fic: Rendezvous (one shot, nc-17)
title: Rendezvous
author: Nick Midian -
nmidian
characters: Peter & Claire
challenge: Challenge #10 "Reunion" at pairechallenge
keywords/rating: angst, drama, sex. NC-17.
Notes: This is my first attempt at pairesmut and my first smut - at all - in ages, hope you like it anyway. Not betaed, all mistakes are mine and solely mine.
If the world was a different place, they wouldn’t need to meet like this. If the world was different, better - perfect - they wouldn’t have to hide. Wouldn’t have to lie. Wouldn’t have to cheat.
They would have more than these stolen moments. More than a peck on the cheek instead of a kiss on the lips. More than a secret smile instead of an ‘I missed you today’. More than the ghostly caress of their fingers briefly touching as they pass next to each other instead of an ‘I love you’.
If they were different people, there would be no need for deceive and heartbreak. If they were different, stronger - maybe smarter - they would be free from the pull of this forbidden passion. They wouldn’t be captive of their lust and their feelings. Wouldn’t be trapped in this vicious circle of hidden kisses, silent caresses and frenzied, illicit lovemaking.
They could stand in the same room and not feel the need to make the space between them disappear. They could talk and not look for a hidden meaning in each of their words. They could stay apart and not count the minutes until the next apparently innocent situation would give them an excuse to be together.
If he was a different man, he would just let it go. If he was different, colder - like his brother - he wouldn’t be in love with her. Wouldn’t fight to win even the slightest of smiles from her lips. Wouldn’t spend entire hours sitting in the darkness of his apartment brooding and anguishing over this fucked-up relationship of theirs as he waited for her call. Wouldn’t kill and die for another taste of her mouth, another touch of her fingertips, another burnt of her naked skin next to his.
He could have dinner with his family without feeling like a vile traitor. Could look at her over the table and want something else than to jump over and tear her clothes off. Could hear her voice over the phone and actually resist her siren’s call, the beckoning of her green eyes, the irresistible attraction of her flesh.
If she was a different girl, she wouldn’t call him. If she was different, not ruled by her heart - a Petrelli - she wouldn’t be in love with him. Wouldn’t be so eager to fly all the way from California and lie over wanting to know her bio-family better, when all she really wants to do is be with him. Wouldn’t cheat on her lovely boyfriend, who wants nothing more than her happiness and trusts so much in her. Wouldn’t call him just to hear his voice, to tempt him, to make him come to her just one more time. Always just one more time.
But the world is not perfect, but beautiful yet flawed, like themselves. They’re neither smarter nor stronger than the passion in their hearts. He is not his brother, and can’t simply switch off his emotions. And she is not a Petrelli, has never really been, will never really be.
And they are here once again, not really knowing how they arrived at this secret rendezvous this time. Not really caring. Maybe she was visiting, and he came with an apparently innocent idea - something about showing her the city. Or maybe she called him and he teleported all the way across the country to steal her for just a few hours.
Maybe she has been the instigator. Or maybe it’s been him. It’s not important.
It’s only this few moments that matter, the space delimited by the walls of the room, the borders established by the four corners of their bed. It’s only the time ticking with hot, fiery kisses, with seconds marked by two hearts beating as one that has any meaning in the whole universe.
It’s right here, right now, that the world becomes perfect. That they shed their masks and their pretensions like they shed their clothes and all that remains is the naked truth. That all that is left is two lovers and what is beyond their bed, outside the walls of the room becomes meaningless and futile.
As his fingers entangle in her golden curls and he brings her mouth to his. As her hands roam over the soft and hard plains and edges of his body. As he brings her down onto the mattress and his lips describe a flaming trail down her neck, over her breasts and around her hardening nipples. As his tongue dips into her navel and he kisses and licks his way down to the secret moisture between her thighs. As she softly moans his name and her hips buckle when he finally makes contact with the most tender of her places. As her fingers get lost in his impossibly silky hair. As her eyes close because the sensations are simply overwhelming and she, like a maniac, can do nothing more that to whisper his name over and over.
This is real, at last. This is beauty and truth. This is the world, perfect, as it should be.
His mouth brings her to the knife’s edge and she stands on the sharp fall on tiptoes, balancing for a glorious moment before his lips close around the tiny bundle of nerves at the zenith of her sex and she is pushed over, screaming and digging in his scalp with her fingertips. Pleasure washes over her so intense it’s nearly painful, and he crawls up her soft, petite body to engulf her into a fiery embrace, to kiss her so deep and holding her so tight it’s like he’s trying to bury her within himself. The rattles of her orgasm subside after a millennia of pleasure, but he never lets her go.
There’s a faint smile in her lips and her eyes are of a clouded gold and green as she looks up at him. Her arms are wrapped around his hard body in the same way, and there’s nothing she would want more than to disappear in him, becoming one in body like their souls already are.
His mouth is smiling too, that cursed crooked smile that melts her heart and her bones. There’s that twinge of sadness in his eyes, the one ever present when he looks at her. But there is no regret in them, it never is. And there’s love too. So intense. So consuming. So pure.
He gently smoothes her hair out of her sweaty forehead, carefully kisses her brow, her eyes, the tip of her nose and her lips. He doesn’t say a word, and neither does she.
They never need to.
She feels weak, boneless in his embrace. Yet, it’s her who takes the initiative, gently pushing him until he’s lying on his back, sliding over him as her mouth starts a pattern of wet, nipping kisses on his face, his earlobe, his jaw line. She teases his male nipples with her sculptured manicure as her moist sex caresses his steel-hard flesh. She can’t help but to feel smug pride as he groans and arches his head back, knowing he is just a blink away from losing control. From flipping her around and slam it into her like there is no tomorrow. From royally fucking her into oblivion. Knowing if he does not, it’s just for her. To give her this little bit of control over a life neither of them are owners of.
She loves him. More than anything in this imperfect world of theirs.
She bites his exposed Adam’s apple, sucks at the pulse on his neck. Leaves a hickey that fades away in front of her very eyes.
The entrance to her womanhood positions itself at the spongy top of his cock, like it has a mind of its own. In moments of weakness and despair, she wonders if that’s true. If it is just her lust that rules over the better part of hers. That forces her to call and go to him over and over. But she only needs one brief glimpse of his gold-freckled brown eyes to know better. To understand that this carnal knowledge is only an expression of something deeper. Something way more dangerous.
She sinks herself around him, lets his body invade her like the rest of him already has. It’s a deliberately slow motion. She wants him to feel every velvety inch of her pussy engulf him as much as she wants to feel his burning heat stabbing her.
The reward of her self-control is the bewildered look in his eyes, the ragged moaning of her name in his lips and the trembling touch of his hands as they settle on her narrow waist. His hands, so large against her petite form that she swears he could wrap them all the way around her. So tender as they worship her body that her heart swells with joy. So rough at the same time that his calluses shot electricity along her nervous ending as they slide over her skin, to cup her small breasts end excite her nipples until she thinks she’s going to explode in desire.
The pace is slow as she moves on him. Maddeningly slow. There’s no rush to finish this, quite the contrary, they would like this night to go on forever. This reunion to last for a lifetime.
She leans over him, and his hands move again over her. One to settle on her waist, accompanying her rocking movements, the other to cup her beautiful face, to bring her mouth to his.
Their breaths mingle as their tongues duel. Desire meets emotion and need becomes destiny and reason to be.
There are no lies on their bodies, there is nothing but truth in their kisses. There is nothing but this forbidden love they can’t help but drown in.
No space for other people in this bed. No boyfriends or brothers, or biological families or concepts so alien to them that can’t even be understood at the light of this shinning love.
The world is an imperfect place, but is oh, so simple as well. This man, this woman. This moment, this place. This love.
Their pace increases as he starts pumping into her. Their movements become frantic, frenzied. But not desperate, for there is no room for desperation in their lovemaking. There is only hope, foolish as it might be. Precious as it can only be.
But there is hunger. Insatiable. Indomitable.
Their breaths are ragged, their kisses full of fever and wanting. Their mouths move with greed, searching for more contact, more of that delicious taste of sweat and cinnamon and strawberry. Their hands roam free without boundaries, no inch of hot flesh left unexplored, no sensitive nerve ending left unaroused.
And all of a sudden they are there. Peaking at the same time, and he shots up from his supine position, wrapping his arms around her again. Crushing her to him as he grounds her all the way down onto him. Wanting her under his skin, wanting himself wholly inside her. Her back arches so much he thinks she’s gonna break, but he knows she won’t. She is strong, stronger than he’ll ever be.
His face is buried in her neck and he breathes the frangance of her perspiration and perfume. The scent that gives him life.
He spends himself inside her, just as she tightens around him. They groan and yell as one, calling to God. If in gratefulness or spite, not even they know. ‘Cause they feel as much grateful for these secret moments as their sparseness and secrecy embitters them.
She trembles like a leaf in his arms, the power and intensity of their shared climax subsiding like the ocean surf retiring from an empty beach. She is weeping as he leans her down and covers her body with his, like a blanket. He kisses the tears away and murmurs soft nonsenses in her ear.
He tells her that he loves her, that everything will turn alright in the end. It’s their destiny.
She believes him, because not doing so hurts just so much.
The world is not perfect. They are not perfect.
But in this room, on this bed, during this illicit rendezvous, they are just Peter and Claire. They have each other.
And for the time being, that’s more than enough.
The End, for now
author: Nick Midian -
nmidian
characters: Peter & Claire
challenge: Challenge #10 "Reunion" at pairechallenge
keywords/rating: angst, drama, sex. NC-17.
Notes: This is my first attempt at pairesmut and my first smut - at all - in ages, hope you like it anyway. Not betaed, all mistakes are mine and solely mine.
If the world was a different place, they wouldn’t need to meet like this. If the world was different, better - perfect - they wouldn’t have to hide. Wouldn’t have to lie. Wouldn’t have to cheat.
They would have more than these stolen moments. More than a peck on the cheek instead of a kiss on the lips. More than a secret smile instead of an ‘I missed you today’. More than the ghostly caress of their fingers briefly touching as they pass next to each other instead of an ‘I love you’.
If they were different people, there would be no need for deceive and heartbreak. If they were different, stronger - maybe smarter - they would be free from the pull of this forbidden passion. They wouldn’t be captive of their lust and their feelings. Wouldn’t be trapped in this vicious circle of hidden kisses, silent caresses and frenzied, illicit lovemaking.
They could stand in the same room and not feel the need to make the space between them disappear. They could talk and not look for a hidden meaning in each of their words. They could stay apart and not count the minutes until the next apparently innocent situation would give them an excuse to be together.
If he was a different man, he would just let it go. If he was different, colder - like his brother - he wouldn’t be in love with her. Wouldn’t fight to win even the slightest of smiles from her lips. Wouldn’t spend entire hours sitting in the darkness of his apartment brooding and anguishing over this fucked-up relationship of theirs as he waited for her call. Wouldn’t kill and die for another taste of her mouth, another touch of her fingertips, another burnt of her naked skin next to his.
He could have dinner with his family without feeling like a vile traitor. Could look at her over the table and want something else than to jump over and tear her clothes off. Could hear her voice over the phone and actually resist her siren’s call, the beckoning of her green eyes, the irresistible attraction of her flesh.
If she was a different girl, she wouldn’t call him. If she was different, not ruled by her heart - a Petrelli - she wouldn’t be in love with him. Wouldn’t be so eager to fly all the way from California and lie over wanting to know her bio-family better, when all she really wants to do is be with him. Wouldn’t cheat on her lovely boyfriend, who wants nothing more than her happiness and trusts so much in her. Wouldn’t call him just to hear his voice, to tempt him, to make him come to her just one more time. Always just one more time.
But the world is not perfect, but beautiful yet flawed, like themselves. They’re neither smarter nor stronger than the passion in their hearts. He is not his brother, and can’t simply switch off his emotions. And she is not a Petrelli, has never really been, will never really be.
And they are here once again, not really knowing how they arrived at this secret rendezvous this time. Not really caring. Maybe she was visiting, and he came with an apparently innocent idea - something about showing her the city. Or maybe she called him and he teleported all the way across the country to steal her for just a few hours.
Maybe she has been the instigator. Or maybe it’s been him. It’s not important.
It’s only this few moments that matter, the space delimited by the walls of the room, the borders established by the four corners of their bed. It’s only the time ticking with hot, fiery kisses, with seconds marked by two hearts beating as one that has any meaning in the whole universe.
It’s right here, right now, that the world becomes perfect. That they shed their masks and their pretensions like they shed their clothes and all that remains is the naked truth. That all that is left is two lovers and what is beyond their bed, outside the walls of the room becomes meaningless and futile.
As his fingers entangle in her golden curls and he brings her mouth to his. As her hands roam over the soft and hard plains and edges of his body. As he brings her down onto the mattress and his lips describe a flaming trail down her neck, over her breasts and around her hardening nipples. As his tongue dips into her navel and he kisses and licks his way down to the secret moisture between her thighs. As she softly moans his name and her hips buckle when he finally makes contact with the most tender of her places. As her fingers get lost in his impossibly silky hair. As her eyes close because the sensations are simply overwhelming and she, like a maniac, can do nothing more that to whisper his name over and over.
This is real, at last. This is beauty and truth. This is the world, perfect, as it should be.
His mouth brings her to the knife’s edge and she stands on the sharp fall on tiptoes, balancing for a glorious moment before his lips close around the tiny bundle of nerves at the zenith of her sex and she is pushed over, screaming and digging in his scalp with her fingertips. Pleasure washes over her so intense it’s nearly painful, and he crawls up her soft, petite body to engulf her into a fiery embrace, to kiss her so deep and holding her so tight it’s like he’s trying to bury her within himself. The rattles of her orgasm subside after a millennia of pleasure, but he never lets her go.
There’s a faint smile in her lips and her eyes are of a clouded gold and green as she looks up at him. Her arms are wrapped around his hard body in the same way, and there’s nothing she would want more than to disappear in him, becoming one in body like their souls already are.
His mouth is smiling too, that cursed crooked smile that melts her heart and her bones. There’s that twinge of sadness in his eyes, the one ever present when he looks at her. But there is no regret in them, it never is. And there’s love too. So intense. So consuming. So pure.
He gently smoothes her hair out of her sweaty forehead, carefully kisses her brow, her eyes, the tip of her nose and her lips. He doesn’t say a word, and neither does she.
They never need to.
She feels weak, boneless in his embrace. Yet, it’s her who takes the initiative, gently pushing him until he’s lying on his back, sliding over him as her mouth starts a pattern of wet, nipping kisses on his face, his earlobe, his jaw line. She teases his male nipples with her sculptured manicure as her moist sex caresses his steel-hard flesh. She can’t help but to feel smug pride as he groans and arches his head back, knowing he is just a blink away from losing control. From flipping her around and slam it into her like there is no tomorrow. From royally fucking her into oblivion. Knowing if he does not, it’s just for her. To give her this little bit of control over a life neither of them are owners of.
She loves him. More than anything in this imperfect world of theirs.
She bites his exposed Adam’s apple, sucks at the pulse on his neck. Leaves a hickey that fades away in front of her very eyes.
The entrance to her womanhood positions itself at the spongy top of his cock, like it has a mind of its own. In moments of weakness and despair, she wonders if that’s true. If it is just her lust that rules over the better part of hers. That forces her to call and go to him over and over. But she only needs one brief glimpse of his gold-freckled brown eyes to know better. To understand that this carnal knowledge is only an expression of something deeper. Something way more dangerous.
She sinks herself around him, lets his body invade her like the rest of him already has. It’s a deliberately slow motion. She wants him to feel every velvety inch of her pussy engulf him as much as she wants to feel his burning heat stabbing her.
The reward of her self-control is the bewildered look in his eyes, the ragged moaning of her name in his lips and the trembling touch of his hands as they settle on her narrow waist. His hands, so large against her petite form that she swears he could wrap them all the way around her. So tender as they worship her body that her heart swells with joy. So rough at the same time that his calluses shot electricity along her nervous ending as they slide over her skin, to cup her small breasts end excite her nipples until she thinks she’s going to explode in desire.
The pace is slow as she moves on him. Maddeningly slow. There’s no rush to finish this, quite the contrary, they would like this night to go on forever. This reunion to last for a lifetime.
She leans over him, and his hands move again over her. One to settle on her waist, accompanying her rocking movements, the other to cup her beautiful face, to bring her mouth to his.
Their breaths mingle as their tongues duel. Desire meets emotion and need becomes destiny and reason to be.
There are no lies on their bodies, there is nothing but truth in their kisses. There is nothing but this forbidden love they can’t help but drown in.
No space for other people in this bed. No boyfriends or brothers, or biological families or concepts so alien to them that can’t even be understood at the light of this shinning love.
The world is an imperfect place, but is oh, so simple as well. This man, this woman. This moment, this place. This love.
Their pace increases as he starts pumping into her. Their movements become frantic, frenzied. But not desperate, for there is no room for desperation in their lovemaking. There is only hope, foolish as it might be. Precious as it can only be.
But there is hunger. Insatiable. Indomitable.
Their breaths are ragged, their kisses full of fever and wanting. Their mouths move with greed, searching for more contact, more of that delicious taste of sweat and cinnamon and strawberry. Their hands roam free without boundaries, no inch of hot flesh left unexplored, no sensitive nerve ending left unaroused.
And all of a sudden they are there. Peaking at the same time, and he shots up from his supine position, wrapping his arms around her again. Crushing her to him as he grounds her all the way down onto him. Wanting her under his skin, wanting himself wholly inside her. Her back arches so much he thinks she’s gonna break, but he knows she won’t. She is strong, stronger than he’ll ever be.
His face is buried in her neck and he breathes the frangance of her perspiration and perfume. The scent that gives him life.
He spends himself inside her, just as she tightens around him. They groan and yell as one, calling to God. If in gratefulness or spite, not even they know. ‘Cause they feel as much grateful for these secret moments as their sparseness and secrecy embitters them.
She trembles like a leaf in his arms, the power and intensity of their shared climax subsiding like the ocean surf retiring from an empty beach. She is weeping as he leans her down and covers her body with his, like a blanket. He kisses the tears away and murmurs soft nonsenses in her ear.
He tells her that he loves her, that everything will turn alright in the end. It’s their destiny.
She believes him, because not doing so hurts just so much.
The world is not perfect. They are not perfect.
But in this room, on this bed, during this illicit rendezvous, they are just Peter and Claire. They have each other.
And for the time being, that’s more than enough.
The End, for now