The Real Cosmic Joke| PSL with electrocutesy
Sylar woke up the next morning with his arms wrapped her, holding Elle close to him. They were both sweaty and sticky from the previous night’s activities. They had basically kept going at it until they passed out; distracting each other from any thoughts or feelings as except how good they could make each other feel. He couldn’t help but smirk as he noticed some of the bruises and scratches that adorned her body, physical proof that she had given herself completely to him, just like she had promised.
He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a comfort having her. But somehow, he managed to detangle himself from her, sliding his pants back on before making his way into the tiny kitchen like area of the motel room to make himself a coffee. Though he had been too preoccupied last night to really think about his family or what to do next, but his thoughts were drifting back there now.
They shouldn’t linger her too long, the last thing he needed was Angela or Noah tracing them and discovering he was still alive. Which meant he probably couldn’t kill anyone for a while either, if he wanted to stay under their radar while trying to track his father, Martin, down.
Frustrating, but he would live with it.
As the coffee began to drip into the pot he glanced back at Elle’s form on the bed. She’d probably tell him they didn’t need to do any of this again, that he didn’t need to know who his parents were or where he came from, but he did. How else could he know who he really was?
He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t a comfort having her. But somehow, he managed to detangle himself from her, sliding his pants back on before making his way into the tiny kitchen like area of the motel room to make himself a coffee. Though he had been too preoccupied last night to really think about his family or what to do next, but his thoughts were drifting back there now.
They shouldn’t linger her too long, the last thing he needed was Angela or Noah tracing them and discovering he was still alive. Which meant he probably couldn’t kill anyone for a while either, if he wanted to stay under their radar while trying to track his father, Martin, down.
Frustrating, but he would live with it.
As the coffee began to drip into the pot he glanced back at Elle’s form on the bed. She’d probably tell him they didn’t need to do any of this again, that he didn’t need to know who his parents were or where he came from, but he did. How else could he know who he really was?