Forever
Title: Forever
Author: PrettySirenx
Rating: Slightly mature PG-ish
Disclaimer: I don't own what Kring/NBC Owns. Dammit.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd. Written hastily, so constructive criticism is welcome as well as comments. I was inspired by themes from "Fuck Forever" by Babyshambles and even slightly borrowed from some lyrics.
The room was dark, exactly how he liked it, bathed in deep indigo. The only light came from the moon beams, protruding through the window. It was a Tuesday. He always hated Tuesdays, but it was really of little consequence anymore. He hated most days, lately.
He was waiting, as usual. But tonight was different. He had something to say.
She entered, unaware of his presence. Exhausted from her long, heroic day, she took off her shirt and threw it precariously on the floor. The slightest noise, a rustle as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, told her she wasn’t alone. She didn’t betray it, other than allowing her muscles to tense. But that was enough. He knew the jig was up.
“It’s four in the morning,” he said.
“I wasn’t aware you were my father,” she hissed.
“No you weren’t,” he said, taking both her meanings. “And neither was I.”
“What do you want?” she asked, unmoving. She couldn’t be intimidated by him any longer. She refused to be.
“A better question would be: what do I not want?”
“Get out,” she growled, shoving him towards the window.
It was at that moment, when she was close to him, that she became aware of the fact that she was in her bra, in front of a man who wanted to have his way with her as much as he wanted anything. It didn’t make her self-conscious, but her skin began to crawl with mixed feelings: she was a woman; he was a man. But he also killed her father. She hated that he invoked such complexity in her as much as she hated him for what he did.
The moonlight danced about her skin in an ethereal way, which mesmerized him until he forced himself back into reality. It was hard, because she looked like she felt amazing and he wanted to touch every part of her.
“I’ve been watching you.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“Your snappy comebacks don’t mask your inner turmoil, Claire,” he said almost menacingly, “You wear your demons like a proud banner. Just like me.”
“I don’t want you to ever - ever - draw a parallel between us again.”
“Reading into the subtext,” he said, pressing forward, so that his chest was against hers, “you’re admitting that there is an ‘us’.”
“You’re so delusional, I only wish I could feel sorry for you,” she spat, pushing him.
She was angry and had every right to be. Pushing him was just the smallest form of payback, but it felt good nonetheless. He grabbed her wrist, to stop her from doing it again. She was shocked by how gentle he was. And in that moment, she wondered how someone so careful could be a killer.
“I’ve come to a realization,” he whispered, so that she had to strain to hear it. It was, daresay, seductive. “I saw you, earlier…with Peter.”
She stood very still, afraid that if she moved, this moment would be real. And that terrified her. A single tear slid down her cheek and he brushed it away so softly it made her quiver. She bit her lip, desperate not to let another fall.
“I saw what you do with him,” he said.
“Please,” she begged, unable to adequately express in words what she felt. “Please.”
She didn’t want him to continue. She wanted him to stop. She didn’t want him to say it, to spell out her moment of weakness in plain English - she couldn’t bear it.
“And in that moment, I wanted to be him so bad, I thought my mind would fall to pieces,” he said, still remaining gentle…but a hardness grew in his tone and eyes. “ But then, I thought better of it. Because I knew in that moment something I really knew all along: I’m stuck forever, in your mind, Claire.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You think about me more than you think about him,” he said. “You want me, when you’re supposed to hate me. You hate yourself for wanting me, so you think about me even more. I’m pretty sure I’m all you ever think about.”
“Fuck forever,” she said through gritted teeth as she clutched the collar of his shirt, aching to pull him into her and resisting with all of her might.
Everything she said or thought contradicted something else she said or thought. But it didn’t matter; her mind was in a frenzy. And so it would always remain, nonsensical, unethical, and solely focused on her sworn enemy. Forever.
Author: PrettySirenx
Rating: Slightly mature PG-ish
Disclaimer: I don't own what Kring/NBC Owns. Dammit.
Author's Note: Unbeta'd. Written hastily, so constructive criticism is welcome as well as comments. I was inspired by themes from "Fuck Forever" by Babyshambles and even slightly borrowed from some lyrics.
The room was dark, exactly how he liked it, bathed in deep indigo. The only light came from the moon beams, protruding through the window. It was a Tuesday. He always hated Tuesdays, but it was really of little consequence anymore. He hated most days, lately.
He was waiting, as usual. But tonight was different. He had something to say.
She entered, unaware of his presence. Exhausted from her long, heroic day, she took off her shirt and threw it precariously on the floor. The slightest noise, a rustle as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, told her she wasn’t alone. She didn’t betray it, other than allowing her muscles to tense. But that was enough. He knew the jig was up.
“It’s four in the morning,” he said.
“I wasn’t aware you were my father,” she hissed.
“No you weren’t,” he said, taking both her meanings. “And neither was I.”
“What do you want?” she asked, unmoving. She couldn’t be intimidated by him any longer. She refused to be.
“A better question would be: what do I not want?”
“Get out,” she growled, shoving him towards the window.
It was at that moment, when she was close to him, that she became aware of the fact that she was in her bra, in front of a man who wanted to have his way with her as much as he wanted anything. It didn’t make her self-conscious, but her skin began to crawl with mixed feelings: she was a woman; he was a man. But he also killed her father. She hated that he invoked such complexity in her as much as she hated him for what he did.
The moonlight danced about her skin in an ethereal way, which mesmerized him until he forced himself back into reality. It was hard, because she looked like she felt amazing and he wanted to touch every part of her.
“I’ve been watching you.”
“That’s disturbing.”
“Your snappy comebacks don’t mask your inner turmoil, Claire,” he said almost menacingly, “You wear your demons like a proud banner. Just like me.”
“I don’t want you to ever - ever - draw a parallel between us again.”
“Reading into the subtext,” he said, pressing forward, so that his chest was against hers, “you’re admitting that there is an ‘us’.”
“You’re so delusional, I only wish I could feel sorry for you,” she spat, pushing him.
She was angry and had every right to be. Pushing him was just the smallest form of payback, but it felt good nonetheless. He grabbed her wrist, to stop her from doing it again. She was shocked by how gentle he was. And in that moment, she wondered how someone so careful could be a killer.
“I’ve come to a realization,” he whispered, so that she had to strain to hear it. It was, daresay, seductive. “I saw you, earlier…with Peter.”
She stood very still, afraid that if she moved, this moment would be real. And that terrified her. A single tear slid down her cheek and he brushed it away so softly it made her quiver. She bit her lip, desperate not to let another fall.
“I saw what you do with him,” he said.
“Please,” she begged, unable to adequately express in words what she felt. “Please.”
She didn’t want him to continue. She wanted him to stop. She didn’t want him to say it, to spell out her moment of weakness in plain English - she couldn’t bear it.
“And in that moment, I wanted to be him so bad, I thought my mind would fall to pieces,” he said, still remaining gentle…but a hardness grew in his tone and eyes. “ But then, I thought better of it. Because I knew in that moment something I really knew all along: I’m stuck forever, in your mind, Claire.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You think about me more than you think about him,” he said. “You want me, when you’re supposed to hate me. You hate yourself for wanting me, so you think about me even more. I’m pretty sure I’m all you ever think about.”
“Fuck forever,” she said through gritted teeth as she clutched the collar of his shirt, aching to pull him into her and resisting with all of her might.
Everything she said or thought contradicted something else she said or thought. But it didn’t matter; her mind was in a frenzy. And so it would always remain, nonsensical, unethical, and solely focused on her sworn enemy. Forever.