Fic: It's All Formalities Until it Goes to the Pirates (Sylar/Peter/Claire, NC-17)
Title: It's All Formalities Until it Goes to the Pirates
Characters: Sylar/Peter/Claire
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,295
Warnings: dub-con
Summary: ARRR. DUDE, PIRATES, RIGHT? Claire is headed home aboard a ship captained by her uncle, Captain Peter Petrelli. They come across a pirate who has more than pillaging on his mind.
Author's Notes: This was started on Sept. 19th in honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day, but it didn't get done (WAAAH SCHOOL BUSYBUSYBUSYWHATWHAT) and... now it is. XD I DEDICATE THIS TO flipbeter AND jesslared, KNIGHTED PIRATED BY TEH RUFUS HIMSELF.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Should it come to this, this is AU and all characters involved in sexual relations in this story are 18 or older.
It's a beautiful day for a ship ride on the open sea. Claire takes a deep breath, closing her eyes at the sensation of the fresh, slightly salty air. Straightening from her spot where she's leaning on the railing out over the ocean, she smoothes down her dress.
His voice cuts through the silence and disturbs her momentary peace.
"Why must you already head back home, Lady Bennet?"
Captian Petrelli is the name she was told to address him with, and yet he made certain she might know that he would prefer if she called him merely Peter. And yet he doesn't follow his own rule.
Claire has simply tried to keep from using a name altogether for the reason.
"My family wishes to see me. I cannot blame them. I wish to see them, too."
"You still refuse to acknowledge us as your family."
It's not a question, although perhaps it should be, and Claire tugs absentmindedly at one of the ribbons of her corset. Somehow it seems hypocritical, him calling her Lady Bennet and then wishing her to recognize that she is part of the family.
She doesn't want to. It makes things difficult.
"Captain! We be seein' the Jolly Roger!"
The whole ship seems to freeze, Claire turning around slowly to face the other side of the boat so she might see.
It's not even that far away, the mast clearly visible, the gruesome flag raised high. An involuntary shiver runs down her back, and she turns, scared, eyes wide, facing Peter.
"Peter," she says, and the look in his eyes when he hears it confirms her suspicion. Everything has changed.
"Claire," he says for the first time, rushing down from the deck. "I can't hide from this - I'm responsible - but you can. Go into my cabin, just-save yourself."
"I'm not hiding from this. I'm staying right here with you. I don't need to be saved-"
"It be too late for that now, anyway," a deep voice rings out over the ocean. Claire feels her knees buckling out of fear, instinctively reaching out to hold onto Peter.
"Didn't think I'd be lucky enough to see you again!" Peter shouts, glowering in a way she's never seen before.
"Why? The reunion last time was so much fun!" When no one says anything, he throws his hands into the air and laughs, deep, maniacal almost. "What have ye become, Petrelli? A landlubber?"
"In yer' dreams, pirate!"
"I much prefer Captain Sylar - what are ye, scared? And why? Just because of yer' prize on yer' arm there, holdin' ye back?"
"Clai-Lady Bennet is not my prize!"
"Yer' right. She be mine."
It's like everything stats to happen all at once, Sylar making one motion at his crew, Peter shouting instructions left and right, and the world explodes.
Cannons deliver shaking blows, one, two, three, and then one so hard that it rattles her, and she falls.
"Don't worry about me!" she shouts just as Sylar gets on top of one of the rails, a wicked grin on his face.
"Not so scary anymore, are ye now?"
He doesn't give them time to think, sailing onto their deck with the help of-
She isn't sure, actually.
"Brandish yer' sword, Petrelli, and fight like a true pirate."
The swords meet in midair with a distinct clang, and Claire shrinks back. "I don't fight that dirty. I fight with honor. Like a true hero."
Claire decides she doesn't like the way it makes her feel when Sylar laughs like he does. It's damning, and she rubs her thighs together to make it go away.
"Oh, yes, sure, honor. Fight for hers if yer' going to fight for it, but don't be fightin' me with it. It won' end pretty, I can tell ye that much."
"What do you know?"
Clang, clang.
"I know everything."
Claire trembles for a moment, her eyes closed, and it works until she feels herself being picked up by two strong arms - Peter's? Sylar's? - and she shrieks for a moment, but doesn't open her eyes.
It's fine. Fine until she feels a breath hot against her ear, two strong hands wrapped around her shoulders, as well as the fact that she's standing again.
"Open your eyes."
It's not really true. It can't be. And opening her eyes would only confirm what nightmare she already knows to be true - the voice, the hands, the feeling between her legs-
"Claire!" she hears Peter shout and clenches her eyes shut. No.
"Oh, so it's Claire now, is it? Open your eyes," he repeats, and she slowly let's her lashes flutter open. It's surreal, like a dream. A nightmare. But she isn't so sure anymore about that - or anything - and she swallows, absentmindedly licking her lips.
"Don't touch her!"
"Oh," Sylar laughs, and she wishes he wouldn't, making her uncomfortable. "I'll touch her. Just maybe not in the way yer' thinking."
She has no idea what to think, not that it matters, her arm in Sylar's grip as he tugs, laughing at Peter.
Even when they're inside his cabin - nothing but a large desk, a map, and countless bookshelves littering the room - he doesn't stop laughing, his grip on her arm loosening greatly.
"Lady Bennet, is it?" Finally he stops laughing, regarding her with a look and a smile that could slay millions. "I will try my best to address you with proper English, unlike a pirate might."
Claire's brow furrowed, she frowns, making a face. "But you are one."
"Not for you," he whispers, nothing but a ghost of a smile left on his lips now, and she shivers.
One, two steps into the room, and she already feels marginally better, away from the wall.
She shouldn't.
He has her up against his desk within moments, his sword drawn.
"Why are you doing this?"
The cool blade glides slowly, languidly, over the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving her with an entirely inappropriate feeling for the occasion.
"Because you're my prize. And you're very special. Not to mention all mine now…"
She can feel his breath on her face, he's so close, and it's almost like - if she's not deluding herself - like he's about to kiss her.
She cannot even hope to begin to express how she feels about that, but just as its about to happen - maybe - it stops, accentuated with a bang from the door as it bursts open.
"Let her go," Peter says, but his voice is shaking, and Claire knows that he was never expecting to see this.
She hasn't even noticed that by now the blade has traveled lower, the tip pressing softly into her skin as it moves slowly down her breast.
"If you really wanted me to let her go… you'd be over her fighting for her."
"You'd hurt her."
"You just haven't any resolve. You enjoy standing there, watching like the-"
"Stop it."
There's no real force behind Peter's voice, and that scares her. Sylar, on the other hand, sounds like he's enjoying this. It's a stalemate, and Peter doesn't know what to do.
"Why don't you turn around for just a moment so I can kiss the lady? Unless, of course, I was right and you do enjoy watching."
Peter's fists are clenched, and Claire gives a choked sort of breath, biting on her lip as she looks on between the two.
"You're despicable."
"Not as despicable as you. You're her uncle."
She never expected him to actually kiss her in front of Peter, but he leans in faster than she thought, faster than she could have possibly reacted, and then his lips are on hers, breath against hers, his tongue just barely touching against her lips…
It's all very soft and gentle and there's that slight pressure there and Claire feels right faint.
"Stop it," Peter repeats, and when Sylar pulls away and she comes back down to earth and can actually look at Peter - oh Peter - she sees how white and ashen his face actually is. Sylar grins.
Then he does something unexpected, and Claire wonders whether she should just assume that Sylar will always do unexpected things. Grabbing the front of Peter's shirt, he pulls him close to both of them, breath hot on his face - she can see it - not even an inch away from him, and grins again. "Make me."
When there isn't a response, he continues. "Admit it. You enjoyed watching that. You wanted to kiss her as much as I did."
It's when even Peter becomes unpredictable that Claire's world starts to spin, when she watches him sort of just… lean in… and the two of them kiss, and all Claire can think of is how wrong all of this really is.
How wrong it is that she's feeling all of those emotions pooling in the pit of her stomach again, and her thighs subconsciously rub together.
But Sylar's close enough that he notices, and now there's no escaping.
He doesn't let Peter go where he was already gripping onto the top of his shirt, but he pauses the actual contact to turn to her with a curious glance.
"Don't think I'd miss that, precious. Apparently there are depths to your lady we should explore, Petrelli."
When Peter doesn't say anything - speechless, certainly - Sylar shrugs, smiling. "Don't mind if I do."
Then there's a sharp tear and rip heard all through the cabin, and then her bodice falls with the corset, and she feels like she can breathe for the first time in a long time.
She should feel ashamed, certainly, and her look must be saying that much, because Peter is just staring, and Sylar leans in close to her ear to whisper, "you have nothing to worry about. After all, this was done against your will, and I'm not planning on giving either of you up very soon."
It's comforting. It shouldn't be. Not when his hands are running all over her front and she's a respectable woman who was just headed home to her family. So much for that.
And then he kisses her again, and she can't think anymore.
Sylar makes some sort of hand motion, and when the kiss is over, seemingly ten or so minutes later, he's topless and so is Peter.
Unexpected.
It's not proper. In fact, it's everything but proper. But she thinks she finally realizes why there's a certain appeal in this.
It's dangerous. And forbidden. This is exactly why Eve was the reason for everyone was kicked out of paradise. It's too bad, really, but who can blame her?
And now she's not wearing her skirt anymore, and Sylar is grinning, and Peter is shaking his head, but he's not complaining, either, so it's fine, right? Right.
When he turns her around, the wood of the desk cool here and warmer there as her upper body leans on top of it, she is almost upset that she can't see. But then his hands are all over her body from behind and she can feel-
That's not any sort of fabric.
"Claire-"
There's a question there somewhere and she nods, hesitating for just a moment, and Peter suddenly comes around the desk - he's not wearing anything either anymore, and for some reason, she suddenly feels more naked than she did before - taking her face in his hands and kissing her.
He's her uncle and that's fine, of course.
He's still kissing her, and a second later she knows why, because she's crying out, Peter's mouth there to take away the noises she makes, and it hurts - oh god, it hurts - but it's slow and there's also the hint of something good there.
It's the first time that she's fully, truly aware of her surroundings, not just their bodies, their kisses, their hands, their breaths against each other's skin, but the cannons and blows and clangs and noises all around them, outside, as well.
Deafening, sort of, and apparently Peter notices, leaning in close to her ear to tell her that it'll all be fine.
On any other day, she wouldn't believe him, a healthy dose of skepticism part of her attitude most of the time.
There is nothing rational about this. Skepticism need not apply.
Maybe everything would be just fine.
In fact - things are feeling much better, and her cries are different this time, and it's almost as if she can tell that Sylar is grinning.
Peter is touching himself and she can't seem to stop staring. This is wrong, too, theoretically. Not that it matters.
"After this," Sylar pants, a bit breathlessly, "we're headed off to an island only ten people know about. And none of the other nine are going to bother us there."
Claire smiles for the first time, realizing suddenly that she's gripping onto the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.
When Peter kisses Sylar one last time, before climbing down, kissing her in an entirely different place than her mouth, things feel very different all of a sudden, and now Peter isn't there to swallow her cries with kisses.
Not that she's complaining.
Her body is close - trembling, practically - and that seems to trigger something else, and Sylar somewhat unceremoniously bites into her shoulder, and then, moments later, it's all over, and she can breathe again.
There's a mess all over the floor, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He pulls out, and she turns, feeling a bit giddy and a bit hazy and a bit blurry, but it's all very, very good, and she smiles at him. "What now?" she says, and he grins at Peter before throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing.
"Now we sleep for a few weeks."
Characters: Sylar/Peter/Claire
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 2,295
Warnings: dub-con
Summary: ARRR. DUDE, PIRATES, RIGHT? Claire is headed home aboard a ship captained by her uncle, Captain Peter Petrelli. They come across a pirate who has more than pillaging on his mind.
Author's Notes: This was started on Sept. 19th in honor of Talk Like A Pirate Day, but it didn't get done (WAAAH SCHOOL BUSYBUSYBUSYWHATWHAT) and... now it is. XD I DEDICATE THIS TO flipbeter AND jesslared, KNIGHTED PIRATED BY TEH RUFUS HIMSELF.
Disclaimer: Not mine! Should it come to this, this is AU and all characters involved in sexual relations in this story are 18 or older.
It's a beautiful day for a ship ride on the open sea. Claire takes a deep breath, closing her eyes at the sensation of the fresh, slightly salty air. Straightening from her spot where she's leaning on the railing out over the ocean, she smoothes down her dress.
His voice cuts through the silence and disturbs her momentary peace.
"Why must you already head back home, Lady Bennet?"
Captian Petrelli is the name she was told to address him with, and yet he made certain she might know that he would prefer if she called him merely Peter. And yet he doesn't follow his own rule.
Claire has simply tried to keep from using a name altogether for the reason.
"My family wishes to see me. I cannot blame them. I wish to see them, too."
"You still refuse to acknowledge us as your family."
It's not a question, although perhaps it should be, and Claire tugs absentmindedly at one of the ribbons of her corset. Somehow it seems hypocritical, him calling her Lady Bennet and then wishing her to recognize that she is part of the family.
She doesn't want to. It makes things difficult.
"Captain! We be seein' the Jolly Roger!"
The whole ship seems to freeze, Claire turning around slowly to face the other side of the boat so she might see.
It's not even that far away, the mast clearly visible, the gruesome flag raised high. An involuntary shiver runs down her back, and she turns, scared, eyes wide, facing Peter.
"Peter," she says, and the look in his eyes when he hears it confirms her suspicion. Everything has changed.
"Claire," he says for the first time, rushing down from the deck. "I can't hide from this - I'm responsible - but you can. Go into my cabin, just-save yourself."
"I'm not hiding from this. I'm staying right here with you. I don't need to be saved-"
"It be too late for that now, anyway," a deep voice rings out over the ocean. Claire feels her knees buckling out of fear, instinctively reaching out to hold onto Peter.
"Didn't think I'd be lucky enough to see you again!" Peter shouts, glowering in a way she's never seen before.
"Why? The reunion last time was so much fun!" When no one says anything, he throws his hands into the air and laughs, deep, maniacal almost. "What have ye become, Petrelli? A landlubber?"
"In yer' dreams, pirate!"
"I much prefer Captain Sylar - what are ye, scared? And why? Just because of yer' prize on yer' arm there, holdin' ye back?"
"Clai-Lady Bennet is not my prize!"
"Yer' right. She be mine."
It's like everything stats to happen all at once, Sylar making one motion at his crew, Peter shouting instructions left and right, and the world explodes.
Cannons deliver shaking blows, one, two, three, and then one so hard that it rattles her, and she falls.
"Don't worry about me!" she shouts just as Sylar gets on top of one of the rails, a wicked grin on his face.
"Not so scary anymore, are ye now?"
He doesn't give them time to think, sailing onto their deck with the help of-
She isn't sure, actually.
"Brandish yer' sword, Petrelli, and fight like a true pirate."
The swords meet in midair with a distinct clang, and Claire shrinks back. "I don't fight that dirty. I fight with honor. Like a true hero."
Claire decides she doesn't like the way it makes her feel when Sylar laughs like he does. It's damning, and she rubs her thighs together to make it go away.
"Oh, yes, sure, honor. Fight for hers if yer' going to fight for it, but don't be fightin' me with it. It won' end pretty, I can tell ye that much."
"What do you know?"
Clang, clang.
"I know everything."
Claire trembles for a moment, her eyes closed, and it works until she feels herself being picked up by two strong arms - Peter's? Sylar's? - and she shrieks for a moment, but doesn't open her eyes.
It's fine. Fine until she feels a breath hot against her ear, two strong hands wrapped around her shoulders, as well as the fact that she's standing again.
"Open your eyes."
It's not really true. It can't be. And opening her eyes would only confirm what nightmare she already knows to be true - the voice, the hands, the feeling between her legs-
"Claire!" she hears Peter shout and clenches her eyes shut. No.
"Oh, so it's Claire now, is it? Open your eyes," he repeats, and she slowly let's her lashes flutter open. It's surreal, like a dream. A nightmare. But she isn't so sure anymore about that - or anything - and she swallows, absentmindedly licking her lips.
"Don't touch her!"
"Oh," Sylar laughs, and she wishes he wouldn't, making her uncomfortable. "I'll touch her. Just maybe not in the way yer' thinking."
She has no idea what to think, not that it matters, her arm in Sylar's grip as he tugs, laughing at Peter.
Even when they're inside his cabin - nothing but a large desk, a map, and countless bookshelves littering the room - he doesn't stop laughing, his grip on her arm loosening greatly.
"Lady Bennet, is it?" Finally he stops laughing, regarding her with a look and a smile that could slay millions. "I will try my best to address you with proper English, unlike a pirate might."
Claire's brow furrowed, she frowns, making a face. "But you are one."
"Not for you," he whispers, nothing but a ghost of a smile left on his lips now, and she shivers.
One, two steps into the room, and she already feels marginally better, away from the wall.
She shouldn't.
He has her up against his desk within moments, his sword drawn.
"Why are you doing this?"
The cool blade glides slowly, languidly, over the sensitive skin of her neck, leaving her with an entirely inappropriate feeling for the occasion.
"Because you're my prize. And you're very special. Not to mention all mine now…"
She can feel his breath on her face, he's so close, and it's almost like - if she's not deluding herself - like he's about to kiss her.
She cannot even hope to begin to express how she feels about that, but just as its about to happen - maybe - it stops, accentuated with a bang from the door as it bursts open.
"Let her go," Peter says, but his voice is shaking, and Claire knows that he was never expecting to see this.
She hasn't even noticed that by now the blade has traveled lower, the tip pressing softly into her skin as it moves slowly down her breast.
"If you really wanted me to let her go… you'd be over her fighting for her."
"You'd hurt her."
"You just haven't any resolve. You enjoy standing there, watching like the-"
"Stop it."
There's no real force behind Peter's voice, and that scares her. Sylar, on the other hand, sounds like he's enjoying this. It's a stalemate, and Peter doesn't know what to do.
"Why don't you turn around for just a moment so I can kiss the lady? Unless, of course, I was right and you do enjoy watching."
Peter's fists are clenched, and Claire gives a choked sort of breath, biting on her lip as she looks on between the two.
"You're despicable."
"Not as despicable as you. You're her uncle."
She never expected him to actually kiss her in front of Peter, but he leans in faster than she thought, faster than she could have possibly reacted, and then his lips are on hers, breath against hers, his tongue just barely touching against her lips…
It's all very soft and gentle and there's that slight pressure there and Claire feels right faint.
"Stop it," Peter repeats, and when Sylar pulls away and she comes back down to earth and can actually look at Peter - oh Peter - she sees how white and ashen his face actually is. Sylar grins.
Then he does something unexpected, and Claire wonders whether she should just assume that Sylar will always do unexpected things. Grabbing the front of Peter's shirt, he pulls him close to both of them, breath hot on his face - she can see it - not even an inch away from him, and grins again. "Make me."
When there isn't a response, he continues. "Admit it. You enjoyed watching that. You wanted to kiss her as much as I did."
It's when even Peter becomes unpredictable that Claire's world starts to spin, when she watches him sort of just… lean in… and the two of them kiss, and all Claire can think of is how wrong all of this really is.
How wrong it is that she's feeling all of those emotions pooling in the pit of her stomach again, and her thighs subconsciously rub together.
But Sylar's close enough that he notices, and now there's no escaping.
He doesn't let Peter go where he was already gripping onto the top of his shirt, but he pauses the actual contact to turn to her with a curious glance.
"Don't think I'd miss that, precious. Apparently there are depths to your lady we should explore, Petrelli."
When Peter doesn't say anything - speechless, certainly - Sylar shrugs, smiling. "Don't mind if I do."
Then there's a sharp tear and rip heard all through the cabin, and then her bodice falls with the corset, and she feels like she can breathe for the first time in a long time.
She should feel ashamed, certainly, and her look must be saying that much, because Peter is just staring, and Sylar leans in close to her ear to whisper, "you have nothing to worry about. After all, this was done against your will, and I'm not planning on giving either of you up very soon."
It's comforting. It shouldn't be. Not when his hands are running all over her front and she's a respectable woman who was just headed home to her family. So much for that.
And then he kisses her again, and she can't think anymore.
Sylar makes some sort of hand motion, and when the kiss is over, seemingly ten or so minutes later, he's topless and so is Peter.
Unexpected.
It's not proper. In fact, it's everything but proper. But she thinks she finally realizes why there's a certain appeal in this.
It's dangerous. And forbidden. This is exactly why Eve was the reason for everyone was kicked out of paradise. It's too bad, really, but who can blame her?
And now she's not wearing her skirt anymore, and Sylar is grinning, and Peter is shaking his head, but he's not complaining, either, so it's fine, right? Right.
When he turns her around, the wood of the desk cool here and warmer there as her upper body leans on top of it, she is almost upset that she can't see. But then his hands are all over her body from behind and she can feel-
That's not any sort of fabric.
"Claire-"
There's a question there somewhere and she nods, hesitating for just a moment, and Peter suddenly comes around the desk - he's not wearing anything either anymore, and for some reason, she suddenly feels more naked than she did before - taking her face in his hands and kissing her.
He's her uncle and that's fine, of course.
He's still kissing her, and a second later she knows why, because she's crying out, Peter's mouth there to take away the noises she makes, and it hurts - oh god, it hurts - but it's slow and there's also the hint of something good there.
It's the first time that she's fully, truly aware of her surroundings, not just their bodies, their kisses, their hands, their breaths against each other's skin, but the cannons and blows and clangs and noises all around them, outside, as well.
Deafening, sort of, and apparently Peter notices, leaning in close to her ear to tell her that it'll all be fine.
On any other day, she wouldn't believe him, a healthy dose of skepticism part of her attitude most of the time.
There is nothing rational about this. Skepticism need not apply.
Maybe everything would be just fine.
In fact - things are feeling much better, and her cries are different this time, and it's almost as if she can tell that Sylar is grinning.
Peter is touching himself and she can't seem to stop staring. This is wrong, too, theoretically. Not that it matters.
"After this," Sylar pants, a bit breathlessly, "we're headed off to an island only ten people know about. And none of the other nine are going to bother us there."
Claire smiles for the first time, realizing suddenly that she's gripping onto the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles are turning white.
When Peter kisses Sylar one last time, before climbing down, kissing her in an entirely different place than her mouth, things feel very different all of a sudden, and now Peter isn't there to swallow her cries with kisses.
Not that she's complaining.
Her body is close - trembling, practically - and that seems to trigger something else, and Sylar somewhat unceremoniously bites into her shoulder, and then, moments later, it's all over, and she can breathe again.
There's a mess all over the floor, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters. He pulls out, and she turns, feeling a bit giddy and a bit hazy and a bit blurry, but it's all very, very good, and she smiles at him. "What now?" she says, and he grins at Peter before throwing her over his shoulder as if she weighs nothing.
"Now we sleep for a few weeks."