fic: passage (3/10) (elle/claire)
Title: Passage (3/10)
Rating: NC-17 (language, disturbing imagery, graphic sex)
Pairing: Elle/Claire; side Adam/Elle, Adam/Claire
Timeline: Post-“ So”
Prompt: “excitement” at 10_themes
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them
Teaser: Ten stages between one thing and the next, between lust and love.
3, excitement
Claire is gone the next morning.
She doesn’t call and she doesn’t come home the whole day.
The second day Claire’s gone, Elle’s phone starts ringing at bedtime.
But when she answers, the person on the other end hangs up.
Elle is going to the movies.
She comes to the decision the third night Claire doesn’t come to see her, wakes up the next morning and showers and dresses and does her hair like always even though she knows Claire is already gone studying at college so there’s no point.
Elle folds money up into her wallet and slips away from the house without any breakfast, takes Sandra’s car.
There’s a horror movie out, something with knives and blood-spattered walls and screaming girls that makes her think of Claire in a way that she doesn’t want to anymore. She dismisses that without thought, and doesn’t hesitate when it comes down to picking between cartoon robots with big soft eyes and something with a weird family.
She chooses the robots, stands around for an hour before she gets popcorn and a hotdog, nachos and a fountain drink.
She’s going to prove that she doesn’t need Claire to be happy.
She’s going to enjoy herself, dammit.
Elle likes the movie but she hates being in the theater.
There are families with kids, mommies and daddies and their precious little munchkins; there are love-dovey girls who put their heads on their boyfriends’ shoulders.
She’s the only person in there alone.
Everybody else has someone.
She has a stomachache when she leaves the theater as soon as the credits roll, all that food and soda feeling like a heavy weight in her middle that she knows isn’t just the food. It’s the fact that she’s alone, that she wants Claire to be there with her and she’s not because she’s off with her stupid little friends as if Elle doesn’t exist.
Her eyes are blurry as she rushes out to the car and climbs in, her throat burning as she starts it up.
But then she rips them out of the ignition when she realizes that she’ll probably get into an accident and get herself killed.
She doesn’t want to die.
It’s a new feeling she doesn’t know how to handle.
She’s sick to her stomach and light-headed by the time she stomps into the Bennets’ house hours later.
Tasting everything she brought up in the parking lot in front of the movie theater, she staggers up the stairs and pushes her way into the room where she sleeps, kicks off her shoes and falls into the bed and tries to breathe.
She wonders what Claire is doing as her stomach twists, as she tastes nachos at the back of her mouth.
Claire’s out with her friends somewhere, a real girl who acts as if Elle isn’t real.
She wonders if Claire touches anyone else- and once the thought is there, she can’t get rid of it.
It’s always been there, a horrible little suspicion deep inside, but she’s always ignored it, smashed it down because just the thought makes her angry and scared as her skin hums and she shakes with emotion she doesn’t understand.
She thinks of Claire touching other people, running her fingers up someone else’s arm, and closes her eyes and groans low and helpless in her throat because it’s not fair and it’s not her fault that everything is like this. It’s not Elle’s fault her mean daddy thought her power was interesting, not her fault he decided to make her even more special.
Elle’s real.
She's made of blood and crackling power and broken bits that don’t fit together the right way anymore, but she’s still real.
She’s weak when she wakes up the next morning, staggers downstairs to find Claire staring at her over the paper.
It feels like someone is twisting little bits of metal into Elle’s chest, makes her swallow and turn away.
But when Claire slides into her room late that night, she doesn’t kick her out.
At least during sex, Claire is touching her.
Claire was never this nasty even when Elle really was one of the bad guys.
Elle wonders what Claire does with her friends all day long and the sex doesn’t feel as good as it used to feel.
The more she tries to be nice, the meaner Claire is.
She wakes up early and tries to make Claire eggs and toast and instead Claire makes herself waffles.
She offers to go shopping with Claire, to help her carry her bags, and Claire ducks out before Elle is ready to leave.
She cleans out Claire’s car, and Claire accidently spills her Big Gulp in the front seat.
She tapes Claire’s favorite show, and Claire tapes over it and then blames Elle for not marking the tape.
Elle’s beginning to run out of ideas.
All the excitement, all the sparks and heat and want she used to feel when Claire crawled over her is gone.
Elle has to work to come now.
She tries to focus on Claire’s hands on her and Claire’s body pressed against hers, but that’s not enough.
It used to be but it isn’t anymore, and one night when Claire’s done, she isn’t, is left frustrated, clinging to Claire’s form and gritting her teeth, grinding up desperately and trying to get what she needs, the right friction where she needs it.
But Claire is pulling away and she groans low in her throat, trying and failing to hold onto it.
She can touch herself and make herself come whenever she really wants to, has never hesitated before, but she wants Claire right now, hooks a leg around Claire and pulls her back down. Then a hand strikes at her, a fist catches her in the shoulder and she lets go of Claire in a rush, is left panting as Claire scrambles off the bed, face flushed with fury instead of sex.
She’s naked and Claire’s half-covered, yanks her sleep shirt down and stalks to the door.
She slams it behind her a heartbeat later, leaving Elle heated and scared and utterly alone.
Elle wraps her arms around her legs, drops her chin to her knees, but she doesn’t fall asleep.
Elle’s head is turning against her.
She thinks about Claire with other people, real people who Claire wants to be with, and she feels sick.
She waits for Claire to come by her room but she doesn’t, watches depressing shows and acts like a bitch.
After a week, it’s too much.
Claire is downstairs watching some kind of crime show where people talked about people killing other people and Elle gives up and touches herself just a little. When it’s less than what she wants, she closes her eyes and pretends it’s Claire but that doesn’t work either because Claire is always rough and intense, never light like this.
She always had fun when her daddy sent her to solitary, found ways to make herself feel good but it’s not working.
Then Elle thinks about that blonde in the magazine under her bed, and feels a muted spike of heat.
She pretends that Claire is looking at her the way that woman stares at her, like she really wants Elle, and the heat isn’t quite as muted as before, is more intense as she strokes herself more firmly. She thinks about climbing on top of Claire with the lights on one night when the house is empty, finding nothing but skin when she touches the younger woman, running her hands over every inch of skin she can find, and she’s already panting and shaking because that’s what she really really wants now.
The fake Claire in her head wants her even if the real one doesn’t, and, oh, she likes how this feels.
It’s exciting in a way it never was before, pretending that Claire is under her, murmuring how much she wants her, staring up at her with wide eyes and a soft mouth, letting Elle touch her and touching her back.
Elle's hand moves hard in the way she needs, fingers pumping and thumb circling and stroking in the rhythm she needs, and she finally hits that peak in a way she hasn’t in weeks. She moans as her body trembles, as she rides it out and pretends Claire is moving under her, her mouth searing Elle’s breasts and belly, her fingers holding Elle steady.
When it’s over, Elle’s left breathless and lazy, falls asleep pretending Claire is sleeping beside her.
She was right.
She doesn't need Claire.
Rating: NC-17 (language, disturbing imagery, graphic sex)
Pairing: Elle/Claire; side Adam/Elle, Adam/Claire
Timeline: Post-“ So”
Prompt: “excitement” at 10_themes
Disclaimer: Not mine, just playing with them
Teaser: Ten stages between one thing and the next, between lust and love.
3, excitement
Claire is gone the next morning.
She doesn’t call and she doesn’t come home the whole day.
The second day Claire’s gone, Elle’s phone starts ringing at bedtime.
But when she answers, the person on the other end hangs up.
Elle is going to the movies.
She comes to the decision the third night Claire doesn’t come to see her, wakes up the next morning and showers and dresses and does her hair like always even though she knows Claire is already gone studying at college so there’s no point.
Elle folds money up into her wallet and slips away from the house without any breakfast, takes Sandra’s car.
There’s a horror movie out, something with knives and blood-spattered walls and screaming girls that makes her think of Claire in a way that she doesn’t want to anymore. She dismisses that without thought, and doesn’t hesitate when it comes down to picking between cartoon robots with big soft eyes and something with a weird family.
She chooses the robots, stands around for an hour before she gets popcorn and a hotdog, nachos and a fountain drink.
She’s going to prove that she doesn’t need Claire to be happy.
She’s going to enjoy herself, dammit.
Elle likes the movie but she hates being in the theater.
There are families with kids, mommies and daddies and their precious little munchkins; there are love-dovey girls who put their heads on their boyfriends’ shoulders.
She’s the only person in there alone.
Everybody else has someone.
She has a stomachache when she leaves the theater as soon as the credits roll, all that food and soda feeling like a heavy weight in her middle that she knows isn’t just the food. It’s the fact that she’s alone, that she wants Claire to be there with her and she’s not because she’s off with her stupid little friends as if Elle doesn’t exist.
Her eyes are blurry as she rushes out to the car and climbs in, her throat burning as she starts it up.
But then she rips them out of the ignition when she realizes that she’ll probably get into an accident and get herself killed.
She doesn’t want to die.
It’s a new feeling she doesn’t know how to handle.
She’s sick to her stomach and light-headed by the time she stomps into the Bennets’ house hours later.
Tasting everything she brought up in the parking lot in front of the movie theater, she staggers up the stairs and pushes her way into the room where she sleeps, kicks off her shoes and falls into the bed and tries to breathe.
She wonders what Claire is doing as her stomach twists, as she tastes nachos at the back of her mouth.
Claire’s out with her friends somewhere, a real girl who acts as if Elle isn’t real.
She wonders if Claire touches anyone else- and once the thought is there, she can’t get rid of it.
It’s always been there, a horrible little suspicion deep inside, but she’s always ignored it, smashed it down because just the thought makes her angry and scared as her skin hums and she shakes with emotion she doesn’t understand.
She thinks of Claire touching other people, running her fingers up someone else’s arm, and closes her eyes and groans low and helpless in her throat because it’s not fair and it’s not her fault that everything is like this. It’s not Elle’s fault her mean daddy thought her power was interesting, not her fault he decided to make her even more special.
Elle’s real.
She's made of blood and crackling power and broken bits that don’t fit together the right way anymore, but she’s still real.
She’s weak when she wakes up the next morning, staggers downstairs to find Claire staring at her over the paper.
It feels like someone is twisting little bits of metal into Elle’s chest, makes her swallow and turn away.
But when Claire slides into her room late that night, she doesn’t kick her out.
At least during sex, Claire is touching her.
Claire was never this nasty even when Elle really was one of the bad guys.
Elle wonders what Claire does with her friends all day long and the sex doesn’t feel as good as it used to feel.
The more she tries to be nice, the meaner Claire is.
She wakes up early and tries to make Claire eggs and toast and instead Claire makes herself waffles.
She offers to go shopping with Claire, to help her carry her bags, and Claire ducks out before Elle is ready to leave.
She cleans out Claire’s car, and Claire accidently spills her Big Gulp in the front seat.
She tapes Claire’s favorite show, and Claire tapes over it and then blames Elle for not marking the tape.
Elle’s beginning to run out of ideas.
All the excitement, all the sparks and heat and want she used to feel when Claire crawled over her is gone.
Elle has to work to come now.
She tries to focus on Claire’s hands on her and Claire’s body pressed against hers, but that’s not enough.
It used to be but it isn’t anymore, and one night when Claire’s done, she isn’t, is left frustrated, clinging to Claire’s form and gritting her teeth, grinding up desperately and trying to get what she needs, the right friction where she needs it.
But Claire is pulling away and she groans low in her throat, trying and failing to hold onto it.
She can touch herself and make herself come whenever she really wants to, has never hesitated before, but she wants Claire right now, hooks a leg around Claire and pulls her back down. Then a hand strikes at her, a fist catches her in the shoulder and she lets go of Claire in a rush, is left panting as Claire scrambles off the bed, face flushed with fury instead of sex.
She’s naked and Claire’s half-covered, yanks her sleep shirt down and stalks to the door.
She slams it behind her a heartbeat later, leaving Elle heated and scared and utterly alone.
Elle wraps her arms around her legs, drops her chin to her knees, but she doesn’t fall asleep.
Elle’s head is turning against her.
She thinks about Claire with other people, real people who Claire wants to be with, and she feels sick.
She waits for Claire to come by her room but she doesn’t, watches depressing shows and acts like a bitch.
After a week, it’s too much.
Claire is downstairs watching some kind of crime show where people talked about people killing other people and Elle gives up and touches herself just a little. When it’s less than what she wants, she closes her eyes and pretends it’s Claire but that doesn’t work either because Claire is always rough and intense, never light like this.
She always had fun when her daddy sent her to solitary, found ways to make herself feel good but it’s not working.
Then Elle thinks about that blonde in the magazine under her bed, and feels a muted spike of heat.
She pretends that Claire is looking at her the way that woman stares at her, like she really wants Elle, and the heat isn’t quite as muted as before, is more intense as she strokes herself more firmly. She thinks about climbing on top of Claire with the lights on one night when the house is empty, finding nothing but skin when she touches the younger woman, running her hands over every inch of skin she can find, and she’s already panting and shaking because that’s what she really really wants now.
The fake Claire in her head wants her even if the real one doesn’t, and, oh, she likes how this feels.
It’s exciting in a way it never was before, pretending that Claire is under her, murmuring how much she wants her, staring up at her with wide eyes and a soft mouth, letting Elle touch her and touching her back.
Elle's hand moves hard in the way she needs, fingers pumping and thumb circling and stroking in the rhythm she needs, and she finally hits that peak in a way she hasn’t in weeks. She moans as her body trembles, as she rides it out and pretends Claire is moving under her, her mouth searing Elle’s breasts and belly, her fingers holding Elle steady.
When it’s over, Elle’s left breathless and lazy, falls asleep pretending Claire is sleeping beside her.
She was right.
She doesn't need Claire.