Living a Lie
Title: Living a Lie
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Adam/Monica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,642
Spoilers: Season 2
Disclaimer Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
Author’s Notes: Written for the YAHAKM, for the prompt, “Adam/Monica, restraints.”
Summary: Monica puts Adam in a compromising position, but the compromise runs both ways.
“Well, this is certainly a welcome surprise.”
Monica didn’t look at the man strapped to her bed as he came to, only kept sorting through the files he’d been carrying with him. Looking at him would mean she’d have to acknowledge what she’d done, and this was quite weird enough without having it shoved in her face.
“Of course, now is usually the time when someone starts slapping a riding crop into their palm and tells me what a bad boy I’ve been,” he added conversationally. “I have been very bad.”
Monica bit her lip as she turned away. She’d captured the man after she’d caught him trying to sneak into Mohinder’s hotel room, subduing him with a stranglehold she’d learned from a military training video she’d absorbed some weeks ago. How to tie a man up effectively however… she’d learned just an hour ago. Unfortunately, the most readily accessible videos on restraints were also erotic, adult entertainment videos for amateur and professional bondage and domination experts. Monica hadn’t had time to be picky.
She didn’t know if it was a side effect of their origin, but she’d been flushed and her ears had been buzzing since she’d tightened the ropes around the intruder. He was undeniably handsome, compact, blond-haired, blue-eyed, with an English accent that under other circumstances she would have found very cute. She just wasn’t sure she could let him go free.
The files in his briefcase had been enigmatic, mostly financial records of some kind of medical institution, blueprints of a few buildings, a scattered list of names, and a half-dozen ID tags, all bearing the name of Adam Monroe. All together they added up to some kind of mischief, but Monica wasn’t sure what kind. She’d put a call in to Mohinder, but if he was deep in lab work it could take hours before he checked his messages.
She was deep enough in thought that she nearly missed Adam slipping the restraint on his right wrist… almost. Monica turned without thought, taking two steps closer snare his hand, automatically forcing it back hard enough for the bones to hum. Sickened, she realized he’d dislocated his thumb to get out of the ropes. But even as she watched, the thumb popped back into place of its own volition.
“You have a power,” she said, astonished.
Adam raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, it seems that I do, darling. What about yourself? Any powers other than tying me up with a great deal of artistry?”
The “darling” seemed to trigger a reaction, and she quickly unraveled the right-hand rope with her free hand, wrapping it around his wrist, crossing up over his palm, and then looping it around his neck before tying it back to the bedpost. Struggling now would cut off his air…
Monica blinked, as if coming awake after a daydream. Half the time she didn’t know what she was doing before she did it, and it frightened her when her powers seemed to run away from her.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. Adam only smiled and leaned back calmly on the bed.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met an expert that’s so afraid to test her own work.”
An electric shiver seemed to shoot through Monica’s body, and without any kind of conscious decision she was straddling Adam. One hand laid lightly on the rope around his neck, ready to tighten at an instant, the other lightly touching Adam’s chest.
“I’ve learned fifteen ways to kill someone over the past few weeks, and three new ways since this morning, so don’t test me,” she said forcefully. Some part of her was horrified as she said that; she hadn’t meant for that to slip, but the newly-dominant part of her knew that Adam wouldn’t respect anything but strength.
Monica wasn’t sure who had the sicker reaction, Adam, whose eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at her words, or her, who was slick and wet from saying them. God, she was never going to download unscreened material again!
“I believe I’ve suffered several hundred ways of death in my days, but if you have something new you want to test, by all means, give it a whirl.”
“No,” Monica said forcefully.
“I’ve found that being killed by a beautiful woman makes death a great deal more satisfying,” Adam said, his smile brilliantly white.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m not the one that tied up a stranger and threatened to kill him.”
Monica wanted to drop her head in shame, but pride (and something else) wouldn’t let her. She had to make him drop the cocky attitude, she had to make him break, submit, so she could learn what he was up to. Part of her was shocked at her attitude, but Monica couldn’t stop her body from going through the motions.
One hand leaned slightly on the rope, and Adam wheezed a bit as his air was restricted. Monica leaned over to breath in his space, rocking herself slightly over Adam’s body. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock through his pants against her thighs, but ignored it in favor of the stimulation she was getting from the rasp of his belt buckle against the crotch of her jeans.
“That’s rather wicked,” Adam said harshly, his head lolling back. She could feel him thrusting upward, as much as he could at the limit of the ropes, and clamped herself harder on top of him, keeping him still.
“Don’t talk,” Monica demanded, and leaned on the rope harder, choking off his words. It was only for an instant, but her expression was so hard that Adam seemed to give her a modicum of respect.
“It’s all I can do right now, love,” Adam said, his voice very soft.
“You lie. You’re a liar,” Monica said, her face within inches of his, her hips still moving, setting off a rising cascade of sparks within her, even as Adam was denied everything.
“You lie,” Adam insisted. Monica should have choked him to silence again, but couldn’t. Something in his eyes was nearly hypnotic, promising answers he shouldn’t know how to deliver.
“You look like a student and fight like an assassin. You tie me up like a dominatrix and question me like a child. You choke me into silence but won’t stop listening to me. You want to punish me, but can’t stop trying to get yourself off like you’ve never done it before. What are you?” Adam demanded.
Monica shivered all over, her body automatically moving towards ecstasy even as her mind tried to find an answer. Soldier, ninja, acrobat, chef, artist, thief, dominatrix, sniper, hunter… None of them were the right answer, but all of them were.
“I’m everything,” she said. “I’m nothing. I don’t know what I am, who I am anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do until it happens.”
Monica’s breath panted out in harsher gasps as her body bucked forward once more, pushing her into a sudden explosion of pleasure. She gasped as Adam’s hands, slipped out of their restraints again, slid around her shoulders, holding her as she burst into tears.
By all rights she should have shoved him back on the bed and bound him more tightly than a cocoon, but she couldn’t. She let herself be held, let her frustrations pour down her face, until she was able to pull away.
“You cry like a saint,” Adam remarked, reaching down to let himself out of the rest of the ropes. Monica slid off the bed and let him up, no longer feeling compelled to keep him down.
“You can call me Saint Joan,” she said, taking a few steps back, letting him go free.
“Just like that?” Adam asked, standing.
“I’m keeping the briefcase… but you have to be out of the city in an hour,” Monica said, hands trembling as they clasped the smooth leather.
“Or what, Saint Joan?” Adam asked, one eyebrow arched in perfect mockery.
“We’ll try out all eighteen kinds of death, and see if there’s anything new to you,” she promised, knuckles white.
“I’d say that’s a date, but I’d hate to sully those hands of yours,” Adam said. He took a few steps forward to press a single kiss into her forehead, and Monica began to tremble from crown to soles. Two or three parts of her screamed at her to get him back on the bed, and another few had too many wicked suggestions of what she could do once she got him there. The other parts of her only promised bloody death.
“Get away from me,” Monica whispered, eyes closed. When she opened her eyes, he was gone, and Monica sank to her knees.
Behind her eyes she could see Adam beneath her, pale skin with the veins running through it like marble, a shocking contrast to her own. She could feel his arousal underneath her, the hard thrust of him ready for her, the way she could kiss him, drag her lips over his skin, drawing out the pleasure until he begged for her to mount him. The slow rocking together, the hard clench and push as they met, all of it played within her mind and under her skin with shocking intensity. Hugging the briefcase close, Monica bit into the leather that still held his scent as she came.
Let him think she’d sent him away to prevent his death, however temporary that might be, or to keep him from whatever mischief he’d had planned. St. Joan had sent him away with the promise of violence so that Monica might be able to keep control of some tiny fragment of her body and soul.
She didn’t know what she’d tell Mohinder when he called back; maybe that it was only a false alarm. A lie. Just like her.
Author: jaune_chat
Fandom: Heroes
Pairing: Adam/Monica
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1,642
Spoilers: Season 2
Disclaimer Heroes belongs to Tim Kring, NBC et al.
Author’s Notes: Written for the YAHAKM, for the prompt, “Adam/Monica, restraints.”
Summary: Monica puts Adam in a compromising position, but the compromise runs both ways.
“Well, this is certainly a welcome surprise.”
Monica didn’t look at the man strapped to her bed as he came to, only kept sorting through the files he’d been carrying with him. Looking at him would mean she’d have to acknowledge what she’d done, and this was quite weird enough without having it shoved in her face.
“Of course, now is usually the time when someone starts slapping a riding crop into their palm and tells me what a bad boy I’ve been,” he added conversationally. “I have been very bad.”
Monica bit her lip as she turned away. She’d captured the man after she’d caught him trying to sneak into Mohinder’s hotel room, subduing him with a stranglehold she’d learned from a military training video she’d absorbed some weeks ago. How to tie a man up effectively however… she’d learned just an hour ago. Unfortunately, the most readily accessible videos on restraints were also erotic, adult entertainment videos for amateur and professional bondage and domination experts. Monica hadn’t had time to be picky.
She didn’t know if it was a side effect of their origin, but she’d been flushed and her ears had been buzzing since she’d tightened the ropes around the intruder. He was undeniably handsome, compact, blond-haired, blue-eyed, with an English accent that under other circumstances she would have found very cute. She just wasn’t sure she could let him go free.
The files in his briefcase had been enigmatic, mostly financial records of some kind of medical institution, blueprints of a few buildings, a scattered list of names, and a half-dozen ID tags, all bearing the name of Adam Monroe. All together they added up to some kind of mischief, but Monica wasn’t sure what kind. She’d put a call in to Mohinder, but if he was deep in lab work it could take hours before he checked his messages.
She was deep enough in thought that she nearly missed Adam slipping the restraint on his right wrist… almost. Monica turned without thought, taking two steps closer snare his hand, automatically forcing it back hard enough for the bones to hum. Sickened, she realized he’d dislocated his thumb to get out of the ropes. But even as she watched, the thumb popped back into place of its own volition.
“You have a power,” she said, astonished.
Adam raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Well, it seems that I do, darling. What about yourself? Any powers other than tying me up with a great deal of artistry?”
The “darling” seemed to trigger a reaction, and she quickly unraveled the right-hand rope with her free hand, wrapping it around his wrist, crossing up over his palm, and then looping it around his neck before tying it back to the bedpost. Struggling now would cut off his air…
Monica blinked, as if coming awake after a daydream. Half the time she didn’t know what she was doing before she did it, and it frightened her when her powers seemed to run away from her.
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. Adam only smiled and leaned back calmly on the bed.
“I don’t believe I’ve ever met an expert that’s so afraid to test her own work.”
An electric shiver seemed to shoot through Monica’s body, and without any kind of conscious decision she was straddling Adam. One hand laid lightly on the rope around his neck, ready to tighten at an instant, the other lightly touching Adam’s chest.
“I’ve learned fifteen ways to kill someone over the past few weeks, and three new ways since this morning, so don’t test me,” she said forcefully. Some part of her was horrified as she said that; she hadn’t meant for that to slip, but the newly-dominant part of her knew that Adam wouldn’t respect anything but strength.
Monica wasn’t sure who had the sicker reaction, Adam, whose eyes lit up like a Christmas tree at her words, or her, who was slick and wet from saying them. God, she was never going to download unscreened material again!
“I believe I’ve suffered several hundred ways of death in my days, but if you have something new you want to test, by all means, give it a whirl.”
“No,” Monica said forcefully.
“I’ve found that being killed by a beautiful woman makes death a great deal more satisfying,” Adam said, his smile brilliantly white.
“You’re sick.”
“I’m not the one that tied up a stranger and threatened to kill him.”
Monica wanted to drop her head in shame, but pride (and something else) wouldn’t let her. She had to make him drop the cocky attitude, she had to make him break, submit, so she could learn what he was up to. Part of her was shocked at her attitude, but Monica couldn’t stop her body from going through the motions.
One hand leaned slightly on the rope, and Adam wheezed a bit as his air was restricted. Monica leaned over to breath in his space, rocking herself slightly over Adam’s body. She could feel the hard ridge of his cock through his pants against her thighs, but ignored it in favor of the stimulation she was getting from the rasp of his belt buckle against the crotch of her jeans.
“That’s rather wicked,” Adam said harshly, his head lolling back. She could feel him thrusting upward, as much as he could at the limit of the ropes, and clamped herself harder on top of him, keeping him still.
“Don’t talk,” Monica demanded, and leaned on the rope harder, choking off his words. It was only for an instant, but her expression was so hard that Adam seemed to give her a modicum of respect.
“It’s all I can do right now, love,” Adam said, his voice very soft.
“You lie. You’re a liar,” Monica said, her face within inches of his, her hips still moving, setting off a rising cascade of sparks within her, even as Adam was denied everything.
“You lie,” Adam insisted. Monica should have choked him to silence again, but couldn’t. Something in his eyes was nearly hypnotic, promising answers he shouldn’t know how to deliver.
“You look like a student and fight like an assassin. You tie me up like a dominatrix and question me like a child. You choke me into silence but won’t stop listening to me. You want to punish me, but can’t stop trying to get yourself off like you’ve never done it before. What are you?” Adam demanded.
Monica shivered all over, her body automatically moving towards ecstasy even as her mind tried to find an answer. Soldier, ninja, acrobat, chef, artist, thief, dominatrix, sniper, hunter… None of them were the right answer, but all of them were.
“I’m everything,” she said. “I’m nothing. I don’t know what I am, who I am anymore. I don’t know what I’m going to do until it happens.”
Monica’s breath panted out in harsher gasps as her body bucked forward once more, pushing her into a sudden explosion of pleasure. She gasped as Adam’s hands, slipped out of their restraints again, slid around her shoulders, holding her as she burst into tears.
By all rights she should have shoved him back on the bed and bound him more tightly than a cocoon, but she couldn’t. She let herself be held, let her frustrations pour down her face, until she was able to pull away.
“You cry like a saint,” Adam remarked, reaching down to let himself out of the rest of the ropes. Monica slid off the bed and let him up, no longer feeling compelled to keep him down.
“You can call me Saint Joan,” she said, taking a few steps back, letting him go free.
“Just like that?” Adam asked, standing.
“I’m keeping the briefcase… but you have to be out of the city in an hour,” Monica said, hands trembling as they clasped the smooth leather.
“Or what, Saint Joan?” Adam asked, one eyebrow arched in perfect mockery.
“We’ll try out all eighteen kinds of death, and see if there’s anything new to you,” she promised, knuckles white.
“I’d say that’s a date, but I’d hate to sully those hands of yours,” Adam said. He took a few steps forward to press a single kiss into her forehead, and Monica began to tremble from crown to soles. Two or three parts of her screamed at her to get him back on the bed, and another few had too many wicked suggestions of what she could do once she got him there. The other parts of her only promised bloody death.
“Get away from me,” Monica whispered, eyes closed. When she opened her eyes, he was gone, and Monica sank to her knees.
Behind her eyes she could see Adam beneath her, pale skin with the veins running through it like marble, a shocking contrast to her own. She could feel his arousal underneath her, the hard thrust of him ready for her, the way she could kiss him, drag her lips over his skin, drawing out the pleasure until he begged for her to mount him. The slow rocking together, the hard clench and push as they met, all of it played within her mind and under her skin with shocking intensity. Hugging the briefcase close, Monica bit into the leather that still held his scent as she came.
Let him think she’d sent him away to prevent his death, however temporary that might be, or to keep him from whatever mischief he’d had planned. St. Joan had sent him away with the promise of violence so that Monica might be able to keep control of some tiny fragment of her body and soul.
She didn’t know what she’d tell Mohinder when he called back; maybe that it was only a false alarm. A lie. Just like her.