"Taste" - Sylar/Maya - NC17 - English
My first ficlet in English! I'm excited xD
Title: Taste
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray), Maya
Pairing: Sylar/Maya
Rating: NC17
Prompt: Shower
Words Count: 1417
Summary: He sank his fingers in her arms, tightening his grip on her. He heard her sighing and protesting weakly, but he didn't care. Why should have he?
Notes: This is my first attempt to translate something, so please be kind! This was written for the Italian P0rn Fest over at fanfic_italia, and you can find the Italian version right here. A BIG THANK YOU goes to eryslash who helped me with the translation, and to Caroline for the same reason. THANK YOU ♥♥♥ And .. enough talking -
TASTE.
There was just the noisy fall of the water filling his ears, angrily mixed with his heartbeat.
He loved the perfection of that human machine to which he was devoting all of this time; he despised people who aren't able to understand its hidden secrets, but he had never realised how much an internal perfection could reflect an external one.
He wasn't pondering, he wasn't thinking, he wasn't calculating, he was simply following his instinct.
That mysterious, invisible, brutal, but at the same time so tremendously strong and incredibly attracting force. How could he have thought to be able to escape it?
He was following with obsessive attention the waterdrops rolling all over her body, making it shine, as if it was made of amber. He couldn't lift his eyes from those boiling drops that were drawing random paths on her wet skin, following the soft spot of her neck, sliding over her shoulders and then down again, over the perfect curve of her breasts, her hips... Gabriel Gray loved precious things, unique and rare pieces, and Maya, in that very moment, was the most precious thing he had ever had.
He didn't know if it was because of her hands that were wandering all over his body, with extraordinary confidence, or the slight trembling of her fingers, her wet lips, her half-closed eyes, her black shining hair... the arousal was completely overwhelming him. He wasn't used to that kind of thing, anything that had nothing to do with his work, with his watches or collections. If he had been more lucid, in that very moment, he would have felt grateful... grateful because such a perfect mind, such a charming power, was united with such a terribly attractive shape. He didn't care of what she could have thought or felt, too focused as he was in exploiting that moment as much as he could; taking everything from that shiny toy that had unexpectedly fallen in his hands, pleading to be used and maybe... maybe broken.
And then, she would have become useless; when he'd be done with her, there would've been nothing left. Nothing worth using. A broken toy doesn't entertain anyone. She would have been no exception.
He sank his fingers in her arms, tightening his grip on her. He heard her sighing and protesting weakly, but he didn't care. Why should have he?
He pushed her backwards, roughly forcing her to touch the cold wall of the shower with her back, far from the hot jet of the shower. He didn't care about the shivers that suddenly overtook her... he could hear nothing but the strong beating of his blood in his temples, excitement filling him and a deep, unstoppable desire to make her his own. She had been so naive to follow him until that moment. If someone had asked her how they had ended up at that point, she would have not been able to answer.
It was the intoxicating taste of his lips that made her forget who she was, what she was doing or looking for. She simply let herself go, letting him do whatever he wanted, too hooked by his kisses and the warmth of his touch.
He lifted a hand, grazing her face in a slow, lazy caress. He looked for her eyes with his own, and what he saw was just too much... too much. He didn't ask her if she was sure, he didn't ask her if she had changed her mind, he didn't care. The point of no return had been passed a long time ago. It was her fault. She overstepped it when she kissed him: starting an unstoppable series of reactions, suddenly awakening his desire... the lowest instincts are impossible to kill.
He squeezed her against his own body, imprisoning her in his incredibly strong grip. He looked down, roughly caressing her breasts with one hand, feeling the unstoppable need to explore every single inch of her wet and perfumed skin. He focused his attention on the small of her back, following its profile with his hands.
He felt she was trying to stop him, but he wasn't too concerned about it. She was now looking at him with her lost gaze, not amused at all by his haste.
But why should he have cared? He had no intention of making it comfortable for her.
He trapped her wrists above her head, paralysing her against the wall. Hearing her calling out his name didn't help, with that accent he had found so amusing before.
Poor, little, naive, but at the same time so deadly and damn fragile Maya. He kissed her neck, biting the soft spot of skin just behind her ear, pushing against her showing his evident need to own anything that could be part of her. Her power, her body... what was the difference?
He forced her to spread her legs, freeing one of her wrists and stroking one of her thighs, reaching her knee. He forced her to lift it, without asking her permission.
She kept calling out his name again and again. How could he tell her that it wasn't his name anymore? It belonged to the past, a past that he didn't want to remember.
He seeked more access to her body, ignoring the light pressure of her hands on his chest. He kissed her breasts, catching the last waterdrops that were still making her body glimmer. He wouldn't have been able to resist, not for long. He couldn't remember how it felt, it didn't happen often, but he'd never felt such a deep need for something before. Something so alive, shaking under his hands.
He abruptly pushed inside her, opening his eyes wide to look at her. He stayed still for a few seconds, hardly realising that she was looking back at him... lost.
He wasn't actually seeing her. Just one harsh thought in his mind: she was his.
His.
He suddenly resumed his movements. Her opposition had become something else, something unrecognisable. But he knew for sure that the pressure of her hands had changed: like she was pushing him away before, she was pulling him at her now, a senseless request.
He avidly stared at her face, her lips half-opened, her continuous sighs, her nails pressing on the skin of his chest.
He convulsively held her to him, possessively keeping her against his body. He slid a hand behind her neck, involving her in a hungry kiss, as with the other, he accompanied the movements of his hips, getting frantic, quicker, trying to satisfy that sudden thirst of pleasure.
His.
He could feel her body trying to fit to that unexpected intrusion. He was afraid she would start crying, he feared that horrible sensation: having once again no air to breathe, her eyes blackening, filled with something that he loved to call death.
Death in her eyes.
But it didn't happen. He kept moving without any care, encouraged by her sighs, fading away along with his own, like confused, unfamiliar and remote sounds that he didn't know. They were disappearing in the noise of falling water, in the steam that was covering the glass of the shower, filling the whole room.
He suddenly flushed, hot, as his movements became even more frantic, feeling her giving in almost unconsciously. He gripped the soft skin of her thigh, pushing into her, without giving her the time to catch her breath, feeling his own lungs aching in a desperate need of air.
She moaned against his lips, while holding him tight with both her arms. He could feel her whispering his name, over and over, as if she was pleading, an invocation, a request.
His.
He didn't answer, just finished what he had started.
He let out a loud sigh over her mouth.
Pleasure increased vertiginously, as he was pushing her against the wall, almost lifting her off her feet because of his convulsive movements.
He heard her moan, now at the stretched limits of his own endurance: a feeling of total fulfillment and satisfaction violently swept him.
She tensed in his arms, arching her back, brushing her chest against his.
He roughly took possession of her lips, looking for her tongue with his own, to feel and remember exactly what possession tasted like.
She was his.
All his.
Title: Taste
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Sylar (Gabriel Gray), Maya
Pairing: Sylar/Maya
Rating: NC17
Prompt: Shower
Words Count: 1417
Summary: He sank his fingers in her arms, tightening his grip on her. He heard her sighing and protesting weakly, but he didn't care. Why should have he?
Notes: This is my first attempt to translate something, so please be kind! This was written for the Italian P0rn Fest over at fanfic_italia, and you can find the Italian version right here. A BIG THANK YOU goes to eryslash who helped me with the translation, and to Caroline for the same reason. THANK YOU ♥♥♥ And .. enough talking -
TASTE.
There was just the noisy fall of the water filling his ears, angrily mixed with his heartbeat.
He loved the perfection of that human machine to which he was devoting all of this time; he despised people who aren't able to understand its hidden secrets, but he had never realised how much an internal perfection could reflect an external one.
He wasn't pondering, he wasn't thinking, he wasn't calculating, he was simply following his instinct.
That mysterious, invisible, brutal, but at the same time so tremendously strong and incredibly attracting force. How could he have thought to be able to escape it?
He was following with obsessive attention the waterdrops rolling all over her body, making it shine, as if it was made of amber. He couldn't lift his eyes from those boiling drops that were drawing random paths on her wet skin, following the soft spot of her neck, sliding over her shoulders and then down again, over the perfect curve of her breasts, her hips... Gabriel Gray loved precious things, unique and rare pieces, and Maya, in that very moment, was the most precious thing he had ever had.
He didn't know if it was because of her hands that were wandering all over his body, with extraordinary confidence, or the slight trembling of her fingers, her wet lips, her half-closed eyes, her black shining hair... the arousal was completely overwhelming him. He wasn't used to that kind of thing, anything that had nothing to do with his work, with his watches or collections. If he had been more lucid, in that very moment, he would have felt grateful... grateful because such a perfect mind, such a charming power, was united with such a terribly attractive shape. He didn't care of what she could have thought or felt, too focused as he was in exploiting that moment as much as he could; taking everything from that shiny toy that had unexpectedly fallen in his hands, pleading to be used and maybe... maybe broken.
And then, she would have become useless; when he'd be done with her, there would've been nothing left. Nothing worth using. A broken toy doesn't entertain anyone. She would have been no exception.
He sank his fingers in her arms, tightening his grip on her. He heard her sighing and protesting weakly, but he didn't care. Why should have he?
He pushed her backwards, roughly forcing her to touch the cold wall of the shower with her back, far from the hot jet of the shower. He didn't care about the shivers that suddenly overtook her... he could hear nothing but the strong beating of his blood in his temples, excitement filling him and a deep, unstoppable desire to make her his own. She had been so naive to follow him until that moment. If someone had asked her how they had ended up at that point, she would have not been able to answer.
It was the intoxicating taste of his lips that made her forget who she was, what she was doing or looking for. She simply let herself go, letting him do whatever he wanted, too hooked by his kisses and the warmth of his touch.
He lifted a hand, grazing her face in a slow, lazy caress. He looked for her eyes with his own, and what he saw was just too much... too much. He didn't ask her if she was sure, he didn't ask her if she had changed her mind, he didn't care. The point of no return had been passed a long time ago. It was her fault. She overstepped it when she kissed him: starting an unstoppable series of reactions, suddenly awakening his desire... the lowest instincts are impossible to kill.
He squeezed her against his own body, imprisoning her in his incredibly strong grip. He looked down, roughly caressing her breasts with one hand, feeling the unstoppable need to explore every single inch of her wet and perfumed skin. He focused his attention on the small of her back, following its profile with his hands.
He felt she was trying to stop him, but he wasn't too concerned about it. She was now looking at him with her lost gaze, not amused at all by his haste.
But why should he have cared? He had no intention of making it comfortable for her.
He trapped her wrists above her head, paralysing her against the wall. Hearing her calling out his name didn't help, with that accent he had found so amusing before.
Poor, little, naive, but at the same time so deadly and damn fragile Maya. He kissed her neck, biting the soft spot of skin just behind her ear, pushing against her showing his evident need to own anything that could be part of her. Her power, her body... what was the difference?
He forced her to spread her legs, freeing one of her wrists and stroking one of her thighs, reaching her knee. He forced her to lift it, without asking her permission.
She kept calling out his name again and again. How could he tell her that it wasn't his name anymore? It belonged to the past, a past that he didn't want to remember.
He seeked more access to her body, ignoring the light pressure of her hands on his chest. He kissed her breasts, catching the last waterdrops that were still making her body glimmer. He wouldn't have been able to resist, not for long. He couldn't remember how it felt, it didn't happen often, but he'd never felt such a deep need for something before. Something so alive, shaking under his hands.
He abruptly pushed inside her, opening his eyes wide to look at her. He stayed still for a few seconds, hardly realising that she was looking back at him... lost.
He wasn't actually seeing her. Just one harsh thought in his mind: she was his.
His.
He suddenly resumed his movements. Her opposition had become something else, something unrecognisable. But he knew for sure that the pressure of her hands had changed: like she was pushing him away before, she was pulling him at her now, a senseless request.
He avidly stared at her face, her lips half-opened, her continuous sighs, her nails pressing on the skin of his chest.
He convulsively held her to him, possessively keeping her against his body. He slid a hand behind her neck, involving her in a hungry kiss, as with the other, he accompanied the movements of his hips, getting frantic, quicker, trying to satisfy that sudden thirst of pleasure.
His.
He could feel her body trying to fit to that unexpected intrusion. He was afraid she would start crying, he feared that horrible sensation: having once again no air to breathe, her eyes blackening, filled with something that he loved to call death.
Death in her eyes.
But it didn't happen. He kept moving without any care, encouraged by her sighs, fading away along with his own, like confused, unfamiliar and remote sounds that he didn't know. They were disappearing in the noise of falling water, in the steam that was covering the glass of the shower, filling the whole room.
He suddenly flushed, hot, as his movements became even more frantic, feeling her giving in almost unconsciously. He gripped the soft skin of her thigh, pushing into her, without giving her the time to catch her breath, feeling his own lungs aching in a desperate need of air.
She moaned against his lips, while holding him tight with both her arms. He could feel her whispering his name, over and over, as if she was pleading, an invocation, a request.
His.
He didn't answer, just finished what he had started.
He let out a loud sigh over her mouth.
Pleasure increased vertiginously, as he was pushing her against the wall, almost lifting her off her feet because of his convulsive movements.
He heard her moan, now at the stretched limits of his own endurance: a feeling of total fulfillment and satisfaction violently swept him.
She tensed in his arms, arching her back, brushing her chest against his.
He roughly took possession of her lips, looking for her tongue with his own, to feel and remember exactly what possession tasted like.
She was his.
All his.