Fic : The Gilded Cage
Title: The Gilded Cage
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Nathan!Sylar, Sylar, Claire Bennet, Peter Petrelli, Noah Bennet (+mentions of ensemble)
Pairing(s): Some Nathan!Sylar/Claire
Rating: R (graphic sex snippets, mature language and some twisted imagery)
Word Count: 2,016
Summary: He knows something is different, his interests have changed, his temper flares and his daughter is suddenly much more than a child. He feels the time ticking away, he just doesn't know to what.
A/N: I know I had promised an epilogue but I'm really having a hard time with it. Instead, here's this little fic
I know I owe you guys some replies but I'm kind of REALLY busy lately. I'll get to it as soon as I can.
Fist Nathan!Sylar fic! So please excuse it if it sucks.
In other news it is my entry to the heroes_contest prompt "Release"
Lately, he feels as if a time bomb ticking away inside of him. He can feel its potential energy and its slow countdown, each second calculated and perfectly timed. But he does not know the time remaining until its detonation.
But he can feel the explosion approach with every passing second.
And that both scares him and thrills him.
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
- - -
He felt as if his world was slowly tilting sideways, like a glass of wine, knocked over in slow motion. Slowly, the contents were moving about, threatening to fall. As they moved, things in him changed.
One of the first things he noticed was his daughter.
Of course he had seen her before, he had spent some time alone with her and he distinctly thought of their time in Mexico as one of his fondest memories, but he was seeking her out more. He would make ridiculous excuses to be close to her, make up family dinners, “get to know you better”s, and family trips to California.
When she decided to move to Washington, staying on campus mere minutes away from his office, he was suddenly thrilled. It was on lunch dates that he noticed how smooth her body was, how her body made him appreciate curves. From the supple softness of her breasts to the dip of the small of her back to the curve of her ass. He watched those curves and appreciated them for the first time in his life.
When he came that night in the shower it was with her name on his lips.
He chided himself for it for a several days, his punishment: a suspension of their dinner dates. He would ignore her calls, simply telling his secretary to inform “Mrs Bennet” that he was too busy. He would avoid her favorite places, turning the corner whenever he saw a woman with curly blond locks.
And he saw his taste in women change. He had preferred slimmer brunettes, the occasional blonde thrown in for good measure. But now, he only sought out women with her characteristics: shining green eyes, an enchanting smile, soft cheeks, stunning blond hair. But none of them were her.
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
“The truth?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The truth was something he would rather not deal with right now. He was happy within this fantasy.
- - -
His exile lasted a month, two weeks, five days, eight hours and seven seconds. She was sitting in his office as he walked in. He strode past as if he hadn’t seen her. His secretary followed on his heels, head low like a dog that’s done something bad.
“She insisted you two had an appointment,” his secretary whispered in his ear.
His rage was new as well. And it was the little things that frustrated him, the out of time clocks whose off tempo staccato was enough to make him scream, the mothers holding their children in their protective bubbles. He remembered being angry, pissed off even, but his fury had never been this powerful. Usually he could calm himself with a swift intake of air and a friendly childhood memory. But, either the memories were no longer sufficient, indeed they were blurrier and dimmer than ever before, or he was simply more prone to wrath.
He liked to believe it was the former but he knew, what with everything else changing within him, that it was the latter.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” he asked softly, but the menace in his voice was far from hidden.
“You’re hurting my arm.”
He let her go was if she was a coal freshly picked from the fire. She pulled away, fear in her eyes as she massaged her arm. He could see the clear imprint of his fingers and didn’t feel guilt, but rather pride.
“Let her in,” he said with a sigh.
She rushed out in a flurry of cloths and shaking breaths.
“What’s wrong with her?” Claire asked as she walked in, heels clicking against the hardwood floors of his office.
It often disturbed him how she would wear more grown up clothes now, blouses and skirts. And tantalizingly well cut fitting summer dresses. She looked older, even if she could not age, and he suspected that she was doing it on purpose. She was teasing him, looking like the perfect little obedient secretary -not like that pig he had waiting outside his door, no doubt with her ear pressed to the wooden door.
He felt his pants tighten and clenched his hands under his desk, suddenly remembering her inquiry.
“She’s having a bad day.”
Claire nodded, watching the door for a moment before looking back at him.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you, Claire.”
He liked her name. He liked to say it as much as he could. One day he would like to say it to the girl herself as he comes.
“Really, because we use to meet up for lunch at least once a week and I haven’t talked to you in over a month.”
He could tell her the exact amount of seconds he had suffered. He could tell her that he would have preferred to see that dress on the floor. He could have grabbed her and fucked her senseless, her golden hair knitted to his office supplies. But instead he shrugged, attempting to look busy.
“Is it because of Sylar?”
He suddenly remembered the date. Today, three years ago, they brunt Sylar in the middle of the desert. He knew a save when he saw one and nodded.
“He’s gone, now,” Claire said, sitting down on the chair across from his desk. He watched as one leg slowly folded over the other. Smooth and lightly tanned. Toned from her daily runs and god knows what else.
“I know, but he could have hurt you. He could have killed you, Claire. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
It’s the truth but he could not help but lay it on thick anyways.
“He can’t hurt me, no one can.”
The resolve and the bitterness in her voice caused his heart to leap.
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
“The truth?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The truth was something he would rather not deal with right now. He was happy within this fantasy.
“I’m not an idiot. I know when people are hiding things from me. After living with Noah for seventeen years I think I have the trick.”
She was so self assured, he could not help but think she was beautiful.
- - -
You could live forever
The voice hardly stunned him anymore. It was like a pesky nephew, clinging at his leg during family reunions. At first all he wanted to do it fling him off and throw him off the side of a building, then he simply wanted to shake him senseless until his thin fingers stopped digging in his calf.
He tried to ignore it at first, but lately he had realized that the voice spoke true. He often wondered if it was his conscience.
“I just can’t see you hurt.”
That’s a lie. I know what you want to do with her.
And, with that thought, came a flood of sensations so strong he needed to close his eyes. He could smell her perfume, womanly and soft, mixed with sweat and sex. He could see her blissful face as her back curved, unable to contain herself. He could feel her smooth body under his.
This could not be his conscience. If it was, he was quite obviously screwed.
“Nathan?” his eyes snapped open to find her leaning forward. He threw his glance up to the ceiling quickly.
“What?”
“You had your eyes closed.”
“I’m tired. I’m a senator, Claire.”
“Well, are you too busy for lunch? My treat.”
“I can pay, you’re a student, and you need to save your money.”
“You’re paying for my school.”
“Right.”
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
“The truth?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The truth was something he would rather not deal with right now. He was happy within this fantasy.
“I’m not an idiot. I know when people are hiding things from me. After living with Noah for seventeen years I think I have the trick.”
She was so self assured; he could not help but think she was beautiful.
He took a deep breath, looking at the cone in his hand.
“I don’t know myself. Something big is coming Claire, we better be ready for it when it comes.”
- - -
At night he cried her name into his pillow. If he closed his eyes and blocked out all of his other senses, he could swear that her sent still lingered on his skin.
- - -
He held the chair for her as she sat down. The ambiance was intoxicating. He reserved for a private room at some posh restaurant, a treat for her birthday. He was thrilled when she accepted rather than spend her day with Peter or, worse yet, Noah. And the little number she wore brought more water to his mouth than any meal.
The food came quickly and the conversation was light. He could not help but notice that she sat closer than usual, that she placed her hand on his more frequently than customary, that she sipped her wine with slow calculated swallows.
His steak was tender and rare, blood spreading from the meat to the small potato on his plate. He liked the look of it and was tempted to run his finger across the plate, in a motion that seemed familiar to his body but unknown to his mind.
Suddenly her hand was on his thigh.
“Nathan?” she asked.
He jumped, the steak knife slipping from his grasp. He felt it bite into his flesh, scoring his bone. He groaned in pain, pressing his napkin to the cut.
“Nathan, are you okay. You’re hurt, let me see that.”
Her slim fingers wrapped around his big ones, easing the hands away. He wanted to tell her that he felt better, that it was just a scratch, nothing to worry about. He wanted to slap her hands away, scream at her for caring and showing her weakness. He wanted to scream at himself for being so frail.
But he did nothing, he simply watched as she peeled away his napkin.
The clock was ticking down now. He could feel the detonation approaching. It was coming but he did not know what it was, nor did he know how to tell her in a way that did not make him sound like a lunatic.
Then he saw it.
There was blood on the napkin, on the floor, on his shoes, but no source. No cut.
“You’re…”
He stood up, knocking over his chair in surprise.
You’re different, special, the voice insisted.
And suddenly he recognized it. Sylar was in his head, just like Lindeman. Except...
The shift was painful but not quite as excruciating as the rush of new memories. They were of a kid, young and four eyed. Nerdy and weak. He watched that boy grow into a clumsy man, still living with his mother. Then he saw the change as the man saw who he truly was.
A god.
A part of him clung to his old fading memories. But he saw they were useless, they were dim and blurry, a far cry from the bright new world his mind was creating.
This is the truth.
When the man looked up he was no longer a senator, no longer a father. He was the beast.
And his cage has been opened.
Fandom: Heroes
Characters: Nathan!Sylar, Sylar, Claire Bennet, Peter Petrelli, Noah Bennet (+mentions of ensemble)
Pairing(s): Some Nathan!Sylar/Claire
Rating: R (graphic sex snippets, mature language and some twisted imagery)
Word Count: 2,016
Summary: He knows something is different, his interests have changed, his temper flares and his daughter is suddenly much more than a child. He feels the time ticking away, he just doesn't know to what.
A/N: I know I had promised an epilogue but I'm really having a hard time with it. Instead, here's this little fic
I know I owe you guys some replies but I'm kind of REALLY busy lately. I'll get to it as soon as I can.
Fist Nathan!Sylar fic! So please excuse it if it sucks.
In other news it is my entry to the heroes_contest prompt "Release"
Lately, he feels as if a time bomb ticking away inside of him. He can feel its potential energy and its slow countdown, each second calculated and perfectly timed. But he does not know the time remaining until its detonation.
But he can feel the explosion approach with every passing second.
And that both scares him and thrills him.
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
- - -
He felt as if his world was slowly tilting sideways, like a glass of wine, knocked over in slow motion. Slowly, the contents were moving about, threatening to fall. As they moved, things in him changed.
One of the first things he noticed was his daughter.
Of course he had seen her before, he had spent some time alone with her and he distinctly thought of their time in Mexico as one of his fondest memories, but he was seeking her out more. He would make ridiculous excuses to be close to her, make up family dinners, “get to know you better”s, and family trips to California.
When she decided to move to Washington, staying on campus mere minutes away from his office, he was suddenly thrilled. It was on lunch dates that he noticed how smooth her body was, how her body made him appreciate curves. From the supple softness of her breasts to the dip of the small of her back to the curve of her ass. He watched those curves and appreciated them for the first time in his life.
When he came that night in the shower it was with her name on his lips.
He chided himself for it for a several days, his punishment: a suspension of their dinner dates. He would ignore her calls, simply telling his secretary to inform “Mrs Bennet” that he was too busy. He would avoid her favorite places, turning the corner whenever he saw a woman with curly blond locks.
And he saw his taste in women change. He had preferred slimmer brunettes, the occasional blonde thrown in for good measure. But now, he only sought out women with her characteristics: shining green eyes, an enchanting smile, soft cheeks, stunning blond hair. But none of them were her.
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
“The truth?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The truth was something he would rather not deal with right now. He was happy within this fantasy.
- - -
His exile lasted a month, two weeks, five days, eight hours and seven seconds. She was sitting in his office as he walked in. He strode past as if he hadn’t seen her. His secretary followed on his heels, head low like a dog that’s done something bad.
“She insisted you two had an appointment,” his secretary whispered in his ear.
His rage was new as well. And it was the little things that frustrated him, the out of time clocks whose off tempo staccato was enough to make him scream, the mothers holding their children in their protective bubbles. He remembered being angry, pissed off even, but his fury had never been this powerful. Usually he could calm himself with a swift intake of air and a friendly childhood memory. But, either the memories were no longer sufficient, indeed they were blurrier and dimmer than ever before, or he was simply more prone to wrath.
He liked to believe it was the former but he knew, what with everything else changing within him, that it was the latter.
“Sir?”
“Yes?” he asked softly, but the menace in his voice was far from hidden.
“You’re hurting my arm.”
He let her go was if she was a coal freshly picked from the fire. She pulled away, fear in her eyes as she massaged her arm. He could see the clear imprint of his fingers and didn’t feel guilt, but rather pride.
“Let her in,” he said with a sigh.
She rushed out in a flurry of cloths and shaking breaths.
“What’s wrong with her?” Claire asked as she walked in, heels clicking against the hardwood floors of his office.
It often disturbed him how she would wear more grown up clothes now, blouses and skirts. And tantalizingly well cut fitting summer dresses. She looked older, even if she could not age, and he suspected that she was doing it on purpose. She was teasing him, looking like the perfect little obedient secretary -not like that pig he had waiting outside his door, no doubt with her ear pressed to the wooden door.
He felt his pants tighten and clenched his hands under his desk, suddenly remembering her inquiry.
“She’s having a bad day.”
Claire nodded, watching the door for a moment before looking back at him.
“Why are you avoiding me?”
“I’m not avoiding you, Claire.”
He liked her name. He liked to say it as much as he could. One day he would like to say it to the girl herself as he comes.
“Really, because we use to meet up for lunch at least once a week and I haven’t talked to you in over a month.”
He could tell her the exact amount of seconds he had suffered. He could tell her that he would have preferred to see that dress on the floor. He could have grabbed her and fucked her senseless, her golden hair knitted to his office supplies. But instead he shrugged, attempting to look busy.
“Is it because of Sylar?”
He suddenly remembered the date. Today, three years ago, they brunt Sylar in the middle of the desert. He knew a save when he saw one and nodded.
“He’s gone, now,” Claire said, sitting down on the chair across from his desk. He watched as one leg slowly folded over the other. Smooth and lightly tanned. Toned from her daily runs and god knows what else.
“I know, but he could have hurt you. He could have killed you, Claire. I don’t want to see you hurt.”
It’s the truth but he could not help but lay it on thick anyways.
“He can’t hurt me, no one can.”
The resolve and the bitterness in her voice caused his heart to leap.
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
“The truth?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The truth was something he would rather not deal with right now. He was happy within this fantasy.
“I’m not an idiot. I know when people are hiding things from me. After living with Noah for seventeen years I think I have the trick.”
She was so self assured, he could not help but think she was beautiful.
- - -
You could live forever
The voice hardly stunned him anymore. It was like a pesky nephew, clinging at his leg during family reunions. At first all he wanted to do it fling him off and throw him off the side of a building, then he simply wanted to shake him senseless until his thin fingers stopped digging in his calf.
He tried to ignore it at first, but lately he had realized that the voice spoke true. He often wondered if it was his conscience.
“I just can’t see you hurt.”
That’s a lie. I know what you want to do with her.
And, with that thought, came a flood of sensations so strong he needed to close his eyes. He could smell her perfume, womanly and soft, mixed with sweat and sex. He could see her blissful face as her back curved, unable to contain herself. He could feel her smooth body under his.
This could not be his conscience. If it was, he was quite obviously screwed.
“Nathan?” his eyes snapped open to find her leaning forward. He threw his glance up to the ceiling quickly.
“What?”
“You had your eyes closed.”
“I’m tired. I’m a senator, Claire.”
“Well, are you too busy for lunch? My treat.”
“I can pay, you’re a student, and you need to save your money.”
“You’re paying for my school.”
“Right.”
- - -
“Tell me the truth,” she insisted as her tongue slowly licked a path up the vanilla ice-cream. He watched that tongue, fascinated, wondering what else it could do.
“The truth?” he asked, his Adam’s apple bobbing. The truth was something he would rather not deal with right now. He was happy within this fantasy.
“I’m not an idiot. I know when people are hiding things from me. After living with Noah for seventeen years I think I have the trick.”
She was so self assured; he could not help but think she was beautiful.
He took a deep breath, looking at the cone in his hand.
“I don’t know myself. Something big is coming Claire, we better be ready for it when it comes.”
- - -
At night he cried her name into his pillow. If he closed his eyes and blocked out all of his other senses, he could swear that her sent still lingered on his skin.
- - -
He held the chair for her as she sat down. The ambiance was intoxicating. He reserved for a private room at some posh restaurant, a treat for her birthday. He was thrilled when she accepted rather than spend her day with Peter or, worse yet, Noah. And the little number she wore brought more water to his mouth than any meal.
The food came quickly and the conversation was light. He could not help but notice that she sat closer than usual, that she placed her hand on his more frequently than customary, that she sipped her wine with slow calculated swallows.
His steak was tender and rare, blood spreading from the meat to the small potato on his plate. He liked the look of it and was tempted to run his finger across the plate, in a motion that seemed familiar to his body but unknown to his mind.
Suddenly her hand was on his thigh.
“Nathan?” she asked.
He jumped, the steak knife slipping from his grasp. He felt it bite into his flesh, scoring his bone. He groaned in pain, pressing his napkin to the cut.
“Nathan, are you okay. You’re hurt, let me see that.”
Her slim fingers wrapped around his big ones, easing the hands away. He wanted to tell her that he felt better, that it was just a scratch, nothing to worry about. He wanted to slap her hands away, scream at her for caring and showing her weakness. He wanted to scream at himself for being so frail.
But he did nothing, he simply watched as she peeled away his napkin.
The clock was ticking down now. He could feel the detonation approaching. It was coming but he did not know what it was, nor did he know how to tell her in a way that did not make him sound like a lunatic.
Then he saw it.
There was blood on the napkin, on the floor, on his shoes, but no source. No cut.
“You’re…”
He stood up, knocking over his chair in surprise.
You’re different, special, the voice insisted.
And suddenly he recognized it. Sylar was in his head, just like Lindeman. Except...
The shift was painful but not quite as excruciating as the rush of new memories. They were of a kid, young and four eyed. Nerdy and weak. He watched that boy grow into a clumsy man, still living with his mother. Then he saw the change as the man saw who he truly was.
A god.
A part of him clung to his old fading memories. But he saw they were useless, they were dim and blurry, a far cry from the bright new world his mind was creating.
This is the truth.
When the man looked up he was no longer a senator, no longer a father. He was the beast.
And his cage has been opened.