine kisser. *

She was jerked out of her reverie by Samuel setting a plate full pancakes and chopped bananas in front of her. He smiled in that way of his, the one that made you want to trust whatever he said but also… smack him, the smarmy, manipulative bastard. She glowered from beneath her brows but it only served to amuse the carnie. He shrugged and spoke. “How was I supposed to know that Oona had spiked your punch with her special… pheromones, shall we say? And besides, had I known I wouldn’ta been worried, luv. Isn’t your healing supposed’ta take care of all sorts of foreign substances like *snap* that?”

He smiled that secret smile and walked back into the crowd. Claire had learned not to trust that smile. Mostly because he’d been wearing it when he’d handed her the drink that started all this trouble in the first place. She really wished she could hate the charming ass.

“Oh, you knew, you conniving snake. You knew like a fox!” She swung her arms in front of her, hands straight out like a karate chop, arms in an X and wiggled them about, a fierce expression on her face. It was all the ‘injury’ she could do to the man. When she witnessed others do things like that, she never thought it could actually do any good but, strangely enough, she felt a little better. Like she’d given Samuel a karma-chop.

She went back to her food, scooped a few bananas up and attempted to eat, but tinkling laughter started behind Claire, surprising the bananas right off her fork. She growled and slammed the utensil down and buried her face in her hands, blonde hair dragging in the syrupy plate. The laughter drew nearer and nearer until it was right across from her and continued until Claire picked up her plate, set it on her palm waitress-style and aimed.

Lydia calmed considerably, gasping through the chuckles, “All right, all right. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” Her shoulders finally stopped shaking with the force of her laughter until she was merely breathing a little heavily. She attempted to plaster a serious face on but her lips kept twitching intermittently. Claire was not amused, mostly. She continued glaring in Lydia’s direction until the woman bowed her head; not in sympathy, but to hide her mirth.

“I’m sorry, Claire. I know this is a serious matter but do you really think karate chopping the air in Samuel’s general direction is going to get anything done? I mean, why don’t you just ask Sylar to take care of him? You know he’d do that and more for you.”

Claire’s face hardened, any tiny amount of hilarity she might have contained within her body gone with Lydia’s words. “I am not manipulating him for your own agenda, Lydia. We talked about this.”

Lydia flinched and shifted back in her seat. She released a heavy sigh and shifted again, pulling her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m sorry, Claire. I know we did, but… but something’s got to give here and if it’s not Samuel…”

Claire nodded, her stern visage fading into understanding. “It’s the rest of us.” Releasing a gust of air herself, Claire allowed her head to fall forward onto the wooden table, her place setting bouncing with the force.

She felt a delicate hand run itself through her hair, scratching lightly at the scalp in commiseration for a moment before pulling back. There was a beat of heavy silence that alerted Claire to the fact that the other woman was about to depart some unpleasant news. She held her breath and waited, fairly certain she knew what Lydia was about to say.

“Sylar’s heading this way. I’ll see you.” A gentle pat and friendly pull on a chunk of hair and the empath was gone. Claire groaned and attempted to bang her head through the table. She sometimes hated when she was right.

The chair opposite scraped slowly away from the table and then a large body plopped into it, scooting the chair as close to the table – and Claire – as possible. “Hey.”

His voice was soft, smooth as velvet… gentle. Claire released a sigh for what seemed the thousandth time before raising her head. “Sylar.”

At the warning tone, Sylar withdrew the hand that had been reaching for her hair, and slumped back into his seat. His eyes, chocolaty and warm, assumed the sloe-eyed position as he gazed at her from under his brows. Claire rested her head on her hand and peeped back at him from under her fall of hair. After a minute of silence, Sylar adjusted his position to mirror hers with an, and she hated to admit, adorable quirk of the lips adorning his face. Claire tried to resist. She really did and a year ago, a month ago, she would have succeeded. Things had changed though and a reluctant smiled tugged Claire’s lips up, Sylar’s eyes immediately focused on them.

The hot look in the man’s eyes ushered in another flashback.

* Claire couldn’t see straight. The already crazy, swirling lights of the carnival were acquiring a whole other dimension. She felt as if she was in an all black room, the lights living beings that slithered and wriggled around her. For the first time in a very long while, she felt as if she was going to throw up.

The formerly relaxing and enjoyable sound of laughter that she’d been listening to had turned into shrieking banshee-like pitches. She was overheated, her body secreting copious amounts of sweat, her breathing ragged and loud. Her feet refused to keep her body up, tripping over themselves and sending Claire crashing into trailers, tent poles, tables. She giggled. Alliteration, in her state! Neat.

She bounced off the side of a large barrel holding punch and spun, and spun, and spun. The sound of a whistle was interrupting her thoughts and she lost the count of her spunning. Focusing on the sound, she was surprised to learn that it was a long, “Wheeeeeeeee!” And it was coming from her. She giggled again. She was funny.

Coming to a staggering stop, Claire looked down at the bright red cup in her hand. She wobbled slightly as she brought the cup up, squeezing one eye shut as she pressed it to her face and stared into the bottom with the other. She wanted more of whatever that was. It was goooooood!

She didn’t know how long she stood in that same position, eye staring at the sticky bottom of the cup, but she was brought out of it by a hand grasping her shoulder. Jerking around, Claire came face to face with a slyly smiling Samuel.

“Claire! My dear heart, how goes the lovely lady tonight?”

Claire glared, or tried to. Her face muscles weren’t obeying her. It was weird; they felt like jelly. Cocking her head to the side, Claire decided that a jelly sandwich sounded good. Grape. With peanut butter, crunchy not smooth. The bread had to be just-

“Claire!” She jerked again and looked up at Samuel. Her eyes blinked repeatedly, trying to bring him into sharp focus to no avail. A loopy smile spread across her face and she threw her arms around the man.

“Sammy! Sammy, Sammy, Sammy… sells sea shells by the sea shore!” That struck her funny and she burst out laughing, leaning into the old carnie with the force of her mirth. Heavy arms came up around her waist and held her up, waiting for the gales of laughter to subside. When it didn’t, Claire suddenly found herself greeting the inside of a water barrel. She gasped, drawing in gulps of water.

Her body was unceremoniously jerked up, giving her the opportunity to sputter and cough up the slightly foul tasting water. Samuel patted and rubbed her back, helping the regurgitation process along and then leading her to a bench situated under a nearby tree. As she lowered herself slowly, she listed to the side and Samuel had to grab her arm before she hit the ground with her face.

When she was settled, Claire blearily followed Samuel with her eyes as he sat entirely too close to her. In her state, though, she found she hardly cared. She smiled cheekily and leaned into his shoulder, smelling patchouli and pine. She brushed her nose along his arm and breathed in deeply.

“You smell nice.” Her hands came up and brushed along his thighs as her vision and her coordination slowly started to reassert itself. Unlike the heat, which only increased, starting low in her belly and gradually spreading up to the tips of her breasts. Her nipples peaked swiftly, hard enough to cut glass. She leveraged herself up and swung one leg over Samuel’s lap, straddling him as the hard points dragged painfully, slowly along his chest.

A low groan filled her ears and Samuel placed his hands low on her waist, the tips of his fingers grazing the edge of her ass. She wiggled it back, a surge of desire pouring through her as she latched onto his neck like a vampire, sucking voraciously.  

Samuel’s chest heaved, pants falling from his mouth as his fingers gripped her hips tightly. Then, suddenly, he pushed her back with a ragged, “No! No, yer not for me.”

He lifted her high as he stood, and then she was placed quite gently on her feet an arm’s length away from him. Once she was steady, Samuel dropped his arms and said, “Claire, I think the man yer lookin’ for is down by the pond in the valley. Shoo.”

Claire’s head fogged over again, like a bank of thunderclouds had slowly rolled over a formerly sunny clearing. She swayed on her feet and the sounds once again were hell on her ears. Confusion flooded her vision as she gazed at Samuel.

The carnie allowed a slow, wily smile to creep across his face as he gave her a once over and shook his head in regret, releasing an, “Ooh” on a puff of breath.

“The symptoms yer feelin’ will go away once you have a little X-rated fun, luv. Go on down to the valley. No one will intrude. Go.” He shook his hands in a shooing gesture and winked. Then he turned and walked away.

Claire didn’t bother to pay him any more mind. She was remembering the clear-headedness that had come with her erotic gestures towards Samuel, with what little faculties that weren’t swept into an unused corner of her brain by the Heat. She thought of the valley, where someone, clearly intended to be the recipient by Samuel, was waiting. She couldn’t think right. All she could think was there was a man down there and this Heat was unbearable.

Claire wasn’t aware of anything other than garish sounds and the fading of the lights to inky blackness until she felt cold, damp dirt under her feet. A breeze kicked up, a balm to her overheated body. As she walked towards the silhouette sitting at the edge of the pond, the dirt that squished between her toes alerted Claire to the fact that she had lost her shoes somewhere. Her brow wrinkled as she looked down at her feet, her eyes simultaneously taking in the fact that along the way, she’d also lost most of her clothes.

Her hazy mind could only recall that she’d been hot; apparently she’d tried to remedy that by stripping in public. She’d be embarrassed if she was in her right mind. As it was, her thoughts quickly diverted from – and forgot – her impromptu strip tease as the man came into focus.    

“Sylar?”

The dark head popped up and turned toward her, his equally dark eyes widening when he took in Claire’s wardrobe. The breeze kicked up again, blowing Sylar’s smell towards Claire. She breathed deeply of the sandalwood that Sylar wore, her eyes dilating and the desire ramping up her body. She felt like she was on fire.

Before Sylar could do more than turn in her direction and open his mouth, Claire launched herself at him. Her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs straddled his waist, her bare knees digging into the jagged rock beneath. She hardly noticed. Sylar’s muscular arms instinctively reached up to grab her waist, steadying her in a tight grip.

In the faint light, before she leaned in for the kill, Claire vaguely noticed her face still tattooed into Sylar’s arm. She figured she might be curious if she wasn’t so hot for his body right then.

“Clai- mmph!”

She slammed her lips down onto Sylar’s, nipping and suckling, as she rubbed her hard nipples along his chest. The sensation was almost like pain, but so pleasurable. She moaned loudly into Sylar’s mouth and he responded in kind, hands sliding to her ass, fingers digging into the fleshy mounds. She bucked against him, his cock hard and full. He released a pained groan and Claire took the opportunity to roughly shove her tongue so far into his mouth she could taste his back teeth.

Sylar lifted his hips at the same time he pushed Claire’s down, grinding their nether regions together and sending lava throughout Claire’s veins. Saliva had gathered in their mouths with the continuous kissing and it ran down Claire’s chin and onto her neck. Sylar released one ass cheek and slid that hand up her side, to the front and over the skimpy lace that covered her breasts. It continued up into the saliva on her neck and dragged the cool wetness across and around to the back, where his hand clamped down and pressed her mouth closer.

“Mmm… Claire.”

Sylar’s groans escaped as he pulled his mouth away from Claire’s and left a trail of spit down the side of her cheek and neck. He continued running his mouth down her chest, lovingly tracing her clavicle with tiny, semi-closed mouthed kisses. When he reached the other side of her body, he stopped to lean his forehead on top of her shoulder, his nose pressed into her skin, breathing in her scent. His grip loosened as he swept his hands all over her, squeezing and caressing her everywhere he could reach.

“I’ve, God, I’ve wanted this, Claire; for so long. I just didn’t want to admit to something I thought I’d never have.”

Claire moaned again as his breath brushed lightly over her right nipple, her hands grasping his hair in clumps and pulling. She was unaware of the import of his words, too drunk on sex as she was.

Sylar stopped talking, his lips engaging in something far better as he trailed kisses down onto the swell of Claire’s breast, to the edge of the lace, before he pulled back and sliced through the material. Her bra sagged and then quickly fell away, leaving her half-nude. Her chest heaved as her excitement at the rough treatment escalated. Her grasp on Sylar’s head made it easy for Claire to yank him down to her chest. She released one hand to grab her breast and feed it between Sylar’s lips, and then returned her hand to its former place. She used all her strength to push Sylar against her, encouraging him to suckle.

Sylar, always one for encouragement, conceded. He latched onto the nipple with his teeth, pulled it a little further in, and started suckling eagerly, like a starving baby.  

“Mmm, yes. Ah!” Claire started panting harder as she felt the constant tug on her nerve endings, heard the erotic lapping of Sylar’s tongue. His other hand joined in the action by gently grasping her neglected nipple and rubbing circles around the aureole leisurely. Claire jerked forward, her teased nipple straining for completion even as her other one was almost to the point of over-stimulation.

Sylar’s head shot up when Claire released a very real sounding growl of frustration, which was quickly followed by a desperate cry of protest as he ceased his ministrations on both angry peaks.

She could get only one word out. “Harder!”

Claire watched as Sylar’s eyes darkened to swirling black. She was expecting an attack of hands and teeth and roughness and borderline pleasure-pain but she was shocked. Sylar swung her up into his arms, stood, and walked over to a patch of springy moss. He gently set her down and finished undressing her by  slicing both sides of her underwear, letting them fall without any more attention.  

Standing, Sylar reached for his shirt and pulled it up and over his head, revealing a slightly hairy upper chest, with light whirls around the nipples, and a beautiful treasure trail that disappeared beneath his surprisingly super-low-rise jeans. His eyes bored into hers as he tossed the shirt aside and then reached for the button to his pants. He slowly, minutely, painfully unbuttoned and unzipped them, his fingers playing with himself along the way. He shimmied out of the jeans and tossed them to the side too, allowing Claire to appreciate his hard form within the confines of his black boxer-briefs.

His eyes ate her up. She could feel it. Every nerve ending was straining for him, crying out for his touch, responding to his siren call. She brought her hands up, cupped her breasts and squeezed, rubbing her thumbs across her nipples and releasing a long keening noise. Sylar cursed, yanked off his underwear, and then collapsed over her, his hands and knees the only things preventing him from crushing Claire.

Swooping in for a kiss, Sylar took the chance to bury his hands in her hair as well as lower his body gently down onto Claire’s smaller one. His rock hard cock dragged along her inner thigh as he moved over her, continually kissing her mouth, her neck, venturing to her ears. He tongue-fucked one for a small while, simultaneous moans releasing from the both of them as he did so.

Sylar’s lower body undulated between Claire’s legs, his dick slipping and sliding in the lubricious secretions from Claire’s vagina. Claire let out another growl and grabbed Sylar’s head by the hair, pulling him to face her.

“Fuck me now!”

Sylar shook his head and leaned down to steal a kiss from her  lips. “There’ll never be any fucking between us, Claire.”

Claire gathered enough of her faculties to glare, but before she could get out a word, Sylar positioned himself at her entrance, slick enough that he knew there was no stretching necessary, and pushed in to the hilt. Claire gasped as he breached her hymen swiftly and without warning, her nails digging into Sylar’s back.

She expected him to start moving immediately but he didn’t. He pulled back from her and stared into her eyes. “Quick and fast seems to be preferable for the… one other virgin I’ve taken. Hope that’s all right with you.”

Claire, still more primitive man than Homo sapiens at the moment, merely pulled Sylar’s head back down and growled against his lips, “Move!”

Sylar complied, pulling out leisurely and then pushing back in just as gently. A long moan fell from his lips and his eyes squeezed shut. Claire keened a second time. She pulled her legs up, wrapped them around Sylar’s waist and her arms around his neck, and encouraged a faster pace. Sylar resisted. His hips stayed moving in the slow, gentle rhythm he’d set up at the beginning and it was driving Claire out of her mind.

The build-up was torturous, slow, and agonizingly beautiful, that when Claire reached orgasm, she screamed. Her sight faded to white and her body burned, her ears heard nothing but her screams and Sylar’s continuing mantra of, “Yes, yes, Claire, love, yes, oh, oh, ohohohoh ugh!”

As she was coming down, Claire felt Sylar reach and then fall off the precipice, his hot semen coating her insides and setting off another orgasm. Claire saw stars, she saw heaven and she saw hell, and after it was over, she collapsed, boneless. Sylar fell slightly more gracefully, rolling to the side and pulling Claire in to rest on his chest. The only sounds in the night were their harsh breathing. They’d scared off all the wildlife. *

Claire came back to herself what seemed like a lifetime later, but, with a quick glance at Sylar’s watch, found it had really only been two minutes. She blinked her eyes and refocused them on the man opposite. He was still gazing at her in that atrociously besotted way.

Irritation set in as she remembered the talk she’d had with Sylar after their sex which so was not mind-blowing in any way!

“Yeah, take a good long look Sylar, because it’s the last you’re going to get.”

To her further annoyance, Sylar grinned sloppily, his eyes clear of anything other than happiness, his tone full of nothing but serenity. “We shared a beautiful night, Claire. You can’t deny that.”

She narrowed her eyes and retorted, “Samuel drugged me, Sylar. I was out of my mind with the heat and the screeching noises. I would’ve boffed anyone to get it to stop! Figures, you’d be the one to take advantage of a woman removed from her right mind.”

She smirked meanly as she watched the sides of his eyes tighten. She’d hit the mark. Just call me Robin Hood.

Sylar closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair, his hands fisted on his thighs. A Georgian minute ticked by before Sylar finally released a breath and focused his eyes back on Claire.

“Why are you wearing my shirt then; if it meant nothing?”

Claire paused and looked down at her clothes. Sure enough, she had on red low rise skinny jeans, her black mid-shin flat boots, and to top it off like a cherry on a sundae… Sylar’s black knit long-sleeve shirt. She paused, heart skipping a beat, as she reviewed the last few hours. She’d possessed Sylar’s shirt after their fucking made love Claire because she didn’t know where her other clothes were. This could be excused. But she’d woken in her trailer, where her own clothes resided, and apparently quite without thinking about it, she’d thrown on the shirt again.

She glanced up from her perusal, expecting the smirking and smarmy Sylar she knew and hated, but nothing. The dark face that used to terrorize her was now looking at her with soft amusement and soul-deep love. She was fairly certain there was also a smidgeon of manly pride that ‘his woman’ was walking around wearing his scent. Claire thought quickly, something to take that look off his face before she was hooked and reeled in.

She looked down once more before saying, “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to miss breakfast; Miss Geri’s pancakes, you know. I grabbed the first thing I saw. Here, you can have it back now.” With that, Claire stood and pulled the shirt over her head. She tossed it at Sylar’s head before turning and marching away, her black silk bra drawing whistles and catcalls. As she turned the corner, she caught the scowl that crossed Sylar’s face and that brought a delighted smile to her own.

[]

Claire was lounging by the bank of the pond, carefully avoiding looking at the spot where Hell Froze Over, when Lydia plopped down next to her, her gypsy skirt flaring out in a semi-star shape. Claire looked over expectantly.

Lydia tilted her head and asked, “Can’t a girl sit next to a friend without being given the Eye?”

Claire merely shook her head, carefully controlling her erstwhile lips. She was still angry at them for responding to Sylar earlier; they were still grounded.

Lydia sighed dramatically before flopping onto her back and turning her head to look at Claire. “All right. You’re making a big mistake.”

“Oh?” Her tone had turned slightly dangerous, easily ignored by Lydia who knew by now that Claire would never hurt anyone who didn’t really deserve it.

“Yes, oh. Sylar wants you. He’s like a slavering dog when in your presence and a lost puppy when you’re no where near. It’s pathetic really.”

The two women cast eyes at each other before bursting into laughter. It was nice, made Claire feel wild and free, instead of imprisoned by a crazy carnie at a carnival that couldn’t be found, unless by one who had the right compass. Claire paused for a moment and then laughed even more hysterically. Lydia watched, bemused, until she calmed down enough to share. Lydia raised a brow. “So?”

Claire smirked. “Doesn’t that sound a little Pirates of the Caribbean to you?”

Lydia threw back her head and howled, followed by Claire once again. For a full five minutes, nothing but the birds and musical laughter could be heard, until the mirth ran out of both their bodies. After catching her breath, Lydia said, “I only wish Johnny Depp was here.”

Claire tossed a knowing smile the empath’s way and commented, her eyes tracing the tats along Lydia’s body, “I knew you’d take the one with the permanently disfigured body rather than the pretty boy.”

Lydia shoved Claire’s shoulder lightly, shaking her head. Calm settled over them slowly as each woman gazed at the paradise before them, but Claire knew that it wouldn’t last. Finally, after her stomach tightened with the anticipation, Lydia continued.

Part Two

Title: Relationship in Eight Moves

Rating: PG-13, for language

Pairings: Pinto

Summary: A bunch of interconnected drabbles along a not-quite-so-linear relationship.

Warnings: These are real people so turn back now if you, by some miracle, were unaware of that fact.

Author: bindictive

Author’s Note: I’ve never done a prompt table before. Also, unbeta’d.

Word count: 2,148

Disclaimer: Real people, belong to themselves, nothing really happened, just using them, blah, blah.

1

Chris stared at the flickering television set, annoyed by the constant buzz and need for attention the populous gained when that all inspiring, all important holiday of lovely Valentine’s Day cropped up. In his mind’s eye, he was dancing crazily around a burning bonfire, pouring more and more vitriol onto a pyre of sizzling heart-shaped candies, while all the lovebirds in the world looked on in horror…

A knock at the door shook him out of his daydream and Chris shifted on the couch, suddenly uncomfortable with the direction his thoughts had been taking. Those candied hearts had looked unnervingly like real hearts. Maybe Zach was right, joking or not, that Chris needed a therapist. He heard a slide of paper at his door and that was enough to get him up off the couch to investigate.

There, slipped between the door and the floor, lying in plain view, was a light pink envelope… with sparkly, silver glitter covering almost every inch. Furrowing his brow, Chris bent to pick it up, carefully grasping the edges in an attempt to not get the offending, and hell on the clothes, decoration on him.

Biting his lip, Chris ripped open the flap and pulled out the heart-shaped card. On the front, in simple white print, was “Be Mine…” Following the obvious arrow, he opened the card and read …”Valentine.” Underneath, in Zach’s messy prescription scrawl was “Pick me up at 7, dress casual. And warm. XXOO ;).”

Chris scratched his arm idly, thinking, “Curious.”

2

Zach stared unseeingly into the mirror as he methodically brushed his hair back, first one side, and then the other. It was a soothing ritual, one he rarely indulged in when not paying one hundred percent attention. Today was special though. It was February. The Fourteenth. The Fabricated Holiday of Consumer Joy. And his first, slightly secret, date with Chris. Secret, that is, from Chris.

Hitting a snag in his hair yanked Zach out of his slightly horrified reverie. It’s not like it was an actual date, other than in Zach’s own head, but that was another reason to be nervous. He had no clue what Chris would do if he found out that Zach was playing pretend boyfriends with him. God, did that sound juvenile!

Growling, Zach yanked his blue and brown striped cardigan down past the waistline of his black low-rise skinnies. He looked hot, he decided, but not too hot for an outing with a ‘just friends’ type of guy. Nodding decisively, Zach told himself that he would keep it together and have the willpower to restrain himself from flinging his body at Chris’, begging like a sex-starved nymphomaniac to be taken violently and without remorse…

“Shit! Go down you fucking slut!” He refused to enlighten anybody to the fact that he’d just screeched at his dick and given it the ‘I’m watching you’ gesture. That would just be too much indignity for his fine ass to handle.

The doorbell rang, breaking off Zach’s stare-down with his penis. He looked once more into the mirror, pinched his cheeks, then walked out into the living room. On the way to the door, he grabbed the picnic basket resting on the couch.

3

Chris kept a careful eye on the road even as he watched Zach shove his face into the humungous bouquet of red roses and take a deep breath. It had been nothing but whim that had Chris stopping on the way to Zach’s house for a bunch of flowers, but he was glad he’d done so. Zach adored flora, even going so far as to send himself flowers on set everyday they’d filmed Trek. It was bizarre but whatever made Zach happy made Chris happy.

He glanced at the written directions as they whizzed by another highway sign, nodding to himself when it was the right one. He clicked on the blinker and pulled off the highway, slowing to a crawl when he saw the beautiful, and deserted, beach beside them. Choosing a parking spot wasn’t hard, empty as the place was, so it took no time at all for the men to pile out of the car, grab the basket and blanket, and head to the sand.

Chris noticed the extreme care Zach handled the roses with, as he lowered them to the floor of the back seat. ‘And curiouser.’

4

Zach watched, mesmerized, as Chris sucked on the chocolate Lindor ball languidly. He smiled slightly as his eyes fluttered closed for a moment, and then flung them back open when he felt a cool, smooth piece of chocolate pressed to his lips. His eyes caught Chris’, freezing time. The sound of the waves lapping mere feet from their position, the full moon smiling gently down at them, the wind caressing the leaves of the trees; none of it could be heard as Zach gazed into the electric blue.

Opening his mouth slowly, Zach watched Chris as the other man pushed the chocolate ball into his mouth, tip of his thumb and forefinger catching on Zach’s slightly chapped lips. His heart stuttered when Chris gasped lightly, mouth falling slack and eyelashes quivering sensually. Zach sucked the Lindor ball into his mouth, attempting to trap Chris’ fingers there. Chris, however, pulled back lightly and flopped down onto the blanket, scooting closer to Zach.

When Zach shivered as the light breeze became cooler, Chris wrapped his arm around Zach’s shoulders. Not wanting to give away his position, Zach turned to watch the water. Silence enveloped them both, the only sounds of nature, before Zach felt a surprising nose nuzzling into his hair.

“A picnic on the beach under a full moon. Pretty romantic, don’t you think?” Zach stiffened slightly, casting his eyes upwards to gauge Chris mood with that sentence. Their eyes connected once more, Chris smiling in a way Zach would categorize as knowing, surprised, and… understanding acceptance. He settled back into Chris’ arms and allowed a wide grin to spread across his suddenly blushing cheeks.

5

It should have been jolting to realize that his best friend had taken him on a covert date but all Chris could feel was… completion. Like their story had come full circle, the ends finally connecting once and forever; a constant give and take between them of love and acceptance, tears and pain, stress, fights, hugs, beers (lots of beers!), and support. It seemed natural, really, and Chris didn’t even realize it was a shift from his usual fair of boobs and vagina. Because this was Zach-

Full, lush lips captured Chris’ own delicately, hesitantly, before pulling back. Their lips would have none of it, however, clinging to each other desperately until the force of Zach’s momentum finally separated them. The older man looked up at Chris through his eyelashes, puffs of air caressing Chris’ lips with Zach’s every breath. It would have been coy, Zach’s glance, if Chris didn’t already known every nervous tic his friend possessed.

Smiling lightly, Chris nudged Zach’s chin up with the side of his forefinger, leaning in and partaking of the luscious ambrosia that Zach so sweetly offered to him. This time, the kiss lasted longer. Tongues peeked out of hiding to dance together as lips massaged, trapped and released each other. It was the slowest, most tender, sweetest kiss Chris had ever been graced with, not even an ounce of desire present. This wasn’t an appreciation of one another’s bodies, wasn’t an indication of sexual desire. That would come later. This was a kiss of communion, of cementing a budding relationship; a kiss of companionship.

Chris sighed into Zach’s mouth, pressed once more against those well-endowed lips, and then pulled back. Their lips separate with a light pop, surprising a laugh out of Zach. “I thought that only happened in the movies.” Chris smiled as Zach’s face screamed radiance. Maybe Valentine’s Day wasn’t so bad after all, if this is what he got.

6

Zach sighed contentedly as he inhaled the scent from the fresh bouquet of roses he’d been delivered. As he thought of Chris, browsing through a florist’s selection, probably being eyed greedily (and all that discomfort for Zach!), his heart filled to bursting. The flowers were a welcome breath of fresh air, with the way his day was going. Somehow, Chris always knew just when Zach needed a pick-me-up, a talent that had only gotten stronger over the three months they’d been a couple.

He collapsed onto the sofa in his trailer, roses clutched to his chest like he was a teenage girl in an ‘80s movie, crushing on the football captain. A chuckle escaped as he came to the conclusion that, with Chris, he was a teenage girl. He looked down at the roses, beaming stupidly, when there was a knock and a disembodied head in his trailer.

Milo took in the scene and forced down his laughter, “New boyfriend?”

Zach cast a sly glance his co-star’s way, took one more whiff of the flora, and then murmured dreamily, “ Not so new, really.” He wasn’t even aware that Milo had drifted off, he was so busy rubbing his thumb across the card that had come with his gift.

You’re feeling down today and it hurts my heart, so stop it!

Here are some flowers to dry your tears and keep you company until I’m yours again.

And something else, probably inappropriate of me to say here, but I’m trying to be romantic damn it!

I am so in love with you, I can never think straight anymore (pun entirely intended).

7

It was Zach’s worst nightmare, having his personal life splattered like blood and brain matter all over the “news”. He and Chris had only wanted a quiet night in, some wine, some Chinese take-out, making out and making love. He’d dropped his gym bag and Chris, ever the considerate boyfriend, picked it up and shouldered it himself. Zach just wanted to show a little appreciation in his own front yard.

Now, because of one little ill-advised peck on the lips, they were outed. Chris was going to freak. That’s what hurt the most.

8

He wouldn’t turn. He wouldn’t look at Chris’ roses and he wouldn’t tell Chris what was wrong. It was infuriating. Finally giving up on the nice route, Chris slammed his hands down onto the counter and yelled, “What the fuck Zach! Do you want to break up?”

Zach’s shoulders quivered slightly, sporadically, before they started shaking brutally in earnest. Whatever ire had stoked itself inside of Chris immediately fled at the sight of his so obviously distressed lover. Sighing, Chris approached Zach slowly, like he was a terrified animal, and when he was within touching distance, Chris crept his arms around Zach’s waist and held on tight.

“Please, please talk to me baby. I don’t know how to fix this one. Not without help.” His voice was barely a whisper, cracking with stress and worry.

Not a word was exchanged for what seemed an eternity, not a movement made for the same. The only sound was the ticking of a clock somewhere in the house and Chris couldn’t help but feel that it was ticking away his relationship, counting down the minutes until he was alone again. Finally Zach moved. He jerkily thrust a newspaper over his shoulder, under Chris’ nose and moaned.

It took a moment for Chris to realize that the noise Zach had made was not just a noise. He had said something. As Chris shifted his arms, unwilling to release Zach, to get a better glance at the paper, he asked, “What was that, baby?”

“I’m sorry!” It was muffled, cracked, and full of tears and it broke Chris’ heart. Turning his eyes quickly to the paper to ascertain his lover’s distress, Chris finally understood.

“Oh.”

Zach turned like lightning and wrapped his spider legs around Chris’ own, his arms nearly strangling Chris’ neck. “It’s my fault. If I, if I hadn’t- if-”

“Shh-sh-sh-shhh, baby. It’s ok.”

Zach sniffled into Chris’ neck, tears plopping gently onto the exposed skin. He nuzzled in closer and whispered, “Really?”

Chris dropped the rag and implemented his arms in a more important endeavor; that of gripping tightly onto his partner. He kissed Zach’s neck sweetly, lovingly and stated, “Totally. I have no shame when it comes to us, Zach. There’s no reason for it.” One more kiss to the shoulder and Chris continued, “Now we don’t have to hide and you know me. I’ve never liked hiding.”

Zach let out a watery giggle, his hands forming claws into the tops of Chris’ back as his grip tightened impossibly more. Chris didn’t mind. Some of his favorite parts in this relationship were of Zach letting himself go enough to cling to Chris, sitting in his lap and cuddling.

They stayed that way for an hour, just basking in each other; reveling in their love together.

Prompt table:

Title: For Your Entertainment (Complete)

Rating: NC-17

Pairings/Characters: Kirk/Spock, Uhura, brief Bones, mentions of Sarek and Amanda

Version: ST XI

Word count: 2,701

Author: bindictive

Warnings: Un-beta’d as most of my stories are. Also, infidelity.

Summary: Spock goes to a club, reflects on the illogicality of the human race, then has himself some sexy times.

Author’s Note: I just recently discovered the greatness that is Adam Lambert (DON’T JUDGE ME!). The song For Your Entertainment fairly screamed Sexy Times With Kirk and Spock, thus, the title and use of lyrics within the story.

Author’s Note 2: Confusion Isn’t Something New and Strange Considerations should be updated either today or in the next few days. I unfortunately had some writer’s block.

Disclaimer: Star Trek and their characters do not belong to me. I am only manipulating them for a while. I promise to give them back in relatively good condition.

FYE

Taking his mother’s advice had been illogical. Spock knew this. However, his mother was the most important figure in his life and as unwise as it was, Spock always wished to do as his mother wanted. One of those wants was for Spock to ‘experience human culture by going out to a club, Spock. You don’t need to dance if you don’t want too, but at least see the other side of the spectrum.’

Spock did not understand the ‘other side of the spectrum’. The only logic he could see in human ‘clubs’ as they were called (illogical, as a club is a blunt instrument, thinner on the handle and thicker at the end, used to bludgeon one, usually to death) was the expenditure of excess energy (which should be directed at other, more productive activities). Quite illogical, though the exercise obtained in the process could be considered a worthwhile activity.

The stool he was currently seated on was sticking to his black trousers. His vicinity was currently void of any overly emotive beings, including the bartender, kept at bay by Spock’s stiff posture and blank expression. Spock was perfectly fine with this development, in all of that word’s multitude of variations. When he spoke to his mother next, he would be forced to acknowledge that the Terran club music was quite fascinating. She would, as the humans say, get a ‘kick’ out of the fact that once or twice, Spock had to force his toes to stop tapping to the beat.

Nyota would find the idea that he had gone out to one of these venues endlessly entertaining. Spock was unsure whether he should tell her, but omission was still a lie, and Vulcans did not feel embarrassment. It would be irrational, therefore, to keep this fact from his prospective mate (Say it with me, Spock. Girlfriend).

As another wildly seizuring human ‘danced’ a few meters in front of Spock, the thought occurred to him that he could turn this outing into a thesis on human behavior. It would not be difficult, he was sure, to find an angle that had not been previously researched. His mother would not pleased, however, so Spock set that idea aside for the time being.

A few more minutes ticked by before Spock thought it prudent that he take his leave. As he stood from his seat, another male approximately Spock’s height, sauntered up to the Vulcan. For one tenth of a second, Spock could not breathe. The human’s eyes were unlike any Spock had ever seen, on Terra or any other world his father had taken him to on his diplomatic travels. His body was within almost perfect parameters, Spock couldn’t help but calculate. The man’s hair, a golden brown and so soft looking, was spiked up at the ends. It was quite attractive.

As the human leaned against the bar, way too close to Spock under the rules of xeno- and human etiquette alike, Spock took the time to assimilate the fact that he had been remiss in not taking into account that he was, apparently, attracted to the male form. As such, he had quite illogically cut his chances of finding an appropriate mate in half. As this new, and slightly frightening, element reached for Spock’s left arm, running his fingers so lightly against Spock’s sleeve, he took the time to acknowledge that the previous thought would have to be withheld from Nyota. Even he knew that humans did not appreciate their significant others having such thoughts.

A shiver, imperceptible to the oblivious human eyes, wracked Spock’s frame as the male’s fingers continued their feather-light travels along Spock’s arm. It is time to take my leave. Spock’s breathing sped up as his eyes caught the stranger’s own. I must leave. The human moved even closer, which Spock actually thought would have been anatomically impossible. I have a prospective mate. One of the man’s knees applied pressure to the crevice of Spock’s legs, slipping between when those appendages betrayed the Vulcan and yielded to the stranger’s wishes.

Those fiery blue eyes never left Spock’s, burning deeply into Spock’s katra. I am Vulcan. I must leave. The human’s hips pressed tightly into Spock’s, their pelvises seemingly fused together, as the music switched to another song.

So hot out the box
Can we pick up the pace

Spock’s hands raised to grip the other man’s shoulders as their hips started swaying to the beat, the stranger’s hands cupping Spock’s waist gently as he instructed Spock’s hips in the foreign movement. Their breath synchronized as Spock came to the breathless thought that he was mesmerized.

Turn it up, heat it up
I need to be entertained
Push the limit, are you with it, baby, don’t be afraid
Imma hurt you real good baby            

The words to the song filtered into Spock’s mind as he and his extraordinary dance partner gyrated to the song. Logically, they were abusive lyrics, but Spock understood, as the man’s hands dug firmer into his hips, likely hard enough to leave bruises, that humans did not mean it that way. The other male pushed his hips harder into Spock’s and Spock truly understood how he could be hurt so good.

Their penises were hard, brushing together with every movement. It was exquisite pain. For the first time, Spock understood the contradiction of terms. The stranger leaned his head forward, mouth latching onto Spock’s neck. He started sucking and licking, sending exotic chills down Spock’s spine. Closing his eyes, Spock savored the feeling, as the human slid his hands firmly from Spock’s hips to Spock’s buttocks.

Hethey were intoxicated, drunk on one another. Their emotions flowed in a continuous circuit, connecting, fusing, dancingtwistingtangling around each other inside of Spock’s body. He couldn’t think, his body pliant and supple, as the human deftly turned Spock around, pressing his hips into the crevice between Spock’s buttocks.

Let’s go, it’s my show, baby, do what I say
Don’t trip off the glitz that I’m gonna display
I told ya, Imma hold ya down until you’re amazed
Give it to ya til your screamin' my name

No escaping when I start
Once I’m in I own your heart
There’s no way to ring the alarm
So hold on until it’s over  

He didn’t know where it came from, instinct from his human side perhaps, but Spock raised his arms behind him and clutched the back of the man’s neck with his hands, swiveling his hips backward as he had seen others do. He savored the illicit pleasure that flooded his body from the contact, his own desire inflamed by the desire from the man grinding his genitalia into Spock’s butt.

Oh!
Do you know what you got into
Can you handle what I’m ’bout to do
‘Cause it’s about to get rough for you
I’m here for your entertainment

Spock had never felt such animalistic passion, never been filled with such wild abandon, but it felt good. His father would be disappointed in him, but Spock threw that thought away, not at all caring in the moment. As a Vulcan and as a human, Spock had never felt such satisfaction. The sound, the smells, the strobing lights… the pure, unadulterated sex: they all blended together, disorienting Spock to the point that he could not recall how he and his human had found their way from the club to a Starfleet issue dorm room.     

Spock’s back hit the cool cotton sheets as he heard a whisper in his ear, “Jim”. Lips attached to his neck again as Jim ground down onto Spock’s hard penis. Spock’s body, unused to such gratuitous fondling and desire, released a half-suppressed moan that turned into a full on, unsuppressed groan, when Jin continued, “Now you know what to scream.”

A rushing in Spock’s ears made him dizzy, another first that he was too out of it to document. His shirt was ripped off unceremoniously, sending his hair into disarray and goosebumps to pimple all over his body with the caressing touch of the cool air; only to be soothed by slightly warmer hands sliding down his chest, pushing harder when encountering the stiff nipples.

Spock tried desperately to quell the whimper that forced its way through his mouth, but the predatorial smirk that briefly crossed Jim’s face informed him that it had been futile. Finally, Jim reached the pants, undoing them just as swiftly and pulling them off, catching the boxer briefs in the removal. Spock felt his blood rush to the surface, overheating him as his mind latched on to the fact that he had never been this bare in front of anyone who was not his mother.

Jim’s lightning eyes ensnared Spock’s as the human lowered his head to Spock’s erect cock, his breath ghosting over it and making the organ twitch. Any shyness on Spock’s part evaporated as Jim opened his mouth and slid the double-ridged dick past his erotically plump lips. He sucked the organ like it was a lollipop, obscene moans and groans emitting from his mouth as his tongue worked around the pulsing shaft.

Spock tried to keep his hips still, he didn’t want to hurt the human, but it was impossible. He bucked up as the tongue raked over the head, the tip of the tensile muscle dipping into the slit of Spock’s penis, massaging maddeningly.

A curious feeling started building in his stomach, winding ever tighter. His muscles started to clench uncontrollably even as Jim pulled off, gave one last kiss to his tip, before grabbing Spock around the waist unexpectedly and tossing him over so he landed with an undignified ‘oof!’ on his stomach.

The humans hands grabbed his buttocks and spread them, ensuring that a different heat arced through Spock’s body. He had never even been this bare for his mother, for obvious reasons, and it was… intimate, almost to the point of shared minds. Before Spock could gather his voice, reason having temporarily reasserted itself, to object to any further activities with which Vulcan upbringing frowned upon, a wet sensation invaded his anal cavity.

Spock jerked forward, the feeling surprising, wonderful, and shocking when it occurred to him that the only muscle on a human that could feel like that would be the tongue. It was dirty, something Spock had never even been aware could be done, and it was So. Very. Satisfying. He could feel his anus opening slowly with each thrust of Jim’s tongue, feel the gathering saliva fill him, as well as slide down the back of his thigh.

He couldn’t imagine this could be enjoyable for the giver, but Jim’s grunts and moans, his absolute ecstatic pleasure flowing through their physical connection assured Spock that even though he was not reciprocating as would only be polite, he was still immeasurably pleasing his partner. And that magnified Spock’s own excitement as well.

Jim’s hands had moved to Spock’s waist, gripping tighter with each brutal shove of the tongue; Spock could feel the bruises forming. It was perfect, satisfying. He thrust his posterior backwards with each poke of Jim’s tongue, not even trying anymore to keep his ecstasy to himself. A finger, slicked and crafty, slipped in alongside Jim’s tongue, stretching Spock even further. A loud, drawn out groan served as Spock’s encouragement and eventually, teasingly, a second and then a third digit joined the first, the tongue retreating to Spock’s dismay.

He didn’t have long to dwell on the retraction however, as Jim’s clever fingers twisted a few times, scissored to stretch him a little more, before the blunt tip of Jim’s penis replaced his fingers. Spock thrust back, not wanting the process to be drawn out any longer. He wasn’t sure if Jim would understand without words, he wasn’t an empathic telepath, but Spock’s worries about having to remember how to speak were laid to rest. Jim thrust forward, incasing his cock to the hilt in one slick push.

Jim’s head hit something inside of Spock, something he’d never read about in Vulcan anatomy, that sent liquid fire through his veins and lightning into his eyes. His hips jerked forward, trying to hump his own erect penis into the mattress below. Jim grabbed his hips at the last minute, holding with all his strength to prevent the very thing Spock needed most.

Jim pulled back slowly and then slammed into Spock fast and hard. Spock was pushed forward on the sheets, his hands gripping them for purchase. Again and again, Jim slammed into him… and from there, Spock knew nothing but sensation. Groans, moans, slick heat, hands gripping pained pleasure into skin, ‘yes’s’ and ‘oh fuck’s’. Breathes, deep and short, shallow and pitched, dizziness, heat, sweat, humidity. It was everything and nothing, big and small, hearts beating as one and together.

As they approached climax, somehow together, Spock felt a touch. It was deeper and more intimate, more meaningful than any they were currently engaging in, a touch of the minds, a meeting of the souls. Jim! Spock?! And they came. Bright bursts falling over the edge, a waterfall of pure nirvana, as Spock spilled himself onto the sheets below, his orgasm heightened by the hot seed flooding his anal cavity, hot and powerful and there.

Collapsing to the bed below, Spock tried to catch his breath, the process made all the harder by the shapely body holding him down from behind, his body still full with Jim’s now-dormant penis. He gathered enough breath to whisper, “Fascinating.”

Jim moved eventually, sliding to the side and pulling up the coverings, wrapping his arms around Spock and falling almost immediately off to sleep. Spock listened to the human heart thrum beneath Jim’s chest, having every assurance that he would not sleep this night. It was not his current cycle…

A voice clearing loudly jerked Spock out of the most peaceful sleep he had attained in a long while. He blinked once before quickly ascertaining the reason for the strange surrounds and sitting up quickly, looking for Jim. His eyes fell upon a stranger, taking in the folded arms and the scowl that looked so at home on his face, Spock was assured it was a permanent fixture.

Pulling the sheets up to cover his shoulders and chest, Spock looked at the offending being and asked, in his most Vulcan hautighness, “Who are you and where is Jim?”

The man smirked slightly and said, “Dr. McCoy and I don’t know. I just thought you should know that I looked you up. Your first class starts in less than sixteen minutes, Commander Spock.”

Spock blinked before looking at the clock, ascertaining that the doctor was indeed correct. Putting aside for the moment the troubling data that he’d collected about Jim, Spock gathered his clothes and headed to the bathroom to change. He calculated that he would not have time to shower if he wished to make his first class and the thought that he would have both his and Jim’s semen on and in his body was impossibly erotic.

The rest of the day whirled by, Spock’s mind focusing on one thing or another for his classes. Still, a large part of his brain would not stop ruminating on Jim and why he had not been there when Spock woke up. He was trying to come to terms with the fact that he had, apparently, participated in a ‘one night stand’ and that he had a devoted prospective mate in Nyota, but to no avail.

Something had clicked, shifted, made a room for Jim inside Spock and it wasn’t going to go away. He stared at his salad unseeingly, mind elsewhere, illogically hoping that he was not ‘thrown away’ by Jim, when Nyota slammed her tray down across from him and slumped into the seat.

Spock glanced up at her calmly, eyebrow raised in question.

“So, what’s with those bruises on your hips Spock? Fall into a door?” Her tone was snide, angry… hurt. Spock, knew, like it or not, with Jim or not, that his relationship with Nyota was over. He took a deep breath, released it, and looked her in the eye. It was the very least she deserved.

Title: Chapeaux, Pocket Watches, and Lightweight Drinkers

Rating: This chapter: PG, Overall: NC-17

Pairings/Characters: Claire/Gabriel (Sylar), Petrellis, Bennets, others to be specified at later date

Word count: 1,192

Author: bindictive

Warnings: Un-beta’d as most of my stories are. Slightly underage/of age romance, where Claire is 17 (but no worries! They’re in New York! It’s legal there – as far as my research took me!).

Summary: Honestly, I don’t know. How about: The weird everyday things in the lives of super-powered freaks. Secrets, lies, hats, watches and people getting drunk.

Author’s Note: AU. Also, I have no idea where this is going so just enjoy the ride with me. Will incorporate things from the series so not total AU. Please forgive the title; it just popped in my head and I loved it so it’s here. 

Disclaimer: Heroes and their characters do not belong to me. I am only manipulating them for a while. I promise to give them back in relatively good condition. Banner made by the awesome catchxfireflies.

[]

The looks he was receiving were not reassuring in the least. In the shop, he had thought he was rather dashing; the shop-girl had even confirmed this. As he stopped in front of a very clean, very reflective window to Candie’s Candy, thousands of tiny little candy hearts looking at him mockingly, he examined himself once more. But then again, he thought as he turned his head, when had Gabriel Gray ever been complimented by a pretty lady?

He’d been referred to as Mr. Roger’s much younger, much creepier twin brother; with his standard uniform of khaki pants, non-descript shoes, and variations on the long-sleeved button down and sweater-vest/cardigan. His eyes, never satisfactory to anyone, whether covered in his thick-rimmed square black glasses, or uncovered, because of his ‘horrid caterpillar eyebrows, Gabriel! You should make a weekly appointment at a salon to have them shaped!’

Gabriel sighed as he pulled his apparently garish new chapeau further down his forehead, because then, of course, there was his hair. It was a hair style he’d had for as long as he could remember, only ever suggesting to his mother he have it changed once because he looked like a reject from Leave It to Beaver. ‘But you look so adorable and professional Gabriel! It would break my heart were you to change it. You wouldn’t want to disappoint your dear old mommy, would you?’

He gazed at the sweetheart candies for a few seconds longer, cataloguing and secretly sneering at everyone who passed by him and graced him with an odd look. He’d merely been trying to branch out, change his style as a grown man not still living with his mother is wont to do (and he conveniently ignored the fact that it had taken him ten years after the fact to finally gain the courage to do so) and here he was, getting looked down upon. Again.

It’d be nice if he’d be allowed to catch a break or two once in a while. Sighing, Gabriel yanked his hat further down his head, until it pressed his glasses harder onto the bridge of his nose, and then wrapped his hounds-tooth jacket tighter around his freakishly long torso, before bowing into the wind and continuing home.

[]

Claire released a sigh the size of the Dorothy Gale tornado as she allowed her body to free fall onto her Humungous Cherry Wood, Antique Four-Poster Bed. It was really hard to think about the monster without all caps, and even though she’d protested such extravagance on her behalf, her bio-dad had insisted upon getting it for her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful, far from it. She loved the way her biological father and uncle spoiled her. She just couldn’t shake the feeling that Nathan was pampering her because he was trying to curry her favor. It’d been going on for five years and she loved the guy, she really did, but some of the things he bought her were just not her. Like the capitalized bed.  

She couldn’t even begin to fathom what he wanted, if anything at all except number one in her heart, but as it was, things were getting out of hand. The only people in her convoluted family who hadn’t started acting weird when she’d brought them together were Peter and her mom. Really, that was the only bright spot in her world at the moment.

Rolling over and burying her face in her pillow, Claire released a frustrated scream. She couldn’t even have a normal non-family life. Her dad, legal not bio, wouldn’t let her date for bizarre reason unbeknownst to the rest of the family and her dad’s, bio not legal, status in New York made it hard to date anyone who wasn’t an aspiring legal counsel of some kind. It was a catch-22, really, because her dad, bio not legal, actually was okay with the whole dating thing.     

As she breathed in the silky scent of her obscenely expensive pillows, Claire heard her door creak open slowly.

“Claire?”

She tried not to, she really did, but tensing up down to her very core muscles was unavoidable reflex when it came to Angela Petrelli. There was something weird about her grandmother, like she knew things nobody else did or could ever. It was mainly her eyes though; they were manipulative. Claire knew for a fact, without it ever having been confirmed, that the older woman had tried to convince Nathan not to publicly acknowledge Claire’s existence. Other than that, the woman just got her goat.

Claire rolled over, careful to suppress her put-upon sigh and annoyed eye roll, and sat up. She cast an encouraging smile her grandmother’s way and waited. It was best to allow Angela the reins when she used that tone of voice.

“I found this pocket watch and immediately thought of you.” Coming closer, Angela waited as Claire held out her hand, dropping the watch into Claire’s open palm gently by its delicate chain. “It belonged to my mother-in-law; no sentimental value to me, but I thought you would like it.”

Claire ignored what she assumed was some sort of derogatory tone in the voice in favor of examining the timepiece. It was gorgeous. It just barely fit in the dip of her palm, when she folded her hand slightly. It was silver, slightly tarnished, with either white enamel or, more likely, ivory on the face. She supposed it could be nineteenth century, with what little she knew of history. The numeric scheme was Roman and, as she moved it in her palm, she felt some sort of filigree on the back. Turning it over, she discovered that the casing on the back was covered with intricate wiring that detailed a delicate dove. It was one of the most beautiful things Claire had ever seen.

She looked up, ready to tell Angela that, as well as thank her, when the Petrelli matriarch said, “No need dear. I am, however, afraid that in the time it’s been neglected, the cogs have stopped working.” Claire frowned, wondering why her grandmother would give her a broken watch. Before she could ask, she saw Angela pull a thick envelope from her pocket and then Claire took it dazedly as it was handed to her. “The address of a superior watchmaker is on the back of this envelope. There’s money inside, more than enough I believe, to have the watch fixed.”

Claire gazed at the strange gift for a moment before lifting her wide, slightly suspicious eyes to Angela’s own. There was nothing on the other woman’s face to be wary of, nothing at all. She looked innocent. As Angela smiled a gentle smile and turned to leave, Claire had the thought that she looked too innocent.

Stopping at the door, Angela turned and said, “Why don’t you go down there and see about that watch today Claire? That way, it might be fixed in time for you to wear it to the gala next week.”

For the life of her, Claire couldn’t figure out why Angela was pushing her to get a watch fixed. What could be so important?

Masterlist

[Fiction]

* Yes, I realize a LOT of these stories are unfinished. Unfortunately, I lost interest in any and all marked Incomplete. However, my interest is strong in ST : XI, Sylaire, and Alice - as they have lasted longer than any of my other interests besides Harry Potter. *

Alice – Alice/Hatter

accusations in plum – Complete

hatter has a conversation with a coat.

Harry Potter – Sirius/Harry

Gift of You – Incomplete, unlikely to be complete

Harry asks an imaginary man - ironically, one that a great majority of Muggles believe in and that all wizards/witches think is the biggest myth - to grant his deepest, darkest, most fervent wish. To be reunited with Sirius Black. Well, Santa Clause listened. And being the powerful magical being he is, granted said wish in the most extraordinary of ways. Hence, 17 year old Harry sporting long hair, black finger nail polish and eyeliner, and tight leather pants. You guessed it, the ’70’s baby, yeah!

Heroes – Sylar(Gabriel)/Claire, Peter/Mohinder

2012 and Counting – Complete

Years pass and Claire gets to know who Sylar really is.

Blizzards Are Your Best Friend – Complete

Peter and Mohinder make their own fun amidst a blizzard.

Body Willing – Complete

Claire forces Sylar to have sex with her to save the Carnival.

Chapeaux, Pocket Watches, and Lightweight Drinkers - WIP

Honestly, I don’t know. How about: The weird everyday things in the lives of super-powered freaks. Secrets, lies, hats, watches and people getting drunk.

Playing With Butterflies – Complete

Sylar plays with a few past butterflies to get Claire exactly where he wants her.

Revelations - Complete

Claire finds out that Gabriel Gray is actually kinkier than Sylar, who prefers to make love.

Revisionist's History – Complete

Sylar reflects on the knowledge gained from Hiro.

Sick – Complete

Introspection, people bashing (literally and figuratively), and the start of something sick.

Pirates of the Caribbean – Jack/Will

Coma Mad – Complete

Will reflects on Jack in a missing scene from DMC, when Jack allows sleep to come.

Jack Says He Loves Me – Complete

Drabble; Will thinking about his love.

The Requisite Tattoo Story – Complete

Will gets a tattoo after heckling from Jack, all clichés will be employed.

Star Trek – Kirk/Spock

confusion isn’t something new – WIP

Spock gets turned into a baby. When he hits puberty, he's hormonal and wants to act on previous feelings for Jim (that have manifested in his teen body).

The Five Times Spock Was Quiet During Sex and the One Time He Was Rather Loud – Complete

Title says all.

Five Times They Had Pregnant Sex and One Time They Had Sex Just For the Hell of It – Complete

The five times Jim and Spock had baby-sex and the one time they did it just because.

For Your Entertainment - Complete

Spock goes to a club, reflects on the illogicality of the human race, then has himself some sexy times.

The Humorist – WIP

Jim flies through life, connected to no one. Not even his best friend. Can Spock change that? Does he even want to?

Like, Like – Complete

Bones and Jim talk about a certain love interest. Bones shows his inner 13 year old girl.

Strange Considerations – WIP

So, to borrow a phrase from his currently slutty First Officer, it was logical to assume that he was only attracted to Spock.

Star Wars – Anakin/Obi-Wan

A Guide To Getting It On – Complete

The guide to getting some smexings on!

IPod You, Too – Complete

Anakin gets his love and his new toy mixed up.

Miraculous Misconception – Complete

Misconceptions abound, resulting in humorous situations and leading up to the most miraculous misconception of all.

Nesting – Incomplete, not likely to be completed

Obi-Wan has always been the sensitive, feminine type (to my mind - i.e. his piece-sign-point fight stance was kinda girly) though still tough (think Angelina Jolie girly-tough). He's always liked kids and imagined having one or two... in the deep dark recesses of his mind. When some men hit a certain age, certain things start to happen.

Once More, Without All That Feeling – Complete

The Clone Wars are over, Anakin killed the Sith Lord, and the Republic is going through an overhaul thanks to Chancellor Amidala. I say let’s partaaay!

Opposites to Parallels – Complete

Quite frankly, it's shameless porn. The plot really isn't a plot, just tent poles to make it look like it has some substance. Will be slight (ever so slight as to be almost nonexistent) angst. Basically, Anakin/Obi-Wan porn X 2.

The Wheel of Time -  Incomplete, never will be complete

What if the Jedi Council’s and Obi-Wan’s attitudes toward Anakin were contributing factors to his inability to sense evil from Palpatine? How did he lose confidence in his own ability to determine who was evil and who wasn’t?… What if they were given a second chance to change it?

Stargate – Daniel/Jack

Ordinary, Everyday Things – Complete

Jack and Daniel and ordinary, everday things.

Hey, Baby, Hey - Complete

Can’t find!

 Oh, Baby – Complete

Do you wonder what happened behind Jack's closed door after Hey, baby, Hey?

Tell Me the Tales That to Me Were So Dear – Will not be completed

Jack is missing. Daniel is back. Jack is changing. Daniel is grieving.

Twilight – Bella/Edward

 Fall From Grace – Unlikely to be completed

Edward kills Bella in 1940. Then he meets her again some odd 60 years later in Forks, Washington. He and the rest of the Cullens remember her. She does not remember Edward... or does she?

Velvet Goldmine – Brian/Curt

Dangerous – Complete

What if Curt - despite being seriously hungover - could see clearer than he really would have been able to that day in the fancy hotel restaurant? And how would he have been able to see that clear?

I’m Tired – Incomplete, will not be completed

Another take on the studio scene and why Curt was singing so badly. Also, AU.

Thoughts Through Time – Complete

Musings on the meanings of make-up.

[RPS] 

Ewan/Hayden

Broken Yes – Complete

Sadsack-iness. Angst. Ewan and Hayden need each other.

Bubble – Complete

He was in a bubble.

Goodbye From Yesterday – Complete

Ewan reflects and regrets.

I’ve Touched Heaven/It’s a Heartache – Complete

Ewan and friends are on holiday. Their bikes break down somewhere in Hungary so they have to catch a bus on a stormy night. Hayden is in a nomadic band - bohemians. They meet. / Ewan thinks back on his tryst with Hayden a year later. Flowers arrive... and what about Eve?

Magic for Heartbreak – Complete

Hayden starts dating a girl named Cindy. Ewan stews. He seeks help... dating help. Spooky things happen. Just a little Halloween fun for the masses.

The New Hollywood Power Couple – Complete

The magazine 'Vanity Fair' has snagged the first and the only intimate interview from Ewan McGregor and Hayden Christensen since their publicly controversial coming-out.

Personal Disaster – Incomplete, never will be

Under pressure from the wife and company, Ewan ignores calls from Hayden. Everything spirals out of control and Hayden looses control.

 Wild Child Series – Complete or Incomplete (ambiguous ending)

Hayden is an actor in London, performing in a small play in Drury Lane. He propositions Ewan.

 You Never Truly Know (Until You See It in His Eyes) – Incomplete, never will be

Ewan falls head over heels... with his co-star cum friend. Eve has a bout of insight. And Ewan has been hiding something.

Pinto (Zach/Chris)

 This Bitch/The Bastard – Complete

… only that was going to backfire he was sure because Zach knew his backside was just as fine as his front-side so therefore, he was actually honoring the bastard. Rat bastard!

Relationship in Eight Moves - Complete

A bunch of interconnected drabbles along a not-quite-so-linear relationship.