Thief (Heroes, Claire/Isaac PWP)
Title: Thief
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: No spoilers, though there's a reference to Unexpected/Parasite--but you'd have to already know what happens to catch it, so it hardly counts.
Pairings: Isaac/Claire
Characters: Isaac, Claire
Genre: PWP, some introspection
Warnings: He's 28, she's 16, that usually = underageness.
Summary: After giving in once, sometimes you just can't stop. And sometimes the kid with the ice cream doesn't want you to.
Disclaimer: Wouldn't I have lawsuits against me or something, if I owned it?
AN: Take two of the kiss challenge. And somewhat of a sequel to Babysitting
--
Thief
A table crashed nearby, and a brand new work of ever-expanding modern art was created on the floor next to them. A curious head popped around the corner, and she giggled innocently, apologizing pointlessly for knocking the table over.
He gritted his teeth and shrugged the incident off, hoping the man would finally leave.
This time he waited for the door to slam before he shoved her onto a waist-high dresser. It was one of the most awful pieces of furniture he'd ever laid eyes on, so it hardly mattered that tempura splashed across it and dripped onto the concrete floor.
Soft, youthful skin gave easily to scraping teeth, and a dangerously racing pulse danced under his touch as he hiked up an overly heavy cotton skirt. Ragged gasps for air punctuated every time he broke away from searing lips and mouth.
"Missed you" She managed, and he chuckled in dry amusement. He must have been behind his game this time, she rarely had the breath to speak coherently.
A low groan and a delicious gasp twisted through the air as he gave no warning of his entrance. Not that she would have wanted him to--that was the whole point of their twisted little tryst, wasn't it?
Her mouth formed a small 'oh', before he reclaimed the tangy taste of her cherry gloss, suckling at her lower lip, tugging at it between teeth, anything to encourage the hoarse little noises that lingered in her throat, and nudged his consciousness away into the hazy warmth that so conveniently lulled his worries away.
It was quite funny, how her father never seemed to notice the banging or the crashing, or their lackluster excuses. Like he really had any interest in watching a snot nosed kid every time the man wanted her to disappear? Please.
He had the feeling her father simply didn't want to know the truth. And that suited him just fine.
Nails dug into his exposed shoulders, as his thin cloth jacket slipped to his elbows, dragging her name from somewhere he was not aware it had been hiding. Her reaction was worth his momentary discomfort.
He didn't dare look up from her slim neck, no matter how much he might have wanted to see the expression that matched her scream. He refused to acknowledge who it was writhing--writhing shouldn't be such a sensual word, really it shouldn't--and who's voice sent all the wrong sorts of reactions through him, whenever she'd coyly wave goodbye, like they'd watched a Disney movie and made S'mores in the kitchen.
It was his little way of giving the kid a lollipop and telling it to stop crying as soon as its mother came out to see why their child's ice cream now decorated the streets. And it worked about as well.
He wondered in the back of his mind when his neighbors would report him for all the things he did to the precious little cheerleader every time she came to visit. He doubted very much someone would sweep in and rescue him like they had the last time he was reported for something.
Of course. As long as she kept looking at him like that, like he wasn't some twisted, dirty, ice cream thief whenever he would finally collapse against her for support, he couldn't bring himself to care.
END
--
AN: Nope...still didn't work out quite right >.>
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: No spoilers, though there's a reference to Unexpected/Parasite--but you'd have to already know what happens to catch it, so it hardly counts.
Pairings: Isaac/Claire
Characters: Isaac, Claire
Genre: PWP, some introspection
Warnings: He's 28, she's 16, that usually = underageness.
Summary: After giving in once, sometimes you just can't stop. And sometimes the kid with the ice cream doesn't want you to.
Disclaimer: Wouldn't I have lawsuits against me or something, if I owned it?
AN: Take two of the kiss challenge. And somewhat of a sequel to Babysitting
--
Thief
A table crashed nearby, and a brand new work of ever-expanding modern art was created on the floor next to them. A curious head popped around the corner, and she giggled innocently, apologizing pointlessly for knocking the table over.
He gritted his teeth and shrugged the incident off, hoping the man would finally leave.
This time he waited for the door to slam before he shoved her onto a waist-high dresser. It was one of the most awful pieces of furniture he'd ever laid eyes on, so it hardly mattered that tempura splashed across it and dripped onto the concrete floor.
Soft, youthful skin gave easily to scraping teeth, and a dangerously racing pulse danced under his touch as he hiked up an overly heavy cotton skirt. Ragged gasps for air punctuated every time he broke away from searing lips and mouth.
"Missed you" She managed, and he chuckled in dry amusement. He must have been behind his game this time, she rarely had the breath to speak coherently.
A low groan and a delicious gasp twisted through the air as he gave no warning of his entrance. Not that she would have wanted him to--that was the whole point of their twisted little tryst, wasn't it?
Her mouth formed a small 'oh', before he reclaimed the tangy taste of her cherry gloss, suckling at her lower lip, tugging at it between teeth, anything to encourage the hoarse little noises that lingered in her throat, and nudged his consciousness away into the hazy warmth that so conveniently lulled his worries away.
It was quite funny, how her father never seemed to notice the banging or the crashing, or their lackluster excuses. Like he really had any interest in watching a snot nosed kid every time the man wanted her to disappear? Please.
He had the feeling her father simply didn't want to know the truth. And that suited him just fine.
Nails dug into his exposed shoulders, as his thin cloth jacket slipped to his elbows, dragging her name from somewhere he was not aware it had been hiding. Her reaction was worth his momentary discomfort.
He didn't dare look up from her slim neck, no matter how much he might have wanted to see the expression that matched her scream. He refused to acknowledge who it was writhing--writhing shouldn't be such a sensual word, really it shouldn't--and who's voice sent all the wrong sorts of reactions through him, whenever she'd coyly wave goodbye, like they'd watched a Disney movie and made S'mores in the kitchen.
It was his little way of giving the kid a lollipop and telling it to stop crying as soon as its mother came out to see why their child's ice cream now decorated the streets. And it worked about as well.
He wondered in the back of his mind when his neighbors would report him for all the things he did to the precious little cheerleader every time she came to visit. He doubted very much someone would sweep in and rescue him like they had the last time he was reported for something.
Of course. As long as she kept looking at him like that, like he wasn't some twisted, dirty, ice cream thief whenever he would finally collapse against her for support, he couldn't bring himself to care.
END
--
AN: Nope...still didn't work out quite right >.>