Impossibly Perfect
Title: Impossibly Perfect
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Elle/Luke, Elle/Adam, Sylar/Luke
Rating: R for references to violence
Word Count: 691
Spoilers: Up through mid S3, V4 ("Building 26")
Warnings: Violence
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for elle_luke's "first kiss" challenge.
Summary: Two first kisses make the third (and first) impossibly perfect.
Four hundred years of practice should have made Adam a fantastic kisser. It should have made him perfect. It should have made him worthy. Elle hadn’t spent most of her teen years, as long as she’d known about the immortal in the basement, tormenting and teasing him for nothing. It was her sixteenth birthday. She deserved her first kiss.
He’d started out with his usual smooth patter, easy words to try to deflect her attention, distract her from what she wanted, distance her from him, making her into his jailer, not his friend. She silenced him with blue sparks and electricity until the whole cell stank of ozone and frying flesh. Then she kissed him, taking what he should have given her long ago.
He was slack and unresponsive, dull blue eyes looking into hers until Elle felt him gasp and cough underneath her. Sickened, Elle realized she’d been kissing a corpse, and had nearly puked all over him. She ran out of the room and had locked herself in the bathroom for an hour. Her father had berated her for mistreatment of Company property. She didn’t even get a cupcake that year.
On her eighteenth birthday, she’d been a lot nicer, at least a first. And she never kissed him again. It was only with the new guy that she’d tried it once more. He never liked it either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Killers shouldn’t kiss like that, making you feel like all of your bones suddenly became liquid. It shouldn’t have been possible to feel like there was a good fire in your stomach, electricity in your veins, like Luke could have come right there from his lips alone.
Luke had been star-struck, but not to the point where he’d deal with being left behind easily. He’d killed for Sylar, lied for him, would have stolen for him, done almost anything for him except forgive him for leaving him to die. When the sedative had worn off, he’d been spitting mad, hand glowing, the carpet in the motel starting to smolder.
Then Sylar had kissed him. Kissed him so well and thoroughly that Luke had almost fallen to his knees, had to be held up, had forgiven him everything and anything he’d done and would even do.
That was the only time he’d ever touched him when it hadn’t been necessary. Sylar hadn’t bothered to touch Luke again after that, trusting that the lure of a repeat performance would keep him at his side until they were done. But even clinging to that memory hadn’t kept it from being tinged with rage after Sylar had abandoned him for good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time they kiss it’s almost accidental, Elle leaning over the center console in the car to get a napkin out of the glove box, Luke reaching for the tuning knob on the radio. Her face brushed his, and he turned to catch her lips. They were soft, slick with lip-gloss, and smelled like bubble gum. She stayed still for a long moment, seeming to relish the heat, and then let a spark leap from her lips to his.
The pain shocked Luke into stillness, and they both pulled apart to stare at each other for a long minute. Luke’s eyes narrowed in remembered anger and Elle set her shoulders in challenge. He hauled her to him roughly, their teeth clacking together and drawing blood before he settled down, putting every iota of memory into a kiss that had bound him to the person who had, for a time, been the most important in his life.
Elle sparked back, more tingles than shocks, holding harder than him, hands tangled in hair, moving, always moving, making sure he was alive and holding to her with every panting breath.
It was messy and painful, bruising and sloppy and awkward and glorious. They didn’t separate, barely getting a breath in, hands locked in place in a death-grip.
“Don’t die on me,” Elle whispered into his mouth.
“Don’t leave me,” Luke demanded, breathing in her air.
Neither of them ever did. At the last, they held hands together while the world crumbled down around them.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Characters/Pairing: Elle/Luke, Elle/Adam, Sylar/Luke
Rating: R for references to violence
Word Count: 691
Spoilers: Up through mid S3, V4 ("Building 26")
Warnings: Violence
Disclaimer: Heroes is owned by Tim Kring, NBC, et al.
Notes: Written for elle_luke's "first kiss" challenge.
Summary: Two first kisses make the third (and first) impossibly perfect.
Four hundred years of practice should have made Adam a fantastic kisser. It should have made him perfect. It should have made him worthy. Elle hadn’t spent most of her teen years, as long as she’d known about the immortal in the basement, tormenting and teasing him for nothing. It was her sixteenth birthday. She deserved her first kiss.
He’d started out with his usual smooth patter, easy words to try to deflect her attention, distract her from what she wanted, distance her from him, making her into his jailer, not his friend. She silenced him with blue sparks and electricity until the whole cell stank of ozone and frying flesh. Then she kissed him, taking what he should have given her long ago.
He was slack and unresponsive, dull blue eyes looking into hers until Elle felt him gasp and cough underneath her. Sickened, Elle realized she’d been kissing a corpse, and had nearly puked all over him. She ran out of the room and had locked herself in the bathroom for an hour. Her father had berated her for mistreatment of Company property. She didn’t even get a cupcake that year.
On her eighteenth birthday, she’d been a lot nicer, at least a first. And she never kissed him again. It was only with the new guy that she’d tried it once more. He never liked it either.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Killers shouldn’t kiss like that, making you feel like all of your bones suddenly became liquid. It shouldn’t have been possible to feel like there was a good fire in your stomach, electricity in your veins, like Luke could have come right there from his lips alone.
Luke had been star-struck, but not to the point where he’d deal with being left behind easily. He’d killed for Sylar, lied for him, would have stolen for him, done almost anything for him except forgive him for leaving him to die. When the sedative had worn off, he’d been spitting mad, hand glowing, the carpet in the motel starting to smolder.
Then Sylar had kissed him. Kissed him so well and thoroughly that Luke had almost fallen to his knees, had to be held up, had forgiven him everything and anything he’d done and would even do.
That was the only time he’d ever touched him when it hadn’t been necessary. Sylar hadn’t bothered to touch Luke again after that, trusting that the lure of a repeat performance would keep him at his side until they were done. But even clinging to that memory hadn’t kept it from being tinged with rage after Sylar had abandoned him for good.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The first time they kiss it’s almost accidental, Elle leaning over the center console in the car to get a napkin out of the glove box, Luke reaching for the tuning knob on the radio. Her face brushed his, and he turned to catch her lips. They were soft, slick with lip-gloss, and smelled like bubble gum. She stayed still for a long moment, seeming to relish the heat, and then let a spark leap from her lips to his.
The pain shocked Luke into stillness, and they both pulled apart to stare at each other for a long minute. Luke’s eyes narrowed in remembered anger and Elle set her shoulders in challenge. He hauled her to him roughly, their teeth clacking together and drawing blood before he settled down, putting every iota of memory into a kiss that had bound him to the person who had, for a time, been the most important in his life.
Elle sparked back, more tingles than shocks, holding harder than him, hands tangled in hair, moving, always moving, making sure he was alive and holding to her with every panting breath.
It was messy and painful, bruising and sloppy and awkward and glorious. They didn’t separate, barely getting a breath in, hands locked in place in a death-grip.
“Don’t die on me,” Elle whispered into his mouth.
“Don’t leave me,” Luke demanded, breathing in her air.
Neither of them ever did. At the last, they held hands together while the world crumbled down around them.