FIC: "Beauty Marks", Lyle/Claire (Pretender & Heroes crossover), MA
I should be doing work, but meh.
This bunny has been in my head for a while - nasty, violent, beats-up-on-the-ladies Mister Lyle from The Pretender and broken, dark-haired, indestructable "Five Years Later" Claire Bennet from Heroes.
This may get messy.
TITLE: Beauty Marks
AUTHOR: Moi
DISCLAIMER: Neither characters are mine. Y'know who owns 'em.
RATING: MA/R for violence and sexual themes.
Beauty Marks
by Pieces
---
NOTES: Written after a bunny ate my brain. Set in an AU where the bomb did go off in Heroes and Claire's had to move into different means to feed herself. Lyle is, as always, the same magnificent bastard we've come to know and kind of back away from. Read-thru but not entirely beta'd as my Pen is getting teeth removed. Fitting, really.
---
"Could handle sticks and stones
But those words still break my bones"
- "Little Monsters", Charlotte Gainsborough
---
It's quarter to midnight, and she's already lost a lot of blood.
The cuts on her legs bleed out onto the carpet, making it tacky and brown. There's bruises forming around her open eyes, but she clutches the sheets and tries to look doefully at him, pacing, across the room.
"A thousand bucks."
"A hundred grand."
He hasn't a thumb, but that doesn't creep her out, nor does the answer that's come from his lips so many times before.
"Deal."
The smile that crosses his face as he runs his hands through her darkened hair should probably be handsome, but it's not. Tainted by years of whatever it is that goes on in his mind, whatever's brought him to this hotel room in a faceless town, whatever makes a nice smile like that so fucked up - she doesn't want to know, so she kisses him instead.
He doesn't pay for sex, but some part of her wants to give it. So she does, and it always tastes like she imagines purgatory does - foggy air matting her tongue, the tinge of blood, the accent of expensive foods and hotel coffee.
The first hit always surprises, and its always across the face. By the time they have gotten to the bargaining stage, she's so used to it, she's more shocked when he stops.
His arousal is evident, so she mounts him and goes to work and doesn't think about her old life or what his is like outside this room.
The violence continues. Progressing, highlighting, pushing him towards his sick climax and her ultimate detachment.
She thinks of her father, for a second. Of Peter Petrelli, of Zach and Mom and her brother who shares a name with this well-suited freak; but they're gone as he smashes the mirror above the bed and uses the shards to cut his name into her skin.
It heals, quickly, like the cuts he'd given her in the hours before. She's new again, working and waiting for the final moment, for when his grunts and dick won't invade her senses and she can imagine the world didn't explode five years ago.
It comes.
Beautiful blackness.
---
Her body lays silent, and he cleans her up with the delicateness of a father and his child. Eyes glassy, blood sticky, the mirror from the wound in the back of her head glints like a Miss America tiara.
He leaves her like that, while he retrieves her money from his pocket, showers, dresses and is ready to leave.
Then. And only then. He pulls the shard out of her scalp and watches the colour come back into her eyes.
It's beautiful. He feels like God, and it's worth every fucking cent.
"Same time next week," she gasps, and he nods, fixing his tie and leaving the money on the bedside table.
The door clicks closed.
She gets up, and starts the shower.
---
FIN.
---
Wasn't that fun. In a sadistic, rusty knife kinda way.
This bunny has been in my head for a while - nasty, violent, beats-up-on-the-ladies Mister Lyle from The Pretender and broken, dark-haired, indestructable "Five Years Later" Claire Bennet from Heroes.
This may get messy.
TITLE: Beauty Marks
AUTHOR: Moi
DISCLAIMER: Neither characters are mine. Y'know who owns 'em.
RATING: MA/R for violence and sexual themes.
Beauty Marks
by Pieces
---
NOTES: Written after a bunny ate my brain. Set in an AU where the bomb did go off in Heroes and Claire's had to move into different means to feed herself. Lyle is, as always, the same magnificent bastard we've come to know and kind of back away from. Read-thru but not entirely beta'd as my Pen is getting teeth removed. Fitting, really.
---
"Could handle sticks and stones
But those words still break my bones"
- "Little Monsters", Charlotte Gainsborough
---
It's quarter to midnight, and she's already lost a lot of blood.
The cuts on her legs bleed out onto the carpet, making it tacky and brown. There's bruises forming around her open eyes, but she clutches the sheets and tries to look doefully at him, pacing, across the room.
"A thousand bucks."
"A hundred grand."
He hasn't a thumb, but that doesn't creep her out, nor does the answer that's come from his lips so many times before.
"Deal."
The smile that crosses his face as he runs his hands through her darkened hair should probably be handsome, but it's not. Tainted by years of whatever it is that goes on in his mind, whatever's brought him to this hotel room in a faceless town, whatever makes a nice smile like that so fucked up - she doesn't want to know, so she kisses him instead.
He doesn't pay for sex, but some part of her wants to give it. So she does, and it always tastes like she imagines purgatory does - foggy air matting her tongue, the tinge of blood, the accent of expensive foods and hotel coffee.
The first hit always surprises, and its always across the face. By the time they have gotten to the bargaining stage, she's so used to it, she's more shocked when he stops.
His arousal is evident, so she mounts him and goes to work and doesn't think about her old life or what his is like outside this room.
The violence continues. Progressing, highlighting, pushing him towards his sick climax and her ultimate detachment.
She thinks of her father, for a second. Of Peter Petrelli, of Zach and Mom and her brother who shares a name with this well-suited freak; but they're gone as he smashes the mirror above the bed and uses the shards to cut his name into her skin.
It heals, quickly, like the cuts he'd given her in the hours before. She's new again, working and waiting for the final moment, for when his grunts and dick won't invade her senses and she can imagine the world didn't explode five years ago.
It comes.
Beautiful blackness.
---
Her body lays silent, and he cleans her up with the delicateness of a father and his child. Eyes glassy, blood sticky, the mirror from the wound in the back of her head glints like a Miss America tiara.
He leaves her like that, while he retrieves her money from his pocket, showers, dresses and is ready to leave.
Then. And only then. He pulls the shard out of her scalp and watches the colour come back into her eyes.
It's beautiful. He feels like God, and it's worth every fucking cent.
"Same time next week," she gasps, and he nods, fixing his tie and leaving the money on the bedside table.
The door clicks closed.
She gets up, and starts the shower.
---
FIN.
---
Wasn't that fun. In a sadistic, rusty knife kinda way.