Assent (12/?)
Title: Assent (12/?)
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 3481
Rating: R for subject matter: violence and sexual situations (future chapters will be rated M)
Warning(s): I don't own Heroes. Spoilers through end of Season 3 to be on the safe side. Future-fic, technically.
A/N: We're about to get into the nitty gritty here. This chapter got bigger than I intended so it's been split into two. The next chapter will be posted in just a few. Enjoy.
Sylar, though he had many faults, considered himself a patient man. But the antics of one particular blond made him feel like he might implode at any moment. The events that transpired on the couch after she had killed him and then brought him back to life were unexpected but he didn't complain. Well, he didn't complain until she closed her robe back up and stopped herself before things got out of hand. He kept thinking about that night and he found that he was more upset with the fact that she wouldn't allow him to look at her. He tried not to fret about it too much. He knew it was just a matter of time.
He could almost sense Claire's guilt at being such a tease. After that night she kept the physical advances to a bare minimum. While he was loathe to admit he missed them, it kept from breaking his concentration. He reckoned at the rate he had been working, they would be on their way to New York in a week or so. In reality, his plan was pretty cut and dry already, he just now had the daunting task of continuing Claire's little boxing lessons and then going over the plan with her until she had it down.
He was pleased when she was able to recite the plan in its entirety to him within two days time. He split her so-called lessons into two parts, fighting her tooth and nail then quizzing her on various entry points of the building. Kicking and scratching her followed by the layout of the security systems holding all of the frozen embryos. She complained of feelings of whiplash from the swiftness he hopped from one thing to another, but he just brushed it off and assured her it was for the best. She would just frown at him before flipping her hair and stomping off.
Though she had taken to being on the defensive around him anytime before dinner, Sylar was not blind to the fact that she was becoming increasingly nervous about the whole situation. He wasn't upset with her, after all she was about to commit the premeditated murder of the man that raised her. Instead he had tried to actually talk to her about it, something he would normally never do.
“JUST DROP IT SYLAR AND HIT ME!” she had screamed at him during one of their training sessions, a rage exploding from her that came out of no where.
That was the first and last time he would try that technique.
Instead, he decided to try a little more hands on method, something he hoped would relax her mind and her body in order to have her at her best (well, the best given the situation). With the tentative departure date set for only 3 days away, he put his “Operation Calm Claire” into motion.
He started slow. He would run the bath for her at night, making sure her robe and nightclothes were all laid out for her. Once she was freshly scrubbed and dressed, he would massage her shoulders before they went to sleep. He smirked to himself at the utterly enticing sounds of satisfaction that came out of her in waves as his nimble fingers prodded her soft skin. She didn't ask him why he was doing it, only sighed and closed her eyes at his touch.
Once they climbed in to bed for the night, she did as she did every night, spooning her small frame back into his, curling her legs up slightly. He did as he did every night, draping his arm over her waist, allowing his hand to rest right over her navel, sometimes feeling her hand over his own as they slipped into sleep. This night, however, he slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt carefully, his fingers immediately greeted with the warmth of the contact. Encouraged by her lack of protest, he began to rub her stomach in big lazy circles. More sighs escaped her and he felt her turn back into him further, her neck in direct line of his mouth, it all but screaming at him to take a taste. But he fought the temptation. One day at a time.
He noticed she seemed to have slept better that night than any other night they had been there.
The next day he really pressed her intellectually. He eased off on the physical altercations and focused on her problem solving and analytical skills.
“Sylar, I'm not a fucking child, I understand what I'm supposed to do,” she snapped. The anger that swelled in him at her tone was becoming a little harder than usual to quell.
That night had added the lavender bath oil (something she had picked up at the store, he wasn't sure of the point but it did say “FOR RELAXATION” in bold letters, so he figured it couldn't really hurt). When she joined him back downstairs for a little late night tv, he could smell the scent of the oil on her skin and in her hair. Her body was lax and she wasn't furrowing her brow and frowning. He made a mental note to buy more of it for the future. She even seemed to bend her unspoken rule when it came to any physicality between them, when she sighed and laid her head in his lap, tapping her fingers gently against his thigh. Excellent.
You see, Sylar was a patient man, but a selfish one too. While this little pamper party for Claire did seem to be working on keeping her nerves in check (and that was the most important part), there was definitely an ulterior motive to it. He was also trying to calm the nerves in her that seemed to stop her anytime things got heated between them. It was annoying and he wasn't lying when he told her she'd be the death of him.
That night in bed, he followed the same steps as before, slipping his hand under her camisole and over her warm belly. She sighed and leaned back into him, just like the night before, only this time he didn't stop his mouth from finding that delicious pulse in her neck. She snaked her arm up and around, grabbing the back of his head and a handful of hair, tugging as he sucked on her slightly scented skin. She groaned and to his surprise, reached down and quickly pulled her camisole off and threw it on the floor. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. He responded by sliding his other arm under her, grabbing her other breast as well, kissing up her neck to her ear, tugging on the lobe gently with his teeth. She arched back into him, breathing heavily. She twisted her body in his arms and he felt her chest rub against his own.
Making a bold move he slid down her body, peppering kisses as he trailed her neck, her shoulder and then over to the swell of her breast. He felt her body stiffen and her hands threaded through his hair and she all but shoved him closer. Taking his time, he slowly rolled his tongue over her nipple, flicking gently. She responded by tugging on the back of his head. He ran a free hand down her waist to her thigh, smiled against her skin, taking the nub completely in his mouth and sucking gently, before scraping his teeth across the peak and biting down, pulling slightly.
Her hips bucked against him and he fought the urge to grab at her shorts. Instead, taking a page from her book, he pulled away from her body and slid back up, laying his head back down on the pillow. He was thankful the room was pitch black, as he did not want to see what kind of face she was making at him. He kissed her forehead and settled back comfortably in the bed. She made no verbal complaint, however she didn't retrieve her shirt. She gently pushed on his shoulder, forcing him to lay on his back instead of his side and she curled up to him, resting her head on his chest, her leg draped over his. He could feel the warmth of her on his thigh but tried to ignore it, focusing his attention to her small hand rubbing lazy figures across his midsection.
He woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks.
That final day before they left for New York, he was particularly hard on her. He saved the final little lesson for after dinner. He had progressed from simple fighting techniques to something he knew she wouldn't like but it was for her own good. He pulled a metal folding chair out of the garage and set it up. He had purposely waited for the sun to set and the darkness to take over. He knew it would make all the difference.
“What's that for?” she asked.
“This is to practice your escaping skills,” he said, pulling out a long length of rope.
She looked up at him with worried eyes. “I...I don't want to do that.”
“Claire, you have to be prepared for anything, that includes the slim-to-none chance they we get separated and they somehow get you restrained,” he said, fussing with the ropes. “Come over and sit down.”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Think of another way.”
“Come on, Claire. I'm not gonna leave you tied up. I'm just gonna do a few different knots and show you how to get out of them. That's it.”
“No,” she said firmly, turning her back to him.
Lesson one, don't turn your back to the enemy. Making a split decision, he shot forward and grabbed her and threw her in the chair, holding her arms down with his powers as he used his hands to tie a quick knot.
“GOD DAMN IT SYLAR!” she hissed. “LET ME GO!”
“No, you are going to get yourself out of it,” he said, taking several steps back from her.
“MOTHERFUCKER!”
“Claire, FOCUS!”
She stopped growling long enough to start moaning. Her voice cracked and her eyes were wet. “Please, Sylar...”
He almost cut the ropes and broke the chair that instant. But he was determined to get this through to her. He cleared his throat and spoke very calmly. “Stop bouncing around. Focus on the ropes around your wrists. Feel around with your fingers. See how many times it has been wrapped.”
She wasn't listening to his advice. She kept squirming and panting frantically. He could see this was harder for her than he anticipated. So he did what he always did in a situation that wasn't playing out as well as he hoped. He cheated.
Focusing on that wonderful power of persuasion, he ran his hands over his mouth and sighed. “Claire, do what I asked. Focus on the ropes.”
She stopped crying and immediately and began fidgeting her hands around the ropes. He was pleased when she was able to free herself in under a minute. Although, he had started easy on her. She hopped out of the chair and scowled at him. He ignored it and sat her back down, tying a more difficult knot this time.
“I know what you're doing,” she said, under her breath. “I know why you're doing it. I appreciate it. But I don't like it. Not one fucking bit.”
He nodded at her and proceeded to try 6 different knots on her, each worse than the last, offering no help other than the occasional “focus, Claire.” Once she managed to get out of the most complicated one he did (by dislocating her own wrists in order to do so) she jumped up but this time she did something he didn't expect her to. Grabbing the chair and with a sound he had never heard from her before, she hurled it at the garage, successfully breaking two of the four large panes of glass in the window next to the door. She flew toward said window and jumped high in the air, managing to kick the remaining panes out. Her leg was now through the window and her body was almost stuck there, large shards of glass sticking straight out of her legs. She threw her body backwards and seemed to do a sort of backflip out and away from the window.
Visibly shaking, she stood in front of Sylar, who had watched the scene without blinking, and pulled the large shards out of her leg and threw them on the ground.
“I'm glad that's off my chest,” she panted. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go get the tweezers and pull the little ones out.” She brushed his hand as she walked past him toward the house.
Not since that one night in the hotel had he seen Claire snap so violently. He smiled to himself. Excellent. She would be ready tomorrow. He had faith in her. He ran into the house, hearing the water running, he ran up the stairs and knocked on the bathroom door. Hearing no answer, he opened it slowly.
Claire was sitting on the edge of the bathroom wearing nothing but her white bra and panties. His eyes instantly were drawn to the little spots of blood that were splattered on her tanned skin. It seems the shards had gone higher than just her legs. She had a small wet towel resting on her thigh, using it as place to dispose of the glass. It was a few moments later he noticed the steam in the room, she had the water as hot as it would go and he could see feet and part of her shins turning bright red from the water.
“It helps to open the pores,” she said. “The steam does.”
He could only nod at her, noticing the beads of sweat forming on her chest and her forehead. She kept picking at her legs, finding tiny shards covered in blood, struggling to see the backs of her own legs.
“You want some help?”
She held out the tweezers to him and lifted her leg out of the water. He hurried to her side, sitting on the bathroom floor next to her, taking one of her legs in his hands. He worked very carefully, seeking out each foreign object and removing it. It was very similar to removing the tiniest of gears from some of the smaller timepieces. He finished one leg and moved to the next, focusing very hard on the task at hand and not at the slick feel of her sweat. Or the fact that it was soaking her undergarments and making them transparent. Or that as he continued to sit on the floor below her, the faint scent of her sex was dancing around his head.
He worked his way up. He finally came to the last piece he could find, a nasty little sticker that had buried itself in her upper inner thigh. She opened her legs to him and he set his brow, determined not to look at her face and to keep his from telling on him. He meticulously held the tweezers and plucked it out and she inhaled sharply when his knuckles accidentally grazed her panties. Realizing what he did, he quickly stood up and took the wet towel off of her leg and threw it in the waste basket, running his hand through his hair and clearing his throat.
“Real smooth,” she said, sarcastically.
He scowled at her and left her alone in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He flopped onto his bed and turned on the television, desperately seeking out anything that would take his mind off of the woman just a few feet away. He was flipping through the channels furiously when he heard the door creak open. Before he could stop himself he glanced over to see her still in her soaked bra and panties. He bit his lip and forced himself to turn his attention back to the tv. He was afraid of what would happen if he continued to look at her.
It wasn't a second letter he felt a sharp sting as a lightly wet hand slapped him clear across the face. His hand immediately shot up to massage his cheek, his mouth agape in shock and confusion. He was surprised with himself that he didn't immediately throw her through the wall. Maybe he was getting slow in his old age. Instead he just turned his focus on to her. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring at him, the anger in her eyes reminiscent of the old days.
“I'm assuming you think I deserved that,” he spoke finally, trying to keep his tone light, despite the aggravation brewing inside him.
“You're damn right you did.”
He sat up on the bed and turned to her. “Because...?”
“A few reasons actually. First, you tied me to the chair when I clearly begged you not to,” she said, uncrossing her arms to place them on her hips.
His gaze immediately fell to her heaving chest. The wet cloth was leaving nothing to the imagination and he suddenly could think of nothing but the taste of her in his mouth.
“Hey, eyes up here!” she yelled and snapped him out of it. He noticed she was starting to shake a bit and he actually was worried she might start crying from the look on her face. “But more so than that you...you are just an asshole!” she screamed, her hands shooting up to her own head she pulled on her own hair in what was clearly frustration.
Sylar was unsure of what to say. “I..I'm sorry? Claire, I was only pushing you hard out there because I don't want you to be surprised by anything...”
“Oh shut the hell up! I'm not talking about the so called 'lessons'”, she yelled, using finger quotes. “I'm talking about these little teasing games you've been up to the past few nights.”
Uh oh. He'd been found out. He chewed on his bottom lip. Well, it wasn't like he was trying to be sly about it, but he honestly didn't expect her to blow up like this.
“I was only trying to get you calm and relaxed. I know you are a nervous wreck about tomorrow and don't you dare try to deny it because I know it's a lie,” he spat as he saw her open her mouth to protest. “When I tried to talk to you about it, which was not an easy task for me ya know, you about bit my head off. This was the only thing I could think of.”
She just stood there fuming. “God damn it, Sylar! You are making me want to pull my fucking hair out.”
“Fine, I'll stop. I'm sorry. I won't do it again,” he said, sliding off the bed. He headed for the door to leave the room but she jumped in front of him, punching him right in the ear, causing his head to ring and his vision to blur. This time he couldn't help himself, with a flick of his wrist he pinned her against the wall as he pawed at his own ear.
“Fuck, Claire!” he cursed, stomping his foot as the pain finally started to dull.
“Do it.”
He let go of his own head to look up at her. “What?”
“You're right,” she began, her voice losing all of its anger from before, speaking far beyond him. “I'm ready for tomorrow, ready to end this atrocity. But I'm scared out of my mind. I'm worried something will go wrong. I don't want to go back to that lab. I don't want to let Noah get away with what he has done. But I'm more worried that if something bad happens, I won't see you again.”
He let go of the invisible hold he had on her.
“That's not going to happen...”
“You don't know that with one hundred percent certainty,” she said,finally turning her eyes to him. The anger was gone from them, replaced with a look he would know anywhere. Hunger. “So I'm not asking you nicely. I'm telling you. Do it.”
He felt a violent jerk in his stomach at such a harsh command but he wasn't gonna react on what he believed she was speaking of. The outcome of being wrong would be horrific. “Do what, Claire?”
“Fuck me,” she whispered.
Pairing: Sylar/Claire
Word Count: 3481
Rating: R for subject matter: violence and sexual situations (future chapters will be rated M)
Warning(s): I don't own Heroes. Spoilers through end of Season 3 to be on the safe side. Future-fic, technically.
A/N: We're about to get into the nitty gritty here. This chapter got bigger than I intended so it's been split into two. The next chapter will be posted in just a few. Enjoy.
Sylar, though he had many faults, considered himself a patient man. But the antics of one particular blond made him feel like he might implode at any moment. The events that transpired on the couch after she had killed him and then brought him back to life were unexpected but he didn't complain. Well, he didn't complain until she closed her robe back up and stopped herself before things got out of hand. He kept thinking about that night and he found that he was more upset with the fact that she wouldn't allow him to look at her. He tried not to fret about it too much. He knew it was just a matter of time.
He could almost sense Claire's guilt at being such a tease. After that night she kept the physical advances to a bare minimum. While he was loathe to admit he missed them, it kept from breaking his concentration. He reckoned at the rate he had been working, they would be on their way to New York in a week or so. In reality, his plan was pretty cut and dry already, he just now had the daunting task of continuing Claire's little boxing lessons and then going over the plan with her until she had it down.
He was pleased when she was able to recite the plan in its entirety to him within two days time. He split her so-called lessons into two parts, fighting her tooth and nail then quizzing her on various entry points of the building. Kicking and scratching her followed by the layout of the security systems holding all of the frozen embryos. She complained of feelings of whiplash from the swiftness he hopped from one thing to another, but he just brushed it off and assured her it was for the best. She would just frown at him before flipping her hair and stomping off.
Though she had taken to being on the defensive around him anytime before dinner, Sylar was not blind to the fact that she was becoming increasingly nervous about the whole situation. He wasn't upset with her, after all she was about to commit the premeditated murder of the man that raised her. Instead he had tried to actually talk to her about it, something he would normally never do.
“JUST DROP IT SYLAR AND HIT ME!” she had screamed at him during one of their training sessions, a rage exploding from her that came out of no where.
That was the first and last time he would try that technique.
Instead, he decided to try a little more hands on method, something he hoped would relax her mind and her body in order to have her at her best (well, the best given the situation). With the tentative departure date set for only 3 days away, he put his “Operation Calm Claire” into motion.
He started slow. He would run the bath for her at night, making sure her robe and nightclothes were all laid out for her. Once she was freshly scrubbed and dressed, he would massage her shoulders before they went to sleep. He smirked to himself at the utterly enticing sounds of satisfaction that came out of her in waves as his nimble fingers prodded her soft skin. She didn't ask him why he was doing it, only sighed and closed her eyes at his touch.
Once they climbed in to bed for the night, she did as she did every night, spooning her small frame back into his, curling her legs up slightly. He did as he did every night, draping his arm over her waist, allowing his hand to rest right over her navel, sometimes feeling her hand over his own as they slipped into sleep. This night, however, he slipped his hand under the hem of her shirt carefully, his fingers immediately greeted with the warmth of the contact. Encouraged by her lack of protest, he began to rub her stomach in big lazy circles. More sighs escaped her and he felt her turn back into him further, her neck in direct line of his mouth, it all but screaming at him to take a taste. But he fought the temptation. One day at a time.
He noticed she seemed to have slept better that night than any other night they had been there.
The next day he really pressed her intellectually. He eased off on the physical altercations and focused on her problem solving and analytical skills.
“Sylar, I'm not a fucking child, I understand what I'm supposed to do,” she snapped. The anger that swelled in him at her tone was becoming a little harder than usual to quell.
That night had added the lavender bath oil (something she had picked up at the store, he wasn't sure of the point but it did say “FOR RELAXATION” in bold letters, so he figured it couldn't really hurt). When she joined him back downstairs for a little late night tv, he could smell the scent of the oil on her skin and in her hair. Her body was lax and she wasn't furrowing her brow and frowning. He made a mental note to buy more of it for the future. She even seemed to bend her unspoken rule when it came to any physicality between them, when she sighed and laid her head in his lap, tapping her fingers gently against his thigh. Excellent.
You see, Sylar was a patient man, but a selfish one too. While this little pamper party for Claire did seem to be working on keeping her nerves in check (and that was the most important part), there was definitely an ulterior motive to it. He was also trying to calm the nerves in her that seemed to stop her anytime things got heated between them. It was annoying and he wasn't lying when he told her she'd be the death of him.
That night in bed, he followed the same steps as before, slipping his hand under her camisole and over her warm belly. She sighed and leaned back into him, just like the night before, only this time he didn't stop his mouth from finding that delicious pulse in her neck. She snaked her arm up and around, grabbing the back of his head and a handful of hair, tugging as he sucked on her slightly scented skin. She groaned and to his surprise, reached down and quickly pulled her camisole off and threw it on the floor. She grabbed his hand and placed it on her breast. He responded by sliding his other arm under her, grabbing her other breast as well, kissing up her neck to her ear, tugging on the lobe gently with his teeth. She arched back into him, breathing heavily. She twisted her body in his arms and he felt her chest rub against his own.
Making a bold move he slid down her body, peppering kisses as he trailed her neck, her shoulder and then over to the swell of her breast. He felt her body stiffen and her hands threaded through his hair and she all but shoved him closer. Taking his time, he slowly rolled his tongue over her nipple, flicking gently. She responded by tugging on the back of his head. He ran a free hand down her waist to her thigh, smiled against her skin, taking the nub completely in his mouth and sucking gently, before scraping his teeth across the peak and biting down, pulling slightly.
Her hips bucked against him and he fought the urge to grab at her shorts. Instead, taking a page from her book, he pulled away from her body and slid back up, laying his head back down on the pillow. He was thankful the room was pitch black, as he did not want to see what kind of face she was making at him. He kissed her forehead and settled back comfortably in the bed. She made no verbal complaint, however she didn't retrieve her shirt. She gently pushed on his shoulder, forcing him to lay on his back instead of his side and she curled up to him, resting her head on his chest, her leg draped over his. He could feel the warmth of her on his thigh but tried to ignore it, focusing his attention to her small hand rubbing lazy figures across his midsection.
He woke up feeling more refreshed than he had in weeks.
That final day before they left for New York, he was particularly hard on her. He saved the final little lesson for after dinner. He had progressed from simple fighting techniques to something he knew she wouldn't like but it was for her own good. He pulled a metal folding chair out of the garage and set it up. He had purposely waited for the sun to set and the darkness to take over. He knew it would make all the difference.
“What's that for?” she asked.
“This is to practice your escaping skills,” he said, pulling out a long length of rope.
She looked up at him with worried eyes. “I...I don't want to do that.”
“Claire, you have to be prepared for anything, that includes the slim-to-none chance they we get separated and they somehow get you restrained,” he said, fussing with the ropes. “Come over and sit down.”
“No,” she said, crossing her arms. “Think of another way.”
“Come on, Claire. I'm not gonna leave you tied up. I'm just gonna do a few different knots and show you how to get out of them. That's it.”
“No,” she said firmly, turning her back to him.
Lesson one, don't turn your back to the enemy. Making a split decision, he shot forward and grabbed her and threw her in the chair, holding her arms down with his powers as he used his hands to tie a quick knot.
“GOD DAMN IT SYLAR!” she hissed. “LET ME GO!”
“No, you are going to get yourself out of it,” he said, taking several steps back from her.
“MOTHERFUCKER!”
“Claire, FOCUS!”
She stopped growling long enough to start moaning. Her voice cracked and her eyes were wet. “Please, Sylar...”
He almost cut the ropes and broke the chair that instant. But he was determined to get this through to her. He cleared his throat and spoke very calmly. “Stop bouncing around. Focus on the ropes around your wrists. Feel around with your fingers. See how many times it has been wrapped.”
She wasn't listening to his advice. She kept squirming and panting frantically. He could see this was harder for her than he anticipated. So he did what he always did in a situation that wasn't playing out as well as he hoped. He cheated.
Focusing on that wonderful power of persuasion, he ran his hands over his mouth and sighed. “Claire, do what I asked. Focus on the ropes.”
She stopped crying and immediately and began fidgeting her hands around the ropes. He was pleased when she was able to free herself in under a minute. Although, he had started easy on her. She hopped out of the chair and scowled at him. He ignored it and sat her back down, tying a more difficult knot this time.
“I know what you're doing,” she said, under her breath. “I know why you're doing it. I appreciate it. But I don't like it. Not one fucking bit.”
He nodded at her and proceeded to try 6 different knots on her, each worse than the last, offering no help other than the occasional “focus, Claire.” Once she managed to get out of the most complicated one he did (by dislocating her own wrists in order to do so) she jumped up but this time she did something he didn't expect her to. Grabbing the chair and with a sound he had never heard from her before, she hurled it at the garage, successfully breaking two of the four large panes of glass in the window next to the door. She flew toward said window and jumped high in the air, managing to kick the remaining panes out. Her leg was now through the window and her body was almost stuck there, large shards of glass sticking straight out of her legs. She threw her body backwards and seemed to do a sort of backflip out and away from the window.
Visibly shaking, she stood in front of Sylar, who had watched the scene without blinking, and pulled the large shards out of her leg and threw them on the ground.
“I'm glad that's off my chest,” she panted. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got to go get the tweezers and pull the little ones out.” She brushed his hand as she walked past him toward the house.
Not since that one night in the hotel had he seen Claire snap so violently. He smiled to himself. Excellent. She would be ready tomorrow. He had faith in her. He ran into the house, hearing the water running, he ran up the stairs and knocked on the bathroom door. Hearing no answer, he opened it slowly.
Claire was sitting on the edge of the bathroom wearing nothing but her white bra and panties. His eyes instantly were drawn to the little spots of blood that were splattered on her tanned skin. It seems the shards had gone higher than just her legs. She had a small wet towel resting on her thigh, using it as place to dispose of the glass. It was a few moments later he noticed the steam in the room, she had the water as hot as it would go and he could see feet and part of her shins turning bright red from the water.
“It helps to open the pores,” she said. “The steam does.”
He could only nod at her, noticing the beads of sweat forming on her chest and her forehead. She kept picking at her legs, finding tiny shards covered in blood, struggling to see the backs of her own legs.
“You want some help?”
She held out the tweezers to him and lifted her leg out of the water. He hurried to her side, sitting on the bathroom floor next to her, taking one of her legs in his hands. He worked very carefully, seeking out each foreign object and removing it. It was very similar to removing the tiniest of gears from some of the smaller timepieces. He finished one leg and moved to the next, focusing very hard on the task at hand and not at the slick feel of her sweat. Or the fact that it was soaking her undergarments and making them transparent. Or that as he continued to sit on the floor below her, the faint scent of her sex was dancing around his head.
He worked his way up. He finally came to the last piece he could find, a nasty little sticker that had buried itself in her upper inner thigh. She opened her legs to him and he set his brow, determined not to look at her face and to keep his from telling on him. He meticulously held the tweezers and plucked it out and she inhaled sharply when his knuckles accidentally grazed her panties. Realizing what he did, he quickly stood up and took the wet towel off of her leg and threw it in the waste basket, running his hand through his hair and clearing his throat.
“Real smooth,” she said, sarcastically.
He scowled at her and left her alone in the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He flopped onto his bed and turned on the television, desperately seeking out anything that would take his mind off of the woman just a few feet away. He was flipping through the channels furiously when he heard the door creak open. Before he could stop himself he glanced over to see her still in her soaked bra and panties. He bit his lip and forced himself to turn his attention back to the tv. He was afraid of what would happen if he continued to look at her.
It wasn't a second letter he felt a sharp sting as a lightly wet hand slapped him clear across the face. His hand immediately shot up to massage his cheek, his mouth agape in shock and confusion. He was surprised with himself that he didn't immediately throw her through the wall. Maybe he was getting slow in his old age. Instead he just turned his focus on to her. Her arms were crossed and she was glaring at him, the anger in her eyes reminiscent of the old days.
“I'm assuming you think I deserved that,” he spoke finally, trying to keep his tone light, despite the aggravation brewing inside him.
“You're damn right you did.”
He sat up on the bed and turned to her. “Because...?”
“A few reasons actually. First, you tied me to the chair when I clearly begged you not to,” she said, uncrossing her arms to place them on her hips.
His gaze immediately fell to her heaving chest. The wet cloth was leaving nothing to the imagination and he suddenly could think of nothing but the taste of her in his mouth.
“Hey, eyes up here!” she yelled and snapped him out of it. He noticed she was starting to shake a bit and he actually was worried she might start crying from the look on her face. “But more so than that you...you are just an asshole!” she screamed, her hands shooting up to her own head she pulled on her own hair in what was clearly frustration.
Sylar was unsure of what to say. “I..I'm sorry? Claire, I was only pushing you hard out there because I don't want you to be surprised by anything...”
“Oh shut the hell up! I'm not talking about the so called 'lessons'”, she yelled, using finger quotes. “I'm talking about these little teasing games you've been up to the past few nights.”
Uh oh. He'd been found out. He chewed on his bottom lip. Well, it wasn't like he was trying to be sly about it, but he honestly didn't expect her to blow up like this.
“I was only trying to get you calm and relaxed. I know you are a nervous wreck about tomorrow and don't you dare try to deny it because I know it's a lie,” he spat as he saw her open her mouth to protest. “When I tried to talk to you about it, which was not an easy task for me ya know, you about bit my head off. This was the only thing I could think of.”
She just stood there fuming. “God damn it, Sylar! You are making me want to pull my fucking hair out.”
“Fine, I'll stop. I'm sorry. I won't do it again,” he said, sliding off the bed. He headed for the door to leave the room but she jumped in front of him, punching him right in the ear, causing his head to ring and his vision to blur. This time he couldn't help himself, with a flick of his wrist he pinned her against the wall as he pawed at his own ear.
“Fuck, Claire!” he cursed, stomping his foot as the pain finally started to dull.
“Do it.”
He let go of his own head to look up at her. “What?”
“You're right,” she began, her voice losing all of its anger from before, speaking far beyond him. “I'm ready for tomorrow, ready to end this atrocity. But I'm scared out of my mind. I'm worried something will go wrong. I don't want to go back to that lab. I don't want to let Noah get away with what he has done. But I'm more worried that if something bad happens, I won't see you again.”
He let go of the invisible hold he had on her.
“That's not going to happen...”
“You don't know that with one hundred percent certainty,” she said,finally turning her eyes to him. The anger was gone from them, replaced with a look he would know anywhere. Hunger. “So I'm not asking you nicely. I'm telling you. Do it.”
He felt a violent jerk in his stomach at such a harsh command but he wasn't gonna react on what he believed she was speaking of. The outcome of being wrong would be horrific. “Do what, Claire?”
“Fuck me,” she whispered.