fic: Stupid
Title: Stupid
Pairings: Nathan/Elle
Rating: R
Summary: You could say Nathan likes his sex... electrifying.
A/N: Written for The Nathan Petrelli Memorial Kink Meme - there was a Nathan/Elle prompt, and I felt it my duty to fill it. Also, to me this is a sex scene sequel to Happiness is Just a Gash Away, though you absolutely don't have to read that first. I'm possibly going to work on a for realsies sequel, but this will suffice for now.
He supposes that he's not the only one who has a thing for gorgeous blondes. Everyone has a thing for gorgeous blondes, and it's only a preference. Not even that strong a one; he did marry a brunette, after all. Perhaps the less said about that the better, though.
This girl, though. He could get really stupid over this girl. And he doesn't even like her that much, but there's something, a feeling that he really shouldn't be involved in whatever this is that spurs him on.
“Nathan.” She tugs the hem of her t-shirt up; seductively, he's sure she thinks. It's more just... awkward? A little childish? Something off-kilter, anyway. “Are you enjoying the show?”
Her top comes off with a flourish, hair fluffing out with static electricity. His breath quickens. He shrugs.
“I see,” she replies primly. She smooths her hair down. “Maybe I'll just go make a sandwich then, if you're going to be like that.”
He sits up, knees sinking into the soft mattress. “Hey.” He leans forward, slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans and pulls her sharply forward. “I'm sorry?”
She shuffles in closer, body flush with his, her barely covered breasts pressed against his chest. He's still got a couple of inches on her, even when he isn't standing. She really is tiny.
She hums. “I don't know, you don't seem very sorry.” She raises a hand to her mouth, turning a finger sideways to wedge a nail between her teeth. A crackle of electricity runs along her finger to her mouth.
He lets go of her waistband and wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand sliding up to flick the clasp of her bra open. Got it in one. He kisses the corner of her mouth, her bottom lip, her fingers. He sucks on her pinky. “Sorry,” he murmurs around it.
“Mm.” A crackle runs up her pinky finger, setting his teeth on edge. He flicks his tongue against it. “Okay, you're forgiven.” She pulls her hand away and replaces it with her mouth, mashing her lips a little too hard against his. He lifts her up onto the bed with him, her thighs settling either side of his hips. She digs her fingers into his hair, getting her balance. She grips too hard, electricity biting against his scalp. He kisses the hollow of her throat.
His fingers find the button of her jeans, the zipper, and she wriggles helpfully as he tugs them down. She lets go of his hair - stopping a second to pet it, and he can only imagine what it looks like now - kicks off her jeans, and sits back to unbutton his shirt. He relaxes his posture, placing a hand on either of himself, leaning back. Hair falls over her face as she reaches his bellybutton; she bites her lip, one hand splaying out over his stomach. Her fingernails scratch against his skin, and he shifts, anticipating.
She shoves him back. Not what he was expecting. He lets out a breath as his back hits the mattress. She crawls onto him, small hands encircling his wrists, holding them down with surprising strength. Ducking her head, he feels her lips pressed against his chest, the fading marks from the last time they did this, the scar from that one time she went too far and he had to get the burn treated at the ER.
“Elle...” He spreads his legs further to accommodate for her crawling all over him. And for other things.
“I know what you want,” she says, tone almost long-suffering. She reaches back up and kisses him again, slower this time, less forceful and more messy in that way that he likes. His hands clench at his side, still held down, itching to touch.
She swipes her tongue along his bottom lip, leaving sparks behind. He leans into it, savouring the taste of her: it's like ice, and... and he doesn't know what, but he wants more of it, and he growls when she pulls away, smile teasing.
“C'mon,” he grinds out.
“What?” she asks, eyebrows high. “This?” She lifts a hand, a tight ball of electricity held in the palm.
He takes the opportunity of his hand being free; he curls it around her waist and pulls her down. “Yes,” he replies.
She grins, nose to nose with him, and he returns it. She slides a hand between them and runs her fingers across his chest, sparks leaving red lines in their wake. He lets his eye flutter shut, head fall back, and the sparks get stronger. He arches his back into it; it feels like her hands are everywhere, tickling and biting his skin, and maybe, maybe he whimpers. A little. Maybe.
He certainly caught up in it enough not to notice when she gets his trousers down around his ankles. His boxers quickly follow. He opens his eyes lazily.
She's looking down at his erection like it's a curiosity, head cocked. “Do you...?” she asks.
His answer is most closely related to, “Nrrngh.” She smiles like she's proud of him, twists her hair to one side with one hand, leans down, and oh. Oh. Oh. She's not easing him into this at all. She's all tongue and teeth and sucking and no skill whatsoever, but. God damn. Fuck. Fuck fuckfuck.
Her mouth hums with energy, and this is so wrong and dangerous and stupid, but he doesn't even care if she electrocutes his dick right off, because this is going to be mind-blowing.
She doesn't disappoint. His hands scrabble and grip at the bed until he gets a couple of handfuls of quilt, and he's pretty sure his foot is doing something else altogether because suddenly she holding it, electricity tickling the sole, and she's finishing him off faster and faster. And this is going to be embarrassingly short, like being fifteen again and jerking off to Playboy short, and--
He blacks out a little bit.
“Mm,” he hums as he cracks an eye open. His mouth is dry like a desert. Elle's lying beside him, chin perching on one hand. Her hair looks fucking insane. He tries to lift his head, but it isn't happening, and he doesn't fight it much. It occurs to him that he should ask if everything... down there is okay, but he doesn't think he can form words yet.
“Get some sleep.” Elle's breath tickles his ear. “'Cause we're going for round two real soon.”
He lifts a hand - in protest? agreement? - then drops it again.
Yeah, he thinks, he can probably do that. In a couple of weeks, or something.
Pairings: Nathan/Elle
Rating: R
Summary: You could say Nathan likes his sex... electrifying.
A/N: Written for The Nathan Petrelli Memorial Kink Meme - there was a Nathan/Elle prompt, and I felt it my duty to fill it. Also, to me this is a sex scene sequel to Happiness is Just a Gash Away, though you absolutely don't have to read that first. I'm possibly going to work on a for realsies sequel, but this will suffice for now.
He supposes that he's not the only one who has a thing for gorgeous blondes. Everyone has a thing for gorgeous blondes, and it's only a preference. Not even that strong a one; he did marry a brunette, after all. Perhaps the less said about that the better, though.
This girl, though. He could get really stupid over this girl. And he doesn't even like her that much, but there's something, a feeling that he really shouldn't be involved in whatever this is that spurs him on.
“Nathan.” She tugs the hem of her t-shirt up; seductively, he's sure she thinks. It's more just... awkward? A little childish? Something off-kilter, anyway. “Are you enjoying the show?”
Her top comes off with a flourish, hair fluffing out with static electricity. His breath quickens. He shrugs.
“I see,” she replies primly. She smooths her hair down. “Maybe I'll just go make a sandwich then, if you're going to be like that.”
He sits up, knees sinking into the soft mattress. “Hey.” He leans forward, slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her jeans and pulls her sharply forward. “I'm sorry?”
She shuffles in closer, body flush with his, her barely covered breasts pressed against his chest. He's still got a couple of inches on her, even when he isn't standing. She really is tiny.
She hums. “I don't know, you don't seem very sorry.” She raises a hand to her mouth, turning a finger sideways to wedge a nail between her teeth. A crackle of electricity runs along her finger to her mouth.
He lets go of her waistband and wraps an arm around her waist, his other hand sliding up to flick the clasp of her bra open. Got it in one. He kisses the corner of her mouth, her bottom lip, her fingers. He sucks on her pinky. “Sorry,” he murmurs around it.
“Mm.” A crackle runs up her pinky finger, setting his teeth on edge. He flicks his tongue against it. “Okay, you're forgiven.” She pulls her hand away and replaces it with her mouth, mashing her lips a little too hard against his. He lifts her up onto the bed with him, her thighs settling either side of his hips. She digs her fingers into his hair, getting her balance. She grips too hard, electricity biting against his scalp. He kisses the hollow of her throat.
His fingers find the button of her jeans, the zipper, and she wriggles helpfully as he tugs them down. She lets go of his hair - stopping a second to pet it, and he can only imagine what it looks like now - kicks off her jeans, and sits back to unbutton his shirt. He relaxes his posture, placing a hand on either of himself, leaning back. Hair falls over her face as she reaches his bellybutton; she bites her lip, one hand splaying out over his stomach. Her fingernails scratch against his skin, and he shifts, anticipating.
She shoves him back. Not what he was expecting. He lets out a breath as his back hits the mattress. She crawls onto him, small hands encircling his wrists, holding them down with surprising strength. Ducking her head, he feels her lips pressed against his chest, the fading marks from the last time they did this, the scar from that one time she went too far and he had to get the burn treated at the ER.
“Elle...” He spreads his legs further to accommodate for her crawling all over him. And for other things.
“I know what you want,” she says, tone almost long-suffering. She reaches back up and kisses him again, slower this time, less forceful and more messy in that way that he likes. His hands clench at his side, still held down, itching to touch.
She swipes her tongue along his bottom lip, leaving sparks behind. He leans into it, savouring the taste of her: it's like ice, and... and he doesn't know what, but he wants more of it, and he growls when she pulls away, smile teasing.
“C'mon,” he grinds out.
“What?” she asks, eyebrows high. “This?” She lifts a hand, a tight ball of electricity held in the palm.
He takes the opportunity of his hand being free; he curls it around her waist and pulls her down. “Yes,” he replies.
She grins, nose to nose with him, and he returns it. She slides a hand between them and runs her fingers across his chest, sparks leaving red lines in their wake. He lets his eye flutter shut, head fall back, and the sparks get stronger. He arches his back into it; it feels like her hands are everywhere, tickling and biting his skin, and maybe, maybe he whimpers. A little. Maybe.
He certainly caught up in it enough not to notice when she gets his trousers down around his ankles. His boxers quickly follow. He opens his eyes lazily.
She's looking down at his erection like it's a curiosity, head cocked. “Do you...?” she asks.
His answer is most closely related to, “Nrrngh.” She smiles like she's proud of him, twists her hair to one side with one hand, leans down, and oh. Oh. Oh. She's not easing him into this at all. She's all tongue and teeth and sucking and no skill whatsoever, but. God damn. Fuck. Fuck fuckfuck.
Her mouth hums with energy, and this is so wrong and dangerous and stupid, but he doesn't even care if she electrocutes his dick right off, because this is going to be mind-blowing.
She doesn't disappoint. His hands scrabble and grip at the bed until he gets a couple of handfuls of quilt, and he's pretty sure his foot is doing something else altogether because suddenly she holding it, electricity tickling the sole, and she's finishing him off faster and faster. And this is going to be embarrassingly short, like being fifteen again and jerking off to Playboy short, and--
He blacks out a little bit.
“Mm,” he hums as he cracks an eye open. His mouth is dry like a desert. Elle's lying beside him, chin perching on one hand. Her hair looks fucking insane. He tries to lift his head, but it isn't happening, and he doesn't fight it much. It occurs to him that he should ask if everything... down there is okay, but he doesn't think he can form words yet.
“Get some sleep.” Elle's breath tickles his ear. “'Cause we're going for round two real soon.”
He lifts a hand - in protest? agreement? - then drops it again.
Yeah, he thinks, he can probably do that. In a couple of weeks, or something.