Skips A Beat - Heroes - Adam/Monica
Title: Skips A Beat
Pairing: Adam/Monica
Word Count: 1400
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the orgies/decadence square of my kink_bingo card.
Summary: Monica is determined to recruit Adam to her cause: taking down the Company. Her search for him leads her to an underground club, and an experience she could never have imagined.
Stepping out of the cold city air into the warehouse is like entering a sauna. The air inside is canned and stale, thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol. Monica's eyes are wide as she looks as the spread of people before her: all of them dancing, all of them wasted, all of them pressed together so there's no room to move.
Since she moved to the city, there have been a lot of times when she's felt her country roots; a lot of times when she's felt like a little mouse in a big world.
None of it compares to this.
"God, don't look so terrified," Elle says, sparkling at her side with glitter shimmering on her face. "It's just a party."
Monica has been to parties. When she was in high school, she had gone to pep rallies and after-parties, but none of it had been anything like this. She swallows. "You're sure this is the right place?"
"'Sure' is relative," Elle answers. "If Adam's going to be anywhere tonight, it'll be here."
She doesn't explain how she knows this and Monica doesn't ask. Around Elle, excess curiosity tends to result in a playful zap and nothing more. "How do we find him?"
"He'll find us," Elle assures her. "That's how it works. Get a drink and hang out, okay?"
"Hang out," Monica murmurs, while she looks around at startling amounts of skin surrounding them. She doesn't know if she's ever felt more out of place in her entire life.
The bar is on the other side of the room, so keeping her head down she tries to push and wind her way through the crowd. All too quickly, she loses sight of Elle. The blonde slips ahead in the throng of people while Monica is too polite, mumbling pleas to get past people who can't hear her above the music.
Hands skim against her unwittingly in the dark, and she can feel herself sweating in the tight press of bodies around her. It's hard to breathe; the air is hot and sticky. Instincts tingle through her body and she has to fight for control. When she panics, her ability takes over. She might blink and then find the dancers around her on the floor with cracked bones and bruised ribs.
Accidental grazes turn into a deliberate touch when a set of hands land on her hips. She's pulled back against a firm, slim body and feels someone's mouth skate over the shell of her ear.
"You look lost," says the man. His voice is raised and she can still barely make out his words against the thump of the music around them.
She shakes her head and tries to slip away. "I'm looking for someone," she says.
His hands won't let her go. "Perhaps you've found him."
Rolling her eyes, Monica mentally runs through her list of the best ways to disable him. If he doesn't back off soon, she's going to make him leave. "I don't think so," she says, trying to slip gently from his grasp.
"My name is Adam Monroe," he murmurs - and she stops trying to escape. "Now what do you think?"
She tries to turn around to get a better look at the man she's been tearing New York City apart to find, but he slips his arms around her waist and holds her still.
"Let's not cause a fuss, hmm?" he says. "I try not to attract too much attention."
"You could've fooled me," she says. "You've attracted nothing but attention in the past."
He chuckles against her ear, a low-down sound that travels beneath the beat of the music. "You knew what to look for," he reminds her. "I hoped you might find me, Joan."
She wants to tell him her real name, wants to hear him say it in that pretty accent, but it's dangerous enough that he knows her alias. She wants his help, sure, but she doesn't trust him. Not for a second.
"You know about the company," she says. "Primatech. I want to take them down."
"A lot of people have tried," he points out, as his hand slides up from her hip to her stomach instead, resting his palm there while they begin to move together, falling into the same frantic rhythm as the rest of the crowd. Monica's body reacts automatically, adapting to the dancing she sees around her. She can feel the music inside her just as clearly as she can feel Adam pressed tight against her back. "What makes you different?"
"I'm gonna be careful," she says. "And I'm gonna have help."
Elle, Mohinder, Bennet, and now hopefully Adam. She's pulling together everyone that she can get her hands on - because the Petrellis have a lot of enemies by now. If they work together, maybe they can make the world a safer place for people with special abilities.
She leans back against him and wishes that she could turn around, wishes that she could see his face. In front of her, she can see a couple joined at the mouth, desperate to swallow each other down. It makes her lips tingle. She'd love to taste Adam, she thinks.
He keeps his arms around her so that she can't turn to look at him, but his hands still wander. One slides up to cup her breast and run his thumb over her stiffened nipple, but the other one surprises her even more, sliding downwards.
The skirt she's wearing is short enough to make it easy for his hand to glide onto her inner thigh. He pauses there, waiting to see if she wants to stop him. She should; she knows that she should. God, there are people all around them. Anyone could see.
But the others in the crowd are doing the same or worse. She can see kissing couples and wandering hands on all sides, pressed in close against them, sweat-drenched clothing clinging to their skin.
Adam's hand travels upwards beneath the hem of her skirt, his palm skating over the velvety skin of her inner thigh until his thumb comes into contact with her crotch. Barely thinking about what she's doing, she grinds down in time with the music, pressing harder against the digit. She's soaked and desperate - the pressure is perfect.
Adam groans; she can feel the vibrations rumbling through his chest. It makes her whole body tremble, but it's still nothing compared to the perfect pressure of his hand against her, moving now, faster and harder.
He seems to know just how to touch her, just how she likes it - just the way that she does it to herself when she's alone, her fingers between her legs as she explores herself. She gasps and drops her head back against his shoulder, the firm support of his lean frame holding her upright as her knees start to feel weak.
He murmurs words against her ear that she can barely hear because of the music and heat and the swell of people around them. She feels it, though, the brush of his lips and the warmth of his breath. It's so much, too much, building up inside her like a swelling wave.
His teeth scrape against the shell of her ear; it makes her body tighten and tense, orgasm throbbing through her. The crowd swallows the sound of her cry, absorbing it easily, and she goes slack against Adam, her mind filled with static.
He presses a kiss against her cheek, dry and chaste. "That was beautiful," he says, loud once more so that she can hear him. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."
The body heat against her back fades away - she turns in time to see the back of a tall blond head walking away through the crowd, but that's all. He's gone already, gone before she could ask half of what she wanted to.
Her body is tingling, her panties are soaked and her chest still heaves for air. Around her, the crowd continues to pulse and dance.
She can't tell for sure, not yet, but she thinks tonight might've been a success.
Pairing: Adam/Monica
Word Count: 1400
Rating: NC-17
A/N: Written for the orgies/decadence square of my kink_bingo card.
Summary: Monica is determined to recruit Adam to her cause: taking down the Company. Her search for him leads her to an underground club, and an experience she could never have imagined.
Stepping out of the cold city air into the warehouse is like entering a sauna. The air inside is canned and stale, thick with the smell of sweat and alcohol. Monica's eyes are wide as she looks as the spread of people before her: all of them dancing, all of them wasted, all of them pressed together so there's no room to move.
Since she moved to the city, there have been a lot of times when she's felt her country roots; a lot of times when she's felt like a little mouse in a big world.
None of it compares to this.
"God, don't look so terrified," Elle says, sparkling at her side with glitter shimmering on her face. "It's just a party."
Monica has been to parties. When she was in high school, she had gone to pep rallies and after-parties, but none of it had been anything like this. She swallows. "You're sure this is the right place?"
"'Sure' is relative," Elle answers. "If Adam's going to be anywhere tonight, it'll be here."
She doesn't explain how she knows this and Monica doesn't ask. Around Elle, excess curiosity tends to result in a playful zap and nothing more. "How do we find him?"
"He'll find us," Elle assures her. "That's how it works. Get a drink and hang out, okay?"
"Hang out," Monica murmurs, while she looks around at startling amounts of skin surrounding them. She doesn't know if she's ever felt more out of place in her entire life.
The bar is on the other side of the room, so keeping her head down she tries to push and wind her way through the crowd. All too quickly, she loses sight of Elle. The blonde slips ahead in the throng of people while Monica is too polite, mumbling pleas to get past people who can't hear her above the music.
Hands skim against her unwittingly in the dark, and she can feel herself sweating in the tight press of bodies around her. It's hard to breathe; the air is hot and sticky. Instincts tingle through her body and she has to fight for control. When she panics, her ability takes over. She might blink and then find the dancers around her on the floor with cracked bones and bruised ribs.
Accidental grazes turn into a deliberate touch when a set of hands land on her hips. She's pulled back against a firm, slim body and feels someone's mouth skate over the shell of her ear.
"You look lost," says the man. His voice is raised and she can still barely make out his words against the thump of the music around them.
She shakes her head and tries to slip away. "I'm looking for someone," she says.
His hands won't let her go. "Perhaps you've found him."
Rolling her eyes, Monica mentally runs through her list of the best ways to disable him. If he doesn't back off soon, she's going to make him leave. "I don't think so," she says, trying to slip gently from his grasp.
"My name is Adam Monroe," he murmurs - and she stops trying to escape. "Now what do you think?"
She tries to turn around to get a better look at the man she's been tearing New York City apart to find, but he slips his arms around her waist and holds her still.
"Let's not cause a fuss, hmm?" he says. "I try not to attract too much attention."
"You could've fooled me," she says. "You've attracted nothing but attention in the past."
He chuckles against her ear, a low-down sound that travels beneath the beat of the music. "You knew what to look for," he reminds her. "I hoped you might find me, Joan."
She wants to tell him her real name, wants to hear him say it in that pretty accent, but it's dangerous enough that he knows her alias. She wants his help, sure, but she doesn't trust him. Not for a second.
"You know about the company," she says. "Primatech. I want to take them down."
"A lot of people have tried," he points out, as his hand slides up from her hip to her stomach instead, resting his palm there while they begin to move together, falling into the same frantic rhythm as the rest of the crowd. Monica's body reacts automatically, adapting to the dancing she sees around her. She can feel the music inside her just as clearly as she can feel Adam pressed tight against her back. "What makes you different?"
"I'm gonna be careful," she says. "And I'm gonna have help."
Elle, Mohinder, Bennet, and now hopefully Adam. She's pulling together everyone that she can get her hands on - because the Petrellis have a lot of enemies by now. If they work together, maybe they can make the world a safer place for people with special abilities.
She leans back against him and wishes that she could turn around, wishes that she could see his face. In front of her, she can see a couple joined at the mouth, desperate to swallow each other down. It makes her lips tingle. She'd love to taste Adam, she thinks.
He keeps his arms around her so that she can't turn to look at him, but his hands still wander. One slides up to cup her breast and run his thumb over her stiffened nipple, but the other one surprises her even more, sliding downwards.
The skirt she's wearing is short enough to make it easy for his hand to glide onto her inner thigh. He pauses there, waiting to see if she wants to stop him. She should; she knows that she should. God, there are people all around them. Anyone could see.
But the others in the crowd are doing the same or worse. She can see kissing couples and wandering hands on all sides, pressed in close against them, sweat-drenched clothing clinging to their skin.
Adam's hand travels upwards beneath the hem of her skirt, his palm skating over the velvety skin of her inner thigh until his thumb comes into contact with her crotch. Barely thinking about what she's doing, she grinds down in time with the music, pressing harder against the digit. She's soaked and desperate - the pressure is perfect.
Adam groans; she can feel the vibrations rumbling through his chest. It makes her whole body tremble, but it's still nothing compared to the perfect pressure of his hand against her, moving now, faster and harder.
He seems to know just how to touch her, just how she likes it - just the way that she does it to herself when she's alone, her fingers between her legs as she explores herself. She gasps and drops her head back against his shoulder, the firm support of his lean frame holding her upright as her knees start to feel weak.
He murmurs words against her ear that she can barely hear because of the music and heat and the swell of people around them. She feels it, though, the brush of his lips and the warmth of his breath. It's so much, too much, building up inside her like a swelling wave.
His teeth scrape against the shell of her ear; it makes her body tighten and tense, orgasm throbbing through her. The crowd swallows the sound of her cry, absorbing it easily, and she goes slack against Adam, her mind filled with static.
He presses a kiss against her cheek, dry and chaste. "That was beautiful," he says, loud once more so that she can hear him. "Thank you. I'll be in touch."
The body heat against her back fades away - she turns in time to see the back of a tall blond head walking away through the crowd, but that's all. He's gone already, gone before she could ask half of what she wanted to.
Her body is tingling, her panties are soaked and her chest still heaves for air. Around her, the crowd continues to pulse and dance.
She can't tell for sure, not yet, but she thinks tonight might've been a success.