FIC: Not Those Kind of People
Title: Not Those Kind of People
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Elle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters
Word count: 575
Spoiler alert/warnings: Straight up PWP (Porn with Powers!). Don't click if you're not going to like violent sex, 69ing, or psycho/sociopathic coupling in general.
Summary: Elle and Sylar have sex. Yeah, that's pretty much it.
A/N:sarahetc and I decided that fluffy, schmoopy Syelle is no fun. You know what's fun, though? Fucking. It's fucking fun!
He could kill her quite quickly, quite easily: with a flick of his wrist her neck would follow suit and break itself; he could call out with a bellow that would crack the walls of the building and shatter her skull; or he could go the old-fashioned route and slice her head open. (Sylar always was the kind of guy who liked you for your mind).
But there is nothing he wants in Elle's brainpan. Everything he wants from her is located from the neck down, but she'd be damned if she lets him take her that easily.
They don't waste time making love. They aren't those kind of people. They just get straight to the fucking.
First he pins her to the wall, the bed, the kitchen counter - any surface will do - and ravages her neck with fierce kisses, leaving mottled purple bruises in his wake. She is unable to move, but she can still shock his lips each time they touch her skin. His lips blister and heal endlessly, and he runs his hands over her body, clothed or not. She charges up, waiting for her opportunity, and shocks him with a blast so powerful it burns his shirt right off. He falls backwards, writhing in pain, releasing her from his telekinetic hold.
She only catches her breath for a moment before she is on him, straddling him, frantically undoing his pants, racing his burns as they smoothly and swiftly heal. She grasps his cock in one tiny hand, cupping his balls in the other, and pulls them each in opposite directions until Sylar moans from the combination of pleasure and pain.
If Sylar hasn't already undressed her telekinetically, she shimmies out of her clothing and straddles him once again, facing the opposite direction. He holds her hips with his hands and cranes his neck upwards until his face is between her legs, while she takes his cock in her mouth and moves her lips up and down along its shaft, hitting the frenulum ever-so-delicately with her teeth to remind him how much she can hurt him at that instant. At the same time he is circling her clit with his tongue, nuzzling his nose into her folds, sighing at the taste. When she is good and wet she can't help but spark between her legs, and Sylar's scruff is singed.
When Elle is feeling frisky (and she nearly always feels frisky) she shocks his dick with the moisture from her mouth, and he shudders beneath her from the sensation. He collapses backwards, letting his head hit the floor behind him, and she looks over her naked shoulder with a feline smile. The next moment he rolls out from underneath her and kneels behind her. He grabs her by the hips and thrusts into her, deeper and deeper, as her thighs quiver. He leans forward to cup her breasts in his hands, flicking and tugging her nipples as mercilessly as she has just shocked his cock. He doesn't run his fingers romantically through her hair; he simply grabs a fistful and pulls, whipping her head back so that he can better hear her cry out when she comes. After all that, it is watching her eyelids flutter in ecstasy that finally makes Sylar erupt.
Together they collapse, sliding down to the floor to recuperate. They don't spoon, they don't cuddle, they don't sigh in one another's embrace. They aren't those kind of people.
Characters/Pairings: Sylar/Elle
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes or any of its characters
Word count: 575
Spoiler alert/warnings: Straight up PWP (Porn with Powers!). Don't click if you're not going to like violent sex, 69ing, or psycho/sociopathic coupling in general.
Summary: Elle and Sylar have sex. Yeah, that's pretty much it.
A/N:sarahetc and I decided that fluffy, schmoopy Syelle is no fun. You know what's fun, though? Fucking. It's fucking fun!
He could kill her quite quickly, quite easily: with a flick of his wrist her neck would follow suit and break itself; he could call out with a bellow that would crack the walls of the building and shatter her skull; or he could go the old-fashioned route and slice her head open. (Sylar always was the kind of guy who liked you for your mind).
But there is nothing he wants in Elle's brainpan. Everything he wants from her is located from the neck down, but she'd be damned if she lets him take her that easily.
They don't waste time making love. They aren't those kind of people. They just get straight to the fucking.
First he pins her to the wall, the bed, the kitchen counter - any surface will do - and ravages her neck with fierce kisses, leaving mottled purple bruises in his wake. She is unable to move, but she can still shock his lips each time they touch her skin. His lips blister and heal endlessly, and he runs his hands over her body, clothed or not. She charges up, waiting for her opportunity, and shocks him with a blast so powerful it burns his shirt right off. He falls backwards, writhing in pain, releasing her from his telekinetic hold.
She only catches her breath for a moment before she is on him, straddling him, frantically undoing his pants, racing his burns as they smoothly and swiftly heal. She grasps his cock in one tiny hand, cupping his balls in the other, and pulls them each in opposite directions until Sylar moans from the combination of pleasure and pain.
If Sylar hasn't already undressed her telekinetically, she shimmies out of her clothing and straddles him once again, facing the opposite direction. He holds her hips with his hands and cranes his neck upwards until his face is between her legs, while she takes his cock in her mouth and moves her lips up and down along its shaft, hitting the frenulum ever-so-delicately with her teeth to remind him how much she can hurt him at that instant. At the same time he is circling her clit with his tongue, nuzzling his nose into her folds, sighing at the taste. When she is good and wet she can't help but spark between her legs, and Sylar's scruff is singed.
When Elle is feeling frisky (and she nearly always feels frisky) she shocks his dick with the moisture from her mouth, and he shudders beneath her from the sensation. He collapses backwards, letting his head hit the floor behind him, and she looks over her naked shoulder with a feline smile. The next moment he rolls out from underneath her and kneels behind her. He grabs her by the hips and thrusts into her, deeper and deeper, as her thighs quiver. He leans forward to cup her breasts in his hands, flicking and tugging her nipples as mercilessly as she has just shocked his cock. He doesn't run his fingers romantically through her hair; he simply grabs a fistful and pulls, whipping her head back so that he can better hear her cry out when she comes. After all that, it is watching her eyelids flutter in ecstasy that finally makes Sylar erupt.
Together they collapse, sliding down to the floor to recuperate. They don't spoon, they don't cuddle, they don't sigh in one another's embrace. They aren't those kind of people.